The winter of 1863-4 was a memorable one for the embryo State of Montana. The vanguard of would-be prospectors from Gold Creek, in what is since Deer Lodge County, pushing on to Grasshopper Valley, had found already established and swarming with pioneer mining life, the "City" of Bannack. All mining camps in those crude days were dubbed either "Gulches" or "Cities." (Bannock was the original spelling of the name after the tribe which at that time, hovered about, and, to avoid confusion, it was called "East Bannock," in contradiction from "West Bannock" in Idaho, since changed to Lewiston.)
Bannack City, whose prolific placers had already begun to show signs of depletion, had still much of the alluring "dust" within its sands, still eagerly sought by rugged men in primitive ways.
An army of gold seekers had surged past the town, over the mountains to the east, swarmed down the Beaverhead and up the Ruby River to Alder Gulch and Virginia City. Here met and merged another stream of humanity, from the overland route farther north.
Bannack had been and was still rich -- Virginia was richer. Money was very plentiful, gold abundant, and some of the lucky miners were already departing for far away homes, with quantities of the precious "dust."
The crack of the "Bull-whacker's" whip, almost hourly, heralded the arrival of incoming wagon trains of gold seekers, or the departure of freighters seeking supplies from Salt hake. Pack trains came from Oregon, steamers from the lower reaches of the Missouri, and the Mississippi; daily stages arrived with monthold mail from Omaha, and carried daily passengers between the two "cities." Their treasure boxes were seldom lacking or empty. The passengers were usually well supplied with "dust," much was being sent out of the country by wagon train, and "dust" was both a commodity and a currency. No condition could have been more favorable to lawlessness. The country knew no law except that of the Miners' meeting -- vague, unsatisfactory, fickle, suited only for transient purposes. Revolvers, in the hands of outlaws, fast gathering from other haunts, had to be reckoned with all too often. The bad element soon became organized, murder and robbery was frequent, no man's life or money was secure. Everyone felt that something must be done, that the conditions necessitated prompt and secret action.
But how to begin? Who could be trusted? Brave, honest and noble men were plentiful, but few knew their neighbors. Almost everyone knew numbers of the roughs, but to speak of them aloud meant certain death, even a whisper within the walls of Bannack's huts might reach an outlaw's ear.
The situation became daily more intense; shocking crimes hourly increased in frequency. Among the law abiding were men who knew no fear; cautious, discreet souls; men of iron will.
A union league was silently, suddenly formed among the men of Grasshopper Creek, ostensibly sympathizers with the Union cause in our Civil War, then raging in the far-off"States." This suspicious circmstance at once attracted the attention of resident road agents, some of whom made haste to join the league. Something imminent seemed in the air, something was about to happen. Rumors, of vague origin, and no sponsors, circulated. To try to leave town, even by night, was unsafe, by day it usually meant robbery, perhaps murder. The robbers had become very :strong; word flew that Bannack was about to be sacked. Ned Ray, Buck Stinson and Henry Plummer were among the most prominent men on the Bannack single street. The former, tall, sandy, lean, with mustache and goatee, well groomed, buckskin dressed, soft felt hat; he might be taken for a freighter or a prospector on a rest, in town.
I have learned that he did not ride the road, but was a spy and informer. I heard him remark one day, shortly before his death, as he sat at a card table in Percy and Hacker's saloon, with about $1,000 in $20.00 gold pieces, stacked before him, "I have today been around and paid all my debts, and have this much left." Little did I then suspect where he had obtained that coin. Gambling seemed his only occupation; he lived in a small cabin, with his "woman," just off the street under the low "bar" upon which Bannack was built.
Buck Stinson was below medium height, well built, not bad looking, medium complexion, a gambler, and Plummer's lieutenant -- a sort of Deputy Sheriff. He was sometimes out on horseback, and on one occasion I saw him gallop demonstratively into town on a powerful horse with his roll of blankets flopping behind the saddle -- a usual thing at that time among horsemen -- and rein up at the express office to learn if the Virginia City stage had that day been robbed as usual. It had. I forget whether he had helped or not. The following day, sitting in Percy and Hacker's saloon, where, as a boy of sixteen, I spotted ten-pins for hire, I heard two shots in quick succession, outside on the sidewalk. Boy like, I ran out to see. Stinson's beautiful Mastiff dog, a favorite about the street, and a pet of his "wife," lay gasping in death. He had paid the penalty at the hands of a bad-tempered master for not coming back, at call, from following another man. Stinson put up his revolver, stepped inside, and sat dejectedly down.
Not having seen all of this, I innocently asked. "Who shot Carlo?" A meaning look from Percy caused me to be silent. Directly Buck said, "If I ever get drunk again, I hope some son-of-a-gun will kill me." Thus will remorse sometimes reach the hardest heart. He had wantonly destroyed a faithful dog, and attracted to himself most undesirable attention. He also, with his "wife" occupied a small log hut, under the hill near Ned Ray's domicile, the same in which the "Greaser," Joe Pizanthia, was killed, shortly after the road agent trio had met their fate.
Henry Plummer, genteel, self-possessed, and of medium height and complexion, was in and out of town, going sometimes to Virginia, and was often on the streets of Bannack; he was Sheriff, through peculiar circmstances, of both towns, elected ostensibly by popular vote at Miners' meetings.
Out of the Union League, secretly, in some mysterious manner, evolved the Bannack branch of the Vigilance Committee. Most of these courageous men are long since dead, but their acts of summary justice, inspired by that necessity which knows no law, are upheld by all fair-minded men.
Monday morning, January 11th, broke clear, bright and cold, on the little hamlet of Marysville, one mile down the creek from Bannack. The cold was intense. Not a breath stirred the crisp air. Before sunrise, word came to Marysville, and flew down the Grasshopper, for miles to all the miners, that the main trio of road agents had been hung on the previous night. Hundreds of determined looking men, heavily armed, thronged for hours, the one road to Bannack a living stream. It was an exciting sight. Dressed in my heaviest wraps and mitts, stopping in at several miners' cabins to warm, I ran all the way to town. The street was filled with armed men; all was orderly and quiet, many were drinking in the numerous saloons, that lined the only street.
An air of satisfaction and relief prevailed. In the lower part of a two-story log house, not yet completed, lay on the floor, frozen solid, the bodies of the three terrors of the town. Ride by side, with each a deep groove in the neck showing the marks of rope strand spirals; clad in their Sunday clothes, newly shaved, they laid, with the awful ropes lying near, a gruesome ending, to lives of crime.
Suddenly the gang had learned that their days were numbered, that a Vigilance Committee was expected over the mountains, from Virginia, to hang them. Murderers were sent out along the road to way-lay the Committee, but they slipped into town at night, by an unfrequented road. Each robber had his horse saddled and equipped on Yankee Flat, just across the Creek ready for instant flight; none dared to start; each awaited the turn of events. The Virginia men joined those of Bannack; three squads went silently in the night to as many doors; three pairs of eyes looked down the double barrels of so many shotguns. Quickly three well dressed men dangled from a gallows in Hangman's Gulch, three hundred yards from Main Street, a gallows erected by Plummer for another murderer.
Time and necessity precluded any elaborate preparations for the execution, and Ned Ray, being next one of the posts of the gallows, wound his legs about it, and thereby prolonged his misery. The other two passed away less painfully. During the trip to the gallows, a crowd gathered, but no attempt at rescue or interference developed. A brother of Plummer's wife, a highly respected young man, who clerked in the store of a Mr. Thompson, tried to intercede for his relative, but to no avail. He was told in no uncertain terms to return to town.
Of those who took part in that gruesome drama, many were at that time well known about Bannack, respected and respectable business men.
Also, some whose names appear in the works of Professor Dimsdale and N. P. Langford, are remembered by the writer, reputable citizens of the time and place.
JAMES KIRKPATRICK.