etiquette to tell him to "turn loose." An
official went to a certain nameless state and
inquired of one of the leading men for the sight
of a copy of the state laws. The leading man
was very polite, went to a drawer, and,
producing a bowie-knife about a foot and a half in
length, most sententiously replied, "Here, sir,
is a complete edition of them!"

San Francisco is now a very peaceable town,
and no longer would you, when taking an airing
in front of your door, be startled by a bullet
whizzing past your ear, and a gentleman emerging
from the dark to apologise for disturbing you,
"having mistaken his man." In the old days
a culprit was hung for stealing an ounce of
gold, but was only fined heavily for killing a
man. A rowdy would take a bet that he would
bring down a man on the other side of the
street. If the man shot had no friends, and if
there were enough hard swearing and bribery,
it was almost certain that the murderer would
get off with slight punishment. These were
the days when Ned McGowan was judge—than
whom no greater scoundrel was ever expelled
San Francisco by the Vigilance Committee.

Still, street fights are not over. Only recently,
a man was publicly shot down in San
Francisco; but his murderer got off because
several witnesses swore that they saw the
assassinated man "put his hand behind, as if
intending to draw." In the same street—the
most fashionable and crowded thoroughfare in
San Francisco—there was a fight lately
described in this cool matter-of-fact way by a
morning paper:

"There was a serious shooting affray in our
principal street (Montgomery), which resulted
in the death of four persons. It seems, one
Bill Davis, a noted gambler, who resides in
Yreka, was interested in and drove a horse-race,
which came off at Placerville on the 15th inst.,
and 'throwed' the race, making four thousand
five hundred dollars by it. Hank Stevens, Ball,
Dutch Abe, and Spanish Bob, four 'sports,'
backed Davis's horse, and got broke, swore
vengeance, killing at sight, &c. On the 18th
they all came to this city except Davis, and
publicly said they were going to shoot Davis
on sight, &c. On the 21st Davis came in town,
and at two P.M. was getting his boots polished
in a black's, adjoining the Fashion, when Ball
and Dutch Abe came to the door, and looking
in, exclaimed, 'Here's the dirty thief now!'
and, drawing their revolvers, commenced shooting.
Davis jumped out of the chair, with one
boot polished, and drawing his revolver, fired,
and Ball fell dead across an iron grating. Davis
then jumped out on the side-walk, laughingly
saying, 'You've made a mistake,' and fired at
Dutch Abe, the ball taking effect in his right
breast. He fell, when Davis ran and caught
the revolver from Ball's hand, saying, as he
walked to the door of the Fashion, 'Where's
the rest of your murderers now?' Blood was
running down Davis's left hand from the arm,
and also down the right cheek. As he was on
the point of entering the door, he was met by
Stevens and Spanish Bob, when Davis raised
the revolver and fired twice. Stevens fell, and
Spanish Bob jumped over him on to the sidewalk
and fired. Davis staggered, but recovering,
they (Davis and Spanish Bob) commenced
in good earnest, each striving to fire a deadly
shot. Davis was laughing. Then they
commenced firing at each other about twenty feet
apart. After Davis had fired two shots, he
threw the revolver at Bob, and changing the
revolver he took from Ball into his right hand,
he raised it, and it snapped three times; the
fourth time it went off, and Bob fell (Davis
had fallen before this, and was lying with his
face on the banquette). Davis threw the
revolver into the street (with blasphemies duly
reported). He then pulled a Derringer, and both
having one shot each, began crawling towards
each other on their stomachs. When about
five feet apart, they both raised partly up, and
fired simultaneously, when Bob's head fell, and
he remained perfectly still. Davis then said,
crawling towards Bob, 'He's gone; I've cooked
his goose,' and then partly turned on his side,
and tried to rise. On examination, Ball and
Spanish Bob were dead, Dutch Abe and Stevens
mortally wounded, the first having been shot
through the right lung, causing internal
hæmorrhage, &c., the latter was shot through the
left breast. Spanish Bob had four wounds on
him, two in the right breast, on the right arm,
and one between the eyes. Ball had a ball in
his heart. Davis had six wounds, two in the
right leg, one in the right breast, one in the
left shoulder, one in the left wrist (through),
and one on the right cheek, where a bullet had
struck the cheekbone and glanced off, cutting
out a piece of flesh of the size of a ten-cent
piece. Stevens died on the 24th at forty
minutes past ten A.M.; Dutch Abe died
yesterday. Doctors say Davis will certainly
recover."

It used to be at one time (and is yet in the
rougher places), a signal for shooting, if a
man refuse to drink with another, whether
an acquaintance or not, or whatever his
character. Behind the bar of a hotel at Reese
River, in 1863, was the following announcement:
"All guests in the house to be up by
seven o'clock; all in the barn by six o'clock.
Every man to sweep out his own sleeping-place.
No fighting at the tables. No quartz taken at
the bar. Any man violating these rules will
be SHOT."

Sociability may, like hostilities, in the Far
West, be carried too far. I was once called
"an unsociable sort of a beggar" by the landlord
of a roadside hostelry in British Columbia,
because, after having had a general "lay out" on
the floor with four Gentile miners, I objected to
the company of a fifth companion in the shape
of a Jew pedlar. But the Far-Western instinct
recognises that the line must be drawn
somewhere. There was once a Western governor
named Powell, famous for chewing and spitting,
of whom somebody remarked that he was a
very sociable man. "Sociable!" replied the