merchandise, the road agents were masked,
and their first cry to the attacked was "Up with
your hands!" Whoever did not hold up his hands
and keep them up during the plundering, was
shot by those of the attacking party who had
their guns or revolvers levelled for that purpose.
Road Agency spies and accomplices were every
where. Sometimes the driver of the coach was
an accomplice, and there was a private mark
set, when it started, upon any coach that
carried money.

Not only had Plummer, the chief organiser
of this Road Agency, procured his own election
as sheriff of Bannack, and that in spite of his
known character, but he had appointed two of
his accomplices as sheriff's deputies. He then
informed an honest man who had been chosen
sheriff of Virginia city that he would live the
longer if he resigned that office in his favour.
Fear of assassination tempted him to do so, and
thus Plummer and his robber deputies took
charge of the execution of the law in both
places at once, and had the people of Montana
in their power. One of the sheriff's deputies
was not a thief, and as he knew too much,
sentence of death was passed upon him by his
comrades. He was shot openly and publicly by three
of the road agents, who were taken red handed
and brought to trial in a people's court found
guilty, condemned to death, and then set free
by a popular vote, with great enthusiasm,
because a number of the ladies came upon the
scene, shed tears, and begged earnestly "to
save the poor boys' lives." After this further
failure of justice there was no more security
for property or life. Men dared not go outside
Virginia after dark. Men dared not risk their
lives by telling who had robbed or maimed
them on the highway. Dastardly murders
occurred almost every day; many feared even to
lift the head of a man lying wounded in the
street, lest he should whisper to them the name
of his assassin, and they should themselves be
marked for the list of the dead men who tell no
tales. A man whipped for larceny, to escape
the sting of the lash, offered to tell what he
knew of the road agents. George Ives met
this man by day, on a frequented road, within
sight of two houses and three or four passing
teams, shot him, and when he fell dead from
his horse took the horse by the bridle and
walked off with it to the mountains. A Dutchman
had sold some mules, was paid for them in
advance, and went to the ranch where they
were kept to bring them to their purchasers.
On his way back he was murdered by George
Ives, who took money and mules, and dragged
the dead body aside into the sage bush. This
brings us to the turning point in the story.

One William Palmer, some time afterwards,
was walking ahead of his waggon, gun in hand;
a grouse rose in front of him; he fired, and the
bird dropped into the sage bush on the body of
the murdered man. That roadside shot at a
grouse was the best shot ever fired in Montana.
The sight of the stiff frozen corpse thus strangely
discovered and brought to town in a cart, stirred
men's blood. Three or four men raised a party
of some two dozen determined citizens, who
rode out, long after nightfall, to track down the
murderer. Falling, horses and men, through
the ice of a creek they were riding over, they
went on through the dark night among the
mountains in their frozen clothes, surprised
accomplices of the road agents, who lived close
by the scene of the murder, obtained their
unwilling confession that George Ives was the
assassin, took presently Ives himself. By the
next evening, they had brought him back a
prisoner into Nevada city, having spent two hours
on the way in chase of him when he attempted
flight. His captors guarded him through the
night, and protected, next day, judge and
jury in the execution of their duty. The bench
was a waggon; the jury sat by the camp-fire;
the newly roused asserters of law and order
stood around, revolvers in hand, with their eyes
upon the desperadoes, who were ready to
support, aid, and, if possible, rescue by force their
endangered friend. Counsel was heard on both
sides; witnesses proved that the prisoner was
guilty of more than one robbery and murder. He
was condemned to death, and the supporters of
order, repressing every attempt, at rescue, setting
aside every evasion, held their ground with
revolvers cocked and lifted to their breasts. Thus,
on a moonlight night, among the discordant
shouts and threats of opposing opinion, Ives was
hanged from a pole, planted for the purpose
against the wall of an unfinished house.

Immediately afterwards there was organised
by five bold men in Virginia and one in Nevada,
the secret league of the Vigilantes, who opposed
on the side of the law, force to force, and fear
to fear, against the organisation of the road
agents. The Vigilance Committee soon
became as terrible to the rogues as the Road
Agency had been to honest men. Sheriff
Plummer himself was seized, before he could
escape, and hanged, together with his two
ruffianly sheriffs' deputies, on a Sunday evening.
The Vigilantes took upon themselves as captors,
judges, and executioners, thus to put an end to
the long reign of terror. One criminal taken,
by the mob, had a hundred shots fired at him
while he was hanging; the crowd began firing
so soon that the executioner had to shout to
them, "I say, boys, stop shooting a minute."
When all was done they hauled the desperado's
body down and burnt it in the cabin he had
occupied. Next day there were people
panning his ashes to see whether there had been
any gold about him. But the Vigilantes were
guilty of no such excesses. They sought to
strike terror into the criminals who had
defied the weak arm of the law by sure and
secret punishment of guilt. In no case was
a man hanged without evidence.

"You have done right. Not an innocent
man hanged yet," said one of the last of their
condemned. Of some whom they condemned
they might, in another state of society, have
saved the lives; but their purpose was that
for mortal offences death should be the certain
penalty. Sometimes there would be kindly
intercourse with the condemned man, expressed