The Bozeman Trail

Chapter Seventeen

With the Golden Calf Cattle Company, just outside Bannack²

Wednesday, October 15, 1862:

Although they left Texas with 3,250 head of cattle, losses to Indians, accidents, weather, penalties, and normal attrition, had cut down the size of the herd. They wouldn’t have a final count until they drove the cows into the holding pens, but they knew they were going to have to have an equitable apportionment to share the losses. After a great deal of discussion, James, Bob, Billy, Duke, and the Scattergoods, came to a mutual agreement as to how the loss would be apportioned. James and Billy would take the biggest loss, as they had left Texas with the greatest number of cows. Bob and the Scat tergoods would take the second largest loss, while Duke, who had the fewest cows, would suffer the least loss.

That settled, they then authorized James to go into town to negotiate the best price he could get.

Leaving the herd in a grassy valley, James started into town to make arrangements to sell the cattle. He had ridden no more than two or three miles away from the cow camp when he saw them. Shielding his eyes against the bright blue sky, he looked at the circling birds about a mile away.

They were vultures, black messengers of death hanging on outstretched wings, waiting for their turn at some gruesome prize. James knew it would have to be something larger than a dead rabbit or a coyote to attract this much attention.

Curious as to what it might be, he continued riding toward the circling birds. It didn’t take long to satisfy his curiosity. Just ahead, hanging from the straight branch of a big cottonwood tree, a corpse twisted slowly from the end of the rope. Even from where he was, James could hear the terrible creaking sound the rope was making.

“I don’t know what you did, mister,” James said quietly. “But whatever it was, you deserved better than this. Even the condemned aren’t left hanging on the scaffold.”

The corpse had an elongated neck, and its head was twisted and cocked to one side. The eyes were open and bulging and a blue, swollen tongue was sticking out of the corpse’s mouth.

There was a sign on the tree, and James moved closer so he could read it.

ATTENTION: THIS MAN STOLE MONEY. WE HUNG HIM FOR IT. —THE BANNACK MINING DISTRICT VIGILANTES, SHERIFF HENRY PLUMMER IN CHARGE.

James stood up in the stirrups so he could reach the rope around the man’s neck. He opened his knife and began sawing at the rope, paying no attention to the two riders who were coming down the road from the direction of Bannack.

“Hold it there, mister!” one of the riders shouted. “Just what do you think you’re doin’?” The rider was holding a rifle.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” James replied. He continued to saw at the rope. “I’m cutting this man down.”

“Leave him be. Plummer wants him to hang there until he rots.” The rider punctuated his statement by levering a cartridge into the chamber of his rifle. He raised the rifle to his shoulder, aiming it at James.

James sighed and sat back in the saddle. “Did you two do this?” he asked.

“We were part of it. We’re deputies for Sheriff Plummer.”

“What kind of court would sentence a man to hang for stealing? And what kind of sheriff would leave him hanging?”

The two men laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“There ain’t no court, mister. There’s only the sheriff.”

“So in addition to being sheriff, this man Plummer is judge, jury, and hangman?”

“That’s right.”

“I can see right now it pays not to get into trouble around here.”

The two men laughed. “Remember that, mister, and you might stay alive. Now, get on about your business and leave this be. This ain’t none of your concern.”

Nodding, James rode on toward town. He felt an itching in his back and knew that the rifle was still pointed at him. It took every ounce of strength to resist breaking into a gallop, but he was certain that if he did, the man with the rifle would shoot.

Bannack:

As 1862 began there was only a handful of white men, and almost no white women or children, in the area which had been, in succession, a part of the Louisiana, Missouri, then Dakota territories. Only later would it become Montana.

Few people had even heard the word Montana, and fewer still had any interest in the place until a man named John White discovered a rich placer deposit on Grasshopper Creek.

White wasn’t the first to discover gold in Montana. There was some placer mining on Gold Creek near Hell’s Gate (later renamed Mis soula), where James and Granville Stuart had been panning gold earlier in the year. Then, M.H. Lott and his party discovered gold in the Big Hole River drainage, just over the hill from Grasshopper Creek.

Ironically, John White was looking for Lott when he stopped to pan dirt on the Grasshopper and made the biggest strike of all. It was his find that brought thousands of gold seekers from all over America. John White’s discovery also led to the founding of the town of Bannack. Bannack would go on to become the first capital of the newly created territory of Montana.

When James rode into Bannack the first time, he saw a boomtown of over three thousand people, all of whom had been drawn by the hope of striking it rich. Not everyone who came to Bannack planned to get their gold out of the ground. Many came to make their fortune from those who got their gold by digging, thus the town was fully developed with saloons, restaurants, stores, and two hotels.

Unlike two decades earlier when it took treasure seekers from three to six months to reach the goldfields of California, Bannack could be reached by a combination of train, boat, and coach, in just over three weeks from almost any city in the East. That accessibility contributed to the boom and created a ready market for the Golden Calf Cattle Company’s herd.

As soon as it was known that James was bringing in a herd of cattle to sell, he had three contractors bidding for his business. The only disappointment was the fact that the cows brought a little less than he had thought. He left Texas thinking he could make fifty dollars a head, but the offers ranged from twenty-nine to thirty-seven dollars.

James sold for thirty-four dollars a head. That wasn’t the highest offer, but it was an offer of cash, whereas the others wanted to pay by bank draft, redeemable in St. Louis. James had no intention of going to St. Louis for his money.

Returning to the herd, James told the others what he had learned, and explained the deal he had made.

“I think you shoulda taken the thirty-seven dollars,” Luke Scattergood said. “I mean, thirty-seven dollars is better than thirty-four. Even I know that.”

“Yes, but if we take the thirty-four dollars, we can leave here with cash in hand,” James said. “The other deal would require us to go to St. Louis for the money. If the money was really there, and if we could get there. Don’t forget, there is a war going on.”

“I think you did the right thing,” Bob said. Billy quickly agreed, as did Duke.

“I think it was the right thing as well,” Revelation said.

“Well, of course you would think that. You’re stuck on him,” Luke said.

“But she’s right,” Matthew said. “Cash in hand is better than a bank draft in some far-off place.”

Reluctantly, Luke accepted the fact that the deal was made.

Everyone turned out to watch as James and the others drove their herd down Main Street to the cattle pens at the other end of town. There was excitement in the air, as people contemplated adding roast beef and beefsteak to what had become a monotonous menu of pork, chicken, and wild game. The townspeople were also fascinated with the idea that this herd had been driven all the way up from Texas, along the Bozeman Trail, right through the heart of hostile Indian territory.

As the cattle were driven into the pens, Milton Poindexter, the contractor who bought the herd, and James kept a head count. They did this by putting a knot in a strip of rawhide for every tenth cow. There were several rawhide strips, and each strip had ten knots. The final tally was 2,976 head. After the count was made, Poindexter went to the bank with James to withdraw the money.

“The current price of gold is fifty dollars an ounce,” the banker explained to James. “You can accept payment in gold or specie.”

“Specie?”

“Paper money,” the banker said. “Govern ment greenbacks. If I were you, I would take it in specie, as it will be much easier to handle than gold.”

James thought about it for a moment. Greenbacks would be easier, but given the volatility of the war, and the fact that all Union money in Texas had been exchanged for Confederate dollars, he decided the most stable currency would be gold.

“I think I’ll take it in gold.”

“Very well, sir. It’ll take a few moments to weigh and fill your sacks.”

The banker began weighing gold dust, then pouring the measured dust into sacks, each sack containing one hundred ounces.

“That’s a lot of gold dust,” James said, looking at the sacks that were beginning to stack up.

“It’s going to come to 125 pounds,” the banker said. “Gold dust is heavy.”

“Yes, I know it is.”

The banker chuckled. “That’s probably a pretty good thing, though. Most robbers steal because they are too lazy to work. But if a robber takes gold he is going to have to work because it is so heavy. Still, there is always that chance,” the banker said. “That being the case, you might want to leave it on deposit with the bank.”

“Perhaps I will,” James said. “But first I need to take it to my partners so we can divide it up.”

As the banker continued to fill the sacks, James walked over to talk to Poindexter.

“As I was coming into town, I saw a man hanging from a tree,” James said. “I started to cut him down, but two men stopped me.”

James thought he saw an expression of fear dart across the contractor’s face. Poindexter’s eyes narrowed, and he nervously ran his hand through his hair, but he said nothing.

“You wouldn’t happen to know who it was, would you?”

“Who?”

“The dead man I just told you about. Do you know who it was?”

“His name was Gillis. Logan Gillis,” Poindexter said.

“Well, Logan Gillis paid dearly for stealing. Normally I don’t have any sympathy for a thief, but I figure he deserved better than that.”

“Gillis wasn’t a thief,” Poindexter said.

“That’s what the sign said.”

“Our—sheriff—left that sign,” Poindexter said, slurring the word sheriff.

“Henry Plummer?”

Again, Poindexter looked nervous. “Do you know Henry Plummer?”

“No. But the sign bore his name. Also the two men who stopped me said they were deputies.”

The beef contractor made a scoffing sound. “Those men aren’t deputies, because Plummer is no more a sheriff than I am. He sure would like to be sheriff, though. And he has started a vigilante committee to protect the good people of the Bannack Mining District. But he’s the one we need protecting from. Look at Logan Gillis. If the truth were known, Plummer and his men probably stole money from Gillis, then hung him for trying to keep hold of his own.”

“Does everyone feel the same way about Plummer?” James asked.

“Everyone who isn’t on his payroll feels that way about him. But he has so many men working for him as deputies, and so many others frightened, that if we were to hold a real election today, he would win.”

“Sounds to me like he’s the kind of person a fella wants to stay away from,” James said.

“You’ve got that right, mister.”

It was the last building on the street, sitting just on the edge of the town. The sign in front read SHERIFF’S OFFICE, BANNACK MINING DISTRICT VIGILANTE COMMITTEE, HENRY PLUMMER, SHERIFF.

A woodfire popped and snapped inside a small, potbellied stove, warming the inside of the building. Half a dozen men stood around the stove and around the single desk that occupied the room. Henry Plummer sat in a swivel chair with his feet propped up on the desk. He was buffing to an even higher shine his already polished boots.

“That was quite a show this morning, all those cows coming through,” Plummer said as he worked the shoe brush back and forth over the burnished leather. He looked up at Angus. “Is this is the herd you’ve been waiting for?”

“Yes,” Butrum replied.

“Well, I congratulate you, Mr. Butrum. It was worth waiting for. They were paid over a hundred thousand dollars for the herd, all in gold,” Plummer said. He put the brush back in the desk drawer then admired the sheen on his shoes. Looking up at the others, he smiled. “Yes, sir, it’s going to be a very good payday.”

“Wish he’d taken the money in paper, it would’a been a lot easier,” George Ives said.

“Ives, I swear, you would complain if they hung you with a new rope,” Plummer said. “If the gold is too heavy for you, I’m sure some of the others will be glad to take your share.”

“No, no, it’s not too much for me.”

Plummer laughed. “I didn’t think it would be.”

“When are we going to do it?”

“As soon as I figure out the best way to do it,” Plummer answered. “Probably some time tomorrow.”

“What about Faglier?” Angus asked.

“Who’s Faglier?” Plummer replied.

“I told you who he is. He’s the one me an’ my brothers been lookin’ for all this time. He’s one of the cowboys that brought the herd up.”

“Do you know which one he is?”

“Yeah, one of the men down at the holding pens pointed him out today. We know him, but he don’t know us.”

“Well, that ought to make it easy enough for you tomorrow.”

“We don’t aim to wait until tomorrow to give him a chance to get away,” Percy said.

“We’re going to kill him today.”

“No, you aren’t. You are going to wait until tomorrow,” Plummer said, scowling at the three brothers. “I don’t intend to let that money get away from me because you have some score to settle.”

“All right, we’ll do it your way. If you want us to wait, we’ll wait,” Angus said. “As long as you know we intend to kill him.”

“You can kill him,” Plummer said easily. “It doesn’t make any difference to me. All I’m interested in is the money.”