The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1880-10-01
The ARCH-DUELIST,
Old Jack Smith, of Missouri.


1t was beautiful morning in May,
nearly fifty years ago, when unmistaka-
BILE doings in the "chief diggings" of
Missouri proclaimed one of those stormy
holidays then so common among the
miners, and coming always on the Chris
tan Sabbath.
Withholding bands of men were seen
hurrying from all directions toward
central point, shouting as they went,
whether on foot or horseback, whether
brandishing naked knives, or dueling
pistols, or deadly rifles.
"Huzza for Lebaum's old diggings
Let's have a greasy day of ia real
soul-smelter !"
Before 10 o'clock the multitude at the
appointed rendezvous amounted to more
than 1000, when huge Ajax from cold
Kaintuck," ascending a huge block of
ore, cried out, in voice OF hoarse thun-
der ct, Big Pete Milestone, what folks
calls Bloody Pete for short, move
that this ere meetin' comes to order
straight, to fix up a rule for the days
sport and / moves furthermore that we
expense with our arms, and do all the
dye say to it, boys ?"
"Good as galena 1t will be glori-
bunctious sport-Oh, won't it, though 2"
yelled the crowd, drunk with the new
idea, as Emerson would word it.
"Then ground all of your steel and
fire-weepons, exclaimed the giant
and for sure, so you can't any of we sly
them out on tight pinch, let Devil Bill
Davis guard 'em with his double barrels.
Right !" screamed the throng, re-
joiced UNNECESSARILY at the prospect of
spree with the unusual guarantee of
safety to their brains and bowels, and
stacking away their murderous nipple
ments in one colossal pile under a tree,
where Devil Bill Davis took his station,
swearing that he would blow to an I'M
mentionable place "the first Teller that
even looked hungry arter the guns "
None but the pencil of an artist from
pandemonium could sketch picture of
the scene which followed. Although
the present writer saw it all, and it was
my opening vision in Missouri, l would
as soon attempt to linn the likeness of
chaos. Let the reader imagine to him
self 1000 drunken rowdies, vagabonds
and refugees from every corner of the
world, i'll the ma,idest state of intoxica-
ton, suddenly cut loose from all re-
straint and turned out on n plain to en-
gage III mutual combat, and he will have
a dim conception of the spectacle.
But what seemed TO me the strangest
fact OF the case, the belligerents for the
most part appeared to de doing battle in
fun, though blood flowed III earnest.
and so abundantly as TO sicxen my very
soul. They howled, wrestled, struggled
in the dust, tore each others clothes till
hundreds were stark naked, struck,
kicked aud gouged and yet, strange to
say, not one manifested the slightest
sign of anger. 1t was a sort of grand
jubilee of physical force--the saturnalia
of sonliess animal instinct.
While the perilous sport was going on,
and waxing every moment wilder, par
ty arrived on the ground that instantly
arrested my attention. This was small
man, with small, bony face the color
of half-tanned leather, eyes small, black
and glittering, like red stars, with hands
and feet actually as little as those of
10-year-old boy, and countenance cold
and eXpressionless as that OF corpse.
He held on his shoulder an enormous
rifle (; two long dueling- pistols depended
from each side of his beaded belt, and
silvcr-hilted knife was tied to the but
ton-hole of his left suspender. He was
followed by six huge negroes, armed
very much after the same fashion.
The sea of tumultuous gladiators
swept round the stranger, and many
scowled on him ferociously, but L OBJ
served that none ventured to offer him
the least personal violence, or even in
suit /; nor did the presence of the At
ricans call forth single murmur.
"Who is that ?" inquired of the
friend had accompanied to the mines.
"That is old Jack Smith IT,, was the
careless answer.
At the sound of that dreadful name
j must have turned excessively pale,
for 1 felt my very knees shake beneath
me.
"What |" asked in whisper, lis
that the renowned duelist who has slain
ten men in separate affairs of honor 2"
"Only nine," replied my companion,
and Immediately added, as If just then
noticing my emotion, "you have heard
of him before ?"
"Who, of any State west of the Ale
phanies, has not heard of old Jack Smith
Z. ?" / answered, shuddering at the bare
memory of many bloody story connect
ed with the notorious name, many of