The Middlebury register and Addison County journal. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1883-1885, 1883-04-27
JUDGE LYNCH'S HANDS.
|rR oNTIER LYNcHING SCENE WV
IDLY DESCRIBED.

~ h&
vigilantes' Warning.
Did you ever see a lynching? A
nuine Joaquin Miller sensation,
ripped of its unreal mountains, i'm
kssible trees and unimaginable rocks,
d done out in the bare browns and
DIS of a sullen spring morning in the
Irren, desolate gorges of the Rockies?
list follow the crowd as it gathers at
@ p~ostoffice, and at last, in silence
Id seriousness, moves slowly over
e hill to the Jail. Everybody knows
here is death in the air.
The "solid citizens" stand at the
Dors of their respective saloons and
be the "mob" go by, a mob in which
Re their Sons and brothers. A
runken justice of the peace, old
bauire O'Mara, who tried to kill him
blf last week, braces blearily up in a
Doorway, and calmly, ever smilingly,
egards the men who are about to
ike the law into their w hands.
hey mount the hill and surround the
alisades which fence in the pen
yhere three murderers and many
hieves and "bums" are confined.
One corner of the Jail is honored by
double row of slabs along its sides,
nd around this corner cluster.mo5t of
he men, according TO their preconcerted
Ian, whil9 the ringleaders go around
0 the wicket to interview Jailer Fish.
they know the answer they will get,
or Jim Fish is true as steel, and tells
hem they'll get his prisoners after
hau'rn roftpn fha hart of him and
[ot before. It's a dangerous game,
nut the %vigilantes play to win at all
hazards. Convinced Of the frmness of
Fish's purpose, they leave him, gather
bnce more around "Murderer's Corner"
md in a moment the cracking of tiny,
Keeping flames is heard, heavy smoke
titles the wretched prisoners, and their
tries and shouts form a terrible accom-
)animent for tn short, sharp blows of
lefty welded axe cutting into Jim
Murphy's cell.
In ten minutes he is out writhing,
terror-stricken in the grasp of a half
dozen men, some Of whom, possibly,
asked him only last week for a Job"
The jailer is forced to busy himself in
releasing his other prisoners, and has
mo time to check the mob even if he
could. But can this wretched, dwarfel,
carrot-haired sandy-bearded and alto
gether Misunderstanding ruflian be the
dapper, black-browed gambler, whose
broalcloth was wont to be no blacker
and smoother than his own locks? The
transformation has indeed come, and
the king of Secret Gulch stands re-
vealed as the tramp who killed the
Frenchman on Cut-Throat Flat.
How curiously the boys stare at him
as they hurry him along to the old
shaft on the hill where once stood the
windlass and hoist of the Mory mine,
out of which Jim Murphy swindled the
widow of it's discoverer. The splendid
new works yonder cannot help their
miserable owner now, for it is at the
mouth of the deserted shaft that he
meets his fate. The windlass chain
still holds the bucket over the sullen
water forty feet below, and a 200
pound weight is easily and quickly
slipped into the bucket without
Murphy's seeing it.
"IIave you got anything to say be-
fore you dep says Big Bill, and for a
moment all is silence. Tie murderer
coat, hat and boots have been stripped
from him for the first time since he
went to prison, three weeks ago. His
small, greenish eyes look eagerly about
for a chance to escape, but two six
shooters stare him il the face. He
vents a volley of oaths and impreca-
tions, but begs no mercy, makes no
denial. "Jim Murphy, alias California
Reddy," says Big Bill, "the vigilantes
of Secret Gulch condemn you to in
slant death. You know why, and it's
no use to take up time telling you"
Half a dozen hands bind the still
struggling wretch to the bucket, in
which he is forcibly seated. Years
ago he went down this shaft at night,
secretly. when it belonged to John
Rowand's widow, to see what it had at
the bottom; and the next day he
bought its riches from the widow for a
song. Now he is to go down it again,
in broad daylight, but never to come
back.
The chain is wound up, and
now, over the yawning shaft and its
Dldth DOJIOIl VI NdtCl, Mango tilC
wretch, between earth and heaven, an
object to gods and men. AT a signal
the handles of the windlass are re-
leased from the hands that hold them,
and, with the rapidity of lightning,
the bucket, with its shrieking human
freight, shoots downward to the very
bottom, striking the water with a loud
splash, but never staying its headlong
course until the very bedrock below is
reached.
After ten minutes the dripping, dis
torted, Shiny body is hoisted to the sur
face and the remainder of the vigil
lantes' sentence carried out. The re
mains of the gambler king of Secret
Gulch, at this writing, hang from the
big telegraph pole in the Placer mines
Nobody is Xix .ly to cut it down soon
for on its breast is pinned a notice
which reads as follows:
ITO ali the thugs, thieves, cut.
Threats, horse-thieveS and disreputable
loafers of Secret Gulch: You are here