Daily Yellowstone journal. [volume] (Miles City, Mont.) 1882-1893, 1889-05-04
THE DECAY OF THE TERROR.
The Petuiant Pop Of the Bad Mans Gun
Punctuates Western Peace No More.

Mexico, and is encountered in the cat
tie country at rare intervals, but his
occupation is gone. Themarch of civil
ization has been too much for him. The
once numerous and thrifty class have
been thinned down until only laugh
ing stock is left | was in Cheyenne
when Speckled Tom, Big Pete or
Wild Charley used to come dancing
into bar room with 'gun" in either
hand and sing out:
'Now, then, hands upr
Every hand went up.
"Mebbe tharIs some catamounI we're
thinks he can take the twist out of my
coat tailsp
If there was he didn't come to the
front.
Hands down"
Every hand droppeo.
'Tm taking up a collection fur the
benefit of Bill Jacksop's widder, and
anybody who feels like contributing
will be afforded an opportunity"
We all felt like it. Indeed, every
man was anxious TO part with a dollar
or two. / saw four Terrors killed in
that town, each one dying with his
boots on, and was giving one of them
drink of water when he shivered,
took long breath, and died as he
said:
II was a-trying TO git up to ten, and
hev stopped short at seven. / could
tally eight on you, but I've lost my
popper"
/ followed the Terror TO Laramie,
and many an evening as sat in the
Office Of the hotel he entered, with cat
like tread, and opened a sudden fusil-
lade on lamps, keyboard, ceiling and
doors, observing at the finis:
"'Scuse me, gentlemen, but it's Just
my way. If any of you don't happen
to like my way, please mention itp
We always made haste to assure
him that his way was Al, full jeweled
and extremely pleasant and that we
should feel honored if he drank at our
expense. One night boy from Ne.
braska, who was strange to our ways,
and who had his ear barked by bul.
let, hauled out and plugged the Terror
plumb center He expressed his sor
row when too late. ! had my coat
under the Terror's head when the death
rattle came to his throat, and he whis-
pered:
'It's mighty queer isn't it2 I allus
hated you fur them red whiskers, and
! had dropped in tonight to fll you
full of lead.
! followed the Terror up the Guni-
son valley. lie was getting attenuated
and losing his sand. When he had a
street row he sheltered himself behind
post, and when he ''let go" in a sa-
loon there was a suspicious uncer-
tainty in his tones as he clicked his
guns and said:
'Tm just awaiting fur some kyote
to move an eyelash or stir his tonguep
We not only moved, but we even
ventured to offer him advice, and by
and by the day came when turned q
corner to find him dying at my feet
] was loosening his neck band as he
opened his eyes and said:
"Downed by burned bullwhacker,
who didn't know which end of his
pistol went OFF,
/ met the Terror for the last time q,
Custer City. ! was sitting in saloor
when the door was kicked open witt
great crash, and he appeared with {
revolver in either hand. He had lonl
hair, big hat and a buckskin suit
He hungered for gore-not the sor
adulterated with cottonseed oil an,
warranted No. /, but the red bloc,
fresh from the human system an,
served up in puddles on the newl,
mopped floor. He whooped. III
yelled. He cracked his heels together
He snapped his right hand gun, but j
was cheap cartridge. He snappe'
the other, but there was only dul
click. Then small man with bal,
head and bow legs and consumptiv
look came out from behind curtail
and knocked him down, and flung hi
guns into the street and whistled for {
policeman. Next morning / was il
court when the Terror pleaded guilty
and added:
"Your honor, made fool of my
self. II you'll let me off I'll go back
TO pushing a wheelbaTow at ten shil'
lihgs day."
Poor Terrori / lament bis down
fall.-New York Sun.