The Barstow Lynching

X

"This is my story, sir; a trifle, indeed, I assure you.
Much more, perchance, might be said--
but I hold him of all men most lightly
Who swerves from the truth in his tale. No, thank you
Well, since you are pressing,
Perhaps I don't care if I do: you may give me the same,
Jim--no sugar."

--Bret Harte.

Contests of every sort were the order of the day in '49. Any ferocious
encounter which would promulgate betting was countenanced, and even
encouraged. There were dog fights, bull fights, bobcat or mountain lynx
fights, and fights between game chickens.

The tale is even told of cootie fights during long, rainy winter
evenings which must be spent indoors. The harborers of the contestants
simply reached under their shirts, drew forth a doughty grey-backed
warrior, placed him on a child's slate which was used as an arena, and
the fight was on.

A camp named Lousy Level is said to have made a specialty of this sort
of battle. Thousands of dollars were sometimes bet upon the outcome.
Arguments arising from various combats often developed into robbing,
murdering and lynching. This, then, is the tale of a certain lynching.

* * * * *

"Step up, gents. Only a dollar to see the big fight. One little dollar
to view the greatest contest of the age. See the champion fighting
jackass of the state vanquish the biggest grizzly in the Sierra
mountains.

"The unconquerable battling jackass who has whipped two bulls down at
Sonora, and caused a mountain lion to turn tail. Step up, gents. Only
a dollar to get inside the ropes," and Webfoot Watson waved a well-kept
hand toward the arena. It was a pine-staked palisade, bound around the
top with rawhide thongs. At one end, the "champion donk" was tethered,
and at the other the "fiercest grizzly" was confined in a stout cage of
solid planks.

"Step in, gents! There are logs and stumps to stand on. The show will
begin immediately. We are now loosing the lion-eating jack. He--"

"Hey!" roared Swipe-eye Weller, pointing to the laden trees outside the
enclosure, "ef you think I'm agoin' to pay a dollar for this here show
jest because I ain't no tree-climbin' animal, you're pickin' out the
wrong customer. They coughs up a screamer apiece, or this act don't
begin actin'. That's final!"

Nothing loath, Webfoot claimed the penalty from the crowd perched in the
trees, in some instances not without the a