ecially circumspect in the county where they lived.
He was a very smug sort of villain, in the trade strictly for revenue,
and he was so careful that he was never caught by the law, in spite of
the fact that it was known that his farm was the source of a flood of
spurious money. He was finally "regulated" by the citizens, who arose
and made him leave the country. This was one of the early applications
of lynch law in the West. Its results were, as usual, salutary. There
was no more counterfeiting in that region.

A very noted desperado of these early days was Harpe, or Big Harpe, as
he was called, to distinguish him from his brother and associate,
Little Harpe. Big Harpe made a wide region of the Ohio valley dangerous
to travelers. The events connected with his vicious life are thus given
by that always interesting old-time chronicler, Henry Howe:

"In the fall of the year 1801 or 1802, a company consisting of two
men and three women arrived in Lincoln county, Ky., and encamped
about a mile from the present town of Stanford. The appearance of
the individuals composing this party was wild and rude in the
extreme. The one who seemed to be the leader of the band was above
the ordinary stature of men. His frame was bony and muscular, his
breast broad, his limbs gigantic. His clothing was uncouth and
shabby, his exterior weather-beaten and dirty, indicating continual
exposure to the elements, and designating him as one who dwelt far
from the habitations of men, and mingled not in the courtesies of
civilized life. His countenance was bold and ferocious, and
exceedingly repulsive, from its strongly marked expression of
villainy. His face, which was larger than ordinary, exhibited the
lines of ungovernable passion, and the complexion announced that
the ordinary feelings of the human breast were in him
extinguished. Instead of the healthy hue which indicates the social
emotions, there was a livid, unnatural redness, resembling that of
a dried and lifeless skin. His eye was fearless and steady, but it
was also artful and audacious, glaring upon the beholder with an
unpleasant fixedness and brilliancy, like that of a ravenous animal
gloating on its prey. He wore no covering on his head, and the
natural protection of thick, coarse hair, of a fiery redness,
uncombed and matted, gave evidence of long exposure to the rude