Rensselaer Republican, Volume 22, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 August 1890 — Montana Chivalry. [ARTICLE]

Montana Chivalry.

Now and then you will find a man who will bully and fight at the same time. Such a chap was ‘•Lop-shoul-dered Bill,” as we called him in Montana. He was ugly, quarrelsome, and a braggart, but he would have fought ten men as soon as one. For two years he had a revolver where he could drop his hand on to it in a second, and the half dozen chaps who were looking to* get the drop on him had to keep on waiting. One day, however, Bill’s shooter got out of repair and he gave it to a miner to be fixed. Instead of waiting for it he wandered down to a saloon where the hard ’uns congregated, and it wasn’t a quarter of an hour before he set out to pick a fuss with a new arrival. He just ached to kill somebody, and when he nettled the stranger into “talking back” he reached for his gun to pop him. His gun wasn’t there. When Bill realized it he turned as white as snow] thinking his time had come. The stranger had drawn on him, you see. and he carried a wicked look in his eyes. “Weil?” he asked as Bill raised his hands. “I haven’t any gun.” “I see. Leave it somewhere?” “Yes.” ‘ ‘Very careless in you. I’ve got the call.” “You hev.” * ‘You are a bad man, and I ought to don’t like this cold-blooded business. Holdup your right hand and spread out the fingers.” “Stranger, don’t do it.” ‘ ‘Either that or I’ll put six bullets into your heart! Spread ?” Bill held up his right hand, and three reports followed each other like the ticking of a clock. Each finger was shot off at the first joint. “That’ll do,” said the man as he lowered his weapon. “You can’t pull trigger with nothing on that hand, and before you can learn to shoot lefthanded some one will bury you.” He went out and away, and Bill sent for a doctor and sat there and cried like a boy. Next day he left without a word to any of us, and we always believed he jumped off Horse Cliff into the creek, which was then on a flood.

A good deal of interest is felt *in the personality of a young woman of perhaps 25, who has of late been driving a great variety of thoroughbred horses through the streets of New York. Her attire always consists of a small dark straw hat and a long green driving coat, which buttons all the way down to her boots. She wears tan-colored gloves, and her hair is drawn back severely from her face. She is thoroughly good form and exceedingly modest in manner. People stop and look after her wherever she goes, but it is always in admiration of her superb driving. She usually drivee either a spider phaeton or a beautifully built French mail cart. Her horses are nearly all of a size, and they are beautiful animals, with plenty of knee action and fire. She drives under the elevated railways and through the Crowds of vehicles on Fifth-ave, and Broadway at pace, with her hands down and without a trace of anxietj or interest on her face. She manages the fiery animals in a most complete manner, and she looks neither to the right nor left when she goes along t through fare, though she must know that thousands of men are staring at her with all the external sigqs of extreme admiration.