Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 January 1876 — How Tiger Jim Escaped. [ARTICLE]

How Tiger Jim Escaped.

Old Job Dawson had been duly elected to till the responsible position ot a Justice of the Peace, and this was the first case which had demanded his attention. Job was an old veteran mountaineer, and had lived in the shadow of the lofty peaks, hunting, trapping and fighting Indians, to use his own words, “ sense Adam war a kid.” In that rough region an accusation of a great crime against anyone is but a forerunner ot a ‘‘hanging bee,” and a trial even is seldom thought of. But in the present instance a wild “cuss,” who had been frequenting the settlements, had appropriated a ‘‘broncho” ilndian pony) belonging to a neighboring ranchman, and had been pursued, captured and brought back. Old Job was summoned to try the culprit, and -a spot in a rocky gulch near the ’Squire's cabin was selected as the site for the investigation. A motley crowd of hunters, trappers, miners and rancheros had assembled. Some were lying upon the ground and others sitting upon the rocks, all anxiously awaiting the ’Squire's coming. Job soon came from toward his cabin, and with a dignified air seated himself upon a boulder, took off his bear-skin cap, and said: “ Fellers, the Court ar’ readyto git down to biz; an’l want ye all to' cheese yer racket an’ let up on that chin-music according to law. Throw yer ha’r in sight and pay ’tention to the Court.” Every hat came off at his command, and ‘‘His Honor,” glancing around the circle, said: “ Whar is the thiev’n cuss’” Three mountaineers, armed with Henry rifles and six-shooters, stepped forward With the thief, a young man wearing a bold,' devil-may-care expression. His hands were securely fastened behind his back with buckskin thongs. Clad in buckskin from head to foot, he presented a picturesque appearance as he faced the •Squire. “W’atdo they call you when yer at hornet” asked the Court, “Ain’t got enny home, leastways in these parts,” sullenlv replied the prisoner. “Ain’t, hey’ Well, wat’s the name you tuk w’en you left the States, then “The boys hyer on the hills call me Tiger Jim.” “Wall, Tige, yer spotted as a boss thief, an’ I reckon thar’s sumthin’ in it or the boys wudn't a brought you in. You can’t expect a toney trial like you’d git down to’ Laramie or' in eny o’ them towns along the road. We hevn’t eny paper, pens or ink, or eny o’ that sort o' foolishness up hyer in the hills, an’ thar ain’t one o’ us as could engineer ’em es we had, so we’ll jist grind her through,an' do the best we kin for you. In the name o’ the law I now ax you did you collar thet boss—but stop ’er rite thar; doggone it. I forgot to swar you. Cum mitey near forgittin it. Hold up yer right han'!” “Holdup nuthin’. How kin I when they’r tied titer’a blazes?” ‘‘That’s so. Ter k’rect, Tiger, but gess eny member o’ the bodv ’ll, be cordin’ to law in ’xtreme cases. Stedey him a little, fellers, ao’s he kin hold up his right foot.” “Tige” raised his moccasin-covered foot while a guard on each aide held him in position. “Now, then, I ain’t fly on them ’ar lawyers’ affydavys, but I’ll make her stout enuff to hold a Mexican mule.

Tiger Jim, do you swar by the holy Moses, accordin’ to the- laws of Wyoming Territory, that every time ye chip into my racket ye’ll give uathe squar’ truth ? An’ et you don’t do you hope that ye may git chawed up by a grizzly, chopped to pieces bj’ Sioux, strung up to a pine with a rope ’roun’ yer thiev’n’ neck an’ fail to connect on heaven we’en yer lite goes out, to the best o’yer understand in* as provided by law,s’helpyer God, eh?” “ That’s jist w at I does, pardy.” “ Now, Tiger, yer under oath, an’ ev’ry time yer speak yer want ter hit the bull’seye. Did you nip thet hoss?” “ Wall, Uncle Job, there's nd use o’ lyin’ about it, an’ I’ll tell you jist how it war. Laa’ night, you know, that war a jamboree over to Al Wilkins’ ranch in Miller’s Gulch, ah’ I war that. Al had been in to Laramie City an’ got a keg o’ good old budge, an’ we all got purty full. Arter the dancin’ war over I pulled out fur Bowles’ ranch, whar I’m bangin’ out, an’ as I was staggerin’ down round Mountain Cat Hill 1 runs right onto the broncho that war picketed out grass, an’ I war jist drunk enough to mount him an’ lite out. I know I'm going to swing for it, an I’ll die game, too. 1 gin’t woth a cuss anyway. an’ es it wasn’t fur my good old mother back in thd States (here the tears began to roll down his bronzed cheeks), who never closes her eyes ’thout prayin’ for God to semi me back tb her, I’d laugh at death, an’ help yer to fix the rope; but when 1 think o’ that darling old soul 1 get weaker ’n a wounded antelope. I tell ye, fellers, I’ve bin a tuff cuss eversence 1 struck out for these meunt'ins, and I s’pose the world’ll be better ’thout me in it. My old mother’ll suffer, I kaow that, I for I'm her only k'idfan’ hev sent her every ounce of dust- that I could spare, an’ it's all she's lied, to live on. She's bin a good un to me, God bless-her, an I’m ' sorry I hevn’t lived so’s 1 can camp with ' her up thar (raising his tearful eyes ' toward heaven), and, boys, won’t some I o' ye write to her —Tom Kirk that knows wliar she lives—an’ tell her I got let out by an Injun; or pegged out nat’rally? For God’s sake, don’t let her know I war strangled. The news’ud kill her;- But then I'll cheese this jab or .you’ll think I’m weakening, an’ the man don’t live as can sheer Tiger Jim. Elevate me, boys, just as quick as you please. I’m ready when jou are.”

During this recital Jim’s eyes were filled with tears, and a close observer would have detected silent weeping on all sides. That magic word “ mother” had awakened tender recollections in the of every one of those hardy mountaineers. Men who could face death in any shape without a particle of feeling did not try to hide their tears at the mention of that sacred name, mother! How sweet it sounded in their ears. It carried them back to the happy days in the past when they were blessed with toe love of parents, -before the insatiable tjiirst for gold had led Jhem. into these mountain wilds. Not a ivord was spoken for a few seconds, and then old Job drew his horny hand across his watery eyes and said, in a husky voice: “ Tige, ye w’undn’t break an oath, wm’d ye?” “No. Job Dawson, not for friend or foe. Thar ain’t a boy in the' hills as can say thet Jim ever went back on even his given word. I'm a rough ’un, an’ do sum mitey wicked things, but when I say a tiling ye can gamble every dollar you’ve got on it’s bein' straight.” “ Wall, Tige, we had intended to swing ye, an’ ye deserve swinging, but I can’t git rid o’ that 1 mother’ chinnin’ ye give us. I ’spect toe old lady’s set her heart on seein’ ye agin, an’ is wearing her old eyes oiit a lookin’ for ye. I’ve got an old mother myself, an’ too’ 1 hev’nt sot eyes on her sense ’49 her picter’s right hyar in my heart, an’ it’s a pleadin’ fur your old ’ooman, Tige. It's rough, Tige, ruff, an’ —lemme see—yes, darned es I don’t du it. Jack, cut them ar strings so’s he can git his han’s loose. Thar, thet’s it. Now, Tige, hold up yer right hand, and es ever ye swore strong do it now.. Do you swar by the great God an’ yer blessed old mother, that es this Court discharges ye ye'll light right out fur the States, an’ go hum to the old lady an’ luv her and comfort her as long as she stays out o’ heaven? Do ye swar to this, Tige, before Almighty God' an’ this court?”

“Ido, Job, an’ lhar’s my fist on it. Put 'er thar. I swar it an’ll pull stakes rite off.” “ Then ye're released on them terms, an’ the boys’ll help ye get your traps down to the station, but mind, I tell ye, Tige, el yer ever caught in the hills agin ye’ll go up a tree. Fellers, the court’s over, an’ the prisoner discharged.” And big Comanche Bill, who stood back in the crowd, drew his pistol, and said: “Amen! and any snoozer that says Job's law ain’t level has got to fight me right hyar.”— Detroit Free Press.