Twice only in the history of California were women made the victims of mob violence, once at Los Angeles and once at Downieville.  The affair at the last-named place occurred in 1851, and the victim was a pretty little Spanish woman named Juanita.  She and her husband, like many another couple at that time, kept a monte game for the delectation of the miners who had more money than sense, but beyond this fact absolutely nothing was said against her character.

There was an English miner named Cannon living in town, who was very popular among a large number of gamblers and others.  He got drunk one night and about midnight went to the house occupied by the Spanish woman and her husband and kicked the door down.  Early the following morning he told his comrades that he was going to apologize to the woman for what he had done.  He went alone to the house, and, while talking with the husband and wife, the woman suddenly drew a knife and stabbed Cannon to the heart.  What had been said that provoked the deed was never known, further than that Juanita claimed she had been grossly insulted.

She was given a mock trial, but the facts of the case were not brought out, as the men who were with Cannon were too drunk to remember what had happened the previous night.  It was a foregone conclusion that the poor woman was to be hanged, and the leaders of the mob would brook no interference.  A physician examined Juanita and announced to the mob that she was in a condition that demanded the highest sympathy of every man, but he was forced to flee from town to save his life.  A prominent citizen made an appeal for mercy, but he was driven down the main street and across the river by a mob with drawn revolvers, and with threats of instant death.  The well-known John B. Weller was in town at the time, and was asked to reason with the mob, but refused to do so.

The execution was promptly carried out.  A plank was put across the supports of the bridge over the Yuba, and a rope fastened to a beam overhead.  Juanita went calmly to her death.  She wore a Panama hat, and after mounting the platform she removed it, tossed it to a friend in the crowd, whose nickname was “Oregon,” with the remark, “Adios amigo.”  Then she adjusted the noose to her own neck, raising her long, loose tresses carefully in order to fix the rope firmly in its place, and then, with a smile and wave of her hand to the bloodthirsty crowd present, she stepped calmly from the plank into eternity.  Singular enough, her body rests side by side, in the cemetery on the hill, with that of the man whose life she had taken.