The next morning, accordingly, I took a carriage, and with my friend Judge Mott drove down to the appointed place.  After we had been there some time the first stage appeared and stopped.  Soon after the second stage appeared and stopped, and Judge Barbour and Mr. Fairfax got out.  But instead of proceeding to the designated place, Barbour declared that he was a judicial officer, and as such could not engage in a duel.  At the same time he would take occasion to say that he would protect himself, and, if assaulted, would kill the assailant.  With these words, leaving Fairfax standing where he was, he walked over to the first stage, and mounting rode on to Sacramento.  Seeing Fairfax standing alone on the ground I sent word to him that I would be happy to give him a place in my carriage—­an invitation which he accepted, and we then drove to Nicolaus, where we breakfasted, and thence returned to Marysville.[1]

The conduct of Barbour on the ground, after his fierce and savage terms at the outset, produced a great deal of merriment and derision; and some very sharp squibs appeared in the newspapers.  One of them gave him great annoyance, and he inquired for its author.  I told the editor of the paper in which it appeared that if it was necessary to protect the writer, to give my name, although I did not write it, or know beforehand that it was to be written.

On the following morning, whilst in front of my office gathering up kindling-wood for a fire, and having my arms full—­for each man was his own servant in those days—­Barbour came up and, placing a cocked navy revolver near my head, cried out, “Draw and defend yourself.”  As I had not observed his approach I was taken by surprise, but turning on him I said, “You infernal scoundrel, you cowardly assassin—­you come behind my back and put your revolver to my head and tell me to draw; you haven’t the courage to shoot; shoot and be damned.”  There were at least ten witnesses of this scene; and it was naturally supposed that having advanced so far he would go farther; but as soon as he found I was not frightened, he turned away and left me.  It is impossible to express the contempt I felt for him at that moment for his dastardly conduct, a feeling which the spectators shared with me, as they have since often stated.[2]

I do not give these details as having any importance in themselves; but they illustrate the semi-barbarous condition of things in those early days, and by comparison show out of what our existing condition has been evolved, and how far we have advanced.  I give them also for the reason that Barbour afterwards wrote a letter to Turner, which the latter published, referring to the affair, in which he boasted of having given me a “whipping.”  How far his boast was warranted the above facts show.

For a long time afterwards he expressed his bitterness towards me in every possible way.  He did not take Turner’s plan of expelling me from the bar; but he manifested his feelings by adverse rulings.  In such cases, however, I generally took an appeal to the Supreme Court, and in nearly all of them procured a reversal.  The result was that he suddenly changed his conduct and commenced ruling the other way.  While this was his policy, there was hardly any position I could take in which he did not rule in my favor.  At last I became alarmed lest I should lose my cases in the appellate court by winning them before him.