by one gentleman to another for a favor, hoping that some conference with Sharon looking to the betterment of mining matters in Nevada might arise from it, I felt strongly inclined to overlook what possibly was simply an oversight in courtesy.  But as then it had only been two days since I had been bruised and beaten under a hasty and false apprehension of facts, my caution was somewhat aroused.  Moreover I remembered sensitively his contemptuousness of manner to me at my last interview in his office.  I therefore felt it needful, if I went at all, to go accompanied by a friend whom he would not dare to treat with incivility, and whose presence with me might secure exemption from insult.  Accordingly I asked a neighbor to accompany me.

The trap almost detected. Although I was not then aware of this fact, it would seem that previous to my request this same neighbor had heard Dr. Zabriskie state publicly in a saloon, that Mr. Winters had told him he had decided either to kill or to horsewhip me, but had not finally decided on which.  My neighbor, therefore, felt unwilling to go down with me until he had first called on Mr. Winters alone.  He therefore paid him a visit.  From that interview he assured me that he gathered the impression that he did not believe I would have any difficulty with Mr. Winters, and that he (Winters) would call on me at four o’clock in my own office.

My own precautions.  As Sheriff Cummings was in Gold Hill that afternoon, and as I desired to converse with him about the previous assault, I invited him to my office, and he came.  Although a half hour had passed beyond four o’clock, Mr. Winters had not called, and we both of us began preparing to go home.  Just then, Philip Lynch, Publisher of the Gold Hill News, came in and said, blandly and cheerily, as if bringing good news: 

“Hello, John B. Winters wants to see you.”

I replied, “Indeed!  Why he sent me word that he would call on me here this afternoon at four o’clock!”

“O, well, it don’t do to be too ceremonious just now, he’s in my office, and that will do as well—­come on in, Winters wants to consult with you alone.  He’s got something to say to you.”

Though slightly uneasy at this change of programme, yet believing that in an editor’s house I ought to be safe, and anyhow that I would be within hail of the street, I hurriedly, and but partially whispered my dim apprehensions to Mr. Cummings, and asked him if he would not keep near enough to hear my voice in case I should call.  He consented to do so while waiting for some other parties, and to come in if he heard my voice or thought I had need of protection.

On reaching the editorial part of the News office, which viewed from the street is dark, I did not see Mr. Winters, and again my misgivings arose.  Had I paused long enough to consider the case, I should have invited Sheriff Cummings in, but as Lynch went down stairs, he said:  “This way, Wiegand—­it’s best to be private,” or some such remark.