[I do not desire to strain the reader’s fancy, hurtfully, and yet it would be a favor to me if he would try to fancy this lamb in battle, or the duelling ground or at the head of a vigilance committee—­M.  T.:]

I followed, and without Mr. Cummings, and without arms, which I never do or will carry, unless as a soldier in war, or unless I should yet come to feel I must fight a duel, or to join and aid in the ranks of a necessary Vigilance Committee.  But by following I made a fatal mistake.  Following was entering a trap, and whatever animal suffers itself to be caught should expect the common fate of a caged rat, as I fear events to come will prove.

Traps commonly are not set for benevolence. [His body-guard is shut out:]

The trap inside.  I followed Lynch down stairs.  At their foot a door to the left opened into a small room.  From that room another door opened into yet another room, and once entered I found myself inveigled into what many will ever henceforth regard as a private subterranean Gold Hill den, admirably adapted in proper hands to the purposes of murder, raw or disguised, for from it, with both or even one door closed, when too late, I saw that I could not be heard by Sheriff Cummings, and from it, by violence and by force, I was prevented from making a peaceable exit, when I thought I saw the studious object of this “consultation” was no other than to compass my killing, in the presence of Philip Lynch as a witness, as soon as by insult a proverbially excitable man should be exasperated to the point of assailing Mr. Winters, so that Mr. Lynch, by his conscience and by his well known tenderness of heart toward the rich and potent would be compelled to testify that he saw Gen. John B. Winters kill Conrad Wiegand in “self-defence.”  But I am going too fast.

Our host. Mr. Lynch was present during the most of the time (say a little short of an hour), but three times he left the room.  His testimony, therefore, would be available only as to the bulk of what transpired.  On entering this carpeted den I was invited to a seat near one corner of the room.  Mr. Lynch took a seat near the window.  J. B. Winters sat (at first) near the door, and began his remarks essentially as follows: 

“I have come here to exact of you a retraction, in black and white, of those damnably false charges which you have preferred against me in that—–­infamous lying sheet of yours, and you must declare yourself their author, that you published them knowing them to be false, and that your motives were malicious.”

“Hold, Mr. Winters.  Your language is insulting and your demand an enormity.  I trust I was not invited here either to be insulted or coerced.  I supposed myself here by invitation of Mr. Lynch, at your request.”

“Nor did I come here to insult you.  I have already told you that I am here for a very different purpose.”