Really and truly, two thirds of the talk of drivers and conductors had been about this man Slade, ever since the day before we reached Julesburg.  In order that the eastern reader may have a clear conception of what a Rocky Mountain desperado is, in his highest state of development, I will reduce all this mass of overland gossip to one straightforward narrative, and present it in the following shape: 

Slade was born in Illinois, of good parentage.  At about twenty-six years of age he killed a man in a quarrel and fled the country.  At St. Joseph, Missouri, he joined one of the early California-bound emigrant trains, and was given the post of train-master.  One day on the plains he had an angry dispute with one of his wagon-drivers, and both drew their revolvers.  But the driver was the quicker artist, and had his weapon cocked first.  So Slade said it was a pity to waste life on so small a matter, and proposed that the pistols be thrown on the ground and the quarrel settled by a fist-fight.  The unsuspecting driver agreed, and threw down his pistol—­whereupon Slade laughed at his simplicity, and shot him dead!

He made his escape, and lived a wild life for awhile, dividing his time between fighting Indians and avoiding an Illinois sheriff, who had been sent to arrest him for his first murder.  It is said that in one Indian battle he killed three savages with his own hand, and afterward cut their ears off and sent them, with his compliments, to the chief of the tribe.

Slade soon gained a name for fearless resolution, and this was sufficient merit to procure for him the important post of overland division-agent at Julesburg, in place of Mr. Jules, removed.  For some time previously, the company’s horses had been frequently stolen, and the coaches delayed, by gangs of outlaws, who were wont to laugh at the idea of any man’s having the temerity to resent such outrages.  Slade resented them promptly.

The outlaws soon found that the new agent was a man who did not fear anything that breathed the breath of life.  He made short work of all offenders.  The result was that delays ceased, the company’s property was let alone, and no matter what happened or who suffered, Slade’s coaches went through, every time!  True, in order to bring about this wholesome change, Slade had to kill several men—­some say three, others say four, and others six—­but the world was the richer for their loss.  The first prominent difficulty he had was with the ex-agent Jules, who bore the reputation of being a reckless and desperate man himself.  Jules hated Slade for supplanting him, and a good fair occasion for a fight was all he was waiting for.  By and by Slade dared to employ a man whom Jules had once discharged.  Next, Slade seized a team of stage-horses which he accused Jules of having driven off and hidden somewhere for his own use.  War was declared, and for a day or two the two men walked warily about the streets, seeking each other, Jules armed with a double-barreled shot gun, and Slade with his history-creating revolver.  Finally, as Slade stepped into a store Jules poured the contents of his gun into him from behind the door.  Slade was plucky, and Jules got several bad pistol wounds in return.