was still in full possession of my belligerent powers, and I had the feeling of justice to sustain me.
I stood at bay, with my huge bowie-knife drawn, momentarily hesitating whether to give the Crow war-whoop or not, when Sheriff Buzby laid hands on me, and requested me to be quiet. Although boiling with rage, I respected the officer's presence, and the assassins marched off to the body of the theatre. I followed them to the door, and defied them to descend to the street with me; but the sheriff becoming angry, and threatening me with the calaboose, I straightway left the theatre.
I stood upon the steps, and a friend coming up, I borrowed a well-loaded pistol of him, and moved slowly away, thinking that five men would surely never allow themselves to be cowed by one man. Shortly after, I perceived the whole party approaching, and, stepping back on the side-walk in front of a high wall, I waited their coming up. On they came, swaggering along, assuming the appearance of intoxication, and talking with drunken incoherency.
When they had approached near enough to suit me, I ordered them to halt, and cross over to the other side of the street.
"Who are you?" inquired one of them.
"I am he whom you are after, Jim Beckwourth; and if you advance one step farther, I will blow the tops of your heads off."
"You are drunk, ar'n't you?" said one of the party.
"No, I am not drunk," I replied; "I never drink anything to make a dog of me like yourselves."
I stood during this short colloquy in the middle of the sidewalk, with my pistol ready cocked in one hand and my huge bowie-knife in the other; one step forward would have been fatal to any one of them.
"Oh, he's drunk," said one; "let's cross over to the other side." And all five actually did pass over, which, if any of them is still living and has any regard for truth, he must admit to this day.
I then proceeded home. My sister had been informed of the rencounter, and on my return home I found her frightened
