THE SHERIFF 



Many were the romantic characters in that cast of unapplauded 

 pioneers and adventurers who culminated the last act of their 

 Odyessy in the great original epic scene of their drama "The 

 Winning of the West." Their stage was the prairie; the wings — 

 the rivers; the foothills and mountains, the scenery; the drapes 

 — the sun, sky and stars; the red-flickering campfires their foot- 

 lights. 



But of that cast none played a more prominent part, none 

 could be less spared than the sheriff. The old time sheriff with 

 his deputies, not only symbolized the law, but generally was the 

 law — the only legal protection the law abiding had against the 

 lawless. He was often the court, police department, judge, jury, 

 jailer and executioner all rolled into one. It was a dangerous 

 roll compared to that of the average sheriff of today. 



In some instances, as at Virginia City, Montana, in the heyday 

 of the gold rush, the bad element predominated and elected one 

 of their own ilk as sheriff, as was the case of Plummer whom 

 Langford mentions in ''Vigilante Days and Ways/' My friend 

 Pat Sheehan, who was a "nestler" in the Gallatin Valley and 

 whose yellow fishing rod I once spied among the quaking asps 

 along the Taylor on my way back from a "drive" can bear testi- 

 mony to that. 



I dismounted and clumped along beside him leading old Glass 

 Eye. As we walked toward his cabin where he had staked out a 

 claim, he told me he had struck it rich in the Vigilante Days and 

 late one afternoon set out toward Virginia City but was waylaid 

 by two stickup men not far from the town. But he sent one of 

 the pair on by the "short cut," the other took one of his own, 

 so Pat kept his gold. Naturally he told his story to the next man 

 he met just out from the town as he chanced to be the sheriff. 



"Well!" said Pat, "fortunately a frind o' mine happened along 

 and after he'd poured o' drink of wather on me face and a drink 

 o' red eye down me mouth I came around alright." 

 "What happened," I queried. 



"Give me yer hand." Shifting his rod he seized my free hand 

 and shoved it into his grizzly white hair hard against his skull. 

 My thumb sunk half way into a deep depression made by the 

 blow of a pistol butt. 

 "Do yer fale that?" 

 "Sure," said I, "how did that happen." 

 "Plummer did it." 



Even in these early days we see political power germinating 

 in the hands of the gangster and the gang, justice aborted and its 

 sacred dispensation held in the hands of the grafter and his 

 henchmen. 



It was such conditions which led the better element to organize 

 their vigilantes or citizens protective committees during those 

 formative days and which brought the office of sheriff as one of 

 the most honored a community could bestow and its duties among 

 the most dangerous and arduous. 



The demand for the work of the old-time western sheriff has 

 almost disappeared, likewise that noble, picturesque, courageous 

 type of citizen of whom Til Taylor, Sheriff of Umatilla County, 

 was an outstanding example. 



