Holman. About this time one of the Helms boys began to quarrel with
Holman and grew terribly mad, swearing all kinds of vengeance, and
making the canon ring with the loudest kind of Missouri oaths. Finally
he picked up a rock to kill Holman, but the latter was quick with his
pistol, a single shot duelling piece, and as they were not more than ten
feet apart Helms would have had a hole in him large enough for daylight
to shine through if the pistol had not missed fire. We stopped the
quarrel and made known our decision, whereupon Helms went off muttering
vengeance.
We now went back to our work again at our claims, mine being between
Helms' cabin and the saloon. Holman stopped to talk a little while on my
claim, while I was down below at work, and soon Helms came back again in
a terrible rage, stopping on the opposite side of the hole from Holman,
swearing long and loud, and flourishing a big pistol with which he
threatened to blow Holman into purgatory. He was so much enraged that he
fairly frothed at the mouth like a rabid dog. The men were about twenty
feet apart, and I at the bottom of the hole ten feet below, but exactly
between them. It seemed to me that I was in some little danger for Helms
had his big pistol at full cock, and as it pointed at me quite as often
as it did at anybody, I expect I dodged around a little to keep out of
range. Helms was terribly nervous, and trembled as he cursed, but Holman
was cool and drew his weapon deliberately, daring Helms to raise his
hand or he would kill him on the instant.
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