Creek against advice, was never seen or heard of again. Four other
miners of the camp, known to carry considerable gold, were robbed
and killed at night on their way to their cabins. And another was
found dead in his bed. Robbers had crept to his tent, slashed the
canvas, murdered him while he slept, and made off with his belt of
gold.

An evil day of blood had fallen upon Alder Creek. There were
terrible and implacable men in the midst of the miners, by day at
honest toil, learning who had gold, and murdering by night. The camp
had never been united, but this dread fact disrupted any possible
unity. Every man, or every little group of men, distrusted the
other, watched and spied and lay awake at night. But the robberies
continued, one every few days, and each one left no trace. For dead
men could not talk.

Thus was ushered in at Alder Creek a regime of wildness that had no
parallel in the earlier days of '49 and '51. Men frenzied by the
possession of gold or greed for it responded to the wildness of that
time and took their cue from this deadly and mysterious Border
Legion. The gold-lust created its own blood-lust. Daily the
population of Alder Creek grew in the new gold-seekers and its dark
records kept pace. With distrust came suspicion and with suspicion
came fear, and with fear came hate--and these, in already distorted
minds, inflamed a hell. So that the most primitive passions of
mankind found outlet and held sway. The operations of the Border
Legion were lost in deeds done in the gambling dens, in the saloons,
and on the street, in broad day. Men fought for no other reason than
that the incentive was in the charged air. Men were shot at gaming-
tables--and the game went on. Men were killed in the dance-halls,