After dressing the wound, the doctor started with Plummer on the return to Bannack. While crossing the plateau between Rattlesnake and Bannack, Plummer suddenly wheeled in front of the doctor, and, cocking his pistol, thrust it into his face, saying,
“Now you know all. These are my men. I’m their chief. If you ever breathe a word of what you’ve seen, I’ll murder you.”
Under this kind of surveillance, the doctor lived until the robber band was destroyed. His discretion, only equalled by his kindness of heart, saved both his life from destruction by the robbers, and his good name from the public odium of the people. Montana has had no worthier or more useful citizen.
Henry Plummer was a man of wonderful executive ability. He was well educated. In stature he was about five feet ten inches, and in weight, one hundred and sixty pounds. His forehead was partially concealed by the rim of the hat which he rarely removed from his head, and his eyes were mild and expressive. In demeanor he was quiet and modest, free from swagger and bluster, dignified and graceful. He was intelligent and brilliant in conversation, a good judge of men, and his manners were those of a polished gentleman. To his enemies his magnanimity was more seeming than real. He always proffered them the advantage in drawing the pistol, but he knew that the instance would be very rare, where, even thus favored, his antagonist could anticipate him in its deadly use.
Hon. Wm. C. Rheem, in a letter to the Helena (Montana) _Herald_, writes of Henry Plummer as follows:
“I remember Plummer very well. He was frequently in my cabin, and I often came in contact with him while he was exercising the office of sheriff. His form and face were familiar to the first settlers in Bannack. He was about five feet eleven inches in height, and weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. He was straight, slender, spare, agile, and what Western men call withy. He was a quiet man and talked but little; when he did speak, it was always in a low tone and with a good choice of language. He never grew boisterous, even in his cups, and no impulse of anger or surprise ever raised his voice above that of wary monotone. His countenance was in perfect keeping with his utterance. Both were under the same vigilant command. If one was like the low, continuous purr of the crouching tiger, the muscles of the other were as rigid as those of the beast before he springs. Affection, fear, hate, grief, remorse, or any passion or emotion, found no expression in his immovable face. No color ever flushed his cheeks. With mobile and expressive features, he would have been handsome—all except the forehead; this, with the conformation of the skull, betrayed the murderer, and Plummer knew it. The observer beheld a well-cut mouth, indicating decision, firmness, and intelligence; but not a line expressive of sensuality; a straight nose and well-shaped chin, and cheeks rather narrow and fleshless, still, in their outlines, not unhandsome. But one might as well have looked into the eyes of the dead for some token of a human soul as to have sought it in the light gray orbs of Plummer. Their cold, glassy stare defied inquisition. They seemed to be gazing through you at some object beyond, as though you were transparent. While other men laughed or pitied or threatened with their eyes, his had the same half-vacant stare, no matter how moving the story or tragic the spectacle.