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procedures at this house. He warned Sheriff Flecker of the consequences of the sheriff’s interference, to which the sheriff replied with foul and abusive language. There was a heated exchange of words, which ended with a warning by Sheriff Flecker for the operatives to leave town.
    The following morning, Sheriff Flecker and two deputies, John Winslow and Steve Kennedy, all of them heavily armed with pistols and shotguns, went to the Traveler’s Mountainside Hotel, where the operatives had taken rooms. Sheriff Flecker spoke to the hotel clerk and demanded that the Fairlawn operatives be locked out of their rooms and refused service at the hotel. The hotel clerk protested that such action was not in his power. Sheriff Flecker said he would wait outside of the hotel to see personally that his orders were obeyed.
    A few minutes later, the twelve Fairlawn operatives, led by Detective Madison, came down from their rooms and were informed by the hotel clerk of the circumstances. Almost immediately, Detective Madison, whose courage had not been exaggerated, led his men out of the hotel to face Sheriff Flecker and demand his rights.
    In a loud, firm voice, clearly hard by this reporter, who was watching proceedings from across the street, Detective Madison denied Sheriff Flecker’s authority.
    â€œMy authority is here,” Sheriff Flecker answered, tapping the barrel of his shotgun.
    â€œNot any longer,” said Detective Madison, “because I have a federal warrant for your arrest!”
    With that, Detective Madison reached into his jacket pocket. Subsequent inquiry seems to prove that his statement about the warrant was bluff, and Sheriff Flecker states that Madison was reaching for his pistol. The full truth will never be known, for as Detective Madison reached into his coat pocket, Sheriff Flecker fired his shotgun directly into Detective Madison’s face, killing him instantly.
    What happened after that took place during a few seconds, and even an eyewitness cannot give an exact account. Both of Sheriff Flecker’s deputies were carrying double-barreled shotguns, and a moment after he shot Detective Madison, they opened fire on the Fairlawn operatives, who were grouped closely together. They subsequently held that the operatives had drawn guns, but when the battle was over, only three operatives had drawn their pistols and only one of the three pistols was actually discharged.
    As far as I could see, at least five of the operatives were killed with Madison when the shotguns were fired, and every one of the remaining six was wounded by pellets. Sheriff Flecker dropped his shotgun and drew his pistol, as did his two deputies, and the three of them began to shoot steadily. I saw one of the deputies put his pistol to an operative’s head and administer the coup de grâce . Sheriff Flecker shot and killed two more men. In less than a minute, all twelve Fairlawn detectives were lying on the street in their blood, as terrible a scene of carnage as this reporter ever witnessed, either in this country or overseas during the last war.
    Eleven of the men, at this writing, are dead. A twelfth operative lingers between life and death in the hotel, awaiting the arrival of a physician from the next town. The single survivor has three bullet wounds in the chest, and there is not much hope that he will live.
    One of Sheriff Flecker’s deputies, John Winslow, was wounded in the calf of his leg.

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    5
    After I had filed my story at the Western Union office, I walked over to the building that housed the sheriff’s office and the town jail. The eleven bodies were laid out on the sidewalk in front of the building, uncovered, as ghastly a sight as you would want to see. There was a considerable crowd around the bodies, men mostly—almost all of them miners, as I learned later—and some kids, and the crowd kept shifting and changing, as if no one could bear to remain there very long.
    I pushed my