Bennett and Thompson were not the only iniquitous residents to be cut off in their own wickedness. A hoodlum called Billy Olive — who lived, as the saying went, 'with slight labor' as a rustler — became much wroth when his paramour left him. He promptly shot up a saloon in Beaver, working on the false premise that Henderson, the bartender, had induced the lady's departure. Olive and a partner, one 'Lengthy' Halford, pursued the bartender out the saloon door and into the street. Escaping when Olive's rifle misfired, Henderson lay in wait for his tormentor behind a sod wall and drilled him dead center. Lengthy wisely departed in haste for safer climes, and public opinion exonerated Henderson without a hearing of any kind. And then there was the celebrated case of Doc Linley's hat. Linley was a shady sort of feller with more than one wife, but he was a sartorial triumph, regularly sporting a Prince Albert coat and a shiny top hat. One evening in a saloon, a man called Brusher placed Doc's fine hat on his own head. 'Let me see how I will look with that thing on,' he said. And he looked wonderful indeed, or at least he did until Clark, another celebrant, decided to demonstrate his keen eye by shooting the hat off Brusher's head. Being somewhat pie-eyed, Clark sadly shot a trifle low, puncturing Brusher's forehead instead of the hat.

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The town mayor, all the law there was, fined Clark $25 for 'criminal carelessness' in handling his pistol. And that was an end to the matter, or it was until Brusher's brother came to town. After hearing the evidence, the brother graciously announced that his sibling's death was clearly accidental, and even had a drink with Clark. One drink followed another, merry as a wedding bell, until Brusher politely excused himself, went outside, then stuck his pistol through the saloon window and permanently ventilated Clark.

Similar rough justice pursued a No Man's Land ruffian called Bill Bridgford. Riding along a road one day, Bridgford, from either malice or a warped sense of sport, fired a couple of shots over the head of a woman and her child traveling in a buggy. The lady's vehicle upset, and she fled in terror with her child, much to Bridgford's amusement.

He shouldn't have laughed. That night in Neutral City, nemesis came looking for Bill Bridgford, in the person of the local vigilance committee. As Bridgford partook of strong spirits in a local saloon, the local enforcers summoned him to come forth and answer for his mistreatment of a lady. This failing, according to one account, 'Some parties on the outside opened fire on the house, firing through the side on which there were no windows, thus placing the parties on the inside at a disadvantage.'

Bridgford was mortally wounded, an innocent cowboy patron got a slug in the arm, and Rockhold (or Rockford), the bartender, was hit twice. Boone, one of Bridgford's disreputable partners, outside on the other side of the saloon, took flight and galloped into a barbed-wire fence, killing his horse and badly cutting himself.

The vigilantes burned down the 'offending' saloon, then ordered the surviving occupants of the bar to leave town, on the general ground of being found in noxious company. All obeyed but Rockhold, who not only stayed but also jumped another man's claim. When his victim objected, Rockhold shot him, and that night the vigilantes saddled up again. They surrounded Rockhold's soddy, but the bartender refused to emerge and killed one citizen who had just finished pouring kerosene on the building. In the ensuing fire and confusion, Rockhold escaped with only minor wounds, and he was never brought to justice this side of the pearly gates.

In time, most of the badmen went the way of Bridgford or Rockhold: dead or fled. One pair, who incautiously bragged that they intended to rob the big distillery on Hog Creek, were hanged by a vigilance committee before they could commit their crime, a sort of preventive medicine.

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