Joaquin is slain at last. Butcher bravos tire of revenging past
deeds of blood. They slay the helpless Indians, or assassinate the
frightened native Californians. This rude revenge element, stirred
up by Harry Love's exploit, reaches from Klamath to the Colorado.
Yet the unsettled interior is destined to keep up the sporadic
banditti of the valleys for years. Every glen offers an easy ambush.
In the far future only, the telegraph and railway will finally cut
up the great State into localized areas of civilization.

All the whiskey-drinking and revolver-carrying bravos must be swept
into obscure graves before crime can cease. It becomes, however,
occasional only. While bloody hands are ready, the plotting brain
of Joaquin Murieta never is equalled by any future bandit.

Coming years bring Francisco Garcia, Sebastian Flores, and the "Los
Manilas" gang, whose seventeen years of bloodshed end finally at
the gallows of Los Angeles. Varrella and Soto, Tiburcio Vasquez,
Santos Lotello, Chavez, and their wild Mexican brothers, are all
destined to die by shot or rope.

"Tom Bell," "Jack Powers," and other American recruits in the army
of villany, have only changed sides in their crimes. All these
wretches merit the deaths awaiting them. The last purely international
element of discord vanishes from the records of crime.

Wandering Americans aptly learn stage-robbing. They are heirs of
the old riders. The glories of "Black Bart," the lone highwayman
of eighty stage-robberies, and the "train robbers," are reserved
for the future. But Black Bart never takes life. He robs only the
rich.