In the long trail of tiger-like assassinations, the robber is
disclosed by his unequalled thirst for blood.
"Joaquin Murieta, Joaquin the Mountain Robber, Joaquin the Yellow
Tiger." He flashes out from the dark shades of night, or the depths
of chaparral and forest. His insane butchery proves Valois to be
correct.
Dashing through camps, lurking around towns, appearing in distant
localities, he robs stages, plunders stations, and personally
murders innocent travellers. Express riders are ambushed. The word
"Joaquin," scrawled on a monte card, and pinned to the dead man's
breast, often tells the tale. Lonely men are found on the trails with
the fatal bullet-hole in the back of the head, shot in surprise.
Sometimes he appears with followers, often alone. Now openly daring
individual conflict, then slinking at night and in silence. Sneak,
bravo, and tiger. He is a Turpin in horsemanship. A fiend in his
thirst for blood. A charmed life seems his. On magnificent steeds,
he rides down the fleeing traveller. He coolly murders the exhausted
"Gringo," taunting his hated race with cowardice. Sweeping from
north to south, five hundred miles, this yellow-clad fiend always
keeps the Sacramento or San Joaquin between him and the coast.
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