I thought so the night we went over to run the claim-jumper off Absalom Frost's land, within a week of my joining.
It was over on Section Twenty-seven, that the claim-jumper had built a hut about where the schoolhouse now is, with a stable in one end of it, and a den in which to live in the other.

He was a young man, with no dependents, and we felt no compunctions of conscience, that dark night, when two wagon-loads of us, one of which came from the direction of Monterey Centre, drove quietly up and knocked at the door.
"Who's there ?" he said, with a quiver in his voice.
"Open up, and find out!" said a man in the Monterey Centre crowd, who seemed to take command as a matter of course.

"Kick the door open, Dutchy!" As he said this he stepped aside, and pushed me up to the door.

I gave it a push with my knee, and the leader jerked me aside, just in time to let a charge of shot pass my head.
"It's only a single-barrel gun," said he.

"Grab him!" I was scared by the report of the gun, scared and mad, too, as I clinched with the fellow, and threw him; then I pitched him out of the door, when the rest of them threw him down and began stripping him.