Frontier Days In The Southwest

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Frontier days in the Southwest

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PIONEER DAYS

in
OLD ARIZONA

by

Jennie Parks Ringgold

THE NAYLOR COMPANY

San Antonio, Texas

Copyright, 1952 by
THE NAYLOR COMPANY

This story is lovingly dedicated to the memory
of my father W. John Parks, my mother Louise
Epley Parks, and all those brave and fearless
pioneers who helped to tame a vast wilderness
country and to create out of it one of the
garden spots of the world.

ace

TWO WINTERS BEFORE MY MOTHER'S DEATH, I

asked her to tell me in great detail of their overland trip to Ari
zona. The pioneer reunion had been organized about three years
before, and great interest was being shown by those who were
eligible for membership. I had read each reunion edition of the
Arizona Republic and had become absorbed in the accounts of
pioneer days. Wanting to preserve the story of our family for the
younger members who did not realize the hardships our parents
had undergone, I began writing down the facts mother told me
during the long winter evenings. After her death I found among
old legal papers the little diary kept by Sheb Oatman on the trip
west. It was a small notebook three by five inches and contained
all the dates of the journey and much information about the
principal forts they passed and the country through which they
traveled.

The dates of the later stories of Indians and outlaws have
been verified by search of the court records of Graham County.
Only in recent years have the residents of the state begun to
realize the debt of gratitude they owe to the pioneers who lived
desolate and dangerous lives in the wilderness in order that their
descendants might live in peace. Because of this growing interest
in pioneer history I was fortunate in obtaining additional ma
terial for my story. For such help I am especially indebted to the
following:

To the sheriffs of Graham County, A. A. Anderson, W. T.
Witt, and James V. Parks, and to the deputy sheriffs, John A.
McMurran, John D. and William H. Parks, Joe T. McKinney,
and C. E. Gilmer, for information concerning outlaws and bad
men;

To Anton Mazzanovich for pictures and information about
army officers; Burt C. Mossman, captain of the Arizona Rangers,
for information about Chacon; and Frank Mitchell, former pay
master of the Detroit Copper Company, for facts about the Mo-
renci strike;

To Charles B. Yett, of the Graham County abstract office, for
securing facts from county records; Bert Snider, -a Grant County

vii

official, for dates and records from old files of Silver City news
papers; the following territorial and state newspapers: Tucson
StaTj Arizona Bulletin,, Solomonville, Graham County Guardian
of Safford, The Arizona Republic of Phoenix, Silver Belt of Globe;
and James L. Edwards for information about pioneer monuments;

To Judge W. A. Hawkins, Mr. and Mrs. William H. Mauldin,
John C. Epley, John H. Brown, who was agent and telegraph
operator in Duncan in 1885, and Adam Smith, a pioneer merchant
of Clifton, for their accounts of early-day episodes; Ted Fulwood,
for help in regard to Indian and Mexican names, places, and sev
eral Indian pictures contributed for illustrations; and my hus
band, Frank Ringgold, for much of the material about the cattle
men and ranchers and Indian massacres on the Frisco and Blue
rivers;

To the Arizona state historians, George H. Kelly, Dan R.
Williamson, and Effie Keen, and the assistant state librarian,
Ruth G. Kelly, for old records of the militia company and other
organizations of Duncan; Sergeant Morris Swett, librarian at Fort
Sill, Oklahoma; Margurete McGuire, librarian of the Oklahoma
State Historical Society; Mrs. Harold H. Royaltey, secretary of
the Arizona Pioneers Historical Society; Frederic Haskins, of the
Bureau of Information, Washington, D. C.; and the War Depart
ment, for records of Arizona Indian affairs.

I am profoundly grateful to many others who have contributed
essential material and assisted me in verifying information. I am
indeed fortunate to have lived for many years among these pio
neers and to have counted them among my early personal friends.
To each and all I express my deep gratitude.

Jennie Parks Ringgold.

VIII

Contenis

Sections of Ilustrations

Section One Between 16 and 17

Section Two Between 112 and 113

I THE WESTWARD TREK 1

II PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE

ARIZONA BORDER 29

III PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS 68

IV PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS 120
V THE MORENCI STRIKE 164

VI SUNDOWN 177

INDEX 189

IX

CHAPTER I

ike

NEARLY A CENTURY AND A QUARTER AGO MY

grandparents James W. Parks and his wife Mary were pioneering
in the Blue Grass State of Kentucky where they established a
home on a farm and also raised horses. Here five of the Parks chil
dren were born, three girls and two boys. My father, W. John
Parks, the younger of the boys, was born in 1843.

When father was about fourteen years of age, his parents, like
many other pioneers in that region, got the Western fever. They
sold out and went to Missouri first and then to Texas, settling
on a farm at Acton. Among other crops they raised cotton, a new
venture for them. It must have been successful, for grandfather
built his own cotton gin one of the very few in the state at that
time. In this new Texas home two more children were born, a
girl and a boy, and my grandparents lived there until their death.
Father lived on the farm for several years, but the life never ap
pealed to him. He liked the stock industry, and his ambition was
to own a ranch and raise cattle and horses. When he was about
twenty years of age, with the assistance of his father he started out
on his own as a stockman.

On March 9, 1865, father married Louise Ann Epley in Mills
County, Texas, and until 1879 they made their home at Williams
Ranch, a small settlement in the southern part of the county.
Always a horse fancier, father owned a good strain of stock horses,
which were bred for their hardiness and endurance. He ran the
H Bar brand on the left fore shoulder of his horses, the bar being
under the H. His cattle brand was PRX on the left side.

Though father prospered in the stock industry, ranch life
began to lose its fascination for him about 1876. He began to feel
the lure of a region far to the southwest, because of the rumors
of great opportunities and the thrilling tales of gold and prosperity

1

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

which drifted back from that country. Settlers in the community
around Williams Ranch were interested, as well as residents in
other sections, and several families indicated their desire to
journey westward.

From father's earliest years he seems to have been imbued
with the spirit of an explorer, for always beyond the horizon or
the next range of mountains was the Eldorado of his dreams.
Now the great Southwest was calling to him, and he was eager to
go, knowing that he would not be content until he had made a
place for himself and his family there. Being of an adventurous
nature, he wanted to be on his way. He was offered a good price
for his ranch, cattle and horses, and, as he was in a very unsettled
state of mind, he took the offer but reserved one hundred head
of saddle and stock horses which he later drove west when the
family migrated.

Mother's pleas for herself and their small children caused the
postponement of the much-dreamed-of journey for a year or two.
While father was * 'between the devil and the deep sea," as he
afterward said, he accepted a job as manager of a big cattle com
pany nearby. Their herds were being preyed upon by a gang of
cattle rustlers, and the owners, Forsythe and Ford, wanted a man
who not only would put fear into the rustlers but would not be
afraid to fight it out with them when he caught them on the range.
Father was surely the right man, for he had no fear of either a
known or an unknown foe.

John C. Epley, mother's cousin, had worked for this company
for several years, having started in as a horse wrangler when he
was a mere boy. He continued in their employ even after father
left for the Southwest, and delivered a large herd of cattle for
them to Wyoming before he came to Arizona. During the time
father and Epley worked for Forsythe and Ford, they drove two or
three herds of cattle to Dodge City, Kansas.

Between the rustlers and the Comanche Indians, father's job
was very dangerous. On one trip away from the ranch he was at
tacked by five Comanches. They were running their horses at full
speed, firing at him and trying to cut him off from the home
ranch. He coolly dismounted, used his horse as a shield, and, tak
ing deliberate aim, he killed three of them, one at a time, by his ex
cellent marksmanship. The other two fled. Shortly afterward, when
father again mentioned the subject nearest his heart, a journey to
the Southwest frontier, mother solemnly consented. It seemed to
her that the dangers which would confront him on such a jour-

THE WESTWARD TREK

ney and after reaching the frontier could be no worse than those
he was facing every day on the ranch.

As mother prepared for the trip, she often thought of the
pioneering qualities of her own ancestors. The Spanglers had
come from Holland unable to speak English, settled down in
Tennessee, and become well-to-do farmers. Her mother, Louiza
Elizabeth, had married John Epley, a stockman and farmer, and
moved with him to Missouri. When John and Louiza Epley died
in Chillicothe in 1851, they left considerable wealth, but the
guardian in whose care their three children were placed robbed
them of it all. With their aunt, Ann Epley Williams, and her
husband, George Williams, the orphans migrated to Texas in
1855, traveling by ox team. The next year George Williams lo
cated a ranch in Mills County and built a rock house on land
having a good spring of water. Soon there was a settlement of
several homes, a store, a church, and a schoolhouse. The com
munity was named Williams Ranch in honor of its locator.

My mother passed her girlhood at Williams Ranch, and she
and father were married in the rock house.* She was only seven
teen years of age when she took on the responsibilities of home-
making on the Texas frontier, then only a sparsely settled coun
try. And not many years later she made her decision to leave rela
tives and friends to pioneer with my father in the unknown lands
of the Southwest.

As soon as mother was won over, father began preparations for
the trip west. He again visited the neighbors who had previously
expressed a desire to make the journey with him, for there was
greater safety in numbers. But some of them had changed their
minds, and only a few families were ready to join the wagon train.

In April, 1879, father started on the long trek, leaving Wil
liams Ranch with two spring wagons drawn by mule teams, and
taking along several race horses and about a hundred head of
stock and saddle horses. Besides father and mother and their five
small children, there were Mr. and Mrs. Mose Fisher and their
son and daughter, Dr. and Mrs. Tom Gatliff and their son and
daughter, a German family by the name of Sibley and their chil
dren, Mr. and Mrs. William Adams and their son and three

* Many years later the rock house was used as the first flour mill in that part of
he state. The spring which had led George Williams to decide on that particular
spot on which to build long served as a source of water supply for the settlers. It
is still a landmark, and the little church is still standing. In 1877 when a railroad
was built through the settlement, all the homes were destroyed except the rock
house of my great-aunt Ann Williams.

3

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

daxightm, and Dr. Norman from the capital of the Emerald Isle.

The party headed southwest toward Mason, Texas, but stopped
along the way for last visits with friends and relatives. Now and
then they were delayed by bad weather. In little settlements
through which they passed, they sometimes found other families
waiting for the coming of an emigrant train they might join.

At Mason a man named Sheb Oatman attached himself to the
caravan. He kept a diary of the trip from there until they reached
the Rio Grande at Ysleta. He was a man of considerable educa
tion, and his daily account was very informative. According to
his record Mason was a thriving village of a thousand inhabitants
and was conveniently situated for trade. It had a county news
paper called The News Item, a lively paper of four sheets which
contained communications from surrounding points. A new
courthouse had just been finished and added greatly to the ap
pearance of the town. Oatman also mentioned that a young law
yer from Georgia had joined the party. Though frequent referen
ces to the young man appear in the diary, his name was never
given.

On the morning of June 11, 1879, the party left Mason for
Silver City, New Mexico. The western part of Mason County
through which they traveled was suffering from a drouth. Crops
were burned up and water was scarce. They continued on to the
Peg Leg crossing on the San Saba River in Menard County, which
they reached at noon on the twelfth. There they camped and
spent the afternoon fishing and hunting prairie dogs, which were
plentiful.

Next morning they made an early start and proceeded up
along the river through mesquite and chaparral flats. They
passed through Menardville, the county seat, a town of four or
five business houses. The surrounding region was thinly settled,
and the people depended chiefly on sheep and cattle for a living.
After leaving this town the party journeyed through a wilderness
country and noted that the few homes were small and poorly
furnished. Only a short time before this, the Indians had been on
a raid and killed the wife and child of a man by the name of
Colson.

The next stop was at Kickapoo Springs, which had been
famous as a rendezvous for the Indians. In former years the
tribes had used this place as a camping ground and a center of
their activities. There they ground their corn in mortars, using
a round rock or grinder, called a mano. a word which meant

THE WESTWARD TREK

hand. They hunted nearby and dried their venison and buffalo
meat; they feasted and danced the war dance; and then they di
vided into small squads before starting out to raid and murder
the white settlers east of the springs.

At the time father's party camped at Kickapoo^ it was a stage
stand, and a little store was kept there to supply travelers. About
forty acres of land were in cultivation, irrigated from the springs.
Along the branch grew large black walnut trees. After the party
had made camp, a huge thunderstorm came up from the north
west just before dark. A violent rain fell, drenching the emigrants
to the skin, and they spent a miserable night cramped up in the
wagons.

The following day they drove west toward Lappan Springs.
The country through which they passed was ideal for a stock
ranch, with plenty of feed and timber on the creek to furnish
winter shelter for cattle. But father was not to be tempted; his
destination was the Southwest. The land from Lappan Springs to
Fort Concho was a level plain, scantily dotted with mesquite and
chaparral brush. Traversing this almost uninhabited region were
Uncle Sam's telegraph wires, which made the travelers feel that
they were still in touch with civilization, thanks to the inventive
genius of die nineteenth century. On this stretch of dry plain, the
sun's rays beat down fiercely oil those in the little caravan, causing
them to long for cool shelter and cold sparkling water to quench
their thirst. But it was evening before they reached the Concho,
a good-sized stream of clear pure water, and camped about a mile
south of the fort.

Stationed at this post were six companies of Negro soldiers
under the command of Major Mills. The Negroes had the appear
ance of being too lazy ever to be very active in the field after the
Indians, and Oatman recorded in the diary his opinion that one
company of Texas Rangers would have done more to cope with
the wily red man than all the soldiers in the fort.

Concho Post was located on the forks of the Concho River
and had the advantage of a healthful location and a good range
for stock. As father's party entered the fort early the next morn
ing, they learned that most of the soldiers were away, scouting
around for the Indians, who, two nights before, had made a raid
near the post. The quartermaster was afraid to send the stock out
to graze. The military quarters were substantial stone buildings
which housed six hundred men and extended in two rows east and
west, with the parade ground between. While the .emigrants

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

waited, they heard several musical selections played by the mili
tary band.

North of the post was the citizen town. It contained about a
dozen business establishments which served a thriving trade.
Reliable residents informed the travelers that some of the most
desperate sporting characters and card sharks in Texas frequented
this town.

The party remained at the fort until nearly noon, waiting
for reports that might be sent back by the soldiers as to the
wheareabouts of the Indian raiders. But no word came, and they
finally set out up the overland stage road which followed the
west bank of the river. All afternoon they journeyed over a beau
tiful, slightly rolling prairie which was covered with mesquite
growth and grass.

For ten days they continued along the Concho River, much
of the time over hilly and rocky roads. They passed through the
buffalo country and sighted specimens of these animals which
even then were threatened with extinction. They saw hundreds of
carcasses along the way, for large numbers of buffaloes were shot
yearly. The hides, when well dressed, sold for five dollars apiece.
A member of father s party bought one at that price. When the
animals were slaughtered, only a small portion of the meat was
saved generally the steak which was dried and taken to mar
ket. Oatman noted in his diary that the buffalo meat was much
darker and drier than beef, and that it lacked the rich juices of
beef and was often very tough.

At one of the stops the party made along the Concho River, a
company of buffalo hunters was dressing hides a short distance
below them. During the winter these men shot the animals, and
then spent the spring and summer dressing the hides and taking
them to market.

Not far above the camp of the hunters was an old fort. Next
morning, while father's party was preparing to leave, a sudden
rise of fifteen feet of water swept down the stream and drowned
the wife and child of Major Merriman of the post. Just before the
rise, Dr. Norman had crossed the river to get breakfast at the fort
and was waterbound. A few hours later, after the waters of the
flash flood had passed, he was able to rejoin the party.

Following the river upstream, the travelers had gone about
two miles when Charlie, my youngest brother, fell from the wagon
and struck the back of his head on the ground, causing a slight
concussion. He suffered intensely for many hours, and because of

THE WESTWARD TREK

the accident the party had to go into camp until the next day.
While they were waiting at this point, a large wagon train re
turning from El Paso passed with supplies for the fort.

After Charlie had recovered sufficiently, the journey was re
sumed. The next stop was at the ranch of a Mr. Sherwood, where
they remained three days.

. Then the party left the Concho River and struck across the
plains toward the Pecos. After passing Bull's Head, a watering
place where they stopped to water the stock, they pushed on and
camped near Grayson Springs. By the side of the road was a
rough monument of stone over the grave of an Indian called
Big Jim. At the head of another mound was a large limestone
boulder on which had been painted a coffin, a skull, and cross-
bones. The boulder recorded the names of several persons who
had been massacred by the Indians, and gave the date of the
tragedy as March 11, 1879. At this point in the diary Mr. Oat-
man mentions that all along the way from Colson's place they
had seen many graves at the roadside. Also tarantulas, rattlesnakes,
spiders, and thousand-legged worms were found in such abun
dance that the members of the party lived in constant dread until
they were on their way again.

Next morning they went on to Grayson Springs, where they
made a brief stop at noon. A company of United States soldiers
was stationed there, with Lieutenant Pratt in command. The
alkali water was not relished by either the people in the party or
the stock. From Grayson Springs on toward Pecos Station there
was a succession of beautiful little valleys from two to three miles
wide covered with a bluish grass called buffalo grass. On the
north and south of these valleys rose ranges of mountains of a
whitish or limestone color.

That afternoon the party reached the summit of the limestone
mountains about five miles east of the Pecos River, the famous
stream of the Staked Plains, which rises in the Wichita Moun
tains and flows south into the Rio Grande. They were now on the
top of a long range of mountains of irregular shape and varying
altitude, with deep gorges and narrow valleys between. The
natural grandeur of the scenery was beyond description. The
government road, which had been opened the year before,
wound around and down the side from one mountain bench to
the top of another with a summit a quarter of a mile long, and
then down its side to a level plain below, which reached to the
Pecos River. The plain was covered with a growth of scrubby

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

mesquite and chaparral, and the soil was a gray loam free from

rocks.

Late in the afternoon they arrived on the banks of the Pecos
and camped in the river bottom. At this point the stage company
had constructed a floating bridge across the stream and had a sta
tion on the east bank. Here Company K of the Twenty-fourth
Regiment, with Lieutenant Richards 'in command, had a large
number of wagons loaded with government supplies, and by the
end of the day they had crossed the river and made camp on the
west bank.

Toward evening a heavy downpour came and the little party,
becoming frightened and fearing that the river would overflow,
hitched up the teams to drive to higher ground. After going a
short distance, however, they became stuck in the mud and had
to remain there all night.

Early next morning they started out for Fort Stockton. About
noon they came in sight of a large Mexican farm with six hundred
and forty acres in cultivation on the banks of the Pecos. The land
was watered by means of wide ditches, or "sequia," as the in
habitants there called them. These were the first artificial means
of irrigation the party had ever seen. The farm was owned by a
white man who was married to a Mexican woman, and all the
farm hands were Mexican peons. The Mexicans cultivated the
fields, and the owner took their crops in return for the food he
furnished them. Their chief crops were corn and small white
army beans. Peons and whites alike lived in mud houses roofed
with long grass covered with dirt several inches deep.

After the party left this farm, they found the mountains for
some distance were more rough and the country lying between
more hilly and rocky. During the day they came to a stage station
named Escondido, which was blessed with a spring of pure_ water.
Here a company of soldiers was stationed. On the mountains the
party noticed several mounds of rocks where the victims of the
murderous Indian foe had been buried. That night they camped
at Sulphur Springs near an old fortification which had been
erected many years before, but it had been deserted.

The route beyond Sulphur Springs traversed a beautiful
mountain basin. The soil was black and, judged by the growth,
was very productive. But no ranch or settlement was seen. After
leaving the basin the party passed by an old stage station which
had been turned into a stock ranch by some Mexicans. The
country around the ranch was densely overgrown with mesquite

8

THE WESTWARD TREK

which was loaded with clusters of beans beginning to ripen. My
father recognized that this would be a good stock range, for the
mesquite beans are excellent for feed. They are very fattening,
and in a warm climate are even better than corn, for they are not
heat producing.

Before reaching Fort Stockton the party came to a large ranch
owned by a Mr. Joyce. The land was irrigated by a ditch cut
from Comanche Creek eight miles away. Because the country
was level, the ditch did not require much labor to open it up.
The water was clear and good. The farm was well supplied with
tenant houses made of adobes and covered with the usual roofing
of grass and mud thickly laid over poles. Here the emigrants saw
their first newly made adobes, sun-dried clay bricks generally
about seven by fourteen inches, and six inches thick. The houses
had few windows, but each door had an eight-inch ventilator
across the top.

The travelers drove on past the ranch and camped on Co
manche Creek within sight of Fort Stockton. The stream, which
rose about twelve miles north of the fort, was fed by large springs
and supplied an abundance of water. Most of the land in this
region was sub-irrigated, as the water table was within a few
inches of the surface of the ground. At that time about six thou
sand acres were in cultivation along the creek. Enough grain was
raised to meet the demand of Fort Stockton and Fort Davis, and
crops brought a good price. Corn was selling at $2.25 a bushel
in Fort Stockton.

Early the next day the party drove into the fort. On the edge
of town several large springs of crystal-clear water were gushing
up and running into the creek. It was the Fourth of July, but
the travelers felt that they should not take time to visit the mili
tary quarters. Viewed from a distance, the government buildings
appeared to be large and roomy adobe structures, more uniform
ly arranged and more pleasing in appearance than those at Fort
Concho. The citizen town was just south of the soldier quarters
and consisted of several business houses, a Catholic church, a jail,
a public school, and about twenty dwellings.

Beyond Fort Stockton the party journeyed over a flat dry
country almost devoid of grass or any other growth. When they
stopped at noon, they were visited by a violent rain and wind
storm which rocked die wagons. It took all the strength the men
had to prevent the wagon sheets from being blown away. They
remained in camp until the next morning, and when they started

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

on their way again, they found that a large number of telephone
poles had been blown down by the wind.

Early that day they came to Dog Canyon, which was rough
and rocky and had little grass for the stock. Some of the men
went hunting but brought back no game. In years gone by this
canyon had been the home of the red man, and numerous old
camp sites were to be seen in the mountains nearby. At these en
campments were the remains of old wigwams and other evidences
of a permanent Indian camp.

Dog Canyon was a gulch about half a mile wide and five or
six miles long, and resembled the bed of an old river. The walls
of the canyon, unusually steep and rugged, were cleft by deep
gorges into which the sun never shone. Here the admirers of
nature had a feast, for the craggy slopes had a sublime grandeur.
That afternoon the party drove along the canyon about four
miles. The whole area had the appearance of having been terribly
shaken up by a violent earthquake at some time in the dim past,
for the mountains seemed to have been forced asunder, leaving
vast gulches between. Dr. Norman, who was somewhat of a geolo
gist, was sure that rich deposits of gold, silver, and copper were
there. At last the canyon widened into a grassy valley.

Shortly after leaving the canyon, the travelers came to an
old Mexican fort which was circular in shape, with a wall of stone
and dirt around it. Here they were joined by two men, a woman,
and two children on their way to El Paso. The emigrant train
now consisted of eight wagons, an ambulance, ten men, five
women and fourteen children.

Late in the afternoon they moved up Lympia Creek, which
usually was dry but that day was running a good stream of water
from the recent heavy rains. Here they saw cattle grazing in the
valleys, but the animals were small and in very poor condition.
Soon they caught sight of a knoll with a rock wall around it, and
a short distance farther on they entered another deep mountain
gorge. For several miles the scenery was superb. The brown walls
were from two to eight hundred feet high and seemed to close
almost at the top. Thrilled at beholding such natural beauty, the
party gazed with awe upon the towering walls.

And while they were gazing, enthralled at the magnificence of
the scene, they were startled to hear the barking of dogs. Turn
ing around they saw, on a ledge of the gorge, a dugout sheltered
by a shelving rock. The lone inhabitant of this novel abode was
a ragged Mexican. He crawled out of his den and stared intently

10

THE WESTWARD TREK

at them as they passed. His only companions in this lonesome
place seemed to be two half-grown white dogs and a lamb. His
strange way of living formed a subject for much conversation
among the travelers.

That night they made camp at a point twelve miles east of
Fort Davis and decided to spend the next day resting and hunt
ing. Mr. Sibley killed two deer, and four of the men helped him
carry them over a steep mountain to the camp. The deer were
fat and the meat was tender; it was a great treat for the weary
emigrants.

The next day they slowly drove up Lympia Creek, crossing it
many times, and camped at the ranch of Captain Wilson two and
a half miles from the fort. The appearance of the country had
gradually changed; the mountains were farther apart, the valley
was wider, grass was plentiful, and there was more timber than
they had seen since they had left the Concho River. The trees
were mainly Spanish oak, hackberry, cedar, cottonwood, and
mesquite. There were three or four farms on the creek below
Davis, and the crops looked promising. Mr. Adams, Dr. Gatliff,
and Mr. Oatman visited die fort in the evening. On the roadside
they paused to admire a grove of large cottonwood trees, a re
freshing sight after so many miles of country destitute of all kinds
of timber.

Fort Davis was a six-company post, with two batteries of six
double-barrel cannons. The fort was located on the east side and
near the head of Lympia Creek at the foot of a cluster of a rugged
range of mountains, which formed a curious crooked chain reach
ing east to Dog Canyon. The men in father's party speculated on
what use could ever be made of such artillery on an Indian fron
tier.

The government houses were constructed of stone, and with
the exception of a few new buildings of reddish-brown color,
looked dingy. All the private dwellings were adobe with dirt floors
and roofs of grass and mud. The outside walls were plastered with
lime and sand. The houses were poorly lighted and ventilated.
Each had only a few windows, and most of them were covered
with board shutters.

South of the fort was the village of Chihuahua, the county
seat of Presidio County. It consisted of four or five stores, as many
.saloons, and fifteen or twenty residences, several of which were
large and imposing in appearance. A mixed school was taught in
the town, the majority of the pupils being Mexican. The towns-

11

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

people tried to induce Mr. Oatman to remain and teach an
English school, but he had an aversion to Mexicans and decided
to continue west with the party. Mr. Adams and his family re
mained at the fort.

West of Davis the emigrants traveled across a tableland which
was dotted with low, smooth mountains and covered with an
abundance of green grass. They stopped for the noon hour at a
spring of clear water which issued from the base of a mountain.
Therf they traveled several miles and camped in a valley. Much
post-oak was growing in this valley, and several wagons from the
fort were taking on heavy loads of wood.

The next day the party journeyed many hours over a rough
road through a barren country. The members passed an old stage
station, Bear Springs, and because Mr. Fisher's little daughter,
Maude, was taken ill, they went into camp early. Wood had to be
hauled two miles in Mr. Sibley's ambulance.

Father and Mr. Sibley went hunting and killed a bear. Dr.
Norman went gunning for a wolf which was howling and dis
turbing the campers, especially the women and children. He saw
the wolf, but as he approached, it slunk away and disappeared.
As he returned, he thought he saw, a few miles distant, a small
herd of horses in charge of Indians. But he drew a sigh of relief
when, upon closer observation, he discovered the objects to be a
bunch of Spanish bayonet, or daggers, as they were usually called.
Several times on the trip the Spanish daggers, which in the dis
tance resembled Indians on horseback, caused much worry and
excitement in the party, for people feared they were about to be
attacked by a band of marauding red men.

Bear steaks were sewed for breakfast the following day. Some
were very tender. Then the travelers continued across the level,
treeless plain. There was plenty of grass and some brush, and
mountains began to loom up in the distance. They passed Muerto
Station, so called because of the many people murdered there.
The station was a short distance from the road, and father went
by to learn the particulars of a severe bear fight he had just
heard about. The fight had taken place at the station two days
before, between a large black bear as the attacker and several of
Uncle Sam's Negro soldiers and the storekeeper. The bear opened
the fight by furiously charging one of the Negroes. The man
retreated at full speed, jumped over a high corral wall, and fell
headlong on the inside. The bear leaped over the wall after the
Negro and continued the attack until he drove the guard and the

12

THE WESTWARD TREK

station keeper into the house. Sitting on his haunches in front of
the door, he seemed to defy the soldiers, who barricaded them
selves in the building. The station keeper seized a gun and opened
fire on the bear. He fired six or seven shots before the bear re
treated. Altogether, twenty-seven shots were fired, but none took
effect.

That night the party went into dry camp at a point twenty
miles east of Van Horn. Next morning a stage driver told them
that a large band of Indians had crossed the road a few hours
after the wagon train had passed the day before. He also told
them they were forty-two miles from water, but could probably
replenish their barrels at Van Horn.

On reaching Van Horn, they learned that its water supply had
to be hauled from Eagle Springs twenty-four miles away. An
other stage driver told them that water haulers had seen Indians
the day before at Bass Canyon, and warned the party to be watch
ful in passing through it, as the Indians were likely to attack. They
entered the canyon late in the afternoon but pressed on instead of
making camp. The canyon was much wider than the gorge east
of Fort Davis, but was not as rugged. It gave no appearance of
being the dangerous place it was represented to be.

They found an abundance of water near the road in pools, as a
hard rain had fallen the night before. After watering the stock,
they drove through the night to Eagle Springs, about three miles
beyond the point where they left the canyon. Here they stayed
in camp all morning and rested until two o'clock that afternoon.
Just below the station was a large pool of permanent water fed
from a large vein which led from the spring. When they moved
on, they found the road rough and rocky for about twelve miles.
They were passing from the tableland to the basin between the
tributaries of the Pecos and the Rio Grande.

That night they made dry camp five or six miles east of Quit-
man Canyon. It was a wild mountain gulch about four miles
long. The mountains on each side were huge piles of lava rock
and presented unmistakable signs of violent volcanic action. The
rocks looked as if they had been subjected to intense heat. About
noon next day they came in sight of the Rio Grande and went
into camp until the following morning. At midday they reached
the banks of the river, which at that point was a wide stream with
a sandy bottom. From five to fifteen miles of fiat, sandy land
stretched on each side. The timber along the banks was mostly
willow and cottonwood. There was very little grass. Much of the

13

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

water was used for irrigating purposes, and there was only a thin
stream in the channel.

They passed through Quitman, a deserted post, which was in a
state of decay. The buildings were without roofs, doors, or win
dow shutters, and not a human was seen among the ruins. This
post on the boundary between Texas and Mexico had had a
bloody history. They continued on the sandy road through a
region almost devoid of grass, and that night reached Ysleta. They
had been traveling for two and a half months.

Ysleta was the county seat of El Paso County. The name, of
Spanish origin, means Little Isle, so-called because it was built on
a narrow neck of land extending into the Rio Grande. The oldest
farm in the United States is near Ysleta. It has been worked
continuously since 1540, when it was established by the Francis
can Fathers who came to this country with Coronado's expedition.
About three-fourths of the population were Mexicans, and most
of the white men had Mexican wives. There was a large acreage
in cultivation, besides many small farms along the river bottom
where grapes and other fruit were raised. The fruit was hauled
to Silver City, a mining camp in New Mexico, where there was a
good market for all kinds of produce.

At Ysleta the caravan was compelled to stay for about four
months. Victorio and his band of Indians were on the warpath,
killing and committing depredations in the area through which
the emigrants would have to travel. Some wagon trains went on
their way in spite of the danger. Sheb Oatman, who had kept the
diary of the trip, Dr. Norman, and the young lawyer from Geor
gia joined one such train heading toward Silver City, but they
were never heard of again. Father always believed they had met a
bloody fate at the hands of the Indians, as had so many other
pioneers. As the men were strangers in the land, their friends in
the caravan never learned what happened to them.

During the stay in Ysleta, the women of the party bought
quantities of grapes and hung the bunches on long ropes stretched
like a clothesline. When the time came to move on, the hot sun
had dried the grapes to the fresh raisin stage, and they were
delicious.

While father was waiting until the journey could be resumed,
he spent a great deal of time in buying all kinds of staple articles,
including groceries, dry goods, quilts and blankets. He intended
to go into the general mercantile business in a mining town three

14

THE WESTWARD TREK

miles from Lordsburg. At that time the village was called Ral
ston, but later its name was changed to Shakespeare.

Father disposed of some of his race horses and quite a num
ber of his stock horses, the proceeds of which, together with the
ready cash he had with him an amount considered a neat sum
in those days he invested in the supplies he would need for the
store.

During the stay in Ysleta father met a man by the name of
Price Cooper, who owned many wagons and a large number of
ox teams and did extensive hauling for the merchants and saloon
men at Silver City. When it was considered safe for the party to
start on the journey again, father hired Cooper and his wagon
train to transport the stock of goods for the store at Ralston.
Cooper used twelve ox teams of two wagons each, with seven
yoke of oxen to the team, to move father's supplies. Among
Cooper's teamsters were his sons Ben and Joe. Ben Cooper was
for many years a resident of Safford, Arizona, where he died in
1937.

By November, father and Price Cooper decided that it was
safe for them to leave Ysleta. Just as they were ready to start, two
men on horseback rode up and asked to join the party. Both of
the strangers were heavily armed, each carrying a Winchester,
two revolvers, and two belts of cartridges. One of the horsemen
was John Ringo; the name of the other outlaw, for such they
proved to be, has been forgotten, but he was probably John Beard,
as the families of these two men were intimately connected.

Father often said that John Ringo, who afterward figured in
Tombstone's early history, was a man with many good traits.
Ringo possessed one quality which counted for much in those
days; his word could be absolutely depended upon. He had good
principles and a higher standard of morals than most outlaws. He
loomed far above the opposing gang of outlaws the Earps, Doc
Holliday, and the Curly Bill faction in Tombstone's early days.
Even in his own gang Ringo was a man apart from the others.

Father was glad to have these men go through with his train,
as their presence meant added protection for the women and chil
dren. Any judge of human nature would have known that the two
strangers were brave and fearless and would be of great help to
the party in a battle with the Indians. They were so courteous
and considerate of the other members of the train that they made
many friends. In those days no one asked questions of strangers,
and father did not know, until long after he reached the frontier,

15,

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

that the two men were fugitives from Texas, though he guessed
as much. Ringo and his companion were not wholly bad, and on
the journey showed that they had many good qualities.

Ordinarily it took fifteen days to travel between Ysleta and
Silver City. The party reached Mesilla, New Mexico, without
incident. From there it was a two-day trip to the stage station
known as Slocum's Ranch. The distance was around thirty miles,
and there was no water along the route. When they reached the
station, they found very little water there, as it had been a dry
fall. The station keeper was hauling water from a source eight
miles away and charging twenty cents a head for stock, allowing
them to be watered only one time. Because of the water shortage
the party left there early the next morning for Fort Cummins,
twenty-five miles away.

As they were leaving Slocum's Ranch, a company of thirty-
five militiamen passed the wagon train on its way to the place
where a family of seven had been killed the day before by Victorio
and his band of Indians. Father's party had gone about eight miles
beyond the stage station and was nearing the divide of Cook's
Range, when they saw at the foot of Cook's Peak a man on a big
black horse racing toward them. He did not slow down as he
reached the wagon train.

"Go back to Slocum's Ranch," he shouted as he passed. "The
Indians are only a few miles away."

This horseman was the captain of the militia which had
started out ahead of the wagon train early that morning. They
had ridden into an ambush, and many of them had been killed.
He was going for reinforcements.

After the captain dashed by, the men of the party gathered to
plan what would be best for them to do. They decided to drive
the wagons in a circle and dig as deep a pit in the inclosure as
was possible before the Indians arrived. They would fight from
the shelter of this pit. They knew if they left the loaded wagons,
there would be nothing remaining after the Indian attack, and
there was not enough time for the ox-drawn wagons to return to
the stage station if the savages were so near.

The men began driving the wagons in a circle, but the women
cried and pleaded with them for the sake of the children to try
to get back to Slocum's Ranch. Finally the men decided to take
the chance. It is well the women's prayers were heeded, for other
wise not one of the party would have been left to tell the story.

Hastily the men unloaded the light spring wagons drawn by

16

W. John Parks, taken several
months before he left Texas
for the West in 1879.

Mrs. John Parks, in 1885

Sheriff Jim Parks and wife. Tak
en during his first term as sher
iff of Graham County

John Parks, chief deputy for his
brother Jim for six years, when
the latter was sheriff of Graham
County

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'^fpfitow^, 4f4M|^p}N^^ r ^ ^ i T

Pages from the diary of the author's parents, John and Louise Parks,
kept during their journey west in 1879

Race horses owned
by John Parks.
John (L) on "Gray
John, Jr." and Jim
on "The Kid"

Standing: (L) B. B. Adams
and Howard C. Boone. Seated
Is Captain Lane Fisher, Tak
en in 1885

Rufus Nephews (Climax Jim),
early-day bad man of the Clif
ton section

The author's father, John
Parks, Sr., after twenty-three
years of pioneering in the
West

A small group of the Duncan militia in 1885

Street scene, Deming, New Mexico, in the early eighties

Duncan, Arizona, in 1885

Geronimo, the most blood
thirsty chief of the Apaches-

Massia, a powerful warrior
who escaped from the authori
ties while en route to Kansas
City by train. He was never
apprehended

The Apache Kid, an outlaw
for whose capture a reward of
$5,000 was offered from 1888
until 1894

Talkalai, Apache chief and ex-army scout.
A friend of the white man, he died at the
age of one hundred and two

Group of Indian prisoners who killed Sheriff Reynolds and Deputy Holmes.
The Apache Kid stands fourth from the left

Chief Victorio, whose Indian
band attacked the wagon
train of John Parks near Slo-
cum's ranch

Apache squaw w r ith infant
papoose strapped in Indian
cradle similar to that in which
the Indian papoose Doubtful
was found

Geroninio bidding farewell to Ari/ona as he was about

to entrain for Florida

Geronimo (R) at San Carlos in the spring of 1885

', >

An Apache Indian grave in the branches

of a mesquite tree

An America] gentleman who
owns a larg< herd of white-
face Herefc ds, purchased
'with funds rjnated by the
government

Murder Camp, nhere the Stockton
roundup camp< when Joe Gram-
mer killed Felh Burris

Indian scouts in their native costume, the breech-clout

Apache chieftain arrayed in his paraphernalia
of the early days

Left to right: Geronimo, Oliver Bekan and Christian
Natchez. Taken a few days before the Indian out
break of May 17, 1885

Hi Jolly, the camel
driver

Cell block of the ol
Yuma penitentiary, e
tablished in 1876. R
stored, by the state, ;
a landmark, in 1937

Black Jack's cave on
Cole Creek. Rendez-
vous of Black Jack and
his gang

Geronimo and his tribe of Chiricahua Indians at Bowie
Station, ready to entrain for Florida to which they had
been banished forever

Ed Mitchell, rustler
who was captured at
Steamboat Springs in
Gila County

Apache Indian camp on Washita River, Oklahoma,
after their transfer from Florida to Oklahoma

Boulder-covered peak
opposite Black Jack's
cave, where the posse
concealed themselves
before firing the fatal
volley that ended his
career

Ready to release the copper bar that would end the career of Nah Deiz Zas }
murderer of Lieutenant Mott

After the copper bar was released

-\ Augustin Chacon, on the scaffold, ready to pay the
penalty for the murder of Pablo Salcido

Augustin Chacon, one
of the worst outlaws
of his day

A\\'>-

** Invited to INI

a o

Ltcf

'^

w/f rM* //ve

AUGUSTIN CHACON,

in the Jmff yard at Solomotnr/iJe,,

G0t*n(#, Arlx&na, *

JAMES V, PARKS, &he*if/.

Invitation issued to the execution

Interior view of
the Rock Jail,
where some of the
most desperate
characters of the
West were con
fined

Where the Apache Kid hid
out, after killing Merrill
and his daughter

The last building standing
in old Ehrenberg. It housed
the first store of Michael
Goldwater who came to Ari
zona in the fifties

The first capitol of
Arizona. Built in
Prescott, 1864

THE WESTWARD TREK

teams of horses, and the party drove as fast as possible back over
the road they had covered that morning. Before they left the
freight wagons, however, the men unyoked all the oxen and
started them down the mountain side. Father's bunch of stock
horses were driven back to Slocum's Ranch.

The emigrants stayed two days at the station, and during that
time a hard rain fell. The large mud tank at Slocum's Ranch was
filled with water, insuring plenty of water for months to come.
On the third day the party went back to the place where the
wagons had been abandoned.

The men found that the Indians had destroyed everything
and had tried to burn the wagons. Fortunately the rain had put
out the fire. The whole mountain side looked as if a snowstorm
had visited it, for the hostiles had emptied out the flour and the
feather beds. Bolts of dry goods had been unrolled and scattered
in every direction, torn and damaged bevond use. The bedding
and all the supplies father had bought for the store had been
destroved. The onlv things left from our household goods were
father's violin and mother's sewing machine, which was tied so
securely to the seat of the spring wagon that the men had not
taken time to unload them when the party turned back. Someone
picked up the key to mother's eight-day clock and a little jewel
box of hers. The jewel box, still a family possession, is a much
treasured relic.

From certain signs it was obvious that the Indians had ap
proached the wagon train in a very stealthy manner and had con
cealed themselves among the boulders before firing. Where the
red men had hidden behind the rocks, the men of the party found
hundreds of empty cartridge shells. Probably the Indians, upon
seeing the wagons drawn up in a circle, had become suspicious
and were afraid to go too near until they had proved to their
satisfaction that no one was there.

In the haste to get away, one of the families had left two small
pups in their wagon. The rescue party discovered that the savages
had cut off all the feet of one puppy and had hung the other to
the reach pole of the wagon. The pup with its feet cut off was
still alive when the men found it and was mercifully put to death.

While the oxen were being rounded up, yoked, and hitched to
the wagons, the women searched for any small articles which they
had treasured as keepsakes. Soon the travelers were on their way
again, saddened by their misfortune but glad that their lives had
been spared. They covered the rest of the journey mostly during

17

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

the hours of darkness, and saw many signal fires at night and
smoke signals during the day. >

The caravan had not gone far beyond the scene of the disaster
when it came upon two abandoned wagons, each drawn by an ox
team. The wagons were the old Mexican type, with the big
wooden cart wheels and were called carretas. The oxen had been
shot but were not dead, and father had them killed. The drivers
had tried to escape but were found dead not far from the wagons.

About five miles farther on, at the divide, the party stopped
beside a train of thirteen wagons which had been hauling fruit
from Ysleta to Silver City. The thirteen drivers had been killed
by Victorio and his same band of hostiles who had destroyed all
of father's supplies. Quite a number of the oxen had been shot
down, and in some cases their mates were left standing. The men
killed the injured ones, unyoked the others, and turned them
loose on the mountain. The animals had been without feed or
water, many of them yoked to dead or wounded mates, for four
days, since father's wagon train was the first to travel over the
road after the slaughter.

A horseman who had been riding with the fruit train for bet
ter protection had escaped to a large yucca about a hundred and
fifty yards from the road. With one hand he had fired a .44 Win
chester, and with the other he had tried to dig a hole in the
ground with a large knife. The hole was about half large enough
for him to hide in when he was killed. The men found his body
riddled with bullets, and by his side were over a hundred shells
which he had fired at the Indians.

Father's party traveled on without other interruptions and
reached Silver City about the middle of November, 1879. They
were very kindly received by Harvey Whitehill, who was then
sheriff of Grant County.

Mr. Whitehill later figured as a prominent character in Miss
Nobody of No Where, by Archibald Clavering Gunter. The story
told of Indian depredations in the early days of Arizona and New
Mexico at a time when the East was very much in sympathy with
the "poor abused and much-wronged Indians/' Easterners seemed
to have the impression that the white settlers were trying to ex
terminate the red man in order to get his lands. The scene of the
Gunter story was laid mainly in Lordsburg, New Mexico, which
was on the only through railroad line in New Mexico from the
East to the West Coast. One day as the train made its customary
stop, Harvey Whitehill boarded it and served subpoenas on pro-
IB

THE WESTWARD TREK

testing passengers, men and women alike, to make up a coroner's
jury. An Englishman and his wife had just been killed by Indians
near the C A Bar Ranch not far from Duncan. The hearing
brought the true Indian situation home at least to the few Easter
ners who had to serve on that jury.

Father stayed in Silver City only a short time. As he had lost
his stock of goods and could not open a store, he was on the
lookout for some business to get into so that he could earn a living
for his family. He heard that Knight's Ranch, a stage station in
the Burro Mountains, was for sale. The daily stage between Sil
ver City and Lordsburg stopped at Knight's Ranch to change
horses and let the passengers eat dinner. Father made a deal for
the station early in December, paying part cash and giving some
horses on the trade, for the owners, Knight and Swan, were
anxious to get rid of the property. Their wives considered it
dangerous to live there, for the place was located near one of the
main Indian trails which led to Old Mexico from the San Carlos
reservation. Father and mother took possession a few days after
the deal was closed. During the time my parents lived there, the
Indians were almost constantly on the warpath, raiding and
murdering.

Victorio and his band were not annihilated until the fall of
1880. A bounty of a thousand dollars had been put on his head
by the Mexican government after the marauders had terrorized
northern Mexico. On October 16, 1880, he and his band were
penned in and killed, about twenty miles east of Chihuahua, by
General Terrasas and a force of two thousand soldiers and two
hundred Indian scouts. General Terrasas was made governor of
the state of Chihuahua and was given several thousand acres of
land and the bounty for exterminating Victorio and his entire
band of hostiles.

The westward trek of father and mother and their five small
children was typical of the hardships and dangers faced by the
emigrants who helped to establish the new frontier. Their ex
periences differed only in detail from those of other pioneers who
blazed the trail and labored to make our frontier states what they
are today. When father settled in Arizona in 1881, he seemed to
feel that he had found the land he had always been looking for.
He made it his home and devoted the rest of his life to its up
building and protection.

* # *

Intensely dramatic is the history of Arizona. Flags of Spain,

19

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Mexico, the Confederacy, and the United States have floated over
the region since it was first explored by the white man. In 1536,
almost thirty years before St. Augustine, Florida, was founded,
Alvar Niinez Cabeza de Vaca, a Spaniard, had the honor of being
the earliest European to set foot on Arizona soil.

Four years later Coronado, with a thousand men, traveled
through the Arizona area. In April, 1540, this Spanish explorer
entered the region by the Santa Cruz Valley in his quest for gold.
He visited many sections of the country in his search for the
Seven Cities of Cibola, where golden treasure was supposed to be
found.

In 1604 Don Juan de Ofiate, then governor of New Mexico,
passed through Arizona with forty men. The expedition had set
out to find a large body of water to the west where beautiful
pearls had been found. After reaching a small stream, the Santa
Maria, they followed it down to its junction with the Colorado.
They went to the mouth of the Colorado and returned by the
same route, encountering several tribes of friendly Indians whose
languages and manners were similar.

The earliest missions in this area were founded in the Hopi
towns of northern Arizona by Franciscans who came into the
region from New Mexico. In 1629 the mission of San Bernardino
de Awatovi was established. Soon others were built in the towns
of Shungopovi, Mashongnovi, Walpi, and Oraibi, but all five were
destroyed in the Pueblo Rebellion of 1680, and only fragmentary
records of the period remain.

In the southern part of Arizona the Jesuits under Father Kino
began the establishment of missions among the Pima and Papago
Indians. Early in 1691 Kino visited the site of San Cayetano de
Tumacacori and said mass. Later that year mass was said at
Guevavi, some thirty miles south of Tucson, and the next year
at San Xavier del Bac, near the present site of Tucson. No mis
sions were built during these visits, but cattle were left and
ranches located. After 1700 the mission buildings of the Jesuit
period were started, but none of these structures remain.

During the lifetime of Father Kino, the missions were in a
flourishing condition. They owned herds of cattle, sheep, and
horses, and cultivated large areas of land which yielded grain,
vegetables, and fruit. They also worked rich silver mines near
the missions, and produced large quantities of precious metals in
spite of the crude reduction facilities of the period.

When Kino died in 1711, there were eight prosperous mis-

20

THE WESTWARD TREK

sions within the bounds of present-day Arizona: Guevavi, San
Xavier del Bac, San Jose de Tumacacori, Santa Gertrudis de
Tubac, San Miguel de Sonoita, Calabasas, Arivaca, and Santa Ana.
Also there were small chapels where the Fathers came and said
mass, but these chapels were merely visiting places and not mis
sions. Among the chapels were San Cosme near Tucson, Arivaca
at the town of the same name today, Quiburi on the San Pedro
River, and Sonoita on the Santa Cruz River. Many others were in
what is now the Papago country; along the Gila River where
lived the Pimas, the Maricopas, and the Cocopas; and even on the
Colorado River near the present site of Yuma.

The Fathers visited the missions from time to time, but by
1743 were encountering much hostility from the Apaches, who
tried to make them discontinue their efforts. In 1751 the Pimas,
under a native chief, plotted to destroy the missions. They at
tacked the unsuspecting Spaniards and killed nearly a hundred
of them, including several priests. The missions, pueblos, and
ranches were destroyed after this revolt against the priests and
their religion. So serious was this devastation that as long as the
Jesuits remained, little was done to reestablish the missions.

In 1767 the Jesuits were expelled by order of the Spanish
king, and during the following year fourteen Franciscan Fathers
entered under Garces at San Xavier. It is quite probable that
the mission of San Augustin in Tucson was the first founded by
the Franciscans in the southern part of Arizona.

The present mission buildings are all of this Franciscan
period, with the possible exception of Guevavi. Tumacacori and
San Xavier were started about 1783, but neither one was ever
entirely completed. The Apaches made constant raids on the
mission property, driving off the herds of sheep and cattle.

Escalante appears to have been the last of the zealous Fathers
to attempt to reorganize the missions, but because of the increas
ing severity of the attacks of the savage Apaches, who swept down
from their mountain strongholds and left death and destruction
in their path, the effort was abandoned. When the priests were
driven from the missions in 1827, the Papagos took charge of the
church of San Xavier del Bac and preserved it from the Apaches.
Today it is the only one of the Franciscan missions in Arizona
which is in even a fairly good state of preservation.

By 1800 parties of trappers and prospectors began to drift into
Arizona. Among these were Sylvester Pattie and Ms son, James O.
Pattie, who has left a record of his journeys. In 1824, shortly after

21

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Mexico passed from Spanish rule and set up its own government,
tile Patties, with the consent of the Mexican authorities, started
down the Gila River, then called the Helay. They were looking
for beaver and found good trapping. At the junction of the Gila
with the Salt River they met a French captain and a party of
twenty-nine Americans who continued with them. On another
expedition they followed the Gila to its junction with the Colora
do and then up the Colorado into the northern part of Arizona.
They went as far as the small stream known as the Bill Williams
Fork, near where the town of Williams now stands.

The prospectors who drifted into Arizona, though mining the
richest of properties in a very crude way, recovered a great deal
of gold. They also found rich silver desposits in abundance. Allur
ing stories of the new land drifted back to the parts of the coun
try from which these people had come, and parties large and small
began to move westward. Because feed and water were plentiful,
hferds of cattle were brought in, principally from Mexico-, and
many of the earliest comers went into the cattle business. Apache
raids continued, endangering life and property, but the settlers
from the East kept coming regardless of hostile depredations.
These pioneers were a hardy race and not easily discouraged.

By the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1847' Mexico ceded to
the United States the area between the Giia River and the boun
dary of the Oregon country. In 1854 the region extending south
of the Gila to the present boundary between Arizona and Mexico
was acquired by purchase. This area, about forty thousand square
miles, was called the Gadsden Purchase, named for James Gads-
den* the United States minister to Mexico. The price paid was
ten million dollars, and Gadsden was ridiculed at the time for
throwing away such a vast sum on a worthless desert.

Subsequent to the ratification of the Gadsden treaty the area
now known as Arizona became a part of Dona Ana County,
New Mexico. The name first chosen for this new area was
Pimeria, in honor of the tribe of Pima Indians, but the name
adopted was Arizona. There are many diversified opinions and
statements as to the origin of the word, and probably the question
of how Arizona got its name will never be definitely settled. As
early as 1582, however, the region was called Arizuma by the
Spaniards. When Congress was petitioned in 1856 for the organi
zation of the territory, Colonel Poston* gave it the name Arizona,

* James, H. McClintock, Arizona, the Youngest State, S. J. Clark Publishing Com
pany: Chicago, 1916.

22

THE WESTWARD TREK

Whatever its origin, the word is symbolic of the country within
its boundaries, and the soft musical rhythm of its pronunciation
speaks of Spanish influence.

The people of this new land wanted a territorial government,
and in 1857 a bill for that purpose was introduced into Congress
but failed to pass. In 1860 another effort was made to pass the bill,
but the breaking out of the Civil War postponed the matter in
definitely. Arizona remained attached to New Mexico until Febru
ary 24, 1863, when President Lincoln signed a bill giving it a
separate existence. It was created a territory in May of that year,
with Senator Watts of New Mexico and Senator Ashley of Ohio
as its advocates. It included approximately 132,000 square miles
and was 390 miles long by 340 miles wide. Though it claimed a
white population of 6,500, the best count recorded only 600
whites. But the East at that time needed money to carry on the
war, and as Arizona was reported to have rich deposits of gold, the
bill was passed.

A territorial capital was established at Prescott in June, 1864,
and John N. Goodwin was appointed governor. The first execu
tive mansion was a log cabin, which is still standing. It is the
property of Miss Charlotte Hall and is used by her as a museum,
housing many old records of early days. In 1889 the capital was
moved to Phoenix, where it remains. The Capitol was built of
native tufa, a beautiful white building stone. Cut in large roughly
hewn blocks, the tufa makes an attractive as well as a substantial
building. Arizona is one of the three states whose seal has been
laid in tile mosaic in the floor of the capitoL

At first Arizona was divided into four counties, Pima, Yuma,
Yavapai, and Mohave. By 1861 six additional counties had been
created from the original four, and later four other counties were
formed, until there are fourteen today. Final, Coconino, Navajo,
Apache, Cochise, and Maricopa were given names of Indian tribes
living in those sections. Gila and Santa Cruz, however, were
named after rivers within their boundaries; Graham, from the
county's highest peak, which itself bore the name of a gallant
army officer; and Greenlee, from Mace Greenlee, one of the
earliest prospectors to explore the Clifton-Morenci district.

The appropriateness of naming the counties after the tribes
living there has been extended also to the naming of the state
highways. One of the best known roads in the state is the Apache
Trail, named for the Apache tribe near Globe, whose ancient
paths the highway follows. This road passes along Roosevelt I^ake

23

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

and Dam, and connects Globe with Phoenix. Perhaps the most
scenic road is the Coronado Trail, which connects Clifton with
Springerville. It follows the approximate route explored by Coro
nado and his men eighty years before the Pilgrims landed at
Plymouth Rock. This highway runs through the northern part
o what was Graham County but in 1909 became Greenlee Coun
ty. Winding through the Crook and Apache national forests, the
Coronado Trail is noted for its scenic grandeur.

To commemorate the blazing of the first trail through the
Arizona region four centuries ago by Coronado and his army, the
early settlers used the name Coronado in many connections. The
first mine in the Clifton-Morenci area was named the Coronado.
It was a copper mine located eight miles north of Clifton, at
Metcalf, and was operated by the Lesinsky brothers. After the
Arizona Copper Company bought out the Lesinsky interests, a
3,300-foot incline was built to the top of Coronado Hill from
Chase Creek Canyon. This incline, the longest in the world at
that time, was called the Coronado Incline. The railroad con
necting Clifton with the incline was known as the Coronado
Railroad.

A little locomotive, the second shipped to Clifton to run on
the twenty-inch-gauge railroad to the incline, was also named
Coronado. The narrow-gauge Arizona and New Mexico Railroad,
running from Clifton to Lordsburg, had a station, Coronado, mid
way between Duncan and Clifton. At this station passengers going
to the county seat at Solomonville* or to other Gila Valley points
took the stage to reach their destination. The first Masonic lodge
organized in Clifton was named Coronado Lodge No. 8.

In 1900 a possible relic of the Coronado expedition was un
earthed by George Gamble on his farm four miles below Dun
can. Gamble, a pioneer resident of Clifton, had come there in
1883 and served for sixteen years as engineer on the Coronado
Railroad. Then, tiring of life in a mining camp, he bought a
farm near Duncan. While hauling rock to repair a dam at the
head of his canal, he uncovered a short thick sword about twenty
inches long and three-quarters of an inch thick at the back. It was
inlaid with gold on both sides and on the back. According to Dean
Frank D. Lockwood of the University of Arizona, the sword was
probably lost by Coronado or one of his captains four hundred
years ago. Dean Lockwood considers it one of the most valuable
relics ever found in the state, and believes that the site where it

* Often spelled Solomonsville

24

THE WESTWARD TREK

was found was possibly the place where Coronado and his men
crossed the Gila River on their return to Mexico.

Though Coronado carried his search for the Seven Cities of
Cibola, where golden treasure was to be found, into many parts
of Arizona, he did not see the Grand Canyon. Instead, he sent
Don Garcia Lopez de Cardenas north with twelve men to find a
river of which the native Indians had spoken. Thus Cardenas
was the first white man to gaze upon the wonders of the Grand
Canyon, at least so far as records show. Astounded as he must
have been when he stood on the brink of this great chasm, he
could not possibly have conceived of its vast extent or great depth
or the antiquity revealed in its solid rock walls.

In recent years the CCC boys, hewing a trail from the rim
down to the river, have found in those walls evidences of almost
every age of the world's geological records. Of the seven climatic
belts found in the world, the Grand Canyon region has six, rang
ing from Arctic to subtropic; only the tropic is missing. For all
the importance of Cardenas or Coronado in the discovery of the
canyon, neither man's name has been connected with the area.

The Spanish explorers also named the Colorado River, which
flows through the northern part of the state and forms its western
boundary for more than a thousand miles. This river drains an
area of 244,000 square miles in seven western states and flows
through the full length of the Grand Canyon. Because of its red
color brought about by the large amount of silt in the water, the
Spaniards named it the Red, or Colorado River.

The first mining railroad in Arizona was the twenty-inch
1 'baby "-gauge built in 1880 by the Lesinskys and operated from
their copper furnaces at Clifton to the Longfellow Mine. The
first locomotive, named Little Emma, weighed about four tons.
It was freighted overland by ox teams from La Junta, Colorado,
a distance of about seven hundred miles. At that time La Junta
was the nearest railroad point. The locomotive was put together
by Henry Arbuckle, who served as engineer on the road for
thirty-five years and was known to everyone in the district as
Dad Arbuckle. He was a very large man, weighing around two
hundred and sixty pounds, and it was about all he could do to
get into the cab of the little locomotive. When standing up to
clean and oil it, he looked almost as tall as the engine. His many
friends often joked with him about his being larger than his
engine. Today the bell of little Emma is hanging in an archway
in the small park of Clifton.

25

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

The Coronado, Little Emma's twin, was brought to Clifton
in 1883 by the Arizona Copper Company. Her engineer, George
Gamble, had come from Georgetown, New Mexico, in the spring
of that year. He lived in Clifton for over forty-five years, and dur
ing all that time he was an employee of the copper company.
After the mines closed in 1932, the company gave Mr. Gamble
the honor of disposing of his engine, and he presented the little
Coronado to the Arizona Museum in Phoenix. Having been a
pioneer, he was greatly interested in preserving the relics of
earlier days for posterity. Mr. Gamble is living at Prescott, a
guest of the Arizona Pioneers Home there.

In 1882 construction was begun on the thirty-six-inch-gauge
Arizona and New Mexico Railroad from Lordsburg to the copper
mines at Clifton, a distance of seventy-one miles. This was soon
after the construction crew of the Southern Pacific Railroad
had passed Lordsburg, building its transcontinental line from
the East to California. The railroad to Clifton was completed
as far as Guthrie by August, 1883; from there the passengers
continued the trip to Clifton by stage. Freight and other supplies
were hauled in by ox teams. The most difficult part of the road
to build was from Guthrie to Clifton, as it required a great deal
of blasting and heavy grading over the rough country, with many
cuts and one tunnel through the hills.

The Morenci Southern, a branch line from Guthrie to Mo-
renci, a distance of twelve miles, was completed in 1901. It was
called the corkscrew road of America, for it made three complete
loops and several hairpin curves. It was also a narrow-gauge road.
After completion, it hauled supplies to Morenci, as well as the
finished copper product from Morenci back to the junction with
the Arizona and New Mexico Railroad at Guthrie. Before this
time, all freight and supplies had to be taken to Clifton, transfer
red to the Coronado Railroad, again transferred, taken up the
Longfellow Incline, and put onto a train at the head of the in
cline, which hauled the load into Morenci. This short railroad
passed through the Longfellow Tunnel.

E. A. Cutter, a railroad contractor and builder for both the
Arizona Copper Company and the Detroit Copper Company,
constructed the little twenty-inch-gauge road from Clifton to the
Coronado Incline. Mr. Cutter was short and very portly, weighing
between two hundred and fifty and two hundred and seventy
pounds, and measuring fifty-two inches in girth. His propor-

26

THE WESTWARD TREK

tions called forth an early-day story which became the joke of the
day.

At a term of court in Solomonville, Cutter met George
Gamble, an old friend he had not seen for some time. Gamble's
bright little son Jimmie had accompanied his father that day, and
when the two men shook hands and stopped to talk, Gamble said
to Jimmie:

"You know Mr. Cutter, son. Shake hands with him."

Jimmie looked up very intently into Mr. Cutter's face and
said, "I don't know him by his face, but I know him by his
stomach."

An account of railroad activities in the eighties and later,
especially concerning the region from Lordsburg to Guthrie
through which the Arizona and New Mexico Railroad was built,
is preserved in James Colquhoun's The History of the Clifton-
Morenci Mining District:* Mr. Colquhoun had been sent over
from Scotland in 1883 to become general manager of the Arizona
Copper Company and continued in that capacity until 1904.
After he resigned on account of ill health, he was retained for
several years as president of the company. The following com
ments are taken from his history:

This narrow gauge railroad was 36 inches wide and was called
the Arizona and New Mexico Railway. It was built by the Ari
zona Copper Company, a Scotch corporation of Edinburgh,
Scotland. They were instrumental in the development of the great
copper mines at Metcalf, Coronado, and Longfellow.

The Lesinskys in the late 70's built the first primitive copper
furnaces in that district. The ore was smelted into copper bul
lion and hauled to Kansas City, Mo., by ox teams, a distance of
1,200 miles, and on the return trip the teams would haul food,
clothing, and mine supplies; sometimes the teamsters left Clifton
and were never heard of again, and the teamsters who followed
would find a few dead bodies and the remains of wrecked wagons
which told the fate of the drivers of the ore train and its supplies.

The Arizona Copper Company bought out the Lesinskys* in
terests in 1882.

Mr. Colquhoun also included a comment about my home and
family, showing his appreciation of the conditions facing the
early settlers:

Duncan was a small hamlet the home of the Parks family,
a hardy, fearless race of natural pioneers.

* John Murray: London, 1924

27

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Though the early families devoted themselves to peaceful
enterprise, it was years before Arizona was free from threats of
outlawry and hostile raids, and during those years my father
gave freely of his services in protecting life and property

CHAPTER II

Glontj the Gtizona

MY FATHER, W. JOHN PARKS, FAMILIARLY CALLED

Uncle John by all his friends, was known far and wide as a man
of great courage. He was five feet, eleven inches tall and of
muscular build. He was sturdy and strong and weighed a hundred
and seventy-five pounds. He did not know what it was to be sick
or even to have a headache. He had dark brown hair which did
not turn gray until the last months of his life. His deep blue eyes
would twinkle in moments of amusement, but were dark and
stern when he became angry. He was cool-headed and always
used good judgment in the tightest of places. There are few
people in this world who are fearless, but my father had an ab
solute lack of fear.

Generous to a fault, father would give his last dollar to a
friend in need. A man who was broke was welcome to our home
until he could get a job. In instances where the inclination to
work was lacking, mother had a free boarder, sometimes for
months at a time. But father was an excellent provider, a good
trader, and a big money maker. He never overlooked a real
financial opportunity and was either unusually shrewd or ex
tremely lucky. He did not place any great value on money, for he
spent it freely on himself, his family, and his friends.

As there were no banks where father could deposit his money,
he buried it in baking powder cans. He could dig it up easily and
put it into circulation again. Mother was always urging him to
put by a nestegg for the future and keep adding to it, but money
came so easily in those early days that the men apparently could
not foresee a time when it would not always be plentiful.

Father was a lover of fine horses and made a hobby of raising
good blooded stock. After he moved to Duncan, he shipped in the
first steel dust stallion, and some of that original strain still be-

29

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

longs to his fourth son, Charlie Parks, who has a good bunch of
saddle horses at his S I Ranch in New Mexico. After we moved
to Solomonville, father also shipped out from Kentucky a big bay
Morgan stallion called John D. He owned several fast race horses,
among them Dogie, Belle, Commissary and Gray John. The latter
broke the speed record on the Phoenix track when he was seven
teen years old.

Father was a lifelong Democrat and an influential politician.
At various times he held political jobs ranging from undersheriff
to justice of the peace and deputy United States marshal. Though
he made many arrests of so-called bad men or desperadoes, he
never had to shoot or kill a man. Deeply and sincerely he felt his
responsibility, especially during his first few years in the new
land. He was gravely concerned for the safety of his family and
other families, for the Indians were a constant menace and an
ever-threatening danger. He organized the ranchers and other
citizens for the protection of the settlers in that section. There
were many good followers but few good leaders, and father was
a natural-born leader, one in whom his friends and neighbors had
great confidence. He and his men were ready at all times to start
in pursuit of any band of marauding Indians who passed through
on their murderous raids.

Though the new frontier to which my parents had corne had
been explored by the Spaniards and had a history dating back
for more than three centuries, it was a wild country, and the
pioneer mothers helped to transform 1 it into homes for their
families. Since the things that are hardest to achieve in this life
are the most highly prized, these pioneer women loved their
homes in the new land. They had endured untold hardships cross
ing the wilderness and establishing their homes, and asked only
to be allowed to live in peace. They grew to love their adopted
land, where the sky was a soft blue by day and a deep blue by
night, studded with millions of stars that seemed much closer
to the earth than in the states they had forever left behind them.

My mother, like the women of her day, was very modest and
retiring in nature. She had black hair, blue-gray eyes, and a kind
disposition. She was a good wife and mother and a loyal friend.
As a pioneer mother, her part in establishing civilization in her
community was as important as that of her more daring and
venturesome husband. Without the cooperation of the women,
the taming of the West would have taken a much longer time.
Often the courageous mothers were the only protection for their

30

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

families of small children while their husbands had to be away
from home.

There were seven children in our family five sons and two
daughters. Four of the boys, James V., William H., John D., and
Charles W., and one girl, Jennie M., were born in Texas. The
other girl, Dollie C, and the youngest son, Howard M., were
born in Duncan. We were a very happy and congenial bunch,
creating most of our good times. We were cheerful and lively and
very fond of each other and we found many incidents irresistibly
funny.

From mother, who had inherited the wit of her Irish-English
father, we derived originality and seemed always to see the
humorous side of life. From father we drew courage and deter
mination which were important assets as we grew up, for we
would not admit defeat in any worthy ambition. We had the
patience and determination to work out the many problems that
confronted us, and to encourage each other in every worth-while
and honorable undertaking.

The family home at Knight's Ranch had been the first build
ing put up in the Burro Mountains, as well as the first residence.
Built by Richard S. Knight in 1874 near the head of Knights
Canyon, it was an adobe with very thick walls and several rooms.
Soon Knight's Ranch became a household word throughout the
Southwest as a haven of safety for prospectors, travelers, and set
tlers who were forced to seek protection from the attacks of raid
ing Apaches.

After the building was completed, it became a station on the
stage line which connected with the overland routes to California.
The government established a mail route from Lordsburg to
Silver City, and a few years later constructed a telegraph line
which passed the place. By 1877 extensive commercial relations
were being carried on between Silver City, which was the base
of supplies for an immense section of the country, and Clifton,
Arizona, a remote mining camp. It was over this route that
thousands of tons of copper matte were hauled from Clifton to
Silver City and on to Las Animas, Colorado, or to Kansas City,
by way of El Paso. Kansas City was the principal terminus for
the copper matte shipped from Clifton, as well as the main base
for the supplies needed in the mining camp.

As soon as father bought Knight's Ranch from Mr. Knight
and his brother-in-law, Mr. Swan, he hired a Chinese cook to do
the cooking for the family, stage passengers and transients. Then

31

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

he began removing the windows of the house, and built the open
ings up with rock, leaving a porthole in each opening through
which to fight if Indians should attack the place. On several oc
casions while we lived there, hostile bands passed along the old
Indian trail in the mountains near the house, but we never had
to use the house as a fortress.

We children never tired of watching the freight wagons that
usually stopped at our place. The wagons were drawn by eight
to ten yoke of oxen, and the drivers were nearly all Mexicans.
They had long slender poles of oak or some other tough wood,
with a nail or spike in the tip, and they used these prod poles to
urge the slow animals on to greater effort on grades or bad roads.

Now and then we had very exciting times. Late one afternoon
several men rode up with a herd of cattle and asked permission
to pen them in one of the corrals overnight. They had to wait
till mother and a hired hand finished milking. Then we children
stood at the fence looking through the cedar pickets at the com
motion as the men rode around the herd, whooping and waving
their hats to make the cattle enter the strange pen.

About a mile down the road came a train of freight wagons.
The drivers had heard that Indians were on the warpath and
heading toward the Burro Mountains. The men were trying to
make it to our place for the night when a fellow who was new on
the job was badly frightened. The older men decided to have
some fun at his expense and fired several shots into the air. When
they started yelling that Indians were coming, the terrified man
left his wagon and started on the run for our ranch. In his flight
he lost his hat and as he neared the house he was shouting, "In-
dios, Indios," at every step.

When the cattlemen saw the Mexican running and shouting,
they supposed that Indians were very near, and called to us chil
dren to run to the house. I was quite small and couldn't go as fast
as the others. The first thing I knew, one of the riders galloped
up beside me, reached down, and grabbed hold of me. He pulled
me to the saddle in front of him and raced to the house.

Soon the other drivers brought in the freight wagons. When
the cattlemen learned of the joke that had been played on the
new man, they came near lynching a couple of the freighters.
They impressed upon the drivers the dangers of trying out a
practical joke at such a critical time, when an Indian attack could
be expected at any time.

Father and mother had scarcely become settled in their new

32

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

home at Knight's Ranch when Christmas came, and we celebrated
our first Christmas in the Southwest on this isolated ranch. There
were no bright ribbons or tinsel or even popcorn to decorate a
tree with, nor were there any toys to hang on it, though our
home among the cedars would surely have been an ideal place
for Santa Glaus to visit. Mother had told us the alluring story
o the jolly saint and his sleigh and reindeer, a story which is
always new to the children in every clime. We were filled with
the happy Christmas spirit and looked forward expectantly to
what Christmas morning would bring us.

On the night before Christmas we sat around the fireplace
and gazed at our stockings hanging on small nails driven around
the mantel. At last we grew sleepy and went to bed, but at the
break of dawn we were up and running about to see what Santa
had given us. Mother and father got up, too, and we sat before
a roaring fire emptying out stockings and exclaiming over each
thing we found. We were too excited to think about breakfast.

A week or so before Christmas mother had given the stage
driver some money and asked him to buy her some candies, nuts,
fruit, and whatever toys he could find in Silver City. But the only
things he could get were figures made of white sugar candy, tinted
around the edges with pale pink. On Christmas morning I found
in my stocking a little candy dog, a rabbit, a kitten, and two
candy dolls. In my excitement over the dolls, I dropped one and
broke its head. I sobbed bitterly over the accident and could
hardly be persuaded to eat breakfast.

Even more bitter was the disappointment of my brothers Jim
and Will, for our cousin, John Epley, who enjoyed nothing better
than a practical joke, chose this time to play one on the boys.
After everyone else had gone to bed on Christmas Eve, he got up,
quietly entered the room where the stockings hung, emptied the
boys' stockings, and filled Jim's with dried onions and Will's with
potatoes. This joke shattered the boys' childish faith in Santa
Glaus. Cousin John gave them back the gifts he had taken from
their stockings, but nothing seemed the same to the boys.

Father still owned a number of saddle and stock horses, and
he and Jim, then about ten years old, rode the range during the
winter and spring to keep the horses from drifting away and to
see that none were stolen by Indians or rustlers. One spring day
father found a little fawn and brought it home, carrying it in
front of him on the saddle. The boys were delighted to have a
pet, as children are who live in isolated places, and with mother's

33

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

help they managed to raise him. They named him Billie and put
a leather collar around his neck, with a tiny bell attached. Soon
he would follow the boys around like a puppy.

When Billie got old enough to graze, the boys took him out
on the hills where he could eat the green grass. After a little
while the boys would try to slip off and get a good start for home,
for Billie could run very fast. Soon he would raise his head, and
seeing that they had gone, he would start on the run for the
house. The boys would know by the tinkling of the bell that he
was catching up, and though they would run their very best,
Billie always won the race. We children loved to romp with the
fawn, for he would jump and bound about and was so fast we
could never catch him. But Billie's life was to be a short one.

When father sold the place a year later, we moved to Lords-
burg for a while. He took his horses and two of the best milk
cows along, and Billie rode in the wagon. But our house did not
have a fence around it, and the fawn had to be kept in a corral
at night with the cows to protect him from the dogs. One night
Billie was hooked by one of the cows and mortally wounded.
Though father at once got a doctor to sew up the wound and
bandage it, our pet died the next day. We children, as well as
mother and father, were deeply grieved over the loss of the fawn.

While we lived at Knight's Ranch, there was seldom a time
when we did not have transients staying in the house. For a while
Bowie and Brag Knox, young brothers from one of the Southern
states, lived with us. Colonel Donohue from St. Louis spent weeks
at a time on the ranch. These men were interested in developing
mining claims they owned. Bowie Knox had a good voice and
loved to sing. Many evenings which otherwise might have been
lonely were spent with father playing the violin and Bowie sing
ing Southern melodies.

After father and mother were established in a new home in
Duncan, Arizona, more than two years after disposing of the
ranch in the Burro Mountains, the Knox boys visited us on sev
eral occasions. They were men of fine character and principles,
and remained staunch friends of ours. Later Bowie contracted
tuberculosis, and realizing that he was failing fast, he returned to
his home in the South shortly before he died.

Colonel Donohue also visited in our new home and once spent
Christmas on our cattle ranch three miles above Duncan. At that
time father had him order from St. Louis a set of silverware for
mother. The set consisted of twelve knives, forks, teaspoons, and

34

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

tablespoons, and also a silver water pitcher, a covered butter dish,
and a caster with cruets and shakers. Most of the set is still in my
possession, highly valued as keepsakes.

Among other things ordered from St. Louis at the same time
was a black dress for mother. It was tight fitting, with a draped
polonaise, and was trimmed around the bottom" with silk fringe
six inches long and with steel cut beads scattered thickly through
the fringe. It was the first ready-made dress we had ever 'seen, and
mother looked very elegant in her perfectly fitting store dress.

_ ^ During our stay at Knight's Ranch, perhaps the strangest
visitor we had was Billy the Kid. His real name was William
Bonney, and up to the age of twelve he had lived with his mother
at Silver City. He started on his career as a bad man after killing
a^man who had insulted his mother. A few weeks before the
killing, Billy and his mother, on their way to a store to do some
shopping, passed a building where several men were congregated
and idly talking. A young blacksmith who was a bully with a bad
reputation addressed an insulting remark to Billy's mother. The
boy grabbed up a rock and threw it with all his strength at the
man's head ; The blow only struck off the blacksmith's hat, but
if it had hit him it would probably have caused serious injury.
The blacksmith started after the boy, but a bystander knocked
him down. When the fellow struggled 'to his feet/the man knocked
him down again. The incident caused hard feeling between the
two men.

Shortly afterward, while Billy's defender was standing in a
saloon, a couple of drunks struck him on the head. The man
proceeded to knock one of the drunks down, but both of them
turned on him. The blacksmith, who was on the scene, saw his
chance to get even with the man who had intervened in Billy's
behalf, and joined the two drunks. When Billy, who was watch
ing a card game, saw the three attacking his friend, he pulled out
his knife and struck at the blacksmith. The knife entered the
man's heart and he fell dead. Billy left that night, a fugitive from
justice. In the course of his short life of twenty-one years, he
killed twenty-one men.

In 1880, while our family was living at Knight's Ranch, Billy
stayed two days and nights at our home. He was then about
twenty years of age. Very slight and boyish in appearance, he had
a pleasing personality. There was nothing about him to indicate
that he was the bad man that rumor gave him the reputation of
being. Father knew who he was, but said at the time that he could

35

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

not help liking and sympathizing with the boyish young fellow
with the iron nerve.

The Kid could not have been altogether bad, for he had many
friends in New Mexico. There must have been some good quali
ties mixed with the bad. He was shot and killed in the dead of
night, without the slightest warning or a chance to defend him
self, by an officer, Pat Garrett, who had been on the Kid's trail
for some time.

Mrs. Paulita Maxwell Jaramillo was a pioneer in New Mexico.
She and her husband were very prominent people in the old days,
and were well acquainted with Billy the Kid. In comparing Gar
rett with the Kid, she often said, that in her opinion, Garrett was
as cold and hard a character as the Kid, the great difference being
that Garrett had the law on his side, while the Kid was outside the
law. She felt it was typical of Garrett to waylay the Kid in the
home of a friend, while he was cutting off a steak from a shoulder
of beef for his supper, and murder him in cold blood.

Father sold Knight's Ranch in October, 1881, to Jack and
Tom Brown, who had come from Texas. Jack had earlier left
Texas to get away from cyclones. At that time Tom had told
his brother to find a country where there were neither cyclones
nor northers, and he would come, also. Jack stopped at Knight's
Ranch in his search and stayed a while. He liked the balmy cli
mate and wrote Tom that it was exactly what he had been looking
for. Soon Tom arrived and the brothers concluded a deal with
father for the ranch. They planned to go into the cattle business
and to furnish father with beef for the meat market he would
open when he moved to Lordsburg.

The Brown brothers bought the beef cattle from Lyons and
Campbell, who lived on a ranch called the Red Barn on the
upper Gila River and were the largest cattlemen in that part of
the territory. The Brown boys, who had come to New Mexico
hunting for a quiet place to live, ran into trouble almost at once.
It was the time of the Lincoln County cattle war, and on Jack's
first trip to Lake Valley he saw five men hanging from the same
tree near the road. The Browns lived at Knight's Ranch until
1886, when they sold the place and bought another on the Mem-
bres River from a Mr. Price. Here they lived until Tom's death.
Then Jack sold out and later drifted to Globe, Arizona, where
he died in 1938.

36

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

We lived in Lordsburg only two months, as father, who liked
to do things on a big scale, found the meat market business too
slow. In December, 1881, he located a ranch three miles above
Duncan, Arizona, on the Gila River, and settled there as soon
as he could build a four-room house for the family. He put up
a frame house, which was a rarity in that area, where ranch
houses were generally built of adobe. But it was winter, and no
adobes were available; besides, a frame structure could be put
up very quickly.

Before father left Lordsburg, he bought a bunch of cattle from
a man by the name of Dowdy, whose herds were branded with a
large heart on the side. To mother's cousin, John Epley, fell the
responsibility of picking the cattle, and, with the other cowboys,
driving them to the new ranch.

Father had chosen this ranch because of the good range and
water supply. It was on the Gila, which rises in the MogoIIon
Mountains in New Mexico. When the winter snows melted in the
spring of the year, the river often reached the flood stage, wash
ing the steep banks and causing them to cave in. One spring the
river in front of our house left its channel and cut a new one
about two hundred yards farther from the house. At a point
directly in front of the house, where the banks were over twelve
feet high and very steep, father began the construction of a dug
out which could be used as a shelter in case of Indian attacks.

With the help of the two older boys, Jim and Will, father
and John Epley dug a large excavation in the river bank. They
covered it first with cottonwood poles laid close together, then
added a layer of small willows cut from the river bottom, and on
top put a covering of grama grass. With a foot of adobe soil over
the grass, the roof was made waterproof. This roof extended about
a foot above the level of the ground and could hardly be seen
from even a short distance. A narrow path led down to the door,
which faced the river but could not hare been seen for the brush
and cottonwoods growing in tie river bottom.

The dugout never had to be used as a refuge from the Indians,
but it served as an extra bedroom for the family. It was warm in
winter and cool in summer. Two double beds were moved in,
and John Epley, Jim, and Will slept there. Only once did we see
a band of Indians, but they were being pursued and hurried on
their way up into the foothills.

We remained at this ranch for about a year and a half before

37

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

father sold out to Lane Fisher, a late arrival from Leavenworth,
Kansas. The place was afterward known as Fisher ranch.

. Father moved to Duncan next, where he bought a large adobe
store building with four rooms back of the main sales room.
Under the front part of the house was a big cellar where surplus
stocks had been stored. The former family had lived in the four
rooms at the rear, but father used all the building for our home.
Not far from the house was a large corral with high adobe walls.

When the Indians were on the warpath and raiding the coun
try, and the ranchers had to flee from their homes, they always
came to our house. With its thick adobe walls and corral, it was
considered the best place in town to withstand an attack. The
men made portholes all around the corral and stayed there while
the women and children remained in the house.

Duncan was a veritable fortress and refuge for the settlers up
and down the Gila River and for the surrounding ranchers dur
ing - the turbulent warfare with the Apache Indians in the early
eighties. Many were the times when a party of grim-faced men
rode out from town escorting a wagon on its way to bring in the
bodies of the latest victims of the hostiles. When any of the
ranchers or cowboys were killed, their bodies were brought to
our home pending the funeral.

The town of Duncan was founded in 1878. It was named
after Duncan Smith, one of the first presidents of the Arizona
Copper ' Company, which was a Scotch organization operating
copper mines at Clifton, thirty miles north of Duncan. Through
the center of town ran the branch railroad which connected
Clifton and Lordsburg.

Located on the banks of the Gila, within a cottonwood grove
in a valley that nestled between two mountain ranges, Duncan
was a very pretty little town even in frontier days. On each side
of the valley the low rolling foothills gradually became higher
until they reached the base of the mountains. From these low
mesas the river looked like a silver thread glistening in the sun
light, as it flowed smoothly and peacefully along its winding
course. At other times, after the melting of winter snow, it be
came a raging torrent, sweeping away everything in its path. Then
it was a most treacherous stream and a menace to the town.

The river bed was about half a mile wide, and after each
flood period the current was likely to be first on one side of the
broad channel and then on the other. With each big rise the

38

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

strong, swift, muddy stream would cut away the bank for many
feet, until the town was in danger of being swept away. On one
of these rampages it cut a channel on the opposite side of the
river bed, leaving the town in comparative safety for several
seasons.

In recent years the state highway department has built a
bridge across the Gila at Duncan. It has eight spans, not includ
ing the approaches, and is a quarter of a mile in length. One of
the government projects is to riprap and otherwise fortify the
banks of the stream to protect the town from further destruction
by flood waters.

There was no schoolhouse in Duncan when we moved there
to live, and it worried mother a great deal to see the children
growing up without schooling. Quite a few families lived in and
around the village, and there were probably twenty children of
school age. Mother thought about the problem for a while, and
then the idea came to her to raise a fund by public subscription
for the building of a schoolhouse. At a cowboy dance she finally
brought up the subject.

Once or twice a month the cowboys from the different ranches
gathered in town and gave a dance in an old saloon building.
During the spring and fall roundups they always had big dances.
Everyone from far and near attended. At one of these dances
mother, who was the cowboys' friend in sickness and trouble,
remarked to a group of the boys that it was too bad there was no
suitable place for the dances since they all enjoyed dancing so
much. Casually she mentioned that the mothers were anxious to
have their children go to school. Why couldn't they get together
and raise a fund to build a schoolhouse which could also be used
for dances?

This suggestion met with instant approval and a purse was
started then and there. Frank Shriver, who owned a cattle ranch
a few miles above Duncan, was the first to contribute. He gave
mother twenty-five dollars to head the list. Each of the other boys
donated liberally.

The building was put up, a teacher secured, and school
started. This frame structure was the only schoolhouse Duncan
had until the late nineties. It was also used for church services,
for occasionally a traveling minister would come to town and
preach a sermon. If any of the cowboys were in town, they would
hear the preacher. Often, if the crowd were large enough, the

39

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

desks would be moved against the wall after services, and the
floor would be cleared. Someone would go for Frank Taylor, the
fiddler, and the dance would begin.

One day when a minister arrived in town, word was sent out
to the different families that there would be preaching in the
schoolhouse that evening. But during the afternoon some cowboys
came to town, among them Lee Windham, who announced a
dance for the evening. He was then informed that the dance
would have to be postponed as church services had already been
scheduled and the families notified.

The boys did not take kindly to the change of plan and pro
ceeded to load up on Kentucky's Best. The "sky pilot" heard the
news and did not show up to preach. The liquored-up punchers
were on hand with their fiddler, but there were so few people in
attendance that the dance was far from being a success. When
the boys sobered up, they were very much ashamed and expressed
regret for their conduct. The incident was never repeated.

Lee explained afterward that although he and the other boys
were drunk, they figured that as long as they had contributed to
the building of the schoolhouse, they should be entitled to have
a dance in it any time they chose. The boys were forgiven, for in
those days dancing was almost the only pleasure the ranchers and
cowboys could indulge in and thus break the monotony of long
months of hard labor on the lonely ranches.

Horse racing was a favorite sport of the day, when time could
be taken to prepare the track. Several of the settlers owned fast
horses, and everybody bet on the races. In those days gambling
was a common pastime, and no more was thought of a leading
citizen's gambling or betting than would be thought today of his
playing bridge.

Father always had three or four speedy horses, and though he
often won a great deal of money, he also lost a lot. But the boys
of our family firmly believed that father was the best judge of
horseflesh on earth. If father had a horse that he would say was a
sure winner, the boys would have backed his judgment with their
last dollar. Luckily most of them were too young to bet at that
time, though both John and Charlie took the defeat of one of
father's racers harder than if they had lost money.

John had ridden as a jockey for several years. He was an ex
pert rider, light in weight, had had good training, and could be
relied on to carry out the instructions of the trainer. At this

40

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

time father owned a bay horse by the name o Chance that had
won several races in the vicinity of Duncan, and he felt confident
that Chance could outrun any horse in that part of the country.
Another resident who owned race horses and followed the game
was W. B. Foster. He had recently brought from Texas a gray
horse that had a pedigree and a record on the American turf. So a
race was matched between Chance and the gray. Father and
John Epley, also a good judge of horses, knew from the gray
horse's looks that he was fast. But they also knew Chance's run
ning time, and were satisfied that their horse would daylight the
gray at the outcome.

After the match was made the men spent their evenings dis
cussing and running the race, and the boys sat around and ab
sorbed everything. The younger boys felt sure the race was al
ready won, even before the day rolled around. As jockey, John was
confident. People from far and near planned to see the race.
Nothing but an Indian uprising could have kept them away.

In those early days, horse races were matched for a distance
of a quarter of a mile. The owners of the two horses would select
a stretch of level ground near town and lay out two straight paral
lel tracks. Then each man would prepare his own race track. First
the soil was loosened and removed from the track for a depth of
several inches. The bottom of the depression was then leveled, and
water which had to be hauled in barrels, was poured in for the
full length of the depression. Manure was next brought from a
stable or corral, and a shallow layer was spread, wet down, and
packed. A layer of soil was put on top to make the track almost
level with the ground. Slight shoulders were left to hold water
for extra packing and hardening. The layer of manure acted as a
cushion; it made the finished track springy and kept the feet
of the horses from burning while they were running.

At one end of the track a line was drawn to mark the starting
point, and the man who tapped the horses off stood there. The
two jockeys rode the horses down past this line about forty feet,
then turned quickly, and tried to reach the line at the same in
stant. Often it would take twenty minutes or longer for them to
get an even start. Sometimes one horse became nervous, and his
jockey would ride him slowly along the track a few times to quiet
him before making another start. Finally the starter would be
satisfied and yell "Go."

Across the track from the starter stood the flagman with a
white rag tied to a stick. When the horses were tapped off, the flag

41

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

was lowered instantly. It was the signal to the man holding a stop
watch to time the speed of the horses. Two judges occupied a
stand at the finish.

On the day when Chance raced against the gray, a big crowd
had gathered. The horses were galloped down the track a few
times to warm them up. Great excitement prevailed, and many
bets were made at the last minute.

Then the starter tapped the horses off, the flag dropped, and
the race was on. Wild cheering broke out after the lull that
had prevailed while the start was being made. Soon the crowd at
the finish could see that the gray was in the lead, and this lead he
held all the way through.

Father and Charlie had stayed at the head of the track to see
the horses tapped off, and waited until they could see that Chance
was trailing at the judges' stand. Then father mounted, and with
Charlie on behind, rode down the track to meet John.

"Well, son, they beat you," he called out to John when they
met.

"Yes/ 1 said the boy, as tears came to his eyes.

"I see that Chance ran on the outside of the track all the way
through," father commented.

John burst into tears. "I couldn't hold him in the track. I
whipped him on the other side all the way through, but he
wouldn't get back into the track."

At this, Charlie too began to cry. "John," he begged, "go and
tell them that Chance flew the track. They will let you run it
over."

"Hush, Charlie," said father.

But Charlie was broken-hearted. He couldn't get over the fact
that his brother had lost the race, and kept repeating, "Go and
tell them that Chance flew the track, and maybe they will run it
again."

Father had to get pretty firm. "Charlie, if I have to speak to
you again, I will give you a spanking."

The lost race was easily explained. At some previous time
Chance's feet had been burned up on a hard track, and this time
he had kept to the soft dirt on the outside of the track.

The two boys never forgot their disillusionment, and in after
years, when it seemed certain that a favorite horse was sure to
win, they always remembered Chance. If there ever was any
sporting blood in John and Charlie, the memory of Chance's de
feat toned it down, for they were never known to make a bet on
a horse race.

42

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

During the time when the race horses were not in training for
a race, father turned them out in the alfalfa field to exercise and
graze. While they were in the pasture, it was John's job to watch
them, for one of the Bar W C cows had the habit of breaking
through the fence. She would put her head through the barbed
wire fence, and with her horns would twist the wire until it broke
and let her through to the green feed. The pasture extended to
the foothills, with canyons and small washes where the brush
grew thick.^ If the horses should get out at the broken fence and
realize their freedom, they might run and injure themselves
seriously.

John had to spend so much of his time keeping the cow
away from the fence that he hit upon the scheme of loading a
shotgun with beans and shooting her the next time she broke in.
He told his older brothers about what he was going to do, but
the cow did not show up that day, and he left the gun, loaded with
beans, at the house.

Soon one of the older boys caught sight of the hawk that had
been catching mother's chickens. He ran to the house, removed
the charge of beans, and put in a shell containing buckshot. But
when he went out to kill the hawk, it had gone. Thinking that it
might return, he set the gun back in the house, leaving it loaded
with buckshot.

_ The next day John was due to watch the pasture again, and we
children played in the back yard under the big shade trees so
that we could help him keep an eye on the field. But we got busy
playing and forgot the cow. When John remembered to look, she
had broken through the fence and was in the alfalfa field. John
got the gun, ran to the pasture, and blazed away. To his surprise
and consternation she fell in a heap and was dead when he
reached her.

The shot stampeded the race hoses, and they began snorting
and dashing from one end of the field to the other. The older
boys heard the horses running and mounted the first ponies they
could get their hands on. Soon they had the race horses safely
inside the adobe corral.

When father came home, he broke off a good limber switch
from one of the trees, and, showing no partiality, laid it on us
all alike. I doubt if even the neighbor children escaped. I cannot
remember that he ever whipped me but that one time.

Father made John go to Mr. Ward, the owner of the Bar
W C, and explain how the accident had happened. It took a lot

43

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

of courage for John to confess what he had done, for Mr. Ward
had the reputation of being very crabbed and unreasonable. But
he must have had a great deal of understanding behind his hard
outward appearance, for he was very kind, no doubt realizing how
hard the ordeal had been. He took a great liking to John, who
afterward was a real favorite of Mr. Ward. Father paid for the
cow, and the incident was closed, much to our relief, but it made
a lasting impression on us. It proved a good lesson, for the next
time we were given some little chore to do there was no neglect
on our part.

When my brother Charlie was about ten years old, he struck
up a friendship with B. B. Adams, a clerk in Boone and Lay's
store at Duncan. B. B., as he was familiarly called by everyone,
loved to hunt small game, and each Sunday afternoon he would
take Charlie along to carry the game. My brother loved to hunt,
too, even if it meant wandering around with just his nigger-
shooter. Usually the two hunters would go out into the foothills
to get quail or dove, or down in the river bottom to shoot wild
duck.

After they had gone hunting on many occasions, B. B. pre
sented Charlie with a .22 rifle and taught him how to shoot with
it Soon Charlie became a very good shot. He always enjoyed these
little trips, for B. B. was an interesting companion.

One Sunday they started out as usual, and as they passed the
schoolhouse a small cottontail rabbit ran under the building.

"Charlie," said B. B,, "you go to the front of the schoolhouse
and crawl under. Scare him out by the back steps, and 111 kill
him as he runs out"

The schoolhouse was built at the foot of a range of little foot
hills on the west side of town. On account of the slope, the foun
dation was high in front and low in the back. Charlie could not
crawl under far enough, but tried to chase the rabbit out by
throwing rocks at him.

"Can't you scare him out, Charlie? 7 ' B. B. would call oc
casionally.

"No," Charlie would answer, and keep on trying.

Evidently the rabbit could see B. B. and would not run out
by the back steps. When Charlie saw that he was not going to be
able to dislodge the rabbit, he leveled his rifle, got a good bead,
and pulled the trigger. Just at that moment B. B., who was get
ting impatient, stooped down to look under the steps to see why
Charlie could not drive out the rabbit.

44

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

Bang went the gun. The bullet went through the cottontail
and killed it, then hit the ground just in front of B. B.'s face,
peppering him with gravel. The man, who had a fiery temper,
went all to pieces. He stormed around and tried to make Charlie
come out from under the building and take a whipping for such
carelessness. When Charlie would not come out, B. B. tried to
crawl under the building and catch him. But each time Charlie
dodged the angry man.

Finally the comical side of the situation struck B. B., and he
burst out laughing. Soon Charlie joined in, and they both crawled
out from under the building. Nevertheless, B. B. gave him a good
lecture on handling of a gun. Then they continued on their
hunting trip and had a pleasant afternoon together.

Several miles above Duncan, on the opposite side of the river
from town, lived Fred and Joe Heglar. They had come from
Arkansas seeking adventure, but had settled down and become
substantial citizens. Everybody around Duncan called them the
Dutch boys and liked them.

But with them was an old man who had attached himself to
them for the overland journey. He lived alone on a small ranch,
and because of his mean, cranky disposition, made no friends. He
was known only as Coonskin, for he never wore anything on his
head other than a coonskin cap. The old man had the reputation
of having killed several men before he came to Duncan, and, when
on a spree, was a dangerous character.

Coonskin always wore a belt and scabbard, or holster, in
which he carried a long revolver of the type used by the Texas
Rangers in the fifties and sixties. The holster was fastened with
a buckskin strap around his leg just above the knee, in order to
hold the gun close to his body. In case he needed to make a
hasty draw, the long-barreled revolver would easily come clear of
the holster. This revolver was the muzzle-loading cap-and-ball
type known then as a frontier revolver.

Every time Coonskin came to town, he invariably got on a
drunk, and when he left for home, always took a gallon jug of
whiskey with him. Once he got sore at some of the cowboys for
trying to have fun at his expense. Whipping out his revolver, he
fired at every cowpuncher in sight. In his drunken state he missed,
but the bullets came so near that the men were afraid the next
one would not miss. That day he ran every cowboy out of Dun
can.

In late winter and spring, Coonskin had trouble getting his

45

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

usual drinking done. Then the Gila River would be running at
flood stage, sometimes for weeks at a time. It would be impossible
to cross unless one was a good swimmer and was willing to take
a chance in the treacherous stream. But Mose Fisher, an enter
prising carpenter who had made the westward trip in father's
party, built a boat with his son's help, and charged fifty cents to
row a person across the river.

During a flood Coonskin came down and was rowed to the
Duncan side. Late in the afternoon he appeared on the bank and
wanted to cross to the other side so that he could go home. He
had his jug and was in his usual ''stewed" condition. Mose Fisher
rowed him across, but Coonskin decided, after reaching the other
bank, that he wanted to go back to Duncan.

Fisher objected. "Now, Coonskin, you've got no business
there. You'd better go on home."

But Coonskin insisted on returning to town.

"If you go back to Duncan," Fisher warned him, "I'm not go
ing to bring you back across again. You'd better go home now."

Still the drunken man was determined, and so Fisher took
him across to the Duncan side, but it wasn't long before Coonskin
returned, ready for another trip.

"I told you," said Fisher, "that I would not take you back
across, and I don't intend to do it."

"All right, Mose," said Coonskin. "I'll swim across."

"If you try," Fisher warned, "you'll be drowned."

But Coonskin seemed not to hear. He was busy adjusting a
leather strap that was attached to the whiskey iug. He put the strap
about his shoulders, swung the jug around on his back, and
jumped off the bank into the swollen stream with his coat on.

He was evidently a wonderful swimmer when he was sober,
for he managed to swim some distance even in his drunken state.
Near the middle of the stream the current began to carry him
toward the far bank. Coonskin was past swimming by that time,
but still managed to keep himself afloat. When he was within a
short distance of the bank, he was swept into a whirlpool, and
the onlookers felt sure that he would be drowned.

At that time the Duncan Militia Company was camped under
some big cottonwoods on the bank near the whirlpool. The men
watched Coonskin go under, and one of them began swinging a
rawhide lariat around his head, waiting for Coonskin to come
up. Then he threw it far out and caught the drunken man around
the shoulders and pulled him to shore. Coonskin was more dead

46

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

than alive. The militiamen put him over a barrel and rolled him
until he gave up some of the whiskey and water he had swallowed.
He had to stay in the camp until morning before he was able to
make the trip back to his ranch.

Finally Coonskin got into serious trouble. He had an orphan
boy about fifteen years old working for him. The boy had worked
around for various ranchers, who had hired him not so much be
cause they needed him as because they wanted to help him.
Coonskin promised the boy steady work at fifteen dollars a month.
Sometime later the boy decided to quit because Coonskin was so
mean and hard to get along with.

When it came to settling up, they had a dispute over the
amount of wages due the boy. Coonskin became angry and started
for his gun. The boy ran outside and climbed into a wagon which
had high sideboards. Soon Coonskin came out into the yard with
his gun. About that time the boy, having heard no noise, looked
out over the sideboards to see if Coonskin was in sight.

Coonskin saw him and blazed away with the shotgun, putting
out both of the boy's eyes. As the boy had no home or relatives,
so far as anyone knew, a couple of Duncan citizens took him to
Carlisle, a mining town eighteen miles away, where he was given
medical attention. The boy stayed there until he had partially
recovered, and then expressed a wish to go to a distant relative's
where he might have a home and care. A collection was taken up
in Duncan, and his wish was granted.

Coonskin was arrested, tried, and sentenced to fifteen years
in prison. The fate that had overtaken these two people whom
we children had seen about the town made a deep impression on
us. Our parents had told us that Coonskin was a bad character
and must be let alone, but the blinding of a boy not much older
than we were was a shock that struck much closer to us than
the other lawless happenings of the day.

While we were living in the frame house on the Gila above
Duncan, Red Sample, one of the bad men of the border, came
to our house. Red had been implicated, along with Tex Howard,
Dan Dowd, Bill Delaney, and Dan Kelley, in a holdup of the
Goldwater and Castenado store in Bisbee, Arizona, on December
8, 1883, in which one woman and three men were killed. It was
afterward known as the Bisbee massacre.

After the holdup the five men traveled together until they
reached the Chiricahua Mountains. Then they separated, each
going to a different part of the country. Red Sample and Tex

47

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Howard headed for Clifton, Arizona, but by different routes.
Howard came in on the Frisco River above Clifton; Red went
through the Duncan country, stopping at father's ranch on the
way.

That day mother had gone to town to buy supplies. John
Epley was alone on the place when Red rode up and asked if he
could get something to eat. Epley noticed that the man was
heavily armed, but replied that he was cooking dinner and that
it would soon be ready. After the meal had been put on the table,
they both went to the milk house, skimmed the cream from the
pans of milk, and drank it. The rich cream made both of them
sick, and Red was unable to continue his journey until late in the
afternoon. Epley did not know who Red was until after the
fellow had been arrested in Clifton, but felt sure he was a des
perado.

Red Sample joined Tex Howard in Clifton, where they
gambled and led a high life on the money from the Bisbee hold
up. But a few weeks later their identity was made known to the
Clifton officers by one of the fancy women of Hovey's Saloon,
who was jealous because Howard had given another inmate some
valuable jewelry. The gift proved to be some of the Bisbee loot.
The two men were arrested and confined in the rock jail at
Clifton until the officers from Tombstone came and took them
back for trial. There they were tried, convicted, and sentenced to
death. Before long, the others were caught, and all five outlaws
were hanged in Tombstone on March 28, 1884.

Life on the frontier, however, had many lighter moments.
One of the chief diversions in Duncan's early days was to take a
tenderfoot on a night of snipe hunting. This sport gave the men
around town a great deal of amusement. They would take the
stranger down to the river bottom about three miles from town,
winding around in the darkness until he had completely lost his
directions. When they reached the place, they would begin to
argue about which one would hold the sack to catch the snipes.
Finally, to settle the argument, someone would suggest that the
new man hold it, and he would gladly accept the great honor.

Then the same old play was staged. The newcomer was given
a lighted candle and told how to hold it at the opening of the
sack so that the snipes could see to run in. The other men started
off, saying they would round up the snipes. Then they went back
to town, leaving the tenderfoot waiting for the snipes to appear.
Sometimes the victim was out all night, unable to find his way
back to town until daylight came.

48

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

One night the men changed their regular routine. After the
newcomer had been waiting for several hours, two men rode up
and arrested him for horse stealing. He tried to explain that he
had come out with some snipe hunters who had not yet returned,
and he insisted that if they would take him to town, he could find
friends to identify him. The two men, who had not gone out
with the party that night, finally agreed.

The first man they met in town was Anton Mazzanovich,*
who had started out on the hunt.

"Here's a man who knows me," cried the tenderfoot.

Mazzanovich looked the stranger over and shook his head. "I
never saw you before."

Nor did they find anyone who would admit ever having seen
the tenderfoot before. Then they held a kangaroo court, found
the man guilty of horse stealing, and fined him ten dollars. As
soon as he handed over the money, they set up drinks to the house
and paid the bill with the fine.

But the fun was not yet over. Later that night Mazzanovich,
who was quite a gambler in those days, tried to start a poker
game, but no one seemed to want to play. Finally he reached into
his pocket and drew out a bright silk handkerchief. Displaying it,
he said:

"I will give this to the man who takes the first pot."

At this offer, three cowboys drifted to a back room of the
saloon and held a whispered consultation, during which they
removed the bullets from the cartridges in their revolvers. Then
they went back and joined the poker game. Before the first pot
was taken, the cowboys began to argue and quarrel among them
selves. Mazzanovich realized that there was going to be a fight and
possibly bloodshed. As he started in haste toward the street door,
the cowboys pointed their revolvers at him and began firing.
Mazzanovich used all the speed he was capable of and fled with
out learning that he had merely been playing a part in a new
ending to the snipe hunt.

Four of my brothers spent the greater part of their boyhood
days in the frontier town of Duncan during the eighties. The area
was almost a wilderness, with little law and no order. Yet they
grew into manhood, good law-abiding citizens, who commanded
the respect of their fellow men. The fifth son of the family was
born in 1888, after the country had become more civilized, and

* Later the author of Trailing Geronimo and The Southwest Frontier.

49

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

thus he escaped the hardships of his older brothers. Many times
father and mother were complimented in later years on their ex
traordinary family of sons, extraordinary because they were raised
in the early days when the West was wild, when the law of the
gun took precedence over the law of God and man, when tempta
tion and crime were rampant, and life was in the rough. All of
them became cattlemen and businessmen, and all came through
with clean records.

My brothers Jim and John were the first to break the family
circle and leave home. Their absence was keenly felt by the other
children. It seemed for a while that something had gone out of
the family life never to return, but gradually we adjusted our
selves to the separation. Time, which had seemed to be at a stand
still in our lives, began to move forward and shape future des
tinies.

The two boys left home to accept deputyships under Sheriff
George A. Olney. Jim was sent to the town of Morenci, and John
to Clifton. Though both mining towns were plenty tough, Mo
renci was, with the exception of the famous town of Tombstone,
the toughest camp in Arizona. It had gained this reputation be
cause of the large foreign element which worked in the mines and
the floating population that existed by less legitimate means in or
near the camp.

At first we children lived in constant dread of hearing that
some terrible fate had befallen one or the other of our brothers,
but John and Jim served for several years as deputies under dif
ferent Democratic sheriffs.

Especially in Jim's case had his early training and experience
laid the foundation for his career as an officer. When he was only
twelve years of age, he had ridden the range with father, a small
rifle in its scabbard strapped to his saddle. During the worst years
of the Indian troubles, when the Apaches were continuously on
the warpath in the early eighties, he made a cowhand and was
constantly exposed to the same dangers that father and the older
men faced. He was only eighteen years old when he joined the
Arizona Militia Company at Duncan, of which father was first
lieutenant. Later he was in the Doubtful Canyon fight when the
militia had its battle with Geronimo and his followers.

My brother Will was the "baby" member of the militia, as he
joined when he was only sixteen. But he was not permitted to
take part in all the skirmishes, as did his older brother. Jim's
association at an early age, during the years when the West was

50

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

in the making, with the grim determined men of those days whose
one purpose was to make the frontier safe for their families, did
much to prepare him for his years as an officer.

In 1888, when Billie Whelan of Bonita was elected sheriff of
Graham County, he appointed father as undersheriff. Whelan was
in office only one term and was succeeded in 1890 by George A.
Olney, who was reelected two years later and served until the
end of 1894. Brother Jim began his career as deputy under Olney
when he was twenty-two years old.

Sheriff Olney was a true Western type. He had come to Ari
zona about 1883 at the age of nineteen, and had grown up with
the new country. After serving four years as sheriff, he held other
offices and once was an unsuccessful candidate for governor. He
was a man of many friends and was held in high esteem by the
public. A large property owner in Graham and Maricopa coun
ties, he was, until his health failed, one of the most successful
cattlemen in Graham and Pima counties. Brother Jim was for
tunate to have part of his early training in public office under a
man of George A. OIney's type.

Jim also served as deputy under Billie Birchfield and under
Arthur Wight, the Republican candidate who, in 1895, defeated
Birchfield. Two years later Ben Clark was elected sheriff, and
Jim continued as deputy. In 1900 Jim %v T as elected sheriff of
Graham County. He was in office for three terms and served until
the end of 1906.

A product of the old West, Jim was outstanding for his cool
ness and bravery. He was a good friend and a fearless enemy. His
connection with the sheriff's office as a deputy for ten years had
brought him in contact with many of the most noted officers of
the Southwest, among whom he made many close personal friends.
During his service as deputy and sheriff he put terror into the
hearts of the bad men of Graham County, and succeeded in rid
ding the county of most of the outlaw element. Some who were
afraid to remain and continue their lawlessness drifted to other
parts of the country, and many of the offenders who stayed were
caught, tried, and convicted.

Jim had the qualifications necessary to make him feared. He
believed in law and order, and enforced both to the best of his
ability. He was fearless and daring; he had an eagle eye for trail
ing; and he had the tenacity to stick to the trail until he got his
man. With his real knowledge of the West and its ways, the track
less mountain strongholds of the desperadoes held no fear for

51

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

faint, Even after several narrow escapes, his courage was un-
dlminished.

Before the end of Jim's first term, James Colquhoun heard of
his candidacy for a second term and wrote him a letter. This letter
was printed in the Arizona Bulletin o Solomonville, preceded by
the editor's comment:

A High Comment

Sheriff Jas. V. Parks Received a Letter from
His Friend, Jas. Colquhoun

Sheriff Parks received a letter on Monday from Superintendent
James Colquhoun which must have been gratifying, coming from a
man who lived so long and stood so high in Graham County. Mr.
Colquhoun was for fifteen years connected with the Arizona Cop
per Company at Clifton and for ten years he was superintendent
and general manager. During all his residence in Clifton he kept
dose watch on the public affairs of the county and in writing this
letter from his far-away Scotland home he has paid a high and
deserved compliment to Mr. Parks. Mr. Colquhoun will be glad
when he receives the news that Mr. Parks has been renominated
for sheriff without opposition. The Bulletin congratulates Gra
ham County's sheriff and also Mr. Colquhoun. The former has
made a good official and the latter has shown his ability to cor
rectly size up a good officer. Following is the letter which was
given to the Bulletin, reluctantly, by Sheriff Parks:

July 26, 1902

Dear Mr. Parks:

I understand that you are again a candidate for the office you
now fill and have filled so well. I am glad of it. I appreciate the
good which you have done for the county and territory, to which
I have frequently referred in warmest praise, and I desire to assure
you that whatever I can do to secure your reelection will be done
with the greatest pleasure.

In business when we get a really good man we hold him if we
can. I don't see why the same rule should not apply to county
affairs. li y

With kind regards and best wishes for your success, I am,

Yours faithfully,

Jas. Colquhoun.
52

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

Naturally our family followed Jim's career with great in
terest. During our childhood we girls and boys had been so near
to each other, so dependent on each other for all our activities,
that an unusually close affection had grown up. That affection has
continued to this day. In the course of time all of us were happily
married and have lived quiet but contented lives. The boys
prefer the company of each other to that of outside friends, and
when they meet, they usually sit up half the night, talking, laugh
ing, and having a good time generally.

My mother's cousin, John C. Epley, was another early settler
who made a name for himself in Arizona. He was born in Cannon
County, Tennessee, in 1856, but moved with his parents to Texas
when he was a child. As a young man he worked for several years
for the cattle company of Forsythe and Ford, who ran the Lazy
L brand. Their place was near Williams Ranch, and it was for
this company that father also worked just before he set out on the
westward journey to Silver City.

In 1879, when Epley was twenty-three years old, he was given
charge of three thousand head of cattle to take to Wyoming. He
left Fort Griffin -with the herd on June 1, and three months later
arrived at a place thirty miles north of Fort Laramie, having ex
perienced perilous times on the trail. Hard rains at times made
progress slow, if not almost impossible, and at other times long
drives were necessary to enable them to reach 'water and feed.
But they had no trouble with the Indians on the trip. The cattle
were placed on the ranges of John Sparks in Wyoming.

Epley remained in that area for about two months, and then
started for New Mexico by way of Denver. A man by the .saame
of George Homer went along with him as far as Denver, and
Epley rode the rest of the way alone. He reached Knight's Ranch
about the middle of December, 1879, When father bought the
cattle from Mr. Dowdy, Epley was one of the cowboys who drove
the bunch to the new ranch above Duncan. Later he moved "with
our family into Duncan and became interested in the cattle busi
ness.

In the spring of 1885 Epley joined the Arizona Militia -Com
pany and did much to help subdue the hostile Apaches. On June
5 of that year he took part in the famous fight in Doubtful Can
yon. He always stood for law and order, and served one term as
a deputy under Sheriff Billie Birchfield and three terms under
Sheriff Jim Parks.

In 1890 Epley moved from Duncan to Solomonville, where he

53

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

became a partner of Frank Neese, his father-in-law, in the Stock
ton Pass cattle ranch in the Graham Mountains. He also owned
one of the finest alfalfa ranches in the Solornonville section and
began raising fine horses. During the early nineties he maintained
a stable of fast-running horses, among which were George Hope,
May, Peanut, Bar Nine, Bull Maverick, and Gray George.

John Epley was about five feet, ten inches tall and weighed
about one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He had black hair
and blue-gray eyes, and was considered a good-looking young
man. Being a good entertainer, he was very popular with both
women and the men, and could relate many witty stories. He was
original and had a keen sense of humor.

Especially did he love practical jokes. Among his many vic
tims was Howard Boone, a member of the mercantile firm of
Boone and Lay, who owned the only store in Duncan until the
lat nineties. Boone, a direct descendant of Daniel Boone, was
bora and raised in Jefferson City, Missouri. A handsome young
man with a sunny disposition, he was popular among the old and
the young. He was especially admired for the good-natured man
ner in which he took the many jokes Epley and his other friends
played on him.

In the late eighties John Epley owned and operated a saloon
in the mining camp of Carlisle, New Mexico, eighteen miles
from Duncan. It was not one of those rough establishments so
often found in the West in the days when outlaws and drunken
miners and cowboys would ride inside, shoot out the lights, and
shatter the glasses on the bar. Instead, it was an orderly place
which was frequented by mining officials and the better class of
men in the town. Boone made Epley's place his headquarters
when he had occasion to go to Carlisle. He would take along a
gun for protection against possible Indian attacks, and on reach
ing town would leave the gun, along with his other possessions, in
the saloon.

Quite often Boone, who owned one of the few buggies in
Duncan, drove up to Carlisle to call on a young widow. Once
while he was making his call, Epley and another friend, who was
always on the job when it came to playing practical jokes, re
moved the right front wheel and the left rear wheel from the
buggy and switched them about. When Boone was ready to start
back to Duncan, he called for the buggy robe, his gloves, and the
gun, which as usual he had left with Epley. The men at the
saloon watched him drive off down the canyon, the buggy wob-

54

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

bling from side to side. Boone realized that something was wrong,
but didn't know enough about vehicles to figure out what it was.
So he made the trip home with the two wheels reversed.

On another occasion Boone took a young lady to a dance at
Carlisle. In those days people would go a long distance to attend
a dance; they thought nothing of dancing all night, leaving
after breakfast for their homes. This time, as usual, Boone left the
robe, gloves, and gun at Epley's saloon. During the evening the
jokers ^mashed some limburger cheese to a smooth paste, turned
Bopne's gloves inside out, and spread the cheese so evenly on the
inside that there would be no lumps to be noticed. They they
turned the gloves right side out and put them back with the robe
and the gun.

When Boone called for his things, he bought a pocketful of
good cigars, for he was an inveterate smoker and nearly always
had a cigar in his mouth. After he had driven a couple of miles,
he took a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, put the cigar in
his mouth, and pulled off his glove to get a match. As he struck
the match and held it up to light the cigar, he got a whiff of the
limburger. Thinking the cigar was bad, he threw it away and
took another one, with the same result. He did not attempt an
other smoke during the journey home, and was terribly embar
rassed for fear the young lady had detected the odor. But the
joke was too good to keep, and about a month later Epley told
Boone what they had done.

Soon Boone was the victim of another joke at other hands. A
young woman had corne out from Canada to visit her brother
and his wife on their ranch above Duncan on the Gila River.
Both women were good cooks, and Boone got many invitations to
dinner at their home. Before long he was spending each week-end
at the ranch. While he was on one of these visits, some of his
friends went to his room, packed his trunk, and roped it ready
to ship. Then they gave a man five dollars to put the trunk on his
buckboard, take it out to the ranch, unload it, and drive away
before Boone recognized it and make the man haul it back to
town.

Another joke played on Boone grew out of the fact that
though he loved horses, he could hardly tell one from another.
On an occasion when a number of cowboys was in town, a practi
cal joker among them went to the corral, put his saddle on Boone's
brown saddle horse, rode over, and tied the animal to the hitch
ing rack in front of the Boone and Lay store. Then he went in-

55

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST
side and began to talk about selling his saddle horse. Finally he
offered such a bargain that Boone went out to look at the horse.
After examining the horse carefully, Boone paid the cowboy the
amount asked, and went back into the store He bragged about
the bargain he had got, not knowing that he had bought his own

84 But Howard C. Boone was also a very substantial citizen. He
was a Democrat and took a lively interest in county as well as ter
ritorial politics. During the nineties he held important territorial
offices Ih 1893 he was a member of the legislature and was elected
secretary of the council. Also he was territorial auditor and deputy
United States marshal.

John Epley, too, was a more serious person than his earlier
interest in practical joking would indicate. He was kind and
sympathetic to all who were sick or in trouble. Always among the
first to offer his services, he was often called on to make a hard
ride for a doctor or to bring help to someone who was seriously
ill But his most dangerous experience came at a time when the
Gila River was on one of its rampages, and its turbulent, muddy
water was rolling like ocean waves. The surface was covered with
drift, and frequently a cottonwood tree bobbed up and down on
its wild voyage to the Colorado River.

It was a custom for the populace to gather near the bank to
watch the stream's mad rush. On this day a small group of people
on the far bank were waving frantically and shouting to attract
attention. After considerable time the townspeople understood
the message. A man who had been seriously ill for days was out of
medicine and needed a heart stimulant. Perhaps his condition was
intensified by the excitement of the flood, as the river ran near
his house. Seemingly, it was an impossible feat for anyone to cross
the Gila in its turbulent condition, but John Epley said he would
make the attempt.

While someone went for the medicine, Epley came to our
home and saddled a big black H Bar stallion o father's called Nig.
He mounted Nig, rode to the river, removed his coat and boots,
tied the medicine bottle in a bandage on his head in case he had
to quit the horse in the stream, and then guided the animal into
the water. While everyone watched with bated breath, Nig car
ried Epley safely to the far bank. Epley was a fairly good swim
mer, but his skill would not have counted against the angry cur
rent of the treacherous Gila if the horse had failed him.

In 1889, when father became deputy under Sheriff Whelan,

56

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

we moved to Solomonville, the county seat of Graham County.
Safford had been named the county seat in 1881 when Graham
County was created, and the governor had appointed county of
ficials to serve until the fall election of 1882. But the legislature
of 1883 moved the county seat to Solomonville, where it remained
until Greenlee County was created in 1909. Then Safford, the
largest and most centrally located town in Graham County, again
became the county seat.

The first land cultivated in the Gila Valley was near Solo
monville, then known as Pueblo Viejo, or Old Town. The fields
were irrigated from the Alontezuma Canal, the first ditch taken
from the Gila River. It had been dug in 1871 by men from Tuc
son, who had grown the first crop in the valley, having found the
soil rich and fertile. The valley, which is about fifty miles long,
spreads out between the Gila Range on the north and the Graham
Mountains on the south. The latter rise to an elevation of over
ten thousand feet.

The name Pueblo Viejo was given to the town by early Mexi
can settlers because of the stone foundations remaining in that
area. Evidently the valley had been inhabited at one time by
thousands of prehistoric peoples. Later, when settlers dug irriga
tion ditches and cultivated the land, they found valuable pieces
of pottery, mainly bowls, olios, me tales, and stone hammers. The
valley is a rich storehouse of an ancient race and holds great in
terest for scientists.

The earliest white settlers included I. E. Solomon, who came
to Pueblo Viejo from Clifton in August, 1876. He had a contract
to furnish charcoal to the Lesinskys for their primitive copper
furnaces in Clifton. At that time the Gila Valley was densely cov
ered with large mesquite trees. The mesquite, a scrubby growth
but a very hard wood, made excellent charcoal for smelting pur
poses. The trees rarely reached a height of more than fourteen
to sixteen feet, but the trunks were often two feet in diameter
and very knotty. The roots were also used for firewood but had to
be dug up or blasted out of the ground with dynamite when land
was cleared for cultivation. The wood made a hot fire that lasted
a long time. For this reason the lowly mesquite was the favorite
firewood of the pioneers.

Mr. Solomon, realizing the value of mesquite for the charcoal
to fill his contract, moved his family to the valley and built a
stockade house on the site of the present town of Solomonville.
After a time a little village sprang up and was named in honor of

57

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST
the original white settler. At the time Mr. Solomon came to the
Gila Valley, his family consisted of his wife and three children,
Eva, Charlie, and Rose. Three more children were born in Solo-
monville, the twins Harry and Lillie, and Blanche.

Mr. Solomon, an enterprising citizen, filed on extensive
acreage in the valley. In later years he owned the biggest store in
that area and carried all kinds of farm implements as well as a
large stock of groceries. He was appointed postmaster, and the
post office was located in his store building. He built the first
hotel in the town.

Both buildings were made of adobe, the hotel being separated
from the store by a court. A wide veranda, running down the side
of the long hotel and across one end, made it a cool and pleasant
place to stop after a long, hot, dusty journey in the old Concord
stagecoach which in those days was the fastest mode of traveling.
In the nineties Mr. Solomon erected a large two-story brick store
building which for many years was the main merchandise estab
lishment in the town and stood as a monument to his memory.

The Solomon family was one of the few pioneer families which
accumulated a small fortune before leaving the valley to reside
elsewhere. The Solomons were prominent socially and politically,
and were instrumental in organizing the first wholesale grocery
company in that section of the country, the Solwico Company, in
which they were large stockholders.

At that time the main wholesale house was located at Bowie,
in Cochise County, but it was later moved to Safford, with a
branch at Globe. When Henry Ford put out his Model T, the
Commercial Company, as the firm was known, had the first agency
in Solomonville and was among the first in the Gila Valley.

I. E. Solomon and Charles F., his oldest son, were among the
organizers of the Gila Valley Bank and Trust Company. The
first bank was operated in the Solomon Commercial Store. At
present it is the largest banking system in Arizona, the main bank
being located in Phoenix with twenty-eight branches throughout
the state.

In 1913 the Solomons sold most of their interests in Solomon
ville and, with the exception of Charlie, moved to Los Angeles. He
was elected president of the Arizona National Bank at Tucson and
lived there until his death in September, 1930. At one time he was
president of the Arizona Bankers Association of the Southwestern
states, and was regarded during his entire career as a man of high
est integrity. His father did not long survive him, but died at the
age of ninety in November, 1930, at his home in Los Angeles.

58

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

Shortly after we moved to Solomonville father bought the
Pomeroy Livery Stable, where the extra horses, for the stage route
between Bowie and Globe, were kept. The stable provided employ
ment for two of my younger brothers, while the older boys looked
after the cattle and horses. Along with other citizens in our part of
the country, father felt that the Indian troubles were over, never
dreaming that people would be harassed and ambushed by small
bands of the hostiles for years to come.

In 1891 father filed on a homestead of a hundred and twenty
acres one mile above town on the only road that led to the 'Clif-
ton-Morenci and Duncan districts. Part of the land he planted in
alfalfa to raise hay for the saddle horses and the cattle, and part
he sowed to grain. He set out an orchard of several varieties of
fruit trees; and, with about fifteen hives of bees, the family set-
tied down to a quiet life on the farm.

Father hired Mexicans to plant, irrigate, and harvest the crops.
Thus the boys had time to devote to the family's cattle interests
and to ride the range. But life on the farm had no chance to grow
monotonous. The quiet family existence was shattered before
long by reports of outlaws and Indians in the vicinity.

Early one morning my brother Charlie, then about fourteen
years old, went to hunt our horses in the Slick Rock section. A
short time before there had been a warning that several renegade
Indians had left the reservation, but enough time had gone by for
them to have passed through the country around Ash Springs and
Slick Rock. However, Charlie kept them constantly in mind so
that he might be able to protect himself against them if he should
see them first. Seldom did the hostiles give their victims such an
opportunity.

While going slowly down a small, rocky, brushy canyon,
Charlie came upon three horses which were saddled, with the
three pairs of bridle reins tied together. He gave one look and at
once leaned far over the side of his horse, kicking and urging the
animal into the fastest pace possible in the rough canyon. Still
thinking that the three horses belonged to Indians, he rode home
as fast as he could travel.

A few days later the officers learned that the horses belonged to
Augustin Chacon, one of the most notorious Mexican bandits
and outlaws of the day. With two of his Mexican compadres
Chacon was hidden among the black malpais boulders awaiting
the arrival of some of their amigos from San Jose, where they had
gone for food. \ ;|| f }

59

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

From time to time Chacon would venture from his rendezvous
in Mexico with two or three desperadoes at his side. These bandits
would rob ranch houses and stores, and would torture merchants
and citizens to make them tell where their money was hidden.
Chacon terrorized not only northern Mexico but all of southern
Arizona. He had stirred up the Arizona officers to such intense
feeling that they were ready to shoot him down on sight. Ac
cordingly he did not dare make an appearance in any town.

At the time when Charlie ran onto the three horses, Chacon
had been up in the Eagle Creek country and was on his way back
to Mexico. Charlie often remarked about the good laugh the des
peradoes must have had at the speed with which he left that sec
tion. Perhaps he had been leaning over his horse on the side
toward their hiding place, and if they had been Indians, he would
have made a good target.

On another occasion John and Charlie rode out to hunt some
saddle horses that were running on the range between Solomon-
vine and Ash Springs. It was reported that a bunch of Indians
had left the reservation, and the boys wanted to bring the horses
home for fear they would be stolen by the raiders.

After the boys reached the range, they separated and went in
different directions. They planned to meet at a certain time at
Slick Rock on the road between Solomonville and Duncan. Slick
Rock was located in a rocky wash or canyon through which the
wagon road went for several miles. The surrounding hills were
covered with the malpais rocks characteristic of that area.

Charlie reached the meeting place first, and after waiting for
three hours he came to the conclusion that John had been killed
by the Indians. Never before had the boys failed to meet at the
designated point. When Charlie arrived at Slick Rock, he had tied
his horse out of sight in a small rocky ravine, and had climbed up
to a crag where he could watch for John. Just as he made up his
mind that there was no use to wait any longer, he saw what he
took to be an Indian picking his way among the black boulders
on the slope across the canyon. When the man reached a certain
high point, he stopped and looked off into the distance. He was
dressed in only the white muslin drawers worn by Indians, and a
moment later disappeared among the rocks the way he had coine.

Charlie was sure then that some awful fate had befallen his
brother. As he started down to the place where his horse was tied,
he heard the rumble of a wagon coming do^vn the road from the
direction of Duncan. He feared that if the travelers came on,

60

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

they would be killed by the Indians that probably were hiding
among the rocks on the opposite hill. Bending low to keep out of
sight, he ran up the canyon to warn the people in the wagon. The
men were Fred and Joe Heglar of Duncan, on their way to Solo-
monville. Charlie told them of his suspicions and also of his fears
that John had been killed. The Heglars tried to console him by
telling him that John might have changed his mind, but because
John never failed before to keep an appointment, Charlie feared
the worst.

While they were trying to work out the best way to avoid the
trouble that might be waiting them along the road, they heard
another wagon approaching. As it came nearer, Charlie recognized
the driver as a man who lived in San Jose, three miles above
Solomonville. The supposed Indian turned out to be a Mexican
who was waiting there for the San Jose man.

The driver of the second wagon told them he had found a
small vein of coal which promised to develop into something big.
He had hired some Mexicans from Old Mexico to work on his
claim, for they worked much cheaper than the Americanized
Mexicans. This laborer was expecting his majordomo and had
climbed up to look for the wagon. Because the canyon was so
crooked, Charlie, on the opposite side, could not see the wagon
coming from the direction of Solomonville. He naturally jumped
to the conclusion that the Indians were hiding, waiting for more
victims, for many people had met their death along this road.

When Charlie returned home that night, his brother had al
ready arrived. John had found a bunch of horses and had run
them all afternoon, trying to throw them by the point where he
was to meet Charlie. Unable to do so, he had to bring them home.
After being in the depths for hours, Charlie was very thankful to
find John safe, and with his fears settled he made an interesting
story of the encounter in the canyon.

In the early days when citizens often had to dispense what
ever law and order were to be had, the men who took up the
legal profession sometimes had a very limited knowledge of the
law, or sometimes made rulings to suit their own convenience.
Judge Pete J. Bolan, who was district attorney of Graham County
for two terms, remained at the county seat and practiced law
after his defeat for reelection to a third term. The judge liked his
"likker" pretty well and often became drowsy during an after
noon session of court. Once, when a murder trial was going on, he
leaned his head back against his chair and went to sleep. A spec-

61

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

tator sitting near him quietly rose from his chair, walked over, and
placed a nickel gently on each of the judge's closed eyelids. A
roar of laughter came from those in the courtroom. The sound
awakened the judge, who, without lifting his^head, called out:

"Let the deceased be placed on the stand."

Then realizing that something was wrong with his eyes, the
judge discovered the nickels. He removed them and put them in
his pocket, then continued in the same posture for a quiet siesta.

On another occasion Judge Bolan was defending a very
young man charged with horse stealing. It was a hard case to beat,
and the judge, in his argument to the jury, tried to work on the
jury's sympathy. Near the end of his argument tears were running
down his cheeks, and he frequently used his handkerchief to wipe
them away. Once when the tears were flowing freely, he reached
into his pocket for his handkerchief and out came a pod of red
chili pepper which fell to the floor. The presiding judge pounded
the gavel several times before order was restored.

Judge Bolan later moved to Los Angeles, and there met death
by falling down a flight of stairs in a hotel.

Another judge in the northern part of Arizona became the
subject of a story that was widely told in early days. A man had
been tried and convicted for stealing a horse. The judge sentenced
him to be hanged. Among the spectators was a man who had a
fairly good education and some knowledge of law. He rose to his
feet and protested:

"Judge, you can't hang a man for horse stealing."

"I cain't, cain't I?" the judge replied. '"Well, we will hang him
just the damn same,"

When I was about nineteen, I was employed by the trustees of
the school board at San Jose to teach a Mexican school in that
town, three miles from our home in Solomonville. I had not gone
any further than the eighth grade, but had always taken advantage
of ever)* opportunity to learn. Being very studious, I had often
substituted, while still in school, for teachers who were sick.
During my last year in school, the teacher was a white-haired old
man who loved his nap in the afternoon, and as soon as the after
noon session was called to order, the classes were turned over to
me while he napped. I got quite a lot of experience and loved
the work.

The public schools in those days taught only to and including
the eighth grade, but as I wanted to attend school, I went through
the eighth three times. I was then coached at intervals in different
subjects by the assistant district attorney, F. L. B. Goodwin, an

62

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

elderly gentleman from Kentucky, also by B. B. Adams, county
treasurer and an old friend of our family. During B. B, Adams'
residence in Duncan he was school trustee for four years and al
ways took such an interest in the school children. He and Judge
Goodwin recommended to me a number of informative books to
read; later they persuaded me to take the county school teachers
examination. I was successful in passing for a second grade certifi
cate, good for two years, which could be renewed for two more
years.

I taught my first school in my home town, Solomonville, this
grade ABC class and second and third grades.

A year later I was offered the San Jose school. Never having
had the entire responsibility of a school room, I was reluctant to
accept, but was persuaded to try a term. Teachers were hard to get,
especially in small Mexican settlements where there were no ac
commodations for teachers. Usually these schools were given to
teachers who lived nearby and would ride to and from school. I
had found the Mexican people very friendly, for I had treated
them with every kindness during the years we lived there.

The second year I taught, the Gila Valley, Globe, and North
ern Railroad was completed from Bowie to Geronimo. The
terminus of the line was to be at the copper mining camp of
Globe. Before the road was built all freight to Globe had to be
hauled from Bowie on the Southern Pacific Railroad, close to a
hundred and forty-five miles over a wagon road that made a long,
tortuous trip for the drivers as well as their teams. The road was
very crooked and wound around over the mesas, through canyons
and washes, wherever the grades were the best. The same wagon
trains hauled copper on their return trips to the railroad at Bowie.
When the new railroad reached Geronimo, however, it had to
stop construction until its president, William Garland, could
get permission from authorities in Washington to build across
the Indian reservation.

To celebrate the completion of the railroad as far as Geronimo,
the superintendent of the road, Mr. B. Jones, planned a holiday
excursion. He wrote each teacher in the Gila Valley about a
picnic to be held at the end of the road, inviting the school chil
dren, many of whom had never seen a locomotive or ridden on a
train. Since the regular train at that time had only one passenger
coach, the excursion train would have to consist of boxcars. There
would be benches of rough lumber to provide seats for the young
passengers. The engines were the wood-burning kind and made
so many stops that, along with its slow schedule, most of the day

63

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

would have to be spent traveling. ^

Many of the teachers could see only the practical difficulties
of such a trip and did not hesitate to point them out. Among the
unique replies which Mr. Jones received was one from a very
original young teacher who wrote more than a page, using words
which were several syllables long. Her letter conveyed no mean
ing whatever, and Mr. Jones never knew whether she approved
or disapproved of the proposed excursion.

My school in the little Mexican village consisted of about
thirty small children, and I was the only teacher. When the in
vitation came addressed to the principal of the San Jose School,
I got my cue and answered as follows:

Mr. B. Jones, Superintendent

Gila Valley, Globe, and Northern Railroad

Dear Sir:

Your letter of February 11 received and contents noted.^I'n
regard to my school I hardly know how to answer you, for with
out your assistance I will be unable to take advantage of the ex
cursion you are arranging for the benefit of the public school chil
dren in this valley.

Do you furnish stock cars? If so, will you kindly engage the
stock pens at Safford, as there are none nearer, and it would be
impossible for me to car my school without the convenience of a
chute and a number of vaquerosf

If you furnish these conveniences, will you stand the expense,
or shall I?

I think it will be unnecessary to engage the vaqueros while
they are carred, as I think after the long drive from San Jose to
Safford, I will perhaps be able to manage them.

I desire very much to have a special car for myself and school,
for should they get mixed up with other schools, it would be nec
essary to use a lasso, for they are very bad to crowd and fight.
Do you furnish sacate and plenty of agua?

An early reply would greatly relieve the mind of the Principal
of the San Jose School.

Yours very truly,
Jennie M. Parks.

But Mr. Jones proved to be a good sport. As letter after letter
came in, presenting difficulty after difficulty, he enjoyed the joke
on himself. He sent several of the letters to Judge C. E. Moor
man, the railroad attorney, who lived in Solomonville. Both

64

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

men appreciated the viewpoint of the teachers and came to see
the comical side of the problems which would have been involved.

William Garland continued negotiations for three years be
fore the Indian Bureau in Washington granted permission for a
right of way across the reservation. In May, 1898, construction
work was begun out of Geronimo to Globe, and on December 1
of that year, about six o'clock in the evening, the first train
reached the terminus, with Mr. Seth T. Arkills at the throttle.
That evening Mr. Garland gave a banquet to w r hich Engineer
Arkills, his wife, the train crew, and thirty guests were invited.
Mr. and Mrs. Arkills still reside in Globe, though he has been re
tired.

One condition made by the government in granting the right
of way was that for thirty years the Indians could ride on all
freight trains within the reservation limits, but for points outside
the limits, they had to obtain permits from the Indian agent.
There was a daily freight from Globe to Bowie, and one from
Bowie to Globe, the trains passing at Geronimo. The Indians en
joyed going to Safford to shop, for it had several stores where the
squaws could buy bright calico, their favorite material for dresses.
They had to remain overnight, for Safford was about thirty miles
southeast of Geronimo where the trains passed. It was no unusual
sight to see a large number of Indians in boxcars, gondolas, or
flatcars on their way to Safford.

In 1894 my father bought the Whitlock Cienaga cattle ranch
from Frank Richardson. This cienaga, as a subirrigated meadow
was called at that time, had been named for Captain Whitlock,
who with his troops had had a fight there with the Indians in the
late seventies. Between forty and fifty hostiles were killed, and
their bodies were left where they had fallen. Whitlock Cienaga is
about five miles from the San Simon Valley and is on the Whit
lock Draw, a wide canyon which puts into the San Simon at Dry
Lake. This lake was about two and a half miles in width and a
little over three miles in length. There was evidence that it had
once been a permanent body of water, but after seasons of pro
longed drouth it had become dry. During rainy seasons, when
large volumes of water from the Whitlock Mountains rushed
down the draw into the lake, the dry adobe soil gave way from
the pressure and cut a channel which drained the lake. Thus it
had been given the name Dry Lake.

There is no record of when this ancient inland body of water
became a vanished lake, but it was before the early settlers came

65

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

to that part of Arizona. At times In the early nineties there was a
small body of water in the middle of the lake, but it usually dis
appeared after a short while. My brothers and other cattlemen
remember having seen waterfowl strange to that section of the
country swimming in the water and around the banks of Dry
lake.

In 1881 a man by the name of William Charles located the
spring at Whitlock Ci&iaga, and the next year sold the ranch to
O, R. Smythe, who stocked it with Mexican cattle, Smythe built
an adobe house with three rooms on the ground floor, a cellar
underneath for storage of supplies, and a room about sixteen feet
square on the roof at one end of the building. An inside stairway
led to the room on the roof, which had portholes in its walls so
that it could be used as a fort in case of Indian attacks. There
was great danger of such raids, as the ranch was not far from an
old trail the Indians used when they were on the warpath.

The ranch house was built on level ground just below the
site of Captain Whitlock's fight with the savages, and at the time
when Smythe bought the place, the sun-bleached bones of the In
dians still covered the battleground. Smythe hired a number of
cowboys and put them to work building a large cedar-picket cor-
raL Among these young men was Ike Williamson whose parents
had come from California in 1876 and were among the original
seven families to locate in Safford.

In the fall of 1882 Smythe held his first roundup. One day
when most of the cowboys were out on a drive, two of the boys
who had stayed in camp that morning gathered up the Indian
skulls. They decorated the corral by sticking the skulls on top of
the fence pickets, and after driving nails into the timber across
the large gateposts, they hung a skull on each nail. Late that
afternoon the cowpunchers came in with the cattle, but when
the cattle reached the gate, they tossed their heads and tails and
ran on past.

The cowboys whooped and hollered, swung their lassoes and
tried their best to drive the cattle inside the corral, but to no
avail. When Mr. Smythe came riding up to see what was going on,
he gave one look at the skulls and laughed.

4 *I wondered why the cattle wouldn't go into the corral," he
remarked. "Now you two boys take all those skulls and go out on
the side of the hill and bury them/*

The two boys who had decorated the corral collected the
skulls and took them away, but no one knows whether the rest of

66

PIONEER LIFE ALONG THE ARIZONA BORDER

the order was carried out. Probably it was not.

About two years after father bought the ranch at Whitlock
Cienaga, he let my brothers Jim and John have it. Father then
located the Hundred Eleven Ranch, twelve miles from Solomon-
ville in the San Simon Valley, which he and my brother Charlie
maintained until father's death in 1908. Charlie continued to
operate it until 1916, when he sold out to the Ellsworth Cattle
Company of Safford. He then bought a half interest with John
in the Siggins Ranch, fifty-four miles from Silver City. This ranch,
which lies at the foot of the Mogollon Mountains, is among the
oldest cattle ranches in New Mexico. On account of a shortage
of rainfall John sold his interest in the Whitlock ranch to Jim,
who thus had more range and water for his cattle. John bought
the York ranch on the Gila River and moved his part of the cat
tle to the new ranch.

During the twenty-two years Jim owned the Whitlock ranch,
he added many improvements in order to make it a safe cattle
ranch. He fenced pastures, built corrals, and made water tanks
by building dams of brush and earth in favorable locations. Thus
large reservoirs were created for water storage, to be filled by the
runoff during the rainy seasons. He also had a deep well bored
which tapped a permanent underground body of water. This
water is so hot when pumped from the well that it has to be run
into galvanized tanks and cooled for twelve hours before it can be
used in the water troughs for the cattle. The well is known as the
hot well.

About two miles east of the Whitlock ranch, near the east
well, Jim dammed Hackberry Canyon and the hot-well draw at
their junction. At this point there was a large depression in the
ground. When filled by flood waters flowing down the canyon and
draw, it became a small lake. Known as Parks Lake, it has water
the year round.

Jim owned the Whitlock ranch until 1918, when he sold it to
Cook and Johnson of Willcox. He then bought a ranch on Mule
Creek joining the old Stockton ranch, where he still makes his
home.

67

CHAPTER III

(icalnd the

THE ARIZONA MILITIA COMPANY HAD NOT BEEN
organized when father moved to Duncan. Consequently ^ when
an atrocity was committed, ranchers and cattlemen and citizens
alike turned out to pursue the marauders. Hardly was father
settled in the new home when Bob Hutchinson of the Bar W C
Ranch was killed by Indians.

This ranch was situated about a mile above Duncan and was
noted for its good saddle horses. The Hutchinson ranch house
in those days was a stockade building made of logs. To enable
the owners to defend themselves and their horses a long build
ing, which served as a stable, was joined onto the living quarters,
with a door at the end. Here the favorite saddle horses were kept
at night for safety, not only because of the Indians but also be
cause of the rustlers which infested the country.

One night Indians came to Hutchinson's ranch, evidently
with the intention of stealing some of these horses. The men
were awakened about midnight by the barking of their dog.
Bob Hutchinson decided that a wildcat was after the chickens,
for the Indians were never known to attack by night or to fight
unless they were crowded. He got his gun and w r ent out, keep
ing close beside the w r all of the building. When he reached the
end of the house, he could see that the door to the adjoining
stable was open. As he stepped up to the door, an Indian stand
ing just inside shot and killed him.

His friend, Jake McConnell, heard the shot and supposed
that Hutchinson had shot a wildcat. But as the dog continued to
bark furiously, McConnell got his gun and went out into the
night. As he neared the end of the building, the Indian shot at
him from such close range that the bullet went through his

68

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

shirt and left powder burns. Then the Indian disappeared in
the darkness.

Next morning the men inspected the many moccasin tracks
and decided that it was the work of Indians, but though they
followed the trail away from the scene, it vanished. No trace of
the killer was ever found.

Perhaps no other tragedy of Indian warfare stirred such
deep feeling along the Arizona-New Mexico border as the kill
ing of Judge McComas and his wife. Both were much beloved
by the citizens of Silver City, where they made their home, as
well as by a large circle of friends in the surrounding towns.
Judge McComas was a circuit judge in New Mexico and traveled
from one place to another in his district to hold court.

On March 24, 1883, the Southwest Sentinel of Silver City
warned the people that the Indians were again on the waipath.
The editor regretted "the necessity of constantly warning the
settlers to be on their guard against the hostile Indians, and
their depredations and outrages." Just four days later the paper
reported three Indian attacks: the killing of two ranchers, Em
merich and Haynes, below Duncan, Arizona, near York's ranch;
the killing of three men at Swing's Station on the road from
Clifton to Lordsburg; and the finding of the body of an unknown
man after the rescue party had left the scene of the triple slay
ing. The newspaper account said that the Indians were traveling
rapidly south, leaving a plain trail.

On that day, March 28, Judge McComas left Silver City for
Lordsburg and Leitendorf, a small mining camp about three
miles from Lordsburg. Accompanied by his wife and five-year-
old son Charlie, he set out in the family buggy. The first night
they stopped at the Mountain Home Ranch* owned by Mr. and
Mrs. Rivers. The next morning, Mrs. Rivers pleaded with the
judge and his wife to wait for a day or two and see if the rumors
of the Indian depredations were confirmed or denied. Judge
McComas replied that his legal business was so important that
he should go. adding that undoubtedly the reports of Indian
activity were greatly exaggerated.

The route from the Rivers ranch went through the Burro
Mountains, past Knight's Ranch, and along Tompson's Can
yon, which at one point was crossed by an old Indian trail.

* This ranch, now called the Burro Mountain Homestead, is the property of
Isabella Green way King, former congresswomaa from Arizona,

69

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

When the buggy reached the place where the canyon made a
turn to the south and opened out into Lordsburg fiat, the
family was fired on from ambush. One of the horses was killed.
Judge McComas, though wounded, made his way to a walnut
tree, there to put up a fight for his life. Several empty cartridge
shells from his rifle were found where he fell. Mrs. McComas'
body was not far from her husband's; both were horribly muti
lated. Little Charlie was taken captive.

The bodies were found about noon by Deputy Assessor John
Moore and Joe Baker, who drove the stage between Silver City
and Lordsburg. Years later both men said that the impression
left on their minds by the mutilated bodies had never been ef
faced. The trail from the scene led in a southerly direction to
Apache Canyon, near the present site of Gold JHill, There was
a large number of Apache warriors and squaws in the band, and
it was afterward learned that they were on their way to joint
Geronimo in Old Mexico.

That afternoon Colonel Forsythe, with two companies of
cavalry, marched toward Apache Canyon, but when he reached
Lordsburg flat, he camped for the night in spite of the advice of
Bramble B. Ownby, later one of the commissioners of Grant
County, and George Parks, father's youngest brother. Ownby
and Parks offered themselves as guides and urged the colonel to
make a night march and strike the Indians' trail at daybreak.
This Forsythe refused to do, also refusing to give any reason for
his decision. George Parks, who had a fiery temper and was
without fear himself, could not understand Forsythe's attitude,
and in the presence of the colonel's command, paid his compli
ments to the colonel in the plainest of Western English, sparing
no invective that he thought suitable for the occasion. Ownby,
in relating the incident later, said: "It was the worst cussing I
ever heard a man receive."

Early the next morning the dust raised by the Indians on
the march could be seen plainly from tbe camp. Forsythe's at
tention was called to it, and he was urged to head off the In
dians. Instead, he took up the line of march and went to the
scene of the murder. The Indians kept on toward the Mexican
border, and after they crossed were engaged in combat by
Colonel Garcia of the Sixth Mexican Cavalry, who killed sixty
of the hostiles.

A large reward was offered for the return of Charlie Mc-
comas. Throughout the territory, especially in Silver City, many

70

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

prominent people interested themselves in the whereabouts of
the captured boy. They tried to get news through the Indian
agency, hoping to recover the child through the help of the
agency, but nothing definite was ever learned of his fate.

The most plausible account was given by an old Indian squaw
in 1898, and I heard the story only a short time after she told it.
One day when I was a passenger on the old Concord stage which
made daily trips from Bowie to Globe, I sat beside Mr. Wind-
miller, who was then and had been for many years, a merchant
of San Carlos, the main agency for the Apache Indians. On the
long, tiresome journey we talked of Indian tragedies of bygone
days, and I asked him if the Indians had ever hinted at the fate
of Charlie McComas. Then he told me that only a month or two
earlier he had heard of an old squaw who claimed to have been
in the band which killed the judge and his wife. She had told
Mr. Windmiller that the little boy had cried so much and caused
so much trouble that within a few hours' ride from the scene
of the murder they had taken him by the feet and struck his head
against a big boulder, killing him. They had then put his body
in a crevice in the rocks. She gave a good description of a place
that really existed in that section, but the boy's remains were
never found.

My parents had known Judge and Mrs. McComas well while
we lived at the stage station at Knight's Ranch. Mrs. McComas
was one of the first friends mother made after reaching New
Mexico. Father and mother were living in Duncan when they
heard of the murder, and were shocked and deeply grieved at
the cruel fate that had befallen their friends. One of the older
McComas boys, knowing of the affection between my mother
and Mrs. McComas, sent us a picture of Charlie which is still in
our family album.

As early as 1871 the Arizona legislature had memorialized
Congress for protection, suggesting that the industrious race of
prehistoric people had probably departed from the Gila Valley
because of the Apaches, that the white settlers would undoubted
ly meet a similar fate if they were not better protected, and that
the Indians were not yet thoroughly subjugated by military
power. The legislature did not imply that the soldiers were not
brave and willing to do their part in conquering the Indians;
it merely recognized the fact that they were handicapped by too
much red tape in Washington.

Admittedly the old frontiersmen did far more to civilize the

71

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Southwest than did the federal government. Those pioneers
were a hardy breed of men, brave and fearless to a fault. They
knew only too well that they were opposing a shrewd and cun
ning foe in a country where everything was in the enemy's favor,
and where the white men were outnumbered. The Indians had
a code by which they could signal each other over great dis
tances, day or night, and quickly other hostiles could gather
for the attack. But the pioneers w^ere not afraid to take matters
into their own hands. Fighting to defend their homes, they
must have felt, as Colonel Parish* did, that "no troops can begin
to cope with the Apaches and hostile Indians of this territory
in their mountain fastnesses so successfully and at so little cost
as the volunteer organizations."

After father reached the Southwest in 1879, the Indians were
almost continuously on the warpath, with scarcely a road or a
footpath safe enough for white men to travel. Slight security
was to be found in the small towns or even near the military
camps, During the times when the hostiles were on their raids, it
was unsafe for a person to venture alone a half mile from a set
tlement or a town, for there was no community of which the
Indians had the slightest fear. They would lurk behind rocks
or bunches of tall grass or patches of brush, waiting for a vic
tim to come within range of their weapons.

The older members of our family recall instances when the
soldiers were hot on the trail of the Apaches, but would have
to stop to await orders, thus giving the Indians a chance to es
cape. Consequently the Indians considered themselves masters
of all the vast area of Arizona and New Mexico.

In the early part of April, 1885, the citizens of Duncan de
cided to form a volunteer organization for the protection of the
people in the little towns in their section of Arizona. As father
had been a great admirer of the Texas Rangers before he came
to the southwestern frontier, he wanted a similar organization.
He was familiar with the regulations governing such a company
and knew what it could do. But at that time militia companies
were being organized in different regions of Arizona, and the
majority of the settlers wanted the Duncan group to be a militia
company.

On March 8, 1881, Governor Tritle succeeded Governor Fre
mont. A militia company was organized in Duncan and was taken
in as a unit of the Fir&t Regiment of the territorial militia. It was

* Thomas Edwin Farish, History of Arizona, Filraer Brothers: San Francisco, 1918.

72

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

mustered into service late in May by Lieutenant-Colonel M. J.
Egan, commanding officer of both the Duncan and the Clifton
companies. Commissions were issued by Governor Tritle on June
3, 1885, to Captain Lane Fisher and First Lieutenant John Parks,
Adjutant General M. N. Sherman and N. M. Van Arnam counter
signed the commissions and the territorial seal was attached to
each.

There was a change of national administration March 4, 1885,
when Grover Cleveland was seated as president, then the gover
norship went to C. Meyer Zulick a personal friend of Cleveland.
Zulick's regime was a whirl of political incidents.

When the Duncan Militia Company was on the field, as it
was on many occasions, the men could be depended upon to
continue pursuit of the Indians every time the enemy came into
that section of the country. But the wives of the militiamen
spent miserable and agonizing days and nights while their men
folk w r ere out on the trail. Alone with their small children, the
women were fearful always that the family might be massacred
or that their husbands might not return.

Many nights these women slept in father 's adobe corral
with their children. This high-walled corral was built to serve
as a fort, with portholes on all sides to shoot from. A few men
were always assigned to guard duty there when the militia was
called away. But the corral was fifty yards from the house, and
in case of a surprise attack the mothers feared that they could
never get all the children safely across that strip of ground be
tween house and corral. So they w r ere willing to put up with all
kinds of discomfort to sleep in safety.

About the time the militia was mustered in, but before the
commissions were signed, the greatest Indian outbreak occurred.
On May 17, 1885, several hundred Apaches left the San Carlos
Reservation and went on the warpath. Though the militia was
still a volunteer organization, orders came from the headquar
ters of the territorial militia in Prescott for the Clifton and
Duncan companies to engage in active service in the protection
of the citizens in Graham County from the hostile Indians.
Colonel Egan \vas to direct the movements of the two companies,
taking his orders from General George Crook.

Nothing had been done about fund* for the company. The
militia decided that it might be necessary to send someone to
appeal to the governor for funds to maintain the organization,
or to the legislature for an appropriation for the maintenance of

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

the company. The choice fell on Captain Lane Fisher, who had
come from Kansas a year before, and who, as a college graduate,
would be a good man for the purpose. John Parks was designated
as acting captain because, being a frontiersman, he had had wes
tern experience and was familiar with the country, especially its
mountainous regions.

On October 4, 1885, the territorial militia was mustered out
and reorganized into the National Guard of Arizona, Adjutant
General M. H, Sherman having charge of the transfer. Governor
Tritle issued new commissions to Fisher and Parks as captain and
first lieutenant, respectively, but the general orders stated that they
were not to go beyond the boundaries of Graham County in pur
suit of Indians unless ordered to do so by the commanding officer
of the United States. In his general orders the governor stated:

No legislative provision has been made to defray the expenses
of the militia in active service for the common defense, however
great the emergency. This most important subject has been re
peatedly presented to the territorial legislature by the governor
without receiving favorable consideration, yet the lives of our
citizens must be protected.

It can scarcely be apprehended under the circumstances, that
the Fourteenth Legislature, to which all vouchers for expenditures
will be forwarded, will refuse to discharge a just indebtedness
incurred in the people's defense. It is the intention of this order,
therefore, that the militia with commendable patriotism perform
such duties as may be necessary to the best of their ability, rely
ing on the sense of justice of the people whom they protect
through their representatives to fully reimburse all the legitimate
expenditures.

After this message from the governor, father felt confident
that there would be no question about payment of all bills in
curred in the service of the militia. Accordingly he opened an ac
count with the Boone and Lay Mercantile Company of Duncan
for hay, grain, and necessary rations for the company, personally
assuming all responsibility.

Almost at once the National Guard felt severely handicapped
by not being able to go beyond the limits of Graham County with
out special orders. On December 3, 1885, the company was mus
tered out with the sanction of Governor Zulick. It was reorganized
as the Arizona Rangers, since as Rangers the men were permitted
to follow the Indians as far as was necessary, without regard to
county lines,

74

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

Governor Zulick issued John Parks a commission in the
Rangers as captain, Lane Fisher as first lieutenant, and W. B.
Foster as second lieutenant. There were thirty men on the roster,
including the officers. The organization was maintained until the
late spring of 1886 and then disbanded for lack of funds. The
members held themselves in readiness for service, however, until
after the surrender of Geronimo in the fall of that year. After the
surrender Lieutenant Colonel M. J. Egan sent the proper vouchers
to the commander-in-chief with his official report made from time
to time during the campaign.

The Thirteenth Legislature, which had been petitioned by
Governor Tritle for an appropriation to maintain the territorial
organizations for defense, was one of extensive graft. Their whole
proceedings were so corrupt that they destroyed all their records
and went down in history as the Thieving Thirteenth.* A sample
of the reckless manner in which they handled the taxpayers 1
money is found in the fact that they paid out eighty thousand
dollars in clerk hire and printing alone.

The Fourteenth Legislature, which was just as bad in a dif
ferent way, was dubbed the Measly Fourteenth.** Thev spent no
money except for their salaries, and they kept no records. When
they adjourned, they left only a few papers stuffed into a small
pigeonhole. It was to the Fourteenth Legislature, which met in
1886, that Governor Zulick made his appeal for an appropriation
for these territorial organizations, but without result.

The Fifteenth Legislature, which convened on January 21,
1889, found no records of any vouchers or claims having been
sent to either the Thirteenth or Fourteenth legislatures. Father
still felt himself responsible for the debt he had assumed in pur
chasing supplies for the Duncan organization. On March 9, 1889,
when he moved to Solomonville to live, he deeded his Duncan
home and twenty acres of alfalfa land to Boone and Lay as part
payment of the debt. He sent a claim to the territory for reim
bursement, but was advised that such expenses came under
federal jurisdiction, since the governor and other territorial of
ficials were appointed from Washington. Through an attorney at
Washington his claim was filed with the federal government, but
the claim has never been paid.

Many years later Governor John Phillips learned that at the
death of Adjutant General Ben W. Leave!!, his mother-in-law, in

* McClintock, op. at., Vol. II, 333.
** Ibid, 336.

75

FRONTIER DAYS IX THE SOUTHWEST

closino- his Tempe home, spent days burning the papers he had
left, among them undoubtedly many records of early days. In
19^8 other early records were destroyed when the basement or
the Capitol was flooded after the breaking of the Cave Creek dam.
It is probable that the Fisher and Parks records were destroyed
among these papers.

Father tried to collect this just debt for many years, but m
vain. He took the matter up with Marcus A. Smith, who was
Arizona's representative in Congress for twenty-five years, but
nothing was ever done about it. After father's death, other mem
bers of the family took up the claim and appealed to senators and
representatives, but the only attention paid to the matter was a
curt letter from the War Department at Washington stating that
there was no record of the existence of the militia company. The
Washington authorities take the stand that the records in the
Arizona^archives and in the office of the state historian are copies,
not the original records. They disregard the fact that the federal
officials appointed by the government failed to preserve the ter
ritorial papers entrusted to their care.

Also the federal government chooses to disregard the original
records which have been submitted as evidence that such defense
organizations existed: the commissions of Lane Fisher as captain
and John Parks as first lieutenant of the Duncan Militia Com
pany and the National Guard of Arizona. These commissions were
issued at the territorial capital at Prescott, with the territorial
seal attached, facts which should prove that these companies did
exist,

On April 16, 1885, Arizona had nine militia companies which,
according to territorial newspaper accounts, were being placed ori
an equal footing with the military forces. Among these companies
was the Arizona Militia Company of Duncan. The members of
these organizations were never given pensions bv the government,
though they applied on several different occasions, the last time
in 1932. The few surviving members of these militia organiza
tions are old, and many of them are sick and lack the comforts and
necessities of life. The Pension Bureau has refused them the
monthly pensions which are their dne for helping the federal
government subdue the Indians and open up a vast wilderness
where the American people could build their homes.

Some Western writers criticize the government's broken faith
with the Apaches at the time the tribe was exiled. Should they
not consider it a greater blot on Western history that the mem
bers of these military companies who risked their lives in a vital

76

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

cause are wholly ignored in the matter of pensions?

Bill Sparks, a picturesque Arizona pioneer and one of the
best-known characters of earlier days, made the following state
ment in an affidavit under date of February 7 2, 1927, in support
of the claims of the Duncan militiamen:

"There can be no doubt that the Duncan company of Rangers
did much to keep the Indians out of that part of the country and
thereby saved many lives and much property; that the Duncan
company, by having its headquarters at that place near the trail
by which the hostile Indians had previously crossed into and out
of Mexico, saved the federal government many times its cost by
permitting regular troops that otherwise would have been sta
tioned there to operate in other places, and they were given better
protection by Captain Parks and his company of Rangers than
they had ever had before/*

It is fortunate for Arizona that the men who joined the
defense organizations took it for granted that the expenses at
tendant on their services would be met by the government. At
that time the Indians were becoming very bold. One night a
band of the hostiles passing through the country' went into the
field surrounding the home of Henry Collins, who owned a small
farm at the edge of Duncan, and killed his work team by cutting
the animals' throats. The Indians then stole a span of little mules
belonging to Nels Mattison, a Dane whose farm joined Mr. Col
lins 1 field.

Some time after midnight a Duncan resident left the saloon
and started home. He caught sight of a man on a side street and
called out, "You're out late tonight.' 1 Receiving no reply, he de
cided the man did not want to be recognized. But the next
morning when moccasin tracks were found in that side street and
in other sections of the town, he knew that he had seen one of the
Indians that had lurked about town in the night. Outside the win
dow of the room where three of my brothers, Jim, Will, and
John, were sleeping, at least one Indian had stood and peered
inside.

A number of horses was stolen from the settlers that night, and
next morning the militia started in pursuit, crowding the hos
tiles so hard that they abandoned some of the horses along the
trail, among them Mattison's span of mules. But the Indians
managed to evade the militia and escaped into the mountains.

After the Duncan Militia Company was organized, it was al
most constantly in the field trying to track down the savages who
had killed settlers or stolen their stock. For a year and a half

77

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

following the Apache outbreak on May 17, 1885, the Indians did
not return to the reservation. Until Geronimo surrendered, they
were constantly on the warpath, murdering settlers, both whites
and Mexicans, In southwestern New Mexico, southern Arizona,
and northern Mexico. When pursued, they would take refuge in
their strongholds in the Sierra Madre Mountains in Mexico,
where they spent much of their time between raids. During that
year and a half over fifty white and Mexican people around
Duncan, Clifton, and Carlisle and on the Blue and Gila rivers
were killed by the Indians.

The savages never fought in the open and would not engage
in battle unless the odds were greatly in their favor. They would
fight from ambush or from rocky peaks and canyons, always an
unseen foe. A number of times the Duncan company was so close
on their trail that the hostiles would scatter, leaving no trail or
tracks, thus completely eluding the company. Then they would
proceed separately to some designated place. They were excellent
walkers, capable of covering long distances at a time.

On June 3, 1885, the Duncan company received word from
Silver City that the Apaches, then on the warpath, had killed two
men and were heading in the direction of the Pine Cinaga section
near Carlisle. Though the commissions had not yet reached the
officers, the militia left at once for Pine Ci&naga. Upon reaching
the area, the men found that the Indians had killed two other
men only a few miles away, had already passed, and were travel
ing the old trail north of Carlisle and down Bitter Creek.

The militia camped where darkness overtook them, and at
daylight started on the trail again. After the men were out of the
rough country and had reached level ground in the wide Carlisle
Canyon across the river from Duncan, they rode at a rapid gait
and raised a great cloud of dust which was seen for many miles
by the citizens of Duncan. When they came to the place where
the Indians had crossed the Gila three miles below town, they
rode into Duncan for food and fresh horses. They had had noth
ing to eat since the forenoon of the day before, and their horses
were weary and covered with foam.

As soon as the company reached town, one of the men was dis
patched to the Bar W C Ranch a half mile above town. This
ranch was owned by Ward and Courtney, who had put a big
bunch of saddle horses in the Burk pasture two and a half miles
below town. They had taken this precautionary measure to fore
stall the stealing of their roundup horses by the Indians. The
militia company wanted to get some of the W C horses for fresh

78

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

mounts and also to supply the Clifton company which had come
down on the morning train to join in the chase. But Mr. Ward
refused to lend any of his horses, not knowing at the time that
the very band of Indians whom the militia was pursuing had al
ready cut the pasture fence and stolen between thirty and thirty-
five of them.

Father had enough horses in his pasture to remount all but
three of the men, and they retained the three best horses they
had been riding. But the Clifton company could not be supplied
with mounts and the outfit returned home on the afternoon
train. As soon as the militiamen had eaten a hasty meal prepared
by mother and some of the neighbor women, the men were
on their way again.

After the Indians crossed the Gila they traveled up a wide
wash. About eight miles up this wash the men found a place
where the Apaches had waited in ambush for them. The stop at
Duncan for fresh horses had possibly saved many lives. On be
yond the wash, the trail went south through the Whitlock Moun
tains, through Whitlock Pass, and by Old Camp, an outlying
ranch belonging to the Lazy B Cattle Company, which was owned
by H. C. Day and Lane Fisher.

The men remained at Old Camp that night, as it was too dark
to follow the trail farther. They could tell that the Indians were
headed south toward Stein Peak Range on their way to Mexico,
but knowing the wily character of the foe, the men would take no
chances of missing the trail.

As soon as daylight came, they started out again. All that day
they rode hard toward the mountains, and when they reached
there late in the afternoon, saw that the trail went up and over a
big round mountain. To avoid any delay they skirted around it,
for they felt sure they would pick up the trail on the other side.
Soon they caught sight of the Indians about three hundred and
fifty yards away, in the mouth of Doubtful Canyon. Perhaps sixty
hostiles were in the bunch, some of them playing and slapping
at each other as they rode along. When they saw the company
approaching, they began to travel as fast as the rough country
would permit. The militia followed in hot pursuit but could not
make any perceptible gain on them.

As it was near dusk, the men of the militia began firing at
long range with their rifles, and a running fight took place which
resulted in the killing of a buck and a squaw. The pursuers
chased the savages as long as they could see. As the men rode back

79

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

along the canyon, their horses shied away from some boulders.
It was too dark to see what had frightened the horses, but one of
the men dismounted to investigate and found a papoose laced
into an Indian cradle lying among the rocks. Evidently when the
squaw was shot, she had thrown the baby to the side of the trail.
The cradle was made of small willow branches and had a shield
extending over the papoose's head to protect its face from sun and
rain. A red bandana, attached to this shield, fell in front of the
baby's face and acted as a curtain. The men took the papoose
along, cradle and all.

This fight took place on June 5, 1885. That night the militia
camped at the mouth of the canyon, and next morning rode back
over the trail to the scene of the fight. The men found the two
dead Indians and left them where they had fallen. There was
much blood along the trail, and they saw bloody rags which had
been used by the wounded, but the hostiles had disappeared in
the darkness. The men rounded up about thirty-five head of
horses and the two mules that had been abandoned by the In
dians.

As they came back down Doubtful Canyon with the horses,
they met a party of New Mexico Rangers with Captain Black in
command. The Rangers had been warning settlers in the San
Simon and Animas valleys that a band of Indians was headed in
the direction of Stein Peak Range. Father and John Epley took
the papoose and rode with the Rangers to Lordsburg, twenty-five
miles away. There they would take the train for Duncan, leaving
the rest of the militia to return horseback and drive home the
recaptured horses and mules.

While father was waiting at the depot for the train, a photog
rapher by the name of Dalton took a picture of the group, with
father holding the cradled papoose. This picture, still in our
possession, was used as an illustration in Anton Mazzanovich's
Trailing Geronimo.

When the news was telegraphed to Duncan from Lordsburg
that there had been a fight with the Indians in Doubtful Canyon
and that father would be home on the train and bring the cap
tured papoose, wild excitement prevailed. According to schedule,
the two trains through Duncan each day, one from Clifton to
Lordsburg and the other from Lordsburg to Clifton, passed there
and stopped for passengers and train crews to eat dinner. When
the train from Lordsburg came in, father got off and walked to
his home not far from the station. He was followed by the pas-

80

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

sengers and crews from both trains, as well as by all the residents
and -the settlers who had fled to town for safety.

Father took the cradle with the papoose in it into the dining
room and leaned it against the wall People crowded in until the
room was packed, and many stood on the outside waiting to get
in. The poor little papoose was frightened almost to death and
set up a pitiful wail. Then Mrs. Billie Mauldin, who had been
staying with mother while the militia pursued the Indians, sug
gested that they put the cradle under the table, where the baby
would be shielded from sight by the tablecloth. Mother acted on
the suggestion, and the baby, accustomed to the bandana curtain
over his face, stopped crying at once. After the trains pulled out,
the rest of the people got a look at the papoose and dispersed.

Then mother put water on to heat and sent for Mrs. Mattison,
a Swedish neighbor who often helped in sickness and trouble, to
come and bathe the Indian baby and dress him in clean clothes.
After two layers of canvas, which had been sewed on with bear
grass, were removed, the women found that the papoose was wear
ing a beautiful dress of a white baby. When he was put into his
bath, he raised another howl, as he had evidently been unac
customed to water. He was about nine months old and, as mother
had a baby about the same age, she could provide him with clean
clothes.

About the time father's train reached Duncan with the pa
poose, word had been received that a band of two hundred and
fifty hostiles was headed for the country through which the re
turning militia would have to pass. As scarcely any men were
available, father started out with Billie Mauldin and W. B. Fos
ter, who had been assigned to protect the women and children
when the militia had set out for Doubtful Canyon. John Epley
also went along. Though he and father were wearied by the long
chase, they knew they must warn the militia about the second band
of Indians. The men who were driving back the recaptured stock
had trailed the savages about a hundred miles and spent two days
and nights on the trail before they had met and fought the battle
in the canyon; they might be so worn out that they would ride
into an ambush, especially if they had no hint of the new danger.
Father and the three men missed the militia but found that they
had passed safely on their way to Duncan by another trail.

Billie Mauldin says that to this day the details of that ride
stand out sharp and clear in his memory. He remembers their
fearful expectation of finding their friends ambushed, and even

81

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

recalls the horses the four of them rode on that trip. Father was
mounted on a big bay; Epley on father's black stallion, Old Nig;
Foster on a white horse; and Billie on a buckskin.

The Indian baby was named Doubtful for the canyon where
the battle occurred. For about a month he was very sick and came
near dying. Mother kept him for a while, but he was a great care.
With her own family to care for, she told father it would be best
for him to get someone else to care for the little Indian. Soon
father found a family by the name of Adams, which was willing to
take the baby.

The Adamses lived in Duncan until about 1892. Then they
moved to Solomonville, where they resided for three or four years
and where Doubtful attended school. About that time the Copper
Reef Mining Company, of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, which owned
a laxge group of claims on the segregated strip across the river
from San Carlos, began extensive development of their property.
The Strip, at it was called in those days, was a section of the
reservation set aside by the government for mining purposes. Old-
timers in that area still call it by that name. Bill Adams and his
family obtained work at the Copper Reef and moved there. Thus
Doubtful'* schooling ended, as there was no school on the Strip.
He never attended the Carlisle Indian School, as has been stated
sometimes.

The Adams family kept Doubtful until the late nineties, al
ways treating him as one of the household. The boy addressed his
foster parents as papa and mama, and considered their son and
three daughters as his brother and sisters. The family was attached
to the boy, and he was very appreciative of what they had done
for him. When he had money and he was very industrious
he shared it with the family. As he grew older, he was ashamed of
his name and asked to be known as Sam Adams, though he did
not object when his childhood friends used the nickname.

Bill Adams's son-in-law, Henry Tift, a blacksmith, was also
employed by the Copper Reef Mining Company. He had a violent
temper, and, becoming angry at Doubtful one day, undertook to
whip the boy with a large limb. Doubtful ran, with Tift pursu
ing as fast as he could, for the Indian was a swift runner. Doubt
ful dashed toward a cabin my father had on his copper claims.
Father, who always wore a belt of cartridges with a .45-caliber re
volver in the scabbard, walked out on the trail to meet Tift.

"Look here, Tift/* he said, "you're not going to whip that boy
with that big limb."

82

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

"I will whip him/ 1 Tift insisted, "and if you don't stand
aside, I'll use it on you, too.'*

Father pulled out his .45 and said, "Henry, I don't want to
kill you, but don't you come a step farther, or I will."

Tift looked father in the eye, and, seeing that he meant what
he said, threw down the limb and walked away. From that time
on for several years Doubtful lived with father and was devoted to
him. A few months after the clash with Tift, Mr. Adams died
and his daughter married. Doubtful felt that he had no family
left, and continued to live with father. He was honest and trust*
worthy in every respect, and, having lived among white people
most of his life, he did not care to associate with the Indians.

The San Carlos Indians made much over Doubtful, claiming
that he was Geronimo's son. When he was sent to San Carlos for
supplies, they would crowd around him to unsaddle and unpack
his horses, and when he was ready to leave, they would pack up
the animals for him. But he seemed to have nothing in common
with his own race. In 1906 father gave up working his copper
claims near San Carlos, and Doubtful went to work for Bud Ming,
a cattleman who thought a great deal of the Indian boy. Ming
speaks of him with the same friendly feeling shown to white
friends, and insists that Doubtful was faithful and loyal, a good
Indian to anyone who treated him right.

In 1910 Doubtful contracted a severe cold, which later de
veloped into tuberculosis. Ming wrote to Dr. McFady, on the
staff of the Old Dominion Copper Company, and made arrange
ments for the Indian to go to the company hospital for treatment.
But Doubtful refused to go. He died in January, 1912, at a cow
camp near the lime kiln on the Strip and was buried there. Thus
death brought to an end the very unusual and contented life of
the son of a savage foe of the pioneers, a loyal friend and brother
to the white race which had adopted and cared for him.

One of father's staunchest friends and associates in the early
Duncan days was William H. Mauldin. Billie Mauldin, as he was
familiarly known, was born in Burleson County, Texas, and
lived there until he was grown. He then began working as a cow
boy for different cattlemen and often drove herds to Wyoming,
Montana, and Idaho. In the spring of 1882 he went to El Paso to
visit a married sister, and, while there, met two of his boyhood
friends from Burleson County, Frank Rucker and Andrew Cox.
They persuaded him to go to Arizona with them, where Frank's
brother Dick lived,

83

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

The three young men left El Paso about the first of April,
making the trip in a big two-horse hack and leading one saddle
horse. They crossed the Rio Grande at Las Graces, New Mexico,
and from there on followed the route my father had traveled
three years before. They saw plenty of Indian signs but had no
trouble with the savages. Along the mountain side where father's
supplies for the store had been'destroyed, they could still see parts
of the damaged wagons whicli had been left at the scene, and they
heard the story of" how Victorio and his band had attacked the
Parks outfit.

Billie Mauldin and his friends passed through Silver City and
then took the road through the Burro Mountains beyond Knight's
Ranch. Ten or twelve days after leaving El Paso, they reached the
home of Dick Rucker, who lived near the store and post office at
Richmond, a small settlement ten miles above Duncan.

About daylight a few mornings after they arrived, a runner
came up the river to warn the settlers that Indians were heading
that way, killing people and burning the ranches. The families
fortified themselves in some adobe homes belonging to Mexicans,
who had built the houses so that they could be used in case of
Indian attacks. Several people were killed on this raid, and a few
ranch houses burned. Shortly afterward another band raided an
area nearer Duncan. When the men came home that evening,
they found the bodies of most of the family, but some of the chil
dren had been taken off by the Indians and were never heard of
again. The Indians continued toward the Burro Mountains and
the Deming section, raiding and slaughtering as they went. One
woman escaped from a home that was attacked, and hid in the
bushes, but her hair became so hopelessly entangled in the dense
brush that she was held fast and could not get away. She was alive
when found next day.

In spite of such an introduction to the country, Billie Maul-
din in 1883 married a beautiful young woman who lived near
Richmond, and prepared to make his home in Arizona. He bought
property above the Fisher and Day ranch on the Gila River not
far from Duncan and went into the cattle business. He was living
on this ranch at the time of the big Indian outbreak in May, 1885,
and joined the militia company which was then being organized
in Duncan. As a member of the militia, he was almost constantly
in the saddle from the time the company was organized until he
left Duncan the following December. According to him the mem
bers found it impossible to keep still if- an Indian were reported

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

anywhere in their section. He claims that the militia did more
in one day in the field than General Crook did in thirty days. In a
letter to me about the early days he says:

"Your father's command was constantly on the watch, day
and night, and how well I remember our many hurried trips and
ups and downs, eating when and where we could, and never
knowing if, when we got home, we would find our dear ones alive
or not. . . . But we do thank God that we can have our play
ground now in safety where we once used to fight the redskins."

In December, 1885, Billie Mauldin sold his ranch and cattle
to W. B. Foster, and he and Mrs. Mauldin went to Texas to live.
He never returned to Arizona. After the Indian troubles were
over, he felt the call of the Southwest again, and he and his wife
moved to New Mexico. Billie Mauldin is still living there, but his
wife died recently.

Billie was endowed with plenty of energy and courage. When
duty called, he never considered the danger. He was always ready
in any crisis, regardless of what it might bring. His word was as
good as his bond. Such men as Billie Mauldin tamed the frontier
and made the Southwest what it is today. Gentle and kind by
nature, he was strong of purpose, and endured the hardships and
dangers with the fortitude which characterizes the true pioneer.

Late in November, 1885, about twenty-five or thirty Apaches
left the San Carlos Reservation on foot, to kill the settlers and
pillage the ranches in the area through which they w r ould travel
on their way to Mexico. When they reached the Gila River below
Clifton, they divided into two bands. One group raided the
ranches along the Gila and killed a cowboy, Dick May, and the
other pillaged the settlements in the Gila Valley, and, encounter
ing a posse near Ash Springs, slew the Wright brothers. Evidently
the two bands had agreed to meet on the old Indian trail that
went by Ash Springs and to continue into Mexico with the stolen
stock.

Dick May was working for the C A Bar Cattle Company on its
headquarters ranch on the Gila River, eighteen miles below
Duncan. After the Indian outbreak on May 17 of that year, the
Apaches had been very active all summer and fall. Generally
they quieted down during the cold months, and for that reason
the C A Bar had started the fall roundup late. But the wintei;
proved to be unusually mild, and the Indians continued active.

My brother Will was working for the C A Bar on this round-
tip. The cowboys took turns, by twos, in rounding up the pasture

85

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

about daylight and gathering the horses for the day's work. On
the morning of December 1, 1885, Will and another cowboy
rode the pasture and brought in the horses. After the horses were
in the corral, Dick May and a cowboy by the name of Matt Dry
noticed that their mounts were not in the bunch.^ They rode back
to the pasture and soon found their horses, as it was good day
light by that time. When they reached the pasture gate, Dick
decided to rope his horse. While he was swinging the lariat
around his head, he was shot by an Indian who had hidden be
hind a large prickly pear cactus on top of the mesa that ran
parallel with the pasture fence back of the ranch house. The
shot passed through his body just under his arm and killed him
instantly.

Later it was learned that the Indians had spent the previous
night in a rugged canyon six miles from the river northeast of
the York ranch. It was known as the Apache Box, as the canyon
was boxed in by steep cliffs. The Indians liked to camp in box
canyons when possible, because it was easy to protect themselves.

After shooting Dick May, the hostiles traveled up the Gila
River for a few miles and ran into the railroad section crew, of
which Billy Blair was foreman. Blair had just started to work, for
it was early morning. The Indians fired several shots at the sec
tion men, who rushed to the handcar and made their way to Dun
can. The marauders then headed toward the foothills of the
Peloncillo Mountains.

Dick May's body was taken to the ranch house for the day, as
it was not safe to travel during daylight. That night the body was
brought to Duncan in a light spring wagon drawn by a span of
mules. At one point on the road the mules began plunging and
snorting. It was all the driver could do to keep them from run
ning away, and he felt sure that some of the Indians were still
lurking nearby, Dick's body was brought to our home pending
the funeral in the little cemetery at the foot of the mesa.

In those days there were no funeral services or flowers to
cover the coffin or the grave. The family and friends stood by,
sadly and silently watching while the men with ropes lowered the
homemade pine coffin and filled in the grave with the rocky soil.
Then they returned to their homes with no word of consolation
from a minister of God, with only grief and bitterness at the fate
of the victim. Each time the men were more grim and determined
that their lives would be dedicated to the extermination of the
cruel foe of this vast new country.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

After Dick's death his friends remembered that often, when
he was about half drunk most of the cowboys drank to a certain
extent in those days he would say that he had a presentiment of
his early death at the hands of the Apaches, He never mentioned
the matter at any other time, and it took on an added significance
that the fate he had dreaded was the one which finally overtook
him.

Dick was a good cowhand and shared honors with W. B. Fos
ter as the best roper in that section. Both men always roped their
calves by both hind feet. On several occasions their friends
matched them in calf-tying contests, but since they were equally
good with the rope, the outcome was never certain. They would
have made a fast team in the rodeo contests of today.

The band of Indians which went to the Gila Valley entered
the small Mormon settlement of Layton, and while the people
were at church in the evening, raided the town. They stole all
the horses except those at the church. When the services were over
and the men found that their horses had been taken, they im
mediately organized a posse and set out, by the dim light of the
moon, to follow the wide trail made by the stolen horses. Among
those in the posse were Seth and Lorenzo Wright, Robert Welker,
and Bill Morris.

When the posse reached Solomonville, they learned that the
Apaches, becoming bold, had entered a livery stable there and
taken all the horses, including some that had been left there for
safekeeping. Among the Solomonville men who joined the posse
was Pete Bolan, district attorney of Graham County, who was an
Irishman and a prominent citizen of the community. The posse
followed the valley for three miles above Solomonville, and then
crossed a stretch of country consisting of numerous little rolling
malpais hills which were intersected by many washes and brushy
canyons. After topping the mesa, the road kept on along the level
for several miles. This road was the connecting link between Gila
Valley points by way of Ash Springs to Duncan.

About twelve miles above Solomonville, as the posse rode
along hoping to cut the trail, the Indians caught sight of them
and lay in ambush in a brushy canyon. When the posse was almost
opposite, with the Wright boys in the lead, the Apaches opened
fire and killed the Wright brothers. The horses of the other mem
bers began rearing and plunging and trying to run, and though
many other shots were fired by the hostiles, they failed to hit
their mark.

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST
Bolan's horse wheeled and headed for town, and the rider
made no effort to stop him. Instead, Bolan urged him on to a
faster speed and covered the twelve miles in forty-five minutes.
The other men in the posse also escaped unharmed. When citi
zens later returned with a wagon for the bodies, they found both
badly mutilated. A rock monument was built on the spot where
the brothers fell, and the place was named Bolan's Run. It is so
called to this day.

This monument to the Wright brothers stood until the spring
of 1938. At that time an asphalt highway was completed in
Graham County from Solomonville to Duncan. It passes within
a mile of the spot where Seth and Lorenzo Wright met their
death. On this site a small monument of concrete was erected to
replace the native stone marker, which had stood for fifty-three
years to designate the spot where Seth and Lorenzo had met their
death. Beside the new highway a large and imposing monument
was placed, bearing a plaque inscribed in honor of the Wrights.
It was unveiled at sunset on September 24, 1938, and dedicated to
the memory of the slain men by the Mormon church in the pres
ence of more than eleven hundred people, many of them relatives
of the two men.

After the death of Seth Wright, his wife disclosed that she had
had a strange premonition of his fate. While intensely worried
and fearful because of the dangerous mission her husband was on,
she heard him call her name as plainly as she had ever heard
him speak it in life. Thinking he had returned and was in the
yard, she went to the door and looked out. No one was there.
They told her later that Seth had died about the time this feeling
came to her.

When word reached Duncan of the new Indian ^activities,
telegrams were sent to many Arizona towns in the section of the
country through which the hostiles were headed. Couriers were
sent to' warn the settlers, and families fled at once to reach places
of safety. The Duncan Militia Company and the Clifton National
Guards started in pursuit, but always when the Apaches had a
few hours' start on the soldiers or posses, it was almost impossible
to overtake them. They had a way of separating and eluding their
pursuers, leaving no trail or sign to indicate the direction they
were taking. They always kept to the high, rough country which
slowed down their followers and made trailing difficult.

The Indians continued on their way toward the Willcox area,
cutting the telegraph wires between Fort Grant and Willcox. Mr.
Lord, the military operator at Fort Grant, warned the ranchers

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

who were in town to go home at once and protect their families.
He also sent a runner from D. H. Smith's store to warn the people
living in the Stockton Pass section, but the runner was fired on
by the Indians and returned to Fort Grant without reaching the
settlers.

Governor Tritle in Prescott, on receiving information from
Clifton that the Indian depredations were of an alarming nature,
issued orders to the territorial militia to hold itself in readiness
for immediate service. When the hostiles were also reported in
Grant County, New Mexico, which was on the Arizona border,
Governor Tritle met Governor Ross of New Mexico at Lords-
burg and proceeded with him to Clifton. There they remained for
several days, looking into the extremely critical situation and
discussing measures for meeting the crisis.

Only a few weeks later came another death at the hands of
the Indians. About eight miles above Duncan on the Gila lived
the Windham brothers, Drew and Bob. They owned a small
farm and a bunch of cattle. Drew, the older brother, looked after
their cattle, and Bob worked for Tom Jones, another cattleman
who lived nearby. Three days before Christmas, Bob said to
Jones:

"If you will stay with the women and children, Drew and I
will go get a beef for Christmas."

Their cattle range was between the Gila River and Carlisle.
Though they expected to be back home before Christmas, they
were still riding the range on the afternoon of December 24,
having had a hard time finding an animal fat enough to kill. Be
tween Pine Ci&iaga and Carlisle, they were attacked by a band
of Indians, evidently coming from the Mogollon Mountains in
New Mexico. Bob was fatally wounded, and Drew was shot in the
leg. It was eight miles to the mining company's doctor at Carlisle,
but Drew managed to get Bob to the hospital. Bob died at four
o'clock the next morning.

As soon as Drew reached Carlisle, he sent a telegram to mili
tia headquarters and the company left at once to take up the trail
from the scene of the killing, eighteen miles away. The hostiles
followed the old Indian trail, going around north of Carlisle and
down Bitter Creek, then heading north of Clifton for the Frisco
River. There the Indians scattered. It was impossible to trail
them, and the militia had to return home.

Bob Windham's body was brought to his home on the Gila

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

River and laid to rest in the little cemetery nearby, where other
victims of the Apaches had been buried.

The terror of Indian attacks made every pettier feel a sense of
personal responsibility for the safety of his neighbors, but on
one occasion the alarm proved to be false. When the Duncan
Militia Company received word, on the morning of June 3, 1885,
that the hostiles on the warpath were heading toward Pine
Ci&iaga, they took every available man and set out on the trail
of the Indians. Second Lieutenant W. B. Foster and Billie Maul-
din, a member of the company, were assigned to stay and protect
the women and children. The only other men left in town were
John H. Brown, the station agent and telegraph operator; Howard
C. Boone and Alfred Lay, the store owners; their clerk; and B. B.
Adams, the postmaster. These men composed the fighting force
at home in the event of an attack.

As soon as the settlers around Pine Ci&naga had seen and
talked with the militia, they fled to Carlisle for safety. There
they told of the small guard left in Duncan to defend the women
and children of the town as well as those who had left their
ranch homes and come to Duncan for protection. The Carlisle
citizens, fearing that a band of roving Indians would take advan
tage of the absence of the militia to massacre those left in the
little town, organized a party and set out for Duncan to strengthen
the number of defenders.

When the Duncan people saw a large party of horsemen com
ing down Carlisle Canyon, they naturally concluded that the
Apaches were preparing to attack the town. The terror created
by this alarm, until it was proved false, caused a member of the
Carlisle party to write the following verses which were published
anonymously in the San Francisco Bulletin shortly afterward:

IN THE LAND OF MISTRUST

We spared not the spur as to Duncan we went.

Though broncos were jaded, their strength almost spent;

*Twas the ride of a year from the mines at Carlisle,

And we grudged the few moments that measured each mile;

So we dashed into town in a halo of dust,

Speechless, all fearful, with faint hope or trust.

For the place had been stripped of all who could fight,

And the cursed Apache had turned in the night;

He had doubled his trail as we hunted him down,

And the tracks of his teguas were set to the to*wn.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

We had gathered at Duncan the morning before,

A motley assemblage, some forty or more

Cowboy and miner, and Yankee and Scot,

Tenderfoot, gambler, clerk and what not;

Each roped his own bronco as best he knew how,

Or swore at his neighbor for starting the row.

And oaths strange and new, and vows as profane

Some uttered, some echoed, some muttered again.

So we rode to the east at an easy jog trot

And bragged what we'd do when Apaches we caught.

A day in the saddle, a night riding sign,

From valley to mountain, from cactus to pine;

A ride that was silence, except for the hoof

That struck a strange cadence, beat rhythmic reprooof,

Men from Clifton and Guthrie, from York's in the van,

We were out for the hunt, and our quarry was man,

And the signals flashed warnings to them whom we sought,

And the zigzag we trailed with sign meanings were fraught

From Gila to Mesa, past lone Steeple Rock,

Then our gallop we broke to the long running walk.

Round Mayflower we swept to the valley again

To follow the trail of Geronimo's men.

Where hoofs on moist earth beat a muffled tattoo,

With river and ranch house and stations in view,

We picked up the tracks. They were moccasin shod,

And they led straight ahead quite across the broad

Dusty way that would take them to Duncan. Then

Like a whirlwind we rode, some forty odd men.

Not a man dared to speak, for he fancied he knew,

For his brain was aghast with the picture he drew.

But at Duncan they watched. They looked to Carlisle.

And they saw the far dust cloud grow dense with each mile.

Then they acted, and wisely, for men there were three.

Two guarded the hamlet, one sat at the key

And ticked a brief message to Clifton for aid:

"Apaches are coming, they're out on a raid,

Fire up your best engine, don't wait a whole year;

For our wives' sake send help. My God, they are here."

'Twas a false alarm; 'twas our halo of dust;

'Twas an hour of wild fear in the Land of Mistrust.

Charlie Montgomery, who had come from Oklahoma to the

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

mining camp at Clifton in the eighties, had a narrow escape in a
clash with two Indians early one morning. He followed hunting
and trapping for a livelihood, having located on the Blue River,
about fifty miles above Clifton, where in those days only a few
scattered ranches had been located. Shorty, as he was called by his
friends, was a little man who wore his hair to his shoulders and
dressed in the usual Western garb of blue jeans and jumper. He
always went well armed with the customary .44 Colt revolver and
had a cartridge belt buckled around him and a Winchester rifle
strapped to his saddle.

Early one morning in the summer of 1888 Shorty appeared at
a cattle ranch on the Frisco River about fifteen miles from Clif
ton. This ranch was owned by A. S. Hickey and his nephew, Frank
Ringgold, who had arrived in Clifton from Philadelphia on the
day, three years before, when the Apaches had made their famous
outbreak from the San Carlos Reservation. Hickey and Ringgold
were working on a drift fence they were building about three
miles below the ranch across the river to keep off their range the
cattle of the Norte brothers, who had recently shipped in a bunch
of scrubby stock.

When Shorty rode up to the place where the two men were
working, they asked him to get down and stay a while, but he
shook his head and explained:

'Tm in a big hurry to get to Clifton, but stopped to show you
a new kind of game I just killed. Frank, untie the gunny sack
from behind my saddle/*

Frank removed the sack, and on looking inside, saw a lot of
black hair.

"Pull it out, 1 * Shorty said. "It won't hurt you."

Frank reached into the sack and brought out a ghastly ob
ject, the head of a young Apache buck about thirty years of age.
He had been shot in the left cheek bone, and the bullet had
emerged from the right jaw.

Shorty then told of the fight he had with two Indians, and
the killing of one of them. 'I've killed these savages in the In
dian Territory/' he went on, "and when I'd bring in the scalps,
the people would say I'd just killed a bear or some other wild
animal So I thought I'd bring in proof this time that I'd killed
an Indian."

Then the hunter turned to go, adding that the partner of
the dead Indian might be on his trail seeking revenge* This news
alarmed Hickey and Ringgold, and they stopped work at once,

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

got their horses, and went to Clifton with Shorty. It was seldom
that two Apaches were out on a raid alone, and the ranchers were
afraid that other hostiles were lurking along the Blue River.

As soon as Shorty reached Clifton with his trophy, the citizens
made up a purse of a hundred dollars as a reward. The head was
hung on the gatepost of Pomeroy's Livery Stable. A few days
later some of the C A Bar cowboys came to town, and seeing the
head, shot it from the post. Probably they wanted to show that
they still remembered the fate of their friend and fellow cow-
puncher, Dick May, who had been killed by the Indians at the
home ranch of the C A Bar Cattle Company.

A number of Clifton citizens decided to send the Indian head
to President Cleveland, as an indication of their disapproval of
the government's tactics in handling the Indian situation. The
majority of the settlers in the territory believed that too much
red tape had handicapped the soldiers and caused the Indians*
lack of respect for their authority. But the more conservative citi
zens felt that such an act would be disgraceful.

The head was finally sold for ten dollars to S. W. Pomeroy,
who owned the livery stable. He sent it to Dan R. Williamson,
agent for the Southern Pacific at Bowie, who had a little museum
on the station platform. The collection consisted of Indian relics,
Gila monsters, mineral specimens from the different mines in
Arizona, and many other things that were strange and interesting
to train passengers. Later w r hen a young lady fnend of Mr. Wil
liamson wrote from San Francisco asking him to buy her an In
dian scalp, the scalp was taken from the head of the Indian
Montgomery had killed, and was sent to her.

This Indian was an uncle of Jimmie and Willie Stevens, be
ing their mother's brother. The boys' father, George H. Stevens,
was one of the earliest treasurers of Graham County. Today Jim
mie Stevens is a bookkeeper and Indian interpreter at the Indian
agency at San Carlos. Willie Stevens was for years Indian court
interpreter for Gila County at Globe and is now living on his
Ash Flat cattle ranch.

Charlie Montgomery spent his last years in the Soldiers' Home
at Sawtelle, California.

Few men in the early days of the Southwest made much of an
effort to understand the Indians and their problems. According
to records, Captain Emmett Crawford, General Nelson A. Miles,
and Lieutenant Charles B. Gatewood were the best men in the
Army when it came to handling Indians. The Apaches had con-

93

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

fidcnce in them and believed what they promised in any talk
about treaty or surrender.

Captain Crawford was especially liked by the Indians, who
considered him their friend, and his influence over them pre
vented many an outbreak. Crawford was equally wise in discus
sing with the settlers the problems of protecting themselves against
Indian attacks. While camped at Duncan for a few days with a
small detachment of troops, Captain Crawford advised my father
how to go about organizing a militia company and what military
rules to follow. The captain's untimely death, on the trail o
Geronimo, was a blow to his many friends.

At the time American troops had made camp near Fronteras,
Mexico. Early one morning Mexican troops began firing into the
American camp, but ceased after the American soldiers had
shouted at them. Soon another fusillade of shots was fired. Cap
tain Crawford jumped up on a large rock and began waving a
white handkerchief. He shouted to Captain Maus, who spoke
Spanish fluently, to tell the Mexicans that these were American
troops. Maus gave the message, but a Mexican standing about
thirty steps away shot and fatally wounded Crawford. He died
three or four days later.

At first the question arose as to whether Captain Crawford
should be buried in Mexico. Captain Maus decided the matter,
remarking that the country for which he had given his life owed
him a grave. Emmett Crawford's body was brought back and
buried at old Fort Bowie.

Bushrod Crawford, who came to Arizona in 1871 and was a
continuous resident until his death in Globe in 1937, was said to
have been a cousin of Emmett Crawford. Shortly after his arrival
in the Southwest, Bushrod Crawford bought a bunch of Mexican
cattle from some Mexican cattlemen who owned what is now
known as the E 3 Ranch. He drove the cattle from the E 3 to his
ranch near Tucson. At that time the E 3, about fifteen miles west
of Globe, was the only cattle ranch in the Globe country.

Bushrod Crawford and my father had been friends when they
were boys in Texas. Bushrod had often visited at my grandfather
Parks' home at Acton, Texas, and there saw one of the first cotton
gins in that state.

For a time after the big Apache outbreak in 1885, the ranchers
on the Frisco and Blue rivers, who had fled to Clifton for safety,
remained in a camp they had established about four miles above
Clifton. The place, which had been located by an Italian couple,

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

was called De Parti's Flat. There was plenty of feed and water
for the horses. Perhaps twenty-five ranchers, who were afraid to
return to their isolated ranch homes, spent the summer camped
at the flat

Among the campers were Mace Greenlee, for whom Greenlee
County was named; Abe and Dick Boyle, who raised horses; E. K,
Marsh, who lived with the Boyles; Wood Dodd; George Packer;
Jim Randall and his partner, Si Ruggles, one of the best hunters
and trappers in that section; Bill Sparks, a trapper, afterward a
noted peace officer of the early nineties, and in later life the
author of The Apache Kid and other stories; Frank and George
Blucher, ranchers on the Frisco; Jim Rasberry and Frank Man
ning, ranchers on the Big Blue; Arte Hickey and Frank Ringgold,
who owned a ranch and the H E brand of cattle on the Frisco.

The Indians were active all summer and fall. Consequently,
the ranchers had to stay away from their property for weeks at a
time, but occasionally some of them would make a hurried visit
to see if their cabins had been burned or their stock driven away.

Jim Rasberry, a sandy-complexioned, tall, lanky fellow, who
always carried an old-fashioned octagon-barrel Ballard rifle, be
came restless at having to stay in camp so long. In the fall he de
cided to return to his cabin in the Big Blue. His friends tried to
persuade him not to make the trip, but he left for home, anyway.
When he failed to return within a few days, his friends became
uneasy, and a posse left Clifton to look for him. Reaching the
Rasberry place, they found that he had been murdered by the
Indians.

The posse continued on a few miles to the Benton ranch and
found the body of William Benton, who had been killed by the
same band of Apaches. He had been plowing in his field when
shot down. The Indians cut the buckles from the harness of the
plow horses, then went to the cabin and took Benton's gun and
ammunition. They carried off what provisions they wanted, and
destroyed the rest, dumping the flour on the dirt floor of the cabin.

From the Benton ranch the Indians crossed over the Little
Blue on their way to Alma, New Mexico, and killed the two
Luther brothers, better known as the Dutch boys. The Luthers
owned a ranch and about a hundred head of pure-bred cattle*
Most of the cattle on the other ranches in that section were Mexi
can cattle, a small breed of longhorns of an inferior grade.

Next the Indians reached Frank Manning's ranch. He, too,
would have been killed but for his shepherd dog, Dandy. He

95

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

"\

heard the dog barking and went to the door. As he opened it,
several shots rang out. The bullets imbedded themselves in the
log walls of the cabin, and Manning was wounded by a bullet in
the leg. He jumped back and called Dandy into the cabin, barri
caded the door, and remained inside until after dark. Taking
the dog, he returned to Clifton that night.

After he recovered from the wound, Manning left for Minas
Prietas, Mexico, where he worked as pumpman for the La Colo-
rada Crestone Mining Company, a Cleveland, Ohio, company
with headquarters in that city. He never returned to Clifton. .

The campers on the De Parti Flat found life drab and monot
onous, and often rode into Clifton. One day Frank Ringgold,
who, at fifteen, was the only young member in camp, decided to
visit some of his young friends in town and set out for a leisurely
ride down the canyon by the road which paralleled the Frisco
River. Suddenly several Indians emerged from the river bed,
which had a dense growth of young willows along its course.
Galvanized into instant action, Frank began using his leather
quirt and digging his spurs in both sides of his animal.

He was making good speed when he heard loud laughter from
the Indians. But his fears were not allayed, and he continued on
his wild flight to safety. About a quarter of a mile farther down
the road a small detachment of cavalry appeared from the river
bottom. The Indians were scouts, the advance guard of the troops
who were passing through the country. Frank stood a lot of good-
natured raillery over the incident for quite a while afterward.

The Apaches passed into the Alma country near the foot of
the Mogollons in New Mexico, leaving a bloody trail and many
dead ranchers in their wake.

According to old newspaper files, after the killing of Bob
Windham in December, 1885, the Apaches centered their opera
tions around the Tucson and Benson country, committing many
crimes and keeping Uncle Sam's soldiers constantly on the move.
A dispatch from Pantano, not far from Tucson, told of the mur
der of a ranchman, Robert Lloyd, four miles from that settle
ment. When found, his body, with his legs tied together, had ap
parently been dragged for some distance, presumably while he
was still alive. The dispatch to the Tucson Daily Star read as fol
lows:

J, A. Barrock and a few citizens, who left here at 2 P.M. yes
terday to bring in the body of Bob Lloyd, murdered by the

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

Apaches, were attacked by five hostile*. Shots were exchanged,
the citizens pressing them so closely that one Indian's horse was
shot and the Indian took to the brush. Barrock secured a gun that
the hostile dropped. The inquest on the body of Bob Lloyd was
held last night. A special train, with troops from Calabasas, under
command of Captain Lawton, passed through this morning. They
will disembark at Pantano. The hostiles are still in the Rincon
Mountains.

Captain Lebo, with two troops of cavalry, had gone to Tres
Alamos to head off the Indians, while Lieutenant Johnson and
the remaining troops of cavalry had taken up the trail. The hos
tiles had crossed over the San Pedro, stolen fresh mounts, and
escaped to the Whetstone Mountains, thus outwitting the soldiers.

About the same time a dispatch from Tucson stated that the
Samaniego posse, which had recaptured a little Mexican boy from
the Indians, had reached Tucson after a long and arduous pur
suit. They turned back at the San Pedro River, and the trail was
taken up there by Lieutenant Weaver and two companies of
cavalry accompanied by two cattlemen named Vail and Murray,
and a large number of Mexican trailers with fresh horses.

The same week a dispatch from Fort Lowell reported that a
courier had just arrived there from the Martinez ranch, twenty
miles east of the fort, with word that the hostiles had reappeared
and recaptured the horses taken from them by the Samaniego
posse, together with a number of other horses that had been left
at the ranch. The courier stated the soldiers had a running fight
with the Indians, but there had been no casualties on either side;
the Indians seemed to be heading for the Santa Rita Mountains,
with a supply of ammunition which would indicate that they had
a cache in the vicinity.

On May 26, 1886, the following account appeared in the
Tucson Daily Star:

It is said that the murderous Chiricahuas have divided into
small bands and are being hotly pursued by the troops. It seems
strange that these hostiles, who, since the middle of last May,
have killed over two hundred men, women, and children, should
think they would find greater safety at utie reservation than any
other place. This is because of the leniency which has too often
been exercised toward them. On no less than three different
occasions did these Chiricahuas, after making incursions of slaugh
ter and robbery throughout the frontier country, come back to the

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

reservation, where they were fed on govenment rations without
receiving punishment. So far as we can ascertain, General Miles
has adopted a different policy for the treatment of the savages he
is after. If late reports are true, they are to be shot down ^ wher
ever found, whether approaching the reservation or moving in
some other direction. They have not perhaps been made aware of
the fact, and it is not necessary they should be, considering the
bloody trail they have left in the section through which they
have depredated. The sooner they are disposed of, the better.

An Associated Press dispatch from Clifton on June 2, 1886,
appeared in the Tucson Daily Star, reporting further tragedies:

The cowboys of the Hampson ranch on Eagle Creek, while
looking for stock twelve miles west of the ranch^ were chased by
Indians, thirty-one in number, mounted and having a pack train,
and coming from the direction of Fort Apache. The Indians cap
tured two mules.

The cowboys escaped and reached the ranch the next day.
There they found Tom Creech and Ed McGinley had been killed
the day before by another band of Indians, while milking. The
Indians took provisions, clothing, guns, and ammunition, and
camped on Nantach Hill, and headed toward Fort Thomas.
A third band of Indians about thirty in number was seen by
Guadalupe Lerma, a Mexican who was employed on the cattle
ranch of George W. Wells on Pigeon Creek. They will probably
strike toward Mule Springs, New Mexico.

Such dispatches continued to appear at frequent intervals in
the territorial newspapers until after Geronimo surrendered in
September, 1886. As bands of the hostiles would return from the
Sierra Madre Mountains in Mexico to raid areas in Arizona and
New Mexico, citizens were notified of the directions in which these
bands were headed. But many lonely graves and small cemeteries
near frontier towns bore witness to the Apache activity during
their sixteen months of constant raiding.

Geronimo had long been a name to be feared. This chief was
a medicine man and a prophet of the Chiricahua Apaches, and
had acquired notoriety through his opposition to the federal
authorities. His native name was Goyathlay, meaning brave or
fearless, but the Mexicans called him Geronimo, the Spanish
for the name Jerome, His father, Taklishim, the Gray One, was
not a chief, but his grandfather had assumed to be a chief with
out heredity or election. Geronimo's mother was known as Juana.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

He was born about 1834 at the headwaters of the Gila in
New Mexico, near the site where Fort Tulcrosa was later estab
lished. This fort was founded in the early seventies by Captain
Colson and his detachment of infantry after an endless number
of depredations by the Apaches had occurred. The main lateral
of the Indian trails was from the Mogollon and San Francisco
mountains in Grant and Sierra counties in New Mexico, and
through all the southern part of Grant County touching the
Chiricahua Mountains in Arizona, the great stronghold of the
tribe. Formerly this tribe had lived in Sonora, Mexico, but when
the Mexican government complained of the devastation of which
the tribesmen were guilty, the Chiricahuas were moved to the
Indian reservation at San Carlos on the southern frontier of
Arizona.

Geronimo and other young chiefs broke away and fled back
into Old Mexico. Later he was arrested with his band when he
returned to Ojo Caliente, New Mexico, and they were sent to San
Carlos again. In 1882, while raiding with his hostiles in Sonora,
Geronimo was surrounded by General Crook's troops in the
Sierra Madres and surrendered. For a time after this raid, the
Apaches made an attempt to farm and live quietly on the reserva
tion, but early in 1884 they became discontented again. The cause
this time was a government ban on the making of tiswin on the
reservation. This crude beer was highly intoxicating and brought
out the worst traits in the Apache character. But occasional tis
win parties were held in spite of the efforts of the Indian police
to enforce the order. The tiswin-crazy Apaches fought among
themselves, injuring and often killing some of their fellow- tribes
men.

Because of the ban against tiswin Geronimo gathered his
band and went on die warpath, terrorizing southern Arizona and
New Mexico, as well as Sonora and Chihuahua in Mexico. This
action was known as the Indian campaign of 1884-1885, though
it lasted until September, 1886. General Crook proceeded against
the band with orders to kill or capture the chief and his followers.
After almost three years of bloody warfare, General Miles was
placed in command, and at last a truce was made.

At the conference held to consider terms of surrender, Geroni
mo refused to discuss the matter with anyone but Lieutenant
Gatewood, in whom he had confidence. After a three-day parley
the Apache chief agreed to these conditions: The Indians were
not to surrender their arms until after their talk with General

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Miles; Captain Lawton and his troops, who had been in Mexico
for several months Jn pursuit of the Apaches, were to act as an
escort to protect the Apaches from both the American and the
Mexican troops in the field, for Geronimo knew that the feeling
against his band was intense. Until the arrival of General Miles,
who was expected from day to day, Captain Lawton and his sol
diers guarded the Apache band in Skeleton Canyon.

At the time of Geronimo's surrender, my brother Will was
working for the Bar W C Cattle Company, owned by Ward and
Courtney, whose ranch was one mile above Duncan. The fore
man had sent Will and two other cowboys to the headquarters
ranch of the San Simon Cattle Company in the upper San Simon
Valley to attend the roundup. This company ran the H H H
brand. After the roundup the cowboys were to bring back the
Bar W C cattle that had drifted to that range.

When the roundup boys heard that Geronimo was being
held at Skeleton Canyon, only a few miles from the ranch of the
San Simon Cattle Company, 'the roundup stopped. All the cow
boys rode over to Captain Lawton's camp and begged for per
mission to take Geronimo out and kill him. Lawton talked to
them and induced them to return to the ranch, but they came
back each day for three days, trying to get Lawton to hand the
old chief over to them. Each time Lawton reasoned with them
and persuaded them to wait.

By this time Geronimo was getting suspicious and restless.
No word had come from General Miles, though there was prob
ably a fair degree of certainty as to when he would arrive. Final
ly Captain Lawton promised the cowboys that if General Miles
had not arrived by three o'clock the next afternoon, the boys
could have their revenge. The captain agreed not to say a word
or to lift his hand to save Geronimo's worthless life a day longer.

When the cowboys returned the next day, they found that
General Miles had reached Skeleton Canyon a short time before.
The Indians were taken to old Fort Bowie and held there by the
military authorities until they were deported. General Miles ex
plained to Geronimo the reasons for the government order:

"You have murdered, stolen, and broken your promises.
That is why the Great White Father at Washington has said
that no Chiricahua Apache shall be allowed to stay in Arizona."

During this conference Geronimo realized that his treachery
had ruined his entire tribe. He was a reader of men's faces, and
knew that because he had never granted mercy, none would be

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

granted him. After a few days at Fort Bowie, the Apaches were
taken to the Southern Pacific station at Bowie and loaded on a
train bound for Florida. Geronimo sadly accepted the fact that
he had lost his last fight.

The night before the band was to leave the fort, three bucks,
one squaw, and several children slipped away in the darkness.
They were missed the next morning, and scouts were sent out to
locate them and bring them back. Soldiers in the field were noti
fied of the escape. But the little group was never heard of. After
evading soldiers and scouts, they probably reached a secret camp
in the Sierra Madre Mountains.

At last the train steamed out of Bowie with the treacherous
band of four hundred and ninety-eight Apache prisoners, includ
ing Geronimo, the last of the fighting chiefs. In charge of Colonel
J. F. Wade and Major Dickey, they were on their way to exile in
Florida, the area having been selected to remove them as far
away as possible from other Apache tribes which were still in
their native home. A great prayer of gratitude went up from
the hearts of the Arizona settlers, for a new day seemed to be
dawning for the white people, while the sun was setting forever
on the murderous Apaches.

After being constantly on guard against Indian attacks, the
pioneers found relaxation from fear a new experience. But if any
one of the old Apache chiefs had ever returned to the native-
hunting grounds, the settlers would have made instant armed
preparations for defense, so terrible and lasting was the memory
of the Apache raids.

When the Indians reached Florida, they were imprisoned at
Fort Pickens and Fort Marion. Many of the boys were sent to the
Indian school at Carlisle, Pennsylvania. The change from the hot
dry climate of the Southwest to the damp climate of the East
Coast, as well as other conditions, did not agree with the Indians,
and in April, 1887, they were transferred to ML Vcrnon Barracks
in Alabama. At that time only three hundred and eight of the
tribe were alive. As the death rate continued high, they were
again transferred, this time to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where they
arrived on October 4, 1894. There they were encamped on the
military reservation under the control of the garrison. The able-
bodied were enrolled as Indian soldiers and held under strict
military discipline.

The tribe remained there until April 1, 1913, when the two
hundred and fifty-seven Apaches at Fort Sill were given their

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

choice of land in Oklahoma or transportation to the Mescalero
Apache Indian Reservation in New Mexico. One hundred and
seventy of them chose the old hunting ground of their fathers, and
the others were given eighty-acre allotments in Oklahoma.

General Miles's campaign in 1886 practically disposed of the
Indian problem in the Southwest, except for an occasional In
dian who went wild, as did the Apache Kid. In April, 1890,
troops were ordered withdrawn from the Arizona posts of Fort
McDowell, Fort Verde, and Fort Thomas. Abandoned since that
time, these posts are now only adobe mounds, silent witnesses to
the fact that once they were lively, active forts where many of
Uncle Sam's soldiers were stationed. To the pioneers this mute
evidence of the early days brings back sad recollections of the days
before the Old West was tamed.

Geronimo lived out his years at Fort Sill. In 1905 he and
several of his warriors were taken to Teddy Roosevelt's inaugura
tion, and were given an audience by the president. Geronimo
made a simple, though eloquent, appeal to be allowed to end his
days as a free man, but the request was denied. In consequence
of the many atrocities committed upon the settlers in the South
west by him and his band, Geronimo was returned to captivity.
The realization that he had been banished for life from the region
that had belonged to him and to his ancestors before him weighed
on his mind, and he began to drink heavily. He lost ^influence
with the strong men of his tribe and prestige with his people.
Shunned and left alone, he died, a degraded drunkard, in his
tepee at Fort Sill on February 17, 1909. He had been dead for
three days before his body was discovered.

Chief Natchez, standing beside the grave of Geronimo and
speaking to his people, recalled the old chieftain's bravery and
valor as a warrior, but declared that Geronimo was not to be fol
lowed in time of peace. "He could fight, but he had never learned
to control himself and, therefore, could never continue to control
others/* concluded Natchez.

Only the old Indian squaws mourned his death. "Everybody
hated you/' they wailed. "White men hated you, Mexicans hated
you, Apaches hated you, all of them hated you. You have been
good to us. We love you. We hate to see you go."*

Geronimo was given decent burial, and a small marker was
placed over his grave. For years the spot was visited by the

* Information received from the Oklahoma Historical Society.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

curious, and in 1930, when a monument to Geronimo was pro
posed, it was reported that the grave had been found empty. An
Associated Press dispatch carried the account to the newspapers
of the country, and various rumors arose. In 1914 the grave had
been disturbed by ghouls who believed that valuable jewelry
had been buried with the body, and the word circulated that the
body had disappeared. The story was that a few nights after
burial the old chief's body had been taken away by his people,
who wanted his remains to rest in the mountains of his home
land, surrounded by his own people. Other rumors were that the
grave robbers had not disturbed the body, but that the report
had gone out so that the grave at Fort Sill would not suffer fur
ther desecration. Whatever the truth of the rumors, the proposed
monument to Geronimo was erected, a white column topped
with a thunderbird, and the fact that the thunderbird is the in
signia of the Navajos instead of the Apaches does not detract
from the significance of the monument.

After the exile to Florida of Geronimo and his followers,
which included all the Chiricahua and Warm Springs tribes of
Apaches, the other Apache tribes, of which there were several,
stayed close to the reservation. The government appointed white
men skilled in agriculture to teach them farming. Weekly ra
tions were issued, but this way of life was so different from the
customs of their earlier days that they never thrived under the
white man's rule.

Dan R. Williamson, who, as railroad agent at Bowie in 1886,
had routed Geronimo and his band on their trip to Florida, later
served as forage agent at San Carlos. He was state historian for
Arizona in 1930 and was well qualified for the position. As an
early pioneer, he had seen the state grow from a wilderness to
the great commonwealth it is today. For several years prior to his
death in 1940, he was United States commissioner at Globe.

The conquered race has gradually given up its age-old tradi
tion of roaming from place to place, murdering, raiding, and
committing other lawless deeds. A symbol of the vanishing Indian
traditions might be found in the statue named The End of the
Trail, by James Earle Fraser, which shows a weary Indian
mounted on an exhausted Indian pony. The man astride the bare
back pony slumps forward with head lowered in an attitude of
utter dejection and despair, and the little pony stands on a rocky
point at the edge of a sheer precipice.

Time has softened the bitterness and eliminated the hatred

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

of the white man for the one-time deadly foe of the early settlers
of the Southwest. Civilization and kindness and a better under
standing have probably softened the hearts of the Indians and
the old warriors. At least a friendlier feeling exists between the
whites and the Apaches today than pioneers sixty years ago
would ever have considered possible.

When Geronimo surrendered, among his band was a power
ful warrior named Massia, equally as cruel and crafty as the old
chief. Massia was loaded on the train at Bowie with the rest,
but somewhere along the way before they reached Kansas City, he
escaped. Each Indian was counted as the band entered the train,
and the number that left Bowie tallied out exactly on their ar
rival in Florida, for a child was born on the trip.

It may never be known just where Massia escaped from the
train, but it was probably a long distance from Arizona, for it
took him a year to make the journey back to his native land. He
traveled at night and hid during the day. How he procured food
on the long trip, no one ever knew. Even after he reached Ari
zona, he remained in hiding from his own people. He was afraid
the soldiers would learn of his return, hunt him down, and send
him away again.

But his people finally learned that Massia was among them.
He had been the only Indian on the reservation to use a forked
stick on which to rest his gun while taking aim at a victim or^at
wild game. He carried such a stick with him as part of his equip
ment. Two years after the Apaches had been exiled, one of these
forked sticks was found on an Indian trail on the reservation.
Though his people thus knew that he had returned, none of
them had seen him.

One day while in hiding near Fort Apache, Massia saw a
squaw and her young daughter gathering black walnuts. The
girl was in the tree shaking down the nuts, and the mother was
putting them in a gunny sack. From his hiding place Massia also
saw an Indian buck ride by on a mare with a half-grown colt fol
lowing her, and noted that the man rode on a few miles to his
camp. "

When Massia thought it safe, he slipped from his place of
concealment, and in that stealthy, silent manner of the Indians,
was under the tree before the two women knew he was near. He
killed the mother, captured the girl, and tied her hands. Warning
her that he would kill her if she tried to escape, he told her to
remain under the tree until his return.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

Then Massia took up the trail of the Indian buck and found
the place where he had staked the mare to graze. Stealing up
silently, he untied the rope and rode her off, the colt following.
When he returned to the tree where the girl waited beside her
dead mother, Massia put the girl on behind him and started for
Mexico. They rode hard, and when the colt gave out, Massia
killed it and kept going. Finally the little mare became exhausted,
and she, too, was killed. Massia and the girl continued on foot and
eventually reached Mexico.

Massia joined the Apache Kid in his secret hide-out where
they remained for some time. Then he and the Kid began their
raids into Arizona. Later they had a falling out over a squaw,
separated, and ever afterward tried to avoid each other on the
trails. Equally bad, cruel, and crafty, the two men probably
realized that if they should meet again, there would be a fight
to the death. If either of them, traveling from Mexico to Arizona,
saw any Indian sign on the trail, he would take another route.

After Massia reached Mexico with the Indian girl, he never
went back to the reservation. More than a year later the girl
became desperately homesick and begged to go back to her people.
Though Massia finally consented for her to leave, she refused to
go alone for fear the cowboys would kill her.

"You have obeyed me and been good to me," Massia told
her, "and I will take you back."

He accompanied her until Fort Apache was in sight, and
then let her go on alone. Afterward he dropped from sight, and
was never seen or heard of again. There is no record of his being
killed, and he may have died a natural death, for he was an old
man when he escaped from the train. Where, when, and how he
came to his end is a mystery to this day. The passing of Massia
and the Apache Kid closed the careers of two of the most malig
nant characters of Apache warfare.

The Apache Kid was raised in a tepee on the mesa near Globe,
his parents having moved there when he was quite young. He is
still remembered by a few of the old-timers who recall that he
was not as lazy as most members of his tribe. As a boy he did
chores and odd jobs, ran errands for the white people, and helped
around the saloons. He became a favorite with the miners and
the saloon element, and they gave him his name, the Apache Kid,
which stayed with him the rest of his life.

In his boyhood he showed none of the vicious traits which
characterized his later years. As he grew up he worked for a

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

butcher, looking after and herding beef cattle. During his asso
ciation with the white people he learned to speak English and to
know the ways of the settlers as well as those of his own people.
This training proved a valuable asset to him in his years of out
lawry and crime.

The Apache Kid was often confused with the Carlisle Kid
in newspaper accounts of crimes and in some of the stories writ
ten about the early Indian troubles. The Apache Kid had no
education, but he learned to speak English fluently from the
associations of his youth.

When the Apache Kid was eighteen years old, Al Seiber,
chief of the scouts at San Carlos, prevailed on the boy to enlist
as one of the Indian scouts. Because the Kid spoke English and
knew the ways of the whites and could cook, Seiber made an or
derly of him and took him on many trips.

In 1S8S an Army officer took Seiber to the sub-agency on
White River, and the Kid was left in charge of the Indian scouts.
Knowing that Seiber could not get back for several days, the
scouts proceeded to go on a tiswin spree. When Seiber returned,
he found all his men drunk and ordered them locked up in the
guardhouse. The scouts began shooting up into the air and yell
ing, and during the confusion Seiber was hit by a bullet which
broke his leg. He always believed that the Kid fired the shot,
even though two government employees claimed, as eyewitnesses
to the shooting, that a scout by the name of Curley was the guilty
man.

AH the scouts were arrested and tried on the charge of mutiny.
They were given long terms in a U. S. prison, but in less than a
year, through influence, they were pardoned by President Cleve
land and returned to the San Carlos Reservation.

Al Seiber was bitter toward the Apache Kid, whom he held
responsible for the shot which had crippled him for life. Other
charges were soon found, and the scouts were arrested again.
They were tried in Globe at the fall term of court in 1889, along
with other Indians who had committed various offenses.

Among the Indians on trial was Ah De Nazez, a Navajo, who,
in a fit of anger, murdered Lieutenant Mott. He was tried, con
victed, sentenced to death, and hanged in Globe. He was the
first Indian to be legally hanged in Gila County. Jimmie Ander
son of Globe is the only man living today (1943) who took part in
the execution.

Instead of a scaffold with a trap door, a platform was built on

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

a level with the street, with two large upright timbers and a cross
beam strongly braced, A rope was thrown over the beam and a
noose on one end was placed around the Indian's neck. Attached
to the other end was a copper bar, a product of the Old Dominion
copper mine, weighing around two hundred and ninety pounds,
when the bar was released, it jerked the Indian's body up with
such force that his head struck the crossbeam and his neck was
broken.

Eight other_Indians were convicted at the same term of court,
the Apache Kid included, and each was sentenced to a long
term in the territorial prison at Yuma. As soon as court was ad
journed, Sheriff Remolds and Deputy Holmes made preparations
to start with their prisoners for Yuma. They left Globe on No
vember 1, 1889, with the eight Indians and a young Mexican,
Jesus Avott, who was sentenced to three years for horse stealing*

It was a hundred miles by stage to Casa Grande, where they
were to take the train for Yuma. They started out, with Eugene
Middleton as the stage driver, and traveled over the Old Pioneer
Road through the Final Mountains. The road was narrow and
rough, with many steep grades along the way. The first night they
spent at Riverside, a stage station, and early next morning went
on. A few miles from Riverside they came to a long sandy wash,
with a heavy grade. To lighten the load, the Mexican and six
of the Indians were taken out of the stage. The Apache Kid and
another Indian prisoner, both shackled and handcuffed, remained
in the stage. The stage driver was to keep an eye on them.

The party started up the steep wash, the stage going first.
A short distance behind walked Avott, then came Sheriff Rey
nolds, next three of the Indians, behind them the other three
Indians, and Deputy Holmes in the rear. Once when the stage
was some distance in the lead, Middleton stopped to let the horses
rest. He noted that the Kid and the other prisoner were sitting
quietly. Just as he started the horses again he heard a shot, and
a few seconds later, several more shots. He looked back to see
the cause of the shooting, and caught sight of Avott running to
ward the stage. By that time one of the Indians who had been
walking appeared beside the stage, with a gun aimed at Middle-
ton's head. Before the driver could move, the Indian fired. The
bullet struck Middleton in the cheek and came out at the back
of his neck near the spine, temporarily paralyzing him. He fell
face down, unable to move, but conscious of all that was going
on around him.

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

It was never known just how the tragedy occurred, but sup
posedly the three Indians back of Reynolds shortened the space
between them and the sheriff, while those in front of Holmes lag
ged back in order to be near to him. When the first three Indians
seized Reynolds, the other three grabbed Holmes, wrenched his
gun from, him, and killed him instantly. He was shot only once,
but the bullet passed through his heart. Sheriff Reynolds put up
a desperate fight before he was killed. There were several wounds
in his face, his skull was crushed, probably by a rock, and he was
terribly disfigured.

The Indians rifled the pockets of Reynolds and Holmes, tak
ing watches, money, and the keys to the handcuffs and shackles.
They also made off with a shotgun, a Winchester, three six-
shooters, and all the ammunition. After releasing the Kid and
the Indian in the coach, they escaped over the Final Mountains.

As soon as the Indians had disappeared, Avott, the Mexican
prisoner, made his way to a ranch and told of the tragedy. He
was pardoned by the governor for this act. His story of the attack
on the officers was the only eyewitness account, and he had not
known what had happened at the beginning, for he was in ad
vance of the walking party. On hearing the first shot he had
looked back, and seeing the struggle going on, had run to the
stage to get word to the driver. Middleton finally recovered and
lived in Globe for many years. He died of heart trouble on April
24, 1929. ' <

The Apache Kid and the Indian prisoners joined the outlaw
Apaches in the Sierra Madre Mountains in Old Mexico and
were not heard of for many months. A large reward was offered
for the Kid, alive or dead, by Arizona, New Mexico, and the
Mexican states of Sonora and Chihuahua. But he was never cap
tured. Later three of his band were killed in Sonora in a battle
with the rurales, and on their bodies the Mexican troops found a
watch with Sheriff Reynolds' name engraved on the case, and
a six-shooter with his initials cut on the handle. These articles
were returned to his widow in Globe,

After the Kid became an outlaw and defied the United States
troops, his own tribe, which feared him as much as the white
people did, gave him the name of Go-ya-thle, meaning wise or
foxy. Hating all the Apaches but his own clan, he fought them
as mercilessly as he persecuted the whites. He knew that the sol
diers would not have been able to trail him if it had not been
for the scouts who belonged to his own race. Because of this bitter

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

hatred, he slew at every chance, purely in revenge for being
tracked and hunted by the Indian scouts.

At frequent intervals the Kid returned to the reservation to
kidnap young squaws, and he killed most of his victims while
raiding between the Sierra Madre and the reservation on these
trips. He seemed to crave the excitement of the hunt and the
ease with which he eluded soldiers and posses.

Many telegraphic dispatches of the nineties told of Apache
forays in which the Apache Kid was suspected or known to have
taken part. In the Phoenix Daily Herald for May 26, 1891, ap
peared the following Associated Press dispatch from Clifton:

The murder of Nat Whittum on Blue River forty-five miles
north of Clifton seems to have been done by the Apaches. The
Clifton search party that investigated the scene became satisfied
from moccasin tracks that two Indians had concealed themselves
behind some rocks near the front gate of the yard. Two Win
chester rifle cartridge shells were found near the place, and the
supposition is that the unfortunate man had just reached home
and entered the gate when he was shot, but reached the house
before he fell. He was shot twice, two bullets entering the right
side under the arm and passing through the body. The premises
were looted. A justice of the peace declined to hold an inquest,
because the ride from Clifton was too long and uncomfortable.

On May 28, 1892, the Arizona Silver Belt contained the fol
lowing direct identification of the Kid:

A telegram was received from San Carlos last Saturday evening
stating that the notorious renegade Kid killed a squaw May 17
at the Black River crossing on the trail to Fort Apache, and had
stolen the dead squaw's daughter, taking her with him in the direc
tion of the Sierra Anchas and Four Peaks. Kid has been pursued
by soldiers and scouts for some time, but there is no prospect of
his being captured.

A dispatch from Washington, dated August 17, 1892, was
published the next day in the Arizona Daily Star:

Acting Secretary Grant received a telegram this morning from
General McCook at Los Angeles, California, in regard to the case
of two men murdered at Davenport's ranch, sixteen miles north of
Separ, New Mexico, on the eighth, from which it appears that the

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

act was probably committed by a party of eight renegade Apaches
under the notorious Kid recently seen in that vicinity. General
McCook says he has four parties in search of the marauders, two
from San Carlos, one from Bowie, and one from Grant, and that
troops with the boundary commission are also keeping watch for
them.

The Phoenix Daily Herald of October 27, 1892, reported the
following word sent from Globe the day before:

The renegade Kid and three or four Chiricahuas are desperad-
ing in this vicinity. On Sunday James Hall, who was hunting
horses near the mouth of Canyon Creek on the Salt River north of
McMillin, was fired on by two Indians. Fifteen shots were fired by
Hall, who escaped unhurt. Yesterday the same band killed an
Indian and captured a squaw at Black Bear Springs near Gil-
son's ranch. Today at ten o'clock John Keyser and another cow
boy were chased by a party of three Indians seven miles south of
Globe. Keyser escaped and came to town. Sheriff Thompson and
a posse of nine men and the scouts promptly started out to take
the trail which leads south toward San Pedro. Several detach
ments of troops and scouts are already in the vicinity of San
Pedro, and others are following the trail. Strong hopes are enter
tained of the capture of the renegades.

Albert Bellmeyer, who came to Morenci when the Apache
Kid was the subject of almost daily dispatches, was later to be
come one of the Kid's victims. Morenci was one of the most
thriving copper camps in Arizona, but Bellmeyer was a cattle
man and was looking for a ranch. Soon he met and struck up a
friendship with William R. Church, general manager of the
Detroit Copper Company. Later the two men formed a partner
ship and bought a ranch about twelve miles northwest of Morenci
on Eagle Creek. Bellmeyer adopted the Turtle brand for the cat
tle, figuring that it would be one which the cattle rustlers would
find hard to alter.

A cowboy by the name of Johnnie Gordonier, a very fine and
likable fellow, was working on the ranch and occasionally went
to Morenci with Bellmeyer. One fall day when the two men were
in town, three Eagle Creek Mexicans whom they knew reported
that a band of Indians had been seen near the ranch. The Apaches
seldom went on a raid without passing through the Eagle Creek
country, for it was near the San Carlos Reservation, and one of
the main Indian trails led through that section. Bellmeyer and

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

Gordonler at once set out for the ranch to prevent the hostlles
from stealing a bunch of good saddle horses they had left in a
pasture. The Mexicans who had given the alarm begged the men
not to go, but in vain.

Late that afternoon some ranchers who had fled from the
Indians reached Morenci and reported that BelJmeyer and Gor-
donier had been killed by the band, which later proved to have
been led by the Apache Kid. Though it was near evening and
very cold, a posse was organized to find the bodies. My brother
Jim, then an officer, was a member of the party which took up the
trail.

Early next morning they discovered Bellmeyer's frozen body
among some large boulders where he had been thrown by his
horse. Then the posse picked up the trail left by the other horse,
which showed that he also had been running. After following it
to the top of the mountain and part way down on the other side,
the men came to Gordonier's frozen body. Both bodies were
packed on horses and returned to Morenci for burial.

The Indians had made off with the horses, and because Gor
donier's saddle was new and heavy, with fancy leather skirts and
tapaderos on the stirrups, they kept cutting off bits to lighten its
weight. The posse trailed the band of hostiles for many miles by
following the leather pieces that had been dropped.

After Bellmeyer's death, his partner disposed of the ranch and
cattle to Billie and Johnnie Wood. Two years later the Wood
boys sold the cattle to my brother John, who was then a deputy
sheriff at Clifton. Afterward John bought the Dripping Springs
ranch, twenty-five miles from Globe on the south side of the
Final Mountains. John shipped his cattle from Graham County to
the ranch in Gila County, where he still runs the Turtle brand
of cattle. Billie Wood, former owner of the brand, lived in
Miami, Arizona, a mining town six miles from Globe, until his
recent death.

As far as is known the Apache Kid's last killing took place on
December 5, 1896, when he was traveling with his squaw in the
Ash Springs section. At that time we were living about three-
quarters of a mile above Solomonville on the Ash Springs road.
Our farm and farms on the opposite side of the road were fenced,
forming a lane about two miles long, known as Parks Lane be-
cause father had built the first house out that way. Our home was
a two-story adobe. Between the house and the two corrals, one an

111

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

adobe and the other a barbed wire joining it, was a large open
yard where father kept his wagons and farm implements.

December 4, 1896, was a cold, windy day. Just about sunset a
man drove up in a covered wagon with his daughter, about six
teen years old, on the seat beside him. He asked father if they
might camp in the yard for the night, and father gave permis
sion. The man said that he was Horatio Merrill of Pima and
that he and his daughter Eliza were on their way to Clifton. As
the night was very cold, father insisted that the Merrills spend
the evening by the big fireplace with our family, and they were
glad to join us. Eliza was a very pretty, sweet girl about my age,
and I asked her to share my bed that night, as my sister Dollie
was away at school. How thankful I have always been that I was
kind to this girl who was a stranger to me!

Early next morning the Merrills left, intending to camp at
Ash Springs, but late in the afternoon they were found murdered
about six miles from Ash Springs. They had been walking at the
time, evidently to keep warm. Mr. Merrill was walking beside
the wagon and driving the team, and Eliza had been gathering
wood for their evening fire. She had fallen with her arms full of
wood. When they were found, they had been dead less than an
hour.

The tragedy was discovered by J. L. T. Waters, who was on
his way from Duncan to Solomonville. He came to Solomonville
and notified Arthur Wight, then sheriff of Graham County.
Wight wired to Duncan for a posse to leave there for the scene of
the murder, about twelve miles from Duncan. He organized a
posse in Solomonville. Among the men who answered his call
were my father and my three brothers, Jim, Will, and John; John
Epley, Albert Schwerin, and Ben W. Olney.

When the Solomonville posse reached the scene shortly after
daylight the next morning, they found that the Duncan party, un
der the leadership of John Wood, foreman of the Lazy B outfit,
had arrived during the night. Among them were Frank Courtney,
Joe Terrell, Lee Windham, and four or five others. Sheriff Wight
asked if the trail of the Indians had been found, but the Duncan
posse said that it had not, as so many trails led to and from the
wagon. The Duncan men had decided, however, that between
fifteen and thirty Indians had been in the raid, from the signs
left around the wagon.

Will and John Parks, hearing the Duncan boys say that the
trail had not been found, started off at a gallop to cut sign for the

112

Ehretiben* monu
ment, erected to
the mernon ot the

pioneers and name
less dead buried in
the temeterv

Whitlock Cienaga ranch
as It looked in 1896

The famous Rock Jail in Clifton. Entrance
was through the rock house on the lett

The Douglas monu
ment, near Douglas,
Arizona, commemorat
ing the surrender of
Geronimo on Septem
ber 5, 1886

A loop on the Moren-
ci Southern Railroad,
the corkscrew road of
America. Owned by
the Phelps. Dodge
Copper Company of
Morend

li

An Apache Indian tepee

Inscription on the memorial erected to the
memory of Lorenzo and Seth Wright. Dedi
cated September 24, 1938

Geronimo's grave at Fort
Sill, Oklahoma

Coolidge Dam. The only
multiple dome dam in ex
istence

Watch presented to Sheriff
James V. Parks by the Arizona,

Detroit, and Shannon Copper

companies

Inscription on inside of the
watch

Monument erected to the memory of the two
Wright brothers who were massacred by the
Apaches, December 1, 1885

The "Magic A'r-
row," seen at
Roosevelt, Arizo
na, only during
high water when
the water acts as
a mirror

Sheriff Jim Parks and special deputies on the steps of Detroit Copper

Company store

Sheriff and mounted deputies during the Morenci strike

Strike leaders during the Morenci strike of 1903

Strikers on their wa\ to Solomcmville jail

The Coronado engine,
twin to "Little Emma."
The engineer, George
Gamble, and wife

Ore train from the
mines at Metcalf.
The train was pulled
by "Little Emma/'
the first engine to be
brought i6 the tern-
tor)', in 1880. Dad
Arbuckle was the
engineer

Dedication of the Roosevelt Dam, March 18, 191

The Globe - Phoenix
stage, taken at the
site of the Roosevelt
Dam, during the ear-
ly days of construc
tion

Roosevelt Dam

The \Vickenbiirg monument in memory of seven per
sons killed in stagecoach massacre

Hi Jolly's tomb at Quartzite,
Arizona

The Madonna of the Trail
monument. Erected in honor
of the Pioneer Mother of the
West

The Harrisburg monument to the memory of
emigrants who met tragic fates at the hands
of Apaches

Monument erected at the foot of Picacho Peak, com
memorating the only battle of the Civil War fought
in Arizona

State capitol
building, Phoenix,
Arizona

The Saguaro cactus. State
flower of Arizona

A unique species of the sel-
dom-seen Saguaro cactus

Hall Mountain. It was here that the Hall
brothers were murdered

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

trail, Will going to the south and John to the north. They made
a half circle about three-quarters of a mile from the Merrill
wagon. Will struck the trail, and, stopping, took off his hat and
waved to the posses, which immediately started toward him.

While Will and John were cutting sign for the trail, the men
put the bodies in Mr. Merrill's wagon, hitched the horses to it,
and two of the men who had come with Sheriff Wight started back
to town with the bodies. The posse then rode on to overtake Will
and John, who, by this time, were riding up the hillside. When
my brothers climbed to the top, they found where the Indians had
camped among a pile of large boulders and fed their horses the
grain they had taken from the Merrill w r agon. Undoubtedly the
hostiles had waited for the moon to rise, as was evident by the
way they had picked their path through the rocks upon leaving.

The Apaches were probably heading for the Whitlock Moun
tains, and my brothers knew that if the posse did not overtake
tHem before they reached the mountains, it would be almost im
possible to catch them because of the extreme ruggedness of the
area. As soon as Will and John were on ground where they could
travel, they followed the trail at a gallop for several miles. Final
ly, Arthur Wight caught up with them and called out, "Boys,
don't ride the trail so fast. You'll ride into an ambush and get
killed." But they continued to make as good time as possible, for
they knew they had rough country ahead and the trailing would
be hard and slow. John knew every foot of the Whitlock Moun
tains, as he owned the Whitlock ranch and cattle.

As the posse came near the foot of the mountains, they saw
a bunch of horses about three-quarters of a mile away, on the
other side of a big canyon. John recognized them as being the
range mares that Old Morg, a big brown stallion of Will's, ran
with. Will had bought Morg from a man by the name of Foster,
and the horse was branded with an F on his left shoulder.

Some of the posse wanted to ride over and look through the
bunch to see if the Indians had left their mounts and secured
fresh ones. So the men divided, part of them going across the
canyon to the right; my three brothers, Frank Courtney, and Lee
Windham went to the left toward the foot of the mountain where
there was a big rock slide. On the way John saw something
glistening in the sunshine about half way up.

"Boys," he said, "I don't know what that is, but it's something
that doesn't belong there."

They rode to the foot of the mountain, dismounted, and left

113

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Lee Windham to hold the horses, as the rock slide was too rough
for the horses to climb. Then they started up the slope on foot to
inspect the shining object, planning to continue to the top for a
better view of the surrounding canyons and hills. Windham was
to wait for the other part of the posse, and then lead the horses
around the mountain to the meeting place.

John and his party reached the spot which had aroused his
suspicions and found Old Morg, the brown stallion. The Indians
had killed him and cut a large chunk out of his hind quarter. It
was about ten thirty in the morning, and the sun was striking
the fresh cut at such an angle that it glistened like a piece of tin.

The Indians, camped in the canyon about a quarter of a mile
above where the larger posse was crossing to look at the horses,
were cooking the piece of horse meat. They saw the party, but the
men did not see them. A squaw jumped on her little black Indian
pony, and started to climb the mountain. The Apache Kid, dressed
in dark clothes, stayed about fifty yards behind her to protect her
if the posse should discover them and start in pursuit.

As yet the Indians had not seen the smaller group of men on
the left of them, about five or six hundred yards away. But these
men had seen the hostiles and were climing around the mountain
on foot in order to head them off. The little posse was too far
away for their guns to reach the Indians, for the lead bullets used
in those days would not carry a great distance.

When the Apaches detected the men on the left, they returned
to the canyon and made their way, protected by the brush, up to
the mountains, visible to the posse only occasionally. Each time
they came into view, the posse would fire a volley, even though
the distance was too great for their aim to be accurate. This posse
fired about a hundred shots at the Kid and his squaw.

After the Indians had topped the mountains, the men lost
sight of them, though they followed the trail the rest of the day.
When dark came part of them went to Old Camp, a horse camp
belonging to H. C. Day, and the rest spent the night at the Whit-
lock ranch; but at daylight they were back in the mountains where
they had left off the evening before. They continued to trail until
late in the afternoon. Then the soldiers arrived and took up the
pursuit, trailing the Indians into Old Mexico. The band had
headed for the Sierra Madre, the stronghold of the Chiricahua
and White Mountain renegade Apaches, with lofty, rugged peaks
and with many rough canyons slashing the mountain sides. There

114

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

the Indians had many hidden camps where they could evade both
the American and Mexican soldiers.

The posse returned by way of the Kid's camp and found that
during the night of the sixth he had doubled back to get his pack
outfit and horse which he had left behind in his haste to escape.
At the camp brother Jim picked up Eli /a Merrill's purse contain
ing a small set ring which was said to be her engagement ring.
He also found a few hairpins and brought these articles home.
A short time afterward I sent them to the girl's mother by Miss
Minnie Wilson, a friend of the Merrill family.

Mr. Waters, who found the bodies of Mr. Merrill and his
daughter, was for years postmaster at Duncan. He lived until
nearly ninety years of age.

Though the Apache Kid was never captured and his fate is
still unknown, his last squaw told a story of his death which might
easily be true. According to her he died of tuberculosis after a
long illness. He coughed a great deal and lay on his blankets all
the time. One day he told her he was going to die soon, and be
cause she had always been good to him, he would let her go
home to her people. It had been his custom to kill his squaws
when they became too sick or worn out to travel with him, for
he had a constant fear that they might tell their people of his
secret camps and hiding places. Since the Kid was never heard of
after his squaw returned to her tribe, her story was believed by
many.

During the fall of 1894 my brother Will, who owned one of
the few hay balers in the Gila Valley, found his services in great
demand. He and my father had large alfalfa acreages near Solo-
monville, and after the cutting and baling were over, he moved
the baler to the Duncan area where the crops were a week or two
later. H. C. Day had written to ask Will to bale the hay on the
Day ranch three miles above Duncan. Mr. Day owned rich farm
land as well as a large herd of cattle, running the Lazy B brand.

Will accepted Mr. Day's terms and took his younger brother
Charlie along to help bale the hay. After my brothers had been
gone two or three weeks, WilPs wife, Lois, decided that she would
like to go up to Duncan and come home with the boys. She had
never been to that section and asked me to go along. As Duncan
had been my old home, I was delighted with the prospect of a
visit there.

Since there had been no renegade Indians off the reservation
for several months, father and mother decided that it would be

115

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

safe for us to make the trip if we would ride behind Noah
Green's stage which made daily trips from Solomonville to Dun
can.

Lois was riding her own saddle horse named Walter, a big
red roan and a fine-gaited animal. I was riding Toughy, a dapple-
gray race horse that belonged to my brother Jim. Both were high-
spirited mounts, and it was hard to hold them down to the snail's
pace of the stage. Often we would drop behind and then gallop
to catch up. Though it was only thirty-five miles between the two
towns, the stage trip took from eight o'clock in the morning
until three in the afternoon. The only stage stop was at a mud
tank near Ash Springs where the driver watered his horses. At
that point the road left the Ash Springs Canyon and went over
the rolling mesas, leaving Ash Springs a mile and a half to our
left.

About noon, as we were riding along the winding road up a
long rocky canyon before we came to the water tank, we spotted
a small clump of hackberry trees. Our lunches were tied on our
saddles, and we were getting hungry. We looked longingly at the
shade of the hackberries but decided against stopping to eat, for
we had promised to stay near the stage.

When we reached the mud tank, a horse was standing at the
edge drinking. He was covered with lather, and the mark of a
saddle -blanket and saddle showed up plainly on the sweaty ani
mal, indicating that he had been unsaddled just a short time. But
no one was in sight. Lois and I were alarmed, as were the two
passengers and the stage driver. After watering our horses, we all
started on our way, and Lois and I kept close to the stage.

It was twelve miles more to Duncan. Our fears began to leave
us after w r e had traveled for several miles, and now and then we
rode ahead of the stage. At last we decided that it was safe the
rest of the way, and galloped off, singing and feeling happy that
our journey was almost at an end.

At Duncan we found the people greatly excited. H. C. Boone
and his brother, Dan Boone of Kansas City, who was visiting him,
had gone on a hunting trip in the hills on the Carlisle road. They
heard gunshots in a canyon and decided other hunters were out
for game. Not until they returned to Duncan, just before we ar
rived, did they know that Indians had fired those shots. A cowboy
from the Rail N Ranch had ridden in with information that In
dians had passed the ranch eight miles below Duncan on the Gila,
and had wounded one of the cowpunchers. Three or four of the

116

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

Rail N boys had set out in pursuit, and this cowboy had come to
get a Duncan posse to go with him and take up the trail.

The party followed the Indian trail across the road over which
we had just passed, and the men believed, from the time the cow
boy was shot to the time the Indians crossed the road, that the
hostiles had missed us by the small margin of fifteen minutes. If
they had seen us, they would have killed us for our mounts, even
though they were closely pursued- We decided that the tired horse
at the tank had been turned loose by an Indian %vho had found a
fresh animal.

When the cowboy told his story to the Boones, Dan said that
he could feel his hair standing straight up. He took the first train
for his home, and later said that the cold chills didn't quit chasing
up and down his spine until he was half way to Missouri.

The Ash Springs country was good horse range, and during
a drouth horses from many of the cattle ranches would drift to the
range because of the tw r o water holes in Ash Springs Canyon.
Once, while my brothers Jim and John owned the Rail N Ranch,
John left for the Ash Springs section to hunt some of their horses.
After riding range all day, he headed for Ash Springs late in the
afternoon and reached there after dark. As he rode up, he saw
several horses standing around the springs but thought they were
loose horses.

Being thirsty, he got off his horse and knelt down to drink
out of the barrel that had been sunk where the spring bubbled up-
Just as he leaned over, a figure jumped up and leaped to the back
of one of the horses. In the dim light John saw the Indian's long
black hair flop straight up. Promptly John forgot his thirst. He
and the Indian parted company hurriedly and left for parts far
distant from each other. It had been a surprise to both to find
that they were drinking from the same water trough. John rode
to the Rail N that night, for other Indians appeared out of the
darkness. Each of the supposedly loose horses had an Indian
rider.

Indians feared and had a great deal of respect for cowboys.
On that night the hostiles probably thought that other cowboys
might be riding to the springs any minute, and they made as quick
a getaway as John did.

Ash Springs was the only permanent water in that section of
Graham County, and for that reason father located the springs for
a horse ranch. His stock horses ranged there, and during the dry
seasons, when the constant tramping of the horses and cattle

117

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

around the water holes below the springs turned them into mud-
holes, it made it necessary for my brothers to leave the main cat
tle ranch, where they were badly needed, in order to blast them
out and wall them up with rock to increase the scant water supply.

In the summer of 1896, when Will and Charlie were going
to do this work, Lois and I went along to cook for them. A year
or two earlier they had built a one-room frame house on a fiat
knoll above the springs. We had a feeling of safety there, as it
was only a short distance from the road. The Apaches had re
mained quietly on the reservation for possibly a year, but at in
tervals a small 'band of renegades would leave on a raid. We were
especially cautious because one of their favorite trails from the
Blue Range north of Clifton and through the Whitlock Moun
tains went near Ash Springs.

While staying at the springs, we had supper before dark to
avoid having a lamp burning. According to a superstition of the
Apaches, the soul of one who killed at night would walk in
eternal darkness. For this reason many of the pioneers traveled
at night and camped during the day. We felt safe from attack
during the hours of darkness, but if the Indians should see a
light in our cabin, they would know an enemy was there, and
unless they were in a hurry they would lie in wait until early
morning, kill their victims, and then go on their way.

One evening while we were sitting in the shadow of the
building, some cattle drifted in for water, quenched their thirst,
and lay in the bed of the canyon. Horses came down from the
mesas, drank their fill, and stood around the water hole. We
were telling Indian yarns and wishing that the rocky bluffs above
the springs could talk, for they could have told of bloodcurdling-
massacres that had taken place at these springs.

Soon we heard the sound of horses' hoofs striking on the rocks
in a little side canyon which put in from the north. We thought
little of it at the time, as bunches of stock horses were coming in
to water. As the sounds came nearer, one of my brothers remarked
that from the way the horses traveled, they had riders. When
they were in full view from the house, we could see in the hazy
moonlight that there were five or six horses in single file.

By this time the loose horses at the springs were snorting and
trotting up the canyon, and the cattle jumped up and began to
move away. We sat watching as the dark forms passed on to the
springs. They stopped, evidently drank, and watered their horses,
all in absolute silence. Then they took the main trail leading over
the mesas toward Whitlock. As the horses topped the mesa in

118

PIONEERS AGAINST THE INDIANS

single file, the boys could see that each animal had a rider, no
doubt an Indian.

The next day while my brothers blasted out a seep in the
canyon half a mile below the spring, Lois and I took our guns and
went along. We stationed ourselves on a large boulder where we
could look up and down the canyon and give warning if Indians
were approaching. The boys lost no time in finishing their work
that day, and the following morning we left for home, very grate
ful that the Apaches had not known of our presence at the Springs.

In the early days this road through the crooked Ash Springs
Canyon was the only road from the eastern border of Arizona
through Duncan to the Gila Valley points of Solomonville, Saf-
ford, Fort Thomas, and on to the mining camp of Globe. Because
of the Springs at the foot of Ash Peak, many pioneers had camped
there on their way to other parts of the territory. The peak had
been named for Captain Ash, who, with his company of soldiers
on the trail of a band of Apaches, met the hostiles at Ash Springs
and fought a battle there. This rocky canyon afforded many lurk
ing places for the Indians to conceal themselves and wait for the
coming of their victims. It had been noted for the crimes com
mitted there from pioneer times until the murder of Horatio
Merrill and his daughter in 1896, the last victims of the Apache
Kid.

119

CHAPTER IV

Pioneers Gaalnst the Outlaws

THE ACTIVITIES OF THE BAD MEN OF THE SOUTH-
west were as serious a threat to the safety of the early settlers as
were the Indians. Cattle rustlers and outlaws were a constant
challenge to the lives and property of the pioneers, a challenge
which had to be met by the cooperation of the entire community.

Not long after father moved to Duncan two ranchers were
murdered by a gang of Mexican rustlers. The two men, Wise-
cauber and demons, had recently come to the Duncan section
looking for a cattle ranch and had settled at a place between Dun
can and Clifton. It was about six miles east of the C A Bar Ranch
and was called Linden Springs. A few weeks later the two owners
were found dead. Nicolds Olgufn, a cattle rustler, and his band,
who operated extensively in that section, were accused of the
crime. They were afraid that the new men would interfere with
their cattle stealing.

Father organized a posse and followed Olgufn and his eight
or ten men to Clifton to arrest them. As the posse neared town,
they could see that the Frisco River was at flood stage and had
spread out from mountain to mountain. As leader of the posse,
father led his men over the hills and came into Clifton on the
east side near the main business section. This part of town con
sisted of a large adobe house called the Casa Grande, a row of
small adobe buildings known as Bedbug Row, and a number of
tent houses.

When the Mexican people heard that a posse had come to
arrest Olgufn, they armed and barricaded themselves in their
homes, preparing to make war on the posse. Knowing that the
Mexicans outnumbered the whites in town about three to one,
father decided to delay his efforts for fear any action at the
moment would cause the white residents of the mining camp to

120

PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

be murdered. He felt sure there would be other opportunities to
arrest Olguin without endangering the lives of Clifton people,
for the gang operated in the area "between Duncan and Clifton.
So he and his posse departed for home.

For a week or two nothing was heard of Olguin. Then it was
reported that he had been seen around the Rail N Ranch below
Duncan. John Epley and a few of the men who had been in the
Clifton posse decided to scout around the Rail N in hopes they
might be able to arrest Olguin or his gang. After a short time
they caught sight of Olguin on horseback, but he tiad seen them,
too. Like other Mexicans, he always used a Spanish bit on his
bridle and wore Mexican spurs with sharp rowels in them. At
sight of the pursuers he jerked at his horse's head, spurred the
animal with both heels, gave him a few keen cuts with a rawhide-
quirt, and was on his way.

When Epley and his men saw that they were not going to be
able to get near the outlaw, they opened up with their guns. One
of the bullets knocked Olguin's big sombrero from his head, but
the rustler made his escape. The hat was taken to town and nailed
up on the wall in one of the saloons as a souvenir as well as a
warning to the rustlers.

Olguin was eventually arrested and tried in Graham County
court at Solomonville, but he was acquitted of the murder of
Wisecauber and demons because of the many alibis he proved
with the aid of a multitude of his countrymen. The residents of
the Duncan section knew, however, that if he had not personally
committed the crime, some of his gang had, for these outlaws
were intensely interested in getting rid of anyone who was living
near the scene of their operations. They feared such a person
would report or interfere in some way with their unlawful oc
cupation.

For several years my brother John was the Clifton deputy
sheriff and jailer. He acted in that capacity during the three
terms of brother Jim's administration as sheriff, and also served
during a part of George Olney's four-year administration. As
jailer, John had charge of Clifton's unique and picturesque Rock
Jail, one of the oddest as well as the strongest in existence, one
which offered impervious walls to any methods of escape tried by
the most desperate characters.

The Rock Jail was blasted out of the solid rock of the moun
tain side on the west bank of the Frisco River, which flowed
down the deep canyon in which Clifton was located. Chase Creek

121

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Canyon came down from the west and emptied into the Frisco
about a hundred yards above the jail, at the Arizona Company's
smelter and near other plants. The town of Clifton was built on
both sides of the river for a distance of two miles.

The entrance to the jail was almost on a level with the road
which wound down on the west side of the river toward South
Clifton and Hill's flat. The interior consisted of two compart
ments. One was a large cell about twenty feet square which
housed the common drunks, misdemeanor prisoners, and others
of a less dangerous type. It had two ventilator windows about
twenty feet above the floor. The other cell was much smaller and
had no windows or ventilators. Here the dangerous criminals
were confined. Both cells had the regulation steel-barred door
closing them off from the main entrance tunnel.

The walls and ceiling of the cells were of solid rock, as was
also the floor, which was slightly lower than the tunnel. Six feet
above the floor holes had been drilled into the walls, and steel
drills made fast into the holes. On these drills the prisoners hung
their hats and clothing. In the early days the cells were lighted
with miners' candlesticks stuck into crevices of the rock wall.

The jail was originally constructed to house the desperadoes
and murderers who infested that region during pioneer days.
Such characters were lodged there temporarily until they could
be moved to the county jail at Solomonville or taken to other
sections where they were wanted for crimes they had committed.
Ordinary drunks were locked behind the iron doors of the jail
until they sobered up, or if the offense were a misdemeanor, until
they had served the sentence as a county boarder.

Many classes of criminals were lodged in the Rock Jail, from
horse thieves and cattle rustlers to the most cold-blooded mur
derers and notorious outlaws. Among the outlaws held in the jail
were Black Jack Christian; Augustin Chacon, who was later
hanged in Solomonville for the murder of Pablo Salcido; Red
Sample and Tex Howard, who were later hanged in Tombstone
for robbery and murder; and Climax Jim, who was a robber and
forger.

Climax Jim, whose real name was Rufus Nephews, was a
Houdini when it came to removing handcuffs and shackles. Once
when he was a prisoner in the county jail at Solomonville, the
county officers, knowing his reputation, had Henry Tift, the
blacksmith, make a pair of heavy iron shackles and rivet them on
the outlaw's ankles. When the riveting job was done, Doc Nicks,

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

the jailer, feeling much relieved, remarked to the officers:

"There, I guess these will stay on the son of a b ."

Quickly Climax Jim replied: "When you sons of b s come
back in the morning, I'll have these things off and a damn nice
corkscrew made out of them for you/*

True to his word, he had removed the shackles by morning
and twisted them into a shape resembling a corkscrew.

My brother John, while jailer at the Rock Jail, always carried
the keys with him. Once when he returned from a business trip
to Morenci, seven miles away, he found that Chase Creek and the
Frisco River were raging torrents, the flood waters filling the
canyon from one side to the other. Immediately he thought of
the prisoners in the jail, with no one able to remove them to
safety. As the road from Morenci had brought him into Clifton
on the west side of the river, he decided to swim his big bay
horse, Prince, down to the jail. They plunged into the swollen
stream and kept as close to the mountain side as they could.

At the jail door John found the flood waters surging above
the lock. He leaned from the horse and after several attempts
managed to unlock the door. The five prisoners were hanging
to the steel drills in the wall to keep above the water. One at a
time he rescued them and took them on horseback farther up the
slope. The Rock Jail, with John as jailer, was the subject of an il
lustrated article written by an Englishman who visited in Clifton
at die turn of the century. It was published in the New World
Magazine in London and featured the picturesque jail and the
noted prisoners it had housed.

Sometime in the early nineties Billie Hamilton was the deputy
and jailer in Clifton when the Frisco went on another rampage.
Many houses were washed away, and the swinging bridge, which
was the only means of getting from the east to the west side of
town, went out. Much damage was done, and great excitement
prevailed in the town. At the time there was only one prisoner
in the jail, Old Friday, who had been put in until he sobered.
Old Friday was a strange character, well educated and poetical.
Several of his poems on the philosophy of life adorned the walls
of the Rock Jail, and a number had been published in the Clifton
Era.

As the flood waters crept higher and higher, Billie Hamilton,
who was stranded on the east side, the business section of the
town, grew more and more worried about his prisoner. After the
bridge had gone out, it was impossible for him to get across the

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

river. So he got a large piece of canvas and painted on it a mes
sage in such huge black letters that the people on the west side
could read it: "Let Friday out of jail"

During Colonel Ingraham's term as jailer, a Mexican mob
sought vengeance on one of their countrymen locked up in the
Rock Jail The man had been arrested for killing another Mexi
can and wounding his companion on the trail between Granville
and Metcalf, and was being held in jail awaiting his preliminary
triaL He was an all-round bad man, a gambler who had lived in
Clifton for some months, incurring the ill will of a large number
of the Mexican citizens.

About twelve o'clock one cold winter night, when the ground
was covered with snow, a party of nearly one hundred Mexicans
went to the home of the jailer. They were headed by Romulo
Chavez, called Old Square Game, who was the Democratic wheel
horse among the Italians and Mexicans. They overpowered the
jailer, took his keys, and went to the Rock Jail. They had planned
to take the prisoner to the railroad bridge across the river at the
lower end of town and hang him to the bridge, but after they
had him out on the street he made such a loud outcry that they
were afraid the officers had heard him. So they shot and killed
him right under the window of the Wells-Fargo Express office,
about fifty feet from the jail.

Frank Ringgold, who was working for the express company
and had a room in the depot, heard the shot and rushed out in
time to see dark forms scattering in every direction. Billie Hamil
ton, who had a room on the east side of the river opposite the
depot, also heard the shot and ran over. By this time the Mexicans
had disappeared. Hamilton and Ringgold lifted the body and laid
it on a pile of lumber. Then they returned to their rooms and
went to bed. The next morning the body was frozen stiff.

Romulo Chavez and se\ eral others who were suspected of be
ing in the party were arrested and tried before Judge George
Honneyen But there was no evidence to connect them with the
killing, and the case was dismissed.

In recent years, through the generosity of the Morenci branch
of the Phelps-Dodge Corporation, electric lights have been in
stalled in this historic dungeon. It is now one of the show places
of Clifton, and, as one of the oldest landmarks, it is visited by
hundreds of tourists every year.

M y brother Jim, in his career as an officer, usually had serious
conditions to contend with, but now and then a note of comedy

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was mixed with the tragic. Sheriff McAfee of Grant County, New
Mexico, had left Silver City on the trail of Red Johnson, a
criminal, and had overtaken and arrested the man near Pine
Cienaga. Almost immediately after the arrest the sheriff became
ill, dismounted, and lay down on the ground. The prisoner seized
his opportunity, mounted McAfee's horse, and leading his own
horse, rode away. When the sheriff was able to get up, he walked
to the nearby ranch of Tom Hall in Pine Cienaga, told his story,
and asked Tom for the loan of a horse and saddle, saying he was
sure the prisoner had headed for Clifton. Tom fixed him up with
a mount and went with him to Clifton.

They arrived about dusk and looked up my brother Jim, who
at that time, was a deputy sheriff. When they explained about the
man they were trailing, McAfee said:

"I have been tipped off as to his whereabouts three times, and
when I got to the place, he either saw me first and disappeared,
or I was tipped off to him, and he got away. I think he's in Clif
ton."

"Give me a description of the man," said Jim. "Then you
boys go and get your supper. Stay out of sight/*

Jim took the men into a restaurant, and while they were
waiting for their supper McAfee described the criminal he was
trailing. Then Jim left to look for the fellow. It was dark, and
McAfee, who was very anxious to get his man, slipped out and
slowly followed to make sure the criminal did not escape in case
Jim located him.

Most of the saloons were located on the east side, and Jim
visited each one of them. Nowhere did he see anyone who re
sembled the man he wanted. He walked up the street toward
George Wiley's barbershop. At the side of Wiley's door was a big
cottonwood tree with a bench against it, and from there a row of
trees extended down the side of the street McAfee was dodging
in and out among the trees, trying to keep out of sight, and Jim,
seeing the dodging figure, thought surely this was the man he
was after.

"Stick them up/' Jim ordered, "and come out with your
hands up/'

When McAfee came out, Jim saw his mistake.

"Don't you tell this on me," McAfee begged. "It would be too
good a joke to get back to Silver City."

In the barbershop were four chairs, all occupied by customers
with towels around their faces and white aprons tucked around

125

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

their necks. One man was sitting in a chair near the end of the
room with a newspaper before his face as if he were reading. His
head was hidden. Jim walked around behind the man, and from
a glance at his features was sure this was the criminal. He touched
the fellow on the shoulder and said:

"I want you."

As the man jumped up, he reached inside his shirt, which
was unbuttoned, for his gun. Jim grabbed his right hand, and
they began to struggle. The customers, realizing that something
unusual was going on, bolted for the door, tearing off their towels
and aprons as they ran. The barbers followed, and George Wiley,
the head barber, held his razor high in the air.

While Jim and the outlaw were engaged in a desperate strug
gle inside, McAfee stood outside unable to help because the flee
ing barbers and customers barred the door. When the man was
overcome and his gun had been removed, McAfee and Jim started
with him to the jail and locked him in. McAfee insisted on put
ting a guard over the jail that night.

''There's no use to do that," Jim said. 'Til guarantee he'll
be here in the morning."

The next day, when the officers went over to get their man,
the prisoner said as they took him out of the Rock Jail:

"Wait a minute. I'd like to look this place over." And after
he had inspected the rock walls, he added, "This is the damndest
hole to put a white man in I ever saw."

Among the appalling crimes of the early days some were com
mitted by unscrupulous white men for greed or revenge. Often
bigger outfits wanted to get rid of smaller owners who had loca
tions the big men wanted. Such was the situation which led to
the killing of the Hall boys. The family lived at Pine Cienaga,
which was about eight miles from the mining camp of Carlisle,
New Mexico. It was composed of the father, mother, four sons,
Dick, Bob, Pete, and Tom, and two daughters, Lou and Belle,
who were the most popular girls in that section.

The father and four sons were in the cattle business and owned
small ranches from which they earned a good living. Bob and
Dick were married, but Pete and Tom lived at home, sharing an
interest with their father. The Halls were a congenial family, de
voted to each other and working together toward a mutual in
terest.

Pine Cienaga was located in a little valley between two ranges
of hills high up in the pines. This valley was dotted with a num-

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

her of cattle ranches and was like a small colony. Many dances
were given at the different ranch homes, and people would come
from Carlisle, the Gila River section, and ranches forty and fifty
miles away. These affairs were very enjoyable, for everyone ap
preciated the cordiality of the Pine Cienaga people.

In 1890 the quiet, contented lives of these ranchers were dis
turbed by rumors of a disquieting nature of an agitation on the
Eart of the large cattle interests whose ranges bordered on the line
etween the territories of Arizona and New Mexico, embracing
the Clifton-Duncan area or adjacent to It. For selfish reasons these
big interests wanted to get rid of the cattlemen in the Pine
Cienaga section. They accused the little ranchers of stealing
calves, burning out brands, and killing other people's cattle for
beef. Such accusations continued until, unknown to the Pine
Cienaga ranchers, the big interests decided to hold a surprise
roundup to trap the unsuspecting ranchers. My brother Jim \vas
sent on the roundup as a special deputy to see that the small
ranchers were treated fairly and given a chance to prove their
rights.

The roundup showed that there was no wholesale stealing or
burning out of brands, as was suspected. In fact, it was a great
disappointment to the large cattle interests, who had hoped to
find such irregularities as would warrant arrest or court procedure.
But the Pine Cienaga ranchers realized that they must either move
out or get into serious trouble. They began to look for new loca
tions, and two men, who went to the Globe section, sent back
word about the possibilities of the area as a cattle country.

Bob and Dick Hall decided to investigate that section, too,
with a view to getting a ranch and moving their cattle there, for
they knew that serious trouble was brewing. On September 5,
1891, they left Pine Cienaga for Globe, and two days later dis
appeared. They had started out on the journey with their bedding
and camp outfit packed on a one-eyed dun horse. About nine
o'clock that night they reached the Gila River eight miles below
Duncan at the Rail N Ranch, where the fall roundup was in
progress. Being strangers in that section, they called and awakened
some of the cowboys and inquired the way to Ash Springs.

After they had gone, the cowboys asked among themselves
who these strangers were. Along with the Rail N boys were Bill
Trailor, whose home was at Pine Cienaga, and Bob Galloway,
who represented a cattle company near Mule Creek, New Mexico.

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

They .recognized the voices of the two travelers and identified
them as the Hall boys.

When the cowboys had again settled down for their night's
rest, Steve Nixon, foreman for the Rail N, Bill Trailor, Bob
Galloway, Sam Hatch, who was working for Nixon, and a cowboy
of the C A Bar whose name cannot be recalled got up to talk
matters over. They decided to get an early start and follow the
Hall boys and arrest them; at least that was the way they put it
that night.

The Hall boys rode on to Ash Springs about eight miles dis
tant, and reached there about eleven o'clock. After watering
their horses, they woke up Jasper Shoat, a cowboy, and asked
him to direct them to a camping place where they would find
feed for their horses. He told them to ride about two miles up
the road, turn to the left, and go toward a hogback mountain.
There they would find plenty of feed. The brothers found the
place and camped, but they got up and were on their way at day
light, as it was later figured out by men who were familiar with
the country; otherwise they could not have reached the spot
where they were overtaken.

Early that morning the party of five men left the Rail N Ranch
on the trail of Bob and Dick Hall. At Ash Springs, which at that
time was the Rail N, horse camp, Nixon asked Shoat, who was
there to look after about a hundred and twenty-five head of sad
dle horses for the Rail N, what time the two men had passed
there, and Shoat told them. They rounded up a bunch of saddle
horses near the springs, changed horses, and started in pursuit.

When the Hall brothers started out from camp near Ash
Springs, they evidently took a trail across country. Possibly they
had a feeling of impending danger that caused them to avoid
the highway. At least Noah Green, who owned the stage line be
tween Duncan and Solomonville, did not meet them on the
road. Early in the forenoon he was stopped several miles from
Ash Springs by five men on horseback who asked if he had passed
two men with a dun pack horse, and Green said that he had not.

Bill Trailor was one of the men in the party that stopped Mr.
Green. He returned to his home in Pine Ci&iaga the day the
Hall brothers disappeared, arriving between eight and nine
o'clock, just as a big dance was getting under way at a neighbor
ing ranch home. During the night he got drunk and told a story
which has always been considered the true account of the fate o
the Hall boys.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

The story Trailer told implicated Steve Nixon, Sam Hatch,
Bob Galloway, a C A Bar cowboy, and Trailor himself. They had
set out after the Hall brothers and overtook them about two miles
above Solomonville on the San Jose canal where they were water
ing their horses. The leader told the Halls that he had warrants
for their arrest and that they would have to return with him. They
all started back on the Duncan road. Before they reached Ash
Springs, however, they left the road and went across country to
the left, where there were no roads or travel of any kind. As soon
as they headed toward the rough Peloncillo Mountains to the east,
the brothers realized that the men intended to kill them, Dick
cursed them for everything he could think of, but Bob begged
and prayed for their lives. Knowing that an attempt to escape
would be futile. Bob got off his horse at the spot the band had
selected for the murder, and kneeling down, he begged again for
their lives, promising to do anything demanded of him if only
their lives would be spared. In spite of his pleas, the Hall boys
wer murdered.

Thus Trailor ended his story, apparently thinking that the
few friends he had whispered the story to would approve of the
fact that the brothers had been disposed of. Instead, the men
were aghast at the cold-blooded murder. They repeated the story
to others, and soon it was generally known that the Halls had
been killed. As soon as Trailor saw the reaction of everyone to
ward the cruel and cowardly act, he became afraid of being
mobbed. Hastily he denied the entire story, saying that he could
not possibly have returned to Pine Cienaga when he did if the
Halls had been killed where he had told, in the drunken story,
they had met their fate. But the Hall boys were missing, and no
trace of them could be found after they had been seen by Jasper
Shoat at Ash Springs.

A posse was quickly organized at Solomonville under the di
rection of my father, and a hunt for the bodies began. Seaching
parties combed the hills for many days, and every few weeks a
new search would begin, but no trace of the missing men could
be found. The murdered men's wives came to Solomonville sev
eral times during the first year and stayed at our home while the
futile search went on. After more than a year the remains of the
dun pack horse were found in an almost inaccessible canyon, and
the search was renewed in that section of the country. But the
horse had apparently been led many miles from the scene of the
murder before he was killed.

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Then my brother John, in order to prove whether or not the
ride Trailer had made was possible, decided to make it himself.
Without saying anything to anyone else at the time, John and
W. T. (Skeet) Witt, a cattleman who was elected sheriff ^of the
county a few years later, made the ride. They beat Trailor's time
by forty-five minutes. Then they knew that Trailor's story of the
murder was plausible, and they believed it to be true.

On the strength of the story Trailor had told and the discovery
of the dead pack horse, Nixon and Trailor were arrested and held
in the Solomonville jail for over a year. Sam Hatch, known to
have been a witness to the murder, had disappeared. Though he
had been one of the gang that had arrested the Hall boys, he had
told the others that he would not be implicated in such a cold
blooded murder. Shortly afterward he had been paid a big sum
of money to leave Arizona.

During one of brother Jim's terms as deputy sheriff, he re
ceived a tip as to Hatch's whereabouts. Jim made a trip to Texas
and succeeded in locating Hatch. Having known him for many
years, Jim told him of the purpose of the trip and persuaded him
to agree to return to Arizona without extradition papers and
testify in the case so that the guilty men could be punished.
Hatch claimed that he was tired of being on the dodge, and,
though acknowledging that he was with the party the night of the
murder, said that he had taken no part in the crime. He asked to
be allowed to make some business arrangements before leaving,
and because he seemed so willing to return as a witness, Jim
granted his request.

Hatch was living on a ranch two or three miles out of town.
Since going to Texas, he had married and was the father of two
small children. He invited Jim to go home with him and stay at
the ranch until he could arrange to return to Arizona, but Jim
declined. He always thought that if he had done so, Hatch would
have accompanied him back.

They had a long talk before Hatch went home that night,
and he told Jim the story of the murder, substantially the same
story Trailor had told, but Hatch knew nothing about what had
been done with the bodies.

When Hatch went home and told his family of his intentions,
they were opposed to him returning to testify in the case. His
wife's people urged him to stay in Texas, saying that the outcome
of the case could be far more serious than he and Jim expected,

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

for the other four men would no doubt implicate him in some
way.

The next day Hatch failed to meet Jim as he had agreed.
When Jim went out to see why he had not kept the appointment,
Hatch had already departed. His wife told Jim that they had
advised against him going to Arizona. Hatch was never heard of
again.

As the only witness had disappeared, and no bodies had been
found to prove that a murder had actually been committed,
Nixon and Trailor were released from jail for lack of evidence.

Over five years later, my brother John was hunting horses in
that section of the country, and as he had been unable to find
them, he rode up on top of a high rocky hill to get a better view
of the canyons and surrounding country. Glancing down toward
a craggy point below, he noticed a lone cedar tree that had been
burned black on one side, indicating that a camp fire had prob
ably been made there at some time. While he was wondering
who could have camped in such a rough, isloated spot where
neither road nor trail crossed and where no water was available,
the murder of the Hall boys flashed into his mind.

John rode down to the tree and investigated. He could see
evidence, after several years, that the fire had been a big one.
Digging around the tree, he found a lot of boot tacks, copper
rivets from overalls, and pieces of saddles and burned leather.
Then he began to hunt for bones, but found none on the spot
where the fire had been, though he picked up a drinking cup and
a rifle stock which bore similar brands. Wrapping these articles in
his jumper and tying them on the back of his saddle, he mounted
and rode into a brushy canyon about a hundred and fifty yards
away. There he found a skull with what appeared to be a bullet
hole in it.

The evidence was taken to Solomonville, and once more a
party set out to search, this time with a definite location to assist
them. But no further evidence was found after several days of
investigation, and the following supposition was advanced: The
murderers returned some days after the crime, burned the bodies,
the bedding, and the saddles, and buried the evidence which had
not been destroyed by fire. The skull found in the canyon below
might have been dragged there by some small animal between the
time the crime was committed and the time the murderers re
turned to dispose of the evidence.

Tom Hall, a brother of Bob and Dick, was living in Deming,

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

New Mexico, at the time. He was notified of the discoveries and
came to Solomonville. By the brands and other marks on the
cup and rifle stock, he was able to identify die articles as positively
the belongings of his brothers.

The murderers were never convicted or punished by law for
the crime, since the bodies were not found. But they were justly
dealth with by the unrelenting hand of fate. Prior to the time
when Nixon was implicated in this dastardly murder, he had many
friends, was a respected citizen, owned a good bunch of cattle, and
was doing well. It took all his cattle and money to pay off the eye
witness, and by the time he was released from jail, he was broken
in body as well as in spirit. His friends had deserted him and he
left Arizona, never to return.

Bill Trailor, who had always been known as a bad character,
was killed by a sixteen-year-old boy, Ray Gourley, at the mouth
of the Blue River near Clifton. After repeated abuse at Trailer's
hands, Gourley killed him in self-defense. Later the boy was ex
onerated in court and openly commended by the people in the
Clifton district. Trailor had a savage, piercing eye, and was dis
trusted and feared by everyone who knew him. He was implicated
in the murder of Shorty Miller, a small rancher on High Lone
some near Pine Cienaga, and was also accused of dynamiting the
Wilson ranch home a few miles from the Mule Creek store. Wil
son and another man were killed by the explosion, and thus one
more squatter, as the small rancher was called by Western cattle
men, was put out of the way.

Trailor's son Bill followed in his father's footsteps. When he
was only nineteen years old, he and another young man killed
Shorty Dallas, an inoffensive rancher living at the mouth of the
Blue River. Dallas, a respected citizen, had never been known to
have trouble with anyone. He was killed in the door of his cabin,
supposedly over a burro belonging to him. The real facts were
never known, for the only people present when the crime was
committed were Dallas, Bill Trailor, and his partner. The two
young men were never convicted because of the lack of witnesses
and evidence.

In the summer of 1894 there was very little rain, and when
winter came the range was destitute of feed. Father's horses and
cattle were going into winter in poor condition. He had a friend
living at Eden in the Gila Valley, Treadway by name, who had
two sons, Frank and Jeff. The Treadways had a good ranch at
Ash Flat near the White Mountains. As they did not own much

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

stock, they had plenty of good range. One day when father com
plained to them of the poor condition of his range, a favorite
topic with stockmen and ranchers, the Treadways told him that
he was welcome to put his horses on their range at Ash Flat.

My brothers John and Charlie drove around two hundred
head of horses there and established a camp at a spring in a small
side canyon that put into Markham Creek. This creek was a big
wash that emptied Into the Gila and drained a large area of the
country. The boys stayed at camp for a while, locating the horses.
Then they came home, but every two weeks or so, would go back
to see that the horses were not straying off or that the Indians had
not stolen any of them, as Ash Flat was on the reservation.

On one of their trips, they were riding over the hills hunting
for the horses. They wanted to gather a small bunch and take
them back to Solomonville. After finding a few they wanted they
threw the bunch into a small canyon. Then they noticed a black
horse about two hundred yards away on a mesa, and Charlie rode

over to investigate.

When he got near, he could see that It was a small black In
dian pony staked out. He got off and stooped down to see if there
were any moccasin tracks or other Indian signs. When he rose,
he saw that John was motioning frantically for him to come, and
pointing off to Charlie's left.

Looking in that direction, Charlie saw an Indian coming*
toward the staked pony. The Apache was about four or five hun
dred yards away and had not yet seen Charlie, as he was gazing
the other way. Charlie turned to see what was attracting the In
dian's attention, and noticed four horses just coming up on top
of the mesa, all ridden by hostiles. Two of the horses were carry
ing double, and there was one Indian each on the other two horses.
The Apache who was afoot made seven.

Charlie mounted his horse and rode hurriedly toward John.
Together they went on a dead run for the canyon where they had
thrown the small bunch of loose horses they had gathered. Then
they started the horses down the canyon as fast as they could
travel. They turned up the canyon where they had their camp
near the spring, quickly packed their camp outfit on a horse and
headed for home.

The Indians chased them for nearly three miles and then
stopped, probably remembering the fate of some of their tribes
men two years before. At that time a roundup was camped at the
same spring where the boys had made their camp. The Indians,

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

not knowing of the roundup, chased some cowboys up this canyon
and the roundup men made a slaughter, killing many of the In
dians. Possibly the hostiles were afraid the same thing might hap
pen again.

That night John and Charlie rode into Eden and put their
horses in the Treadway corral. While Charlie stayed at Eden,
John rode on to Solomonville and told what had happened. A
posse was organized and went back to Ash Flat with John the
next morning. They found plenty of Indian signs and trailed the
band out of the Ash Flat country, but never saw a red man.

During the year and a half that my father's horses were at
Ash Flat, he had not only the Indians to contend with, but other
horse thieves as well. About once a month Frank and Jeff Tread-
way and John went to Ash Flat to stay a week or two and look
after their stock. On one of these trips they found about thirty-
five head of horses missing and soon located the trail over which
the bunch had been driven from the range. Frank and John de
cided to follow the trail and left Jeff to ride and look after the
rest of the stock while they were gone. They told him to notify
my father if they were not back within ten days or two weeks.

The trail was several days old but easy to follow. It led toward
Snowflake, a Mormon settlement. At one of the ranches where
they stopped they told the owner they were trailing two horse
thieves. The rancher told them that a few nights before Joe
Hershey and another Mormon boy had stayed all night there and
that they had thirty-five head of horses they were taking to Snow-
flake. John and Frank knew Joe Hershey and pushed on toward
the Snowflake country.

When they arrived at the settlement, they could find no trace
of the horses or anyone who would tell them anything. They
rode to many farms and ranches but could not locate the horses,
and though they found Hershey at Snowflake, his partner was
not with him.

John and Frank were both young, neither being over twenty-
one years old. They had had no experience and did not know the
legal way to proceed in such a matter. After they had been gone
almost three weeks, John decided that he would arrest Hershey
and take him back with them. He made the arrest, and that night
a Mormon rancher gave them permission to sleep in his hay barn.
John borrowed a padlock and chain, and when they went to the
barn to sleep, he chained the man to him. But all night he was
afraid he had exceeded his right in arresting Hershey; both he

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

and Frank might get into trouble. When morning came, he re
leased Hershey and decided to return home.

When Jeff Treadway had not heard anything from the boys at
the end of ten or twelve days, he came to Solomonville and noti
fied father. About the same time a rumor reached there that John
and ^Frank had been killed at Snowflake. Father got the deputy
sheriff, Ben Olney, Jerry Smith, a big six-footer who was a candi
date for sheriff on the Democratic ticket, and another man, and
the four of them started for Snowflake. It took several days for
them to make the trip on horseback.

As they were ncaring the settlement, they saw two men riding
toward them and soon recognized Frank and John. Father was so
glad to find them alive that he said to let the horses go. He knew
from what the boys told him that they had searched the immediate
section thoroughly. Also he knew that the horses had been taken
to some isloated place where it might take weeks to find them, as
the country was sparsely settled. Since they were strangers in that
area, they could not expect help or information; so they all re
turned home.

The murder of Mrs. Lee Morgan was another crime that could
probably be attributed to greed. The Morgans lived on the upper
Gila River near the Red Barn in New Mexico, not far from the
Arizona border. When Morgan got into some kind of trouble, he
left between suns, abandoning his wife and three-year-old daughter
Rosie. He went to Globe, and, deciding to make it his home,
wrote his wife to sell the ranch and small bunch of cattle and
join him. Within a few months she disposed of their property ex
cept for a part of her household effects. Reserving one wagon and
two teams of horses, she set out for Globe. She had hired Joe
Miller, a neighbor and perhaps the only friend Morgan had
there, to drive her and Rosie and the rest of the furniture to their
new home.

On February 22, 1895, they started on the journey, and three
days later their bodies were found near Ash Springs. The man
and the woman had been shot, and the woman's throat cut. The
murderers had taken little Rosie by the feet and swung her head
against the wagon tire. Then throwing her under the wagon, they
had left her for dead. Trunks were broken into, the feather bed
was ripped open, and feathers were scattered about the hillside;
every place where money might be concealed was explored. Then
the murderers had cut loose the horses and ridden them away.

The tragedy was discovered about noon on the twenty-fifth

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

by a sewing-machine agent who had hired a horse at Duncan from
Noah Green to ride to Solomonville. When he arrived at his
destination about five o'clock, he reported the murder. Sheriff
Arthur Wight organized a posse to go to the scene of the killing,
taking with him Ben Olney, Albert Schwerin, John Epley, my
father, my brother Jim, who was the deputy sheriff of Graham
County, and my brother Will.

When the posse rode up to the wagon, the two Morgan watch
dogs charged them viciously, and it was some time before the men
could make friends with them and dismount. It was a bitter cold
night, and the posse quickly gathered brush for a big fire. There
was not much they could do until daylight, but they began look
ing around as soon as the fire burned up so that they could see.
Father discovered the child under the wagon and drew her out,
almost covered with feathers and apparently dead. As he caught
hold of her foot, he noticed a slow movement of the leg just as if
she were trying to pull her foot away. He got her out, wrapped
her in blankets, and held her near the fire. As she gradually re
gained consciousness, she became deathly sick.

The next morning the two bodies were taken to Solomomillc.
Little Rosie was left with mother, who kept the child for several
months and might have continued to keep her if the worthless
father had not come and decided to make his home with our
family, also. Then Rosie was sent to her mother s sister in Texas.

As the posse went carefully over the ground, they found the
place where the murderers had waited for their victims. A little
rocky point jutted out to the wagon road about eight miles be
yond Ash Springs, and on its top was a lone cedar tree. Indica
tions showed that men had waited for hours hidden behind the
tree. They had wrapped their boots in sacks or were wearing socks
over them so that the ground would look patted down as if by
moccasins. When the wagon came around the rocky point, the
men had probably started firing. Evidently they had killed Miller
first, for only a short distance beyond the running horses swung
out of the road on the right-hand side, going around the side of
the hill. In making the turn, the wheels had cramped and stopped
the runaway team.

The murderers had left many kinds of Indian signs around
the wagon so that the hostiles would be blamed for the crime.
Then they had gone to a small cave about three miles away
where they cached a few things, mainly moccasin tops. They
ate dried mescal cakes and left bits of this favorite Apache food
to be discovered.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

The posse followed the murderers to the cave and from there
trailed them to the upper San Simon about seventy-five miles
away. They found the Morgan horses near Skeleton Canyon,
where the men had secured fresh mounts. Then the posse found
that the fugitives had changed from moccasins to high-heeled
boots. The trail was lost in the rough country of Skeleton Canyon f
but by that time the men were convinced the crime had been
committed by some of the dead woman's neighbors who had fol
lowed the lone wagon to rob her of the money she had received
for the ranch and cattle. The murderers were never brought to
justice.

It w y as evident to the posse that the Morgan crime had been
carefully planned, for the men had made particular use of the
Indian fondness for mescal. Of all the native plants mescal was
the most useful to the Apaches. It grew profusely on the foothills
and mesas. Mexicans and Indians used it to make a potent drink,
called mescal, which contained a high percentage of alcohol, was
as clear as gin, and had a strong smoky flavor much like Scotch
whiskey.

The head of the mescal was used as food by the Apaches.
They pulled off the heavy outer leaves and baked the young
tender leaves. Their oven was made by lining a hole in the
ground with large flat stones, which were heated by a hot fire
made of mesquite wood. The mescal head was put in this oven
and covered with hot ashes and earth, and the roasted mescal
provided a real Indian feast.

The soft roasted mescal leaves were also mashed, formed into
flat cakes, and partly dried in the sun. Often such cakes were the
only food carried by the Apaches on their long and bloody raids.
When the murderers of Mrs. Morgan and Joe Miller dropped bits
of mescal cake at the scene, they were endeavoring to leave as
much Indian sign as possible to throw the blame on the Apaches.

Now and then train holdups were added to the long list of
crimes committed by outlaws. On January 31, 1895, Burt Alvord
and Billie Stiles held up the Southern Pacific passenger train near
Vail, Arizona, They compelled the engineer to detach the express
car and run it west for some distance, and then forced him to
pry open the car door with a pick.

The bandits had little difficulty in opening the way safe, but
the through safe was a harder job. They put several sticks of
dynamite on top of the safe, and over the dynamite they piled
several sacks of Mexican dollars which were being shipped to the

137

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Orient The blast opened the safe but also scattered silver dollars
over a wide area. For many years afterward, people found silver
dollars on the Vail flat

Stiles, Alvord, and William Downing were arrested for this
robbery, in which ten thousand dollars was taken. The men were
lodged in the Tombstone jail. Stiles, who received only a few
hundred dollars as his share, became angry and confessed, impli
cating Alvord and Downing. For his confession he was held as
state's witness and was allowed many privileges pending the date
set for the trial. Soon he regretted making the confession, and
one day held up the jailer and took his gun and keys. He released
Alvord, and the two escaped to Mexico. There Stiles went to*
work as a miner for a mining company in Cananea.

Downing refused to leave with the other two, thinking that
by his refusal he would be given complete immunity or a light
sentence if convicted. He served only a few years, and with time
off for good behavior, his term in Yurna was very short. While
in prison, he was a model prisoner and gave the officials no trouble.
But he had a violent, impetuous temper, and was feared by all
who knew him. He claimed that he was the Jackson who had es
caped when Sam Bass was killed at Round Rock, Texas. At any
rate he had the reputation of being a bad man and a very
dangerous one.

After he was released from prison, he opened a saloon in
Willcox. The town officers dreaded him, for they knew his return
to Willcox meant serious trouble. The constable wanted to re
sign in favor of Joe T. McKinney, an early-day peace officer and
a fearless one, but Joe refused the job, saying:

"The man who takes your job here and does his duty will
have to kill Downing, and I don't want that job."

But Downing finally met a violent fate. Like other saloon
keepers of the day, he rented rooms in the rear of the building
to women habitu& of the saloon, known as saloon women. Down
ing was arrested while beating up one of his saloon women, and
was killed by Billie Speed, an Arizona Ranger.

Augustin Chacon, a bandit and outlaw of Old Mexico, op
erated on both sides of the border for about ten years. At first he
confined his activities mostly to horse stealing and cattle rustling.
He would raid the ranches north of the border, drive bunches of
cattle or horses into Old Mexico, and dispose of them to the
Mexican people; or he would raid the Mexican ranches and de-

138

PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

liver the stock to his confederates on the Arizona side of the line,
one of whom was Burt Alvord.

Chacon was one of the worst type of Mexican outlaws. He
trusted but few of his own people and only one white man. That
man was Burt Alvord, who eventually betrayed him.

When Mexico would get too hot for Chacon and when he saw
that he would have to clear out, he would go to Morenci, Arizona,
for a few months. He had a number of amigos there among the
criminal element who would protect and hide him until the ex
citement in Mexico blew over.

For about two years Chacon made his headquarters in Bisbee,
which was in Cochise County near the border. He confined his
activities to smuggling, but on several occasions was in the hands
of officers for petty offenses. Then he changed the scene of his
operations from Cochise County to Graham County, where he
stole horses and cattle and escaped into Mexico with them.

While he w r as in the Morenci district he and his friends would
carry on their thieving, but as time passed, he became bolder and
added robbery to his list of crimes. Through choice he followed
a criminal career, and several notches on his gun told of the num
ber of men who had been sent on their last journey by a bullet
from his revolver or rifle.

About a year before Chacon committed the crime for which
he was given the death penalty, he had murdered two young clerks
of the Detroit Copper Company store at Morenci. The young
men had gone on a hunting and fishing trip and were camped on
Eagle Creek a few miles below the ranch of the Double Circle
Cattle Company. There Chacon and his gang murdered the clerks
for their guns and ammunition.

The crime that sealed Chacon's fate was planned as only a
burglary. With his partners in crime, Pilar Franco and Leonardo
Morales, who w r ere in Morenci, Chacon planned to enter the store
of Mrs. William McCormack. He selected Christmas Eve for the
job, knowing that the people would be enjoying their Christmas
trees and holiday festivities. About eleven o'clock on the night of
December 24, 1895, the three outlaws crawled through the tran
som over the door and into the store. Hardly had they made their
entrance when Paul Becker, the manager of the store, returned to
his room in the rear of the building.

The burglars were taken by surprise, but were well armed and
had the advantage of numbers. They tried to force Becker to open
the safe, but he refused. He grabbed at the gun of the bandit

139

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

nearest to him, but while they were struggling, one of the others,
presumably Chacon, seized an eight-inch butcher knife from the
meat block and drove it through Becker's body. The bandits then
escaped through the door by which Becker had just entered.

The wounded man managed to reach a nearby saloon and
gave the alarm before he collapsed on the floor, Alex Davis, a
Morenci deputy who was in the saloon, held Becker down with his
foot and removed the knife. Becker was taken to the hospital of
Detroit Copper Compam and lay \ery ill lor sc\cral weeks. Final
ly he recovered and lived in Morenci for more than twenty-five
years after his injury.

As soon as Becker had been taken care of, Davis and several
citizens rushed over to the store in time to see the outlaws fleeing
up the side of the hill. It was useless to try to follow diem that
night, but early next morning a posse headed by Davis took up
the trail. In the posse were Dutch Kepler, John Smith, G. W.
Evans, Pablo Salcido, who was a prominent citizen and merchant
of Morenci, and several others.

The trail led to a Mexican cabin on the hillside overlooking
the town of Morenci. The outlaws saw the officers approaching
and ran from the cabin toward some large boulders higher up the
hill. The posse gave chase, and an exciting battle took place.
Smith, Evans, and two others mounted their horses and ran up
the canyon and over the hill to head off Franco and Morales.
Both bandits were killed instantly, and Chacon took refuge in a
pile of boulders from which he fired at every opportunity.

Salcido, who knew Chacon well, recognized him as he was
climbing toward the rocks. Salcido suggested that he go up and
talk Chacon into surrendering. The officers protested, for they
knew how treacherous Chacon was, but Salcido felt sure, because
of the friendly feeling that had existed between him and Chacon,
that he would be in no danger. He started up the hill and had
proceeded only a short distance when there was a report of a
gun, and he fell dead.

When the officers saw Salcido fall, they renewed the battle
and kept up a fusillade of shots. Shortly there was no return fire
from Chacon, and believing that he had been killed, they climbed
up to the pile of boulders. There lay Chacon. A bullet had struck
a rock and glanced, hitting him in the shoulder and making only
a slight wound, but it had touched a nerve and caused temporary
paralysis. He could talk but could not move. The officers carried
him down to the town and lodged him in jail.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

After Chacon had recovered from the numbness, he was taken
to the Rock Jail in Clifton. There he was held to await his
preliminary hearing, at which he was bound over on a first-degree
murder charge without bond. He was then removed to the county
jail at Solomonville. At this time Arthur Wight was sheriff, Ben
W. Olney deputy, and Joe Reaves jailer.

Chacon was tried at the spring term of court in 1896, Judge
Owen T. Rouse presiding. He was convicted of murder in the
first degree and given the death penalty. His attorney, J. M.
McCollum, appealed the case to the supreme court of Arizona,
but the judgment of the lower court was sustained. At the spring
term of court in 1897, Chacon was sentenced by Judge Rouse to
be hanged, and the date of the execution was set for June 19.

The county jail in Solomonville was an old adobe with very
thick walls lined with two-by-twelve timbers. There were no cells
in the jail in those days, and the prisoners were kept in one big
room called a bull pen. Chacon was shackled and chained to
what was known as a bull ring. But on June 9, ten days before the
date set for the execution, he escaped from jail. Friends had smug
gled him a saw, and he had spent the night cutting his way through
the heavy timbers and digging a hole in the side wall which con
nected with the sheriff's office. He escaped through a window
and fled to Old Mexico.

Sheriff Birchfield put forth every effort to capture the fugitive,
and his deputies covered the country thoroughly, but no trace of
Chacon was found. He was free for over five years, the terror of
Cochise and Graham counties. On his last raid into Graham
County he was given a hard chase by Sheriff Jim Parks, but made
his escape across the border into Sonora.

In the summer of 1902, during Jim's first term as sheriff, he
received definite information that Chacon was in Sonora and
often came to the vicinity of Cananea and Naco. At that time Cap
tain Burt Mossman of the Arizona Rangers and Sheriff Parks suc
ceeded in arranging with Burt Alvord and Billie Stiles to try to
get Chacon across into Arizona on the pretense of stealing horses.
Alvord and Stiles were fugitives from justice because of the train
robbery in Cochise County, and Stiles was still working in
Cananea. As the first act in the capture of the noted outlaw, Stiles
rented a house owned by a relative of Chacon, his object being
to cultivate the acquaintance of the outlaw. But Chacon was of a
suspicious nature and trusted few men. However, he did trust
Alvord, who was a half-breed Mexican, a fact which partly ac
counted for Chacon's faith in him.

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Several weeks passed without much progress, although Stiles
had his headquarters in Chacon's vicinity. Sheriff Parks made
several trips to the border in working out the details of the cap
ture. Finally Chacon agreed to accompany Stiles on the horse-
stealing expedition the last week in August, but he would not
agree to cross the border into the United States. The horses were
in Sneed's pasture a few miles north o the border. It was decided
that Stiles and a supposed-outlaw who would meet them there
would round up the pasture and bring the horses into Mexico,
where Chacon would join them. After the arrangements had been
completed, Stiles notified Alvord of the exact date they would be
near the Sneed pasture, and on the last day of August Alvord sent
Sheriff Parks a telegram summoning him to Naco at once.

Jim was at his ranch in the Whitlock Mountains thirty miles
away when the message came. It was impossible for him to be
notified and reach the border on the date specified. Since no time
was to be lost for fear Chacon might leave, Alvord had also wired
Captain Mossman of the Rangers. Mossman went at once to Naco,
hoping to capture Chacon with the assistance of Stiles, if Parks
had not yet arrived.

Mossman was playing the part of the outlaw friend of Stiles
and hinted that he had just escaped from the Tombstone jail. He
met Stiles and Chacon about eleven o'clock at night in Sonora.
The night was too dark for them to see the loose horses in the
pasture, and they decided to round up the horses at daylight.
They spent the night telling stories, all of which Chacon seemed
to enjoy.

At dawn they built a small fire, fried bacon, and made coffee.
Before long, Chacon began to watch Mossman in a nervous man
ner, but he examined Mossman's rifle and cartridge belt, which
he admired. In some way the outlaw suspected that he had been
trapped, but he did not betray his feelings. After breakfast, when
Chacon and Stiles were rolling cigarettes, Mossman walked over
and asked Chacon for one. The bandit handed over his tobacco
and papers, and Mossman walked back to the fire and rolled a
cigarette, then turned around and faced Chacon.

"Well, Bill," he said to Stiles, and shoved his gun into Cha
con's face.

Instantly Stiles drew his gun and poked it into the bandit's
side. Chacon never moved. While Mossman kept Chacon covered,
Stiles disarmed and handcuffed him.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

"Kill me, why don't you?" Chacon looked at Mossman with a
sarcastic smile. "Go ahead and kill me."

The arrest was made between daylight and sunrise on Septem
ber 4, 1902, at the foot of the San Jos Mountains, eight miles be
low the border, in Sonora, Mexico. It was not advisable, however,
to admit that Chacon was taken inside Mexican territory, as such
an act would have been contrary to international law. But the
only way to get Chacon was by using strategy.

Almost at once Captain Mossman and Billie Stiles started
with their prisoner for Naco Junction, where they took the train.
At Benson they delivered him to Sheriff Parks, who was on his
way to Naco. He had received Alvord's message by runner and
had ridden to Bowie to catch the train for the border town. Cha
con was returned to the Solomonville jail and again sentenced to
be hanged, this time on November 14, 1902.

The efforts of the Mexican consul at Nogales to have the
sentence commuted to life imprisonment failed, and when he
heard the news that there was no hope for him to escape the
death penalty, Chacon remarked:

"I will meet death like a man, and consider it to be the great
day of my life/*

When the hour for the execution came, they marched from
the jail to the scaffold, which was built in the adjoining yard and
inclosed by a fourteen-foot adobe wall. Two officers, John Parks
and Lee Hobbs, walked on each side of the condemned man,
holding him by the arm in the belief that he would need their
support. But he asked them to stand back, saying, "I am man
enough to walk to the scaffold alone." He climbed the thirteen
steps, and, standing on the scaffold, asked Sheriff Parks if he
could have a cup of coffee. A man brought coffee from the Solo
mon Hotel, and the condemned outlaw, perfectly cool and com
posed, drank three cupfuls. Then Parks asked if he had anything
to say. Chacon looked around and noticed several of his na
tionality present, then said, "Yes, I have a statement to make to
my people."

He told his people that he had been a bandit all his life, but
that there was nothing to be gained in leading such a life
nothing but trouble. They could see what it had brought him to.
He asked them to profit by his experience and not lead the kind
of life he had led. Then he said goodbye to his people, and asked
Sheriff Parks to let him pull the black cap down over his head.
Slowly Chacon adjusted the cap and secured it, showing no sign

143

FRONTIER DAYS IX THE SOUTHWEST

of nervousness. Then his hands were tied, and at once the trap
was sprung by the sheriff.

Previously Jim Parks had offered Red Kinsey fifty dollars to
spring the trap, and when Red refused, Jim said, "Well, I guess
it's my job, anyway."

The body was turned over to Sisto Molino, a relative of
Chacon, who lived at San Jose above Solomonville. Sisto had a
wagon and a fast team at the courthouse, and as soon as friends
placed the body in the wagon they rushed with it to the Catholic
church in San Jose. Previous arrangements had been made that
the priest would be present and prav for Chacon.

All that dav and night the Mexicans worked over the body,
rubbing him vtith alcohol, trying to pour whiskey down his
throat, and praying. When their efforts proved unavailing, he
was buried in the little Catholic cemetery in San Jose.

For their assistance in capturing Chacon, Alvord and Stiles
were given immunity from prosecution for the crime for which
they had been held. But Alvord was one of the worst kind of out
laws and a criminal as well; while he and Chacon had been op
erating in Cochise County he had murdered Billie King. Alvord
went to South America before long and w r orked w r ith a bridge
gang- While on this work, he received an injury from which he
died. Stiles drifted to Nevada, where he dropped his last name
and w T ent by the name of William Larkin. He was killed a few
years after Chacon's capture.

According to Arizona law, the sheriff was required to issue in
vitations to a hanging. Even in the early days, as well as after
public executions were done away with, invitations to these grue
some affairs were sent out. Some of the hangings were more like
festivals until the citizens appealed to the governor to rectify this
condition. He then appointed a committee to draft an invitation
to be used for executions, and this form has been adhered to ever
since.

Chacon's execution was the only one for which my brother
Jim had to issue invitations during his six years as sheriff. When
the legislature convened the following January a law was passed
requiring that all prisoners under sentence of death be taken to
the territorial prison for execution. One invitation to Chacon's
hanging has been preserved in our family. It was sent to my sister-
in-law, who had been born and reared in Philadelphia. She had
visited in Arizona the year before the hanging, and my brother
had sent her the invitation in the spirit of a Western thriller.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

A few years ago I was talking over old times with Captain
Mossrnan, who spoke again and again of his good friend, Jim
Parks, adding, "I depended upon him more than on any other
officer in Arizona."

In the fall of 1901, when the roundup of the Stockton ranch
was under way, trouble arose among the boys at the roundup
camp % and one of them was killed. The Stockton boys and their
father owned a large herd of cattle and the best ranch on Mule
Creek, New Mexico. Formerly they had lived in Wagon Mound,
New Mexico, but about 1890 they drove their large herd overland
to the new ranch.

The Stocktons were hospitable and kept open house the year
round. They were prominent, well liked and generous, .and had
all the good qualities of the real Western pioneers, enjoying the
friendship and admiration of a large circle of acquaintances.
Their ranch was noted for its hospitality and the dances and good
times shown their friends from the surrounding towns as well as
the settlers in that section.

It was the custom, then, as now, for cattlemen to hold a round
up in the spring and another in the fall for the purpose of brand
ing their calves and getting rid of all stray cattle on their range.
In those days the country was all open range. Outside of a big
pasture at the home ranch and a pasture or two on the horse
ranges, there was no fencing. On these semi-annual roundups
every cattleman within a radius of fifty miles sent one or more
cowboys to represent his interests and bring, back to the home
ranch all of his cattle found there that had strayed from his range.
There would usually be from twenty-five to thirty cattlemen and
cowboys on such roundups.

A few months before the fall roundup in 1901, two brothers,
Felix and Walter Burris, came to New Mexico from Texas and
went to work for P. M. Shelley, a cattleman whose main ranch
was on. the Gila River about four miles from Cliff. He also had a
small outlying ranch in a big canyon- heading into the Mogollon
Mountains and opening into Duck Creek. This canyon was known
as Sacaton Canyon. The Burris boys were from a good family and
had been well off financially until they got to drinking and ca
rousing. When Felix's health failed, they drifted to New Mexico
in the hope that the climate would be good for him.

When the Stocktons began preparations for the fall roundup,
they were unable to get a cook. Bill Stockton went to the Shelley
ranch to see if anyone there knew of a man he could get for the

145

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

job, and Mr. Shelley suggested Felix Burris. Felix was willing,
and borrowing his brother's saddle with the idea of getting^ to
ride a little or wrangle horses, he returned to Mule Creek with
Bill Stockton. The roundup started early that fall, the Stocktons
moving to Cole Creek, just across the line into Arizona, late in
August. They camped in a grove of sycamore trees at the foot of
what is now called Black Jack Hill, where there was a stream of
clear mountain water running down Cole Creek.

Among the cowboys were two from the L C ranch at the Red
Bam, one of them known as Joe Grammer. Two days after the
Stockton roundup had camped on Cole Creek, a third cowboy,
by the name of Newman, joined them. The day after Newman ar
rived Grammer asked to borrow Felix Burris's saddle, saying that
if he liked it, he would buy it. After riding all day in the rough
country, he complained that the saddle hurt his horse's back. He
was very angry and jumped on Burris, using no jtnild language in
expressing his feelings. The argument ended in a quarrel and
hard feelings, but finally the two men quieted down.

The next evening, when the cowboys came off the drive, Gram
mer again started on Burris about the saddle rubbing his horse's
back. Burris replied that he had been good enough to lend the
saddle and couldn't help it if it had hurt the horse's back. He
added that he'd heard all he wanted to hear about the saddle.
One word brought on another, and they got into a fist fight. Even
though Grammer was the huskier man, Burris, then about twenty-
five years of age, was a more scientific fighter and got the better of
his opponent.

That night after supper Grammer and Newman went down
the canyon and talked until about eleven o'clock. The next morn
ing Grammer told the man who was to wrangle horses that day
that he would like to change wrangling days with him. The man
said he would just as soon wrangle one day as another; it made no
difference to him. When the cowboys left on the drive, Grammer
went to wrangle horses. After giving the cowboys time to get
several miles from camp, Grammer and Newman came back to
camp. No one ever knew just what happened, but when the
roundup boys returned to camp that evening of August 29, 1901,
they found that Burris had been shot and killed; Grammer and
Newman had disappeared.

Bill Stockton dispatched one of the cowboys to Clifton, twenty
miles away, to notify officers. My brother Jim was sheriff at the
time, and John was his Clifton deputy. Gus Hobbs, the Morenci

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

deputy, and John were sent to investigate the murder. John and
Gus were young fellows, but were brave and fearless. They rode to
the roundup camp that night, arriving about ten o'clock. After
talking to the Stocktons and their cowboys, they found that hard
feelings had existed between Grammer and Felix over the saddle
incident. All were certain that Grammer had committed the
crime and that he would make his way to the headquarters ranch
at the Red Barn.

The two officers remained at the camp that night. The coun
try toward Cliff was rough and rocky, and trailing w T ould be slow
work. At daylight they started on the trail to the Red Barn, riding
hard all day. They reached the ranch at supper time but did not.
find Grammer. As they were not invited to eat or stay all night,
they rode to the Shelley ranch, where Gus had worked as a cow
hand when he first came to the country from Center Point, Texas.

It was sunup before they reached the Shelley ranch. After
Mr. Shelley heard what their business w r as, he said, "We have
heard nothing about it, but Butris's young brother is working
for me. He is down at the barn milking the cow, and I'll call him."

Walter Bums, who was about twenty-three years old, came to
the house and met John and Gus. They told him that his brother
had been killed two days before by Grammer.

Mr. Shelley spoke up. "Then I know where you will catch
your man. He has gone to the L C cabin on Sacaton, for the man
they keep at the pabin is a friend of Grammer."

He told the boys to put their horses in the corral and feed
them, and then to come to the house and get some breakfast.

When they had finished eating. Mr. Shelley advised them,
"You boys had better lie down and rest for a few hours. You can't
do anything in the daytime. If anyone knows you are here, your
man will get wise and be gone."

They slept and had an early supper so that they could be on
their way. When they told Mr. Shelley that neither of them had
been in that part of the country before and did not know how to
find the L C cabin, he said:

"Well, I'll take you boys and show you where the cabin is,
for you would never find it alone. But then I'll have to come home,
for I cannot afford to be known in this affair."

The boys told him that all they wanted was for him to show
them the place.

The Shelley range joined the L C range in Sacaton Canyon
near the foot of the Mogollon Mountains. Near the head of

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Sacaton was the log cabin of the L C, where at least one cowboy
always stayed to keep up the pipe lines and look after the cattle
in that section, as the company holdings were large.

The cabin was in a very lonely, rough, wild, but beautiful
country on a clear mountain stream. To the east of the cabin was
a corral which had a small saddle and grain room built in one
corner. The front part of the corral was built of pickets, and the
rear was a rail fence with the rails laid close together. Along the
back of the corral ran a ditch, the dirt from which had been
thrown against the rails, making a bank about three feet high.
The water from the ditch was piped about three miles to a large
mud tank on the Sacaton mesa, where the L C had a large pasture.

Between sundown and dark Mr. Shellev, John, and Gus left
the Shelley ranch and rode up Duck Creek, then on to Sacaton
Canyon. It was nearly midnight when they came within about
half a mile of the cabin. They tied their horses in a brushy thicket
and proceeded on foot. When they reached the corral, Mr. Shelley
led the boys to the high bank against the rails. He showed them
where the water in the ditch had washed out under the bank,
causing the rails to lean outward, and told them they must spend
the night there. He had already warned them that they must sur
prise Grammer and the cowboy at daylight, and that they must
take no chances, for both were bad men. The cowboy, Bud Gil
lette, was better known as Double Barrel, because he always car
ried two revolvers in his belt. Then Mr. Shelley went back to the
thicket, got his horse, and rode home.

It was a cold night, and John and Gus huddled close together
for warmth, covering themselves with Gus's overcoat. They did
not sleep, for they soon discovered a dark object in the corral
which looked like a man sleeping in a camp bed. Occasionally
they would see the object move and supposed it was someone
turning over in bed. At daylight they discovered it was a big L C
bull penned up. Then they heard someone moving around in the
cabin, building a fire. Soon a man came to the fence where the
boys were lying, climbed up on the rails directly over them, and
looked in every direction. Seeing nothing, he gave a long whistle,
waited a moment, and whistled twice more. From across the
canyon, about a quarter of a mile away, someone whistled in an
swer, evidently the signal that all was well. The cowboy climbed
down, went back to the cabin, and started breakfast.

In a few minutes the boys heard horse hoofs on the hill op
posite them and saw Grammer riding along the slope toward the

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

crossing above the cabin. He stopped his horse a time or two, rose
in his stirrups, looked around, and listened intently. One time he
seemed to be looking directly at the boys. Gus was sure they had
been seen and wanted to shoot at him with the Winchester.

"Wait a minute, Gus," said John. "Let's be sure he's seen us
before we fire. If we don't kill him the first shot, hell get away."

But Grammer settled in his saddle and started on at a brisk
trot. When he passed behind the cabin, John and Gus jumped
up and started forward, keeping the cabin between them and
Grammer so that he could not see them. Trotting along at a lively
gait, Grammer was riding up to the back dooV when the boys
reached the end of the cabin. Gus went to the front door and cov
ered Double Barrel with his gun, and John stepped out from the
end of the cabin, covering Grammer just as he got off his horse.
But Grammer caught sight of him, and quick as a flash, started
for the door. John called to him to throw up his hands, and after
he did so John disarmed him.

When they w^ent into the cabin, John and Gus decided to eat
breakfast before leaving with their prisoner. Double Barrel then
became abusive, saying that the boys were cowards to sneak up
on a man the w r ay they had. He refused to let anyone eat there
who would take such an unfair advantage of a man.

Gus, who had a fiery temper, burst out with, "Look here,
pardner, you can do as you please, but I'm going to have some
coffee before I leave here." And as Gillette kept talking about
their nerve, Gus stormed out again: "Look here, you son of a
b , here's your gun. I'll show you whether I'm afraid of you or
not. We'll shoot it out right here and now."

Double Barrel made no effort to take the gun. Finally John
saw that Gus could not goad the fellow 7 into fighting, and said f
"That will do, Gus. He hasn't got the guts to fight you. So let's
eat and be on our way."

The boys took Grammer to Clifton that day and locked him
up in ttie Rock Jail. After his preliminary trial, he was taken to
the Solomonville jail, where he was held until the spring term
of court began on April 5, 1902. Judge E. J. Edwards, w T ho had
the reputation of being one of the best defense lawyers in the
territory, was engaged to defend Grammer. He was assisted by
Attorney Lee N. Stratton of Safford. Grammer felt confident that
they would get him out of his trouble, no matter what the evi
dence was, for there were no eyewitnesses to the killing of Burris.

Many people were convinced that Newman was the one who

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

had done the killing, but the rumor got around that the two men
were relatives, maybe brothers, and that in order to save New
man, Grammer had confessed to the crime. He testified that he
had fired in self-defense when Burris was attacking him with a
knife. But he was convicted and given fifteen years in the Arizona
prison at Yuma. Ever since the killing of Felix Burris, the syca
more grove has been known as Murder Camp.

From the earliest days of the mining camps of Clifton and
Moreno, the wild, rough country of Eagle Creek had been the
haunt of outlaws and rustlers. There was scarcely a time when
two or three gangs were not operating in that section from their
hold-outs on Eagle Creek. In 1902 it was known that some of the
toughest outlaws of Old Mexico were living there, but nothing
was known or reported about their activities. One particular gang
was living in an old adobe house twenty miles from Morenci in
a rough locality, with immense boulders scattered along Eagle
Creek. The house was an old Mexican type, with a step down from
the door sill to the floor of the room. There were two outside
doors, one in the front and one in the rear.

Eagle Creek was on the edge of the range of the Double Circle
Cattle Company, one of the largest companies in Arizona, with
its ranch and range in Graham County. Eleven miles from Eagle
Creek was a rock cabin owned by the Double Circle. There they
started their fall and spring roundups and worked toward the
home ranch.

In the spring of 1902 the roundup was started as usual at the
rock cabin. Joe Terrell was die Double Circle foreman, and sent
four cowboys to work the Turtle Mountain and Eagle Creek coun
try where they usually branded a large number of calves. Among
the cowboys were John McMurran and John Bunton. The four
boys worked out both places thoroughly without finding a calf, but
on Eagle Creek they found where one liad recently been killed.

Following the trail, they saw that it led to the old adobe
house occupied by the outlaws. They went back to the rock cabin
where the roundup was, and notified Terrell. He sent McMurran
and Bunton to Morenci to call up Jim Parks at Solomonville, who
was then serving his first term as sheriff. The cowboys had been
instructed by Terrell to remain in Morenci until they could bring
Jim and his deputies out and show them the house to which the
trail from the dead calf led.

When Jim and John Parks reached Clifton, they got Lee
Hobbs, the deputy, and went on to Morenci, where they got Gus

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

Hobbs, the deputy there. The little group of sheriff, three depu
ties, and two cowboys left for Eagle Creek and arrived just before
dark. They could see that the outlaws were at home, and realized
that there would be a battle if they attempted to make an arrest.
So Jim decided that they should stay among the rocks until day
break and then surprise the outlaws. In that way they might cap
ture the gang without anyone getting hurt.

Just as day was dawning the four officers started for the house.
The cowboys watched from their hiding place to see the battle
they knew would take place. Jim sent Gus and Lee to the back
door in case the outlaws tried to escape, and he and John went to
the front door. Jim turned the doorknob gently, and finding it
unlocked, threw it open and stepped in.

Early as it was, the rustlers were up and dressed, but it was so
dark in the house that the officers could scarcely see. Jim, not
knowing about the step down into the room, stumbled as he en
tered. John was right behind him and saw a Mexican kneeling
down and aiming his rifle at Jim. Just as John called out, "Look
put, Jim, he's going to shoot," a shot rang out in the early morn
ing stillness. Jim's stumbling probably saved his life, for the out
law's shot went wild. By this time Jim had regained his footing,
and a second shot rang out, this time from Jim's rifle, ending the
outlaw's earthly career.

During the few seconds of this first clash, the other twelve
rustlers were reaching for their rifles beside their beds. Two men
were killed during the battle, and a moment after Jim fired the
shot that killed the first outlaw, he called out, "Throw up vour
hands." ' ' *

One of the Mexicans recognized him or his voice and called
out to his companions, "Deje caer sus rifles. Es el Big ]im"
("Throw down your rifles. It is Big Jim.") The others followed
this advice and did not resist arrest. Most of the Mexicans knew
Jim Parks as Big Jim, for he was five feet ten inches tall and
weighed two hundred pounds.

All of the outlaws were armed with old government Spring
field rifles. A search of the adobe revealed one room nearly half
full of jerked beef which the outlaws had dried to take to Morenci
and Metcalf. There they had been selling the jerky to the Mexi
cans at seventy-five cents a pound. The pack burros which were
used to transport the jerky to the mining camps were grazing on
the side of the mountain nearby. One of the officers rounded them
up and brought them to the house. This time they provided trans-

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

portation for the dead bodies and the Mexican prisoners on the
trip back to MorencL

The arrest of this gang put an end to the wholesale cattle
rustling in that section for many months. Seven of the outlaws
were convicted and given twenty years each in the Yuma peni
tentiary. Joe Terrell gave Jim a fine chestnut sorrel saddle horse
for capturing the gang of rustlers.

In the turbulent early days there were two or three Black
Jack gangs operating in Arizona and New Mexico, but Black Jack
Christian's gang was supreme. He had come west from Texas, a
fugitive from justice, with stories of many crimes trailing after
him. His lawlessness was not surpassed by that of any other out
law. He was accused of robbing banks and post offices, holding
up express trains, and committing murder; he was wanted for
crimes in Texas, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona.

After a train holdup on the border between New Mexico and
Arizona, which was laid to Black Jack Christian and his men, the
gang scattered for a time to evade the officers. The combined re
wards offered for Black Jack by the express company and the
postal authorities totaled ten thousand dollars.

About this time another outlaw who was called Black Jack
and had a gang of about nine men came to Cole Creek. Only four
of his gang were with him: Sid Moore, at one time foreman for
the Double Circle Cattle Company; a man by the name of James;
Red Pitkin; and Slirn Traynor. They proceeded to their secret
hide-out, a large cave in Cole Creek Canyon about twenty miles
from Clifton,

This canyon was very rough and almost inaccessible, being
covered with trees, oak brush, and massive boulders. It is now on
an excellent highway over the mountains to Mule Creek and
Silver City, and from the highway which skirts the mountain side
about a quarter of a mile above the bottom of the canyon can be
seen the entrance to the cave where Black Jack and his gang took
refuge. It is about three miles up the canyon from Murder Camp,
where Felix Burns was killed by Joe Grammer. At this camp the
canyon opens out to some extent, with rolling foothills on the
south and north sides. About three miles on the north the hills
rise abruptly to rough, high mountains which form the canyon
side opposite the big cave.

Just below the cave and a quarter of a mile away was a goat
ranch owned by Charlie Williams. His two-room adobe house in
a grove of oak trees faced up the canyon toward the cave. Williams

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

was a big, strapping fellow, light complexioned, about five feet,
eleven inches tall, and weighing about a hundred a'nd ninety
pounds. He was very friendly with Black Jack and his gang, and
gave the outlaws their breakfast at his ranch while they were hid
ing in the cave. Bill Jones, one of Williams* friends, lived at the
ranch, and his wife did the cooking there. This arrangement made
it possible for Williams to go to Clifton frequently and stay for
several days mixing with his friends in town.

Jim Shaw was also a frequent visitor at the Williams ranch.
He had once been a member of Black Jack's gang, but had quit
when bad feelings had sprung up among them. A few months
afterward, Black Jack met Shaw and asked him to come back and
join them again, but Shaw was suspicious of the invitation and
refused. He was afraid that the outlaw wanted him back only to
kill him and get him out of the way, and as later events proved,
his fears were justified.

Shaw was a slender fellow, about five feet eight inches tall,
dark complexioned, rather good looking, and very witty. He and
Mrs. Jones had been carrying on a clandestine love affair for some
time until her husband discovered that she was keeping a suit of
Shaw's in the bottom of her trunk. Jones, who was a short heavy-
set man, was very jealous and swore that he was going to kill
Shaw. When he made the threat in Black Jack's presence, the out
law said:

"You don't have to kill him. Get him up here, and we'll kill
him for you."

Mrs. Jones overheard the plot, wrote Shaw a letter warning
him of their intention, and managed to have it smuggled out to
him. As soon as Shaw knew that he was marked for the vengeance
of the gang, he went to Ben Clark, the Clifton deputy under
Sheriff Billie Birchfield, and tipped off the hiding place of the
gang. He even offered to guide the posse to the cave.

About that time United States Marshal Hagan and Sheriff
Charlie Ballard of Roswell, New Mexico, arrived in Clifton on
the trail of a gang which had robbed the Nogales Bank. The same
gang was accused of previous post office robberies at Cliff and
Rodeo, New Mexico. The officers were sure that the crimes had
been committed by Black Jack Christian's gang, and when Clark
organized a posse, Hagan and Ballard joined them. Others in the
posse were Billie Hart, Charlie Paxton, William T. (Crookneck)
Johnson, Billie Hamilton, and Fred Higgins. They left Clifton
about dark and traveled at night, guided by Shaw. Just before

153

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

daylight they reached a small brushy canyon at the foot of a high,
rocky hill directly opposite the cave. They tied their horses in the
brush and climbed the hill, the top of which was covered with
immense boulders. Here the posse hid.

"You watch that cave/' Shaw told them, "and you'll see them
come out/' Then he started back to the canyon where they had
left their horses.

"Aren't you going to stay with us?" one of the men asked.

"Hell, no," Shaw replied. 'Tve shown you where they are."

The men waited for a long time. They were getting ready to
leave and return to Clifton when they caught sight of one member
of the gang near the spring a hundred and fifty feet below the
cave. They fired a volley of shots, and after the smoke had cleared
away, they could see no sign of life. So they got on their horses
and rode back to Clifton, not knowing they had fatally injured
the man. They were sure if they went down to see about him,
they would be ambushed and killed. Later they learned that the
outlaws were hidden among the boulders and brush, waiting for
them.

It was about eight thirty or nine o'clock when the posse fired
on the man. The gang was on the way to breakfast, but as the
mountains were high on the north, south, and east, the sun did
not shine in the bottom of the canyon until later in the morning.
For that reason the posse had not seen the other outlaws when
they left the cave.

An hour after the shooting, a teamster passed by, hauling
lumber from Ira Harper's sawmill to Clifton. This mill was the
only one in that section of the country at the time. When the
teamster reached Cole Creek, he unhitched his horses and drove
them up the canyon a short distance to a water hole. While at the
pool, he heard groans, and found a man who was mortally
wounded.

The wounded man asked for a drink of water and said, after
the teamster had brought it, "There's nothing more you can do
now. I can't live much longer."

"But I can't leave you here like this," objected the teamster.

The wounded man then asked to be taken to the little ranch
house down the canyon. By half carrying and half dragging him,
the teamster got the man to the house and stayed there until he
died shortly afterward. Then the teamster went on his way with
the load of lumber. When he reached Clifton, he met one of the
men who had been in the posse.

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

"DM you fellows know that you killed a man this morning?"
he asked a

"Christ, no/ 1 answered the posse man.

The teamster told his story, and after the posse had talked the
matter over, they made him a proposition. They would pay him
seventy-five dollars if he would go back for the body and bring it
to Clifton. But when the teamster returned, they refused to pay
him. He threatened to bury the body and not' let them know
where the grave was if they did not keep their promise. Members
of the posse wanted to collect the reward, and, realizing that they
must produce the body, made up the amount and paid the team
ster.

When Black Jack did not return to the cave, the outlaws knew
that he had been wounded or killed, but they had not seen the
posse leave and were afraid to look for him for fear the posse
would fire on them. So the outlaws remained in hiding, thinking
the posse would return for the body. And while they waited, two
other men came within the range of their vision, but fortunately
they were not carrying firearms.

The day before the Rev. G. H. Adams of Phoenix, who was
agent for the Union Mutual Life Insurance Company, and Adam
Smith, who was a prominent Clifton merchant and also a repre
sentative of the same company, planned to drive to Harper's saw
mill to insure a man by the name of Callahan. They were to get
an early start and hunt on the way, but when they reached the
stable, they found that one of Smith's horses was sick. By the
time they had arranged for another horse, they had been delayed,
and in the rush of starting, forgot their gun. They did not miss
it until they came to the head of Ward's Canyon, several miles
from town. They discussed returning, but decided they had better
keep going.

When they reached the sawmill, Callahan was away. They
stayed overnight and the next morning began the return trip to
Clifton. After they had traveled several miles, they met a man on
horseback. The horse was covered with foam and showed that he
had been ridden hard. When the man slowed down to let the
buggy pass, Smith asked why he was in such a hurry.

"I have to meet a man on Sacaton at eleven/* was the reply.

This would have been an impossible ride, for Sacaton was
about twenty-five miles away. As it later proved, the rider was
one of Black Jack's gang and had hurried away after the volley
fired by the posse.

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Adams and Smith continued on their way until they reached
a point on the road opposite the Williams goat ranch about eleven
o'clock. There they decided to tie their team and walk down the
long hill to have, dinner at the ranch. Smith knew Williams well,
as the rancher traded at his store. They started down to the bot
tom of the canyon where the ranch house was, walking slowly, for
Adams was almost blind. He was using his walking cane in his
right hand, and Smith was leading him by the left arm. Smith
later said that if he had not forgotten the gun that morning, he
would have been carrying it, as he would have been afraid to leave
it in the buggy.

Many months afterward Smith heard the story of that day from
Sid Moore, one of the outlaws. Moore said that as the outlaws
watched the men leave the buggy and start down the hill, they
thought the two men were United States marshals. As the men
came near enough so that it would have been easy to pick them
off, one member of the gang raised his gun to aim, but Moore
said to him:

"Don't shoot. That man in the gray suit is Adam Smith of
Clifton, a friend of mine."

"Who is the drunk man with him?" the outlaw asked.

"He's not drunk/* Moore answered. "He's nearly blind, and
Smith is leading him." And when Moore later told the story to
Smith he added, "If you'd had your gun that day, you would have
been killed/'

When Smith and Adams reached the cabin, no one was there
but Bill Jones* and he seemed to be in an excited state. Smith,
not wanting to say anything to alarm Adams, took him into the
house, gave him a chair, and told him to rest. Then Smith walked
outside and asked Jones what was going on there.

"A man was killed here this morning," Jones replied.

Black Jack's body was still lying in front of the cabin and was
covered with a canvas. Smith went over and, raising the canvas,
looked at the dead man but did not recognize him. Just then
Charlie Williams came up, and Smith said to him:

"I think we'd better be getting out of here."

"Wait and have something to eat," Williams answered. "Then
I would advise you to leave at once." He was expecting the posse
to return any moment, and knew there would be a battle between
the officers and the outlaws.

The two men ate dinner and left. After they reached the buggy
and started on their way, the Rev. Mr. Adams said:

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

"You know, I had a ^ery strange feeling while I was at that
ranch. It was as if something terrible was wrong, and we were
in great danger." But he did not learn the situation until after
they got back to town.

When they reached Clifton, Marshal Hagan came to Smith
and said, "I understand you were at the Williams goat ranch
today,"

"Yes, I was," Smith answered.

"What did you see?" Hagan asked.

"A dead man the posse killed."

"Can you describe him?"

"He was tall and very dark, weighed about two hundred
pounds, and was about thirty-five or forty years old."

It was an accurate description, for Black Jack was about thirty-
seven years old, six feet tall, and weighed about two hundred
pounds.

When the teamster returned to Cole Creek to get the body,
the members of the gang "knew the" posse would not return. They
secured their horses, and, taking Black Jack's horse, saddle, and
outfit, they rode away. If there was any loot, they took it along,
for nothing of any value was ever found in or about the cave. The
Cole Creek gang itfas without a leader. The men either disbanded
or drifted to parts unknown; for they were never heard of again.

The express company and the postal authorities each sent a
man to Clifton to make an investigation. But the reward was
never paid, for it was not definitely proved that the outlaw who
was killed on Cole Creek was Black Jack Christian, for whom the
reward was offered. Those in the posse contended they had
killed Christian, but just as many 'others who knew Black Jack
Barrett and had worked with him swore that the man was Barrett.

The spring before, Barrett had worked as a cowboy on the
Rail N roundup, and my brother John worked with him. John
identified the dead man as Jack Barrett. Toll Bell and Barrett
had both worked for the Double Circle Cattle Company for six
months and had slept in the same bed. Bell said he considered
Barrett as good a friend as he had, and could make a positive
identification. He also was supposed to be able to identify Black
Jack Christian. Having known both men, he was sought by Clark
to go to the morgue and view the body. Though Bell recognized
the dead man as his friend Barrett, it made him so mad to think
that Jack had been killed by the posse that he turned to Clark and
said:

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

"I have never seen this man before/'

Jack Barrett was not to be classed as the same type of outlaw
as Black Jack Christian. Barrett had worked for several different
cow outfits, but when work was slack, he was a rustler, confining
his activities to horse stealing. He was never accused of murder
or train robbery. After attempts to identify him as Black Jack
Christian had failed, his body was buried in the Clifton cemetery.

Charlie Williams and Ben Clark had been friends in Missis
sippi before they came to Arizona. Several months before the
killing of Black Jack, Williams had told Clark that the gang had
a hide-out near his ranch, thinking that by giving the information,
he would get a cut if the officers did anything about it, but no
action had been taken until Marshal Hagan and Sheriff Ballard
arrived on the scene.

Ben Clark was elected sheriff of Graham County in November,
1898. He had planned, before taking office on January 1, to return
to Mississippi and rnarry a boyhood sweetheart who was then the
widow of a noted doctor of the South. A few days before he left,
he and Charlie Williams met in a Clifton s&loon and had a few
sociable drinks together*

"Ben," began Williams, "when you get back to Mississippi, I
know you'll see my brother. Tell him how I'm getting along. Tell
him I have plenty of range. If he'll send me seven or eight hun
dred dollars, I'll buy more goats and then will be in shape to make
a lot of money/*

They continued to talk and have some more drinks, and Wil
liams repeated himself with variations.

"Ben, I know you'll see my brother while you're back home.
If he asks about me, tell him I'm doing fine.' 1

After an hour had passed, and they had had a few more
sociable glasses, Williams grew more talkative.

"Ben, when you get back home, you tell my brother I'm doing
well, and if he needs any help, to let me know, and I'll send him
whatever amount of money he needs.'*

A number of years later Charlie Williams disposed of his goat
ranch and moved to another part of Arizona. As the years rolled
by he was forgotten except when old residents recalled the hap
penings of early days. Many years later he was living in the small
mining town of Winkelman in Gila County. He had married and
was the father of two sons. He was then an old man in very poor
health, his mind gradually failing, and financially broke.

On November 3, 1937, Williams became a patient in the Gila

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PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

County hospital, where he remained until April 4, 1938. He was
released much improved in health, and having been granted an
old-age pension, returned to his home in Winkelman. On January
2, 1940, he was brought back to the county hospital, very feeble
in body and mind. Now seventy-five years old, he did not respond
to treatments and gradually grew worse.

As one of the few men now living who really know the inside
facts of Black Jack's gang, Charlie Williams has been sought after
by writers wanting to learn what took place during the last mo
ments preceding the sudden death of the leader, but Williams has
never revealed these facts to anyone. During his first commitment
to the hospital, waiters called to see him and took him driving in
the hope that they would be able to get his story of Black Jack.
But whenever the past was mentioned, he became silent and sus
picious, and refused to talk on any subject.

To one writer, however, Williams remarked that he did not
know why anyone would want to murder his son. He was refer
ring to Henry Towner, who was killed by Cecil Fipps, a twenty-
year-old cowboy, at Haunted Corral in Aravaipa Canyon in May,
1937. A feud had existed for many years among the cattlemen in
that locality, and numerous acts of violence had been committed
which had never been solved. Thus the place was known as the
Haunted Corral.

Given such an opportunity to talk about Williams' son, the
man asked why Henry had gone by the name of Towner instead
of his father's name, and Williams replied, "I adopted the name
Towner for my son because I did not want any act of my past life
to cast any reflections on my boy/* However, when Henry Towner
grew up, he had the reputation of being a very tough character
and a man to be feared.

Williams brooded constantly over the death of his son, and
would sit for hours in moody silence. At times he was haunted
with the belief that his life was in imminent danger and that he
was being followed constantly by someone seeking revenge for an
act Williams had committed in the past. Under this strain his
mind snapped completely, and the hospital authorities, fearing
that he would become violent and unmanageable, had him re
moved on March 14, 1940, to the state institution in Phoenix,
where he is now confined.

Williams* former home on Cole Creek has long since become
a lonely, deserted spot. The front wall and one end of the cabin
are still standing today, but the other walls are a crumbled mass

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

of adobe ruins. The mountain spring above, which had an abun
dant supply of fresh, cold mountain water and was in easy access to
the bandits* cave, has ceased to flow. Long ago it became a dry
hole. The grove of sycamore trees still flourishes at Murder
Camp, where Felix Burris was killed by Joe Grammer. And the
only familiar landmark that time and mountain storms have not
eliminated is Black Jack's cave, where he was mortally wounded by
a bullet from one of the rifles of the posse.

The mining town of Morenci always had more than its share
of bad men, and many crimes were committed in and around the
town. As late as 1912 occurred one of the old-time tragedies when
two deputies were murdered by Eusebio Arviso, a Mexican who
had an evil reputation and was known as a bad hombre by the
officers in the district. Arviso lived in Globe. One night at a big
Mexican baile the usual number of drunken fights were pulled
off as a diversion. In one of the fights Arviso hit another Mexican
over the head with an iron bar and killed him. Then Arviso
skipped out.

The Globe authorities were confident that Arviso would head
for his father's ranch on Eagle Creek above Morenci, though his
father was at that time in Globe visiting some of his amigos. The
deputies notified the Morenci officers to be on the lookout for
Arviso, warning them that he was a bad man and that they would
have to surprise him at night if they wanted to get the drop on
him.

The deputy's job in Morenci was a real one, with plenty of
action and bad hombres to deal with, for the population was two-
thirds foreign and many were outlaws who were wanted in other
states. Albert Mungia, John Campbell, and Dutch Kepler were
then deputies under Sheriff Thomas G. Alger. Mungia and Kep
ler had been deputies under different .sheriffs for over twelve
years, Campbell had not served as long as the other two but had
already proved himself a valuable man on the sheriff's force. He
had moved from Safford to Morenci to accept the deputyship,
and had married just a short time before the Arviso affair. .

Some Mexican rustlers on Eagle Creek, who were afraid of the
Morenci deputies, framed up with Arviso to trap the officers and
kill them. The rustlers sent a tip by someone whom the deputies
would not suspect, advising the officers that Arviso could be found
at his father's ranch.

The deputies left Morenci late in the evening of September
23, 1912, intending to surprise Arviso after he had gone to bed

160

PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

and to arrest him without a fight. As they approached the place,
they were riding up a box canyon with steep rocky sides covered
with trees and small growth. The bed of the canyon was very
rough, and the officers had to ride single file along the narrow
trail. Mungfa was in the lead, and John Campbell was next, with
Kepler in the rear.

Arviso was expecting the officers and had chosen a vantage
spot from which to shoot. He lay in wait until they reached the
place, then fired, killing Mungia'and Campbell instantly. Kepler,
riding at the rear, had time to turn his mule back down the can
yon. Though wounded in the leg, he returned to Morenci and
reported the killing. A posse was quickly organized and left for
Eagle Creek, but because of the roughness of the country, Arviso
made his escape. His father, who was still in Globe, got mucho
borracho to celebrate the killing of the deputies, fell from his
horse, and broke his neck.

The outlaw rode away on Mungia's saddle horse, a big brown
single-footer named Brownie. Not long afterward a cowboy ^at
Deming, New Mexico, saw the horse and bought him from Arviso
for forty dollars. The cowboy rode him to Lordsburg, where some
one recognized the animal as Mungia's. Albert's brother, Manuel
Mungia, was notified and came to Lordsburg. He identified the
horse, paid the cowboy a hundred dollars for him, and rode
Brownie back to Solomonville, where the family lived and where
Albert had been born and raised.

Arviso fled to Mexico and joined Salazar's army. He was traced
there by Graham County officers, but Salazar, in command of the
rebel troops, refused to surrender him. He was never brought
back to be punished for his crime.

My youngest brother Howard was born two years after the
surrender of Geronimo, and even the outlaw element was partial
ly tamed and civilized before he was old enough to take any in
terest in law and order. He always regretted the fact that he
should have been the one member of the family to have missed all
the Indian excitement. Like many other children, he was always
saying, "Tell me another Indian story."

It was not until May, 1930, that Howard had the opportunity
of experiencing all the excitement attached to a real fight with a
regular old-time bad man. Then, as a member of a posse, Howard
helped subdue an outlaw who had established himself on Howard's
cattle range.

Ed Mitchell, a bearded and gigantic bad man, was known

161

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

along the Colorado River between Arizona and California, but
he had just come into the Steamboat Mountains, twelve miles
north of Ray, Arizona, and appropriated a rock house on the Drip
ping Springs ranch of the Parks brothers. During his brief resi
dence in the canyon, he had earned a bad reputation for being
quick on the trigger. He had fired at several persons riding on
the range and was\nown to be armed at all times.

Mitchell's first open break with the law came when officers
tried to serve on him a warrant sworn to by Howard Parks, charg
ing him with killing cattle belonging to the Dripping Springs
ranch and selling the beef to road construction camps. Deputy
Sheriff C. E. Gilmer of Final County was accompanied by State
Cattle Inspector Arch Sanders of Globe, Howard Parks, and other
special deputies, among them Chester McGee, A. Gardner, Fred
Pascoe and Bill Tuttle.

Deputy Gilmer and his companions approached cautiously,
and, halting within a stone's throw, called to Mitchell to surren
der. Without hesitation, the outlaw lifted his rifle to his shoulder
and plowed up the dust beneath their horses 1 feet, forcing them
to run for shelter.

For more than a day and a night bullets from rifles whistled
through the windows of the cabin where Mitchell had barricaded
himself. Calmly he returned the fire, and with a rapidity and ac
curacy which kept more than twenty deputies and cattle inspec
tors from two counties at a respectful distance. Reinforcements
were called, but Mitchell remained unharmed by the rain of bul
lets. During the night the officers guarded the cabin and kept up
an irregular bombardment.

As the battle progressed, and volley after volley was fired in
rapid succession into the rock walls of the cabin, small bits of
rock flew from the walls where the bullets struck, knocking dust
into the outlaw's eyes. But he was skilled in the art of Western
gunplay, and seldom exposed himself to the fire of the attacking
party ;

Finally it became apparent that Mitchell could not be shot
from his barricade and that he Was well enough provisioned to
keep from being starved out. Deputy Sheriffs Pascoe and Tuttle of
Globe crept to the window on one side of the cabin while attackers
threw a heavy fire against the opposite side to hold the outlaw's
attention, and released tear-gas bombs within the cabin. Then
they ran for cover while Mitchell tried to fight off the choking
fumes.

162

PIONEERS AGAINST THE OUTLAWS

In a few minutes the firing from the cabin slowed down and
soon stopped. With a blanket wrapped around his head in an ef
fort to protect himself from the tear gas, Mitchell stumbled out
and collapsed on the ground in front of the door. Before he could
recover, he was seized bv the officers. He had suffered no injury
aside from the effects of the tear gas. The battling officers escaped
unhurt, and, beyond a few scratches, had nothing to show for
their struggle to subdue the vicious outlaw. Imide the cabin they
found several hundred pounds of jerked beef, e\idence of
Mitchell's occupation in the canyon.

The officials of Gi!a and Final counties, who had been held
at bay by the outlaw for more than twentv-four hours, investigated
his activities and brought him for hearing before Justice T. E.
Martin of Ray, on charges of shooting at officers and resisting
arrest, in addition to cattle theft. When Mitchell entered the
courtroom, he surprised the judge by pleading guilty to the
charge and was promptly fined one hundred dollars. He was con
victed of cattle stealing and given a long sentence.

The bombardment which echoed across the Steamboat Range
brought back to the old-time settlers strange memories of the
days when they had fought with the once-warlike Apaches. Not
since the times when the Indians had put on their war paint and
started out on their murderous raids had officers been forced to
use so much ammunition in effecting a single capture. Several
hundred rounds of ammunition had been used during the battle.
Bullets had whizzed through the underbrush, had glanced off the
boulders in the canyon, and had fallen with a dull thud from the
rock walls of the cabin. But the outlaw had given up when a
modern weapon had driven him, gasping and helpless, into the
open.

163

CHAPTER V

"The

THE BLOODIEST BATTLE IN THE HISTORY OF
GRAHAM County, and possibly all Arizona, threatened during
the strike in Morenci in 1903. At that time Jim Parks was serving
his second term as sheriff, and John Parks, who lived in Clifton,
was his chief deputy. The handling of this dangerous situation
demanded of the sheriff and his deputies the utmost of courage
and cool-headed ingenuity.

Morenci, a copper mining town, was built on the steep moun
tain sides at the head of the Morenci canyon, seven miles north
of Clifton. The only road into the town was a wagon road from
Clifton which went up the canyon as far as the company store and
ended there. Morenci had no streets, only trails that led to the
houses built on the slopes which had been graded out to provide
sites for the homes of the employees. The boarding house, store,
library, and other company structures were built down in the
hole, as the canyon was called. The store department used pack
mules for delivery purposes, delivering even pianos and furniture
by the pack-mule system.

The copper mines in Morenci were owned by the Detroit
Copper Company; and just over a long rocky ridge, called Long
fellow Hill, was the Longfellow Mine, owned by the Arizona
Copper Company of Clifton. That company also had a store and
homes for their officials. Morenci and Longfellow were connected
by a tunnel through Longfellow Hill, and at the end of the tun
nel on the Longfellow side was the head of the Longfellow Incline,
three thousand, one hundred feet long.

The ore cars were let down the incline by a large steel cable
which revolved on a big drum and was released by a brake. The
cars passed on a double track half way down the incline, which

164

THE MORENCI STRIKE

was operated by a tram man. For years coke, mining timbers, and
supplies were brought up on the incline for both of the mining
companies. If a heavy load were to be hauled up, and the ore cars
were empty going down, the tram man would use a big steel car,
heavier than five loaded cars, to pull up the load.

The freight for the incline was brought from Clifton over the
little railroad known as the "baby" gauge, which had its terminus
at the foot of Coronado Hill. On top of this hill was the Coronado
Mine, also owned by the Arizona Copper Company. The ore from
this mine was brought down the Coronado Incline, three thou
sand, three hundred feet long. The twenty-inch "baby" gauge
from Clifton to the foot of Coronado Hill was built up the wild
gorge of Chase Creek Canyon for a distance of ten miles. All the
ore from the Arizona Copper Company's mines at Coronado,
Metcalf, and Longfellow was hauled to the Clifton smelter over
this road.

About two years before the strike, the Detroit Copper Com
pany completed the building of the Morenci Southern Railroad
from Morenci to Guthrie, where freight for Morenci was trans
ferred from the Arizona and New Mexico Railroad. This road was
owned by the Arizona Copper Company and connected with the
Southern Pacific at Lordsburg, New Mexico. Later the Arizona
and New Mexico Railroad was extended to Hachita, New Mexico,
to connect with the El Paso and Southwestern, which was owned
by the Phelps-Dodge Company.

The Morenci copper mines employed principally Mexicans
and foreigners, and put white bosses over them. Jack Laustenneau,
a half-breed Spaniard better known as Three Fingered Jack, had
been working for the company nine or ten months before he began
to stir up trouble. A shrewd fellow with some education, he got
the men to demand better working conditions and a wage increase
of twenty-five cents a day. Existing conditions were deplorable
enough, for the company had no change rooms. After the men
came off shift in the mines, they had to walk over the hills to their
homes in their wet working clothes, even during the cold winter
weather. When the miners made their demands to C. E. Mills,
the general manager for the Detroit Copper Company, he turned
them down.

Before the strike was called, the miners sent across the border
to Nacozari, Sonora, for a man by the name of Alvarez to come
and act as their official mediator. Alvarez, a sensible man, was a
well-educated leader of the Mexican people and had a lot of in*

165

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

fluence -with them. As soon as he arrived, the strike was called.

John Parks had been acquainted with Three Fingered Jack
almost since Jack had been in the district, and they had Become
^ood friends. John had encouraged the friendship, realizing that
Jack had a great deal of influence with the Mexicans. At Clifton,
as well as Morenci, the majority of the population was Mexican
and foreigners, and both towns were infested by a bad element.
Whenever the officers saw one of the foreigners becoming a leader,
they cultivated his friendship, more for political reasons than any
other. In many cases these leaders would tip off the officers to the
hiding places of outlaws from Old Mexico who were terrorizing
the district.

Among the deputies in Clifton was Dave Arzatte, an Italian,
known in Clifton and Morenci as Little Dave. A good officer and a
fearless one, he was valuable to the sheriff's office, for he could
be depended on to be loyal to the force and could usually get in
formation which the other officers were unable to get for them
selves. Little Dave made such a fearless deputy that he had the
job under all the Democratic sheriffs. As Graham County was
Democratic in politics, the sheriffs were for many years all Demo
crats, with the exception of Arthur Wight and A. A. Anderson,
who were elected for one term each. But Dave Arzatte's activities
as an officer made many enemies for him among the Mexican
people.

The strike, called about May 28, affected the Morenci Mine
and the Longfellow, Metcalf and Coronado mines as well. C. E.
Mills then notified Sheriff Jim Parks, who lived at Solomonville,
to come and take charge of the situation. Mills hoped that the
officers could help bring about a settlement with the strikers and
prevent the destruction of property, for the strikers were threaten
ing to dynamite the company's plants. Jim deputized many ex
perienced, cool-headed men from Solomonville and the Gila
Valley, and they left with him for the scene of the strike.

When Jim arrived in Morenci and saw how serious the situa
tion was, he deputized many of the cattlemen, cowboys and ranch
ers in the Clifton, Morenci, and Duncan sections. With the regular
deputies he had around a hundred and twenty-five men he could
depend upon in any crisis, while the strikers numbered about two
thousand. Among the special deputies were many of the old
pioneers who had come west in the early eighties and had gone
through the Apache Indian warfare. As their courage and skill
had been proved many times in conflict, these hardy Westerners

136

THE MORENCI STRIKE

did not In the least fear or dread an enemy In the open. Among
the special deputies whom Sheriff Parks showed sound judgment
in selecting were the following:

Frank Richardson, Bill Sanders, John Epley, W. J. Parks,
Jim's father; three Wood brothers, Charlie, Bill,' and John; Bill
Kinsey, Joe Johnson, Bill Jones, Frank Campbell, Dave (Little
Dave) Arzatte, four Kepler brothers, Dutch, Will, Charlie and
Johnnie; Billie iiirchfield, the former sheriff, Bill Hagan, Dave
Andrews, Bill (Crookneck) Johnson, Gus and Lee Hobbs, John
Parks, Charlie Rawlins, Albert Mungia, Billie Crawford, Jim and
Doc Nicks, Hollis Holliday, Alex Davis, Sid Henry, Jesus Alvarez;
Ed Follett, Sam Henry, Al Bishop, Oscar Felton and W. T.
(Skeet) Witt. It is regretted that the list is incomplete, but the
names of many of these brave deputies cannot be recalled; their
courageous support of law and order will, however, never be for
gotten by the people who lived in the Morenci section during
that difficult time.

Some of the deputies talked with Three Fingered Jack, the
main strike leader, who told them the strikers' demands. At that
time there were no labor unions in the territory and none were
organized for many years later. Then Jim and his deputies talked
to C. E. Mills, general manager, and told him that the strikers'
demands were not unreasonable, that the miners were underpaid
and that their working conditions were deplorable. So, rather than
have any loss of life or destruction of property, the officers advised
Mills to grant the men's demands. But Mills, who was an obstin
ate man and much disliked by the employees, refused to grant
anything.

When the miners heard of Mills' refusal they began holding
their meetings at the old lime quarry near Longfellow and made
incendiary speeches and dire threats against company property,
Mills and Sheriff Parks. They made plans to capture and hold
Mills and Parks as hostages to compel the company to grant their
demands. Three Fingered Jack boasted that the sheriff could not
arrest him. So, to meet these threats of violence, deputies were
kept stationed around the smelter and .the reduction plant of the
Detroit Copper Company.

On one of Sheriff Park's inspection trips to see how the guards
were getting along, he saw Three Fingered Jack and a few other
strikers on the side of the hill above the plant. Jim walked up to
them and asked what they were doing on company ground. Jim
told them that he, and all the deputies, were in sympathy with

3:67

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

their cause and that they all felt the miners were entitled to higher
wages and decent change rooms but that they could not gain their
demands by violence and the destruction of the company proper
ty. Jim then asked Three Fingered Jack and his men to keep off
company property until the matter had been settled. Three Fin
gered Jack became insolent and Jim said to him:

"Jack, you've been bragging around what a bad man you are
and that I couldn't arrest you. I'll just show you that you're not
half as bad as you think you are."

At this he grabbed Jack by the arm and started down the hill
toward town nearly a quarter of a mile away, yanking Jack about
four feet at each step. Intending at first to lock Jack in Jail, Jim
had decided, by the time he reached there, that it might precipi
tate a gun battle with the strikers, the very thing the officers %vere
trying to avoid. They hoped to settle the strike without bloodshed
or destruction to the company property. So Jim released Jack with
another warning for him and his men to stay off company ground.

The officers had taken possession of Longfellow Hill when
they first came to Morenci. This ridge was a high vantage point
where they could watch the movements of the strikers better than
from any other place. It also commanded a good view of the lime
quarry, where the strikers held their meetings. Jim Parks scat
tered small scouting squads over Morenci and Longfellow to
check activities of the strikers. At every opportunity these squads
talked to the men and told them that the officers were not their
enemies but were there to prevent destruction of property. When
ever Jim and his deputies had the opportunity, they reasoned
with the strikers that any unlawful act which might be committed
would injure their cause. The first thought of the deputies was
always to protect the two men whom the strikers were trying to
get possession of. Therefore Jim stayed with the main body of
deputies on the ridge, while Mills was usually in hiding. The few
spies who mixed with the strikers kept Jim advised as to how
things were going.

After several days the strikers began to realize that the mine
officials were not only refusing to grant their demands but were
not going to offer any kind of compromise. Then the mob be
came threatening, for their money and food supplies were getting
low.

Company officials, who had already appealed to Governor
Brodie, sent another message stating the seriousness of the situa
tion, and at once the Arizona Rangers, commanded by Captain

168

THE MORENCI STRIKE

Rynning, and the National Guard were ordered out. As soon as
word came that these companies had been ordered to Morenci,
deputies were sent to guard all bridges on the MorencZ Southern
to prevent the mob from dynamiting the bridges and wrecking
the train by which the companies would come." They arrived by
special train early on the morning of June 8. The members were
divided into small squads and placed around the reduction plants
to reinforce the special deputies, as well as around all company
business houses throughout the town.

That afternoon the strikers held a meeting at the lime quarry
and evidently agreed upon a plan of action! Then hundreds o
them went to New Town and proceeded to get drunk. They had
heard news that precipitated the crisis next morning.

Mills, who had become fearful for his safety, had left MorencI
at two o'clock on the morning of June 7 with one man as an es
cort, by way of the old Indian trail which passed east of San Jose
and Solomonville. At Tanque, eighteen miles above Solomonville
.on the San Simon, he boarded the Arizona Eastern train. His
horse was returned to Morenci by the man who had accompanied
him over the trail. When the news leaked out that Mills had left
Morenci, the strikers realized that their cause was lost unless they
used drastic means to force the copper companies to make a set
tlement of some kind,

On the morning of June 9, deputies on the Longfellow ridge
could see hundreds of strikers gathering at the lime quarry, and
the Mexicans from the Metcalf mine coming by the hundreds
down the Metcalf canyon on their way to the quarry. They were
swarming like an army of ants. When the two thousand strikers
had assembled, first one and then another speaker would mount a
huge boulder, and there would be yelling and cheering and wav
ing of red flags.

The country around the quarry was very rough and broken
up, with canyons leading off in different directions. After the big
demonstration, the strikers left the meeting place and went down
one of the canyons. The officers were unable to follow their move
ments but were not in suspense very long as to their destination.
Soon a scout returned to the ridge and reported the mob was
gathering in front of the Longfellow store, with threats to dyna
mite or burn the building. The strikers were well armed, more or
less drunk, and in a dangerous mood.

Jim said he must go to the store and talk to the strikers, but
John objected, knowing that Jim was one of the two men the mob

169

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

wanted. Instead, John suggested that he and Little Dave should
go, for Dave could talk good Mexican. Though John talked well
enough to get along under ordinary circumstances, he wanted
Dave in this emergency.

When John and Dave reached the foot of the ridge which was
the head of the Longfellow Incline, they saw that the strikers had
Atkinson, the tram man who operated the incline, and several
other white men whom they had disarmed. The railroad track was
swarming with strikers. John began to push through the mob to
ward the store, which was about three hundred feet around the
bend, but suddenly he noticed that Dave was not following him,
and realized that it had been a mistake to bring the little deputy
along. A lot of the strikers were angry at Dave for doing his duty
as an officer, for they thought his sympathy should be with his
own people instead of with die deputies. John continued pushing
his way toward the store.

Paul Nicholas, superintendent of the Longfellow mine, had
come to the store early that morning from his home which was
nearby. Seeing the strikers coming and knowing that they were
drunk and desperate, he locked the store door, went into the
tunnel at the rear of the store, and closed the tunnel door. This
tunnel connected with the store as a kind of store room, and
fresh meat was kept there. Nicholas was well liked by the em
ployees, who felt that he could help their cause if he wanted to,
but he feared that if he did not help them, he would be killed.

Whe. John reached the building and mounted the store plat
form, he found Three Fingered Jack standing on a box, and tried
to talk to him. The strikers recognized John as one of the deputies
and began to crowd around him and try to pull him off the plat
form. But he kept them back by constantly swinging his gun in
front of him, even while he was trying to talk with Jack.

Shortly Jack raised his hand to silence the strikers and told
John to speak

John began, "Jack, the strikers can gain nothing by resorting
to violence and destroying property and committing murder. I'm
your friend. I can see your side of this thing, and I'm willing to
help you."

"I tkomght yu were my friend/' Jack replied, "but since this
thing kas come up, I've found that you are not."

"You're wrong, Jack/* John went on. "I am your friend, and
I'll do all I can to help you if you will listen to reason/'

"Will you talk to Paul Nicholas for us and ask him to talk to

176

THE MORENCI STRIKE

the Morenci officials?" Jack asked. "Maybe Paul can do us some
good. If he says he will do this, we will believe him, for he is a
good man."

"I don't know if we can get Paul to do this, but if he says he
will, I want you to promise me that you won't let your men harm
him. They must let him go to Clifton, where he 'can talk to the
other mine officials."

When Jack agreed, John went to the store door and pounded
on it. He called to Nicholas, who finally recognized John's voice
and came to the door but refused to open it. John told him of the
talk with Jack and the conditions outlined, but Nicholas was
afraid to trust the strikers. John admitted that Nicholas was tak
ing a chance, but pointed out that he would probably be killed
anyway if he did not go to see the officials, for the strikers intended
to dynamite or burn the store. Then Nicholas sent to Three
Fingered Jack his promise to use his influence with the mine of
ficials and get the best terms he could for the men. But he refused
to come out of the store and go down the incline until after the
strikers had gone.

When Jack heard what Nicholas had said, he promised to
handle the men.

Then John said, "Now, Jack, I want Little Dave."

When Jack and John reached the place where Dave was be
ing held, the strikers had taken his gun and were slapping and
punching him. The mob did not want to give him up but finally
released him at Jack's order.

"Jack," began John, as soon as the men had let Dave go, "I
want them to give Dave back his gun."

Jack made the strikers return the gun. When Dave and John,
on their way to the ridge, tried to push through the crowd, the
mob began to hurl epithets at them and spit at them. It was plain
that Jack was losing control over the men.

When John and Dave got to the ridge and told their experi
ences, the other officers seemed to think that the worst was over
for that day. They felt that the strikers would remain quiet until
Nicholas had time to intercede for them. But John and Dave felt
uneasy. They had seen and heard so much while among the mob,
that they felt as if they were over a powder magazine with the fuse
lighted.

About ten thirty in the morning the strikers scattered and
went home, taking the Metcalf miners with them. Shortly before
noon the officers decided it would be safe for them to go to the

171

FRONTIER DAYS IN 7 THE SOUTHWEST

company boarding house for dinner, but they left a guard on
duty. Among the fifteen men who stayed at the ridge were John
Parks and Gus Hobbs, the Morenci deputy, who had their horses
tied nearby. John would not leave, fearing that something might
happen any minute.

The strikers had planned to make their next move when the
officers left the ridge. Suddenly men began to pour out of the
Mexican homes in every quarter of Morenci and Longfellow.
When the guards saw what was happening, John mounted his
horse and started for the boarding house to notify the sheriff. The
route was through Burro Alley in the Mexican part of town, which
John found swarming with strikers. The men were on their way
toward a high, rocky mountain on the opposite side of the canyon
overlooking the ridge which the officers were holding. When John
found that the crowd was so dense he could not ride through, he
turned back up the ridge and tried two roundabout trails. But
they were also blocked by the mass of moving strikers, and he
could only return to the squad on the ridge.

In the meantime, Jim and his deputies at the boarding house
learned of the strikers' move and started for the ridge. When they
reached Burro Alley, they could not get through until the crowd
had passed out of the alley. Then Jim and his men continued
to the top of the ridge. As the strikers climbed the steep slope,
they began to drop out of sight behind big rocks. Soon the whole
side of the mountain was covered with strikers, most of them con
cealed behind boulders, with their rifles leveled in the direction
of the officers.

The sheriff and his deputies, reinforced by the National Guard
and the Rangers, took up places behind boulders, rested their
rifles on the rocks, and drew a bead on the strikers. Each side
waited for the other to fire the first shot. There were many cool-
headed men among the officers, and they knew if one shot were
fired a bloody battle would be on, with loss of many lives on both
sides. No one could foresee where it would end. If the strikers
won and they were greatly in the majority much company
property would be destroyed. The deputies had been cautioned,
throughout the strike, not to resent anything that was said to
them, and not to do one thing that might cause the strikers to
start the fight. So the two sides waited, facing each other from
opposite sides of the canyon and expecting to hear a volley ring
out any moment.

The day had been very hot, and black clouds began gathering
over the mountains. About two o'clock the heavens opened up in

172

THE MORENCI STRIKE

a rage of fury. It seemed as if God was manifesting his disapproval,
for never before or since has such a cloudburst and flood occurred
in that section. As it was out of season for the summer rains, which
never came before the last of June or the first of July, it seemed
providential that such a downpour should occur on the ninth day
of June, at such a critical hour. Thunder roared and crashed,
lightning streaked across the sky, and rain came down in sheets.
It fell with such force that the men could scarcely get their breath.
Water rushed dow r n the mountain sides in such torrents that it ran
through the houses and flooded them to a depth of three or four
feet. A wall of water ten feet high swept down the Morenci
canyon.

The Arizona Copper Company mill was located on the Long
fellow side, and farther down in Chase Creek Canyon were the
tailings dump and tailings dam. The dam held back the flood
waters for a while, but when it finally broke it let a tremendous
wall of water go down Chase Creek, covering the canyon from
hill to hill with the white tailings. Chase Creek emptied into the
Frisco River right in the town of Clifton, and at its mouth the
Arizona Copper Company smelter, concentrators, converters, and
bluestone plants were located. Water flooded the company's works
and ran through the round house as high as the running board
of the railway engines.

Just above these plants Chase Creek Canyon was thickly built
up with stores, saloons, restaurants, markets, and homes. Seven
people were drow T ned, and nearly all the homes were damaged,
as well as most of the business houses and their stocks of goods.
Many lawsuits were later brought against the Arizona Copper
Company for damages done because of the breaking of the tail
ings dam, but the cloudburst had averted a greater loss by pre
venting a desperate battle between officers and strikers.

After the cloudburst the mob, though seeming to realize that
the strike was lost, met at the lime quarry about five-thirty that
afternoon. They made speeches, waved their red flag, shouted,
and planned another attack on the officers on the ridge. Jim and
his deputies saw the strikers leaving the quarry and watched as
they came toward the ridge. They were carrying Winchesters and
other firearms, knives and bottles of whiskey. When the officers
began discussing the best plan of meeting the attack, Captain
Rynning said:

"It seems certain death to stay up here on the ridge. We had
better move down to Morenci."

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

As the town was built in the canyon, the officers told him it
would be certain death to try a move to Morenci, insisting that
they stood a better chance where they were. Rynning insisted that
they would all be massacred if they stayed, but the officers refused
to give up the ridge, considering it the most strategic point in the
district. If they should give it up and move down into the town,
the strikers would have them bottled up.

Among the Rangers was a man named Jack Foster. He was
small of stature but w T as Captain Rynning's head man. He had
been in the Spanish- American war and understood military tactics,
and since Rynning had no sand to begin with, Little Jack, as he
was called, was practically the head of the Rangers. Rynning did
little but hobnob with politicians for the pull such associations
would give him; he liked to be banqueted in the different towns
while Foster commanded the Rangers.

When Rynning saw the sixteen hundred or more strikers mov
ing toward the ridge, led by two drunken leaders, about a hun
dred yards in advance of the body of men, he went to pieces. He
left his place and lay down behind a soap weed. Foster went over
to him and said:

"For God's sake, Captain, if you can't pull yourself together,
leave before you demoralize the men. 1 '

Foster then walked over to John Parks, and the two men,
after talking together for a few minutes, decided to walk down
the hill and meet the strikers. When they told the other officers
what they intended to do, their friends protested, saying it would
be suicide to advance against the mob.

"We're going to be killed, anyway/' John said, "and there is
a chance we might do some good."

They walked down the hill several feet apart to prevent the
strikers from potshooting them. Three or four of the strikers
were climbing faster than the others, advancing with their rifles
in their hands, as Parks and Foster were doing. When the strikers
saw that only two officers were coming to meet them, the others
dropped back and let their two leaders go ahead.

As the two strikers neared the officers, Foster said to John, "I'll
take care of the man on my side, and you take care of the one on
your side. Neither of us will pay any attention to the other fel
low's man/'

Then Foster, who spoke the Mexican language fluently, called
on the strikers to halt. Still they advanced. Again he ordered them

174

THE MORENCI STRIKE

to kalt, and this time they stopped. The two officers walked Hp to
the Mexicans, and John spoke first:

"What do you fellows mean? Don't you know that our men
have you covered, and that we have enough men on that hill to
kill every one of you?**

Then Foster began to talk Mexican to them. The strike leaders
started to argue and wave their guns and threaten what they were
going to do, finally trying to push Foster and Parks aside with the
barrels of their guns. But the two officers grabbed the guns,
twisted them out of the men's hands, and threw the weapons on
the ground. Foster talked to the strikers in Spanish for a few
minutes more. The Mexicans, deciding that the officers had large
reinforcements on the ridge, picked up their guns, and with many
oaths, went back to their friends who had been watching. After
talking among themselves for a while, the mob began to disperse.
It was evident that their courage had deserted them; their nerve
was gone.

The next day the strikers met and talked and milled about,
but there was no leader, no one to tell them what to do. They had
lost confidence in their leaders, and, according to word which
came to Sheriff Parks, they were rapidly becoming disorganized.

That evening a group of strikers congregated near the store of
the Detroit Copper Company. When one member of the National
Guards asked the men to move away, a Mexican, who was standing
beside a telephone pole, made a pass to show that he. did not in
tend to obey the order. The guard pulled his bayonet and jabbed
it through a fold of the Mexican's blue jumper, pinning the man
to the pole. From that time on, the strikers had great respect for
the orders of the National Guards.

A day or two later, many of the special deputies who had been
away from home for two weeks or more were released and left
for their homes. Sheriff Parks and the regular deputies remained
longer, arrested the strike leaders, and stayed until order and
peace were established. About fifteen or twenty leaders of the
strike were arrested and tried at the fall term of court at Solomon-
ville. Three Fingered Jack, the main instigator, was convicted and
sentenced to seven years in the penitentiary at Yuma, but he was
killed in a prison riot before his term expired. Three other leaders
were given terms of five years each, and the rest received sentences
ranging from a year and a half to three years.

Altogether the strike lasted about three weeks. The miners
wenfc back to work about a month after the leaders were arrested,

175

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

and were given raises in wages about three months later. Change
rooms were built, and better working conditions prevailed.

In appreciation of the way in which Sheriff Parks handled the
strike without loss of lives or property, the three copper companies
of the district presented him with a gold watch. The story is told
in an issue of the Arizona Bulletin, published in Solomonville,
the county seat of Graham County:

OUR SHERIFF'S REWARD

Clifton-Morenci Copper Companies

Give Handsome Watch

Wednesday morning Sheriff James V, Parks was the recipient
of one of the most handsome watches that has ever been seen in
Arizona. The gift came from the Detroit, Arizona, and Shannon
Copper companies, operating in the Clifton-Morenci district, and
is given in recognition for services rendered by the sheriff during
the strike of June, 1903.

The watch is strikingly beautiful, being of pure gold and one
of the highest grade Walthams, and is one of Tiffany's artistic cre
ations. On the front of the watch are the sheriff's initials, J. V. P.,
wrought in diamonds and in large script letters. Ninety-four dia
monds of the purest grade are set into the initials. They are set in
openings in the lid and can be seen from either side when the
watch is open.

On the inside of the case is the following endorsement: Pre
sented by the Arizona, Detroit, and Shannon Copper Companies
to Sheriff J. V. Parks in recognition of his services during the strike
riot in the Clifton District in June, 1903.

Sheriff Parks is as proud over the watch as a small boy with
his first long pants. The sheriff almost refuses to wear the watch,
thinking he might lose it. It is a fitting testimonial to a popular
officer who has the esteem and good wishes of all in Graham
County.

176

CHAPTER VI

OWH

WHEN OUR FATHERS PIONEERED IN THE SOUTH-

west fifty or sixty years ago, they came to settle the vast frontier
and to build homes, ranches, and cities. They endured years of
conflict and bloodshed, hardships and struggles, before they ac
complished their object, for they were not the type of people who
could be easily discouraged. Gradually they saw the subjugation
of the Indians and the growth of various industries. And many
of them lived to see the passing of the pioneer ways of living, and
even the decline of early industries. As grazing land was needed
for other uses, the extent of the cattle business waned.

Back in the eighties the Double Circle Cattle Company had
its range on the San Carlos Indian Reservation. Also the Chirica-
hua Cattle Company, which runs the C C C brand, obtained a
permit to use this land as grazing range for their herds. At one
time the Double Circle had between thirty and forty thousand
head on their range, and the owners were rated among the big
cattle barons of Arizona. The Chiricahua had between thirty-five
and fifty thousand head and paid a yearly fee of around seventy
thousand dollars for the range.

When these companies were first given their permits, this sec
tion of mountainous country had no stock on it. Later the com
panies took a lease on the area, for it was fine grazing range,
with never a shortage of forage. In spite of cattle rustlers and
Indians preying on the herds, the companies prospered.

But the Indians on the reservation were restless, for the gov
ernment had done little toward providing them with interesting
activity. They had always been a nomadic people, free to roam as
they pleased. As the years passed, the Bureau of Indian Affairs
bought small herds and started the Indians in the cattle business
in a small way. The work was a success, for it gave the tribesmen

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

the opportunity to ride their little mustang ponies over the hills
and mountains they knew so well. They loved the free lie, and
their herds grew. As the business prospered, the government
bought pure-blooded white-faced Herefords for the ranges.

After the building of Coolidge Dam below the old town of
San Carlos, the Indians were permitted to select land elsewhere to
take the place of the ground which would be submerged by San
Carlos Lake. The Indians chose the Ash Flat country, a selection
which meant that the Chiricahua Cattle Company would have to
vacate its range. In 1928 the Indian agent gave the company
notice, allowing them two years to gather and move their herd.
Train loads of their cattle were shipped from Calva, mostly to the
California market; the pure breds were moved to a ranch in
the Winchester Mountains in Cochise County; and the rest of the
herd was transferred to the Kennedy ranch in Aravaipa and to a
ranch at Arivaca between Tucson and the Mexican border.

In October, 1934, the Double Circle Cattle Company was
notified to move off the reservation within two years, and the big
roundup started. In 1935 they rounded up and shipped half their
herd, and the following summer, made the final shipment. A few
years before the notice was given, the Double Circle had around
twenty-five thousand head of cattle, but, realizing that their time
was short, they began shipping out thousands of head to market.
When the time came to move off, they had only about ten thou
sand head, most of which were sent to California and Texas.

For many years the Double Circle had shipped each spring
and fall from two railroad points, Clifton on the Arizona and New
Mexico Railway, and Calva on the Arizona Eastern from Globe to
Bowie. Sitting at the stock pens at Calva, one could see great
clouds of dust as the last of the herds was driven through the Gila
Gap of the Gila Range ten miles away. The animals reached the
Gila River, a mile from the stock pens, tenderfooted and weary,
with heads drooping. They seemed to sense that they were writing
the last chapter in range history. Once more the Indians were
victorious over the white men, only this time no guns were used
in this last battle over grazing land. The Bureau of Indian Af
fairs had made the decision and had given the best cattle range
in the state to the Indians.

In addition to the withdrawal of the reservation lands, and the
restrictions and regulations of the forest reserves in Arizona, it
was a gloomy outlook for the cattlemen for several years. But grad-

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ually they adapted themselves to the changed conditions, and
today a cattleman with a good range and a herd of eight or ten
thousand head of cattle is rated as a cattle baron.

Since the days of Apache warfare, a new generation of Indians
has grown up, and old hostilities have generally been forgotten.
Now and then, when attention is directed back to those early
days, one realizes how long the trail has been from the savage
tribesman of the seventies and eighties to the civilized Indian of
today. When plans for the dedication of Coolidge Dam were made,
and the date was set for March 4, 1930, old Chief Talkalai was
asked to take part in the ceremonies. Talkalai was one hundred
and ^ two years old, the oldest living Apache, and had always been
a friend of the white people. It was fitting that he should have
been chosen, for he had labored earnestly and Incessantly to bring
about peaceable and friendly relations between his people and
the white men.

Soon after the first United States troops came to Arizona,
Talkalai offered his services and organized a band of fifty-six
scouts. In 1874 he received a commission as chief of scouts under
Al Seiber. From that time on, he went with the cavalry, helping
to run down outlaws, whether Indians or white men. On several
occasions Talkalai was sent to bring Geronimo in from the hills,
and was always successful in persuading the old chief to come
peacefully. The last trip Talkalai had to bring Geronimo back in
handcuffs. At the time of Geronimo's surrender, Talkalai had a
detachment of scouts holding a pass north of the place of actual
surrender. Not long afterward, Talkalai was taken to Washington
to receive the thanks of the nation for his faithful services.

On his return Talkalai was given a strip of land on the San
Carlos River and settled down to a quiet life, but because of his
friendship for the white people, he was hated by the Apaches. In
1899, he was attacked and suffered a broken jaw at the hands of
the Apaches, who sent him word, while he was still under the care
of an army physician, that he could no longer live among his
people. After that Talkalai lived in Globe and Miami, and saw
no more of his people. He had become a forgotten man in his
tribe. But though he had served the government for years and
had been honored by the War Department for his faithful services,
he had never been given a pension or received any aid from the
government. When he was too old to work and was almost blind,
he lived on the charity of the citizens of Miami.

179

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Then came the honor of taking part in the dedication cere
monies at Coolidge Dam, but the day before the dedication the
spirit of Talkalai departed from the frail body of the old chief of
scouts. He died at his home in Miami on March 3, 1930, at one
hundred and two years of age. A public subscription was taken up
among the townspeople, and he was given decent burial. A suit
able marker was erected over his grave to honor the Apache who
had never broken his word to the white man.

In recent years several organizations have been founded to
perpetuate the memory of the pioneers and keep alive for future
generations their many brave and fearless deeds. In 1921 Mr.
Dwight B. Heard conceived the idea of a pioneers' reunion and
organized the Arizona Pioneer Association. Mr. Heard was a
pioneer, having come to Arizona for the benefit of his health. He
was deeply grateful for his complete restoration to health and
devoted himself to the interests of the people. After his death in
1929, his wife continued his benefactions and made it possible for
the associations to continue to hold the annual celebration in
April of each year. Several counties and towns in the state have
formed local reunions to keep alive the memories of the struggles
and hardships and deprivations and tragedies of their section of
the state.

At the pioneer reunion at Phoenix in 1935, the members
presented a large plaque to be placed in the archives of the Ari
zona Historical Society as a tribute to Mr. Heard's memory. The
plaque is of copper, the principal metal of the state, and its in
scription reads:

In Memory of
Dwight Bancroft Heard

1869 1929

Founder and Patron of the

Arizona Pioneer Association

Dedicated by the Members

April 10, 1935

There are several museums in the state which are interested in
preserving pioneer records and all kinds of relics from the early
turbulent days, anything from a lowly ox shoe to the first locomo-

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SUNDOWN

tive, a "baby" gauge, which was brought by ox teams overland
from La Junta, Colorado, to the mining camp of Clifton. The
Heard Museum contains relics of early American culture and
artifacts, as well as relics of the first settlers in Arizona, Valuable
records and relics are also preserved by the Arizona Historical
Society of Phoenix.

The Arizona Pioneers Historical Society of Tucson, one of
the most important in the state, is housed on the grounds of the
University of Arizona and has a wide and varied collection of
records, relics, and antiques, as well as the old territorial news
paper files and the first printing press to enter the territory. This
press, the twenty-fifth to be made by the Cincinnati Foundry
Company, was brought around the Horn in 1858. It was set up in
Tubac, w r here the first newspaper, the Arizonian, was published.

In recent years a movement was started to mark the sites of
historic events in the state. Among the first of these monuments
to be erected is one to the memory of the Oatman family, which
was massacred in 1851 by the Apaches. The memorial, of native
rocks, is on Highway 80 a short distance from Gila Bend. The
Oatmans were on their way from Missouri to California. While
camped at this spot, they were attacked by the Indians and brutal
ly killed. The mother, the father, and a baby in arms were clubbed
to death; the only son, Lorenzo, was beaten insensible and left
for dead; and the two daughters, Olive, aged sixteen, and Mary
Ann, aged ten, w r ere taken captive.

Several months later the girls were traded to the Mohave
tribe of Indians. Mary Ann died shortly, but Olive lived with the
Mohaves for five years. Lorenzo regained consciousness and made
his way to a Pima village, where he joined an emigrant train and
went on to California, For years he searched for his sisters and
sought aid from United States troops and others to recover the
girls. There are conflicting stories as to how Olive was located and
why the Indians consented to give her to the rescue party, but she
was eventually restored to her brother.

On April 29, 1934, a monument was dedicated near Douglas,
Arizona, to the surrender of the Apaches. Erected by the citizens
of Douglas, it stands as a symbol of the fact that the Indian
menace to life and property in the state has passed forever. The
monument stands in Skeleton Canyon, not far from the scene of
Geronimo's surrender. The actual site where the hostiles laid
down their firearms had been marked by a small boulder, which
later was replaced by a white shaft.

181

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

The Douglas monument rises twenty-two feet above an eight
een-foot base. It is built of boulders from the mesas and has an
occasional Indian metate cemented into its surface. A picture of
old Chief Geronimo is sunk into the monument and glassed over
for protection. The inscription on the copper tablet reads:

Near here Geronimo, last Apache chieftain, and Nachite,
with their followers, surrendered on September 5, 1886, to Gen
eral Nelson A. Miles.

Lieutenant Charles B. Gatewood, with Kieta and Martine,
Apache scouts, risked their lives to enter the camp of the hostiles
to present terms of surrender offered by General Miles.

After two days Gatewood received consent of Geronimo and
Nachite to surrender.

The surrender of Geronimo in Skeleton Canyon on that his
toric day forever ended Indian warfare in the United States.

This memorial erected, A.D. 1934, by the city of Douglas w r ith
federal CWA funds.

U.S. Government property.

The site, so near Skeleton Canyon, a natural pass, is a fitting
one for the monument. Many early-day tragedies occurred in this
canyon as the Indians fled into Mexico after bloody raids in Ari
zona and New Mexico, and for many years the blanched bones
of the victims of the Apaches could be found scattered along this
route.

At Ehrenberg, on the Colorado River, a monument was dedi
cated in 1934 to the memory of the pioneers and nameless dead
who were buried in the old cemetery there. In the early days
Ehrenberg was a shipping point where boats plying the Colorado
picked up cargoes of rich gold ore from the Vulture Mine. The
Vulture had been discovered and worked by Henry Ehrenberg
when there were no roads in that part of the country. Rich gold
quartz ore from the Apache Mine near Harrisburg was also loaded
at this point, the shipments from both mines going to Swansea,
England, for smelting.

The Ehrenberg monument is built in the old cemetery about
a hundred feet off Highway 60-70. It is constructed of black
malpais boulders put together with white mortar. From the base,
which is eight feet square and three feet high, extends a shaft ten
feet high, surmounted by a hieroglyphic rock with a sign painting
made by the prehistoric people who inhabited the region. The
bench from which the shaft rises is of concrete in which, securely

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imbedded, are pioneer relics of the days of the sixties and seven
ties. Among these are a double-barrel muzzle-loading- shotgun, a
.45-caliber Winchester rifle of the 1873 model, two muzzle-loading
rifle barrels, a Colt's cap-and-ball revolver, branding irons, silver
spurs, Bridle bits, miners' tools, picks, mortar and pestle for
pounding up gold ore, cow horns for gold panning, a gold pan,
cradle blade, parts of old stagecoaches and old river boats, and
many other small articles. Also there are specimens of petrified
wood, copper matte, and the ore that was shipped from Ehrenberg.
On the face of the monument is a copper tablet about two
feet square, with the following inscription:

Ehrenberg Cemetery. This monument built to perpetuate the
memory of the Pioneers, Trailblazers, and Adventurers that rest
in these unmarked graves. Arizona Highway Department, 1934.

Underneath the copper tablet is a steel vault in which, on the
day the monument was dedicated, were placed an account of
Ehrenberg as a shipping point and a history of Arizona and Ari
zona roads. The old cemetery in which the monument stands has
been made into a cactus garden. In one corner of the grounds are
the running gears of an old wagon which landed in Yuma in 1853.
The wagon came from east of the Mississippi and was drawn by
oxen. It had an old log chain which had been used on a Mississip
pi River steamboat, and in the early days in Arizona was used to
haul gold ore from the mines in northern Yuma County. After
the wagon was left in Yuma, it became the property of a Spanish
family by the name of Martinez. Many years later members of the
Scott family of Yuma County, who were related to the Martinez
family, became the owners and donated the wagon to Mr. James
L. Edwards as a relic.

To Mr. Edwards, highway maintenance foreman, and his em
ployees belongs the credit for erecting many of the historical
monuments along Highway 60-70 between Phoenix and BIythe,
on the Colorado. With his own money and scrap material from
highway projects, he, in his spare time, and with the aid of his
men, built these picturesque monuments.

At the little town of Quartzsite, twenty miles east of Ehren-
berg, is a monument to a Syrian cameleer who was a figure in
Arizona during the fifties. At the instigation of Jefferson Davis,
secretary of war under President Pierce, the government in 1856
imported a bunch of forty camels from Syria. It was hoped that

183

FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

these animals would solve the problem of transporting mail and
freight over the long dry stretches of desert. Hadji Ali and an
other camel driver known as Greek George were brought to this
country to care for the animals. The venture was a failure, for the
spongy feet of the camels could not stand the rocky surface of the
ground over which they had to travel.

The two foreigners fell heir to the camels, and since the ani
mals could carry much heavier loads than burros, the men took
contracts to pack ore from the mines to a shipping point. But
they had no better luck than the government had. Eventually the
camels were turned loose near the present site of Florence, Ari
zona, and left to shift for themselves in the desert. They scattered
to many areas along the river bottom of the Gila and other
streams. But the Syrian cameleer remained, to be known through
out the rest of his life by the name of Hi Jolly.

The monument to Hi Jolly stands over his grave in the Quartz-
site cemetery. A driveway bordered by giant saguaro cactus leads
from Highway 60-70, which is about four hundred feet south of
the cemetery. The monument is built in the shape of a pyramid
nine feet high. It is made of colored stones, mineral samples, and
petrified wood in blended tones of red, white, and blue. On top of
the pyramid stands a three-foot copper figure of a camel. On the
face of the monument is a copper tablet with the following in
scription:

The last canip of Hi Jolly. Born somewhere in Syria about
1828. Died at Quartzsite December 16, 1902. Came to this country
February 10, 1856. Camel driver, packer, scout. Over thirty years
a faithful aid to the U, S. Government. Arizona Highway De
partment.

Another monument to the pioneers is located in the old grave
yard near the ruins of Harrisburg, which once was an important
stage station on the trail between Wickenburg and Ehrenberg
about three miles south of Salome. There are about thirty graves
here, most of them marked "Unknown." The monument stands
in the center of the cemetery on a little round knoll. It is built of
white quartz flaked with gold from the Apache Mine near Quartz-
site and is inlaid with black mortar, which creates an interesting
contrast. Across the top of the monument is a covered wagon
three and a half feet long and twenty-eight inches high. The
wagon is made of copper, and the wagon sheet of silver. On one

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side of the monument is a copper tablet shaped like the map of
Arizona. The inscription reads as follows:

Harrisburg Cemetery. In remembrance of the pioneers who
gave their lives to the development of the West. Arizona Highway
Department, 1936.

The covered wagon was chosen to symbolize the tragic fate
of a small party of pioneers on their way to California during the
gold rush of '49. The party had camped at a water hole, and while
there, was attacked by a savage band of Apaches and met a hor
rible death. The tragedy was not discovered until months later
when another emigrant train passed by. The travelers gathered
up the bones of the victims and carried them to the top of the
little knoll for burial. The graves were unmarked, for no one
knew who they were or whence they came.

A number of Harrisburg pioneers were laid to rest in this
early cemetery. In 1891 Mary Bear, wife of Bill Bear, was buried
there. Old Bill, as his friends in that part of Arizona called him,
was a colorful character. He was a storekeeper at Harrisburg and
one of its earliest postmasters. An early prospector in that section,
he had traveled over much of the desert country, as well as the
rugged mountains, in his search for gold.

In 1920, just before Bill Bear died in Yuma at the age of
eighty-five, he expressed a wish to be buried beside his wife at
Harrisburg, and asked that a burro carry his body to the grave.
But it was not until 1935, a hundred years after the birth of both
Mary and Bill Bear, that he was buried beside her. In that year,
with the aid of the highway department, Mr. James L. Edwards
brought Bill Bear's remains from Yuma in a highway truck to a
point near the Harrisburg cemetery. Then the casket was trans
ferred to a burro, which was led by an old prospector. Among
the many friends w r ho formed the procession were nine of Old
Bill's prospector friends. A small granite marker records the
names of Bill and Mary Bear and the dates of their lives.

In the years after the emigrant victims had been buried there,
the knoll had grown up thickly with cactus and desert growth.
Since Harrisburg had been abandoned for nearly half a century,
the cemetery had been forgotten, and only in recent years was it
discovered by a sheep herder. Mr. Edwards and his men cleared
the ground of brush and weeds, and left a giant cactus as a sen
tinel to guard the unmarked graves of the unknown pioneers.

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FRONTIER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Beside the highway three miles west of Wickenburg a monu
ment has been erected to the memory of a stagecoach driver and
his six passengers who were ambushed by the Indians in 1871 at
that point. The six men were killed, and the only woman pas
senger was so badly wounded that she died a few months later.
The monument is built of white quartz from the Apache Mine
not far away, one of the early gold producers of Arizona. In the
sunlight the quartz sparkles, giving the effect of being set with
precious stones. On top of the monument is a stagecoach and four
horses, made of bronze, three feet high. The driver is sitting on
the seat, with the lines in one hand and the whip in the other. In
one side of the base is a copper tablet cut in the shape of the map
of Arizona, with the inscription:

Wickenburg Massacre. In this vicinity November 5, 1871,
\\lckenburg-Ehrenberg stage ambushed by Apache Mohave In
dians. John Lanz, Fred W. Loring, P. M. Hamel, W. G. Salmon,
Frederick Shoholm, and C. S. Adams were murdered. Mollie Shep-
pard died of wounds. Arizona Highway Department, 1937.

Underneath the copper tablet is a small steel vault built into
the monument. Among the papers placed in the vault on the day
of dedication, April 25, 1937, was a story of the westward trip my
parents made in 1879, which Mr. Edwards had asked me to pre
pare for the purpose. Also a history of the Wickenburg massacre, a
history of Arizona, a state flag, and a copy of the dedicatory pro
gram were sealed in the vault.

To the right of the monument is a sixteen-foot flagpole. Its
cone-shaped base is made of ore specimens of white quartz, which
glisten like nuggets of gold. On top of the flagpole stands the
figure of an Indian who seems to be peering at the stagecoach.
Nearby is a sun dial of petrified wood from Arizona's petrified
forests.

Other monuments to pioneers were under contemplation by
Mr. Edwards at the time of his death on June 213, 1940. In par
ticular he had planned a memorial to be erected in Globe to the
late George W. P. Hunt, seven times governor of Arizona. As a
youth interested in mining, Mr. Hunt had come to the territory
driving his burro along the trails ahead of him. Ore specimens
from every mine in the state were to be used in the monument,
and copper figures of a prospector and his faithful burro were to
top the shaft as symbols of the rich metals of the area.

186

SUNDOWN

Sprlngerville was the Arizona town selected by the Daughters
of the American Revolution as the site for the monument, the
Madonna of the Trails,* which memorializes the pioneer mother
of frontier days. The calm figure, with a frontier rifle at her side,
is advancing with a babe in arms and a small son clinging to her
skirts, her whole bearing an indication of her firm faith in God
and her unswerving purpose to meet courageously whatever lies
ahead. In September, 1928, the statue was unveiled by Mrs. Eliza
C. Rudd, the oldest woman in the northern part of the state at
the time. With her husband, Dr. Rudd, she had come to Arizona
fifty-two years before, in an ox-drawn wagon, and it was considered
fitting that she should assist in the dedication of the monument to
all pioneer mothers.

The memorials raised in honor of the settlers of the Southwest
frontier are evidence that Arizona recognizes the debt it owes to
those men and women who braved unknown dangers to establish
homes in the new land. Those dangers have passed. The adobe
forts and houses in many cases have crumbled to mounds of dust.
My parents have passed on to the Great Beyond, as have most of
the pioneers of their day. After early years of struggle and hardship
and turmoil, they sleep peacefully in the land where they spent the
active part of their lives helping to civilize. But the results they
achieved stand today as proof that they wrought well.

* It was the plan of the D.A.R, to mark the Old Trails Highway by a statue
erected in each of the twelve states through which the highway passes. The statue
was visioned by Mrs. John Trigg Moss, national chairman of the D.A.R., designed
by her architect son, John Trigg Moss, Jr., and executed by the sculptor Joseph
Kleitch.

187

Index

Acton, Texas, 1, 94

Adams, B. B., 44-45, 63, 90

Adams, Bill, family, 82

Adams, C. S., 186'

Adams, G. H., Rev., 155-156

Adams, William, famih, 3, 11-12

Adams, Sam, 82-83

Ah De Nazez, 106

Alger, Thomas G., 160

All, Hadji, 184

Alma, N. M., 95

Alvarez, 165

Alvarez, Jesus, 167

Alvord, Burt, 137-139, 141-142, 144

Anderson, A. A., 166

Anderson, Jimmie, 106

Andrews, Dave, 167

Animas Valley, 80

Apache Box, "86

Apache Canyon, 70

Apache Cotmtv, 23

Apache Indians, 21, 38, 53, 70, 71, 72,

73, 76-81, 84-119, 133-134, 163, 179-182,

185-186
Apache Kid, The, 95, 102, 105-111, 114-

115, 119

Apache Mine, 182, 184, 186
Apache National Forest, 24
Apache Trail, 23
Aravaipa, 178
Aravaipa Canyon, 159
Arbuckle, Henry, 25
Arivaca, 21

Arizona Bankers' Association, 58
Arizona Bulletin, 52, 176
Arizona Copper Companv, 24, 26-27, 38,

52, 122, 164-165, 173, 176
Arizona Daily Star, 109
Arizona Eastern Railway, 169, 178
Arizona Highwav Department, 184-186
Arizona Historical Society, 180-181
Arizona Legislature, 71
Arizona Militia Company, 50, 53, 68, 76
Arizona Museum, 26

Arizona National Bank, 5S
Arizona-New Mexico Railroad, 24, 27,

165, 178

Arizona Pioneer Association, 180
Arizona Pioneers' Home 26
Arizona Rangers, 74-75, 138, 141-142,

163, 172

Arizona Silver Belt, 109
Arizona, Unhersity of, 24, 181
Arizonian f 181
Arkhills, Seth T., 65
Arkills, Seth T., Mrs., 65
Arnam, N. M., 73
An iso, Eusebio, 160-161
Arzatte, Da\e, 166-167, 170471
Ash, Captain, 119
Ash Flat. 132434, 178
Ash Flat Cattle Ranch, 93
Ash Peak, 119
Ash Springs, 60, 85, 87, 111412, 116-

118, 127429, 135-136
.Ash Springs Cam on, 116-117, 119
Ashlev, Senator, 23
Atkinson, Mr., 170
Avott, Jesus, 107-108

"Baby" Gauge Railroad, 165, 181

Baker, Joe, 70

Ballard, Charlie, 153, 158

Bar W C Cattle Companv, 100

Bar W C Ranch, 43, 68, 78

Barrett, Jack (Black Jack), 157-158

Barrock, J. A., 96-97

Bass Canyon, 13

Bass, Sam, 138

Bear, Bill, 185

Bear, Mary-, 185

Bear Springs, 12

Beard, John, 15

Becker, Paul, 139-140

Bedbug Row, 120

Bell, Toll, 157458

Bellmeyer, Albert, 110-111

Benson, 96, 143

189

PIONEER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Eenton Ranch, 95

Benton, William, 95

Big Jim, 7

Bill Williams Fork, 22

Billy the Kid, 35-36

Birchfield, Billie, 51, 53, 141, 153, 167

Bisbee, 139

Bisbee Massacre, 47

Bishop, Al, 167

Bitter Creek, 78, 89

Black Bear Springs, 110

Black, Captain, 80

Black Jack -Hill, 146

Black River, 109

Blair, Billy, 86

Blucher, Frank, 95

Blucher, George, 95

Blue Range, 118

Blue River, 78, 92-94, 109, 132

Blythe, 183

Bolan, Pete J., Judge, 61-62, 87-88

Bolan's Run, 88

Bonita, 51

Bonney, William, 35-36

Boone,' Daniel, 54, 116-117

Boone, Howard C., 54-56, 90, 116-117

Boone and Lay, Mercantile Company,

44, 54-55, 74 '

Boyle, Abe, 95
Boyle, Dick, 95
Bowie, 58-59, 63, 65, 71, 93, 101, 103-

104, 110, 143, 178
Brodie, Governor, 168
Brown, Jack, 36
Brown, John H., 90
Brown, Tom, 36
Bull's Head, 7
Bunton, John, 150
Bureau of Indian Affairs, 177-178
Burris, Felix, 145-147, 150, 152
Burris, Walter, 145, 147
Burro Alley, 172
Burro Mountains, 19, 31-32, 34, 69, 84

C A Bar Cattle Company, 85, 93
C A Bar Ranch, 93, 120
Cabeza de Vaca, Alvar Nunez, 20
Calabasas, 21, 97
Callahan, Mr., 155
Calva, 178

Campbell, Mr., Red Barn Ranch, 36
Campbell, Frank, 167
Campbell, John, 160-161
Cananea, 138, 141
Canyon Creek, 110
Cirdenas, Don Garcia Ldpez de, 25
Carlisle, N. M., 54-55, 78, 89-90, 116,
126-127

Carlisle Canyon, 78, 90

Carlisle Indian School, 82

Carlisle Kid, The, 106

Casa Grande, 107, 120

Cave Creek Dam, 76

Chacon, Augustin, 59-60, 122, 138-144

Charles, William, 66

Chase Creek, 123, 173

Chase Creek Canvon, 24, 121-122, 165,
173

Cha\ez, Romulo (Old Square Game),
124

Chiricahua Cattle Company, 177-178

Chiricahua Mountains, 47, 99

Chiricahuas, see Apache Indians

Christian, Black Jack, 122, 152-153, 155,
157-159

Church, William R., 110

Ci'bola, Seven Cities of, 20, 25

Cincinnati Foundry Company, 181

Clark, Ben, 153, 157-158

demons, Mr., 120-121

Cleveland, Grover, 73, 93, 106

Cliff, N. M., 145, 147, 153

Clifton, 24, 31, 38, 48, 50, 52, 57, 69,
73, 78, 80, 85, 89, 92-93, 96, 109, 111,
120-125, 127, 132, 141, 146, 149-150,
152-156, 158, 164-166, 171, 173, 176,
178, 181

Clifton Era, 123

Clifton National Guard, 88

Cochise County, 23, 58, 139, 141, 144,
178

Coconino County, 23

Cocopas, 21

Cole Creek, 146, 152, 154, 157, 159

Cole Creek Canyon, 152

Collins, Henry, 77

Colquhoun, James, 27, 52

Colson, 4

Comanche Creek, 9

Comanche Indians, 2

Commercial Company, 58

Concho Post, 5

Concho River, 5-7

Concord Stagecoach, 58, 71

Cook and Johnson Ranch, the Whit-
lock, 67

Cook's Peak, 16

Cook's Range, 16

Coolidge Dam, 178-180

Coonskin, 45-47

Cooper, Ben, 15

Cooper, Joe, 15

Cooper, Price, 15

Copper mining, 25-27, 31, 38, 82-83,
164-176, 181

Copper Reef Mining Company, 82

190

INDEX

Coronado, explorer, 20, 24-25
Coronado, town of, 165
Coronado Hill, 24, 165
Coronado Incline, 24, 165
Coronado, locomotive, 24, 26
Coronado Lodge, 24
Coronado Mine, 24, 165-166
Coronado Railroad, 24, 26
Coronado Station, 24
Coronado Trail, 24
Courtney, Mr., 78-79
Courtney, Frank, 112-113
Cox, Andrews, 83-84
Crawford, Billie, 167
Crawford, Bushrod, 94
Crawford, Emmett, Captain, 93-94
Creech, Tom, 98

Crook, George, General, 73, 85, 99
Crook National Forest, 24
Curly Bill, 15
Cutter, E. A., 26-27

Dallas, Shorty, 132

Dalton, Mr., '80

Daughters of American Revolution, 187

Davis, Alex, 140, 167

Davis, Jefferson, 183

Davenport Ranch, 109

Day, Charlie, 115

Day, H. C., 79, 114-115

De Onate, Don Juan, 20

De Parti's Flat, 95-96

Del Bac, San Xavier, 21

Delaney, Bill, 47-48

Deming, N. M. f 131, 161

Detroit Copper Company, 26, 110, 139-

140, 164-165, 167, 175-176
Dickey, Major, 101
Dodd, Wood, 95
Dog Canyon, 10-11
Don Juan de Onate, 20
Dona Ana County, N. M., 22
Donohue, Colonel, 34
Double Circle Cattle Company, 139,

150, 152, 157, 177-178
Doubtful, 82-83
Doubtful Canyon, 50, 53, 79-81
Douglas, 181
Douglas Monument, 182
Dowd, Dan, 47-48
Dowdy, Mr., 37, 53
Downing, William, 138
Dripping Springs, 111
Dripping Springs Mountains, 162
Dry Lake, 65
Dry, Matt, 86
Duck Creek, 145, 148
Duncan, 24, 29, 31, 34, 37-39, 44-45, 47-

48, 53-55, 60-61, 68-69, 71-73, 75, 77-
80, 82, 84, 86-90, 100, 112, 115-121,
127-129, 136, 166

Duncan District, 59

Duncan Militia Company, 46, 73, 85-89

E 3 Ranch, 94

Eagle Creek, 60, 98, 110, 139, 150-151,

160-161

Eagle Springs, 13
Earp Brothers, 15
Eden, 132, 134
Edwards, Mr., 186
Edwards, E. J., Judge, 149
Edwards, James L., 183, 185
Egan, M. J., Colonel, 73, 75
Ehrenberg, 182-184
Ehrenberg Cemetery, 183
Ehrenberg, Henry, '182
El Paso & Southwestern Railroad, 165
Ellsworth Cattle Company, 67
Emmerich, Mr., 69
Epley, John, 2-3, 33, 37, 41, 48, 53-56,

80-82, 112, 121, 136, 167
Epley, Louise Ann, 1
Epley, Louise Elizabeth, 3
Escalante, 21
Escondido, 8
Evans, G. W., 140

Farish, Colonel, 72

Felton, Oscar, 167

Fifteenth Legislature, 75

Fipps, Cecil, 159

First Regiment, Territorial Militia, 72

Fisher and Day Ranch, 84

Fisher, Lane, 38, 73-74, 76, 79

Fisher, Maude, 12

Fisher, Mose, 3, 46

Fisher Ranch, 38

Flags, Arizona, 19

Floods, Gila River, 38-39, 46

Florence, 184

Follett, Ed, 167

Ford, Henry, 58

Forsythe, Colonel, 70

Forsyth-Ford, 2, 53

Fort' Apache, 98, 104-105, 109

Fort Bowie, 94, 100-101

Fort Concho, 5, 9

Fort Cummins, 16

Fort Davis, 9

Fort Grant, 88-89

Fort Griffin, 53

Fort Laramie, 53

Fort Lowell, 97

Fort McDowell, 102

Fort Stockton, 8-9

191

PIONEER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

Fort Thomas, 98, 102, 119

Fort Tulerosa, 99

Fort Verde, 102

Foster, Jack, 174-175

Foster, W. B., 41, 75, 81-82, 85, 87 7 90

Four Peaks, 109

Fourteenth Legislature, 75

Franco, Pilar, 139

Fraser, James Earle, 103

Fremont, Governor, 72

Frisco River, 89, 92, 94-96, 120-121, 123,

173
Fronteras, Mexico, 94

Gadsden, James, 22

Gadsden Purchase, 22

Galloway, Bob, 127-129

Gamble,' George, 24, 26-27

Gamble, Jimmy, 27

Garces, 21

Garcia, Colonel, 70

Gardner, A., 162

Garland, William, 63, 65

Garrett, Pat, 36

Gatewood, Charles B., Lieutenant, 93,

99, 182

Gatliff, Tom, Dr. and Mrs., 3, 11
Geronimo, town of, 63, 65
Geronimo, Indian, 50, 70, 75, 78, 80,

83, 94, 98-104, 161, 179, 181-182
Gila Bend, 181

Gila County, 23, 93, 106, 111, 158, 163
Gila County Hospital, 158-159
Gila Gap, 178
Gila Mountains, 178
Gila Range, 57
Gila River, 21-22, 25, 37-38, 46-47, 55-

57, 67, 78-79, 84-86, 89-90, 99, 116,

127, 133, 135, 145, 178
Gila River Bridge, 39
Gila Valley, 24, 57-58, 85, 87, 115, 119,

132, 166

Gila Vallev Bank & Trust Company, 58
Gila Vallev, Globe & Northern Railroad,

63

Gillette, Bud (Double Barrel), 148-149
Gilmer, C. E., 162
Gilson's Ranch, 110
Globe, 23-24, 36, 58-59, 65, 71, 93-94,

105-108, 110-111, 119, 127, 135, 160-

162, 178-179, 186
Gold Hill, 70
Goodwin, F. L. B., 62-63
Goodwin, John N., 23
Gordonier, Johnnie, 110-111
Gourley, Ray, 132
Go>athlay, 98-99
Go-va-thle, 108

Graham County, 23-24, 51, 57, 61, 74,
87-88, 111-112, 117, 121, 136, 141,
150, 158, 164, 166, 176

Graham Mountains, 54, 57

Grammer, Joe, 146-150, 152, 160

Grand Canyon, 25

Grant, 110

Grant County, N. M., 18, 70, 89, 99,
125

Granville, 124

Gravson Springs, 7

Green, Noah, 116, 128, 136

Greenlee County, 23-24, 57, 95

Greenlee, Mace, 23, 95

Guadalupe Hidalgo, Treaty of, 22

Guevavi, 20-21

Gunter, Archibald Clavering, 18

Guthrie, 26-27, 165

Hackberry Canyon, 67

Hagan, Bill, 167, 153, 157-158

Hachita, N. M., 165

Hall, Belle, 126

Hall, Bob, 126-129, 131

Hall, Charlotte, 23

Hall, Dick, 126-129, 131

Hall, family, 126

Hall, James, 110

Hall, Lou, 126

Hall, Pete, 126

Hall, Tom, 125-126, 131

Homel, P. M., 186

Hamilton, Billie, 123-124, 153

Hampson Ranch, 98

Harper, Ira, 154

Harper's Sawmill, 154

Harrisburg, 182, 184

Harrisburg Cemetery, 185

Hart, Billie, 153

Hatch, Sam, 128-131

Haunted Corral, 159

Haynes, Mr., 69

Heard, Dwight B., 180

Heard Museum, 181

Heglar, Fred, 45, 61

Heglar, Joe, 45, 61

Henry, Sam, 167

Henrv, Sid, 167

Hershey, Joe, 134

Hi Jolly, 184

Hickey,' A. S., 92

Hickey, Arte, 95

Higgins, Fred, 153

High Lonesome, 132

Hobbs, Gus, 146-151, 167, 172

Hobbs, Lee, 143, 150-151, 167

Holliday, Doc, 15

Holliday, Hollis, 167

192

INDEX

Holmes, Deputy, 107-108
Homer, George, 53
Hormeyer, George, Judge, 124
Horse Racing, 40-43, 54
Hovey's Saloon, 48
Howard, Tex, 47-48, 122
Hundred Eleven Ranch, 67
Hunt, George W. P., 186
Hutchinson, Bob, 68
Hucthinson Ranch, 68

Indian Affairs, Bureau of, 177-178
Indian Campaign of 1884-1885, 99
Indian Hostilities, 4-5, 16-19, 21, 32, 38,

53, 59, 65, 68-73, 76-81, 84-104, 107-

119, 133-134, 163, 185-186
Indians, Apache, 21, 38, 53, 70-73, 76-81,

84-119, 133-134, 163, 179, 181-182, 185-

186

Indians, Mohave, 181
Indians, Papagos, 21
Indians, Pima, 22
Indians, San Carlos, 83

ames, Mr., 152

aramillo, Paulita Maxwell, Mrs., 36

bhnson, Lieutenant, 97

"ohnson, Bill (Crookneck), 153, 167
^ohnson, Joe, 167
Johnson, Red, 125
'ones, B., 63-64

ones, Bill, 153, 156, 167

ones, Bill, Mrs., 153

'ones.. Tom, 89

foyce Ranch, 9

'uana, 98

Kelley, Dan, 47-48

Kennedy Ranch, 178

Kepler, Charlie, 167

Kepler, Dutch, 140, 160-161, 167

Kepler, Johnnie, 167

Kepler, Will, 167

Keyser, John, 110

Kickapoo Springs, 4

Kieta, 182

King, Billie, 144

Kino, Father, 20

Kinsey, Bill, 167

Kinsey, Red, 144

Kleitch, Joseph, 187

Knight, Richard S., 31

Knight's Canyon, 31

Knight's Ranch, 19, 31, 33-36, 53, 69,

71, 84

Knox, Bowie, 34
Knox, Brag, 34

L C Cabin, 147-148

L C Ranch, 146

La Colorado Crestone Mining Corn-
pan v, 96

Lake Valley, 36

Lanz, John', 186

Lappan Springs, 5

Larkin, William, 144

Laustenneau, Jack, 165-171, 175

Lawton, Captain, 97, 100

Lay, Alfred, 90

Lay ton, 87

Lazy B Cattle Company, 79

Lazy B Ranch, 112

Leavell, Ben W., 75

Lebo, Captain, 97

Leitendorf, 69

Lerma, Guadalupe, 98

Lesinsky Brothers, 24-25, 27, 57

Lincoln, Abraham, President, 23

Lincoln County, cattle war, 36

Little Blue River, 95

Little Emma, 25

Lloyd, Robert, 96-97

Lockwood, Frank D., Dean, 24

Longfellow, 165, 168, 172-173

Longfellow Hill, 164, 168

Longfellow Incline, 26, 170

Longfellow Mine, 25, 164, 166, 170

Longfellow Tunnel, 26

Lord, Mr., 88

Lordsburg, N. M., 15, 18, 24, 26-27, 31,
34, 36-37, 69-70, 80, 89, 161

Loring, Fred W., 186

Luther Brothers, 95

Lympia Creek, 10, 11

Lyons, Mr., 36

Manning Ranch, 95
Manning, Frank, 95-96
Maricopa County, 23, 51
Maricopas, 21
Markham Creek, 133
Marsh, E. K,, 95

Martin, T. E., 163
Mar tine, 182
Martinez, family, IBS
Martinez Ranch, 97
Mashongnovi, 20
Mason, Texas, 4
Masonic Lodge, 24
Massia, 104-105
Matison, Mrs., 83
Malison, Nels, 77
Mauldin, William, 81-85, 90
Mauldin, William, Mrs., 81
Maus, Captain, 94
May, Dick, 85-87, 93
Mazzanovkh, Anton, 49, 80

193

PIONEER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

McAfee, Sheriff, 125-126

McCollum, J. M. f 141

McComas, Charlie, 69-71

McComas, Judge, 69-71

McConnell, Jake, 68

McCook, General, 109-110

McCormack, William, Mrs., 139

McFady, Dr., 83

McGee! Chester, 162

McGinlcy, Ed, 98

McKinney, Joe T., 138

McMillin', 110

McMurran, John, 150

Membres River, 36

Menard Count\, Texas, 4

Menard\ille, Texas, 4

Merrill, Eliza, 112, 115

Merrill, Horatio, 112, 113, 119

Merriman, Major, 6

Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation,

102

Mesilla, N. M., 16
Metcalf, 24, 124, 151, 165, 171
Metcalf Mine, 166
Miami, 111, 179-180
Middleton, Eugene, 107-108
Miles, Nelson A., General, 93, 98-100,

102, 182

Miller, Joe, 135-137
Miller, Shorty, 132
Mills, C. E., 165-168
Mills County, Texas, 1
Mills, Major, 5
Minas Prietas, Mexico, 96
Ming, Bud, 83
Missions, Franciscan, 20-21
Missions, Jesuit, 20-21
Missions, San Augustine, 21
Mitchell, Ed, 161-163
Mogollon Mountains, 37, 67, 89, 96, 99,

145, 147

Mohave County, 23
Mohave Indians, 181
Molino, Sisto, 144
Montezuma Canal, 57
Montgomery, Charlie, 91-93
Moore, John, 70

Moore, Sid, 152, 156

Moorman, C. E., Judge, 64

Morales, Leonardo, 139

Morenci, 26, 50, 110-111, 123, 139-140,

146, 150-152, 160-161, 164-176
Morenci Canyon, 164, 173
Morenci Mine, 166

Morenci Southern Railroad, 26, 165,

169

Morenci Strike, 164-176
Morgan, Lee, 135

Morgan, Lee, Mrs., 135, 137

Morgan, Rosie, 135-136

Morris, Bill, 87

Moss, John Trigg, Jr., 187

Moss, John Trigg, Mrs., 187

Mossman, Burt, 141-143, 145

Mott, Lieutenant, 106

Mountain Home Ranch, 69

Muerto Station, 12

Mule Creek, N. M., 67, 127, 132, 145-

146, 152

Mule Springs, N. M., 98
Mungia, Albert, 160-161, 167
Murder Camp, 150, 152, 160

Xachite, 182

Naco, 141-142

Naco Junction, 143

Nantach Hill, 98

Natchez, Chief, 102

National Guard of Arizona, 74, 169, 172,

175

Na\ajo County, 23
Neese, Frank, 54
Nephews, Rufus, 122
New Mexico Railroad, 26
New Mexico Rangers, 80
New Town, 169
New World Magazine, 123
News Item, The, 4
Newman, Mr., 146, 149-150
Nicolas, Paul, 170-171
Nicks, Doc, 122, 167
Nicks, Jim, 167
Nixon, 130-132
Nixon, Steve, 128-129
Nogales, 143
Nogales Bank, 153
Norman, Dr., 4, 6, 11-12, 14

Oatman, family, 181

Oatman, Lorenzo, 181

Oatman, Mar}' Ann, 181

Oatman, Olive, 181

Oatman, Sheb, 4, 11, 14

Ojo Caliente, N. M., 99

Old Camj), 79, 114

Old Dominion Copper Company, 83

Old Dominion Copper Mine, 107

Old Friday, 123-124

Old Pioneer Road, 107

Old Square Game, 124

Old Town, 57

Old Trails Highway, 187

Olguin Nicolas, 120-121

Olney, Ben W., 112, 135-136, 141

Olney, George A., 50-51, 121

Oraibi, 20

Ownby, Bramble B., 70

194

INDEX

Pantano, 96-97

Papago Country, 21

Papago Indians, 21

Parks, Charles W., 6-7, 30-31, 40, 42, 44-

45, 59-61, 67, 115, 118, 133-134
Parks, Dollie C., 31, 112
Parks, George, 70, 95
Parks, Howard M., 161-162
Parks, James V., 31, 37, 50-53, 67, 77,

112, 115-117, 121, 124-127, 130-131,

136, 141-146, 150-152, 164, 166-169,

172, 176

Parks, James W., 1
Parks, Jennie M., 31, 62-64, 115-119
Parks, John D., 31, 40-44, 50, 60-61, 67,

73-77, 111-114, 117, 121, 123, 130-131,

133-135, 143, 146-151, 157, 166-167,

169-172, 175
Parks Lane, 111
Parks Lake, 67
Parks, Lois, 115-119
Parks, Mary, 1
Parks, William H., 31, 33, 37, 50, 77,

85-86, 100, 112-113, 115, 118, 136
Parks, W. John, 1-19, 29, 120, 129, 133-

136, 167
Parks, W. John, family, 1-19, 29-67, 68-

83, 85, 86, 94, 111, 112
Pascoe, Fred, 162
Pattie, James O., 21
Pattie, Sylvester, 21
Paxton, Charlie, 153
Pecos River, 7, 13
Pecos Station, 7
Peg Leg Crossing, 4
Peloncillo Mountains, 86, 129
Phelps-Dodge Corporation, 124, 165
Phillips, John, Governor, 75
Phoenix, 23-24, 58, 155, 180, 183
Phoenix Daily Herald, 109-110
Pierce, President, 183
Pigeon Creek, 98
Pima, 112

Pima County, 23, 51
Pima Indians, 21-22
Pimeria, 22

Pinal County, 23, 162-163
Pinal Mountains, 107-108, 111
Pine Cienaga, 78, 89-90, 125-129, 132
Pitkin, Red, 152
Pomeroy Livery Stable, 59, 93
Pomeroy, S. W'., 93
Poston, Colonel, 22
Pratt, Lieutenant, 7
Prescott, 23, 26, 73, 89
Presidio County, 11
Price, Mr., 36
Pueblo Rebellion of 1680, 20

Pueblo Viejo, 57

Quartzite, 183-184

Quiburi, 21

Quitman Canyon, 13-14

Rail N Ranch, 116-117, 121, 127
Race Horses, 29-30, 40-43, 54
Railroads, 25-27, 38, 63, 164-165, 178,

181

Ralston, 15
Randall, Jim, 95
Rasberry, Jim, 95
Rawlins, Charlie, 167
Ray, town of, 162-163
Reaves, Joe, 141
Red Barn, 36, 135, 146-147
Reynolds, Sheriff, 108
Richards, Lieutenant, 8
Richardson, Frank, 65, 167
Richmond, 84
Rincon Mountains, 97
Ringgold, Frank, 92, 95-96, 124
Ringo, John, 15-16
Rio Grande, 4, 7, 13
Rivers, Mr. and Mrs., 69
Rivers Ranch, 69
Riverside, 107
Rock House, 3

Rock Jail, 121-124, 126, 141, 149
Rodeo, N. M., 153
Roosevelt Dam, 24

Roosevelt Lake, 23
Roosevelt, Theodore, 102
Ross, Governor, 89
Roswell, N. M., 153
Rouse, Owen T., Judge, 141
Rucker, Dick, 83-84
Rucker, Frank, 83-84
Rudd, Dr., 187
Rudd, Eliza C., Mrs., 187
Ruggles, Si, 95
Rynning, Captain, 169, 173

S. I. Ranch, 30

Sacaton Canyon, 145, 147-148, 155

Safford, 58, 65-67, 119, 149, 160

Salcido, Pablo, 122, 140

Salmon, W. G. 186

Salome, 184

Salt River, 22, 110

Samaniego Posse, 97

Sample, Red, 47-48, 122

San Augustin Mission, 21

San Bernardino de Awatovi, 20

San Carlos, 71, 82-83, 103, 106, 109-110,

178
San Carlos Reservation, 73, 85, 92, 99,

106, 110, 177

195

PIONEER DAYS IN THE SOUTHWEST

San Carlos Lake, 178

San Carlos River, 179

San Cayetano de Tumacacori, 20-21

San Cosme, 21

San Francisco Bulletin, 90

San Francisco Mountains, 99

San Jose, 61-63, 144, 169

San Jose Canal, 129

San Jos6 Mountains, 143

San Miguel de Sonoita, 21

San Pedro, 97, 110

San Pedro River, 21, 97

San Saba, River, 4

San Simon, 169

San Simon Cattle Company, 100

San Simon Valley, 65, 80, 100

San Xavier, 21

San Xavier del Bac, 20-21

Sanders, Arch, 162

Sanders, Bill, 167

Santa Ana, 21

Santa Cruz Count), 23

Santa Cruz River, '21

Santa Cruz Valley, 20

Santa Gertrudis de Tubac, 21

Santa Rita Mountains, 97

Schwerin, Albert, 112, 136

Scott, family, 183

Seiber, Al, 106, 179

Separ, N. M., 109

Seven Cities of Cibolo, 20, 25

Shakespeare, 15

Shannon Copper Company, 176

Shaw, Jim, 153-154

Shelley, P, M., 145, 147-148

Shelley Ranch, 147

Sheppard, Mollie, 186

Sherman, M. H., General, 73-74

Sherwood, Mr., 7

Shoat, Jasper, 128-129

Shoholm, Frederick, 186

Shungopovi, 20

Sibley, family, 3, 11-12

Sierra Anchas, 109

Sierra County, N. M., 99

Sierra Madxes, 98-99, 101, 108-109, 114

Siggins, John, 67

Silver City, N. M., 4, 14, 18-19, 31, 33,

35-36, 53, 69-70, 125, 152
Sixth Mexican Cavalry, 70
Skeleton Canyon, 100, 137, 181482
Slick Rock, 59
Slocum's Ranch, 16-17
Smith, Adam, 155-157
Smith, IX H., 89
Smith, Duncan, 38
Smith, Jerry, 135
Smith, John, 140

Smith, Marcus A., 76

Smuhe, O. R., 66

Sne'ed Pasture, 142

Snowflake, 134

Solomon, Blanche, 58

Solomon, Charlie, 58

Solomon Commercial Store, 58

Solomon, Eva, 58

Solomon, family, 58

Solomon, Harry, 58

Solomon Hotel, 143

Solomon, I. E., 57-58

Solomon, Lillie, 58

Solomon, Rose, 58

*Solomonville, 24, 52-54, 57-64, 75, 87-

88, 111-112, 115-116, 119-122, 129,

131-136, 141, 143-144, 149-150, 161,

166, 169, 175-176
Solwico Company, 58
Sonora, Mexico, 99, 141, 143
Southern Pacific Railroad, 26, 63, 93,

137

Southwest Sentinel, 69
Spangler, family, 3
Sparks, Bill, 77, 95
Sparks, John, 53
Speed, Billie, 138
Springerville, 24, 187
Staked Plains, 7
Steamboat Mountains, 162, 163
Stein Peak Range, 79-80
Stevens, George H., 93
Stevens, Jimmie, 93
Stevens, Willie, 93
Stiles, Billie, 137-138, 141-144
Stockton, Bill, 145-146
Stockton, family, 145, 147
Stockton Pass, 89

Stockton Pass Cattle Ranch, 54, 67, 145
Stockton Ranch, 54, 67, 145
Stratton, Lee N., 149
Strip, The, 82-83
Sulphur Springs, 8
Swan, Mr., 31
Swing's Station, 69

Taklishim, 98

Talkalai, Chief, 179

Tanque, 169

Ta>lor, Frank, 40

Terrasas, General, 19

Terrell, Joe, 112, 150, 152

Texas Rangers, 72

Thirteenth Legislature, 75

Thompson, Sheriff, 110

Three Fingered Jack, 165-171, 175

* Often spelled Solomonsville

196

INDEX

Tift, Henry, 82-83, 122
Tombstone, 48, 50, 122
Tompson's Canyon, 69
Towner, Henry', 159
Trailor, Bill, 127-132
Trailer, Bill, Jr., 132
Traynor, Slim, 152
Treadway, 132
Treadway, family, 133
Treadway, Frank, 132, 134-135
Treadway, Jeff, 132, 134-135
Treaty, Guadalupe Hidalgo, 22
Tres Alamos, 97
Tritle, Governor, 72-75, 89
Tubac, 181

Tucson, 58, 94, 96-97, 178, 181
Tucson Daily Star, 96-98
Tumaccori, 21
Turtle Mountain, 150
Tuttle, Bill, 162

Union Mutual Life Ins. Co., 155
University of Arizona, 181

Vail, Arizona, 137
Van Horn, 13
Victorio, 16, 18-19, 84
Vulture Mine, 182

Wade, Colonel, 101
Wagon Mound, N. M., 145
Walpi, 20

War Department, 179
Ward, Mr., 43-44, 78-79
Ward and Courtney, 100
Ward's Canyon, 155
Waters, Mr., 115
Waters, J. L. T., 112
W r atts, Senator, 23
Welker, Robert, 87
Wells-Fargo Express, 124
Wells, George W., 98
Whelan, Billie, 51
Whelan, Sheriff, 56
Whetstone Mountains, 97
White Mountains, 132
White River, 106
Whitehill, Harvey, 18
Whitlock, Captain, 65-66

Whitlock Cienaga, 66-67

Whitlock Draw, 65

Whitlock Mountains, 65, 79, 113, 118,

142

Whitlock Pass, 79
Whitlock Ranch, 114
Whittum, Nat, 109
Wichita Mountains, 7
Wickenburg, 184
Wickenburg, monument, 186
Wight, Arthur, 51, 112-113, 136, 141,

166

Wiley, George, 125-126
Willcox, 67, 88, 138
Williams, 157-158
Williams, Ann Epley, 3
Williams, Charlie, 152-153, 156, 159
Williams, George, 3
Williams Ranch, 1, 3, 53
Williams Settlement, 22
Williamson, Dan R., 93, 103
Williamson, Ike, 66
Wilson, Captain, 11
Wilson, Minnie, 115
Winchester Mountains, 178
Windham, Bob, 89, 96
Windham, Drew, 89
Windham, Lee, 40, 112-114
Windmiller, Mr., 71
Winkelmon, 158
Wisecauber, Mr., 120-121
Witt, W. T. (Skeet), 130, 167
Wood, Bill, 167
Wood, Billie, 111
Wood, Charlie, 167
Wood, John, 112, 167
Wood, Johnnie, 111
Wright brothers, 85
Wright, Lorenzo, 87-88
Wright, Seth, 87-88

Yavapai County, 23

York Ranch, 67, 86

Ysleta, 4, 14

Yuma, 21, 107, 138, 150, 152, 175, 183,

185
Yuma County, 23, 183

Zulich, Governor, 73-75

197

ROUTE TA/iEN

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