evidence of the supposed victim. There 3 was nothing to cor-
roborate the crime. The woman testified that Brinster, drunk,
had kicked in the door of her home and committed the
assault during the absence of her husband.
Brinster admitted kicking the door in while drunk, but
maintained he had not raped her, but had, instead, fixed the
door. He claimed the woman invented the rape story to
explain the damaged door to her husband. ©
But whether guilty or innocent, Fate had caught up with
Joseph Brinster. He was sentenced to hang. And Fate had
planned another interesting little bit of business.
The Lone Star, an early-day El] Paso newspaper, described
the execution in flowery terms.
“He (Brinster) died bravely,” the story rambled, “a young
man, the model of physical health, with countenance which
betrayed no sign of guilt; clear bright eyes that rather sought
than evaded the inquiring gaze of those who tried in vain to
discover in them some lurking indication that the heart below
was foul and black, and that the outward show of resignation
was only a cloak to conceal the damnable thoughts of a
human fiend.”
Brinster, dressed in the open-collared jail shirt and rough
trousers, hands tied behind him, was led from the jail to the
crude gallows. Solemnly the sheriff and a couple of assistants
led him up the last long stairway.
The death sentence was read. Brinster made the traditional
last speech. His feet were bound together, the loop dropped
around his neck and carefully positioned by a deputy. The
ominous black hood fell over his head.
The ni Ie was sprung. Brinster fell through the wooden .
floor.
There was a brief silence. Then, before the minister could
begin his prayer, a terrifying thing happened.
From beneath the platform came a hollow, ghostly voice.
“Say, boys .
A tingle ran “up and down the spines of the officials
and members of the audience. After an electric pause that
EI Paso County Courthouse where Parra was tried for murder.
stretched into a seeming eternity, a reluctant, but brave,
sheriff hopped down from the platform and peered beneath it.
He discovered that in the plunge the loop had turned and
Brinster’s neck was not broken. In fact, he wasn’t even
strangling!
So they hanged him again. This time it took.
HE EXECUTION of Rosalio Castillg went off without a
hitch. The actual hanging itself was a disappointment as
far as excitement went. It was the preliminary events that
provided the fun.
Like Brinster, Castillo had been convicted of rape. And
like his predecessor on the El] Paso County gallows, he had
been convicted solely on the uncorroborated evidence given
by the victim, a girl of eleven tender years.
- The assault had taken place at night near the girl’s home
in El Paso. Two weeks later Castillo was picked up on a
farm near Ysleta, fifteen miles away. It is not known who
turned the man in. Despite the lapse of time and the fact that
the offense had occurred in the dark, the girl positively
identified Castillo. A jury returned the verdict of “Guilty,”
and he was sentenced to the gallows.
The fun began while Castillo was languishing in the cooler
awaiting his execution. His soul became the object of a public
tug-of-war between the Catholic and Baptist communities.
For weeks El Paso followed the ecclesiastical battle. It
became almost the only topic of conversation. Bets were
made as to which faith would win. Simple discussions of the
matter turned into heated arguments that resulted in drawn
six-guns and dropped gauntlets. Fortunately, none of the
arguments reached the shooting stage.
Like most Latin Americans, Castillo had been born into
the Catholic church and had followed its precepts, whenever
he thought of it, all his life. When he was sentenced to hang,
Father Bueno began visiting him regularly. The two became
good friends and the priest had made progress toward
reconciling the condemned man (Continued on page 66)
Sheriff Boone officiated at hangings.
, ‘El Paso Public Library Photo
El Paso County Sherriff’s Dept. Photo
39
i
a
eT DAA
Min A a
the hed oh deo be? >
Hangings were a great event
in El Paso because none
of the necktie parties ever
went off as they should
HEN A HANGING was scheduled in Old El Paso the
folks looked forward to it with interest. And when it
took place everybody turned out, and there was a big
scramble for the best viewing places.
It wasn’t that the populace was especially bloodthirsty. It
was just that a tradition had built up around El Paso’s
hangings, a tradition that something would go wrong, that
ITA
HA
an unforeseen event would happen to disrupt the solemn
ahgings
nk Pa .
This early-day street scene in EI Paso shows the strong Spanish influence on the Texas town.
ne
28
.
Rake
TATNAG
'GINGS.
proceedings and provide the citizens with an extra diversion,
a new topic of conversation, an event to liven the deadly
monotony of life in the isolated desert village.
It all started back in 1883, when Joseph Brinster stretched
the hemp on a wooden gallows erected behind the old court-
house in Ysleta, then the county seat. The bizarre thing that
occurred at the hanging became an El Paso legend, and for
years was recounted with gusto in the saloons and around
the cracker barrels. For, you see, Joseph Brinster was
hanged twice!
Ysleta, the oldest town in Texas, then was the largest town
in El Paso County. The low adobe buildings of the little
community were dominated by the proud old mission, built
in 1682, the oldest in Texas and older considerably than the
California missions. More than half the population were
Indians, members of the Tigua tribe who fled south with
the Spanish during the revolt of New Mexico’s Pueblo
Indians in 1680. They found safety at Paso del Norte (now
Cuidad Ju4rez, across the Rio Grande from present-day El
Paso) and were settled by the territorial government at what
was to become the town of Ysleta.
Brinster had been convicted of raping the wife of a non-
commissioned officer at Fort Davis. His crime illustrates the
fact that man must always be on the alert to protect himself
from the sardonic humor of the gods, must eternally watch
for the pie in the face, the banana peel, the trick of Fate.
It’s almost too pat to be believable, but some years pre-
viously Brinster had killed a man in Ohio for raping his
wife. A jury of his peers had assessed the death penalty,
sentencing Brinster to hang for the killing. But a mistrial
was declared, and a second jury gave him five years. He
served his sentence and upon his release went to Texas to
start a new life. This new life barely got off the ground, but
Brinster got quite a way off—about four feet, to be exact,
which was the height of his feet above the ground as he
dangled at the end of the hangman’s rope. i
Brinster had been convicted of the rape solely on the
Rae ee spe seg
GOLDEN WEST MAGAZINE
Oe tober, 197); e
Sa BS a ORES
E! Paso’s unruly early years were flavored with colorful
city marshals, the most ingenious of which may have
been George Campbell, who served a little over a month
in late 1880. Although Campbell—a transplanted Ken-
tuckian with some brief experience as a lawman in Young
County, Texas—was Promised a salary, the city council
was slow in providing it, and by the end of December,
after thirty days on the job, Campbell concluded that
the town fathers were content to let him live on what
he could pocket from arrest fees. Thus, he concocted a
plan. He got together with a dozen or so of the worst
of El Paso’s troublemakers, most of whom were his
friends, and persuaded them to shoot up the town, to
show the officials that he was needed and deserved a
respectable salary. On the night of January 1, 1881, an.
alderman’s door was nearly shot off its hinges, and the
mayor's house was riddled with bullets. As hoped, the
town was seized with fear. But word leaked out that
Campbell was behind the riot, and the mayor sent for
the Texas Rangers. The Rangers quieted things down,
but the two men assigned to arrest the devious town
marshal thought the whole affair was hilarious and failed
to serve the warrant. The charges against Campbell were
eventually dropped, and he was allowed to resign.
Campbell hung around town and continued to stir
up trouble. On April 14, 1881, well-fortified with drink,
he started an argument with town constable Gus
Krempkau on E! Paso Street in front of Keating’s Sa-
Toon. A friend of Campbell’s, John Hale, also under the
influence, joined in and ended up putting a bullet in
Krempkau. Dallas Stoudenmire, who had been ap-
pointed city marshal only four days earlier, came rushing
out of the Globe Restaurant. Seeing Hale with a smok-
ing revolver, he fired off a quick shot just in time to hit
a Mexican who was desperately trying to leave the scene.
Stoudenmire’s next bullet, however, split Hale’s skull.
Campbell, suddenly sober, announced that he wanted
no part of the fight, but he had drawn his weapon and
was waving it about. Krempkau, dying from a bullet in
the chest, squeezed off two rounds, striking Campbell
in the hand and foot. Stoudenmire, still not sure what
the fight was all about, put another bullet in Campbell
for good measure.
Dallas Stoudenmire’s quick action impressed E] Paso
citizens, Particularly the lawless element who saw him
a a threat. A plot was immediately hatched to do away
with the new marshal. The man chosen to carry it out
as Bill Johnson, an alcoholic former city deputy who
had served as interim marshal until Stoudenmire arrived
On the scene. Johnson had no love for the man who
f
175
replaced him and eagerly took on the assignment. But
Johnson’s attraction to liquor made him a Poor assassin.
On the night of April 17, 1881, he tried ambushing
Stoudenmire from high atop a pile of bricks being used
to build the new State National Bank. His hand was
Shaky and he rushed his shot. Stoudenmire, accom-
over the cowardly attempt on his life, charged the saloon
with pistols blazing. His attackers, unnerved by his dar-
ing, broke and ran.
Street in front of EI Paso State National Bank where Bill Johnson
attempted to kill Dallas Stoudenmire. E/ Paso Public Library.
EI Paso’s new fighting marshal was not long on the
job. He began drinking heavily and in May 1882 was
forced to resign. Two months later he secured an ap-
pointment as a federal deputy, but his problem with
alcohol continued to plague him. Plaguing him worse,
however, was his long-standing feud with the four Man.
ning brothers. Stoudenmire was convinced the Man-
nings were behind Bill Johnson’s attempt on his life;
ermore, one of the brothers, Doc Manning, had
Killed Stoudenmire’s brother-in-law Doc Cummings in
a gunfight the previous February. Stoudenmire finally
forced a showdown with Doc Manning in his brother
Frank’s saloon on El Paso Street on September 18, 1882.
A bystander, J. W. Jones, jumped between the two
enemies, hindering Stoudenmire’s draw. Manning
cleared his holster and, firing over Jones’ shoulder, hit
Stoudenmire in the arm and chest, knocking him back-
ward. Manning then charged his victim and both tum-
bled out the door into the street. Stoudenmire finally
got off one shot from a pocket pistol, striking Manning
in the arm, but as the two wrestled, another Manning
brother, Jim, rushed up and put a bullet into the back
of Stoudenmire’s head.
—
176 Texas
The streets of El Paso were dangerous enough, but
in the early 1890s the town also became sandwiched
between two strongholds of rough elements. To the
south was the “Island,” an international “no-man’s land”
of tangled river-bottom thicket inhabited by toughs who
avoided both Texas and Mexico authorities by disclaim-
ing citizenship of either place. And to the north of town
lay a rugged area which served as home and hideout for
dozens of rustlers who preyed on neighboring ranches.
Their favorite trick was to pluck a small bunch of cows
out of a herd and disappear through a gap in the moun-
tains called “Smuggler’s Pass,” a name still used today.
Lawmen usually stayed out of both areas, especially fol-
lowing the death of a federal deputy marshal, Charles
H. Fusselman, who trailed a herd of stolen horses into
an ambush in 1890. The spot where he fell is still known
as Fusselman Canyon. His killer, a ruthless Mexican
named Geronimo Parra, was tracked down ten years
later by Texas Rangers and was hanged on January 6,
~ T900, in one of El Paso’s more gory incidents. Somehow
' in 1893. Five Texas Rangers, le
Parra’s friends sneaked daggers into Parra anda compan-
ion, and on the day of their execution they whipped
them out and carved up a squad of lawmen before they
were finally subdued.
A small expedition was sent to the Island stronghold
tain Frank
Jones, plus El Paso County deputy sheriff Ed Bryant
rode into the area on June 29. Like Fusselman, they
were ambushed on the trail and Jones was killed. A
monument was erected at the site, just west of Clint.
Tillié-“Howard’s Sporting House in downtown El
Paso was the scene of the killing of Bass Outlaw by
striking Selman in the leg. Outlaw died four hours later.
Selman would walk with a cane the rest of his life.
The notorious gunslinger John Wesley Hardin mi-
grated to El Paso in the spring of 1895. While in prison
he had studied law, and he attempted to build a practice
in El Paso, but his clients were slow in coming. He
maintained an office in his room on the second floor of
the Herndon Lodging House on EI Paso Street, but he
spent many of his afternoons in the Acme Saloon, where
his career mysteriously ended with a gunshot on April
19. On that day John Selman walked up and puta bullet
in Hardin’s head while he was shooting dice. Hardin
was not wanted by the law, and Selman, then fifty-six
years of age, had little to gain from the killing. Several
reasons have been suggested. One was an argument over
the arrest of Hardin’s mistress, Helen Buelah Morose,
by Selman’s son, also a lawman. Another was a rumor
that Hardin, Selman, and several others had conspired
. to kill outlaw Martin Morose (Helen’s husband), and
Hardin had failed to share money taken from Morose’s
body. At Selman’s trial his defense was that Hardin was
about to draw on him. He produced several witnesses
who testified accordingly, and the jury was unable to
reach a verdict.
John Selman’s end came a year later, April 5, 1896, _
—at the hands of a fellow law ofticer, deputy U.S. marshal '
George Scarborough. Selman and Scarborough met at
the Wigwam Saloon on San Antonio Street. They ex-
changed a few words, then walked outside to the alley.
A shout was heard—something on the order of, “Don’t
try to kill me like that!” Then there were four shots.
Scarborough was found standing over Selman’s body.
John Selman on April 5, 1894. A former Texas Ranger —Thbe old constable had slugs in his neck, hip, back, and
and_at the time a deputy U.S. marshal, Bass Outlaw -—knee He died the following day. Scarborough claimed
"(that was his real name) was a problem drinker witha” self-defense and was acquitted? It was later rumored that
short temper. When he was in El Paso, it was rumored
that a policeman was assigned to him full-time, just to
keep him out of trouble. On that day at Tillie’s, Bass
_ was simmering over losing some service of process fees
to another deputy. While in the back room with one of
Tillie’s girls, he fired off his pistol, and Tillie called for
help. Town constable John Selman, a former outlaw
and gunslinger himself (see Fort Davis and Fort Griffin),
was sitting in the front parlor, and he hurried to the
back porch Joe McKidrict, a Texas Ranger, was also
nearby. They found Bass scuffling with Tillie. When
McKidrict asked Outlaw why he had fired off his gun,
the drunken Bass snarled, “You want some, too?” and
he shot the ranger in the head. Selman drew his gun,
at the same time leaping off the porch. Outlaw, within
arm’s reach, fired and missed, but the flash seared Sel-
man’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. As he staggered
back he fired at the blurry figure he thought was Outlaw.
Bass clutched his chest and squeezed off two more shots,
Scarborough was involved in the Morose death and may
have shared in some of the money Hardin had reportedly
taken. Possibly Selman was attempting to blackmail him.
Espantosa Lake ke 2
©
Dimmit County
Espantosa Lake, north of Carrizo Springs and west
of the Nueces River, was long associated with violence
and death. Most tales are without strong foundation,
but the area was an outlaw hangout in the 1870s and
possibly earlier. (One explanation for the name “Espan-
tosa,” which means “frightful” or “horrible” in Spanish,
is that road agents used the lake to dispose of victims
after relieving them of their money and valuables.)
In August 1876 a platoon of Texas Rangers surprised
a gang of thirty horse thieves hiding out at the lake and
killed seven in a bloody hand-to-hand encounter.
give ail my enemies and ask all to forgive
me. I am going to die unjustly. I am
about to deliver my soul to our Father in
Heaven. I recommend you all to, God.
' All those who have taken a false step
should look to God. There is no man who
has not taken a false step. This world is a
vale of tears.”’ .
At 2:04 the trap was sprung and Parra
paid for his crimes. Captain Hughes,
who witnessed the hanging, was satis-
fied at last that Charles Fusselman’s
death had been avenged. Parra’s body
was taken to Nagley’s Undertaking Par-
lor and Flores’ to Ross and Sons. There
were few mourners at either service.
No one knew where the condemned
men obtained the wire they made into
daggers. They had been searched before
and no daggers had been found. Another
search was ordered later but Jailer Lyons
had been so busy and under such a strain
that the order had not been carried out.
He was not held to blame. It was thought
that relatives might have smuggled in the
wire.
It was a long time before the excite-
ment of this double hanging died down
in E] Paso. It was the last legal hanging
to take place anywhere in the county. In
1917 the law stating that persons conde-
mned to death must be hanged in the
county in which they were tried was abo-
lished. In that year a new state law was
passed Stating that thereafter all hang-
ings were to be performed in the state
penitentiary. Today, stricter laws would
have protected the rights of Brinster and
Castillo and perhaps those of Parra and
Flores.
It comes as no shock that in those
frontier days the penalty for rape was as
severe as for murder. It is also interesting
to note that all four men died protesting
their innocence. No one will ever know
if there was truly an innocent man among
them.
. OO
Police Officer
Of the Month
(Continued from page 31)
All of these facts became available to _
the investigating officers, as did the
identity of the murderer—or murderers.
But the motorcycle gang has long and
deadly claws. One by one, prospective
witnesses rolled back right where they
had come from and refused to testify in
court. The case is in the ‘‘inactive file,”’
but there is really no such thing in
Lieutenant Biondi’s detail. As late as
December, 1982, a tip from an attorney
informed him that one of her clients had
witnessed the murder and was ready t to
testify.
Unfortunately, although Biondi and
his men dropped everything to investi-
gate the information, the client had seen
an entirely different murder, if any.
Sacramento has grown since Lieute-
nant Biondi has taken over the Sac-
ramento County Sheriff’s Department
Homicide Detail. There were 25 Sac-
ramento County murders in 1976, out-
side the city limits of the state’s capital |’
city, which has its own Homicide-
Assault Detail. The next year that figure
dropped to 23, but it has climbed steadily
since. The numbers had climbed to 40
for the year by the first week of Decem-
ber, 1982. So, too, had the population
count in the county. There are almost a
million people now living in the central
California county. Three-quarters of /a
66 Master Detective
million live in areas under the sheriff’s
department supervision.
‘‘Fortunately, we have the most peo-
ple, but they have the most murders,’’ he
said, referring to his companions in the
Sacramento Police Department.
There may have been less murder: in
Sacramento in 1977, but there were
some savage, senseless killings, that
Biondi will never forget, starting with a
sport fisherman who was found dead in
the delta, southwest of the capital.
‘“We couldn’t make any sense of the
murder,’’ Biondi remembers. ‘‘The man
was identified and traced to the San
Francisco Bay area. He was a machinist
who had just taken a few days off from
his job to fish. The man was sleeping in
his truck nights and fishing all of each
day. We went around in circles looking
for a motive for the murder among his
friends and acquaintances on the San
Francisco peninsula. Then we got a tip
from a juvenile home in El Dorado coun-
ty in the Sierra Nevada foothills, about
forty miles east of here. One of the in-
mates had bragged about a Sacramento
area murder and his counselor had heard
him. He got in touch with me.”’
The inmate was questioned and sud-
denly the pieces began to fit together.
The young man, in his late teens, had
_escaped from a San Mateo County juve-
nile facility with two friends and they
were making their way through the delta.
Seeing the fisherman alone and unarmed,
they killed him.
‘‘They did it just for the hell of it—a
sort of a lark, if you can imagine that,*’
Lieutenant Biondi remarked. The three
teenagers were found in three different
juvenile homes and they were arrested,
tried, and convicted of the murder. They
were sent to the California prison system
as adults and are serving time there
today.
Shortly after that macabre incident, a
5-year-old child, a girl, was reported as a
missing person. As is his custom, Lieute-
nant Biondi, fearful of a murder, flooded
the kidnaping scene with detectives. ‘‘I
can't Teally take credit for solving that
” he says now. A couple of burglary
inspectors, Nick Sulli and Bob Bonetti,
did the job. They saw a suspicious person
in the area where the child had been re-
ported missing and took him in for inter-
rogation.
The “‘suspicious person’’ turned out to
be the murderer. He admitted murdering
the child and took the sheriff’s deputies to
a rock pile near Rancho Cordova, where
they exhumed her from a shallow grave.
The murder of the little girl was bad
enough, as far as Lieutenant Biondi was
concerned, but it was the motive for the
murder that really. got to him.
‘He killed her because she wouldn’t
stop screaming,’ the lieutenant recalls.
In another case, later that year, a man
answered his doorbell at four o’clock in
the morning and was shot in the face for
his trouble. For a long time the dead
man’s wife was a principal suspect in the
case. But a considerable amount of cash,
stashed all over the victim’s house, puz-
zled Lieutenant Biondi. Persistent ques-
tioning of all the murdered man’s friends
eventually led to a dope-ring connection.
From there a conversation that took place
in prison and was relayed to the Sac-
ramento investigator through an infor-
mant led to several suspects in California
and Nevada. The murderers were
brought to justice and all of them are now
' serving 25-years-to-life sentences in San
Quentin after a long and involved inves-
tigation.
One unsolved murder that baffled
Lieutenant Biondi’s Homicide Detail in
1977 involved a 16-year-old girl who:had
hitchhiked to Sacramento. They traced
her, ride by ride, from her Bay Area
home to Sacramento, where the trail
faded. Her body was found a short dis-
tance from the Aerojet plant on the east
side of the city. At the time the detectives
discovered that Darrel Rich, a young
man who would be captured after an
unparalleled two-month murder spree in
Shasta County, far to the north, the next
summer, was in town when the murder
was committed. Both Lieutenant Biondi
and Rusty Brewer, the crack investigator
he
ot
:
ue
3
ae
i
ange
a * ‘,
om
inthe mirapeningeneers:
saioresursqratptinjininnmn-sjeryemmngnnransen aes yimnpeaapiniaiitinamsatateasith
It took four strong men to hold the
struggling, screaming, cursing Flores. At
his shout, ‘“‘Aqui esta Parra!’’ (here I
am, Parra), Geronimo burst from his un-
locked cell. Clutching a crude wire dag-
ger he lunged at Patrolman Christy and
W.J. TenEych. TenEych, a huge, fear-
less officer, picked the wild-eyed Parra
up bodily and slammed him down on the
floor of the cell and locked the door.
Parra screamed ‘‘Adios, Amigo!’’ over
and over until TenEych invited him to
shut up.
Outnumbered, the fight was over for
Flores and he began to calm down. Depu-
ty Comstock tied his feet and hands and
began to read the death sentence. During
the reading a smirk played around Flores’
lips and as the words, ‘*Hang by the neck
until he is dead,’’ sounded he laughed
aloud. As the crowd surged forward fora
closer look, the condemned man made a
sweeping bow. When asked if he had any
last words Flores said, ‘‘All the Amer-
icans have made a contract to kill Parra.
Parra owes me nothing in this case.
George Herrold is a false witness. It mat-
ters not that they kill me. I die innocent of
this crime!”’
As the black hood slipped over Flores
_he protested but the priest said sharply,
‘*Be quiet! This is no time to talk. You
are about to meet your God.’’ Then the
condemned man spoke his final words,
‘‘This is goodbye, gentlemen.”’
Through Flores’ moment of death Par-
ra kept up a torrent of abuse. Sheriff
Boone, who was more than a little fed up
with the turn of events, walked over to
Parra’s cell, saying quietly, ‘*We have
had a little trouble here. I am new at this,
but if you cause any more trouble I'll put
a bullet through your head! Now put up
your hands and come out of that cell
peacefully.”’
Meanwhile the men were having trou-
ble getting the rope from Flores’ neck.
They were finally forced to haul him up
to the floor to work on the knot. He was
laid practically at the feet of Parra who
turned pale and became distraught. ‘All
the bravado was gone now. A reporter
standing near Dr. Stevenson whispered:
‘‘Look at his eyes.”’
‘*Yes,’’ the doctor said.
are already dead.”’
It was not until Parra was given a
chance for his last words that he showed
any spark of life. Some people remarked
later his speech was almost as long as his
crimes.
‘*Gentlemen, I bid you farewell and
those of you whom I have offended in
these last moments I ask your pardon.
Have the kindness to forgive me. I for-
‘His eyes
ADULTS! FINISH
HIGH SCHOOL
AT HOME-SPARETIME!
\
“Wide Choice of Subjects to Fit
Your Interests, Credit for ©
‘Subjects Finished Fauleg Low
Cost, Easy Payment:
Salesman will call on You Mo
Ever. a
j cial acl " ight eke
Join more than 150,000 men and women like you who
have been graduated from American School since 1946
You'll enjoy finishing high school with this
adult-oriented ‘‘class of one’’ method. Since
1897, over 2,000,000 men and women have
enrolled with us, since 1946 alone over 150,000
have graduated from our high school program.
Whatever the reason you did not finish your
high school, you'll find the ‘school of the
second chance’ - American School — can help
you to succeed, at your own pace, in the
privacy of your home.
We offer nearly a hundred subjects including
auto~mechanics, oceanography, typing and
TELEPHONE
secretarial, art, or home decoration, so that you
can ‘tailor’ your course to your own interests
and needs.
Too, we give you full credit for any subjects you
satisfactorily completed in high school.
Do mail the coupon — or telephone free — to-
day and let us mail your information on our
Accreditations, Diploma, special home study
method, low tuition, down payment and month-
ly payments without interest.
AMERICAN SCHOOL Dept. 10506
850 E. 58th St., Chicago, IL 60637
oo OOo Se ST ee SS SI See eS ee
American School, Dept. 10506 ,
FREE DAY,OR 850 E. 58th St., Chicago, IL 60637 :
NIGHT FOR Please rush me information on American School :
~FA TER SERVICE high school course, accreditation, diploma, low tu- t
ition cost. No salesman is to call. i
NAME t
ADDRESS i
home e CITY, STATE & ZIP .
PAIR PS anh it 1 LS, 8 Sas Rib cit i. .
ih ~99ea_cenn Last Grade of High :
1 800 228 5600 School Completed: None 9th 10th 11th 8
on oe ee owe ee oe ee oe i ow ow ow we ee od
~ ri eee No obligation. No Salesman.
‘} : DIPLOMA - EQUIPMENT
: > SS
KW = Ne assistance (@ {\’
Ss = :
BE |
INGERPRINT,
‘t2\\ a EXPERT
Technicians e Investigators | ae
Send for FREE FACTS
CAREERS FOR
> THE FUTURE
pele
VEN - LEARN
. | |
HOME AT
you every step of the way. Send for FREE infor-
———s Face wT Kit
nee Ase
S— SS CO
St — oe ee ee ee oe oe ee oy
GLOBAL SCHOOL OF FINGERPRINTING
P.O. BOX 191 V HANOVER, MA02339
NAME ___ Age
ADDRESS
CITY ST zip
.- SONGWRITERS |
LYRICS, POEMS NEEDED FOR
MUSICAL SETTING AND RECORDING
$1,000.00 CASH FOR BEST SONG
FREE PUBLISHING COPYRIGHT INF
RESULTS GUARANTEED—FOR BEST OFFER
TALENT
17 Longwood Rd. Quincy, Ma. 02169 (OD )
Birth Certificates
DIPLOMAS — WILLS —
Marriage Certificates, High School and College
Diplomas, Last Will & Testament (Blank Forms).
Any 2 for $2.50. All 5 for $3.50. Prompt Confidential
Service. Available only to persons 21 oar over
from ARTEK FORMS, 7471 Melrose Ave.,
Dept. 8206 _ Los Angeles, call, 90046.
Train at home
in spare time
MAKE MORE MONEY! Check
out Electrician’s wages
against the kind of money
you make now!
Even before you're ready to go after a full-time job as an
electrician, you could be making extra money doing odd jobs
for friends and neighbors. And think of the money you'll be
able to save doing your own electrical work. Learn to specify
and install wiring, operate and control motors and generators,
_ use and maintain transformers and storage batteries.
We show you how to troubleshoot for short circuits,
overloads and open wires. You'll be ready to take almost
any electrician licensing exarnination offered by state,
city or county. Because opportunities vary from time to
time and from one part of the country to another,
we encourage you to check on the job market in your
area. Mail coupon for free facts and results of survey 5 Py
showing employment success of our graduates. 8
NO NEED TO QUIT YOUR JOB OR REGULAR SCHOOL
Everything explained in easy-to-understand language
with plenty of drawings, diagrams and photos. Tools,
fi Sng materials, test equipment included with course. You learn
renans J at your own pace. No time wasted traveling to class.
wes Teachers are as close as your telephone. No charge!
_ Use our toll-free 24-hour home-study hotline as
~% ‘soon as eel enroll. MAIL COUPON TODAY!
SINCE 1891
ELECTRICIAN SCHOOL, Dept NBO43
ICS Center, Scranton, PA 18515
i Rush free facts that tell how I can train at home in spare time
to be an electrician. No obligation, no salesman will call! !
A 1c AGE cece see |
P ADDRESS ooo cccccccsssssssccssssvesssssevesssseesesseessese sesssseetenases |
CITY/STATE/ZIP oooc..0. ccccssssssssecsesessiscessievesseessissisiesseseseeeee
Master Detective 65
BL PASO, Texase
ass of the North
Four Centuries on the Rio Grande
by
C. L. SONNICHSEN
G0. 44
50 / 1p
v. |
TEXAS WESTERN PRESS
THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS AT Et Paso
1968
@5 CHAPTER XXII
Soe y
Six Shooter Capital
i
g
7 t | a an a
NINE yEArs have gone by since the railroad
opened El Paso to the world and brought
the world to El Paso. It is 1890 now, and the
population is over 10,000. The City of Virtue
is flourishing with churches and schools, so-
cial clubs, and musical organizations. The
City of Vice is doing just as well, and E] Paso
is known far and wide as “The Monte Carlo of the United States.”?
The entire Southwest is booming. The ranges of New Mexico
and Arizona have been stocked with Texas cattle; miners are
swarming over the mountains; speculators move in and out of
Mexico; and El Paso is their good-time town. Whenever anybody
has a dollar in his pocket, says Owen White, “he heads hell-bent
to E] Paso to get rid of it.”?
Thus there is a market for all the diversions El Paso can invent
or import. These include, on the one hand, such comparatively
harmless institutions as baseball, bicycle racing, boxing, cockfight-
ing and horse racing, and on the other, gambling and gunfighting.
They all are interesting to the sporting world, and the barrooms
serve as centers for information, debate, and the placing of bets.
The presence of Judrez across the river is a determining factor
in the situation. A sport who gets in trouble on our side takes a
few quick steps and is safe on the other, and it works the same
way in Mexico. The availability of this escape hatch is instrumental
in attracting to the border an extraordinary group of gunfighters
and fast-draw artists, some on one side of the law and some on the
other, who add to our other distinctions the title of Six-Shooter
Capital of the Southwest. Some people think it ought to be our
pride and joy that for a few years we ranked as a murder metrop-
olis with Fort Griffin and Dodge City, Tombstone and Tonopah.
{310}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
The palmy days of the gunfighters were the middle nineties, but
the breed was not disposed of finally for another ten years.
The world of the girls, gunmen, and gamblers, we should add,
was on the whole self-contained. The roughs broke up no Sunday
School picnics at Rand’s Grove, and they mostly killed each other.
As a result every survivor from those times insists that E] Paso was
a more secure and orderly place in the days of John Wesley Hardin
than it is today. “Women could go anywhere then and be perfectly
safe,” says Page Kemp. “I wouldn't let my wife go down town alone
at night now.”
Outside El Paso as well as inside, the nineties were years of
violence. Frontier conditions died out slowly, and during this time
they were kept alive by gangs of thieves and rustlers who flourished
in the rough country above and below town. North of the Pass
toward Canutillo a band of home-grown outlaws operated out of
a river-bottom bosque or tangled thicket. Below town a larger
bosque, nearly ten miles long and as much as five miles wide,
sheltered several hundred suspicious characters who protected
each other and defied the law.
This latter stronghold was known as “The Island.” In 1854 the
river moved several miles north and east. The old bed was dry,
except during flood times, but occasionally both channels were
full of water, giving the Island its name. The International Bound-
ary ran through the brush and cottonwood groves on the western
side but the whole area was a sort of no-man’s land, inhabited by
people who claimed citizenship in either country as occasion war-
ranted and who flouted the authorities of both.
It was said that by keeping to the brush and avoiding the high-
ways, a native of either bosque could arrive at the other without
being seen.4
The men who lived in the north bosque had a fine little rustling
business going. In a canyon high up on the west side of Mount
Franklin they owned a rock corral far removed from prying eyes
where they could hold a few head of stock. Their favorite trick was
to drop across the crest of the mountain, steal a couple of cows
from one of the ranches on the east side, and drive them back
through a pass so stony that trailing was impossible. This gap is
still called Smuggler’s Pass, though few of us know why.5
[ite the killing of Charley Fusselman threw a spotlight on
4311}
— i a a a i a a re rE ee eT a ee eee tiem en ee a
+ .
as it may have caused Hardin’s. Selman was stil] unhappy about
not getting his cut after Hardin was dead, and he incautiously let
fall some words about the split Hardin supposedly had made with
Scarborough. So Scarborough called him out and shot him.
~ Now it was Scarborough’s turn to face the consequences of what
he had done. He resigned his job as Deputy United States Marshal
and moved to Deming, New Mexico, where the Grant County
nn ete
cattleman’s association hired him as a detective. On pril 5, 1g00,
in a battle with cattle thieves or bandits, he was shot in the leg
and had to wait until the next day for medical help. A doctor at
Deming took the leg off, but George did not survive the amputa-
tion. He died on April 6.1°6
If the size of a funeral is any indication of the standing and
importance of a man in the community, John Selman’s was a sort
of triumph. The Confederate Veterans, assisted by the GAR, took
charge. Pallbearers included Judge Wyndham Kemp, Dr. W. M.
Yandell, and other prominent citizens. Children who had been fond
of Uncle John followed his coffin. No such tribute was extended
to Morose, Outlaw, or Hardin. Selman was no better than the
others, but he had represented law and order in El Paso for three
years and worked at his job, so El Paso, ignoring his shortcomings,
paid tribute to his services.
With the death of George Scarborough the era of the gunman
in our town was almost over, though violence could never be en-
tirely eliminated in this border community. By 1900, says Morgan
Broaddus, “each weekend in El Paso proved to be a brief episode
of bloodshed,” and between 1903 and 1906 fifty killings occurred
without a single execution.*°” The cold-blooded professional mur-
derers of the nineties, however, existed only in memory.
Actually there was one belated chapter in the story — a chapter
held over until the end of 1908 when Manning or Mannen (as
most people called him) Clements came to the end of his string.
Mannen was the offshoot of a rough-and-ready cattle-raising fam-
ily from Southeast Texas. The Clementses were allied with many
other pioneer clans; Mannen’s father, for instance, was a double
cousin of John Wesley Hardin’s father. A prominent trail driver
who left some legends in the Kansas cowtowns, Mannen Senior
operated in Brown County and died in a shoot-out at Ballinger
in 1889.
1336}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
Young Mannen was twenty years old when this happened. Short-
ly thereafter he migrated to Pecos. Jim Miller was his brother-in-
law, and this may have prompted the move. He supported Killin’
Jim in his feud with Bud Frazer and appeared in court several times
as a result.2°8
Already he had some reputation as a bad man. The Rangers had
taken him in at San Angelo?*? for what must have been good and
sufficient reason, and he added to his dubious laurels at various
times and places after that. No one has yet followed the crooks
in his career during this period, but one story says that he spent
some time at Alpine, known as Murphysville in those days, where
he and a man named Webb took a contract to eliminate a very
rugged citizen named Pink Taylor. It was agreed that they would
both try for the kill and would split the proceeds no matter which
one succeeded. The legend says that Mannen climbed up in a tree
outside a Murphysville bar where he could shoot through a win-
dow when Pink came in. He got his chance, but managed to kill
the wrong man. Webb was found dead some time later. Mannen
left the community at high speed and went to E] Paso,1°
Newspaper stories at the time of his death say that he arrived
in 1894, some months ahead of his cousin John Wesley Hardin.
They were seen together at Big Spring, however, and may have
reached the Pass at the same time.*2* When the reformers went
out and Mayor Campbell came in, Mannen got a job as constable.
He turned out to be a moderately efficient police officer, but am-
bition bit him and he decided that he wanted to be captain. When
word got round that he was being considered for the place, a
number of responsible citizens reacted negatively. A petition cir-
culated recommending that the job be given to somebody else.
Mannen went to the Mayor. “Mr. Campbell,” he said, “I am
going to get every one of those names off the petition.” According
to the late Maury Kemp he did get them off — all but one. Judge
Falvey was stubborn enough and brave enough to refuse to remove
his, and Mannen did not get the appointment.
Nevertheless he became a fixture in the border city and spent
the next fourteen years in one police job or another — deputy con-
stable, constable, deputy sheriff. Everybody recognized his long,
narrow-shouldered body, small round head, and stiff, irregular
4337}
ee OM yee ee ae ae ee cee a a TE See a ON SE ee ae ee ee
walk. He seemed to have a nose for trouble, loved excitement, and
always turned up where things were happening. “Because he was
always around when there was trouble,” said one of his old ac-
quaintances, “people concluded he was mixed up in it.”
Sometimes he was mixed up in it. One of his escapades became
an open scandal in the spring of 1908. It started when a man named
Samuel Van Rooyen, an employee of a Chicago manufacturer of
rubber cement, came in from Mexico and registered at the Sheldon.
Somewhere south of the border he had struck up a friendship with
a shady character named William A. Naill whom he promised to
call when he got to town. The two made contact, had dinner to-
gether, and went for a tour of the city in a rented buggy. As a
climactic experience, Naill promised to show his guest the race-
track at Washington Park, and they drove out Missouri Street as
far as the Southern Pacific roundhouse. At this point two men
stepped into the road and held them up. Van Rooyen was wearing
two diamond rings, a diamond horseshoe pin, and a diamond stud,
the whole collection being worth about $1,500. The men steered
him and his host into a clump of bushes, relieved them of diamonds
and money, and turned them loose.
Van Rooyen, though he seems to have been a friendly soul, was
not about to put up with this sort of treatment and went at once
to Night Captain Ten Eyck of the El Paso police force. He was
sure Naill had lured him into an ambush. The police were exper-
ienced and energetic in those days and they went to work on a
woman named Catherine Williams, with whom Naill was living
at 539 Magoffin Avenue. Convinced that Naill was in trouble, she
put the finger on his accomplice, another young man whose only
local address was May Palmer’s parlor house on Utah Street. When
she called him to report the situation, the police went over and
picked him up. His name was J. W. Gill. He was currently and
contentedly unemployed but had once worked for the Southern
Pacific as a switchman. They found in his possession correspond-
ence and equipment for sealing freight cars which linked him with
the ring engaged in smuggling Chinese into the United States.’*°
The officers felt sure they had one of the hold-up artists but had
no idea who the second one was until assistant district attorney
Maury Kemp came into the picture. The day after the robbery
4338}
eneonaime
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
Judge Caleb Marshall called him on the phone and asked him to
come to his office. “Don’t send a deputy,” he said. “Come yourself.”
As Kemp was preparing to leave, Mannen Clements arrived with
a story to tell. Two friends of his were accused of holding up a
Jewish traveling salesman and were being held in jail, but there was
nothing to it. One of them had been with the salesman at the time
of the robbery. The other was sitting on the Clements’ front porch
engaged in conversation. Would Maury do something about it?
“I'm just going over to tend to it now,” Maury told him, and they
set off together. The Judge’s office was in front of his living quarters
on San Antonio Street. Maury and Mannen entered, and shortly
thereafter Mannen headed for the back of the house. Van Rooyen
was present and watched him move away with his peculiar gait.
“That’s the man,” he said, “who walked ahead of me when they
held me up.”**4
It seemed best to the authorities not to make any charges against
Clements at the moment, but he suspected that they were going
to and Kemp felt that Van Rooyen’s life was in danger as a result.
He told the man to stay near the center of town, and whenever he
felt that there was any special reason for caution, Maury stayed
as close to him as possible. Van Rooyen survived to testify after
the grand jury indicted Clements a month later. Mannen did his
part by selling his house to help raise Gill’s $3,000 bail and*5 by
putting up a bold front after the indictment was brou ght in. “There
is no truth,” he said, “in the statement that I had mortgaged my
home for the purpose of assisting Gill in making his bond. I sold
the place outright to Volney M. Brown. I have been jobbed in this
case by my enemies, as the trial will show, and I had no other pur-
pose in making bond for him than a confidence in his innocence.”*6
The trial came on in November. Mrs. Clements testified that she
had left her husband and Gill talking on her front porch the night
of the robbery when she went to bed, but she couldn’t be positive
what Mannen was doing between 7:30 and 10:30 that night. The
jury was inclined to go along with the alibi, however, and when
Victor Moore attacked Van Rooyen, calling him an actor who had
quit acting to become a diamond smuggler, their minds were made
up. They turned Mannen loose.?” The papers reported that the
jurors took “only a few moments” to decide. It has been said, how-
4339}
ning in to see what had happened. Those already inside tried to
leave en masse so as not to be involved in the investigation which
was sure to follow. Police officers were present and in the neigh-
borhood, but it never seemed to occur to any of them to close an
exit or get the names of witnesses. N. obody, absolutely nobody, had
a word to say about what had happened or who had done it.**8
Good citizens were outraged, of course, by this cynical dodging
of responsibility. While Mannen was being laid out in the under-
taking parlors of McBean, Simmons and Carr and while the Eagles,
Woodmen and Maccabees were preparing to bury him, editors
throughout the Southwest were commenting on the incredible fact
that a man could be shot down in a crowded saloon before a hun-
dred witnesses and the slayer could walk out unhindered and un-
detected.27 Chief George C. Campbell, who was accused of spend-
ing his days at the Washington Park race track instead of runnin g
the police force,1*8 absorbed so much criticism that Mayor Kelly
had to find another job for him and appoint Ben F. Jenkins as
chief of police in his place.*29
Stimulated by public disapprobation, the officers arrested a num-
ber of more-or-less innocent bystanders and let them go when it
became obvious that there was no case against them. Finally they
struck what seemed to be pay dirt, put their case together, and
arrested bartender Joe Brown.*3°
Joe qualified as the number-one suspect. He had quarreled with
Clements for attempting, as he said, to “rope him into” the diamond
robbery. Mannen may have threatened his life. As a matter of fact
{342}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
the diamonds lifted from Mr. Van Rooyen are said by competent
witnesses to have been reposing in the Coney Island safe at the
time of Mannen’s death,'?* but what, if anything, Joe Brown had
to do with that is by no means clear.
The trial, which began on May 11, 1909, was sensational. It went
on for three days before a crowd which jammed the courtroom and
overflowed into the corridors and onto the grounds. District At-
torney Walter Howe and his understudy Joe Nealon were in charge
of the prosecution. Two young lawyers with their spurs to win,
Victor Moore and Dan M. Jackson, defended.
It looked as if the prosecution had a sure thing when Howe
produced three eyewitnesses who swore they saw the gun in Joe
Brown's hand. One of them said he saw Joe put it in his right hip
pocket after the shot. The defense proceeded to show that the
witnesses were unworthy of credit and produced witnesses of their
own who made it appear beyond question that Brown could not
have fired the shot. A bartender on temporary duty stated that Joe
was serving drinks at the other end of the bar when the killing
took place and could not have done it. Another witness had seen
a stranger come in from the pool room, fire the shot, and leave.
Now it seemed that the defense was in charge; but the prosecution
was able to show clearly that the defense witnesses were not
worthy of credit either. Although Dan Jackson bore down hard
in his final speech on Joe Brown’s “beautiful trusting babe” and
“loving wife,” nobody could predict the outcome when the case
went to the jury.'3#
The jury, quite naturally, was confused also. At first the men
were eight to four for conviction, then eleven to one for acquittal,
then unanimous in believing that there was a reasonable doubt
about Joe’s guilt.133
The case was discussed for years, and everybody had a theory
about how such a killing could be managed in a busy saloon with-
out any credible witness seeing it happen. Owen White spends
considerable time in his autobiography analyzing the possibilities
and comes up with the explanation that a bartender was the killer,
that he concealed the gun in a bar towel, and that he dropped his
weapon into the dishwater as soon as he fired the shot. Owen does
not mention the name of the bartender, but he indicates that Tom
1343}
ever, that “Clements’ eye never left the jury box,” and he let it be
known that if he should be convicted, it would be a bad day for
every juror who voted to send him up.1?8
Mannen’s career as a peace officer was ended by the robbery.
Guilty or not, he was a candidate for reelection to the office of
constable, and the election was held just before his trial. It was
no help to an aspirant to public office to be under indictment for
armed robbery, and Clements lost by the margin of four votes to
'W. F. Mitchell. It was a terrible blow to his pride, and his per-
sonality seems to have undergone a radical change as a result. “He
was not the Manny of old,” one citizen commented. “He had grown
reserved and at times even quarrelsome.” Defeat “seemed to break
his spirit.”219 Like Hardin and Selman, Mannen went through a
sort of psychological shipwreck just before his end.
A particular kind of underground activity was going on in El
Paso at this time, and Mannen undoubtedly knew something about
it. Smuggling Chinamen into the United States was beginning to
be big business. Behind it was the Exclusion Act which kept Orien-
tals out of the country and arranged for their deportation if they
were caught. Many Chinamen were smuggled in because they
wished to live in the United States. Others were smuggled across
the border from Mexico so that they could give themselves up and
get a free ticket back to China. El Paso and Juarez were head-
quarters for the business.
As a result the border was flooded with Chinese, permanently
settled or in transit. Most of them seemed to have the proper
papers. In El Paso, said the Times, “there are a hundred ‘Celestials’
where there was one twenty years before.” They have certificates
which “bear the inspection of the immigration officials. Every train
brings a dozen or two to Juarez, all intent on getting across the
border, and in the course of a few years hundreds of them have
been taken off trains on the American side.” ?2°
The trainmen, particularly the conductors, were supposed to
be deeply involved. They would stop at Newman or some other
place a few miles out of town where a group of contraband human
beings would be waiting. The Immigration officials knew what was
going on and made life difficult for the smugglers, but the ring was
too big and powerful for them to wipe out the abuse entirely.*™
4340}
a hy a ee een aaa NS eee eee ee
. Fee Sl A ad on i Nata wa ie laces
XXII — Six Shower Capital
Ancient gossip says that Manny, who “always liked to be where
there was excitement,” knew all about these activities and just
before his end had threatened to tell what he knew. There is no
real evidence to back the story up, but it is worth noting that a
citizen testified under oath in May of the following year (1909)
that on the evening of his death Mannen had offered, for money, to
“go down to the stock yards where they were loading Chinamen
and cut Charles F. McClanny in two” with a load of buckshot.?22
The place where the trainmen hung out was a famous dive
known as the Coney Island. It was a saloon, with a billiard parlor
adjoining and gambling rooms upstairs, belonging to Tom Powers
and G. E. Truesdale. It may be significant that Powers and Trues-
dale were Gill’s bondsmen. One-eyed Tom was a hard but likable
character about whom many stories still circulate. He was the
particular friend whom Pat Garrett took along to San Antonio to
meet President Roosevelt at a reunion of the Rough Riders — a
gesture of friendship which is supposed to have cost Pat his job
as collector of customs.’*? The Coney Island stood just across the
alley from the Sheldon Hotel, where the First National Bank Build-
ing now raises its dignified fagade. At one time or another every
male in El Paso, with the possible exception of a few preachers,
had passed through the Coney Island’s swinging doors. It was a
very popular resort, particularly with shady characters and the
sporting crowd. One lawyer called it the rendezvous for “all the
uncaged convicts in the west.”*4 During World War I it was
placed off bounds for soldiers because of some of the things that
went on inside.?*5
A place of this kind was the appropriate site for the murder of
Mannen Clements, which took place at 6:10 p.m. on the evening
of December 29, 1908. Mannen entered about six o’clock a little
tipsy but in control of himself. He asked Colonel Hunt and two
racehorse men to have a drink with him, but they were occupied
and refused. He turned to Elmer Webb, who had just come in, and
offered him a drink. Webb said no, he wanted to talk with him.
They went to the back of the saloon, near the wine booths and the
telephone booth, and engaged in conversation. Some witnesses
thought they were quarreling. The place was full of people. At
least twenty were standing at the bar drinking or waiting to be
4341}
coe
sod
Pent mttaer a aane
ys w mew. SS ®
© herent Tt Pek tt payer tl
El Paso Courthouse. Frontier, ‘‘hell-hole” saw only four legal hangings emanate from this building from 1883
*
at eee Rail
to 1900
These lawmen witnessed hanging of man accused of abusing young girl. Trap was sprung by man in 2nd row, 4th from left
Master Detective 43
nearly eight years later on January 4,
1900. This was a double feature starring
one small time crook and one of the most
vicious criminals in El Paso’s history.
The men were Antonio Flores and Gero-
nimo Parra, and both were accused of
murder. Events that occurred before and
during the hangings were a new high in _
excitement for the whole community.
On March 19th, Antonio Flores
approached Ramona Viscaga coming
from work at the smelter. Long ena-
moured of the pretty woman, he asked
that she become his mistress. She
haughtily refused. Flores then urged her
to marry him. Ramona laughed in his
face. The enraged lover pulled out an
ornate dagger and stabbed the unfortun-
ate woman again and again. He punctu-
ated each blow with a scream, ‘‘If I can’t
have you, no other man can!’’ He was
promptly caught, tried for murder and
sentenced to hang.
Geronimo Parra was a more hardened
type of criminal. He was thought by law
officers to be the most vicious thug
around. He and his gang for years had
smuggled, plundered and killed. He was
no Robin Hood, for he not only robbed
the rich gringo herds but had no scruples
over confiscating a poor peon’s only ox.
After a raid the gang would hole up in
caves deep in the Franklin Mountains.
For many years they had managed to
evade capture.
As in the case of many egotistical cri-
minals, Parra finally outsmarted him-
self. He made the worst mistake of all by
killing a young, Texas Ranger, Charles
Fusselman. Fusselman and George Her-
rold were trailing the Parra gang for rust-
ling cattle. Suddenly Parra rose from be-
hind a rock, took dead aim on Fussel-
man, fired, killing him instantly. Her-
rold saw the murder clearly and so re-
ported Parra as the gunman.
Captain John ‘Hughes of the Texas
Rangers took up the trail but was unable
to cross a bosque and was forced to give
up the search. Hughes was sent to Marfa,
on another job-but~never forgot the
murderous Parra. A year later, the cap-
tain learned the man he sought was in jail
» in New,Mexico. He patiently bided his
time until 1899. It was then that Pat
Garrett, sheriff in New Mexico, learned
of Hughes’ desire to bring Parra to jus-
tice. Garrett and Hughes made a deal. If
Hughes would bring in a wanted man,
Pat Agnew, Garrett would turn over Par-
ra. Hughes fulfilled his part of the bar-
gain without any trouble and the trade
was made. Records of Parra’s trial have
been lost but it is assumed he was tried
and sentenced to hang.
The gallows for the double hanging
were fancier than the common wooden
ones. They were built of high grade steel
and had been included in the South
Campbell Street jail when it was erected.
The gallows worked well up until the
very day the jail was razed for a new
building.
The body of the condemned would
drop six feet with the head ona level with
the railing on the second floor. On this .
floor the physicians would stand to pro-
nounce the men dead. There were to be
no crowds to witness these hangings;
only deputies, two high officials. Outside
the courthouse, the frustrated curious
milled about in the muddy streets.
At 1:05 on January 4, 1900, Jailer J.C.
Lyons entered Flores’ cell and returned
with him to the scaffold. Parra was given
the dubious honor of hanging last. Sud-
denly, with no warning, Flores jerked
away from Lyons, pulled a crude dagger
from his shirt. and attacked Ed Bryant
who was standing nearby. The entire
assemblage was so stunned’ that Bryant
suffered severe wounds before any ac-
tion: was taken. / |
LMOST one-third of all
state prison inmates inter-’
viewed in a survey reported
oe that they had drunk very heavily
(consumed four or more ounces
- committed the crime for which
__ they were imprisoned, the Bureau
of Justice Statistics has
announced.
And 25 percent of the inter-
viewed inmates said that they had
drunk very heavily almost. every
were incarcerated, according to
the bureau's bulletin, “Prisoners.
and Alcohol.”
The bureau, which is a De-
_ partment of Justice agency, said
"that habitual offenders and per-
sons convicted of assault, burglary
very heavy drinkers than were
other prisoners. Whites, males,
__ of pure alcohol) just before they —
_ day for the entire year before they —
and rape were more likely to be
_ and persons between 18 and 25
’ Many Criminals Belt Booze Before
- Committing Offenses, Survey Shows |
years old were especially likely to
_ be very heavy drinkers.
The bulletin was based on per- :
son interviews with 12,000 state —
_» prison inmates throughout the na- ©
__ tion conducted during November, |
__ 1979 by the Bureau of the Census.
The inmates were asked about —
their usual drinking habits during ©
the year before they were impris- _
oned and whether or not they had /
been drinking just before their
crimes. Data on their regular
‘drinking habits were obtained first.
. to minimize the attempt to use
alcohol as an explanation for their
crimes. The reported amount of
drinking just before the crime was
quite consistent with the usual
_ drinking habits reported.
7 The survey found a greater de-
_ gree of prior alcohol involvement _
~ than had been anticipated in the |
_ inmate population. Applied to cur- _
_ fent prison population levels, this
cent of the inmates—but only 10 —
population. Two-thirds of the daily _
‘hours and more than 20 percent —
would mean that spprexinatehy
100,000 inmates had been drink-
ing heavily every day or nearly ev-
ery day during the year before con-
finement.
The bulletin said almost 50 per-
percent of the total general
population 18 years old or more—
drank an average of more than an
ounce of pure alcohol daily. On |
the other hand, a sixth of the in-
mates abstained from alcohol, ©
compared to a third of the general -
drinkers were very heavy drinkers.
The half of the inmate popula-
tion that had been drinking just
before the crime had usually been.
drinking with companions, most,
likely had been drinking for more
than four hours (40 percent had
been drinking for more than five
had been drinking for more. han
nine hours). oe
.64 Master Detective
- i a
A
This caused The El Paso Times to com-
ment sarcastically, ‘‘They would feast
their soft eyes on a sight so well calcu-
lated to develop the gentler and sweeter
attributes of their lovely selves.’’
Verandas of the old courthouse,
said to be the most beautiful in Texas,
. were now almost overflowing with men.
Their time was spent spinning yarns and
passing flasks around. Roofs of the sur-
rounding houses had been turned into
platforms jammed with thrill-seeking
spectators.
A section of the T and P freight train
had come into a siding near the court-
yard and was soon black with humans.
‘*as a carcass with crows.’’ The driver of
Pomeroy’s stopped to see what was
going on and the wagon was instantly
enveloped by a swarm of avid men and
boys straining for a glimpse of the
proceedings. Others of the mob put lad-
ders against the outer wall in hopes of a
glimpse of the condemned man. It was as
if the whole community had lost all ves-
_tiges of sanity and compassion in this
taking of a human life.
At 2:45 the heavy bolts of the jail door
clanged and Castillo appeared. He was
dressed in a neat black suit and was car-
rying a white straw hat. At the foot of the
stairs he tossed away a half smoked
cigarette and handed the hat to one of the
deputies. Although somewhat distraught
he showed no signs of fear as he mounted
the 13 steps to the platform of the scaf-
fold. By his side were two priests, sever-
al deputies and the hangman, Jim Lyons.
Castillo listened solemnly to the death
sentence interpreted in Spanish by G.A.
Escajeda. Given permission for a last
statement he replied in Spanish, ‘‘God
forgive all the officers executing my
sentence and those here who had so un-
justly accused me of the crime for which
I die. God knows I have been unjustly
accused but they will be rewarded by
him.”’
The prisoner then knelt with the priest
for a short prayer, kissed the cross
around his neck and rose slowly to his
feet. Officer Lyons moved in to tie
the prisoner’s hands ‘and feet together.
Castillo was blindfolded and another
* handkerchief tied under his chin and fas-
tened around his head. He stood bravely
until the rope slid around his neck,
. then reeled for the first time.
_ Juan Franco sprung the trap at 3:00.
The first try was successful with only a
slight gurgling sound heard. Seventeen
‘minutes later, physicians pronounced
him dead. He was cut right down and
taken to the Catholic cemtery for burial.
The most exciting hangings took place
Order CofetaCaene @) today—it really works!
This Super Strenth CofetaCaene ™ tablet
contains a powerful potent South American Wonder
Herb whose mystical properties are said to include:
* Stimulation of your mental and physical powers.
* Excitement of libido: sexual drive and
performance zooms up.
* Drowsiness transformed into. pure*igh energy.
* Shuts down your appetite just as effectively as
amphetamines. yet is completely
natural and organic
*
* Gives a definite buzz and burst of energy,
but no crash at all.
* Increases alertness. stamina and capacity
for extended work.
Only Extra Strength CofetaCaene ~. talbets
have helped.thousands of smart diet con-
scious people like yourself to shed ugly
fat...to improve mood and increase energy
and stamina. © Smythe-Knabe Labs 1982
Totally safe. legal. drug-free. and non- addicting.
Read this if you read nothing else.
Dieters often experience a virtually im-
mediate large and rapid weight loss. Do not
exceed recommended dosage or use as a
substitute for sleep. Make no mistake about
it. this is a potent pill. If you suffer from any
systematic disease. or are taking any other
medication. consult with your physician
before taking this or any other pep-diet pill
——— No Risk 30 Day Trial Coupon -———
i.
Your Iron-clad Guarantee of Satisfaction
Try Super Strength Cofetacaene at our
| risk! Use 10 tablets as directed—you must
| be totally satisfied and see a large and
| dramatic difference or you may return the re-
| mainder within 30 days for a prompt refund.
| What can be fairer that that?
Smythe-Knabe Labs, Dept. PD516
B773 Church St. Sta., N.Y.C. 10008
|
|
|
|
| Cj enclose $ 7.95 for 30 tablets
| (Jl enclose $12.95 for 60 tablets (1 save $2,95)
C}1 enclose $19.95 for 120 tablets (I save $11.95)
| Please add $1.00 tor Postage & Handling
|
|
|
|
|
|
MAKE EXTRA MONEY
“DOING TAX RETURNS
aan at home in spare time
No previous experience needed!
Even beginners learn fast because we teach you only
what you need to start making money. No need to quit
your job or change your daily routine. Experts show you
what to do, how to do it, explain everything we teach you
in easy-to-understand language, with plenty of examples
and illustrations. Start your own income tax service or
work for others even before you graduate.
We show you how to make money full or spare-time at
- home doing income tax returns for friends, neighbors...
® anyone who earns money...even small businesses. No
out-of-pocket expense because your home i$ your
of ice whether you work full time or only a few hours
a week. * Send for free facts! No salesman wil} call!
Gee, tS A SD SD SN SN ND SP SD GND GD ae a GD am
Innes) INCOME TAX TRAINING, Dept. NBO43
] (Nxes) 4401 Birch St., Newport Beach, CA 92660
! Name. Age
HOW TO PUBLISH
Join our successful authors in a
complete and reliable publishing
program: publicity, advertising,
handsome books. Speedy, efficient
service. Send for FREE manuscript
report & copy of Publish Your Book.
CARLTON PRESS Dept DMO
84 Fifth Ave., New York 11, N. Y.
SEXY GIRLS IN YOUR AREA
WANT MEN OF ALL AGES FOR
DATES.
WRITE FOR FREE DETAILS:
> DEPT. 100.
FORT GARLAND. CO. 81133
JAIET BOX 18
SOLID BRONZE PROFESSIONAL
WALLET BADGES
Heavy solid bronze for lifatime wear. Used by
thousands of professional investigators and de-
tectives all over the world. $495 each.
#203-B
#203-A Private
Private ; Detective
International $4.95
Investigator
$4.95
_#203-C
Official
Press
Photo-
grapher
Security
y Officer
$4.95
Regulation Badge Case. Display your badge
in an official manner.......... $4.95.
Send name, address & style # desired; print plainly.
No C.0.D.'s. Add .50 for postage & handling.
SAVE: ANY TWO ITEMS $9.95.
FREE WITH ORDERS ONLY — Catalog of police and
detective equipment. Unusual items.
POLICE EQUIPMENT CO., Dept. 8206
7471 Melrose Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90046
Master Detective 63
ROR mE A ko nt
Lenmar cemtemnetyoee
Michael Vincent Veal had given police
officers during his previous arrests. At
each address, they learned the same—
the people there knew who he was, but
hadn’t seen him in some time. They con-
tinued to search, and now that they were
armed with a picture of the suspect and a
warrant for his arrest, detectives re-
canvassed the neighborhood where Paul
Tisdale had been killed. Has anyone
seen this man around? Does anyone
know where he’s staying now?
Many of the people questioned, parti-
cularly those at Veal’s previous addres-
ses, gave the detectives further leads—. °
where he might be hiding out, who his
friends and acquaintances were and
where they might be found. Carefully
and methodically, the detectives check-
ed out each and every lead. Finally, the
landlady of a building only blocks from
the murder scene told detectives that
Veal was, in fact, staying with one of her
tenants. She hadn’t realized that he was
the one wanted for the cabbie’s murder,
but now that she saw his picture, she
recognized him. But, she added, he just
left the building about ten minutes ago.
Detectives asked the landlady for a de-
scription of the clothing Veal had been
wearing when he left the building, which
_ She provided. They immediately put this
information out over their mobile radio,
adding that he was thought to be on foot,
and so could not be very far away. Mi-
nutes later, a responding squad saw a
man fitting the description walking along
the sidewalk on South Stewart. They
stopped to question this man, and, after
he readily admitted to being Michael
Veal, he was taken into detective head-
quarters. When the detectives arrived,
Veal asked what he was being arrested
for and detectives advised him-that they
had a warrant for his arrest for the rob-
bery and murder of a cabdriver.
‘*Is he dead?’’ Veal asked
“*Yes,’’ the detective replied, ‘‘he’s
dead.”’
Veal smirked. ‘‘Then I didn’t do it.’’
The two witnesses were picked up and
brought into headquarters, where they
were sequesterediti a'room behind a one-
way mirror. Veal, then, stood in a
lineup consisting of four other persons
besides himself. Each witness viewed the
lineup independently, and each positive-
ly identified Michael Veal as the man
who killed Paul Tisdale. ,
Michael Vincent Veal was tried for the
murder and, on August 2, 1982, was
sentenced by Judge Schreier to 40 years
in the penitentiary for the murder of Paul
Tisdale. He was also sentenced to serve
30 years for the robbery of Tisdale, such
sentence to run concurrently. oo
| Justice Was
Without Mercy
(Continued from page 43)
buried in the Catholic cemetery. The
more than 400 witnesses were a long
time forgetting the tragic events of-that
day in July.
Editor Newman let loose a final spate
_ of floral oratory in describing the hang-
ing. He wrote, ‘‘There died today a per-
fect model of physical health with a
- countenance which betrayed no evi-
dence of guilt: clear, bright eyes that
rather sought than evaded the inquiring
gaze of those who tried in vain to discov-
er in them some lurking indication that
the heart below was foul and black and
the outward show of recognition only a
cloak to conceal the damnable thoughts
of a human fiend. He spoke with a clear
solemn voice the pathos of which went
deep down into every heart that heard
it.’” This was a crusade that Newman
hated to lose.
Nine years were to pass before another _
legal hanging was held in El Paso::
62 Master Detective
County. Again the crime was rape and
again only the word of the victim was
considered. The condemned man was
Rosalio Castillo, a worker on a farm in
Ysleta.
It was a cool morning that September
11, 1891, when 11-year-old Luiz
Romero left her home. Swinging in a
satchel at her side were some easy shoes
she was to deliver to her sister working at »
Mrs. Boye’s. As the little black-haired
girl crossed a vacant lot on Ochoa Street,
near her home, she was accosted by a
stranger and pulled into a clump of near-
by bushes. It was almost noon before the
hysterical child could drag her battered
body home. She had been so terribly
abused one hip was wrenched out of the
joint.
Castillo was picked up two weeks la-
ter while at work at Ysleta. He was iden-
tified by the girl and arrested. At his trial
another witness pointed him out as the
man seen following Luiz. It was on this
flimsy and almost unsupported testi-
‘mony that Castillo was convicted and
sentenced to hang.
This time no newspaper championed ©
the cause of Castillo as in the case of
Brinster. S.H. Newman, whose fiery
editorials against the sporting element
were constant, was no longer around.
Enemies had taken vast exception to his
purity crusade, forcing so much adver-
tising loss that Newman had to sell the
Lone Star. A few of the more concerned
citizenry petitoned Governor Hogg for
clemency for the suspect but were re-
jected.
Castillo was a quiet man who spoke no
English. He had been brought up in the
Holy Church, and was deeply religious.
One of the most frequent visitors to the
jail was Father Bueno, whom Castillo
grew to dislike. So upset did he become
after one of these visits that the jailer
requested the priest to stay away, saying,
““A.man should be able to decide for
himself.”’
Dr. Merchand, pastor of the Mexican .
Baptist Church, then began to visit the
. prisoner. So impressed was Castillo that
he agreed to become a Baptist. He was
taken under heavy guard to the church
and baptized. Later, however, the trou-
bled man’s early religious upbringing
came to the fore and he asked to see
Father Bueno. Both clerygymen then
Stayed with him until the end.
Just behind the courthouse and well
. within earshot of the condemned man, a
pine lumber scaffold, built by Charles E.
Fruin, was going up. A heavy cross bar
was erected 30 feet above the ground
with a 25-inch-deep pit dug for further
fall. From the trap upward the scaffold
was enclosed except for an entrance on
the south side which led to a short flight
of stairs. Heavy ropes from the trigger
bearing the weight of the trap ran back 20
feet through a post and over a pulley.
Jailer Juan Flores was to stand behind the
rope and give the silent signal to spring
the trap.
November 25, 1892, the day before
the scheduled hanging, the jail was
opened to the public. Two special turn-
keys were hired to handle the crowd.
Line after line of the curious shuffled
through the narrow corridors to stare
through the cells bars at the prisoners.
Although visibly dejected, Castillo bore
the cruelty of the parade with composure
and silent suffering.
The day of the hanging dawned bright
and clear. The town took on the air of a
fiesta. Wagon loads of people jammed
the dusty streets. Vistors were not
allowed in the jail on that day so the
crowds spent most of the time jockeying
for the best places to view the proceed-
ings.
The cupolas of the courthouse were
filled with women in their Sunday best.
and no compromise with evil and wrong. His autobiography, which
he brought to a conclusion just before his death in E] Paso, shows
that the famous gunman’s picture of himself had been battered by
time, but had not changed in its essential features.
The explanation for this almost incredible situation comes to
this: John Wesley Hardin was two distinct persons — killer and
Christian hero. He could kill without compunction, and he could
preach and pray when circumstances called for preaching and
praying. The bridge between these two personalities, the device
which kept the halves from flying apart, was his sincere and con-
stant conviction that every single one of those thirty to forty
killings was right and necessary. His victims had forced the quarrel
or needed killing or were stupid enough not to throw up their hands
when he told them to. On occasion he could regard shooting a man
as a public service. In 1871 he punctured two Mexicans over a
monte game and closed his account of the affair in his autobiog-
raphy with the observation: “The best people of the vicinity said
I did a good thing.” 5°
He undoubtedly expected, when he got out of jail, to lead a dif-
ferent and better life. He thought he would like to be a lawyer
and actually absorbed a good deal of legal knowledge during those
fifteen years behind bars. Less than a year before his time was up,
however, his dream fell in ruins with the death of his wife Jane
Bowen Hardin. He emerged in February, 1894, into a world which
had passed him by and into a frustrating relationship with his
almost-grown children, who loved him dearly but hardly knew him
and could not fully understand him.
At first things went well enough. The Governor gave him a full
pardon; he passed his bar examinations, rating first in a group of
seventy candidates; and he hung out his shingle in the town of
Gonzales, where he had been very much at home as a boy. He
made the mistake, however, of getting involved in a political dog-
fight and when his side lost, he left his children with a close friend
while he went off to look for a new home.s”
The pilgrimage which was to end at El Paso began in the hill-
country town of Junction, lost in the brush out west of Austin,
where he stepped into a nest of Hardin relatives. There in De-
cember of 1894 Wes opened a law office. One month later he mar-
ried a young girl named Callie Lewis, who left him a few hours
4324}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
after the wedding, refused to see him again for reasons still mys-
terious, and sent him off on the next lap of the journey.
After a briet pause at Kerrville, he headed west once more in
response to a call for help from one of his less creditable relatives.
“Killin’ Jim” Miller, a cousin by marriage, was in need of his legal
services. A man whose gun was for hire, Miller had been involved
in a number of bloody little episodes whose consequences he had
escaped by fast footwork and the good offices of friends he had
made in church. This time he was the plaintiff. At the climax of a
private feud between himself and ex-Sheriff Bud Frazer of Pecos,
Bud had shot first and put Miller in the hospital. Jim was now
charging Bud with attempted murder. The case had been moved
to El Paso,5° and the family lawyer was needed there. Hardin’s
cousin Jenny, Mrs. Frank Powers, was an El Paso resident and
may have added her persuasions to Miller’s.
Thus destiny of some sort brought Hardin to El Paso on or about
the first of April, 1895. The police were interested, of course, and
the Times for April 2 commented sourly that the Miller and Frazer
outfits “will no doubt be taught the lesson that El Paso has her
own peace officers. The day for man killers in El Paso has passed.”
Jeff Milton says he made John Wesley take off his pistol, and no
doubt Hardin obliged him when he made the request, but he was
certainly wearing it a few days later.®° At Miller’s trial Wes made
himself useful, though he had no official part in the proceedings.®
A hung jury delayed the case and the Pecos people went home,
but Hardin liked El Paso and resolved to stay. On April 17 he was
the inspiration for a sketch in the “Caught on the Fly” column of
the Times. John Middagh, the historian of this newspaper, thinks
he paid to have the notice inserted.®
“In his younger days,” the column stated, “Mr. Hardin was as
wild as the broad western plains upon which he was raised. But
he was a generous, brave-hearted youth and got into no small
amount of trouble for the sake of his friends... . Young Hardin,
having a reputation for being a man who never took water, was
picked out by every bad man who wanted to make a reputation,
and there is where the ‘bad men’ made a mistake, for the young
westerner still survives many warm and tragic encounters.” In
contrast to the wild youth of former days, the article went on, the
Hardin of 1895 is “a quiet, dignified, peaceable man of business . . .
4325}
who could be more sympathetic, more tender, more patient than
all of us when necessary.”4 Outlaw was undoubtedly the only one
of his kind on record about whom such things were ever said, or
could have been said.
Selman was tried for murder but of course came clear.4? As a
result of this episode, however, his vision was permanently im-
paired — he could hardly see at all at night, says his son — and he
walked with a cane for the remaining two years of his life.43
Selman was only one of an impressive concentration of pistol
men who made El Paso and Juarez their headquarters in the middle
90's. Jeff Milton, who already had a massive reputation in Arizona
as a peace officer, became City Marshal during a brief flurry of
reform activity in 1894. Deputy United States Marshal George
Scarborough, known as a dangerous man in a fight, was already
on the ground. Several other efficient hand-gun artists were on the
side of the law. On the other side were all sorts of local sports,
drifting desperadoes, men in flight from other regions — a wide
assortment of loose-living characters who came and went in pur-
suit of their own nefarious ends.
A particularly interesting bunch came to town in the spring of
1895, stopped briefly, and fled to Juarez just ahead of a posse from
Eddy (Carlsbad), New Mexico. There were at least four of them,
probably more, their leader being a remarkable personality named
Martin Morose. The newspapers spelled him M’Rose, but Dee
Harkey, who helped to break up his rustling activities and rush
him out of New Mexico, spells his name Morose, gives an account
of his origin in a Polish community in Karnes County, southeast
~ of San Antonio, and tells how he learned to be a cowboy at the
same time he was learning to speak English. He was big, blond,
crude, unwashed and immoral, but he had a gift for getting hold
of other people’s property and was tough enough to kill if neces-
sary to keep what he stole. Tom Finnessy, range manager for the
VVN's (Eddy-Bissell Cattle Company) and a man after Martin’s
own heart, hired him as a cowboy and started him on his career.4
His prosperity began when he drove a herd to Kansas and picked
up enough stray stock along the way to start him in business for
himself. He adopted the Ladder brand, which would cover almost
anything, and made so much money that he spruced up, began to
wear boots and possibly underwear, and assumed a position of
{320}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
leadership among the outlaws and thieves who dominated the
county.
Dee Harkey, his boyhood acquaintance, came to Eddy about
this time and noted the change. The two did not have a happy
reunion, however, for the legitimate cattlemen of the region were
fed up with Martin and his friends and they hired Harkey to go
after them. They got Dee an appointment as United States Deputy
Marshal and Inspector for the Livestock Association.
There was a meeting at which Harkey met Martin and his fellow
thieves, who included Tom Finnessy, a desperado named Vic
Queen, and the Sheriff of the county. In all there were twenty-five
or thirty hard cases in the group. Martin proposed to match Dee’s
salary and brand a thousand calves a year for him if he would let
them alone. Dee says he refused; and during the years that fol-
lowed he sent the gang off, a few at a time, to prison.45
Early in 1895 he ran Morose, Queen, and Finnessy out of the
country for stealing horses. Finnessy and Queen went directly to
E] Paso and on to Juarez. Morose went overland to Midland, where
he met his “wife,” a handsome blonde woman named Beulah whom
he is said to have married in “the sheriff's whore house at Eddy.” 46
She had a child as a result of some former connection, and seems
to have been in all ways a lady of great energy and no inhibitions.
Together they took the train to El Paso, carrying at least $3,500 in
cash with which they planned to buy a ranch in Mexico.47 The
news that Morose and his men were wanted reached El Paso al-
most as soon as he did, but he had to be run down in the interior
of Chihuahua before he could be arrested and brought back to the
border. Beulah was with him. True to her explosive nature, she
was ready to fight the arresting officers and had to be disarmed.‘
Officer Beauregard Lee, whom she tried to kill, noted that she was
carrying $1,880 in money.
The stage was now set for the dramas and difficulties of 1895.
Morose was locked up. Beulah was in El Paso trying to take the
heat off him. Vic Queen and Tom Finnessy, though not in jail, were
pinned down in Juarez and unable to cross the international bridge.
They had been joined by Sam Kaufman and a Mr. Lightfoot of
New Mexico.49 Eventually a Texas cattleman, “General” Gene
Mackenzie, with whom Morose had once been in partnership,5°
brought a bag of money to Juarez and bought his friend’s release
{321}
from jail,5* though he couldn’t bring him out of Mexico. To add
extra interest, Dee Harkey advertised in El Paso and Judrez that
the cattleman’s association which he represented would pay $500
to anyone who would deliver Martin Morose to the American side
of the river, dead or alive.
Matters were in this situation when the greatest gunman of them
all got off the Southern Pacific train and appeared on the streets
of El Paso to the horror and joy of the citizens. This was John
Wesley Hardin, still a great name in Texas sporting circles though
fifteen years in the State Penitentiary, from which he had only
recently emerged, had subtracted some of the glamor from his
public image. Still, a first-class pistol man could not be taken light-
ly and one who had killed somewhere near forty men was certainly
first class. As he appeared in the saloons and eating houses, El] Paso
regarded him with respectful curiosity and devoted considerable
attention to him and his doings throughout the four months of his
residence. Young John Selman says that the general attitude ap-
proached hero worship.
Hardin was almost forty-three years old at the time of his arrival.
He had put on some middle-aged flesh but was still a handsome
man, well coordinated, forceful, full of life and ambition. Out-
wardly he was a gentleman of good manners and prepossessing
appearance, at home in a Prince Albert coat and striped pants.
Inwardly, he was a sick man. Dee Harkey calls him “the most
tortured soul I have ever known.”5?
If he had been born in a different time and place, he might have
turned out differently, but he was a boy during the Civil War in
Texas and grew up during the terrible times that followed. He
first saw the light in May, 1853, at Bonham, the county seat of
Fannin County, a hotbed of trouble between Southerners and
Union men. Later the family moved to Southeast Texas where
things were no better. Although John Wesley was named for the
founder of Methodism and his father was a circuit-riding preacher,
he learned and lived by a frontier code which had little to do with
the teachings of Christianity. He was a Southerner and Texan of
the touchiest variety. In his personal creed the first principle was
to back down for no man. The second was to revenge to the hilt
any reflection on his personal honor.
4322}
Re atelier te 2 ce ae NE wane anata wied
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
The fact that everybody, including schoolboys, carried pistols
in those days had a good deal to do with his initiation as a killer.
At the age of fifteen he shot a colored boy who aroused his indig-
nation, and he was almost constantly in trouble after that until in
1878 the law finally caught him and he went to prison — for shoot-
ing a deputy sheriff whom he describes as a glory hunter looking
for a fight.5° He had killed upward of thirty men when he began
his fifteen-year stay at the Huntsville penitentiary.
In the hundred or more books which have followed John Wesley
Hardin’s lethal career, the picture usually presented is that of a
ruthless and efficient destroyer, the “fastest gun in Texas,” a spec-
ialist in homicide who lost his nerve and ended his career in de-
gradation and despair.5 It is true that disappointment and defeat
altered him for the worse during his last months on earth, but the
John Wesley Hardin known to his friends and relatives in the days
of his youth and early manhood was not the character painted by
the frontier historians.
The letters which he wrote to his family from prison are appar-
ently the product of a well educated Christian gentleman, master
of a rather florid but competent English style, and upholder of
ethical standards high enough to satisfy Preacher Hardin himself.
“My dear son,” he begins one letter to John Wesley, Jr., “your
father is again permitted to write his noble, his brave boy. Then
with gratitude to God for this privilege together with the many
blessings and benefits received by me during these many years, I
offer with reverence that divine one my sincere thanks and bestow
upon him my praises with the hopeful assurance that his blessings
and his comfort will not be withdrawn from me and mine in the
near or distant future.” 55
A man who could go on like that was bound to become the
superintendent of the prison Sunday school, and who shall say
that he was not sincere!
He admonishes his son to be brave and strong, to protect his
mother and sisters, and to behave so that his parents will be proud
of him. In the principles he recommends to his boy it is easy to
distinguish the principles which John Wesley aimed to live by
himself. There can be no doubt that in those days he thought
himself a good and brave man in whom there was no weakness
4323}
but underneath the modest dignity is a firmness that never yields
except to reason and the law.”
If the writer of this piece was not John Wesley Hardin, he cer-
tainly saw Wes as Wes saw himself.
The people who knew Hardin best at this time were convinced
that he meant to go straight. Judge Wyndham Kemp used to say
that during these days Wesley made a “heartbreaking” effort to
establish himself as a lawyer.63 He rented an office on the second
floor of the old First National Bank Building (you can look up at
his window as you stand on the front steps of the Hotel Paso del
Norte ). He solicited any sort of legal business and welcomed even
calls to act as a notary. Gradually he came to see that a man with
his record was not the sort of lawyer people went to with their
troubles, but for a month or so he tried to practice his profession.
One piece of legal business which came to him he would have
been better off without. Mrs. Martin Morose, blonde, beautiful, and
belligerent, appeared at his office door one morning and asked him
to see what he could do for her husband. Hardin took the job in
good faith but almost immediately — within a few days — their re-
lationship changed to a personal one. They both had rooms at Mrs.
Herndon’s lodging house on Overland Street, and the word soon
got around that they were living together. Martin Morose heard
all about it and nearly went out of his mind while his little knot
of sympathizers in Juarez began to talk about ways and means of
eliminating Hardin. They may have given the matter some extra
attention because Mrs. Morose was taking care of a part of the
Morose money. They sent word to Hardin that “he had better
make himself scarce” in Mexico.®4
Things happened rapidly in this affair. Morose and Beulah were
arrested at Magdalena, Chihuahua, on April 11, 1895. Hardin’s
first encounter with the Morose party happened on April 21, only
ten days later. He was taking a Sunday stroll in Juarez all by him-
self, apparently thinking no evil of anybody, when he met Tom
Finnessy and several of Martin’s friends. Seeing that they had him
at a disadvantage, they proceeded to work him over verbally,
probably intending to provoke him into a fight. They “tried to
bulldoze him,” the Times reported, “and grew quite saucy in their
talk.” Hardin swallowed his wrath and got away without trouble,
but the next day he was back in Juarez again, this time with “a
{326}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
friend” whose identity was not mentioned in the papers. The two
joined forces with Police Chief Milton and a friend of his, and the
four of them sought the back room of Dieter and Sauer’s saloon.
They found five of Morose’s friends already in the room having a
consultation with Beulah herself. One senses all sorts of currents
and undercurrents in this meeting. It is hard to believe that it was
accidental.
“The conversation soon became general,” the Times reported,
“M’Rose’s case was brought up and hot words passed between
Hardin and Finnessy. Both men sprang to their feet. In an instant
Mr. Hardin had slapped Finnessy’s face and had his gun at his
breast. In another instant Finnessy would have been a dead man,
but quick as thought Chief Milton grasped the pistol and . . . it was
quickly agreed the matter should be dropped.Ӣ
The Juarez police were at hand and apparently took everybody
to the Mayor for a hearing, but Jeff Milton made a speech good
enough to get them off.
It was one of Milton’s last efforts as chief of police, for on the
first of May he was replaced by Ed Fink. At the city elections on
April g the reform element had been voted out and R. F. Camp-
bell, the new mayor, wanted his own man.®* A gambler of some
note himself, Campbell was by no means hostile to gaming and
the town knew it. On the evening of Ed Fink’s appointment “quiet”
games opened up here and there in the gambling rooms of the
saloons.
John Wesley Hardin was in attendance at a poker session at the
Acme. Perhaps he went out of curiosity. Perhaps he was already
so discouraged over his law business that he was looking for a
diversion or another way of life. At any rate he became discon-
tented with the way the game was being conducted, scooped up
the pot, and walked out with it.
From what we know about Wes Hardin, there must have been
something odd about that poker game. His own explanation, made
three days later, was: “I would not stand a holdout.”®” He did not
display a gun and nobody objected to his action, indicating that
other people thought there was something odd about the poker
game also.
The next night he did it again, under different circumstances
and with far different results. The attraction was a crap game at
4327}
Cleburne, Johnson County, Texas, hangings,
; i
| ‘ : ; (
rf pn" {
bet a
7 {
4 , res € r {
‘ i Five Legal Hangins , if pid (pr “"
5 five legal frangiage Thave taker . | “ 1?
d i pline on the watiows un Cleburne i,m A i a em t
i, The first leat execution im the his af lv IN gt t
el tors af the town occurred on March ApW as aa i? | )’ ) {' , i
‘i 19, 1880, when Sam Myers, son of, L- fis anaes | E
, an early. Alvarado settler, was er | 4 , v
* hapied - ‘ : f, , . A in |
é i The nogse fos tightened around wa Ke ‘ ' { gh sy *
& fver’s neck the old jail yard at a Mok? a} ‘ | \
? the corner oof Anglin and) Cham } yb Le i). \
i; , 5 hors Streets. Myers, in) company ; ie ,
4 with James Ho Bowden, was con J
A: ‘ vieted of murdering Mrs. Mary A. b ¥
1 4 Hester on Feb. 2), 1877 She was : I
13 hot through. the windew. of her :
hie as she sat at the supper tah
{ “
4 Affer several trials and one es
cape, Myers was banged before a 1
1} crowd oof sie oor eight thousand ;
+ 4 : 4 , F cls vp
j people Bowden escaped a similar
8 s fate but altempted suicide — by is
i drinking oa qitart of whiskey “al f
one draft.’ i
a John Wilkins was the next person
j fo he strung op in Cleburne. He ; .
; Was hanged on June 26, 1896 for f
} the murder of Grinee Taylor, who
lived near Grandview, The execu
fan took place on the north side of
i Harrell Street just west of the Buf ; ft
a4 talo Creek bridge. Ten thousand
petsons from the county and other
5 gathered to witness
A
4 : the execution. i
" M.™M. Williams, prominent Egan '
i farmer, Was shot five times in rap- . ;
4 tid suecession at the south door of t
a the courthouse in Cleburne in 1899
. lohn Wo Renfro surrcndered to of-
ictals on the spot
4 The killing grew out of a case in
¢ the county court. Renfro had been {
4 ; ‘haryied with slandering Williams i
aa ; dauhter, Both parties were on t
' their way to attend the trial when ;
4 the shooting occurred, A lynehing '
vas feared, but prevented, Renfro
a was hanged for the murder, i
{ John Stokes Shaw was to have f
: been hanged in 1898 for the murder
BH . ff Tom Crane, but he escaped Jail a
: i : (on the night before his scheduled 7
i i lonm. He was later recaptured and
toed ; Vanged in 1899.
; ‘| Sentonced to Die
Be Shaw was sentenced to death on
; oy nn. 14, 1808 for the first degree
+ 4 '—vurder of Crane. Lee Wilson, Ne-
, ig ro aecamplice, was also found
41% ‘uilty and sentenred to lite im-
4 wrisonmert, Shaw's eseape came
j n August when Tom Morgan, on
j ia : he death watch, fell asleep leav-
,*3 ‘ing his clothes near the cell door.
oe » Shaw used a ease knife or file, ,
fo -anshackled himself, twisted news-
et yaper into a long roll and ‘astened
a | tosmall hook in thyperd from a
1 hi. ne ; dece of wire in the mattress, He
‘ | then drew the eur’ s pemts ieto
ae : he cell, secured the leew and tefl
if ae ee or following note to B. F. Good-
‘ “Dear Emmett--1 am coing to
oe hanue boarding houses as —T can-
| ran not stay here longer. Stewart will
oy ‘ot have the pleasure of hanging
% { one next Friday.” ’
a | S53 He was later recaptured, but his
half-sister further delayed the
Changing Dy declaring that he was
imsane, Aftey the inuanitv hearing
proved he way sane, he was finally
Hsent to the allows,
In 1901, Henry Fugit, Negro, was
hanged for q butcher knife slaving
of his wife, Kxecutions since that)
time have taken place in Hunts-
ville, The execution of Myers was
° performed by Sheriff J. C. Brown,
ik while Sheriff W. A. Stewart execut-
et -o@ Renfro, Shaw and Wilkins, Fugit
was hanged by Shoriff Frank Lang.
: . -» ia OW eliL have
t broken” ap. As additional protec-
Vn. there wilt érganized to-rcrrow a
ite military wnpany, who will be
ive duby to assist the authori-
ining: daw.
been . Haining Steadily since 7
a _ Sager’ sue cAhatry, and that
P a shes Bis, doula Lanioschs, | prits occypy only a Lmite?space, the ma- fou accouffiof that act.
2 ; sherk lottek{is a strong | Aki's victin, recited the following fac * abi b#lug prisoners fpiunis ea Ay and } This morning Aye |
protest against the injustice whic need- | have no father living: I have lived/ in Seo egfeasistin, sent hore for sate 9) p> WHOTK A LETTER
hak ravis cownly since I was a little chilli, We ing, God parties indicted by the (Paited to his uncle in Wy Uliann
lesaly dilatory proceedings on the of came here’ from Coilin county, Texis 1} States” et rts, Maii-robber's, Magorob- J ting that if he had folic
: the executive must inflict, remember the 24th' of July, 187s, Jthvas | bers, coun orfeiters, moonshiners, ' der. | Would not have to be
a El ees ne tn Sunday. J started that morning frojnj|my | ers, burgpirs, thieves and jan this last critns, He al
iy New Orleans Times, of Au 17, | sister’s, néar the blind . asylurn on }my | there abuund, aud are fad bad committer Many ¢:
as 6 pdtition with two or thilee hun. | litte pony, to @ to my mother's hous, at bing, killing and stealing
‘dred names of prominent firms attached, | Fort prairle, abo i
THRONGHD.
nged! with people “all
he spittators; were non-
; ved the many
receive. The arran
‘4
wan county, admit.
9Wed his advice he
ng, but denyin
confesved that he
wach as rob-
breax
2wu and nice,
kitcher was clean and tidy. Inalge the
jail the air seemed pure and inoffensive,
aud every part of the bulidin
Austin was
day. 3
2.--Private advices
issimaippi, report four
“fover there, It is being
the on he ere tis city. The
be | jail-yard was dry and clean. water ails Was perfect, Pie nes have sont an
I | company furniy any amount of || water cond '
fe | for cleansing purposes, but the Se et ne
then took hold of my bridle, and told bn Guthorities| are “too - stingy, Rinne * i lieg sub- ever NotSpreading,
to get off my pony. | told him I didn't want | well able,| to construct a sewer anvials, New/Oacrans August 22.—Dr. Her-
to get off, but a told me it I n't, ! i —_ “§, focretary o the board of health, says
if I ran, he would shoot pe. , ‘
He then canght iy horse and Jed him a
if yellow fever jie not
tres and tried to the bridle to a grabe
¥ ° ; that
i ‘0 Cases have eemeen ene since July
I hi horse if be j rfect cleanlinepe and health ie prance grtend xray Eh vip, ths atone ent of t one as
vine. 1 offered him ny re wonid ; ect ¢. he { j ¢ same quarter Y as
let me go, He said he didn’t want fuy | at these buildings until this sfae jot in Austin was b
\ | horve; had plenty of horses at home is made,
ky, who killed
er and hid wite{; :
list case, that
)} 5 taken up by Ster
ve,
in the vicinity of
\ street. +
Dr. Uraft’s Opinion,
VASNINGTON, Aug. 22-—Dr. Craft, at
More W Being “hott in sh \ Oroans, te! phs that the location
Ap | he ne
having made any f
ing illed a man down £2 the ‘te,
THE CONDEMNED,
‘ound by the reporter
4 made ken
of blavee dur-
a iors an rh heme ; , and make their
ted ° ‘ citivens,
SD i ee te es etnias Meee cc, ae ee
§
:
i
EE
bist
RF ac 2
: the
i
R
:
4
j
E
Er
a
bo Had ta their litetline clomg
ete will come before the
:
3
ther man, a poor Case
* #hot to ‘death sit-
mabi rter
or mapoemy and sume f nf. on the river Past town. The
fadicted only for mur-
peered lyse wed amnse-
oR
a
OeFSEESRSSESSSS re keceeeece Mes ype
-
a
*. wis viner
Bome three ‘ears
to the Tray 572
| Rt.
} Sway match, s new doling
session of the levi
&,
3
>
4
g
§
:
bz
mm
i
Ee
a
B 3
i
i
g
i
g
s
om, Kan., Ave. $2. —feveral
enced in } Méxiea to
mat in the Netemsbe ae
HUTHiG. Frenne
B
1
é
i
4
Z
:
F
5
|
OMOEING A CIGAR,
with: his hat shoved on the hack of his
head, and teaning against the railing, pre-
ae ® very comfortable appearance
and altitude, and with expression of
ected upon a teas concern on his face than any one
t, thas the larger one on the piatiorm. ‘Those
tho axsault upon the
i
e
one Ww
Analy tii hor death. Thie iynot ay anthen
thoated cay, the prisecetion tailing to php and Morris, and the preachers,
cure udachnent. ‘ .
“me Fo.
RL PASO, TEXAS.
al’
Historical Atlas
of the
Outlaw West
Richard Patterson
Johnson Books: Boulder
the Gem, across the street from Wes’s law office. The man in charge
was a gambler named Phil Baker. Hardin’s luck was bad but he
endured it until Baker made a sneering remark reflecting on his
ability as a crap shooter. The next thing Phil knew, he was looking
down the barrel of a .45 and listening closely as Wes remarked:
“Since you are trying to be so cute, I’ll just take over the money
I lost here.”
“Yes, Sir,” the startled gambler said as he began counting out
bills. Wes added, “You can’t win my money and hurrah me too.”
He stopped the count when $95 was lying in front of him. “That’s
all I want. Just my money and no more,” he said, and so saying he
scooped up the cash and left.
In a minute he was back. Somebody had made a remark he
objected to. He invited those who did not like what had happened
to get in line and “show your manhood.” As witness Charles F.
Jones expressed it at the trial on May 16: “After getting the money,
he went out, but soon returned and challenged the people in the
room to trot out if they did not like his play, and as no one trotted
out, I guess they liked his play.”
Apparently two such high-handed performances on two suc-
cessive nights were more than even El Paso could adjust to, and
there was a good deal of talk — so much, in fact, that Hardin felt
he had to explain himself. In the columns of the Times on May 4
he did so. In a way he was explaining the code he had always lived
by — the code which had made him what he was:
I wish to announce right now that in the past my only ambition was
to be a man and you bet I draw my own idea, and while I have not al-
ways come up to my standard, yet I have no kick to make against myself
for default . . . my only aim is to acquit myself manly and bravely. . . .
I admire pluck, push, and virtue wherever found.
Whatever other people thought, John Wesley Hardin was con-
vinced, as he always was, that his conduct had been courageous
and correct.
His fellow townsmen probably understood his point of view
better than we can, for when he was brought to trial two weeks
later, he was charged only with carrying a concealed weapon and
was fined only $25 for doing so. His defense was that his life was
in danger from the Morose crowd.®9
Late in May he was tried for robbery — aftermath of the holdup
{328}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
of the crap game at the Gem Saloon. Hardin charged that the dice
used in Baker’s game were loaded, and he must have convinced
some of his listeners, for the proceedings ended in a mistrial. The
case was continued until October, an October which Hardin never
saw.7°
A surprising aspect of his activities, one which raises some inter-
esting questions, was mentioned in the concluding lines of the
May fourth notice in the Times. “I have bought an interest in the
Wigwam Saloon,” Wes announced, “and you who, whether in El
Paso or elsewhere, that admire pluck, that desire fairplay, are
cordially invited to call at the Wigwam where you will have every-
thing done to make it pleasant for you. All are especially invited
to our blowout on the 4th.”
It took ready cash to buy into the Wigwam, one of El Paso’s bus-
iest and most profitable liquor-and-gambling emporiums. Where
did the money come from? Specialists in border history suspect
that he got it from Mrs. Morose.7: In an interview three months
later, Beulah said she had “advanced” Hardin a large amount of
cash7* — possibly as a retainer, possibly as an investment in the
autobiography which he was writing. John Selman’s biographer
thinks that Wes liked Martin’s money and wanted the rest of it.73
Morose had been out of the Judrez juzgado for some time, pos-
sibly because he had taken the oath of allegiance to Mexico,74 but
he was still a wanted man in the United States. Several El Paso
police officers, including Jeff Milton, George Scarborough, and
ex-Ranger Frank McMahon (Scarborough’s brother-in-law) were
eager to get their hands on him. This Morose knew, but he wanted
desperately to come back. He wanted a crack at Hardin and was
even more eager for an interview with Beulah. George Look, the
man of many lives who left a manuscript telling what he knew,
says Selman tried to arrange a meeting between Morose and Beulah
in the back room of Look’s Gem Saloon.75 He does not say whether
or not the meeting came off, but other sources make it clear that
Morose was looking across the river with longing eyes.
Scarborough, the blue-eyed, buck-toothed little Deputy United
States Marshal, was Morose’s contact man. He says Morose “had
been sending messages” to him for a month before the show-
down,’* and George took the initiative in leading the victim into
the trap. There is reason to believe that Scarborough, Milton and
4329}
Selman made some sort of bargain with Hardin and that this
bargain cost several people their lives.
By the middle of June Martin was ripe and ready to be plucked.
On June 21 Scarborough went to meet him in the middle of the
Mexican Central Railway bridge, talked Martin out of his sus-
picions, and led him back to the American side. His hope of meet-
ing Beulah was shattered when Milton and McMahon rose up
from the little jungle of sunflower stalks beyond the bridge end
and challenged him. Morose was game. He jerked his gun and
succeeded in getting off one ineffectual shot before he fell with
eight bullets in his body,77 All that was found on him was a letter
addressed to Mrs. Helen Beulah Morose.
Nothing could have been more secret than this midnight assas-
sination, but there were witnesses. Two Mexican smugglers who
happened to be in the neighborhood told what they had seen to
Vic Queen, Martin’s partner. Queen fired off a letter to the El Paso
Times accusing Scarborough of “a systematic course of deception”
and of the cold-blooded murder of a man who had trusted him.78
Public sentiment in El Paso took about the same view.
Milton, Scarborough, and McMahon were tried for the killing
and came clear when Milton showed that he had a warrant for
Morose’s arrest.” It is quite possible that John Wesley Hardin and
John Selman were as deeply involved as the three who stood trial.
In the files of historian R. N. Mullin are the recorded statements
of several men close to the principals who say that Hardin arranged
the killing. There is also the fact that Morose had a considerable
amount of cash which he is not known to have left with anybody
and which was not found on his person.®° George Look says Hardin
got it, and paid dearly for it later on.
An ironic aspect of this sordid business came out at the time of
Morose’s burial. He was so little known that undertaker Powell
had to pick up four young men on the street to serve as pallbearers,
and the only mourners at Concordia Cemetery when the hearse
arrived were Beulah Morose and John Wesley Hardin.*
With Martin out of the way, life should have been simpler for
Wes and Beulah, but there were serpents in their desert Eden.
On August 2, when Wes was out of town, Beulah got drunk and
disorderly and was arrested by young John Selman for carrying
4330}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
a pistol. Although she paid her fine and apologized the next morn-
ing, it was abvious that things were not well with her.
They were not well with Hardin either. A temperate man in his
youth, he too was drinking more than was good for him and seemed
to be pursued by some personal devil. The Morose killing was
haunting him and once when he was not himself he made some
incautious remarks about George Scarborough — remarks for which
he apologized the next morning.®* The apology was not enough for
George, and a few days later he forced Wes to print a retraction
in the Times. “While under the influence of liquor,” the statement
read, “I made a talk against George Scarborough, stating that I
had hired George Scarborough to kill Morose. I do not recollect
making any such statement and if I did, the statement was abso-
lutely false, and it was superinduced by drink and frenzy.”83
When he released this statement, John Wesley Hardin, the in-
carnation of pluck and manliness, touched the lowest possible point
of personal humiliation. He could no longer believe in himself and
it was time for him to go.
These troubles brought on violent quarrels between Wes and
Mrs. Morose. At one time Beulah and Annie Williams, keeper of
the boarding house where they were now living together, had him
arrested for threatening Beulah’s life. The Court put him under a
peace bond. They went back together again, but it was obvious
that there was not much future in their association. Beulah felt this
herself, and about the middle of August she left for Phoenix, where
she seems to have had connections. She got as far as Deming, New
Mexico, and changed her mind. A wire came through to El Paso:
“I feel you are in trouble and I’m coming back.”®+ And Beulah
was not far behind her wire.
It was no use. A few days later she left again, and this time she
went all the way. Hardin was deprived of even the doubtful benefit
of Beulah’s concern when he went forth to meet his destiny on the
evening of August 19, 1895, at the Acme Saloon on San Antonio
Street.
Undoubtedly pressures had been building up behind the scenes
through July and August. The story most often heard (both Sel-
mans told it) says that Hardin and Selman fell out over young
Selman’s arrest of Beulah. The two men had been meeting each
4331}
odist minister, who was shocked to hear that her beloved was
involved in a sordid saloon killing. Her father was more horrified
still and they told Henry he would be on probation for a year; one
drink and it would be all over.
Before the year was up, Henry had been given his dismissal
although he hadn’t touched a drop, and, as people said in those
times, he “went to the dogs.”
Interestingly enough, his sweetheart’s father suffered the same
fate. He left town, left the ministry, became a school teacher in
a community far away from El Paso, and was sent to prison for
shooting an ex-sheriff who had made improper remarks to Mattie.
Attorney Robert T. Neill went to Governor Lanham’s house to
plead for a pardon, and Robertson went free.9s
John Selman apparently got little satisfaction from his triumph.
Revenge turned out to be a hollow thing, and in addition there
was the fact that people still refused to believe he had shot his
enemy in a fair fight. “In the back of the head. . . .” That was the
phrase that kept echoing in his mind. He drank more and more,
and the more he drank, the more he brooded. He felt compelled
to persuade an occasional stranger that he was really a great fighter.
To add to his burdens, a rumor started that Mannen Clements, one
of John Wesley’s relatives, intended to take the matter up.% Sel-
man’s sons never let him go out alone, especially at night.97
Thus matters stood for several months. Then John Selman, Jr.,
made the move which brought on the finale. Young John was in
love. His Juliet was a fifteen-year-old Mexican girl, the daughter
of a storekeeper named José Maria Ruiz. Late in the afternoon of
April 2, 1892, the lovers rode bicycles across the bridge to Juarez
and disappeared from view. The girl’s mother was not far behind,
and she got the Juarez police force into the act. It took the officers
until after midnight to locate the couple, but eventually they were
flushed out of their retreat — the house of a Mexican friend of
Selman’s — and John was taken to the Juarez jail.
Young Selman says the elopement took place when the girl
brought him the news that her father was moving his family to
El Salvador. They meant to get married, tried repeatedly to see
the mayor about it, could not locate him, and finally sought refuge
with Selman’s friend.°* After the arrest the girl’s mother took her
home — lost to Selman for good. Young John was crushed. His
4334}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
father came to see him on April 4 and spent the afternoon. It was
a gloomy meeting and the old man seemed to have a premonition
of trouble to come. As they said goodbye he remarked, “Well, I
will have to be going, but tomorrow I will come back with George
and we will get you out of here.”99
“George” was George Scarborough, whom Selman considered
his best friend.
That evening George shot Selman to death in the alley along-
side the Wigwam Saloon.
Selman’s death is, in its way, as mysterious as Hardin’s. It hap-
pened in the small hours of Easter morning, April 5 — perhaps
four a.M. Scarborough had been spending his time in the gambling
rooms of the Wigwam, which were on the second floor. He came
down the outside stairway, where Selman met him. One or the
other proposed that they have a talk, and they turned into the
alley. A few seconds later four pistol shots fractured the early-
morning silence. The crowd which gathered almost instantly found
Selman stretched out on the ground and George Scarborough
standing over him with his gun in his hand.
Bud Selman, the second son, was called by telephone from the
Santa Fe station where he was night watchman. His father was
still lying in the alley when he arrived, and was conscious. “Bud,”
he said, “it is too bad this had to happen. I don’t know what became
of my gun. If I had had my gun, things would of been different.”?
Why he didn’t have his pistol is still a mystery. It turned up in
possession of a barroom character named Cole Belmont who said
he had picked it up in the alley at the time of the shooting. Uncle
Jimmy Watts used to say, “Scarborough saw Selman sitting in the
Wigwam saloon asleep. He paid a Negro $20 to steal Selman’s gun
out of his holster. Then he sent someone in to tell Selman he wanted
to see him outside.” Maybe Uncle Jimmy knew.?™
Scarborough’s story was that Selman had asked him to talk, had
spoken about the possibility of getting John, Jr., out of jail, and
had taken offense when George refused a drink. When he threat-
ened to kill Scarborough, the shooting followed.°? The jury be-
lieved him when the case came to trial and turned him loose.2°3
Belmont, who had picked up Selman’s gun but had not killed any-
body, got sixty days in jail.2°4
George Look says that Martin Morose’s money caused his death
4335}
other without incident, however, ever since the arrest and had
been rolling dice together that evening.*5 It may be that Martin
Morose’s money was involved. George Look declared in 1909 that
Hardin took $3,600 out of Martin’s pockets a few seconds after the
killing and bad blood resulted when he refused to split.*°
After the Gem holdup Selman came to Look in a cold rage and
said, “George, you people may stand for it, but I won't. He has to
come across or I'll kill him. . . . I believe he has cut with Scar-
borough, but he has not cut with any of the rest of us. What do
you say? Shall I get the son-of-a-bitch?”
Whether his motives were personal or financial, Selman was in
an ugly mood that night. About eleven o'clock he had left the Acme
when his friend E. L. Shackleford, afraid he had had a drink too
many, urged him to go outside. As he stepped into the fresh air,
Owen White, too young to be on the streets at that hour, caught
his eye and he advised the boy to go home.*7
Inside, Hardin was standing at the bar rolling dice for quarters
with a young fellow named H. S. Brown. He apparently had his
game won. Looking at what he had just thrown, he remarked,
“You have four sixes to beat.” At that moment E. L. Shackleford
came through the swinging doors. Selman was right behind him,
and as Shackleford stepped aside, Uncle John sent a bullet through
Hardin’s head and shot him twice more as he lay on the floor. He
put up the pistol when young John Selman ran in and stopped him:
“Don’t shoot him any more. He’s dead!”
In a matter of minutes the saloon was full of curious people who
stared at the body until it was carried off to Nagley’s undertaking
parlors. Two days later Texas’ most famous gunman was carried
to Concordia Cemetery, where he rests today a few feet from
Martin Morose in a grave which until 1965 was untended and
unmarked.*®
The end of John Wesley Hardin, however, was the beginning of
an argument which threatens to go on for the foreseeable future.
The testimony of the doctors and most of the witnesses indicated
that Hardin was shot in the back of the head before he could turn
around and face his slayer. For years Judge Howe retained pos-
session of Hardin’s hat and could show you the bullet hole in the
back.’ Nevertheless John Selman declared positively that he had
shot Hardin in the eye — that Wes had whirled and reached for his
{332}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
gun just before the bullet struck. We don’t know yet who was right.
A story which may be pure legend says that A. B. Fall was
brought down from Las Cruces to help with the defense and that
he threw the proceedings into confusion by establishing the fact
that Hardin was a famous “mirror shot” — could draw and fire
over his shoulder with deadly speed and accuracy.®° The credibility
of this story is destroyed, as R. N. Mullin has shown, by the fact
that a man entering the south door of the Acme could not have
been seen in the mirror."
Fall actually did take a hand in the case. The truth as it involves
him seems to be that Selman was convinced he had shot Hardin
in a face-to-face encounter and nothing could make him change
his story though Davis, Beall and Kemp, his lawyers, tried their
best. Finally Selman asked them to call in Fall, in whom he had
confidence. Although the young lawyer was not persona grata
to the members of the firm, they did as Selman asked. Fall could
not shake John Selman’s conviction either, so he made the most of
the two or three witnesses who swore that Hardin had turned and
reached for his gun as Selman came into the saloon. Interestingly
enough, some present-day ballistics experts are inclined to believe
that the bullet holes in Hardin’s head and chest, as they appear
in the photograph taken in the morgue, are very likely entrance
holes.°
After hearings in two local courts the preliminary examinations
came to an end. On October 12, Selman was indicted and trial
began in the district courtroom on February 8. Four days later
the jury declared itself unable to agree and the case was reset for
the next term. It was never called, for Selman was summoned, as
the Times expressed it, “to a higher court.”
For the sake of the record it is worth noting that the only good
man involved in these doings seems to have suffered the most.
This was young Henry Brown, usually described as a grocer. He
was really a dairyman and had come to the Acme to collect a bill.
It never occurred to him that he need not set up the drinks or roll
the dice a few times. Everybody else did, and probably he had
done it a hundred times himself. He was not required to finish
his competition against Hardin’s four sixes, but he found himself
up against worse odds as soon as the news of the shooting got
around. He was engaged to Mattie Robertson, daughter of a Meth-
{333}
Saloons outnumbered churches, a street-
car line was established before a single
schoolhouse was built. Thievery was
rampant, cold-blooded murder went vir-
tually unnoticed. On a single afternoon,
in less than five seconds, four men were
killed, one an innocent bystander. None
of the guilty stood trial. Marshal Dallas
Stoudenmire was given a gold-headed
cane by the townspeople for his fine work
in killing three men. ~
The town was a real frontier ‘‘hell-
hole’’ where a gun was the chief law-
enforcer. There were few who wished
to challenge the trend. Thus it was small
wonder that from 1883 to 1900 only four
legal hangings took place in El Paso
County. Two of these were for rape, two
FGI Om”
El Paso in early days. With coming of railroad in 1881,
for murder, court records show.
In 1882, Josep Brinster had been sta-
tioned at Fort Davis, in Texas. And
Brinster was an assumed army name; his
real one was never revealed. It was here
that he became involved in the trouble
that cost his life. : ’
One evening Joseph went to the quar-
ters of Mrs. Mattie McT. Davis, whose
husband was a non-commissioned offic-
er at the post. During the evening of
heavy drinking the two began to quarrel -
violently. The woman shoved Brinster
out the door, slammed it in his face and
slid the lock. He retaliated by kicking in
the door.
This action had a sobering effect and
Mattie asked her visitor to mend the
it became a wild and
woolly ‘‘hooray’”’ town of hard drinking, deadly shootouts, and riotous lynchings
Old Yaleta Courthouse still stands.
a man was hanged behind building. Charge against him was later proved false
In example of town’s instant justice,
Master Detective 41
EL PASO, TEXAS HANGINGS.
“EL PASO JUSTICE WAS
WITHOUT MERCY!
by HOYT BARCLAY —_—— The town was a frontier hell-hole where the gun
Ti SLENDER, black-clad man, Was the chief law enforcer. Over a 17-year span,
fair hair roughened by the breeze,
stood quietly as the hangman tied ~ ONly four men had the dubious honor of meeting
his hands and feet. h : ‘ ‘i
faced the gaping throng head up blue the hangman in a legal way. And their guilt
eyes calm. The mob below the scaffold . 35
fell silent as the priest murmured the ; or innocence didn t count
final prayer and the traditional black for much
hood was slipped into place. At a signal
the jailer sprung the trap and the stout
rope, taut with its heavy burden, swung
gently back and forth. The crowd let out
a deep collective sigh, thinking the job
done and penalty paid. Suddenly the
rope jerked violently and heavy brea-
thing could be heard coming from the
bottom of the trap. To everyone’s horror
a ghostly, hollow voice quavered tear-
fully, ‘‘Say, fellows.”’
For several stunned moments officials
on the platform were unable to move.
Finally one of the braver deputies shin-
nied down the rope. He was.dumb-
founded to find the condemned man very
much alive! The unfortunate creature
was dragged up and put through the same
procedure, this time with success. These
tragic moments surrounded the July 8,
1883 hanging of Joseph Brinster for the
crime of rape. It was the first legal hang-
ing ever recorded for the far west Texas
County of El Paso.
In 1881 the trains came to El Paso,
Texas, and changed the quiet, predomi-
nantly Mexican village ‘to a booming,
bustling town of many nationalities.
Harlots, gamblers, hard cases of every Telegraph poles served double purpose in early days of El Paso, when a rope
caliber crowded the trains every day. necktie was answer to city’s outlaws. Hangings were always well-attended’
40 Master Detective
June, 1983
door. He got hammer and nails and tried
to repair the shattered panel but the door
was beyond fixing. When Mattie’s hus-
band came home, she, fearful of a beat-
ing, accused Brinster of kicking in the
door and ravishing her. Davis brought
charges, Brinster was arrested and
brought to the 34th District Court in El
Paso County on change of venue. He
was tried and sentenced to hang solely on ’
the testimony of the woman.
Joseph Brinster was a well-read, ar-
ticulate man of 36. It was ironic that he
was to be hanged for the same crime for
which he had once killed a man. During
the early years of his marriage he had
worked as a blacksmith in Columbus,
Ohio. A young friend, a carriage painter,
had lost his job and was invited into
Brinster’s home. It was not long before
the benefactor found his wife was being
unfaithful with their guest. He promptly
killed the so-called friend and fled but
was soon captured.
Brinster was sentenced to hang but
after serving five years he escaped the
Ohio penitentiary and fled to Texas. This
was why he would not reveal his real
name. The unfaithful wife died in child-
birth, leaving a daughter to be raised by
Baader’ s brother.
The condemned man had 17 long
months to ponder his fate in the county
courthouse at Ysleta, Texas. He spent
time writing letters to the Lone Star
newspaper protesting his innocence and
42 Master Detective
\
t
Mounted cops witnessed henaings of two killers. George Herold, 4th noreeinap from left, was eyewliness to the rmiurder
to the many people who sympathized
with him. He also drew large and small
pictures of the scaffold on the cell wall to
accustom himself to the idea of death. At
one time the prisoner contemplated
suicide but a priest succeeded in chang-
ing his mind. When told that Billy and
Kid had been killed Brinster remarked,
“*He deserved to die.’’ '
Joseph’s letters to the Lone Star caught
the eye and fervor of El Paso’s most
ardent crusader against crime, sin and
injustice. S. H. Newman, owner of the
Lone Star, visited the jail often and wrote
scathing editorials maintaining there was
insufficient evidence to support a convic-
tion in this case. He thundered that Brins-
ter was “‘not as bad as was painted and
has a whiter heart than those who would
take that heart away.’’
Newman printed letter after letter from
. the prisoner, hoping to arouse public
sentiment in his favor. One such letter
read, ‘*I got a fair and square trial and
have no ill will toward the jury. I was
unable to prove my innocence. There was
enough evidence to hang a dozen men. I
don’t blame them one bit. They done
their duty and I would have done the
same had I been on the jury.”’
Newman’s efforts were to no avail and
on the morning of July Sth, the editor
paid his last visit to Brinster and later
printed this message, ‘Tell them I died
like a man. I’m not guilty, but as I must
go, I will meet death bravely. | am un-
given a
TS m
done because of lies.’’
After Newmans left, a priest gave the
condemned man the last sacrament and
then departed. At two in the afternoon a
wagon drove up to the courthouse door.
Brinster, accompanied by the sheriff,
priest and two friends, stepped briskly
into the wagon. He half jokingly asked
the driver to take his time. The party
quickly arrived at the scaffold only a
short distance from the jail. Brinster
jumped from the wagon and walked
without hesitation up the 13 steps to the
platform. The priest gave the last rites
and in the pause that followed, Brinster
looked upward at the swinging rope and
sadly murmured, ‘‘What a queer world
this is.’” He asked for a drink and was
mixture of whiskey and water.
When asked if there were any last
words Brinster stated in a firm, full
voice, ‘*I’m not afraid to die. I came to
this trouble through. the fabrication of a
woman. | want to live as long as I can. I
go to my grave an innocent man!’’
He rambled on for almost 35 minutes
before the sheriff told him his time was
‘up. Brinster asked for a white handker-
chief to hold in his hand, saying, ‘‘My
Sheriff, ask me if I’m ready and I’ll
merely drop the handkerchief.’’
At 2:18 the handkerchief fluttered to
the floor but it was not until 3:22 that the
whole terrible ordeal was over. Brinster
was cut down and hauled away to be
(Continued on page 62)
eee
ren eecemnnteen
CRAZY HANGINGS
IN EL PASO
(Continued from page 29)
to his unjust fate on the gallows.
Then Castillo took a dislike to the
padre. The reason never was made public.
We'll never know what caused the prisoner
to turn against Father Bueno. All we
know is that the priest was no longer
welcome, and ceased to visit Castillo -in
his cell.
This created a religious vacuum. As we
know, nature abhors a vacuum. So do
preachers. Into the breach marched Dr.
Merchand (the newspaper accounts never
gave his first name), a Baptist minister and
tireless evangelist. You could almost hear
the stirring music and see the banners
waving as he launched a campaign to woo
Castillo away from the Roman faith.
Dr. Merchand was diligent and per-
suasive. Castillo was wavering. At last,
the zealous pastor thought he had won,
and began preparations to baptize the
prisoner.
But the faith of Castillo’s forbears
was bred too deeply. At the last minute
the prisoner changed his mind, called for
Father Bueno, and received the last rites
of the Catholic Church.
El Pasoans heaved sighs of relief, settled
their bets, and went about their business
heartened by the knowledge that the town’s
men of God were so conscientious in dis-
charging their duties of watching over the
spiritual welfare of the community.
3 HE MOST spectacular, the most mem-
orable, hanging that ever took place
in the Old West occurred in the El Paso
County jail on January 6th, 1900. On
that date Geronimo Parra and Antonio
Flores starred in a double feature that
for sheer excitement and drama has never
been equalled. It was the last hanging held
in the county, and it probably was just
as well, for even boisterous old El Paso
never could have topped it.
Flores was just a minor league delin-
quent who slaughtered his sweetheart in
a drunken rage. Parra, however, was a
different breed of cat, a hardened, pro-
fessional criminal with no conscience.
Parra’s story began ten years pre-
viously, on April 17th, 1890, when he
made the serious mistake of killing a
Texas Ranger who was under the com-
mand of the famed Captain John R.
Hughes. Ranger Charles Fusselman, El
: Paso City Policeman George Herold and
Rancher John Barnes had been on the
trail of a herd of cattle stolen from Barnes’
ranch. The trail took them into the canyon
leading to what now is called Smuggler’s
Gap in the forbidding Franklin Moun-
tains north of El Paso.
_ The trio topped a small rise and sud-
“denly found themselves under fire from
the rustlers, who were camped below
them. Fusselman pulled his pistol to re-
turn the fire, but before he could get off
a ‘shot, Herold saw Geronimo Parra,
leader of the gang, shoot twice with his
rifle. Fusselman threw his hand to his
head and fell to the ground, dead when
he hit. The outlaws, seeing they had the
advantage both in numbers and firepower,
charged up the hill, laying down a mur-
derous fire in front of them.
Herold and Barnes wheeled their mounts
and, spurring them on to a dead run, re-
treated from the canyon and headed for
El Paso to sound the alarm.
66
At the Marfa, Texas, Ranger camp,
Fusselman’s station, word had been re-
ceived of the lawman’s murder. John R.
Hughes, then a corporal, was detailed by
Captain Frank Jones to track down Ger-
onimo Parra and bring him to justice. But
Hughes, also, was forced to abandon the
chase, as Parra had fled across the Rio
Grande into New Mexico, out of Hughes’ .
jurisdiction. The Ranger promised himself
he would eventually bring Parra to justice.
Little did he realize that it would take
him ten long years.
In 1899 Hughes discovered that Parra
was a convict in the New Mexico State
Penitentiary. By enlisting the aid of his
old friend Pat Garrett, famed slayer of
Billy the Kid, Captain Hughes was able to
obtain custody of the criminal. He brought
Parra to El Paso, where he was tried for
Fusselman’s murder and found guilty. He
was given the death sentence.
In the interests of a commendable effi-
ciency, the court decided that the execu-
tion should take place at the same time
as that of Flores. The double header was
to be held in the old El Paso City jail,
erected in the 1880's and which boasted
a permanent gallows. Double trap doors
were built into the steel floor of the third
story; there was an enormous hook on the
ceiling to hold the rope. A smooth-working
lever-operated mechanism sprung the doors
with lightning precision. The townfolk
were very proud of their fancy new hang-
ing. machine. .
The day before the execution was filled
with pathos and drama. According to the
El Paso Times, a few intimates of the
condemned men were admitted to the jail,
and “the Mexicans filed sorrowfully before
the cell and shook hands with the pris-
oners, who gazed sadly out from behind
the bars. Sobs were heard among the
women and the farewell presented a
touching and pathetic scene.”
The reporter added details: the new
suits of clothing furnished the convicts
for the event... the fine meals served
... the liquor “frequently administered to
keep up their spirits. At a late hour last
night neither of the men showed any
signs of a complete breakdown and it is
thought both will meet death without
flinching.”
If that reporter had only known...
P RACTICALLY everyone in El Paso
turned out for the execution. The
hangings were to begin at one o’clock in
the afternoon, and long before that hour
the. crowd had swelled to thousands.
Housetops, fences, trees, boxcars were
alive with the curious, hoping to catch a
fleeting glimpse of the gruesome pro-
ceedings through the tall, narrow jail
windows. i
Inside, preparations were being made.
Jail officials fastened the stout rope to
the hook in the ceiling, carefully fashioned
the many-looped hangman’s noose, and
soaped the rope to make it slip easily
through the knot. Others operated the
clanging steel trap doors many times,
checking their efficiency.
Jailor T. C. Lyons walked down the
steel-floored corridor to the cell that con-
fined Parra and Flores. The latter was
first. Lyons entered the cell, took Flores’
arm, and escorted him down that last,
long mile. At the gallows two deputies
started to tie Flores’ hands behind him.
Suddenly the doomed man whipped a
‘smuggled dagger from beneath his shirt
and attacked Deputy Ed Bryant. Screaming
Spanish oaths, Flores stabbed Bryant again
and again. Seriously wounded, the deputy
fell under the sudden, unexpected attack.
Four officers attempted to subdue Flores
who, in hate and desperation, with nothing
to lose, fought with the traditional strength
of ten.
Through an act of incredible careless-
ness, the cell door had been left open, and
now Parra joined the fun. He, too, had a
smuggled dagger, and he quickly plunged
it into the flesh of Policeman Cristly, then
stabbed Deputy Ten Eyck.
The latter, though wounded and bleed-
ing profusely, succeeded in overpowering
Parra and throwing him back into his cell
and locking the door. But the struggle
with Flores continued. Finally he was
subdued. They led him to the gallows,
placed the noose about his neck, lashed
his hands and feet.
Deputy Comstock read the death sen-
tence. ‘
Flores appeared unconcerned, now that
his little fling was over. Three good men
were grievously wounded, their blood
staining the jail tank floor beneath his very
feet, but Flores cared not. And although
standing on the death trap, with just the
touch of a finger separating him from
death, a smile played over his features.
When the words “assess the penalty of
death” were read, he laughed outright,
glancing proudly at the spectators. Most
of the audience glanced away, embarrassed
for him.
The black hood was adjusted over his
head. Sheriff Boone grasped the lever.
A sudden hush’. . . then—“Clang!” The
trap doors sprang open and Flores disap-
peared through the floor, plunging two
stories to an instant death.
All this time Parra still had his dagger
with him in his cell. He screamed a con-
tinual torrent of abuse against John Wil-
liams, a prosecution witness, Anglos in
general and Anglo lawmen in particluar.
When his turn came, the sheriff strode
to the cell, pistol in hand. He flung the
door open and ordered Parra to throw up
his hands. f
Parra protested in Spanish that he had
no weapon. -
“Throw up your hands!” Boone shouted,
cocking his pistol and aiming it squarely ae
at Parra’s belly. ;
Parra raised his hands. Deputy Com-
stock searched him, found and confiscated
the dagger, bound his hands, and he was
marched to the gallows at gunpoint.
The: condemned ‘man’s. bravado col-
lapsed. He fell silent as he watched the
men remove the noose, soap the rope, and
adjust the knot. The the noose dropped
around his own neck. ‘
Sheriff Boone read the death sentence
and asked Parra if he had a statement to
make. Parra’s belly heaved. In Spanish he - s
said, “Gentlemen, I bid you all farewell,
and of those whom I have offended in the
last few minutes I ask pardon. I am going
to die unjustly.” is
Captain Hughes was among the specta- :
tors. At the prisoner’s last sentence, a ©
‘ sg
grim smile twisted his lips. wake
At 2:04 p.m. Comstock pulled the lever, =
Captain Hughes’ revenge was complete. «~
The slain Ranger’s name lives on. The
gorge in which he met his death now is_
known as Fusselman Canyon. seers
of the West. It will long be remembered —
as the hanging where, for a while, it was
thought everybody was going to die exce
the condemned men. 5)
The hanging lives on, too, in the annals |”
3 ag v
these activities. A group of thieves from the lower bosque on their
way to the upper refuge passed the present site of Fort Bliss (then
called “the Mesa”), headed for the Pass, and picked up several
horses belonging to John Barnes at Mundy’s Spring. Barnes got on
their trail almost immediately and actually caught up with them —
something he had apparently not counted on, for he was unarmed.
When a “villainous-looking Mexican” confronted him in the canyon
leading to the Pass, he backed off and went to El Paso for help.®
Within a very short time he was back on the trail with two com-
panions, policeman George Herold and Deputy United States
Marshal Charles H. Fusselman of Presidio. Fusselman was in town
to atténd court and had time on his hands.
For some reason, perhaps a sublime self-confidence, the rustlers
had gone into camp in the canyon to which Barnes had trailed
them. It was said that the Bosque gangs had never lost a fight and
would take on anybody from either side of the river.’ They did
put out a sentry who nodded at the wrong moment and was taken
by surprise as the three officers moved cautiously up the canyon.
He looked up to see three pistols pointed at his belt buckle, threw
up his hands, and went meekly along. They recognized him as a
well-known thief named Ysidro Pasos.
The main body of the outlaws was only a short distance away.
Topping a rise, the little posse came suddenly and unexpectedly
upon them. Lead began to fly at once. At the first fire Fusselman
was shot off his horse and Herold and Barnes left the canyon fast,
some eight or ten outlaws after them.
A few hours later Deputy U. S. Marshal Bob Ross led a ten-man
squad into the hills and found Fusselman lying where he fell, shot
through the neck. Well aware that they would be pursued in force
this time, the thieves had decamped, leaving eighteen horses, two
cows, a calf, a whole beef, and a bucket of tortillas. The officers
picked up their trail on the other side of the Pass and followed them
to the heavy brush along the river where the rustlers were at home
and the pursuers were not. The trail led eventually to the Mexican
border, and it was obvious that the fugitives intended to circle
Juarez and take refuge in the lower bosque on the Island.®
No doubt existed in anybody’s mind as to who was responsible
for Fusselman’s death. Herold and Barnes had seen a notorious
outlaw named Geronimo Parra fire his rifle twice at the dead man.
{312}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
It took ten years to bring Parra to justice, and the man who did it
was Captain John R. Hughes, a corporal when Fusselman was
killed. He finally located the man in the New Mexico penitentiary
but was unable to get him out until he ran down a fugitive in Texas
who was wanted in Las Cruces by Sheriff Pat Garrett. According
to the Captain’s biographer, a deal was arranged and late in 1899
Hughes brought Parra back to El Paso, where he was tried and
sentenced to hang.
The story of that hanging, on January 6, 1900, is a gruesome
chapter in our history. On their way to execution in the old El
Paso jail, Parra and a companion named Flores whipped out im-
provised daggers and nearly cleaned out the El Paso Police force
before the sentence was finally carried out.’®
The canyon where Charlie Fusselman lost his life is still called
Fusselman Canyon. The route of the new trans-mountain highway
runs near the place where he fell.
This regrettable episode slowed the activities of the Bosque
gangs for a while, but they were soon doing business as usual.
The Island group was particularly troublesome. The nucleus was
a family named Olguin, sons and grandsons of old Jests- Maria
Olguin*: who in his youth had been a first-class border man him-
self but was now too old to keep up with his hard-riding sons."
During the spring of 1893 these outlaws became so troublesome
that a determined effort was made to stop them. Sebastian Olguin
got ten years for horse stealing; Prisciliano (sixteen years old)
was sentenced to three years in the State Reformatory for stealing
a cow.’ This left Severo, Antonio, and old Jesus- Maria still at
large. Severo, the most dangerous of the lot, was under indictment
but still free and living in the midst of some three hundred friends
and supporters. The situation was bad enough to call for drastic
action, and in June, 1893, a detachment of Rangers prepared to
take on the Island gang in a finish fight.
Captain Frank Jones knew what he was getting into and told
the Adjutant General before he left Alpine that he would need
manpower. “There must be fully 50 in the gang,” he said, “and they
are well organized too. They are part of the mob who murdered
Howard some years ago.” A small force, he thought, would “simply
be murdered.” *4
Jones was a good man to take along. Thirty-six years old, better
4313}
of the time, he became a wild man, dangerous to friends as well as
foes, when he was drunk. And he got drunk with increasing fre-
quency as time went on. After repeated warnings, Captain Jones
dismissed him from the Ranger Service for being intoxicated while
on duty.33
Bass’s friends took care of that. He got an appointment as Dep-
uty United States Marshal and was so popular that large numbers
of Alpine citizens petitioned Marshal Dick Ware to keep him on
duty there. Marshal Ware did so, with some misgivings.34
Bass was in and out of El Paso during these years, and his repu-
tation as a fast man with a gun preceded him. Some of the most
dangerous characters in town were afraid to bring him to a show-
down. John Watts, for instance, the iron-headed colored man who
ran a Negro house of prostitution on Overland Street, was under-
standably resentful when Bass ended an evening of revelry in
June, 1892, in bed with Watts’ white mistress. After thinking the
matter over very carefully, Watts filed a complaint, but when Bass
sobered up, he gave the woman back with great good will and all
was as before.35
It is said that after a few such episodes as this the El Paso city
authorities sometimes assigned a policeman just to watch over
Bass when he honored the town with a visit.3®
The climax came in April, 1894, when he was back as a witness
in a court case. Having considerable leisure time, he employed it
in getting drunker and angrier than usual. He was unhappy with
Marshal Dick Ware who, he thought, had allowed another deputy
United States marshal to enter his territory to serve papers and
collect the fees. The more he drank, the more resentful he became.
In this frame of mind he dropped in for a visit at Tillie Howard’s
place, where a girl named Ruby comforted him for a while and
sent him out in a better frame of mind. On the street he met Sel-
man and Frank Collinson, to whom he told his troubles, his anger
reviving as he talked. When they suggested that he go to his room
and sober up, he decided that he needed Ruby’s therapeutic atten-
tions once more, and back he went to Tillie’s, Collinson and Selman
keeping him company.”
As Frank and John sat chatting in the parlor, Bass wandered off
toward the back of the house, and a few minutes later they heard
{318}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
a shot in the bathroom. Selman looked at his companion and re-
marked, “Bass has dropped his gun.”38
At that moment Tillie herself came charging out of one of the
downstairs rooms, headed for the rear entrance, and began blowing
her police whistle — the normal procedure for a madam in distress.
By the time Selman and Collinson reached the back door, Outlaw
had caught up with her and was attempting to take her whistle
away.
The first notes had caught the ear of a Texas Ranger named Joe
McKittrick, or McKidrict as he spelled it (it was not his right
name ),°° and he came running around the corner into the back
yard as Selman emerged onto the porch.
“It was an accident, Joe,” Selman told him. “He’s all right.”
McKidrict was not satisfied. “Bass, why did you shoot?” he in-
quired.
“You want some too?” Bass spat at him, and shot him through
the head. As McKidrict fell, Bass put another bullet into his body.
Selman was in action by now. Pulling his gun, he jumped off the
porch and went for Outlaw, who turned and fired at him point
blank. They were so close together that Selman was blinded by
the powder blast, which caught him directly in the eyes. The ball,
fortunately for him, whistled past his ear. Reflex action brought
his gun into position and he placed a bullet directly over Outlaw’s
heart — then he stood there holding his eyes with his left hand,
unable to see a thing.
The incredible little ex-Ranger now showed the vitality that was
in him. Mortally wounded and unable to raise his pistol above his
waist, he got off two more shots, one striking Selman in the thigh,
the other above the right knee. He still had strength to stagger
around the house into the street, surrender to Ranger Frank Mc-
Mahon, and walk into the Barnum Show Saloon, where Dr. Turner
came to see him. He did not die until four hours later on a bed in
the back room of the saloon. His last desperate question was,
“Where are my friends?” 4°
No friend was there to answer him, but Alonzo Oden mourned
his passing. “Bass Outlaw is dead. Bass, my friend, is gone,” he
wrote in his diary. “Bass, who was so brave and kind; who could
laugh louder, ride longer, and cuss harder than the rest of us; and
1319}
educated than most of his group, he was a brave officer and a good
leader. He had been married for about a year to a daughter of the
famous Ranger and peace officer Colonel George W. Baylor.?5 His
presence was a great reassurance to the harried lawmen of the
Valley when he went into camp with his men at Ysleta.
About the time of his arrival, as if to let the Rangers know what
they had to contend with, Severo Olguin and some of his men got
drunk at the little Mexican town of Guadalupe, killed one citizen,
wounded three more, and rode away, unscathed and unpursued,
to their headquarters at a place called Tres Jacales (Three Shacks )
on the Island.** The news came by some branch of the grapevine
to Deputy Sheriff Ed Bryant at El Paso that Severo had hunted his
hole, and Bryant sent word to Captain Jones that he was ready to
move. The next day, June 29, Bryant and Jones with four Rangers
— Corporal Karl Kirchner, Privates Aten, Saunders and Tucker —
moved out of Ysleta and stopped for the night at the old camp-
ground below Fabens. At daybreak on the thirtieth they struck out
through the brush for the heart of the Island. A guide took them
to the Olguin ranch, where they found nobody at home. Turning
northward, they fell into a trail that followed, roughly, the Inter-
national Boundary until their guide admitted that he was lost.
Jones gave the order to turn back.?7
They chose a path which seemed to run eastward toward Clint,
Texas. Jones and Tucker were in the lead, Alden and Saunders,
with the packmule, followed.
As they approached a tiny Mexican village, two men on horse-
back turned into the road and came to meet them. Realizing what
they were running into, the men whirled their horses and dashed
for the village with Jones and Tucker in hot pursuit. The road
rounded a sharp corner at the entrance to the settlement, and when
the two Rangers made the turn, they saw their quarry take shelter
behind one of the houses. Immediately rifle fire burst from doors
and windows.
What followed happened faster than it can be told. Tucker was
off his horse first, kneeling in the road and blasting away at the
hidden assailants. Before Jones could get both feet on the ground,
he was hit in the thigh and a few seconds later received a bad
wound in the neck.
“Are you hurt, Captain?” Tucker inquired.
{314}
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
“Yes, shot all to pieces.” #8
Now the other two Rangers, who had been held back by the
pack mule, came charging around the curve so fast they could not
stop at once. The fire from the houses grew more intense as they
turned around and came back. Jones, at the point of death, told
them to take cover, and when they saw he was gone, they did so,
working their way through the brush and eventually making their
way to Clint, where Kirchner wired El Paso for help.
Next day Sheriff Simmons and a posse demanded the body of
the dead Captain, but got nowhere until the Mexican authorities
were asked to help. Lieutenant Rafael Garcia Martinez, the Juarez
jefe politico, rode with Simmons down the Mexican side of the
border with a Mexican police escort. They had better luck than
they expected, for not only did they bring home the body of Cap-
tain Jones — they met three members of the gang making their
way out of the brush and rounded them up without a fight. These
turned out to be Jesus-Maria Olguin and his sons Severo and An-
tonio, undoubtedly on their way to the upper bosque. Captain
Jones had got Severo in the shoulder and Antonio in the hand.
The brothers might not have been so easy to corral had they not
been disabled. They wound up in the Juarez jail, but what hap-
pened to them after that we do not know.?9
It is worth noting that a member of Simmons’ posse was George
Scarborough, a preacher’s son tumed cowboy and peace officer
from the Fort Griffin country2° who was destined to play a prom-
inent role in El Paso’s six-shooter history. Another familiar name
was affixed to a telegram which came to the sheriff after his first
trip to the Island: “Arriving this morning with a posse. United
States Deputy Marshal Bass Outlaw, Alpine, Texas.”22
Two results of this affair were the erection of a monument to the
memory of Captain Jones in 1938 at the place of his death and the
appointment of John R. Hughes, one of the great Rangers, as his
successor.
The Bosque gangs were by no means the only outlaw organiza-
tion in the area. The tide of violence and crime had been rising in
New Mexico and West Texas since the eighties, partly, at least, as
a result of a migration from farther east. Rain had fallen on the
arid slopes and swales of the Tularosa and Three Rivers country
for several years and the grass was thick and high — thick, at least,
{315}
for that area — and thousands of cattle were moved in to take ad-
vantage of it. The owners of these herds brought their own codes
with them. They quarrelled among themselves and with the people
already on the ground, and things went from bad to worse. Little
ranchers fought big ranchers. Cattlemen fel] out with town men.
And rustling became a way of life.
The Fountain murder case — the disappearance of Colonel A. j.
Fountain and his little son Henry near the White Sands on Febru.
ary 2, 1896 — grew out of these conditions,** and many another
life had to be lost before the wild men were tamed. The shootings
which made El] Paso notorious in the middle nineties, however,
were not battles for law and order. They involved the elimination
of each other by more-or-less professional killers.
This brings up the case of Uncle John Selman, a once-notorious
pistol wielder whose various lives and exploits have only recently
been fully unraveled.23 His youth and early manhood were spent
in Shackleford County near Fort Griffin. There he became involved
with a plausible and popular character named John Larn who
married into the county’s most prominent family and was for a
while sheriff. When his killing and rustling activities came to light
and he was jailed, a party of vigilantes, some of them supposedly
his relatives by marriage, walked in and executed him. Selman,
his lieutenant, was on the wanted list but fled in time.24
A short time later he joined a band of itinerant desperadoes in
New Mexico who were murdering and stealing under cover of the
confusion caused by the Lincoln County War.*5 The Rangers fi-
nally caught up with him and brought him back to his home county
to stand trial. His former neighbors asked only to be rid of him,
however, and he was encouraged to “escape.” He went to Mexico
with his second wife and stayed several years. When he thought
the heat was off, he came back to the United States and after some
adventures in the Magdalena country of New Mexico he became
a citizen of FE] Paso.26
By now he was somewhat mellowed, as became his graying hair,
and he decided to get on the right side of the law. This meant
honest toil, and to make ends meet he worked for’the American
Smelting and Refining Company until 1889. After that he gathered
cattle in the Sacramento Mountains, worked for the Mexican Cen-
tral Railroad, bounced undesirables out of the Wigwam Saloon,
XXII — Six Shooter Capital
and chased horse thieves. His activities in running down rustlers
resulted in an attack on the dark streets of El Paso which laid him
up for months and almost cost him his life.27
He finally found a place on the regular police force in 1892 when
he ran for the office of constable and, to everybody’s surprise, beat
Republican E. C. Jones.*8 By this time he was a well-known figure
in the little border town, and most people thought of him kindly
although his connections were mostly among the sporting element,
his best friend being Jim Burns, proprietor of the Red Light Dance
Hall and dealer in liquor, sex, and political influence. John’s son
tells how he and his father helped Jim round up and “influence”
Mexican voters who were herded to the polls to vote for the Dem-
ocrats.° Not that the Republicans were any better, for both parties
bought as many illegal votes as they could. It was just that the
Democrats were able to round up more of them.
So old John became a constable in 1892, was reelected in 1894,
and was still in office in 1896 when he had his rendezvous with
destiny.2° In the meantime he was probably the hardest working
officer El Paso ever had. The dockets show that he was constantly
bringing offenders before the courts for offenses of all types.3* His
son tells of various occasions when would-be bad men challenged
him unsuccessfully, and the natural conclusion is that he showed
considerable talent and energy in carrying out his duties.
The Bass Outlaw affair clinched John’s reputation as a handy
man with a gun, but he paid a high price for his status.
Outlaw was one of those incredible characters produced by
frontier conditions. Born supposedly in Georgia, he had a good
family background and a good education. He was short (about
five feet four) but wiry and well coordinated, a good athlete and
a famous pistol shot. He had a rather refined-looking face with
delicate features and a receding chin — a face that did not go with
the rest of him — symbolic, perhaps, of the fact that he was a very
much mixed-up young man.
The stories say that he left his home state because he had killed
somebody. In 1885 he became a member of Company E of the
Texas Rangers, later transferred to Company D, attained the rank
of sergeant, and in the early nineties was stationed at Alpine under
Captain Frank Jones.3# Captain Jones was not happy with him be-
cause of his one fatal flaw. A likable, friendly, winning fellow most
4317}
Piet 2 ’
References for Chapter XXI
Times for April 3, 6, 10, 11,
ember 19, 20, 1890, surveys the
on-Cavitt business. The official ex-
_.ation was that Cavitt had settled
| aim, contrary to agreement, with
-.an named Doak. Bolton escaped
athe Juarez jail in December. The
_ Maury Kemp thought there were
per reasons Sor the trouble. The
‘ about the missing mayor comes
im.
aan, John Selman (MS)
iichsen, Billy King’s Tombstone
.idwell, Idaho, 1941), 93-116
. Gonzalez, June 7, 1965. A study
‘ames on Utah Street can be re-
ing. In 1912 the City Directory
such tenants above and below
2’s place as Misses Marie Fontaine,
‘the Montesquieu,, Belle Marceuse,
\-onsoulin, and Merci du Bignon.
2s, April 20, 1886
‘2 appears in the City Directory for
‘-93; May Palmer in 1895-96
°s, April 20, 1886
L. H. Corcoran, February 8, 1950
es, April 20-25, 1886. Marshal
. November 23, 1964. The Herald
\pril 20 has not been found. Hail
nis information from Frank Wells
vn er owner of the Herald,
Dp: the story in the Herald-
} , 1936.
* nciuup White, My Little History
4 (MS). Her death certificate says
was born in New York.
s, August 2, 1947
.. April 23, 24, 1894
ld, January g, 1895
‘biography, 48
ity Court Probate Minutes, Book
». 533, 610; Book 4, 374-375
. Kemp and Colbert Coldwell,
10, 1965
s Le Veau, June 5, 1965
' e Davenport appears at a Utah
t address in 1903, probably a
- madam trying to cash in on
-y Davenport’s reputation.
*h Records, E] Paso County Court-
.e, 1920, Certificate 1312. She is
i as a widow, age 65.
‘p, From the Memoirs of Maury
p (typescript )
es, August 2, 1947
, November 6, 1905,
.. August 2, 1907; Anne Kemp
.e, January 18, 1966
2s, August 2, 1947; Herald-Post,
29, 1947 b 6s (Mr
. Lane, September 12, 1965 :
was Ce nccite i; Herald-Post,
ary 9. 1957
:ence Stevens, June 20, 1965
References for Chapters XXI ¢> XXII
58 Rutherford, The Southwesterner, IV
(May-June, 1965), 8
59 Arthur Schuster, July 15, 1965
60 Flournoy Manzo, May 27, 1965, quot-
ing Ora Davis Neal
61 Rutherford, ip cit. Laurence Stevens,
E] Paso, April 23, 196s, says May left
her money to Florence Forrest, one of
her girls.
62 Karl Goodman, El Paso, June 5, 1965
63 a Rutherford to C. L. S., June 7;
19
64 Kar Goodman, June 5, 1965
65 Laurence Stevens (August 1, 1965)
found this and other records of Tillie’s
ownership of real estate.
66 Selman, John Selman (MS)
67 Her father, Henry Weiler, was from
Pennsylvania; her mother, Eva Lucke,
was born in Germany (Vital Statistics,
Death Records, El Paso County Court-
house, Death Certificate 573, 1911).
68 Haley, Jeff Milton (Norman, 1948),
216-217
69 Tillie’s death certificate says she was
forty-one years old in 1911
70 Oden, Texas Ranger’s Diary and
Scrapbook (Dallas, 1936), 17
71 Ibid., 22
72 Eddy Daily Current, September 20,
1894, quoting the El Paso Times, n. d.
73 The companion engravings show life-
boats leaving the harbor in a storm to
pick up survivors of a wreck, and the
same boats returning with the unfor-
tunates.
74 John Middagh, April 23, 1965
75 Haley, Jeff Milton, 216-217
76 Arthur Schuster, July 15, 1965
77 Ibid.
78 Jane Burges Perrenot, August 5, 1965
79 Rita Faudoa, July 14, 1965
80 John Middagh, Lecture, El Paso
YWCA, April 23, 1965
81 Mrs. George Brunner, July 14, 1965
82 Haley, Jeff Milton, 215 216
83 J. Ostrander in 1903; Leona Reed in
1904
84 Rita Faudoa, July 14, 1965
85 Ibid.
86 Irene Reckhart Shontz, July 15, 1965
87 Herald, April 8, 1911
88 Ibid., April 10, 1911; Times, April 25,
1911 (Tillie’s will probated. She left
only her clothes, cut glass and china
to her cousins).
89 Haley, Jeff Milton, 216
go Irene Reckhart Shontz, July 15, 1965
91 Probate Records, El] Paso County
Courthouse, No. 1576, Estate of Tillie
Weiler, Contest of A. E. Bartlett and
Mrs. A. E. Bartlett
92 eee Rutherford to C. L. S., June 17,
1965
93 Herald-Post, June 25, 1958; Karl
Goodman, June 5, 1965
94 Rutherford, Southwesterner, IV (May-
June, 1965), 8
451
95 Interview, April 5, 1965
96 Autobiography, 49-50. A pioneer wo-
man, who knew the White family well,
says, “He didn’t do it. His mother
would have skinned him alive if he had
gone down there.”
97 R.N. Mullin to C. L. S., June 26, 1965
98 Mrs. Eleanor Coldwell, May 4, 1965
Cusfyer XXII
Six-Shooter Capital
1 El Paso Times, November 12, 1903
2 Autobiography (New York, 1942), 43
3 Interview, June 11, 1965
4 Times, July 2, 1893
5 Laurence Stevens, April 2, 1965
6 Times, April 18, 1893
7 Ibid., April 19, 1890
8 Ibid.; Parrish, “Ranger Killed in Gun
Battle,” E] Paso Times Sun Dial,
September 26, 1965
9 Martin, Border Boss (San Antonio,
1942), 147-148 ‘
10 Parrish, “Hanged by the Neck,” Pass-
word, III ( April, 1958), 72, 75; Times,
January 7, 1935
11 Baylor to Mabry, July 9, 1893, Hughes
to Mabry, September 6, 1893, Adjutant
General's Files, State Library, Austin
12 Webb, The Texas Rangers (Boston,
1935), 442
13 Times, April 4, July 2, 1893; Herald,
June 30, 1893
14 Jones to Mabry, April 16, 1893, AGF.
Herald, ss i 5, 1893: “Body after
body has been brought to town. .
not a party has been arrested.”
15 Times, June 30, 1893
16 Webb, Texas Rangers, 441-444
17 Times, July 2, 1893
18 Webb, 443
19 Times, July 2, 1893
20 Haley, Jeff Milton, 234
21 Times, y 1, 1893
22 Sonnichsen, Tularosa, (New York,
1960), 107-201; Hening, George Curry
Ibuquerque, 1959), 100-119; Gib-
son, The Life and Death of Colonel
Albert Jennings Fountain ( Norman,
1965), 256-288
23 Leon Metz, John Selman: Texas Gun-
fighter (New York, 1966), has follow-
oa Selman’s trail to the end.
24 Sonnichsen, I'll Die Before I'll Run,
150-166 (“Justice after Dark”), covers
this part of Selman’s career.
25 Metz, John Selman, 96-111
26 Selman, John Selman of El Paso (MS)
27 Metz, John Selman, 133-135
28 Times, November 9, 1892
29 Selman, John Selman of El Paso (MS)
30 Metz, 138
31 Ibid., 152-153
32 Cunningham, Triggernometry (Cald-
well, Ida., 1947), 236-244
Powers, co-owner of the saloon, assured him many years later that
this is the way it happened.*
It might be worth adding that Judge W. D. Howe remarked in
an interview toward the end of his life that for many years he had
given Joe Brown credit for the killing but had finally come to the
conclusion that Tom Powers was really the man.*5
More than one of Joe Brown’s friends asked him if he did it and
how he did it. He usually answered, “I was acquitted of that one.”
Once he replied, “I didn’t do it, but I know who did, and he didn’t
get his money.” "9°
In any case Mannen Clements was dead, and his passing marked
the end of an era.
1344}
were SO CO}
business tl
them high]
Besides,
ern philosc
the econon
divided int
as a locally
it during tl
will be gar
be drunka:
duced by +
vided such
suicide to «
you close t
ber of liqu«
who did li
paid by “fi
The goo
vice, of co
were almos.
chips, and *
We wer
the party k
452 & (
Metz, 146-147
Times, April 7, 1894
Metz, 137
Times, April 6, 1894
Ibid.
Oden, Ranger’s Diary (Dallas, 1936),
40
Times, April 17, 1894
Ibid., April 6, 7, 12, 1894; Oden, 41
Oden, Ranger's Diary, 40-41
Herald, June 30, 1894; District Court
Minutes, 34th District Court, E] Paso,
Texas, Case 1758
Selman, John Selman of El Paso (MS)
Haley, Jeff Milton, 229
Harkey, Mean as Hell ( Albuquerque,
1948), 114
ree 232
Ibid., 233
Times, April 12, 1895
Ibid., April 24, 1894
Haley, 233
Harkey, 131
Dr. George Brunner (El Paso, Jan-
uary 17, 1963) remembers the Prince
Albert. Harkey gave his impressions to
Monk Lofton (Times, April 28, 1963).
Hardin, The Life of John Wesley
Hardin (Norman, 1961), 88-106; God-
bold, “Comanche and the Hardin
Gang,” SWHQ, LXVIII (July, 1963),
55-57; Galveston News, October 7,
1877 (Hardin’s trial). Mrs. Godbold
and some testimony at Hardin’s trial
place the blame on JWH.
Haley, Jeff Milton, 226-251, paints him
in the blackest colors.
JWH to his son, JWH, Jr., Huntsville,
July 3, 1887 (letter in possession of
C. S., used by courtesy of E. D.
Spellman, J. W. H.’s grandson-in-law).
Hardin, Life, 34
Nordyke, John Wesley Hardin (New
York, 1957), 235-255. Mrs. Mattie
Hardin Smith (JWH’s sister) says he
was first in the group of examinees
(Fort Worth, June 12, 1944).
Nordyke, 258-261; Mr. and Mrs. Joe
Clements, April 26, 1963
Sonnichsen, Ten Texas Feuds (Albu-
querque, 1957), 200-210
Haley, 228
as May 4, 1895; Herald, April 10,
11, 189
Middagh, Frontier Newspaper (El
Paso, 1958), 66
R. N. Mullin to C. L. S., July 21, 1965,
quoting statements made by Judge
Kemp to Mr. Mullin’s father
Times, April 24, 1895
Ibid.
Middagh, Frontier Newspaper, 70
Times, May 4, 1965
Ibid., May 16, 1895
Ibid.
70
87
88
References for Chapter XXII
Minutes, 34th District Court, El Paso,
Texas, Case 1815; Times, October a,
1895. Judge Buckler dismissed Hard-
ins case and the cattle-stealin charges
against Morose because of the death
of the principals.
Metz, John Selman, 179
Times, August 27, 1895. The issue of
November 14 mentions a contract.
Metz, 178-17
The Times ae June 30, 1895, says
Morose had applied for Gtieathin. '
the issue of July 2 Consul Zayas denies
the story.
George Look, Reminiscences, (MS)
Times, June 30, 1895
Ibid., July 2, 1895
Ibid., June 30, 1895
Haley, Jeff Milton, 242
Metz, John Selman, 178
Times, July 2, 1895
Ibid., August 7, 1895
Ibid., August 11, 1895
Ibid., August 15, 22, 18ys; George
Look, Reminiscences (MS)
Testimony of Frank McMurray before
Justice W. D. Howe, August 20, 1895,
copy in possession of C. L. S.
Look, Reminiscences (MS). R. N. Mul.
lin’s files on this case contain state-
ments by Ed Bryant, a policeman, and
Roy Barnum, a saloon keeper, Living
Hardin credit for arranging the killing
White, Autobiography (New York,
1942), 57
Herald, August 20, 1895 (statements
of H. S. Brown, E. L. Shackleford,
and John Selman before Justice Howe).
August 22, 1895; Times, August 21,
22, 1895. Hardin's descendants marked
the grave in 196s.
Betty Rogers, Reminiscences of Old El
Paso (MS)
Budke, Albert B. Fall in New Mexico
(MS, 1961), 23-24
The Southwesterner, HW (December,
1962),
Emma Adair Fall Chase, Alamogordo,
January 15, 1964; Times, February 6,
1896; Herald, Peasiny 12, 1896
Metz, John Selman, 190-192
The Times for October 15, 1895, lists
Zack White, Charles R. Morehead, O.
T. Bassett, and W. J. Fewel as Sel-
man’s sureties on a $5,000 bond. The
issue of February 12, 1896, describes
the trial.
Robert T. Neill, Austin, April 25, 1959.
Mrs. Anne Kemp White (January OB
1966) says her father, jude Wynd-
ham Kemp, conducted the defense.
Metz, 195 .
id.
Selman, John Selman of El Paso (MS),
Times, April 3, 4, 1896; Metz, “Why
Old John Selman Died,” Frontuer
Times, XXXIX (October-November,
1965), 30-31
References for Chapters XXII & XXIII
gg Selman, John Selman (MS). Young
eu nassed his father’s funeral but
ater made a sensational jail break and
heft the country (lind. Times, May
Qo ro, aS. ag, 1h)
100 Selinan. op. cit, Times, April 7
ims
tar Tunes Apal ag, ig§t
toa Thad. June 20, 1896
roy lbud
rog Metz, Joln Selman, 201
1065 Look) Heminiscences (MS)
tof) Tones, April 11, 1896; April 5, 6,
: i mt
tos Kisdklc. Legal Hertage, 164
ros Helen and ie Clements, April 26,
iy. Times, December go, 1908
1) hiky. Jeff Milton, 39
tia Maury Kemp, October 4, 1953
tsa Jun Mi kinney, Big Spring, Texas,
June 2, 1944. told ine that Hardin and
Cheinents rode through Big Spring to-
xether on theu way to El Paso.
t32 Times, December 30, 1908
1143 fbud , July 28, 1go8
ta4 Maury Kemp, October 4, 1953. The
Herald for December 30, 1908, says
Van Rooyen accused Clements in the
Coney Island Saloon a month after
the robbery.
11§ Tomes, December 31, 1g08
116 Thad, October 8, 1g08
197 Thud | November 12, 1908
138 Middagh, Frontier Newspaper, 126-
lay
114 Times, December 30, 1908
120 Ibid, January 2, 1909
14a) Louis Leveaux, June 22, 1965. A con-
ductor and a negro porter were ar-
tested at San Marcial on jenna 16
for “aiding and abetting” illegal entry.
This was the second arrest: (Times,
January 17, 1900). Newspapers in
1904 are full of stories about smuggled
Chinamen
122 Times, May 13, 1409
124 Maury Kemp, August 13, 1954
134 Times, May 14, 1909
1a5 Will C. Burgie to C. L. S., June 19,
tos
1a6 Times, December 30, 31, 1908, Jan-
wary 1-4, 1909, W. HL. Fryer, July 8,
haga
127 Times, January 4, 1909
ta The
ray Ibid . January 8, gy, 1909
130 Ibid | May 12, 13, 1yoy
131 Lows La Veaux, June 22, 1965
13a Times, May 15, 1goy
133 Tbad
144 White, Autobiography, 103-104
135 Hogers, Reminiscences of Old El
Paso (MS)
136 Lows Le Veaun, oy 22, 1965;
Maury Kemp, October 4, 1953
CuarprTer XXIII
The Cleanup
1
2
El] Paso Times, November 20, 1904
Broaddus, Legal Heritage (El Paso,
1963), 138. Ysleta had replaced San
Elizario as the County seat in 1878.
E] Paso Lone Star, November 7, 21,
24, December 1, 1883
Ibid., December 5, 1883; Broaddus,
Legal Heritage, 141
E] Paso County Commissioners Court
Minutes, IT, 187-191, 324; Times, May
16, 1885, January 21, 1886; Lone Star,
May 23, 27, June 27, July 15, 18, 25,
1885
Lone Star, November 21, 1883
Bridgers, Just Chatting, I, 108 (July
30, 1934)
Frank Faudoa, El Paso, June 26, 1948
Times, November 4, 5, 1884
Selman, John Selman of El Paso (MS)
El Paso Lone Star, April 11, May 19,
188
Ibid, August 1, shee
Vowell, Politics at El Paso 1850-1920
(MS, 1950), 84
Lone Star, August 1, 1883
Ibid.; El Paso Herald, March 1, 1882,
August 1, 1883
Times, January 7, 1949, quoting The
Rescue for August 15, 1883
Lone Star, August 15, 1883
Vowell, Politics, 86
Lone Star, August 11, 1883
Times, November 3, 6, 1888
Ibid., November 11, 1888
Ibid., March 3, 1889
Ibid., March 17, 1889
Ibid., April 9, 1889
Ibid., March 16, 1889
Ibid., March 20, 22, April 9, 1889
Ibid., April 10, 11, 1889; White, Out
of the Desert (El Paso, 1924), 217-218
Times, April 18 1889
Ibid., April 19, 188
Interview reported ie Marshal Hail in
the El Paso Herald-Post, May 28, 1936
Cf. Herald, April 19, 1889
Times, April 18, 19, 20, 1889
lbid., Hubbard was elected mayor on
April 23 (Times, April 24, 1889)
Ibid., April 24, 25, May 7, 9, 1889
Ibid., May 7, 8, 9, 1889
Ibid., May 3, 12, June 7, 1889. The
canvass showed Krakauer winning by
three votes.
Ibid., June 13, 1889
White, Out of the Desert, 220; Times,
June 28, 29, 1889
Herald, December 28, 1889; Times,
December 29, 1889, January 1, 1890
Herald, March 22, 23, 26, 1893
Vowell, Politics, 109; Herald, April 11,
1893
Times, April 11, 12, 1893; Vowell,
107-109
In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted