Being over in Paris a few years ago, a friend who had lived there a
number of years, and who was as familiar with Paris from basement to
roof-garden, as I am with Congress street of our good old town of
Tucson, suggested one evening that we visit the “Apaches”. Expressing
surprise that any of my people should have wandered so far from home, I
suggested as a substitute the Moulin Rouge. However, the Apaches were
agreed on, and in the evening, my friend, bringing a policeman with
him, called for me at my hotel.
Arriving at the door of the Apache rendezvous in due course, we
three--my friend, the policeman and myself--are readily admitted, the
presence of our policeman assuring that, and we find ourselves in an
underground dive, a large room with a low ceiling, barely furnished,
dimly lighted, and reeking with the sour odor of stale beer. Looking
about the room, by the dim light as it forces its way through the dense
gloom of tobacco smoke, we are enabled to see two other policemen
besides our own--there are two stationed there day and night--and a
score or more of the toughest-looking lot of cut-throats I had ever
had the pleasure of coming in contact with. This was the retreat, the
gathering place, of as bad a lot of thieves, thugs, robbers, burglars
and murderers as the world could boast of, and Paris, in seeking a name
for them that would embody all of these characteristics, had searched
the world over, and was almost in despair of finding a single word that
would express all that is mean, wantonly cruel, murderous and cowardly,
but at last attention was directed to the Apache of Arizona, and then
it was discovered that the word which would embody all that and more
had been found. And that was why I was enabled to find some of my own
home people away off there in the world’s center of fashion. Settling
for a few bottles of the vilest beer possible to brew, as a tip to the
house, I was soon ready to ask my friend to call his policeman and get
us away from this vile den.
Judge McComas and Wife Murdered.
It is scarcely more than a quarter of a century, March, 1883, since
Judge McComas, his wife and their little son Charlie, about seven
years of age, coming from Silver City, New Mexico, to Lordsburg, were
ambushed by a band of Apaches from San Carlos, the Judge and his wife
killed, and poor little Charlie carried off to the Sierra Madres in
Mexico, where, a few years later, an Apache squaw reported that on
their camp being attacked by United States troops, Charlie, being
frightened, ran off into the mountains, where he is supposed to have
died of hunger and exposure.
It was during this same year that a band passing over the Whetstone
range of mountains killed a teamster and two of his men and a
wood-chopper, who were furnishing wood for the Total Wreck mine.
On July 3, 1885, Frank Peterson, who was carrying the United States
mail between Crittenden and Lochiel, was killed by the Indians while
returning from Lochiel to Crittenden. A sad feature in connection with
this killing was that he had just been married.
Dr. Davis Shot to Death.
On June 3, 1886, Dr. C. H. Davis, a brother of W. C. Davis, of Tucson,
coming from the San Pedro river over the pass between the Catalinas and
the Rincons, with a wagon and span of mules, was waylaid and killed by
a band of these outlaws. J. P. Hohusen and W. H. Wheaton, coming from
their homes on the San Pedro the day before, met Dr. Davis going out,
and warned him against the Indians, but having been in the country but
a short time, he failed to appreciate the danger and made light of the
warning.
It was subsequently learned that Hohusen and Wheaton narrowly escaped
this same band themselves as they were coming in to Tucson. When
Hohusen returned home he learned from his man that the Indians had been
at his place the night before the killing of Davis, and attempted to
drive off some of his horses from the pasture; but the man, seizing his
rifle, jumped into a well which was partly caved in and which naturally
furnished him an excellent defensive position, and from this he fired
at the Indians, but without apparent effect other than to force them
to leave the place. After the killing of Dr. Davis, the Indians,
taking the two mules, went to Walter Vail’s Happy Valley ranch, in the
Rincons, where they left the mules in exchange for a bunch of Vail’s
horses, shooting, but not killing, Cal Mathews, the herder. From Happy
Valley they passed south into the Whetstones, where they shot and
killed Marcus Goldbaum. Edward L. Vail, one of the party going out to
the scene of the killing, found that the Indians had been gone but a
few hours, having also killed a partner of Goldbaum as he was en route
to Benson.
Little Boy Taken From Gastelo Ranch.
It was not long prior to this that a band working back from the
Sierra Madres to the San Carlos reservation attacked the ranch of
Juan Gastelo, not over fifteen miles from Tucson, near Tanque Verde,
and carried off with them a little Mexican boy. The news coming to
town, a volunteer company was immediately formed by M. G. Samaniego
(now dead) and R. N. Leatherwood, our Bob. Samaniego, having had a
brother killed by the Apaches a few years before, was more than keen
for an opportunity to avenge his death. The volunteer company, led
by Leatherwood and Samaniego, came upon the band, encamped in the
neighborhood of Tanque Verde. The Indians, however, being alarmed by
the premature firing of a gun, scattered like a flock of quail and got
away, but the boy, escaping, was recovered by the volunteers.
On another occasion a band, killing a rancher named Lloyd, four miles
north of Pantano, stole the horses of Ed Vail and George Scholefield,
near Rosemont, and passing on south, killed a man named Wimple, near
Greaterville.
Mexicans Attack and Rob Wheaton.
A trying experience in the life of Wheaton, who narrowly escaped the
band that killed Dr. Davis, was when four Mexicans came to his ranch
on the San Pedro river one evening, he being entirely alone at the
time, and demanded his money, which they said they knew him to have
from the sale of some hogs. He, however, denying that he had any
money, they proceeded to put a rope round his neck, and strung him up
three or four times, each time demanding that he tell where the money
was concealed, and he still denying that he had any. During all this
time they were trying to find where the money was hidden, and finally
discovered it, about $60, in the window casing. Then the question was
debated as to what they should do with Wheaton; whether or not they
should kill him. This they evidently hesitated to do, but finally
decided to take him out and throw him into his well, probably having in
mind that this would not kill him, but would make him a close prisoner
for a time. On taking him to the well, however, they found it to be a
bored one and therefore only eight or ten inches in diameter. Of course
this frustrated that plan, and they returned him to the house, and
throwing him on his bed, proceeded to tie him, and after threatening to
kill him in case he at any time made them any trouble over the affair,
they left him. As soon as they were gone Wheaton succeeded in releasing
himself and went to the home of J. P. Hohusen, not far away, naturally
nearly prostrated from his fright and the terrible ordeal through which
he had just passed. The next day Wheaton, accompanied by Ira Davis, a
brother of Dr. Davis, came to Tucson and reported the case to Judge C.
H. Meyer, an old-time justice of the peace.
“Old Charley Meyer,” Law Unto Himself.
Old Charlie Meyer, as he was familiarly called, was indeed a character,
and had the well-earned reputation of meeting out justice with an
iron hand, and, due in a large measure to his eccentric methods of
administering justice, was quite popular with the well meaning, but
certainly a terror to the evil-doer. Judge Meyer’s conception of
justice and the language of the statutes frequently failed to be in
full harmony, but that, of course, was not a matter for which he was
responsible, and should not, and did not, interfere in the slightest
degree with the administration of justice in his court. Meyer recalled
that four Mexicans had that same day come into his court and, by the
deposit of $60 as bail, had secured the release of their friend, one El
Zorra, who was being held for some offense, having been unable until
then to secure bail. Three of these four men were immediately found and
arrested. The fourth, having started for Mexico, was followed by the
officers and overtaken at Boley’s Well, where, in resisting arrest, he
was shot and killed by Bob Cannon, one of the officers. On trial of the
other three, Hohusen was able to fully identify one of the bills in
the $60 turned in to Judge Meyer’s court as one that he had personally
paid to Wheaton a few days before. In addition to this, one of the
men, Pancho Gomez, having turned state’s evidence, they were all three
convicted and sentenced to the Territorial prison, Gomez, however, for
a shorter term than the others.
“Tommy Gates Displays Magnificent Nerve.”
While serving their terms, on October 27, 1887, in an attempted
outbreak at the prison, in which these men participated, the prisoners
succeeded in getting hold of the superintendent of the prison, Thomas
Gates, familiarly known as Tommy Gates, and threatened to take his
life if he permitted the guards to fire on them. Notwithstanding this,
he ordered the guards to fire, when one of the Wheaton convicts, one
Puebla, thrust a knife first into his shoulder and then into his back,
seriously but not fatally wounding him. Barney Riggs, a life-termer,
then succeeded in getting hold of a pistol, shot and killed Puebla,
and for this was subsequently pardoned out, in response to the almost
unanimous sentiment of the Territory. In the emeute four of the
prisoners were killed outright, and Tommy Gates’s display of nerve on
the occasion goes into history as a heroic example of self sacrifice in
the discharge of duty.
Brutal Murder of Mrs. Peck and Baby.
On April 27, 1886, a band of Indians appeared at the ranch of A. L.
Peck, about twenty miles from Oro Blanco, where they found Mrs. Peck,
her baby, about eleven months old, and her niece, Jenny, a young girl
of about 11 years. Killing Mrs. Peck and the baby, they took the young
girl away with them. It was asserted by some at the time, including
Peck himself, that the leader of this band was Geronimo, but I think
this could hardly have been possible, for the reason that the leader
was too young and spoke good English, whereas Geronimo did not speak
English. In giving the “Story of His Life” to S. M. Barrett, at Fort
Sill, not many years ago, it had to be done through an interpreter.
Besides, Geronimo had escaped from General Crook, sixty-five miles
south of Fort Bowie and 125 miles east of Oro Blanco, on the night
of March 29th, only a month previous, and gone into the Sierra Madre
mountains. It is my opinion that Geronimo was never seen in Arizona
subsequent to that time until he surrendered to General Miles and was
brought to Fort Bowie the following September.
At the time of the killing of Mrs. Peck, Peck and a young man by the
name of Charles Owen were a mile or two away from the house, both being
mounted but unarmed, and were in the act of catching a steer. The
Indians surprising them, Peck’s horse was shot from under him and he
was captured and held prisoner. Owen, being well mounted, made a dash
for his life, but ran into another part of the same band. His horse
was shot from under him, and Owen himself was shot through the neck and
arm, killing him instantly. Those that had Peck were apparently waiting
for their leader for instructions as to what to do with him. The leader
soon coming up, after taking from Peck his boots, knife and tobacco,
they released him, telling him, however, not to go home. Before
releasing him, one of the Indians, for some unexplainable reason, gave
him 65 cents in money. A squaw with this band had little Jenny on a
horse with her. Jenny was crying bitterly, and when Peck attempted
to talk with her the Indians intervened and prevented his doing so.
About six weeks later she was rescued from the Indians by some Mexican
cowboys, at a point about forty miles from Magdalena, Sonora, where she
was delivered to Peck, who had gone after her. As soon as released,
Peck went directly home, where he found his wife and baby lying dead.
Shanahan Killed, “Yank” Bartlett Wounded.
The day following the killing of Mrs. Peck and her baby, John Shanahan,
who was unarmed, left “Yank” Bartlett’s ranch in Bear Valley, about
eight miles from Oro Blanco, for his own place, about three miles
distant, leaving at the ranch with Bartlett his little son Phil, about
ten years of age, who was there visiting Johnnie Bartlett, of about
the same age. Shanahan had been gone but about ten minutes, when
Johnnie ran into the room where his father was, telling him that he
had just heard three shots, and that he thought maybe the Indians had
shot the “old man”. Bartlett, who had not heard of the Indians being
in the vicinity, scouted the idea, but on going outside saw Shanahan
approaching, and ran to him and assisted him into the house, Shanahan
telling him that the Indians had shot him. Bartlett immediately seized
his gun, and on going to the door a bullet fired by one of the Indians
whistled past his head. There were but three of the Indians, but having
placed themselves in different positions, it was hardly possible for
Bartlett to get a shot at them without exposing himself to their fire,
and one shot from them passing through his shoulder, only missed the
head of Johnnie by about an inch, blinding him from the dust of the
adobe wall as the bullet struck it. The fight between Bartlett and the
three Indians was kept up until dark. Shanahan, fatally wounded, was
constantly calling out for water. Bartlett thinks that in the fight he
wounded one of the Indians.