Twenty years ago, with the coming of the first railroads to El Paso,
there came also many bad men, and our mayor and city fathers concluded
in their wisdom that they must have a city marshal who would be “bader
en anybody,” and they succeeded beyond their most sanguine expectations.
They imported one Dallas Studemeier, and installed him in that office.
His coming, if we can trace human events back to their causes, cost the
lives of half a dozen men, his own included. The supplanted marshal, a
Mr. Johnson, was the first victim. He was killed one night on San
Antonio street, near its junction with El Paso, “by parties unknown,” as
was said at the time. No one dared ask why or by whom he was killed.
Studemeier brought with him a brother-in-law, one “Doc” Cummings, a man
of his own ilk. Soon the Studemeier-Cummings party became involved in a
quarrel with the four Manning brothers, who resided here at the time,
and Cummings was killed by Jim Manning in a fight.
It is enough to say that Manning was fairly tried and acquitted on a
plea of self-defense.
In the Bosques above El Paso there were several parties of cowboys, both
American and Mexican, some of whom were, no doubt, looking after their
own cattle, while others were certainly looking after other people’s
cattle. One morning the bodies of two young Mexicans from Juarez were
found dead at their camp near Canutilla, sixteen miles above El Paso.
They had been recently shot. The Mexicans of Juarez asked permission to
send an armed party to take home the bodies, and they passed through El
Paso. With them went a young German named Kramkauer, a stranger in El
Paso, but who we afterward learned was a good man, and he certainly was
a brave man.
On their return, this party of about thirty armed men halted on El Paso
street, appearing angry but making no threats or hostile demonstrations,
but Kramkauer did not hesitate when questioned to say that the signs at
the Mexicans’ camp clearly showed that the two young Mexicans had been
surprised while preparing their breakfast and assassinated. This was too
much for the American cowboys and their friends who had collected on the
street, and for a time I feared a conflict between them and the thirty
armed Mexicans, which I knew would be a bloody affair, and therefore
interceded to prevent it. But the Mexican party sullenly moved south on
El Paso street, and halted when about half way to the river. Now the
wrath of the American party was turned toward Kramkauer, who remained on
El Paso street, near the head of San Antonio, and one Campbell, of whose
history or character I know but little, but who appeared to be the
spokesman of the party, called on Kramkauer to retract what he had said.
Kramkauer quietly but firmly refused, saying that he had stated only the
truth. I was standing near these two men, and was surprised at the low,
protesting, almost pleading tone of voice in which they spoke to each
other. Both were sober, both were brave. The marshal, Studemeier, was
standing near me and them, but spoke no word. Others soon gathered about
us, but the young German was without friends. I believe these two men
might not have fought, but Johnnie Hale, who was intoxicated, called
out: “Turn her loose, Campbell; damn ’em, turn her loose,” and drew his
pistol. Studemeier, who stood within four feet of Hale, shot him in the
back of the head, and Hale fell and died in a few moments. Campbell and
Kramkauer fired simultaneously at each other, both shots taking effect.
Each fired several times. Campbell fell, and the German staggered to the
wall, and, leaning against it with his smoking pistol still in his hand,
said, “I will fight till I die,” and he died soon. Campbell lingered
till the next morning, and died.
A second shot fired by Studemeier accidentally killed a Mexican who
happened to be passing down the street. I do not know who Studemeier was
shooting at then, and I don’t believe he knew himself. Less than ten
seconds time passed between the first shot and the last one, but four
men were killed! Two of the three participants in the above affray
having killed each other, and Studemeier having killed two men “on the
side,” as it were, he became a hero with the rabble and a _terror_ to
the more thoughtful of the city officials, who sought to get rid of him.
But it is sometimes easier to catch such a man than it is to let him go.
I found a way.
I was deputy United States marshal at the time, and at the next meeting
of the council I presented a telegram from the United States marshal of
New Mexico, stating that Studemeier had accepted an appointment as his
deputy, thereby vacating the office of city marshal, and the city
council declared it vacant. An alderman immediately nominated Studemeier
to succeed himself, and Alderman Hague nominated the writer of these
pages. The vote stood four and four, and then the mayor, to the surprise
of many, gave the casting vote to Studemeier! One night, soon after the
above occurrences, I went to a public meeting at the old Central hotel,
and in the hall, in the presence of many people, Studemeier accosted and
cursed and threatened to kill me, and called on me to defend myself. I
was unarmed, and so informed him. He then produced two pistols, and
generously offered to loan me one, but I had seen that trick played
before, and I told him that as he and I were not good friends I did not
feel like accepting a favor from him, and he went away. I went home and
armed myself and returned to the meeting and met Studemeier, but nothing
more was said or done. This was the last time, so far as I know, when I
have been in any great peril from my fellow men—unless from their
tongues.
There are probably as many Davids as Goliaths, and this desperado was
about to meet his David—and his death. Dr. Manning was small of stature,
modest in deportment, devoted to his family and his profession, and as
to fighting, his disposition is well described in the words of the old
negro, “Mammy,” in speaking of her old master. She said, “Colonel Purdue
want no man to go about hunting for no fuss, but if anybody brought a
fuss to him and laid it in his lap, he would nuss it and coddle it and
try to keep it from ketchen cold.”
Studemeier gathered his few followers about him and announced that he
was going to meet the Mannings and make peace or “have it out.”
The meeting was at the old stand, Uncle Ben. Dowell’s saloon. A peace
was patched up, and of course some drinks were taken, and then all left
except the marshal and Dr. Manning. Suddenly Studemeier found some
pretext for anger, and, drawing his pistol, suddenly fired at Manning’s
heart. The bullet missed its mark but wounded the doctor in one hand
(the other hand had been crippled in a former fight), yet the little man
grappled the large one with one hand and with the other drew his pistol,
and in an instant the giant lay dying on the ground!
This shall be my last story of bloodshed. I was foreman of the jury
which tried Dr. Manning, and he was rendered a verdict of not guilty
without leaving the box.
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