The Lincoln County War--_The Bloodiest, Most Dramatic and Most Romantic
of all the Border Wars_--_First Authentic Story Ever Printed of the
Bitterest Feud of the Southwest_.
The entire history of the American frontier is one of rebellion against
the law, if, indeed, that may be called rebellion whose apostles have
not yet recognized any authority of the law. The frontier antedated
anarchy. It broke no social compact, for it had never made one. Its
population asked no protection save that afforded under the stern
suzerainty of the six-shooter. The anarchy of the frontier, if we may
call it such, was sometimes little more than self-interest against
self-interest. This was the true description of the border conflict now
in question.
The Lincoln County War, fully speaking, embraced three wars; the Pecos
War of the early '70's, the Harold War of 1874, and the Lincoln County
War proper, which may be said to have begun in 1874 and to have ended in
1879. The actors in these different conflicts were all intermingled.
There was no blood feud at the bottom of this fighting. It was the war
of self-interest against self-interest, each side supported by numbers
of fighting men.
At that time Lincoln County, New Mexico, was about as large as the state
of Pennsylvania. For judicial purposes it was annexed to Donna Aña
County, and its territories included both the present counties of Eddy
and Chaves, and part of what is now Donna Aña. It extended west
practically as far the Rio Grande river, and embraced a tract of
mountains and high tableland nearly two hundred miles square. Out of
this mountain chain, to the east and southeast, ran two beautiful
mountain streams, the Bonito and the Ruidoso, flowing into the Hondo,
which continues on to the flat valley of the Pecos river--once the
natural pathway of the Texas cattle herds bound north to Utah and the
mountain territories, and hence the natural pathway also for many lawful
or lawless citizens from Texas.
At the close of the civil war, Texas was full of unbranded and unowned
cattle. Out of the town of Paris, Texas, which was founded by his
father, came one John Chisum--one of the most typical cow men that ever
lived. Bold, fearless, shrewd, unscrupulous, genial, magnetic, he was
the man of all others to occupy a kingdom which had heretofore had no
ruler.
John Chisum drove the first herds up the Pecos trail to the territorial
market. He held at one time perhaps eighty thousand head of cattle under
his brand of the "Long I" and "jinglebob." Moreover, he had powers of
attorney from a great many cow men in Texas and lower New Mexico,
authorizing him to take up any trail cattle which he found under their
respective brands. He carried a tin cylinder, large as a water-spout,
that contained, some said, more than a thousand of these powers of
attorney. At least, it is certain he had papers enough to give him a
wide authority. Chisum riders combed every north-bound herd. If they
found the cattle of any of his "friends," they were cut out and turned
on the Chisum range. There were many "little fellows," small cattlemen,
nested here and there on the flanks of the Chisum herds. What more
natural than that they should steal from him, in case they found a
market of their own? That was much easier than raising cows of their
own. Now, there was a market up this winding Bonito valley, at Lincoln
and Fort Stanton. The soldiers of the latter post, and the Indians of
the Mescalero reservation near by, needed supplies. There were others
besides John Chisum who might need a beef contract now and then, and
cattle to fill it.
[Illustration: JOHN SIMPSON CHISUM
A famous cattle king, died December 23, 1884]
At the end of the civil war, there was in New Mexico, with what was
known as the California Column, which joined the forces of New Mexican
volunteers, an officer known as Major L. G. Murphy. After the war, a
great many men settled near the points where they were mustered out in
the South and West. It was thus with Major Murphy, who located as
post-trader at the little frontier post known as Fort Stanton, which was
founded by Captain Frank Stanton in 1854, in the Indian days. John
Chisum located his Bosque Grande ranch about 1865, and Murphy came to
Fort Stanton about 1866. In 1875, Chisum dropped down to his South
Spring River ranch, and by that time Murphy had been thrown out of the
post-tradership by Major Clendenning, commanding officer, who did not
like his methods. He had dropped nine miles down the Bonito from Fort
Stanton, with two young associates, under the firm name of Murphy, Riley
& Dolan, sometimes spoken of as L. G. Murphy & Co.
Murphy was a hard-drinking man, yet withal something of a student. He
was intelligent, generous, bold and shrewd. He "staked" every little cow
man in Lincoln county, including a great many who hung on the flanks of
John Chisum's herds. These men in turn were in their ethics bound to
support him and his methods. Murphy was king of the Bonito country.
Chisum was king of the Pecos; not merchant but cow man, and caring for
nothing which had not grass and water on it.
Here, then, were two rival kings. Each at times had occasion for a beef
contract. The result is obvious to anyone who knows the ways of the
remoter West in earlier days. The times were ripe for trouble. Murphy
bought stolen beef, and furnished bran instead of flour on his Indian
contracts, as the government records show. His henchmen held the Chisum
herds as their legitimate prey. Thus we now have our stage set and
peopled for the grim drama of a bitter border war.
The Pecos war was mostly an indiscriminate killing among cow men and
cattle thieves, and it cost many lives, though it had no beginning and
no end. The Texas men, hard riders and cheerful shooters for the most
part, came pushing up the Pecos and into the Bonito cañon. Among these,
in 1874, were four brothers known as the Harold boys, Bill, Jack, Tom
and Bob, who had come from Texas in 1872. Two of them located ranches on
the Ruidoso, being "staked" therein by Major Murphy, king for that part
of the countryside. The Harold boys once undertook to run the town of
Lincoln, and a foolish justice ordered a constable to arrest them. One
Gillam, an ex-sheriff, told the boys to put on their guns. On that night
there were killed Gillam, Bill Harold, Dave Warner and Martinez, the
Mexican constable. The dead body of Martinez was lying in the street the
next morning with a deep cross cut on the forehead. From that time on
for the next five years, it was no uncommon thing to see dead men lying
in the streets of Lincoln. The Harold boys had sworn revenge.
There was a little dance in an adobe one night at Lincoln, when Ben
Harold and some Texas men from the Seven Rivers country rode up. They
killed four men and one woman that night before they started back to
Seven Rivers. From that time on, it was Texas against the law, such as
the latter was. No resident places the number of the victims of the
Harold war at less than forty or fifty, and it is believed that at least
seventy-five would be more correct. These killings proved the weakness
of the law, for none of the Harold gang was ever punished. As for the
Lincoln County War proper, the magazine was now handsomely laid. Only
the spark was needed. What would that naturally be? Either an actual law
court, or else--a woman! In due time, both were forthcoming.
The woman in the case still lives to-day in New Mexico, sometimes spoken
of as the "Cattle Queen" of New Mexico. She bears now the name of Mrs.
Susan E. Barber. Her maiden name was Susan E. Hummer, the name sometimes
spelled Homer, and she was born in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Susan
Hummer was a granddaughter of Anna Maria Spangler-Stauffer. The Spangler
family is a noble one of Germany and very old. George Spangler was
cup-bearer to Godfrey, Chancellor of Frederick Barbarossa, and was with
the latter on the Crusade when Barbarossa was drowned in the Syrian
river, Calycadmus, in 1190. The American seat of this old family was in
York county, Pennsylvania, where the first Spanglers settled in 1731. It
was from this tenacious and courageous ancestry that there sprang this
figure of a border warfare in a region wild as Barbarossa's realm
centuries ago.
On August 23, 1873, in Atchison, Kansas, Susan Hummer was married to
Alexander A. McSween, a young lawyer fresh from the Washington
university law school of St. Louis. McSween was born in Charlottetown,
Prince Edward Island, and was educated in the first place as a
Presbyterian minister. He was a man of good appearance, of intelligence
and address, and of rather more polish than the average man. He was an
orator, a dreamer, and a visionary; a strange, complex character. He was
not a fighting man, and belonged anywhere in the world rather than on
the frontier of the bloody Southwest. His health was not good, and he
resolved to journey to New Mexico. He and his young bride started
overland, with a good team and conveyance, and reached the little
_placita_ of Lincoln, in the Bonito cañon, March 15, 1875. Outside of
the firm of Murphy, Riley & Dolan, there were at that time but one or
two other American families. McSween started up in the practice of law.
There appeared in northern New Mexico at about this time an Englishman
by the name of J. H. Tunstall, newly arrived in the West in search of
investment. Tunstall was told that there was good open cattle range to
be had in Lincoln county. He came to Lincoln, met McSween, formed a
partnership with him in the banking and mercantile business, and,
moreover, started for himself, and altogether independently, a horse and
cattle ranch on the Rio Feliz, a day's journey below Lincoln. Now, King
Murphy, of Lincoln county, found a rival business growing up directly
under his eyes. He liked this no better than King Chisum liked the
little cow men on his flanks in the Seven Rivers country. Things were
ripening still more rapidly for trouble. Presently, the immediate cause
made its appearance.
There had been a former partner and friend of Major Murphy in the
post-tradership at Fort Stanton, Colonel Emil Fritz, who established the
Fritz ranch, a few miles below Lincoln. Colonel Fritz having amassed a
considerable fortune, concluded to return to Germany. He had insured his
life in the American Insurance Company for ten thousand dollars, and
had made a will leaving this policy, or the greater part of it, to his
sister. The latter had married a clerk at Fort Stanton by the name of
Scholland, but did not get along well with her husband. Heretofore no
such thing as divorce had been known in that part of the world; but
courts and lawyers were now present, and it occurred to Mrs. Scholland
to have a divorce. She sent to Mr. McSween for legal counsel, and for a
time lived in the McSween house.
Now came news of the death, in Germany, of Colonel Emil Fritz. His
brother, Charlie Fritz, undertook to look up the estate. He found the
will and insurance policy had been left with Major Murphy; but Major
Murphy, accustomed to running affairs in his own way, refused to give up
the Emil Fritz will, and forced McSween to get a court order appointing
Mrs. Scholland administratrix of the Fritz estate. Not even in that
capacity would Major Murphy deliver to her the will and insurance policy
when they were demanded, and it is claimed that he destroyed the will.
Certainly it was never probated. Murphy was accustomed to keep this will
in a tin can, hid in a hole in the adobe wall of his store building.
There were no safes at that time and place. The policy had been left as
security for a loan of nine hundred dollars advanced by a firm known as
Spiegelberg Brothers. Few ingredients were now lacking for a typical
melodrama. Meantime the plot thickened by the failure of the insurance
company!
McSween, in the interest of Mrs. Scholland, now went East to see what
could be done in the collection of the insurance policy. He was able
finally, in 1876, to collect the full amount of ten thousand dollars,
and this he deposited in his own name in a St. Louis bank then owned by
Colonel Hunter. He had been obliged to pay the Spiegelbergs the face of
their loan before he could get the policy to take East with him. He
wished to be secured against this advancement and reimbursed as well for
his expenses, which, together with his fee, amounted to a considerable
sum. Moreover, the German Minister enjoined McSween from turning over
any of this money, as there were other heirs in Germany. Major Murphy
owed McSween some money. Colonel Fritz also died owing McSween
thirty-three hundred dollars, fees due on legal work. Yet Murphy
demanded the full amount of the insurance policy from McSween again and
again. Murphy, Riley & Dolan now sued out an attachment on McSween's
property, and levied on the goods in the Tunstall-McSween store. The
"law" was now doing its work; but there was a very liberal
interpretation put upon the law's intent. As construed by Sheriff
William Brady, the writ applied also to the Englishman Tunstall's
property in cattle and horses on the Rio Feliz ranch; which, of course,
was high-handed illegality. McSween's statement that he had no interest
in the Feliz ranch served no purpose. Brady and Murphy were warm
friends. The lawyer McSween had accused them of being something more
than that--allies and conspirators. McSween and Tunstall bought Lincoln
county scrip cheap; but when they presented it to the county treasurer,
Murphy, it was not paid, and it was charged that he and Brady had made
away with the county funds. That was never proved, for, as a matter of
fact, no county books were ever kept! McSween started the first set ever
known there.
At this time there was working for Tunstall on the Feliz ranch the noted
desperado, Billy the Kid, who a short time formerly had worked for John
Chisum. The latter at this stage of the advancing troubles, appears
rather as a third party, or as holding one point of a triangle, whose
other two corners were occupied by the Murphy and McSween factions.
Whether or not it was a legal posse which went out to serve the
attachment on the Tunstall cattle--or whether or not a posse was
necessary for that purpose--the truth is that a band of men, on February
13th, 1878, did go out under some semblance of the law and in the
interests of the Murphy people's claim. Some state that William S.
Morton, or "Billy" Morton, was chosen by Sheriff Brady as his deputy and
as leader of this posse. Others name different men as leaders.
Certainly, the band was suited for any desperate occasion. With it was
one Tom Hill, who had killed several men at different times, and who had
been heard to say that he intended to kill Tunstall. There was also
Jesse Evans, just in from the Rio Grande country, and, unless that were
Billy the Kid, the most redoubtable fighter in all that country. Evans
had formerly worked for John Chisum, and had been the friend of Billy
the Kid; but these two had now become enemies. Others of the party were
William M. Johnson, Ham Mills, Johnnie Hurley, Frank Baker, several
ranchers still living in that country, and two or three Mexicans. All
these rode across the mountains to the Ruidoso valley on their way to
the Rio Feliz. They met, coming from the Tunstall ranch, Tunstall
himself in company with his foreman, Dick Brewer, John Middleton and
Billy the Kid. When the Murphy posse came up with Tunstall, he was
alone. His men were at the time chasing a flock of wild turkeys along a
distant hillside. When called upon to halt, Tunstall did so, and then
came up toward the posse. "You wouldn't hurt me, boys, would you?" he
said, as he approached leading his horse. When within a few yards, Tom
Hill said to him, "Why, hello, Tunstall, is that you?" and almost with
the words fired upon him with his six-shooter and shot him down. Some
say that Hill shot Tunstall again, and a young Mexican boy called
Pantilon beat in his skull with a rock. They put Tunstall's hat under
his head and left him lying there beside his horse, which was also
killed. His folded coat was found under the horse's head. His body,
lashed on a burro's back, was brought over the mountains by his friends
that night into Lincoln, twenty miles distant. Fifty men took up the
McSween fight that night; for, in truth, the killing of Tunstall was
murder and without justification.
That was the beginning of the actual Lincoln County War. Dick Brewer,
Tunstall's foreman, was now leader of the McSween fighting men. McSween,
of course, supplied him with color of "legal" authority. He was
appointed "special constable." Neither party had difficulty in obtaining
all the legal papers required. Each party was presently to have a
sheriff of its own. Meantime, there was at Lincoln an accommodating
justice of the peace, John P. Wilson, who was ready to give either
faction any sort of legal paper it demanded. Dick Brewer, Billy the Kid,
and nearly a dozen others of the first McSween posse started to the
lower country, where lived a good many of Murphy's friends, small cow
men and others. On the Rio Peñasco, about six miles from the Pecos, they
came across a party of five men, two of whom, Billy Morton and Frank
Baker, had been present at the killing of Tunstall. Baker and Morton
surrendered under promise of safekeeping, and were held for a time at
Roswell. On the trail from Roswell to Lincoln, at a point near the Agua
Negra, both these men, while kneeling and pleading for their lives, were
deliberately shot and killed by Billy the Kid. There was with the
Brewer posse a buffalo-hunter by the name of McClosky, who had promised
to take care of these prisoners. Joe McNab, of the posse, shot and
killed McClosky in cold blood. In this McSween posse were "Doc"
Skurlock, Charlie Bowdre, Billy the Kid, Hendry Brown, Jim French, John
Middleton, with McNab, Wait and Smith, besides McClosky, who seems not
to have been loyal enough to them to sanction cold blooded murder. These
victims were killed March 7th, 1878.
There had now been deliberate murder committed upon the one side and
upon the other. There were many men implicated on each side. These men,
in self-interest, now drew apart together. The factions, of necessity,
became more firmly established. It may be seen that there was very
little principle at stake on either side. The country was now simply
going wild again. It meant to take the law into its own hands; and the
population was divided into these two factions, to one or the other of
which every resident must perforce belong. A choice, and sometimes a
quick one, was an imperative necessity.
The next killing was that of Buckshot Roberts, at Blazer's Mill, near
the Mescalero Reservation buildings, an affair described in a later
chapter. Thirteen men, later of the Kid's gang, led by Dick Brewer,
attacked Roberts, who killed Dick Brewer before he himself died. The
death of the latter left the Kid chief of the McSween forces.
A great blood lust now possessed all the population. It wanted no law.
There is no doubt about the intention to make away with Judge Warren
Bristol of the circuit court. The latter, knowing of these turbulent
times in Lincoln, decided not to hold court. He sent word to Sheriff
William Brady to open court and then at once to adjourn it. This was on
April 1, 1878.
Sheriff Brady, in walking down the street toward the dwelling-house in
which court sessions were then held, was obliged to pass the McSween
store and residence. Behind the corral wall, there lay ambushed Billy
the Kid and at least five others of his gang. Brady was accompanied by
Billy Matthews (J. B. Matthews, now dead; postmaster of Roswell, New
Mexico, in 1904), by George Hindman, his deputy, and Dad Peppin, later
sheriff of Lincoln county. The Kid and his men waited until the victims
had gone by. Then a volley was fired. Sheriff Brady, shot in the back,
slowly sank down, his knees weakening under him. "My God! My God! My
God!" he exclaimed, as he gradually dropped. He had been struck in the
back by five balls. As he sank down, he turned his head to see his
murderers, and as he did so received a ball in the eye, and so fell
dead. George Hindman, the deputy, also shot in the back, ran down the
street about one hundred and fifty yards before he fell. He lay in the
street and few dared to go out to him. A saloon-keeper, Ike Stockton
(himself a bad man, and later killed at Durango, Colorado), offered him
a drink of water, which he brought in his hat, and Hindman, accepting
it, fell back dead.
The murder of Sheriff Brady left the country without even the semblance
of law; but each party now took steps to set up a legal machinery of its
own, as cover for its own acts. The old justice of the peace, John P.
Wilson, would issue a warrant on any pretext for any person; but there
must be some one with authority to serve the process. In a
quasi-election, the McSween faction instituted John Copeland as their
sheriff. The Murphy faction held that Copeland never qualified as
sheriff. He lived with McSween part of the time. It was understood that
he was sheriff for the purpose of bothering nobody but the Murphy
people.
Meantime, the other party were not thus to be surpassed. In June, 1878,
Governor Axtell appointed George W. Peppin as sheriff of Lincoln county.
Peppin qualified at Mesilla, came back to Lincoln, and demanded of
Copeland the warrants in his possession. He had, on his part, twelve
warrants for the arrest of members of the McSween gang. Little lacked
now to add confusion in this bloody coil. The country was split into two
factions. Each had a sheriff as a figurehead! What and where was the
law?
Peppin had to get fighting men to serve his warrants, and he could not
always be particular about the social standing of his posses. He had a
thankless and dangerous position as the "Murphy sheriff." Most of his
posses were recruited from among the small ranchers and cow boys of the
lower Pecos. Peppin was sheriff only a few months, and threw up the job
$2,800 in debt.
The men of both parties were now scouting about for each other here and
there over a district more than a hundred miles square; but presently
the war was to take on the dignity of a pitched battle. Early in July,
1878, the Kid and his gang rounded up at the McSween house. There were a
dozen white desperadoes in their party. There were about forty Mexicans
also identified with the McSween faction. These were quartered in the
Montana and Ellis residences, well down the street.
The Murphy forces now surrounded the McSween house, and at once a
pitched battle began. The McSween men started the firing from the
windows and loopholes of their fortress. The Peppin men replied. The
town, divided against itself, held under cover. For three days the two
little armies lay here, separated by the distance of the street, perhaps
sixty men in all on the McSween side, perhaps thirty or forty in all on
the Murphy-Peppin side, of whom nineteen were Americans.
To keep the McSween men inside their fortifications, Peppin had three
men posted on the mountain side, whence they could look down directly
upon the top of the houses, as the mountain here rises up sharply back
of the narrow line of adobe buildings. These pickets were Charlie
Crawford, Lucillo Montoye, and another Mexican, and with their
long-range buffalo guns they threw a good many heavy slugs of lead into
the McSween house. At last, one Fernando Herrera, a McSween Mexican,
standing in the back door of the Montana house, fired, at a distance of
about nine hundred yards, at Charlie Crawford. The shot cut Crawford
down, and he lay, with his back broken, behind a rock on the mountain
side in the hot sun nearly all day. Crawford was later brought down to
the street. Medical attendance there was none, and few dared to offer
sympathy, but Captain Saturnino Baca[H] carried Crawford a drink of
water.
[Footnote H: Captain Saturnino Baca was a friend of Kit Carson, an
officer in the New Mexican Volunteers, and the second commanding officer
of Fort Stanton. He came to Lincoln in 1865, and purchased of J.
Trujillo the old stone tower, as part of what was then the Baca
property, near the McSween residence. The Bacas were recognized as
non-combatants, but were friendly to Major Murphy. Mrs. McSween and Mrs.
Baca were bitter enemies, and it was commonly said that, as each side
had a sheriff, each side had a woman. Bonifacio J. Baca, son of Captain
and Mrs. Baca, was a protégé of Major Murphy, who sent him to Notre Dame
University, Indiana, to be educated. "Bonnie" Baca was at different
times clerk of the probate court, county assessor, deputy sheriff, etc.,
and was court interpreter under Judge Warren H. Bristol. He was teaching
school at the time Sheriff Brady was shot, and from his refuge in the
"round tower," a few feet distant, saw Brady fall. Captain Baca, wife
and son, were after that closely watched by the men of the McSween
faction, but managed to remain neutral and never became involved in the
fighting, though Billy the Kid more than once threatened to kill young
Baca.]
The death of Crawford ended the second day's fighting. Peppin's party
now numbered sixteen men from the Seven Rivers country, or twenty-eight
in all. The McSween men besieged in the adobe were Billy the Kid, Harvey
Norris (killed), Tom O'Folliard, Ighenio Salazar (wounded and left for
dead), Ignacio Gonzales, José Semora (killed), Francisco Romero
(killed), and Alexander A. McSween, leader of the faction (killed). Doc
Skurlock, Jack Middleton, and Charlie Bowdre were in the adjoining store
building.
At about noon of the third day, old Andy Boyle, ex-soldier of the
British army, said, "We'll have to get a cannon and blow in the doors.
I'll go up to the fort and steal a cannon." Half-way up to the fort, he
found his cannon--two Gatling guns and a troop of colored
cavalry--already on the road to stop what had been reported as firing on
women and children. The detachment was under charge of the commanding
officer of Fort Stanton, Colonel Dudley, who marched his men past the
beleaguered house and drew them up below the place. Colonel Dudley was
besought by Mrs. McSween, who came out under fire, to save her husband's
life; but he refused to interfere or take side in the matter, saying
that the sheriff of the county was there and in charge of his own posse.
Mrs. McSween refused to accept protection and go up to the post, but
returned to her husband for what she knew must soon be the end.
McSween, ex-minister, lawyer, honest or dishonest instigator, innocent
or malicious cause--and one may choose his adjectives in this matter--of
all these bloody scenes, now sat in the house, his head bowed in his
hands, the picture of foreboding despair. His nerve was absolutely gone.
No one paid any attention to him. His wife, the actual leader, was far
braver than he. The Kid was the commander. "They'd kill us all if we
surrendered," he said. "We'll shoot it out!"
Old Andy Boyle got some sticks and some coal oil, and, under protection
of rifles, started a fire against a street door of the house. Jack Long
and two others also fired the house in the rear. A keg of powder had
been concealed under the floor. The flames reached this powder, and
there was an explosion which did more than anything else toward ending
the siege.
At about dusk, Bob Beckwith, old man Pierce, and one other man, ran
around toward the rear of the house. Beckwith called out to the inmates
to surrender. They demanded that the sheriff come for a parley. "I'm a
deputy sheriff," replied Beckwith. It was dark or nearly so. Several
figures burst out of the rear door of the burning house, among these the
unfortunate McSween. Around him, and ahead of him, ran Billy the Kid,
Skurlock, French, O'Folliard, Bowdre, and a few others. The flashing of
six-shooters at close range ended the three days' battle. McSween, still
unarmed, dropped dead. He was found, half sitting, leaning against the
corral wall. Bob Beckwith, of the Peppin forces, fell almost at the same
time, killed by Billy the Kid. Near McSween's body lay those of Romero
and Semora and of Harvey Norris. The latter was a young Kansan, newly
arrived in that country, of whom little was known.
[Illustration: 1. IGHENIO SALAZAR 2. ALEX. A. McSWEEN 3. CAPT. S. BACA
(1) Shot and left for dead, in the Lincoln County War. (2) Leader of a
faction in the Lincoln County War. (3) Friend of Kit Carson; the man who
carried the news of the big street fight to Ft. Stanton]
With the McSween party, there was one game Mexican, Ighenio Salazar, who
is alive to-day, by miracle. In the rush from the house, Salazar was
shot down, being struck by two bullets. He feigned death. Old Andy Boyle
stood over him with his gun cocked. "I guess he's dead," said Andy. "If
I thought he wasn't, I shoot him some more." They then jumped on
Salazar's body to assure themselves. In the darkness, Salazar rolled
over into a ditch, later made his escape, stopped his wounds with some
corn husks, and found concealment in a Mexican house until he
subsequently recovered.
This fight cost McSween his life just at the point when he thought he
had attained success. Four days before he was killed, he had word from
the United States Government's commissioner, Angell, that the President
had deposed Governor Axtell of New Mexico, on account of his appointment
of Dad Peppin as sheriff, and on charges that Axtell was favoring the
Murphy faction. General Lew Wallace was now sent out as Governor of New
Mexico, invested with "extraordinary powers." He needed them. President
Hayes had issued governmental proclamation calling upon these desperate
fighting men to lay down their arms, but it was not certain they would
easily be persuaded. It was a long way to Washington, and a short way to
a six-shooter.
General Wallace assured Mrs. McSween of protection, but he found there
was no such thing as getting to the bottom of the Lincoln County War. It
would have been necessary to hang the entire population of the county to
execute a formal justice. Almost none of the indictments "stuck," and
one by one the cases were dismissed. The thing was too big for the law.
The only man ever actually indicted and brought to trial for a killing
during the Lincoln County War was Billy the Kid, and there is many a
resident of Lincoln to-day who declares that the Kid was made a
scapegoat; and many a man even to-day charges Governor Wallace with bad
faith. Governor Wallace met the Kid by appointment at the Ellis House in
Lincoln. The Kid came in fully armed, and the old soldier was surprised
to see in him a bright-faced and pleasant-talking boy. In the presence
of two witnesses now living, Governor Wallace asked the Kid to come in
and lay down his arms, and promised to pardon him if he would stand his
trial and if he should be convicted in the courts. The Kid declined.
"There is no justice for me in the courts of this country now," said he.
"I've gone too far." And so he went back with his little gang of
outlaws, to meet a dramatic end, after further incidents in a singular
and blood-stained career.
The Lincoln County War now spread wider than even the boundaries of the
United States. A United States deputy, Wiederman, had been employed by
the father of the murdered J. H. Tunstall to take care of the Tunstall
estates and to secure some kind of British revenge for his murder.
Wiederman falsely persuaded Tunstall _père_ that he had helped kill
Frank Baker and Billy Morton, and Tunstall _père_ made him rich,
Wiederman going to England, where it was safer. The British legation
took up the matter of Tunstall's death, and the slow-moving governmental
wheels at Washington began to revolve. A United States indemnity was
paid for Tunstall's life.
Mrs. McSween, meantime, kept up her work in the local courts. Some time
after her husband's death, she employed a lawyer by the name of Chapman,
of Las Vegas, a one-armed man, to undertake the dangerous task of aiding
her in her work of revenge. By this time, most of the fighters were
disposed to lay down their arms. The whole society of the country had
been ruined by the war. Murphy & Co. had long ago mortgaged everything
they had, and a good many things which they did not have, _e. g._, some
of John Chisum's cattle, to Tom Catron, of Sante Fé. A big peace talk
was made in the town, and it was agreed that, as there was no longer any
advantage of a financial nature in keeping up the war, all parties
concerned might as well quit organized fighting, and engage in
individual pillage instead. Murphy & Co. were ruined. Murphy and McSween
were both dead. Chisum could be depended upon to pay some of the debts
to the warriors through stolen cattle, if not through signed checks.
Why, then, should good, game men go on killing each other for nothing?
This was the argument used.
[Illustration: 1. MRS. SATURNINO BACA (In early life) 2. MRS. SUSAN E.
BARBER 3. MRS. SATURNINO BACA (At sixty)
The "women in the case" in the Lincoln County War. Mrs. Susan E. Barber
was known as the "Cattle Queen of the West"]
In this conference there were, on the Murphy side, Jesse Evans, Jimmie
Dolan and Bill Campbell. On the other side were Billy the Kid, Tom
O'Folliard and the game Mexican, Salazar. Each of these men had a .45
Colt at his belt, and a cocked Winchester in his hand. At last, however,
the six men shook hands. They agreed to end the war. Then, frontier
fashion, they set off for the nearest saloon.
The Las Vegas lawyer, Chapman, happened to cross the street as these
desperate fighting men, used to killing, now well drunken, came out, all
armed, and all swearing friendship.
"Halt, you, there!" cried Bill Campbell to Chapman; and the latter
paused. "Damn you," said Campbell to Chapman; "you are the ---- ---- of
a ---- that has come down here to stir up trouble among us fellows.
We're peaceful. It's all settled, and we're friends now. Now, damn you,
just to show you're peaceable too, you dance."
"I'm a gentleman," said Chapman, "and I'll dance for no ruffian." An
instant later, shot through the heart by Campbell's six-shooter, as is
alleged, he lay dead in the roadway. No one dared disturb his body. He
was shot at such close range that some papers in his coat pocket took
fire from the powder flash, and his body was partially consumed as it
lay there in the road.
For this killing, Jimmie Dolan, Billy Matthews and Bill Campbell were
indicted and tried. Dolan and Matthews were acquitted. Campbell, in
default of a better jail, was kept in the guard-house at Fort Stanton.
One night he disappeared, in company with his guard and some United
States cavalry horses. Since then nothing has been heard of him. His
real name was not Campbell, but Ed Richardson.
Billy the Kid did not kill John Chisum, though all the country wondered
at that fact. There was a story that he forced Chisum to sign a bill of
sale for eight hundred head of cattle. He claimed that Chisum owed money
to the McSween fighting men, to whom he had promised salaries which
were never paid; but no evidence exists that Chisum ever made such a
promise, although he sometimes sent a wagonload of supplies to the
McSween fighting men.
John Chisum died of cancer at Eureka Springs, Missouri, December 26,
1884, and his great holdings as a cattle king afterward became somewhat
involved. He could once have sold out for $600,000, but later mortgaged
his holdings for $250,000. He was concerned in a packing plant at Kansas
City, a business into which he was drawn by others, and of which he knew
nothing.
Major Murphy died at Sante Fé before the big fight at Lincoln. Jimmie
Dolan died a few years later, and lies buried in the little graveyard
near the Fritz ranch. Riley, the other member of the firm, went to
Colorado, and was last heard of at Rocky Ford, where he was prosperous.
The heritage of hatred was about all that McSween left to his widow, who
presently married George L. Barber, at Lincoln, and later proved herself
to be a good business woman--good enough to make a fortune in the cattle
business from the four hundred head of cattle John Chisum gave her to
settle a debt he had owed McSween. She afterward established a fine
ranch near Three Rivers, New Mexico.
Dad Peppin, known as the "Murphy sheriff" by the McSween faction, lived
out his life on his little holding at the edge of Lincoln _placita_. He
died in 1905. His rival, John Copeland, died in 1902. The street of
Lincoln, one of the bloodiest of its size in the world, is silent.
Another generation is growing up. William Brady, Major Brady's eldest
son, and Joséfina Brady-Chavez, a daughter, live in Lincoln; and Bob
Brady, another son of the murdered sheriff, was long jailer at Lincoln
jail. The law has arisen over the ruin wrought by lawlessness. It is a
noteworthy fact that, although the law never punished the participants
in this border conflict, the lawlessness was never ended by any
vigilante movement. The fighting was so desperate and prolonged that it
came to be held as warfare and not as murder. There is no doubt that,
barring the border fighting of Kansas and Missouri, this was the
greatest of American border wars.