TREACHEROUS BRAVES, A FAITHFUL DOG, AND A MURDER
During the latter part of January, 1880, two mining engineers named
Andrews and Wiswall from Denver, Colorado, appeared at the ranger camp
in Ysleta. They had a new ambulance pulled by two elegant horses and
led a fine saddle pony. They were well fitted out for camping and had
the finest big black shepherd dog I had ever seen. Mr. Andrews used a
Springfield while Mr. Wiswall carried a Sharps sporting rifle, besides
they had shotguns and sixshooters. These miners wanted to buy one
hundred pack burros and, not finding what they wanted in the Rio Grande
Valley, decided to go over in the upper Pecos Valley near Eddy or
Roswell, New Mexico, for pack animals. They consulted Lieutenant Baylor
about the best route they should follow. He advised them to travel down
the overland stage route to Fort Davis, thence by Toyah Creek and on up
the Pecos, but the engineers thought this too much out of their way and
concluded to travel by the old abandoned Batterfield stage route, which
leads by Hueco Tanks, Alamo Springs, Cornudos Mountain, Crow Flat,
Guadalupe Mountain and thence to the Pecos River. Lieutenant Baylor
warned the men that this was a very dangerous route, without a living
white man from Ysleta to the Pecos River, more than one hundred and
fifty miles distant, and through an Indian country all the way.
Nevertheless, Andrews and Wiswall selected this latter route, and the
third day out from our camp reached the old abandoned stage station
at Crow Flat about noon. This was in an open country and from it one
could see for miles in every direction. A cold north wind was blowing,
so, for protection, the two men drove inside the old station walls,
unhitched and hobbled their horses and pony and were soon busily
baking bread, frying bacon and boiling coffee, not dreaming there was
an Indian in the country, though they had been warned to look out for
them. Like all men traveling in that country the two miners had the
appetite of coyotes and became deeply absorbed in stowing away rations.
Unnoticed, the horses had grazed off some three or four hundred yards
from the station and the two men were suddenly startled by a yelling
and the trampling of horses' feet. Looking up, Andrews and Wiswall saw
ten or twelve Indians driving off their horses.
Seizing their guns, the two white men started after the thieves at top
speed. Both being Western men and good shots, they hoped, by opening on
the redskins with their long range guns, to get close enough to prevent
them from taking the hobbles off the horses. But the animals made about
as good time as if they had been foot loose. This fact was well known
to the Texas Rangers, who hobbled and side lined also and, even then,
their horses when stampeded would run as fast as the guards could keep
up with them on foot. The Apaches can't be taught anything about horse
stealing--they are already past masters at the art. And while some of
the Indians halted and fought Andrews and Wiswall the others ran the
horses off and got away with them. The two miners returned to camp
feeling very blue indeed.
A council of war was held and they were undetermined the best course
to pursue. To walk back one hundred miles to El Paso and pack grub,
blankets and water was no picnic. On the other hand, it was probably
seventy-five miles to the Pecos, but they finally decided to take
the shortest way to assistance, which proved the traditional longest
way. They determined to stay within the friendly adobe of the old
stage stand until night. To keep up appearances they rigged up two
dummy sentinels and put them on guard. They had no fear of an attack
at night, especially as they had a dog to keep watch. They left the
station at dark. Shep, the dog, wanted to go with them, but the men put
a sack of corn and a side of bacon under the ambulance and made him
understand he was to guard it. They then set out and followed the old
stage route along a horrible road of deep sand. At daybreak they were
near the point of the Guadalupe Peak, and after having traveled on foot
about twenty-five miles they were pretty well worn out.
The old stage road here turns to the right and gradually winds around
the mountain to get on the mesa land. It makes quite a circuit before
getting to the next water, Pine Springs, but there was an old Indian
trail that leads up the canyon and straight through. As Andrews and
Wiswall were afoot and taking all the short cuts, they took this trail.
It was late in the day when, in a sudden bend of the trail, they came
in full view of an entire village of Indians coming towards them. The
redskins were only two or three hundred yards off and discovered the
white men at once.
Under such circumstances the two pedestrians had to think quickly and
act at once. They could not hope to escape by running, for most of the
Indians were mounted. Fortunately, to the south of the trail there was
a sharp sugar loaf peak, and for this Andrews and Wiswall made with
all speed. Reaching the summit they hastily threw up breastworks of
loose rocks and as soon as the Indians came into sight they opened fire
on them. The redskins returned the fire, but soon discovered they were
wasting ammunition and ceased firing. The besieged, suspicious of some
stratagem, kept a sharp lookout, and soon discovered the Indians were
crawling upward to the barricade and pushing boulders before them to
shelter their bodies. The boys decided to keep perfectly still, one on
each side, and watch for a chance to kill a savage.
The watcher on the west side, where the fading light still enabled him
to see, saw a mop of black hair rise cautiously over an advancing rock.
He fired at once. The head disappeared and the boulder went thundering
down the hill with the two white men running over the warrior, who
was kicking around like a chicken with its head cut off. As good luck
would have it most of the attackers were on the east side, taking it
for granted the men would try to escape in that direction. Before the
astonished Apaches could understand just what was occurring, the men,
running like old black-tailed bucks, were out of hearing, while night
spread her dark mantle over them in kindness. Being good woodsmen, the
fugitives had no trouble in shaping their course to Crow Flat again.
Worn out and weary after traveling more than fifty miles on foot and
with not a wink of sleep for thirty-six hours, they made the old stage
stand and found their dummy sentinels still on guard with the faithful
shepherd dog at his post. He was overjoyed at the return of his
masters. At the old adobe station Andrews and Wiswall were in a measure
safe, for they had water and grub and the walls of the stand, five feet
or more high, would shelter them. Since the Apaches had made no attempt
to kill the dog or rob the ambulance, the miners were satisfied that
the Indians, after stealing their horses, had kept on their way to the
Mescalero Agency, near Tularosa. This stage station was on the highway
of these murderous, thieving rascals, who were constantly raiding Texas
and Chihuahua, and in their raids they had made a deep trail leading
north from Crow Flat or Crow Springs, as some call it, toward the
Sacramento Mountains.
After the fugitives had rested they decided they would pull out after
dark and hoof it for Ysleta. The fifty miles' walk over a rough country
had pretty well worn out their shoes, so they used gunny sacks to tie
up their sore and bleeding feet. Again giving Shep his orders, with
heavy hearts Andrews and Wiswall turned their faces to the Cornudos
Mountains, with the next stage station twenty-five miles distant
without one drop of water on the way. They were so tired and foot-sore
they did not reach Cornudos until late the next day. Here they hid in
the rocks, among the shady nooks of which they found cold water and
sweet rest. After several days the two men dragged their weary bodies,
more dead than alive, into Ysleta and to the ranger camp.
Lieutenant Baylor ordered me to take eight rangers, and with two mules,
proceed to Crow Flat to bring in the ambulance Andrews and Wiswall
had abandoned there. The first day we made the Hueco Tanks. Hueco is
Spanish for tanks, and in the early days travelers spelled it Waco.
Many wild adventures have occurred at these tanks--fights between the
Mexicans and the Comanches. During the gold excitement this was the
main immigrant route to California. Here, too, the overland stage route
had a stand. The names of Marcy, General Lee, and thousands of others
could be seen written on the rocks. The Indians themselves had drawn
many rude pictures, one of which was quite artistic and depicted a huge
rattlesnake on the rock under the cave near the stage stand on the
eastern side of Hueco.
Many times when scouting in the Sacramento and Guadalupe Mountains I
have camped for the night in the Huecos. Sometimes the water in the
tanks had been all used up by the travelers but there was always plenty
of good cool rain water twenty-five feet above the main ground tanks.
Often I have watered my entire command by scaling the mountain to those
hidden tanks and, filling our boots and hats with water, poured it on
the flat, roof-like rocks so it would run down into the tanks below
where our horses and mules would be watered in good shape. The city of
El Paso, I am told, now has a fine graded road to those old historic
mountains and many of its citizens enjoy an outing there.
Our next halt was at the Alamose, across the beautiful plains, at that
time covered with antelope that could be seen scudding away with their
swift change of color looking like a flock of white birds. Here we
found some Indian signs at the flat above the springs, but it was at
Cornudos that we again saw the old signs of the Apaches. This Cornudos
is a strange conglomeration of dark granite rocks shot high in the air
in the midst of the plains by some eruption of the earth in ages past.
This was the favorite watering place of the Tularosa Agency Indians on
their raids into Texas and Mexico.
From Cornudos to Crow Flat is a long, monotonous tramp of twenty-five
or thirty miles, and we arrived in the night and were promptly
challenged by the faithful sentinel, old Shep. Although we were
strangers, the dog seemed to recognize us as Americans and friends.
He went wild with joy, barked, rolled over and over and came as near
talking as any African monkey or gorilla could. We gave him a cheer.
The faithful animal had been there alone for nearly fifteen days. His
side of bacon was eaten and the sack of corn getting very low. The
rangers were as much delighted as if it had been a human being they had
rescued. The dog had worn the top of the wall of the old stage station
perfectly smooth while keeping off the sneaking coyotes. Tracks of the
latter were thick all around the place, but Shep held the fort with
the assistance of the dummy sentinels. We found everything just as the
owners, Andrews and Wiswall, had left it.
As was my custom, I walked over the ground where the Apaches and
Messrs. Andrews and Wiswall had had their scrap. Near an old dagger
plant I found where an Indian had taken shelter, or rather tried to
hide himself, and picked up a number of Winchester .44 cartridge
shells. We secured the ambulance and our return journey was without
incident. We arrived back in our camp after making the two hundred
miles in a week.
Mr. Andrews presented Lieutenant Baylor with a beautiful Springfield
rifle. I don't know whether Andrews or Wiswall are alive, but that
Mexican shepherd dog is entitled to a monument on which should be
inscribed, "FIDELITY."
In the spring of 1880 two brick masons, Morgan and Brown, stopped at
our quarters in Ysleta on their way from Fort Craig, New Mexico, to San
Antonio, Texas. They had heard that some freight wagons at San Elizario
would soon return to San Antonio and were anxious to travel back with
them. These men spent two or three days in the ranger camp and seemed
very nice chaps and pleasant talkers. One of them, Mr. Morgan, owned
one of the finest pistols I ever saw. It was pearl handled and silver
mounted. Our boys tried to trade for it, but Morgan would not part with
the weapon.
After the two men had been gone from our camp three or four days word
was brought to Lieutenant Baylor that two men had been found dead near
San Elizario. The lieutenant sent me with a detail of three rangers
to investigate. At San Elizario we learned that the dead men were at
Collins' sheep ranch, four miles from town. On arriving there we found,
to our surprise and horror, that the dead men were Morgan and Brown,
who had left our camp hale and hearty just a few days before. It was
surmised that the men had camped for the night at the sheep ranch and
had been beaten to death with heavy mesquite sticks. They had been dead
two or three days and were stripped of their clothing, their bodies
being partly eaten by coyotes.
On repairing to his sheep ranch Mr. Collins found the dead bodies of
Morgan and Brown, his shepherds gone and his flocks scattered over
the country. Mr. Collins gave the herders' names as Santiago Skevill
and Manuel Moleno. After beating out the brains of their unfortunate
victims the Mexicans robbed the bodies and lit out for parts unknown.
As the murderers were on foot and had been gone three or four days, I
found it very difficult to get their trail, as loose stock grazed along
the bosques and partially obliterated it. As there was a number of
settlements and several little pueblos along the river, I knew if I did
not follow the Mexicans' tracks closely I could never tell where they
had gone, so I spent the remainder of the day trying to get the trail
from camp. We were compelled to follow it on foot, leading our horses.
We would sometimes be an hour trailing a mile.
On the following day I was able to make only ten miles on the trail,
but I had discovered the general direction. I slept on the banks of
the Rio Grande that night, and next morning crossed into Mexico, and
found that the murderers were going down the river in the direction of
Guadalupe. I now quit the trail and hurried on to this little Mexican
town. Traveling around a short bend in the road I came suddenly into
the main street of Guadalupe, and almost the first man I saw standing
on the street was a Mexican with Morgan's white-handled pistol strapped
on him.
I left two of my men to watch the suspect and myself hurried to the
office of the president of Guadalupe, made known my mission and told
him I had seen one of the supposed murderers of Morgan and Brown on
the streets of his city, and asked that the suspect be arrested. The
official treated me very cordially and soon had some police officers
go with me. They found the two suspected Mexicans, arrested them and
placed them in the housgow. The prisoners admitted they were Collins'
sheep herders and said their names were Moleno and Skevill but, of
course, denied knowing anything about the death of Morgan and Brown.
All my rangers recognized the pistol taken from the Mexican as the
weapon owned by Mr. Morgan. The Mexican officers reported to the
alcalde or town president that the suspects had been arrested. The
latter official then asked me if I had any papers for these men. I told
him I did not, for at the time I left my camp at Ysleta we did not know
the nature of the murder or the names of the parties incriminated. I
declared I was sure the men arrested had committed the murder and that
I would hurry back to Ysleta and have the proper papers issued for the
prisoners' extradition. The alcalde promised to hold the suspects until
the proper formalities could be complied with.
From Guadalupe to Ysleta is about fifty or sixty miles. I felt the
importance of the case, and while I and my men were foot-sore and
weary, we rode all night long over a sandy road and reached camp
at Ysleta at 9 o'clock the following morning. Lieutenant Baylor at
once appeared before the justice of the peace at Ysleta and filed a
complaint of murder against Manuel Moleno and Santiago Skevill, had
warrants issued for their arrest and himself hurried to El Paso,
crossed the river to El Paso del Norte and, presenting his warrants to
the authorities, asked that the murderers be held until application for
their extradition could be made.
Within a week we learned, much to our disgust, that the two murderers
had been liberated and told to vamoose. I doubt whether the warrants
were ever sent to the alcalde at Guadalupe. A more cruel murder than
that of Morgan and Brown was never committed on the Rio Grande, yet the
murderers went scot-free. This miscarriage of justice rankled in my
memory and subsequently it was to lead me to take the law into my own
hands when dealing with another Mexican murderer.