Old West Gunmen

[Gibson]

I asked Mooseman and he sent a kind response. I am unsure where this fits, if anywhere. I have a sticky at rugerforum but also wanted to post them here as it seems some folk here might find these of interest. I am posting in here first because it's where I post the most. I realize it really doesn't fit at all. Please move to proper place, unless it's "Our Town". If there is no place or interest then feel free to delete. I will, in no way, be offended and I perfectly understand.

Here goes:

Commodore Perry Owens was the real deal, just as the others we have been discussing are. By now all know what I mean by "the real deal". He was a legitimate gunman before he arrived in Holbrook, Arizona in 1887. Clearly he had killed men before, quite likely one was Mart Blevins, a local rustler and relative to the men that are our antagonists in the coming episode. Owens claimed to have killed more than a dozen men in his career. Possible. He had killed a rustler in 1883, for an example.

Commodore Perry Owens both looked and acted the part. "He wore a fringed buckskin jacket, silver-studded leather chaps, and a wide brimmed felt hat" as well as long flowing hair. He was always wearing either a long barreled revolver or a pair of shorter barreled six-shooters. Know to lethal with either hand. His early career is certainly notable and can be looked into but we want to focus on one incident that to my mind demonstrates EXACTLY what kind of a lawman Mr. Owens was. It occurred on September 4, 1887 at shortly after 4pm.

At this time, the Pleasant Valley war was in progress. It involved the Grahams and Tewksbury families and allies. Charlie Blevins and Andy Cooper allied with the Graham family. These brothers are the key players in our little story; along with the other cattle rustling Blevins men. Both were no good. They were well established rustlers and Cooper was suspected of murdering three Navajo Indians.

On November 4, 1886 Commodore Perry Owens won the sheriff's race by a count of 500 to 409 over J. Hubbell. "Owens moved into the Barth Hotel in Saint Johns and started as Apache County sheriff in January 1887."

The stage is set. I know of no better way to begin this than with a quote from one of Owens' deputies. ""Commodore Owens had a great reputation as a brave man and many wonderful things were promised and expected after he was in the sheriff's office. Lawlessness was everywhere."

Owens had tried to remain neutral in the "war". However, he had a warrant for the arrest of Andy Cooper for rustling. He had had this for some length of time but had claimed that he had not seen him. However, three things drew his focus finer. Andy Cooper had been bragging about the killing of John Tewksbury and William Jacobs, He had been given an ultimatum by the county board of commissioners, and he had been given an exact location for Cooper, namely at his mother's home with the entire Blevins crew. I doubt that Cooper boasting that no sheriff was stupid enough to arrest him went unnoticed, also. Make no mistake! These were not simple bad guys, these were true hard cases that did not shy away from killing.

Into this rode our wide brimmed hat wearing, buckskin fringed jacket and silver-studded chaps clad, six-gun toting, Winchester armed sheriff. Alone. He 'parked' his horse at Brown and Kinder's Livery Stable and walked resolutely down the street the clapboard shack of Mother Blevins. Must have been a sight to see! A solitary figure striding down the street in Holbrook- home of the "Bucket of Blood" saloon. Here is what Commodore Perry Owens claims took place, these are his own words.

Commodore Perry Owens testimony at the Inquest:


. . . I went and got my Winchester and went down to arrest Cooper. Before I got there, I saw someone looking out at the door. When I got close to the house, they shut the door. I stepped up on the porch, looked through the window and also looked in the room to my left. I seen Cooper and his brother (John) and others in that room. I called to Cooper to come out. Cooper took out his pistol and also his brother took out his pistol. Then Cooper went from that room into the east room. His brother came to the door on my left, took the door knob in his hand and held the door open a little. Cooper came to the door facing me from the east room. Cooper held this door partly open with his head out. I says, "Cooper I want you." Cooper says, "What do you want with me?" I says, "I have a warrant for you." Cooper says, "What warrant?" I told him the same warrant that I spoke to him about some time ago that I left in Taylor, for horse stealing. Cooper says, "Wait." I says, "Cooper, no wait." Cooper says, "I won't go." I shot him. This brother of his to my left behind me jerked open the door and shot at me, missing me and shot the horse which was standing aside and a little behind me. I whirled my gun and shot at him, and then ran out in the street where I could see all parts of the house. I could see Cooper through the window on his elbow with his head towards the window. He disappeared to the right of the window. I fired through the house expecting to hit him between the shoulders. I stopped a few moments. Some man (Mose Roberts) jumped out of the house on the northeast corner out of a door or window, I can't say, with a six shooter in his right hand and his hat off. There was a wagon or buckboard between he and I. I jumped to one side of the wagon and fired at him. Did not see him any more. I stood there a few moments when there was a boy (Sam Houston Blevins) jumped out of the front of the house with a six shooter in his hands. I shot him. I stayed a few moments longer. I see no other man so I left the house. When passing by the house I see no one but somebody's feet and legs sticking out the door. I then left and came on up town.

Stay tuned for a detailed version of the story, however, I doubt not a word Owens related.

Three dead, one terribly wounded, and worst of all, a dead horse. This took but a single minute.

TBC, at the start of his walk down the street.



A Winchester Model 1873 that once belonged to Owens:

[Gibson]

As was stated in the prior post Owens rode to the livery stable and stabled his sorrel. He dismounted and was cleaning his six-shooter. A local drug store owner walks in carrying a shotgun in the crook of his right arm. He asked Owens if needed any help. His reply was: "I don't want anyone hurt in this matter, they've been telling all around the country that I was afraid to serve these Cooper warrants, and a lot of other stuff. I'll show them that I'm not afraid and take him single-handed or die a-trying. You just sit back and watch me do it, that's all I ask."

A short time later, John Blevins comes in and gets Cooper's horse. After this Owens is informed of what had occurred and realizes Cooper is going to be leaving. He reassembles his six-gun and grabs up his Winchester 45-60 and begins his short walk to the Blevins' house.

Cooper gives the alarm after seeing him coming. Nothing deters Owens. He walks right up onto the porch. He is surveying the situation. He sees men inside the with "shootin' irons" in hand. He knocks and Cooper comes to the front door while John Blevin goes to the door of the west front room. Sheriff Owens informs Cooper that he has an arrest warrant and Cooper asks for what. Owens replies horse stealing. Cooper knows all this in advance and then continues to stall by asking for time to think. Owens says, no. "Come, right away." Cooper made some sort of refusal and tried to close the door but Owens gets a boot in the small opening and opened up with the big Winchester. He snap shot from hip level THROUGH the door! ". . . the ball from his Winchester striking Cooper in the center of abdomen, passing through the bowels and coming out near the spine." This at a man he cannot see. One down.

Owens quickly backed up while working his lever action rifle and then spots Blevins pushing his sixgun through a crack in the west door. Blevins fires at Owens and narrowly misses him but hits Cooper's saddle horse, who breaks free but stumbles and dies. Owens never hesitates and blasts him through the door, in the right shoulder. The bullet had gone through the door, hit and exited Blevins, and went into the room partition wall. Another snap shot from the hip. Two shots, two down.

Sheriff Owens' next move, according to the "Apache County Critic" was:

"At this time, the Sheriff retreated diagonally back, to the corner of Armbruster's blacksmith shop. The Sheriff thinking Cooper was not yet dead, fired the third shot. . ."

This shot nails Cooper in the right hip. Three shots three hits from the Winchester 45-60. To expand on the above quote, it seems Owens heard some small noise and instantly cast a glance toward one of the windows to see a sixshooter poking through, again with cat like reflexes sends a large projectile racing through the boarding of the house and into Cooper's right hip. So far all three shots have been barrier blind and snap shots from a rifle. Resulting in three solid hits.

Enter another bad guy. . . Mose B. Roberts, a friend of the outlaws who had been sitting at a table writing a letter when this got underway, now grabs a sixshooter and heads for a side window. He bursts through the window but not fast enough and no real surprise to a man like Owens, who from what I can make of it was athletic quick and cold. He was 35 years old at this time and evidently possessed the reflexes of an Olympic athlete! You just CANNOT make this stuff up.

So Roberts goes through a side window (eastern side of house) just after Owens re-racks his rifle. The lawman detects him and bolts to the side of the house and again fires and the ball entering at his shoulder at chest level and tearing though his lung and carrying collarbone with it as it buried into the wheel of the wagon that Owens mentions in his testimony. Robert staggers back into the house and collapses into a heap of blood and carnage. Four shots four direct hits.

Now Owens slowly back away about twenty feet to give him coverage of the whole area. He pulls cartridges from his belt and replaces the used rounds. You see, he has no idea how many more men he'll have to face from the house as he does not know who else is there. After a few seconds he detects a commotion, he hears a woman screaming and quick as a flash 15 year old Sam Houston Blevins bursts through the door with his brother Andy Cooper's pearl handled Colt's .45 and his mother trying to stop him. Commodore does the only thing he can, he sends the kid to his eternal reward with a single round from his rifle. His fifth shot. Owens again returned to his keen fully sentient, fully aware state. He surveyed everything for some time and then when it was clearly over, "Sheriff Owens coolly threw his rifle across his left arm and calmly walked past, at a distance of twenty-five feet, going to Brown and Kinder's livery stable where he had left his saddle horse."

Five shots. Three dead. One terribly wounded. One of the dead hit twice.

And that my friends is an honest account of the actions ofSheriff Commodore Perry Owens on Sunday September 4, 1887.

(I suspect the time for the overall incident was closer to a couple of minutes or so, but a minor point)

Brave? Cool under pressure? More intense than any Hollywood movie character? You make the call, amigos. My call is Owens was all of those things and more.

[ShooterAZ]

Very interesting history there for sure. There is a ghost town just outside of Flagstaff that has some equally interesting history. "Canyon Diablo", not many people have even heard of it. It was as wild and woolly as it gets. Here is a link... http://www.ghosttowns.com/states/az/canyondiablo.html

[runfiverun]

i recall reading a book of these incidents sometime back [had to be in the 70's]
it was probably somewhat imbellished [expanded to fill pages] but followed the story line given above right well.
the book had some pre fight story,and some short post fight story, like all good westerns.

[Gibson]

i recall reading a book of these incidents sometime back [had to be in the 70's]
it was probably somewhat imbellished [expanded to fill pages] but followed the story line given above right well.
the book had some pre fight story,and some short post fight story, like all good westerns.

The sketch is as accurate as I could make it. It's not some convoluted fairy tale.

Owens was as tough as nails. From what I can glean his testimony before the Inquest comports very much with witnesses and newspaper accounts.

But indeed all is open to question

[gray wolf]

Thank you for that, I also found it to be of great interest.
I love the old west and all the history.

GW

[Gibson]

Thank you for that, I also found it to be of great interest.
I love the old west and all the history.

GW

Glad to oblige.

This quote from Sheriff Owens, kind of speaks to a lone lawman confronting a house with multiple badmen

"I told him the same warrant that I spoke to him about some time ago that I left in Taylor, for horse stealing. Cooper says, "Wait." I says, "Cooper, no wait." Cooper says, "I won't go." I shot him."

[Gibson]

The Dark Angel. . .

Next up:

The Dark Angel:

I have to admit JWH and Jesse James are the two that intrigue me the most. I must be nuts to find admirable characteristics in these two but all up they strike me as truly tough hombres.

We will examine Hardin's shooting of Deputy Sheriff Charles Webb.




Deputy Webb's marker:



He reputedly killed Charles Webb with this revolver:



Another Hardin revolver from 1895, B-E-A-U-T-I-F-U-L:

[Gibson]

"In his El Paso years, despite aging and being away from guns for nearly two decades in prison, Hardin was still lightning fast. One eyewitness, who saw Hardin in action in 1895, said, “Hardin was an awful quick man. I was in Mexico one night with him when a policeman started to arrest Hardin for carrying a gun. The policeman made a break for his gun, but he didn’t have time to pull it. Hardin hit the man in the face and then, pulling his gun, told the Greaser to get out of town, at the same time informing him who he was. The Mexican never did come back, and he hasn’t stopped running yet, I bet.'”

". . . quicker than a frog could eat a fly"

Leon Metz, Hardin's biographer of note stated that one can safely put Hardin's body count at 20 with some evidence for 10 more.

"You have to wonder about a man who killed so massively, so methodically and so remorselessly.

You have to think of the boy, John Wesley Hardin, being raised in a staunch religious tradition, steeped in Christian virtues, who became a sort of wrathful Old Testament figure, a dark angel slaying enemies real and perceived.

You have to wonder about the wicked brew of ideas and ideals that bathed and shaped the mind of the boy Hardin. He had a fierce fire and brimstone religiosity, a rigid code of family loyalty and that indelible sense of honor that was part and parcel of the lives of Southerners, rich and poor.

And you have to mix the brew with the awful period of Hardin’s youth, when the South lay beaten down, praying for hate and praying for vengeance.

– Leon Metz, John Wesley Hardin: Dark Angel of Texas"

[Gibson]

Adding to the gun's picture, above:

"One of Hardin’s known six-guns is a Smith & Wesson Model 3 Russian First Model, in .44 Russian chambering, which he used to kill Deputy Sheriff Charles Webb in Comanche, Texas, on May 26, 1874. This shooting brought about Hardin’s eventual capture and jailing. It is perhaps the only documented metallic cartridge six-gun from Hardin’s pre-prison era of lawlessness. "

And:

"We can be sure that by 1874 he’d converted from carrying percussion models to the latest in American made cartridge revolvers– as it was on Hardin's birthday in May of that year that he used an ivory handled "Russian” model Smith & Wesson .44 (serial number #25274) to take Sheriff Charley [Charlie] Webb’s life."

John Wesley Hardin's Full Account (typos abound in this script but are easily read through, for anyone who wants to read the words of an actual character):

"The 26th of May was my birth day. About the 5th, Jim
Taylor and I went with my brother and the sheriff's party
some twenty miles into Brown county to get some cattle that
belonged to my brother. The cattle were in possession of
the Gouldstones and we got them and started back without
any trouble. Night overtaking us, we stopped at Mrs.
Waldrup's to pen our cattle. At the supper table Mrs.
Waldrup told us how one Charles Webb, a deputy sheriff of
Brown county, had come to her house and arrested Jim Buck
Waldrup and had cursed and abused her. She had told him
that no gentleman would curse a woman. Of course we all
agreed with her. This is the first time I had ever heard of
Charles Webb. There were present that night at the sup-
per table Bill Cunningham, Bud and Tom Dixon, Jim and
Ham Anderson, Aleck Barrickman, Jim Taylor and Jim
Milligan (deputy sheriffs), Joe Hardin, Jim Taylor and my-
self. We were all first cousins to each other except Jim
Taylor. There is no doubt but that we all sympathized with
Mrs. Waldrup, who had been so abused by Charles Webb.
On my trial afterwards for the killing of Webb the State
relied on a conspiracy being formed at the supper table to
kill Webb, and they used Cunningham to prove it, but they
utterly failed, or else they would have broken my neck or
found me guilty of murder in the first degree. The evidence
that Cunningham gave on my trial was that my brother Joe
(who was not indicted with me) had said: ^'We will get
away with him at the proper time." That statement was an
absolute lie. Cunningham was supposed to be our friend,
but at my trial was looked upon as one of my brother's mur-
derers and my enemy. But to return to my story.

We drove the cattle home next morning to Comanche and
from that until the 26th but one more incident worthy of
note occurred.

Henry Ware was a bully from Canada, and from some cause
or other he disliked my brother Joe. He came to the herd
one day (Jim Taylor told me this) and claimed a cow and
my brother told him he could not get it. Ware persisted and
put his hand to his Winchester, when my brother ordered
him out of the herd at the point of a six-shooter, an order
which, the Hon. Henry Ware promptly obeyed, and he did
not get his cow.

The 26th of May saw n big crowd at the races, the news of
which had been published all over the country. "Eondo"
ran first and won easily. "Shiloh" came next and had a
walk o/er. Next came "Dock," which was a close race, but
he won by six feet. So I and my friends won everything in
sight. I won about $3000 in cash, fifty head of cattle, a
wagon or two and fifteen head of saddle horses. I set more
than one man afoot and then loaned them the horses to ride
home on.

I had heard that morning that Charles Webb, the deputy
sheriff from Brown county, had come over to Comanche with
fifteen men to kill me and capture Jim Taylor for the re-
ward. I also heard that he had said that John Karnes, the
sheriff of Comanche, was no man or sheriff because he allow-
ed a set of murderers to stay around him, headed by the no-
torious John Wesley Harin, and as he (Karnes) would not
attend to his business, he would do it for him. I knew that
Webb had arrested a whole cow camp a short time before and
had treated a man whom he called John Wesley Hardin most
cruelly, telling him he was afraid of his own name and job-
bed him in the side with his gun, knowing positively that
1 was not in the country at that time. If I had been there
I would have taught him a lesson sooner.

He did not make any breaks at the race tracks, but when
we all came back to town he swore time and time again that
he would kill me and capture Jim Taylor, and that this
would be done before the sun went down. When I was told
this I laughed and said I hoped he would put it off till dark
or altogether.

We were all going from bar to bar, trying to spend some
of the money we had won. I remember in one saloon 1
threw a handful of $20 gold pieces on the counter and called
for the drinks. Some of my friends picked them up and
thought I was drinking too freely and told me if any scrap
came up I would not be able to protect myself. I assured
them I was all right, but at last thought I had better go home
to avoid any possible trouble.

I got Jeff Hardin, my little brother, to go to my brother
Joe's stable and get his horse and buggy to drive out to my
father's, who lived about two miles northwest from town. I
bought such supplies as were needed at home and told Jeff
to put them in the buggy and then to come up to Jack
Wright's saloon on the corner, where Jim Taylor and my-
self would drive out to my father's.

We invited the whole crowd up to Jack Wright's to take a
last drink. Frank Wilson, a deputy sheriff under Karnes,
came up and locked arms with me just as I was going to
drink and said:

"John, I want to see you."

I said all right.

This saloon was situated on the northwest corner of the
square, the front facing the square to the east, with a door
in front, and another door to the north near the west end of
the saloon. Frank Wilson and I went out at the north door
and then west for about ten steps, when I told him that was
far enough and stopped on the back street west of the saloon.
Frank said:

"John, the people here have treated you well; now don't
drink any more, but go home and avoid all trouble."

I told him Jeff had gone for the buggy, and I was going as
soon as he came. He says:

"You know it is a violation of the law to carry a pistol."

I knew now that he was tryng to pump me, so I told him
my pistol was behind the bar and threw open my coat to
show him. But he did not know I had a good one under
my vest. I looked to the south and saw a man, a stranger to
me, with two six-shooters on coming towards us. I said to
Frank:

"Let's go back to the saloon. I want to pay my bill and
then go home."

We went into the saloon and we were stopped by Jim Tay-
lor who said:

"Wes, you have drank enough; let us go home; here is Jeff
with the buggy."

I said: "Let us go in and get a cigar, then we will go
home."

About this time Daves Karnes remarked:

"Here comes that damned Brown county sheriff."



I turned around and faced the man whom I had seen com-
ing up the street. He had on two six-shooters and was in
about fifteen steps from me, advancing. He stopped when
he got to within iive steps of me, then stopped and scrutiniz-
ed me closely, with his hand behind him. I asked him:
"Have you any papers for my arrest?^'
He said: "I don't know you/'
I said: "My name is John Wesley Hardin/'
He said: "Now I know you, but have no papers for your
arrest."

"Well/' said I, "I have been informed that the sheriff of
Brown county has said that Sheriff Karnes of this county
was no sheriff or he would not allow me to stay around
Comanche with my murdering pals."

He said: "I am not responsible for what the sheriff of
Brown county says. I am only a deputy."

So Dave Karnes spoke up and said: "Men, there can be
no difference between you about John Karnes," and said:
"Mr. Webb, let me introduce you to Mr. Hardin."

I asked him what he had in his hand behind his back and
he showed a cigar. I said:

"Mr. Webb, we were Just going to take a drink or a cigar;
won't you join us?"

He replied, "certainly." As I turned around to go in the
north door, I heard some one say, "Look out. Jack." It was
Bud Dixon, and as I turned around I saw Charles Webb
drawing his pistol. He was in the act of presenting it when
I jumped to one side, drew my pistol and fired.

In the meantime Webb had fired, hitting me in the left
side, cutting the length of it, inflicting an ugly and painful
wound. My aim was good and a bullet hole in the left cheek
did the work. He fell against the wall and as he fell he fired
a second shot, which went into the air.

In the meantime, my friends, Jim Taylor and Bud Dixon,
seeing that Webb had taken the drop on me and had shot
me, pulled their pistols and fired on him as he was falling,
not knowing that I had killed him. Each shot hit him in the
side and breast.

At my first attempt to shoot, Frank Wilson started to
draw his pistol, but as soon as I had fired on Webb and before
Wilson had time to draw, I covered him and told him to
hold up his hands, which he did.

Several men were standing at the east end of the building
next to the public square. When the shooting commenced
they started to rush over to the saloon, but soon retreated.

I afterwards learned the plan was for Charles Webb to as-
sassinate me and then for the crowd to rush up and with
Frank Wilson's help to rush in and overpower Jim Taylor,
thus getting the reward. They expected my relatives and
friends to stand still while they did their bloody work. They
believed they could not arrest Taylor without killing me,
hence they attacked me.

The crowd outside ran back, as I stated above, and cried
out:

"Hardin has killed Charley Webb; let us hang him."

The sheriff of the county, John Karnes, who was my friend
came in with a shot gun and asked, "Who did this work?"

I told him I had done it, and would surrender to him if
he would protect me from the mob. I handed him my pistol
to show my good faith.

About ten men ran around the east comer and commenced
firing on us and Jim Taylor. Bud Dixon and Aleck Barrick-
man drew their pistols and started to fire, when they ran back
behind the corner. They were reinforced and charged again.
John Karnes met them at the door and demanded that they
disperse. They overpowered and disarmed him of his gun
and were trying to get my pistol away from him. I told niy
friends that there was no protection for us there, and told
Jim Taylor to come with me and the other two to go back
west. So Jim and I ran across the street to some horses that
were hitched near by and as I ran I pulled my knife out of
my pocket and cut the hitching ropes.

I now saw that my wife and sister Mat were in the crowd
crying and looking down towards my brother's law office.
I saw my father and brother Joe coming toward the scene
with shot guns.

I concluded the best thing to do to avoid bloodshed was
to get out of town. Jim Taylor wanted to charge the mob,
but I said: "For God's sake, don't do that; you may hit tiie
wrong one." (He told me afterwards he wanted to kill Hen-
ry Ware.) I caught his horse and kept him from shooting.
We turned and went running out of town, the mob firing on
us and the sheriff's party trjdng to protect us.

Dixon and Anderson, seeing we were safely out of town,
got on their horses also and we met again at my father's
where my father and brother joined us with the sheriff.

I was willing to surrender, but the sheriff said he could
not protect me; that the mob was too strong and Charley
Webb had been their leader. He advised me to stay around
until the excitement died down and then come in and sur-
render.

So I went to some mountains about four miles off and next
day my brother and some friends came out to see me and my
party and by them I sent back the horses we had gotten out
of town on and two pistols we had found in the saddle
pockets.

At that time there were some companies of rangers there
who were organized to keep the peace and protect the frontier
from Indians. They took the place of the infamous State po-
lice. Bill Waller was their captain, and he wished to make
himself famous at once. The sheriff told him he could and
would arrest me whenever he was sure he could protect me.

He tried to get Waller to assist him in doing this, but Wal-
ler was really the captain of a "vigilant" band and would not
do it. Even my father and brother told Waller that if he
would himself guarantee me protection I would come in and
surrender. Waller could guarantee nothing, but persisted
m hunting me with his mob, composed of the enemies of all
law and order. He aroused the whole country and had about
500 men scouting for me, whose avowed purpose was to hang
me. Waller arrested my father and Barrickman's family and
took them to Comanche to my brother's, where he put them
under guard under the pretense of keeping them from giv-
ing me any information. They then arrested my brother,
with Tom and Bud Dixon and placed them in the court house
under guard. They also arrested Dr. Brosius, who had come
to tell us that our herd was at Hamilton. In fact, there were
squads of from 50 to 100 in each party hunting for me all
over the country and instead of the excitement d3ring out,
it grew greater all the time. Once, two scouting parties met
and fired upon each other, keeping it up for two hours until
each drew off for reinforcements.

They had now cut me off from all communication with, my
relatives and friends and were "brushing" the country for
me."

From the El Paso Saddlery Collection- "This well-used 1851 Navy Colt and accompanying cut-down military holster came with a handwritten letter from Hardin’s cousin Joe Clements. Joe wrote to his daughter, Amanda, that Hardin gave him the .36 caliber six-gun after Joe had broken up a fight in Gonzales, Texas."



Cool as the other side of the pillow, eh?

[Gibson]

"Joe" Hardin, Wes' brother, lynched by the good citizens of Comanche County, who had presented Joe with the following, to show their great appreciation for him. . . just four years before their necktie party. Go figure. . .

[Sorry but the images have been removed from their site. The revolvers were magnificently engraved.]

[Gibson]

This gun battle came about over cattle shenanigans. Joe Hardin, John Wesley's older brother was a rather important man in Comanche County Texas. Being a postmaster, a practicing attorney, and a mason. Joe had become involved in what was an extremely convoluted cattle deal. He was in charge of the paper and had buried what occured in rather deeply. It seems clear that honest cattlemen were being flim-flamed. Joe had even involved his wife, Allie, at least, on paper.

Joe Hardin had gained control but not ownership of a large lot of cattle.

Sixteen angry cattlemen went to Brown County Sheriff J.H. Gideon and demanded action be taken. (The county was neighboring Comanche County.) The sheriff immediately assigned ex-Texas Ranger and now deputy sheriff, Charles (Charlie) Webb to the case. Webb was a tough guy and had a solid reputation as a Ranger.

The first encounter with Joe Hardin for Charles Webb occurred in April of 1874. A Mexican rancher had been lynched in Brown County and Joe, along with Jim Taylor, Alex Barekman, as well as Tom and Bud Dixon were present when Deputy Webb came over from Brownwood to investigate. Hardin and his friend unleashed a tirade of curses and insults and told him to get gone and to never show his face in Comanche County. "They roundly cursed the deputy. . . and warned him to stay out of Comanche County."

Enter the Dark Angel. . . He rose into Comanche county on or near May 21 and went straight to the Sheriff and asked for some help in taking possession of the cattle that Joe had dominion over. (Wes being prior informed by Joe that the cattle were in dispute. But intended to take possession of them and drive them to be sold.) The sheriff sent Deputy Millican and Deputy Cunningham with Wes.

The group with the addition of Joe Hardin went to get the cattle and were halted by Henry Ware (in the Hardin manuscript quoted above he is refereed to as a "bully from Canada") as soon as he opened his moth, Joe yanked a sixgun and put the Canadian bully (surely a contradiction in terms) to route. Kind of like the old saying, he may not be a chickensh-t but he sure showed hen house ways. . . off to the Brown County sheriff's office. The Hardins left with the cattle.

Charles Webb had no clue where the Brown County cattle had been hidden but he knew two residents that were likely involved in the scheme, and indeed they were in on the overall scheme, their names were James Beard and Jim Buck Waldrip. The two men were lodged in the Brown County jail but were shortly transferred to a neighboring county as the cattlemen of Brown County were threatening to lynch them.

Hardin and cohorts went to the Waldrip Ranch and were grabbing a supper and lodging when Mrs. Waldrip lamented about her son's arrest and the terrible cursing and abuse she had received from Deputy Webb.The Hardin gang agreed, it was indeed horrible.

The last weekend in May was celebrated with a big horse race in Comanche. Hardin, an expert in horseflesh and an avowed gambler won big. His horses actually swept the top three spots. He won cash,and prizes (50 head of cattle and 3K USD) and even people's riding stock. Flush with the 3,000 dollar cash prize and celebrating his birthday, Hardin threw $20 gold pieces around like tokens. He went from one bar to the next. . .

To boil the story down, Hardin was definitely plastered. Sheriff Carnes and his deputy tried to get Hardin to go home and sober up. Hardin told him he was not packing in the bar (a prohibited thing) and that his gun was behind the bar. He opened his coat. But, of course Hardin NEVER was unarmed and indeed had a hideout tucked into his waistband. Nevertheless, the sheriff was insistent but to no avail. Carnes came up with a plan to separate Hardin and his friend Jim Taylor who was also drunk- however, even he agreed Hardin was becoming dangerous- and place both under arrest. So, the deputy and the sheriff went about putting their plan into action when the sheriff discovered that his revolver wasn't functioning correctly and immediately set out to have a smith put it in order. Unfortunate for Charles Webb.

Odd but true, The sheriff's brother actually alerted Wes that Webb was coming down the street, in a guttural intonation he said "Here comes that damned Brown County sheriff."

Webb was pacing down the street near the front of the Jack Wright's saloon where Hardin and his group were. They had come outside to check Webb's oil pressure. Webb was carrying a pair of sixshooters and kept his hands behind his back. Strange. He paused 15 feet from Wes. Which was immediately interpreted by Wes as provocation and he barked loudly and provocatively, "Have you any papers for my arrest?" Webb acted as if he had no idea who he was and in a quiet tone asked for his name. "My name is John Wesley Hardin", was the reply he received. Webb, still playing along, then says, "Now I know you, but have no papers for your arrest." Hardin went on to tell him that the Brown County sheriff had insulted the Comanche County sheriff by stating that he was no sheriff if he allowed the likes of Wes and his pals to hang around Comanche. Webb, merely replied that he was not responsible for what the sheriff said and that he was only a deputy. Uh-huh.

Wes was somewhat disarmed by Webb, after he asked a final question as to what he had behind his back. He was shown a cigar. He now felt a bit more comfortable and invited Charles Webb into the saloon for a smoke and a drink. Webb accepted.

Evidently Webb put his plan into action and as Wes was turning, he attempted to draw a sixshooter. Bud Dixon instantly yelled and Hardin spun like a pit viper strikes, both men fired. Hardin, drunk and all put a .44 ball into Webb's face. Hardin was hit in the left hip near his belt line. As Webb was falling his sixgun barked once more, an errant round. It seems the others rushed over to him and pumped a few rounds into a dead man.

Webb was a decent guy and a good lawmen but had run afoul of a Texas pit viper known as Wes. According to Metz, Webb was the 32nd notch on Hardin's belt. Metz later says that this might be a slightly exaggerated number. At this late date there is no way to know for certain, my guess is it put him over 20. . .

The Dark Angel, indeed.

The following is an alternative account from the web (I followed the version of Hardin and Metz):

"In any case, Webb approached and John confronted him. He asked Webb if he had the papers to arrest him. Webb denied this. There was an exchange back and forth with John being verbally aggressive while Webb being rather soft and calm. A friend of Webb, seeing what was about to happen, called over to Webb since they were to eat dinner together. John held Webb and said something to the effect of, “Your not just going to leave me here are you?”

The next bit of dialogue has Webb saying that he was "not afraid" of John. It seems that some dialogue is missing in the accounts here because it seems that John said something accusing Webb of being a coward. At least that is what I get out of his response of not being afraid.

At this point, both John and Webb both go for their guns. Some say that Webb drew first, but both men seem to fire at about the same time. Webb grazes John's side, but John hits Webb in the left cheek. Jim Taylor and Bud Dixon (John's cousin) start firing their guns to finishing the job. "

A funny ending. . . The following was printed in Comanche, Texas in the Comanche Chief on May 22, 1879. The government wants its guns back. TWO YEARS after Hardin has been put into the hoosgaw! Ironic, ain't it. . .

“All parties having guns in their possessions that were issued to the Comanche Guards during the Hardin troubles are requested to bring them in and deposit them with Wm. Carroll or the state authorities will take steps to punish all who refuse to deliver up the guns.”–J.A. Wright, J.D. Stephens

Wes Hardin:



Wes Hardin:



Joseph Gipson Hardin:

[Gibson]

Let's see if this guy fits the "desperate" category. Gonna hold off on Tom Horn.



Who left us as this guy, note revolver in his hand and levergun at his side:



Harry Tracy's last stand.

[Gibson]

According to a writer for the Seattle Times in the July 3, 1903 edition, "In all the criminal lore of the country there is no record equal to that of Harry Tracy for cold-blooded nerve, desperation, and thirst for crime. Jesse James, compared with Tracy, is a Sunday school teacher." Uh-huh. A dubious contention but make no mistake Tracy was a desperate man, whose criminal career went back to Utah and Colorado, in the middle and late 1890s, he even seems to have connected to "Flat Nose" George Curry of Wild Bunch fame. He entered the prison with at least three murders to his record. . .

THE OREGON STATE PENITENTIARY

"In 1866, the Portland site was abandoned and the inmates were moved into temporary wooden housing at the Salem site in order to help with its construction. The new brick structure resembled a fortress, although the fourteen-foot-high wall surrounding the perimeter did little to prevent escapes in the late 1800s and early 1900s."

So we have cohorts David Merrill and Harry Tracy imprisoned at the Oregon State Penitentiary in 1899. Doing 13 and 20 years, respectively. The inmates spend three years scheming and planning an escape. And on June 9, 1902 they put their plan into action. At 7am the prisoners who worked in the prison's foundry were arrived there under guard. As they entered the molding room Tracy and Merrill grabbed 30-30 Winchester rifles. How they got there is enigmatic. My notion is that they were planted in the room by some inside connection. I just cannot envision convicts walking to their work while concealing Winchester 30-30s. It defies logic. Newspaper accounts of the day imply that they were either thrown over the fence of the stockade the night before by excursionist sympathizers or were planted by them inside the foundry.

Tracy instantly levels his rifle on guard Ferrell. But seemingly out of nowhere a lifer, Ingram attempts to disarm Tracy. A rifle round from Merrill hits Ingram and Tracy instantly dispatches Ferrell. The guard hits the ground stone dead. Ingram also expires, shortly. Tracy and Merrill seize a ladder and scale the wall. As they clear it, Tracy turns ends the life of guard Jones with two barks from his Winchester.

Now they are engaged by guard Tiffany from the prison fence, he is brought down by rifle fire from the escapees. He continues to fire a few more rounds but is then empty. Tracy and Merrill grab the guard and employ him as a human shield as they sprint for the distant timber. They know if they can make the timber that they will no longer be targets for the guards inside. The men reach the timber and safety. However, Tracy and Merrill stop and intentionally execute the guard. Lastly, a guard sent up to replace the human shield, Tiffany, namely, Duncan Ross was shot by one of the escapees, more than likely Tracy, in the forehead. A long range shot that he survived. The men were already safely in the timber and Ross was not even armed but such was the blood lust of Tracy. . . They were reported four miles west of Salem later in the day. "
Marion County Sheriff Frank W. Durbin and Sheriff-elect Benjamin B. Colbath formed a posse to chase down the escaped convicts and a reward of $1,000 was immediately issued for the capture -- dead or alive -- of Harry Tracy and David Merrill."

So, Tracy and Merrill have managed a daring daylight escape from The Oregon State Penitentiary. They killed three guards, one inmate, and shot another guard in the forehead. This took somewhere around 5 minutes. . .

The manhunt is coming up next post. . .



A rancher from Brown's Park, Colorado shot down and killed by Harry Tracy in 1898, prior to his above incarceration. He was a part of a posse chasing a man who had murdered a 15 year old boy. The boy was a ranch hand for this victim, namely Valentine Hoy:

[Gibson]

THE TWO MONTH MANHUNT

"In hopes of capturing the escapees before they made it out of Marion County, J.D. Lee, superintendent of the Oregon State Penitentiary raised the reward to $1,500 and then to $3,000 on June 13."

Tracy and Merrill manage to clear Salem and procure civilian clothes and mounts. Evidently they stole two fast mounts from the stable of Felix Laubacher! Thus we now have two convicts, "heavily armed, in citizens' clothing, and mounted on good horses, the convicts were now prepared to make a stubborn fight for liberty. No more dangerous criminal than Tracy, in fact, was ever turned loose upon a community. HE WAS A DEAD SHOT AND DID NOT KNOW WHAT FEAR MEANT. "

Tracy and Merrill began a pattern of hitting farm houses and demanding to be fed and then resting for a spell, all the while being chased by a posse a lawmen with the addition of bloodhounds. Tracy commented later to a captive that the thing he hated most about running was the dogs, this being his second "crashout".

We get an example from "The Deseret News" of June 12, 1902, three days after their escape. . . On that morning the men appeared at the Akers' farm, near Gervais, and demanded breakfast. As her husband was at work, Mrs. Akers cooked them breakfast. Tracy and Merrill sat with their rifles across their knees and ate. Interesting comment from the story is the report from Mrs. Akers that Tracy "appeared wounded in the right arm." The two men left shortly after eating and headed north.

There were close scrapes added to the pattern of farmhouse hold-ups. Now three companies of militia took up the chase, also. Tracy even stopped once to put a rifle round into a pursuer. He made good with his Winchester but it was not a lethal shot. . .

Next was the daring shootout with posse members who had caught up to Tracy and his cohort, Wm. M. Raine put it succinctly: "Tracy had forced a farmer at the muzzle of his revolver to row him and his companion across the Columbia River into Washington. They dined at the house of a farmer named Peedy, whom they tied and gagged before leaving. Sheriff Marsh, of Clarke County, with a very large force, took up the chase with energy. A four-cornered duel took place between the fugitives and two of the posse who came in touch with them, but the convicts again escaped unhurt. For some days after this episode their trail was completely lost. "

Something odd occurred next! Merrill disappeared. Well, sort of. . . from what I can gather, Tracy, either because of a "grudge" or because Merrill had gotten scared, or both, on or about June 28, the men fought a duel (according to Tracy) and Tracy suspecting treachery fired over his shoulder hitting Merrill in the back. He then walked over and finished him off with another round. Indeed a corpse was found with three shots in the back, accounts accept that it was Merrill, although his family claims he ran from Tracy and survived many years. I suspect the corpse was Merrill's. I am certain of it.

Now it's July 2nd and Tracy shows up alone at Olympia and commandeers a boat and had piloted toward Seattle. Along the way he asks to be swung over toward a prison on McNeil's Island to take potshots at guards! After making landing he took his captives with him for a short distance and then in a driving rainstorm released them and took refuge in the underbrush to sleep.

Through rumor and report it was ascertained that Tracy was in Bothell, Washington and the posses came up to search. The men split up and a group supposed that they knew Tracy was hiding behind a burned stump. Here is an account of what followed

"That's exactly where I believe he is," said Raymond. "Let's----"

He never finished the sentence. From behind the stump arose Tracy himself, his rifle at his shoulder. There came a flash, and Anderson, one of the deputies, fell. Still another spit of flame belched from the rifle, and Raymond fell back with a stifled cry. He was quite dead before help reached him. Sefrit took a shot at the desperado with a Colt's revolver, whereupon Tracy wheeled and let drive at him. Sefrit, realizing that he was in an exposed position, fell as if shot. The outlaw fired again at him, then waited watchfully to make sure he had killed his man. A bunch of grass lay between Sefrit's head and Tracy, but the reporter could see the convict crouching behind the stump and knew that the slightest movement meant death. So for some minutes the Times reporter lay there in an agony of suspense, expecting every moment to feel a bullet tearing through his breast. Then Tracy slowly began to back away in the drenching rain. Two more shots rang out, and Jack Williams, who had been coming forward from the rear, fell, desperately wounded."

Tracy made good his escape by stealing a horse from a framer he encountered in his slow retreat from the gunfight. He next ends up at the home of the Van Horn's in Woodland Park. Via a grocery boy who stopped by during Tracy's visit, Mrs. Van Horn smuggled out word of Tracy being there. When he had eaten and gotten new clothes, he went into the yard and was greeted with gunfire! Sheriff Cudihee, Game Warden Neil Rawley and E.E. Breece had set an ambush. Both Rawley and Breece had been warned not to get involved by the above mentioned Sheriff. (Cudihee was a brave man and an outstanding 'mantracker'!)

Well, the good Sheriff Cudihee got himself into place, i.e., behind a stump with a clear view of the cabin. He armed himself with both a Winchester rifle and a revolver. Tracy emerges from the cabin in the company of two other men, Probably Mr. Van Horn and a Mr. Butterworth who was visiting the Van Horns. The sheriff covers the men and readies himself when out of nowhere the two men who accompanied him, Rawley and Breece, joined by J. L. McKnight who had shown up, sprung forward and Breece shouted, "Throw down that gun, Tracy." Those were to be the last words he ever uttered on this earth. In the blink of an eye Tracy wheeler around and killed Breece with single shot. Then he turned on Rawley and dispatched him two rounds. Tracy swore loudly as he again wheeled looking for more victims, seeing none he took to the woods. Sheriff Cudihee got off two rounds but with apparently neither took effect. Game Warden Rawley lay on the ground dying, in a pitiful state, moaning and bleeding savagely, beside him lay Breece "stone cold dead". . . The above was taken from "The Washington Times" of July 20, 1902.

Excitin' ain't it


More momentarily. . .

[Baryngyl]

I live in Creston, Washington, the town where Harry Tracy was killed, there is a large sign that tells about it, I will try to get a pic of it and post it here.


Michael Grace

[Gibson]

Something interesting to be touched on here is that during Tracy's earlier mentioned 'boat ride', he had mentioned desperately needing a revolver, he "wanted a gun [a revolver] pretty bad and would hold up the first policeman that he met. He was carrying a stolen 30:30 Winchester rifle and 300 rounds of mismatched .45 caliber bullet cartridges. Tracy's gun dilemma now becomes relevant.

After following his usual pattern of utterly random travel and break ins along with shooting the bloodhounds, he enters the Johnson home, near Kent, on July 9, 1902. He demanded breakfast.

After ravenously downing a meal of eggs, batter cakes and oatmeal. Tracy thanked her for the meal and laid down for an hour. Upon arising, Tracy said, "Have you any money? You've got to get me two six-shooters." Mr. Johnson scrounged up $28.50 and headed out to buy TWO SIX-SHOOTERS. For some odd reason Tracy insisted he needed two? Anyway, Mr. Johnson did his best best but only procured one along with some ammo. A 1998 White River Journal article put it thusly:

". . . but [Johnson] could not find a revolver exactly like Harry Tracy had described. Tracy had ordered a Colt .45 with a 6-inch barrel. At E. A. Kimball's gun store, Johnson bought one with a 71/2-inch barrel, the only Colt available. It was a second-hand gun, which worried Johnson. He repeated over and over that it had to be as good as new, and insisted that the proprietor write a guarantee to that effect on the bill of sale.

Cartridges included, the sale amounted to $11. Asked if he was going to hunt Tracy, the jittery Johnson insisted that no, the gun was for somebody else. Johnson hustled wildly out of the store less than five minutes after he had entered. He proceeded to search unsuccessfully for a second gun, and at the last minute, caught a train toward home."

The White River Journal article goes on to describe how Tracy much preferred the Colt's .45 model revolver and specifically the 6" barrel version. Ultimately the gun Mr. Johnson bought has been acquired by the White River Museum. It is very likely the gun you see in Tracy's hand in the above digitally rendered photograph. Any of you guys that can examine that picture and see if it has a 7 1/2" barrel? Claims that the gun Tracy committed suicide with was a Colt's 32/20 caliber, SA revolver (frontier model) and is in the hands of a Washington collector, notwithstanding.

So Tracy leaves the Johnson's and is hurled toward the inevitable showdown. He continues the stealing of his meals and grabbing some rest here and there for the next four weeks.


THE END

According to the Raine's book: "Tracy had reached the rough country south of the Colville Indian reservation. He had become gaunt as an ill-fed wolf. Hunger, cold, and exposure have tamed more bad men than fear. They sap the physical well-being which in some men is the spring of courage. But they did not affect the iron nerve of this man. He was still as savage and as dangerous as the day when he broke out of the penitentiary. For two days and nights the outlaw hung around the Eddy ranch, not far from Creston, until a young man who saw him there raced with the news to Sheriff Gardner, who hastened to the scene at once."

A posse of five men "armed-to-the-teeth" arrive at the Eddy ranch and immediately talk with Mr. Eddy, who is working. They ask if Tracy is in his barn and he answers in the affirmative. They start for the barn and Tracy exits it to help unhitch the team. Tracy immediately asks who the men following are and is greeted with a posse member shouting "hold up your hands!". Tracy does not. Like a flash he orders Eddy into the barn and uses him to shield himself. He procures his Winchester and determines to make a fight. Tracy again exits the barn firing two shots at his antagonists, who seem to have frozen up a bit. Tracy runs for open space. The posse follows quickly. Tracy takes cover and in the fast approaching darkness opens up rapid lever-action fire on the posse. Without effect. Tracy now bolts pell-mell toward the dank Lincoln County wheat field that would be his final resting place. Like a bolt from the blue a rifle round smashes into Tracy's right lower leg. He pitches face first onto the earth. Tracy through sheer grit drags himself into the wheat field. The sheriff and his men surround the field and wait and wait in the darkness. Shortly they hear a lone revolver round's refrain.

In the early morning light the men advance to find the scene you see above, in the picture. Tracy had ended his own life with a shot near the right eye.

Indeed, a desperate man.

The Eddy men:





The Johnson Family:

[Gibson]

Baryngyl:

Thanks. Sounds great!

Harry Tracy was damned good with a levergun and a sixshooter. He was also a mad-dog when it came to being captureg. That is one sad body count for one of the real deal outlaws of our old west. Tracy was at the very end of an era. But it sure casts some light on all the **** that has been shoveled about these men. We have been lied to. The modern historian who rides in on his white horse telling you how these guys weren't tough and how their deeds are all dime novel specials, are full of ****. The accounts I post tell you factually what kind of sand these men had. Both good and bad.

Commodore Owens, Tracy, and John Wesley Hardin were men with bark on, not the product of imagination. My sketches deal with truth. The professional debunkers want to tell you things like Hickok only killed seven men. WELL PAL, HOW MANY YOU KILL TODAY? Hickok probably did kill around seven men. That's a helluva a lot in my mind. He was a fascinating character/gambler/lawman. What about Coleman Younger? Somewhere between 11-13 rounds in his body when he was finally captured. The debunkers are pathetic men who want to belittle these guys in order to feel better about their pathetic existence. Everyone knows these characters have clay feet and that hyperbole was common in the early stories. Telling people that is like telling them water is wet. But I'm here to tell you these guys were mean or these guys were good with a gun or these guys were truly desperate men. Facts. Now I might make honest errors but they will not be major. And my opinions have crept in here and there. But I'm human. Typos abound. Too much effort has gone into these already, and I'm not going to proofread. My fingers are like sausages so be forewarned. Enjoy, and if it appears there is no interest, I'll stop. I do not desire to clutter the board.

[Slow Elk 45/70]

Very Good , I am enjoying your stories...I have read a lot of the old books on these fellows...Thanks for Posting...Jim

[Gibson]

Very Good , I am enjoying your stories...I have read a lot of the old books on these fellows...Thanks for Posting...Jim

Wasn't that Commodore Perry Owens something? Snap shooting a 45/60! Had some have some oomph!

Something about him walking alone down the street and up to that house gets my blood to boiling, a bit.


Lots of the fellows at rugerforum follow my thread there, too. For some reason guns forever call to my mind that era and certain forums just seem to have fellows that love that kind of stuff.

I am going to put up my sketch on the "Mad Trapper of Rat River" next. It doesn't quite fit the era time wise, but it's close enough to the end. My earliest sketch deals the the "Harpe brothers" (degenerate sadists) and the "Mad Trapper" is my latest. Although one on Lone Wolf Gonzales and The Phantom Killer, might be doable. Doubtful.

Bear River Tom Smith made for a good sketch and I have two or three on Hickok. Billy the Kid killing the two deputies and escaping. . . And man old Buckshot Roberts fighting off a whole passel of men at Blazer's Mill, when that old veteran of the gun grabbed that single shot .50/70 government and commenced blasting, man, oh man. Triple distilled TOUGH. I'll get those up slowly.

Keep your chin to the wind guys. And give a nod to the old timers every once in a while. Many of our ancestors were hard men.

This haunting scene really expresses what I think about our old west and it's passing. Powerful scene on so many levels. The look on mamma's face as she runs for her husband, Slim gutshot and dying, river, sun setting, music in the background. Peckinpah must have been possessed by the muse of the old west.

Katy Jurado was something else.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFxwq...eature=related