I
know what the cowboy Jim Hughs was thinking that July afternoon, of
1881. He was thinking he was about to get very, very rich. He was a
hand on the Clanton Ranch 12 miles outside of Tombstone, and
experienced in the rustling parties that stole cattle in Sonora,
Mexico, and sold them to the butchers in Arizona. But this hot
afternoon, he was after not after beef, but silver. On the trail
below, 15 riders were leading 30 burros northward through the narrow
confines of Skeleton Canyon. On the burros' backs Jim Hughs believed was either $75,000 or $40,000 or $2,500 worth of silver Mexican Peos. Unfortunately Hughes and his
little gang of desperate rustlers had not thought to ask one simple
question. Where had all that silver come from?
All
Mexican legal tender was produced by 11 privitley operated mints,
such as the large one in Hermosillo, Sonora. They bought refined ore
directly from mines and converted it into silver and gold
centavos and
pesoes (above) of various denominations.
In 1884 the United States Treasury Department cautioned potential
investors in Mexico, "The bulk and weight of silver currency is
a serious embarresment." That was putting it mildly. The report
went on to explain, "...grouped around the doors and enterances
of the principle banking houses, professional porters...gain a
livilihood by carrying loads of coins....from one part of the city to
another." The weight of the silver meant commerce in Sonora
would only move as fast as men and burros could carry it. And spies
could travel much faster than that - faster even than a man could
dream.
By
1881 there were close to 6,000 miners north of the border in Arizona, following the silver veins
beneath the Tombstone Hills, and extracting and refining the ore had become only
the second most difficult task in mining. The greater challenge was
feeding the miners. Vegetables and fruit spoiled within minutes in
the 100 degree temperatures. Canned goods had been available for
almost a century, but the double seal can, which was truly air tight,
would not be invented until 1888. It was still common, particularly
in the desert, to open cans only to find spoiled food inside. That
left Tombstone miners surviving on sourdough bread, potatoes and
legumes - all of which required scarce water to prepare. And then
there was meat.
The
story told by Jim Hughes, was that he had been sitting in a Sonoran
cantina when he overheard members of the "Estrada Gang"
celebrating a successful raid on the town of Monterrey. Amid the
boasts about banks robbed and churches looted, the bandits planned
to transport their booty across the border for safe keeping in the
United States. As unlikely as the details of this story may be, it
was clear that Jim Hughes heard something about a silver caravan and
hurried north to the hilltop Clanton ranch. There he informed Billy
Clanton, and an ambush party quickly formed.
A
cow had the advantage of delivering its self to the kitchen back
door. By 1880 there were 8,000 cattle along the San Pedro River
Valley, north of the border. But it took 100 acres of sparse Arizona mesquite and prickly
pear, and 2 to 3 years to raise a cow to slaughtering age. Writing for the short lived
Tombstone Daily Nugget, columnist Richard Rule admitted the
unpleasant truth, "There is no doubt that most of the cattle
sold in the vicinity of Tombstone... are stolen.". Rustlers
were the most successful ranchers in Arizona, a state of affairs
encouraged because the businessmen and women of Tombstone had little
incentive to inquire as to the source of the beef, only its price.
Continued the observant Mr. Rule, "A good many of the
cowboys...live in the guise of simple cattle farmers. Those who make
a business of stealing...have a pretty good reputation". The
fundamental advantage - and flaw - of capitalism, is that people ask
few questions as to where your money came from, only how much you
have. And the more money you have, the fewer questions they are inclined to ask. And that rule was about to begin working against the
rustlers.
Just
about the time Jim Hughes was taking a bead on the bandits in
Skeleton Canyon, life long corporate railroad man William Barstow Strong (above) was being promoted to President of the Boston based "Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe" railroad. His advancement was a reward
for his dedication to the corporate goal of reaching a Pacific port.
The problem was the Southern Pacific railroad controlled all
rail lines and ports in California. And beginning in 1876, the Big
Four owners of the SP had even laid rails
east along the 32nd parallel from San Diego, reaching Tuscon, Arizona
in 1880 and crossing the San Pedro River at Benson. Southern Pacific President
Charles Crocker could boast, "The earnings we have
achieved since reaching Tuscon have been great" The SP had reached El Paso, Texas in May of 1881. Faced with this
road block, the resourceful Mr. Strong had cast his eyes upon the
broiling Sonoran port of Guaymas.
As
the Mexican riders reached a formation called the Devil's Kitchen,
near the New Mexico entrance of Skeleton Canyon (above, left center), Hugh's finger tightened around
the trigger of his rifle. His shot was instantly joined by the gun
shots of his 8 partners Six of the Mexicans fell in the first
volley. However, the noise panicked the burros, and they bolted. So
the Americans switched targets.
What
William Strong promised new Mexican President Porfirio Diaz in 1877 was
that railroads would bind his nation together. Under Mexican
subsidiaries, and funded by Mexican government subsidies, the AT&SF
built the Mexican Central Line, which drove 800 miles north from
Mexico City to the Rio Grande River where it connected with the AT&SF
in El Paso Texas.
At the same time Strong's Sonora Railroad started
in Guaymas on the gulf of California, and headed 900 miles east
toward the Central Line in Monterrey. But from the moment the Sonora
Railroad reached the state capital of Hermosillo - in December of
1880 - profits tempted the construction north, 175 miles to the
American border, where it could connect with an 88 mile long spur of
the AT&SF, the New Mexico and Arizona Railroad, which would reach the mill town of Fairbank, Arizona, just 9 miles from Tombstone, in 1882.
When
the smoke cleared there were 25 burros, dead or screaming in the
narrow canyon. The 11 remaining Mexican riders surrendered.
According to the legend the Americans climbed down the canyon walls
and silenced the wounded animals. And then they executed the human
witnesses. And only then did the realization slowly dawn upon the
cowboys that they now had now way getting the silver out of the
canyon. Legend claims they buried the hoard, intending on returning
to fetch it later. But my guess is, there was very little silver in
the burro's loads. The ambush had been a bust.
By
the hot dry summer of 1881, the mining town of Tombstone and its
satellites of Fairbank, Charleston, Contention and Bisbee (above), were close
enough to the rail lines that not only could silver ore
make its way out, but luxury goods and cattle could make their way
in. And there were 8,000 cows now being raised in the San Pedro Valley, and the railroads were able to deliver beefier cows to within miles of the Tombstone mines. And these were not the scrawny hardy Texas longhorns but heftier,
blooded stock fed on the rich grasses from wetter climes. Even
though 6% of the cattle could be expected to die en route, the price
per pound delivered by rail lowered the profit margin for the
rustlers, and promised to soon drive them out of business.
Just
about a month after the Skeleton Canyon massacre - on Thursday, 11
August, 1881 - 7 Americans camped for the night just south of the Mexico border, in Sonora, in Guadalupe Canyon. Historians
and western affectionadoes still argue about what these venture capitalists were doing on such a popular smuggling route, at the junction of three
jurisdictions - Arizona, New Mexico and Sonora, old Mexico. But the simplest explanation seems the most likely. They had invested their sweat equity in stealing 80 head of cattle in Sonora, and were driving them back to the United States to sell and butcher them, thus destroying the evidence.
During
the night the cattle were restless, and the leader, Newman Hays "Old
Man" Clanton (above), sent Harry Ernshaw and Billy Byers out to guard the herd.
Just at dawn, on the morning of
Friday, 13 August 1881, the two men rode back into camp, where Newman
Clanton had started breakfast. Charley Snow, 19 year old Dixie
Lee" Gray and Billy Lang, were just waking up. But James Crane were still in his bedroll, having arrived the night before. Greeting
the returning men as they dismounted, Charley Snow heard something
the others missed, and started to draw his gun. That was the signal
for the ambush to explode. Snow was killed by the first shot. Gunfire
then cut down Old Man Clanton as he bent over the campfire.
Billy
Byers started to run, "...but
had not gone forty feet when I was shot across my body, but I didn’t
fall, and in a few more steps was hit in my arm, knocked the pistol
out of my hand and I fell down.” Harry Ernshaw and Billy Lang (above) sought cover behind a bush, before trying to run as well. Billy Lang
was shot dead and Harry was wounded, a bullet slicing off part of his
nose. But he kept running. Young "Dixie Lee" Gray was hit three times in the chest and died on his
bedroll.
Byers
later told the Tombstone Nugget, "When I saw the Mexicans begin
stripping the bodies, I took off what clothes I had, even my finger
ring, and lay stretched out with my face down, and as I was all
bloody from my wounds...they never touched me, but as one fellow
passed me on horseback he fired several shots at me, one grazing the
side of my head, and the others striking my side, throwing the dirt
over me. But I kept perfectly still and he rode on.”
Harry
Ernshaw made it on foot 15 miles north to the new Gray ranch in the Animus mountains where Dixie Lee's older brother John was waiting. They
returned the next morning with a wagon and 20 men. They found Billy Byers
wounded and delirious, wandering in the desert. Charley Snow's body
had been scavenged and was buried where it lay. The bodies of Old Man
Clanton, Dixie Lee Gray and James Crane were all loaded on the wagon and carried to the Gray Ranch were they were buried. The anarchy at the border had reached a new level.
If it was not clear before to the rustlers and thieves in and around Tombstone, Arizona, it was certainly clear now. My
guess is that just before he died, Old Man Clanton, thought that life was getting very hard for an unrestrained capitalist in this
part of the country.
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