Tin Cup -- A Rip-Snorting Mining Town

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Back in the days of the hell-roaring Old West, it took a fair share of guts, gumption and shooting to be a marshal. In any frontier town, "marshalin" was a risky job, but in the little Colorado mining camp of Tin Cup it was a hair-trigger existence with a hunk of lethal lead as the usual payoff.

Set far up on the backbone of the Rockies, Tin Cup had its first great boom in 1880. The mountains surrounding the camp were underlaid with "shining dirt." Streams glittered with sparkling placers. Burro trails formed the principal means of approach and escape.

Thousands of prospectors, miners, and the inevitable hordes of gamblers stampeded to the gold-laden cliffs of Tin Cup. On their heels came motley crews of desperadoes and outlaws. The result, of course, was lusty, brawling chaos. Tenderfeet began to show a marked reluctance to enter or remain in the camp. It became obvious that if they were to be lured into Tin Cup for the purpose of being fleeced, some show of respectability and orderliness had to be maintained.

A crude municipal government for the camp was created, and a mayor, a council, and a marshal were appointed. Since the camp was controlled wholly by the lawless element, they took over the selection of officers. As marshal, they decided upon a man named Willis -- more commonly known as "Old Man Willis."

Tersely, they informed him of his duties. "The first man you try to arrest will be your last, Willis. You're just to mosey around camp and let 'em see we got a marshal. It sorta gets their backs up when they don't see no law officer, but get it straight -- you're to see nothin', hear nothin', and know nothin' that goes on in camp. Got it?"

Old Man Willis got it. He did his part admirably. During his entire term of office, he never arrested one man, nor did he receive one cent for his services.

The next marshal to be appointed by the camp leaders was a fearless border ruffian named Tom Lahey. Tom was supposed to be quicker on the draw than any man in Tin Cup. As marshal, he frequently amused himself with a hazardous pastime which seemed to afford him a great deal of personal satisfaction.

Often, merely to prove his ability to do so, he stood off an entire mob of half-drunken miners and tinhorn gamblers. Baiting them into an ugly mood, then snarling defiance at their threats, he would proceed to disarm each man in the crowd before marching them off to jail.

Always, just as he herded the sullen mob up to the jailhouse door, Lahey would release them contemptuously, sneering at them for lacking the courage to stand up to him.

As a rule, the men made it a point to stay out of Marshal Lahey's way, and newcomers were advised to do the same. One man ignored this advice and thereby gained the distinction of being the first man planted on Boot Hill. His name was Bud Christopher. It happened thusly:

A great deal of the early freight for Tin Cup moved over Cottonwood Pass. One of the itinerant freighters sold a mare to Marshal Lahey, then sold the same mare to Bud Christopher, giving each man a bill of sale. An argument resulted when both men tried to claim the mare and finally it was decided to go to the law to establish ownership.

The kangaroo court was supposed to be held in a tent. However, such a crowd assembled that it soon became obvious that the tent was too small to hold them all. Also, since both plaintiffs and their henchmen were armed, it was suggested that they disarm.

Frenchie's Saloon was designated as the depository for the guns. Then, after everyone had a round of drinks, the trial was held in the street. When the judge found in favor of Tom Lahey, the leery crowd scattered instantly as the decision was pronounced.

Later, eyewitnesses stated that Christopher came out of Frenchie's place with his gun in his hand just as someone yelled to warn him that Lahey was coming out the back way. Bud turned his head just as the warning rang out, and the guns of both men blazed in unison. Christopher crashed to the ground with a bullet through his temple.

In the confusion that followed, several heated arguments began among those who had witnessed the shooting. Some insisted there had been a third shot from some other gun and claimed that Lahey's bullet had not killed Christopher. Others argued about who had fired first. At last it was decided to hold an inquest.

They used a carpenter's saw and opened Christopher's skill to prove that the slug came from Lahey's gun.

During the inquest one of the witnesses slipped away and headed for the mining camp of Leadville to report the affair to law officials there. By the time he made his way over the pass, the man was too worn out to travel farther. He stopped at a deserted cabin to get some sleep. He fell asleep instantly, but woke up a short time later when someone began shaking him roughly. It was Lahey.

He had followed the man all the way over the pass. Although it had been determined that his gun killed Christopher, Lahey explained, the judge had acquitted him on the grounds of self-defense. He ordered the frightened man to return to Tin Cup and forget about making a report to the Leadville authorities.

Written by E. Ward McCray, Published in True West, March-April 1959

Tin Cup, Colorado - Mining Gold on Several Levels

It’s been several years since my husband and I have been up to Tin Cup. The old mining town in Colorado’s Rocky Mountain lies above Gunnison at 10,157 feet elevation. Some of the poor pictures I took way back in October of 1991 are shown here. If we manage the excursion later this summer, I’ll compose better shots--a repost would be worthwhile, at least in my unbiased opinion. LOL

Big Horn Sheep above Gunnison near Taylor Park Resevoir

I learned about the town through my husband, who hunted the area with his brother, father, and friends from the 1950s through the 1990s. The first time my husband took me, I fell in love with the town, its history, and its unique cemetery.

The last time we visited, Tin Cup sported a couple businesses. The most notable was Frenchy’s which is a restaurant housed in an old log cabin I’m sure boasts of a colorful, if not dramatic past as the most famous of the town’s early saloons. Today’s Frenchy’s is said to serve up a delicious burger. I wish I could verify that. Unfortunately, a closed sign has always been prominently displayed whenever we drove past.

Research sources often claim Tin Cup is a ghost town. However, the real truth is that those few hardy year round residents and the additional summer occupants who desire the peace and quiet that blanket the high country have cleverly refurbished original log cabins so it appears nothing has changed in 150 years.
 

Capt. Zebulon Pike

Captain Zebulon Pike reached the general area in late December 1806 during an exploration of territory acquired by the United States in the Louisiana Purchase. (Christmas In The Old West - Sweetheart post December 18, 2010) But, it wasn’t until the late 1850’s that this picturesque valley was settled by white men, disheartened prospectors who hadn’t realized their dreams of riches in California’s gold fields and who paused for rest on their long trips back east. The story goes that in October 1859, one such young man, James Taylor, an 18 year old from Georgia, took a sip of water from Willow Creek and discovered gold in the bottom of his tin cup. He promptly dubbed the area Tin Cup Gulch. Obviously, Jim was neither creative nor romantic. Other versions of this story time the incident in 1861 and/or add two friends with Jim. I also found reports that attributed the town’s name, not to a profitable sip from a tin cup, but to the tin cup being used as a storage vessel for a lucky prospector’s poke of gold dust while he headed out of the valley to parts unknown.

Although it may never be absolutely certain which version inspired the name, Tin Cup Gulch seemed to remain unknown by most until the 1870’s. Strikes of high grade gold and silver in 1878 drew adventurous souls to the area and the town of Virginia City was born in March 1879. The following year, Virginia City census counted 1,495 inhabitants. Maybe the growth spurt started the trouble, maybe something else, but, whatever it was, Virginia City’s citizens found their hometown increasingly confused with Virginia City, Nevada and Virginia City, Montana. I, for one, am glad they officially changed the town’s name in July 1882 to simply Tin Cup, minus James Taylor’s descriptive “Gulch” attached.

Tin Cup boasted of a population of 6000 in 1882, a number that easily supported the 20+ saloons in town and made it lucrative for some entrepreneurs to ski or snowshoe out for supplies and then unload their bounty to the highest bidders upon return. Declared one of the top three of Colorado’s wildest, unruliest mining towns, Tin Cup quickly found itself taken over by an underworld of cutthroat gamblers. The gang hired and controlled local law enforcement to their benefit, for unsuspecting visitors and settlers were lured by the façade of law and order. It was only after being fleeced of their money and/or valuables that the victims wised up and left--if they were alive to do so. This dismal history wore on the upstanding men hired as fronts. Colorado’s Historical Society states the first one quit, the second was fired, the third was gunned down, the fourth was shot by a gambler, the fifth quit and became a preacher, the sixth went insane, and the seventh was shot.

Which brings us to my favorite part: Tin Cup’s cemetery. It’s divided into four parts.

Protestant Knoll lies to the north. Jewish Knoll sleeps to the east.

Catholic Knoll occupies the center. Boot Hill Knoll to the west still sports a few intriguing markers.












The epitaph on Black Jack Cameron’s grave, located in the southeast corner, reads “He drew 5 aces.” Another is marked Pass Out/Dance Hall Girl. How can you not wonder, “What if...?”

Tin Cup’s eighth marshall miraculously finished his term. I’m unaware of the exact timing of the town’s string of men of the law. However, I suspect the eighth’s luck held because of Tin Cup’s decline to around 400 citizens as mines played out about 1884. The shrinking town clung to life though, installing fire hydrants in 1891, a few of which remain. The local post office closed in 1918.

Sandra Crowley

CAUGHT BY A CLOWN, a spicy romantic suspense about a spontaneous freelance journalist on a mission of mercy who finds herself entangled with a methodical undercover agent out to settle a score.

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