The Only Stone You'll Get Is a Tombstone

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

There's a tale the old-timers used to tell in the sunbaked streets of old Tombstone -- the thrilling tale of Schieffelin's gold. Millions of people have read about him and seen the monument to him on the highway near Tombstone -- Ed Schieffelin.

Ed liked the excitement of being right up against the earth, trying to find her gold. He went into California first and then after a few years, to the Grand Canyon country. While there he joined some scouts who were fighting Apaches and ended up going with them into southern Arizona. He quit them to prospect in the Huachuca Mountains. He stayed in the vicinity of a camp of soldiers. When one of them asked him what he was looking for, he answered, "Oh, just stones."

"The only stone you'll ever get in this country will be a tombstone," the soldier said.

The first claim ED staked out he named Tombstone, and from it the town took its name -- which also led the first newspaper of the town to be named Tombstone Epitaph.

The Tombstone claim did not prove to be very rich, nor did his next claim, the Graveyard. The Tough Nut made him rich in silver and gold. He and his brother and a third partner traded off part interest in the mine to moneyed men who put up a mill to refine the ore. In 1879 the mine was paying $50,000 a month. For a while, Ed Schieffelin hauled the bullion from his mine to Tucson, but got restless and went to prospecting again.

In 1880 he and his brother sold out for $600,000 -- $300,000 each -- and he went to prospecting farther off. When their third partner sold out for a real fortune later, he subtracted $300,000 for himself from the sum and divided the remainder equally between himself and the two Schieffelins.

In 1897 Ed bought a fine outfit in San Francisco: wagon, mules, tools, especially fine cooking utensils, and plenty of provisions and struck north. At Grants Pass, Oregon, he saw an eighteen-year-old boy named Charlie Williams working around a blacksmith shop and asked if wanted to go into the mountains. The boy was eager to go. Ed was happy he now had a helper. They stopped on Day Creek and camped in an abandoned cabin. Ed told Charlie they could go no farther in a wagon, but would make this place headquarters while he prospected in rough country. He told Charlie he could go off for a few days as he himself would be away from camp a while. Both left.

When Williams returned to the cabin, he found the dead body of Ed Schieffelin. Ed had apparently been sitting, breaking stones with a hammer when he died. The rocks were found to be very, very rich in gold. The camp seemed not to have been molested by anybody, but some of the new cooking utensils were missing. The theory developed that Ed had taken the utensils himself and made a kind of sub-camp near where he had struck the rich ore.

Prospectors hunted for the location from which Ed brought in samples. For a long time they hoped to find the missing cooking utensils as a marker. Any camp would have been made convenient to water. When no cooking utensils could be found, the prospectors searched everywhere for the gold, near the old cabin on Day Creek and far out from it. They never located the site. Its whereabouts died with Ed Schieffelin.

True West, October, 1958 issue -- written by J. Frank Dobie

The Historic Cary House Hotel

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Built in 1857, the Cary House Hotel still stands in Placerville, CA, and is still a functioning hotel. This jewel, built when the gold rush town was prospering, still treats its guests to an interesting night’s sleep. During the five years I worked in the Chablis Art Gallery located across the street from the hotel, I made friends with the manager, who graciously let me take photos inside and out, and meet one of the two most active resident ghosts. I found it interesting to learn that the hotel featured such luxuries as hot and cold running water (a novelty in its time), an elegant grand staircase, and a lobby handcrafted in mahogany and cherry woods.

Echoes from a colorful history still linger in the halls of this elegant place of lodging. Early days provided a regular stop for stage lines that brought travelers to the gold country. In some instances the stages returned to the San Francisco mint with millions of dollars in bullion. Its wrought-iron trimmed balcony not only added to its grace, but also lent a great space for Horace Greely to give a speech. The world-renowned “Hangtown Fry” (consisting of oysters and scrambled eggs) was created at the Cary House cook at the request of a miner who'd struck it rich in the nearby gold fields.

As I mentioned before, the hotel is inhabited by two ghosts. Stan is the ghost I tangled with. He lives mostly in the lobby of the hotel. In the gold rush heyday, he worked as the clerk at the check-in counter. He loved the place. He has stuck around all these years since his death. In the beginning of his employment, Stan checked patrons in and out of the Cary House. He had a great love of liquor, especially brandy and whiskey. When he wasn’t working, he would head down to Rivendell’s Book Store where he could socialize. Back then, the store was a great place to visit with fellow patrons, and to get a drink, especially on the cold damp days of winter. Stan would sneak out during his workday when no one was around, grab a drink, and hurry back to the hotel.

Stan loved women, but was ignored by them. He was a short, stocky man with reddish brown hair, balding on the top and not what most people would consider a 'ladies man'. Truth be known, he also liked men somewhat. He was not really in demand by either. So, he did his job, was polite until the alcohol took affect, loved gossip and checking people out, and was known to be a bit 'mouthy' and insulting. Apparently he made a pass at a man, the fellow stabbed him twice, and Stan fell down the stairs to his death.

My encounter with Stan happened the day I wanted to go upstairs by riding on the elevator. It's kept inside a room not much bigger than a closet. The wrought-iron door wouldn’t open. I tried, but to no avail. So did the manager. It was no big deal as the staircase was grand and fun to walk up to the second and third floors. I was disappointed because it looked like a fun ride. However, on the way back down to the lobby the door opened and worked perfectly.

Maybe old Stan was so happy to see me leave the hotel that he gladly let me take the ride. Some of the patrons have said they've seen their doorknobs turn when they retire for the night. Some believe Stan checks the door to each room with a lady guest just to make sure they are safely locked inside their rooms.

A television show that traveled around the country doing spots on the most haunted buildings did a twenty minute show on the ghosts in residence at Cary House. I took many photos the day I encountered Stan. I used the hotel in my Paradise Pines Series: Night Angel. Having the pictures reminded me of its elegance and made it easy for me to add the building as a large part of my story. The hero, Declan Grainger, was the hotel owner and since he was a Scot, he named it Chaumers Hotel, which means a house with many bedrooms.

Lily Fox craves attention. Her amazing voice and ability to mesmerize the miners and lumberjacks in a mountain community saloon brings her more than the notoriety she needs. She draws the attention of the town's hotel owner. If she plays her cards close to her chest and becomes his queen of hearts, the wealthy Scot could give her more than she dreamed.

The day Lily Fox sauntered into his hotel with the poise of a self-assured woman, Declan Grainger knew trouble wasn't far behind. Stealing his heart was only the beginning...

Declan realizes that underneath Lily's flamboyant behavior is a frightened, insecure woman searching for stability and a proper place in society.

Declan aches for Lily's love. He can't ask for her heart without revealing his secret life. If he unmasked himself as Paradise Pines' allusive Night Angel, how would she react?

Link: http://amzn.com/1612527957

George Scarborough - Lawman/Outlaw

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Recently I became aware of a dear friend's family connection to George Scarborough, one of the more modest frontier gunmen who helped tame the New Mexico and Arizona Territories. George was born in Louisiana October 2, 1859. He had quite a bit of gunplay and excitement in his limited career as a lawman. He had a considerable reputation among his peers and the outlaws he tracked throughout the southwestern wilderness.

The son of a Texas homesteader and parson, George knew firsthand the unsettled conditions of the southern frontier after the Civil War ended. His family moved to Texas where he worked as a cowboy for a while. After riding the range, he decided he'd rather deal with men than cattle. In 1885, when he was 26 years old, he took his first job as sheriff of Anson, Texas, then moved onto to work as deputy US Marshal in untamed El Paso, and finally worked as a private detective for the New Mexico Cattlemen's Association in the 1890's. At the time, El Paso was a rough town isolated from any nearby American towns. It was filled with gambling halls, bordellos, and unsavory characters, including John Wesley Hardin and John Selman.

Scarborough became well known for the unusual tactics he used while tracking a wanted outlaw. Often, he would disguise himself as an equal to those he pursued. He found this tactic extremely effective. He became hated and feared among lawbreakers. There have been many accusations that he was actively and ambitiously involved with outlaw gangs that he later betrayed, but no one could ever conclusively proved he was involved in unlawful actions.

In 1895 John Wesley Hardin claimed that he paid Scarborough and Jeff Milton, the El Paso Chief of Police, to kill outlaw and cattle rustler, Martin McRose. Milton and Scarborough were arrested but Hardin later withdrew his comments and the men were released. Later that year, gunslinger and latter-day lawman John Selman shot John Wesley Hardin in the back of the head while the man stood at the Acme Saloon Bar. On April 6, 1896, John Selman was murdered by Scarborough. George was put on trial for Selman's murder, but was acquitted.

Public opinion after his trial forced him to leave for the New Mexico Territory. He spent the rest of his days hunting down cattle rustlers and train robbers throughout the territory.

George had little appreciation for the overstated news reports of his exploits. In those days, the most effective lawmen had a dark side, but few were foolish enough to draw attention to themselves. In fear of revealing too much about his methods, George refused interviews by journalists. On April 5, 1900, Scarborough was involved in a shoot-out with George Stevenson and James Brooks. He was shot in the leg and taken back to Deming, where his leg was amputated. He died the following day.

After his death, the mysteries and legends surrounding George Scarborough were largely forgotten.

The Respectable Mr. Webb

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

This is the unlikely tale of Lawman J.J. Webb, who awaited hanging in New Mexico territory in 1881 and escaped death by commutation to life imprisonment.

He was a boy who came from hardworking, respectable farm parents and at manhood was respected and liked as a business man in several Kansas towns, including Dodge - respected enough to be made deputy and marshal more than once, including service under Masterson and Earp. It just does not seem to follow that John Joshua (J.J.) Webb would end up in Las Vegas, New Mexico, first as a lawman but later as part of a gang of mean gunmen.

J.J. was one of eleven children born to respectable but wandering parents. He apparently was also imbued with the spirit of constant change. Northeastern New Mexico had become the scene of a feverish search for gold. A young J.J. staked a luckless claim and later turned to bartending. When he became involved in gambling, drinking and, inevitably, a killing, he fled to take up government sponsored buffalo hunting.

When he tired of the hunting, he again tried the mining camps, but this time in Colorado. J.J. became acquainted with Wyatt Earp and Wild Bill Hickok. In about 1870, a demand for buffalo hides and meat brought a profitable surge to that business and Webb tried another season of it, becoming expert enough to bring in as many as 85 a day. He invested his considerable profits in a Caldwell, Kansas cantina and gambling hall.

Caldwell had become a booming buffalo-hunting center and Webb, a prominent citizen, became a deputy and a marshal (of a caliber to rank with Earp, Masterson, and Hickok). He was cool, quick on the draw, and fair in dealing with outlaws and rustlers.

With the end of the hide industry in Caldwell, Webb sold out in Caldwell and became a hunter once more, based at famous Adobe Walls in the Texas Panhandle, then a teamster, and a deputy in Dodge under Masterson. At this time he became well-acquainted with Dave Mather, Hoodoo Brown, and others.

He also became owner of the Gay Lady Saloon. While not on the respectable side of the tracks, the Gay Lady was one of the town's more elegant saloons and Webb a respected personage. Known to be handy with a gun, Webb was made deputy for his part of town by Masterson and, later, by Wyatt Earp.

The summer of 1879 found Webb among the Dodge City gunmen hired by the Santa Fe Railroad in a fight against the Denver and Rio Grande for possession of the Royal Gorge in Colorado. After this, running the Gay Lady seemed a bit dull. Webb sold out and headed down the line to Las Vegas, New Mexico, a rip-roaring, end-of-track town in which a lawless element, including Webb's Kansas friends and acquaintances, had taken over and were running the town.

Webb first got a job in the fall of 1879 as a detective for the Adams Express Co., then joined the police force along with the gang of friends from Dodge City. It was suspected that his friend Hoodoo Brown, who as Justice of the Peace and Acting Coroner was running the town, demanded from Webb information on gold shipments leaving the Adams Express office.

The crime for which Webb was finally convicted was the shooting and robbery of cattleman Michael Keliher, in town from Deadwood and flashing a large roll of bills. In a saloon at 4 a.m. on March 2, 1880, it was prearranged that Webb would pick on Keliher, then shoot him for resisting an officer. The money, about $1,950, was out of the cattleman's pocket almost before he hit the floor. Hoodoo Brown took both the money and the next train out of town. Vigilantes took over, captured Webb on March 4th at his rooming house with $500 of the money still on him and jailed him.

By March 9th Webb had been convicted of murder. He was sentenced to hang on April 9th. This execution date was set aside, however, after an appeal of the conviction. The Territorial Supreme Court later sustained the original verdict and the final date for the hanging was set as February 25, 1881. At the last minute Governor Lew Wallace commuted the sentence to life imprisonment. As no attempt was made to move Webb to the Territorial prison at Santa Fe, he was kept on in the Las Vegas jail.

Dave Rudabaugh, an outlaw and gunfighter, helped engineer a jail break and the two escaped never to return to Las Vegas. Accounts differ as to what finally became of J.J. Webb, but he reportedly died of smallpox at Winslow, Arkansas, on April 22, 1882, while working as a teamster under the name of Samuel King.

Here we have the paradox of a man who might have gone down in Frontier History with some of the great marshals -- another Tilghman, Masterson, Earp, or Hickok, but who by some ironic turn of fate ended instead a desperado to fade at last into obscurity.

Written by Lance Robbins, published in Real West Publication, July 1968

A Ghost Story - The Hotel Leger, Wine, Women, and Whoopie

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

In 1851 newcomer George Leger left Hesse Castle, Germany and came to the hamlet of Mokelumne, California. An entrepreneur with lots of cash in his pocket, and someone who loved to have a good time, he was thought to be different from the often crass and always dirty miners. He made some shady and sane dealings in the community and ended up with enough cash to build a one-story hotel, which he named The European Hotel.

It didn't take long for Leger to add a second story to be used for room and board. He converted the first floor into a general store. He still wasn't satisfied with his hotel, so he added a lavish dance floor to hold his parties in. The hotel soon became known as the most elegant place for entertaining in his part of the country. Its lavishness drew many of the elite and famous from the world of arts and politics.

George had an eye for rich and beautiful women and loved to party. The best alcohol and food was always on hand. He was in his element in this world, but it didn't last. In 1879 a portion of his hotel burned. Undaunted, he rebuilt and renamed the place Hotel Leger for good luck.

Women, women, women! He loved them all. Even being married didn't interfere with his conquests. His much younger bride died two years after they married. Her death didn't stop him from continuing his lifestyle as he had before and during her time in his life.

He was a dashing figure of a man, standing six-foot tall, with dark hair and a moustache, in his sexual prime, and wealthy. W.H Adams, Leger's friend and the owner of the stage company that had the Wells Fargo contract between Stockton and Sacramento, had a violent temper. Adams was devastated when he learned the beautiful young woman he had his heart set on was spending her time with Leger during his absences. Adams sent a lone gunman to Leger's living quarters at the hotel. The hired man knocked on Room 7 and as the door opened he shot Leger point blank. Leger fell mortally wounded into the arms of Adams' paramour. The killer walked out of the hotel and was never seen again.

It was said that Adams' sweetheart took off with someone else after Leger died. Adams was the first person up the stairs that fateful day on Leger's behalf and as his friend was laid to rest, he led the crowd in tearful lament for his lost buddy. As a befitting omen, Adams was interred next to his ex-best friend.

Soon after Leger's death it is rumored his spirit began showing up at the hotel. Leger's friends in life started to feel uneasy that he was still overseeing things in death as he had in life, especially Adams because the secret of his death was Adams' alone. No one except Adams was aware of his involvement in Leger's demise until he fessed up years later. Maybe it was on his deathbed. No one knows for sure.

A family with children bought the hotel years after Leger's death. A couple of days after the family moved in, the children ran from their bedroom to their father and cried, "Someone told us to be quiet." Upon investigating, the father couldn't find anyone in the room. Later that day the children went into Room 7, which had been George Leger's bedroom, and where he died. The children ran to their father again. They pointed to a man in an old tintype hanging on the wall. "That's the man who told us to be quiet." The photo was of George Leger. Their father, who always wore a cowboy hat, remarked that he often saw two cowboy hats coming up the stairs in the shadows on the wall. One was his.....

Researched in "The Incredible World of Gold Rush Ghosts by Nancy Bradley and Robert Reppert."

LASSOING A GROOM AND RACING FOR A BRIDE

By-Kirsten Arnold

Thanks to the Sweethearts for inviting me back 'round their campfire! For me, this is a very special post. It is the first time I get to announce the publication of one of my stories!  I’m honored to join the Prairie Rose Publication gang of ace-high talented authors in the summer anthology, LASSOING A GROOM!  Please excuse me as I scream my throat dry. YEEEEE-HAW!

I hope y’all will snatch up a copy when it appears on virtual bookshelves.  My story, RACE TO MARRY, features a bronc rider who gets bulldogged by a wild Wyomingite gal and is convinced to race for her heart.  (We Wyomingites tend to be a bit unconventional).  

Let’s head to the Sheridan fairgrounds and get a look at the actual 1909 Wild West Show that planted a seed in my mind and grew into a story.

The October 2, 1909, and October 5, 1909 issues of the Sheridan Daily Enterprise, reported on a Wild West Show and rodeo organized by Jim Jennings.  The show ran from Thursday through Saturday, but it was so thrilling and drew such large crowds that a half-page ad in Saturday’s paper announced a special show was planned for Sunday.  “IF YOU DON’T ATTEND IT WILL BE YOUR LOSS: THE SHOW COMMENCES AT 1:30!”

From the accounts in the newspaper, the participants were Sheridan locals or from neighboring communities. Events included a marathon, a hold up of the Deadwood stage, roping and tying exhibition, a relay foot race with four teams, a wild horse race, and a pony express ride; just to name a few.

One of the novelty races was the midnight race. “The most laughable event of the day.” Contestants started 200 yards from the wire and rode to the front of the grandstand. There they donned longshirts, mounted and raced around the track. For this race “A fast horse counted for little…It was the handy man with a shirt who won.”

For another race contestants were required to carry umbrellas. Then they rode to the wire where they “turn their coats wrong side out, light a cigar and ride with umbrellas raised.”

While the novelty races and trick exhibitions entertained the crowds, two events stole the show: bronco-busting and the race for the bride.  Reports in the Enterprise, exhibit the bronco-riding held quite a few exhilarating moments.  “Corkscrew, a wild outlaw, threw every man, Bud rich went down like the sound of a pile driver hitting the top of a wet log.”

“Clyde Brown on Aeroplane had a narrow escape in his broncho [sic] busting contest. He was thrown and his foot caught. People averted their heads for fear the crazed horse would stamp the man to death. But by a dexterous twist Brown himself got loose from his perilous position in safety.”

But the climax of the bronco-busting was the ride of Jim Jennings on the back of Corkscrew.  Jennings was a Sheridan local with a ranch on Mead Creek, fourteen miles from town. He traveled with Buffalo Bill for four years, touring in Europe in 1903 and 1904. “He is one of the best riders in the state, and that is the same as saying the best in the world, for Wyoming horsemen have no superior.”

Corkscrew entered the rodeo a noted man-killer, sending a Buffalo, Wyoming man to the hospital for several weeks and severely injuring another cowboy just a year before. Jennings, having few equals as a rider, was game to ride Corkscrew and subdued the outlaw. However, Corkscrew had the final word sending Jennings to the ground with a hard thud on his back. “Jennings is carrying around a fractured rib as a memento of the occasion.”

The crowd went wild for the “Race for the Bride.”  The bride’s name was given as Hazel Foster and Lillian Foster. However, it appears as Hazel Foster in most records and on Sheridan’s official website. The “grooms” name was Harry Lewis. Lewis participated in the pony express ride, bronco-busting and the wild horse race, as well as the bride race.  While riding his bronc, he didn’t place and he came in second to Sage Collins in the wild horse race, but he would outride Sage to capture the bride.  

The “lady and the cowboy catching her would be married on the spot.  Judge Story, it was said, would perform the ceremony without cost.”

All we know of Hazel Foster was she hailed from Rock Creek, and was obviously an excellent horsewoman as she gave her pursuers a run for their money. Hazel was given a 200-yard head start and made good use of it not intending to get caught.

“Sage Collins, on his favorite roan, was after her, but whether or not he would have overtaken her will never be known. Harry Lewis started late and realizing that Sage could never be overtaken, he doubled back, intercepted the bride on the last quarter, and carried her to the grandstand,” much to the crowd’s delight. Harry Lewis won $50 and the hand of Hazel Foster.

Jennings show was such a success he decided to take it on the road. By the end of Sunday’s performance he already had a long list of applications from the Wyoming cowboys participating.  Enough applications, in fact, that he planned to take the show to Billings, Montana the next week.

As for the bride and her cowboy, I am not sure I would ever want to know what happened after the race. I prefer to make up my own happily ever after ending for the couple. 

So from two newspaper reports Cal and Josie’s story sprouted. I reduced the show to one day. Cal’s character emerged from Jim Jennings wild ride on Corkscrew and Harry Lewis’ daring capture of his own bride.  Yep, it took two men to make one of Cal. But it all started when I read about a young woman, Hazel Foster, agreeing to be the fox to seven Wyoming hounds. What would make her do such a thing? Excitement? Was she a spinster? Or did she need to save the family ranch? From these questions, and Hazel’s race, Josie Allison was born.

This summer meet Cal and Josie in LASSOING A GROOM!

SOURCES:

THE SHERIDAN DAILY ENTERPRISE.  Saturday, October 2, 1909. Sheridan, Wyoming: pages 1 and 4.

THE SHERIDAN DAILY ENTERPRISE.  Tuesday, October 5, 1909. Sheridan, Wyoming: pages 1 and 4.

Thanks for reading my post on Sweethearts of the West.
Kirsten Arnold-guest blogger

Juanita -- First White Woman Lynched in California

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

On the fourth of July, 1851, Downieville celebrated the anniversary of the birth of our republic. Tents, cabins, and buildings were decorated with flags, and hundreds of miners were in town for the event. They consumed large amounts of alcohol and presented lively speeches from a large platform in the town square. One after another, the orators proclaimed the right of liberty for all and declared all men were free.

However, something went wrong in Downieville. The next day these same people participated in one of the most shocking crimes in California history -- they allowed a frenzied mob to hang a woman without the constitutional right to a fair trial. The speeches about equality and liberty for all obviously were not meant to include women, especially of the Mexican race. The victim was Juanita, and her name will be forever linked with the area's colorful past.

Juanita (no last name was ever recorded) was considered attractive, with long, lustrous dark hair; delicate features; and passionate black eyes. She was a graceful young woman from Sonora, Mexico, who was reputed to have been a saloon girl at one time. In Downieville, however, she was considered a better class woman than the camp followers. She lived with her lover in a small cabin, and, although many men sought her favors, Juanita was content with her man, Jose.

They were a happy couple. Jose was a quiet man who dealt cards at Craycrofts' Saloon. In contrast, Juanita was noted for her hot-blooded Latin temper and brightly colored skirts. She met Jose after work every night, and they would walk home together holding hands in the moonlight.

On the day of the crime, July 5th, the Independence Day celebration had continued into the early morning hours when several of the revelers staggered from the saloons. Some were in high spirits, singing and laughing; others were drunken vandals who sent down the streets breaking open the doors of houses. Jack Cannon was one of the latter. He was a large Scotsman who was popular with the men and considered to be a camp rowdy.

On this particular morning some say Cannon fell against the door of Jose and Juanita's cabin, knocking it from its hinges. When Juanita asked Cannon to leave her alone, he called her obscene names in Spanish and accused her of being a prostitute. Juanita swore back at him and he left.

After a few hours of sleep, Cannon returned to Juanita's cabin. Jose politely asked Cannon to have his door repaired. Cannon, who was suffering from a hangover, started once more to insult both Juanita and Jose. The argument became louder, and a crowd began forming. Juanita, upset by the insults and the audience's jeers, asked Cannon to be quiet and invited him into her house to talk. At this point, it is not clear what happened. Either the large man lunged at her, or her temper became too violent. She grabbed a Bowie knife, and small and slender though she was, she managed to plunge the knife into Cannon's chest, instantly killing him.

The stunned spectators, realizing their friend was dead, started yelling. "Lynch them!" In fear, Juanita and Jose ran to Craycroft's where they thought they would find protection. The angry mob surrounded the saloon, and the couple's defenders were forced to run for their own lives. There was no escape for Juanita. She was dragged to the main plaza and forced upon the same platform where the public speeches were heard the day before. Cannon's body, with its ugly wound, was placed nearby to inflame the crowd.

The scene was set for a mock trial. The crowd's mood became uglier as the trial continued. Juanita was found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging within the hour and denied the solace of a priest. They took the trembling 22-year old woman to a nearby cabin to wait for her death. Alone I the cabin, it can be assumed she prayed for forgiveness and the courage to accept her fate.

A rope was hung from the top of ta bridge, beneath it a plant swung out over the river. Townspeople lined the streets to see the hanging. The air was hot, and empty whiskey barrels still lay on the ground from the night before.

Juanita was taken from her cabin, and with her head held high, she bravely faced the crowd. She took the noose in her own hands and placed it around her neck. They tied her arms, skirt, and feet together -- within seconds Juanita was dead. It will never be known if she was guilty or innocent. She was the first woman who was denied the right of a trial. She was buried next to Cannon, and the legend of her hanging lives on.

Photo of Downieville at present.

Women of the Sierra by Anne Seagraves

An Encounter With The Bowie Knife

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

In 1858 Xavier Eyma published a short story about encountering James Bowie while traveling the United States. Since the hero in my first story, Night Angel, also carried this same knife, I found the encounter very interesting.

One day while traveling the U.S. Eyma found himself in a carriage with three people: a lady, her husband, and a third individual who was wrapped in a cloak and apparently sound asleep. Suddenly an enormous Kentuckian got into the coach. He was smoking a cigar and he cast a glance around him that seemed to say: ''I am half hoss and half alligator, a true son of Kentucky, flower of the forests."

The he puffed out thick clouds of smoke, without any regard for his fellow travelers, and especially for the young lady whom the smoke very evidently made sick. Thus the husband courteously asked the Kentuckian to stop smoking. The latter replied: ''I have paid for my seat. I shall smoke as much as I please, and nobody in the world shall stop me."

After saying this, he rolled his eyes fiercely and looked around him with a provocative air as if daring anyone to counter reply.

Eyma hesitated a moment, wondering whether he should intervene, but realized he would have little chance against such an athletic adversary, and thought of the impotence of the law which offered no recourse against him.

It was then the traveler, who had been asleep, calmly unwrapped his cloak and sat up straight. He was a man of medium size, rather frail looking, buttoned from top to bottom. He fixed two piercing gray eyes on the Kentuckian and before pronouncing a single word, reached behind his neck and drew out a long knife, sharp as a razor. ''Sir,'' he said to the Kentuckian, ''my name is Colonel James Bowie well known, I believe, in Arkansas and Louisiana. If, within one minute you do not throw your cigar out of the window, I shall stick this knife into your belly just as true as I am going to die someday."

The strange expression in Colonel Bowie's glance was something magnetic and fascinating. The Kentuckian bore it for a few seconds and then he lowered his eyes, took the cigar from his mouth and threw it out of the window.

Colonel Bowie then restored his knife to its peculiar sheath between his shoulders, wrapped himself in his cloak, closed his eyes, went to sleep, and did not say another word during the whole trip.

Since that time, Colonel Bowie's weapon has acquired a sinister celebrity, and its use has become too frequent in the U.S. If on one occasion, that terrible knife performed the good deed of teaching manners to a coarse Kentuckian, it has since then created many mayors, aldermen, and judges. It has become the last argument in many elections in the U.S.A.

Written by Robert E. Pike, found in the May-June, 1955, True West magazine.