GUNS Magazine January 1956

COULD GUNFIGHTERS REALLY SHOOT?
(Continued jrom page 17)
work unless he was specifically ordered to
carry a weapon.
Actually, according to Governor Granville
Stuart of Montana, who was not only a good
man with a gun, but hired many who were,
"Not more than ten out of a hundred cow-
boys owned a revolver in the 80's in
Wyoming and Montana, although most of
them had a rifle."
With thousands of cowboys from Texas to
Montana and the cattle industry spreading
everywhere on vast public ranges, disturb-
ances were to be expected. But the record
shows that despite the exuberance of ranch
riders one marshal and a brace of deputies
could usually keep the peace in a cowtown
that was one solid line of saloons, honky-
tonks and bawdy houses. Of course, such
marshals or sheriffs included fast-draw artists
like Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Wild Bill
Hickolt, Heck Thomas, Bud Ledbetter, Chris
Madsen, Bill Tilghman, to name but a few
of the better-known.
The cowboy didn't fare too well in his gun-
battles in the cow towns that lived off the
range trade and trail traffic. Even when he
did a lot of shooting, he did very little hit-
ting. Examples are legion, but one of the
best is R. J. Jennings' eye-witness description
of the free-for-all in Tom Shurman's Bar in
Dodge City in 1881. Two trail outfits, each
with 3,000 head of long horns, arrived at
Dodge on the same day and camped on the
@asslands surrounding the clapboard town.
Three months on the monotonous trail had
left both crews irritable, dry and ready for a
toot. Both hit the saloons at the same time.
Some 40 crowded into Shurman's and ba~
whiskey flowed like water. Within a few
minutes some of the boys were carrying quite
a head of steam.
One thing led to another and suddenly a
M Bar rider began to pistol whip a cowboy
from the Texas City outfit. This sport quickly
ended when one of the friends of the latter
whipped out his sixgun and took a shot at
the M Bar cowboy. Guns flashed out of
holsters and the din, according to Jennings,
sounded like a replay of the Battle of Shiloh.
More than a hundred shots were fired before
the room was cleared-by way of both the
back as well as front doors. When the mess
was surveyed, the results were astonishing.
Not one rider had been killed or wounded!
A cat sitting near the piano had forfeited
even its ninth life, and there wasn't a fixture
or mirror left intact in the whole place. The
managers of both outfits split the bill the
next morning to avoid a mass arrest of their
crews.
An even more dramatic example of wasting
good ammunition occurred in Frisco, New
Mexico, in 1884. A young Mexican rider
newly graduated from a mail-order detective
training course, and proud of his badge sent
him by the school, rode into the western New
Mexico cowtown just as a Texas cowboy
from the Slaughter outfit began to celebrate
by shooting up the town. This was a common
use for the cowboys' sixguns during the
period and was a familiar sport from the
gulf to northern Montana and from Dakota
Territory to the Sierra Madres. It simply
consisted of getting well lathered with "rot
48
gut'' whiskey, and then striding vr riding up
the main street of town taking pot shots at
signs, lamps, windows and local natives.
The ~outhful horseman was named Elfego
Baca and his visit was occasioned by the fact
that his girl had recently moved to the town
from Socorro. Baca asked the New Mexican
justice of the peace why he didn't stop the
cowboy from terrorizing the natives. "Don't
be a fool," replied that official. "If I interfere
he'll have all eighty of the Slaughter
cowboys up here in an hour. They'll release
him and then tear this town apart. They
don't like mexicanos!"
Baca thought the reasoning silly and said
so. "You can't convince those Texans to
respect us or any other mexicanos by letting
them walk all over you. I'll arrest that
drunk."
He did-without any resistance from the
celebrant whatever. But the justice of the
peace was too frightened to try the man. "I'l
not bring the Texans down on us."
"Then," Baca announced, "I'll take my
prisoner to the county seat at Socorro." He
took the subdued cowboy to the hotel and
both put up for the night. Within a few
minutes, however, the Slaughter foreman,
Perry Perham, and seven cowboys rode up
and demanded the prisoner. Baca calmly
refused. Perham, still mounted, began an
abusive tirade casting aspersions on Elfego's
forebears. Without raising his voice, the
mail-order deputy just commented, "I'm go-
~ng
to count t~ three and you've just that
long to get out of towmW
Perham paid no attention but launched
into another threatening speech. Baca
ignored it and began his count. "One. TWO.
Three!" At the end of his count both six-guns
appeared in his hands as though by magic.
Before the astounded Slaughter riders could
recover and retreat, their foreman lay dead
in the street, crushed by his horse. Three
others were down. The rest left the plaza in
a rush. Then the trouble really started.
During the night the Slaughter riders rode
to every American ranch in the vicinity
charging that the Frisco natives were bent
on wiping out all the "Americanos." When
some of the ranchers investigated during the
early morning hours, they found everything
peaceful. A hurried conference with the
justice of the peace and Baca led to an agree-
ment to try the Slaughter cowboy for dis-
turbing the peacea minor infraction-fine
him and end what threatened to turn into a
race war.
But the letting of Slaughter blood had to
be avenged. Just as Baca turned his prisoner
over to the justice, in rode the entire Texas
crew-all 80 of them according to court
testimony and uncontested eye-witness ac-
counts. They cared nothing about their un-
fortunate companion. They wanted Baca
. . . and they wanted him either stretching
a rope or well ventilated with Texas lead.
Even in the face of the whole crew, however,
the 19-year-old Mexican refused to back
down. When one of the Texans fired, he
drew and covered the acting foreman and
several others immediately in front of him.