The Rawhide Stagecoach Robbery of 1908
By Frank AdamsIt may have been the early English
highwaymen who said it most eloquently: "Stand and Deliver" a common catch
phrase when demanding money and valuables from waylaid travelers along the roadways.
In what was possibly the last strong box robbery from a stagecoach for Wells Fargo &
Company the demand was not so eloquenti. The robbery took place June 13,
1908, on the road between Schurz and Rawhide, Nevada. Two men, armed with revolvers,
jumped from behind a rock and shouted "hands up" to the driver and his two
passengers aboard the Day and Kano stagecoach. They demanded the strong box that
belonged to Wells Fargo & Company, and after ordering the stage driver to drive on,
they began to pry open the box.ii Recent research into this event
has revealed some intriguing facts about this little known, but historic robbery.
The early morning air was still crisp as stagecoach driver Tony Kano
hitched up his team of six horses for the run from Schurz to Rawhide about 273 miles. He
knew the summer sun would quickly and heat the desert between there and Rawhide. Distant
clouds offered only a thin hope of relief - maybe a late afternoon rain shower.iii
As Kano finished with the team of horses Wells Fargo Agent Charles Covell,
loaded the locked express box onto the stage, sliding it under the driver's seat. The
passenger compartment was filled with fresh fruit and vegetables, packages for local
Rawhide merchants and mail, leaving no room for passengers or the express box.
Kanos, two passengers and the express box would be riding atop the coach this trip.
The two passengers both arrived in Schurz via train from opposite
directions. Young Ernest Eagon arrived from Goldfield earlier that morning headed to
Rawhide in search of work. Miss Rebecca Barrett had traveled from San Francisco enroute to
Rawhide to visit her brother before her return to England. Shortly after 7:00 a.m., with
his coach loaded and passengers seated next to him, Kano set out for the stage company's
halfway station.
After stopping for lunch, Kano and his passengers continued to Rawhide. The landscape they
rode through was desolate and uninhabited desert covered with stubby sagebrush and
greasewood bushes. As the stage approached the upper end of the Regent District, Kano
slowed for a curve in the road.iv Briefly, the three watched a
stray dog running alongside the coach in pursuit of a rabbit. All of a sudden two heads
popped up from behind a large rock outcrop near the trail. Two men stepped forward. The
short one wore a sackcloth over his head and the tall one wore a black silk handkerchief
over his face. They each trained a revolver on the stage and ordered, "Hands
up!" Kano brought the six horses to a stop. The tall man with the handkerchief over
his face demanded to know what the stage carried besides mail. Kano replied, "The
Wells Fargo." The bandit ordered him to "Throw it down." Once the strong
box was on the ground the men then asked for water. Both highwaymen drank from Kano's
canteen and returned it with a polite "thank you." One of them looked under the
stage flap at the rear of the coach and then ordered Kano to "drive on." Just
down the road, Miss Barrett looked back and saw the men prying open the strong box with a
chisel.v His passengers now safe from harm, Kano covered the six
remaining miles to Rawhide as rapidly as possible.
Even before the robbery, Rawhide was less than a peaceful spot. Captain W. L. Cox,
superintendent of the Nevada State Police (NSP), had just arrived from Nevada's capitol,
Carson City, on June 9th. He had been dispatched by Governor Sparks to resolve a general
strike called by the miners. They were protesting earlier actions against them and some
local businessmen by officers of the state police.
Once word of the robbery reached Rawhide, a posse of lawmen and local citizens and lawmen
was quickly organized and then set out in search of the bandits. Captain Cox took charge
of the investigation immediately.vi Deputy Sheriffs and state police
officers returned to the robbery scene with the aid of several citizens and their
automobiles. Other lawmen headed out to the settlements of Fallon and Manhattan to search
for the bandits - some on horseback, some in roadsters and touring cars.
Following directions to the robbery site, NSP Sergeants William Otts
and J. R. Hunter, along with Private Templeton, Private Anderson and Officer H. W. Lane
arrived to examine the crime scene. Along the stage trail they found the Wells Fargo
strong box. It had been pried open and emptied.
They followed two sets of boot tracks away from the box to the top
of a nearby hill. There they found evidence that two men had lain in wait with a
commanding view of the stage trail. In the sand, they found two empty beer bottles, one
broken. Officer Lane spotted a bit of tissue paper sticking out of the dirt a short
distant down the trail. It turned out to be the wrapping paper, for two of the packages
the strong box had held. These were open, but their contents - diamonds - were still in
their small boxes.
Captain Cox arrived at the scene accompanied by R. D. Pickett, a
land surveyor from Rawhide. With pertinent detail, Pickett mapped the vicinity of the
robbery site producing a crime scene sketch for the state police.
When Sgt. Otts finished at the robbery site he traveled on to the
halfway station and then to Schurz, where he talked to Robert C. Dyer, the merchant at the
Indian trading post. Dyer told him that two men had visited the trading post on June 9th
hoping to borrow money. They claimed to have been prospecting near Wabuska and told him
about losing their team of mules. The smaller of the two men wore a badge of bright metal
on his vest and claimed to be a deputy sheriff. Since they were broke, they pawned a gun
with Dyer for five dollars. The fellow with the badge had Dyer send a telegram to Rawhide.
Sgt. Otts also talked with Charles Covell, the stage agent in Schurz. Covell told Otts
that he had provided two men with tickets for the stage that departed for Rawhide on June
10th. One of the two identified himself as a deputy sheriff from Goldfield and
showed Covell his badge. Covell recognized the other man. They were brothers in the same
fraternal order. The men said that they would make their headquarters at the Claiborne
Hotel in Rawhide, and would arrange to pay for the tickets when they arrived. Feeling
comfortable with these two, Covell allowed them to ride C.O.D.
The next morning, Sgt. J. R. Hunter headed south over the mountains
from Rawhide to Walker, then down to Double Springs and back to the halfway station. There
he contacted W. C. Stubler who worked and lived at the station. Stubler informed the
Sergeant that two strangers had arrived at the halfway station on the morning of the
robbery. They drove a hack drawn by two Roan horses. On credit the men bought breakfast
and feed for their horses. They told Stubler they would be prospecting in the Red Mountain
area, several miles from the halfway station. These men left the team and hack with
Stubler and started out on foot. Stubler said he prepared them a lunch of two sandwiches
and water in two soda or beer bottles. To follow up on this information, Sgt. Hunter gave
one of the horses from the strangers' team to Officer Templeton who had arrived by auto
from Rawhide. He instructed Templeton to continue the search for the robbers on horse
back. Hunter would wait at the halfway station for the return of the so called
prospectors.
Later that day, one of the two men walked out of the desert into the
halfway station. Promptly, he was at odds with the station master: "What God dam Son
of a Bitch of a State Police took my horse?" The stranger was soon standing
face to face with Sgt. Hunter, had on his hand on his gun, a colt revolver in a holster at
his side. Sgt. Hunter explained that the horse was being used to search for the stage
robbers. The man became less belligerent and introduced himself to as Hunter that he was
James Bliss, a Deputy Sheriff from Goldfield. He showed Hunter his badge, a five pointed
star with ball tips.
Tension resurfaced when Bliss demanded to know if Sgt. Hunter
intended to confiscate his gun. Not having to surrender his firearm, Bliss told Hunter he
and his friend William Walters, had been prospecting in the nearby mountains, and now he
was headed back to Rawhide. Bliss paid for the meals and horse feed from the day before
with a ten dollar gold piece, then set out for Rawhide with Sgt. Hunter.
Information about the two hapless prospectors in Schurz was relayed
to Captain Cox in Rawhide. This helped the State Police determine that these fellows
rented a cabin a couple days earlier from Ed Gosslein, a Rawhide real estate agent.
They then rented a wagon and two horses from the Pioneer corral on June 12th.
The men told the owner of the corral of their mining claims about twelve miles east of
Schurz. With the hack and team they planned to check on their claims.
When Sgt. Hunter returned from the halfway station with Bliss, he
made his report to Captain Cox. Based on the information gathered from Schurz and Rawhide
about Bliss and Walters, Cox ordered the two men arrested for the stagecoach robbery. The
next morning, the State Police took the pair into custody and turned them over to the
local Deputy Sheriff. They were promptly locked up in the Rawhide jail.
Sgt. Otts retrieved Walters' boots from the jail. Their sole leather
was torn away exposing the boot nails. With a greater taste for fashion than for comfort,
Bliss purchased a new set of boots after returning to Rawhide. Otts checked with the local
merchants and found that Bliss had bought the new boots from Simonds. The merchant still
had Bliss' old boots at his shop. With both pair of boots, Otts returned to the site of
the robbery, where he matched Walter's boots with seventeen prints of tracks made by the
one of the bandits. The distinctive, nail-riddled sole made Otts' task easy, it left a
distinct impression in the dirt. Bliss' boots also had a unique characteristic. There was
a large "V" or wedge on one of the heels that matched four of the shoe prints
found at the scene.viii The earliest reports of the robbery indicated that the
bandits made off with $12,000 in payroll for the mines. The Coalition Company was supposed
to have lost $7,000ix. However, by the time the preliminary hearing was held on
June 18th, 1908, the record of the contents of the express box had been reduced
considerably. One of the witnesses was W. P. Talbott, Assistant Agent for the Southern
Pacific Railway at Schurz. It was his duty to handle the "express box" for Wells
Fargo before it was transferred to the stagecoach company. He testified that the contents
included: three small boxes, valued at $1,210 total; a box addressed to the Rawhide Press
Times, with a C.O.D. of $7.80; letters of expense and several items of personal
correspondencex. It was not unusual for Wells Fargo & Company to understate
their loss in a robbery to maintain credibility with their customers. This possibly was
the case with this stage robbery. Wells Fargo detectives stayed on the case well after the
recovery of the property and the preliminary hearing.xi
During the hearing in Rawhide, Justice of the Peace H. F. Brede
heard from additional witnesses. Their testimony provided circumstantial evidence which
linked Bliss and Walters to the robbery. State Police had presented evidence collected at
the site of the robbery and from the suspects. Also admitted into evidence was the map
prepared by R. D. Pickett, the surveyor employed by Captain Cox. The map showed detailed
information about the location and terrain at the site of the robbery.xii
The closest thing to a positive identification of the robbery suspects was the
testimony of the 19 year-old stage passenger, Ernest Eagon. Sgt. Hunter had escorted him
to the Rawhide jail where he got a look at the suspects, Bliss and Walters. Eagon
testified that the tall man he had seen in the jail cell (Walters) had the same eyes as
the masked stage robber.xiii
Wells Fargo & Company was so interested in this case they sent
one of their senior detectives to monitor the hearing. Special Officer Cornelius Cain
arrived in Rawhide from San Francisco shortly after the robbery and was present during the
proceedings. Cain later provided Sheriff W. A. Ingalls of Esmeralda County with
considerable information regarding James Bliss and his criminal history. He prepared a
written synopsis of the testimony at the hearing and forwarded it to Ingalls. Cain's
correspondence with the Sheriff revealed that Wells Fargo was very anxious to see Bliss
and Walters prosecuted for this robbery.xiv
Based on the evidence, of June 22, 1908, Justice of the Peace H. F.
Brede ordered James Bliss and W. M. Walters "held to answer" and setting bail at
$1,500 each. He then turned over the case to the Esmeralda County District Attorney who
would then have to present the case to the county grand jury in Goldfield.xv Sheriff Ingalls'
deputies transferred Bliss and Walters from the Rawhide jail to the jail in Goldfield and
since neither man could make bail, they were both held there pending further court
appearances.
Though the Goldfield jail was hardly a year old, William Walters apparently found it not
to his taste. On August 1, 1908, Walters and four other inmates staged an unsuccessful
jail break. Surprisingly, Bliss was not among them. Obliging the conspirator's pleas,
Jailer Jack Hart fetched donuts for them. As he opened the jail door to the lower corridor
the prisoners attacked him. Jailer Hart was hit over the head with his heavy set of door
keys knocking him to the floor. Fortunately, Sheriff Ingalls saw to it that two deputies
were on duty whenever prisoners were out of their cells. Deputy Pete Brechelsen was close
at hand. Before any of the prisoners could exit the corridor, Deputy Brechelsen jumped in
and leveled his gun at them. The hapless jailer called for him to shoot. Instead the
Deputy beat Walters over the head with his pistol. The other prisoners backed off and
headed for their cells. Suddenly, two came back out toward Brechelsen, and were promptly
met with the same fate as Walters. Walters and the others were eventually charged with
attempted escape from a county jail.xvi
During their preliminary hearing, Bliss became a witness for the prosecution, testifying
against Walters and the others.xvii
On September 5th, 1908, the Esmeralda County Grand Jury returned a "True
Bill", indicting Bliss and Walters for the "crime of Robbery." Bail of
$5,000 was set for each defendant.xviii
Neither Walters nor Bliss had the means to make bail and it looked like they would stay
behind bars until their trial date.xix
Oddly, Bliss was already familiar with the Goldfield jail just not as an inmate. Under the
name of Thomas Bliss, he had, in fact, served as a Deputy Sheriff in 1907 and 1908.xx As deputy sheriff in Goldfield,
Bliss had been a key witness in the Preston and Smith murder trial in 1907. This case
stirred the call for federal troops by mine owners to prevent union violence. The
deployment of troops in Goldfield rapidly lead to the formation of the Nevada State
Police, established by the Nevada Legislature in January of 1908.xxi The state lawmen served in Goldfield and later in Rawhide
to maintain order between the miners and businessmen. Since the Smith and Preston murder
trial ultimately gave rise to the Nevada State Police, Bliss' testimony in that infamous
case, in a sense, begot the very lawmen who later apprehended him.
The irony does not stop here. The Smith and Preston trial shook loose the first
tantalizing hints that there was more to Deputy Sheriff Bliss than met the badge. A
defense witness told the court that Bliss was not a mine owner from Utah as he claimed.
Bliss was actually C. L. "Gunplay" Maxwell, a member of Butch Cassidy's Wild
Bunch. In fact, several of Goldfield's citizens knew of Bliss' reputation as an outlaw but
they overlooked it at the trial, benefitting from his perjured testimony. Bliss continued
in his role as a Deputy Sheriff for a short time after the Smith and Preston trial.xxii
Shortly after Bliss' robbery indictment, he wrote a letter to his wife, Bessie, in San
Francisco. In this letter he bragged that if he had made bail he could have sent her a
considerable amount of money. He told her that his bail should have been posted by those
who were supposedly his friends but they made his situation their pleasure. He hinted of
personal details of his background, but evidently couldn't bring himself to tell her.xxiii
Bliss may have had in mind his previous criminal activities or his relationship
with the mine owners after his perjured testimony at the Preston and Smith trial.xxiv
On September 31, 1908, Bliss wrote another letter to his wife. He told her that the
"unexpected had happened" - someone had posted bail for him and he was
"once again enjoying freedom." He said he would wait for his trial date to be
set and then head for San Francisco. It is unknown how he signed his first letters to his
wife, but this letter was signed "Clarence L. Seaman", one of his many aliases.
He was seen later in the fall in San Francisco living well and sporting a number of jewels
on his vest. While Bliss was in San Francisco, his activities were monitored by agents of
the Wells Fargo & Company.xxv
Bliss was never tried for the stagecoach robbery. The only mention of him jumping bail was
printed in the "Goldfield Daily Tribune." There was no mention about him being
allowed to leave the area. Evidently, no attempt was made to return him to Goldfield for
trial. By perjuring himself in their behalf at the Preston and Smith trial, Bliss may have
tried to hold the Mine Owners' Association and Citizens' Alliance of Goldfield hostage. As
a result members of this organization including George Wingfield, a prominent Nevadan, may
have been disinclined to have Bliss prosecuted or interfere with his personal life.xxvi
Like Bliss, Walters did not stand trial for the stage robbery. However, Walters stayed
more familiar with prison than Bliss. Walters was convicted on February 20, 1909, for
"Attempt to escape from a County jail." On March 5, 1909, he was sentenced to
four years in the Nevada State Prison in Carson City, Nevada.xxvii During his incarceration
there, he asked for clemency or a pardon from the Board of Pardons, but was refused. The
District Attorney from Esmeralda County commented that Walters was lucky he didn't receive
a longer sentence because of his lead role in the attempted escape.xxviii
In 1912, Captain J. P. Donnelley of the Nevada State Police tried to have Walters stand
trial for the stagecoach robbery before his release from prison. Donnelley wrote several
letters to both District Attorneys of Esmeralda County and Mineral County in an effort to
convince them to bring Walters to trial, although his efforts were not successful.xxix
Nevada State Police criminal history records revealed that William Peter Walters
was born in Minnesota and was a resident of Grass Valley, California. He apparently had
spent some time in Montana, as one of his letters of recommendation for pardon came from a
fraternal organization called Shoshone Tribe No. 1
Improved Order of Red Men from Butte, Montana.xxx He was released from prison in
1912. Oddly enough, had Bliss spent as much time behind bars, he would have possibly fared
better than he did.
Bliss was born about 1860, probably in Boston, to a family that owned a hotel. Sometime
around 1875, he killed a friend in a bar room brawl. To avoid arrest, he fled westward
settling in Wyoming. There he worked for several large cattle companies as a cowboy and a
gunfighter.xxxi He was eventually
convicted of grand larceny in Wyoming in 1893, and served three years in the state
penitentiary. C. L. Maxwell was the name he was known by during his trial and
incarceration. It was during this prison stay that he first met Butch Cassidy. They served
a year and a half in prison together and were released within a week of each other. After
leaving Wyoming, Bliss headed for Utah where he continued his criminal association with
Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch Gang.xxxii In 1898, still using the name Maxwell, he was
convicted of bank robbery in Springfield, Utah and sentenced to five years in the State
Prison. His sentence was commuted and, after release from prison, he went to work as a
mine guard during a strike in Carbon County, Utah.xxxiv
From there he drifted to Goldfield, where he became a Deputy Sheriff using the name Thomas
Bliss. In late winter of 1907, he presented himself in San Francisco as William H. Seaman
"a descendent of one of the oldest titled families in Italy." He eventually
married the wealthy widow, Bessie Hume. Bliss returned to Reno for his honeymoon and
possibly was in Rawhide using the name Seaman. In October of 1908, after making bail on
the stagecoach robbery charge, he joined his wife in San Francisco but didn't stay long.
He left San Francisco and by all accounts his wife, Bessie, in the summer of 1909.xxxv
Bliss later showed up in Price, Utah, the same territory where he had tried so hard to be
an outlaw.xxxvi During the appeal of the
Preston and Smith murder case to impeach Bliss' testimony, attorney Orrin Nelson Hilton
did extensive research into Bliss' background. Hilton had been hired by the Western
Federation of Miners to represent the defendants. Hilton determined that shortly after
Bliss returned to Price, he began planning a payroll robbery. The coal companies, having
been tipped off, determined to thwart Bliss' plans ordered Deputy Sheriff Edward Black
Johnson to stop him. Johnson and Bliss' paths had crossed twice before, once in Utah after
Bliss was released from prison and again in Goldfield, Nevada. Here Johnson had tried to
discredit Bliss' testimony against Walters by telling the judge that Bliss was actually an
outlaw from Utah.
Johnson's mission, in fact, was to kill Bliss at the earliest opportunity.xxxvii
True to form, Bliss made the Deputy Sheriff's job simple. Bliss became involved in an
argument with a local railroad detective, Thomas Barge. Using this as a pretext for a
confrontation, Johnson met Bliss on the street in Price. Words were exchanged gunfire
ensued, and Bliss lay dying on the ground and before he died he recognized Johnson.xxxviii
So ended the criminal career and life of
James Bliss a.k.a. C. L. "Gunplay" Maxwell, a.k.a. William the Seaman.
At the time of the stagecoach robbery, Rawhide was a booming mining town that was more
"boom" than mining. Its fame was short lived and it soon declined to become one
of Nevada's obscure ghost towns. The west was in a period of transition. Automobiles would
soon replace the horse and buggy. The telephone would replace the telegraph. Scientific
forensic methods such as finger prints, firearm identification and the collection of
physical evidence were being studied and increasingly applied in the field of criminal
investigations. Although, the 1908 holdup was not the last stagecoach robbery in Nevada,
it was probably the last strong box stage robbery the Wells Fargo & Company would
experience. The days of the highwaymen of the Old West were drawing to a close. Nevada and
America were moving headlong into the Twentieth Century and stagecoach robberies would
soon be replaced by more modern methods of relieving individuals and businesses of their
money and valuables.
Endnotes
i
- Lusius Beebe and Charles Cleg, U.S. West, the Sage
of Wells Fargo, (New York E. P. Dutton Co., 1949) 310
ii - State of Nevada v. James Bliss, W.M. Walters, Justice
Court of Rawhide Township, County of Esmeralda, 22 June 1908.
Preliminary hearing transcript,
County Clerks Office, Case #83 (513).
iii - Report of weather, Mina, NV, 13 June 1908, NV State
Climatologist, UNR.
iv - Rawhide Rustler [NV], 13 June 1908, at 1, col. 2.
v - ibid
vi - Capt. Cox
<BACK TO THE TOP> |
Queho, The Renegade Indian In
two parts
by Harry Reid, and K. J. Evans On the day of February 21, 1940 the headlines in the Las Vegas
Review-Journal read BODY OF INDIAN FOUND. This sparked memories for
many in the town of the first murder this dead Indian had committed at Timber Mountain 30
years ago, just a few miles away from Searchlight in the McCullough Range.
Queho, a local southern Nevada Indian, had
worked at various menial jobs throughout the Searchlight area. He had been cutting
wood for J.M. Woodworth, a timber and firewood contractor who had refused to pay him.
This made Queho fly into a rage and he beat the man to death with a piece of
timber. This was the first murder of what was to become a thirty year odyssey.
Queho soon struck again. The second
murder took place near the Gold Bug Mine, near the river in Eldorado Canyon.
The Gold Bug Mine was co-owned by Frank Rockefeller, brother to John D. Rockefeller.
Sometime later, Queho admitted to Canyon Charlie, a Indian elder nearly a hundred years
old, that he had killed the mine's night watchman, his former employer. The second
murder occurred on the route between the Crescent area, where the woodcutter was killed,
and the river.
The local law thought they would have no
trouble at all catching Queho, who they considered to be just a little more than a
ignorant savage. They couldn't have been more than wrong. Queho stole a horse
from a man named Cox and the chase was on.
It was assumed by many that Queho would be easy
to track, since he dragged one leg as a result of an earlier injury. The
search party was led by the operator of the Eldorado mine, a lawyer educated in
Washington, DC, James Babcock. Along with a contingent of lawmen from Las Vegas,
Indian trackers and an Indian agent named DeCrevecoeur.
The posse tracked Queho over 200 miles ranging from
Crescent to Nipton, even working their way toward Pahranagat Valley, 150 miles to the
north. Running short on supplies, and growing weary, the posse gave up the pursuit.
At this point they began to believe this Indian was more cunning and smart than
they gave him credit for. Maybe he wasn't quite the "dumb" savage they had
believed.
The first part was adopted from the book: Searchlight The
Camp That Didn't Fall, 1998
The following is from the Las Vegas Review-Journal The
First 100 People Who Shaped Southern Nevada web site
One afternoon, a local miner came into a clearing near
Timber Mountain and there, seated on a rock, his .30-30 rifle across his lap, was the
"ignorant savage" himself. Fred Pine, who had known Queho in Las Vegas, greeted
him in his most amiable tone of voice. Queho responded in kind, no animosity in his voice.
So they did lunch. Pine dug out a bag of sandwiches, and passed some of them to Queho.
When he had finished, Queho told Pine that he, too, wanted to share his lunch, and
produced a dried rodent of some sort. Pine gracefully declined. After about a half-hour,
he decided to try and make an exit. He said good-bye and walked away, expecting to be
felled at any moment. He wasn't.
"I guess he just wasn't in a killing mood that
day," Pine later recalled.
If the newspapers were to be believed, he got into a
"killing mood" again in 1913, when a 100-year-old blind Indian known as Canyon
Charlie was found dead, a pickax wound in his head.
In recalling the crime, the Las Vegas Evening
Review-Journal of 1938 waxed sensational:
"Charlie's meager supply of food was gone; mute
testimony of the terrifying fact that this ghost-like maniac would kill for anything -- or
nothing -- since he might easily have stolen the old man's belongings without resorting to
murder." The fact is, this crime probably wasn't Queho's. The elder in question,
Canyon Charlie, was his friend and confidant.
Within the next two months, two more miners who were
working claims at Jenny Springs on the Arizona side of the river, were found dead, shot in
the back. Their provisions and personal items were taken. Shortly after that, an Indian
woman was found dead, still clutching a bundle of the wood she had been gathering. She
hadn't been robbed. Queho got the blame. He was also accused of slaying one James
Patterson, who turned up some days later unhurt, though Reid says that during the course
of the search for Patterson, another man had been found murdered. Queho got credit for his
demise, too.
As Queho hysteria grew, large rewards were offered for the
villain's capture, eventually reaching $2,000. And the Searchlight Bulletin reminded its
readers of the principle that guided most European/American Indian relations in the 19th
century.
"A good Indian is a dead Indian," it thundered.
Between 1915 and 1919, Queho kept his head down. Even so,
anytime a prospector disappeared in the desert, or a miner spent too long at the bar and
fell asleep, and his wife began to panic, the demonic name of Queho was invoked.
He was the bogeyman. Child won't behave? Tell him Queho
will get him if he isn't good.
On a cold January day in 1919, two prospectors named
Hancock and Taylor set out from their camp near St. Thomas on the Muddy River, upstream
from Eldorado Canyon. They left behind a third man, Brown, who was ill. Two days later, a
neighbor stopped by the camp and found Brown hysterical with fear. His partners were gone,
and he was unable to go search for them. A posse was rounded up in St. Thomas, and it set
off downstream. It was a short trip. Hancock and Taylor were found four miles away, both
shot in the back. Taylor's head had been smashed in with an ax handle. Nothing was missing
but their shoes. Queho was, of course the prime suspect.
About a week later, Maud Douglas, the wife of an Eldorado
Canyon miner, woke up to hear some peculiar noises coming from the larder at the rear of
the couple's cabin. She rose to investigate. She may have seen the figure of her killer,
or the blinding flash as he fired his shotgun at close range and filled her chest with
buckshot.
It was Queho, everyone decided, doing his winter grocery
shopping. On the floor, canned goods and cornmeal were piled, evidently left behind by the
fleeing killer. Reid believes that Queho was indeed the killer, but points out that there
is room for doubt.
Maud Douglas had two children of her own, and
responsibility for two others, Bertha and Leo Kennedy. The boy was but 4 years old at the
time of the murder, but he later stated that Arvin Douglas, Maud's husband, had killed
her. Bertha said that she had awakened Maud Douglas and asked for a glass of water, and
that was the reason she was in the kitchen at the time. Still, authorities had all the
evidence they needed -- Queho's footprints at the crime scene.
It was an atrocity that truly motivated Southern Nevada.
Sheriff Sam Gay ordered Deputy Frank Wait to round up a posse, hire the best trackers and
once and for all kill or capture Queho. The party included several Indians. The posse
tracked him north to Las Vegas Wash, to Callville, and on to Muddy Mountain, where they
lost his trail in a snowstorm. Wait picked up more men in Moapa Valley, including five
Indians, and the group split into two parties, one going in each direction, encircling the
mountain. They found the remains of two freshly killed desert bighorn sheep, but not their
man, whose trail eventually led back to Las Vegas Wash.
At Black Canyon (current site of Hoover Dam) Wait awoke one
morning and saw a blazing fire in the distance. He counted his posse and discovered that
two of the Indians were gone. They were signaling Queho. When they returned, Wait sent
them packing.
By this time the exhausted and demoralized posse had
dwindled to three men. Wait caught influenza and had to return to Las Vegas. It was the
end of that phase of The Hunt for Red Queho. But he remained a very wanted man.
In the early 1930s, Clark County Sheriff Joe Keate was an
ardent Queho-chaser. He had first been sent to Southern Nevada in quest of Queho while
serving as a state policeman, and seems to have developed a grudging admiration for his
quarry. Reid said he once remarked that Queho was "able to starve a coyote to death
and still have plenty of strength to continue." Keate had one close encounter with
someone he believed to be Queho, when a bullet whistled past his ear one dark night. The
shooter eluded him.
Queho was not without friends. His countrymen certainly
assisted him, while at the same time unanimously declaring that he was long dead. And,
despite his fugitive status, many whites helped him as well. Murl Emery, the legendary
Colorado River boatman, who operated a ferry at Nelson's landing in Eldorado Canyon for
many years, never hid the fact that he saw Queho often, liked him, and wasn't slow in
lending him a hand.
"Why don't you let the poor Indian rest?" he was
once quoted as saying.
The hunt for the renegade Indian finally ended in February
1940. Charley Kenyon, along with brothers Art and Ed Schroeder, were prospecting along the
Colorado about 10 miles below Hoover Dam. Charley and Ed were working the high sides of
the steep canyon when they discovered what appeared to be a low stone wall. The spot was
about 2,000 feet above the river and commanded a total view of the canyon. There was a
trip wire, which was rigged to an alarm bell inside the cave on the other side of the
wall. Inside the cave were the mummified remains of an American Indian male. He was in a
fetal position, which suggested that he had died in pain. He had been bitten by a
rattlesnake, which may have been the cause of death.
"Some of his old pursuers," said Reid, "not
wanting to acknowledge that they had been outsmarted, tried to say he had been dead since
1919."
Not true. Blasting caps, dynamite and sheets of plywood,
evidently stolen from the Hoover Dam job site, confirmed that the man had been active as
late as the early 1930s. (He used the blasting caps to reload his own cartridges.) Also in
the cave were the badge of the old night watchman from the Gold Bug Mine, a .30-30
Winchester saddle rifle, a repeating shotgun, a high-quality bow and a quiver of
steel-tipped arrows, probably used for fishing. There were several pairs of eyeglasses, a
clue that the Indian's eyesight failed in his old age. There also were numerous pairs of
shoes of various sizes, which were used to patch the pair on Queho's feet.
But was the corpse actually that of Queho? Old timer
"Uncle" Joe Perkins insisted that the man was actually an Indian named Long Hair
Tom, who was a close friend of Queho's. Tom, able to move among the white men and gather
supplies, kept Queho supplied, and may have shared the cave with Queho -- perhaps even
died in it. However, Indians who had known Queho since youth told authorities that he had
double rows of teeth, something he had in common with the cave corpse.
Wait, then Las Vegas chief of police, went to the cave,
along with a party of 10 others, including Coroner A. J. Nelson, who held an inquest on
the spot. The verdict was death by natural causes. Wait told the Las Vegas Review-Journal
in 1948 that before leaving the cave, he had picked up the corpse and "planted a
resounding kick on its posterior," then added that he had been waiting 20 years to do
that.
Charley Kenyon and the Schroeder brothers were paid $300 by
the Las Vegas Elks Lodge, a far cry from the $2,000 once offered for the dreaded outlaw.
"But," added Ed Schroeder, "we did get a
bonus of a can of coffee out of the affair. We found it in the cave with the body. It was
good coffee. We took it back to camp and used it down to the very last grain."
A squabble then erupted over who owned the remains. The
option of simply burying them doesn't seem to have been considered. Sheriff Gene Ward put
the bones and artifacts in a display case in the county courthouse. Meanwhile, Wait sought
out a man named Archie Kay of Moapa, who claimed to be Queho's next of kin. For $25, he
gave Wait a bill of sale for Queho's remains and all artifacts found in the cave. The old
lawman then presented the bill to the Boulder City justice of the peace, and demanded that
Queho be released from county custody. The magistrate was evidently horrified at the
entire notion, and refused to honor the bill. At the next election, a new justice of the
peace was elected.
The bones and artifacts then came into the possession of
the Las Vegas Elks, who produced what was then the city's biggest public celebration,
Helldorado. The Elks built a replica of Queho's cave, and furnished it with what was left
of him and his effects. The bones and plunder were later stolen from Helldorado Village.
The bones were scattered in Bonanza Wash and later recovered, but the artifacts remain
missing.
Roland Wiley, a former district attorney of Clark County,
finally obtained a skeleton said to be that of Queho and respectfully interred it beside
his Cathedral Canyon desert grotto near Pahrump.
To some, the story of Queho is no more than a tale of a
brutish killer. To others, American Indians in particular, it is the story of a man who
was abused, hounded for his entire life, then, in death, rendered into a cheap carnival
attraction.
"Indians were granted no respect," Reid wrote.
"And they were harassed and discriminated against in increasingly offensive ways. It
is no wonder that Queho's fellow Indians helped him. Nor is it surprising that he became
known among the few Indians of the area as someone who had stood up to the white
man."
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