Legends of the Old West - LEGENDS Ep. 8 | “Trilogy: The Outlaw; The Shootout; The Duel”

Episode Date: July 1, 2018

A trio of lesser-known, action-packed stories: a bandit plundered California for 23 years, including robbing an entire town; a sheriff shot it out with a family of killers in Arizona; two brothel owners fought a duel in Denver — naked. Join Black Barrel+ for early access and bingeable seasons: blackbarrel.supportingcast.fm/join For more details, visit our website www.blackbarrelmedia.com and check out our social media pages. We’re @OldWestPodcast on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Benefits vary by card. Other conditions apply. In the deepening darkness of evening, ten to twelve men stalked across the Kings River Bridge. They moved quickly, but quietly, and commandeered a toll booth that was positioned on the south bank of the river under a sprawling tree. It was little more than a shack, but it guarded the entrance to the small town. It was little more than a shack, but it guarded the entrance to the small town. The village of Kingston consisted of two stores, a hotel, a blacksmith's shop, and a few saloons. The buildings were nestled in a bend of Kings River, about 30 miles southeast of Fresno, California. As the gang of Mexican outlaws gathered near the toll booth, The town of Kingston was at their mercy. Citizens strolled up the street, enjoying the cool December evening.

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Go to shopify.com slash r-e-a-l-m now to grow your business, no matter what stage you're in. Shopify.com slash realm. Welcome to the Legends of the Old West podcast. I'm your host, Chris Wimmer, and this episode will feature a trilogy of action-packed stories. You'll hear about a notorious outlaw in California, a wild gunfight in Arizona, and a naked duel in Colorado. Here we go. Tibercio Vasquez was handsome, talkative, and charming. He wore nice suits. He played the guitar and sang and danced. In later years, stage plays and pulp novels would portray Vasquez as a stereotypical Mexican bandit

with a big sombrero, a flashy waistcoat, and concho-studded breeches. In reality, he was the opposite. He came from a prominent Northern California family. He was the opposite. He came from a prominent Northern California family. His great-grandfather helped found San Francisco after arriving in the area with an expedition in 1776. His grandfather was one of the first settlers in San Jose and was elected alcalde of the area three times. His father was a councilman in San Jose.

His family wasn't rich, but they were a respected lineage, and Vasquez grew up mostly in Monterey. Things started to change, though, in the 1840s and 1850s. America went to war with Mexico and took California by force. By 1847, the former Mexican province was part of the United States. In January 1848, gold was discovered at Sutter's Mill, and that was all she wrote. Americans flooded into California

and pushed out the Californios who'd been living there for generations. The once-prominent Mexican families in the province began to watch in shock as their power, prestige, and economy crumbled. Vasquez witnessed the changes in real time and developed a bitter lifelong hatred of Americans. In 1852, he was 17 years old and he put himself permanently on the outlaw trail. That year, he opened his own dance hall in a small adobe building in Monterey. He attended a fiesta with one of his cousins, who was already a known outlaw. A fight broke out, and the constable was shot and killed.

No one was sure who fired the fatal shot, but Vasquez and his cousin didn't wait around to answer questions. They fled into the hills, and Vasquez never openly cousin didn't wait around to answer questions. They fled into the hills, and Vasquez never openly appeared in Monterey again. But one of his friends chose to stay in town, and he paid the ultimate price. He was lynched by an angry mob. After Vasquez rushed out of Monterey, he followed his cousin's path toward banditry, way, he followed his cousin's path toward banditry, and soon he had his own gang. In 1857, he and his boys stole horses in Los Angeles, but he was caught and sentenced to five years in San Quentin.

The prison only held him for two years, he escaped in 1859, but he was quickly captured and sent back. He was released in 1863, and for a while he attempted to play it straight, but that didn't last long. In 1864, a butcher was stabbed to death during a robbery in Inquerida, just west of San Jose. Two years later, the gang rustled cattle in Sonoma. Then came stagecoach robberies and raids on towns and ferries. In 1873, Vasquez's gang killed three people while looting Snyder's store in Tres Pinos. The outlaw's reputation grew as he marauded through an area between Monterey, San Jose, and Fresno. Then, in the final week of 1873, his gang crept up on the

unsuspecting townsfolk of Kingston and got ready to pull off his masterpiece. The day after Christmas, folks were out on the town in Kingston. Some were strolling along the street, enjoying the evening air. Others crowded into the saloons and dining rooms. None were aware of the dozen men who snuck across the bridge that straddled Kings River, but they found out quickly. Vasquez and his men broke from the toll booth and grabbed the unlucky citizens they found in the street. They tied them up and forced them to lie in the dirt while they stole their valuables.

All except one man. Milt Woods refused to lie down. He didn't want to spoil his good clothes, and he sure as hell didn't want to spoil them while he was getting robbed. Vasquez understood Milt's predicament. Vasquez was a fine dresser himself, and he respected a fellow man of principle. The gang marched Milt to the hotel so he could lie down there without hurting his duds. After they secured the street, the bandits fanned out across the town plaza.

Vasquez, who carried four Navy Colts, supervised the robbery of each store. Then the outlaws burst into the hotel saloon. They forced the men inside to lay on the ground and tied their hands and feet. Then the most painful indignity occurred. A puppy ran in from the street and began to lick the helpless men's faces. Afterward, the Fresno Weekly Expositor wrote, the men were to claim later that this was the worst part of the whole affair. In the dining room, a man named Lance Gilroy fought back.

One of the gang rushed in, and Gilroy smashed a chair over his back. But Gilroy got the worst of it, and he was quickly wrestled to the floor by other outlaws and beaten with a pistol. Also in the hotel was a prominent rancher named John Sutherland. He grabbed his Henry rifle and slipped outside to round up other men who hadn't been attacked. The group took cover near the river, where they could see the stores. Sutherland spotted a bandit loitering outside Sweet's store. He fired and watched the man stagger and shout in Spanish. The shot ignited a gunfight across the plaza. Vasquez screamed at his men to leave. Sutherland's men opened up with their rifles,

blasting shots at the outlaws from concealment. In the growing darkness, the bandits couldn't pinpoint the exact locations of the shooters. They fired in all directions with their pistols as the exact locations of the shooters. They fired in all directions with their pistols as they raced for the bridge. Sutherland and another man chased the outlaws and pressed the attack as the gang members leapt into their saddles. The outlaws slapped their horses and galloped away into the night. The Vasquez gang robbed an entire town in less than 30 minutes and made off with $2,600 in money and jewelry. But they also suffered casualties.

The robber outside Sweet's store, who was shot by John Sutherland, died from his wounds. Two more were injured, but they eventually recovered. News of the raids spread far and wide. News of the raid spread far and wide. Posse's mounted up from Millerton, Visalia, Bakersfield, Tehachapi, and Los Angeles. Bounties were placed on Vasquez's head. $8,000 alive, 6,000 dead. But Vasquez had vanished, at least for a little while. Vasquez worked his way south from Kingston in the first couple months of 1874

and robbed a stage at a spot called Coyote Holes, which is at the southern tip of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Today, it's a turnout known as Freeman Junction, where Highway 14 and Highway 178 meet. where Highway 14 and Highway 178 meet. A stone California historical marker that testifies to Vasquez's deeds stands in the middle of a gravel lot, surrounded by desert landscape, high-tension power lines, and the Sierra foothills. Vasquez then continued south to Los Angeles. He robbed a sheep rancher and then escaped into the hills around the present day Rose Bowl. It was his last criminal act.

Tabercio Vasquez had been a lifelong ladies' man and had relationships with many women, several of which got him in trouble over the years. But probably none more so than his relationship with Modesta Lopez. By this time, in May of 1874, Vasquez was hiding at the home of his friend, Greek George, in the area that is now West Hollywood. The fellow we know as Greek George was married to Modesta Lopez's sister, and when Modesta started to read about Vasquez's other relationships in the newspaper, she became irate. We don't know for sure who ratted on Vasquez,

but a member of the Lopez family certainly did. A tip made its way to the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Office that Vasquez was holed up with Greek George. Sheriff William Rowland assembled a posse at a corral in downtown Los Angeles, near the corner of Spring Street and 5th Street. They set off for Hollywood at around 2 a.m. on May 13, 1874. They closed in on Greek George's house at around 4 a.m. So if you're doing the math there, it took them about two hours to get from downtown L.A. to West Hollywood,

which is about the same time as it takes today. So yeah, traffic has always been terrible in Los Angeles. Greek George's house had good cover. It was on a hill surrounded by brush with only one real entrance. Some of the deputies hid in a bed of a wagon that rolled by the driveway, which didn't attract attention because that was a common occurrence near the house. When they found their chance, the men slid out of the wagon and laid flat on the ground. They crept up to the house on foot and spied Vasquez sitting at a table being waited on by a woman. They pushed through the door and Vasquez dove through the window. They fired at him and he took two rounds as he tried to escape, but the deputies had him surrounded and he quickly found himself staring into their rifles. The 23-year career of Tabercio

Vasquez was done. Vasquez was taken to jail in downtown Los Angeles, and he admitted to pretty much all of his crimes. He was polite, and some of the lawmen offered him drinks of whiskey. His celebrity increased as people from all over the area flocked to the jail to get a look. He began to portray himself as a Robin Hood figure who fought back against the government that had ruined his people. He claimed he never killed anyone himself, though we'll have to take his word for it.

And while he might have had a genuine grudge against the United States, I'm not aware of any evidence of noble gestures on his part of giving back to the people. Vasquez robbed just about everything that could be robbed, including one entire town, and several people died in his raids over the course of 23 years of crime. He was eventually transported to San Jose, where he was tried, convicted, and then hanged on March 19, 1875. But his legacy still remains in California. While he's overshadowed by fellow bandit Joaquin Murrieta, the two men are said to be the inspirations for the character of Zorro.

Today, there's a health center named after Tabercio Vasquez, and an elementary school, and the rock formation he used as a hideout. That rock formation is called Vasquez Rocks National Park Area, and it's part of the LA County Park System. It's been used in countless western movies and TV shows over the years, proving yet again, legends never die. Holbrook, Arizona Territory, September 4, 1887 Apache County Sheriff Commodore Perry Owens tethered his horse in the livery stable next to the tracks for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. The railroad ran right through the middle of Holbrook in northern Arizona, and as such, many of the businesses faced the tracks. But the corral was on the opposite side of the tracks from the businesses. On this side, there were just a

livery stable, a small adobe hut, and a large house that was crowded with people. Sheriff Owens began to clean his guns, calmly and methodically. He employed twin.45s that the Navajos called magic guns because they never seemed to miss. In addition, he carried a Winchester rifle. He would need all of them to fire straight and true today, as he was about to serve a warrant on a notorious thief and murderer named Andy Cooper. But Cooper wasn't his real name. His real name was Blevins, and he was part of a family of rustlers and killers, and they were holed up in the same house just a few yards from where Sheriff Owens now stood.

Holbrook was one of the classic lawless towns of the Old West in the 1880s. Gunfights often broke up dances and public gatherings. Drunken cowboys loved to gallop through town firing their six-shooters at store windows with reckless glee. One source says, 26 victims of gun play were buried in Holbrook's graveyard in one year. This was where the Blevins boys set up shop, and they seemed to be right at home. It was said that the father of the Blevins clan organized a band of rustlers in northern Arizona, and it seemed the apples didn't fall far from the tree. Andy Blevins was the most audacious,

but he now used the last name Cooper because he was wanted by the law in Texas. As the Texas Rangers chased bandits out of their territory, many drifted west through New Mexico and Arizona and landed in Holbrook. By the fall of 1887, a bitter range feud called the Pleasant Valley War had gripped the area for more than a year. The Blevins family was neck deep in it. On this day, September 4th, Andy and his brothers John and Samuel were in the house next to the railroad tracks in Holbrook. With them was Mose Roberts, who was married to the Blevins' sister. John's wife and daughter were also in the home, as well as four more women, one of whom was Mary, the mother of the Blevins' boys. as well as four more women, one of whom was Mary, the mother of the Blevins boys.

In total, there were three men, three women, three little girls, and one young man in Samuel, who was 15 years old. Ten people were all crammed into the house. While Sheriff Owens cleaned his guns in the livery stable, John Blevins brought Andy's horse around from the back of the house and tied it to a cottonwood tree in front. It was nearly 4 p.m., and the sun was easing toward the horizon in the west. Sheriff Owens holstered his pistols and cradled his Winchester in the crook of his left arm. He strode out of the livery and turned toward the house that held the Blevins clan.

In a few short steps, he'd be on the precipice of the gunfight that would turn him into a legend. Sheriff Owens was 32 years old when he rode into Holbrook that day in September. He'd been pressured by the Stock Growers Association to take action against some of the outlaws in the range war, and after some delay on his part, he finally got busy. As he trotted into town, he was impossible to miss. He cut a fine figure, but he was completely out of style for the 1880s. His long hair trailed nearly to his waist. His mustache made him look more like Wild Bill Hickok than the other sheriffs of the day. He was born in Indiana, but had drifted west like many young men of his era. He was a cowhand on ranches from Kansas to Texas

and worked as a buffalo hunter for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. For a time, he guarded the stage station at Navajo Springs between Holbrook and Sanders, Arizona. That was where he awed the Navajos with his shooting ability. Native American horse thieves prowled the area, and he shot so many of them without taking a bullet himself that they began to call him Iron Man. They believed it was impossible for a bullet to pierce his body and that he must be a devil. On September 4, 1887, the Navajos' beliefs about him were put to the test.

Sheriff Owens walked down the dusty street toward the Blevins' house. The area had been cleared of cottonwoods and brush to make way for the railroad, and what remained was just bare desert powder. Owens stepped onto the plank boards of the front porch that led up to the front door. He knocked and called out that he had a warrant for the arrest of Andy Blevins. The door opened slightly, and Andy peeked through the gap. Owens noticed a pistol in his hand as the outlaw told him he needed a few minutes. He wasn't ready yet.

Andy tried to close the door, but Owens jammed his boot in the opening. Andy ducked behind the door and raised his gun to fire. Owens already had his Winchester in position, resting on his left arm. He pivoted and fired blindly through the door. The bullet tore into Andy's gut. Owens levered the rifle, ejecting a spent shell and slammed another one into the breach. Somewhere inside, a woman screamed. Then a door on the other side of the house opened. A gun barrel slid out and fired at Owens. The bullet just missed him, but it hit the horse tied to the cottonwood tree out front.

The terrified animal snapped its reins and raced out of the yard. Owens returned fire and hit John Blevins in the shoulder. Then he heard a noise that he recognized as a sliding window. He turned toward a front window as he saw it rise. Andy tried to get off a shot through the narrow opening, but Owens fired again. The bullet slammed through the thin board siding and hit Andy in the hip. Owens racked another chamber into the rifle and surveyed the house. Owens racked another chamber into the rifle and surveyed the house. He waited for another attack. He could hear commotion inside and women pleading with someone.

Suddenly, the front door flew open and 15-year-old Samuel Blevins rushed out with Andy's gun. Sheriff Owens leveled the rifle and fired. The shot hit Samuel square in the chest. He dropped dead on the front porch. Then there was silence, but the sheriff remained on high alert. He had no idea how many men were in the house or where the next attack might come from. A moment later, he heard a noise around the corner of the house. He ran toward the noise and caught Mose Roberts escaping through a window with a pistol in his hand. Owens fired and hit Roberts in the chest. The bullet sliced through his body and tore off part of his shoulder as it exited his back. Roberts crumbled into the dust of the yard. Owens paused and waited.

He heard no more threatening sounds from the house, only the hysterical wailing of the women inside. The job was finished, and Sheriff Owens coolly walked back to his horse in the livery stable. When citizens from the town converged on the house after the gunfight. They found a horrifying scene. Young Sam Blevins was dead on the front porch. Wounded men were strewn about the house and yard, groaning and writhing in pain. Blood was everywhere, and the women cried and tended to the injured outlaws. Andy Blevins died around midnight. Mose Roberts held on for several days before finally dying of his wounds.

John Blevins eventually recovered and was sentenced to five years in Yuma Prison for the attempted murder of Sheriff Owens, but he was pardoned by the governor before serving any time. Owens did not seek re-election as Sheriff of Apache County. He took a job with the railroad guarding trains from Albuquerque to Seligman. He briefly wore the badge again as the first Sheriff of the newly formed Navajo County in 1895, but it only lasted a year and a half. He married Elizabeth Barrett in 1902, and it was said that the shootout in Holbrook

haunted him to his grave. He died in Seligman, Arizona in 1919. Denver, Colorado, August 24, 1877. A party was in full swing just outside the Denver city limits on a late summer day. But this was no ordinary party, and it would have no ordinary end. The fiesta was at Olympic Park, which was also called Denver Park in 1877. Today, it's Commons Park, and the area we're talking about would be where 15th Street crosses the South Platte River. It's a sprawling, green, open space for recreation. In 1877, nearly half of the 46 acres of the park were covered in trees.

Since the park lay beyond the city limits, the Denver police had no jurisdiction there. Thus, the ne'er-do-wells used it as a party spot. And there was actually a bar in the park that was the center of all the action. As often happened in the Old West, the party got out of hand and the chief antagonists went outside to fight. The combatants agreed to a duel, but there were two major differences between this duel and all the others that came before it. The opponents were women and they were naked from the waist up. At that time in 1877, Denver had a thriving brothel district in an area that anyone who lives there now will know well. a thriving brothel district in an area that anyone who lives there now will know well.

The brothel district was on Market Street between 18th and 22nd, one block from where the Colorado Rockies now play baseball at Coors Field. Today's Market Street features Brothers Bar, The Tavern, Lodo's Bar and Grill, and View House Ballpark. In 1877, it featured bordellos run by Maddie Silks and Kate Fulton, among others. Kate arrived in Denver a few months before Maddie, and before long, they were both running houses of ill repute, directly across the street from each other. A bitter rivalry developed between the two women. When it came to a head in August, it was over a man. Maddie was dating a fella named Court Thompson, and on this day in Denver Park, Maddie thought Kate was paying just a little too much attention to her beau. A big group had gathered to celebrate Court's victory in a foot race over another local man.

Court had won a ton of money, and everyone was in the mood to party. But as the merriment wore on and people got drunk, the two madams exchanged words. The argument became heated, and then they started threatening each other. Neither one would back down. A duel was suggested, a practice that was long out of vogue by 1877, but the women agreed to do it nonetheless. They marched outside with the crowd close on their heels. They took up their pistols, and now came the twist. To make sure the duel was fair and honest, and a hell of a lot more fun, the women stripped down naked to the waist. Following the tradition, the women stepped off

their paces, turned, and fired. A cry was heard. A body dropped to the ground. It was growing dark, and with the clouds of gun smoke obscuring the area, none of the spectators could see who was hit. They rushed to the two women, but found both of them still standing. But near Maddie, Court Thompson was rolling in the grass. Kate's bullet hit him in the neck, but the wound proved to be just a scratch. The action quelled the tempers of the rival madams, and everyone departed without further bloodshed. The nude duel proved to be historic. Nothing like that had ever happened. But there was just one problem. It didn't really happen. The duel between two half-naked madams in Denver is a legend in the purest sense of the word. An event that has a nugget of truth to it,

but which has been embellished and exaggerated so many times over the years, no one's really sure how it got started. But we do know a few things for sure. First, here's the real story. Maddie Silks and Kate Fulton were absolutely rival madams in Denver's Brothel District. And Maddie was

definitely dating Court Thompson. They eventually got married and spent the rest of their lives together, despite the fact that he was a drunk and a degenerate gambler. Maddie and Kate did get into an argument in the bar in Denver Park. The argument escalated into a brawl, but here's where the truth splits from the legend. Court Thompson stepped in while Maddie and Kate were yelling at each other, and he said he would fight Maddie's battles for her, and apparently he meant it literally. He punched Kate in the face. A man named Sam Thatcher jumped into the mix and tried to break up the chaos,

and Thompson punched him in the face too. Thompson's friends jumped on Thatcher and Kate to try to break up the chaos, and Thompson punched him in the face too. Thompson's friends jumped on Thatcher and Kate to try to break up the beating, but Kate got kicked in the face for her troubles. Her nose shattered. Thompson drew a gun, but someone knocked him to the ground and took it away. That seemed to end the hostilities up to that point. People went their separate ways, but there was one final punctuation mark on the evening. As Court Thompson drove home in a carriage, someone ran out of the darkness and fired a shot at him. The bullet grazed the back of his neck, but he was otherwise unharmed. The next morning, Kate hopped a train to Kansas City, just in case the Denver police came looking for her.

Maddie in court recovered at Maddie's brothel, and Sam Thatcher recovered at Kate's brothel across the street. That day, two short articles appeared in the Denver newspaper that outlined the confrontation. Because of their wording and lack of detail, a legend was born, though it took 70 years to get started. Forbes Parkhill was a newspaperman who was born in Denver in 1892. He heard about this vague incident as he was growing up, and he began its transformation many years later. By 1915, he was working for the newspaper in El Paso, Texas, and he exaggerated the exploits of Pancho Villa to the point where his editor suggested he should start writing fiction instead. So he did.

In 1950, he started working on a book of anecdotes about life in early Denver, and he remembered the story he'd heard about the two madams. He went to the library and found the two articles. He latched onto the account from the Rocky Mountain News that began with this sentence. Maddie Silks and Kate Fulton were the principals. Two men, Thatcher and Thompson, were seconds. From this scant bit of information, Forbes assumed the women had participated in a duel, so he ran with it. Nearly all of the details in the legend were started by Forbes, with the notable exception of the nudity.

No one is sure how that got started, but as the story was retold and re-embellished over the years, someone apparently decided it would be better if the two madams were topless. So what we have now is another classic example of the great line from the man who shot Liberty Valance. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend. For the next few weeks on the Legends of the Old West podcast, we're going to release a series of interviews while we revamp the show. When we come back with new episodes,

it'll be the full story of Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and the gunfight at the OK Corral. The closing song for Season 1 was composed and performed by The Mighty Ork, a great musician from Houston, Texas. Additional original music by Rob Valliere. Audio editing and sound design by Dave Harrison. I'm your writer, host, and producer, Chris Wimmer. If you enjoyed the show, please leave us a rating and a review on Apple Podcasts or wherever you're listening. Check out our website, blackbarrelmedia.com, and find us on social media. Check out our website, blackbarrelmedia.com, and find us on social media.

We're at Old West Podcast on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Thanks for listening. Thank you.