DAN MARKEY
Recorded by Helen M. Smith, Field Reporter

I was born in Wisconsin in 1855. From my boyhood I had western fever, particularly with regard to mining. I followed the silver camps, at Leadville, Colorado, and other famous places, coming to Tombstone in 1880. The town was too lively for me, however, and I stayed only a short time. For a while I hauled freight from Willcox to Globe, and the pasturage was such that I never carried feed for my animals. Everywhere was grass waving in the breeze, often knee high.

I had learned the trade of photographer, which trade I followed off and on in my early years in Arizona. I became quite well acquainted with C.S. fly, famed photographer of Tombstone.

I was photographer at Fort Grant when the Wham robbery occurred. Major Wham was the paymaster, and had just paid off at Fort Grant. He set out for Fort Thomas with the payroll for that camp, under an escort of colored soldiers. When at a point about half way to his destination, near a place called Cedar Springs, he was held up and robbed of the payroll. The trail led through a cut in the hills, a very steep, narrow defile. The robbers had previously placed rocks and other obstructions at several points along this defile, evidently with the idea that if their first attack failed or if they were driven back, they might find refuge or a new point of attack, as the case might be.

When the soldiers reached the first obstruction, a huge rock in the trail, the major ordered them to stack arms and remove the rock. While they were attempting to remove the rock, the robbers, hidden above, opened fire at the lead mules—the soldiers were mounted on mules. The robbers then fired a few shots—quite high—at the men. It was scarcely necessary. At the first shot the lieutenant turned tail and ran down the hill. It is said that his coattails blew out in a horizontal position from the vigor of his flight. At any rate, the robbers got the payroll.

A man named W.T. Webb, and other Mormons from the Gila were accused and tried for the robbery. There was no doubt in the minds of anyone as to their guilt. They hired Marcus Smith and Ben Goodrich as their attorneys, and were cleared of the charge. However, their guilt was such common knowledge that as they were leaving the courthouse after the trial, Major Wham thanked Webb for shooting high and taking care that there were no casualties.

When news of the hold-up reached Fort Grant, the colored women, wives of the escort, set up such a howl as I have never heard before nor since. They were positive that all their husbands had been killed. As government photographer, I was sent immediately to the scene to take photographs; in fact, I was sent so immediately that I had no time to prepare my material as it was necessary to prepare in those days, and as a consequence, the pictures were almost of no value.

In later years I once made elaborate preparations to secure pictures of Black Jack Ketchum and his gang, unknown to them. This was in ’96, I think. At any rate, it was not long after he and his gang had held up the bank at Nogales. I knew that they were to be at Bisbee at the ‘Fourth of July’ celebration, and I determined to get some pictures. It was not until that afternoon that my opportunity arrived, and I should have had some excellent pictures but for the fact that an extraordinarily efficient dust storm also arrived. I got no pictures at all.

One of my first jobs in Arizona, long before I came to Tombstone, was the removal of dead soldiers from such abandoned forts as old Fort Grant on the San Pedro (abandoned in 1871), Fort Wingate, Tubac, etc. These forts were established during the Civil War but were afterward abandoned as impracticable. I had a contract to remove the bodies of soldiers buried at these forts from the cemeteries there and haul them to Phoenix, where they were shipped to San Francisco for reburial. I was furnished with a map showing each grave, and it was an easy matter to find the listed number of graves after the location of the first. However, several times I  had to excavate for a whole day before I could locate the first. Once during the winter I moved dead soldiers for five weeks with neither a shave nor a bath during that time. It was not such a disagreeable task as might be imagined, since there was nothing but bones left. I was required to note carefully any dental work or anything of that sort.

I knew—by sight, at least—the Earp’s, the outlaws of their day, John Slaughter, and other notables of that day. Tombstone was a rip-roaring camp at which I stayed for no length of time on any occasion. I once heard Tom Parrish, the writer, say that most of the men of that time came from Texas, in a hurry, but that, although they might have started with only a small herd of cattle or none at all, by the time they settled in Arizona they had a nice sized herd. Whether this is true or not, one did not ask men where they came from or why they came. I was always a peaceable fellow and so did not mix with anyone enough to get into any feuds or fracases of that time.

For years the four hangmen’s knots which hung the four robbers who held up a store in Bisbee, were on exhibition in the old courthouse in Tombstone. There was a great deal of law and order, with law-breaking of every description a daily occurrence. John Slaughter later cleaned up Tombstone and vicinity to a great extent. Slaughter’s popularity among those who favored law and order is well illustrated by an incident of election time. Slaughter had about finished a term as sheriff. A man named Duffey had a butcher shop in Bisbee. This man stuttered badly, particularly when excited. One day someone came into the shop electioneering.

“Who are you going to vote for sheriff, Duffey?” inquired his visitor.

“Is J-j-john S-s-slaughter running?”

“No.”

“I don’t v-v-vote at all!”

Indians made plenty of trouble in the early days. I was never troubled personally, but many a lone teamster or homesteader’s family was killed by these sneaks.

Soldiers were often seen in the Sulphur Spring Valley and vicinity. The old “Spike S” was a regular fort and many a battle between soldiers and Indians took place there. The old house was of adobe, the stables were of adobe, and there was a wall about house and stables sufficient to make a good protection from which to fight. There were loopholes in the walls of both house and stables.

Once a small troop of soldiers came from the “Spike S” reconnoitering. Indians were known to be in the vicinity. They were hidden in the bush around the old stamp mill in the valley, and when they saw the small size of the troop, they started fighting. The soldiers were held there until after dark, from early afternoon. It was hot, and they had no water. Knowing water was shallow in that vicinity, they began to dig, and struck water at two feet. This place was afterward known as ‘Soldier Holes’, and was afterward the scenes of other battles between whites and Indians, as well as a stopping place for outlaws, etc. On this particular occasion the Indians departed during the night, and without further fighting.

It paid to keep the friendship of the Indians and not to incur their enmity. Tom Pearce, from whom Pearce was named, was an easy going man who followed the policy of least resistance with the Indians. Once while riding around his place, he happened to see quite a little group of Indians ride out from the hills in a manner which he knew meant business. He hurried home where he and his wife made all fast, moving bureaus, tables and all articles of furniture possible in front of the doors and windows. When they had finished, Mr. Pearce remarked that they were very foolish, since if the Indians really wished to do so, they could drive them out be setting fire to the house. So they put the furniture back in its accustomed place and waited. Soon several braves rode up to the house. One came to the door and asked for tobacco. Mr. Pearce had purchased tobacco in Tombstone the day before, so he had a whole pound to give them. They rode away with the tobacco, but soon returned, asking for matches. He gave them a generous supply of matches, and saw no more of the Indians.

There was another rancher near Pearce, named Newman. Part of his pasture was a natural pocket in the hills, which was enclosed by mountains on three sides. One morning he heard that Indians were in this pocket driving out his stock. Single handed he rode into the pocket, shooting Indians right and left. They did not seem to be able to touch him, but he really slaughtered them. He won easily that time, but there was always enmity there, and they ambushed and killed him sometime later.

In those days one paid a certain amount of “protection” just as is now done in large cities to racketeers. It paid to give the Indians a little food and tobacco on occasion. One also had to feed outlaws and remount them when necessary. Most of these outlaws returned horses lent them, at a later date.

In 1899, I believe it was, the S.P. express train was robbed at Cochise, of about ten thousand dollars. The sheriff was unable to discover who the robbers were, and it was believed for a time that this episode would remain a mystery. Another robbery several months after was the means of discovering the perpetrators of the first.

That winter the train was held up at Fairbanks. Jeff Milton was the express messenger, and was in the car with his shotgun. When one of the bandits ordered him to get out of the car, he refused, and was immediately shot. The bullet shattered the bone in Milton’s upper arm. He managed to close the door, however, and the bandits got nothing. He got in one shot at them, a load of buckshot which hit Three-fingered Jack. The other outlaws got Jack on a horse and they lit out for the Dragoons. He couldn’t keep up, though, and they were forced to abandon him as the chase for them grew hot. A special engine rushed Milton to Tucson for medical treatment. He had to have most of the bone in his upper arm removed, and was always afterward a cripple.

Three-fingered Jack died after he was found by the posse, but told the story, on his deathbed, of the Cochise train robbery. Burt Alvord and Bill Downing had planned the robbery, but had got Billy Stiles and another man to do the trick. All those who had been in any way implicated in both robberies were captured and imprisoned. While held in Tombstone jail, Stiles, Alvord, and Burts escaped. Stiles and Burts were soon recaptured, but Alvord went into Mexico, and was not taken. However, he killed a greaser in Sonora, and had to come back into the States to keep from being executed there. He gave himself up, and went to Yuma for two years.

The penitentiary officials at Yuma knew that he would be given up to Mexico authorities when he had served his term at Yuma; and they liberated him a day before he had served his sentence. He went to the home of his sister in San Diego, where he prepared to leave for parts unknown. The officers followed him up before he got away. When they knocked at the door he told his sister to tell them that he had gone downtown, but would return soon, and to invite them in. He went out at the back door. The officers two-stacked their Winchesters at the door as they went in, believing what his sister had told them. Alvord sneaked around to the front door and inside, where he covered them with their own guns. He then made them prisoners until he had made his getaway. He went to South America, and has not been seen in these parts since.

Curly bill was an outlaw whose headquarters was Galeyville, and who liked to fancy that the San Simon was under his dominion also. Once in Tombstone’s heyday Billy Breckenridge, deputy sheriff, undertook to collect taxes from the San Simon. They hadn’t been paying taxes, and he understood that this venture was a doubtful one. He rode over to Galeyville, intending to see if Curly Bill could be persuaded to help with the collections. Curly Bill was sitting in the shade of one of the shacks, shooting the heads from small nails driven into a tree some distance from him. Billy explained what he wanted, and Curly Bill was agreeable. They collected taxes together, and when they returned they had what is often said to be about forty thousand dollars. This is probably far in excess of the actual sum.

Curly Bill rode with Billy Breckenridge until he felt that he was near enough to Tombstone to be safe. There Billy rode on alone. Near Soldier Holes he came up with Bill Lutley who was hauling a load of posts to Tombstone. Billy rode along, talking to Lutley, when they saw a cloud of dust to the north a few miles.

“What do you suppose makes that dust, Bill?” asked Billy Breckenridge.

“Don’t know, unless it’s a bunch of cattle,” was the answer.

But the dust came on, and Billy decided it was time he made tracks for Tombstone. It was Curly Bill and some of his men, and when they saw that Billy was running from them, they shot at him. But he made it safely.