Journal Notes

In 1848 San Francisco newspapers were read so thoroughly by excited citizens in the East that only scraps remained. Front pages were filled with encouraging words about a significant find at Sutter’s Mill on the American River in California. “The streams are paved with gold,” the report read, “the mountains swell in their golden girdle. It sparkles in the sand of the valleys, it glitters in the coronets of the steep cliffs.” The news brought ambitious miners from all over the world to the area to get rich. Michael Brennan, an Irishman from New York, arrived in the Gold Country in late 1850 determined to find the mother lode. The well-educated man convinced the management of the Mount Hope Mining Company in Grass Valley, California, that he had a gift for locating major gold veins. He was quickly hired and made the company’s superintendent. After moving his wife and children into a modest home near the mine, Brennan went to work. For two years Brennan and his team of diggers searched for gold, but the rich strike eluded him. He was racked with guilt over the money the mine owners had invested in his efforts and believed he had disgraced his family in the process. On February 21, 1858, in a fit of melancholy and dejection, Brennan decided to end the pain he was feeling. The suicide note he wrote sadly stated he “could not bear to leave his family behind living in poverty.” Using prussic acid, he poisoned his wife and children and them himself. A pistol was found lying next to Brennan’s body along with the vile of poison. Authorities determined that he had intended to shoot himself if the acid was not effective. The entire family was laid to rest side by side at the Elm Ridge Cemetery in Grass Valley, California. A single marker listing the names and ages of all five of the Brennans covers the grave. Michael was 38, his wife was 32, and their three children ranged in age from seven to two-years-old.

The barroom at the Hotel Carey in Wichita, Kansas, was extremely busy most nights. Cowhands and trail riders arrived by following the smell of whiskey and the sound of an inexperienced musician playing an out-of-tune piano inside the saloon. Beyond the swinging doors awaited a host of well-used female companions and an assortment of alcohol to help drown away the stresses of life on the rugged plains. Patrons were too busy drinking, playing cards, or flirting with soiled doves to notice the stout, six-foot-tall woman enter the saloon. She wore a long black alpaca dress and bonnet and carried a Bible. Almost as if she were offended by the obvious snub, the matronly newcomer loudly announced her presence. As it was December 23, 1900, she shouted, “Glory to God! Peace on earth and good will to men!” At the conclusion of her proclamation, she hurled a massive brick at the expensive mirror hanging behind the bar and shattered the center of it. As the stunned bartender and customers looked on, she pulled an iron rod from under her full skirt and began tearing the place apart. The sheriff was quickly sent for, and soon the violent woman was being escorted out of the business and marched to the local jail. As the door on her cell was slammed shut and locked, she yelled out to the men, “You put me in here a cub, but I will go out a roaring lion and make all hell howl.” Carrie Nation’s tirade echoed through the Wild West. For decades the lives of women from Kansas to California had been adversely affected by their husbands’, fathers’, and brothers’ abuse of alcohol. Carrie was one of the first to take such a public albeit forceful, stance against the problem. The Bible thumping, brick and bat-wielding Nation was a member of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. The radical organization, founded in 1874, encouraged wives and mothers concerned about the effects of alcohol to join in the crusade against liquor and the sellers of the vile drink. Beginning in 1899, prior to Carrie’s outbursts, the group had primarily subscribed to peaceful protests. Carrie had been born Carrie Amelia Moore on November 25, 1846, in Garrard County, Kentucky. Her father was an itinerate minister who moved his wife and children from Kentucky to Texas, then on to Missouri and back again to Kentucky. Carried married in 1866. Her husband was a heavy drinker, and after their wedding she pleaded with him to stop. After six months of persistent nagging. Carrie’s husband still refused to give up the bottle. With a child on the way, she left him and returned home. He died of acute alcoholism one month before the baby boy was born. Not long after this death, Carrie remarried, but David Nation possessed the same love for alcohol. He was a lawyer and a minister who did not share in what he called “his wife’s archaic view” about liquor. Their differences of opinion not only interfered with their personal life but wrecked havoc on David’s professional life as well. The Nations moved to Texas, and Carrie immediately joined the Methodist church. Her outlandish beliefs and revelations prompted the members of the congregation to dismiss her. Carrie then formed her own religious group and held weekly meetings at the town cemetery. In 1889 Carrie insisted that David move her and their children to Medicine Lodge, Kansas. Kansas had a prohibition law, and Carrie believed the fact that liquor was outlawed would stop David from partaking of any libations. Determined Kansas residents found ways to drink and so did Reverend Nation. Drugstores and clubs sold whiskey in backrooms and alleys, calling the liquid medicine instead of alcohol. Carrie was outraged. Not only did she chastise members of her husband’s assembly in Sunday service, but she also scolded those whom she knew drank when she saw them on the street. Carrie believed the Lord had called her to take such drastic action against alcohol. According to her autobiography, The Use and Need of the Life of Carrie Nation, she felt it was her duty to defend the family home and fight for other women locked in marriages with excessive drinkers. At the age of fifty-three, she marched into a drugstore on the main street of Medicine Lodge and preached the evils of drink to all the customers. She was tossed out of the business, but a crowd of women who had gathered to inquire about the excitement applauded her efforts. Their response and the Women’s Christian Temperance Union members spurred her on. She continued to visit liquor stores until all the bars in town were effectively forced to close. Carrie Nation passed away on June 9, 1911, after collapsing during a speech at a park in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, at age sixty-five. The tombstone over her grave, erected by the Women’s Christian Temperance Union in 1924, reads Faithful To The Cause Of Prohibition, She Hath Done What She Could.

Legendary lawman William Barclay Masterson had a reputation for being a tough talker, an excellent shot, and a dandy dresser. He wore tailor-made suits and a derby hat and carried a gold-headed cane. He was a handsome, well-liked character with black hair and blue eyes who was extremely fast on the draw. Born in Illinois on November 22, 1855, Bat (as he was more commonly known) was the second of five brothers. His parents were homesteaders who moved their family to a prairie farm in Wichita, Kansas in 1871. At the age of nineteen, Bat persuaded two of his brothers to abandon farm life for a job hunting buffalo. The Masterson boys stuck together for a while, but the trip split up when his siblings decided to return home and Bat decided to continue on with the difficult work. For more than a year, Bat roamed from Topeka to the Texas Panhandle. He changed employment often: He was a section hand for the Santa Fe Railroad, a ranch hand, and an Indian scout for the army. After his first gunfight in January 1876, in which Bat killed a man who fired on him and the woman he was with, he headed for Dodge City. There he invested in the Lone Star Dance Hall on the main street of town, and the establishment proved to be profitable. Not long after Bat’s arrival in the rough-and-tumble town, he helped a prisoner escape from jail. He’d had too much to drink and involved himself in an arrest that had nothing to do with him. The town marshal gave Bat a beating that turned him around so much so Masterson decided he would never go against the law again. In fact, the incident opened his eyes to the possibility of a future as an officer of the law. Bat followed his brothers-one a marshal, the other a deputy-into the field of law enforcement. Bat campaigned hard for the position of Ford County sheriff deputy and was subsequently awarded the job. He was an effective lawman who tried to talk perpetrators into surrendering rather than resorting to gunplay. Using his fists and finesse, he persuaded many wrongdoers to “leave town peacefully” or “be carried out with a bullet hole in their chest.” Bat had an impressive and famous array of friends that included Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday. Outlaws who knew of their association refused to tangle with Masterson for fear the Earp brothers and Holliday would come after them. Before Bat’s siblings were killed in the line of duty, the men participated in numerous posses that successfully tracked down and apprehended outlaws in the area. As such, the plains around Ford County during Masterson’s time in officer were relatively peaceful. A controversial act drove Bat out of law enforcement in April 1881. Bat was in Tombstone, Arizona when he got the news that one of his brother’s lives was being threatened by a ruthless businessman. He quickly made his way back to Dodge City and arrived just in time to face the bad guys on the street. Once the smoke cleared from the gun battle, Bat alone was left standing. He resigned from his position as an officer and left Kansas to see the West. He traveled through New Mexico, Utah, and Texas, earning his keep at each location by gambling. His natural gift for storytelling led to a job writing newspaper articles in Creede, Colorado, where his work was noticed by a correspondent for the New York Sun who helped him secure a position as a sportswriter for the New York Morning Telegraph in 1901. Bat returned to law enforcement in 1905 when President Theodore Roosevelt appointed the fifty-year-old man as a special United State marshal to the Oklahoma Territory. He did not hold the post long due to the prior commitment he had with the Morning Telegraph. Just before noon on October 25, 1921, Bat headed up 8th Avenue from his New York apartment to the newspaper office and wrote his column for the next day. He died of a heart attack fifteen minutes after he finished writing the article. He was found slumped over his desk with his pen in one hand and his column in the other. He was laid to rest at the Woodlawn Cemetery in New York. The tombstone over his grave carries his name, date of birth, and the words Loved By Everyone.

William H. Bonney, better known as Billy the Kid, drifted through New Mexico in the mid-1870s, defying the law and becoming famous in the process. By the time he turned age sixteen, he had killed one man and been jailed twice. Desperate circumstances and a misplaced sense of justice was what spurred Billy on toward his life of crime. Born in New York on November 23, 1859, Billy was the younger of two boys. His father died in 1864, leaving Billy’s mom alone to look after the children. In 1873 she moved her sons to Indiana, where she met and married a man named William Antrim. Antrim took his new wife and her family to Silver City, New Mexico. The four no sooner arrived than William Antrim abandoned his new family to prospect. Billy’s mother managed a hotel to support her boys, and Billy worked with her. In 1874 she was diagnosed with tuberculosis and died shortly thereafter. Billy was fourteen years old. Not long after his mother’s death, Billy had his first run-in with the law. The clothes he stole from a Chinese launderer’s business were meant to be a teenage prank, but the act was perceived as malicious theft to the local authorities. Wanting to teach Billy a lesson, the sheriff decided to lock him up. After spending two days in jail, Billy escaped and made his way to Arizona. In 1877 Billy was hired on at a sawmill at the Camp Grant Army Post. The blacksmith who worked at the military post was a bully of sorts and took an instant dislike to Billy. He frequently made fun of him, taunting him until the teenager snapped and called the blacksmith a name. That was the cue he was waiting for and he attacked Billy, and Billy shot him. He was arrested for the killing the following day and subsequently escaped. Billy roamed about New Mexico’s Pecos Valley in Lincoln County, working odd jobs at various ranches and farms. Wealthy English cattle barren John Tunstall eventually offered the restless young man full-time employment to watch his livestock. Billy took the job with great zeal-Tunstall was kind to him, and Billy appreciated his integrity. Not everyone felt that way about Tunstall. A pair of rival merchants and livestock owners who were resentful of his riches were determined to destroy the man and his holdings. The heated battle, which erupted between the established business owners and ranchers who had a monopoly on beef contracts for the army, and entrepreneurs such as John Tunstall, was referred to as the Lincoln County War. As an employee of John Tunstall’s, William Bonney found himself in the middle of the feud. It became a personal battle for him when the disgruntled ranchers had Tunstall gunned down. Billy first joined in with law enforcement to help bring the murderers in legally, but he ended up being jailed for interfering with the sheriff and his deputies. After his release Billy decided to take matters into his own hands and joined a posse bent on hunting down the killers. When the murderers were located, Billy and the other members the vendetta riders, known as the Regulators, shot them dead. The Lincoln County War ended in a fiery blaze on July 19, 1878, and a number of men were killed. Billy kept the Regulators together, and the boys ventured into cattle rustling. More people were killed along the way and Billy the Kid, as he was now called, was a wanted man. So Billy negotiated a deal with the governor of the state. If Billy turned himself in to the proper authorities and gave them information about those who participated in the Lincoln County War, he could go free. When the deal was agreed upon, Billy laid down his weapons and submitted to the arrest. After Billy was incarcerated, the district attorney went against the governor’s arrangement with the Kid and promised to see him hanged. An enraged Billy the Kid escaped from jail and went on the run-managing to elude the authorities for two years. In 1880 Pat Garrett was sworn in as the new Lincoln County sheriff and assigned the duty of apprehending Billy the Kid. He had a reputation as a determined lawman and expert tracker, and he was persistent in his efforts to bring the Kid to justice. After laying several traps for Bonney, Garrett arrested him in April 1881. Billy the Kid was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged, but he escaped before making it to the gallows. Garrett again pursued the young fugitive and caught up with him after two months. Billy the Kid was hiding at a ranch near Fort Sumner, New Mexico. Under the cover of darkness, Garrett waited for Billy to appear and then shot him on sight. “All this occurred in a moment,” Garrett later told journalists. “Quickly as possible I drew my revolver and fired, threw my body aside and fired again…the Kid fell dead. He never spoke,” Garrett explained. “A struggle or two, a little strangling sound as he gasped for breath, and the Kid was with his many victims.” Garrett went on to describe the scene of the outlaw’s demise as a sad occasion for those closest to him. “Within a very short time after shooting, quite a number of native people had gathered around, some of them bewailing the death of a friend, while several women pleaded for permission to take charge of the body, which we allowed them to do. They carried it across the yard to a carpenter’s shop, where it was laid out on a workbench, the women placing lighted candles around it according to their ideas of properly conducting a ‘wake for the dead.’” On July 16, 1881, the day after Billy the Kid was shot, he was buried at the Old Fort Sumner Cemetery (a military cemetery) in DeBaca County, New Mexico. He was placed in the same grave as his friends Tom O’Folliard and Charles Bowdre. Both boys had been shot and killed by Garrett and his men in December 1880. The single tombstone over the plot lists the three desperados’ names and the word PALS. You’ll find more stories about the deaths and burials of the Old West’s most nefarious outlaws, notorious women, and celebrated lawmen in the book Tales Behind the Tombstones.

While sitting at the airport enduring the late flights and pajama wearing, no showering, multiple carry-on passengers, I decided to try and catch up on the daily journal section of my site. It’s been long but enjoyable two week adventure releasing of the book Sam Sixkiller: Cherokee Frontiers Lawman to the public. I began the journey in Colcord, Oklahoma where United State marshal Sam Sixkiller rode collecting bootleggers and murderers and I ended the trip in the hills around Edgewood, New Mexico where Billy the Kid spent time with his riders. In between I got to meet great western authors like Johnny Boggs and Sherry Monahan and hang out with actor Wes Studi. It will be good to get home and return to work, however. Getting updates on the Broadway production and the motion picture will be focus this week. But first, just to be home. As Charles Dickens once wrote, “Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered, in the strongest conjuration.” That and I’m out of clean underwear.

Chuck Swindoll tells a story about a young man named Glen Chambers. Glen had a heart to serve God on the mission field. He got his training, went to Bible college, went to seminary, and he raised his support. He left everything behind and boarded a plane to fly as a missionary to South America. He had gone through the strain of financial problems and misunderstanding with family. He’d dealt with the pain of separation, and he was filled with hope and anticipation and excitement about serving Christ. As he was about to fly, he thought to himself, I really should have said more to my parents, so he tore off a corner of a magazine and wrote them a little note: “Mom and Dad, I’m so excited, going to serve Christ. Thanks for getting behind me in this. I love you, Glen.” Glen stuffed the note in an envelope and put it in the mail to his parents. Glen got on the plane, and in the middle of the night, a mountain in the jungles of Ecuador reached up, pulled that plane out of the sky, and Glen was killed in a plane crash. He never made it. All the training, all the fundraising-everything-and he never got there. After the funeral was over, his parents got the letter Glen wrote. They opened it. It turns out that on the back of the magazine corner he’d torn off to write that note was printed one word: “why.” Why? That’s the question that hits the hardest, isn’t it? It’s the question that hurts the most…lingers the longest…and it’s the question that every follower of Jesus Christ has asked. I’ve asked it so many times. Why, God? And it’s the question James helps us answer. James 1:2-4 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. In this world there will be pain and suffering. There’s just no getting around it. It a sure thing. Surer still is that God has overcome this world. God has a reason…a good reason. The nail that doesn’t remain under the hammer will never reach the goal. The diamond that doesn’t remain under the chisel will never become a precious jewel. The gold that doesn’t remain under the fire will never be refined.

The Fourth of July celebration held in Downieville, California, in 1851 was a festive event that included a parade, a picnic, and patriotic speeches from numerous politicians. Proud members of the Democratic County Convention spoke to the cheering crows of more than five thousand people, primarily gold miners, about freedom and the idea that all are considered equal. The celebration was accentuated with gambling at all the local saloons and the consumption of alcohol, available in large barrels lining the streets. When residents weren’t listening to orators wax nostalgic, many happy and drunk souls gathered at Jack Craycroft’s Saloon to watch a dark-eyed beauty named Juanita deal cards. Juanita was from Sonora, Mexico, and engaged to the saloon’s bartender, but that did not stop amorous miners from attempting to get close to her. Fred Cannon, a well-liked Scotsman who lived in town, frequently propositioned Juanita. On the Fourth of July in 1851, he took her usual rejection particularly hard and threatened to have his way with her regardless. When Juanita finished work that evening, she went straight home. The streets were still busy with rowdy patriots who weren’t willing to stop celebrating. Fred Cannon was among the men on the thoroughfare who were drinking and firing their guns in the air. After more than a few beers, Fred decided to take the celebration to Juanita’s house. Juanita was preparing for bed when Fred pounded on the front of her home and suddenly burst in, knocking the door off the hinges. She yelled at the drunken man to get out. Before leaving, Fred cursed at her and threw some of her things on the floor. The following morning Juanita confronted Fred about his behavior and demanded he fix her door. He refused, insisting that the door was flimsy and was in danger of falling off the frame prior to his involvement. Juanita was enraged by his response, and the two argued bitterly. When Fred cursed at her this time, she pulled a knife on him and stabbed him in the chest. Fred’s friends surrounded the woman, calling her a harlot and a murderer. They demanded that she be hanged outright. Many of the townspeople insisted on trying her first, however. After a quick and biased hearing, Juanita was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged. The fearless woman held her head up as she was led to the spot where she would be put to death. She refused a blindfold, and when asked if she had any final words about the crime for which she was accused, she simply nodded her head. She boldly stated that she was not sorry and that she would “do it again if so provoked.” Juanita was the first woman to be hanged in the state of California. She was buried in the same grave as Fred Cannon. The pair was moved from the site six months later when gold was discovered where they laid. Their remains were relocated to the Downieville Cemetery. Time and the elements have erased the name of the infamous Juanita from the marker that stands over her grave.

Red, white and blue bunting hung from the windows and awnings lining the main street of Virginia City, Nevada on July 4, 1861. The entire mining community had turned out to celebrate the country’s independence and share in the holiday festivities. The firemen of Fire Engine Company Number 1 led a grand parade through town. Riding on top of the vehicle and adorned in a fireman’s hat and carrying a brass fire trumpet filled with roses was Julia Bulette. The crowd cheered for the woman who had been named Queen of the Independence Day parade, and Julia proudly waved to them as she passed by. In that moment residents looked past the fact that she was a known prostitute who operated a busy parlor house. For that moment they focused solely on the charitable works she had done for the community and, in particular, the monetary contributions she had made to the fire department. Julia Bulette had been born in London, England, in 1833. She and her family moved to New Orleans in 1848 and then on to California with the gold rush. Julia arrived in Virginia City in 1859 after having survived a failed marriage and working as a prostitute in Louisiana. In a western territory where the male inhabitants far outnumbered the female, doe-eyed Julia learned how to make that work to her advantage. She opened a house of ill repute and hired a handful of girls to work for her. Julia’s Palace, as it came to be known, was a high-class establishment complete with lace curtains, imported carpets, and velvet, high-back chairs. She served her guests the finest wines and French cooking and insisted that her gentlemen callers conduct themselves in a civilized fashion. She was noted for being a kind woman with a generous heart who never failed to help the sick and poor. In recognition of her support to the needy, the local firefighters made her an honorary member. It was a tribute she cherished and did her best to prove herself worthy. On January 21, 1867, Virginia City’s beloved Julia was found brutally murdered in the bedroom of her home. The jewelry and furs she owned had been stolen. The heinous crime shocked the town, and citizens vowed to track the killer down. The funeral provided for Julia was one of the largest ever held in the area. Businesses closed, and black wreaths were hung on the doors of the saloons. Members of Fire Engine Company Number 1 pooled their money and purchased a silver-handled casket for her burial. She was laid to rest at the Flowery Cemetery outside Virginia City. The large wooden marker over her grave read simply JULIA. Fifteen months after Julia’s death, law enforcement apprehended the man who robbed and killed her. Jean Millian had been one of her clients and had Julia’s belongings on him when he was apprehended. Millian was tried, declared guilty, and hanged for the murder on April 27, 1868. This story as well as many other previous tales are from the book Tales Behind the Tombstones.

Crude rock markers and wooden crosses dot the various trails used by settlers heading west in the mid-1800s. A significant number of those markers indicate the final resting places of children. The trek across the frontier was filled with peril. Violence, disease and accidents claimed the lives of thousands of infants and toddlers. So uncertain were some pioneers of the longevity of their offspring born en route, they held off named their babies until they were two-years-old. The leading causes of death for children younger than age six traveling overland were cholera, meningitis, and smallpox. A number of children suffered fatal injuries when they fell under wagon wheels, fell into campfires, fell down steep canyons, or drowned in river crossings. In 1852, a family from Kentucky who were caught up in the gold rush barely made it out of Independence, Missouri, when their four-year-old died from meningitis. The leaders of the wagon train they were a part of stopped the caravan, and the men in the party cut down a medium-size oak tree to use as a casket for the girl. The girl’s body was laid in the shell, and the wooden slab was placed over it and nailed down. They dug a grave alongside the trail, lowered the crude casket, read a few words from the Bible, and prayed over the plot. After the grave was filled in, they flattened it by driving the wagons back and forth over the fresh earth. Pioneers believed this action kept wild animals from digging up the area. When the trip resumed the mother of the deceased child stood in the rear of the wagon, staring back at the spot where they had left her daughter. She continued staring at the spot hours after the grave was out of sight. An emigrant mother who lost her four-month-old child on the way to the fertile land of Oregon recorded a bit of the heartbreaking ordeal in her journal. In April 1852, Suzanna Townsend wrote, “we did feel very happy with her all the time she was with us and it was hard to part with her.” The journey across the rugged plains was so treacherous and risky some political leaders suggested only men should make the trip. In 1843, Horace Greeley wrote, “It is palpable homicide to tempt or send women and children over the thousand miles of precipice and volcanic sterility to Oregon.” Centuries-old cemeteries throughout the West are filled with small burial sites. More than one-third of the graves in the historic St. Patrick’s Cemetery in Grass Valley, California, represents children who have long since been gone. As in many gold-mining-camp cemeteries, marble cherubs are the most common overseers of the graves. Sculptured lambs representing innocence were also frequently used. The stories of the many lives that ended before they had a chance to make their mark on the frontier are lost forever. Only by their weathered tombstones are we able to know the tale of sacrifice to settle a new land.

What an extreme pleasure it was to meet descendants of Cherokee lawman Sam Sixkiller this weekend in Oklahoma. Such lovely people one and all and they generously shared photographs of Captain Sixkiller’s children and grandchildren with me. I learned a great deal more about the lawman and the Nation he protected. Colcord, Oklahoma is one of the most friendly towns I ever visited and I couldn’t help but imagine Sixkiller patrolling the area. On my way home I was reminded of a lawman who made his mark on this area of California. His name was David Douglass and a short account of his life is included in the book Tales Behind the Tombstones. Douglass was elected to the post of Nevada County sheriff in 1894. Sheriff Douglass had been a guard for gold shipments traveling by train and had also served as a messenger for Wells Fargo. He was known by residents in Grass Valley and Nevada City, California, as a bold, fearless, and defiant officer, dedicated to making sure the law was upheld. On Sunday, July 26, 1896, Douglass set out after an outlaw named C. Meyers who had been terrorizing the country. The pursuit ended in the death of the bandit and the sheriff. Sheriff Douglass shot and killed the highwaymen, but just who shot Douglass remains a mystery. After learning where the thief was hiding out, Douglass, mounted his horse and took out after him. When the sheriff hadn’t returned by the next day, his friends and deputies combed the area looking for him. His body was discovered a few feet from the outlaw’s. Cedar and chaparral trees were thick around the secluded scene, and it was evident to the sheriff’s deputies that he had been lured to the spot. Sheriff Douglass’s body was found with his head pointing downhill, his face plunged in the brush and dirt. The Grass Valley Union newspaper reported that the “force of the fall brought a slight contusion to the forehead.” Those who discovered his body believed that the bullet that took his life had entered his back, thrusting him forward. The report quoted deputies as saying, “Undoubtedly Sheriff Douglass had shot Meyers dead and was going to inspect the damage when a bullet pierced his frame.” As subsequent facts developed it appeared there had been an accomplice of Meyers hiding somewhere in the area. The unknown shooter fired shots at Douglass. The first bullet went into his back on the left side, and the second hit him in the right hand. Nevada County residents were shocked by the news of the respected sheriff’s death. They arrived in droves at the scene of the tragedy hoping to find a clue as to who the murderer might have been. Dozens of well-armed men scoured the hills in search of the assassin. The killer was never found. A monument to the memory of the sheriff and the outlaw (buried at the site) was erected at the location of the tragic gunfight in early 1900. It is believed Douglass was pitted against two and then one escaped. The bodies were lying parallel to one another. The gravestone over Sheriff Douglass’s grave and that of the bandit he shot is located in the Tahoe National Forest in Nevada City, California on a dirt pathway on Old Airport Road.