The Wild Wild West
"In Nevada, for a time, the lawyer, the editor, the
banker, the chief desperado, the chief gambler, and the saloon
keeper, occupied the same level in society, and it was the
highest."
–Mark Twain, Roughing It
On the American frontier, "law and order" was a loose term. It could mean anything from a decision by the Supreme Court to the personal opinion of grim-faced gentlemen calmly tossing a lariat over the limb of a cottonwood tree. Westerners like the Law well enough but weren't sure that it ought to be out west. The respect that many had for it varied proportionally with the quickness of the sheriff's gun hand. All in all, the open range felt that it had a pretty good set of rules of its own and resented outside interference.
The West's Golden Rule
One of the most important unspoken rules which almost everyone followed (and which is still a prevelant sentiment in isolated western communities) was explained by Herman Collins, my great-grandfather, in his memoirs. He wrote:
"There was no law west of the Pecos River at that time (1890), anyway it didn't make much difference what you did just as long as you did not molest the other fellow and attended to your own affairs."
This philosophy was universally understood, and broken only by a few. This group of undesirables consisted largely of cattle rustlers and horse thieves; two extremely dangerous occupations; if caught, there would be a rope waiting for them. The novels and movies got that much right. The reason for such severity is obvious when you think about it. They had stolen a man's cattle or horses, and without either it was very hard to make a living in that country. Worse, being on foot in cattle country was very dangerous. In other words, they were guilty of stealing a man's means of survival and making a living.
If a man shot another in an argument, he was usually not handled as harshly as a horse-thief. This was for the simple reason that the person shot usually deserved it. For example, a cowboy who had killed a real-estate salesman in a gun fight reported the incident to the sheriff and offered to give himself up. He asked the law officer what he would get for committing such a crime. "Shucks!" snorted the lawman. "You won't get nuthin'. We took the bounty off them fellers a long time ago!" And that was the end of the matter.
Gunfight at High... Lunch?
The Old West was a place of sudden violence, where the strong and lucky survived; to be strong generally meant to be quick and sure with a six-gun. Accordingly, the men of the west developed great respect for swiftness of the gun hand.
Contrary to the widely-held myth, gun battles rarely took place on main street at high noon. They generally occurred at the card table in the saloon, or even over lunch.
Clay Allison, a noted gunfighter (credited with coining the term "shootist" to describe his vocation), was a good friend of the Collins family. Once, when he heard that a man had stolen several horses from their ranch near Raton, New Mexico, he went after the thief. He found him at a stagecoach station eating lunch. Allison recognized him as a man who had committed several other crimes, mostly murder and thievery.
Allison sat down opposite the man, whose name was Chunk Wilson. Wilson had his gun in his lap; Allison placed his by his plate. Wilson dropped his knife and stooped to get it. When he raised up again he had his pistol in his hand, but it caught under the edge of the table and before he could get straightened up, Allison shot him in the head.
Clay Allison was often heard to remark that he never killed a man who didn't need killing; he eventually killed 24. Allison met his own untimely death in a freak accident when he got drunk and fell off a load of hay, and was run over by the wagon, breaking his neck. He is buried in Raton, New Mexico.
Errata – My Dad sent me the following correction in email, just to keep the record straight:
"I must give you a small warning about the story of the
shootout between Clay Allison and Chunk Wilson. Herman had
some of the details wrong. The loser's name was Chunk
Colbert, not Wilson. (The event happened a couple of years
before the Collinses moved to Colorado, but Herman had Wilson
steal one of Aaron's horses before he went to the Clifton
House and his rendezvous with Allison. I used to have a
newspaper clipping, probably published in the 1930's, in which
an old timer used the name of Wilson in place of Colbert. I
suspect there was a bad'un named Wilson whom Herman
remembered, and, when he saw the article, just confused two
stories into one.) The shooting is well enough known that
someone may challenge you about the names. Just tell 'em that
the Collinses were close friends of Allison, and they really
didn't keep track of the names of people he shot. (Actually,
the man was crazy. It's a wonder he didn't shoot them!)"
– R.W. Collins (used with permission).
Gallows Humor
Public hangings were common, and a gun fighter's final reputation was enhanced or shattered by his behavior at that event. Did he cry and blubber and plead for mercy? Coward. Was he swearing and defiant? Just deserts. The class act most appreciated by the spectators was to go out with a joke or a good line. Books about the history of the old west are full of stories of men who are remembered not so much for their crimes, as for their last words:
In Virginia City an outlaw named Boone Helen was about to be hanged. Beside him writhed a member of his gang. "Kick away old fellow", said Boone. "I'll be in Hades with you in a jiffy. Every man for his principles. Hurrah for Jeff Davis. Let 'er go, men!"
Blackjack Ketchum made this comment as he was about to be hanged at Clayton, New Mexico: "Can't you hurry this up a bit? I hear they eat dinner in Hades at twelve sharp. I don't aim to be late."
A Mr. George Shears approached the gallows with this comment: "Gentlemen, I am not used to this business, having never been hanged before. Do I jump off or slide off?"