Pat Garrett and Life After Billy the Kid

Patrick Floyd Jarvis Garrett found fame - or infamy depending on your point of view - at the age of 31 when on July 14, 1881 and acting as sheriff of Lincoln County, New Mexico, he shot and killed a young fugtive named Henry McCarty. Henry is, of course, better known as Billy the Kid and his "real" name, William Bonney, is actually an alias. Billy had recently been catapulted from being a underage and virtually unknown ranch hand into a living legend when, after being convicted of the murder of Sheriff William Brady, he escaped the Lincoln County jail in a manner so spectacular that he soon garnered headlines quite literally throughout the world. Three weeks after Billy's death, the story appeared on the front page of the London Times, and Pat Garrett became one of the most renown lawmen of all time, but for better or worse, forever linked with Billy the Kid.

What is surprising to many, though, is Pat's career as a lawman was actually sporadic and brief - and remarkably unlucrative. His election to two individual and widely spaced terms as sheriff (in separate New Mexico counties) were reactions by the local citizens wanting a "law and order" man to solve particular crimes. In 1880, he had been elected specifically to bring Billy to trial. But once Billy was killed, Pat found the promised reward money was not forthcoming because - frustratingly for Pat - as sheriff he wasn't entitled to it. Worse, he also found that he was persona non grata among the large Hispanic community. Pat decided not to run for sheriff again, and he figured his days as a lawman were over.

The enmity aroused in the Hispanic citizens toward Pat was all the more troubling since he, like many Anglos, was a membrer of the Spanish American community by marriage. In 1879 and shortly after he arrived in Lincoln County, Pat had wed Juanita Guiterrez. However, she soon died, perhaps in a matter of weeks, and Pat promptly married Apolinaria Guiterrez who was presumably Juanita's sister. Pat and Apolinaria soon began begatting a stream of nine little Garretts starting with Ida (born in 1881) and ending with his youngest, Jarvis, who lived until 1991. With a family to care for, Pat decided to go into ranching and land speculation.

Unfortunately Pat found that establishing himself among the Pecos valley gentry was a bit more difficult than expected. New Mexico, we should also remember, is a desert (or at least an arid region), and the cost of farming with irrigation was high (ironically, the real water source or the region, artesian wells, wasn't tapped into until later). If you wanted to raise livestock you also needed large tracts of land. But most of all you needed credit. Pat found getting the needed loans easy enough, but repaying them difficult. And you had to be lucky. Pat was not, and he began to fall into debt.

At least there was plenty of room on his ranches and farms for his growing family. Although he seems to have been a kind and indulgent father, standards of discipline were different in the late nineteenth century than now. Once daughter Ida tagged along as Pat showed a fellow rancher his irrigation system. Ida scampered between the two men, running around them and even ducking under Pat's lengthly legs. Pat warned his daughter she might fall in. Besides if she didn't stop running around, he'd push her in anyway.

Like many children Ida ignored her father's admonitions, and she continued to dart about between the two men. Finally Pat lifted his boot and shoved Ida in. As Ida stood up in the shallow ditch, Pat's friend laughed and said, "So your father kicked you in the ditch."

"Yes," the six year old spluttered, "I didn't think the old son of a bitch^* would do it."

Then on February 1, 1896, prominent New Mexico attorney and journalist, Albert Jennings Fountain and his nine year old son Henry disappeared. Albert had just filed papers in Las Cruces initiating a rustling indictment against a local (and powerful) cattleman named Oliver Lee. Albert and Henry then set out for their home in Mesilla and were last seen driving toward the White Sands region around Alamagordo as three mysterious horsemen trailed in the distance. Friends of the Fountains quickly formed a posse and in their searching came across both the abandoned wagon and a huge pool of dried blood. But Albert and Henry were never found.

Prominent citizens of Doña Ana county approached Pat with an offer. If he'd run for sheriff to solve the mystery, they would give him an interim appointment as deputy so he could start his job right away. They would also make sure he would receive the appropriate reward money in addition to his salary. Pat agreed, and his appointment was finalized in the election of 1897.

Pat suspected - as had many others - that three men were responsible: Oliver Lee, Bill McNew, and Jim Gilliland (who was no older than eighteen at the time). The trouble was Pat had little real evidence, and it was a stretch when he arrested Bill, hoping a prolonged confinement would bring out a confession. But Bill didn't talk and eventually the charges were dismissed. It wasn't until July 12, 1898 that Pat and a posse arrived at the Lee line ranch at Wildy Well to arrest Oliver and Jim.

Now comes the difference between legend and reality. Pat was a tough lawman, yes, but he was not a superman. When he got to Wildy Well, Pat and his posse charged into the one room line shack only to find no one but a ranch hand's wife and three children asleep. Oliver and Jim were there, yes, but hiding on the roof. The posse couldn't get up the ladder and had to beat a quick retreat from the house. Soon a pitched battle began which ended up with one of Pat's deputies dead and the lawman agreeing to leave.

That Pat not only failed to bring in the fugitives but lost one of his own men and endangered the lives of a woman and her small children gave Pat a lot of bad press. It didn't get better when a third party brokered a deal where Oliver and Jim surrendered to another sheriff and stood trial. Both men were acquitted after an able defense by attorney and future Secretary of the Interior (under Warren Harding) Albert Bacon Fall. That Fall was a bitter political opponent of Fountain has led many to conclude he was also involved with their disappearance. However Fall and Pat had a surprisingly good working relationship. Fall had even supported Pat's election and later served as Pat's counsel. All this is all the more ironic since the defense attorney at Billy the Kid's trial had been - Albert Jennings Fountain!

With no convictions in the Fountain case, Pat got no reward money. Now approaching fifty, he decided being a peace officer in underfunded states or territories might be the way to fame, but not to fortune. When his term lapsed in 1900, Pat Garret was finally through with the law.

That doesn't mean that Pat was opposed to a government job which would give him and his family a lot more security than land speculation and ranching (not to mention trying to garner an income from his favorite pastimes of horse racing and gambling). Fortunately, the new president, Theodore Roosevelt, had lived and ranched in the west as a young man and had long admired Pat. So in 1901, Pat switched his political affiliation from the Democratic to the Republican party and with a little help from his friends landed the presidential appointment of customs inspector at El Paso. Teddy made the appointment, though, on the proviso Pat sign a promise to abstain from hard liquor. That was fine with Pat. He signed and started his new job.

Pat did his job honestly and forthrightly, but he never learned to handle the political angling and the necessary smoozing that went with the job. He couldn't have cared less if a rich cattle baron claimed all the cows he was importing from Mexico were under one year old (and so should be charged the lowest rate). If Pat judged 50 % of the cows were older, then he'd say so and slap on the higher fee.

It wasn't long before some well connected ranchers and businessmen began to complain about the discourteous customs inspector just north of the border. Also various denizens of the lower echelons in the federal bueauracy decided they wanted Pat's job and began to question Pat's doings. A bit more troublesome were stories of the inspector's gambling and brawling in the streets of El Paso. Some of the latter stories were true, such as the time Pat got into some rather ineffectual fisticuffs with an acquaintance and ended up getting fined $5.

So Pat soon began getting letters from the Secretary of the Treasury asking him to address the complaints and explain his actions. At first Pat's responding letters were straightforward but rather brusque. But after repeated inquiries, he essentially ended up telling the Secretary to mind his own damn business.

Then President Roosevelt came to El Paso and Pat introduced him to a "cattleman" friend, Tom Powers. There was a photo-op and the pictures of Teddy, Pat, and Tom together in the group caused the president some embarrassment when it came out that Mr. Powers, the respected stockman, was actually Wily Old Tom, a not particularly respectable gambler. Embarassed having his photo taken with a less than upstanding citizen and blaming it on Pat, Teddy did not reappoint Pat for another four year appointment.

As an aside, Tom and Teddy later became good friends. According to Pat's biographer, on a later visit to Texas, Tom presented the President with a bear cub. The newspapers wrote about "Teddy's bear", and the name was picked up by toymakers selling stuffed bears. So Pat was - tangentially at least and if the story is true - responsible for one of the most successful toy industries in the world. And naturally he didn't make a penny out of it.^**

When he took the inspectors job, Pat moved his family from their ranch in the country into Las Cruces proper where his children could attend school. But when he returned from Texas, he moved them back to the ranch since if for no other reason there would be enough food for the kids. By now Pat's income (and we suspect gambling money) began to come, not from ranching or farming, but from loans, mortgages, and promissory notes that he almost never repaid and which resulted in lawsuits and court summons which he usually ignored. Soon Pat found no one would trust him with even the smallest debt. He couldn't even do grocery shopping because his account was $10 in arrears, and the grocer wouldn't extend further credit.

Now in his mid-fifties, Pat Garrett was wondering what he wanted to do with his life. His ambition to be a wealthy land owner and speculator hadn't panned out. He even tried his hand at being a Mexican attorney (which at the time required only a registration fee). But he retired from the legal profession after he lost his one and only case.

Next Pat moved back to El Paso where he joined a real estate firm in El Paso (Apolinaria and the kids remained on the ranch). He didn't seem to spend much time brokering deals, though, and many people remembered him driving around town with a high falootin' lady known to us only as Mrs. Brown.

While his dad was away, the oldest son, Poe, had no time to play. Instead it was he that managed the land tracts that Pat had accumlated over the years. In 1907 Poe granted a five year lease for their land at Bear Canyon to a young cowboy named Wayne Brazel.

Wayne Brazel was one of the most curious characters of the Old West. In his early twenties in 1908, he had been working as a ranch hand for the larger landowners to supplement his own forays into ranching. In general, the families liked him although they regarded as a bit strange. He would help take care the kids, and once taught the youngest girl of the family of rancher W. W. Cox to say "Gosh darn, double deuce, damn!", saying that's all she needed to know how to say. An older sister concluded Wayne was a bit feeble minded.

Wayne was to pay the rent by turning over a specified number of calves and one horse a year. What Wayne didn't tell anyone was he was going to raise goats. Goats, for those who don't know it, were anathema to cattlemen because the animals crop the grass so short that they denude the land.

When he returned to Las Cruces, Pat was not pleased with the arrangement. Not only did he not like goats, but he needed cash, not a few calves and an extra horse a year. So Pat began negotiations with Carl Adamson, a fellow rancher whose brother-in-law was looking for a ranch to raise cattle. Carl's brother-in-law, we should note, was the nortoious murderer for hire, James "Killin' Jim" Miller. But despite his horrible reputation, Killin' Jim came off to Pat as a congenial and reasonable man. Carl and Killin' Jim said they would pay Pat over $3000 for the Bear Canyon Ranch, and would then hire Pat to drive the cattle to Oklahoma once they were fattened up.

Wayne himself was agreeable to the deal and said he would break the lease if someone bought his 1200 goats at $3.85 a head. Killin' Jim said fine, he'd buy the animals. So things were looking good for Pat. He would soon be out of debt and once more be on his way to putting his ranching ventures on a sound footing. But then after a recount, Wayne found there were 1800 goats, not 1200. That was too much, Killin' Jim frowned. But Wayne said he wouldn't leave unless someone bought all the goats. So it looked like the deal was off.

On February 28, 1908, Carl came to the Pat's home ranch for a business discussion. The next morning, February 29 (it was a leap year), Pat and Carl got in Carl's buggy and headed into town to talk things over with Killin' Jim and Wayne. On the way they met Wayne who was riding to the meeting on his horse. The topic of the goats came up, and Wayne said he wouldn't clear out unless someone bought all the goats. When Pat stopped the buggy so he and Carl could take a break (yes, that kind of break), Pat snarled that he'd get Wayne off the land one way or another. As he stepped down, Pat set a shotgun aside.

That was the last thing the old lawman knew. Wayne's bullet smashed into the back of Pat's head, and as Pat spun around a second round hit his stomach. Carl looked back and saw Wayne with a smoking pistol in his hand. He then looked at Pat who may have held something in his hand, too. But if so, it was not a pistol.

Wayne and Carl drove on into Las Cruces, Wayne turned himself in to the sheriff. A year later he was tried for murder and acquitted. Pat's last remark had been a threat, said Wayne, and he had simply acted in self-defense. The jury agreed. Wayne stayed in the area, married, and when his wife died, he eventually wandered off and disappeared.

References

Pat Garrett: The Story of a Western Lawman, Leon Metz, University of Oklahoma Press (1974). By far the definitive biography and one of the best biographies of any western figure. The writing and research are very much of the standands of Leon's many other books.

Before this book came out, historians debated who "really" killed Pat Garrett. Both Carl Adamson and Killin' Jim were prime suspects, particuarly since there was some evidence that someone could have staged an ambush at the spot. But in his book, Leon discusses the pros and cons of the various arguments and when you get down to it, the most reasonable solution to the mystery is there was no mystery. Wayne, the man who confessed to and was tried for the crime, did indeed shoot Pat Garrett.

Encyclopedia of Western Gunfighters, Bill O'Neal, University of Oklahoma Press (1983). A standard reference work listing all documented gunfights of the Old West. The number of gunfights for any individual is surprisingly low, which upon mature reflection, makes sense. This has sections for Pat Garrett, Billy the Kid (as Henry McCarty), and Killin' Jim Miller. Jim is listed as the man who shot Pat, an opinion which at the time was (and to some degree still is) held by western historians.

* CooperToons must also note that Ida's quote given above is somewhat reconstructed. The actual documentation used the words "I didn't think the old --------- would do it." Those were more genteel literary times.

**We also have to admit the Teddy Bear story contradicts the official version, where we learn that "Teddy's bear" came from a political cartoon from 1902 and so has documentation. But the story with the connection with Pat, although likely apocryphal, is too good to omit.