JOHNNY BEHIND THE DUECE AND THE SCHNEIDER SHOOTING AT CHARLESTON.
By John D. Rose
The Tombstone Epitaph told its readers…“Brutal Murder of an Upright Citizen at Charleston By a Desperado”
The event had the makings of a class warfare scenario. A key employee of the Corbin mill, W. P. Schneider, left Millville for lunch at Charleston, and never made it back to work. He was shot to death on a Charleston street at midday, a case that shocked the area, and it would not be the last time one of Gird’s employees would be shot to death so close to his operations at Millville.
The shooter in the case, “Johnny Behind the Deuce,” aka, Rourke, aka O’ Rourke, was just eighteen at the time. He claimed that he was a miner, though other accounts call him a gambler.
Of the shooting and the events that led to it, Rourke said, “I didn’t know Schneider very well, and I never had spoken a dozen words to him before this affair happened. I went into Smith’s restaurant at noon to get lunch. I had been drinking a few glasses of beer, but was sober enough to know what I was about. After I got through eating I went to the fire-place to light a cigar. Schneider made a remark that I thought was intended to be insulting-at least it had that manner-that it must be cold. ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘it is cold.’ Then Schneider says ‘I ain’t talking to you.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘you’re a little too smart, anyhow.’ I got up and started to go out, and Schneider jumped up and made a break at me as if he was going to strike me, and called me a, d-d----.’ Bob Petty was there and he jumped up and caught hold of Schneider and made him sit down. There were some ladies in the restaurant, and it made me awful mad to be called that. I told him that I had too much respect for the ladies to fight him in there, but to come out on the sidewalk.
“I went out and started down [the] street, and Bob came out and spoke to me. I said to him, ‘It was better, anyhow, Bob; I didn’t want any trouble with him.’ While we were talking, the telegraph operator came out and said, ‘Why, that old fellow is crazy.’ I said, ‘Well, let’s go down to the saloon and take a drink.’ We started off for the saloon, and Schneider caught up to us at the corner of the corral. I looked around and said, ‘I don’t want you to throw out any more insults to me.’ He says, ‘I wasn’t taking to you.’ I said ‘Well, that’s all right, then, if you wasn’t.’ ‘Supposing I was,’ says Schneider, ‘what are you going to do about it?’ I says ‘I ain’t a-going to do anything about [it].’ Schneider seemed to get mad, and kept coming nearer and nearer.
“I kept stepping back, and finally he got so close I put my left hand against him, as he got nearer. I said, ‘Go away from me; I don’t want any trouble with you.’ He had a knife in his hand. I was excited, of course, for the man was twice as big as I was. I’m not certain whether the knife was open or not, for his hand was sideways to me, and I could only see the end of the handle.
“He continued to crowd against me, and I pulled my gun [here Rourke made a motion as if to draw, an illustration, the reporter supposed, of his account] and shot him. I was so excited when I shot him that I dropped my revolver and ran a little ways. I always tried to keep out of such trouble, and when I saw the blood—well, I didn’t hardly know what I was doing, I guess.
“I think Bob stayed there, but I don’t know whether the operator did or not. Then the constable-George, I think his name is-came over and arrested me, and all the men rushed over from the mill and there was a terrible excitement. They said they would hold an inquest on Schneider, and if I killed him, they would hang me in twenty minutes. I told them that I did kill him, but I wanted a fair trial. Well, I guess you know all the rest.” Just a week later the Citizen would add that they found the account of the “Deuce” to be believable. The jailhouse interview that Rourke had done with their reporter had a made an impression. This in spite of the already published report that when the “Deuce” arrived at Vogan’s in Tombstone, he was “acknowledging that he had killed his man.”
But his was by no means the only version of events. The “Deuce” had a clear personal stake in how this killing was seen-it was for his very survival. He could not argue that he was not the shooter…too many witnesses. So he cast himself in the best possible light, and Schneider, who was not alive to give his version, was cast in the worst. According to the “Deuce” he himself never acted out of anger; he was controlled and measured in all of his responses, and Schneider, the manager of the mill across the river, was the one bent on blood.
Because of this, those whose accounts differ from his are important, as they come from people who had no personal stake in how the shooting was seen. They portray the shooting victim as a man whose behavior was not consistent with the way his killer had described him.
EPITAPH ACCOUNT OF THE SCHNEIDER KILLING
“Sometime since the cabin of Mr. W.P. Schneider, chief engineer of the Corbin Mill, was entered and robbed of several articles, including some clothing. Circumstances pointed very strongly to two parties, one of whom is so well known by the cognomen of ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce’ that we were unable last night to obtain his real name; but direct proof not being sufficient, no arrest was made. Yesterday at noon Mr. Schneider left his duties and went to a restaurant, where he was accustomed to take his meals, and, on entering, approached the stove and noticing a friend standing by, entered into conversation. Having just left the heated engine room, the air without felt cool, which brought from Mr. S. a remark to that effect. ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,’ who was also in the room, then said, ‘I thought you never got cold.’ Not desiring to have anything to do with one of his character, Mr. Schneider turned and said, ‘I was not talking to you, sir.’” The “Deuce,” angry over this response, “blurted out, ‘G-d d-n you I'll shoot you when you come out,’ and left the room. After eating his dinner Mr. Schneider passed out the door, and was proceeding to the mill…”
The “Deuce” was waiting behind a corral corner and killed him on the spot. “Immediately after the shooting the following telegrams were sent to Mr. Richard Gird, the superintendent, who was in the mine here at the time:
Charleston,Jan.14,1:30p.m.
To Richard Gird Schneider has just been killed by a gambler; no provocation. Cow boys are preparing to take him out of custody. We need fifty well armed men
Charleston, Jan. 14, 1:35 p.m.
To Richard Gird Prisoner has just gone to Tombstone[.]Try and head him off and bring him back
Charleston, Jan. 14, 1:50 p.m.
To Richard Gird-- Burnett has telegraphed to the officers who have the murderer in charge to bring him back to appear at inquest. See that he is brought back
“Considerable delay occurred in getting these dispatches to Mr. Gird, who at the time was in the mine, and just where was not known, but as soon as he received it, prompt action was taken, and a number of the miners were ordered to report to the officers, to resist any attempted rescue of the prisoner. Owing to some delay in delivery at the office of the company, and subsequent loss of time in finding Mr. Gird, over an hour elapsed, we are informed, after transmission before the dispatches were opened, and during this time the murderer was flying over the road toward the city, reaching the corner of Fifth and Allen a few minutes after the dispatches had been read.” Although it sounds as if unaccompanied, Constable McKelvey of Charleston had arrested the “Deuce” in Charleston and was at that time hurrying him toward Tombstone for his own safety, as an angry group from Charleston was in hot pursuit of them both.
A RACEHORSE FROM TOMBSTONE SAVES THE “DEUCE.”
While the Schneider tragedy was unfolding in Charleston, and his staff was searching the mine for Dick Gird, two brothers in Tombstone were discussing a visit to a mining claim three miles outside of town. “I’m going out to the mines,” Virgil Earp told his brother Wyatt. They had interest in a claim just outside of Tombstone, near the road to Charleston, known as the “Last Chance.” An ironic name given what was about to occur involving the elder of the two Earps and the “Deuce.”
Virgil didn’t need Wyatt’s consent to go to the Last Chance area, unless it involved Wyatt’s favorite horse, a racer named “Dick Naylor.” Wyatt walked into the stable to see his older brother saddling up the race horse, without asking first. Virgil would have some explaining to do…This horse was special to Wyatt; it held a local record along the San Pedro River, and as a rule, only Wyatt rode him. “…Dick Naylor needs a little exercise,” an embarrassed Virgil told his brother. “All right…you can ride him this time, but I don’t want you to do it again.”
Ironically, it was Wyatt’s decision to allow Virgil to take Dick Naylor out for a ride that may well have saved the life of the “Deuce,” though Earp was still unaware of the incident. Knowledge of the Schneider killing at Charleston was still racing with an angry mob toward Tombstone and the Earps. (Although it has been claimed that a phone call informed Tombstone of the events, the first phone system in Tombstone, mainly from mills on the river to mines at Tombstone, was not announced until two months later, and its installation followed after that. This news spread via telegraph and word of mouth. See “Tombstone’s first telephones,” Tombstone Epitaph, March 15, 1881)
VIRGIL EARP AND THE “DEUCE”
Virgil headed out of Tombstone on the Charleston road and was approaching the “Last Chance” area, two and a half miles outside of Tombstone. He soon saw a wagon driving at a high pace, unusual enough that he stopped the horse and watched the approach. The buckboard was “tearing along the road while the driver lashed the mules. Puzzled, Virgil Earp halted Dick Naylor, and horse and rider watched the approaching buckboard. There was nothing else in sight. It came closer.” Now the mob in pursuit came into his view. “The driver lifted one hand in a jerky motion, and Virgil Earp ran Dick Naylor beside the wheels of the rig.” Virgil recognized that it was Constable George McKelvey from Charleston. “Help us,” McKelvey yelled. “They’re after him to lynch him.”
Virgil could see the handcuffs on a white faced “Johnny behind the Deuce,” and told him to jump while the wagon was still in motion-no time to stop. He did so and the two sped off to Tombstone as Dick Naylor left McKelvey and his played out team in the dust, the group of vigilantes still racing toward Tombstone. They would not give up trying to get the “Deuce” back for a bit of swift frontier justice.
Fred Dodge recalled the scene: “Virgil Earp was soon leaving the mob behind. He brought Johnny to Vogan’s Saloon where his brother, Jim Earp, was tending bar and in 2 or 3 minutes Wyatt, Morgan, and several others were there also, myself among the number. Wyatt was a Deputy U.S. Marshall and he at once took charge. He sent to the Corral and had a Team hitched up to take Johnny to Tucson…”
By John D. Rose
The Tombstone Epitaph told its readers…“Brutal Murder of an Upright Citizen at Charleston By a Desperado”
The event had the makings of a class warfare scenario. A key employee of the Corbin mill, W. P. Schneider, left Millville for lunch at Charleston, and never made it back to work. He was shot to death on a Charleston street at midday, a case that shocked the area, and it would not be the last time one of Gird’s employees would be shot to death so close to his operations at Millville.
The shooter in the case, “Johnny Behind the Deuce,” aka, Rourke, aka O’ Rourke, was just eighteen at the time. He claimed that he was a miner, though other accounts call him a gambler.
Of the shooting and the events that led to it, Rourke said, “I didn’t know Schneider very well, and I never had spoken a dozen words to him before this affair happened. I went into Smith’s restaurant at noon to get lunch. I had been drinking a few glasses of beer, but was sober enough to know what I was about. After I got through eating I went to the fire-place to light a cigar. Schneider made a remark that I thought was intended to be insulting-at least it had that manner-that it must be cold. ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘it is cold.’ Then Schneider says ‘I ain’t talking to you.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘you’re a little too smart, anyhow.’ I got up and started to go out, and Schneider jumped up and made a break at me as if he was going to strike me, and called me a, d-d----.’ Bob Petty was there and he jumped up and caught hold of Schneider and made him sit down. There were some ladies in the restaurant, and it made me awful mad to be called that. I told him that I had too much respect for the ladies to fight him in there, but to come out on the sidewalk.
“I went out and started down [the] street, and Bob came out and spoke to me. I said to him, ‘It was better, anyhow, Bob; I didn’t want any trouble with him.’ While we were talking, the telegraph operator came out and said, ‘Why, that old fellow is crazy.’ I said, ‘Well, let’s go down to the saloon and take a drink.’ We started off for the saloon, and Schneider caught up to us at the corner of the corral. I looked around and said, ‘I don’t want you to throw out any more insults to me.’ He says, ‘I wasn’t taking to you.’ I said ‘Well, that’s all right, then, if you wasn’t.’ ‘Supposing I was,’ says Schneider, ‘what are you going to do about it?’ I says ‘I ain’t a-going to do anything about [it].’ Schneider seemed to get mad, and kept coming nearer and nearer.
“I kept stepping back, and finally he got so close I put my left hand against him, as he got nearer. I said, ‘Go away from me; I don’t want any trouble with you.’ He had a knife in his hand. I was excited, of course, for the man was twice as big as I was. I’m not certain whether the knife was open or not, for his hand was sideways to me, and I could only see the end of the handle.
“He continued to crowd against me, and I pulled my gun [here Rourke made a motion as if to draw, an illustration, the reporter supposed, of his account] and shot him. I was so excited when I shot him that I dropped my revolver and ran a little ways. I always tried to keep out of such trouble, and when I saw the blood—well, I didn’t hardly know what I was doing, I guess.
“I think Bob stayed there, but I don’t know whether the operator did or not. Then the constable-George, I think his name is-came over and arrested me, and all the men rushed over from the mill and there was a terrible excitement. They said they would hold an inquest on Schneider, and if I killed him, they would hang me in twenty minutes. I told them that I did kill him, but I wanted a fair trial. Well, I guess you know all the rest.” Just a week later the Citizen would add that they found the account of the “Deuce” to be believable. The jailhouse interview that Rourke had done with their reporter had a made an impression. This in spite of the already published report that when the “Deuce” arrived at Vogan’s in Tombstone, he was “acknowledging that he had killed his man.”
But his was by no means the only version of events. The “Deuce” had a clear personal stake in how this killing was seen-it was for his very survival. He could not argue that he was not the shooter…too many witnesses. So he cast himself in the best possible light, and Schneider, who was not alive to give his version, was cast in the worst. According to the “Deuce” he himself never acted out of anger; he was controlled and measured in all of his responses, and Schneider, the manager of the mill across the river, was the one bent on blood.
Because of this, those whose accounts differ from his are important, as they come from people who had no personal stake in how the shooting was seen. They portray the shooting victim as a man whose behavior was not consistent with the way his killer had described him.
EPITAPH ACCOUNT OF THE SCHNEIDER KILLING
“Sometime since the cabin of Mr. W.P. Schneider, chief engineer of the Corbin Mill, was entered and robbed of several articles, including some clothing. Circumstances pointed very strongly to two parties, one of whom is so well known by the cognomen of ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce’ that we were unable last night to obtain his real name; but direct proof not being sufficient, no arrest was made. Yesterday at noon Mr. Schneider left his duties and went to a restaurant, where he was accustomed to take his meals, and, on entering, approached the stove and noticing a friend standing by, entered into conversation. Having just left the heated engine room, the air without felt cool, which brought from Mr. S. a remark to that effect. ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,’ who was also in the room, then said, ‘I thought you never got cold.’ Not desiring to have anything to do with one of his character, Mr. Schneider turned and said, ‘I was not talking to you, sir.’” The “Deuce,” angry over this response, “blurted out, ‘G-d d-n you I'll shoot you when you come out,’ and left the room. After eating his dinner Mr. Schneider passed out the door, and was proceeding to the mill…”
The “Deuce” was waiting behind a corral corner and killed him on the spot. “Immediately after the shooting the following telegrams were sent to Mr. Richard Gird, the superintendent, who was in the mine here at the time:
Charleston,Jan.14,1:30p.m.
To Richard Gird Schneider has just been killed by a gambler; no provocation. Cow boys are preparing to take him out of custody. We need fifty well armed men
Charleston, Jan. 14, 1:35 p.m.
To Richard Gird Prisoner has just gone to Tombstone[.]Try and head him off and bring him back
Charleston, Jan. 14, 1:50 p.m.
To Richard Gird-- Burnett has telegraphed to the officers who have the murderer in charge to bring him back to appear at inquest. See that he is brought back
“Considerable delay occurred in getting these dispatches to Mr. Gird, who at the time was in the mine, and just where was not known, but as soon as he received it, prompt action was taken, and a number of the miners were ordered to report to the officers, to resist any attempted rescue of the prisoner. Owing to some delay in delivery at the office of the company, and subsequent loss of time in finding Mr. Gird, over an hour elapsed, we are informed, after transmission before the dispatches were opened, and during this time the murderer was flying over the road toward the city, reaching the corner of Fifth and Allen a few minutes after the dispatches had been read.” Although it sounds as if unaccompanied, Constable McKelvey of Charleston had arrested the “Deuce” in Charleston and was at that time hurrying him toward Tombstone for his own safety, as an angry group from Charleston was in hot pursuit of them both.
A RACEHORSE FROM TOMBSTONE SAVES THE “DEUCE.”
While the Schneider tragedy was unfolding in Charleston, and his staff was searching the mine for Dick Gird, two brothers in Tombstone were discussing a visit to a mining claim three miles outside of town. “I’m going out to the mines,” Virgil Earp told his brother Wyatt. They had interest in a claim just outside of Tombstone, near the road to Charleston, known as the “Last Chance.” An ironic name given what was about to occur involving the elder of the two Earps and the “Deuce.”
Virgil didn’t need Wyatt’s consent to go to the Last Chance area, unless it involved Wyatt’s favorite horse, a racer named “Dick Naylor.” Wyatt walked into the stable to see his older brother saddling up the race horse, without asking first. Virgil would have some explaining to do…This horse was special to Wyatt; it held a local record along the San Pedro River, and as a rule, only Wyatt rode him. “…Dick Naylor needs a little exercise,” an embarrassed Virgil told his brother. “All right…you can ride him this time, but I don’t want you to do it again.”
Ironically, it was Wyatt’s decision to allow Virgil to take Dick Naylor out for a ride that may well have saved the life of the “Deuce,” though Earp was still unaware of the incident. Knowledge of the Schneider killing at Charleston was still racing with an angry mob toward Tombstone and the Earps. (Although it has been claimed that a phone call informed Tombstone of the events, the first phone system in Tombstone, mainly from mills on the river to mines at Tombstone, was not announced until two months later, and its installation followed after that. This news spread via telegraph and word of mouth. See “Tombstone’s first telephones,” Tombstone Epitaph, March 15, 1881)
VIRGIL EARP AND THE “DEUCE”
Virgil headed out of Tombstone on the Charleston road and was approaching the “Last Chance” area, two and a half miles outside of Tombstone. He soon saw a wagon driving at a high pace, unusual enough that he stopped the horse and watched the approach. The buckboard was “tearing along the road while the driver lashed the mules. Puzzled, Virgil Earp halted Dick Naylor, and horse and rider watched the approaching buckboard. There was nothing else in sight. It came closer.” Now the mob in pursuit came into his view. “The driver lifted one hand in a jerky motion, and Virgil Earp ran Dick Naylor beside the wheels of the rig.” Virgil recognized that it was Constable George McKelvey from Charleston. “Help us,” McKelvey yelled. “They’re after him to lynch him.”
Virgil could see the handcuffs on a white faced “Johnny behind the Deuce,” and told him to jump while the wagon was still in motion-no time to stop. He did so and the two sped off to Tombstone as Dick Naylor left McKelvey and his played out team in the dust, the group of vigilantes still racing toward Tombstone. They would not give up trying to get the “Deuce” back for a bit of swift frontier justice.
Fred Dodge recalled the scene: “Virgil Earp was soon leaving the mob behind. He brought Johnny to Vogan’s Saloon where his brother, Jim Earp, was tending bar and in 2 or 3 minutes Wyatt, Morgan, and several others were there also, myself among the number. Wyatt was a Deputy U.S. Marshall and he at once took charge. He sent to the Corral and had a Team hitched up to take Johnny to Tucson…”
A NEAR LYNCHING ON ALLEN STREET.
Virgil Earp arrived at Jim Vogan’s Wine Rooms (a saloon near the corner of fifth and Allen streets); a terrified Rourke was asking those in the area for protection, while at the same time admitting his guilt. He was “acknowledging that he had killed his man,” though later he would tell a different version. Not much time had elapsed from the arrival of Virgil Earp and the “Deuce” and the area was suddenly transformed into a near melee. “In a few moments Allen street was jammed with an excited crowd, rapidly augmented by scores from all directions.”
Virgil Earp was securing his passenger as Allen Street swelled with throng, and Virgil’s wife Allie was pressed into service herself. “Well anyway it was one morning after we’d all been to the Opera House to see ‘The Ticket-of-Leave Man’. I was in the house doin’ my work when I heard a horse comin’ lickety-split up the hard dirt road, slither up rarin’ on his haunches outside the window. I jumped up and ran to the door. Just then I heard a yell from the back of the house and ran outside. ‘Al!—Come out here and help!’ It was Warren Earp. He was jerkin’ the saddle off the horse. So I ran to him. ‘Bridle and throw saddle-blankets on those other horses! ‘What’s goin’ on, Warren?’ ‘Don’t ask questions. Work!’
“And so I worked. Warren jumped astride a fresh horse and leadin’ the others by the reins galloped up Allen Street. I hurried up town after him, worryin’ about Virge, and when I turned the corner I saw a crowd of men in the road by Vogan’s bowlin’ alley. They were watchin’ Wyatt and Johnny-Behind-the Deuce gettin’ ready to drive away in a wagon.” Between the efforts of Allie, Virgil, Wyatt and Warren Earp, not to mention Dick Naylor, four members of the Earp family, though by no means alone, did play a role in saving the Deuce from a quick lynching.
THE EPITAPH ACCOUNT CENTERS ON BEN SIPPY
“By this time Marshal Sippy, realizing the situation at once, in the light of the repeated murders that have been committed and the ultimate liberty of the offenders, had secured a well-armed posse of over a score of men to prevent any attempt on the part of the crowd to lynch the prisoner; but fearing that no guard would be strong enough to resist a justly enraged public long, procured a light wagon, in which the prisoner was placed, guarded by himself, Virgil Earp and Deputy Sheriff Behan, assisted by a strong posse well armed. Moving down the street, closely followed by the throng, a halt was made and rifles leveled on the advancing citizens, several of whom were armed with rifles and shotguns.
“At this juncture, a well know individual, with more averdupoise than brains, called to the officers to turn loose and fire in the crowd. But Marshal Sippy's sound judgment prevented any such outbreak as would have been the certain result, and cool as an iceberg he held the crowd in check. No one who was a witness of yesterday's proceedings can doubt that but for his presence, blood would have flown freely. The posse following would not have been considered; but, bowing to the majesty of the law, the crowd subsided and the wagon proceeded on its way to Benson with the prisoner, who by daylight this morning was lodged in the Tucson jail.”
FRED DODGE ON WYATT EARP AND THE STANDOFF
The Epitaph centered the story around Ben Sippy, the town Marshall. This remains a subject of enduring Earp related debate. Fred Dodge noted, “…Wyatt was a Deputy U.S. Marshal and he at once took charge. He sent to the Corral and had a Team hitched up to take Johnny to Tucson…When Wyatt Earp was ready to go, he put Johnny into a hollow square headed by Wyatt and ar[r]ound Johnny was Virgil and Morgan Earp, Jack Salmon, Shot Gun Collins, …Jack Johnson, Doc Holliday, Sherman McMasters, My Self, and one or two more…No one was to do any talking except Wyatt. All marched out of the Saloon and Wyatt said to those in front of him, ‘Stand back there and make a passage, I am going to take this man to jail in Tucson.’ He did very little talking, only to give a very few orders to some one of the guards to keep back this or that fellow who were being pushed up from the rear, or to say to some one of the Guards to look out for so and so, or look out for that fellow on your right or left as the Case might be. Wyatt made his principal talk to Dick Gird.” (The odd over-use of capital letters is quoted as it appears in Undercover for Wells Fargo.)
Dodge would have gone with the party to Benson, where the “Deuce” could be loaded onto a train, which was far more defensible than a buckboard. The N. M. & A was thirteen months away from reaching Contention City, and Benson was the closest railroad access from Tombstone at the time. But a minor accident during the stand-off would cause Dodge to stay in Tombstone. “I did not go with the party to Benson. My reason for not going was that in front of Vogan’s Saloon I was hurt. There was a Shoe Shine Stand there. It had Iron foot rests and some of the mob must have pushed this Stand over for it fell against me and one of the foot rests cut a Deep gash in my right leg just above the ankle. I was bleeding freely. My Boot was soon nearly full of Blood and I had to attend to it at once. But Wyatt took Johnny to Tucson and put him in Jail.”
GEORGE PARSONS ON WYATT EARP AND THE STAND-OFF
Parsons happened to be out for a walk just as the “Deuce” and Virgil Earp arrived at Vogan’s saloon, and the crowd began to assemble. “….a long talk was in order and Mr. S and I took the street for it and got into the midst of terrible excitement on the main street. A gambler called Johnny Behind the Deuce, his favorite way at faro, rode into town [with Virgil Earp-he was not alone] followed by mounted men who chased him from Charleston, he having shot and killed Schneider, engineer of T. M. & M. Company. The officers sought to protect him and swore in deputies, themselves gambling men (the deputies that is) to help. Many of the miners armed themselves and tried to get at the murderer. Several times, yes a number of times, rushes were made and rifles leveled, causing Mr. Stanley and me to get behind the most available shelter. Terrible excitement, but the officers got through finally and out of town with their man bound for Tucson. This man should have been killed in his tracks. Too much of this kind of business is going on. I believe in killing such men as one would a wild animal. The law must be carried out by the citizens, or should be, when it fails in its performance as it has lately done…Tonight I was requested to attend a strictly private gathering and went.”
PARSONS DISCLOSES MORE NEARLY FIFTY YEARS LATER
Writing to Stuart Lake, Parsons stated that he was on Allen Street when the “Deuce” arrived. “A crowd soon gathered and the outlook was very stormy for the safety of the murderer, he having just killed the Engineer of Works at Charleston. It was deemed proper to take him out of town; the excitement was growing so great. So the officers surrounded the store and he was taken to a wagon in the street, made to lie down and during this time Wyatt was present on guard to prevent any rescue or violence. So when things were ready they mounted their horses and Wyatt, I could see him now as his team went down the street, he backed his horse down the street fronting the mob and lowered his rifle every now and then when a rush was attempted. Several others were with him and kept the crowd back from the would-be lynching. It was not long before they were out of town…It was a very nervy proposition, particularly on the part of Wyatt.” This incident was a turning point for Gird and others, both in the communities of Millville and Charleston, as well as Tombstone. It showed that the lawlessness that at times was just a bit of revelry getting out of hand, could also turn into something far more lethal. This was by no means the first shooting death in the district, but now the citizenry was becoming fed up with indiscriminate acts of violence and was ready to act outside the normal bounds of the law. Parsons recalled that on that very night Schneider was killed, a Vigilance “Committee was formed at the T. M. & M. Company which numbered about one hundred men with a council of ten of which I was a member.”
THE SCHNEIDER KILLING IN CHARLESTON GIVES RISE TO THE TOMBSTONE VIGILANTES
Although word of the group was to be kept secret, news of it would eventually spread throughout the area. It would be understood that the T.M. & M. Company, along with Gird’s prominence in general, was a corporate body that stood against the outlaws now infesting their communities. Other businesses and citizens with these same concerns must have welcomed this group. And it fit the pattern of the way Gird handled every issue that related to his business: to go directly at the problem as decisively as possible, whenever possible.
There had been talk of such Vigilantism in Tombstone early on, but Parsons notes a date and offers a key event, the killing of Schneider in Charleston, as its catalyst. He further adds to the journal entry by later elaborating to Stuart Lake in his 1928 letter to him. This begs the question…why not record the information in the diary in January of 1881? Parsons understood that if his home were broken into, and the journal contents known widely, that he could be in danger. This is why he alluded to this “strictly private gathering” in the journal. Contrast that entry to his openness about the vigilantes to Stuart Lake long after his Tombstone days were over. By 1928 his need for security through secrecy was no longer an issue.
FRANK McCLAURY AND VIRGIL EARP
The Schneider killing further illustrates that issues of violence in Charleston changed the course of events in Tombstone. The two locations were intertwined with each other, not only economically, but also in their social and business growing pains, the need for law and order, the political dynamic, etc. Schneider’s murder was a stark example of the growing boldness of the criminal element in that a key player in the milling operations could be shot down with little provocation in broad daylight. A vigilance committee made sense as a strong deterrent against such incidents.
But this response may have come back to haunt Gird just thirteen months later, with the killing of a well-liked employee of his, M.R. Peel, under the roof of his own home at Millville. Gird’s group of Vigilantes would later make its first public appearance en masse in the tense moments following the Gunfight near the O.K. Corral, as they lined Allen Street armed with shot guns and pistols ready to quell a mass outbreak of violence should it have occurred. It didn’t. But the very existence of the committee would complicate matters between the Earps and Frank McLaury, whom they would later shoot dead in the gunfight.
This organization was of real concern to many in the loose confederation known as the cowboy group. According to Virgil Earp, the question was soon raised as to whether the Earps, who had roles in and out of local law enforcement, were also part of the Vigilantes. This would have troubled the cowboys even more. It would be one thing for miners and local citizens to be a part of this, but the Earps, liked in some circles and disliked in others, were of formidable reputation. Wyatt’s time as Pima County Sheriff’s Deputy had proven him to be a very capable officer, and Virgil was held in similar regard.
If the Earps sanctioned the activities of the vigilance committee, by reason of their membership in it, the system of justice under which the cowboys were protected would become less sure. By the time Virgil was confronted with this question, he was town Marshall of Tombstone, and tensions were rising between the Earps and the cowboy faction.
“Frank McLaury made a threat to me one day on the street. It must have been about a month before the shooting and it might have been a week after the notice in the paper of the formation of a vigilance committee. Frank McLaury stepped up to me in the street [Allen Street] between the Express Office and the Grand Hotel. He said, ‘I understand you are raising a vigilance committee to hang us boys.’ I said, ‘You boys?’ He said, ‘Yes, us and [the] Clantons, Hicks, Ringo, and all us cowboys.’ I said to him, ‘Frank, do [you] remember the time Curly Bill killed White?’ He said, ‘Yes.’ I said, ‘Who guarded him that night and run him to Tucson next morning to keep the vigilance committee from hanging him?’ He said, ‘You boys.’ I said, ‘Now do you believe we belong to it?’ He said, ‘I can’t help but believe the man who told me you do.’ I said, ‘Who told you?’ He said, ‘Johnny Behan.’ ‘Now,’ he says, ‘I’ll tell you, it makes no difference what I do, I never will surrender my arms to you.’ He said, ‘I’d rather die fighting than be strangled.’ I made some remark to him, ‘Alright,’ or something--and then left him.”
The shooting of Schneider in Charleston, the formation of the Vigilantes with Gird’s blessing, and the Cowboy concern that the Earps may have joined that group only added to an already incendiary set of circumstances which would culminate behind the O.K. Corral.
According to Virgil, his conversation ended with a threat from McClaury: “…I will never surrender my arms to you…I’d rather die fighting than be strangled.” Instead of surrendering his gun when Sheriff Behan asked him to on October 26th, 1881 behind the O.K. Corral, McClaury refused to do so, which echoes the story as told by Virgil Earp. According to a witness, when told by Virgil to throw his hands in the air and give up his gun, Frank McClaury said “we will,” and then reached for his gun, sparking the most remembered and debated gunfight of the American West.
GIRD REMEMBERS SCHNEIDER AND THE TRAGEDY’S AFTERMATH
“The murdered man seems to have been universally liked. Richard Gird, Superintendent of the mine, who went to California on last night’s train, told Marshal Sippy in the train that Schneider, was a quiet, peaceable man, and he never heard of his ever having trouble with anybody before. Mr. Gird admitted, however, that Schneider had a clasp-knife in his hand when he died, but that it was not open. George McKelvey, the constable who arrested Rourke, had the utmost difficulty in getting him to Tombstone. He had the prisoner in a buggy, and the pursuers nearly caught them at one time…the prisoner was taken to Jim Vogan’s saloon, and a strong guard placed over him. Shortly afterward a mob collected and would undoubtedly have hung the prisoner but for the firmness of Marshal Sippy and the other officers. Another buggy was procured and Sippy and Deputy Sheriff Behan got into it, with Rourke between them, and rode off accompanied by fifteen men well armed with rifles, the latter accompanying them a distance of twelve miles. Threats were made that advantage would be taken of the cut-off between Tombstone and Pantano, to reach the latter place on horseback, and the train boarded by the angry vigilantes, but the officers arrived safely with their prisoner, who had about as narrow an escape from death as often falls to the lot of ordinary mortals.”
The event was so dramatic even at the time that differing versions and rumors of all sorts began to take shape almost immediately. “Scarcely had the outfit got out of sight until stories of all descriptions regarding the killing and attending circumstances grew rife. One was to the effect that Schneider had chased ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce’ out of the restaurant with a drawn knife. This grew, and brought forth a revolver in the other hand. Then it was reported that Mr. Gird had turned his mine loose for the purpose of lynching the prisoner. Again it was said by some of the pals of ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,’ that he was an honorable citizen, etc, etc. With regard to the knife story, the facts given by an eye-witness and borne out by the character of the deceased, prove them to be false. Concerning the charge that the miners were turned out to defeat the law, we have it from Mr. Gird himself that they were ordered to report to the officers, in keeping with the tenor of the dispatches received by him, to sustain the law. In view of the diabolical and unprovoked crime committed, it is not to be wondered at that some of them should have joined the crowd that followed, desiring vengeance. As to the honorable character of the martyred kid who sails under the banner of ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,’ it is a well-known fact that he was driven out of Tiger District by the best element of that camp, about a year ago, and to-night he will repose at the county expense in a jail on whose walls are inscribed horrid mockery of justice blazoned in the names of other murderers who have partaken of county refreshment to be turned loose again to fasten themselves on the Tombstone public, a living curse.” Though the Epitaph was prone to the dramatic, the importance of its account was not lost in the midst of some overwrought hyperbole.
THE ACCOUNTS OF THE STANDOFF DO NOT AGREE
Between the later writings of Fred Dodge and George Parsons, there is basic agreement that Wyatt Earp played a significant role in the efforts to save the “Deuce” from a lynch mob. But the Epitaph reporter, writing at real time, saw Ben Sippy as the key player and didn’t mention Wyatt Earp. On one level these differing accounts cannot be reckoned with each other, but this was a fluid situation. The views from various parts of the crowd will have been very different as the events took place. It’s true that the focus was always on the “Deuce” and whether or not he would be lynched, but attention was drawn back and forth between his disposition and the changing movement of the crowd, which would surge and then back off, drawing the concern of the officers protecting the “Deuce.” It is also unlikely that many in the crowd saw the shoe shine stand strike Fred Dodge in the foot, causing profuse bleeding, though this also occurred during the Deuce’s brief intermission in Tombstone.
This event has been portrayed in Hollywood fashion with high drama. The movie “Wyatt Earp” shows a heroic Earp standing down a hostile crowd, with little back up. What cannot be disputed is that a group of men on that day chose to protect the idea of justice by trial, at risk to their personal safety. They chose to defend an admittedly guilty man who claimed that all he wanted was his day in court, a man who, a short time later, would opt out of that opportunity.
THE “DEUCE” ESCAPES FROM JAIL
“The Murderer of Schneider at Liberty
“Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,” alias O’Rourke…Over the Wall by his Companions and Flies Like a Bird to the Mountains-Over a Sixteen-Foot Wall-Indians in Pursuit-The Sheriff Hopeful, but Other People Not.
“Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,” or O’Rourke, the party who killed Schneider in Charleston, some months ago and was so near being hanged by a mob both in Charleston and Tombstone, made his escape from the county jail last night about 8 o’clock. The circumstances were as follows: The prisoners had all finished their suppers, and it is customary after this meal to let them out into the jail yard for a few moments preparatory to being locked up for the night. Mr. Roach, the jail keeper, sat at the door while the prisoners passed out…They all went out into the yard, and a number of them soon passed into the corral behind the jail. When once behind the jail they were out of sight of the two guards. Mr. Hersey says as the last one passed out of the door he, Hersey, brought up the rear with his gun and followed them behind the corral. The escape, he says, must have been made in the interval while he was awaiting the exit of the last prisoner and his walk to the rear of the jail, which he thinks did not occupy twenty seconds.
“How the Escape Was Made.
“How the escape was made is at most conjecture, but it is supposed that his comrades caught O’Rourke and threw him up so that he could grasp the top of the wall. Being active, and having the greatest of all reasons, the saving of his neck…he probably slipped over the other side as quick as a flash and dropped easily to the ground making off as fast as his legs would carry him. Mr. Hersey says his attention was not attracted to the escape of the prisoner until fully five minutes afterwards, when he saw a man bearing the broken shackles of O’Rourke. He then immediately ordered the prisoners to their cells and discovered that O’Rourke was missing. They were locked in and
The Alarm Given.
“Men were put on his track, and skillful Indians employed to trace him, but the near approach of night, the crowd in the vicinity of the depot, where he may have made for, and certainly did make for, if he held any judgment, leaves but little hope of his capture. O’Rourke was able to mix himself into the crowd well enough that “nobody could effect anything in the way of tracking except through a miracle. It would be impossible to conjecture what direction he would take, and any tracking would be the merest moonshine, unless he had some peculiarity about his boots or feet which would give him away.
“The most remarkable part of the affair is how they managed, in so short a time, to get him to the top of the wall. The wall about the jail corral is about 16 feet high, and the men must have been both athletic and quick in their movements. After he was once on the wall it was easy enough to drop to the soft earth in the next corral, and the second wall being very low presented no obstacle to his progress. We refrain from comment on the escape at present merely suggesting that where so many desperate men are confined it would have been more prudent to have taken them out for their evening promenade one at a time or to have had a stronger guard.
WAS THE DEUCE REALLY ACTING IN SELF DEFENSE?
The Deuce would later claim that it was all just a case of self-defense, but Schneider’s reputation was not of a quarrelsome person. True, he did carry a knife, but if the circumstances that led to his death prove anything, it’s that owning a knife in Charleston was a good precaution. The Deuce however, carried a gun, a far more dangerous weapon, and it calls into question how likely it was that the Deuce was truly in danger from Schneider. Although ones socio-economic status is not by any means a judge as to their character, Schneider was an important local figure with a bright future as superintendent of the Corbin mill, and would unlikely have risked his position over anger toward the Deuce. Schneider also made it clear to the Deuce that he was not engaging him in conversation.
The Deuce left the restaurant first. If it were true that he felt his life was in danger from Schneider, he would have fled Charleston as soon as he cleared the door of Smith’s restaurant, and headed for the San Pedro. And when his life really was in danger from miners angry over the cold-blooded killing, that is exactly what he did--he ran for the river to get away from the scene of the crime. Understanding his life was at risk, he didn’t stay around Charleston to check on his chances for living another day. A respectable man who had shot someone in self-defense would be more likely to stay and answer for the incident to establish his innocence, rather than run away. He was soon apprehended and arrested by Constable McKelvey.
From the Epitaph account, upon exiting the restaurant, the Deuce hid himself, waiting for Schneider to appear that he might get his revenge. Then as is typical of those who commit such crimes, he blamed his victim. Note that Schneider didn’t live to give his side of the story, and so witnesses in the area observed enough to see the Deuce as less than innocent. Less than cordial conversation was not an offense punishable by death, even in Charleston. If the Deuce felt that he were truly innocent, why not stand trial? This is what he claimed he wanted when confronted by angry townspeople in Charleston who were talking about lynching him after an inquest had been completed. He himself said the following: “I told them that I did kill him, but I wanted a fair trial.”
If that were true, it was all underway for him. He had made it safely to jail and was awaiting his day in court to clear his good name. After all, as he described himself…“I always tried to keep out of such trouble…” But his actions argued more for premeditated murder than for self-defense. When discussing evidence that would be damaging to him, the “Deuce” soon assembled a response, if not a self-serving explanation for getting the murder weapon out of his hands quickly. “I was so excited when I shot him that I dropped my revolver and ran a little ways. I always tried to keep out of such trouble, and when I saw the blood—well, I didn’t hardly know what I was doing, I guess.” If it were truly self-defense then there was no need for him to discard his gun. In fact if innocent, he should have held onto it just in case someone tried wrongly to take revenge upon him.
That Schneider carried a knife is of lesser consequence as it is arguable that as he saw the Deuce pull his gun he went for the only chance he had to defend himself, a knife. But the two men were outside. That Schneider pulled a knife in defense against a gun might be arguable if he reasoned in a split second that this brash “kid” didn’t intend to fire at him, but might run if he saw the knife. Though possible, it is less than likely that the “Deuce” was somehow cornered into an area on the street where he had absolutely no chance of running from Schneider. It was an open street, he was eighteen and agile, and yet he claimed to have no chance of escaping Schneider whom the telegraph operator described as that “old fellow.”
WHAT BECAME OF THE “DEUCE?”
Fred Dodge offered one possible explanation as to the doings of the “Deuce” following his dramatic rescue from Charleston and Tombstone, and his later escape from jail. Writing Stuart Lake regarding the death of Johnny Ringo at Turkey Creek in the Chiricahuas, he wrote, “I was riding in that part of the country quite a little bit at that particular time. Frank Leslie did not kill John Ringo. Those two and myself were together a couple of days before Ringo was found dead. Ringo was found by Pony Deal [Diehl] and some one else that I do not, at this time, remember [other accounts name John Yoast as the one who first found Ringo dead.] …Pony Deal was a bosom friend of John Ringo’s.
“Johnny Behind the Deuce had his camp in the vicinity of the killing [of Ringo], and had had it there for some time…this was known to Frank Leslie as well as to myself…we went on to where this hideout of Johnny’s was and found that he was gone and had taken all his camp equipment with him, and his pack horse and saddle horse. We acquainted Pony Deal and his companion with these facts and it was a surprise to them to know that Johnny was on this side of the line at all. There can be no mistake about these facts as I had been seeing Johnny frequently because I had been trying to arrange to use him in getting hold of some things I wanted to know in my under cover work for Wells Fargo, and he knew me and trusted me as far as it was possible for him to trust any one. We believed that Johnny [Behind-the-Deuce] had seen Ringo riding in that vicinity and probably thought he [Ringo] was looking for him-Johnny-and got scared up. Only a few days later Johnny-behind-the-Deuce was found dead. While Pony Deal never would admit it to me there was enough circumstancial [sic] evidence to warrant thinking that he had done the killing…”
Dodge’s account raises questions as well as offering some answers. The Deuce was a fugitive from justice, so why not turn him in? Dodge points to an answer in that he was cultivating the Deuce for information. That Dodge claims to have personal interaction with the “Deuce” in the summer of 1882 while a fugitive is in itself fascinating, though difficult to corroborate. Although intriguing, Dodge’s account remains unsubstantiated. The subject of whether or not Johnny Ringo died of a suicide or at the hands of a murderer has been debated for over a century, and will still be debated.
“Frank McLaury made a threat to me one day on the street. It must have been about a month before the shooting and it might have been a week after the notice in the paper of the formation of a vigilance committee. Frank McLaury stepped up to me in the street [Allen Street] between the Express Office and the Grand Hotel. He said, ‘I understand you are raising a vigilance committee to hang us boys.’ I said, ‘You boys?’ He said, ‘Yes, us and [the] Clantons, Hicks, Ringo, and all us cowboys.’ I said to him, ‘Frank, do [you] remember the time Curly Bill killed White?’ He said, ‘Yes.’ I said, ‘Who guarded him that night and run him to Tucson next morning to keep the vigilance committee from hanging him?’ He said, ‘You boys.’ I said, ‘Now do you believe we belong to it?’ He said, ‘I can’t help but believe the man who told me you do.’ I said, ‘Who told you?’ He said, ‘Johnny Behan.’ ‘Now,’ he says, ‘I’ll tell you, it makes no difference what I do, I never will surrender my arms to you.’ He said, ‘I’d rather die fighting than be strangled.’ I made some remark to him, ‘Alright,’ or something--and then left him.”
The shooting of Schneider in Charleston, the formation of the Vigilantes with Gird’s blessing, and the Cowboy concern that the Earps may have joined that group only added to an already incendiary set of circumstances which would culminate behind the O.K. Corral.
According to Virgil, his conversation ended with a threat from McClaury: “…I will never surrender my arms to you…I’d rather die fighting than be strangled.” Instead of surrendering his gun when Sheriff Behan asked him to on October 26th, 1881 behind the O.K. Corral, McClaury refused to do so, which echoes the story as told by Virgil Earp. According to a witness, when told by Virgil to throw his hands in the air and give up his gun, Frank McClaury said “we will,” and then reached for his gun, sparking the most remembered and debated gunfight of the American West.
GIRD REMEMBERS SCHNEIDER AND THE TRAGEDY’S AFTERMATH
“The murdered man seems to have been universally liked. Richard Gird, Superintendent of the mine, who went to California on last night’s train, told Marshal Sippy in the train that Schneider, was a quiet, peaceable man, and he never heard of his ever having trouble with anybody before. Mr. Gird admitted, however, that Schneider had a clasp-knife in his hand when he died, but that it was not open. George McKelvey, the constable who arrested Rourke, had the utmost difficulty in getting him to Tombstone. He had the prisoner in a buggy, and the pursuers nearly caught them at one time…the prisoner was taken to Jim Vogan’s saloon, and a strong guard placed over him. Shortly afterward a mob collected and would undoubtedly have hung the prisoner but for the firmness of Marshal Sippy and the other officers. Another buggy was procured and Sippy and Deputy Sheriff Behan got into it, with Rourke between them, and rode off accompanied by fifteen men well armed with rifles, the latter accompanying them a distance of twelve miles. Threats were made that advantage would be taken of the cut-off between Tombstone and Pantano, to reach the latter place on horseback, and the train boarded by the angry vigilantes, but the officers arrived safely with their prisoner, who had about as narrow an escape from death as often falls to the lot of ordinary mortals.”
The event was so dramatic even at the time that differing versions and rumors of all sorts began to take shape almost immediately. “Scarcely had the outfit got out of sight until stories of all descriptions regarding the killing and attending circumstances grew rife. One was to the effect that Schneider had chased ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce’ out of the restaurant with a drawn knife. This grew, and brought forth a revolver in the other hand. Then it was reported that Mr. Gird had turned his mine loose for the purpose of lynching the prisoner. Again it was said by some of the pals of ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,’ that he was an honorable citizen, etc, etc. With regard to the knife story, the facts given by an eye-witness and borne out by the character of the deceased, prove them to be false. Concerning the charge that the miners were turned out to defeat the law, we have it from Mr. Gird himself that they were ordered to report to the officers, in keeping with the tenor of the dispatches received by him, to sustain the law. In view of the diabolical and unprovoked crime committed, it is not to be wondered at that some of them should have joined the crowd that followed, desiring vengeance. As to the honorable character of the martyred kid who sails under the banner of ‘Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,’ it is a well-known fact that he was driven out of Tiger District by the best element of that camp, about a year ago, and to-night he will repose at the county expense in a jail on whose walls are inscribed horrid mockery of justice blazoned in the names of other murderers who have partaken of county refreshment to be turned loose again to fasten themselves on the Tombstone public, a living curse.” Though the Epitaph was prone to the dramatic, the importance of its account was not lost in the midst of some overwrought hyperbole.
THE ACCOUNTS OF THE STANDOFF DO NOT AGREE
Between the later writings of Fred Dodge and George Parsons, there is basic agreement that Wyatt Earp played a significant role in the efforts to save the “Deuce” from a lynch mob. But the Epitaph reporter, writing at real time, saw Ben Sippy as the key player and didn’t mention Wyatt Earp. On one level these differing accounts cannot be reckoned with each other, but this was a fluid situation. The views from various parts of the crowd will have been very different as the events took place. It’s true that the focus was always on the “Deuce” and whether or not he would be lynched, but attention was drawn back and forth between his disposition and the changing movement of the crowd, which would surge and then back off, drawing the concern of the officers protecting the “Deuce.” It is also unlikely that many in the crowd saw the shoe shine stand strike Fred Dodge in the foot, causing profuse bleeding, though this also occurred during the Deuce’s brief intermission in Tombstone.
This event has been portrayed in Hollywood fashion with high drama. The movie “Wyatt Earp” shows a heroic Earp standing down a hostile crowd, with little back up. What cannot be disputed is that a group of men on that day chose to protect the idea of justice by trial, at risk to their personal safety. They chose to defend an admittedly guilty man who claimed that all he wanted was his day in court, a man who, a short time later, would opt out of that opportunity.
THE “DEUCE” ESCAPES FROM JAIL
“The Murderer of Schneider at Liberty
“Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,” alias O’Rourke…Over the Wall by his Companions and Flies Like a Bird to the Mountains-Over a Sixteen-Foot Wall-Indians in Pursuit-The Sheriff Hopeful, but Other People Not.
“Johnny-Behind-the-Deuce,” or O’Rourke, the party who killed Schneider in Charleston, some months ago and was so near being hanged by a mob both in Charleston and Tombstone, made his escape from the county jail last night about 8 o’clock. The circumstances were as follows: The prisoners had all finished their suppers, and it is customary after this meal to let them out into the jail yard for a few moments preparatory to being locked up for the night. Mr. Roach, the jail keeper, sat at the door while the prisoners passed out…They all went out into the yard, and a number of them soon passed into the corral behind the jail. When once behind the jail they were out of sight of the two guards. Mr. Hersey says as the last one passed out of the door he, Hersey, brought up the rear with his gun and followed them behind the corral. The escape, he says, must have been made in the interval while he was awaiting the exit of the last prisoner and his walk to the rear of the jail, which he thinks did not occupy twenty seconds.
“How the Escape Was Made.
“How the escape was made is at most conjecture, but it is supposed that his comrades caught O’Rourke and threw him up so that he could grasp the top of the wall. Being active, and having the greatest of all reasons, the saving of his neck…he probably slipped over the other side as quick as a flash and dropped easily to the ground making off as fast as his legs would carry him. Mr. Hersey says his attention was not attracted to the escape of the prisoner until fully five minutes afterwards, when he saw a man bearing the broken shackles of O’Rourke. He then immediately ordered the prisoners to their cells and discovered that O’Rourke was missing. They were locked in and
The Alarm Given.
“Men were put on his track, and skillful Indians employed to trace him, but the near approach of night, the crowd in the vicinity of the depot, where he may have made for, and certainly did make for, if he held any judgment, leaves but little hope of his capture. O’Rourke was able to mix himself into the crowd well enough that “nobody could effect anything in the way of tracking except through a miracle. It would be impossible to conjecture what direction he would take, and any tracking would be the merest moonshine, unless he had some peculiarity about his boots or feet which would give him away.
“The most remarkable part of the affair is how they managed, in so short a time, to get him to the top of the wall. The wall about the jail corral is about 16 feet high, and the men must have been both athletic and quick in their movements. After he was once on the wall it was easy enough to drop to the soft earth in the next corral, and the second wall being very low presented no obstacle to his progress. We refrain from comment on the escape at present merely suggesting that where so many desperate men are confined it would have been more prudent to have taken them out for their evening promenade one at a time or to have had a stronger guard.
WAS THE DEUCE REALLY ACTING IN SELF DEFENSE?
The Deuce would later claim that it was all just a case of self-defense, but Schneider’s reputation was not of a quarrelsome person. True, he did carry a knife, but if the circumstances that led to his death prove anything, it’s that owning a knife in Charleston was a good precaution. The Deuce however, carried a gun, a far more dangerous weapon, and it calls into question how likely it was that the Deuce was truly in danger from Schneider. Although ones socio-economic status is not by any means a judge as to their character, Schneider was an important local figure with a bright future as superintendent of the Corbin mill, and would unlikely have risked his position over anger toward the Deuce. Schneider also made it clear to the Deuce that he was not engaging him in conversation.
The Deuce left the restaurant first. If it were true that he felt his life was in danger from Schneider, he would have fled Charleston as soon as he cleared the door of Smith’s restaurant, and headed for the San Pedro. And when his life really was in danger from miners angry over the cold-blooded killing, that is exactly what he did--he ran for the river to get away from the scene of the crime. Understanding his life was at risk, he didn’t stay around Charleston to check on his chances for living another day. A respectable man who had shot someone in self-defense would be more likely to stay and answer for the incident to establish his innocence, rather than run away. He was soon apprehended and arrested by Constable McKelvey.
From the Epitaph account, upon exiting the restaurant, the Deuce hid himself, waiting for Schneider to appear that he might get his revenge. Then as is typical of those who commit such crimes, he blamed his victim. Note that Schneider didn’t live to give his side of the story, and so witnesses in the area observed enough to see the Deuce as less than innocent. Less than cordial conversation was not an offense punishable by death, even in Charleston. If the Deuce felt that he were truly innocent, why not stand trial? This is what he claimed he wanted when confronted by angry townspeople in Charleston who were talking about lynching him after an inquest had been completed. He himself said the following: “I told them that I did kill him, but I wanted a fair trial.”
If that were true, it was all underway for him. He had made it safely to jail and was awaiting his day in court to clear his good name. After all, as he described himself…“I always tried to keep out of such trouble…” But his actions argued more for premeditated murder than for self-defense. When discussing evidence that would be damaging to him, the “Deuce” soon assembled a response, if not a self-serving explanation for getting the murder weapon out of his hands quickly. “I was so excited when I shot him that I dropped my revolver and ran a little ways. I always tried to keep out of such trouble, and when I saw the blood—well, I didn’t hardly know what I was doing, I guess.” If it were truly self-defense then there was no need for him to discard his gun. In fact if innocent, he should have held onto it just in case someone tried wrongly to take revenge upon him.
That Schneider carried a knife is of lesser consequence as it is arguable that as he saw the Deuce pull his gun he went for the only chance he had to defend himself, a knife. But the two men were outside. That Schneider pulled a knife in defense against a gun might be arguable if he reasoned in a split second that this brash “kid” didn’t intend to fire at him, but might run if he saw the knife. Though possible, it is less than likely that the “Deuce” was somehow cornered into an area on the street where he had absolutely no chance of running from Schneider. It was an open street, he was eighteen and agile, and yet he claimed to have no chance of escaping Schneider whom the telegraph operator described as that “old fellow.”
WHAT BECAME OF THE “DEUCE?”
Fred Dodge offered one possible explanation as to the doings of the “Deuce” following his dramatic rescue from Charleston and Tombstone, and his later escape from jail. Writing Stuart Lake regarding the death of Johnny Ringo at Turkey Creek in the Chiricahuas, he wrote, “I was riding in that part of the country quite a little bit at that particular time. Frank Leslie did not kill John Ringo. Those two and myself were together a couple of days before Ringo was found dead. Ringo was found by Pony Deal [Diehl] and some one else that I do not, at this time, remember [other accounts name John Yoast as the one who first found Ringo dead.] …Pony Deal was a bosom friend of John Ringo’s.
“Johnny Behind the Deuce had his camp in the vicinity of the killing [of Ringo], and had had it there for some time…this was known to Frank Leslie as well as to myself…we went on to where this hideout of Johnny’s was and found that he was gone and had taken all his camp equipment with him, and his pack horse and saddle horse. We acquainted Pony Deal and his companion with these facts and it was a surprise to them to know that Johnny was on this side of the line at all. There can be no mistake about these facts as I had been seeing Johnny frequently because I had been trying to arrange to use him in getting hold of some things I wanted to know in my under cover work for Wells Fargo, and he knew me and trusted me as far as it was possible for him to trust any one. We believed that Johnny [Behind-the-Deuce] had seen Ringo riding in that vicinity and probably thought he [Ringo] was looking for him-Johnny-and got scared up. Only a few days later Johnny-behind-the-Deuce was found dead. While Pony Deal never would admit it to me there was enough circumstancial [sic] evidence to warrant thinking that he had done the killing…”
Dodge’s account raises questions as well as offering some answers. The Deuce was a fugitive from justice, so why not turn him in? Dodge points to an answer in that he was cultivating the Deuce for information. That Dodge claims to have personal interaction with the “Deuce” in the summer of 1882 while a fugitive is in itself fascinating, though difficult to corroborate. Although intriguing, Dodge’s account remains unsubstantiated. The subject of whether or not Johnny Ringo died of a suicide or at the hands of a murderer has been debated for over a century, and will still be debated.
The above information is in part excerpted from “Charleston & Millville A.T. Hell on the San Pedro, by John D. Rose. This is the first and only book ever published on Charleston, released in 2012. For more on this remarkable story and far other research breakthroughs, this book is available at https://www.createspace.com/3758160. Also available at Amazon.com.
Copyright 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017. John D. Rose