"Fair Florence"

FLORENCE is a peculiarly at-tractive town physically. It has no stately residential sections; the few residences of the town that once were marked by a splendor the equal of any in the Territory have been touched by the heavy hand of time. And, although new, modern bungalows dot the quiet streets, the town in appearance is essentially little dif-ferent than it was in the 1880's, with its inconspicuous adobes, with the first house still standing, its mud walls eroded by the wind and rain-a picturesque reminder of its frontier origin. Sheltered by distant towering ranges sweeping upward from the valley floor, it lives serenely through the warm, dry sum-mer, the mild winters, and the springs fra-grant with the redolent aroma of almost every species of Arizona desert plant life. The surrounding valley is rich with fields of grain, vegetables, cotton, and fruits; with thousands of cattle on the lush ranges; and producing mines in the mountains.

From the foot hills rising to the north the town is pleasant to look at. It has a unity of architecture in the low adobe along its placid streets; and the palm, tamarisk, olive and cottonwood trees cast lacy shadows over the whole, clothing its turbulent past in an atmosphere of gentle tranquility. But the poetic application to the settle-ment: “Fair Florence, wreathed in Gila green,” nor its very name (bestowed upon it by Governor McCormick in honor of his sister) do not belie its history, as restive as any in the Territory. For it was a vig-orous people during the sixties and seventies who settled Arizona's interior.

From the river towns along the Colorado -Yuma, La Paz, Ehrenberg, or inland Tucson, Tubac, and Prescott-they pushed farther into the vast desert stretches and mesas and buttes, and gigantic mountain passes sheltering broad valleys to leave a thin line of homesteads along the Gila. Some were builders with grandiose plans tucked in their saddlebags; others followed only their own dreams and accepted the hardships and uncertainties in the hope of ultimate betterment. They were the van-guard of those pushing farther westward, driven by misfortunes or the desire to acquire new lands and mineral riches. Ex-tending the line of the frontier deeper inland meant new settlements, hundreds of home-steads upon rich land. The urgent business in hand was to wrest it from the wilderness, and watch the plow, reaper and the binder work their transformation.

When Charles Mason arrived in 1866 at the site of Florence he looked upon a great fertile valley extending almost endlessly in every direction. Here were thousands of acres of fallow land broken only by the river that would nourish it; land hungry hands would shape and direct the river's waters over the arid plain to make it pro-ductive.

From the earth on which he stood, Charles Mason built a box-like adobe house. But even before the last of the mud brick was dry, other figures, motivated by an acqui-sitive instinct, were thrusting themselves upon the scene. As the new settlement, moulded from the earthen adobe arose, it was little different in its social aspects from other mushrooming Arizona towns. Beyond the reach of government, it was left in some measure to itself and under the stern de-mands of necessity, with the law often that of man against man, pioneers shaped the new land to their needs.

With ample water in the Gila to irrigate thousands of acres, ditches were begun al-most immediately that would carry the water over the land. In 1869, Joe Colling-wood opened the first store and gave to commerce a respectable aspect. Scores of Mexicans were attracted to the expanding settlement and found work on the ditches that tapped the waters of the Gila and on the new roads that were spreading fan-like to the other Arizona towns.

Incoming settlers were backed by newly established merchants, who induced them to take up nearby land. The merchants had government contracts for food and other supplies and the pressing demand for wheat, barley and other grains gave impetus to the rapid settlement of the valley. The settlers often paid themselves out of debt with as little as one crop of grain.

Florence was soon the trading center for points as far as seventy-five miles surrounding it, with the result that there was a constant stream of freight coming in and going out of the town; and 20-mule teams became a common sight on the dusty street running between the low one-story adobes.

Richard E. Sloan, an early-day arrival, impressed by the commercial activity, wrote: “A typical freighter was made up of from twenty to twenty-four mules or horses and a large wagon, to which was attached at least one trailer wagon, and frequently two, operated by two men, the driver and a helper called a 'swamper.' Both took their whiskey straight and did not limit the quantity. Both wore red flannel shirts summer andextending almost endlessly in every direction. . . "

winter. Freighting was no easy job, even if for hours at a time both driver and swamper might be seen sleeping peacefully on top of one of their loaded wagons when traversing a level stretch of road. Taking care of a dozen span of mules or horses, cooking meals by the roadside, and sleeping on the ground in all sorts of weather called for men of the most rugged type. To drive a team of twenty-four mules over a mountain road was an art. It was interesting to watch a freight driver turn a sharp corner and yet so manage his twenty or more animals to maintain a steady pull on the wagons."

Of the men who especially gave color and lent interest to the settlement, Sloan recalls "Peter R. Brady and Granville H. Oury, pioneers of the '50's; A. J. Doren, a pioneer of the '60's; J. B. Anderson, a sort of sea-lawyer; Peter Will, the brewer; John M. Devine, the saloon keeper; Bill Stone, the whimsical lawyer; Tom Weedin, the typical frontier newspaper man; Levi Ruggles, who laid out the town and made a bad job of it; Dan Stevens, the stage man; and George Brown, Wells Fargo agent, better known as 'By-God' Brown." But there were many others.In the stream of incoming settlers the town caught odd bits of driftwood in the chaotic flood. Among the cowboys, gamblers, freighters, teamsters, halfbreeds, small storekeepers, officials, and broken-down professional men, the gospel of might found nearly as many listeners as the gospel of righteousness. And in exchanging the restrictions of the older eastern settlements for the freedom of the new, there were few whose imaginations were cramped by the fear of "hell-fire."

Even though its tranquillity was frequently disturbed by periods of lawlessness, the town acquired a deep sense of pride in both its progress and its citizenry. It was a budding frontier metropolis, with its prospering merchants and expanding land andmine owners; and at times it was a gay world marked by lighthearted ways with dancing, drinking and revelry. The news of a coming "Baile" spread far and wide across the country, and although the fiddler at times might not be too melodious, he was usually given a hard night's work. Cowboys forty miles away came on horse back and danced with spurs and often with their hats on. Among the women attending, the "mantilla" and "rebosa" of the dark eyed "senoritas" contrasted with the calico and the gingham.

Although it was noticeable that they were never openly referred to as "tramps", the town had more than its quota of those who, in some way, managed to live without doing any work. Stage robberies became such a common occurrence as to evoke smiles of painful amusement. "Squire" Miller, for years justice of the peace at Florence, had occasion to make a trip to Tucson. There had recently been a series of hold-ups between the two points and "Squire" asked the stage driver to show him the exact place where the most recent hold-up had taken place. Finally the driver said: "Squire, this is the place and the robber came right from behind them bushes."

"Yes, and here I am again," came a voice from behind the same bushes. "Hold up your hands!"

Yet, when the first evangelist came along the meeting was well attended; in true revival style the evangelist went to work.

After preaching for the usual length of time necessary to produce the proper impression upon his assorted congregation, he announced that a hymn would be sung and after singing the first verse all those who desired to stand up for Jesus would please stand. All the verses of the hymn were sung but still no one stood. In a despairing appeal, the preacher said: "Is there not some one here who would stand up for Jesus?"

A man named Miner arose and said: "I'll stand up for Jesus. I'll stand up for any man who hasn't any more friends in this house than He's got; I'm a fighter, I am."

A story of doubtful authenticity has been told about Barney Regan, an ordained minister who came to Florence in 1871. He was a robust, energetic fellow who could knock a man down or stop a rabbit in his tracks with a six-gun, or preach at a revival meeting with equal ardor. He promptly set about building the town's first saloon, but one in which he permitted no gambling, or improper conduct, and on Sundays cleared the tables away for a revival. A discharged soldier entered the saloon, and not recognizing a man when he saw one, became drunk and started to shoot up the place. Regan shot him dead, and the next day being Sunday, preached his funeral.

At a time in 1888 in Keating's saloon when all was progressing as usual, there occurred one of Arizona's historic "gun duels." Pete Gabriel was sheriff of Pinal County. Joe Phy was his friend and deputy. Just why the two fell out is still a matter of controversy. One version says that Phy intended to run for sheriff when Gabriel's term ran out and Pete had promised to help him. The friendship was broken when Gabriel had Phy removed from office because of his brutality to a prisoner.

Gabriel, whose courage was never questioned, avoided Phy. He knew a meeting meant a gun fight. Phy's hatred of hisformer friend had become an obsession. And it was Phy who called for a showdown.

Gabriel was just in from the hills. Always a hard drinker, he had been making an all day round of the saloons with friends when Phy, a total abstainer, being advised of Pete's condition and whereabout headed for Keating's Tunnel Saloon. Gabriel was drinking at the bar when Phy came inshooting!

The first slug from Phy's gun struck Gabriel just below the heart. As Gabriel reeled against the bar he jerked his own six shooter and shot Phy through the stomach. Pete's next shot went wild putting out one of the big coal oil lamps and through the rest of the fight the room was in semidarkness.

Gabriel, stunned and unable to shoot, stumbled toward his opponent. Phy's next bullet splintered one of Gabriel's ribs and as Gabriel walked slowly toward him Phy sent another slug into Gabriel's body. His last shot smashed Gabriel's wrist.

His gun emptied, Phy turned and fell through the swinging doors to the sidewalk. As Gabriel stumbled through the door and stood over him Phy drew his knife. “I can't get up,” he said, “get down here you - - - an' we'll finish this with knives.” “I guess we've both had plenty,” said Gabriel, as he stumbled away from his opponent. Pete collapsed in the street.

Phy died that night. Gabriel recovered.

But underneath this veneer of gaiety and occasional unlicensed freedom was a more serious Florence; all were confronted with the realization that frontier life here was a serious business. The dreaded Pinal Apaches sweeping across the country at intervals, stealing, burning, and killing struck fear in the hearts of men and women.

For a long time the environs of Florence had been the scene of Apache depredations. General Stoneman with several companies of United States soldiers, was stationed at Pickett Post, thirty miles to the north for the protection of settlers. But occasionally the Apaches poured down some unknown pathway to attack and when pressed by the troops vanished into the ravines and canyons. All attempts by the troops to retaliate were fruitless. Emboldened by their successes, they raided a ranch near Florence and drove off a large number of cattle. Florence citizens armed themselves and after several days patient pursuit struck the trail that led to their “rancheria.” Feeling secure in their mountain fastness the Apaches neglected to post lookouts. The Florentines stole upon them in the darkness and at daylight attacked. The “rancheria” was only a few yards from the bluff overlooking Picket Post, where they had been able to watch at all times the movements of General Stoneman's troops. Seeing themselves surrounded, they fired only a few shots before raising their hands in token of surrender. But remembering that mercy to them meant only cruelty and murder to the defenseless families along the Gila, the Florentines continued to fire. With two-thirds of their number fallen, the remaining fifty warriors, seeing no chance for quarter, threw themselves over the bluff to their death.

With the passing of a few years, the town assumed a more settled character, according to Hinton . . . “Arriving within a few miles of Florence the traveler begins to see signs of a more advanced civilization in the shape of cultivated land, rich, waving crops of barley, wheat and other cereals, groves of cottonwood trees lining the road; fruit trees and gardens greet the eye and gladden the heart . . . an atmosphere of wonderful richness and brilliance covers the scene like a gorgeous canopy of prismatic colors, and the vision is lost in the immensity of the distances . . .

“It is the center of a very rich agricultural valley of the Gila, and is connected by stages and good roads with Prescott, Ehrenberg, Phoenix, Tucson and Yuma; also with the Globe, Pioneer and other mining districts. It is the southern terminus of the California and Arizona stage company's lines from Dos Palmos, Ehren-

berg, Prescott and Wickenburg; here that line connects with Kerens & Mitchell's southern line from San Diego, via Yuma, Tucson, Mesilla, N. M., and El Paso, Texas, to Austin, Texas. It is also the starting point of stage lines to the Globe and Pioneer mining districts, the latter at Silver King being thirty miles distant "Water is brought into the city and distributed through its principal streets in small 'zanjas' or artificial streams of running water, along the banks of which are planted numerous shade trees giving the town a very picturesque appearance and relieving the eyes from the glare of the hot sun. The buildings are built of adobe, as lumber is very high and has to be hauled all the way from Prescott, a distance of 200 miles. Like other southern frontier villages, the buildings are only onestory high, generally having a wide porch or veranda surrounding them There are three flourishing mills in or near the town, a school-house with one hundred pupils, a Catholic church, several stores, a smelting furnace, a brewery, two hotels, several restaurants, six physicians and other conveniences appertaining to a population of 1,500, more than half of whom are of Spanish origin."

One day in the middle 1880's a dark shadow cast itself across the valley and spread consternation among the settlers. The Baron of the Colorado, to become known as the Baron of Arizona, appeared upon the scene. Sprung from an obscure origin, but fortified with documents to prove his assertions, he laid claim to an area which included most of the Salt and Gila River Valley, together with all their water and mining rights, a tract 236 miles long and 78 miles wide. In 1885, reFlorence is the center of a cattle area, and cattle raising is one of the town's principal industries. Considerable agricultural development has taken place near the city.

Guadalupe-Hidalgo in 1848 and the Gadsden Purchase in 1853, in which the United States agreed to recognize all former land titles, the Baron formally filed application for the survey and confirmation of the Willing land grant. He alleged that on December 20, 1748, Ferdinand VI, King of Spain, had made Señor Don Miguel del Peralta de Cordoba, Baron of the Colorados, and had granted to him three hundred square leagues of land in New Spain. The claim was traced to Miguel Peralta, who was said to have deeded the land to Willing in 1864. Reavis was able to show a deed to himself, from Willing's attorney-in-fact, dated 1867. The Baron cinched his claim by marrying a beautiful girl, the only blood descendant of Don Miguel de Peralta de Cordoba. The Baron, whose claim threatened to make vassals of the land and mine owners, established his headquarters not far from Florence, and from 1887 to 1893 lived in state, surrounded with all the glamour of a tale from the "Arabian Nights." Two children were born and the Baron clad them in garments of purple velvet. He established luxurious homes in Washington, St. Louis, Chihuahua, and Madrid with a large retinue of servants in each place. It was said that the Southern Pacific railroad paid him $50,000 for its right-of-way across the Peralta Properties; the Silver King mine contributed lavishly to his funds, and the larger property owners were forced to pay tribute.

Tom Weedin, Florence editor, gave vigorous editorial expression to doubts of the legitimacy of both the claim and of the Baron himself; but when Robert Ingersoll and other prominent lawyers pronounced the claim flawless and authentic, Weedin's ardor was somewhat dampened. But then suddenly a stammering printer named Bill, who worked for Tom Weedin, found that one of the documents bore the water mark of a Wisconsin paper mill that had been running only ten or twelve years and the Baron's world was at last shattered.

Investigations revealed that the Baron of the Colorados had been, previous to his arrival in Arizona, simply James Addison Reavis, an obscure horsecar driver in St. Joseph, Missouri, and had worked as a subscription solicitor for the San Francisco "Examiner," where he gained information for one of the most audacious frauds in American history. His wife testified that she had her convinced that she really was the last of the Peralta line. In reality she was only a half-breed Indian girl that he had found on a California Indian reservation and had taken to Mexico to establish local (Turn to Page 32)

Lying upon the terms of the Treaty of

In the distance is Poston Butte, historical landmark near Florence. The view was taken from the ruins of the home of Billy Stiles, noted outlaw, on the outskirts of Florence.