COMMODORE PERRY OWENS

Sheep men over grazing rights. The county government in St. Johns was corrupt, inefficient and greatly in debt. There was practically no law enforcement, largely because Apache County covered 20,940 square miles. Even if one of the deputies should capture and bring in his man, it was next to impossible to get a conviction. In the whole murdering history of the county, only two men have ever been sentenced to death. They were just unlucky. Almost as difficult to contend with were the self-appointed vigilante committees, who frequently got to the criminal first and left the rest to the coroner instead of the jury.

Except for some county officials who were living off the fat of the land, and the outlaws, who were content to let things be, the public was greatly upset and dissatisfied with their government. Wails of criticism were sounded against the Sheriff's Office. The Holbrook paper claimed business had been carried on in a manner that was "shiftless, slipshod and of no value to the community." In 1885 there was a suit against Sheriff Hubbell for failure to serve bench warrants and subpoenas in criminal cases, and absenting himself from duties without competent deputies to take his place.

All these things were brought to a head in the election of 1886. Commodore Owens was practically drafted to run. His praise was sung all over the county, and he was glorified in the extreme during the campaign. Sam Brown and Frank Wattron engineered his election. The St. Johns paper ferociously damned the existing regime and urged everyone to vote for Owens: "There is a good time coming when C. P. Owens is installed in the Sheriff's Office. The cattle and sheep will be able to browse unmolested upon the plains, lawbreakers must seek another climate."

And the Holbrook paper proclaimed: "Commodore Perry Owens, he who will add as much glory to the successful issue of the warfare for freedom from an infamous government of Apache County in 1886 as did the old commander of the Flagship Lawrence for American honor and American glory Commodore: you can be assured that the old ring will make the labor of your friends arduous, but they shall not prevail longer against the interests of Apache County... you must and will be elected to the responsible office of sheriff, and the enemies of the people will be driven into their holes and hiding places to stay till the day of their judgment shall come."

Throughout all this, Commodore tactfully remained modest and silent. On November 4, Owens ran on the Apache County ticket and J. L. Hubbell on the Equal Rights ticket. Owens won by a large majority. After the election, Holbrook was the scene of "considerable pistol practice" in the way of celebrating. George Lee was so excited he accidentally shot his finger off. A sociable and dance were given by Owens' friends at Navajo Springs in honor of the new sheriff, with the Mormon band from St. Johns furnishing the music.

Commodore Owens has always been well-liked by the Mormon people, yet few of them remember the his - toric reason for it. The former sheriff and county of ficials were rabidly anti-Mormon, continuously spread ing gross lies about their religious beliefs, and preventing any Mormon from holding public office. The Mormons During all this, there was naturally much mudslinging at Owens in an attempt to destroy his reputation. The St. Johns paper made this statement: "Whenever you find a lawless character, he wants another man sheriff."

It must have been one of the biggest political build -ups of all time. Actually, Owens had done nothing which touched upon greatness. He was honest, a distinction shared by few officials at that time, and was known to be an excellent shot. Probably the most impressive thing about him was his redoubtable appearance. At any rate, the lawless element feared and hated him. Commodore was Owens the Lion-Hearted, Savior of Apache County, St. George with a six-shooter, invulnerable as Siegfried, yet modest and unassuming as a lamb. Or was he? In later years the Holbrook paper gave a somewhat questionable statement about this: "In 1886 the lawless element ran riot in Apache County, precipitating a reign of terror. Mr. Owens was, as a last resort, elected Sheriff." There were many immediate improvements after the election, however. Springerville, with its wild gang, was cleaned up. Citizens were no longer awakened every night by a fusillade of firearms, nor made to dance to gun music.

Under a new license law, the sheriff was liable for any licenses which he failed to collect. Owens promptly filed his quarterly report, collected and turned in all his license fees, which amounted to $687.50. He scrupulously reported all money spent by the Sheriff's Office, down to postage stamps. His quarterly salary was then $1165.00.

Improvements were made in the county jail. In January, 1887, the sheriff reported it in a "horribly filthy condition." Previously, the practice of giving prisoners clothing, extra food, tobacco, etc. had been carried to the extreme. New rules were set up under Owens' directions. No prisoners could be visited in the county jail except between 1:30 and 2:30 P.M. and it had to be in the presence of the jailor or sheriff.

The sheriff's routine duties took him all over the county. He had to escort dangerous criminals to the county seat for trial, and then to the territorial prison in Yuma. It was not an easy or pleasant job, but he had dependable deputies like George Powell and Frank Wattron.

Although he spent his spare time target practicing and most of his money on ammunition, it is to his credit that he was not as trigger-happy as most of the West's renowned gunmen. He usually brought in his prisoners with little trouble, if he could find them. They were slippery, but not entirely ignorant of etiquette. When Owens went out to serve a warrant for the arrest of George and Bill Graham, they had been warned of his approach and left a neat, friendly note on the door saying that they had taken their departure for parts unknown.

But Owens had not yet become a legendary hero. Events were speeding toward the drama that immor-talized the sheriff. In a drama, the hero's qualities are emphasized by the means of a foil, someone to whom the hero is contrasted and compared. Owens' foil took the form of Andy Blevins, alias Andy Cooper, a twentyfive-year-old desperado who for some years had been the leader of a group of horse thieves and gunmen. They drove stolen horses from Utah, Colorado and Northern Arizona down to Canyon Creek, seventy-five miles south of Holbrook in Tonto Basin. In 1887, they joined the Graham faction in the Pleasant Valley War.

The Blevins family were renegades from Texas. Hamp Blevins was pardoned from the Texas penitentiary in 1885. Another son had to leave Texas in a hurry. Andy had escaped from the penitentiary. One son-in-law was in jail for stealing. The whole family had openly defied the law, bragged about their shady activities and intimidated peaceful citizens. Almost everyone was afraid of them, and rightly so.

According to Will C. Barnes, Arizona historian, Owens had carried a warrant for the arrest of Andy Cooper for two months, not being able to find him, or not wanting to. It is said that they were "old range pals" and for this reason Owens was reluctant to make the arrest. The probable reason for Owens' reticence was his knowledge that Cooper would resist, and one or both of them would be necessarily killed. It was not a happy thought. Cooper was an excellent shot and had fewer scruples about killing than most outlaws. The county officials were growing restless and finally forced the issue . . . Owens must bring in Cooper or be relieved of His duties. On Sunday, September 4, 1887, Owens left St. Johns for the purpose of finding Andy Cooper.

Friday, September 2, Andy Cooper had killed two men, John Tewksbury and William Jacobs, in Tonto Basin. That evening, Andy with some of his friends hid out near the OW ranch south of the Mogollon Rim. Not until Saturday night did they start the long ride back to Holbrook. It was a cold windless night, so quiet that voices carried clearly for great distances. Mr. Shelly, who had a ranch in the cedars above Dry Lake, heard the men pass by on horseback boasting of their recent crimes and laughing in the darkness.

On a quiet, bright Sunday afternoon Owens rode into Holbrook. Just two hours before, Andy Cooper had told Frank Wattron that he would never give up to an officer of the law, but if he lived through his "present trouble," he would go to St. Johns in the spring and stand trial. But, he warned, he did not want any "monkey business."

And so it seems that both the hero, Owens, and his foil, Cooper, had a strong presentiment of the horror that was to come. It is best that the sheriff tell the story in his own words, as he did at the inquest, because from this, more than anything else, the real character of Owens emerges. The words are exactly as they were written, but some punctuation has been added for clarity.

TESTIMONY OF COMMODORE OWENS

I came in town on the fourth instant, went over to Mr. Brown's Stable, put up my horse and about that time Mr. Harvey and Mr. Brown came into the stable. I spoke something of Mr. Cooper, and they told me he was in town, that he come in this morning. I told Mr. Brown that I wanted to clean my six shooter, that I was going to arrest Cooper if he was in town. I came in to clean my six shooter. Someone came after a horse in the correl. Mr. Brown says to me, "That fellow is going to leave town." I told Mr. Brown to go saddle my horse, if he got away I would follow him. I did not wait to clean my pistol. I put it together without cleaning it, went into the stable, asked the man who cleans the horses if that man had saddled that dun horse. He said no. I says "Where is his saddles?" He says, "His saddle is down to the house." I asked him where the house was. He told me the first one this side of the blacksmith shop. I went and got my Winchester and went down to arrest Cooper. Before I got there, I saw someone looking out at the door. When I got close to the house, they shut the door. I stepped up on the porch, looked through the window and also looked in the room to my left. I see Cooper and his brother (John) and others in that room. I called to Cooper to come out. Cooper took out his pistol and also his brother took out his pistol. Then Cooper went from that room into the East room. His brother came to the door on my left, took the door knob in his hand and held the door open a little. Cooper came to the Door facing me from the East room. Cooper held this door partly open with his head out. I says, "Cooper I want you." Cooper says, "What do you want with me?" I says, "I have a warrant for you." Cooper says, "What warrant?" I told him the same warrant that I spoke to him about some time ago that I left in Taylor, for horse stealing. Cooper says "Wait." I says, "Cooper, no wait." Cooper says, "I won't go." I shot him. This brother of his to my left behind me jerked open the door and shot at me, missing me and shot the horse which was standing side and a little behind me. I whirled my gun and shot at him, and then ran out in the street where I could see all parts of the house. I could see Cooper through the window on his elbow with his head towards the window. He disappeared to the right of the window. I fired through the house expecting to hit him between the shoulder. I stopped a few moments. Some man (Mote Roberts) jumped out of the house on the northeast corner out of a door or window, I can't say, with a six shooter in his right hand and his hat off. There was a wagon or buckboard between he and I. I jumped to one side of the wagon and fired at him. Did not see him any more. I stood there a few moments when there was a boy (Sam Blevins) jumped out of the front of the house with a six shooter in his hands. I shot him. I stayed a few moments longer. I see no other man so I left the house. When passing by the house I see no one but somebodys feet and legs sticking out the door. I then left and came on up town.

Owens' story was substantiated by all the witnesses, who say the drama took place in about a minute's time. Frank Wattron had offered to help Owens, but he had refused all help. Immediately after the shooting, Wattron asked Owens if he thought he had got the parties in the house. Owens answered, "I know I have. Whenever I draw a bead and shoot I know I have got something."

Among the witnesses were C. O. Brown, Mr. Chaffee, Frank Reed, Will C. Barnes, Wattron and William Adams, a dealer in chalcedony, who was "lingering at Mr. Banta's saloon engaged in the customary vocation incident to such a place" when he heard the shots. Inside the Blevins house were Mary Blevins, the mother, John Blevins, Samuel Houston Blevins (age 14), Eva Blevins, Amanda Gladden, Mecea, two little girls, two babies and Mote Roberts.

It was a gruesome event, and the newspapers, of course, reported all the details, although they were confined to one column on page three. The caption in the Holbrook paper ran, "The Coolness of the Sheriff and his Unerring Sight, the Scene of the Tragedy, Clots of Ropy Gore, Thick as Autumnal Leaves the Strow the Brooks in Vallombrosa." Even the San Francisco Chronicle reported: "In the discharge of his duty and his Winchester, Sheriff Owens of Arizona fatally rifled the vitals of four desperados of the Graham gang."

The Blevins household and its occupants were bloodbespattered. Everyone was speechless from shock. The only sounds were the groans of the dying. Young Sam lay dead at his mother's feet. John Blevins recovered from his shoulder wound to testify at the inquest. Mote Roberts died of his wounds within a short time.

Will C. Barnes, in his book of reminiscences, Apaches and Longhorns, now unfortunately out of print, describes the aftermath of the battle in this manner: "The interior of that cottage was a dreadful and sickening sight. One dead boy, and three men desperately wounded, lying on the floors. Human blood was over everything. Two hysterical women, one the mother of two of the men, the other John Blevins' young wife, their dresses drenched with blood, were trying to do something for the wounded. Cooper died that night. Roberts lived about ten days. John Blevins recovered from his wound. Within a week, word reached Hol-brook that Hamp Blevins, Senior, the head of the Blevins family, and another son, Charlie, had been killed over in the Tonto Basin, victims of the war in that region which was just getting under way at that time. The warrant for Cooper's arrest was afterwards turned in by the sheriff to the clerk of the county court. Across its face Owens had written: 'Party against whom this warrant was issued was killed while resisting arrest.' A grim and gory page in the history of Apache County was thus closed."

At the Coroner's Inquest, all the witnesses backed Owens, elaborating and clarifying his account of the action. The Blevins family, naturally, tried to discredit the sheriff by making it appear that Andy was unarmed. This proved false, however, and in spite of their attempts, their stories were contrived and contradictory. Mary Blevins gave a dramatic account, saying that Andy was unarmed, did not resist arrest, and after he had been shot, staggered back saying, "Oh Commodore, don't do that." Despite this heart-rending story, Owens was fully exonerated by the jury.

The general opinion seemed to be that, horrible as it was, the shooting of these four men was in self-defense and unavoidable. Owens himself "deeply deplored" kill-ing young Sam Blevins, but a pistol is as deadly in the hands of a boy as in those of a man. The St. Johns paper wrote: "Too much credit cannot be given Sheriff Owens in this lamentable affair. It required more than ordinary courage for a man to go single-handed and alone to a house where it was known there were four or five desperate men inside, and demand the surrender of one of them . outside of a very few men, Owens is supported by every man, woman and child in town."

But the bloody shooting of four men in a single minute was not easily forgotten, even by the hardened citizens of Holbrook. People no doubt began to ask themselves, "Is this just the beginning? Will innocent citizens eventually be hurt in the execution of justice?" At any rate, the attitude toward Owens began to alter slowly. There was more awe of him, but also an insidious fear that such a scene might repeat itself. Holbrook was never never again the wild, reckless, careless town it had once been.

It is ironic that John Blevins later became a deputy sheriff. In 1901 he suffered another gunshot wound in the shoulder by the hand of drunken soldiers from Fort Apache, only two doors from the old Blevins house. Apparently, he was liked by the people in town, which substantiates the theory of the time that you couldn't tell an outlaw from an officer of the law without the badge.

There are subtle indications that the Board of Supervisors at St. Johns became antagonistic toward Owens. Many of his claims for expenses were refused. For some unknown reason, when Owens captured Jose Romero, for whom there was a $50 reward, he was only given $25.

There is a story about the Board of Supervisors withholding money from him: Commodore was living at the Barth Hotel. One day he packed up all of his belongings on a pack horse, saddled one horse, rode to the court house, apparently set to leave town. He walked into a Supervisor's meeting, drew his six shooter and quietly demanded his pay. Fearing that he would kill them all and leave town, they hastened to pay him. Commodore then walked out, unsaddled his horse, unpacked his things and moved back into the Barth Hotel.

The St. Johns papers no longer spoke his praise.

It was somehow embarrassing to talk about him and unpleasant to remember the Blevins incident. While in office, Owens was constantly moving from one place to another-Phoenix, Albuquerque, Williams, Needles, Prescott, etc. On January 23, 1896, the paper said: "Sheriff Owens returned last night from 'somewhere' which is about as near as we can guess of his movements." He rented a stable and corral from the county for $2.00 per month for a year, presumably intending to go into business. He carried on his regular duties until his term ended, and then left St. Johns, going to Holbrook. From there, he drifted around Northern Arizona, taking long hunting trips in the White Mountains. In February, 1896, he was "assisting Joe Woods in dispensing liquid refreshments." He had purchased several lots in Seligman and eventually moved there. What he did afterwards is of no real importance. He ran a saloon in Seligman for awhile. He was married April 30, 1902, to Elizabeth Barrett. Some people say he drank heavily and caroused. His mind began to fail him. On May 10, 1919, Owens died of paresis of the brain and was buried in Flagstaff. The flesh and blood Owens is dead, but the legendary Owens lives on. They are really two people. Like most of us, he was neither "good" nor "bad," but he did have the qualities and the opportunity which made him a hero of American folklore: the ancient virtues of courage, honesty, skill with a weapon-and the Blevins shooting was a conflict resolved for all time.

"Speck" THE KANGAROO RAT THE STORY OF ONE OF THE STRANGEST AND MOST FASCINATING OF ALL DESERT CREATURES Photographs and Article By Willis Peterson

In a veil of glowing flame, the sun's blazing disc cradled lower between distant peaks, soon to be extinguished by the horizon. Heat waves danced and shimmered, creating an illusion of molten vistas in the intervening distance.

Vivid rays silhouetted scraggly creosote and mesquite bushes, while scattered in between, curious mounds of dirt, turned amber by the desert sunset, resembled crumbling sand castles left at the end of play.

And, actually they were castles of a kind-wherein our tale begins.

As we wandered at sundown across the arid wastes, a little creature, a gnome-like desert sprite, peeked out from one of these mounds to see whence the intruders had gone.

This was his waking hour. This was the time when he collected his senses and his thoughts, for soon the deepening magenta shadows would turn into the security of night, the common denominator of nocturnal life.

Stirred by quickening consciousness, our dweller of the mounds stretched and listened. His nose quivered. His whiskers vibrated. He began drumming upon his castle floor. Only silence greeted his ears. Stillness lay over the desert, as the sinking sun relented in a fiery tableau of dusk.

When it grew darker, the little fellow leaped from his portal to alight a foot or so away. While his large black, protruding eyes darted quickly about, he twitched and fidgeted in an increasingly erratic manner.

But sprite or wraith, this reflected his normal behavior, for, this was "Speck," the Bannertail Kangaroo Rat, Dipodomys spectabilis, who had just made his nightly debut.

Though capricious in demeanor, Speck is rotundly built, reminding one of a caricature out of Dickens. An oversized head sits squarely upon his shoulders, leaving little space for a neck.

Like the rest of the species in the genus of kangaroo rats, a distinguishing white stripe encircles his flanks. Of his cousins, Speck, the Bannertail, is the most dis-

OPPOSITE PAGE

"PORTRAIT OF SPECK, THE KANGAROO RAT" RY WILLIS PETERSON. Not until it becomes dusk does Speck venture forth from his burrow. First he peeks cautiously from the burrow entrance before hopping upright into the night. When the moon shines brightly overhead his nightly adventures are always more dangerous. 34 x 44 Speed Graphic, Ektachrome film, dual electronic flash. 1/1000 sec. at f.16.