Pleasant Valley War

THEY DIED WITH THEIR BOOTS ON— THE PLEASANT VALLEY War REVISITED

Homes worth fighting for, they believed. And they joined in the West's most deadly, most demeaning range feud-the Pleasant Valley War, under the Tonto Rim. A boy was wounded. A shepherd died. Then an old man vanished. Brother avenged brother. A deputy sheriff used his commission as a hunting license.

Over some fifteen years three dozen men or more were outdueled and bushwhacked. Others died of consumption and measles, aggravated by skulking about in the damp forest. Still more fled the terror to count full years in safer communities far away.

Today the fretful, barren west wind scurries unhindered through Arizona's original ranch-style homes near Young, in Central Arizona. Gone are the feudists. All gone.

Soot scatters over plank floors Lizzie Rose used to scrub, and the whitewash flakes from her fireplace. Coyotes harvest the gnarled apples that drop by Tom Graham's unpruned trees. The winch has collapsed into the stone-lined well at the old Q Ranch.

Calves of absentee owners today frolic under the sycamores and among the walnuts once the pride of Old Man Tewksbury. Floppy, papperish thistles thrust from the courtyard enriched by the blood of a Blevins boy and by the blood of a Graham boy. And the stone wall where the sheriff jerked his triggers is toppling under ninetyseven winters.

These were the homes: usually, two square boxes in a row. Sharing a simple shake roof with a breezeway across the middle to protect the doors from elements and enemies. A family room and a sleeping wing and half a bath, out back. Maybe an afterthought of a what-the-heck porch. Quarried chimneys charmed to stand plumb without mortar. Interiors equipped with all the latest conveniences, such as angled gunports in the gables, and hand-forged lantern hooks driven into the foot-thick beams.

Now a family of skunks inhabits the Graham cabin. Crows like harsh schoolmasters fuss among the sunny goldenweed in Jim Roberts' horse pasture. Busy squirrels scamper upon the door sill where Mary Tewksbury hesitated in horror before going to bury her husband.

Now they are gone. All. The homes for which they struggled still stand...some of them...untended, unwanted, unvisited.

The west wind nervously bangs a weathered door and whispers through the cemetery grass and hums across a tilted shingle, and no one hears.

Tonto Troubles. Marion McCann arrived in Phoenix Saturday night from Pleasant Valley, where he has been for a period of thirteen months. As to his recent difficulty with the Tewksbury boys, in which George Blaine was shot by him, Mr. McCann said he anticipated trouble when the party rode up to his house. As he only had a few days longer to stay in that section, his effort was to avert it, and in a quiet manner he asked Blaine and Tewksbury to move on about their business....In reply John Tewksbury and George Blaine opened fire....

In February (1887) a band of Daggs' sheep, driven over the rim of the Mogollons under the protection of Tewksbury guns, was halted and hurled back by the cattlemen and cowboys led by Tom Graham. The lead herder was ambushed...a Navajo Indian, and no official action was taken. Buried just where he fell...only a mile from the modern highway....

For Duett Ellison, the boys next door were the gunfighters of the Pleasant Valley War. She collected their autographs in a book with a flowery cover. "Sincerely your friend, Glenn Reynolds, August 16, 1888," is an inscription, and next year Sheriff Reynolds was slain by the Apache Kid. "Miss Duett," read another, "may your life be long and happy....C. H. Blevins, June 30, 1887." Forty-one days later eighteen-year-old Hamp Blevins was shot out of his saddle. "In a chain of friendship, pray regard me as a link, Will C. Colcord." Colcord survived as the feud's last man. And Miss Duett? She became the wife of the first state governer of Arizona. Our first First Lady.

Strangers entering the Pleasant Valley disappeared completely. Horse thieves infested the whole of the country. A cattleman or farmer, when he turned his horses upon the range, never knew whether or not he would see them again. It must appear by this time that the "Graham side" had been tabbed far and wide as "horse thieves." Therefore, every man's hand was against them....

G. W. Shute, pioneer There was a tacit understanding, just where the dividing line was between the two ranges, and they went heavily armed and gazed each other's way for about fifteen months before fighting actually started. However, there was plenty going on. The Hash Knife Cattle Company had some real fine men in their employ; they also had many of the worst men that ever left Texas. -Osmer D. Flake, unpublished manuscript, 1958 In trying to settle the matter when without any warning McCann, at the Stinson party, immediately commenced firing at John Tewksbury, who retreated at once to the rear of a stone wall. In an instant the firing became general on both sides, neither doing any injury after the first two shots, both parties taking shelter about the place and shooting whenever an opportunity offered. George Blaine, who will be remembered as one of the witnesses for the Tewksburys in the recent trial at our District Court, was the only person hurt in the scrape, the ball striking him in the jaw on the left side of the face low down, and coming out on the same side about three inches from where it entered. It's a bad wound and may result seriously, but with proper care he will survive. Phoenix Herald, August 14, 1884 In after years, when them, perchance. As thong 5 of auld lang Syne arisen Midst osfer scenes, shalle East a glance.. Along these pages, should think of amen Reset on this tribute, think of amen Think kindly, as I do of ther.

PLEASANT VALLEY War

Pleasant Valley, January 12, 1883. Ed. Gazette: About 10 o'clock Friday, as my boys and two men, all unarmed except Edwin, and he only having a small pocket-pistol in his hip pocket and a handkerchief on top of it, were at work at the blacksmith forge, John Gilleland, Stinson's Mexican, and a relative of O. C. Felton's, rode up in a fast walk. Gilleland rode 'round James and came in front of Edwin. Edwin inquired who he was looking for. Gilleland said, "for you you damn s of a b," Gilleland at the same time drawing his six-shooter and firing. Edwin had no time to lose, as they were all well armed, and in all probability came for a row. When they saw Ed had a pistol, they broke and ran off, leaving one of their men behind. The boys took him to Stinson's. This is as stated by one of the men who was an eyewitness.

Respectfully Yours, J. D. Tewksbury Arizona Gazette, January 27, 1883 Ed Tewksbury told me that Al Rose was killed by (Sheriff) Glen Reynolds. He said that they were at the Houdon place looking for some parties that they thought might be stopping around there, and were lying down behind a bush fence when Al Rose came out of the house early one morning and Glen Reynolds arose and beckoned Rose to come to him. He said Rose was undecided ...and finally broke for the house....

Joe T. McKinney, "Reminiscences," 1935 Tom Graham died yesterday afternoon by a coward's bullet.... No murder ever committed in Arizona has ever aroused so much excitement as has this one. The bloody record of five years in which the murdered man and his slayer were important actors is apparently closed....

The Arizona Republican, August 3, 1892 The parties were arrested on alleged fictitious charges and were in charge of James D. Houck, and five others. They were en route to Pleasant Valley when near the Canyon Creek trail they were met by masked men who ordered Houck and his men to move on. The prisoners were found next morning hanging near the Verde road. Houck arrived on Monday, August third...the bodies were reported as still hanging.

-Prescott Journal-Miner, August 30, 1888 Suddenly a rustle of skirts was heard, and Mrs. Graham, widow of the murdered man, rushed across the railedin space. She had been sitting quietly near the reporters' table, and reached the seat of the prisoner before any of the spectators fully appreciated her intention. In her hand, concealed in a black silk reticule, she held a pistol. Before Rhodes even knew she was in his vicinity, the crazed woman had thrust the cocked revolver to his side and pulled the trigger. She aimed for the heart. But the hammer upon its descent caught upon a handkerchief.... "Oh, for God's sake, won't someone help me?" she cried. - The Phoenix Gazette, August 19, 1892

Additional Reading

Globe, Arizona, by Clara T. Woody and Milton L. Schwartz, The Arizona Historical Society, Tucson, 1977.

Arizona's Dark and Bloody Ground, by Earle R. Forrest, The Caxton Printers, Ltd. Caldwell, Idaho, 1936.

The Arizona Historical Review, Volume V, Number Two, The Arizona State Historian, Phoenix, 1932.

PLEASANT VALLEY War

We have been requested to warn parties who own horses between St. Johns and El Tule on the Little Colorado to keep a sharp look out for them. There are several parties fixing to leave this part of the country, who are not above suspicion. It will do no harm to keep your eyes on your horses until they have left. -St. Johns Herald, August 8, 1887 A. B. Graham, esquire, New Tacoma, Washington Territory. My dear sir: Yours of October 1, received, in reply would say, John Graham and William Graham are reported killed in Tonto Basin, that is in Yavapai County. Lewis Parker is not killed.... This killing is not in my County. For full particulars write to the Sheriff at Prescott, Arizona Territory. Very respectfully. Commodore Perry Owens Telegram, October 8, 1887 Things are in a fearful condition in the Basin. Since the two men Paine and Blevins were killed by the parties firing from their concealed position in Newton's Ranch, William Graham was shot from ambush while riding on the Payson trail and died the next day. Old Man Blevins is also probably killed. He has been missing for a month, and no trace can be found of the body. Flagstaff Champion, September, 10, 1887 The Graham family consisted of four-two brothers and two relatives. One of the brothers has been killed recently, but they have several supporters, as have the Tewksburys also. The family of the latter consists of four stalwart men and several young girls and are possessed of considerable wealth, probably $60,000. Arizona Gazette, September 25, 1887

Top gun of the Pleasant Valley War was James F. Roberts, horse breeder and ally of the Tewksburys. This is the Colt Peacemaker he carried during the war, and this is the badge he wore later as a lawman. Strangely, Jim's middle initial is struck as "T" on the star... when in fact his middle name was Franklin. Courtesy Kirkland Family Collection, the Arizona Historical Society We turned him over on his back, and the pallor of death could be seen in his face. We carried him to the shade of the big trees that were in front of the house. Nothing but the buckshot from (Sheriff) Mulvenon's gun had hit Blevins. Graham was hit with a rifle ball. It hit his left arm above the elbow and went straight through the body. He lived a little while. I got him some water and gave him a drink. He said nothing that I heard. Joe McKinney, deputy sheriff, September, 1887Rushing back to the house, she gathered all available pieces of canvas and got a number of heavy quilts. This covering material she lugged to the death scene. Covering the bodies, she fastened canvas and quilts down with heavy stones, fallen tree limbs, and brush. Leaving the dogs on guard...she walked back to her home-and calmly told Ed Tewksbury exactly what had happened. He said then, repeating the vow later to friends, "There's no man going to live after shooting my brother down...." -Maurice Kildare, historian

Spider kills a Lion

During the years following World War II just about everybody in the Tonto Basin Country owned a half-dozen or so dogs, mostly hounds of indeterminate origin. Neither Jim Williams nor Doc Cline, local cowboys and all-round good hands, was an exception. Among the dogs they both claimed jointly was a very good female, and during one of their numerous dog-talks they decided to breed her to the best male they could find. After much more talk they agreed to mate her with one of the bloodhounds used by the State Prison at Florence to trail escaping con-victs. They figured with that combination of qualities they'd come up with a litter of pups that could trail anything anywhere... and figure out what to do with it once they caught it.

It took a bit of arranging, but the prison officials were receptive to the idea, so the next time the lady came in heat Jim and Doc hauled her off to Florence. The male dog they selected as a sire greeted his bride-for-a-day with considerable enthusiasm, and the breeding went off as planned.

Among the resulting pups was a smallish black hound with tan markings. This one seemed to stand out from the rest almost from the day of his birth. When he first began to walk, he shuffled along with his tiny tail whipping enthusiastically, snuffing and sniffing from side to side as though hot on the trail of some great, imaginary beast, and tripping every few steps over his magnificently long ears. In time he learned to move fast enough to let देम sort of trail out behind, so they no longer impeded his progress. For reasons as obscure then as they are now, they named the pup "Spider." As he developed he rapidly turned into a squirrelly, good-natured little pooch ready for anything and everything, any-where, anytime.

When the pup was six months old, Jim and Doc took him on his first coon hunt down along one of the drainages that run into Tonto Creek. Coons and other wild creatures were numerous that night, and while Spider did not immediately distin-guish himself as a great coonhound on that first hunt, he did show more than ample spirit for the chase. In fact, he showed a mite too much enthusiasm. In a moment of excitement, he inadvertently snapped at Old Blue, the elder statesman of the pack. Old Blue responded with all the dignity and poise of a true leader; he didn't even bother to react. Instead he simply stopped in his tracks and gave the youngster one of those long, disdainful stares that only a gentleman of quality can achieve. Spider froze wide-eyed and open-jawed for an instant, then assumed the roll-in-the-dirt-and-look-innocent attitude of a smart pup who knows he's just goofed.

The brief tutoring in matters of rank and stature put Spider in his place among the hounds in general, but he continued to show a nicely balanced blend of savvy, courage, and boundless enthusiasm - all qualities which separate leaders from mutts. He also continued developing the warm, friendly personality that made him a favorite of the two-legged members of the group.

By the time he was a year old, he had successfully tangled with a number of raccoons and various other wild critters his own size or slightly smaller. He had handled himself well on all occasions, so it logically followed that Jim and Doc decided it was time to take him along on a lion hunt.

One frosty winter morning they rode out on horseback from the ranch with eight or ten hounds tagging along, Spider among them. As they crossed the road which runs from Jakes Corner to Roosevelt Dam, the dogs quit trailing behind and began ranging ahead of the riders. Up into the Mazatzal Mountains they headed, Spider mingling with the rest of the dogs and probably wondering what kind of a coon hunt this was. It began in the morning instead of twilight, and the men were on horses instead of afoot like the dogs.

Far up into the Mazatzals they traveled, the men letting the horses pick their own way through the rocks and brush as the dogs scouted ahead. For a few hours it was just a quiet horseback ride for the men and an interesting but unexciting outing for the dogs.

Finally, about midday, one of the older hounds picked up a hint of familiar scent and promptly expressed his interest with the mournful-happy sound only a hound dog can accomplish. The rest of the pack quickly moved in and picked up the trail, following the gradually warming odor of mountain lion still farther into the mountains.

At Little Pine Flat the dogs caught up with the lion, the mildly interested baying shifting to the frantic chorus of the chase.

The lion led the dogs off along the side of a long canyon and around a rough, brushy peak that loomed over the little flat. So rugged was the country the horses could not keep up, and the men soon found themselves guided only by the sounds of distant barking and baying. Then the sounds shifted direction as the lion headed back toward Little Pine Flat.This put the dogs and their quarry on the yonder side of a ridge from the riders, and the shortest distance to the action appeared to be a straight line over the top

and through a saddle near the peak they had circled. In spite of manzanita and oak brush clawing at their chaps, the men pushed their horses up to the saddle as quickly as they could. As they topped out they could hear the dogs barking down below, on the other side. Loping across the narrow, grassy saddle, they looked down into the canyon and could see the whole show.The dogs had a big, rangy tom lion treed in a small sycamore near the bottom of the hill. Spider was right in the middle of everything, going plumb wild, with his front feet as far up the tree as he could stretch.

The men paused briefly to assess the situation. The lion looked lean and ready to run some more."If we try ridin' down there, sure as heck that lion's gonna spook out'a that tree, and we'll still be chasin' him come this time tomorrow," Doc observed.His partner allowed as how he was probably right, so Doc, an excellent marksman, decided to shoot from where he was. He was packing his .300 Savage Model 99. The distance was about 200 yards, and even though it would be steep downhill shooting, a quick, one-shot kill seemed likely.

As Doc fired, though, something went a wee bit wrong, and he hit the lion too far back, wounding it. The impact of the bullet knocked the cat sideways, causing it to lose its grip on the tree. As it started to fall, though, the lion managed to get a slight purchase on a limb and launched himself sideways instead of falling smack into the pack of hounds. When he hit the ground he rolled over once, then leaped instantly into a dead run.

Spider saw the lion coming down and was ready for him. He missed the catch when the cat hit the ground, but was hot on its tail as soon as the lion got its feet in gear. With the old tom hurting and Spider eager, a great race quickly developed.

The lion was running strong in spite of its wound, but even an uninjured mountain lion cannot run full-bore for any great distance. With Spider just a jump or two behind and the rest of the pack coming strong, the lion quickly headed for another sycamore tree. Without a break in his stride, he launched himself into the little tree and clambered up. The sycamore, though, was too limber for the cat's weight, and began to sway, swinging the lion's tail back and forth about four feet off the ground.That tail was all Spider needed! Coming at full speed, he followed the cat's example and sailed into the air without missing a step, then clamped down on the tail with all the strength in his jaws. Spider's momentum carried him like a pendulum as far as the tail could reach, then lion, tail, and dog crashed to the ground in a wildly thrashing heap.

Spider still had a mouthful of lion tail when they hit, but he quickly began snapping around for something more substantial to chew on. This was the strangest and biggest dadgummed coon he'd ever seen, and he was determined to tear its head off. The lion, however, had other ideas, and began savagely, as Jim put it, "gormandizing on Spider's front leg."

While this was going on the men pushed their horses down the hill as fast as they dared, and arrived on the scene just as it appeared Spider was about to become lion meat. Jim quickly pushed his snorting horse into the melee, whipped out a .3840 Colt single-action revolver and put two quick shots into the lion's shoulder.

That killed the cat instantly, but, even though it spat out Spider's leg as it died, the dog wasn't convinced it was dead. He still had his jaws full of mountain lion, and continued fiercely biting and tearing.

When the two men gently pried his mouth loose from the dead lion, they saw the little dog was in bad shape. In addition to his shredded leg, Spider was torn, scratched, and scraped from one end to the other. For a time it looked as though they would have to destroy him, a thought which Jim found very difficult to handle. He really liked the little dog. But Spider was hanging tough, trying to chew the lion apart in spite of his own condition. He seemed, in fact, much less concerned about his injuries than the men were. Cold as it was at 7000 feet in the Mazatzals, Jim peeled off his outer clothing, removed his undershirt, and bandaged the worst of Spider's wounds as well as he could, then hurriedly climbed back into his clothes before he froze solid.

They loaded the dead lion onto Doc's horse-a nifty trick in itself, since Doc rarely rode anything gentle-and headed back down the mountain with Jim carrying Spider across his saddle.

It was nearly nine o'clock by the time they reached home, and Jim's mother had supper waiting. Before he ate, though, he took Spider to the barn and again bandaged his wounds. Then he made a bed of straw, tied the dog up with a piggin' string, and left him with plenty of food and water. Next morning he'd take Spider into Globe to see the vet.

Doc went back to his own place, and Jim hungrily ate his meal. Then he checked Spider once more before crashing into bed. Beaten as he was, he slept only fitfully,

Spider

And before first light peeked over the Sierra Ancha Mountains to the east, rose and hurried out to the barn. The little dog was gone. The well-chewed stub of piggin' string offered ample testimony to what had happened.

Jim looked over the immediate area for the dog, or sign of him, but with dog tracks everywhere found nothing conclusive. Gradually enlarging his search area, he worked his way to the road, and there in the soft dirt at the edge, found Spider's tracks. They were easy to identify; one front foot was barely touching the ground, with only the tips of Spider's toes showing in the dust. The tracks were headed toward the mountains.

With that as encouragement, Jim hurried back to the house for something to eat before taking off on Spider's trail. About the time he got there, Doc drove up, and Jim told him what happened.

"But I believe I know where he is," he told Doc.

"Where?" the other wanted to know.

"I believe he's back up there where we killed that lion," Jim answered.

killed that lion," Jim answered.

"I'll bet you're right. Wait till I go saddle a horse, and we'll ride back up there and see."

So they made the long ride far up into the Mazatzals once again, to Little Pine Flat. There, just as they suspected, they found Spider sitting under the leafless little sycamore with a confused expression on his face, vainly looking for the lion he knew he killed there yesterday.

Recently retired after a twenty-seven-year career with the Arizona Fish and Game Department, Bill Sizer now devotes his time to writing and photography.

Bob Boze Bell is a humorist and artist for New Times Weekly.

The Wonderful World of Lane Grey

The world knew him as King of the West, macho author extraordinaire, the highest paid, most popular writer on the planet. Zane Grey. Born Pearl Gray in 1875 in Zanesville, Ohio, like the “Boy Named Sue” of country song, his childhood was punctuated with black eyes given classmates who dared josh him about his unusual name.

The winding trail that transformed him from Pearl Gray to Zane Grey led west to the Grand Canyon, Rainbow Bridge, Painted Desert, Keet Seel and Betatakin ruins, Oak Creek, the Rim Country of Arizona-lands he made his, and ours.

But the suspicion persists: never would he have traversed his rainbow trail successfully without his wife, Dolly, for she, every bit as much as he, was responsible for the Zane Grey phenomenon.

Not until their honeymoon in 1906 did the pair first glimpse the place he would call “my beloved Arizona.” In eighty-nine Western novels to follow, he wrote of brave heroes, fragile women, noble horses, ruthless gunslingers, of good guys triumphant over bad guys. He established the living, breathing stereotypes of the Old West for a massive audience only dimly aware of America's fast-fading frontier.

He literally put Arizona into his readers' awareness. Lovingly, he described the carnival colors, configurations, seasons, and weathers of the state's mountains, deserts, canyons, mesas, and its mighty river, the Colorado.

Always overshadowing his larger-thanlife characters was the land on which he set them. To read Zane Grey was, and is, to know: stupendous landscapes generate superheroes with high moral values; anything less denigrates nature's own epic masterpieces.

Perhaps his greatest legacy was his facility for expressing the joy and solitude Arizona's backcountry often imposes onits viewers. That sense of jubilation, inspiration, exultation, meditation-all mixed together-saturate his pages.

By 1915, he was famous as one of America's top ten best-selling authors, along with such writers as F. Scott Fitzgerald, Harold Bell Wright, and Kathleen Norris. Grey's collective sales were topped only by The Holy Bible and the McGuffey Readers.

One-hundred and thirty-six motion pictures and two long-running television series spanned the years from silent films to videotape. They provided roles for such luminaries as Gary Cooper, Randolph Scott, Richard Arlen, Richard Dix, Wallace Beery, Harry Carey, William Powell, Jack Holt, Jack LaRue, Fay Wray, Lili Damita, Jean Arthur, Buster Crabbe, Warner Baxter, Gail Patrick, Tom Mix, Clark Gable, and John Wayne. Oh, yes, and Shirley Temple, who, at age three, appeared on film for the first time, ad-libbing a scene with a horse in To the Last Man, a fictionalized version of the Rim Country's famed Pleasant Valley War. Despite their “star” status, Zane Grey's own name was regarded most “bankable” and topped the movie marquees during the 1920s, '30s, and '40s.

At the height of his clout and earning power (about $9 million annually in today's money), Gray insisted his motion pictures be filmed on location. Among them: Monument Valley set the scene for silents; Grey's hideaway cabin under the Mogollon Rim (which he renamed Tonto Rim in his books) headquartered Randolph Scott films. Oak Creek and Grand canyons, where Grey also maintained retreats, appeared in others.

Inveterate readers of his Westerns were such late, greats as Dwight D. Eisenhower, Winston Churchill, Douglas MacArthur, and Anwar Sadat of Egypt.

Today, forty-five years after his death, Zane Grey books continue to sell around the world in twenty-four languages.

The International Zane Grey Society, founded by Dr. Joe L. Wheeler of Keene, Texas, convened this June at Payson, Arizona, near Grey's restored cabin. The society's magazine, Zane Grey's West, provides members with lists of available Grey memorabilia, first editions, paperbacks, motion picture posters, autographed material, plus fan club chatter. But back up to that winding, transformation trail...

In Zanesville and later in Columbus, Gray was a so-so student, math was a