Garrett’s presidential appointment finally gave him a status and respectability he had not known as a county sheriff. The El Paso customhouse monitored a flood of goods coming from Mexico, everything from livestock to tourists’ trinkets. The annual duties collected amounted to some $40,000. Unfortunately, Garrett did not have the autonomy in his new position he had known as sheriff. There were plenty of critics, disgruntled about his appointment, and politically sensitive Washington bureaucrats watching his every move. Complaints against Garrett’s interpretation of Treasury Department rules soon appeared in the newspapers. One story, which ran under the headline “Made the General Pay,” reported on how Garrett refused to refund the duties collected of General Harrison Gray Otis for items he was bringing into the United States as gifts for his grandchildren. Otis, editor of the Los Angeles Times, filed a protest with the Treasury Department. A much bigger flap, however, came over Garrett’s appraisal of three-thousand-plus cattle imported by the Corralitos Ranch of Casas Grandes, Mexico. The cattle company vigorously protested the duties charged by Garrett, who ended up traveling to New York City to argue the case before the Board of Appraisers—not very successfully.
Pat Garrett as collector of customs, El Paso, circa 1903.
University of Texas at El Paso Library, Special Collections Department
Other complaints revolved around Garrett’s alleged lack of “tact and common politeness” in performing his duties. It is easy to imagine the fifty-three-year-old Garrett, who was once the law in New Mexico, exhibiting a decided lack of patience, even a short temper, with anyone who attempted to get around their customs duties, sought some personal favor, or simply argued with him about a decision. The Treasury secretary reprimanded Garrett via letter, essentially ordering him to be more polite. Garrett was outraged. But he received an even harsher rebuke from the secretary after he got into a fistfight with a former customhouse employee, George M. Gaither. Garrett had been forced to accept Gaither as a temporary inspector because of the criticism over Garrett’s cattle appraisals, a sore point with the collector. Gaither’s appointment was for a thirty-day trial period, and Garrett had no intention of keeping the man at the customhouse a single minute after the trial period expired. But after Gaither was dismissed, he went about El Paso claiming that Garrett had reneged on a promise of a full-time job. When Garrett ran into Gaither on the street, he called the man a goddamned liar—Garrett hated liars—and that was when the fistfight broke out. This made the papers as well, but Garrett still held on to his collectorship.
What many believed finally cost Garrett his job occurred in San Antonio in April 1905. President Roosevelt was visiting the home of the Alamo for a reunion of his famed regiment of Rough Riders. He had invited Garrett to join him there and to sit at his table at an outdoor lunch planned for the Rough Riders. But Garrett brought along as a guest his good friend Tom Powers, the owner of a saloon and gambling establishment called The Coney Island, which was Garrett’s favorite watering hole in El Paso. Garrett even arranged to have a photograph taken of himself and Powers with the president. But Garrett did not tell the president anything regarding Powers’s well-known reputation as a professional gambler, and when Roosevelt found out later, he was extremely upset. Eight months later, as Garrett’s four-year term as collector was coming to an end, he learned that Roosevelt had decided not to reappoint him.
Roosevelt told Garrett and others that the Powers incident had not had anything to do with his decision, but there is no question that it put an end to Garrett’s political career. First, the Texas Republicans had never forgiven Roosevelt’s administration for not giving the collectorship to a Texan. Then there was the icy relationship between Garrett and the Treasury secretary. The secretary told the president that Garrett had been an inefficient collector, and that he had heard reports from El Paso that Garrett was often absent from his post, was in debt, and had not curbed his gambling and drinking. Last, Roosevelt had not fared well in the press for handing government appointments to men with what were perceived to be notorious pasts. His appointment of Bat Masterson as a deputy U.S. marshal for New York had prompted the New York Evening World to write, “The President likes killers.”
As soon as Garrett realized his job was in jeopardy, he rushed to Washington to plead his case with Roosevelt. Against the advice of friends, Garrett insisted on taking Tom Powers with him. Powers had considerable influence in El Paso, and he somehow believed he could help his friend with the president. But Roosevelt would not see Powers, though Garrett stuck up for his friend, telling the president that he would gladly introduce Powers to anyone. Even so, it quickly became clear to Garrett that the president had already made up his mind. The Washington Post noted that Garrett looked dejected after visiting the White House and in other ways exhibited “the bitterness of defeat.” In a last-ditch effort, Garrett’s writer friend Emerson Hough wrote a letter, pleading with Roosevelt, even promising that Garrett’s resignation would be on the president’s desk no later than July 1, 1906. This six-month reprieve would allow Garrett to maintain his pride and say he left the job himself. By the time Hough wrote his letter, Roosevelt had appointed a Texas Republican to take Garrett’s place.
Garrett with President Theodore Roosevelt at the San Antonio Rough Riders reunion, 1905. Tom Powers is the man in the Stetson, second from the right.
University of Texas at El Paso Library, Special Collections Department
When he returned to Texas, Garrett answered a few questions from a Fort Worth reporter about his future prospects. “I have a ranch in New Mexico,” he said. “And I will go there for a time. Just what my future plans will be I do not know. However, I am going to do something and don’t expect to remain idle. I have no complaint to make against anyone for my removal. I simply take my medicine.”
GARRETT HAD LITTLE TIME to dwell on this. By January 1, 1906, he was in Santa Rosalía (present-day Camargo), Chihuahua, Mexico, investigating a brutal slaying involving an American rancher named O. E. Finstad. The Mexican authorities believed that Finstad had murdered his brother-in-law and another man; Finstad said they were attacked by “assassins.” Garrett, who was licensed to practice law in Mexico, had been employed by either Finstad or, more likely, Mrs. Finstad to help with the defense. The Finstads no doubt believed that Garrett’s notoriety as a lawman would bring attention to their case, and it did. Garrett conducted his own investigation and determined that Finstad and his associates were assaulted by Mexican bandits. He then appealed directly to President Roosevelt, asking for the American government’s assistance in the case. But despite Garrett’s efforts, which were substantial, the Mexican court convicted Finstad in early March and sentenced the rancher to twelve years in the penitentiary. It was Garrett’s one and only Mexican legal case.
Garrett was always looking for the big “trade,” the deal that would make him thousands of dollars all at once. The Finstad case had simply represented some quick cash, but while Garrett was in Mexico, he thought he found the next moneymaker: a silver mine in Chihuahua. Garrett wrote Emerson Hough in Chicago that the property could be acquired for $50,000 in cash and $50,000 in stocks. If Hough could interest some of his friends, Garrett believed they would all make a handsome profit. But Garrett had not had the best of luck with earlier mining speculations in New Mexico, and it is unlikely that he was able to convince Hough or his Chicago associates. And like most of Garrett’s friends, Hough knew the ex-lawman was in debt—to just about everyone.
Some of Garrett’s debts had been outstanding for years, and instead of using the income from his El Paso collectorship to pay down his creditors, he had used it to speculate, gamble, and, incredibly enough, help out any friends who were a little short. When Thomas B. Catron sent an outstanding Garrett note to El Paso for collection, three banks refused it. They had plenty of their own notes against him.
“He might pay for politics or for some other reason of that kind,” Catron was advised, “but he pays no one down here. He figures in lo
ts of deals, but do not think he puts up a cent in any of them.”
Just a few days after Garrett wrote to Hough about the Chihuahua mining scheme, the Doña Ana County sheriff seized all of Garrett’s property, including the family home on his Black Mountain ranch (near San Augustin Pass), so that it could be offered at public auction. This was the result of a long-running legal tussle with an Albuquerque bank over a debt Garrett had incurred sixteen years earlier when he cosigned a $1,000 promissory note for George Curry. In the end, Garrett retained some control of his land, not because he paid up, but because he had already mortgaged most of it, and his “homestead” was protected by New Mexico statute. The livestock he had not mortgaged or snuck off his property was sold to pay his back taxes.
Louis B. Bentley, who owned a store in Organ, kept a small, leather-bound book upon which he had scratched the words Dead Beats. The book contained the names Pat Garrett and two of his children, Poe and Annie; Garrett owed Bentley $35.30. In Las Cruces, Garrett had also stopped paying his bill at the May Brothers Grocery, although he continued to buy his foodstuffs there. When Albert Fall learned about the situation and asked the grocers why they did not demand payment, they said they did not want any trouble and were afraid to cut Garrett off. In a remarkable gesture, Fall decided it was not right for the grocers to suffer this debt, and he and another man shared the cost of Garrett’s groceries. Fall truly felt sorry for Garrett, an extremely proud man who was fast becoming a penniless has-been.
“I don’t know how you are fixed,” Fall wrote to Garrett in December 1906, “but suppose you are broke as usual, so I enclose a check for fifty dollars which amount you can return to me if your stock, which I have turned over to the Bank, goes to par or above.”
A couple of weeks later, Garrett wrote Fall: “I have got into a fix where it seems impossible for me to get along without using the $50 I was to send to you…. Be patient with me and I will try and never do wrong again.”
But things suddenly looked up for Garrett when Roosevelt announced in April 1907 that he was appointing George Curry the next governor of New Mexico Territory. Rumors floated about Las Cruces that Curry would make Garrett the superintendent of the territorial penitentiary at Santa Fe. An excited Garrett wrote to Polinaria from El Paso, asking her to send him his dress suit and Prince Albert coat. Not only was Garrett going to attend Curry’s inauguration in Santa Fe, but Curry had invited Garrett to go to Washington with him. “He will do anything he can for me,” Garrett wrote about Curry. “I am going to try hard to do something and feel very much encouraged.” But Garrett was doomed for another disappointment. Curry did not come through with the prison appointment, nor did he really do anything to assist Garrett in a substantial way—odd considering that Curry was partly, if not entirely, responsible for Garrett’s trouble with the Albuquerque bank.
By the end of August, Garrett had begun another business scheme. The Rio Grande Republican announced that he had become a partner in an El Paso real estate firm. How Garrett insinuated himself into this partnership is unknown, but it gave him yet another reason to make frequent visits to the border town. During Garrett’s entire term as collector of customs, he had kept his family in New Mexico, and they remained there still, either at a house in Las Cruces or at the Black Mountain ranch. For extended periods, Polinaria was left alone to take care of their children, of whom the youngest, Jarvis, was just two years old. Garrett’s favorite El Paso hangout was Powers’s Coney Island saloon, where he was known to frequently buy a round of drinks for the house. Just as well known, it seems, was that Garrett spent his nights with a prostitute while in El Paso, a woman remembered only as Mrs. Brown. Emerson Hough may have been referring to this relationship when he wrote to President Roosevelt in December 1905, and said he knew of “only one sort of indiscretion of which Garrett has been guilty. This has nothing to do with his integrity. Would rather not state this but can do so if necessary.”
There is no question that Pat Garrett deeply loved his wife, Polinaria, and his children—his numerous letters to his family reveal a man who was devoted, doting, and, more often than not, worried—but Garrett also led another life away from his family, and that other life drained his already shattered finances and compounded his rapidly deteriorating mental state.
AS WINTER SET IN and, little by little, the days became shorter and cooler, Garrett became more bitter, angry, desperate, and depressed. Earlier in the year, he had written Hough that “Everything seems to go wrong with me.” By February 1908, the thing most wrong in Garrett’s mind involved a young cowpoke named Wayne Brazel. Born Jesse Wayne Brazel in December 1876, Brazel had gone to work at Cox’s San Augustin Spring ranch at age fourteen, and it was said that Bill Cox treated the boy like a son. He grew up to be a big, good-natured, albeit slow, cowhand, who did not have an enemy in the world. He did not even carry a gun. Albert B. Fall employed Brazel to take care of his horses at his ranch, just east of the Garrett place. More often than not, though, Brazel was looking after Fall’s children, who adored the young man. On days when the weather forced everyone inside, they sat at his knee while he spun some wild tale to their immense delight. He taught one of the little Fall girls to say, “By-golly-gosh-darn-double-duce-damn,” explaining that that simple line of cussing was all one needed to get through life. Remembering back years later, Fall’s daughter, Alexina, thought Brazel was a little feebleminded.
Brazel generally wore a black, broad-brimmed Stetson with a high crown that he pulled down close to his ears. His ruddy face was invariably clean shaven, and he kept his sandy hair cropped short. A scar ran down from the right corner of his mouth and over his chin. It came from either a knife cut, boyhood horseplay with his brother, or from being thrown by a bronc—take your pick. He got crossways with Pat Garrett after leasing the Bear Canyon ranch from Garrett’s twenty-five-year-old son, Poe, in March 1907. The Bear Canyon ranch was situated in the San Andres Mountains a few miles north of Garrett’s Black Mountain ranch, and although the lease agreement between Poe and Brazel clearly states that the ranch belonged to Poe, most contemporary accounts agree that it was Pat Garrett’s property, and Garrett certainly acted as if the ranch belonged to him. Garrett no longer had any stock to put on the place, and as he was intent on building his herds back up, he came up with a deal that said each year Brazel would give him ten heifer calves and one mare colt in exchange for the five-year lease. Garrett later claimed that Brazel said he was going to put three hundred to four hundred cattle on the place, but instead of cattle, Brazel moved in a herd of more than twelve hundred goats. Garrett was furious; five years with that many goats nibbling the sparse grass to bare nubs would spoil the place for all other livestock. Garrett was also upset to learn that his neighbor, Bill Cox, had fronted the money for the operation. Worse still, though—Print Rhode was Brazel’s partner in the goat herd.
Garrett tried to get the lease voided in court. He went to see the justice of the peace in Organ and swore out arrest warrants for both Brazel and Rhode based on an antiquated New Mexico statute that made it illegal to herd livestock closer than a mile and a half to a house or settlement. The hearing took place in an Organ butcher shop in January 1908 and drew a large crowd; some of the onlookers, relatives and friends of the accused, were armed and tempers ran high. Rhode tried to pick a fight with Garrett, but as Print’s brother, Sterling, remembered, “Pat was too smart for it.” In a rather anticlimactic move, the justice dismissed the case—just one more thing that went wrong for Garrett. Soon there was talk that Garrett, Brazel, and Rhode were making threats against one another. Someone even overheard Garrett say that “they” would get him unless he got them first.
Wayne Brazel (seated) with Jim Lee and Will Cravens. Brazel had shaved his head as a joke.
University of Texas at El Paso Library, Special Collections Department
Garrett became more brutish and quarrelsome than ever. He got into three or four fistfights in Las Cruces, and at fifty-seven years of age, the ex-sheriff came ou
t of each one in worse shape than the one before. One day he wrote the governor in desperation: “Dear Curry: I am in a hell of a fix. I have been trying to sell my ranch, but no luck. For God’s sake, send me fifty dollars.”
But then something happened to offer the perfect solution to Garrett’s headache with the Bear Canyon outfit. Garrett was approached by James B. Miller in El Paso with an offer to buy the ranch. Miller told Garrett he had purchased a thousand head of Mexican cattle and they were to be delivered to El Paso on March 15. Although he had a ranch in Oklahoma, Miller preferred not to ship the cattle there until the fall and needed a place not far from El Paso to graze them. Garrett was not about to let this opportunity slip by because of a cussed herd of goats. He went to Brazel and talked the cowpoke into going to El Paso to see what might be worked out with Miller. After a short meeting, Brazel agreed to give up his lease as long as a buyer could be found for his goats. Miller found a buyer, his partner Carl Adamson, who also happened to be related to Miller by marriage. Adamson would take all twelve hundred goats at $3.50 apiece. Brazel returned to Bear Canyon and carefully counted his herd—instead of twelve hundred, he had eighteen hundred. Adamson was unwilling to buy that many, and Brazel was unwilling to give up the lease unless he did. Nevertheless, Adamson agreed to meet with Garrett and Brazel in Las Cruces to see if they could all come to some kind of agreement to save the deal.
To Hell on a Fast Horse Page 22
