LAST DRINK FOR A DEAD GUNSLINGER
Dead or alive, you get what you pay for
CANYON DIABLO WAS described by local newspapers at the time as the “West’s most deadly town”, and “the toughest hell hole in the West”. Between 1880 and 1882, more deaths resulting from gunfights, robberies and murders took place in this town than in Tombstone, Dodge City and Abilene, Kansas combined. Before the town had an official cemetery, bodies were buried beneath the streets where they fell. So violent was the town known as the Canyon of the Devil, that when the first sheriff was appointed, he survived only five hours before being shot and killed. In just 14 months the town had seven lawmen, none of whom lived longer than a few weeks, except the last, who fled. But for all its wild reputation, Arizona’s Canyon Diablo, located near present day Two Guns, is famous for a particular gunfight, and a macabre incident which followed.
The town, named after the gorge where it was established, came into being in 1880. Almost 30 years earlier the area was surveyed for a possible railroad route to California.
When the survey-party reached a deep gorge called Canyon Diablo, or Devil’s Canyon, they described it as ‘a chasm that could be bridged by a railroad’.
Nothing happened until 1880, with the westward approach of the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad coming from Winslow, Arizona, 26 miles away. The tracks stopped at the canyon when railroad workers were forced to wait for the arrival of the components of a pre-fabricated steel span. However, when the steel structures were delivered, it was found they were a foot short, and a further delay ensued. Makeshift structures and tents were erected to accommodate the idle workers who remained on the company’s payroll. Where there are rough, bored men with money to spend, profits are to be made. Cowboys, prostitutes, businessmen, robbers and thieves flocked to the town in search of easy pickings.
In a matter of weeks, Hell Street
(the main road through town) was lined with 14 saloons, 10 gambling dens, four houses of prostitution, two dance pavilions – which in themselves were nothing more than brothels – several sleazy restaurants, and a few honest businesses, all open 24 hours a day.
For a while there was no law in town and a murderous free-for-all ensued. Between 1880 and 1882, killings on the street were common, holdups an almost hourly occurrence. Newcomers were often beaten or killed, simply because they were suspected of carrying valuables.
When the bridge over the canyon was completed, the railway moved on, and there was no reason for anyone to stay. The residents packed up and left, leaving behind a ghost town
JUST AS QUICKLY as the town mushroomed, it died overnight. When the bridge over the canyon was completed, the railway moved on, and there was no reason for anyone to stay. The residents packed up and left, leaving behind a ghost town. By early 1883, the sole remaining business was a trading store for the local Indians (Native
Americans) on Hell Street, owned and run by Fred Volz, who finally cut his losses and left in 1910.
However, Diablo Canyon was not yet done. In 1905, it was the scene of an epic gunfight, and an incident so bizarre it became the stuff of legend. It all started in the nearby town of Winslow on April 7, 1905. Two well-dressed men, later identified as William Smythe and John Shaw, entered the Wigwam Saloon shortly before midnight. A number of poker games were underway. Standing at the bar, the pair ordered a couple of whiskeys and surveyed the room. One poker table in particular caught their eye. It was piled high with silver dollars. Without saying a word, or drinking their whiskey, they both moved toward the table, drawing their sixguns as they went. They robbed the seven gamblers seated around the table, taking about $300 in silver dollars. Stuffing the coins into their pockets, the pair slowly backed out the door while keeping everyone covered, before disappearing into the night.
Navajo County Deputy Sheriff, Pete Pemberton, was immediately notified. He wired another Sheriff, Chet Houck, for assistance. Pemberton found a trail of silver coins leading to the train tracks, and assumed the robbers had hopped the westbound train to Flagstaff. Houck and Pemberton boarded the next train to Flagstaff, hoping to join in the search for the two robbers. However, no trace of the outlaws was found in Flagstaff, and the lawmen caught the afternoon train back to Winslow.
During the trip they were told that two men were seen near Canyon Diablo, a spot the train had passed a little while earlier. They quickly stopped the train, then headed back to Canyon Diablo on foot, hoping to find and arrest Shaw and Smythe. The sun was sinking when they arrived in the abandoned town. There they met Fred Volz, who told them he’d earlier seen two suspiciouslooking men at the trading post. At that moment, the sheriffs spotted the suspects and confronted them as they rounded a building. “No one searches us!” snarled one of the outlaws. Immediately everyone started firing at pointblank range. Sheriff Houck shot the taller outlaw, John Shaw, in the head. Pemberton wounded the other suspect
in the leg and shoulder. Miraculously both lawmen escaped without a scratch.
The gunfight was over in three seconds with a total of twenty-two shots fired. After Shaw’s pockets were searched, his body was placed in a pine box donated by Fred Volz, and because of the extremely rocky ground, he was buried in a shallow grave in the Canyon Diablo cemetery. Smythe was tried, convicted and sentenced to serve nine years in the Yuma Territorial Prison.
And that should have been that, but one last, macabre act had yet to be played out. The night following the shootout, a bunch of cowboys from the Hashknife cattle outfit were getting drunk in Winslow’s Wigwam Saloon and talking about how Shaw had not finished the whiskey he’d paid for the previous night. It was obviously an injustice that needed correcting. They decided to go to Canyon Diablo, dig him up, and pour him the last drink of whiskey he’d paid for but not consumed.
So, 15 drunken cowpokes, each with a bottle of whiskey, hitched a ride on the Santa Fe train to Canyon Diablo.
They arrived around dawn, and roused Fred Volz, who gave them some shovels and a Kodak camera. When they exhumed Shaw’s body and lifted it out of the coffin so as to pour him his last drink, they noticed a faint smile on his face. It was enough to wipe the smiles off their faces, and to sober them up. Rigor mortis had already set in, so they propped the stiffened corpse up against a nearby fence, poured a generous gulp of whiskey between his clenched teeth, and took photographs while doing so.
As Shaw was replanted together with a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the cowboys stood around with their hats off.
TODAY THE MEMORY of John Shaw lives on, thanks to the blurry photographs shot by his friends. Nothing much is left of Canyon Diablo other than fragments of buildings and piles of sun-baked stones that mark what was once the most violent town in the Wild West. A town named after, and owned by the devil!