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Raid at Glenn Spring

by Michael A. Grimmett, Ph.D.

Late on the afternoon of May 4^th 1916 Jose and Auden led their borrowed mounts slowly up the twisting trail toward the middle reaches of Pine Canyon. Thirteen-year old Jose, stick in hand, urged Perro Rojo carefully up the incline. His mule was so named for its reddish color and the habit of biting anything within reach. Auden, sixteen, coaxed a borrowed three-year old mare called Sally. The afternoon was not exactly warm and not yet cold. The wind was up and they boys felt the beginning chill in the huge shadow of the Chisos. The trail twisted and narrowed and led steadily upwards through enormous boulders, dwarf oaks and pinyon pines. The higher they climbed the more luxuriant became the vegetation. The boys had ridden since early morning from Glenn Spring. For the first few miles and with the wind from the Southeast, they could still smell the aroma of their little community’s livelihood, the smell of rendering Candelilla. Jose’s father, brothers, and several male cousins, from Boquillas worked daily at the Factory except for Sundays and Saturday afternoons. They were one of several extended Mexican families living along Glenn Spring Draw. For seven or so miles the country was flat to rolling with small hills and draws and laced with thickets of Ocotillo topped with red blooms and with prickly pear and many other types of cactus. Beyond that leading to the base of Pine Canyon trail the land began to climb and grasses became predominant. Auden mused on his chances of shooting a mule deer or a whitetail buck with his uncle’s Springfield rifle. Auden was a “city boy” from Alpine and his uncle was in partnership with Mr. W.K. Ellis. His uncle had been a famous Texas Ranger and had hunted Apaches in these very mountains as a young man. Auden dreamed of Apaches and adventure in the wild lands west of the Pecos.

Along the River an armed band of men and boys camped and rested. Tomorrow they would ride north to pillage and attack the Norte Americano rancheros along the eastern side of the Chisos. They numbered 47 and fewer horses. Although some rode double all were well armed. What they did not have was food and money, not enough anyway. They had crossed the river east of Presidio and had been traveling in Texas for several days. Their original plan had been to steal mounts and attack the mercury payrolls but these were too well guarded. Since the burning of Columbus N.M. the previous year U.S. Calvary were posted thickly or thinly across the border region depending upon the economic importance of the site guarded. Nine men of Troop A of the 14^th Calvary were posted at Glenn Springs. Small and large groups of Mexican peasants fled the fighting further to the south. Many of these refugees wound up staying and became citizens of Marathon, Marfa, Alpine, or Fort Stockton. Others eventually found their way or were shipped to El Paso del Norte. In the rugged lands south of Marathon lived only a handful of Anglo ranchers and Mexican farming families along the flood plain of the Rio Grande. Aside from ranching, only the mercury mines and Candelilla processing plants provided a meager living for the widely scattered residents of this arid region. The Rosillio Mountains ranged south of Marathon and further south the often cloud covered Chisos Mountains arose out of the surrounding Chihuahuan desert. At the upper elevations of these mountains, as well as those further south in Mexico, there were no permanent human inhabitants. In these regions dwelled deer, mountain sheep, bear, and mountain lion.

Auden and Jose tethered their mounts and began to make camp for the night. They would move up the trail the next day early on foot because they had reached a point too steep for the horse and mule. Auden hoped to shoot a deer close to camp so he and Jose would not have to carry the quartered animal too far. Auden hoped to shoot maybe two. From their camp it was possible to look back for thirty or more miles across the Sotol grasslands, down and across the wider desert below, and to the rugged cliffs of the Sierra del Carmen that gleamed first rose red and then carmine reflecting the last rays of the sun. The boys soon had a moderately large campfire for warmth and light. They built a smaller fire to warm water and fry bacon. The bacon was mixed with canned cooked beans, the whole mixture wrapped in warmed tortillas prepared earlier by Jose’s mother. The boys were careful to throw the bacon grease on the larger fire. Auden shared a can of peaches with Jose for desert. That was their supper and there were no scraps, nothing to attract varmints. Even so a family of Javelinas shuffled through the camp late that night walking without worry between the sleeping boys looking in vain for food. It was a hungry country even in the midst of spring.

Back along the river the Villallistas were less fortunate. There was only weevily bags of cornmeal and some dried beans to be boiled and shared among the group. Some were so exhausted they fell asleep before their ration was prepared and thus did without, awakening the following morning with empty stomachs and an unpleasant attitude. Each hoped the little company store at Glenn Spring contained canned fruits, meats, cheese, and other good things, also tobacco and maybe spirits. That would be good. Whatever they found and took would have to carry them deep back into Mexico and the route back, leading to their base, was long and tortuous. Although largely unpopulated their route was patrolled. They would have to move fast and quietly. Some dreaded the Anglos and U.S. troops but all feared the Carranza faction who searched both sides of the river looking to kill them.

Before the sun broke the horizon as the eastern sky began to lighten, the boys moved carefully up the trail into the fog and dampness. The fog and dark covered their movements but made walking difficult. Where the trail forked the boys agreed to separate. Jose took the lower trail that skirted the face of an enormous cliff to the northwest. Auden continued straight ahead along the main trail, certainly a game trail at that altitude into the dense alpine forest. Dew and cloud moisture seeped into his clothing but the mat of leaves and pine needles masked his tread. Their plan was to find suitable vantage points and sit until the fog cleared or until an hour past full light. When either heard a shot, they would rendezvous at the kill site or at the trail fork and carry the kill to the camp to butcher.

Auden came upon a family of whitetail moving down and across his trail. Jose heard the crack of Auden’s uncle’s rifle from about a mile or less away as he himself carefully skirted along the cliff face. A few seconds later he heard a second rifle crack as if from a different angle. There was one final report a few seconds later. “He must have hit something”, Jose thought, and started back in the direction of the fork. At that point the younger boy’s path was very narrow and dropped abruptly down to the left. He placed his right hand along the cliff face to maintain his balance and that was when he felt a sudden blow and stinging pain to that hand. Although the snake was not poisonous it was very big and it scared the boy so badly that he jumped to his left and fell. His fall was broken by brush some 15 feet below. His smoothbore shotgun fell with him and struck him smartly on the head. It did not discharge and the world blacked out for Jose.

Auden counted his first shot as masterful, his second as dumb luck, and his third as a waste of money. He would have to account for three shells and they were expensive or so he believed. A young buck and a younger doe lay dead. He wrapped a rope around the buck’s hind legs and hoisted it over a branch. He cut the throat and eviscerated the kill before starting on the doe. When the doe was similarly treated he began to wonder why he had not heard or seen Jose approaching. He slung the precious rifle over one shoulder and the doe over his other and began carefully walking back down his trail toward the fork. He was panting before he reached the agreed upon meeting place and knew it was true, what he had always heard, that the down trail was the hardest. That was when Auden heard an hysterical woman scream loudly twice back up his trail. He thought woman then he knew cat. He reasoned that one or more of the latter had found the entrails and the buck. He hoped that would be enough breakfast for the cat as he slipped another shell into the breech of the Springfield. He wished Jose would come on. He too had to have heard that cat. Fifteen minutes passed with no more woman/cat screaming and no sign of Jose. He called out several times and listened as his voice ringed along the cliff face. No response. That was when Auden started to worry. He could replace the lost buck, explain a wasted shell, probably he could even kill the mountain lion if attacked, but he could not go back to the Spring without Jose.

As Auden worried and thought, three thousand feet below and 20 miles away the Villallistas moved slowly that morning in a northwesternly direction toward Elephant Tusk. They believed as told by Francisco Ramiriz Elephant Tusk was an easy ride from the Glenn Spring. It was clear and hotter at the lower elevation. The men, many of whom were boys, had spent an uncomfortable night. Most suffered from mosquito bites, many were hungry, and all were tired of rough riding and rougher walking through a countryside where each living plant was arrayed with thorns. Most of the horses suffered from lack of fodder and adequate rest, from loose or missing shoes, and from walking through rocky and sandy soils. Most of the men led the horses by mid morning because they were laden with gear and water bags filled at the river. Ramirez had promised Lieutenant Morales they would arrive at Elephant Tusk before dusk. The plan was to camp there the night and ride into the settlement early the next morning. That was the plan. Ramirez was unsure if there were soldados at the settlement or not. He figured maybe 5 or 6 male Anglos with rifles and pistols, some women, and a few kids. He knew the Mexican workers, maybe 50 counting women and children, would offer no armed resistance. Some of the Villallistas either had kin at Glenn Spring or thought they might.

Jose awoke shortly before Auden found him. He hurt badly. He could sit up but he did not want to stand. He bled from his head and his shirt was covered with blood from a scalp wound. His left ankle hurt fiercely. He noted somewhat abstractly that the palm of his right hand appeared to be impaled. There was a three inch black thorn sticking from his palm with a trickle of blood. He moved that hand toward his body and noted he was releasing his hand that had stuck to the protruding spine of an agave leaf.

“You lucky you landed where you did kid. Don’t move. I’m coming to git ya.” Spoke Auden from above. From Auden’s viewpoint Jose appeared to be reclining on a heap of deadfall, surrounded by several agaves, on a ledge with plenty more room to fall a lot further.

Jose passed out again before Auden got him back to their camp. He was still alive Auden knew because the older boy could feel Jose’s rapid heartbeat against his own neck and shoulder as he struggled back along the main trail, Jose slung over his shoulder. Auden did not know if the boy lost consciousness due to loss of blood or pain. He thought the boy’s ankle must be broken and he knew the boy had bled profusely from his scalp injury.

Auden lay Jose gently on his own bedroll and washed his face and neck with water. He removed the boy’s bloody shirt and ripped the cleaner portion to make a head bandage. He then covered the boy’s torso with one of his own shirts and started to remove the child’s boots.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that” groaning and probably cursing in Spanish. It hurts. It hurts bad.”

“Drink some water and shut up. I know it hurts. I have to get you back. Your grandma or my uncle will know what to do. If we have to we will carry you to Marathon to the doctor.”

“Fuck the doctor, your uncle, and you. Damm!! Leave it alone!"

“Alright, just shut up and lay there. You need to drink some. Here”, handing the hurting boy a tin cup. “Rest while I break camp. You know you lost your dad’s shotgun."

“Maybe the snake took it. Go look. I need it.”

“I’m not walking a mile back up that mountain for that rusty piece of shit”.

“My dad will stick it up your gringo ass if you don’t find it.”

“How, if he don’t have it?”

“If I live I have to come back and find it.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll help you.”

“Fine your ass!”

“Fine your ass, you little bastard.”

“You bastard too. Everybody laugh at the great gringo hunter from Alpine. No deer. You lose my dad’s gun, almost kill me. You in a lot of trouble.”

“I shot two.”

“You lie.”

“Did not”

“Go back and get one and bring the shotgun. I wait for you here.”

“You must be loco.”

“If you don’t I’ll tell everyone you pushed me off the cliff.”

This exchange went on for the better part of thirty minutes until it was apparent that Jose probably was not going to die right away and until the older boy concluded that it might indeed be a good idea to retrieve the deer and at least look for the shotgun. Jose had not lost consciousness again and was taking water.

Want to help finish this story based on historical fact? Email me at webmaster@seeyouintexas.com.