The Bloody Tragedies at Dragoon Station: The Attack on the Butterfield Employees

 I've got a lengthy Arizona historical bucket list, and one location that has long been on it is Dragoon Station. At long last, I checked it off the list today (although it won't be the last time I visit). Just two miles south of the hamlet of Dragoon, near the site of pioneer Billy Fourr's historically significant Buena Vista Ranch, are the rock wall ruins of what was once a stagecoach swing station on the Butterfield Overland Route. It was here on a moonless night in September, 1858 that a gruesome attack on the Butterfield employees building the stage station near Dragoon Springs occurred. 

The Butterfield construction crew was headed by a young, capable and experienced 24-year-old New York native named Silas St. John. Just a few months prior, St. John had been a ticket agent in Folsom, California, where he spent leisure time acting in local plays. Before that, he'd worked on construction of the first railroad in California. Accompanying  St. John on the construction project in Arizona were James Burr, James Laing, William Cunningham, and three Mexican laborers - Guadalupe and Chino Ramaiva of Sonora, and Bonifacio Miranda of Chihuahua.  

By Wednesday, September 8th, the crew had already formed the 10-foot high walls and the attached stock pen of the station, but had yet to construct a roof. Due to the Apache predations throughout the region, the group assigned lookouts to stand guard throughout the night. At midnight, St. John awakened to change the guard, relieving James Laing with the assignment of Guadalupe who was to stand watch until dawn. James Burr, disliking the sleeping conditions within the rock walls because of the mules sharing the quarters with them, slept outside with the other two Mexican workers. Within the walls were small "rooms" against the east side, still visible today. Laing slept in the center between the two corner rooms; Cunningham occupied the room on the southeast corner; and St. John took the room on the northeast corner nearest the entrance. 

By "room," I'm referring to rudimentary sections of the stacked rock corral no larger than 9 by 10 feet. The livestock corral was attached on the west side. Comfort wasn't an option, but with the cool September weather and the hard physical work the men had been doing, they likely slept well most nights. 

At about one a.m., St. John again awakened, roused by the stirring of the mules and a whistle that was clearly a signal, followed by the sound of blows and the murmured cries of the victims. As St. John got to his feet, he could see the three Mexicans, armed with axes and a stone sledge, confronting him. All three attacked him, aiming for his head: Guadalupe armed with a broad axe, Bonifacio with a sharp-edged chopping axe, and Chino with the dull but heavy stone sledge. St. John fought a hard battle, deflecting one of Bonifacio's first axe blows downward so it missed his head and lodged in his thigh below his right hip. Two more blows, this time from Guadalupe's broad axe, made contact with St. John's hand and arm as he tried to defend himself. As St. John tried to grab his rifle that was leaning against the wall, Guadalupe hit him again, severing the bone of his left arm between the elbow and shoulder. Incredibly, despite his injuries St. John was able to use the Sharps rifle as an impact weapon, swinging it at Guadalupe and knocking the axe from his hands. The Mexicans retreated; St. John was able to get his pistol from the holster on his saddle (which he'd been using as a pillow) and drive them away from the corral. He could not pursue them due to the wound to his hip, but was able to use what was within reach to tie off his wounds and take a defensive position to wait for daylight.

In the darkness, St. John could hear the anguished moans of Laing and Cunningham. As light finally came to the scene on Thursday morning, he could see the horrible wounds inflicted upon the others: Laing, still clinging to life, had suffered a blow from the edged axe to the top of his head that cleft it right down the middle, and St. John could see the man's brains spilling from it. Cunningham's head had three wounds, apparently from the broad axe; he, too, clung to life. Burr, lying outside, was mercifully already dead, his head completely crushed from the stone sledge. Moving had caused St. John's wounds to bleed freely, and he tied off the flow to his arm with his handkerchief and tried to remain still to keep his hip from bleeding out. He could do nothing to assist Laing and Cunningham, nor to tend the thirsty and hungry livestock; neither did he have any water at hand for himself, so he hunkered down and waited and hoped for help to come.

The ruins of the station's walls. The Dragoons are in the background.

The spring that provided water for the station was a half mile of wagon road to the south, and may as well have been miles away. All three men soon suffered horribly with thirst as well as from their severe wounds. The smell of blood drew in wolves (some accounts say coyotes, but wolves are more likely and were a menace in the Chiricahuas throughout the early 20th century), and St. John listened to their yipping in the darkness. 

Cunningham died at midnight on Thursday night. By Friday morning, buzzards and corvids descended upon them, mutilating Burr's face as St. John sat by helplessly. St. John kept the coyotes outside the rock walls by firing pistol shots. The thirsty mules brayed in their own misery, and still Laing lived, now motionless but moaning dreadfully. 

On Saturday night, the coyotes set upon Burr's body, said to be just ten feet from the entrance to the rock structure where St. John and Laing lay. It was not until the next morning help miraculously arrived: a Memphis Avalanche journalist named Archibald and his traveling companion. Headed from Tucson to the Rio Grande, approached on horseback. The station had a flagstaff in the center of the structure, positioned against the dividing wall to the corral, and from a distance Archibald observed the flag was not up. Leery, he waited about a half mile off until deciding to approach on foot while his friend stayed behind with the horses. Gun in hand, he made his way to the station. Shocked and horrified at what he found, Archibald made his way to the spring to get water for the gravely injured St. John, who was now unable to even speak due to thirst, and whose wounds were covered with maggots (which possibly saved his life).

A view of the terrain toward the spring to the south of the station.

As luck would have it, as Archibald headed for the spring, three wagons of soldiers arrived in the area. They, too, waited cautiously nearby when they saw the flag had not been hoisted, and then they, too, crept in carefully on foot. Headed by Colonel James B. Leach, the party included Lt. Sylvester Mowry, Captain Hutton, and others. The soldiers tended St. John's wounds and did what they could (which was not much) for the dying Laing.  They buried the remains of Cunningham and Burr in a single unmarked grave west of the corral. Laing died the next day, on Monday, and apparently shared the same grave.

The party sent two men to Fort Buchanan via Tucson, to collect the post doctor, Dr. B. J. Irwin. They arrived on Wednesday. (Despite a direct route being available, it was not considered a safe route for just the two men due to the Apache threat.) On Friday, Dr. Irwin and his escort arrived at Dragoon - a 115-mile journey. It was now nine days since St. John had been so brutally assaulted. In his report, Dr. Irwin, describing the condition of St. John as he found him on Friday, said he was "weak and pallid from the loss of blood, sleep, and constant  mental and physical suffering; his disposition was cheerful, and he evinced much pleasure at the prospect of having his wounds attended to. A deep, incised wound about eight inches in length, extending from the point of the acromion process, passing inwards, downwards, and backwards, laid open the shoulder point, passed through the external portion of the head of the humerus, and thence downward, splintering the bone through about four inches of its course. The wound in the thigh proved to only be a severe lesion of the soft part about eight inches long and three deep." 

Unsurprisingly, Dr. Irwin deemed it impossible to save the injured arm and there, in that roofless stone corral in that remote setting (which Dr. Irwin himself described as a "rude hovel"), he amputated the arm at the shoulder socket. In his report, Dr. Irwin said St. John "never complained or flinched for a moment; calm and resigned, he bore his torments with the fortitude of a martyr." The "good left arm," as described by St. John, was buried between the other victims of the massacre.

After the surgery, Dr. Irwin and escort transported St. John to the fort, a two day journey covering sixty miles of rough road. The trip caused the ligatures on his thigh to come open, and the doctor said they "protruded" at the site of the amputation. Only on arrival at the fort was the injured man given morphine, a bed, and lodging under a roof. Dr. Irwin described St. John as suffering horrible dreams, phantom pain due to the amputation, and fevers as he convalesced, yet 24 days after the amputation he was walking and within three more weeks he was again traveling, headed back to the east coast. 

St. John's incredible strength, vigor, and determination not only carried him back to his home state of New York, but brought him back to Arizona Territory after his recuperation. The one-armed man served as a Pony Express rider; married; and farmed in Yavapai County. In his later years, both St. John and his wife worked at the Pioneer's Home in Prescott. St. John died in San Diego in 1919 at the age of 84. The three Mexicans who attacked St. John, Laing, Cunningham, and Burr were never brought to justice, having fled across the border. By the account of a Butterfield man named Buckley, who was the nephew of one of the murdered men, the motive for the attacks was robbery of a great deal of valuable goods stored at the corral.

While visiting that bloody site today, I made the short hike to the springs, easily accessible by dirt road. 

This time of year, the sycamore trees are just beginning to color. The spring itself, to the left as you continue south from the station ruins, is currently dry, but the lichens on the rock and the moisture if you scuff the dirt below are evidence of recent moisture. I do not know if the spring still flows seasonally, but judging from the amount of water in the bottom of a nearby mine shaft, I suspect so.

The trail to the spring

It's a beautiful location, as quiet as any you'll find, and even on a Sunday we only encountered two other parties of visitors and an unoccupied truck. Interpretive signs are refreshingly sparse and buildings are far in the distance, allowing you to get a feel for what it was like to be in this remote place at a time when a badly injured man might lie for five days before help might wander up the road.

The low rock wall at right marks the site of the spring.

The moist dirt at center is the spring.

The vertical mineshaft. It's protected by a loose wire fence, but be cautious. 

A rock showing evidence of being used as a grinding stone by native dwellers.

A slag heap of stone removed from the mine shaft. 

If you go: the road back to Dragoon Station is unpaved but doable without 4WD. You'll go through two gates (state land permit required). The site is clearly marked. Unmarked parking is available not far from the site. Watch for snakes, and please respect the site and its history. There are no services in the area, so take water and make sure you're good on fuel. If you continue on to the springs by car, you'll see a small area where you can pull off and park on the right, but you'll still need to hike to the springs themselves (there's no turnaround close to them). The terrain is uneven and rocky but flat, but I made it even with recent injury to my hip and knees. Heck, no way was I going to miss a chance to see it.

Source material for the above narrative includes contemporary news accounts and Dr. Irwin's report; site visit; books and maps. I relied heavily on newspaper reports and paraphrased much of the chronicle, in order, from an account that appeared in multiple newspapers. Direct quotations are indicated by quotation marks.  For an excellent book on the history of the Dragoon Mountains, I recommend Lynn R. Bailey's thorough "Mines, Camps, Ranches, and Characters of the Dragoon Mountains." You can buy a copy here (affiliate link): The Dragoon Mountains 

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