The Beginnings of the Hearst Estate and the Mexican Revolution
James B. Barker
Born: 1884, Bozeman, Montana

James B. Barker

audio

NOTE: Shortly before his death in 1967, James B. Barker wrote of his experiences as a young man in Mexico. Jim Barker first went to Mexico in 1907 at the age of twenty-four. His manuscript, which unfortunately was never finished, deals with three topics: Pancho Villa, the Revolution of 1910, and the property owned by the Hearst family in the state of Chihuahua, Mexico, known as San José de Babicora, where he served as ranch manager. Below are transcripts of Mr. Barker's hand-written manuscript and of a taped interview conducted in 1967, transcribed by his daughter, Marilyn B. Heaner, of Woodlands, Texas.

During the last years of the 19th century, scattered towns and ranches sparsely populated the southwestern United States. Apache Indians were ever a possible danger to small parties and unprotected ranches and travelers. The larger ranches, dependent on open-land grazing, had developed a hardy, brave, adventurous class of men, proficient gunmen, and a daredevil type of cowboy never equaled before or later for undaunted courage and ability to successfully meet all conditions.

Typical canyons and mountains of the Sierra Madre. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

This beautiful mountain paradise, at 7,300 feet elevation, was known as San José de Babicora. The surrounding mountains were heavily wooded with pine, some oak, juniper, and madrono, and the plains and the open, small valleys produced abundant grama grasses of several varieties, all excellent grazing for livestock. The climate, though suffering light frost during the winter months, is healthful and pleasant and makes possible good crops of corn, beans, oats, barley, potatoes, as well as chiles and most of the garden vegetables.

Lumber camp near Madera, Mexico. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

The grama grasses at that time afforded excellent grazing for domestic animals: cattle, sheep, goats, and especially horses and mules. Wild game animals and birds were still plentiful. During many years I enjoyed the best of hunting and shooting at Babicora, and the variety of game was good: bear, deer, wolves, cougars, coyotes, and wildcats (lynxes); quail, bronze turkeys, doves, and snipe. In the wintertime literally hundreds of thousands of ducks, geese, swans, cranes, curlew, and other migratory waterfowl came to the lake.

No explanation is necessary to realize why the capable and adventurous Jack Follamsbee was at once enchanted when he looked down on this paradise from one of the hills on the north side of the valley. He was an experienced person in matters of ranches, ranges, cattle, and horses and could envision these green plains and sheltered valleys and slopes stocked with great cattle herds and producing horses as fine as could be bred anywhere in the world. He was able to see his dreams come true, for he later visited Babicora in 1908, soon after I had arrived in 1907. At that time we estimated the cattle on the property at about 75,000 head and perhaps 2,000 head of horses, cattle as well as horses already fairly well bred up. Also, the sheep herds numbered about 6,000 head.

When Jack and his companions first came to the area, they remained long enough to determine that the ownership of the land was with several well-to-do Spanish-Mexican hacendados, who showed a willingness to sell their holdings. Upon his return to the United States, Jack was financed by Senator George Hearst to purchase approximately 500,000 acres that was the area of the principal plain of San José de Babicora and the surrounding mountains.

The senator died in February 1891, and his widow, Phoebe Apperson Hearst, soon after the death of her husband, arranged with Follamsbee for the purchase of an additional 500,000 acres. About half of this acreage adjoined the principal plain on the east, on the headwaters of the Santa María River, and the other half, on the west of the main property, on high drainages to the Yaqui River, the areas then known as Naguerachic, Tascates, and San Pedro. The eastern purchase on the Santa María River is about 1,500 feet lower in elevation than the main plain of Babicora and is known as Providencia and Santa Ana, while the western purchase, Naguerachic, is perhaps 600 to 1,000 feet higher than Babicora.

Canyons and mountains of the Sierra Madre. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library.

Shortly after these purchases were made, Mrs. Hearst arranged with Follamsbee to pass his interest in the properties to her, and she organized, as required by Mexican law, the Babicora Development Company. Jack remained for some time as patrón. Later Mr. Tom Bailey, well known in El Paso, Texas, took over the duties of administrator (manager), with his brother-in-law, John Bell, in charge of the range work. Jack returned to Kentucky, and the property was consolidated as holdings of the Babicora Development Company.

Under Mr. Bailey's efficient management, the property progressed at an almost unbelievable pace. The herds of cattle, crossed with imported Durhams and Herefords, reached about 60,000 head; the horses, well bred from imported blood, were counted in the many hundreds; and large areas had been cultivated and dedicated to corn, beans, oats, and potato crops, all of which gave excellent results. This progress was all accomplished by Mr. Bailey before 1900, when he started his own personal hacienda at San Joaquín, a few miles west of the town of El Valle de San Buenaventura, and established his headquarters on the San Joaquín River, which he named Rancho Diez. He erected a picturesque home and ranch headquarters and moved in with his wife and young daughter, Edythe, who was born at the headquarters house in Babicora while he was still managing the property for Mrs. Hearst.

Later, after Mr. Bailey had resigned as administrator at Babicora, the head office of Mrs. Hearst in San Francisco sent Mr. John C. Hayes from California. Mr. Hayes at that time was well known as a rancher in the Coast Range Mountains northeast of Livermore in Alameda County, California. Mr. John Bell had met his death in the meantime near the town of Ypomera on the southern boundary of the Babicora property. His body was found in a small arroyo near the town, his head having been badly crushed. Some opinions were that he had been killed by his horse, which might have fallen down a steep bank, but many people of the area believed he was murdered by an American with whom he had had arguments in the town. It is difficult to believe a man who was such an exceptional horseman as John Bell, on a very reliable and well-trained horse, could have been the victim of an ordinary accident on account of the same horse.

It is important to note that when Mr. Bailey resigned his position as administrator of Babicora, there were many hundreds of native Mexicans living on the property. Most of them were at the three principal headquarters, Babicora, Santa Ana, and Naguerachic, and many more families at different small settlements who were occupied as line riders and small sharecrop farmers. All Mexican employees who had families were provided with living quarters, necessary domestic animals, schools for their children, and reasonable credit at the hacienda stores, which sold the modest necessities at very reasonable prices. They also drew rations. The departure of Mr. Bailey and family was regretted by all of these simple, friendly people, as he and his wife had for years given their attention to the health and personal welfare of all the people serving them and the hacienda.

Later, in 1907, when I arrived at the hacienda Babicora, all the mature people still used only superlative terms when mentioning their former patrón Mr. Bailey. This deep regard was still apparent with the older people years later in 1914 when Mr. Bailey had occasion to return for a few days to Babicora. I could see that he was highly regarded, almost revered.

All the people, Mexicans as well as foreigners, had become aware that, since Mrs. Hearst had acquired the properties, the people living and employed there had had the benefit of kind, just, and charitable treatment, such treatment in those days being unusual on most of the large landed properties. The naturally kind and hospitable natives appreciated and responded gratefully to this kind treatment.

When Mr. John Hayes took over the local management in 1904 and was established at hacienda Babicora with his wife, he gave the duties of office and accounting to Mr. Edward Green, also from near Livermore, California. Mr. Green remained until about 1910, when he was forced to return to the United States due to ill health, and Mr. Peter Keene, a native of England with years of experience in Latin America, took over the vacancy caused by Mr. Green's retirement from the accounting office.

Mr. Hayes also employed Mr. Frank Logan, a California Mexican-American cattleman, who, with his large family, moved to the eastern part of the property, with headquarters at Santa Ana. Mr. Logan remained in charge at Santa Ana until late 1910, when he accepted the management of a large cattle company at Santa Clara, north and east of Babicora and near the Mexican Central Railroad.

Since the earthquake in San Francisco in 1906, accompanied by my brother, Claude K. Barker, I had been with an uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. J.M. Reader, in eastern Oregon on his property near Shaniko, where he was grazing many thousands of sheep and hundreds of cattle. About May of 1907, my brother and I were with a trail herd of some 2,500 head of cattle, driving them from near the Columbia River to Fort Klamath, near the northern border of California.

The trip took about seven weeks to accomplish. The only point where we could expect mail on the trip was at Silver Lake, which we reached in early June. Among the letters from my mother and others she had forwarded was one from Mrs. Hearst's offices in San Francisco, offering me a position as assistant to Mr. Hayes at Babicora. I decided at once to accept and notified the San Francisco office that, accompanied by my brother, I would report to the San Francisco office for instructions as soon as the trail drive was completed. It was possible for me to reach San Francisco in time to pass the Fourth of July with our parents. On July 5th, after receiving instructions at the San Francisco office from Mr. Fred Clark, who was then in charge, we proceeded by Southern Pacific to El Paso, Texas, arriving on July 6, 1907.

U.S. cavalry troops passing Union Depot in El Paso, Texas, on their way to the Rio Grande. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

In the morning of July 7th, full of youthful enthusiasm, we boarded the Mexican Central train in Ciudad Juárez bound for Chihuahua City. On the same train was a group of men being shipped to Temosachic by the famous Colonel Bill Green of Hetty Green's family, from Cananea, Sonora, where they had assisted in breaking the first labor strike in Mexico at the Green Cananea Copper Company plants. These men were to be kept on the payroll by Green and his engineers for the numerous projects that Green was developing in western Chihuahua at that time. These included the completion of the Chihuahua Pacific Railroad, later named Mexico Northwestern Railroad, which was at that time constructed to a few miles west of Temosachic toward San Pedro, now known as Madera. Colonel Green was also opening a wagon road southwest from Temosachic to the mines at Concheno, which were being operated by Green under the name of Concheno Mining Company. He also was installing a large four-band sawmill at San Pedro, now known as Madera, preparatory to harvesting the enormous stands of good pine in that part of the Sierra Madre range.

Sawmill near Madera, Mexico. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

Our train arrived in Chihuahua City the same evening, and the following morning, July 8th, we all boarded the Chihuahua Pacific train bound for Temosachic, at that time the terminal of rail service and the principal headquarters for Colonel Green's operations. We arrived late the same afternoon.

Mr. Hayes, the patrón at Babicora, arrived early the following morning driving a buckboard with a good team of horses and accompanied by his mozo, handyman. On his arrival we immediately departed with him for hacienda Babicora, located about twenty-five miles north of the railroad station with the road passing through a low range of hills covered by a fair stand of pine timber. After traveling about twelve miles, we emerged from the timber to the open plain of Babicora, the lake visible for miles across the grasslands. In all directions were hundreds of cattle peacefully grazing, most of them a good grade of Hereford and Durham stock, though occasionally a typical longhorn, a descendant of the old Texas herds, would stand out in comparison to the better-bred, imported blood.

PANCHO VILLA

Pancho Villa and his wife, Luce Corral de Villa. Smithers photo, Aultman Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

At about the turn of the 19th century, in a small rancheria, or village, located in the southwestern part of the state of Chihuahua, Mexico, near the little city of Parral, a large percentage of the local population was made up of small farmers and cattlemen. In some localities there were miners, as the surrounding hills contained numerous mineral deposits. The agricultural crops were, for the greater part, corn, beans, and chiles with livestock production in cattle, hogs, and some sheep and goats. Even to the present day, the countryside produces good grazing areas of several types of grama grass and semiarid varieties such as tobozón and mesquite grasses.

At one of the rancherias lived a family of very modest means, whose family name was Arango, one of the sons being Doroteo, who years later became world famous as General Pancho Villa. The following statements about the history of Doroteo are based on local stories circulated much later concerning this young man but are believed to be true as to the general facts concerning his early years.

Col. Pancho Villa in the mountains. Alexander photo, Aultman Collection,courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

He is reputed to have been very energetic and always quite willful in character, with a very good natural intelligence but a quick temper. About the end of the 19th century, he was already established as a butcher, supplying meat to the scattered population. A fairly well-accepted story is that a Captain of the federal cavalry, who, as commander of a small detachment, had passed through the region, took a sister of Doroteo to Chihuahua City. Some rumors were that the girl was taken forcibly, while another less common version was that she went willingly with the captain. However, later she turned up again at her home village in very bad shape. Doroteo is said to have brooded over this happening for some time and soon developed a bitterness toward the federal forces. This was undoubtedly true, for later, as the rumors go, he appeared unexpectedly, well mounted and armed, at this same captain's headquarters in Chihuahua City, and shot and killed the captain, escaping before it was possible to apprehend him or institute a close pursuit.

For several years after this, only occasional mention was made of Doroteo Arango. He was considered an outlaw and was hunted by the federal government and the local rurales. The rurales were a civilian rural police force organized under plans developed by the Díaz government to operate against outlaws over the extensive areas where there was a limited population and, in some cases, no inhabitants at all.

From left: Gen. Toribio Ortega, Gen. Pancho Villa, Col. Medina. W.H. Horn Photo Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

At that time a Pancho Villa was mentioned often as a bandit operating in the Sierra Madre Mountains along the Chihuahua-Sonora state line. He was later identified as the former Doroteo Arango, but always thereafter he kept the name of Francisco Villa. Many tales circulated at the time, and, in general, they sum up that Villa did hold up and rob travelers, most of them of the well-to-do class such as large ranch owners, and that often he used some of the fruits of his robberies to aid needy persons in the areas where he was operating. It is also known that a number of times he was employed as a guide and practical handyman by American prospectors, who during that period were very numerous, in their search for mineral deposits in the rough mountain areas. I have heard of several outfits who claimed that they had hired Pancho Villa as a guide and handyman and that he was always a valuable and reliable employee.

I did not arrive in western Chihuahua until July of 1907, but at that time the name of Pancho Villa was heard often and always in connection with hold-ups or with parties traveling and exploring the difficult Sierra Madre Mountains.

THE REVOLUTION OF 1910

American mercenaries fighting in Mexico for various revolutionary factions.  Blumenthal photo, courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

Early in September of 1910, rumors of an immediate uprising against the Díaz government, which had been in control of the republic of Mexico for over thirty years, were circulating through western Chihuahua. Several local persons of good standing told me openly that the revolution was to be headed by Don Francisco Madero, who would be named president, and his companion, Suárez, to be vice-president. The battle cry at that time was "Abajo el Zocalo,!" (Down with the Zocalo!), the Zocalo being the public square in front of the National Palace in Mexico City.

Francisco Madero. Scott photo, Aultman Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

On September 20, 1910, word came to us at hacienda San José de Babicora in the district of Guerrero, state of Chihuahua, that the revolution had actually gotten under way. The revolutionists of western Chihuahua were under the leadership of Pascual Orozco, hijo, and Pascual Orozco, padre, father and son, and other well-known persons.  Members of the Frias, Gonzáles, Nava, Doral, and many other families were identified with the movement from its initiation.

From left: Braulio Hernández, Abraham González, Francisco Madero, Pascual Orozco. Aultman Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

The areas west of Chihuahua City were and still are tapped by the Mexico Northwestern Railroad, and many of the families of leading revolutionists lived in proximity to this railroad line. Before hostilities actually opened, many members of the families mentioned moved by wagon to one of the outlying Babicora ranches, which at the time was occupied by only a few small families of farmers. These leaders' families were moved into Providencia, the ranch mentioned, as the revolutionists anticipated a strong attack by federal troops from Chihuahua City along the line of the railroad west to the populated areas adjacent to the railroad. General Navarro, who was the military commander of the zone, had strong forces concentrated in Chihuahua City and was expected to attack. As was anticipated by the revolutionists, General Navarro did attempt to enter the populated area west of the city and sent several regiments, including machine gunners, by train to dominate this region.

Federal troops at Madera, Mexico. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

Interview: James B. Barker
Interviewer: Don Heath
Date: March 10, 1967

Place: Aurora Apartments, San Antonio, Texas

Leaders and reporters in Obregón’s camp, c. 1911. Karl Halm photo, courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

Chihuahua City plaza and cathedral.  Aultman Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

The first battles of the revolution were between Chihuahua City and the town of Guerrero, or, you might say, the Hearst property of Babicora. Malpaso, Pedernales, and several other occurrences were the first blood shed between the federal troops of the Díaz government and the revolutionists, at that time locally under command of the two Orozcos, father and son, and other local mountaineers who had joined the revolution at that time.

The first federal troops to come out were under General Navarro, who went out from Chihuahua City along the Mexico Northwestern, also known as the Chihuahua Pacific Railroad, in the direction of the town of Guerrero, which was the head town of the municipality of the same name. His troop trains were waylaid in a narrow gorge known as Malpaso less than a hundred miles from Chihuahua City, and they were forced to return. The revolutionists, under the Orozcos, Alvino Pulles, and others, were throughout the hillsides on both sides of the gorge, and the federals had no chance whatever to fight back. That was the first of the revolution in the state of Chihuahua.

Locomotives wrecked by bandits. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

At that time at Babicora we knew that the revolution was coming. On November 20th we got the word that the revolutionists had declared against the Díaz government, and they were known at that time by a Mexican-Spanish term that I have heard very seldom since.

Locomotives wrecked by bandits. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

They were called pronunciados, meaning that they were pronouncing against the Díaz government. Later they were known as revolucionarios, insurgentes, and rebeldes; also, by the names of their leaders, such as villistas, orozcistas, magonistas, and other names.

Early revolutionary leaders, c. 1910. Front, second from left, Gen. Abraham González; third man from left with hand in sling, Pres. Francisco Madero; back, second from left, Col. Garabaldi; third from right, Raul Madera, and extreme right, Maximo Castillo. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

The Orozco element, which was in command in the beginning, was well known in the town of Guerrero and other villages near the town. It was on the railroad, and they were afraid that their families and relatives would be in great danger if they were unable to stop the federals. Once they declared against the federals, they quietly moved some fifteen of their closest families from that area near the railroad onto the southeastern end of the Hearst property at a division known as Providencia. These families came with their own supplies and own wagons, their corn, beans, and so forth, and what they needed. They lived for a number of days in some abandoned houses on that extreme end of the Hearst property. I met all of them at that time, and it would have been foolish to try to run them out of there. We didn't want to run them out, so I got to be quite well acquainted with them. As soon as the federals under Navarro, General Navarro, were repulsed and retreated back to Chihuahua City, these families returned to their homes along the railroad. But I had many occasions in which to meet members of these families in the different movements and changes that came during the revolutionary period that followed.

Water Plaza in Chihuahua City.  Aultman Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

The first actual contact that we had at Babicora was about the 24th of November. The revolution was declared on the 20th of November. We got word that an emissary representing the revolutionists would be coming through to recruit men to join the revolution. None of us had any experience with the question of revolutions at that time. Some of the management at the ranch got quite excited and decided they might have to fight that man off. I argued with the management the other way: Let me go out and meet them, because I could see no reason why I would be in danger. So they allowed me to do that.

I went out east from the headquarters about eight or ten miles, and I met them. It was one man alone who was declared a revolutionist, Pantaleon Bustillos. He had two men with him as mozos, or personal servants. I stopped him and asked him what he was doing, and he told me that he was coming through to recruit revolutionists. He was behind the Madero revolution and had been commissioned to get people in the mountains to join the movement. He wanted permission to talk to the people at our headquarters, the Mexicans, and let them know what the revolution was intended for, what they hoped to accomplish, and to ask for volunteers.

I returned with him to headquarters and told the management at headquarters that there was no danger. In my opinion the man would just say a few words, which he had a right to say as a Mexican citizen to Mexicans, and that that's probably all that would happen. The man Bustillos asked me to call the men of the ranch together, those who happened to be at the headquarters. When they got together, some thirty-five or forty of them, he made a very sensible, quiet speech. He stated what they all knew as Mexicans. General Díaz had been in control of the country for some thirty-odd years. He was not doing what the people thought he should do for the poor people, he was playing too much with foreign elements, and they were going to try to overthrow him through force of arms, and he invited the people to join him.

Triumphal Arch dedicated to Gov. Terrazas and Pres. Diáz in Chihuahua City. B. Velarde photo, courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

One of our men, one of the leaders among the men on the ranch, one of our vaqueros, cowboys, Fernando Márquez—no, Fernando…I don't remember Fernando's name at this moment—anyway, Fernando answered him. He told him that he would not say yes or no as the leader of the people, that each man would have to decide for himself, but that, having talked to them, he thought the opinion of all of the men on the ranch was to refuse to join any movement whatever. They were in a position with the patróna, their boss, Mrs. Hearst, whom they loved a great deal.

They had been treated well, their families were well off, they were much better off than most people in Mexico, and they felt that they should stay at home and see what happened and continue to be industrious workers on the ranch. I thought that this was a wonderful compliment at the moment for the Hearst interests and the Hearst ownership, which it was, as proved later.

Indian workers. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

Bustillos thanked the people and told them to think it over, and, any time they wanted to join, they could join anywhere that they wanted to go, to any of the villages that were not in control of federal troops. And that was the last that we heard of any recruiting at Babicora. To follow this up, I'll say that for three years after that, I know of not one single man from the Hearst property who joined the revolution with either Madero, Orozco, Villa, or any of the rest of them. There were times when we had to get out the arms and fight elements that were coming through in the form of raiding parties, who were not really authorized revolutionists, and we did do quite a little skirmishing and fighting, and the people would always help.

One of the elements that was the most troublesome was the element that was known as the Red Flaggers, the colorados, who were the original followers of Orozco when he declared his revolution against Madero. That was the second revolution, but that's a long story. There were several revolutions.

First gathering of the rebels, probably Orozco in front, 1910, possibly near Hacienda San Diego (Estate of Gov. Terrazas). Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library.

At that time, those revolutionists, Red Flaggers, came back and were declared outlawed by the Madero government, the Villa government, and the Carranza government, which were all one. The Red laggers were really bandits. We had many skirmishes and fights with them and lots of trouble, and the people on the ranch were always willing to go to the limit to help, even at their own danger, to protect, in every way they could, the property. And that condition continued with those people right up to the end when—well, right on through the Villa period. Villa himself appreciated the property and the people on the property, and he many times told his leaders that if they tried to go out there to take anything forcibly from the men at Babicora, he thought that they would find out it cost them more than it was worth. He backed us because we were keeping order, as far as possible, in a big area of the mountain country. The same villistas who were trying to control the center did not have to do much in the outlying areas because we had our own policing force, which was neither political, gringo, nor Mexican.

About how many men did you have under arms on Babicora?

On the three different properties where all the mounted men were, on the western end there were not so many, but there were quite a few farmers, also, who would arm and help in times of need. But we kept there some fifteen to twenty men always armed and mounted on the range, handling the cattle and protecting the property. But on the main property, the center, Babicora, we had anywhere from thirty to seventy, depending on the period or season of the year. On the eastern portion, Santa Ana, we had fifteen to thirty. Those men were always mounted and always on the range working cattle and horses and patrolling the boundaries of the property. But we had many men who were farmers. They planted corn, worked as fence builders, dam builders, and all the rest, farmhands, and they were always willing, all of them, to throw right in and protect the property if we were threatened, which we were a number of times, but in every case were able to hold them off if we knew they were coming.

The American government under Wilson had allowed trains to come through Texas, New Mexico, and into Arizona to reinforce the garrison at Agua Prieta, which was the cause of Villa's final, total defeat. When he came back that time, he was not friendly with anything American. In fact, he was bragging or stating to everybody that he wanted every American, even American dogs, killed. That was after he had been betrayed, as he figured—and probably he was right. The American government allowed troops, his enemies, who had no other way whatever to get to Agua Prieta to hold the port of entry, to come through the United States, against all international law, and unload, and go across the border into Agua Prieta to be there and meet Villa when he made that long march from Chihuahua clear across the mountains to take the town.

That was shortly before the punitive expedition, because Villa came back in December of 1915. It was early in December that he got back from that trouble at Agua Prieta. Though he had gone over with some fifteen thousand men, he got back with just a small party of, say, some eight to ten thousand men left, but they were scattered and not organized as they were when he went to the northwest, when he went to attack Agua Prieta.

Pearson Saw Mill near Casas Grandes. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

Before he went all the way across to Agua Prieta, he had a bigger force, somewhere between seventeen and twenty thousand men with him, going north and west to attack Agua Prieta. They passed through one portion of the ranch, the western portion, and moved onto the Mormon Lakes, as they were called, near the town of Casas Grandes. They had a big camp there. At that time, some twelve to fifteen hundred deserted Villa, under two or three generals, a General Pallan, and another, Navarrete. They came back without anyone knowing they were coming. They had deserted and run away from Villa and come through the mountains, staying out of sight as much as possible. They fell unexpectedly on us, and they did clean us out thoroughly. They took most of the horses.

Didn't you ride out to meet them? You thought it was Villa coming back, didn't you?

No, when their advance guard came, we were expecting a small detail of Villa men who were coming out to see if they could get some corn for the people in the town of Temosachic. We expected a small group of men that day, perhaps twenty-five to thirty men, and they were friendly with us. When we saw this small group coming, which was the advance guard of the bigger group, and they came out of the timber not far from the ranch, we thought it was the Temosachic men, so we made no preparation. We were completely surprised, and they disarmed us immediately and took all our arms and all the horses they could get a hold of and went on.

Excuse me. Didn't one of your men, a Yaqui Indian, at that time waylay some of these men and get some horses back?

We were able through a local home telephone we had, to notify the eastern end of the property at the other headquarters, Santa Ana, managed at that time by Juan Alderete. We notified him what had happened to us. He got his men together.

Can you describe Alderete? What kind of man was he?

Alderete was quite a cold-blooded man but very nervy and with a good, level head on him. He was not a kindly man in any way, but he was a loyal man to the interests he was working for. He stayed on, and, through the whole of the revolution, he stayed loyal and lots of the time was out fighting for the property.

What kind of a—was he a Yaqui Indian?

No.

Was he a Mexican?

Yaqui Indian scout in Villa’s army. W.H. Horn photo, courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

Juan was more the Spanish-Mexican type. The Yaqui you were mentioning was Guadalupe Quijada. He was the second in charge of the range work at the main property, Babicora. But, anyway, we advised Juan what had happened to us, and he had plenty of men, some twenty or twenty-five, and these people coming through were scattered. They were routed. They were just people that came through the country any way they could in small parties. Juan attacked many of those small parties and got lots of guns and horses back for us as they came through the mountains at the eastern end of the property.

He ambushed them?

He ambushed them, yes.

Did he shoot them, kill them?

Probably. He never mentioned to me how many, but there was some fighting but not much. Most of it was just surprising them and they would surrender.

What kind of a man was Juan? Did he carry a pistol?

Oh, yes. Juan Alderete is mentioned in that Damon Runyon article, but Runyon got the name a little bit differently. (Damon Runyon, "Keene, Bookkeeper: He Was Some Man, An Obituary on One of Villa’s Victims,” San Francisco Examiner , May 6, n.y.) He said "Alvarrete,” but the true name is Alderete, A-l-d-e-r-e-t-e. But Juan was quite a character, and he was a loyal...

Did he carry a knife?

Yes, always carried a knife.

Describe him physically. Can you describe him, what he looked like?

Well, Juan was a little blond, more or less blond for the average Mexican, and of medium size. He wasn't a large man. He was a good horseman and very neat, meticulous about how he dressed, even in his cowboy garb, his chaparreras, his chaps, were always just so. He always had his neckerchief just right and his hat just right. But he was absolutely fearless and cold-blooded.

Did he have a family?

Yes, Juan had a family. I was told that he had a family, but he did not have a family at the ranch with him.

He was in charge of what? Juan was in charge of what section?

Of the Santa Ana property, the eastern portion of the property. The Babicora property was in three divisions: the western division was Naguerachic; the main big property was Babicora; and on the east was another plain, the head of the Santa María River, and that was known as Santa Ana Providencia.

Now pick up from the time you got your horses back.

Americans posing with revolutionaries. Courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

 A short time later, perhaps two, three weeks later, Villa showed up unexpectedly in the town of Madera, and we had not heard yet that he had been routed from Agua Prieta. He had come across country before the word could get to us because there were no telegraph or railroad lines at that time. But he got to Madera and rang us up on our own phone, ordering the caporal; Lupe Quijada, the Yaqui; and my bookkeeper, Peter Keene; and me—ordered us to report to him immediately in Madera.

In the few moments that I talked to him, I told him that although we would like to respect his orders and we still respected him as the commanding general, we could see no reason why we should go and report to him because there was not one single thing we could talk about, that we knew how he had fared at Agua Prieta, and that we thought it would be a danger to us personally to go to him and to his troops. He told me then that he would send Nicolás Fernández, one of the generals who knew that part of the country thoroughly, an ex-cowpuncher who had worked with us. He would send plenty of troops to catch us, regardless of where we went, that we couldn't play "coyote" with him.

Play what?

"Coyote."

What does that mean?

A coyote is a wolf, timber wolf that hides in the mountains. He told me, "If you don't report by tomorrow morning, I'll send Nicolás after you." We immediately...

Was he angry? Did he shout at you, curse at you? Was he angry? Villa? He was angry, wasn't he?

Oh, yes, he was angry, very angry.

Didn't he say he would hunt you wherever you went?

Oh, yeah, he said we couldn't play coyote with him, that Nicolás Fernández could get us no matter where we hid in the mountains. One of our trusty men, who was also acceptable to Villa, Maximiliano Márquez, was at Villa's headquarters in Madera when Villa had talked to me. A very few minutes afterward, he got an opportunity to get on the line by himself, and he told us over the phone that we had decided right, that we shouldn't come; we'd be in danger; it wouldn't be good policy for us to report to Villa. We continued to talk, Mr. Keene and Lupe and I.  Mr. Keene said that he would rather report to Villa at Madera than to try to ride to the border, that he was an old man and could not stand the hardship.

How old was he?

Mr. Keene was about sixty-five, sixty-eight years old—and he had been most of his life among Latin Americans and had always been able to make out with them if he ever got their ear long enough. He could explain what he was, what he wanted to do, and who he was, that he was not afraid that they would harm him personally in any way. So we decided that night that Mr. Keene should go by buckboard the following day to Madera and report if he wanted. He refused to go with us. Lupe and I decided we would not report. So Mr. Keene started the following morning at daylight. About noon Lupe and I...

Did Lupe say he mistrusted Keene? Why did he say he didn't want to go?

Oh, Lupe, he wouldn't think of going.

What did he say about Villa?

He said that Villa would shoot us both—he was very bitter against Villa, Lupe was. He was a Yaqui Indian from Sonora but highly educated. He was a graduate of Santa Clara College in California.

What did he take in Santa Clara?

I don't know. There was a famous Father Somebody at that time who was noted as a developer of the theory of sun spots, Father—I've forgotten his name, a Spanish name. He was one of the instructors at Santa Clara, and Lupe was one of his pet students. Lupe was educated and very intelligent but had the difficult Indian trait of being cruel and vengeful.

Not to get off the subject, but how did Lupe get hold of this opportunity for an education?

Well, his father had been a Yaqui, kind of a chieftain or something, and had become acquainted with an intelligent Spaniard by the name of Villa, also. His name was—I think it was Federico Villa. I've forgotten the first name. But anyway, the man's name was Villa. He married a sister of Lupe's when Lupe was a young boy. Between this Villa and the father, they decided to send Lupe to California to college.

Lupe was educated in the local mission before this?

Not that I know of.

He had to get some preparation for college.

I don't know how it was. Lupe never talked about it much, but he always admitted that Father So-and-so in Santa Clara was the man who had taught him more than anybody else, and he appreciated him more. But he went from Sonora—he may have gone to some school in the States before he went there, but he graduated at Santa Clara College.

How old was Lupe at the time of the ranch we're talking about now?

Well, when I first knew Lupe in 1908, I'd say he’d be between twenty-eight and thirty years old.

Was he married and had a family at this time?

Not at that time. He married later.

So Lupe didn't want to go to see Villa?

No, he said he wouldn't go to meet Villa. But, anyway, we went the following afternoon after Mr. Keene had gone. We went across the mountains by trail and went after dark to our western headquarters, Naguerachic, only three miles from the town of Madera, and slipped in there. Although there was a Villa guard, we slipped in—I did first—and got into a room and talked to a couple of the men—

Why don't you tell me in detail how you rode up to this house and everything; I mean, if you feel up to it now. You hid in the woods, didn't you?

Well, coming in, you see, Naguerachic is right on the edge of pine timber, right where the plains, open plains, start. We rode in through the edge of the timber directly behind the barns and corrals at the ranch.

What was your purpose in going there, Mr. Barker, at this time?

We wanted to find out what happened to Mr. Keene. Mr. Keene was over there, and we didn't know what had happened. We had just sent him in a buggy with one man that morning. We had told Mr. Keene not to let anybody know it, but that we'd probably show up in the vicinity of Madera to find out what had happened and to try to keep in touch with him and that ultimately we would probably ride to the border. When we got there, the men on the ranch—after I got inside the building and the...

How did you get in the building? Didn't you disguise yourself?

I left my horse with Lupe in the edge of the timber. I covered up with a sombrero and went through the barn to the entrance into the main house, and before I realized it, I was right before quite a bunch of men sitting at the gate talking and smoking, and I realized that they were strangers, villistas, waiting there. It was too late for me to turn around, so I just kind of mumbled a buenos noches, good evening, and went right on through them with my sombrero, my hat, pulled down on my face, my blanket over my shoulders, and my spurs jangling behind me. They probably took me for one of the ranch hands.

Who was there at this house? Who was that? You called him—

Well, Armendariz was the man in charge.

Would he have his family there?

Shay locomotive and crew for mountain logging. Hoard Collection, courtesy of El Paso Public Library

No, Armendariz had only worked for us a short time. He was one of the men who had formerly worked for the Madera Lumber Company. He was there with a few of the ranch hands. There were lots of families there, but they were our own ranch families. But the man in charge, Armendariz, had no family there at the time. Another man that I've forgotten the name of—Salas, I've forgotten—Rafael Salas was there. He was the second in charge. He was in charge of range work at the time. He had his family. He was one of the ranchmen. But Armendariz had recently come to take charge, when we had nobody else, to look out for the ranch business there and represent the ownership.

Anyway, Lupe, when he found out that I was in there and not able to get out right away, got the two rifles that we had on our horses. He slipped around into an irrigation ditch and came to a side window and got in the building with me. We waited in there until later. When the men of the ranch who were out in the main part of the building said that the guard had gone into town...

You sat back to back, didn't you?

Yeah, very close to back to back so we could watch the door and window. We stayed there for, I guess, half to three quarters of an hour, and those men outside decided it was late and nobody was coming. They wanted to go to town and get something to drink and hunt some women. They bragged about it. They were going to town.

So when they left, the men came in and told us, and we had supper. We hadn't had anything to eat since about ten o'clock that morning. We had supper, and then we got on our horses and rode back to Babicora, getting into Babicora a little after daylight that following morning.

We knew then that Mr. Keene was a prisoner, in danger, but we couldn't do anything about it, and we decided that the best thing for us to do was to hang around until we were forced to leave, and, if we had to leave our headquarters, we'd go direct to the border. So we prepared for that ride.

In the afternoon of that day, quite a big troop showed up coming from Madera. It was Fernández, who had been sent out by Villa to get us and take us in. We left the ranch—as he was coming in one side, we went out the other side. That night we started across the plains. They couldn't catch us. They didn't have as good horses as we did. On the way across, we picked up a Mexican boy who knew every foot of the road to the border, Reyes Talavera.

Mr. Barker, before I get into this, I just want to tell you that maybe you're going a little too fast. You're skipping over things, things that are important. See, what I want you to tell me is just tell us the way you remember it, you know, like we're just sitting here talking. You were at this ranch, and you saw this general coming with the soldiers, but you spent the night at this ranch, didn't you? Didn't you spend the night there?

Oh, no, that was another part of it. No, when Nicolás and that crowd came in toward the ranch, we went out the other side. We spent the night across the plains, still on the property at another one of the ranches, at Los Ojos.

You spent the night there. Were you having breakfast the next morning when they first came?

When they first came, we had already had our breakfast. They didn't get in until pretty close to noon.

What kind of breakfast did you have?

Oh, a regular breakfast. We had a Chinese cook. Bacon, eggs, ham, tortillas, bread. The Chinese cook could make bread for us.

Coffee?

Yes, all of that kind of thing.

Who spotted these men coming?

Well, we had one of the boys there. We always kept a guard on the roofs in those days, and the guard on the roof, Santiago Calles, was the one that called down. He said, "They're coming." We had our horses already saddled and everything, and we just left when they got close enough. We knew what their object was, that they were coming to the property. We got out to the other property that was the Terrazas property, a big ranch and hacienda. The people there were friendly, and we stayed with them that night. The following day we stayed there and rested up because there was a heavy snowstorm and bad traveling, and we didn't expect anybody to come.

Troops of Francisco Madero training at Hacienda San Diego (Estate of Gov. Terrazas), c. 1910. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

But, sure enough, the second day, here comes that bunch trailing us again. So we left again and went on into the main Sierra Madre and down into the basin of what is known as the Santa Maria Buenaventura. He got down into the low country that night a little before dark. But, before getting out of the hills, we ran into a bunch of Red Flaggers, but we saw them first. We had Reyes, who was with us then. He stayed in touch with them, where he could see them, and as soon as those Red Flaggers moved away from the mouth of the canyon where they had a camp, which was about five o'clock in the afternoon, we moved on out into the mesquite country and started north. That was the beginning of our trip north.

Didn't you tell me you had to go through the same canyons they had to go through or something?

Cristo Canyon. Neither Lupe nor I had ever been down that canyon; Reyes had been. That was one of the reasons why we had Reyes with us, because had we not gone down that canyon, it would have meant perhaps twenty-, twenty-five-mile ride either east or west to get another outlet to go north. And in the mouth of that canyon is where these seven or eight Red Flaggers were camped. They had camped there to rest in the afternoon, probably before riding into town that night.

Then, from there on, it was just a trip up to the border, which was nine days, all told, from the time we left Babicora. We got to the Birchfield Ranch—they called it the Birchfield Ranch, right near Mount Pais in New Mexico. The following morning, we took the train and went into El Paso, leaving our horses and outfits at the Birchfield Ranch with an old man by the name of Hurst, H-u-r-s-t, who was pumping water there for the Birchfield cattle. That was only about two miles from the national boundary, the wire fence, which we had cut the night before to get through to go into the United States.

I had told Lupe to be prepared to come in and strengthen us at headquarters anytime. Sure enough, Cervantes showed up. I got word that he was going to show up from a neighbor just a little ways north of us. When Cervantes came out onto the plains to come towards headquarters, I sent a man out to meet him and tell him that, if he came in close enough to be within rifle shot, we'd begin shooting at him. I knew what he was going to do. I didn't wait for his message. At the same time, when I got that word, I sent word to Lupe—he was a little ways west of us—to beat it in with his cowpunchers and all of his armed men as quickly as possible. He had about twenty-eight. Lupe got in, and Cervantes was still sitting out on the plains. He sent a man back to tell me he was going to come in friendly, that I had been misinformed and all of that kind of stuff. I had already told him, though, that it was a warning, that if he came within rifle shot, we'd begin shooting at him. So when he noticed that Lupe was coming in with another bunch of twenty-five, twenty-eight men on horseback coming across those plains—looked like quite a crowd—why, he decided to turn around and go back. So he didn't do anything. That was the one trouble we had while Villa was away. That was one reason why he wanted Lupe and me and Mr. Keene to report to him, that we had opposed his man that he had left behind as commander of that area. We knew what it would mean to Lupe and me. We were the ones that stopped Cervantes. So that's when we decided that we would ride for the border; we wouldn't stay any longer. He had seven or eight thousand troops with him, even after his defeat. We beat it to the border, and Mr. Keene, it was reported, was executed.

Four buildings burned during raid of villistas on Columbus, New Mexico. Courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

But let me follow up on that. Cervantes at that time when Villa—after the Columbus raid, they separated, all those villistas did. They went every which way. Villa kept a small bunch with him. Cervantes went back into the mountains close to Namiquipa, more or less on the Hearst property, and he was hiding in the mountains with his gang. He had thirty, forty men.

After the expedition had ended and Villa had come back into more or less a permanent area at Namiquipa, his own headquarters, one day a soldier, a sergeant, left one of the camps. He went out to see if he could find someplace to buy more corn for the horses. He had no idea that anybody was out there to bother him. But he went riding up the road toward what we call an "Iramada," [?] and, by golly, they began shooting at him from up on the hillside. They shot him in his leg. He went off his horse but took his rifle with him, and he had his, as all cavalrymen carried at that time, automatic pistol, a .45 Colt. He went off and lay on the ground, as though he was dead, and he spotted that up on the hillside a little ways off, maybe four or five hundred yards away, there were about fifteen, twenty men. But he lay perfectly still, thinking they might go on and leave him, but they didn't. Cervantes and his second-in-command, Domínguez, left the little troop up on the hillside, and they went riding down to where this soldier was lying on the ground. But he was game, and when they got right close to him, he raised up on his elbows and shot both of them dead. Well, the rest of that gang—he started shooting at the rest of them with his rifle then, but they were on the run. They didn't stop to fight.

U.S. troops bathing en route to Namiquipa, Mexico.  Horn photo, courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

That word got into headquarters at Namiquipa right away, so the general asked me to go down and see who it was that was killed, if I could recognize them. And it was Cervantes and Domínguez! That was the end of Cervantes. He was famous during that revolution. Now, there's quite a little story that can be elaborated on. But that was the end of Candelario Cervantes.

Then right on top of that—of course, was during the punitive expedition, but to go back before the expedition when Villa came back from Sonora a whipped man, he was bad. He was after everything that was American. He said he wanted to kill even their dogs. He didn't want anything gringo. And that's when he phoned me—well, he didn't phone particularly to me—he phoned the Babicora headquarters of Hearst, not knowing who he talked to. But, whoever answered the phone, he was going to tell them the same thing that he was ordering me; Lupe Quijada; the caporal; and my bookkeeper, Mr. Keene, to report the following day at Madera. That was—well, by buggy road it was only forty-five miles, and across the mountains it was about twenty-six. So that's when Mr. Keene reported, and Lupe and I went over during the night, the following night, but that's when we had our experience and got away. The following day after that, they were after Lupe and me. They already had Mr. Keene. That developed into our ride to the border. So it's quite a connected event right there from late 1915.

Then, to follow that up, I barely got to the United States—I got here on the 24th of December of 1915, spent Christmas, and went out before New Year's. Lupe and Reyes and I went out to Canutillo, just a little ways out from El Paso close to New Mexico, where we had left our horses. We got our horses and rode them on into El Paso and there ran right into another terrible experience.

From left: Felix Sommerfield, Francisco Madero, G.A. Martin (reporter), unidentified photographer. Aultman Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

We no more than got back before that meeting of Carruthers for the Mexican government was held. General Obregón, along with Zack Lamar Cobb and Summerfield for Wilson, all had that big meeting in l Paso at the Paso del Norte Hotel, and we were all invited. Well, the invitation was open to anyone who had interests in northern Chihuahua. Well, I was still in charge of the Hearst property there at the office—we maintained an office in El Paso, and my instructions were then to stay in El Paso for the time being and handle everything from there. So I went to the dinner, and there was quite a crowd of us went to that dinner at the Paso del Norte.

Border conference in El Paso, 1914, Gen. Obregón with his rival Gen. Villa and Gen. Pershing. Aultman Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

Summerfield, for Wilson, made quite a speech about how we wanted to help, that the government wanted to help the Carranza government become established and get back on a solid footing, and that that would mean that all the interests that could, should begin to work and produce again in northern Chihuahua and so forth. The main thing was to get the big mines at Cusihuiriachic to operate again as they were American-owned. That was Mr. Watson's headquarters. So all the Cusi people were invited to go back, and the Potosí Mining Company people were invited to go back, the whole lot of us, and I was invited and asked if I wouldn't go back and try to get things straightened out at Babicora. Well, I told them that was what I was going for, but my main idea was to go out and try to find out what had happened to my bookkeeper, Mr. Keene. I knew that if I tried to go to Babicora, I'd have to go alone, and I'd have been killed before I ever got there, the way things were then.

Chihuahua City. B. Velarde photo, courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

But I went on down to Chihuahua, and we stayed in Chihuahua that day. My old sidekick from California, Charlie Pringle, was along. He had come from the Santa Rita mines out in New Mexico to go back and renew some denouncements, as they called them. They were some claims he, an Englishman, and I had over in an eastern Sonora placer mine that we had decided, several months before, to take a chance on. Those taxes had to be paid, and Charlie was going to attend to that in Guerrero, and he was promised a job if he wanted to stay with the Cusi Mining Company. So we all went down there.

Well, you know how I missed that (referring to the Santa Isabel Massacre, January 10, 1916). I got off the train when it was starting to take those people out west—supposed to be a big soldier guard—but they were all murdered that same day, all but one. Tommy Holmes got away. The next day we picked up those bodies. The third day after that, we got them out to El Paso; all kinds of trial and work to get them out, but in the end we got them to El Paso. Then it was a week of funeral services and so forth and sending bodies away, until we got all of that tended to. And that was the 10th of January.

It was right quick after that, right after Santa Isabel, the 15th, in early February this man came out, deserted Villa, and stole the payroll for the Villa troops. He was at the meeting where they decided to invade the border, and he came out; and when he got to El Paso, I accidentally ran into him. He knew me very well. In fact, he was indebted to me for past favors. He told me all of what was going to happen. That's when I went to get in with Zack Cobb and warn the government, but they wouldn't pay attention. Mr. Bryan didn't want Cobb to pay any more attention to "consummate thieves, liars, and adventurers," and so forth. Then the raid came on Columbus. I got out of there the same morning.

 When I came back, I had instructions from Mrs. Hearst to report to General Pershing. He had a telegram from Mrs. Hearst offering any assistance the property or the management and people at Babicora could offer in case there was an expedition sent into Mexico. That's when Pershing asked me to organize a little bunch of scouts, but I didn't get all of them. Some of them were hired through other means, but I got a little bunch—all told, fifteen. There were a few others from Columbus and inside of Mexico who joined afterwards and got in with us as scouts, most of them Mormons.

On left, Webb, a Mormon scout.  Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

We went back with the expedition. That was in February—no, that was March, March 15th, we went in. We went in March 15th, and then it was nothing exciting much with the expedition. All the time we were there, after the first few days, there wasn't anything much except sit around camp and go out and try to catch people you couldn't find. So the expedition doesn't make much of a story, except sort of a history of it, you know. We'd go out on many scouting trips and such as that, but as a rule nothing would happen.

One time we had a funny case. Captain Addis was detailed to go to the Calera mine over near the railroad in the district of Guerrero, and that was only about four hours' ride from our camp; five hours, probably, from Namiquipa, and I was detailed to go along with him to keep him from getting lost and scout for him and so forth. We were going to go to an American mine, the Calera mine, and hide there and watch the valley and see what we might find. The mine only had four or five men there, just guards at the mine; it wasn't working. So we went on in at night, fixed up where nobody could see us, and we were all sitting pretty. We were thinking we were going to stay there maybe a week and watch the big, open valley down below us, and nobody would know we were there, and keep completely out of sight.

But, by golly, Captain Addis paid for it pretty heavily afterwards, as he and a sergeant got a hold of a lot of mescal, and they got drunk. Addis came in and invited me to go with him. He said he was going down to the town of Guerrero—that was only five or six miles away—and investigate to see if there were any villistas there. I told him he had better stay home, that he was going into something he didn't know anything about and that there would be plenty of them. They would be after him if he went in. He said, "No, I want to go and"—he was trying to learn Spanish, and he says, "I'm going to busca la aventura.” He wanted to hunt for danger. So he and his sergeant, both of them pretty drunk, got on their horses, and I had no authority to stop them. Then another sergeant, the first sergeant of the company—of the troop—was right there with us, so he stayed in command, and I couldn't stop Addis and the sergeant. I thought they'd just ride down the road a ways and later come back.

Ore-processing mill near Madera, Mexico. Hoard Collection, courtesy of the El Paso Public Library

By golly, you know, they didn't come back, and I didn't know what to do about it, and neither did the sergeant. They didn't come back until about midnight that night, and then, when they came, they were on the run. We heard them a long ways off coming up that dirt road, their horses' hooves pounding. We had the whole troop out ready to fight anybody that was coming. It was Addis and the sergeant! How they ever got away from that bunch, I don't know. He was probably drunk when he went into the edge of town, and he said that they had started to go down the street and somebody yelled out to him, "Alto, gringo!" When they didn't stop, they began shooting at him, so he and the sergeant just turned around and ran away before they could catch them.

But Addis was investigated for it. It wasn't an open court-martial, but he was given some reprimands and was sent back to the States and relieved of his command in Mexico. He was a nice fellow, too, but he was just, I guess, kind of bored, day after day with nothing to do but sit around, and he was trying to find adventure. He found it, all right.

Later, we all went—they began to concentrate us further back. Pershing had orders—well, right there is an interesting little item that might come in very good on the history of the punitive expedition. While we were still moving south—let's see, that was about the 26th or the 27th of March—we still hadn't contacted the Villa troops yet. It was just two days—let's see, about the 29th of March that we contacted them at the town of Guerrero and I had our little skirmish with them, killed twenty-six of them and caught twenty-five, thirty prisoners, but Villa wasn't with them. What was I going to tell you on that? Oh, yeah, that was on the question of Pershing not being allowed to go anywhere.

U.S. punitive expedition troops at San Geronimo, Mexico.  Horn photo, courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

A few days, three or four days before that skirmish at Guerrero—no, one day before—we were going across an open plain, going in towards the edge of the mountains to go into the Guerrero Valley, when one of our planes showed up flying over. We had this arrangement already with the little air force—Jimmy Foulois was the commander; he was a captain at that time—that anytime a plane came over us, we'd ride the signal agreed upon to let the pilot know what organization it was. The Seventh Cavalry we were with had as a designation that a platoon of troops would ride a figure 8, and he could see it from the air and know it was the Seventh Cavalry, if that was the one he wanted to contact. It was Foulois, and we came down and stopped on the open plain and waited for him. He got out, left his plane, and walked over. We had this troop at ease, the men all dismounted and resting. General Dodd was a colonel still; he hadn't been raised to brigadier general yet. He went with me and with his adjutant, Hines, over to meet Foulois. When Foulois came—of course, he made his customary salute and all of that and handed General Dodd a piece of paper, a message that he had been instructed to give to the general personally and to no one else.

Dodd took it and read the message and thanked Foulois and told his adjutant, Hines, to write a short message in answer. He instructed Hines, dictated to him: "Your message," such and such number, "received at this moment, and the hour of the day. In that message you state that I am to cease all movement east, west, or south, unless I am in actual contact with the enemy. I take pleasure in stating to you at this moment that I consider myself within striking distance of the enemy. My scout, who knows the country, and all the information I have leads me to believe that the enemy is at this moment within two or three hours’ ride of us, which I consider striking distance. Therefore, I am moving on the rest of this day and during the night to see if I can contact the enemy by daylight."

After Foulois left, the general showed me the message. Hines and I were talking, and he handed it over to me. It was from General Pershing, and it said, "To Colonel Dodd, commanding Second Cavalry Brigade: I regret to have to inform you that I am at this moment in receipt of a definite message from Washington, from our War Department, instructing me to move neither east, west, nor south of my present line of communication unless I consider that my troops are within actual contact and striking distance of the enemy. Therefore, you are to act accordingly." And that's why Dodd answered that he figured he was within striking distance and would continue that day and night to see what came up.

Foulois went back, and, you know, that was the end of the expedition. From then on, all we did was to sit around. What could any general do if he couldn't go east, west, or south of his line of communication back to his own country, all patrols? We did a lot of scouting close to the line of the expedition, but we never accomplished anything much. The killing of Candelario Cervantes was about the only thing. Well, Major House did get in a scrap down near Parral. They couldn't catch House in time to stop him. He went as far as Parral, as his orders were, and then turned around and came back. He was to go only that far. He was part of the Tenth Cavalry. And that's all we could do. So from then on, the punitive expedition was just something that was almost a disgrace, and, gee, how it bothered the general. He was so competent and wanting to do something. There we had to take about twelve thousand troops and set them down along the line of communication with instructions to go neither east, west, nor south. But we did withdraw back to Dublan, which is nearer the border, little by little. It took us six weeks, perhaps, to concentrate at Dublan, and then we stayed there until early February of the next year when we got instructions to move out.

Hermilianda Wong Chew, Chinese woman, armed as a Yaqui Indian revolutionary. Courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

In the meantime, we had accumulated some three hundred eighty Chinese refugees because all the Chinese were being killed, so they rushed to the American troops wherever they could, and we gave them refuge in a refugee camp and took them out with us. If we had turned them loose, they'd have been killed. When we got out, they were moved right in here to San Antonio. They were put out in what was Camp Travis then, just beyond the Quadrangle, the street goes due east that runs in front of the big stone building there—at that time, it was a courthouse—on the left-hand side of the road going into Travis from the Quadrangle. And the Chinese camp was on the right side, where the left entrance was into Camp Travis.

One of my old sidekicks, Billy Page, was put in command of them. He was a civilian, but they were pretty close to the administration, favorites of some of the people in Washington. They had charge of them, and they stayed acting as cooks or anything they could do whenever there was a job for them. When I went overseas, they were still there.  And those Chinese, there are some of them here in town yet. There's one out here on New Braunfels Avenue, about a block and a half, two blocks down from the Quadrangle, that runs a darn good Chinese place to eat. Tom (his son) took me out there one time. He calls this place Chen's Place, Chinese food. And that Chinaman was along with the ones that we brought out as refugees.

They've even been mentioned on television in this argument about ethnic groups. Somebody made a good talk, a good argument on that, that if an ethnic group is of the kind that deserves help and assistance, they will soon show that they can get along without help and assistance. And the Mexicans never have shown that they can get along by themselves. When those three hundred and eighty Chinese were brought out, they had nothing except the chance to get a job if there was a job for them, and they never asked the American government for one single thing, unless it was pay for the jobs they filled. And they all became American citizens afterwards, although Chinese were excluded from immigrating at that time to the United States. Orientals were excluded in those days. But those men, being under exceptional conditions, they were wards of the government, and they arranged some kind of a special permission for them to become citizens, and they're scattered all over yet. Most of them are old men now, of course, but some of them were young fellows; some of them were Chinese boys, twenty, twenty-five years old at that time. This old fellow out at Chen's is one of those families that came out then.

Do you remember any personal incidents with any of them, meeting them or talking to any of them?

The Chinese? Oh, on many occasions, but nothing that would be extraordinary because, you see, very few of them could speak English. Their experience, after leaving China, was in most cases right in Mexico, and they spoke a broken Chinese-Mexican. I interpreted for the officers and for Billy Page. Billy could speak a little Spanish but not very well, but when the expedition came out, they depended on me to tell them what they could expect and what we were going to do with them when we got out and everything. I'd only get the information from headquarters, and I'd keep them informed. They all knew me well.

Then, when we got here to Camp Travis with the 90th Division—that was when we were organizing the 90th Division, and those men were across the way—by Billy being in charge of them for the government and being a good friend of mine, I used to visit a whole lot with Billy. In fact, after Edythe and I were married, we’d go out and spend an afternoon joking around with Billy Page. And the girl who had a double wedding with us, Marion Graham—her husband was killed with the first of the 90th Division overseas—her birthday is the same as Edythe's, yesterday. (Edythe Barker's birth date was March 9, 1896.) We were down to say hello to her yesterday. Marion used to go with us, and we got to be great pals of Billy Page. He was quite a character, a little fellow but amusing.

I got to know a lot of those Chinese very well, but I didn't remember their names. We had one big, fat Chinaman that cooked for our officers' mess at training headquarters, Colonel Leary's headquarters at Camp Travis. We had him as our cook for—well, from September until the next June. He was our cook there at Camp Travis. They were all around there, but they were just Chinese; there was nothing outstanding about them. They would all tell the same story, that they couldn't tell much about what was told to them or anything else. They just had harrowing experiences getting away from wherever they were. A few of them had been farmers. A lot of them had been restaurant keepers and such as that, scattered throughout northern Mexico, and they got away any time and any way they could to get to the punitive expedition.

The Mexicans used to try to make big jokes about them. The most common joke was: You know, the Mexican idea was, when you challenge a man, for instance, at night, and you don't know who it is, the Mexican challenge is "Quien vive?" (Who lives?), and you're supposed to answer back something that would identify you. The Mexicans would tell the story all over about the Chinese; A Chinaman was going down the road, and somebody yelled, "Quien vive?" and he said, "Pobre Chino," poor Chinaman, and they shot him. Another Chinaman with him saw the whole stuff, and he got away. So the next time that fellow was stopped and challenged, "Quien vive?" he said, "Porfirio Díaz," and they shot him. So he didn't know what to do, and the man with him that time, he decided he'd learn. So when he was challenged and they yelled at him, "Quien vive?" He said, "Tu gritas primero," in other words, 'You yell first." The Mexicans used to tell stories like that about those poor Chinese refugees.

"You yell first." What does that mean?

"Tu gritas primero means—"gritar" is to yell—"You yell first." "You answer first."

Oh, I see.

Gen. Obregón with bodyguards and bugler. Courtesy of the El Paso County Historical Society

Well, they did murder lots of Chinese down there, lots of them. I had a cook that disappeared, and we never did know what happened to him. Valentin, we called him. He was a good little Chinaman. He worked for us for years at Babicora, but he just disappeared. I never did know what happened to Valentin. At Babicora we had quite a few Chinese. They were the best farmers we had for new crops that the Mexicans weren't familiar with.

Did you have a Chinese cook that married a Mexican woman there?

Of that crowd, no, but there were Chinese that I knew later in the Isthmus that had married Mexican women. Some of those Chinese refugees might have had Mexican wives. They probably did, but they didn't bring them to the expedition.

It was a Negro that married a Mexican. No, that was in the Remington book.

That was the Remington book, yes. (Frederic Remington, Pony Tracks, Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1961.) Let's see, in the Isthmus there was a Manuel Suchong; he married a Mexican woman.

(NOTE: Edythe Barker, Jim Barker's wife, who was the daughter of an earlier ranch manager at the Hearst estate, entered the conversation. A complete transcript with Edythe’s comments can be obtained by contacting the ITC Library at (210) 458-2298.)