Martin J. Dugan was born in Ireland on November 10, 1847, and his family migrated to the United States when he was a child, eventually settling on a farm just outside Denver by 1870. He was working as a bouncer in Georgetown, Colorado, by 1875, when he made his name as a gunfighter after a drunk patron shot out the lights of a dance hall. Dugan disarmed him, then accepted his challenge to a standup gunfight in the street and killed him with a single shot.
A coroner’s jury ruled the killing justifiable, and by the time Dugan arrived in the booming town of Leadville in 1878, newspapers reported he had killed seven men total. Leadville had gone through marshals quickly: the first was beaten and chased out of town, and the second was shot dead by a deputy aligned with the town’s criminal element. The mayor and city council appointed Dugan to replace him. He received an anonymous note from local toughs warning him to leave or follow his predecessor, but Dugan ignored it and made clear he would not be intimidated.
He faced down vigilantes who came to lynch prisoners, threatening to kill the first man who attempted to pass, and they backed down. He fired deputies for minor infractions and once threatened to jail the mayor for complaining about the arrest of a wealthy friend. He even marched a municipal magistrate out of his office at gunpoint for being too soft on crime. Dugan’s courage was never in doubt, but his drinking was another matter.
When sober he was reportedly well-mannered, but under the influence of liquor, a local paper said, he was “the incarnation of devilry” with as little regard for human life as a wild beast. After he drunkenly beat a bartender, the city council briefly took his badge, but the victim withdrew his charges and Dugan was reinstated. When his term ended in April 1879, he declined reappointment and took an extended trip with his wife to Michigan. Without him, Leadville’s crime surged, and by late November vigilantes stormed the jail and lynched two prisoners, leaving a placard warning criminals that a committee of 700 strong was now in charge.
Criminals mobilized in response, threatening to hang the vigilantes and burn the town. Leadville’s founders telegraphed Dugan in Michigan and begged him to return. He came back at once, fired the entire police force, and set about arresting thugs, including Big Ed Burns and Billy Thompson, brother of the gunfighter Ben Thompson. After his term ended again in April 1880, he refused reappointment and opened a livery stable, but remained active in local affairs.
Later that spring, when tensions over a mine strike grew violent, Dugan served as second in command off a local militia unit that helped arrest over 200 people and bring a peaceful resolution. Dugan remained quarrelsome, especially when drinking. In late November 1880, he killed a man named Lewis Lamb after an argument outside a brothel, shooting him through the mouth. He was cleared on self-defense, but Lamb was popular,and Dugan’s livery stable began losing business.
Lamb’s widow swore she would dance on Dugan’s grave. Forced to sell his home, Dugan moved to a mining camp called Douglas City and found work as a deputy sheriff. He continued using heavy-handed tactics, like when he hunted down a traveling salesman who had conned prostitutes into buying fake jewelry, beat him, and forced him to return the money. The salesman pressed charges, and Dugan was fined.
He returned to Leadville later that year as a police patrolman but remained in trouble for his rough methods, fined again in March 1888 after roughing up another salesman. He resigned and went on an extended drinking binge. Two weeks later, around 4 a. m.
, Dugan was verbally harassing a faro dealer in a gambling joint when the owner, Bailey Young, intervened. Dugan challenged both men to step outside, but they declined, and his buddies convinced him to go home. As he staggered outside, someone shot him in the back of the head. He lingered for seven hours.
Asked who shot him, he first named Young, but later said he was struck down by “one of the gang” and that he would die before he’d identify his killer. He died at age 39, exactly ten years to the day after he first pinned on the marshal’s badge. Young and the faro dealer were arrested but cleared. Years later, it emerged that the shooter was likely another faro dealer named George Evans, allegedly paid by men who held old grudges against Dugan.
Evans left Colorado soon after and was killed in a gunfight in South America in 1902, after which people began opening up about his role in the murder. Dugan was buried in an unmarked grave in Denver, depriving Lamb’s widow of her promised dance. She allegedly did a jig on the blood-soaked sidewalk where he fell instead. In 2005, history enthusiasts raised over $2,000 to place a gravestone on his grave.
Organizer Gail Lindley called him an unsung hero who brought law and order to a lawless town and deserved the honor of a memorial stone as a fallen officer. John King Fischer was born in October 1853 in Collin County, Texas. His mother and stepmother both died when he was young, and he reportedly did not get along with the second. As a teenager, he was arrested for stealing a horse at age 15 and for breaking into a house a year later.
Sentenced to two years in prison at age16, he served just four months. He drifted south into the Nueces Strip, a lawless region between the Nueces River and the Rio Grande, where local ranchers, frustrated by stock theft, employed him to clean out rustlers. His reputation soared, but over time he and his fellow vigilantes began stealing cattle themselves. After killing a rival leader and two of his associates in a dispute, Fischer became the undisputed leader of the gang.
He was a flamboyant dresser: a Texas Ranger described him wearing an ornamented sombrero, a black Mexican jacket embroidered with gold, a crimson sash, crimson boots, and two silver-plated, ivory-handled revolvers. Fischer also wore a beaver hat with a gold rattlesnake band, silk shirts, bells on his spurs, and a pair of chaps made from the skin of a tiger he allegedly killed at a circus. At the height of his power, Ranger Captain Leander McNelly said, Fischer ruled the area between Castroville and Eagle Pass with an army of at least a hundred men. He established a ranch along Pendia Creek with a sign reading, “This is King Fischer’s road.
Take the other one. ” Fischer’s brutality was well documented. When four men arrived at his ranch looking for trouble, he killed one with a branding iron and shot the other three dead. In another incident, he gunned down a cowboy who refused to buy him a drink.
He was indicted over 20 times, mostly for murder and theft, but was never convicted. He once bragged that no one in the country would testify against him. Fischer married Sarah Vivian in April 1876, and she had a calming effect. He formed a new ranch, became a deputy sheriff in Uvalde County, and even killed two accused stage robbers who resisted arrest, earning praise as a diligent officer.
By spring 1884, he was acting sheriff and campaigning for election. That March, he traveled to Austin to learn about a new law against fence cutting. There he met his old friend Ben Thompson, a former Confederate soldier and noted gunfighter who had recently killed a San Antonio theater owner named Jack Harris in a dispute. Though acquitted, Thompson had lost his job as Austin city marshal.
The two men embarked on a daylong drinking binge and boarded a night train to San Antonio. Accounts differ on why, but some believed Thompson wanted to settle things with Harris’s former business partner. By the time they arrived, Thompson was drunk, had struck a train porter so hard blood splattered on his hat, which he then cut the crown off and stuck a knife through the brim. They visited the Turner Opera House before moving on to the Vaudeville Theater, where Thompson had killed Harris months earlier.
Unbeknownst to them, word of their arrival had preceded them, and authorities had stationed officers at the theater. King and Thompson drank at the bar and went upstairs to watch a show. What happened next depends on which account you believe. One version says Thompson spotted Joe Foster, one of the theater’s owners, as they were leaving and tried to shake his hand.
Foster declined, and things escalated. Another says Foster and his partner, Billy Sims, joined them upstairs, and Thompson began threatening them and joking about killing Harris. A bouncer and police officer named Jacob Koy urged Thompson to calm down, but he refused. When Thompson jerked his pistol and attempted to strike Foster with it, Koy managed to knock the weapon away.
Gunfire erupted, and when the smoke cleared, King Fischer was dead, his body riddled with at least 13 bullets. Thompson was also dead with nine bullet wounds. Foster would die of his wounds 11 days later. There was an investigation later that night, and King’s revolver was found still in its holster, fully loaded, remarkable for a man known for his quick draw.
A more plausible theory emerged that the fatal rounds came from above and behind, suggesting either Foster or Sims had stationed gunmen on the upper level of the theater. Neither Fischer nor Thompson ever saw their assassins. Despite public outrage, no one was ever indicted. Fischer was buried in Uvalde on March 13, 1884, reportedly in his tiger-skin chaps.
He was just 31. His widow lived until 1946, and his daughters lived into the 1950s. Tom Hanahan’s mother, whose son Fischer had killed while acting sheriff, traveled to Uvalde every year for the rest of her life, built a fire over Fischer’s grave, and danced around it on the anniversary of her son’s death. Tom“Bear River” Smith arrived in Abilene, Kansas, in 1870 with nothing but a badge, a banjo, and his fists.
A former middleweight boxer from back east, Smith had spent years working gold diggings in Montana and Idaho before taking on law enforcement work in Wyoming. He became a marshal in Green River and later worked as a deputy in Kit Carson, Colorado, where he earned respect by rarely drawing his firearm, relying instead on his pugilistic skills. In 1870, Abilene was overrun by Texas cowboys and fringe elements drawn by the cattle trade. The town’s founding fathers had struggled to find a marshal who could handle the chaos.
After several failures, they wired Smith, who had applied earlier and been passed over, asking him to reapply. He was hired on June 4, 1870. Smith persuaded the town council to pass an ordinance requiring cowboys to surrender their weapons before entering town. He enforced it first against a bully named Big Hank, knocking him unconscious with one punch when Hank went for his gun.
A week later, he took another man’s weapon and beat him savagely, ordering him to leave town. Smith’s methods worked. Permanent residents felt safe again, and his salary was increased. He survived at least two assassination attempts.
As deputy U. S. marshal and under sheriff of Dickinson County, he tracked down a horse thief named Buckskin Bill Phillips, recovering most of the stolen horses without firing a shot. He also cleared out a notorious cluster of brothels and gambling joints called“Shantytown,” giving the madams a choice: leave or face arrest.
Within days, it was gone. In late October 1870, Andrew McConnell killed John Shea on Chapman Creek. McConnell turned himself in, and a witness named Moses Miles testified the killing was self-defense, so McConnell was released. Neighbors, however, suggested Shea, who left behind a widow and three children, was not the aggressor.
Dickinson County Sheriff James Macdonald asked Smith to accompany him to bring in McConnell. On November 2, they arrived at McConnell’s dugout and found him with Miles. Exactly what happened next is unclear, but McConnell suddenly shot Smith through the right lung. Smith, uncharacteristically, pulled his revolver and returned fire, wounding McConnell.
As the two grappled, Miles began clubbing Smith with a rifle, then grabbed an ax and nearly severed his head from his body. Sheriff Macdonald had fled as soon as the first shot was fired. When the posse arrived, the killers were gone. News of Smith’s death stunned Abilene.
A local newspaper called for the murderers to be caught and lynched. McConnell and Miles were arrested in Clay Center, Kansas. Miles was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to 16 years. McConnell pled guilty to first-degree manslaughter and received 12 years.
Miles was pardoned after six years, and McConnell was released in 1881. Smith’s funeral took place on November 4, 1870, with most of town attending. His horse, Silver Hills, trotted riderless behind the hearse, his revolvers draped over the saddle horn. Abilene soon hired James Butler“Wild Bill” Hickok as his replacement, and Smith’s story was largely overshadowed.
In 1904, the town exhumed Smith’s remains and reburied him in a place of honor under a massive red granite boulder from Oklahoma. The plaque reads:“Thomas J. Smith, Marshal of Abilene, died a martyr to duty November 2nd, 1870. A fearless hero of frontier days who in cowboy chaos established the supremacy of law.
” Dwight D. Eisenhower, raised in Abilene and later the 34th president of the United States, visited Smith’s grave on multiple occasions, describing him as a man who almost never carried a pistol but subdued the lawless by the force of his personality and his tremendous capability as an athlete. Dave“Mysterious” Mather was born David Allen Mather on August 10, 1851, in what is now Deep River, Connecticut. His father abandoned the family to become a ship captain and was murdered by his own crew in 1864.
His mother also died before he reached adulthood. In 1870, he and his younger brother Josiah took to sea, but soon abandoned ship in New Orleans and headed inland. For the next decade, there is little verified information about Mather’s activities. There are rumors he hunted bison, rustled cattle with Dave Rudabaugh, and ran a con game with Wyatt Earp, but none are confirmed.
By the late 1870s, he was running with the Dodge City Gang in East Las Vegas, New Mexico, a network of gamblers, saloon owners, and gunmen led by Mayor Hyman“Hoodoo” Brown, who also served as coroner, justice of the peace, and chief constable. His deputies included Rudabaugh, Tom Pickett, Joe Carson, JJ Webb, and Mather. On January 22, 1880, four Texas cowboys entered a dance hall looking to settle a score with Deputy Joe Carson, who had questioned them about a stolen buggy. They refused to check their sidearms, and one of them shot Carson in the arm.
Mather responded by shooting the gunman, and a wild gunfight erupted. The lamps were extinguished by repeated gunfire, and at least 30 shots were fired. When the smoke cleared, Carson was dead and one cowboy lay mortally wounded. Another was wounded.
Mather received only a grazing wound. Three days later, Mather killed a railroad foreman named Joseph Castello during an argument. A coroner’s jury ruled it self-defense. The city’s citizens were growing weary of Mather and his associates.
The two cowboys who escaped the earlier gunfight were later captured, and vigilantes lynched one from a windmill and shot the other two, allegedly with bullets fired by Carson’s widow. It is unclear whether Mather took part, but he likely at least turned a blind eye. In March, another deputy, JJ Webb, shot and killed a freighter named Michael Kellaher during a disturbance in a saloon. The official story was self-defense, but Kellaher had over $2,000 on him, and Hoodoo Brown, who was present, skipped town shortly after with the money.
Webb was charged with murder. A month later, Rudabaugh and another man killed a jailer attempting to bust Webb out of jail, proving the last straw for East Las Vegas. A vigilance committee formed, and Mather wisely left for Dodge City, Kansas, just in time for the Dodge City War, a bloodless standoff between the mayor and gambler Luke Short that was resolved through negotiation. Mather landed a job as assistant marshal, but after a new election, he was replaced by Tom Nixon, a former buffalo hunter.
Mather still worked as a deputy sheriff for Ford County, and with a partner, he purchased the Opera House Saloon and began renovating it into a dance hall. The city council ordered him to stop, passing an ordinance outlawing dance halls where“lewd women” congregated. But the ordinance was selectively enforced: Nixon, who owned a rival dance hall called the Lady Gay, was allowed to continue operating. Mather lowered his beer prices to five cents a glass, undercutting Nixon, but Nixon and other saloon owners pressured wholesalers to cut off his supply.
There was also evidence Mather may have had romantic interest in Nixon’s wife. On the evening of July 18, 1884, Nixon, acting as assistant marshal, walked up to Mather standing outside his saloon and opened fire. The bullet missed, striking woodwork, but Mather’s face was powder burned and his finger was injured by a splinter. Bill Tilghman’s wife later remarked that with a man like Mather, you better shoot straight or not at all, because if you miss, he will get you.
A few nights later, as Nixon made his rounds, Mather called out his name. As Nixon turned, Mather fired four shots, killing him instantly. An eyewitness said Mather told Nixon he had lived long enough. Upon arrest, Mather claimed his only regret was not killing him six months earlier.
He was tried for murder but acquitted, with the sheriff and Bat Masterson testifying on his behalf. The courtroom reportedly broke into applause. In May 1885, Mather and his brother Josiah got into a shooting scrape at a saloon over a card game. A gambler named Barnes was killed and two bystanders wounded.
Dave’s pistol was found fully loaded, indicating he may have started the fight but did not take part in the shooting. Both brothers were charged with murder but postponed bail in July and promptly left Dodge. They split up shortly after. Josiah settled in Idaho, living until 1932.
Dave was briefly reported in New Kiowa, Kansas, in August 1885, but he and his old saloon partner fled after his partner killed a soldier and a lynch mob formed. That was the last verified sighting of Mather. Numerous theories exist about his fate. Reports from Dallas, Texas, in 1886 described an unidentified man’s body found dead from a gunshot wound to the head, but no official record ties it to Mather.
Another popular theory, originating in a 1902 magazine article, claimed Mather joined the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, robbed a stagecoach he was assigned to protect, then disappeared again. But no record of a David Mather serving with the Mounties exists. Some people claimed to have seen him living in Long Pine, Nebraska, in 1887. Others said he moved to California and committed crimes under the alias Dave Taylor, or that he retired as a US customs officer in Washington State.
His brother Josiah later said Dave was killed by moonshiners in Tennessee, but also told his children he never saw Dave again after they parted in Kansas. One colorful legend, published in Frontier Times magazine in 1963, claimed Mather was hunting cattle rustlers in northern Mexico in 1889 when his posse encountered a silver bowl in the sky. Mather went down a canyon alone and never came out, while the strange craft rose into the sky and vanished. His horse was found, fully saddled, but there was no sign of Mather.
There is no contemporary record of this story, and it was almost certainly invented, but it endures. The truth is, nobody knows for certain what happened to Mysterious Dave Mather. He left no grave, no body, and no final dramatic shootout.
He simply vanished, fitting for a man known for his elusiveness.
