Horus Tabor was one of the most powerful men in the American West, a Colorado silver magnate who rose from shopkeeper to U. S. senator. But his empire and reputation collapsed around a personal scandal that defined the end of his life: he left his wife of over twenty years for a beautiful young woman half his age, and the resulting controversy followed him until his death in poverty.
The story centers on what became known as the Tabor triangle—Horus, his first wife Augusta, and his second wife Elizabeth “Baby Doe” McCourt. Set against the backdrop of Colorado’s silver boom, it is a saga of ambition, extravagance, betrayal, and ultimately ruin that remains one of the most dramatic rise-and-fall tales of the Old West. Horus Tabor was born on April 6, 1830, in Holland, Vermont, to Cornelius Dunham Tabor and Sarah Farrin. He left home at nineteen to work in the stone quarries of Massachusetts and Maine, where he found employment under William B.
Pierce, a quarry owner who would later become his father-in-law. Augusta Pierce grew up in a comfortable middle-class home, one of ten children. Though often in delicate health, she was known for her resilience and determination. Horus and Augusta began a quiet courtship that led to marriage.
In 1855, Horus became involved with the New England Immigrant Aid Society, which encouraged anti-slavery settlers to move to Kansas. He established a homestead in what became known as Tabor Valley in present-day Riley County, and his dedication earned him a seat in the Free Soil legislature, a political body representing anti-slavery settlers during a period of significant unrest. In early 1857, Horus returned to Maine to marry Augusta, and the newlyweds traveled back to Kansas. Augusta struggled to adjust to frontier life—the unfamiliar climate, basic accommodations, and isolation took a toll on her spirit—but she remained committed to supporting her husband’s efforts.
News of gold discoveries in the area that would become Colorado sparked Horus’s interest. In the spring of 1859, Horus and Augusta, along with their infant son Maxcy and two friends from Maine, left their homestead and followed the Republican River Trail through uncharted stretches of northern Kansas and southern Nebraska, eventually reaching Denver. The six-week trek was grueling: while the men hunted, Augusta kept the fire going using dried buffalo dung, since wood was nearly impossible to find on the open plains. In the spring of 1860, the Tabers set out again, this time aiming for California Gulch, south of what would become Leadville.
The route presented major challenges—hauling heavily loaded wagons over snowy mountain passes. At one harrowing river crossing, the wagon bed began to lift in the fast-moving current, threatening to carry Augusta and baby Maxcy downstream. Clutching overhanging branches, she held on long enough for the men to pull her to safety, though the strain left her briefly unconscious. When they arrived at California Gulch, Augusta became the first known woman to settle in the camp.
She served as cook, laundress, informal banker, and postmistress. She and Horus used gold scales they had brought to weigh miners’ gold dust, earning both trust and income. The couple moved between mining camps along the eastern slope of the Continental Divide, including Payne’s Bar, now Idaho Springs, Oro City, and Buckskin Joe. Rather than relying solely on prospecting, they found steady income as merchants, with Augusta boarding miners and running the household while Horus managed their business ventures.
They were respected for their integrity. Horus earned admiration for his generosity, though Augusta recognized that his giving nature could become a financial liability. As the more cautious partner, she took charge of saving and managing their resources. By the late 1870s, shortly before Horus’s great silver strike, the couple had quietly built a solid financial foundation worth around $40,000.
In July 1877, the Tabers settled in Leadville, where they built a home and opened a general store. Horus became an influential figure, serving as the town’s first mayor and postmaster. The following spring, two German prospectors, August Rische and George Hook, approached him with a familiar request: would he grubstake their mining venture? Tabor agreed, providing $17 worth of supplies initially and additional goods later, totaling $54, in exchange for a one-third share in any discoveries.
On April 15, 1878, the pair informed Tabor they had struck silver at their claim on Fryer Hill, which they named the Little Pittsburgh Mine. By midsummer, nearly 100 tons of silver ore had been extracted, and each partner was receiving $50,000 a month—a fortune in that era. Hook sold his share for $98,000, and Rische sold his interest to investors Jerome Chaffee and David Moffett for over $250,000. Tabor retained his portion and expanded his position, consolidating his stake with other claims.
The consolidated mine group divided $4 million in profits before Tabor sold his share for $1 million. His success continued. He acquired interests in other productive mines, including the Chrysolite, which generated $3 million in revenue before he sold his share for $1. 5 million.
In 1879, he purchased the Matchless Mine for $17,000—his first fully owned mine—and it soon produced as much as $2,000 in silver ore per day. Tabor reinvested in Leadville, helping establish two newspapers, opening a bank, and building a grand opera house. But Augusta did not share his excitement over their newfound wealth. While he embraced luxury, she refused to change her simple habits, continuing to dress modestly and live frugally.
After Tabor commissioned an elegant mansion in Denver, Augusta declined to use the master bedroom, choosing instead to live in the servants’ quarters near the kitchen—even keeping a cow tied outside the front door so she could personally handle the milking. By this time, Tabor had risen to Lieutenant Governor of Colorado. He felt increasingly uncomfortable with Augusta’s humble lifestyle, especially as he tried to align his public image with his political standing. The growing divide in their values created emotional distance, and Horus began to seek companionship elsewhere.
In 1880, a casual encounter at Denver’s Saddle Rock Café altered the course of his life. There he met Elizabeth McCourt, known as Baby Doe—strikingly beautiful and far more free-spirited than most women of her time. Her charm and ambition resonated with Tabor, who was by then celebrated as the Silver King. Baby Doe was born Elizabeth Bondu McCourt on October 7, 1854, in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, one of seven children.
She was often described as cherubic, with a spirited and independent personality. In the winter of 1876, she won a church-sponsored figure skating contest, an unusual achievement for a young woman at the time. Her victory caught the attention of Harvey Doe Jr. , the son of a prosperous family.
The couple married in 1877 despite disapproval from Harvey’s mother, who objected to Elizabeth’s Catholic faith and modest background. They set out for Colorado, where Harvey’s father held a partial interest in the Fourth of July Mine near Central City. “We’ll go west and make our fortune overnight in gold,” Harvey reportedly said. In the mining town, Elizabeth drew attention for her good looks and vibrant nature.
Harvey, however, struggled to succeed in the mine. Elizabeth eventually joined him underground, wearing miner’s clothes and helping with physical labor—a decision that went against the gender expectations of the time and made her a subject of local gossip. She was soon affectionately dubbed “Baby Doe,” a nickname that would follow her for the rest of her life. Financial troubles plagued the couple.
The mine produced less than hoped, and Harvey accumulated debt. He drifted between mining camps, often leaving Elizabeth alone for extended periods. During this time, she met Jacob Sandelowsky, a successful clothing merchant, who became a frequent companion. In late 1878, Elizabeth became pregnant, but Harvey was absent during this crucial period.
According to Baby Doe’s later recollections, it was Sandelowsky who provided essential help. On July 13, 1879, she gave birth to a stillborn baby boy. Sandelowsky covered the medical costs and made arrangements. Some have speculated he may have been the child’s father, but the truth remains uncertain.
The only personal record Baby Doe left was a handwritten note in her scrapbook: “My baby boy, born July 13th, 1879, had dark, dark hair, very curly, large blue eyes. He was lovely baby Doe, and was surrounded by dried flowers. ”
By 1880, Elizabeth filed for divorce on the grounds of non-support and moved to Leadville. Sandelowsky helped her settle into a boarding house and even proposed marriage, but she did not feel romantic love for him.
Within a few months, her path shifted when she met Horus Tabor. The connection between Tabor and Baby Doe appeared instantaneous. Their relationship developed quickly, and Horus soon moved her into a suite at the Clarendon Hotel in Leadville. At the time, he was still legally married to Augusta.
Eventually, he relocated Baby Doe to the elegant Windsor Hotel in Denver. Horus once reflected on the two women in his life, telling Baby Doe: “You’re always so gay and laughing, and yet you’re so brave. Augusta is a damn brave woman, too, but she’s powerfully disagreeable about it. ” While Baby Doe hastened the separation, she was not the root cause—both Horus and Augusta were strong-willed individuals whose shared resilience had turned into stubborn independence.
When Horus asked Augusta for a formal divorce, she declined. Determined to move forward, he arranged for a divorce proceeding in Durango, Colorado, but the legal grounds were questionable and it was later declared invalid. On September 30, 1882, he and Baby Doe married in a private ceremony in St. Louis, Missouri.
Augusta contested the divorce vigorously, and the ensuing legal dispute drew significant public attention. She requested a formal separation with financial support, estimating her husband’s wealth at over $9 million—a figure Horus disputed, since more reliable estimates placed his fortune closer to $3 million. After a lengthy legal battle, Augusta secured a settlement that included $100,000 in annual income, the family mansion in Denver, and various other holdings. Augusta eventually moved to Pasadena, California, where she lived out her later years in solitude.
She passed away on February 1, 1895, leaving her son Maxcy an estate valued at over $1. 5 million. Horus’s reputation continued to rise. Through political connections, he was appointed to fill a vacant U.
S. Senate seat for 30 days, beginning February 3, 1883. Near the end of his brief term, he and Baby Doe renewed their vows in a grand ceremony on March 1, 1883, in Washington, D. C.
The invitations featured genuine silver borders and silver embossed lettering. Baby Doe’s wedding gown reportedly cost $7,000, and Horus gifted her a diamond necklace valued at $75,000. President Chester Arthur attended, though the wives of dignitaries declined, signaling social disapproval. After the ceremony, the couple returned to Denver, where Horus purchased a large mansion for Baby Doe spanning an entire city block.
Despite the luxury, Baby Doe soon realized Denver’s upper-class society was not welcoming. Persistent rumors about her past in Central City circulated widely, and many prominent women declined to accept her socially. Nevertheless, the couple maintained a loving household for the next decade. Their home was known for extravagant features, including a hundred peacocks roaming the lawns and gardens decorated with provocative statues—which Baby Doe playfully had her dressmaker clothe.
The Tabers lived lavishly, spending up to $10,000 weekly on entertaining, travel, and luxuries. At the peak of their success, they were counted among the five wealthiest families in the United States. They welcomed two daughters: Lily, born July 13, 1884, and Silver Dollar, born December 17, 1889. Baby Doe, known as the Silver Queen of the West, formed friendships with actors and actresses at the Tabor Grand Opera House, who accepted her more readily than Denver’s social elite.
The Matchless Mine alone generated over $9 million in silver revenue. Between 1883 and 1893, the decade was marked by tremendous opportunity. But their prosperous era came to an abrupt close in 1893 when the United States adopted the gold standard, severely devaluing silver. Combined with heavily mortgaged properties and unprofitable ventures in Mexico and South America, the Tabers’ wealth quickly deteriorated.
Horus remained optimistic, but the family was forced to leave their grand mansion and move into a modest rented cottage. At age 65, Horus took on physically demanding work, shoveling slag from nearby mines for $3 a day, until he received an appointment as Denver’s postmaster one year before his passing. In April 1899, Horus became seriously ill with appendicitis. He died soon after.
While he was reported to have told Baby Doe to hold on to the Matchless Mine—“If I die, baby, it will make millions again when silver returns”—historians have questioned this statement, suggesting it may have been fabricated by writers aiming to sell books. Horus’s death was deeply mourned throughout Colorado. Flags were lowered to half-mast, and around 10,000 people attended his funeral. Baby Doe, then just 45 years old, chose not to remarry.
Instead, she dedicated herself to preserving the Matchless Mine, returning to Leadville with her two daughters and settling in a humble one-room building that had originally served as a tool shed at the mine. The modest living conditions were difficult for her eldest daughter, 15-year-old Lily, who resented the situation. Lily decided to leave, borrowing train fare from her uncle to move to Wisconsin and live with her grandmother—then cutting off all contact with her mother and sister. Silver Dollar, at just 10 years old, initially embraced the excitement of life at the mine.
She showed a strong interest in writing poetry, and with her mother’s encouragement, published several songs. One notable piece, composed to honor President Theodore Roosevelt’s 1908 visit to Leadville, was titled “President Roosevelt’s Colorado Hunt. ” In 1910, she performed the song for Roosevelt himself. However, as she grew older, heavy drinking became a concern.
After an incident involving a local saloon keeper, Baby Doe sent Silver Dollar to Denver for a fresh start. Silver Dollar found work at a newspaper and wrote a western novel titled “The Star of Blood,” but neither endeavor brought success. She later relocated to Chicago, telling her mother she planned to enter a convent if her writing career failed. Baby Doe never saw her daughter again.
In Chicago, Silver Dollar’s difficulties deepened. She became involved with drugs and drinking, performed with a burlesque troupe, and lived with a series of unsuitable partners—one of whom caused her death in a disturbing incident. She was only 35 years old. Baby Doe refused to believe the reports, maintaining that Silver Dollar was safely residing in a convent.
For the remaining 35 years of her life, she lived in the modest cabin near the mine, proud and independent, consistently rejecting charity. She made trips into town to buy supplies, paying with chunks of ore she collected on the property—though many shopkeepers who accepted the samples likely discarded the worthless rock soon after. Contrary to popular legend, Baby Doe did not hold on to the Matchless Mine because of Horus’s supposed last words. The mine had long been lost to foreclosure and proved unprofitable even under new ownership.
She remained at the cabin largely due to the kindness of the current mine owners, living out her days writing increasingly troubled reflections. As the years passed, Baby Doe faced increasing hardship. She wrapped her feet in burlap sacks secured with twine to protect them from harsh weather and relied on homemade remedies, treating herself with a mixture of turpentine and lard. Though compassionate neighbors provided basic essentials, her pride was such that she often returned food and clothing sent to her unopened.
In 1932, when a film about her life was released, promoters offered to cover her expenses and pay her to attend the Denver premiere. She declined. The following year, a priest and two lawyers urged her to file a libel lawsuit against the movie’s producers, promising a $50,000 settlement. She refused, confident the Matchless Mine would soon yield greater returns.
On February 20, 1935, Baby Doe made a difficult journey into town to gather supplies. A grocery delivery driver gave her a ride back and ensured she had enough food, water, and firewood. She documented the ordeal in her diary: “Went down to Leadville from Matchless. The snow was so deep I had to crawl on hands and knees from my cabin to Seventh Street.
Mr. Zaitz’s driver helped me to the cabin. I kept sinking into the snow. God bless him.
” He was the last person to see her alive. A fierce snowstorm persisted for several days. Concerned neighbors grew worried when no smoke was seen rising from her chimney. On March 7, 1935, they braved snowdrifts as high as six feet and found Baby Doe’s lifeless body on the floor of her small cabin.
Later reports indicated she likely suffered a heart attack. She was buried at Mount Olivet Cemetery in Denver beside her husband. The cabin where she spent many years alone was soon ransacked by souvenir hunters. Following her death, 17 iron trunks stored in Denver were opened along with several gunny sacks and four trunks left at a Leadville hospital.
The remnants of the once vast Tabor fortune consisted mainly of exquisite bolts of unused fabric, a few pieces of china and a tea set, some jewelry—including a diamond and sapphire ring—and the watch fob and chain Horus received at the grand opening of the $700,000 Tabor Opera House. Baby Doe’s life became legendary, inspiring two books, a Hollywood film, two operas, a German-language stage play, a musical, a screenplay, and a one-woman performance. In 1938, the last person to explore the Matchless Mine found plenty of silver remaining, though not enough to cover the costs of extraction. Today, the Matchless Mine and Baby Doe’s one-room cabin have been carefully restored to reflect their original condition.
Old newspapers line the walls, and a framed statue of the Virgin Mary still hangs above the narrow bed. The cabin was officially opened to the public as a historic site in 1953. The mine’s 365-foot shaft on Fryer Hill was permanently sealed for safety, though visitors can still see the wooden headframe, the rusting iron bucket, and a scale model of the mine’s seven levels inside the hoist house. The story of the Tabor Triangle is a vivid reminder that the American Old West was a place where fortunes could be made and lost overnight, and where lives were forever changed by ambition, love, and controversy.
From humble beginnings to dazzling wealth and the scandals that followed, the Tabers’ legacy captures the wild, unpredictable spirit of the era.