The reasons I continue to hang around the southwestern United States are many, and the area's many historical attributes are high on the list. The area near my home in southwestern New Mexico abounds with tales of the Old West. The rough, mountainous terrain has been the setting for many celebrated incidents and many not so celebrated.

Banditry near the border has been commonplace for centuries, and the participants have been from a wide range of backgrounds. Europeans, Apaches, Mexicans and gringos have all been involved in assorted levels of violent crime.

I've had the good fortune of running across a few old guns here and there and have always been intrigued with the mysteries of their previous ownership. A few years back I lucked into a pair of pistols that had been unearthed by a couple of youngsters playing near an ancient adobe hut outside of Deming, New Mexico. The guns were in unremarkable condition after being buried for many years, wrapped in burlap. One was a Colt 1878 double-action .45, the barrel cut down to snubnose length with a hacksaw, and the other a Smith & Wesson .38 "lemon squeezer." I've always longed to know the story behind the pair, which could well have been used by outlaws or some such in the old days.

Deming has a history of hostility on the level of many more infamous western towns, as confirmed by one particular incident years ago that resulted in the death of Luna County Sheriff Dwight B. Stephens. It was February 1916, and the Luna County Jail was being occupied by several bad hombres, including C. Schmidt and Jesse Starr, who'd robbed the Palace Saloon, along with another crook named W.F. Dashley. When jailer Emzie Tabor entered the three's cell one morning, they jumped him, relieving him of his sidearm and jail keys. They locked Tabor in the cell, then released two other prisoners, Francisco Acosta and Joe Cranston.

A con man and embezzler by trade, Dashley phoned the local Ford dealership and ordered a car, stating that it was needed to transport a prisoner for medical treatment. Meanwhile, the other outlaws raided the jailhouse arsenal, capturing a supply of rifles, handguns and ammo.

Later, the wife of a prisoner discovered Tabor--along with the Ford dealership owner who had unwittingly delivered the getaway car--locked in the cell. Tabor notified Sheriff Stephens of the event, and a posse was formed.

The posse trailed the gang into the rough desert mountains on the Luna/Dona Ana county line. They discovered the crooks in a rough little canyon having a picnic. The deputies and sneaked up the canyon on foot, hoping to get the upper hand. Sheriff Stephens and two other men almost walked by the outlaws in the thick brush of the canyon. When they spotted the escapees, one of the deputies hollered to them to show their hands. The gang answered with a hail of gunfire, which was returned by the lawmen. Starr was wounded and Cranson killed in the fray, along with Sheriff Stephens, who was the first to die. Acosta, Schmidt and Dashley managed to escape through the brush.

A full-scale manhunt was organized. The posse grew to include volunteers from Deming along with a detachment of soldiers from nearby Camp Luna and the Dona Ana County Sheriff Felipe Lucero and his men.

Acosta and Schmidt were run down quickly, but Dashley got away. He was arrested some months later in Reno, Nevada, then extradited to New Mexico to stand trial.

A New Mexico jury convicted Starr and Dashley of murdering Sheriff Stephens. Both men were hanged. Schmidt was convicted of second-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison. Acosta was acquitted, though he was sentenced to 20 years in prison for a previous New Mexico killing.

The murder of Sheriff Stephens was a sad chapter in the history of Luna County and southern New Mexico, but by no means was it isolated.

Each time I discover an aging firearm from the old days, my mind gets to wandering about it. Now, if we could just get those guns to cough up their stories...