Deadly Dozen: Twelve Forgotten Gunfighters of the Old West
By: Robert DeArment
Publisher: University of Oklahoma Press, 2003                                        
266 pp, including photos, index, bibliography and endnotes                                      

Review by: The Man Behind the Mask

Let’s be upfront about things. Bob DeArment is a friend of mine. We have a business relationship (more about that at some later point).

I think his books on Bat Masterson and Frank Canton are outstanding. In fact, I generally have great admiration for his work.

All of that aside—I hope—I like the Deadly Dozen. A lot.

Sure, I’d read some things on a few of them: Barney Riggs, Dan Tucker, Jeff Kidder. I’d vaguely heard of others, including Milt Yarberry and Bill Standifer. But the rest of these guys were new to me: John Bull, Pat Desmond, Mart Duggan, George Goodell, Charley Perry, Dan Bogan, and Dave Kemp. Of course, change a couple of things and John Ringo would be forgotten to history—and the same can be said about many other “popular” gunmen (or “glorified gunfighters,” as Richard Maxwell Brown calls them).

It’s not clear exactly why DeArment chose these 12. As he notes, there were thousands of men who were proficient with guns and unafraid to use them. Many of them worked on both sides of the law, depending on the situation of the moment. Several were sporting men, gamblers who as a matter of course had to protect their interests (and lives).

Some were educated, like college man Jeff Kidder. Others, like Milt Yarberry, were illiterates. Several had drinking problems that only increased their inclinations to fight. A few were crazy, probably—Barney Riggs, Dan Bogan. Some preferred using long guns. Others were pistoleers. Most died violently. A couple lived to old age.

The one characteristic they all had in common was their willingness to use a gun to deadly effect. And that seems to define the word “gunfighter” as well as any phrase.

It would be folly to try to give a rundown on all of these characters; heck, that’s what the book does. But a bit of information on Pat Desmond will give you the flavor the work.

Desmond was born in Ireland in 1842 before his family moved to the U.S. in 1864. Pat gradually made his way West, working on the railroads, overseeing wagon trains, acted as a watchman for Wells Fargo and as a detective for the Union Pacific. In 1870, Desmond became a lawman at Kit Carson, Colorado, where he teamed up with Bear River Tom Smith to establish law and order. He later moved to the south Colorado town of Pueblo, where he served in various capacities over the next several years. In 1879, he became involved in a dispute between the Santa Fe and Rio Grande railroads.

The two companies were fighting for the right of way through Royal Gorge on up to Leadville. A group of gunmen hired by the Santa Fe—including Bat Masterson, Ben Thompson and Doc Holliday-- took over the roundhouse at Pueblo. Pat Desmond was charged with driving them out. One man was killed and several were wounded before a cease-fire was called.

Outside of that even, Desmond built up a big reputation as a detective and as a lawman who brought back his man. But he was having money problems. And he tried to hide in the bottle. That, of course, only pushed Desmond into rash and angry reactions. In 1882, when one of his officers was accused of brutalizing a black citizen, Desmond fired the man—who went for his gun. Desmond drew down, fired and wounded the ex-policeman, and then fired another officer for not backing him up. A city council investigation reinstated the two officers—and dumped Desmond. Things went downhill from there, as two of Pat’s children died of diphtheria and his wife divorced him.

A year later, he got into another shutout with another policeman. Both were hurt in the fight, and two innocent bystanders were also wounded. Charges were filed against Desmond, but they were dropped for lack of evidence. Soon after, a livery he owned burned to the ground and Desmond became even more combative. Between 1883 and 1887, he was frequently arrested for getting involved in saloon brawls.

In 1887, Desmond was involved in a money dispute with an emigrant agent. When the man failed to repay a loan, Desmond threatened him—and he proceeded to put two bullets into the detective. When he recovered, Desmond moved to Ogden, Utah. The saloon brawling continued, and in one incident he pulled a gun and tried to shoot his opponent. The bullet only grazed the man.

The next contretemps was Desmond’s one too many. He became embroiled in a dispute with one of his ex-employees. In 1890, the two were drinking in a saloon when Pat tried to goad the other man into a fight—he pulled a handkerchief and gloves from the pockets of the other guy. The man responded by pulling a pistol and firing five bullets into Desmond, who died on the spot. The killer went to jail but was released within three years. He immediately got into another gunfight.

And that’s one of the real treasures of this book. Many of the secondary characters were gunmen in their own right. Some of them deserve additional research and attention.

Okay, you can quibble with DeArment on a few things. Pat Desmond didn’t have many notches on his gun. Neither did Arizona Ranger Jeff Kidder. So “deadly” may be a little bit of a stretch, especially if you’re comparing these guys to John Wesley Hardin or Pink Higgins (who, by the way, killed Bill Standifer—that’s in Chapter 7) or others. And some of these stories bring in a large number of characters. My impression is that the Dave Kemp chapter lost a bit of the focus on the main character.

But that’s being picky.

Bob DeArment has done his usual great job of research; in fact, he cites the very recent books on Barney Riggs and Dangerous Dan Tucker. The writing is clean and concise. And the concept is stong; most of us love to hear about relative unknowns.

So Deadly Dozen hits the mark on practically every count. And that, friends, is very good shooting.

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