A TRAIL OF BLOOD  

The early settlers of Colorado in which Leadville is situated, could furnish material for a history of the state that would cast in the shade the romances of Cooper and contemporaneous historians.  The old class of Coloradoans are fast disappearing-the ranks of the pioneers are being rapidly thinned by the grim reaper- and if ever a history of the state is to be compiled, the author should begin to gather data at once, as in a few years hence there will be nothing except hearsay to depend upon.  Here is a chapter of early history that is as true as it is strange, and the facts of which are well remembered by a few of Leadville’s oldest citizens.

            The settlement of Colorado was only four years old in 1863, but the gold excitement had brought into the territory a large and hardy population  of pioneers.  Aside from Denver-  which was then a cluster of shanties and tents, there were few towns, save in southern Colorado, where the nomadic Mexican element had established several small camps.  A few hardy pioneers had pushed out, however, and settled Breckenridge, Fairplay, Oro (California Gulch), and other specks of civilization in the foothills.  There was much excitement here then, both from local and outside causes, and the life of the pioneer was anything but an uneventful one. The eastern states were convulsed by the civil war, and the red man was creating an era of terror in the west. 

            The mining camps  were filled with desperadoes and there was no law except that administered by the court of Judge Lynch  Each camp was ruled by a body of vigilantes, and murder was popular.  The days of 1863 were troublous ones in the young territory.  One day in March, 1863, nine men were found dead along the trails’ near Canon City, each man with a bullet in his head, and so nearly similar were the wounds that the mysterious assassinations naturally gave rise to much speculation.  Then it was discovered that a few weeks before two men had been similarly killed in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and the dead body of a soldier had been found at Conejos with the gaping bullet-hole in the head.  It was found the a trail of blood had been started in the City of the Saints, in New Mexico, and was slowly wending its way northward.  The trail spread rapidly from Canon  City into the mountains, and it was a daily occurrence to find dead bodies with the fatal bullet-hole to the head.   

            The entire country was alarmed, and a reign of terror inaugurated.  Men were afraid to go forth alone, and even bodies of two and three were sometimes found with the terrible death-wound in the skull.  Miners trudging their weary way through the hills, teamsters, soldiers, met their fate alike.  One single fact appeared to be this, that all were killed on the wagon roads or on the trails; none were ever found off the beaten paths. Of coarse, the people became appalled, and hardly ever dared to venture beyond the reach of immediate aid.  No one could tell from what concealment the messenger of death - that had never missed its mark - might in its turn reach him.  Dread dispair prevailed; the fear of an unknown foe pervaded the hearts of those pioneers who dared face any danger openly.  In fact, a reign of terror prevailed.  The assassinations became more frequent.  Men would leave their cabins, camps, or the mountain cities for remote sections, only to be found, perhaps, a few days later by more fortunate travelers dead, and in their skulls a small hole through which their lives went out. 

            Finally a company of twenty volunteers was raised in Fairplay, and the first work this company did was to punish a band of notorious thieves that had been engaged robbing miner’s cabins and flumes, and who were well known.  A few days later the band of volunteers, in scouring the neighborhood, found a trail in the lower part of the South Park that led towards Central City.  It was early in the forenoon when the trail was struck.  They at once took it up, and after having traveled some distance in the mountains came, about noon, upon two horses feeding.  This was to them a strange discovery, as this was not a region where prospecting was then carried on.  It was the work of  a moment to conceal themselves.  Shortly after two men appeared.  They had evidently made their camp here for the day, for just beyond the horses a small fire was burning and beyond doubt they were partaking of their meal. 

            Wily as these men were they had been taken unawares.  The scouting party had drawn upon them before they were aware of their presence. Certain that these were the men they sought, and with the memory of their fiendish deeds before them, rifles were at once brought to bear and bullets sent speeding on their deathly errands.  The larger of the two men fell, but was not killed.  Raising himself upon one arm, he fought like a wounded tiger.  His unerring aim brought down two of his adversaries before a second bullet struck him and laid him dead.  The other man, the younger one, was evidently unharmed by the first volley, for with the agility of a goat, he sprang into the rocks, scrambled away and made his escape.   

            These two men were the notorious Espinosas,,, out-laws from Mexico, two cousins.  This was discovered when the body of the dead assassin was examined, as well as the saddle-bags, which were found near the fire.  In a buckskin bag suspended about his neck was an illiterate Spanish manuscript written by the elder Espinosa.  It consisted of a single prayer and what was evidently intended as a statement of the purpose for which he had set out upon this mission of blood.  From these it was learned that he had begun as a religious monomaniac.  His father, it appeared, had been guilty of murder, and, so ran the manuscript, this present elder Espinosa had been impelled by his patron saint to commit these deeds for the purpose of expiating the father’s sin which had been visited upon him.  To do this he was to murder fifty victims, and to go on, until this was done - but all his victims must be white men.   

            Not until this was accomplished could he hope to merit favor from his ruling spirit; never would its smile fall upon him and his father’s s in be atoned until this was done.  With this task before him, he enlisted a cousin in his cause, and together they started north from Chihuahua.  It was a trail of blood they left behind them.  From a record the older Espinosa had kept he had at the time murdered thirty white men, twenty-seven of whom had been killed in Colorado, after leaving Conejos.  He was a large, coarse, hard-visaged ruffian, while his companion was small, and, as near as could be judged by those who saw him on the day of the encounter, of no particular individuality. 

            It was evident that gain had played no part in this mission of the elder Espinosa.  None of the bodies of the victims had been robbed, as had been noted by the people of the neighborhood where they were found from time to time.  The arch-assassin was meanly clad in buckskin; there was nothing in his saddle-bags beyond what has already been mentioned, save ammunition.  Murder alone was the object of this maniac.  The scouting party searched several days for the younger Espinosa, but without success.  No trace was ever found. 

            The head of the dead outlaw was cut from the body and was taken back to Fairplay as a trophy of the remarkable chase.  For years the skull was in the possession of a well known physician in southern Colorado, while a knife the assassin carried was long preserved among the territorial properties.  His rifle, which had carried death to so many victims, can be seen any day in Denver in the home of an old mountaineer.   The gentleman to whom the pubic are indebted for this chapter of almost forgotten history is now a resident of Red Rock Ridge, and it is to be hoped that he may contribute more reminiscences of the early days of the Centennial State.-Leadville Democrat.