By the time he was hanged in 1903, Augustine Chacón had become the most notorious Mexican outlaw in the Arizona Territory. His alleged crimes had made him a virtual legend, but the facts show that Chacón wasn't the bloodthirsty fiend he was made out to be. Journalists of the era chased sensationalist stories, pandering to a readership that longed for excitement. Each retelling of Chacón's exploits added outlandish details, painting the escaped prisoner as a brutal gunman responsible for as many as fifty-two murders. In reality, Augustine Chacón may not even have killed the man he was hanged for shooting. Join author David Grassé as he uncovers the true story of Arizona's most enduring criminal legend.

By the time he was hanged in 1903, Augustine Chacón had become the most notorious Mexican outlaw in the Arizona Territory. His alleged crimes had made him a virtual legend, but the facts show that Chacón wasn't the bloodthirsty fiend he was made out to be. Journalists of the era chased sensationalist stories, pandering to a readership that longed for excitement. Each retelling of Chacón's exploits added outlandish details, painting the escaped prisoner as a brutal gunman responsible for as many as fifty-two murders. In reality, Augustine Chacón may not even have killed the man he was hanged for shooting. Join author David Grassé as he uncovers the true story of Arizona's most enduring criminal legend.

By the time he was hanged in 1903, Augustine Chacón had become the most notorious Mexican outlaw in the Arizona Territory. His alleged crimes had made him a virtual legend, but the facts show that Chacón wasn't the bloodthirsty fiend he was made out to be. Journalists of the era chased sensationalist stories, pandering to a readership that longed for excitement. Each retelling of Chacón's exploits added outlandish details, painting the escaped prisoner as a brutal gunman responsible for as many as fifty-two murders. In reality, Augustine Chacón may not even have killed the man he was hanged for shooting. Join author David Grassé as he uncovers the true story of Arizona's most enduring criminal legend.

In 1854, the United States acquired the roughly 30,000-square-mile region of present-day southern Arizona and southwestern New Mexico from Mexico as part of the Gadsden Purchase. This new Southern Corridor was ideal for train routes from Texas to California, and soon tracks were laid for the Southern Pacific and Santa Fe rail lines. Shipping goods by train was more efficient, and for desperate outlaws and opportunistic lawmen, robbing trains was high-risk, high-reward. The Southern Corridor was the location of sixteen train robberies between 1883 and 1922. It was also the homebase of cowboy-turned-outlaw Black Jack Ketchum’s High Five Gang. Most of these desperadoes rode the rails to Arizona’s Cochise County on the US-Mexico border where locals and lawmen alike hid them from discovery. Both Wyatt Earp and Texas John Slaughter tried to clean them out, but it took the Arizona Rangers to finish the job. It was a time and place where posses were as likely to get arrested as the bandits. Some of the Rangers and some of Slaughter’s deputies were train robbers. When rewards were offered there were often so many claimants that only the lawyers came out ahead. Southwest Train Robberies chronicles the train heists throughout the region at the turn of the twentieth century, and the robbers who pulled off these train jobs with daring, deceit, and plain dumb luck! Many of these blundering outlaws escaped capture by baffling law enforcement. One outlaw crew had their own caboose, Number 44, and the railroad shipped them back and forth between Tucson and El Paso while they scouted locations. Legend says one gang disappeared into Colossal Cave to split the loot leaving the posse out front while they divided the cash and escaped out another entrance. The antics of these outlaws inspired Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid to blow up an express car and to run out guns blazing into the fire of a company of soldiers.

This collection of fifty outlaw tales includes well-knowns such as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Frank and Jesse James, Belle Starr (and her dad), and Pancho Villa, along with a fair smattering of women, organized crime bosses, smugglers, and of course the usual suspects: highwaymen, bank and train robbers, cattle rustlers, snake-oil salesmen, and horse thieves. Men like Henry Brown and Burt Alvord worked on both sides of the law either at different times of their lives or simultaneously. Clever shyster Soapy Smith and murderer Martin Couk survived by their wits, while the outlaw careers of the dimwitted DeAutremont brothers and bigmouthed Diamondfield Jack were severely limited by their intellect, or lack thereof. Nearly everyone in these pages was motivated by greed, revenge, or a lethal mixture of the two. The most bloodthirsty of the bunch, such as the heartless (and, some might argue, soulless) Annie Cook and trigger-happy Augustine Chacón, surely had evil written into their very DNA.

True stories of the Grand Canyon state's most infamous robbers, rustlers, and bandits.