Little-Known Wham Paymaster Robbery is Among Old Arizona’s Most Brazen

Gold Coins

The arid desert south of Thatcher is the site of the Wham paymaster robbery which, despite the name, had nothing to so with “wham,” “bam” or other common Batman terms.

It’s so named because, on May 11, 1889, a band of robbers ambushed a group of soldiers carrying a U.S. Army payroll to Fort Thomas and Maj. Thomas W. Wham was in charge of the unit. After a lengthy gun battle, the outlaws made off with $28,345.10 in gold and silver coins.

Eleven men were arrested in connection with the robbery; only seven stood trial in Federal Court. But, despite overwhelming evidence from the soldiers, all were found not guilty and none of the money was ever recovered.

The Fall (and Rise?) of Notorious Train Robber Burt Alvord

Burt Alvord

Burt Alvord was a big, strapping, swarthy-looking char­acter with a bald pate and an I.Q. that was said to be considerably less than his age, which was about 30. Alvord did have a few positive attributes. He was usually cheerful, had a sense of humor and was a mighty popular fellow in Cochise County during the 1890s. He’d been a deputy for county sheriff John Slaughter, who’d pronounced him abso­lutely fearless.

Burt was also pretty good with a six-shooter. Old timers said he demonstrated his prowess at beer bottles hung from a tree limb by a string. He’d shoot the string with his right hand, then draw with the left and break the bottle before it hit the ground.

His major interests seem to have been poker, pool, horses, guns and practical jokes.

History, Theories Surrounding the Lost Dutchman Mine

Superstition Mountains

Arizona’s most notorious lost treasure story for both believers and otherwise takes place in the mysterious Superstition Mountains.

The rugged range of mountains east of the Salt River Valley encom­passes some of the most breathtaking, untouched wilderness recesses in America. There is also an aura of mystical beauty that can possess the soul. They are regarded as religious shrines by both the Pimas and Apaches. They provided the setting for much bloody violence between those warring tribes before the coming of the white man. During the latter part of the 19th century, the mountains became a formidable sanctuary and one of the last vestiges of the Apaches who refused to become reservation Indians. They used the twisting canyons and impenetrable maze of rocks, defying sustained efforts by the military, for over twenty years.

Death of Old Arizona Gunslinger Inspires Well-Known Western Axiom

Old Western Weapons

Bill Downing was one of the most disliked fellows in old Arizona. He was moody, morose, bad-tempered, sullen and surly. That was when he was sober. He got downright mean and ugly when he was drinking ol’ red-eye.

He was so unpopular that even members of his gang couldn’t stand him. It’s a historical fact that one time when Bill and several other members of the Alvord gang were languishing in the Tombstone jail on a train robbery charge, a crony broke in and freed the other outlaws but left Bill locked in his cell.

He was so bad that the only thing good one could say about him was he wasn’t as despicable sometimes as he was usually.

If I seem to have painted ol’ Bill with a jaundiced brush, it’s because he likely would have wanted it that way. If he had any good qualities history has mislaid them like some old lost gold mine.

The Story of Frank Murphy’s Impossible Railroad

railroad crossing

At the peak of its prosperity, the fabled Bradshaw Moun­tains of central Arizona produced a king’s ransom in gold and silver. Towns and mines with picturesquely whimsical names like Bueno, Turkey Creek, Tiger, Tip Top, Oro Belle and Big Bug were peopled with boisterous devil-may-care miners aptly described as unmarried, unchurched and unwashed. Each community boasted it was built atop the madre del oro and its streets would soon be cobbled with golden nuggets.

In 1899, the vast riches inspired railroad entrepreneur Frank Murphy to extend his Prescott and Eastern Line from Mayer into the heart of the great mountains. Although Murphy was warned he’d be stopped by this maze of rugged, perpendicular grades laced with canyons so steep that big horn sheep had to shut their eyes and walk sideways, he was determined to meet the challenge of the mountains. That’s why it’s best-remembered as Frank Murphy’s Impossible Railroad.