U BAR RANCH

Producing southwestern Angus cattle that “Fit the Bill”

• Performance in the feedlot and on the range.

• Raising quality Registered Angus cattle since 1991.

• Bulls available private treaty or at the annual Black Angus “Ready for Work” Bull Sale – March 13, 2023 - Belen, NM

On November 5, 1883, Fowler received the proceeds from the sale and deposited the money in a Socorro bank. Following his usual pattern, he began drinking that afternoon, and in the early morning hours of November 6, he was still at it. As the hours advanced and he became more and more unpleasant, some of his fellow drinkers took his gun away from him before he could cause any real damage. Some time after that, a salesman from the east, James Cale, arrived on the scene. The stories about how he happened to be there varied widely, but however it was, he managed to anger Fowler who pulled a knife he had concealed in his boot. He promptly stabbed Cale in the chest. Cale died a few hours later, but before he did, he managed to make a statement in which he swore that Joel Fowler was the man who killed him.

Fowler was soon locked up in the county jail. Many citizens feared, though, that with all his money—a banker said he had more than $100,000 on deposit—Fowler would escape justice, and proof of that assertion arrived when noted Santa Fe lawyer Tom Catron was hired to defend him. Local folks were also concerned that some of Fowler’s Texas friends, all gunmen, would arrive in

Socorro to rescue their friend. Some did, in fact, appear but were promptly escorted to the train station and sent on their way.

Joel was tried in early December and convicted. Anxiety grew when Catron appealed the conviction to the territorial Supreme Court. The local vigilante group, known as Los Colgadores, or “the hangers”, took steps to assure that Fowler did not escape. Worry continued to grow. At one point, a militia unit was assigned to guard the jail, but toward the middle of January, it was withdrawn. Things were reaching a flash point. That was compounded by Sheriff Pedro Simpson’s departure from town in pursuit of train robbers.

On January 23, near midnight, about 200 of the vigilantes arrived at the jail. The jailer could offer no resistance. Fowler was removed from his cell and taken outside to a waiting buckboard. Some reports of the day asserted that he yelled bloody murder and resisted the vigilantes with all his might. At one point he was said to have cried out for help from the angels in Heaven for rescue. Legend holds that a man in the crowd replied, “It’s a cold night for angels, Joe. Better call on someone nearer town.” No help arrived, and the buckboard drove away and left Fowler hanging. One source reported that the hanging was botched, and some of the vigilantes were obliged to grab him and apply their weight to his to strangle him. Others said they thought Fowler was dead before he was hanged; dead from fright. Yet others reported that some members of the crowd shot Fowler to make sure he was dead.

Almost the end of the story.

An item in the New Mexico Historical Review, dated January 1965, included a version of the hanging offered by one Chester Potter, who claimed he was among the vigilantes when Joel was sent on his final journey. He wrote:

“The ‘vigilantes’ took their man [Fowler] up McCutcheon Avenue … [to a] huge cottonwood tree. En route to nature’s gibbet, Fowler repeatedly requested that he be shot instead of ‘strangled,’ as termed it. He was told this was impossible. He did not whine but presented his proposition in a cool and businesslike manner.

“At the tree the leaders asked for a rope and for a moment it seemed as though this necessary item of equipment had been forgotten. However, Arthur Goebel gravely announced… that he would furnish the hemp. Goebel removed his [overcoat] disclosing a rope wound around his body. Somebody grabbed a free end while others caught hold and in an instant Goebel became a human reel. He was rolled some distance before the rope was entirely separated from his body. Fowler heartily joined in the laughter which greeted this little by-play. A noose was quickly fashioned, placed around his neck, the rope thrown over a limb, and being told that if had anything to say, to say it quick, he inquired: ‘Can I climb up, jump off and pop my neck?’ The answer was ‘no,’ and then he said: ‘It’s a damn tough country where you have to climb for water, dig for wood, and they call corn ‘mice” (maise). I’ll take my medicine like a little man.’ Those were his last words.”

RANCH FOOD & FODDER

by Deanna Dickinson McCall

February may mean the beginning of calving, or it may mean big snowstorms.

If you’re in the southern end of the state it probably means dusty winds. It is also the time to celebrate your sweetheart, with Valentine’s Day.

When we were ranching in Nevada, we had a massive storm come in late January, sealing us off from the world. I wrote the full version of the following story in Mustang Spring, my first book. I’ve condensed it here. No one could reach us, and we couldn’t get out through the huge frozen drifts of snow. We had a couple hundred head of mother cows to feed every day, and it took all day to just get them fed. The zero and below temperatures were awful tough on the stock and on us. As if it wasn’t already hard enough to get equipment started and running, we began to run out of hay and fuel. It had been three weeks since the road was opened.

When we were finally able to get a path plowed in and fuel and hay were delivered to us, it was a huge relief. However, the weather warned of winds and more snow the next day. We got quick baths and headed for town to get some groceries. Just to have clean hair and clean clothes and not be wearing insulated coveralls reeking of manure and diesel felt wonderful. We’d had very little variety of food in the last few weeks. I was about out of ideas of how to make beans taste different. After getting groceries and whatever we needed we decided to stop and grab a meal