The Tales of Chavez, Part One

By Frank Chavez

Frank Chavez, who was born in Tularosa, grew up listening to the stories of his beloved grandmother, Louisa. As she relayed fascinating tales about her father Jose Chavez-one of two regulators who was not gunned down by the law back in those days. The other being Billy Bonnie. Frank learned the art of storytelling and how each tale held the power to keep his spirited relatives alive for future generations.
As Frank leads others through these stories, he provides a glimpse back into a time when securing the proper trade at the general store could be a matter of life or death for a loved one.
In his diverse collection, Chavez retells compelling tales of his great-grandfathers relentless search for his spirit guide, his trading adventures, his experiences during the bloody slaughter at the Dragoon, and his friendship with Billy the Kid- the one the law attempted to kill but never could.
The Tales of Chavez, Part One shares a collection of stories that highlight the adventures of one mans ancestor as he attempted to make his mark on the world and learned that there are consequences for every decision.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jun 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480831643

Frank Chavez

The Author was born in Tularosa, N.M. at the old Tulie Clinic, next to the old Tulie Café. Born November 23, 1963, at 12:04 a.m. The very day after President Kennedy was killed. In fact, his mother says it was the news of the assassination that sent her into labor on the 22nd, while she was sitting there having a soda at the café with her sister, Helen, which sent her into labor! His parents lived in Alamogordo. Theirs is a long love and hate story. On his mother’s side, both of his great grandfathers had fought each other in The Battle of Round Mountain near Mescalero, as scribed into the annals of the Catholic Church at Tularosa. His father served honorably in Korea, making four jumps with the U.S. Army Airborne. Each time fighting his way back below the 38th Parallel.

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Copyright © 2016 Frank Chavez.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-3163-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-3164-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016907675

Archway Publishing rev. date: 8/19/2016

CONTENTS

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter 1    Tunstall

Chapter 2    The Spirit Cloud

Chapter 3    Spirits in a Bottle

Chapter 4    The Slaughter at the Dragoon

Chapter 5    Fishing

Chapter 6    A Long Dream

Chapter 7    La Mesilla

The Hunt, Part One

Chapter 8    A Long Night

Chapter 9    The Killing of Garrett

About The Author

LouisaChavezPg.3.jpg

Louisa Chavez

Circa 1910

INTRODUCTION

These are some of the stories that were told to me by my mother’s family, My Aunts and Uncles, Cousins, as they remember them.

But mostly, My Grandmother Louisa, about my Great Grandfather, the only regulator who wasn’t gunned down by the law in those days.

And although they tried, they never killed Billy either.

My Grandmother Louisa, who grew up on the Mountain very near to Ruidoso, would tell us stories of her Father. These tales would also include some of his friends. She also remembered the stories of how Garrett (and remember, these are just stories that she would tell me) paid for his crimes, the hard way.

My Grandma always told the truth, and she had no reason to lie to me about her father.

She just lived life and didn’t care about anyone outside of her family, but was smart enough to remember what was going on in the world around her!

PROLOGUE

I miss the old days. Not having to care where you were going to be tomorrow, or with who. Because we all rode together and we had each other’s back. And our families, well, they knew we’d be around when we could, to tell them the news of where we were, what was going on in the valley, and everywhere else we’d been.

My brother was raised by his dad on his ranch, by the Rio Hondo. My mother took me and my sister to live with the Indians in Mescalero. I never knew who my dad was, but my mom was a full blooded Apache, and so was my sister Maria Louisa. My brother was half Mexican and so was I. I’ll let you figure that one out!

I was the one who always got in fights with the other kids at school, because I was not Indian in their eyes. Maybe it was the blue eyes? So I was always running away to my brothers and his dads to escape the name calling and the broken arms. My mom always knew where to look for me, but mostly she would just send my sister to bring me back. I knew I would have to go back and fight again. That’s what made me tougher than most. That and being teased about my sister babysitting me!

My brother and his dad were good to me, partly because they knew how it was for me, being raised by a woman in the tribe, but mostly because I could work hard when I needed to. Working the fields, or butchering a pig, work was all we knew. Fighting that gang of Apaches, or breaking a colt, I did it all. I’m sure my hunting skills got better each fall season.

After a while, my mom didn’t expect me to come back so often, because I suspect she knew I was able to take care of myself, and them Apaches didn’t mind because they got a few broke ribs themselves. We all came to a mutual respect for each other, and as time went slowly by, they welcomed me because I would go on their hunting parties, or their raiding parties, and let them know what word came from their cousins, The Chiricahua. Make no mistake, these were times when Indians fought everyone, and the Spanish did too. Bullets would fly, people would die, but we all knew who we hated the most, The White People. (Not all of them), but that’s a different chapter!

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Tunstall Store, Lincoln.

Photo Property of Frank Chavez

CHAPTER ONE

Tunstall

It was always a day’s ride to Lincoln, and I enjoyed it for the most part, (the ride that is). That day would come and I would be ready. I would have the two mules packed, my gun was loaded, my knife was sharpened, and my brother made sure I had a list of the things we would be needing. Once a month I would get sent down to the mercantile to get a few supplies in trade for some of the meats and skins we would have, and on occasion, they would get an extra buckskin and meat.

There were two stores in Lincoln, but only one would treat us fair, that being John Tunstall’s General Store. The other one was not so kind to us, and I learned not to trade there, hell I wouldn’t even go by there unless I was wanting to fight. And then I would have to explain why I was bruised up and short on the supplies! No thank you, I would come from the west side of town.

Mr. Tunstall was of Scottish descent, being from the United Kingdom and all. He was very intelligent and always glad to see us because he liked to trade, (and hunt and fish) with us. He knew we were honest, and we knew he respected our ways. He always spoke in a manner that would command attention, whether you liked him or not. We liked him and he knew he had found a trading partner in us that he couldn’t get with the other ranchers, the ones in the valley. He also worked with McSween, a local lawyer who had a beautiful wife, who on occasion would go to the school at Mescalero and teach the children vocabulary, and also she would play the piano for kids. They loved her.

I’m sure you’ve heard of the Dolan’s and the Murphy’s, and their stupid ways of trying to be a powerful bunch. But I am also sure you don’t know of the majority of the things we did to even out the sides a little bit, in our own way. They had money,