John Copeland

by J. Younger

Events & Genealogy
Born: John N. Copeland
Birthdate: November 8, 1841
Birthplace: Kentucky
Marriage: Sarah A. Massey on February 2, 1860
ReMarried: May McFarland 1887
Children: (Adopted)
John William Copeland
Isabella Sanchez Copland Marsh (12/1873-1/26/1953)
Death: June 26, 1903
Cause of death: Unknown
Burial: Copeland Cemetery

The Regulator’s Sheriff
Sheriff John Copeland came into this world in 1841, somewhere in the rolling hills of Kentucky. His folks, William and Sally Copeland, raised him alongside five siblings: James, Jacob, Milly, Richard, and Reuben. Not much else is known ’bout young John’s days, so let’s mosey on some twenty years and nigh on 900 miles west, where the real tale kicks up dust.
In the bustling town of Dallas, Texas, John hitched his wagon to Sarah A. Massey on February 2, 1860. The two took in a couple of young’uns, adoptin’ John Copeland Jr. and Isabella Sanchez. Seekin’ wide-open spaces, the family pushed west, settlin’ in Lincoln County, New Mexico by 1870. They staked a claim on a ranch just south of Fort Stanton, maybe slippin’ some coin to Murphy for the deed. Their neighbor? A fella named John Riley. By 1874, Copeland was slingin’ a cleaver as a butcher out at the Mescalero reservation, carvin’ out a livin’ in the wild frontier.

Out in between the jagged rocks and canyons of Lincoln County, Sheriff John Copeland had two hired hands from south of the border tendin’ to chores on his sprawling ranch. Their names? Lost to the wind. One fateful mornin’ Copeland stepped out to find one of the fellas had hightailed it, takin’ two horses, a rifle, a blanket, and a handful of spoons with him. Talkin’ it over with his neighbor John Riley, Copeland learned a brand new saddle had vanished from Riley’s spread too. Quick as a rattlesnake, Copeland saddled up, tracked the thief’s trail, and cut him off with a shortcut through the arroyos.The thief, caught red-handed, raised Copeland’s own stolen rifle, but he was too slow. Copeland barked at him to climb down from the horse. The man hit the dirt, hand twitchin’ toward his pistol. Copeland’s six-shooter spoke first, droppin’ the thief dead. Back at the ranch, Copeland found his other worker still lingerin’. He rode over to Riley’s place for a quick parley, and they decided to haul the remainin’ hand up to Fort Stanton for questionin’, suspectin’ he might’ve been in cahoots with the thief. They marched him on foot, but when they hit a thick patch of mesquite, the man bolted into the brush. Riley and Copeland drew iron and cut him down.Come sunup, the two reported to Probate Judge Saturnino Baca, who called for an investigation. Clerk of Court Juan Patron, itchin’ for frontier justice, demanded Copeland and Riley’s arrest on the spot, but the law held firm. Patron, undeterred, rounded up a posse for an old-fashioned lynchin’, ridin’ to Copeland’s ranch. Lucky for Copeland and Riley, they’d already lit out. The mob, findin’ Copeland’s place empty save for Riley and an Army doc, Henry G. Tiedemann from Fort Stanton, ordered Riley back to his own spread, likely sparin’ Copeland’s wife and young’uns the trouble. At Riley’s ranch, the mob found Copeland hidin’ out. Seizin’ his chance, Tiedemann spurred his horse to Fort Stanton for reinforcements.
The mob marched and, forced Copeland and Riley to lead ‘em to the dead man’s body. At the site, Lucas Gallegos, a hotheaded member of the posse, jammed his pistol against Riley’s skull, demandin’ to know if he’d gunned down the fugitive. Others in the mob had already dismounted, settin’ to buryin’ the deceased. Just then, a thunder of hooves signaled a detachment of soldiers from Fort Stanton gallopin’ hard toward the scene. Spottin’ the mob, they charged in, scatterin’ Patron and his vigilantes like tumbleweeds in a storm, leavin’ Copeland and Riley standin’ tall, their necks spared from the noose.
In the dust choked streets of Lincoln, tensions were thicker than a desert storm. John Chisum’s cattle empire was bleedin’ L.G. Murphy’s pockets dry, and Jimmy Dolan stepped in to take the reins of Murphy’s falterin’ outfit. John Riley, with a fistful of dollars, bought his way into Dolan’s game, but his neighborly bond with Sheriff John Copeland soured like whiskey left in the sun. Dolan, backed by the shadowy Santa Fe Ring, hatched a plot to gun down Chisum’s partner, John Tunstall, who’d dared set up a rival store in Lincoln. When Tunstall’s body hit the dirt, his loyal cowhands swore vengeance, pinned on deputy badges, and called themselves The Regulators. On April Fool’s Day, they cut down Dolan’s hired gun, Sheriff Brady, and his deputy Hindman in a hail of lead right on Lincoln’s main drag.
By the first week of April 1878, Lincoln County was shy a sheriff, and Governor Axtell reckoned he’d found his man in John Copeland. But Axtell soon learned Copeland wasn’t like Brady—his badge wasn’t for sale, and his conscience was as straight as a Winchester barrel. Word was, Copeland rode tight with the McSween crew and maybe even the late Tunstall himself. ‘Round this time, Copeland traded his ranch for a place in town, settlin’ into the heart of Lincoln’s powder keg.

On Thursday, April 18, 1878, the jury in Lincoln County wrapped up their palaver and handed down indictments hotter than a branding iron. Jesse Evans, George Davis, Manuel Segovia, and John Long were fingered for the cold-blooded killin’ of John Tunstall, with Jimmy Dolan and Matthews tagged as their schemin’ partners in crime. For the street shootout that left Sheriff Brady and Deputy George Hindman dead, the jury pointed at John Middleton, Fred Waite, Henry Brown, and William H. Bonney—better known as Billy the Kid. And for the gunfight at Blazer’s Mill on April 4, where Buckshot Roberts bit the dust, the jury named Charlie Bowdre, Doc Scurlock, “Dirty” Steve Stephens, John Scroggins, and George Coe. Them indictments were turned into warrants and slapped into the hands of Sheriff John Copeland to serve.The Dolan faction, knowin’ Copeland was thick as thieves with McSween, itched to rope him to their side. A posse of ‘bout thirty hardcases, led by ex-Lincoln deputy William Johnson, mustered at Seven Rivers, hell-bent on forcin’ Copeland to round up The Regulators. They rode up the Pecos and swung west toward Lincoln’s sheriff’s office. But their plans hit a snag near the Fritz ranch, east of town, when they stumbled across Frank McNabb, actin’ captain of The Regulators. In a flash, they ambushed and gunned him down. With McNabb’s blood still soakin’ the dirt, the posse, holdin’ Ab Saunders and Frank Coe as prisoners, waited for nightfall to slink into Lincoln, hopin’ to catch more Regulators nappin’. But a mail carrier ridin’ by the Fritz ranch caught wind of the killin’ and spurred his horse to Lincoln, spreadin’ word of McNabb’s death faster than a prairie fire.
The Regulators holed up at key spots, with George Coe and Henry Brown takin’ post on the roof of the Ellis store. When word of the Seven Rivers posse’s killin’ reached ‘em, old man Ellis pleaded, “Boys, don’t go firin’ no guns, or them Dolan men’ll storm my place and I’ll be caught in the crossfire.” Perched high, Brown gripped his Winchester, and Coe cradled his Sharps rifle. Downriver, ‘bout four hundred yards off, they spotted a Dolan man loungin’ atop a cow skull. George Coe later recalled, “We each took a porthole, and I gave the signal. Our shots rang out together. One fell short by a couple hundred yards—Henry’s, no doubt, with that puny carbine of his. My bullet tore through both the man’s legs, crossed in front of him, and carved a gash near six inches long through his hip.”Them two shots lit the fuse, and a full blown shootout erupted ‘tween the Seven Rivers gang and McSween’s Regulators. Lead flew all day, with Robert Widenmann later sayin’, “We poured bullets into ‘em fast, and in under an hour, we had ‘em scattered and cut off from their horses. They kept tryin’ to get back to their mounts, but we drove ‘em off every time.” The fight raged on ‘til just before 5 p.m., when Lieutenant George Smith and a troop of soldiers galloped in from Fort Stanton. Smith posted his men ‘tween the warrin’ factions to cool the powder keg. The Seven Rivers boys threw up their hands but kept their irons. In the chaos, Frank Coe slipped out of the Dolan store, where he’d been held, and rejoined his compadres. Ab Saunders, bloodied from the earlier ambush, was carted off to the Fort’s hospital.Alex McSween, quick as a rattler, rode to San Patricio and stood before Justice of the Peace Jose Trujillo. He swore out affidavits against the Seven Rivers posse for gunnin’ down Frank McNabb, and Trujillo issued the warrants. McSween handed ‘em to Sheriff Copeland, who rode to Fort Stanton and declared the posse under arrest. He asked Colonel Dudley for help escortin’ the outlaws to San Patricio for a hearin’. But Dudley, ridin’ for Dolan’s brand, flat-out refused and instead ordered his lieutenants to “escort” Copeland back to San Patricio to round up McSween, Widenmann, and anyone else tied to the Lincoln skirmish, chargin’ ‘em with riotin’. When they hit San Patricio, they clapped irons on Doc Scurlock, Widenmann, Ike Ellis, his son, and Sam Corbett.

In the shadow of Fort Stanton’s adobe walls, Alex McSween and his Regulators found themselves clapped in irons, locked tight in the guardhouse. Meanwhile, the Seven Rivers gang, slick as snakes, strutted free through the fort, smirkin’ under their hats. Colonel Dudley, maybe sensin’ he’d overplayed his hand, handed the reins of all the prisoners back tp Copeland.
As the Seven Rivers gang hightailed it south from the fort, they helped themselves to eight of The Regulators’ finest horses, leavin’ dust and curses in their wake. Copeland, back in Lincoln, unshackled Doc Scurlock and pinned a deputy’s star on his vest, makin’ him captain of The Regulators to boot as well as Lincoln County Sheriff Deputy. With fire in their eyes, Doc and his boys set their sights on settlin’ the score for Frank McNabb’s cold blooded killin’, ridin’ out to deal frontier justice under the wide New Mexico sky.
Out in Lincoln, James Dolan and the Santa Fe Ring, slicker than a card sharp, cooked up a scheme to boot Sheriff John Copeland from his post. They leaned on the claim he wasn’t collectin’ county taxes, a duty tied to his badge. On May 28, 1878, Governor Axtell yanked Copeland’s star and handed it to George Peppin, a loyal Dolan man. With Dolan back holdin’ the reins in Lincoln, his crew torched Alex McSween’s house to cinders and gunned him down in the ashes, puttin’ the final nail in the coffin of the Lincoln County War.But the ghosts of that feud still haunted the territory. Come November 1878, a jittery George Peppin was due at Lincoln’s probate court. Hearin’ Billy the Kid was skulkin’ about town, Peppin’s nerves frayed like old rope, and he begged for a military escort. That night, Lieutenant James French, tasked with ridin’ herd on Peppin, got liquored up and went on a tear. He busted into homes, roughin’ up McSween’s supporters with a drunken swagger. When he kicked in John Copeland’s door, he found a young lad totin’ a pistol and hauled him off, callin’ it a “detainment.”

That same night on the dusty streets of Lincoln, John Copeland locked horns with a young firebrand named Juan Mes, known to some as Jonny Mace. Words turned to gunfire, and the 19 year old Mes dropped dead with a slug in his chest and gut. Copeland, keepin’ his honor, turned himself over to Deputy Sheriff James Tomlinson. With George Peppin, a Dolan loyalist, still wearin’ the sheriff’s star, Copeland called on the military for protection, fearin’ the noose of Dolan’s influence.In court, Copeland was backed by David Shield, a steadfast amigo of the late Alex McSween, and the judge set him free. For the next couple of years, Copeland and his wife tried their hand at farmin’ again, but the land was as stubborn as a mule, and they came up empty. By 1880, Copeland was swingin’ an axe as a sawyer, wrestlin’ timber for a livin’. That same year, he and his wife parted ways, their marriage bust like a bad poker hand. For a spell, Copeland ran the Wortley Hotel, but in 1881, he sold it to Pat Garrett for a cool $275, ridin’ off to the next chapter of his frontier tale.

After the smoke cleared from Lincoln’s bloody feuds, John Copeland settled into a quieter life, pinnin’ on a deputy sheriff’s badge under Sheriff John Poe in the Ruidoso country for a short spell. Never one to sit idle, Copeland kept his boots busy as a public servant in Lincoln county, takin’ on roles like probate judge, road supervisor, and other small time posts, servin’ the folks of the frontier, and later mostly served the town of Richardson in Lincoln county.
On July 31, 1887, Copeland hitched his wagon to May McFarland in a second marriage. The pair staked a claim on a ranch nestled on the north side of the Capitan Mountains, in a place folks now call Copeland’s Canyon. Word is, the spread might’ve belonged to John McFarland, May’s pa. Copeland likely spent his days prospectin’ for gold or other minerals in the rugged northern slopes, while also givin’ farmin’ another go and swingin’ an axe to log and saw timber under the wide New Mexico sky.

In the shadow of the Capitan Mountains, a grim tale unfolded in 1901 at John Copeland’s ranch. While Copeland was away, two guests takin’ shelter at his spread were savagely killed and robbed, their lives snuffed out like a candle in a dust storm. The culprits torched the ranch house, leavin’ nothin’ but ashes and sorrow in their wake.

John Copeland, weathered by years on the frontier, met his end on June 26, 1903, at the age of 62 or 63. He drew his last breath in Richardson, New Mexico, a speck of a town, ‘bout fifteen miles east of Copeland’s Canyon, that’s since faded from the maps like a ghost in the desert wind.