After his efforts to foil the robbery of the A.T. & S.F. at Kinsley, Harry Brown received the thanks of his company, and (along with Kinkaide) was hailed as the hero of the hour. He was even given an engraved Winchester rifle as a reward.

Fame seems to have gone to his head, and New Mexico newspapers report that he became an obnoxious braggart in the saloons up and down the line, acting like a goober and bragging of his exploits. He wouldn’t be the first Westerner to let his mouth run wild, but unlike a Bat Masterson or Wild Bill Hickok, his luck couldn’t keep up with his talk.

He was soon a fixture in Albuquerque, where he “hooked up” with a young woman named Sadie Preston. Unfortunately for him, she was already involved with a town constable who went by the unlikely name of Milton J. Yarberry.

Despite his rather goofy sobriquet, Yarberry had a wide reputation as a killer, and it was said he had already gunned down at least three men. Brown, with his own reputation, declared that he wasn’t afraid of Yarberry, who threatened to kill him several times. In retrospect, it seems that Yarberry was what Brown wanted to be – a stone-cold killer. Things came to a head on March 27, 1881.

Brown and Sadie Preston were eating at Girard’s restaurant, while – unbelievably – Yarberry babysat for her, watching her four-year old daughter. The constable soon appeared at the restaurant and led the little girl to her mother, while he and Brown stepped outside to talk.

According to an “ear witness” (a hack driver who had his back to the scene) Brown and Yarberry had a heated discussion, at the conclusion of which Brown stated, “Milt, I want you to understand I am not afraid of you and would not be even if you were Marshal of the United States!” Almost immediately there were gunshots. The hackman turned just in time to see Brown stagger backwards with two bullets in his chest. As he collapsed, Yarberry fired two more into him as he lay on the sidewalk.

Yarberry’s claim was the traditional one – self-defense. He claimed that Brown had been twitchy, trying to get “the drop” on him. When that didn’t work, he said that Brown had slapped him in the face and gone for his gun, and he’d beaten him to the draw. If true, Milt must have been some sort of wizard with a six-gun – witnesses later said that Brown’s pistol was still snugly in its holster when he was carried away. A report in the Nashville press that he had raised up after being shot and stated, “You have murdered me in a cowardly way!” seems unlikely – it looks like Brown was too badly hurt to say anything.

All four of Yarberry’s bullets passed through his body, and he died a short time later. A terse telegram, stating only that “Harry was killed yesterday at 7 o’clock,” was sent to former governor Brown in Nashville, and the young man’s remains were shipped home via Santa Fe and Kansas City. On April 4th, he was buried at Mount Olivet Cemetery, his former friends in the Porter Rifles providing an honor guard for the funeral procession. The grief-stricken father would outlive his son by five years.

Tried for murder, Yarberry was later acquitted. He had many friends who celebrated – but many others in Albuquerque also condemned him as a murderer. Nevertheless, he continued in office as a town constable…at least for the time being.

Next time…the bizarre end of the story of the trigger-happy lawman.

Under a quiet headstone in Mount Olivet Cemetery today rests an honest-to-goodness reminder of the “Wild Wild West” (the real one, not the Will Smith movie). Several western characters passed through Nashville at one time or another, but one of the town’s homegrown gunfighters was actually from a respectable family.

Henry A. Brown was the son of former Whig governor Neill S. Brown, and the nephew of Democrat (and former Confederate general) John Calvin Brown. He lies near his father in the family plot under a headstone that simply bears his name, birth, and death dates. It gives no hint ofthe adventurous life he led.

Born in 1854 at “Idlewild,” his father’s house near Nashville, young Harry grew up during the tumult of the Civil War, during which his father stuck by his guns as one of the most prominent Unionists in town. Following Appomattox he received a good education before turning his sights to the West. In the spring of 1876, the 22-year old Brown joined an exploratory expedition sponsored by Vanderbilt University. He was, said a school chum, “attracted by the promise of the Great West, and…of an adventurous spirit…”

After some time he found employment with the Adams Express Company, one of the nation’s biggest railroad shipping firms, and signed on as an “Express Messenger” – which was a polite way of saying “shotgun guard.” His duty was to protect the property put in charge of the company from bandits and other hazards of the road. This soon put him in close (and uncomfortable) contact with some of the legendary figures of the era.

On the evening January 27, 1878, Brown was aboard an Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe train approaching the whistle stop of Kinsley, Kansas. He had a big parcel to deliver at this stop, and as the car shuddered to a halt, he pushed the door open, holding a lantern and idly wondering how to shove the thing onto the platform.

Unknown to him, some drama had been playing out at the station before the train arrived. Six heavily armed gunmen had held up the night man, Andrew Kinkaide, in preparation for robbing the train. Kinkaide broke away just as the train entered the station and despite being shot at, began to scream the alarm. The startled engineer actually missed the stop and managed to bring the train to a halt several hundred yards past the station. Kinkaide’s quick thinking warned the town, the conductor, and the engineer. However, Brown was isolated in his car and didn’t get the message.

When the door on the car swung open, Brown must have been surprised to see no station – just open prairie and six masked men pointing revolvers at him, ordering him to “shell out.” He stared back at them – and then got busy justifying his salary.

Without hesitation Brown threw his lantern into their faces, startling them and darkening the car. He then grabbed his rifle and opened fire. The bandits shot back and for several seconds there was a lively exchange until the engineer managed to get the train out of range. Nobody was hit on either side, and the outlaws eventually gave it up as a bad business and left empty-handed.

Within hours, posses were on the trail, headed by the legendary sheriff of Ford County, Bartholomew “Bat” Masterson – who was technically out of his jurisdiction. However, with his customary energy Masterson quickly rounded up two of the gangsters. Ed West was a nobody but his partner Dave Rudabaugh was destined for minor fame. At trial, Rudabaugh turned on his partners-in-crime and testified against them in exchange for his freedom. Later, “Dirty Dave” joined Billy the Kid’s gang in New Mexico and was supposedly beheaded at Parral in Mexico in 1886 after seriously ticking off the local rowdies. Christian Slater later played him in the movies.

And as for Harry Brown? Tune in next time for the conclusion of his action-packed story.