Albert F. Potter arrived in Holbrook, Arizona, in December 1883 and began his career in the cattle business. His genial demeanor and livestock-savvy ways made him well known in the industry, and his name frequently appeared in the pages of Holbrook Argus and St. John’s Herald newspapers.

The following story, which was found among Potter’s U.S. Forest Service files, is an account of a typical late 1800s Arizona event.

The Bucket of Blood Saloon original account by Albert F. Potter

The roundup on the Little Colorado River range had just been completed, and the herd was being held at a lake about twelve miles east of Holbrook, ready for cutting out the cattle which would be taken to the stockyards for shipment, or to their home ranges. As the saddle horses were being brought in [around] sunrise, two riders were seen coming across the country from Holbrook. At first it was thought they were Indians, because one of them had a cloth wrapped around his head in Indian fashion. As they drew nearer, it was seen that the man with his head bandaged was seriously wounded and almost exhausted from the loss of blood. When they got closer to the wagon, the other man greeted us by shouting; “Here we come! All shot to pieces.”

We then recognized them as Joe Crawford, a cowboy who had worked for the Aztec Land and Cattle Company, known as the Hashknife outfit, and George Bell, a gambler. Crawford was so weak that he had to be lifted from the horse he was riding. We laid him on the horse wrangler’s bed and with a handful of flour from the cook’s bread pan, I plastered the wound on his head and stopped the bleeding. Examination showed also that a bullet had passed through the cuff of his shirt and coat sleeve and just grazed the side of his body. Scars of other old wounds showed that this was not Crawford’s first fight.

Then, as Captain of the roundup, it was my place to take charge of the affair. Bell told a story about their having been in a card game with Ramon Lopez and another Mexican, when a controversy arose about a deal in the cards, and Lopez struck Crawford over the head with a six-shooter. That started the real trouble. Crawford drew his gun and killed Lopez. Then the shooting became general and Crawford killed the other Mexican, who fell beside his partner. The bartender in the saloon reported it as having been a right lively battle. Crawford and Bell were furnished horses by friends and made a get-away. Bell said that the Mexicans were organizing a posse to pursue them and he feared that if captured, their fate would be lynching. He appealed for protection from such an ending. I told him that our outfit was for the law and that we would protect them from injury by any mob, but if an officer came after them, they must surrender and go with him. Bell said that was all right for them, so I told him to take care of Crawford while we worked the herd.

No one else appeared upon the scene until about the middle of the day when Tom South, another cowboy who had worked for the Hashknife outfit, arrived from town. He said that no inquest had been held on the bodies of the Mexicans, that the Justice of the Peace was out of town and that the Deputy Sheriff would not start after Crawford and Bell without warrants for their arrest. It looked like possibly it was thought that the easiest way was to give them a chance to get out of the country.

Came time for supper. Crawford had recovered enough to get up and walk around and was able to eat with us. He then announced that he felt able to ride and that they would be on their way while the going was good. As no action had been taken by the officers in town, I saw no reason to detain them, so wished them a pleasant journey.

About eleven o’clock that night we heard the rattle of a buckboard coming across the prairie and when it got near camp the drive shouted “Potter, Potter!” I answered, “Hello, who is it≠” The reply was “The Deputy Sheriff; I came after Crawford and Bell.” I told him to come on up to camp, that the fellows he was looking for had left just after supper. In apparent anger he blamed me for not having held them there for him. My defense was that as he had not come sooner I had concluded they were not wanted. He then returned to town, and so far as I know, no effort was made afterwards to capture Crawford and Bell.

The general belief is that Joe Crawford was in fact Grat Dalton, a member of the notorious Dalton gang, and that he was killed in an attempted bank robbery at Coffeyville, Kansas. It is said that where the two Mexicans fell, there was a spot on the floor that looked like a bucket of blood had been spilled there. For this reason the saloon was afterwards named the “Bucket of Blood.”

—Susan Deaver Olberding. Photo courtesy of the Museum of Northern Arizona.