Mojave Green
The Life of James McKinney Old West Serial Killer
by
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One day back in Porterville I was drinking and Hy Williams, the bartender, got lippy and told me to quiet down or leave. Well, I was spending my money there and wasn't bothering anybody so I kept going. When he repeated his warning, I stood up and as I reached into my pocket for my gun, he threw an empty beer mug at me and when I ducked the mug I slipped and fell. As I fell I let loose of my pocket gun to try to catch myself and then he threw another mug at me. He was standing behind the bar and had a huge stack of mugs within reach so I took off out the door and up the street. My gun was hung up on my pants pocket lining and I couldn't get it out of my pocket. That fool bartender Williams followed me throwing more beer mugs at me. He didn't hit me again although he came close once. He had to stop and aim to throw a mug so I finally out ran him or he ran out of mugs. That was one of the damnedest deals I've ever been in. We were the talk of Porterville for a couple days. Sober, I laughed to myself how crazy we must have looked. If I'd got my gun our, though, it'd been a different story--not funny at all for that damned fool Williams He left town soon after. What was funny, though, there was a tool dresser down in Bakersfield who would go on a monthly binge drinking until he ran out of money around midnight. Then he'd start at one end of the line of prostitutes' cribs during a slack time and verbally torment the girls inside the cribs. He'd stand out in the street yelling at the girls and he was loud, real loud. Aggravated, the prostitutes would throw their empty and full porcelain chamber pots at him as he ran down the line of cribs the prostitutes yelled "git him, git him." My world back then was full of colorful characters doing crazy things. That was normal for me. Not long after the Williams attack on me, I met Tom "Long Tom" Sears, a big red-headed guy who liked to drink, gamble, and whore it up, and started in business together. Sears was quick with his fists and a good brawler while I was a little slow to fight. I'd rather pull out my gun at the first hint of trouble and whack the trouble makers over the head or shoot them. We roomed together and worked together fleecing suckers in saloons and when we got tired of the routine, we decided to hit the gold camps around Randsburg and gamble with the hard-working suckers who were looking to get easy money at the gambling tables in the saloons. We cleaned up in Randsburg and came back to Portersville with several bags of gold dust. Life was easy in Randsburg. I even got a job as a Deputy just for the fun of it and the easy pay. One day I left Tom at one of the camps and went to The Palace saloon to see my brother Edwin to have some drinks. Frank Stevens came over and joined us drinking and talking. Stevens led a group called "The Dirty Dozen." They were doing every shady action they could to make money legally and illegally. Fixing gambling events, claim jumping, stand and deliver robberies, muggings---any crooked deal was their deal. While we were drinking, a miner named Harris strolled into "The Palace." Stevens stood up to face Harris and asked him why Harris was "talking up my troubles." Harris answered no and started to walk on. Stevens hit Harris in the face with his left fist and blood flew from Harris' nose. As part of his plan Stevens pulled his gun with his right hand. I knew it was a sequence of practiced moves. Stevens asked Harris if he was a gunfighter. Before Harris could answer I thought I'd get in on the fun and stepped forward and clubbed Harris over the head with my gun butt...then I spun around and clubbed Charles Jones who was getting too close behind me. My brother Ed helped Harris up top his feet and out of "The Palace." Jones just laid on the floor, knocked out, and bleeding. Stevens and I left the saloon, got on a couple of horses he had saddled, and we rode out of town. On the ride we talked of old times until we got to a secluded cabin about ten miles out of town. We got down and man carrying a rifle walked up to us. "How'd it go boss?" he asked Stevens. Stevens told him, "just like I planned." "the others will be here by sundown but in case they're followed you need to be on guard until all five get here. "they should be coming in at no more than two at a time so if three or more riders show up start shooting." The guard nodded and then left. "That scene back at "The Palace" was a little something I learned back in Leadville working for "Soapy Smith," Stevens told me. "You start a fracas in a saloon after your gang members have picked moneyed targets and the distractions allow them to move around in the excitement, bump into their marks, pick their pockets, and no one is the wiser until later. "My men leave the saloon, leave town in different directions, and come here for the split. "It's easy money, Stevens said, "And sometimes out of the five, one will score big."
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About the Book
Mojave Green is a fresh and thorough account of a bad man’s life. Follow James McKinney as he grows from an Illinois farm boy to a young man working in a Missouri lead mine and then a Colorado gold mine to an adult who used, abused, and killed those close to him. Mojave Green is a first-person account of McKinney’s progression from innocence to being introduced to violence, going through a prison term, and turning into an utterly dangerous killer. Lots of research and consideration filled the many gaps in McKinney’s life with answers and descriptions to provide insights into McKinney’s thoughts, feelings, and actions. On record, McKinney killed six coworkers and friends but, because of a faulty gun, he was unable to kill several additional men. And, because nobody ever interviewed McKinney about his life and activities during the three thousand five hundred miles he was chased by the law, the challenge was to describe McKinney’s days.
About the Author
As a youngster, Donald La Fon’s parents introduced him to the historical sites near their home in Tippecanoe County, Indiana, and encouraged him to appreciate historical events and characters. They visited the Battle of Tippecanoe battleground, the Fort Ouiatenon blockhouse, Fort Michilimackinac, and other historical sites where he began learning about the people involved in historical events and places. His grandmothers also encouraged La Fon’s research efforts. They spent days touring the old family sites, visiting cemeteries where family members were buried, and relating family history. Later, his college journalism and history studies enhanced his respect for his ancestors’ efforts and encouraged him to research and write about their experiences. For authenticity, he has walked battle sites of the Revolutionary War, War of 1812, and Civil War in Vincennes, Indiana; Gettysburg, Pennsylvania; Franklin and Chattanooga, Tennessee; and King’s Mountain, South Carolina. He has also flown over historical sites to better understand activities on the ground. La Fon has also visited Greeneville, Tennessee, the capitol of Franklin; Davy Crockett’s cabin; McKinney and Pineville, Kentucky; the Cumberland Gap; several presidents’ homes; Meramec Cavern; Washington, DC; and Spruce Pine, North Carolina. He has walked where American heroes lived, fought, and died. La Fon has read their letters, reports, and diaries. He has visited mines and swung a sledge in Spruce Pine, North Carolina, where his distant relatives worked. He has hiked portions of the Erie Canal and researched about its building and travels on it by his relatives. He has ridden on trains, river boats, and canoed extensively in all seasons. And La Fon has visited numerous libraries to gather information for his stories, from books, magazines, and newspapers. All the travel and research was for the authenticity in his writing and to honor our American ancestors and their lives.