Seneca Book 4: De Dos Del Nortes
Copyright© 2026 by Zanski
Chapter 5. 1886: Del Norte, Colorado
Her wire had read:
US Marshal Judah Becker Santa Fe New Mex 16 Aug 1886
Maurice on one day trip to transport prisoner from Del Norte jail. Now gone eight days no word. Rio Grande County sheriff says never arrived. Denver Marshal no help.
Li Shun Alamosa Colo
Within the hour, I responded:
Li Shun Sixth Street Bakery Alamosa Colo 16 Aug 1886
Arriving tomorrow.
Judah Becker Santa Fe New Mex
As my thoughts wandered, I watched with unseeing eyes the moon-bright landscape passing by the passenger coach window in mesmerizing gray shades and patterns.
Since working with him during the Romeo orphanage travesty, I got together with Deputy US Marshal Maurice Didron once or twice a year. I’d usually go up to Alamosa in the fall and we’d shoot geese at one or the other of the odd desert wetlands that dotted the north end of the San Luis Valley. I’d shoot two or three of the big Canadas and leave them with a Chinese smokehouse there in Alamosa. A week later, they’d send the prepared birds by train. Those birds were a special treat we enjoyed at Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), Christmas, or New Year.
In return, Didron and Li Shun would usually come down for one holiday or another during the year, as Santa Fe had more to offer by way of traditional celebrations than anywhere in the San Luis Valley. Both of them had attended our wedding and Didron had come down for Marshal Garrison’s funeral.
More significant, though, was that Shun had shown Feliza how to make the oatmeal crisp cookies. They became Neto’s favorite, too. He called them “Tia Shun’s cookies.” Bertie liked them, too, but the toddler liked any kind of cookie.
I rested my head against my folded coat and tried to sleep, but was still awake when we pulled out of Tres Piedras at half past midnight. The train was scheduled to reach Alamosa about three, so I tried counting sheep, but sleep continued to elude me. My best hope for a little rest was in Alamosa.
Didron had a small apartment behind his office, which was above Shun’s bakery. However, Maurice spent most nights in Shun’s apartment, behind the bakery, on the first floor. I knew where he hid his office key, so I figured to bunk in his apartment until daylight.
I finally drifted off about the time we crossed the state line, so I got a couple hours sleep before we reached Alamosa, which was the junction of several Denver and Rio Grande Western branch lines.
Yes, it was now the D&RGW. General Palmer had lost control of the road and the new directors had modified the name, emphasizing their intent to develop routes further west. Or something like that. The way the newspapers wrote it up made it sound like an artillery battle had taken place in the board room and some of the details got lost in the smoke.
I wasn’t surprised to find Li Shun waiting on the Alamosa station platform a few minutes past three o’clock in the morning.
I was going to chide her for being out on the street alone at that hour, but she ran up to me and buried her face in my shirt, holding on to the lapels of my coat, and crying. I put my arm around her for a minute, then crouched down to retrieve my saddle packs, which I hefted onto my left shoulder while I held her with my right arm.
I said, “Let’s get you home,” and led her off the platform and into the street. Her bakery, with the Marshals office above it, was three blocks east of the station, which was also on Sixth Street.
“He always sends a wire if he’s delayed more than a day or two,” she said, once the crying had subsided. “But it’s almost nine days now.”
As we crossed a deserted Hunt Avenue, I asked, simply to occupy her mind, “Del Norte’s the county seat in Rio Grande County, right?”
Rio Grande County abutted Conejos County to the north-west. Rio Grande County’s own western reaches extended into the San Juan Mountains. Most Anglos pronounced the county seat’s name as “Del Nort” while Mexicans said “Del Nort-eh.”
Del Norte was named for el Rio Grande del Norte, from when the region belonged to Mexico and the watercourse was called their Great River of the North. That same Rio Grande flowed along Del Norte’s north edge.
Didron had told me that, originally, two competing towns had been platted by rival developers, one south of the river, the other on the north side. Realizing that the competition could ruin them both, the speculators came to an agreement that, whichever of them would be the first to complete construction of a road to South Fork, sixteen miles to the west, could claim development rights, while the other man would sell out. The route south of the river had much gentler grades and the broader portion of the narrow valley. In contrast, the north side route included the tail ends of mountain ridges, several substantial creeks, and some narrow passages between the river and bluffs. The race wasn’t even close and the north-side town of Loma never took shape.
Then both silver and gold were discovered in the San Juans and Del Norte grew into the biggest town in the San Luis Valley. It wasn’t, itself, a mining town; instead, it was a supply town. The merchants of Del Norte received goods brought by the railroad and distributed them to several mining districts scattered over a mountain region of close to twenty-five hundred square miles and reaching elevations in excess of twelve thousand feet, all along the Great Divide. Del Norte’s commercial charm lay in the fact that it was very rarely snowed in, with rail access seldom interrupted. Hence supplies were to be had year-round. Even in winter Del Norte, or its subsidiary supply depots at Creede and Lake City, were a reasonable snow-shoe trek from most of the diggings. Some of the more remote districts, like Summitville, simply shut own and most everyone abandoned it until the trails opened in the spring.
“Yes, Del Norte’s the county seat. Maurice set out on the train to go to the county jail there to pick up a prisoner and bring him back. You can go there and back the same day by the train. But the Rio Grande County Sheriff says he never showed up.”
“How did you hear from the sheriff? Did you wire him?”
“No. We Chin are not respected in Del Norte. I asked Alberto Rincon to wire him.”
“Rincon’s still a Conejos County deputy?”
She nodded. “Yes. Alberto and Maurice have become friends.”
“Did Rincon notify Denver, too? Why hasn’t the District Marshal sent help?”
Denver was the state capital and the location of the federal court and other offices of the Federal District of Colorado. Those offices included that of the United States Marshal, whose former occupant, the recently retired Walter Smith, happened to be Didron’s uncle. The new Marshal was Uriah Hawthorne.
“Alberto sent a wire to Marshal Hawthorne, about Maurice being missing, but the Marshal wired back only, ‘Information received. Will determine appropriate response.’ That was five days ago. It takes less than two days to get here from Denver by train.
What concerns me is that Marshal Hawthorne has been replacing Marshal Smith’s deputies with his own men and he may not be concerned if Maurice is imprisoned or ... worse. Maurice thinks that the only reason he’s not been replaced already is because Alamosa is considered a backwater post and no one dependable wants it. I just don’t think Marshal Hawthorne is too concerned with what might have happened to Maurice.”
I nodded, but then was unable to suppress a yawn and Shun asked, “Did you sleep on the train?”
“A little, but I need some serious shut-eye if I expect to think clearly. Is it okay if I bunk in Maurice’s room for a couple hours?”
“I knew you’d be tired. I started a fire in his stove.”
In late August, the San Luis Valley, referred to by land speculators as “the land of cool sunshine,” was already moving its chill summertime nights into the even deeper chill of autumn. I was glad I’d worn a blanket-lined canvas trail coat rather than my older business suit frock coat, which I usually wore for train travel. Even Shun was bundled in a heavy shawl.
“That will be appreciated,” I assured her.
Shun woke me at seven-thirty with a mug of coffee, two boiled eggs still in the shell, a handful of jerky, and a big cinnamon roll.
After a quiet, “Good morning,” she added, “The train leaves in thirty minutes. I thought you could carry the boiled eggs and the jerky with you. I’ve also packed a light meal for you, with a peach, fried chicken, and potato salad.”
“That was very thoughtful of you, Shun, and much appreciated. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
After she returned to the bakery, I found she’d left a pitcher of hot water by the wash basin. I cleaned up, though I did not have enough time to shave, and finally visited the privy out back.
Shun said she’d ordinarily have seen me to the train, but begged off. It was obviously the busy time of the morning for her bake shop and I assured her she would hear from me no later than the next day. I also promised to keep in touch at a minimum of every second day, more often if circumstances warranted. There were grateful tears in her eyes as I left the crowded shop.
At the station, I sent a wire to Feliza, telling of my safe arrival, my contact with Shun, and my intended departure for Del Norte. I’d promised her a wire or express letter no less every fourth day.
The train departed promptly at eight. It consisted of a half dozen freight cars, a caboose crew car, and two fairly busy passenger coaches. The seats were more than half full with railroad men, mine workers, carpenters, general laborers, farmers, salesmen, a few ladies, and what appeared to be several well-dressed leisure travelers. I guessed that the latter group was intent on the hot springs spa at Wagon Wheel Gap, between South Fork and Creede. That resort had been developed by General Palmer, and it was popular with the gentry.
There were possible flag stops along the way, where the train would only halt if there was waiting or debarking passengers or freight. However, an earlier milk train had cleared most of these on-demand loading platforms and our schedule went mostly uninterrupted.
The route paralleled the Rio Grande, but mostly at some distance. Its course was recognizable by the cottonwoods and willows that lined the banks, but the river itself was not visible.
The broad floor of the San Luis Valley was generally flat, though more of a very wide bowl with high sides. Mountains enclosed it to the north, east, and west, and there were several buttes intruding from the sides further south. On the southern horizon there rose the dark, rounded prominence of Mount San Antonio, just across the New Mexico border, some fifty miles distant.
We passed some large wetland areas that not only served migrating bird flocks, including some of the stately Sandhill cranes, but was also a gathering place for deer, elk, and other wildlife during the winter. These wetlands were bordered by prosperous farms growing marsh-grass hay and winter wheat. It was a popular hunting area for all manner of game.
We crossed into Rio Grande County midway between Alamosa and the railroad town of Monte Vista, eighteen miles north-west of Alamosa. It served as a junction for some local freight lines that reached into farming communities further to the north. San Luis Valley hay was known as an especially wholesome forage that was valued by horse and cattle breeders in the region. Potato farming was also growing in popularity. Didron had told me that the cool, sunshiny climate was well suited to potatoes, which, growing underground, were also tolerant of the short growing season. Farmers depended on the early frosts to knock down the potato plants which interfered with harvesting the root tubers.
Monte Vista was another of those speculator towns with all manner of unimproved streets and avenues crosswise of one another on an otherwise empty landscape, all of it centered on the railroad. The commercial district seemed mostly to consist of saloons and other amusement establishments on a main street that abutted the tracks.
After Monte Vista, the rail line continued to follow the Rio west into a narrowing side valley, with foothills beginning to encroach on the right of way, though the tracks still found a wide, gentle grade.
Forty minutes after departing Monte Vista, an hour and a quarter after leaving Alamosa, we arrived at Del Norte, thirty-one miles northwest of the Alamosa hub. Entering town, the tracks came close to the south bank of the Rio, with most of the town south of both the river and the D&RGW line. Rather than being centered on the railroad, Del Norte’s commercial district was fixed along a wagon trail several blocks away.
A low mountain rose directly from the town’s south-west quarter, and other bluffs extended from it to the east, thus holding the town between the river and the sharp rise of the foothills about a mile to the south. Also noteworthy was an artesian well in the middle of the main business intersection of Columbia Avenue and the main east-west road, Grand Avenue. The well produced notably cold, lightly mineralized water that was the main source of water for the town. The well was also a popular stopping point for travelers. Wagons and pedestrians were known to sometimes block traffic on Grand.
What with all the mining business, Del Norte was a busy town, with more people and commercial enterprises than Alamosa and Monte Vista combined.
As I was not in my own judicial district, I wasn’t wearing my badge.
There was an informal practice among judicial district marshals to allow limited arrest authority if in so-called “hot pursuit” of a fleeing felon, and federal courts had even recognized that authority, within some defined limits. Otherwise, the more formal protocol was to notify the marshal of the other district that you were present for a specific judicial purpose. I had not done so as I was not intent on any form of official business. I was there as a friend.
To a degree, I felt as if that were a subterfuge and that I was invading Denver’s jurisdiction. By the same token, I had not checked in with the Conejos County Sheriff’s substation in Alamosa. And now I was about to begin my inquiry at the Rio Grande County Sheriff’s office., and still uncertain as to how I intended to present myself. I wasn’t wearing my badge, but I did have it in my pocket case.
I had chosen to walk a rather fine line.
Before leaving Santa Fe, and on the advice of counsel — my wife’s counsel, Feliza de Lorenzo Becker — I had gone to see Judge Bergman and explained the situation and my intentions. He reluctantly agreed to my non-judicial visit, but only if I kept my badge in my pocket. If I were to show my badge anywhere, then I was to immediately notify the district marshal in Denver and the sheriff of that county.
When the conductor had come by for tickets, I had asked him — casually — if he had seen Deputy Marshal Didron lately. As bad luck would have it, the conductor was new to the Alamosa division, having recently transferred in from Leadville, so he had little familiarity with the local establishment, and was of no help.
After getting off the train at Del Norte, I noticed the stationmaster standing near the depot door, alert to the goings-on of the passengers, attending to the baggage claims, freight handling, and both the railroad’s express mail pouch and the bag of the United States Mail. After the train had departed and things had calmed down, I stepped up to the man and introduced myself as a friend of Deputy Marshal Didron. I said I’d heard he was in town and wondered if the stationmaster had seen him.
“Not for a week or so,” the man replied. “Come to think of it, I caught a glimpse of him getting off the eastbound, but I lost sight of him as he stepped down. I never saw him re-board that train or any since, so maybe he is in town, or he hired a horse to ride home, ‘cause I haven’t seen him around town.”
“He got off the eastbound?” I questioned. “Not the westbound?”
He chuckled. “Nah, it was the afternoon train.” He nodded toward the few people still lingering on the platform. “Folks always look more bedraggled headed back to Alamosa in the afternoon than they do headed out in the morning. Marshal Didron looked bedraggled.”
The train made an out-and-back circuit from Alamosa to Creede every day. Departing Alamosa at eight, it arrived in Creede at eleven-thirty. Then it departed Creede at two-thirty and arrived in Alamosa at six p.m. It made regular intermediate stops at Monte Vista, Del Norte, South Fork, and Wagon Wheel Gap, with a number of possible flag stops at various settlements and railroad section camps, including Homelake, Hanna, Gerard, Blue Creek, Wason, and a few others.
My question was, why had Didron been headed back toward Alamosa when he was on the train? Why hadn’t he stopped in Del Norte on the outbound trip that morning? His stated destination had been Del Norte, to pick up a prisoner.
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