Bandido Juan Flores, part I
Juan Flores and his gang of "bandidos" briefly terrorized law-abiding citizens in Southern California in the 1850s. Flores was not the only Hispanic bandido to flourish during those days.
Bandido juan flores and four or five companions acted quickly when a posse raided their camp at dawn. The outlaws spurred their horses out of the canyon and up a hillside. Below in the creekbed, their pursuers-dozens, it seemed fanned out along the bottom of the slope. The only path of escape was up and over the ridge into the next canyon. As the bandidos' horses struggled onto the spine of the ridge, several of the possemen opened fire, fearing their quarry would break free down the far side. The pursuers could not see what Flores saw-the open slope ahead of his riders offered no place to hide and ended at a narrow rock ledge and a cliff.
As posse members crested the ridge, keeping low in anticipation of outlaw bullets, they could see that the gang had dismounted and abandoned their horses. Flores jogged along the edge of the cliff, looking over it. Just two of his men were able to stick with him. As more of the pursuers crossed the top of the ridge and charged down on the bandidos, escape seemed impossible.
But as the posse came into firing range and called for them to surrender, Flores and the two others leaped off the cliff. Falling through space for a moment, they struck the almost vertical face, bounced, slid and rolled on, down, down. The remaining bandidos froze where they stood, empty hands in the air.
When the possemen gained a clear view down the slope, they saw no one but heard the snap of branches and the clatter of dislodged rocks. When the crack of a pistol shot came from the thickets below they leapt back-unnecessarily. While tumbling down the mountainside with a pistol in his left hand, Flores had accidentally squeezed the trigger or banged the gun against a rock. The bullet had passed through his right arm. Once in the thick bushes at the bottom of the cliff, however, the wounded Flores vanished. None of the lawmen chose to follow him down the cliff. The escape in the Santa Ana Mountains of what is now eastern Orange County Calif., was not the catlike bandido's first or last.
Flores' death-defying leap took place in January 1857. Several months earlier the convicted horse thief had escaped from San Quentin prison near San Francisco and headed south. These were turbulent times for this 21-year-old wayward son of a respected Santa Barbara family, and for the state as well. Less than 10 years earlier, California had been wrested from Mexico, admitted to the Union and overrun by gold-hungry Forty-Niners. But while the population in Gold Rush Country boomed, southern California was still sparsely settled.
With just over 2,000 residents, Los Angeles was the largest town in huge Los Angeles County. (Orange County did not exist until 1889, when the 798-squaremile county was formed, trimming L.A. County to 4,070 square miles.) Small communities clustered around the old missions and widely scattered ranchos. The Chumash and other tribal groups who had lived along the Pacific shore and in the coastal ranges were dwindling in numbers, swept aside by the culture of the Old World and falling victim to its weapons and diseases. The Southern Pacific Railroad, the Butterfield Overland Stage, and even a telegraph link to the East all lay in the future.
Established Californios and newcomers from "back East" clashed in ongoing skirmishes for land, wealth and influence. As the Hispanic had ousted the Indian, the Yankee set about supplanting the Hispanic. Within one decade of the 1848 treaty ending the Mexican War, the social order that had existed in California since the Franciscan-mission era began in the 1770s was turned on its head.
As a teenager, Flores certainly must have heard the tale of the legendary Juaquin Murieta, who had left Sonora, Mexico, in 1849 and had become a "Robin Hood" to the Californios by relieving Americans of their gold. Because of Murieta's alleged depredations, a price was put on his head. And in the summer of 1853, the valuable head of Murieta was brought back for the reward money by Captain Harry Love and his rangers. Whether the head was actually Murieta's or not has been disputed, but in any case the head was exhibited as such and caused a big sensation.
Intentionally or not, the young Flores seemed to follow in Murieta's footsteps. As Flores and a small band of fellow prison escapees moved south in January 1857, their number grew The gang of drifters, army deserters, rustlers and thugs took on the name Los Manillos ("the Handcuffs"). By midmonth, the gang-some 50 strong-reached the Santa Ana Mountains, a range running parallel to the coast about 15 miles inland. Assorted outcasts and criminals had used the area as a sanctuary for years. In the 1850s, bandidos made frequent forays against isolated ranchos to rustle cattle or to prey on travelers between San Diego and Los Angeles.
Flores spent a few days scouting the village of San Juan Capistrano. The small settlement could not put up much resistance, and the gang would be able to take away ammunition, food and any good horses they found. They planned an attack for the morning of January 22.
Flores, said to be a handsome young man though no photographs of him have ever been found, had apparently romanced a local girl. At her prearranged signal, Flores and the bandidos swept in, bursting into stores and houses. George Pflugardt, a merchant who was preparing to sit down to a meal, was shot and killed. Some of the gunmen sat at his table and ate his food while his body lay on the floor nearby.
Los Manillos terrorized San Juan Capistrano for two days, taking supplies and fresh horses and vandalizing the town. Many residents barricaded themselves inside the old mission building. A young boy on a fast horse was able to escape and make a dash for the sheriff at Los Angeles.
Learning of the situation to the south, Sheriff James Barton began the dusty ride to San Juan Capistrano with a handful of volunteers. He clearly had no idea how many outlaws they would be facing. The Los Angeles Star later reported the size of the posse as "six armed men, with a Frenchman (unarmed) as guide."
Weary and hungry after traveling late into the night and riding on at dawn, Barton and the posse stopped at the hacienda of Jose Sepulveda, where they were offered breakfast. They needed only to skirt two low ranges of coastal hills, the San Juaquin Ranch Hills and the Sheep Hills, to reach San Juan Capistrano, about 20 miles away. One account holds that Martina, another young girl in love with Flores, snuck onto the Sepulveda rancho and tampered with the unattended weapons of the possemen.
The French guide, who had previously worked on the ranch, was told by some vaqueros that the bandidos "were in among the hills...were at least fifty in number and would kill the whole party. Sheriff Barton and his armed men scoffed at such talk, but the Frenchman apparently became wary. He is not mentioned again in any report, and he may well have remained at the rancho.
End of part I
As posse members crested the ridge, keeping low in anticipation of outlaw bullets, they could see that the gang had dismounted and abandoned their horses. Flores jogged along the edge of the cliff, looking over it. Just two of his men were able to stick with him. As more of the pursuers crossed the top of the ridge and charged down on the bandidos, escape seemed impossible.
But as the posse came into firing range and called for them to surrender, Flores and the two others leaped off the cliff. Falling through space for a moment, they struck the almost vertical face, bounced, slid and rolled on, down, down. The remaining bandidos froze where they stood, empty hands in the air.
When the possemen gained a clear view down the slope, they saw no one but heard the snap of branches and the clatter of dislodged rocks. When the crack of a pistol shot came from the thickets below they leapt back-unnecessarily. While tumbling down the mountainside with a pistol in his left hand, Flores had accidentally squeezed the trigger or banged the gun against a rock. The bullet had passed through his right arm. Once in the thick bushes at the bottom of the cliff, however, the wounded Flores vanished. None of the lawmen chose to follow him down the cliff. The escape in the Santa Ana Mountains of what is now eastern Orange County Calif., was not the catlike bandido's first or last.
Flores' death-defying leap took place in January 1857. Several months earlier the convicted horse thief had escaped from San Quentin prison near San Francisco and headed south. These were turbulent times for this 21-year-old wayward son of a respected Santa Barbara family, and for the state as well. Less than 10 years earlier, California had been wrested from Mexico, admitted to the Union and overrun by gold-hungry Forty-Niners. But while the population in Gold Rush Country boomed, southern California was still sparsely settled.
With just over 2,000 residents, Los Angeles was the largest town in huge Los Angeles County. (Orange County did not exist until 1889, when the 798-squaremile county was formed, trimming L.A. County to 4,070 square miles.) Small communities clustered around the old missions and widely scattered ranchos. The Chumash and other tribal groups who had lived along the Pacific shore and in the coastal ranges were dwindling in numbers, swept aside by the culture of the Old World and falling victim to its weapons and diseases. The Southern Pacific Railroad, the Butterfield Overland Stage, and even a telegraph link to the East all lay in the future.
Established Californios and newcomers from "back East" clashed in ongoing skirmishes for land, wealth and influence. As the Hispanic had ousted the Indian, the Yankee set about supplanting the Hispanic. Within one decade of the 1848 treaty ending the Mexican War, the social order that had existed in California since the Franciscan-mission era began in the 1770s was turned on its head.
As a teenager, Flores certainly must have heard the tale of the legendary Juaquin Murieta, who had left Sonora, Mexico, in 1849 and had become a "Robin Hood" to the Californios by relieving Americans of their gold. Because of Murieta's alleged depredations, a price was put on his head. And in the summer of 1853, the valuable head of Murieta was brought back for the reward money by Captain Harry Love and his rangers. Whether the head was actually Murieta's or not has been disputed, but in any case the head was exhibited as such and caused a big sensation.
Intentionally or not, the young Flores seemed to follow in Murieta's footsteps. As Flores and a small band of fellow prison escapees moved south in January 1857, their number grew The gang of drifters, army deserters, rustlers and thugs took on the name Los Manillos ("the Handcuffs"). By midmonth, the gang-some 50 strong-reached the Santa Ana Mountains, a range running parallel to the coast about 15 miles inland. Assorted outcasts and criminals had used the area as a sanctuary for years. In the 1850s, bandidos made frequent forays against isolated ranchos to rustle cattle or to prey on travelers between San Diego and Los Angeles.
Flores spent a few days scouting the village of San Juan Capistrano. The small settlement could not put up much resistance, and the gang would be able to take away ammunition, food and any good horses they found. They planned an attack for the morning of January 22.
Flores, said to be a handsome young man though no photographs of him have ever been found, had apparently romanced a local girl. At her prearranged signal, Flores and the bandidos swept in, bursting into stores and houses. George Pflugardt, a merchant who was preparing to sit down to a meal, was shot and killed. Some of the gunmen sat at his table and ate his food while his body lay on the floor nearby.
Los Manillos terrorized San Juan Capistrano for two days, taking supplies and fresh horses and vandalizing the town. Many residents barricaded themselves inside the old mission building. A young boy on a fast horse was able to escape and make a dash for the sheriff at Los Angeles.
Learning of the situation to the south, Sheriff James Barton began the dusty ride to San Juan Capistrano with a handful of volunteers. He clearly had no idea how many outlaws they would be facing. The Los Angeles Star later reported the size of the posse as "six armed men, with a Frenchman (unarmed) as guide."
Weary and hungry after traveling late into the night and riding on at dawn, Barton and the posse stopped at the hacienda of Jose Sepulveda, where they were offered breakfast. They needed only to skirt two low ranges of coastal hills, the San Juaquin Ranch Hills and the Sheep Hills, to reach San Juan Capistrano, about 20 miles away. One account holds that Martina, another young girl in love with Flores, snuck onto the Sepulveda rancho and tampered with the unattended weapons of the possemen.
The French guide, who had previously worked on the ranch, was told by some vaqueros that the bandidos "were in among the hills...were at least fifty in number and would kill the whole party. Sheriff Barton and his armed men scoffed at such talk, but the Frenchman apparently became wary. He is not mentioned again in any report, and he may well have remained at the rancho.
End of part I
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