Jack Powers: Lion Among Rats
6. A Grave Mistake
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6. A Grave Mistake
From “Remembering Jack Powers” by Bill Horace in the Los Angeles Star, 1876.
Over the following six months, Jack consolidated even further his position as the monarch of Los Angeles. He'd won the most prestigious horse race ever run in California against one of the Sepulvedas, Don Pedro I believe it was. The don brought down from San Francisco a true thoroughbred imported from Australia, while Powers rode a California horse he'd trained himself. Don Pedro's mount was physically superior, but Jack beat him with his finer preparation and his riding. And he was widely honored for this demonstration that, with skilled attention, the California mustang could match any racehorse in the world. Nothing could have flattered natives more.
But the greatest boost to Jack's prestige had come unsought. The lower class of Californios had come to idolize the man. Their own dons had done nothing to defend their pride against the gringos, whereas Jack had stripped the Zavaleta hanging of its arrogance. He spoke fluent California Spanish. His clothes were more impressive than those worn by local dons. He rode better and danced better than the best of them, so that by every mark Jack Powers was a natural hidalgo to common Californians. They found it difficult, however, to pronounce his name and called him Jacky, or rather Jaqui, and he embraced this nickname unreservedly. Although he had a ranch in Santa Barbara and was acknowledged as a peer by the Los Angeles rancheros, he was never called Don Jaqui by the lower class of Californians, but universally saluted as "patrón."
Jack's ranch in the Arroyo Burro, near the Santa Barbara Mission, was much too small for cattle. The Californios had so much beef, which they dried for preservation, that their cooking lacked variety. Jack knew fresh pork would be appreciated locally, and brought a herd of swine down from the north. But his absorbing interest was in horses and developing a racing breed from California stock. The only man that he deemed qualified to run this operation was young Pio Linares. The large Linares family had been in California for generations, and Pio's branch had lived in Monterey and San Diego before settling near San Luis Obispo, the most thinly populated region of the coast. He had a gift for horses almost as impressive as Jack Powers, who brought him down to Santa Barbara to run the stables and corral at his Arroyo Burro ranch. Pio was in awe of Jack, but always frank and honest with his new patrón.
* * *
A year had passed since Jack had squatted on his ranch, and Dr. Den had never said a word. Jack gloried that his enemy was humbled by his triumph in Los Angeles and had been checked by what he could reveal about Den’s title to the land. But then, on one of Powers’ visits to Arroyo Burro, the sheriff served him with Den’s suit for trespass.
Jack consulted with a lawyer who looked into it and told him something that he didn’t know, and that few local Californios remembered. Den's title to the Santa Barbara Mission lands, including Jack's small piece, was granted by the final California governor just as the gringo armies were arriving. There’d been a rush to hand out all remaining mission lands to Californios to keep them from the conquerors, but this involved backdating all the documents. There was no question that Den's title could not withstand much scrutiny.
But this questionable grant, so it turned out, was not the basis of Den's claim of trespass. He’d leased the Santa Barbara Mission lands years earlier, as a religious duty, to protect church property from poaching and decay. This lease still had a couple years to run and was unquestionably valid. Only after it expired would Den’s possession of Arroyo Burro depend upon his faulty grant. Thus, legally, Jack couldn’t plead the land was ownerless until Den's lease ran out. He was be sure to be evicted in the next twelve months.
Such a humiliating outcome, so destructive of his image among Californios as a figure of authority, alarmed him so much that he sailed at once for San Francisco to talk with David Broderick. Broderick had finished up his last term in the California Senate, a post from which he ran the institution, and had commenced his quest to go to Washington as U.S. Senator. He’d taken charge of the entire Democratic Party in the City and the state. “The Chief” still had the warmest feelings toward Jack Powers and would do anything to help him. But Powers’ situation was impossible, and Broderick confirmed that Jack would have no case in court if Den still had a valid lease, as now seemed evident.
As for using Broderick’s enormous influence to exercise some pressure, the problem lay with Jack himself. He’d brought the de la Guerra boys to meet The Chief the year before. Jack’s purpose was to help his Californian friends link up such a powerful politico while driving home his own connection to the man. The youthful dons were seeking a protector for their people as they faced down an intimidating slew of legal challenges against their properties and an invasion of homesteading gringos. Broderick, it seems, had made some very strong commitments to these Californians to defend their lands from gringo squatters in exchange for their support for senator. There was no way Broderick could use his juice to keep Jack’s squat on Santa Barbara lands in violation of the law without alarming all those Californios that Jack himself had brought him for protection. Why not move away right now and rent another piece, and let the whole thing be forgotten before Den could win a formal legal victory?
* * *
This was frustrating enough, but Jack was met with more bad news when he returned to Santa Barbara.
His Vets remained down in Los Angeles most weeks, patrolling Calle de los Negroes. But they often took a break in Santa Barbara, which they still considered home, hanging out at Jack’s Arroyo Burro ranch. Two or three were typically around the property at any time, and they had lots of cash to drink with. The Veterans began to swagger in the village, irritating Barbareños just as they’d inflamed old San Francisco as The Hounds. While Jack was up with Broderick in San Francisco, one Vet had shot and killed an Englishman while standing at a bar in Santa Barbara. The Irish Vet, on nothing but a drunken whim, demanded from the Englishman his hat. The Englishman refused and drew his pistol, but the Veteran was faster and put a bullet through his head. The town was in an uproar, but the Sheriff was reluctant to arrest Jack’s friend for fear of further bloodshed, and this decision became easier when one of Den’s retainers killed a different Vet. That Irishman had threatened Den’s retainer with some violent revenge after the fight at College Ranch, and their hostility had long continued. When the Irishman was shot outside of town, without a witness, the sheriff wouldn’t act because all Santa Barbara knew the victim had been promising to shoot the Den man down. The killing had been likely self defense, and anyway, it was a wash against Jack’s other Veteran murdering the Limey.
If Jack had given any thought to Broderick’s suggestion that he abandon the Arroyo Burro, he rejected the idea now. He could not let the Californians see him bending to an enemy. The culture of the place, though it had not been violent, was feudal in its character and no true gentleman allowed another to show open disrespect. Jack knew that he would lose prestige if Den could drive him from his ranch and even kill his loyal followers. An Irish peasant boy grown up to be a gambler, Jack had never much considered “honor.” But now, become a lord down in Los Angeles and an equal of the dons, that ancient code of knights and caballeros had left its tincture on his character. The written law meant little to the Californians. Power over property was entirely in individuals, and Den’s prevailing in a court would be received no differently than if he’d horsewhipped Jack in public. Jack’s status with the Californians, all he had achieved, would not survive eviction.