Honestly, if you were to ask a random person on the street who Pat Garrett was, they’d probably say, "The guy who shot Billy the Kid." And they'd be right. But very few people actually know how the man himself met his end. It wasn't in some glorious shootout or a high-noon duel.
It was messy.
Pat Garrett died on February 29, 1908. Leap Day. He was 57 years old, broke, and arguably one of the most hated men in the New Mexico Territory. By that point, his glory days as the "Slayer of Billy the Kid" were a distant memory, replaced by a bitter reality of failed ranches and political enemies who wanted him gone.
The Setup: Goats and Grudges
To understand the death of Pat Garrett, you have to understand the situation he was in. He owned a ranch in the San Andres Mountains—the Bear Canyon Ranch—but he couldn't pay the taxes. He was desperate to sell it.
The problem? A cowboy named Wayne Brazel had a lease on the land, and he was grazing goats there. Now, in the Old West, cattlemen and sheep/goat herders got along about as well as oil and water. Garrett was a cattleman through and through. He hated those goats.
He was trying to sell the ranch to a guy named Carl Adamson, but Adamson wouldn't close the deal as long as Brazel and his 1,200 goats were on the property. Tensions weren't just high; they were boiling over. Garrett had been heard threatening to "get Brazel off the land" by any means necessary.
On that final morning, Garrett was riding in a buggy with Adamson, heading toward Las Cruces to finalize the land deal. Brazel was riding his horse alongside them.
What Happened at Alameda Arroyo?
About four miles east of Las Cruces, near a spot called Alameda Arroyo, the buggy stopped.
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The official story—the one told by the only "witness," Carl Adamson—is that Garrett and Brazel were arguing. Garrett supposedly got out of the buggy to urinate. While his back was turned or while he was "reaching for a shotgun" (depending on which version of the lie you believe), Brazel shot him.
Twice.
The first bullet hit Garrett in the back of the head. The second hit him in the stomach as he was falling or already on the ground.
Brazel didn't run. He rode straight into Las Cruces, found Deputy Felipe Lucero, and famously said, "Lock me up. I’ve just killed Pat Garrett."
Why the Self-Defense Story Smells
Brazel claimed self-defense. He said Garrett was reaching for a shotgun in the buggy.
Here’s the thing: Garrett was found with his gloves still on. One was half-off. He was urinating. You ever try to draw a weapon and win a gunfight while you're literally in the middle of taking a leak? It doesn't happen.
Furthermore, the medical evidence was damning. Dr. W.C. Field, who performed the autopsy, was pretty clear. One shot entered the back of the skull. You don't shoot a man in the back of the head if he’s charging at you with a shotgun.
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The "Killer" Miller Conspiracy
Most historians today don't think Wayne Brazel did it. Or, if he did pull the trigger, he didn't do it alone.
Enter "Deacon" Jim Miller.
Miller was a professional assassin, a man who allegedly killed 12 people (some say 50) and always wore a black frock coat. He was a cousin of Carl Adamson—the guy in the buggy. Miller was seen in Las Cruces around the time of the killing.
The theory is pretty straightforward: A group of powerful men who hated Garrett—including rancher W.W. Cox and politician Albert B. Fall—hired Miller to do the job. Brazel was just the "fall guy" because he had a plausible motive (the goat dispute) and could claim self-defense.
Think about it. Brazel was a mild-mannered cowboy with no criminal record. Why would he suddenly decide to assassinate the most famous lawman in the West?
A Trial That Was a Total Farce
If you think the investigation was bad, the trial was worse.
The prosecutor was a guy named Mark Thompson. He was a close friend of Albert B. Fall, who—wait for it—was the defense attorney for Wayne Brazel.
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Basically, the guy trying the case and the guy defending the killer were buddies.
The trial lasted one day. The jury took less than 15 minutes to come back with a "not guilty" verdict.
It was a celebration. W.W. Cox, one of the men suspected of funding the hit, threw a massive barbecue for the jury and the "killer" that night. Pat Garrett, the man who brought law to the frontier, was buried in a modest grave while his alleged murderers ate steak and toasted to his death.
Why the Death of Pat Garrett Still Matters
History is often written by the winners, but in the case of the death of Pat Garrett, the "winners" were the corrupt cattle barons and hired guns of the New Mexico Territory.
Garrett wasn't a perfect man. He was cranky, he gambled too much, and he had a mean streak. But he represented the transition from the lawless Wild West to a civilized society. His assassination showed that in 1908, the "Old West" was still very much alive and capable of silencing those who got in the way of progress or profit.
If you’re ever in Las Cruces, you can visit the site. There's a marker there near the South Alameda Arroyo. It’s a lonely, quiet spot.
Practical Insights for History Buffs
If you want to dig deeper into this mystery, don't just rely on Wikipedia.
- Visit the Masonic Cemetery: Garrett is buried there in Las Cruces. It’s a sober reminder of how quickly fame fades.
- Read David Thomas: His book Killing Pat Garrett is probably the most detailed modern account of the evidence and the Jim Miller connection.
- Look at the Court Records: The Doña Ana County Clerk’s Office still holds many of the original documents from the trial, which were "rediscovered" as recently as 2016.
The death of Pat Garrett wasn't just the end of a man; it was the end of an era. The lawman who outlived the Kid couldn't outlive the changing politics of a territory that had outgrown him.
To truly understand the site and the gravity of the event, visit the New Mexico Farm & Ranch Heritage Museum in Las Cruces. They often have exhibits specifically dedicated to the forensic evidence of the Garrett case. Examining the geography of the Mail-Scott Road, where the buggy was stopped, provides a much clearer picture of why the self-defense plea was almost certainly a lie. Focus your research on the 1907 St. Regis Hotel meeting in El Paso—that's where the real "smoking gun" of the conspiracy likely lies.