He had been a member of the posse organized by Harry Love to shoot on sight California’s most famous bandit—Joaquin Murietta and boasted that he fired the bullet which killed the glamorous Joaquin. It was he who cut off and pickled the bandit’s head as evidence to get the reward. At the same time he pickled the hand of Three Fingered Jack Garcia, Joaquin’s chief lieutenant, and the bloodiest monster the West ever saw. Garcia had an odd habit of cutting off the ears of his victims and stringing them for a saddle ornament. The slaying of Joaquin was not a pretty adventure and as the details came out, Henderson renounced the honor.
The grewsome vouchers which obtained the reward became the attraction for the morbid on a San Francisco street and there above the din of traffic one heard a spieler chant the thrills it gave “for only two measly bits....” The exhibit was destroyed in the San Francisco fire and earthquake of 1906.
In his book, “On the Old West Coast” Major Horace Bell states that Henderson confided to him there was never a day nor night that Joaquin Murietta did not come to him and though headless, would demand the return of his head; that Henderson was never frightened by the apparition, which would vanish after Henderson explained why he couldn’t return the head and his excuse for cutting it off.
Bell quotes Henderson: “I would never have cut Joaquin’s head off except for the excitement of the chase and the orders of Harry Love.”
To give credence to the ghost story he says of Henderson, “He was for several years my neighbor and a more genial and generous fellow I never met....” Major Bell, it is known, was not always strictly factual.
Following the Surprise Canyon strike, Panamint City was quickly built and quickly filled with thugs who lived by their guns; gamblers and painted girls who lived by their wits.
An engaging sidewalk promoter known as E. P. Raines, who possessed a good front and gall in abundance, but no money, assured the owners of the Panamint claims that he could raise the capital necessary for development. He set out for the city, registered at the leading hotel, attached the title of Colonel to his name; exchanged a worthless check for $25 and made for the barroom. It was no mere coincidence that Mr. Raines before ordering his drink, parked himself alongside a group of the town’s richest citizens and began to toy with an incredibly rich sample of ore. It was natural that members of the group should notice it. Particularly the multimillionaire, Senator John P. Jones, Nevada silver king.
Soon the charming crook was the life of the party. His $25 spent, he actually borrowed $1000 from Jones. Having drunk his guests under the table, Mr. Raines went forth for further celebration and landed broke in the hoosegow. Hearing of his misadventure, his new friends promptly went to his rescue. “... Outrage ... biggest night this town ever had....”
To make amends for the city’s inhospitable blunder, Raines was taken to his hostelry, given a champagne bracer and made the honor guest at breakfast. “Where’s the Senator?” he asked. Informed that Senator Jones had taken a train for Washington, Raines quickened “Why, he was expecting me to go with him....” He jumped up, fumbled through his pockets in a pretended search for money. “Heavens—my purse is gone!” Instantly a half dozen hands reached for the hip and Mr. Raines was on his way.
It required but a few moments to get $15,000 from the Senator and his partner, Senator William R. Stewart, for the Panamint claims. He also sold Jones the idea of a railroad from a seaport at Los Angeles to his mines and this was partially built. The project ended in Cajon Pass. The scars of the tunnel started may still be seen.