The following account of the entire tragedy offers no point of reference. There is no indication where the information in the article comes from and details are different from Lubo's account and that of his wife. In fact, it's hard to accept it at all.
Journalism has changed a lot in the last 106 years. The Arizona Daily Star would not even consider printing a story without attributing the facts to their sources.
However, as far as we can tell, this article is the last word on the story of Guadalupe Lubo. We can find no story of the trial or its outcome, or of a sentencing if there was no trial.
While there are some papers missing from microfilm, the source for the star's archives on newspapers.com, the editions that should have this information are available, so it appears the Star did not see fit to tell the rest of the story.
We share this romanticized account of the tragedy. It would make a fine script for a movie.
From the Arizona Daily Star, Sunday, April 14, 1912:
KORNKOB MINE NO EXCEPTION SUPERSTITION
Conviction of Western Miners That Property Does Not Amount to Much Until Tragedy Becomes Part of History
It has long been the conviction of miners in the west that a mine does not amount to much until a tragedy has become part of its history. It was because of this belief that the oldtimers looked wise and nodded their heads at each other at the camp of the Kornkob Mining company, in the Catalina mountains, east of Tucson, Ariz., on February 13, 1912, when the buckets came up the shaft filled with the best copper ore ever taken from the mine. Had not Miguel Limone been killed the day before? All the men knew Miguel, as well as Guadalupe Lubo, the Yaqui Indian who killed him.
A hot day in the previous July, when the company was laying foundations for the heavy machinery being installed for developing its mines, old Guadalupe, accompanied by his wife, much younger than he, and their four children, came into camp, some of them riding and others driving a bunch of burros. The man was promptly employed to cut and pack wood. The eldest boy, a lad of 16, took the job of packing water from a spring for the use of the camp, and to the big tanks in which water was stored to be used in masonry work. For some months all went well with the family. Money came in fast and promptly. The children had new clothes. Chickens were bought, a sewing machine was purchased for the woman. It is true the machine was small, and turned by hand, but it was a great improvement on the thimble-driven needle.
Then came Miguel Limone, a thick-set, indolent Mexican. At that time the company needed men for making roads, grading for buildings and doing other work. Miguel was employed. He would work for a short time, earning enough to supply his immediate wants, and then lay off until the money was gone. After this occurred a few times he was refused employment at the mine. In the meantime he had spent much of his time around the old Yaqui’s hut, and finally persuaded Guadalupe to let him share his wood contract.
From that time on Miguel’s attention to the Indian's wife because the scandal of the Mexican camp. On February 1 the woman moved to Miguel’s tent. The old Indian pleaded with her to return to him. She refused. Finally he begged that she would let him have back his favorite child. She said no to this request.
The 12th of February Guadalupe awoke to discover that Miguel, the woman and children had taken some of the burros and departed during the previous night. The old Yaqui was wild. He seized his rifle and made a rapid circle of the camp. Soon he struck the trail and started on that tireless run for which his tribe is famous. About 2 o’clock he was near Alder Gulch, the old placer diggings, where even to this day Mexicans and Indians pan gold in small quantities. Both men knew every foot of the ground, for they had been over it many times. The Indian could tell by the “sign” that his enemy was but a short distance ahead of him. He took a slower gait, and when he came to an elevation he crawled to the highest point and scanned the trail ahead. At last he saw his quarry. Miguel had stopped at the edge of the mesa, where the steep and rough trail dropped suddenly and would its way to the bottom of Alder Gulch, 200 feet below. For some miles Miguel had frequently looked back along the trail, and he knew that this was the last opportunity he would have for some time to reach for a possible pursuer. He gazed long and earnestly, and seeing nothing to arouse his suspicion, urged his tired burro down the trail, the others following. As soon as the last one had passed from view the Yaqui sprang to his feet, and, taking a course to the west, parallel to the gulch, broke into a run that soon brought him a mile above where the trail crossed. Taking advantage of mesquite that hid him from view, he crossed the canyon and dropped to the ground behind a large cactus that grew close to the trail his enemy had to travel. In a few moments the party came in sight, Miguel leading, mounted on a burro, smoking a cigarette, and with the youngest child of the Indian, a little girl 3 years of age, seated in front of him. The mother and the other children were riding single file behind him.
When Miguel came within a few feet of the ambush Guadalupe stepped out, and, pointing his 30-30 Winchester at the Mexican’s head (he did not want to risk injuring his child), he said: “Buenos trades, Miguel. Get off the burro so that you and I can discuss the little difference that has again brought us together.” There was no alternative. The Mexican knew it meant death to hesitate and replied, “Mui bien,” and dismounted. His left side was toward the Yaqui. His right had, partly concealed by the child’s clothes, stealthily sought the revolver that was always strapped to his waist, and with which he never missed his mark. That was Miguel’s conscious act. The Indian saw the motion and fired. The impact of the bullet twisted the Mexican’s body to one side, and he pitched heavily to the ground, his fingers grasping at the rocks upon which he had fallen.
The attending physician, in his official report, stated that the steel-jacketed, soft-nose bullet had entered the man’s left side, passed through his body and lodged in his right arm, tearing his heart to shreds in its course.
When the Mexican fell the child was flung sprawling some distance away. She scrambled to her feet and ran screaming to her mother. Guadalupe had instantly thrown another cartridge into the barrel of his rifle and aimed the weapon at his wife’s breast. Then, changing his mind, he raised the gun to his shoulder and, muttering, “I don’t care what becomes of me now,” he took the trail back to camp. He reached his home late in the night, roused his oldest boy, the only child who had remained with him, and told him that he had killed Miguel. The next morning he informed his neighbors of what he had done, sold the little sewing machine and the chickens to one of them, and left camp, saying he was going to Tucson to surrender to the authorities.
A vaquero riding the range near Alder Gulch heard the shot, went down to investigate, and, after hearing the woman’s story, roped the body of Miguel to a burro and packed it to a neighboring ranch, where the sheriff and coroner viewed it, and buried it on a convenient hillside.
The woman? Oh, yes. The second morning after the killing she appeared in camp, expressed no sorrow at the sudden demise of Miguel Limone, but was bitterly disappointed and deeply grieved because the sheriff had not overtaken Guadalupe Lubo and killed him. She is tormented by the fear that some night she will waken to find the fierce and revengeful eyes of the old Yaqui fixed upon hers, his deadly rifle in his hands, and then what will happen?
Quien sabe?
This account even spells the name of the murdered man incorrectly. But most intriguing is the amount of detail in the story of how Lubo tracked Limon and Lubo's family, where he waited to accost them and what followed. How could they know this? It was surely built on rumors and the changes that occur when a story is told and retold.
At least all the stories agree that Lubo killed Limon, whether or not some believe he was justified. Most also paint the unfaithful wife in a poor light. But what happened to the children? We'll probably never know.
