Filipe Espinosa: A Serial Killer in the Wild West

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In the early 1860s, the territory of Colorado would have been the perfect setting for a classic western movie. Mexican farmers uneasily cohabited with recently arrived American settlers and gold prospectors. The Union cavalry and U.S. marshals patrolled the canyons, woodlands, and gulches searching for bandits, skirmishing with native nations, or recruiting volunteers for the ongoing Civil War in the East. However, from spring to autumn 1863, these lawmen would be confronted with a whole new breed of horror, one we would normally associate with another genre altogether. The territory settlers faced three seasons of terror due to the murderous insanity of the Espinosa brothers.

Felipe Espinosa, described at the time as a Mexican bandit, achieved infamy as one of the first, if not the first, serial killers of the Wild West. He was born in 1827 in what is today known as El Rito, New Mexico. He was the older of five siblings, one of whom, his brother Vivin, was born in 1831 and became a trusted partner in crime. There is only sparse information about the early lives of Felipe and Vivin, but we know their parents were subsistence farmers. Literacy was not common in these rural communities, yet at least Felipe and Vivin could read and write.

Felipe was known among his neighbors for his impulsive, volatile, and violent temper. This worsened after the Mexican-American War of 1846-1848. After the war, the United States acquired large swaths of territory from Mexico, including the lands where the Espinosas had settled. The territory allowed Mexican residents to remain in the newly acquired lands, but Washington encouraged settlers to travel west and start farming the same territories. This inevitably led to simmering tension and open conflict between the two communities known as Hispanos and Anglos. As a proud Hispano, Felipe resented the Anglo newcomers, whom he saw as usurpers and enemies of the true Catholic faith.

Both Espinosa brothers were devoutly religious and members of the Holy Brotherhood of the Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Members of this fraternity provided philanthropic help to the less fortunate, but some indulged in extreme religious practices. It’s unclear if Felipe inflicted such violence upon himself, but it appears he did inflict it upon others.

In 1854, the 27-year-old Felipe decided he wanted to marry, but after having no luck with local ladies, he traveled south to abduct two sisters, Secondina and Eugenia, aged 17 and 11, respectively. Thankfully, he almost immediately set Eugenia free, but he kept the older sister with him for several days, mentally and physically abusing her. Secondina eventually escaped and returned to her family, but her father, terrified by Felipe’s violent character, convinced her to marry her abductor. We don’t know if their relationship developed into less toxic patterns, but we know they went on to have three children.

In 1858, the Espinosa extended family moved from El Rito to the San Luis Valley in southern Colorado, settling into a community of small farmhouses. By April 1861, the American Civil War had erupted. Colorado was not yet a state but a territory, and the ravages of war had not yet reached the San Luis Valley. According to the census of the time, Felipe and Vivin were making a living as a brick maker and farmer, respectively. However, around this time, it appears the two brothers took to banditry, possibly cattle rustling, earning a reputation in the press as desperate and lawless.

For much of 1862, the Espinosas were occasional bandits, but their criminal career was about to take a sharp turn. In December, a priest from the town of Taos reported a gruesome robbery to the U.S. cavalry stationed at Fort Garland. Two men had held up a wagon carrying some of the priest’s properties, looted the vehicle, and seized the driver, Juan Gonzalez. They tied him underneath the wagon and whipped the horses, sending them galloping across the rocky soil. Luckily, he survived and was able to identify the culprits as the Espinosa brothers.

Calvary Lieutenant Hart organized an expedition in mid-January 1863, accompanied by ten horsemen and U.S. Marshal George Austin. The lawmen paid two visits to Felipe Espinosa’s farmhouse. The first time, they pretended to be on a recruitment mission. Most of the cavalrymen were Hispanos, so why not enlist them for the Union Army? They spoke to the lieutenant quite civilly, but it’s unclear why he did not arrest Felipe then and there. Instead, the detachment left and returned five days later, this time going straight for the arrest.

Chaos broke loose as the Espinosas had access to a veritable arsenal. The two brothers started firing from the windows with pistols, rifles, and even bows and arrows. The cavalry shot back with little success until Hart ordered the house to be set on fire. At that point, Felipe and Vivin made a desperate sortie, discharging more arrows. The lieutenant drew his pistol and fired all of his rounds, missing every single time. His second pistol didn’t seem to work, so he threw it to the ground in frustration, and that’s when it decided to work, wounding Hart on the forehead. Meanwhile, the Espinosas were running away across the frozen river canals. The marshal lost his footing and gave chase, but it all slipped on the ice, and man and beast crashed to the ground. The whole expedition had been a disaster; the two bandit brothers had disappeared into the San Juan Mountains. The marshal had a broken leg, the lieutenant had almost shot himself, and sadly, a corporal had been killed in the hail of gunfire.

The army reacted harshly to the debacle, completely burning down the Espinosa’s farmhouse and confiscating all of their belongings, including their livestock. The entire extended clan was left destitute as a result. This incident may have been at the root of the darkness that descended on Colorado—the killing rage of the Espinosa brothers.

Felipe and Vivin stole two horses during their retreat and made the mountains their new home, on the run from the law. According to later accounts, it was during one of the freezing nights camping in the woods that Felipe had a vision. The Virgin Mary appeared in his dreams, sending him a message from God, ordering him to kill until the blood of 600 Anglos had been spilled. Felipe later wrote that he had lost six relatives during the Mexican-American War and would wash that trespass in blood.

Whatever the motivation, the Espinosas were hell-bent on going on a killing spree. Their hunting ground was initially an area called Sawmill Gulch, just outside of Canyon City, later known as Dead Man’s Gulch. The first victim was sawmill worker Franklin Bruce, shot on March 16, 1863. According to some newspaper reports, a crucifix made of sticks protruded from his bullet wound. Two days later, lumberjack Henry Harkins was found shot in the forehead, with two stab wounds on his chest. The most gruesome detail was that the murderer had split his head in half with an axe.

In a matter of days, the third victim was found—James Adam, killed near Wilkerson Pass, west of Colorado Springs. During April, the bloody Espinosas targeted the town of Fair Play. Jacob Binkley and Abraham Shoop were taken by surprise as they camped outside the city limits. Binkley was shot in the back and died on the spot, while Shoop was stabbed three times and tried to escape but collapsed after a short run. Three more men were slain by the end of the month; one had been shot, another’s head was crushed under a rock, and a third had died with a bloody crucifix carved onto his chest.

At the time, lawmen had not connected these deaths with the two bandits from San Judas; they believed the culprit to be a lone wolf dubbed by the press as the Axeman of Colorado. The residents of the territory were gripped by fear and suspicion; any stranger wandering into town could be the dreaded killer. An unlucky prospector, Mr. Foster, arrived in the town of Alma at the wrong time and was suspected of being the Axeman. He was nearly hanged by a mob but was saved at the last minute by a minister who subdued the crowd.

The governor of the territory, John Evans, offered a bounty for the capture of the Axeman and appointed Colonel John Chivington to lead an infantry detachment to search the region. One of the officers involved was Lieutenant Shoop, brother of one of the Fair Play victims, who offered to double the bounty out of his own pocket. However, the Axeman—or rather, Axemen—remained elusive. It was rumored they were helped by other members of their fraternity, but it is more realistic that they simply moved quickly along mountain paths, preying on lone travelers.

As they added more victims to their tally, the spree killers refined their modus operandi. They ditched the Colt for long-range rifles, stalking their prey and cutting them down from afar. They descended upon the corpses like vultures, and bodies were found disemboweled, decapitated, and with their hearts brutally removed or impaled by wooden stakes. However ghoulish the two murderers were, they were all too human and would eventually commit a mistake.

A lumberjack named Massie Metcalfe was driving a wagon down California Gulch when the Espinosas suddenly appeared in front of him. Without saying a word, one of them fired a shot, hitting Metcalfe in the left breast. He fell backward into the wagon as the panicked horses dashed wildly away. Felipe later wrote in his diary that he killed a man in a wagon, but he hadn’t. Metcalfe was saved by a booklet of Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation stuffed into his breast pocket, which slowed the bullet’s flight.

Finally, there was a survivor who could help describe and locate the scourges of Colorado. Metcalfe reported the botched shooting, and a posse of eight men was quickly formed in Fair Play, led by John McCannon. The posse found a promising trail of hoofprints close to California Gulch. Following the path, they found a gruesome clue—a corpse butchered beyond recognition, which one member of the posse recognized as his brother.

McCannon and his men continued riding for one day and one night. After daybreak, they saw two horses calmly grazing behind a screen of campfire smoke. The posse split into two groups and approached the campsite, creeping through the grass with fingers nervously twitching on their triggers. When a human figure emerged from a bush, the men reacted quickly—perhaps too quickly. Without warning, a shot rang out, and a red stain bloomed on the man’s side as he slumped to the ground. It could have been any innocent traveler, but in this case, it wasn’t. Vivin Espinosa cried out in fury and returned fire with his Colt. More rounds came flying in his direction until one tore through his brain.

A second figure came running from behind the trees. McCannon shouted to hold fire, believing him to be a member of his posse. This was Felipe, of course, who took advantage of the moment of confusion and sprinted away before the Fair Play gunman could take aim. Espinosa disappeared into the woods, pursued by those who had killed his brother. He managed to evade capture until sundown when the posse returned to the encampment. The lone Axeman followed them stealthily and shot one last time before disappearing for good; the bullet missed the man who had killed Vivin by a mere three inches.

McCannon and his men returned to Fair Play with a valuable load—all the loot that the Espinosas had stolen from their victims. Based on the property seized, Fair Play authorities concluded that the outlaws had killed at least 12 men. However, in Felipe’s diary, they found an unsent letter to the Colorado governor in which he confessed to 32 victims.

With Felipe and Vivin once more on the run, Colorado breathed a sigh of relief. The summer was relatively calm; no more Anglos were felled by the axe. The army and posses of settlers still roamed the woods and mountains, but Felipe managed to elude them and even returned several times to his family’s dwelling in San Judas Plaza. During these visits, he dropped further letters and portions of his diaries confessing to the string of murders and threatening further violence. He also took notice of his family’s condition following the cavalry raid in January; the Espinosas had fallen into abject poverty.

It was during one of these visits that Felipe recruited a new accomplice, a nephew of which little is known. He may have been 14, and his name may have been Julio. It’s unclear why he recruited the boy—whether to initiate a new generation of Espinosas or simply to have someone to look after the horses and campfire. Whatever Julio’s age or function, Felipe returned to his murderous ways in autumn 1863. As the leaves started to fall, so too did the bodies. In a matter of weeks, at least 11 killings were recorded in southern and central Colorado attributed to Espinosa.

On October 11, 1863, Felipe and Julio set up an ambush at Levator Pass. As a wagon approached, Felipe attacked with guns in hand. The wagon occupants, a man and a woman, fled on foot in opposite directions. The Espinosas ran after the man, called Philbrook, but soon lost track of him on the mountainside. They returned to Levator looking for the woman, Dolores Sanchez. Meanwhile, she had hidden aboard another wagon driven by two Hispanos. Felipe and Julio held up that wagon as well, and upon finding that the drivers were Mexican, they seemed eager to let them go unharmed. Dolores could have made it unscathed too had she not emerged from her hiding place pleading for the drivers’ lives. Her generosity of spirit would not be rewarded; Felipe allowed the two drivers to trot away but would not reserve the same favor for her. With Julio’s help, Felipe bound her tightly and then proceeded to assault her. The Espinosas abandoned her on the mountainside as they galloped towards more mayhem.

However, help was on its way. Philbrook had reached Fort Garland and alerted its commander, Colonel Tappan. Tappan dispatched a patrol who found Dolores in bad shape but still alive. Back at the fort, Dolores and Philbrook were able to give a detailed description of Felipe. Tappan was ready to strike back but knew just the right man who could locate the Espinosas and deal the final blow. That man was Thomas Tate Tobin, a well-known tracker, trapper, and U.S. Army scout who had fought alongside Wild Bill Hickok and Kit Carson in the wars against Native Americans.

Tappan summoned Tobin to the fort, where he had the opportunity to further question Philbrook and Dolores. With all the information he needed, the scout began the hunt immediately. Only upon Tappan’s insistence did he accept an escort of 15 cavalrymen. With his uncanny tracking skills, Tobin followed the trail of the Espinosas for three days and three nights. Every broken stick and bent blade of grass spoke to him, telling him where the bandits were headed.

On the morning of the fourth day, the scout saw magpies flying in circles in the distance, indicating human presence. This was confirmed by a thin column of smoke rising above the treetops. Tobin ordered the soldiers to stay put, loaded his rifle, dropped to his stomach, and crawled toward the campsite. Two men sat by the fire with a dead ox beside them. The tracker recognized them from the description he had heard at the fort; it was the Espinosas. A snapping sound reverberated through the forest—maybe a breaking branch. It was enough to startle Felipe, who reached for his rifle. Tobin reacted on instinct, barely taking aim, and released a slug, hitting Felipe on the chest. The killer fell backward onto the campfire, calling for Julio to run away. The young nephew sped through the woods, a swift shadow among the trees.

Now Tobin took time to adjust his aim perfectly. He squeezed the trigger a second time, and Julio’s spine was shattered by the shot. But Felipe was still alive. He crawled across the forest floor and braced himself against a tree, lifted his rifle, and shot at Tobin but missed. The Union cavalrymen intervened, releasing a devastating volley. Felipe Espinosa, the Axeman sent by the Virgin to slay the Anglos, withered and jerked against the tree bark as bullet after bullet drained every drop of life from his body. But when he fell to the ground, he still had one ounce of life left inside him. Tobin walked slowly to him, lifted him by the hair, and pulled out his Bowie knife. Tobin asked him, “Do you know who I am?” With his last breath, Felipe muttered, “Bruto,” a brute. Then the brute’s blade fell twice upon the neck of Espinosa.

Days later, Tobin returned to Fort Garland. As he strode into the office of Colonel Tappan, he announced, “Got them.” Tappan asked, “Got what?” Tobin opened the flour sack he’d been carrying and pulled out the heads of Felipe and Julio. Thus ends the narrative of Felipe, Vivin, and Julio, the bloodiest Espinosas, who may have been the first documented serial killers in the history of the Wild West.

Events grew to acquire legendary status, perpetuated by one macabre relic: Felipe’s head, preserved in a jar of alcohol, was exhibited as a traveling act before ending up on the desk of a newspaper editor. Then the head disappeared as the memory of the Espinosas faded from history. According to author Adam Jones, a preserved head, which may have been Felipe’s, was found in the early 2010s in the basement of Colorado’s Capitol building. It was incinerated before it could be analyzed.

To this day, many details concerning the Espinosas’ killings and their eventual demise are still disputed. Even the motivations behind their spree are not entirely clear. Was Felipe driven to kill by delirious dreams and visions of the Virgin Mary, or was the violence political in nature—a revengeful rampage against the Anglo oppressors? Maybe he was just a vile psychopath who strung along his younger brother and teenage nephew, or was he an insurgent fighting with the wrong methods against oppression? Perhaps Felipe’s rage was fueled by all of these elements, and the raid on his plaza was just the last straw that tipped him over the edge into darkness.

I hope you enjoyed today’s episode. Just before you leave, a quick plug for one of my other shows, The Casual Criminalist. It’s a true crime show where we dive into the stories of some