By Parker Anderson

In the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries, Goddard Station was a popular stagecoach stop between Phoenix and Prescott. Operated by Charles E. Goddard and his wife, Rosa, the little ranch-café was down near New River.

On Feb. 1, 1903, it all came to an end. Two men, described by witnesses as heavy-set Mexicans, walked in and asked to be fed. They proceeded to draw their guns and open fire. When the dust had settled, Goddard and his clerk, Frank Cox, lay dead. Witnessing the deadly attack were Goddard’s wife, and Milton Trumbull, a friend.

The story has been retold fairly often, but never in the context of its era. At this time in the American West, the heavy Mexican population lived under virtually the same conditions of bigotry, segregation and social servitude that African-Americans were enduring in the Deep South.

The newspapers of the day reflected the conditions, regaling the reading public with countless incidents of crimes allegedly committed by Mexicans. Some of them were undoubtedly guilty, while others no doubt had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and got the blame.

The Goddard Station killers got away, and soon Yavapai County Sheriff Joe Roberts was in pursuit. He was unsuccessful, as the two men crossed the Mexican border and were safe. The case seemed to end there.

A short time later, a Maricopa County deputy named Billy Blankenship learned that two Mexicans matching the description of the killers were working on a railroad section just across the border. How he acquired such unusually detailed information is unknown, but he went to the border and persuaded the section boss to add in the capture of the men.

The boss sent one of the men across the American line on a team. The suspect had not even known he had crossed back into America when he was captured (the border was neither fenced nor guarded in those days, and only law enforcement officials from both sides knew exactly where the line was).

The boss paid the second suspect’s wages with a check drawn on an American bank in Naco, and when he tried to sneak across to cash it, Blankenship was waiting for him.

The two Mexicans were identified as Hilario Hidalgo and Franciso Renteria (the spelling of their names has varied considerably in different accounts), and Sheriff Roberts wasted no time in going to Naco to claim the prisoners.

Hidalgo and Renteria were securely lodged in the Yavapai County jail in Prescott, where they were identified as the killers by Turnbull and Francisco Rodriguez, a shepherd who claimed to have conversed with the men outside of Goddard Station just before the shooting.

Brought to trial in June 1903, Hidalgo and Renteria were swiftly convicted and sentenced to hang. They were not permitted to appeal their death sentences (as legendary murderer James Parker was allowed to do six years earlier), undoubtedly because they were Mexicans. They never admitted their guilt, which unnerved Prescott townspeople who were amazed to see anyone go to meet their Maker with a lie on their lips.

On July 31, Hilario Hidalgo and Francisco Renteria were hanged on the east side of the Yavapai County Courthouse. As Sheriff Roberts pulled the switch, their final words were simply “Adios!” Considering the racial atmosphere of the day, the question can be asked: Were they guilty? Probably, considering there were eyewitnesses.  But, were they treated with the same rights and privileges as other murderers? The answer is no.

A number of “after the fact” accounts of the Goddard Station murders refer to it as an example of how swift Frontier Justice really was – scarcely six months had passed between the murders and the executions. But in reality, Hidalgo and Renteria were the first hangings in Yavapai County since James Parker five years before.

During that time, quite a number of murderers had their sentences commuted by higher courts and by the Territorial Governors. In fact, so many killers escaped the gallows in Arizona during this time that newspapers openly complained about it.

Assuming that Hidalgo and Renteria really were guilty, their motive for the cold-blooded crime was never known. They made no attempt to rob the Station after gunning down Goddard and Cox. In speculation, some historians have surmised that it was some kind of grudge, or perhaps a hired hit, but no one ever really knew for sure.

Prescott’s Mexican community took up a collection for a funeral and burial of the two in unmarked graves in Citizen’s Cemetery. Reflecting the attitudes of the day, the press seldom referred to the killers by name, preferring instead to call them simply “the Mexicans.”

In fact, the racial attitudes of the time are best reflected by the July 28, 1903 Journal Miner, which snorted: “It is said that when the guards compelled them to take a bath last night, they showed more signs of real suffering than at any previous time since they have been in jail.”

(Parker Anderson is an active member of the Sharlot Hall Museum's Blue Rose Theatre).