A cowboy’s personal demons

Tom Doherty, a 20-year veteran police officer said...
“Even if you’re justified, killing someone means you’ve taken something away that can never be given back, never replaced, never repaired, never ameliorated. It’s absolutely irreversible. That’s a heavy burden to carry...”
Years ago, I had the good fortune to spend a lot of time with DeReese Nielson, a great story teller with a memory like a steel trap. He loved telling of the days before World War II when he rode for the SS Cattle Company.
Often mentioned in his stories was a cowboy named Mark Gudmundsen. He was described as an excellent hand who could do anything from the back of a horse though he preferred a mule if one was available. Fearless, and always focused on the job at hand, Mark commanded respect from everyone.
DeReese never spoke of Mark without mentioning his nighttime behavior. Before retiring, he would brew a large pot of coffee and sip it the night through while smoking hand-rolled cigarettes one after another.
Everyone knew he had to have slept sometime, although no one could remember seeing him do it. They all wondered why... until one day when a couple of cowboys got into a heated argument and one threatened to kill the other.
Hearing this, Mark spun around and strongly rebuked the threatening man, screaming “Don’t you ever threaten the life of another; I’ve killed a man and have been haunted every night since!”
It was only after DeReese passed on that I learned Mark was the grandson of a half-brother to the legendary San Juan County cowboy Jacob Adams. Mark was part of the family that remained in Parowan when the rest of the Adamses came to Bluff.
In 1935, the Parowan branch of the Adams family had grazed their sheep in the mountains to the east in the summer, and in the desert 20 miles to the northwest in winter.
All the winter grazing was on public land, but the flock had to be driven each day to water on private land held by the family for more than 40 years.
All went well until a man by the name of Alexander Norte homesteaded a 40-acre parcel mere feet from where the Adams herd came to drink.
As soon as Norte arrived, he fenced off trails crossing public land to block the Adams sheep from reaching their watering spot. He vigilantly stood watch for animals trespassing and protested violently whenever they did.
Threats seemed empty in the early years, but as time passed became more frequent and laced with much more violence.
Norte was known to have issued threats on the lives of every Irishman he saw. The Adams family was well known for, and proud of their Irish heritage.
On one occasion, Norte said, “there will be a lot of little orphaned Mormon boys around Parowan.”
When the threats reached this level, the Adamses began carrying firearms when they went for water, knowing that someday, being armed could spell the difference between life and death.
So it was that on the afternoon of November 21, 1935, when Gudmundsen, 22 years old at the time, brought the sheep to water. The sheep drank and were leaving when Norte burst from his camp on a dead run screaming that a few animals had crossed over on his land.
When he was a hundred yards off, Gudmundsen yelled at him not to come closer. When words had no effect, he fired a warning shot in the air. Still no change.
He then fired a round into the ground closer to Norte. Still no response. Fearful of allowing Norte within pistol range, Mark took aim and fired. The shot from 75 yards struck Norte in the chest. He died instantly.
It was at that moment that the demons that kept Mark Gudmundsen from sleeping were unleashed. It would take years to exorcise them.
(This is Part 1 of a short series about the life of a man who 80 years ago came to San Juan County to spend time with a relative and hopefully find peace.Next, in Part 2, the trial and more about the lives of both the shooter and the victim.)