DUANE
Duane's take
Here's how the official marker tells it, and I'm gonna do my best to do it justice. Now, most roads got their names from something hopeful — a river, a founder, maybe a pretty view. Dead Man's Pass got its name from something else entirely.
And by 1849, folks already knew what to call it. This narrow canyon sits along one of the most demanding stretches of road you could travel in 19th century Texas — a route running from San Antonio all the way to El Paso, and on from there to California. People poured onto that road following the Gold Rush of the 1840s, weeks of hard travel ahead of them, and this particular canyon waitin' for them somewhere in the middle of it all.
Wild animal attacks were a real concern out here. So were raids by Native Americans and highwaymen. The canyon was also called Dead Man's Run, and both names were earned the hard way.
In 1849, an ambush hit a Dr. Lyon's wagon train right here in this pass. When it was over, two teamsters were dead, along with an unknown number of Indians.
That was the year the name stuck. But 1849 was just the introduction. The very next year, 1850, another group of travelers made a decision that sealed their fate.
They'd turned back from Beaver Lake, twenty-five miles to the north, and were headin' toward San Antonio for supplies. To do that, they had to come through here. Four teamsters were killed in the encounter.
The pass didn't discriminate much between years. Now, the U.S. Army wasn't blind to what was happenin'.
They tried to protect the people movin' along this road. Fort Clark, sixty miles to the southeast, and Fort Inge, ninety miles southeast — both were deemed too remote to do the job. So in 1857, the army established Camp Hudson on the Devils River, ten miles north of this very spot.
Closer. Better positioned. And yet, the dangerous conditions continued for many years.
A freighter by the name of August Santleben — born 1845, died 1911 — put it all down in a book called A Texas Pioneer. He enumerated several dozen civilians and soldiers killed along this trail. Among them: five members of the Amlung family, and seven others, all of whom perished right here, one day in 1858.
Santleben didn't flinch from the accounting. Over a forty-year period, he chronicled deaths across the region totaling nearly four hundred in southwest Texas. Nearly four hundred.
Let that number settle for a moment before you drive on. The pass was still considered dangerous as late as the early 1880s. That's not ancient history and a clean ending — that's decades of threat, outlasting forts and camps and whatever courage people mustered to make the crossing.
And the land remembers, too. Dead Man's Creek rises two miles southwest of this site and flows southeast to the Devils River. Dead Man's Canyon begins a mile to the northeast and runs west to the Pecos.
Three names on the map, all reachin' for the same dark truth about this stretch of southwest Texas. In time, this path became a stage route to Ozona, and eventually State Highway 163. Cars pass through now where wagon trains once held their breath.
The canyon's still narrow. The country's still remote. And the name — Dead Man's Pass — is still exactly right.
What the marker says
This narrow canyon marks a remote and perilous section of a road traveled from San Antonio to El Paso and on to California following the Gold Rush of the 1840s. Adding to the hardships of a journey that took several weeks, this particular area was notorious for wild animal attacks and raids by Native Americans and highwaymen. Also known as Dead Man's Run, the feature was named by 1849; an ambush on a Dr. Lyon's wagon train that year ended with two teamsters and an unknown number of Indians dead. In 1850, a group met a similar fate when they turned back from Beaver Lake (25 mi. N) and passed through here en route to San Antonio for supplies. Four teamsters were killed in the encounter. The U.S. Army attempted to protect travelers on the hazardous road. When forts Clark (60 mi. SE) and Inge (90 mi. SE) proved to be too remote, the army established Camp Hudson on the Devils River 10 miles north of here in 1857. However, dangerous conditions continued for many years. In A Texas Pioneer, freighter August Santleben (1845-1911) enumerated several dozen civilians and soldiers killed along the trail, including five members of the Amlung family and seven others who perished here one day in 1858. The pass was considered dangerous as late as the early 1880s. Santleben chronicled several deaths in the area over a 40-year period, totaling nearly 400 in southwest Texas. Two similar topographic names nearby recall the risks of 19th century travel. Dead Man's Creek rises two miles southwest of this site and flows southeast to the Devils River, while Dead Man's Canyon begins a mile to the northeast and runs west to the Pecos. This path that later became a stage route to Ozona and then State Highway 163 is today remembered as a treacherous frontier road. (2007)