Juan Orejas (Ears) aka: Juan Lopez, got his name for taking the left ear off those he killed; he was a member of the savage Tres Dedos Gang. His cousin, Ojo de Aguila – Eagle Eye (Juan Maria Lopez) was part of Murrieta’s Gang and spent his time with a large spy glass scouring trails. On the day of the ambush at Cantua, he manned the lookout at Las Piedras, seen here, in the distance, looking West from Cantua Creek. It is almost certain Murrieta was there on the day of the ambush, retrieving the fifty horses he and Dedos had secreted, and it is entirely possible he witnessed the gunfight through a looking glass. Coming from the history that Latta compiles, add to that Murrieta’s nature, and is not hard to come this conclusion; he was a gambler by trade, and even though he was being pursued by the most qualified lawmen in the state, who were not only skilled in the arts of the vocation, riding and shooting and the like, they were relentless.

But if Murrieta was going to make this his last drove, he was going to go for broke, just like dealing at the Monte tables. At the Tejon pass, he and Dedos make the fatal decision to return to Cantua for the 50 horses corralled and branded at Tres Piedras. They split from the drove, and Teodoro Valenzuela and Juan Ears head it south along to Sonora, while Dedos and Murrieta return to Cantua. According to Latta, viz a viz Avelano Martinez (Mocho), the day AFTER the gunfight, both Ojo de Aguila, and Murrieta were there helping to bury their compadres. He describes to Latta how they buried the dead in a crude grave by kicking the dirt from the fragile sides down onto the headless bodies of el Chappo – Murrieta’s hostler, and Tres Dedos (mit out 1 hand) and he includes the curious detail that Murrieta, with his head on his shoulders, refuses to help with Dedos. A handless arm sticks up from the dry creek bed.A shiver of dirt falls from above Ojo de Aguila – “We can’t just leave him like that.”

Murrieta looks at the disturbing image without expression, then turns and walks toward a dun colored horse, saying nothing. Ojo looks back at the handless arm protruding from a mound and tugs on it. The one hand body of Three Fingered Jack tumbles into the creek bed; a stubble of dried blood covers the shoulders where once was a head, the buzz of flies swarm in the blazing midmorning sun…