By day he was the picture of a dashing young caballero, handsome and mounted on a fine horse.
By night he was the terror of El Camino Real, a frightening figure in black who preyed upon well-to-do travelers making their way on the lonely stretch of road between Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo.
Sitting in the saddle, a brace of Colt Dragoon revolvers around his waist and a string of human ears hanging from his saddle horn, this man was a sight to chill the boldest.
Fortune after fortune in gold was flowing south in those days, and he wanted a share of it, not only for himself, but for other Californios who had been betrayed or abused by the invading Americans.
Salomón Pico embodied the stuff myths are made from, and the line between what is true and what is legend becomes very blurry indeed.
But like Robin Hood and other “noble outlaws,” Pico did not take to a life of crime on a whim.
When he was born into the powerful Pico family in 1821 he seemed destined to lead the life of a wealthy Californio nobleman.
In 1840 he married 17-year-old Juana Vasquez from Santa Cruz, and in 1844 he was awarded a land grant of 58,000 acres in Stanislaus County near the Tuolumne River.
He fought on the Mexican side in the Mexican-American War of 1846, and when the war ended he went back home, intending to enjoy family life and tend to his ranchero.
This happy picture came to an abrupt end when gold was discovered at Sutter’s Mill. Pico’s ranchero sat in the heart of Gold Country, and the Tuolumne River was believed to contain especially rich pickings.
Pico’s holdings were overrun with placer mining camps, and all along the Tuolumne men were panning for gold, heedless of the fact that this land belonged to someone else.
The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo guaranteed that Mexican-era land grants would be respected. But Congress added a wrinkle: To keep their property, Californios had to prove ownership to a less-than-impartial American Land Commission, a costly and difficult process that could take years.
For all intents and purposes, Pico’s ranchero was his no longer.
Pico was sentenced to hang. But he escaped from jail and fled south, ending up in Baja California.
Even worse, his wife, Juana, died. Some say she died of an unknown disease, others that it came at the hands of unruly miners.
Whatever the cause, she died on Nov. 19, 1848, and this appears to have been the last straw for Pico.
Pico relocated to Rancho Los Alamos and set up a cattle dealing business, but this was only a cover.
Operating out of Drum Canyon, he began robbing and sometimes killing travelers unfortunate enough to cross his path.
He chose his base of operations well. The highway from Santa Barbara to San Luis Obispo was one of the most desolate on the entire King’s Road.
Thick woods and narrow canyons made it easy for bandits to descend on unwary travelers, and soon reports began to circulate of people being robbed and others simply disappearing.
As the string of disappearances and holdups continued, suspicion fell on Pico and his compatriots.
In 1851 a posse, alerted by the murder of a mail carrier named John Caldwell, went into Drum Canyon and found bodies, shallow graves, and empty bags of the type used to transport gold.
Believing that the murderers had fled north, the posse pursued and caught up with Pico and his gang near San Luis Obispo.
Years later an eyewitness recalled:
“Pico was brought into San Luis Obispo strongly guarded. He was a fine-looking man, well mounted when captured, and showed no sign of fear. He rode quietly between the officers as though he were merely taking a journey.”
Pico was sentenced to hang. But he escaped from jail and fled south, ending up in Baja California.
What happened afterward is murky, and there are conflicting stories of how he met his end. The most commonly accepted version is that he was executed on April 14, 1860.
But stories lingered on that he blended into Mexican society under another name, or was killed in a gunfight in northern Mexico.
And so Salomón Pico passed into legend.
A story, persisting to this day, claims that he left buried treasure behind in Drum Canyon. Many have searched for it, but it has never been found.
The Solomon Hills northwest of Los Alamos are named for him. Like Robin Hood or Ned Kelly, his stature has grown over the years, such that it is virtually impossible to separate fact from fiction.
The noble outlaw appears at times of stress and turmoil, fighting for his people against foreign invaders or corrupt authorities.
Pico’s memory will live on, because it is the stuff that legends are made from.