The Lincoln County War was a lawless episode in New Mexico history that is best remembered today for having triggered the legend of Billy the Kid. On April 1, 1878, during that bitter business feud, the Kid and other so-called Regulators killed Lincoln County Sheriff William Brady. New Mexico Territory Governor Lew Wallace never got around to giving Billy a pardon for killing Brady or for his other Lincoln County War escapades. After more than 120 years of media attention, interest in the Kid remains so high that the current governor of New Mexico has been considering giving Billy a posthumous pardon. But the Kid's story has been so romanticized that it has obscured the truth about the Lincoln County War. For years historians have been trying to sort out fact from fiction through a concerted effort to track down each individual prominent in the conflict, to determine what motivated them. One such character is Big Jim French, a figure whose shadowy past has spawned illusive tales by writers more intent on relating a good yarn than accurately describing history. It's high time some of those myths were put to rest, to clear up the often cloudy picture of that 1870s fracas.

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An uncomplicated explanation of the Lincoln County War is that it was a feud involving two competing groups, termed 'rings,' intent on monopolizing trade, politics and vast stretches of land in New Mexico Territory. One ring, known as 'the House,' was a firmly entrenched local commercial empire, so named because most of its business dealings were conducted out of a store that resembled a house, and because the name appealed to the men operating its various nefarious enterprises. The House, besides holding a monopoly on domestic trade, often fulfilled beef contracts for the military through purchasing beef stolen by a band of outlaws known as 'the boys,' and used this gang as enforcers when necessary. By all accounts, the passel of Irishmen associated with the House–originally led by Lawrence G. Murphy–was as ruthless a band of brigands as ever existed in American commerce, as ready to terminate their detractors and competitors as they were to fleece customers.

Attempting to usurp the stranglehold of the House was John Henry Tunstall, a young man with cold, hard cash supplied by his father, a London businessman. By hook or crook, Tunstall was determined to be a success in America, and he came prepared with a bag of tricks that included a combination of Machiavellian tactics and pure capitalism. Tunstall was supported by an able captain, Alexander McSween, an attorney not overly concerned with business ethics and bent on making his own fortune. Through McSween, Tunstall met John Simpson Chisum, a legendary cattle baron with a finger in many pies, who was willing to invest in Tunstall's plans because they held the promise of securing the borders of his empire and ending the rustling that was cutting into his profits. The trio formed a loose association, wherein Tunstall would anchor the territory around Lincoln; Chisum would supply beef, funds, men and the force and integrity of his reputation; while McSween handled the legal affairs of the group. With the formation of this ring, the stage was set for a conflict, one that should have been waged on ledgers, but instead eroded into as bloody a fight as ever hit the Southwest.

In the opening gambits, the Tunstall-Chisum group opened a bank and store to compete with the House. These economic challengers worked out agreements with the small farmers and ranchers, contracting for all livestock feed raised in Lincoln County. Then agreements were reached with various settlers that would provide Tunstall control of water rights–which in desert country provided the holder sway over pasture for miles around. As capitalism was practiced in Europe, such tactics would not have caused a ripple. But in the American West, economic advantage was largely a matter of forcing one's will on another, and the House quickly realized the danger of Tunstall's schemes and organized a resistance. Tunstall naively expected the battles to be fought in court, as economic wars were waged in Europe and Eastern America. He never dreamed that when his business acumen began to ruin his opponent that Murphy's forces would react so aggressively. By underestimating their resolve and methods, Tunstall wound up dead–shot to death on February 18, 1878, by a sheriff's 'posse' composed of outlaws and minions of the House sent to attach livestock as bond for a lawsuit.

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