Hillsboro is a frontier cow town. It was that 80 years ago. It
nestles down among its cottonwoods so serene and peaceful that
you'd never suspect it has had more turbulent days and many
more hundreds of people than it now has. But the house less
foundations and the people less houses tell of a vanished
prosperity.
Hillsboro's best days were those when it was the county seat of
Sierra County; when the place was encircled for miles with small
mines and its sister town of Kingston overran with miners.
Hillsboro is still picturesque, inviting, attractive. Retired people
settle here. Tourists like to linger here even with limited ac-
accommodations. And there are those who just don't want to live
anywhere else.
Hillsboro has had many small ranches around it and a few big
spreads like the Ladder outfit. This place has heard hundreds of
real cow country stories of rustling, brand burning, gun fights and
knifing, It has had its bitter trials of rustlers, horse thieves and
mine salting.
Very early it had its battles with Apaches. It has the vivid
record of teenager Homer Tarbill whom the mounted Apaches
cruelly whipped into town afoot. When the terrified boy reached
the store of Perrault and Calles he blacked out from loss of blood
down his lacerated back.
Hillsboro has watched Kingston lose its surging mining pop-
ulation. It has seen Lake Valley fade from crash prosperity to
nothingness. It has watched name-changing Truth or
Consequences grow into a little city and take its courthouse away.
And still Hillsboro goes on, not wishfully waiting for a new birth.
Not caring about population figures hung up elsewhere. Just a
happy warm place to live, if you just don't care!