Gordon Johnson and his grandfather walked in off the dusty street, sat on wooden bar stools at the Long Branch Saloon and ordered a couple of long-neck Coors.

"I guess I was only about 16 or 17," Johnson, an author and former editor of The Californian said recently. "Nobody in Temecula really cared about stuff like that back then. They didn't check a lot of IDs."

Back then was about 40 years ago, roughly a decade before the great Temecula housing rush of the 1980s got under way.

The Long Branch was one place in Temecula where stories about the old days -- real, imagined or greatly exaggerated -- were still told and heard.

On the wall behind the bar of the Old Town saloon, hung items from the all-to-soon passing era, a time when cattle ranching ruled the day and men drank away their idle time trying to erase the soreness in their backs or the memory of cold nights tending the herd.

Horseshoes and lanterns, reins, ropes and other clutter hung from the walls and beams of the old watering hole.

It was a hot, summer day and the beer went down smooth and quick, barely touching the backs of the old man's or the teenager's parched throats.

After a time and some small talk, and with his tongue a little looser than normal in front of his grandson, Paul Magee pointed a weathered cowpoke's finger at the wall.

"See those reins," Magee asked?

Johnson looked up and saw the rotting leather reins and a tarnished silver bit hanging on the wall.

"Those were on my uncle's horse the night he shot the constable," Magee said.

"What happened," Johnson asked?

His grandfather, perhaps thinking better of telling the tale to the teenager, added little more to the story.

'I'm not really sure," Johnson remembered his grandfather saying. "I just know he shot a constable and another guy named Louis Escallier, killed them both."

The killing of Temecula Constable Preston Swanguen and one of the town's leading citizens, Louis Escallier, by Paul Magee's uncle, Horace "Horse" Magee, on Christmas Eve 1907 caused an uproar never seen before, and seldom since, in Temecula.

An exact account of what happened that night is hard to surmise, owing largely to the amount of whiskey those in attendance consumed, the exaggerated newspaper accounts that followed and the subsequent attempts of historians to retell and reshape the events.

The shooting took place at a pool hall, but which pool hall? Most accounts place the gunplay inside the Welty Building -- which still stands at Old Town Front and Main streets -- at the establishment of Joe Winkels.

The Los Angeles Times reported the incident occurred at a "poolroom run by Albert Begoumois," a name otherwise lost in Temecula history. Still others said that, while the drinking had taken place at Winkels' place, the shooting occurred at a pool hall owned by Louis Escallier, which may have been across the street.

Here, meshing press reports of the day along with subsequent eyewitness reports, is a reasonably accurate account of what took place on that infamous Christmas Eve in Temecula, 100 years ago tonight.

The players:

Preston Van Buren Swanguen was born in Missouri in 1863 and moved to California as a young man. In 1886, he married Blanche Johnson, originally from Illinois, in a ceremony held in Oceanside.

Fate brought him to Temecula a few years later where in 1889 he took over Pioneer Livery, the town's first livery stable, from original owner J.F. Kolb.

Called "Pres" by all and well-respected by the townsfolk, Swanguen was named Temecula's constable.

Several years later, Swanguen married again -- just what happened to Blanche is unknown, although she lived until 1944 -- this time to Cassandra Johnson. The wedding took place on Oct. 6, 1893, at the Temecula Hotel.

The Escalliers were among Temecula's most prominent early families. Louis, a Frenchman, was a businessman and pool hall owner. There are 21 grave markers for the Escallier family in the Temecula Public Cemetery -- including one marked simply "Six Shooter" -- more than for any other single family.

Horace "Horse" Magee was the son of John Magee, a local pioneer and store owner who also served for many years as Temecula's justice of the peace. Not much is known about his family except that Judge Magee, as he was known, had an Indian wife and eight children.

Horace Magee was said to be a man of some education, but was known to have a violent temper when drinking. His bouts with alcohol had caused him on occasion, it was reported, to believe evil men with horns were chasing him. But his positive traits, it was said, often outweighed the negative.

As a young man, Magee had worked for the Garner brothers on the Santa Rosa Ranch. On one occasion, Bob Garner's son was sick with diphtheria. The closest medicine was in San Bernardino and floods had washed out the train tracks. Magee rode on horseback for 24 hours straight, more than 100 miles, to get the medicine and bring it back. He was credited with saving the boy's life. It was an act the Garner family would never forget.

The story:

Drinking started early in Temecula on Christmas Eve in 1907.

Because of the chronic alcoholism that caused him to believe he was being pursued by little horned men, Horace Magee had steered clear of the bottle for almost six months. But, for whatever reason, on this day the ranch hand found himself belly up to the bar at Joe Winkels' "Blind Pig Saloon" in Temecula at the corner of Front and Main.

Magee had at least six, some said nine, glasses of "red whiskey" along with several men, including Swanguen. Winkels began to taunt Magee, calling him names like half-wit, because he was half-Indian. Magee got mad and Winkels had him tossed out of the bar, threatening to beat him if he returned.

At some point, Swanguen had left the bar and walked a half block home to have Christmas Eve dinner with his family and several friends, including Amos and Maggie Kolb and their children.

Meanwhile, the drinking at the saloon continued. Magee, still incensed, went across the street and purchased a .38 Iver-Johnson revolver and ammunition at Frank Fernald's store -- some accounts say the gun was given to him by someone on the street -- and returned to Winkels' place.

Though never proved, it was said by some that Magee had returned to the bar about 8:30 p.m. intending to shoot Winkels.

The night had turned cold and a chilly wind blew as Magee re-entered the bar. Most inside ignored him and Magee soon engaged Escallier in an animated conversation in Spanish.

It's not known what was said, but somewhere in the conversation a bet was made between the men that Magee would buy Escallier a drink if the businessman would "kiss my ass," people heard Magee say. Escallier agreed and Magee turned around and lowered his pants.

However, instead of a kiss, Escallier took the cigar he'd been smoking and applied the lit end to Magee's rear. Magee later said this was the last thing he remembered about the events of that night.

Sensing trouble, someone in the bar was sent to Swanguen's home to fetch the constable. Apprised of what was happening and who was involved, Swanguen excused himself from dinner. Knowing both men involved, the constable felt comfortable leaving home without his gun to halt the fracas.

The shooting

Magee was enraged. As Swanguen entered the bar, Magee shouted out "somebody has got to pay for this."

Then Magee seemed to settle down. Walking toward the constable with his hand outstretched, Magee asked for the lawman's friendship. Swanguen either didn't see the hand or chose to ignore it.

Finally, Swanguen turned to take Magee's hand. But it was too late. Magee had already pulled his gun and begun to fire. His first shot missed, but the next two caught Swanguen square in the chest, dropping the lawman and killing him.

The bar erupted and the drunken crowd, including Magee, tried to get out the door.

Escallier grabbed the gunman, but Magee fired three more times, hitting the Frenchman and killing him.

At least one account, confirmed by Ole Larsen, who was at the pool hall that night, said Escallier died first, followed by Swanguen. Larsen, a longtime Temecula bartender, also said he was wounded in the wrist by a bullet during the fracas.

Magee reached the street and began to run, chased by a mob that included John Jackson, who caught the fugitive and clubbed him over the head with a pool cue.

"The stroke felled Magee but did not seem to stun him for he kept on shooting," the Times reported. "Jackson landed a second blow which proved more effective and disabled the Indian for future battle."

The headline on the front-page of Riverside Enterprise's Christmas morning edition blared "TERRIBLE TRAGEDY ENACTED -- Two Killed By Drunken Half Breed."

Both the Enterprise and the Times reported Magee was not expected to live. Other accounts by witnesses, however blurry, said Magee was dragged off by a mob to the nearby Main Street Bridge over the creek to be hanged.

Cooler heads prevailed. Dr. Sturgess, of Murrieta, treated the suspect's wounds and, after a night in the Temecula jail, Magee was secreted off to a cell in Riverside on Christmas morning.

The trial

Horace Magee's trial began Jan. 27, 1908, and lasted a week. There was no doubt that Magee had killed the two men. The defense hoped to show that Magee, a lifelong alcoholic, was not capable of telling right from wrong when he shot Swanguen and Escallier.

The Riverside jury deliberated for less than an hour before finding Magee guilty of first-degree murder. He was sentenced to life in prison at San Quentin.

Meanwhile, funeral services had been held in Temecula for the two victims.

"Both Swanguen and Escallier were well known in this community," the Times reported. "Both leave large families."

Granted a pardon

Magee served 12 years at San Quentin. During that time, Bob Garner, whose son's life had once been saved by Magee, worked hard for the inmate's release.

Magee had been generally well-liked in Temecula and some thought that, given the circumstances including the alcohol and the burning cigar applied to his rump, the life sentence was too harsh.

Eventually, Garner convinced a judge to parole Magee and he went to live and work on Garner's ranch near Lake Hemet.

"He was given a cabin and his keep and later a housekeeper as he grew older," wrote the late Tony Tobin, a Temecula historian and founder of the Temecula Valley Museum. "Magee was well liked by all who knew him and the tragedy he committed was the result of a prank of one drunk to another."

Magee rarely left the ranch except on trips to buy cattle.

In 1963, at age 85, Magee died on the Garner Ranch as his cousin Jozee Salinas trimmed his hair.

The ghosts aren't talking

A 3-foot-high marble cross, on which is carved: "Louis Escallier/Born Sept. 30, 1871/ Died Dec. 24, 1907," marks the grave of the Frenchman who died that night, 100 years ago.

About 30 feet away, up a slight hill and just north, is a simple ground marker for the constable, his name misspelled: "P.V.S. Swangen 1863-1907."

Grave markers and headstones with many of the names of others present that night in 1907, including Joe Winkels who died in 1939, are not far away.

A full century has now whistled past this country graveyard.

Temecula is a far different place than anyone in attendance that night could have possibly imagined.

But the lawman and the businessman who died on Christmas Eve deserve to be remembered, as does the tragic tale of the man who pulled the trigger.

Contact staff writer John Hunneman at (951) 676-4315, Ext. 2603, or hunneman@californian.com.