Con Men and Cowboys: The Swindles That Fooled the Frontier

[INTRO MUSIC]

Howdy y’all, Chip Schweiger, here. Welcome to another edition of Way Out West. 

The podcast that takes you on a journey through the stories of the American West, brings you the very best cowboy wisdom, and celebrates the cowboys and cowgirls who are feeding a nation. 

The Old West had its fair share of shootouts, cattle drives, and dusty saloons. 

But you know what else it had? 

Hustlers. Con men. And Fast-talking tricksters who could sell you a miracle cure, a gold mine that didn’t exist, or a deck of cards stacked against you from the very start.

Ever heard of Soapy Smith? How about snake oil salesmen? These fellas weren’t just crooks. They were artists. Masters of deception. And they played the frontier like a fiddle.

So today on the show, we’re diving into the Wild West’s greatest cons. The schemes. The scammers. And the poor souls who fell for them.

Plus is there anything we can takeaway in modern society from these scams? Well, we’ll talk about that too. 

After the episode, check out the show notes at WayOutWestPod.com/con-men

[MUSIC]

Welcome back. Before we get into this week, I’m back in the horse barn, but it’s getting kinda cold in North Texas. Down to 9 degrees in a few days. 

I don’t know about you, but that aint my thing! Horses are out, but they’re getting frisky cold, so let’s jump in. 

Let’s start with one of the most notorious CON MEN OF THE WEST—Jefferson Randolph “Soapy” Smith. Ever wonder how a man gets a nickname like Soapy?

It wasn’t because he was clean. It was because of his most famous scam: the Prize Soap Racket.

Picture a busy street. A man stands on a wooden crate, waving bars of soap in the air. “Step right up, folks! You could win a hundred dollars!” He unwraps a few bars, slipping real money inside. A $10 bill. A $50 bill. And in one lucky bar—$100.

The catch? You had to buy a bar to have a chance at winning. People lined up, eager for their shot. And sure enough, a man in the crowd would suddenly shout, “I got the hundred!”

Exciting, right? Except that man? He was in on the scam. A plant. A trick to keep folks buying. Because Soapy made sure no real customer ever got the prize.

And he didn’t stop at soap. He ran gambling halls, rigged poker games, and even had a full-on gang to back him up. His biggest claim to fame? Running the town of Skagway, Alaska, like a king—until he picked the wrong fight and got himself shot.

Now, let’s talk about medicine. Or, well… fake medicine.

The Wild West was full of traveling salesmen, rolling into town with their wagons full of “miracle cures.” 

Rheumatism? Gone. 

Bald spots? Hair overnight. 

Consumption? No problem.

Take Doc Burch. Don’t know if he’s a real historical figure or just an amalgamation of these fake doctors. Now, Doc Burch’s claim to fame? Indian Elixir. Made from secret ingredients passed down from Native American healers. Or so he claimed.

In reality? It was mostly colored water, alcohol, and a bit of morphine. Sure, people felt better. But that’s because they were buzzed out of their minds.

Ever heard the term “snake oil salesman”? That came from these fellas. Some even used real snake fat in their brews—just enough to claim it was the secret ingredient. And by the time folks realized it was a scam, the Doc and his wagon were long gone.

But here’s the real kicker. Some of these concoctions? They weren’t just fake. They were dangerous. Strychnine. Mercury. Cocaine. One sip of the wrong batch, and you weren’t cured—you were worse off than when you started.

If you really wanted to make big money in the West, you didn’t sell soap or medicine. You sold dreams.

Imagine this: A stranger rides into town. Says he’s got a gold mine. And not just any mine—one that’s full of gold.

He’s got proof, too. A few shining nuggets. A bag of gold dust. Maybe even a sworn statement from a trustworthy witness. And best of all? He’s offering folks a chance to buy in.

People scrape together their savings. Sell off land. Borrow money from the bank. And then? Well… you can guess what happens.

By the time anyone realizes the mine is empty—or never existed at all—the seller’s long gone.

One of the most infamous gold mine scams? The Great Diamond Hoax of 1872. Two swindlers, Philip Arnold and John Slack, “discovered” a diamond field in Colorado. Investors threw money at them, thinking they’d struck it rich. Even big names, like the founder of Tiffany & Co., bought in.

Turns out, Arnold and Slack had salted the land—sprinkling real diamonds they’d bought elsewhere into the dirt. When experts finally caught on, the conmen had already skipped town with a fortune.

Let’s say you walk into a saloon. You’ve got a few dollars burning a hole in your pocket. A friendly fella waves you over to a poker table.

You sit down. Order a drink. The game starts off fair. Then, suddenly—you’re losing. Hand after hand.

Ever wonder why?

Because that friendly fella was working with the dealer. Maybe the deck was marked. Maybe the cards were swapped mid-game. Or maybe a smooth-talking player across the table was feeding signals.

One of the best-known gamblers of the time? Doc Holliday. Now, was he a straight shooter? Some say yes. Others? Not so sure.

But plenty of gamblers weren’t so honest. And in the West, if you called out the wrong man for cheating, you might find yourself facing down a pistol instead of a fair rematch.

Let’s take a quick break and when we come back I’ll talk about what we can all learn from all this. Be right back.

[MUSIC]

Welcome back. So what can we learn from all these cons?

First off—people haven’t changed much. We still fall for too-good-to-be-true promises. We still chase easy money. And con artists? They’re still out there. They just trade cowboy hats for suits and ties.

But here’s the thing about the Wild West—there was always a lesson in the hustle. If something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. If a man looked too slick, he probably had a trick up his sleeve.

And here’s another truth—these cons only worked because people wanted to believe. They wanted to believe in easy riches, miracle cures, and lucky breaks. The tricksters weren’t just selling a scam. They were selling hope.

That’s a lesson worth remembering today. If someone’s selling you a dream, ask yourself: Do they stand to gain more than I do? Is the promise built on real value, or just smoke and mirrors?

Way out west, cowboys learned to trust their instincts. If a deal didn’t smell right, they rode the other way. If a man had a reputation for smooth talk and slick hands, they kept their distance.

Maybe that’s the real takeaway from all these old frontier hustles. It’s not just about spotting a scam. It’s about knowing when to bet, when to fold, and when to walk away.

Because in the West—and in life—the smartest folks weren’t the ones looking for shortcuts. They were the ones who played the long game.

Ok, we’re almost done for this week, but before we go, we’ve got one more thing.

[BULL SOUND]

Yep, that distinctive call from Buster the Bull means it’s time for the cowboy glossary term of the week. 

And this week’s term is Donkey. So a donkey is a common name for a member of the ass family.  The Spanish brought donkeys, called “burros” in Spanish, to North America beginning in the late fifteenth century.  They were the favored beast of burden used by prospectors in the desert Southwest of the United States.  A male donkey (jack) can be crossed with a female horse to produce a mule. A male horse can be crossed with a female donkey (jennet or jenny) to produce a hinny.   

[OUTRO MUSIC]

And that’s really a wrap for this episode of Way Out West! Cross my heart. Honest to God truth. 

If you enjoyed the ride, be sure to subscribe and leave a review. And hey—if you’ve got a favorite Old West trickster or tall tale, send it my way. 

Until next time, keep your wits about you, and watch out for snake oil!

We’ll see ya down the road.