Early, Texas - Trail Drivers of Texas : Interesting Sketches of Early Cowboys and The (part 16 of 20)

While sojourning in the Indian Territory in 1874 and 1875 with Tim Pete, Dave Lours and J. Doan, I engaged in trading with the Indians and buying hides at a little store on Cache Creek, two miles from Fort Sill. Our life at this place was a constant thrill on account of Indians. During the month of July, 1874, the Indians killed thirteen hay cutters and wood choppers. Well do I remember, one day after a hay cutter had been killed, a tenderfoot from the East with an eye to local color decided to explore the little meadow where the man had been killed expecting to collect a few arrows so that he might be able to tell the loved ones at home of his daring. But the Indians discovered the sightseer and with yells and his collection of arrows whistling about his ears, chased him back to the stockade. Terror lent wings to his feet and he managed to reach safety but departed the next day for the East, having lost all taste for the danger of the West. January 8, 1875, found me caught in a blizzard and I narrowly escaped freezing to death at the time. Indians around Fort Sill demanding buckskin, as their supply had run low, I was sent by the firm on horseback to the Shaw- nee tribe to buy a supply. This was my second trip. Soon after my departure the blizzard set in and I was warned by the mail carrier, the only man I met on the trip, to turn back or I would be frozen. But the thoughts of the buckskin at $4.00 per pound caused me to press on. I managed to reach Conover ranch badly frozen, I was taken from my horse and given first-aid treatment. I was so cold that ice had frozen in my mouth. The mail carrier, who had advised me to turn back, never reached

Doan'S Store In The Seventies

For two weeks I remained in this home before I found strength to continue the journey. I was held up another week by the cold near Paul's Valley, but I got the buckskin, sending it back by express-mail carrier and returned on horseback.

Indians during this time were held in concentration camps near the fort, both Comanches and Kiowas, and beeves were issued twice a week. A man by name of Conover and myself did the killing and about seventyfive or eighty head were killed at one time. The hides were bought from the Indians and shipped to St. Louis.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 775

It was at this time that I met Quanah, chief of the Comanches, who was not head chief at that time, and Satanta, chief of the Kiowas. I was warned during that time by Satanta that the Indians liked me and they wanted me to leave the country because they intended to kill every white man in the nation. I rather think that the friendly warning was given me because I often gave crackers and candy to the hungry squaws and papooses and of course Satanta 's family received their share.

Satanta escaped soon after that and near where El Eeno now stands, at the head of his warriors, captured a wagon train and burned men to their wagon wheels. He was captured again and taken to the penitentiary where he committed suicide by opening a vein in his arm.

After moving to Doan^s of course I saw a great deal of Quanah, who at that time had become head chief. He told me that he had often been invited to return to his white relations near Weatherford but he had refused. **Corwin,'' he said, ^^as far as you see here I am chief and the people look up to me, down at Weatherford I would be a poor half breed Indian.'' Perhaps he was right.

Big Bow, another Kiowa chief, often followed by his warriors, rode up to the little store on Cache Creek one day and arrogantly asked, would we hand over the goods or should they take them? We told them we would hand over the goods as he designated them. Later when Big Bow and I became good friends, he said, **Us Indians are big fools, not smart like white men. 'Cause you handed over the goods that day, but Washington (Uncle Sam) took it out of our pay." It was quite true for as soon as the wards of the government had departed, the bill was turned into their guardian. Uncle Sam.

The Indians came close enough to the house to be recognized by the women and they ran our horses off. I was up in the woods hunting at that time and reached home at dusk to find three terror stricken women, a baby and a dog for me to defend. All the other men had gone to Denison for supplies and our nearest neighbor was fifty miles away; so thinking discretion the better part of valor, we retreated to a little grove about half a mile from our picket house and spent the night, expecting every moment to have a ** hair-raising" experience. The Indians proved to be a band of Kiowas returning from near where Quanah now stands where they killed and scalped a man by name of Earle. Three days later the soldiers came through on the trail of the Indians expecting to find our home in ashes and the family exterminated. The Indians had returned to the reservation. The Kiowas told me afterward quite coolly that they would have attacked us that night but believed us to be heavily garrisoned with buffalo hunters - a lucky thing for us. This was the last raid through the country. The Indians after that became very friendly with us and told me to go ahead and build a big store, that we would not be molested. They had decided this in council.

The spring and summer of 1879, I saw the first herds come up the trail, though the movement had started two years before. My uncle, J. Doan, who had been with me the two years in Fort Sill, had established this post at Doan^s, April, 1878, and we had arrived, that is, myself, wife and baby and the Judge's daughters, that fall. So we had come too late to see the herds of 1878. One hundred thousand cattle passed over the trail by the little store in 1879. In 1881, the trail reached the peak of production and three hundred and one thousand were driven by to the Kansas shipping point.

In 1882 on account of the drouth, the cattle found slim picking on their northern trek and if it had not been for the ^* butter weed" many would have starved to death as grass was all dead that year. Names of John Lytle, Noah Ellis, Ab and John Blocker, Harrold and Ikard, Worsham, the Belchers, Ligon and Clark, Wiley Blair, the Eddlemans and others come into my memory as I write this, owners and bosses of the mighty herds of decades ago. One man, Dubose, with whom we would go a piece, like school kids, up the trail, complained plaintively that he never in all those summers had a mess of roasting ears, of which he was very fond, as the corn would be about knee high when he left Corpus Christi and as he came slowly up the trail he would watch the fields in their various stages but by the time he left Doan's and civilization it was still too early for even a cob.

Captain John Lytle spent as high as a month at a time in Doan's preparing for his onward march. Accompanied by his secretary he would fit out his men and everything would be shipshape when he crossed the Eed River. He was a great man and his visits were enjoyed. Wichita Falls failing to provide suitable branding pens for the accommodation of the trail drivers, pens were provided at Doan's. Furnaces and corrals were built and here Charley Word and others fitted with cartridges, Winchesters by the case, sow bosom and flour, and even to Stetson hats, etc. This store did a thriving business and thought nothing of selling bacon and flour in car-load lots, though getting our supplies from Denison, Sherman, Gainesville, and later, Wichita Falls.

The postoffice was established here in 1879 and I was the first postmaster. It was at this office all mail for the trail herds was directed as, like canned goods and other commodities, this was the last chance. One night while a crowd sat around the little adobe store someone struck up a lively air on a French harp and the door opened and in sailed a hat followed closely by a big black fellow who commenced to dance. It was one of Ab Blocker's niggers who had been sent up for the mail, giving first notice of the herd's arrival. Many a sweetheart down the trail received her letter bearing the postmark of Doan's and many a cowboy asked self-consciously if there was any mail for him while his face turned a beet red when a dainty missive was handed him.

The old trail played a part in the establishment of the Doan's picnic. For in 1884 when grass had risen and the cowmen had gone up the trail or out to the spring roundups ; the women of course were playing the role of * ' the girl I left behind me, " so a picnic of five women and one lone man was inaugurated. I have never missed a picnic from that day. Now the crowd is swelled to thousands, the dinner is a sumptuous affair and every two or three years the state and county candidates for offices plead with the people to give them the other fellow's job or one or more chance as the case may be.

The first house at Doan's was made of pickets with a dirt roof and floor of the same material. The first winter we had no door but a buffalo robe did service against the northers. The store which had consisted mainly of ammunition and a few groceries occupied one end and the family lived in the other. A huge fireplace around which Indians, buffalo hunters and the family sat, proved very comforting. The warmest seat was reserved for the one who held the baby and this proved to be a very much coveted job. Furniture made with an ax and a saw adorned the humble dwelling.

Later the store and dwelling were divorced. An adobe store which gave way to a frame building was built. Two log cabins for the families were erected. In 1881 our present home was built, the year the county was organized. This dwelling I still occupy. Governors, English Lords, bankers, lawyers, tramps and people from every walk in life have found sanctuary within its walls. And if these walls could speak many a tale of border warfare would echo from its gray shadows.

Here, my old adobe house and I sit beside the old trail and dream away the days thinking of the stirring scenes enacted when it seemed an endless procession of horses and cattle passed, followed by men of grim visage but of cheerful mien, who sang the *^ Dying Cowboy" and ^^Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie '^ and other cheerful tunes as they bedded the cattle or when in a lighter mood danced with the belles of Doan's or took it straight over the bar of the old Cow Boy saloon.

Made Many Trips Up The Old Cow Trail

I made my first trip up the trail in 1868. In May of that year Brother Jim Byler and myself hired to Steve Rogers, who was boss for Dave Puckett, to take a herd of 1,000 longhorn steers through to Abilene, Kansas. Wages were low then and we drew only $30 per month and expenses. We were allowed a month's pay returning home. This was all an inexperienced hand could get, while experienced men drew $40 per month. We had to stand guard from one-third to one-fourth of every night except when it rained, and then we stood guard all night. We were supposed to travel fifteen miles per day. When we left Helena, in Karnes county, with cattle in living order, if they didn't stampede at night and run too much, they would be in good shape when we reached our destination. Each man had four horses, and we never fed them grain for the grass was good and sufficient to sustain them on the trip. There were no fences - the range was open from the Gulf of Mexico to North Dakota as far as I went.

Each evening when we prepared for the night we would catch up our night horses and stake them so each man would be ready to go on guard when he was called. In catching our horses we took lariats, tied one end to the wheel of the chuck wagon, a man holding the other end, and form a sort of a corral into which the horses were driven. The horses soon became accustomed to this and would not try to get over the rope pen.

On this trip we left Helena, Karnes county, and went by way of Gonzales. When the herd strung out it was over a half a mile long. The chuck wagon, drawn by a yoke of oxen driven by the cook, brought up the rear. While we were passing a settler's cabin an old setting hen flew cackling across the herd, and there was a stampede. The cattle in the lead kept going right on but the cattle in the middle of the herd doubled back and ran pell mell in the opposite direction. The men held them for awhile but they ran over the cook's steers and partly turned the wagon over. We had to run them for awhile before they became quiet again, but we had to take them around the place where they found the old setting hen.

We left Gonzales and camped on **Mule Prairie," and here they stampeded again and next morning we did not have a hoof left. We hired a number of men to help us get them together again. We went by way of Lockhart, crossed the Colorado at Austin, on to Georgetown, Salado, Belton, Valley Mills, Fort Worth and Denison, and crossed the Eed Eiver at Gainesville, and from here we went to Boggy Depot near the Arkansas line, and on to Abilene, where the cattle were put on the market.

We started back home and were on the return trip a month. These cattle were fullgrown steers, and were good walkers. I hugely enjoyed this trip, as well as coming back and was ready to go again when the opportunity offered.

In 1870, by which time I had become an expert cow hand, I was hired by Choate & Bennett at a salary of $75 per month, to go through with a herd in charge of Don Pace. Brother Jim was also with me on this trip. I worked in the lead, and we went the Chisholm Trail as before, crossed the Eed Eiver and went on up through the Indian Territory, where there were but few settlements. When we reached Wild Horse, that stream was up, and we had to take our wagon bed, put a wagon sheet around it and make a ferry boat which carried our things over. On the banks of the North Canadian we found a newly made grave with a head-board bearing the inscription, *' Killed by Indians.'' I do not know who the unfortunate victim could have been, but these graves were not uncommon. We went on and delivered the cattle at Wichita, Kansas, and then took the trail for home.

On March 15, 1871, Brother Jim, as boss, started with a herd for Choate & Bennett. I went through the same route as before. On this trip we saw plenty of buffalo and antelopes, and the country was full of wolves. At Wichita, Kansas, we threw the two herds together, Brother Jim and hands came back home, and I went north with the cattle a thousand miles, passing through Nebraska, crossed the Platte Eiver and struck the Missouri Eiver which was a mile wide, and steamboats were on it. The stream was so wide the cattle could not see the landing on the other side, and we worked nine days trying to get them across. We hired some civilized Indians to assist us, but they were of very Httle use. Three hundred head of the cattle refused to swim the river and we sold them on this side to the government. We hired a man with a small boat to ferry our bedding and provisions across, and we took our wagon apart and floated it over. We had forty head of horses, and only four of them succeeded in swimming the full distance, the others would swim a part of the way and then turn over on their side and float. We had to hold their heads up to keep them from drowning. They were taken over two at a time alongside the little boat. So you can imagine what a time we had had getting across that river, and how much time was lost. We gave the man with the boat the best horse we had for his service.

From here we went right up the north side of the Missouri Eiver to deliver them at a place three hundred miles distant. That country was full of savage Indians, but we did not encounter >any of them. There were several government forts along the way, and these cattle were being taken there to feed the civilized Indians, who came to the forts at regular intervals for * ' rations ' ' which the government issued to them.

On our way up we had the exciting experience of being almost swept away by a cyclone. This was in Dakota. It was without rain, but the noise was awful. None of us had ever seen a cyclone, and did not know what it was until it struck the ground, milling and twisting the sage grass. Right there we let the cattle take care of themselves, and every man made a run to get out of the path of the twister. It soon passed, going north, and missed the herd and men but a very short distance. We all felt that we had a very narrow escape from death.

We went on up through North Dakota to a point near the line of Canada where we delivered the cattle, and then started back home. On our way back we camped at the home of a white man who had married an Indian squaw. That night three of our horses disappeared. We hunted for them a couple of days and not finding them we were satisfied they were stolen. Lew Allen, owner of the cattle, reported our loss at the nearest fort and soldiers came down and arrested the squawman, burnt his shack, and made him tell where the horses were. He had the Indians steal them and take them across the Missouri river. They were found where he said they were.

We moved on back towards home, and one night something stampeded our horses, all getting away except one little Spanish pony. We hunted for them two days and located them where somebody had penned them, and we had to give a horse for trouble and damages claimed.

Lew Allen persuaded me to bring an Indian boy back with me. He was about fifteen years old, and lived with Allen in Lavaca county until grown. This Indian killed a man there and in trying to escape was killed himself.

I stopped at Wichita, Kansas, and hired to Eead & O'Connor as boss, and took charge of their cattle until the following November. When the cattle were disposed of I came back through Indian Territory and reached home all right. For nine months I had not slept in a house.

On my fourth trip up the trail I took 1,000 beeves for Eead & O'Connor, and was paid $100 per month and all expenses. This was in March, 1872. We left Goliad and went up the same route as before. We held these cattle at Wichita, Kansas, out of the settlements, and herded them on one bed ground for five and a half months. As I was boss I didn't have to herd. I looked after three herds until December when they were fat and we put them on the market. I didn't sleep in a house for nine months and kept well all the time. After the cattle were sold I took a bunch of ten men and the chuck wagon and struck out over the back trail for home, and got back in time to be married to Miss Fannie M. Crossley, on Christmas Day, 1872.

In March, 1873, I was again employed by Read & O'Connor, this time at $125 per month. Mr. O'Connor and I gathered cattle around Matagorda Bay. There were a thousand head of beeves, and seven hundred of them had O'Connor's brand on them. We took them to J. D. Eead's near Goliad, and put the road brand on them. The road brand was made in the shape of a horse shoe. We headed toward Yorktown, where we struck the old trail and followed it all the way. Not a stampede occurred on the trip of over a thousand miles. We delivered these cattle to Shanghai Pearce at Wichita, Kansas. I had formerly worked for Pearce, and he induced me to deliver these same cattle down in Missouri. Now there was a law in that state against taking cattle through which had not wintered over, but we took the chance. When we got to Missouri with our old beef hide still hanging under the wagon it looked suspicious to a fellow who came out to our camp one evening. He asked me my name and a few fool questions, and then departed. Pretty soon this fellow came back to camp accompanied by several men riding longtailed horses, and carrying muskets. They served a writ on me and said, **E. P. Byler and crew, consider yourselves under arrest." And I did not resist. When we got to a little town I wired to Shanghai Pearce at Wichita about the mess I was in. They put a inan to watch us and see that we didn't move the cattle, and we awaited Pearce 's coming. He soon got there with a bunch of men, and we decided on a course of action. Pearce got very intimate with the guard and took him for a buggy ride. The hands he brought took charge of the cattle and told us to rattle our hocks and strike for an Indian reserve about ten miles away where we would be safe. When Pearce got back with the guard we were gone - **E. P. Byler and crew" could not be found. The guard was put in jail. Pearce got into a wrangle with the authorities about the cattle, but a compromise was effected and we returned and took them to where he

Fifty Years Ago

I was born in Caldwell county, Texas, in the year of 1851, and made that county my home for twenty years. It was in the spring of 1871 that I took my first trip up the trail. I drove for Joe Bunton and our destination was Abilene, Kansas, but owing to the rapid settlement of that surrounding country, there was but little room to hold a herd of cattle so we stopped this side near Newton, Kansas, which was the terminus of the Santa Fe Kailroad. I drove the next year for Col. Jack Meyers who will be remembered by many old-time drivers. Those were in the days of Dick Head, Billy Campbell and Noah Ellis.

My later drives were for Billie and Charley Slaughter of Frio county, who sent cattle as far north as Wyoming and Montana and I continued with them up to 1876, when I went into the ranch business for myself. I settled in Kinney county and remained there for about five years, but now I am in Val Verde county, a part of old Kinney county, where I lived for forty-five years. The hardships and privations of the trail life have been duly set forth by those who have preceded me and in a passing way I will say that we all fared about the same.

the towns and stations in Oklahoma, Kansas and Colorado where the old Trail passed through in those early days, and the change that meets your eyes is but little short of marvelous. Where saloons and dance halls stood are now substantial school buildings and magnificent churches and the merry prattle of happy children is heard on every corner. And it was a deep feeling of pride that came to me, to know that I had had an humble part in bringing about this wonderful change, which in a measure helped to settle the great Northwest, which has proven so valuable an asset to our country. Memory fails me in recalling the names of the old boys who were associated with me in those early days. Milton Taylor and Joe Loxton of Frio county were with me on my last trip and I have been in touch with them ever since. Doubtless many of them have passed away and those who still remain are, like myself, aged and gray. And it will not be long before we will have taken our last drink out of the old canteen of life that has refreshed us so often in days gone by.

May the blessings of our Heavenly Father attend us in our last days and when we come into His presence may we hear that welcome plaudit - ^^Well done, my good and faithful servants, enter into thy rest.''

P. E. Slaughter

Peter Eldridge Slaughter was born September 11, 1846, in Sabine county, Texas, the third son of George Webb and Sallie Slaughter. His father moved from Sabine county to Palo Pinto county in 1857, when he was eleven years of age. He joined the Confederate Army in 1864, belonging to Capt. Jack Cureton's Rangers, Cureton being under Col. SuU Ross, who afterwards was governor of Texas. He would not attend school at the little school in Palo Pinto county. His father gathered twenty head of cattle and sent him to McKenzie College, conducted by a leading Methodist preacher, who had established a boarding school for young men eight miles southwest of Clarksville, Texas.

A younger brother, W. B. Slaughter, assisted him in driving these cattle to this school from Palo Pinto a distance of 250 miles. The younger brother returning with the saddle ponies and pack horse, as soon as he arrived and delivered the cattle to the school. He remained eight months in the school and came home. In 1868 he went to Abilene, and two years later to Cotfeyville, Kansas.

The representative of the Fort Worth Live Stock Stockyards, W. J., (Billie) Carter went with him up the trail in 1871. That year he was married to Miss Mollie Chick, of Palo Pinto, and from this union six children were born

- five sons and one daughter, namely: Monte, Arthur, Paschall, Joel, and John, and Callie. His youngest son went to France as a soldier and now sleeps on Flanders' Field. He drove two herds of cattle to Cypress Hills on the line of Canada and Northern Montana, and three herds to California. He and his father under the style name of G. W. and P. E. Slaughter, were extensive cattle traders in North Texas, during the years 1876, 1877 and 1878.

W. E. Crowley, former secretary of the Texas Cattle Eaisers' Association, and at present a leading Attorney of Fort Worth, says that in 1877 P. E. Slaughter delivered a small herd of steers to him, and he had no check book nor blank paper, and it was at one of the old ranches whose roof was made of cypress shingles. He pulled out a shingle from the roof and wrote a check for the amount due him on it. He was doing business at this time with J. R. Couts & Co., of Weatherford, Texas, and Crowley presented the shingle check and it was paid. He and his father dissolved partnership in 1878, and he moved his herd of stock cattle to Crosby county. West Texas, and the town of Dockum now stands on his ranch ground.

In 1882, he moved his cattle from Crosby county, to the head of Black Eiver, the main tributary of the Gila Eiver, in Arizona, and he ranched there until he died. He was buried at St. Johns, Arizona, Nov. 6th, 1911. He left a large herd of cattle to his children, now valued at $500,000.00. His death was caused by a cancer at the root of his tongue, claimed by physicians as caused by the amount of tobacco he used.

My father, Capt. Jack Cureton, enlisted in Company H of Col. Yell's regiment of Arkansas as a volunteer soldier under General Taylor, bound for the war in Mexico. Col. Yell was killed in the battle of Buena Vista. Father's company was commanded by Capt. William Preston, afterwards a famous frontier captain in the Indian wars of Texas. He was discharged at San Antonio, Texas, in 1846, in his nineteenth year. He went back to Arkansas, married, and four boys were born in that State as the fruit of this marriage. In 1852 he joined the gold rush for California, and carried a bunch of cattle to the gold fields of that state from Ozark, Arkansas. On return he shipped from San Francisco ** around the Horn" to New Orleans, and thence by boat up the Mississippi and Arkansas Rivers home. In the winter of 1854 he moved to Texas, crossing the Eed River at Old Preston, famous in the history of the settlement of northern Texas, and began raising cattle on the wide prairies he had traversed while chasing the Mexicans during the Mexican War and on his strip to California in the wake of the forty-niners. He had settled first on Keechi Creek, near the Brazos River, in the territory afterwards, in 1857, organized into what is Palo Pinto county. At that time the Comanches, Caddos, and other tribes of Indians were partly on two reservations, one under Captain Shaply Ross, father of General Sul Ross, one of the most knightly and famous soldiers ever produced by Texas, who afterwards became its Governor; the other under Capt. John R. Baylor, afterwards General Baylor. Captain Ross and Captain Baylor were agents for the Indians under the government on the reservations in Young county territory, one being stationed near where the town of Graham is now located. These reservations, though designed by the public authorities for a good purpose, in effect only furnished supply stations for others of the Indian tribes who claimed to be wild Indians, and depredated on the few settlers all along the border from the Red River on the north to the Rio Grande. They came regularly to the reservations to replenish their supplies of arms, ammunition, beads, etc., trading the horses and mules and other plunder they had looted the whites of to the friendly ^'buds'^ on the reservation.

Matters grew from bad to worse until the settlers arose in their wrath about 1858. On Salt Creek, below Belknap, quite a battle was fought, all Indians looking alike to the Texans. Several were killed on both sides, Captain Cureton being in command of his neighbors. It may be said that these old frontiersmen sometimes had more courage than discretion in these conflicts, and in this instance Captain Cureton had to be on guard to keep William McAdams and others of the company from ex- posing themselves by climbing on the tops of some log cabins which afforded them shelter. In order to appease the outraged citizens, the United States Government in a few days moved the Indians from the Brazos, in Texas, to Fort Sill, Indian Territory. After this open warfare by all of these tribes, augmented by the assistance of the Kiowas and Navajos of New Mexico, became general and more relentless all along the Texas border. Captain Cureton and his neighbors were in the saddle almost constantly every light moon, without any pay or equipment from the government. Many Texans who became noted in after years were of these noble patriots who suffered through these perilous days. Among them I might mention: Col. Charles Goodnight, of Goodnight, Texas, who produced the cross between the cow and buffalo, known as the catalo; Col. C. C. Slaughter and his brother, Pete; one of the Sangers, of Sanger Brothers, the famous merchants ; the Hittsons ; the Bells ; and many others.

Of the numerous battles these volunteer pioneers had with the Indians, I will mention one on Yellow Wolf Creek, a tributary of the Colorado, near old Fort Chadborne, in which several Indians were killed and Jimmie Lane, one of the whites, was mortally wounded. In the last days of November, 1860, the Comanches murdered several people, including women and children, near where Mineral Wells, Texas, is now situated; and on the 5th day of December, 1860, Captain Cureton assembled his citizen soldiers, and the noble merchants of Weatherf ord, Texas, Carson, Lewis, and others, freely gave supplies for their packs, and they took the trail. At or near Belknap, Captain Cureton sent a messenger to Captain Sul Ross, who had a small company of state troops nearby, and Capt. Ross applied to the United States commander at Fort Camp Cooper, and the latter sent a lieutenant with forty men with the expedition. When the forces arrived on a tributary of Pease River, they encountered the Comanches under Chief Peta Nocona, father of Quanah Parker, and pretty well slaughtered the entire band, Captain Eoss wounding the chief in a hand-to-hand encounter in the battle." Upon refusal of the chief to surrender he was killed by Captain Ross' interpreter. In this battle was captured Cynthia Ann Parker and baby girl, who were brought back to her relatives, who had not seen or heard of her since her capture by the Comanches at the massacre at Parker's Fort in the '30 's.

In March, 1861, Captain Cureton and his old frontier volunteers joined the Confederate Army, and served in the territory assigned them during the entire period of the Civil War.

In the meantime, the Indians were a great menace, and there were many adventures and battles too numerous to mention in this brief sketch of my father's life.

A band of Lipans, Kickapoos, and Potawatamies left Fort Sill to emigrate to Old Mexico, purporting to keep out of the war, in which they had nothing in common with the combatants. They routed themselves just beyond the Texas ranchers ; but, unfortunately perhaps. Captain Gillentine, of Erath county, was buffalo hunting near old Fort Phantom Hill, located in what is now Jones county, in 1864, and discovered the trail of these Indians going southwest. Captain Gillentine at once gave the alarm, and some 500 Texans rushed to the scene, Captain Cureton in the thick of the swim. They took the trail of the Indians near the place of discovery, and on the 8th day of January, 1865, came upon them on Dove Creek, a tributary of the Concho, and the fight was on. In the encounter the Texans lost some 30 or 40 men, and had to outrun the Indians to save the others. In fact, it may be said that the Texans were routed *^ boots and spurs."

Many times the Indians sacked the town of Palo Pinto, robbed the stables of horses and mules, and on one occasion shot John B. Slaughter when he stepped out of his house at night.

We early Texans of the upper Brazos had to go to Dallas or McLennan county, Texas, for our breadstuff in those early times. Near the beginning of the Civil War, Cravens and Darnell built an inclined wheel cornmill in Golconda, the first name given to Palo Pinto, run by the tread of oxen on the wheel, and we fared well, as we were able to grow corn along the Brazos where the Indians had set the example before us. But the Eed Man, always, bent on some mischief, came along and killed the big mulatto negro who was the miller while he was out hunting his oxen, and we had to fall back on the old hand steel mill, which was demonstrative evidence that man should eat his bread by the sweat of his face.

In 1870 Captain Cureton took an immigrant train of 70 people overland from Texas to California, and owned most of the herd of eattle carried by his boys to the Pacific coast at the same time. Captain Cureton returned from California, and was sheriff of Bosque county from 1876 to 1880, the period of time immediately succeeding the reconstruction days, when the country was infested by the worst of criminals, and when the sheriff and his deputies literally stood between the inhabitants of the community and assassins and thieves. He died and was buried in Bosque county in May, 1881, survived by all of his children and by his wife, who survived him until May, 1906, when she died at the home of her daughter, the wife of Judge 0. L. Lockett, of Cleburne, Texas.

Trail Recollections Of Geo. W. Elam

I was one of the earliest settlers in Bandera county, when that section was wild and unsettled. The country was full of game. I established my ranch on the West Prong of the Medina Eiver. As with most of the pioneers of those days, I erected a log house, and left the opening for the fireplace, and was waiting for a chimney builder to come and put up my chimney. To keep the rain out,

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 793

I covered the opening with a wagon sheet. One night, after we had gone to bed, a negro boy whom I had brought with me from Dallas county, and who slept on a pallet on the floor near the fireplace, suddenly cried out, ^^0, mas Elam! Fo God! Ole Satan hisself is here, an' done come for us !" I raised up and looking towards the frightened ^^coon," whose eyes were bulged out so that you could have roped them with a grape vine, I saw, to my surprise, a great big, black mountain bear making himself at home in the room. There he sat on his haunches, by the fireplace, looking as unconcerned as you please. Before I could get my gun, Mr. Bruin suddenly jumped out of one of the window openings and disappeared in the darkness.

Stock raising was the principal and virtually the only industry in the country, and the range was open and free for all. I did not go up the Trail until 1875. In the spring of that year we left Bandera with a herd of one thousand head for Ogallala, Nebraska. Lige Childs was boss, but as he was not as well acquainted with the country as I was, I was virtually made boss of the herd. Our outfit in addition to Childs, was composed of Sammy Schladaer, John McKenzie, John Brock, Sylvester Bethreum, and myself, with one or two others whose names I have forgotten. When we got to the Colorado Eiver, it looked to me like it was five miles wide. This, however, didn't **faze" us in the least, and we swam the herd across without any material loss. As the weather continued bad, with rains and storms, we had to swim the main Brazos and the Clear Fork. When we got to Denison, on Eed Eiver, Childs sold out, and we came back over the trail.

Some funny things happened on our way up, but one of the most serious episodes occurred when we got near Fredericksburg. One of the sturdy farmers of that section (there were but few farming settlements in the country) near whose farm we had passed, came to the herd and to his surprise saw his old family milk cow, as he honestly thought, marching slowly and peacefully away from home, in the midst of our cattle. The news spread through the settlement like wildfire, and in a short while there must have been a hundred or more indignant neighbors of his around our herd. They had the effrontery to insinuate that Childs was trying to steal old Betsy. The result was that Childs was arrested by the Sheriff and taken to jail at Fredericksburg. It did look like he was a ** goner.'' However, just as they got him to the jail door, one of the boys who had gotten there and had shaken hands with Childs, suddenly reminded him that he had a bill of sale to that cow in his coat pocket. Whereupon Childs reached into his pocket and produced the paper which showed that he had bought old Betsy down in Atascosa county. There was a consultation among the irate farmers and the Sheriff. It didn't hardly look right to put a man in jail for stealing an animal when he had a bill of sale to it. So they told Childs he could go, but that the farmer would keep the cow. Childs grew indignant, and told them that just as soon as he had delivered his herd he was coming back and file suit for his property and would have that cow if he had to take the case to the Supreme Court of the United States. For some reason or other, Childs never did file that suit. This unjust and unfortunate suspicion on the part of that farmer caused us to hold up for three days on the Perdinales. After proving his innocence, Childs went back to Bandera for five hundred head more cattle, and I went on in, charge of the herd and waited at the Colorado for him to come up.

Those old times, with their frontier ways and customs, have long since been superseded by the modern conveniences and developments of civilization. But the men who blazed the way for the material greatness which is ours today, were grand and noble spirits and are entitled to the grateful remembrance of their fellow-countrymen.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 795 Tells About Bob Robertson

E. W. Eobertson was a soldier under General Shelby of Missouri. On receiving his discharge here in Texas, he and a number of others went to Mexico expecting to join G-eneral Maximilian's army. On reaching Mexico they discovered Maximilian's cause was a hopeless case. They then tendered their services to the Mexican government and were offered only a dollar a day and they bear their own expenses. Being disgusted, he sold his gun and pistol for $43.00, mounted his weary cavalry horse and came back to San Antonio, after having purchased some pretty fair clothing in Mexico. He then went to the Menger Hotel and asked for a bed, where he understood many Confederate soldiers had been given free beds. The clerk remarked, ^*You are dressed very well and we are not giving away free beds any more." General Tarver, a brother-in-law of the late General Ham P. Bee, having overheard part of the conversation stepped up and said, *^ What's the trouble?" Bob Eobertson stated his case and Tarver said, **Give the man a bed; I'll pay for it." The next morning he went to Sapplington's Livery Stable, mounted his horse and pulled out for San Marcos, where he knew a comrade by the name of Breeding resided. On reaching San Marcos neither he nor Breeding could find any work for him. There was to bje a picnic the next day and a dance that night which he attended, and the next morning he went down the San Marcos Eiver and landed at Prairie Lea. Shack Jones coming out of a groggery hailed him saying: ''Where are you going?" his reply was ''I am hunting work." Shack, being a big-hearted fellow and an ex-Confederate soldier replied, ''Well let's go in and get a drink, then you come on home with me to my motlier 's, ' ' whicli lie did. The next morning at the breakfast table Mrs. Jones said, "Johnnie,"

(speaking to Shack) *^I don't want you to leave, I need you here to help run the farm/' so he gave his job of cow punching, down near Gonzales, to Bob Eobertson. Bob Eobertson settled in Guadalupe county and married Miss Mary Lancaster, daughter of a pioneer Methodist preacher. He became deputy sheriff in that county and did efficient service. He afterwards drove cattle to Kansas with Will Jennings and Jake Ellison as partners. His wife died many years ago. Sid Eobertson, a prominent business man of San Antonio, owning the White Star Laundry, was his son and died during the war with flu. There were five brothers. Bob Eobertson being the oldest, who had not been together in twenty years. They all met in Pearsall in 1883 and five finer looking specimens of manhood I don't think I ever beheld.

Mr. C. Burnett, better known as Doc Burnett, was born in Harris county, Texas, April 19th, 1835, and died in Gonzales county, January 12th, 1915. He was one of the first to drive herds to Kansas in the late '60 's and has the credit of driving the last herd out of Gonzales county to the northern markets. No man was better or more favorably known in Texas, on the trail, and on Northern markets than Doc Burnett. His many good deeds and the part he played in developing Texas was surpassed by very few men.

Ben C. Dragoo

Herewith is presented a likeness of Veteran Ben C. Dragoo, who lives at Eden, Texas. Mr. Dragoo is now nearly ninety years old, but is still active. He was a scout and trailer for Sul Ross' Rangers, and was at the Battle of Pease River when Cynthia Ann Parker was taken from the Indians after a captivity of twenty-eight years. When a little boy, Ben Dragoo was a playmate of Cynthia Ann Parker, his father living near Parker's fort, and by strange chance the young ranger was present and assisted in the identification of the unfortunate girl when she was recaptured. Mr. Dragoo relates many thrilling incidents of early days, and did his full share in making the frontier safe for the present generation. His son, A. J. Dragoo, lives at Whiteland, in McCulloch county, where he is manager of a large ranch.

Uncle Ben Dragoo An Old Trail Driver

Captain William Carroll McAdams was a native of Tennessee, being born April 3, 1825, a son of Douglas and Sarah McAdams who emigrated to the United States from Scotland on account of religious differences existing in Scotland at that time. They were related to Queen Mary of Scotland by blood. Douglas McAdams, his father, constructed the first macadamized road in the United States.

Captain McAdams, at the age of seventeen, ran away from home and joined General Taylor's command on the Rio Grande. Before annexation he had become famous along the Eio Grande as ** Mustang Bill." He was employed by the president of the Texas Republic and afterwards by the commander of the United States troops as a scout. It was a time of bold outlawry. Incidents of thrilling character were frequent on the border. Captain Mc- Adams was concerned in several raids on robber strongholds, and when war with Mexico began his services were needed, for he knew all about the region General Taylor had mapped out for his campaign. He was in the battle of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma. He crossed the Rio Grande and fought and scouted for the American army. At Buena Vista he saw the brigade of Mexican lancers repulsed by Col. Jefferson Davis and next witnessed the rout of Santa Anna's army. By order of General Taylor he reported for duty to General Scott and was sent by the latter commander to rescue three prisoners of war under death sentence. The men, natives of Mexico, joined the American army and were captured by General Santa Anna's cavalry near Cerro Gordo. A kinsman of one of the doomed men deserted and informed the Americans, offering to assist a rescue party. Time was precious. It was past midnight and the men were to be shot at sunrise. Captain McAdams, with fourteen Texans and the Mexican deserter, entered the lines of the enemy, captured all the sentinels, killing the soldier who was on guard over the doomed men, and before daybreak he was back within General Scott's lines with the rescued men, having accomplished the task given him without loss to his own party. For this service he was honored by General Scott with special mention, and from that time to the close of the war he was the trusted scout of the commander-in-chief of the American army in Mexico. After an honorable discharge by General Scott, he returned to North Texas and married Miss Ann Alexander of Parker county, who was also from Tennessee, and settled in Palo Pinto county and commenced raising cattle.

He immediately joined Jack Hays' Eangers and served with them until the Independence of Texas was acknowledged, and in a battle with the Comanche Indians he was wounded with an arrow and the scar went with him to the end as a decoration on the breast of the old veteran of three wars.

He was one of the original organizers of the Masonic Lodge of Palo Pinto, and was a great Mason. Later on in life two of his daughters, Mrs. D. C. Kyle, now of Saco, Montana; formerly Molly McAdams and Mrs. W. B. Slaughter of San Antonio, formerly Anna McAdams, joined the Eastern Star. Mrs. Kyle being eighteen and Mrs. Slaughter sixteen at the time of joining. Mrs. Slaughter is now a past worthy matron.

Captain McAdams had a disposition to make everybody his friend. His wife, during his absence, dressed in the garb of a man always went with her six-shooter belted around her and a gun on her shoulder for the purpose of making the Indians think her husband was at home. He reared a family of eight children, two boys and six girls, namely: David McAdams, Molly McAdams, Anna McAdams, Lizzie McAdams, Louie McAdams, Quinne McAdams, "Webb McAdams and Collie McAdams. Only four of them are now living namely: Mrs. D. C. Kyle, of Saco, Montana ; Mrs. W. B. Slaughter of San Antonio ; Mrs. Louie Harrison, of Hansford, Texas.

traded for sugar and many other articles the early settlers were compelled to have at that time. His second drive in 1865 was to Shreveport, Louisiana, and he sold his herd to a Mr. Spencer. In 1867 his third drive was started to Baxter Springs, Kansas, and at Fort Gibson in the Indian Territory he sold his herd and returned home. After that he only made one short drive in Texas and remained with his ranch and raised cattle. His last severe fight with the Indians was in 1870, on Salt Creek, in Young county, Texas ; at the time Shapely Carter and many others were killed. Shapely was the oldest son of Colonel Kit Carter, who was the first president of the Cattle Eaisers' Association for many years.

Captain McAdams during the Indian wars of Texas was called a ^* minute man"; he kept his horse especially for long and hard rides and it was said of him by his associates he could ride further with less food and sleep than any man of his day.

Captain McAdams and his good wife were both adherents of the Methodist church and believed in the good old-fashioned camp meetings and Mrs. McAdams would go to any length possible to arrange for some good Methodist pastor to hold annual camp meetings on their ranch near Sand Valley Peak, Palo Pinto county, and it was nothing uncommon to see thirty or forty women shouting and praising the Almighty for the great things He was accomplishing.

Richard Robertson Russell

One of the active builders of West Texas was Eichard E. Eussell, who died in San Antonio in 1922. Mr. Eussell was born in Georgia in 1858, and with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. J. 0. Eussell, came to Texas when he was twelve years old, locating in Menard county, where Dick Eussell grew to manhood. For many years he was in the employ of his uncle, Peter Eobertson. During the seventies

Menard county was the scene of nunierons Indian raids and yonng Enssell, catching the sj^irit of the times, enlisted in Captain D. W. Roberts' Rangers and remained with that company for two years, resigning to embark in the cattle business. In 1886 he was elected sheriff of Menard county, and held that office for ten consecutive years. He refused to be a candidate for re-election at the end of that time, as his personal affairs needed his attention. He was interested with William Bevans and James Callan in various cattle deals and ranch operations. In 1909 he organized the Farmers & Merchants Bank of Ballinger, Texas. He headed the organization of the Bank of Menard, of which William Bevans was active manager. He was a stockholder in the Citizens National Bank of Pawhuska, Oklahoma, a stockholder in the Central Trust Company of San Antonio, and was organizer of the Del Rio Live Stock Loan Company, and identified with Del Rio banking interests. He was also identified with the Ballinger Cotton Oil Company, the Winters Oil Company of Runnels county, the Russell-Coleman Oil Company of San Antonio ; he was interested in extensive ranch holdings in Runnels and Menard counties, as well as ranch interests in Oklahoma. His largest individual Texas holding in one tract of land was as a stockholder in the Big Canyon Ranch in Terrell and Pecos counties, which consists of 245,000 acres of land and thousands of cattle and sheep. For the past several years and until his death he has been connected with leading banking firms ill San Antonio.

J. 0. Eussell, and two uncles settled and built the first houses on the site of Denver, Colorado. This settlement was made in 1857, and the city was duly platted and named Auroria. W. A. McFaddin was president of the company, and Dr. L. J. Russell was secretary. Another uncle. Green Russell, mined the first gold in that section of Colorado.

From The Nueces To The North Platte

In my earliest boyhood days the great ruling ambition was to become a cowboy, and the information that my brother was to take up a bunch of cattle in Live Oak county my ambition was about to be realized, as I was to be a member. In March, 1883, we left Yoakum and went to George W. West's ranch in Live Oak county and took charge of 2,500 old cows and brought them to Lavaca county, where grass was plentiful. This was my first drive and no happier boy lived in the great state of Texas. These cows were ranged on the prairies now where the little thrifty city of Shiner is located. After this we were sent to the Bennett & West ranch in Jackson county to get 3,000 yearlings and brought them back with us. A few days after this we started on the trail with the herd, for the North Platte in what was then regarded as the very life itself of the cattle movements. The trip might well be called *^The River Route," as we crossed practically every river of any importance in this country. The San Antonio, the Guadalupe near Gonzales, the San Marcos, the Colorado at Austin, the Brazos and Lampasas, the Pease at Vernon, the Red River South Fork at Donner, Okla., the Cimarron, the Wichita and the Arkansas, all rivers of more or less importance and as there

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 803

On this trip we made good headway and crossed into what was then the beautiful Indian Territory. A few Indians were seen and some very fine ranches and thoroughbred cattle. We were now nearing the junction of the eastern and western trail and the wonderful city of Dodge was our destination. Dodge City enjoyed a reputation of being the fastest cowboy town on this side of the globe and it was our joy and delight to know that ere long we would see that famous place. It is told that a drunken cowboy got aboard a Santa Fe train at Newton one day and when the conductor asked for the fare, the boy handed him a handful of money. The conductor said, ^' Where do you want to go?" and when the boy replied: ^*To Hell!" the conductor said, ^*Well give me $2.50 and get off at Dodge."

The first trouble of any consequence that we had with our herd was the night we crossed the Arkansas Eiver. The cattle stampeded and in the excitement my horse fell with me and my first thought was that the joy and pleasure of the continuance of the trip was gone. A fearful storm was raging, and everything seemed to have turned to thunder, lightning and rain, and all was confusion. After the storm abated, the sun shone brightly, and we had rounded up the last yearling, we made an excellent entrance into the town of Dodge. We spent one or two wild and joyful days there and on the 17th of July we left for Ogallala, Nebraska. The trip had taken us nearly three months, and now one can go to the same place by train in two days.

On our way to Ogallala we were met by Mr. West, the owner of the cattle that we were driving, and he told us that he had sold 1,600 of the yearlings to a ranch owner in Colorado. We turned back and delivered this sale, and we returned to the outfit which was in charge of Arthur Burnes. My brother, Charley Humphreys, was main boss of the herd from Texas to the North Platte, and to my young imagination no finer cowboy ever rode a saddle.

Burnes had then about 3,500 head of cattle of all sorts and sizes and soon after this he quit and I was given his herd. Bill North, an old Texan, was there with 2,000 steers also owned by Mr. West and the two outfits were put together, making a herd of something like 6,000 head and with this immense herd of cattle we started to the Shandley ranch where they were rebranded and then we headed towards Wyoming in the woolly west. We arrived on the North Platte on September 1, and after a few days' of milling around there we were paid off and began making our plans to hike back to South Texas, the land of flowers and warm sunshine.

In March the next year I was again at the George W. West ranch, rearing to start on the trail again. Again under Charley Humphreys, my brother, we gathered up about 3,000 head of yearlings and on April 1st, 1884, we began the journey which took us to an entirely different section of the world, to the Rio Grande.

In this outfit there were ten men with the herd, one cook, one with horses and the boss, making thirteen men in the outfit. We passed Pearsall, Uvalde, Devil's River, Del Rio, the Painted Caves, and up the Devil's River to Beaver Lake, then to Howard Wells, and Live Oak Creek to the Pecos River. From Del Rio to the Pecos one of those many-year droughts had prevailed and there was no water or grass, and some suffering was done by both men and cattle, but no complaints. We left Del Rio May 1st, and reached Pecos City June 1st, a distance of 300 miles. There our bunch was increased about 4,000 head that had been brought there by Jeff Bailor and Bill Calloway. We now had about 8,000 head and with this we started to Old Fort Sumner on the Pecos River.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 805

We delivered to the Dorsey ranch at Sumner 4,500 heifer yearlings and 500 to another ranchman in that section. The balance were taken to the Eead & Broaden ranch on the other side of the Eio Grande. Our business was then done and another hike was in order for Texas where we landed in October after one of the hardest trips in the way of real hardships that we ever had. This was owing to dry weather conditions and the lack of grass, and navigating the mountains that abound in that section with a herd of 5,000 yearlings. The next year in March found me again in the saddle and with Steve Bennett, Phil Byan, John Humphries, better known as *' General Twiggs,'' Will Griffin, Mose Morris, Dan Mc- Carty, three negroes and the boss, Chas. Humphreys. We left for the West ranch again in Live Oak county. On this trip we were to go to Colorado and in the early part of March we got a good get-away with 2,500 yearlings. We selected the old western cattle trail which went through Coleman, Ft. Griffin, and up the Panhandle country, to Dalhart, where the outfit was delivered to the XIT Ranch.

From this time on I worked in several capacities on various ranches, and in the service of D. E. Fant on his Santa Eosa ranch where I was employed as a cowboy until some weeks afterwards, when I joined Charley Humphreys and his outfit which was ready to hit the trail. We left early in March with 2,500 head of mixed cattle and believe me, we had some hard trip. There was no grass in the Spofford section and when we reached Spofford the cattle and horses both had fallen off so that it was impossible to make the passage through the Nueces Canyon. Mr. Fant was sent for and he decided to take the best and strongest from the two herds that were of about equal number and push on to where there was grass. So we left Spofford some days later with 2,600 tolerably fat and hit the Canyon and made its passage without difficulty. When we reached old Ft. McKavitt in Menard county we were afoot and both horses and cattle were as poor as Job's turkey. Good grass and plenty of fine water was found after this. We kept at the job and in about a week wonderful changes had taken place and we were able to ride our horses and the cattle were able to take up their journey to Colorado. This trip carried us through the Panhandle of Texas and the western part of Kansas and we enjoyed it very much. The herd was delivered to the Holly Eanch at Colorado Springs. We rode the horses back and landed in old Lavaca county none the worse for wear and tear to our systems.

Soon after this I went to work at my old job of riding the range for George W. West in Live Oak county. In the following spring I went to Alice to get a bunch of 3,000 young cows and shipped them by rail to Purcell, Oklahoma, and from that place we drove them to El Eeno and turned them over to John Johnson and then went to Quanah and took up 2,000 beef cattle and drove them to the North Canadian and left them with Mack Stewart, who afterwards created quite a lot of excitement in this section by being thrown in a Mexican prison for an alleged shooting that occurred on the other side of the Eio Grande. From El Reno we drove the cattle to Kingfisher where we took on 1,000 beef cattle and with the bunch of about 4,000 beef cattle we went to Anadarko where we delivered the herd in good shape to the Indian agent, and then back to Live Oak county where I worked until the fall of 1893, I went to work for Ed Lassiter on the San Diego ranch and was in his employ until the latter part of the fall, when I went back to Oakville. In May the following year I was married and quit cowpunching and took up railroad work and have been in that line of work for many years with the S. A. & P. Ey. and reside in Yoakum.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 807

delightful recollections of it. No boy can really get a thrill from any other sport than to be member of a bunch of real cowboys on the trail and in charge of thousands of head of cattle. The cowboy was one of the gay and festive characters of the early day history of Texas and he has not been overdrawn. He worked hard and played hard and to him there was no task too difficult or dangerous and the life of one head of stock in his charge was as precious as the entire herd.

A Long, Hard Trip

My first trip over the trail to Kansas was in 1871, when we drove 1,200 steers, from six to sixteen years old, which we gathered and branded at the old Coleman ranch, known as the Chiltipin ranch. John E. Pulliam bought them from T. M. Coleman, Sr., for $10 per head. My brother, D. C. Eachal, was in charge of the herd, and I was second boss. Our hands were A. P. Eachal, William Allen, William Lewis, Ebb Douglas, Dick Bean, Bill Unit, one Mexican called ^^Big Dirty," and a German cook. We started from the Chiltipin about March 20, 1871, and the second night out, near Sand Mounds on the Arkansas Creek, it rained all night, and our herd became scattered. When he reached Fort Worth we laid in supplies, and went on, and the next night had a stampede and our herd got mixed up with a herd Buck Gravis was driving. From there we just drove the two herds together to a point near Abilene. When we reached Bluff Creek at the Kansas line the first house of Caldwell was being put up. It was a log house. Here we found an old friend, Milam Fitzgerald, with a tent full of trail supplies, so we stocked up. We stopped at Cottonwood Creek, about twenty miles from Abilene, and separated our cattle from the Gravis herd, and drove thorn across to Ellsworth and from there on to the Smoky Eivcr, near Wilson

Station, where Dick Bean, myself and two other Texas boys stayed all summer. All went well until October, when the buffaloes began to come in vast herds, stampeding our horses and causing much annoyance. Cap- tain Pulliam could not find a sale for the cattle, so he had us to move them up near Ellsworth and shipped to Chicago to be slaughtered. He sold his horses to a rancher about 75 miles up on the Saline Eiver, and sent Tom Pulliam and myself to deliver them. A severe snow storm came up shortly after we started and when we reached Wilson Station we turned the horses loose and took refuge in a box car which had a stove and some coal in it. We spent two days there, and when the storm was over we found all of the loose horses and took them on for delivery. The ranch owner started us back to the railroad station in a one-horse wagon driven by one of his ranch hands. The distance was twenty-five miles, over a hilly country, and the road was wet and sloppy from melting snow. About three miles from the ranch the old horse gave out, and Tom and I had to walk to the station, reaching there about dark. We went to Ellsworth, settled up, and started for home November 20, traveling by rail and stopping off at Kansas City, St. Louis and New Orleans. From New Orleans I came home by water. I helped to gather those cattle, was with them eight months, and during that time was away from the herd only two nights. It was a long, hard trip, but on the whole we enjoyed it. We went from the mouth of the Nueces River to Ellsworth, Kansas, without going through a gate. I am now (1921) seventy- two years old, and still able to ride horseback and work with cattle.

A. P. Rachal made his first trip up the trail to Kansas in 1871, going as a hand. Thereafter he drove for several years, but in the herds driven after this one he was partner. He was well known to many of the trail drivers, and was highly esteemed by all as by many other friends and acquaintances. In later years he handled cattle extensively in the Indian Territory. One year he, in partnership with J. M. Chittim, grazed thirty thousand cattle in Creek Nation. Of these twenty thousand head were cows, all of which were shipped into the Creek Nation in the spring, and all of them with all of their calf crop shipped out to market during the summer and fall of the same year. That meant **some stirrin' about" for the cowboys. Mr. Eachal had a reputation of working his cattle fast and furiously. This was to such an extent that among the Territory boys often when cattle were to be rushed or crowded you would hear, ^^Rachal 'em boys, Eachal 'em."

Darius C. Eachal was born January 23, 1841, at Cloutierville, Natchitoches Parish, Louisiana. His parents were Ciriaque, and Anais Eachal, both lineal descendants of the Acadians who sought asylum in Louisiana and who have been the subjects of song and story for two centuries. At the outbreak of the Civil War Mr. Eachal enlisted in the 5th Texas Infantry, a part of Hood's Brigade. He took part in the * ^ Seven Days ' Battle in the Wilderness, "was at the* ^Second Manassas" at** Sharpsburg" in ** Lee's Invasion of Pennsylvania" the immortal three days at ** Gettysburg, " was foremost in the defense of Fredericksburg and was with Hood during the terrific hand-to-hand struggle at * * Chickamauga. " When the battle flag had been furled and the last musket had been stacked, Mr. Eachal returned to Texas and engaged in the cattle business, living two years in Calhoun county, subsequently he removed to San Patricio county where he resided until his death, August 27, 1918.

From 1875 to 1890 Mr. Eachal was one of the largest cattle-raisers in the State and sent large herds up the trail during this time. He was married to Miss Julia Bryan at Liberty, Texas, and lived at White Point, seven miles across the bay from Corpus Christi the last fifty-two vears of his life.

Frank S. Rachal

Frank S. Eachal was born at White Point, San Patricio county, Texas, November 29, 1868. He spent his boyhood on the ranch of his father, D. C. Eachal, going as far as Eed Eiver with one of his father's herds. He married Miss Anna C. Webster in April, 1891, living in San Patricio county for nine years thereafter. Mr. Eachal now resides at Falfurrias, Texas, where he is engaged in the cattle business.

John Redus

John Eedus was born in Athens, Alabama, December 25, 1833, and moved to Mississippi when a boy. He lived there until he was about twenty-two years old, when his health failed and he got in with a party coming to Texas. His father furnished him with a buggy and negro driver, and. on the way he was so sick he had to be helped in and out of the buggy. When they reached Austin, there was a big crowd from San Antonio to hear General Sam Houston speak, and lie met np with some people from his home town, Aberdeen, Mississippi. My father and some others from Mississippi had bonght land and settled on Hondo Creek, ten miles west of Castroville, then the county seat of Medina county. I don't know how he ever found us, but he did, and came right out and joined us. This being a stock country, he soon got in with the stock men, and his health improved so rapidly that he decided to stay and go into the stock business. His father sent money with which to buy land and cattle, and he purchased land from the Adams brothers, who had a big ranch on the Hondo, thirteen miles south of us. John Eedus was soon joined in his undertaking by his brothers, William and George Eedus, and they started business on a small scale. I was the first girl Mr. Eedus got acquainted with in Medina county and naturally we had to be sweethearts, and on December 11, 1859, my twentieth birthday, we were married, and the next day we went to our new home as happy as any couple could be, although I knew I did not have a neighbor nearer than four miles. The Indians came in every light moon and stole horses, killed a man occasionally, and were very troublesome, but all went well with us. We were prosperous until the Civil War came on, and all the white men joined the army, and the negroes and I had to go back to my father's place near the German settlements. When the war was over the men came home and we went back to our ranch and began anew. The men had to be out on the range for weeks at a time to round up the stock, which had had but little attention during the period of the war, only our nephew, Tallie Burnett, and the negro boys would go once a week to put out salt and look around. But all hands had to hustle. The Indianswere bad for a long time, and we always had to keep guns handy, although luckily we never had to use them. Notwithstanding these troublous times, we prospered.

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Mr. Eedus would buy more cattle every year and locate more land, and finally he bought the Adams brothers^ land when they went west to get larger holdings. About this time the drives to Kansas started. Mr. Eedus was one of the first to engage in trail driving and one of the last to stop. He was successful for awhile, but got to speculating, buying remnants of herds wintered in Kansas, and when the great panic of 1873 came on, and so many banks failed, he had to sell for less than he gave, and we went broke. I made one trip with Mr. Redus to Kansas, taking along my baby boy, Robert. I have always regretted that I did not go every year, for I could have gone if I had known it. At that time the railroad came only as far as Luling, and we had to go there by stage from San Antonio. In looking back it seems a long time, and many changes are noticeable, but really 1 believe we had better times and were happier then than now. Everybody was your friend, and were glad to entertain you. In reading the first volume of the Old Trail Drivers' book I find many familiar names, people I knew personally, and many who did business with my husband, but most of them have passed on, and some, like us, had lost everything they had accumulated. Mr. Redus died July 25, 1895, of the same disease he had left Mississippi to escape - lung trouble. I am now eighty-two years old, am in good health, keep house and do all my work. I have written this by request of my friend, Mr. W. B. Hardeman.

James David Farmer

The subject of this sketch was born in 1858, and received his education at Mansfield College, Mansfield, Texas. He is today one of the interesting characters engaged in commercial activities in Fort Worth, and widely known stockman, politician and promoter of civic progress. His operations in the cattle trade cover a period of over forty years, during which time he has striven manfully in aiding the cattle industry in a growth from struggling infancy to its present mature prosperity. He engaged in the commission business when he removed to Fort Worth, and organized the Fort Worth Live Stock Commission Co., later organized the Ehome-Farmer Live Stock Commission Co., one of the best known of all the numerous commission companies operating in the great Southwest. He was elected the first Mayor of Fort Worth, serving satisfactorily in that capacity for two full terms. A live wire in all things, he believes in Texas first, last and all the time; is one of those hustlers who believes that nothing is too good for his native state; is a solid, substantial man of affairs and has a host of friends throughout the Lone Star State and adjacent states.

James David Faemee A Well-Known Frontier Character

The accompanying photo is a true likeness of the wellknown frontiersman and ranger, William (Big Foot) Wallace, whose remarkable career reads like a romance. He was born in Rockbridge county, Virginia, and came to Texas, in 1836, just a short time after the battle of San Jacinto was fought. He was at the battle of the Salado in 1842, and was also in the Mier Expedition, being one of the lucky ones to a draw a white bean. After returning to Texas he joined Captain Jack Hayes' rangers, and was in many exciting Indian campaigns. He later commanded a ranger company which was organized to protect the settlers on the frontier, and subsequently

Alonzo Millett

Alonzo Millett was born in Bastrop county in 1845, and spent his boyhood days in that county and at Seguin, where he attended school. He had two brothers in school with him, and when the Civil War broke out the three Millett brothers were the first to volunteer. Alonzo Millett, at the time only 16 years old, entered the Confederate army and with General Wood he went through

Above is a picture of an old time rail cowpen and a nuijcstic live oak tree on the John Huffman Eanch, eighteen miles north of San Antonio. This pen was built before lumber came into general use. The posts were placed double and tied with rawhide, with rail ends between posts. Pens of this kind were frequently built large enough to hold" several thousand cattle many battles and fought so bravely that he was promoted three successive times. His twin brother, Leonidas Millett, was killed at Manassas. When the war ended, Alonzo Millett returned to Texas and during the course of years that followed the Millett brothers gained wealth. Their ranches were scattered over the States of Kansas, Idaho, Dakota and Texas. Misfortune came, however, and their wealth was swept away. But Alonzo Millett persevered, and at the time of his death he owned a large ranch in San Juan Valley, Colorado. He was killed by being thrown from a horse on his ranch in Colorado, and was buried at San Antonio, Texas.

Could Ride A Hundred Miles In A Day

In the spring of 1881 I started up the trail for T. M. O'Connor with 700 horses which he sold to D. R. Fant in Goliad and drove to Ogallala, Nebraska. There were seven in our crowd and a negro and Mexican, Tom Finnessey, Clint Heard, Jeff Gallagher, two Williams boys, and myself. We crossed the Brazos at Waco, the Colorado below Austin, the Trinity at Fort Worth, and the Red River at Red River Station. We were told the Indians were stampeding all of the horses over on Wild Horse Creek, in the Territory, so we left the trail for a distance of two miles, and avoided trouble. When we reached Turkey Creek we found there had been plenty of Indians there, and we camped where they had been, all of us got covered with body lice arid had to boil onr clothes to get rid of them. When we reached Dodge City we stayed over a couple of days, and while there we sold some saddle horses to a man named Eddy, who ranched on Seven Eivers, New Mexico. Finnessey and the two

Williams boys went with him to his ranch, and I have never seen them since. From Dodge City on to Ogallala we had bad weather, with plenty of lightning and thunder. One young man was killed by lightning. We disposed of the horses at Ogallala and I came back on the train.

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bert to Caldwell, Kansas. We had a little trouble with the Indians and had to give them several horses to get them to behave. O'Connor met me at Caldwell and took the saddle horses to Dodge City, leaving me to sell the others. On this trip I passed Jap Clark, Charlie Boyce, the Eachal boys and number of others. I sold the horses to a man named McClain and had to take them back to the Indian Territory and hold them for a month. When I got back to Texas I married the sweetest girl on earth, and of course could not go up the trail the next year, but in 1884, in March, I left my wife and five-months ' old baby with her mother and went up with a herd driven out of Goliad county for D. E. Fant, road-branded F and ID. Mr. Fant had 40,000 head of cattle on the trail that year w^hich he drove to Dodge City, Kansas. That was the year Bing Choate was killed. When I got to Dodge City I stayed and cut the Fant cattle out of herds as they came in. I stayed with George Stokes who was in charge of the Choate & Bennett cattle.

I moved to Goliad county in October, 1884, and have raised a family of eight children, seven of whom are living in the largest city of Texas, except one married daughter, who lives in Saginaw, Michigan. I own a little farm of 320 acres, on which my wife and I are living in contentment, and I don't owe any man a cent. I am now sixty years old, and my wife is the same age. We are both as spry as ever, and I feel like I could easily ride one hundred miles in a day just like I did years ago, when I took the long, long trail to northern markets.

Ransom Capps

All of the early settlers of Mason county, Texas, knew the subject of this sketch, for he lived in their midst many years. He died at San Antonio, October 15, 1921,

Survived by 121 descendants, Eansom Capps, Confederate Veteran, who died Saturday at the home of his daughter, Mrs. E. F. Pipes, 251 Diaz Street, was among the last of the living pioneers of Texas whose deeds have been immortalized in history and song.

He was 91 years 9 months and 2 days old. A native of Missouri, he came to Texas when a young man and settled near the head of the San Antonio Eiver, about five miles north of town, which then consisted of an army garrison and a few stores. That was 72 years ago.

At the beginning of the Civil War he enlisted in Company I, 3rd Texas Infantry, and served under the late Captain J. M. Trainer in Col. Lucket's brigade of Walker's Division in Louisiana and Arkansas through the entire period of the war.

His wife and children moved from their ranch north of town into San Antonio during his absence for protection against Indian attacks. The Apaches and Comanches were on a rampage, the former being especially treacherous at that time.

After the war Capps, with his family moved to a point near the head of the Salado, about twelve miles from town, where he lived until the death of his wife about 20 years ago. Fifteen children were born of their union. Following the death of his wife, Capps lived at the homes of his children in San Antonio and in Mason and McCulloch counties.

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Interment was made Sunday at Coker Cemetery. The Rev. John W. Smith officiated. Funeral services were held from the residence of Mrs. Pipes.

Why I Am A Prohibitionist

I was born in Alabama, September, 1844, and graduated in a little home-made school house in the piney woods of Lauderdal county, Mississippi, near where the city of Meridian now stands. I graduated at the age of eleven years, and moved with my parents in wagons from there to Caldwell county, near Lockhart, Texas, that fall. I visited Lockhart on Christmas day for the first time, and in those days Lockhart was wild and woolly, a wideopen town, where whiskey and every other kind of **blue ruin'' flowed freely. That day I saw a Mr. Perry kill a Mr. Cabaniss with a knife. To me it was a frightful experience. My curiosity caused me to ask what caused the trouble, and I was told it was whiskey. Then I went strong for prohibition, and was never intoxicated in my life. We lived in Caldwell county until the fall of 1856, when my father sold a likely negro woman to Major Fields for stock cattle, and we started west with the cattle to grow up with the country, as per Horace Greeley's advice. I was ^^herd boss" on the trip. We drove our herd through San Antonio, from Alamo Plaza to Commerce Street, and down Commerce Street to South Flores Street, and on to Atascosa county. This was before the county was organized, and my father served on the first jury empaneled in the county. We settled on the San Miguel Creek, where the town of Hindes is now located, and where we had a world of free range, with great abundance of wild game of every kind, even wild mus- tang cattle and mustang horses. I soon got to be an expert shot with rifle and pistol, a good roper, and a fast and fearless rider, and soon made friends with all the mustangers and hunters. We killed the native wild cattle for their hides and tallow, and the meat we conld save. I canght and tamed lots of mustang horses, mostly young stock.

In the pioneer days of danger and adventure, and with no other or better job, I learned to be so fond of hunting and the chase, that I have never gotten over it, and can still ride a horse and shoot a rifle as good as anyone. On two occasions, the Indians rounded me up. Once, with a Mr. Seals on the San Miguel, when we stood them off half of one night, and another time with a Mr. Atkins, when they kept us surrounded half of one afternoon at Charco Largo. A good run always suited me better than a doubtful stand, but either one is lonesome and frightful. In August, 1865, twenty-eight redskins gave me a hard race, but I beat them to the river bottom and got away. Another time fifteen of them gave me a close chase and would have caught me, but in their trying to cut me off from the river, they ran on to a steep bluff bank and could not get down. On one occasion three friends and myself went on a hunting trip south of the Nueces River for a week's hunt. Had a good time, but in a short time thereafter all of the three were killed and all dying with ^' their boots on." At another time, my father, a Mr. Wheat, and myself had a good and successful hunt on the San Miguel; and in a short time the Indians killed Mr. Wheat in Medina county, and my father was killed by the Indians at his home in McMullen county.

The pioneers that were on the frontier before and during reconstruction days suffered many privations and hardships, and half of them did not live to tell the story. But during these times, as dreary and dull as they were, there was a man whose life was as brilliant as a ray of sunshine following the dark and tempestuous clouds. That man was Jim Lowe, who was one of the first settlers in McMuUen county, and who was the best fixed man in that section. He was truly one of God's noblemen - a philanthropist of the first order. He made it possible for many poor families to have bread in their homes, who, otherwise, would have had to live on meat alone. I was truly benefited by his wise counsel and good backing.

In March, 1865, about the close of the Civil War, I married the best little girl in the world, and she lived to bless my life for fifty-six years to a day, and passed on to her reward in March, 1921.

The year 1865 was an eventful one in my life. Married in March (I was promptly notified that I must *^quit my meanness"), the war closed in May, and the Indians killed my father in August. However, with all the energy and determination I possessed I went to work on the ** wreck," for we lost practically everything we possessed during the war. I proceeded under difficulties too numerous to mention, but by the spring of 1872, had gotten together a pretty good little herd of mixed cattle, and drove them to Kansas that spring. I had about the usual amount of trouble that a man has on his first drive over the ** trail." Was compelled to swim swollen streams, had storms at night, and several stampedes. Finally I bumped into the Osage tribe of Indians, and they gave us an exhibition of what they could do to a Texas herd, shooting and yelling the regular Indian war-hoop. They killed about one hundred beeves right there on the prairie, in sight, and scattered the others to the four winds, causing Mr. Kedus great loss and trouble. I drove my herd to Wichita, Kansas, and held them there on fine grass until fall, and sold out at good prices. When I got home that fall, I had more than $15,000 cash, in gold,

$10,000 life insurance policy, a remnant of cattle and a good bunch of horses that I had left in Texas. I did not owe a dollar, and felt chesty as Croesus, in his palmiest days, ever dared to feel. I handled several herds after that in Kansas and Wyoming, and always made a little money. I never bossed another herd all the way from start to finish, but I knew the game, and if a man made good, it was indeed a hard trip. At another time I delivered 2,500 head of cattle in Wyoming, on the tenth day of September, in an all-day snowstorm; and while it was indeed something different to what I had been accustomed to, I could not enjoy it at all. I kept buying, selling and trading cattle until 1882, w^hen I made the best money in my life by buying about forty thousand acres of San Miguel land where the town of Hindes is now located on the San Antonio, Uvalde and Gulf Eailroad, at a very low price. I have watched it go up in value in these forty years while I was using it for pasture until I have sold some of it for $100 an acre ; some at $75 an acre, and have never sold any for less than $20 an acre. I allotted my children sufficient land that if used and managed with prudence and care, will provide them liberally with life's needs, still have a good block of it left, and expect to develop an oil field in the near future. In the fall of 1903 I helped organize the Pearsall National Bank at Pearsall, Texas, and have served continuously on its board of directors. For the past ten years I have been its president, resigning just recently in order to enable me to give my personal business the attention it deserves. In 1909 I also helped to organize the Atascosa County State Bank at Jourdanton, Texas, and served as its president for six years, relinquishing my post of duty only after the bank was thoroughly established and was doing a nice business. However, I am still one of the largest stockholders in the Atascosa County Bank, and a large stockholder and director in the Pearsall National Bank.

Looking back now it seems that Providential guidance has been instrumental in my living through the many harrowing experiences of the early days, when Indians roamed the country, and later, especially after the war, when outlaws gave so much trouble to the pioneers of the Southwest. It gives me much pleasure and consolation in having been spared to see the great Southwest transformed from pioneer to the modern stage; where folks mingle with one another in security and all friendliness, and where now exists a spirit of democracy and helpfulness that makes the country a desirable place to live, grow and prosper. I do not say boastingly, but there is a great deal of personal satisfaction in knowing that I was permitted to have a part in the upbuilding of this section of our wonderful state.

Fifty Years A Policeman

After pacing his ^'beaf for fifty years, faithfully and true, John Fitzhenry, the oldest policeman in San Antonio, has retired. jlgHttjjj^ The veteran lawkeeper has count, and he has been instrumental in bringing to justice some of the worst criminals the Southwest has ev e r known. He removed the uniform of his country, which he served from '64 to 71, to don the uniform of an officer of the law, and this he has worn continuously for half a century.

John Fitzhenry

John Fitzhenry has lived the life of the great Wild West. In his book of life have been written hundreds of chapters of range and pioneer life as intensely thrilling and exciting as the boldest adventures of *' Diamond Dick'' or any of the other great Wild West heroes.

^*It was a border town, rough and woolly." With these words the veteran officer begins his narrative of early San Antonio history. * ^ It was the jumping off place for all the desperadoes in the country, when I came down here in '64. San Ajitonio, 50 years ago, was a cow town of 8,000 souls. The only railroads in Texas were one from Bryan Station to the coast and another from Victoria to Port Lavaca. No one dared live farther west ' than Fort Clark, about 150 miles west of San Antonio. Beyond there the Indians and such scouts and soldiers as the government saw fit to station on the frontier lived. San Antonio in those days was a rendezvous for Mexican bandits as well as frontier outlaws. The bandits used to hold up a town just as they have done in the past few years, and come up to San Antonio to spend their money. It was so wild in those days we couldn't wear uniforms. The six day policeman wore the clothes of a civilian. If we had worn uniforms of the law there would have been a shooting as soon as we came in sight. A policeman didn't make an arrest, either, as he does today. None of the boys in those days would have stood while a warrant was being read to him. We had to throw them down and tie them, and then read the warrants for their arrest."