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

^ ' Two 0 'clock and time for the third watch on the night herd. Disentangling himself from his damp blankets, John Waring groped for his boots, and unrolling his * slicker' which had served temporarily as a pillow, he enveloped himself in it and went out in the drizzling rain. For the hundredth time within a week. Waring had condemned himself for relinquishing the comforts of civil- ization to become a cow-puncher among the rock slopes of Colora,do. He wondered if she felt the separation - if she cared. How happy they had been, and how much he still loved her. But the memory of that last day was still too clear in his mind. The words she had spoken in heat of anger had burned themselves into his soul. In hot rage he had come out here to plunge into the perilous life in a vain effort to forget. His thoughts strayed to the strange postal he had received the day previous, and he began to puzzle his mind to decide who sent it, and what it could mean. For the communication was composed not of words, but of music - four measures to the Key of G. He hummed the notes over and over, and they had a strangely familiar sound; he could not place the fragment. Abandoning the riddle as he rode around and around the cattle, he began to sing to pass the time. Suddenly in the midst he stopped short. He was singing the notes on the card. It came to him like a flash. He tore open his coat and drew out the postal. There was no mistake. He had solved the mystery. With a wild shout, he wheeled his horse and rode furiously to the camp, and reached Coberly, the boss, in two bounds.

** *I must be in Denver tonight,' he said. ^I want your best horse quick. I know it is a hundred and twenty miles to go, but it is only sixty to Empire, and I can get the train there. It leaves at one o'clock, and I can make it if you will lend me Star. , I know he is your pet horse and you never let anyone ride him, but I tell you, Mr. Coberly, this means everything to me. I simply must get there tonight.'

*^Mr. Coberly scowled. *You ought to know, Jack, that I won 't lend Star, so what 's the use of askin ' ? What in thunder is the matter with you that you are in such a confounded rush?'

handing him the postal card. Coberly scanned it intently and a change came over his face. *Why didn't you show me this at first? Of course you can have the horse. Hey there, some of you boys! Eound up the horses and rope Star for Mr. Waring. Jump lively now ! '

*^ Eight o'clock found twenty-three miles behind Star's nimble feet, and the Bar Triangle Eanch in sight. It lacked twenty minutes to ten o 'clock when Waring drew rein at the foot of the great divide, the railroad station still fifteen miles away. He unsaddled Star and turned him into a corral for an hour's rest to put new life into him. At a quarter past ten Star, refreshed by rubbing and water, was carrying him up the road. Up, up, they went, mile after mile, towards the snowy summit of the pass. Two miles from the top Waring dismounted and led his panting horse along the icy trail. He still had twelve miles to go, seven of which were down the steepest road in the state. Could he make it? He must. He stopped and anxiously examined his horse. He had plenty of life and energy yet. Waring was again in the saddle and racing down the dangerous path. Almost sitting on his haunches. Star would fairly slide down the hill, and recover his footing at the bottom. At last they came to a level road. A horseman approached and whipped out a six-shooter. *Hold up there. I want to talk to you. I'm the sheriff and I want to know what you're doing with Joe Coberly 's horse.'

** *Hold on there, young man; that air won't do at all. I know old Joe, and I know he wouldn't lend that horse to his own brother, let alone one of his cow-punchers. I guess I'll have to lock you up till the boys come over.'

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 1001

**As the officer read the card his face lighted np. * That's all right, youngster. Sorry I stopped you. I don't wonder Joe lent you the horse. I hope you won't miss the train.'

** Waring rode forward, the town before him a half mile distant. The train was at the station. The black smoke began to come in heavy puffs from the engine. A quarter of a mile yet to go. The line of cars moved slowly from the station. Then Star showed the spirit that was in him. He bounded forward and swept down on the town like a whirlwind. Thirty feet - twenty feet - ten feet - he was abreast of the platform. Swerving the flying horse close to the track. Waring leaned over and grasped the railing with both hands, lifted himself from the saddle and swung over to the steps of the car. After congratulations of the passengers. Waring dropped into a seat and was soon lost in thought. Suddenly he remembered he had left his money in the bundle attached to Star's saddle. There was nothing to do but throw himself on the mercy of the conductor. He whispered in his ear and showed him the postal, and the conductor's expression softened. *I reckon I'll have to fix it for you by paying your fare myself and you can send me the money. '

* ' The car wheels were still turning when Waring strode through the station at Denver. Jumping into a carriage he was driven to the nearest drug store where he consulted the directory. * Number 900 S. 17th Street,' he cried. Arriving there, he sprang up the steps. The butler ushered him into Mr. Foster's presence. ^Mr. Foster, you are the president of the Denver National Bank which handles the Western interests of the Second National Bank of Boston. I have an account at the Second and want you to cash a check for me. It is after banking hours I know, and even if it were not, I have no immediate means of identification. It is of the greatest importance that I make the Eastern express tonight or I would not come to you in this irregular way.'

^'Then Waring told of the card. The banker said: *Let me see it. From what was it taken, did you say?' Hearing the answer, a bulky musical score was laid upon the table before him, and turning the pages carefully he compared the music on the card with that of the printed sheet. Then he said in a kindly voice: *I will assist you, Mr. Waring. It will, of course, be a purely personal accommodation; I cannot resist such an appeal as this. What amount do you require?'

**The banker wrote a check for a hundred and fifty, saying, ^You can cash this at the Brown Palace Hotel. I envy you with all my heart. You have my best wishes for a pleasant journey. Goodby. '

'* Waring ran down the steps with a light heart. * Telegraph office,' he shouted. Ten minutes later these words were speeding over the wire :

'*When the Chicago Limited pulled out of Denver that evening, John Tarbot Waring was standing on the rear platform, humming a fragment from the great oratorio, ^The Messiah.' There was a tender look in his eyes as he gazed at the postal card and the words he sang were :

''At the same moment, two thousand miles away in the East a young wife was holding a telegram close to her lips. Turning softly on her pillow she glanced lovingly

One Trip Up The Trail

B. D. Lindsey, San Antonio, Texas I was born in Union Parish, La., January 21, 1856, and came to Texas when I was 17 years old, with my uncle, who located near Waco. I assisted him on the farm for awhile, then went south intending to become a cowboy. I had bunked with Ad Lindsey that winter, and he had been *^up the trail'' and I had caught the fever from him. In the early days of February, 1874, in company with Neally Cone and Bill Foster, I left Waco and traveled south on the Austin road. We had provided ourselves with a good supply of brandy peaches, a concoction sold in those days. That evening late we landed at the Westbrook ranch on Cow Bayou. Mrs. Westbrook kindly consented for us to stay overnight and directed us to the barn. Just about that time Mr. Westbrook appeared on the scene. I shall never forget him. He was a small sized man, wiry, spare build, about 30 years of age. With a firm look in his eye and a steady voice lie said. ^'Boys, I see that you are drinking and I had rather you would ride on.'' We did. We crossed over the bayou and stayed over night. The next night we stayed with a Swede farmer six miles north of Austin. There were very few houses along the road in those days. We reached Austin the next day, remaining there only a few hours, then pulled on for San Marcos. When we got to the Blanco Eiver our money was getting scarce so we sought employment. My first job was planting corn two days for Billie Owens, who now lives at Sabinal, Texas. My next work was for a Mr. Cochran, who owned a farm on the cattle trail. He paid me 75c. per day. Herds were passing daily, and one rainy day I saddled my horse and drifted with a passing herd. In conversation with one of the boys he asked me if I had ever been up the trail, and when I informed him that I had not, he said I should claim that I had as I would be paid better wages. I kept this information for future use, and when I learned that a herd was being gathered in the neighborhood, to be in charge of Sam Driskill, I made up my mind to go with that herd. I hailed Mr. Driskill as he was passing one day and asked him for a job. The first question he fired at me was, ^^Have you ever been up the trail?" ^*Yep'' I replied, right off the reel. Two days later he sent for me and put me and Eberly Peters, who now lives at San Marcos, herding about 400 mixed cattle. We were both green hands, but we came in with all the cattle for two days. We held them bunched as though they were in a corral. The third day we moved out to the Perry Day ranch, near where the town of Kyle is now situated. When we stopped at noon my troubles began. I was left in company with wiser ones, and my idea was to not let any get away, so I kept butting them in. John Eutledge, one of the boys, cussed me for being a fool, and proceeded to give me my first lesson in handling cattle. When I went to the chuck wagon Pres Horton, a typical cow-puncher, constituted himself a court of inquiry and began plying me with questions. He asked me if I had ever been up the trail, and who I drove for. I told him I went up the trail the year before, and drove for Chisholm. I had the idea that Chisholm owned all the cattle in Texas. Then Horton asked me where I drove to, and I told him Wichita. Next he asked me where I crossed the Brazos, and I said Fort Graham, and that I crossed the Red River at Red River Station. When he wanted to know what river Wichita was located on, I had to study for a moment, then said ^* Arkansas." By this time I was growing nervous. He was also stumped, for he could not figure out how it was that I was so well posted. The fact of the matter is Ad Lindsey, who had been over the route, had told me these things, and I had not forgotten. For a little while Horton let up on me, but finally came back with the question: ** Where does the bridge cross the river at Wichita?" This was a stunner, but I said, ^* Kinder toward the lower edge of town. ' ' He had me, as there was no bridge there at that time. Of course, I thought it was back to the farm for me, but Sam Driskill, the boss, who had heard the whole discussion, came to my rescue and said, **Kid, I had discovered you were a green hand in this business, but I see you are willing, and I had rather have one willing hand than one too lazy to perform his duties." I was much relieved and right there I determined to give the best service I was capable of giving. We remained at the Day ranch about two weeks, and then moved on to the Baggett ranch, near where Temple is now, for our next and last stop. We completed our herd there and started on our long journey. Jess Driskill and Dock Day were the owners of the herd. Jess Driskill built the Driskill Hotel at Austin.

An incident occurred at the Baggett ranch, which while a little personal, I think is worthy of mention, as it. will show how green and foolish I was. A down- easier, whose name I have forgotten, had been employed. He was about thirty years old and weighed 230 pounds. Aside from being a greenhorn he was really too heavy for trail work, and the bnnch wanted to get rid of him, and set abont to do this very thing, while I was made the **goat." The boys began to carry news to him of talks I had made about him, and from h'im they brought yarns to me. Of course neither of us had said anything about the other. We all carried the old style cap-andball navy pistols, as was the custom in those days. One evening while I was holding the cattle, the evening relief came out and this big 230-pounder made straight toward me, saying that I had talked about him long enough and he was going to put a stop to it. I had been told by the other boys that the trouble was coming, and to open up on him when it started, which I proceeded to do. I shot at him six times as he was coming toward me, aiming at his paunch, but he did not fall. Now mind you, the boys had previously extracted the bullets from my pistol, and I was shooting only wads, but I did not know it. The wads set his clothing afire, and also the sage grass, and it took us several hours to put out the prairie fire. The *^ wounded" man ran off, left his horse, went to camp, got his time, and quit, just what the bunch wanted him to do. The boys told me that I would be arrested when we got to Fort Worth, and advised me to go to the boss and get a horse and leave the herd, scout along in the neighborhood for a few days, and fall in again. I took it all in like a sucker, until I asked Sam Driskill for the horse. Sam told me then it was all a put-up job, and to pay no attention to them. From that time on I got along very well. When we arrived at Hayes, Kansas, 500 beeves were cut out and left there or driven to " Ellsworth and held for a time. John Driskill was left in charge of the beeves. He now lives at Sabinal, Texas. There were twenty-three men in our outfit, but I can remember only the following; Orland Driskill, Sam Dris- kill, Dallas Driskill, Tol Driskill, Pres Horton, Charlie Kaymond, Eberly Peters, John Rutledge, Tom Evans, Mills, one of the cooks, and Bill Hicks, my guard mate.

Near Fort Hayes we rested up on the Smoky River two weeks. A storm there stampeded our cattle and they mixed up with six or seven herds camped there at that time, and it took us several days to separate them. We traveled a northwest course from Hayes to Platte River below Fort Sidney, and went to a point about forty miles this side of Cheyenne, Wyoming, and on to the Snyder Ranch near the foot of the Black Hills, where we delivered the cattle to the new owners. I was offered employment on this ranch at $40 per month, with the privilege of investing my savings, but that country was too cold for me. I was told the snow remained on the ground seven months in the year. Some of us came back to Ellsworth, Kansas, where I helped John Driskill hold beeves for a month, then I took train for Texas, well satisfied that I had enough trail driving. While this is the only trip I ever made up the trail, I have seen much of the old trail drivers, and my hat is oif to them. A truer type of manhood never existed in this or any other country. I now live at 3020 West Commerce St., San Antonio, Texas, where I own a comfortable home. I married Miss Ella Michell of Uvalde, November 8, 1888, and we have four children living. Our oldest child died August 8, 1912.

No Friends Like The Old Trail Drivers

I was raised in Blanco county, Texas. My father, John Carson and Mary Jane, my good Christian mother, who have long since gone to their reward, moved from Mississippi in the early 50 's and they settled in East Texas for a few years, then moved to Blanco county.

and settled a ranch abont four niiles east of Blanco City, on the Blanco E-iver, with a small bunch of horses and cattle. In 1861, father joined the Confederate army and when he returned in 1865, broke and no market for cattle until 1870, he sold 200 aged steers to Tom Johnson. His ranch and branding pens were where the town of Johnson City now stands.

Father went up the trail with this herd to Abilene, Kansas, in 1878. I went on the trail with one of John E. Blocker's herds. A short the first volume of the ** Trail

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 1009 Dock Burris Was Well Known

The old settler of Karnes county that did not know Dock Burris was himself unknown. As a cowboy, Texas Eanger and soldier in the Confederate Army, none was ever more expert, adventurous and gallant. The bronco he could not ride and tame was never foaled, the cow or steer he could not rope and tie down never roamed the prairies of West Texas, and the Yankee soldier that, given any chance at all he could not outwit, never drew a bounty during the war, nor has drawn a pension since. Mr. Burris related the following incidents in his career :

^'I was born on Galveston Island on August 24, 1840. In 1855, desirous of seeing more of life than I could while sui-rounded by salt water, I went to Karnes county and found employment as a cowboy. I continued in that business without let-up until the fall of 1858, and during the time thus engaged, hunted cattle and horses with and for almost all the old settlers west of San Antonio Eiver. Among them, I remember, were Munroe Choate, John Pascal, John Talk, Capt. John Tom, Billie Ricks, Pat Rose, Walker Baylor, Bill Bishop, John W. Baylor, W. G. Butler and many others. In the fall of 1858, and until the next fall, I drove a freight wagon for Levy Watts between Indianola and San Antonio.

^^In October, 1859, I enlisted in Capt. Bill Tobin's company of Rangers, which was organized for service on the Rio Grande, where the notorious Cortina had inaugurated a small war of his own against the Americans living west of the Nueces River, under the claim that all the country between the Rio Grande and the Nueces belonged of right to Mexico. I enlisted with John Littleton, who was recruiting for Tobin's company, and became one of its lieutenants. Tobin and the larger part of his company went on ahead and we recruits overtook him at Banquette. Thence we started on a forced march to Brownsville, but some of our horses gave out and we had to stop at King's ranch to exchange them for fresh animals.

*^I was with the advance scouts when we arrived at Brownsville, about 12 o'clock on the night of the third day's march from King's ranch. I remember that we were fired into by the Mexican guards stationed on the Matamoras side of the Rio Grande. In the reminiscences of Capt. J. T. Hunter he fails to mention a number of incidents that occurred during the campaign. One of these Avas the capture by members of Capt. Pete Tumlinson's company of a notorious Mexican bandit and adventurer known as One-eyed Trevino. This scoundrel was given but a short shrift and was hanged. Another was the capture of a Mexican at Los Cuevos. As his captors were not prepared to hang this man, he was tied hand and foot, and thrown into the river and given a free swim down to its month. But he was not a good swimmer, and a few days later his body was f onnd lodged against a boat. Another Mexican who was captnred at the fight of Eancho Davis stepped into the Great Beyond from the back of Capt. Tumlinson's saddle horse, and a fourth one was hanged from a large root that projected from a bluff bank out over the waters of the Eio Grande. Each one of these men richly deserved the fate that befell him, for there was not a crime of which one or the other had not been guilty.

*^ Captain Hunter also failed to mention a fight that took place at Mule Shoe Bend, when Cortina and his men tried to capture a steamboat laden with gold and silver, whose passage down the river the Eangers were protecting. The Greasers were stationed in a jacal surrounded by a picket fence and were so busy watching the boat that they did not know until it was too late that Tumlinson had led a part of his company over into Mexico and was coming up in their rear. Tumlinson whipped them to a finish, drove them into flight and captured all their horses, as well as their supplies of ammunition and provisions. -Such terror, indeed, did Tumlinson ^s men inspire in the minds of the Mexicans there that they never rallied again, and always afterwards spoke of the Americans as being ^muy diablos.' I was lucky enough to take part in that fight, having been, a few days before, transferred to Tumlinson 's company, in which I had a brother, J. B. Burris.

** After this fight I went home on furlough and while I was away the company was disbanded. The first I knew of its disbandment was when on my way back to rejoin it I met the boys returning to their homes. Never having been mustered out myself and never from that day to this have I received any pay from the state for my services, I still claim to be a Ranger.

ganized in Gonzales county by Mark Evans and Avliich later became Company C of the Terry Rangers, or Eighth Texas Cavalry. We were mustered into the Confederate service at Houston with the understanding that we were going to Virginia. Upon our arrival at New Orleans, though, our colonel received orders to report at Bowling Green, Ky., to Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston. In accounts they have published of their experiences during the war quite a number of my Eanger comrades jjlaced themselves under a fire from which it seemed impossible for them to escape alive and unhurt. I was in many such places and I should wonder now that I escaped alive were it not that I am just enough of a hardshell Baptist to believe in predestination. That doctrine comforted me mightily during the war; that there was virtue in it is shown by the fact that often as I faced danger and its close companion, death, I was wounded but once, and then received only a flesh wound. That was at Murf reesboro. My first experience under fire was at Woolsonville, Ky., and then in due order came Shiloh, Perrysville, Murfreesboro and Chickamauga. When Captain Shannon was given command of a company of scouts I was a member of it.

^'One of my Ranger comrades, telling of how Forrest captured Murfreesboro, says there was no Federal cavalry engaged. He was either sadly mistaken, or my distinct recollection of capturing that morning in a tent where they lay asleep nine cavalrymen and all their arms, is a mere dream. They surrendered the moment I threw my gun down on them. Why my comrade did not see the cavalry I cannot understand. The first camp we went into was a cavalry camp. To one of the Yankees captured that morning I was afterwards indebted, I think for my life. Very shortly after Shannon's scouts had captured three negroes and two Yankees and were in the act of plundering a house and after killing the five of them, had placed their bodies in a pile with the negroes on top of the two Yankees, I was captnred and placed nnder gnard in a prison pen in North Carolina. When it was learned that I belonged to Shannon's scouts the Federals guarding the pen, taking it for granted that I was concerned in the punishment of the five men, determined to take me out and hang me. But when they came for me the Yankee we had captured at Murfreesboro interposed, saying that he would shoot the first man that laid hands on me and that he had been captured by the Eangers at Murfreesboro and had been treated kindly. It was only this man^s courage that saved me.

"When General Bragg marched his army through Kentucky, Wild Aaron Burleson and I were one day on picket together at a point about six miles from Green Eiver. Between sunset and dark the Yankees rode up on us, fired a few shots at us and retreated in the direction of Louisville. Next morning Captain Shannon sent the two of us on a scout to locate the Yankees. We rode six or seven miles without coming in sight of the enemy and finally down to a bridge across Green Eiver that the Yankees had bnmed down. Just beyond the bridge they had planted a Federal flag and Aaron and I resolved to get that flag. Hitching our horses we swam the river, and pulling down the flag, brought it back to our horses and started to make our report to Captain Shannon that no Yankees were in sight.

"We had gone but a short distance when we met an old gentleman, a citizen, who not only showed us a place where we could easily ford the river, but also told us that there was a sutler's store on the other side of the river a short distance below the bridge. Needing clothing and a whole lot of other things, too badly to object to buying them from a Yankee sutler, Aaron and I lost no time in showing up at the store. Hitching our horses, we entered and commenced buying and quite soon had each bought so many things that we needed saddle bags to carry them in. These being in stock, we each bought a pair, stuffed our plunder in tliem, and hanging tliem across our saddles, came back to settle our bills. Of course we had no money except Confederate, and when we offered that to the sutler, he no sooner looked at it than he handed it back to us, saying it was no good. ^AVell,' said Aaron, pocketing the wad returned to him, an example which I immediately followed, *that is too good money for us to refuse, and as we have no other kind, all we can do is to thank you for the goods we have,' and off we rode, each pair of saddle bags packed so full that we could hardly find room in our saddle for ourselves.

''When Kosecrans' army was advancing on Murfreesboro. Col. Tom Harrison sent me and Wild Aaron Burleson to the extreme left of our skirmish lines. We found the Yankees forming in line of battle to come in on our left and, thinking to stay them awhile, we dismounted, tied our horses behind a hill and went forward. Getting within easy range of the Yanks, I dropped down behind a stump about fifty steps to the left of the one Aaron had pre-empted, and both of us began firing as fast as we could. Aaron's position proved too exposed for comfort and he changed it, without notifying me of his intention to do so. In fact, it was some little time after he left me before I discovered that I was fighting all by myself and without any support. I fired in all about twenty rounds at them while they were getting into line, and I kept up my fire until they were within twenty steps of me, coming at full charge. Then I broke for my horse, mounted him, I might say, while still running, and ran as fast as he did when once on him, for the Yanks by this time were on each side of me and behind me - those behind shooting at me and those on either side calling on me to surrender and trying to knock me out of the saddle with their long sabers, but not shooting lest they fire into each other. But as both my steed and myself combined our efforts, we soon forged to the front and outran them. Just at that moment, though, that I got out of the range of small arms they turned a cannon or two loose on me, and a shell struck a mudhole off to my left and spattered mud and water all over me. Before that my horse and I must have been making at least forty miles an hour, but when that mudhole was torn up by the roots and flung at us and over us we turned on enough power to carry us at the rate of a mile a minute.

*^In Middle Tennessee one day, while I and six others were tearing up a railroad, an old citizen rode up and informed us that a fellow would soon come along riding in a buggy with a lady, who, although dressed in citizen's clothes, was really a Yankee soldier. It was hard lines on him to be taken from the company of his handsome companion, and he pleaded hard not to be and when we insisted he got mighty mad about it. Three years later, down in North Carolina, he was one of the Federals who captured me, he himself taking the butcher-knife I carried in my bootleg from me and saying to me, *One of you rangers took my coat off my back when a lot of you captured me in Middle Tennessee, taking me out of the buggy in which I was riding with a lady, and if I knew you were the man I'd cut your throat with your own knife.' Naturally I did not care to acknowledge just then that I was even with the party that captured him and, as I kept my face turned away from him, he did not recognize me as spokesman of the party.'

** While we were around Eome, Ga., a party of Yankees were out a mile or so from town trying to round up a bunch of cattle. To catch them. Captain Shannon left me and Bill Lynch at one end of a lane while he went around to the other. As the Yankees entered the lane Bill and I charged them, our object being to drive them into Shannon's clutches. But they did not drive. Instead they turned on us and shot Bill Lynch off his horse and left me for a minute or more not only alone but considerably demoralized. Luckily, tliougb, Shannon heard the firing and came down the lane upon the Yankees. I was mighty glad he came, but while the fight lasted I was in as much danger from his bullets as from those of the enemy, and it was a wonder that I was not killed by one of them. One of the Yankees dismounted to let down the fence on one side of the lane and through the gap his comrades all escaped. As for him, I was at his side before he could remount and he surrendered. Bill Lynch owed his life to a gun strap that deflected the bullet."

Comrade Burris was telling the old vets that gathered at Confederate headquarters in San Antonio about that pony of his and how intelligent he was. His story started a long conversation about horses, during which Buck Gravis told of two cow ponies he used to own - one a dun, the other a bay.

^^Why, gentlemen,'' he said, *^when my crowd in the old days had rounded up a herd of cattle and wanted to cut out our own from the herd all I had to do was to read a list of brands we wanted to that dun pony and, durn me, if he wouldn't go into that herd and cut 'em out without a bit of help. He would drive 'em out of the main herd and that bay pony would take charge of them and hold 'em out."

*^Yes," said Comrade Briscoe, ^4t was really astonishing how sensible and trustworthy some of those oldtime cow ponies were. When I used to live down below Goliad my cattle got in the habit of crossing to the west side of the San Antonio Eiver and mixing with Tom O'Connor's cattle. But I had no trouble in getting them back whenever I wanted to. All I had to do was to lead a little brown, gotch-eared pony that I owned across the stream and, turning him loose, saying ^Seek 'em Gotch, Seek 'em!' and he'd trot away and pick out my cattle l)y the flesh marks and drive them one by one to the place where I and a k^t of lads were waiting to hold them in the herd. And something more singular than that was that after Gotch had done this about three times my cattle would no sooner catch sight of him trotting around over the prairie and looking like he meant business than, as if by one accord, they would detach themselves from the bunches with which they were grazing and come lowing toward the herding place. As it was only when we turned Gotch loose that they did this, I am satisfied every one of them felt it was no use to try to sneak away from him."

''I never had a cow pony as intelligent as either of those you fellows have told about,'' said Hart Mussey, ^^but I did have a smart dog when I was ranching on the Pecos. One morning he went nosing around a steel trap I had set for a wolf and got the end of his tail caught, and what do you reckon he did!"

"Why he did what any other sensible dog would have done," said Hart. "He just set up a howl and kept it up until I heard and went out and released the poor brute."

Was In Captain Sansom'S Company

In 1870 I joined Captain John Sansom's company of Rangers, stationed at Camp Verde, Texas, and in the spring of 1871 we went to Fort Griffin on the Clear Fork of the Brazos, where we were tokl that 400 colored soldiers liad been driven into the fort by Indians only a short time before. After reaching Fort Griffin and resting our horses for a few days we went on a scout for several days, thoroughly combing that region. While in camp on a little creek Frank Kiser was taken ill and Captain Sansom left seven or eight of ns to stay Avith him while the main command continued scouting. They were gone several days and succeeded in killing two Indians. On the lance of one of the fallen braves were six notches, our Tonkaway guides saying that each notch represented a white person that particular Indian had killed. The same dead Indian had a long braid of woman's hair fastened to the top of his head.

The Tonkaway Indians were very superstitious. When Kiser was sick, two of our rangers roped a wolf and brought it into camp. The Indians told Captain Sansom that if we should get into a fight with the Comanches, the men who killed it would be slain in battle. They begged so hard that Captain Sansom prevailed on the men to turn the wolf loose. When the two Indians were killed, the Tonkaways held a council and smoked a pipe, and because the smoke floated in the direction of Fort Griffin they wanted to go home. On the way to the fort we killed some buffalo, I bringing down a bull four or five years old. I killed four others in Kansas.

In 1873 I helped to drive a herd from Bandera to Wichita, Kansas, for Schmidtke & Hay. In the fall of the same year I went with cattle to Creston, Union county, Iowa, and to show how easy it is to drive cattle at times, will state that while camped at Wichita, the boss took several hands to Cow Creek and cut out some cattle to ship, leaving me with 400 head, and saying he would send a man to help me drive them to Sexton's house, twelve miles west of there. I got the herd strung out and by riding up and down the line, got along very well. When I reached a spot where the grass had been burned from the ground they needed no driving. Finally

Henry Fick overtook me and we made it all right. He said the boss got drunk and failed to send me the help promised, so he volunteered to come to my assistance.

While on our way back to Texas, and not far south of Caldwell, Kansas, Frank Jureczki and I, while driving our loose horses, saw two men running a buffalo cow, and I roped her for them. They hauled her home in a wagon, and said they were going to raise buffalo.

Al. N. McFaddin is the owner of 50,000 acres of land near Victoria, Texas, and is a promoter of agricultural prosperity and developer of the State's natural resources. Mr. McFaddin is the eldest son of James Alfred and Margaret E. McFaddin, and was born on a ranch near Galveston. He has lived in Eefugio and Victoria counties all of his life, and has devoted his attention to cattle raising and agricultural pursuits. He is past-president of the Texas Cattle Eaisers' Association, and during his term of office did valiant work in behalf of general betterment of the cattle raisers' interests throughout Texas. He has been associated prominently with the Texas Sanitary Commission, and gave freely of his best thought and effort in the furtherance of their policies. Mr. McFaddin is an able man, whose work is ably accomplished along lines that devolve in betterment of public and private good.

Ira C. Jennings

Of tlie death of Ira C. Jennings, which occurred December 27, 1922, the San Antonio Express in its Cattle Clatter column had the following to say :

^*A11 that was mortal of Ira C. Jennings was laid to rest Friday in the old Humphreys cemetery at Martindale in Caldwell county, and in his passing there is a distinct loss to the ranks of the big cattlemen of Southwest Texas. For twenty years he had ranched in Zapata county, holding extensive acreage and specializing in the raising of cattle, rather than in buying and selling. Always he was the cowman of the family as differentiated from the steer man. Every year he had for sale or to keep a crop of calves. Born in Hayes county, removing to Guadalupe county, where he grew to manhood, he lived for a time at Pearsall, then in La Salle county. From La Salle he went to Zapata. His ranch lay about 30 miles east of Laredo, and in that city he had for years maintained a home, and there he died. For about three years he had been in poor condition following a stroke of paralysis which came up on him while branding calves one hot summer day. He liked to ^run' the brand on the calves himself, and fell in the branding pen with the heated iron in his hand. His condition had become so bad that he was confined to his bed for about three months before the end. In his youth he drove the cattle trail to Kansas, and while passing through the Indian Territory had an adventure with the redskins in which he won by getting more speed out of his horse than the band of pursuers could get out of theirs. He was a member of the Old Trail Drivers' Association, and two years ago was able to attend the meeting in San Antonio, although in failing health. He is survived by his sons, T. C. and Roy, and a daughter, Mrs. J. W. Neal of San Antonio, whose husband is a conductor on the I. & G. N.

Eailway. Also he is survived by his two brothers, W. H. and R. H., both well known to all the cattlemen of the country. His wife died in 1911 and he was laid to rest beside her in the country graveyard where his parents and four sisters are buried. W. H. and R. H., the two brothers referred to above, are all that are left of the family of seven children. The great Mystery came upon him at 7 :20 p.m., Wednesday, in the 65th year of his age, and those who know him best, say he left none but friends to grieve for him, having no enemy at all. Nothing finer could be said.''

A Trip To Kansas In 1870

I went with a drove of 700 big steers, about the first of April. We put the road brand on them at the Strickland ranch, a few miles east of Helena, on the Yorktown road.

The first night it came a little rain and wind and hail and the cattle not being used to herding out we had one of the worst stampedes I was ever in up to this time. We only had a small opening to hold them on and it was very thick brush all over that country so in less than twenty minutes they w^ere cut up in ^ve bunches and running as if they had tin cans tied to their tails. We crossed the San Marcos River below San Marcos town; there we met with John Campbell. He was bossing a herd for Clioate & Bennet, and we camped close together that night. He penned his cattle. We herded out tliat niglit and Iiad a bad thunderstorm and hard rain, but we held onr **old mossy heads," all right till about one o'clock. It quit raining but the lightning kept up and the whole herd went tc grazing and scattered all over the country, so Mr. Drake sent word to all hands to come in and let them alone. W. H. Mayfield was owner of the herd.

Just as we were all getting together a Mexican rode up and asked for Spencer (one of our men). Spencer asked what he wanted and the Mexican told him that his brother, Ean, was dead, so we all turned and went to Campbell's camp. We found Spencer sitting against a tree, his head drooped down just like he was asleep. We got down and took him to a nearby house and laid him out. A young man by the name of Fly had his head on Spencer's legs and ^^as struck also, but did not die until next day.

We crossed just below Austin where we had to rope two and drag them up the bank and roll them off in the river. It was about half bank full. One of them got half way across and turned back, so when he came where we were we turned him back, and I turned my horse over to Vicento Carvajal and got the old scalawag by the tail - ^well if you never saw an old steer scared in swimming water you have no idea how fast one can swim. After we got our cattle broken in I think we had the best herd on the trail. We had a very good time. At Austin was the last ferry boat so we had to cross all the streams without a boat. At Belton we took the '*New Chisum Trail," went by the way of Fort Worth, which was a small village of one or two small business houses, a blacksmith shop and I think a school house and about 20 families. The Indians were bad in that section and we had a double watch on every night which made it hard for us. Some nights the cattle would run the first watch and maybe we would be up all night. I have gone three days and nights without sleep, on the same horse, and with very little to eat.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 1023

We crossed the Red River about the 20th of May at Red River Station. It was up swimming and there were at least 20 herds balled up there waiting for the river to run down. It was a bad place to hold cattle, so many herds close together, so the boss, Mr. Drake, held a council with us all; some wanted to drive back a few miles and wait.

We crossed the Wichita the next day. From the time we crossed Red River we never saw a house till we got to Wichita. We soon began to have a little trouble with the Indians. They would come and want a beef or two, but we would send them on to the next fellow, so we did not have to give them any at all, but they would stampede the cattle at night. We got into the buffalo country, and they gave us a little trouble. Once just as we were getting our herd on the trail, a little after sunrise, a man from the herd just ahead of us loped back and told us that the buffaloes were coming, so we held our herd up. I went to the top of a little hill and I saw a black string. It looked as though it was coming straight to our herd. I went back and we rounded our cattle up so we could hold them if the buffaloes did strike them but they passed just ahead of us. Our cattle got a Httle nervous, but we held them all right. It took the buffaloes two hours to pass us. Sometimes they would be one behind the other, and then they would come in bunches of 300 or 400. I don't know how many to guess there was, but I think there must have been at least fifty thousand. Another time a bunch of about 300 ran through our herd while they were grazing.

We had some bad storms while we were on that long stretch across the plains. We crossed the Arkansas River at Fort Wichita about the 15th of June. About the 20th of June we stopped on a little creek called Beaver Creek. There Mr. Mayfield met us, and the hands all went back but myself and a Mr. Mimms, Charley Angcrmiller and the cook. Bill Payne. We stayed in that

In October we started back to Texas. When we got to Red River there were at least 100 families waiting to cross coming to Texas and it looked like we were not going to get across at all, so I told Mimms and Angermiller if they would let me, I would come alone. They said all right, so I came on. I got down to Belton and ^' swapped^' horses with a man and gave $25 ^'to boot,'^ and got a dandy saddle, and sure *^went yonder.'' I had written to my wife to write me at Austin so when 1 got to Austin I got some very interesting news. I stayed in Austin that night, but the next morning by sun up I was on the road home. The next day at 3 o'clock I landed at home, 110 miles from Austin.

It was on Sunday and there were several ladies there. Two of them had young babies, so after a kiss and a general handshake I wanted to see my baby (which had been born during my absence) and there were three all on one bed and all the same size, so they told me to take my choice. After looking at them all I took a little redheaded girl baby, and that same red-headed baby is living at Rio Frio, Texas, and is 45 years old.

Joe Henderson

The following letter was written to George W. Saunders, president of the Old Time Trail Drivers' Association, by William E. Hawks, of Bennington, Vermont. Mr. Hawks is the acknowledged *' Historian of the Plains" and is collecting trne data of the early days. He says : for staying with the old timers until you got those letters and then having them published. I have spent thirty years gathering true data of the good old days, when men were men, and would offer you everything they had, even to their lives, and they thought it was right. I worked out on the old Overland Stage Coach and Pony Express trail long before Koot & Connelly pub- lished their book, which is an epic. The Chisholm Trail, the Old Shawnee Trail, Middle or West Shawnee Trail from Ked River north to Abilene and Baxter Springs. The Southern Texas Trail extended from Red River to the Coast. Joe McCoy started his yards at Abilene, Kansas, Jnly 1, 1867, and sent W. W. Suggs down to pilot the herds to the new shipping place. The first herd to cross the Nation on that trail was Wheeler, Wilson & Hicks of 2,400 head bound for California. This herd drove within thirty miles of Abilene and stopped and were later shipped from Abilene. The second herd to cross the Nation and drive direct to Abilene was owned by Mr. Thompson, who sold them in the Nation to Smith, McCord & Chandler, and by them driven to Abilene and shipped. The first cattle shipped out of Abilene was on September 5, 1867, and there were 36,000 shipped from that point during the balance of that year.

^^The Chisholm Trail is said to be named after a semi-civilized Indian who broke the road for government supplies to go to Fort Cobb from the Arkansas River.

^*I have never seen but one of Joe McCoy's books and that is owned by Harvard College. Have been there and read it through several times. It names Wm. Perriman, James Ellison, J. M. Choate, James Daugherty, R. D. Hunter, George R. Baise, Hough-Reeves & Co., John Salisbury, W. H. Kingsbury, Holmsley, Ran Nichols, White, Allen & Co., R. C. White, Hunter, Patterson & Evans, L. M. Hunter, J. B. Hunter, Nofiiner & Co., Tom Bigger, W. H. Winants, Noah Ely & Co., D. W. Powers, Joe Tanner, John Hittson, W. K. Shaetfer, G. W. Groves, Pedro Armego, Chas. Goodnight, D. Sheedy, Albert Crane, J. S. DriscoU, H. M. Childress, E. B. Millett, J. J. Myers, J. W. Tucker, Willis McCutcheon, J. H. Stevens, J. D. Reed, Seth Mabry, W. F. Tompkins, J. M. Day, Shanghai Pierce, Jonathan Pearce, J. T. Alexander, Tom Allen, J. S. Smith, Andrew Wilson, J. D. Smith, Rogers, Powers & Co., and others. I have pictures of

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 1027

Chas. Goodnight, Oliver Loving, J. W. Poe, Pat Garrett, *' Billy the Kid," Tom Ketchnm, Big Foot Wallace, Wild Bill Hickok, J. S. Chisum, J. B. Dawson, E. B. Bronson, Clark Stocking, Cal Joe, Jim Bridger, Jim Baker, Calamity Jane, and hundreds of others. I gather only true data, and hope to live long enough to publish some of it for the benefit of the old boys who helped to make it possible for the punks to occupy the whole West.

*^You can take a hackamore on your arm and you can't find in any place west of the Old Muddy, ^ye people who know what it was used for. The only use I have for the West is the old timers and I don't want to be the last one to go.

The men who helped to build our Texas And wrote this book, don't mean to vex us. But answer questions that perplex us, - How Mexico's tried to annex us.

Through *^ Trail Drivers'' president, George W. Saunders, high intent With much of time and effort spent. This book was made, and forthwith went

Of Texas men, and land and lives Will thereby know that daughters, wives Had done their share ! That Texas thrives Not alone on gun and knives.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 1029 Made Early Drives

My brother, J. W. Snyder, and myself made our first drive of cattle to the Northwest in 1869. We bought our cattle in Llano and Mason counties, and received them on the Llano Eiver above Mason, paying $1.50 per head for yearlings, $2.50 for two-year-olds, $4 for cows and three-year-olds, and $7 for beef steers. We bought all on the credit, giving them our notes payable in gold coin. That country above Mason had plenty of range hogs in it and they were all fat in the spring on the dead cattle that had been killed and skinned for their hides. It was said that thousands of these hides were sold in Mason, Fredericksburg getting the largest share.

We drove from the Llano, where we received our cattle, to the Kickapoo and Lipan Springs and on to head of Main Concho Eiver. Here we laid up two days doing all of our cooking and parching coffee to do us for our trip across the plains, ninety miles to Horsehead Crossing on the Pecos Eiver, without water. This drive we made, driving day and night, in seventy hours. John Chisum was the first to cross the plains on this route in 1868. His herd was all captured by the Indians except seventy head of cripples and tailings, up above where Eoswell is now situated. Chisum, John Hitson of Palo Pinto county, Eube Gray and White, his brotherin-law from San Saba county, John and Tom Owens of Williamson county, Martin Cosner of Llano county, and our herd are the only herds I remember crossing that route in 1868, with no settlements of any kind on the route from head of Main Concho to Bosque Grande, the Apache Indian reservation this side of Las Vegas, New Mexico. These Indians were moved from the reservation here to Arizona in the spring of 1868.

Grande, Las Vegas and Fort Union, a government post. At Fort Union we sold our beeves at $35. We met Chas. Goodnight and Old Han Curtis between Fort Union, N. M., and Trinidad, Colorado, sold them our yearlings at $7, the balance of the herd at about the same rate without tallying. We then went on to Trinidad and Pueblo, Colo., then went down the Arkansas River to Bent's old fort, Santa Fe, N. M., crossed the Arkansas Eiver, and took the stage to Fort Wallace, then the terminus of the Kansas Pacific R. R., thence by rail to Brenham, Texas, thence by land home. Round Rock, Williamson county, Texas. Here we sold our currency exchange we got for our cattle in Austin for seventy cents on the dollar for gold.

In 1869 we drove a beef herd from Llano county to Abilene, Kansas. I can't recall the name of the Red River crossing at that time. The Indians came on us in the territory and drove off 140 beeves, which the Government paid us for after a long fight. We sold out at Abilene, Kansas.

In 1870 we drove 5,000 head of cattle, the first herds that crossed the Kansas-Pacific R. R., and went on to the Union Pacific at Schuyler, Nebraska, seventy-six miles west of Omaha on the main Platte River.

In 1873 we ranched a part of our drive on the Sobiel near Ft. Loring in Wyoming and also drove 400 head to Idaho and ranched them near old Ft. Hall reservation on Snake River. The market went to the dogs in that country and we sold our stock cattle the next year and drove our beef cattle to Cheyenne and got a fine price for them.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 1031

In 1877 I contracted to Mr. J. W. Iliff of Denver, Colo., 17,500 two- and three-year-old steers, which we delivered in June and July, 1878, at Julesburg, Colo. Mr. Uiff died in February, 1878, and at the earnest request of Mrs. Iliff we took charge of the entire cattle business of the estate and wound up the estate part in three years and we bought the business in connection with Mrs. Iliff, D. H. and J. W. Snyder & Company, which we maintained until 1887.

I am past eighty years old and have been blind more than eight years. If I had my sight I could take time and make this much more interesting and give much more information.

Rather Confusing

According to George W. Saunders, there was a certain Texas cowboy boarded a train at Denver, Colo., after having driven trail from Texas to that salubrious clime, back in 1880, or thereabouts, says *' Cattle Clatter" in San Antonio Express. He walked into the sleeper with a bundle of blankets and asked the Pullman conductor if there was any place where he could bed down. The conductor said sure there was; the cowboy could have either upper or lower. The cowboy said any place would do for him, not knowing what was meant by the upper or lower. The conductor continued, saying: **Thc lower is higher than the upper. The higher price is for the lower. If you want the lower you will have to go higher. We sell the upper lower than the lower. In other words, the higher the lower. Most people don't like the upper, although it is lower on account of its being higher. When you occupy an upper you have to go up to go to bed, and get down when you get up. You can have the lower if you pay higher. The upper is lower than the lower because it is higher. If you are willing to go higher it will be lower.'' When the conductor looked around the cowboy had spread his blankets down in the aisle of the Pullman, using his boots and pistol for a pillow. He ordered the conductor to stop talking, as he did not understand his chin-music anyway. The conductor fell in a faint, the cowboy went to sleep, and Mr. Saunders left the train at the next station - ^which was a peculiar thing to do, considering the fact that he had no business there.

James Washington Walker

J. W. Walker, who lives on Laxson's Creek, three miles east of Medina, Texas, was born in Grimes county, Texas, December 25, 1847. His father, Jesse Walker, a San Jacinto veteran, died when the subject of this sketch was quite small. Sometime in the 50 's the family moved to Gonzales county. In 1862, when James Walker was fifteen years old, he came to Bandera county and worked for Berry C. Buckelew, herding cattle for $7 per month, which place he held all winter, then went to Camp Verde where he had two brothers in the Confederate service. He tried to enlist at that time but Major Lawhon, in command of the troops stationed there would not accept him because he was too young. Sometime later, how- ever, he succeeded in getting into the service, and a few days after his enlistment four of the companies at Camp Verde were transferred to South Texas, leaving only a few men to garrison the post and look after the camels there. Henry Eamsey was in charge of the camels at the time and young Walker was put to herding them. He says the animals, numbering about 75 head, were a source of great annoyance and trouble. They ate but little grass, and could not get up the rough places to get to brush which they had to eat. Through the winter they were fed on corn that had to be brought from San Antonio. Mr. Walker now has a bell which was used on those camels, and prizes it very highly as a relic of those frontier days.

At the outbreak of the war between the states, Camp Verde was taken over by the Confederate forces under Gen. Ben McCulloch, and remained under the Confederate control until the war ended, when the post again passed to the United States, and a small force of Federal troops were placed there.

In 1869 Mr. Walker went to California with a herd of 1,500 mixed cattle belonging to Damon Slater of Llano, Mr. Slater being his own boss. Those who went on this trip were Jim and Charlie Moss, Jim Walker, Alf Anderson, Bill Denison, a man named Ferryman, John Dupont, John and Eiley Billings, Billie Click, a German named Mahaley, Jack Hamilton and Damon Slater. They took a route up through the Concho country to the Pecos and crossed at Horsehead Crossing, out by old Fort Stanton, through Tularosa Valley, across Sacramento Mountains to the Gila Eiver, crossing the Colorado River, passing Tucson and Fort Yuma, and went on to the Winters Eanch in California where they delivered the herd. On the trip they had some trouble with the Indians, particularly with some of the Pima tribe who were trying to run a bluif and secure some cattle from a herd belonging to a man named Crockett Eiley.

hastily retreated. Mr. Walker killed the chief's horse at a distance of 500 yards. He was later arrested by the Indian agent, and Slater gave the Indians five head j passage on a steamer, the Golden CUt/, which sailed one Sunday morning. On the following Tuesday the steamer was wrecked in Mexican waters and the crew and 450 passengers were forced to take to lifeboats and landed on the barren coast. In company with a guide the shipwrecked people walked a distance of twenty-five miles to a cove, and were there taken aboard a vessel that carried ': them back to San Francisco. While on the coast they were without food and had but very little water from Tuesday until Saturday. As Walker and Sanders paid transportation to New York, the steamship company allowed them passage on another vessel and they again | started. He says they crossed the Isthmus of Panama, and took a big steamer which carried them across the Gulf of Mexico and ran direct to New York. Arriving in that city, Mr. Walker decided he had seen enough j of the world and immediately started back to Texas J by water, reaching Key West, Fla., and from there pro- i ceeded to Galveston and when he hit land again it was to hike straight for home. He had been absent one year ' ; and four months, and came back rich in experience, but j mighty poor in pocket. On the same day he was ship- '

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 1035

On February 10, 1864, Mr. Walker was happily married to Miss Melvina Bandy of Bandera county. To them have been born 13 children, 11 of whom are still living: Thomas Walker, Mrs. Ada Moseley, Mrs. Alice Smith, Jeff Walker, all of San Antonio ; Jim Walker, killed in Oklahoma by a falling tree; Jesse Walker, died in infancy; Mrs. Ida Fines of Tuff; C. C. Walker of Caddo, La., R. L. Walker of Medina, Mrs. Mary Davis of Vanderpool; Miss Myrtle Walker of Medina; Mrs. Ruby Neely and Charlie Walker of Yoakum.

In 1895 Mr. Walker located on his present homesite, where he has resided all these years, quietly following farming for an occupation and raising his sons and daughters to be useful men and women. He has had an active part in the development of the country, and recalls many intresting events that transpired in his section.

Andrew G. Jones

The Jones family has been one of the solid, representative and substantial families of Bandera county since the early days of settlement. ''Uncle Andy,'' as he is familiarly known, is one of the best citizens Bandera county has ever produced, and his sons and daughters are numbered among the quiet, thoroughly honorable and upright citizens of the county. He was born in Bexar county, February 24, 1853. His father, John A. Jones, true type of the Texas pioneer, came to Bandera county in 1864 with his family, and located on Myrtle Creek, Mr. Jones dying there in 1895, and his good wife, Mrs. Mahala Jones, surviving him until 1920, when she died. There were eight children in the family of John A. Jones, ^ve boys and three girls^ namely : Sam Jones, deceased ; Jim Ike Jones of Parker Canyon, Ariz. ; Eanse Jones, deceased; John L. Jones, for many years sheriff of Kimble county, now deceased; Andy G. Jones, the subject of this sketch, Mrs. Margaret Stevens, now deceased; Mrs. Mahala Brown, deceased; Mrs. Eliza Brown, lives on the Nueces Eiver.

Andy G. Jones was a small boy, about 11 years old, when his parents moved to Bandera county. He grew to manhood, married and raised his family here, and today lives on a beautifully located ranch not far from the location made by his father in the early days. He went to school in a little clap-board shack with a dirt floor, which stood at the forks of Bandera and Myrtle creeks.

In 1874 Andrew G. Jones was married to Miss Anna Stevens. They had six children, five of whom are yet living, Mrs. Dora Duncan of Medina Lake; Mrs. Lelia Emsley, died in 1910; John Henry Jones, lives in Kerr county; Lou B. (Baker) Jones, lives on Bandera Creek; George Jones lives near his father; Mrs. Noma Smith, lives near Camp Verde. Mrs. Jones died in 1889. Mr. Jones next married Miss Laura Nerthlin, and to this union were born six children, as follows, Florida, Pink, Virgil, Gervis, Manila and Salome Jones, all of them being at home.

**I was a member of Eobert Ballentyne's company of minute men, organized for the protection of the frontier. We had to scout twenty days in each month, and our pay was $20 per month. We furnished our own grub and mounts, while the state supplied us with guns and ammunition, and gave orders how we should take care of our horses. When in camp we had to stake and sideline each animal and put out a guard. A Mexican named Manuel, who had been an Indian captive for fif- teen years, was our trailer and guide, and lie was a good one. He knew just how to follow all signs and trails, and he thoroughly hated an Indian. One day we struck an Indian trail on Mason Creek and followed it to where the San Antonio road crgsses Privilege Creek. Here the trail led up the creek, and we found a Mexican that had been killed by the Indians. The Mexican was at work building a fence when he was attacked, and when he was struck with a rifle ball he ran and took refuge in an old chimney which was standing where a frontier cabin once stood, and there he died. We found his body in this chimney in a sitting posture, with his pistol in hand ready to shoot. From there we went on and came to a house which the Indians had pillaged. They carried off a number of articles and trinkets, some of which we picked up as we hastily followed the trail. We then found where they had stopped and painted themselves, preparatory to an attack on Jim and John Scott, who were clearing land, but they probably discovered our approach and fled, scattering in several directions, so that we could not successfully follow their trail. We then went to the Bladen Mitchell ranch and decided to go over to the Casey ranch on the Hondo and try to intercept the Indians as they came out of the country. We patrolled that region, two men each twenty miles apart scouting and observing signs, but without success. Then we crossed over to West Prong of the Medina, and here we found a bunch of wild beef steers. Our captain told us to kill them and we shot eight of the big fellows, and as wild as cattle ever got. Taking a Supply of the beef we went on to head of the Frio, Tom Click and I patrolling. We found a place where the Indians had left fourteen Indian saddles, and also where they had made a great many arrows and mended moccasins. We stayed there four days expecting the Indians to come and get their saddles, but as they did not show up we burned the rudely made saddles and left there.

**I remember when the Indians killed Mr. and Mrs. Moore on North Prong of the Medina Eiver. We took their trail the next day and followed it across the mountains. They went into a dense cedar brake where it was impossible for more than one or two men to go together. F. L. Hicks was with us on this scout and when we came to the dense cedar brakes our captain said it was unsafe to go in, and several of the men turned back, but Mr. Hicks said to me: ^Andy, let's go in; we can whip every red rascal in there,' so we went. It was a risky thing to do, but Mr. Hicks was a man absolutely without fear and when duty called he was always ready to respond. It is said that Indians will not kill a crazy man, so I guess they thought we were crazy for entering that big thicket.

**The next scout we made we hired old man Smith with his three yoke of steers and went to the Frio Water Hole, where we built a good pen, and then we went to Bull Head on the Nueces and gathered 400 steers which we intended to bring to Bandera and sell to Schmidtke & Hay for $2 per head. We appointed Sam Jones as our boss on this mavericking expedition. While on the Nueces we captured two government horses on the range with halters on. They had escaped from some post months or years before and had become wild. - We brought the steers into the pen as we gathered them, and one night they stampeded and seventeen of them were killed by running against cedar stumps which had been left in the pen. About ten miles this side of the water hole was another pen which was called Post Oak, and we brought our steers to it. Four men had to stay with the wagon, and as we were coming to the Post Oak pen, Jim Brown, Jim Gobble, Lum Champion and myself intended to reach a spring at the head of the hoUow. There were some Indians there, but I suppose they heard the wagon and hid out, as we did not see them. Near the spring I picked up a pair of moccasins and a small mirror wliicli had been dropped by tliem. Leaving Champion and Gobble with the wagon, Jim Brown and I scouted around the spring to try to locate the Indians, but without success. We found where they had killed a cow just a short time before and taken some of the beef. They were afoot, evidently coming down into the settlements on a horse-stealing expedition. When we reported our discoveries to the captain he said we could not leave the cattle to follow the Indians, but to guard against attack. That night old Manuel and I stood guard around the horses, and at different times during the night the horses showed signs of alarm and we made ready to secure an Indian scalp, but they did not come. We delivered our steers in due time and received $2 per head for them, and also received $50 for the two govei^riinent horses we had captured, and we thought we were making money. Somebody reported that we had gathered the 400 steers, and our arms were ordered to be returned and we all got fired from the Eanger service.

**When I was a boy on my father's ranch the government kept a lot of camels at Camp Verde. One day we hobbled three or four of our horses and turned them loose near the house, and fourteen of those old camels came lumbering along. The horses took fright at the sight of them, and we did not see those horses again for many days. My brother and I penned the camels, all of them being gentle except one. We roped the wild one, but never wanted to rope another, for the old humpbacked villain slobbered all over us, and that slobber made us deathly sick. We had a jolly time with those camels when we got rid of the foul, sickening slobber, and as we often rode broncos and wild steers we rode those camels too. The camel has a swinging pace and is easy to ride when you catch the motion of its gait. They could easily travel 100 miles in one day. The Indians seemed to be afraid of the camels and, of course, never attempted to steal any of them."

Four Bandera Pioneers

Bandera county has become noted for its extremely old people. Living in that county are many pioneers who came when that region was a wilderness, among those we mention Amasa Clark, now 96 years of age; George A. Hay, aged 87; W. D. (Seco) Smith, aged 87; and Ben Batot, aged 83. All of these pioneers are actively engaged in some calling and are able to attend to their own affairs. Amasa Clark was born in New York State in 1828, and enlisted in the United States Army when just a lad seventeen years old. He saw service with General Scott in the invasion of Mexico, marched from Vera Cruz to Mexico City and was in all the desperate engagements that occurred along the way. Coming out of Mexico in 1848, he came to Texas, and to Bandera county in 1852, where he has resided ever since. His life story is full of thrills and reads like a romance. He owns a nice little farm five miles from the town of Bandera, and recently marketed a thousand bushels of pears which he sold at $1.00 per bushel.

George Hay was born in Scotland in 1836, and came to America while yet a small boy. He located in Bandera in 1854, and for many years was engaged in the mer- cantile business. He sent a number of herds up the trail during trail driving days, and is Avell known to all the old timers of southwest Texas. For the past few years he has held the office of Justice of the Peace at Bandera, and only recently retired from that office.

W. D. (Seco) Smith was born in Mississippi in 1836, and located in the Bandera region in 1857. He was a noted scout and Indian fighter during the early days, and was a warm friend and admirer of Big Foot Wallace. He now resides on a pretty farm near Medina City, in Bandera county, and looks after his crops and live stock personally.

Ben Batot was born in Germany in 1841, and came with his parents to Texas to the Castro Colony on the Medina Eiver in 1843. He lived in Medina county many years, but later moved to Bandera county, and now lives on his farm near the town of Bandera.

AU of these old pioneers have raised large families. Amasa Clark being the father of nineteen children c^nd Seco Smith beinff the father of fifteen.

Geoege Hay In Conclusion

It lias been a pleasing task to compile this wonderful book, and I feel that something should be said of the efforts of Mr. George W. Saunders to ^* round up" all of the old boys and get their history in print so that the coming generations may read of the hardships and dangers they encountered and the splendid achievements of his comrades of days gone by. For years Mr. Saunders endeavored to interest men in the publication of this kind of a book. At the Old Trail Drivers' convention held at San Antonio in 1917 the first steps were taken in this direction when the cowboys there present each volunteered to write a sketch of his life and send to Mr. Saunders for publication in the Trail Drivers' Book. Some of them sent in the sketches in due time but some of them failed to respond promptly, and then the ** round-up" started. Letters were sent out, phone and telegraph requests were made, and finally a sufficient nmiiber had been corraled to make an interesting book. Arrangements were made to have it printed. An editor was employed to compile the sketches and get them in shape, and the editor and printer Avere going to get them out for Mr. Saunders. Suddenly the editor ^Svent all to pieces" with a nervous breakdown, and the printer closed shop and departed for parts unknown, taking along all of the manuscripts and letters that had been sent in. But nothing daunted, Mr. Saunders, set about again to roundup the old boys, and after two years' effort the first volume of the ^^ Trail Drivers of Texas" was brought out, but it was incomplete, although it contained 500 pages. The old trail drivers were delighted with the book and decided to have an additional volume. It was my happy privilege to write, compile and edit the first volume, at the behest of Mr. Saunders, and when it was decided to get out a second volume he insisted that I take charge of the work.

The Trail Drivers Of Texas 1043

I have been handicapped in several ways, chiefly because I never was a cowboy, never put a rope on anything larger than a milk calf, never rode a yearling, forked a bronco or adorned my boot with a pair of **cornbread'^ spurs, and only by accident am I entitled to membership in the Old Trail Drivers' Association. Some time in the remote past my father, John Warren Hunter, helped to keep up the drags with a herd going north, and thereby made me a son of a trail driver. My father was born in Alabama, but came to Texas when he was about nine years old. His father was a Methodist preacher, and settled near Sulphur Bluif, in Hopkins county, where he was living when the Civil War broke out. My father, being about fifteen years old at the time, was employed as a teamster to haul cotton to Brownsville, the only port open to the Confederacy. He spent the term of the war on the Eio Grande, where he became well known for certain daring feats. After the war he spent awhile in Lavaca county and returned to his home in Hopkins county to find that home broken up, his father dead and his brothers and sisters scattered to different parts of the country. He went to Tennessee where he was happily married to my mother, Mary Ann Calhoun, and went to Arkansas where he farmed for a season, but he longed to get back to Texas, and returned in 1878, and became a school teacher. For many years he taught school in Gillespie, Mason, Menard and McCulloch counties, beingone of the pioneer teachers of that section. In 1891 he quit the school room to take up newspaper work, having purchased the Menardville Record, later moving the plant to Mason and establishing the Mason Herald. He was one of the fearless editors of that time and the Herald became known as an outspoken weekly. Oftentimes he had to back up his assertions with muscle and brawn, but he was of Irish descent and really enjoyed a fisticuff, and when the match had been pulled off he was ready to shake hands and make friends. He removed to

San Angelo in 1907, and for several years was connected with the San Angelo Standard. His death occurred January 12, 1915. For many years prior to his death he had been engaged in collecting historical data and manuscript pertaining to the early history of Texas, and became recognized as one of the leading historians of the state. Naturally I became interested in this kind of w^ork and have tried to follow the same line, with the result that I fell right in Avhen Mr. Saunders announced that he was going to print a book of reminiscence sketches of the early cowmen. I realized then that it would be a wonderful contribution to the historical annals of Texas, and that the time was ripe for its publication, as the older fellows are passing off the stage of action at an alarming rate and that within a few years not many would be left to tell the tale. I realized then, which fact has been made apparent since, that I was not qualified for the task that has been assigned me, but I have done my best, and that is all anyone can do. It has been a great pleasure to perform this task under the direction of Mr. Saunders, for he has been very considerate and patient, and left matters very much in my hands. The Old Time Trail Drivers, as well as the youth of Texas, owe him a debt that can never be paid for thus rescuing from oblivion and preserving this important link in the chain of Texas history.