Frontier Times Magazine

BLOODY INDIAN RAIDS IN COOKE COUNTY, TX

2019-12-09

W. S. Adair

Mrs. Sarah Witt McCutcheon, who makes her home with her son, W. R. Sheegog, 6120 Gaston avenue, Dallas, now in her eightieth year, recollects clearly some of the incidents of the Indian raid in Cook County in January, 1868.

"It was at daylight Sunday morning, Jan. 8, 1868, "Mrs McCutcheon said. ''Father and brother Hardin had gone to join other settlers in repelling the Indians.

Brother, my little sister, two little brothers and I were alone in the house. We saw some of the Indians throw down the fence and run off fifteen head of horses that were in the lot, and others approaching our house. At the same time father and brother, who had not been notified that Indians had been seen in the neighborhood of our house, returned, and entered the house from the rear. They had but one gun. Father got out in front with that and Hardin and the rest of them bustled about trying to make it appear as if there were a number of armed men in the house. The Indians came up within thirty yards of the house, whooped and shot at the house, and once struck it with a pistol ball but were afraid to come on. Indians were great cowards in front of white men with guns in their hands.

“The Indians surrounding our house were watched by 200 or 300 of their band from the top of a hill half a mile away. We could plainly see them performing the war dance and hear the war whoop with which they accompanied the dance by way of encouraging their brethren below. They had several hundred head of horses which they had stolen. It was a time of awful suspense for mother and us children, and no doubt for father and brother, too, but the Indians, lacking the courage to brave father's gun, which carried but a single charge, at length withdrew.

''Mrs. Edward Shegog, my sister-in-law, who lived three miles from us, was a prisoner in the band of the Indians on the hill and could see all that took place around our house. She afterward told us that she had not the slightest doubt that those of us who escaped the arrows and tomahawks of the Indians would soon join her.

"The day Mrs. Shegog was captured, her father, Joe Manasco, living seventeen miles west of Gainesville, noticing signs of Indians and knowing that his son-in law, Edward Sheegog, was away from home hastened to his house and started to take Mrs. Sheegog, her infant child, her nieces, May and Lizzie Manasco, 8 and IO years old, and a little negro boy to his own home. On the way the Indians fell upon the party, killed Mr. Manasco and carried Mrs. Sheegog and the children and the negro boy away.

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"The first stop the Indians made after capturing Mrs. Shegog was on the hill overlooking our house. That night the Indians made a hard ride. The weather had turned very cold, and, having been stripped of her clothing and even of her hair which the Indians cut close to her scalp, Mrs. Sheegog suffered intensely. During the night the Indians, thinking perhaps that she would soon die, left her on the prairie, but, strange to say, threw a buffalo robe over her. Toward daybreak she saw a light a short distance away, but feared to approach it, lest she should again fall into the hands of the Indians. As it got lighter she saw a house and white people stirring about it. To her great joy it turned out to be the dwelling of Samuel Doss, the big cattle man, near Gainesville.

“The bodies of her nieces were found on the prairie, but they were without marks of violence. The girls had evidently been abandoned by the Indians, as Mrs. Sheegog had been, and had frozen to death. The two little girls were the older sisters of Mrs. A.W. Walker, 3712 Beverly Drive, Dallas. Mrs. Walker was still an infant at the time. In their flight, Mrs. Sheegog saw an Indian kill her baby by striking its head with a pistol. Its body frozen to the ground was found at the place indicated. The settlers searched far and wide for the body of the negro boy, for they had little doubt that when he showed signs of perishing from the cold his captors dropped him on the prairie, too.

"The settlers mustered what force they could and pursuing the Indians, came up with them, and had a running fight in the night. Among the prisoners was a Miss Carrollton, 16 years old, who had been captured on the raid. She was riding a wild horse, which, taking fright at the confusion and uproar of battle, ran away with her, carrying her far from the scene of strife, and thus enabling her to escape since the Indians were too busy at the moment to follow her. She held onto the horse for many miles as it flew over the frozen prairie as if pursued by wolves, until from sheer exhaustion she fell off. In the course of the night she became able to stir and made her way to a ravine, which afforded some shelter from the cold north wind that swept the plains. When the sun rose, she saw a house in the distance. It was the home of Dr. Davidson, a few miles from our house. When the Indians came to the Carrollton home, Mrs. Carrollton and her daughter were alone in the house. They murdered Mrs. Carrollton and carried the daughter away. I never knew the Carrolltons, nor did I ever hear Miss Carrollton’s first name. I do not know what became of her.

"From what I heard at the time and afterward read of the raid, the Indians upon crossing from the reservation into Texas divided into two bands and ravaged a wide scope of country. They stole horses, burned houses, murdered men and murdered or carried away women, and children. They burned more houses at the beginning of their progress than toward the end, for as they went they accumulated such a drove of horses that they were kept busy handling them, and had no time to destroy property. I do not know personally, but learned from the "Book of Pioneers'' that nine persons were murdered on this raid. They were Mr. Leatherwood, Mr. and Mrs. Tom Fitzgerald, Arthur Parkhill, Mr. Loney, Mrs. Carrollton, Joseph Manasco, and May and Lizzie Manasco, with the negro boy missing or unaccounted for.

“After the raid the settlers of Cooke County became discouraged and began to leave the country. Father at once sold his land for almost nothing, since nobody wanted Cooke County lands at that time, and moved to Whitesboro.

"I do not know when my Uncle Preston Witt came to Texas, but it was early enough for him to take part in the battle of San Jacinto, and afterward in the Mexican War of 1846. He brought home from the field of San Jacinto a ring, a mantle, and some other things worn by Santa Anna. He gave the mantle to his friend Dr. B. S. Shelburne of Lebanon, Collin County, who in turn gave it to his daughter, now Mrs. W. A. Smith. 4303 McKinley Avenue, Dallas, who still has it. Uncle Preston induced father to come to Texas.

"We left our home near Alton, Ill., for Texas in 1849, and were three months on the way. I was 4 years old at the time. Mother was in failing health and the doctor said the trip would be good for her. He was so far correct that she completely regained her health. We settled six miles east of Plano, Collin County, where father located on 360 acres of land. Father, the Rev. Eli Witt, was a Baptist minister, and I have heard him say that he preached the first Baptist sermon that was preached in Dallas. He preached in the courthouse, a log structure with a puncheon floor. I have forgotten the year, but it must have been in 1850 or 1851. When we settled in Collin County the people feared prairie fires more than they feared Indians. The native grass was thick and tall, and when it caught fire, the blaze swept the country, unless checked. All the settlers took the precaution to plow or burn spaces around their premises which the flames could not leap. We lived in Collin County until 1863, when we moved to Cooke County.

"Father and Uncle Hamp Witt bought 2,400 acres of land near the present town of Muenster, with a view of raising horses, but learning that the Indians stole horses as fast as they were brought into that part of the country, they abandoned the idea and sold their land for 25c an acre in Confederate money, which turned out to be worthless when the Southern Confederacy fell.

''Uncle Preston Witt built the first grist mill operated in Dallas County. He hauled the machinery, or parts of it, on a wagon from Illinois and set it up near the present town of Carrollton. It was a treadmill, operated by oxen. Later he bought an engine and was thus also the owner of the first steam grist mill in the county. The Indians raided as far in as Dallas after Uncle Preston settled here. Once the settlers followed a band of marauders and had a fight with them somewhere north of Fort Worth. In this fight Uncle Preston killed an Indian in a hand-to-hand fight and took his scalp, which he kept as a souvenir. I often saw the scalp at his house. Uncle Preston Witt was the father of the late John T. Witt and the grandfather of Jack F. Witt of Dallas.

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INDIAN ATROCITIES IN PARKER COUNTY

2018-09-13

From Hunter’s Frontier times Magazine, August, 1944

Hon. G. A. Holland

In July, 1862, Hiram Wilson and his brother-in-law, Mr. Fulton, were preparing to make sorghum. They sent William Wilson, 12, and his cousin, Diana Akers, 10, an orphan girl, to drive up steers that were to pull the sweep to grind the cane. The Indians, seven in number, captured the children about 10 a. m., and forced each of them to ride behind an Indian to Mount Nebo, about three miles away, which is nine miles south of Weatherford. They spent the day there, Diana crying all the time. The Indians kept a lookout most all day from the top of a tree, where they could get a good view. Late in the afternoon the captors got much excited; a caravan of covered wagons came in sight of the Weatherford road with many loose horses, just the kind they were looking for. They went into camp not far away. When night came on, two of the Indians guarded the children, while the other five went after the campers' horses, which they secretly drove away.

By mimicking owls as a signal, the Indians got together with the prisoners and horses. They drove near the home of the captives, where the children heard the familiar bark of the family dog and the crowing of the rooster. Riding behind their captors, the party crossed the Brazos, the waters glistening in the moonbeams, but its beauties meant no more to them than did the lonesome howl of the wolf, or the hideous hoot of the owl. They were rushed on, in constant fear of death, little Diana crying all the while. They traveled all the dreary night, going through parts of Parker and Hood far into Erath county. When daylight came they had gone so far they felt secure, and stopped for rest and sleep. They rolled the boy in a blanket to keep him from trying to run away and laid him on the ground. Diana lay down by his side, all bruised and sore from the long ride, and they slept a little. Diana's eyes were red and swollen from crying and loss of sleep. The children expected all the time to be killed.

In breaking camp they seized the children, tied both onto an old roan mare, turned them loose and drove them with the herd. During the day they killed calves they found on the range and ate the meat raw. The children, though starving, could not eat the raw flesh. The Indians loitered along Sunday creek until night. They killed a cow and with a knife and flint kindled a fire, scorched some of the meat for the children, a little of which they ate without salt. This was the third day out. When night came they made a long drive for a pass in the Palo Pinto mountains, near where Ranger note stands. The children were still riding the old roan mare, but were not tied on. They began to have less fear of being killed and talked as they went along, trying to lay plans to escape.

When the party got nearer the top of the mountain, the Indians seemed to get suspicious and waited for a while. They howled like a wolf, gobbled like a turkey and hooted like an owl, but got only the echoes from the valley. They moved on very slowly and cautiously, two Indians in front, next the two children on the old roan, then the herd of horses and the other five Indians in the rear.

Just as they reached the top of the mountain, a volley of rifle shots rang out in the clear, still, moonlight air. With the first shot the horses were killed from under the two Indians in front, and the old roan from under the children. The Indians disappeared, but the shooting continued. The persons shooting thought the children were Indians and kept shooting at them, killing horses all around them, until they screamed and held up their hands, making them understand that they were captive children. The attacking party was composed of about thirty rangers and citizens who were waylaying the pass for another bunch of Indians known to be in the country. The children were taken to Stephenville, where Diana was found to be so bruised and sore from the long ride that she could not travel horseback. Other means of conveyance was provided and they were sent home, with enough captive experience to last the remainder of their days.

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In April, 1865 James McKinney and family, his wife, a girl 6, a boy 3, and a baby in its mother's arms, living in Jack county, had been to Springtown on a visit and to do some shopping. While there he traded his six-shooter for merchandise. They traveled in an ox-wagon as was the custom at that time. They stopped at noon at the P. M. Jenkins home, later the John Frazier home. When leaving there they asked for the Jacksboro road.

William Shadle, father of the lamented Sam Shadle, deceased, and our esteemed townsman, Virgil Shadle, gave the following account of one of the most brutal Indian depredations in the county, a copy of which was found among Sam Shadle's papers after his death:

Mr. Shadle and a man by the name of Jenkins were hunting cattle in the north part of the county near Agnes. While riding along a sandy trail Mr. Shadle saw small tracks in the sand. Jenkins contended they were coon tracks. They followed only a little way when to their surprise a weak, small voice called from the brush, "Papa, papa." On looking they found a little boy three years old, entirely nude! When the child saw neither of the men was his father, he tried to run away. Mr. Shadle caught him and found his little body full of brims and scratches and his side pierced with a lance. The Indians had stripped him, pierced his side and left him for dead. He lived through the night and escaped wolves and other wild animals, but could not tell who he was nor why there, except to say, "Booger man did it."

Mr. Shadle wrapped the child in his saddle blanket, took him to the home of William Kincannon some distance away, but could not get him identified. They then went to Mr. Jenkins' home, where they learned from Mrs. Jenkins that a family passed there the day before inquiring the way to Jacksboro. Mrs. Jenkins, with the help of Mrs. William Shadle, now of Poolville, picked the briars and thorns out of the child's body, dressed his wounds, and put clothes on him.

Shadle and Jenkins, with others, returned, and about a mile from where the child had wandered or been carried, found the wagon hung against a tree, with an arrow in one of the oxen; they soon found Mrs. McKinney had been killed and scalped. The father, who evidently had tried to protect the baby, was also murdered and scalped. The baby had been taken by the heels and hurled against a tree and a wagon hub, which was shown by unmistakable evidence. The little girl, 6, was carried away. On following the trail they found fragments of her clothing. It was supposed she fought and cried until the Indians killed her. The mutilated body was found. The remains were loaded in a wagon and taken to Goshen and buried in one grave. The little boy, Joe McKinney, grew to manhood near Springtown, then lived for many years at Jacksboro.

In the year 1867, Isaac Briscoe lived one-half mile north of Agnes, in Parker county, with his wife and two daughters, 14 and 16, and two smaller children. They were honest, hardworking, Christian people, living happily and contented, as did the settlers of that day. Mr. Briscoe had a turning lathe with which he made furniture for the settlers. He was operating it under a large grapevine shade when a band of between 75 and 100 indians dashed up to his unprotected home. They killed and scalped Mr. and Mrs. Briscoe, and with a broadaxe chopped up their bodies in the presence of the children, then took all the horses and household goods they could find. They took the two young ladies and the two smaller children captives and carried them away. No trace of them was ever obtained. It was as though the earth had swallowed them up, and in the absence of any report of what happened, and what the captives were forced to endure, we feel that it would have been much better for them if they had been murdered on the spot. The young ladies were just reaching womanhood— lighthearted and free, with the prospects of a useful and happy life before them. A sad reflection to us—father and mother slain, little brother and sister's fate unknown, perhaps killed in their presence; that which awaited them could not be foretold. The worst we can imagine might have been consolation when compared to what did happen.

Mr. and Mrs. Briscoe were buried in the same grave at old Goshen, where in their unmarked resting place they await the final judgment day. It is hoped that on that resurrection morn the missing children will be united with father and mother. There went a family of six, with not one left to tell the story.

Onward went the tyrants, with booty and prisoners, passing the Culwells, Mayos, Montgomerys and others and gathering up horses and robbing home.

Hez Culwell, long-time Poolville resident, and Tom Mayo went to Mr. Allen's to give the alarm. The Indians got there at the same time, shot at them, killing Mayo's horse from under him. The boys ran through the house. Hez carried one of Mrs. Allen's children and she the other. They went out the back way, down a creek bank out of view, waded the creek bed through holes of water and carried the children to safety. When the Indians found the Allen home vacated they took charge and appropriated everything of use to be found. Mrs. Allen afterwards made an inventory of their loss, which she reported as being: Five feather beds and five straw beds, 40 quilts and blankets, 400 pounds of flour in sacks, all their clothing except what they had on; all dishes that were not taken were broken; a new piece of homespun cloth just finished and still in the loom, which represented many months of work, and other small articles not mentioned. We give this that the reader may have a better understanding of what occurred when a home was robbed by Indians.

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HARROWING EXPERIENCE OF MRS. KIRBY

2018-09-12

From Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, July, 1927

Indians in 1871 killed the husband and two children of Mrs. E. K. Kirby, 76-year-old-resident, living with her daughter 20 miles north of Uvalde. Although Mrs. Kirby remembers vividly the details of the Indian raid, it is only upon rare occasions that she can be induced to talk about the killing of her three loved ones, the wounding of her 18-month-old-babe, Joel; the kidnapping of her little girl, and the fearful pain in her shoulder as she jumped from a 20 foot bluff to escape the Indians who had shot her in the shoulder and were intent upon scalping her. Mrs. Kirby was then Mrs. Terry.

The horror of the toll of life taken by the Indians has remained with the pioneer woman. She married again several years after the raid, and she has tried to make the best of life. Every calamity seems small when compared to the disaster which cost her so much, she declares.

"Just because the crops fail, or the cattle die, is no reason for anyone to be discontented. People of today should be happy and content because they can live in peace and security, and because they are not forever cursed with the dread of an Indian raid," said Mrs. Kirby.

"We were living in a tent located on a small hill about a half mile from Center Point, and had been there about a month before the Indian raid," said Mrs. Kirby. "My husband, Mr. Terry, was cutting timber to build us a home. One afternoon in January, while he was shaving shingles about 200 yards from our tent, he called me to bring him some tobacco. I started with it, but when I was halfway to him, Indians rushed out of the brush and shot him.

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"I turned and ran toward my children, who were in the tent. However, the Indians reached the children before I did. They pierced Carrol, my three year old boy, with a lance, and crushed the life from my 6-week-old baby with a rock. I became crazed with fright and jumped from the bluff back of the tent, thinking that I would die with my family and cheat the Indians. One of the Indians' bullets struck me in the shoulder. Later I counted nine bullet holes in my dress.

"The jump from the bluff, by some miracle, failed to seriously injure the fear-crazed woman. She made her way to the home of a neighbor, and gave the alarm. A party of men set out immediately for the scene of the murders. The Indians were gone, and had taken with them the little girl, Martha. Joel, 18- month-old child, was found alive in the tent. He was rushed to his mother and her care had much to do with the saving of his life. Joel is now living on a ranch 10 miles south of Leakey, in Real County.

A company of heavily armed men set out, hoping to recover the stolen girl and exact vengeance for their bloody crimes. The pursuers learned that the Indians had also captured Jack Hardy, a negro boy of the Center Point community. Riley Van Pelt, who lives in the neighborhood of Rio Frio, while then only a small boy, remembers the incident and relates the story of the pursuit. The little girl was brought to the house, where she remained until the men could rest sufficiently to take her home.

"Hardy, the negro boy, who was also captured by these Indians, used to live at Center Point, and he has told me about the raid. He said that he saw Mrs. Kirby jump from the bluff and he thought that she could not possibly live. When the Indians neared the Rio Frio settlement with two Indian guards to herd the stolen horses on a hill, while the others went down into the valley after more hores, Hardy succeeded in slipping away from his guards while they were interested in watching their companions below.

"While crawling through the brush, Hardy said that he heard the crackling of a twig, and prepared to see one of his captors, but he looked up into the satisfied countenance of an old milk cow." continued Van Pelt. "he succeeded in reaching some men below in the field, who organized a searching party and overtook the redskins."

Bill Pruitt, who lived near the Leakey Settlement, and John Patterson, were in the party of white settlers who overtook the Indians, and both glimpsed the girl at the same time. Both started after the Indian behind whom the captive was riding, and pressed him so closely that he knocked the little girl off as he abandoned his horse and plunged into the brush. After seeing the girl, the men followed the redskins some distance, but found only a trail of blood, and a bloody blanket, filled with bullet holes.

The girl was kept at the Van Pelt place for several days, and, since the general belief among the settlers was that the mother had been killed, she was taken by one of the men, whose intention it was to adopt her.

"The raid occured in January," said Mrs. Kirby, and l did not get my daughter back until some time in April. People living near Rio Frio thought the negro boy knew what he was talking about when he told them I was dead, so they would not give my little girl to me at first. She was with the Indians eight days, and people who helped to capture her kept her for the rest of the time until she was returned to me."

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CHIEF SATANTA'S ELOQUENT SPEECH / MASSACRE OF HENRY WARREN'S TRAIN

2018-09-03

From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, May, 1938

At a peace council held in October, 1867, on the Arkansas river, in the present state of Oklahoma, between United States peace commissioners and the principal chiefs of four Indian tribes, Satanta, principal chief of the Kiowas, said:

"It has made me glad to meet you, the commissioners of the Great Father. You, no doubt, are tired of much talk of our people. Many of them have put themselves forward and filled you with their sayings. I have kept hack and said nothing—not that I did not consider myself the principal chief of the Kiowa nation—but others, younger, desired to talk, and I left it to them. Before leaving, however—as I now intend to go—I come to say that the Kiowas and Comanche have made with you a peace, and they intend to stick to it. If it brings prosperity to us, of course we will like it better. If it brings poverty and adversity, we will not abandon it, because it is our contract, and it will stand.

"We hope now that a better time has come. If all would talk and then do as they talk, the sun of peace would forever shine. We have warred against the white man, but never because it gave us pleasure. Before the day of apprehension came, no white man came to our village and went away hungry. It gave us more joy to share with him than it gave him to partake of our hospitality. In the far distant past there was no suspicion among us. The world seemed large enough for both the red man and the white man. But its broad plains seem now to have contracted, and the white man grows jealous of his red brother. He once came to trade; he now comes to fight. He once came as a citizen; he now comes as a soldier. He once put his trust in our friendship, and wanted no shield but our fidelity. He once gave us arms and powder, and bade us to hunt the game. He once made a home and cultivated the soil; but he now builds forts and plants big guns upon their walls. We then loved him for his confidence; he now drives us to be his enemies. He now covers his face with a cloud of jealous anger, and tells us to be gone—like the offended master speaks to his dog. We thank the Great Spirit that all these wrongs are now to cease, and the old times of peace and friendship are come again.

"You come as friends. You have patiently heard our complaints. To you these complaints have seemed trifling. To us they are everything. You have not tried, as many do, to get our lands for nothing. You have not tried to make new bargains merely to get the advantage. You have not asked to make our annuities less, but unasked you have made them larger. You have not withdrawn a single gift, and voluntarily you have provided new guarantees for our advantage and comfort. When we see these things we say, 'These are men of the past.' We at once gave you our hearts. You have them. You know what is best for us all. Teach us now the road to travel, and we will not depart from it forever. For your sakes the green grass shall not be stained with the blood of the whites. Your people shall again be our people, and peace shall be our mutual heritage. If wrong comes we shall look to you to right them. We know you will not forsake us. Tell your people to be as you have been.

"I am now old and will soon join my fathers; but those who come after me will remember this day. The time has now come when I must go. Goodbye. You may not see me again, but remember Satanta, the white man's friend."

It is hard to understand how any human being, after uttering the lofty sentiments expressed in the eloquent speech quoted above, could go out from that peace council and continue the heartless butcheries he committed. The speech is a model of simplicity, eloquent in language, and ennobling in thought. It was after this speech that Satanta, Satauk and Big Tree captured Henry Warren's wagon train near Jacksboro, in Jack county, Texas, tied the captured teamsters to the wagon wheels and burned the entire train, including the helpless men, which resulted in their trial at Jacksboro. Texas, the first instance where an Indian was tried in the civil courts of Texas for murder. In this trial Satanta was convicted and sentenced to be hanged, but the sentence of death was later commuted to life imprisonment, by Governor E. J. Davis of Texas, and he was later paroled and allowed to go back to his people. Even after this he continued his butcheries, murdered little children, and carried away their mothers and sisters into a captivity far worse than death. It would seem that their pitiful cries and shrieks would be sufficient to damn his soul forever by an avenging God.

In November, 1874. Satanta was recaptured, and placed in the penitentiary at Huntsville, where he finally ended his life by jumping or throwing himself from an upper window of the prison.

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MASSACRE OF HENRY WARREN'S TRAIN

From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, April, 1947

The day following General Sherman's ride over the government road leading from Fort Griffin to Jacksboro, one of the most horrible Indian massacres in the annals of Texas history took place near the Young county line. And it was this foul deed which caused the General to positively make up his mind in favor of a different Indian policy by his government. In the commanding officer's quarters of the old territory post it was definitely agreed that the Kiowa chiefs were to be held to "strict accountability" for this Young county massacre.

The Kiowas were on a government reservation at that time and were actually living out of white men's hands, yet they depredated upon them mercilessly. In 1869 a treaty of peace had been made between this tribe and the Washington government, but throughout the East the policy of "benevolent assimilation" was so popular that it was being followed by most of the Indian agents. At the very moment Sherman was in Fort Richardson, the Indians swooped down upon a wagon train owned by Henry Warren, which carried freight between Fort Richardson and Fort Griffin, and murdered seven of the guards. The savages chained one of the guards to a wagon wheel and literally roasted him to death, laughing in his face as he begged for mercy. There were 150 Kiowas in this attack on the party of twelve guards and teamsters. They were led by Satanta, Big Tree and Satank, the former being a most treacherous Indian chief, who was described as "a beggar in the pale face's camp, a demon on his trail." This was the straw that broke the camel's back and caused the reversal of a policy that was depopulating a big part of Texas.

When the teamsters and guards saw the savages rushing down upon them, they quickly corralled their wagons and defended themselves as best they could, but the odds were against them. Only five men of the wagon train party escaped and one of these was badly crippled. The five hid in dense brush until the foe departed. Satanta boasted of this outrage to the Indian agent and seemed to think that he had committed a deed against the Tehannas (Texans) that would be pleasing to the Great White Father in Washington.

When General Sherman took Satanta to task, however, he declared that Kicking Bird, Lone Wolf and certain of his young and foolish warrior chiefs were responsible for the Warren wagon train massacre. He proved himself to be a miserable craven and tried hard to beg off, but the General told him that he was responsible for cowardly murder and that he would have to face his accusers in the courts of Texas.

He was then heavily chained, along with Big Tree and Satank and sent to Jacksboro, Texas, for trial. While the prisoners were returning from the trial, Satank released himself, grabbed a gun and undertook to shoot one of the guards, but a well directed volley suddenly ended his career. The other two prisoners were tried in district court a short time later. Sam Lanham, later Governor of Texas, was the prosecuting attorney, and both chiefs received the death sentence. Later, however, the sentence was commuted to life imprisonment, by E. J. Davis, and the Indian chiefs were placed behind the bars of the State penitentiary.

Following General Sherman's visit to Texas and his inspection of various frontier forts in the Southwest, the government inaugurated a vigorous campaign in Texas against the redskins. General Mackenzie. who was in command at Fort Richardson, fought a decisive battle with the Kiowa and Comanche Indians in Palo Duro Canyon, September 25, 1874, defeating them so completely that their power for offense was thereafter broken. During the progress of this battle Mackenzie killed about 1500 head of the Indians' horses so as to keep the remnants of the tribes from making further raids on white settlements.

General Grierson, in command at Fort Sill, was removed to Fort Davis, and helped to clean up the section infested with hostile Indians west and northwest of Fort Worth. Later General Grierson was sent to Fort McKavett, at the head of the San Saba river, and in conjunction with General Mackenzie's soldiers, fought an engagement with a band of Indian raiders near the town of Menardville. The raiders were killed, most of them, and the surviving ones fled over the adjacent hills, chanting a weird and plaintive tune as they departed for the last time from this, their favorite haunt, of Southwest Texas.

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MISS ANN WHITNEY, THE FRONTIER HEROINE

2018-08-13

From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, July, 1927

THE SCHOOL children of Hamilton county have marked the last resting place of Ann Whitney, frontier school teacher, who was murdered by the Comanche Indians, with a monument commemorating her heroism in giving her life to save the children of the Warlene Valley school. Each year the children of Hamilton county pay tribute to this frontier teacher by caring for the grave and placing flowers around the monument erected to her memory.

At 1 p. m. Thursday, July 11, 1867, Ann Whitney rang her bell to call the children from their play into the little log schoolhouse on the brink of the Leon river, overlooking the beautiful Warlene valley. An hour later the daughter of Alex Powers, while standing at the door of the schoolroom, saw a number of men whom she took to be Indians, coming down the valley. Miss Whitney insisted that the men must be cowmen from a nearby ranch who were expected by the school that day, and insisted that all children take their seats.

The Powers girl was not satisfied, and between the logs of the school building continued to peep through the cracks until she was quite sure the men were Indians. Then she sprang from her seat, took her little brother by the hand and crawled through the back window to escape. By this time the Indians had reached a tree some 300 yards in front of the school house where Miss Whitney's saddle horse was tied, and had stopped as though they merely wanted to steal the horse.

Miss Whitney closed the door and bade the children escape through the window and into the brush in the river bed below. All of the children succeeded in getting through the window and into the brush or under the house except Lewis Manning and his little sister, who was sick, and John Kuykendall and his sister. In a few minutes the Indians had surrounded the log house and one of their number, a red-headed man, spoke up in English, “Damn you, we have you now!"

Although she read her fate in the bloodthirsty eyes and hideous, painted faces of these savages, Ann Whitney did not lose her presence of mind. While the murderous gang had their arrows aimed at this heroic woman awaiting orders to shoot, she was pleading with them to kill her, but to let the children alone. The first volley of arrows fired through the cracks of the logs of the house filled her body with wounds, but she kept walking from one side of the house to the other pleading with the Indians to save her school children. Failing in their attempts to bring their victim to an end by shooting through the cracks of the building, all of the Indians gathered around the door of the house to force an entry into the building; and while they were thus engaged, Ann Whitney mustered the last ounce of her fast failing strength in helping the two girls out the back window and getting the boys under the house through a loose plank in the floor. When the Indians battered the door down and entered the building, Ann Whitney's body obstructed the doorway, but her spirit had gone on to the home of heroes and heroines.

One of the Indians stepped on the loose plank in the floor, raised the plank and dragged out John Kuykendall and Lewis Manning. The red-headed leader asked the boys if they wanted to go with them, whereupon John Kuykendall, through fright, said he did, but Lewis Manning told him "No!" The leader, angered by Lewis Manning's reply, cursed him and stripped him of his clothes, including a new pair of red-top boots that Lewis had been displaying so vainly since his return from town the previous Saturday. As the clothes were all removed, Lewis dashed out the door to safety in the river bed, with an Indian pursuing for a short distance.

Aside from the scare, which his pals claim turned his hair white (a thing Lewis will not admit), Lewis Manning was none the worse for the experience, and remains alive today at his home in Fort Worth.

A few minutes later, Miss Amanda Howard and her sister-in-law rode into the valley. They saw two men riding to meet them as they neared the school, and perceived that the men were Indians. Miss Howard, riding a wild horse, had some difficulty getting her mount turned from his course and was almost caught before she succeeded under whip and lash in getting the horse in a run toward the Bagget home a mile away.

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Approaching the fence to the Bagget ranch with the Indians in hot pursuit, Miss Howard saw that her only hope of escape was in forcing her horse to jump the fence, which he did in one clear leap. Her sister-in-law, however, did not succeed so well, but, being thrown across the fence as the horse suddenly stopped, made her way to the house in safety.

Miss Howard immediately began making plans to notify the settlers across the river of the presence of the Indians at the school. To reach the settlements it was necessary for her to gain access to a crossing near the school building, from which the Indians might easily cut her off. But no time was to be lost in taking into consideration any personal danger; with grim determination she reined her half-wild mount in the direction of the crossing on the river; the Indians saw her and with blood-curdling yells dashed forward, bent on staying her course. By ten rods this young heroine of 17 years succeeded in gaining the crossing and was soon in the settlements.

The Comanches immediately made their way out of the valley, taking John Kuykendall with them. On their way out they met a Mr. Stanigline and family, killed Stangline and shot his wife, but she recovered.

Amanda Howard soon notified all of the families in the settlements, and by nightfall a posse was formed to follow the Indians, but abandoned the chase after a pursuit of 100 miles.

Two years after the above incident, the mother of Tom C. Pierson, present tax assessor of Hamilton county, and of J. O. W. Pierson, who led the posse in pursuit of the Indians, saw advertised for sale a boy who had been bought from Indians in Kansas. From the description given, Mrs. Pierson felt sure the boy was John Kuykendall and so notified the Kuykendall family. Isaac Kuykendall, brother of John, made his way to Kansas, found his brother, paid the purchase price and returned home.

John had forgotten his name, and had almost forgotten the English language, but he recognized his brother and the family on his return home. He told of the hardships he endured when the Indians carried him away, how they kept his feet tied under a horse for several days, how he suffered from hunger, and how he was brought food by the red-headed man just before he was completely exhausted. The posse in pursuit of the Indians was seen by John at one time, whereupon the Indians scattered, leaving him with one Indian, who led his horse for several days

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INDIAN RAID IN DUVAL AND NUECES COUNTIES

2018-07-23

From J. Marvin Hunters Frontier Times Magazine, March, 1937

(EDITOR 'S NOTE—The following account of a Mexican and Indian raid on the Texas border, is taken from a photostat copy of a Government report.)

ON SUNDAY, the 14th day of April, 1878, three days ere the moon had reached the full, a band of Mexicans, Indians, and—from the testimony—a white man or two, crossed the Rio Grande from the State of Coahuila, in Mexico, and invaded Webb county, in the State of Texas—according to the testimony of Mr. Peter Steffian—at a crossing of the Rio Grande, near the foot of "Apache Hill," about forty-five miles north of the City of Laredo, and the Government Post, Fort McIntosh.

These invaders, according to the affidavit of Captain E. N. Gray, of Concepcion, Duval county, Texas, are declared to be Kickapoo, Lipan and Seminole Indians, Mexicans and a white man. Their objects were murder and plunder. This declaration is supported by others in sworn statements.

Their first acts were the killing of two "vaqueros," (cow-herders), in the employment of two well-known residents of Webb county, to say: Prospero Guerra and Justo Guerra. The killing was done in the vicinity of Apache Hill on the day of their entrance, to say: April 14th, 1878.

From this point they took the main road which meanders down the Rio Grande, following its curves and bends, in the direction of Laredo—southeast—and about dusk, on the same day, they killed Jorgea Garcia, within hearing of his wife and friends, at his own rancho, about forty-five miles northwest of Laredo. His wounds were two rifle ball shots and stabs of a lance. An arrow was found near by him. His "chivarras," i. e., goat-skin leggins, his horse, saddle, etc., were stolen, and also his drove of gentle saddle horses, fastened near, were seized and driven off. His cry, "No mi mitan!" i. e., "Don't kill me!" was wasted on the air. None, if the savages could prevent, should live to tell of their presence in the country. They resumed their course down the Rio Grande until within fourteen miles of Laredo. Deeming this too dangerously near the Government post, Fort McIntosh, they changed their route, making an acute angle, and moved northeastward towards the Nueces river, passing by the ranchos, i. e., dwellings and circumjacent lands, in the vicinity of Dr. Henry Spoon's where they stole a sufficiency of horses to mount all of their party.

Here, it appears from the testimony of Dr. Henry Spohn, began the rapid subdivisions and the quick concentrations of this corps, trained from youth to skillful maneuvering as the sine quo non of a predatory party. Simultaneously, and as if ended with ubiquity, they appeared at almost all the ranches in this vicinity. They selected the best horses and were then prepared for the raid. Their organization was perfect. They divided into minor parties and devastated in a wide sweep and again reunited at a signal, or by agreement, for consultation or defense. Hence, the accounts of those who saw the raiders at different localities conflict as to the number of the marauders. At this time they were near the Rancho de los Machos, in Webb county, and they were estimated to be from thirty to forty strong. At this locality they wounded Tomas Solis with two pistol balls and an arrow. Dr. Spohn attended and sent a small party to watch the raiders. This party followed them to Fort Ewell, in LaSalle county, formerly a Government post, on the Nueces river.

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Since leaving the Rio Grande, this predatory corps of cut-throats had traveled sixty miles in an air line. The verdure of spring had clothed the earth with grass; shrubs, bushes and trees were dressed in foliage; water ponds were filled; the people, in the main, were busy shearing their flocks. The time was demonically selected as propitious for such fell work. Few were abroad to note the progress of these raiders. The grass gave them abundant provender; and water, lately fallen, refreshed them everywhere. During the day the fruitful umbrage of the newly leaved trees screened them from observation, and the growing moon lighted their way by night. The party sent out by Dr. Spohn feared to make an attack and only gave the news of their departure to Fort Ewell. The marauders then roamed over the country at will.

From Fort Ewell they followed the sharp bend which the Nueces river makes towards the east, in LaSalle county, and then turns to the northward in McMullen county, and on the 17th of April, at 9 a. m., reached William H. Steele's rancho—Palo Alto, i. e., High Tree—having traveled a distance of fifteen miles from Fort Ewell. From the testimony of Steele, Hart, Moore and Mrs. W. H. Steele—at that time Mrs. Taylor—we gather the facts of their operations. It is noted that they had a large drove of horses. These they had gathered on the 15th and 16th in Webb and LaSalle counties, since leaving the Rio Grande. In addition to bows and arrows it was found that they were well armed with rifles and pistols—doubtless, in the main, stolen from men whom they had murdered in route, though it is clear they brought some arms into the country with them.

The entire band seems to have converged at this place. It has long been one of the chief objective points for the concentration of Indians when on frontier raids. Their exits are made, generally, from this vicinity, whether they take an upper or a lower line of departure. There should be—and this is the voice of all our people—a post here and a company of cavalry ready for instant service.

Here, again, they were counted, and numbered about forty men. They were fiendishly exultant and unrepressed in their demonstrations of hellish joy. At Steele's rancho they held high carnival. They killed John Steele, a devoutly pious man, who deemed it wrong to carry arms. Mrs. Steele's two children, named Richard and George Taylor, and aged respectively eight and twelve years, were at first supposed to have been captured and carried off, but ere long were found murdered and their forms horribly mutilated and mangled with knives. Here, too, they killed Martin Martinez and Florentino Leo, and dangerously wounded Venturo Rodriguez with a rifle ball and eight arrows. In the midst of this, for their savage delectation, they stripped two Mexicans naked and compelled them to run foot races before them. Meantime, Mrs. Taylor, with wonderful coolness and motherly affection, waded across the river and escaped with her children.

They were determined, by those who saw them here, to be Mexicans and Indians on a plundering expedition, murdering and stealing horses, arms, money, clothes, camp equipage, blankets, etc., from all the ranchos contiguous to this point.

The intensely interesting statement of Mr. E. C. Moore gives an unvarnished account of the cruel hatred of the savages, the fiendishness of a white leader, the gallant defense and heroic death of Mr. Moore's companion and his own miraculous escape. The boys, cousins, having quietly resumed their journey, saw in the distance a cloud of dust which they judged to be raised by a whirlwind, but it was, in reality, a cloud of dust raised by a vast drove of horses which they had no suspicion was driven by Indians and their Mexican confreres. They met the vanguard of the party and, though not without apprehensions as to who they were, yet deemed them cow drivers. They fought retreating and one fell. He was the hope of a fond father. The affections of loving sisters centered in him. Alas! he left them in the wilds of San Ygnacio, on the edges of the Nueces Valley, only a grave and the rude inscription of his untimely death.

From Fort Ewell the main course of the raiders was about southeast, and continued in that direction to the Toribio rancho, about four miles beyond Brown's rancho, thirty-six miles from Fort Ewell, in Duval county, not far from the line of McMullen, and about twelve miles from the Nueces river. In this vicinity they killed Vicente Robeldo, the chief shepherd of T. W. Gillette, and they stole or destroyed everything. One witness says that he lost four hundred dollars' worth from his camp alone. They wounded, and supposed they had killed, Tomas Zunega. Here they changed their course, and came to the Rancho Solidad, in Duval county, about noon on the 18th. At this point they were about thirty miles from San Diego, in Nueces county, at which town a company of U. S. Cavalry had arrived.

At the Rancho Solidad they killed Guadalupe Basan, and gathered all the horse stock in the neighborhood. Soon afterwards they killed a shepherd and his wife. Their deaths are clearly reported by a little child. Their bodies were tied together, dead, and swung upon a horse, and which was turned loose. Their bodies have not yet been found. Subsequently they attacked Captain Richard Jordan's rancho, called Charco Escondido, i. e., Hidden Pond, and at 5 o'clock in the evening they killed his son, John Jordan, an excellent and exceedingly promising young man, just coming of age. But a short time previously he had written his fond mother and sister that if "God spared his life he would visit them soon." He, however, lived not to return, but, with his friend, Antonio Valdez, fell and died on his father's place. He is not, for life's cord was rudely snapped; but he sleeps the sleep of the good and the just.

Mr. Frank Gravis resides in this vicinity. He was notified by his neighbors, and with great promptitude, busily moved here and there to assist to spread the alarm and to gather a party to follow the raiders. From the Munoz Rancho, at the request of Captain Jordan, about sunset, he sent a courier to the commanding officer of the U. S. troops at San Diego, through Judge James O. Luby, the county judge. With his small party, on the night of the 18th, he slept upon the trail, near Charco Escondido. The Mexicans and Indians lay close to him. From this point, early in the morning, he sent a second dispatch to the commanding officer at San Diego, stating which way the trail had gone. He took it at daylight, following with the jaded horses of the evening previous, which had served to bring his party together. The raiders met Margarito Rodriguez about ten miles west of Charco Escondido, and mortally wounded him. From him Gravis learned that a white man led the party, but whether a Mexican or an American he could not tell. This was early on the morning of the 19th, and in Encinal county. The Indians drove a large herd of horses before them.

From Fort Ewell it was noted that they had their advance, center and rear guard. Many were identified as Kickapoo Indians. Again they divided into minor parties. One of these stopped a cart, destroyed its contents and stripped its drivers—two boys naked. This party immediately after, attacked a wagon train, and though reinforced by another, were driven off after killing a mule. Near here they shot and killed a shepherd and cast his body on the live coals of his campfire. Mr. Gravis hotly continued the pursuit, and from that point sent a courier to the commanding officer of the U. S. troops at Fort McIntosh, Laredo. The raiders, in small parties, now swept across the country and carried off all the desirable horses in their way.

On the evening of the 19th, Mr. Gravis overtook the main body—again concentrated—as they converged together upon entering Webb county to cross the Rio Grande, distant then, about eighteen miles. They had been within fourteen miles of Fort Mcintosh; again they approached within twenty miles of it. They had passed within thirty miles of the U. S. Cavalry at San Diego, and at rio time during these six days had they been over sixty miles from a U. S.. Government post. Yet such is the extended character and sparsely settled condition of this district that such occurrences do take place and escape the notice of the military.

Gravis charged gallantly. The prompt and daring reception which the Indians gave him frightened his Mexican allies and they retired. He continued the skirmish, but a reinforcement to the raiders compelled him to withdraw to the timber to prevent being surrounded and cut off. The raiders did not continue to follow, but pressed in hot haste to the Rio Grande, and strewed their trail with the clothing plundered on the route.

Gravis had a wonderful race. More than a hundred miles had he ridden since he began to summon his party, twenty-four hours before. Such races are run and many heroic deeds performed by little parties such as his, and not much notice is taken of them.

He waited patiently next day for assistance from Laredo. Some of his men reviewed the locality of the skirmish, and found several of the Indians' horses dead. Mr. Gravis saw the "cavallada," i. e., drove of horses, and judged it to number from one hundred and fifty to two hundred head. These were the choice horses of the country, for the weak and worthless fell by the wayside. During his return, on the 20th', he heard from parties from the neighboring ranchos, who had joined him on the trail, of many whom the raiders killed, but he has not mentioned their names.

The whole party, intact, it seems, crossed the Rio Grande on the night of the 19th of April, twenty-five miles south of Laredo, in Webb county, at the Rancho Dolores, not far from the Zapata county line. They improvised rafts of dry wood called "tarrai," on which to float over their plunder, yet left provisions, clothing and moccasins on the river's bank. Here it appears, from Mr. Blucher's affidavit, they were again counted and numbered forty men. They were well armed with Spencer and Remington rifles, and their drove of extra horses certainly numbered one hundred head.

Though Mr. Gravis' courier was sent to Laredo on the 19th, no movement took place from that point until 4 p. m., on the 20th. Such is the want of preparation, of instant readiness, which is absolutely necessary in this country for the defense of the people.

This is but a brief resume of the evidence, coupled with some other known facts, and reduced to a crude narrative.

The force and pith of the matter are found in, and touchingly stated by, the respective affidavits, and to these in conclusion, we now refer.

THE KILLED

2. Two vaqueros in the employ of Justo Guerra and Prospero Guerra, at ''Apache Hill," Webb county, on April 14th, 1878.

3. Jorge,Garcia, near his rancho, Webb county, at dusk, April 14th, 1878.

4. A shepherd of Don Jesus Ramirez, at the Rancho Cerrito Prieto, Webb county, April 15th, 1878.

5. John Steele, at the Rancho Palo Alto, LaSalle county, 9 a. m., April 17th, 1878.

6. Richard Taylor, aged twelve years, at the Rancho Palo Alto, LaSalle county, 9 a.m., April 17th, 1878.

7. George Taylor, aged eight years, at the Rancho Palo Alto, LaSalle county, 9 a.m., April 17th, 1878.

8. Martin Martinez, at the Rancho Palo Alto, LaSalle county, 9 a. m., April 17th, 1878.

9. Florenzo Leo, at the Rancho Palo Alto, LaSalle county, 9 a.m., April 17th, 1878.

10. Frederick B. Moore, San Ygnacio, McMullen county, near the line of Duval, 3 p.m., April 17th, 1878.

11. Vicente Robeldo, Gillette's head shepherd, near Brown's rancho, Duval county, 4 p.m., April 17th, 1878.

12. Guadalupe Basan, Rancho Solidad, Duval county, 12 a.m., April 18th, 1878.

14. A Mexican shepherd and his wife, shot, tied together and thrown across a horse, near the Solidad Rancho„ Duval county, afternoon, April 18th, 1878.

15. John Jordan, Charco Escondido, Duval county, 5 p.m., April 18th, 1878.

16. Antonio Valdez, Charco Escondido, Duval county, 5 p.m., April 18th, 1878.

17. Margarito Rodriguez, ten miles west. of Charco Escondido, Encinal county, 6 a.m., April 19th, 1878.

18. Jose Ma. Canales, at Quijote a Gordos, 12 a.m., April 19th, 1878. They threw his body upon his campfire and his lower extremities were consumed.

Others killed on the "range," reported by W. H. Steele.

Others killed of whom J. W. Hart "had heard."

Others killed, of whom F. Gravis makes mention on his return.

THE WOUNDED

Tomas Solis, who was attended by Dr. Henry Spohn.

Venturo Rodriguez, at the Rancho Palo Alto.

Tomas Zunega, at Brown's Rancho, Duval and McMullen counties.

Two wounded men met by F. Gravis, April 21st.

The above facts are supported by affidavits sworn to before U. S. Commissioners and other officials.

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THE KILLING OF THE INDIAN CHIEF, IRON JACKET

2018-07-12

W. D. Mathews, of Coleman County, Texas

(The experiences of W.D. Mathews, of Coleman County, Texas, were written by Captain H. A. Morse in the following article, which was published in the Pecan Valley News, Brownwood, Texas, in 1899.)

In the year of 1858 before the Civil War, I entered the state service February 7, 1858, while Governor H. H. Runnels of Bowie county was governor, and Frank R. Lubbock of Houston, lieutenant governor. Our company left Austin and came to where Brownwood now stands, to guard against Indian raids and to protect the few settlers in this section from Indian depredations. We had our headquarters under a post oak tree which is still standing by the side of the road just below where the present jail now stands. We were encamped here March 15, 1858. There were no houses at that time where Brownwood now stands.

During the year I went with lieutenant Ed Burleson to San Antonio and brought back the supplies for the company. I met Capt. Ford's company here where Brownwood now stands. Our company was composed of eighty men. From here we went to the Clear Fork of the Brazos, where our headquarters remained for the balance of the six months, which was the length of our enlistment. On, or very near the first, day of May, 1858, Governor Runnels commissioned Nelson (who was later General Nelson of the Confederate Army) as lieutenant to raise twenty men in Cowell county for Ranger service. He also commissioned Frank Tankersley, who then lived up on the Clear Fork of the Brazos, as lieutenant to raise twenty more men. These forty men, so raised, joined with us. We left twenty of our old company at camp and started on a scout with one hundred men with Captain John S. (Rip) Ford in command. Captain William A. Potts was our second lieutenant, and Lieutenant Ed Burleson was our first lieutenant.

We were gone 35 days. During this time we found and fought the famous Indian chief, Iron Jacket, so named from the iron jacket he wore. A portion of the jacket can still be seen among the archives in the Capitol building at Austin.

We went from our camp at the Wichita Mountains on up to the staked plains and Panhandle of Texas, and on to the Canadian river where we found Iron Jacket with his band of three hundred and fifty warriors encamped. Our scout and guide, a "Kechii" Indian (which means traitor in Indian language) knew about where Iron Jacket was and piloted us to his camp. Iron Jacket had fully 350 warriors with him. You can tell the number of warriors a chief has by the number of wigwams—each wigwam represents a certain number of warriors and I am fully satisfied there were that many there.

After our scout. "Kechii" as we called him, had shown us the Indians, we surprised them and charged in on them between daylight and sun up. As we charged across the Canadian river many of our horses got bogged up in the quicksands but the boys jumped off and waded out, caught the horses as they came out and charged on with the others, though somewhat delayed by the quicksand trouble. We rushed in on them, killed 75 warriors and the balance ran away, leaving their entire camp together with their women and children of about 350 or 400 squaws and fully 500 children, in our possession. I never saw so many children at one time in all my life. The Indians were in winter quarters and had with them 350 horses they had stolen. We got back to our camp with all the horses.

The custom then was for all parties who had had horses stolen from them to come up and swear to their property, prove same and take it away.

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Tom Tatem, from either Coryell or Erath county, was killed in this fight and we lost a number of others. U. W. Paschall, was wounded several times with a lance in the arm and shoulder. We killed Iron Jacket and his leading chief among the first. The killing of their chiefs demoralized the Indian, very much and after fighting a while they soon stampeded and a running fight then kept up back and forth all day. Neither party wished to bring on the fight and would dash out and dare the other party to charge them. Just before night, we withdrew and came back to our pack of mules about twelve miles back on Elm Creek--I think that was the name.

Mr. William Drayton Mathews, now living (1899) near Trickham, Coleman county, is credited by most historians with having killed Iron Jacket in this fight. Mr. Mathews says this is a mistake. Although he had his gun ready loaded to do so and many of the boys saw him starting to take aim to shoot the elder, but jumping from his horse Mr. Mathews threw his bridle rein over his left arm and shoulder. Iron Jacket was now coming straight toward him and as he went to take aim Lieutenant Bill Pitts, now of Austin, made a remark that Mr. Mathews will remember to his dying day, which was, "Kill the s-of-a-b" referring to Iron Jacket. As Mr. Mathews threw up his gun his horse jerked and threw Mathews partly around to the left, and seeing another Indian chief who was second in command, Mr. Mathews fired and the Indian fell. Mr. John Bane, then of Seguin, and later a Colonel in the Confederate Army, but now dead, fired at the dead chief also. The iron jacket, from whence the chief's name was derived, fitted very much like a vest, the many different plates of iron being placed together something as shingles are placed on a house—No bullet from guns then made would have penetrated it, hence it was necessary to shoot him under the armpits, which was done and Iron jacket fell dead. Mr. Mathews does not remember the name of the man who killed him, but he was one of the twenty men raised in Erath, and Coryell counties by Lieutenant Nelson and joined the command. Right here Mr. Mathews saw something he never wishes to witness again. There were in his company two Tonkaway chiefs and about 18 Tonkaway Indians. These chiefs cut off the right arm and leg of both of these dead chiefs, boiled the flesh on the fire and ate the meat. Until then, he never saw them do this. They think this adds to bravery and Strength.

Continuing the narrative, Mr. Mathews said:

From here we went to Lampasas where we were discharged and went home, our term of service having expired. We were discharged August 5, 1858. In 1850 Capt. Ed Burleson from San Marcos, Hays county was appointed by governor Sam Houston to raise a company of 100 men for frontier service—for twelve months, if not sooner discharged. We served 9 months and were discharged at Austin. Col. James McCord now living at Coleman, was first Lieutenant and quartermaster; D. C. Burleson of Austin, was with us. Joe Carson of Blanco, a nephew of old Capt. Kit Carson, was second Lieutenant. Our headquarters during this time was on Home creek, in Coleman county, four miles from where I am now living.

During that year, 1860, we surprised a camp of Comanche Indians just about where Sweetwater now stands. The Comanches, as a general thing, were very brave and desperate fighters, but these seemed to be a band of thieving Indians, who were completely surprised and ran away. We got all their camping outfit, buffalo robes, and saddles. We only killed one Indian during the fight. These Indians were not strictly on the war path, but had on their war paint.

We found two images of Christ and the Virgin Mary, one of each made of some kind of hard clay and painted up in war paint. These would be readily recognised by anyone who has ever seen any of these images. The image of the Christ was about 12 inches high and that of the Virgin. Mary about ten inches. They, together with a section of the iron jacket were sent to Austin and were in the archives in the old capitol building. They should be there now, unless destroyed when the capitol building was burned.

Continuing the review of his experiences in the ranger service before the war, Mr. W. D. Mathews of Trickham related the following incident of fights with the Indians.

In 1861 I joined Henry F. McCullough's regiment, and became a member of the company headed by W. A. or Bill Pitts of Austin, stationed at Colorado post. We went on with about 50 men to fight the Indian chief Buffalo Hump, as he went to Mexico on his horse stealing expedition. We intercepted him on the Colorado river about 40 miles above where Colorado City now stands. We had a fight with his advanced guard in the evening, losing man for man - lost six and killed six. Poor Indian fighting, Zach Rugg, Bob Rugg, Andy McCarty and myself. During the fight we got after some Indians and cut their chief off from the main body. He was a young chief. We ran him about four miles and saw that he had been badly wounded, his right arm being completely broken and banging helplessly by his side. He clung to his Horse by lying flat on his back with his good arm around the animals neck. In shooting at him as he ran, we killed his horse.

When the animal fell, the Indian crawled off into a little alum thicket about 20 feet square. We went near him and talked to him in Spanish, but he refused to surrender. Andy McCarthy then got down off his horse and walked up in the thicket. The Indian got up, came out and met him. McCarthy shot three or four times with his six shooter as he advanced toward him. McCarthy then grabbed him by the throat and beat him over the head with his six shooter. The Indian reached with his left hand and secured an Indian arrow that had been shot into McCarthy's horse and drove this into McCarthy's heart and killed him. They both fell together. We pulled them apart in their death grips. We dug a grave with our butcher knives in the sand right on the spot and buried McCarthy there, first wrapping him up in his blanket. We placed a big stone on his grave to keep the wolves from digging up his body. We scalped the chief and left him there, and got back that night to our camp on the Concho river.

Next morning the Indians, though ten to one, were afraid to fight us, but would dart out at us on the open ground trying to draw us into a fight, their mode of warfare being much different from that of the whites. We did not propose to be drawn into a trap and Buffalo Hump, with his Indians, went on to old Mexico, leaving about sundown. We returned to camp at Fort Chadbourne. The Indians were gone about six weeks. Major Ed Burleson, went to intercept them on their return, but while he could see them, could not catch up with them and have a fight. The Indians traveled both day and night. They had about 2,000 stolen horses, as near as we could judge from the trail. It was the custom of the Indians every year to go to old Mexico in the spring and steal horses.

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PIONEER BOY WITNESSES TERRIFYING SIGHT

2018-07-10

From J Marvin Hunters Frontier Times Magazine, November, 1949

By Austin Callan.

The war between the States drew most of the manpower out of Southwest Texas and, as a consequence, Indian depredations, which had been irregular previously to that time, became more frequent and more aggravated. Many of the pioneers were caught off guard and murdered by savages.

The country bordering Nueces river, toward the head draws, though thinly settled was a splendid range with an abundant water supply that made it a sort of paradise for stock raisers. Because of this the more daring ranchmen braved the dangers lurking from savage foe in the fertile hills and valleys of the Nueces. Homes were constantly menaced by Indian attack. When a settler would go to the nearest trading point for supplies, he hardly knew whether he would find his unprotected family alive upon returning home or not. Often the redskins took advantage of such absence to make a raid, sometimes killing the helpless wife and children and stealing the livestock.

Albert Schwandner of Kinney county was a six-year-old boy living near Camp Wood in those perilous days. He could not erase from his mind the awful tragedy that bereft him of his mother. She was stood up under a tree and shot dead with bow and arrow by savages while he was forced to remain nearby and witness the tragedy.

Mr. Schwandner said: "When our ranch was raided we were living many miles from the nearest neighbor and depended upon the good rifle aim of my father and mother for protection. They were both splendid shots and neither ventured far from the door at any time without firearms. On this ill-fated day, however, father, who was a sheepman, had taken some ewes and lambs quite a distance from home to feed, and mother was caught off guard by the red devils, who sneaked upon her during father's absence.

"The Indians had hid their horses behind a clump of bushes, while they crawled up to our back door through the weeds. My mother was in the kitchen at work and when I heard her scream I ran to her. I had never seen an Indian before, though I had often heard my parents talk of them. I knew enough to go immediately for my father and started to do so, but I had gone but a few steps from the door when a big buck caught me. I shall never forget the hideous grin on his face when he took hold of my ear and jerked me back to where they held captive my frantic mother."

The meager supply of provisions in the house were strapped by the Indians to the only saddle horse then on the ranch. As the chief and his warriors mounted their horses, the command to go forward was given, but the boy and his mother were ordered to travel afoot, to keep in the lead — and not "too far" in the lead.

It was late in the evening when the Indians, with their two captives entered a cedar brake, many miles away. Deer and turkey were very plentiful in the brakes and Mr. Schwandner said that the Indians stopped to take a shot at a big buck deer which stood defiantly out in an open glade. After the buck was killed there seemed to be disagreement among the Indians as to who killed it. While this dispute was going on, and the savages were not watching, his mother picked up a rock and hurled it at one of the savages, hitting him squarely on the head. Then she grabbed her boy by the hand and made a break for liberty.

It was a fruitless attempt, of course, but the poor woman was frantic with fear. The mother and son were quickly recaptured and brought back into the presence of the chief, who was very cruel and heartless. He had his two victims tied, made motions to his followers to gather wood and start a fire. The mother pleaded for her boy, trying to make her captors understand that he was not responsible for what had happened. "He is only a baby," she cried, "and no brave would kill a baby. "

It is doubtful whether the savages understood the mother's pleadings. But after a lot of jabbering on the part of the Indians, Mrs. Schwandner was stood up against a big cedar tree and tantalized for several minutes. Then one of the brutes led the boy near to his mother and told him to stand there. Meanwhile, a young savage, with bow in hand, took a position about 30 yards from the doomed woman. He drew an arrow from his quiver, took careful aim, pulling it against the cord and let it fly.

"I saw my mother fall, shot through the heart," Mr. Schwandner said. "She looked at me and tried to smile. The assassins left her there in the cedar brake without attempting to bury her. We continued our journey far into the night, reaching a camp where there were twenty more Indians, all well armed and mounted. The next morning I was tied on a pony behind a young buck and we set out in the direction of Mexico, stopping one night at Beaver Lake, or Devil's river. Several weeks later we crossed the Rio Grande river, where my captors traded me to a Mexican for a pony. I was taken inland and put to work on a ranch in the mountains near Cuatro Ciengas.

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"When father returned home and missed mother and I he was fearful that we had been captured or killed by Indians," continued Mr. Schwandner, "so he went to Uvalde for help. He had to walk forty-five miles, for the Indians had stolen his horses, and it took him a day and night to complete the journey. At Uvalde he enlisted seventeen men to aid in pursuit of the Indians, including John Cook, Dan Davis. Mr. Boles, Mr. Westfall, and Mr. Millifant, all pioneer Indian fighters. The trail was taken up by the seventeen men but they failed to overtake the Indians."

A year or two later John Crawford of Uvalde was prospecting in Northern Mexico. He came upon the stolen boy and recognized him. When Crawford returned to the United States he visited Camp Wood and informed old man Schwandner of his discovery, and related to him for the first time the sad circumstances of the murder of his wife.

The elder Schwandner immediately set out for Cuatro Cienegas, located sixty miles south of Eagle Pass. The section penetrated by him was wild and lawless at that time, infested by Indians, Mexican bandits and American renegades hiding from justice, who would commit murder for a chew of tobacco. At Piedras Negras a friend, learning of the proposed journey, advised against it. But the old frontiersman wanted his boy and was willing to take any reasonable chance in an effort to redeem him. It was 12 o'clock at night when he reached the house where his son was forcibly detained. "I heard father speak and immediately recognized his voice," declared Mr. Schwandner, in relating the incident to me sixty-six years after it occurred. "I tell you it was music to my ears, yet I was afraid for him. I thought the Mexicans might kill him rather than give me up."

Old man Schwandner was a trader, however, and he knew that money would go farther than bluff or sentiment with these people, consequently a ransom fee was agreed upon and bright and early the next morning father and son set out for Texas. It was a happy pair that rode northward through the mountains, yet deep in their hearts was a sorrowful memory of the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that was still.

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BIG TREE'S RAID IN MONTAGUE COUNTY

2018-06-27

Written in 1911 by W. A. Morris, Montague, Texas.

From Hunters Frontier Times Magazine, October, 1927

I WAS MARRIED December 12, 1867, to Miss Rachel Dennis, and for the first year we lived with my mother-in-law, Mrs. C. F. Dennis, about fifteen miles southeast of Montague on a tributary of the Willa Walla valley, about a mile and a half northeast of where the town of Forrestburg now stands. I afterward bought this farm and lived there until June 10, 1875, when I moved to Montague.

On January 4, 1863, I went to Montague on business and remained there overnight. The next morning, which was Sunday, I started home and Captain D. S. Hagler, a brother-in-law, accompanied me. When we had gone about six miles we discovered a very fresh trail of 150 to 200 Indians crossing the road, going southeast. We were riding swift horses and thought if we got in sight of them we could outrun them. So we followed the trail around the north end of Jim Ned Lookout Mountain to a spring on the south side of the mountain at the road, from which point they had gone about a mile and halted, and where It seems they held a council of war which resulted in their hanging a red flag in a tree, after which they pursued their course in an easterly direction. We followed to a point where they again crossed our course and we decided that from the direction they had taken, their aim was to move down the Willa Walla valley. From where we then were, it was about three miles to the house nearest us in the head of the valley, or in the creek, and our main desire now was to take a circuitous route and try to reach this house and give warning before the Indians got there. We pushed forward with all speed and reached the house but the savages had been along before we got there. Two families lived at this place: A. H. Newberry, his wife and their son Henry, then about 14 years old: H. B. Newberry, a brother aged about 20 years; also W. D. Anderson, his wife and the latter's sister.

When the Indians reached the place, H. B. Newberry, Mrs. Anderson and her sister were the only persons at home. A. H. Newberry and wife had gone to visit a neighbor about a mile distant and south of the Newberry place. W. D. Anderson and Henry Newberry were out gathering pecans, and seeing the Indians approaching, they abandoned their pecan sacks and fled towards a thicket which lay on the opposite side of a creek they would have to cross. The Indians gave pursuit but failed to find the two fugitives.

When H. B. Newberry saw the Indians coming, he prepared for action. He barred the doors, and to give greater strength to these doors he pulled the bedsteads across and against them, placed his axe in convenient reach, got out his trusty rifles, and was ready to defend his home to the last extremity. The Indians dashed up, surrounded the house, and finding that this rugged frontiersman was prepared to give them a warm reception, they decided to leave him alone and move on down the valley. They were scarcely out of sight, and Mr. Newberry had just opened the door when we rode up. He told us where the other members of the family had gone, and while we were yet talking, our attention was drawn to a great volume of smoke rising down the valley not more than a mile away. The Indians had fired the home of J. C. McCracken.

There was a young man by the name of George Masoner at McCracken's when the Indians came in sight and he, being well mounted, ran with all speed down the valley of Clear Creek, a distance of six miles, warning the people on both sides of the creek that the Indians were coming and urging them to take to the brush. G. W. and Alfred Williams lived at the first place below McCracken's. G. W. Williams and his family had gone about three miles to church, and when Masoner came along and sounded the alarm, Alfred Williams and his wife and her sister started at once for the brush, which was about 300 yards from the house, and to reach which by the shortest route they had to cross the field. Before reaching the Williams place the Indians ran across Dave McCracken and gave him a hot chase. He broke, full tilt, for the Williams place, aiming to stop there and help Williams to fight to a finish, but when he reached there, he found the house deserted and, glancing around, he saw Williams and family making tracks across the field going toward the creek bottom below. The Indians were crowding him and he ran around the field on the lower side of which was a rail fence across the valley, with a road along and parallel with this fence, and below it was a densely timbered bottom and briar thicket. When he got about midway of this jungle at the lower side of the thicket, he ran upon Williams and family, just as they were crossing the road into the thicket and there halted, with the resolve to fight it out rather than run any further. The Indians, whooping and yelling, were close upon him, about fifty charging down in a straight line, all in lunge of his shotgun, and when he halted and threw his gun down on the foremost of the gang, they all came to a sudden halt. He reserved his fire, for he knew that with an empty gun he would soon be killed. When his pursuers checked up he wheeled his horse and followed Williams in the thicket as far as he could ride, which was only about thirty feet, and here he sat on his horse and watched the Indians, one at a time, dash by.

On the east side of the thicket in which Williams and family had taken refuge, lived a Mr. Carlton and family. They escaped to the thicket except a sixteen-year-old girl who had gone to the spring after a bucket of water. The Indians bore her away into a captivity worse than death. "Uncle" Austin Perryman lived at the next place, about three miles down the valley. The members of his family were his wife, their son William Perryman, his wife and three or four children.

But to return to our movements: When we reached Williams' house and found that the Indians had gone on down the valley, we hastened to where I and Mrs. Dennis lived, which was about two miles south, on another prong of the creek, and when we got there we learned that W. H. Perryman and family had, on their return from church, stopped for dinner, after which they started for home, my wife accompanying them. Learning this, we dashed away at top speed, hoping to overtake W. H. Perryman's wagon before he reached home. F. R. McCracken and Sam Dennis joined us, making five in our party, and we reached the Perryman home just after the arrival of W. H. Perryman and those with him in the wagon, the Indians having passed down only a few minutes before. Finding my wife and the family alive and safe, brought a relief that words cannot express. Uncle Austin Perryman had long before, taken the wise precaution to fortify his house in a manner by which it was rendered proof against the attacks of those savages, and when Big Tree and his band approached the house they found not only a family fortress, but even the horses were securely protected inside of pens enclosed with heavy cedar logs, kith loop-holes at each corner, which latter extended in semi-circle from out several feet, thus giving the defenders within command of all approaches leading to the outer walls of the enclosure. When George Masoner—the Paul Revere of the Willa Walla—arrived and gave the alarm, there was no one on the place except Uncle Austin and his courageous wife. This old heroine removed her feminine attire and donned a suit of her husband's clothing, even to his hat, seized a rifle, and took her stand near one of the portholes. And that old mother knew how to shoot straight.

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A Mr. Nathan Long lived at the next house below. He had gone that day to another place he owned some two or three miles from his home place. On his return he encountered the Indians close to the line and near the corner of his field fence. Here he rushed into the thicket where he was overtaken, murdered and scalped. Meantime Mrs. Long had received warning in time to enable her to gather her children and fly to the brush. The Indians came up, rode around the house three or four times and finding the doors closed and doubtless suspecting the presence of a man with a gun on the inside, they withdrew and continued their course down the valley. The next house below was occupied by Savil Wilson, more familiarly known in that day as "Chunky" Wilson. Mr. Wilson's wife had died but a short time before, leaving to his care four or five little children. On this particular day he left those little children alone and went away somewhere in the neighborhood, and when that flying messenger of alarm and ill tidings, George Masoner, reached the Wilson house, he found these children helpless and without protection. He had no time to lose, the cruel savage was close at hand, and there were other families below to whom he must carry the alarm in order that they might escape with their lives. Mr. Masoner hurried these children to a place of concealment in a thicket, and resumed his errand of mercy down the valley. He was scarcely out of sight when the Indians arrived and seeing the doors open, they entered and as on other occasions, they appropriated such articles as they could carry away, after which they set fire to all the buildings on the place, including a number of large cribs filled with corn.

Five miles below, the Indians came upon old man Marasco and his daughter, Mrs. Shegog, her Infant and two little daughters. They murdered Mr. Marasco and made captive Mrs. Shegog and her children. They had not gone very far when Mrs. Shegog's babe began to cry. This seemed to exasperate Big Tree and tearing the infant from the mother's arms the remorseless monster crushed its head with a blow from his pistol and cast the quivering form at the feet of the helpless mother. A little after sundown about twenty men got together, and gave pursuit. They came up with the Indians on Mocker Creek, and charged them, Tim Hart, being killed. During the excitement of this fight, Miss Carlton. who had been captured in Willa Walla valley, made her escape. From Macke Creek the Indians followed the Overland road in the direction of Gainesville, to the bluff on Elm creek, about a mile west of the town, and halted until daybreak next morning. Here they abandoned Mrs. Shegog, after having cut off her luxuriant hair. On Monday, the 6th, in the evening, this band of Indians re-crossed the Willa Walla valley about one half mile above the Perryman house. B. G. Parkhill, Arthur Parkhill and Thomas I. Fitzpatrick lived north of us, and by a singular coincidence neither of these three families had heard of the Indians being in the country until Monday evening when Arthur Parkhill came over to our place and was told of the raid. He hurried to his brother's place and took him and his family to his own home for better protection. His next move was to warn T. J. Fitzpatrick and family and induce them to take shelter at his house. They started with Mr. Parkhill and when about half way between the two places they met the Indians, and Parkhill and Fitzpatrick were killed. Mrs. Fitzpatrick was seized and scalped alive and then liberated while her babe and two little girls, aged four and six years, were carried away. After the Indians had left, B. G. Parkhill gathered up his family and that of his murdered brother, and brought them to Mrs. Dennis, where they passed the night. Early next morning, a posse started on the trail and soon came upon the bodies of the two men. Further on, they found Mrs. Fitzpatrick lying in a path with the skirt of her dress bound about her head. She was a corpse, frozen stiff, with her hands grasping the garment around her head. Sleet and snow had fallen during the night, and the trail of the Indians had been covered. When the snows had melted away, I rode out about a mile from the place of the killing and found the remains of the Fitzpatrick babe where the Indians had murdered it and left it to be devoured by wolves and vultures. In 1869 Col. Leavenworth found the two little girls among the Indians in Western Kansas. He took them to Washington, D. C., and Congress appropriated $10,000 for their education. Several years ago I received letters from the eldest girl. She gave her name as Mrs. Thomas Hardy, and address as Weaverton, Maryland.

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CAPTIVE BEAUTY, MISS KING RESCUED IN BLOODY INDIAN FIGHT (LOGAN VAN DEVEER WAS A HERO)

2018-06-25

From Hunters Frontier Times Magazine, June, 1938

This is the vivid story of Logan Van Deveer, at one time owner of the townsite of the city of Austin, and who rescued from the Indians the fairest belle of San Antonio, whom he afterward married. Van Deveer was a hero of San Jacinto's bloody battlefield. The story also tells of a terrific fight with Indians in Burnet county. It is a story for all Texans to know, a story historically authentic and taken from historical records.

Years and years ago, when Texas was indeed the wild and woolly West, and countless herds of buffalo restlessly roamed her prairies, when numerous Indian villages were hidden in the fastnesses of her purple hills, and San Antonio was but an overgrown country village compared to the wonderfully beautiful city it now is, there occurred one of the most thrilling incidents of that period.

Within the confines of the historic Alamo City dwelt a beautiful girl, Mariel King, who reigned as belle in society. The charms of her sparkling personality and flower-like beauty drew people irresistibly, especially the male element. Though the Indians had frequently depredated upon the city, and many people were killed and many were captured, Miss King had had such a cordon of admirers for protection she had always escaped.

Each day the redskins grew bolder in their attacks, however, and on one of their raids captured and carried off thirteen of San Antonio's inhabitants. The commissioners of the city decided that something must be done to rescue these captives, and realizing that this would be almost hopeless should they advance upon the Comanche settlement, and try to get them by force, fearing that in this instance the savages would murder them outright, they sent a messenger to bid the Indians come and smoke the peace pipe.

Twelve husky chiefs responded and squatted in a circle in the council chamber. After each of the chiefs had taken a puff at the long stemmed pipe it was ceremoniously passed to the commissioners. When the pipe had at last completed its round the spokesman for the commissioners said:

"We have asked you here to smoke the peace pipe in our council chamber, and it would be a great pleasure to be friends with our red face brothers, but we can grant peace only on one condition: that you return the thirteen pale face captives which you have in your village."

A tall, powerfully built chief, with tawny body freshly oiled and all the elaborate trappings of a great warrior arraying his person, arose with stately dignity, and replied in all the fluent oratory of his race:

"When the moon appears in the east soon after the sun hides in the west, we will return our paleface captives, oh, my brother."

When the moon had reached its full the Comanches came as they had promised, but brought only one prisoner.

The same twelve chiefs entered the council chamber with their single captive, but on the outskirts of the town, bunches of their braves loitered, waiting to pillage and murder if the opportunity offered.

"We told you that we would make peace if you would return the thirteen prisoners," the commissioner said sternly.

"This is the only paleface we have, my brother. The others have flown to other lodges and other tribes," the Indian lied.

"Oh, do not believe them" the captive cried, "they mean to bring in one at a time in order to extort more ransom money."

Captain Howard and his ranger force had waited on the outside in fear of trouble. It was well he did, for scarcely had the Indians' prisoner ceased speaking when a chief sprang forward, sinking his knife in the side of the door guard. As the commissioner's shrill whistles summoned the rangers, Captain Howard was shot as he came through the door, being severely wounded. Desperate hand-to-hand fighting now ensued between the rangers and the Indians.

Just outside the council room's open window a horseman sat watching the proceedings. As the rangers pressed the redskins closer, one husky chief leaped out of the window, landing behind the horseman, and throwing his arms around him, held him as in a vise, while his heels pommeled the high spirited animal's flanks, and sending him in a gallop around the plaza.

Horses unaccustomed to the strong scent of an Indian are wildly afraid of them, and now as the Comanche clutched the horseman in his powerful arms, striving to throw him from his mount, the horse tore around and around the plaza in terrific fright, his master only able to guide him in this dizzy circle. Neither man could get his weapon, but each struggled desperately for mastery, the Indian intent on getting the horse from its owner in order to escape, and Logan Van Deveer, for it was the original owner of Austin who was the white man, equally determined not to be unseated. As the strange pair careened around in their dizzy flight for the sixth time, Van Deveer cried:

"Shoot the damned red devil, quick, somebody!"

The onlookers had watched fascinatedly each time the black horse with its double burden had charged by, but none had dared to shoot for fear of killing the white man in the crowd, however, stood Mr. Putman, at that time Texas' most famous shot, and as the horse tore by again, the crack of his rifle brought the chief a lifeless heap to earth.

The rangers had now wiped out the traitorous bunch in the council room, and as Van Deveer left the city he came upon a wagon and the lifeless bodies of a man and a woman. Both had been scalped, and though this hardy frontiersman had frequently witnessed Indian atrocities, he swore a renewed oath of vengeance against the perpetrators of this fiendish deed.

He rode straight on until he reached the Colorado river, following the trail of the savages while it was fresh, alone and undaunted, expecting to meet cunning with cunning, and after locating their village, to lead the rangers there in force and wipe them out. He found a woman's lacy handkerchief almost obscured by the leaves, and further on a bit of ribbon, which made him conclude the Indians had a female prisoner with them. With renewed vigilance he kept the trail.

Logan Van Deveer was one of the bravest soldiers that ever carried a gun and fought for the Lone Star State. When the cry, "Remember the Alamo!" swept across the field of San Jacinto, Van Deveer was in the foremost ranks that struck the Mexican forces. Firing his old muzzle-loader at the nearest foe, he then brandished it above his head, becoming a veritable god of war, seemingly. Achilles in none of his Grecian exploits displayed more bravery and courage, nor wielded a sword with more telling effect than did this dark-eyed Kentuckian slay with his old gun. It was for these very telling blows that he received from the state a headright certificate for one-third league of land, part of which survey embraced the present townsite of the city of Austin.

There was no man upon the plains that the Indians feared more than they did Logan Van Deveer. Of splendid physique, with black hair, and the most piercing black eyes, that were as brilliant as lightning, and with the strength of the hills in the ruggedness of his face, he made a noble figure in his deerskin hunting suit, mounted upon his black charger.

With Captain W. H. Magill and Colonel Noah Smithwick, he held a contract with the government to furnish food to the Indians. It was hoped by this means to prevent attacks upon the settlements. The Indians, nevertheless, grew dissatisfied, and led by the fiercest chief on the plains, Yellow Wolf, they rode to murder the man in charge of the cattle.

At daybreak they surrounded the camp, and were in the act of tomahawking the cowboy in charge of the herd, when Logan Van Deveer coming from the fort, dashed up, crowded his way through the armed savages, and dismounting, quickly seized Yellow Wolf by the throat, and brandishing his long hunting knife before his startled eyes, cried fiercely:

"You old yellow scoundrel! Call in your tribe and git' or I'll make hash meat out of you!"

The chief quailed before the smoldering fires of wrath burning in Ven Deveer's black orbs, and overawed by the very boldness of his attack, obeyed his command. An Indian admires above all else bravery in his adversary, and ever after this they respected and feared Logan Van Deveer.

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The trail of the Comanches and their fair captive led on to Marble Falls, thence to Smithwick's Mill, where Van Deveer met Captain Magill and Colonel Smithwick, who were returning from a bear hunt. Explaining his errand, the three joined forces and pursued the savages into Backbone Valley, where the trail led directly to Sherrard's Cave (now known as Longhorn Cavern?). This cave is a miniature Mammoth, its main entrance near Burnet, one opening in the cedar brush some miles westward, and its outlet in Backbone Valley, ten miles from Burnet.

The pursuers decided to try the opening in the cedar brake, as to offer them concealment while they investigated. Dark found them creeping on all fours to this opening. The smell of cooking venison greeted them; and they heard the hum of low voices, for the Indians felt secure in this underground fastness. The savages were squatting around a fire, preparing their evening meal, and a white girl, securely tied, leaned against the wall close by.

Even in the dishevelment of her capture and subsequent journey with her captors, the girl was beautiful, and though her dark wavy hair hung in a tangled mass, her lustrous brown eyes held weariness with despair, she was still lovely enough to be the belle of the Alamo City.

Each of the three men selected an Indian and a bullet went crashing into his brain. The Comanches, taken completely by surprise, and ignorant of the number attacking, fled in the dark passages of the inner cave. One big brave stayed behind, and with uplifted hatchet, was in the act of killing Miss King, when Van Deveer's big body bore him down, and the tomahawk meant for the girl was buried in the Indian's skull mid the feathers of his war bonnet.

The Indians soon discovered there were only three men to fight, and with blood-curdling war whoops filling the recesses of the cave, they charged upon the white men. With only the flickering rays of the dying fire to light them, VanDeveer and his companions fought like tigers. The oath of vengeance he had sworn seemed to invest him with superhuman power, and his long hunting knife drank the blood of the redskins again and again. With the agility of an acrobat he avoided the blows of their tomahawks; now crouching against the jagged wall of the cave, now lurching upon his foes; and often his keen knife found an Indian's heart. Magill and Smithwick were not laggards in the battle, but using their guns for clubs, they slew right and left.

The white men had thus far kept Miss King behind them, and with their backs to the wall, had stood the Comanches at bay, but one chief was intent on getting the girl's scalp if he could not get her alive. As Van Deveer was in the midst of beating off three opponents, this chief darted in behind him, and clutching the girl's beautiful tresses, raised his scalping knife to cut them from her head. Van Deveer's eyes, however, seemed to miss nothing, and striking down his last foe, he sprang upon the chief and literally scalped him alive before he drove his big knife into his heart..

Sticking the dripping knife into his belt, Van Deveer now caught up the fainting girl in his powerful arms, and with Magill and Smithwick protecting his retreat, he climbed up the rocky passageway leading out of the cave, and soon reached their horses safely. Trusting to the darkness to make good their escape, and familiar with every inch of ground, over which they had often chased bear, the party made their way to the settlement, where Miss King found a home with Van Deveer's relatives. Of course the natural sequel to this rescue was marriage. Though Texas' heraldic roll glows with the names of Houston, McCulloch, Hays, Lamar, and Chevalier, which illumines the pages of her history with an effulgence of glory, she never nurtured on her bosom a son of more filial devotion or indomitable will to do and dare, or of more loyal patriotism than Logan Van Deveer, original owner of Austin, who now rests "on Fame's Eternal Camping Ground."

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