VII
RANGERING
No State in the Union was ever called upon to meet and deal withthe criminal element as was Texas. She was border territory upon heradmission to the sisterhood of States.
An area equal to four ordinary States, and a climate that permittedof outdoor life the year round, made it a desirable rendezvous forcriminals. The sparsely settled condition of the country, the flow ofimmigration being light until the seventies, was an important factor.The fugitives from justice of the older States with a common impulseturned toward this empire of isolation. Europe contributed her quota,more particularly from the south, bringing with them the Mafia andvendetta. Once it was the Ultima Thule of the criminal western world.From the man who came for not building a church to the one who hadtaken human life, the catalogue of crime was fully represented.
Humorous writers tell us that it was a breach of good manners to aska man his name, or what State he was from, or to examine the brand onhis horse very particularly. It can be safely said that there was agreat amount of truth mingled with the humor. Some of these fugitivesfrom justice became good citizens, but the majority sooner or latertook up former callings.
Along with this criminal immigration came the sturdy settler, theman intent on building a home and establishing a fireside. Usuallyfollowing lines of longitude, he came from other Southern States. Healso brought with him the fortitude of the pioneer that reclaims thewilderness and meets any emergency that confronts him. To meet anddeal with this criminal element as a matter of necessity soon becamean important consideration. His only team of horses was frequentlystolen. His cattle ran off their range, their ear-marks altered andbrands changed. Frequently it was a band of neighbors, together ina posse, who followed and brought to bay the marauders. It was anunlucky moment for a horse-thief when he was caught in possession ofanother man's horse. The impromptu court of emergency had no sentimentin regard to passing sentence of death. It was a question of guilt,and when that was established, Judge Lynch passed sentence.
As the State advanced, the authorities enlisted small companies of mencalled Rangers. The citizens' posse soon gave way to this organizedservice. The companies, few in number at first, were graduallyincreased until the State had over a dozen companies in the field.These companies numbered anywhere from ten to sixty men. It can besaid with no discredit to the State that there were never half enoughcompanies of men for the work before them.
There was a frontier on the south and west of over two thousand milesto be guarded. A fair specimen of the large things in that State was ashoe-string congressional district, over eleven hundred miles long. Tothe Ranger, then, is all credit due for guarding this western frontieragainst the Indians and making life and the possession of property apossibility. On the south was to be met the bandit, the smuggler, andevery grade of criminal known to the code.
A generation had come and gone before the Ranger's work was fairlydone. The emergency demanded brave men. They were ready. Notnecessarily born to the soil, as a boy the guardian of the frontierwas expert in the use of firearms, and in the saddle a tireless rider.As trailers many of them were equal to hounds. In the use of thatarbiter of the frontier, the six-shooter, they were artists. As aclass, never before or since have their equals in the use of that armcome forward to question this statement.
The average criminal, while familiar with firearms, was as badlyhandicapped as woman would be against man. The Ranger had no equal.The emergency that produced him no longer existing, he will neverhave a successor. Any attempt to copy the original would be hopelessimitation. He was shot at at short range oftener than he received hismonthly wage. He admired the criminal that would fight, and despisedone that would surrender on demand. He would nurse back to life adead-game man whom his own shot had brought to earth, and give acoward the chance to run any time if he so desired.
He was compelled to lead a life in the open and often descend to thelevel of the criminal. He had few elements in his makeup, and but asingle purpose; but that one purpose--to rid the State of crime--heexecuted with a vengeance. He was poorly paid for the servicerendered. Frequently there was no appropriation with which to pay him;then he lived by rewards and the friendship of ranchmen.
The Ranger always had a fresh horse at his command,--no one thought ofrefusing him this. Rust-proof, rugged, and tireless, he gave the Stateprotection for life and property. The emergency had produced the man.
"Here, take my glass and throw down on that grove of timber yonder,and notice if there is any sign of animal life to be seen," saidSergeant "Smoky" C----, addressing "Ramrod," a private in Company Xof the Texas Rangers. The sergeant and the four men had been out onspecial duty, and now we had halted after an all night's ride lookingfor shade and water,--the latter especially. We had two prisoners,(horse-thieves), some extra saddle stock, and three pack mules.
It was an hour after sun-up. We had just come out of the foothills,where the Brazos has its source, and before us lay the plains, dustyand arid. This grove of green timber held out a hope that within itmight be found what we wanted. Eyesight is as variable as men, butRamrod's was known to be reliable for five miles with the naked eye,and ten with the aid of a good glass. He dismounted at the sergeant'srequest, and focused the glass on this oasis, and after sweeping thefield for a minute or so, remarked languidly, "There must be waterthere. I can see a band of antelope grazing out from the grove. Holdyour mules! Something is raising a dust over to the south. Good! It'scattle coming to the water."
While he was covering the field with his glass, two of the boys werethreatening with eternal punishment the pack mules, which showedan energetic determination to lie down and dislodge their packs byrolling.
"Cut your observations short as possible there, Ramrod, or there willbe re-packing to do. Mula, you hybrid son of your father, don't youdare to lie down!"
But Ramrod's observations were cut short at sight of the cattle, andwe pushed out for the grove, about seven miles distant. As werode this short hour's ride, numerous small bands of antelope werestartled, and in turn stood and gazed at us in bewilderment.
"I'm not tasty," said Sergeant Smoky, "but I would give the preferencethis morning to a breakfast of a well-roasted side of ribs of a niceyearling venison over the salt hoss that the Lone Star State furnishesthis service. Have we no hunters with us?"
"Let me try," begged a little man we called "Cushion-foot." What hisreal name was none of us knew. The books, of course, would show somename, and then you were entitled to a guess. He was as quiet as amouse, as reliable as he was quiet, and as noiseless in his movementsas a snake. One of the boys went with him, making quite a detour fromour course, but always remaining in sight. About two miles out fromthe grove, we sighted a small band of five or six antelope, who soontook fright and ran to the nearest elevation. Here they made a standabout half a mile distant. We signaled to our hunters, who soonspotted them and dismounted. We could see Cushion sneaking through theshort grass like a coyote, "Conajo" leading the horses, well hiddenbetween them. We held the antelopes' attention by riding around in acircle, flagging them. Several times Cushion lay flat, and we thoughthe was going to risk a long shot. Then he would crawl forward like acat, but finally came to his knee. We saw the little puff, the bandsquatted, jumping to one side far enough to show one of their numberdown and struggling in the throes of death.
"Good long shot, little man," said the sergeant, "and you may have thechoice of cuts, just so I get a rib."
We saw Conajo mount and ride up on a gallop, but we held our coursefor the grove. We were busy making camp when the two rode in with afine two-year-old buck across the pommel of Cushion's saddle. Theyhad only disemboweled him, but Conajo had the heart as a trophy of theaccuracy of the shot, though Cushion hadn't a word to say. It wasa splendid heart shot. Conajo took it over and showed it to the twoMexican prisoners. It was an object lesson to them. One said to theother, "Es un buen tirador."
We put the prisoners to roasting the ribs, and making themselvesuseful
in general. One man guarded them at their work, while all theothers attended to the hobbling and other camp duties.
It proved to be a delightful camp. We aimed to stay until sunset, thedays being sultry and hot. Our appetites were equal to the breakfast,and it was a good one.
"To do justice to an occasion like this," said Smoky as he squatteddown with about four ribs in his hand, "a man by rights ought to haveat least three fingers of good liquor under his belt. But then wecan't have all the luxuries of life in the far West; sure to besomething lacking."
"I never hear a man hanker for liquor," said Conajo, as he poured outa tin cup of coffee, "but I think of an incident my father used totell us boys at home. He was sheriff in Kentucky before we moved toTexas. Was sheriff in the same county for twelve years. Counties arevery irregular back in the old States. Some look like a Mexican brand.One of the rankest, rabid political admirers my father had lived awayout on a spur of this county. He lived good thirty miles from thecounty seat. Didn't come to town over twice a year, but he alwaysstopped, generally over night, at our house. My father wouldn't haveit any other way. Talk about thieves being chummy; why, these two wehave here couldn't hold a candle to that man and my father. I can seethem parting just as distinctly as though it was yesterday. He wouldalways abuse my father for not coming to see him. 'Sam,' he wouldsay,--my father's name was Sam,--'Sam, why on earth is it thatyou never come to see me? I've heard of you within ten miles of myplantation, and you have never shown your face to us once. Do youthink we can't entertain you? Why, Sam, I've known you since youweren't big enough to lead a hound dog. I've known you since youweren't knee to a grasshopper.'
"'Let me have a word,' my father would put in, for he was very mildin speaking; 'let me have a word, Joe. I hope you don't think for amoment that I wouldn't like to visit you; now do you?'
"'No, I don't think so, Sam, but you don't come. That's why I'mcomplaining. You never have come in the whole ten years you've beensheriff, and you know that we have voted for you to a man, in ourneck of the woods.' My father felt this last remark, though I thinkhe never realized its gravity before, but he took him by one hand, andlaying the other on his shoulder said, 'Joe, if I have slighted youin the past, I'm glad you have called my attention to it. Now, let metell you the first time that my business takes me within ten milesof your place I'll make it a point to reach your house and stay allnight, and longer if I can.'
"'That's all I ask, Sam,' was his only reply. Now I've learned lotsof the ways of the world since then. I've seen people pleasant to eachother, and behind their backs the tune changed. But I want to sayto you fellows that those two old boys were not throwing off on eachother--not a little bit. They meant every word and meant it deep. Itwas months afterwards, and father had been gone for a week when hecame home. He told us about his visit to Joe Evans. It was wintertime, and mother and us boys were sitting around the old fireplace inthe evening. 'I never saw him so embarrassed before in my life,' saidfather. 'I did ride out of my way, but I was glad of the chance. Menlike Joe Evans are getting scarce.' He nodded to us boys. 'It wasnearly dark when I rode up to his gate. He recognized me and came downto the gate to meet me. "Howdy, Sam," was all he said. There was atroubled expression in his face, though he looked well enough, but hecouldn't simply look me in the face. Just kept his eye on the ground.He motioned for a nigger boy and said to him, "Take his horse." Hestarted to lead the way up the path, when I stopped him. "Look here,Joe," I said to him. "Now, if there's anything wrong, anything likelyto happen in the family, I can just as well drop back on the pike andstay all night with some of the neighbors. You know I'm acquainted allaround here." He turned in the path, and there was the most painfullook in his face I ever saw as he spoke: "Hell, no, Sam, there'snothing wrong. We've got plenty to eat, plenty of beds, no end ofhorse-feed, but by G----, Sam, there isn't a drop of whiskey on theplace!"'
"You see it was hoss and cabello, and Joe seemed to think the hosson him was an unpardonable offense. Salt? You'll find it in an emptyone-spoon baking-powder can over there. In those panniers that belongto that big sorrel mule. Look at Mexico over there burying his fangsin the venison, will you?"
Ramrod was on guard, but he was so hungry himself that he was goodenough to let the prisoners eat at the same time, although he keptthem at a respectable distance. He was old in the service, and hadgotten his name under a baptism of fire. He was watching a pass oncefor smugglers at a point called Emigrant Gap. This was long before hehad come to the present company. At length the man he was waiting forcame along. Ramrod went after him at close quarters, but the fellowwas game and drew his gun. When the smoke cleared away, Ramrod hadbrought down his horse and winged his man right and left. The smugglerwas not far behind on the shoot, for Ramrod's coat and hat showed hewas calling for him. The captain was joshing the prisoner about hispoor shooting when Ramrod brought him into camp and they were dressinghis wounds. "Well," said the fellow, "I tried to hard enough, but Icouldn't find him. He's built like a ramrod."
After breakfast was over we smoked and yarned. It would be two-hourguards for the day, keeping an eye on the prisoners and stock, onlyone man required; so we would all get plenty of sleep. Conajo had thefirst guard after breakfast. "I remember once," said Sergeant Smoky,as he crushed a pipe of twist with the heel of his hand, "we werecamped out on the 'Sunset' railway. I was a corporal at the time.There came a message one day to our captain, to send a man up West onthat line to take charge of a murderer. The result was, I was sent bythe first train to this point. When I arrived I found that anIrishman had killed a Chinaman. It was on the railroad, at a bridgeconstruction camp, that the fracas took place. There were somethinglike a hundred employees at the camp, and they ran their ownboarding-tent. They had a Chinese cook at this camp; in fact, quite anumber of Chinese were employed at common labor on the road.
"Some cavalryman, it was thought, in passing up and down from FortStockton to points on the river, had lost his sabre, and one of thisbridge gang had found it. When it was brought into camp no one wouldhave the old corn-cutter; but this Irishman took a shine to it, havingonce been a soldier himself. The result was, it was presented tohim. He ground it up like a machette, and took great pride in givingexhibitions with it. He was an old man now, the storekeeper for theiron supplies, a kind of trusty job. The old sabre renewed hisyouth to a certain extent, for he used it in self-defense shortlyafterwards. This Erin-go-bragh--his name was McKay, I think--was inthe habit now and then of stealing a pie from the cook, and takingit into his own tent and eating it there. The Chink kept missing hispies, and got a helper to spy out the offender. The result was theycaught the old man red-handed in the act. The Chink armed himself withthe biggest butcher-knife he had and went on the warpath. He found theold fellow sitting in his storeroom contentedly eating the pie. Theold man had his eyes on the cook, and saw the knife just in time tojump behind some kegs of nuts and bolts. The Chink followed him withmurder in his eye, and as the old man ran out of the tent he pickedup the old sabre. Once clear of the tent he turned and faced him,made only one pass, and cut his head off as though he were beheadinga chicken. They hadn't yet buried the Chinaman when I got there. I'mwilling to testify it was an artistic job. They turned the old manover to me, and I took him down to the next station, where an oldalcalde lived,--Roy Bean by name. This old judge was known as 'Lawwest of the Pecos,' as he generally construed the law to suit his ownopinion of the offense. He wasn't even strong on testimony. He was aranchman at this time, so when I presented my prisoner he only said,'Killed a Chinese, did he? Well, I ain't got time to try the caseto-day. Cattle suffering for water, and three windmills out of repair.Bring him back in the morning.' I took the old man back to the hotel,and we had a jolly good time together that day. I never put a stringon him, only locked the door, but we slept together. The next morningI took him before the alcalde. Bean held court in an outhouse, theprisoner seated on a bale of flint hides. Bean was not only judge butprosecutor, as well as counsel for the defense. 'Killed a Chinaman,did
you?'
"'I did, yer Honor,' was the prisoner's reply.
"I suggested to the court that the prisoner be informed of his rights,that he need not plead guilty unless he so desired.
"'That makes no difference here,' said the court. 'Gentlemen, I'm busythis morning. I've got to raise the piping out of a two-hundred-footwell to-day,--something the matter with the valve at the bottom. I'lljust glance over the law a moment.'
"He rummaged over a book or two for a few moments and then said,'Here, I reckon this is near enough. I find in the revised statutebefore me, in the killing of a nigger the offending party was finedfive dollars. A Chinaman ought to be half as good as a nigger. Standup and receive your sentence. What's your name?'
"'Jerry McKay, your Honor.'
"Just then the court noticed one of the vaqueros belonging to theranch standing in the door, hat in hand, and he called to him inSpanish, 'Have my horse ready, I'll be through here just in a minute.'
"'McKay,' said the court as he gave him a withering look, 'I'll fineyou two dollars and a half and costs. Officer, take charge ofthe prisoner until it's paid!' It took about ten dollars to covereverything, which I paid, McKay returning it when he reached his camp.Whoever named that alcalde 'Law west of the Pecos' knew his man."
"I'll bet a twist of dog," said Ramrod, "that prisoner with the blackwhiskers sabes English. Did you notice him paying strict attention toSmoky's little talk? He reminds me of a fellow that crouched behindhis horse at the fight we had on the head of the Arroyo Colorado andplugged me in the shoulder. What, you never heard of it? That's so,Cushion hasn't been with us but a few months. Well, it was in '82,down on the river, about fifty miles northwest of Brownsville. Wordcame in one day that a big band of horse-thieves were sweeping thecountry of every horse they could gather. There was a number of theold Cortina's gang known to be still on the rustle. When this reportcame, it found eleven men in camp. We lost little time saddling up,only taking five days' rations with us, for they were certain torecross the river before that time in case we failed to interceptthem. Every Mexican in the country was terrorized. All they could tellus was that there was plenty of ladrones and lots of horses, 'muchos'being the qualifying word as to the number of either.
"It was night before we came to their trail, and to our surprise theywere heading inland, to the north. They must have had a contract tosupply the Mexican army with cavalry horses. They were simply sweepingthe country, taking nothing but gentle stock. These they bucked instrings, and led. That made easy trailing, as each string left adistinct trail. The moon was splendid that night, and we trailed aseasily as though it had been day. We didn't halt all night long oneither trail, pegging along at a steady gait, that would carry usinland some distance before morning. Our scouts aroused everyranch within miles that we passed on the way, only to have reportsexaggerated as usual. One thing we did learn that night, and thatwas that the robbers were led by a white man. He was described inthe superlatives that the Spanish language possesses abundantly;everything from the horse he rode to the solid braid on his sombrerowas described in the same strain. But that kind of prize was the kindwe were looking for.
"On the head of the Arroyo Colorado there is a broken countryinterspersed with glades and large openings. We felt very sure thatthe robbers would make camp somewhere in that country. When day brokethe freshness of the trail surprised and pleased us. They couldn't befar away. Before an hour passed, we noticed a smoke cloud hanging lowin the morning air about a mile ahead. We dismounted and securely tiedour horses and pack stock. Every man took all the cartridges he coulduse, and was itching for the chance to use them. We left the trail,and to conceal ourselves took to the brush or dry arroyos as aprotection against alarming the quarry. They were a quarter of a mileoff when we first sighted them. We began to think the reports wereright, for there seemed no end of horses, and at least twenty-fivemen. By dropping back we could gain one of those dry arroyos whichwould bring us within one hundred yards of their camp. A young fellowby the name of Rusou, a crack shot, was acting captain in the absenceof our officers. As we backed into the arroyo he said to us, 'Ifthere's a white man there, leave him to me.' We were all satisfiedthat he would be cared for properly at Rusou's hands, and silence gaveconsent.
"Opposite the camp we wormed out of the arroyo like a skirmish line,hugging the ground for the one remaining little knoll between therobbers and ourselves. I was within a few feet of Rusou as we sightedthe camp about seventy-five yards distant. We were trying to make outa man that was asleep, at least he had his hat over his face, lying ona blanket with his head in a saddle. We concluded he was a white man,if there was one. Our survey of their camp was cut short by two shotsfired at us by two pickets of theirs posted to our left about onehundred yards. No one was hit, but the sleeping man jumped to his feetwith a six-shooter in each hand. I heard Rusou say to himself, 'You'retoo late, my friend.' His carbine spoke, and the fellow fell forward,firing both guns into the ground at his feet as he went down.
"Then the stuff was off and she opened up in earnest. They fought allright. I was on my knee pumping lead for dear life, and as I threw mycarbine down to refill the magazine, a bullet struck it in the heel ofthe magazine with sufficient force to knock me backward. I thought Iwas hit for an instant, but it passed away in a moment. When I triedto work the lever I saw that my carbine was ruined. I called to theboys to notice a fellow with black whiskers who was shooting frombehind his horse. He would shoot over and under alternately. Ithought he was shooting at me. I threw down my carbine and drew mysix-shooter. Just then I got a plug in the shoulder, and thingsgot dizzy and dark. It caught me an inch above the nipple, rangingupward,--shooting from under, you see. But some of the boys must havenoticed him, for he decorated the scene badly leaded, when it wasover. I was unconscious for a few minutes, and when I came around thefight had ended.
"During the few brief moments that I was knocked out, our boys hadclosed in on them and mixed it with them at short range. The thievestook to such horses as they could lay their hands on, and one fellowwent no farther. A six-shooter halted him at fifty yards. The boysrounded up over a hundred horses, each one with a fiber grass halteron, besides killing over twenty wounded ones to put them out of theirmisery.
"It was a nasty fight. Two of our own boys were killed and three werewounded. But then you ought to have seen the other fellows; we took noprisoners that day. Nine men lay dead. Horses were dead and dying allaround, and the wounded ones were crying in agony.
"This white man proved to be a typical dandy, a queer leader for sucha gang. He was dressed in buckskin throughout, while his sombrero wasas fine as money could buy. You can know it was a fine one, for itwas sold for company prize money, and brought three hundred and fiftydollars. He had nearly four thousand dollars on his person and in hissaddle. A belt which we found on him had eleven hundred in bills andsix hundred in good old yellow gold. The silver in the saddle wasmixed, Mexican and American about equally.
"He had as fine a gold watch in his pocket as you ever saw, while hisfirearms and saddle were beauties. He was a dandy all right, and afine-looking man, over six feet tall, with swarthy complexion and hairlike a raven's wing. He was too nice a man for the company he was in.We looked the 'Black Book' over afterward for any description ofhim. At that time there were over four thousand criminals and outlawsdescribed in it, but there was no description that would fit him.For this reason we supposed that he must live far in the interior ofMexico.
"Our saddle stock was brought up, and our wounded were bandaged asbest they could be. My wound was the worst, so they concluded to sendme back. One of the boys went with me, and we made a fifty-mile ridebefore we got medical attention. While I was in the hospital I got mydivvy of the prize money, something over four hundred dollars."
When Ramrod had finished his narrative, he was compelled to submit toa cross-examination at the hands of Cushion-foot, for he delightedin a skirmish. All his questions being satisfactorily answered,Cushion-foot drew up his saddle alo
ngside of where Ramrod laystretched on a blanket, and seated himself. This was a signal to therest of us that he had a story, so we drew near, for he spoke so lowthat you must be near to hear him. His years on the frontier were richin experience, though he seldom referred to them.
Addressing himself to Ramrod, he began: "You might live amongst theseborder Mexicans all your life and think you knew them; but every dayyou live you'll see new features about them. You can't calculateon them with any certainty. What they ought to do by any system ofreasoning they never do. They will steal an article and then give itaway. You've heard the expression 'robbing Peter to pay Paul.' Well,my brother played the role of Paul once himself. It was out in Arizonaat a place called Las Palomas. He was a stripling of a boy, but couldpalaver Spanish in a manner that would make a Mexican ashamed of hisancestry. He was about eighteen at this time and was working in astore. One morning as he stepped outside the store, where he slept,he noticed quite a commotion over around the custom-house. He noticedthat the town was full of strangers, as he crossed over toward thecrowd. He was suddenly halted and searched by a group of strange men.Fortunately he had no arms on him, and his ability to talk to them,together with his boyish looks, ingratiated him in their favor, andthey simply made him their prisoner. Just at that moment an alcalderode up to the group about him, and was ordered to halt. He saw at aglance they were revolutionists, and whirling his mount attempted toescape, when one of them shot him from his horse. The young fellowthen saw what he was into.
"They called themselves Timochis. They belonged in Mexico, and a yearor so before they refused to pay taxes that the Mexican governmentlevied on them, and rebelled. Their own government sent soldiers afterthem, resulting in about eight hundred soldiers being killed, whenthey dispersed into small bands, one of which was paying Las Palomas asocial call that morning. Along the Rio Grande it is only a shortstep at best from revolution to robbery, and either calling has itsvariations.
"Well, they took my brother with them to act as spokesman in lootingthe town. The custom-house was a desired prize, and when my brotherinterpreted their desires to the collector, he consented to openthe safe, as life had charms for him, even in Arizona. Uncle Sam'sstrong-box yielded up over a thousand dobes. They turned theirattention to the few small stores of the town, looting them of themoney and goods as they went. There was quite a large store kept by aFrenchman, who refused to open, when he realized that the Timochi washonoring the town with his presence. They put the boy in the frontand ordered him to call on the Frenchman to open up. He said afterwardthat he put in a word for himself, telling him not to do any shootingthrough the door. After some persuasion the store was opened andproved to be quite a prize. Then they turned their attention to thestore where the boy worked. He unlocked it and waved them in. He wentinto the cellar and brought up half a dozen bottles of imported FrenchCognac, and invited the chief bandit and his followers to be goodenough to join him. In the mean time they had piled up on the counterssuch things as they wanted. They made no money demand on him, thechief asking him to set a price on the things they were taking. Hemade a hasty inventory of the goods and gave the chief the figures,about one hundred and ten dollars. The chief opened a sack that theyhad taken from the custom-house and paid the bill with a flourish.
"The chief then said that he had a favor to ask: that my brothershould cheer for the revolutionists, to identify him as a friend. Thatwas easy, so he mounted the counter and gave three cheers of 'Viva losTimochis!' He got down off the counter, took the bandit by the arm,and led him to the rear, where with glasses in the air they drank to'Viva los Timochis!' again. Then the chief and his men withdrew andrecrossed the river. It was the best day's trade he had had in a longtime. Now, here comes in the native. While the boy did everythingfrom compulsion and policy, the native element looked upon him withsuspicion. The owners of the store, knowing that this suspicionexisted, advised him to leave, and he did."
The two prisoners were sleeping soundly. Sleep comes easily to tiredmen, and soon all but the solitary guard were wrapped in sleep, tofight anew in rangers' dreams scathless battles!
* * * * *
There was not lacking the pathetic shade in the redemption of thisState from crime and lawlessness. In the village burying-ground ofRound Rock, Texas, is a simple headstone devoid of any lettering savethe name "Sam Bass." His long career of crime and lawlessness wouldfill a good-sized volume. He met his death at the hands of TexasRangers. Years afterward a woman, with all the delicacy of her sex,and knowing the odium that was attached to his career, came to thistown from her home in the North and sought out his grave. As only awoman can, when some strong tie of affection binds, this woman went towork to mark the last resting-place of the wayward man. Concealing herown identity, she performed these sacred rites, clothing in mysteryher relation to the criminal. The people of the village would not havewithheld their services in well-meant friendship, but she shrank fromthem, being a stranger.
A year passed, and she came again. This time she brought the stonewhich marks his last resting-place. The chivalry of this generouspeople was aroused in admiration of a woman that would defy thecalumny attached to an outlaw. While she would have shrunk fromkindness, had she been permitted, such devotion could not gounchallenged. So she disclosed her identity.
She was his sister.
Bass was Northern born, and this sister was the wife of a respectablepracticing physician in Indiana. Womanlike, her love for a waywardbrother followed him beyond his disgraceful end. With her own handsshe performed an act that has few equals, as a testimony of love andaffection for her own.
For many years afterward she came annually, her timidity having wornaway after the generous reception accorded her at the hands of ahospitable people.