INTERLOCUTORY PROCEEDINGS
A big summer’s work lay before us. When Uncle Lance realized the
permanent loss of three men from the working force of Las Palomas, he
rallied to the situation. The ranch would have to run a double outfit
the greater portion of the summer, and men would have to be secured to
fill our ranks. White men who were willing to isolate themselves on a
frontier ranch were scarce; but the natives, when properly treated,
were serviceable and, where bred to the occupation and inclined to
domesticity, made ideal vaqueros. My injured foot improved slowly, and
as soon as I was able to ride, it fell to me to secure the extra help
needed. The desertion of Quayle and Cotton had shaken my employer’s
confidence to a noticeable degree, and in giving me my orders to secure
vaqueros, he said:—
“Tom, you take a good horse and go down the Tarancalous and engage five
vaqueros. Satisfy yourself that the men are fit for the work, and hire
every one by the year. If any of them are in debt, a hundred dollars is
my limit of advance money to free them. And hire no man who has not a
family, for I’m losing confidence every minute in single ones,
especially if they are white. We have a few empty _jacals_, and the
more children that I see running naked about the ranch, the better it
suits me. I’ll never get my money back in building that Cotton cottage
until I see a mother, even though she is a Mexican, standing in the
door with a baby in her arms. The older I get, the more I see my
mistake in depending on the white element.”
I was gone some three days in securing the needed help. It was a
delicate errand, for no ranchero liked to see people leave his lands,
and it was only where I found men unemployed that I applied for and
secured them. We sent wagons from Las Palomas after their few effects,
and had all the families contentedly housed, either about headquarters
or at the outlying ranchitas, before the first contingent of beeves was
gathered. But the attempt to induce any of the new families to occupy
the stone cottage proved futile, as they were superstitious. There was
a belief among the natives, which no persuasion could remove, regarding
houses that were built for others and never occupied. The new building
was tendered to Tio Tiburcio and his wife, instead of their own
palisaded _jacal_, but it remained tenantless—an eyesore to its
builder.
Near the latter end of April, a contract was let for two new tanks on
the Ganso grant of land. Had it not been for the sale of beef, which
would require our time the greater portion of the summer, it was my
employer’s intention to have built these reservoirs with the ranch
help. But with the amount of work we had in sight, it was decided to
let the contract to parties who made it their business and were
outfitted for the purpose. Accordingly in company with the contractor,
Uncle Lance and myself spent the last few days of the month laying off
and planning the reservoir sites on two small tributaries which formed
the Ganso. We were planning to locate these tanks several miles above
the juncture of the small rivulets, and as far apart as possible. Then
the first rainfall which would make running water, would assure us a
year’s supply on the extreme southwestern portion of our range. The
contractor had a big outfit of oxen and mules, and the conditions
called for one of the reservoirs to be completed before June 15th.
Thus, if rains fell when they were expected, one receptacle at least
would be in readiness.
When returning one evening from starting the work, we found Tony Hunter
a guest of the ranch. He had come over for the special purpose of
seeing me, but as the matter was not entirely under my control, my
employer was brought into the consultation. In the docket for the May
term of court, the divorce proceedings between Esther and Jack Oxenford
would come up for a hearing at Oakville on the seventh of the month.
Hunter was anxious, if possible, to have all his friends present at the
trial. But dates were getting a little close, for our first contingent
of beeves was due on the coast on the twentieth, and to gather and
drive them would require not less than ten days. A cross-bill had been
filed by Oxenford’s attorney at the last hour, and a fight was going to
be made to prevent the decree from issuing. The judge was a hold-over
from the reconstruction régime, having secured his appointment through
the influence of congressional friends, one of whom was the uncle of
the junior stage man. Unless the statutory grounds were clear, there
was a doubt expressed by Esther’s attorney whether the court would
grant the decree. But that was the least of Hunter’s fears, for in his
eyes the man who would willfully abuse a woman had no rights, in court
or out. Tony, however, had enemies; for he and Oxenford had had a
personal altercation, and since the separation the Martin family had
taken the side of Jack’s employer and severed all connections with the
ranch. That the mail contractors had the village of Oakville under
their control, all agreed, as we had tested that on our return from
Fort Worth the spring before. In all the circumstances, though Hunter
had no misgivings as to the ultimate result, yet being a witness and
accused of being the main instigator in the case, he felt that he
ought, as a matter of precaution, to have a friend or two with him.
“Well, now, Tony,” said my employer, “this is crowding the mourners
just a trifle, but Las Palomas was never called on in a good cause but
she could lend a man or two, even if they had to get up from the dinner
table and go hungry. I don’t suppose the trial will last over a day or
two at the furthest, and even if it did, the boys could ride home in
the night. In our first bunch and in half a day, we’ll gather every
beef in two rodeos and start that evening. Steamships won’t wait, and
if we were a day behind time, they might want to hold out demurrage on
us. If it wasn’t for that, the boys could stay a week and you would be
welcome to them. Of course, Tom will want to go, and about the next
best man I could suggest would be June. I’d like the best in the world
to go myself, but you see how I’m situated, getting these cattle off
and a new tank building at the same time. Now, you boys make your own
arrangements among yourselves, and this ranch stands ready to back up
anything you say or do.”
Tony remained overnight, and we made arrangements to meet him, either
at Shepherd’s the evening before or in Oakville on the morning of the
trial. Owing to the behavior of Quayle and Cotton, none of us had
attended the celebration of San Jacinto Day at the ferry. Nor had any
one from the Vaux or McLeod ranches, for while they did not understand
the situation, it was obvious that something was wrong, and they had
remained away as did Las Palomas. But several of Hunter’s friends from
the San Miguel had been present, as likewise had Oxenford, and reports
came back to the ranch of the latter’s conduct and of certain threats
he had made when he found there was no one present to resent them. The
next morning, before starting home, Tony said to our _segundo_ and
myself;—
“Then I’ll depend on you two, and I may have a few other friends who
will want to attend. I don’t need very many for a coward like Jack
Oxenford. He is perfectly capable of abusing an unprotected woman, or
an old man if he had a crowd of friends behind to sick him on. Oh, he’s
a cur all right; for when I told him that he was whelped under a house,
he never resented it. He loves me all right, or has good cause to. Why,
I bent the cylinder pin of a new six-shooter over his head when he had
a gun on him, and he forgot to use it. I don’t expect any trouble, but
if you don’t look a sneaking cur right in the eye, he may slip up
behind and bite you.”
After making arrangements to turn in two hundred beeves on our second
contingent, and send a man with them to the coast, Hunter returned
home. There was no special programme for the interim until gathering
the beeves commenced, yet on a big ranch like Las Palomas there is
always work. While Deweese finished curbing the well in which Ortez
lost his life, I sawed off and cut new threads on all the rods and
piping belonging to that particular windmill. With a tireless energy
for one of his years, Uncle Lance rode the range, until he could have
told at a distance one half his holdings of cattle by flesh marks
alone. A few days before the date set for the trial, Enrique brought in
word one evening that an outfit of strange men were encamped north of
the river on the Ganso Tract. The vaquero was unable to make out their
business, but was satisfied they were not there for pleasure, so my
employer and I made an early start the next morning to see who the
campers were. On the extreme northwestern corner of our range, fully
twenty-five miles from headquarters, we met them and found they were a
corps of engineers, running a preliminary survey for a railroad. They
were in the employ of the International and Great Northern Company,
which was then contemplating extending their line to some point on the
Rio Grande. While there was nothing definite in this prior survey, it
sounded a note of warning; for the course they were running would carry
the line up the Ganso on the south side of the river, passing between
the new tanks, and leaving our range through a sag in the hills on the
south end of the grant. The engineer in charge very courteously
informed my employer that he was under instructions to run, from San
Antonio to different points on the river, three separate lines during
the present summer. He also informed us that the other two preliminary
surveys would be run farther west, and there was a possibility that the
Las Palomas lands would be missed entirely, a prospect that was very
gratifying to Uncle Lance.
“Tom,” said he, as we rode away, “I’ve been dreading this very thing
for years. It was my wish that I would never live to see the necessity
of fencing our lands, and to-day a railroad survey is being run across
Las Palomas. I had hoped that when I died, this valley would be an open
range and as primitive as the day of my coming to it. Here a railroad
threatens our peace, and the signs are on every hand that we’ll have to
fence to protect ourselves. But let it come, for we can’t stop it. If
I’m spared, within the next year, I’ll secure every tract of land for
sale adjoining the ranch if it costs me a dollar an acre. Then if it
comes to the pinch, Las Palomas will have, for all time, land and to
spare. You haven’t noticed the changes in the country, but nearly all
this chaparral has grown up, and the timber is twice as heavy along the
river as when I first settled here. I hate the sight even of a
necessity like a windmill, and God knows we have no need of a railroad.
To a ranch that doesn’t sell fat beeves over once in ten years,
transportation is the least of its troubles.”
About dusk on the evening of the day preceding the trial, June Deweese
and I rode into Shepherd’s, expecting to remain overnight. Shortly
after our arrival, Tony Hunter hastily came in and informed us that he
had been unable to get hotel accommodations for his wife and Esther in
Oakville, and had it not been that they had old friends in the village,
all of them would have had to return to the ferry for the night. These
friends of the McLeod family told Hunter that the stage people had
coerced the two hotels into refusing them, and had otherwise prejudiced
the community in Oxenford’s favor. Hunter had learned also that the
junior member of the stage firm had collected a crowd of hangers-on,
and being liberal in the use of money, had convinced the rabble of the
village that he was an innocent and injured party. The attorney for
Esther had arrived, and had cautioned every one interested on their
side of the case to be reserved and careful under every circumstance,
as they had a bitter fight on their hands.
The next morning all three of us rode into the village. Court had been
in session over a week, and the sheriff had sworn in several deputies
to preserve the peace, as there was considerable bitterness between
litigants outside the divorce case. These under-sheriffs made it a
point to see that every one put aside his arms on reaching the town,
and tried as far as lay in their power to maintain the peace. During
the early days of the reconstruction regime, before opening the term
the presiding judge had frequently called on the state for a company of
Texas Rangers to preserve order and enforce the mandates of the court.
But in ’79 there seemed little occasion for such a display of force,
and a few fearless officers were considered sufficient. On reaching the
village, we rode to the house where the women were awaiting us.
Fortunately there was ample corral room at the stable, so we were
independent of hostelries and liveries. Mrs. Hunter was the very
reverse of her husband, being a timid woman, while poor Esther was very
nervous under the dread of the coming trial. But we cheered them with
our presence, and by the time court opened, they had recovered their
composure.
Our party numbered four women and five men. Esther lacked several
summers of being as old as her sister, while I was by five years the
youngest of the men, and naturally looked to my elders for leadership.
Having left our arms at the house, we entered the court-room in as
decorous and well-behaved a manner as if it had been a house of worship
and this a Sabbath morning. A peculiar stillness pervaded the room,
which could have been mistaken as an omen of peace, or the tension
similar to the lull before a battle. Personally I was composed, but as
I allowed my eyes from time to time to rest upon Esther, she had never
seemed so near and dear to me as in that opening hour of court. She
looked very pale, and moved by the subtle power of love, I vowed that
should any harm come to or any insulting word be spoken of her, my
vengeance would be sure and swift.
Court convened, and the case was called. As might have been expected,
the judge held that under the pleadings it was not a jury case. The
panel was accordingly excused for the day, and joined those curiously
inclined in the main body of the room. The complaining witnesses were
called, and under direct examination the essential facts were brought
forth, laying the foundation for a legal separation. The plaintiff was
the last witness to testify. As she told her simple story, a hushed
silence fell over the room, every spectator, from the judge on the
bench to the sheriff, being eager to catch every syllable of the
recital. But as in duty bound to a client, the attorney for the
defendant, a young man who had come from San Antonio to conduct the
case, opened a sharp cross-questioning. As the examination proceeded,
an altercation between the attorneys was prevented only by the presence
of the sheriff and deputies. Before the inquiry progressed, the
attorney for the plaintiff apologized to the court, pleading
extenuating circumstances in the offense offered to his client. Under
his teachings, he informed the court, the purity of womanhood was above
suspicion, and no man who wished to be acknowledged as a gentleman
among his equals would impugn or question the statement of a lady. The
witness on the stand was more to him than an ordinary client, as her
father and himself had been young men together, had volunteered under
the same flag, his friend offering up his life in its defense, and he
spared to carry home the news of an unmarked grave on a Southern
battle-field. It was a privilege to him to offer his assistance and
counsel to-day to a daughter of an old comrade, and any one who had the
temerity to offer an affront to this witness would be held to a
personal account for his conduct.
The first day was consumed in taking testimony. The defense introduced
much evidence in rebuttal. Without regard to the truth or their oaths,
a line of witnesses were introduced who contradicted every essential
point of the plaintiff’s case. When the credibility of their testimony
was attacked, they sought refuge in the technicalities of the law, and
were supported by rulings of the presiding judge. When Oxenford took
the stand in his own behalf, there were not a dozen persons present who
believed the perjured statements which fell from his lips. Yet when his
testimony was subjected to a rigid cross-questioning, every attempt to
reach the truth precipitated a controversy between attorneys as bitter
as it was personal. That the defendant at the bar had escaped
prosecution for swindling the government out of large sums of money for
a mail service never performed was well known to every one present,
including the judge, yet he was allowed to testify against the
character of a woman pure as a child, while his own past was protected
from exposure by rulings from the bench.
When the evidence was all in, court adjourned until the following day.
That evening our trio, after escorting the women to the home of their
friend, visited every drinking resort, hotel, and public house in the
village, meeting groups of Oxenford’s witnesses, even himself as he
dispensed good cheer to his henchmen. But no one dared to say a
discourteous word, and after amusing ourselves by a few games of
billiards, we mounted our horses and returned to Shepherd’s for the
night. As we rode along leisurely, all three of us admitted misgivings
as to the result, for it was clear that the court had favored the
defense. Yet we had a belief that the statutory grounds were
sufficient, and on that our hopes hung.
The next morning found our party in court at the opening hour. The
entire forenoon was occupied by the attorney for the plaintiff in
reviewing the evidence, analyzing and weighing every particle, showing
an insight into human motives which proved him a master in his
profession. After the noon recess, the young lawyer from the city
addressed the court for two hours, his remarks running from bombast to
flights of oratory, and from eulogies upon his client to praise of the
unimpeachable credibility of the witnesses for the defense. In
concluding, the older lawyer prefaced his remarks by alluding to the
divine intent in the institution of marriage, and contending that of
the two, women were morally the better. In showing the influence of the
stronger upon the weaker sex, he asserted that it was in the power of
the man to lift the woman or to sink her into despair. In his
peroration he rose to the occasion, and amid breathless silence, facing
the court, who quailed before him, demanded whether this was a temple
of justice. Replying to his own interrogatory, he dipped his brush in
the sunshine of life, and sketched a throne with womanhood enshrined
upon it. While chivalry existed among men, it mattered little, he said,
as to the decrees of courts, for in that higher tribunal, human hearts,
woman would remain forever in control. At his conclusion, women were
hysterical, and men were aroused from their usual languor by the
eloquence of the speaker. Had the judge rendered an adverse decision at
that moment, he would have needed protection; for to the men of the
South it was innate to be chivalrous to womanhood. But the court was
cautious, and after announcing that he would take the case under
advisement until morning, adjourned for the day.
All during the evening men stood about in small groups and discussed
the trial. The consensus of opinion was favorable to the plaintiff. But
in order to offset public opinion, Oxenford and a squad of followers
made the rounds of the public places, offering to wager any sum of
money that the decree would not be granted. Since feeling was running
rather high, our little party avoided the other faction, and as we were
under the necessity of riding out to the ferry for accommodation,
concluded to start earlier than the evening before. After saddling, we
rode around the square, and at the invitation of Deweese dismounted
before a public house for a drink and a cigar before starting. We were
aware that the town was against us, and to maintain a bold front was a
matter of necessity. Unbuckling our belts in compliance with the
sheriff’s orders, we hung our six-shooters on the pommels of our
saddles and entered the bar-room. Other customers were being waited on,
and several minutes passed before we were served. The place was rather
crowded, and as we were being waited on, a rabble of roughs surged
through a rear door, led by Jack Oxenford. He walked up to within two
feet of me where I stood at the counter, and apparently addressing the
barkeeper, as we were charging our glasses, said in a defiant tone:—
“I’ll bet a thousand dollars Judge Thornton refuses to grant a
separation between my wife and me.”
The words flashed through me like an electric shock, and understanding
the motive, I turned on the speaker and with the palm of my hand dealt
him a slap in the face that sent him staggering back into the arms of
his friends. Never before or since have I felt the desire to take human
life which possessed me at that instant. With no means of defense in my
possession but a penknife, I backed away from him, he doing the like,
and both keeping close to the bar, which was about twenty feet long. In
one hand I gripped the open-bladed pocket knife, and, with the other
behind my back, retreated to my end of the counter as did Oxenford to
his, never taking our eyes off each other. On reaching his end of the
bar, I noticed the barkeeper going through motions that looked like
passing him a gun, and in the same instant some friend behind me laid
the butt of a pistol in my hand behind my back. Dropping the knife, I
shifted the six-shooter to my right hand, and, advancing on the object
of my hate, fired in such rapid succession that I was unable to tell
even whether my fire was being returned. When my gun was empty, the
intervening clouds of smoke prevented any view of my adversary; but my
lust for his life was only intensified when, on turning to my friends,
I saw Deweese supporting Hunter in his arms. Knowing that one or the
other had given me the pistol, I begged them for another to finish my
work. But at that moment the smoke arose sufficiently to reveal my
enemy crippling down at the farther end of the bar, a smoking pistol in
his hand. As Oxenford sank to the floor, several of his friends ran to
his side, and Deweese, noticing the movement, rallied the wounded man
in his arms. Shaking him until his eyes opened, June, exultingly as a
savage, cried, “Tony, for God’s sake stand up just a moment longer.
Yonder he lies. Let me carry you over so you can watch the cur die.”
Turning to me he continued: “Tom, you’ve got your man. Run for your
life; don’t let them get you.”
Passing out of the house during the excitement, I was in my saddle in
an instant, riding like a fiend for Shepherd’s. The sun was nearly an
hour high, and with a good horse under me, I covered the ten miles to
the ferry in less than an hour. Portions of the route were sheltered by
timber along the river, but once as I crossed a rise opposite a large
bend, I sighted a posse in pursuit several miles to the rear. On
reaching Shepherd’s, fortunately for me a single horse stood at the
hitch-rack. The merchant and owner of the horse came to the door as I
dashed up, and never offering a word of explanation, I changed horses.
Luckily the owner of the horse was Red Earnest, a friend of mine, and
feeling that they would not have long to wait for explanations, I shook
out the reins and gave him the rowel. I knew the country, and soon left
the river road, taking an air-line course for Las Palomas, which I
reached within two hours after nightfall. In few and profane words, I
explained the situation to my employer, and asked for a horse that
would put the Rio Grande behind me before morning. A number were on
picket near by, and several of the boys ran for the best mounts
available. A purse was forced into my pocket, well filled with gold.
Meanwhile I had in my possession an extra six-shooter, and now that I
had a moment’s time to notice it, recognized the gun as belonging to
Tony Hunter. Filling the empty chambers, and waving a farewell to my
friends, I passed out by the rear and reached the saddle shed, where a
well-known horse was being saddled by dexterous hands. Once on his
back, I soon passed the eighty miles between me and the Rio Grande,
which I swam on my horse the next morning within an hour after sunrise.