"ACROSS THE SABINE."
At the time when Texas was an independent Republic, and not, as now, a
State of the Federal Union, the phrase, "Across the Sabine" was one of
noted signification.
Its significance lay in the fact, that fugitives from States' justice,
once over the Sabine, felt themselves safe; extradition laws being
somewhat loose in the letter, and more so in the spirit, at any attempt
made to carry them into execution.
As a consequence, the fleeing malefactor could breathe freely--even the
murderer imagine the weight of guilt lifted from off his soul--the
moment his foot touched Texan soil.
On a morning of early spring--the season when settlers most affect
migration to the Lone Star State--a party of horsemen is seen crossing
the boundary river, with faces turned toward Texas. The place where
they are making passage is not the usual emigrants' crossing--on the old
Spanish military road between Natchitoches and Nacogdoches,--but several
miles above, at a point where the stream is, at certain seasons,
fordable. From the Louisiana side this ford is approached through a
tract of heavy timber, mostly pine forest, along a trail little used by
travellers, still less by those who enter Texas with honest intent, or
leave Louisiana with unblemished reputations.
That these horsemen belong not to either category can be told at a
glance. They have no waggons, nor other wheeled vehicles, to give them
the semblance of emigrants; no baggage to embarrass them on their march.
Without it, they might be explorers, land speculators, surveyors, or
hunters. But no. They have not the look of persons who pursue any of
these callings; no semblance of aught honest or honourable. In all
there are twelve of them; among them not a face but speaks of the
Penitentiary--not one which does not brighten up, and show more
cheerful, as the hooves of their horses strike the Texan bank of the
Sabine.
While on the _terrain_ of Louisiana, they have been riding fast and
hard--silent, and with pent-up thoughts, as though pursuers were after.
Once on the Texan side all seem relieved, as if conscious of having at
length reached a haven of safety.
Then he who appears leader of the party, reining up his horse, breaks
silence, saying--
"Boys! I reckon we may take a spell o' rest here. We're now in Texas,
whar freemen needn't feel afeard. If thar's been any fools followin'
us, I guess they'll take care to keep on t'other side o' the river.
Tharfor, let's dismount and have a bit o' breakfast under the shadder o'
these trees. After we've done that, we can talk about what shed be our
next move. For my part, I feel sleepy as a 'possum. That ar licker o'
Naketosh allers knocks me up for a day or two. This time, our young
friend Quantrell here, has given us a double dose, the which I for one
won't get over in a week."
It is scarcely necessary to say the speaker is Jim Borlasse, and those
spoken to his drinking companions in the Choctaw Chief.
To a man, they all make affirmative response. Like himself, they too
are fatigued--dead done up by being all night in the saddle,--to say
nought about the debilitating effects of their debauch, and riding
rapidly with beard upon the shoulder, under the apprehension that a
sheriff and posse may be coming on behind. For, during the period of
their sojourn in Natchitoches, nearly every one of them has committed
some crime that renders him amenable to the laws.
It may be wondered how such roughs could carry on and escape
observation, much more, punishment. But at the time Natchitoches was a
true frontier town, and almost every day witnessed the arrival and
departure of characters "queer" as to dress and discipline--the trappers
and prairie traders. Like the sailor in port, when paid off and with
full pockets--making every effort to deplete them--so is the trapper
during his stay at a fort, or settlement. He does things that seem odd,
are odd, to the extreme of eccentricity. Among such the late guests of
the Choctaw Chief would not, and did not, attract particular attention.
Not much was said or thought of them, till after they were gone; and
then but by those who had been victimised, resignedly abandoning claims
and losses with the laconic remark, "The scoundrels have G.T.T."
It was supposed the assassin of Charles Clancy had gone with them; but
this, affecting the authorities more than the general public, was left
to the former to deal with; and in a land of many like affairs, soon
ceased to be spoken of.
Borlasse's visit to Natchitoches had not been for mere pleasure. It was
business that took him thither--to concoct a scheme of villainy such as
might be supposed unknown among Anglo-Saxon people, and practised only
by those of Latinic descent, on the southern side of the Rio Grande.
But robbery is not confined to any race; and on the borderland of Texas
may be encountered brigandage as rife and ruthless as among the
mountains of the Sierra Morena, or the defiles of the Appenines.
That the Texan bandit has succeeded in arranging everything to his
satisfaction may be learnt from his hilarious demeanour, with the speech
now addressed to his associates:--
"Boys!" he says, calling them around after they have finished eating,
and are ready to ride on, "We've got a big thing before us--one that'll
beat horse-ropin' all to shucks. Most o' ye, I reckin, know what I
mean; 'ceptin', perhaps, our friends here, who've just joined us."
The speaker looks towards Phil Quantrell _alias_ Dick Darke, and
another, named Walsh, whom he knows to be Joe Harkness, ex-jailer.