In the fall of 1876, when my father, J. T. Estill, and a lawyer friend,
D. Y. Portis, who had both been attending district court in Mason, were
on their way in a two-horse buggy to court in Menardville, Mr. Portis
related to my father “the true story” of the fabulous Bowie Mine. Mr.
Portis, an elderly man of perhaps seventy years, was a typical old
Southland planter who owned a large farm in Brazoria County. He was a
learned man and splendid at repartee; so the two companions, jogging
slowly along the long trail to Menard, kept up a lively conversation;
while now and then the woods resounded with their hearty laughter.
About fifteen miles from Mason, the soil suddenly changes from a light
color to a deep red; and, as the travelers approached this “divide,”
father remarked: “This is the beginning of the Red Hill region of the
San Saba. We must be in the neighborhood of the old Bowie Mine.”
Quick as a flash his companion answered: “The Bowie Mine is all a myth.
I was personally acquainted with a man who, I knew, had been with Bowie
on his expedition into the San Saba hills. One evening when a crowd of
us young fellows were smoking our pipes around the fire, this old
adventurer related unusually marvelous tales of the Bowie Mine and its
rich silver ore, which, he said, could just be ‘hacked off with a
hatchet.’ The entire crowd became wild with enthusiasm in consequence
of his tales, and immediately resolved to fit out an expedition to
search for the lost mine. Wagons, teams, and supplies to last several
months were gathered, guards were hired to protect us from the Indians,
and we set out confidently to seek the mine.”
About this time my father and Mr. Portis reached a place on the road
overlooking the valley of the San Saba River; whereupon Mr. Portis
expressed surprise that the country had changed so little and pointed
out several places where the searching party had camped. Presently he
continued: “The old guide would tell our party where to camp; and when
camp had been pitched, he would go out into the woods, sometimes
remaining all day, presumably hunting for the lost mine. Then we would
move and the search would begin all over again.
“Thus the search continued for four or five days without any results.
Finally, the party concluded either that the old man knew nothing
whatever of the Bowie Mine, or that he would not tell. So the leaders
of the expedition took him aside and forcibly expressed their opinions
to him, saying that now if he knew where the mine was located, he must
tell them—or hang.
“The old guide then broke down and cried: ‘There is no Bowie Mine! It
is true that I was with Bowie on his expedition into the hill country,
but, candidly, we found no mine. The Indians attacked our party, and I
was one of the few that escaped. Then I commenced telling the story of
the fabulous mine. And I’ve told it so often that I have actually got
to believing it myself. Gentlemen, I have told you the truth. Hang me
if you will.’
“Needless to say, the foolish young silver seekers returned to the
Brazos bottom, disappointed, yet determined never to tell of their
failure to find the famous Bowie Mine.”