side would take a hand when the swimming wolves came within range of
shotguns and carbines, to say nothing of six-shooters. The current
carried the swimming ones down the river, but every man was in
readiness to give them a welcome. The fusillade which greeted them was
like a skirmish-line in action, but the most effective execution was
with buckshot as they came staggering and water-soaked out of the
water. Before the shooting across the river had ceased, a yell of alarm
surged through the line, and the next moment every man was climbing
into his saddle and bringing his arms into position for action. No
earthly power could have controlled the men, for coming at the line
less than two hundred yards distant was the corralled band of wolves
under the leadership of a monster dog wolf, evidently a leader of some
band, and every gun within range opened on them. By the time they had
lessened the intervening distance by one half, the entire band deserted
their leader and retreated, but unmindful of consequences he rushed
forward at the line. Every gun was belching fire and lead at him, while
tufts of fur floating in the air told that several shots were
effective. Wounded he met the horsemen, striking right and left in
splendid savage ferocity. The horses snorted and shrank from him, and
several suffered from his ugly thrusts. An occasional effective shot
was placed, but every time he forced his way through the cordon he was
confronted by a second line. A successful cast of a rope finally
checked his course; and as the roper wheeled his mount to drag him to
death, he made his last final rush at the horse, and, springing at the
flank, fastened his fangs into a stirrup fender, when a well-directed
shot by the roper silenced him safely at last.
During the excitement, there were enough cool heads to maintain the
line, so that none escaped. The supreme question now was to make the
kill with safety, and the line was ransacked for volunteers who could
shoot a rifle with some little accuracy. About a dozen were secured,
who again advanced on the extreme right flank to within a hundred and
fifty yards, and dismounting, flattened themselves out and opened on
the skurrying wolves. It was afterward attributed to the glaring of the
sun on the white sand, which made their marksmanship so shamefully
poor, but results were very unsatisfactory. They were recalled, and it
was decided to send in four shotguns and try the effect of buckshot
from horseback. This move was disastrous, though final.
They were ordinary double-barreled shotguns, and reloading was slow in
an emergency. Many of the wolves were wounded and had sought such cover
as the driftwood afforded. The experiment had barely begun, when a
wounded wolf sprang out from behind an old root, and fastened upon the
neck of one of the horses before the rider could defend himself, and
the next moment horse and rider were floundering on the ground. To a
man, the line broke to the rescue, while the horses of the two lady
spectators were carried into the mêlée in the excitement. The dogs of
war were loosed. Hell popped. The smoke of six hundred guns arose in
clouds. There were wolves swimming the river and wolves trotting around
amongst the horses, wounded and bewildered. Ropes swished through the
smoke, tying wounded wolves to be dragged to death or trampled under
hoof. Men dismounted and clubbed them with shotguns and
carbines,—anything to administer death. Horses were powder-burnt and
cried with fear, or neighed exultingly. There was an old man or two who
had sense enough to secure the horses of the ladies and lead them out
of immediate danger. Several wolves made their escape, and squads of
horsemen were burying cruel rowels in heaving flanks in an endeavor to
overtake and either rope or shoot the fleeing animals.
Disordered things as well as ordered ones have an end, and when sanity
returned to the mob an inventory was taken of the drive-hunt. By actual
count, the lifeless carcases of twenty-six wolves graced the sand bar,
with several precincts to hear from. The promoters of the hunt thanked
the men for their assistance, assuring them that the bounty money would
be used to perfect arrangements, so that in other years a banquet would
crown future hunts. Before the hunt dispersed, Edwards and his squad
returned to the brink of the cut-bank, and when hailed as to results,
he replied, “Why, we only got seven, but they are all _muy docil_.
We’re going to peel them and will meet you at the ford.”
“Who gets the turkey?” some one asked.
“The question is out of order,” replied Reese. “The property is not
present, because I sent him home by my cook an hour ago. If any of you
have any interest in that gobbler, I’ll invite you to go home with me
and help to eat him, for my camp is the only one in the Strip that will
have turkey and egg-nog to-night.”
V
A COLLEGE VAGABOND
The ease and apparent willingness with which some men revert to an
aimless life can best be accounted for by the savage or barbarian
instincts of our natures. The West has produced many types of the
vagabond,—it might be excusable to say, won them from every condition
of society. From the cultured East, with all the advantages which
wealth and educational facilities can give to her sons, they flocked;
from the South, with her pride of ancestry, they came; even the British
Isles contributed their quota. There was something in the primitive
West of a generation or more ago which satisfied them. Nowhere else
could it be found, and once they adapted themselves to existing
conditions, they were loath to return to former associations.
About the middle of the fifties, there graduated from one of our
Eastern colleges a young man of wealthy and distinguished family. His
college record was good, but close application to study during the last
year had told on his general health. His ambition, coupled with a
laudable desire to succeed, had buoyed up his strength until the final
graduation day had passed.
Alexander Wells had the advantage of a good physical constitution.
During the first year at college his reputation as an athlete had been
firmly established by many a hard fought contest in the college games.
The last two years he had not taken an active part in them, as his
studies had required his complete attention. On his return home, it was
thought by parents and sisters that rest and recreation would soon
restore the health of this overworked young graduate, who was now two
years past his majority. Two months of rest, however, failed to produce
any improvement, but the family physician would not admit that there
was immediate danger, and declared the trouble simply the result of
overstudy, advising travel. This advice was very satisfactory to the
young man, for he had a longing to see other sections of the country.
The elder Wells some years previously had become interested in western
and southern real estate, and among other investments which he had made
was the purchase of an old Spanish land grant on a stream called the
Salado, west of San Antonio, Texas. These land grants were made by the
crown of Spain to favorite subjects. They were known by name, which
they always retained when changing ownership. Some of these tracts were
princely domains, and were bartered about as though worthless, often
changing owners at the card-table.
So when travel was suggested to Wells, junior, he expressed a desire to
visit this family possession, and possibly spend a winter in its warm
climate. This decision was more easily reached from the fact that there
was an abundance of game on the land, and being a devoted sportsman,
his own consent was secured in advance. No other reason except that of
health would ever have gained the consent of his mother to a six
months’ absence. But within a week after reaching the decision, the
young man had left New York and was on his way to Texas. His route,
both by water and rail, brought him only within eighty miles of his
destination, and the rest of the distance he was obliged to travel by
stage.
San Antonio at this time was a frontier village, with a mixed
population, the Mexican being the most prominent inhabitant. There was
much to be seen which was new and attractive to the young Easterner,
and he tarried in it several days, enjoying its novel and picturesque
life. The arrival and departure of the various stage lines for the
accommodation of travelers like himself was of more than passing
interest. They rattled in from Austin and Laredo. They were sometimes
late from El Paso, six hundred miles to the westward. Probably a brush
with the Indians, or the more to be dreaded Mexican bandits (for these
stages carried treasure—gold and silver, the currency of the country),
was the cause of the delay. Frequently they carried guards, whose
presence was generally sufficient to command the respect of the average
robber.
Then there were the freight trains, the motive power of which was mules
and oxen. It was necessary to carry forward supplies and bring back the
crude products of the country. The Chihuahua wagon was drawn sometimes
by twelve, sometimes by twenty mules, four abreast in the swing, the
leaders and wheelers being single teams. For mutual protection trains
were made up of from ten to twenty wagons. Drivers frequently meeting a
chance acquaintance going in an opposite direction would ask, “What is
your cargo?” and the answer would be frankly given, “Specie.” Many a
Chihuahua wagon carried three or four tons of gold and silver,
generally the latter. Here was a new book for this college lad, one he
had never studied, though it was more interesting to him than some he
had read. There was something thrilling in all this new life. He liked
it. The romance was real; it was not an imitation. People answered his
few questions and asked none in return.
In this frontier village at a late hour one night young Wells overheard
this conversation: “Hello, Bill,” said the case-keeper in a faro game,
as he turned his head halfway round to see who was the owner of the
monster hand which had just reached over his shoulder and placed a
stack of silver dollars on a card, marking it to win, “I’ve missed you
the last few days. Where have you been so long?”
“Oh, I’ve just been out to El Paso on a little pasear guarding the
stage,” was the reply. Now the little pasear was a continuous night and
day round-trip of twelve hundred miles. Bill had slept and eaten as he
could. When mounted, he scouted every possible point of ambush for
lurking Indian or bandit. Crossing open stretches of country, he
climbed up on the stage and slept. Now having returned, he was anxious
to get his wages into circulation. Here were characters worthy of a
passing glance.
Interesting as this frontier life was to the young man, he prepared for
his final destination. He had no trouble in locating his father’s
property, for it was less than twenty miles from San Antonio. Securing
an American who spoke Spanish, the two set out on horseback. There were
several small ranchitos on the tract, where five or six Mexican
families lived. Each family had a field and raised corn for bread. A
flock of goats furnished them milk and meat. The same class of people
in older States were called squatters, making no claim to ownership of
the land. They needed little clothing, the climate being in their
favor.
The men worked at times. The pecan crop which grew along the creek
bottoms was beginning to have a value in the coast towns for shipment
to northern markets, and this furnished them revenue for their simple
needs. All kinds of game was in abundance, including waterfowl in
winter, though winter here was only such in name. These simple people
gave a welcome to the New Yorker which appeared sincere. They offered
no apology for their presence on this land, nor was such in order, for
it was the custom of the country. They merely referred to themselves as
“his people,” as though belonging to the land.
When they learned that he was the son of the owner of the grant, and
that he wanted to spend a few months hunting and looking about, they
considered themselves honored. The best jacal in the group was tendered
him and his interpreter. The food offered was something new, but the
relish with which his companion partook of it assisted young Wells in
overcoming his scruples, and he ate a supper of dishes he had never
tasted before. The coffee he declared was delicious.
On the advice of his companion they had brought along blankets. The
women of the ranchito brought other bedding, and a comfortable bed soon
awaited the Americanos. The owner of the jacal in the mean time
informed his guest through the interpreter that he had sent to a
near-by ranchito for a man who had at least the local reputation of
being quite a hunter. During the interim, while awaiting the arrival of
the man, he plied his guest with many questions regarding the outside
world, of which his ideas were very simple, vague, and extremely
provincial. His conception of distance was what he could ride in a
given number of days on a good pony. His ideas of wealth were no
improvement over those of his Indian ancestors of a century previous.
In architecture, the jacal in which they sat satisfied his ideals.
The footsteps of a horse interrupted their conversation. A few moments
later, Tiburcio, the hunter, was introduced to the two Americans with a
profusion of politeness. There was nothing above the ordinary in the
old hunter, except his hair, eyes, and swarthy complexion, which
indicated his Aztec ancestry. It might be in perfect order to remark
here that young Wells was perfectly composed, almost indifferent to the
company and surroundings. He shook hands with Tiburcio in a manner as
dignified, yet agreeable, as though he was the governor of his native
State or the minister of some prominent church at home. From this
juncture, he at once took the lead in the conversation, and kept up a
line of questions, the answers to which were very gratifying. He
learned that deer were very plentiful everywhere, and that on this very
tract of land were several wild turkey roosts, where it was no trouble
to bag any number desired. On the prairie portion of the surrounding
country could be found large droves of antelope. During drouthy periods
they were known to come twenty miles to quench their thirst in the
Salado, which was the main watercourse of this grant. Once Tiburcio
assured his young patron that he had frequently counted a thousand
antelope during a single morning. Then there was also the javeline or
peccary which abounded in endless numbers, but it was necessary to hunt
them with dogs, as they kept the thickets and came out in the open only
at night. Many a native cur met his end hunting these animals, cut to
pieces with their tusks, so that packs, trained for the purpose, were
used to bay them until the hunter could arrive and dispatch them with a
rifle. Even this was always done from horseback, as it was dangerous to
approach the javeline, for they would, when aroused, charge anything.
All this was gratifying to young Wells, and like a congenial fellow, he
produced and showed the old hunter a new gun, the very latest model in
the market, explaining its good qualities through his interpreter.
Tiburcio handled it as if it were a rare bit of millinery, but managed
to ask its price and a few other questions. Through his companion,
Wells then engaged the old hunter’s services for the following day; not
that he expected to hunt, but he wanted to acquaint himself with the
boundaries of the land and to become familiar with the surrounding
country. Naming an hour for starting in the morning, the two men shook
hands and bade each other good-night, each using his own language to
express the parting, though neither one knew a word the other said. The
first link in a friendship not soon to be broken had been forged.
Tiburcio was on hand at the appointed hour in the morning, and being
joined by the two Americans they rode off up the stream. It was
October, and the pecans, they noticed, were already falling, as they
passed through splendid groves of this timber, several times
dismounting to fill their pockets with nuts. Tiburcio frequently called
attention to fresh deer tracks near the creek bottom, and shortly
afterward the first game of the day was sighted. Five or six does and
grown fawns broke cover and ran a short distance, stopped, looked at
the horsemen, and then capered away.
Riding to the highest ground in the vicinity, they obtained a splendid
view of the stream, outlined by the foliage of the pecan groves that
lined its banks as far as the eye could follow either way. Tiburcio
pointed out one particular grove lying three or four miles farther up
the creek. Here he said was a cabin which had been built by a white man
who had left it several years ago, and which he had often used as a
hunting camp in bad weather. Feeling his way cautiously, Wells asked
the old hunter if he were sure that this cabin was on and belonged to
the grant. Being assured on both points, he then inquired if there was
anything to hinder him from occupying the hut for a few months. On the
further assurance that there was no man to dispute his right, he began
plying his companions with questions. The interpreter told him that it
was a very common and simple thing for men to batch, enumerating the
few articles he would need for this purpose.
They soon reached the cabin, which proved to be an improvement over the
ordinary jacal of the country, as it had a fireplace and chimney. It
was built of logs; the crevices were chinked with clay for mortar, its
floor being of the same substance. The only Mexican feature it
possessed was the thatched roof. While the Americans were examining it
and its surroundings, Tiburcio unsaddled the horses, picketing one and
hobbling the other two, kindled a fire, and prepared a lunch from some
articles he had brought along. The meal, consisting of coffee, chipped
venison, and a thin wafer bread made from corn and reheated over coals,
was disposed of with relish. The two Americans sauntered around for
some distance, and on their return to the cabin found Tiburcio enjoying
his siesta under a near-by pecan tree.
Their horses refreshed and rested, they resaddled, crossing the stream,
intending to return to the ranchito by evening. After leaving the
bottoms of the creek, Tiburcio showed the young man a trail made by the
javeline, and he was surprised to learn that an animal with so small a
foot was a dangerous antagonist, on account of its gregarious nature.
Proceeding they came to several open prairies, in one of which they saw
a herd of antelope, numbering forty to fifty, making a beautiful sight
as they took fright and ran away. Young Wells afterward learned that
distance lent them charms and was the greatest factor in their beauty.
As they rode from one vantage-point to another for the purpose of
sight-seeing, the afternoon passed rapidly.
Later, through the interpreter he inquired of Tiburcio if his services
could be secured as guide, cook, and companion for the winter, since he
had fully made up his mind to occupy the cabin. Tiburcio was overjoyed
at the proposition, as it was congenial to his tastes, besides carrying
a compensation. Definite arrangements were now made with him, and he
was requested to be on hand in the morning. On reaching the ranchito,
young Wells’s decision was announced to their host of the night
previous, much to the latter’s satisfaction. During the evening the two
Americans planned to return to the village in the morning for the
needed supplies. Tiburcio was on hand at the appointed time, and here
unconsciously the young man fortified himself in the old hunter’s
confidence by intrusting him with the custody of his gun, blankets, and
several other articles until he should return.
A week later found the young hunter established in the cabin with the
interpreter and Tiburcio. A wagon-load of staple supplies was snugly
stored away for future use, and they were at peace with the world. By
purchase Wells soon had several saddle ponies, and the old hunter
adding his pack of javeline dogs, they found themselves well equipped
for the winter campaign.
Hunting, in which the young man was an apt scholar, was now the order
of the day. Tiburcio was an artist in woodcraft as well as in his
knowledge of the habits of animals and birds. On chilly or disagreeable
days they would take out the pack of dogs and beat the thickets for the
javeline. It was exciting sport to bring to bay a drove of these
animals. To shoot from horseback lent a charm, yet made aim uncertain,
nor was it advisable to get too close range. Many a young dog made a
fatal mistake in getting too near this little animal, and the doctoring
of crippled dogs became a daily duty. All surplus game was sent to the
ranchito below, where it was always appreciated.
At first the young man wrote regularly long letters home, but as it
took Tiburcio a day to go to the post-office, he justified himself in
putting writing off, sometimes several weeks, because it ruined a whole
day and tired out a horse to mail a letter. Hardships were enjoyed.
They thought nothing of spending a whole night going from one turkey
roost to another, if half a dozen fine birds were the reward. They
would saddle up in the evening and ride ten miles, sleeping out all
night by a fire in order to stalk a buck at daybreak, having located
his range previously.
Thus the winter passed, and as the limit of the young man’s vacation
was near at hand, Wells wrote home pleading for more time, telling his
friends how fast he was improving, and estimating that it would take at
least six months more to restore him fully to his former health. This
request being granted, he contented himself by riding about the
country, even visiting cattle ranches south on the Frio River. Now and
then he would ride into San Antonio for a day or two, but there was
nothing new to be seen there, and his visits were brief. He had
acquired a sufficient knowledge of Spanish to get along now without an
interpreter.
When the summer was well spent, he began to devise some excuse to give
his parents for remaining another winter. Accordingly he wrote his
father what splendid opportunities there were to engage in cattle
ranching, going into detail very intelligently in regard to the grasses
on the tract and the fine opportunity presented for establishing a
ranch. The water privileges, the faithfulness of Tiburcio, and other
minor matters were fully set forth, and he concluded by advising that
they buy or start a brand of cattle on this grant. His father’s reply
was that he should expect his son to return as soon as the state of his
health would permit. He wished to be a dutiful son, yet he wished to
hunt just one more winter.
So he felt that he must make another tack to gain his point. Following
letters noted no improvement in his health. Now, as the hunting season
was near at hand, he found it convenient to bargain with a renegade
doctor, who, for the consideration offered, wrote his parents that
their son had recently consulted him to see if it would be advisable to
return to a rigorous climate in his present condition. Professionally
he felt compelled to advise him not to think of leaving Texas for at
least another year. To supplement this, the son wrote that he hoped to
be able to go home in the early spring. This had the desired effect.
Any remorse of conscience he may have felt over the deception resorted
to was soon forgotten in following a pack of hounds or stalking deer,
for hunting now became the order of the day. The antlered buck was
again in his prime. His favorite range was carefully noted. Very few
hunts were unrewarded by at least one or more shots at this noble
animal. With an occasional visitor, the winter passed as had the
previous one. Some congenial spirit would often spend a few days with
them, and his departure was always sincerely regretted.