When we arrived at Fredricksburg, sixty-five miles west of Austin, where
Mr. Zabriskie left us for San Antonio, we stopped at Nimmit’s Hotel for
a day’s rest, and Mrs. Mills and I were given a room upstairs. During
the day I met in the hall of the hotel Albert Kuhn, who has been
mentioned in my war story as the man who piloted the party of Texas
soldiers who kidnapped me in Juarez in 1861, and who had received the
reward for my capture. Kuhn had left El Paso with the Confederates in
1862, and I had not seen or heard of him for eight years. Kuhn was a
very large man of rough and almost frightful appearance, and prided
himself on being considered _bad_. He was a prototype of Mark Twain’s
“Mr. Arkansas.” We passed each other without speaking, but when we met a
second time in the back yard Kuhn said: “Mills, don’t you know me?” I
replied: “Yes.” “Then why didn’t you speak to me?” “Because I did not
wish to do so.” Kuhn then went to the bar and proceeded to get himself
drunk. I told “Johnnie” what had occurred and instructed him to harness
the team and be ready to proceed on our journey. I told my wife that
Kuhn was at the hotel and that there might be trouble. I went down
stairs again, armed, of course, and met Kuhn, but he made no
demonstration. Mrs. Mills and I then went to the ambulance, Johnnie
being already on the box, and Mrs. Mills got inside, but before I could
take my seat Kuhn appeared with a cocked pistol in his hand and swore
great oaths that if I did not get out he would kill me where I was.
What could I do? My wife was in as much danger as myself, so I attempted
to descend from the carriage and make the best fight possible, but Mrs.
Mills had more presence of mind than I, and catching hold of me she said
to Kuhn: “You cowardly murderer, would you kill a man in the presence of
his wife? Get away from here.” Kuhn said he had great respect for
ladies, but swore that he would kill me the first time we met. But we
never met. If we had my opinion is that the chances would have been
against him.
We drove only a few miles that evening and camped for the night about a
quarter of a mile from the road and thinking that Kuhn might follow, I
took position with my shotgun at a tree _near_ the road and waited to
give him both barrels of buckshot as soon as he should turn the corner
of the fence. My old friend, Judge Cooley of Fredricksburg, says that
Kuhn _did_ saddle his horse that night and swore he would follow and
kill me, but was restrained by others.
Now, what did this man want to quarrel with _me_ about? I was the one
who had been wronged. I give it up.
We arrived at Austin safe and well. The election resulted in the defeat
of the Hamilton party as related elsewhere, and I made a campaign of
several months in Washington City, where, though the wrong could not be
fully righted, I was of some service to some of our defeated friends,
and was somewhat successful in a business matter.
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