SERVICE WITH REYNOLDS, THE INTREPID
As soon as Sergeant Reynolds was commissioned first lieutenant he was
placed in command of Company "E," then stationed in Coleman County, but
immediately ordered to Lampasas. At this time Captain Sparks resigned
the command of Company "C," and this company was also ordered to
report to Lieutenant Reynolds at the same town. Late in August the two
commands went into camp at Hancock Springs. Major Jones then authorized
Lieutenant Reynolds to pick such men as he desired from these two
companies for his own company and either discharge or transfer the
remainder to other commands. No other officer in the battalion, I
believe, was ever accorded this privilege.
Lieutenant Reynolds had a week or ten days in which to make his
selection, so he studied the muster rolls of the companies carefully.
He had ranged under such great captains as Perry, D.W. Roberts,
Neal Coldwell, and with Major Jones himself. He knew what qualities
were needed in a good ranger and made his selections accordingly.
From old Company "A" Reynolds selected C.L. Nevill, Tom Gillespie,
Shape Rodgers, Jack Martin, John Gibbs, W.T. Clements, and four
others whose names I do not now remember. These were the scouts that
had helped him capture the Horrells and naturally were his first
choice. From Company "E" came Dick Ware, who one year later killed
the noted train robber, Sam Bass, then served Mitchell County as
its first sheriff for many years, and finally became United States
marshal for the Western District of Texas under President Cleveland's
administration. Henry Thomas, Miller Mourland, George Arnett, and other
Company "E" boys were selected. Henry Maltimore, Ben and Dock Carter,
Bill Derrick, Chris Connor, Henry McGee, Abe Anglin, J.W. Warren, Dave
Ligon, Lowe Hughes, George (Hog) Hughes, and others were picked from
Company "C."
[Illustration: _N.O. Reynolds_]
When he had exhausted the two companies Reynolds turned to General
Jones and said, "There is a ranger down on the Rio Grande in Neal
Coldwell's company that I want."
"Who is it?" asked the general.
"Private Jim Gillett."
"You shall have him," promised General Jones. "I will send an order to
Captain Coldwell tonight to have Gillett report to you here."
It was late in the evening when Company "A's" mail came in from Frio
Town, but Captain Coldwell sent for me as soon as General Jones' order
arrived, and told me that I must leave the company next morning and
report to the Adjutant-General at Austin. I was nonplussed, for I did
not know what the order meant. Out on the frontier where we then were
operating we seldom read newspapers or heard what the other companies
were doing, so I did not even know that Reynolds had captured the
Horrell boys and had been commissioned to command Company "E." The
following morning I bade Captain Coldwell and the Company "A" boys
goodbye and started on my long ride to Austin.
As I jogged along I asked myself many hundred times why I was ordered
to report at Austin, and, boy-like, it made me nervous and uneasy. It
took me two days to reach San Antonio and three more to get to Austin.
I arrived in the latter town just at nightfall, but I was at the
Adjutant-General's office as soon as it was opened next morning.
Presently General Jones entered with some officers of the State
Militia. He shook hands with me and invited me to be seated, saying
he had some business to attend to for the moment. It was probably an
hour before the officers left and the general could turn to me. He
very kindly inquired as to my trip and asked about Captain Coldwell
and the company. He then told me about the arrest of the Horrell boys
and Sergeant Reynolds' commission as first lieutenant commanding
Company "E," vice Lieutenant Foster resigned. He explained Reynolds had
requested that I be attached to his command, and ordered me to report
to my new commander in Lampasas without delay.
I excused myself at once and lost no time in getting my horse out of
the livery stable and resuming my way. A great load was lifted from my
mind, and I was about as happy as a boy could be. I sang and whistled
all the way to Liberty Hill, thirty miles from Austin. The following
day about 2 p.m. I rode into Reynolds' camp at Hancock Springs.
I attracted some attention as I rode in, for I wore a big Mexican hat
mounted with silver, a buckskin jacket fringed from shoulder to elbow
with a bunch of flowers braided in highly colored silk on its back. On
my heels were enormous Mexican spurs. I never saw a ranger sent to the
Rio Grande for the first time that did not rig himself out in some such
outlandish attire, only to discard it a few weeks later, never to wear
it again. I was no exception, and I think every man in camp tried on my
hat.
Lieutenant Reynolds selected C.L. Nevill for first sergeant, Henry W.
McGee as second sergeant, and J.W. Warren and L.W. Conner, first and
second corporals, respectively. On September 1, 1877, the company was
sworn in. The new command was the most formidable body of men I had
ever seen. Our commander, Lieutenant Reynolds, was over six feet tall
and weighed probably one hundred and seventy-five pounds. He was a very
handsome man, a perfect blond, with steel blue eyes and a long, light
moustache. At that time he was about thirty years of age, vigorous in
mind and body, and had a massive determination to succeed as a ranger.
His mind was original, bold, profound and quick, with a will that
no obstacle could daunt. He was the best ranger in the world--there
was never another like him. The lieutenant was a native of Missouri,
and was always known as "Major" or "Mage" Reynolds. It was said that
Reynolds, though a mere boy, had served with the Confederates in the
latter part of the Civil War. He was one of a party that captured a
troop of Federal cavalry, the major of which was well supplied with
clothing. The captors, however, were very scantily clad and Reynolds
appropriated the major's uniform, hence his nick-name "Mage." In later
years when I had grown more intimate with him and was probably closer
to him than any other I mentioned this story. He neither affirmed nor
denied it, declaring he was a Missourian by birth, a bootmaker by
trade, and that his early history could interest no one.
First Sergeant Nevill was six feet and one inch in height and weighed
one hundred and eighty-five pounds. All the non-commissioned officers
were at least six feet tall and built in proportion, and many of the
privates were from five feet eleven inches to six feet in height. I was
probably the lightest man in the company, being only five feet nine
inches and weighing but one hundred and forty pounds.
When the company's roster was complete Lieutenant Reynolds had but
twenty-eight men,--lacking two of his full complement of thirty. The
company was then ordered to Austin, but before being assigned to
its position on the frontier the lieutenant enlisted John and Will
Bannister, two celebrated frontiersmen. They were old cowboys, splendid
shots, and well acquainted with every part of Kimble, Menard, Mason,
and Kerr Counties, in which Company "E" was destined to operate. In
appearance and ability this company compared favorably with any thirty
rangers ever sent to the Texas frontier. Nearly every member of the
company had had more or less experience as an officer, and all were
exceedingly fine marksmen. Sergeant Henry McGee had been marshal of
Waco and had figured in several pistol duels in that city. Dave Ligon,
the oldest man in the command, had been a Confederate soldier and had
served with General Forrest's cavalry.
In the summer of 1877, Lieutenant Armstrong of Captain Hall's
company, assisted by Detective Jack Duncan of Dallas, Texas, captured
the notorious John Wesley Hardin. It has been said that Texas, the
largest state in the Union, has never produced a real world's champion
at anything. Surely, such critics overlooked Hardin, the champion
desperado of the world. His life is too well known in Texas for me to
go into detail, but, according to his own story, which I have before
me, he killed no fewer than twenty-seven men, the last being Charley
Webb, deputy sheriff of Brown County, Texas. So notorious had Hardin
become that the State of Texas offered $4000 reward for his capture.
Hardin had left Texas and at the time of his capture was in Florida.
His captors arrested and overpowered him while he was sitting in a
passenger coach.
In September, 1877, Sheriff Wilson of Comanche County, in whose
jurisdiction Hardin had killed Webb, came to Austin to convey the
prisoner to Comanche for trial. Wilson requested the governor for an
escort of rangers. Lieutenant Reynolds' company, being in Austin at
the time, was ordered to accompany Wilson and protect Hardin from mob
violence. This was the first work assigned Company "E" under its new
commander.
The day we left Austin between one and two thousand people gathered
about the Travis County jail to see this notorious desperado. The
rangers were drawn up just outside the jail, and Henry Thomas and
myself were ordered to enter the prison and escort Hardin out. Heavily
shackled and handcuffed, the prisoner walked very slowly between us.
The boy that had sold fish on the streets of Austin was now guarding
the most desperate criminal in Texas; it was glory enough for me.
At his trial Hardin was convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years
in the penitentiary. He appealed his case and was returned to Travis
County for safekeeping. The verdict of the trial court was sustained,
and one year later, in September, 1878, Lieutenant Reynolds' company
was ordered to take Hardin back to Comanche County for sentence. There
was no railroad at Comanche at that time, so a detachment of rangers,
myself among them, escorted Hardin to the penitentiary. There were ten
or twelve indictments still pending against him for murder in various
counties, but they were never prosecuted.
Hardin served seventeen years on his sentence, and while in prison
studied law. Governor Hogg pardoned him in 1894 and restored him to
full citizenship.
In transmitting him the governor's pardon, Judge W.S. Fly, Associate
Justice of the Court of Appeals, wrote Hardin as follows:
Dear Sir: Enclosed I send you a full pardon from the Governor of
Texas. I congratulate you on its reception and trust that it is
the day of dawn of a bright and peaceful future. There is time to
retrieve a lost past. Turn your back upon it with all its suffering
and sorrow and fix your eyes upon the future with the determination
to make yourself an honorable and useful member of society. The hand
of every true man will be extended to assist you in your upward
course, and I trust that the name of Hardin will in the future be
associated with the performance of deeds that will ennoble his family
and be a blessing to humanity.
Did you ever read Victor Hugo's masterpiece, "Les Miserables"? If
not, you ought to read it. It paints in graphic words the life of
one who had tasted the bitterest dregs of life's cup, but in his
Christian manhood rose about it, almost like a god and left behind
him a path luminous with good deeds.
With the best wishes for your welfare and happiness, I am,
Yours very truly,
W.S. Fly.
Despite all the kind advice given him by eminent lawyers and citizens,
Hardin was unequal to the task of becoming a useful man. He practiced
law for a time in Gonzales, then drifted away to El Paso, where he
began drinking and gambling. On August 19, 1895, Hardin was standing
at a bar shaking dice when John Selman, constable of Precinct No.
1, approached him from behind and, placing a pistol to the back of
Hardin's head, blew his brains out. Though posing as an officer Selman
was himself an outlaw and a murderer of the worst kind. He killed
Hardin for the notoriety it would bring him and nothing more.
After delivering Hardin to the sheriff of Travis County in 1877,
Lieutenant Reynolds was ordered to Kimble County for duty. Of all the
counties in Texas at that time Kimble was the most popular with outlaws
and criminals, for it was situated south of Menard County on the North
and South Llano Rivers, with cedar, pecan and mesquite timber in which
to hide, while the streams and mountains furnished abundance of fish
and game for subsistence.
Up on the South Llano lived old Jimmie Dublin. He had a large family
of children, most of them grown. The eldest of his boys, Dick, or
Richard, as he was known, and a friend, Ace Lankford, killed two men
at a country store in Lankford's Cove, Coryell County, Texas. The state
offered $500 for the arrest of Dublin and the County of Coryell an
additional $200. To escape capture Dick and his companion fled west
into Kimble County. While I was working as cowboy with Joe Franks
in the fall of 1873 I became acquainted with the two murderers, for
they attached themselves to our outfit. They were always armed and
constantly on the watchout for fear of arrest. Dublin was a large man,
stout, dark complected, and looked more like the bully of a prize ring
than the cowman he was. I often heard him say he would never surrender.
While cow hunting with us he discovered that the naturally brushy
and tangled county of Kimble would offer shelter for such as he, and
persuaded his father to move out into that county.
Dublin had not lived long in Kimble County before another son, Dell
Dublin, killed Jim Williams, a neighbor. Thus two of the Dublin boys
were on the dodge charged with murder. They were supposed to be hiding
near their father's home. Bill Allison, Starke Reynolds and a number
of bandits, horse and cattle thieves and murderers, were known to be
in Kimble County, so Lieutenant Reynolds was sent with his company to
clean them up.
It was late in October, 1877, before the company reached its
destination and camped on the North Llano River below the mouth of Bear
Greek. As soon as our horses had rested and camp was fully established
for the winter we began scouting. Several men wanted on minor charges
were captured. We then raided Luke Stone's ranch, which was about ten
miles from our camp, and captured Dell Dublin. He was fearfully angry
when he found escape impossible. He tore his shirt bosom open and
dared the rangers to shoot him. While he was being disarmed his elder
brother, Dick, rode out of the brush and came within gun shot of the
ranch before he discovered the presence of the rangers. He turned his
horse quickly and made his escape, though the rangers pursued him some
distance. When Dick learned that the Banister boys and myself were with
Lieutenant Reynolds' company and hot on his trail he declared he would
whip us with a quirt as a man would a dog if he ever came upon us, for
he remembered us as beardless boys with the Joe Franks' cow outfit.
However, despite his threat, he never attempted to make it good, but
took very good care to keep out of our way until the fatal January 18,
1878.
There was no jail in Kimble County, so with a detachment of rangers I
took Dell Dublin and our other prisoners to Llano County lockup.
Shortly afterward Reynolds selected Sergeant McGee, Tom Gillespie,
Dick Harrison, and Tim McCarthy and made a scout into Menard County.
He also had with him his negro cook, George, to drive his light wagon.
On the return toward Bear Creek the scout camped for the night at
Fort McKavett. At that time each frontier post had its chihuahua or
scab town, a little settlement with gambling halls, saloons, etc., to
catch the soldiers' dollars. At Fort McKavett were many discharged
soldiers, some of them negroes from the Tenth Cavalry. These blacks
had associated with white gamblers and lewd women until they thought
themselves the equals of white men, and became mean and overbearing.
On this particular night these negro ex-soldiers gave a dance in scab
town, and our negro, George, wanted to go. He was a light mulatto,
almost white, but well thought of by all the boys in the company. He
obtained Lieutenant Reynolds' permission to attend the dance, and
borrowed Tim McCarthy's pistol to carry to it. When George arrived at
the dance hall the ex-soldiers did not like his appearance, as he was
allied with the rangers, whom they despised. They jumped on George,
took his pistol and kicked him out of the place. The boys were all in
bed when George returned and told McCarthy that the negroes at the
dance hall had taken his pistol from him.
Lieutenant Reynolds was sleeping nearby and heard what George said. He
raised up on his elbow and ordered Sergeant McGee to go with McCarthy
and George and get the pistol. The negroes saw McGee coming and,
closing the door, defied him to enter the dance hall.
McGee was cool and careful. He advised the negroes to return
the pistol, but they refused, saying they would kill the first
white-livered s-- o-- b-- that attempted to enter the house. The
sergeant then stationed himself at the front door, ordered McCarthy
to guard the back entrance of the place, and sent George for the
lieutenant. Reynolds hurried to the scene, taking with him Tom
Gillespie and Dick Harrison. The lieutenant knocked on the door and
told the blacks he was the commander of the rangers and demanded
their surrender. They replied with an oath that they would not do so.
Reynolds then ordered the house cleared of women and gave the negroes
just five minutes in which to surrender.
Up to this time the women had been quiet, but they now began to scream.
This probably demoralized the negro men. One of them poked McCarthy's
pistol, muzzle foremost, out of a window.
"Here, come get your d--n pistol," he said.
McCarthy, a new man in the service, stepped up and grasped it. The
instant the negro felt the touch of McCarthy's hand on the weapon he
pulled the trigger. The ball pierced McCarthy's body just above the
heart, giving him a mortal wound.
At the crack of the pistol the rangers opened fire through the doors
and windows on the negroes within the house. Reynolds and his men then
charged the place, and when the smoke of battle cleared they found
four dead negro men and a little negro girl that had been killed by
accident. Only one black escaped. He was hidden under a bed, and as
the rangers came in, made a dash to safety under cover of darkness.
McCarthy died the following day and was buried near old Fort McKavett.
Negro George fought like a tiger and won the boys' praise.
A few days afterward the sheriff of Tom Green County, following the
trail of a bunch of stolen cattle from San Angelo, came into our
camp. Lieutenant Reynolds sent Sergeant Nevill and a scout of rangers
with the sheriff. The trail led over to the South Llano, where the
cattle were recovered. While scouting around the herd, Sergeant
Nevill discovered a man riding down the trail toward him. He and his
men secreted themselves and awaited the stranger's approach. It was
getting quite dark, and when the newcomer had ridden almost over
the concealed rangers without noticing their presence they rose up,
presented their guns and ordered him to halt.
"Yes,--like hell!" he exclaimed, and, turning his horse, dived into a
cedar brake. A shower of bullets followed, but failed to strike the
fugitive. This was the notorious Dick Dublin with a $700 reward on his
head.
Sergeant Nevill returned to camp with about fifty head of burnt cattle,
but let the most notorious criminal in the county escape. Lieutenant
Reynolds was disappointed at this, and said he did not understand how
four crack rangers could let a man ride right over them and then get
away. He declared his negro cook could have killed Dublin had he been
in their place. This mortified the boys a great deal.
The latter part of December, 1877, Lieutenant Reynolds sent a scout
out on Little Saline, Menard County. On Christmas day this detail had
a running fight with four men. John Collins, the man who stole a yoke
of oxen at Fredericksburg and drove them up to within two miles of our
camp, was captured, as was also John Gray, wanted for murder in one of
the eastern counties. Jim Pope Mason, charged with the murder of Rance
Moore, was in this skirmish, but escaped.
One cold morning about the middle of January Corporal Gillett, with
Privates John and Will Banister, Tom Gillespie, Dave Ligon, and Ben
Carter, was ordered on a five days' scout. We saddled our horses and
packed two mules. When all was ready I walked over to Lieutenant
Reynolds. He was sitting on a camp stool before his tent and seemed in
a brown study. I saluted and asked for orders.
"Well, Corporal," he said, after a moment's hesitation, "it is a
scout after Dick Dublin again. That man seems to be a regular Jonah
to this company. He lives only ten miles from here and I have been
awfully disappointed at not being able to effect his capture. It is a
reflection on all of Company 'E.' There is one thing sure if I can't
capture him I will make life miserable for him. I will keep a scout in
the field after him constantly."
I then asked if he had any instructions as to the route I should travel.
"No, no," he replied. "I rely too much on your judgment to hamper you
with orders. After you are once out of sight of camp you know these
mountains and trails better than I do. Just go and do your best. If you
come in contact with him don't let him get away."
After riding a half mile from camp the boys began inquiring where we
were going and who we were after. I told them Dick Dublin. We quit the
road and traveled south from our camp over to the head of Pack Saddle
Creek. Here we turned down the creek and rounded up the Potter ranch,
but no one was at home, so we passed on into the cedar brake without
having been seen.
On the extreme headwaters of South Llano River some cattlemen had built
a large stock pen and were using it to confine wild cattle. This was
far out beyond any settlement and probably fifty or sixty miles from
our camp. I thought it possible that Dick Dublin might be hanging
around the place, so we traveled through the woods most of the way to
it. Here I found that the cattlemen had moved.
The scout had now been out two days, so we began our return journey. We
traveled probably twenty-five miles on the third day. On the fourth day
I timed myself to reach the Potter ranch about night. Old man Potter,
a friend and neighbor of Dublin's, lived here with two grown sons. It
was known that Dublin frequented the place, and I hoped to catch him
here unawares. About sundown we were within a mile of the ranch. Here
we unsaddled our horses and prepared to round up the house. If we
met with no success we were to camp there for the night. I left John
Banister and Ligon to guard camp while Gillespie, Will Banister, and
Ben Carter, with myself, approached the ranch on foot. If I found no
one there I intended to return to our camp unseen and round up the
ranch again the following morning.
We had not traveled far before we discovered a lone man riding slowly
down the trail to the Potter ranch. We remained hidden and were able
to approach within fifty yards of the house without being seen. We now
halted in the bed of a creek for a short consultation. The one-room
cabin had only a single door, and before it was a small wagon. The
Potters cooked out of doors between the house and the wagon. We
could see a horse tied to the south side of the vehicle, but could
not see the camp fire for the wagon and the horse. To our right and
about twenty-five steps away old man Potter and one of his sons were
unloading some hogs from a wagon into a pen.
We knew the moment we left the creek bed we would be in full view
of the Potters and the ranch house. We decided, then, that we would
advance on the house as fast as we could run and so be in good position
to capture the man who had ridden into the camp. We rose from the creek
running. Old man Potter discovered us as we came in view and yelled,
"Run, Dick, run! Here comes the rangers!"
We then knew the man we wanted was at the camp. We were so close upon
Dublin that he had no time to mount his horse or get his gun, so he
made a run for the brush. I was within twenty-five yards of him when
he came from behind the wagon, running as fast as a big man could. I
ordered him to halt and surrender, but he had heard that call too many
times and kept going. Holding my Winchester carbine in my right hand I
fired a shot directly at him as I ran. In a moment he was out of sight.
I hurried to the place where he was last seen and spied him running
up a little ravine. I stopped, drew a bead on him, and again ordered
him to halt. As he ran, Dublin threw his hand back under his coat as
though he were attempting to draw a pistol. I fired. My bullet struck
the fugitive in the small of the back just over the right hip bone and
passed out near his right collarbone. It killed him instantly. He was
bending over as he ran, and this caused the unusual course of my ball.
The boys, whom I had outrun, now joined me, and Carter fired two shots
at Dublin after he was down. I ordered him to desist as the man was
dead. I examined the body to make sure it was Dublin, for I knew him
intimately, as I had cow hunted with him before I became a ranger. We
found him unarmed, but he had a belt of cartridges around his waist.
He was so completely surprised by our sudden appearance he could do
nothing but run. The $700 reward on him could never be collected, as it
was offered for his arrest and conviction. Dublin's brothers, Role and
Dell, swore vengeance against myself and the Banister boys, but nothing
ever came of the oath.
In the month of February, 1878, Lieutenant Reynolds started to Austin
with five prisoners we had captured in Kimble and Menard Counties.
They were chained together in pairs, John Stephens, the odd man, was
shackled by himself. As guard for these prisoners Reynolds had detailed
Will and John Banister, Dave Ligon, Ben Garter, Dick Ware, and myself.
On the Junction City and Mason road, some ten miles east of our camp,
was the small ranch of Starke Reynolds, a fugitive from justice,
charged with horse stealing and assault to kill. Company "E" had
scouted for him in Kimble County and had rounded up his ranch many
times. We knew he was in the county, but he always managed to escape
us. As we passed this ranch, Lieutenant Reynolds, Privates Ware,
Carter, Ligon, and myself were marching in front, with a four-mule
wagon following us, in which were the chained prisoners. Behind it
came the Banisters, who were on guard that day and detailed to keep a
constant watch on the captive outlaws.
We passed the Starke Reynolds' home about 10 o'clock in the morning,
and Lieutenant Reynolds remarked that it was hardly worth while to
round up the house as he had done so many times in the past without
result, but that he would surely like to capture the fellow. We had
not ridden more than half a mile beyond the ranch when we came face to
face with Starke himself. He was a small man and riding an exceedingly
good brown pony. We were about four hundred yards apart and discovered
each other at the same instant. The outlaw was carrying a small sack of
flour in front of him. He immediately threw this down, turned his horse
quickly and made a lightning dash for the Llano bottoms, some three
miles away.
At that point the Junction City and Mason road winds along a range of
high mountains with the country sloping downward to the Llano River.
This grade was studded with scrubby live oak and mesquite brush not
thick enough to hide a man but sufficiently dense to retard his flight
through it. We gave chase at once and for a mile and a half it was the
fastest race I ever saw the rangers run. We were closely bunched the
entire distance, with Lieutenant Reynolds--he was riding a fast race
horse--always slightly in the lead. He finally got close enough to the
fugitive to demand his surrender. Starke only waved his gun defiantly
and redoubled his speed. Lieutenant Reynolds then drew his six-shooter
and began firing at the outlaw. After emptying his pistol he began
using his Winchester.
The Llano bottoms were now looming right up in front of us. The race
had been fast enough to run every horse into a big limber. Carter,
Ware, and Ligon dropped out of the race. Up to this time I had
contented myself by trying to keep up with Lieutenant Reynolds, for it
is always easier to follow a man through the brush than to run in the
lead. I had a good grip on my bridle reins and was trying to steady my
pony as best I could. I now saw that the outlaw was beginning to gain
on us. I ran up beside the lieutenant and said, "He is getting away
from us. Must I go after him?"
Lieutenant Reynolds turned and looked at me with the wildest look
on his face that I ever saw. His hat was gone, his face was badly
scratched by the brush with the blood running down over his white shirt
bosom.
"Yes, G-- d--n him; stop or kill him!"
I changed the bridle reins to my left hand, drew my gun with my right
and, digging my spurs deep into my pony's side, I was out of sight of
the lieutenant in three hundred yards. The fugitive saw that I was
alone and that I was going to overhaul him. He suddenly brought his
pony to a standstill, jumped down, took shelter behind the animal and
drew a bead on me with his gun.
"G-- d--n you, stop, or I'll kill you!" he cried.
I tried to obey his order, but my pony was running down hill and ran
straight at him for twenty-five yards more before I could stop. I
jumped down from my horse and made ready to fight, but Starke broke for
a thicket on foot. As soon as he ran out from behind his pony I fired
at him. The bullet must have come rather close to him, for he turned
quickly and took shelter behind his mount again. As he peeped over his
saddle at me I attempted to draw a bead on his head, but I was tired,
nervous and unsteady. Before I could shoot Dave Ligon galloped right up
to the outlaw, ordered him to surrender and drop his gun, which Starke
did at once. The boys had heard me shoot and in five minutes were all
upon the scene.
The captive was searched and ordered to remount his pony. With one
of the boys leading Starke's mount we started back to the wagon,
nearly three miles away. As soon as the outlaw was a prisoner and
knew he would not be harmed no matter what he said, he began a tirade
against the rangers. He declared the whole battalion was a set of d--d
murderers, especially Company "E," and said it was curbstone talk in
Menard, Mason and Kimble Counties that Lieutenant Reynolds' men would
kill a man and then yell for him to throw up his hands. He kept up this
running talk until he exhausted Lieutenant Reynolds' patience. The
latter then ordered Starke to shut up, and declared the speaker was a
d--d liar, for Company "E" never killed a man without first giving him
a chance to surrender. Lieutenant Reynolds then said that with the last
old brier-breaker captured he had accomplished the task set him and was
now ready to go elsewhere.
As we rode along one of the boys remarked that my pony was limping
badly.
"I wish his leg would come right off up to his shoulder," declared
Starke in disgust. "If it hadn't been for him I would have made it to
the bottoms and escaped."
On approaching the wagon the prisoner Stephens, a man of some
intelligence and humor, stood up and called out to Starke, "By G--, old
man, they got you! They rode too many corn fed horses and carried too
many guns for you. I don't know who you are, but I'm sorry for you.
While they were chasing you I got down on my knees here in this wagon
and with my face turned up to the skies I prayed to the Almighty God
that you might get away."
Starke was chained to this good-natured liar, and now, for the first
time, our prisoner seemed to realize his condition. He asked Lieutenant
Reynolds to send word to his family that he had been captured. The
lieutenant thereupon sent one of the boys to Starke's home to tell Mrs.
Reynolds that the rangers would camp on Red Greek for dinner, and if
she wished to see her husband we would be there probably two hours.
Presently Starke's old gray-haired father came to our midday camp. When
he saw his son chained he burst out crying, saying, "My son, it is not
my fault that you are in this condition. I did my best to give you good
advice and tried to raise you right."
After dinner we resumed our march toward Austin. Starke Reynolds was
finally turned over to the sheriff of Tarrant County. He was admitted
to bail and gave bond, but before he came to trial he was waylaid and
killed, supposedly by relatives of the man he had previously attempted
to murder.
Early in the spring of 1878 a ranchman living five miles above our
camp saw a bunch of Indians on Bear Creek, Kimble County, and at once
reported to Lieutenant Reynolds. The redskins had been seen late in
the evening, and by the time a scout could be started after them it
was almost night. The lieutenant, however, followed the trail until it
entered a cedar brake. It was then too dark to work farther, so the
scout returned to camp to make arrangements to resume the trail the
following morning. On the march back to camp the rangers picked up a
paint pony with an arrow sticking in its hip. The Indians had probably
tried to catch the horse and, failing to do so, had shot it, as was
their custom.
Just after dark a runner from Junction City came in and reported a
bunch of redskins had been seen near the town stealing horses. It was
a beautiful moonlight night and a close watch was kept on our horses.
Just at midnight John Banister, an alert man on guard, noticed that one
of our pack mules hitched at the end of our picket line was pulling
back on its rope and looking over a brush fence that enclosed the camp.
With Winchester in hand Banister passed through a gate, walked slowly
down the fence and into some small underbrush near the mule.
Suddenly a man rose to his feet and fired on Banister at a distance of
not more than ten steps, then broke and ran. Banister at once opened
fire on the Indian. The very first report of a gun brought every man
in camp out of his bed. We could see the flashes of Banister's gun and
went to his aid in our night clothes and barefooted. I ran down by the
picket line of horses and jumped the fence where the mule had seen the
redskin. By moonlight I could glimpse the Indian running down the river
bank. I shot at him nine times as he ran, but without effect. Some two
hundred yards below our camp was a ford on the Llano and the fugitive
was making for it.
Just as soon as the Indian reached the crossing and plunged into the
river, eight or nine of the rangers that had followed Banister on the
high ground were in a position to shell the swimmer as he crossed.
There were probably a hundred shots fired at him, but he finally
disappeared in the brush on the south side of the river. Investigation
of the place where he crossed showed the timber cut all to pieces but,
strange to say, not a shot hit the Indian as far as we ever knew. We
found a blanket where the savage had risen and shot at Banister and,
measuring the ground, found that the ranger was just twelve short steps
from the Indian when fired upon by the redskin. It was a miracle that
Banister was not killed; the bullet, a .45 caliber, buried itself in
some sacks of corn in a tent just back of him.
The next morning we found where ten or twelve Indians had waited under
some large pecan trees while this scout slipped up to our camp to
investigate and steal a horse. The trees were about four hundred yards
from camp and on the opposite side of the river. Some of the rangers
jokingly said those old braves must have thought this lone one stirred
up hell at the ranger camp.
On account of the range cattle and horses along the Llano River,
Lieutenant Reynolds lost some eight or ten hours the next morning
before picking up the Indian trail. This gave the redskins ten or
twelve hours start, as they were at our camp just at midnight. The
trail passed out west between North and South Llano Rivers and followed
a rough mountain country that made pursuit difficult and slow. We
followed the savages five or six days and finally abandoned the trail
near the head of Devil's River after a heavy rain.
While we had been active in rounding up the numerous outlaws and cattle
thieves that infested Kimble County, we had not been able to clean up
the mystery of the Peg Leg stage robbers, which had long baffled the
best detectives, sheriffs, and rangers. Peg Leg was a small stage
station on the San Saba in the midst of a rough and very mountainous
country. Here the stage was repeatedly held up and as repeatedly the
robbers escaped. The scene of the hold-up was many times examined and
parties made determined efforts to trail the bandits but always without
success, for the trail was quickly lost in the rough mountains. One
of the features that proved particularly puzzling was the constant
recurrence of an exceedingly small footprint at each robbery. These
marks were so very small they convinced many observers that a woman
from Fort McKavett or Fort Concho was operating with the bandit gang.
Naturally the rangers were anxious to round up this group of outlaws
and put a stop to their depredations.
In May, 1878, Sergeant Nevill made a scout up on the South Llano and
captured Bill Alison, a son-in-law of old Jimmie Dublin, father of the
bandit, Dick Dublin. Alison was wanted on several charges of cattle
theft, and was taken to Austin for safekeeping. After remaining in
the Travis County jail for nearly a year without being able to give
bond, Alison became discouraged. He believed his brothers-in-law,
the Dublins, were not aiding him to get bond and became bitter and
resentful toward them. This antagonism finally led to the unveiling of
the Peg Leg mystery.
In the spring of 1879 Dick Ware and myself took some prisoners to the
Austin jail. Bill Alison saw us and called out to me. He and I had been
cowboys together long before I became a ranger.
"Jim," said Alison, "you know I have been cooped up here in this jail
for nearly a year. People who ought to be my friends have evidently
abandoned me and I am not going to stand it any longer. I can put the
Peg Leg stage robbers behind the bars, and I am going to do it."
Ware, who was something of a diplomat, said, "Hold on, Bill. If you
have anything to confess we will get an order from the sheriff to take
you to see General Jones so you can talk to him."
The general at once wrote a note to Dennis Corwin, sheriff of Travis
County, and asked that he let Alison accompany us to his office. The
sheriff turned his prisoner over to us and we took him to General
Jones, who had a private interview with him for over an hour. What
Alison confessed we did not know, but we returned him to the jail.
General Jones moved quickly, for the very next day a scout of rangers
from Company "E" was sent back to Kimble County. I was just preparing
to go west to El Paso with Colonel Baylor, so I missed this last and
most important scout back into Kimble County. However, this final
expedition was so successful I cannot omit it from a history of the
rangers.
Arriving at Kimble County the Company "E" detail arrested Role and
Dell Dublin, Mack Potter and Rube Boyce. In the running fight that
resulted in their capture Role received a bad wound in the hip. The
two Dublin brothers and Mack Potter when arraigned in Federal court
plead guilty to stage robbery and were sentenced to fifteen years at
hard labor. During their trial the mystery of the Peg Leg robberies
was finally cleared up. The Dublin boys were the guiding spirits in
the hold-ups and worked with great cleverness. Old man Jimmie Dublin's
ranch on the South Llano was their headquarters. From the ranch to
Peg Leg Station on the San Saba was not more than sixty miles across
a rough, mountainous country. As there were no wire fences in those
days the robbers would ride over to the station, rob the stage and in
one night's ride regain their home. Traveling at night they were never
observed. Dick Dublin, whose death while resisting capture has already
been described, was the leader of the bandit gang. Even the mystery of
the tiny footprints was disclosed; they were made by Mack Potter, who
had an unusually small foot for a man.
While Rube Boyce was confined in the Travis County jail he made one of
the most sensational jail escapes in the criminal annals of Texas. Mrs.
Boyce called at the prison with a suit of clean underclothes for her
husband. The basket in which she carried them was examined and she was
admitted into the cell of her husband. However, she had hidden a big
.45 Colt's revolver about her person and smuggled it in. Rube changed
his underwear, put the soiled garments in the basket and hid the pistol
under them.
At the end of her visit Mrs. Boyce started out and Rube accompanied her
down the corridor to the door. Mr. Albert Nichols, the jailer, opened
the door with his left hand to let the woman pass out, at the same
time holding his pistol in his right hand. As the door swung open Rube
reached into the basket he was carrying for his wife, whipped out the
hidden pistol, thrust it into the jailer's face and ordered him to drop
his .45 and step within the jail. Realizing that a second's hesitation
would mean his death, Nichols complied and was locked in by the outlaw.
Boyce then ran out of the back yard of the jail, mounted a pony that
had been hitched there for him and galloped out of Austin, firing his
pistol as he ran. He made a complete get-away. Three or four years
later he was arrested at Socorro, New Mexico, and returned to Austin.
At his trial for participation in the Peg Leg stage robberies he was
acquitted, and perhaps justly so, for Bill Alison declared to me that
Dick Dublin with his brothers Dell and Role and Mack Potter were the
real robbers.
The arrest and conviction of the Dublins, together with the other men
Lieutenant Reynolds had captured or killed completely cleaned out the
stage robbers, cattle and horse thieves and murderers that had made
Kimble County their rendezvous. Today Kimble County is one of the
most prosperous and picturesque counties in the state. Its citizens
are law-abiding and energetic. Junction City, the county seat, is a
splendid little city of probably twenty-five hundred inhabitants.
Forty years ago, the time of which I write, there were no courthouses
in Kimble County. The first district courts were held under the
spreading boughs of a large oak tree. The rangers, of which I was
frequently one, guarded the prisoners under another tree at a
convenient distance from the judge and his attendants.
Late in the spring or early summer of 1878 at a session of the County
Court of San Saba County, Billy Brown was being prosecuted by County
Attorney Brooks for a violation of the prohibition laws. Brown took
offense at a remark of the prosecuting attorney and attempted to draw
his six-shooter on him. T.J.T. Kendall, a law partner of Brooks, saw
Brown's move and quickly whipping out his own pistol, he killed Brown
in the courtroom. Then, fearing a mob if captured, Kendall fortified
himself in a second story of the courthouse and refused to surrender.
He held the whole town at bay while his wife administered to his wants.
Meantime, he sent a hurry call to the nearest rangers asking for
protection against mob violence. Captain Arrington received the message
and sent a detachment from Coleman to San Saba to preserve order.
General Jones was notified and ordered Lieutenant Reynolds at Junction
City to march to San Saba with his company, take charge of Kendall and
relieve Captain Arrington's men. It was probably two weeks after the
killing before Company "E" reached San Saba, but Mr. Kendall was still
holding fort in the upper story of the courthouse.
On the arrival of Reynolds' company, Kendall asked the court for a
preliminary examination. When court convened, the prisoner waived
examination and asked for transference to the Travis County jail at
Austin. The court, realizing the feeling against Kendall, ordered his
removal thither.
When the time came for Kendall's removal a hack was driven up to the
courthouse door, where a great crowd had assembled to see the prisoner.
Jim Brown, sheriff of Lee County, Texas, and brother of Bill Brown,
heavily armed, had taken his station within ten feet of the prison
door. Just before Mr. Kendall descended the courthouse steps Lieutenant
Reynolds ordered the crowd to fall back fifty feet from the hack. The
people immediately obeyed with the exception of Jim Brown, who sat
perfectly still on his horse. The lieutenant looked at Brown for a
minute, then turned to his rangers and ordered them to draw their guns
and move everyone fifty yards from the courthouse. Like a flash every
ranger drew his gun, dismounted and waved the crowd back.
Brown turned to Reynolds and said, "I am going to Austin with you."
"If you do, you will go in irons. Move back!"
Brown, who had killed several men, slowly turned his horse and rode
away. He did not know the man with whom he was dealing. Lawyer Kendall
was thereupon carried to Austin without incident.
When we reached Austin, Jim Brown met Lieutenant Reynolds on the street
and apologized for the way he had acted at San Saba. He said he fully
intended to kill Kendall as he approached the hack, but the presence
of so many rangers caused him to change his mind. Lieutenant Reynolds
declared he was anticipating just such a move and had instructed his
men to shoot Brown into doll rags at his first move.
Soon after this Lieutenant Reynolds moved Company "E" down on the San
Saba in a beautiful pecan grove, an ideal summer camp, about two miles
from the town of San Saba. From this point we scouted all over Llano,
Lampasas, Burnet and San Saba Counties at our favorite pursuit of
rounding up bad men. It was from this camp that we made our sensational
ride to Round Rock after Sam Bass, the notorious train robber.