LITMIR.BIZ

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after seeing that they were all dead, but hurried onward as fast as possible under a dread of the barbarians who might have lingered in that vicinity. I reported the tragedy to the authorities immediately after my arrival at Eagle Pass. The bodies were brought in that night and buried the following day in the public graveyard. One of the unfortunates was Felipe Calabera, a nephew of Jesus Calabera, who now lives on South Laredo Street in front of Emil Oppermann's store. If the Indians were followed I cannot recall the fact, but as such murders were frequent, and as it was not troublesome to find the perpetrators at any time, it is probable that no action was taken to have them punished.

      The Indians sometimes were very bold, and on one of my trips to Eagle Pass, in 1866, they exhibited their adroitness as thieves in the vicinity, and the performance caused the good people of that town considerable inconvenience. It happened in connection with a patriotic

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      occasion, on the 4th of July, when the citizens were en- joying themselves at a ball, that was given in honor of our national anniversary, to which everybody was invited.

      The abandoned United States post, situated about half a mile south of town, that is known in history as Fort Duncan, was selected as a suitable place for the celebration, and .the hospital, with a floor space measuring about '30 x 100 feet, was chosen for dancing purposes. The arrangements were all perfected by Thomas B. McManus, the customs-house officer at Eagle Pass, with the assistance of Henry Bruhn, of San Antonio, the father-in-law of Otto Evert and Ed Galm of said city.

      The Mexican customs-house officers from Piedras Negras, with their families, all the best people from Eagle Pass, and the settlements along the river were in attendance. Those who rode horseback secured the animals to the buildings or surrounding trees and gave them no further attention after joining in the dancing or other pleasures of the occasion. No apprehension of danger was entertained, and nothing occurred to mar the happiness of the evening that gave life to the old fort which caused it to resound with joyous mirth until the early tints of dawn admonished the participants to close their revels.

      Those who first departed returned hastily and caused a scene of excitement by announcing that all the horses had disappeared except a few that were tied to the gallery posts of the building. The evidence was clear that the revelers had been made the victims of an Indian raid, and the impudent enterprise was shrewdly executed. The skulking savages only took advantage of the distracting incidents of the occasion, and without interrupting the festivities quietly left them to return to their homes on foot. They were less merciful to two poor Mexicans who left Eagle Pass that morning on an ox-cart with the intention of hauling wood, who were killed by them below town.

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      Such audacity was exasperating, and Henry Bruhn immediately organized a party which started in pursuit of the Indians with a view to their chastisement. They were overtaken at El Canado, near the river, about eight miles above town, and a fight occurred in which two Mexicans were killed before the Indians retreated.

      Another time, when returning from Eagle Pass in the early spring of 1867, Mr. Black, of Uvalde, and Angel Torres, of San Antonio, accompanied me as passengers, and Pablo Castro drove the hack. We were all well armed and had plenty of ammunition, but our journey was not interrupted until we reached a point about four miles west of Turkey Creek on the Eagle Pass road. We were in an open prairie, about four o'clock in the afternoon, when we saw a party of eleven Indians, whose movements indicated that we were in for a fight, and we prepared for trouble.

      Perhaps they thought it would be an easy thing to take our scalps, and they charged toward us, uttering their terrific war-whoops, but their yells only frightened the mules, and Pablo had all he could do to keep them from running away. Black and myself took a position in front of the animals, but Torres stood alone near a crooked mesquite tree, and we waited until we could shoot with accuracy.

      The Indians saw that the mules were frightened, and with the intention of stampeding them, they strung out in a circle, about two hundred and fifty yards distant from us, in which they rode singly about fifty yards apart. The movement was one in which they were well trained, because the distances were kept remarkably well. Their actions reminded me of a circus, but I did not look at them with the same sensations of pleasure. The continual series of war-whoops and yells which accompanied their performances failed to make the mules break away before they were well secured, and our uneasiness was removed on that account.

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      In the meantime we were not idle, although we found it was impossible to do any effective work at that distance, because the Indians clung to the opposite side of their horses, out of sight, and the rapidly moving animals were exposed to an uncertain aim. Finally one of the horses dropped in his tracks, and the dismounted Indian hastened to shelter behind a tree in his vicinity. The range was open before him, and he fired several shots at Torres without effect before that gentleman realized that he was being used as a target, and when a bullet threw bark in his face from a limb that served as a rest for his rifle, he abandoned his exposed position and joined Black and myself in front of the mules.

      The instant the horse fell one of the Indians uttered a peculiar whoop which made Torres think one of them was wounded, but it was explained when they gathered near the animal and proceeded to rescue the Indian. After he was mounted behind one of them they sped away, uttering a series of war-whoops until they disappeared over a neighboring hill.

      The fight only lasted about fifteen minutes, in which time about seventy-five shots were fired, and the only trophy of the battle was a dead horse! The carcass was examined and a hole was found, about two inches below the base of the left ear, where the bullet had entered that caused his death. The investigation decided a question with reference to who fired the fatal shot by awarding the honor to Black and his five-shot Colts rifle, because it was evident that the wound was not made by a Henry rifle, the weapon carried by Torres and myself. The only thing left by the owner that might have served as a memorial of our victory was a piece of rope around the beast's neck, and that we did not remove.

      Torres conducted an established business in both Piedras Negras and San Antonio, and it was necessary for him to visit those places frequently, consequently he was often on the road, and generally he traveled with me.

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      When Henry rifles, that chambered eighteen cartridges, were first put on the market they cost $95 apiece, and Torres and myself probably owned the first that were brought to Texas. We ordered them through Mr. Hummel, of San Antonio, the father of Charles Hummel, now City Treasurer of said city, who still keeps up the business of Hummel & Son. This was our first opportunity to test them in battle, and perhaps the Indians, who knew nothing about them, were disconcerted by our rapid fire. We were much pleased with them, although we could not brag on our marksmanship on that occasion, but it was no proof that Mr. Black's rifle was superior because it was the only weapon that drew blood, or that Pablo's Spencer carbine, which he did not have an opportunity to use, was not just as good.

      The Indians we encountered belonged to the same tribe that killed John Sanders three days before. He resided on the Rio Frio, below the Eagle Pass road, and he was a good friend of mine. They would have made a good haul by capturing my hack, as I had ten thousand dollars in Mexican silver that was consigned to Goldfrank, Frank & Co., wholesale dry-goods merchants in San Antonio.

      Mr. Black was afterwards killed by Tom Wall, in Uvalde, and Angel Torres, who was an uncle of Modesto Torres, of San Antonio, is also dead. Pablo Castro afterwards joined a band of cattle thieves and was killed near the Rio Grande.

      On another trip, in the spring of 1867, Thomas B. McManus and Sam White, of Eagle Pass, and Herman Schleuning, now in Austin, accompanied me to San Antonio. We proceeded as far as Ranchera Creek, about four miles east of the present site of Sabinal station, without meeting with another adventure of any kind. At that point, where we suspected no danger, we were very much surprised, about nine o'clock at night, when a party of Indians charged out of the darkness in our direction. Their

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      frightful war-whoops, which they uttered with the intention of scaring our mules, were startling, and we expected

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