soldiers in Piedras Negras, and they began to shoot from the tops of the adobe houses, so we got in line, and as their guns would not shoot more than one hundred yards, while we were shooting Sharps rifles, which would kill a man a thousand yards away. The Mexican colonel, under protection of a white flag as large as a wagon sheet, and accompanied by his staff, came out to where we had our battle line, and told General Shelby that he was the "bravest American and had the bravest men" that ever crossed the Rio Grande, and that if his people bothered our men or our horses he would have them shot. General Shelby replied through the interpreter that he had issued the same orders to us and he could find proof of that fact down the river where he had killed a few of his d-d horse thieves. After thanking the colonel very kindly for the compliment paid him and to his men, General Shelby marched us from Piedras Negras to Monterey, and we fought bandits and revolutionists all the way, killing more than twice the number of our force. Of course we lost some men, too, but whenever we ran on to the enemy they belonged to us. From Monterey, where we met the Maximilian French soldiers, and our friends who had gone there previously, we secured passports to Mexico City, where, when we arrived, Emperor Maximilian gave us land near Cordoba to start a colony. But Maximilian had to leave Mexico City and escape to Querétaro, where he was betrayed, captured and executed with two of his generals. So we abandoned the colony and returned to Missouri. After returning home I went to Wyoming and Montana and freighted for Uncle Sam.

Leaving Salt Lake City for Kansas City in the spring of 1869, I decided to come to Texas, so I came down through the Indian Territory to Llano, where I bought 1,000 steers, fours and up. Three-year-olds were not counted beeves in those days. I drove these steers to Fort Sill and sold them to an Indian contractor for the

government and in the fall drove to Baxter Springs, where I made the acquaintance of Doc Day, Isom Goode and other old cowmen.

In 1871 I drove 400 yoke of work oxen to Fort Harker, in the Smoky Hills, near Ellsworth, Kansas, and was captured by the Osage Indians after I crossed the Cimarron River with my horses. They held me prisoner for about an hour, and I suppose I would have been scalped, but the Indians saw the dust of a big herd being driven by Jim Scobey and turned me loose. Each warrior had one side of his face painted red and the other side painted black. I saw the dust kicked up by that herd and called the Indians' attention to it, and they immediately left me.

The next year or two I drove to Abilene, Kansas, on the Smoky River. Bill Hickok was city marshal there, and was a desperate character. I then drove to Dodge City, taking one herd of the old Jingle Bob steers, which I had bought from Coggin Brothers and J. M. Dawson, from the Plains to Gainesville. These were the old John Chissum steers from Seven Rivers, near Roswell, New Mexico, and the most of them died with tick fever. Before I reached Chicago I lost $21,000 on them and was busted.

Major L. G. Cairness staked me in 1882, when he contracted 10,000 steers from Dan Wagoner. I received only 6,000 and drove them to Honeywell, Kansas, in four herds, which took all summer, as it was such a short drive. We made $72,000 on this drive, lost only three steers and saw lightning kill them. This was my last trail work.

I would be delighted to meet some of the old drovers again. God bless them. But lots of them have laid down their saddles, spurs and hobbles, coiled the riata and crossed the River Styx, and are resting in the shade of the trees.

Now, in conclusion, if you think this epistle of John

to the cow punchers of the old Chisholm Trail is of any consequence in the way of reminiscence, or will cast any lustre on the fame of those brave and daring men of the saddle and trail, put it in your book. If not, cast it aside, but still in friendship remember the giver, an old plainsman who has helped to skin 'em, fought Yankees, Mexicans, wild Indians and cow thieves. Farewell until we rattle our hocks on the other side.

MOSE WESLEY HAYS

1015 West Agarita Avenue, San Antonio, Texas

Mose W. Hays was a foremost cattleman and business man of the Northeastern Panhandle country, and was one of the oldest residents in that part of the state. During the quarter of a century in which he has known the Panhandle all the agricultural development and industrial changes have taken place there, for through all the ages during which Northwest Texas had been a portion of the new world continent its resources and its landscape features had never experienced such development and mutation as they have during the short time of white men's occupation and exploitation of this region. Mr. Hays has accordingly witnessed all the important history of that section of the state, and is one of the few men whose lot has been permanently cast with the Panhandle since 1877.

MOSE W. HAYS

Born in Warren County, Kentucky, Mr. Hays at the age of two years was taken by his parents, N. M. and Sarah (Phillips) Hays, both native Kentuckians, to Jackson County, Missouri, about twenty-five miles east of Kansas City, and later the family became pioneer settlers of Colorado, in which state the parents spent the remainder of their lives. Mr. Hays became identified with the cattle industry in boyhood and it has formed his principal and most profitable pursuit throughout his active career. In 1871 he left the family home in Colorado and went West, spending five years in Nevada and California, during most of which time he was a cowboy.

From the Pacific slope he came east to Texas. With his brotherin-law, Joe Morgan, he drove a bunch of Mexican cattle from Corpus Christi, Texas, to the open range in the Panhandle country. This was in 1877, and he has lived in that part of the state ever since until the past five years, when he took up his residence in San Antonio, having retired from active business. It makes him one of the old-timers, as there are only a few now living there who were in the Panhandle as early as that. Up to 1902 his ranching operations were carried on mostly in Hemphill County, where for a number of years he had the noted old Springer ranch. His last ranch was located in the southeastern part of Lipscomb County, where he owned about thirty-five hundred acres of land, his residence and ranch headquarters being three miles south of Higgins. His ranch was known for its typical western hospitality as well as for progressive and enterprising methods of operating, which were everywhere in evidence. Mr. Hays has been uniformly successful in the cattle business and has attained a most satisfactory degree of prosperity. He was one of the three owners comprising the Higgins Hardware Company, which conducted the leading hardware store in Lipscomb County.

In numerous other affairs of public and business nature he has exerted his influence, and he is a man of

recognized ability and integrity in whatever he undertakes.

Mr. Hays was married early in life to Miss Lou Turner of Mills County, Iowa, and has one child, Mrs. L. C. Kelley of Wichita, Kansas, who, as Bonnie Hays, attended the Mulholland School in San Antonio. In April, 1912, Mr. Hays married Miss Bessie Long of San Antonio (formerly of Owensboro, Kentucky) and for the past four years they have lived in their home in Agarita Avenue, Beacon Hill, building one of the first modern bungalows on that street.

THE PLATTE WAS LIKE A RIBBON IN THE SUNSHINE

By J. W. Jackson, Bartlett, Texas

My father and mother, Jacob and Jane Jackson, moved to Texas and settled on Donahoe Creek, in Bell

County, in September, 1851, when I was nine years old. I have two brothers younger than myself who were cowmen, G. W. Jackson of Cleo, Oklahoma, and J. D. Jackson of Alpine, Texas.

When I was a lad I chased rabbits and lizards, trapped birds, fought the old ganders, rode the calves in the milk pen, and went to the country school when I could not find an excuse to stay at home. When the Civil War came on and took all of the able-bodied men, they left their cattle and horses almost at the mercy of the world, so the old men and boys tried to take care of the stock that was left.

J. W. JACKSON