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worried and told us we had given him a h-1 of a job, but he was going to play it strong.

That night Saunders put on only two reliefs, some of them to hold the herd and the others to reconnoiter and give the alarm at the first sign of Indians. He told all of the boys to get their shooting irons in good shape, for there was likely to be trouble.

The Indians did not molest us during the night, and early next morning Mr. Saunders told us they would probably show up in a little while, and he gave us instructions as to what to do. He told us to congregate behind this herd when the Indians appeared, keep in line and not mix with the Indians, for in case of a fight we should not run the risk of shooting some of our own men. We were to keep cool while he was parleying with the Indians, and if he saw that a fight could not be avoided he would give a keen cowboy yell as a signal, and every man was to act.

Just after sunrise we saw the Indians coming across the plain in single file and in full war garb, headed by two chiefs, Bacon Rind and Sundown, and the pockmarked half-breed. The Indians came right up to us, and as they were approaching Saunders said, "Remember, boys, we must win the fight. If I give the signal each of you must kill an Indian, so don't make a miss." They looked hideous in the war garb, and as they rushed up one of the chiefs said, "How, big chief bad man, no give poor Indian horse or grub. Indian take um." Saunders told them they would get nothing. They began to point out horses in the herd which they said they were going to take, and George informed them that he would shoot the first Indian that rode into the herd. The pockmarked Indian held a short whispered conversation with the two chiefs and started towards Saunders, seeing which the boys, who were already on their mettle and tired of waiting for the signal, began pulling their guns, and the Indians weakened. They instantly

saw that we were determined to give them a fight, and withdrew. Saunders had to do some lively talking then to hold our crowd back. There were about thirty-five men in our bunch, including the cooks and wranglers, and the Indians numbered about two hundred warriors. As they left the pockmarked half-breed showed the white feather, and Saunders called him all the coward names in the Indian, Spanish and English language that he knew, but the rascal knew he had lost and his bluff was called. In resentment the Indians went to Neal Manewell's herd, which was nearby, and shot down ten beeves. Saunders and several of our boys went over to the herd and offered assistance to the boss, Mr. Cato, but he said they were too late to save the beeves, and it was best to let the Indians alone, as we could all drive out of their reservation that day. We pointed our herd up the trail and had no further trouble with them.

I

The pockmarked Indian was known to most of the old trail drivers. He was an outlaw and thief, and was regarded as a desperate character all around. learned that he was killed by a cowboy in 1886. George Saunders had lots of experience in dealing with Indians during those days, and he often told me that when he made a bold bluff, if it did not stick he was always ready to back it up with firearms or fast talking.

In 1885 and 1886 I carried herds for H. G. Williams from Kyle, Texas, to Arkansas City, and made my last drive in 1886, when I delivered a herd to Miles Williams at Abilene, Texas. I have been in the cow business ever since, the greater part of the time associated with H. G. Williams.

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my trailhood,
When fond recollections present them to view—
The water barrel, the old chuck wagon,

And the cook who called me to chew.

PUT UP MANY HERDS FOR D. R. FANT

By Thomas M. Hodges, Junction, Texas

My father moved to Goliad County in 1838, and located fifteen miles from Goliad, where I was born August 30, 1849. I grew to manhood here and worked on the range until 1879, when I went up the trail with a herd belonging to Barton Peck. On this trip we endured hardships of all descriptions, stampedes, hailstorms, thunder and lightning, trouble with Indians, and other things not to be mentioned. However, we reached Dodge City, Kansas, in good shape, sold the herd, and came back overland, bringing our horses and

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wagons.

I am a brother-in-law to the late D. R. Fant, and for many years helped to put up and start many herds up the trail for him, but I made only one trip, and that was the one mentioned above.

THOS. M. HODGES

My father moved several hundred cattle from Old Caney to Goliad in 1838 and soon had the largest herd in that section. He had a great deal of trouble with the Indians, for they came down into our settlement almost every moon for many years. They did not bother our cattle, only killing beef occasionally to eat, but they stole lots of horses and killed quite a number of settlers.

I met George W. Saunders, the president of our organization, in 1859, when his father settled near us in Goliad County. We went to school together, worked cattle together, and the ties of friendship that bind us have

endured all these years. The work that he is doing to perpetuate the record of the men who helped to make Texas the great state that she is today is characteristic of the "get up and do things" manner of my good old friend.

I am now living at Junction, Kimble County, Texas, where I am engaged in the hotel business. I have been a citizen of this county for many years; came here when the population of the county was much less than it is now, and have witnessed wonderful development since I have been here. I have raised a large family, most of my children having grown to manhood and womanhood right here, and becoming useful citizens.

THE MILK OF HUMAN KINDNESS IS DRYING UP

By George F. Hindes, Pearsall, Texas

I was born in Alabama in September, 1844. My first experience as trail driver was in the fall of 1856, at the age of twelve years. I was put in charge of a small herd of breeding cattle in Caldwell County, Texas, by my father and we started west. We drove through San Antonio, down Main Street and out South Flores Street. When the Civil War broke out in 1861, we had quite a nice little herd of gentle breeding cattle, as well as a good bunch of horse stock that I had caught from the mustangs or wild horses that were plentiful on the range on the Frio and Nueces Rivers at that time; but when the war closed, or broke up, and I got out of the army in the spring of 1865, our stock of cattle and horses were all stolen or scattered to the four winds, so we were all "broke" again. In the meantime I had met the finest little girl in the world, and felt that the game of life would not be worth the candle without her, and when I mentioned the subject to her, to my surprise she told

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