to Texas with other members of the outfit and resumed work on the Webb ranch, working the range for Mr. Webb until he resigned to accept a position on the TS and SOX ranch, which was run by M. L. McAuley, where he worked for about two years, then accepted employment with the Concho Cattle Company, where he worked until the spring of 1881, when he resigned to accept a position with D. E. Simms, who was gathering a herd for the trail.

This herd started on the trail at Paint Rock, Concho County, Bob Pearce being boss of the outfit. It was driven by way of Colorado City, taking the plains at the head of the Brazos River, going by way of Plainview and Canyon, to Amarillo, where the herd was quarantined and shipped from there by rail to Colorado.

Mr. Wright then returned to San Antonio, Texas, where his people resided, and secured employment in the San Antonio fire department, his first position being that of pipeman. His promotions in the department were as follows: Assistant engineer, engineer, lieutenant, captain, first assistant chief, May 1st, 1899, and in the year 1905 was appointed chief of the department. Remained chief until 1911, when he resigned of his own accord. In 1912 he was again made chief of the department and remained chief until June, 1917, when Commissioner Lowther, for political reasons, declined to reappoint him. Mr. Wright was selected commissioner of fire and police June 4th, 1918, holding that position at the present time.

Mr. Wright was married in 1906 to Miss Pearl Morris, who died in February, 1909, leaving a son, Phil L. Wright, Jr., now twelve years of age. He was married again in 1916 to Miss Jewell Mitchell, they having a girl, Alma Ione, three years of age.

REFLECTIONS OF THE TRAIL

By George W. Saunders, San Antonio, Texas

I was born at Rancho, Gonzales County, Texas, February 12th, 1854. My father and mother settled in that county in 1850, coming with several other immigrants in ox wagons from Mississippi. In 1850 they moved to Goliad County and settled twelve miles west of Goliad, on Lost Creek, where father previously selected a place to start a cattle ranch. At that time I was only five years old, but I can remember riding a side saddle belonging to one of my sisters and helping keep up the tail end of the herd part of the time on this trip. At Helena I saw my first white house, and when we crossed the San Antonio River at Wofford I remember how excited we all were when our herd was in the swift water. Part of them floated down below the ford, and it required a great deal of time to get them out at different points for half a mile down the river. Never having seen anything like this before, my mother thought all of the cattle were lost when she saw them going down the stream. In a few days we reached our new home and camped on the site which father had selected, and father and my two oldest brothers, Mat and Bill, assisted by some hired help, began cutting and hauling timber to build houses and stock pens, while myself and brother, Jack, a third brother older than I, range herded the cattle to locate them.

Fish and game were plentiful, deer were constantly in sight of our camp; in fact, that country was in a perfectly wild state. Only a few cattle were on the range, which was as fine as could be found anywhere. In a few months we were comfortably quartered and happy in our new location. Father had taken a herd of cattle on shares from William Rupe, getting every third calf for attending to them, and we all kept busy looking after the

stock. We soon became acquainted with the settlers, with whom we worked the ranges, and neighbored with them in every sense of the term. The following families were among those who lived from five to thirty-five miles from us: Pettus, Hodges, Word, Peck, Reynolds, Meyers, Lott, Burris, Rutledge, Best, Fant, Rupe, Choate, Borroum, Butler, McKinney, New, Rawlings, Henderson, Paschal and others. This being before the days of the chuck wagon, the men would set a date and place to meet for what we called a "cow hunt." Each man would bring bedding, coffee pot, tin cup, a wallet of biscuit, salt, sometimes sugar, four or five horses each, and we would work the surrounding range until all cattle belonging to the outfit were gathered and held under herd, then we would select a pack horse for our equipment and move to some other part of the range, gathering cattle as we went. When grub got scarce we would send after more supplies to some nearby ranch. Usually it required from ten to fifteen days to make these trips, then each man would take his cattle home, put all the calves in a pen in order to locate the mother cows, and range herd the dry cattle for a few days and locate them. We were prosperous and happy until the Civil War started, and father and my oldest brother entered the service the first year, and another brother enlisted the second year, which left brother Jack and myself to take care of our stock with the assistance of a few old men and some negroes.

We worked the range constantly during the war. The range was full of wild mustang horses, and they caused us a lot of trouble, for we had to keep our horse stock from getting with them, for once they got mixed with the mustangs they soon became as wild or wilder than these wild horses. In order to capture or kill these mustangs the stockmen built pens around water holes. and prepared traps to ensnare them. To these pens wings would be constructed in the shape of a V, forming a chute through which the mustangs would be compelled

to go to water. Once a bunch of mustangs passed through the chute to the water hole the gate would be shut by a watchman, who had lain in wait in concealment for the horses, and the animals were securely snared. They would then be forced into a small, well-built enclosure constructed of rails to a height of eight or ten feet, where they were roped and made gentle. These animals were of Spanish origin and were noted for their endurance on the range and trail. The settlers used various unique methods of capturing them, one way being to walk them down. Some men would take three or four days' supply of provisions, start a bunch of mustangs, follow them as closely as possible, and when they got out of sight of the pursuer would pick up their trail, keep right after them, never giving them time to eat or rest day or night. Usually on the second day of the chase he could get closer to them; the third or fourth day he could drive them in home with a bunch of gentle horses and easily pen them. They were caught in many different ways and oftentimes shot in order to rid the range of their presence. Before long they disappeared entirely. Our cattle increased to such proportions with new herds coming into our country from East Texas and Louisiana that by the time the war ended our range was overstocked. We sold a few cattle to the government and a few to Mexican freighters for work oxen.

I shall never forget the first stampede I experienced. George Bell, who was exempt from military service on account of one eye being blind, agreed to take a herd of beeves to Mexico and exchange for supplies for the war widows. The neighbors got together about two hundred of these beeves, my mother putting in twenty head. We delivered the herd to Mr. Bell at the Pettus ranch where Pettus Station now stands. This was in 1864, when I was ten years old. We put our cattle in the herd and brother Jack and I agreed to help hold them. That night shortly after dark something scared the beeves and they made a

run. I had never heard anything like the rumbling noise they made, but I put spurs to my horse and followed the noise. We ran those cattle all night and at daybreak we found we had not lost a beef, but we had five or six bunches four or five miles apart, and two or three men or boys with each bunch. We soon had them all together and Mr. Bell started them on the trip. When he returned from Mexico he brought us one sack of coffee, two sets of knives and forks, two pairs of spurs, two bridle bits, and two fancy "hackamores," or bridle headstalls, for which he had traded our twenty beeves, and we were well pleased with our deal, for in those days such things were considered luxuries, and we were glad to get them, particularly the knives and forks, for we had been drinking bran coffee and were using wooden knives and forks we had made ourselves. Those were hard times in Goliad County during the Civil War, and when the internecine strife ended the soldiers came home broke and all anxious to make up the time that had been lost during the four years that had passed. Reconstruction set in. Some outlaws and crooks drifted into our country; considerable friction and hatred existed between the boys of the blue and the gray; negro soldiers were stationed at different points to keep order, but it soon resulted in serious clashes that called for more Texas Rangers and United States marshals. As is usually the case, right and justice finally prevailed. During this time our stockmen were hunting markets for the cattle on our over-stocked ranges. We sold a few steers to Foster & Allen, Shanghai Pierce and Joel Collins, which were shipped from Powder Horn. Slaughter houses at Rockport killed considerable beeves at the time, but we needed a greater outlet for the ever-increasing herds on the ranges.

My father drove a herd from Goliad to New Orleans in 1867, swam all the streams, and bayous, and through the exposure he contracted rheumatism from which he suffered until his death, which occurred at Saunders'