For the Liberty of Texas | Page 3

was an Indian."
At his younger brother's words, Dan Radbury's face took on a look of
deep concern. "You are not real sure it was an Indian?" he questioned,
after a pause.
"No, but I'm pretty sure, too. But even if it was an Indian it might have
been Choctaw Tom, you know."
"You're wrong there, Ralph. All the Caddo Indians are friendly to the
whites, and if it was Tom he wouldn't hide away after you had spotted
him. More than likely it was a dirty Comanche, and if it was--well, we
had better tell father about it, that's all."
"Why, you don't think----" Ralph paused, abruptly.
"I know a Comanche isn't to be trusted. Come, let us look at the deer,
and let us try to find father at the same time. Is the gun loaded?"
"No." Ralph looked sheepish. "I--I was so pleased to bring down the
deer I forgot all about loading again."
"Then you're not such a famous hunter, after all, Ralph. The wise man,
especially in these parts, loads up before his gun-barrel has a chance to
cool. Put in your load at once, and I'll bring along that Mexican
escopeta father traded in for a mustang last week. I don't believe the old
gun is of much account, but it will be better than nothing."

"Father wouldn't take it from the greaser if it wasn't all right. But why
must we both be armed? Do you think the Indians are close by?"
"As I said before, I don't believe in trusting these bloodthirsty
Comanches. Poke Stover knows them like a book, and he says they are
just aching to go on the war-path, now the government is having so
much trouble of its own."
"If the Indians are around it won't be safe to leave the cabin alone," was
the younger boy's comment.
"I reckon we can leave it for awhile, Ralph. We won't be gone more
than an hour, at the most," concluded Dan Radbury, as he disappeared
into the cabin for the firearm he had mentioned.
The scene was that of a typical frontier home, in the heart of Texas,
close to the Guadalupe River, and about ten miles from what was then
the village of Gonzales. It was the year 1835, and the whole of northern
and western Texas could truthfully be put down as a "howling
wilderness," overrun with deer, bison, bears, and other wild animals,
wild horses, and inhabited only by the savage and lawless Comanche,
Apache, Cherokee, and numerous other tribes of Indians. As regards
the rest of the State, it may briefly be stated that this immense territory
of thousands of square miles contained not over twenty-two thousand
white and black people combined. How many Indians there were is not
definitely known, but they have been estimated at fifteen to eighteen
thousand. The main cities were San Antonio de Bexar, San Felipe de
Austin, Nacogdoches, San Augustine, Columbia, and the seaport town
of Velasco, but not one of these boasted of more than thirty-five
hundred inhabitants.
To this territory had come, three years before, Amos Radbury, the
father of the two lads introduced at the beginning of this chapter. The
family were from Georgia, where Mr. Radbury had once owned a large
interest in a tobacco plantation. But a disastrous flood had robbed him
not only of the larger portion of his property, but also of his much
beloved wife, and, almost broken-hearted, the planter had sold off his
remaining interest in the plantation for five thousand dollars, and

emigrated, first to New Orleans, and then to his present home. The trip
from New Orleans had been made in a prairie wagon, drawn by a
double yoke of oxen, and had consumed many weeks, and that trip over
the prairies, through the almost trackless forests, and across numerous
dangerous fords, was one which the boys were likely never to forget.
On the way they had fallen in with a small band of treacherous Indians,
but they had been saved by the timely arrival of some friendly Caddos,
under the leadership of Canoma, a chief well known throughout the
length and breadth of Texas.
On reaching the Guadalupe River, a stop of two weeks had been made
at Gonzales, and then Mr. Radbury had obtained possession of a grant
of land embracing over five hundred acres, the tract lying on both sides
of the stream. The price paid for the land was ten cents per acre. This is
not to be wondered at, since land in other portions of the State was sold
as low as two cents per acre!
The three years spent in the wilderness had done wonders for all of the
members of the family. The hard work of clearing off the timber,
planting, and of