The Log of a Cowboy | Page 2

brother would come and milk the cows, when we would all return
home together. Then, before daybreak, we would be in the cane
listening for the first tinkle, to find the cattle and remove the bell. And
my day's work commenced anew.
Only once did I come near betraying my trust. About the middle of the
third day I grew very hungry, and as the cattle were lying down, I crept
to the edge of the canebrake to see if my dinner was not forthcoming.
Soldiers were in sight, which explained everything. Concealed in the
rank cane I stood and watched them. Suddenly a squad of five or six
turned a point of the brake and rode within fifty feet of me. I stood like
a stone statue, my concealment being perfect. After they had passed, I
took a step forward, the better to watch them as they rode away, when

the grass dropped out of the bell and it clattered. A red-whiskered
soldier heard the tinkle, and wheeling his horse, rode back. I grasped
the clapper and lay flat on the ground, my heart beating like a
trip-hammer. He rode within twenty feet of me, peering into the thicket
of cane, and not seeing anything unusual, turned and galloped away
after his companions. Then the lesson, taught me by my mother, of
being "faithful over a few things," flashed through my mind, and
though our cattle were spared to us, I felt very guilty.
Another vivid recollection of those boyhood days in Georgia was the
return of my father from the army. The news of Lee's surrender had
reached us, and all of us watched for his coming. Though he was long
delayed, when at last he did come riding home on a swallow-marked
brown mule, he was a conquering hero to us children. We had never
owned a horse, and he assured us that the animal was his own, and by
turns set us on the tired mule's back. He explained to mother and us
children how, though he was an infantryman, he came into possession
of the animal. Now, however, with my mature years and knowledge of
brands, I regret to state that the mule had not been condemned and was
in the "U.S." brand. A story which Priest, "The Rebel," once told me
throws some light on the matter; he asserted that all good soldiers
would steal. "Can you take the city of St. Louis?" was asked of General
Price. "I don't know as I can take it," replied the general to his
consulting superiors, "but if you will give me Louisiana troops, I'll
agree to steal it."
Though my father had lost nothing by the war, he was impatient to go
to a new country. Many of his former comrades were going to Texas,
and, as our worldly possessions were movable, to Texas we started.
Our four oxen were yoked to the wagon, in which our few household
effects were loaded and in which mother and the smaller children rode,
and with the cows, dogs, and elder boys bringing up the rear, our
caravan started, my father riding the mule and driving the oxen. It was
an entire summer's trip, full of incident, privation, and hardship. The
stock fared well, but several times we were compelled to halt and
secure work in order to supply our limited larder. Through certain
sections, however, fish and game were abundant. I remember the

enthusiasm we all felt when we reached the Sabine River, and for the
first time viewed the promised land. It was at a ferry, and the sluggish
river was deep. When my father informed the ferryman that he had no
money with which to pay the ferriage, the latter turned on him
remarking, sarcastically: "What, no money? My dear sir, it certainly
can't make much difference to a man which side of the river he's on,
when he has no money."
Nothing daunted by this rebuff, my father argued the point at some
length, when the ferryman relented so far as to inform him that ten
miles higher up, the river was fordable. We arrived at the ford the next
day. My father rode across and back, testing the stage of the water and
the river's bottom before driving the wagon in. Then taking one of the
older boys behind him on the mule in order to lighten the wagon, he
drove the oxen into the river. Near the middle the water was deep
enough to reach the wagon box, but with shoutings and a free
application of the gad, we hurried through in safety. One of the wheel
oxen, a black steer which we called "Pop-eye," could be ridden, and I
straddled him in fording, laving my sunburned feet in the cool water.
The cows were