almost wild in his eagerness to regain Scurry. Seeing Spaulding making the best speed, he called out, âTwenty-five dollars for Scurry, Spaulding!â Further on in a louder tone, he called, âFifty Dollars for Scurry, Spaulding!!!â and then still further on, âOne hundred dollars for Scurry!!!â Much to his joy, Scurry was regained.
Now Indian stealing became almost a constant thing. Sometimes they would make a raid in the [James] Standifer neighborhood, then on Wilbarger Creek, and then in our immediate vicinity, and along the Colorado. Indeed, their boldness and greed became not only remarkable, but alarming. A man was lying asleep in his wagon and they took hishorse which he had tied to one of the wheels, without awakening him. Then they would come in daytime, and once were in the act of trying to steal a little boy, when discovered.
A small company of men at length went out in pursuit. In Big Prairie on Wilbarger Creek, they saw a gang of mustangs feeding, while a solitary horse stood tied three or four hundred yards off. Their curiosity was excited; but they soon saw Indians crawling upon the Mustangs. They were so engrossed in trying to get the horses that they did not discover the whites until we rushed upon them. A running fight then commenced, the Indians retreated on foot, while we were riding. Only one man, Mike Young,* was wounded, but not fatally, while three of the Indians were killed and one old warrior crippled. It was touching to see the devotion of a young Indian, presumably a son, who lingered by him a long time, making every possible effort to reach Brushy Bottom with him. As the whites gained ground and he saw death would be the result of longer delay, he at last started off, but a few words from the old warrior recalled him. He tarried only long enough, however, to divide arrows and then left his father to his fate. The time lost in helping the old man cost him his life, for he was overtaken and killed before reaching the bottom. Three-quarters of a mile farther on, we discovered their camps, and from every sign, they had brought their families and temporarily lived there, for there was the print of a childâs moccasin, as well as those of squaws. But they fled in alarm, and all was deserted.
The raids and persecutions of the Indians upon our vicinity became so frequent and constant now that it would be entirely superfluous to try to give them in detail, as well as impossible to chronicle them in regular order. After this raid occurred the killing of another of our best citizens, William Lentz,* who was waylaid and shot near where Furnash had been murdered some time before.
A little old cannon was used as a signal 13 for our men to collect at Bastrop. It was a relic of the Mexican war, having been dismounted and thrown into the San Antonio River by Filisola at the Battle of San Jacinto. Immediately upon the murder of Lentz, the cannon called together Burlesonâs little band which was promptly in pursuit, though as usual nothing was accomplished.
Mr. Handcock [William Hancock], one of our neighbors, brought eight or ten fine horses from Tennessee, and in two weeks all of them, together with mine and others, were stolen. A small squad of men under Captain Gillespie was soon in pursuit, and with every advantage this time. We came in sight of them on Onion Creek, at what is known as Manshack Springs. When about a half-mile off we charged upon them, whereupon they mounted. One of the warriors leading a very fine horse pretended to be leading a charge. Two came round toward us, evidently trying to draw us off. The leading Indian was cut off, and was chased about a mile up the creek by Campbell Taylor and James Patten. They hemmed him in and Patten discharged both barrels of his gun without effect. The horse fell, and the Indian left afoot and made his escape. In the meantime, Captain Gillespie with his body of menhemmed the thieves so they were obliged to dismount and leave
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