Rangers and Sovereignty. Daniel W. Roberts
into our neighborhood, we would follow and fight. There was nothing heroic in our resolution; on the contrary, we were simply governed by the law of self-preservation. If we remained at home and permitted the Indians to continue unmolested in their raids, there was a strong probability that, family by family, nearly all of us would be butchered; while if we engaged them in battle there was at least a fighting chance that we could ''get" some of them. We could do no worse than be killed in the fight and that was a better prospect than being butchered as we slept.
We did not have to wait long after the council of war was held. Within just a few days the report was received that the Indians were in the country to the north of us and were moving south. Again the ''pony" telephone was put in operation and the news carried from house to house.
There were only six of us who rode out from Round Mountain to find the trail and run down the Indian band, whose number we had no means of knowing. In the party were Thomas Bird, Joe Bird, John O. Biggs, Stanton Jolly, George T. Roberts (my brother), and myself. We struck the trail on Hickory Creek, about ten miles from Round Mountain. A short time after we struck the trail we were overtaken and joined by Captain James Ingram, William Ingram, Frank Waldrip and "Cam" Davidson. This unexpected reinforcement brought our squad up to a fighting strength of ten men.
All of us were young men, but we were seasoned plainsmen inured to the hardships of life on the frontier. We knew how to ride hard and shoot straight. The equipment of arms of our squad was very poor, probably inferior to the equipment of the Indians. I remember that several of the boys had only six-shooters and they were not very good ones. I had an old Spencer saddle-gun which had been in the army service. It was a big calibre rifle, with a magazine holding seven shells, and perhaps the best gun in the squad.
On the trail we found where the Indians had killed two beeves and carried away practically all of the meat. The big trail of horses tended to confirm our suspicion that we were trailing a big band. We learned later that every horse had a rider.
We followed the trail at a gallop when the lay of the ground made that speed possible. After following the trail for fifteen miles we saw an Indian run down from the top of a little hill, from which vantage point he had been spying over the back trail. He was about a quarter of a mile away when we sighted him-We knew that the band must be near and that the fight was about to begin. Putting our horses into a dead run we moved forward and around the little hill.
As we came within range they opened fire and our answering volley was fired before we dismounted. With cunning and strategy they had chosen well the place to be overtaken. As we swept into plain view and into the range of their guns we realized that every natural advantage was theirs, but no matter how great the handicap we were there to fight. They were entrenched in a little draw or shallow ravine to the right of the hill and far enough distant from the hill to prevent us from using that eminence for a breastwork. Our only means of attack was in the open, from the front. To add to their advantage there was a scrub growth of Spanish oak on each side of the ravine. On the further side of the ravine their horses were tied.
The mare that I was riding was young and badly tired, which left me considerably in the rear when the first volley was fired. When I reached the squad I found that my brother had been wounded in the first exchange of shots. A big bullet had struck him on the right side of the face, grazing the cheek bone just under the eye, passing through the nose and grazing the left cheek bone as it passed out. An inch higher and further in would have resulted in instant death. I asked Stanton Jolly to move George out of range and take care of him. This reduced our fighting force to eight men.
We continued to pepper each other as best we could, the final result in doubt from the very beginning. We could not even see when our bullets were finding lodging in the targets. While the others held their ground directly in front, I edged around to the left, and finally reached the side of the gully.
From this point I could fire down the gully and as long as I could hold the position, put the Indians under a sort of cross-fire. I had a much better view and could do more effective work from this position. When an Indian would rise from behind the brush to shoot at me, the boys in front had a better shot at him, and when he exposed himself to shoot at the squad, my time came to shoot.
The bullets struck all around me, but I used the Indian tactics, jumping from one side to another of the gulley, with my gun always in position to take advantage of an opening for a fair shot. I suspect I must have grown a little bit careless when there was a momentary lull in the firing. I was standing, partly exposed, with my gun in position, when a big bullet struck me in the left thigh, missing the bone and passing entirely through my limb. The shot did not knock me down, but the blood spouted so freely that I thought the main artery had been severed. By this time William Ingram had worked his way around and was firing on the Indians from a short distance from me. I called to him that I had been shot and feared I was mortally wounded, but urged him not to come to me. I continued to stand with my gun in position to shoot.
"Bill" Ingram was a big, heavy-set, good natured boy, somewhat easy going, but he had the heart of a lion. It was useless to tell him to avoid danger when a comrade had been shot and needed his services.
Disregarding the fire of the Indians, he came directly to me. Finding me helpless and in a condition apparently serious, he went out to the open and brought back his horse. Lifting me into the saddle he led the horse out through the shower of bullets.
My wound was bleeding so freely and I was suffering so much for water that the boys realized that they must get me away quickly. We found water within a mile of the scene of the fight, and from there I was carried to Johnson's ranch, about two miles further on. The only injuries sustained by our squad were the two slight wounds on Joe Bird, who had both shoulders grazed by bullets. Several of the horses were slightly wounded.
After carrying George and myself to Johnson's ranch where we could have attention, one of the boys rode over and reported the fight to Captain Rufe Perry, who lived half a mile away. Hastily summoning all the men available he went at once to the battle ground, hoping to resume the fight. He found that the Indians had departed as soon as we ceased firing and gave up the fight. He took the trail westward and followed it some distance, but found that the band had a long start that it would be impossible to overtake them before night. Four or five of their horses had been left dead on the battle ground. Captain Perry found many blood spots on the trail where the dead and wounded had been laid on the ground.
These Indians were trailed out of the country by other parties. They numbered twenty-seven warriors, so I was informed by parties who saw them come in. One of the parties which trailed them out reported finding the graves of four of the braves who had been consigned to the happy hunting ground as the result of the fight with us.
While I lay convalescing, Hon. H. C. King, State Senator came to pay me a visit. He was deeply stirred by the report of the fight. He was one of the type of man made famous by Kipling, with plenty of red blood in his veins. He went from our home direct to Austin, where the legislature was then in session, and introduced a bill which provided for a gun to be given to each one of us who participated in the fight, as a testimonial of the State's appreciation of the services we tried to render. The guns awarded were repeating Winchesters of the model of 1873, which had just been perfected and put on the market. I have my gun yet, and I hardly need to add that it is among the most treasured of all my possessions.
The oftener I think of the Deer Creek fight, the greater is my wonder that all of us were not killed. We were outnumbered by more than three to one, had arms that were inferior to the enemy's and were compelled to fight in the open, at close range, while the Indians had shelter. I can account for the miracle of our escape only by believing that it was an act of Providence. Captain Rufe Perry, who is mentioned in this chapter, was the first commander of Company ''D" of the Texas Rangers, when the battalion was organized a year afterward. Of those who were in the Deer Creek fight, only three other than myself are alive today, so far as I can learn. "Bill"Ingram lives in Schleicher County, Texas; Joe Bird is still in or near Round Mountain, and John O. Biggs is a resident of Silver City, New Mexico.
Packsaddle Mountain Fight