Rangers and Sovereignty. Daniel W. Roberts
on Elm Creek near its junction with the San Saba River, Menard County. The Major struck camp within 200 yards of Company ''D" and the ''boys" that were on the escort detail were ''home again''. They told us all about the Lost Valley Fight.
Next morning Major Jones' escort were all saddled and ready to mount, when two men whom Captain Perry had sent up Elm Creek to get a beef came "sailing" into their camp and informed the Major that Indians had attacked them about five miles from camp. One of them continued on a dead run to Company "D" camp and told me what had occurred. Captain Perry was up at the Major's camp, and I did not wait for any orders from superior officers, but told the man to go "flying" to the horse herd and tell the horse guard to get the horses to camp as quickly as it could be done. In the meantime, I detailed a squad of nine men to go with me. John Staggs, a young man who lived in Menard County, was in our camp at the time and accompanied the detail. He was armed and took an active part in the fight which followed.
Major Jones' escort had moved out, with a man to show them the trail, and were half an hour ahead of me. As soon as we could saddle our horses we mounted and struck a gallop, taking a course a little south of the direction the escort had taken. I had flankers out on each side, so that we could not run over the trail without seeing it. We kept this speed for a distance of about eight miles when we came in sight of men riding briskly to the south, and near the head of Saline Creek. I thought we had sighted the Indians, but when I got nearer I saw that it was the escort, under command of Lieutenant Best, and on the trail of the Indians. I thought they were going a little too slow, as the Indians would soon reach a shelter of thickets and timber unknown to Lieutenant Best. Since Lieutenant Best was my superior officer, I put my wits to work quickly, to master the situation. He had two men ahead of him trailing the Indians, but I thought them too slow a "fuse" to fire in time. I rode up to the side of Lieutenant Best and asked him if I might assist those men in trailing, to which he replied "Certainly, do so". Then I had my cue. I lost no time in getting to them and struck a gallop on the trail. I knew what would follow and looked back and saw my men coming after me like stampeded cattle. I have never been quite able to justify my rude conduct toward a superior officer, but I knew something had to be done quickly. The clatter of hoofs was so fast that escort did not know whether they were on the Indian trail or not.
The trail went down a tributary of the Saline about two miles and turned abruptly up another tributary of the same stream, making a V, and leading back northwest to the prairie again. Within two miles of their turn, I came in sight of them. They were riding leisurely and saw us coming about the time we discovered them, but did not attempt to run. I saw they were going to give us a fight. I had time to talk my men down into perfect calmness. I impressed upon them not to over shoot the enemy, but rather to aim low and kill the horses in preference to missing entirely.
When we reached nearly within firing distance of them, their commander was riding with their rear file and quickly gave his horse a cut and raced to the head of the column. Facing the men about, left into line, they were spaced at proper intervals. It was as pretty a military movement as I ever saw. At that moment I broke column left into line and took intervals, but did not check my speed.
They fired on us, but I did not return the fire, but kept on the charge until we were in easy pistol shot of them, when I ordered a halt and dismounted. They expected us to charge into them, as that is their favorite way of fighting, horseback.
Our respective positions threw their commander on the right of his men and myself on the left of mine. I did not dismount myself, and seeing the Indian commander make a movement toward me, I met him half way, but before we got together he shot my horse in the shoulder, and thinking my horse might fall and catch me under him, I jumped clear of the saddle to the ground. Just at that moment he jumped off his horse and we came together on foot. He tried his ''war dance" on me to draw my fire, but I held my gun on him until he would settle down so I would not miss him. Seeing that his tactics would not work with me, he tried to get a little further from me. In my eagerness to '' fix'' him I did fire and missed him, but before he could straighten for position to shoot, I put a bullet in the right place. Corporal Thurlow Weed, seeing I was in a tight place, was the first man to get to me. There was another Indian close to me, shooting at me with the same kind of a gun that I was using. I pointed him out to Weed and he came down upon his knee with his rifle in deadly aim, as though he was shooting for beef, and at the fire of his gun the Indian sprang into the air and flattened out, face foremost. The Indians seeing this, and that their commander was gone, showed signs of retreat and I ''yelled" to my men to charge them.
Then the race began. My poor old horse stood trembling, close to me, and I examined his wound hastily and saw that the ball had struck pretty high up in the shoulder, and thought he might carry me a little further, so I mounted to follow the chase. My horse staggered off with me a short distance and gradually recovered until within a short distance further he was at his best speed again; within one mile I was in the lead again. Private George Bryant was riding the shabbiest looking horse in the company, but he had the blood of a "stayer'' and he kept by my side until we reached gunshot of the two rear Indians, both riding one horse. Bryant checked up enough to steady himself and fired at them, striking the hind rider in the back of his head, which needs no further explanation. The front rider still plied his quirt, but his horse was failing and I soon got to him. He jumped off his horse and threw up his hands in surrender, telling me in Spanish that he was a friend. Notwithstanding I had sworn '' vengeance'' and sworn that a Comanche could not surrender to me, this fellow, standing before me in human shape, begging for his life, was more than I could stand. I took his arms and held him there until help came to me. Thur-lor Weed was one of the first men to me again. I hastily left the Indian in Weed's charge, telling him to let no one hurt him. I resumed the chase quickly, having several men with me then. (But before I proceed further, I will say that this Corporal Thurlow Weed was a nephew of the noted Thurlow Weed of New York.)
Within two miles further we were up again and exchanging "hot compliments" with them. We made two more ''good Indians" in that round. Our horses being exhausted, and my horse having cooled a little by the check, could go no further. Just at this juncture, Lieutenant Best, with two men got to us, and the Indians being faintly in sight yet, he struck the ''dead run" for them.
To camp, about 15 miles distant was our next move. I mounted a horse, and with his owner up behind me we rode ''double" into camp. Two men stayed with my horse and succeeded in getting him to camp late that night. My horse lived and did good service afterward.
When we arrived at camp, Weed was there with his Indian, and had him at a big bright guard fire. I will never forget how that poor devil looked—just as though he thought that fire had been made to cremate him. Now to account for the hat taken in the first skirmish. It was shown to the Indian and he claimed it and put on his head.
We will now follow Lieut. Best to the wind-up of the day. After a run of three or four miles, he reached gunshot of them again, and shots were exchanged until the Indians reached a safe cover, in a place that they had evidently been making for. It was a short canyon, emptying into Las Moras Creek, and at its head it shelved under, making a big space they could take their horses under, and no approach to it except the way they went into it. So Lieutenant Best would edge around until he could see under the shelving rocks and give them a fire occasionally, but probably with no effect. He, however, had wounded one or two of them before they reached this place. Dark coming on, Lieutenant Best would not give it up. He sent a man to Menardville, about eight miles away, for help. He and one man stayed there to watch as best they could. And near daylight, next morning, his succor came. But the danger of the Indians having fortified their position so as to make attack deadly from the outside they waited until good daylight to make it. They ventured cautiously until they saw the Indians had escaped.
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