The Scout and Ranger. James Pike
you will be able to form a correct conception of a squad of Texan Rangers on the march. In such a band it is impossible to distinguish officers from privates, as the former have no distinct dress; and all act alike.
Usually, we encamped in a hollow square, placing our tents at regular intervals around the outside. The horses were tied to stakes by a forty foot rope, and allowed to graze outside the camp until "retreat," when they were led inside, and the rope shortened. Guards were posted outside the tents, and at some distance off; while the horse guards were inside the square. From Belton, we started in the direction of Gatesville, going up Cow House creek, and crossing the Owl creek mountains. Encamping on Owl creek, we disposed ourselves for the night, and felt felicitated at the prospect of several hours' rest after a hard day's travel; but our hopes were fallacious.
At about two o'clock in the morning, when all were wrapped in deep slumber—the previous quiet having been perfect—we were suddenly aroused by a terrific scream; the horses surged, and pranced around their stakes, their eyes glittering, and their nostrils distended, while they made the air reverberate with sharp piercing snorts of rage and fear. It became evident that an enemy of no mean pretensions was upon us; and the men, springing to their guns, at once prepared for a defense. For perhaps five minutes the camp was hushed and still; then again that fearful shriek rang out, and a large panther sprang from a tree almost over the Captain's tent, seized a piece of raw beef, which lay convenient, and was off with his booty so suddenly, that not a shot was fired. The animal was so large and powerful, that although the beef weighed at least thirty pounds, yet its flight was not in the least impeded. After indulging in a hearty laugh, and numerous speculations as to how the animal passed the guards unobserved, quiet was restored in the camp; and while most of the men again resigned themselves to slumber, the old hunters gathered in groups around the camp-fires, "spinning yarns," and relating remarkable adventures with "panter," "bar," and catamount, till daylight.
On the following day we passed through Gatesville, and encamped on the north side of town. The inhabitants insisted on presenting us with cakes, and pies, in lavish profusion, simply because, as one old man expressed it, while dealing out a basket full: "youre gwine whar you wont git no more soon." From Gatesville, our route lay through the "Cross Timbers," to the Red fork of the Brazos. We hunted deer, wild turkeys, and musk hogs; fished in the little streams on the route; had bullfights at almost every camp; had horse-races, foot-races, and all sorts of sports; had plenty to eat and drink; and, in short, a good time generally.
About the 8th of July, we reached the Caddoe village, and encamped at a famous chalybeate spring, the waters of which are slightly tinctured with salt. It was some time before we could reconcile ourselves to the drinking of salt water, but as it was all that was to be had, we were compelled to come to it. After we had pitched our tents, I was detailed with a squad of fifteen, to accompany Captain Brown to the agency, where he had orders to report.
After scrambling over a very high mountain, and getting a horse killed, and a man accidently shot in the leg, we came in sight of the agency, where everything appeared to be in a high state of excitement. Captain Ross, the sub-agent, and Captain Plummer, commanding the United States regulars, at the post, had mistaken us for Baylor's men, and had accordingly prepared for a vigorous defense. The Indians were mustered in the rear of the regulars, who were drawn up in line, so as to command the approaches to the palisade fort; while two pieces of artillery, loaded with grape, were placed so as to sweep the road, by which we were approaching, and a small body of cavalry stood prepared to distinguish itself, whenever opportunity offered. We held on the even tenor of our way, until arriving within short pistol range, when the troops were dismissed, and all gathered around us, to know who we were, where we came from, what we were going to do, and how we were going to do it? They were glad to see us, and treated us with every kindness. When Captain Brown explained his business to the Indians, and told them he had orders to whip Baylor off and away from their country, they were so delighted, that they could scarcely find words or means to express their joy. The chiefs of the different tribes crowded around the Captain, followed by their principal warriors, and in their eloquent sign language, and in broken English, expressed their friendship, as manifestly, as the most polished phrases could have portrayed it.
This was the Lower Reserve—the upper manifesting a different temper. Their head chief, Katampsie, possessed a warlike disposition. Exceedingly suspicious in all his dealings with the whites, and crafty as a fox, he was not so easily satisfied of our good intentions. He was at a loss to understand how one portion of the people of Texas should want to wage war on him, while another party, claiming to be the troops of the governor, should come professing friendship to the Indians, and hostilities to the white men, who had recently paid him a visit. He knew, and recognized no authority but the United States, and his own free will. When, therefore, he was informed that we were ordered to shoot any of his warriors found off the reservation, he regarded us as open enemies, and he himself was the first to set our authority at defiance.
After the first interview, we went back to our camp at the Caddoe village. A few days afterward, Lieut. Tob. Carmack, with twelve men was sent up the Clear fork of the Brazos, with orders to scour the river bottom, in every direction, to see that none of the wild Comanches were lurking in the thick timber along the river—a very dangerous service; and we had orders not to fire a shot in any emergency, unless at an Indian.
After scouting the country a considerable time, we discovered signs of Indians, of a nature to lead us to believe that we were in the vicinity of a considerable force of Comanche, or Kiowa warriors. We struck the trail just before night, and consequently had but little daylight by which to follow it; and we consequently left it, and went down near the river bank to encamp. We tied our horses in a well concealed place, and established ourselves in a strongly defensive position, by the side of a bluff, on the second bank of the river, and kindled but a single small fire, to favor the guard, who had to watch both camps, and horses; after which we laid down to sleep. I came on guard, as the first relief, and Old Sharp as the second; and I was also to stand the last relief, in place of a young man who was sick; so that the guard duty for that night fell exclusively on Old Sharp and myself. Sharp was an experienced hunter and woodsman, and had had many an encounter with the Indians. He was social and lively, and about forty years of age; well built, with dark, keen eyes, black hair, and of swarthy complexion, with wiry frame; he was active and brave, and he received the name of "Old Sharp," not on account of age, but because of his expression and quaint manner. Never was the camp safer from surprise, than when he stood sentinel.
Time wore on slowly that night, as it is a lonely task to stand guard, in the depths of the trackless forests of the southwest, with no sound reaching the ear, except the twitter of the night bird, the hoot of the owl, the occasional sighing of a tired horse, or the breathing of one's wearied companions. Perhaps the sentinel, at such a time, may find that his thoughts have left him, and are wandering away amid more pleasant scenes—by chance reveling with delighted friends, or lingering around loved ones at home, who anxiously await his tardy coming. It is a cruel thing, when one is lost in sweet reverie, to be recalled to a sense of his isolated and dangerous situation, by the melancholy howl of a wolf, the agonized screaming of the panther, or, as is often the case, by the muffled sound of moccasined feet, stealing around him. Not unfrequently is the sentinel first made aware of the danger which surrounds him, by the sharp twang of the bowstring, and the plunging of an arrow deep into his flesh. I had become wearied with watching on this night, and my mind was lost in a dreamy reverie; I had done my best to pierce the gloom of the forest with my eye, in order to detect the slightest movement; I had listened to every sound, with an eagerness, which those who have stood sentinel, and have had the lives of hundreds of their companions entrusted to their care, can readily comprehend; I saw around me the sleeping forms of my companions, and felt, and knew, that upon my watchfulness, and fidelity, depended their safety, and their lives. My time had passed away slowly enough. Not an unwonted sound had broken in upon the solemn stillness of the night; and at length, when my time had expired, I went to arouse Old Sharp; but had scarcely touched him, when a loud rattling of rocks at the water edge, brought him to his feet instantaneously. "What's that?" said he, in a whisper. "Horse loose, I reckon," was my reply, in an undertone, and leaving Sharp on guard, I slipped down to the river bank, which was here about eight feet high, and perpendicular. I was advancing rapidly, with my left hand