Texas Mining and Trade Journal, Volume 1, Number 45, Saturday, May 29, 1897 Page: 3
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The Texas Mining and Trade Journal.
3
denly attacked, ostensibly by a mob of indignant citizens, but
really, it was alleged, of Occidental retainers. The guards, ev-
identy having been fixed, gave no protection to the prisoners,
even refusing to let them have arms with which tp defend them-
selves. The trapped men, unarmed as they were, made a des-
perate charge on the mob. In the melee the old man and John
were killed, but Dick and the Mexican wrenched pistols from their
enemies' hands, fought their way through and escaped into the
mountains. From that time Dick and his companion turned
against society and became highwaymen. All manner of law-
lessness could be traced directly to this pair of outlaws. Stages,
trains, banks and small towns were robbed, stock stolen, and the
Occidental company in particular suffered frotn their depreda-
tions; men were killed trying to defend their property, and so
many of the compinv's people were found, shot to death, in lone-
some places, that the big corporation's cowboys feared to ride
about save in large gangs. The country rang with the name of
McCord and his dare-devil exploits. For two years prior to our
coming these things had been going on, and, in spite of the
ceaseless activity of the authorities, McCord and his partner
were still at large. This immunity was because of the inaccess-
ible nature of the rough mountainous country and the protec-
tion and sympathy that each rancher and prospector who had
known McCord before he turned outlaw was ever ready to ex-
tend to him.
But things went on smoothly and quietly with us at the
Amelia while outlaws and sheriffs were playing hide and seek
around us. From time to time some new and audacious devil-
try of McCord's furnished food for several days' conversation,
and there was much hurrying past of jingling poses. We heard
a rumor, also, that the reward for the highwayman and his pal
was now raised to $5,000, but no more notices were ever tacked
on our premises.
I stayed close by the store, closer than was necessary, for
we had a corps of most efficient and trusty clerks, but Lem con-
tinued to take his excursions into the mountains. I no-
ticed a change in his habits in this connection as we began to
be more settled, a change that I hardly gave a thought to at the
time. He rode horseback more frequently, where at the first he
always went afoot. He also went out a great deal of an even-
ing returning anytime before midnight. On these evening ex-
cursions he always rode, and his comings and goings had be-
come so much a matter of course that I emit asking him of what
he had seen and heard and he never volunteered any recital of
his experiences. That he was mixed up in love affair I never
for a moment suspected. He was such a quiet, practical, pro-
siac sort of a man that a love affair seemed inconsistent, a thing
I had never thought of in his connection, and then we had been
together all our lives; were born and raised on neighboring
farms and our lives were welded together by the closest and most
confidential of friendships.
A small business made it necessary for me to ride up to
Pearl City, our county seat, some dozen miles up the river. I
rode by the ranch going up, where Lem had seen "the prettiest
girl in the world" and smiled to my self as I recognized the
place. It was a little gem of a ranch, a cluster of small green
gelds, intersected by ditches in which ran silvery streams of wa-
ter. The road passed near the house, a rambling, one-storied
structure, to which room after room had evidently been added
at odd times. Along the entire front was a wide gallery. At
one was an extensive garden in which, as I could see from the
elevated ground above, were vegetables and flowers. I looked
closely to catch a glimpse of "the prettiest girl," but luck was
against me that morning and I saw no one; but in the afternoon
fortune and I were hand in hand. Summer was now well on,
and it was the rainy season; not a time of general rains lasting
for weeks and extending over large areas, but a season of little
local downpours that came up in afternoons. On my return as
I came to the ranch of "the prettiest girl," one of these rains
was just behind me and sure to catch me. But as I hurried by
the house a voice from the gallery stopped me.
"Hey, stranger!" it called, "get down and come in till the
shower's over."
No need of further invitation for me. I dismounted and the
owner of the voice came out and took my horse to a stable in
the rear. He was a well-preserved kindly-looking old man,
straight as a pine, smooth shaven, with his head crowned with a
shock of iron gray hair. The father of "the prettiest girl," I
thought, and I was right. He left me on the gallery, but re-
turned in an instant to welcome me further.
"I put your horse where he wouldn't get wet, nor your things.
My name is Dunbar, what's your'n?"
I told him, and his face lit up as he grasped my hand, with
no tender grip, saying the while:
"Well, well, you're one of Evans' boys at the Amelia, and un-
less I've mistook the name, you're the Jim, the partner, Farwell's
always talking about. He comes up often and he'd ought to
have brought you along before this."
When the old man said this a suspicion hit me like a bolt from
a catapult. Lem was "persona grata" here for sure, a frequent
visitor and I had never known it.
While we stood thus talking an old lady, a neat, clean old
lady, such an old lady as might stand for an ideal of "mother,"
came through a door, and, with an anxious expression on her
face, inquired:
"Hiram, have you seen Alice about anywhere? I'm afraid
she's out for a walk and will be caught in this storm."
"Well, it won't spoil her, but here she comes," said he, looking
up the road. My glance followed his. I saw something white
flutter in the breeze, and then the graceful figure of a young girl
hastening toward us. The cool, damp forerunner of the coming
rain came rushing on, and just as the first drops spattered down
the girl, almost breathless from her hurry, sprang lightly upon
the gallery. She stood a moment in surprise at seeing a stran-
ger, while her father introduced me. I am not going to describe
her. It would take the pen of a master; this halting, clumsy pen
of mine would but profane the subject. Lem was right. I do
not believe that the world holds the equal of that peerless daugh-
ter of the mountains.
That afternoon seems to me now a dream. What she said,
what any of us said there on the gallery, I cannot recall; only
the tones of her voice, the mellow sounds of a golden bell. I
know the rain drove us within doors. I know when it was over
they all insisted on my staying longer, even to supper, and I
stayed. In addition to the fact that Lem for two months had
been a constant and welcome visitor, I discovered other matters
ot detail. 1 he old folks liked him, and it was plain regarded
him as eligible, and plainer still they knew of his pretensions.
There was one incident of this visit that comes to me now, a
link within the iron chain that bound these lives together. Late
in the afternoon Dunbar's hired man, who had been cutting
wood in the mountains, came in, wet, bedraggled and much ex-
cited. We were all again on the gallery, for it was fine outside
after the rain. The hired man addressed himself to his master
specially, but his information came to us all.
"Who do you 'spose I saw up the gulch?" said he, "while I
was comin' down with the wood? I'm in a sweat yet it skeered
me so. It was Dick McCord and Ruiz; they came by me hell
bent a-goin' toward the head. Somebody's been robbed or is
a-goin' to be."
At the mention of McCord I saw Alice Dunbar's face pale,
or thought I saw it, and she rose hastily, excused herself and
went within the house. Again, from her father I heard the story
of Dick McCord, with the addition that before the outlaw's
criminal days he had often come to Dunbar's, and with a lowered
voice the old man told how Alice and he had thought much of
one another, even so that the father thought he might have to
give up. his daughter, but that now since Dick had gone wrong
such ideas held no longer.
The stars were shining above me as I rode away, and all the
east was silver with the rising moon when I came home and
broke in upon Lem, sitting in our quarters, his feet upon the table,
smoking his pipe and meditating profoundly.
"Had supper?" he asked.
I stood and looked at him. Then I began to laugh, to Lem's
complete bewilderment.
"Yes, I've had supper," said I, as soon as the laughing fit al-
lowed me. "I had it up at Dunbar's, where I've been for five
hours. I've met the girl up there, you traitor to good friendship.
Oh, you selfish scoundrel. So much in love, so jealous, as to
fear lest I, your old friend, should see her. Up there nearly
every night, and never a word of it to me; and me down here
biting my nails for lonesomeness and dying to talk to something
with a dress on. It was mean of you, Lem."
But my raillery was lost on him. To hear me go on seemed
to relieve him of a burden. When I had stopped a look came
over his face that stilled my merriment. I have read of faces
illumined by divine inspiration, but I never realized before what
it meant. It made the plain features of my partner noble,
handsome and dignified.
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Rose, John R. Texas Mining and Trade Journal, Volume 1, Number 45, Saturday, May 29, 1897, newspaper, May 29, 1897; Thurber, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth204540/m1/3/: accessed May 1, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Tarleton State University.