“I hereby commission you to raise a company of Rangers,” said he to the gallant Captain Jack. “You will make San Antonio your headquarters and you must hold both Indians and horse-thieves in check. You can follow the redskins anywhere that you wish, and, if necessary, you can shoot any horse-thief upon the spot.”
“Big Foot” Wallace soon heard of the Rangers, and applied for admission at once. He was accepted, for he was strong, fearless, a good rider, and an excellent shot. Captain Hays was very particular as to the kind of men that he enlisted, and that is why he had the best set of Indian fighters that Texas ever produced. Each man had to have a good horse, valued at one hundred dollars, and also a rifle of the best make. The desperadoes and horse-thieves soon began to disappear from the neighborhood of San Antonio.
In the numerous affrays which now took place “Big Foot” Wallace had a prominent part. Several battles were fought with the Indians. In 1842 the Mexicans made a sudden descent from Mexico and captured San Antonio. At the quarters used by the Texan Rangers they found a pair of pantaloons belonging to “Big Foot” Wallace, and this they appropriated as their own.
“By the eternal prophet,” shouted the scout, when he heard of the theft. “I will sure get even with the Greasers for this, and I will kill a Señor and get another pair of breeches, or bust.”
Not long afterwards Jack Hays and his men rode near the town and gave the Mexicans such “a dare” that their whole force of cavalry and infantry came out to chase them. There were four hundred Mexicans and but a small squad of Rangers, yet the Texans kept up a stiff firing and retreated slowly across the plains. During the battle, “Big Foot” Wallace was continually upon the lookout to kill a big Mexican and get another pair of trousers to replace his own. He had not long to wait.
The Mexicans soon charged, and in the mix-up that ensued one daring fellow approached Wallace, and pointing his carbine at him, cried out: “Take that, you accursed cow-thief!” Whereupon he discharged his piece in his face. The large ounce ball from the clumsy musket just grazed the nose of the scout and nearly blinded him with smoke. “Big Foot” fired his own piece, but missed. As this occurred, another Ranger cried out: “My, my, what awful bad shooting,” and—aiming his rifle—quickly sent a ball through the Mexican’s body. The man from the south of the Rio Grande fell against a mesquite tree and soon died.
“Big Foot” breathed more easily, and during the next charge heard one of his companions call out:
“’Big Foot,’ yonder is a Mexican who has on a pair of pants large enough to fit you. Go get ’em, boy! Go get ’em!”
The Mexican in question was assisting some of the wounded back to the rear. Wallace kept his eye on him and said:
“If I can get him, I will. But th’ critter moves about so fast that I can’t draw a bead on him.”