The Jameses, outlaws as they are, do not want for friends. They have devoted admirers and staunch friends even in the ranks of respectable circles—persons who would suffer death rather than betray them. Such a friend was a Texas relative of the young Georgian. Finding that his kinsman was resolved upon a visit—that he would in all probability be able to discover the retreat of the outlaws, and, believing that he might possibly meet with a misfortune by venturing to penetrate to their place, the Texan gave his relative a letter addressed to a certain name—which is not that of James—described the route to be taken, and gave a minute description of the personnel of the renowned desperadoes, and with many admonitions and cautions, after having solemnly pledged his kinsman to reveal nothing concerning the exact whereabouts of their home, the Texan bid his Georgia kinsman God-speed, and they parted.
Many days he rode over the plains, and crossed many a limpid stream, and pushed his way through many a tangled wold before he approached the retreat of the outlaws. He found it, however, but in what county or division of the state, he declines to say.
In a letter written to the author, subsequent to that visit, he gave a most interesting account of his reception and sojourn with the outlawed brothers on their own ranche. We have obtained his permission to use that portion of the letter relating to the Jameses, which we herewith present to our readers:
"It was a lovely afternoon. The grass was brown and sere. A few late autumn flowers relieved the otherwise monotonous landscape. The country through which I was passing was high, undulating prairie. Here and there, from the tops of the long swells in the surface, the course of streams far away to the right and the left, were well defined by dark lines of trees from which the foliage had not yet been cast. The journey had become lonely and irksome. I had lost interest in the landscape. The faded grass and the golden-hued flowers no longer possessed charms for me. The limpid brooks and darting minnows in their clear waters even failed to awaken the slightest interest. The truth is, I was worn out by the excessive fatigue of the long journey.
"I had just crossed a small stream, skirted by some wind-twisted trees, and was ascending a long slope. Looking toward the crest of the ridge, I saw two horsemen, splendidly mounted, riding rapidly directly toward me. They wore low-crowned, broad-brimmed felt hats, looped up at the side. I could see at a glance that they were heavily armed. A repeating-rifle was swung behind the shoulder of each, and a holster was attached at the saddle-bow. When the horsemen had approached within seventy-five yards of me, they suddenly halted, and each drew a heavy pistol, and simultaneously presented them at me, calling out at the same time for me to raise my hands. I confess that I felt a little shaky about that time. I readily complied with their command, and held up both hands as high over my head as possible. The horrible thought occurred to me that I was to be shot, and left out there to make a feast for voracious vultures and ferocious wolves. A cold shudder thrilled through my veins. I had dropped the reins, and my horse stopped still. It was a dreadful moment. There were the two men, grim in features and steady of hand, with their horrible, yawning repeaters pointed at my heart. I felt sure they were murderous highwaymen. Strange that I never once thought of the renowned outlaws! I know not how long I looked at those dreadful pistols; it seemed half an age. I was aroused by the voice of one of the men calling out,
"'Why don't you come on?'
"I did go on. Once I let my hands droop slightly, as I advanced up the slope.
"'Up with your hands, I say!' exclaimed one of them.
"You may readily suppose that I threw up my hands without further admonition.
"When I had arrived within fifteen paces of the spot where the men were sitting on their horses, the thought that these were no other than the men whom I was seeking, flashed through my brain.