The captive was searched and ordered to remount his pony. With one of the boys leading Starke's mount we started back to the wagon, nearly three miles away. As soon as the outlaw was a prisoner and knew he would not be harmed no matter what he said, he began a tirade against the rangers. He declared the whole battalion was a set of d—d murderers, especially Company "E," and said it was curbstone talk in Menard, Mason and Kimble Counties that Lieutenant Reynolds' men would kill a man and then yell for him to throw up his hands. He kept up this running talk until he exhausted Lieutenant Reynolds' patience. The latter then ordered Starke to shut up, and declared the speaker was a d—d liar, for Company "E" never killed a man without first giving him a chance to surrender. Lieutenant Reynolds then said that with the last old brier-breaker captured he had accomplished the task set him and was now ready to go elsewhere.
As we rode along one of the boys remarked that my pony was limping badly.
"I wish his leg would come right off up to his shoulder," declared Starke in disgust. "If it hadn't been for him I would have made it to the bottoms and escaped."
On approaching the wagon the prisoner Stephens, a man of some intelligence and humor, stood up and called out to Starke, "By G—, old man, they got you! They rode too many corn fed horses and carried too many guns for you. I don't know who you are, but I'm sorry for you. While they were chasing you I got down on my knees here in this wagon and with my face turned up to the skies I prayed to the Almighty God that you might get away."
Starke was chained to this good-natured liar, and now, for the first time, our prisoner seemed to realize his condition. He asked Lieutenant Reynolds to send word to his family that he had been captured. The lieutenant thereupon sent one of the boys to Starke's home to tell Mrs. Reynolds that the rangers would camp on Red Greek for dinner, and if she wished to see her husband we would be there probably two hours.
Presently Starke's old gray-haired father came to our midday camp. When he saw his son chained he burst out crying, saying, "My son, it is not my fault that you are in this condition. I did my best to give you good advice and tried to raise you right."
After dinner we resumed our march toward Austin. Starke Reynolds was finally turned over to the sheriff of Tarrant County. He was admitted to bail and gave bond, but before he came to trial he was waylaid and killed, supposedly by relatives of the man he had previously attempted to murder.
Early in the spring of 1878 a ranchman living five miles above our camp saw a bunch of Indians on Bear Creek, Kimble County, and at once reported to Lieutenant Reynolds. The redskins had been seen late in the evening, and by the time a scout could be started after them it was almost night. The lieutenant, however, followed the trail until it entered a cedar brake. It was then too dark to work farther, so the scout returned to camp to make arrangements to resume the trail the following morning. On the march back to camp the rangers picked up a paint pony with an arrow sticking in its hip. The Indians had probably tried to catch the horse and, failing to do so, had shot it, as was their custom.
Just after dark a runner from Junction City came in and reported a bunch of redskins had been seen near the town stealing horses. It was a beautiful moonlight night and a close watch was kept on our horses. Just at midnight John Banister, an alert man on guard, noticed that one of our pack mules hitched at the end of our picket line was pulling back on its rope and looking over a brush fence that enclosed the camp. With Winchester in hand Banister passed through a gate, walked slowly down the fence and into some small underbrush near the mule.
Suddenly a man rose to his feet and fired on Banister at a distance of not more than ten steps, then broke and ran. Banister at once opened fire on the Indian. The very first report of a gun brought every man in camp out of his bed. We could see the flashes of Banister's gun and went to his aid in our night clothes and barefooted. I ran down by the picket line of horses and jumped the fence where the mule had seen the redskin. By moonlight I could glimpse the Indian running down the river bank. I shot at him nine times as he ran, but without effect. Some two hundred yards below our camp was a ford on the Llano and the fugitive was making for it.