Finally we reached old Fort Lancaster, an abandoned government post, situated on the east bank of Live Oak Creek, just above the point where this beautiful stream empties into the Pecos. We camped here and rested under the shade of those big old live oak trees for several days. From this camp we turned north up the Pecos, one of the most curious rivers in Texas. At that time and before its waters were much used for irrigation in New Mexico, the Pecos ran bank full of muddy water almost the year round. Not more than thirty or forty feet wide, it was the most crooked stream in the world, and though only from four to ten feet deep, was so swift and treacherous that it was most difficult to ford. However, it had one real virtue; it was the best stream in Texas for both blue and yellow catfish that ranged in weight from five to forty pounds. We were some days traveling up this river to the pontoon crossing and we feasted on fish.
At Pontoon Crossing on the Pecos we intercepted the overland mail route leading from San Antonio to El Paso by way of Fredericksburg, Fort Mason, Menard, Fort McKavett, Fort Concho, Fort Stockton, and Fort Davis, thence west by Eagle Springs through Quitman Canyon, where more tragedies and foul murders have been committed by Indians than at any other point on the route. Ben Fricklin was the mail contractor. The stage stands were built of adobe and on the same unchanging plan. On each side of the entrance was a large room. The gateway opened into a passageway, which was roofed, and extended from one room to the other. In the rear of the rooms was the corral, the walls of which were six to eight feet high and two feet thick, also of sun dried brick. One room was used for cooking and eating and the other for sleeping quarters and storage. The stage company furnished the stage tender with supplies and he cooked for the passengers when there were such, charging them fifty cents per meal, which he was allowed to retain for his compensation.
When the stage rolled into the station the tender swung open the gates and the teams, small Spanish mules, dashed into the corral. The animals were gentle enough when once in the enclosure, but mean and as wild as deer when on the road. The stage company would buy these little mules in lots of fifty to a hundred in Mexico and distribute them along the route. The tiny animals were right off the range and real unbroken bronchos. The mules were tied up or tied down as the case might be and harnessed by force. When they had been hitched to the stage coach or buckboard the gates to the corral were opened and the team left on the run. The intelligent mules soon learned all they had to do was to run from one station to the next, and could not be stopped between posts no matter what happened. Whenever they saw a wagon or a man on horseback approaching along the road they would shy around the stranger, and the harder the driver held them the faster they ran.
On our way out our teams were pretty well fagged out, and often Lieutenant Baylor would camp within a few yards of the road. The Spanish stage mules would see our camp and go around us on the run while their drivers would curse and call us all the vile names they could lay their tongues to for camping in the road.
When we camped at a station it was amusing to me to watch the stage attendants harness those wary little animals. The stage or buckboard was always turned round in the corral and headed toward the next station and the passengers seated themselves before the mules were hitched. When all was ready and the team harnessed the driver would give the word, the station keeper threw open the gates and the stage was off on a dead run.
There should be a monument erected to the memory of those old stage drivers somewhere along this overland route, for they were certainly the bravest of the brave. It took a man with lots of nerve and strength to be a stage driver in the Indian days, and many, many of them were killed. The very last year, 1880, that the stage line was kept up several drivers were killed between Fort Davis and El Paso. Several of these men quit the stage company and joined Lieutenant Baylor's company, and every one of such ex-drivers made excellent rangers.
From Pontoon Crossing on the Pecos River we turned due west and traveled the stage route the remainder of the way to El Paso County. At Fort Stockton we secured supplies for ourselves and feed for our horses, the first place at which rations could be secured since leaving Fort Clark. Fort Stockton was a large military post and was quite lively, especially at night, when the saloons and gambling halls were crowded with soldiers and citizen contractors. At Leon Holes, ten miles west of Fort Stockton, we were delayed a week because of Mrs. Baylor becoming suddenly ill. Passing through Wild Rose Pass and up Limpia Canyon we suffered very much from the cold, though it was only the last of August. Coming from a lower to a higher altitude we felt the change at night keenly. That was the first cold weather I had experienced in the summer.
Finally, on the 12th day of September, 1879, we landed safe and sound in the old town of Ysleta, El Paso County, after forty-two days of travel from San Antonio. Here we met nine men, the remnant of Lieutenant Tays' Company "C" rangers. The first few days after our arrival were spent in securing quarters for Lieutenant Baylor's family and in reorganizing the company. Sergeant Ludwick was discharged at his own request, and I was made first sergeant, Tom Swilling second sergeant, John Seaborn first corporal, and George Lloyd second corporal. The company was now recruited up to its limit of twenty men. Before winter Lieutenant Baylor bought a fine home and fifteen or twenty acres of land from a Mr. Blanchard. The rangers were quartered comfortably in some adobe buildings with fine corrals nearby and within easy distance of the lieutenant's residence. We were now ready for adventure on the border.
When we arrived at Ysleta the Salt Lake War had quieted down and order had been restored. Although nearly a hundred Mexicans were indicted by the El Paso grand jury, no one was ever punished for the murder of Judge Howard and his companions. In going over the papers of Sergeant Ludwick I found warrants for the arrest of fifty or more of the mob members. Though most of the murderers had fled to Old Mexico immediately after the killing of the Americans, most of them had returned to the United States and their homes along the Rio Grande. I reported these warrants to Lieutenant Baylor and informed him that, with the assistance of a strong body of rangers I could probably capture most of the offenders in a swift raid down the valley. The lieutenant declared that he had received instructions from Governor Roberts to exercise extreme care not to precipitate more trouble over Howard's death, and, above all things, not incite a race war between the Mexican offenders and the white people of the country. He decided, therefore, that we had better not make any move at all in the now dead Salt Lake War. And of course I never again mentioned the matter to him.
Though the Salt Lake War was over, new and adventurous action was in store for us, and within less than a month after our arrival in Ysleta we had our first brush with the Apaches, a tribe of Indians I had never before met in battle.