During the most interesting portion of this trip we had two drivers, “Uncle Billy,” who was going to San Antonio on leave, and “Bobo,” the regular driver. They vied with each other in trying to make everything pleasant for Mrs. Mills. They would prepare the high driver’s seat with cushions and blankets and assist her to mount it, and for hours would call her attention to points of interest or entertain her with stories of their experiences, humorous or tragic.
One morning just after daybreak Bobo halted the coach and said: “Gentlemen, get your guns ready; the prints of moccasined feet here are as thick as turkey tracks.”
And so it was, and the tracks were fresh. A large party of Indians had very recently crossed the road, but we saw nor heard more about them.
At “Head of Concho” we came upon a herd of buffalo, and, of course, we dismounted and wantonly fired into them, with what effect I do not know, except that some one wounded an immense bull so seriously that he became angry or sullen and refused to run away as the others did. We, with our deadly Winchesters, ceased firing at him, as he was of no use to us, but not so with the young St. Louis lawyer. He wanted to do something that he could tell about at home, and so he advanced upon the irate animal with his little thirty-two calibre pistol, firing as he went. He was encouraged and animated by the shouts of Bobo and Uncle Billy: “Charge him, mister,” “You’ve got him,” “The next shot will fetch him,” etc.
Mrs. Mills said: “Why, Uncle Billy, that animal will kill the man! Call him back!” Uncle Billy said: “Why, of course, he’ll kill him. Now you just watch, and you’ll see fine fun. He’ll toss that little lawyer higher’n the top of this coach.” And yet Uncle Billy and Bobo were not cruel men.
SOME TEXAS LAWYERS.
In 1871 I held a judgment for $50,000 which I had obtained in the El Paso District Court against a citizen of El Paso County for having caused my arrest and imprisonment by the Confederates in 1861, as related in my war story. This judgment being in full force and I being in Austin, my friend, Major De Normandie, then Clerk of the Supreme Court, introduced me to a prominent attorney of De Witt County, Texas, who informed me that the defendant owned property in De Witt County out of which my judgment, or a large portion of it, could be satisfied. I implored this attorney to act for me in De Witt County, and on my return home I sent him, at his request, a certified copy of the judgment and received a letter from him dated June 7th, 1871, informing me that they had written out a levy which they would proceed with in a day or two, and requesting me to send them some money for costs, which I did. After long delay I wrote this attorney, asking to be informed of the result, and he replied that the whole proceeding was a failure because he had dated the levy on a Sunday, which mistake vitiated the whole proceeding and that my rights were lost.
He stated that “strange as it might seem” he had been led to make the mistake by an error in an almanac in his office. As this attorney did not suggest any remedy for his own blunder or institute any further proceeding I concluded then, and believe now, that political prejudice or some other unworthy motive had influenced him to act in bad faith with his client. The attorney and the defendant were both Confederates and Democrats, while I was a Union man and a Republican, and much bitter feeling had grown out of the suit and the acts preceding and attending it.
I met this lawyer in Austin a year or so later, and he made no further explanation except to affirm that it “made no difference, because the Supreme Court had decided that my judgment was void.” As a matter of fact, and of record, the Supreme Court had decided that the judgment was valid. And here I will state a fact which I hope the reader will remember when he comes to read the case following this one—this gentleman was later on elected a Judge of the Supreme Court of Texas.