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Gonzales, Gonzales County, Texas (Texas, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
erer from his escort, strapped his legs under his horse, and placing him in their centre, struck into the open Plains. Having lost their man, and thinking the affair over and their duty done, the two settlers jogged along the road. Nobody at Gonzales seemed to care for Zete. The night was Sunday, and the people were at evening service. What was there to say? Zete had committed murder, and a murderer's doom is death. If he were hanged by the rescuers substantial justice would be done. So thinking, the citizens in Gonzales drank their whisky and went to bed, giving the criminal and his captors no further thought. Next day intelligence reached Sheriff De Witt that Zete, though sorely wounded, was still alive. A second party had appeared. A fight had taken place, another rescue had been made, and Zete, exalted in Negro eyes by his double crime, was lying at a ranch on the Plains, guarded by forty well-armed blacks. This tale was true. When the White captors, having no con
Gonzales (Texas, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
servative judge, and a White man in Texas never leaves the duty of revenge to a Republican judge. In case of a collision, there is not much difference in the mode of settling matters. Whether fair or dusky, men whose friends have been injured by the other party are ready to enact the parts of sheriffs, jurors, judges, and hangmen, on the shortest notice. Take the latest case, as an example. On Sunday last, Zete Fly, a stalwart Negro, trudging on the road near Moulton, a village in Gonzales County, passed a White boy, named Dick Dixon, who was hardly fourteen years of age. Some words arose. Fly whipt out his pistol, fired at the lad, tearing his arm from elbow to shoulder, and left him bleeding in the road. Tom Dixon, elder brother of the boy, ran after Zete, and finding him shut up in his shanty, challenged him to come out and fight. Instead of coming out to fight Zete barred and logged his door. Come out! cried Tom. Zete skulked behind his logs and bars. Then Tom bega
Kickapoo (Louisiana, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
re. I brought some short-horns out from Essex; in three lives they have all gone back to long-horns. A Texan builds no cattle-sheds. Once he has turned his herds into the grazing lands, he lets them run wild, and stay out all the year. Who knows what happens with such herds? If left alone all animals go wild; a steer but some degrees faster than a lad. The son of a White man who had been stolen as a child by Kickapoos and mated in their tribe has been found as savage as an ordinary Kickapoo. Some persons blame the Negroes as the evil demons of this country, charging them with a propensity to acts of violence, a disposition to abuse whatever favour they obtain, and an extreme antipathy to family order and domestic arts. Some grains of truth there are in what these critics urge. The Negro, as he lives in Texas, is a savage, but without the virtues of a Cherokee. Unbroken to the yoke, he hardly understands the meaning of a moral code, a social compact, or a family law. To
New England (United States) (search for this): chapter 33
t first be dried and packed. We have to fetch our beef from St. Louis, seven or eight hundred miles by car, seventeen or eighteen hundred miles by boat. We have no time to grow our own food. Texas is a grazing country; in the future she may supply America with beef and butter; but she is still dependent on the North for what she eats and drinks. You ask for milk — a glass of fresh, cold milk. Some warm and greasy stuff is poured into your cup: This is the only milk we have. It is New England milk, prepared in cans, and warranted to keep in any climate. If you ask for butter, you get a mixture of grease and brine. Living in a wild country, with Comanches on the north and Kickapoos on the south, the Texans have not yet acquired that solid hold of the soil which lends a platform to domestic arts. A chain of military posts runs through the land, from Fort Richardson, Fort Griffin, and Fort Worth, in the upper counties, to Fort Concho, Fort Ewell, and Fort Clarke, in the low
Galveston (Texas, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
ime, as yet, to use her gifts. The fight for life is still too hard for men to ask for anything more dainty than campaigning fare. Game! cries a comrade in the dining-room; guess the only game we Texans care about is poker. Dine where you may-at prairie ranch, at roadside inn, at railway restaurant — the beef is all leather, the bacon all fat; and when you ask for another dish, you are served with more beef all leather, and more bacon all fat. From Denison to Hearne, from Hearne to Galveston, the plains of Texan are dotted with cattle. Steers browse on every knoll, heifers make pastorals at every pool. Here now, you whisper to yourself, is a country of wholesome food-fresh meat, pure milk, new butter, native cheese; here, after courses of jerked antelope and alkaline water, we shall have a chance of growing strong on simple meat and wholesome drink. Sore is your surprise on asking the Texans for this simple meat and wholesome drink. A cut of beef is laid before you. B
San Angelo (Texas, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
: This is the only milk we have. It is New England milk, prepared in cans, and warranted to keep in any climate. If you ask for butter, you get a mixture of grease and brine. Living in a wild country, with Comanches on the north and Kickapoos on the south, the Texans have not yet acquired that solid hold of the soil which lends a platform to domestic arts. A chain of military posts runs through the land, from Fort Richardson, Fort Griffin, and Fort Worth, in the upper counties, to Fort Concho, Fort Ewell, and Fort Clarke, in the lower counties. Every season, some portions of the State are overrun by savages from Mexico; not such gentle savages as those who stream into Shefelah and Sharon, eating the grapes, drinking the water, and fighting the peasantry, but monsters in human shape, who steal into the settled parts in search of cows and ponies, scalps and girls. There are no milking-maids and dairy-maids in Texas. If the farmers had such girls they would not dare to send th
Jacksboro (Texas, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
f fresh, cold milk. Some warm and greasy stuff is poured into your cup: This is the only milk we have. It is New England milk, prepared in cans, and warranted to keep in any climate. If you ask for butter, you get a mixture of grease and brine. Living in a wild country, with Comanches on the north and Kickapoos on the south, the Texans have not yet acquired that solid hold of the soil which lends a platform to domestic arts. A chain of military posts runs through the land, from Fort Richardson, Fort Griffin, and Fort Worth, in the upper counties, to Fort Concho, Fort Ewell, and Fort Clarke, in the lower counties. Every season, some portions of the State are overrun by savages from Mexico; not such gentle savages as those who stream into Shefelah and Sharon, eating the grapes, drinking the water, and fighting the peasantry, but monsters in human shape, who steal into the settled parts in search of cows and ponies, scalps and girls. There are no milking-maids and dairy-maids
Mexico, Mo. (Missouri, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
, in the upper counties, to Fort Concho, Fort Ewell, and Fort Clarke, in the lower counties. Every season, some portions of the State are overrun by savages from Mexico; not such gentle savages as those who stream into Shefelah and Sharon, eating the grapes, drinking the water, and fighting the peasantry, but monsters in human shmaids and dairy-maids in Texas. If the farmers had such girls they would not dare to send them out into the cattle-runs. The Kickapoos would whisk them off into Mexico. Men with rifles and revolvers have enough to do if they would mind their cows and keep their scalps. A settler here and there has introduced domestic arts, be murders were committed by Negroes on their brother blacks. A few were Indian outrages, committed by the Kickapoos and Kiowas who swarm across the border out of Mexico in search of cows and girls; but these few Indian murders were not enough in number to affect the main results. But though the White men stand aloof, in pity and
Sharon (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
try, with Comanches on the north and Kickapoos on the south, the Texans have not yet acquired that solid hold of the soil which lends a platform to domestic arts. A chain of military posts runs through the land, from Fort Richardson, Fort Griffin, and Fort Worth, in the upper counties, to Fort Concho, Fort Ewell, and Fort Clarke, in the lower counties. Every season, some portions of the State are overrun by savages from Mexico; not such gentle savages as those who stream into Shefelah and Sharon, eating the grapes, drinking the water, and fighting the peasantry, but monsters in human shape, who steal into the settled parts in search of cows and ponies, scalps and girls. There are no milking-maids and dairy-maids in Texas. If the farmers had such girls they would not dare to send them out into the cattle-runs. The Kickapoos would whisk them off into Mexico. Men with rifles and revolvers have enough to do if they would mind their cows and keep their scalps. A settler here and t
De Witt (Iowa, United States) (search for this): chapter 33
On Tuesday morning Sheriff De Witt rode out with half Gonzales at his side. As they approached the ranch where Zete was lying, they looked and listened for sign and sound-none came; the ranch was silent as a tomb. On peering through the door, De Witt perceived two corpses, and on touching the bodies he found they were still warm. One corpse was that of Zete Fly; the other that of an unknown Negro. Both bodies were riddled with shots, so were the wall and door. A short and bloody fight had evidently taken place, but who the combatants were no sign remained to tell. The work of death was done — the ministers of doom were gone. Later in the day, some Negroes who had aided in the fight and rescue came before De Witt and told him that a party of White men had come that morning to the ranch and summoned the Negroes to surrender Zete Fly. The party being too strong for the Negroes to fight, many of them ran away; but one man, braver than his crew, had raised his gun, and standing
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