INTRODUCTORY.

IN 1867, while temporarily sojourning in the city of San Antonio, I had a severe attack of fever, from the effects of which I recovered but slowly. Thinking that fresh air and exercise would aid me in regaining my health and strength, I mounted my horse one fine morning in the latter part of October, and set out for the "ranch" of my quondam messmate and compadre, "Big-Foot Wallace," who held an uncertain tenure upon a tract of pasture land, situated on the Chacon, one of the head-waters of the Altascoso. I say, uncertain, for his right to and possession of the same is constantly disputed and ignored by predatory bands of savages, and Mexicans, and horse-thieves of all colors, grades, and nations.

Toward sundown, from the top of a considerable hill, I came in sight of Wallace's little ranch, snugly ensconced at the bottom of a valley, near the margin of a small lake, and protected from the northern blasts by a beautiful grove of spreading live-oaks. As I rode up I discovered Wallace under one of these trees, engaged in the characteristic occupation of skinning a deer, which was hanging head downward, suspended from one of its lower branches. Wallace did not recognize me at first, for it was many years since we had last met; but, as soon as I made myself known to him, he gave me a cordial shake of the hand, and invited me into his ranch, where, in a short time, he prepared a supper, to which I sat down, "nothing loath," for my appetite was sharpened by my long day's ride.

I staid with Wallace two weeks, or thereabouts, hunting, fishing, and riding around during the day, and entertained each night with "yarns" of his numerous "'scapes and scrapes, by flood and field." Many years previously, when Wallace and I were messmates together, in the first Ranging Company, enlisted in the service of the "Old Republic," under Colonel Jack Hays, I asked his consent to write out a narrative of his "adventures," to be published for the benefit of the public generally. But he seemed so much opposed to my doing so, that I did not press the matter upon him. His reasons for refusing to accede to my request were characteristic of the man. "He did not think the public would be interested in the history of one so little known;" and, "even if he had vanity enough to believe otherwise, he had not the least desire to see himself figuring in print." I determined once more to approach him on the subject, and this time I had better success than formerly, for finally (though evidently with reluctance) he consented that I should publish the following narrative of his adventures in Mexico and on the frontiers of Texas.

"There is," I said to Wallace, "one difficulty in the way of writing out your `adventures,' which I do not exactly know how to get over; and that is, you do not murder the king's English with every other word you speak. Now, in all the books I have ever read, in which backwoodsmen or frontiersmen figure, they are always made to talk without the least regard to the rules of grammar."

"I know," said Wallace, "that my education is a very limited one, but do give me credit for the little I have. People are not such fools as to think that a man cannot be a good hunter or ranger, merely because he speaks his own language passably well."

And so, in compliance with Wallace's request, in the following narrative of his "adventures," I have ignored the time-honored rule of making him speak in slang and misspelt words, and tell the story "just as it was told to me."

WALLACE'S INITIATION INTO THE MYSTERIES OF WOODCRAFT.

SOON after I came out to Texas, in 1837, said Wallace, being out of employment, and having no inclination to loaf around the "groceries" of a little village, I looked about for something to do; but for several weeks no "opening" presented itself. At length a surveyor, who was preparing for an expedition to locate lands upon the frontier, made me an offer to go with him, which I gladly accepted. At that time, as an Irishman would say, I was "as green as a red blackberry," and I frankly told the surveyor that I knew nothing about the woods, or how to get along in them. But he said that made no difference, as the rest of the party were all old frontiersmen, and it was well enough to have one "green-horn" along to make sport for the balance.

It was a week or ten days before we were ready to start, and in the mean time I prepared myself for the "expedition" as well as I knew how. I had brought with me from Virginia a good rifle, a pair of Derringer pistols, and a bowie-knife, (that you know was before the days of six-shooters,) so that there was no necessity for my hunting up firearms. I bought a good stout Spanish pony, with saddle, bridle, etc., and laid in an ample supply of ammunition and tobacco; and when the surveying party were ready to start, I joined them "armed and equipped as the law directs."

Our party consisted of a guard of two men, well armed and mounted, together with the surveyor, two chainmen, a marker, a hunter, and a cook, making in all sixteen men — a sufficient force to travel with safety, at that day, in the most dangerous part of the country. At that time, one American, well armed, was considered a match for eight or ten Indians, with their bows and arrows and miserable guns; but now, thanks to the traders, they are well furnished with good rifles and "six-shooters," and can hold their own, man for man.

The first day out, we travelled only a few miles, and encamped on a beautiful little clear stream, where I killed my first deer. I thought I had performed a wonderful feat, for I had never killed anything before larger than a squirrel or a 'possum, and I proudly returned to camp with the deer on my shoulders, trying all the time, though, to look as if the killing of a deer was no unusual thing with me. But the boys suspected me, and when I owned up that it was the first deer I had ever shot, two or three of them seized me, while as many more smeared my face and hands with the blood of the animal — a sort of ceremony, they said, by which I was "initiated" into the brotherhood of "mighty hunters." I suppose I was "initiated," as they called it, for I have killed many a hundred deer since that time, to say nothing of buffalo; bear, elk, wolves, panthers, Mexican lions, catamounts, and other "varmints" too numerous to mention.

ON THE ROUTE — THE OLD LADY AND THE TRUCK-PATCH.

THE next day we started just after sunrise, and travelled twenty-five miles over a beautiful rolling country, watered with clear streams, and encamped at night in a pecan grove near a fine spring. Just at dark, a large drove of turkeys flew up into the trees around, and we killed five or six of them, and spitted them before our fires. These, together with a fat doe killed by our hunter on the way, furnished us with an ample supply of provender, while an abundance of fine mesquit grass in the vicinity enabled our horses to fare as sumptuously as ourselves.

The next morning, after an early breakfast, we saddled up and again took the road, or rather our course, for there was no road, and went about twelve miles to a water-hole, where there was good grass, and where we "nooned" for a couple of hours. The country passed over was all high rolling prairie, interspersed with "mots" of elm and hackberry. While all hands were taking a comfortable snooze here, we came near losing our horses. A wolf or some...