her frantic with fright her headlong flight was continued until she was lost to view. She was never seen afterwards and we came to the conclusion that she was drowned in the Medina River or else she had run herself to death. My father was kept in ignorance of our performance for some time until he missed her, and he did not appear to regret her disappearance because he knew her to be worthless.
Another escapade of mine was more serious in its consequences, and it caused my father and several of his neighbors considerable trouble and expense. Three neighborhood boys assisted me and were equally respon- sible for the mischief which consisted in changing the corner-stones of a number of adjoining farms, including those on my father's land. The alterations were not dis- covered until some time after and several years passed before the trouble was remedied by repeated surveys of the tracts involved. They each had the same area of land because we had measured off a certain width and added it to the next adjacent, consequently it was necessary to
start at an established corner and re-survey all the sub-
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divisions of the 640-acre tract which, when located ac- cording to the field notes, identified the corners correctly.
The land in controversy was then in Bexar County, and I think the differences in their claims were settled without litigation. I am sure that my father arbitrated his claim in a friendly manner because he never had a suit in court, although he frequently served as a grand juror and on petty juries in the district court.
My parents had become more prosperous as a recom- pense for their hard labor and strict economy, and their children were old enough to assist in performing the rou- tine duties of the farm. The settlement in the meantime had been extended and the population in the country was greatly augmented, therefore, the opportunities for securing a living had increased. A stage route had also been established between San Antonio and Eagle Pass, which passed by my father's door. It was under the management of Alex David, who had secured a contract to carry the United States mail between those points, and at the same time he was granted a similar contract to transport the mail between San Antonio and Bandera. As the latter was tributary to the main line it was open to a sub-contractor and my father applied for and secured the route. It extended from his house, four miles east of Castroville, to Bandera and back, a distance of thirty-two miles, each way, and it was stipulated that it should be ridden every Monday, and back the next day, for which my father was to receive $300 per annum.
I was then about fourteen years old and the duty of carrying the mail was assigned to me, whereby I became the youngest mail-carrier in the United States. The Bandera mail sack that was brought by stage to my father's house every Monday, about noon, was conveyed by me to Bandera, on horse-back, and I returned the next day in time to meet the Eagle Pass mail-hack which took it on to San Antonio.
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The country along my route was sparsely settled then, as the following facts will show. After leaving my father's house it was eight miles to the ranch owned jointly by Dr. Bohm and Richard Tuerpe. The last served fifteen years as commissioner in Medina County, and now resides in San Antonio. Twelve miles further on was Mitchell's ranch, that was in charge of John Green, the father of Will Green, who is now a mounted policeman in San Antonio. Six miles beyond, the ranch of August and Celeste Begno was located, who now own a large ranch on Turkey Creek, and Ed. Montel, an attorney in Hondo City, is their nephew. The next settlement was the beautifully located town of Bandera which is widely known as a health resort on account of the salubrious climate.
These were frontier settlements and about that period the wild Indians made frequent incursions through the country, but I was lucky enough to avoid coming in contact with them, nor did I see any signs of them on any of my journeys. On one occasion, though, I was badly frightened by a party of Mexicans, who were mistaken for Indians, and I made a record run when making my escape. As I am giving my experiences I may as well relate the circumstances.
The trip under consideration was made in company with a boy then on a visit to Castroville, whose home was in Bandera, and as he wished to return I allowed him to ride behind me on my horse. He was about my age, and though his name is forgotten, I remember that John Adamadez, now a horse-dealer in San Antonio, was his cousin. Nothing happened until we got into the Medina mountains, where I took a wrong trail that led us into the Medina valley, about six miles below Mitchell's ranch. About the time I realized my mistake a scattered body of men suddenly appeared in sight among the trees, who we supposed were Indians. We were very much alarmed and I quickly turned my horse without waiting to make
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a close investigation, but the movement was not fast enough to satisfy my companion, who, in a panic, jumped to the ground and ran in the brush. It was done so quickly I thought he was killed, and under that impression my horse was urged to his best speed until I arrived at Mitchell's ranch and excitedly related all that had hap-pened. Mr. Green tried to quiet my fears, and promised that when his men came in he would send one with me to Bandera for assistance. While we were waiting a party of Mexicans came up to the ranch and with them was the boy who I supposed was dead. They proved to be those we had assumed were Indians, and I knew I had given a false alarm when they explained that they had been engaged in thrashing pecan trees and gathering the nuts. They were near enough to witness our fright and hastily quit their work to overtake the boy, who, when found, was undeceived. Knowing that an alarm of Indians being in the vicinity would create excitement, they hurried to the ranch with a view to relieve the anxiety of his friends. Of course I was glad that no serious results were attached to the adventure, but my Indian scare became a standing joke among my acquaintances and it was a sore subject until I lived it down.
Nothing else happened to me while I carried the mail that was of any consequence, except once, when I was thrown from a wild mule I was riding, which, -incidentally, caused considerable excitement. He was a skittish beast, and so easily frightened he would frequently snort and jump suddenly to one side when nothing was in sight but his shadow. Generally I was on my guard, but that evening I was careless, and when he made a quick bound sideways I was thrown out of the saddle to the ground. Before I could recover my feet he darted away at the top of his speed with my mail-bag and I had to walk to Bandera, a mile or two distant. When I related what had happened, my story enlisted the services of all the men in the town, but their search was unsuccessful until
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late the following evening, when the brute was brought in and I was glad to know that the mail-bag was safe. The next morning I started for home, feeling badly at the thought that I was a day behind because it was the first time such a thing had happened. When within twelve miles from home I was surprised to meet my father with a party of neighbors on their way to look for me. Among them was Dan Adams, Sam Etter, John Bippert, Tab Woodward, Jim Brown and others. They were all very much relieved when they saw me, because they thought I had either been killed or captured by Indians.
The mail route was in existence one year and ten months, and in that time I made about one hundred round trips, each averaging sixty-four miles, without failing to be on time except on the occasion to which I have referred, and that was not my fault. When my youth is considered, in connection with the fact that the country was infested by roving bands of Indians who were continually depredating upon the people and committing many murders, I have a right to flatter myself on the record I made. It is evident that I escaped numerous dangers and I feel grateful for my good fortune. Although I carried a six-shooter as long and heavy as that worn by Big-foot Wallace, or any other Indian fighter, it is an open question whether I would have used it, in case of an encounter with Indians, or would have trusted, instead, to the speed of my good horse, Sam, who carried me on nearly all of my journeys.
All mail contracts granted by the United States government in Texas were cancelled in 1861, at the com- mencement of the Civil War, and of course Alex David
