Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 April 1892 — Saved by a Picture. [ARTICLE]

Saved by a Picture.

One hot day in June, 1860, a herdsman was driving a lot of cattle to a new ranch near Helena, Texas. It was hot, and he drove part way at night. In passing another herd the cattle became mixed. The next day about noon a dozen or so Texas rangers overtook the herdsman and demanded their cattle, which they said were stolen. They were a lot of men, with long hair, slouch hats, and covered all over with bolts, pistols, bowie-knives. The herdsman was alarmed. It was before the day of law and court-houses in that region, and he knew that he had better shoot five men than kill a mule worth $5. He felt the Responsibility, and offered to explain, but they told him to cut his stor; short. He offered to turn over not his own, but they laughed at that, and said they generally took the whole herd and hung the thief, to serve as a warning to others in like cases. They consulted apart a few moments, and said: “We’ve made up our minds to give you ten minutes to explain yourself; so you can begin.” The poor fellow was completely overcome. He looked at the men, turned pale, and commenced: “How many of you men have wives?” Four or five nodded. “How many have children?” They nodded again. “Then you will know what I mean, and I’ll talk to you. I ne'ver stole any cattle. I came here three years ago. lam froin New Hampshire; I failed there in the panic of ’57. I have been saving; I have paid part of my debts; here are the receipts (and he unfolded a lot of them). My friends live East, for I go from place to place and have no home here. I have lived on hard fare. I have slept out on the ground. I am a hard-looking customer, but this is a hard country; these clothes are rough, but I am honest. Days seem like months to me, and months like years. I expect to sell out and go home in November for Thanksgiving. You know, married men, if it was not for those letters from home (here he pulled out his wife’s letters), I should give up; but I must get out of debt and live some way, men. I can’t say no more, but if you must kill me for what I’m innocent of, send these home. Here ;are the receipts, my wife’s letters; here’s my Testament that my mother gave me; here’s my little girl’s pictture—God bless her! (and he kissed it tenderly). Now, men, send these home—and can’t you send half what the cattle come to? My family will need it much more when I am gone.” “Hold up now! Stop right thar!” said a rough ranger. “Not another word! I say, fellers, such men don’t steal! You can go free. Give us your hand, old boy! That picture an’ them letters did the business. But you’re luck}’, mind ye.” “I’ll do better un that,” said a rough ranger with a bowie-knife in his hand. “I say, boys, iet’s buy his cattle and let him go home now.” They did, and when the money was counted the herdsman was too weak to stand. The sudden change unnerved him completely. An hour later he left on horseback for a near stage-route, and when he left the rangers shook hands with him, cheered, and looked happy.—Our Dumb Animals