Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 244, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 October 1915 — BORDER MAN HUNT [ARTICLE]

BORDER MAN HUNT

Correspondent Describes Ride With Te> as Rangers. Pursuit of Mexican Bandtts Who Raided American Ranch Conducted in Businesalike Manner—“ Got Five," la Quiet Report. By JOHN W. ROBERTB. (International Newa Service.) Brownsville, Tex. —It takes more qualifications to be a Texas ranged than to be a soldier In the United States army. For one thing, you must be 'able to shoot 90 per cent average—very few soldiers can do that. And then, you have to be more than five feet ten inches tall. You must know how to ride like a cowpuncher and be skillful in handling the lariat. You must be a man of unqualified nerve, and be ready at all times to face dan* ger without a flinch. It was my good fortune to be one of a party of ten rangers who left Brownsville early one evening in pursuit of some Mexican bandits who bed recently raided an American ranch Ja the vicinity. I rode beside a tall, quiet, handsome boy of about twenty-two years of age. His face was as tanned as a Mexican’s, but his steel-blue eyes betrayed hiß Anglo-Saxon nationality. We had entered that part of the country which is covered with a network of mesquite brush, ten feet in .height, as thick as any African jungle ever could be. I started to whistle an old familiar tune. “Shut up,” said my partner quietly. We came to a small clearing and halted. Thfe waters of the Rio Grande were dotted with reflections of the stars in the bright sky. Across th* river was Mexico, and her vast, silent prairies gleamed like silver in the starlight One of the rangers dismounted and examined the ground closely. “They have gone that way," he point* ed northward. “How does he know that It Is the men we are after?” I asked of my companion. “By the footprints,” he replied. “Greasers never take the trouble t« shoe their horses. An American’s horse Is always shod —that’s the difference, and the hoof prints point northward.” Here we left the road and took up a trail through the chaparral, single file. The thud, thud of our horses' hoofs In the soft earth, and the occasional squeak of a saddle were the only sounds which broke the stillness of the night. Suddenly, without warning, the crash of a body dashing through the dry mesquite to our ’eft was heard.' In almost the same instant ten saddles were emptied and ten big, strapping Texans had dashed into the brush like so qiany rabbits. The horses, but for turning curious eyes toward the brush in which their masters had disappeared, remained absolutely still, A minute later, however, the ten mer returned and remounted. “Coyote,” explained my partner with a smile. “The damn fitters are always fooling us, because they sound Just like a greaser trying U. get away." We had ridden out a mile farther along this trail, when the shrill whinny of a pony oroke through the stillness. It halted our small band like magic. Although no one said a word, each man knew what the other thought, and they acted together, Each ranger dismounted and took his rifle from the scabbard. ■ “It’s them, I guess,” my yartner lit formed me. “You had better stay with the horses and keep your head under cover in case there is any shooting. We will be back \n a little while.” Although every one of the ten rangers who took into the brush were big fellows, each wearing heavy boots yet, when they had gone but ten paces from where I stood I could not hear a sound—not even the breaking of a dry twig. Five minutes later the sound of a shot cracked through the air. I was in a state of feverish excitement Never before had I been in a man hunt, and this one, staged in a still night on the prairies bordering the waters of the Rio Grande, made me doubt, even then, that it was taking place on American soil. The shot was followed by another one, then a third, then many, all at once, and in a few seconds more the air rang with the cracks of rifles. I heard an oath screamed in Spanish; a sharp-voiced command to halt in English. Heard the phink of a body jumping into the Rio Grande, then another and another one. Someone was crashing madly through the mesquite brush to my right, then all was silence again. A few minutes later, the ten rangers returned unhurt While I was trembling in my excitement the men quietly put their guns ba k into their scabbards, mounted their horses, turned around, and started back tc Brownsville again. Not a word was spoken and each man’s face was as immobile as though nothing had hap pened. "Did —did—did ydu get any' Sf them?” I whispered to my partner. "Five,” he said quietly, without looking up. Ten minutes passed before I nerved myself to ask the second question. “What did you do w’th them?” Tfc« question seemed to amuse hint, “Greasers are like dogs,” he an swered. “Let them rot where mm die.”