HUNTING AND HUNTED. 



W. H. HILTON. 



In '46, just before the war broke out with 

 Mexico, a party was made up near San An- 

 tonio, to hunt buffalo in Northwest Texas, 

 where they yet ranged. At the request of 

 an old frontiersman, who had taken a great 

 liking to me, I joined. He was a singular 

 character, tall, slim, nervous — his hands 

 would shake as if he had the palsy — yet he 

 was a dead shot. He was known as " The 

 Scalper," owing to the number of Indian 

 scalps he carried. He was exceedingly reti- 

 cent and no one knew his name or past life. 

 His only occupation was to hunt Indians — 

 and other big game. Once, on the trip, 

 his old heart opened to me, and he told me 

 why he led such a life. He was the son of 

 a well-to-do sugar planter; had been well 

 educated, and was studying law when his 

 father died, leaving him all his property. 

 He married and was blessed in every way, 

 till one day, while he was absent on business, 

 the Comanches made a raid and killed and 

 scalped his wife and year old boy. " When 

 I returned and learned it all," said the old 

 man, " I must have been crazy. Alone, I 

 started after the Indians and was finally 

 picked up, exhausted, by a party who had 

 been following the hellions. I resolved then 

 to hunt Indians until I got my poor wife's 

 and boy's scalps back again. My wife's I 

 have, soaked in the blood of her destroyer; 

 but my boy's I have yet to find. There are 

 17 notches on my rifle. I know I shall make 

 it 23. That was the age of my wife when 

 murdered." Once he showed me her scalp, 

 sewed inside his hunting shirt, over his 

 heart. No wonder such a bitter experience 

 should wreck the career of a man with 

 strong, noble feelings, who loved wife and 

 child better than his own life. Some would 

 condemn this man* for his revengeful feel- 

 ings. I did not. 



It will surprise many who cannot go on a 

 hunt without taking with them samples of 

 nearly everything to be found in a grocery 

 to know that our grub consisted of bacon, 

 corn meal, coffee, sugar, salt, and pepper, 

 only. We all had Kentucky rifles, ammuni- 

 tion, and bowie knives, and there were 2 old- 

 fashioned horse pistols in the crowd. It was 

 before the day of revolvers. 



" The Scalper " was appointed leader, and 

 we left San Antonio and crossed the Colo- 

 rado above Austin, then over to the Brazos 

 river and up its Northerly bank. We killed 

 all the deer and wild turkeys we needed; 

 cutting off strips of flesh to hang to our 

 saddles to dry. On reaching the Salt fork 

 of the Brazos, we left it for the Big Wi-che- 

 ta. Here we met our first buffalo. The 

 reserve horses were saddled up, and we 



started in for buffalo meat. We hunted for" 

 about a week, changing our camp from day 

 to day, and soon had quite an amount of 

 "jerky" drying in the hot sun. We had 

 got into the Comanche range and had to 

 keep a sharp look out. Finally, it was de- 

 cided to go over to the South fork of Red 

 river. There we saw small bands of buffalo, 

 and commenced hunting again. When a 

 band was discovered, some of the party 

 would make a detour and get some distance 

 to the leeward of the game; then the rest 

 of us would get as near as possible and go* 

 for them. It was wild riding over the un- 

 even ground and some tumbles were had'.- 

 After getting as close as possible, we would 

 try to get a shot into some vital spot; but 

 the exceedingly small ball the Kentucky rifle 

 then carried did not make quick work of it, 

 and as it took long to reload, few shots were 

 fired. When the game reached the party 

 who had gone ahead, they took a hand, 

 and we got our share of the game. As 

 we expected to see Indians, it was un- 

 derstood there should not be too much 

 scattering, and if redskins were discovered, 

 the signal was to be given, if necessary, by 

 waving a coat or blanket. One day, about 

 the middle of the morning, the signal came. 

 We retreated to our camp, which had been 

 located in the bed of a dry creek. On ar- 

 rival there we found the Indians had out- 

 witted us. Spare horses, jerky and all, were 

 gone; but the trail was hot, and after a 

 chase of 3 hours, we caught up. There were 

 only 6 of the devils, and we soon had our 

 plunder back again. Fearing the Indians 

 would return with reinforcements, we re- 

 turned to our camp. There had been some 

 hot work during the day, and all felt tired. 

 Four of the Indians had been wiped out, 

 and 2 got away. One of our men had a 

 flesh wound, and one horse was killed; but 

 we got 3 Indian ponies. 



Guards were stationed, and told to be 

 ready for a call. Just at daybreak it seemed 

 as if all hell had broken loose. It was the 

 first time I had heard the Indian warwhoop, 

 and it was blood curdling. I had heard 

 "painters" and they sound ugly; but their 

 music is heavenly compared with the war- 

 whoop of these hell hounds. The shots came 

 pouring in, but we returned them with dead- 

 lier effect, and drove the foe back. We had 

 no timber for cover nearer than 100 yards, 

 and that only on the Northerly bank. After 

 driving the Comanches back we found 

 none of us had been killed, but there were 

 a few wounds. In those days the Indians 

 had old shotguns, flint lock muskets, and 

 Mexican escopetas. Their powder was poor 



405 



