Trouble at the Dance—A New Superintendent—Shots in the dark—Arrest of Bud—With a Surveying Party.

I was absorbed in the beauty and strangeness of the scene when suddenly the peacefulness was broken by the “bang-bang” of a pistol, almost in our ears. Everybody jumped, but it was only a young Mexican, who had been “turned down” by his girl, and, having loaded up on mescal, was amusing himself by trying to stampede the crowd. Unfortunately, however, there were other young fellows in the crowd, back of the benches, who, happening to be in the same predicament, decided to assist him, and soon there was “bang-banging” all around the outer circle.

There was a Mexican deputy-sheriff on the ground to keep order, who, when things were getting pretty lively, got up on a stump and made a short speech.

He begged the young fellows to keep quiet, as things had gone as far as decency would permit, and said he would have to arrest the next man who fired a gun. While he was speaking a young Mexican, with more mescal than brains in his head, crept up behind him and fired off his pistol almost in his ear. The deputy turned like a flash, and before the young fellow could use his gun again he dived under his extended arm, caught him by the throat and wrist, pinned him to the ground and took his gun away from him. The minute the deputy had his prisoner down half a dozen young Mexicans ran up to rescue him, but the host and the deputy’s two half-brothers ran to his assistance, and for a minute or two things looked bad. I beat a hasty retreat behind a convenient oak-tree from whence I could observe progress in safety. There was a young German lad at the mines who stood over six feet, and weighed close on 200 lbs., and was “Muy bravo” with his fists. Just as I reached the shelter of my friendly tree he came dashing by me, saying, “Let me in to this! Let me in!” as if I were trying to keep him out. As he ran up to the crowd some one stuck a "Colt’s Frontier 45" under his nose, and he literally fell out backwards.

The determined attitude of the deputy and his friends stopped the trouble, though the dance was broken up. But as the crowd was moving away and the deputy was taking off his prisoner, Padilla, one of his half-brothers, gave a yell and clapped his hands to his stomach. Some one had taken his revenge, as Padilla had a cut which extended from his left hip almost to his right lower ribs, done from behind; the man who did it was never discovered. They carried him back to camp, and within a month he was back at his old job, running the car-hoist out of the mine.

Of course this kind of business was not conducive to good work, and so, in May 1895, a little more than a month after I started work, the new superintendent arrived, bringing with him a new foreman and a shipping clerk. The new superintendent was exactly the opposite of the colonel. He was a short, heavily built Northerner, born in Nantucket. “Details,” so repugnant to the colonel, were just what he was after, and he did not take kindly to drinking and dance halls on the company’s property. He put a stop to the dance hall, and no liquor of any kind was allowed on the company’s land, which comprised 27,000 acres. He caused the sheriff of Uvalde County to appoint him as deputy, so that he could enforce his own orders, and the place began to quiet down.

As the company had no house to give me, I got funds from home to build a three-roomed house. I bought some furniture from the company, and sending for my wife and boy we started housekeeping in a small way. Meanwhile I had been changed from the crusher to fireman on the three stationary boilers. It was promotion in so far as it was considered to need more skill, but it only carried with it harder work and no higher pay. It was terrible work during the months of June, July, and part of August, under a Texas sun, firing three 80 H.P. boilers with mesquite wood. There was no cover over the boilers, and the fireman stood out in the open with the heat of the sun on his back, and the heat of the fires in his face whenever he opened a fire-door to put in wood. Here I first found out what was meant by the saying, “A man does not know what heat is till he shivers from it.” I had always thought this a foolish thing until I found out that a man can actually get so heated that he has cold chills run over him till he shivers. The only relief we could get was to go under the water-tank between times, while the steam held, and then before starting out douse our heads under the tap. I had two Mexican assistants to wheel wood from the pile to the boiler, and to wheel away the ashes. The reason there was no shed over the boilers was simply bad management and bad plans; later on all this was changed.

One night in July my wife, the boy, and I were sitting out on the front porch of my house trying to keep cool, when “whee-whee,” two bullets came over the house. I could not imagine what was the trouble, but hustled them into the house, got my shot-gun, and went to investigate. As I came down the hill I could hear voices in altercation down at the stable, and when I reached it I found the elder Towser trying to take a rifle away from Bud, who, it seems, was drunk, and had been trying to shoot out the lights on our porch. I was mad enough to have given him both barrels, but the old man talked me out of it. Later on, the same evening, after taking a few more drinks from his private stock, he went over to Mexico and, getting angry with a Mexican, took a few shots at him, but luckily missed, and then he started home again. Meanwhile, Mr. Brooks, the superintendent, had been notified that Bud was on the rampage, and started out to find him. He met Bud on his way home from Mexico, and said, “Bud, I want your pistol, and you are under arrest.” Bud promptly and forcibly refused. Brooks said, "Bud, if I don’t have that gun in a couple of minutes, I shall have to take it from you." There was silence for a minute, then Bud took out his gun and handed it over, saying: “All right, if you want it so d——d badly as all that.” Bud was sent into town the next day and fined $60. It is a peculiar thing how a man, with the law behind him, can cow one of these would-be “bad-men.” Brooks told me years afterwards that he was in a great stew while Bud hesitated; but as he had put up the bluff he intended carrying it through, even to killing Bud, if he could, before Bud killed him. Bud’s day was over, and shortly after he left the camp.

Towards the end of August the company decided to build a spur railroad connecting the mines with the Southern Pacific Railway at Cline Station. As I had some little experience in surveying, I was taken off the boilers and sent as rod-man with Himan the engineer, who was to be in charge of the work. This was a very nice change, and Himan was a fine fellow to work for, and willing to explain and teach all he could as the work went along. He was, however, very hot-headed, which got him into trouble while I was with him, and nearly cost him his life some years later. We were measuring one day on the dump (earth-fill), when a Mexican came along with a wheel-scraper. Himan called to the Mexican to stop, but the latter either did not hear or paid no attention, and drove his scraper over the tape. Himan cursed him in Spanish and English for his carelessness. The Mexican promptly turned loose his team, saying in Spanish, "You can’t curse me," drew his knife and came at Himan. My rod was lying at my side, and I grabbed it and made a lunge for the Mexican, which distracted his attention, and the axeman coming up at the time, his ardour cooled a little. He went off after his team, and that night drew his pay and quit. The rest of us persuaded Himan to carry a pistol, as Mexicans will hold a grudge for months and get even if they can. About a week later I was helping Himan in the office, when he pulled out his pistol and laid it on the table. I picked it up, and found the hammer so rusted in the seat, from carrying it in the hip pocket without a holster, that I could not cock it. I advised Himan either not to carry a gun, or else to keep it in working condition.

Some two years later he was building a railway out of St. Luis Potosi, in Mexico. He had a strike amongst his men, and was advised to leave camp till the men quieted down. He started off, much against his will, and the men, seeing him go, started after him, calling him a coward, and daring him to come back and fight; at last one or two threw stones at him. He restrained himself as long as he could, but at this last insult he lost his head, jumped off his horse, drew his pistol, and ran back at the crowd. When he got close enough to shoot he found, to his horror and disgust, that his gun was jammed with rust. While he was looking at it and trying to cock it a Mexican made a stab at his throat. He saw the flash and ducked, and the knife took him in the cheek, the point passing out the other side, and loosening some of his teeth. Before the Mexican could use his knife again he was shot and dropped dead, and another Mexican who was in the act of stabbing Himan in the back was also shot. At this the rest of them ran, and Himan turned to find his rescuer was a little Spanish “cabo,” or foreman, who had followed with a Winchester to see that Himan got safely out of the camp. Himan and his cabo had the usual trouble with the Mexican authorities, and lay in jail for some time, but finally got clear. When I next met Himan he told me that he had learned his lesson, and would never be caught napping again, as he cleaned and oiled his gun every day. He wanted me to go back and work for him, but at that time I had no idea that I wanted anything to do with Mexico.