Having been honorably discharged, the rangers began to scatter to their homes. Many had friends in the vicinity, who came after them with wagons; refusing to let them ride their war ponies, but leading these home in triumph, decked with flowers and ribbons. Parting among the men, rough as they were, gave rise to many affecting scenes. Hardy warriors wept like children, as they separated from the companions of their hardships and dangers. Truly, it might have been said of us that we were a band of brothers then; but how soon—such is human nature—to become deadly enemies!

I had enlisted at Waco, two hundred miles away, and had no means of reaching that place except on foot; and learning this, Colonel Smith tendered me a horse, but he was wild, having only been caught that spring, when we made our hunt up the Canadian. He was remarkably fleet on foot when in the wild herd; no less than sixty horses having been run after him—first all at a dash. In the race we had roped all the mares, when he came back to fight us, trying first to drive the mares, and then the men, away. Failing in both of these purposes, he dashed around and around in a circle, always eluding the rope, though thrown by our best horsemen; and in this way, he baffled us till our own horses were worn out; when, finally, an Indian, named Bob, shot him just between the last two short ribs, and let the ball range forward into the stomach—a process known among the savages as "creasing," and is frequently employed with success; and it is a far safer way than shooting them in the neck, as is sometimes done. Nevertheless, it is a barbarous proceeding, and could only be adopted by those devoid of every quality of mercy.

Such was the animal tendered me, and the reader will not be at a loss to conjecture that riding it was not the most pleasant thing in the world. It had thoroughly recovered from the gunshot wound, and was well nigh as wild as when first seen on the prairie; and was, withal, the most vicious beast I ever mounted, when we set out; but, strange as it may seem, by the time we reached our journey's end it was completely subdued, both to ride and work in harness—was as docile as it had been wild.

Soon after we arrived at Belknap, during the spring of 1860, a man visited us, who introduced himself as Captain Davis; but how he obtained the title was, and is, a mystery. He informed us that he was a member of the Knights of the Golden Circle, and that he was fully authorized to receive and initiate men into the order, from his superiors; and that when fully initiated, the mysteries and objects of the institution would be explained; that some of the objects must now be kept secret; but there was one that he could reveal; it was the intention to raise a force of twelve thousand men to invade Mexico, under command of General Sam. Houston, the then Governor of Texas; and that they were to be paid by English capitalists at the rate of eighteen dollars per month; and that, after the conquest, the States of Nueva Leon, Chihuahua, Coahuila, and Tamaulipas were to be annexed to the United States; that Gen. Houston was not taking any public part in the matter, for State reasons; but that, in a short time, he would throw off all concealment, and declare his purpose to the world. British subjects, Captain Davis declared, were to pay the General a fabulous sum for accomplishing the work, and then settle an annuity upon his wife. He said that though all the details had not yet been arranged, they were being rapidly consummated.

He explained to us that the Knights were organized with three degrees—the military, the financial, and the legislative. The first of these was intended to be popular—to catch the masses of the people; and as men should not be made to pay too extravagantly for the privilege of serving some one else, the initiation fee to this degree was but one dollar. To get into the financial—ominous name—more money was required, and the initiation fee was put at five dollars. To become a third, or legislative-degree member, influence, and not money, was requisite. A man odious to the Knights could not have bought a seat in it; an influential politician could have obtained one at a mere nominal price—perhaps for nothing. Members of the first degree were not allowed to know what was done in the second: and those of the second were kept in ignorance of the transactions in the third; and as every one was sworn to do the bidding of his superior, and each degree to obey the directions of those above it, the despotism was complete. It was the province of the few to command; of the masses to obey.

This was the feature to which I objected. I was rather pleased with some things—particularly the prospect of adventure; but I could never take an oath to do an act the nature of which I knew nothing; nor could I swear to obey irresponsible men, who proposed to do anything unlawful. If the object was legitimate, it occurred to me, why this secrecy? and, I believe subsequent events have proven that my objections were well taken; indeed, a few months sufficed to satisfy me upon that subject, and, I think, to satisfy all the world.

The captain was a ready talker, and well calculated to seduce the unwary into his schemes; and nearly all the rangers were induced to become members of the order, after which he left to enlighten the people of other sections. He was exceedingly lavish in his promises; to become a knight was to secure perpetual fame at once; and few of the rangers who joined but believed that the lowest position which would fall to their lot would be that of a field officer. "All promotions," he said, "were to be made from the ranks;" (an old story, every soldier knows), and all the great estates in Mexico were to be confiscated to secure fortunes to the adventurers. Immense tracts of land were to be granted to members of the order; the mines in Sonora were to be parceled out, and every possessor to be made a Croesus at once; and a hundred other glittering promises were made, which, under any ordinary circumstances, would have excited men of a wild, roving disposition; but in this case, success in obtaining enlistments was chiefly the result of other causes.

Mexican depredations on the Rio Grande had been frequent; and many a ranger was longing to retaliate upon the perfidious perpetrators in Tamaulipas and Nueva Leon; and they looked upon this as an excellent opportunity to join in a scheme which promised them revenge—far sweeter to the pioneer of western Texas than the wealth of an Astor or a Vanderbilt.

But very soon the attention of the Texans was turned to other enterprises than the invasion of Mexico, and the Knights had other foes than Spanish mongrels to fight. When I reached Waco, the most intense political excitement I ever witnessed was prevailing. Mr. Lincoln had just been elected president, and orators were busy on every street corner "firing the southern heart," which they fully succeeded in doing, though it has since pretty completely burned out.

I heard nothing now, but clamor about "Northern aggression," and "Southern rights," wherever I went. The State should secede at once; the politicians willed it, and the Governor must obey. The cry was "secede, secede!" break up all connection with the Federal Union, by fair means or by foul—only secede. Of course I was at once questioned as to my views, and supposing there would be freedom of expression, I spoke my mind without reservation; but they did not look upon the matter in that light, and they plainly intimated that I could choose between conversion to the views of the secessionists and exile. I, however, refused to be converted, and was at once denounced as a tory, a Lincolnite, and an abolitionist; and it was confidently expected that these epithets would enlighten my obtuse intellect and arouse my patriotism? This procedure was persisted in from the time I was mustered out, in November, 1860, till after the first battle of Bull Run, in July, 1861, when I left the State; and that, too, in the face of the fact that the greater part of this time was consumed in protecting the homes and fire-sides of my maligners from the depredations of the wild Comanches. It may be chivalry thus to avail one's self of services so onerous and dangerous, and then vilify him who accomplished them; but it does not agree with my idea of the meaning of that term.

For a time Gov. Houston resisted the wild fanaticism which prevailed; but the current was too strong; reason was hushed; force and fraud were the order of the day; and chivalry and mob violence ruled the hour and defied the law. A convention was called and candidates were out early, "defining their positions," and soliciting the suffrages of the people.

In McClennan county, where I resided, the candidate of the secessionists was an ambitious and unscrupulous lawyer, named Coke, while the Unionists supported Lewis Moore, an old and highly respected citizen; public spirited and unselfish, and only interested in developing the resources of the State and nation. He had taken a prominent part in the Texan revolution, and in all the border wars, and in the Moderator and Regulator struggle in 1836-8. Election day came, and Coke received 196 votes, to 94 for Moore—an exceedingly light poll—but only light because no man ventured to tender his ballot without being prepared to defend it with the pistol and bowie knife. I went to the polls unarmed; but I soon found that I was alone in this respect; but I ventured up and tendered my vote. A Mr. Wm. Chamberlain was receiving the tickets, and a Major Downing was acting as judge; and when the former observed that my ballot contained the name of Lewis Moore, his countenance darkened, and he asked me how I came to tender my vote there.

"You have not been in this country long enough, sir," said he.

"I have, sir," was my reply, but it was made in a quiet tone, and entirely different from that in which he addressed me.

"But you have been constantly away, running around after the Indians," he continued; "how is it you wish to vote here?"

"Because," was my response, "I am registered in the service for this place."

"But you can't be allowed to vote, sir," he persisted.

I began at once to explain my view of the law; that I was a ranger, and had served the people, and felt that I had a right to vote at any polls in the State, when he stopped me, saying:

"It is useless to multiply words; you can't vote."

I then left the court-house, went to the hotel, and got my pistols—a splendid pair of navy revolvers, and returned immediately; and seeing my movements, a number of Union men followed me, crowding the room in which the election was held. Nearly all of them were old, gray haired veterans, who had devoted their lives to the service of the State, and were as incorruptible patriots as ever trod on American soil.

Laying my ballot on the table, I addressed Mr. Chamberlin with:

"Sir, I have come to vote."

He looked at me, hesitated a moment, glanced at my hand, which was on my pistol, and the crowd of Union men around me, the countenances of every one of whom evinced a fixed determination the meaning of which he could not mistake, and then turned to the judges, but said not a word.

"Put that ticket in the box, and record my name," said I, calmly, but firmly.

He did not need another bidding, but slowly dropped the ticket in the box, took up his pen, and was about to record my name, when the Major said:

"The law requires a vote to be sworn in, after it has been challenged."

"Very well, sir," said I; "if the law requires it, I will be sworn."

He then produced a Bible, and holding it out to me, I laid my left hand on it, and the oath was administered, after which the book was held up toward my mouth, but I stepped back.

"Do you refuse to kiss the book?" said the judge.

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"For what reason," he continued.

"Because the law does not require it," was my response.

Chamberlin then registered my name, and I walked out of the court-house.

This was not an isolated instance of the persecution of Union voters. The polls were at length closed, and Coke coolly declared elected, in spite of the smallness of the vote, though this was one of the most populous counties in Central Texas; and in defiance of the fact that a large majority of the people were opposed to secession. But the malcontents were demonstrative, and had secretly organized and armed themselves, and had the control of the polls; and no Union man approached but felt that his life was jeopardized by the act.

There was a remarkable difference between the appearance of the two parties. The secessionists were mostly young men, who were both ambitious and fanatical, and who had been led astray by artful demagogues, who had "an ax to grind." They were noisy, and many of them, before the sun had reached its meridian were drunk. They were chiefly of that class of floaters, who have no interest at stake, and whose dissolute habits are the bane of the society in which they flourish. The Unionists, on the other hand, were generally venerable men who had done much service during the many wars in which the State had been involved. They had fought to render Texas independent, and had given their voice for her annexation to the Union; and they strenuously resisted a faction which proposed to undo the work which had cost them so much. They possessed property and character, and were not to be swayed by every demagogue who sought preferment and office. Such was the condition of affairs as far as my observation extended; such, I learned, was the situation throughout the State on that eventful day.