Mr. Gibson was a good-looking man, some twelve or fifteen years older than his wife; his real vocation was to be a low comedian; this showed itself on my first introduction to him. He informally winked at me and said: "Esker voo ker jer dwaw lah vee? Ah! kel Bonnure!" This idiotic speech (all the French he knew) was delivered in so droll and natural a manner that I took to him at once. Barty himself couldn't have been funnier! Well, we had games of forfeits and danced, and Ida played charming things by Mendelssohn on the piano, and Leah sang very nicely in a fine bold frank deep voice, like a choir-boy's, and Mrs. Gibson danced a Spanish fandango, and displayed feet and ankles of which she was very proud, and had every right to be; and then Mr. Gibson played a solo on the flute, and sang "My Pretty Jane"--both badly enough to be very funny without any conscious effort or straining on his part. Then we supped, and the food was good, and we were all very jolly indeed; and after supper Mr. Gibson said to me: "Now, Mister Parley voo- can't you do something to amuse the company? You're big enough!" I professed my willingness to do any thing-and wished I was as Barty more than ever! "Well, then," says he-"kneel to the wittiest, bow to the prettiest--and kiss the one you love best." This was rather a large order-but I did as well as I could. I went down on my knees to Mr. Gibson and craved his paternal blessing; and made my best French bow with my heels together to old Mrs. Bletchley; and kissed my sister, warmly thanking her in public for having introduced me to Mrs. Gibson: and as far as mere social success is worth anything, I was the Barty of that party! Anyhow, Mr. Gibson conceived for me an admiration he never failed to express when we met afterwards, and though this was fun, of course, I had really won his heart. It is but a humble sort of triumph to crow over-and where does Barty Josselin come in? Pazienza! "Well-what do you think of Leah Gibson?" said my sister, as we walked home together through Torrington Square. "I think she's a regular stunner," said I-"like her mother and her grandmother before her, and probably her greatgrandmother too.” And being a poetical youth, and well up in my Byron, I declaimed: "She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; Meet in her aspect and her eyes" Old fogy as I am, and still given to poetical quotations, I never made a more felicitous quotation than that. I little guessed then to what splendor that bony black-eyed damsel would reach in time. All through this period of high life and low dissipation Barty kept his unalterable good-humor and high spirits-and especially the kindly grace of manner and tact and good-breeding that kept him from ever offending the most fastidious, in spite of his high spirits, and made him many a poor grateful outcast's friend and darling. I remember once dining with him at Greenwich in very distinguished company; I don't remember how I came to be invited through Barty, no doubt. He got me many invitations that I often thought it better not to accept. "Ne sutor ultra crepidam!" It was a fish dinner, and Barty ate and drank a surprising amount-and so did I, and liked it very much. We were all late and hurried for the last train, some twenty of us-and Barty, Lord Archibald, and I, and a Colonel Walker Lindsay, who has since become a peer and a Field-Marshal (and is now dead), were all pushed together into a carriage, already occupied by a distinguished clergyman and a charming young ladyprobably his daughter; from his dress, he was either a dean or a bishop, and I sat opposite to him-in the corner. Barty was very noisy and excited as the train moved off; he was rather tipsy, in fact and I was alarmed, on account of the clerical gentleman and his female companion. As we journeyed on, Barty began to romp and play the fool and perform fantastic tricks-to the immense delight of the future Field-Marshal. twisted two pocket-handkerchiefs into human figures, one on each hand, and made them sing to each other-like Grisi and Mario in the Huguenots-and clever drivel of that kind. Lord Archibald and Colonel Lindsay were beside themselves with glee at all this; they also had dined well. He Then he imitated a poor man fishing in St. James's Park and not catching any fish. And this really was uncommonly good and true to life- with wonderful artistic details, that showed keen observation. I saw that the bishop and his daughter (if such they were) grew deeply interested, and laughed and chuckled discreetly; the young lady had a charming expression on her face as she watched the idiotic Barty, who got more idiotic with every mile-and this was to be the man who wrote Sardonyx! VOL. XCIV.-No. 559.-6 As the train slowed into the London station, the bishop leant forward towards me and inquired, in a whisper, "May I ask the name of your singularly delightful young friend?" "His name is Barty Josselin," I answered. "Not of the Grenadier Guards?" "Yes." "Oh, indeed! a-yes-I've heard of him-" And his lordship's face became hard and stern-and soon we all got out. [TO BE CONTINUED.] "YOU HOW THE LAW GOT INTO THE CHAPARRAL. BY FREDERIC REMINGTON. OU have heard about the Texas Rangers?" said the Deacon to me one night, in the San Antonio Club. "Yes? Well, come up to my rooms, and I will introduce you to one of the old originals-dates 'way back in the thirties'-there aren't many of them left now -and if we can get him to talk, he will tell you stories that will make your eyes hang out on your shirt front." We entered the Deacon's cozy bach elor apartments, where I was introduced to Colonel "Rip" Ford, of the old-time Texas Rangers. I found him a very old man, with a wealth of snow-white hair and beardbent, but not withered. As he sunk on his stiffened limbs into the arm-chair, we disposed ourselves quietly and almost reverentially, while we lighted cigars. We began the approaches by which we hoped to loosen the history of a wild past from one of the very few tongues which can still wag on the days when the Texans, the Comanches, and the Mexicans chased one another over the plains of Texas, and shot and stabbed to find who should inherit the land. Remington. — Through the veil of tobacco smoke the ancient warrior spoke his sentences slowly, at intervals, as his mind gradually separated and arranged the details of countless fights. His head bowed in thought; anon it rose sharply at recollections, and as he breathed, the shouts and lamentations of crushed men- the yells and shots-the thunder of horses' hoofs-the full fury of the desert combats came to the pricking ears of the Deacon and me. We saw through the smoke the brave young faces of the hosts which poured into Texas to war with the enemies of their race. They were clad in loose hunting - frocks, leather leggings, and broad black hats; had powder-horns and shotpouches hung about them; were armed with bowie-knives, Mississippi rifles, and horse-pistols; rode Spanish ponies, and were impelled by Destiny to conquer, like their remote ancestors, "the godless hosts of Pagan" who came swimming o'er the Northern Sea." 66 "Rip" Ford had not yet acquired his front name in 1836, when he enlisted in the famous Captain Jack Hayes's company of Rangers, which was fighting the Mexicans in those days, and also trying incidentally to keep from being eaten up by the Comanches. Said the old Colonel: "A merchant from our country journeyed to New York, and Colonel Colt, who was a friend of his, gave him two five-shooters-pistols they were, and little things. The merchant in turn presented them to Captain Jack Hayes. The captain liked them so well that he did not rest till every man jack of us had two apiece. "Directly," mused the ancient one, with a smile of pleasant recollection, “we had a fight with the Comanches--up here above San Antonio. Hayes had fifteen men with him-he was doubling about the country for Indians. He found 'sign,' and after cutting their trail several times he could see that they were following him. Directly the Indians overtook the Rangers there were seventy-five Indians. Captain Hayes-bless his memory!—said, 'They are fixin' to charge us, boys, and we must charge them.' There were never better men in this world than Hayes had with him," went on the Colonel with pardonable pride; "and mind you, he never made a fight without winning. "We charged, and in the fracas killed thirty-five Indians-only two of our men were wounded-so you see the five-shooters were pretty good weapons. Of course they wa'n't any account compared with these modern ones, because they were too small, but they did those things. Just after that Colonel Colt was induced to make bigger ones for us, some of which were half as long as your arm. "Hayes? Oh, he was a surveyor, and used to go out beyond the frontiers about his work. The Indians used to jump him pretty regular; but he always whipped them, and so he was available for a Ranger captain. About then-let's see," and here the old head bobbed up from his chest, where it had sunk in thought-"there was a commerce with Mexico just sprung up, but this was later-it only shows what that man Hayes used to do. The bandits used to waylay the traders, and they got very bad in the country. Captain Hayes went after them-he struck them near Lavade, and found the Mexicans had more than twice as many men as he did; but he caught them napping, charged them afoot-killed twenty-five of them, and got all their horses." charged by a Mexican lancer?" I inquired. "Oh yes, many times," he answered. "What did you generally do?" "Well-you see-in those days I reckoned to be able to hit a man every time with a six-shooter at one hundred and twenty-five yards," explained the old gentleman-which no doubt meant many dead lancers. 66 Then you do not think much of a lance as a weapon?" I pursued. "No; there is but one weapon. The six-shooter when properly handled is the only weapon-mind you, sir, I say properly," and here the old eyes blinked rapidly over the great art as he knew its practice. "Then of course the rifle has its use. Under Captain Jack Hayes sixty of us made a raid once after the celebrated priest-leader of the Mexicans-Padre Ja"I suppose, Colonel, you have been rante-which same was a devil of a fel Dismounting his men, he poured it into them from his Colt's six-shooting rifles. They killed or wounded all the Indians except two, some of them dying so near the Rangers that they could put their hands on their boots. All but one of Burleson's men were wounded-himself shot in the head with an arrow. One man had four 'dogwood switches'* in his body, one of which was in his bowels. This man told me that every time he raised his gun to fire, the Indians would stick an arrow in him, but he said he didn't care a cent. One Indian was lying right up close, and while dying tried to shoot an arrow, but his strength failed so fast that the arrow only barely left the bowstring. One of the Rangers in that fight was a curious fellow-when young he had been captured by Indians, and had lived with them so long that he had Indian habits. In that fight he kept jumping around when loading, so as to be a bad target, the same as an Indian would under the circumstances, and he told Burleson he wished he had his boots off, so he could get around good "—and here the Colonel paused quizzically. "Would you call that a good fight?" low. We were very sleepy-had been two nights without sleep. At San Juan every man stripped his horse, fed, and went to sleep. We had passed Padre Jarante in the night without knowing it. At about twelve o'clock next day there was a terrible outcry-I was awakened by shooting. The Padre was upon us. Five men outlying stood the charge, and went under. We gathered, and the Padre charged three times. The third time he was knocked from his horse and killed. Then Captain Jack Hayes awoke, and we got in a big casa. The men took to the roof. As the Mexicans passed we emptied a great many saddles. As I got to the top of the casa I found two men quarrelling." (Here the Colonel chuckled.) "I asked what the matter was, and they were both claiming to have killed a certain Mexican who was lying dead some way off. One said he had hit him in the head, and the other said he had hit him in the breast. I advised peace until after the fight. Well-after the shooting was over and the Padre's men had had enough, we went out to the particular Mexican who was dead, and, sure enough, he was shot in the head and in the breast; so they laughed and made peace. About this time one of the spies came in and reported six hundred Mexicans coming. We made an examination of our ammunition, and found that we couldn't afford to fight six hundred Mexicans with sixty men, so we pulled out. This was in the Mexican war, and only goes to show that Captain Hayes's men could shoot all the Mexicans that could get to them if the ammunition would hold out." "What was the most desperate fight and burning. I thought I would give you can remember, Colonel?” The old man hesitated; this required a particular point of view-it was quality, not quantity, wanted now; and, to be sure, he was a connoisseur. After much study by the Colonel, during which the world lost many thrilling tales, the one which survived occurred in 1851. "My lieutenant, Ed Burleson, was ordered to carry to San Antonio an Indian prisoner we had taken and turned over to the commanding officer at Fort McIntosh. On his return, while nearing the Nueces River, he spied a couple of Indians. Taking seven men, he ordered the balance to continue along the road. The two Indians proved to be fourteen, and they charged Burleson up to the teeth. The Deacon and I put the seal of our approval on the affair, and the Colonel rambled ahead. "In 1858 I was commanding the frontier battalion of State troops on the whole frontier, and had my camp on the Deer Fork of the Brazos. The Comanches kept raiding the settlements. They would come down quietly, working well into the white lines, and then go back a-running - driving stolen stock and killing them some of their own medicine. I concluded to give them a fight. I took two wagons, one hundred Rangers, and one hundred and thirteen Tahuahuacan Indians, who were friendlies. We struck a good Indian trail on a stream which led up to the Canadian. We followed it till it got hot. I camped my outfit in such a manner as to conceal my force, and sent out my scouts, who saw the Indians hunt buffalo through spy-glasses. That night we moved. I sent Indians to locate the camp. They returned before day, and reported that the Indians were just a few miles ahead, whereat we moved forward. At daybreak, I remember, I was standing in the bull-wagon road leading to Santa * Arrows. |