While doing duty as a policeman in the State Capitol building in Austin, in 1903, I boarded at the Capitol Hotel.
One cold, rainy day I left the table, after eating my dinner, and discovered two ladies and three children standing at the screen door on the outside. I asked them what they wanted, and they said they had sent a little boy in there with a note asking for money enough to get dinner for all five of them. They said they were “awful hungry.”
The little boy came out in a minute, and said he had seen all those men in the dining room, but they would not give him a cent. The little fellow, who was about four years of age, had tears in his eyes and looked as if he was sentenced to his death. A baby boy had gone into the dining room, filled with men drawing their five dollars a day, and hadn’t procured enough money to feed himself.
His mother and the elder lady, who was about sixty-five years of age, said, “I guess we’ll have to go, but we are awful hungry.”
I told them to sit down in the sitting room; that I was going to see that they got something to eat. I saw the proprietor and got him to prepare a table for the five people. I then carried the poor people into the dining room and seated them around the table.
I went to the waiters and told them to give those people something of everything they had and plenty of it. The waiters carefully and courteously attended to their wants, and the ladies and the children ate to their hearts’ content. I never felt happier in my life than I did when I watched them enjoy that meal. When they got through eating, they asked me if it would be any harm for them to carry the scraps away for their supper.
I told them that it was no harm at all, and I went to work at once and rustled up the biggest paper sack in the house for them, and told them to take everything they could find, which they did.
After dinner they went into the sitting room and sat around the stove to warm themselves and rest, as they were quite weary. They thanked me over and over for what I had done for them, and the old lady asked God to bless me for what she called “my act of kindness,” and asked Him to bless all my efforts in life.
The boys were too small to know what all this meant, and they sat on the floor, their hunger appeased, and laughed and played. This was a sad sight to me, and when the women began crying I could not keep the tears from my own eyes.
These unfortunate people were from the country, and boll weevils and other things had destroyed their crops for two years and left them destitute. They were in such a pitiful plight that I was thankful that I was able to aid them, and that $1.25 that I gave for their dinner did me more good and furnished me more happiness than any other sum of money I ever spent.
XIII
The Murder of Hartman
I was ordered by the governor in 1890 to go to San Saba, as District Court was to convene there and the presence of Texas Rangers in that town was greatly needed; for the people of that district were divided into two opposing factions, and the bitterness that existed between them had become intense.
Since 1880 San Saba had been the center of a disturbance, caused by the organization of a “mob,” whose operations extended into several other counties in that district.
In other words, a number of people had banded together to protect themselves against the depredations of cattle thieves and other criminals, who were numerous in that part of the state. A number of people lived in that district who had no regard for law and order, and stole so many cattle, horses and hogs that the people became aroused, and decided to take the law into their own hands and punish the guilty parties as they saw fit, and for this reason the club, afterward referred to as “the mob,” was organized.
The lawless element, of course, arrayed themselves against the mob faction. Many good people also lined up against it, as they did no believe in mob spirit and thought the law should be allowed to take its course. Thus a strong organization, called the “anti-mob,” grew into activity and bitterly opposed the other faction.
The mob faction, however, was the stronger of the two sides in numbers and influence, and in San Saba County, their greatest stronghold, they elected one of their men sheriff.
The mob did some good work for a while, but, like all organizations of that character, it finally went too far, and became more oppressive as it grew in power. Quite a number of bad citizens were “slick” enough to slip over to the stronger faction the mob element and, as they did so, they played a big part in changing the purpose and power of that organization from good to bad.
When the mob was first organized it began to put down lawlessness, but in 1890, ten years later, the bitter feeling that existed between the mob and anti-mob factions had reached such a high pitch that there was much fighting and disorder. Lawlessness was encouraged by both sides and could not be prevented by local authorities. Killings became rather frequent occurrences, and thieves took advantage of the numerous opportunities and stole livestock without fear of prosecution.
Thus the criminal docket was full of important cases, but the prosecuting attorney could not go about his work unless he was given protection by the state; so the governor sent me, as I have stated before, to San Saba to help them hold court.
Red Murphy and Tom Platt, also Rangers, were with me, and we arrived at San Saba on the following Sunday about noon. After eating dinner at the hotel, we walked up the street and found the town full of men, as court was to convene the next morning.
The men were sitting or standing around in groups of twelve or fifteen, and were discussing with some fervor the convening of court. They had come to town to see that things were run to suit them when court opened, and they meant “business,” for the stores were full of their guns and ammunition which they had brought with them.
While passing one group, we heard a man inquire who we were, and another man replied that we were Texas Rangers, whereupon they all laughed, some of them remarking that if we ever got three miles out of town we would never live to get back. We heard the remark, but paid no attention to it.
On the following Tuesday night some one came to the hotel where we were staying and asked the proprietor, Jim Darfmyer, if the Texas Rangers were not staying with him. Darfmyer told them that we were, and the visitor asked him to call us, which he did.
When we got downstairs we met Nat Hartman, whose home was on the Colorado River. He seemed very anxious about something and informed us that his brother, Edd Hartman, was missing, and that he feared he had been killed. The Hartmans were members of the anti-mob faction, and Nat Hartman told us that this was the first time in nine years that his brother had been outside of his house after sundown.
We told him that we would go by and get Sheriff Howard and commence looking for his brother. Nat objected to us getting Howard. We told him that we would have to have the sheriff with us, so we went by and called for Howard, who joined us in the search.
We reached the home of Nat Hartman’s father a little before day, and just before sunrise we left Hartman’s house and started down the river, the way they claimed Edd went off the day before at one o’clock. We walked about three-quarters of a mile, and found the dead body of the man for whom we were searching, lying in the bed of the river.
We traced two men’s tracks from the body to a house, sixty steps away, where a Mr. Campbell, one of Howard’s deputy sheriffs, lived.
Campbell was out in the yard when he saw us coming, but he started in a fast walk to the house when be discovered us. We stopped him before he got very far, but he said something to his wife, who was standing in the doorway, and she whirled back into the building, returning in a second or two with something in her hand, which she held under her apron.
We