The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1877-01-11
MUSTANG GREY.
BY ELLA ADAMS.

Previous to the breaking out Of the
Mexican war in 1915, l was making a
tour of observation through the western
portion OF Texas, looking for an eligible
location on which to commence my ca
reer as stock raiser. The summer sea-
son Lad passed away, and October with
its hazy beauties fingered upon the
prairies, the low trees and tender mes
quite foliage, with a softness and grace
that gave charm to all that the eye
CHANGED to rest upon.
One afternoon, when the sun was low
ering itself in the west, leaving in the
valleys shadows that the art of the PAIN
ter could hardly equal for softness and
variety of shades, I passed through
historic Goliad, a little village on the
limpid San Antonio, and spurred my
horse on toward the old Spanish mis-
sion, which reared itself as some antique
structure, a link between the living
present and the dead past. As [ rode
up the hill leading from the river, at
that time of the year fcrdable, the mis-
sion attracted my full attention. It was
almost square, built OF rough stone, and
commanded view of the whole coun-
try. The walls were thick, windows few,
narrow and barred with rods Of iron !;
and from the sides and ends, in tiers,
were portfolios, from which in former
days the muzzles Of guns peered forth
at hostile men.
liz was at this spot around this mis-
sion-where Fannin and his gallant sol
diers were slaughtered by the treacher-
Gus Iexicana. The river, the waters of
which look milky il their purity, that
day we're tinged with eddying pools,
leaving the incarnation which distin-
guishes the ccroIia from the rose. Dis
mounting from my horse, my mind took
in at glance all that occurred on the
day Of the massacre, and a multitude Of
emotions thronged my breast. What a
change had taken place since that event
ful period. Instead of armed men, bear
ing lance, sword and carbine, children
played around the low, broad door, and
up from the river was vending its way
in the shadows Of the hill and struggling
sunlight, train of empty Mexican OK
carts-fifty or more-two wheeled vehi-
cles, and the small animals yoted with
wooden bars from one to the other. on
the fore part of their sturdy heads. The
drivers, vaqueros, were costumed in lea
ther breeches and jackets, and wore up
on their heads the inevitable sombrero.
As the Mexicans goaded their animals
with long poles, in which rested long,
sharp pieces Of iron, up the activity,
and on across the prairies, my eyes COM
menced to take in objects that surround
ed me.
The mission had been transformed in
to q caravansary, and around its door
played innumerable Mexican children,
and dogs Of the half-wolf species squat
ted in lazy attitudes in patches of sun
shine that lay around. Groups of Mex
lean men and women lounged about,
talking in their low, musical Spanish pa
tois, smoking cigarettes and throwing
the light clouds of vapor above theil
heads in fantastic shapes and spiral col
| umns.
4 short distance to the right of this
group, on spare stone that projected
from the mission, forming the centre OF
cross, stood young girl, looking alb
stracteCly toward Goliad, the white stone
houses which pceped through the trees
and the quaint towers reflected the sof
light as it came from the west. She was
apparently thirteen years of age, dress
ed in black, and about her shoulder
was the usual Mexican mantle, which
dropped down, and lay in careless rolls
resembling drapery around statute.
foot, small and delicate, arched exqul
sltely, and covered with the Mexican