The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1897-11-14
FACED DEATH TO GET HOME.
HOW TWO TENNESSEE MOUNTAIN
EERS FOOLED A TEXAS SHERIFF..


Doing Things, They Did Not Pros
per The Hot Winds Destroyed
Their Cotton and the Texas Fever
Killed Their Cattle, So They Con-
fessed Horrible Murder, and
Were Sent Back to Tennessee In
IrOns-Their Innocence Was Then
Easily Proved - "Reminiscences of
Col. Ben Harris.
Cor. of the st. Louis Globe-Democrat.
Sherman, Text was sheriff of one of
the border counties of Texas from ~ to
81, and I saw quite a lot of things worth
seeing" remarked Col. Ben Harris of San
Antonio, one afternoon recently, as he
leaned his chair back in the shade in front
of the Binkley house, of this town. 81 had
several little experiences that 1 didn't
think much of at the time, but that almost
takes my breath away when 1 think of
them now. I don't know how 1 happen to
be alive to-day, unless it's true, as they
say, that there's some kind of special Prov
idence over children-and fools. I saw
good many things that would do to laugh
at-afterwards-and a good many that
|
had to go to some fellow that was leading
a quiet, honest, respectable life in this
western country and jerk him up and send
him back east because he'd killed some
fellow or robbed some bank, or something
of that kind. 1 never could feel sure that
it was quite right TO break up happy
peaceable home this way, no matter what
the fellow might have done back east, and
I always felt blamed sorry when it had to
be done. don't think ever in all my life
felt any sorrier for a poor fellow, though,
than did for old man Bob Dixon"
Tell us about it, colonel" asked sew
eral of the hotel loungers in chorus.
"Wer, I don't know but I will" re-
piled the colonel, meditativey. aside
from its pathetic aspect the story has
several features I never knew to be duplI-
Gated. If you don't like the story, you'll
at least say that you never knew another
like it. Dixon was about the peaceablest,
mild-manneredest old fellow I ever saw.
He had come from the mountains of Una
ka county in East Tennessee, and his
| whole appearance and demeanor was that
| of the typical Tennessee mountaineer He
talked in long, slow drawl, and had
most decided talent for taking life easy.
| There was something pathetic in the indo-
| lent stoop of his long, lank form that went
far toward winning the hearts of us COW
fellows for him. True, he worked hard
| in his way, but 1t was always a hopeless,
dispirited way as if he knew he was fated
not to succeed and was only trying to
| Keep up appearances. His partner was
another mountaineer, a brawny young fell
low named Sneed, who had considerably
more push than Dixon, but still never
seemed to catch on to the Texas way
or doing things. He took care of Dixon,
fought for him once or twice, and looked
| after his interests in general. The two
| were generally very we'll liked, but the
older man was the more popular of the
two. OF course, they didn't prosper very
much financially. Luck was against
them. Luck generally is against people
who try to do business in Texas in a
back-state way. After awhile the old
mans health broke down. Then the hot
winds struck the little patch where they
were trying to raise Texas cotton in Ten
nessee fashion, and ten days later they
| dlnt nave any cotton. The Texas
fever broke out among the long-horn
steers they were trying to raise like
mountain oxen, and after that they had
mighty few cattle of any kind. FINALLY
we got tlred OF seeing the old fellow in
| sucn bad way, and so a lot of the fell
| a
purse of money and send him back to his
old mountain home. The committee an
| pointed to inform him of this fact found
him sick and lying on the floor of his mis-
| cradle shanty, with Sneed sitting by his
side and holding his hand.
AR you uns a-goln' to send him back
| with me?" asked the old man, raising nm
on one elbow and glancing at Sneed.
| t1ImE Not much snorted the smokes
| man. Hes young and strong and able
to work for himself. We Texans helps
fellows that can't help themselves
| Nary step do I go without him. re-
piled the old man, settling down again.
and no argument could bulge him from,
this resolve. After some Intellectual at
| tempts in this direction, the committee
went off and left him
Some days after this Sneed came into
my office in the court house to beg short
| extension of the time for paying the few
dollars OF taxes he owed the county. He
seemed very much dispirited and in order
! to cheer him up little l spoke of the
! devotion of the old man had shown toward
| him. To my surprise instead of apprecia-
| ting this reference, he laughed bitterly.
and intimating that the old fellows feel
| ing might not be altogether unselfish.
/ reproached him for saying this. after
| Dixon had refused to go home without
! him.
'Mebby he amt so powerful sot on 60
| in home, after ALL, Sneed suggested.
! Why shouldn't he want to go?' l ask
| ed, rather sternly.
Mebby it mightn't be healthy he re-
| piled, cynically.
What's that? 1 growled, turning on
him suddenly. You don't mean to saw
| that this inoffensive, peaceable old man
| has ever
Don't mean to say nothin',' was the
reply, in terms of logged defiance. You
| jest write to the sheriff of old Unaka
| county. back in them Tennessee noun
| tains, and ak him eff he ever heared of
| David Martins, or ever wants ter hear of
| him again. You needn't bother to ak him
nothin about Bob Dixon. Bob Dixon
amt knowed of back in them mountings,
| nome
AFTER this Sneed relapsed into the sui
len silence of the typical mountaineer.
and my most persistent questioning could
draw nothing from him. In a few min
utes he left my office, and started out for
| the few miserable acres he called his
ranch. After he had gone, l told some of
| the boys in the court house what had
happened, and asked their advice. We
were all inclined to be indignant. Some