In 1919 Levi Perryman of
Montague County
By LEVI PERRYMAN
In 1870, during January, Bud Morris and Henry
Williams were riding toward Montague town from Forestburg, when they discovered
signs of Indians near Dye Mound. They immediately turned back and rode to where
I lived something like one-half mile from my present home, which is two miles
west of Forestburg. Arriving at my home, they
reported to me what they had seen. The trail was leading east, toward Cooke
county and they proposed riding to the Loran Prairie, get help on the way, and
attack them while they were in the open.
I contended that we should go to Dye Mound,
as I felt sure they would camp at the spring at that place. We finally agreed
to the latter course, leaving my house just after dinner. Morris was riding in
advance of Williams and myself. When within about half
a mile of Dye Mound I saw three Indians leaving the top of the Mound; they
disappeared around the side. We quickened our pace and galloped forward,
gaining the elevation, from which we gained sight of the spring.
We discovered that there were ten Indians -
eight horsemen, and two afoot. They appeared to be breaking camp, some having
already started down the ravine. We drew rein and fired at the Indians nearest
us. They were almost solidly grouped and were less than 100 yards from us. From
the volley, which was fired simultaneously, one Indian fell
from his horse, taking with him his buffalo robe, butcher knife and belt.
The Indians charged us and we gave ground.
They placed their fastest horses on the right and left extremes of their line,
and were armed with pistols, bows and arrows and one rifle. Morris and Williams
both had carbines and pistols, while I had only a pistol. When the Indians who
rode the fastest horses would ride somewhat in advance of the others, we would
turn and charge them and they would retreat, joining the others. We kept this
up for some time, charging and recharging over the same ground, the Indians
gradually giving ground and moving down and across the valley north and east of
Dye Mound. Their leader, a stalwart buck, was riding a beautiful sorrel mare.
He would send an Indian, on a fine yellow horse, on one flank in their charge,
while he would bring up the other. After falling back several times I told the
boys that we would draw the sorrel horse on, isolate him from his companions
and capture him. On the next charge I permitted him to run almost even with me.
I then reined in behind him, and the other two boys bore down on him at the
same time.
During these charges we had been exchanging
shots without any apparent effect. Morris told me that when I cut off the
Indian who was riding the sorrel that the others centered their fire on me. I
did not know this, as I had my back to them. The Indian, on realizing his
peril, whirled his mare square around, dropping on the opposite side of her,
leaving only his leg exposed, and began firing at me from under his animal's
neck. We were some thirty or forty feet apart. His shots went
wild of their mark and my pistol failed to fire. He finally succeeded in making
his way back to his comrades. They then turned and rode slowly back toward the
ravine. We followed, and approached within seventy or a hundred yards.
I said: "Boys, kill that one on the
sorrel mare!"
Henry Williams halted, took deliberate aim
with his carbine, and fired. I heard the sound of the compact as the leaden
missile found lodgement in the body of the red man.
His cry of anguish brought the others to his side, and then began a chorus of
Indian lamentations (which was their death song), and such sounds no one can
describe, yet after once being heard are long remembered.
Another incident of this
fight, and having a personal bearing on it, occurred just after our first
volley at the spring. When they
charged us I was slow in leaving. Both the other boys called for me to come on
to the cover of a ravine nearby. I was anxious to see how many Indians there
were. I saw an Indian on foot, with his blanket, making his way toward us. He
appeared to be unarmed and I thought to shoot him when he got close enough, but
while hesitating I saw him kneel and commence to draw something from his
blanket, which I recognized to be a rifle. I whirled my horse, and as he sprang
into full speed I realized that a horseman riding straight away was a fair
target, so I swerved to the left and the Indian's bullet passed under my hat
brim, fanning my cheek. It came so close that it stung a little, but did not
graze the skin.
Morris took a shot at them while they were
holding their death ceremonies, but his bullet cut a limb off a tree between
him and the buck he aimed at. Three or four of them came forward and we gave
ground.
We then decided to go to Montague for help,
having found that our ammunition was rapidly being exhausted. In order to
mislead them as to our intentions I rode down close to the ravine, helloed, and
jawed at the Indians, then slipped quietly away, and we went on to Montague.We returned from there late in the afternoon, and
as we approached the ravine where we had left the Indians hidden, they fired a
volley at us. My horse was shot behind the shoulder, but too low down for a
fatal wound. We deployed and held a consultation. Bud Morris and myself decided to circle the canyon and approach from the
opposite side. We crawled a considerable distance, keeping under cover. We
approached them from the rear, thinking to kill one apiece, but when we got
within forty or fifty yards of them Bud said:
"Levi,
let's go back; they have discovered us."
I did not think they had, but he was most
positive, so I agreed to return. When we got away he told me they had shot an
arrow right between us, but I could hardly believe it. Next day I went with him
to look the ground over and we found he was right, for we found an arrow
standing perpendicular in the ground.
At dark we placed a force of men at the lower
end of the gulch, and another force at the upper end, thinking we could keep
them there till morning. But they seemed to have discovered our plan, and
toward daylight, there being a thick log, they suddenly broke through our
guards, about half of them going east and the other half west. We fired in the
direction from whence the noise came, but without any noticeable results. Now
and then we could sky-light one as he topped the hill. Bud Morris was in charge
of the east side of the ravine and I on the west side. He fired at them several
times and pursued them some distance. On coming back down the hill the men from
below mistook him for an Indian, but he did not suffer any from their
marksmanship.
"He
had almost toppled over with his own weight, but did recover"
In this fight we captured two horses - one
was badly wounded - and killed five. We could not account for the eighth horse,
but concluded that an Indian had carried off a dead comrade on it while we were
absent on our way to and from Montague. When we drew away from them after our
first encounter, and discovered we were about out of ammunition, Bud Morris
found that an arrow had gone through his clothing, including his undershirt. It
had struck just below the heart from the front, at an angle. and
had forced the cotton padding of his vest out at the side. His skin was not
scratched, and he may have thought:
"No living man can send me to the shades
before my time."
Leaving the scene of the fight, Morris,
Williams and myself returned to my house, the others
returning to Montague. The names of these six men, as I remember, were: Dick
Boren, Aaron Anderson, Jasper Hagler, Sid Darnell,
young Bonar, a doctor's son, of Gainesville (his given name has slipped by
memory), and Charlie Lorenzo, The two last named afterward fought a pistol duel
at Red River Station, in which both were killed. I kept for several years the
sorrel mare which we captured, until I accidentally met a brother of a Mrs.
King, from whom the Indians had stolen her. He fully satisfied me of her
identity, and of the band of Indians who stole her, and I turned her over to
him. She, as well as my own horse, was badly wounded in the fight, but both
recovered.