Another vivid recollection of those boyhood days in Georgia was the
return of my father from the army. The news of Lee's surrender had
reached us, and all of us watched for his coming. Though he was long
delayed, when at last he did come riding home on a swallow-marked
brown mule, he was a conquering hero to us children. We had never
owned a horse, and he assured us that the animal was his own, and by
turns set us on the tired mule's back. He explained to mother and us
children how, though he was an infantryman, he came into possession of
the animal. Now, however, with my mature years and knowledge of
brands, I regret to state that the mule had not been condemned and was
in the "U.S." brand. A story which Priest, "The Rebel," once told me
throws some light on the matter; he asserted that all good soldiers
would steal. "Can you take the city of St. Louis?" was asked of
General Price. "I don't know as I can take it," replied the general to
his consulting superiors, "but if you will give me Louisiana troops,
I'll agree to steal it."

Though my father had lost nothing by the war, he was impatient to go
to a new country. Many of his former comrades were going to Texas,
and, as our worldly possessions were movable, to Texas we started. Our
four oxen were yoked to the wagon, in which our few household effects
were loaded and in which mother and the smaller children rode, and
with the cows, dogs, and elder boys bringing up the rear, our caravan
started, my father riding the mule and driving the oxen. It was an
entire summer's trip, full of incident, privation, and hardship. The
stock fared well, but several times we were compelled to halt and
secure work in order to supply our limited larder. Through certain
sections, however, fish and game were abundant. I remember the
enthusiasm we all felt when we reached the Sabine River, and for the
first time viewed the promised land. It was at a ferry, and the