Captain Jeff of the Texas Rangers

A famous Ranger and Indian fighter of the ‘Frontier Battalion’

The Texas of the post American Civil War period remained a wild and hostile country where the pioneers struggled to make a home and life for themselves by farming or as cattle ranchers. The country could at anytime be raided by ‘desperados’ or suffer depredations from marauding bands of Indians from the Comanche or Kiowa tribes who could strike swiftly only to disappear to safety over the border into Mexico or into the vast wilderness. While the army did its vital part, much burden was placed on the Texas Rangers who had been serving their state, from the time of the Republic and before, ever ready to protect isolated settlements and to track down and bring wrongdoers to swift justice. This book concentrates on the life and services of one notable Texan and ranger, Captain William J. ‘Jeff ‘ Maltby who served in the Mexican War and Civil War and by turns was a teamster, wagon-master, scout and dispatch rider. Maltby became a legend in his own lifetime specifically for the long battle he waged to the death with an illusive and notorious Kiowa chief known, for obvious reasons, as Big Foot, Jape, his Comanche henchman and their murderous band of Indian renegades. The account of this extended battle of violence and wits, where each party was by turn hunter and hunted, makes the most riveting reading. This book, the story of one of the lesser known heroes of the American south west frontier during the nineteenth century, will fascinate all those interested in the subject. Available in softcover and hardcover with dust jacket.

At this time the headquarters camp was on Mud Creek in Coleman County, in heavy post oak timber. About one half mile west of the camp was a beautiful mountain for spy purposes, and the camp could not be seen from its base. The spies had been kept on it for nearly two months when it commenced to rain one morning before the time for the spies to go on duty, and it rained all day until late in the evening so the spies were not sent out. Bill Sinclare’s horses would always graze off up to the spy mountain whenever he was turned lose, but there was no fear of losing him by Indiana as the spies stood guard there all day and every day. Late in the evening of this day Sinclare went out to the mountain to get his horse, and lo and behold! there between the camp and the mountain was an Indian trail of seventeen horses.<br>
Sinclare’s horse was hobbled, and just in the right place for them to take him along. Sinclare made 2:40 time in going back to camp with the report. Orders were at once given for seventeen men to saddle their horses and in five minutes the scout started; they went out to the mountain and took the trail, Mexican Joe as trailer, as he had been enlisted for that purpose, and could trail almost equal to a bloodhound.<br>
The ground was wet, and the trail was followed at a brisk lope for about twenty miles, where the Indians had halted within about one hundred yards of a man’s house and in all probability were intending to murder the family, but before they had time to carry that into effect, the Rangers came in sight.<br>
The Rangers did not check their horses, but charged right onto them. The Indians were so taken by surprise, that they were almost panic stricken. At the first volley of the Rangers one Indian fell dead and two more were wounded. Sinclare’s horses fell dead and the bow of the Indian that rode him was shot in two so the Indian had no other arms but a butcher knife; this he drew and bending down his head he dashed into the Rangers, uttering the wild shrieks of an enraged bull. He made one desperate lunge at Sergeant Mather with his knife and would have killed him, but Mather was the best horseman in the company, and just as the knife descended he threw himself to the opposite side of his horse, Wallace, who received the blow that was intended for his rider.<br>
The knife was driven through the saddle blanket and into Wallace’s shoulder blade. At that instant the brave, devoted and heroic Indian fell with four army six shooter balls driven through the vital part of his body. As a deed of bravery, devotion and heroism it was never surpassed, no, not by Arnold Winkelried. His devotion to his chief and his comrades caused him to give his life to give them a chance to get away, for when he had made his mad charge uttering the shrieks of an enraged bull all eyes were turned on him, and by the time he fell all the others were out of sight arid gone, as it was dark, and the timber and brush was thick at the place.<br>
As nothing further could be done in the darkness, and it was only six miles to the town of Brownwood the captain took his men to Brownwood where accommodations could be had for men and horses. After reaching Brownwood, the men were bountifully fed at the hotels, horses all well cared for at the livery stables, all but the captain’s horse, he was put in a private stable, and the next morning the door was open, and the captain’s horse was gone. This was very annoying to the captain as he was making all possible haste to go out to where the fight took place as he was anxious to take the trail of the Indians.<br>
Two of the citizens of Brownwood, John McMahan and Henry Warmick were going out to where the fight took place to bring the dead Indians in for the people to see them, but as good luck would have it in this instance, the orderly sergeant had been sent into Brownwood two days before on some company business and he rode a number one horse, a race horse, that ran away with the sergeant every time the company went on drill. So the captain called on the sergeant for his horse, which was cheerfully given, the captain saying: “Sergeant, my horse will be back here in the camp before night, if the Indians don’t kill him, for they can’t ride him.”<br>
The sergeant said, “No, the horse that can run away with Sergeant Mather, can run away with any Indian, even old Big Foot himself.”<br>
The scout was mounted, and waiting for the captain, as it took some little time for him to get the sergeant’s horse saddled. He said, “Sergeant Mather, Sergeant Arnet, Albert Arnet, Dr. King and Mexican Joe will remain with me; Lieutenant Best, you go on with the balance of the men and we will overtake you before you get there.”<br>
McMahan and Warmick remained with the captain who soon started on behind the scout in a road that led to where the fight took place. The captain’s party had not gone more than a mile from Brownwood; he was riding in the lead when he discovered a fresh trail of horses near the road.<br>
He at once turned his horse to it to investigate it, all the others of his little party followed him; they had not followed it but a short distance until they were fully convinced that it was Indiana that had returned to Brownwood in the night and stolen fresh horses, the captain’s among the number. Here the captain called for Mexican Joe to take the trail, and the race for life began. The captain said, “Sergeant Mather, Wallace is disabled and can’t stand the run, so you had better go and join Lieutenant Best,” to which the sergeant replied, “Wallace can stand anything, at any rate he will have to go until he falls,” and drawing his quirt, he hit him a keen lick in the flank and drove him to the front just behind the trailer.<br>
Here Albert Arnet closed up by the side of Mather and in this manner the race was kept up until Joe’s horse gave out. Here Mather and Arnet quickly dismounted and threw off their saddles, coats, hats, and the captain threw off his coat and they mounted their horse’s bareback, and took the trail side by side, and in a short distance Mather’s horse ran against the limb of a tree and knocked him off. The captain said, “Andrew, are you hurt ?”<br>
He answered, “No,” and the captain passed him, and in less than a hundred yards a limb struck the captain, knocking him off.<br>
Mather came up and said, “Captain, are you hurt?”<br>
The captain answered “No.”<br>
“Then we are even,” said Mather.