In the spring of 1880 two brick masons, Morgan and Brown, stopped at our quarters in Ysleta on their way from Fort Craig, New Mexico, to San Antonio, Texas. They had heard that some freight wagons at San Elizario would soon return to San Antonio and were anxious to travel back with them. These men spent two or three days in the ranger camp and seemed very nice chaps and pleasant talkers. One of them, Mr. Morgan, owned one of the finest pistols I ever saw. It was pearl handled and silver mounted. Our boys tried to trade for it, but Morgan would not part with the weapon. After the two men had been gone from our camp three or four days word was brought to Lieutenant Baylor that two men had been found dead near San Elizario. The lieutenant sent me with a detail of three rangers to investigate. At San Elizario we learned that the dead men were at Collins' sheep ranch, four miles from town. On arriving there we found, to our surprise and horror, that the dead men were Morgan and Brown, who had left our camp hale and hearty just a few days before. It was surmised that the men had camped for the night at the sheep ranch and had been beaten to death with heavy mesquite sticks. They had been dead two or three days and were stripped of their clothing, their bodies being partly eaten by coyotes. On repairing to his sheep ranch Mr. Collins found the dead bodies of Morgan and Brown, his shepherds gone and his flocks scattered over the country. Mr. Collins gave the herders' names as Santiago Skevill and Manuel Moleno. After beating out the brains of their unfortunate victims the Mexicans robbed the bodies and lit out for parts unknown. As the murderers were on foot and had been gone three or four days, I found it very difficult to get their trail, as loose stock grazed along the bosques and partially obliterated it. As there was a number of settlements and several little pueblos along the river, I knew if I did not follow the Mexicans' tracks closely I could never tell where they had gone, so I spent the remainder of the day trying to get the trail from camp. We were compelled to follow it on foot, leading our horses. We would sometimes be an hour trailing a mile. On the following day I was able to make only ten miles on the trail, but I had discovered the general direction. I slept on the banks of the Rio Grande that night, and next morning crossed into Mexico, and found that the murderers were going down the river in the direction of Guadalupe. I now quit the trail and hurried on to this little Mexican town. Traveling around a short bend in the road I came suddenly into the main street of Guadalupe, and almost the first man I saw standing on the street was a Mexican with Morgan's white-handled pistol strapped on him.