He possessed the courage of the soldier and something more. The private soldier goes where he is told to march, and fights when he is ordered, but he has little anxiety or responsibility; but the stage driver in those times had to be as alert and thoughtful as a General. There was not only his duty to his employers but his responsibility for the mails (he was a sworn officer of the Government), but the lives of the passengers often depended upon his knowledge of the country and of the Indian character, and his quick and correct judgment as to what to do in emergencies. Like the sailor, he was something of a fatalist, but he believed in using all possible means to protect himself and those under his charge. Your stage driver was usually of a serious, almost sad disposition; inclined to be reticent, particularly about himself and his former life, and his surname was seldom mentioned by himself or his associates. He was known as “Bill” or “Dave” or “Bobo” or “Buckskin,” or some such sobriquet. When, however, he could be induced to talk about himself as a stage driver his stories were always interesting and sometimes thrilling. There was occasionally a liar among them, but most of them had really experienced such serious adventures and “hair-breadth scapes” that it was not necessary for them to draw upon their imaginations. Rough, profane and unclean of speech among their own sex, they were remarkably courteous to lady passengers and ever thoughtful of their comfort and feelings, and more than once, on arriving at a station where the drivers were to be changed, I have heard one whisper to another: “Remember, Sandy, there is a little lady in the coach.” This was sufficient. During the most interesting portion of this trip we had two drivers, “Uncle Billy,” who was going to San Antonio on leave, and “Bobo,” the regular driver. They vied with each other in trying to make everything pleasant for Mrs. Mills. They would prepare the high driver’s seat with cushions and blankets and assist her to mount it, and for hours would call her attention to points of interest or entertain her with stories of their experiences, humorous or tragic. One morning just after daybreak Bobo halted the coach and said: “Gentlemen, get your guns ready; the prints of moccasined feet here are as thick as turkey tracks.” And so it was, and the tracks were fresh. A large party of Indians had very recently crossed the road, but we saw nor heard more about them.