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but considerably demoralized. Luckily, though, Shannon heard the firing and came down the lane upon the Yankees. I was mighty glad he came, but while the fight lasted I was in as much danger from his bullets as from those of the enemy, and it was a wonder that I was not killed by one of them. One of the Yankees dismounted to let down the fence on one side of the lane and through the gap his comrades all escaped. As for him, I was at his side before he could remount and he surrendered. Bill Lynch owed his life to a gun strap that deflected the bullet."
Comrade Burris was telling the old vets that gathered at Confederate headquarters in San Antonio about that pony of his and how intelligent he was. His story started a long conversation about horses, during which Buck Gravis told of two cow ponies he used to own — one a dun, the other a bay.
"Why, gentlemen," he said, "when my crowd in the old days had rounded up a herd of cattle and wanted to cut out our own from the herd all I had to do was to read a list of brands we wanted to that dun pony and, durn me, if he wouldn't go into that herd and cut 'em out without a bit of help. He would drive 'em out of the main herd and that bay pony would take charge of them and hold 'em out."
"Yes," said Comrade Briscoe, "it was really astonishing how sensible and trustworthy some of those oldtime cow ponies were. When I used to live down below Goliad my cattle got in the habit of crossing to the west side of the San Antonio River and mixing with Tom O'Connor's cattle. But I had no trouble in getting them back whenever I wanted to. All I had to do was to lead a little brown, gotch-eared pony that I owned across the stream and, turning him loose, saying 'Seek 'em Gotch, Seek 'em!' and he'd trot away and pick out my cattle by the flesh marks and drive them one by one to the place where I and a lot of lads were waiting to hold them in