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Descendants of John SR. Bowie

247. SARAH ELEONORA⁷ MOORE (EMILY⁶ LINCECUM, HEZEKIAH⁵, MIRIAM⁴ BOWIE, JOHN JR.³, JOHN SR.², JOHNE¹ BOWY) was born Nov 23, 1838 in Columbus, Lownds County, Mississippi, and died 1932. She married (1) PETE R. KETCHUM Dec 31, 1857. She married (2) DANIEL JASPER PATTERSON Nov 09, 1862 in Medina Co, TX, son of WILLIAM. PATTERSON and CASANDRA ARNOLD.

Children of SARAH MOORE and PETE KETCHUM are:

	i.		MARY LILLIAN⁸ KETCHUM, b. Bet. 1858 - 1871 ²²; d. WFT Est. 1866-1967²²; m. UNKNOWN BEYETTE, WFT Est. 1866-1918²².
	ii.		CHESTER VAN BUREN KETCHUM, b. 1859; d. 1864.

More About CHESTER VAN BUREN KETCHUM:
Cause of Death: Snake Bite

368.	iii.		RUFUS MUNROE KETCHUM, b. Jan 06, 1861, Hondo, Medina Co., TX; d. Unknown.
369.	iv.		PETE R. KETCHUM, JR., b. Mar 1862; d. Unknown.

Children of SARAH MOORE and DANIEL PATTERSON are:

	v.	CASSIE GERTRUDE⁸ PATTERSON, b. 1874; d. WFT Est. 1866-1967²²; m. JOHN ROBERT SING, WFT Est. 1866-1918²².
370.	vi.	WILLIAM BOONE PATTERSON, b. Aug 01, 1876; d. WFT Est. 1874-1964.
	vii.	JULIA ROSETTA PATTERSON, b. Feb 1878; d. WFT Est. 1857-1967²².
	viii.	MAMIE ZELDA PATTERSON, b. Jun 1880; d. WFT Est. 1866-1967²²; m. WILLIAM ERNEST DELANO, WFT Est. 1866-1918²².
	ix.	ALFRED F. PATTERSON, b. Feb 1893.

248. HEZEKIAH⁷ MOORE (EMILY⁶ LINCECUM, HEZEKIAH⁵, MIRIAM⁴ BOWIE, JOHN JR.³, JOHN SR.², JOHNE¹ BOWY) was born 1840 in Mississippi, and died Aft. 1850 in Texas.

Child of HEZEKIAH MOORE is:

JEFFERSON⁸ MOORE, b. 1876.

249. ALONZO D.⁷ MOORE (EMILY⁶ LINCECUM, HEZEKIAH⁵, MIRIAM⁴ BOWIE, JOHN JR.³, JOHN SR.², JOHNE¹ BOWY) was born Jun 04, 1844 in Prairie Lea,Caldwell County, TX, and died 1911 in Hondo, Medina County, Texas. He married (1) SALLY SIMMONS WFT Est. 1861-1885²². He married (2) CYNTHIA MCCOMBS Dec 29, 1864 in Devine, Medina County, Texas²².

Notes for ALONZO D. MOORE:
LONNIE'S MAGIC GUN By:Harold Preece
Here we have the story of Lonnie and his famous Daniel Boone rifle and how it brought him fame and added to the greater glory of Texas and the Texas Rangers.
The gun was probably the oldest weapon ever fired in that harsh wilderness of mountain and cactus stretching for leagues southwestward to Mexico. The boy was of the very first native-born generation in the ebullient young and vast country of Texas. Boy and gun were a famous combination in the Lone Star State where good marksmanship was a touchstone of manhood. the Dan'l Boone Rifle that's what Texans named the venerable flintlock, after old Dan'l who passed it from one frontier to still another that would be conquered by his kin. Alonzo Moore, the boy was christened in that community of Medina River homesteaders where he was born during the year 1844. But Texas legendary recalls him lustily and familiarly as "Little Lonnie." He was qualified to carry the gun because he came of thoroughbred fighting stock. His father, Daniel Boone Moore was namesake and first cousin to old Dan'l. His mother counted, in her family connection, Jim Bowie, who had introduced that celebrated gut ripper. the bowie knife, before going down from Mexican bullets at the Alamo. By the time he was seven, Lonnie could handle anything that shot or cut. Guns and knives came his way through trades and giveaways, while he was growing up. But mire than anything else, the boy coveted the treasured weapon which Dan Moore had received from Old Dan'l back in Kentucky. Its caliber was .45 and it had been forged by another cousin, Sam Boone, who had been a celebrated maker of Kentucky Long Rifles. "When you're as big as the gun, you can have it.� So Dan Moore had promised his son. On his fourteenth birthday, Lonnie topped the required height by four inches and claimed his prize. He was busy ramrodding a lead ball into the rifle's firepiece when a company of Texas Rangers, commanded by the Samsonesque Big Foot Wallace, rode up to the Moore ranch. Big Foot showed the family a souvenir of a recent visit paid the Medina by a Comanche chief whose name is remembered as Eagle Claw. That memento of frontier warfare was an arrow pulled from the bleeding corpse of a settler named Rod Brake. Lonnie gazed at the arrow, measuring the lightness of its shaft against the heft of his gun. Arrow seemed to challenge rifle as Comanche challenged Texan. He ran his fingers between the gun's many notches carved there by old Dan'l to commemorate so many hostile warriors slain in Kentucky. Now the flintlock seemed to quiver in the hands of its new owner as if begging to do its part in taming the wild tribes of Texas. When the Rangers starts to leave, Lonnie mounted his pony, shouldered the Dan'l Boone rifle, and announced that he was joining them in the campaign against Eagle Claw. The company broke into a laugh. Big Foot Wallace smiled and shook his head. For crotchety Governor Pease in Austin had issued strict orders forbidding the enlistment of boys under eighteen. Lonnie kept insisting and his father nodded consent. One Ranger, sporting a new Springfield breech loader began taunting the boy about his outdated old rifle. "Son" he Ranger jibed, "maybe old Dan'l did own that gun because it sure ain't been used since his time. I'll bet a year's pay you can't hit the broad side of a barn with it." For answer, Lonnie lifted the Boone rifle above his head and aimed it at a chicken hawk scouting the Moore hen yard. The Hawk's head, neatly severed from its carcass, fell square across the pommel of Big Foot's saddle. Such good shooting caused the Ranger captain to waive a rule. "all right, son," Big foot said, "if you're willing to take a chance on Eagle Claw, I reckon I can take one on Lish Pease. Raise your right hand and repeat this oath after me." Little Lonnie became the youngest recruit ever to sign the roster of the Texas Rangers. By the same token, he was the youngest lawman remembered in the traditional Old West. He braved a man's risks and undertook a man's responsibilities before his face ever felt the touch of a razor. No Ranger, before or since, eclipsed his record for age and few have equaled his reputation for valor. It was perhaps symbolic that Lonnie's first chase should have been after one of the wiliest Indians who ever toggle the warpath. For Eagle Claw had the sunning and the reckless courage of Geronimo and Red Cloud at their best. He had sworn in the Comanche councils to exterminate every white settle west of San Antonio. Now he was redeeming his pledge by merciless warfare against the scattered ranches on the Medina. The Rangers tracked him by more scalped corpses and the myriad hoofprints of stolen horses down the Hondo Valley. It was a grueling ride under a scorching sun. Twice, the company sergeant suggested tactfully to Little Lonnie that he turn back for home. Each time, the boy shook his head and doggedly sank spurs into his pony. He was determined to match the pace of his comrades and determined that his gun would hold its own with their modern firearms when shooting began. At night, by the campfire, he poured oakum in the splintered butt of the Dan'l Boone Rifle and polished its barrel to a gleaming brightness. When he spread out his blankets, the gun lay beside him. And, often, he would awaken from sleep to find his hand clutching it after some dream in which he had turned into Old Dan'l slaying Eagle Claw. A setting sun glazed the earth a coppery red like the faces of Comanche, that fourth day, when the Rangers sighted the Comanche camp on the north side of Presidio Crossing. As the Texans rounded a bend of the trail, the Indians saw them and jumped to their ponies. Twenty yards apart, the two sides faced each other, guns poised, eyes searching for living targets. From the Comanche ranks, a massive, bronzed man rode forth on a Spanish charger to stare insolently at his unbidden callers. A helmet of beaded deerskin with carved deer horns branching from either side denoted his rank. A necklace of eagle talons, loosely suspended and reaching down over his huge shoulders, identified him by name. Many a settler had, to his sorrow, beheld that Goliath among Comanches. But Little Lonnie, for the first time, was seeing Chief Eagle Claw. The chief's eyes roved over the Rangers till they rested on Lonnie. Then his big sides began shaking with laughter. "So," he wheezed in the Comanche tongue that Lonnie had learned, along with some fragments of Apache and Spanish on the Texas frontier, "The whites, having but few brave men, send children to fight me." Lonnie raised to Dan'l Boone Rifle. The dying sun glistened on the long barrel, giving it the weird beauty of lethal ugliness. The gun seemed to leap and quiver in his hands as he drew a straight bead on the chief. Or, maybe it was the impatience of a boy's hands wanting a man's share of battle - the impatience that caused the bullet to miss the Chief by a six-inch margin and bury itself instead in the heart of a gaudily painted Comanche warrior. As the brave tumbled from his pony, the other Comaches charged. The Texans met the onslaught with a blast of rifle fire then spurred forward to breast the tide of zooming arrows and spattering bullets. Standing up in his stirrups, the Dan'l Boone Rifle aimed at his foes, Little Lonnie maneuvered his horse into the very center of battle. Shouting, milling braves circled him and two other Rangers. One Texan went down before a tomahawk cleaving his skull as the lead in the Dan'l Boone rifle in Lonnie's hands pierced the brain of a sub-chief. Twice a barrage of zooming arrows swept past the boy's head. Twice he rapidly reloaded the old rifle, and two bullets accounted for two more Comanche. Then the stolen horses stampeded. Suddenly Lonnie found himself detached from his fellow Rangers, and alone in the middle of the maddened herd. By adroit bridle work, he managed to keep himself from being swept down into the melee of hoofs. Three times, the horse lunged and stumbled. Each time, Lonnie pulled tightly on the reins in a life-or-death grip to steady his pony and keep it afoot. He was trying to maneuver his way into a clear space when he heard a shrieking yell that sounded weirdly across the snorts of the crazed horses and the strident bark of guns. The boy saw Eagle Claw crashing through the stampede. In his hand, the Chief flourished a huge silver-handled quirt. With it, he was lashing left and right at snorting, fleeing horses. His Spanish charger was hurling through the pack of smaller mustangs, scattering them as if they had been so many wisps of straw. Lonnie aimed the Dan�l Boone Rifle, intending not to miss Eagle Claw for the second time in one fight. But the trigger responded only with a dull click. Lonnie's fingers strayed to his ammunition bag. Then his face turned pale as he realized that he had shot his last ball. The last of the stolen ponies were fleeing across the valley. The noise of gunfire was now more distant as the Rangers pursued the retreating braves in running combat. Lonnie half-turned his horse, hoping to out run Eagle Claw in a quick dash and rejoin his company. Then courage and pride stayed his flight. He had heard that the Chief boasted of all the whites who'd run before him. For once, a white intended that the Comanche warlord should meet the exception. The boy wheeled the pony to its original stance, Rifle laid across his saddle, his right hand clutching the bowie knife in his belt. Lonnie held the pony still and watched warily as Eagle Claw approached. Seeing that Lonnie sat motionless, the Comanche slowed his horse to a slow pace as he rode forward eyeing the lad. Ten feet away, the chief raised his arm, the palm of his hand open, in the Indian sign of peace. Cautiously, the boy lifted an arm to return the signal. The distance between the two narrowed to a few feet - till their horses could almost nudge noses. "How," the chief saluted the young Ranger. Then in English that sounded chopped and painful on his tongue, "You brave boy. Me no want to kill you. My squaw -- She no give me son -- only daughters." His lips puckered in disgust, the chief held up his fingers and counted off seven. "Come. Me take you home. You be my son and I teach you to be mighty warrior." There was something pathetic about the chief's invitation. So desperate for a son that he was willing to adopt a male child from a race that he had vowed to exterminate. Lonnie shook his head and managed a smile, trying to be polite about the refusal. But, Eagle Claw was not a man to be put off easily. "You go with me," he coaxed. "Me treat you good. You be chief after I die." For a minute, Lonnie wavered. He recalled that there had been a Texan who'd let himself be adopted by the Comanches. "Bosque" John McLennan he was called. After he�d returned to his own people, he'd persuaded a raiding party to settle for some bushels of corn instead of scalp when it had had threatened the pioneer communities along the Bosque River. Lonnie saw himself as the first white chief of the Comanche -- their foster-son who would lead them to new ways of getting along with whites. Once he succeeded Eagle Claw, the hatchet would be buried forever. Comanches would raise horses and hunt antelope with settlers. Indians would no longer fight and scalp Rangers nor Rangers fight and scalp Indians. Men would speak of Lonnie Moore with even greater awe than they did of Bosque John. The river would run only with water and not with blood. All would be peace and happiness in Texas so that never against would the war whoop sound across her borders. It was a pretty dream: as pretty as it was fleeing. Seeing the boy's hesitation, Eagle Claw edged closer. "Me give you fine gifts." he aid. "Me give you gun like this." He held aloft a handsome rifle with a half-silver stock, which had come via some gun runner from Mexico. His eyes looked disdainfully at the Dan'l Boone Rifle. "You throw that thing away. Good only for squaws to punch fires with." That broke the spell -- the insult to Lonnie's beloved gun, which he'd waited so many years to possess. "Go to thunder," he blazed. "I don't want any of your guns, But I'll some day be meeting you again with this one -- barrel end first." He hoisted the empty rifle to his shoulder and began backing his horse away. Eagle Claw's arm shot out to grab the boy. Lonnie ducked and his fingers closed around the bowie knife --that dependable gadget of Cousin Jim's. The chief lunged at him again, and the blade foiled the pass with a deep slash across the paw of the Comanche. The chief howled with pain, then spurred the charger in a swift lope toward some nearby hills. Lonnie watched him ride away, his good hand tight on his rein, his wounded on held to his mouth a he sucked as the flowing blood. Once Eagle Claw looked back, his face stewing with rage. By that time, however, the fight was ended. As the chief disappeared from sight Lonnie rode out to meet his comrades returning to the crossing after routing the Comanches. After he helped them round up the stolen horses for return to their owners, Lonnie sat down on a rock. He laid the Dan'l Boone Rifle across his knees. Afterwards, he took out his bowie knife and carved four notches in the hard metal. They looked fresh and shiny beside the rusty dull ones left by Old Dan'l seventy years before. The Battle of Presidio Crossing was the first decisive victory scored by Big Foot Wallace's Ranger corps against one of the toughest Comanche bands that ever prowled Texas. Out of fifty braves in the war party, the Rangers had slain thirty. Shortly thereafter, Eagle Claw and the shattered remnant of his warriors beat a sullen retreat to Indian Territory. Yet it was not the loss of manpower but the loss of face that hastened the chief's exodus. It had been a deep blow to his pride when a boy of the hated race had spurned his offer of adoption. But what rankled worse was the boy's capping insult by drawing his blood. Frontiersmen and friendly Indians cautioned Lonnie that Eagle Claw would never forget the blow to his pride. "Keep your gun loaded and your eyes open," Big Foot advised, "because you'll damn sure be meetin' up with that redskin again." Lonnie shrugged his shoulders at all their warnings. If he ever thought of Eagle Claw, it was as a pest who had vanished. Now with the Comanche out of the way, he and the Dan'l Boone Rifle were free to pay their courtesies to other breeds of troublemakers. Boy and rifle, they did their job. They helped start desperadoes, swarming into Medina Country from San Antonio, on their way to the gallows or Boot Hill. They did their share in stamping out evil syndicates whose merchandise was guns and whiskey peddled to Indians. At the end of a year, their praises were on everybody's lips -- the boy who rode and fought like a man to uphold such law as existed in Texas, the gun that spoke so eloquently on a second frontier after having blazed out its own saga on the first. Lonnie's fifteenth birthday was also his first anniversary as a Ranger. During that year, he'd earned more citations than any man in the company and had shot up to man height of five feet nine. He was remarking jokingly to a comrade that Ranger service had made him grow when Big Foot Wallace strode into camp and glumly handed him a piece of paper. He could hardly believe what was written on the paper. But the document signed by the governor added up to his discharge from the Rangers because, the words said, he was "under minimum enlistment age of eighteen." It was a sorry way of rewarding courage. But Lonnie accepted it without a whimper. Whatever the foolish actions of some hidebound office holder, he'd been a Ranger once and had made his mark as one. Just three years more, then he could enlist again with nobody daring to challenge his age as now nobody ventured to question his nerve. For the next year, he busied himself with chores on his father's ranch. But his neighbors saw to it that his valor and experience were not wasted when a big ring of horse thieves began making off with their ponies. They prevailed upon him to accept a deputy sheriff's commission and go after the gang. He became Texas' youngest deputy as he had been its youngest Ranger. One by one, he marched the horse thieves to justice at the business end of the Dan'l Boone Rifle. Then he primed the old gun to deal with sundry characters who regularly robbed the San Antonio - Del Rio stage. Boy and gun put so many of them out of business that the gang's few survivors abruptly ceased operations and departed to Mexico. He was wearing a deputy's badge when Texas pulled out of the Union to join the ill-fated Confederacy. Thousands of men left home to join the Confederate armies, leaving the state's frontier exposed to red warriors and white ruffians drifting in for pickings. Every able-bodied man was needed for one type of fighting or another. Lonnie Moore was the first man to join an enlarged company under the command of Big Foot Wallace. By that time, he stood six feet in his socks. But still the Medina settlers spoke of him affectionately as little Lonnie. He felt that he was back where he belonged when, for the second time , he took the Ranger oath before Big Foot Wallace. "Better put away your Dan'l Boone gun as a keepsake and let me give you one of these new Jennings repeaters," Big Foot advised. "I hear that your old chum , Eagle Claw, has slipped across Red River into Texas. He may be looking you up." "Thanks," Lonnie laughed, patting the barrel of his venerable weapon. "This said howdy to Eagle Claw once. I reckon it'll give him a warm welcome if he pokes his nose around here again." Four weeks after he'd rejoined the Rangers, a courier brought word the Eagle Claw had wiped out a ranch in the Palo Pinto Mountains, three hundred miles north of Medina County. The courier reported that the was band numbered fully a hundred braves. Two weeks more, and the Comanches struck at the tiny settlement of Barry's Gap, just a hundred and fifty miles away. Lonnie realized that the cunning old chief was proceeding in a straight line toward the Medina, taking his toll of life as he went along, thumbing his nose at outfits of rookie Rangers trying to stop him. Due south, the tide of death kept moving. One hundred miles from the Medina, and a party of Mexican wagoners camped by a spring were the next victims of Eagle Claw. The wagons carrying merchandise to Laredo were pillaged, but one man was spared to carry a message to Lonnie Moore. "He say that he coming to kill you, Senor Moore, because you made him feel bad by not becoming his son," the Mexican informed Lonnie in the Ranger camp on the Medina. "He say that he shoot all whites and then he have back his hunting grounds, Madre de Dios, what a devil." It was not concern for his own life but the threats made by Eagle Claw against the settlers which persuaded Lonnie that his Ranger company must take the offensive and head off the advancing horde. Even so, he had a hard time persuading Big Foot Wallace who preferred lying in ambush for Eagle Claw at Seco Creek on the County's edge. At the rate Eagle Claw is traveling, he may get to Seco Creek first and ambush us," Lonnie retorted. "I say we have to stop him before he hits the county." They set out to scout a wide area after Big Foot had given in. For a week, they prowled thickets and creek bottoms to find ashes of Indian camps but none of the warriors had kindled the fires. The Dan'l Boone Rifle looked as dejected as its owner when the Rangers rode back to Medina County. Dan Moore was waiting at their camp when they got there. His face was taut and drawn. "Death in the family, son," he informed Lonnie. "Eagle Claw's bunch attacked Pete Ketchum's ranch while you were gone. Pete's dead -- his scalp ripped from his head." Lonnie stood there stunned, cursing himself for his foolishness. He had led the Rangers out of Medina County on that wild-goose chase which had profited them nothing. But during their absence, Eagle Claw and his Comanches had managed to slip into the county unchallenged by men who should have been there to defend it. And it had suited the chief's purpose to draw the first blood from the family of the man he hated most -- Pete Ketchum had been Lonnie's brother-in-law. Now blood could only be revenged in blood. The Comanches must be driven forever form the Medina and Eagle Claw must die -- die by the hand of Lonnie Moore. Big Foot put him on detached assignment to round up settlers who might reinforce the company in the major tasks that lay ahead . But even as he went recruiting , Eagle Claw struck twice more in Medina County. The Comanches overtook a girl in the woods, and Rangers found her still alive after she had been scalped. A day later, the war band swept down on the Redus Ranch, burning all the buildings and killing a young puncher named Archie Hood. Within four days, Lonnie had assembled a force of embittered settlers. Settlers and Rangers trailed the Indians down the small Chicon River to Sabinal Canyon. Smoke and the lazy echo of words spoken in Comanche revealed the location of the enemy to the pursuing Texans on that warm morning when bees buzzed in the patches of newly blossomed bluebonnets. A cordon of Texans cut off a group of braves trying to reach their horses. Most of the ponies went bolting off so that the mounted attackers had the advantage of battling an enemy on foot. Comanches hands clawed at the manes of charging mustangs as warriors tried for some clutch which would enable them to mount the saddles and slay their foes. Descending gun butts brained them. Others went down under the flying hoofs, and the crash of splintering ribs combined with piercing death moans in a devil's medley of combat. Lonnie strained his eyes through the thick gun smoke for a glimpse of Eagle Claw . The butt of the Dan'l Boone gun was bloody with the red life-sap of Comanches when he spotted the chief, standing on a rock, proudly contemptuous of Texan bullets and shouting orders to his demoralized followers. The Ranger's spur bit deep into the horse's flanks, and the pony was straining at the tensely held reins when it galloped toward the chief. Through the barrage, Eagle Claw recognized Lonnie. His hand lifted a rifle and Lonnie saw that it was a Jennings repeater, probably taken from the body of some Ranger slain in one of the fights farther north. "Buenos dias, senor," the chief shouted continuing: "It is good to greet one whom I have waited for so many years to see." Then mockingly in Comanche: "Or did you wish me to send you after your brother who is now in the Dark Place?" Eagle Claw�s fingers darted to the trigger of his rifle. The gun missed fire, and snapped harmlessly. But Lon's Dan'l Boone piece spat out, barely missing Eagle Claw's head, but grazing his bare brown arm. Now the Ranger was but a few feet from the warlord and lashing at his horse to bear down on his antagonist. Eagle Claw leaped on a milling stray pony which had escaped the blockade, then sped down the canyon at a furious pace. Lonnie spurred his horse in hot pursuit. For two miles, the chase continued with the boy firing the Dan'l Boone Rifle and the chief turning back to answer with his fast repeater. Volleys of shot and shell fell around the Ranger for every ball that he could send hurling from his old-fashion gun. For a moment, Lonnie wished that he'd accepted a Jennings from Big Foot. The steady spray from the Indian's gun mocked the occasional puff that sounded from his. Suddenly, Lonnie realized that the chief's horse was slowing down while the shots from his gun were coming even more rapidly. The Ranger was puzzled: Eagle Claw's mount was better than his. Abruptly the chief wheeled his horse to face his oncoming opponent. "I no draw you out here, white man, to run from you!" he shouted. "I bring you here so we have our fight and not be bothered by others." "Suits me," Lonnie called back. He raised the Dan'l Boone Rifle. "I've been pining to give you a taste of this." "You no kill anything with that," the chief yelled with scorn. He raised the repeater swiftly and it splattered bullets like raindrops as his horse surged forward. Lonnie goaded his pony to meet the onrush. Thunder from the hoofs of the chief's fine stallion matched the never ceasing thunder from his gun as the distance narrowed between challenger and challenged. The smoke from the perfect modern rifle singed Lonnie's eyes. The bullets ripped at his clothes, tore off strips which went sailing through the air. When the Dan'l Boone rifle managed to reply, its ineffectual puff was like that of a popgun competing with a cannon. Forty yards -- Thirty yards -- and Lonnie, for the first time in his life, felt scared. Another blast sounded from the chief's repeater. Lonnie started to jam another ball into the firepiece of the Boone gun. Then he dropped the pellet back into his ammunition bag. No use wasting what little ammunition I have left against something that's got me outshot before I start, he though. I'll wait till we meet headfirst and see if I can club it out, gun butt to gun butt, with him. It's my only chance. Only twenty yards now separated the two, with a sun-baked little creek lying between them. Lonnie slowed his horse down, intending to meet Eagle Claw in the dry bed where ground was level and odds would be more even. The chief plunged his stallion head on, meaning to come down full force with better horse and better gun on the Ranger. The stallion's hoofs cleared the left bank, but failed to span a high bush that had taken root in the middle of the channel. The bush scraped angrily at the horse's belly, causing it to stumble and come crashing down with a broken leg. Using the fallen animal as a barricade, Eagle Claw fired a volley of shots toward Lonnie, who was urging his pony on to take advantage of the accident. The bullets went wild. Lonnie aimed futilely at Eagle Claw's head when it protruded for a second over the disabled horse. Another ball wasted of his precious few. He reached the right bank of the creek, and now only a few yards lay between him and the chief. Eagle Claw took quick aim at Lonnie's pony. The bullet hit the pony squarely in the skull and the Ranger went sprawling. Another shot punctured his ammunition bag, and the balls in it scattered. All but one, which gleamed mockingly at Lonnie as Eagle Claw jumped from behind his pony and came striding, rifle cladded toward the white boy.
�You die now," Eagle Claw said. The chief raised the repeater. Lonnie staring at death approaching, fumbled for the last ball on the ground. His fingers grasped it, and he managed to jam it into his old gun as the chief came within a dozen feet. "That no help you," the chief laughed. "You fight Eagle Claw. You carry a man's gun." Eagle Claw's finger tightened on the trigger, Lonnie half-pulled himself to his knees and aimed shakingly at his enemy. They fired in the same second. Eagle Claw's bullet missed Lonnie's heart, but tore a gaping furrow in his left side, Lonnie's ball ripped into the chief's belly. Eagle Claw stood there reeling, trying to keep his balance while the blood flooded out from his belly to saturate his buckskin shirt. The gun dropped from a hand that was limp, and Lonnie saw the hand had an old scar running across its surface -- his first coup on Eagle Claw, back there at Presidio Crossing. The chief looked down at Lonnie through eyes that were glazed and tired, "You -- you by my son," he muttered thickly. "I give you many gifts -- I give you gun --" Then he pitched forward on his face, slain by the boy whom he would have had for a son and a rifle he despised. Lonnie fingered the barrel of the Dan'l Boone rifle, caressing it as a thing to be loved. The gun looked vague and shimmering before his eyes. "You -- you didn't fail me." he said slowly. "You took your time, but you got your man." Then he could no longer speak because of the rifle, the trees and all the rest of the world that went bobbing around him. He awoke when the Texans found him and Big Foot Wallace shook him into consciousness. Big Foot was poking around his wound when Lonnie opened his eyes. "Bad hole you got there, son," Big Foot was saying. "But we'll take you over to the doctor at the county seat and he'll plug it." With the help of Big Foot, Lonnie managed to sit up. He looked toward the dead body of Eagle Claw. Between them lay the Dan'l Boone Rifle and the chief's repeater, barrel facing barrel in sullen challenge. Big Foot's thumb gestured toward the Comanche. "You finished him," he said. "We finished the rest." Big Foot pulled out a hunk of chewing tobacco and took a big bite. �Funny," he said, "that shot Eagle Claw fired at you was his last, too. We knew you'd run out of ammunition when we found what was left of your bag. But we didn't know that Eagle Claw was scraping bottom till we checked his gun and his belt. Reckon you were right when you wouldn't trade in that Dan'l Boone gun for a repeater. Because when it went up against the very best gun, it won the last shot -- and had the last word." Lonnie beckoned one of the Rangers to bring his the gun. Then he took out his bowie knife and carved one deep dent in the Dan'l Boone Rifle. "The last notch I'll mark in it," he said; "the last time I'll fire this gun because I'll never find anybody braver to aim it at. Eagle Claw was a murdering scoundrel. But a gamer man I never went up against." He kept his word. Once home, he put away the Boone gun. It had earned honorable retirement. For several generations, it remained a curiosity in Medina County and eventually disappeared, after the manner of old things. But its owner's retirement as a fighting man did not come until the Civil War�s close.

Child of ALONZO MOORE and SALLY SIMMONS is:

371.

DELIA⁸ MOORE, b. 1871; d. WFT Est. 1887-1973.

Children of ALONZO MOORE and CYNTHIA MCCOMBS are:

372.	ii.	LEONA⁸ MOORE, b. Bet. 1865 - 1866, Moore Crossing, Medina County, Texas; d. WFT Est. 1887-1973.
373.	iii.	HENRY MOORE, b. 1867; d. Unknown.
374.	iv.	EMMA MOORE, b. 1869; d. WFT Est. 1881-1970.
375.	v.	GAZ MOORE, b. 1871; d. WFT Est. 1887-1973.

250. HAYWOOD TRAVIS⁷ MOORE (EMILY⁶ LINCECUM, HEZEKIAH⁵, MIRIAM⁴ BOWIE, JOHN JR.³, JOHN SR.², JOHNE¹ BOWY) was born Oct 01, 1849²², and died WFT Est. 1851-1934²². He married (1) GENNY LOUISE 1872. He married (2) VIRGINIA M. LEWIS Jan 14, 1873 in Medina county, Tx.²². He married (3) SUSANNA M. MCCOMBS 1879²². He married (4) SUSAN M. HARDCASTLE Jun 17, 1879 in Medina county, Tx..

Child of HAYWOOD MOORE and GENNY LOUISE is:

376.

MARGARET ELIZABETH⁸ MOORE, b. Jul 30, 1873, Devine, Medina Co., TX; d. Unknown.

Children of HAYWOOD MOORE and VIRGINIA LEWIS are:

	ii.	CHARLIE⁸ MOORE, b. Aft. 1869²²; d. WFT Est. 1860-1970²².
377.	iii.	ALONZO MOORE, b. WFT Est. 1869-1877; d. WFT Est. 1877-1970.
	iv.	BUD MOORE, b. Bet. 1869 - 1877²²; d. WFT Est. 1860-1970²².
	v.	GEORGE MOORE, b. Bet. 1869 - 1877²²; d. WFT Est. 1860-1970²².
	vi.	KATE MOORE, b. WFT Est. 1869-1877²²; d. WFT Est. 1869-1973²²; m. ELLIS COLBATH, WFT Est. 1869-1924²².

More About ELLIS COLBATH:
Fact 4: Social Security #: 467-12-9053 ²³
Fact 5: State of issue: TX²³

	vii.		OLLIE MOORE, b. WFT Est. 1869-1877 ²⁴; d. WFT Est. 1872-1970²⁴; m. UNKNOWN CLARK, WFT Est. 1872-1928²⁴.
	viii.		MAGGIE MOORE, b. 1874.

Children of HAYWOOD MOORE and SUSANNA MCCOMBS are:

	ix.	LOUELLA M.⁸ MOORE, b. Mar 24, 1880, Devine, Medina County, Texas; d. Nov 27, 1948, Pleasanton, Atascosa County, Texas; m. DAVE A. MURRAY, Unknown.
378.	x.	GEORGE EMMET MOORE, b. 1881.
379.	xi.	CHARLES ELERY MOORE, b. 1883.
	xii.	KATE MOORE, b. 1886.
	xiii.	OLLIE AMANDA MOORE, b. 1888.

Children of HAYWOOD MOORE and SUSAN HARDCASTLE are:

	xiv.		GEORGE⁸ MOORE, b. May 1881, Tx.
	xv.		CHARLES MOORE, b. Oct 1883, Tx.
	xvi.		KATIE MOORE, b. Jul 1886, Tx.
	xvii.		OLILIE MOORE.

251. REZIN BOWIE REESE⁷ MOORE (EMILY⁶ LINCECUM, HEZEKIAH⁵, MIRIAM⁴ BOWIE, JOHN JR.³, JOHN SR.², JOHNE¹ BOWY) was born Sep 03, 1853 in Lon Moore Crossing, Medina Co., TX²⁴, and died Unknown²⁴. He married MARY ELIZABETH DEAN Dec 31, 1881 in Medina cty., Tx.²⁴.

Children of REZIN MOORE and MARY DEAN are:

	i.		BOWIE M.⁸ MOORE, b. 1885, Hondo Creek, Medina Co., TX²⁴; d. WFT Est. 1872-1970²⁴; m. ALBERTA FRY, WFT Est. 1872-1928²⁴.
380.	ii.		ELSIE MAY MOORE, b. Oct 23, 1886; d. WFT Est. 1874-1973.

252. LUCULLUS WALLACE⁷ MOORE (EMILY⁶ LINCECUM, HEZEKIAH⁵, MIRIAM⁴ BOWIE, JOHN JR.³, JOHN SR.², JOHNE¹ BOWY) was born Oct 19, 1856, and died Apr 04, 1938 in Devine, Medina Co, Texas. He married JULIA CATHERINE MOORE May 30, 1877²⁴, daughter of JOHN MOORE and MARTHA MEDLEY.

Children of LUCULLUS MOORE and JULIA MOORE are:

	i.	ORAN LESTER⁸ MOORE, b. Bet. 1878 - 1897²⁴; d. WFT Est. 1882-1979²⁴.
381.	ii.	REZIN C. MOORE, b. 1885; d. WFT Est. 1901-1979.
	iii.	THOMAS EDWARD MOORE, b. Oct 1879²⁴; d. WFT Est. 1882-1979²⁴.
382.	iv.	FRED WILEY MOORE, b. 1882; d. WFT Est. 1901-1979.
383.	v.	BIRDIE JOYCE MOORE, b. Aug 02, 1888; d. WFT Est. 1899-1982.
	vi.	ZOE ETHEL MOORE, b. 1891²⁴; d. WFT Est. 1882-1982²⁴.
	vii.	ALVA E. MOORE, b. 1894²⁴; d. WFT Est. 1882-1979²⁴.
	viii.	HERBERT R. MOORE, b. 1894²⁴; d. WFT Est. 1882-1979²⁴.
	ix.	LEONARD MOORE, b. 1894²⁴; d. WFT Est. 1882-1979²⁴.
384.	x.	PETER KENNETH MOORE, b. 1894; d. WFT Est. 1901-1979.
	xi.	TRAVIS MOORE, b. 1895; d. Unknown.
	xii.	ALVIN MOORE, b. 1894.

253. HENRY WARING⁷ CLAGETT (RICHARD HENRY (DR.)⁶, WILLIAM⁵, JOHN⁴, ELEANOR³ BOWIE, JOHN SR.², JOHNE¹ BOWY) was born Abt. 1840, and died Jun 06, 1914. He married MARTHA CHUN BOWLING WFT Est. 1856.

Notes for HENRY WARING CLAGETT:
source the bowies & their kindred by walter worthington bowie

Notes for MARTHA CHUN BOWLING:
source the bowies & their kindred by walter worthington bowie
she is the daughter of Col. John D. Bowiling and Elizabeth Childs

Child of HENRY CLAGETT and MARTHA BOWLING is:

385.

GRACE⁸ CLAGETT.

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