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Martin, from the Pecan Grove Ranch." "Right, my lad. How in the world did you come here?" "I just escaped from the lockup, and was trying to reach the Texan lines. Do you know anything of my father?" "Do I? Why, he's in the house just below here, along with your brother. We came Back, or you'll be shot!"
He had been found drinking beer in a saloon on East Pecan Street by Colonel St. Vitus about a week before, and according to the Austin custom in such cases, was invited home by the colonel, and the next day accepted into society, with large music classes at his service. Professor von Bum is playing the lovely symphony in G minor from Beethoven's "Songs Without Music."
Now I reckoned it would take more than water to make a Mexican talk." "José was hired for the work; he laid for Ed Austin in the pecan grove and shot him as he passed." "Hired! Why this hombre needs quick hangin', don't he? I told 'em at Las Palmas that you'd rounded up the guilty party, so I reckon they'll be here in a few minutes.
It seems to have been modeled after a cloth or skin cap. Two layers of the material are represented, the one broad, the other narrow and pointed, both being raised a little above the surface upon which they rest. This vase head is somewhat smaller than the average human head. Head-shaped vase: Pecan Point, Arkansas. 1/2.
At the corner of a field Gid halted and put down his bag, and the dog turned about, pretending to be on his way home. In the field was a pecan tree, tall and graceful. Year after year had the old man tended it, and to him it was more than a tree, it was a friend.
The river wound like an azure girdle round the town; not confined by precipitous banks, but gliding along the surface, as it were, and reflecting, in its deep blue waters, the rustling tule which fringed the margin. An occasional pecan or live-oak flung a majestic shadow athwart its azure bosom, and now and then a clump of willows sighed low in the evening breeze.
Joseph was the town of Pecan, a head chief of the Miami, and the same savage who had supplied deer and buffalo meat for Brigadier General Harmar on his mission to Kaskaskia in 1787.
"I've struck it, Colonel, I've struck the trace. There's a pecan at the edge of the bottom with my own blaze on it." "May you never be as near death again," said the Colonel, grimly, as he gave the order to march. The fourth day passed, and we left behind us the patches of forest and came into the open prairie, as far as the eye could reach a long, level sea of waving green.
The Governor's resourcefulness saved the day. There was an instant change of sentiment and a brightening of the dark faces. The claim of the Miamis acknowledged; their savage pride appeased, and their title to the land verified, they were ready for the treaty. Pecan, the chief, informed the Governor that he might retire to the fort and that they would shortly wait upon him with good news.
Some forty feet back, within a mossy brick wall that stands waist-high, surmounted by a white, open fence, the green wooden balls on top of whose posts are full eight feet above the sidewalk, the cottage stands high up among a sweet confusion of pale purple and pink crape myrtles, oleanders white and red, and the bristling leaves and plumes of white bells of the Spanish bayonet, all in the shade of lofty magnolias, and one great pecan.
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