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Writer's pictureMatthew Kerns

An Interview With Texas Jack Junior

Updated: Oct 27

Straight from the cowboy's mouth, this is the story of Texas Jack Junior's rescue at the hands of Texas Jack Omohundro, straight from an interview with Texas Jack Junior, from the Melbourne, Victoria, Australia Sun News-Pictorial newspaper, October 3, 1890.


TEXAS JACK, THE RESTLESS SPIRIT OF THE PLAINS.


AN INTERVIEW WITH THE ROMANTIC COWBOY.


HE LOVED THE OLD LIFE, BUT HE PREFERS THE NEW.


ROMANCE PALES BEFORE COMFORT AND MONEY.


The dream of our boyhood has been dispelled. The flavor of romance thrown around the Mexican cowboy by the novelist, whose words we hung upon in our time, has been dissipated, and we feel inclined to believe more implicitly in the Psalms that all is vanity.


And why? We have interviewed Texas Jack, the restless spirit of the Plains, and he, with one simple sentence, has destroyed all our childish fancies. We had pictured the cowboy, the trapper, and the frontier man as the finest, happiest, and most enviable men who ever lived, free as the winds. We had imagined them. It would be vain to say all our fancy painted them.


But Texas Jack has pulled them down from the picturesque mountain of romance into the uninteresting plains of solid fact, and who is he? Simply enough, and in the midst of all our wild excitement over the contemplation of the possibilities and probabilities of the Strike, and we had got into a train of thought which we fondly hoped would lead us to a satisfactory solution of the problem of the correct relations Capital and Labor should hold to one another.


Right here there was a knock at the door of our room, and through force of habit we said, "Come in," and prepared our thoughts. We were suddenly pulled up by a rich Yankee voice, which said, "I guess this is THE HERALD office. Ain't wrong am I?"


We looked up suddenly, and there standing before us was a middle-aged young man, moderate stature, dark complexion, greyish-blue eyes, long woman's hair, huge sombrero hat, and fantastic garb. Was this Mr. Bland Holt, or was it only a very poor relation? It was neither. It was our boyhood's hero, the Mexican cowboy. He carried no weapons, and his way was very short, as we were comparatively safe.


Mustering up all our journalistic bravado, we inquired, "Well, sir, what's your business; what is your name?" "I'm Texas Jack, the cowboy ranger of the Plains. I am in town with Messrs Hayden, Wilson, and Lyon's Wild West Company, showing at the Exhibition Buildings on Thursday, 9th October, amongst other things in cowboying, showing how I throw the lasso, cut cattle, ride buck-jumping horses, &c."


"Sit down," we said, "and let us make your acquaintance."


Texas Jack sat down and proceeded to explain himself.


"You see," said he, "I am about 25 years of age. I was first discovered amongst a band of Indians in the Indian Territory. I afterwards learned that my parents, with about 30 other families, were massacred by the Indians one night in 1868, while encamped on the bank of a river on their way to the west. In this massacre two little girls and a boy were spared; I was that boy.


I lived amongst the Indians for eight months and then Texas Jack—the original Texas Jack, John B. Omohundro—was commissioned by the Government to rescue me and others. He made the attempt and succeeded. I had no recollection of my name, so I was christened, after my rescue, Texas Jack, Junior.


From that time forward I have lived on the Plains, earning my living by 'cow-punching,' and in the manner of wild border life. Until six years ago I had lived all my life on the plains amongst the cowboys and Indians, and had never seen a city. I became skillful in riding, shooting, and lassoing, and all the accomplishments you have heard described with so much romance by your writers." Mem. -- Jack used the word romance so prettily that we eyed him curiously, and seeing that he word a very long and handsome chain around his neck, we asked him what it was, and whether there was any story attaching to it.

He blushed and said, "I reckon you've hit it this time. That's a horsehair chain which a pretty little Mexican girl worked for me. She--." But he would not go any furhter, so ladies must build the remainder of the story themselves.


Proceeding with his acocunt of himself, Jack said that he had encountered any amount of thrilling adventures that can he carried in his body any amount of gunshots, and that several Indian arrow wounds scarred his flesh, but, he added, "I still preserve my scalp." Looking aside at his luxurious growth of hair, we could not help remarking that this was true, and no mistake.


Six years ago, he continued, he entered the "show" business, and for three or four years ago went to England to perform against Buffalo Bill with "Mexican Joe's Texas Rangers." He returned to America, showed through the country, and now he is here in another land of boundless plain.


Our final question was an unfortunate one, as an answer to it was the upsettle of all our romantic impressions. We said, "How do you like Western life? Do you prefer it to your present experience of civilization?"--"Well," remarked Jack, "while I was in it I liked it. I was a good deal like some Australians I have met here. I thought it was the only life, the only country, in the world, as your Australians think theirs is the only life, the only country, in the world. I did not know any better, and I liked it. Now I know better, and I prefer civilization. I went back to it last summer, but besides being unprofitable, it was a bit too tough. I prefer a nice, well-appointed hotel to a blanket under the moon. You may bet your last dollar I shall not go back to it in a hurry."


A well-appointed hotel preferred to a blanket under the moon! Alas! We sorrowfully shook Jack by the hand as we wished him good luck.





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