Since the war I have heard, from a reliable source, a tragic story of this Pryor family, which, if told in detail, would sound like fiction. It seems that in the spring of 1865 a band of these cut-throats, eight in number, rode up to Haden Pryor’s gate and without provocation shot him while he was standing in his front yard in presence of his wife; as he turned and was in the act of returning to his house he fell in his front veranda, a corpse. This was a few days after General Lee’s surrender. His oldest son, John, and a younger one, with eight or ten other Confederates, on their way home that night came within eight or ten miles of their homes, when, tired and footsore, they lay down to rest until morning.
John Pryor, haunted by a strange presentiment, could not sleep, and determined he would quietly leave the camp and go on to his father’s house. While he was dressing one of the others woke and said: “Hello, John, what are you up to?” “I am going home,” said John. “Wait a minute,” said the other, “and I’ll go too.” From that one by one they all roused up and were soon on the road again. Arriving at home, John Pryor found his father a bloody corpse and his mother a widow. His mother told him how it all happened, and gave him the names of his father’s murderers. The next day the funeral took place, and the noble father who had so patiently waited and longed for the return of his soldier boys was laid under the sod.
Over his father’s grave John Pryor made a vow that he would not engage in any business whatever as long as one of his father’s murderers was alive, and starting out upon his fixed purpose he killed one or two of them before the gang became alarmed. The rest now became panic-stricken and fled the country, hiding in different States. John hunted them constantly and relentlessly for weeks and months, until the weeks grew into years, and as he found them they were sent to their final account, one by one, until finally he found the last and least guilty one in Travis County, Texas, a few miles from Austin. It was in the spring of the year, and the man was plowing when John walked into the field where he was. Seeing John coming and recognizing him, he stopped his horse and, waiting until he was within a few steps of him, he said, “John, I know what you have come for; but I will ask you to let me go to the house and tell my wife and children good-by.” John consented, and they went to the house, where were the innocent wife and two small children in a comfortable little home. The husband and father then said: “John, I never hurt your father; I didn’t want those fellows to kill him, and told them not to do it.” “I remember that my mother told me something about this,” replied John, “and said you were the only one who said a word against the murder of my father; and now I will retract my vow as to you, and leave you with your wife and children.”