This gentleman acted as Jones’ friend, and it was due to his fairness and firmness that Jones signed a retraction and a fight was avoided. I am proud to say that this friend of Jones’ became my friend, and remains so to this day. This was Stephen B. Elkins. Of all the men of the frontier with whom I have been associated I liked John Lemon best, and I think him the most admirable character of them all. He possessed all the best qualities of the frontiersman with none of their vices. He was _with_ us, but not _of_ us. He was strictly temperate, perfect in habits and morals, and yet a genial, sympathetic companion and faithful friend, and behind a manner almost as modest and quiet as a Quaker’s there rested a personal courage and resolution equal to that of Andrew Jackson. In 1870 Mr. Lemon’s party (the Republicans) had gained a county election, and while he was going to join the procession which was celebrating he was struck in the head with a bludgeon from behind and died a few days later.
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While I was collector of customs at El Paso a good friend of mine, Captain Crandall, had been honorably discharged from the Union army and had located at Tucson.
Crandall came to El Paso and stopped at my house and informed me that his father had died in Indiana and that he (“Bob”) was en route there to get his portion of the estate, and he hoped to return pretty well fixed. After several months Bob returned, and came to my house looking dejected and rather seedy. He told me that others had administered on his father’s estate before he arrived and had got away with it all and that he was destitute.
I asked my friend what he proposed to do? He said he would work his way back to Tucson and commence life anew. The next morning I asked him to accompany me to my office, and as we walked I said: “Bob, as soon as we get to the office I will write your appointment as deputy collector of customs at Tucson at a salary of $1,800 a year, and I will advance you a month’s salary.” My friend paused and when he spoke there were tears in his _voice_. “Mills,” he said, “do you know that I am a Democrat?” “Yes,” I replied, “but is that any reason why you should be a damphool?” “Well,” replied the Captain, speaking slowly, “I don’t know that it is, but sometimes it appears to me _that it amounts to about the same thing_.” He got the appointment and years later died at Tucson. I told this story to a mixed audience in a political speech at the Court House in El Paso, and feel sure that it did not offend even the most enthusiastic Democrat.