The Legend of El Muerto in South Texas

Late October is the time for All Hallows Eve. Better known in our world as Halloween Night and Texas lays claim to its own “Headless Horseman” or as its known in South Texas, the Legend of El Muerto. 

J Frank Dobie wrote about William Alexander Anderson “Big Foot” Wallace, an iconic Texas folk hero from the 1800s. Our friend Marsha lives near Bigfoot, Texas, the name sake of Bigfoot Wallace. He created “El Muerto” and therein lies our tale. 

Texas in the 1800s… miles and miles of open country that was a haven for the lawless element that chose to reap havoc on settlers of this wild Texas frontier. The Texas Rangers were formed to combat these ruthless outlaws as well as the marauding Indians that swept in to steal horses, capture the “white eyes,” and destroy the settler’s homes. 

The Texas Rangers were a hardy lot with a passion for defending the frontier and were known for their tenacity. Creed Taylor was a ranger that ranched the south Texas country and raised prize mustangs. 

His pardner was William Alexander Anderson “Big Foot” Wallace, who had developed a reputation that spread fear among the Indians as well as the lawless element. The year 1850 found an outlaw that was known only as Vidal busy rustling south Texas cattle and horses. 

Taking advantage of a Comanche raid that had pulled most of the men away to fight this attack, Vidal and his henchmen swooped in and gathered up a large number of horses on the San Antonio River and headed southwest toward Mexico. Among this stolen herd were several prized mustangs belonging to Texas Ranger Creed Taylor. 

When word of the raid reached Creed, he sought the help of Bigfoot Wallace and a man named Flores. They picked up the outlaw trail and discovered their camp. All of the outlaws were killed when the Rangers attacked, and Bigfoot Wallace cut off the head of Vidal in a dramatic example of frontier justice. Then lashed him firmly into a saddle on the back of a wild mustang. 

Tying the outlaw’s hands to the pommel and securing the torso to hold him upright, Big Foot then attached Vidal’s head and sombrero to the saddle with a long strip of rawhide. Next, he turned the bucking horse loose to wander the Texas hills with its terrible burden on his back. 

As time went on, more and more cowboys spotted the dark horse with its fearsome cargo, and not knowing what it was they riddled it’s rider with bullets. But the horse and its rider rode on and the legend of El Muerto, the headless one, began. Soon, the South Texas brush country became a place to avoid as El Muerto was credited with all kinds of evil and misfortune. Soon, stories began to abound about the headless rider seen, usually in remote country, with its sombreroed head swinging back and forth to the rhythm of horse’s gallop. And even today on a misty, foggy moon lit night this apparition of “El Muerto” can be seen racing his fiery steed across the south Texas country searching for his gang of cut-throats.

The Fright of the Night

The cool autumn night would soon  have moonlight,

as that orb come over the hill.

The stories had been scary, an’ you were a bit wary, 

the back of yore neck feels a chill!

I guess it’s just yore fate that it fell on this date.

Dang fellers thought it was prime!

Dadburn the luck, looks like yore stuck,

ridin’ nighthawk this time.

This night shoulda been fun, in fact had already begun

to look like one of the best.

But things can change, out here on the range,

an’ put us all to the test.

On Halloween, some things can be seen,

that shore make a feller jump.

Yeah, stories you heard, although quite absurd,

keeps you lookin’ behind each stump!

But now, it’s shore dark, you can hardly see the spark

made by the wagon’s campfire.

Still, you watch really hard an’ stay on yore guard,

hopin’ that feller was a liar.

He rode into camp that day, waited ‘til dark to have his say.

You didn’t like the way he made you feel.

But you listened entranced, as his tales he enhanced,

…them stories shore seemed quite real.

He wasn’t that dapper, just an ol’ wolf trapper,

come up from somewhere on the river.

But he had a faraway look, seemed to even spook the cook,

an’ his stories shore made you shiver!

Like that feller named Ned, was hung an’ lost his head!

Comes walkin’ right outta that windbreak.

He plans to do harm, holds his head in his arm,

his moanin’ shore causes you to tremble an’ shake!.

Then there’s ol’ Percy McClung, with the cut-out tongue.

He shouldn’t be able to speak.

But on Halloween night, he speaks just for spite!

Some say he talks a blue streak.

An’on the story goes, but…just as the moon rose,

you heard somethin’ squall out!

Wal, yore boogered for shore, can’t stand it anymore.

You slap leather an’ give a shout!

Wal, now of course, you startled yore horse,

an he scooted like a scalded cat.

You tried to grab a-holt somewhere on that colt,

but all you grabbed was yore hat!

As you sat on the ground, just lookin’ around,

that hoss headed straight to that campfire.

Yer slicker unfurled, around his rump it curled,

If anything, made him jump higher!

That hoss was wide-eyed, completely  terrified

of  that flappin’ wild creature behind!

He kicked  an’ he pitched, side to side that thing switched,

so he headed to camp plumb nightblind.

What  the fellers could see looked like a wild banshee

headed toward them flappin’ wild!

Not one chose to stay, faint heart ruled the day,

an’ outta that camp they  piled.

That hoss never stopped, as long as that slicker flopped,

run right through that camp like a snap.

Scattered coffeepot an’ fire, just made him jump higher.

Got up under the cook tent flap.

Somehow that slicker was snagged, off that hoss it was dragged.

But that hoss never slowed abit

 ‘til he seen he was free from that wild banshee.

Even then he didn’t want to quit!

Well, you walked on back in, as did the other men,

dang, that campsite was a mess!

The coffeepot was overturned, a few coals still burned,

yore dang slicker layin’ there made you confess.

The other fellers was alright, but ol’ cooky was a sight,

had biscuit flour smeared on his face.

That wolf trapper was gone, his whereabouts unknown,

seems he left camp without a trace!

My hoss slipped back in, still nervous as sin,

I caught him an’ quieted him down.

Then I got him unsaddled,  tho he was still a bit addled,

an’ shore ‘nuff actin’ the  clown!

Then I thowed my kak on another ponies back,

I still had a job to do.

The herd  had stayed quiet, but it’s Halloween night…

‘til daylight comes into view!

© Ol’ Jim Cathey    

Best to keep your head on All Hallows Eve.

God Bless you and God Bless America!