The Life and Legacy of Kenneth Monroe “K.M.” Pybas

There are countless challenges in writing about our early ancestors. The most obvious is the lack of firsthand information, leaving us to rely on stories and letters passed down through the ages, whose veracity has likely been exaggerated or distorted over time. Newspapers, when available, can be an invaluable resource, though again, the story can only be viewed through the reporter’s perspective. Government records are more dependable, but they often lack the personal details that every genealogist wants to include. And even the availability of these records isn’t always guaranteed, as many have been lost to fires, wars, and other catastrophic events.                                                                                       
We are grateful that Kenneth Monroe “K.M.” Pybas, an ancestor of our family, shared portions of his narrative through wartime diary entries from his service with General Nathan Bedford Forrest’s Escort, along with several other scattered records that detail the challenging years that followed. Collectively, these documents outline a life divided into two significant phases—the tumult and upheaval of the Civil War and the gradual, persistent perseverance of post-war hardships that guided his family to Texas.

 

EARLY LIFE IN LINCOLN COUNTY, TENNESSEE (1824-1862)

K.M., born on November 9, 1824, was the eldest son of Lincoln County farmers James and Sarah Pybus, joining an older brother, William Robert. When William was twenty and K.M. nineteen, their father died unexpectedly at the age of forty-one. His will named his close friend, John Landess, as guardian to the boys and executor of the estate. Landess served as clerk at the Concord Primitive Baptist Church in Belleville, where James had been an elder. 

At the age of twenty-one, William left Tennessee for Houston County, Georgia. Their mother, Sarah, remarried Joshua Yates, a minister at the same church, and because K.M. was still not of age, Rev. Yates assumed his guardianship. 

K.M. continued farming the land his father left behind while living under the care of his mother and stepfather. In 1847, at twenty‑three, he met Eleanor “Ellen” Cain Holt, the nineteen‑year‑old daughter of the local postmaster. They married on November 9, and the following year, welcomed a son, Jordan Cain Pybas. For the next fifteen years, K.M. farmed, raised his growing family, and served his church and community. They could not have known that their quiet life was about to be overtaken by one of the most brutal conflicts in American history.

THE WAR YEARS: RIDING WITH FORREST’S ESCORT (1863-1864)

Some of Forrest's Escort, Date Unknown

 

In 1860, eleven Southern states left the Union after decades of conflict over the institution of slavery. The crisis erupted into open war on April 12, 1861, when South Carolina forces fired on Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor.

On January 10, 1863, K.M. enlisted in the Confederate Army and was selected for General Nathan Bedford Forrest’s Escort. This small cavalry company was hand‑picked for their riding skill, reliability, and combat ability. They were fast‑moving, disciplined, and trusted

The winter of 1862–63 was one of the wettest Middle Tennessee had ever seen. Soldiers later called it the “Great Rain of 1863,” a month-long deluge that turned roads into knee‑deep mud and flooded every creek and river. Cavalry operations became grueling marches through soaked fields and rising water. When K.M. joined the Escort in January, every march, reconnaissance, and skirmish occurred in cold rain, gray skies, and mud that swallowed horses to their fetlocks.

“Fight at Fort Donaldson on Feb 3rd 1863. Confederates repulsed with heavy loss; Wheeler in command.”

On February 3, 1863, Major General Joseph Wheeler led approximately 2,500 Confederate cavalrymen, including Forrest’s brigade, in an attack on a heavily fortified Union garrison at Dover, Tennessee. Forrest warned that the position was too strong, but Wheeler ordered a frontal assault. Union rifle pits and artillery fire tore through the attacking lines. Confederate losses were severe: around 855 casualties, nearly 35 percent of the force. Union losses were significantly lighter.

K.M.’s brief note of “heavy loss” doesn't quite capture how serious the disaster really was. Forrest’s own unit faced nearly 250 casualties, and his intense anger during the retreat became legendary. As part of the Escort, K.M. likely saw that anger up close. His comment that “Wheeler was in command” subtly criticizes the leadership that sent so many men to their deaths. The setback at Dover widened the gap between Forrest and Wheeler and eventually led to Forrest being transferred to command independently in Mississippi. 

“March 5th, 1863, Heavy fight at Thompson Station, Williamson county, Tenn, killed and captured the whole federal force, about two thousand. Capt. Little killed. Got my horse shot.”

The Battle of Thompson’s Station on March 5, 1863, resulted in a significant Confederate victory but came at a high cost for Forrest's Escort. A Union brigade led by Colonel John Coburn moved from Franklin to investigate Confederate positions. Forrest and Wheeler surrounding them, after five hours of combat, Coburn surrendered his entire force, estimated between 1,200 and 2,200 men. K.M.’s estimate of “two thousand” was notably accurate. Captain Montgomery Little, Forrest’s original Escort commander and a close confidant, was fatally wounded while leading a charge, dealing a heavy blow to the unit’s morale.

 K.M.’s horse was shot during the battle. For a cavalryman, losing a mount was a significant loss; Confederate troopers had to bring their own horses, and without one, a soldier risked being dismounted and reassigned to the infantry. The fact that his horse was killed beneath him shows he was right in the heart of the fighting near the railway cut, where the battle was the fiercest.

“March 6th started home, arrived at home 7th, remained at home until 9th and returned to command.”

After the victory at Thompson’s Station, K.M. probably borrowed a horse to ride the thirty-five to forty miles back to his home in Shelbyville. Forrest often allowed brief furloughs to men who had lost their mounts, as long as they could find another horse and return quickly.

“March 25th, fighting at Brentwood, captured the whole garrison amounting to 810 prisoners with wagons, teams, tents and everything they had.”

The capture of Brentwood was one of Forrest’s most successful operations. K.M.’s count of 810 prisoners is very accurate; official Union records list between 787 and 800 men taken from the 22nd Wisconsin and 19th Michigan. The “wagons, teams, and tents” were especially important. Forrest’s men seized thirty-five wagons loaded with supplies that were far better than what the Confederate cavalry usually carried. As a member of the Escort, K.M. would have been among the first to ride forward with Forrest’s demand for unconditional surrender.

 “April 10th, 1863. Skirmish near Douglas Church, four miles from Franklin, Tenn. Capt. Freeman killed and his battery* taken; recaptured the battery with small loss. Got my fine horse killed and left all rigging on the battlefield. Four of the escort wounded.” (*A battery was an artillery unit, roughly the equivalent in size to an infantry company.)

The fighting near Douglas Church, just south of Franklin, placed Forrest’s Escort in a rare and dangerous position. While Forrest prepared to strike the Union forces at Franklin, Union cavalry swung around and hit his rear guard. In the confusion that followed, Captain Freeman — a young teacher and law student before the war — was killed at close range. His death enraged Forrest and his men, who counterattacked, recaptured the guns, and drove the Union forces back toward Franklin.

For K.M., the day came at a personal cost. His horse — his second in just over a month — was shot out from under him. In the chaos of the retreat, he lost his saddlebags, bedroll, and all his gear. The Great Rain had not yet ceased, and the Escort had fought for weeks in cold, waterlogged conditions that hurt both men and animals.

“April 13th, went home for another horse, stayed at home three days and returned to the command.”

“April 16, 1863, command started to Decatur, Ala. I started home sick.”

Shelbyville was a major agricultural hub, and K.M. probably depended on his family or neighbors for his horse supply. By April, however, horses were becoming rare across Middle Tennessee as both armies moved through the area. The timing of his illness is significant. After losing two horses, fighting in relentless rain, and sleeping without a bedroll or dry clothes, his immune system probably failed.

 
“April 25th Very sick and remained at home until May 12th. Left home for the command.”

In 1863, being “very sick” usually indicated a serious illness like typhoid, dysentery, or pneumonia — diseases that caused far more deaths among soldiers than gunfire. Seventeen days at home suggest he was confined to bed. His recovery occurred during a brief pause before the war intensified again in Middle Tennessee.

When he left home on May 12, he returned to a transformed landscape. The Confederate Army of Tennessee had fortified Shelbyville with earthworks, turning it into a large military camp. On his way west to rejoin the Escort at Spring Hill and Columbia, he likely passed tents, felled trees, and churned mud from thousands of soldiers. It was probably the last time he saw his hometown under Confederate control.

“May 13th met the command at Athens, Ala.”

K.M. had left home on May 12 after nearly three weeks of being ill. To reach Athens the next day, he had to travel roughly sixty miles — a tough journey for a man still recovering. His return to duty shows the determination expected of Forrest’s Escort, who were required to stay close to their commander and move quickly whenever they were needed.

“June 4th attacked the enemy at Franklin, drove them into their fortifications; we went to town and remained sometime and then withdrew with no loss.”

The June 4 action at Franklin was a reconnaissance in force, not the major battle of 1864.
Forrest and General Pegram tested the Union garrison’s strength and drove them into Fort Granger, a strong position overlooking the Harpeth River. The Confederate cavalry briefly occupied Franklin's streets, gathering supplies and speaking with locals before withdrawing. The Union commander refused to leave his fortifications, so Forrest gathered intelligence and retreated without loss. It was a successful day of pressure for the Escort, with fewer casualties than earlier in the spring.

“June 9: Had a skirmish at Triune, Tenn.; withdrew in the evening.”

While the eastern armies fought the famous Battle of Brandy Station on June 9, Forrest’s command was engaged in its own series of intense clashes around Triune. These actions were intended to mask Confederate movements and assess Union positions. K.M. and the Escort accompanied Forrest as he personally reconnoitered the Federal lines. Their role was to stay close to him, carry messages, and provide the quick-moving protection he depended on when approaching enemy positions.

“June 11, had a skirmish and charged the enemy and drove them within two hundred yards of their big guns and drove one hundred head of horses and mules out of pasture.”

“June 15th started home from Columbia.”

“June 16, arrived at home and remained there until June 25th then went to the command. June 28th left home on the retreat from Middle Tennessee; arrived same evening at Tullahoma.”

These entries represent an important moment in K.M.’s life. He was at home during the last days of Confederate control in Middle Tennessee, unaware that the region was about to be permanently taken over by Union forces.

After returning from Columbia in mid-June, he found a tense, quiet countryside—the calm before the storm. Union General Rosecrans was planning the Tullahoma Campaign to outflank the Confederate Army. While K.M. was home, Union cavalry took Shelbyville, and by June 28, it was in Union hands. His departure marked not just duty but exile, knowing Federal troops would soon occupy his home. 

The retreat from Shelbyville to Tullahoma was chaotic and tiring. Forrest, who had been in Columbia during the initial breakthrough, arrived too late to prevent the collapse. He led his forces—including the Escort—on a perilous night ride to join the main army. At the Duck River bridge, the retreat degenerated into a rout, with horses and soldiers swept into the river as the Union “saber brigade” attacked. The roads, muddy from months of rain, made the march to Tullahoma a brutal ordeal for both horses and men.

 

 

“June 29th, skirmish with the enemy; Col. Starns mortally wounded.  J.P. Dean mortally wounded of the escort.”

“ June 30th. Col. Starns and J.P. Dean died.”

Colonel James W. Starnes, commander of the 4th Tennessee Cavalry, was one of Forrest’s most trusted officers. While guarding the Elk River bridges during the Confederate retreat, he was shot while reconnoitering the Union position. Before the war, Starnes was a physician from Franklin, and he was respected for his calm leadership. His death hit the cavalry hard. Forrest, who relied on him as a steadying presence, was deeply affected.

J.P. Dean, a member of the Escort, was wounded in the same fighting. In a company of only about eighty men, everyone knew one another well. Dean most likely fell during the intense skirmishing along the river or while the Escort covered the retreat. With the army pulling back in heavy rain, there was little time for proper burials. For the Tennessee boys in the Escort, seeing a friend fall with the enemy close behind was a heartbreaking moment during an already desperate retreat.

By June 30, K.M. had lost his home to Union occupation, his early commanders, Little and Starnes, and now his friend Dean. It was also the final day the Confederate army held Tullahoma. As he recorded these deaths, the army was beginning its difficult march over the Cumberland Mountains toward Chattanooga.

“July 22nd, near Chatanooga, Tenn, taken sick. Remained in camp sick four days.”

 “July 26th, started to hospital at Athens, East Tenn., arrived there the 27th, remained there until the 27th of August and transferred to hospital at Atlanta, Ga., remained there until Sept 5th, started for the command and arrived at the wagon train on the 7th day of Sept; remained with the train until the 15th then got with the command at Dalton.”

The retreat from Middle Tennessee lasted seventeen days with continuous rain. For a cavalryman already seriously ill in April, exposure, lack of dry clothing, and constant movement were overwhelming. Near Chattanooga, K.M. fell ill again as the Confederate army fortified the city against Union forces. He was sent to Athens due to full hospitals in Chattanooga. A month-long stay in 1863 likely would indicate a severe illness like typhoid, dysentery, or pneumonia, which killed more soldiers than combat.

 On August 27, he was transferred to Atlanta as the Confederates evacuated East Tennessee hospitals to avoid Union capture. K.M. left Atlanta hospital on September 5, then spent two days finding the army’s wagon train before rejoining the Escort amid rising tensions between Generals Forrest, Bragg, and Wheeler, just before a major battle.

 “Sept. 18th, fighting commencing at Chickamaga between the cavalry and infantry moving up and preparing for battle.”

“Sept. 19th. Fighting commencing at 8 o’clock a.m., lasting until 8 p.m. Federals falling back with loss heavy on both sides.”

“Sept. 20th, battle commencing at 9 o’clock a.m. and continued until 7 p.m.; fighting heavy all day; slaughter heavy on both sides with Rosecrans falling back and Bragg advancing holding the battle ground.”

“Sept. 21st Rosecrans retreating to Chattanooga; Bragg pressing closely.”

“Sept 26th, fighting at Charleston, Tenn. enemy falling back to Athens, capturing seventy-five prisoners of the Federals.”

K.M.’s entries give us a brief yet vivid look at the Battle of Chickamauga, the bloodiest two-day fight of the war. Forrest’s cavalry started the action at Reed’s Bridge and Alexander’s Bridge, making sure crossings over West Chickamauga Creek were secure so the infantry could get into position. The Escort, guarding the Confederate right flank, often fought on foot in thick cedar thickets, where the fighting was intense and dangerous. Over just forty-eight hours, both armies endured more than 34,000 casualties.

After the Union center's breakthrough on September 20, Rosecrans retreated toward Chattanooga. Forrest urged General Bragg to pursue immediately, believing the Union army was in disarray. Bragg refused, opting instead to lay siege. This decision widened the rift between the two men. Just days later, Bragg ordered Forrest’s command to be transferred to Wheeler — a move that would permanently  damage their relationship.

“Oct 2nd: Went to Dalton to rest and recruit our horses; remained at Dalton one month.”

K.M.’s simple note about resting and recruiting horses aligns with one of the most turbulent moments in the Confederate high command. The day after he arrived in Dalton, General Braxton Bragg issued an order removing Forrest from command and transferring his brigades to Joseph Wheeler. Forrest confronted Bragg in a heated exchange that became famous in Confederate history, and President Jefferson Davis soon arrived to prevent the dispute from tearing the army apart. Davis ultimately granted Forrest independent command in Mississippi and West Tennessee. While most of Forrest’s men were reassigned, his Escort was the only unit he was allowed to keep. Their loyalty in Dalton this month remained unwavering.

The cavalry horses were really worn out after a summer filled with constant marching and intense fighting at Chickamauga. Dalton was one of the few places where the Confederates could still find some grain and fodder. For K.M., who had already lost two horses earlier in the year, this month was probably spent trying to find a way to recover his horse or get a new one.

“November 2, Left Dalton for Okolona, Mississippi.”

Okolona became Forrest’s new base as he left Georgia's siege lines for a roughly 300-mile, harsh winter ride into Mississippi. Cold rain turned roads to mud; men lacked coats or blankets. Despite fires, staying warm or dry was tough, and they endured long, bleak days.

“Nov 20, arrived at Okolona.”

After eighteen days on the road, the Escort reached the Black Prairie region of Mississippi, a fertile area that would become the center of Forrest’s new command. For Forrest, it was familiar ground, and the people of Okolona welcomed him warmly. Local families provided food and clothing to the men of the Escort, who were now the core of what would become a rebuilt cavalry force.

When they arrived, Forrest technically had no army besides the sixty to eighty men of the Escort. Their first task was to start recruiting — often through aggressive conscription — in the countryside behind Union lines. Okolona’s position on the Mobile and Ohio Railroad gave them better access to supplies and mail than they had in Georgia. But their time there was short. Forrest was already planning a raid into West Tennessee.

 “Nov 27th, started from Okolona, Miss. to Jackson, Tenn.”

Jackson was behind Union lines, and Forrest planned to set up a temporary headquarters there to gather men who avoided conscription or served as partisan rangers. With fewer than 500 men at the start, Forrest relied on the Escort as his most experienced force. The late November rains made travel difficult, swelling streams and turning the bottom lands into deep mud, risking horses’ lives. Union cavalry would have struggled to catch them in this condition, but Memphis's Union command underestimated Forrest, focusing on the recent Confederate defeat at Chattanooga. Forrest used this distraction to slip into West Tennessee.

“Dec (date illegible) 1863: arrived in Jackson and remained there three weeks.”

With his headquarters in Jackson, Forrest gathered more than 1,500 unarmed men, with many more arriving from nearby counties. The Escort helped organize these inexperienced recruits, many of whom lacked horses or weapons. They also collected cattle, hogs, leather, and wool to send south to the Confederate armies. But by mid-December, Union forces, estimated to number nearly 10,000 men, were approaching Jackson. Forrest had no choice but to begin a fighting withdrawal toward Mississippi with his newly formed, mostly unarmed force.

“Dec 24; Started from Jackson at 4 p.m.; traveled 20 miles to the Hatchie River; crossed at 3 o'clock at night and drove a squad of Yankees five miles to their camp and routed them. 

After three weeks in Jackson, Forrest moved his men out at dusk to avoid being trapped. The Hatchie River was the main obstacle between Jackson and safety, and winter rains had made crossing difficult. The “squad of Yankees” K.M. mentions was likely pickets from the 7th Illinois Cavalry, positioned to block the river crossings. The Escort, acting as Forrest’s veteran strike force, drove them back and secured the crossing. This allowed thousands of recruits and a large herd of captured livestock to begin crossing the river before Union forces could react. It was the first step in a week-long running battle that would see Forrest lead more than 2,500 new soldiers and hundreds of wagons back to Mississippi.

“Dec 26th: Left camp on the Hatchie for Mississippi; came upon enemy at Summerville and had sharp fight; drove the enemy back, killing several and capturing about 50 prisoners, 4 wagons and teams. Escort lost 3 men. Dock Boone killed. Lt. Boone's arm broken.”

The fight at Somerville was a key action in the retreat. Forrest cleared a path for his 400-wagon train and recruits. The Escort led the charge against the 7th Illinois Cavalry to prevent the Union from splitting the Confederate column. K.M. suffered personal losses: Dock Boone was killed, and his brother, Lt. Nathan Boone, had a shattered arm. Many men in the Escort were neighbors or kin, so these losses were deeply felt. With little ammunition, Forrest ordered the Escort to charge with pistols and shotguns at full gallop. Their surprise attack overwhelmed the Union, capturing prisoners, wagons, and horses, vital for the recruits. The victory opened the “Southern Gate,” placing Forrest south of the Union line and near the Mississippi.

“Dec 27th, Crossed Memphis & Charleston Railroad; had skirmish with enemy and drove them back.”

This skirmish took place at Lafayette Station, the last major barrier before reaching safety. The Memphis & Charleston Railroad was heavily defended, and if Union forces secured the crossing, Forrest’s entire column would have been trapped. The Escort charged the pickets guarding the station, forcing them back, then tore up rails and cut telegraph lines to delay reinforcements from Memphis.

By this point, the Escort had been fighting or marching for seven grueling days through freezing rain and deep mud. Their horses showed signs of wear, and K.M. likely spent his nights carefully scraping mud from his mount’s legs to prevent painful infections. Surrounded by thousands of unarmed recruits, the Escort had to stay constantly in the saddle to keep the column moving and prevent panic. In the cold rain, K.M. would have been mindful of guarding his revolvers and shotgun, knowing that damp powder could make them useless during a charge.

Losing Dock Boone the day before deeply affected everyone. However, in the Escort, they had no time to grieve, bearing their sorrow as they continued onward. They were tired but committed to safeguarding the vulnerable recruits who depended on them.

“Feby 20, Left camp at Starksville, went to West Point and met the enemy, reconoitered with them; escort captured twenty-one prisoners late in the evening, then of escort sent back with the prisoners. I was on the detail.”


By the end of 1863, K.M. and the Escort had pushed south through freezing mud to cross the Coldwater River into Mississippi, finally placing themselves beyond the reach of the Union columns pursuing them. On January 1, 1864, Forrest established his headquarters at Como, Mississippi, where the Escort oversaw the reorganization of his new command. This was the most stationary period they had experienced in a year. On January 24, Forrest was promoted to major general, and the Escort became the core of a force now divided into four brigades.

On February 20, Forrest moved his headquarters from Starkville to West Point to confront a Union cavalry of about 7,000 heading south to join Sherman. K.M.’s diary ends here, but his record with Forrest’s Escort suggests he participated in key cavalry actions of the war. Two days after his final entry, Forrest achieved a major victory at Okolona. Subsequently, K.M. journeyed north into West Tennessee and Kentucky, witnessed street fighting in Paducah, and participated in the controversial capture of Fort Pillow on April 12. He fought at Brice’s Crossroads on June 10, where Forrest defeated a larger Union force and took over 1,500 prisoners. He suffered heavy losses near Tupelo at Harrisburg in July. In November, he took part in the Johnsonville Expedition, where Forrest’s men destroyed a Union supply depot using captured steamboats and artillery.

These campaigns led to the final, desperate phase of the war in Tennessee. Forrest’s cavalry was attached to General Hood’s Army of Tennessee during the invasion of Middle Tennessee. After the Confederate defeat at Nashville on December 15–16, Forrest was recalled from Murfreesboro to serve as the rear guard for Hood’s shattered army. On December 26, 1864, the day of K.M.’s capture, the Confederate retreat struggled southward through freezing rain, snow, and deep mud. Forrest’s men made their last stand to protect the army as it crossed the Tennessee River at Bainbridge, Alabama. Union cavalry under General Wilson pressed against the rear guard, and K.M. was likely captured in the final chaos.


Once captured, he was marched north with other prisoners through bitter winter weather. Now a cavalryman on foot, he faced an eighty-mile trek to Nashville with inadequate clothing and worn shoes. The Nashville Military Prison — housed in the State Penitentiary and several converted warehouses — was overcrowded after the Battle of Nashville, holding more than 13,000 Confederate prisoners. K.M. and his comrades were confined in poorly ventilated rooms and fed meager rations of hardtack, salt pork, and thin bean soup. Disease was rampant. Smallpox and pneumonia spread quickly among men already weakened by exposure during the retreat.

K.M. spent approximately four months as a prisoner of war. By early 1865, Union authorities started offering the Oath of Allegiance to prisoners deemed non-threatening or willing to cease fighting. Standing before the Assistant Provost Marshal General, he pledged to “support, protect, and defend the Constitution.” Many of Forrest’s men took the oath not out of disloyalty, but because the war was obviously lost, and their families in occupied Tennessee were struggling to survive. K.M.’s oath record mentioned that he “has family,” a detail that likely contributed to his release instead of being sent to a northern prison camp.

The fighting was over. The cause was lost. But he was alive and returning home.

REBUILDING AFTER THE WAR (1865-1880)

K.M. returned to Shelbyville to rebuild his farm after the war's destruction. Since its capture in June 1863, the town had been under nearly nonstop Union occupation. While this prevented the town center from being destroyed, the surrounding countryside had suffered years of foraging, raids, and lawlessness. Fences were burned for firewood, livestock were taken, and both armies stripped the crops. By 1865, many farms in Bedford County were neglected or abandoned due to a shortage of labor and draft animals.

Shelbyville had been known as “the only Union town in Tennessee,” and returning Confederate soldiers often faced hostility from Unionist neighbors. As a veteran of Forrest’s Escort — a unit particularly disliked by Union authorities — K.M.’s return would have been socially tense. Bedford County families were bitterly divided, and violence between neighbors was not uncommon. Although K.M. had been respected before the war, there is no record of how his neighbors received him afterward.

Two years later, on March 16, 1867, K.M. and Ellen welcomed their ninth child, a daughter named Emily Evaline, whom the family called Missie. By the 1870 census, K.M.’s farm was valued at $4,570, with a personal estate of $4,200 — placing him among the top 10–15 percent of households in Bedford County. This was notable in a region where the average farm value had nearly halved since 1860. His total assets of about $9,000 suggest he probably owned between 200 and 300 acres, a significant holding for that time.

The most revealing figure was his personal estate. Livestock, equipment, and cash comprised nearly half of his wealth, indicating he had the capital to hire labor and buy new machinery, even as many neighbors were “land poor” and overwhelmed by debt. Most returning Confederate veterans in Bedford County had little or no personal estate, with land valued under $1,000. K.M.’s financial situation indicates he managed his resources vigorously in the immediate postwar years, taking advantage of high cotton and livestock prices. His economic strength would have made him a respected member of the community, including Unionist officials eager to rebuild the county’s tax base.

In December 1874, a case titled K.M. Pybas vs. James L. Hix reached the Tennessee Supreme Court. K.M. had co-signed a note for Hix, who was married to Ellen’s sister, Huldah Ann Holt. When Hix defaulted, the creditor pursued K.M. for the full amount. Although he made several payments, the court ruled against him. Because the debt was substantial and the 1870s economy was depressed, he was forced to sell his Bedford County property to satisfy the judgment. The loss was a significant setback after years of rebuilding.

This financial setback may have prompted him to take a position as gatekeeper for the Shelbyville and Fayetteville Turnpike Company in 1876. The job offered a steady income at a time when the Hix debt had drained his agricultural savings. For a man who had once been among the wealthiest farmers in the county, it was a tough but sensible step toward securing his family’s future.

THE MOVE TO TEXAS (1878)

By the spring of 1878, K.M. sent his eldest son, Jordan, to Texas to look for land. Jordan bought property in Grapevine, and soon the entire Pybas family prepared to leave Bedford County. The group included K.M. and Ellen; their youngest children, Alice, K.M. Jr., and Missie; their sons, James, Hiram, Ben, and William, along with their families; and James’s father-in-law. They likely left Tennessee between late August and early September, arriving in Grapevine on October 14, 1878.

Improved roads and rail links made the journey quicker than the long pioneer treks of earlier decades, but it remained difficult. The summer of 1878 was an El Niño year, with daily temperatures in the mid- to upper 90s—one of the hottest on record. For the three pregnant women traveling with the family, the heat and lack of clean water made the trip especially arduous.

The weather caused more than just discomfort. The same heat and humidity fueled the Yellow Fever Epidemic of 1878, which swept through the Mississippi River Valley as the Pybas family traveled west. By the time they reached Tarrant County in mid-October, theweather had begun to cool, but they had survived a crossing of a landscape marked by disease and extreme heat — one of the toughest environments in the postwar South.

In the summer of 1880, tragedy struck. Three of James’s children died of typhoid, five others fell ill, and his wife suffered a nervous breakdown. Faced with the loss and the unhealthy conditions around Grapevine, K.M. declared, “We’re not going to stay in this unhealthy locality any longer.” He sent Jordan and Ben north to find new land.

 

They found 500 acres near Sivells Bend, close to Gainesville. The family moved in the fall of 1880, building a four-room house and living in wagons, tents, and half-dugouts beneath a grove of hackberry trees. They arrived too late for the corn or cotton harvest and survived the winter on turnips, late vegetables, and whatever game they could hunt.

Sivells Bend was in a deep curve of the Red River, surrounded by high bluffs and fertile bottom land—the 500 acres offered better grazing opportunities for cattle than the crowded farms around Grapevine. However, the winter of 1880–1881 was severe across the Southern Plains, marked by sudden “blue northers” that brought freezing temperatures and damp winds. The family had little shelter, few supplies, and no margin for error. It was the lowest point they faced together — a stark contrast to the days when K.M. had been a wealthy Tennessee landowner and a member of Forrest’s elite Escort.

THE FINAL YEARS

The winter of 1880 marked the last time the entire Pybas family lived together beneath one grove of trees. When spring arrived, the urgency of survival shifted to the need for independence. One by one, the sons who had built fences in exchange for meat began constructing fences for themselves. K.M., who had survived the charges of Forrest’s Escort and the losses in the Tennessee courts, now watched his family spread across the Texas and Oklahoma frontier.

Their paths were varied, often challenging, and deeply connected to the region's history:

Jordan Cain Pybas, a veteran of Shiloh and Fort Morgan, lived to see Oklahoma City grow from a frontier settlement into a state capital. He died in 1922 at the age of 73 in Oklahoma City, leaving behind a son who served in WWI.

James Blair Pybas, who served in the 12th Kentucky Cavalry and sought refuge along the Red River, drowned there on March 22, 1891, at the age of 40 during a massive flood. He left behind his wife, Emma, and five children in Sivells Bend, Texas.

 

Hiram Caldwell Pybas, your direct ancestor, became a successful farmer in Pottawatomie County, Oklahoma, raising his family in Trousdale and Wanette and living to the age of eighty. He and his wife, Carrie, had eight children.

 

Ben Pybas lost his wife and children between 1891 and 1905 — probably due to fevers and tuberculosis common in the Red River bottoms — before starting anew in Iron, Texas. He remarried Dora Poston in 1906, and they had a daughter named Kenneth Marie, after Ben’s father. He served as county commissioner for Cooke County, Texas, from 1916 to 1920.


Margaret “Alice” Pybas Giddens was abandoned by her husband, Zambry Giddens, who was later found dead along the railroad tracks in Dallas in 1922, suspected of having been murdered. She lived on, raising her four children and passing away in 1947 at the age of 86.

 

Kenneth Monroe “Boy” Pybas Jr. married Dora Kernal of the Chickasaw Nation, granddaughter of leader Thomas Parker. Their marriage, performed under Chickasaw law, tied the Pybas family to the history of the Chickasaw removal from Mississippi. Boy was known as an excellent horseman, and it’s said that when his youngest daughter was born in 1913, he rode from their home in McClain County, Oklahoma, to Tishomingo, Oklahoma (the historic capital of the Chickasaw Nation) in 24 hours to file for her tribal citizenship before the federal deadline.  Covering the nearly 90 miles within such a short time would have been a grueling “Pony Express” feat. He lived to be 90 years of age, outliving one of his eight children.

Will and Missie Pybas stayed in Cooke County. Missie lived to be 88 years old, seeing the area's change from dugouts and turnip patches to the modern era of the 1950s. She married twice and had a total of eight children. Will also married twice and raised two children.  He died at the age of 60.

 K.M. Pybas, the family patriarch, lived through the Civil War, lost his farm, moved his family 730 miles from Tennessee to Texas, faced the harsh winter of 1880, watched his children scatter, and saw the changes on the frontier. As an old cavalryman of Forrest’s Escort, he experienced the dawn of the twentieth century, passing away in 1913 at the age of eighty-eight.

By that time, he had watched his family grow from Tennessee planters into resilient frontier survivors and eventually early settlers of two new states. The family of the man who once rode behind Nathan Bedford Forrest and sought shelter under hackberry trees during the winter of 1880 eventually spread out across Texas and Oklahoma. Some were drawn by the excitement of the Land Run, while others stayed rooted in Cooke County. Even though the Red River claimed Blair in 1891, it couldn’t erase the Pybas name.

K.M. lived long enough to see his children face the same hardships he experienced—loss, war, hunger—and then rise again. Many of them are buried at the Bear Head Cemetery near Sivells Bend, Texas, where a sign reads, “They rest together in spirit.”

In the Heart of Africa: A Missionary's Journey

Charles Blair Banks was born 14 May 1857 in Edinburgh Parish, Midlothian, Scotland, the second youngest of eight children of George W. Banks and Janet Black. Charles’ father, George had a lucrative business as a shoemaker, employing six men, according to the 1851 Scotland Census. But he apparently was not very good with money because between 1856 and 1860 he appeared before the Edinburgh Bankruptcy Court five times. Then, in 1861 the court issued a warrant for his arrest for failure to appear.  The 1861 Scotland Census shows Janet living alone with her children, with her eldest son, John Alexander, listed as the head of the household, his occupation being listed as “classical tutor.” George was boarding with his brother and working as a journeyman boot maker. Charles was living with his mother’s sister, Agnes Black.  

On January 27, 1864, Charles’ mother passed away at the age of 46, followed six years later by his father on June 28,1870. After the loss of both parents, Charles and his siblings faced a period of upheaval, scattered among relatives and forced to grow up quickly.  In 1871 he was living with his sisters, Margaret and Jessie, and his younger brother, Francis, in Midlothian. But a year later, on January 15, 1872, he was taken in by his aunt, Janet Laws, who signed Charles and his brother Thomas into Indentured Apprenticeship in the Merchant Navy. Charles’ indenture was for 4 years and Thomas’ for 3 aboard the Stornoway, a British tea clipper under Captain J. Waugh. (The Stornoway would eventually wreck at the mouth of the Thames on June 7, 1873, under Capt. G. Greener.) In 19th century United Kingdom boys between the ages of 14 and 16 years were indentured, or bound by contract, to be an apprentice on merchant vessels for a fixed period of time to be trained as seamen for the merchant navy. These “training ships” were partially funded by the government to maintain a strong Royal Naval Reserve. The Stornoway was one of these training vessels, making voyages through the Mediterranean. 

Charles ended his indenture on February 25, 1876, at the age of 18, having served on the Stornoway, Marion, Valparaiso, Henrietta, Southern Cross, Cumberland, Ella, and Buda. On July 12, 1880, he applied for the position of 2nd Mate, making him third in command on the Buda. He was approved for this position on July 14, 1880. On January 22, 1881, he applied for and received his certification as Only Mate, placing him in command should the Master Mate (2nd behind the captain) be incapacitated. By this time, he had served five years at sea and had become an accomplished seaman. 

He followed the sea for about eleven years during which time, according to great-grandmother Emily, he sailed around the world seven times and was once shipwrecked in the treacherous Bay of Biscay.  It is said that his brothers eventually jumped ship in New Zealand.

After his baptism in 1882, Charles felt called to the mission field and he joined the American Baptist Mission Union (ABMU) who sent him to the Belgian Congo where he witnessed firsthand the urgent medical needs of the local people.

 In 1883 he returned to England to study medicine at the University of London. In 1885 Charles attended a religious meeting at Dame Agnes Weston’s Royal Sailors Rest in London with a friend, Jack Murphy. While there, Jack introduced him to a charming woman by the name of Fanny Tiptaft. At a later meeting he spotted Miss Tiptaft again and greeted her, but when she turned to him it was not Fanny but her twin sister Emily! “Sir,” she said, “I believe you have mistaken me for my sister!” His error was his good fortune, as their friendship turned into a courtship and they were married in Hackney, England on 30 Dec 1886. Emily, who had planned to serve as a missionary in China, found that the Lord’s plan was for her to accompany her new husband to Africa.

Charles and Emily left England April 30, 1887, to return to Africa, arriving at Wangata, Etat Independent du Congo many weeks later, on September 13, 1887, once again under the ABMU where they would serve for the next 13 years.

It was a most unusual honeymoon for the young, married couple. 

They first lived in Wangata, the most advanced station on the Upper Congo, in a native clay hut. The conditions of life there would have daunted any ordinary worker.  The unrest in the region was deeply challenging, and just then the difficulties of the position were accentuated by the fact that one of the chiefs of the place had recently been killed by the Belgians.  Ironically, their lack of military protection may have spared them, as it distinguished them from the Belgian forces 

When they landed in Wangata, the natives thought Emily was a ghost.  They had never seen a white woman before, and she was particularly fair and dressed in white.  They eventually accepted Emily and treated her with much reverence.  Her uniqueness inspired both awe and concern, and the villagers worried about her safety. Together, Charles and Emily began a life of service marked by resilience, faith, and a deep commitment to the people of the Congo.

The Banks soon moved the station to Bolengi, a few miles away.  For the next 12 years in Bolenge, with only one furlough, Charles faced every challenge head-on.  Though still unfamiliar with white women, the villagers were especially unsettled by Emily’s pale complexion and white attire…and they were suspicious and frightened of her. But Emily's tender ways toward them soon earned her the name "White Mama." They called Charles “Mondele”or ‘Banksisi” and believed him to be a great hunter due to his skill with his rifle when he would accompany the tribesmen hunting for game.

In the midst of building houses and planting all kinds of fruit trees, Charles translated Mark’s gospel, Romans, 1 and 2 Peter, 1, 2, and 3 John and Jude, as well as several songs, to the Lonkundo language. Emily taught the natives English while learning their native tongue and taught them to read.

 Crowds of villagers came to Charles seeking help with their ailments, with sleeping sickness being especially rampant. Of a hundred cases of hemorrhagic fever, he did not lose one. His experience in dealing with the disease was so appreciated back home in England that, only a few weeks before his death, the Journal of Tropical Medicine published a lengthy paper by him on the subject. 

Charles was an expert marksman and a skilled hunter.  If the natives were hungry, he would go out and shoot something for them to eat.  A group of men who had come with hostile intentions  saw him shoot a bird on the wing with his rifle from a moving canoe and let drop their spears.  “If that man’s stick looks at us, we are dead men,” they said. 

Charles and Emily welcomed their first child, Marguerite on September 13, 1888. The natives adored Marguerite, calling her Bona Owa Wangata—child of Wangata, and marveled at her whiteness and beauty. In June 1889, after a period of illness that would not seem to abate, Emily and Marguerite returned to England to her family while Charles remained behind on the Congo. It took her many months of care and treatment before she recovered enough to return to Charles and their work with the natives of the Congo. In 1890 she left Marguerite in the care of her parents and sisters and returned to Wangata. Upon meeting Charles, she found that he had built a home in the village of Bolenge, four miles down the river from Wangata. He built it by hand, surrounded it with gardens and cleared land, and even crafted her furniture.

After settling in Charles and Emily invited their tribespeople to come in and see the new “hut” that their Mondele had built for his wife. While the crowd milled about looking at this and that, a strange man entered the house and approached Emily, saying something to her that she did not understand. A young native woman was standing nearby and turned on the man saying, “How dare you talk to our White Woman in such words! Go away!” Later Emily found Charles at the top of the steps leading to the seven-foot veranda. The same stranger was coming up the steps and speaking to Charles. A hush came over the crowd, and the tanned face of their White Man turned pale. His hand shot out, and he took the intruder by the throat and shook him violently, then he kicked the man down the steps with his heavily booted foot. The man picked himself up and slunk away, and one of the natives asked Charles, “What would you do, White Man, if he had taken her?” Charles gave a look at his gun and made a gesture as if firing it, as his only reply. The crowd began murmuring, both inside and outside the house—it was just one word said repeatedly: “Ekila, Ekila, Ekila.” It meant forbidden, sacred. It was used to describe only things to be feared; thus, the White Woman was sacred and safe for all the years that followed. Emily never dared ask Charles what the man had said. Whatever it was remained a mystery—one Emily chose never to uncover.  The tribe was in awe of the love the White Man had for his White Woman. In the eyes of the villagers, the love between Charles and Emily was not just rare—it was sacred. And in that sacredness, they found protection, reverence, and a bond that would endure for years to come.

In March 1891 Charles and Emily welcomed their second child, Charles Sidney James Banks, to their family and then in May 1892 a second son, Alan Herbert. With Charles due for furlough, and both sons in fragile health, the family returned to England. Upon their return to London, they found their little Marguerite, in the care of Emily’s family, had grown into a lovely little girl. They went to North Weald on the East Coast of England to rest, as Charles and Emily were both worn down from recurrent attacks of fever. While there, a daughter Emmaline Frances, was born in August 1894.

Charles returned to Bolenge when his furlough was over, and when Emmaline was 8 months old Emily followed. They continued their work until their last child, Kenneth Alexander, was born in February 1898. Emily visited the villages one last time to say goodbye and then returned to England with Charles several months later after he prepared the mission for its successor. When he left Africa he knew it was for the last time as the hard life, fevers, and climate had taken their toll. He arrived home in May and spent the summer and autumn reacquainting himself with his children. Though distance had marked much of their early years, the children’s love for their father was fierce and unwavering.

Both Emily and Charles had suffered many fevers during their years in the Congo.  In December 1900 Charles took a train to London to seek the help of doctors, but they could give him no help.  On the train to Bournemouth, he slept by an open window and got a chill that brought on yet another fever.  On December 29, Charles passed away leaving Emily with five children, the oldest 12.  Knowing the end was near, he told a friend, "I long to go, I am so weary; but it does seem selfish to go away and leave Mrs. Banks alone with five children. I must get well to help her." But it was too late. Following 24 hours of unconsciousness, Charles Blair Banks died at the age of 43.

In the years that followed, Emily moved with her children to the United States where she lived in the vicinity of Portland, Oregon until her death at the age of 87.  


Charles Blair Banks lived a life of service, courage, and devotion—both to his mission and to his family. Though his years were few, his impact was lasting. Emily, steadfast and resilient, carried their legacy forward in a new land, raising their children with the same quiet strength that had once earned her the name “White Mama.” Their story, rooted in faith and sacrifice, continues to be told through generations.

 

 

Who Shot Ammon Grice?

Ammon Grice 1899-1958
Every family has its legends, stories of notorious family members who beat the odds, took part in a historical event, or made the headlines through some nefarious act. Sometimes the stories are true but most times the stories have been exaggerated with each telling through the generations until its more fiction than true. And my family is no exception. There's the story of Wyatt Earp, my 3rd cousin 4 times removed. There's Elizabeth Bathory, the famous Blood Countess of Hungary, my 9th great-grandmother. And there's Robert the Bruce, 32nd King of the Scots, my 21st great-grandfather. Each has historical accounts of their lives and the parts they played in history, but they also are embroidered with threads of fiction, making the historical accounts so much more fantastic than they probably really were.

While I was growing up the story that titillated my generation of cousins was the story of our great uncle Ammon Grice, our great-grandmother's baby brother. Shot to death when he was just 59, the story of his death took on many facades, the most common being that he was having an affair with a neighbor's wife and that the husband took his jealous revenge out on Uncle Ammon during a hunting trip in one of the local cherry orchards. Now, since his nephew (my paternal grandfather) was a well-known womanizer, it didn't seem too much of a stretch that this trait might have been passed down the family tree from Uncle Ammon. But there were other intriguing suggestions that had been made. He was the president of the local cherry growers' association and Blue Pack Canners. Was it possible he was killed because of his political position?

While my paternal grandmother was still living, at the age of 95, I was just getting involved in genealogy. My sister-in-law and I were visiting Grandma one afternoon when my sister-in-law, Sharon, suggested that we dig into the story and find out the truth about Uncle Ammon. My normally reserved grandmother got very upset and said, "Leave it alone!  It's in the past and it's done!  Do not go stirring up trouble!"  She was so upset that we promised we would leave it be, but now we were even more intrigued. What about this case would cause her to be that upset about finding the truth?  After she passed away, I could wait no longer. I wanted to know, who shot Uncle Ammon, and why?

AMMON SAMUEL GRICE

Larkin Grice and his wife, Martha and children: (Back) Nannie, Flora, Minnie, & Osie. (Front) Hattie & Rose. (Center) Ammon

Ammon Grice was the 7th child and only son of Larkin and Amanda Grice. Larkin and Amanda immigrated to Oregon from Roanoke, Virginia, in about 1890, settling in West Salem, Oregon. To say that Ammon was doted upon by his 6 older sisters would not be a gross exaggeration. The son of a successful farmer and pillar of their church and community, he participated in work and events that lent him respect and admiration as he grew into a young man. His family hosted annual Thanksgiving dinners for their entire  community, filling their home with young and old. He was said to have had an extraordinary singing voice, singing bass in the church choir as well as in his high school cadet band. He played baseball for Salem High School and was said to be able to "connect with the ball whenever it was within his reach."  And, as with the local farmers at that time, he helped in his father's orchards as well as with his neighbors' orchards during the harvest seasons.

Salem High School 1919
When Ammon was 19, he married his high school sweetheart, Florence May Keefe. They lived with Ammon's family on Orchard Heights Road in an area called "Chapman Corners" and continued to live there after the death of his mother three years later. They had a daughter, Irene, and both were involved with her education at Mountain View School, with Ammon serving on the school board. After the death of his father, he acquired his father's 200-acre farm and continued raising cherries and prunes as his father had. He was a member of the Marion County Farmers Union and served as their state president from 1942 to 1944, also serving on their executive board from 1948 through 1958. He was on the Blue Lake Co-op board of directors from 1944 through 1958 and was appointed by the State of Oregon to serve on a farm advisory council to the state employment service in 1948. Likewise, his wife was involved with the Orchard Heights Women’s Club, the Valley View Club, as well as the Mountain View PTA and the Popcorn Methodist Church.

 A HUNTING PARTY GONE WRONG

The morning of Tuesday, October 21, 1958, dawned partly cloudy with the promise of warmer than usual temperatures for that time of year. Rain was expected the following day, so the farmers of Chapman Corners decided it would be a good time to try and thin out the deer herds that had been causing so much damage to the prune and cherry trees. Ervin Simmon's orchards had been particularly plagued by the hungry deer, so it was decided to begin there. The party of eight included Ervin and his 24-year-old son, Wayne, their neighbor, Ammon, along with Glen Southwick and his hired hand 36-year-old David McGee. There were three other local farmers whose names I do not know but may have included Robert Adams, Mr. Schroeder and Mr. Doran, other neighboring farmers. The eight men trudged up Grice Hill along Winslow Gulch, spread out in the brushy back acres of the Simmon's farm to try and flush out the deer. According to Wayne[i], a shot suddenly rang out along with a yell. As the men all ran to where they had heard the shot, they found Ammon leaning against a tree, his octagon-barreled 0.32 caliber rifle on the ground at his side. "I've gone and accidentally shot myself!" he exclaimed. An ambulance was called and soon arrived, but the two attendants had to pack him out nearly a mile on a stretcher before they could take him to Salem General Hospital where he was admitted in critical condition. 

“Leading Salem Farmer Wounds Self While Hunting, Near Death.” The Capital Journal, 22 Oct. 1958, p 1.

When he was admitted, the doctors believed Ammon had somehow shot himself in the left abdomen with the bullet exiting his right hip, shattering his right elbow. On investigating the scene, State Police Sgt. Jim Darby was having difficulty understanding how Ammon could have fired his own gun to achieve the wounds he had. Could the shot have come from a different gun? On questioning the other hunters, Sgt. Darby asked David McGee if he had fired his gun. David replied that he didn't know if his gun had fired or not, but he had been on Ammon's right and it appeared the shot had come from the left.

Back at Salem General, surgeons found a 0.30-caliber bullet lodged just under the skin in Ammon's abdomen near what they had previously thought was the entrance wound. Based on his wounds they now determined that the shot had come from Ammon's right, hitting his right elbow first, then entering and shattering his right hip and lodging in his left abdomen. The velocity had left a hole in his abdomen the size of a baseball and his condition was grave.

Now that the determination had been made that the bullet had come from the right, Sgt. Darby suspected the shot had come from David McGee's gun. The bullet was sent to the Oregon State ballistics laboratory for verification.

On October 24, three days after he was shot, Ammon succumbed to the fatal bullet wound. An autopsy was performed which verified what the surgeons had already suspected. The ballistics report came back with the confirmation:  The shot had come from the rifle belonging to David McGee. David was arrested on charges of manslaughter. He was arraigned and held in the Polk County Jail with bail set at $5,000 (about $50,000 value in 2023). The following day, David's bail was paid, and he was allowed to return to Glen Southwick's residence and obtain an attorney before entering a plea.

DAVID MICHAEL MCGEE

In researching the man thought to have fired the fatal shot ending my Uncle Ammon's life, I only found one David Michael McGee in the Salem area in 1958. His birthdate corresponded with his age at the time of the shooting, as did his occupation. 

“David Michael McGee and his wife Lois.” Photo courtesy Kevn McGee, Ancestry.com
David was the fifth of seven children born to Richard and Theresa McGee. His mother was a member of the Calapooya Indian. U.S. Indian Census records indicate that he had at least a grade school education through the Salem Indian School, and US Federal Census Records indicate that he worked as a logger and a farm laborer. In 1957 he married Elois Durling in Washington State, and it is presumed they lived together at the residence of Glen Southwick. While available records are incomplete, it is speculated that this is indeed the David McGee who participated in the hunting party in October 1958. Based on my conversation with Wayne Simmons, David was well-liked by everyone, and like the other farmers in the area was always available to lend a hand when needed. His employer, Glen Southwick, had previously raised his own grandchildren, so perhaps he felt that taking in David and his wife was his way of being able to help them also get a start in their newlywed life.

On November 25, 1958, the Polk County Grand Jury indicted David Michael McGee on a charge of manslaughter, wanton disregard, and culpable negligence. He pleaded not guilty. Trial was set for February 2, 1959.

THE FINAL VERDICT

On the day of David's trial, the judge who had been scheduled to hear the case, Circuit Court Judge Arlie G. Walker, was absent. In his place Pro Tem Judge Fred McHenry of Corvallis, Oregon, was to hear the case. Before the trial began, David changed his plea to guilty, and Judge McHenry sentenced him to a suspended one-year sentence during which time he was not allowed to drive, use firearms, or leave the Salem area. 

David and Elois McGee continued to live and raise their family in Salem, Oregon. In August of 1973 at the age of 51, David stopped to help a stranded motorist near the Warm Springs Reservation. The vehicle exploded, and David was killed. 

A LEGEND LAID TO REST

For all the exaggeration in the telling of the story of the death of my Uncle Ammon, the final truth is that it was simply a very unfortunate accident. Ammon, wanting to shift any blame away from his neighbor's young farm hand, simply told everyone that he had accidentally shot himself. Court records indicate that David became startled at hearing the winter brush rattle and shot prematurely before verifying what he was shooting at, something he would have to live with the rest of his short life. It is likely also that Uncle Ammon was afraid of the prejudice resulting from an uneducated Indian shooting a prominent farmer in 1958. We will never know these finer details as they were laid to rest with both Ammon and David. For myself, I am glad to have ferreted out the truth and laid the legend to rest!

 



[i] Simmons, Wayne, personal interview. Dec. 2023.