DUANE
Duane's take
Here's my telling of what the official marker in San Saba County puts on record — and friend, it is something else. Pull over if you need to. This one earns it.
Now, San Saba County sits removed from the major roads and railways, and back in the early days, that distance meant something dark. Limited access to law enforcement, limited access to government — and when justice is slow to arrive, some folks decide to ride out and fetch it themselves. Beginning in the mid-1850s, citizens in and around the county did exactly that.
They formed vigilante mobs. Called it protecting the people. And maybe, at first, that's what it was.
But here's the thing about power with no leash on it. It tends to turn. Those mobs evolved.
They became organized gangs — and the very residents they had initially formed to protect became the people they were terrorizing. By the 1880s, a group had taken shape. They had no official name, but folks called them the San Saba Mob.
Or — and this is the part that ought to raise the hair on your neck — they called themselves The Assembly. By that point, the Mob had killed numerous area settlers. Not a few.
Numerous. Now here's what made them something more than ordinary outlaws. Believed to have included religious leaders and elected officials, this group operated under strict ritual and secrecy.
They met clandestinely — at places called Buzzards' Water Hole and Cottonwood Pond. They were organized similarly to a fraternal lodge. Secret signs.
Secret gestures. Ways to know who was one of them and who wasn't. And when The Assembly met and decided who to eliminate — that was the word and the deed both — the regulators would ride out wearing black masks or hoods.
They would ambush their victims. And they left a calling card you couldn't miss: nine bullet holes. Nine.
Every time. A signature in lead. Think about living in that county.
Think about what it meant to know that somewhere out there, men in hoods were meeting at Buzzards' Water Hole, deciding. And that the sheriff, the preacher, the elected man sitting across from you at Sunday dinner — any one of them might be going to that meeting. In 1896, the state finally moved.
Texas Rangers arrived, led by Sergeant W. John L. Sullivan.
Around the same time, Uluth M. Sanderson, editor of the San Saba County News, started running editorials against the Mob — putting his name to words in a county where naming names could get you nine bullet holes for your trouble. That took a particular kind of courage.
Sullivan was later replaced by Ranger Captain William J. McDonald — they called him Bill Jess — and McDonald worked effectively with District Attorney W.C. Linden to expose as many Mob members as possible.
Now, because local officials were believed to have ties to the group, they couldn't trust the local courts to hold. So McDonald and Linden moved key trials. They took them to Austin.
They took them to Llano. They pulled the proceedings out from under whatever shadow The Assembly still cast. By 1900, the Rangers and Linden succeeded in breaking the Mob's control over county residents.
But here's where the marker doesn't let you ride off into a clean sunset — because the truth doesn't always give you one. Few members ever paid for their crimes. The grip was broken, yes.
The killing stopped, yes. But the men who rode in hoods to Buzzards' Water Hole, who left nine bullet holes in their neighbors — most of them walked. Lived out their days right there in San Saba County.
Some stories end with justice. This one ends with the Rangers packing up, the Mob dissolved, and a county left to reckon with the fact that it never really learned all the names.
What the marker says
Removed from major roads and railways, early San Saba County residents had limited access to law enforcement and government. Beginning in the mid-1850s, citizens in and around the county formed vigilante mobs to dispatch justice. Although initially formed to protect residents, these mobs often evolved into organized gangs, terrorizing the residents they had initially formed to protect. By the 1880s, a group unofficially called the San Saba Mob, or The Assembly, had killed numerous area settlers. Believed to have included religious leaders and elected officials, the Mob operated under strict ritual and secrecy, meeting clandestinely at places like Buzzards' Water Hole and Cottonwood Pond. Organized similarly to a fraternal lodge, the group used secret signs and gestures to identify membership. After meeting and deciding who to eliminate, the regulators would ride wearing black masks or hoods, and ambush their victims with a telling nine bullet holes. In 1896, in order to stop the violence, the state sent Texas Rangers led by Sgt. W. John L. Sullivan to investigate, and San Saba County News editor Uluth M. Sanderson began running editorials against the Mob. Sullivan was later replaced by Ranger Capt. William J. "Bill Jess" McDonald, who worked effectively with District Attorney W.C. Linden to expose as many Mob members as possible. To avoid interference from local officials believed to have ties to the group, they moved key trials to Austin and Llano. By 1900, the Rangers and Linden succeeded in breaking the Mob's control over county residents, although few members ever paid for their crimes. (2005)