Kyle Family

Mustered into Company D at Austin, Texas on March 29, 1862 by William Ferguson.

San Antonio Express Tuesday, April 25, 1922

Capt. A.J. Kyle Buried

Special Correspondence To The Express. Kyle, Texas, April 24. The burial of Andrew Jackson Kyle, who died early Saturday morning at the home of his niece, Mrs. S.J. Donaldson (sic), took place at Kyle Cemetery Sunday. Religious services were conducted at the home by Rev. R.W. Fisher and at the grave. The Masons of the Kyle Masonic Lodge officiated with Masonic honors. Relatives present from elsewhere were Former Post Master General Burleson and Mrs. Burleson, Mrs. Emma Burleson, Mrs. Dallas Johnson and three daughters of Austin, Mrs. Anna Kyle, Mrs. Lucy Burleson and Mrs. Leroy Morris of San Marcos.

The Deming Headlight May 5, 1922, page 4

Jack Kyle's Death In Texas Recalls Pioneer Days When He Rode The Line

Albert Lindauer was notified last Friday of the death of A.J. Kyle at Kyle, Texas on April 22 and of the funeral services that were held at the Kyle cemetery the following day. Mr. Kyle was well known to many of the pioneers of this district as a customs official who worked in this part of the state before Deming was on the map, covering a beat between Silver City and northern Mexico. He was an uncle of the former postmaster general, Albert Burleson. United States Commissioner B.Y. McKeyes, who was also advised of Captain Kyle's death, found the following poem, written by Tom Heustis, in his scrapbook.

Jack and I

We've roamed the plains many years together,

Laid out in camp all kinds of weather,

And eat our jerky as tough as leather,

Then roll in our blankets and gaze at the sky

No one else present Jack, just you and I

And when we'd report to the Colonel of the California Column

He'd swell up with pride and look kind of solemn;

And issue his orders or what in the h--l you'd call them,

Then we'd swing in the saddle and wink the other eye

As we'd gaze back at Deming, Jack, you and I

Jack, don't you remember at Alamo Hueco ranch,

When the coyote had you on the cotton branch,

And you tore a hole in the seat of your pants,

Your gun at the house and no one else nigh,

And you remarked to the d---n cuss

Just you and I.

Although we fought each other, jack, all thro' the Civil War,

We've often pledged our friendship since, before John Deckert's bar,

And reached across our glass of beer, saying, Pard, just put it thar

And many times when I'm alone a tear comes in my eye,

When I think of the times we used to have Jack, you and I.

But our time has come at last Jack, and we will have to go

To make room for coons and foreigners – we are getting old, you know,

But we may sometimes dream again,

In the sweet bye and bye

Of the days we used to rustle smugglers Jack, you and I

I have hung my gun upon the rack and there I'll let it stay.

I don't suppose I could hit a dollar fifty yards away,

Although my eyesight is just as good as 'twas in an early day

My aim is not so steady, no matter how hard I try;

My nerves are getting shaky Jack, between you and I

May of the old time boys are gone,

Al Gilbert has passed away,

Just bow your head one moment Jack, and let us try to pray,

I think I can hear his banjo yet as he used to sit and play,

And sing the songs beneath the moonlight sky,

With no one else upon the ranch,

Just him and you and I.

Let us go by Jim Tracy's, Jack, and have a parting nip,

I think it will brace my nerves, take the quiver from my lip,

It might be many days before we have another friendly sip

Here's to you, Jack old boy, let's hold our glasses high.

May we see many happy days yet, Jack, you and I.

Tom