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Soon
transferring his enmity entirely from Page to Carey, Brittain, so
the old veteran noted, "shot his cattle, girdled his peach trees,
turned over his windmill, injured his cart, and threatened and annoyed
him in every way." On one occasion Brittain chased him with a cow
whip at a time when he was unarmed and unable to resist. He added
that he would have killed Brittain then and there if he had had any
weapon, but he had neither owned nor carried a gun since his days
in the Texas Army. Many neighbors, including the former Col. Moseley
Baker, told Carey that Brittain had insulted him publicly in the town
of Lynchburg and even threatened to kill Carey. Brittain warned that
such indignities would end only when Carey acquired a will to resist.
In desperation, Carey went to Houston
and bought a gun, and even the justice of the peace assured Carey
that if Brittain's death occurred at his hand, the killing could amount
to no more than a justifiable homicide.
Early in 1841, Carey accompanied Dr. Whiting to the home of a Col.
Turner to deliver some medicine. On the way, the doctor admonished
him that Brittain needed no additional pretext for murder than to
find Carey carrying a pistol. They arrived at Turner's place just
as the colonel, in company with Brittain, rode up at the gate. The
latter immediately launched "a tirade of abuse and threats against
Carey," who in turn drew his gun, killing Brittain instantly.
The
latter's death produced no tears in the Lynchburg
vicinity, and a magistrate, to whom Carey had surrendered, scoffed
at any thought of an arrest or trial, adding that the defendant had
been provoked beyond human endurance and had rid the county of a violent
and troublesome man. But within days, the same voices that had condoned
the action before the event soon warned that public indignation over
the killing was rising rapidly. Some suggested that Carey should abandon
the country permanently, and a few offered to buy his property at
a paltry fraction of its actual worth.
The warnings notwithstanding, Carey decided to give himself up for
trial in Houston, and while
on his way there, he stopped at Nimrod Hunt's place on Buffalo Bayou.
Hunt offered to go to Houston
and ascertain the true temper of the people, and after his return,
he warned that the only justice that Carey could expect would be the
lower end of Judge Lynch's rope. With a power-of-attorney received
from Carey, Hunt went to Galveston
to raise cash on the defendant's property there. And later, Hunt gave
$100 in Texas currency (worth only $25 U. S.) to the fugitive, although
Hunt had raised $300 in gold coin for the property.
Earlier, Hunt had told Carey of a place on Pine Island Bayou called
Yocum's Inn.
Located on the old Opelousas cattle trail northwest of Beaumont,
it was a hideaway where an outlaw might purchase asylum for a price.
In desperation, Carey gathered up what cash and valuables he had,
along with his gun and a gold watch, and in the middle of the night,
he saddled a mule and started eastward toward the Neches River. Finally,
he arrived at the Beaumont cabin of David Cole, who was married to
Yocum's daughter, Sydna Lou, and Cole agreed to accompany Carey to
his father-in-law's estate.
The trail from Beaumont
led through some of the prettiest pine and hardwood forests in North
America. Blackberry vines and dogwoods were in full blossom, and here
and there a raucous bluejay or redbird flitted through the branches.
After a few hours' ride, the pair arrived at a large log house, nestled
within the shadowy perimeter of a pine barren. A painted board across
the front bore the crude notation "Pine Island Post Office." Nearby
was a long barn, built of rough hewn logs, which also served as one
side of a rail-fenced corral and a couple of slave cabins. As they
approached, the bearded, old Tom Yocum could be seen in the doorway,
conversing in an undertone with a stranger, whom Carey recognized
immediately as William H. Irion. Irion's exact connection with the
Yocum gang has never been firmly established. Perhaps he was deeply
implicated; if not, he was at least an esteemed friend of Yocum's,
one who was fully conscious, as he later admitted, of the murderous
activities which were being conducted on the premises. Page
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