Landers Lawrence attached himself to the family of Simon Miller, one of Austin's "Old Three Hundred" colonists, and traveled with him to the area of present Washington County, Texas in December of 1821. Lawrence and Miller camped on New Year Creek with Austin on the last day of 1821. Adam spent some time at the Miller home in Fort Bend County on the San Bernard River and was listed in the census of 1825 as a farm worker in Miller's household. In about 1830, at San Felipe, Lawrence married Sarah Lucinda Miller, the daughter of his old friend, Simon Miller, then returned to Washington County and obtained on February 25, 1831, the grant of a quarter of a league of land from the Mexican government. This land was located near the Brazos River on New Year and Cedar Creeks adjacent to the
lands of Samuel Miller, a brother-in-law of Simon Miller, who had removed to Washington County by that time, and Gibson Kuykendall. The Clouds of discontent were gradually gathering during the early 1830's, and when the first rumbling of revolution broke out, Lawrence was in the forefront of the fray. In 1835, he joined the volunteer scouting company under the command of William B. Travis and after various horse-catching forays, took part in the historic Siege of Bexar, in December of that year. He was with Sam Houston's army at Gonzales, and when he heard of the massacre at the Alamo, in which his wife's half-brother, Thomas R. Miller was killed, he hastened home to aid his family in preparations for that great flight before the Mexican advance known as The Runaway Scrape. While they and the slaves remained at Groce's plantation near Hempstead, he took part in the victorious Battle of San Jacinto (Note: he is not listed on their roster, but is listed as a soldier of that battle on his tombstone) in which his half-brother, Joseph Lawrence,was also a combatant. (Joseph is listed). Thereafter, he re-enlisted in Captain Henry Reed's company and served therein from June 4, to September 4, 1836. 

Subsequent to the revolution he had lived for about a year and a-half in Burleson County, Texas, but in 1838 he followed Yegua Creek to its source in Milam (present Williamson Co.) and settled at a place know thereafter as the Crossroads, and later as Lawrence Chapel. The land on which he settled consisted of three-fourths of a league and a labor which had been granted to his father-in-law, Simon Miller, in January 1838. Miller died during the following month, however, and some despite arose. The Republic of Texas awarded the disputed land to Adam Lawrence's brother-in-law, Simon Miller, Jr. on November 20-1845. In the meantime, Lawrence had been living thereon.
This was a region of which he was quite fond, and it is said that he was the first white man to cross Brushy Creek at the point later known as Lawrence's Crossing. There, with the aid of his slaves (see story about slaves), he constructed a large double-log house of hewn beams, the size of which shows that the trees of his day were much larger that the post oak presently growing in the area. The building still stands and is used as a barn by a descendant. On October 12, 1848, Simon Miller, Jr., made a formal transmission of 2,000 acres of the Miller league to Lawrence. (Note: this was torn down in 2003. Source: Gayle Abbott)

Ad Lawrence¹s Desperate Ride Many a thrilling incident of border life connected with the early history of Texas will never be recorded. It has been the lot of the writer to become acquainted with some of the early settlers of the state and to hear them tell many a tale of danger and of daring. One of them is here narrated.

Adam, or ³Ad² Lawrence settled neat the headwaters of the Trinity River in Texas in 1829. No man could be by nature better adapted to the profession he had chosen. Athletic in body, and undaunted in spirit, he was especially fitted to risk the dangers of frontier life. At the time the writer of this sketch became acquainted with him, he was upward of sixty years of age, modest in manner, simple and unaffected in language. Rough as he appeared to the casual observer, he was kind and gentle, and the following incident as it fell from his lips, bore the impress of being a simple recital of unvarnished facts. In the summer of 1832 Ad Lawrence, with three other men, went out mustanging.

A brief account of the mode in which these hardy frontiersmen went to capture the wild horses of the prairie, will interest the reader.

A few expert riders, mounted upon strong and fleet horses, and each provided with a strong rope, having discovered a herd of mustangs, would gradually approach to within a short distance of them, and making a simultaneous dash among them, would each throw a lasso over the neck of one, and after a vigorous and exciting contest of half an hour or more, would generally succeed in capturing their prizes. The mustangs, after being once conquered, are easily managed and by kind treatment soon become perfectly gentle. Some of them are beautiful animals, ³pretty as a picture,² and most of them being natural pacers, make excellent riding horses.

These wild horses frequented the prairies of Texas at the time of my story. Even since the writer¹s advent to this state, in 1850, he has seen several large herds. Of late years, they have retreated before the approach of the white man, to more distant wilds.

When about ten miles to the nearest settlement, and far out in the broad prairie, Lawrence and his companions discovered a herd of mustangs feeding, a mile or two distant. They approached them cautiously. As they came nearer, the horses, about one hundred in number, showed no signs of fear; and when noticing this singular circumstance, the long grass of the prairie became alive with Indians. The remainder of the story will sound better in Ad¹s own language:

There was one to each pony, and they all mounted at a jump, and made for us at full speed, coiling their lariats as they rode. There was no time for swapping horses, so we all turned tail and made a straight shoot for the nearest settlement on Trinity, about ten miles off. Our animals were all fine, but the nag I was on was a black mare a little ahead of anything in that country for speed and bottom. We rather left them the first three miles, but then their ponies began to show themselves. I tell you, you've no idea how much an Indian can get out of them mustangs. Instead of being a weight to them, they seem to help them along, and they kept up a powerful yelling. ¹Pears like you might have heard them to Red River. I noticed that they divided, one half striking off to the left, and we soon fount out the reason, for we quickly came to the bank of a deep gulley or ravine, which had to be headed and one party made straight for the head of it, while the balance struck in below us to cut us off in that direction. ¹Twas no use talking. We had to ride about a quarter of a mile to the left, right in
their very faces, and head that branch. My nag was still tolerably fresh. The others were beginning to blow right smartly. I rode just fast enough to keep in the lead. I didn¹t care particularly about getting off without knowing what become of my companions. Just as I came to the head of the hollow, the Indians were within about one-hundred yards, and yelling awfully."

"They thought they had us sure. I gave my mare the rein, and just touched her with my spurs, and turned the corner with about fifty arrows whizzing past my ears. One stuck in my buckskin jacket, and one in my mare¹s neck may believe she didn¹t do any slower for that. For a while I thought she cleared about 20 feet at a jump. As soon as I got headed right again, I looked around to see what had become of the others. One look showed me. They were all down. About half the redskins had stopped to finish them, and the balance were coming for me like red-hot lightning. I felt kinda dizzy for a minute and then I straightened up and determined to get away if I could. I hadn¹t much fears, if I didn¹t have to head another breach. I could see the timber of Trinity three miles away, and I gave my mare her own lead. She had
been powerful badly scared, and had been working too hard, and she was puffing a good deal."

"I managed to pull out the arrow that was sticking in her neck. Then I worked off my heavy buckskin coat, which was flopping about with the arrow sticking in it about a mile further without gaining or losing much. Then I made up my mind to let my nag blow a minute, because I knew if I didn¹t she couldn¹t hold up much longer. So I pulled up and alighted and looked around. Seemed as if the whole country was alive with them. About 40 in a bunch a few hundred yards behind and one not a hundred yards off. I loosed my saddle-girth so she could breathe good, took my bridle in my left hand, and pulled my butcher knife with my right. It was the only weapon I had. I had dropped my rifle when I got dizzy. One Indian was game. He never stopped until he got within ten feet of me. Then he throwed away his bow, jumped
off, and came at me with a long knife like mine."

"There wasn¹t time for a long fight. I had made my calculations and he was too sure he had me. He ran full against my knife, and I left him lying there. I heard an awful howl from the others, as I pulled off my heavy boots, tightened my girth, and mounted. A few minutes more and I struck the timber of the Trinity, and made the rest of my way through it to the river."

"I knew that for miles up and down the banks were bluffs, 15 or 20 feet high. Where I struck the river they were about 15. I knew if my mare couldn¹t take the leap I had to do it without her. She stopped an instant and snorted once or twice, but hearing the savages yet close behind, she took the jump. Down, down we went, full 15 feet, plumb into the deep water. We both went under for a second, then she rose and struck out for the opposite bank with me on her back. Poor creature, she got about two-thirds across, and then gave out under me with a groan. I tell you I fairly loved that animal that moment, and hated to leave her as bad as if she had been human."

"I swam the rest of the way, and crawled out on the bank pretty well used up. But I was safe. I saw the howling and disappointed savages come to the bank I had left. But not one of them dared take the leap. And the distance was too great for them to shoot. So I rested a while and then made the best of my way to the settlement."