Texas Ranger Quotes

If I wanted your opinion, I'd beat it outta ya. - Walker Texas Ranger

Twinkle the Destroyer wasn't alone, it seemed. There were more gnomes than I thought. Pip the Bringer of Pain, Chauncey the Devourer of Souls, Cuddly the Inexplicable, Gnoman Polanski, Pith the Bitey, Gnome ChompSky, Gnomie Malone, Chuck the Norriser- the list went on. 'It's like a mishmash of violent imagery, TV, an political references' 'I told you they like TV. I'm not sure the understand everything they see, though, so they don't fully grasp what they're stealing their names from. Like, I think Gnome ChompSky just thought it sounded tough and Chuck the Norriser came from watching too many episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger. They believe Chuck Norris is a demigod' 'Who doesn't?

No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that's in the right and keeps on a-comin'.

In the person of Quanah Parker, an extraordinary man in whom the blood of two strong peoples flowed, the Lone Star and the Comanche Moon at last found common ground.

My grandfather was a Texas Ranger. He used to tell me that courage was a lie. It was just fear that you ignored.

It's hard to imagine, seeing how crowded the sky looks tonight, how far away one star is from another. Like, people, really. We can appear to be standing right next to each other, and yet in our minds, we can be thousands of miles away, lost to the outer reaches. But we're all together in the same black soup, which makes us all related somehow.

Not problems so much. Just opportunities to learn patience.

I think a true writer takes whatever time he or she needs to get a poem or story or book right. If you want to be a storyteller, take the time to get it right.

Dr. Tom had said that Texas was the only place he had ever found that, when it killed you, it didn't forget about you.

Quahadis were the hardest, fiercest, least yielding component of a tribe that had long had the reputation as the most violent and warlike on the continent; if they ran low on water, they were known to drink the contents of a dead horse’s stomach, something even the toughest Texas Ranger would not do.

Charged with the mission of operating beyond the boundaries of civilization with minimal support and no communication from higher authority, they lived and often died by the motto, 'Order first, then law will follow.

Beck nodded. ‘Dig in. Best food you’ll ever eat.’ She took her first bite and savoured the warm

It was a line in the sand for me, a line past which we just weren’t gon’ go, not on my watch. The badge was to say this land is my land, too, my state, my country, and I’m not gon’ be run off. I can stand my ground, too. My people built this, and we’re not going anywhere. I set my sight on the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas, among others, and I turned my life over to the Texas Rangers, to this badge,” he said, pointing to the star on his chest.

Rumor had it that during the last home stand, someone had called the stadium ticket office asking what time the game started and was told, “What time can you be here?

It’s how we handle those bad things that measures our worth.

My grandfather was a Texas Ranger. He used to tell me that courage was a lie. It was just fear that you ignored.” She looked at him. “Well, I’m scared.

Grab a lime and suck it, Mr. Badass Texas Ranger.

My whole family used to watch reruns of Walker, Texas Ranger. And I loved it when Walker would kick butt." "As opposed to what? When Walker would hold forth on quantum physics? When he would write haikus? When he would interpret Bach on the harpischord? That show is an infomercial for Chuck Norris kicking people through plate-glass windows in show motion." "So you've seen it.

Racial prejudice, unscrupulous politics, religion, poverty, the hair-trigger methods of the Texas Rangers — they all get portions of the blame. During the last three months, at least eleven thousand Mexicans have fled across the border. Crops are unharvested, cotton unpicked, and ground untilled because the laborers are gone.

They seemed to have a talent for finding and blending the strangest, most unheard-of ornaments,” thought John Jenkins of Bastrop.

Second Lieutenant William Carey and two other men continued the fight, even when Carey’s skull was creased by a musket ball.

I like that old country song? A good-hearted woman in love with a good-timing man?

And Bill Virdon, the incumbent manager, maintained all the charm and charisma of an old man’s nut sack. Martin knew too well that somewhere, George Steinbrenner was watching and listening.

Owen took a step forward, blocking Blackjack’s path. For the first time, Trace noticed Owen was wearing his badge above his heart. “You don’t want to make yourself any more of a suspect than you already are,” Owen said. Blackjack made a dismissive sound. “Don’t pull that Texas Ranger bullshit with me, son. I diapered your bottom.” “You’ve never touched a diaper in your life,” Owen countered.

was born and raised in Texas, home of the Lone Ranger. I was trained to believe that I could be well all by myself. That I could only count on me. That I did not need other people. This story is a lie.

I feel sorry for that dog, Jace, breaking his heart and dying like he did. Funny thing about a dog, a dog never passes judgment just sticks right to the finish whether you are good or bad worth it or not.

It did something to a man when his hopes and dreams, and the life he’d carefully planned, collapsed. Were ripped away. It left him raw, and aching, and hollow in a place inside himself he could never reach.

God doesn’t promise bad things won’t happen. He only promises to be with us when they do. It can feel like things happen without a reason, but our perspective is limited and judgments based on it don’t help.

When the former Negro Leagues star Buck O’Neil, now serving as a Cubs scout, said, “Mr. Holland, we’d have a better ball club if we played the blacks,” Holland didn’t disagree. But the fans were already accusing him of making the Cubs look like a Negro League team, he said. So Holland traded Jenkins to the Texas Rangers. A year later, Jenkins led the American League with 25 victories. He would win 110 more on his way to the Hall of Fame.

Andy said, “Yonder goes a man who hates the sin, but he’s willin’ enough to take its wages.” Shanty replied, “I’m glad I won’t be wearin’ his shoes when he walks up to the Golden Gates.” “He’s wearin’ better shoes than me and you.” “I’d rather be barefooted.

Back during the early 1920s the Carpin brothers ran the small slapped-together oil boomtown a few miles east of Stinnett in what was little more than a den of bootleggers, gamblers and other criminals of low order. During those days of the roaring twenties, men on the far side of the law either rose to the top of the heap or got stomped under. For a brief time the Carpins were on the top of that heap. When Signal Hill was cleaned out by the Texas Rangers in 1927, the former boomtown imploded and the Carpins, who had managed to avoid arrest and capture, had dispersed.

During the seventh inning stretch, we stood up and sang “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” Jason and I swayed together. I couldn’t have been happier. The Rangers won. “See how it makes a difference when rituals are honored?” Jason said, his arm around my waist keeping me anchored against his side. “I’m too happy to argue,” I said. We stopped off in the gift shop, and he bought me a Texas Rangers cap. “Maybe you can start decorating a wall with caps from the games we go to,” he said. I grinned broadly, because I knew what he was really saying: Tonight was just the beginning for us.

There were inquiries, Congressional hearings, books, exposés and documentaries. However, despite all this attention, it was still only a few short months before interest in these children dropped away. There were criminal trials, civil trials, lots of sound and fury. All of the systems—CPS, the FBI, the Rangers, our group in Houston—returned, in most ways, to our old models and our ways of doing things. But while little changed in our practice, a lot had changed in our thinking. We learned that some of the most therapeutic experiences do not take place in “therapy,” but in naturally occurring healthy relationships, whether between a professional like myself and a child, between an aunt and a scared little girl, or between a calm Texas Ranger and an excitable boy. The children who did best after the Davidian apocalypse were not those who experienced the least stress or those who participated most enthusiastically in talking with us at the cottage. They were the ones who were released afterwards into the healthiest and most loving worlds, whether it was with family who still believed in the Davidian ways or with loved ones who rejected Koresh entirely. In fact, the research on the most effective treatments to help child trauma victims might be accurately summed up this way: what works best is anything that increases the quality and number of relationships in the child’s life.

Herzog might have been willing to do that. But this season he apparently felt that it was his obligation as a responsible citizen to alert the public back in North Texas that something dreadful was about to happen. Poor Whitey was trying to cry out a warning, like somebody shouting to the captain of the Hindenburg to turn on the “No Smoking” sign.

He walked into the house, smelling baked cookies. Now if that didn't make a house a home, nothing would. "Mmm!" he said loudly to announce his presence. "Something smells good!" Cricket poked her head out of the kitchen. "Come poach a cookie or two." "Yes, ma'am." He strolled into the kitchen and was pleased to see Suzy dressed in a pretty pink apron with red hearts on it. "Hello, Priscilla," he said. "Hi, Suzy.

Feminist-dominated administrations in the United States have elevated child protection to a paramilitary operation. In 1993, US Attorney General Janet Reno used unsubstantiated child abuse rumors to launch military operations against American citizens in Waco, Texas, resulting in the deaths of 24 children that she was ostensibly protecting. The militarization of child protection was seen again in the largest seizure of children in American history, when almost five hundred children were seized from their polygamous parents in the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints without any evidence of abuse. “A night-time raid with tanks, riot police, SWAT teams, snipers, and cars full of Texas Rangers and sheriff’s deputies—that is the new face of state child protection,” writes attorney Gregory Hession, “social workers backed up with automatic weapons.

I didn’t know what to say; he was right; but all I wanted to do was sneak out into the night and disappear somewhere, and go and find out what everybody was doing all over the country. The other cop, Sledge, was tall, muscular, with a black-haired crew-cut and a nervous twitch in his neck—like a boxer who’s always punching one fist into another. He rigged himself out like a Texas Ranger of old. He wore a revolver down low, with ammunition belt, and carried a small quirt of some kind, and pieces of leather hanging everywhere, like a walking torture chamber: shiny shoes, low-hanging jacket, cocky hat, everything but boots. He was always showing me holds—reaching down under my crotch and lifting me up nimbly. In point of strength I could have thrown him clear to the ceiling with the same hold, and I knew it well; but I never let him know for fear he’d want a wrestling match.

Texas Rangers are men who cannot be stampeded. We walk into any situation and handle it without instruction from our commander. Sometimes we work as a unit, sometimes we work alone.” He turned his attention to the jurors. “We preserve the law. We track down train and bank robbers. We subdue riots. We guard our borders. We’ll follow an outlaw clear across the country if we need to. In my four years of service, I’ve traveled eighty-six thousand miles on horse, nineteen hundred on train, gone on two hundred thirty scouts, made two hundred seventeen arrests, returned five hundred six head of stolen cattle, assisted forty-three local sheriffs, guarded a half dozen jails, and spent more time on the trail than I have in my own bed. We’ve been around since before the Alamo, and”—he turned to Hood, impaling him with his stare—“we’re touchy as a teased snake when riled, so I wouldn’t recommend it.

Mackenzie shoved her hand through the small opening of the door and said, “ID please.” Dax chuckled, not offended in the least. “Good girl.” He reached behind him, took his wallet out from his pocket, pulled out his driver’s license and put it into Mackenzie’s outstretched hand. “There you go.” Mackenzie looked down at the plastic card in her hand. Daxton Chambers. Forty-six years old. Six feet one and two hundred thirty pounds. She gulped. Damn, almost a hundred pounds heavier than she was. She went to hand it back and dropped it. “Shit, sorry.” Dax just laughed quietly and kneeled down to pick up the license. “No problem.” Mackenzie held out her hand again. “Ranger ID now, please.” Dax smiled even more broadly. “Damn, woman.” Mackenzie faltered a bit, but bravely said, “IDs are easy to fake nowadays, I just want to make sure.” “Oh, I wasn’t complaining. No fucking way. I’m pleased as hell you don’t trust me. I’d be more worried if you did. Good thinking. Here you go.” Dax held out his Texas Ranger badge that he’d pulled from his other pocket. “I don’t go anywhere without it, just in case.

White was an old-style lawman. He had served in the Texas Rangers near the turn of the century, and he had spent much of his life roaming on horseback across the southwestern frontier, a Winchester rifle or a pearl-handled six-shooter in hand, tracking fugitives and murderers and stickup men. He was six feet four and had the sinewy limbs and the eerie composure of a gunslinger. Even when dressed in a stiff suit, like a door-to-door salesman, he seemed to have sprung from a mythic age. Years later, a bureau agent who had worked for White wrote that he was “as God-fearing as the mighty defenders of the Alamo,” adding, “He was an impressive sight in his large, suede Stetson, and a plumb-line running from head to heel would touch every part of the rear of his body. He had a majestic tread, as soft and silent as a cat. He talked like he looked and shot—right on target. He commanded the utmost in respect and scared the daylights out of young Easterners like me who looked upon him with a mixed feeling of reverence and fear, albeit if one looked intently enough into his steel-gray eyes he could see a kindly and understanding gleam.

Various realities out here unknown in the East, as I have learned.” He cleared his throat. “Here is the legal situation. It is illegal for Texas state troops or ranger companies to cross the Red River into Indian Territory and onto this reservation. It is against our orders to pursue raiding Indians over the line as well, even in hot pursuit. Once they come onto the reservation they are not to be confronted. In addition the reconstruction government in Texas is forbidding any state militia or ranger companies at all. The new requirements are that we cannot use force in any way. I am very happy with that. Believe me. But they do raid down into Texas, and they take captives. They say that was their hunting and raiding country long before we came. Then the parents and relatives come here to the agency and want the agency to get their children back, or whoever, but unless we offer money and trade goods we’re bolloxed.

The enemy won some points at the very beginning. On both of the two days preceding his remarks about Worth, Hitchcock notes that American deserters had been shot while crossing the Rio Grande. Probably they were just bored with army rations but there was some thought that they might be responding to a proclamation of General Ampudia’s which spies had been able to circulate in camp. Noting the number of Irish, French, and Polish immigrants in the American force, Ampudia had summoned them to assert a common Catholicism, come across the river, cease “to defend a robbery and usurpation which, be assured, the civilized nations of Europe look upon with the utmost indignation,” and settle down on a generous land bounty. Some of them did so, and the St. Patrick Battalion of American deserters was eventually formed, fought splendidly throughout the war, and was decimated in the campaign for Mexico City — after which its survivors were executed in daily batches.… This earliest shooting of deserters as they swam the Rio Grande, an unwelcome reminder that war has ugly aspects, at once produced an agitation. As soon as word of it reached Washington, the National Intelligencer led the Whig press into a sustained howl about tyranny. In the House J. Q. Adams rose to resolve the court-martial of every officer or soldier who should order the killing of a soldier without trial and an inquiry into the reasons for desertion. He was voted down but thereafter there were deserters in every Whig speech on the conduct of the war, and Calm Observer wrote to all party papers that such brutality would make discipline impossible. But a struggling magazine which had been founded the previous September in the interest of sports got on a sound financial footing at last. The National Police Gazette began to publish lists of deserters from the army, and the War Department bought up big editions to distribute among the troops. Taylor sat in his field works writing prose. Ampudia’s patrols reconnoitered the camp and occasionally perpetrated an annoyance. Taylor badly needed the Texas Rangers, a mobile force formed for frontier service in the Texas War of Independence and celebrated ever since. It was not yet available to him, however, and he was content to send out a few scouts now and then. So Colonel Truman Cross, the assistant quartermaster general, did not return from one of his daily rides. He was still absent twelve days later, and Lieutenant Porter, who went looking for him with ten men, ran into some Mexican foragers and got killed.

Ever since the raid on polygamous prophet Warren Jeffs' YFZ Ranch in Texas, I’d heard rumors that Texas Rangers confiscated documents in which Warren refers to me personally and calls down the wrath of God on my head. I finally got to see one of those documents. It is a sermon delivered by Jeffs and transcribed by one of his wives. Jeffs’ scribe/wife misspells my name, but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

God will guide you, but you have to listen to your heart and not your fears.

Emm vacillated between shock and laughter. “Must be a Texas Ranger motto; instead of ‘one riot, one ranger,’ ‘see a woman you like, arrest her

like

Time dilates during an exceptionally stupid and painful event, with the limit on delta-t approaching infinity as the levels of pain and stupidity increase.

In a dispute with a horse over which of you has the right to occupy a given square foot of ground, the horse will always win...

The distance between the site of an emergency and the location of help dilates with increasing urgency.

No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that’s in the right and keeps on a comin’. —Captain Bill McDonald, Texas Ranger

towing

Rangers were hired to protect the interests of newly arriving white colonists, first under the Mexican government, later under an independent Republic of Texas, and finally as part of the state of Texas. Their main work was to hunt down native populations accused of attacking white settlers, as well as investigating crimes like cattle rustling.

The Ranger creed: “No man in the wrong can stand up against a fellow that’s in the right and keeps on a-comin’.

God speaks in the silence of the heart.

Lord, I don’t know where you are leading me, but I will follow. Guide me in the right direction

That’s where faith comes in.” Grace touched the cross hanging from her necklace. “We do our very best and then we give the rest to God.

God could only guide her if she listened.

She was her mother’s daughter. Tough. Resilient. Strong. A woman of faith.

Something about singing the hymns and hearing the Bible readings had settled her. As if she’d been on a long journey, lost and wandering, only to unexpectedly find her way home.

Walter Prescott Webb’s The Texas Rangers, Robert Utley’s Lone Star Justice, and Mike Cox’s Wearing the Cinco Peso: A History of the Texas Rangers.

McCarthy does not simplify this problem of information with omniscient introductions of characters, places, events.6 The kid, McCarthy’s protagonist, wouldn’t know who Albert Speyer is, since the kid didn’t ride with the Rangers during the Mexican War.

Though he was acquitted of murder charges, Baylor said the incident lingered for years as a “matter of sorrow and regret.” Nonetheless, he said, “I would do the same thing again.

In any portion of the state, when laws relating to public lands are defied and set at naught, our first duty is to re-examine the laws, with the view of ascertaining what defects, if any, have produced this condition of society and, upon discovery of any defect, to apply a remedy,

No one at the market remembered seeing him.

Love is a decision, Weston, just like faith.” Grady clapped him on the back. “Choose wisely, my friend.

They met their comrades, who had been badly cut up, and, deciding that the Rangers were too good for them, withdrew. Wild cheers welled from the crater of " Enchanted Rock," and loud were the hurrahs for Texas Jack, the gallant and intrepid Ranger. The war with Mexico found Captain Jack Hays ready

Didn’t Shane know Dakota would do anything he asked? If Shane wanted him to quit smoking, he’d quit. If he wanted Dakota to stay, he’d stay. If he wanted Dakota to go, he’d go as far as he could get, drive until the tires came off his truck, then walk until his boots fell apart and his feet bled, and keep going until his heart finally gave out.

I love you.” He had to drop his face to the steering wheel and blink fast. Goddamn, all his dreams were nothing compared to the reality of Shane saying those words to him. Three little words, words you heard all the time on TV and in movies and on the radio, but when they came from the lips of the one you loved, well… It was like they’d never been said before at all.

be stoic in the face of all obstacles

We learned that some of the most therapeutic experiences do not take place in “therapy,” but in naturally occurring healthy relationships, whether between a professional like myself and a child, between an aunt and a scared little girl, or between a calm Texas Ranger and an excitable boy. The children who did best after the Davidian apocalypse were not those who experienced the least stress or those who participated most enthusiastically in talking with us at the cottage. They were the ones who were released afterwards into the healthiest and most loving worlds, whether it was with family who still believed in the Davidian ways or with loved ones who rejected Koresh entirely. In fact, the research on the most effective treatments to help child trauma victims might be accurately summed up this way: what works best is anything that increases the quality and number of relationships in the child’s life.

We learned that some of the most therapeutic experiences do not take place in “therapy,” but in naturally occurring healthy relationships, whether between a professional like myself and a child, between an aunt and a scared little girl, or between a calm Texas Ranger and an excitable boy. The children who did best after the Davidian apocalypse were not those who experienced the least stress or those who participated most enthusiastically in talking with us at the cottage. They were the ones who were released afterwards into the healthiest and most loving worlds, whether it was with family who still believed in the Davidian ways or with loved ones who rejected Koresh entirely. In fact, the research on the most effective treatments to help child trauma victims might be accurately summed up this way: what works best is anything that increases the quality and number of relationships in the child’s life.

love isn’t just a feeling, it’s an action. A thousand small decisions made every day. You choose to compromise, to listen, and to grow together. It’s about facing life’s challenges together with respect and consideration for each other.

But grief was a strange thing. It lay hidden inside until a memory unleashed it. And then suddenly the pain was as fierce and as fresh as ever.

Nana used to tell me that when things are at their darkest, that’s when you need God the most.

ordered.

In December 1860, a force of Texas Rangers and American cavalry ransacked a Comanche camp that contained more than seven and a half tons of dried meat. At the time, there were only about fifteen people in the camp.

intimate

The trail led up a divide between the Salt and North forks of Red River. To the eastward of the latter stream lay the reservation of the Apaches, Kiowas, and Comanches, the latter having been a terror to the inhabitants of western Texas. They were a warlike tribe, as the records of the Texas Rangers and government troops will verify,

How far do you think we’d get, afoot like we are?” “Maybe when we leave here we won’t be afoot.” “Takin’ other people’s horses is what got us into the army in the first place.” “And it’ll get us away from here. Stay close to me and maybe you’ll learn somethin’.” “I learned a lot the last time.

As long as you can promise me that you won’t chase after that Godfrey again, you’re part of the unit. How’s that sound?

he took sympathized with his old friend and

the quality of beer in Blanco was a lot better than anybody used to.

Captain Dobbs might think I’m dead—unless Lieutenant Burcham passed along his sighting to me.

It was the same one used by Narua when she freed herself and the other girls, and it hadn’t been moved since Phoebe stashed it away before their flight from Dudley.

If the team didn't pay whatever Boras asked, Boras would encourage his client to take a year off of baseball and reenter the draft the following year, when he might be selected by a team with real money. The effects of Boras's tactics on rich teams were astonishing. In 2001 the agent had squeezed a package worth $9.5 million out of Texas Rangers owner Tom Hicks for a college third baseman named Mark Teixeira. The guy who was picked ahead of Teixeira signed for $4.2 million, and the guy who was picked after him signed for $2.65 million, and yet somehow between these numbers Boras found $9.5 million.

CONTENTS CHAPTERS     I. Excitement on the West Fork

Yes, she’d sure as hell made a lot of mistakes, but the last she checked no one could cast the first stone.

I guess you’re going for the hard-ass Texas Ranger thing today” ~ Laney Briggs

settled over their conversation. Leslie laid the envelope on the table and stood, clapping her hands and a smile returned. “Good job. Now, Davis, you come and take your pretty friend to lunch and let me get back to my yard work.” A few minutes later, Stacy waved another goodbye to the woman and her son who returned it with smiles and repeated invitations to come back and see them anytime. They had travelled a couple of blocks before Stacy spoke, her gaze falling on the man behind the wheel. “Leslie told me about her husband

Rusty remembered that Mother Dora had put coffee in the sack of grub she had given him. “I’ll boil you some coffee, Preacher. I never heard you sermonize against that.” “And you never will. When the Christians drove the Turks from the gates of Vienna, the Turks left their stores of coffee behind. I feel sure that was the Lord’s notion of a proper gift to His faithful.” Rusty had no idea where Vienna was. Probably not in Texas, or he would have heard about it.

He spoke in hushed Arabic as he kicked off his shoes and began unbuttoning his shirt. He had dropped it to the floor and was just unbuttoning his pants when he stepped into the bedroom and saw Anne Levy standing there. In her hands was a suppressed, Elite Dark SIG Sauer P226, the same weapon carried by a lot of Texas Rangers and Navy SEALs. It was pointed right at him.

Things like the Sundogs shaking the foundations of our original beliefs, turning us to the ways of the Indians we search out to do battle with. Although we saw a number of places along the trail where the Comanche raiding parties have crossed from the north here in Texas to Mexico, carrying out their raids south of the border we saw no actual Indians.  For the Comanche, there is no border.  Just the land that they have freely ridden for hundreds of years.  The divide we white men and Mexicans have made between two countries having little importance to the Comanche as they consider the white men and the Mexicans as all hostile men encroaching on their lands. We rode nearly to Fort Leaton near the Juntas before we turned back now having taken the patrol much farther than we had planned.  The Comanche activity, encouraging us to ride on hoping to encounter at least one of the raiding parties, although we saw no more signs of Comanche not meaning that they have not seen us.  Maybe we are too large an enemy for the small raiding parties to approach.  Most Comanche shy away from skirmishes that result in more than a death or two of their Warrior Braves. Since the death of the two men by the hands of Lopez all of my men staying sharp, if in fact Lopez try's to capture another Ranger.  The torture and death of Dan Skaggs shaking my men up considerably.  "If a man like Lopez catches you make sure that you save one bullet in your revolver to shoot yourself before you get captured and have to face such heinous torture as Dan did," Bill Vents said.  Mostly for the benefit of our new Texas Ranger Bear Wallace, who was new to the ways of the Comanche and outlaws like Lopez.  "Make sure you shoot yourself in the eyeball to assure the bullet kills you dead and don't bounce around in your mouth or off your skull.  Eventually leaving you just alive enough to be left to the hands of Lopez to be tormented till death comes." "That is about enough of the horror tales, Bill," I said noting that the men are more nervous than usual with Bills story no matter how unbelievable the tale seemed.  Out here in the wild country, many things seem to be twisted from reality, some often making the impossible seem possible.  Not only because of Bill's stories but also due to a large amount of Indian gossip not far from being as wild as Vents lies.  Especially the Tonkawa as they believe the way to assure that spirits of the men they kill will be captured and rendered harmless, is to eat the men they slaughter

Texas Ranger? Really?-Dean, Supernatural S8

The Texas Rangers," he said softly, "are dead. All six of them have gone. In their place there's just one man. The lone Ranger." He

During the “Runaway” in 1836, the Indians captured a young German girl. At this time the Indians kept their captives for trade; they could be purchased by relatives or friends. A German purchased this young lady, and made her his wife.

I got reason to believe that the Mexican feller, as you called him, and his compadres are growing the largest crop of marihuana Texas has ever seen, maybe the only crop, and I plan on stopping them.” “Marihuana? You mean that stuff the Mexicans roll into cigarettes?” “Exactly.” “No offense,” Lickter lifted his hat to wipe his brow, “but with everything going on in the borderlands, why the hell are the rangers fussing over a plant that never harmed no one? There ain’t no law against marihuana.

Back during the early 1920’s the Carpin brothers ran the small slapped-together oil boomtown a few miles east of Stinnett in what was little more than a den of bootleggers, gamblers and other criminals of low order. During those days of big bands and prohibition, men on the far side of the law either rose to the top of the heap or got stomped under. For a brief time the Carpins were on the top of that heap. When Signal Hill was cleaned out by the Texas Rangers in 1927, the former boomtown imploded and the Carpins, who had managed to avoid arrest and capture, had dispersed. When I went up there to look around back in the mid 1980’s there was little left. So when the girl with the bitch sunglasses and the too-cute frown mentioned Carpin’s name, I naturally questioned her on it, and she not only admitted that the man who was after her was one of those Carpins, but that he was proud of his heritage.

How was I supposed to know it was going to turn on Halsted? Are you trying to pick a fight?” “Maybe.” “Why?” “Because this area is full of dissipation and refuse and disease,” he said. “And, like it or not, you’re a female and he’s a babe. The cable car provides protection and the both of you should stay on it for as long as possible.” Tightening her hold on the infant, she stepped into the street and wove between traffic. “Ah, but we have with us a big Texas Ranger and his ominous-looking gun.” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you baiting me?” “Maybe.” “Why?” “Because, like it or not, you’re an overbearing male who thinks I’m made out of porcelain.” Reaching the boardwalk on the other side, she squared up to him. “Well, I’m not made of porcelain or crystal or any other fragile material.

We evolved perfectly attuned to our time and place—for Texas has long been a sort of human Galapagos, an unsettled country of conflicting cultures and social contradictions, a rugged, ragtag region born with wars raging on two disputed borders.

Mr. Hickerson said he thought it best if I stayed here