Our newest anthology “Give Me a Texas Ranger” came out last month, but along with promoting and celebrating a new release, I was knee deep in writing the next of the “Give Me …” series “Give Me a Texas Outlaw”.  Of course I’ve had Texas Rangers and outlaws on my mind for months, so what better to write about than a Ranger named Bass Outlaw?

One of my favorite ways to create a character is to tailor them after a real person (preferably none of your family). While visiting East Texas, I found a book about Bass Outlaw, an ex-Texas Ranger short on stature and long on attitude. Bass Outlaw a/k/a Ranger Little Wolf was a moody, strange, and little known Ranger. I mirrored one of my characters in “Texas Ranger”, Muley Mullinex, after him. It was a simple plan for him to be the town’s darlin’ during the day but when he went on a binge he would be my antagonist. However, from the get go Muley proved to be as obstinate on paper as Bass Outlaw was in real life.

Not to be confused with a much better known Ranger, Sam Bass, Bass Outlaw, whose name was thought to be Sebastian Lamar Outlaw was the black sheep of a genteel Georgia family. He had an inferiority complex we might call the “little man syndrome” today, since he was around 5’4” and weighed maybe 150 lbs. His eyes, cold and unfriendly, were pale blue. He sported a mustache best described as bushy, not the heavy, flowing types worn by the likes of Doc Holliday or Wyatt Earp which were the fashion of that era. If it wasn’t for his prowess with a rifle and a pistol he would not like have commanded any attention at all.

Beginning in E Company, Outlaw soon earned a solid reputation for himself as a quick draw with a deadly accurate shot. He could ride with the best, learned readily how to track even the faintest signs and was earmarked as a Ranger with a future. He climbed the ranks and historians have noted that he could have easily become a legendary Ranger such as William J. McDonald and James Gillette, but Bass Outlaw’s hair-trigger temper changed the course of his life … and history.

The personification of a prairie wolf, earned him his nickname, Lone Wolf. He was a loner, never volunteering anything about his past, never asking anyone about theirs. A moody, sullen, often cantankerous individual, he still possessed the qualities the Rangers required in those days on a wild and unsettled frontier. He was brave, wily and determined in battle. Outlaw was unpredictable in that he was either withdrawn or dangerously aggressive depending on his mood … and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.

His head was on the chopping board more times than not, but generally after a good dressing down, his Captain would decide not to fire the arrogant lawman because of some heroic deed he’d done.

Bass Outlaw, Top Row, Second from Left

Like all lone wolves, his luck ran out. In 1893, after his Company had moved to a remote part of Texas southeast of El Paso, Bass was placed in charge of the unit while Captain Jones was away on business. 

 One day, after chugging rotgut once too often, Bass left the compound with no one in command and joined a poker game with a former Ranger which lead to his undoing. Bass lost the game and his temper, but had enough sense to know not to shoot up the place. Another former Ranger, Sheriff Jim Gillett, grabbed Bass and pulled him outside, managing to settle the dispute before there was any gunfire.

Needless to say when Captain Jones returned and got wind of the going ons he was furious and fired Bass Outlaw on the spot, ordering him out of camp pronto. 

Although it was a mess of his own makings, until Bass Outlaw drew his last breath, he held a grudge against the Rangers. His bone of contention was at first with Gillett, because he thought the sheriff had ratted him out. Later, Bass learned that the lawman had not reported his behavior.

Gillett was spared, as he was not the Ranger that Bass was destined to kill.

Bass Outlaw stayed out of trouble for a while and took on other jobs, including prospecting for gold and hidden treasures. Failing at all, he eventually caught the attention of the El Paso U.S. Marshall, another ex-Ranger, who hired him as a deputy.

Famed Ranger John Hughes predicted, rightfully so, that Little Wolf would someday kill another Ranger. This proved true when Outlaw entered into a squabble with a constable in El Paso by the name of John Selman, after going into a rant over a soiled dove. Outlaw shot him three times. Leaving the saloon, still sullen and dangerous, Outlaw was confronted by a young Ranger, Joe McKidrict, where Outlaw shot him dead. It is reported that was the only incident where a Texas Ranger has ever been killed by an active or former member of the fabled organization.

Ironically, John Selman recovered. Although the gunpowder damaged his vision and he walked with a cane, he killed the infamous John Wesley Hardin in a saloon in El Paso. Two years later, Selman was killed by Deputy U.S. Marshal George Scarborough in another El Paso saloon.

A witness to Bass Outlaw’s demise stated his last sound was a whimper, the kind a wolf tends to make when he knows his time is finished. For Bass Outlaw there were no flowers, no eulogy and no mourners … not even the soiled dove who proclaimed to love him. He was buried in the Evergreen Cemetery in El Paso, and his tombstone reads: “B.L. Outlaw, 1854-1894, 1^st Sgt. Co. D. F. B., State Forces, Deputy U.S. Marshall.”

Now you can see why writing Muley Mullinex fought me tooth and toenail all along the way.  In “Give Me a Texas Ranger,” I referred to Captain Arrington, Hayden McGraw’s superior. Other than Mullinex, Arrington, and McGraw, do any of you remember the name of a fourth Texas Ranger I used in my story? 

I’m givin’ away an autographed copy of “Give Me a Texas Ranger” to the first person posting the correct answer.

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Texas history is full of larger-than-life men and women. There was none more compelling in the Old West than Temple Houston, the youngest child of Sam Houston.

Temple carried the distinction of being first child born in the governor’s mansion in Austin, Texas. He never knew his father because Sam Houston died when the boy was only 3 years old. His mother followed four years later when Temple was 7. Upon her death he went to live with one of his sisters.

Of the eight Houston children, Temple was most like his father in temperament and abilities. But he hated being compared to Sam and especially as being Sam’s boy. Temple was rebellious and had a need for adventure. At age 13 he signed on as a cowboy on a cattle drive going all the way to Dakota territory. To get back home, he was hired as a steamboat captain on the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers.

He began studying law and at the age of 19, he was admitted to the Texas Bar. He was well-educated and spoke fluent French and Spanish in addition to seven Indian languages.

None was more flamboyant and unorthodox. The 6′2″, long-haired man was fond of wearing black Prince Albert coats, elegant pinstriped trousers stuffed into high, handsome boots, and white sombreros. Temple was exceedingly handsome, had piercing gray eyes and coal black hair.

He was also a crack marksman. He carried a pair of ivory-gripped, nickel-plated Colts. And he didn’t hesitate to use them. After a courtroom argument with another lawyer, he met the man in a saloon. Houston killed the adversary and promptly entered a plea of self-defense. He was acquitted.

Before his 21st birthday, Temple was appointed first district attorney for the new district court in the Panhandle. He went to the wild, lawless town of Mobeetie where there was no jail. Not long after he arrived he insisted that one be built. While it was being constructed, one convicted cowboy was chained to a rock pillar in one of the town’s saloons. They gave him a blanket and left him in the saloon overnight. The following morning they found the man dead drunk, surrounded by whiskey bottles. He’d torn his blanket into strips and made a lariat. He spent the night roping bottles off the backbar and drinking the contents.

The next year at age 22, Temple married Laura Cross, a planter’s daughter. Seven children were born to them, but only four survived infancy.

Temple Houston was also an excellent defense attorney. At one trial, that of a man accused of murdering a skilled gunfighter, Houston whipped out his pair of Colts, pointed them at the jury, and fired away. Jurors dove out of the box, spectators dove out the window, and the judge ducked down behind the bench. Houston’s attempt to show the lightning speed of the gunfighter in comparison to that of the accused cowboy, even though the cowboy had shot first, was in fact a matter of self-defense. Once courtroom order resumed, Houston apologized for his gunplay, explaining that his own weapons had held blanks. The cowboy was acquitted.

But his most famous case was the one defending accused prostitute Millie Stacey in 1899. His closing summary is still studied by law students today. It’s considered the perfect defense argument and one of the finest masterpieces of oratory in the English language. In his speech which was spellbinding, he proclaimed Millie innocent, saying man was to blame for her shame and that “Where the star of purity once glittered on her girlish brow, burning shame has left its seal forever.” Millie went free, her guilt expunged.

(As a side note, a copy of the speech was framed and hangs today in the Library of Congress.)

A remark for which his is known is “Your honor, the prosecutor is the first man that I’ve ever seen who can strut while sitting down.”

Another time, a judge persuaded Temple to represent a penniless horse thief. Temple promised, “I’ll provide the unfortunate gentleman the best defense I can.” He asked the judge for a private office where he could talk to his client. A little while later, they found Temple sitting alone in the room with the window open. He smiled and remarked, “I gave him the best advice I could.”

Always a restless soul, Houston left Texas for a new frontier and more adventure. He participated in the Oklahoma Land Rush and raced with thousands of other land-hungry pioneers. He brought his family and moved his practice to the new town of Woodward, Oklahoma. His services were in great demand. Before it was over, he became as big a legend in Oklahoma as he was in Texas.

The man who lived life large died of a stroke in 1905 at the age of 45 and was buried in Woodward’s Laurel Land Cemetery. Needless to say, Temple Houston left a huge mark on the legal profession. And though he never reached the historical acclaim of his father Sam, he was a man to be revered.

Doesn’t this sound like a hero right from one of our western romances? I’d like to have known him.

www.LindaBroday.com

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The rich history of the Texas Rangers has been chronicled in works of nonfiction and memoirs. Movies and television series have been made about them, and they are a favorite hero in novels; so when you need a real man — “Give Me a Texas Ranger”.

I began work on “One Woman, One Ranger” for our newest anthology with a duel purpose.  I didn’t want to write just another romance with a Texas Ranger hero, but about one who found love. I wanted it to reflect the ideals that brought peace to the untamed frontier; the strengths and traditions that made the famous respected organization the lawmen they are today.

In order to accomplish my goal, I had to understand the iconic lawmen; a colorful and brave body of fighting men who had a reputation for tenacity, firmness and quick-triggered justice.  I wanted to delve into their thinking and their hearts.

I love research!  When we were on tour with “Give Me a Texan” Linda Broday and I spent a day in Waco, Texas, at the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum.  One of our favorite exhibits was “Writing the Ranger”, where authors from Louis L’Amour to Diane Palmer have their covers on display. The comics, the cowboys, and The Lone Ranger are all there. 

But, my favorite resource that gave me the best insight into the ol’ time Texas Rangers is a book written in 1921 by James Gillett “Six Years with the Texas Rangers”.  Sgt. Gillett joined the organization June 1, 1875, and rode with them until 1881.  His first-person accounts influenced many scenes in my story.

From their inception, the only true criteria for being a Ranger: Could he ride? Could he shoot? Did he have the guts it took to protect?  Famous lawman Rip Ford said, “They ride like Mexicans; trail like Indians; shoot like Tennesseans; and fight like the devil.”  The early lawmen fashioned traditions which affected all future Rangers by creating an aura of invincibility with their dedication, toughness, and perseverance.

In 1823 they were referred to as Citizen Soldiers and “rangered” the new frontier. They’ve had a number of names including the State Police. Between the annexation of Texas in 1846 and the outbreak of the Civil War, the Texas Ranger existed almost in name only. However, in 1874, Stephen F. Austin formed two bands of ten Rangers each to protect the new frontier. The Frontier Battalion protected the vast area between the Red River and the Nueces River, while the Special Force unit handled Southwest Texas.

A must for all Rangers was a serviceable horse, a good rifle, and a six-shooting pistol.  “An Act to Provide for the Protection of the Frontier of the State of Texas 1874” became the blueprint for frontier law enforcement. One clarification was the value of their horse and how it had to be appraised by the enrolling officer and two disinterested parties, so in the event something happened to the animal the Ranger could be reimbursed fairly. Yet, the horse couldn’t be disposed of without the consent of the commanding officer. Each critter was given an allowance of no more than 12 lbs. of oats or corn a day, plus 2 ounces of salt per week.  If the dang rascal over indulged, the overage came out of the rangers pay check … $40 a month!   I used that little known fact in my plot. Hayden McGraw’s horse, Stewball, liked to go off on his own to find food, so at times it really put my hero at a disadvantage.

At first, the Rangers were more interested in performance and gettin’ the job done than in personal appearance. The only well-groomed critter around the lawman was generally his horse, who was meticulously cared for.     

In contrast, today’s Ranger dress requirements are certainly more uptown.  “The appropriate Texas Ranger clothing is deemed to be conservative western attire.  The Texas Ranger hat will be light-colored and shaped in a businessman’s style.  Styles commonly called the Rancher or Cattleman are recommended.  Brims must not exceed 4 inches or be flat with edges rolled up. Hats excessively crushed, rolled, or dipped are not acceptable. Members of the Ranger Division will own both a quality straw and quality felt hat. The appropriate hat will usually be determined by the weather or assignments.”      

For my story, I wanted an emotional connection between my third generation Texas Ranger, Hayden McGraw, and his father and grandfather. Prior to 1835, these lawmen didn’t wear badges.  The State of Texas Adjutant General’s Office issued Warrants of Authority, an impressive paper document kept folded in their pockets, to commissioned officers. Although that procedure played a big part in my plot, I still needed something more personal. 

The origin of the Ranger badge fascinated me. The first ones were made for individual lawmen, at their request, from Mexican coins.  Some were probably made by jewelers, while others may have been made by gunsmiths or metalworkers. The legend of Rangers cutting them out of coins around campfires is unlikely. These first badges were used as a means of identification in the midst of feuds and disputes that might involve several law enforcement agencies, or where hired guns were introduced.  Photographs taken in the 1870’s through the 1920’s show that there was a great variety of badges and that comparatively few Rangers wore them.  Of interest, later research indicates they didn’t wear badges because the sun reflected off them, making tracking easier. Many kept them hidden beneath their saddle, but always in easy reach.

Today, the Texas Rangers wear a replica of the historic original insignia which old-time Rangers carved out of a Mexican five peso silver dollar. Symbolically the five-pointed star represents the “Lone Star” of Texas, while the points are supported by an engraved wheel. Thus it is termed the “wagon-wheel” badge. The oak leaves on the left side represent strength and the olive branch on the right signifies peace.  These are taken from the Texas Great Seal. The cutout center star has engraving on it and the center of the star is reserved for the Company designation or the rank. The edges still often have the coin lines and the peso is still highly visible on the reverse of the badge.  Thus, First Lieutenant Hayden McGraw’s badge is a key element of my story.

As of old, the Texas Rangers still maintain vigilant watch and ward over the peace and welfare of Texas, bringing a sense of security and trust to our law-abiding citizens.

Do any of you have any Texas Rangers in your family tree?  I wish I did, but since I don’t, I can only write about the fearless body of men who shaped the new frontier and salute those protecting the citizens of the fine state of Texas today. 

I’m givin’ away a copy of your choice of titles to one lucky person!

Order today!  Give Me A Texas Ranger    Give Me A Cowboy    Give Me A Texan

After my terrific  cowgirl vacation at the Silver Spur Ranch in Bandera, I  realized I couldn’t leave Texas without a stay in San  Antonio.  “The Alamo,” I told Hubby. He nodded, having seen the structure during his army days at Fort Sam Houston.  “It must be glorious,” I went on.  “Huge and imposing  like Westminster Abbey.  Overpowering the city like Big Ben does London.”  

He shook his head. “It’s something to see, but it’s kinda random. Small. Surrounded by hotels and shops. But you’ll love it.” And so I did. Despite its location amidst a bustling city, the Alamo grounds are surprisingly tranquil. Several times a day, I walked through them, sitting down to relax, enjoy, and ponder as well.  The fountain is especially lovely,  its four sides engraved with the names of four of the defenders, commander William Travis, his second cousin James Bonham,  Jim Bowie, and Davy Crocket.

In fact, my hotel was situated on Bonham Street, where a long palisade had once stood.

Before leaving home, I picked a hotel that advertised seeing The Alamo from it. And so I could, looking down from my thirteenth floor. (Yes, thirteenth! Woooooooo.) Because The Alamo is a war memorial, The Daughters of the Republic of Texas, who are the custodians of the edifice, decreed that no man-made structures can cast a shadow on it, and this is now a building code. So I checked whenever I  looked out. No shadows.

Supposedly at one time, a grove of cottonwoods grew nearby, hence the name, since Alamo is Spanish for Cottonwood. Formal name is San Antonio de Valero Mission, and its purpose—long before its cornerstone was set in 1744—was a place to convert Indians to Christianity and to educate them.

As you may know, the Alamo’s chapel and compound were nearly destroyed in a 13-day battle in March 1836 by Mexican artillery fire against the Texian army of the four heroes mentioned above. Mexican general Santa Anna didn’t want the place to become a shrine to the estimated 190 defenders slaughtered there, so he gave a direct order that the mission be completely demolished. Not one stone was to be left standing.

In spite of his orders, the remaining walls of the chapel were left unharmed. Even though there wasn’t much left, Santa Anna’s direct order was never carried out. Nowhere in any Texian or Mexican war records is there mention that the general rescinded that order. Still, it was never carried out.

Tales and legends from Mexico as well as San Antonio insist that Santa Anna’s men indeed went to the building to carry out the order, but saw something that had them turn and run. “Glowing men with flaming swords” kept them from entering and carrying out the dirty deed.

Well, these guardian angels didn’t protect the mission for long. Or maybe folks reckoned the Alamo would still be guarded by the heroes who died defending her. But for the ten years of the Republic, this shrine to Texas liberty was mistreated, limestone already cut thieved to build other San Antonio structures. The two mostly-intact buildings, the chapel and the “long barracks” began to disappear piece by piece. 

By the time Texas entered the United States, the chapel was a ruin, walls in places no taller than waist-high. The façade we know and love today was built by the Army Corps of Engineers in 1840’s when the military needed a warehouse to store grain and supplies and decided the old ruin was just the place.

By the 1870’s the Army had outgrown this downtown headquarters and established nearby Fort Sam Houston north of town.  No one knows just who “owned” the chapel by now and a private merchant used it for his storehouse. By the 1890’s, it became a quasi-tourist attraction,  but many citizens considered it an eyesore. Both the city of San Antonio and the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Texas claimed the site. After considerable litigation, the courts decided in favor of the church. The state of Texas bought the chapel and grounds it stood on, from the church, but the land surrounding the chapel—the land where the battle actually happened—passed into private hands.

Texas did little to restore the crumbling walls or preserve the building , and when the private industry closed its doors, a young woman named Clara Driscoll stepped in. She’d visited Europe, impressed with the preservation of its old buildings and historical sites, and was outraged at the condition of the Alamo chapel and the battle field. Through her letter-writing campaigns to newspapers  and her membership in the De Zavala  Chapter of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, she began whole-hearted efforts to begin proper preservation of this Shrine of Texas Liberty. This was in 1903.  Her fight to preserve the land around the Alamo, as well as her personal money including the last $500 needed, brought out statewide sympathy.  (Of course Clara’s battle was a lot more complicated and political than this but I reckoned she might deserve her own blog sometime along with her main rival Adina de Zavala.)                                                                                                

The state conveyed the property to the Daughters of the Texas Republic in October 1905, with Clara appointed custodian.  Nonetheless,  Adina de Zavala had possession of the keys, and it wasn’t until the DRT filed a civil action that Clara obtained them.

Whew. I’m sure glad Clara did. The Alamo is a shrine where only five non-military people survived the battle, a touchstone of history. A symbol of unspeakable sacrifice and courage. And I miss it already.

How about you? Any historical site you like that should be preserved? Which ones are you glad have been restored?

Ps. I’m thrilled that on Monday, my second novella about Hearts Crossing Ranch, featuring one of the hero’s seven siblings, was acquired. Stay tune for further details.

About thirty miles from where I live in West Texas is an historical site called Ransom Canyon. It was incorporated into a town in 1977, but in the 1800’s it was the scene of trading in human flesh.

Originally called Yellow House Canyon, it became known as Ransom Canyon after it became the regular meeting place for the Comancheros and the Comanche Indians. The Comancheros would trade guns and whiskey for stolen cattle or, more often than not, white captives. The Comancheros would then ransom off the captives back to their families for a hefty sum. If the families didn’t or couldn’t meet the price, the captives were sold to the highest bidder. Not a pleasant life for sure.

Here’s a pretty good shot of the canyon.

But who were these Comancheros, you ask?

They were a blood-thirsty group mostly of Mexican descent who roamed the Llano Estacado commonly known as The Staked Plains (an area that covers western Texas and the Panhandle and extends into eastern New Mexico.) It’s one of the largest mesas or tablelands on the North American continent. One source says it’s over 32,000 square miles.

Back to Ransom Canyon though….

It was carved out by a tributary of the Brazos River. The huge canyon was protected by steep walls.

The comancheros and Comanche weren’t the only ones who used it. Because of its clear trickling streams and towering cottonwoods, it became regularly traveled. Besides the Comanche and Comancheros, buffalo hunters, U.S. Army soldiers, frontier settlers, and cowboys with their cattle herds camped here.

I drove over to take some pictures of the Texas Historical marker and see what else I could see. When I stepped out of the car, I got goosebumps. Just standing on the ground where so much happened was pretty emotional. When I closed my eyes I could feel their spirits and see the frightened faces of the captives. They say the canyon is haunted and I can believe it.

Have you had a strong connection to a historical place where it felt like you’d stepped back in time?

We have a new anthology that’ll be out July 1st. I team up again with the Queen of Texas romance Jodi Thomas, Phyliss Miranda, and DeWanna Pace. Click on the cover to Preorder your copy today!

I’m constantly amazed at the larger-than-life men and women who settled in Texas and helped the state become a strong symbol of extraordinary strength and courage.

It’s fair to say that Margaret Heffernan didn’t have an easy life. But she didn’t stand around wringing her hands either. She took the bull by the horns and made things happen when adversity came calling.

Margaret was five years old when she arrived on the first ship bringing Irish colonists to Texas in 1829. Her family settled on the wild prairies around San Patricio. Her father died in an Indian attack a few years after they put down roots. Then came the Texas Revolution. Margaret’s mother gathered up her children and fled the advancing armies in search of safety. It’s believed they sought refuge in the fort at Goliad. When the Mexican army won the battle of Goliad, it’s rumored they escaped the massacre by speaking Spanish so fluently that the officers believed them to be native Mexicans.

After the Texas war for independence, the Heffernan family returned to San Patricio where nineteen year old Margaret met Harrison Dunbar and they were married. Shortly after the birth of a daughter, Harrison Dunbar was killed in a pistol duel on the streets of Victoria.

Margaret found herself a widow and single parent at the age of twenty.

A year later, she married again, this time to Milton Hardy and they settled down to ranch on the 2,912 acres of land they owned. Margaret gave birth to a son and three daughters, one of whom died in infancy. Again tragedy struck her marital life and her second husband succumbed of the dreaded cholera. She also lost her young son in the same epidemic.

Margaret’s younger brother came to help her run the ranch until she married for a third time four years later to Alexander Borland. Alexander was one of the richest ranchers in South Texas. She bore this husband four children-three sons and a daughter-to enlarge her brood to seven.

In 1860, Alexander and Margaret Borland owned 8,000 head of cattle. It’s at this time they began to hear about trail drives from Texas to Missouri and beyond. They dreamed of taking a herd to northern markets. But Alexander died in a yellow fever epidemic before they could realize their dream.

Despite Margaret’s best efforts, she was unable to halt the terrible toll yellow fever took on her family. Before it was over, in addition to her third husband, she lost three daughters, a son, and an infant grandson. Only three of her seven children remained alive.

After the devastating loss, she threw herself into the running of the ranch and managing the huge herd of livestock.

But, a great blizzard swept down upon the plains during the winter of 1871-1872 and tens of thousands of Texas cattle froze to death.

When early spring rolled around, Margaret weighed her options and decided to drive 1,000 head of cattle that survived up the Chisholm Trail. The Kansas market was paying $23.80 per head compared to $8.00 in San Antonio.

With no one at home to care for her three remaining children and her six year old granddaughter, she decided they’d go with her. Margaret was 49 years old. It took them two months to reach Wichita, Kansas. Margaret and the children took a room at a boardinghouse. Word quickly spread through town of the amazing feat she’d accomplished. The newspaper wrote articles about her saying she had “pluck and business tact far superior to many male trail drivers.” One article remarked that she had “become endeared to many in town on account of her lady-like character.”

Before Margaret was able to sell her cattle, she took ill. On July 5, 1873, Margaret Borland died.

Speculation had it that she died from “brain congestion” and “trail driving fever.” Doesn’t that sound like it came from a man? And one who was probably jealous of what she did.

The woman who’d once managed over 10,000 head of cattle, and did it quite expertly, became a legend up and down the Chisholm Trail. She overcame despite adversity to be revered for her many accomplishments.

Have you read any western romances that feature a woman rancher and trail driver? Pam Crooks’s UNTAMED COWBOY comes to mind.

When researching locations for my second novel, Touched by Love, I visited the famed King Ranch in south Texas, between Corpus Christi and Brownsville–and fell in love with the rugged terrain and equally hardy people.

“The story starts in the mid-1830s with an eleven-year-old boy indentured by his destitute family to a jeweler in New York City.”

Sounds like one of our novels, doesn’t it? But it’s the start of the amazing story of Richard King, the King of Texas. After stowing away on a ship bound of the south of the United States, he worked his way to captain and finally steam boat owner, moving goods and passengers along the lower Rio Grande River.

Sometime in the middle of the 1800s, Captain King crossed a region of Texas known as the Wild Horse Desert. When he came upon the sweet water of the Santa Gertrudis Creek, he’d found home. King and his business partner purchased 15, 500 acres of Mexican land, a land grant known as Rincon de Santa Gertrudis. This acreage was the start of what is now the legendary King Ranch.

Based on a melding of the Southern Plantation and Mexican Hacienda styles of management, King built a dynasty near what is now Kingsville, Texas. When a terrible drought struck South Texas and Northern Mexico, King bought all the cattle from the townspeople of Cruillas, Mexico. Realizing he’d also taken their livelihood, King offered to hire all those who would move to his ranch. These expert stockmen and horsemen became known as Los Kineños–King’s people. Descendants of Los Kineños still live and work on the ranch today.

By the end of the Civil War, King’s ranch had grown to more than 146,000 acres, supporting thousands of head of his domesticated longhorn cattle. When he ran into a problem, such as the lack of quality saddles and tack for his vaqueros, he simply hired the finest craftsmen and moved them onto the ranch. [The Saddle Shop is still in operation: http://www.king-ranch.com/saddle_shop.html]

“Richard King’s sense of adventure was rivaled only by his vision and ability to seize on new business opportunities. In addition to tirelessly working to improve the ranch, he invested in building railroads, packinghouses, ice plants and harbor improvements for the port of Corpus Christi.”

“During this era, Robert J. Kleberg and King’s widow continued to improve and diversify the assets of King Ranch with agricultural development, land sales, and town building projects. In 1904, their efforts were instrumental in helping to build the St. Louis, Brownsville & Mexico Railway — as well as several towns along the newly laid track, including Kingsville. Before her death in 1925, Henrietta King had donated land and funds toward the construction of churches, libraries, and school projects (creating an oasis of community development) in this previously untamed land.”

The ranch’s innovations didn’t stop there. The number one registration in the American Quarter Horse Association Stud Book was from the King Ranch Quarter Horse program. They also produced the youhest horse ever to be inducted into the National Cutting Horse Association Hall of Fame, Mr. San Peppy. Assault, the 1946 winner of the Triple Crown, and Middleground, the 1950 winner of the Kentucky Derby and the Belmont Stakes, both came from King stock.

Today, the King Ranch is a huge operation, with more than 825,000 acres in multiply states and countries, and Running W brand appears on tens of thousands of the King Ranch’s Santa Gertrudis cattle, recognizable by their distinctive black-cherry colored hide.

If you want to know more, visit www.King-Ranch.com. Or better yet, plan a trip to the ranch. You’ll be very glad you did.

The Texas Rangers, one of the most well-known law enforcement agencies in the world, has an on-again off-again history. First established in 1823 by Stephen F. Austin to “act as rangers for the common defense, the Rangers were disbanded and reformed many times over the years, mostly at the whim of whatever politician was in power at the time. It wasn’t until 1987 that the Texas Legislature enacted a statute that made the Texas Rangers a permanent entity of the Department of Public Service.

Through those years, the Rangers have worn several different styles of badges. Contrary to legend, they didn’t start out with stars on their vests. The first Rangers carried a Warrant of Authority, signed by The Adjutant General, that granted them the right to enforce the law when and where they saw fit.

It wasn’t until 1889 that the first Texas Ranger badge was created. Made from a silver Mexican coin, this unofficial badge was made from a Mexican silver dollar by the Rangers riding the southern and western parts of the state. The five-pointed star design is thought to have come from the unofficial seal of the state first used in 1835.

It changed a bit over the years:

An official, state-issued badge didn’t come along until 1935.

And even that changed again in 1957:

In 1962, in a decision that the Director of the Texas Department of Public Safety called “going back to the tradition steeped Mexican silver badge worn by their predecessors during frontier days,” the department adopted their permanent badge.

The “wagon-wheel” design is a five-pointed star, symbolizing the “Lone Star” of Texas, supported by an engraved wheel. The oak leaves on the left side represent strength and the olive branch on the right signifies peace, just as they appear on the Texas State Seal. The center of the star is reserved for the Company designation or the rank of Sergeant or Captain or Senior Captain.

This is the star you will see on the uniform of every Texas Ranger, along with their boots, revolvers and signature white cowboy hats.

If you want to know more about the Texas Rangers, visit their website: www.texasranger.org. There’s some fascinating stuff on that site.

Whether you’re reading a western romance or watching a western movie, you’ll find that jails play some part in most of the storylines. And for good reason. Law enforcement was so crucial in the settlement of the West. There were lots of lawbreakers who had to be made to see the light so to speak.

I wrote about jails in two of my single titles and my story in the upcoming Give Me a Texas Ranger anthology that’ll release July 2010 features a jail break. I didn’t really set out to put jails in my stories. It just happened, you know kinda like not intending to gain weight happens.

There are tons of original old jails here in Texas. Some have been turned into museums, but surprisingly others are still in use after more than a hundred years. Just think how big the spiders are in those lockups and how smelly! Here’s one still being used that’s only 35 miles from where I live at Dickens, Texas.

 Some of the hoosegows resembled huge fortresses with thick walls and consisted of several stories and the sheriff and his family lived in them. These had a gallows built in.

              McCullough Co. Jail 1909                                                                                                                                 Archer Co. Jail

 Ellis Co. Jail built 1888

Others gave the appearance of being added as an afterthought. In very poor counties lacking access to funds they only had what’s called as a strap-iron jail created by strips of metal and must’ve been fashioned by a blacksmith from the looks of things. Strap-iron hoosegows were usually outdoors with no protection from the elements. Those had to have been really miserable places. The first one of these pictures below is from Mobeetie, Texas (or Hide Town which was its name first.) It was a wild and wooly place that entertained Bat Masterson and Pat Garrett among others.

The website www.texasescapes.com is a great source of information on early Texas towns and jails if you’re interested.

One special tidbit I gleaned from that site was that in some counties prisoners were farmed out to willing citizens to keep in their homes for $3.00 a day. I’d never heard that before. Of course, as you well imagine, my mind started whirling, thinking of all sorts of scenerios I could put in a story sometime!

Here’s one that was at a lawless place called The Flat, a town that sat below Ft. Griffin. In the 1870’s the commanding officer declared martial law and tried to clean up the little town that harbored men like John Wesley Hardin, Pat Garrett, Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp. And women like Lottie Deno and Big Nose Kate. The Flat was a Butterfield Stage stop as well as a refuge for buffalo hunters and drovers since it sat smack in the middle of the cattle trails.

Do you have a favorite jail scene from a book or movie? Mine is the John Wayne movie El Dorado with James Caan and Robert Mitchum. Three-fourths of that movie took place in the calaboose.

Hey, there, from north Texas!  I’m thrilled to be blogging with you today and hope you enjoy it as much as I plan to! 

Although I’m a recent transplant to Texas from Alabama, I’m no stranger to this great state.  We’ve lived in Texas several times over the years, three times in El Paso, once in San Angelo, Austin, Frisco and now the northeast.  My husband’s family settled in southeastern Texas shortly before the Civil War and one of his great-uncles, among a company of volunteers from Georgia, was shot down after surrendering at Goliad. 

Too much detail?  My husband often tells me, “Quit researching and get to writing!”  Not that it stops me.  That’s what I love most about writing historical romance—the research.  And in Texas, where “Everything is Bigger!”, there’s plenty of history to be discovered.  I love to visit the sites of the actual events I write about.  Big events, especially the tragic ones, leave unmistakable energy at the site.  While writing Time’s Captive, I visited the Palo Duro Canyon.  I’d read that on the day General Mackenzie fired on the Comanche’s camp, he ordered his troops to round up the Comanche’s horses, then shoot and burn them.  Fourteen-hundred horses burned that afternoon while the Comanche women keened and wailed.  The men were too busy fighting at the time, but they mourned the loss soon enough.  Without their horses, the Comanche—often called the Lords of the Plains—were lost, destroyed. 

The day I visited, I stumbled around, looking for the place where the horses were burned, wandering through a thick copse of scraggly trees.  The ground beneath my feet had an odd feel, like sand, only coarser.  Finally, I came to an historical marker, where I learned that I’d been wandering around on the actual site of the burning.  Such a rush of emotion swept over me as I read that I almost fell to my knees, residual emotion from the site’s energy.  It was as if the Comanche’s sorrow hit me all at once, and the view of the sparse vegetation so paralleled the Comanche’s’ lives that I understood more than a book could ever have told me.  At day’s end, I found it hard to leave.

Not all my discoveries are tragic.  For instance, Lockhart, the actual town near which I set the fictitious town of Cedar Springs in Destiny’s Captive, holds a watermelon festival each year, complete with seed-spitting contests, eat-offs, cook-offs, you name it.  As a result, watermelons had to figure among the activities in the book.  (I’d wanted to include a “festival,” but the hero and heroine had other plans for this plot.)  Lockhart originally boasted a large complement of German immigrants and the town is famous for its long-lived barbeque establishment:  Kreuz’ (pronounced Kr?tzes).  (Absolutely incredible barbecue in a simple setting, true to its German roots.)  I considered having the hero and heroine meet over barbecue, but Kreitz’s hadn’t been established yet. 

I visited Lockhart years ago, before I ever dreamed of setting Jeremiah’s story there.  And, though I’ve lived in Austin (which so far ranks as our Top Pick), and been to the Texas Capital and most of the tourist sites around, I still needed to do more detailed research for the book.  For that I turned, as I generally do, to the Internet, where I discovered a real-life heroine:  Mrs. Angelina Eberly.  (Another discovery was that Angelina’s a pretty common name in Texas, past and present.)  This gutsy lady, an innkeeper, hated Sam Houston.  Who can blame her?  In the chaos that ensued after the fall of the Alamo, Houston ordered the town of San Felipe burned to keep it out of General Santa Anna’s hands, including the hotel Angelina and her deceased husband had founded, and upon which she relied for her living.  That didn’t deter Angelina.  She remarried, bought another hotel in Austin, which had been newly proclaimed the capital by Texas’ second governor, Mirabeau B. Lamar, and she started over. 

Unfortunately, Houston hated Lamar and called Austin “the most unfortunate site on earth for a government.”  He tried to subvert Lamar’s intentions by sending a company of Texas Rangers to steal the state’s archives and return them to Washington-on-the-Brazos.  Angelina stumbled on the men leaving in loaded wagons, realized what they were about and fired the town cannon, which was kept loaded in case of Indian attack.  It’s believed she lit it with her cigar!  Luckily, she missed the men and their load of archives, but blew a hole in the General Land Office building three blocks away and succeeded in alerting the town.  In the ensuing “Archives War,” the archives were safely returned to the capital intact, and Mrs. Angelina Eberly was recognized as a true Texas heroine.  Ironically, during his entire second term as governor, Sam Houston rented a room in Angelina’s inn.  In 2004 a statue commemorating Angelina’s bravery was placed at the same corner where the town cannon sat. 

Did I mention residual energy?  Maybe I’m overly sensitive, but when I visited the stacks at the Center For American History at the University of Texas in Austin, I got to handle that energy in the form of original documents from the participants in the Red River War (the major conflict in Time’s Captive.)  (You can tell a lot about a man by his penmanship, or total lack thereof.)  What a thrill!  Just take a roll of coins for the copy machine, loose paper (a ream should be enough), five pencils (which they’ll provide if you forget), and be prepared to be amazed.  It’s a thrill to hold the hand-written reports of the people who were there and enjoy a first-hand look at events.

What it all boils down to is this:  on-line research is great.  The Internet is a wonderful resource and we’re all lucky to have it.  After all, I came across Angelina Eberly’s story while researching the Governor’s Mansion in Austin.  However, writing’s such a solitary existence that I highly recommend hands-on research if you can manage it.  History’s waiting for you.  Get out there and see it, feel it, touch it—SENSE IT!

Just be prepared for a few zingers!