Riding straight out of the pages of Western history, W. J. L. Sullivan arrives, hat firmly planted on his head, to tell in his own plain way about his time as a sergeant of the Texas Rangers. The years were 1889 to 1901, and there was lawlessness enough on the frontiers of Texas to occupy any able-bodied man with a horse, a six-shooter, and a hard-headed sense of decency and order. Rounding up cattle poachers, hanging loquacious murderers, leaping into border skirmishes, watching the odd culprit wriggle free through the "slick scheme" of an attorney, wrestling a buffalo and losing a horse in...
Riding straight out of the pages of Western history, W. J. L. Sullivan arrives, hat firmly planted on his head, to tell in his own plain way about his...
