Tales From Texas

By Jackson Lowry

The Texas Ranger Division--the Texas Rangers--have been at the forefront of law enforcement since founded in 1835. This mini-anthology contains three stories of Rangers and their heroism, past, present, and future. Traditional enforcement came in chasing bank robbers and cattle thieves. Modern day Rangers face violent drug cartels smuggling narcotics across the border. Future Rangers might face a different enemy, a high-tech cartel dealing in implantable brain chips giving the ultimate in ecstasy.

Follow three eras of Rangers as they combat rustling, drug dealing and computer "chipaderos" in Tales from Texas, authored by western authors Karl Lassiter and Jackson Lowry, and science fiction author Robert E. Vardeman

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Cenotaph Corporation
• Release date: Jul 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311143068

Book preview

I propose we set a trap for them, Mr. Barnett, Ranger Dixon said.

How? I can't keep my men out there watching every knot of cattle spread across fifty square miles.

Let one of your men, one you trust, go into Ysleta. Find a saloon and tell him to get a drink or two under his belt so it looks like his judgment is a mite compromised.

Hell, that's not much of a plan. Barnett looked even glummer.

Have him tell anyone who'll listen how it ain't right to round up cattle in this weather, just to bring them to a feed corral down by the river.

I've only got one such corral, and there's no fodder there.

Don't matter. Let the word out you're shorthanded and doing this to fatten what steers you got left before selling them off early.

You intend to wait for the rustlers at the corral?

The Ranger said nothing. That was the heart of his plan.

From--Rustling, by Karl Lassiter

Tales From Texas

by

Karl Lassiter

Jackson Lowry

Robert E. Vardeman

Smashwords Edition

Tales From Texas

©2012 The Cenotaph Corporation

ISBN-13: 978-1479308453

ISBN-10: 1479308455

Cover © 2012 by Robert E. Vardeman

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Table of Contents

Rustling

by Karl Lassiter

Drugs

by Jackson Lowry

Chips

by Robert E. Vardeman

About the authors

Rustling

by

Karl Lassiter

Jeremy Dixon had ridden this barren stretch of Chihuahua Desert often enough in the past week to know a man could die mighty fast here. The powerful West Texas sun hammered at his Stetson and caused his mare to walk slower than her usual brisk gait. He kept his head down but had to turn as blinding light glinted off the badge pinned to his chest. The Ranger's star had been pounded out of a silver Mexican ten-peso coin. He was proud as punch to wear it, but that didn't do a danged thing to slake his powerful thirst.

It had been two hours since the last drop of precious water had dripped from his canteen onto his chapped lips. The wool cotton draping his mouth made him wonder if hunting down rustlers in the middle of the day was the smartest thing he had ever done.

He let his mare have her head and was rewarded when he saw the oasis appear in the foothills of a line of rocks that probably didn't deserve being named. In spite of being so close to the Rio Grande, the desert hid its water. Even the hardy mesquite had to drop taproots five hundred feet straight down to be assured of a steady water supply. He made his way through a cluster of the thorny bushes—almost trees—and remembered the old-timers' stories he'd heard at the Ranger barracks about how the mesquite dominated most of Texas now because the Comanche no longer burned off the hundreds of square miles of them. Dixon hardly believed it possible to erase the mesquite from the land, but he wasn't going to argue. He was only twenty-three now and hadn't seen much other than the piney woods over in East Texas around Longview.

Born and bred there, amid lakes and running streams everywhere, he had gotten the itch to see more, especially when Janie had upped and died a week before they were to get hitched. Somehow, home no longer seemed as hospitable. In spite of his pa complaining he wouldn't have but two sons left to run the farm, Jeremy had ridden out, not sure what he was going to do or where he headed. He caught a bit of luck less than a month after riding west and had been recruited into the Rangers. He found it hard to believe that was already a year back.

It had taken this long for him to get comfortable wearing the badge and to modesty acknowledge the respect it brought. He even took a bit of pride in seeing how frightened some men got, their guilty minds working around the clock. That look on criminal faces convicted them in his mind, and more often than not, he was right. In one year he had made nine arrests and gotten eight convictions and a commendation from the company captain.

The horse snorted, tossed her head and edged toward the watering hole, Dixon holding her back. As they approached, he looked for animal bones that would mark this as an alkali hole. Seeing nothing of the sort to indicate poison, he dropped to the ground, scooped water in his dirty right palm and cautiously sampled. Sweet water. Only then did he let the mare drink. He shoved his head under the surface, sputtered and then shook like a dog. More than a few sips passed his lips then he filled his canteen and walked the perimeter of the pool to see who else had been here recently. This gave plenty of time for his horse to drink