It may seem strange to you that out of all the stories I heard
on the Rio Grande I should choose as first that of Buck
Duane--outlaw and gunman.
But, indeed, Ranger Coffee's story of the last of the Duanes
has haunted me, and I have given full rein to imagination and
have retold it in my own way. It deals with the old law--the
old border days--therefore it is better first. Soon, perchance,
I shall have the pleasure of writing of the border of to-day,
which in Joe Sitter's laconic speech, "Shore is 'most as bad
an' wild as ever!"
In the North and East there is a popular idea that the frontier
of the West is a thing long past, and remembered now only in
stories. As I think of this I remember Ranger Sitter when he
made that remark, while he grimly stroked an unhealed bullet
wound. And I remember the giant Vaughn, that typical son of
stalwart Texas, sitting there quietly with bandaged head, his
thoughtful eye boding ill to the outlaw who had ambushed him.
Only a few months have passed since then--when I had my
memorable sojourn with you--and yet, in that short time,
Russell and Moore have crossed the Divide, like Rangers.
Gentlemen,--I have the honor to dedicate this book to you, and
the hope that it shall fall to my lot to tell the world the
truth about a strange, unique, and misunderstood body of
men--the Texas Rangers--who made the great Lone Star State
habitable, who never know peaceful rest and sleep, who are
passing, who surely will not be forgotten and will some day
come into their own.