A Vaquero of Brush Country by Frank Dobie

 

And in 1878 there were sights in Fort Griffin. Established eleven years before as an outpost against Indians, it became soon after the battle of Adobe Walls, June 27th, 1874, headquarters for thousands of butchers engaged in annihilating the “southern herd” of American bison and also for cow men and cowboys engaged in establishing ranches on the vast ranges that the slaughter of the buffalo and the attendant subjugation of the Indians were leaving vacant. I have seen Hells Half Acre in Fort Worth but here was Hells Half Hundred Acres. It was beyond all odds the worst hole that I have ever been in. The population at this time was perhaps five thousand people, most of them soldiers, gamblers, cow thieves, horse thieves, murderers, wild women, Buffalo hunters, altogether the most mongrel and the hardest-looking crew that it was possible to assemble. The fort proper and the big store were up on a hill. The sights were down under the hill and the flats where every house was either a saloon, a gambling den, or a dance hall, generally all three combined. No man who valued his life would go here unarmed or step out alone into the darkness. If about daylight he walked down to the river he might see a man hanging from one of the cottonwood trees with a placard on his back saying, “Horse Thief #8”-- or whatever the latest number was.

Written in 1929, this is a collection of reminisces from cattleman-rancher John Young.

It is full of incident, shenanigans, tragedy, and insight.

It may be non-fiction but those who are fans of McMurtry and the historically accurate Benjamin Capps will likely find a lot to love about this volume.

It is clear many a fine fiction writer delved into such volumes.

Nothing dry about this tale.

Nonfiction that reads like a raconteur having his way around a campfire.