In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

52 Chapter 2 Chapter 2 John E. McBride and Conrad E. Mortimer 1877 The earthly life of Texas Ranger Sonny Smith had been snuffed out near one end of Lucifer’s Line. For this narrative the geographical setting moves upstream to an arena just as wild and woolly, but much farther removed from the Texas seat of government. As the story unfolds in El Paso County it will not go unnoticed that this isolation from legislative hallways and the governor’s office contributed to brouhaha of epic proportion in the writings of history, even for Texas. Hard truths about the El Paso Salt War are readily retrievable and often misunderstood. Misinterpreting or manipulating or massaging facts is not a rare practice for agenda-driven scribes. Optimistically this try at recounting Ranger McBride’s and Mortimer’s journey along Lucifer’s Line will set firmly the pilings of historical transparency. Ambitiously El Paso County—in the first instance—had been one of four surveys lopping off land when Texas claimed a boundary stretching to headwaters of the Rio Grande in Colorado. Ultimately a compromise was reached ceding the two northernmost subdivisions and the boundary line readjusted so that El Paso County, as it does today, is bordered by the country of Mexico and the state of New Mexico. The county was formally organized during March of 1871 but positioning of the county seat was a seesawing affair of arguments and hard-fought elections. As the story at hand uncorks the county seat of El Paso County was Ysleta in 1877, the oldest town in Texas. The county had caught its name for a pass in the Franklin Mountains, a southern chain of the Rockies.1 On the Mexican bank of the Rio Grande stood El Paso del Norte (present Ciudad Juárez) and her sisters on the American side were the hamlets of Franklin and Magoffinville until they were meshed into the city of El Paso, Texas. As expected with two municipalities facing each other across the Rio 52 John E. McBride and Conrad E. Mortimer, 1877 53 Grande, both named El Paso, confusion flourished until the Mexican city underwent the name change in 1888.2 El Paso County was at the far end of the Texas world, not only in distance, but demographically as well. In fact, as far as a majority population was concerned El Paso County was but an appendage of Mexico. The Rio Grande was but a river to cross through when visiting family or friends, attending a fandango or funeral—or a fight. Such had been the case for generation after generation after generation . For those growing up along the river its meaningful significance as an international borderline was immaterial.3 Tradition and custom were the sociological underpinnings of life for the 12,000 folks of Mexican ancestry living along both banks of the Rio Bravo. Tradition and custom, too, were the sociological underpinnings of life for the eighty souls of Anglo extraction living on America’s banks of the Rio Grande.4 Population distribution was asymmetrical—decidedly unbalanced. Therein lay the rub. As previously mentioned we are but products of place and time. The Lower Rio Grande country where Ranger Sonny Smith forfeited his life and El Paso County were alike, yet at the same time so culturally contradictory. For both spots the native Spanish-speaking folks were in the majority. Though specific acts of legislation promulgated in the Austin statehouse may have been unpopular in both quarters, in South Texas there was not near the overt resistance as exhibited in far-flung West Texas. To say there was not racially rooted animosity emanating from both sides of the border in South Texas would be amiss, but after crossing the Rio Grande—either way—the general expectation was to play by that country’s rules—or pay the penalty. Banditry and murder were banditry and murder in both places: However along the winding Rio Grande, as distance from the Gulf Coast increased, so too did lessen the necessity for some folks’ complying with the letter of the law, moreover if it was a pesky bother infringing on long-held rights of heritage. To be consequential a particular law must have bite, legal punishment for noncompliance. Rattlesnakes absent fangs may appear scary, but they’re no real threat. Bluntly speaking El Paso County was “beyond the reach of state protection” where laws were “expressed in definite language but weak in execution.”5 Such impotence did not...

Share