In the Line of Duty: Reflections of a Texas Ranger Private Page: 1

                                
White Robes and Torches
Cotton. They called it "King Cotton," and only those who
knew of the plant firsthand were able fully to understand the title
of respect so grudgingly given it. While it grew, from the first
tiny sprout shouldering its way up through soft spring earth to
the last bristly, sticky boll harvested in the dry, cracked field un-
der a relentless sun, cotton was king. It ruled over its kingdom
with extreme cruelty, turning all who waited upon it into slaves.
There was no joy in serving this tough master, only pain of
body and spirit. Harvesting cotton was a nightmare-the work-
ers' hands remained sore and red for days after picking. Those
who endured bent backs and torn hands in the oppressive sum-
mer heat of Central Texas felt that cotton was the meanest grow-
ing thing alive.
One of my earliest memories is of bending over the spiteful
plants in the heat, dragging behind me what seemed a bottomless
ducking sack much larger than I. Only six, I had been living and
working on a farm outside Lorena, Texas, near Waco, for almost
a year. The previous year, 1920, our family had come upon hard
times, and my father, mother, two sisters, brother, and I had moved
from our own farm into Lorena. A short time after that move, my