Being sheriff is no easy job, but in North Texas it was never harder to uphold the duties of the office than when William Quantrill rode into Collin County 150 years ago with 400 heavily armed bushwhackers after the massacre in Lawrence, Kansas.
North Texas has something of a checkered past.
Did you know that at one time Doc Holliday was a regular at the high-stakes card games in Denison?
Or, even more astonishing, that perhaps a Collin County sheriff was hanged by Quantrill's men for merely hoisting a U.S. flag?
"Collin County was a very unique place in that it was very hard on lawmen," historian Randy Farmer said.
In 1860, voters had elected James Read (or Reed) as Collin County Sheriff and Read seemed to keep the peace around McKinney until Quantrill's 400 Raiders hit town in August 1863. Farmer described this group as "glorified thugs, merciless and lightning quick with cap-and-ball pistols," often with four of five pistols stuck in holsters and belts.
Quantrill was a "schoolteacher turned terrorist," according to Farmer, who had been hardened by the Border Wars of the 1850s between Missouri and Kansas.
"I believe Quantrill coming to Collin County ushered in an era of lawlessness that continued throughout Reconstruction," he remarked.
Although it wasn't possible for Quantrill to keep 400 men organized in Texas and the group quickly splintered, when one got in trouble, he'd call on his buddies and soon they would have a clan together.
So why was Sheriff Read murdered? Farmer's research indicates there was a special occasion that called for a flag-raising and one of Quantrill's gang made sure the sheriff had a secessionist flag to hoist. When Sheriff Read raised the U.S. flag instead, his days were numbered.
Ironically, not from today's bustling downtown McKinney, back in 1864 about 60 of Quantrill's boys engaged in a daylong shootout with the sheriff and a dozen members of his posse. Finally, under the cover of darkness, the sheriff and his men got away.
Enraged, the mob torched the sheriff's house, although Sheriff Read's wife and children managed to escape. James Read made his way to East Texas, but Farmer believes an element of Quantrill's Raiders lynched the Collin County Sheriff on Confederate Avenue in Tyler on May 18, 1864.
That meant for almost three months there was no law in Collin County except Quantrill's men until Josiah Nichols was elected August 1, 1864. Nichols resigned, as did the next sheriff, William C. Hall. The following sheriff was removed from office, and George A. Wilson took over November 19, 1867. Sheriff Wilson hanged two of Quantrill's men and was shot five times not long after. Sheriff Wilson survived, but decided it would be an ideal time to retire.
A judge in Bonham also showed discretion when Quantrill was brought to his chambers in the Fannin County Courthouse, perhaps because Quantrill and his boys often used a weathervane on the courthouse for target practice. The judge thought the situation over and excused himself for lunch. Quantrill excused himself, as well, and then made one more lap around the Fannin County Courthouse shooting at the weathervane before heading north across Red River. The judge had a nice, leisurely lunch, waited for all the visitors to leave town and then returned to his chambers.
Farmer is familiar with Bonham history because a relative named E.W. Thornton was a city marshal who shot one of Belle Star's gang in a Bonham saloon.
"He had four notches on his gun," Farmer says, "and I know where three of them came from."
Grayson County history was discussed, too. Doc Holliday, Farmer explained, was a dentist in Dallas when he ran afoul of the law and headed up to Denison where railroad money meant lucrative card games for the professional gambler.
Holliday left Texas and drifted across the West. But, in the mid-1870s, when Fort Richardson was the largest army installation in the U.S., it should be no surprise that Holliday turned up in nearby Jacksboro, Texas. Army payrolls fueled around-the-clock poker games.
From there Holliday eased over to Fort Griffin where he made the acquaintance of Wyatt Earp and Mary Katherine Horony, a sporting woman better known as Big Nose Kate. Both would be lifelong friends of Holliday.
Farmer hinted to the fact that Wyatt Earp, an iconic lawman, may have actually had his first experience with the law after being charged with stealing horses.
And the most dangerous gunslinger of them all? That may have been John Wesley Hardin, the man named after the founder of the Methodist faith and born in the back room of a church near Whitewright. Hardin claimed to have killed 44 men before Grayson County native John Selman put a bullet in the back of Hardin's head while he was shooting dice in an El Paso saloon.
"Hardin would ride into a gunfight with pistols spinning," Farmer remarked. "He practiced in front of mirrors for hours."
So, why was it so hard to track down these gunslingers?
There was no systematic identification process available to help law enforcement differentiate between the buffalo hunters and outlaws that drifted from town to town.
"Most of the good ol' southern boys had three names," Farmer added, tougue in cheek, "which came in handy when they were in a hurry to come up with an alias."
The most serious observation made by the historian?
That may have been when Farmer remarked that if Texas hadn't seceded, and maybe more precisely if South Carolina and Texas hadn't seceded, there may not have even been a Civil War.