Low-life Along the Porciuncula

"East of Calabasas were some other enterprising types, whose small adobes and shacks were sprouting along the River. Many were Texas low-life who hunted deer and other game, and made a kind of living by raising and selling chickens and turkeys, with the women doing most of the work They were even meaner than the Southern roughnecks over in El Monte, and their neighborhood was best avoided. Shooting a man in the back from ambush didn't bother them at all."  (from Tejon Trail)

Spaniards, Shysters and Shylocks

"He shook his head as he rode down the still-busy dirt street, thinking that with the railroad would come even more shysters and shylocks, card-sharps and crooks, flooding into the Western Land of Opportunity, a hundred years after the Revolution and two hundred years since Portola and Father Crespi had sat talking around the camp fire there beside the Rio Porciuncula." 

In Old Los Angeles

"Riding through the gate he glanced back at the Pueblo. Large trees and the hills to the west were silhouetted against a bright golden sunset. He was thinking that not even crime and war stopped the beauties of nature. He had seen terrible killing take place against a backdrop of peach blossoms and a  beautiful sunrise, and sometimes a field of dead soldiers silvered by moonlight."   (from Amargosa Ambush)

Centennial days in the Pueblo

"Every business, office, dance hall and saloon in Los Angeles had a flag or two flying to demonstrate their Centennial patriotic fervor. And up on Fort Moore Hill, where the American Marines had been besieged during the Californios' brief resistance, there was a bigger flag than usual streaming in the cool Spring breeze. He smiled, wondering if someone had also decorated the nearby gallows."

"Ah shit," he muttered, and began to unfasten the stiff slicker. Then standing up he quickly looped it onto the saddle horn and sheltered himself a little as he dug his light wool jacket out of the saddle bag, slipped into it hurriedly, then untied the wool serape from behind the saddle, pulled it on over the jacket, unhooked the slicker and shrugged back into it.   (TEJON TRAIL)

"When it's roundup time in Texas and the bloom is on the sage,
How I long to be in Texas, just a ridin' on the range.
I can smell the bacon fryin', hear it sizzlin' in the pan,
Hear the breakfast horn in the early morn, drinkin' coffee from a can."

     Looking at her appraisingly over his cup he smiled. "I'd say young Mr. Schmidt has got himself quite a wife: hard-working, good cook, handy with a shotgun-- and very pretty."
     "Well, thank you," she managed, eyes shining, cheeks very pink, and her breasts rising and falling rather quickly under the snug gingham dress.
     He had a feeling that compliments had been in short supply around the ranch lately.      (from TEJON TRAIL)