And we kill deer and wild hogs and cook them. He pulls his black pickup up near the family cemetery where his wife was recently buried. Hassette calls to the cattle, many of which he has named, and throws grain from the back of the truck. I can't imagine living another way. About 40 miles south of Hassette's ranch, between Freer and Hebbronville, the country gets even wilder, the hills larger, and the cactus more abundant.
Few cars pass down the highway.
There are no telephone wires. Eight miles from the highway, down a hilly, dusty road, Charlie Diaz lives in trailer with a bay horse tied beside it. Like Hassette and Hardcastle, he has spent his life scraping a living from the land. He has spent most of his life as a foreman on area ranches. Diaz stands outside his trailer and points a long, thin finger at a trail that runs north and another that forks east.