In small-town East Texas when I was growing up back in the 1950s . the sheriff was still the "high sheriff" -- master of the county courthouse, feudal lord of the county territory, manhunter, and keeper of the bloodhounds -- the person you least wanted to see while on teenage beer-drinking excursions down remote county roads. He was kind to little children and old ladies but was reputed to be very rough on the criminal element. He kept a friendly old bloodhound around his office for kids to pet, and on occasion to help locate lost children and old people who had wandered away from home, but he kenneled his real pack on the edge of town. A mix of Bluetick and Walker hounds from the "Walls" pack at Huntsville prison, they meant business.