The removal of the Seventh Cavalry from Hays City gave Bill immunity
from danger from that quarter, and though he did not return to that
place, he accepted the office of city marshal of Abilene, a town one
hundred miles east of Hays City, and frequently visited the latter
place on business.
Abilene was the point from which all the cattle from Texas for the
Eastern markets were shipped. Immense droves were daily brought into
the place, and with the cattle came the drovers, a large majority of
whom were Texan desperadoes. The town bristled with business, and
crimes and drunkenness became so common that by general consent Abilene
was called the Gomorrah of the West. Gamblers and bad women, drunken
cut-throats and pimps, overshadowed all other society, and the carnival
of iniquity never ceased. The civil officers were plastic to the touch
of the ruffians, and the town was ruled by intimidation.
When Bill assumed charge of the office of marshal, the law and order
class had hopes for a radical change, and yet they were very doubtful
of the ability of one man to curb the reckless and lawless spirit of
so many vicious desperadoes--men who were familiar with the pistol
and did not hesitate to murder and plunder, and who took pleasure in
“stampeding” the place.
In two days after Bill entered upon the discharge of his duties,
occasion presented for a manifestation of his pluck. Phil. Cole, a
gambler, and one of the most dangerous men in the West, in company with
his pal, whose name cannot now be recalled, concluded to run the town
after their own fashion for at least one day. They began by smashing
windows promiscuously, insulting women, discharging their pistols,
and other like conduct. Bill met them while they were in the midst
of their deviltry, and undertook their arrest. He knew Phil. Cole by
reputation, and was prepared for the fight he expected. Cole told Bill
that his arrest depended upon who was the better man, and at once drew
his pistol. McWilliams, Bill’s deputy, stepped up and tried to pacify
Cole, and at the same time to secure his pistol, but Cole was anxious
for a fight and fired at Bill, but missed his mark. Bill returned the
fire, but at the moment he pulled the trigger of his pistol, Cole, in
his struggle, threw McWilliams in front of him and the bullet from the
pistol struck the faithful deputy, killing him almost instantly. Cole’s
pal, who, until this time, seemed a mute spectator of the affray, then
drew his pistol, and also fired at Bill, the bullet passing through
Bill’s hat, and before Cole or his mate could fire again, Bill had put
a bullet through the head of each, and the fight was ended. The death
of McWilliams was most sincerely deplored by everyone, but by none as
it was by Bill, and in years afterward he could not have the sad event
recalled to mind without crying like a child.
The killing of Cole was a most fortunate event for the better class
of citizens of Abilene, because it at once improved the morals of the
place. The men who had for years before rioted at their pleasure,
defied the law and badgered decency, began to feel that to continue in
the same course would be to risk their lives. Nevertheless, the death
of Phil. Cole only diminished the lawless excesses--it did not entirely
prevent them. Bill never had another occasion to kill anyone in
Abilene, but his club fell heavily on many heads determined on vicious
acts. His enemies among the Texas cattle men multiplied rapidly, and he
realized that there was not a moment that he could safely turn his back
to any of them. A cattle king of Texas, whose name we do not choose
to mention, as he is still living, was arrested by Bill for violent
conduct on the street during a spree, and, as he strenuously resisted,
Bill was forced to use his club. The man paid his fine on the following
day, but before leaving town he declared that he would get even with
Bill before many months elapsed.