Bad Men of Texas--_The Lone Star State Always a Producer of
Fighters_--_A Long History of Border War_--_The Death of Ben Thompson_.
A review of the story of the American desperado will show that he has
always been most numerous at the edge of things, where there was a
frontier, a debatable ground between civilization and lawlessness, or a
border between opposing nations or sections. He does not wholly pass
away with the coming of the law, but his home is essentially in a new
and undeveloped condition of society. The edge between East and West,
between North and South, made the territory of the bad man of the
American interior.
The far Southwest was the oldest of all American frontiers, and the
stubbornest. We have never, as a nation, been at war with any other
nation whose territory has adjoined our own except in the case of
Mexico; and long before we went to war as a people against Mexico, Texas
had been at war with her as a state, or rather as a population and a
race against another race. The frontier of the Rio Grande is one of the
bloodiest of the world, and was such long before Texas was finally
admitted to the union. There was never any new territory settled by so
vigorous and belligerent a population as that which first found and
defended the great empire of the Lone Star. Her early men were, without
exception, fighters, and she has bred fighters ever since.
The allurement which the unsettled lands of the Southwest had for the
young men of the early part of the last century lay largely in the
appeal of excitement and adventure, with a large possibility of worldly
gain as well. The men of the South who drifted down the old River Road
across Mississippi and Louisiana were shrewd in their day and
generation. They knew that eventually Texas would be taken away from
Mexico, and taken by force. Her vast riches would belong to those who
had earned them. Men of the South were even then hunting for another
West, and here was a mighty one. The call came back that the fighting
was good all along the line; and the fighting men of all the South, from
Virginia to Louisiana, fathers and sons of the boldest and bravest of
Southern families, pressed on and out to take a hand. They were
scattered and far from numerous when they united and demanded a
government of their own, independent of the far-off and inefficient head
of the Mexican law. They did not want Coahuila as their country, but
Texas, and asked a government of their own. Lawless as they were, they
wanted a real law, a law of Saxon right and justice.
Men like Crockett, Fannin, Travers and Bowie were influenced half by
political ambition and half by love of adventure when they moved across
the plains of eastern Texas and took up their abode on the firing line
of the Mexican border. If you seek a historic band of bad men, fighting
men of the bitterest Baresark type, look at the immortal defenders of
the Alamo. Some of them were, in the light of calm analysis, little
better than guerrillas; but every man was a hero. They all had a chance
to escape, to go out and join Sam Houston farther to the east; but they
refused to a man, and, plying the border weapons as none but such as
themselves might, they died, full of the glory of battle; not in ranks
and shoulder to shoulder, with banners and music to cheer them, but each
for himself and hand to hand with his enemy, a desperate fighting man.
The early men of Texas for generations fought Mexicans and Indians in
turn. The country was too vast for any system of law. Each man had
learned to depend upon himself. Each cabin kept a rifle and pistol for
each male old enough to bear them, and each boy, as he grew up, was
skilled in weapons and used to the thought that the only arbitrament
among men was that of weapons. Part of the population, appreciating the
exemptions here to be found, was, without doubt, criminal; made up of
men who had fled, for reasons of their own, from older regions. These in
time required the attention of the law; and the armed bodies of
hard-riding Texas rangers, a remedy born of necessity, appeared as the
executives of the law.
The cattle days saw the wild times of the border prolonged. The buffalo
range caught its quota of hard riders and hard shooters. And always the
apparently exhaustless empires of new and unsettled lands--an enormous,
untracked empire of the wild--beckoned on and on; so that men in the
most densely settled sections were very far apart, and so that the law
as a guardian could not be depended upon. It was not to be wondered at
that the name of Texas became the synonym for savagery. That was for a
long time the wildest region within our national confines. Many men who
attained fame as fighters along the Pecos and Rio Grande and Gila and
Colorado came across the borders from Texas. Others slipped north into
the Indian Nations, and left their mark there. Some went to the mines of
the Rockies, or the cattle ranges from Montana to Arizona. Many stayed
at home, and finished their eventful lives there in the usual
fashion--killing now and again, then oftener, until at length they
killed once too often and got hanged; or not often enough once, and so
got shot.
To undertake to give even the most superficial study to a field so vast
as this would require a dozen times the space we may afford, and would
lead us far into matters of history other than those intended. We can
only point out that the men of the Lone Star state left their stamp as
horsemen and weapon-bearers clear on to the north, and as far as the
foot of the Arctic circle. Their language and their methods mark the
entire cattle business of the plains from the Rio Grande to the
Selkirks. Theirs was a great school for frontiersmen, and its graduates
gave full account of themselves wherever they went. Among them were bad
men, as bad as the worst of any land, and in numbers not capable of
compass even in a broad estimate.
Some citizens of Montgomery county, Texas, were not long ago sitting in
a store of an evening, and they fell to counting up the homicides which
had fallen under their notice in that county within recent memory. They
counted up seventy-five authenticated cases, and could not claim
comprehensiveness for their tally. Many a county of Texas could do as
well or better, and there are many counties. It takes you two days to
ride across Texas by railway. A review of the bad man field of Texas
pauses for obvious reasons!
So many bad men of Texas have attained reputation far wider than their
state that it became a proverb upon the frontier that any man born on
Texas soil would shoot, just as any horse born there would "buck." There
is truth back of most proverbs, although to-day both horses and men of
Texas are losing something of their erstwhile bronco character. That
out of such conditions, out of this hardy and indomitable population,
the great state could bring order and quiet so soon and so permanently
over vast unsettled regions, is proof alike of the fundamental sternness
and justness of the American character and the value of the American
fighting man.
Yet, though peace hath her victories not less than war, it is to be
doubted whether in her own heart Texas is more proud of her statesmen
and commercial kings than of her stalwart fighting men, bred to the use
of arms. The beautiful city of San Antonio is to-day busy and
prosperous; yet to-day you tread there ground which has been stained red
over and over again. The names of Crockett, Milam, Travis, Bowie, endure
where those of captains of industry are forgotten. Out of history such
as this, covering a half century of border fighting, of frontier travel
and merchandising, of cattle trade and railroad building, it is
impossible--in view of the many competitors of equal claims--to select
an example of bad eminence fit to bear the title of the leading bad man
of Texas.
There was one somewhat noted Texas character, however, whose life comes
down to modern times, and hence is susceptible of fairly accurate
review--a thing always desirable, though not often practical, for no
history is more distorted, not to say more garbled, than that dealing
with the somewhat mythical exploits of noted gun fighters. Ben Thompson,
of Austin, killer of more than twenty men, and a very perfect exemplar
of the creed of the six-shooter, will serve as instance good enough for
a generic application. Thompson was not a hero. He did no deeds of war.
He led no forlorn hope into the imminent deadly breach. His name is
preserved in no history of his great commonwealth. He was in the opinion
of certain peace officers, all that a citizen should not be. Yet in his
way he reached distinction; and so striking was his life that even
to-day he does not lack apologists, even as he never lacked friends.
Ben Thompson was of English descent, and was born near Lockhart, Texas,
according to general belief, though it is stated that he was born in
Yorkshire, England. Later his home was in Austin, where he spent the
greater part of his life, though roaming from place to place. Known as a
bold and skillful gun man, he was looked on as good material for a
hunter of bad men, and at the time of his death was marshal of police
at Austin. In personal appearance Thompson looked the part of the
typical gambler and gun fighter. His height was about five feet eight
inches, and his figure was muscular and compact. His hair was dark and
waving; his eyes gray. He was very neat in dress, and always took
particular pains with his footwear, his small feet being always clad in
well-fitting boots of light material, a common form of foppery in a land
where other details of dress were apt to be carelessly regarded. He wore
a dark mustache which, in his early years, he was wont to keep waxed to
points. In speech he was quiet and unobtrusive, unless excited by drink.
With the six-shooter he was a peerless shot, an absolute genius, none in
all his wide surrounding claiming to be his superior; and he had a
ferocity of disposition which grew with years until he had, as one of
his friends put it, "a craving to kill people." Each killing seemed to
make him desirous of another. He thus came to exercise that curious
fascination which such characters have always commanded. Fear he did not
know, or at least no test arising in his somewhat varied life ever
caused him to show fear. He passed through life as a wild animal,
ungoverned by the law, rejoicing in blood; yet withal he was held as a
faithful friend and a good companion. To this day many men repel the
accusation that he was bad, and maintain that each of his twenty
killings was done in self-defense. The brutal phase of his nature was no
doubt dominant, even although it was not always in evidence. He was
usually spoken of as a "good fellow," and those who palliate or deny
most of his wild deeds declare that local history has never been as fair
to him as he deserved.
Thompson's first killing was while he was a young man at New Orleans,
and according to the story, arose out of his notions of chivalry. He was
passing down the street in a public conveyance, in company of several
young Creoles, who were going home from a dance in a somewhat
exhilarated condition. One or two of the strangers made remarks to an
unescorted girl, which Thompson construed to be offensive, and he took
it upon himself to avenge the insult to womanhood. In the affray that
followed he killed one of the young men. For this he was obliged to flee
to old Mexico, taking one of the boats down the river. He returned
presently to Galveston, where he set up as a gambler, and began to
extend his reputation as a fighting man. Most of his encounters were
over cards or drink or women, the history of many or most of the border
killings.
Thompson's list grew steadily, and by the time he was forty years of age
he had a reputation far wider than his state. In all the main cities of
Texas he was a figure more or less familiar, and always dreaded. His
skill with his favorite weapon was a proverb in a state full of men
skilled with weapons. Moreover, his disposition now began to grow more
ugly, sullen and bloodthirsty. He needed small pretext to kill a man if,
for the slightest cause, he took a dislike to him. To illustrate the
ferocity of the man, and his readiness to provoke a quarrel, the
following story is told of him:
A gambler by the name of Jim Burdette was badly whipped by the
proprietor of a variety show, Mark Wilson, who, after the fight, told
Burdette that he had enough of men like him, who only came to his
theater to raise trouble and interfere with his business, and that if
either he or any of his gang ever again attempted to disturb his
audiences that they would have him (Wilson) to deal with. The next day
Ben Thompson, seated in a barber shop, heard about the row and said to
a negro standing by: "Mack, d--n your nigger soul, you go down to that
place this evening and when the house is full and everybody is seated,
you just raise hell and we'll see what that ---- is made of." The
program was carried out. The negro arose in the midst of the audience
and delivered himself of a few blood-curdling yells. Instantly the
proprietor came out of the place, but caught sight of Thompson, who had
drawn a pair of guns and stood ready to kill Wilson. The latter was too
quick for him, and quickly disappeared behind the scenery, after his
shotgun. There was too much excitement that night, and the matter passed
off without a killing. A few nights thereafter, Thompson procured some
lamp-black, which he gave the gambler Burdette, with instructions to go
to the theater, watch his chance, and dash the stuff in Wilson's face.
This was done and when the ill-fated proprietor, who immediately went
for his shotgun, came out with that weapon, Thompson fell to the ground,
and the contents of the gun, badly fired at the hands of Wilson, his
face full of lamp-black, passed over Thompson's head. Thompson then
arose and filled Wilson full of holes, killing him instantly. The
bartender, seeing his employer's life in danger, fired at Thompson
wildly, and as Thompson turned on him he dodged behind the bar to
receive his death wound through the counter and in his back. Thompson at
the court of last resort managed to have a lot of testimony brought to
bear, and, with a half dozen gamblers to swear to anything he needed, he
was admitted to bail and later freed.
He is said to have killed these two men for no reason in the world
except to show that he could "run" a place where others had failed. A
variation of the story is that a saloon keeper fired at Thompson as he
was walking down the street in Austin, and missing him, sprang back
behind the bar, Thompson shooting him through the head, through the bar
front. Another man's life now meant little to him. He desired to be
king, to be "chief," just as the leaders of the desperadoes in the
mining regions of California and Montana sought to be "chief." It meant
recognition of their courage, their skill, their willingness to take
human life easily and carelessly and quickly, a singular ambition which
has been so evidenced in no other part of the world than the American
West. It is certain that the worst bad men all over Texas were afraid
of Ben Thompson. He was "chief."
Ben Thompson left the staid paths of life in civilized communities. He
did not rob, and he did not commit theft or burglary or any highway
crimes; yet toiling and spinning were not for him. He was, for the most
part, a gambler, and after a while he ceased even to follow that calling
as a means of livelihood. Forgetting the etiquette of his chosen
profession, he insisted on winning no manner how and no matter what the
game. He would go into a gambling resort in some town, and sit in at a
game. If he won, very well. If he lost, he would become enraged, and
usually ended by reaching out and raking in the money on the table, no
matter what the decision of the cards. He bought drinks for the crowd
with the money he thus took, and scattered it right and left, so that
his acts found a certain sanction among those who had not been
despoiled.
To know what nerve it required to perform these acts of audacity, one
must know something of the frontier life, which at no corner of the
world was wilder and touchier than in the very part of the country where
Thompson held forth. There were hundreds of men quick with the gun all
about him, men of nerve, but he did not hesitate to take all manner of
chances in that sort of population. The madness of the bad man was upon
him. He must have known what alone could be his fate at last, but he
went on, defying and courting his own destruction, as the finished
desperado always does, under the strange creed of self-reliance which he
established as his code of life. Thus, at a banquet of stockmen in
Austin, and while the dinner was in progress, Thompson, alone, stampeded
every man of them, and at that time nearly all stockmen were game. The
fear of Thompson's pistol was such that no one would stand for a fight
with him. Once Thompson went to the worst place in Texas, the town of
Luling, where Rowdy Joe was running the toughest dance house in America.
He ran all the bad men out of the place, confiscated what cash he needed
from the gaming tables and raised trouble generally. He showed that he
was "chief."
In the early eighties, in the quiet, sleepy, bloody old town of San
Antonio, there was a dance hall, gambling resort and vaudeville theater,
in which the main proprietor was one Jack Harris, commonly known as
Pegleg Harris. Thompson frequently patronized this place on his visits
to San Antonio, and received treatment which left him with a grudge
against Harris, whom he resolved to kill. He followed his man into the
bar-room one day and killed Harris as he stood in the semi-darkness. It
was only another case of "self-defense" for Thompson, who was well used
to being cleared of criminal charges or left unaccused altogether; and
no doubt Harris would have killed him if he could.
After killing Harris, Thompson declared that he proposed to kill Harris'
partners, Foster and Simms. He had an especial grudge against Billy
Simms, then a young man not yet nineteen years of age, because, so it is
stated, he fancied that Simms supplanted him in the affections of a
woman in Austin; and he carried also his grudge against the gambling
house, where Simms now was the manager. Every time Thompson got drunk,
he declared his intention of killing Billy Simms, and as the latter was
young and inexperienced, he trembled in his boots at this talk which
seemed surely to spell his doom. Simms, to escape Thompson's wrath,
removed to Chicago, and remained there for a time, but before long was
summoned home to Austin, where his mother was very ill. Thompson knew
of his presence in Austin, but with magnanimity declined to kill Simms
while he was visiting his sick mother. "Wait till he goes over to
Santone," he said, "then I'll step over and kill the little ----."
Simms, presently called to San Antonio to settle some debt of Jack
Harris' estate, of which as friend and partner of the widow he had been
appointed administrator, went to the latter city with a heavy heart,
supposing that he would never leave it alive. He was told there that
Thompson had been threatening him many times; and Simms received many
telegrams to that effect. Some say that Thompson himself telegraphed
Simms that he was coming down that day to kill him. Certainly a friend
of Simms on the same day wired him warning: "Party who wants to destroy
you on train this day bound for San Antonio."
Friends of Thompson deny that he made such threats, and insist that he
went to San Antonio on a wholly peaceful errand. In any case, this
guarded but perfectly plain message set Simms half distracted. He went
to the city marshal and showed his telegram, asking the marshal for
protection, but the latter told him nothing could be done until Thompson
had committed some "overt act." The sheriff and all the other officers
said the same thing, not caring to meet Thompson if they could avoid it.
Simms later in telling his story would sob at the memory of his feeling
of helplessness at that time. The law gave him no protection. He was
obliged to take matters in his own hands. He went to a judge of the
court, and asked him what he should do. The judge pondered for a time,
and said: "Under the circumstances, I should advise a shotgun."
Simms went to one of the faro dealers of the house, a man who was known
as bad, and who never sat down to deal faro without a brace of big
revolvers on the table; but this dealer advised him to go and "make
friends with Thompson." He went to Foster, Harris' old partner, and laid
the matter before him. Foster said, slowly, "Well, Billy, when he comes
we'll do the best we can." Simms thought that he too was weakening.
There was a big policeman, a Mexican by name of Coy, who was considered
a brave man and a fighter, and Simms now went to him and asked for aid,
saying that he expected trouble that night, and wanted Coy to do his
duty. Coy did not become enthusiastic, though as a matter of fact
neither he nor Foster made any attempt to leave the place. Simms turned
away, feeling that his end was near. In desperation he got a shotgun,
and for a time stationed himself near the top of the stair up which
Thompson would probably come when entering the place. The theater was up
one flight of stairs, and at the right was the customary bar, from which
"ladies" in short skirts served drinks to the crowd during the variety
performance, which was one of the attractions of the place.
[Illustration: THE OLD CHISUM RANCH BELOW ROSWELL, NEW MEXICO]
It was nervous work, waiting for the killer to come, and Simms could not
stand it. He walked down the stairway, and took a turn around the block
before he again ascended the stairs to the hall. Meantime, Ben Thompson,
accompanied by another character, King Fisher, a man with several
notches on his gun, had ascended the stairs, and had taken a seat on the
right hand side and beyond the bar, in the row nearest the door. When
Simms stepped to the foot of the stairs on his return, he met the
barkeeper, who was livid with terror. He pointed trembling up the stair
and whispered, "He's there!" Ben Thompson and King Fisher had as yet
made no sort of demonstration. It is said that King Fisher had decoyed
Thompson into the theater, knowing that a trap was laid to kill him. It
is also declared that Thompson went in merely for amusement. A friend of
the author, a New Mexican sheriff who happened to be in San Antonio, saw
and talked with both men that afternoon. They were both quiet and sober
then.
Simms' heart was in his mouth, but he made up his mind to die game, if
he had to die. Slowly he walked up the stairway. Such was Thompson's
vigilance, that he quickly arose and advanced toward Simms, who stood at
the top of the stairs petrified and unable to move a muscle. Before
Simms could think, his partner, Foster, appeared on the scene, and as he
stood up, Thompson saw him and walked toward him and said: "Hello,
Foster, how are you?" Slowly and deliberately Foster spoke: "Ben, this
world is not big enough for us both. You killed poor Jack Harris like a
dog, and you didn't as much as give him a chance for his life. You and I
can never be friends any more." Quick as a flash and with a face like a
demon, Thompson drew his pistol and jammed it into Foster's mouth,
cruelly tearing his lips and sending him reeling backward. While this
was going on, Simms had retreated to the next step, and there drew his
pistol, not having his shotgun in hand then. He stepped forward as he
saw Foster reel from the blow Thompson gave him, and with sudden courage
opened fire. His first shot must have taken effect, and perhaps it
decided the conflict. Thompson's gun did not get into action. Simms kept
on firing. Thompson reeled back against King Fisher, and the two were
unable to fire. Meantime the big Mexican, Coy, showed up from somewhere,
just as Foster had. Both Foster and Coy rushed in front of the line of
fire of Simms' pistol; and then without doubt, Simms killed his own
friend and preserver. Foster got his death wound in such position that
Simms admitted he must have shot him. None the less Foster ran into
Thompson as the latter reeled backwards upon Fisher, and, with the fury
of a tiger, shoved his own pistol barrel into Thompson's mouth in turn,
and fired twice, completing the work Simms had begun. The giant Coy
hurled his bulk into the struggling mass now crowded into the corner of
the room, and some say he held Ben Thompson's arms, though in the mêlée
it was hard to tell what happened. He called out to Simms, "Don't mind
me," meaning that Simms should keep on firing. "Kill the ---- of ----!"
he cried. Coy no doubt was a factor in saving Simms' life, for one or
the other of these two worst men in the Southwest would have got a man
before he fell, had he been able to get his hands free in the
struggling. Coy was shot in the leg, possibly by Simms, but did not
drop. Simms took care of Coy to the end of his life, Coy dying but
recently.
One of the men engaged in this desperate fight says that Coy did not
hold Thompson, and that at first no one was shot to the floor. Thompson
was staggered by Simms' first shot, which prevented a quick return of
fire. It was Foster who killed Thompson and very likely King Fisher, the
latter being hemmed in in the corner with Thompson in front of him. Coy
rushed into the two and handled them so roughly that they never got
their guns into action so far as known.
Leaving the fallen men at the rear of the theater, Simms now went down
stairs, carrying Foster's pistol, with two chambers empty (the shots
that killed Thompson) and his own gun. He saw Thompson's brother Bill
coming at him. He raised the gun to kill him, when Phil Shardein, then
city marshal, jumped on Thompson and shielded him with his body,
calling out, "Don't shoot, Billy, I've got him." This saved Bill
Thompson's life. Then several shots were heard upstairs, and upon
investigation, it was found that Coy had emptied his pistol into the
dead body of Thompson. He also shot Fisher, to "make sure the ---- were
dead."
Thus they died at last, two of the most notorious men of Texas, both
with their boots on. There were no tears. Many told what they would or
could have done had Ben Thompson threatened them. This closing act in
the career of Ben Thompson came in the late spring of 1882. He was then
about forty-three years of age.
King Fisher, who met death at the same time with Thompson, was a good
disciple of desperadoism. He was a dark-haired, slender young man from
Goliad county--which county seems to have produced far more than its
share of bad men. He had killed six men and stolen a great many horses
in his time. Had he lived longer, he would have killed more. He was not
of the caliber sufficient to undertake the running of a large city, but
there was much relief felt over his death. He had many friends, of
course, and some of these deny that he had any intention of making
trouble when he went into the theater with Ben Thompson, just as friends
of the latter accuse King Fisher of treachery. There are never lacking
men who regard dead desperadoes as martyrs; and indeed it is usually the
case that there are mixed circumstances and frequently extenuating ones,
to be found in the history of any killer's life.
Another Goliad county man well known around San Antonio was Alfred Y.
Allee, who was a rancher a short distance back from the railway. Allee
was decent when sober, but when drunk was very dangerous, and was
recognized as bad and well worth watching. Liquor seemed to transform
him and to make him a bloodthirsty fiend. He had killed several men, one
or two under no provocation whatever and when they were defenseless,
including a porter on a railway train. It was his habit to come to town
and get drunk, then to invite every one to drink with him and take
offense at any refusal. He liked to be "chief" of the drinking place
which he honored with his presence. He once ordered a peaceful citizen
of San Antonio, a friend of the writer, up to drink with him, and when
the latter declined came near shooting him. The man took his drink,
then slipped away and got his shotgun. Perhaps his second thought was
wiser. "What's the use?" he argued with himself. "Somebody'll kill Allee
before long anyhow."
This came quite true, for within the week Allee had run his course. He
dropped down to Laredo and began to "hurrah" that town also. The town
marshal, Joe Bartelow, was a Mexican, but something of a killer himself,
and he resolved to end the Allee disturbances, once for all. It is said
that Allee was not armed when at length they met in a saloon, and it is
said that Bartelow offered his hand in greeting. At once Bartelow threw
his arm around Allee's neck, and with his free hand cut him to death
with a knife. Whether justifiable or not, that was the fashion of the
homicide.
Any man who has killed more than twenty men is in most countries
considered fit to qualify as bad. This test would include the little
human tiger, Tumlinson, of South Texas, who was part of the time an
officer of the law and part of the time an independent killer in Texas.
He had many more than twenty men to his credit, it was said, and his
Mexican wife, smilingly, always said that "Tumlinson never counted
Mexicans." He was a genius with the revolver, and as good a rifle shot
as would often be found. It made no difference to him whether or not a
man was running, for part of his pistol practice was in shooting at a
bottle swinging in the wind from the bough of a tree. Legend goes that
Tumlinson killed his wife and then shot himself dead, taking many
secrets with him. He was bad.
Sam Bass was a noted outlaw and killer in West Texas, accustomed to ride
into town and to take charge of things when he pleased. He had many
thefts and robberies to his credit, and not a few murders. His finish
was one not infrequent in that country. The citizens got wind of his
coming one day, just before he rode into Round Rock for a little raid.
The city marshal and several others opened fire on Bass and his party,
and killed them to a man.
It was of such stuff as this that most of the bad men and indeed many of
the peace officers were composed, along a wide frontier in the early
troublous days following the civil war, when all the border was a
seething mass of armed men for whom the law had as yet gained no
meaning. To tell the story of more individuals would be to depart from
the purpose of this work. Were these men wrong, and were they wholly
and unreservedly bad? Ignorance and bigotry will be the first to give
the answer, the first to apply to them the standards of these later
days.