Frontier Times Magazine

A BANDERA COUNTY TRAGEDY

2018-04-10

From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, August, 1924

During the days of the Civil War, Bandera County was the scene of several tragedies, the most prominent of which was the execution of eight men one night in the summer of 1863, on Julian Creek, five miles east of this town. There are no living witnesses to this tragedy--at least, if they are living they have kept silent for many, many years. But living in Bandera County today are two are three men who remember the circumstances, and who assisted in giving the victims decent burial, and it is from these men that I get the information from which to weave the story of a crime for which the perpetrators were never brought to the bar of justice.

When Texas seceded from the Union, old Camp Verde, 12 miles north of Bandera, was occupied by the Confederate forces. First a frontier battalion was organized for protection against the Indians, and this was directed from Camp Verde. Later, Confederate soldiers were stationed at this well-known post, where Gen. Lee, Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston and other notables had at previous times been in command. While Lawton's company was stationed at Camp Verde in 1860, it became known that a small party of supposed “bushwhackers" were passing through the country en route to Mexico to avoid conscription. There were eight men and one boy in the party, and it became known that they were from Florence, Williamson County. Why they were termed "bushwhackers" has never been explained, but it is presumed that they had taken part in certain bushwhacking operations and had been forced to leave that section. But be that as it may, the word was carried to Camp Verde and a troop of 25 men under command of Maj. W. J. Alexander immediately started in pursuit. In the pursuing party were a number of men who were well known to the early settlers of Bandera County, but after the close of the war they all disappeared, some making haste to get out of the country.

The small band of nine men passed through Bandera several days before the soldiers took up their pursuit. They were well mounted, well-armed and well provisioned and made no secret of their destination, saying that they were leaving the country because they did not care to become involved in the strife between the States, and when it was over they expected to return and take up their residence in Williamson County again, where some of them had families and homes. They seemed quiet and peaceable and paid for everything they secured in Bandera and went on their way.

Several days afterward Maj. Alexander and his men came through Bandera on trail of the men and went from here to Hondo. Picking up the trail there, they followed it to Squirrel Creek, some 10 miles beyond Hondo. where they discovered the men they were seeking in camp. They had finished their noonday meal, and were quietly resting, some lounging around and talking, others attending to the stock, not suspecting that they were being pursued and at that very moment in danger of being captured. Approaching under cover within a very short distance of where the men were camped, Maj. Alexander stepped out into an opening and, swinging his saber over his head, called upon them to surrender, telling them he had them surrounded and there was no chance for escape, and if they would quietly submit he would pledge his word that they should have a fair trial by court-martial at Camp Verde.

The little party of nine promptly yielded up their arms and were then forced to saddle their horses and immediately start back toward Camp Verde. All went evenly enough until the second night on the return trip, when, while in camp on the Julian some of Alexander's men wanted to hang the prisoners.

Some of the party refused to have anything to do with the execution, but some were determined to put the prisoners out of the way, and accordingly marched them out some distance from camp and hung them one by one. A hair rope was used in hanging these men, and each one died by strangulation, being drawn up until choked to death. When life was extinct the victim was let down, and the rope cut, leaving the noose still about his neck. Bill Sawyer, one of the victims begged to be shot, saying he preferred that manner of death to being hung. His wish was granted, and someone in the party fired a rifle at him which only produced a flesh wound on his arm. Sawyer fell, but when it was found that he had not been fatally shot, another man placed, the muzzle of his gun against the fallen man and shot him through the body with a full charge, leaving the ramrod in the gun, which went through him and into the ground. He was thus found the next day. The boy in the party, a lad about 16 years old, is supposed to have escaped, but he too, may have been murdered, as he was never heard of again.

After completing their work, the men who had participated in this crime (those who refused to have a hand in it having passed on) came to Bandera the next morning and proceeded on to Camp Verde without delay, some of the party hinting to citizens that they had rid the country of some more bushwhackers. Alexander's men had their victims' horses, saddles, bedding, clothing and shoes.

Joseph H. Poor, who lived on the West Verde, was camped near the place of execution, and the next morning he went out to look for his horses and came upon the bodies just as Alexander's men left them. He hastened to Bandera and notified the authorities and Justice of the Peace O. B. Miles, Robert Ballentyne, George Hay, Amasa Clark, John Pyka and a number of others went down there to investigate. They found seven of the men had been hanged until dead, and the eighth had been shot through with a ramrod, as stated. George Hay says he pulled the ramrod out of the body. An inquest was held, and the verdict rendered as follows: “We the jury, find that these men (giving their names) were killed by Maj. W. J. Alexander's company." A grave was opened and the bodies of the eight unfortunate men were rolled into it and covered up. Many years later a tombstone was erected over the grave, and on this tombstone appears the names of the men who were murdered while prisoners, who had been given a sacred pledge that they would be given just treatment if they surrendered.

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How do we know these things? There were men in Maj. Alexander's party who refused to countenance the execution of helpless prisoners, and months afterward they talked freely of the occurrence, telling all particulars, and even giving the names of the men who participated. This tragedy occurred in 1863, but retribution usually follows such crimes, and after the war ended and while E. J. Davis was Governor of Texas, district judges all over the State were instructed to charge their respective grand juries to investigate such matters. G. H. Noonan, a good man and true, was judge of this district at that time, and he directed the grand jury of this county to thoroughly investigate the hanging of these men, with the result that as soon as it became known that the strong arm of the law was reaching out, there was a hasty departure by some for a more congenial climate. This was in 1866.

The grand jury indicted W. J. Alexander et al for murder and highway robbery, and for want of service. The ease was continued on the docket from term to term, so the records show. Maj. Alexander had disappeared. Not one of the men charged in the indictment was ever arrested. One of them, it is said, was killed at New Braunfels by officers while resisting arrest. More than half a century has passed since that stain was placed on Bandera County's history, and all who took part in it are supposed to be dead. But it is said that the men who urged the execution of those prisoners and carried it out were not citizens of the county. The court records may reveal their names, if search is made, for they were indicted by the grand jury in 1866. The names or their victims are: C. J. Sawyer, W. M. Sawyer, George Thayer, William Shumake, Jack Whitmire. Jake Kyle, John Smart and a Mr. Vanwinkle.

George Hay who is now in his 86th year but still quite active, in discussing this crime said:

"I have seen many foul crimes in my time. but this was the most revolting that I ever knew. A party of us went out from Bandera as soon as we learned of the occurrence and found the bodies of those unfortunate men lying just as they had them cut down, pieces of the horse-hair rope around each man's neck. They had all been strangled to death by the rope being placed over a limb and drawn up. possibly by somebody on horseback. One man. Bill Sawyer, was lying face down, shot through with a wooden ramrod, which had passed entirely through his body and penetrated into the ground for at least 10 or 12 inches. It Was with great difficulty that I drew out this ramrod. Alexander's party passed through Bandera about 8 o'clock one Sunday morning, and in just a little while, Joseph Poor came with the news that he had found some murdered men down on the Julian. We buried them as best we could, and in giving our verdict at the inquest we definitely placed the blame on Alexander's men, some of whom I knew, but they are all dead now."

Amasa Clark one of the first settlers here, and who is now in his 96th year, active and full of life, clearly remembers the time when this tragedy was enacted, and when questioned about it a few days ago was very emphatic in his denunciation of the perpetrators. His statement follows:

"Oh, yes, I remember the hanging of the Sawyers and those other men. It was an outrage. They were murdered—yes murdered in cold blood. Deliberately murdered without being given a chance for their lives. I knew all of the circumstances, and when Mr. Poor brought word to Bandera that he had found their bodies, Mr. Daniel Rugh asked me to go with him down there. When we arrived there a gruesome sight met our gaze. Some had been partly stripped. I heard afterward that some of the men who took part in the hanging had worn the clothes of their victims while passing through Bandera. There was a report that some of them gambled for the clothing the night of the murder, but I cannot vouch for this statement. This crime created a great deal of indignation here, but the citizens were powerless to do anything. The murdered men were strangers, peaceably passing through the country. They had committed no crime that I know of and should not have been molested. After the war diligent efforts were made to apprehend the guilty ones and bring them to justice, but without success. I knew several of them, but as soon as they were mustered out of the Confederate service, and before the civil courts were in good running order, they left the country. An attempt was made by New Braunfels officers to arrest one of these men on warrant. from Bandera County, but he resisted arrest and was killed. Now I do not charge this crime to Confederate soldiers. I do not believe a true Confederate would be guilty of such a heinous offense as deliberately putting to death an enemy without giving him every chance the law gives a man. I have lived in the South ever since I returned from my service in the Mexican War, in 1848, and I loved the South and the cause she fought for. I know the rules of warfare and how prisoners should be treated. Sawyer and his men were not treated as prisoners of war. They were hung without a trial, and it seems to me that robbery was the sole motive that prompted their execution. This all happened years ago, but it made such a lasting impression that I will never forget it, and have many times wished to, see the guilty ones brought before the courts and made to pay the penalty for their crime."

John Pyka, another highly respected citizen of Bandera, gave his version of this sad affair as follows:

"At that time, I was just a lad, large enough however, to think I was about grown, and I distinctly remember when Mr. Joseph Poor came and notified us that he had seen the body of a man on the Julian with arrows sticking in him and he thought Indians were in the country. Mr. Poor lived on the West Verde, but was camped near the scene of the crime, and was out looking for his horses that had strayed off from camp when he came upon the bodies. He did not take time to investigate but came right on to Bandera and notified the authorities. I went out with the crowd to the place, and we found seven of the men had been hung and one had been shot through with a ramrod. It was an awful spectacle. No, I do not think these men had been stripped of their clothing, because I remember seeing that the cattle had chewed the sleeve of the coat on one of the dead men, and if I remember rightly they were all in full attire. Their pockets were empty, showing that they had been robbed. A 16-year-old boy that was captured with the men was spared for the time being, I understand, and was taken up about Fredericksburg, but as he was never heard of again, it is supposed that he, too was killed. I knew some of the men who had a hand in the hanging, but they left the country when investigation started, I think all of the participants are dead now, for it has been a long time ago since all this happened.

"We dug a shallow grave, laid the dead men into it, spread blankets over them, and covered them up the best we could with dirt and stones to keep the wolves from getting to the bodies. I do not know of any person now living who was present at the time except myself, George Hay and Amasa Clark. There may be others, but I do not remember."

The spreading oak to which these men were hung is still standing, a grim sentinel on a hillside, gnarled and knotted with age, a silent witness of the scene. Nearby, in a beautiful glade, is the shallow grave which contains the bones of the strangers who were the victims of a Hellish plot. Over the grave stands a tombstone, placed there by citizens of the country who were familiar with the details of the murders. On this tombstone is inscribed the following: "C. J. Sawyer, W. M. Sawyer, George Thayre, William Shumake, Jack Whitmire, Jake Kyle, John Smart, Mr. Van Winkle, Died July 25, 1863. Remember friends, as you pass by; as you are now, so once was I. As I am now, you soon will be; prepare for death and follow me."

Mutely this monument stands as the years roll by, in an out-of-the-way place, on land belonging to Frank Pyka. In its seclusion the grave is never disturbed, while in the springtime wild flowers grow and bloom over the mound, song birds make melody in the nearby trees and the soft breezes that blow through the branches chant a requiem to the departed souls.

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THE FRAZER-MILLER FEUD

2018-02-09

From Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, November 1944

When Jim B. Miller was hanged by a mob of citizens at Ada, Okla., last summer there ended the career of the worst and most dangerous of all the bad men who in the old days made a practice of man killing, and when the wires flashed the news throughout. the length and breadth of Texas there was rejoicing in many places where Miller had formerly lived.

Along in the early '90s Bud Frazer was sheriff of Reeves county, of which Pecos is the county seat. Miller came out to Pecos from his home in Central Texas and was soon employed by Frazer as deputy. Several years before this he was indicted, tried and convicted of killing a brother in law and given a life sentence, but a new trial was secured, and when the case was called the second time many of the witnesses had disappeared and Miller came clear. He was only 22 years old at the time and the murder was a most atrocious one. The man was shot as he lay sleeping on his porch at night. Frazer was warned of his character and advised not to employ him, but he did, and for a time all went well.

One day he sent Miller in charge of a Mexican prisoner, who was being moved to Fort Stockton for trial. Miller returned and reported that the Mexican had made an attempt to escape and he had killed him. No one was present when it occurred except Miller and the Mexican, so he was cleared. The people thought the killing was unnecessary.

Some months later the ranches began to lose stock, and it was discovered that they were being driven south across the line into Mexico. Frazer got busy on the case and his investigations soon led him to suspect that Miller was mixed up in the theft. Miller in some way learned of Frazer's suspicions, and one day Captain Hughes and his rangers came down to Pecos and arrested Miller, his brother in law, Manen Clements, and two other parties on the charge of entering into a conspiracy to assassinate Frazer. It seems that, while the conspiracy was hatching, some one of them approached a man named Con Gibson and asked him to join them. He refused, and told Frazer of the plot, thereby causing the arrest of them all. On examining trial all were turned loose except Miller and Clements, and they were indicted and afterwards tried at El Paso and cleared of the charge. They were defended by Judge Walthall and Senator Turney.

A short time later Con Gibson went to Eddy, N. M., to live and was there murdered by John Denson, a cousin of Miller's wife, who had some time before made an attempt to murder the sheriff there but failed. The murder of Gibson was a most cold-blooded assassination, but Denson was surrounded by his friends at the time and they swore him out of it when the case was tried. He had no quarrel with Gibson, and people knew that Gibson's testimony against Miller had cost him his life

Later on Frazer and Miller met on the streets of Pecos one day and Frazer opened fire on Miller with a six-shooter, wounding him through the right arm and side. At the next election Frazer was defeated and moved to Eddy, N. M., for a while, but later returned to Pecos, where he and Miller again had a shooting scrape. Frazer was armed with a repeating rifle and Miller with a double-barrel shotgun. Miller was wounded again, but recovered. Frazer was tried at El Paso and the case resulted in a hung jury. Later he was tried at Colorado City, Texas, and acquitted in both cases. Just before the first trial, John Wesley Hardin, a cousin of Miller's wife, came out to Pecos. He was a noted man killer of Texas, and had just finished serving a long penitentiary sentence when he arrived in Pecos. While in the pen he had studied law and had been admitted to the bar and was employed by Miller to prosecute Frazer. He came to El Paso to be present at that trial and remained here. He began life early as a man killer. it was right after the civil war and Texas, like all the Southern states at that time, was in the throes of reconstruction. E. J. Davis, a. notorious carpetbagger, was governor, and he had organized a band of negro police who were overrunning the state and terrorizing women and children. Hardin, who was a mere boy at the time, did something they did not like, and they went out to arrest him. The result was that he killed several of them. From that time on there was war between him and the negro cops, and he always came out ahead of the game. Texas was very unsettled in those days, and killings were so frequent as to excite but little attention, but by and bye, when things settled down, and John Wesley kept on killing people, they thought it was' time to call a halt, and so finally he was arrested, tried and convicted and given a long sentence, which he served.

When he appeared in El Paso he was a quiet, gentlemanly kind of fellow, and people felt very kindly toward him. El Paso, at the time he came here, was a wide open gambling town, and he soon began frequenting the games and ere long was having trouble. He was "quick as lightning" with a gun and a dead shot, therefore he was greatly feared. He was finally killed in the old Acme saloon on San Antonio street by John Sellman. Sellman came clear, and some time later was himself killed by George Scarborough, who in turn came clear and was afterwards killed by a band of outlaws in the mountains of New Mexico. All of these were "gunmen" who had before killed men, and like all man killers, they died with their boots on.

After Frazer's acquittal at Colorado City he came to El Paso, where he lived for a time. One day he took the train for Toyah, Texas, a small town twenty miles from Pecos, also in Reeves county. An election was approaching and he intended to work for some friends of his who were candidates. Miller heard he was there, and in some mysterious way got into Toyah and into a room at the hotel during the night without having been seen by anyone. From the window of his room he could plainly see the house where Frazer was stopping, also a saloon between the hotel and the house, After breakfast, Frazer came out of the house and walked over and entered the saloon, never dreaming of danger. In the saloon he met a party of friends and someone proposed a game of seven-up, and soon they were sitting about the table, busy in the game.

Seeing him enter the saloon, Miller slipped down the rear stairway, across the backyard and out a side gate, and the first thing the players in the saloon knew the door was pushed open by his double-barrel shotgun and a double report followed. Frazer rolled over dead, without ever knowing who fired the shot. A man named Earheart occupied the room where Miller was supposed to have passed the night and this fact was the cause of him being involved in the feud. Heretofore he was not supposed to be friendly with either side. He was generally regarded as a quiet, peaceable man, except when drinking, and people never understood why it was that he harbored Miller in his room overnight when it was plain that murder was intended. After the killing of Frazer, Miller returned to Pecos, where he was running a hotel, and where he harbored several hard characters. The hotel resembled a fort, and people feared to speak their thoughts. Miller gave it out that there must be no talking.

Now—it is a peculiar fact that the worst of men always have friends among good, law-abiding citizens, and it was so in this case. The town was divided one-half against the other. The lodges, the churches, neighbors, friends, all became divided, and the feeling was very bitter. Right after Miller was tried in the conspiracy case he joined the Methodist church during a revival, and as he was of a quiet disposition and never swore or went about saloons, many people believed him to be different from what he really was, and many were ostensibly his friends through fear of him. It was said at the time and generally believed that two or three wealthy men in that section put up for him considerable money with which he employed attorneys for his defense. To look at him he was the last man on earth one would take to be a desperate character, and yet he was, of all the bad men, the worst. He would fight a man in a fair face to face gun fight, or he would lie in wait and assassinate him. He would murder for revenge, or he would murder for money. It was said of him that he first tried his case, then murdered his man. Be that as it may, he always had a loophole of escape—always a self-defense, an alibi or something, and time after time he escaped the vengeance of the law. Always he had a gang of men whom he controlled, scattered about the country, ready to do his bidding. He was the chief, the leader, and when he got into trouble they were ever at hand to assist him in getting out. He was indicted for the killing of Frazer, and the case was moved to Eastland, a small granger town way down on the T. & P., this side of Fort Worth. He moved down there, rented a hotel and began to make friends and get ready for the coming trial. He moved his church letter there and united with the church in Eastland. Some of his Pecos friends wrote letters commending him to their friends in Eastland, and so by the time of the trial he had worked up a feeling of sympathy for himself. When court convened there were 150 witnesses from west of the Pecos river alone. Among those from El Paso were Frank Simmons, Joe Escajeda and Tom Bendy. The report had gone out that all the bad men from West Texas were going down there to attend that triaL

A large number of railroad men had been summoned from Toyah, and there being scant hotel accommodations at Eastland for such a large crowd, the T. & P. company sent down a tourist sleeper and switched it off there for their accommodation. The report got out that a hundred Winchester rifles were on the car, and great excitement prevailed. It was even suggested by some of the frightened villagers that the local militia company be called out to keep the peace. Every farmer for miles around was in town to see the bad men from out West. It was surprising to find how little those people knew of West Texas. It was in the summer and at a time when people in that section have very little money. Now the Westerner always spends his money like a lord—be it much or little—and it was not long before those grangers began sizing up everyone as a cattle king rolling in wealth. A crowd of county convicts were on the street at work. Among them was a boy about 14 years old, who was serving a sentence for some trivial offense. He made a dash for liberty, but was caught and returned. A crowd gathered around and soon made up money to pay his fine, and he was set free. This act of generosity greatly surprised the close-fisted natives, and they could not understand it.

The trial was long and hard fought, and resulted in a hung jury. Good church members from Pecos testified that Miller's character was without reproach, and one good deacon swore that his conduct had been exemplary as that of a minister of the gospel. Six months later the case was tried again in the same town and Miller was acquitted.

It was said that Miller never met but one man whom he feared. That man was Barney Riggs, a brother in law of Frazer. Riggs was a gunman and had had a most peculiar experience. Raised in Texas, he went to Arizona when yet a young man. He had just married and soon secured a job as foreman on a ranch. One day he suddenly discovered that his employer had ruined his home, and without ceremony shot him dead. The man he killed was rich, while Riggs was poor, and a stranger. Moreover, in those days Texans were not over popular in Arizona, and the result was that Riggs got a life sentence and was sent to the territorial penitentiary at Yuma. After he had been there for some time a few of the more desperate prisoners hatched a plot to kill the warden and escape. A few arms were smuggled in and at the appointed time the attack was made. The warden had treated Riggs welt and he was a trusty. Seeing them make the attack, he ran in, knocked a man down, seized his knife and with it killed two convicts before the guards ran up, and seeing Riggs with a bloody knife in his hand, they began shooting at him, thinking he was attacking the warden. For this act of bravery Riggs was pardoned, and then moved back to Texas, where he married, some years later, a sister of Bud Frazer. He often said that he was the only man on record who killed a man and got in the pen and then killed two and got out.

At the time Miller killed Frazer everybody predicted trouble between him and Barney Riggs. One day there was a circus at Pecos and Riggs and his family came in from the ranch to see it. John Denson and Bill Earheart were in town stopping at Miller's hotel. Everybody looked for trouble, but none came that day. Next day Riggs hitched up his team to go home, and went into a saloon to get some articles he had left there. Denson and Earheart were both there and drinking. They met and drew—when the smoke cleared, Earheart lay on the floor, shot through the brain, while just within the door lay Denson with a 45 calibre bullet through his head. Riggs was tried at El Paso and acquitted. Jack Edwards of El Paso and Judge Hefner of Pecos defended him. He was killed some years ago by Buck Chadborn, his step son in law, at Fort Stockton. Riggs was the aggressor, and Chadborn, who was a mere boy at the time, was acquitted of the charge.

It was often predicted that Miller and Riggs would meet some day and have it out, but fate decreed otherwise. Both men were "dead game," and had they ever met in a six-shooter contest it is hard to tell how it would have resulted.

Riggs had five notches on his six-shooter when he cashed in with his "boots on," and Miller many more.

After being acquitted of the conspiracy charge against Frazer, Manen Clements moved to El Paso and cut loose from Miller. He and Frazer patched up their difficulties and were fairly good friends to the day of Frazer's death. Manen settled down and was given a position on the police force, which he filled for some years, and was then elected constable, which office he held until just prior to his death. He finally met his death in the Coney Island saloon at the hands of parties unknown.

After being acquitted of the murder of Frazer at the "postoak town" of Eastland, Miller did not seem to prosper. The trial had brought out enough bad traits of his character to convince those law-abiding, God-fearing granger people that Miller was not all to the good. So he moved to Fort Worth, Texas, where he soon got into trouble again. This time it was on a charge of perjury, and he was given two years in the pen. He secured a new trial and again came clear. It seemed impossible to get him in a legal way. for every time he escaped free from the meshes of the law.

He then returned to Fort Worth and opened up a hotel. A few months later he again killed a man and again escaped free. About this time trouble arose between cattlemen and settlers out in Ward county in the Pecos Valley. and Miller was employed by some cattlemen to intimidate the settlers. During this time he visited Pesetas, but even his old friends who had sworn him free at his trial for killing Frazer did not warm to him as of old, and he did not receive a very royal welcome. He returned to Fort Worth, where he continued to scheme and concoct plans for more outlawry. It is said that on one occasion he bought a bunch of mules, giving in payment a worthless check. When it was discovered that the check was worthless the holder pocketed the loss and said nothing. He feared for his life and felt that it would be better to lose the money than to lose his life. It was claimed that Miller pulled off several deals of this kind while in Fort Worth, Also that he had a hand in two or three mysterious killings in various parts of the state. Finally the drifted off up into Oklahoma, and that fact proved his undoing. Fate was drawing the lines close about him, and his career of crime was drawing to a close.

The killing he pulled off there was a most bungling affair. He failed to "try the case before killing his man." It was utterly unlike Miller's methods. He left many broken places in his fence. The proof was plain and clear against him. Why he did not do a better job of it no one knows. Perhaps he had escaped so often that he had come to the conclusion that he was invincible and could not be convicted. He had no quarrel with his victim—did not know him, in fact. He murdered him for money. Even then it was said that people in Fort Worth went up there and offered to make bond for him up to $100,000. It was marvelous the way he could bring men with money to his aid when in trouble.

But those Oklahoma people had no idea that he should escape this time. Perhaps they had heard how slippery he was. One dark night a mob appeared at the jail and then Jim Miller realized that his course was run. Justice had at last called for an accounting. What must have been his thoughts during the few minutes the mob spent in beating down the doors? Did the many crimes he had committed flash through his memory? No one knows. A rope was fastened to his neck and he was raised just clear of the ground, and there slowly died. When the wires flashed the news over Texas there was rejoicing. Letters and telegrams poured into Ada. One telegram read: "Oklahoma is to be congratulated; she is up to date."

A short time before Miller was lynched, Manen Clements had met his death in El Paso. No one knew who did it, although the saloon was full of people at the time.

Miller told an acquaintance that as soon as he got out of his trouble in Oklahoma he was coming to El Paso and he would soon discover who killed Clements. Had he lived, there is no doubt but that El Paso would have seen something of him and perhaps another bloody chapter would have been added to the story of his life. But he never came. The hangman's rope cut short his career and he died like his victims, "with his boots on."

When Pat Garrett was killed it developed that Miller had been in that section. People who knew Miller and his methods best have always believed that he was in some way at the bottom of the affair, and they will never be convinced to the contrary. Thus ends the story of the bloody Frazer-Miller feud. With the death of Miller the last bad gunman of Texas passed into history. There will always be killers, but the regular man killer is a thing of the past in Texas.

It is peculiar that most of the victims of this feud were shot through the head. They were Frazer, Hardin, Denson, Earheart, Gibson and Clements. This does not speak well for the fairness of the old time Texas gunman. There is ordinarily nothing fair about such men. The victim has no show whatever for his life. Another peculiar thing is that not one of them were ever convicted—nine murders and not a single conviction. This of course does not apply to Hardin's early history.

This feud ran for about 18 years and ended in 1909 at Ada, Okla.

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Sam Bass Song

2017-02-04

Frontier Times has received a number of requests from subscribers, asking for the song, "Sam Bass." Recently we found this song in the Dallas Semi-Weekly Farm News. It Is believed to be the complete and correct version. Thirty years ago this old song was heard around every hearthstone and beside every campfire on the range. Many of our older readers remember the tune:

Sam Bass was horn in Indiana,

It was his native home;

And at the age of seventeen

Young Sam began to roam.

He first came out to Texas,

A cowboy for to be;

A kinder hearted fellow

You’d hardly ever see.

Sam used to deal in race stock,

One called "the Denton Mare,"

He matched her in the scrub races-

And took her to the fair.

Sam always coined the money

And spent it mighty free;

He always drank good liquor

Wherever he might be.

Sam Bass had four companions,

Four bold and daring lads.

Jim Murphy, Jackson, Underwood,

Joel Collins and "Old Dad."

Four bolder, reckless cowboys

The wild West never knew;

They whipped the Texas rangers,

And chased the boys in blue.

Sam left the old Joel Collins ranch

In the merry month of May,

With a herd of Texas cattle,

The Black hills for to see.

They sold out at Kansas City

And then got on a spree.

A tougher lot of cowboys

You seldom ever see.

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They started back to Texas

And robbed the U. P. train,

Then split up into couples

And started out again.

Joel Collins and his partner

Were overtaken soon,

And with all their hard-earned money

They had to meet their doom.

Sam Bass got back to Texas

All "right side up with care,"

He rode right into Denton,

His old friends met him there.

Sam's life was short in Texas—

Three robberies he did do,

He robbed the Longview passenger—

The mail and express, too.

Sam had another comrade,

Called "Arkansaw' for short,

He was killed by a Texas ranger

Who thought it was great sport.

Jim Murphy was arrested,

And then released on bail.

He jumped his bond at Tyler

And hit the Terrell trail.

But Major Jones had posted Jim,

And that was all a stall—

It was a plan to capture Sam

Before the coming fall.

Sam met his fate at Round Rock

July the twenty-first.

They filled poor Sam with bullets

And emptied out his purse.

Now Sam is a decaying corpse.

Down in the Round Rock clay,

While Jackson's on the border

A-trying to get away.

Murphy borrowed Sam's good money

And did not want to pay.

So he set out the game to win,

By giving Sam away.

He sold poor Sam and also Barne

And left their friends to mourn.

Jim Murphy will a roasting get

When Gabriel toots his horn.

Some think he'll go to heaven,

For none can surely tell,

But if I'm right in my surmise

No doubt he'll go—the other way

*************

"Sam Bass Song" is from our new ebook,

The History of the Life of Sam Bass

, available here for FREE

Download instantly your searchable copy which is a collection of all the major articles pertaining to Sam Bass as printed in J. Marvin Hunter's FRONTIER TIMES magazine, between the years 1923-1954.

A Train Robbery Prevented

2017-01-27

From Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, May, 1926

When President Wilson summoned to Washington Duval West of San Antonio to confer on the delicate situation in Mexico, preparatory to sending Mr. West to that troubled republic as the personal representative of the Chief Executive of the American Nation, he was probably not aware that he had picked out a man possessed of iron nerve in addition to long experience with the Mexican people and conditions, politically, socially and otherwise.

There was one night in particular when Duval West showed his nerve, nerve that made him look death in the face for an hour and twenty minutes; nerve that saved the United States Government the loss of its mail and the Southern Pacific Railway a costly robbery. Few persons know that West was the right-hand man of United States Marshal Rankin in days when the frontier of Texas harbored many bad men and that position spelled fighting.

It was Saturday night September 22, 1888, when Duval West distinguished himself as a young man of iron nerve and when he rendered to the United States Government and the Southern Pacific Railway Company a service that has gone down in the annals of deeds of bravery. With former Ranger Captain. J. S. McNeel, for one hour and twenty minutes, West fought a party of train robbers, faced death by burning and held the fort, in this case a mail car that was perforated with bullet holes through the walls from three feet from the floor to the ceiling. And it is to the credit of these two men that not a robber put his foot over the sill of the door.

In those days Duval West was chief deputy under United States Marshal John Rankin. The Marshal had received a tip some time previous that the notorious Bill Whiteley was planning to rob a railroad train with his gang. The marshal had with this gang a secret service man, one who kept him informed of the gang's plans. Whiteley, who was raised in Goliad county, had a reputation extending beyond the confines of the State. It had been proven he was in the Flatonia train robbery, in the train robbery at McNeil, above Austin, and in several others and was considered one of the most desperate train robbers in the country. Captain McNeel was in Bee county early in September and was wired by United States Marshal Rankin to come at once to San Antonio to confer on important business. When he reached the city he was told by the marshal that definite information had been received that Whiteley had picked on the Southern Pacific train from San Antonio to Houston and that his services were required to prevent the robbery.

The Marshal assigned Duval West, then a beardless youngster in his early twenties and unmarried, and Captain McNeel to defend the car. In the express car immediately following the mail car Marshal Rankin had six men with him; all were armed with shotguns and Colts six-shooters. It was believed the robbers would attack first the express car. It was not known definitely what night had been selected for the attack, so beginning September 17 each night the train left San Antonio with a party of armed men in the express car with the Marshal, and the two men with the mail clerk in the mail car. The officers went as far as Schulenburg then returned to San Antonio. On the fifth night, September, 22, the attempt at robbery was made. When the train pulled into Harwood that Ed Sarano, the mail clerk, who was standing in the door of the car with his arms akimbo, looking out into the night, which was dark with a misting rain, suddenly exclaimed: "Boys they are on—two of them." As all the train crew had been quietly tipped off to what to expect, every man's nerves were in tension, so when Sarano saw two forms boarding the engine just as the train started he took snap judgment which proved to be correct. McNeel called: "Put out that light, quick," and Sarano, reaching up, turned out the wick in the kerosene lamp that in those days was carried in the mail cars. Darkened, the mail car left Harwood. McNeel heard the bell rope drop and called to West: "We are cut off; we are all alone in this fight, the other fellows are left behind." "Impossible" said West. Groping, McNeel found the cord, he was certain, and his suspicions were verified in a few moments, that the mail car and engine had been cut off from the balance of the train at Harwood. The engine gathered speed and the lights of Harwood dwindled into blackness. About three miles to the east in the direction of Houston the car came to a sudden stop. At the point where the robbery was planned a bright fire blazed high from split ties and around this were eight or ten men. A voice from the fire called "Jim, is everything alright?"

"Yes, come ahead," came the reply from the engine.

As Sarano had seen, two men, after the mail car had been cut from the balance of the train, climbed aboard the engine and covered the engineer and fireman, keeping them prisoners until they saw the fire. The train was stopped directly between piles of cross ties on either side of the track. The stop was made directly opposite the fire which was immediately kicked out and in the darkness the men advanced. This was 10:30 o'clock. The track was on an embankment with shallow gullies on either side.

The main car was divided into two compartments, a wooden partition being run from side to side. In the rear compartment West sat in the southeast corner watching the south door, the two having made up their minds the robbers would attack on both sides. The attacking was made on the north side only. The front compartment of the car was empty and the doors locked. Outside a few shots were fired and a voice, high-pitched, almost shrieking, shouted insistently "Open up." No one responded. The men gathered a cross tie and battered the north door down in the forward compartment. Almost simultaneously, it was discovered that the doors in the compartment occupied by West and McNeel and Sarano were open. They had been tied back to keep them from closing by the vibration of the train. There was a parley and the men made Engineer Dan Toomey descend from the cab, keeping the fireman still under guard, and placing the engineer in front of them, endeavored to rush into the car. In the noise neither West nor McNeel knew what the men were doing so as the mass of men pushed toward the door they shot. The engineer received the load from a shotgun, taking away one side of the face and shattering a shoulder. He fell at the door. At that time the occupants of the mail car were in ignorance they had shot one of the trainmen. They did not know the trainmen from the robbers and the only instructions they received were to keep everyone, no matter who, out of the mail car.

McNeel, in order to do shooting, had to leave the position where he was sitting and go to the door. He shot promiscuously into the crowd. West shouted at him to get out of the door, that he was making himself a target and he would be shot all to pieces. McNeel had not realized what he was doing, and jumped back to the side of the wall and reloaded. One of the robbers groaned that he was shot. He had been left behind in the rush following the shooting, but his companions, braving the fire from the car, came running to him and took him to the rear of the car, placing him on the track. For a while the night was punctured by some loudly expressed regrets and bitterness over the shooting of their comrade. There was much grumbling but after a few moments another rush was made, the robbers shooting and yelling. Only the roar of the breechloading number ten shotgun s of the two men in the car was the reply. The robbers halted to one side of the door and the leader, in that high unmistakable, almost shrieking voice, called:

"Come out of that car you- - - we are going to get you and you just as well get out. If you fellows will surrender all right, we won't hurt you; if you don't we are going to kill you. You just as well come out."

McNeel stepped close to West and said: "These gents are mighty familiar on short acquaintance," which caused both of the men to laugh.

There was no reply from West or McNeel. The men, apparently, took a position behind the two piles of cross ties which had been piled up on either side of the track to the height of about four feet for use as breastworks. Most all the shooting was hereafter done behind these ties. But as the men lay flat on the floor the bullets passed safely above them. Finally, the robbers brought up the fireman and endeavored to gain the car by rushing it, holding the fireman in front, but the fireman, knowing that the engineer had been shot in exactly the same tactics, shouted: "Boys, I am the fireman. Don't shoot." However, the men in the car did not know whether this was a ruse, so they shot. The fireman, however, dodged and only a few shots struck him. He was not injured seriously. Dropping him, several other attempts were made to rush the car but each time after the shotguns had burst forth, West and McNeel drew their Colt's six-shooters and in the face of a fusillade, the men retired.

The fireman was told to fetch the oil can from the engine, that they would burn the car up. The fireman was a hero. He faced death himself and was bleeding from his wounds but he climbed on the engine, procured the can and hurled it into the darkness, telling the men there was no oil there. Again, threats were made to kill him if die did not get the oil. Some time was lost in searching but the oil was not forthcoming. A box of matches was produced and the entire box was burned up endeavoring to set the mail car afire. The rain, and the fact that everything was damp, no doubt saved the two men.

West and McNeel heard one of the robbers pleading that the car not be burned. This robber said: "Boys, in there are innocent parties. Boys, there is no use in murdering them because they we trying to do their duty." This however, had no effect until the box of matches had been consumed. After it was seen that it was impossible to set the ear afire, several crept along the track until they reached the sill of the door. This sill was a piece of steel a foot and one-half high. They put their pistols over the sill and, keeping their, heads down, emptied them in the direction where they believed the defenders were. It was this metal elevation above the floor that no doubt saved West and McNeel. After this last volley the men in the car heard the hint given the fireman that he could pull out. The robbers had met with a warmer reception than they expected and they gave vent to their disappointment by continued profanity and taunts at the men in the car. The fireman asked if the robbers would help him to put the still breathing engineer on the engine. He then asked if there was any objection to which way he went and was told none whatever. In a moment the clop-clop of horse's hoofs were heard on the sandy road. When the wounded engineer had been placed in the engine cab, the fireman, not as familiar as he might have been with the engine, threw open the throttle and the iron master literally leaped ahead in such a way that McNeel and West believed, since they could not hear nor see what was happening, that the robbers were taking their revenge by sending them with a wild engine down the track to destruction. When the engine began slowing up at the first section house it was McNeel's suspicion that the robbers, or at least some of them, were aboard and had run down the track to procure oil or material for fire balls, which, tossed into the car would not only expose the two defenders to the fire, of the robbers, but would serve to burn the inflamable dry timber of the interior of the car. It was with relief that can better be imagined than described that they heard the fireman alone asking the section man to help him remove the wounded engineer, Toomey. The engineer was left at the section house and then, as rapidly as possible, the engine and mail car were run back to Harwood, where stood the rest of the train and the curious passengers. For one hour and twenty minutes the battle was in progress, yet not a shot had been heard at Harwood and Marshal Rankin thought it the better part of discretion to remain with the express can, as there was no other means of determining how far the engine and mail car had proceeded.

Word was sent to Gonzales for the Sheriff of Gonzales County, Captain Bill Jones, who had blood-hounds. He arrived at Harwood at 2 o'clock in the morning. After trailing until the sun was high, the blood-hounds lost the scent and the pursuit was temporarily abandoned. That morning, Sunday, the return was made to San Antonio.

Captain McNeel went to Eagle Pass where he obtained the services of John Weiseger, inspector of customs, and with that Federal officer, went down the Rio Grande under the belief the robbers would probably cross into Mexico. In the meantime United States Marshal Rankin received information that Bill Whiteley, the leader of the gang, was hiding out in Floresville and if he would come down, said his informant, he would be taken to the house where Whiteley could be found. Marshal Rankin, with Duval West, Eugene Iglesias and, Bill Van Riper went to Floresville, and, as their informant had said, found Whiteley in the house designated. As soon as the officers opened the door Whiteley opened fire on them and they on him. He was killed instantly.

Later on, Sheriff Cunningham of Mills County, arrested a man and brought him to San Antonio on suspicion that he was connected with this attempted train robbery. McNeel went to the Bexar County jail, through curiosity, to see this man. He did not dream he was the man with the strained, shrieking voice, the one giving the orders and cursing. There was not another voice like it in a thousand. NeNeel and West knew that Whiteley was the leader, but as soon as they heard the prisoner speak they had no doubt it was the one who had given the orders and identified him by his voice. The man was tried in the Federal Court, was convicted and sent to the United States penitentiary, where he served his term and returned to Texas.

Marshal Rankin, among others, had with him in the express car, Detective Long of the Southern Pacific Railway, Bill Van Riper and Alfred Alice. It was afterwards he determined that when the stop was made at Harwood the train was rapidly uncoupled from the engine and mail-car, the bell rope was cut and two men boarded the engine cab just as the signal was given to pull out. Under their guns, Engineer Dan Toomey and the fireman had to do as they were bid. Engineer Toomey recovered and for years served the Southern Pacific as master mechanic at San Antonio. The reward, which was a large one in money was given to the secret service man who had tipped off the robbery.

West and McNeel were armed, each with a number ten breech loading shotgun which was loaded with buckshot and each carried a Colt’s 45-caliber six-shooter. They were well armed with ammunition, but at the end of the fight had barely a dozen cartridges left. No blame whatever was attached or could be to West or McNeel for shooting the railroad man, for as stated before, neither had ever seen either Toomey or the fireman or had any instructions other than to keep everybody out of the mail car. The intention of the men when the train was held up was to jump out among the robbers and shoot them down. It was never known exactly who was the wounded robber but neither Mr. West nor Mr. McNeel believed that he died. When daylight came large pools of blood told where he had lain and where he had been placed behind the car.

McNeel frequently, in telling of that night, describes his feelings when imprisoned in the car which was like a trap. The men heard the striking of matches, knowing that it was the idea of the robbers to burn them up, but their feelings during the shooting were nothing compared to their belief—for they did not know of the splendid act of the fireman in throwing away the oil can—that oil was to be scattered over the woodwork, momentarily expecting that the car would prove their funeral pyre. Preceding the rush and when the robbers were firing rapidly, both lay flat in the car. As soon as the firing ceased and the rush began, shots from their guns followed by fire from their heavy Colts were delivered at the door where the attack was being made. When the fight was over, although he was not aware of it at the time, McNeel found the coat of his fall suit wringing with water. He had perspired from every pore and he frequently had to wipe one hand and then another on his trousers, each wet. As he says, he could have wrung a pail of water from his coat. And yet there was no fear in either of them, it was simply the strain under which, for nearly an hour and a half, they fought and sometimes the bullets came shattering dangerously near. They were fighting for their life. Mr. McNeel, who later on entered the Ranger service and was a captain, states that he was afterwards told there were no registered packages or valuables of great amount in the mail car but the men were placed there with definite instructions to do their duty. Both regarded it as a post of honor and they did not know whether a million dollars was carried or just plain mail. This is the tribute that Captain McNeel pays Duval West, his companion that momentous night, and as he speaks the words his eyes kindle and enthusiastic approval vibrates his voice:

"The President of the United States can make no wiser selection than Duval West for a dangerous for delicate mission, any work that requires nerve, faithfulness and brains. I have been associated with him for thirty years and he is the soul of honor. Duval West's honor is above reproach. He is the nerviest and, at the same time, bravest and sanest man I know. He will go wherever duty calls him and he is the same to friend or foe. I know him as well as I know any man living, and I want to say again that the President could not have selected a better man in all these United States. He will bring back to Washington correct data, absolutely dependable information. With him there will be no white-washing, no favor shown. I repeat, he is the bravest man I know."

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Attempted Train Robbery at Coleman, June, 1898

2017-01-15

Written by J. Marvin Hunter

It was in June, 1898, that an attempt was made by four bandits to rob the express car on the Santa Fe railroad, running from Brownwood to San Angelo. I was living in Sonora at that time, and remember the occurrence quite well, because the robbers were captured not far from Sonora, and proved to be well known men of that section.

At Coleman Junction on the night of June 9th, 1898, the train was held up by four men, Pierce Keaton, Bill Taylor, Jeff Taylor and Bud Newman, the Taylor boys being brothers, and Newman was the leader of the band. They covered the engineer, James Stanton, and Fireman Johnson, and marched Johnson back to the express car and told him to ask the express messenger, L. L. White, to open the door. Fireman Johnson did as he was commanded, under penalty of death at the hands of the bandits, but before Messenger White responded several shots were fired by W. F. Buchanan, the traveling livestock agent of the Santa Fe, who had discovered the train was being held up. The fire was returned by the bandits, and in the fusilade Fireman Johnson was mortally wounded, Newman was shot through the left arm, and Keaton was shot through the right leg.

The bandits then hurried to their horses and made their way to the ranch of the Taylor brothers in Sutton county, a distance of 125 miles, going all of the way without stopping to get surgical attention for the wounded men.

The unconscious form of Johnson was placed on the train and backed into Santa Anna, where he died. Sheriff Rome Shield of Tom Green county, was notified to be on the lookout for the bandits, as they had in their haste, left several sticks of dynamite in paper bearing the advertisement of a Sonora merchant, and this was the clue that led to their apprehension by a posse headed by Sheriff Shield, and composed of Deputy United States Marshal Hodges, and the sheriff of Sutton county and several deputies.

Upon their arrival in Sonora the posse went direct to the Taylor brothers' ranch and arrested all of the men without killing or wounding any of them, only one shot being fired, it being fired by Sheriff Shield from a rifle he had borrowed. Rome Shield was a crack shot in those days, and it developed after the men had been taken into custody that he missed his human target only because the front sight on the borrowed rifle had been shifted to one side.However, after the one shot the bandits came out and surrendered with uplifted hands.

In the trial that followed, Newman turned state's evidence and gained immunity for himself, but the others were Convicted, Keaton and Jeff Taylor receiving a term of 99 years each in the penitentiary for the killing of Fireman Johnson, and each got eight years for attempting to rob the express car.

Bill Taylor escaped from the Brown county jail,but was captured before he got very far away. He escaped the second time, but was captured by Newman,who inveigled him into the hands of the authorities at Comstock under the pretext of making an attempt to hold up a westbound Southern Pacific train.

Bill Taylor managed to escape a third time, and went to Edwards county where he found Newman and in a gunfight Bill Taylor killed Newman. Taylor then vanished, and has never been in custody since. As a result of killing Newman he is still wanted in Edwards county for murder.

W. F. Buchanan, who opened fire on the robbers at Coleman Junction, was residing in Fort Worth a few years ago, being connected with the live stock department of the Santa Fe railroad. Pierce Keaton and Jeff Taylor, are probably still in the penitentiary, unless pardoned during recent years. At the time of the affair Keaton had a great many sympathizing friends at Sonora. He was a young man of quiet, gentlemanly bearing, and many were of the opinion that he was led into the crime by his companions.

The arrest of this quartet was a quick piece of work on the part of Rome Shield and his posse. As nearly as I can recall the men were arrested on Thursday, June 11, following their attempt to rob the express car on the night of June 9.

Ben Bickerstaff the Noted Desperado

2016-06-01

By T. U. Taylor

Ben Bickerstaff was a fruit of the war. Although he was instinctively a gentleman, high strung, and of pronounced social ideals, his becoming a "bad man" was one of evolution in the popular sense. His father lived several miles east of Sulphur Springs, Texas, and Ben entered the Confederate Army with all the fiery ardor of youth. One of his acquaintances in conversation with me, vouchsafed the statement that "Ben was a red hot southerner." At the close of the war, Ben's fortunes led him to Louisiana. The Freedman's Bureau, the nearest fort of the U. S. Army (known in popular phraseology at that time as "Yankee Forts") served to give the negroes an exalted idea of freedom and many of them began to "put on airs", the result being a clash with the Southern whites. In one of these encounters, Ben Bickerstaff shot a negro. The result was that the Federal officers were soon after him and in these troublesome times no Southerner believed that he could get justice before a court dominated by "carpetbaggers and scalawags.”

Ben escaped across the line into Texas, getting a few men around him, and set up a camp in the bottoms of White Oak Creek, about four miles northwest of Sulphur Springs. The inevitable result happened. The U. S. Army decided to establish a fort at Sulphur Springs, within four miles of Ben's camp. A train of supplies was started towards Sulphur Springs as a basis for the fort. This was in 1866 or 1867.

The train arrived at a point on the prairie west or northwest of Sulphur Springs. It was suddenly surrounded by some unknown parties. The mules were taken out of the wagons, the wagons were drawn up close together with all the supplies, the harness taken off the mules and placed in the wagons, the torch was applied and in a short while the wagons, harness, government supplies, etc., were in a smoking ruin. The next day there were many visitors at the scene and one of these told me that all that was left was some ashes, smoke, wagon tires, and the iron work of the wagons. The unknown parties had decamped with the mules leaving the drivers on foot as a rather severe warning. This act was charged to Ben Bickerstaff and his followers, but it was never established. The nearness of his camp to the scene of the holocaust naturally led to this conclusion.

As a sidelight on Ben Bickerstaff's character, Colonel W. B. Wortham, now of Austin, Texas, and ex-State Treasurer, relates that he lived in Sulphur Springs in his youth and owned a pony that disappeared. Knowing Ben Bickerstaff's character, he mounted a horse one day and ventured to interview Bickerstaff in his camp on White Oak Creek. Mr. Wortham relates that after giving his name to Bickerstaff, he was asked, "Are you a son of Col. Wortham of Sulphur Springs?" Billie replied that Col. Wortham was his father. Bickerstaff then instructed him to inspect some horses that were tied a short distance from camp and report to him whether his pony was in the bunch. Billie inspected the horses and found his pony among them. He reported to Bickerstaff and the head of the outlaws said to one of his men, "Give this boy his pony." Billie Wortham was then given his pony, and took him back to Sulphur Springs and related the event to his friends. He acknowledges to this day that to his chums he told an ungodly tale which placed him in a position of holding up Ben Bickerstaff and his gang, and taking his pony from them single-handed. However, he told the truth of the matter to his father, who attributed the incident to Ben's kind disposition.

The U. S. fort was soon established at Sulphur Springs after the burning of the wagons, and the troops made it too hot for Bickerstaff and his followers to remain. Accordingly, they next appeared at Alvarado, Texas. From his camp near Alvarado Bickerstaff was wont to make forays on the town, shoot it up, and take what he wanted in defiance of the authorities. By this time Ben had become a ruthless outlaw and had gathered around him men who were of the same type. His friends believe that he had reached the outlaw stage by gradual steps, none of which could possibly have been foreseen.

While in East Texas Ben Bickerstaff had been associated with Cullen M. Baker, one of the bad men produced by the war. Bickerstaff was known as a graduate of the "Cullen M. Baker School of Bad Men." While camped near Alvarado he changed his name to Thomason, and had as a companion a man by the name of Thompson; a former resident of Alvarado, Johnson county. Bickerstaff and Thompson had been camping several months near Alvarado, and it was their habit to visit the town late in the evening or during the night, to shoot up, and rob wherever they pleased. Their repeated crimes and holdups became unbearable and some determined citizens organized for the purpose of putting an end to this reign of terror. They had their guns ready, loaded, and secreted, and on April 5, 1869, the fray took place.

About sundown Bickerstaff and Thompson were seen coming to town. As they neared the hitching post they saw all the men running into the stores and places of business and shutting the doors. The two desperadoes attributed this to fear on the part of the people, and with their pistols in hand they advanced. Bickerstaff was heard to exclaim in a loud voice, "Rats to your holes, D— you." Both Bickerstaff and Thompson rode up to the hitching rack, tied their horses, and had just turned from their horses, when the fusilade of buckshot was rained on them from men concealed in the nearby stores. It seems that the citizens were more anxious to kill Thompson than Bickerstaff on account of the fact that he had been a former resident of Alvarado, and had turned against his old friends and acquaintances. Thompson fell dead at the first volley, and I heard it said that forty-two bullets pierced his body and clothing. Only three hit Bickerstaff, one of these striking him in the right eye and bursting the hall thereof, but notwithstanding this, he raised himself on his elbow and fired shots at individuals and at random. Later the men crowded around him and he conversed with them for some time, cursed Thompson for dying so easily, talked very freely to the crowd, and at one time exclaimed, "You have killed as brave a man as there is in the South."

For a while it was suspected that some townspeople of Alvarado were in collusion with Bickerstaff and Thompson but nothing was ever proved and this impression finally died out. Photographs were taken of the two dead outlaws in the street, and I had a copy for years but it disappeared and I have not been able to find it.

Under date of August 27, 1868, Major General J. J.Reynolds in charge of the five military districts for the state of Texas issued special orders, No. 16, in which he offered a reward of $1000.00 for delivery of each of the following named persons:

BEN F. BICKERSTAFF

CULLEN M. BAKER

BOB LEE

Cullen M. Baker was killed a few months after this order was issued. Ben F. Bickerstaff was killed April 1869, and Bob Lee was killed in Fannin county in late spring or early summer of 1869 by the federal soldiers and two citizens.

As a sequel to the killing of Bob Lee, it can be stated that one of the two citizens who aided the federal soldiers in the killing of Bob Lee was killed three months later by Bob Lee's twelve-year old son, in September, 1869.

La Caramboda, the Female Bandit

2016-01-18

THE FOLLOWING story of the Mexican woman brigand, La Caramboda, appeared in the Bandera (Texas) Enterprise, July 10, 1884:

Queretaro, Mexico, June 8, 1884.—La Caramboda, the woman brigand, long a terror to travelers in this region, is dead at last, with a bullet in her heart. Her operations extended over a number of years, and were of the most daring description. For a long time, the authorities found it very difficult to trace or even to explain the crimes which she committed, for no one suspected that a woman was the guilty person. No two of her robberies were committed in the same manner. Sometimes she was a passenger and at other times she was with the bandits and took part in the shooting if any was to be done. A woman of some personal charms when appropriately dressed, she was a fiend when about her business of murder and pillage, whom very few cared to encounter. Her male assistants were many and devoted.

One of her schemes, it has been learned, was to bide her time in some town until she found one or two men of means who were going by the dillinqence to some distant point, and then to take passage with them. It is suspected that on more than one occasion she took the driver into her confidence, but when this could not be done, she readily deceived him or silenced him with a bullet. A perfect mistress of the art dissimulation, and possessing a soft and insinuating manner, she had no difficulty in working herself into the good graces of travelers, who did not look for a Mexican bandit underher attractive guise. In this way she easily discovered who had money and valuables and who had not. If she found a man who appeared to be of some consequence, but did not have much money, she betrayed him into the hands of her confederates, who held him for ransom. If her victim proved to be well supplied with cash, he generally met a violent death within twenty four hours.

Leaving a town before daybreak in company with two travelers, who she marked for robbery, she would coyly accept the customary innocent attentions at their hands, and perhaps indulge in a little conversation with them. An hour later, when well on their journey, watching her opportunity, she would draw two revolvers, and before they could detect her movement, lodged a bullet in the back of each of them. The driver, busy with his team, and perhaps paid not to be too attentive to what was going on behind his, would not disturb her. With her booty secure, she would take her time about leaving the stage, always waiting until a point convenient to the fastness of some of her confederates was reached.

It was known that the highways were infested by robbers and it was not thought strange that an occasional murder was perpetrated, but the similarity between several cases soon attracted attention, and various experiments led to the discovery that a woman, operating first on one road and then on another, was at the bottom of them. The plausible stories told by the drivers served to mystify the officers more than anything else. They always asserted that highwaymen had done the work, and if inquiry was made at one end of the route for the woman who started, it was always said that she arrived at her destination unmolested. The absence of telegraphs and of any regular means of communication made it possible to keep up this deception for a long time.

When the woman found that she was suspected, she abandoned this plan of operations, and, remaining with the robber band to which she was attached, devoted the greater part of her time to the abduction of wealthy agriculturists. Her plan in these cases was very much the same as in her stage robbery enterprises. First winning the confidence of her intended victim and getting him involved in some intrigue, she would betray him at the proper time into the hands of her associates, who would spirit him away and presently open negotiations for his return. While these were in progress she would be busy setting her net for a fresh victim a hundred miles away.

La Caramboda's latest exploit was unsuccessful. She was hovering about the San Juanico hacienda with the intention of securing the abduction of Don Vasquez, or one of his sons, when a fellow who had served in her train, deserted and communicated her secret to the authorities. They made elaborate preparations to capture her entire party, but failing in this, they made sure of her, and soon had her in irons. Hearing of her fate, her followers determined on a rescue. They pursued the officers for twenty miles, and overtaking them at Connindad, opened fire at once. The troops returned the shots and a lively engagement ensued, in the course of which three of the bandits were killed and the rest put to flight. When the troops approached their prisoner after the fight they found her dead, presumably from a bullet fired by her own friends. The chains were removed from her limbs and she was buried by the roadside. One of her captors described her as a beautiful woman, not more than thirty years old, with clear complexion and long and abundant hair, but with a wicked eye and cruel looking mouth in repose.

DARING EXPRESS MESSENGER KILLS TWO TRAIN ROBBERS

2014-11-19

[From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, August, 1927]

IN THE NIGHT of March 13, 1912, Train No. 9, of the Southern Pacific, running between El Paso, and San Antonio, was held up by two robbers near Dryden, Texas. Both of the robbers were killed by the express messenger, David Andrew Trousdale. The robbers were later identified as Ben Kilpatrick and Ed Welch, both noted desperadoes, and both had but recently been released from prison.

The following story was taken from the San Antonio Express of March 15, 1912, and gives the true facts in regard to the holdup, and the killing of the robbers:

TROUSDALE'S STORY

"One of the men got on the engine at Dryden, although I did not know this until the train came to a stop out on the railroad line. But a minute or two thereafter the reporter came to the door of the car and called me. I recognized his voice. Just about this time I was finishing up my work before reaching Sanderson. The negro porter said. "They's some robbers out here. You better git out ' As I opened the door I looked down the barrel of a gun one of the robbers was holding on me. I got out of the car.

"Shortly after getting out of the car I asked both the conductor and porter if either one of them had a gun right after that the robbers put me on the engine. The mail and baggage and express car had been cut off and I guess we ran along for half a mile or mile.

"Just as soon as we came to a stop, or shortly before we came to a stop, the engineer blew the whistle of the locomotive four times. It was as I learned later the signal of the big man to his partner that everything was alright. They were not going to rob the train if there were any soldiers on board. Well, the big fellow went into the cars and the other remained on the outside. In the mail car he got hold of five pouches and one of these was cut open, the man seeing some registered letters, threw these back into the pouch with the intention of getting them later on.

"There were only two express packages removed. One of these was valued at $2 and the other at $35. So you see there was not a great deal obtained by the robber who was doing the work. But you know this fellow was making me madder all of the time. If I was not holding my hands high enough he seemed to take delight in jabbing me in the side with his gun. However, I kept on jollying him along and when he got into that section of the car where the express packages were stacked he broke open a few of these. It was while he was doing this that I wondered how to kill him. I was mad for I was determined I would have it out with him for jabbing me in the side and bruising me up. I'd have fought him with my fists had it come to that.

"Well, in going through the car I saw a maul lying on top of the barrels of oysters. These mauls are built something like a croquet mallet, only the handle is about as thick as the handle of a hatchet. I decided then that if I could get him in the right position I could hit him with the maul. You know you can hit an awful blow with such a maul. Why, I've broken up a box ofice at a blow. To make the story short, I kept on jollying him along. After a while I got his confidence and could lay my hands on him. I helped him along. Then I showed him packages I said I had never seen before.

"He was looking over these packages in a stooped sort of position and as quietly as I could I lifted the maul from the top of the oyster barrel and he slid not detect me. While he was stooping over I struck him at the base of the skull.

"The first blow broke the man's neck. As he went down in a heap a slight groan came from him. He never spoke. I struck him a second and a third time. On the third blow the maul crashed through his skull and the man's brains spattered over the side of the car, After I saw he was done for I took two Colts' pistols from his body. One of these I later gave to the mail clerk and the other one I gave to my helper I kept the man's Winchester. When the robber fell he landed on top of a stack of packages. In some of these there was some glass and this was broken by his weight.

"About the first, thing I did after that was to find the gas key and turnout the lights in the car. Then I waited for some time. Nothing developed, so I decided to fire a shot through the roof of the car to attract attention. Then I took up my position about midway of the car, there being one door still open and that was the one where the porter first called. The lights of the combination car were shining through the end doors of the cars and had the robber entered through the other ear I could have seen him and had he come in at the door of my car I could also have gotten a bead on him.

"After firing that shot I did not have to wait long, I soon heard the other robber on the outside of the car talking low and pretty soon he was calling for Frank. Pretty soon I saw a head poked out from back of some baggage. I could not get a bead on him at once, and so I waited for a little while. It wasn't long, I saw his head again and I cut down on him. The bullet struck him about an inch above the left eye. It passed through his skull and then passed out through the ear. There were just these two shots fired, the first to attract attention and the other was used with deadly effect on the second robber, who was the smaller of the two.

"It was with the first robber's gun that I killed the second man. This rifle is 401 caliber of 1910 mode.

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"From the two men I got four pistols and two rifles. One of the pistols I brought back with me and the officials at Sanderson told me I would be given the rifle with which I killed the second. At Sanderson I appeared before the grand jury in the morning and yesterday afternoon I attended the coroner's inquest.

"The first man I killed was six feet one inch in height and weighed 210 pounds, and the other man, who was always addressed as `partner,' was baldheaded, of medium stature and, I should say, weighed about 160 or 165 pounds.`Partner' seemed to be the man who directed the operations. It was the big fellow who looked to me to be green at the game. I jollied him a lot and frequently complimented him on his work, and the manner in which he went about it. Among other things I gave him to understand that the company did not pay me to protect its property. It was just by jollying him that I got the drop on him.

"At the time I killed the first man the mail clerk was in the combination car and my helper was about ten or twelve feet from me in my car. At the time none of us had any guns on us. My shotgun and pistol were on my desk and then, when I 1 made for the second man I decided I would use the first robber's rifle because I could work that faster than the shotgun I had in the car.

"After a while the fireman came back to the car and asked me to open the door. I told him I had killed two men, and told him to go back and get the conductor and some passengers. When he first called I believed there might be some more robbers on the outside with him who were making him talk. So after a while he and the conductor and probably fifteen passengers came back to the car.

MAIL CLERK BANKS' STORY.

`There were some who believed more than two men were concerned in the holdup. I could not come to that belief after it was all over. There were a couple of hoboes on the oil tank of the engine. One of these was a man with a wooden leg and the other seemed to be a young fellow. Both of the hoboes remained on the oil tank throughout the incident. Possibly they might have gotten off after the train was again coupled up. Their walking away might have started the rumor that others were concerned in the robbery."

M. E. Banks, United States railway mail clerk, who had charge of the mailcar in Southern Pacific train No. 9, which was held up at Dryden Wednesday morning, reached San Antonio yesterday and made the following statement of the holdup to a reporter of The Express:

“I was alone in the mail car at the time the highwaymen stopped the train. I did not think anything was wrong when the train came to a standstill, as I supposed the locomotive had broken down. I opened the door of the car and peered out in the darkness a few minutes after the train had stopped. The fireman upon seeing me made motions in an attempt to make me understand what was really taking place. I did not catch his meaning at the time, and closed the door of the car. I sat down and started reading a magazine. After a few minutes I heard a knock at the door, and the engineer called to me to open up. I did so, and he said to me: `There is a man out here with a gun who wants you to come out and hold up your hands.' I obeyed and the highwayman, who was standing back in the shadow of the train, marched us to the express car. There the engineer was commanded to call on the express messenger to open the car. Trousdale and his assistant, Reagan, were both covered by the marked man, and told to jump to the ground from the car. The porter came up about that time, and he too, was covered. The four of us were then held at the point of an ugly looking rifle, and the porter was informed he was expected to uncouple the combination mail and baggage car and the express car front the other coaches. That poor darkey was frightened almost stiff, but was smart enough to comply with all demands, and dignified our unwelcome visitor with the title `Judge.' He was particular to explain every move he made in advance in order that he might not be misunderstood and punctured by a rifle bullet.

"When the train was uncoupled the messengers, porter and myself were told to walk to the engine and climb up in the cab. When this was done the engineer was directed to run the engine with the two cars a mile up the track. Then one of the desperadoes remained aboard the locomotive guarding the enginemen while the rest of us were told to go back to the cars and assist the other bandit in securing the valuable packages supposed to be in the mail car and express car.

“The masked man looked through the mail car and asked me to unlock the registered pouches. I assured him I did not carry the keys to the pouches and showed him a few registered packages which had been tied out for transfer to the agent who would relieve me at Sanderson, the end of the division. He cut a long slit in one of the pouches, shoved in the loose registered packages, and then had me dump all the pouches out of the door and on the ground. He then went to the express car with the messengers. I remained in the mail car for a little while and then opened the door leading into the express car. I had just stepped inside they express car a moment after Trousdale had felled his entertainer with a blow from the ice mallet. He dealt him a second blow to make sure he wouldn't bother us any more. Trousdale grabbed up the highwayman's rifle which fell to the floor, and I reached underneath the dying man's coat and removed his six-shooter. Trousdale turned out the lights in the car and after Reagan had armed himself with a revolver the three of us went to the far end of the car and waited in the darkness for the appearance of the other robber. Reagan climbed upon some trunks piled in the end of the car and Trousdale and I remained standing on the floor. It was understood between us that Trousdale should fire upon the robber first and if he failed to get him, Reagan and I were to open up. I don't know how long we waited there in the darkness; it appeared to be an age, and after a time, I suppose an hour or maybe longer, we heard the second robber call `Frank!' to his pal, who was then lying dead upon the floor of the express car. Of course, no answer came and he proceeded to open the door and clamber inside. Trousdale's aim was perfect, and as he shot we saw the bandit lunge forward and fall to the floor without a groan. We were afraid he was `stalling' or wounded and not dead, and remained in the dark end of the car. The only light came from the end door of the baggage car, and we could out see well. After a long time the train crew and passengers came up to investigate and find out whether the bandits had killed us or if we had silenced them.

"I shudder when I think of what our finish might have been had Trousdale's shot that dynamite and nitroglycerine on the robber's person instead of tearing the top of his head off.

"That was my first experience of the kind, and I hope it will be the last. Too much cannot be said of Trousdale's nerve and bravery. He was not at all excited, and while we were being marched from the cars to the engine he whispered to me: `These fellows are green, and we'll watch our chance and get them, sure.'"

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Death of Ben Thompson and King Fisher - A. H. Gregory

2014-11-05

[From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, June, 1928]

WHEN King Fisher, who has come down in history as the most notorious and colorful of all bandits on the Texas border, decided to reform, he did it in a whole-hearted manner and did the job good and thoroughly and in a manner befitting his station in life. When he killed his first man down in Goliad county, back in 1873, he was then 16 years of age, but showed that same meticulous care and precision that was to mark his life for the next few years. He kept a careful record of this killing—dates, names and all. He likewise kept a careful record of all future killings, including Mexicans, and when he finally submitted to the law he made $85.000 bond on 17 murder charges, was tried before Judge Thomas Paschal in Maverick county, acquitted and then reformed.

It was no doubt considerable relief to theTexas rangers and deputy sheriffs when the youthful bandit opened negotiations for an armistice. He was still in his early 20's and had not lived in Maverick county more than five years, but his ranch, located 35 miles from Eagle Pass, had come to be known as the rendezvous of the hardest gang of border bandits in history.

Possibly the same motives that prompts a reformed drunkard to join the anti-saloon league, prompted King Fisher to join the forces of law and order once his reformation was completed and his slate cleaned up in the district courts. At any rate he removed Immediately to Uvalde county, served two terms as deputy sheriff and was waging an active campaign for election as sheriff when he was killed in San Antonio at the age of 27 years in oneof the most spectacular battles in history.

Extant records of that fateful and bloody night of March 11, 1884, lend color to the belief that a couple of days before, Fisher had journeyed to Austin on one of his periodical visits to his old companion in arms, Ben Thompson. Fisher and Thompson started their little party in Austin and came to San Antonio to wind it up. Both returned to their homes for burial.

Thompson at that time, and for several years previous, had been chief of police of the Texas capital. Next to Fisher. he was the unquestioned champion gun thrower of the wide open spaces; had killed 21 men, not including Mexicans, and revelled when his exploits made page one of St. Louis and New York papers.

He was born in Nova Scotia of English parents in 1844, being 40 years of age when killed in San Antonio. With his parents he moved to Austin at the age of two years and first notched his gun at the tender age of 16 in a quarrel with another lad.

From the time he first tasted blood he roamed far and wide, visiting most of the mining camps of the West and collecting new laurels at almost every stop. He was an ardent State's Right Democrat and when the Republicans took over the reins of Texas government following the Civil War, Ben contributed his mite by killing two of their lieutenants and wounding two privates who accosted him on the streets of his native city. For this breach of etiquette the Republicans gave him his only trip to prison, whence he was released when carpet baggers were routed.

Between his terms as a peace officer, Thompson joined the band of the Mexican bandit leader, Cortines; was a paid killer for the Union Pacific Railroad when that road was battling for rights-of-way through the Royal Gorge in Colorado; lived as a free-lance gambler of sorts, and in varied ways made himself notorious and dreaded.

Two years before the reformed bandit pair were slaughtered in San Antonio, Thompson had incurred the enmity of San Antonio's gambling fraternity by killing the local leader, Jack Harris, proprietor of Harris' Variety Show, one of the famed resorts of the Southwest.

The night of the killing, Thompson and Fisher arrived from Austin, bought many drinks in local bars, attended a performance of East Lynne at Turner Hall and about 10 o'clock repaired to the Harris place for the avowed purpose of taking it in.

After the death of Harris, management of the place had fallen to Billie Simms and Joe Foster. It was a two-story adobe located at what is now the northwest corner of Soledad street and Main plaza. The lower floor was given over to the bar and some of the gambling games. The second floor had a bar at the top of the stairs, a stage at the opposite end and a small auditorium and dancing floor, typical of such amusement palaces of the old West.

San Antonio's underworld had been apprised of the impending battle and turned out en masse, packing the Harris house to capacity. One account of the night says that 'women rushed to and fro, dragging their skirts in the gore in their anxiety to get just one glimpse of the dead bandits, clear up to the time of arrival of Justice Anton Adam."

As this account was written back In 1884, it does not imply that gore was hip-deep to the ladies—skirts were different in those days. But the lady customers that night got a treat.

At the coroner's hearing next day a jury exonerated all parties of blame in connection with the killings. Evidence at the hearing indicated both dead men had an equal chance on the draw, but this has been seriously questioned by friends of the dead men who still claim that they walked into an armed camp and were ambushed from one of the boxes and from the stage. Thompson was shot twice above the left eye, once near the left ear, once in the left side and once in the stomach. Fisher was shot once in the left eye, once through the heart and once to the left leg. Both men were armed with single-action .44 Colts. Thompson inflicted wounds on Foster from which he later died, but Fisher never fired a shot.

Following is an account of the dual killing and events leading up to it, contributed by J. C. Cochran, a reporter of the San Antonio Times, who interviewed Thompson following the killing of Harris, and who covered the killing for his paper:

Ben Thompson was one of the noted, or rather notorious characters of the Southwest. A gambler by profession and from inclination, a gunman through the necessity of his calling and his environment, he lived in those eventful times when a mans life often depended upon his ability to draw quickly and shoot straight. That Ben Thompson possessed those attributes to a wonderful degree is beyond question. Adept with a pistol, possessed of great physical courage and an iron nerve, he was a fitting representative of one of the worst products of the times in which he lived. When sober and sane he was a suave and polished man of the world who gave but little, if any, intimation of the murderous malevolence that controlled him when deep in his cups.

While the tragedy attending his death, and the circumstances leading up to it, were but passing incidents in the exciting and oft times bloody history of the ancient city founded by the Franciscans, yet they went far toward forever liberating that city, and practically all of Texas, from the domination of gunmen and desperadoes.

The greater portion of the days of Ben Thompson's adventurous life was cast amid the exciting scenes of the mining camps and frontier towns of the West and Southwest, and as an associate of the rough and ready characters, hardy, fearless and reckless, who made up the life of those places. He trained with a fast crowd, and frequently set the pace. He was a gun fighter and a free booter, and as such had his part in the strife and turmoil, gun plays and bloodshed that were of almost daily and nightly occurrence. He lived a life of violence and died as so many of his class have died—with his boots on.

James H. French, a strong man, was elected mayor of San Antonio, and Phil Sheridan, quiet, determined, utterly fearless and indefatigable in his duty, was elected chief of police, or city marshal, as it was then called. Cowboys were no longer permitted to race their horses on the principal streets, shoot out the lights, or ride into a saloon when they desired a drink. A new order of things had been inaugurated, greatly to the disgust of that playful element that delighted in intimidating peace officers, stampeding quiet citizens and riding roughshod over all the laws of order and decorum.

Ben was generally on his job, and usually behaved right well, too, when at home. However, when there was nothing stirring in his city and the monotony became unbearable, or he wanted to 'throw a party,’ he would surrender the reins of government to his subordinates and hie him over to the Alamo City, where he was generally enabled to gather about him a coterie of choice spirits much more to his liking than the quiet inhabitants of the capital ctiy. Among these latter were Joe Foster, a typical gambler, immaculate in dress, dignified in appearance, abstemious in habits, cold-eyed and quick on the draw; Jack Harris, whose brutal methods controlled the rough element and intimidated the better, and as a matter of course, was a political boss; King Fisher of Uvalde; Billie Sims, who had not lived long enough to acquire the evil reputation of his older associates, and against whom there was no specific discredit save that he was a gambler with a hair-trigger temper and an inclination to use a gun, (with which he was an expert) without much provocation; Andreas Coy, an American citizen of Mexican descent, together with a few lesser lights who do not figure prominently as gunmen.

Ben Thompson was on one of his periodical visits to San Antonio, and Ben was drunk. When the city marshal of Austin had acquired a pronounced jag there was generally something doing. His first visit after arriving in the city was to his old friend, Jack Harris. After adding a few rounds to his already heavy load, Ben concluded that the most feasible thing in sight was to go up and break Joe Foster's farobank. Foster himself was dealing, probably through information that Thompson was drunk, well heeled and in a gambling mood, when Ben finally bought a few stacks of chips and began the fun. And what Joe did to Ben was a plenty. He not only annexed his large roll of money, but his watch, his diamonds and all his jewelry, even to his cuff links.

Ben was not accustomed to this sort of usage, and at first seemed rather dazed, but when he began to realize that he was entirely cleaned out, that the game had got him for everything he had save his wearing apparel, his whisky-flamed brain conceived the idea that he had been robbed. Then, with one of those lightning-like movements for which he was renowned, he had his revolver out and had Foster covered, who was compelled to elevate a hand that was darting like a snake, for a gun under the counter. At the point of a pistol whose owner never missed his target whether drunk or sober, Foster was compelled to make restitution of all the money and collateral that he had just won, when Ben, holding Joe and his lookout under the threat of his gun, backed from the room, left the building and took the first train for Austin.

This action on the part of their old friend greatly peeved Foster and Harris. Harris was especially bitter, and openly announced that if Thompson ever again visited San Antonio and appeared on the streets he (Harris) would furnish the municipal authorities of the capital city a chance to attend the funeral of their city marshal, or words to that effect. Ben, of course, soon heard of this threat, and his reckless and lawless spirit could not tamely brook such a defiance. As a consequence, but a few weeks elapsed before he was again in San Antonio. Harris was informed of his presence, and at once proceeded to get out the trusty sawed-off shotgun that he kept back of his bar for important emergencies. He carefully oiled the gun, inserted two fresh buckshot shells and started out on a still hunt for his quondam friend. Thompson, however, kept under cover and did not make his appearance on the street until after the shades of night had fallen. Between 8 and 9 o'clock he, with a companion, came along the street and passed Harris saloon. Through a small opening in the venetian blind that screened the bar from the street, he saw Harris parading in front of his bar with his shotgun in his hand. At the corner of Soledad street, Ben excused himself from his companion and started back the way he came. As he again passed the saloon, he fired from the sidewalk through that narrow slit and shot Jack Harris dead. He then commandeered a hack and was about to leave the vicinity when the hack was stopped by Leo Tasteton. Ben was placed under arrest and taken to the Bexar county jail, but was released in a short time.

In the meantime, the citizens of Austin, no doubt with considerable trepidation, had resolved to relieve Ben of his duties as city marshal. Ben's spirit may have been chastened by his imprisonment, as there is no record of his making any protest against his dethronement. He was very quiet and docile for a time, but life in Austin proved entirely too tame for his adventurous spirit and he and Fisher went over to the Alamo City with the hope, as he expressed it, of finding some excitement. And he did. It was his last.

On this occasion the pair took a preliminary drink or two and then started out to entertain themselves and their friends, and they certainly made a good job of it. They were ripe for any adventure, and at night announced to their associates in revelry that they contemplated taking in the show and dance at the vaudeville theatre run by Foster and Sims since the death of Harris. They were warned that it would be an unhealthy place for them to visit, as the proprietors, probably the only real friends that Harris had ever possessed, now sworn to have the life of Thompson in retaliation for the killing of their friend. But nothing would deter them.

Upon learning that Thompson was in the city and in company with King Fisher, and that both were drinking heavily, Joe Foster, Billie Simms and Andreas Coy hurriedly held a council of war. They felt sure that there would be trouble, and resolved to prepare for it and themselves take the initiative. Those attending the theatre that night, and there was a large crowd, the sporting fraternity having seemed fun and flocked to the scene, noticed that the curtains were down in front of one of the boxes near the stage. In that box, each with a pistol in his hand, were Joe Foster and Billie Simms. The performance had commenced, with performers and audience under the highest tension, when Thompson and Fisher finally came in, walked down the main aisle arm in arm and ostentatiously took seats in one of the front rows. They had barely settled themselves in their chairs when the curtains of the box were swept aside and a fusilade of pistol shots followed. Experts fired the shots, and their execution was deadly. Fisher was killed outright and Thompson mortally wounded. He lived long enough however, to draw his pistol and get in one shot, which found lodgement in Foster's thigh and eventually caused his death.

Coy was never identified with the killing, though it was generally believed that he was a participant. Simms was arrested and lodged in jail, where he remained until his health failed, when he was released on bond. He went to Galveston, where he was engaged in another shooting affray, but was eventually released and returned to San Antonio, where he died in bed, thus escaping the fate of most of his kind.

(EDITOR'S NOTE—We believe the writer of the above has somewhat overdrawn the picture in regard to King Fisher. No question about Fisher having been a killer and a bad man at one time, but at the time of his assassination he had been acquitted of all killing charges, and was a deputy sheriff of Uvalde county with the certainty of being elected sheriff within a few months, and had been to Austin on official business, when Ben Thompson accompanied him back to San Antonio from Austin to a great extent against his will, it is said. We have been told that Fisher had not been drinking while in Thompson's company, but that he was duly sober when they entered the Theater where the shooting took place.)

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KNEW HARRY LONGBAUGH

2014-08-15

[From J. Marvin Hunter’s Frontier Times Magazine, October, 1928]

Eldorado, Texas, Aug. 27, 1928.

J. Marvin Hunter, Bandera, Texas.

Dear Sir:—I have just received the September number of Frontier Times, and I am enclosing a money order for $1.50. Please advance my subscription for another year. I was interested in the account of the Hole in the Wall Gang of outlaws, and will tell you what I know of one member of that gang. In the eighties I was working for the Suffolk Cattle Co., of Wyoming. Their ranch, the AV, was located on the Cheyenne river at the mouth of Lodge Pole. In 1887 a boy about 16 or 18 years old, came to the ranch hunting work; he said his name was Harry Longbaugh and that he was from Colorado. Our foreman, J. B. Crawford, put him to wrangling horses, and the first week on the round-up he whipped three horse wranglers about the best grazing ground for our remuda, and came very near wrapping our Dutch cook for calling him Longdoy. After that the cooks and horse-wranglers did not step on his toes. He got on fine until we got back to the ranch, when the sheriff from Husk, Wyoming, arrested him for robbing an old man of $80, but he got away that night and this is the first that I have heard of him since then. I like your magazine fine, and recommend it to all the old timers as it recalls many things that have not been thought of for years. It is a great pleasure to read about the heroic deeds of the men and women who blazed the way for future generations. Keep it coming.

SAM W. MATHER

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