Bad Men of Texas

By Emerson Hough, 1907

The tapestry of the American West is interwoven with threads of adventure, lawlessness, and the relentless push of civilization against the untamed wilderness. A close examination of the desperado’s narrative reveals a consistent pattern: their prevalence is most pronounced where boundaries blur – at the frontier’s edge, in the contested space between order and chaos, or along borders separating nations or ideologies. While the arrival of formal law enforcement may temper their activities, their true habitat lies within the nascent, evolving stages of a society. The zone where East met West, and North confronted South, became the stage for the rise of the archetypal Bad Men of Texas.

The American Southwest, with its vast expanse and unforgiving terrain, proved to be the most enduring and resistant of American frontiers. Uniquely, the United States has only shared a wartime border with one nation: Mexico. However, even before formal declarations of war echoed between the two countries, Texas, or rather its people, had engaged in a protracted struggle with its southern neighbor, a clash of cultures and claims over territory.

The Rio Grande frontier became synonymous with bloodshed, a reputation forged long before Texas’s eventual incorporation into the Union. The population that initially settled and defended the expansive lands of the Lone Star State possessed an unmatched vigor and combativeness. These early Texans were, almost without exception, individuals seasoned by conflict, and this martial spirit has persisted throughout the state’s history.

The allure of the Southwest’s uncharted territories to young men in the early 19th century stemmed from a blend of excitement, the promise of adventure, and the tangible potential for material gain. Southerners who traversed the old River Road through Mississippi and Louisiana possessed a keen understanding of their era. They foresaw that Texas would inevitably be wrested from Mexican control, and by force if necessary. Its vast resources would fall into the hands of those who had fought to secure them. These Southerners were seeking a new frontier, a vast and promising opportunity, and the message returned that the fighting was constant and fierce. This call to arms resonated throughout the South, drawing men from Virginia to Louisiana, the sons and descendants of the South’s most courageous families, all eager to participate. Though few and scattered at first, they eventually united, demanding a government independent from the distant and ineffective Mexican authorities. They sought not to be part of Coahuila, but to establish Texas as an independent entity, governed by laws that upheld Saxon rights and justice, a true rule of law.

Figures like Crockett, Fannin, Travis, and Bowie, driven by a mix of political ambition and a thirst for adventure, ventured across the plains of eastern Texas, establishing themselves on the front lines of the Mexican border. For a quintessential band of Bad Men of Texas, consider the immortal defenders of the Alamo. Through a modern lens, some might be viewed as little more than guerrillas, yet each man was undeniably a hero. They had the option to escape, to join Sam Houston’s forces further east, but they unanimously chose to stand their ground. Wielding border weapons with unmatched skill, they fought to the death, not in organized ranks with banners and music, but individually, in desperate hand-to-hand combat, each a formidable warrior.

For generations, the early settlers of Texas battled Mexicans and Native Americans. The sheer scale of the territory defied any centralized legal system. Self-reliance became paramount. Every cabin housed rifles and pistols for each male old enough to wield them, and boys were raised with weapons, accustomed to the idea that disputes were settled through force.

Inevitably, the region attracted a criminal element, individuals fleeing justice from older, more established areas. These individuals, in time, drew the attention of the law, giving rise to the legendary Texas Rangers, armed and relentless riders, a force born of necessity to enforce order in a lawless land.

The era of cattle drives prolonged the turbulent times of the border. The buffalo ranges attracted their share of hard-riding, quick-shooting individuals. The vast, untamed territories of the Southwest beckoned endlessly, creating a situation where even in relatively settled areas, people were isolated, and reliance on the law as a protector was tenuous at best.

Small wonder that the name of Texas became synonymous with a certain kind of savagery. For a considerable period, it was the wildest region within the nation’s borders. Many individuals who gained notoriety as fighters along the Pecos, Rio Grande, Gila, and Colorado Rivers emerged from Texas. Others ventured north into the Indian Nations, leaving their mark there. Some sought their fortunes in the mines of the Rockies or on the cattle ranges stretching from Montana to Arizona. Many remained in Texas, leading eventful lives marked by frequent violence, eventually meeting their end by the gun or the noose.

A comprehensive study of this vast subject would require far more space than is available, venturing into historical territories beyond the present scope. Suffice it to say that the Bad Men of Texas left an indelible mark as horsemen and weapon-bearers, their influence extending as far north as the Arctic Circle. Their language and methods shaped the entire cattle business of the plains, from the Rio Grande to the Selkirks. Texas was a crucible for frontiersmen, whose actions resonated wherever they went. Among them were truly wicked individuals, as malevolent as any in the world, and their numbers were impossible to accurately count.

Not long ago, some citizens of Montgomery County, Texas, were sitting in a store one evening when they began to tally the homicides they could recall within that county in recent memory. They counted 75 documented cases, and even then, they acknowledged that their count was incomplete. Many other Texas counties could match or surpass that figure, and Texas is a vast state, requiring two days to traverse by rail. A complete review of the Bad Men of Texas would be a monumental undertaking!

The reputations of many Bad Men of Texas extended far beyond the state’s borders, leading to the common frontier saying that anyone born on Texas soil was destined to shoot, just as any horse born there was sure to buck. There is often truth in proverbs, though today, both horses and men of Texas are losing some of their more untamed characteristics. It is a testament to the fundamental strength and sense of justice inherent in the American character, as well as the value of the American fighting man, that such a great state could emerge from such turbulent conditions and establish order so quickly and permanently over its vast, unsettled regions.

Yet, while peace has its own victories, it is doubtful that Texas is more proud of its statesmen and commercial leaders than it is of the stalwart fighting men it bred, men skilled in the use of arms. The vibrant city of San Antonio thrives today, yet its ground has been repeatedly stained with blood. The names of Crockett, Milam, Travis, and Bowie endure, while those of captains of industry are often forgotten. From this history, spanning a half-century of border warfare, frontier life, cattle trading, and railroad construction, it is impossible, given the numerous contenders with equally compelling claims, to single out one individual as the ultimate Bad Men of Texas.

However, one notable Texas figure, whose life extends into more modern times, allows for a reasonably accurate examination, something not always possible given the often-distorted and embellished accounts of famous gunfighters. Ben Thompson of Austin, credited with killing more than 20 men, epitomized the six-shooter creed. Thompson was no hero. He performed no acts of valor in war. He led no desperate charges into the face of death. His name is not etched in the annals of this great state’s history. In the eyes of some law enforcement officials, he was everything a citizen should not be. Yet, he achieved a certain notoriety, and even today, he has his apologists and has always had friends. Thompson, believed to have been born near Lockhart, Texas, though some claim Yorkshire, England, spent most of his life roaming.

Known as a daring and skilled gunman, Thompson was considered a suitable candidate to hunt down other bad men, eventually serving as the marshal of police in Austin at the time of his death. He cut the figure of the archetypal gambler and gunfighter. Standing approximately five feet eight inches tall, he possessed a muscular and compact build.

He had dark, wavy hair and gray eyes. He dressed meticulously, paying particular attention to his footwear. His small feet were always adorned with well-fitting boots of light material, a common affectation in a region where other aspects of dress were often overlooked. He sported a dark mustache, which in his youth, he would wax into points. His speech was generally soft and unassuming, unless he was under the influence of alcohol. With a six-shooter, he was unparalleled, a true master, and he possessed a ferocity that intensified with age, leading him to, as one friend described, "a craving to kill people." Each killing seemed to fuel his desire for another, giving him a strange magnetism. He knew no fear, or at least never showed any. He lived like a wild animal, unbound by the law, reveling in bloodshed; yet, he was regarded as a loyal friend and a good companion. Even today, many dismiss the accusation that he was evil, arguing that each of his 20 killings was an act of self-defense. While his brutal side was undeniable, it was not always apparent. He was generally seen as a "good fellow," and those who downplay his more savage actions claim that local history has not been fair to him.

Thompson’s first killing occurred when he was a young man in New Orleans, reportedly stemming from his chivalrous nature. He was traveling down the street on public transport with several young Creoles returning from a dance in a somewhat inebriated state. When some of the strangers made remarks to an unaccompanied woman, Thompson interpreted them as offensive and took it upon himself to defend her honor. In the ensuing fight, he killed one of the young men. He was forced to flee to Mexico, traveling down the river. He returned to Galveston, where he established himself as a gambler and continued to cultivate his reputation as a fighter. Most of his conflicts revolved around cards, alcohol, or women, the usual causes of many border killings.

Thompson’s list of victims grew steadily, and by the age of forty, his notoriety extended far beyond Texas. He was a familiar and feared figure in all the major cities of the state. His skill with his preferred weapon was legendary in a state full of skilled marksmen. Furthermore, his temperament became increasingly unpleasant, sullen, and bloodthirsty. He needed little provocation to kill someone if he took a dislike to them. The following story illustrates his ferocity and his willingness to instigate conflict:

The owner of a variety show severely beat a gambler named Jim Burdette. Mark Wilson, the proprietor, told Burdette that he was tired of men like him, who only came to his theater to cause trouble and disrupt his business, and that if he or any of his associates ever attempted to disturb his audiences again, they would have to deal with him (Wilson). The next day, Ben Thompson, sitting in a barbershop, overheard the story and said to a black man nearby: "Mack, damn your n***er soul, you go down to that place this evening, and when the house is full, and everybody is seated, you just raise hell, and we’ll see what that is made of." The plan was executed. The black man rose in the audience and let out a few bloodcurdling screams. Instantly, the proprietor emerged, but he saw Thompson, who had drawn two guns and was ready to kill Wilson.

Wilson, however, was too quick and disappeared behind the scenery, retrieving his shotgun. There was too much commotion that night, and the matter was dropped without any fatalities. A few nights later, Thompson obtained some lampblack, which he gave to Burdette, instructing him to go to the theater, wait for his chance, and throw the stuff in Wilson’s face. This was done, and when the unfortunate proprietor, his face covered in lampblack, emerged with his shotgun, Thompson dropped to the ground. The shotgun blast, poorly aimed by Wilson, passed over Thompson’s head. Thompson then rose and riddled Wilson with bullets, killing him instantly.

The bartender, seeing his employer’s life in danger, fired wildly at Thompson. Thompson turned his attention to the bartender, who ducked behind the bar, only to receive a fatal wound through the counter and into his back. Thompson, in court, presented a wealth of favorable testimony, and with half a dozen gamblers willing to swear to anything he needed, he was released on bail and eventually acquitted.

He reportedly killed these two men for no other reason than to prove that he could "run" a place where others had failed. According to one version of the story, a saloon keeper fired at Thompson as he walked down the street in Austin and, missing him, retreated behind the bar. Thompson shot him in the head through the bar front. Another man’s life meant little to him. He craved power and dominance, much like the leaders of desperado gangs in the California and Montana mining regions, sought to be "chief." This was a unique ambition, seeking recognition for courage, skill, and willingness to take human life easily and carelessly, a phenomenon largely confined to the American West. The most notorious Bad Men of Texas certainly feared Ben Thompson. He was the "chief."

Thompson strayed far from the path of civilized life. He was neither a robber, nor a burglar, nor a highwayman, yet neither toiling nor spinning appealed to him. He was primarily a gambler, but even this he eventually abandoned as a means of earning a living. Disregarding the etiquette of his chosen profession, he insisted on winning at all costs. He would enter a gambling establishment in some town and sit at a game. If he won, he would continue to play. If he lost, he would fly into a rage and seize the money on the table, regardless of the outcome of the game. He would then buy drinks for everyone with the stolen money, distributing it freely, which somewhat justified his actions in the eyes of those who had not been robbed.

To fully appreciate the audacity of these actions, one must understand the realities of frontier life, which was nowhere more dangerous than in the very region where Thompson operated. Numerous men skilled with firearms surrounded him, men of courage, but he took risks freely in that environment. He was consumed by the madness of the bad man. He must have known his eventual fate, but he continued, defying and courting his own destruction, as desperadoes often do, adhering to their own peculiar code of self-reliance.

Once, at a banquet of stockmen in Austin, Thompson, acting alone, drove every man from the room, despite the fact that nearly all stockmen were seasoned fighters. The fear of Thompson’s pistol was so great that no one dared to challenge him. On another occasion, Thompson ventured into Luling, known as the most dangerous town in Texas, where Rowdy Joe operated the roughest dance hall in America. He forced all the bad men out of the place, seized money from the gaming tables, and generally caused chaos, demonstrating that he was the "chief."

In the early 1880s, in the quiet, blood-soaked town of San Antonio, Jack Harris, known as Pegleg Harris, owned a dance hall, gambling den, and vaudeville theater. Thompson often frequented this establishment during his visits to San Antonio, and he harbored a grudge against Harris, whom he planned to kill. One day, he followed Harris into the bar and killed him in the dim light. It was, of course, another instance of "self-defense" for Thompson, who was accustomed to being acquitted or never charged, and no doubt Harris would have killed him if he had had the chance. After killing Harris, Thompson declared his intention to kill Harris’s partners, Foster and Simms. He had a particular grudge against Billy Simms, a young man of nineteen, supposedly because he believed Simms had stolen the affections of a woman in Austin. He also resented the gambling house, where Simms was now the manager. Whenever Thompson was drunk, he vowed to kill Billy Simms, and Simms, young and inexperienced, trembled in fear. To escape Thompson’s wrath, Simms moved to Chicago, Illinois, for a time, but he was eventually called home to Austin because his mother was gravely ill. Thompson knew of his presence in Austin, but with a show of magnanimity, he refused to kill Simms while he was visiting his sick mother. "Wait until he goes over to Santone," he said, "then I’ll step over and kill the little ___."

Simms went to San Antonio to settle some of Jack Harris’s estate debt. As a friend and partner of the widow, he had been appointed administrator, and he traveled to the city with a heavy heart, fearing he would not leave alive. He was informed that Thompson had repeatedly threatened him, and he received numerous telegrams to that effect. Some say that Thompson himself telegraphed Simms, announcing his arrival to kill him. Certainly, a friend of Simms sent him a telegram warning him: "Party who wants to destroy you on the train this day bound for San Antonio." Thompson’s friends denied that he made such threats and insisted that he traveled to San Antonio on a peaceful mission. In any case, this guarded but explicit message terrified Simms. He went to the city marshal, showed him the telegram, and asked for protection, but the marshal told him that nothing could be done until Thompson committed some "overt act." The sheriff and other officers said the same thing, unwilling to confront Thompson if they could avoid it.

Simms later recounted his helplessness at that time, his voice choked with sobs. The law offered no protection. He was forced to take matters into his own hands. He went to a court judge and asked for advice. After some thought, the judge said: "Under the circumstances, I should advise a shotgun."

Simms approached one of the faro dealers in the house, a man known for his ruthlessness, who always dealt faro with two large revolvers on the table, but this dealer advised him to "make friends with Thompson." He went to Foster, Harris’s former partner, and explained the situation. Foster responded slowly, "Well, Billy, when he comes, we’ll do our best." Simms felt that he, too, was wavering.

There was a large policeman, a Mexican named Coy, considered a brave man and a fighter, and Simms went to him, asking for assistance, saying that he anticipated trouble that night and wanted Coy to do his duty. Coy was not enthusiastic, but neither he nor Foster attempted to leave. Simms turned away, feeling that his end was near. Desperate, he obtained a shotgun and positioned himself near the top of the stairs, expecting Thompson to enter the establishment. The theater was located up one flight of stairs, with a bar to the right, where "ladies" in short skirts served drinks during the variety performance, one of the venue’s attractions.

The waiting was nerve-wracking, and Simms could not endure it. He walked down the stairs, circled the block, and returned to the hall. Meanwhile, Ben Thompson, accompanied by King Fisher, a man with a reputation for violence, had ascended the stairs and taken a seat on the right side, near the door and beyond the bar. As Simms stepped to the foot of the stairs, he met the barkeeper, who was pale with terror. He pointed, trembling, up the stairs, and whispered, "He’s there!" Ben Thompson and King Fisher had not yet made any threatening gestures. It is said that King Fisher had lured Thompson into the theater, knowing that a trap had been set to kill him. Others claim that Thompson simply went for entertainment. A friend of the author, a New Mexican sheriff who happened to be in San Antonio, saw and spoke with both men that afternoon. They were calm and sober at the time.

Simms’s heart pounded, but he resolved to face death with courage. Slowly, he climbed the stairs. Thompson, alert and watchful, quickly rose and approached Simms, who stood at the top of the stairs, frozen in place. Before Simms could react, Foster appeared and, as he stood up, Thompson noticed him, walked towards him, and said: "Hello, Foster, how are you?" Foster replied slowly and deliberately: "Ben, this world is not big enough for us both. You killed poor Jack Harris like a dog, and you didn’t even give him a chance for his life. You and I can never be friends anymore."

With lightning speed and a face contorted with rage, Thompson drew his pistol and jammed it into Foster’s mouth, tearing his lips and sending him staggering backward. Simms, who had retreated to the next step, drew his pistol, as he did not have his shotgun with him. As he saw Foster reel from Thompson’s blow, Simms, with sudden courage, opened fire. His first shot must have hit its mark, perhaps deciding the outcome. Thompson’s gun did not fire. Simms continued to shoot. Thompson stumbled back against King Fisher, and neither could fire. Meanwhile, the large Mexican, Coy, appeared, just as Foster had. Both Foster and Coy rushed in front of Simms’s line of fire, and without a doubt, Simms shot and killed his friend and savior, Foster getting his death wound in a position that suggested Simms had shot him.

Nonetheless, Foster lunged at Thompson as the latter stumbled back upon Fisher. With the ferocity of a tiger, Foster shoved his pistol barrel into Thompson’s mouth and fired twice, finishing what Simms had started. The giant Coy threw his weight into the struggling mass, now confined to a corner of the room, and some say he held Ben Thompson’s arms, though in the chaos, it was difficult to ascertain what happened. He yelled to Simms, "Don’t mind me!" meaning that Simms should continue shooting. "Kill the ____ of ___!" he cried.

Coy undoubtedly played a crucial role in saving Simms’s life, for one or the other of these two notorious men would have killed someone before falling had they been able to free their hands in the struggle. Coy was shot in the leg, possibly by Simms, but he did not fall. Simms took care of Coy for the rest of his life.

One of the participants in this desperate fight stated that Coy did not hold Thompson and that, at first, no one fell to the floor. Thompson was staggered by Simms’s first shot, preventing him from returning fire quickly. Foster killed Thompson and likely King Fisher, the latter trapped in the corner with Thompson in front of him. Coy rushed at the two and handled them so roughly that they never managed to fire their weapons.

Leaving the fallen men at the back of the theater, Simms went downstairs, carrying Foster’s pistol, with two chambers empty (the shots that killed Thompson), and his own gun. He saw Thompson’s brother Bill approaching him. He raised his gun to kill him, but Phil Shardein, the city marshal, jumped on Thompson and shielded him with his body, shouting, "Don’t shoot, Billy, I’ve got him." This saved Bill Thompson’s life. Then, several shots were heard upstairs, and upon investigation, it was found that Coy had emptied his pistol into the dead body of Thompson. He also shot Fisher to "make sure they were dead."

Thus, two of the most notorious men of Texas died with their boots on. There were no tears. Many boasted about what they would have done had Ben Thompson threatened them. This final act in Ben Thompson’s career occurred in the late spring of 1882. He was approximately forty-three years old.

King Fisher, who died alongside Thompson, was a devoted follower of the desperado life. He was a dark-haired, slender young man from Goliad County, which seemed to produce more than its fair share of bad men. He had killed six men and stolen numerous horses in his time. Had he lived longer, he would have killed more. He lacked the qualities required to run a large city, but his death was widely celebrated. Of course, he had many friends, some of whom denied that he intended to cause trouble when he entered the theater with Ben Thompson, just as Thompson’s friends accused King Fisher of treachery. There is never a shortage of people who view dead desperadoes as martyrs. Indeed, the history of any killer’s life typically involves a complex set of circumstances and often mitigating factors.

Another Goliad County man well-known in San Antonio was Alfred Y. Allee, a rancher who lived a short distance from the railway. Allee was decent when sober, but when drunk, he became very dangerous and was widely recognized as a man to be watched. Alcohol seemed to transform him into a bloodthirsty fiend. He had killed several men, one or two without any provocation, and when they were defenseless, including a porter on a railway train. He would come to town, get drunk, invite everyone to drink with him, and take offense at any refusal. He enjoyed being the "chief" of the drinking establishment he frequented. He once ordered a peaceful citizen of San Antonio, a friend of the writer, to come and drink with him, and when the man declined, he nearly shot him. The man took his drink, then slipped away and got his shotgun. Perhaps his second thought was wiser. "What’s the use?" he reasoned. "Somebody’ll kill Allee before long, anyhow."

This proved to be true, as Allee’s course ran its end within the week. He went to Laredo and began to cause trouble. The town marshal, Joe Bartelow, was a Mexican but also something of a killer himself, and he resolved to put an end to Allee’s disturbances. It is said that Allee was unarmed when they met in a saloon, and it is said that Bartelow offered his hand in greeting. Bartelow then wrapped his arm around Allee’s neck and, with his free hand, stabbed him to death with a knife. Whether justifiable or not, that was how the homicide was committed.

Any man who has killed more than 20 men is generally considered to qualify as bad in most societies. This standard would include the human tiger, Tumlinson, of South Texas, who was sometimes a law officer and other times an independent killer in Texas. It was said that he had more than 20 kills to his credit, and his Mexican wife often smiled and said that "Tumlinson never counted Mexicans." He was a genius with the revolver and as skilled a rifle shot as one could find. He was equally proficient at shooting at stationary targets or at a bottle swinging in the wind from a tree. Legend has it that Tumlinson killed his wife and then shot himself dead, taking many secrets with him. He was undeniably bad.

Sam Bass was a famous outlaw and killer in West Texas, known for riding into town and taking control. He committed numerous thefts and robberies and several murders. His end was typical of the region. The citizens learned of his impending arrival one day before he rode into Round Rock for a raid. The city marshal and several others opened fire on Bass and his party, killing one man.

The Bad Men of Texas and many of the peace officers were of this stock along a wide frontier in the early, turbulent days following the Civil War, when the border was a seething mass of armed men for whom the law had yet to gain meaning. To recount the stories of more individuals would be a departure from the purpose of this work. Were these men wrong, and were they entirely and unreservedly bad? Ignorance and prejudice would be quick to answer and to apply to them the standards of these later days.