One of the men engaged in this desperate fight says that Coy did not hold Thompson, and that at first no one was shot to the floor. Thompson was staggered by Simms' first shot, which prevented a quick return of fire. It was Foster who killed Thompson and very likely King Fisher, the latter being hemmed in in the corner with Thompson in front of him. Coy rushed into the two and handled them so roughly that they never got their guns into action so far as known.

Leaving the fallen men at the rear of the theater, Simms now went down stairs, carrying Foster's pistol, with two chambers empty (the shots that killed Thompson) and his own gun. He saw Thompson's brother Bill coming at him. He raised the gun to kill him, when Phil Shardein, then city marshal, jumped on Thompson

and shielded him with his body, calling out, "Don't shoot, Billy, I've got him." This saved Bill Thompson's life. Then several shots were heard upstairs, and upon investigation, it was found that Coy had emptied his pistol into the dead body of Thompson. He also shot Fisher, to "make sure the —— were dead."

Thus they died at last, two of the most notorious men of Texas, both with their boots on. There were no tears. Many told what they would or could have done had Ben Thompson threatened them. This closing act in the career of Ben Thompson came in the late spring of 1882. He was then about forty-three years of age.

King Fisher, who met death at the same time with Thompson, was a good disciple of desperadoism. He was a dark-haired, slender young man from Goliad county—which county seems to have produced far more than its share of bad men. He had killed six men and stolen a great many horses in his time. Had he lived longer, he would have killed more. He was not of the caliber sufficient to undertake the running of a large city, but there was much relief felt over his death. He had many friends, of

course, and some of these deny that he had any intention of making trouble when he went into the theater with Ben Thompson, just as friends of the latter accuse King Fisher of treachery. There are never lacking men who regard dead desperadoes as martyrs; and indeed it is usually the case that there are mixed circumstances and frequently extenuating ones, to be found in the history of any killer's life.

Another Goliad county man well known around San Antonio was Alfred Y. Allee, who was a rancher a short distance back from the railway. Allee was decent when sober, but when drunk was very dangerous, and was recognized as bad and well worth watching. Liquor seemed to transform him and to make him a bloodthirsty fiend. He had killed several men, one or two under no provocation whatever and when they were defenseless, including a porter on a railway train. It was his habit to come to town and get drunk, then to invite every one to drink with him and take offense at any refusal. He liked to be "chief" of the drinking place which he honored with his presence. He once ordered a peaceful citizen of San Antonio, a friend of the writer, up to drink with him, and when the latter declined came

near shooting him. The man took his drink, then slipped away and got his shotgun. Perhaps his second thought was wiser. "What's the use?" he argued with himself. "Somebody'll kill Allee before long anyhow."

This came quite true, for within the week Allee had run his course. He dropped down to Laredo and began to "hurrah" that town also. The town marshal, Joe Bartelow, was a Mexican, but something of a killer himself, and he resolved to end the Allee disturbances, once for all. It is said that Allee was not armed when at length they met in a saloon, and it is said that Bartelow offered his hand in greeting. At once Bartelow threw his arm around Allee's neck, and with his free hand cut him to death with a knife. Whether justifiable or not, that was the fashion of the homicide.

Any man who has killed more than twenty men is in most countries considered fit to qualify as bad. This test would include the little human tiger, Tumlinson, of South Texas, who was part of the time an officer of the law and part of the time an independent killer in Texas. He had many more than twenty men to his credit, it was said, and his Mexican wife, smilingly, always said that "Tumlinson never counted