competitors of equal claims--to select
an example of bad eminence fit to bear the title of the leading bad man
of Texas.

There was one somewhat noted Texas character, however, whose life comes
down to modern times, and hence is susceptible of fairly accurate
review--a thing always desirable, though not often practical, for no
history is more distorted, not to say more garbled, than that dealing
with the somewhat mythical exploits of noted gun fighters. Ben Thompson,
of Austin, killer of more than twenty men, and a very perfect exemplar
of the creed of the six-shooter, will serve as instance good enough for
a generic application. Thompson was not a hero. He did no deeds of war.
He led no forlorn hope into the imminent deadly breach. His name is
preserved in no history of his great commonwealth. He was in the opinion
of certain peace officers, all that a citizen should not be. Yet in his
way he reached distinction; and so striking was his life that even
to-day he does not lack apologists, even as he never lacked friends.

Ben Thompson was of English descent, and was born near Lockhart, Texas,
according to general belief, though it is stated that he was born in
Yorkshire, England. Later his home was in Austin, where he spent the
greater part of his life, though roaming from place to place. Known as a
bold and skillful gun man, he was looked on as good material for a
hunter of bad men, and at the time of his death was marshal of police
at Austin. In personal appearance Thompson looked the part of the
typical gambler and gun fighter. His height was about five feet eight
inches, and his figure was muscular and compact. His hair was dark and
waving; his eyes gray. He was very neat in dress, and always took
particular pains with his footwear, his small feet being always clad in
well-fitting boots of light material, a common form of foppery in a land
where other details of dress were apt to be carelessly regarded. He wore
a dark mustache which, in his early years, he was wont to keep waxed to
points. In speech he was quiet and unobtrusive, unless excited by drink.
With the six-shooter he was a peerless shot, an absolute genius, none in
all his wide surrounding claiming to be his superior; and he had a
ferocity of disposition which grew with years until he had, as one of
his friends put it, "a craving to kill people." Each killing seemed to
make him desirous of another. He thus came to exercise that curious
fascination which s