he been able to get his hands free in the
struggling. Coy was shot in the leg, possibly by Simms, but did not
drop. Simms took care of Coy to the end of his life, Coy dying but
recently.

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

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

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

King Fisher, who met death at the same time with Thompson, was a good
disciple of desperadoism. He was a dark-haired, slender young man from
Goliad county--which county seems to have produced far more than its
share of bad men. He had killed six men and stolen a great many horses
in his time. Had he lived longer, he would have killed more. He was not
of the caliber sufficient to undertake the running of a large city, but
there was much relief felt over his death. He had many friends, of
course, and some of these deny that he had any intention of making
trouble when he went into the theater with Ben Thompson, just as friends
of the latter accuse King Fisher of treachery. There are never lacking
men who regard dead desperadoes as martyrs; and indeed it is usually the
case that there are mixed circumstances and frequently extenuating ones,
to be found in