Texas Killer

THEY DIED WITH THEIR BOOTS ON-- Thomas Ripley -- Doubleday, Doran ($2.50). In all the highly publicized activities of Western badmen, the multiple killings of John Wesley Hardin have been more or less neglected. A tough, blue-eyed, wavy-haired east Texas moppet who grew up when his State was occupied by Yankee troops and hated carpetbaggers, Hardin killed his first man, an ex-slave, when he was 15. In the next nine years he killed approximately 43 more. Sentenced to 25 years in prison, Hardin served 16 before he was pardoned, wrote an autobiography, studied law, practiced in El Paso until he was fatally shot in 1895.

Thomas Ripley's new account of Hardin's gory career is a turbulent, romantic book in which guns roar on almost every page, remorseless pistolmen pink each other with grave aplomb, and hair-trigger gunplay is described in purple passages that smoke and crackle. Although he debunks some Western myths, Author Ripley is more interested in relating good, tall, cow-country tales.

Fleeing Yankee soldiers after his first killing, "Wes" Hardin ambushed them, killed three. Then he hid in central Texas and, with his cousin "Simp" Dixon, killed two more, which made him a popular Texan in the eyes of ex-Confederates. At 16 Hardin, mocked by a desperado who stole his gun and boots, salved his pride by plugging his tormentor between the eyes. For years he seemed to look into a gun barrel whenever he embarked on any peaceful venture. Once at a circus he accidentally bumped a roustabout who drew a pistol. Hardin, of course, killed him on the spot. When he fell in love a rival tried to take advantage of his sentimental state by robbing him. Hardin merely dropped his money to the floor, then killed the rival when he stooped over to pick it up. Not so deadly a shot as "Wild Bill" Hickok or the great King Fisher, Hardin was craftier and faster on the draw than any man of his time.

Always trying to settle down to peaceful pursuits, the boy took part in a drive of 3,000 longhorns over the famed Chisholm trail, caught measles on the way, killed an Indian and five Mexicans, afterwards wrote of one of the killings: "I was going to shoot him again when he begged and held up his hands. I could not shoot a man, even a treacherous Mexican, begging and down. Besides, I knew he would die anyway."

In Abilene Hardin tangled with Hickok, then a city marshal. Although Thomas Ripley writes with frank partisanship, unearths terrible scandals in Hickok's career, unbiased readers may feel that the famed gunman nevertheless emerges as an individual of great gravity and self-control. Although Hardin's prejudices were inflamed when he heard that Yankee "Wild Bill" killed only Southerners, they got along well until Hardin once made too much noise while bowling and "Wild Bill" arrested him. Getting the drop on the marshal, Hardin cursed him as one who would shoot a boy in the back. Waiting to be killed, Hickok merely said gravely: "Little Arkansas, you have been wrongly informed." No one knows why "Wild Bill" always called Hardin "Little Arkansas." They became friends again, but that night Hardin lost prestige by killing a cowpuncher. He only regained it when he killed a Mexican rustler two days later. Within four days he was in trouble again: when his cousin was arrested Hardin made a deal with "Wild Bill" for his release, was double-crossed, killed a hired assassin, escaped, trapped a posse, disarmed and undressed them, sent them home naked.

Returning to Texas, Hardin married, went into the cattle business, killed at least four and perhaps eight Negro policemen, was almost killed when a local badman emptied a shotgun into him point blank. Chased by one mob after another while terribly wounded, he developed his lifelong fear of lynching, surrendered to the authorities, who let him escape. Cutting his way out of jail in broad daylight, he wrote that the guards told him when to work, "as the saw made a big fuss." Free, he plunged into the Sutton-Taylor feud, killed Sheriff Jack Helms, enjoyed a period of relative peace and prosperity until he killed Deputy Sheriff Charlie Webb, whose friends, resenting it, lynched Hardin's brother, two cousins, and a friend. Escaping to Florida, Hardin was captured by a Texas Ranger who traced him through his wife. By the time he had served his sentence and been pardoned, the West was no longer wild enough for him. His second marriage turned out badly, and in a mysterious squabble in sinister old El Paso, Hardin, then an ambiguous small-town attorney, was killed by a deputy constable while rolling dice for drinks.

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