John Wesley Hardin
1853 - 1895
Preacher Hardin, a God-fearing circuit-riding man, had great
expectations for his son, Wesley, named after a bishop of the Methodist
Church, and born in 1853. Wesley served as a Sunday school
superintendent for a while. But the times were ripe to change a
man, and the northern bluecoats had made police of Negroes following
the Civil War. In a burst of rage over an incident, Wes, at the
age of 15, cut down his first man, a Negro, in Washington County,
Texas, and also shot four more men who pursued him. Young Hardin
was right handy with a six gun. He was in big trouble, too.
This mere boy in a big-rimmed hat, with a heavy
cap-and-ball pistol dragging at his pants, had to have a drink of hard
liquor, and while so doing ran afoul of an Arkansas gunslinger from
Horn Hill. He beat Wes to the draw, but Wes was the better shot, and
the gunslinger died with a look of agonized dismay on his face.
Then young Hardin had to unlimber on a circus roustabout, outdraw, and
hill him.
At Kosse, another hothead just asked to be cut down. Then in
Waco, Wes became conscious of this special gift and outdrew another
gunman. Then the law had him good, but Hardin escaped from jail,
killing Deputy Jim Smolly.
Talent, indeed. Down the road to
hell. With eight men dead, with nicer clothes on his broad
shoulders, he cut a fine figure, gun belt and all. He went home
to see his Pa, a man who knew what it was to carry a Bible in one hand
and a gun in the other, as he had been a captain in the Civil
War. He advised his son to go on down into Old Mexico until the
trouble blew over. However, Wes was grabbed by state police
between Belton and Waco. During dry camp that night, both men
dropped off to sleep. Wes grabbed the shotgun and woke up every
chicken within a mile when he blasted them into eternity.
Wes's
cousins Joe, Jim, Gyp, and Manning Clements, hard men of guns and
cattle, were camped out in the wild mesquite jungle and ready for a big
drive to Abilene, in 1871. Wes was welcome to come along, drive
cattle, and fight off Mexicans and Indians on the Chisum Trail.
Mid-spring found them in the famed frontier town of Abilene, a
bedlam of bawling cattle, rickety western clapboard buildings, and a
seething mass of fun-seeking hell-raisers from Texas crowding into the
saloons patrolled by the fancy dresser and killer, Marshal Wild Bill
Hickok. Switch engines snorted and wheezed all night long, cattle
bawled piano keys got mixed up in the welter of sound.
With hair clicked down, Wes and his ornery cousins cruised the
town, lookin' her over, and met the famed killer, Ben Thompson, all
decked out in a high plug hat like an undertaker, telling Wes to kill
the stuffed shirt Wild Bill, as he didn't like lawmen in any
form. Wes told Ben to do his own killing. A short time
thereafter, Wes met Wild Bill and the two got on fine. Bill just
couldn't figure out this 18-year-old son-of-Satan who was growing in
reputation. There is a tale abroad that Wes threw down on Hickok,
but the wise wave it aside. Back at his hotel room, he caught a
man rifling his pants and killed him.
In
between shoot-outs in Texas, Wes found the girl of his heart, married
her, then lit out again to cut down Sheriff Dick Reagon and famed
gunslinging lawman, Sheriff Jack Helms.
Wes had killed about 40
men at this stage of his career, at 21 years of age, and although
Charlie Webb took the risk and outdrew him, creasing his die, Wes
whirled and killed him with a bullet in his eye. For this act,
although the killer was gone, his brother Joe and his cousins, Bud and
Tom Dixon, were caught and strung up.
He was not on the run, but not for long, for the Texas Rangers
soon nabbed him at Pensacola Junction, Florida, in 1877. Tried
and convicted, he was sentenced to 25 years in Huntsville Prison where
Bill Longley, Mannen Clements and John Ringo made him company.
Here, Wes studied law. In 1894 after serving 15 years, he was
pardoned. On the outside now, he passed the bar and moved along
to El Paso where he hung out his shingle. But he was no longer
the same man. He strutted and bragged, he got drunk, and he
pushed people around. It was only a matter of time.
Young John Selman got into an argument with Wes over a
woman. Old John Selman, the young policeman's father, feared for
his son's life. Wes was shot down while he rolled dice in the
Acme Saloon with his back to the door where Selman stood, took careful
aim and cut him down. Wes died as he had lived – by the gun.
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