Here's the money, but I'm not Bill Thompson. (original) (raw)

That summer of 1927, most of the highways in West Texas remained unpaved. The Pecos River and other streams, assuming they held water at all, had to be splashed across.

Three high-topped cars with spoke wheels clattered east on the Old Spanish Trail, between Fort Stockton and Ozona, a roadway improved from the days of the stagecoach only by mule-drawn graders.

Inside the cars sat three men who had travelled this route many times, often on horseback. In one of the flivvers rode J.D. Jackson of Alpline, cattleman and former Texas Ranger. Former Ranger James B. Gillett drove another of the cars, one hand on the wheel, the other hand busily pointing out landmarks.

Riding with Jackson was a younger man, Eugene Cunningham, a journalist. Another former ranger drove behind them. They were headed for the West Central texas town of Menard for a reunion of old rangers. At not even 20 miles an hour, they had plenty of time for talk before they got there.

�Ever run into Ben Thompson?� the reporter asked Jackson, hoping for a story about the English-born gambler, gunman and one-time Austin city marshal gunned down in a San Antonio saloon in 1884.

�Knew him when he and his younger brother, Billy, drove a water wagon in Austin,� Jackson said.

In 1887, he went on, he and the other rangers in Company E had been assigned to guard the construction camp as the Texas and Pacific Railroad pushed across West Texas. The tracks went down as straight as the terrain permitted, but a lot of crooked men followed the rails.

One day a man came up to the captain�s tent at the ranger camp near Monahansand said a gambler had skinned him for 500or500 or 500or600 using loaded dice.

�The cap�n told me to go down into the construction camp � it was a rough place, full of tinhorn gamblers and tent saloons � and get this fellow�s money back, then kick the gambler out of camp.�

When Jackson walked into the worker�s camp, he recognized the gambler, but did not let on just yet that he knew him.

�Cap�n says you better give this fellow back his money,� Jackson told the gambler.

�Like hell I will!� he said. �You rangers may have the authority to arrest me, but you can�t make me give back the money.�

�Better give it back to him, Mr�� Jackson said, pausing significantly after the word �mister.�

The gambler gave the lawman a hard look and then asked what the ranger had started to call him.

�I told him I used to watch a couple brothers driving a water wagon in Austin,� Jackson said.

�You think I�m Bill Thompson, don�t you? Well, I�m not! But if you�re going to raise so much trouble over the money � here! Take it! But I�m not Bill Thompson.�

Jackson took the money with his left hand, leaving his gun hand available for any sudden developments. The gambler indeed was Billy Thompson, a young man with two killings to his credit and wanted in connection with a third.

�Thanks for returning the money,� Jackson said. �But you�ll have to go to the cap�n with me.�

Jackson walked a reluctant-but-not-resistant Thompson to the ranger camp and explained the situation to the captain. Shrugging at the news, he said he had heard there were papers out on Thompson, but didn�t have them.

�Go out and carry out the order I gave you,� the captain snapped to Jackson. �You�ve just executed half of it.�

The old ranger smiled at the memory of what happened next.

�Well, it was funny,� he told Cunningham. �Mostly, a man feels downright indignant about being kicked out of a place, but Bill Thompson seemed to get a world of satisfaction about jumping down the trail ahead of a boot toe that morning.�

Thompson�s luck held until Sept. 6, 1897 when he died of natural causes in Houston.

�

Mike Cox- July 17, 2013 column
More "Texas Tales" Related Topics: Columns| People | Texas Town List | Texas

See Also: Ben Thompson's Tombstone by C.F. Eckhardt
Ben Thompson's Pistol by Mike Cox

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