The New Bloomfield, Pa. times. (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1877-188?, 1881-07-19

Well, he's the son of preacher who
named him after the great founder of
Methodism, and he Is the worst sort of
a desperate. He hasn't any redeeming
features. He is cowardly murderer, a
man who kills in mere wantenness, and
L would give five hundred dollars this
minute for the privilege of stranglng
the life out of him. He is curse to
Texas and there ought to be reward
offered to the first man who will shoot
him on sight. The Lone Star State
must be purged of such pests before she
can thrive"
'That may be So" said my COM
panion quietly, ''but all I've got to say,
stranger, is that my name is John
Wesley Hardin"
Never until that minute was prepar-
ed to believe that mans hair actually
rises on end when he is "struck" with
terror, but when that horseman at my
side announced himself as the terrible
desperate whom had been denouncing
distinctly felt my hat slide up my
forehead as my hair stiffened and liter
ally stood on end. 1 was transfxed
with fear. For few seconds L couldn't
stir hand nor foot, nor could l speak
word. / never had dreamed that the
horseman was anything other than
Texan cowboy, rough but hospitable-
one who had probably killed his man,
but who was not dangerous character.
Finally managed to turn my eyes so
as to look at Hardin. He was little
back of me, riding at leisurely gait,
and was looking straight at me, with
peculiar smile on his face-a smile
which L was sure meant my death.
Hardin had shot down a sheriff short
time before in cold blood and he thought
no more of human life than he did of
brushing away a fly. / was certain he
would shoot me dead within the next
three minutes. 1 had my revolver at
my hip, but l did not dare attempt to
draw, for the instant 1 moved hand in
that direction he would send a bullet
through my brain. In fact L did not
dare move at all. 1 recall that my nose
began to itch terribly and yet L was
afraid to raise my hand to scratch it,
through dread of drawing his fire.
BY and by 1 managed to stammer:
Il beg your pardon-but-I-d didn't
know-it was you, Mr.. Hardin
GO Judge not, )" he said, with the same
horrid grin on his face. "I've only got
word to add. When you're travelling
through Texas learn who your pardner
is. Don't talk too free about your bet
ters. Good day, sir" And he wheeled
off to the right, while took the left.
] struck my mustang into gallop. but
for a few moments 1 was sure Hardin
would send bullet from his rifle after
me, and when he did that he never
failed to chit hard" No pen can de-
scribe my agony of apprehension for
minute or so, but when L glanced
furtively over my shoulder the little
horseman was riding leisurely along
beyond rifle shot and did not look be-
hind him.
He spared my life that morning
merely because the whim happened to
take possession of him, for more
heartless desperate and more deliberate
murderer never lived than John Wesley
Hardin. He was what might be called
the product of the reconstruction days
of Texas, as he reached his young man.
hood at the time when the state was
under military rule and when public
feeling was such as to develop all the
innate deviltry in mans nature.
1t would require hours to tell the
sanguinary affrays in which he was
engaged and in which he emerged the
sole survivor. Some of these, perhaps,
were defensible, as he was not always
the blamable party, but the majority
of them were simply cold blooded muir
ders.
About five years ago a noted bully
below Austin shot q young man on the
street one evening while he was prom
enading with young lady to whom he
was engaged. 1t was done in pure
wantonness, and, of course, the fellow
was never punished by the law, but
brother of the victim was SO infuriated
over the deed that he caught up
double-barreled shotgun and started out
for the murderer. Hardin warned him
that it would be sure death for him to
attempt any such thing. But the young
man would not be dissuaded. He meant