The Austin weekly statesman. (Austin, Tex.) 1883-1898, 1888-10-04
BILL WHITLEY.
Full Account of the Killing of the
Southwest Texas Robber
and Outlaw.
A Terrific Battle-The Bandit Dies
With His Cooked Pistol In
His Hand.
Special Telegram to the Statesman.


SAN ANTONIO, September 26.-On cot
in room of the federal court building,
this morning, with his hands folded across
his breast, lay the remains of Bill Whitley,
the notorious train robber, who was killed
by United States Marshal Rankin and
deputy on the outskirts of Floresville last
night. A constant stream of citizens
thronged the building this morning, all
anxious to get a peep at the dead des-
perado. His face is badly spotted with
powder burns, and the back of his
head is almost jellied with buck
shot. However, those who knew him in
life have no trouble in identifying him in
death.
Among those who looked upon the face
Greeser, fireman on the train stopped
Saturday night, and who was made to
enter the mail car by the robbers. He
gazed second at the sallow, sun burned
face, and then, turning to Marshal Rankin,
said:
"Yes, this is the fellow who made En-.
giueer Toomey 60 into the car; I recog-
nize him."
Marshal Rankin then produced broad
brim felt hat worn by the robber when
killed. 1t was perforated with buck
shot. The fireman recognized it
as the identical hat worn by
one of the robbors on Saturday night,
on which occasion Mr.. Greeser said the
dead robber did not attempt to wear a
mask or shield his face in any manner.
Whitley's remains have been embalmed
and will be kept until even a more COM
plete Identification is established.
Whitley is 80 years of age, small in
stature, 5 feet inches in height, weighs
14O pounds and has light mustache and
chin whiskers. Since the attempted rob
berry of last Saturday night Marshal
Rankin, with corps of deputies, has been
in pursuit of the desperadoes. He had
reason to believe they would seek refuge
at the home of Will Harrell (uow under
indictment for harboring robbers)
in the eastern suburbs of Flores
vile. About dusk last evening
United States Marshall John T. Rankin,
with Deputies West, Van Ripper and
Yglesias went to the house of Harrell. |
There was nobody at home but colored |
boy, whom the officers held in custody, |
and secreted themselves in rear shed |
opening into the front of the house.
About $3.50 o'clock Harrell and Whitley
rode up, hitched their horses and entered
the front room and lighted lamp. Har-
rell opened the door to the shed in which
the officers were hiding and called for
some one. At that juncture Mar
shall Rankin appeared before the
opening and Harrell stepped to one
side without making any remarks. Whit.
ley had seated himself on chair in the
middle of the room and was facing the
officer who raised his gun to his shoulder
and said
"Thruw up your hannds!"
Marshal Rankin says he did not have
time to even tell the desparado that he
was an officer, or anything else, for no
sooner had Whitley seen him than he
drew his revolver and both men fred
almost at once. The shot aimed at the
marshal passed over his head and embed
ded itself in the back wall, while Whitley
received the shotgun charge in the head
and breast, one buckshot going in
his right jaw and plowing com mpletely
through his head. This brought him to
his knees, or he squatted and the marshal
fred again into Whitley's head. Both
shots were we'll aimed and both took effect
in the vitals of the desperate. But so
determined and vicious Was the robber
that he made the most desperate fight
after his head wasl thus riddled. At best
with the wound already inflicted he could
have lived not more than ten minutes, but
instead of surrendering he rolled
under the bed and fred indis
criminately at the officers. After
he had emptied his shotgun
Marshal Rankin, according to a previous
understanding with his deputies, stepped
out of the door and the battle was con-
tinued by the deputies. Many shots were
fred on both sides, but Whitley had
already received mortal wounds and died
in few seconds with his pistol cooked,
clinched in right hand and resting on his
right shoulder. The man, VIM. Harrell, |
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