They were
not nearly as immoral as certain newspaper columnists lying
under the cloak of piety. As time goes on, they, like antique
{illust. caption =
Tom Lea: Pancho Villa, in _Southwest Review_ (1951)}
Robin Hood and the late Pancho Villa, recede from all
realistic judgment. If the picture show finds in them models
for generosity, gallantry, and fidelity to a code of liberty,
and if the public finds them picturesque, then philosophers
may well be thankful that they lived, rode, and shot.
"The long-tailed heroes of the revolver," to pick a phrase
from Mark Twain's unreverential treatment of them in _Roughing
It_, often did society a service in shooting each other--aside
from providing entertainment to future generations. As "The
Old Cattleman" of Alfred Henry Lewis' _Wolfville_ stories
says, "A heap of people need a heap of killing." Nor can the
bad men be logically segregated from the long-haired killers
on the side of the law like Wild Bill Hickok and Wyatt Earp.
W. H. Hudson once advanced the theory that bloodshed and
morality go together. If American civilization proceeds, the
rage for collecting books on bad men will probably subside
until a copy of Miguel Antonio Otero's _The Real Billy the
Kid_ will bring no higher price than a first edition of A.
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