Maloney and his crew wasted few of the twenty-eight seconds in starting, but once out of sight they regained much of their bravado.  A few drinks restored them to normal, and enabled them to put a good face on the report they now made to their employers.  Maloney and his friends then visited in turn all the saloons.  The drunker they grew, the louder they talked, reviling the Committee collectively and singly, bragging that they would shoot at sight Coleman, Truett, Durkee, and several others whom they named.  They flourished weapons publicly, and otherwise became obstreperous.  The Committee decided that their influence was bad and instructed Sterling Hopkins, with four others, to arrest the lot and bring them in.

The news of this determination reached the offending parties.  They immediately fled to their masters like cur dogs.  Their masters, who included Terry, Bowie, and a few others, happened to be discussing the situation in the office of Richard Ashe, a Texan.  The crew burst into this gathering very much scared, with a statement that a “thousand stranglers” were at their heels.  Hopkins, having left his small posse at the foot of the stairs, knocked and entered the room.  He was faced by the muzzles of half a dozen pistols and told to get out of there.  Hopkins promptly obeyed.

If Terry had possessed the slightest degree of leadership he would have seen that this was the worst of all moments to precipitate a crisis.  The forces of his own party were neither armed nor ready.  But here, as in all other important crises of his career, he was governed by the haughty and headstrong passion of the moment.

Hopkins left his men on guard at the foot of the stairs, borrowed a horse from a passer-by, and galloped to headquarters.  There he was instructed to return and stay on watch, and was told that reinforcements would soon follow.  He arrived before the building in which Ashe’s office was located in time to see Maloney, Terry, Ashe, McNabb, Bowie, and Howe, all armed with shot-guns, just turning a far corner.  He dismounted and called on his men, who followed.  The little posse dogged the judge’s party for some distance.  For a little time no attention was paid to them.  But as they pressed closer, Terry, Ashe, and Maloney turned and presented their shot-guns.  This was probably intended only as a threat, but Hopkins, who was always overbold, lunged at Maloney.  Terry thrust his gun at a Vigilante who seized it by the barrel.  At the same instant Ashe pressed the muzzle of his weapon against the breast of a man named Bovee, but hesitated to pull the trigger.  It was not at that time as safe to shoot men in the open street as it had been formerly.  Barry covered Rowe with a pistol.  Rowe dropped his gun and ran towards the armory.  The accidental discharge of a pistol seemed to unnerve Terry.  He whipped out a long knife and plunged it into Hopkins’s neck.  Hopkins relaxed his hold on Terry’s shot-gun and staggered back.