Frank Jenners Wilstach - Wild Bill Hickok

This is a fairly good story, but the chief fault with it is that Wild Bill had no brother named William. And yet Buffalo Bill’s explanation is true in every particular, except as to the name. Mrs. Louis Hickok informs the writer that Wild Bill’s brother, Lorenzo, who was a plainsman duplicating Buffalo Bill’s description, acquired the nickname Billy Barnes as a child and that name followed him on the plains. Lorenzo then was the original “Wild Bill” Hickok, the sobriquet subsequently acquired by his younger brother James Butler.

With the exception of Buffalo Bill, all other writers—none seemingly aware that Lorenzo Hickok was called Bill on the plains—have claimed that James Butler Hickok was not called Wild Bill until after the famous “subjugation of the McCanles gang,” which we shall now consider.

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The inscrutable enigma in Wild Bill’s life is the astounding tale in which it has been set forth, time and again, in innumerable publications, that single-handed he snuffed out the lives of the outlaw, David C. McCanles, and nine of his gang. 1The fact that it endured, unchallenged, for upward of sixty years is in itself an astonishing circumstance. And yet during all those years there were several eyewitnesses of the battle, one of whom is alive to this day, and still the grim, gory, and unplausible story never was denied, nor even the approximate truth revealed.

During the fifteen years that he lived subsequent to the tragedy, Wild Bill never gave what can credibly be accepted as his version of it—neither affirming nor denying such reports as may have come to his attention. Others who had knowledge of the facts only recently have made known their recollections of what happened. A period, then, of more than threescore years has elapsed, during which time border fictioneers have run riot and never halted.

To get at the facts, therefore, meant a careful sifting of the ancient stories, as well as recent verbal and epistolary disclosures. But before presenting the late discoveries pertaining to this classic pistol fight of the last frontier—one man against ten—let us glance at what has been accepted as the actual occurrence:

On the afternoon of July 12, 1861, ten members of the McCanles gang of horse-thieves and outlaws discovered Wild Bill at Rock Springs, Nebraska, and set about to accomplish his destruction. A woman, the wife of a friend, was in the cabin with him. She thrust her husband’s loaded rifle into his hands, and he had, besides, his six-shooter and a bowie knife. Bill closed the door and the outlaws began to batter it down. When the door fell, David C. McCanles burst into the cabin; whereupon Bill shot him through the heart. The death of their leader did not discourage the gang, for the remaining nine rushed to the open door. It was to be a fight to the death. Bill quickly disposed of four of these; the remaining five grappled with him. He was soon badly wounded, but, bowie knife in hand, he slashed and stabbed with all his enormous strength and energy. Up and down the room Bill dragged his murderous assailants, plunging his knife into them at every opportunity. All fell in a heap and when Bill struggled to his feet he discovered that there was not a man left alive to oppose him.

It was not until an article by George Ward Nichols of Boston appeared in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine , of February, 1867, that the tale got well under way. Reports of this titanic encounter with ten outlaws, and their summary destruction, spread over the country like the notorious wild fire. Nichols explained that he visited Springfield, Missouri, several months after the war, and there met Wild Bill and had a long talk with him on the subject of his exploits. That portion of the article which relates to the fight with the “McCanles outlaws” follows:

“I was especially desirous of hearing him relate the history of a sanguinary fight which he had with a party of ruffians in the early part of the war, when, single-handed, he fought and killed ten men. I had heard the story as it came from an officer of the regular army, who, an hour after the affair, saw Bill and the ten dead men— some killed with bullets, others hacked and slashed to death with a knife.”

Here it will be seen that Mr. Nichols had the story from an alleged eye-witness of the event, and it would appear to lend extra corroboration to the tale as it came from Bill himself.

“As I write,” continued Mr. Nichols, “the details of this terrible tale which I took as the words fell from the scout’s own lips, I am conscious of its extreme improbability; but while I listened to the story of the Bible where we are told that Samson ‘with the jawbone of an ass slew a thousand men,’ and as I looked upon this magnificent example of human strength and daring, he appeared to me to realize the powers of Samson and Hercules combined, and I should not have been likely to place any limit on his achievements. Besides, one who has lived for four years in the presence of such great heroism and deeds of prowess as were seen during the war, is in what might be called a ‘receptive’ mood. Be the story true or not, in part, or in whole, I believed then every word Wild Bill uttered, and I believe it to-day.”

We now come to Wild Bill’s own words, as reported by Mr. Nichols:

“You see this M’Kandlas was the captain of a gang of desperadoes, horse-thieves, murderers, regular cut-throats, who were the terror of everybody on the border, and who kept us in the mountains in hot water whenever they were around. I knew them all in the mountains where they pretended to be trapping, but they were hiding from the hangman. M’Kandlas was the biggest scoundrel and bully of them all, and was allers a-braggin’ of what he could do. One day I beat him shooting at a mark, and threw him at the back-holt. And I didn’t drop him as soft as you would a baby, you may be sure. Well, he got savage mad about it and swore he would have his revenge on me some time.

“This was just before the war broke out and we were already taking sides in the mountains either for the South or the Union. M’Kandlas and his gang were border ruffians in the Kansas row, and, of course, they went with the rebs. Bimeby he clar’d out and I shouldn’t have thought of the feller ag’in ef he hadn’t crossed my path. It ’pears he didn’t forget me.

“It was in ’61, when I guided a detachment of cavalry who were cornin’ in from Camp Floyd. We had nearly reached the Kansas line and were in southern Nebraska when one afternoon I went out of camp tago to the cabin of an old friend of mine, a Mrs. Waltman. I took only one of my revolvers with me, for although the war had broke out I didn’t think it necessary to carry both my pistols, and, in an or’nary scrimmage, one is better than a dozen, ef you shoot straight. I saw some wild turkeys on the road as I was goin’ down and popped one of ’em over.

“Well, I rode up to Mrs. Waltman’s, jumped off my horse, and went into the cabin, which is like most of the cabins on the prarer, with only one room and that had two doors, one opening in front and t’other onto a yard, like.

“‘How are you, Mrs. Waltman?’ I said, feeling as jolly as you please.

“The minute she saw me she turned as white as a sheet and screamed: ‘Is that you, Bill? Oh, my God! They will kill you! Run! run! They will kill you!’

“‘Who’s a-goin’ to kill me?’ said I. ‘There’s two can play at that game.’

“‘It’s M’Kandlas and his gang. There’s ten of them and you have no chance. They’ve jes gone down the road to the corn-rack. They came up here only five minutes ago. M’Kandlas was draggin’ poor Parson Shipley on the ground with a lariat round his neck. The preacher was ’most dead with choking and the horse stamping on him. M’Kandlas knows yer brings in that party of Yankee cavalry and he swears he’ll cut your heart out. Run, Bill, run!—But it’s too late; they are coming up the lane.’