Part 5

The prisoner was called upon to make a statement. He came down from the stage into the auditorium of the theatre, and with his right hand in the bosom of his shirt, his head thrown back, in a harsh, loud and repulsive voice, with a bull-dog sort of bravado, said: “Well, men, I have but a few words to say. Wild Bill threatened to kill me if I crossed his path. I am not sorry for what I have done. I would do the same thing over again.” The prisoner then returned to his place on the stage.

The prosecution then adduced testimony to prove that Wild Bill was a much abused man; that he never imposed on any one, and that in every instance where he had slain men he had done so either in the discharge of his duty as an officer of the law or in self-defense.

The case having been placed in the hands of the jury, the theatre was cleared, with the understanding that the verdict should be made known in the saloon where the murder was committed. The prisoner was remanded to the house where he had been imprisoned during the night. At 9 o’clock the following verdict was read to the prisoner:

DEADWOOD CITY, Aug. 3, 1876.--We, the jurors, find the prisoner, Mr. John McCall, not guilty.

CHARLES WHITEHEAD, Foreman.

The prisoner was at once liberated, and several of the model jurymen who had played their parts in this burlesque upon justice, and who had turned their bloodthirsty tiger loose upon the community indulged in a sickening cheer which grated harshly upon the ears of those who heard it. The first vote taken by the jury resulted in eleven for acquittal and one for conviction, and the single man who desired justice was so intimidated by his fellow-jurors that he was induced to sanction the iniquitous verdict. It was even proposed by one of the jurymen that the prisoner be fined fifteen or twenty dollars and set free.

After the inquest the body of the deceased was placed upon a litter made of two poles and some boards; then a procession was formed, and the remains were carried to Charley Utter’s camp, across the creek. Charles Utter, better known as Colorado Charley, had been the intimate friend of the deceased for fifteen years, and with that liberality which is a feature among mountaineers, had always shared his purse with him. Charley was much affected by the death of his friend, and incensed at the villain who had murdered him. A tepee was pitched at the foot of one of the giant trees which rise so majestically above Charley’s camp. Preparations were at once made for the funeral. The following notice was printed and sent out:

“FUNERAL NOTICE.--Died in Deadwood, Black Hills, Aug. 2, 1876, from the effects of a pistol shot, J. B. Hickok (Wild Bill,) formerly of Cheyenne, Wyoming. Funeral services will be held at Charley Utter’s camp, on Thursday afternoon, Aug. 3, 1876, at 3 o’clock. All are respectfully invited to attend.”

At the time appointed a number of people gathered at the camp--Charley Utter had gone to a great deal of expense to make the funeral as fine as could be had in that country. Under the tepee, in a handsome coffin, covered with black cloth and richly mounted with silver ornaments, lay Wild Bill, a picture of perfect repose. His long chestnut hair, evenly parted over his marble brow, hung in waving ringlets over the broad shoulders; his face was cleanly shaved excepting the drooping moustache, which shaded a mouth that in death almost seemed to smile, but in life was unusually grave; the arms were folded over the stilled breast, which inclosed a heart that had beat with regular pulsation amid the most startling scenes of blood and violence. The corpse was clad in complete dress-suit of black broadcloth, new underclothing and white linen shirt; beside him in the coffin lay his trusty rifle, which the deceased prized above all other things, and which was to be buried with him in compliance with an often expressed desire.

A clergyman read an impressive funeral service, that was attentively listened to by the audience, after which the coffin-lid hid the well-known face of Wild Bill from the prying gaze of the world.

A grave had been prepared on the mountain side toward the east, and to that place in the bright sunlight, the air redolent with the perfume of sweet flowers, the birds sweetly singing, and all nature smiling, the solemn cortege wended its way and deposited the mortal remains of Wild Bill.

Upon a large stump at the head of the grave the following inscription was deeply cut:

“A brave man; the victim of an assassin--J. B. Hickok (Wild Bill,) aged 48 years; murdered by Jack McCall, Aug. 2, 1876.”

JACK McCALL PAYS THE PENALTY.

After the farcical termination of the trial, and the burial of Wild Bill, several friends of the deceased met at Charley Utter’s ranche and determined to avenge the cowardly assassination of their friend. McCall, unfortunately, heard of the meeting and its purposes, and lost no time in getting out of the country. He roamed around in the far West, and finally settled at Yankton. In the following year a United States court was established in Dakotah Territory at Yankton, and Jack McCall was again apprehended and put upon trial. George Shingle, now a resident of Sturgis City, eighteen miles south of Deadwood, was an eye-witness of the shooting, but left Deadwood to escape the excitement on the same evening Bill was killed, and therefore did not appear as a witness at the original trial, but appeared in answer to the summons which called him to Yankton, and there told the story of the murder. The result of this trial was the conviction of McCall, and in July, 1877, he expiated his cowardly crime on the gallows at Yankton.

WILD BILL’S REMAINS EXHUMED AND FOUND TO BE PETRIFIED.

On the third day of August, 1879, just three years after the tragedy, Charley Utter and Lewis Shœnfield, the particular friends of Bill during his life, determined to give the remains a better resting place, where the thorns and briars of the bleak mountains would not hide the spot where so brave a heart lay buried. Accordingly, early in the morning of that day they, proceeded to the grave, and, with heads uncovered, out of respect for their dead friend, they exhumed the body and took off the coffin-lid to take a last look before transferring the remains to Mount Moriah cemetery, at Deadwood. It was a sad sight to the eyes of friends. There was scarcely a perceptible change in the body, excepting a darker color of the face. The features were all preserved with remarkable naturalness. There was the shattered wound in the right cheek, made by the cruel bullet which took his life, but the countenance bore a tranquil look, as though the wearer was glad to escape a world in which there was nothing but buffet and anxiety to him. The lips wore a placid appearance--a smile of peace, the graceful contour of content.

The extraordinary weight of the body caused the friends to make a more careful examination, when it was found that the remains were in process of petrifaction. The hair still bore its silken lustre, but the flesh was so indurated as to approach the solidity of wood. The weight of the body at the interment was one hundred and sixty pounds, but at the exhumation it weighed a fraction less than three hundred pounds.

The carbine that was buried with him was in a perfect state of preservation. After clipping off a lock of hair, which is now in the possession of William Learned, musical director of the Gem theater, at Deadwood, the coffin-lid was again screwed down, and the remains taken to Moriah cemetery, where they now repose, in a lot purchased by Charley Utter. An Italian marble tombstone was also purchased by Mr. Utter, which he had erected at the head of the grave in the latter part of August. The inscription on the stone is as follows:

WILD BILL, (J. B. HICKOK,) KILLED BY THE ASSASSIN, JACK McCALL, IN DEADWOOD, AUGUST 2, 1876.

_Pard, we will meet again in the Happy Hunting Grounds, to part no more._

GOOD-BYE. COLORADO CHARLEY.

Here let him rest, but the bivouac of an advancing empire will soon dispel the primeval sounds with which he was so familiar. The soughing of the primitive forest in which he lived such a stirring life with his trusty rifle, is mingling with the hum of a more perfect civilization, and will soon be heard no more. The forest birds are drifting westward, and their songs, which for centuries have made musical the deep solitude of that vast region, will be cadenced into the whirr of a different life. The rough sounds of a border settlement, with its dangers and privations, will give place to the melody of a maiden’s voice, and other generations, like the recurring ocean waves which wash out the sand marks on the beach, will destroy the vestiges of the early settlement, and point to Wild Bill’s grave as the spot where sleeps a hero-pioneer--a man whose heart was as gentle as a child’s prayer, and as brave as God could make it. If he had faults they were tempered with so much compassion and affection that we lose sight of them entirely. An appreciation of the services Wild Bill rendered the civilizers and pioneers of the West belongs to those who come after us. “No man is appreciated until he is dead.”

IDIOSYNCRACIES OF BILL--HIS BELIEF IN SPIRITS.

We have now described nearly all the adventures in which Wild Bill was a participant, but before closing this very brief and unvarnished recital of his life, it is eminently proper to speak of him in his private and social relations; his peculiar beliefs; his feats of marksmanship, and his companion in many vicissitudes--the dearest of all his friends--Black Nell.

As mentioned in a previous chapter, Wild Bill was a fatalist--at least he believed that he was predestined to be killed. In fact, it would appear from his oft-repeated assertion, that “he would die with his boots on,” that he brooded over this belief and was frequently attacked by melancholy superinduced by that impression.

The very few intimate friends Bill had were well acquainted with his peculiar belief in spiritualism. He claimed to be clairavoyant, especially when danger threatened, and the many narrow escapes he had gave some evidences of the reality of his spiritual sight, but the manner in which he met his death furnishes a _contra_ proof.

It was only at rare intervals he could be induced to talk of his terrible conflicts, and even when he was in the most communicative mood, the particulars of his encounters had to be extracted by the most patient and persistent endeavors.

Dr. Thorne and Capt. Kingsbury, the two gentlemen previously referred to, enjoyed the most confidential relations with Wild Bill. Kingsbury was a captain in the Second United States cavalry at the time Bill was acting as guide for that regiment, and, as the two were acquainted many years before, their intimacy became much greater during this companionship in the service. Dr. Thorne was Bill’s physician, and divided his purse with him many times when Bill was in pecuniary straits. Bill was a frequent visitor to Dr. Thorne’s house, and there were few secrets that he kept from his physician friend.

During one of the conversations had with Dr. Thorne, Wild Bill asseverated that in all his fights he was surrounded by spirits, who kept him cool and collected while they made fools of his enemies. It was to their presence on trying occasions that he gave the credit for the nerve and fearlessness he displayed.

His character, in some respects, was enigmatical. While rarely evading a fight, yet he was always sorry for its consequences. After his great fight with the McCandlas gang, at Rock Creek, he sought and found Jim McCandlas’ widow, and, finding that she was almost destitute, he contributed to her support several years and until her death. Dr. Thorne had removed eleven bullets from Bill’s body, nearly all of which had been received in the Rock Creek fight, but while enduring the pain consequent upon their extraction, he had nothing but kind feelings towards those who shot him. He had seven bullets in various parts of his body at the time of his death.

His conclusions were always logical, and his manner of conversation most convincing. He was a listener rather than a talker, and his answers to inquiries were usually made in conclusive gestures. He loved the society of the refined, and attributed his difficulties solely to the associations he was, in a measure, compelled to keep.

His love for children was almost a mania, and it is said that the most timid and cross infant would leave its mother’s arms for him at first sight, and at once manifest its pleasure. Another peculiarity he possessed was the serenity of his countenance during danger. In the midst of his most desperate fights there was a smile constantly playing on his lips. His wide range of travel had thoroughly familiarized him with almost every stretch of territory between Hudson’s Bay and Mexico, and from the Saskatchewan to Texas. It was impossible to lose him, as the points of the compass came to him as naturally as to a migratory bird.

BILL’S WONDERFUL ACCURACY OF AIM.

It may be asserted, without fear of contradiction, that Wild Bill was the best pistol shot America has ever produced. Much of his marvelous accuracy of aim was, of course, acquired by years of experience, but he was a good shot from the moment he first fired a pistol. For a long period he carried two small derringers, both of which he used effectively in many sanguinary encounters. These pistols are now in the possession of Dr. Thorne, to whom they were given by Bill before leaving on his last trip to the Black Hills. On one occasion, while visiting the Doctor, Bill was in a melancholy mood. It was during the summer season, and the visitor and his guest were sitting out in the yard on a settee. The Doctor expressed some dissatisfaction concerning the autocratic disposition of an old rooster he had, which took delight in running the other chanticleers off the place. Bill asked the Doctor to let him shoot at the rooster with his derringer at thirty paces, agreeing to put up $5 to cut the rooster’s throat without breaking its neck or touching either the head or body. The Doctor, giving his consent, the distance was measured off, and the chicken chased to the space required. Bill raised the pistol--without taking aim, as was his invariable custom--and fired. The bullet cut the rooster’s throat as cleverly as it could have been done with a knife, and the neck was not broken either. To give the Doctor further proofs of his marvelous accuracy, he shot sparrows from the top branches of the high trees with his small derringer.

A favorite pastime with Bill was shooting at a silver dime, fifty paces, for one dollar a shot. He would place the dime in a position that the sun’s rays would concentrate on it, thus affording him a good sight. He could send a bullet through the dime nine times out of ten. Another remarkable fancy shot he made at thirty paces was in driving a cork through the neck of a bottle, and knocking the bottom out without breaking the neck. He could shoot a chicken’s head off at thirty or forty paces nineteen times out of twenty. He was no less proficient in the use of the rifle than he was with a pistol. In shooting with a rifle he took deliberate aim, while with a pistol he would invariably shoot before bringing the weapon up to a level with his eye.

Wild Bill had but little of what he called “book learning,” but he was, nevertheless, an educated man. His extensive travels among such a variety of people gave him a thorough understanding of human nature. He had a natural mind for analyzing men and things.

BLACK NELL, THE WONDERFUL MARE.

During the early part of the war, Wild Bill came into possession of a young black mare, having captured her from a bushwhacker during Price’s invasion of Missouri. The mare was as black as a coal, and at the proper age to enter upon the course of training Bill put her in. She was full of fire, and the exquisite symmetry of her head, neck, limbs and body, showed the pure blooded stock that was in her. Bill devoted all his leisure time for more than a year teaching the mare tricks which afterwards he used to so much advantage. The mare at length acquired such a complete understanding of Bill’s wishes that her obedience was truly marvelous. First of all, no one could ride or approach the mare except Bill, and to him she was as gentle as a mother to her child. He named her Black Nell, presumably suggested by Claude Duval’s Black Bess, of whose exploits he was so fond of reading.

Black Nell was usually allowed great freedom, because she was so prompt to answer the whistle of Bill; she would leave her feed and come galloping to the call with the most astonishing alacrity. While riding Nell it was only necessary for Bill to wave his hand to set her in a dead run or stop her instantly. A downward motion of his hand would cause her to drop as suddenly as if she had been shot dead, and she would lie perfectly still until the command to rise was given. On one occasion, while Bill was being pursued by a detachment of bushwackers, in passing through a prairie where the grass was very high, his life was saved by the prompt obedience of Nell in dropping down and remaining so quiet that the pursuers passed by within fifty feet without discovering him.

In 1867, while he was in Springfield, Missouri, he astonished a crowd of saloon-loafers by first going into the bar-room and calling his mare to follow. Nell came in, following her master like a dog, without the slightest hesitation. There was an old billiard table in the saloon, too much worn for further service, and upon this he ordered Nell to place herself. She reared up and placed her fore feet upon the table, but it was only after repeated effort and great strain that she succeeded in raising her hind feet to such a height. After getting upon the table, Bill poured out a pint of whisky into a wash-basin, which Nell drank with evident relish. At a wave of the hand she leaped from the table and out into the street, where Bill allowed her to exercise her freedom for several hours.

One of Nell’s greatest accomplishments was leaping, and in this she certainly never had an equal. She had frequently leaped ditches twenty feet in width with apparent ease, and Bill had no hesitancy whatever in riding her over a six feet fence, which she could clear like a deer. This wonderful animal died in 1869, of a complication of diseases, and was buried near Kansas City. Bill mourned her loss as he would that of his parents, whom he devotedly loved, and Nell’s name was never mentioned to him afterwards that he did not burst into tears. He regarded her as the dearest friend he had on earth, and to have her die almost in her prime was a blow and loss he could scarcely endure.

CONCLUSION--DOES BILL DESERVE A MONUMENT?

It has been customary among every nation to perpetuate the daring deeds of its heroes, by rearing a monument commemorative of their heroism. The general who commands armies, and by chance wins great battles, is no more deserving a monumental tribute than the man who discovers new means for the more rapid advancement of knowledge, or the man who extends the highway of civilization.

In opening the vast, illimitable resources of the great West, sturdy pioneers were as essential as the brain and muscle that propel the industries of the nation. Every new country must, of necessity, gather the vicious elements eliminated by the stern application of law, from the older communities. If there were no compensating influence, new countries could never advance, but would become the asylum for lawlessness and vagrancy. The fairest and most fertile districts might thus be withheld from the hand of industry and become as plague spots, from which would spread a disease that ultimately might destroy the nation.

Wild Bill played his part in the reformation of pioneer society more effectively than any character in the annals of American history. It is true he killed many men, but many men are killed in every war, and Wild Bill waged a legitimate war against the desperadoes who sought to destroy the bulwarks of law and order. The killing of men is often as necessary as the extermination of destructive wild animals. Both law and society, and the rights of man, so declare, and no man can say that Wild Bill was anything more than the stern administrator of a wholesome law. Every man he killed made society the gainer, and while he was near, the order-loving, law-abiding people felt secure in their lives and property.

When the war broke out he was among the first to enter the ranks; not as a soldier, but as one who takes the heaviest burdens and bares himself to a thousand dangers and privations where the soldier meets with one. His valuable services, no less than his unexampled bravery, have received the highest meeds of praise from his commanding officers. No danger was too great to prevent him from doing his duty; no labor was too severe to deter him a moment from carrying out his intentions. He had a mind to dissect dangerous undertakings with the precision that a rhetorician would analyze a sentence, and his failures were as few as his successes were conspicuous. Wild Bill was essentially great in many respects and callings. He was undoubtedly the greatest scout and conservator of the peace that ever crossed the plains; as a spy and strategist he has, perhaps, never had an equal. The service he has rendered the country at large, and the West in particular, cannot be estimated. Abilene and Hays City, the people of which places he served so effectively, cannot afford to withhold their respect for the memory of Wild Bill, and it would be as creditable to the people of Kansas as it would be deserving to the brave heart that was stilled by the assassin’s bullet, to bring the remains of Wild Bill into their state and give it a resting place among the most illustrious of their dead. If ever a hero deserved a monument, Wild Bill is worthy a shaft that would rear its apex so high as to overlook every spot of territory between the great Missouri and the Rocky Mountains. Kansas was his home and first-love; will the people of Kansas make the state his sepulchre?

Transcribers’ Notes

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced quotation marks retained.

Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.

Contents: “Idiosyncraces” was printed that way; page 83: “IDIOSYNCRACIES” was printed that way.

Page 83: “clairavoyant” was printed that way.