My name is James. James Butler Hickok, but you probably know me better as "Wild Bill", a name that I loathe and will curse all the way to my grave. My life was really unremarkable for the most part. Until that fateful day in the Wild Horse Saloon. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning… I was born in Troy Grove, Illinois to a Presbyterian deacon named Alonzo Hickok and his wife Polly Butler. There were five other children in my family, three boys and two girls. We lived on the banks of the little Vermillion Creek where my parents owned a general store called the Green Mountain House, which did quite well until the financial panic of 1837. Then my father turned to farming. I preferred to be alone and enjoyed target practice with my guns so instead of helping out on the farm, I was usually out in the woods hunting wolves for bounty or killing game for my family's table. Little did I know at the time, my prowess with the gun would later become a figuring factor in my life. During those years, my father was part of the Underground Railroad, helping slaves escape to freedom. My brothers and I helped with these endeavors. I couldn't see how one man believed he had the right to own another just because their skin was of a different color… My father died due to his abolitionist ways. Life became unbearable for me. I was sent to the fields to help my brothers provide for the family. I couldn't take the long days of back breaking work when I longed to be out in the woods or on the plains with my guns. Soon, I formed a plan to leave. I didn't say a word to anyone. Not even Celinda, whom I was the closest too. One night I snuck out to the barn where I'd hidden a sack with some clothing and food and left. Being so young, I hadn't realized that there would be little work for a boy so young. I wasn't all that young, but not many were willing to take on a greenhorn like I was at the time. That is until I ran across the Judge. I was caught trying to steal some eggs from his hen house and brought into the big house to stand 'trial' in front of the intimidating man. Trying not to show any fear, I stood my ground and squared my shoulders intending to take whatever punishment dealt for my misdeeds. The Judge must have seen something in me as I stood in front of him because instead of beating me or turning me over to the local law officer, he told his man to get me something to eat and to make sure I got cleaned up. When I was fed and bathed I was called back to the house. There I was introduced to another young man about my age named Brad. He was a cocky fellow just like me but with what I found to be a dangerous streak in him. Over the next six months I remained with the Judge, he saw that we were taught the proper way to handle a revolver and had us do other various jobs that at times seemed senseless to us. I knew that the Judge was not someone to cross and that he was dangerous but I never knew how much until the day he insisted Brad and I take ten paces and face each other with a pearl handled Navy Colt that he'd given us. Judge demanded that we shoot at each other. I didn't want to do it, thinking how crazy it was and that one of us could get killed, but Brad insisted we do as we were told saying that we'd shoot wide. My stomach was in knots as we began pacing off. When Brad shot at me, I knew that it was only a matter of time before the Judge would pit us against each other for real, where there'd only be one left standing. I knew I had to leave before that day arrived. I wasn't doubting my own marksmanship with the gun, I just wasn't wanting to kill someone I considered a friend on a crazy old man's whim. Soon I was on my own again, living hand to mouth. But that didn't last to long. I happened to hear some men talking about a sign that was posted on a tree. They told me it was for a company that wanted 'wiry, orphan boys' to ride horses carrying mail. I figured 'what the heck, I can ride a horse' and if it put money in my pocket and food in my belly, I was more then happy to try it out for a spell. I don't know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn't the eccentric, grisly man named Aloysius "Teaspoon" Hunter. He was an onion eating, suspender wearing, somewhat ragged looking man who seemed to never run out of stories or phrases of wisdom that he felt us riders were in need of learning. The rag tag bunch of us young boys ended up working out of a station just outside of Sweetwater, in Nebraska Territory. The woman who owned the place was named Emma Shannon. Whatever made Emma take under her wing the six of us boys I'll never know. We weren't easy on her that's for sure. Not that we were ungrateful for the care she gave all of us but we were young and full of mischief. Boys will be boys… The job wasn't as easy as it sounded on the poster. The hours spent in the saddle were long and tedious. Sometimes the rider you were to hand the mochila off to wasn't at the station and you had to carry it on to the next station. Why I remember one ride that Cody had. It ended up being over 345 miles within twenty-four hours, riding the whole time other then jumping off a horse to jump on another and race off again. When he got back, he slept round the clock for a whole day! I wasn't sure about the others I was working with at first. There was a half-breed named Buck Cross. He was on the quiet side but seemed to know a lot of things the rest of us had no idea about, like plants and how they can be used to heal. Buck seemed to be friends with the mute named Ike McSwain. None of us really know his story, but he was a reliable sort of fellow and good with the horses. William F. Cody, or just Cody as we called him, was something else. So full of himself and always falling in love with every female that passed by. One thing that always amazed the others and me is Cody's capacity to put away food. The boy could eat and eat and eat and never be full. Then there was Kid. I have no idea if that was his real name or not. All I know is if it wasn't, whatever his real one must have been, it had to be embarrassing for him to prefer "Kid". Anyway, Kid was from Virginia. I figured we'd be at odds from the get go seeing how Southerners were pro-slave and I come from an abolitionists family. But we actually got along pretty well for the most part. Except for where Lou was concerned, but I'll get to that in a minute. Kid and I were like brothers. If one were in trouble, the other was ready to ride and help out. We were all like that with each other, but Kid and I, we seemed to have a friendship that made it mean all the more. Now onto Lou. Lou was definitely a defining factor in my life. Lou McCloud was the puny one out of the bunch but could 'he' ride. I say 'he' because later on we all found out that Lou was NOT a boy like the rest of us. What I mean is, Lou was really Louise. Louise was on her own like the rest of us. Her mother died when she was young and she ran away from the orphanage leaving behind a brother and sister, whom she was trying to earn money to bring to live with her. Kid was the first to know her secret and I'm not sure if that's part of the reason the two of them became so close or if it was really they were meant to find each other. All I know is, I envied Kid. I admired Lou and her spirited ways. I'd never met a female like her. She could ride, shoot and do just about anything the rest of us could. The only thing I know of that she didn't do well with was cooking. During our time together, we became a family. Teaspoon was the head of the motley bunch of us and kept us from rushing headlong into trouble. When we listened that is, which wasn't all that often if truth be told. We were an independent lot, us boys and girl, sure we knew best. It was during a day that we were allowed some time in town to ourselves that trouble in the form of a man named J.D. Marcus came into my life. If only I could take back that day and live it differently… We were all in the Wild Horse Saloon watching Marshal Sam Cain in a poker game. All except Cody who was sitting near by reading one of those trash dime novels. I tried getting him to put the thing away and get some real education but he was more interested in the book. So, I threw it into a bucket of water, causing him to cry out about it. Little did we know that the man at the bar was none other then the writer of the dime novel himself. He returned the book to Cody and the two struck up a conversation of a sorts. Then Marcus got into it with me. When he raised his cane to strike me, I shot the darn thing. Sam wasn't to happy with that and sent us on our way. I didn't give the occurrence another thought until Marcus's new dime novel came out and all my troubles began. The fool named me "Wild Bill" Hickok. Where he ever got Bill from I don't know. My name's not William or Bill. Maybe he got me and Cody mixed up and used both our names… Whatever his reason, he turned me into one of the most known gunslingers of all times much to my dismay and that of Teaspoon and Emma. I couldn't go anywhere it seemed without trouble finding me. I lost track of the times I've been called out as "Wild Bill" and I hate it when people call me by that moniker. I've killed because of the damn name. The Pony Express is about to become a part of history. The telegraph is almost strung all the way to California, meaning there will be no need for us riders. I'm not sure what life has in store for me, but I'm sure that "Wild Bill" will play a big part in whatever it holds… Drop me a note and let me know what you thought!