A Legend Begins...  It Started in Nebraska, as only hero stories can, growing to huge proportions, the legend of this man. Wild Bill was six foot, one, in his Indian-moccasin feet, he was a product of the West, a man you would like to meet.  His hair swept shoulder length to frame a mustached face, only a strange-shaped nose would cause this man disgrace.  Some called him "Duck Bill", appropriate for such a nose, but they only said it once, or else be filled with holes.  His garb was that of a scout, on top a broad-brimmed hat, then a pair of fringed buckskins that smelled of mountain cat.  From his waist hung two big guns, a pair of Colt's revolvers, deadly arms with leaden charms paired up as problem solvers. He was a friend of Cody's, shared some of Custer's views, they say he killed a hundred men and paid their funeral dues. A fairy tale, a prairie tale, of a controversial man, the hombre who single-handedly wiped out the McCanles clan. It happened in Nebraska, on the shores of the Little Blue, at the old Rock Creek Station Bill Hickok's legend grew.  Dave McCanles built the station, then offered it for sale to Russell, Majors, and Waddell, the promoters of fast mail. The year was 1860 one along the old Oregon Trail, the thin line into the wilderness, a road for stout and frail. Ten-thousand wagons ground past to the tune of cracking whips, all called them prairie schooners, a fleet of dry-land ships. Dave McCanles sold the station, and when the note was overdue, he went out to collect his poke, bringing the rest of his crew.  Wellman was the Rock Creek agent, Mr. Brink tended to the stock, working with the young assistant by the name of Bill Hickok.  McCanles rode boldly to the ranch, but his money wasn't there, Wellman said he would go for it to make it fair and square.  His trip was ten days running, and he wasn't back on time, Dave asked the wife to pay up, but he didn't get a dime. He thought she'd hidden Wellman, and called him to come out, Bill Hickok came around to see what the ruckus was all about.  Hot words were exchanged, young Hickok pushed by the door, grabbed a rifle from the wall and Dave's body hit the floor. History doesn't tell you why he drew his gun to kill, but ever after he was known by the name of "Wild Bill".  The bullet hit McCanles' heart, he fell back, cold and dead, when others of the group swarmed in, Bill filled them full of lead.  More angry men charged in the door, Bill's guns were empty now, but he grasped his heavy Bowie knife and quickly made a vow.  "I'll kill them all," he shouted, amidst their shotguns' blast, weakened by his bleeding wounds, he staggered out at last. Bill was wounded by leaden slugs, bird-shot by the score, he was cut in thirteen places, and couldn't take much more.  He claimed he'd killed ten ugly men, spread tales both far and near, it soon became the gospel word Bill Hickok was a man to fear.  It all began at Rock Creek, from there his legend grew, he moved on out to Julesburg where he killed quite a few.  His reputation as a scout, seems not of mortal man, it mushroomed over the Plains, the killer of the clan. Bill was the law in Abilene, he cleaned up all the town, his pay, a thousand every month, he gained such wide renown.  He wore the badge in many towns while his reputation grew, he always had to stand his ground, but his deadly Colts were true.   He moved on up to Deadwood where he held the "Dead Man's" hand, he drew a spade, and there he stayed in this rugged mountain land.  His past at last caught up to him, this scout so straight and tall, without a friend, he met his end, shot in the back by Jack McCall.  They hanged McCall next morning from a scaffold crude and stout, but the man he killed lives on and on, his name, Wild Bill, the scout. It started in Nebraska, the legend spread about, he was the greatest of them all, Wild Bill, the scout. Back to top