American History Tellers - Frontier Legends | Wild Bill Hickok | 2

Episode Date: July 29, 2026

In 1865, James Butler Hickok, an Army scout and itinerant gambler better known as “Wild Bill,” shot a man dead in the town square of Springfield, Missouri. The gunfight became known as the first recorded quick draw duel, and Hickok became famous overnight. He parlayed his newfound fame into a job as a deputy U.S. marshal, and before long he was one of the most recognizable lawmen on the frontier. But Hickok’s reputation as a fearless gunslinger and a high-stakes gambler put a target on his back – one that haunted him to the end of his days. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Hello American History Tellers, listeners. The live show I've been telling you about for a few weeks has a new date, October 23rd at the Plaza Theater in Garland, Texas. This is my Days that Made America Tour, a thrilling evening of history, storytelling, and music with me and a band live on stage. So if you're in the North Texas area or anywhere close, be sure to come out and see me live. And more shows will be announced soon. For information on tickets and upcoming dates, go to American History Live.com. That's American History Live.com. Come see my Days That Made America Tour, live on stage. Go to American History Live.com. Imagine it's late evening in the fall of 1871 in the bustling cowtown of Abilene, Kansas. You're the deputy marshal, and you've just rushed on horseback to a

saloon called the Alamo to look for your boss, U.S. Marshal Bill Hickok. You push your way past the bar, weaving through people, dancing in front of the piano, make your way to the back of the room, where Hickok sits nursing a glass of whiskey. Sir, three men just came into town, and they're looking for you. Hickok takes a sip of his drink, seemingly unbothered. Well, not the first and won't be the last. This is no joke, sir. Apparently there's a price on your head.

$10,000 being offered by the mother of that man you killed this summer, Phil Co. Well, I don't think I've ever had a bounty on my head that high before. Well, they're in the town square now. What should we do? Well, a shootout against all three doesn't say. seem wise, does it? Besides, I won't invite violence that way. Bystanders could get hurt. But if you don't confront them, you know, face-to-face, you risk being ambushed later on. They could get you when you least expect it. Well, that's nothing new. Damn fools are always

looking to make a name for themselves by getting the better of me. And that's why I always sit with my back against the wall, so I always have a clear view of the door. And I always ride my horse through town, never walk. Gives me a higher vantage point. Better odds is spotting someone making a move. That's all fine and everything, but this seems different. A $10,000 bounty means people will never stop coming after you. There are plenty of men who will want to crack

at that kind of money, and they'll happily kill you to get it. Hickaugh cast his eyes down to the table for a moment, lost in thought. Then he looks back at you. Well, you know, you're right. I think it might be time for me to leave this place. What? Well, as long as people know I'm the marshal

here in Abilene, I'll be a target, bringing more violence to this town than it has already, and it's got plenty. But where will you go? I'll see where the first train tomorrow is going and get on board. After that, I guess we'll just see. Hickok knocks back the rest of his drink, but you notice he looks defeated. This damn notoriety I've acquired isn't all it's cracked up to be. You look at him surprised. You hadn't thought there was any downside to being Wild Bill Hickok, but now, as you look at him, he realized just how exhausted he seems. Not the kind of fatigued that will go away with a good night's sleep either. This is a man who seems tired of being

himself. Even if he does get on that train in the morning, you're not certain he'll ever really find peace. The government gets a bad reputation, but did you know that the roads under your feet, the forecast on your phone, the letter in your mailbox, that's all government too. I'm Professor Lindsay Cormack, and I'm hosting a new podcast called Government That Doesn't Suck, alongside Professor Greg Jackson, who you may know from the hit podcast, History That Doesn't. Doesn't Suck. Each episode, we dig into the surprising story of an American institution, from the origins of the internet to the National Park Service to the GI Bill and so much more. You'll hear the stories behind them, plus a conversation with an expert who knows it inside and out.

This is the real history of how we built the country under your feet, and you'll never look at any of it the same way again. Listen to and follow, Government That Doesn't Suck, available now wherever you get your podcasts. Does it bother you that the world is on fire? Do you also often find yourself choking on your own rage? Maybe you too perpetually feel like screaming bloody freaking murder into your own pillow. Well, hop in, Rabel-Razer. We're going hunting for a manifesto. Listen to Dan Taberski's Manifesto wherever you get your podcasts.

From Audible Originals, I'm Lindsay Graham, and this is American history tellers. Our History, Your Story. In late 1871, the Gunslinger knows. as Wild Bill Hickok was serving as marshal of the raucous frontier town of Abilene, Kansas. Hickok was supposed to be maintaining law and order, but more often than not, his reputation as a deadly quick draw seemed to attract trouble as fast as he could contain it. Hickok had grown up on a farm in Illinois, restless and drawn to adventure from an early age. After leaving home as a young man, he traveled west to Missouri and Kansas. Along the way, he worked at various jobs, including as a

farmer, a stagecoach driver, and a lawman. But it was his skill with a gun that would come to define him. In 1865 in Springfield, Missouri, 28-year-old Hickok shot a man dead in the middle of the street in a dispute over money. It was the first recorded quick-draw duel on the frontier, and journalists and pulp novelists seized on the story, turning Hickok into a legend, the coolest head and the fastest draw in the West. But the same reputation that made Hickok famous made him a target. it would follow him to the end of his life. This is episode two of our five-part series on Frontier Legends, Wild Bill Hickok. James Butler Hickok was born on May 27, 1837 in Homer, Illinois.

He was the fourth surviving child of William Hickok, a farmer, and his wife, Polly. The Hickhawks had deep moral convictions and were ardent abolitionists. Their farm served as a stop on the Underground Railroad, hiding escaped slaves as they made their way to freedom in Canada. But in 1852, just before James turned 15, his father, William, died suddenly. This left James and his three older brothers responsible for running the family farm, while their mother, Polly, looked after James' two younger sisters. From a young age, James had been fascinated by guns,

even saving up to buy a rifle as a child. He spent hours in the woods practicing his marksmanship and learning how to shoot equally well with both hands. As a teenager, he used these skills to bring home wild game for the first. family to eat. A few years after William's death, James's mother Polly decided that the family should relocate to Kansas where land was cheaper. She, like many others at the time, thought that they could start over in the West. So in 1856, while their mother Polly and other siblings stayed behind, 19-year-old James and his older brother Lorenzo left Illinois to look for land that the Hickok family

could homestead in Kansas. But almost immediately, Lorenzo got cold feet, and when their train reached St. Louis, he turned back for home. But unlike his brother, Hickok had no interest in returning to Illinois. He had grown restless in their small town and longed for adventure and to test his medal on the frontier. So he continued on from St. Louis, boarding a steamboat up the Missouri River. But when he disembarked in Leavenworth, Kansas, he found a territory in turmoil. Two years earlier in 1854, Congress had passed the Kansas-Nebraska Act. This law added Kansas and Nebraska, as territories to the United States, putting them on the path to statehood. But the legislation left the question of whether Kansas would permit slavery up to its

residence. And as a result, pro-and-slavery forces clashed violently, leading to the nickname Bleeding Kansas. But despite this chaotic atmosphere, Hickok quickly found himself at home in the excitement of the territory. He became irregular at the various saloons, gambling halls, and brothels that dotted Leavenworth. And to support himself, he worked a variety of of odd jobs, including for a freight company. It was there that he met a young boy named Bill Cody, who would later become better known as Buffalo Bill. Hickok took Cody under his wing, and the two would become lifelong friends. Around this same time, Hickok also likely joined one of the local anti-slavery militias, engaging in skirmishes against pro-slavery forces coming in from Missouri.

He wrote several letters home, alluding to his association with well-known militia leaders and his family's strong moral objection to slavery would have made him sympathetic to their cause. But he had not forgotten the reason he'd come to Kansas in the first place. He still needed to find a new home for his mother and siblings. So in 1858, Hickok purchased land in Monticello, Kansas, and began farming and preparing the homestead for his family to join him. However, one night a group of pro-slavery militants set fire to Hickok's cabin and all his crops,

likely due to his involvement with anti-slavery groups. When Hickok's family received the news, they gave up their dream of moving to Kansas and decided to stay in Illinois. And without his family to provide for, Hickok quickly abandoned any thought of being a farmer. Instead, he returned to Leavenworth and found a job as a driver with the Overland Stage Company,

which ran stagecoaches carrying freight, mail, and passengers across the southwest. Throughout 1858 and 1859, Hickok took on the difficult and dangerous work of navigating coaches across hundreds of miles of the most rugged terrain in the country, including long stretches of desert. Horses would frequently die in the harsh conditions, and there was the ever-present threat of attacks by various groups of Native Americans defending their land from settlers. Even so, Hickok seemed to thrive in the job. He would drive into each town and station kicking up as much dust as possible, making sure everyone knew his coach was coming.

and he passed the time at the stops, showing off his quick-draw technique and marksmanship skills to bystanders. But the dangers of his job became very real in 1860 when Hickok was on his way to Santa Fe, New Mexico. According to Hickok, he encountered a bear blocking his coach's path. He quickly jumped down and shot the animal in the head, but the bullet failed to penetrate the bear's skull. Angered, the bear attacked, first crushing Hickok, then biting his left arm. Eventually, Hickok managed to slash the bear's throat, killing it, before driving his wagon into the next town. He had survived the attack, but he had multiple broken bones in his chest, shoulders, and arm. The severity of these injuries meant that he had to spend several months recovering,

and when he returned to work in 1861, he was given an easier assignment, helping take care of the horses at the Rock Creek Station in the Nebraska Territory. But the Rock Creek Way Station sat on land leased from a local ranch owner named David Mee, McCannless, and he was in a bitter financial dispute with Hickok's boss, a man named Horace Wellman. This dispute escalated on July 12, 1861, when McCanness and three others, including his 12-year-old son, rode to the Rock Creek Station. While his companions waited in the yard, McCanness and his shotgun marched up to the ranch house where Wellman was living. McCanness then demanded that Wellman immediately fork over money and supplies the Overland

company owed him. Cowering, Wellman fled back inside the house, and moments later, Hickok stepped into the doorway. According to witnesses, McCannels told Hickok to mind his own business and stay out of it, but Hickok didn't back down. McAnlis waved his shotgun and yelled insults at Hickok while continuing to demand payment. Eventually, the argument grew so he did that Hickok drew his cult revolver and shot McCanness directly in the heart, who crumpled to the ground dead in seconds. When McCanness's two friends rushed over to aid him, Hickok shot them too. Three days later, Hickok, Wellman, and another man present at the scene were arrested for murder and brought to trial. Hickok swore that he believed McCanness posed an imminent threat to his

life, and based on witness testimony, the jury found Hickok and the other man not guilty on the grounds of self-defense. Hickok was relieved to have avoided hanging, but he knew that McAnlis had a lot of friends around Rock Creek and he'd be in danger if he stayed. So following his acquittal he decided to head back to Leavenworth, Kansas. By this time, the American Civil War was raging, and rather than return to coach driving, Hickok decided to enlist in the Union Army. And throughout the war, Hickok served in various units, occasionally seeing action but serving mainly as a teamster and scout. Most notably, Hickok's friend Buffalo Bill Cody later claimed to have run into Hickok in Missouri in 1864, while Hickok was acting as a union spy behind Confederate lines. This was also

around the time, Hickok earned the moniker Wild Bill. When the war ended in April 1865, instead of returning to Kansas, Hickok made his way to Springfield, Missouri, where he resumed his previous lifestyle, frequenting the many saloons, gambling halls, and brothels the city had to offer. But while he was carousing in Springfield, he ran into a man he'd known during the war named Davis Tutt. Tutt was well known in the city, especially among gamblers, and at first he and Hickok got along well. With Tut vouching for him, Hickok could get in on virtually any game in town, and when Hickok went on a losing streak, Tutt lent him money to keep him in the game. But soon, Hickok would discover that his new pal no longer wanted to help him, and instead was out to ruin him.

Imagine it's July 20, 1865, in a gambling hall in Springfield, Missouri. You're sitting at the bar, watching a poker game a few feet away, and you're fuming. Among the players at the table is your one-time pal while Bill Hickok. Though you used to be friends, his arrogance has come to infuriate you. Just the sight of him now, with his smug face and fancy coat, makes you want to punch him in the mouth. You want nothing more than to see him taken down a peg, so you've secretly bankrolled the other players so that they can take him for all his worth. You'd been confident that this would work, because Hickok has been on a cold streak for days, but of course, tonight his luck changed. He turned back to the bartender and tap your glass.

Yeah, another whiskey. As he's pouring your drink, a roar goes up from the poker table. We look over to see Hickok flip his cards over, revealing a full house. Well, Lady Lucks favoring me tonight, boys. He beams as he slides a huge pile of money toward him. You can't take it anymore.

He toss back the glass of whiskey and stomp over. Wow, Bill, you owe me $40 for that horse I sold you last week, and I demand you pay it right now. Hickok barely looks at you as he pulls the bills from his staff, and hands them over. Well, there you go. Nice doing business. He turns back to the table, and you feel rage boiling inside of you. And that's not the only money you owe me. Remember the $35 I gave you? I want that back, too. Well, I'm quite sure it was just 25. No, it was 35, and I want it right now. Well, I have a note in my pocket that says it was 25. I don't care what your note says.

I know for a fact, it's $35. You're just trying to short me. After all, I've done for you. Well, you know what? It's getting late. Why don't we? We discuss this tomorrow. You glance at the other men at the table, and they're all staring at you. You know if you walk away without this $35, you'll look weak, and you can't let that happen. That's when you notice Hickok's gold pocket watch is sitting on the table, so you snatch it. Well, how about this? You'll get the watch back when you pay me my $35.

Hickok's hands twitch, and start toward his guns, but your friends around the table move their hands to their guns as well. Hickok slowly brings his hands back to the table. Well, like I said, we'll continue this conversation in the morning. Well, nothing more to talk about, is there? You give me the money, all of my money, or you won't get this watch back. Swinging the watch, you saunter out and feel everyone's eyes on you. Puff your chest out, confident that you've shown everyone in there that you're the boss of Wild Bill. The next morning, on July 21, 1865, Wild Bill Hickok approached Davis-Tut and all

offered to pay the $25 he acknowledged he owed to Tut to get his gold pocket watch back. But after previously demanding $35, Tutt told Hickok he'd only give the watch back if Hickok paid him $45. Hickok refused and walked away furious. Later that afternoon, Hickok and Tutt approached the town square from opposite directions. Hickok yelled out a warning to Tutt that he should not come across the square wearing the watch. But Tutt was no longer in the mood to negotiate. He turned sideways and placed his hand on his pistol, a universal sign that a duel was about to begin. Bystanders ducked inside buildings, and after a second, Tut tightened his grip and yanked on the handle of his gun.

But almost instantaneously, Hickok drew his weapon and fired, hitting Tutt straight in the chest. Tutt fell to the ground, and Hickok calmly re-holstered his gun. As a result of this deadly shootout, less than two weeks later, on August 3, 1865, Hickok won. once again found himself on trial for murder. But also once again, he was found not guilty on the grounds of self-defense. The trial was covered by a local newspaper, the Missouri Press, and other journalists soon picked up on the story. When one reporter with Harper's magazine approached Hickok and offered to write an article about him, Hickok agreed, granting the man several interviews. It took almost a year and a half for Harper's to publish the piece, but when it

finally came out, it made a splash. The detailed description of Hickok, his long hair, his handlebar mustache, his pension for wearing a long black Prince Albert coat, painted him as a larger-than-life figure, and seemingly overnight, wild Bill Hickok became one of the most famous and recognizable men on the frontier for better or worse. You there, tis I, Queen Mortuana of the Night Realm, aka Kate McKinnon, and her Raven Minion Jojo, aka Emily Lynn. If you do not download and binge my show, heads will roll air apparent, on Audible, I will cut off your head!

Oh no, maybe you just tell them about the guest stars, like Richard Kind, Carrie Coon, Jimmy Fallon, at all. But they were in it, and if you don't listen to them, then I will cut off your tongue, then cut off your head, then cut off your head, and then put the tongue in the head hole. Aw, you tried. Listen now exclusively on Audible and done to the Audible app today. You're off with your head!

I'm kidding. I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford, and we're the hosts of British Scandal. Yes indeed. In this series, a Derbyshire couple are bored of their curtain-twitching lawn-mowing suburban life. So they sell their house, build a yacht and sail off around the world. Which sort of sounds idyllic until a sperm whale sinks their boat and they begin to starve. Oh yes, and they didn't bring a radio because real sailors don't use radios. Right?

This is the story of Marilyn and Morris Bailey. And the 117 days they spent lost at sea. Follow British scandal wherever you get your podcasts or listen early and ad-free on Audible. In early 1867, readers across the nation were enthralled by a Harper's magazine profile recounting the gun-slinging adventures of Wild Bill Hickok. This article made Hickok a sensation, in part because many of its details were exaggerated or invented. As the profile's author declared, Wild Bill with his own hands has killed hundreds of men.

Of that I have not a doubt, he shoot. to kill. After the peace came out, Hickok was initially caught off guard by how many people now recognized him when he traveled from place to place. But he eventually began to enjoy his newfound notoriety, staging shooting exhibitions where he showed off his reflexes and accuracy with a gun. But fame alone would not pay the bills, so he found another way to make his living, this time as a lawman. In the 1860s, the Western frontier had little law enforcement infrastructure in place. Land west of the Mississippi River was sparsely populated, with towns spread far apart, and not every settlement was large enough to have a sheriff.

So the U.S. Marshal Service, originally established to investigate crimes against the federal government, filled the gap. Operating across the Western Territories, marshals arrested horse thieves, broke up fights between hard-drinking cowboys and police the illegal whiskey trade that flourished across the frontier. Ironically, Hickok's reputation for shooting and killing multiple people, was not considered a blackmark on his ability to serve as law enforcement. Instead, it was considered an asset. By the time he began working as a deputy U.S. Marshal, so many people had heard about his speed and accuracy with a pistol that when he showed up to arrest criminals, they tended not to resist.

And when he wasn't marshalling, Hickok served as a scout for various U.S. cavalry units that patrolled the West during the Plains Wars, a series of violent conflicts between federal troops and native peoples. Hickok knew the terrain well from his time as a stagecoach driver and as a scout during the Civil War, and some newspaper articles even hyperbolicly declared that Hickok knew the prairie better than any man alive. By the summer of 1869, Hickok had landed in Hays City, Kansas, where violence was rampant. The 10th Cavalry, a segregated unit of black soldiers known as the Buffalo Soldiers, was stationed at Fort Hays nearby. Earlier in the year, three soldiers from the unit had been arrested in Hays City for petty

offenses, and a mob had dragged the men from jail and lynched them. Three black residents were also lynched in 1869, and there were frequent fights between soldiers and civilians in the local saloons, many of which involved guns. And by the time Hickok arrived, the county sheriff tasked with keeping the peace in Hays City was nowhere to be found, having fled on his own accord or been run out of town by business leaders, frustrated by his ineffectiveness. Hickok decided he'd be a good fit for the position, so he ran for the vacant office. And in a special election held in August of 1869, Hickok was elected the new sheriff, and he quickly began working to restore order. But while there was a jail in town, there was no courthouse or judge, making it difficult for the new sheriff to hold

criminals to account. So to assert his authority, Hickok leaned on his fearsome reputation. When he caught someone breaking the law, he gave them three choices. Take the train going east, take the train going west, or go north the direction of the town cemetery. While most people chose to ride the train out of town, Hickok did kill two men during his first five weeks of sheriff. And newspapers around the west reported that Hays City was significantly more peaceful under Hickok's watch, giving him credence as one of the most effective lawmen on the frontier. Then, surprisingly, given his success, in November 1869, just three months after he won the special election, Hickok lost in the regular election to one of his deputies. Now, out of his job as sheriff, Hickok returned to his

roving ways, spending the next year and a half serving as a marshal in various places before eventually ending up in Abilene, Kansas in 1871. Like Hayes City, Abilene had a reputation as a town plagued by violence and disorder. Four years earlier, in 1867, an ambitious entrepreneur had arrived in the area and built a stockyard. Then he advertised to Texas ranchers that Abilene was the place to sell their cattle, and practically overnight, Abilene transformed into a boon town. Within two years, over 150,000 head of cattle were being driven up from Texas and Abilene to be sold and loaded onto train cars, headed east to the slaughterhouses. With the herds, though, also came crowds of cowboys, who flooded the town's saloons, gambling halls, and brothels with reckless

abandoned. Fights broke out frequently, and with nearly everyone armed, these fights often escalated into shootouts. By 1870, the violence had gotten so out of control that it was threatening business, so local leaders decided to hire Marshall to keep the peace. But the first two men they hired were run out of town by mobs of unruly cowboys, while a third was killed while helping to serve a warrant elsewhere in the county. So in the spring of 1871, Abilene hired Hickok as Marshall. By this time, Hickok had grown used to having an outsized reputation, and he saw the job as an opportunity to further prove that he was the most effective lawmen in the West. Over the next six months, Hickok did his best to maintain order anomaly.

He enforced a weapons ban in town, requiring bartenders and hotel managers to collect patrons' guns upon entry to their establishments, and he aggressively ran troublemakers out of town, rarely bothering with any kind of due process. But his fame status as both a quick shooter and a lawman also made him a target. Many men had come to believe that a sure-fire way to achieve infamy was to take down the legendary Wild Bill Hickok. In the fall of 1871, residents complained that an establishment on the outskirts of town

called a bull's head tavern and gambling saloon had a new sign on its wall, depicting a bull in full anatomical detail. Hickok talked to the owners, but they refused to remove the offending sign, so Hickok took matters into his own hands and painted over the sign himself. One of the owners of the tavern, a man named Philip Coe, felt humiliated by Hickok's actions and as time went on, he grew more and more angry. Finally, on October 5, 1871, Coe hatched a plan to take revenge.

While Hickok and one of his deputies were managing a crowd leaving a theater, Coe fired a gun in front of a saloon nearby in an effort to lure Hickok over. Just as Coe had hoped, Hickok rushed over to investigate while the deputy stayed to continue to manage the theater crowd. When Hickok asked where the shot had come from, Coe told him it wasn't a big deal. he just shot at a stray dog. But when Hickok began to turn away,

Co drew his gun again. Hickok's lightning-quick reflexes kicked in, and he managed to draw both of his guns and shoot Coe twice in the stomach. Coe managed to get a few shots off, but they went wide, missing Hickok. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Hickok saw another man coming round the corner with guns drawn.

Hickok didn't hesitate. He pivoted and fired off another two shots. It was only after the man collapsed to the ground that Hickok realized he wasn't one of Coe's friends, but rather his own deputy. Hickok was horrified. In his view, he had never killed anyone who didn't deserve it, but now he had shot and killed his fellow lawmen in the line of duty. The next day, Hickok did his best to make amends. He wired his deputy's mother and sent money for her to take the train from Kansas City to Abilene. He paid for all the funeral arrangements, and for his deputy's

body to be transported back home to be buried with the rest of his family. But in addition to his deputy, Hickok had also killed his attacker Phil Coe, leading Coe's mother to allegedly place a $10,000 bounty on Hickok's head. In late 1871, Hickok got word that three men had come into Abilene determined to collect that bounty. Realizing that he'd never be safe if he remained, Hickok decided to leave town. He let everyone know he was taking the next train to Topeka. And when the would-be assassins showed up on the train,

Hickok was waiting for them and confronted them with a sought-off shotgun. Gun in hand, he convinced them to jump off while the train was still moving. But Hickok had another motivation for leaving Appalene. For several months, he'd been experiencing some concerning physical symptoms, and shooting his own deputy had made him even more worried. It was time to find out what was wrong. Imagine it's early 1872. You're a doctor in Kansas City, Kansas,

and you're seeing a patient out of your office when a tall man with long, wavy hair and a big mustache strides in. You do a double take because he sure looks like the drawings you've seen of wild Bill Hickok. Still, you find it hard to believe it's really him. You notice that the man is staring at you, waiting for you to say something. Uh, how can I help you? I need to get my eyes looked at. Well, we can certainly do that.

Please have a seat. And what can I call you, Hickok? You have to suppress a laugh because it really is him. All right, Mr. Hickok, what do you? exactly as bothering you with your eyes. Well, things seem blurry, like there are clouds in front of my eyes. Okay, all right. Look at that chart on the wall. What's the smallest row you can read? Hickok hesitatingly reads off a row of letters roughly in the middle of the chart. You frown because he should be able to read much further down. You hold up a gas lamp and a small mirror.

I'm just going to look in your eyes a little bit, all right? Hickok nods, but as you bring the lamp up, he winses and raises his arm in front of his eyes. I see, does the light hurt? Yeah, can't you tell? Well, I'm sorry. What's wrong with it, Doc? Well, I can't say exactly. It could be a number of things. Maybe glaucoma, maybe a venereal disease, or maybe the blinding sickness. Well, whatever it is, how do I get rid of it? Tell me what to do and I'll do it. You glanced nervously at the two pistols on Hickok's waist. Well, you can wear dark glasses, and that might help with light sensitivity. For how long?

And what about the blurriness? Well, unfortunately, there's nothing. I can do for that. Will it get worse? I believe so, yes. Hickok slouches back, stunned. You realize that for him, his quick reflexes and pinpoint accuracy with a gun are keys to his survival, and your diagnosis must sound to him like a death sentence. While Bill Hickok left the doctor's office that day, knowing that his days as a lawman and gunslinger were over. After years spent building a career and cultivating a mythic image, he would now need to find a new way to survive. But in the meantime, he knew that he couldn't let anyone know about his vulnerability. If word got out that while Bill Hickok was going blind, every enemy he'd ever made would soon come gunning for him.

Hey, Dan Tiberski here. I'm a podcast host, a journalist, and now with my newest project, the author of my own manifesto. Well, it's a manifesto about manifestos. My search for inspiration in a world that feels more infuriating, more out of its freaking mind with each passing hour. Manifestos are a call to action, an artful scream. They capture our anger and they try to do something with it. This is my attempt to take the manifesto back from mass shooters and nihilists and return it to its rightful place with the warriors, the visionaries, the regular folks with just the right amount of crazy.

I compare notes with radicals, secessionists, internet trolls out for a laugh, and punk singers screaming their guts out, all trying to turn their anger into the world they want to see. Listen to Manifesto wherever you get your podcasts. Audible subscribers can binge all episodes of Manifesto early and ad-free right now. Join Audible in the Audible app or by subscribing on Apple Podcasts. I'm Alice Levine. And I'm Matt Ford and we're the hosts of British Scandal.

Yes indeed. In this series, a Derbyshire couple are bored of their curtain-twitching lawn-mowing suburban life. So they sell their house, build a yacht and sail off around the world. Which sort of sounds idyllic until a sperm whale sinks their boat and they begin to starve. Oh yes, and they didn't bring a radio because real sailors don't use radios. Right? This is the story of Marilyn and Morris Bailey. And the 117 days they spent lost at sea.

Follow British scandal wherever you get your podcasts or listen early and ad-free on Audible. By 1873, a year after Wild Bill Hickok learned that his eyesight was failing, the notorious quick shooter was lost. Without a job, the now 36-year-old Hickok drifted around Kansas and Colorado, primarily making his money playing poker. But it wasn't a reliable income stream. His clothes, which he had always taken great pride in, were wearing thin, and he was drinking to excess. Then in early 1873, Hickok was approached by his old friend, Buffalo Bill Cody. The two men had stayed in touch over the years. Like Hickok, Cody had been a scout, in both the Civil War and the Plains Wars, and they had sometimes worked together,

each becoming one of the most famous scouts in America. But now Cody had an idea for how to capitalize on that fame. A writer who specialized in pulp novels about various frontiersmen had penned a play called Scouts of the Prairie. A conceit was simple. Cody and a couple of friends would pretend to be sitting around a campfire, telling stories about their adventures on the plains. Every so often they'd be interrupted by a group of Indians attacking,

and a staged fight would ensue. Cody had raised the money to mount the production and tour it, and he wanted Hickok to play one of the scouts around the campfire. Eager to work with his old friend and make some money at the same time, Hickok agreed to join the cast. And for the next year, audiences in New York, Maine, and Pennsylvania flocked to hear Hickok and other famous frontiersmen recount tales of saving damsels in distress and slaughtering Indians.

The show was a huge hit, but rather than reveling in the show, the attention, Hickok hated it. He suffered from stage fright, and he detested that audiences found the play funny. He felt insulted and disrespected when they laughed, and the stage lights irritated his eyes. So in the spring of 1874, after a performance in Rochester, New York, Hickok walked out of the theater, never to come back. Instead, he headed back to Kansas, where he once again began making money playing poker. But in August 1874, he read in the newspaper that gold had been discovered in the Black Hills of the Dakota Territory, on land controlled by the Lakota tribe. Still hungry for new adventures, Hickok decided to head to Cheyenne, Wyoming, which

served as a gateway to the Black Hills. He knew his eyesight was too poor to prospect for gold, but a boom town like Cheyenne meant a lot of people newly flush with money, money he could win at the poker table. Hickok was not the only one with this idea. More and more men gathered in Cheyenne filling the saloons day and night, neither prospecting nor working, just gambling and drinking and causing trouble. Local residents soon grew sick of it, so law enforcement began raiding saloons and arresting gamblers for vagrancy. In June 1875, Hickok was caught up in one such raid. Afterward, he knew he should leave Cheyenne, but his eyesight had continued to deteriorate, and he was wary of traveling into the Black Hills alone. The Lakota were defending their land

by attacking anyone who ventured into the hills, and Hickok no longer had confidence in his ability to defend himself. But then, a friend offered Hickok a solution. A few years earlier in Colorado, Hickok had struck up an acquaintance with a man named Charlie Uder. He, too, had moved to Cheyenne and was in the process of launching a transport company. Udr had organized a wagon train to take passengers and freight to the town of Deadwood, approximately 250 miles away, and Uttor was looking for men he could trust to accompany the group. With few other prospects, Hickok agreed to join the expedition. They departed Cheyenne on June 27, 1876, but Hickok seemed depressed for much of the journey. His mood didn't improve when they reached Deadwood, and Charlie Utter grew concern.

Imagine it's the summer of 1876 in a camp outside Deadwood in the Dakota Territory. You run a transportation company hauling freight and passengers through the countryside, and you've just arrived after a long trip from Cheyenne. Licking your lips and anticipation of a much-needed drink, you spot your friend Wild Bill Hickok sitting by the fire, staring at the ground. You've only known him a few years, but the two of you are close, and lately he doesn't seem like himself. So taking a seat next to Hickok, you offer him your flask, but he holds up his hand declining. While Bill Hickok turning down a drink, what is this world coming to? You grin, but Hickok just shrugs. You drink. You drive.

drop your smile. Well, forgive me for saying so, but you don't seem like yourself these days. Where's the fire I used to see in your eyes? Well, can I tell you something? Well, sure, anything. I have a feeling I'm not going to leave these hills alive. Oh, come on. Now, there's no reason to believe that. You're wild Bill Hickok, fastest gun in the West. There's no man here who could take you. Well, I'm not as young as I used to be. But you're not old. Heck, you're not even 40. Well, whatever I am, the world doesn't care about me anymore. What are you talking about? Of course. they do. Now, times are changing. People aren't interested in the kind of justice I provide. And the saloons and the gambling halls I've called home all these years aren't as popular as they

once were. Well, I certainly saw a lot of crowded saloons and gambling halls when we were in deadwood today. Yeah, for now. But just like Kansas City, just like Cheyenne, townsfolk are going to decide that it's just not worth the trouble. They want to be seen as respectable like the city's back east. I don't think that'll happen for a good long while. The faster than you think, I'm telling you, there's no place left for me in this world. Maybe it's a good thing if my days are numbered. Hickok sounds morose. You find yourself at a loss for words, so you offer him your flask one more time. Well, I think you should cheer up. You sure you don't want to sit with this? This time Hickok takes you up on your offer, but as you watch him drink, you notice he doesn't look any happier. You try to tell yourself that

there's nothing to his prediction that he's going to die in Deadwood. He's just tired from the journey and his mind has gone to a dark place. He's likely to be more optimistic tomorrow, but the truth is, you're still unnerved. Despite his friend's attempt to console him, Hickok's mood continued to dampen, and he told multiple people that he was certain he would die in the Black Hills.

In the meantime, he spent most of his time in Deadwood gambling, but it didn't go well. Within three weeks, he was broke. But then on August 1, 1876, his luck turned. He went on a hot streak, cleaning out a young prospector named Jack McCall. As McCall got up from the table, Hickok handed him some money, so he'd be able to buy breakfast. He also offered McCall some advice, telling him he shouldn't play again until he had enough money

to cover his losses. McCall seethed, humiliated, but accepted Hickok's handout. The next day, Hickok returned to the saloon, but his usual seat, where he could keep his back to the wall and his eye on the door, was occupied. Hickok asked the man in the seat to move, but he refused, saying the chair was lucky. So reluctantly, Hickok took a different seat with his back to the door and started to play cards. At some point during the game, Jack McCall entered the saloon and maneuvered himself behind Hickok without Hickok noticing.

Then McCall placed the barrel of his gun against the back of Hickok's head and pulled the trigger. Hickok died almost immediately. It was a shocking end to one of the most famous and skilled gun slingersers in the West, and news of his murder was reported. in newspapers around the country. McCall was quickly arrested, and a trial was hastily arranged in Deadwood. McCall claimed that Hickok had killed his brother back in Abilene, Kansas, and he killed Hickok out of revenge. The jury deliberated for two hours before declaring McCall not guilty of murder. Following this verdict, McCall fled to Wyoming territory, but there he made a habit of boasting

that he had killed Wild Bill Hickok in a fair fight. But in late 1876, he was arrested again, and Wyoming officials decided that because Deadwood was not yet part of any recognized U.S. territory, his previous acquittal wasn't valid. McCall was put on trial a second time, and this time he was found guilty of murder and sentenced to death. In the meantime, wild Bill Hickok's body was buried in the Deadwood Cemetery. But in the years following Hickok's untimely death, his legend would only grow. He would be depicted in thousands of novels, movies, television shows, and songs, and today he's remembered as the archetypical gunslinger, one who brought his own brand of justice to the Wild West.

But that was a place that was quickly disappearing. In 1890, 14 years after Hickok's death, the U.S. Census Bureau concluded that there was no longer any part of the West with a population of less than two people per square mile, leading one historian to declare the era of the Western frontier was over. And as the population in the Western states and territories continued to grow, The West's rough and ready system of justice, which had relied in part on quick-draw duels and threats at gunpoint to maintain order, gave way to jury trials in due process. Had he lived, wild Bill Hickok would have indeed found that there was no longer a place for a gun-slinging lawman like him, one willing to settle the score with a well-aimed shot.

From Ottawa Originals, this is episode two of our five-part series on Frontier Legends for American History Tellers. On the next episode, despite being done, born into slavery, Bass Reeves escapes to the frontier where he reinvents himself and becomes one of the most feared lawmen the West has ever seen. Follow American History Tellers on the Audible app, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to all episodes of American History Tellers ad-free by joining Audible. And to find out more about me and my other projects, including my live stage show coming to a

theater near you, go to not thatlensiegram.com. That's not that Lindsaygram.com. If you'd like to learn more about Wild Bill Hickok, we recommend Wild Bill, the true story of the American Frontier's First Gunfighter by Tom Clavin. And they called him Wild Bill, the life and adventures of James Butler Hickok by Joseph G. Rosa. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsay Graham for airship. This episode is written by Austin Rackless, edited by Doreen,

senior producers Alita Rosanski and Andy Herman, managing producer Desi Blaylock, audio editing by Mohamad Shazi, Music by Throne. Sound designed by Molly Bach. Executive producer for Audible, Jenny Lauer Beckman. Head of created development at Audible, Kate Naven. Head of Audible Originals, North America, Marshall Louis. Chief Content Officer Rachel Kianza.

Copyright 2026 by Audible Originals LLC. Sound recording copyright 2026 by Audible Originals LLC.