It was while occupying this position that the first and most desperate
fight of his life occurred, and one which we may safely say is without
a parallel. The particulars of this remarkable encounter have been
given to the public several times, once by a writer in _Harper’s
Monthly_, who claims to have heard the story from Bill himself, but
whether he reported Bill correctly or not, the account in _Harper_,
like that which has appeared in other publications, has but the mere
skeleton of truth in it, the body being of error. The author collected
the facts and particulars of this fight from Capt. E. W. Kingsbury,
at present chief of U. S. Storekeepers for the western district of
Missouri, who was a passenger in the overland stage which arrived at
Rock Creek within an hour after the fight occurred, and saw the bodies
of the men Bill had killed, and heard the story fresh from Bill’s own
lips. Capt. Kingsbury’s version of the encounter is corroborated by Dr.
Joshua Thorne, one of the most prominent physicians in Kansas City, who
was Wild Bill’s physician during his life, and at whose home Bill was
a frequent and familiar visitor. Bill repeated the story to Dr. Thorne
several times, just as he gave it to Capt. Kingsbury. Bill had very
few confidants, but among that privileged class were the two gentlemen
mentioned, who, by their permission, will be frequently referred to
hereafter. After the appearance of _Harper’s Monthly_ containing the
sketch referred to, Bill was very angry and pronounced the writer of it
a perverter of facts.
The correct story of the “battle,” as we may very properly call it, is
as follows: The country for many miles around Rock Creek, including
Marysville and Manhattan, had for several years been infested by a
desperate band of marauders headed by Jim and Jack McCandlas. They were
horse thieves and murderers who overran the country and levied tribute
from nearly every one they met. This murderous gang had killed more
than a score of innocent men and women for the purpose of robbery, and
yet their power was such that no civil officer dared undertake their
arrest.
In 1861, the year in which the fight occurred, the McCandlas boys
raised a company in that section for the Confederate service. They
established their headquarters about thirteen miles west of Rock
Creek, where they were collecting men and stolen horses. Early in
the morning of the day in question, Jim McCandlas rode by Rock Creek
station in company with four of his men. McCandlas was leading an old
man, known as Parson Shapley, by a lariat which was around the old
man’s neck. Coming up to Bill the party stopped, and McCandlas entered
into a conversation, in which he tried to persuade Bill to enter the
Confederate service and to turn over all the horses at the station to
him. Bill, a stranger to the sensation of fear, told McCandlas to go
to h--l; that if he did any fighting it would be on the side of the
Union. McCandlas then told Bill if he didn’t have the horses ready for
delivery by the time of his return, “that there would be a small murder
at Rock Creek station, and the stage company would have to get another
man.” The party then rode off.
In this connection, in order to give the reader an idea of the manner
in which Wild Bill received his would-be murderers, it is necessary to
partially describe Rock Creek station. The house in which Bill and his
single partner, known as Doc. Mills, ate and slept, was a low-roofed
log hut fronting the creek, with the rear part built against the hill.
It had a front door, and a very small window in the side, near the
rear. The single room was divided by an old blanket hung from the roof,
behind which was a table and a bed made after the frontier style. This
rude structure was one of the many sleeping places called “dugouts,” so
often seen in the wild West even at this day. The stables, also very
rude but strongly made, adjoined the “dugout” on the east side. The
arms in the house consisted of two revolvers, one shot-gun, a large
bore rifle, which Bill called a Mississippi yager, and two large bowie
knives.
[Illustration: Wild Bill “Civilizes” the Neighborhood.]
After dinner, Doc. Mills took the shot-gun and one of the
revolvers--which he usually carried--and went down the creek a
short distance to shoot some quail. During his absence, and about
four o’clock in the evening, Wild Bill saw the two McCandlas boys,
accompanied by eight others, riding up the road towards him. Bill
at once withdrew into the dugout and prepared to defend the place.
Coming around in front of the dugout, Jim McCandlas hallooed to Bill,
telling him to come out and deliver the horses. To this Bill returned
an insulting reply. The mounted party then left their horses and began
an onslaught on the door with a log which they used as a battering
ram. Bill stood behind the old blanket, rifle in hand, and revolver
and knife lying on the table. It required but a few strokes to break
the door, and the crowd of cut-throats, headed by Jim McCandlas,
rushed in. The old yager was discharged, and the leader fell with a
hole in his heart as large as a silver half-dollar. Bill seized his
revolver and shot three more before any of them had reached him. The
most terrible scene then followed. Every man was like a wounded lion;
the six others jumped at Bill like harpies that had tasted blood. He
was borne down upon the table, but his right hand was cutting right
and left; the blood was gushing from his forehead, where he had been
struck with a rifle, which almost blinded him; he cut two others down,
and Jack McCandlas leaped upon him with an immense dirk drawn to cut
Bill’s throat. By a rare stroke of luck, Bill placed the muzzle of
his pistol over McCandlas’ heart and fired. The knife in McCandlas’
hand dropped harmlessly upon Bill, and the man jumped into the air and
fell dead, rolling over Bill and falling off the table to the floor.
During this time the others, who had life in them, were firing their
pistols at Bill whenever opportunity presented, but their numbers gave
him the advantage. There was but little light in the room, and it was
only the ones next to Bill that could do him any injury, the others
being fearful of killing their own party. Six of the number had now
been killed and two others badly wounded. They began to retreat, and
though Bill was apparently bleeding at every pore, he now pressed the
fighting. The two who remained unharmed reached their horses, and,
leaping into the saddle, fled as though they were being pursued by one
who was shielded with the panoply of invulnerability. The two wounded
ran down the hill, but one was cut so badly that he fell beside the
root of a large tree, and was unable to go further. At this juncture
Doc. Mills came back, and, when half-way up the hill, he was met by
Bill, who grabbed the loaded shot-gun, and, placing the muzzle to the
head of the wounded man, blew his brains out. The other one, whose name
was Jolly, managed to elude Bill and reach Manhattan, where, in a few
days thereafter, he died, but not until he had told the story of the
fight substantially as here related.
After the excitement of the terrific combat was over, Bill fainted from
loss of blood, and was carried into the dugout by his partner, Doc.
Mills. The sight on the inside was now terrible. Six men lay dead on
the floor. Jim McCandlas’ body was lying across the threshold of the
door, almost half submerged in his blood. Hideous gashes and large
bullet-holes had opened the reservoir of blood which formed in large
pools, after making small creeks over the floor. The countenances of
the dead men were most revolting. Not a groan escaped the lips of any
of the victims after Doc. Mills entered with Bill’s half-lifeless body,
which he lay tenderly on the rude bed; every one had been killed
outright. Those shot evidenced Bill’s coolness and deliberate aim
throughout the terrible ordeal; each was shot either in the heart or
head, and the terrible dagger had been thrust with equal precision to
the wells of the heart.
In less than one hour after the fight was over, the stage from Denver
arrived, full of passengers, some of whom were thus introduced for
the first time to the desperation of Western life. Wild Bill rallied
sufficiently to tell the story of his dreadful encounter with ten of
the most desperate men that ever cut a man’s throat or robbed a stable.
Every attention that could be shown was given Bill. He was too badly
cut and shot to admit of removal, but a surgeon was sent for from
Manhattan, and old Mrs. Watkins, who lived within five miles of the
station, came down as soon as she heard the news, and volunteered her
services to nurse him. Bill’s wounds consisted of a fracture of the
skull, three gashes on the breast, and a cut to the bone on his left
forearm. There were seven balls in his legs and body, and there was
scarcely a place on his face, limbs or body that was not black from
bruises he had received. It would seem impossible that a man could
survive such injuries, but, nevertheless, in six months Bill was out
again, and in less than one year he was as sound physically as ever.
It is not necessary to say that the McCandlas boys never entered the
Confederate army, and the manner in which they left the service they
had been in so long was cause for thanks. The people of that section
worshiped Bill as no other man. He had civilized the neighborhood.