The large and wealthy cattle raiser referred to, directly after
returning to Texas, selected eight desperate characters--men who he
knew would not hesitate to commit any crime for the sake of money--and
offered them the sum of five thousand dollars in gold if they would
kill Wild Bill and secure his heart. The proposition was made at a
pre-arranged meeting, which took place in an old barn on the premises
of the cattle raiser, at which each of the employed assassins was
required to take an oath not to divulge the name of the man who hired
them under any circumstances, except in the event of the refusal of the
employer to pay over the sum agreed upon directly upon the delivery to
him of Wild Bill’s heart. It was a terrible contract in the eyes of
civilization, but an excellent one in the estimation of those a party
to it.
In a few days after the arrangement was concluded, the sum of fifty
dollars was placed in the hands of each of the hired assassins as
forfeit money, to pay expenses of the trip to Abilene, and the eight
villains then started out upon their mission.
[Illustration: Bill Drives his would-be Assassins from the Train.]
After reaching Abilene, as was customary among the Texans who visited
the place, the party got on a big drunk, and, while in this condition,
one of the number explained the nature of his trip to an acquaintance
who, by chance, was a secret friend of Bill’s. The information was very
soon imparted to Bill, and the villains were foiled in the following
manner: Bill decided to go to Topeka by the train, and to have the
assassins made acquainted with his purpose. He knew they would follow
him, because they would consider it safer to kill their man by luring
him onto the platform of a train, where a knife thrust would finish
their work without the knowledge of the other passengers, than to
attack him in the boundaries of his official jurisdiction among his
friends. Accordingly, Bill got on the evening train going east, and
saw the eight villains get into the coach in the rear of the one he
entered. Bill wisely concluded that no attempt would be made upon
his life until a late hour, when the passengers would generally be
asleep, and quietly kept his seat until about eleven o’clock, when the
train was passing a dark and deep cut a few miles west of Topeka. He
concluded now was the time to act; so, drawing his two revolvers, he
entered the car where the eight would-be murderers sat. In an instant
all was attention, but confusion soon followed, for Bill raised his
pistols and commanded the assassins to file out of the car before him.
They saw at once that hesitation meant death, and without attempting
the purpose for which they came, every one of them hastily arose and
did as Bill commanded, leaping from the rapidly-moving train apparently
without a thought of the danger in so doing. Three of them were so
badly hurt in the fall that their companions had to carry them off,
and one of the most notorious of the party died two days afterwards
of his injuries. The parting injunction which Bill gave them forced
them to abandon the idea of getting his heart. Said he: “If any of
you gray-backed hell-hounds ever cross my track again, I’ll make
blood-pudding out of your infernal carcasses.” Bill would undoubtedly
have attacked the men had it not been for the presence of so many
passengers, some of whom would certainly have been killed in the
conflict.
If this pamphlet should, perchance, be read by four men--known to be
living--and one in particular, there will be a scene not wholly unlike
that which transpired when Banquo’s ghost arose before the startled
vision of Macbeth.