Free Further Adventures of James Butler Hickok (9781101601853) by J. R. Roberts Page A

four men waited for you outside the saloon,” Sunshine said. “You’re free to go.”
    Clint stood up and said, “Thanks, Sheriff.”
    â€œWhen will you be leavin’ town?”
    â€œRight now,” Clint said. “I’ll check out of the hotel and go get my wagon.”
    â€œDo me a favor, then.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œTry not to kill anybody else between here and the livery stable.”
    â€œI think I can do that, Sheriff,” Clint said.

TWENTY-SIX
    D ENVER, C OLORADO T HE PRESENT
    â€œWait a minute,” Mark Silvester said. “You didn’t meet Hickok in Springfield?”
    â€œNo,” Clint said, “I saw him there, but we never really met.”
    â€œThen why tell me that story?”
    â€œBecause that was the event that really launched Bill’s legend.”
    â€œI thought he left Springfield.”
    â€œI left Springfield,” Clint said, “but before Bill could leave, he was arrested and charged with the murder of Dave Tutt. Apparently, the local district attorney did not approve of Sheriff Sunshine deciding Bill fired in self-defense. He decided to take the question before a jury.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œThe charge was reduced to manslaughter, and Bill was acquitted. Later, he met a journalist named Colonel George Ward Nichols who interviewed him in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine . ”
    â€œI remember Colonel Nichols.”
    â€œWell, the rest is history.”
    â€œWhich I could have looked up. What I need from you is stories I can’t look up, Mr. Adams.”
    â€œWell then, let me tell you about when we ran into each other in Topeka, Kansas, in ’seventy-one . . .”
    * * * 
    After telling the story of Wild Bill and the 7th Calvary—which was what Silvester called it—the writer said, “So, he thought you met while buffalo hunting, but he was probably remembering seeing you in Springfield.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œLet me ask you something, Mr. Adams.”
    â€œGo ahead.”
    â€œHow did you feel about Hickok getting all the attention in Springfield, even though you gunned down three men, and then four?”
    â€œBill’s reputation was always more important to him than mine was to me.”
    â€œAre you saying Wild Bill had a big ego?”
    â€œWe all have egos, Mr. Silvester,” Clint replied. “Maybe Bill’s was a little bigger than mine, that’s all.”
    Silvester was scribbling furiously in his notebook.
    â€œOkay, so what happened after that?”
    Clint looked around the dining room, saw that they were the only ones left.
    â€œI think we better get out of here,” Clint said, standing up. “We can continue this someplace else.”
    â€œWhere?” Silvester hurriedly got to his feet and followed Clint out into the lobby.
    * * * 
    Jeff Dawkins watched Clint Adams leave the Denver House Hotel, with the writer, Mark Silvester, trotting along behind him. Dawkins was sitting in the window of a café, drinking his fifth cup of coffee.
    A man like Clint Adams would know when he was being followed, but that was out on the trail. Denver was Jeff Dawkins’s home, and he knew how to follow a man without being seen.
    John Wells was paying him to find out what Mark Silvester was doing with Clint Adams. He had a feeling it was some kind of interview, but Wells wanted to know for sure.
    Dawson paid for his five cups of coffee and left the café.
    * * * 
    Clint and Silvester walked until they reached the city park.
    â€œHow about here?” the writer asked. “We could just sit and talk.”
    â€œYou mean we’ll sit and I’ll talk,” Clint said.
    â€œThat’s right, Mr. Adams,” Silvester said. “I want to hear everything you have to tell me.”
    â€œWell, son,” Clint said, “there’s a lot to tell about Wild Bill Hickok, but