Like many of the men out on the frontier, Hickok’s arrogance outweighs his wits. Men call him Wild Bill but all she sees of his wildness is the long hair he keeps, all else, his drinking, his gawping, his stench, are as predictable as the rest of him. He is, however, prone to bouts of cowpoke philosophy which impress no one but himself and the younger or dimmer company that lingers around his infamy.
Around the campfire he says; ‘I were out, keeping watch for rustlers and raptors, when - oh I’d say this was about five or six year past, Micha - I were out and after we stopped awhile and I went to relieve myself back in the brush. Hot country, that. Anyho, I heard him before I saw him, rattlin not a hair further then where you’re sat right this moment. Great big ugly thing he was, snub nose and forked tongue, and me stood not far from them evil eyes with naught but my pecker to the wind. And I thought to myself, well, Bill, you gone done it now. But I made no moves, as not to aggravate him. So I just stared right at him, my eyes locked with his. And I saw him uncoil, real slow like, twisting himself around and for a moment I think he’s making himself smaller cause all I can see is his body moving around itself. Then I see his head going back and that means he’s getting ready to strike. And you know what struck me then? I thought to myself, God, the slow sureness of it. I’m here, helpless as a mewling babe, and I can do naught but watch as this serpent makes its lazy coil, ready to kill me good and dead. To have death and hardship thrust upon us, that’s harsh, but to see it slowly unfold, and have no say in its course, well that’s plain cruel. And if that ain’t all there is to life, I don’t know what is.’
‘And what you’d do for that snake, Bill?’ so says Micha, the gawping pup.
‘I shot him dead son.’
And that’s Bill for you, she thinks.
Paddy Dobson
25th January 2021