Wild Bill Hickok was under constant fear of assassination by glory hunters. He spread newspapers on his bedroom floor at night in case someone tried to sneak up on him while he was sleeping. He avoided bright lights and dark alleys. He’d walk into a barroom through a side or back door, or if he came in through the front he’d quickly step to one side before anybody could frame him in the doorway. And, while playing poker, he always preferred to sit with his back to the wall. If Wild Bill seemed paranoid, it was with good reason. He’d made many enemies, especially among the Texas drovers.

A story is told that while Hickok was serving as Ellis County sheriff in 1869, he walked the streets of the tough, boisterous town of Hays City armed with a bowie knife, pistol and shotgun. That didn’t deter a little Irishman named Sullivan who decided to make a reputation. He jumped out of an alley with a six-gun aimed at Wild Bill’s head. “I’ve got you now, Hickok,” he shouted confidently, “and I’m going to kill you.”

Sullivan unwittingly turned his attention to the gathering crowd, encouraging them to witness the historic event. He failed to notice Hickok’s hand slide down to his pistol and in a flash, the gun jumped in his hand and sent a fatal bullet into the would-be gunfighter.

“He talked his life away,” Hickok commented dryly.

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