Chapter 1

I dove under the table just as the shotgun went off with a thunderous roar. God, that floor was a mess, what with spilled drinks and tobacco spit all over it. But it was a hell of a lot better than being punched full of holes by buckshot. I could wash off the crap I got on my clothes, but I would never have been able to wash off around nine buckshot that were headed in my direction.

Now, I'll have you know that I, Hannibal Walker, am a peace-loving, friendly, likeable kind of guy. I want to be friends with everybody, but some people just don't seem to see life the way I do. That's why, as soon as I hit the floor, I pulled out my revolver and proceeded to put two nice holes in Mr. Arkansas Sam's miserable, unpleasant hide at about mid-chest level.

In case you're wondering, I'm a bounty hunter, and I've been chasing Arkansas Sam for nigh on to five weeks. He knew it, too. That's why he tried to perforate my back with buckshot as soon as he spotted me in that two-bit saloon. Were it not for the mirror behind the bar, he might well have got me, but he caught my eye when he jerked up his shotgun and cocked it.

My reflexes have been superlative ever since my childhood in Philadelphia. That has been the advantage I have had ever since I decided to come West and partake of the wonders offered by this spacious country. I am probably twice as fast to react to any danger as any one else you might care to name, and that capability has stood me in good stead ever since I arrived in the Indian Territories back in '72.

I had decided to come West while I was still in school, so I started preparing myself to be up to the rigors of the life. I had a job after school, so I saved my money for two years until I had enough money to buy a used Starr DA (double action) revolver in .44 caliber. I practiced diligently with it as a cap and ball weapon until I could afford to have it converted to use Henry rifle cartridge ammunition. The caliber was the same, or so close as not to make any difference, so the conversion mostly consisted of drilling out the chambers of the cylinder so that the cartridges would fit properly.

It still was fairly slow to reload the cylinder, so I purchased three additional cylinders and had them converted, too. Thus, with the excellent design of the Starr DA, I was able to reload my revolver more quickly than most people could using the common Colt or Remington revolvers even after they were converted to cartridges. The more modern S&W revolvers were faster to reload, but they were still single action, and I found the double action of my venerable Starr was more to my liking.

You may ask why I used cartridges even though I reloaded by switching cylinders, and the answer was simple. Water, even as rain, could render the powder in a cap and ball weapon useless, but the tightly sealed cartridge was immune to that sort of accident. In my line of work, that was a significant precaution.

Of course, I had learned to ride, though it was done with the ridiculous "English" saddle, so I had a short conversion process to go through when I did finally arrive in my chosen new home. The familiarization with the new "Western" saddle didn't take long, and I was soon comfortable with it.

It was a real shock to my family when I announced that I was headed West. I had one advantage in getting away: I was not the eldest son, so I was not slated to inherit the family business. My brother Julius was relieved when I announced that I was leaving Philadelphia, since he would not have to worry about supporting me and could keep all of the profits for himself. Hell, I didn't care, I was going West to have FUN!

Father was taken aback a bit by my choice of goals for my life, but he heaved a sigh of relief that I was not going to be around to make trouble for Julius. He gave me $500 and a train ticket out of town and washed his hands of me.

Mother was somewhat less than pleased that I was leaving. She had already picked out a bride for me and was in the process of planning the wedding. It wasn't that she did not want me to go, it was a disappointment to have wasted all of that planning time and effort.

Anyway, I had haunted all of the gun shops in Philadelphia until I had found a second Starr DA in good condition. It was already converted to use the Henry cartridges, so I was able to try it out immediately and find that it met all of my specifications. I had a gunbelt with two holsters made to custom fit my tastes and drawing style. I had haunted every place that I could imagine to get as much information as possible as to the best way to wear my guns. The best advice I got was from an ex-cavalry sergeant who told me to go with the crossdraw style. With that style, it was safe to load all six chambers of your revolver, and you could draw your weapon while sitting down. He said that he went through the recent War with that style holster and never regretted it. I took his advice, and I have never regretted doing so. He also cautioned me to learn to shoot with either hand, and that was also very good advice.

I left Philadelphia on a beautiful April morning in 1871, and I never looked back. My family was at the station to see me off, but I think that it was more to make sure that I left than anything else. I didn't care—I was finally living my life-long dream!

My God, what a pain it was to travel by train at that time! I have forgotten how many times I had to change trains before I arrived in St. Louis. It would have been much more comfortable to take a riverboat, but the journey would have taken even longer, and I was in a hurry to get to the WEST. I traveled to St. Louis by way of Chicago, but that was not remarkable, since it was about the only way to travel safely at that time.

Once I got to St. Louis, however, I switched to riding horseback. No way was I going to take a stagecoach after all of the stories I had heard of the discomfort associated with that mode of transportation. It might take me longer to get someplace by horseback, but I was not in that much of a hurry. I was anxious to see the country and to decide where I was going to make my home. At least, I was now in the WEST!

I spent a lot of time in saloons listening to anybody who would talk to me about what lay in the generally westerly direction. I heard a lot of impossible yarns, of course, but it did not take me long to recognize those for what they were. The stories convinced me to take a look at the Indian Territories. I was looking for adventure, and that was touted as the place to look.

OK, while the weather was so good, I started on my journey. I aimed in a southwesterly direction through Springfield and beyond. This was where I had my first Western adventure. I was about halfway to Springfield when I was accosted by two men who rode out of the bushes to one side of the trail. They were both holding pistols aimed at me, and I was caught totally by surprise.

"Stop where ya are an' give us all of yer money!"

Hell, I couldn't afford to do that! I had no skills to speak of that were of any value in the West, so I couldn't get a job that paid anything. My only choice was to defend myself. I was about 15 feet away from the men when my horse stopped. I thought quickly and sketched out a plan in my mind that I hoped would get me through the next few minutes. The thing that had me worried was that both men were holding cocked guns. A simple pull on the trigger would send a bullet flying in my direction.

I kicked my right foot free of the stirrup and jerked my horse's head around to shield me as much as possible. As fast as I could move, I swung my right leg over my horse's rump and jumped to the ground. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I drew my guns with both hands and started pumping bullets at the two bandits as fast as I could pull the trigger.

There was no thought of aiming at this point, I just pointed the guns at the two men and shot off six rounds from each gun as fast as I could pull the trigger. Talk about luck! And that was what saved my life. I managed to put bullets into both men, three in one and four in the other. My shooting went so fast that my guns didn't have distinctive reports for each shot, instead, there was a continuous roar.