DIME NOVELS AND THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

Everybody who's ever heard of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry know, or at least think they know, all about the worst day of our lives. Every dime novel out there about us include a chapter about Bloody Kansas, and although most of what them novels say is just made up and down right false, Bloody Kansas was an historical event and there's lots of records on it. So, even though there ain't no records about our families specifically, them writers can draw a pretty accurate picture of that horrible day.

Them novel writers usually get a few other things more or less accurate as well, like how long we was on the lam trying to get that amnesty, and what our wanted posters actually said, but that's pretty much where the truth about us stops.

Them novel writers like to depict Heyes and me as ruthless outlaws, evil and hurtful, and nearly every one of them books describes me as "willing to shoot a man as look at him." Well, anybody that knows Heyes and me knows that just ain't the least bit truthful. But Heyes says that's the kind of story it takes to sell them books.

All them books do is focus on the bad stuff, the bank and train robberies, all the safes Heyes opened or Kyle blasted. They don't never name Kyle or Wheat, or any of the other members of the gang by name. Hell them writers probably don't even know all them fella's names. Them fella's don't put money in their pockets the way Heyes and me do.

Heyes gets it in his mind once in a while that him and me should write our own dime novel, and tell the truth about our outlaws days. He even wrote to a couple of publishing companies about us doing that, but they say there's enough of them books on the market and our story, the real story would just be too mundane, too boring for anyone to want to buy it.

Funny how folks don't want to know the truth, that they are perfectly happy reading colorful fabrications and blatant lies, and then go around thinking of themselves as experts on a subject.

Another thing that bothers me about them dime novels is that they don't never include any of the good things Heyes and me done. Not one of them ever mentioned that Heyes and me about rebuilt the town of Hadleyburg, or donated thousands to the Chauncey Beauregard Hospital Wing. No, them things might make us to appear like normal folk, even fine upstanding citizens, and again, that don't sell them books.

But I'm getting off on a tangent here so I'm gonna get back on subject. Like I said, most everybody knows of the worst day of our lives, but likely nobody knows about the best day.

I guess most people would just naturally assume that the best day was the day we got the amnesty. Now I'll admit that day ranks pretty high on the list, but as far as I'm concerned, the best day of our lives was actually a day the gang and us tried robbing a train that had a safe holding fifty thousand dollars in it.

Now none of us had any inclination that this would turn out to be the best day of our lives and, in fact, not much went well that day. Heyes couldn't open the safe. Kyle couldn't blast the safe. Even passengers started whispering about the fact that maybe we just weren't cut out to be outlaws. And Wheat, well Wheat just puffed out his chest and strutted around like a damn cock rooster waiting for his next fight, picking and prodding at Heyes so bad, I finally had to step in and remind Wheat of his underling ranking in the gang.

But that was the day I met Miss Birdie Picket, and old white haired lady from Boston. Miss Pickett was either the bravest lady I have ever come across, or was so Boston inbred that she didn't understand that some situations are just plain dangerous and you shouldn't go treading into those muddy waters.

I like to think she was just a fearless old lady. Heyes was struggling to hear the tumblers of the safe when Miss Pickett just walked right up to me and introduced herself like I was one of the church deacons in her church or something. She just started telling me where she was from, where she was going, and then she said she had the answer to all my troubles.

Well, naturally I just thought, her being an old lady and all, that she was just a mite touched in the head. So I done my best to show her the kind of respect my own Ma would be proud of, you know, calling her 'Ma'am,' and politely asking her to keep her voice down so Heyes could do his work.

Well, it was Miss Pickett that handed me that flier about amnesty. I thought she was trying to steer me along some religious tract, cause I ain't never heard the word amnesty before. So, I just politely accepted her flier and tucked it away in my shirt pocket. It wasn't till hours later, after Wheat had pushed that safe to the bottom of that pond, that I pulled the flier out and asked Heyes what amnesty meant.

Even then, I don't think Heyes put no stock in the amnesty idea. It wasn't till a few minutes later when him and me came so close to riding directly into the arms and guns of that posse that Heyes began to think Miss Pickett might be right, that maybe that piece of paper was the answer to our troubles.

It wasn't till a good many years later that I came to the conclusion that was the best day of my life. But damn if Miss Pickett weren't right. It didn't happen overnight. In fact it took better than five years for Heyes and me to get amnestied. But it all took seed on that day of the worst heist attempt in Devil's Hole history.

We didn't have ten cents between us, we had a posse so close of on tails we could feel the breath of them horses on our necks, and we didn't know the first thing about how to go about asking to be considered for amnesty.

But that sweet old lady from Boston gave us something neither me nor Heyes had known or felt since before that Bloody Kansas horror. Little, sweet, old Miss Picket gave Heyes and me...

Hope.