I'm thinking a lot about Jesse James lately, and in between verses of the famous song, I found this in a 1882 newspaper:
"Special dispatch to the Globe-Democrate:
St. Joseph, Missouri, April 3.--The city has never in its history been so thoroughly and intensely shaken with excitement as to-day. The streets are thronged with wild and excited men, who are rushing about, for what they do not know, nor can they tell. About 8 o'clock in the morning a man who has passed here as Charles Johnson drew a murderous Colt's forty-one-caliber revolver, and, aiming at a man who has resided in the south part of the city since November and gone under the name of Howard, from the rear, fired. The ball entered the back of Howard's head, and he fell to the floor a corpse, the blood oozing from the wound in a perfect stream. Howard never spoke a word, but expired almost instantly."
9.17.2009
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