[4V50 Gary]

Bought the book directly from Camp Pope Publishing in Iowa City, Iowa. Author J. D. Barnes wrote a post-war series of articles published in the Post Byron Globe, a family oriented newspaper that is now out of print and was printed in Port Byron, Ill. Over a century later Barnes' articles were compiled by M. Lawrence Shannon, great-grandson of John Shannon, who served alongside with Barnes in the 20th Iowa. Barnes tells of his Civil War meeting Wild Bill Hickock in Springfield, Missouri.

"One afternoon while taking a stroll around Springfield, my attention was attracted to an almost constant string of rough looking men and soldiers entering and coming from a low frame building situated in the most business part of town. On entering, my gaze was instantly rooted on a brawny-looking man with long hair and shapely hands playing at cards and at the same time relating some hair-breadth escapes from the 'Reb' army, as he called it,
while he was a scout for Gen. Curtis during the Pea Ridge Campaign. He seemed to be the centre of attention and proved to be William Hickok, the afterwards famous Wild Bill. After he had finished his story a bystander questioned him in regard to the McCandlas fight. " I don't like to talk about the McCandlas affair," said Bill in answer to his question. "It always sends a queer feeling over me when I think of it, and sometimes I dream about it and wake up in a cold sweat.

"You see this McCandlas was the captain of a gang of desperadoes who were the terror of everybody on the border and kept us in hot water whenever they were around. I knew them all in the mountains, where they pretended to be trapping; but they were only hiding from the hangman. McCandlas was the worst scoundrel and bully of them all and was always blowing of what he could do. One day I beat him shooting at a mark and then threw him at the back hold; and I did not let him down as easy as you would a baby, you bet. Well, he got fight'n mad over it and swore he would have revenge on me some day. This was just before the war broke out and we were already taking sides either for the South or for the Union. McCandlas and his gang were border ruffians during the Kansas troubles, and of course they went with the Rebs. He soon left the mountains and I had almost forgotten him; but it appears he did not forget me.

"It was a year ago last spring, when I guided a detachment of cavalry who were coming in from Camp Floyd, when one afternoon, while we were in Nebraska, I went to the cabin of Mrs. Waltman, an old friend of mine. The moment she saw me she turned as white as a sheet and screamed, 'Oh, my God! They will kill you! Run, run!' 'Who will kill me,' said I; 'there is two who can play at that game. 'It is McCandlas and his gang; there is ten of them; they have just gone down to the corn-rack. McCandlas knows you are bringing in that party of Yankee cavalry and he swears he will kill you.
Run, Bill, run.' But it is too late, for I see them coming up the lane.

"While she was talking I remembered I had but one revolver and one load was gone out of that. On the table was a horn of powder and some little bars of lead. I poured some powder into the empty chamber and rammed the lead after it, and I had just capped the pistol when I heard McCandlas shout. 'There is that Yankee Bill's horse. He is in there and we will skin him alive.' If I had thought of running before it was too late now. The house was my best hold - a sort of fortress, you see; though I never expected to leave that room alive, for the McCandlas gang, all of them, were reckless, bloodthirsty villains who would fight as long as they had strength to pull a trigger.