His character, in some respects, was enigmatical. While rarely evading a fight, yet he was always sorry for its consequences. After his great fight with the McCandlas gang, at Rock Creek, he sought and found Jim McCandlas’ widow, and, finding that she was almost destitute, he contributed to her support several years and until her death. Dr. Thorne had removed eleven bullets from Bill’s body, nearly all of which had been received in the Rock Creek fight, but while enduring the pain consequent upon their extraction, he had nothing but kind feelings towards those who shot him. He had seven bullets in various parts of his body at the time of his death.
His conclusions were always logical, and his manner of conversation most convincing. He was a listener rather than a talker, and his answers to inquiries were usually made in conclusive gestures. He loved the society of the refined, and attributed his difficulties solely to the associations he was, in a measure, compelled to keep.
His love for children was almost a mania, and it is said that the most timid and cross infant would leave its mother’s arms for him at first sight, and at once manifest its pleasure. Another peculiarity he possessed was the serenity of his countenance during danger. In the midst of his most desperate fights there was a smile constantly playing on his lips. His wide range of travel had thoroughly familiarized him with almost every stretch of territory between Hudson’s Bay and Mexico, and from the Saskatchewan to Texas. It was impossible to lose him, as the points of the compass came to him as naturally as to a migratory bird.
It may be asserted, without fear of contradiction, that Wild Bill was the best pistol shot America has ever produced. Much of his marvelous accuracy of aim was, of course, acquired by years of experience, but he was a good shot from the moment he first fired a pistol. For a long period he carried two small derringers, both of which he used effectively in many sanguinary encounters. These pistols are now in the possession of Dr. Thorne, to whom they were given by Bill before leaving on his last trip to the Black Hills. On one occasion, while visiting the Doctor, Bill was in a melancholy mood. It was during the summer season, and the visitor and his guest were sitting out in the yard on a settee. The Doctor expressed some dissatisfaction concerning the autocratic disposition of an old rooster he had, which took delight in running the other chanticleers off the place. Bill asked the Doctor to let him shoot at the rooster with his derringer at thirty paces, agreeing to put up $5 to cut the rooster’s throat without breaking its neck or touching either the head or body. The Doctor, giving his consent, the distance was measured off, and the chicken chased to the space required. Bill raised the pistol--without taking aim, as was his invariable custom--and fired. The bullet cut the rooster’s throat as cleverly as it could have been done with a knife, and the neck was not broken either. To give the Doctor further proofs of his marvelous accuracy, he shot sparrows from the top branches of the high trees with his small derringer.