Blood On The Trail: An Autobiography by Buck Martin

(Notes for an autobiography found two years after Buck's death, dated June 14, 1928)

If'n you go asking around about my life, you might get some folks who say my recollections here ain't entirely right. But those folks are damn liars and fools, and you should spit on them and punch 'em in the face. If they ask why, tell 'em Buck Martin sent you, then kick them in their dangly parts just for good measure.

Anyhow... I was born in the 1860s in Kansas. I don't rightly know which year, as my folks weren't too keen on keeping track of specifics like that, but I do know we were a proud part of the Union. Which doesn't make me a damn yankee. I just don't see anything right about one man owning another count of his skin color. If that man is dumber than you, or slower than you, or maybe owes you money because he's worse at gambling than you, maybe you can own him. But not just because he looks like he spent a few turns too many poking his face into the oven to see if the biscuits were done. That just don't make any sense at all.

When I turned 14, I went to work. I rode with the Pony Express, delivering messages all over Kansas and a few other states besides. I was the best at my job, on account of I only needed to sleep for 2 hours a day, as long as I spent two more hours drinking whiskey. Which, y'all might be interested to know, you can easily do on horseback at a full gallop, if'n you're talented enough. Anyhow, after a few years riding across the state, I first met Buffalo Bill, when he brought his traveling show through to Kansas. I didn't know exactly what I was getting into when I paid my nickel and walked out into those bleachers, but when the show was over, I sure as shooting knew what I wanted to do.

So I went up to Mr. Buffalo Bill and asked for a job. He wasn't sure about a scrawny kid like me, but when I showed him that I could shoot, ride, tell funny stories and had the biggest pecker of anyone at the show, he gave me the job. I was the youngest rodeo clown they had, and they only gave me that job on account of they felt bad for all the leads in the show with their tinier peckers. Or at least, that's what I suppose. It would have been rude to ask.

For the next ten years or so, I kept on moving up in the show. I got to be the indian who yelled "How! We come in peace!" right before the cavalry gunned us down like the red-skinned savages we were. Then I was the man who tried to punch a cow, only to have the cow kick him square in the nether region as hard as it could. T'weren't a real cow, you understand, just two jealous fellers in a cow costume who did their best to break my magnificent pecker. But it was too strong for 'em. I think I broke their kicking foot on more than one occasion. Eventually, I got to be one of the cowboys, shooting, roping, riding and all that type of thing.

I met a lot of folks in that show, from Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane on to Wild Bill Hickok. It's a shame about old Bill, but it's like I always told him. "Bill, someday the injuns are gonna get ya." And they did, when he was playing poker and a band of wild injuns rode right in and scalped him on the spot. Leastaways, that's the way I heard the story.

Well, after a few years, I found that show business was getting to be too much for me, and I needed somewhere to settle down. I decided that other than his untimely death and mild drinking problems, Wild Bill might have had the right idea, and I went into the lawman business. Started out as a deputy in one town, had to leave over some unfortunate misunderstandings about whether or not a lawman was due free pussy at the local whorehouse and if so, how often and then moved on to another. There were always little misunderstandings like that. Drinks too much. Shot the mayor's favorite cow. Burned down the hardware store. Slept with the bank owner's wife. Broke into the bar to get whiskey. All trumped up charges by people jealous of my talents and my enormous pecker, by the by. I think it was the tenth town finally had the wisdom to make me sheriff, after their previous sheriff died in a fight with a bear. I killed the bear, took its pelt and claimed the star.

Or it might have been he died of dysentery on the trail, and I took the star off his corpse. Can't rightly remember, it was a long time ago. Pretty sure it was the bear, though.

I was sheriff for a good long time, at least until the turn of the century. Got it in my head to try my hand at some of them dime novels, and turned out I was pretty good at them. Writing true tales of the wild west started to get a little dull, though, so I branched out into writing monster stories like the young'uns like. Got pretty rich doing that, and had to quit my sheriffin job to write all the time. The town was real understanding, leastaways I heard they were. I had to move to the city to further my writing career, and didn't have time for formal resignations and such. But I'm sure everything went fine. I made sure and open up the jail when I left so nobody would be wrongly imprisoned, and I left my sleeping deputy my best bottle of whiskey and a shiny gold sheriff star, not to mention a fully loaded Colt peacemaker, to deal with any troublemakers. Last I left, those escaped convicts looked plenty scared, and I doubt any of 'em even tried to leave.

Well, my writing career just took off, and pretty soon I was rich and famous. Traveled all over the country spinning yarns, performing in shows and doing good deeds. Even inspired some other writers to follow in my footsteps, like Lucas Huxley, the man who wrote the spookiest damn lifeboat massacre story you'll ever read. I didn't ever dream I might come face to face with real monsters, just like the ones out of my storybooks. But I did, and I'm pretty sure I'll be writing true tales of western adventure and fighting monsters for the rest of my days. Think I'll probably invest my wealth in that new stock market, because a man should plan for a more stable future, and my friend, what they call a broker, told me there ain't nothing more stable than the stock market.