October 1875Billy Drury
Farmer
Clay County, Missouri
One night I was at home, like always, sitting by the stove minding my own business. It was raining outside and the wind was blowing so hard I’d had to tie the chickens down to keep ’em from being swept away. Then, just as I was thinking of laying my weary bones down for the night, I heard a voice outside.
“Hello, Billy. You in there?”
I opened the door and there was Jesse James in a long, rain slicker looking wet, bedraggled, and desperate.
“Well, ho, Jess,” I said, doing my best to conceal my true feelings. “Come on in and make yourself comfortable.”
I told him to put his horse in the barn, and he said he already had. He was carrying a small valise in one hand and a Winchester rifle, still in its saddle scabbard, in the other. He
