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They Shot Me 23 Times - The Last Dalton Brother's Incredible Tale of Survival
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Feb 24, 2025
The incredible true story of the Dalton Gang - from respected lawmen to America's most feared outlaws. Discover how the last surviving brother, Emmett Dalton, survived 23 gunshot wounds in the bloodiest bank heist in Wild West history. In this shocking historical documentary, we reveal: ✓ How corruption turned law officers into outlaws ✓ The infamous double bank robbery that went horribly wrong ✓ Never-before-told details of the Coffeyville Raid ✓ The remarkable survival story that defied medical odds They Shot Me 23 Times - The Last Dalton Brother's Incredible Tale of Survival #WildWest #History #TrueCrime #Outlaws #WildWestHistory #AmericanHistory #Documentary #HistoricalFigures #BankRobbery #Survival
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I was born into a sprawling family with more siblings than anyone could expect to remember at a glance but every one of
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us left our mark on this dark history of the American frontier my name is EMT and I once rode
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alongside my brothers in a group destined to become infamous the Daltons in the annals of the old west so many
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Outlaws Rose to notoriety Jesse James Billy the Kid Butch Cassidy to name a
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few perhaps you've heard the Dalton name associated with cartoons dime novels or
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songs but I prefer to speak from my own memories acknowledging our choices our
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regrets and everything that drove us from law enforcement to the other side of the badge in the span of only a few
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chaotic years we hail from a time in American history that some call Mythic
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the West in our day was raw unrefined and often violent people like to
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remember it as a land of Heroes and Dusty sunsets but there was also a measure of moral ambiguity that shaped
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all our Fates the lines between right and wrong seemed blurry when you contended daily with corrupt officials
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opportunistic schemers and The Lure of fast riches my brothers and I knew those
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lines well we tried standing on the side of Law and Order but the path ended in
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Injustice and anger that anger turned us into Bandits by the time we realized it
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had gone too far our story had already been etched into the underworld secrets of the American frontier let me take you
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back to the beginning Our Father James Lewis Dalton was a veteran of the Mexican war he was
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an industrious softspoken man who never seemed to run out of tasks on the farm our mother Adeline younger Dalton had
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Family Ties That would become legendary in their own right through her we were related to the younger family notorious
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kingpins in their era Cole Younger Bob younger and Jim younger were among her nephews and they ran in the same circles
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as the James brother as for us Daltons we were a household of 15 children 10 boys five girls growing
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up it felt like we kids were always underfoot always quarreling or working or tending to the livestock you'd think
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that so many siblings would form a small town all on its own in the year 1880 our
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parents decided that we should relocate from Cass County Missouri to what was then called the Indian
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Territory my father took up ranching and farming there leading the family with discipline and emphasizing that
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education was a path to respectability several of my older brothers like Ben and Cole managed to
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enroll in college a rare privilege for a family accustomed to grit and labor one
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of our siblings Frank chased his own Ambitions stepping boldly into the realm of Justice he was a man of principle
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some might even say he was Fearless in the face of chaos it was Frank more than any other Dalton figure who served as an
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early role model whenever we heard news of how he was deputized as a United States Marshal forging an ironclad
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reputation in the territory it filled us with pride we believed that following Frank's track would lead us to a future
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of dignity yet Fate has its own designs and not all stories remain on the
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straight path forever none of us predicted that our beloved Frank would meet a shocking end in the line of duty
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an event that would reverberate through our entire family and prompt a series of decisions that plunged us into the kind
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of real Mafia stories you often only hear about in Whispers at that time the
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1880s were anything but stable from train robberies to feuds from disputes
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over Farmland to shifting lines of authority law and crime were in constant
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Collision Frank Dalton managed to stand on the side of the law for years showing a special blend of integrity and rugged
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perseverance he served as a deputy US Marshall beginning in 1882 that role was
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not for the faint of heart Marshals were tasked with guarding federal judges transporting prisoners and chasing down
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Outlaws across an expansive terrain they did all this without the reliability we
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might expect today no telephones no lightning fast cars in that era if you
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wanted to catch criminals you relied on your horse your wits and your Wy ability
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to track Footprints across muddy Fields Frank excelled at it forging a
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reputation as some somebody who took Justice seriously the tragedy arrived on November 27th
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1887 Frank went out with another Marshall to apprehend three whiskey Smugglers known to be Brazen in their
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Defiance of Prohibition in Indian Territory it seemed like a straightforward Mission surround the
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camp catch them by surprise and haul them in but the moment he crept around the back of the tent a confrontation
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erupted in a flash of smoke and gunfire Frank and one of the Smugglers fired simultaneously
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though Frank landed a fatal shot on the criminal he himself fell to the ground writhing in a pool of blood another
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Outlaw seized that moment to put more bullets into Frank ensuring he'd never stand up again losing him shattered our
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confidence for Frank had been the best of us Brave upstanding a man who walked
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unwaveringly in morally ambiguous territory his death carried out so viciously sowed seeds of disillusionment
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in my brothers grat and Bob especially They too had eyes on wearing the star
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hoping to keep Law and Order alive in the region that had taken Frank's life so grat was invited to succeed Frank as
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Deputy Marshall and Bob was soon recruited to assist My Father's Farm
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life no longer seemed so attractive to them they craved the sense of purpose they believed Frank had though they
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represented that same emblem of Justice their experiences would be drastically different back then the pay system for
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Deputy Marshals was unusual it h hinged on bounties and fees with a complicated
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structure that ended up fueling frustration a small fee for this a fractional sum for that days of work
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that might stretch across miles without compensation for travel Bob in particular discovered that the
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administration supposed to reimburse him for these fees was not exactly honest he was told outright the funds haven't come
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in wait a little longer that wait a little longer turned from days into
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weeks ultimately leaving B cheated out of money he had rightfully earned by risking his life he felt outraged
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certain that official corruption was at play anger brewed in him until he could no longer see the law as a righteous
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path that sense of betrayal was the first Domino to toppel Bob quit his
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position determined never again to place trust in a system that he felt had callously exploited him grat on the
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other hand tried sticking with it a while but time revealed the same toxic
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dynamic the government or its agents in charge of paying out wages provided the same tired excuses and withheld the sums
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that men like Bob and grat had been promised all this happened in an era of the wild west where survival and loyalty
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were precarious enough already that's how good men can turn to desperate measures the seed of Revenge Bob's
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entire worldview had changed he wanted payback against the express companies that he believed conspired with corrupt
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officials and and soon enough his younger brothers myself among them felt the sting of that Injustice yes though
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it surprises many I was once a guard for prisoners I accompanied Bob to various
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postings upholding the law in smaller ways while trying not to let cynicism seep in yet the day came when our anger
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combined with that sense of futility pushed us to cross the line I remember it vividly we galloped across States
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forming alliances with question characters who introduced us to new ways of living ways that tested our morals a
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suspicious gambling incident in New Mexico was the turning point we found ourselves outnumbered in a saloon
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certain that card Sharps there were cheating us Bob never Meek decided we wouldn't stand for it in that moment the
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idea of brandishing our revolvers to write this perceived wrong seemed almost
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justifiable when you believe the world is rigged against you you rationalize acts that one felt Unthinkable that was
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the first time we truly seized money through intimidation looking back it was a colossal mistake but it gave Bob a
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sense of empowerment he couldn't let go if they can cheat me I can cheat them he
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used to say with a menacing Edge in his voice the next stage of this transformation was more dramatic we got
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accused falsely believe it or not for a train robbery in ALA people had pointed
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the finger at the Daltons maybe it was because we had a new reputation for questionable conduct or maybe because an
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official was determined to rid themselves of potential trouble whatever the reason we found out that lawmen were
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on their way to arrest us the news flooded us with panic and resentment we
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holed up in the ranch house Hearts pounding as we peaked from behind curtains they arrived in force
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determined to catch the Dalton boys it didn't matter to them that we were innocent of that specific holdup the
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Assumption was that Dalton were criminals so everything fit the terror in that moment the fury that welled
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inside each of us hammered home a crucial Point once labeled an outlaw you rarely get a fair hearing grat was
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apprehended in another part of the territory nearly 100 miles from the site of the Train Robbery but that distance
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meant nothing to the detectives they wanted results they wanted a scapegoat
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despite testimony and evidence they refused to let him go eventually grat was freed but not for long the pursuit
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of our family was relentless and he ended up back behind bars on the flimsiest charges fighting a legal
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battle so stacked against him that further illusions of Justice shattered completely Bob and I fled to the
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mountains joined by like-minded Renegades hardened by experiences akin to ours hiding in remote snowscapes or
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Dusty Ravines we ate meager rations and huddled around small fires always alert
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for the hoof beats of a posi sometimes we we went days on foot leading horses along precarious Trails our bitterness
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intensified with each passing mile more than once I heard Bob say through chattering teeth they'll pay for what
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they did we'll make them pay and so a thirst for vengence mingled with a
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survival Instinct it's no wonder we ended up deciding to assault a train belonging to the very Express company we
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believed had robbed us of honest wages our first organized Train Robbery near a
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place called called worthin remained Stark in my mind we scouted it carefully dividing tasks into neat roles
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restrained the locomotive crew unhook certain cars grab the money and vanish
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before the next station on that night everything fell into place with startling ease Angels or Devils must
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have been guiding us because we escaped with $99,000 leaving the express company
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reeling True Crime Watchers would call that a Hallmark of cunning or bravado but for us it was personal payback we
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whispered among ourselves that maybe now the debt was settled maybe we could walk away from organized crime before we were
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in too deep we had the funds to vanish somewhere else perhaps even leave the United States entirely that dream of a
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quiet Ranch in South America loomed large in Bob's imagination yet things were never so simple grat was still
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detained at that point and we learned soon afterward that the authorities officially convicted him as an accom ice
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in the alila robbery yes the same one we had nothing to do with while I was picking out a steamship to cross the
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ocean Bob stumbled across a story in some local newspaper Dalton found guilty
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that single headline toppled our dream of escaping everything we realized that our brother's life was effectively
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destroyed by A system that didn't care about truth he was rotting in a prison cell framed by the same mechanisms that
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had once employed him as a law man Bob looked at me the anger fresh in his eyes
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and said so much for South America we can't let them finish grat off like that
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we turned our backs on the port city and rode straight back into the Flames we had almost escaped we reformed the
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Dalton Gang with old Associates like George Nukem attributing our cause to the need for justice a strange brand of
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Justice it was now propelled by vendettas and fury rather than any official star pinned to our chests my
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Illusions about returning to a law iding life evaporated the path had forked and
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we'd chosen the side that made us Outlaws in every person's eyes to our surprise grat managed to escape
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incarceration aided by our brother Bill he fled the moment he got a chance Vanishing into the night eventually
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rejoining Bob and me in April of 1892 by that time we'd gotten used to
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planning meticulously executed heists particularly Against The Rail lines in
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that same window we robbed another train near leetta again with that same technique of seizing the locomotive
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subduing the engineers and forcing open the safes bagging nearly $9,400 left us feeling Unstoppable it
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was the era of dark history in the old west with Railways representing the lifeblood of Commerce whenever we
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disrupted that flow we gained fame or infamy that overshadowed any normal
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existence we might once have hoped for by the time grat joined us Justice was
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the last thing we believed in he was incensed at the blatant corruption and the humiliations he'd endured Behind
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Bars we heard stories of incompetent or crooked officials who pinned crimes on convenient suspects bragging about it as
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some great Victory resentment burned in each of us we were fully an outlaw
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faction now a far cry from Frank's memory as an upright Deputy Marshall my younger self occasionally stepped back
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to reflect on how fast The Descent had been from watching my brother accept the star to becoming a Desperado with a
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bounty on my head but in the swirl of adrenaline dedication to the gang overshadowed any moral reflection we
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realized that train robberies alone wouldn't guarantee the fortune we needed to vanish overseas that was the impetus
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for Bob's Brazen suggestion to Rob two Banks simultaneously a stunt nobody had
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quite attempted in that region he picked Coffeeville Kansas as the sight of our grand scheme the plan was
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straightforward but borderline insane part of our group would storm the the CM Condon Bank while the rest including Bob
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and me seized the First National Bank across the street then we'd converge leap onto waiting horses and rush out of
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town as quickly as possible in principle it sounded easily orchestrated but none of us factored in the unpredictable
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nature of vigilant towns folk Bill Duan and a few others opted out of the heist
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disenchanted with the risk level so that left the final roster Bob grat Bill
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Powers dick Broadwell and me EMT Alon we were determined to make it the biggest bank robbery anyone in the region had
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witnessed enough cash to launch us across borders and into comfortable anonymity I can't speak for everyone
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else's emotions but I was nervous from the start something about hitting two banks in broad daylight right in the
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middle of a town that had known us from earlier travels felt like Flirting With Disaster but desperation and that lethal
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sense of one last job push criminals beyond all reason this was our last chance we told ourselves a final Harrah
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before riding into the sunset as wealthy fugitives on an early October day in
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1892 the five of us left our camp a ways outside Coffeeville we approached the
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town meticulously hoping the dust from our horses hooves wouldn't give us away the plan was to stall a short distance
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from the center so as not to stir suspicion then gather ourselves for the big moment next morning we Rose before
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Daybreak half eager and half half terrified we were lightly armed with revolvers but also carried Winchesters
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shotguns bullet belts we had to be prepared for anything and each man had the stoic look of someone who knows he's
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crossing a dangerous threshold when we finally entered Coffeeville the sun highlighted every
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corner of the dusty streets towns folk were already bustling some stepping into shops others gawking at strangers we
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tethered our horses near an alley dividing into two squads I followed Bob across the street to the First National
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Bank while grat Bill Powers and Dick headed for CM Condon Bank everything was
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going smoothly until an unmistakable cry jolted the scene here come the Daltons
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that single shout from a bystander who recognized us shattered the advantage of surprise time seemed to slow as Bob
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Whirled and fired a shot at the man yelling the warning it all happened so fast Gratz Trio stormed into Condon Bank
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brand ising Firearms hands up open the safe this instant meanwhile Bob and I
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forced our way into the First National Bank he told me to keep the occupants under guard while he ordered a teller to
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fill a sack with cash right about then we heard sporadic gunfire from Outdoors
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citizens arming themselves hollering to each other that the Daltons were in town the tension was palpable and I felt a
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knot in my stomach my instinct said get out now but there was no turning back
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Bob grabbed the money bag and we made for the door only to realize bullets were splintering the wooden frame from
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outside we hurried out a side entrance trying to keep low behind the buildings
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at that moment it felt like the entire population of Coffeeville was armed to their teeth determined to stop us from
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escaping the West Was a land where lots of individuals carried guns and this was
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a prime example of many True Crime incidents in small towns Furious shootouts could erupt at a moment's
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notice Bob fired back with an aggressive stance dropping a few towns people who had guns pointed in our Direction I was
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still gripping the cash my heart hammering in my chest we had to reach our tethered horses the plan was to
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rendevu with grat but bullets whizzed dangerously close I remember hearing them hiss near my ears as we ducked
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around corners chaos was complete the three who attacked CM Condon confronted
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their own barrage of resistance the bank staff had delayed them feigning difficult ities in opening a safe
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precious minutes ticked by the entire town responded like a swarm Windows slammed open rifles poked out adrenaline
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soared in every direction we eventually spotted grat Bill and Dick exiting the bank they were pinned by Crossfire near
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the street in that frantic moment we realized that if we didn't work together none of us would make it out alive the
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plan demanded we all jump on our horses and charge out of Coffeeville easier said than done Bill Powers took took a
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bullet in his arm as he raced for cover then I felt a burning sensation in my right arm another bullet found its Mark
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fracked touring bone a second round hit my back nearly knocking me off my feet
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the heat of pain nearly overwhelmed me but the will to survive kept me conscious we were nearly at the horses
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so close to freedom but the hail of gunfire kept intensifying City residents had the
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advantage of numbers and Vantage points while we were stuck in the open if we moved too fast we became easy targets if
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we hesitated we were picking targets for them to gun down one by one the rest of
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my companions went down grat collapsed first shot dead by multiple rounds Bill
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also mortally wounded tumbled onto the dusty ground Bob was still upright but clearly in agony leaning on a nearby
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structure dick managed to break away on his horse Vanishing from the immediate Battlefield I tried to cling to my own
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horse but my injuries caused me to slip and I crashed onto the ground in those final frantic seconds I saw Bob also
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toppling his body riddled with bullets with a final breath he tried to aim his rifle but his voice faltered as he
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murmured something about death I reached out wanting to drag him to the horse but my strength was gone in the next
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heartbeat I was hammered by a flurry of gunfire hitting me in multiple spots I've counted them in subsequent years
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over 20 bullet wounds it's a wonder I survived at all the entire shootout
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lasted Maybe 10 or 12 minutes but it felt like an eternity of pounding Hearts echoing blasts and swirling dust I
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blacked out and when I regained vague Consciousness I realized that my brothers had perished in this
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catastrophic attempt four of Our Gang Bob grat Bill and eventually dick after
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his short-lived Escape were dead towns folk began gathering around rumaging for
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survivors checking for pulses regaining their composure after what had to be the most violent morning they'd ever
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witnessed I alone defied the reaper that day shot 23 times I lay with blood pulled around
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me alive yet helpless They Carried me away put me in custody and for the next
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days and weeks I drifted in and out of delirium each breath a miracle once I
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had recovered sufficiently I stood trial and was convicted of complicity in the murders that occurred that day in
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Coffeeville even though I wasn't the one pulling triggers in many of the Fatal shots public sentiment demanded just
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Justice and I was the last Dalton remaining they gave me a life sentence
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and off I went to prison leaving behind the horrors of that day and the memory of my Fallen Brothers for 14 years I
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endured incarceration haunted by regrets and the knowledge that my early life might have gone very differently if not
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for systemic corruption and the death of Frank over time my conduct in prison and
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certain petitions to the governor led to my release I walked out an older man
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deeply scarred determined to use whatever remained of my life in a more honorable way I traveled around shared
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the story of my experiences and recounted the truths of that underworld we once inhabited a realm shaped by
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unscrupulous Lawman and criminals alike sometimes I gave talks on the
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conditions of prison life hoping that by revealing those dark Corners I might steer at least a few hearts in a better
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Direction you might wonder if I ever looked back fondly on the period of holdups and running from posies the
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honest answer is no if anything it feels like a cautionary Tale the frustration
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with official wrongdoing the humiliations the illusions of easy payback these led us to actions that
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claimed the lives of both Innocents and family we became the Dalton Gang a label
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that carried fear and Fascination some folks still treat it like a legendary Saga but behind the Tall Tales you'll
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find raw sorrow the was an ERA where Lines Blurred yes but I tell any soul
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that once you take up a life of crime fate rarely shows Mercy one of the
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greatest tragedies is that we started on the same route as Frank wanting to protect the innocent from those who
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threatened the peace if the law had been fair to us if Bobb and grat had gotten
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the pay they were due who knows how many bullet riddled stories would have been avoided we might have grown old tending
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cattle on a quiet Ranch remembering Frank with pride pred instead we became
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the criminals we once vowed to fight people often say that's the Hallmark of the old west that lines between good and
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evil can shift so drastically but it's not an excuse just a reflection of the
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chaos that thrived in those times Outsiders often hold a romantic image of train robbers swinging aboard steam
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engines at midnight or Bank Bandits making a daring getaway through Dusty streets let me be clear it's a path of
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heartbreak and tragedy families lose Sons wives lose husbands communities remain scarred in Coffeeville alone more
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than half a dozen individuals died in just a few minutes the Carnage was unimaginable some towns folk took it as
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a sign that communities needed to arm themselves better to be prepared for the next wave of Desperados yet ironically
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it was that very climate of violence and suspicion that had contributed to the Dalton's downfall in the first place
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recalling that final heist still sends chills down my spine the terror in the air was so thick you could taste it
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gunfire hammered at the body as though a person was little more than a rag doll in a storm the pain the screaming the
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confusion none of it belongs in a flamboyant Legend there was no Heroes victory in that Fiasco only bodies lying
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in the dust mothers weeping for lost children wives standing in shock over newly widowed States True Crime
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enthusiasts talk about these events for The Sensational thrill but I hope they ALS also reflect on the real cost once
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the smoke cleared we had proven only one thing Bloodshed begets more Bloodshed
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and Vengeance digs its own grave I'd like to remind everyone that the Dalton name might have become synonymous with
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Outlaws but we were also the same family that raised honest peace officers Once Upon a Time We inhabited Both Worlds the
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line of duty and the underworld secrets of bank robberies that Duality captures
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the complexity of the American frontier many families endured a comparable shift
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some ended up with relatives on opposite sides of the law our mother ironically was related to the younger boys and they
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too walked that line between normal life and an open Rebellion against institutions they saw as unjust so was
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it Destiny or did we make poor choices at every turn after my release from
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prison in a modest attempt at Redemption I reflected on how different everything might have been if you asked me whether
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corruption forced our hands I might have said yes in my youth but as an older man
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battered by Misfortune I recognized that we always have a choice even if that
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choice is narrow my father's stance on hard work and quiet Integrity still resonates with me I realized that by the
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time my brothers lost hope in the fairness of the Marshall's office we felt cornered but there is always an
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alternative we let bitterness control us and that bitterness consumed my entire
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family in telling my story now I hope to reveal the human side behind Infamous
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syndicates and crime families people sometimes lump Us in with organized crime or label us as the real Mafia
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stories of the frontier even though we didn't hold enormous territory or complex hierarchies like some gangster
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empires of more modern eras there's a parallel in how we let personal vendettas and a flawed system drive us
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into acts that tore communities apart we ended up fueling the same kind of Sensational rumors that swirl around
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Unsolved Mysteries and legendary Bandits but our case was quite solved we lived
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fast my brothers died violently I alone bore the weit for decades afterward I
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bear no illusions that this recollection will redeem the Daltons in the public eye we left behind a trail of bullet
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casings shattered glass and tears far too many people paid the cost for our vendettas yet I stand by the belief that
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if the system back then had been more just if officials had not withheld rightful pay or pinned crimes falsely on
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convenient suspects many Outlaws might never have emerged that's a recurring
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pattern you see in dark histories worldwide wherever Injustice settles a
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portion of the population reacts violently add in the tensions of the Wild West the booming expansion of
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railroads and Banks and you get a Tinder Box waiting for a spark sometimes I revisit the final
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conversation I had with Bob before before everything fell apart we were in New Orleans about to buy tickets for
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that Steamboat to South America in a rare moment of calm we dreamed of owning a ranch on foreign soil raising cattle
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or chickens growing old quietly if only we could bury the hatchet Bob said and
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forget about them cheating us for a fleeting second it seemed possible but then the next day's newspaper
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overshadowed that hope with the story of Grant's conviction that was the day we turned around decisive ly and Bob's
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parting words about the dream lingered bitterly so much for that future they
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make sure we can't have it regret is a formidable thing it gnaws at you from
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the inside by the time regrets accumulate you're often stuck in a predicament with no easy Escape I
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suspect that's how it was for the entire Dalton Gang in those final weeks we told ourselves just one last job but the
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truth was W it escalated step by step until Coffeeville became our point of no
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return the next time we emerged it was either in Pine boxes or iron shackles
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you dear reader might see parallels in modern news or other crime families throughout history principal actors who
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start out with some sense of righteousness or necessity only to become the villains in others eyes
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that's the plight of the gangster the Gunslinger or the Bandit they often have their own wounded logic and
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justifications yet the chaos they seow is rarely undone whenever it ends the toll is heartbreak and wasted lives the
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Dalton name was destined to be remembered as that brand of Outlaws who tried robbing two banks at once and paid
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an unimaginable price I can't stress enough that the old west was a crucible
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men lived on the edge of brutality everyone was armed traveling was perilous and vigilante justice often
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overshadowed legitimate courts the phenomenon of shoot first ask questions later was practically a norm we lived in
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a realm of Dusty Frontier towns saloons swirling with rumors and an economy
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hinged on the success of new Rail lines this Matrix of circumstances gave rise
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to individuals like me in a more stable era the Dalton Brothers might have led
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quiet lives content with day jobs and families instead we found ourselves championing vendettas on Horseback
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dodging bullets on muddy main streets and forging alliances with questionable figures this is how Legends both heroic
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and tragic Mushroom in the so-called underworld sometimes I encounter people
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who think the story is glamorous they say you stationed Lookouts you seized loads of money you staged elaborate
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getaways wasn't it thrilling thrilling sure that adrenaline can be potent but
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the deeper we journeyed into that Labyrinth the more we realized it was a one-way path the law the fight for
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survival the betrayals the sorrow it overshadowed any fleeting excitement if
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you find romance in it you might as well find romance in a raging house fire the outcome is Destruction for everyone
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involved I once scribbled a recollection in a private Journal back when I was in prison about the moment we concluded the
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train robbery at worthin despite having thousands in our pockets a wave of
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emptiness overcame me that might sound strange but it's true my moral compass
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had already begun to slip and the person I had been before aspiring to uphold the cause of Justice felt distant there's a
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loneliness in that life of crime that few can describe accurately you learn to trust only a small circle and even that
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Circle can betray you if it suits their needs our father's reaction to seeing how far we'd Fallen Can Only Be Imagined
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he died before I could ever have an honest conversation with him looking him in the eye and explaining our side of
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the story I hear he grieved intensely for Frank's death proud that grat and
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Bob tried to carry on the mantle then devastated to watch the rest of us slip into lawlessness
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it's no easy thing for a father to watch from the sidelines as his sons break from everything he taught them meanwhile
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our mother who had connections to the younger Clan must have witnessed it all with a familiar dread that side of the
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family had gone notorious long before us entangled with the James gang perhaps
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she recognized the pattern or feared it would engulf us or maybe she believed we could still steer away before it was too
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late I'm sure readers might wonder if we allied with the James younger gang or share shared knowledge the southwestern
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states were smaller in those days or at least they felt that way lines of communication among Brigs and outlaws
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did exist but each gang mostly paved its own road we might have gleaned a few strategies from hearing about their
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escapades yet we cut our own path the Dalton story was distinct in how quickly
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we turned from law enforcers to law Breakers you could call it a family Saga of Vengeance and betrayal or you could
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simply say it was a tragedy triggered by person grudges but the fact remains that in those final moments there was no
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escaping the label we were criminals plain and simple Skeptics might question
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how I could be shot so many times and live the doctors of that era also found it incredible I was placed in an
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infirmary with more than one bullet lodged so deeply that removing it threatened my life further over months
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some projectiles were extracted While others remained to be swallowed up by my flesh or simply become permanently
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encased the physical pain was overshadowed only by the emotional Devastation I felt at losing my siblings
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the day I found out they had displayed the bodies of Bob and grat for the public to see like trophies was a day
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that confirmed how harsh those times were it was an age where vigilante justice and spectacle mixed freely
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offering no dignity for the defeated if I had any chance of clearing my name it vanished in the eyes of the public who
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demanded retribution my trial was Swift with the coffins of Coffeeville victims
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serving as potent evidence against me we Daltons had indeed turned that quiet City into a war zone so I grasped how
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many families we had caused pain what stung most was the knowledge that I likely wouldn't have ended up there at
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all if it hadn't been for that swirling chain of events after Frank's murder
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sometimes I wonder if the spirit of my oldest brother visited me at night admonishing me for failing to rise above
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systemic corruption but regrets do not turn back the clock during my decades
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after release I tried to encourage reforms in the penal system not that my voice carried enough weight to truly
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shift the tide but I shared testimonials about the hopelessness that pervades prisoners many of whom remain locked up
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for either minor crimes or Worse false accusations I found the Public's
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interest in my story simmered whenever they heard mention of the Dalton name people are always drawn to Notorious
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kingpins or Bandits turned improbable survivors they crave Unsolved Mysteries
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and real Mafia stories even if the mystery in our case was not unsolved at all meanwhile the actual lessons to
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glean from our downfall can be overlooked about how Injustice can breed bitterness about how personal Vengeance
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can spiral out of control about how betrayal and greed feed an endless cycle of violence looking back the notion that
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we might have transitioned from Star wearing Marshals to Outlaws is indeed difficult for many to comprehend
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but in the rough environment of the time men of law endured harsh conditions receiving minimal compensation with no
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stable support from higher ups add in the presence of unscrupulous bureaucrats
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short changing them and it's no wonder some men cracked under the pressure the frontier law system was chaotic
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especially in territories lacking stable governance it was an ideal breeding ground for everything from Petty Bandits
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to entire networks akin to Crime families I share all this in the spirit of completeness so that folks who hear
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about the Dalton Gang recognize there was more than just random malevolence behind our spree we perceived ourselves
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at least initially as Avengers punishing an unjust system yet it's undeniable
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that avenging oneself by terrorizing communities is monstrous the Heartbreak
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inflicted on mothers and fathers burying kin can't be justified by personal grudges that's precisely the kind of
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Twisted logic that permeates infamous syndicates and violent underworld groups
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they often claim to be writing a wrong but they create even greater suffering
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in drawing this account to a close I recall that final sunlit morning in Coffeeville the air crisp with Autumn's
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breath our horses snorting as we trudged in confidence overshadowing caution the
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city stirred curiously at our presence but we believed we could slip in and out before anyone recognized us if only we
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had known someone would spot Us in the blink of an eye turning the entire plan into a hail storm of bullets perhaps
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part of me was relieved it ended for by then the guilt and constant fear had gnawed at my soul but that's poor
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consolation for the Bloodshed that followed I also remember that fleeting moment of Joy stashing the money in a
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sack at the First National Bank thinking we did it we'll be on our way soon how
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quickly Illusions evaporate when the first bullet cracks the air one second you're certain you hold fortune in your
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hands and the next you're sprawled in the dirt coughing up blood that is the old west in all its Savage
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unpredictability because of these events our name lives in every retelling of the dark history of the frontier enshrined
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in ballads comedic references or cinematic Illusions but behind that
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popular narrative stands the real story a family drawn into the Vortex of crime
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by a thousand small decisions culminating in the deadliest Fiasco I either for ourselves or for the hapless
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folks who stood in the crossfire I lived on as a living witness to that Legacy
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released from prison trying to earn an honest living and occasionally telling wide-eyed listeners about the bullet
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scars dotting my body I suspect many wanted me to either glamorize our exploits or wallow in shame but truth is
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rarely so simple part of me curses the day Bob suggested applying for the Marshall position in the first place
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part of me curses the day we decided to walk into that s UN in New Mexico all
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these minor moments shaped a bigger puzzle my final reflection is this the Legends you hear might trivialize or
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dramatize events but the Grim reality is that the Dalton story stands as a prime
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example of how oppression and Corruption can transform men who once believed in Law and Order into Outlaws with no
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turning back the cycle of Revenge never ends well and the cost in human lives my
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brothers both their victims and their own mortal ends are proof that bullets don't solve injustices they only
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multiply them the next time you come across a sensational account of the Dalton Gang remember the Heartbreak the
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deception the righteous anger that mutated into robbery and bloodshed
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perhaps it can serve as a cautionary message for every age no matter how righteous your Fury might feel once you
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choose violence as the ultimate solution your tragic end almost certainly awaits
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I speak these words from experience having lost nearly everyone I cherished in that merciless hail of lead yes I
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survived 23 gunshot wounds yes the Dalton name carved out of space among
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the most feared and recognized in True Crime lore of the old west but the cost was more profound than I can express let
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me conclude with a simple piece of advice beware of letting resentment commandeer your soul that resentment can
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breed illusions of of justice that quickly morph into a Savage spree of Vengeance and once you break that
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fragile boundary the only future that remains might be the clang of prison doors or the final ring of gunfire in a
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Dusty Street those are the lessons I carry delivered by a man who walked both
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sides of the line and discovered that the so-called underworld secrets are best left unexplored if one values life
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and freedom some might call our story a legend of Unsolved Mysteries or a glimp
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into the infamous syndicates of the frontier but I call it a tragedy plain and simple and that's where I'll end
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this retelling hoping that someone somewhere may find caution in our mistakes and steer clear of the path
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that claimed the Dalton Gang
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