I tried to read this novel a few times but just could not get into the writing style. It wasn't like the literary-western or suspense-western that I prefer in this genre.

Published by Macmillan/Forge Books on November 14, 2017

The Ballad of Black Bart is based on the celebrated stagecoach robber of the 1870s to 1880s. The novel includes some biographical detail that I presume to be accurate, although Loren Estleman admits to taking “small liberties with fact.” Still, the story is very much an imagined life, placing thoughts in the bandit’s head and recreating a personality that may or may not hew to his actual life. The novel is a literary look at an outlaw who captured the public’s imagination on the strength of two poems and good bit of audacity, the sort of thing that keeps journalists in business, particularly the yellow journalists of the time.

Black Bart was the British-born Charles Boles, although he used the pen name Charles Bolton. The novel follows Bolton to Iowa, where he marries and makes an unsuccessful attempt to live an ordinary life as a farmer, husband, and father. From there Bolton chased the gold rush to California, arriving too late to stake any serious claims. But most of the story addresses Bolton’s alter-ego as Black Bart, the nonviolent (his shotgun was never loaded, or so the novel says) stagecoach robber, who makes his way on aching feet from one robbery to another.

Apart from twice leaving behind a verse for the Wells, Fargo police to find (establishing himself as a po8 in the public imagination), Black Bart was known for his gentlemanly politeness during robberies, and for escaping on foot, leaving behind no trail to follow. As Charles Bolton, he banked his ill-gotten proceeds at Wells, Fargo (where else?) and enjoyed the comforts of fine dining, fine living, and the occasional paid company of women whose fineness the book does not describe.

Bart’s nemesis in the novel is Jim Hume, head of the Wells, Fargo police, who is also described in biographical detail, calling attention to the similarities between the two men. As with Bart, the details are carefully winnowed to explain the shape of Hume’s life without bogging down the narrative. Hume is more a meticulous detective than a gun-slinging lawman, making him a perfect fit to lead Wells, Fargo’s private police department and to track down its most elusiver robber.

The Ballad of Black Bart naturally describes some stagecoach robberies, but the descriptions are brief. The novel is less a western than it is a pair of convincing character sketches. The story is relatively brief and not as meaty as my favorite biographical western, Mary Doria Russell’s Doc, a literary examination of Doc Holliday. But while this book is comparatively slender, Estleman’s decision to trim out all but the essential details assures the vitality of those that remain. My favorite chapter follows Bart as he walks back to the Iowa town where he lived before abandoning his wife and daughters. Bart’s thoughts and actions in a few pages speak volumes about the man he became (as least as imagined by Estleman).

If you’re looking for shootouts between white and black hats, Bart’s empty gun robs the story of traditional western content. If you can be satisfied with a fictionalized examination of an acclaimed bandit and the man who tracked him, told with literary flair, The Ballad of Black Bart is a good choice.

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Loren Estelman celebrates the Ballad of Black Bart who carried out 28 heists against Wells Fargo stagecoaches on foot and with a shotgun with no bullets; this actually happened!!!! This saga was a duel of wits between Hugo the chief detective for Wells Fargo and Black Bart. Guess where Black Bart kept his loot? He banked with Wells Fargo. A different western.

Robbing the Wells Fargo stagecoaches 28 times (!) made Charles E. Bolton into a notorious, wanted outlaw. He dressed in black, hence the nickname. Chief detective for Wells Fargo, James B. Hume, vows to stop the thefts. Brings a little-known story of the American West to life.

The author brought back to life a criminal of yore from the annals of the cherished, old American West. Lost in time, this desperado shared nowhere near the notoriety of famed legend Jesse James. Back in the day though, to Wells Fargo's chagrin, the Press had given him plenty of ink and made him larger-than-life. Considering that, things haven't changed much since then. He was given the moniker, Black Bart. That's what you get for dressing in black. Not very creative. What've he'd dressed in green?

Charles Boles also known as Charles Bolton originally hailed from England. Born 1829, he was the seventh of nine children. No silver spoon. While still a toddler, his family moved to America. As a young adult, he carved out his path in life with his brother David. Headed west in search of the yellow rocks. Along the way, his brother took sick and died rather suddenly. Now a solo journey, his life spiraled in many directions, for many years. Life has a way of doing that. Don't we know. In this well-written narrative, the author had pieced together his lackluster character as a shiftless, rambler. In the grand scheme of things, he wasn't all that different.

Getting to the nitty-gritty, many years later, he's in San Francisco. It's the summer of 1875. Middle-aged Bart had come to enjoy the finer things in life: horse-racing, fine restaurants, exquisite accommodations, nice clothing - the list goes on. My kind of list. With the exception of horse-racing. Well, let me think about that. Except there was a nagging problem. He had a champagne taste with a beer budget. That never works out well. He was in need of some moolah to support his lavish lifestyle. Up till this time, he had followed a lawful life. At least, that's what the historians have shown. What prompted him in particular to rob stagecoaches? A vendetta. Way back when, he held Wells Fargo partially responsible for his brother's untimely death. Actually, just an excuse to single them out. A scapegoat. Enough said on that.

He's the only bandit of notoriety I've ever come across that walked miles to set up a stakeout. Then rob a stagecoach. And did it in a most peculiar if not foolish way. With an unloaded shotgun. Wouldn't that be like bringing a knife to a gunfight? Go figure. To further define his appearance
as an outlaw, he donned an ordinary flour sack over his head and hat with two holes cut out for his eyes. Stylish. Now to the exciting, planned escape. No horse. No buggy. Fled the scene. Walking. Apparently, he missed the class of Highwayman 101. Wait, there's more. If that's not enough, he would ask of the driver, "Please lower the cash box to the ground." Was that a question? Was there a choice?

What's truly amazing is that he not only got away with it that once but twenty-seven other times to boot! Can you imagine? All in the same manner. This endless string of robberies became a source of humiliation to Wells Fargo's founders, Henry Wells and William Fargo. Some compared him to Robin Hood. Only slight difference being, he stole from the rich and gave to himself. Now worried that Black Bart's celebrity might entice any Tom, Dick or Harry to follow in the robber's footsteps, Wells Fargo hired the services of Detective James Hume. He became an integral part of bringing the criminal to justice. Connecting all the dots, Hume was closing in. Wouldn't be much longer, so he figured, till he was face-to-face with this pariah. Just a matter of time.