A handkerchief, dropped at a holdup scene, led a Wells-Fargo detective to discover the identity of the bandit who had been terrorizing his stagecoach line for two years. Black Bart turned out to be mild-mannered Charles Bolton, a bank clerk not believed by anyone to be capable of violence. In all his robberies, Bolton never harmed a soul. He picked exclusively on the Wells Fargo Company. As a calling card, he often left poems. Upon his release from San Quentin in 1888, the warden asked Bolton if he had given up his life of crime. "Yes," said Bolton, "I have." "Are you going to write any more poetry?" asked the warden. Bolton replied "I told you I wasn't going to commit any more crimes."
I've labored long and hard for bread
For honor and for riches
But on my corns too long you've trod,
You fine-haired sons of bitches.
Black Bart PO8