He started young—just 14—when he stole his first horse, not out of desperation, but for the thrill. By 19, James M. Riley, later known to legends and lawmen alike as Doc Middleton, had already killed a man. Whether it was a brawl gone too far or a planned encounter, no one could say for sure. But what followed wasn’t repentance—it was escalation. Over the next two years, Doc Middleton would ride across the windswept plains of the American West, stealing horses with a kind of methodical chaos, sometimes taking entire herds under the nose of authorities. By the time the dust settled, he'd stolen somewhere near 2,000 horses. That number alone guaranteed infamy.

He was the kind of outlaw that seemed born for folklore—hands quick to draw, charm sharp as a Bowie knife, and eyes always scanning the horizon. Yet Middleton didn’t vanish into obscurity or die in a shootout like so many of his kind. No, his story veered into something stranger. Buffalo Bill Cody, master showman of the Wild West, saw the appeal in Middleton’s lawless legend and gave him a spot in his traveling spectacle. The crowds came to see a real outlaw—one who’d ridden with gangs, dodged posses, and built a name that inspired fear and admiration in equal measure.

But Middleton didn’t ride forever. Eventually, he traded his saddle for a barstool, running a saloon and telling stories that blurred the line between truth and legend. Whether the man who once outran the law really settled down—or just found a new way to play the game—remains part of the mystery. One thing is certain: Doc Middleton wasn’t just a thief or a killer. He was a ghost in the American mythos, riding between outlaw fame and circus lights, where the line between justice and spectacle was as thin as a prairie breeze.

I wonder if he started growing that beard after he stole the first horse.