Sitting in the observation car of a train heading east, my thoughts were interrupted by an elderly gentleman whose weather-beaten face had the map of the Old West etched onto it. He started talking to me out of the clear blue sky, and at first I ignored him, nodding when I thought it was appropriate and sneaking a peek at my magazine when I thought he wasn't looking. But after a while, when he insisted that he was a big part of his story and it was true, I started paying attention to him. As close as I can remember, this is what he told me.