Audiobook Sample
Listen to the sample to experience the story.
Please wait while we verify your browser...
- Title: History of Billy the Kid
- Author: Charles A. Siringo
- Narrator: Roger Melin
- Length: 0.097094907
- Version: Abridged
- Release Date: 05-Jan
- Publisher: LibriVox
- Genre: History, North America
- ISBN13: SABLIB9787788
Hey, fellow travelers and story lovers,
There’s something about the open road that calls to me—dusty trails winding through forgotten places, where history whispers through the wind. So when I stumbled across Charles A. Siringo’s *History of Billy the Kid*, narrated by Roger Melin, available as a free audiobook from LibriVox, I couldn’t resist. It’s a raw, unvarnished ride through the American West, a land I’ve crisscrossed myself, from the cactus-studded deserts of New Mexico to the rugged plains where legends like Billy the Kid once roamed. The audiobook experience promised a front-row seat to a tale I’ve always been curious about, told by a man who claims he knew the outlaw himself. And let me tell you, it’s a journey worth taking.
It reminds me of a time when I was driving through the Atacama Desert in Chile, the surreal landscape stretching out like a painting, while Gabriel García Márquez’s magical realism poured through my car speakers. That same sense of place and voice came alive here, though Siringo’s West is a far cry from Macondo—it’s gritty, violent, and real. As a travel writer who’s spent years chasing hidden histories, I felt an instant pull to this story. Billy the Kid, a name that conjures up dime-novel daring, gets stripped down to his bones by Siringo, a former Pinkerton detective and cowboy who helped hunt him down. The audiobook unfolds like a campfire tale, rough around the edges but brimming with the kind of authenticity you can’t fake.
Siringo’s narrative dives deep into the Wild West of the late 19th century, a time when law and chaos danced a bloody tango. He paints Billy—barely 21 when a bullet found his heart—as a ruthless killer, tallying 21 men (Indians not counted, he notes with a chilling nonchalance). Yet there’s no romance here, none of the polished sheen Hollywood loves to slap on outlaws. Siringo’s out to set the record straight, drawing from firsthand accounts—his own, Pat Garrett’s, even the Kid’s—so the story feels like it’s being whispered straight from the dusty streets of Fort Sumner. You can almost taste the dry air, hear the creak of leather saddles, and feel the tension as Garrett’s posse closes in. It’s a snapshot of a world on the brink, where the frontier was giving way to fences and sheriffs.
What struck me most was how Siringo wrestles with the legend he’s helping create. He wants to demystify Billy, to show the chaos and cruelty behind the myth, yet every gritty detail—those two guards gunned down during an escape, the hideout at Mrs. Charlie Bowdre’s—only feeds the fire of fascination. It’s a paradox I’ve seen in my own travels: the harder you try to pin down a place or a person, the more they slip into something bigger. Siringo’s bias as a lawman shines through—he’s no neutral observer—but that’s part of the charm. His voice carries the weight of someone who lived it, who rode alongside the men chasing Billy through the sagebrush.
Now, let’s talk about Roger Melin’s narration, because the listening experience hinges on his delivery. Melin’s got a voice that’s steady and weathered, like an old ranch hand recounting tales over a tin cup of coffee. It suits Siringo’s no-nonsense style perfectly—there’s no theatrics, just a straightforward grit that pulls you in. You can almost hear the dust in his throat as he reads Siringo’s words, recounting how he sent three cowboys—Jas. H. East, Lee Hall, and Lon Chambers—to aid Garrett. The pacing’s deliberate, giving you time to sit with the weight of each killing, each betrayal. The audio quality’s clean for a free audiobook, no distracting crackles or echoes, though it’s short—clocking in at just under six minutes. That brevity surprised me; I’d expected hours of sprawling detail, but Siringo keeps it tight, almost like a dispatch from the front lines.
Still, it’s not flawless. Siringo’s account leans hard into his own perspective, and you can feel the gaps—Billy’s side of the story stays silent, and some details feel too tidy, too convenient for a man justifying his role in the chase. Historians have poked holes in it, and I can see why. Compared to, say, Robert M. Utley’s *Billy the Kid: A Short and Violent Life*, which I listened to while hiking through Taos, Siringo’s take lacks the broader scope and scholarly balance. Utley digs deeper, weaving in more voices, while Siringo’s more like that Oaxaca grandmother I once heard spinning tales—captivating, personal, but colored by her own lens. And Melin, while solid, doesn’t quite capture the intimacy of those evenings; his tone’s a touch too detached to make it feel like he’s *your* storyteller.
For all that, this audiobook’s a gem—especially since it’s free. It’s perfect for anyone who loves North American history, who’s drawn to the raw edge of the frontier, or who just wants a quick, immersive dip into the Wild West. If you’ve enjoyed Pat Garrett’s *The Authentic Life of Billy the Kid* (another audiobook I’d recommend), you’ll appreciate Siringo’s angle—it’s less polished, more visceral. And if you’re new to the Kid’s legend, this is a lean, mean introduction that’ll leave you hungry for more.
Listening to it took me back to a night in New Mexico, camping under a sky so big it swallowed me whole. I’d been tracing old trails, asking locals about their own outlaw tales, and the air felt thick with the past. Siringo’s words, through Melin’s voice, brought that same electric hum—the sense that history’s not just a book, but a living thing you can touch. It’s not a perfect recounting, but it’s a damn good story, and isn’t that what we’re all chasing in the end?
Yours in stories and open roads,
Marcus Rivera
