Welcome to this edition of Time Suck Short Sucks. I'm Dan Cummins and today I will be sharing the story of Wild West Outlaw,

Lawman, and Paid Assassin, Jim Miller, also known as Killing Jim, Jim the Killer Miller, and Deacon Jim.

Jim's story ended in a horse stable outside of Ada, Oklahoma on the night of April 19,

1999.

The 47-year-old hard man stood high upon a wooden crate,

a noose around his neck, his predatory eyes scanning the townfolk

before him.

His well-worn black cowboy hat still rested upon his head, but he was

without his signature long heavy black frock coat, the one he was known to

always wear, whether it was freezing cold or hotter than hell. You can hear the creaking of other ropes tied to

the rafters above the murmurs and shouts of the lynch mob that surrounded him. Three

freshly hanged dead men. Their body still warm, swung quietly, and violently, to and fro all around him.

If no when he was about to meet his end in the same way, Rattle Jim, Jim certainly did not show it. He never begged like the other men to have his life

spared he never cried never trembled instead he bellowed out above the noise of the

mob let the record show that I've killed 51 men.

And then after coldly scanning the crowd, one last time, he uttered his final words.

Let her rip. He stepped off the crate and soon hung limp his neck broken by the drop.

The Wild West's deadliest assassin, an especially violent man who lived during especially violent times

after over two decades of killing was finally killed himself.

Words and ideas can change the world.

I hated her, but I wanted to love my mother.

I have a dream.

...