One “Gentleman Outlaw” Left Poetry After Robberies In his ordinary life, Charles Boles was a well-dressed businessman, sporting a silky white mustache and living in luxury. But he didn’t earn his fortune in the mining business, as he claimed to his San Francisco social circles. In reality, he was robbing stagecoaches, which he took up in middle age. He may have ripped his moniker, Black Bart, from the pages of a thriller about, appropriately, a stagecoach robber, focusing exclusively on Wells Fargo routes — and covering up his well-groomed visage with flour sacks. Keeping with the literary theme, he wrote poetry to leave behind at the scene, although he did so in only two of at least 28 suspected robberies. “I’ve labored long and hard for bread/For honor and for riches,” reads his best-known one, “But on my corns too long you’ve tred/You fine haired Sons of B****s.” His gentlemanly life would ultimately be his undoing. During his last robbery in 1883, he was injured and attempted to flee the scene. In the process, he dropped a handkerchief marked with the number he was supposed to use to pick up his laundry, which Pinkerton detectives used to trace him. Ultimately, he was convicted of just one robbery, and served four years in San Quentin before slipping into obscurity.