Lucky Billy Read online

  "It's full daylight now. At the house, I see, one of the riatas is being pulled through the door. I chop on the fact that what they wish to do is lead the remaining horses inside then emerge at full gallop and make their escape. As the horse approached the door I shot him in the brain and he fallen like a stone, barricading the outlet. They couldn't now make a break, even two on a horse, as in leaping over this large obstruction the riders' heads would strike the lintel. I believed we had them trapped. To be on the safe side, I shot the two ropes which held the other two horses and they trotted away about a hundred feet and started pawing at the snow.

  "I now opened a conversation with the besieged. 'How are you boys fixed in there?' 'Pretty good,' said the Kid. 'We need some wood to make a fire.' 'Come out and get it; be a little neighborly.' 'Go to hell, Lengthy. I'd freeze to death first.' Then they're talking to theirselves and after a piece, he asks for some tobacco. I say again, 'Come out and get it.' 'Just pitch it in here,' he says, and I think, at the risk of seeming soft, why not? I toss my pouch through the door. 'Where's the papers?' says he. 'Now you're asking too much. Come out and get them.' 'Fuck you, you lengthy bastard.' 'Then toss my tobacco back.' 'Go to hell, Garrett.' 'Toss it back, Kid!' 'Just wait a pissing while.' They seem to have a confab. Chattering like magpies. Soon, the bag flies out the door but something tells me not to catch it. Mason picks it up and looks inside and exclaims with a prune-face, clamping his nose, 'Don't that beat all.'

  "Billy asks if we have cards. 'Sure,' I answer. 'I know,' he says. 'Come out and get them.' 'You're catching on,' I say. All this time, sabes, my bead is on that door. 'Well, how about some sipping whiskey?' says the Kid. 'Come out here and take a sip.' 'Sip on this, you long-legged cocksucker.'

  "We guarded them all clay. Bad names were applied, each to the other, but it was all sort of sporty. Along to noon, they turned out the two horses which were inside. I concluded they'd grown tired of living in a stables. Around three come a wagon from Wilcox's ranch with provisions and firewood. We build a big fire and roast a lot of meat and the bubble and spit of the fat and the skin rides the smoke into their hole. It proves to be too much for the famished lads. Rudabaugh fixes a stick to a hanky that once had been white and waves it out the window and calls out they want to surrender. He emerges first. All will give theirselves up, he's been deputized to say, if I guarantee them protection from violence. This I did. In a few moments they slunk out of there, were disarmed, shook our hands, got a big meal, warmed themselves at the fire, then we took them to Wilcox's. I sent Brazil and Mason back to Stinking Springs to fetch Bowdre's body. Then we started for Fort Sumner in the dark.

  "First thing at Sumner, Manuela Bowdre come rushing out her door whacking me with a skillet and kicking my legs until the boys pulled her off. 'You son of a bitch,' she screamed over and over, 'you killed my husband.' As we brought the body in she struck me on the shoulders with a branding iron, and I had to drop Charlie at his widow's feet chachunk. I told her I'd buy him a brand-new suit and dig the hole myself but she spit in my face and called me a name I shall not repeat to you, for it would be quite useless. I did pay for the suit. We sat to supper at Beaver Smith's saloon and the Kid gives his Winchester to Jim East but Beaver Smith raises such a roar about accounts he said Billy owed him that he switched the gift to Beaver. He gave Frank Stewart his fine bay mare, saying that he expected his affairs to be confining for the next few months, and he wouldn't have time for horseback exercise. Then Deluvina Maxwell come in the saloon and asked if we could go to Pete Maxwell's house so his sister, Paulita, could say her goodbyes in private to the Kid. Het it be understood that this was out of the question. Dirty Dave Rudabaugh was shackled to the Kid and they would not be parted till we got to Santa Fe and were safely in their cells. We did go to Pete's and Het the two sweethearts say their farewells but in front of everyone, not in private, and with Dave along for the ride, leaning as far away from the lovebirds as the chain would allow and bending over like he's sick. It did not seem to bother the sweethearts that their farewell kiss was such a public event. It got Pete's mad up, though. He pulled his sister away. But not before they'd indulged for time without end in one of those soul kisses of which the novelists tell us but which is rare if you're an outlaw wading in blood or a waddie always sleeping in fields of cow patties. Paulita wasn't showing yet and only her brother knew she was pregnant, but my guess is she took that opportunity to whisper the news into Billy's ear. He seemed somewhat abashed yet prideful after that. Then we hit for Las Vegas but on the way out of Sumner all the Mexes gathered to wave goodbye to Billy, though it was Christmas Eve. My sister-in-law, Celsa Gutiérrez, was off to one side, and I noticed she and Billy blew kisses at each other, him with lips blushing fresh from Paulita's mouth.

  "The next day in Vegas, we had another little adventure. The Mexes there hated Dave Rudabaugh because he'd murdered Lino Valdez earlier that year, in a futile attempt to spring John Webb from jail. We boarded the train to take the prisoners to Santa Fe but a mob blocked the tracks and surrounded our car and made murderous noises. They were brandishing weapons. We stood on the steps and threw down on the crowd and told them we were taking Rudabaugh to Santa Fe, where he would be jailed, come what may. I went inside the car and announced to the passengers, 'Gentlemen and ladies, there is going to be a fight and if you don't want to join it you better get out.' All left with the exception of two rust}' hackums who said they hadn't killed a Mexican in two weeks and would fight to pass the time. They pulled from under their seats two enormous .50-caliber Sharps buffalo guns and knelt at a window. Our posse, too, knelt at windows as the mob seethed beneath, but I noticed their seething had diminished. Each of us picked out a greaser to aim at. I told the posse, 'Don't burn powder for nothing,' and to the prisoners I announced that I would unchain them and arm them as well, if it came to that. The Kid said, 'Fine, arm me now.' Then he looked out the window. 'Hell, they won't fight. Just look at their faces.'

  "He was right. Waving his pistol, Deputy Marshal Morley mounted the engine and pulled the lever wide open and the crowd dispersed when the wheels begun to spin.

  "On the train, Billy the Clown amuses the passengers by placing a slice of apple pie in his mouth then pulling it out in one piece. Well, he's got a big mouth. This was the extent of his rollicksome performance. In the Santa Fe jail, the whole kit and caboodle attempted to escape by digging a tunnel and hiding the soil inside their mattresses but a deputy discovered it. Billy was put in solitary confinement where he spent all his time writing to Governor Wallace and asking him to act on his promised amnesty. That promise was made two years ago and since then the Kid has murdered, stealed, passed counterfeit money, and generally deported himself in a lawless manner, so what did he expect? His trial was in March down to Mesilla and we taken him back to Lincoln after that to be jailed until his hanging. Where he is now."

  "Is it true what he said in Las Cruces," asked Tomlinson, "on the way to Mesilla? The crowd's at the station watching as they take him from the train to the stagecoach and somebody asks, 'Which one's Billy the Kid?' And the Kid puts his hand on Judge Leonard's shoulder, saying, 'This is the man.'"

  "True as taxes."

  "And the quip about the papers," Tomlinson added, providing versicle for my response.

  "I believe you mean the easterner who asked the Kid, 'What do you think when you read about yourself in the papers, Billy?'"

  "That's right."

  "The Kid looks at this man with a twinkle in his eye. 'I think what a hard case, what a bloodthirsty killer, he does not have a drop of mercy in his blood. I'd sure like to meet him.'"

  All laughed. "So he's a wag."

  "The most dangerous wag you could imagine. I for one will not laugh at his antics until he's safely hanged. He'd shoot off your balls just for a merry prank. He's a likable sort who helps himself to whatever he wants, a woman or a horse, but hanging won't atone for half of what he's done. As the good book says, we roar like bears and mourn like doves and look for j
udgment and there is none."

  "Isaiah," said Jones. "Not bad for an atheist."

  "Atheistic thinking has never led me by the nose. I grew up with the Bible."

  "Too bad you don't believe it."

  "Too bad you don't believe anything else."

  "Now we're talking. Your feet run to evil, your hands are stained with blood, your lips have spoken lies. We look for judgment and there is none."

  "You may look for judgment, Reverend Jones, but I suspect you love your whiskey better than your God."

  "Least I have a God to love."

  Outside on the street there was a sudden commotion. A young buck burst into Hudgen's Saloon and bellered, "Garrett! Garrett! Is Pat Garrett here?"

  All gazed at me. I smiled.

  "The Kid has escaped! He has killed Bell and Olinger! Oh my God, he's escaped!"

  Leaning back in my chair, I checked the diamond rings on both of my hands and the gold watch chain at my waist. My smile didn't fade. I drank calmly from my glass. My long neck stiffened. My tongue was dried up now. I raised my brow and pulled out my watch, noted the time, continued smiling, tucked it back in, reached up the sleeve of my fine worsted coat and tugged down for all to see my silver cuff buttons. They gladden wanton eyes. My face felt warm. My pupils may have crossed. The Lord will take away their tinkling ornaments, their chains and their bracelets, their bonnets and headbands and tablets and earrings, their rings and their nose jewels, their changeable suits of apparel, and their hoods and veils and fine linen and crisping pins. For outside are dogs and sorcerers and murderers, and outside every mouth speaks consummate folly, and outside in the desert men squat on their haunches and drink blood and eat flesh and pick at scabs and lice, all manner of filth, and feed each other's mouths, and feel satisfied, and laugh, and then shall it be for a just man to burn.

  3. 1877

  Tunstall

  Lincoln, New Mexico

  23rd March, 1877

  7 Belsize Terrace

  Hampstead,

  London, England

  My Much Beloved Father,

  McSween & I left Belen (where I wrote you my last) after many detentions last Sunday morning; we traveled all day & night reached a place called Abo, it is just above the words El Salad on the new map I sent, & lies about 50 miles southwest of Belen. "Abo" consists of about a dozen mud huts, the people are miserably poor & had smallpox in every house (I was vaccinated when at Belen but it did not take) & we slept in one that I supposed from what they said had as little as any of them. Our next drive was to have been to the Gallinas spring which is about 60 miles (there is a waterhole marked on the map which does not exist) & there is not water between the two points. We were under the impression that a man named Dow had a ranch at Gallinas spring & we took no grub save a loaf we had in our mess-box, we got to about 30 miles on our road when our offside mare wanted to lie down. We unharnessed her & she started going into convulsions, rolled & kicked at her stomach. McSween said "My poor Molly! Oh, Tunstall, I believe she is going to die right here." I went up & looked at the poor faithful beast, struggling in agony, & commenced calculating how we were ever going to get straightened out, for it necessitated that one of us should go back for help & the other remain (at the shortest) 18 hours alone on the prairie. We sat down & watched her, & the carrion crows came around & watched her, & soon many came, to wait for their promised orgie. The sun was high & hot & we stayed in this spot from 11 in the morning to late in the evening when a mighty rumbling reached our ears & an ox wagon came rolling down the hill. "There you are, Mac!" I said, "I told you that I was not going to be left in the lurch, I told you my people believed that Providence had a special commission out to protect me & you see, there it is, come just in the nick of time." (I really had told him that before & I reminded him of it.) The Mexicans (for such they were) had a little scrub pony behind the wagon, which we hitched by the side of our sound animal.

  We reached the house of our friends Livingstone and Winters, but 40 long miles had to be travelled first. The next clay we reached Lincoln at about 5 pm where I received a number of your letters. You will be able to judge from my previous anxiety how much these letters relieved my mind. My friend Widenmann has come clown to this country. I was very pleased to see him as he is a man I can depend upon & whom I like very much. I introduced him to Mr. & Mrs. McSween & he left for his room about 9 pm.

  Oh, did I mention Molly recovered and a Mex brought her to us.

  We have traveled over 700 miles, looking for the best ranch land. I don't like this Rio Grande country atall, it is a complete waste land & in my opinion one long den of thieves & cut throats, at the present time they are getting somewhat scourged with smallpox & by that means a number of the young male fry are being prevented from developing into horse thieves & the female fry from developing into fit mates for the same. The situation in this interminable wilderness is the same everywhere: a few lone white men in control of trade, legitimate and otherwise (mostly the latter)—an immensity of desert & canyons & mountains—and fitful little pockets of brown-skinned natives, both Mexican and Indian, whose intentions are inscrutable.

  Placita (or Lincoln) seemed welcoming this time even if it is in miner's parlance about the "toughest" little spot in America, which means about the lawless. You'd never know this from its peaceful demeanor, a small collection of adobe (or mud) homes scattered up a pretty creek called the Rio Bonito (which means Pretty River). The single dirt street is either dust or mud, depending on the weather, and a haze of wood and charcoal smoke hangs above the town. I must be growing fond at the advanced age of 23 because the clang of the blacksmith shop, the sound of children at play & the barking of dogs & grunting of pigs not to mention a fellow playing piano in a saloon (if that's what you can call it, it sounded more like banging the keys with his elbows) made me feel as though I'd arrived home again. I have to remind myself (as I remind you) that a man can commit murder here with impunity. All countries more or less thickly populated with a needy, ignorant population are unsafe in a measure. A look may, if it have sufficient malice in it, justify resort to firearms in the minds of people here.

  Of course, you aren't to worry. As regards my getting shot, well this is a fine country & people sometimes use others as targets, but I am not going to get shot so don't be uneasy about that. If formerly I had not the knack of making friends, I seem to possess it now to a sufficiently useful extent; & then again I have a presentiment that I shall not get killed but that I shall live to accomplish my schemes & will give those three Pets my sisters (whom you must read this to) such a time as will make their heads swim (as we say on the frontier).

  Of my friends, lawyer McSween is in particular a blessing. A lifelong teetotaler, a Presbyterian, he never carries weapons and has both the outward appearance and the inward temperament of an honest man & has succeeded in persuading me to go into stock. His wife Susan I find a very pleasant woman in every way, she told me as much about this place as any man could have done, she is the only white woman here & has a good many enemies in consequence of her husband's profession. Everyone in my circle is fond of her to distraction, she keeps us well entertained. Her husband with his long stringy moustache down to his knees (all American males have prodigious facial hair), who seems often to be frowning by the angle of his lip-whiskers, absolutely dotes on her with an aspect of rapture in his eyes and a foreboding air of longing as though they'd just made acquaintance (they have been married 4 years).

  Robert Widenmann is common looking but a man ! place great confidence in. I have executed a small deed, constituting him my legal representative in case of my death, until you write, come over, or instruct some other person, to attend to my affairs and your interest. Both as regards to his ability & integrity, I feel sure that in case you ever need his assistance, that he can save every cent that I "have out" for you. The history of his interest & mine would be somewhat lengthy, but I consider them parallel & not at all liable to clash. Two of Widenmann's leading traits are o
bstinacy & combativeness, he will hold a point longer & fight harder to keep it, than any man of his age I ever met (He is 25). And he has consequently a great deal of what I call "force" in his character; if he decides that a horse wants throwing down, he throws him; & if a mule gets its own way with someone & he concludes that she has to learn that she can't do it with others, he teaches her. I consider myself very lucky in meeting him, he so exactly suits me we stick to each other like brick & he takes care of me, we sleep in the same room. His parents are German & live in Georgia, he was educated in Germany, he weighs about 175 lbs & he stands six feet & is very broad. We are sufficiently good friends to be able to get as mad as we like with each other, without its affecting our friendship in the slightest. People say we are like man & wife.

  Both Mrs. McSween and her husband have told me that the whole of this country (New Mexico) is under the control of a ring composed of two or three lawyers, & their practices & power throughout New Mexico are quite astonishing, they are more powerful than the priests & that is saying a great deal. The local store is owned by low Irish, part of this ring, & they buy local produce by extending credit on their store merchandise & thus get the Mexican farmers in their power. They advance both goods and credit against future crops and stock & when the poor fellows see they're in a trap they balk or move away, & if it's balk the House uses the law to attach their goods and property (most particularly, cattle and horses) for debts owed to them. They are known as "the House" but also called the Murphs or Dolanites or Murphyites, for the owners, Lawrence G. Murphy & his partner, James Dolan. They "carry" local settlers until they (the settlers) are so extended that their benign benefactors have no choice, their poor hands are tied, but to foreclose on their property. Their real money is made by contracts to supply the local army post, Fort Stanton, which both men served at, their ties to the command being part of this "ring," & by stealing supplies contracted to the Indian Agency & selling them in Las Cruces, Albuquerque, & other places. In placing people in their debt they force them into thievery to pay off the debt, no questions asked. So of the beef that Murphy and Dolan supply to Fort Stanton and the Agency much of it once belonged to John Chisum, the largest rancher in this area. John Chisum here is "the man behind the scenes." He knows that Dolan and Murphy, or their agents, steal his stock and he pays men to steal D & M's horses, pari passu. The "Dolanites" also "sell" ranches & land to incoming settlers without themselves having title, which has happened to a friend of mine here, Dick Brewer, a young rancher whom I highly esteem. He is called the handsomest man in Lincoln Country & he is as true as steel.