Lucky Billy (5 page)

"Did you give them fair warning?" The drummer again.

"I take no risks. I'm fond of my hide. And the reason I'm sheriff and have not been killed is I never give the other fellow a chance—not if I can help it."

"Admirable," muttered Israel Jones.

I looked him up and down, amused. His face darkened; he lit a cheroot. I was a little hoarse by now so I nodded to the drummer, who passed the bottle, and I medicined my throat. "I see it's not the Kid when he reels back toward the door—it's poor Charlie Bowdre, who wanted out so bad, if you recall, that he'd written to the governor. My heart bled for Charlie. Cod bless him, poor man. His ready-made conscience just didn't fit. I suppose Mrs. Bowdre had insisted he wear it, maybe even 'took it in' so it wouldn't be baggy." I hung quotes on the words. "But it's hard for some men to unglue from dear companions if they come to your ranch and ask to be fed and taunt you for demurring when they ride to depredations. Let that be a lesson. As to why he was wearing Billy's hat, I presume he just grabbed it. Or is this another instance of that savvy or luck for which the Kid was justly famous? Did he throw the hat at Charlie just before he stepped out? Here, warm your head. If so, the bitter pill must be hard to swallow now. To save his own hide, he sent the two men who were closest to his heart to die in his place. When everyone around you lives outside the law, when 110 rules exist and mayhem is common and every sort of debauchery and cruelness is run-of-the-mill, then survival depends on forgotten skills like knowing who-all to sacrifice.

"Wilson shouted out that Bowdre was killed and wished to surrender. We laughed in our boots at this appositive. The young wounded brigand staggered at the door, not quite dead yet. I shouted for him to come out with his hands up but from behind him the Kid caught Charlie's belt, drew his revolver, placed it in his hand, and said to his friend, 'They've murdered you, Charlie, but you can take a few with you.' Bowdre come out with both arms in the air, the gun dangling from a finger, and him walking tangle-leg, left and then right, his head rolling like a melon. He wobbles in my direction, motions toward the house, and with a mouth full of blood, purls, 'I wish ... I wish...' He'd been shot in the groin, the gut, the neck, shot up so bad it was a wonder he could move. Each of his prints in the snow was pooled with blood. He falls in my arms and I roll him to the side and after a while when I reach out to feel him I find him frozen already, solid as a block of ice.

"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 judgment 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.

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.