by Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony A Texas Cowboy or
On starting, Moore gave me these orders: “Stay over there until you get those cattle or bust the “L. X” company. I will keep you supplied in money just as long as they have got a nickel left, that I can get hold of. And when you get the cattle if you think you can succeed in capturing “Billy the Kid” do so. You can hire all the men you need; but don’t undertake his capture until you have first secured the cattle.”
At Tascosa we met Stuart who had succeeded in raising a little crowd to join us. Mr. McCarty, boss of the “L. I. T.” ranch had furnished five men, a cook and chuck wagon; and Torry, whose ranch was further up the river, a wagon and two men, while a man by the name of Johnson furnished a man and wagon. The “L. I. T.” outfit was in charge of a fellow by the name of “Bob” Roberson, whose orders were to get the stolen cattle before trying to capture the Kid, but in the meantime, to be governed by Stuart’s orders. This placed “Bob” in bad shape, as you will see later.
Stuart, after we all got strung out, took the “buck-board” on the mail line, and went on ahead to Las Vegas to put in a week or so with his solid girl.
On arriving at San Lorenzo, New Mexico, I mounted a buck-board and struck out ahead, to Las Vegas, to buy a lot of corn, grub, ammunition, etc., to be delivered at Anton Chico, twenty-five miles south of “Vegas,” by the time the crowd got there, so as not to cause any delay. “Bob” Roberson also gave me money to buy a lot of stuff for his outfit.
Arriving in Vegas, during a severe snow storm, I found there wasn’t fifty bushels of corn in town, the snow storm having delayed the freight trains. One merchant had just got a bill of several car loads which he expected to arrive any minute. So I concluded I would wait—and help Stuart hold the town down.
I wrote a letter to Anton Chico, telling the boys to lay there and take it easy, as I might be detained several days waiting for corn.
Every morning I would go to the grain merchant, and receive this reply: “Am looking for it every minute; t’will certainly be here by night.”
Not being acquainted in town, time passed off very slowly, so I finally got to “bucking” at my old favorite game—monte. I won for a while, but finally my luck took a turn and I lost nearly every dollar I had in my possession, most of which belonged to my employers. The one hundred dollars that “Bob” Roberson gave to buy stuff for his outfit, also went.
While standing over the exciting game, after my pile had dwindled down to an even seventy dollars, I put just half of it, thirty-five dollars, on the Queen, or “horse,” as it is called, being the picture of a woman on horseback, and made a vow, if I lost that bet that I never would as long as I lived, “buck” at monte again. I lost, and my vow has been sacredly kept.
The corn finally arrived, but having no money, I had to run my face by giving an order on the “L. X.” company, payable on demand. The other stuff, ammunition, etc., also things “Bob” had sent for, I had to buy in the same manner. Of course I hated to give orders so soon after leaving the ranch with a pocketfull of money, but then that was the best I could do under existing circumstances.
After getting the goods started for Anton Chico, Stuart and I hired a rig and followed.
Arriving in “Chico” we found Barney Mason, (an ex-chum of the “Kid’s,” but now a deputy sheriff under Pat Garrett2) there, with a message from Garrett telling Stuart to meet him in Vegas at a certain date, on important business. So Stuart struck right back to Vegas, accompanied by Mason, as the date fixed was only a few days off.
I found the boys all well and having a fat time. The only thing that bothered me they had run in debt head over heels on the strength of me having lots of money. The merchants expected their pay according to contract, immediately after my arrival. I had to satisfy them with orders on the “L. X.” firm.
The boys had lots of news to relate, things that had happened after I left: One of “Bob’s” men had had a shooting scrape with some mexicans; and “Billy the Kid” and his crowd had been in town, they having come in afoot, and went out well mounted. He and his five men having hoofed it through deep snow from the Greathouse ranch, over a hundred miles southwest of there.
After getting everything in shape we pulled out for White Oaks,3 one hundred and fifty miles southwest.
The second night out we camped at the Lewelling Wells, where bright and early next morning Stuart overtook us; accompanied by Pat Garrett and Barney Mason. They came with a scheme all cut and dried, by which they could get the big reward offered for the “Kid.” Garrett knew the Kid and his few remaining followers had been to Chico and left for Fort Sumner a few days before; and that they were wore out from having been chased all over the country by a gang of ninety men from White Oaks and vicinity. Now was his time to strike, if he could just get Stuart to go in cahoots with him. That was soon accomplished ; a promise of half of the reward, I suppose, done the work. Hence he sending for Stuart to come and see him in “Vegas” on important business.
After eating breakfast Stuart broke the ice by telling a lie. He knew our orders were strictly to get the cattle first, and then if we could assist in the capture of the “Kid” to do so. Therefore he branched out thus: “Well boys, we have got a job on our hands: ‘Kid’ is on his way to Old Mexico with a bunch of Panhandle cattle; and we want every man in the outfit, except just enough to accompany the wagons to White Oaks, to go with Garrett and I to overtake them.”
“How can that be,” someone asked “when Kid and his men just left Anton Chico a few days ago?”
“Don’t know,” was the quick answer, unless some of his outfit had the cattle under herd somewhere down the river waiting for him. If you doubt my word about it, just ask Mr. Garrett, there.
Of course we all did doubt his word, and were well satisfied that it was a put up job, to gain the reward.
“Bob” Roberson and I went to one side and talked the matter over, while Stuart and his little party remained at camp wondering whether their little scheme would have strength to hold out, on its weak legs or not.
“Bob” was in favor, after we had talked the thing over, of going right back and telling Stuart in plain English that he lied. But I wouldn’t agree to that for fear it might accidently be true. I thought it strange that Garrett, who had the reputation of being a model of a man, would sit by with his mouth shut and listen to such a falsehood. Of course Garrett couldn’t be blamed very much for he, being Sheriff, was interested in the “Kid’s” capture, no matter what became of the cattle we had come after.
“Bob” and I finally concluded, for fear the statement might be true, to let them have a few men, but not enough to completely cripple us so that we couldn’t go on after the cattle should we think it best, after getting to White Oaks.
I let them take three out of my crowd: “Jim” East, “Lon” Chambers and “Lee” Hall. While “Bob” gave up two, “Tom” Emory and Louis Bozman. Stuart wasn’t satisfied, he wanted more. But not being successful in getting his whole wants supplied, they all rode off down the Pecos valley.
Shortly after they left we pulled out on the White Oaks road. That night it began to snow, and kept it up for several days until the whole ground was covered to the depth of from two to three feet; so that it was slow work getting our wagons along through it.
A few days afterwards we came to the Greathouse ranch,4 or at least to the hot ashes where it once stood, where “Kid” and six of his daring followers were surrounded by ninety men one whole night and day. It was as follows:
A squad of men left White Oaks to hunt the “Kid” who was lurking in the neighborhood. They suddenly came upon him and Bill Willson cooking their breakfasts, one morning.
On discovering their enemies they both, after firing a shot apiece, sped through the mountains like deer, leaving their horses, saddles, coats and breakfast behind.
One of the shots fired at the White Oaks party took effect in the brain of a good horse that a young man by the name of Johnny Hudgens was riding, while the other, went through a hat, on the head of a yo
ung man.
After following the trail through the deep snow awhile, and after satisfying themselves that the two young outlaws couldn’t hide their tracks, the party struck back to White Oaks after something to eat, and more men.
When they returned, that same evening, there was ninety men in the crowd. They got on the trail and followed it, until shortly after dark, when it brought them to within a few hundred yards of the Greathouse ranch, on the “Vegas” and White Oaks road.
To satisfy themselves that the game was bagged, they circled around the ranch to see that no trails were leading out from it.
They then stationed themselves in a circle around the house and, dismounting, began to make breastworks out of pine logs—the ranch being in the midst of a large pine grove.
When day-light came Greathouse sent a negro,5 who was stopping with him, out after the horses which had been hobbled the night before.
Mr. “Nig” hadn’t gone but a few hundred yards when he was captured by the White Oaks boys.
After learning from him that the “Kid” and five of his men were in the house they sent him back with a note to the “Kid,” telling him if he and his party would come out with their hands up they would be treated as prisoners of war; if not they would have to stand the consequences, etc.
In a few minutes the negro returned with a note from the “Kid,” stating: “You fellers go to h—l!” or something to that effect.
A consultation was then held, and finally decided to give the boys one more chance for their lives, before storming the house. So they sent Mr. Coon back with another note stating, that that would be their last chance, etc.
In a short while a new messenger came forward. It was “Jim” Greathouse, proprietor of the ranch. He stated that the “Kid” desired to have a talk with their leader. On asking him what assurance he could give that their leader wouldn’t be harmed, he replied, “myself.” He told them that they could hold him a prisoner, and if anything happened to Carlyle, he was willing to stand the consequences.
So Mr. “Jim” Carlyle, he being the leader, marched forward—never more to return—to have a talk with the “Kid”.
Arriving in the house where there was also a saloon, kept there to accommodate the thirsty traveler, he was made to go up to the bar and drink “health to Billy the Kid.” This of course went against the grain with “Jim,” but then what else could he do now, being at their mercy?
Finally the Kid spied one of the gloves he had left behind in his retreat the day before, sticking out of “Jim’s” coat pocket.
This revived the hardships he and Billy Willson were compelled to endure, nearly all day the day before, traveling through snow up to their knees. So pulling the glove out of “Jim’s” pocket and holding it up at arms length, he asked: “Jim, was you with that mob yesterday who caused me such a tramp through the snow?”
“Yes,” was the answer.
“Well then, come up and take your last drink on this earth, for I am going to blow your light out.”
“Jim” of course didn’t relish the half pint of rotgut that he was forced to drink at the point of a colts “45.”
After drinking a full glass himself the “Kid” threw his pistol down in “Jim’s” face, full cocked, telling him at the same time to say his prayers while he slowly counted “three.”
The “one, two, three!” was uttered, and then a pistol shot rang out upon the still air, re-echoing from the mountain sides, in every direction.
The bullet had struck its mark, a tin can hanging on the wall a few inches above “Jim’s” head.
“Well, Jim,” was the first words that broke the death-like silence within, “you are worth several dead men yet, ain’t you?” Said “Kid” grabbing “Jim’s” trembling hand and leading him up to the bar, over which Billy Willson handed the fiery bug-juice.
“You didn’t think I would be brute enough to shoot you in such a cowardly manner, did you, Jim?” continued the “Kid” setting his empty glass down on the counter.
The shot from within had excited the crowd outside almost to fever heat; they thinking that it meant their leaders’ death. One fellow during the exciting moment scribbled off a note which read thus: “If Carlyle ain’t out here in ten minutes by the watch, your friend Greathouse will be a corpse,” and sent it to the “Kid” by the negro, who had returned after delivering the last message which brought Greathouse out.
The note was read in the presence of Carlyle, so that he heard every word it contained.
“Kid” then answered it by stating: “Carlyle is safe, but we can’t give him up just yet. Now remember, if we hear a shot from the outside we will take it for granted that you have carried out your threats by killing Greathouse, and will have to pay you back by killing our prisoner,” etc.
“Jim” knew the substance of the note and trembled in his boots at the thoughts of an accident shot being fired by his party. He was satisfied that his men wouldn’t do as they threatened in the note after hearing, from the negro’s own lips, that he was still alive. It was the accident shot that disturbed his mind.
The negro hadn’t more than got behind the breastworks with the note when a man, stationed behind another breastwork, who knew nothing of the threat having been made, fired a shot at the house “just for fun.”
Carlyle, on hearing the shot, made a leap at the only glass window in the house, taking sash and all with him. But before striking the ground several bullets from the “Kids” well aimed “45” had pierced his body. He crawled a few yards and then fell over dead, in plain view of his eighty odd companions.
“Kid” claimed afterwards that he was sorry for having had to kill “Jim.” Their intentions were to hold him prisoner until dark, when they would tie him down, so he couldn’t give the alarm, and then make their escape.
From that on, the mad crowd outside kept up a continued firing at the log house until dark. But doing no damage, as the boys had breast-works built of sacks of flour, boxes, bedding, etc.
Jim Greathouse during the excitement gave his guards the slip and pulled for “tall timber” up in the mountains where it was almost impossible for a mounted man to follow. I have often afterwards heard Greathouse laugh over the matter and tell how he “just hit the high places,” and beat Goldsmith Maid’s fastest time, for the first half mile.
About ten o’clock that night the White Oaker’s began to get tired and hungry, so concluded they would go back to town, forty miles, fill up, get a fresh mount and return by daylight, without the “Kid” and his men knowing anything of it. They stole off very slyly, without making any noise, and when they got about a mile, put their horses down to their best licks.
About midnight the little party inside made a bold break for liberty. They headed north-east, with cocked winchesters, determined on fighting their way out. But they were happily disappointed.
A ten-mile tramp through snow brought them to the Spencer ranch, which was kept by a kind old man by the name of Spencer, who lived there all alone, and was trying to establish a shorter route from “Vegas” to the “Oaks” by turning the road by his place, where there was a fine spring of water, a luxury the Greathouse ranch lacked, they having to haul water a distance of several miles from up in the rough mountains.
Just as day was breaking the crowd returned from the “Oaks,” and finding their game had fled they set fire to the house and struck out on the newly made foot prints.
Arriving at the Spencer ranch they learned, from the old gentleman, that the “Kid” and his little party of five had been gone about two hours, and that they had eaten breakfast with him.
After continuing on the trail about an hour longer, until it brought them to a rough strip of country where they would be compelled to take it afoot, they gave up the chase, and turned back to take their spite out on poor old Spencer for feeding the “Kid” and his crowd.
They took the poor old harmless fellow out to a neighboring tree, after setting fire to his ranch, and put a rope around his nec
k; but before they had time to swing him up, a few of the men, who had been opposed from the start, interfered in the old man’s behalf. Thus his neck was saved, and he is to-day a highly respected citizen in that community, which has since that time become a rich mining district.
The “Kid” and his men made it into Anton Chico, where, as I stated before, they stole a good horse and saddle apiece, while the boys were there waiting for me to arrive from “Vegas,” and pulled down the Reo Pecos.
CHAPTER XXII.
Billy the Kid’s capture.
WE ARRIVED in the beautifully located town of White Oaks on the 23d day of December (1880). The town, which consisted of 1000 inhabitants, mostly American miners, was then not quite two years old and pretty lively for its age. It contained eight saloons; and Saturday nights when the boys would come in from the surrounding mountains, to spend the Sabbath, is when the little burg would put on city airs.
We rented a large log house in the lower end of town and went to living like white folks. We had no money, but we struck two of the merchants who gave us an unlimited credit until we could make a raise. Our greatest expense was feeding the horses corn which cost five cents a pound and hay, two cents a pound. The grub we ate wasn’t very expensive as we stole all of our meat, and shared with our honest neighbors who thought it a great sin to kill other people’s cattle. You see “Bob” and I still clung to the old Texas style which is, never kill one of your own beeves when you can get somebody else’s.
We had concluded not to go after the stolen cattle until the rest of the boys got there, by which time the deep snow would be melted, maybe, so that we could scour the White Mountains, where the cattle were reported to be, out thoroughly.
New-Year’s night we had a bushel of fun making the citizens think that “Billy the Kid” had taken the town. Billy was in the habit of “shooting the town up a lot” every now and then, hence, every time a few dozen shots were fired at an unusually late hour, they putting it down as being some of his devilment.
