The Kid stared down into his coffee for a moment before replying, then looked up and told Falcon the entire story, not leaving out how guilty he felt about not intervening.
Just as the Kid finished his tale, McSween approached the pair and handed Falcon a glass of whiskey.
“Alex, just what do you intend to do about this?” Falcon asked.
McSween shook his head. “I don’t rightly know just now.”
“Have you reported what happened to Sheriff Brady?”
Kid turned his head and spit on the floor. “Tell Brady? That son of a bitch won’t do nothin’. He’s in on this with the rest of that Dolan bunch.”
Falcon was about to reply when someone knocked on the door and walked in. It was John Riley, and he was drunk as a hoot owl.
“I jus’ wanted to say I’m sorry ’bout what happened to Tunstall.” He slurred his words as he stood weaving in the living room.
“An’ I wan’ you to know I didn’t know nothin’ ’bout it.”
As he talked, he took a kerchief out of his pocket to wipe sweat off his forehead. As he raised the kerchief to his face, a small, leather-bound book fell to the floor.
Falcon bent and quickly picked it up, putting it in his pocket before the drunken Riley could see.
McSween grabbed the Kid as he started toward Riley, with blood in his eye.
“You’d better hightail it on out of here, Riley, ’fore the Kid or one of the others blows you into next week.”
Riley held up his hands, turning bleary eyes toward the Kid. “I tell you I’m not involved in all this, Kid. It was that outlaw Evans that shot Tunstall, not any of us.”
When the Kid strained against McSween’s grasp, Riley quickly turned and rushed from the room, fear on his face.
After he was gone, the Kid adjusted his holster and said, “I’m gonna go get some revenge for Mr. Tunstall. Anybody comin’ with me?”
Falcon said, “Hold on, Kid. Let’s see what Mr. Riley dropped before we go off half-cocked.” He turned some pages, reading the handwritten notes.
“Jesus,” he whispered to himself. This is the dynamite that might blow this entire county apart, he thought. “Gentlemen, let me have your attention,” he called to
the group in the house.
When they were all listening he said, “This is a memorandum book that Riley dropped when he was here. Among other items, there is a record of the occasions on which stolen cattle have been purchased from the Evans gang, cattle stolen from the Tunstall and Chisum ranches.”
McSween slammed his fist into his palm. “Goddamn! I knew those bastards were involved in the cattle thefts. Now we have proof!”
“That’s not all,” Falcon added. “Let me read you a letter, dated fourteen February, eighteen seventy-eight, from District Attorney Rynerson. It’s addressed to Riley and Dolan.”
He held up the letter to show the men, then began reading from it:
I believe Tunstall is in with the swindlers—with the rogue McSween. They have the money belonging to the Fritz estate, and they know it. It must be made hot for them, all the hotter the better—especially is this necessary now that it has been discovered there is no hell. Shake that McSween outfit up until it shells out and squares up, and then shake it out of Lincoln. I will aid to punish the scoundrels all I can. Get the people with control—you know how to do it, and be assured, I shall help you all I can, for I believe there was never found a more scoundrelly set than that outfit.
When he finished reading the letter Falcon saw that the men were riled up, ready to go immediately to find and kill the entire Dolan faction.
“Hold on, boys,” Falcon said. He turned to McSween, “You know for certain now that you can expect no justice in Lincoln, so you’d better not let these boys head there with guns in hand. Even if they win the battle they will lose the war, for the law is on the side of Dolan and his men.”
McSween nodded. “He’s right, men. Let me think for a minute. We’ve got to do this right, or we end up losing in the long run.”
After a few minutes spent pacing back and forth, his hands locked behind his back, McSween stopped and addressed the crew.
“All right, here’s what we’re going to do. First off, I want some men sent to locate Tunstall’s body and have it brought into Lincoln. We need to arrange a proper burial for him on the Rio Feliz.
“As far as getting the men responsible for this atrocity and making them pay, here is what we’re going to do . . .”
Seventeen
The next morning, the Kid and Dick Brewer and a few others accompanied Alexander McSween on a journey.
Soon, five somber-faced men gathered around a lamplit desk where a silver-haired Territorial Justice of the Peace of Lincoln County, John “Squire” Wilson, put pen to paper, granting legal authority to act as deputy constables within his jurisdiction to seven men: Rob Widenmann, Dick Brewer, Billy Bonney, Charley Bowdre, John Middleton, Henry Brown, and Fred Waite.
The Kid stood beside Brewer across the desk as Judge Wilson finished his paperwork. Tall, angular Alexander McSween whispered quiet instructions to the judge.
Outside the judge’s small house at the outskirts of Lincoln township, Middleton and Brown stood guard with rifles, for Brewer had concerns that Jimmy Dolan might anticipate their move and try to stop it before it became official.
“Now for the warrants, Judge,” McSween said. “You’ve heard the testimony of Billy Bonney, Fred Waite, and John Middleton, as to the murder. Three men who took part in the killing have been positively identified—Jesse Evans, Billy Morton and Tom Hill. If you’ll complete those arrest warrants, Constable Brewer and his deputies can go about making the arrests. Unfortunately, we cannot be sure James J. Dolan was present. However, it should be painfully clear he was responsible.”
“I can’t issue a warrant for a man who isn’t identified,” the judge croaked, clearing his throat. “You’ll have to offer a Territorial Judge up in Mesilla some sort of proof as to Dolan’s role in this.”
The Kid looked down at the badge he held in his palm. In all his life he’d never dreamed of becoming a lawman. But to avenge the death of a gentle friend like John Tunstall the Kid was willing to pin a badge to his chest.
After the ceremony and with the arrest warrants in hand, the seven men all shook hands, somber at what they saw as their sworn duty, the avenging of John Tunstall’s death.
While the others waited at McSween’s house for the arrival of Tunstall’s body, the Kid took a ride to Fort Sumner. He figured the early evening air would clear his head, help ease the pain he felt at his friend and boss’s sudden death.
Falcon, seeing the Kid enter the batwings of The Drinking Hole, folded his hand and cashed out of his poker game. He greeted the Kid, got a bottle of whiskey and some sarsaparilla, and led him back into Beaver Smith’s office.
After they were seated, the Kid folded back the edge of a leather vest he was wearing to show Falcon his badge.
Falcon nodded, having known of the men’s plans to seek out Squire Wilson.
“So, what are your plans now, Kid?” Falcon asked as he lighted a cigar.
“I plan to kill the sons of bitches who murdered John Tunstall!”
Falcon leaned back in his desk chair, whiskey in one hand and cigar in the other, observing the Kid closely.
“You think pinning that piece of tin to your chest gives you the right to do that?”
“No. But my loyalty to my friend, who’s lying in a coffin over in Lincoln with a passel of slugs in him, does.”
Falcon nodded. “Kid, I’m not one to get up on a high horse . . . hell, I’ve ridden the revenge trail myself for more years than I care to remember. But I want you to think this over very carefully. Right now, the majority of people in Lincoln County and the surrounding country are on your side. They know Tunstall was murdered, and they want the scoundrels who did it to pay the price.”
Falcon paused to take a long drag on his cigar, easing the bite of the tobacco
smoke on his tongue with a drink of whiskey. He tilted smoke from his nostrils and continued, “But if you and the others go off half-cocked and assassinate the killers, the tide of public opinion will turn, and you’ll find yourselves the villains in this affair. Is that what you want?”
As he talked, Falcon stared deep into the Kid’s eyes. He desperately wanted to reach this young man he had befriended. He wondered briefly what drew him to the Kid, finally realizing it was because he saw a lot of himself in him—a fierce loyalty, a desire to see wrongs righted, and a belief he could triumph against almost impossible odds to bring killers to justice.
The Kid’s expression changed. He looked doubtful for the first time.
He took a gulp of his sarsaparilla, belched, and shook his head.
“Damn, Falcon. I know what you’re sayin’ is true, but I can’t just sit around and wait for the law to do what it’s supposed to. You know as well as I do that Dolan has the local law in his pocket. Sheriff Brady is up to his neck in this affair. Hell, he was leading the posse that went after Tunstall, an’ it was him who allowed an escaped prisoner to shoot down the boss in cold blood. How can we expect him to do the right thing?”
Falcon blew smoke at the ceiling. “You’re right, Kid. Brady isn’t going to help you and your friends. But I can tell you now, if you try and serve those warrants on Dolan and Evans and the rest, there’s going to be bloodshed, and that’s a fact.”
The Kid’s face changed again, the wildness returning to his eyes as his lips curled in a grin with no mirth in it.
“Bloodshed is what I want, Falcon, long as it’s Dolan’s blood that gets spilled.”
Falcon sighed. He was getting nowhere. The Kid was beyond listening to reason.
“Then you’re determined to serve those warrants on Dolan and his men?”
“Yes, an’ the sooner the better.”
Falcon stood up and took his hat from the rack next to his desk.
“Well, do you mind if I ride along?” Falcon asked, hoping he could keep the Kid’s murderous instincts from causing him to do something foolish.
“Naw. It’s all right by me.”
The Kid stood and pulled his hat down tight. “Let’s ride, Falcon. They ought to have Tunstall’s body at McSween’s by now, an’ I’d like to pay my respects ’fore goin’ over to Dolan’s.”
* * *
The other six Regulators were gathered together in a group at Alexander McSween’s house when the Kid and Falcon arrived. Tunstall’s body was lying in a pine coffin in the parlor of the house, his face covered with a white kerchief.
The Kid stood next to the coffin and pulled back the kerchief, his face paling at the sight of his friend’s ruined face.
He turned away, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Damn, I hate that they shot him right in the face at close range.”
McSween nodded. “It’s going to be hard for even Sheriff Brady to call this self-defense.”
The Kid looked at the others. “How about we take a ride over to Dolan’s and serve these warrants tonight?”
McSween shook his head. “Not just yet, boys. Brady’s got to have a postmortem done in the morning. Let’s wait and see how he plays his hand. If he does right, and calls it murder, then we’ll let him do his job.”
The Kid spoke up. “And if he doesn’t?”
McSween frowned. “Then the Regulators will have to do it for him.”
* * *
The next morning, Sheriff Brady had the post surgeon from Fort Stanton, Dr. D.M. Appel, do the autopsy, paying him the unheard of price of one hundred dollars for the job.
Dr. Appel, in his official report, stressed that besides the two bullet wounds “no other bruises on head or body” could be found.
McSween and the Regulators were furious, having seen firsthand how Tunstall’s head had been badly mutilated. They became further enraged when Brady officially said that Tunstall was killed after shooting at Evans and his men, and the killing was justified.
When he heard this, the Kid unhooked the hammer thong from his Colt and said to the others, “Let’s go get those bastards!”
Falcon glanced at McSween. “Alex, don’t you think it would be wise if you asked Atanancio Martinez, the county constable, to serve the warrants? That way no one can claim this is a vigilante group you’re mounting.”
McSween stroked his chin, thinking. Finally he nodded.
“You’re right, Falcon, and Martinez is sympathetic to our cause. We’ll get him to go with us. That way everyone will know we’re on the side of the law.”
“I have another suggestion,” Falcon said.
“What is it?” McSween asked.
“Don’t send the entire group of Regulators with Martinez. Just have a couple of them go along to make sure the job gets done. After all, how much resistance do you expect from Jimmy Dolan?”
McSween nodded. “That’s a good idea. Kid, you and Fred Waite go get Martinez and ask him to serve our warrants. The rest of us will wait here to see what happens.”
The Kid nodded, slapped Waite on the shoulder, and said, “Let’s go arrest that son of a bitch, Fred.”
Falcon was disappointed. He had been trying to keep the hotheaded Kid out of this as much as possible. He knew the Kid was still very emotional about Tunstall’s death and was itching to pull the trigger on someone, especially Dolan or Evans.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll tag along with the Kid and Waite,” Falcon said to McSween.
“Not at all, Falcon, not at all,” he replied.
After locating Atanacio Martinez and explaining they wanted him to help them serve warrants on Dolan, the four men made their way to Dolan’s store at the other end of town.
The Kid glanced at Falcon. “You loaded up six and six, Falcon?”
Falcon shook his head. “I don’t think we’re going to need our guns on this trip, Kid. Dolan is no gunfighter, and Evans and his bunch wouldn’t dare show their faces in this town right now, with the way everyone feels about Tunstall’s killing.”
“Maybe not, but we might get lucky and he might make a try to escape or to fill his hand.”
Falcon stared at him. The Kid had changed with Tunstall’s death. He seemed older, more cynical, filled with hate. Gone was the good-natured, funloving kid he had met out at Chisum’s ranch. Falcon just hoped the old Kid would come back after all this was over.
When they walked into the store, several customers, seeing the expressions on the men’s faces, hurriedly paid for their merchandise and made for the door.
Falcon hung back, pretending to shop as he watched the Kid and the others walk into Dolan’s office at the back of the store. When the door opened, he could see Dolan sitting behind his desk, talking with Sheriff William Brady.
The Kid sauntered over to the desk and threw the warrants onto the desk.
“We’re here to arrest you for the murder of John Tunstall, Dolan,” the Kid said, his voice low but tight with hatred.
Without warning, Brady drew his pistol and pointed it at the Kid.
“Under what authority are you operating, Bonney?”
Atanacio Martinez explained that Squire Wilson, Justice of the Peace of Lincoln County, had appointed the Kid and the others special deputies.
Brady smirked. “That don’t hold no water in Lincoln. I’m the only law around here, and I say what you’re doin’ is illegal. I will not permit you to serve any warrants in my town.”
With that, he picked the papers off the desk and stuffed them in his pockets.
“I’m placing you three men under arrest for attempted assault.”
The Kid’s face turned red and his hand quivered, just above his Colt.
Brady smiled again, “Go on, Kid. Try for it. I’d love to put a window in your skull.”
Falcon walked to the doorway. “Take it easy, Kid,” he said.
Brady looked at him. “You takin’ a hand in this, MacCallister?”
Falcon shook his head. “No, I’m just a citize
n, watching you arrest men for no good reason.”
He looked at the Kid, knowing he had vowed never to go to jail again. “Kid, you and the others stay calm. I’ll let McSween know what’s going on. You won’t be in jail long, I promise you.”
Brady snorted. “We’ll see about that. Now, you gents lay them pistols on the desk and let’s mosey on over to the lockup.”
The Kid turned worried eyes on Falcon, then walked with the others toward the jail.
As Falcon turned to leave, Dolan spoke for the first time.
“I’d keep my nose out of this, MacCallister, if I were you.
“Like I said, Jimmy, I’m just an ordinary citizen who wants to see justice done.”
Falcon climbed up on Diablo and rode as fast as he could to McSween’s office.
After Falcon left, Dolan grabbed his hat and started for the door.
“Where you goin’ boss?” his clerk asked.
“I’m headed over to Fort Stanton to get Captain Purington to send some soldiers to guard the store from Tunstall’s friends. Then I’m gonna take a ride over to Doña Aña County to see if I can persuade John Kinney and some of his men to come to work for me.”
The clerk looked startled. “John Kinney, the famous outlaw?”
Dolan smiled. “One and the same.”
Eighteen
On February twenty-second, Falcon stood in a drizzle of rain mixed with sleet and watched six men lower John Tunstall’s body into his grave. He shivered, not so much from the cold, but from the realization that a full scale war was about to begin.
Brady had released Martinez after holding him for a few hours, but, two days later, the Kid and Waite were still in jail.
The soldiers that Dolan had gotten Captain Purington to send from Fort Stanton were now gone, and Lincoln resembled an armed camp, with gunfighters from both sides prowling the streets, just waiting for someone to start the shooting.
Some time after the funeral, Bob Widenmann arrived from Fort Stanton with a small detachment of troops, and Falcon accompanied them to the jail.
With the soldiers backing his play, Falcon stepped into the jail and demanded that Brady release the Kid and Waite.
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