by Jane Toombs
When they got to Sumner, John Chisum was there on business.
“No more of this chicken one day, feathers the next,” Billy told his men. “Our worries are over. Chisum owes me at least five hundred for the work I did for him when we were riding as the Regulators.
Chisum thought otherwise. “I never hired you,” he said to Billy as they stood talking near the old army hospital, now a house.
Ezra eyed the older man. He must be lying.
“There was no agreement you were working for me,” Chisum went on.
“Damn you,” Billy cried, pulling his Colt. “We didn’t shake on it, but you know you asked me to clean out those Dolan bastards. Didn’t I do it? I mean to have that money.”
Chisum began to tamp tobacco into his pipe, paying no attention to the Colt. “I can talk better when I smoke,” he said. “Now, Billy, you listen to me. You can go on jawing away until your hair is as white as mine, but you won’t convince me I owe you a cent. Do you plan to shoot me over it? You’ve killed men, I know that, but they needed killing. I’m an honest man, or I try to be. Do you believe I need killing? Look at all the times I helped you out, letting the Regulators take anything they needed from my store at the ranch.”
Billy reluctantly put away his Colt. “I reckon you don’t need shooting,” he said, “but if you won’t agree to pay me that money, then I expect you’re going to find yourself missing cattle until it’s paid in full.”
After they left Chisum, Billy called his entire gang together.
“No money from Chisum,” he said. “We’re going to add on a few more boys and go after the old bastard’s cows. I’ll make him damn sorry he ever said ‘no’ to Billy Bonney.”
For the first time, Ezra not only mistrusted the men Billy added to their crew but downright disliked them. Dave Rudabaugh, for one was, besides being mean, so God-awful dirty you tried hard to stay up-wind of him.
For a month or so they drove Chisum steers north from Texas, selling them to army beef suppliers. Then Billy decided they needed a little fun. A new town, White Oaks, had sprung up forty-some miles northwest of Lincoln. A rich town, what with the gold being mined in the nearby mountains. Billy took a notion to travel that way and try out the saloons.
They were in one of the White Oaks saloons having a drink when an old Regulator, digging for gold now instead of riding with Billy, hurried into the place and sidled up to Billy.
“Deputy Huggens is getting a posse ready.” he said. “You better ride while you can,
Billy. He aims to get you.”
“Why we’re here all peaceful-like!” Billy exclaimed.
“Huggens is out for your hide, is all I know. He claims White Oaks ain’t a harbor for murderers and thieves. Just thought I’d pass the word.”
Billy sighed. “Getting so a man can’t have a quiet drink anymore. Well, you heard him, boys. We don’t have a quarrel with this Huggens, so I guess we ride if we don’t mean to fight.”
It was late in the afternoon when they left, so they stopped at Greathouse and Kuck’s stage station to spend the night. Near morning the sound of horses’ hooves and men shouting roused them.
“You’re surrounded,” someone yelled. “Come out with your hands up.”
Billy asked Greathouse to go out and see what was going on. Ezra, peering cautiously from a window, saw at least a dozen men on horseback milling about in front of the house.
There were only seven of them; the rest had gone to Sumner instead of White Oaks.
“Sheriff’s posse,” Greathouse reported. “They have the place surrounded, just like they said.”
“I sure as hell ain’t going to surrender to them,” Billy said. “There’s this young fellow named Carlyle wants to come in and talk to you,” Greathouse said. “Only thing is, they want one of you to go out and stay with them while Carlyle’s in here.” “Don’t like it,” Billy said.
“I could go out there,” Greathouse offered.
Billy shrugged. “That’s okay with me.”
Carlyle came in as Greathouse went out. Carlyle was a stocky young man, heavy in the arms and shoulders. He said he was a blacksmith at White Oaks, deputized for this posse.
“Don’t cotton to blacksmiths, somehow,” Billy said. “What’re you after us for, Carlyle?”
“There’s warrants out,” Carlyle said. “You ought to know that. For shooting Brady and
Roberts. And then there’s the fact you been rustling stock.” “If you got warrants, let me see your papers,” Billy said.
“We don’t carry paper. But we know about you. We don’t want your kind in White Oaks.”
“You ain’t arresting me,” Billy told him. “I ain’t going to jail for you or any man in that posse out there. What we’re going to do, is keep you with us till dark; then you can lead us out so we can quit this damn place.”
“I’m a hostage in good faith,” Carlyle protested. “You sent a man out when I came in.
You can’t keep me here.”
“We sure as hell can.”
Someone banged on the door and a note was shoved underneath. Ezra ran to pick it up. He handed the note to Billy.
“Says that if I don’t let you go in the next few minutes,” Billy told Carlyle, “they mean to shoot Greathouse. Now what kind of good faith is that?” Carlyle waved his fist. “Surrender!” he cried.
“You’re loco, if they kill Greathouse, it sure puts your butt in a real deep crack. I told you what I mean--”
A Winchester cracked outside the house.
“Oh my God, they’ve killed him!” Carlyle yelled. He darted away from Billy and flung himself headlong at a window. Glass shattered as he leaped through it. Billy and O’Folliard, Colts drawn, ran toward the window, but before they could reach it, pistols barked outside. Billy shot back. So did O’Folliard.
Ezra stared from the window near him. Carlyle lay unmoving on the ground. No way of telling who’d shot him. Could have been the men outside or the shots Billy and O’Folliard fired. Bullets slammed into the wall and Ezra unholstered his Colt.
Ezra’s window smashed as a bullet pierced the glass. He ducked back, edged to the opening to fire at a man racing past on his horse. He missed. Aimed again. Held. The posse was leaving.
A half-hour later Billy and the others rode away from the stage station.
“At least they didn’t kill Greathouse,” Billy said, “even if they did wind up shooting that loco blacksmith of theirs. He was down before me or Tom fired a shot.” Billy shook his head. “I’m going to be blamed for that killing, sure as Pecos had gizzards.”
It wasn’t fair, Ezra thought. Billy had tried not to cause trouble and look what happened. It wasn’t his fault.
All the other killings came out of the war between Dolan and McSween. Dolan was just as guilty as Billy of the deaths during the feuding, but they weren’t organizing posses to chase Dolan.
You couldn’t count shooting Joe Grant--that was Grant’s fault.
Sure, they rustled a few steers here and there, but any time they took any large number of cows, it was from Chisum’s herds and he owed Billy.
Ezra’d tried to make Tessa understand, but she was a blind as anyone else when it came to seeing what was true and what wasn’t.
Summer passed without any other run-ins with the law. In the fall Billy got word that Pat Garrett had been elected sheriff,
“Old Pat’s not going to bother us none,” Billy predicted. “He knows me, knows well enough it ain’t no use coming after us.” He grinned at Ezra. “We’re lucky. Maybe it’s rubbed off from you. Supplies are getting low, though, so I think we’ll take us a trip down to the panhandle and bring back some of those Texas cattle to sell.’’
* * *
The sun peeked over the rim of the world, tinting the sky pink as Maria stirred a pot of beans in her kitchen while Jules toyed with fried corn mush at the table. The November weather had been unseasonably mild, so Tessa turned away from the window, deciding to wear only a light shawl
to school.
“Hurry and finish, Jules,” she said.
“Don’t want to go to school,” he mumbled.
“Are you sick?” Tessa felt his forehead. “No, you’re not hot. What’s the matter?” “Nothing.”
“Jules, answer me,”
“They said he was gonna get Billy.”
“Who said?”
“The fellows at school.’’
“They say all kinds of things. Who do they mean?”
“The new deputy. The one who’s gonna be sheriff next year.”
“Mr. Garrett?”
“Yeah.”
“Please don’t say ‘yeah’.”
“Pat Garrett says he means to bring in Billy and see him hang. And the others in his gang, too.” Jules jabbed at the fried mush with his knife. “They told me I’m gonna have to watch Ezra dance at the end of a rope. I hate all of them.” “Madre de Dios!” Maria exclaimed.
“No!” Tessa said at the same moment.
“They said so,” Jules persisted.
“No such thing is going to happen!” Tessa cried. “Sheriff Garrett can say all he wants to, but no one’s caught Billy yet.”
Jules looked up at her. “He might.”
“Even if he does arrest Billy, that has nothing to do with Ezra. Nothing’s going to happen to Ezra. I won’t let it.”
As she tried to reassure Jules, Tessa felt her stomach knot. She, too, had heard that Pat Garrett was a man who got a job done, a man who never gave up.
“You can stay home from school,” she said to Jules. “I don’t feel well enough to teach today. I’ll go and put a notice on the school door.”
“I can take the notice,” Maria offered. “You rest.”
“No, thank you. I need the fresh air.”
Tessa hurried along the road. She hadn’t wanted Maria or Jules to know she was headed for Mark’s rooming house because she was well-nigh engaged to Calvin Rutledge. After all this time apart, what was she going to say to Mark? She had money saved up, not much, but enough for Ezra to leave the Territory and get a start somewhere else. Maybe in California or Oregon. If Mark could locate Ezra and give him the money. Was that too much to ask of Mark?
She knew he was in town because she kept track of his comings and goings and he was gone oftener than not. That made it easier, since she couldn’t help her pulse of excitement whenever he was in town and she caught sight of his lean figure riding past.
If Calvin’s kisses didn’t thrill her as Mark’s had, neither would Calvin ever break her heart.
What made her think Mark would do any favors for her?
Not for me, she told herself. For Ezra. For Jules. Even though she didn’t see Mark anymore, he’d kept his promise to teach Jules how to play the harmonica. She knew he was fond of the boy.
Tessa had never been to Mark’s room, but she knew where it was. Jules had described how you went up the outside steps in the back of the building where he roomed. Though she met no one on the road, she felt terribly conspicuous as she ducked around to the rear of the place.
Thank God it was so early that few people were stirring.
Rickety wooden steps led up to a second floor. Tessa climbed them.
“You go in through the door and there’s a hall,” Jules had told her. “Then there’s three doors. His is the one in the middle. He leaves it open for me.” It wouldn’t be open for her. She’d have to knock.
Tessa’s heart beat faster as she opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped into the hall.
She passed the first door. Here was the second. Ajar. Should she knock? Tessa bit her lip and touched the door with her fingertips. It swung farther open. The first thing she saw was the metal footboard of a bed.
The second thing she saw was Susie McSween sitting on the bed kissing Mark
Chapter 15
Tessa fled down the stairs, ran around the house and into the road. A drover shouted at her. Scarcely breaking stride, she swerved out of the way of his mule-drawn wagon and hurried on.
Lost him, lost him, I’ve lost him. The refrain played over and over in her head. Lost Mark. Lost Ezra.
She sobbed tearlessly. Her chest hurt. Images of Susie’s red hair close to Mark’s dark hair alternated with visions of Ezra dangling from the end of a rope,
Calvin. Calvin would help her. Not with Mark, Mark would never be hers; she knew that now. But Ezra could still be saved.
Calvin wore a short silk robe over his trousers; she hadn’t seen a man in a dressing robe over his trousers since her father had worn his out a year before his death.”
“What’s wrong, Tessa?” Calvin demanded, trying to put his arms about her. She held herself stiffly away .”You must help me find Ezra. Right away. He’s got to leave the Territory.”
“Calm yourself, Tessa. Sit down. Tell me what’s the matter.”
She gripped the back of a straight chair. “There’s no time for talking. This new sheriff, Pat Garrett, he’s going after Billy and his gang. He boasts he’ll see them all hang. I can’t let that happen to Ezra!”
“Do you want me to speak to Mr. Garrett, is that it? Try to arrange a way out for Ezra?”
“No, no, I want you to find Ezra. I have some ...”
“How do you expect me to locate your brother? Billy and his boys swarm over the entire Territory and into Texas and Mexico. We can leave word at some of the places they favor, here in town and at Sumner, saying you must see Ezra as soon as possible, but other than that...”
“Oh!” Tessa straightened and put her hands on her hips. “Are you afraid to ride after Ezra?”
A muscle twitched in Calvin’s face. “You’re being unreasonable. No one rides alone from Lincoln these days. It’s only safe in groups of five or six, all well-armed. Billy’s boys aren’t the only cutthroats roaming the county. There are still stray Apaches as well as the Comancheros. You know that very well, Tessa. I’m not a coward, but I’m not an idiot either,”
“Find others to go with you then.”
He sighed. “That won’t be easy. But I promise I’ll try.” Again he tried to embrace her, and though she didn’t pull away, she remained rigid in his arms.
Was Susie still in Mark’s arms? Tessa wondered. He hadn’t seen her standing there, though Susie might have. Were they making love now?
She jerked back from Calvin’s kiss. “Will you ride today?”
“For God’s sake, Tessa. I gave you my promise. It’ll take time to locate enough men. A week maybe. Then we’ll have to make inquiries, find out where Billy was last seen and--”
“I can’t wait!” She whirled and flung herself from his room and ran toward Maria’s, only half-aware of the stares of others on the street.
There was no one she could count on. She’d have to do it herself,
Tessa rode east from Lincoln, on the Pecos road, heading for Sumner. The town had been Billy’s headquarters for over a year and seemed the most likely place to start.
She wore some of Ezra’s outgrown clothes she’d been saving for Jules—denim pants, a
red flannel shirt, buckskin jacket—and she had her hair tucked up under an old wide-brimmed hat. Her father’s Colt weighed down a jacket pocket.
It was nearly ninety miles to Sumner and so she’d fastened a bedroll behind the roan’s saddle and carried a packet of food.
Maria had been aghast at what she intended to do and Jules had been angry because she wouldn’t take him along. She’d swept their protests aside, hardly hearing them. Of course she could do it. Would do it.
Now, though, as the afternoon shadows lengthened and Tessa realized she’d have to find a spot to camp for the night, she almost wished she’d brought Jules so she wouldn’t be alone. There were ranches along the way that took in night guests, but she was afraid to try one since she knew the men travelers shared a room and she wouldn’t be able to conceal she was a woman.
She was counting on the fact that she looked like a boy, and a none-too-well-dressed one at that, t
o keep her from being bothered along the road. When dusk lay hazy in the hollows between the hills, Tessa realized she must pick her campsite soon. There was a grove of leafless cottonwoods off the road ahead that might be a good spot. She urged the roan into a lope.
As she neared the trees, seven riders crested a hill on the opposite side of the road and saw her.
“Hey, kid!” one of them called.
Tessa resisted the impulse to kick her horse into a gallop. There were too many of them and, besides, they might shoot her if she tried to run.
She waved a hand in acknowledgement and kept on at her same pace. She had no intention of going into the trees now but would stay on the road, hoping they’d lose interest in a lone, poorly dressed boy.
Alarm tensed her muscles when she heard the pound of hooves behind her. She glanced back.
“Hold up there!” a black-bearded man shouted. He fired his Colt into the air.
Tessa reined in the roan. Don’t panic, she told herself. It’s getting dark and they can’t see you clearly; you’ll pass as a boy.
Seven riders clattered up and surrounded her. The one who’d fired the shot, a man with a full black beard, spoke first.
“Where ya headed so fast, sonny?”
Tessa kept her eyes on the bearded man and did her best to make her voice low-pitched.
“Sumner.”
“He’s only carrying a bedroll,”‘ another of the riders said. “Not even a Winchester.”
The bearded man ran an eye over the roan, which was not the better looking of the two horses Tessa owned. She’d chosen him today for that reason.
“Okay, kid, go on,” the man said, easing his mount from her path. Tessa swallowed. Not trusting her voice, she sketched a salute and kneed the roan into a trot. As she pulled away from the men, she sighed in relief.
She’d gone barely twenty paces when she heard hooves again and a rider pulled up alongside her. She glanced at him. He wasn’t the bearded man but one of the others. A Mexican with silver conchos on his saddle.
