Pat Garrett

by The Kid The Authentic Life of Billy

  The Kid was not satisfied. Whether conscientious scruples oppressed his mind, whether he pined for a more exciting existence, or whether policy dictated his resolve, he determined to desert his employers, his companions, and the cause in which he was engaged and in which he had wrought yeoman's service. He met John H. Tunstall, a leading factor of the opposition. Whether the Kid sought this interview, or Tunstall sought him, or befell by chance is not known. At all events, our hero expressed to Tunstall his regret for the course he had pursued against him and offered him his future services. Tunstall immediately put him under wages and sent him to the Rio Feliz, where he had a herd of cattle.

  The Kid rode back to camp and boldly announced to his whilom confederates that he was about to forsake them, and that when they should meet again,

  "Those bands, so fair together ranged,

  Those hands, so frankly interchanged,"

  May dye "with gore the green."

  Dark and lowering glances gleamed out from beneath contracted brows at this communication, and the Kid half-dreaded and half-hoped a bloody ending to the interview. Angry expostulation, eager argument, and impassioned entreaty all failed to shake his purpose. Perhaps the presence and intervention of his old and tried friend Jesse Evans stayed the threatened explosion. Argued Jesse: "Boys, we have slept, drank, feasted, starved, and fought cheek by jowl with the Kid; he has trusted himself alone amongst us, coming like a man to notify us of his intention; he didn't sneak off like a cur, and leave us to find out, when we heard the crack of his Winchester, that he was fighting against us. Let him go. Our time will come. We shall meet him again, perhaps in fair fight." Then, under his breath:—"and he'll make some of you brave fellows squeak." Silently and sullenly the party acquiesced, except Frank Baker, who insinuated in a surly tone that now was the time for the fight to come off.

  "Yes, you d—d cowardly dog!" replied the Kid; "right now, when you are nine to one; but don't take me to be fast asleep because I look sleepy. Come you, Baker, as you are stinking for a fight; you never killed a man you did not shoot in the back; come and fight a man that's looking at you."

  Red lightnings flashed from the Kid's eyes as he glared on cowering Baker, who answered not a word. With this banter on his lips, our hero slowly wheeled his horse and rode leisurely away, casting one long regretful glance at Jesse, with whom he was loth to part.

  Chapter IX

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  New Service—Apparent Reformation—A Firm Friend—Tunstall's Murder—The Kid's Rage—Revenge— Tunstall's Murderers Slain by the Kid—Baker Meets the Kid and Makes His Last Fight

  AFTER PLEDGING ALLEGIANCE to Tunstall, the Kid plodded along for some months in the monotonous groove fashioned for the "cow boy." In his bearing one would never detect the dare-devilism which had heretofore characterized him. He frequently came in contact with his employer and entertained for him strong friendship and deep respect, which was fully reciprocated by Tunstall. He was also ever a welcome guest at the residence of McSween. Both Tunstall and McSween were staunch friends to the Kid, and he was faithful to them to the last. His life passed on uneventfully. Deeds of violence and bloodshed were of frequent occurrence on the Pecos and in other portions of the country, but all was quiet on the Rio Feliz. The Kid had seemed to lose his taste for blood.

  "Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favour here."

  He was passive, industrious, and, seemingly, content. It was the lull before the storm.

  In the month of February, 1878, William S. Morton (said to have had authority as deputy sheriff), with a posse of men composed of cow boys from the Rio Pecos, started out to attach some horses which Tunstall and McSween claimed. Tunstall was on the ground with some of his employees. On the approach of Morton and his party, Tunstall's men all deserted him—ran away. Morton afterwards claimed that Tunstall fired on him and his posse; at all events, Morton and party fired on Tunstall, killing both him and his horse. One Tom Hill, who was afterwards killed whilst robbing a sheep outfit, rode up as Tunstall was lying on his face, gasping, placed his rifle to the back of his head, fired, and scattered his brains over the ground.

  This murder occurred on the 18th day of February, 1878. Before night the Kid was apprised of his friends death. His rage was fearful. Breathing vengeance, he quitted his herd, mounted his horse, and from that day to the hour of his death his track was blazed with rapine and blood.

  "Pleasure, and ease, and sloth aside he flung, As burst the awakening Nazarite his band When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his dreadful hand."

  The Kid rode to Lincoln and sought McSween. Here he learned that R. M. Bruer had been sworn in as special constable, was armed with a warrant, and was about to start, with a posse, to arrest the murderers of Tunstall. The Kid joined this party, and they proceeded to the Rio Pecos,

  On the 6th day of March, Bruer and his posse "jumped up" a party of five men below the lower crossing of Rio Penasco and about six miles from the Rio Pecos. They fled and the officer's party pursued. They separated, and the Kid, recognizing Morton and Baker in two of the fugitives who rode in company, took their trail and was followed by his companions. For fully five miles the desperate flight and pursuit was prolonged. The Kid's Winchester belched fire continually, and his followers were not idle; but distance and the motion of running horses disconcerted their aim, and the fugitives were unharmed. Suddenly, however, their horses stumbled, reeled, and fell, almost at the same instant. Perhaps they were wounded; no one paused to see. A friendly sink-hole in the prairie, close at hand, served the fleeing pair as a breastwork, from which they could have "stood off" twice the force behind them. And yet the pursuers had the best of it, as the pursued had but two alternatives—to surrender or starve.

  After considerable parley, Morton said that if the posse would pledge their word and honor to conduct himself and his companion, Baker, to Lincoln in safety, they would surrender. The Kid strongly opposed giving this pledge. He believed that two of the murderers of Tunstall were in his power, and he thirsted for their blood. He was overruled, the pledge was given, the prisoners were disarmed and taken to Chisum's ranch. The Kid rode in the advance, and, as he mounted, was herd to mutter: "My time will come."

  On the 9th day of March, 1878, the officer, with posse and prisoners, left Chisum's for Lincoln. The party numbered thirteen men. The two prisoners, special constable R. M. Bruer, J. G. Skurlock, Chas. Bowdre, the Kid, Henry Brown, Frank McNab, Fred Wayt, Sam Smith, Jim French, John Middleton and — McClosky. They stopped at Roswell, five miles from Chisum's, to give Morton the opportunity to mail a letter at the postoffice there. This letter he registered to a cousin, Hon. H. H. Marshall, Richmond, Va. A copy of this letter is in the hands of the author, as well as a letter subsequently addressed to the postmaster by Marshall. Morton descended from the best blood of Virginia, and left many relatives and friends to mourn his loss.

  Morton and the whole party were well known to the postmaster, M. A. Upson, and Morton requested him, should any important event transpire, to write to his cousin and inform him of the facts connected therewith. Upson asked him if he apprehended danger to himself on the trip. He replied that he did not, as the posse had pledged themselves to deliver them safely to the authorities at Lincoln, but, in case this pledge was violated, he wished his people to be informed. McClosky, of the officer's posse, was standing by and rejoined: "Billy, if harm comes to you two, they will have to kill me first."

  The Kid had nothing to say. He appeared distrait and sullen, evidently "digesting the venom of his spleen." After a short stay the cortege went on their way. The prisoners were mounted on two inferior horses. This was the last ever seen of these two unfortunates, alive, except by the officer and his posse. It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning when they left the postoffice. About four o'clock in the evening, Martin Chavez, of Picacho, arrived at Roswell from above, and reported that the trail of the party left the direct road to Lincoln, and turned off in the direction of Agua Negra. This was an unfrequen
ted route to the base of Sierra de la Capitana, and the information at once settled all doubts in the minds of the hearers as to the fate of Morton and Baker.

  On the 11th, Frank McNab, one of the posse, returned to Roswell and entered the post-office. Said Upson: "Hallo! McNab; I thought you were in Lincoln by this time. Any news?"

  "Yes," replied he, "Morton killed McClosky, one of our men, made a break to escape, and we had to kill them."

  "Where did Morton get weapons?" queried Upson.

  "He snatched McClosky's pistol out of its scabbard, killed him with it, and ran, firing back as he went. We had to kill them, or some of us would have been hurt," explained McNab.

  This tale was too attenuated. Listeners did not believe it. The truth of the matter, as narrated by the Kid, and in which rendering he was supported by several of his comrades, was as follows:

  It had been resolved by two or three of the guards to murder Morton and Baker before they reached Lincoln. It has been stated by newspaper correspondents that the Kid killed McClosky. This report is false. He was not one of the conspirators, nor did he kill McClosky. He cursed Bruer, in no measured terms for giving a pledge of safety to the prisoners, but said, as it had been given, there was no way but to keep their word.

  He further expressed his intention to kill them both, and said his time would come to fulfill his threat, but he would not murder an unarmed man.

  McCloskey and Middleton constantly rode behind the prisoners, as if to protect them; the others brought up the rear, except the Kid and Bowdre, who were considerably in advance. About twenty or thirty miles from Roswell, near the Black Water Holes, McNab and Brown rode up to McClosky and Middleton. McNab placed his revolver to McClosky's head and said: "Your are the son-of-a-bitch that's got to die before harm can come to these fellows, are you?" and fired as he spoke. McClosky rolled from his horse a corpse. The terrified, unarmed prisoners fled as fast as their sorry horses could carry them, pursued by the whole party and a shower of harmless lead. At the sound of the first shot, the Kid wheeled his horse. All was confusion. He could not take in the situation. He heard fire-arms, and it flashed across his mind that, perhaps, the prisoners had, in some accountable manner, got possession of weapons. He saw his mortal enemies attempting to escape, and as he sank his spurs in his horse's sides, he shouted to them to halt. They held their course, with bullets whistling around them. A few bounds of the infuriated gray carried him to the front of the pursuers—twice only, his revolver spoke, and a life sped at each report. Thus died McClosky, and thus perished Morton and Baker. The Kid dismounted, turned Morion's face up to the sky, and gazed down on his old companion long and in silence.

  "Grief darkened on his rugged brow,

  Though half disguised with a frown."

  He asked no questions, and the party rode on to Lincoln, except McNab, who returned to Chisum's ranch. They left the bodies where they fell. They were buried by some Mexican sheep-herders.

  Chapter X

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  Desperate Fight at the Indian Agency—One Man Stands Off a Dozen—Dies Fighting—Dick Bruer's Death—The Kid Calls for "Billy" Matthews-Killing of Sheriff Brady and Geo. Hindman in the Streets of Lincoln

  RETURNING TO LINCOLN, the Kid attached himself to the fortunes of McSween, who was every day becoming more deeply involved in the events of the war. He was a peaceably disposed man, but the murder of his partner aroused all the belligerent passion within him. The Kid still adhered to Bruer's official posse, as hunger for vengeance was, by no means, satiated, and Bruer was still on the trail of Tunstall's murderers.

  One of the actors in that tragedy was an ex-soldier named Roberts. The Kid heard that he could be found in the vicinity of the Mescalero Apache Indian Agency, at South Fork, some forty miles south of Lincoln. Roberts was a splendid shot, an experienced horseman, and as brave as skillful. Bruer and party were soon on their way to attempt his arrest. The Kid knew that he would never be taken alive by this party, with the fate of Morton and Baker, at their hands, so fresh in his memory; and this to the Kid, was a strong incentive to urge the expedition. It was life he wanted, not prisoners.

  As the party approached the building from the east, Roberts came galloping up from the west. The Kid espied him, and bringing his Winchester to rest on his thigh, he spurred directly towards him as Bruer demanded a surrender. Roberts' only reply was to the Kid's movements. Like lightning his Winchester was at his shoulder and a ball sang past the Kid's ear. Quick as his foe, the Kid's aim was more accurate, and the ball went crashing through Roberts' body, inflicting a mortal wound. Hurt to the death, this brave fellow was not conquered, but lived to wreak deadly vengeance on the hunters. Amidst a shower of bullets he dismounted and took refuge in an out-house, from whence, whilst his brief life lasted, he dealt death with his rifle. He barricaded the door of his weak citadel with a mattress and some bed-clothing, which he found therein, and from this defense he fought his last fight. His bullets whistled about the places of concealment, where lurked his foes. Wherever a head, a leg, or an arm protruded, it was a target for his rifle. Charley Bowdry was severely wounded in the side, a belt of cartridges around his body saving his life. Here Dick Bruer met his death. Dr. Blazer's saw-mill is directly across the street from Roberts' hiding place. In front of the mill were lying numerous huge saw-boys. Unseen by Roberts, Bruer had crept behind these, to try and get a shot at him. But no sooner did Bruer raise his head to take an observation than the quick eye of Roberts detected him—but one of Bruer's eyes was exposed-it was enough—a bullet from a Winchester found entrance there, and Bruer rolled over dead behind the boy.

  The brave fellow's time was short, but to his last gasp his eye was strained to catch sight of another target for his aim, and he died with his trusty rule in his grasp.

  To the Kid, the killing of Roberts was neither cause for exultation, nor "one for grief." He had further bloody work to do. He swore he would not rest nor stay his murderous hand so long as one of Tunstall's slayers lived.

  "For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong."

  Bruer dead, the command of the squad, by common consent, was conferred upon the Kid. He had little use for the position, however, as throwing around his deeds the protection of law, which he held in disdain. What he wanted was two or three "free riders" who, without fear or compunction, would take their lives in their hands and follow where he led.

  On their return to Lincoln, the posse was disbanded, but most of those composing it joined fortunes with the Kid as their accepted leader. With emissaries riding over the country in every direction, he bided his time and opportunity. He spent most of his time in Lincoln and frequently met adherents of the other faction, which meetings were ever the signal for an affray. J. B. Matthews, well known throughout the Territory as "Billy" Matthews, held the Kid in mortal aversion. He was not with the posse who killed Tunstall, but denounced, in no measured terms, the killers of Morton, Baker, and Roberts. He was an intimate friend of popular Jimmy Dolan of the firm of Murphy & Dolan, and a strong supporter of their cause. "Billy" was brave as any red-handed killer of them all. He was in Lincoln plaza on the 2 8th day of March, and, by chance, unarmed. He came suddenly face to face with the Kid, who immediately "cut down" on him with his Winchester. "Billy" darted into a doorway, which the Kid shot into slivers about his head. Matthews had his revenge, though, as will hereafter appear.

  At this time William Brady was sheriff of Lincoln County. Major Brady was an excellent citizen and a brave and honest man. He was a good officer, too, and endeavored to do his duty with impartiality. The objections made against Sheriff Brady were that he was strongly prejudiced in favor of the Murphy-Dolan faction—those gentlemen being his warm personal friends, and that he was lax in the discharge of his duty through fear of giving offence to one party or the other. Yet the citizens of New Mexico will unite in rendering honor to the memory of an honest, conscientious, kind-hearted gentleman.

  Sheriff Brady held warrants for the Kid and his associate
s, charging them with the murders of Morton, Baker, and Roberts. The Kid and his accomplices had evaded arrest by dodging Brady on the plaza and standing guard in the field. They resolved to end this necessity for vigilance, and by a crime which would disgrace the record of an Apache. The Kid was a monomaniac on the subject of revenge for the death of Tunstall. No deed so dark and damning but he would achieve it to sweep obstacles from the path which led to its accomplishment. Brady with his writs barred the way, and his fate was sealed.

  On the 1st day of April, 1878, Sheriff Brady, accompanied by George Hindman and J. B. Matthews, started from Murphy & Dolan's store, Lincoln, to go to the court house, and there announce that no court would be held at the stated April term. In those days of anarchy a man was seldom seen in the plaza or streets of Lincoln without a gun on his shoulder. The sheriff and his attendants each bore a rifle. Tunstall & McSween's store stood about halfway between the two above named points. In the rear of the Tunstall & McSween building is a corral, the east side of which projects beyond the house and commands a view of the street, where the sheriff must pass. The Kid and his companions had cut grooves in the top of the adobe wall in which to rest their guns. As the sheriff came in sight a volley of bullets were poured upon them from the corral, and Brady and Hindman fell, whilst Matthews took shelter behind some old houses on the south side of the street. Brady was killed outright, being riddled with balls. Hindman was mortally wounded, but lived a few moments.