To Hell on a Fast Horse

by Mark Lee Gardner

  They soon met up with yet five or six more possemen sent from Las Vegas. This last bunch, under the charge of the sheriff’s brother, Dolores Romero, also failed to impress Garrett, but there was nothing he could do about it. As they neared Anton Chico, Garrett received word that Frank Stewart and his Panhandle posse were in the town. He sent Mason to deliver a message for Stewart to meet him in Las Vegas. This caused the Las Vegas deputies to put up a fuss, because they thought of Mason as a member of the Kid’s gang (not an entirely wrongheaded assumption). Garrett waved Mason on and told the deputies that if they wanted to arrest the man, they could do it in Las Vegas.

  When Garrett and Stewart met, they had a long confab about the Kid. Stewart’s plan was to look for stolen cattle and the gang in the White Oaks area. If unsuccessful there, he would cross over the mountains and follow the Rio Hondo east to Roswell and then ride up the Pecos Valley to Fort Sumner. Garrett considered that a waste of time. Not only that, Garret informed Stewart, he would be allowing the Kid an opportunity to escape to a safe refuge, likely out of the Territory. Garrett knew, probably from information obtained by Barney Mason when he went to deliver Garrett’s message to Stewart, that the Kid had recently been in Anton Chico. Garrett’s posse had just scoured the Kid’s stomping grounds of Fort Sumner, Las Cañaditas, and Los Portales, and come up empty-handed. But Garrett was confident the Kid had now moved back into the Fort Sumner area.

  Garrett wanted to sneak into Sumner again, but he and Barney Mason could not bring the gang in alone. He needed men—Stewart’s men. By this time, the news of Governor Wallace’s reward proclamation had reached Las Vegas, and Garrett offered Stewart a share of the reward money if Stewart and his men would join him on an expedition to Fort Sumner. Stewart agreed to run Garrett’s plan by his men (all except the offer of the reward money), but they would have to ride hard to overtake them, for they had likely already decamped for White Oaks.

  The Texas posse, composed primarily of cowboys from the large LS and LIT outfits, was camped just a few miles from Anton Chico when Garrett, Mason, and Stewart caught up with it. Over breakfast, with Garrett watching, Stewart addressed his men. Although one of the posse’s goals was to apprehend the rustlers, the cattlemen who had supplied the cowboys and paid the expenses preferred that recovering livestock be the posse’s first order of business, with rounding up notorious outlaws coming in second. Stewart began, then, by bending the truth a little, saying there was a bunch of steers near Fort Sumner he wanted to round up and take in. The boys did not buy a word of it. They knew Fort Sumner was Kid country, and it was obvious why Garrett was in their camp and what he was after—the sheriff-elect and deputy U.S. marshal was, first and foremost, a manhunter. So Garrett told it to them straight. He was going after the Kid and his gang, and there was a good chance there would be some fighting before they were through. He wanted only volunteers; no one would be forced to go against their will.

  “Do what you please, boys,” Stewart chimed in, “but there is no time to talk. Those who are going with me, get ready at once. I want no man who hesitates.”

  Six men got up off the ground and began to saddle their horses.

  6

  The Kid Hunted

  If it hadn’t been for the dead horse in the doorway, I wouldn’t be here.

  —BILLY THE KID

  BILLY BONNEY KNEW THAT Pat Garrett, unlike the sheriffs he had dealt with in the past, could be as hardheaded as a snapping turtle; he would not let go, and he would not quit until the job was finished. And as more and more men went after Billy and his pals, it was getting harder and harder to dodge them—there were only so many roads, so many camps, so many places to hide. The Kid was getting whipped in the territorial press, too. In an editorial of December 3, 1880, the Las Vegas Gazette portrayed the outlaws as a despicable bunch of hardened criminals. And the paper said there were forty or fifty of them. This was a gross exaggeration, of course, but that is what the Kid inspired. And as far as the Gazette was concerned, Bonney was the worst of the lot.

  “The gang is under the leadership of ‘Billy the Kid,’ a desperate cuss, who is eligible for the post of captain of any crowd, no matter how mean and lawless,” the paper wrote.

  This was the first time he had been referred to in print as “Billy the Kid,” three simple words that rolled off the tongue and into immortality.

  The Gazette was doing more than reporting on the outlaws; it was serving notice to the community: “Shall we suffer this horde of outcasts and the scum of society, who are outlawed by a multitude of crimes, to continue their way on the very border of our county? We believe our citizens of San Miguel County to be order loving people, and call upon them to unite in forever wiping out this band to the east of us.”

  Billy read the newspapers whenever he could get his hands on them. He read the Gazette editorial soon after its publication, and he attempted some damage control by writing a four-page letter to Governor Wallace, dated Fort Sumner, December 12. “I noticed in the Las Vegas Gazette,” Billy wrote, “a piece which stated that, Billy ‘the’ Kid, the name by which I am known in the Country was the Captain of a Band of Outlaws who hold Forth at the Portales. There is no such Organization in Existence. So the Gentleman must have drawn very heavily on his Imagination.”

  Billy went on to explain the recent events at Coyote Springs and the Greathouse-Kuch station. Jimmy Carlyle, he claimed, was shot and killed by the possemen, who believed it was the Kid escaping out the window. Billy also insisted that he had been living at Fort Sumner since he left Lincoln, making a living there as a gambler. His troubles, the Kid told Wallace, were all caused by John S. Chisum. Billy held a considerable grudge against the cattleman because he had never paid the money he allegedly promised the Kid for fighting on the McSween side during the war. Now, Billy firmly believed that Chisum was the mastermind behind Pat Garrett’s campaign to track him down.

  Billy assured the governor that “so far as for my being at the head of a band [of outlaws] there is nothing of it.”

  Billy’s carefully composed letter was a waste of ink and paper. On December 13, Wallace signed a proclamation offering a reward of “five hundred dollars ($500.-) for the apprehension and arrest of said William Bonney alias ‘The Kid’ and for his delivery to the Sheriff of Lincoln County at the county seat of said county.” The Las Vegas Gazette complained that the $500 reward was too small:

  It is no jackrabbit hunt that Garrett and his band, Frank Stewart and his Panhandle boys and the White Oaks rangers are engaged in, but a determined campaign against lawless fellows who have nothing to fear, as the remainder of their lives will be passed behind bars, to pay the penalty of their crimes if they are ever caught. What should be done by the people of this and neighboring counties is to raise a purse of $5,000 to be paid the men engaged in this campaign providing they drive the desperadoes from our border.

  JUST BEFORE DAYLIGHT December 18, Garrett led his posse into Fort Sumner. In addition to the six men from the Texas Panhandle posse, he had also picked up four men from Puerto de Luna. With Barney Mason and Frank Stewart, that gave him twelve gunmen. The Kid and gang were not then in the town, but it was believed that they were not far off. Garrett obtained quarters for his exhausted men and told them to get some rest (they had been in the saddle for close to fifteen hours). No sooner had the men gotten settled, though, than Barney Mason busted in and told Garrett that the Kid’s gang was camped in an abandoned building nearby. The possemen jumped up, grabbed their guns, and cautiously proceeded to the adobe Mason pointed out. Peering through the wavy glass windowpanes, they saw a small fire in the fireplace—and the silhouette of a man in front of it. Garrett whispered to his men not to take any chances; they should shoot to kill as soon as they got inside. With that, he kicked in the door and rushed in, followed by several members of the posse.

  “My God, don’t shoot, boys!” screamed the man in front of the fireplace. Fortunately, Garrett and the boys held their fire, for the trembling man turned out
to be the mail carrier from Las Vegas. The excitement over for the time being, Garrett led the men back to their quarters, where they finally got some much-needed sleep.

  Later that morning, Garrett took Mason with him to see what he could find out about the gang’s whereabouts. He told the posse to stay in their quarters; he did not want word to get out about their presence in Sumner. The Kid had many sympathizers who would be eager to alert the outlaw to any danger. And sure enough, one of the first individuals Garrett and Mason ran into was Yginio Garcia, a friend of Billy’s. Garrett at first ordered Garcia not to leave the plaza, but as the lawman was certain that Garcia knew nothing about his posse, he decided it would be advantageous to give Billy the impression that he only had Mason with him. He let Garcia go, who claimed he had urgent business at home, but, as Garrett had suspected, Garcia got a message to Billy about his encounter with the two manhunters.

  Garrett and his men kept to themselves the rest of that day and night. The next morning, December 19, Garrett spotted Juan Gallegos, the sixteen-year-old stepson of Thomas Wilcox, loafing about the plaza. Garrett had a strong hunch that the young man had been sent there as a spy for the Kid. He was right. The boy readily admitted that the gang was at the Wilcox-Brazil ranch, east of town. Gallegos’s father and Manuel Brazil were in no way sympathetic to the outlaws, but they had no choice but to put up with them. Garrett easily persuaded young Gallegos to help him lay a trap for the gang.

  Garrett next located Kid confederate José Valdez and forced him to write a note to Billy saying that Garrett and the few men with him had departed Fort Sumner for Roswell; all was clear. Garrett then wrote a note of his own to Wilcox and Brazil asking for their cooperation. Garrett handed the two notes to Gallegos, warning him that whatever he did, not to get them mixed up.

  The Kid had been anxiously waiting for Gallegos, and when the young man handed him Valdez’s note, the outlaw scanned it and then read it to his pals. They gleefully voiced their contempt for the great Pat Garrett who had seemingly abandoned the chase to go home. The boys then proceeded to boast among themselves about how they had intended to go into Fort Sumner and shoot it out with the sheriff-elect but now that he had run off, they had a good mind to follow him and finish the business once and for all. As the outlaws continued to deride Garrett and anyone else who would oppose them, Gallegos discreetly slipped Garrett’s note to his stepfather.

  Back at Fort Sumner, Garrett got his men ready to give the gang a warm reception. He was confident the gang would be in Fort Sumner that night. There were just too many amusements for them to stay away—women, gambling, and liquor made for a powerful triumvirate. Garrett knew that Bowdre’s wife, Manuela, was now living in a room in the old Indian Hospital building. The hospital formed the northeast corner of the complex of buildings that made up Fort Sumner, and the road coming from the Wilcox-Brazil place passed just behind it. Garrett figured that the gang would make the hospital building their first stop, so he placed a guard outside and stationed the rest of his posse inside. Also inside with the posse were a few Hispanic residents whom Garrett was holding in custody for fear that they would attempt to get word to the gang.

  At about 8:00 P.M., Garrett, Mason, and posse members Tom Emory and Bob Williams were deep into a game of poker. They had spread a blanket on the floor and were using that as their gambling table. Another posse member, Jim East, was in a corner rolled up in his blanket trying to get some sleep before it was his turn at guard duty. Garrett was not expecting the gang until later in the evening, not for another two hours, at the earliest. Just then, posseman Lon Chambers popped his head in.

  “Pat, someone is coming!”

  “Get your guns, boys,” Garrett said as he stood up from the floor. “None but the men we want are riding this time of night.”

  Garrett, Chambers, and another man stationed themselves on the east porch while Mason and the others took up their positions at the rear west wing, which gave them clear shots in case Billy and the gang rode straight to the plaza without stopping. With the snow cover helping to illuminate the night, Garrett clearly saw the riders Chambers had spotted just moments before. And Billy Bonney could just as easily make out the Indian Hospital and other Sumner buildings, the occasional lantern or candle appearing as warm, flickering orbs in the windows. Billy rode in front with Tom Folliard, but as the gang neared the hospital building, Billy sensed that something was not quite right. That bump of caution had saved his skin before, and he did not hesitate to react to it now. Billy was always looking out for Billy all the time, and he did not bother to pass along his suspicions to his pals. Instead, he said he had just been struck by a sudden craving for a chew of some good tobacco, and Billy Wilson, who was bringing up the rear, had the best tobacco. The Kid gently pulled on his reins and let the others go ahead of him.

  By this time, Pat Garrett was standing close up against the adobe wall, where he was well hidden by the shadow of the porch and some harnesses suspended from above. His heartbeat quickened slightly as the riders veered off the main road and headed directly toward him. He recognized Folliard, who was riding in the lead with Tom Pickett. “That’s them,” Garrett whispered to his companions.

  Folliard rode on up to the building and halted, the head of his horse just under the porch’s roof. At that moment, Garrett yelled out to the outlaws to throw up their hands. Instead of obeying this command from the darkness, Folliard reached for his six-gun. When Garrett and Chambers saw this, they both jerked the triggers of their Winchester rifles and streaks of fire lit up the air. Folliard’s horse wheeled and took off in a run, its rider crying out in agony—“You never heard a man scream the way he did,” Garrett said later.

  Pickett, terrified and yelling at the top of his lungs, spurred his horse to get away, but Garrett drew down on him and fired. Unfortunately the muzzle flash from Chambers’s rifle spoiled his aim, and Pickett was able to escape unscathed.

  An instant after Garrett fired on Folliard, Barney Mason and the rest of the posse spotted Billy, Rudabaugh, Bowdre, and Wilson and began blasting away at them. Rudabaugh’s horse took a hit in its guts, but the outlaws were able to gallop away safely, Billy having perfectly positioned himself in the rear of the group. Mason and the others then ran around to Garrett’s side of the building just in time to see a lone horseman coming slowly toward them across the snow. It was Folliard, who had turned his horse around after racing some 150 yards from the hospital building.

  “Don’t shoot, Garrett,” Folliard pleaded. “I’m killed.”

  “Take your medicine, old boy,” an excited Barney Mason shouted as he walked toward Folliard, “take your medicine.”

  Garrett cautioned his friend that Folliard was not yet dead; the young outlaw could still pull a trigger, and he might very well want revenge. Garrett then called to Folliard to throw up his hands. He was not about to give the outlaw a chance to kill him. Folliard feebly replied that he was dying and could not even raise his hands. Powerless even to dismount on his own, Folliard begged to be helped off his horse so that he could lie down. A few of Garrett’s men, their guns drawn, stepped up to Folliard and gently pulled him off his mount and carried him inside, placing him on Jim East’s blanket. By candlelight, they examined his body and found that Garrett’s first bullet had punched through his chest just below his heart. Another slug had cut across the front of Folliard’s coat. When they removed his pistol, they found that it was at full cock. Folliard was just about to draw his weapon and had just cocked the hammer when Garrett’s first shot struck—the pistol had never left its holster.

  Garrett did what he could to make Folliard comfortable. The posse members returned to their poker game. But as Folliard’s pain got worse, he begged Garrett to kill him. If Garrett was his friend, Folliard told the lawman, he would put him out of his misery. “I told him I was no friend to men of his kind, who sought to murder me because I tried to do my duty,” Garrett wrote later. Then, when Mason came into the room, the outlaw became panicked. Garrett sur
mised that Folliard feared Mason would be more than happy to end his misery. “Don’t shoot anymore, for God’s sake,” Folliard cried. “I’m already killed!” Mason again cruelly told Folliard to take his medicine, to which Folliard replied, “It’s the best medicine I ever took.”

  Folliard requested that his grandmother back in Texas be informed of his death. “Oh my God, is it possible I must die?” he asked no one in particular. Then the outlaw began to curse.

  “God damn you, Garrett; I hope to meet you in hell,” Folliard said.

  “I would not talk that way, Tom,” Garrett said. “You are going to die in a few minutes.”

  “The sooner the better. I will be out of pain.”

  Folliard, groaning now, asked for water. Jim East brought him a drink, and after struggling to take a small sip, Folliard lay back onto his blanket, shuddered, and died. He had lived forty-five minutes after taking Garrett’s bullet.

  AFTER GARRETT’S SURPRISE AT Fort Sumner, Billy, Rudabaugh, Bowdre, and Wilson rode their horses like hell to the Wilcox-Brazil ranch, twelve miles away. Just as they arrived, Rudabaugh’s horse collapsed and died from its wounds. Rudabaugh lost no time securing another mount, and after the fugitives quickly grabbed some grub from the ranch house, the four rode off into the nearby hills. Afraid that Garrett might be on their back trail, they spent the following day with their binoculars, carefully glassing the Wilcox-Brazil place and surrounding country from a safe distance. Failing to see any sign of Garrett, they returned to the ranch in the evening.

  As Billy and the others rode up to the ranch house, they were surprised to see Tom Pickett crawl out of a haystack. Pickett, who was separated from the gang at Fort Sumner and scared out of his socks, had spurred and whipped his horse nonstop for twenty-five miles, until the poor animal, its tongue extended and a lathery sweat dripping from its body, tumbled to the ground and died. Pickett then walked more than twelve miles back to the Wilcox-Brazil place, where he hid himself in the haystack, praying his pals would show up soon—at least sooner than Garrett. As Pickett brushed himself off, he started going on about how he was sure he had nailed the man who had ordered them to throw up their hands back at Fort Sumner (Pickett never got off a shot). For the rest of the evening, the gang took turns guarding the place.