The Curse of Billy the Kid: Untold Legends Volume One

by Tamsin L. Silver

  “Looks like this is where the action is.”

  “Hell, if action is what you wanted, we can head back to Ike’s for that drink,” Dick offered.

  “You’re funny,” I said flatly, pointing to the back portion of J.J. Dolan & Company. “Look, all the lanterns are lit up. There’s ten to fifteen people goin’ in and out as if it’s the middle of the afternoon.”

  “They seem to be loadin’ in merchandise from those covered wagons. Nothin’ big about that,” Dick observed.

  “Except it’s the middle of the night. The only time John would unload at this hour was―”

  “When he didn’t want Dolan to see,” Dick said, finishing my sentence.

  I grinned. “Exactly. Come on, I want a better look.”

  We moved closer and hid behind the outhouse. Now we could see the back of the building just fine. Men were carrying large boxes into the building, and due to the size and length, it should’ve taken two men each to move them. Instead, one man would lift a box as if it were full of feathers, so I commented on this.

  Brewer brushed it off. “They’re probably empty.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “That makes no dag-gum sense. Hell, even if you’re right, those boxes are too long. Even our strongest ranch-hands would need help.”

  “I don’t know what to tell ya, Billy.”

  The full moon escaped the cloud cover for a moment as I peered around the corner, the cold wind blowing in my face, to see a squabble break out between two of the men. A box dropped, causing a ton of ammunition cartridges to roll into the snow. I pointed the heavy contents out to Brewer as heated words between the men turned into punches.

  One man was as large and bald as any I’d ever seen, and the other was short and scrawny. I started to bet Brewer some of my poker winnings on the outcome.

  “Wait, what’s going on?” Dick whispered, looking over my shoulder.

  Before I could reply, the little guy hit the other man in the chest with both hands, sending him flying a good twenty feet back. Landing, he skidded another ten, easy.

  “Criminy!” I whispered, “Did you see that?”

  “If I say no, can we leave?” Dick replied.

  The smaller of the two dropped to all fours, his back arching in a horrible and impossible way before running at the big man. He disappeared behind the covered wagons, and I assumed he’d gone into the store, the fight was over. But just then, the night air filled with a howl so strong it vibrated my eardrums. The next second, an enormous wolf bolted into view, heading straight for the bald man.

  “We need to go!” Brewer said, grabbing my arm.

  “Where’d the wolf come from?” I asked at the same time.

  “I sure as hell don’t wanna find out! Now let’s go before it picks up our scent!”

  The wolf collided with the large man, who didn’t appear frightened in the least, and they tumbled along the ground, snow and dirt flying about.

  “Yeah, we need to go,” I said, my eyes now on the back door where people were gathering. “Wait until we...” The rest of my sentence escaped me as I just stared at the door in shock.

  “Wait until what?” Dick demanded when I didn’t complete my sentence.

  I couldn’t reply. A woman I recognized from my past had exited the store, tying my tongue. She was slight in stature, with a small waist cinched in, making her skirts seem fuller and her bosom larger.

  “That can’t be...” I whispered.

  “I’m leavin’, with or without you,” Dick said.

  My mind was spinning so loud I barely heard him.

  The woman yelled at the fighting pair, who stopped immediately, faced her, and dropped their heads to stare at the ground like scolded children. She continued to bark orders, pointing to the spilled cartridges, while saying something about being finished before sunrise.

  I would’ve sat there longer if Dick hadn’t pulled my arm. Losing my balance, I reached out to save my backside from landing in the snow. My hand hit the corner of the shed with a heavy slap, drawing the attention of all outside the store to turn our way. Dick and me stopped moving and breathing until the woman began to start giving orders again.

  Once the woman began to start giving orders again, I let out a breath. “We gotta go!”

  “That’s what I’ve been sayin’!” Dick complained through his teeth.

  Luckily, the moon was hidden again, and we ran through the dark as fast as we ever had, returning to McSween’s without so much as a word between us. Entering the house, we found everyone still awake in the parlor, talking about political maneuvers. Brewer and me nonchalantly slipped into the room, and I stood there listening to arguments, even making a few of my own, until my head could take no more. Taking a seat, I dozed in and out until just before sun-up.

  Shaking the remnants of bad dreams from my head, I rose and stepped out into the patio area as the sun slipped up and over the horizon, making the unmarked snow on the mountains glisten like the surface of a lake on a windless day. I could hear nature start to wake up and talk, so I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes to listen. Blowing smoke into the cold air, I stretched my neck with a pop and a crack. I was tuckered out, but at least the snow had stopped falling.

  Not surprised to hear someone else join me to escape the discussion still going on inside, I turned to see it was Brewer. He stood next to me, looking up at the mountains without saying a word.

  Finally, I said, “We speak nothin’ of what we saw, ya hear?”

  Dick looked dragged out. Rubbing his face to wake up, he caused the blond hair of his mustache to go askew before dragging both hands through his wide, dark-blond curls that perpetually had what my momma called “bedhead.” With a heavy sigh, he said, “Who’d believe us anyway?”

  “No one,” I told him.

  Again, we stood in silence. When I finished my smoke and turned to head back in, he said, “I actually came out here to tell you that the new guy, Patrick Garner, wants to speak with us after we go see Wilson and sign affidavits that state who killed John.”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “Don’t know.” He paused, then said, “What if he asks where we were last night?”

  “We say nothing. Anyone who introduces themselves with, ‘I was never here, never mention you saw me,’ isn’t someone I trust right off the bat. Besides, we don’t know nothin’ about that Alabama boy or why he’s even here,” I pointed out.

  A voice from behind us said, “That Alabama boy is here to help you get justice for Tunstall.”

  It was Garner himself, all six-foot-three of him, looking like a Barber’s Clerk, in my opinion, already dressed in his suit at this early hour. I should’ve been embarrassed he heard us talking, but I was too tired to care.

  “And we appreciate that, Mr. Garner,” Dick said.

  I huffed and opened the door to the west wing drawing room. “I’m gonna take a nap until we go sign affidavits. I’ll catch y’all when the sun’s higher in the sky.”

  I entered the door to the west drawing room and shut the door just as I heard Garner ask Brewer where we’d been while McSween and the rest had been making plans. I was half tempted go back out there to make sure he kept his mouth shut, but I trusted Brewer.

  Exhaustion causing my head to feel like I was breathing in and out through my ears, I shook my head to steady my blurry vision and went into the next room. It was a small bedroom appointed for visitors to catch a few hours down. I removed my cartridges and weapons and set them within arm’s reach. Still in my clothes, I lay down, shut my eyes, and prayed I wouldn’t dream of wolves.

  March, 1949

  Just remembering my exhaustion back then seemed to make my eyes burn with it now. I needed sleep if I was going to get moving early tomorrow. The sooner I figured out what happened to Fletcher, a missing Regulator, the faster I’d be out of New Mexico and the memories of this place that haunted me could recede back into the recesses of my brain.

  Opening the door to my hotel room, I quickly swept
it, gun drawn, to find it empty. Placing my guns in strategic locations around the room, I undressed, laid out my things for the morning, and got a shower before dropping onto the cool sheets of the hotel bed, the smell of laundry detergent puffing up around me. I sneezed, sensitive nose and all.

  Getting the pillow the way I liked, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about that night when I’d seen that wolf for the first time. I’d worried I’d dream of them, but I hadn’t. Instead, I’d dreamt of the woman I’d seen at Dolan’s and the section of my childhood she’d been a part of. Mary had been the first teacher who’d given a damn about me. I once overheard my guardians talking about how I’d transferred my affection from my mother, who’d recently passed away, to Mary.

  Looking back, that very likely was true, for I missed my mother dearly back then. Hell, I still did. We were a lot alike, her and me. I even favor her, and not just the light brown hair, but my blue eyes, baby face, delicate hands, and slender build were all her. She had a good head for business, which I, sadly, didn’t inherit. But she’d been great with people, had a witty sense of humor, was a wonderful cook, could sing like a songbird, and loved to dance. Those traits I got.

  Chuckling to myself at the memory of her dancing with me as a boy, I allowed myself to drift off to sleep. I had a lot to do tomorrow, including introducing myself to the sheriff of Lincoln County. I didn’t have high hopes about that...not at all.

  2

  Off To Jail

  February, 1878

  Rob Widenmann was a U.S. Marshal, so he left Lincoln early the next day, the nineteenth, to request military assistance while we tried to move things along in town.

  “Then there’s Billy here,” Middleton said to George Washington, one of McSween’s negro servants. “You shoulda heard him! We hand the warrants to Constable Martinez, who has the gall to protest that he might easily get himself killed by servin’ ‘em, and the kid here says, ‘You better take that chance because if you don’t, I’ll kill ya myself.’”

  “Billy, you didn’t!” George said, ladling some coffee into a mug for Middleton.

  “I sure as hell did, and I’d have done it, too! The law in this city needs―”

  “John? Billy?” a steady yet careful voice said from the hall, stopping my train of thought.

  I looked over to see my good friend, Charlie Bowdre, who’d arrived earlier that day, along with Fred Waite, who’d been driving Tunstall’s wagon. Seeing the look on Charlie’s face, I automatically reached for my gun. “What’s happened?”

  “Newcomb and the others are back with John’s body.”

  No one I’d cared about, save for my mother, had died before. I didn’t know what to do. Even still, I found myself saying, “Where is he?”

  “The parlor.”

  I looked to Middleton, who only nodded, and we followed Charlie to the front of the house. I forced air in and out of my lungs as I stepped up to the table he’d been laid out on. I wanted to say so much but didn’t know how. After a moment, the only words I could get out were, “I’ll get some of them before I die. You have my word.”

  I turned and walked from the room without looking at a soul. I moved with purpose through the house until I reached the room I’d slept in. I took the door to the outside and exited to the patio with no idea what to do with the burning in my gut.

  Without a plan, I headed to the far end, opened the gate, and stepped out to stand by the river. Once I stopped moving, I released the pressure of my pain and anger by yelling up at the sky.

  I felt lost again, like when my mom’d left me. Trying to find even ground, I stood out there in the dark of early evening, listening to the silence of the world and marveling at its contrast to the noise inside my head.

  I lost track of time standing out back, watching the water. I probably would’ve stayed out there until I froze to death, but Charlie came and found me. Laying a hand on my shoulder, he said, “Garner is askin’ for ya, kid.”

  “He can piss off.”

  “He and Brewer are in the west wing drawin’ room. You should go. And by the way, it’s Dick’s birthday.”

  “What? He didn’t say nothin’...”

  “When does he ever? Just, keep in mind he’s havin’ the worst birthday of his life right now, so be nice. Okay, kid?”

  With a nod, I headed toward the house and went into the west wing’s drawing room, which was nestled between the small summer kitchen and the room where I’d slept. When I stepped in, I noted that Dick sat in an armchair in the corner to my right while Patrick Garner had positioned himself behind a desk-like table directly across from the entrance. He asked me to shut the door, then went back to writing something down. I did as he requested and leaned against it to wait.

  Setting his steel nib pen next to the ink well, Patrick stood, his height causing his thick, dark hair to almost graze the ceiling, like Brewer. But where Dick was proportionate, Garner was all leg. “Thank you for comin’. Please, have a seat.” He motioned to one of two chairs facing the desk as he walked around to stand in front of it.

  “I’ll stay on my feet, if ya don’t mind,” I told him, my thumbs hooked on my belt, my right hand not far from my gun. I wanted him to know I was relaxed but ready.

  He seemed to understand that I didn’t trust him, so with a simple nod, he rested his backside against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you know why I called you in here?”

  I turned to Brewer. With just one look, he encouraged me to answer the question as if I knew the answer. Focusing my attention back to the man with the large mustache, I said, “I won a new pony? Hell, I don’t know. Maybe ya want me to do a jig. I do like to dance!” I did a few fancy footsteps I’d learned a week back from this beautiful little Mexican woman. Spinning at the end to give my answer some flare, I grinned at him, waiting for his response.

  “I want to give you purpose,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm. “I want to swear you in as a Regulator for New Mexico.”

  With no idea what a Regulator was, I waited for there to be a punch line, but none came. I looked to Dick, then back to Patrick, and said, “Purpose? Mister, I got me a purpose. I’m gonna kill every last son of a bitch involved with Tunstall’s murder. I think that is a pretty big purpose. Now, are you plannin’ to help me with that, or am I on my own?”

  “Billy, the Regulators are bigger than that. You need to listen,” Brewer said.

  Remembering Charlie’s words, I sighed, threw my hands in the air, and said, “All right, what is it that will give me purpose?”

  “You are a good kid at heart, and talented with a gun, there’s no doubt,” Patrick said, and I gave him a look that asked how he’d even know that, but he kept going. “However, you’re reckless, lackin’ in morals, and you speak before you think.”

  “So?” I retorted. It wasn’t my best comeback, but I wasn’t used to a man, easily pushing thirty, telling me how to behave. “You’re not my daddy, and last time I checked, I was a grown man, so I suggest―”

  “Tell me what you saw at the Dolan Store last night.”

  I slowly turned to Brewer, my narrow eyes drilling into him as if I’d just learned he’d been the one to kill my momma. Birthday or no, now I was mad. I held it in though, only saying, “I thought that trip was between us, Dick.”

  “He only told me after I explained to him what I’m about to share with you,” Garner said, defending Brewer’s actions. “What you thought you saw last night, the stuff you’re tellin’ yourself was your imagination...well, it wasn’t. There are things in this world that most know nothin’ about.”

  “Such as?” I prodded.

  “Many think of them as just Irish legends, but I’m here to tell you that the Bahvah, the Dahrungah, the Therian Throhophs, and the Lagnick Faylund are real.” When I appeared to not have an inklin’ to what he’d said, even though I still understood the old Irish language, he clarified. “You may have heard of them under their American terms: witch, vampire, shapeshifter, and lycanthrope..
.or werewolf, per say.”

  My chuckle started small but grew to a full-blown belly shaker when Patrick’s face remained serious. Slapping my leg, I bent over as I laughed good and hard. Soon I realized Dick wasn’t joining me, though, so I cleared my throat, stood up straight, and said, “Really now, did you call me in here to tell me you believe that the members of The House are fairytale boogiemen? Come on now, that’s absurd. I’ve known some of these men for years. There is no way they―”

  “Could blend in?” Patrick interjected, finishing my sentence. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Coming toward me, eyes intent, he added, “They are master manipulators and out to own the New Mexico Territory. But we, the Regulators, swore that they wouldn’t get a foothold in America. They need to be registered and then sent back to England and Ireland. Or killed. You don’t want demons like them here, kid.”

  The man wasn’t pulling my leg, and I could see that more laughter wasn’t the right course of action, especially with Brewer watching on all serious-like. Poor Dick. He obviously believed this man. The question was, did I play along, or should I walk out the door with a thank you and a goodbye? Unsure which was best, I waited him out. When I said nothing, he continued.

  “Tunstall was a Regulator from England, just like his father before him. I’ve known of his family for years, seein’ as my father spent time with his before we came over to this country. We settled in Alabama to chase down a lead that vampires had settled in the south. New Orleans is where they ended up, but that’s a whole other story.”

  “Look, Mr. Garner,” I started to say.

  “It’s Garrett, if you must know, Pat Garrett...and I can prove what I’m sayin’ is the truth, and I can do so usin’ your own life.”

  “Oh, do tell,” I said. “I love a good story.” Deciding to sit for this, I planted my backside into the chair behind the desk and pulled out my loose tobacco and the rolling papers.