“Not yet,” Rebecca said. “He’s Wes Tremayne, and I’m Rebecca Tuttle.”
“I’ll speak to Captain Ferguson,” said Lieutenant Burke, “and arrange quarters for the two of you. Wherever you were headed, plan on delaying your journey for two weeks.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca said. “Please put us together.”
Burke winked at her, and despite herself she blushed.
Lincoln County, New Mexico August 2, 1880
The morning following their fruitless ride after the rustlers, Nathan met Pat Garrett, the man who was being urged to run for sheriff of Lincoln County. Garrett had joined the deputies for breakfast in the hotel dining room. He had questions regarding the rustling and the obvious difficulty in resolving the problem. Breakfast was over and the men were down to extra cups of coffee when Garrett spoke.
“Having chased these rustlers, do you men have any idea as to how they might best be captured?”
“I got an idea,” said Bib Driscoll, “but I don’t know how it could be done. Only way I can see, is maybe gettin’ a man into their outfit that could pass us the word as to where they aim to strike next.”
“An excellent idea,” Garrett said, “but I doubt it can be done. It would take a man trusted by Billy and his bunch, and that kind of man wouldn’t betray them to the law.”
“Then the only other way,” said Tuck McFadden, “is to ride them down, but not being allowed to follow ’em across the border kills that.”
“We never know where they’ll strike next,” Warren Hinderman said. “Hell, there’s no way we can stake out every ranch in Lincoln County. I think Acting Governor Wallace is barking up the wrong tree, not allowin’ us to chase the varmints across the river.”
“It’s not Wallace’s decision to make,” said Garrett. “Washington has an agreement with the Mexican government, and President Hayes has specifically ordered that we honor that agreement. So we can’t pursue the outlaws across the river.”
“Where are these outlaws when they’re not rustling horses and cattle?” Nathan asked. “They must have a place where they hole up.”
“Not necessarily,” said Garrett. “I believe some of them are small ranchers, using the Tunstall, McQueen, and Murphy feud to cover stealing from their neighbors.”
“There’s talk of you running for sheriff of Lincoln County,” said Bode Watts. “If you was sheriff, what would you do? How would you bust up this gang?”
“I’d go after the leader,” Garrett replied. “You kill a snake by cutting off its head. I’d go after Billy the Kid. This is still a grudge thing, and Billy’s kept it alive.”
“Hell, every friend of Tunstall and McSween is a friend to the Kid,” said Neil Sutton. “You could ride over Lincoln County for a year and not root him out.”
“I knew Billy before all this started,” Garrett said. “I’m gambling that I can find him.”
Fort Worth, Texas July 16, 1880
Given laudanum, Wes slept around the clock. Rebecca had slept on a cot outside his room and was beside him when he awakened.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“Fort Worth,” said Rebecca. “After you were shot, soldiers found us.”
“I rode into an ambush,” he said bitterly. “I’m just a damned tenderfoot, a shorthorn that’s in over his head.”
“I suppose it wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” said Rebecca, “but how else do we learn without making mistakes?”
“A man don’t go on livin’, making that kind of mistake. I should be dead.”
“Oh, stop acting like you’re God Almighty,” Rebecca said. “You were shot, but you’re alive, and we got the mules. I sold them this morning.”
“I reckon the outlaws escaped,” he said.
“Yes,” said Rebecca. “They’d been trying to sell the mules and must have seen us as we rode in. They slipped away while you were being brought here, before I had a chance to talk to Captain Ferguson, the post commander.”
At that point, the doctor came in. “I’m Lieutenant Burke,” he said.
“I’m obliged to you,” said Wes. “How bad am I hurt?”
“Two weeks’ worth,” Burke replied. “I’ve arranged quarters for you, and I’m having you moved there.”
“I got to lay in this bed for two weeks?”
“No,” said Burke, “but you have to rest. That means staying out of the saddle. That slug narrowly missed a lung. You’re young but not indestructible. You must have time to heal.”
Wes said nothing. For the first time since escaping the orphanage in St. Louis, he felt helpless and vulnerable, and he hated it. By late afternoon, he had been moved to an available officer’s cabin. Shortly before supper, Sergeant Mullinax stopped by.
“I’m owin’ you,” said Wes. “How was it you and your men happened along at just the right time?”
Mullinax laughed. “I suppose I can tell you that without violating regulations. We had picked up an army payroll at Fort Elliott. It comes by train as far as Dodge City, and by escorted patrol from there to Fort Elliott. From Fort Elliott, it’s distributed to all other Texas forts.”
“What do you know of those three outlaws that bushwhacked me?” Wes asked.
“Not much,” said Mullinax. “I never laid eyes on them. I do know they rode south. I trailed them a ways, to get some idea as to where they might be headed. Captain Ferguson telegraphed their descriptions to Texas Ranger outposts to the south of us.”
“What are the most likely towns?”
“Waco, Austin, and San Antonio,” Mullinax said. “Of course, there’s Corpus Christi, on the gulf, and Laredo, on the border. You’re not thinking of pursuing them, are you?”
“My God, no,” said Rebecca, who had been listening.
“Why not?” said Wes.
“They took less than five hundred dollars from my father,” Rebecca said. “Is it worth getting shot again?”
She had said exactly the wrong thing. Wes reared up on his elbows, his eyes like twin daggers, and spoke through clenched teeth.
“The money has nothing to do with it. When they gunned me down, it became a personal thing. Despite what you think, just because they shot me once, it don’t mean they’ll manage it a second time.”
“It’s time I was leaving,” said Sergeant Mullinax, and he departed.
“By the time you can ride,” Rebecca said, “those men will be two weeks ahead of us. I don’t think we should ride after them.”
“Then we won’t ride after them,” said Wes. “I’ll ride after them, and you’ll stay here until I return.”
“Oh?” Rebecca said. “Where would you be now if I’d stayed at Fort Elliott while you rode after them?”
“I owe you my life,” he said, “and you’re not going to let me forget it, are you?”
“Not if that’s what it takes to keep you from getting yourself killed,” said Rebecca. “Does that pride of yours run so deep, and are you so mule headed, that you can’t see that I care what happens to you? If I did some foolish thing, risking my life, wouldn’t you care enough to try and stop me?”
“Yeah,” he said, sheepishly.
He extended his hand, and she came to sit beside him on the bed.
“I never knew my father or my mother,” he said, “and I don’t know what it’s like, having somebody ... care about me. I reckon that’s the one part of bein’ a man that don’t come easy to me. How do you feel something for somebody else, when ... when you’ve never experienced it yourself?”
“You’re experiencing it now,” said Rebecca, “and you’re better at it than you think.”
CHAPTER 18
Lincoln County, New Mexico November 2, 1880
“The Kid and some of his bunch has been seen at Coyote Springs,” Sheriff Wilder told the posse. “I want all of you to ride out there and lay low for a day or two. This may be our chance to jump them without waiting for them to raid another ranch.”
“Good idea, up to a point,” said Bib Drisco
ll. “I’m not sure any of us has ever seen the Kid. All we’ve been able to do is chase him in the dark, after him and his outfit had stole somebody’s horses or cows.”
“Then I’ll ride with you,” Sheriff Wilder said. “I’m catching seven kinds of hell for not running this bunch down. We’ll ride at sundown.”
Near Coyote Springs was the one-saloon village of White Oaks, and it was there that the Kid and his gang had their first encounter with the posse. But the outlaws had taken the precaution of posting a lookout, and they broke for their horses as the sheriff and his posse approached.
“Ride them down!” Wilder shouted.
But there was no moon, and when the posse began firing, they succeeded only in hitting several of the outlaws’ horses. The unhorsed outlaws were given a hand up by companions, and, riding double, managed to escape. The next week, Pat Garrett became Lincoln County’s new sheriff, while Billy and two companions again escaped by killing one of their pursuers. On December 15, Governor Wallace increased the reward to five hundred dollars for the Kid’s delivery to the Lincoln County jail. Again Pat Garrett, who had not yet taken office, met with the Lincoln County posse.
“I was elected on a promise to put a stop to the rustling and the killing,” said Garrett, “and that means bringing in the Kid. We’re going to trample every thicket and fire every shack in Lincoln County, if that’s what it takes.”
Fort Sumner, New Mexico December 19, 1880
“I have word that the Kid and some of his outfit will be in Fort Sumner this weekend,” Garrett told the deputies. “We’re going to be there waiting for them.”
Accompanied by Rudabaugh, Wilson, Bowdre, O’Folliard, and Pickett, the Kid rode warily into Fort Sumner on Sunday night. Suddenly the lawmen emerged from where they had been hiding.
“Halt,” Garrett shouted, “this is the law.”
But the fugitives rode for their lives, and the posse opened fire. O‘Folliard was shot out of the saddle. Rudabaugh lost his horse. Leaping from his dying mount, he was able to seize the reins of the dead O’Folliard’s horse and escape with his companions.
“Rein up,” Garrett ordered. “We’d never catch them in the dark, and they could cut us down from ambush.”
Stinking Springs, New Mexico December 23, 1880
More horses had been rustled the night before, and again the posse followed the outlaws as far as the border. Snow had begun falling around midnight, as they rode back to Lincoln. When they stopped to rest the horses, Nathan spoke to Garrett.
“How long do these hombres generally stay in Mexico?”
“Only long enough to dispose of the rustled stock,” Garrett said. “I won’t be a bit surprised if they’re back in Lincoln County tomorrow night.”
“I can’t see ridin’ all this way for nothing,” said Nathan. “Why don’t we hole up and wait for them to ride back?”
“Too much territory to cover,” Garrett replied. “There’s near two hundred miles of border west of El Paso, and that much and more to the east. They never cross at the same place twice.”
“But when they do,” said Nathan, “they always return to Lincoln County.”
“Yes,” Garrett replied.
“If I’m any judge,” Nathan said, “there’ll be a foot of snow by morning. Suppose we ride back and hole up somewhere to the south of Lincoln County and wait? The snow will cover our tracks, and we can ride a line along the southern end of the county until we cross their trail. From there, we can follow their tracks and maybe take ’em by surprise.”
“By God,” said Bib Driscoll, “he’s got somethin’ there.”
“I think he has, myself,” Garrett said. “I know a place where we can get in out of the weather until the storm breaks. Sometime tomorrow afternoon we’ll go looking for their trail.”
Bundled in their heavy coats and gloves, scarves shielding their ears, and their hats thonged down against the wind, they rode north. Within minutes, the deepening snow had covered their tracks. Garrett led them to a box canyon with a spring. The canyon rim shut out the merciless wind and blowing snow, while a roaring fire kept the cold at bay. There was hot coffee and hot food, and by feeding the fire in shifts, they were comfortable. The snow continued, and there was only a little difference between first light and the darkness of the receding night.
“If we wait too long to go lookin’ for their trail,” said Tuck McFadden, “we’ll end up chasin’ ’em in the dark, and we’ve had nothin’ but rotten luck doin’ that.”
“I’m keeping that in mind,” Garrett said, “but we’ll have to give them time to bypass us. We’ll be leaving tracks in the snow, and if we ride out too soon, they’ll cut our trail and know we’re after them.”
The snow ceased before noon, but the big gray clouds seemed only tree-top high, and the wind still howled out of the northwest. The best light they’d had all day was no better than twilight, and when Garrett gave the order to saddle up, darkness seemed only minutes away.
“After all this,” Neil Sutton said, “I hope the varmints didn’t decide to wait out the storm in Mexico.”
“It’s a chance we had to take,” said Garrett. “If they’re ridin’ back today, we should cut their trail in less than two hours. If they’ve fooled us and laid up across the border, we’ll still reach town by suppertime. There’ll be hot grub and warm beds tonight.”
Garrett and his posse rode eastward, and in less than an hour they came upon the tracks of five horses headed north.
“It’s got to be them,” Garrett said. “Let’s ride.”
To their dismay, sleet began rattling off their hat brims and stinging their faces. Nobody doubted there would be more snow, and success or failure depending on their catching up to the outlaws before the trail was lost. The going was hard and slow, forcing them to rest the horses often. During such a stop, almost shouting to be heard above the wind, Garrett gave them last-minute orders.
“If it gets any worse, they may hole up for the night. In any case, shoot to kill. It’s the only way we’ll ever take the Kid.”
They soon reached an abandoned stone hut, and in an adjoining lean-to, there were three horses. Suddenly a shadowy figure emerged from the hut.
“Fire,” Garrett shouted, believing it was the Kid.
The hard-hit outlaw staggered back inside, but was shoved out. The four desperate men tried to pull their remaining three mounts into the building, but Garrett killed one of the animals, blocking the doorway.
“Pour lead through the door,” Garrett ordered. “They can’t hide from ricochets.”
It was the truth. The rock hut had become a death trap, as lead splattered against the stone walls. The desperate outlaws had but one choice.
“Don’t shoot no more,” came a shout from within the hut. “We’re comin’ out.”
The four came out with their hands up. Nathan recognized Billy the Kid from the many wanted dodgers he had seen. He looked pitifully young as he and his companions had their hands bound. They were then mounted on their horses, while Nathan and Warren Hinderman brought out the dead man.
“Charlie Bowdre,” said Garrett.
For a time, Billy the Kid was imprisoned at Las Vegas, New Mexico, and finally at Santa Fe. He would not be returned to Lincoln until time for his trial, lest his many friends and sympathizers attempt to break him out. Pat Garrett, by now the new sheriff, met with Lincoln County’s deputies for the first time.
“Men,” said Garrett, “the governor commends you for your service, and to that I am adding my thanks. With the Kid in jail awaiting trial, we believe we have broken the back of this gang of rustlers and killers. As of today, this posse is being disbanded. However, I can still use a couple of you as deputies, but I must warn you, there’ll be a considerable reduction in pay.”
“Not me,” Bib Driscoll said. “I done been spoilt.”
Most of the others laughed, for they seemed of a similar mind, leaving Garrett to seek deputies elsewhere. Nathan returned to his hotel room, where Emp
ty waited.
“Well, pard, we’re footloose again, but I reckon we’ll stay here another day or two, until the weather breaks and we get our bearings.”
The new year—1881—had blown in with a blizzard on its heels and temperatures of near zero. Lincoln was a fair-sized town, and Nathan decided to see what it had to offer now that his official duties were over—the deputies had taken a pledge of sobriety and had been encouraged to avoid the saloons. The town had several, and one of them—the Silver Dollar—was nothing short of spectacular. The region boasted some men of wealth, most of it from mining, and Nathan learned that this prosperous saloon was owned by four miners who had struck it rich. Rare among such frontier establishments, it boasted a second floor, and there were quarters for the owners when they chose to remain in town for a few days. Leaving Empty at the hotel, Nathan walked through the snow to the end of the block. In deference to the harsh winters, the Silver Dollar had its own stable to the rear of the building, encouraging patrons to stay as long as they wished. In the early afternoon, with snow on the ground and more to come, Nathan was amazed at the number of men who lined the bar or sat at the many tables. Along one wall, the bar ran the entire length of the building, and at each end an enormous fireplace occupied two-thirds of a wall. Wind roared down the chimneys, causing the fires to spit and spew puffs of smoke that mingled with tobacco smoke fogging the many hanging lamps. Men lined the bar, while others were doing some serious drinking at the many tables. Directly beneath a hanging lamp, a poker game was in progress. A participant threw down his cards in disgust, kicked back his chair, and got up. Nathan took the chair and bought in.
“Five-dollar limit,” said the house dealer.
Nathan lost four pots, won a small one, and then lost three more. Four of the other men all seemed affluent, but the other—a grizzled old rancher—kicked back his chair and stood up. His eyes on the house dealer, he spoke.
Autumn of the Gun Page 26