Ike Stockton, who was for so long a terror in Rio Arriba County, this Territory, and in Southern Colorado, and who was recently killed at Durango, kept a saloon in Lincoln plaza at the time the above recited event occurred, and was supposed to be a secret ally of the Kid and gang. He was a witness to the killing of Brady, and, at this moment approached the fallen men. Hindman called faintly for water. The Rio Bonito was close at hand, Stockton brought water to the wounded man in his hat. As he raised his head he discovered Matthews in his concealment. At this moment the Kid and his fellows leaped the corral way and approached with the expressed intention of taking possession of the arms of Brady and Hindman. Ike knew that as soon as they came in view of Matthews, he would fire on them, and he was equally sure that were he to divulge Matthews presence, he would, himself, become a target. So he "fenced" a little, trying to persuade the Kid that he had not better disturb the arms, or to defer it a while. The Kid was, however, determined, and as he stooped and raised Brady's gun from the ground, a ball from Matthews' rifle dashed it from his hand and plowed a furrow through his side, inflicting a painful though not dangerous wound. For once the Kid was baffled. To approach Matthews' defense was to court death, and it was equally dangerous to persevere in his attempt to possess himself with Brady and Hindman's arms. Discretion prevailed and the party retired to the house of McSween. Hindman lived but a few moments.
This murder was a most dastardly crime on the part of the Kid, and lost him many friends who had, theretofore, excused and screened him.
Chapter XI
*
Jesse Evans Again—The Kid and Jesse—Whilom Friends, Now Mortal Foes—Reminiscences—Bloodless Encounter—Tom O. Foliard
THE KID AND HIS desperate gang were now outlawed in Lincoln, yet they haunted the plaza by stealth and always found a sure and safe place of concealment at McSween's. The laws were not administered, and they often dared to enter the plaza in broad day, defying their enemies and entertained by their friends.
For some space Lincoln County had no sheriff. Few were bold enough to attempt the duties of the office. At length, George W. Peppin consented to receive a temporary appointment. He appointed, in his turn, a score of deputies, and during his tenure of office, robbery, murder, arson, and every crime in the calendar united and held high carnival in their midst. The Kid was not idle. Wherever a bold heart, cool judgment, skillful hand, or reckless spirit was required in the interests of his faction, the Kid was in the van.
(San Patrick), a small Mexican plaza on the Rio Ruidoso, some seven miles from Lincoln by a trail across the mountain, was a favorite resort for the Kid and his band. Most of the Mexicans there were friendly to him, and kept him well informed as to any movement which might jeopardize his liberty.
Jose Miguel Sedillo, a faithful ally of the Kid, brought him information, one day in June about daylight, that Jesse Evans with a party from below were prowling about, probably with the intention of stealing a bunch of horses belonging to Chisum and McSween, and which were in charge of the Kid and party.
Without waiting for breakfast, the Kid started with five men, all who were with him at that time. They were Charley Bowdre, Henry Brown, J. G. Skurlock, John Middleton, and Tom O. Foliard. This latter was a young Texan, bold and unscrupulous, who followed the fortunes of the Kid from the day they first met, literally to the death. At this time he had only been with the gang a few days.
Taking Brown with him, the Kid ascended a ridge on the west of the Ruidoso, and followed it up, towards the Bruer ranch, where he had left the horses. He sent Bowdre, in charge of the other three, with instructions to follow the river up on the east bank.
After riding some three miles the Kid heard firing in the direction where Bowdre and his men should be. The shots were scattering, as though a skirmish was in progress. He dismounted and sent Brown on to circle a hill on the left, whilst himself led his gray down the steep declivity towards the river and road and in the direction of the shooting. With much difficulty he reached the foot of the mountain, crossed the river, and was laboriously climbing a steep ascent on the east when the clatter of a single horse's feet arrested his attention, and, in a moment he descried Brown, through a gap of the hills, riding furiously towards the north, and, at that moment a fusilade of fire-arms saluted his ears. He mounted and then came a most wonderful ride of less than a mile; it was not remarkable for speed, but the wonder is how he made it at all. Through crevices of rock it would seem a coyote could scarce creep, over ragged precipices, through brush, cactus, and zacaton, he made his devious, headlong way, until, leaving the spur of hills he had with such difficulty traversed, another similar elevation lay in front of him, between the two a gorge some half mile across; and, at the foot of the opposite hill, the scene of conflict was in view. Jesse, with a band of eight men had attacked Bowdre's party; they were fighting and skirmishing amongst the rocks and undergrowth at the foothills, and were so mixed, confused, and hidden, that the Kid could scarce distinguish friends from foes. He spied Bowdre, however, in the hands of the enemy, among whom he recognized Jess., and, with one of his well-known war cries, to cheer his friends, he dashed madly through the gorge.
Bowdre's relation of previous events shows how Evans and men attacked him about two miles from the hills. Having an inferior force, he made a run for the foot-hills and took a stand there amongst the rock and brush. Several shots were fired during the chase. Evans made a detour of the hill to avoid the range of Bowdre's guns, and the skirmish commenced. Bowdre became separated from his men. He saw Brown as he rode to the rescue and sought ambush on the east of the hill. Evans also saw Brown, and sent a shower of lead after him, which was the volley that reached the ears of the Kid and brought him to the scene. Thinking to join Brown, who had not recognized him, Bowdre broke from cover on a run, but fell into the hands of Jesse and four of his men. He was powerless against numbers, and his only hope was to stand Evans off until assistance arrived. How he prayed for the appearance of the Kid as he shot anxious glances around. No shot was fired. Evans and party covered him with their revolvers, and Jesse's merry blue eyes danced with boyish glee, albeit a little devil lurked about the corners, as he bantered his prisoner:
"Where's your pard, Charley? I expected to meet him this morning. I'm hungry and thought I'd flay and roast the Kid for breakfast. We all want to hear him bleat."
Bowdre choked back the retort which rose to his lips. He was dismounted and his gun taken from the scabbard, where he had replaced it when surprised, but his captors made no motion to relieve him of his revolver. Bowdre stood with his hand resting on his horse's haunch. Three of Evans' men were dismounted, and two of their horses stood heads and tails, each bridle rein thrown over the other's saddle-horn. At this moment it was that the Kid's well-known yell rang out like the cry of a panther. The Evans crowd seemed paralyzed, and Bowdre remarked: "There comes your breakfast, Jess." All gazed wonderingly at the apparition of a gray horse, saddled and bridled, dashing across the valley, with no semblance of a rider save a leg thrown across the saddle and a head and arm protruding from beneath the horse's neck, but, at the end of this arm the barrel of a pistol glistened in the sun-light. Quicker than it can be told, there scarce seemed space to breathe 'till
"Fast as shaft can fly,
—his nostrils spread"
The gray dashed among the amazed gazers. The Kid's voice rang out: "Mount, Charley, mount." He straightened himself in the saddle and drew rein, but before he could check his headlong speed, the powerful gray had breasted the two horses which were hitched together, threw them heavily and one mounted man lost his seat, and fell beneath his horse. Triumph in his eye, Bowdre had seized his gun, unnoticed, and mounted, ranging himself beside the Kid.
— "This -friend,
O'er gasping heroes, rolling steeds,
And snatched me from my fate."
This meeting was a sight not soon to be forgotten by those who witnessed it. These two young beardless desperadoes, neither of them yet twenty
-one years of age-boyish in appearance, but experienced in crime—of nearly equal size, each had earned a reputation for desperate daring by desperate deeds, which had made their names a terror wherever they were known. They had slept together on the prairies, by camp fires, in Mexican pueblos, and on the mountain tops; they had fought the bloody Mescaleros and Chiricahuas side by side; they had shared their last dollar and their last chunk of dried deer meat, and had been partners in many other reckless and less creditable adventures, since their earliest boyhood.
No one would have thought, from their smiling faces, that these two were mortal foes. Their attitudes were seemingly careless and unconstrained, as they sat their chafing horses, each with a revolver, at full-cock, in his right hand, resting on his thigh. Though their eyes twinkled with seeming mirth, they were on the alert. Not for an instant did each take his eye from the other's face. As their restless horses champed the bit, advanced, retreated, or wheeled, that steady gaze was never averted. It seemed their horses understood the situation and were eager for the strife.
"Their very coursers seemed to know
That each was the other's mortal foe."
And thus, for a moment, they gazed. There was a little sternness in the Kid's eye, despite its inevitable smile. Jesse, at length, laughingly broke the silence.
"Well, Billy, this is a hell of a way to introduce yourself to a private picnic party. What do you want anyhow?"
"How are you, Jess?" answered the Kid. "It's a long time since we met. Come over to Miguel Sedillo's and take breakfast with me; I've been wanting to have a talk with you for a long time, but I'm powerful hungry."
"I, too, have been wanting to see you, but not exactly in this shape," responded Jess. I understood you are hunting the men who killed that Englishman, and I wanted to say to you that neither I nor any of my men were there. You know if I was I would not deny it to you nor any other man."
"I know you wasn't there, Jess.," replied the Kid. "If you had been, the ball would have been opened without words."
"Well, then," asked Jess., "what do you jump us up in this style for? Why you'd scare a fellow half to death that didn't know you as well as I do."
"O, ask your prisoner here, Charley," said the Kid, "he'll tell you all about it. You won't go to breakfast with me then? Well, I'm gone. One word, Jess., before I go. There's a party from Seven Rivers lurking about here; they are badly stuck after a bunch of horses which I have been in charge of. The horses are right over the hills there, at Bruer's old ranch. If you meet that crowd, please say to them that they are welcome to the horses, but I shall be there when they receive them, and shall insist that they take Old Gray and some other horses along, as well as me and a few choice friends. Come, put up your pistol, Jess., and rest your hand."
With these words the Kid slowly raised his pistol-hand from his thigh, and Jesse as deliberately raised his. The dancing eyes of Jesse were fixed on the Kid, and the darker, pleasant, yet a little sterner eyes of the Kid held Jesse's intently. Simultaneously the muzzles of their pistols were lowered, neither for an instant pointing in the direction of the other, then, with the spontaneous movement of trained soldiers, were dropped into their scabbards. As they raised their hands and rested them on the horns of their saddles, seven breasts heaved a sigh of relief.
"I have some more men scattered about here," remarked Jesse.
"And so have I," replied the Kid. "Now, Jesse., you ride down the arroyo," pointing east, "and I will ride to the top of the hills," pointing west. "I'll get my men together in a moment, and I suppose you can herd yours. No treachery, Jess. If I hear a shot, I shall know which side it comes from. Old Gray does not care in which direction he carries me, and he can run."
With these words, the Kid reined his horse towards the Rio Ruidoso, and without turning his head, rode leisurely away. Bowdre sat a moment and watched Evans, whose eyes followed the Kid. Jess., at last, wheeled, his horse, ejaculated: "By G—d, he's a cool one," called to his followers and dashed down the arroyo. Bowdre rejoined the Kid, and in twenty minutes the party of six were reunited and were trotting merrily, with sharpened appetites, to breakfast.
Thus ended this bloodless encounter. It was incomprehensible to their followers that these two leaders could meet without bloodshed; but, per chance, the memory of old times came over them and curbed their bold spirits.
"Yet, be it known, had bugles blown,
Or sign of war been seen"
* * *
"The merry shout —
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide."
Had one act of violence been proffered, by either of the leaders, they would have fought it out to the bloody, fatal end.
"And scorned, amid the reeling strife,
To yield a step for death or life."
Chapter XII
*
Recruiting for Bloody Work—The Desperate Fight in Lincoln—The Kid Trapped—The Burning of McSween's Residence—Fearful Holocaust—Pluck to the Last—Death of McSween—The Kid Fights His Way through Twenty Assailants from the Burning Building—Escape
DURING ALL THIS TIME Sheriff Peppin was not idle, but could do little towards restoring peace in the distracted country. In selecting his deputies, he had chosen some brave and reliable business men, upon whom he could depend. Among these was Marion Turner, of the firm of Turner and Jones, merchants at Roswell. Turner had been for years, off and on, in the employ of Chisum, by whom he was trusted, and who valued his services highly. He had been a staunch adherent of Chisum at the commencement of his struggle and up to May, 1878, when he seceded, for what he probably deemed sufficient cause, and became his old employer's bitterest enemy. Turner had control of the sheriff's operations in the valley of the Rio Pecos, and soon raised a posse of between thirty and forty men, composed principally of cattle-owners and cow boys, few of whom knew the taste of fear.
Turner's headquarters were at Roswell, where the posse was encamped. The Kid with fourteen men visited Chisum's ranch, five miles from Roswell, early in July. Turner with his force went there with the intention of ousting him from his stronghold. He found this impracticable, as the houses were built with a view to defense against Indians, and a band of fourteen determined men could hold it against an army—barring artillery. Consequently Turner relinquished his attempt on the ranch, but kept spies constantly on the alert.
One morning Turner received information that the Kid had left his quarters and started up the Pecos towards Fort Sumner. He had several warrants against the Kid for murder, and he now swore to either arrest him, kill him, or die in the attempt. With his full force he took the trail. After riding some twenty miles he pronounced this movement of the Kid's to be a blind, and turning west, he left the trail and took a short, straight-out to Lincoln. The result proved his sound judgment, as the Kid and band were there, safely barricaded in the elegant and spacious residence of McSween, prepared to stand a siege and defend their position to the last. Sheriff Peppin with a few recruits joined Turner at the "Big House," as it was called, of Murphy and Dolan, a short distance from McSween's. Turner, however, was the ruling genius of the enterprise. For three days spasmodic firing was kept up from both sides, but no harm was done.
On the morning of July 19th, 1878, Turner expressed his intention of going to the house of McSween and demanding the surrender of the Kid and others against whom he held warrants. This project was denounced as foolhardy, and it was predicted that he would be shot down before he got within speaking distance. Nothing daunted, he persisted in his design and called for volunteers to accompany him. His partner, John A. Jones, than whom a braver man never lived in New Mexico, at once proffered to attend him, and his example was followed by eight or ten others.
The advancing party saw the port-holes which pierced the sides of the building, and, to their surprise, they were allowed to walk up to the walls and ensconce themselves between these openings without being hailed, or receiving a hint that their presence was suspected by those within. The explanation of this
circumstance was that the besieged were at that moment holding a council of war in a room in the rear, where the whole garrison was assembled. The result of this discussion was, the Kid had sworn that he would never be taken alive; his ruling spirit had swayed the more timid, and it was resolved to drive off the assailants, or die at their posts. McSween appeared to be inert, expressing no opinion, or desire. As they returned to their posts, they were astonished to find the front yard occupied by their foes. The Kid hailed the intruders, when Turner promptly notified him that he held warrants for the arrest of Wm. H. Bonney, and others of his companions, amongst them Alex A. McSween.
The Kid replied: —"We, too, have warrants for you and all your gang, which we will serve on you, hot, from the muzzles of our guns." In short, the Kid and all his confederates refused to make terms, and Turner retired in safety. Not so, however, his attendants. Their position, once gained, they did not propose to relinquish. And now the fight commenced in earnest.
At this juncture, Lieut. Col. Dudley, of the Ninth Cavalry, arrived from Fort Stanton, nine miles distant, with one company of infantry and one of artillery. Planting his cannon in a depression of the road, between the belligerent parties, he proclaimed that he would turn his guns loose on the first of the two who fired over the heads of his command. Yet the fight went on, and the big guns were silent.
Turner was confident, and said he would have the Kid out of there if he had to burn the house over his head.
The Kid, on his part, was sanguine—he said he could stand the besiegers off, and was as gay as if he were at a wedding. Both knew that the struggle must be a bloody one, and neither anticipated an easy victory.
"Now closed is the gin, and the prey within,
By the rood of Lanercost!
But he that would win the war-wolfs skin,
May rue him of his boast."
Pat Garrett Page 6