Turner's men took possession of all the surrounding buildings, from which and the McSween mansion desultory firing was kept up. Doors, windows, and other woodwork, were slivered by flying bullets, and earth flew from adobe walls. This fusillade from the besiegers was aimed to cover the operations of those allies within the yard, who were laboring to fire the building—working kindlings under door and window sills and wherever wood-work was exposed. A portion of the Kid's party had gained the roof, and from behind the parapets, harassed the foe. Turner sent a dozen men to the hills which overlook the plaza, and their heavy, long-range guns soon dislodged them. A magnificent piano in one of the front rooms was hit several times by these marksmen in the hill-tops, and at each stroke sent forth discordant sounds. This circumstance elicited from a Lamy, N. M., correspondent of the N. Y. Sun, the following:
"During the fight Mrs. McSween encouraged her wild garrison by playing inspiring airs on her piano, and singing rousing battle songs, until the besieging party, getting the range of the piano from the sound, shot it to pieces with their heavy rifles."
The truth is Mrs. McSween and three lady friends, left the house before the fight commenced. It is also true that she requested permission to return for some purpose, the firing ceased—she went bravely in—returned almost immediately, and the firing was resumed.
About noon the flames burst forth from the front doors and windows, and the fate of the building was sealed. All efforts of the inmates to extinguish them were fruitless, and the assailants shouted their joy. Soon the whole front of the house was deserted by its defenders, and Jack Long having procured a little coal oil, less than a gallon, made his way into a room not yet on fire, carefully saturated the furniture with the oil, fired it, and made his escape. This "little dab" of coal oil got the Lamy correspondent off again: "On the third day of the skirmish Turner had the house fired by throwing buckets full of blazing coal oil into it and over it." Doesn't it seem that "blazing buckets full of coal oil" would be disagreeable to handle? An adobe building burns very slowly, and this was a large one, containing eleven rooms. Yet the flames were slowly and surely driving the inmates back. The besiegers called on them to surrender every few minutes. The only reply was curses and defiance.
And now, as night sets in the defenders have but one room, a kitchen at the back of the house, that is tenable, and this would furnish shelter but a short time. The question of surrender was discussed and vetoed by the Kid with [s]corn. Bloody, half naked, begrimed with smoke and dust, his reckless spirit was untamed. Fiercely he threw himself in the doorway, the only means of escape, and swore that he would brain and drag back into the burning building the first that made a motion to pass that door. "Hold," said he, "until the fire breaks through upon us, then all as one man, break through this door, take the underbrush on the Rio Bonito, and from there to the hills. We'll have an even chance with them in the bottom." This ipse dixit settled it. The Rio Bonito was not more than fifty yards from the back of the house.
And now one affrighted Mexican, unheeding the Kid's threat, precipitated the bloody finale. He called out to stop shooting and they would surrender. A blow from the Kid's revolver, and the presumptuous fellow lay bruised and senseless on the floor. The Kid had not time to execute all his threat. So soon as the Mexican's voice was heard on the outside, the firing ceased. Robert W. Beckwith, a cattle owner of Seven Rivers, with John Jones passed round the corner of the main building in full view of the kitchen doorway. No sooner did Beckwith appear than a shot from the house inflicted a wound on his hand. He saw the Kid and McSween in the door, and shouting "McSween! McSween," opened fire on them. The Kid shot but once, and Beckwith fell dead, the ball entering near the eye. The Kid called to "come on," and leaping over Beckwith's prostrate body, pistol in hand, he fought his way through a score of enemies, step by step he fought, until reaching the brink of the river he plunged across, and was hid from sight by weeds and brush. He was followed by all his band who had life and strength to flee, and several of those left a bloody trail behind. McSween less fortunate than the Kid, fell dead in the yard, refusing to surrender or to flee. He was pierced with nine bullets. Tom O. Foliard, the new recruit, was the last one who left the yard, and showed his pluck by stopping to pick up a friend, Morris. Discovering that he was dead, he dropped him, and amidst a shower of lead made his escape unharmed.
It was now ten o'clock at night. The fight for the present, was ended, the building was in ashes, there were seven mutilated corpses lying about, and several on both sides nursed desperate wounds.
Turner's party lost but one man killed, besides Beck-with. The Kid's party had killed McSween, Harvey Morris, and three Mexicans. Turner's party numbered about forty men, and the Kid's nineteen, aside from McSween.
Chapter XIII
*
More Blood—Kills Bernstein—Threats against Chisum— Horse Stealing—The Big Bluffer Bluffed—Trip to the Pan Handle of Texas—In Jail at Lincoln-Escape—The Kid and Jesse Evans Again
AFTER THE DISASTROUS events, detailed in the last chapter, the Kid gathered together such of his gang as were fit for duty and took to the mountains south of Lincoln. From thence they made frequent raids, stealing horses and mules from the vicinity of Dowlin's Mill, the Indian agency, Tularosa, and the Pecos Valley, varying the monotony by occasionally taking in a few ponies from the Mescaleros. They became bold in their operations, approaching the agency without fear.
On the 5th day of August, 1878, they rode up in full sight of the agency, and were coolly appropriating some horses, when the book-keeper, named Bernstein, mounted on a horse and said he would go and stop them. He was warned of his danger by persons who knew the Kid and gang, but, unheeding, he rode boldly up and commanded them to desist. The only reply was from the Kid's Winchester, and poor Bernstein answered for his temerity with his life. This gentleman was a Jew, well known in the Territory. He had been in the employ of Spiegelberg Bro.'s and Murphy & Dolan previous to his connection with the agency, and was an excellent business man and accomplished gentleman.
Sheriff Peppin, with his cohorts, had retired from active service after the bloody nineteenth of July, and law was a dead letter in the county. Immediately after the killing of Bernstein, the Kid, accompanied by Foliard, Fred Wayt, Middleton, and Brown, went to Fort Sumner, San Miguel County, eighty-one miles north of Roswell on the Rio Pecos. Here they established a rendezvous, to which they clung to the last chapter of this history. Bowdre and Skurlock were both married. Their Mexican wives were devoted to them and followed their fortunes faithfully. These two, Bowdry and Skurlock, remained in Lincoln County for a time, but, in the absence of their chief, avoided publicity. The Kid and friends, in the meantime, applied themselves industriously to the pursuit of pleasures. They worshipped, religiously, at the shrines of Bacchus and Venus, but only for a brief space. They had arrived at Sumner on the 18th day of August. About the first of September, this party of five started for Lincoln, for the purpose of assisting Bowdre and Skurlock to remove their families to Sumner. This feat was accomplished without any adventure of moment.
On the tenth of September, the Kid, with three of his party, again left Sumner for Lincoln County—this time bent on plunder. Chas. Fritz, Esq., living on his ranch eight miles east of Lincoln, on the Rio Bonito, was a steady friend of Murphy & Dolan's during all the troubles, and his hospitable dwelling was always open to their friends. Hence, the Kid and his ilk bore him no good will. They made a descent on his ranch and got away with eighteen or twenty horses, most of them valuable ones. With their booty they returned to Sumner and secreted the stock near by.
There was at Fort Sumner at this time, a buffalo-hunter who had just returned from the plains named John Long, or John Mont, or John Longmont. He was a six-footer, a splendid shot, and coveted the reputation of a "bad man." He was a boisterous bully.
A day or two after the Kid returned from his raid on Fritz, Long, in a drunken frenzy, was shooting his revolver promiscuously up and down the street of S
umner, and the terrified citizens had mostly retired from sight. The Kid issued from a store and, to avoid the bullets, sprang behind a tree-box. Here was an opportunity for Long, to whom the Kid was unknown, to exhibit his magnanimity.
"Come out, buddy," said he; "don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."
"The h—l you wont!" replied the Kid. "There's no danger of your hurting anybody, unless you do it accidentally. They say you always kill your men by accident."
This retort hit Long hard, as he had killed a man at Fort Griffin, Texas, a short time previously, and saved himself from a furious mob by pleading that it was an accident. He eyed the Kid viciously and queried:
"Where are you from, buddy?"
"I'm from every place on earth but this," responded the Kid, and Long walked sullenly away.
On the following day Long, with several companions, was indulging in a big drunk in a little tendejon kept by a Jew. Long was, as usual, the biggest, the loudest, and the drunkenest of the crowd. The Kid entered, in company with young Charley Paine, and the two passed to the back of the store. Long hailed them:
"Where are you going? you d—d little son-of-a-b—h," said he.
The Kid wheeled quickly and walked up to him, with something glistening in his eye which wise men are wont to "let their wisdom fear," and said:
"Who did you address that remark to, sir?"
"O!" answered Long, with a sickly smile, "I was just joking with that other fellow."
"Be very careful," replied the Kid, "how you joke fellows in whose company I happen to be. You will notice that I am the 'littlest' of the two. I am too stupid to understand or appreciate your style of jokes, and if you ever drop another one that hits the ground as close to me as that last, I'll crack your crust; do you understand?"
Long made no reply. He was completely cowed. The Kid gazed sternly at him a moment, and walked carelessly away. The big fighter annoyed him no more. He was killed shortly afterwards at a ranch on the plains by a Mexican named Trujillo.
The Kid remained at Sumner but a few days, when he, Foliard, Bowdre, Wayt, Brown, and Middleton, took the horses stolen from Fritz and started up the Rio Pecos with the intention of adding to their herd before they drove them away. They raided Grzelachowski's ranch, at Alamo Gordo, and other ranches at Juan de Dios and the vicinity of Puerto de Luna, forty miles north of Fort Sumner, and increased their stock of animals to thirty-five or forty head.
Pretty well "heeled," they took a course nearly due east, and in the direction of the Pan Handle of Texas. At Theackey's ranch Bowdre sold out his interest in the stolen stock to his companions, and rejoined Skurlock, at Sumner, where he was employed by Peter Maxwell, to herd cattle. The Kid with the remaining four went on to Atascosa, on the Canadian, leaving Fort Rascom on their left and passing through the plaza of Trujillo.
After the outlaws were gone, the citizens about Puerta de Luna aroused themselves, and one Fred Rothe, then a resident of Las Colonias, now of Anton Chico, raised a party of eight or ten Mexicans, rode to Fort Sumner to enlist more men, failed to increase his force, followed the trail of the stolen stock to Hubbell Springs, about twenty-five miles, got a good look at both thieves and plunder, but, not being on speaking terms with the Kid, and too modest to accost him, and without firing a shot, returned to the river.
The Kid and his band quickly disposed of their ill-gotten plunder, and almost as quickly exhausted the proceeds at monte table[s] and saloons. There was little show to make a winning on the Canadian and the party discussed future movements. Middleton, Wayt, and Brown were tired of the life of danger and privation they had been leading for some months past, and announced their unalterable intention to turn their backs on New Mexico and its bloody scenes forever. They urged the Kid and Foliard to accompany them, and predicted their tragic end, should they return. All arguments failed. Neither party could be persuaded to abandon their designs, and they parted company forever. Middleton, Brown, nor Wayt have never been seen in New Mexico since.
The Kid and Foliard returned to Fort Sumner and joined Bowdre and Skurlock. Bowdre continued in the employ of Maxwell, but was interested in all the illegal traffic of his friend. The Kid must have some object upon which to concentrate his energies. Tunstall, during his life had been, not only his friend, but his banker. He was dead, and amply revenged. Then McSween had supplied the place of Tunstall in his friendship and interest. McSween, also, was dead. There was left but John S. Chisum, of the trio, in whose service he had worked, fought, and killed. But Chisum failed to respond to his petitions for assistance —or remuneration, as the Kid chose to term it—and he conceived for Chisum a mortal hatred, which he tried to flatter himself was justified by his refusal to countenance him in his lawless career, but which was, doubtless, merely feigned as an excuse to plunder Chisum's vast herds of cattle and horses. So upon his return from the Canadian, his energies were all enlisted in cattle "speculations," Chisum, per force, furnishing the capital.
In December, 1878, the Kid and Foliard again visited Lincoln. George Kimbreel had been elected sheriff in November, and held warrants for both of them. They were arrested and placed in the old jail, from whence they easily made their escape and returned to Fort Sumner, where they continued their cattle raids, living in clover; and the Kid by his pleasing manners and open-handed generosity made himself almost universally popular.
Lincoln, with a properly exercised authority, would have been a dangerous locality for the Kid, but he flickered like a moth around the flame. To his daring spirit it was fun to ride through the plaza and salute citizens and officers with a cheerful buenos dias.
In the month of February, 1879, the Kid again met Jesse Evans, and in the plaza, at Lincoln. James J. Dolan was about delivering a herd of cattle to the agents of Thomas B. Catron. Dolan had reached a point near Lincoln with his herd, and visited the plaza with two of his employees—Jesse Evans and Wm. Campbell. That night the three, in company with Edgar A. Waltz, agent and brother-in-law of Catron, and J. B. Matthews, met the Kid and Foliard in the street. The meeting was by appointment, and after a few sharp words, ended in a reconciliation—all pledging themselves to bury the hatchet, and cease their, now, causeless strife. At the commencement of the interviews, Jesse said to the Kid: "Billy, I ought to kill you for murdering Bob. Beckwith." The Kid replied: "You can't start your lead pump any too quick to suit me, Jess. I have a hundred causes to kill you." Dolan and Matthews interfered as peace-makers, and the threatened row was quelled.
The parties, so reconciled, adjourned to a saloon and drowned old animosities in whisky. Late in the night a lawyer named Chapman arrived in the plaza from Las Vegas. He had been employed by Mrs. McSween to settle up the estate of her deceased husband. It was charged that Chapman was busily engaged in blowing the embers of a dead struggle, and he had made enemies. As he was passing the Kid and party, who had just issued from the saloon, Campbell, who was chuck-full of bad whiskey and fight, accosted him and told him he wanted to see him dance. Chapman replied indignantly. But few words passed when Campbell shot him dead. The Kid and Jesse were thus witnesses to one killing in which they did not take a hand. The misfortune of this affair was that two innocent parties were arrested, with the guilty one, for this crime. Dolan and Matthews were indicted, tried, and triumphantly acquitted. Campbell was arrested, placed in the guard-house at Fort Stanton, made his escape and fled the country. The Kid and Jess, parted that night never to meet again.
Chapter XIV
*
Nabbed Again—Handwriting on the Wall—Another Escape—Defying the Sheriff—Kills a Texas Desperado —The Kid as a Financier—Promiscuous Horse and Cattle Stealing
LEAVING LINCOLN AFTER his interview with Evans, the Kid returned to Fort Sumner, and, securing some new recruits to his service, he inaugurated a system of plunder which baffled all resistance; and a stock-owner's only course to secure immunity from loss, was to conciliate the Kid and court his friendship. The property of those he claimed as friends he held sacred.
There was an attraction in the very danger which attended the Kid's presence in Lincoln. Again in March, 1879, he, with Foliard, took a trip to that plaza. Upon this occasion they made a showing to comply with the law, and on their arrival, laid away their guns and revolvers. They were again arrested on the old warrants, and placed under guard in the house of Don Juan Patron, and handcuffed; but otherwise their confinement was not irksome. They were guarded by Deputy Sheriff T. B. Longworth, and the Kid had pledged his word to him that he would make no attempt to escape. Longworth knew him well and trusted him. They did not betray this trust until they were again placed in jail. They led a gay life at the house of Patron. Plenty to eat and drink, the best of cigars, and a game of poker with any one, friend or stranger, who chanced to visit them. The Kid was cheerful and seemingly contented. His hand was small and his wrist large. When a friend entered, he would advance, slip his hand from the irons, stretch it out to shake hands and remark: —"I don't wish to disgrace you, sir"; or, "you don't get a chance to steal my jewelry, old fellow."
On the 2ist day of March, 1879, Longworth received orders to place the two prisoners in jail—a horribly dismal hole, unfit for a dog-kennel. The Kid said: —"Tom, I've sworn I would never go inside that hole again alive."
"I don't see," said Tom, "how either you or I can help it. I don't want to put you there, I don't want to put any one there; but that's orders, and I have nothing to do but to obey. You don't want to make trouble for me?"
The Kid walked gloomily up to the jail door and, stopping, said to Longworth: —"Tom, I'm going in here because I won't have any trouble with you, but I'd give all I've got if the son-of-a-b—h that gave the order was in your boots."
He passed into the hall, his cell was pointed out to him, the door of unpainted pine was standing open, he took a pencil from his pocket and wrote on it:
William Bonney was incarcerated first time, December, 22, 1878; Second time, March, 21, 1879, and hope I never will be again.
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