dollars and laid in a small supply of grub with the money. Not being
acquainted there my credit wasn't good, hence having to sell the horse.

Two days out from Ft. Sumner we came to the little rock house, at
Stinking Springs, where the "Kid" and his companions held out so long
without fire, food or water. Chambers and Emory of course had to explain
and point out every place of interest, to "Big-foot Wallace," the
mexican cook, Frank, or Francisco, and myself.

The second day after leaving Stinking Springs, we came to the "Kid's"
noted "Castle" at Los Potales, on the western edge of the great "Llano
Estacado."

Los Potales is a large alkali Lake, the water of which is unfit for man
or beast. But on the north side of the lake is two nice, cool springs
which gurgle forth from a bed of rock, near the foot of "Kid's"
Castle--a small cave in the cliff. In front of the cave is a stone
corral about fifty feet square; and above the cave on the level plain
is several hitching posts. Outside of those things mentioned there is
nothing but a level prairie just as far as the eye can reach.

We found about one hundred head of cattle, mostly from the Canadian
River, but a few from as far north as Denver Col., at "Potales," which
improved the appearance of our little herd considerably.

From there we went to the Coyote lake, twelve miles further east, where
we found about fifty head more cattle, a mixed lot like the first. They
were almost as wild as deer.

We then pulled into the Sand Hills, which extend over a scope of country
from ten to fifty miles wide, and two hundred long--that is, two hundred
miles north and south.

After about ten days hard work we came out onto the Plains again, our
herd having increased to about twenty-five hundred head. We were
undoubtedly a worn out crowd--horses and all. To do that amount of work
we should have had at least five more men, and three or four more horses
apiece. We only had one horse apiece, besides one extra, and the four
work mules, which we had to press into double duty by using them to
guard the cattle at night.

The next day about noon, after getting out of the Sand Hills, we came to
a buffalo-hunter's camp on the head of Yellow-house canyon, a tributary
to the Brazos River. There was one man in camp, the other one being away
on a hunt. Our cattle being nearly dead for water, there being none
there, with the exception of a small spring, just large enough to allow
one animal to drink at a time, I asked the hunter to give me directions
to the nearest water from there, on our route.

Pointing to a cluster of sand hills about fifteen miles to the east, he
said: "You will find Running Water, the head of Canyon Blanco, just
eight miles east of those sand hills." As we learned, after it was too
late, he should have said; eight miles _north_ of the sand hills,
instead of _east_. We were all acquainted with the country from Running
Water north, but had never been south of it; hence us having to depend
on the "locoed" buffalo-hunter's directions.

We camped for the night within a few miles of the sand hills. The cattle
were restless all night, on account of being thirsty, which caused us
all to lose sleep and rest.

The next morning, after eating a hasty breakfast, we let the moaning
herd string out towards the big red sun which was just making its
appearance.

Giving the boys orders to keep headed east, and telling the cook to
follow behind the herd with his wagon, I struck out ahead on my tired
and weak pony, Croppy, to find the water, which was "so near, and yet so
far."

I rode about fifteen miles, and still no water. I then dismounted to
wait for the herd to come in sight, but changed my notion and galloped
on five miles further, thinking maybe the hunter might have meant
eighteen miles instead of eight. The five miles was reached and still
nothing but a dry, level plain, with no indications of water ahead, as
far as I could see.

Thinking maybe I had bore too far to the south, I then rode five or six
miles to the north, but with the same result. I then, after letting
Croppy blow awhile started back towards the herd at a slow gait.

Finally a cloud of dust appeared, and shortly after, the herd hove in
sight. The poor cattle were coming in a trot, their tongues hanging out
a foot.

The way the boys cursed and abused that poor old hunter, at a distance,
was a sin, after I had told them of our luck. Chambers wanted to go
right back and eat the poor "locoed" human up alive without salt or
pepper. But I pacified him by saying that maybe he had made a mistake of
a few miles, meant eighty instead of eight. At any rate we continued
right on, east.

About noon our ten-gallon keg run dry, and then we began to feel
ticklish, scared, or whatever you wish to call it. But about three
o'clock, we spied a bunch of mustangs off to the right, about five
miles, and on galloping over to where they had been, before seeing me, I
found a small pool of muddy rain water, which they had been wallowing
in.

After letting Croppy fill up, and eating a drink of the muddy stuff
myself, I struck back to let the other boys come on and fill up; also
sent the cook to fill the keg, and to water his mules, I kept the herd,
they being anxious to travel in search of water, pointed east, by
myself, while the rest of the boys were absent.

We traveled till midnight and then pitched camp to get something to eat.
After getting supper cooked, it was almost an impossibility to find
time to eat it, as the herd kept milling and trotting around like so
many crazy animals.

We remained there all night, and next morning used the last drop of
water to make coffee. We found the keg, after draining it, to be about
half full of solid mud.

I concluded that we had gone far enough east, so, that morning changed
our course to north.

About eleven o'clock, while the hot June sun was coming down with
vengeance, we struck a large lake about a mile wide. If ever a crowd was
happy it was us. The poor cattle drank till some of them fell down and
was unable to move.

We laid there resting up until the next day after dinner. Our grub had
given out by this time, therefore we had nothing to eat but coffee and
beef "straight."

When we left the lake our course was due north.

About noon the next day we came to the head of Canyon Blanco, twelve
miles below Running Water, consequently we turned west, and traveled
twelve miles up the dry canyon before pitching camp.

From there we turned due north again and traveled two days before
striking any more water.

On arriving at Terra Blanco, fifty miles south of the Canadian river we
struck Mr. Summerfield, and his outfit, from whom we borrowed grub
enough to last us home. There were also two "L. X." boys in the
Summerfield camp, and they, having five good horses apiece, divided with
us. Our ponies were just about completely peetered out.

We landed at the "L. X." ranch on the 22nd day of June, with the herd of
twenty-five hundred head of cattle, after having been absent just seven
months, to a day.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A TRIP DOWN THE REO PECOS.

On my return I found that the "L. X." ranch had changed bosses. Moore
had quit and bought a ranch of his own, while John Hollicott, one of the
old hands had been put in his place. Hence in the future I had to be
governed by Mr. Hollicott's orders--that is while working around the
ranch. One of the firm, Erskine Clement, had charge of outside matters,
now, since Moore had left.

I put in the summer running a branding outfit, loafing around Tascosa,
working up a cattle stealing case, etc., until the middle of October,
when Clement received a letter from John Poe, who was prosecuting
Cohglin, stating for Chambers and I to come over to Lincoln as witnesses
in the Cohglin case. The time set for us to be there, was on the 7th day
of November, therefore we had no time to lose, it being five hundred
miles over there, by the shortest route.

Hollicott and Clement talked the matter over and concluded that I had
better not come back until the next spring--"just put in the winter
drifting over the country, wherever you can do the most good," was my
orders.

Chambers and I struck out from Tascosa on the 22nd of October. He had
only one horse, while I had two of the best animals on the ranch, Croppy
and Buckshot.

We traveled up the river to Liberty, New Mexico, and from there cut
across the Staked Plains to Ft. Sumner, on the Reo Pecos.

The distance from "Sumner" to the "Oaks" was about one hundred miles on
a bee line across the country, while it was one hundred and fifty around
by the road. We chose the former route, although we were told that there
wasn't any water until reaching the Capitan mountains within thirty
miles of the "Oaks." We both wished though, that we had followed the
road, for, our progress being very slow on account of the loose dirt
which would give away under a horse, allowing him to sink almost to his
knees, we came very near perishing from thirst; and so did our poor
horses.

We landed in White Oaks about noon of the fourth day out from Ft.
Sumner; and had been on the road twelve days from Tascosa. We were
welcomed back to the "Oaks" by all of our old acquaintances, especially
those whom we had furnished with stolen beef all winter.

As we had five days to loaf in, before court set in, we went to work
prospecting for gold, every body in the town being at fever heat over
recent rich strikes.

The first day was spent in climbing to the top of Baxter mountain, where
most of the rich mines were located, and back. The only thing we found
of interest was a lot of genuine oyster shells imbedded in a large rock
on the extreme top of the mountain. Of course this brought up a
discussion as to how they came there. Chambers contended that they grew
there during the flood, and I argued that they were there before God
made the earth. We both finally got mad, each one, over the other's weak
argument, and began to slide down hill towards town, which looked
something like a checkerboard from where we were.

The next day we tied the pick and shovel behind our saddles and struck
out on horseback to prospect in the valleys. At last we struck it, a
fine gold bearing lead. It cropped out of the ground about a foot. I
told Chambers to go to work and dig the prospect-hole, while I wrote out
the location notices.

Finally an old miner by the name of Stone came to us. I was sitting
under the shade of a pinyon tree writing, while Chambers was sweating
like a "Nigger at election." "What are you fellows trying to do?" spoke
up Mr. Stone, after grinning a few moments. We told him. He then said:
"Why neither one of you fellows has got as much sense as a last year's
bird's nest; that's nothing but a very common ledge of rock." We took
him at his word and went back to town.

That night Mr. Stone gave us one of his mines, if we would sink a twenty
foot shaft on it. We done so; that is, Chambers did, while I carried
water, and rode into town every day at noon to bring him out his dinner.

Finally our time was out and we had to pull for Lincoln, a distance of
thirty-five miles. Poe had written to me to come in after night, and on
the sly, as he wanted to make Cohglin believe that we wouldn't be there
to appear against him, so he would let his trial come off, instead of
taking a change of venue. I left Croppy in a feed stable to be taken
care of until my return.

Arriving in Lincoln, Poe sent us down the Reo Bonetta, twelve miles, to
stop with a Mr. Cline, with whom he had made arrangements, until sent
for.

Mr. Cline was a Dutchman who had married a mexican wife and had a house
full of little half-breeds around him.

Time passed off very slowly to Chambers and I, although our host tried
to amuse us by telling his hairbreadth escapes from wild indians and
grizzly-bears.

We were indeed glad when Mr. Poe rode up, after we had been at the Cline
ranch twelve days, and told us that we were free. Cohglin had "smelled a
mice" and taken a change of venue to Mesilla, in Dona Anna County.

Before leaving Lincoln I had to sign a five hundred dollar bond for my
appearance in Mesilla, as a witness against Cohglin, on the first Monday
in April, 1882, which was the following spring. Mr. Chambers being sworn
and not knowing anything of importance, was allowed to return home. We
both received ninety dollars apiece, for mileage and witness fees.

Returning to White Oaks, Chambers remained there a week, making love to
his mexican widow, and then struck for the "L. X." ranch, by way of
Anton Chico, and down the Canadian River. The route he and I had come
was too far between ranches for him, traveling alone.

I remained in the "Oaks" about a week after my "pard" had left, waiting
for some more money which I had written for.

From the "Oaks" I went to Roswell on the Reo Pecos, a distance of one
hundred and twenty-five miles, by the route I took. There I struck
company, a jovial old soul by the name of "Ash" Upson, who was just
starting to the Texas Pacific Railroad, two hundred miles down the
river, to meet Pat. Garrett, who had written to come there after him, in
a buggy. Ash was making his home at Garrett's ranch, a few miles from
Roswell.

We laid over Christmas day at the mouth of Seven Rivers and helped kind
Mrs. Jones, one of Mr. Upson's old-time friends, get away with a nice
turkey dinner.

While sitting around our camp-fire at nights "Old" Ash would amuse me by
relating circumstances connected with the "bloody Lincoln County war."
He also gave me a full sketch of "Billy the Kid's" life, a subject
which I am going to devote the next chapter to, as I imagine it will be
interesting reading to some.

We arrived at Pecos Station, on the T. P. R. R., one afternoon about
three o'clock. And it being a terribly lonesome place, we, after leaving
our horses and things in care of an old wolf hunter who promised to see
that the horses were well fed, boarded the west bound passenger train
for Toyah, a distance of twenty-two miles.

We put up at the Alverado House, in Toyah. It was kept by a man named
Newell, who had a pretty little fifteen-year old daughter, whose
sparkling eyes were too much for me; to use a western phrase, she broke
me all up on the first round.

After supper Ash went out to take in the town, while I remained in the
office exchanging glances with Miss Bulah.

It was New Year's eve and Mr. and Mrs. Newell were making preparations
for a ball to be given New Year's night.

Toyah was then one of those terrible wicked infant towns, it being only
a few months old and contained over a dozen saloons and gambling halls.

About midnight Ash got through taking in the town and came back to the
hotel. He was three sheets in the wind, but swore he hadn't drank
anything but "Tom and Jerry."

The next morning the town was full of railroaders, they having come in
to spend New Years. A grand shooting match for turkeys was advertised to
come off at ten o'clock, and everybody, railroaders and all, were
cleaning up their pistols, when Ash and I got up, we having slept till
about nine o'clock.

Miss Bulah made a remark, in my presence, that she wished someone would
win a fat turkey and give it to her. Now was my time to make a "mash,"
so I assured her that I would bring in a dozen or two and lay them at
her feet.

When the shooting commenced I was on hand and secured the ticket which
was marked number eleven. The tickets were sold at twenty-five cents
apiece, and if you killed the bird, you were entitled to a free shot
until you missed.

Mr. Miller, the Justice, was running the business for what money there
was in it. He had sent to Dallas, six hundred miles east, after the
turkeys, which had cost him three dollars apiece. Hence he had to
regulate the distance and everything so that there would be considerable
missing done.

Everything being ready, he placed the turkey in an iron box, with
nothing but its head visible and then set the box thirty-five yards from
the line. The shooting to be done with pistols "off hand."

Ten shots were fired and still Mr. turkey was casting shy glances
towards the large crowd of several hundred men. Mr. Miller wore a
pleasant smile, when he shouted number eleven.

I stepped forward trembling like an aspen leaf, for fear I would miss
and thereby fail to win Miss Bulah's admiration. I was afraid, should
the bullet miss its mark, that the few dozen birds would be all killed
before my time would come around again, there being so many men waiting
for a shot. At last I cut loose and off went the turkey's head, also Mr.
Miller's happy smile. You see he lacked "two bits" of getting cost for
the bird.

Another one was put up, and off went his head. This was too much for Mr.
Miller, two birds already gone and only two dollars and "six bits" in
the pot. He finally after humming and hawing awhile, said:

"Gentlemen, I don't like to weaken this early in the game, but you all
know I have got a large family to support and consequently I will have
to rule this young man out of the ring. He's too slick with a pistol to
have around a game of this kind anyway."

I hated to quit of course, but it was best, for I might have missed the
very next time, and as it was Bulah would think that I would have
carried out my promise if I had been allowed to keep on.

After that, during my stay on the T. P. R. R., I was called the "Turkey
shooter." Often while riding near the railroad track, maybe four or five
hundred miles from Toyah, some one would hail me from a passing train by
that name; and whenever I would ride into a town there was sure to be
some fellow on hand to point me out. They all knew me so well by my
horse, Croppy, he being milk white and both ears being off close up to
his head. He was indeed a notable animal, as well as a long, keen, good
one.

That night nearly everybody got drunk, old Ash excepted of course, as he
was already full. The ball was a grand success. The dancers on the
womens' side, were all married ladies, with the exception of Miss Bulah
and a Miss Lee; and those on the opposite side were a terribly mixed
mob, but mostly gamblers, horse thieves and cow boys. The railroaders
didn't take any stock in the ball. Maybe it was because there were so
many on the floor wearing six-shooters and bowie knives around their
waists.

It was indeed a grand sight next morning looking at black eyes and
swollen heads. Every Chinaman, there being a dozen or two living in
town, skipped for parts unknown that night. There was too many loose
bullets flying through the air to suit them; and it is said that the
"Pig-tails" have shunned Toyah ever since that New Year's night.

A few days after New Years a telegram came to Ash, from Garrett who had
arrived at Pecos Station stating: "Come on the first train as I am in a
hurry to get home." Ash got me to answer it as he, having drank too much
Tom and Jerry, was unable to walk to the Telegraph office. I sent the
following message: "Can't leave here; owe every man in town."

In a few minutes another one came, an answer to the one just sent,
stating: "If you don't come down on the morning train I will strike out
and leave you."

This one raised Ash's spunk, so he told me to write down just what he
told me, and then give it to the operator. I done as requested, which
ran thus: "Go to, hic, h--l, d---- you!"

The next evening, Garrett arrived on the west bound passenger, and next
morning, after paying a lot of saloon bills, etc., took old Ash back
with him.

I had, the day after New Year's, went down to the Pecos and brought my
ponies up to Toyah, therefore I took a little spin out into the country
to pass off the time, every now and then, or at least to look through a
few herds of cattle in that vicinity.

After spending about two weeks around Toyah, I struck out for Colorado
City, two hundred miles east. Of course I hated to part with Miss Bulah;
and so did Mr. Newell hate to part with me, for he was losing a good
cash boarder.

Illustration: "BILLY THE KID."

CHAPTER XXVII.

A TRUE SKETCH OF "BILLY THE KID'S" LIFE.

The cut on opposite page was taken from a photograph and represents the
"Kid" as he appeared before the artist after having just returned from a
long, tiresome raid; and the following sketch of his short but eventful
life was gleaned from himself, Ash Upson and others. The circumstance
connected with his death I got from the lips of John W. Poe, who was
with Garrett when he fired the fatal shot.

Billy Bonney, alias the "Kid" was born in New York City, November the
23rd, 1859; and at the age of ten he, in company with his mother and
step-father, Antrim, landed in the Territory of New Mexico.

Mr. Antrim, shortly after his arrival in the Territory, opened up a
restaurant in Santa Fe, the Capitol, and one of his boarders was the
jovial old Ash Upson, my informant, who was then interested in a
newspaper at that place.

Often when Ash was too busily engaged about his office to go to dinner,
Mrs. Antrim would send it by her little merry-eyed boy, Billy, who was
the pride of her life.

Finally Ash sold out and moved to Silver City, which was then booming on
account of its rich mines. And it wasn't long until Mr. Antrim followed
and opened up another eating house there, with Ash as a boarder again.
Thus it will be seen that my informant was just the same as one of the
family for quite a while.

The "Kid's" first man, as told to me by himself, was a negro soldier in
Ft. Union, whom he shot in self-defence.

His next killing was a young blacksmith in Silver City whom he killed in
a personal encounter, but not according to law, hence it was this scrape
that first caused him to become an outcast; driven from pillar to post,
out of reach of a kind mother's influence.

It was a cold stormy night when he, after kissing his mother's pale
cheeks for the last time on this earth, rode out into the darkness,
headed west for the wilds of Arizona, where he soon became an adept at
cards and horse stealing.

He finally landed in the City of Chihuahua, Old Mexico, with a pocket
full of Arizona gold. Here he led a gay life until one night when a
bullet from his trusty revolver sent a rich mexican monte-dealer to his
long and happy home.

The next we hear of him is in the friendly land of Texas, where he
remained in retirement until the spring of 1876, when he drifted across
the lonely Gandalupe mountains into Lincoln County, New Mexico, then the
outlaw's Paradise.

At Lincoln, the county seat, he hired out as a cow boy to a young
Englishman by the name of Tunstall.

In the spring of '78 Mr. Tunstall was killed by a mob, headed by a
fellow named Morton, from the Reo Pecos.

The "Kid" hearing of his employer's foul murder, rode into Lincoln from
the Tunstall ranch to learn the full particulars concerning the killing.
He and the young Englishman were warm friends and before leaving the
ranch he swore vengeance against every one of the murderers.

Arriving in the mexican Plaza of Lincoln the "Kid" learned that Morton
and crowd had pulled back to the Reo Pecos. So he joined a crowd
composed of the following named parties: R. M. Bruer, J. G. Skurlock,
Charlie Bowder, Henry Brown, Frank McNab, Fred Wayt, Sam Smith, Jim
French, McClosky and Johnny Middleton, and started in pursuit. This was
just the beginning of the "bloody Lincoln County war" which you have all
read so much about. But it is said that the "Kid" killed every man
connected with the murder of his friend before the war ended.

Billy was caught in a great many close places during the six month's
bloody encounter, but always managed to escape, as though possessed of a
charmed life. There is one of his hair-breadth escapes I wish to relate,
just to show how cool he was in time of danger.

He and about a dozen of his men were housed up at lawyer McSween's in
Lincoln, when thirty-five of the Seven River "warriors" and two
companies of United States Soldiers under command of Col. Dudly of the
Ninth Cavalry, surrounded and set the large two-story building on fire,
determined to capture or kill the young outlaw.

The house was burning on the south side from whence the wind came, and
as the fire advanced the little crowd would move further north, into an
adjoining room. There was a fine piano in the parlor, the property of
Mrs. McSween, who was absent, and on this the "Kid" played during the
whole time, "just to amuse the crowd outside" he said.

Finally everything was wrapped in flames but the little kitchen which
stood adjoining the main building on the north, but still the coarse
music continued to sail forth out onto the night air.

At last the blaze began to stick its firey tongues into the kitchen.
Then the music ceased, and the little band, headed by the "Kid" made a
bold dash for liberty, amidst the thick shower of hot lead. The balance
can be described best by quoting a negro soldier's words, he being
nearest the kitchen door when the dash was made: "I jes' tell you white
folkses dis nigger was for getting away from dah, kase dat Billy-goat
was shooten wid a gun and two six-pistols all bofe at de same time."

The "Kid" and Tom O'Phalliard were the only ones who came out of this
scrape unhurt. Mr. McSween, owner of the burned building was among the
killed. He had nine bullets in his body.

Late that fall when the war had ended, "Kid" and the remainder of his
little gang stole a bunch of horses from the Seven River warriors, whom
they had just got through fighting with and drove them across the Plains
to the Texas Panhandle, at Tascosa on the Canadian, where they were soon
disposed of at good figures.

After lying around the little town of Tascosa for nearly a month,
squandering their surplus wealth on poor whisky and mexican woman, they,
with the exception of Fred Wayt and Henry Brown who struck east for the
Chickisaw nation where the former's mother and two half-breed sisters
lived, pulled back to Lincoln County, New Mexico, to continue their
lawlessness.

From that time on, the "Kid" made a specialty of stealing cattle and
horses, although he would kill a man now and then, for what he supposed
to be a just cause. Let it be said right here that the "Kid" was not the
cruel hearted wretch that he was pictured out to be in the scores of
yellow-back novels, written about him. He was an outlaw and maybe a very
wicked youth, but then he had some good qualities which, now that he is
no more, he should be credited with. It has been said and written that
he would just as soon shoot an innocent child as a mule-eared rabbit.
Now this is all wrong, for he was noted as being kind to the weak and
helpless; there is one case in particular which I can prove:

A man, now a highly respected citizen of White Oaks, was lying at the
point of death in Ft. Sumner, without friends or money, and a stranger,
when the "Kid," who had just come into town from one of his raids, went
to his rescue, on hearing of his helpless condition; the sick man had
been placed in an old out-house on a pile of sheep skins. The "Kid"
hired a team and hauled him to Las Vegas, a distance of over a hundred
miles, himself, where he could receive care and medical aid. He also
paid the doctor and board bills for a month, besides putting a few
dollars in money in the sick man's hand as he bid him good bye.

This circumstance was told to me by the sick man himself, who at the
time was hale and hearty, on hearing of the "Kid's" death. While
relating it the tears chased one another down his manly cheeks, to the
end, at which time he pulled out a large red handkerchief and wiped them
away.

After the "Kid's" capture at Stinking Springs, he was lodged in jail at
Santa Fe, and the following spring taken to Mesilla, county seat of
Dona Ana county, and tried before Judge Bristol for the murder of
Sheriff Brady, during the Lincoln county war.

He was sentenced to be taken to Lincoln, and hung on the 13th day of
May. On the 21st day of April he was turned over to Pat. Garrett, who,
being sheriff, was to see that the law was carried out.

There being no jail in Lincoln, Garrett used his office, which was
up-stairs in the two-story court house, to guard the prisoner in. Robert
Ollinger and J. W. Bell, two men who should have been hung before
William Bonney was born--judging from reliable reports, were secured to
do the guarding.

The morning of April, 28th, Garrett was making preparations to go to
White Oaks, when he told the guards to be very watchful as the prisoner,
not having but a few more days to live, might make a desperate effort to
escape.

Ollinger who hated the "Kid," they having fought against one another in
the Lincoln County war, spoke up and said: "Don't worry Pat, we'll watch
him like a goat." So saying he unlocked the armory, a small closet in
the wall, and getting out his double-barrel shot gun, put eighteen
buck-shot in each barrel. Then setting it back, remarked, at the same
time glancing over in the opposite corner at the "Kid" who was sitting
on a stool, shackled and hand-cuffed: "I bet the man that gets them will
feel it!" The "Kid" gave one of his hopeful smiles and said: "You might
be the one to get them yourself."

After Garrett left, the two guards had five more prisoners to look
after. But they were allowed to wear their pistols, for fear of being
mobbed by a crowd of Tulerosa mexicans who had chased them into Lincoln.
They had given themselves up to Garrett more for protection than
anything else. They had killed four Tulerosa mexicans, in a hand to hand
fight, the day before, hence the mob being after them. One of those
prisoners was a young Texan by the name of Chas. Wall, who had received
two almost fatal bullet wounds in the fracas of the day before. It was
from this young man, Mr. Wall, whom I became personally acquainted with
afterwards, that I received my information from, in regard to the
"Kid's" escape, etc.

About five o'clock, that evening, Ollinger took the armed prisoners
across the street, to the hotel, to supper, leaving Bell to guard the
"Kid."

According to what the "Kid" told after his escape, Bell became
interested in a newspaper, and while thus engaged, he slipped one of his
hand-cuffs, which he could have done long before if the right chance had
been presented, and made a leap towards his guard, using the hand-cuff
as a weapon.

Bell almost fainted on looking up from his paper. He broke for the door
after receiving a stunning lick over the head with the hand-cuff. But
the "Kid" was right at his heels; and when he got to the door and
started down stairs the "Kid" reached forward and jerked the frightened
man's pistol which still hung at his side, he having never made an
effort to pull it. Bell fell dead out in the back yard, near the foot of
the stairs, with a bullet hole through his body.

"Kid" then hobbled, or jumped, his legs being still shackled, to the
armory and kicking the door open secured Ollinger's shot-gun, which
contained the eighteen buck-shot in each barrel. Then springing to an
open window, in an adjoining room, under which the other guard would
have to come to get up stairs, he waited patiently for his "meat," as
he termed it.

He hadn't waited long though when Ollinger, who had started on hearing
the shooting, came trotting under the window. "Kid" called in a pleasant
voice: "Hello, Bob!" Robert looked up, but just in time to receive
eighteen buck-shot in his breast. The "Kid" then walked out onto the
balcony, fronting on Main street, and emptied the other barrel into the
dead body of Ollinger. Then breaking the gun in two over the balcony
railing he threw the pieces at the corpse, saying: "Take that you s----
of a b----h! You will never follow me with that gun again!"

This proceeding was witnessed by nearly a hundred citizens, nearly all
of whom sympathized with the "Kid," although they didn't approve of his
law-breaking. There was a few of his bitter enemies in town, though, but
they soon hunted their holes, each one trying to pull the hole in after
him, so as to be hid from the outside world.

After being supplied from the armory with a good winchester, two colts
"45" pistols and four belts of cartridges, he ordered a file thrown up
to him, which was done without ceremony; he also ordered the deputy
County Clerk's pony and saddle brought out into the street, which was
also done in double quick time.

The shackles being filed in two he danced around on the balcony quite a
while, as though he was the happiest mortal on earth.

As he went to mount, the firey pony, which was being held out in the
street, and which had once belonged to him, broke loose and ran back to
the stable. But he was soon brought back, and this time held until the
"Kid" was securely seated in the saddle.

After bidding everybody in sight adieu he rode slowly towards the
setting sun, the winchester still gripped in his right hand. But when he
arrived at the end of Main street he pulled off his hat, and waving it
over his head, yelled at the top of his voice: "Three cheers for Billy
the Kid!" Then putting spurs to the pony he dashed out of sight.

After traveling about four miles west he turned north-east, across the
Capitan mountains, towards Ft. Sumner.

About the first of July, Garrett, who hadn't hunted much for the "Kid"
since his escape, received a letter from a Mr. Brazil, who lived near
Ft. Sumner, informing him of the "Kid's" presence in that vicinity.

Garrett after answering the letter, asking Mr. Brazil to meet him at a
certain spot on a certain night, secured the services of John W. Poe,
one of the whitest and bravest men in the Territory, and taking his
Deputy, "Kip" McKinnie along, struck out for "Sumner" to capture the Kid
if possible.

The little party of three arrived at the mouth of Tayban Arroyo, on the
Reo Pecos, where Garrett had written Brazil to meet him, about dark on
the night of July 13th. They waited there all night and Mr. Brazil
failed to show up.

Mr. Poe being a stranger in that country, and not known in the Post,
Garrett sent him to the town, a distance of five miles, to try and
learn, by keeping his ears open and mouth shut, of the "Kid's"
whereabouts, while he and "Kip" would meet him at "Sunny-side" a ranch
seven miles above "Sumner."

About sundown Poe met his two companions, at Sunny-side, but was no
wiser than when he had left them. Garrett then concluded that they would
all ride into the town and if Peet Maxwell was at home he could maybe
get some information from him.

Arriving in an old orchard back of the Maxwell mansion about ten o'clock
that night, they tied their horses and crawled around to the front of
the building.

There was a long porch on the south side of the house and about midway
was Peet's room, the door of which opened onto the porch. Garrett knew
where the room was, and there they headed for.

On arriving in the front yard opposite the door of Peet's room, which
was wide open, the night being very hot, Garrett told his companions to
lie flat down in the grass while he slipped into the room.

He found Peet asleep, but awakened him. He then laid down by the side of
Peet, and they began talking.

Back of the Maxwell house was an adobe cabin in which lived an old
mexican Peon. The mexican had gone to bed, and by a greasy looking table
sat the "Kid," who had just come in from the hills. He had pulled off
his boots to rest his tired feet, and was glancing over a newspaper.

Throwing down the paper he told the Peon to get up and cook him some
supper, as he was very hungry. Being told that there was no meat in the
house he picked up a butcher-knife which was lying on the table, and
said: "I will go and get Peet to rustle me a piece." He started without
either hat or boots.

While walking along on the porch, butcher-knife in hand, he discovered
the two men out in the grass, and, drawing his pistol, asked in mexican:
Quien es? Quien es? (Who's there? Who's there?) Not getting an answer,
the boys thinking he was one of the Peons, he backed into the door of
Peet's room, and then turning towards the bed, which was to the left of
the door, he asked: "Peet, who is that out there?" Not receiving an
answer again, and being suspicious of some one being in bed with Peet,
he began backing towards the opposite side of the room, at the same time
asking: "Who in the h--l is in here? Who in the h--l is in here?"

Peet whispered to Garrett: "That's him Pat." And by that time the "Kid"
had backed until the light shone full upon him, through one of the south
windows, giving Garrett a good chance to make a center shot.

Bang! Bang! went Garrett's pistol. The first bullet took effect in the
"Kid's" heart, while the next one struck the ceiling.

The remains of what was once a fond mother's darling were buried next
day in the old dilapidated Military Cemetery, without a murmer, except
from one, a pretty young half-breed mexican damsel, whose tears, no
doubt, has dampened the lonely grave more than once.

Thus ended the life of William H. Bonney, one of the coolest-headed, and
most daring young outlaws that ever lived. He had dwelt upon this earth
just 21 years, seven months and 21 days.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

WRESTLING WITH A DOSE OF SMALL POX ON THE LLANO ESTICADO.

After leaving Toyah I followed the railroad east cross the Reo Pecos,
out onto the Llano Esticado and through the sixty mile stretch of Sand
Hills.

At Sand Hill Station, about midway through the sand hills, I left the
railroad and branched off in a north-easterly direction in search of
buffalo-hunter's camps. Knowing buffalo were getting scarce, and having
heard of a great many hunters being in the vicinity of Ceader Lake, I
thought it a good idea to go out there and see what kind of game they
were killing. Being nearly south of the Canadian River country, I
thought maybe they were killing cattle which had drifted down in there
during the winters. But I was mistaken. I found their camps black with
genuine buffalo hides. There being no ranches in that wild scope of
country the buffalo, what few there were left, had nearly all
congregated in there.

I played a single-handed game of freeze-out the first two nights after
leaving the railroad, for there came a terrible snow storm, which
covered up the buffalo-chips, there being no wood in that whole country,
so that I couldn't make a fire to warm by.

After striking the first buffalo-camp, then I was all right, for I could
get directions how to find the next one, etc.

I finally, by circling around to the east, and then south, struck the
railroad again, and landed in the town of Big Springs; where I was
mistaken for a horse-thief, whom I answered the description of, and told
to "skip" by one of my friends, a stranger who recognized me as the
turkey shooter from Toyah. I didn't skip; and the thing was finally
straightened up to their entire satisfaction.

I was out of money by this time, but found a draft in the express office
awaiting me. Not having any particular use for the draft I swapped it
off for a hundred dollars in money, to the express manager.

After looking through a few herds around the Springs I pulled north-east
for the head of Colorado River, to take a look over the Lum Slaughter
range, which extended from the head of Colorado River down to Colorado
City on the railroad, a distance of about sixty miles. I went to all the
sign camps, and also the head-quarter ranch, but didn't let my business,
residence or name be known, which caused the boys to believe I was "on
the dodge."

I rode into the lively little town of Colorado City one afternoon about
four o'clock, and imagine my surprise at meeting Miss Bulah Newell on
her way home from school. She and Mrs. Newell had left Toyah shortly
after I did. They had left Mr. Newell at home to run the Hotel. And Mrs.
Newell had accompanied Bulah to Colorado City, the nearest place where
there was a school, so as to keep "the wild rattled-brain girl," as she
called her, under her wing. They had rented a little cottage and were
keeping house.

I ran out of money shortly after striking Colorado City, my expenses
being high, having to pay three dollars a day to keep my two horses at a
feed stable, and one dollar and a half per day for my own board,
lodging, etc., but found a good friend, Mr. Snyder, a merchant, who let
me have all I wanted on my good looks until I could write to the ranch
for some.

While waiting for an answer to my letter I would put in my spare time
taking little spins out into the country, looking through herds of
cattle, etc. The longest trip I made was three days, down on the Concho
River, and that was just two days and a half longer than I cared to be
away from Miss Bulah.

The mail finally brought two hundred dollars worth of "L. X." drafts,
wrapped up in a letter from Mr. Erskine Clement, reminding me of the
fact that his company wasn't a First National Bank. This of course was a
hint for me to be more economical.

Having to be in Mesilla, New Mexico, a distance of five hundred and
fifty miles, by the last of March, and wanting to look over some small
cattle ranges on the route, I struck out. I hated to leave Colorado City
on account of Bulah, but was anxious to leave on account of the
small-pox beginning to spread there.

A forty-mile ride brought me to Big Springs, where I lay two days with a
burning fever. The morning of the third day I pulled out, across the
Staked Plains for the Reo Pecos, still feeling sick.

That night I stopped at one of the section houses, which were located
every ten miles along the railroad. And the next morning after riding
about five miles I became so sick that I had to dismount and lie down
in the grass. After groaning and tumbling around about two hours I fell
asleep.

About sundown an east bound freight train came along, which scared my
ponies and awakened me. I felt terribly; my lips were parched, my bones
ached and my tongue felt as though it was swollen out of shape. I
started to lie down again, after the noise from the passing train had
died out, but there being an ugly looking black cloud in the north,
which indicated a norther, I concluded to brace up and ride to the next
section house, a distance of about five miles.

Arriving there, just as a cold norther was springing up, and riding up
to the fence I called: "Hello!" in a feeble voice. A gentleman came out,
and on informing him that I was sick, he told me to go in the house,
that he would unsaddle and take care of my horses.

I walked into a large room where a nice blazing fire greeted my eyes.
There was a lady sitting by the fire sewing. On looking up at me, as I
stepped into the door, she gave a scream, which brought her husband in
on the double quick. "Small-pox, small-pox," was all she could say. The
gentleman looked at me and asked: "Are you from Colorado City?" "Yes,"
was my answer. "Well, you have got it, and I am sorry we can't keep you
here to-night. I hate to turn a sick man out such a night as this, but I
have got a wife and three little children here whose lives are at
stake."

I had never thought of small-pox since leaving Colorado City, until the
good lady put me in mind of it.

Oh, how my heart did ache at the thoughts of that dreadful disease, and
having to go out into the cold night air. It was pitch dark and
beginning to sleet when I mounted and struck out, west, aiming to go on
to the next section house, ten miles, and try my luck there.

About half an hour after the light over my shoulder had disappeared I
began to grow weaker, so much so that I could hardly sit on my saddle.
So finally, dismounting, I unsaddled and staking the two hungry ponies
out to a telegraph pole, rolled myself up in my blankets, my saddle for
a pillow, and went to sleep.

I awakened just as day was breaking. The ground was covered with snow,
and I was almost frozen. I felt as though I had been sent for and
couldn't go. My mouth, I could tell by feeling it, was covered with
sores, in fact it was one solid scab, and so were my shoulders and back.
Strange to say there wasn't a sore on any other part of my body. Those
sores on my mouth was what attracted the lady's attention the evening
before, although they had just began to show themselves then.

With great difficulty I saddled up and continued on towards the section
house. This time I made up my mind not to let the folks know where I was
from, and if they had cheek enough to ask I intended to say Ft. Concho.
To avoid the sores on my mouth being seen I tied a silk handkerchief
around it. And should they ask any questions about that, I intended
telling them I had some fever blisters on my mouth, etc.

I found only one man, the cook, at the Section house this time, the
section hands having gone to work. I was treated like a white head by
the cook, who no doubt took me for a desperado or horse-thief, by my
looks. He thought no doubt the handkerchief was tied over my face to
keep from being recognized.

I informed him that I was feeling bad and would like to lie down a few
moments, etc. He led the way up stairs where the section hands slept
and told me to occupy any of the dirty looking beds there. I laid down
and told him to bring me up a cup of coffee. He brought up a good
breakfast and after he left I undone the handkerchief and tried to eat,
but couldn't, on account of my tongue being so badly swollen.

I found a looking glass in the room and took a squint at myself, and
must say that I was indeed a frightful looking aspect, my face from nose
to chin being a solid scab and terribly swollen. No wonder I frightened
the lady so badly, I thought.

After drinking the hot cup of coffee I went down stairs, gave the cook a
silver dollar for his kindness and pulled out. I was very anxious to get
to a doctor, and Toyah was the nearest place to find one unless I turned
back to Colorado City, which I hated to do on account of having to
attend court in Mesilla, soon.

I arrived in Toyah about noon of the sixth day out from Big Springs. I
headed straight for the Alverado House and who do you suppose was
standing in the door when I rode up? Miss Bulah. The small pox had
scared her and her mother away from Colorado City. The first thing she
said was: "Hello, what's the matter with your face?" "Nothing but fever
blisters." was my answer.

I didn't dismount, for fear of giving the pretty little miss the small
pox, but rode a few blocks to Doctor Roberson's office, telling her that
I was going after some fever medicine and would be back in a few
minutes, etc.

The Doctor informed me that the danger was all over with, and that, if I
hadn't been made of good stuff, I would have surely died, being exposed
to bad weather, etc. He gave me some salve to dry up the sores, that
being all there was to do at that stage of the disease, he said, and
advised me to leave town, for said he: "If the citizens discover that
you have had the small pox, they will have you taken to the pest house,
where there are already three occupants, although the danger of it being
catching from you is past." I assured him that I would fix it so they
wouldn't find it out.

On arriving back to the Alverado House, my face still tied up, I hired a
boy to take care of my ponies and then telling Miss Bulah that I wanted
a room to myself, I went to bed.

Bulah would bring my meals into the room and sometimes sit down to wait
until I got through eating, but I would never commence until she left.
I would generally let her stay until she got ready to go, telling her
that I wasn't hungry just then, but would try and eat it after awhile,
etc. She would finally get tired and go, then I would lock the door and
undo the handkerchief from my face. I kept this up a week, before eating
my meals at the table with the rest of the boarders.

I finally struck out for El Paso, two hundred miles over a dry,
waterless plain, and another hundred up the Rio Grande valley, making
three hundred miles in all.

I hove in sight of the Rio Grande River one morning, but never got there
until sundown.

When I arrived within a few miles of the river I noticed a covered wagon
and what I supposed to be a camp, down the valley, about three miles out
of my way. I finally concluded to turn off and go and stop with whoever
they were for the night.

I found it to be a mexican camp, an old man, two boys and a grown girl.
They had come from Larado and were on their way to El Paso. They gave me
a hearty welcome.

Next morning about daylight I got up and went out to change Croppy, he
having been staked and Buckshot hobbled the evening before, in a fresh
place, but lo, and behold! there was nothing there but the stake.

I circled around and found both of the ponies tracks leading towards the
river, a few hundred yards west, I followed, and found they had crossed
over. After standing on the bank a few seconds, dreading to get wet, I
went over too. The water was only about waist deep.

Near the water's edge on the other side I found some mocassin tracks in
the soft sand. I could see through the whole thing then, from
indications, etc: two footmen, who wore mocassins, had stolen my horses
and pulled into Old Mexico for safety. Where the tracks were visible in
the sand, there was no doubt, they had dismounted and taken a farewell
drink, or maybe filled a canteen, before leaving the river.

After following the trail, there being just the tracks of two horses, a
few hundred yards out from the river I turned and went back to camp, to
try and hire the old mexican's horse to follow them on.

The old fellow only had one pony, his team being oxen and I had to talk
like a Dutch uncle to get it, as he argued that I was liable to get
killed and he lose the pony by the operation. I finally though put up
the price of the horse as security and promised the old fellow ten
dollars a day for the use of him, when I returned. This seemed to give
satisfaction, even with the two boys who would have to hoof it after the
oxen every morning, in case the pony never returned.

Just about sundown as I turned a sharp curve, near the top of the long
chain of high mountains which run parallel with the river, I came in
sight of both of my ponies staked to a pinyon tree, grazing.

I immediately rode out of sight, dismounted, tied my tired pony to a
tree and crawled to the top of a knoll, where I could see the
surrounding country for half a mile around. But I couldn't see a living
thing except the two horses, and the one I had just left.

Finally, bang! went a shot, which sounded to be at least half a mile
away, on the opposite side of the mountains.

Thinks I now there's either a ranch over there and the two thieves have
walked to it, to keep from being seen with the horses, or else they have
gone out hunting to kill something for supper. At any rate I took
advantage of their absence and stole my ponies back. Near where they
were tied was a small spring of cool water; the first water I had seen
since leaving the river.

After taking a hasty drink myself, and letting the pony I was on, fill
up, the other two not being dry, I took a straight shoot down grade, for
the "eastern shores of the Rio Grande," a distance of about thirty-five
miles. It was then nearly dark.

I arrived in camp next morning just as the big yellow sun was peeping
over the top of the Sierra Blanco mountains; and the old mexican, who
was awaiting my return, was glad to see me back.

That night I stopped with an old fat fellow by the name of Chas.
Willson, in the little town of Camp Rice, and the next night I put up in
the beautiful town of San Elizario, which is situated in the centre of
the garden spot of the whole Rio Grande valley.

The next morning I crossed the river into Old Mexico and took a three
day's hunt through the mountains in search of a herd which had come from
the north, and had crossed the river at San Elizario about a week
before. I found it, but was unacquainted with any of the brands that the
cattle wore. The herd had been stolen though, I think, from the way the
men acted.

I finally landed in El Paso and found a letter in the Post Office from
John Poe, written at Lincoln, New Mexico, advising me not to go to
Mesilla until the day that Court set, as Cohglin, who was out on bond,
was there and might have my light blown out, I being one of the main
witnesses against him. Also, it had been reported that he had said he
would give five thousand dollars to get me out of the way. He
furthermore advised me in the letter to take the train from El Paso, as
the old fellow might have some mexicans watching along the road for me.

CHAPTER XXIX.

IN LOVE WITH A MEXICAN GIRL.

I found El Paso, to be a red-hot town of about three thousand
inhabitants. There were also about that number of people in Paso Del
Norte, across the river in Old Mexico. I spent several days in each
place.

I finally, after leaving my ponies in good hands, boarded one of the
Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe trains for Las Cruces, two and a half
miles from Mesilla, the county seat.

There being better accommodations, in the way of Hotels, in "Cruces,"
nearly every one who was attending court would stop there and ride to
the county seat in one of the "hacks" which made hourly trips between
the two places. Consequently I put up at the Montezuma House, in Las
Cruces.

There were several Lincoln County boys there when I arrived. Poe and
Garrett came down next day. Mr. and Mrs. Nesbeth also came as witnesses
against Cohglin. Mrs. Nesbeth had heard Mr. Cohglin make the contract
with, "Billy the Kid," to buy all the stolen cattle he would bring to
his ranch. But the good lady didn't live long afterwards, for she, her
husband, a stranger, who was going from "Cruces" to Tulerosa with them,
and a little girl whom they had adopted were all murdered by unknown
parties. Cohglin was accused of having the crime committed, but after
fighting the case through the courts, he finally came clear.

A few days after my arrival in Las Cruces I went back to El Paso after
my ponies. I ate dinner there and rode into Las Cruces about sundown. A
pretty quick fifty-five mile ride, considering part of it being over a
rough mountain road. The cause of my hurry was, we couldn't tell what
minute the Cohglin case would be called up for trial.

I had a little love scrape while loafing in Las Cruces. I don't mention
it because my love scrapes were so scarce, but because it was with a
Mexican girl, and under curious circumstances, that is, the
circumstances were curious from the fact that we became personally
acquainted and never spoke to one another, except by signs, and through
letters.

Her name was Magdalena Ochoa, niece to the rich Bankers Ochoa's in El
Paso, Tucson, Arizona, and Chihuahua, Old Mexico, and she was sweet
sixteen. She lived with her grandmother, whose residence was right
straight across the street from the Montezuma Hotel, and who wouldn't
let a young man, unless he was a Peon, come inside of her house. And she
wouldn't let Magdalena go out of her sight, for fear she would let some
of the young "Gringoes" make love to her.

I first saw her one Sunday morning when she and her grandmother were
going to church. I was standing out in front of the Hotel hugging an
awning post, and wishing that I had something more human-like to hug,
when they passed within a few feet of me. The girl looked up, our eyes
met, and such a pair of eyes I had never seen. They sparkled like
diamonds, and were imbedded in as pretty a face as was ever moulded. Her
form was perfection itself; she had only one drawback that I didn't like
and that was her grandmother. I immediately unwound my arms from around
the post and started to church too.

The church house was a very large building, and the altar was in one
end. The couple I was following walked up near the altar and took a seat
on the right hand side--on the dirt floor, there being no such thing as
seats in the building--which was reserved for ladies, while the left
hand side, of the narrow passage way, was for the men. I squatted myself
down opposite the two, and every now and then the pretty little miss
would cast sparks from her coal black eyes over towards me which would
chill my very soul with delight.

When church was over I followed, to find out where she lived. I was
exceedingly happy when I found she was a near neighbor to me, being only
a few steps across the street.

I spent the rest of that day setting out under the awning in front of
the Hotel, straining my eyes in hopes of getting a glimpse of her
beautiful form through the large bay window which opened out from the
nicely furnished parlor onto the street. But not a glimpse did I get. I
retired that night with the vision of a lovely sunburnt angel floating
before my eyes.

The next morning I went to Mesilla and answered to my name when it was
called, by the Judge, and then told Poe that I had some very important
business to attend to in "Cruces" and for him, in case the Cohglin case
was called, to hire a man at my expense and send him after me.

On arriving back to the Hotel I took a seat in an old arm-chair under
the awning. I was all alone, nearly every one being in Mesilla.

Finally Magdalena brought her sewing and sat down among the flowers in
the bay window. It was indeed a lovely picture, and would have been a
case of "love among the roses" if it hadn't been for her old
grandparent, who every now and then appeared in the parlor.

At last I, having a good chance, no one being in sight but her and I,
threw a kiss, to see how I stood in her estimation. She immediately
darted out of sight, but soon re-appeared and peeping around a cluster
of roses, returned the compliment. She then left the room and I never
seen her again till after dinner.

I then started into the Hotel, but was detained by a voice calling,
through the closed blinds of a window near by: "Me ketch you! Me ketch
you!" Come to find out it was the proprietor's wife, Mrs. Duper, an old
mexican lady, who had been watching our maneuvers. She then opened the
blinds and asked me in broken English, what I was trying to do?

"Oh, nothing, much, just trying to catch on, is all;" was my answer.

The old lady then broke out in one of her jovial fits and said: "You
ketch on? Me bet you ten tousand dollars you no ketch him!" She then
went on and told me how closely the old lady "Grandma Ochoa" watched her
young niece. In fact, she gave me the girl's history from the time of
her birth: Her father and mother were both dead and she, being the only
child, was worth over a million dollars, all in her own name. This of
course was good news to me, as it gave my love a solid foundation, and
spread a kind of gold-like lining over the young lady's beauty.

Finally, after court had been in session two weeks the Cohglin case was
called up. His lawyers were Col. Rynerson and Thornton, while the
Territory was represented by Newcomb, District Attorney, and A. J.
Fountain whose services Poe had secured.

Mr. Cohglin began to grow restless, for the "Pen" stared him in the
face. There were eight indictments against him, but the worst one was
where he had butchered the cattle after being notified by me not to.

His only hopes now was to "sugar" the prosecuting Attorney, and that no
doubt was easily done, or at least it would have looked easy to a man up
a tree. You see Cohglin was worth at least a hundred thousand dollars,
and therefore could well afford to do a little sugaring, especially to
keep out of the Penitentiary. At any rate whether the Attorney was
bought off or not, the trial was put off, on account of illness on said
Attorney's part, until the last days of court.

When the case came up again Mr. Prosecuting Attorney was confined to his
room on account of a severe attack of cramp-colic. Judge Bristol was
mad, and so was Poe. They could see through the whole thing now.

That night Cohglin made a proposition that he would plead guilty to
buying stolen cattle knowing they were stolen, if the one case in which
he had killed cattle after being notified not to, would be dismissed, or
thrown entirely out of court.

It was finally decided to do that, as then he could be sued for damages,
so the next day he plead guilty to the above charge, and was fined one
hundred and fifty dollars besides costs.

Fountain, our lawyer then entered suit against him for ten thousand
dollars damage.

I was then relieved. My mileage and witness fees amounted to something
over a hundred dollars, this time. Of course that was appreciated as it
was my own, over and above my wages. It came handy too as I was almost
broke and needed it to take me home. I had spent all of my own money,
besides nearly one hundred and fifty dollars borrowed from Poe.

It was the first day of May, I think, when I mounted Croppy in front of
the Hotel, threw a farewell kiss at Miss Magdalena, who was standing in
the bay-window, and started east, in company with Chas. Wall--the young
man I mentioned as being a prisoner in Lincoln at the time of "Kid's"
escape. I hated to part with the pleasant smiles of my little mexican
sweetheart, but then it had to be done. I still hold a rose and a bundle
of beautifully written letters to remember her by.

We stopped at San Augustine the first night out from "Cruces," and from
there we struck south-east across the white sands for the mouth of Dog
canyon--the noted rendezvous of old Victoria and his band of
blood-thirsty Apache's.

I had heard so much about this beautiful Dog canyon that I concluded to
see it before going home, so that if it proved to be as represented I
could secure it for a cattle ranch.

It was a ticklish job going there by ourselves, as a telegram was
received in Las Cruces, the morning we left, that a band of Apache's had
crossed the Rio Grande at Colorow, killing three men there, and were
headed toward Dog canyon. But I had faith in Croppy and Buckshot, they
being well rested and hog fat, carrying us out of danger should we come
in contact with them.

We arrived at the noted canyon after being away from water nearly two
days. It was a lovely place, at the foot of Gandalupe mountains.

After leaving there we went through the following towns: La Luz,
Tulerosa, South Fork and Ft. Stanton.

At the last named place Charlie Wall left me, and I continued on alone.

I remained in White Oaks a few days, looking over my town property, I
having bought some lots and built cabins thereon, and examining the 'Old
Panhandle Tiger' gold mine, the one Stone, Chambers and I owned. I had
some of the rock assayed and it run twelve dollars in gold to the ton,
besides a few ounces in silver and about two million dollars worth of
hopes.

From White Oaks I went through Anton Chico, San Lorenzo, Liberty and
Tascosa, and arrived at the "L. X." ranch after an absence of nearly
eight months, and about a three thousand mile ride.

CHAPTER XXX.

A SUDDEN LEAP FROM COW BOY TO MERCHANT.

About the first of July, shortly after my return, Hollicott sent me to
Kansas with a herd of eight hundred fat steers. My outfit consisted of a
cook, chuck wagon, five riders, and six horses to the rider.

We arrived in Caldwell, Kansas, near the northern line of the Indian
Territory, about September the first.

After putting the cattle aboard of the cars, and giving them a send-off
towards Chicago, we all proceeded to take in the "Queen City of the
Border," as Caldwell is called. I immediately fell in love with the
town, also with a couple of young ladies, and therefore concluded to
locate. I bought some lots and contracted a house built, with a view of
going after mother.

I then struck out with my outfit to attend the fall round-ups in the
vicinity of Camp Supply, Indian Territory. Returning to Caldwell the
latter part of November, I boarded a train for Southern Texas, after
mother, by way of Saint Louis to visit my sister whom I hadn't seen for
thirteen long years.

I arrived in Saint Louis one evening--just in time to let an old
flop-eared Jew take me in to the extent of a hundred dollars for a lot
of snide jewelry and a Jim-Crow suit of clothes.

Not caring to hunt sister until morning I went to the Planter's House to
put up for the night, and to note the change of twelve years.

After taking a bath and getting into my new rigging, I took a straight
shoot for the office to make inquiries about the old boys. I found a
long-legged youth behind the counter who, on asking how many of the old
hands of twelve years ago were still there, pointed out Jimmy Byron, the
kid I had the fight with, behind the cigar and news stand, across the
hall. He was very busy at the time dishing out cigars, etc. to the
scores of old fat roosters and lean dudes who were hurrying out after
having eaten their supper.

The rush was finally over and then I made myself known. He was terribly
glad, as well as surprised to see me. We had parted as enemies but now
met as friends. He informed me that there wasn't but three, besides
himself, of the old outfit left, and those were the old steward, who was
now proprietor, "Old" Mike, who was still acting as night watchman, and
Cunningham, the fellow who had slapped me and who was still clerk. The
latter gentleman I didn't get to shake hands with as he failed to put in
an appearance during my stay.

The next morning I struck out to hunt sister. I was armed with an old
letter which gave the address, therefore had no trouble in finding her.

She was alone with her three pretty little girls, her husband having
gone up town to his place of business--a drug store--when I found her.

The first thing she asked after kissing me, was, where I got my new
suit?

Of course I had to acknowledge that I bought them from a Jew on Fourth
street.

She then became frantic and wanted to know why in the world I didn't go
to Humphry's and get them?

"Who in the dickens is Humphry?" I asked.

"Why, I thought everybody knew Mr. Humphry," she continued.

She took me up town to this great establishment of Humphry's that
evening and there I learnt how badly I had been bitten by the Jew.

I remained in the city about a week and my brother-in-law spent most of
his time showing me the sights.

Before taking the train for Texas I bought mother a trunk full of
clothes, knowing that she would be in need of them after having "roughed
it" for nearly eight years.

I stopped in Houston one day looking for Aunt Mary, but learnt finally
that she had moved to the country.

I then took in Galveston and spent two days visiting Uncle Nick and Aunt
Julia. From there I went to Indianola on a Morgan Steamship and became
sea sick; Oh, Lord! I concluded I would prefer the hurricane deck of a
Spanish pony to that of a ship, every time.

In the town of Indianola I met a lot of my old Peninsula playmates, who
were there from Matagorda, in their sail boats, with freight.

There being no boats down from Tresspalacious, I left my trunk to be
shipped up the first chance and went to Matagorda with the two Williams'
boys, Johnny and Jimmy. Nearly all the Peninsula folks lived in the
vicinity of Matagorda now since the great storm of 1875, washed
everything they had out into the Gulf, besides drowning about half of
their number. Hence me going to Matagorda to visit them.

There were three Tresspalacious boys in Matagorda, and one of them, Jim
Keller, loaned me his horse and saddle to ride home on.

Mother was happy when I told her to get ready and go to Kansas with me.
There was only one thing she hated to leave behind, and that was her
wood pile. She had spent the past two years lugging wood from along the
creek and piling it up against her old shanty for "old age," she said. I
suppose her idea in piling it against the house, on all sides, was to
keep it from blowing over, should some kind of an animal accidently blow
its breath against it.

After spending about a week, visiting friends and waiting for my trunk
to arrive from Indianola, I struck out with mother for the enterprising
State of Kansas.

I hired a neighbor, Mr. Cornelious, to take us to the Railroad, fifty
miles north. He hauled us in an old go cart--one that had been sent
from Germany in 1712--drawn by two brindle oxen.

We arrived in Caldwell a few days before Christmas and after getting
mother established in her new house, I went to work for the "L. X."
company again.

I had secured a winter's job from Mr. Beals before leaving therefore it
was all ready for me to take charge of on my return. The job was feeding
and taking care of about two hundred head of horses, at the company's
ranch on the Territory line, near Caldwell.

Having lots of fat ponies to ride, I used to take a dash up town nearly
every night to see how mother was getting along and to see my
sweethearts. Thus the winter passed off pleasantly.

About the first of March I received orders from Mr. Beals, who was then
at his home in Boston, Mass. to get everything in shape to start for the
Panhandle at a moment's notice.

That very night, after those orders were received, I fell head over
heels in love with a pretty little fifteen-year old, black-eyed miss,
whom I accidently met. It was a genuine case of love at first sight. I
wanted her, and wanted her badly, therefore I went to work with a brave
heart and my face lined with brass. It required lots of brass too, as I
had to do considerable figuring with the old gent, she being his only
daughter.

Just three days after meeting we were engaged and at the end of the next
three days we were made one. And three days later I was on my way to the
Panhandle with an outfit of twenty-five men, one hundred horses and six
wagons.

An eighteen day's drive, southwest, brought us to the "L. X." ranch.
After laying there about a week, resting up, Hollicott sent me and my
outfit south to attend the round ups in the Red River country.

We arrived back at the ranch about July the first, with three thousand
head of "L. X." cattle which had drifted south during the past winter.

As I was anxious to get back to Kansas to see my wife and mother,
Hollicott immediately gathered eight hundred fat shipping steers and
started me.

I arrived in Caldwell September the first, and after shipping the herd,
Mr. Beals ordered me to take the outfit back to the Panhandle and get
another drove. This of course didn't suit, as I had only been at home a
few days. But then what could I do? I hated to give up a good job, with
no prospects of making a living by remaining in town.

I finally concluded to obey orders, so started the men and horses up the
Territory line, while I and Sprague went to town with the wagon to load
it with chuck. Mr. Beals had taken the train the day before to be absent
quite a while. After getting the wagon loaded and ready to start, I
suddenly swore off cow-punching and turned everything over to Mr.
Sprague, who bossed the outfit back to the Panhandle.

The next day I rented a vacant room on Main street and, rolling up my
sleeves and putting on a pair of suspenders, the first I had ever worn,
started out as a merchant--on a six-bit scale. Thus one cow-puncher
takes a sensible tumble and drops out of the ranks.

Now, dear reader in bidding you adieu, will say: should you not be
pleased with the substance of this _book_, I've got nothing to say in
defence, as I gave you the best I had in my little shop, but before you
criticise it from a literary standpoint, bear in mind that the writer
had fits until he was ten years of age, and hasn't fully recovered from
the effects.

FINIS.

Transcriber Notes

  Minor obvious spelling and punctuation errors
  have been corrected.

  Words with various spellings interchangeably used in
  the book have been retained as written.

  Whisky-peet,  Whisky peet, Whiskey-peet, and Whisky-peat
  sunup; sun-up
  breastworks; breast-works
  may be; may-be
  daylight; day-light
  hairbreadth; hair-breadth
  headquarter; head-quarter
  storekeeper; store-keeper
  sundown; sun-down
  southeast; south-east
  upstairs; up-stairs
  daylight; day-light

  page 292: made up my mind not to let the folk's know where ...
  author perhaps intended folks? left as written.

  page 271, 307 the spelling Gandalupe mountains is used in this
  book twice and is found in few other sources at the time. Although
  spelled Guadalupe mountains in most other sources, it is left as
  written: Gandalupe mountains.