Texas Cowboy; Or Fifteen Years on the Hurricane Deck of a Spanish Pony — Chapters 25-27: Lost on the Staked Plains, A trip down the Reo Pecos, A true sketch of "Billy The Kid's" life

LOST ON THE STAKED PLAINS.

About a week after my return to White Oaks, I received a letter from Mr. Moore stating that I need not go to Arizona to look after the Slaughter herd as he had hired a United States Deputy Marshal by the name of John W.

Poe, now Sheriff of Lincoln County, New Mexico, to go around by rail and tend to the matter.

But when Poe arrived there the herd had been sold and driven to Old Mexico, so that we never knew whether there were any Panhandle cattle in it or not, except what I learned from the mexican, which appeared to me very good evidence, that there were.

On the tenth day of March, while taking it easy waiting for the first of April to arrive so that we could round up the Cohglin range according to agreement, I received a confidential letter from Mr. Geo.

Nesbeth of the Cohglin ranch, giving me a broad hint that Mr. Cohglin was getting rid of our cattle as fast as possible, before the first of April should arrive.

The letter arrived in the evening and next morning I took "Big foot" along and struck out for "Stanton"--after giving Chambers and Emory orders to load up the wagon with grub and corn, and follow.

"Big-foot" and I arrived in the Post about three o'clock in the afternoon and went through the Cohglin slaughter pens, finding several freshly butchered "L. X."

hides, which went to show that I had been duped, and that the hint from Nesbeth was true.

We then rode down the "Bonetta" River nine miles to Lincoln, to go through the hides there and to look for a herd we expected the old fellow had hidden out somewhere along the river.

We stopped in "Stanton" that night and next morning struck out on the White Oaks road to meet the wagon and turn it towards Three Rivers.

We met the outfit at the mouth of Nogal canyon and camped for dinner.

It was sixty miles around by the road to Cohglin's ranch, the route the wagon would have to go and about twenty-five or thirty on a straight line over the White Mountains.

After dinner "Big-foot" and I struck out over the mountains, while Emory and Chambers went around by the road to pilot the cook, etc. About twelve o'clock that night, after a very hard ride over one of the roughest strips of snow covered countries a man ever saw, we arrived at the Cohglin ranch.

We found the corral full of cattle, but, being very dark, couldn't tell whose they were.

Mr. and Mrs. Nesbeth got up out of bed and gave us a cold supper; and he also gave us a few pointers in regard to his employer's doings, etc. He informed me that Bill Gentry, the boss, had just began, that day, gathering the remaining Panhandle cattle, that might still be left on the range, to take to the "Stanton" slaughter pens.

Hence those cattle in the corral.

After breakfast Gentry and his seven "Greasers" turned the herd out of the corral with the intention of keeping right on with his work.

There was only five head of "L. X.'

s," all large steers, in the bunch and I told Gentry that I would have to take charge of those and also gather up the rest that were on his range.

He couldn't agree to that, he said, for his orders from Cohglin were, not to give up any of the Panhandle cattle, etc. I told him that I didn't care what his orders were, as I was bound to have the cattle.

Just about the time we were arguing the case the rest of my outfit hove in sight; they had been traveling all night.

After camping the wagon we all went out to the herd, which the mexicans were guarding and proceeded to cutting our five head out.

Gentry tried to get me to wait until he could send for Cohglin, he having already dispatched a mexican to Tulerosa after him, but I wouldn't reason the matter at all, as I was mad about the way I had been served.

We went right to work after cutting out the five head, rounding up the whole range in search of more, but after three days hard work we only succeeded in finding three head more.

But we left there with nine head, the ninth one being one of Cohglin's own steers which we butchered in the Oaks on our arrival back there, for the benefit of our many friends whom had been depending on us all winter for their fresh beef.

Thus I had the satisfaction of getting even with the old fellow to the extent of one steer and a fat hog which we had butchered and stowed away in the wagon the night before leaving.

The mexican that Gentry sent to Tulerosa with the dispatch had to go on down to Las Cruces, on the Rio Grande, Cohglin having started down there the day before; hence we not having the old fellow to contend with.

After looking over the "Carezo" range, which was owned by Catron and Waltz and several small mexican ranges, we pulled into White Oaks with lots of experience but very few cattle.

On arriving in the "Oaks" I wrote to Mr. Moore telling him all about the way in which Cohglin had taken advantage of me, etc. Also advised him to have the old fellow prosecuted as I had sufficient evidence to send him to the "Pen," etc. Mr. Moore on getting my letter, sent John Poe, the United States Deputy Marshal that he had sent to Tombstone, Arizona, over to have Cohglin arrested and put through the mill.

On leaving the "Oaks" for good, I bought a wagon load of corn, chuck, etc. for which I gave orders on the "L. X."

company, not having any money left.

The merchants had by this time, become acquainted with me, so that my name to an order was just the same as cash to them.

From the "Oaks" I pulled due east, around the "Capitan" mountains to Roswell on the Pecos River.

I overhauled scores of little mexican ranches scattered through the mountains on my route, but failed to find any of our stock.

At Roswell though we found two large steers which swelled our little herd to ten head.

From Roswell we went to John Chisholm's ranch on the head of South Spring River; and got there just in time as he was rigging up his outfit for spring work.

They were going to start down the Reo Pecos to the Texas line, next day, to begin work and I concluded we had better work with them, in search of Panhandle cattle which might have drifted across the Plains.

I took my outfit back to Roswell, five miles, where I made arrangements with Capt. J.

C.

Lea, who kept a store, to board one of my men whom I wanted to leave there to take care of the ten head of steers until my return, not caring to drive them two hundred miles down the river and then back again.

Not having grub enough to last on the trip I bought a supply from the accommodating Capt. Lea, who took my note for pay.

He also sold me two horses on the same terms.

We were absent two weeks on this trip, but failed to find any of our cattle.

We came back with the satisfaction though of knowing that there wasn't any in that part of the world.

On our arrival back to Roswell we learned of the "Kid's" escape from Lincoln after having killed his two guards.

That night Lon Chambers wore a different hat; he had swapped his star-spangled mexican sombraro off to one of Chisholm's men.

This hat had been presented to Tom O'Phalliard by the "Kid," hence Chambers not wanting it in his possession for fear he might run across the "Kid."

Chambers of course denied the above, saying that he never thought of such a thing, but traded it off just because it, being so heavy, made his head ache.

But that was too thin we thought under the circumstances.

Any of us would have done the same though, no doubt, knowing that the "Kid" had sworn vengeance against all of O'Phalliard's "murderers" as he termed them.

We found Emory and the ten steers doing finely.

Tom hated to see us back for he was having such a soft time.

All he had to do was turn the steers out of the corral, mornings, and then round-up and pen them at night again.

After drawing on the whole-souled Capt. Lea again for more grub, etc. , we pulled up the Reo Pecos--looking through all the cattle on our route--to Ft. Sumner, a distance of one hundred miles.

We laid over in Sumner two days and went to a mexican fandango both nights, at the Maxwell mansion in which the "Kid" was killed shortly afterwards.

The "Kid" was in the building while the dance was going on but we didn't know it at the time.

The way I found it out, I had escorted a young woman, after the dance, one night, to her room, which was in the same building as the dance, and she bid me good night without asking me in.

I thought it strange but never said anything.

That fall when I came back there she explained matters, by saying that the "Kid" was in her room at the time, reading.

I had noticed that she stood outside of the door until I had turned the corner out of sight.

She also explained that: The "Kid" had the door locked and she had to give a private rap to get him to open it.

From Ft. Sumner we pulled due east on the Los Potales road, on our way to scour out the "Sand Hills" according to Moore's instruction in one of his letters to me at White Oaks.

Before leaving the Post, the last settlement or store that we would come to before reaching the Canadian River, I sold one of the horses bought from Capt. Lea, for thirty-five 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."