Autumn of the Gun (30 page)

“Hell's fire,” one of the outlaws shouted. “He's shot Pierce and Moody. Get him!”

“Get him yourself,” came an answering shout. “He's kilt two men with two shots.”

There was the sound of retreating hoofbeats, and Wes couldn't believe his good fortune. Leading his horse, he continued in the direction the two women had gone. He was about to mount when the animal nickered, and from somewhere ahead, there was an answer. Groaning inwardly, he had his suspicions confirmed when he came upon the two women, neither of whom were on the horse.

“I tried to hold her,” Rebecca said, “but she took to fighting me and slid off. I just couldn't get her back on the horse. She's too much for me.”

Emily Tuttle lay on the ground, her volumnous skirt up to her armpits, her mad eyes on Wes.

“It's ... it's like she's lost her mind,” said Rebecca. “What are we going to do?”

“I'm goin' to tie her hands and feet,” Wes said, “and tote her belly down in front of me. Then we'll circle around and try to get back to Mobeetie without another fight with what's left of that bunch of outlaws.”

“I heard the shooting,” said Rebecca. “Did you... ?”

“I got two of them,” Wes said. “The others may have given up on us.”

“That was the bravest thing I ever saw,” she said. “How can I ever thank you?”

“You don't owe me any thanks,” said Wes. “They were aimin' to kill me and I saved my own hide. We still have to get you and Miss Emily to the sheriff at Mobeetie, or to Fort Elliott. If nothing else, the army can see that you're taken back to ...”

“Ohio,” the girl finished. “But we have nothing there. My father's family disowned him when he sold everything we owned to come west.”

“Your mother—”

“Is an orphan,” said Rebecca. “Her parents are dead, and I've never heard her speak of anyone else. I'm afraid she's lost her mind. What am I going to do with her?”

“I don't know,” Wes said. “You said your father sold out in Ohio. Didn't he leave you
something?”

“Why do you think those men killed him?” she snapped, exasperated. “He had all our funds sent to the bank in Dodge City. We took the train that far, and after he closed out our account with the bank, he bought the wagon, teams, and supplies.”

“The outlaws took your measure and followed you from there,” said Wes. “If all this hadn't happened, where were you going?”

“South Texas. Father had dreams of owning a cattle ranch.”

Emily Tuttle had calmed down, the madness having gone out of her eyes. They now seemed dull, uncaring.

“Ma'am,” said Wes, his hand on Emily Tuttle's arm, “you'll have to ride the horse.”

“No,” she said. “Albert will bring the wagon.”

“My father's name was Albert,” Rebecca whispered.

“Ma'am,” said Wes, as kindly as he could, “Albert's dead.”

“No,” she screamed, “no!”

She threw herself at him, but he got out of her way. She lay face down, sobbing with an intensity that shocked Wes. Chills crept up his spine, and when he looked at Rebecca, it seemed she was about to break from the strain. Tears crept down her cheeks, leaving the look in her eyes as forlorn as that in the distraught Emily's.

“Ma'am,” said Wes, “if you won't ride the horse, we'll have to leave you here alone.”

While he was unable to explain to Rebecca what he had in mind, she quickly caught on and did her part. Wes helped her to mount the horse, and he then mounted his own. Not looking back, they rode away, quickly losing themselves in surrounding brush.

“No,” Emily Tuttle cried, struggling to her feet, “don't leave me!”

Wes reined up and dismounted. When the frightened woman reached them, he helped her up onto his horse. He then mounted behind her and they began their roundabout journey back to Mobeetie.

 

Ignoring the brazen woman who had just removed her sodden clothes, Nathan dragged on his still dripping boots. Without fully turning his back on her, he cautiously made his way to his horse, mounted, and rode away. Kate McDowell—if that was her name—had tried to kill him. It seemed that, with Will Blackburn dead, she had illusions about some kind of relationship between herself and Nathan Stone. He shuddered and rode south along the Rio Grande as Empty trotted along behind.

Nathan found a room for the night and then went looking for a mercantile. There he bought several pair of Levi's, new shirts and socks, and a tin of grease. Thanks to the vengeful woman who threw his clothes into the river, his boots must be thoroughly greased lest they stiffen beyond endurance. Nathan sat on the hotel bed, working the grease into the leather of the stiffened boots, while Empty sat near the window watching.

“Thank God you jumped her, old son,” said Nathan, speaking to the dog. “I believe she was about to ride away with my boots and clothes, leavin' my jaybird naked out there on the plains.”

But the more he thought of Kate McDowell, the more of an enigma she became, for within his saddlebags there had been hundreds of dollars in double eagles. If she had really wanted to cause him grief, why hadn't she simply taken his horse, leaving him afoot and virtually broke? Of course, she hadn't known about the money, and if she had, Nathan was inclined to believe her interest was in him. He thought of her without the rough clothing and decided that with a bit of finery she would be an attractive woman.

“Damn it,” he said aloud, “that's what she wanted me to think.”

Empty canted his head, lolling his tongue as though laughing at Nathan's dilemma. Nathan continued in silence until he had worked most of the grease into his boots, then stomped his feet into them and donned his hat.

“Come on, pard,” he said to the dog, “and let's get some town grub. Maybe a slab of apple pie will sweeten my disposition.”

Nathan did feel better after eating, and he bought a copy of the town's twice-weekly newspaper and headed back to his room. The entire front page had been devoted to a single story, headlined “The Lincoln County War.” Nathan had heard of it and of its most prominent participant, a young hellion known as Billy the Kid. Removing his hat, gunbelt, and boots, he stretched out on the bed while Empty curled up on the throw rug.

According to the newspaper, the “war” was actually a deeply rooted feud that had arisen from cattle rustling, rivalry over choice grazing, litigation over the settling of an estate, and the meddling of unscrupulous politicians seeking to use the Tunstall-McSween-Murphy feud for their own ends.

Nathan read the story with interest, for he wondered how Billy the Kid—no more than a young boy—had come to play so prominent a part in the conflict. The violence had begun early in 1878 with the killing of John Tunstall, an English-born rancher. Unarmed, Tunstall had been gunned down by members of a deputy sheriff's posse. At least four known outlaws had ridden with the posse, and they had been more interested in killing the unarmed victim than in enforcing the law. One of those with Tunstall when he had been shot had been the youth who had made himself a reputation as Billy the Kid. The Kid, a slender, buck-toothed boy of about eighteen, had already been a fugitive from the law. He had hired on as a range hand and had been with Tunstall only a short time. Tunstall had given the kid a good horse, a saddle, and a new gun. Billy had been quick to learn, and had been genuinely fond of his employer.

As the newspaper pointed out, little was known of the Kid's early life. The time and place of his birth were uncertain, and his original name appeared to have been Henry McCarty. The earliest record of his family had been the remarriage of his mother, Mrs. Catherine McCarty, to William Antrim. The wedding had taken place on March 1, 1873, at Santa Fe. The Antrims and the two McCarty boys, Henry and Joe, went to live in Silver City, New Mexico. But less than a year after her remarriage, Mrs. Antrim died from a lung ailment. After her death, Henry—then known as the Kid—ran wild, and near Fort Grant, Pima County, Arizona, he shot and killed his first man. A coroner's jury called the shooting “criminal and unjustifiable,” forcing the Kid to skip the county. Reaching Lincoln County, New Mexico, the young gunman had assumed the name of William Bonney and had gone to work for John Tunstall.

As the story unfolded, Nathan found himself more and more in sympathy with the boy known as William Bonney, alias Billy the Kid. After the murder of Tunstall, Billy had set out to take vengeance on the killers, who, having been in the sheriffs posse, had not been prosecuted. On the morning of April 1, 1878, Sheriff William Brady and his deputy, George Hindman, had been shot and killed in broad daylight while walking on the main street of Lincoln. Billy the Kid had been one of several accused of the crime, and Lincoln County had offered a reward of two hundred dollars for each of the killers.

Three days after the killing of the lawmen, Andrew Roberts, a member of the posse that had killed Tunstall, rode into town. Hearing of the rewards, the heavily armed man had set out for Blazer's Mill, where he was told the killers of Brady and Hindman might be. As he neared the mill, he met a party of riders that included Billy the Kid. The men ordered Roberts to surrender, but he refused, and Charles Bowdre—one of Billy's companions—shot Roberts. Dying, Roberts shot three of his assailants. George Coe and John Middleton were wounded, while Richard Brewer, the young man who had been foreman on Tunstall's ranch, was killed.

On April 18, a grand jury indicted Bowdre, Billy the Kid, and several others for the killing of Andrew Roberts. The indictment also charged Billy and two others for the killing of Brady and Hindman. The following day, the Kid appeared in court and pleaded not guilty. Following his appearance, a minor revolution rocked Lincoln County, and not until April 14, 1879, did the Kid come to trial. Sheriff Brady had been a member of the Murphy faction, and following Murphy's death, the McSween followers had held an unauthorized election and installed a new sheriff sympathetic to their interests. But the Murphy bunch appealed to the governor of the territory, who appointed a Murphy man to the position. Returned to power, the Murphy faction set out to arrest Billy the Kid and crush the McSween group. The newly appointed Murphy sheriff and his posse—sided by hired gunmen brought in from other counties—found Billy in July 1878 with his McSween followers in Lincoln. The showdown came for the Murphy and the Tunstall-McSween riders, who had been led by McSween since Tunstall's death.

“My God,” said Nathan aloud, “it beats all I ever heard.”

But there was much more. After two days of ineffectual shooting in town, Billy and his friends had been driven into and trapped in the McSween residence. Late in the afternoon of the third day—July nineteenth—the Murphy posse set fire to one wing of the adobe house. As the fire crept toward them, the defenders blazed away with their guns while Mrs. McSween played the piano. During the fight, Deputy Sheriff Robert Beckwith of the Murphy clan was killed, and four of the embattled defenders, including McSween himself, met similar fates. As darkness settled over Lincoln, Billy the Kid ran from the house and escaped into the night. Later that night, the posse became part of a mob that broke into the Tunstall-McSween store and robbed it of some six thousand dollars worth of goods.

With both Tunstall and McSween dead, the Murphy faction was victorious, and Billy the Kid had become an outlaw on several murder charges. But news of the bloody vendetta reached Washington, and President Rutherford B. Hayes appointed General Lew Wallace as acting governor of New Mexico, with instructions to bring peace. Wallace immediately issued an amnesty proclamation, and Billy, gun in hand, had met the general alone in a designated place. A reconciliation failed because two of Billy's deadly enemies—aided my Murphy sympathizers—had broken jail. Protecting himself, Billy the Kid rode away.

“Damn them,” Nathan said, “They'll never let him out of it alive. He'll be murdered in the name of the law.”

Acting Governor Wallace had appointed Oden Wilder as sheriff of Lincoln County, with authority to deputize as many men as he needed to arrest those who had participated in the feud. Every man so deputized would be paid a hundred dollars a month and provided with ammunition for Winchester and Colt. There was a hand-drawn map of Lincoln County, and Nathan was struck with its nearness to El Paso.

“Empty,” said Nathan, “Sheriff Wilder needs some hombres in that posse that don't kill without cause. I reckon we'll ride down there and lend a hand for a while.”

 

His horse carrying double, Wes Tremayne took his time. Thankfully, Rebecca Tuttle rode well, and Wes had only to concern himself with Emily. Hoping to avoid the remaining three outlaws, Wes rode south for what he believed was ten miles. He then veered west, and they soon were out of Indian Territory. Rebecca trotted her horse abreast of his.

“I'm glad we're back on the open plains,” Rebecca said. “It seemed so gloomy and kind of forbidding back there, like something was ... waiting ...”

“Indian Territory,” said Wes. “I've heard a lot about it, but nothing good.”

Little was said during the ride back to Mobeetie, Texas. James McIntire, the little town's new sheriff, listened attentively while Wes explained what had happened.

“My God,” McIntire said, “you tangled with the Eck Pierce gang and killed Pierce?”

“He saved Mother and me,” said Rebecca.

“Four of the bunch rode out,” Wes said. “I reckoned they had business here.”

“They did,” said McIntire. “I rode over to Fort Elliott, and while I was there they robbed a saloon and killed a man.”