Outlaws and Peace Officers Read online

  Bowdre’s relation of previous events shows how Evans and men attacked him about two miles from the hills. Having an inferior force, he made a run for the foot-hills and took a stand there amongst the rock and brush. Several shots were fired during the chase. Evans made a detour of the hill to avoid the range of Bowdre’s guns, and the skirmish commenced. Bowdre became separated from his men. He saw Brown as he rode to the rescue and sought ambush on the east of the hill. Evans also saw Brown, and sent a shower of lead after him, which was the volley that reached the ears of The Kid and brought him to the scene. Thinking to join Brown, who had not recognized him, Bowdre broke from cover on a run, but fell into the hands of Jesse and four of his men. He was powerless against numbers, and his only hope was to stand Evans off until assistance arrived. How he prayed for the appearance of The Kid as he shot anxious glances around. No shot was fired. Evans and party covered him with their revolvers, and Jesse’s merry blue eyes danced with boyish glee, albeit a little devil lurked about the corners, as he bantered his prisoner:

  “Where’s your pard, Charley? I expected to meet him this morning. I’m hungry and thought I’d flay and roast The Kid for breakfast. We all want to hear him bleat.”

  Bowdre choked back the retort which rose to his lips. He was dismounted and his gun taken from the scabbard, where he had replaced it when surprised, but his captors made no motion to relieve him of his revolver. Bowdre stood with his hand resting on his horse’s haunch. Three of Evans’ men were dismounted, and two of their horses stood heads and tails, each bridle rein thrown over the other’s saddle horn. At this moment it was that The Kid’s well-known yell rang out like the cry of a panther. The Evans crowd seemed paralyzed, and Bowdre remarked: “There comes your breakfast, Jess.” All gazed wonderingly at the apparition of a gray horse, saddled and bridled, dashing across the valley, with no semblance of a rider save a leg thrown across the saddle and a head and arm protruding from beneath the horse’s neck, but, at the end of this arm the barrel of a pistol glistened in the sunlight. Quicker than it can be told, there scarce seemed space to breathe ’till the gray dashed among the amazed gazers.

  The Kid’s voice rang out: “Mount, Charley, mount.” He straightened himself in the saddle and drew rein, but before he could check his headlong speed, the powerful gray had breasted the two horses which were hitched together, threw them heavily and one mounted man lost his seat, and fell beneath his horse. Triumph in his eye, Bowdre had seized his gun, unnoticed, and mounted, ranging himself beside The Kid.

  This meeting was a sight not soon to be forgotten by those who witnessed it. These two young beardless desperadoes, neither of them yet twenty-one years of age—boyish in appearance, but experienced in crime—of nearly equal size, each had earned a reputation for desperate daring by desperate deeds, which had made their names a terror wherever they were known. They had slept together on the prairies, by camp fires, in Mexican pueblos, and on the mountain tops; they had fought the bloody Mescaleros and Chiricahuas side by side; they had shared their last dollar and their last chunk of dried deer meat, and had been partners in many other reckless and less creditable adventures, since their earliest boyhood.

  No one would have thought, from their smiling faces, that these two were mortal foes. Their attitudes were seemingly careless and unconstrained, as they sat their chafing horses, each with a revolver, at full-cock, in his right hand, resting on his thigh. Though their eyes twinkled with seeming mirth, they were on the alert. Not for an instant did each take his eye from the other’s face. As their restless horses champed the bit, advanced, retreated, or wheeled, that steady gaze was never averted. It seemed their horses understood the situation and were eager for the strife.

  And thus, for a moment, they gazed. There was a little sternness in The Kid’s eye, despite its inevitable smile. Jesse, at length, laughingly broke the silence.

  “Well, Billy, this is a hell of a way to introduce yourself to a private picnic party. What do you want anyhow?”

  “How are you, Jess?” answered The Kid. “It’s a long time since we met. Come over to Miguel Sedillo’s and take breakfast with me; I’ve been wanting to have a talk with you for a long time, but I’m powerful hungry.”

  “I, too, have been wanting to see you, but not exactly in this shape,” responded Jess. “I understood you are hunting the men who killed that Englishman, and I wanted to say to you that neither I nor any of my men were there. You know if I was I would not deny it to you nor any other man.”

  “I know you wasn’t there, Jess,” replied The Kid. “If you had been, the ball would have been opened without words.”

  “Well, then,” asked Jess, “what do you jump us up in this style for? Why you’d scare a fellow half to death that didn’t know you as well as I do.”

  “O, ask your prisoner here, Charley,” said The Kid, “he’ll tell you all about it. You won’t go to breakfast with me then? Well, I’m gone. One word, Jess, before I go. There’s a party from Seven Rivers lurking about here; they are badly stuck after a bunch of horses which I have been in charge of. The horses are right over the hills there, at Bruer’s old ranch. If you meet that crowd, please say to them that they are welcome to the horses, but I shall be there when they receive them, and shall insist that they take Old Gray and some other horses along, as well as me and a few choice friends. Come, put up your pistol, Jess, and rest your hand.”

  With these words The Kid slowly raised his pistol-hand from his thigh, and Jesse as deliberately raised his. The dancing eyes of Jesse were fixed on The Kid, and the darker, pleasant, yet a little sterner eyes of The Kid held Jesse’s intently. Simultaneously the muzzles of their pistols were lowered, neither for an instant pointing in the direction of the other, then, with the spontaneous movement of trained soldiers, were dropped into their scabbards. As they raised their hands and rested them on the horns of their saddles, seven breasts heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I have some more men scattered about here,” remarked Jesse.

  “And so have I,” replied The Kid. “Now, Jesse, you ride down the arroyo,” pointing east, “and I will ride to the top of the hills,” pointing west. “I’ll get my men together in a moment, and I suppose you can herd yours. No treachery, Jess. If I hear a shot, I shall know which side it comes from. Old Gray does not care in which direction he carries me, and he can run.”

  With these words, The Kid reined his horse towards the Rio Ruidoso, and without turning his head, rode leisurely away. Bowdre sat a moment and watched Evans, whose eyes followed The Kid. Jess, at last, wheeled, his horse, ejaculated: “By G—d, he’s a cool one,” called to his followers and dashed down the arroyo. Bowdre rejoined The Kid, and in twenty minutes the party of six were reunited and were trotting merrily, with sharpened appetites, to breakfast.

  Thus ended this bloodless encounter. It was incomprehensible to their followers that these two leaders could meet without bloodshed; but, per chance, the memory of old times came over them and curbed their bold spirits.

  * * *

  During all this time Sheriff Peppin was not idle, but could do little towards restoring peace in the distracted county. In selecting his deputies, he had chosen some brave and reliable business men, upon whom he could depend. Among these was Marion Turner, of the firm of Turner and Jones, merchants at Roswell. Turner had been for years, off and on, in the employ of Chisum, by whom he was trusted, and who valued his services highly. He had been a staunch adherent of Chisum at the commencement of his struggle and up to May, 1878, when he seceded, for what he probably deemed sufficient cause, and became his old employer’s bitterest enemy. Turner had control of the sheriff’s operations in the valley of the Rio Pecos, and soon raised a posse of between thirty and forty men, composed principally of cattle-owners and cow boys, few of whom knew the taste of fear.

  One morning Turner received information that The Kid had left his quarters and started up the Pecos towards Fort Sumner. He had several warrants against The Kid for murder, and he now swore
to either arrest him, kill him, or die in the attempt. With his full force he took the trail. After riding some twenty miles he pronounced this movement of The Kid’s to be a blind, and turning west, he left the trail and took a short, straight-out to Lincoln. The result proved his sound judgment, as The Kid and band were there, safely barricaded in the elegant and spacious residence of McSween, prepared to stand a siege and defend their position to the last. Sheriff Peppin with a few recruits joined Turner at the “Big House,” as it was called, of Murphy and Dolan, a short distance from McSween’s. Turner, however, was the ruling genius of the enterprise. For three days spasmodic firing was kept up from both sides, but no harm was done.

  On the morning of July 19th, 1878, Turner expressed his intention of going to the house of McSween and demanding the surrender of The Kid and others against whom he held warrants. This project was denounced as foolhardy, and it was predicted that he would be shot down before he got within speaking distance. Nothing daunted, he persisted in his design and called for volunteers to accompany him. His partner, John A. Jones, than whom a braver man never lived in New Mexico, at once proffered to attend him, and his example was followed by eight or ten others.

  The advancing party saw the portholes which pierced the sides of the building, and, to their surprise, they were allowed to walk up to the walls and ensconce themselves between these openings with-out being hailed, or receiving a hint that their presence was suspected by those within. The explanation of this circumstance was that the besieged were at that moment holding a council of war in a room in the rear, where the whole garrison was assembled. The result of this discussion was, The Kid had sworn that he would never be taken alive; his ruling spirit had swayed the more timid, and it was resolved to drive off the assailants, or die at their posts. McSween appeared to be inert, expressing no opinion, or desire. As they returned to their posts, they were astonished to find the front yard occupied by their foes. The Kid hailed the intruders, when Turner promptly notified him that he held warrants for the arrest of Wm. H. Bonney, and others of his companions, amongst them Alex A. McSween.

  The Kid replied: “We, too, have warrants for you and all your gang, which we will serve on you, hot, from the muzzles of our guns.” In short, The Kid and all his confederates refused to make terms, and Turner retired in safety. Not so, however, his attendants. Their position, once gained, they did not propose to relinquish. And now the fight commenced in earnest.

  At this juncture, Lieut. Col. Dudley, of the Ninth Cavalry, arrived from Fort Stanton, nine miles distant, with one company of infantry and one of artillery. Planting his cannon in a depression of the road, between the belligerent parties, he proclaimed that he would turn his guns loose on the first of the two who fired over the heads of his command. Yet the fight went on, and the big guns were silent.

  Turner was confident, and said he would have The Kid out of there if he had to burn the house over his head.

  The Kid, on his part, was sanguine—he said he could stand the besiegers off, and was as gay as if he were at a wedding. Both knew that the struggle must be a bloody one, and neither anticipated an easy victory.

  Turner’s men took possession of all the surrounding buildings, from which desultory firing was kept up. Doors, windows, and other woodwork, were slivered by flying bullets, and earth flew from adobe walls. This fusillade from the besiegers was aimed to cover the operations of those allies within the yard, who were laboring to fire the building—working kindlings under door and window sills and wherever woodwork was exposed. A portion of The Kid’s party had gained the roof, and from behind the parapets, harassed the foe. Turner sent a dozen men to the hills which overlook the plaza, and their heavy, long-range guns soon dislodged them. A magnificent piano in one of the front rooms was hit several times by these marksmen in the hilltops, and at each stroke sent forth discordant sounds.

  The truth is Mrs. McSween and three lady friends left the house before the fight commenced. It is also true that she requested permission to return for some purpose, the firing ceased—she went bravely in—returned almost immediately, and the firing was resumed.

  About noon the flames burst forth from the front doors and windows, and the fate of the building was sealed. All efforts of the inmates to extinguish them were fruitless, and the assailants shouted their joy. Soon the whole front of the house was deserted by its defenders, and Jack Long, having procured a little coal oil, less than a gallon, made his way into a room not yet on fire, carefully saturated the furniture with the oil, fired it, and made his escape. An adobe building burns very slowly, and this was a large one, containing eleven rooms. Yet the flames were slowly and surely driving the inmates back. The besiegers called on them to surrender every few minutes. The only reply was curses and defiance.

  And now, as night sets in the defenders have but one room, a kitchen at the back of the house, that is tenable, and this would furnish shelter but a short time. The question of surrender was discussed and vetoed by The Kid with [scorn]. Bloody, half naked, begrimed with smoke and dust, his reckless spirit was untamed. Fiercely he threw himself in the doorway, the only means of escape, and swore that he would brain and drag back into the burning building the first that made a motion to pass that door. “Hold,” said he, “until the fire breaks through upon us, then all as one man, break through this door, take the underbrush on the Rio Bonito, and from there to the hills. We’ll have an even chance with them in the bottom.” This ipse dixit settled it. The Rio Bonito was not more than fifty yards from the back of the house.

  And now one affrighted Mexican, unheeding The Kid’s threat, precipitated the bloody finale. He called out to stop shooting and they would surrender. A blow from The Kid’s revolver, and the presumptuous fellow lay bruised and senseless on the floor. The Kid had not time to execute all his threat. So soon as the Mexican’s voice was heard on the outside, the firing ceased. Robert W. Beckwith, a cattle owner of Seven Rivers, with John Jones passed round the corner of the main building in full view of the kitchen doorway. No sooner did Beckwith appear than a shot from the house inflicted a wound on his hand. He saw The Kid and McSween in the door, and shouting “McSween! McSween,” opened fire on them. The Kid shot but once, and Beckwith fell dead, the ball entering near the eye. The Kid called to “come on,” and leaping over Beckwith’s prostrate body, pistol in hand, he fought his way through a score of enemies, step by step he fought, until reaching the brink of the river he plunged across, and was hid from sight by weeds and brush. He was followed by all his band who had life and strength to flee, and several of those left a bloody trail behind. McSween less fortunate than The Kid, fell dead in the yard, refusing to surrender or to flee. He was pierced with nine bullets. Tom O. Foliard, the new recruit, was the last one who left the yard, and showed his pluck by stopping to pick up a friend, Morris. Discovering that he was dead, he dropped him, and amidst a shower of lead made his escape unharmed.

  It was now ten o’clock at night. The fight for the present, was ended, the building was in ashes, there were seven mutilated corpses lying about, and several on both sides nursed desperate wounds.

  Turner’s party lost but one man killed, besides Beckwith. The Kid’s party had killed McSween, Harvey Morris, and three Mexicans. Turner’s party numbered about forty men, and The Kid’s nineteen, aside from McSween.

  * * *

  After the disastrous events, detailed in the last chapter, The Kid gathered together such of his gang as were fit and took to the mountains south of Lincoln. From thence they made frequent raids, stealing horses and mules from the vicinity of Dowlin’s Mill, the Indian agency, Tularosa, and the Pecos Valley, varying the monotony by occasionally taking in a few ponies from the Mescaleros. They became bold in their operations, approaching the agency without fear.

  On the 5th day of August, 1878, they rode up in full sight of the agency, and were coolly appropriating some horses, when the book keeper, named Bernstein, mounted on a horse and said he would go and stop them. He was warned of h
is danger by persons who knew The Kid and gang, but, unheeding, he rode boldly up and commanded them to desist. The only reply was from The Kid’s Winchester, and poor Bernstein answered for his temerity with his life. This gentleman was a Jew, well known in the Territory. He had been in the employ of Spiegelberg Bros. and Murphy & Dolan previous to his connection with the agency, and was an excellent business man and accomplished gentleman.

  Sheriff Peppin, with his cohorts, had retired from active service after the bloody nineteenth of July, and law was a dead letter in the county. Immediately after the killing of Bernstein, The Kid, accompanied by Foliard, Fred Wayt, Middleton, and Brown, went to Fort Sumner, San Miguel County, eighty-one miles north of Roswell on the Rio Pecos. Here they established a rendezvous, to which they clung to the last chapter of this history. Bowdre and Skurlock were both married. Their Mexican wives were devoted to them and followed their fortunes faithfully. These two, Bowdre and Skurlock, remained in Lincoln County for a time, but, in the absence of their chief, avoided publicity. The Kid and friends, in the meantime, applied themselves industriously to the pursuit of pleasures. They worshipped, religiously, at the shrines of Bacchus and Venus, but only for a brief space. They had arrived at Sumner on the 18th day of August. About the first of September, this party of five started for Lincoln, for the purpose of assisting Bowdre and Skurlock to remove their families to Sumner.