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.