Billy’s Blues Page 5
BILLY THE KID
Excuse me Mr. Tunstall, are you busy?
Startled out of his deliberations, Tunstall turns to face Billy.
TUNSTALL
Oh, good evening William. I’m never too busy for a friendly chat. Is there something troubling you, my son?
As Billy climbs the stairs to the porch, light shines upon the Bible in his hand.
BILLY THE KID
I’ve been looking over this here book you give me. I believe I have a question.
TUNSTALL
Tell me, my good man, how have you enjoyed your reading?
BILLY THE KID
Well, it starts out riding high and wide, gets bogged down a bit in all that begettin’, then whips up agin’.
Tunstall smiles benevolently.
TUNSTALL
Where are you up to now?
BILLY THE KID
That’s what I wanted to ask you about. It says in this here Book of Moses that God gave out these commandments.
TUNSTALL
Yes, ten of them.
BILLY THE KID
Got no problem with most of them, at least them I make sense of, but this one, this deal about not killing. What do they mean by that?
TUNSTALL
Ah, “Thou shalt not kill.” According to prevailing Protestant and Orthodox Christian Practices, that is The Sixth Commandment.
BILLY THE KID
But a man’s got to kill things to survive.
TUNSTALL
Indeed, my dear fellow, but I believe that God meant one must not kill his fellow man.
BILLY THE KID
But that just don’t make no sense. A man has got to protect his self. Some people just need killing.
TUNSTALL
Remember when we first met, you asked why I never wore a gun?
BILLY THE KID
You said you didn’t need one.
TUNSTALL
You see, William, violence only begets more violence. Personally, I would rather be killed than kill.
BILLY THE KID
Then you’re lucky to be alive, Mr. Tunstall.
TUNSTALL
It’s not luck, William. It’s God’s will.
BILLY THE KID
And if someone dusts you front to back?
TUNSTALL
Then that is God’s will as well.
BILLY THE KID
Will it be God’s will when I dust the man that dusts you?
TUNSTALL
No, William, you must not dirty your hands. We all must learn to forgive. God will punish he that sins.
Billy opens the Bible and points.
BILLY THE KID
But what about this part here. It says …
Billy reads haltingly.
BILLY THE KID
… “And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life, eye for an eye, tooth for tooth.”
TUNSTALL
Only the authorities can administer such laws.
BILLY THE KID
But it says nothing about authorities here, Mr. Tunstall. And look at the way the law was run in old Egypt. That don’t seem a far cry from Lincoln County today. Them Israelites got about as much justice out of this Pharaoh and the Egyptians as we can expect from Murphy and the Sante Fe Ring.
TUNSTALL
You have an interesting argument, William, and I’m impressed with your diligence, but if you read on, you will find that God does punish the Egyptians and the Pharaoh. The parallel you draw between the wanderings of the Israelites and our situation is acute, but have faith, William. Our Egyptians—Murphy, Dolan and the Sante Fe Ring—they shall also be punished. You see, my son, civilization is coming to the Southwest. Swords shall be melted into plowshares. The desert will blossom into ranches and farms. Casinos and houses of ill-repute will be transformed into schools and churches. Those who don’t change with the times are doomed; those who do, will reap the rewards of their conversion. Yes, William, the West is changing and it will be a wonderful thing to behold, a wonderful thing indeed.
As Tunstall finishes his speech, a cowboy rides into the ranch through the main gate, dust billowing behind his speeding horse. As he dismounts, fellow ranch hands surround him and voices rise up in an angry chorus.
TUNSTALL
Excuse me, William. Who goes there? Is anything wrong?
The cowboy leads his horse up to the porch followed by the other men and enters into the light. It’s Richard Brewer, Tunstall’s foreman.
BREWER
I’m afraid so, Mr. Tunstall. It’s about the cattle, sir, the cattle we had grazing south of the Rio Feliz.
TUNSTALL
Speak up, good man.
BREWER
Well, they’ve been stampeded, right through our camp destroying everything. We spotted rustlers heading northeast towards the Murphy ranch. I recognized Jesse Evans and his gang with Morton, Baker and Hill loaded for bear. Those boys have the Murphy/Dolan sign branded to the bone. It doesn’t take much head scratching to figure out who’s behind this.
TUNSTALL
Anyone injured?
BREWER
One of ours and he ain’t breathing.
BILLY THE KID
I bet their fixin’ to change those brands as soon as they get ’em home. I say we ride over to Murphy’s ranch tonight and wait for them to arrive. Then we can give them a dose of their own medicine, eye for an eye, tooth for tooth, lead for lead.
A murmur of assent is raised among the men.
TUNSTALL
Now William, men, we do not know for sure that Murphy and Dolan are behind this. It would be better for us to collect evidence, make affidavits and then I can present this to Governor Axtall in person. I will ride to Sante Fe myself and demand a new sheriff. Then we can put the perpetrators on trial.
BILLY THE KID
But what are we gonna do now? Aren’t they gettin’ away with the real evidence.
TUNSTALL
We must document the full story, and not take the law into our own hands. Then when I go before the Governor, he’ll be forced to take action.
BILLY THE KID
But what makes you think Murphy, with his connections to the Sante Fe Ring, hasn’t already gotten to the Governor?
TUNSTALL
If that is the case, by Axtall’s inaction, I will be able to present an even more convincing case to Washington if need be. I have a new partner, Alex McSween. He runs my store in town, but he’s also a licensed lawyer. He worked for Murphy and Dolan before me until he refused to do their dirty work. With his assistance, Murphy and Dolan’s days are numbered, but we must do it legally. I must have no blood on my hands when I go to meet the governor or travel to Washington. Only from atop the moral high ground can we convince the authorities that the time has come for New Mexico to take its honored place among the rest of the United States of America. The Lord has shown us the light. The time has come for us to lead the way. Abide by my wishes men and welcome a new era to Lincoln, one of law and order and freedom from under the monopolistic yoke of Murphy, Dolan and “The House.”
Billy looks down at the Bible in his hands.
BILLY THE KID
Lord, I hope you’re right.
FADE OUT51
The outside hallway reverberates with tension. Tears, yelps and shouts, long ended, echo off the cheap ribbed paneling, seeping into cavernous elevator shafts and tumbling into the basement below. Can I go out there now and wallow in such ill will? There are other things on my list that need doing.
7) Tasks
a) tape “Billy the Kid vs.
Frankenstein” (ch 5, 2-4pm)
b) organize closet
8) Visit?????
The red light on my answering machine blinks accusingly.
8) Visit?????
I skip to the next item.
9) Dinner
10) Sunrise
a) make out new schedule
b) bed prep
- unplug phone
<
br /> - draw curtains
- slumber mask
- earplugs
11) Bed
It’s hopeless. How can I ignore the light?
“He was universally liked. The native citizens loved him because he was always kind and considerate to them and took much pleasure in helping them and providing for their wants. He thought nothing of mounting his horse and riding all night for a doctor or for medicine to relieve the suffering of some sick person.”52
The phone rings again. I unplug it.
“Billy was a graceful and beautiful dancer, and when in the company of a woman, he was at all times extremely polite and respectful. Also while in the presence of women, he was neat and careful about his personal appearance. He was always a great favorite with the women, and at a dance he was in constant demand; yet with it all, he was entirely free from conceit or vanity. It was just natural for him to be a perfect gentleman.”53
I don’t have the stomach to listen to these messages anymore, nor the heart to erase them. I can delay no longer. I must go out there. For food, yes, but I must also stop him.
“The Kid often said that he loved Mr. Tunstall better than any man he ever knew. I have always believed that if Mr. Tunstall had lived, the Kid, under his guidance, would have become a valuable citizen, for he was a remarkable boy, far above the average young men of those times and he undoubtably had the making of a fine man in him.”
Mrs. Susan Barber (McSween)54
The answering machine clicks in again. I cut it off.
“Hel …”
I’ll go tomorrow.
Chapter Nine
On that fateful winter day of February 18, 1878, the sun rose majestically, unencumbered by wind or cloud. Prairie dogs led their young out of the burrow to play as snakes and panthers took the morning off to nap under the warm eye of heaven. Even golden eagles, perched on their nests, seemed satisfied to quietly survey their dominion; or take an occasional romp In the cool, azure sky, forgetful of the hunt; and for the first time since their maiden glide as grey-feathered innocents, lean over and dive headlong Into space, as If reminded again of the sheer Joy of flight.
Grasping to his breast the papers concerning L.G. Murphy’s illegal activities, John H. Tunstall took a deep, satisfying breath of the dry, crisp New Mexican air. He stepped up to the buckboard of his wagon and turned to address his men. The English gentleman-turned-cattleman surveyed the horizon and remarked that he could think of no finer a day to venture forth on the long journey to Sante Fe for a meeting with the governor. “It seems that God himself hath blessed this noble quest for justice.” Before sitting down, he added, “In Sante Fe, I plan to purchase new shirts, jeans, and boots to restock the store In Lincoln. I’ll bring back extra pairs of each for every one of my loyal band. If we are to be the new breed of citizen In Lincoln County, we might as well look the part.”
The ranch hands waved their hats and cheered, all except Billy the Kid. As soon as his compadres quieted, he stated soberly, “God blessed or no, we ain’t lettln’ you ride lonesome Mr. Tunstall.”
“Now, now, William, men, there’s no need for worry,” Tunstall replied. “I’m an unarmed man on a simple business trip. An armed escort would only attract attention. That could escalate into violence and violence must be avoided at all costs.”
“I hate to say it, but I agree with the Kid, Mr. Tunstall,” replied the foreman, Dick Brewer. “These hills are crawling with Murphy men itching to lay you out proper. Riding alone to Sante Fe is like diving into a bear’s den smeared with honey.”
“But Richard, I have nothing to fear,” Tunstall insisted. “As far as Murphy is concerned, I am riding into Sante Fe on a wagon for supplies. Furthermore, God is on our side.”
“God may be on our side Mr. Tunstall,” said the fearless Billy the Kid, “but he ain’t packin’ no lead. Like it or not, I’m doggin’ you, be it in a pack or alone.”
“It seems I cannot fight you,” Tunstall consented, “but I must insist that the party be small and act only as a deterrent.”
“Of that you can be assured, Mr. Tunstall,” said Brewer. “Middleton, waite, and McCloskey … hey where Is McCloskey?”
“Rode out early this morning,” John Middleton reported. “Said something about a woman.”
“A woman?” said Billy disbelieving. “That yellow-bellied turkey never talked of no woman before.”
“Forget it, Kid,” replied Brewer. “Widenmann, you go. You’re a better shot with a rifle anyway. I got to talk to that McCloskey. For a hand that just joined up, he’s doing little to prove himself. Never around when you need him.”
“And what about me?” demanded Billy.
“All right, Kid. You could outshoot the devil himself, so you might as well go too.” As the Kid started to check his weapons with a flourish, Brewer turned aside to Waite and said in a low voice, “Keep an eye on him Fred. You’re about the only soul who can reason him.”
Frederick T. Waite, a Choctaw from Indian territory, nodded silently. Although he dressed as a white man to avoid persecution and rarely spoke, he never denied his heritage. As far his compadres were concerned, he carried his weight proper, handy with horse, rope and gun, which was about all they cared about, regardless of race, creed, or color. The Kid always shifted his ears forward when he heard Fred address him as “Little Coyote,” but Billy wasn’t the only one who listened intently when Fred chose to utter a few well-chosen words.
“Tie an extra horse to the back of the wagon,” Brewer added. “At the first sign of trouble, all of you, take to the hills, don’t stand and fight. That includes you Billy. I don’t want anyone to take any chances with Mr. Tunstall’s life. Did you hear that Billy?”
“Yeah, just fine, Dickey-boy,” said the Kid loading the chambers of his revolver. “Take no chances.” He snapped the cylinder back in place.55
Behind my apartment door I stand—gloved hand upon knob, ear upon surface—listening into the hallway for trouble on the other side. No neighbor’s door swings open or slams its ugly echo. No screeching children defy parents. No squeaking shopping carts lug Wonder Bread and Shake N’ Bake. I strain to hear surly delivery boys crinkling packages of prescriptions or Chinese food. All quiet. I crack open the door and peek through. Nothing. I bravely lean out and look both ways. All clear. I step out and softly close the door behind me, pressing lightly until the lock clicks in. Now I’m committed.
As I walk towards the elevator, I check over my shoulder. It feels as if there’s something waiting to surprise me, as if a hand will reach out at any moment, grab me by the scruff of the neck, and shout, “Hey you! Where do you think you’re going?”
Although but a few seconds, the elevator seems to take countless minutes. Desperately, I pray for it to arrive, but fear the doors opening to a crowded cab revealing a horrid mix of foul odors, nudging fingers, and serrated stares. Then I hear it change direction. Its cold mechanics crescendo closer, slow, stop, click.
Behind me, an apartment door suddenly opens.
As they rode along the byway to Sante Fe, the sun warmed each rider’s shoulders. Soon, they relaxed their normally erect postures and the pace seemed to slow In spite of the long journey. The horses, sensing their riders’ mood, no longer needed steering, but followed the well-beaten trail. The riders, getting lost In their own conversation and the casual air, split up a little. Billy and Middleton faded a few hundred yards to the rear as Brewer and Widenmann rode point in front of Tunstall’s wagon. Fred Waite scouted ahead for trouble and reported back once, switching horses with Tunstall’s trailer, before setting out again, this time checking the rear.
Near five o’clock, with the winter sun giving off the last warmth of the day, Widenmann spied a flock of turkeys ahead, and being that time for thinking about setting up camp and cooking a hot meal after a long day’s ride, he suggested that they bag a few.
“You bonney lads go ahead,” replied Tunstall. “I’ll stay with the wagon.” Before leaving, Widenmann offer
ed Tunstall his rifle, but the noble Englishman refused. “You will need that, good fellow, will you not? Now go on, I can already taste a delicious turkey supper.”
“We’ll be only a minute, Mr. Tunstall,” said Brewer and off they rode. As Brewer and Widenman descended Into a gully, Tunstall noticed dust up ahead. It couldn’t be Waite, he was behind them. As the dust got closer, he realized it was not one rider, but many, and they were riding fast, but he had difficulty seeing with the sun setting directly behind them. He looked back over his shoulder and noticed that Billy and Middleton had faded far back. He could no longer see Brewer and Widenmann nor be sure where they were. He could now make out at least twenty horsemen silhouetted by the sun. As the riders approached, Tunstall still couldn’t recognize any of the men, but he could see one thing clearly, they were riding hard and they were heavily armed.56
First, a floppy-eared puppy topples out in the hallway and strains against a leather leash to sniff my toes before looking up. Seeing an enormous towering body attached, he cowers away in fear. The woman, with her back to me as she locks the door, wears a hat so large that it appears to rest upon a headless body. When she turns, my presence startles her. She drops her keys, which in turn startles me. Before she quickly bends to the floor, I notice a recent bruise below her left eye. She rises, head lowered and stands there, pausing it appears, still resolute in her task to walk the dog, yet hesitant about entering any elevator with me. Then I hear the elevator doors closing behind me.
I reach back as fast as I can, bump my elbow, and miss the door. I stick in a foot. The door closes and bites it painfully until I reach in and jiggle the gate’s rubber gums. Finally, its jaw relaxes releasing my foot. I hold its mouth open and turn to the woman who is cringing in her doorway, the puppy hiding behind her leg.
“I’ve got the door.”
The riders split up 100 yards in front of Tunstall’s wagon. A group of riders headed left toward the gully where Brewer and Widenmann were chasing turkeys. Another group rode right to cut off Billy and Middleton. A third group approached Tunstall. As their long shadows reached the fair Englishman, he finally recognized the five riders: Jesse Evans and gang members William “Buck” Morton, Frank Baker, Tom Hill, and Manuel Segovia, nicknamed “the Indian” although he shared little of such noble blood. Could It be by mere coincidence that they happened to be the very men named by Tunstall’s witnesses for cattle rustling and murder the night before? Here was the “lawful posse” Sheriff Brady assembled on Murphy’s behalf to arrest Tunstall. Jimmy Dolan followed behind at a safe distance and appeared to shout Instructions. Close enough to block the sun completely, the riders, now silhouettes, pulled out their guns.57