The Collected Works of Billy the Kid (7 page)

*

Garrett moved us straight to the nearest railroad depot. We had to wait one night for the train that would take us to Mesilla where they would hold the trial. The Polk Hotel there was a bright white place with a wide courtyard and well. The deputies went down in the bucket and washed themselves. They removed Charlie off his horse. Garrett took over and washed the dried blood off the animal. Garrett ordered a box for Charlie Bowdre. Then he made me drink liquids and paste. They had to carry the three of us from the horses to the beds—we couldn’t walk after the week on horses. I was to share a room with Garrett and Emory.

Your last good bed Billy, he said, pick your position. I did, face and stomach down. He chained me to the bed. He taped my fingers so thick I couldnt get them through a trigger guard even if they gave me a gun. Then he went out and looked after Wilson who had broken both ankles when the horse stumbled collapsing on his chained legs.

It is afternoon still, the room white with light. My last white room, the sun coming through the shutters making the white walls whiter. I lie on my left cheek looking to that light. I cannot even see the door or if Emory has stayed behind. The bed vast. Went to sleep, my body melting into it. I remember once after Charlie and I stopped talking we could hear flies buzzing in their black across a room, and I remember once, one night in the open I turned to say goodnight to Charlie who was about ten yards away and there was the moon balanced perfect on his nose.

*

It is the order of the court that you
be taken to Lincoln and confined to
jail until May
13
th and that on that
day between the hours of sunrise
and noon you be hanged on the gallows
until you are dead dead dead
And may God have mercy on your soul

said Judge Warren H. Bristol

THE TEXAS STAR MARCH
1881

INTERVIEWER
: Billy…

BONNEY
: Mr. Bonney please.

I:
Mr. Bonney, I am from the
Texas Star
. You are now how old?

B:
21.

I:
When is your birthday?

B:
November 23rd. On that lap I’ll be 22.

I:
You were reported as saying, as adding, to that phrase— ‘If I make it’ when asked that question before.

B:
Well, sometimes I feel more confident than at others.

I:
And you feel alright now …

B:
Yes, I’m ok now.

I:
Mr. Bonney, when you rejected Governor Houston’s offer of an amnesty, were you aware of the possibility that your life would continue the way it has?

B:
Well, I don’t know; Charlie, Charlie Bowdre that is, said then that I was a fool not to grab what I could out of old Houston. But what the hell. It didn’t mean too much then anyway. All Houston was offering me was protection from the law, and at that time the law had no quarrels with me, so it seemed rather silly.

I:
But you were wanted for cattle rustling weren’t you?

B:
Yes, but, well let me put it this way. I could only be arrested if they had proof, definite proof, not just stories. They had to practically catch me with stolen cattle in my bed. And when you rustle, you can see law coming a good two miles away. All I had to do was ride off in the opposite direction and that would have been that.

I:
But couldn’t they catch you with them when you sold them?

B:
Well I don’t do, I didn’t do the selling—I sold them off before they reached the market.

I:
How were, or with whom were you able to do that?

B
: I’d rather not mention names if you don’t mind.

(Here Mr. Bonney withdrew a black cigarette, lit it, and grinned charmingly, then retreated behind his enigmatic half smile, a smile which was on the verge of one. These smiles of ‘Billy the Kid’ are well known and have become legendary among his friends in this area. Sheriff Garrett has an explanation for this:

“Billy has a denture system which is prominent, buck teeth you at the paper would call it. So that even when he has no intention of smiling his teeth force his mouth into a half grin. Because of this, people are always amazed at his high spirits in a time of stress.” Mrs. Celsa Gutierrez adds to this:

“When Billy was
18,
a man named John Rapsey (‘…. head’ as he was affectionately called afterwards) broke his (Billy’s) nose with a bottle. Billy was knocked unconscious and Rapsey escaped. Bowdre who was with him, to ease the pain when he came to, fed him some tequila, made him drunk. Billy didn’t get his nose fixed for three days as Bowdre accompanying him on the tequila also got drunk and forgot all about the broken nose. As a result, when Billy finally got to Sumner to get it fixed his breathing channels, or whatever, were clogged. After that he rarely breathed through his nose again, and breathed by sucking the air in through his mouth, or through his teeth as it seemed. If you were near him when he was breathing heavily—when excited or running, you could hear this hissing noise which was quite loud.”)

B:
Anyway, Houston offered me protection from the law, and the only law I knew in Fort Sumner was the Murphy faction which would certainly not uphold Houston if they found me in a dark street without guns. (Laugh)

I:
Did you get on well with Houston?

B
: He was ok.

I
: What do you mean by that?

B
: Just that he was straight about it all. I mean he was disappointed of course that I couldn’t agree, but I think he saw my point. I don’t think he thought much of Murphy’s men, or trusted them either.

I:
But right now you’ve threatened to kill him if you escape this hanging?

B: WHEN
I escape, yes.

I:
Why?

B
: Well, I’ve been through all this before. I’ve already made a statement. But anyway, again. In my trial three weeks ago, the charge
that was brought against me was for shooting Sheriff Clark, etc. Now Houston offered me parole, or amnesty or whatever
after
this shooting. As you know there were no real witnesses of any murder on my part after that incident. But the fact is that the Clark shooting took place during the Lincoln County war—when
EVERYBODY
was shooting. I mean no one brought charges against those who shot McSween or Tunstall. Now Houston when he spoke to me admitted that, while he couldn’t condone what was done during those three days, he understood that both sides were guilty, and like a state of war there was no criminal punishment that could be genuinely brought against me without bringing it against everyone connected with that war. Two wrongs make a right, right? Now they find that because they cannot charge me with anything else that’ll stick they charge me for something that happened during a war. A fact that your Governor Houston realises and I’m sure privately admits and still won’t do anything about.

I:
Why do you suppose he doesn’t do anything to pardon you now?

B:
(Snorting) Well I suppose he’s been wished into thinking that I’ve been pretty nasty since. But the point is that there is no legal proof to all this later stuff. The evidence used was unconstitutional.

I:
Do you have a lawyer, I mean working on an appeal now?

B:
Slip me a gun and I will have— don’t print that.

I:
Mr. Bonney, or may I call you Billy …

B:
No.

I:
Mr. Bonney, do you believe in God?

B:
No.

I:
Why not, and for how long haven’t you?

B :
Well I did for a long time, I mean in a superstitious way, same way I believe in luck for instance. I couldn’t take the risk you see. Like never wearing anything yellow. So before big fights, or even the most minor as well as the really easy ones. I used to cross myself and say, “God please don’t let me die today.” I did this fast though so no one would see me, see what I was doing. I did this pretty well every day from the age of 12 till I was
18.
When I was
18,
I had a shooting match with Tom O’Folliard, the prize was a horse. Now it was with rifles and Tom is excellent with them and I wanted that horse very much. I prayed every
day. Then I lost the bet with Tom.
I:
Do you worry about what will happen after death now you don’t believe in God?

B:
Well I try to avoid it. Though I suppose not. I guess they’ll just put you in a box and you will stay there forever. There’ll be nothing else. The only thing I wish is that I could hear what people say afterwards. I’d really like that. You know, I’d like to be invisible watching what happens to people when I am not around. I suppose you think that’s simple minded.

I:
Are you happy, or at least were you happy? Did you have any reason for going on living, or were you just experimenting?

B:
I don’t know whether I’m happy or not. But in the end that is all that’s important—t hat you keep testing yourself, as you say— experimenting on how good you are, and you can’t do that when you want to lose.

I:
Is that all you looked forward to?

B:
Yes I suppose so.

I:
Is it true that you were going to get married and move east when you were arrested?

B:
As I say I don’t want to cause trouble, and though I’m not saying about the first part of the question, I
had
intended to leave the area cos people kept coming up to me and saying I was going to get it for what I had done to their friends. Bob Ollinger who’s worked his way into being my jailer. He had a close friend who was killed in the Lincoln County war.

I:
Who do you consider your friends now, now that Bowdre and O’Folliard are dead?

B:
Well I have some. Dave Rudabaugh wherever he is. I guess he’s locked up too somewhere. They won’t tell me. A couple of guys here and there. A couple of ladies.

I:
Garrett?

B:
Well Pat’s right now a…. head. We used to be friends as you probably know. He’s got senile. He’s getting a lot of money for cleaning the area up—of us supposedly. No I don’t think much of him now.

I:
He’s said that he gave you all plenty of opportunity to get out of New Mexico before he began hunting you.

B:
Yeahhhh but one) you don’t go around using mutual friends to trap an old friend and two) I love the country around here and Fort Sumner…all my friends are here. I’d go now, cos some I thought were friends were really pretty hypocritical.

I:
What about pastimes? Did you have many when you were free? Did you like books, music, dancing?

B
: Dancing I like, I’m a pretty good dancer. Fond of music too. There’s a Canadian group, a sort of orchestra, that is the best. Great. Heard them often when I was up there trying to get hold of a man who went by the name of Captain P___.* Never found him. But that group will be remembered a long time.

I:
How about you, do you think you will last in people’s memories?

B
: I’ll be with the world till she dies.

I
: But what do you think you’ll be remembered as? I mean don’t you think that already several feel you are morally vulgar? I mean all these editorials about you….

B
: Well…editorials. A friend of Garrett’s, Mr. Cassavates or something, said something bout editorials. He said editorials don’t do anything they just make people feel guilty.

I:
That’s rather good.

B:
Yes. It is.

*

Am the dartboard
for your midnight blood
the bones’ moment
of perfect movement
that waits to be thrown
magnetic into combat

a pencil
harnessing my face
goes stumbling into dots

*

No the escape was no surprise to me. I expected it. I really did, we all did I suppose. And it is now in retrospect difficult to describe. You’ve probably read the picture books anyway, of how he did it. What he did was to seduce young Bell into a cardgame, shot him, then shot Ollinger returning from lunch. Nobody cared about Ollinger, but Bell was liked. You know how Ollinger used to kill people? He’d go up to them about to shake hands, then grab their right hand with his left, lift out his pistol and fire into the chest. He had hated Billy ever since the Lincoln County War. So Bell and Ollinger died and Billy escaped. Also on the way out of town he hit a man named Ellery Fleck in the face, with his rifle, for no reason at all. He was probably elated.

One funny thing happened apparently (I was out of town). Billy’s hands were still chained, and jumping onto a horse to escape he lost his balance and fell off—right in front of the crowd who refused to do anything but watch. In that crowd nobody cracked a smile. Three or four kids helped him catch the horse and held it while he got on carefully. Then with the rifle cradled in his arms he made the horse walk slowly over Ollinger’s body and went.

*

MISS SALLIE CHISUM:

As far as dress was concerned
he always looked as if
he had just stepped out of a bandbox.

In broadbrimmed white hat
dark coat and vest
grey trousers worn over his boots
a grey flannel shirt
and black four-in-hand tie
and sometimes—would you believe it?—a flower in
his lapel.

I suppose it sounds absurd to speak
of such a character as a gentleman,
but from beginning to end
of our long relationship,
in all his personal relations with me,
he was the pink of politeness
and as courteous a little gentleman
as I ever met.