Lucky Billy (27 page)

J. B. Wilson, Justice of the Peace

Law Office of Chapman & Quinton
Las Vegas, New Mexico

February 10, 1879

J. P. Tunstall
7 Belsize Terrace
Hampstead,
London, England

My Dear Sir,

You will please pardon me for presuming so much upon an entire stranger but as the subject of this letter is in regard to your interest as well as that of Mrs. Alexander McSween, I have taken the liberty of writing to you. As attorney to Mrs. McSween I have had occasion to make myself familiar with the business relations that existed between your son and Mr. McSween during their lifetime, and also as to the estate left by your son. I have been busily engaged during the last three months collecting evidence in regard to the murder of your son and Mr. McSween and to the robbing of your son's store with a view to bringing the guilty parties to trial, and I feel quite certain that I will be able to convict the men who committed the murders at the next term of court, which will convene in April. Mrs. McSween has expended considerable money in collecting evidence and is very determined to have the murder punished. I think that for a foul murder that of your son is without parallel and the general public demand that his murderers should be punished.

I desire to call your attention to the estate of your son that you may make such steps as will protect it. In company with Mrs. McSween I went to Lincoln County in November last for the purpose of probating her husband's will, and upon our arrival there we found that Mr. Widenmann's bondsmen had commenced proceedings to have the letters of administration granted originally to Widenmann as administrator of your son's estate revoked, and that Mr. Widenmann had given the bondsmen a mortgage on the whole estate in order to secure him, and under this mortgage they were going to take charge of the whole estate. The mortgage that Mr. Widenmann gave had no effect in law only as against yourself but not against the creditors. After examining into matters I advised Mrs. McSween to take charge of your son's estate and had her appointed administratrix believing this to be the only way to protect your interests and those of Mrs. McSween, as much of the property was owned jointly by your son and McSween.

I find that your son was owner of 2,300 acres of land entered under the Desert Land Law, all of which is in the names of other men, and unless immediate steps are taken all or most of this land will be lost. I think Mr. Widenmann is derelict in his duty in not appointing someone to look after your son's estate in his absence. The charge and management of the real estate remain with the heirs, and if you desire to have the title to the land claimed by your son perfected, you should send power of attorney to Mrs. McSween authorising her to take charge of the land for you. I am certain that you could not trust the management to a more competent and careful person, and one who was a true and devoted friend to your son.

We have taken steps to have Colonel Nathan Dudley tried for the part he took in the murder of McSween and the robbing of your son's store, and I am confident of convicting him, which will make the government responsible for the value of the goods taken from your son's store. It is necessary to convict Dudley and Peppin to make the government responsible.

I also desire to call your attention to the circumstances in which are left the men who fought for your son and who have done all in their power to avenge his murder. They have been indicted for killing some of the murderers of your son and are without any means of defending themselves when the trial comes on. They were promised both by McSween and Widenmann that they should receive pay for hunting down the murderers of your son, but they do not ask any pay, but I think that something ought to be done to assist them out of their present trouble, as it would be a vindication of your son. If you can do anything for them, I think they deserve it. They have requested me to write and explain their situation to you, and you can take such action as you think proper.

I shall leave here tomorrow for Lincoln and shall do all in my power to protect the estate of your son. I hope that you will not delay in answering this letter and advising Mrs. McSween what to do.

Very truly your much obliged friend and servant,
Huston I. Chapman

***

SUE MCSWEEN'S RETURN
to Lincoln occurred after nightfall. No one greeted her, no parades were held, but neither was she stoned. Her house was gone. The fire had spared nothing. Her grand piano, prie-dieu, knickknacks, beds, and chairs were utterly destroyed, and the only things left were a discandied kitchen stove inside the broken outline of charred adobe walls. She and Attorney Chapman moved into Saturnino Baca's old place beside the Torreón, and furnished it meagerly with what could be salvaged from John Tunstall's store. Its cramped quarters, low ceilings, and dark rooms were a cross she had to bear, but she had Huston's help. When reports spread of her arrival, old friends helped, too. Former Regulators called and welcomed her home, and Billy Bonney sat before her now. Without leaning back, he perched on the edge of the day bed in their parlor while Huston raved on in his Morris chair. They'd been discussing the peace. Peace without justice, the lawyer declared, is hollow and tawdry, and the murderers of Tunstall and Alexander McSween must be made to stand trial for their crimes. "What bothers me," said Billy, "is all I ever got for pursuing those snakes was a stack of indictments."

"But who is there to arrest you?" Chapman said. "Peppin's re-signed. Kimbrell has no heart to pursue old feuds."

"You never know who's going to serve you with paper. It's hanging over my head."

"The situation as it stands hangs over all our heads. It cries out for resolution, not the bromide 'peace.'"

On her rocker, Sue turned and looked at Huston Chapman. She turned her whole body instead of the head, slowly, as though afraid she might spill. Stiff-necked, iron-jointed, straight as a poker, she nonetheless cringed at the lawyer's woody face, broken and red and growing redder as he spoke. One entire cheek and brow was blistered with shingles, made worse by his three-day exposure to the cold on the ride from Las Vegas in Sue's open buggy, and he picked at the crust surrounding his eye—picked with his right arm, the left no longer was. Its sleeve was pinned up. He'd told her the story: cleaning a shotgun at age thirteen, he'd accidentally blasted that arm, and the doctor amputated three inches from the shoulder. A missing arm, a leper's face—you'd think he was all used up, thought Sue. But he hardly cared or noticed. In their amorous moments as well as in their attorney-client conferences, he'd pooh-poohed the idea that he couldn't accomplish with one arm and scaly face anything that others could with two and smooth cheeks. And his credentials proved his point. Chief surveyor for the new city of Portland, Oregon Territory; assistant engineer for the Southern Pacific; bridge engineer for the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe; private attorney in Las Vegas, New Mexico; indefatigable lover. If anything he needed taking down a peg, Sue had sensed that right away. She would punish him tonight and that would show him, she thought, punish him for the blight on his face, for his mustard, his pride. For daring to approach her with his one arm, for touching her with fingers that minutes before had been lovingly probing his scabby incrustations. Yes, she'd discipline him. She frowned at him now. Frowning excited him. A painted, goat-in-heat grin wouldn't do. She'd settle his hash. And he'd rise to the occasion. How would you feel if you were
me,
Sue thought.

For Sue McSween, to unbend was unthinkable. Pieces of her would litter this room if she did not each morning wire them into place. Maneuvering herself around to face Billy, she was careful not to rock, her chair was a trigger. Gravity itself was a kind of disease that required inoculation, and Huston Chapman was her doctor. Already, wattles had begun to appear on the line of her chin, and chicken tracks ran between her hairline and eyes. Lumbago, bursitis, fallen arches would follow. It was Macky's death that had hastened this process, plus the loss of her house, of all her precious things. And how to express her sadness and grief without succumbing to premature decline? "The world is such a cold and selfish place," she'd said to Billy when he knocked at their door and asked how she was doing.

"Yes, ma'am."

She'd bristled. Gone icy. Gestured at the day bed, waved him into place. He'd always called her "Sue," never "ma'am," before. He jerked up his pant legs and sat on the day bed while she sank into the rocker without so much as dislodging it a hair. Was this what she had to look forward to now? Respect and veneration for her age and sex? Better to join her life companion in the home they'd been promised long ago beyond this sorry life, in that beautiful land of which Mr. McSween had many times spoken. And she would, she'd join him now, were it not for the lessons she taught each night to the naughty Huston Chapman.

Now Billy wavered. "Fred's gone. Hank, John Middleton, both of the Coes. Charlie's talking about he just wants to be a farmer."

Sue melted a little. "And what would you do if all this were over?"

"I don't know. Settle down. Trade horses. Start myself a ranch."

Chapman rested his chin in his hand. "I thought you wanted Tunstall's murderers to hang."

"I do. It's just—"

"As far as being paid, it's virtually a certainty. I've written to Tunstall's father on the matter."

"It's not just that, it's all the slaughter. It gets so you forget why you're even doing it. I thought you could get those warrants thrown out. The ones against me."

"I'll see what I can do."

"It would be nice to be able to steal a few horses now and then without someone all the time blowing your head off."

"Ha ha. Very good."

"I thought this was America. Land of the free."

"If they're free to blow your head off, you're free to blow off theirs."

"They don't like me to he so free, Mr. Chapman."

"An eye for an eye. That's how it works."

"Isn't that just the problem?" Sue's eyes clouded over looking at Billy. She rocked forward once, gripped the arms, stopped herself. "I would be very sorry to see you wind up in Richard Brewer's shoes. You're too nice a boy."

"I'd be very sorry to rot in prison myself."

"John Henry Tunstall admired you to distraction. He often told me so. My husband, too. He adored you. All of you boys worked so hard for our cause."

"And look where it got us."

"Oh, please don't say that. I've had a hard enough time coming back here as it is. Just sleeping at night in this poisoned atmosphere. Knowing what might have been. Those men stopped at nothing. You fought the noble fight."

For free, Billy thought.

"My dear, you make it sound like it's over. It isn't over yet," Huston Chapman pointed out.

"It is for me," said the Kid. "There's no percentage in it."

" There's rumor of a reward in your case," Chapman said.

"Reward for what?"

"For your hide."

"Has a figure been proposed?"

"I am privy to Governor Wallace's plans. He has mentioned one thousand dollars."

"A thousand dollars for me? Christ, I'm not worth it."

"He seems to think you are."

"All the more reason to settle this now."

"Wallace is coming to Lincoln," said Chapman. "I've convinced him that his presence is crucial to ensure a just outcome in this place. You can settle it with him."

"I've got others to settle with, too. When's he coming?"

"He'll be here in two weeks."

Lost in thought, Billy stared at Huston Chapman's pinned-up sleeve. Stared so much the lawyer squirmed. "How do you"—the Kid almost said
fuck her—
" put on a shirt?"

"Teeth come in handy. Or a helpmeet."

"I don't suppose you have trouble riding a horse."

"I prefer buggies."

The next morning, the Kid wrote to Jesse Evans. That evening, they met on either side of the wall of the corral behind John Tunstall's store: Billy, Tom O'Folliard, Doc Scurlock, José Salazar, and George Bowers on one side; Jesse Evans, James Dolan, Edgar Walz, Billy Matthews, and the newcomer Billy Campbell on the other. Dark shadows, bare trees, cold moon in the sky. The high adobe wall acted as a mask: they told each other the truth. "I wouldn't run with you cocksuckers ever again for a thousand dollars," said the Kid. The sum had wormed into his mind overnight.

"Nor I with you," said Jesse Evans. "You're a goddamn turncoat."

"Boys, boys," said Edgar Walz. Being brother-in-law to Thomas Catron, the putative leader of the Santa Fe ring, Walz saw to Catron's interests in Lincoln, Billy knew. "It does not make sense to perpetuate this row. Times are changing. No one's suggesting you throw in together. Just live and let live. That's what this is all about."

The Kid said, "That's right. That's all I want. Leave each other alone."

"Not a lot of chin music."

"You can mouth-fight all you want, I'm sick of it myself."

After a while, like boys in a schoolyard, they were scraping their feet in the cold dirt and looking down at their boots. On either side of the wall, they sagged toward the gate, threw it open, lined up. One by one, beginning with Billy, the Regulators stepped forward and shook hands with the Dolanites, each man coldly smiling. Those inclined to look away did not see James Dolan take out a pink hanky and wipe his little palm and short fingers but Billy did. Dolan flashed him a grin.

They repaired to the Wortley and at a long table drew up their treaty, Walz acting as scribe. The wording of the agreement was dictated by Dolan. One, no one can kill a member of the other party without first giving notice of withdrawal from the treaty. Two, all persons who are friends to either side are included in the treaty and not to be molested. Three, no soldiers will be killed for anything they've done before this pact was made. Four, no person will give evidence against a member of the other party in court at any time. Five, each side will assist the other in resisting arrest upon civil warrants. And six. If any person fails to carry out this compact which he has sworn to and signed, he shall be killed on sight.