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.