Excerpt: Chapter 13
Not Much Mary Ann
˗ Andrew “Buckshot” Roberts
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After
landing back in Patricio we near immediately took off for Blazer’s Mill, but
before heading out I saw Jim French there with the rest of the men. I ran to
him, throwing my arms around him enthusiastically, happy to see that he was
alive. I looked back at Billy who winked and stood smiling.
“What
happened, Jim?” I asked.
“Didn’t
you ask your boyfriend?”
“He
says you were shot in the leg and couldn’t ride out.”
“Yeah….”
He looked over at Billy. “Sam stuck me under the floorboards of that bed there
in the store.”
“Get
the hell out! What then, Jim?” Billy asked, waiting to be captivated by a good
tale.
“Well…I
lay there on my back with two six-shooters, listenin’ to them goddamn Dolan
boys kicking around, looking for me.”
“Ya
tricked them out good.” Minxie pointed out.
I
was struck dumb by this story.
Jim’s
face grew somber, “Last I heard Peppin managed to arrest Alex, a couple of his
house boys, too. And Widenmann.
“Under
whose goddamned authority?” Billy exclaimed.
“That’s
the bitch of it all, Bill. You know authority don’t matter up there.”
“Yeah…don’t
I know it…”
A
thought occurred to me and my wits returned. “How is it you two managed to get
shot?” I turned to Billy. “I thought you said you were behind the corral wall.”
Jim
began to answer and I saw Billy give him a sly look, shaking his head slightly.
I looked back at Jim, my expression insistent upon him ignoring Billy’s want of
discretion. Jim looked between us, uncomfortably caught in the middle.
Feeling
now that he must explain he said, “We ran out after Brady fell…their side was
taking shots, you know how it is…” he said, attempting to blow it off and make
it seem less alarming than it was. He shook his head and waved his hand
dismissively, as if I had indeed “knew” how it was.
I
looked to Billy with an air of consternation. Commenting on my expression, he
said to Jim, “This is what I was wanting to avoid…” He looked down and sucked
his breath in between his lips, “We was trying to get the warrant for Alex’s
arrest—Brady was carrying it.” As an afterthought he said, “And I wanted my gun
back.”
“WERE!
Were, Billy! We were trying to get…! Quit speaking
like an ignorant imp! And that last part is just plain stupid.”
“Yeah…thanks
Jim,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck absently, his sarcasm overt.
Just
then Richard rode up.
“What
the hell is she doing here?” He bawled. “You’re like the green on a damn bad
penny!” He told me. “You were supposed to be in Sumner!”
“She
‘were’.” Billy responded, droll in his summation; I smirked at his being
fresh.
“She
was supposed to stay in Sumner!”
“She was…”
Billy concurred. “But she didn’t.”
“Roberts
was spotted up the Rinconada.” Charlie panted, catching up to the crowd of us.
George
and Frank Coe were ready to start out after him, and once all the boys were
gathered we started out immediately, Minxie staying behind. We headed up the
Ruidoso, spending the night on the Rinconada.
As
the campfire burned, the remains of a stray, slaughtered steer were cooked. Billy
nudged my arm and pointed out to where I could see a shadowy gathering of
people in the fading light as they passed by on horseback.
“Apaches,”
he said.
Upon
hearing this, I blanched and he got himself a good kick out of it, funning me
being his reason for pointing them out in the first place. He intended to alarm
me for his own pleasure; he told me on purpose!
“Stand
down, Lu…they won’t bother us,” he assured me. “There’s plenty of us around.”
He clapped me on the back and got up, leaving me to sit there, panicked.
We
arrived at Blazer’s Mill and the men rudely demanded supper of the inhabitants.
Feeling shamed by their bad manners, I managed to eat only a little, though I
was urged to eat more. Refusing, I left the table and stepped out to see to
Viola, petting her along the black shading of her sleek face.
“My
pretty little Dapple Grey,” I said with affection.
She
nudged me approvingly, nickering, and I slid my hand along her snout in
appreciation when I heard a state of agitation from around the side of the
house. I peered around the wall to investigate, finding that the men were all
standing there, guns undone and at the ready. An older man I did not recognize
sat with a rifle propped on his lap as he stared down the Regulators as they
surrounded him. I watched with terror, but fascinated nonetheless, both
wondering and worrying what it was that would happen.
I
could see Frank Coe speaking to the old man as if the two were old friends. I
heard him say, “You will not be hurt, upon my word, if you surrender.” To which
the old man responded that he did not believe this, refusing to give up his
disposition. He then made a comment I could not hear to the crowd of men before
him and a shot had been fired by our side, prompting an all-out firing match. I
backed around the corner of the house as the bullets flew, sidling up close to
the wall and getting down on the ground, using my arms to shield my head
against the skirmish. When the volley had quit I very slowly emerged, still in
a crouched position, to peek around side of the house again and view what
remained of the fray. Some of our boys were scattered, prone on the ground. I
was jolted by this horror, and witnessed Richard walk off, dogged by the
haunting resolution of the promise he made to John, citing he would get every
last one of them before his last breath was due.
“Where
the hell is Lucy?” Billy’s unmistakable voice shouted.
“I’m
here!” I returned, rushing out to him.
“GET
BACK!” He intensely commanded, his tone startling me into retreating. I
watching him come toward me as he held his arm—I could see that he was bleeding
there. I opened my mouth with the intention of asking him if he was okay,
reaching out to touch him, but the words did not come. The fracas was so
chaotic, the air so thick with the acrid smell of gunfire and kicked up dust
that it clouded my eyes, fogged my mind, and coated my throat so that I could
not even manage to ask something so simple as if he was all right.
When
I had gone out to Viola, I had untethered her as I planned to ride her around a
bit while the others finished eating, anticipating that they’d sit around
talking about the war and their plans for it which was always an unhappy topic
with me.
Now,
always a fair high-strung, Viola bolted at the sound of gunfire. Unfettered and
confused by the frenzied disorder, she bucked back and then forward, trotting
far enough out to stray near the firing zone, which, to be honest, could have
been just about everywhere.
“VIOLA!”
I went to run to her but Billy grabbed me and forcibly slammed me back against
the wall. I reached out in her direction as I tried to get away from him but he
held me fast against that wall.
Bullets
flared again, blazing by and hitting the edge of the house causing splinters to
spray and skin us both. I heard Viola whicker abnormally and squeal wildly before
watching her go down. I kicked at Billy and nearly broke free but he had pushed
me back hard.
“STAY
PUT, GODDAMMIT!” he yelled directly into my face, his eyes stark as he ordered
me.
He
put his good arm around me, buckling me, and pulled me with him down to the
ground. I kept struggling to look towards Viola so I could at least see her,
but Billy shielded me, hovering over me as best as he could to keep me safe and
from being hit by the gunfire.
When
the firing stopped again, Billy lifted his head and turned it, peering out and
squinting through the dust in an attempt to see what was happening. While he
was distracted with this I slid out from under him and ran to Viola who now lay
in the dirt making such horrible gasping, whining sounds—sounds I had never in
my life heard a horse make. I knelt down beside her and frantically laid my
head upon her side, scared for her, when Billy grabbed me again and began to
pull me back. I fought him off, his wounded arm’s strength waning and unable to
get purchase of me. I looked up and to the devil’s delight I had done so at
such an unfortunate moment—I saw the back of Richard’s head explode, a surge of
red spraying thickly, bloody mist mingling with the unsettled dust, gore
marking the ground with bits and pieces of him. I stayed still, hearing nothing
after witnessing this sight—not Billy screaming at me, not Viola shrilly crying
out, not the other men yelling…I only saw Richard, face down in the dust, his
gaping head wound explicitly visible. I raised my hands to the sides of my
face, pushing my hat back and squeezing them against my ears in shock, my eyes
staring, bewildered. It was all over after that.
Reality
came back quickly enough and I quickly knelt down and placed my hand upon
Viola, feeling her flank rise and fall with each shallow breath, her lungs
struggling. The others ran towards us and the horses, hollering about getting a
wagon for our wounded and getting the hell out. As they scattered about,
preparing the horses and other necessities to leave, the sooner the better, I
remained kneeling by Viola, talking to her, telling her it was okay.
Billy
watched me pitifully, but with a grave, stern voice he said, “She’s hurt, Lu.
She’s hurt real bad.”
I
was crying over her body now, sniffling audibly.
“You
got to put her down, Lu.”
I
looked to him, wide-eyed and irate. “She’ll be fine. Billy, she’ll be fine.
She only needs her wound to be tended to, it’s her leg. It’s only her leg!”
“Her
knee’s been blown out, Lucy! And she’s caught one in her breast. There’s
nothing to be done for her.”
Men
were rushing all about us in a fit of confusion, and we two sat there as though
displaced, ensconced in this small tragedy within a larger one. I barely made a
move except to sooth Viola, deluded.
“You
put your horse down, Lucy!” Billy yelled, knowing my thoughts and how he needed
to get through them to me.
“SHUT
UP! Don’t you SAY that to me!” I pushed him and slapped at his
face. He grabbed a hold of my arms and held them so tight it hurt.
In
a blatant, unforgiving voice he said, “Do you see what’s going on here? We
don’t have time for this! This is your obligation to take care of! Take your
gun out and put your goddamned horse down! She’s suffering, Lu!”
“I WON’T!”
I cried. Leave me here, leave me alone! You can go and I’ll stay!” I looked
upon him maliciously. “It’s what you want anyway! Leave me with my horse!
Nobody asked for your opinion! I certainly don’t care for it!”
“Nobody
has to ask for my opinion. I’m not leaving this horse here like this and
she’s your responsibility. You take your fucking gun
out!”
The
boys who could stand stopped running about and gathered around us to watch the
scene unfold. Steve Stephens, Big John Scroggins, Henry Brown, Fred Wait, Jose
Chavez Y Chavez, and Charlie Bowdre, who tended to his wounded abdomen by
pressing his hand against the ache there. He was barely able to stand, and only
by the grace of God did the bullet deflect from his buckle, leaving him in
pain, still. Josiah, shot through the leg, managed to stand with help from
Henry and Fred, watching the scene as well.
Billy
leaned in to me, close to my ear, whispering, “Lucy…she’s your horse. She’s
down. Put her out of her misery.”
I
only sat quietly, rocking with my hands folded across myself, my hands curled
into fists, like the child I was.
“We
don’t have time for this—“ Henry.
Billy
held up his hand to silence him.
“Billy…”
I begged. “Please…leave me. I can’t do this. Don’t make me.”
“Do
it!” He yelled.
I
shook my head and wept, still holding on to myself. Charlie, who took pity on
me, said, “Jesus, Billy…don’t—“
Billy
placed the hand of his good arm around my throat, just below my jaw, applying
enough pressure to cause me to stand up along with him. He looked me in the
eyes firmly and, with a tremendous lack of both patience and empathy, but with
an understanding that had broken my heart all the same despite the angry
thoughts I had for him, he said to me, “You want to be here? If you can’t even
kill a horse, you can’t kill a man. If you want to survive out
here, you can’t look the part, Lucy, you have to play it.
We lost our captain. We lost Brewer. Roberts blew him apart like he didn’t
matter nothing to him, and he didn’t. And now you want to sit here crying over
a horse! Now, your horse is in pain, she’s done for. Take that fancy horseshoed
Schofield out of its scabbard and go to work.”
I
fell apart and grabbed at his jacket, holding on to him, barely able to stand.
“Billy? Please? I can’t!” I sobbed. He grabbed my arms,
pulling me off of him, and then pulling me back down to the dust. He took the
gun from my left hip and placed in within my right hand. At first I refused to
hold the gun, but he placed his hand over mine and secured it, squeezing it
against the grips. He cocked the hammer and, without removing his hand he
guided mine, gun at the ready, placing it directly upon Viola’s brow, squarely
between her eyes.
“Pull
the trigger,” he gently commanded, still covering my hand with his own, not
letting go; letting me know he was with me.
“Show
me that strength of yours. Prove to me what you’ve been preaching at me. Prove
to me that you can be brave. This is the right thing to do, I wouldn’t lead you
wrong.”
Viola’s
cries had gone from a piercing desperation to a mere gasping, her once
magnificent lungs expended, her nostrils stirring up dust before her and
emitting a ghostly vapor against the cold. Her breathing was labored, the full
weight of her body bearing down upon her as she lay helpless on her side. I
still sat there, gun in hand, poised against Viola’s skull.
“I’m
here with you, Lucy. I’m right here,” he said, gently. Lovingly, he painfully
managed to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear with his wounded arm.
“Pull
the trigger and be done with it. Your horse needs you now. She’s suffering;
she’s scared and she’s dying. To not do this would be cruel. Trust me. You are
hurting her far worse by refusing what I say.”
All
the men stood watching silently. Billy remained quiet, staring at me, urging me
with his eyes and trying, I know, to give me some of his own strength. I closed
my eyes, preparing to do what I was told must be done.
“No!
Open your eyes, Lucy. Open them!” he demanded.
“Jesus Billy…”
came from somewhere around us.
After
what seemed a lifetime, I obeyed and opened my eyes, and I pulled the trigger,
screaming as I did so in order to help summon the ability to do what felt
impossible. I watched the blood spray over her and pour from her, seeping to
the ground, the life going out of her by my own hand. As Viola lay silent, the
men stood with their heads down. Not over the death of my horse, but over the
burgeoning death of my innocence.
“We
need to go.” Josiah softly said, attempting to be respectful towards my
aggrieved state of being. I stood, and Billy slowly stood up alongside me,
still peering at my face. Peripherally, I could see him watching. Without so
much as a glance towards him I said, “I hate you.”, and I walked on, away from
him. Away from them all towards the readied horses and the wagon that was
prepared to pull our wounded. I chose a horse, Middleton’s, I think, as he was
placed in the wagon and hauled off to be treated. The others quickly gathered
my belongings from my now dead horse and hurriedly exchanged them for
Middleton’s, placing his along with him in the wagon.
We
moved out like bats out of hell.
