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Parts with Jess.-Segura Again-Dubbed "The Kid"-A Ride Rivaling that of Dick Turpin—The Gallant Gray—Jail Delivery Single Handed—Baffled Pursuers
AFTER PARTING WITH the emigrants, whom they had so bravely rescued from the savages, Billy and Jess, changed their course and returned to the Rio Grande. Here they fell in with a party of young fellows, well known to Jesse, who urged them to join company and go over to the Rio Pecos, offering them employment which they guaranteed would prove remunerative. Among this party of "cow boys," were James McDaniels, William Morton, and Frank Baker, all well known from the Rio Grande to the Rio Pecos. Our two adventurers readily agreed to join fortunes with this party, and Jesse did so; but Billy received information, a day or two before they were ready to start, that his old partner Segura was in the vicinity of Isleta and San Elizario, Texas, and contemplated going up the Rio Grande to Mesilla and Las Cruces. Billy at once decided to await his coming, but promised his companions that he would surely meet them in a short time, either at Mesilla or in Lincoln County.
It was here, at Mesilla, and by Jim. McDaniels, that Billy was dubbed "the Kid," on account of his youthful appearance, and under this "nom de guerre" he was known during all his after eventful life, and by which appellation he will be known in the future pages of this history.
The Kid's new-found friends, with Jesse, left for Lincoln County, and he waited, impatiently, the arrival of Segura. He made frequent short trips from Mesilla, and, on his return from one of them, he led back his noted gray horse which carried him so gallantly in and out of many a "tight place" during the ensuing two years.
It was early in the fall of 1876 when the Kid made his famous trip of eighty-one miles in a little more than six hours, riding the gray the entire distance. The cause and necessity for this journey is explained as follows:
Segura had been detected, or suspected, of some lawless act at San Elizario, was arrested and locked up in the jail of that town. There was strong prejudice against him there, by citizens of his own native city, and threats of mob violence were whispered about. Segura, by promises of rich reward, secured the services of an intelligent Mexican boy and started him up the Rio Grande in search of the Kid, in whose cool judgment and dauntless courage he placed implicit reliance. He had received a communication from the Kid, and was about to join him when arrested.
Faithful to his employer, the messenger sought the Kid at Mesilla, Las Cruces, and vicinity, at last finding him at a ranch on the west side of the Rio Grande, about six miles north of Mesilla and nearly opposite the town of Dona Ana. The distance to San Elizario from this ranch was: To Mesilla, six miles, to Fletch. Jackson's (called the Cottonwoods), twenty-three miles, to El Paso, Texas, twenty-seven miles, and to San Elizario, twenty-five miles, footing up eighty-one miles. The ride, doubtless, exceeded that distance, as the Kid took a circuitous route to avoid observation, which he covered in a little more than six hours, as above stated.
He mounted on the willing gray, at about six o'clock in the evening, leaving the messenger to await his return.
He remarked to the boy that he would be on his way back, with Segura, by twelve o'clock that night. The boy was skeptic, but the Kid patted his horse's neck. "If I am a judge of horseflesh," said he, "this fellow will make the trip," and away he sped.
"O swiftly can speed my dapple gray steed,
Which drinks of the Teviot clear;
Ere break of day; the -warrior 'gan say,
'Again will I be here.' "
Avoiding Mesilla, the horseman held down the west bank of the river, about eighteen miles to the little plaza of Chamberino, where, regardless of fords, he rushed into the ever treacherous current of the Rio Grande.
"Each wave was erected with tawny foam."
More than once the muddy waters overwhelmed horse and rider. For thirty minutes or more, the Kid and his trusted gray battled with the angry waves, but skill, and strength, and pluck prevailed, horse and rider emerged, dripping, from the stream, full five hundred yards below the spot where they had braved the flood.
And now they rushed on, past the Cottonwood, past that pillar which marks the corner where join Mexico, New Mexico, and Texas, past Hart's Mills, until the Kid drew rein in front of Ben Dowell's saloon, in El Paso, then Franklin, Texas.
"A moment now he slacked his speed,
A moment breathed his panting steed."
It was now a quarter past ten o'clock, and the gray had covered fifty-six miles. The bold rider took time to swallow a glass of Peter Den's whiskey and feed his horse a handful of crackers. In ten minutes, or in less, he was again speeding on his way, with twenty-five miles between him and his captive friend.
About twelve o'clock, perhaps a few minutes past, one of the Mexicans who were guarding Segura at the lock-up in San Elizario was aroused by a hammering voice calling in choice Spanish to open up. "Quien es?" (Who's that?) inquired the guard.
"Turn out," replied the Kid. "We have two American prisoners here."
Down rattled the chain, and the guard stood in the doorway. The Kid caught him gently by the sleeve and drew him towards the corner of the building. As they walked, the shining barrel of a revolver dazzled the vision of the jailer, and he was notified in a low, steady, and distinct tone of voice that one note of alarm would be the signal for funeral preliminaries. The guard was convinced, and quickly yielded up his pistol and the keys. The Kid received the pistol, deliberately drew the cartridges, and threw it on top of the jail. He gave instructions to the jailer and followed him into the hall. The door of the room in which Segura was confined was quickly opened, and the occupant cautioned to silence. The Kid stood at the door, cocked revolver in hand, and, in low tones, conversed with Segura, occasionally addressing a stern mandate to the affrighted guard to hasten, as he bungled with the prisoner's irons.
All this was accomplished in the time it takes to relate it. With the assistance of Segura the two guards were speedily shackled together, fastened to a post, gagged, the prison doors locked, and the keys rested with the guard's revolver on top of the house. The Kid declared himself worn out with riding, mounted his old partner on the gray, then taking a swinging gait, which kept the horse in a lope, they soon left the San Elizario jail and its inmates far behind. Taking a well-known ford, they crossed the Rio Grande, and in a little more than an hour were sleeping at the ranch of a Mexican confederate. This friend hid the plucky horse on the bank of the river, mounted a mustang, and took the direction of San Elizario to watch the denouement, when the state of affairs should be revealed to the public.
Before daylight, the faithful friend stood again before his cabin with the Kid's horse and a fresh, hardy mustang, saddled and bridled. He aroused the sleepers. Quickly a cup of coffee, a tortilla, and a scrag of dried mutton were swallowed, and again, across the prairie, sped the fugitives.
Two hours later, a party of not less than thirty men, armed and mounted, rode up to the ranch. The proprietor, with many a malediction, in pure Castellano, launched against "gringos ladrones," related his tale of robbery and insult, how his best horse had been stolen, his wife insulted, and his house ransacked for plunder. He described the villains accurately, and put the pursuers on their trail. He saw them depart and returned sadly to his home, to mourn, in the bosom of his family, over the wickedness of the world, and to count a handful of coin which the Kid had dropped in making his hasty exit.
The pursuers followed the trail surely, but it only led them a wild goose chase across the prairie, a few miles, then making a detour, made straight for the bank of the Rio Grande again. It was plain to see where they entered the stream, but the baffled huntsmen never knew where they emerged.
The Kid and his companion reached the ranch where the Mexican boy awaited them about noon the next day. This messenger was rewarded with a handful of uncounted coin and dismissed.
And thus, from one locality after another, was the Kid banished by his bloody deeds and violations of law. Yet, not so utterly banished. It was his delight to drop down, occasionally, on some of his old haunts, in an unexpected hour, on his gallant gray, pistol in hand, jeer those officers of the law, whose boasts had slain him a hundred times, to watch their trembling limbs and pallid lips, as they blindly rushed to shelter.
One instant's glance around he threw, From saddle-bow his pistol drew,
Grimly determined was his look; His charger with his spurs he struck,
All scattered backward as he came, For all knew—
And feared "Billy, the Kid." His look was hardly "grim," but through his insinuating smile, and from his blazing eyes, enough of "determination" and devilish daring gleamed to clear the streets, though twenty such officers were on duty.