Chapter 3

I pulled my knife out of where it was sticking through the galoot's wrist and into the table. He fell to the floor, just plain screaming bloody murder. The swamper ran over with his slop bucket and poured the water onto the burning pants. The fire went out, but not before the man's balls got well cooked.

The marshal and a doctor showed up about the same time. Several witnesses and I told the marshal what happened, so the marshal congratulated me on a novel approach to self defense. The doctor looked at the man's balls and said that he would normally have to cut them off, along with the man's cock, but the bullet had gone up through the bladder and into his gut. The doctor doubted that the man would live a week. He just prescribed all of the laudanum the man wanted and to let him die in peace.

The marshal helped me to haul the man to jail. There, he gave me a receipt that I could take to the clerk the next morning to get my money.

It seemed to me that it was time to move on from Las Cruces. I had decided to take that bartender's advice and to head north to Las Vegas. Las Vegas was practically due north across the territory in the midst of the currently most productive New Mexico Territory gold fields. I agreed that Las Vegas was the place to go to find the two-bit grifters and crooks. I had realized that I wouldn't get rich by going after the low value crooks, but I could make a nice living at it.

New Mexico Territory was a wonderful place at this time of year. By the time I got to Lincoln County, I was completely enraptured by the grass covered plains. This was great cattle country. Even I could see that, and I was raised as a dirt farmer. I was riding along just enjoying being alive when I heard the sound of gun fire. From the sound, I could tell that both rifles and pistols were being used in the fight, for I was sure that was what it had to be.

I topped a low hill and saw something I never expected to see: Indians attacking a small wagon train. The Indians looked to me like Comanches. I couldn't be sure, because I hadn't seen that many of them, but I was inclined to help the wagon train if I could.

The wagons had been circled, so I knew that there were no Army men with the train. Had there been, the wagons would have been in a rectangular arrangement, which was a much better alignment for defense. Yeah, I had never been in such a fight, but I remembered what Pa had said.

The Comanches were up to their usual trick of staying on horseback while fighting. I wondered if they would ever learn, but I hoped that they didn't. There looked to be about 20 Indians; they were moving around so much that I couldn't get a good count from this distance.

I looked around to see what I could do to be the most help. I spotted a little hill about 80 yards from where the wagon train was stopped. If I could get there without being seen, I could snipe at the Indians and knock off a few without being attacked. What I needed was a place where the Indians couldn't ride right over me, which was the advantage the Comanches hoped for by staying aboard their horses. That little hill looked like the place I needed.

I started working my way toward the hill, and I saw a good place to stash my horses. I left them there and took my Henry, my extra ammunition, and my canteen up the hill. That damned hill was steeper than I had realized when I saw it from a distance. Of course, that was to my advantage, so I only bitched about the work I had to do getting up the hill. It only took a couple of minutes for me to get set up, and I was finally ready to start my own little war.

The Indians were from 70 to 120 yards away, so I planned to shoot at the closer ones, first. The problem was that I had to lead the riders as they passed across in front of me. It was too far to give serious thought to shooting at the riders, but I had a good chance to hit the horses. I begin to shoot in a measured fashion because I had to work on getting my aim. I guess the people with the wagon train were trying to shoot the riders instead of the horses. Maybe they would get the idea once I started to score a few hits.

My first shot was a miss, but my second shot knocked over a horse. The rider was caught completely by surprise and tumbled when the horse went down. He didn't move when he hit the ground, and he and his horse did a good job of confusing the run of the horses behind him as they tried to avoid the obstacles on the ground. My next shot only wounded the horse, but it stopped so suddenly that its rider went right over its head. He was also unmoving as he lay there, so I had accomplished my basic goal no matter what happened.

I could see the war chief off to one side directing the attack. He was out of good range, about 150 yards, but I thought to try to take him out. If I could, I was almost certain that the attack would break up while the Indians decided what to do next. I braced against a large rock and carefully aimed at the Indian, not the horse. The bullet seemed to take forever to get to the target, but after what seemed like minutes for it to happen, the Indian slowly fell off his horse. I took that as a good sign, since he was not moving fast to dodge any more bullets.

The rest of the Indians seemed to notice the loss of the chief right away, and they broke off the attack. They met over where the war chief had been and milled around for a while. After a few minutes, a Comanche came riding fast, but alone, toward the wagons. He did not seem aggressive, and it was soon apparent that all he wanted was the body of the dead warrior he was riding toward. The people of the wagon train held their fire, and the Comanche picked up his fallen comrade and rode off. More Indians came, one at a time until all of the dead warriors had been picked up. When that was done, they rode away.

This was when I scrambled back to my horses and rode over to the wagon train to see what was what. As I got close, I saw that this looked like a bunch of city folk who didn't know how to find their asses in broad daylight with both hands and a coach. I could see that I didn't want to get involved, so I rode by and waved as I passed. A few of the young people waved, but most of the older folks seemed to be trying to ignore me off the face of the Earth. I didn't understand it, but I could let it slide. Very strange!

I pulled into Las Vegas in mid afternoon, so I had plenty of time to look the town over before dark. I found a livery stable and paid for keeping my three horses overnight. I figured that I didn't want to commit myself until I had a better feel for how things went in Las Vegas. The hotel room I found wasn't much to brag about, but the bed was soft enough.

You could tell that Las Vegas was a gold-rich boom town—there seemed to be a saloon within a few steps, no matter which way you turned. I went into the saloon attached to the hotel and immediately saw three men on my wanted posters. None was priced over $50, but the three, added up, were worth the trip to Las Vegas all by themselves. This time, I decided not to advertise that I was a bounty hunter when I talked to the bartender.

I walked up to the bar and ordered a Mexican beer when the bartender got around to me. Here it was, close to supper time, and the bartender was too busy for a little conversation. That sure told me something about the town. I took my beer to a chair at the side of the room and sat down. Hardly had I got my ass settled when a saloon whore came over and said, "Hi, there. Ya interested in a good time?"