The Arroyo del Macho was rocky, and we had only knives to dig with; the grave we scratched out for Hank Leedy might not have met his standards, and the funeral we skipped altogether. The plains around were empty, but there was a menace to the emptiness. No one knew where Mesty-Woolah was, or the Texans either. Before the sun broke on the horizon we had dispersed and departed.

28.

Billy and Joe and I headed due west, toward the mountains. Tully Roebuck traveled with us for an hour or so, being eager to detach himself from the fraternity of gunfighters, several of whom had been rather pettish that morning.

Vivian Maldonado had been particularly discontented.

“No bed, no breakfast, no whore!” he exclaimed testily, making it clear that he was accustomed to better accommodations than the Arroyo del Macho could provide.

“Where’s a town? I’m hungry,” he added.

After some discussion, the gunfighters decided to make for Lincoln, the nearest place offering the amenities they required.

“Viv may go for Hill Coe before the day’s over, now that Hill’s disgraced,” Tully said as we rode off.

“Well, let him,” Billy said. “I suppose old Coe could still drop Viv—he’s a larger target than a beer bottle.”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be smart to go to Texas,” Joe Lovelady said. No doubt he still had hopes of getting Billy to adopt some safe profession.

“It might be smart, but it would sure be dull,” Billy replied. “Let’s go to Tularosa—Katie Garza comes to Tularosa once in a while.”

I reminded Billy that he had not even cared to lunch in Tularosa the day we met.

“It’s true there are unkind sons of bitches there,” he said. “If they interfere with me I’ll just kill ’em.”

When we were well distanced from the gunfighters, Tully decided to leave us. He lived on the Rio Hondo with his wife, who was with child. She had not wanted him to leave her side, but Tully had been determined to warn his friends.

“Guess I’ll go back to Bess, she’s the worrying kind,” he said.

Billy had been leading La Tulipe’s donkey, an animal not inclined to rapid travel.

“Dern, it’s like dragging an anchor across the prairie,” Billy said. “You take him, Tully. I’ll tell the Tulip he’s safe in your care when next I see her.”

Tully accepted the responsibility for Bonaparte, but seemed reluctant to go. The prairie was sunlit and fair; the meadowlarks were singing and the hawks circling high. The beauty of the country was unsurpassed, with antelope frolicking near and the grass so endless.

Yet, within a day, I had seen three men meet their deaths. I was beginning to have to reckon with the fact that I was riding around in a place where it was rather hard to last.