Billy the Kid by Theodore Taylor

Bonney, unfortunately.
    It wasn't the money Billy had taken that galled Art, although that amounted to a considerable sum. It was Joe, dead forever, a few feet away. He'd been fond of that crazy boy. Joe had always been his favorite.
    He tossed the dregs of his coffee, then got down on his knees, feeling an abiding need for vengeance. Still without emotion, he said to Perry, "Let's pray a while, then find that kid."
    Perry perched Joe's candy paper poke on the ocotillo marker, then knelt down by his father. Soon, they rode off south, picking up Billy's tracks in midmorning.
    At a little past two, Perry struggled with his horse in the sheer-walled arroyo. Rearing, shinnying, the animal was bug-eyed with fright at the thick-bodied, strumming sidewinder that was coiling to strike in the dried watercourse.
    A few feet back, Art drew, aimed, and fired. The echo was like a howitzer boom, traveling along the arroyo as if it were a speaking tube.
    ***
    WILLIE WAS ON THE APACHE TRAIL , used long before white men crossed the Mississippi or probed tentatively along the California coast. It picked up a half mile south of Marker 416 and snaked down the Verdes, skirting granite, wisely avoiding slickrock patches that would burn pony hooves, staying to tree fallings and soft dirt, taking advantage of natural cuts. It was still a good trail.
    Now and then, after midnight, pine-knot torches would flare along it as the trackers paused to check hoof marks at the crossing of another trail.
    Whoever was leading the four riders knew where he was going and how to get there. He knew the Verdes and the trail. Willie remembered that he and Billy had ridden the narrow 'Pache path several times. Billy was the leader, Willie guessed.
    By daybreak, which came on pink and gray with a fold of gold-tinted clouds where the sun would soon jut up, they were out of the Verdes and into the scrubby Ben Moores.
    They stopped to rest, eat, and water the mounts. Low fog drifted aimlessly off a crystal brook. By the side of the trail, as the day began to warm, Willie and Big Eye squatted on the bank, supping coffee.
    Big Eye was curious about the man named Billy Bonney. He'd heard the argument in front of the hogans with the other white men, the hint that one of the robbers was a friend of the sheriff, that the sheriff might let him get away. He'd seen the short explosive fight and was impressed with Willie.
    On the trail down from the SF, P & P tracks, the sheriff had barely spoken. Then, only to comment on the sure pace the outlaws had set, or to ask a sharp question when Big Eye had knelt down to sniff horse droppings and estimate how much time had passed since the robbers' horses stiff-legged by.
    The other Yavapais, tending the five horses and pack mule, spoke softly to one another. Big Eye asked the sheriff, "You know one of these men we track?"
    The brook babbled for a long time before Willie answered. "Yeh, I know one."
    It was another full minute before Willie continued. "They only made one of that man. I take that back. They made more, but they're all dead, Big Eye." Willie looked over at the Yavapai and laughed without humor. "Most of the time, from what I've heard, they died in saloons over a poker argument or over a petticoat, or they were lynched. That's Billy Bonney, my cousin."
    The Indian nodded.
    "At the same time, he's a fine boy and a great friend," Willie added.
    Big Eye's dark eyes posed a question. "If he were my friend, I'd let him get away"
    Kate had said that.
    Willie stared back, but he thought it better not to answer.
    He got up and stretched, working the muscles in his neck and shoulders. He took a look at the rapidly rising sun and said, "We can't stay here all day."
    The Indian nodded and scooped a handful of water from the brook.
    In twenty minutes they were off again and soon followed the prints to Dunbar's Rocks.
    They searched the area, finding cigarette butts and hoofprints of four horses. Then it appeared to Willie that the riders