Billy the Kid by Theodore Taylor Page A

had split up, one man going off alone, three following. Big Eye agreed. There was dried blood on the harsh ground.
    ***
    MIDMORNING, WILLIE STARED down at the mounded dirt. It looked fresh and hurried. Red ants were beginning to burrow into it. Remains of a small fire were nearby and somebody had made coffee. At dawn, likely, Willie thought. They were south of Dunbar's.
    Big Eye murmured, "Wasn't much of a funeral."
    The grave was marked with some rocks at the head, and a dried ocotillo branch. A brown paper-poke was stuck on the branch.
    Still staring down, afraid that it might be Billy, the sheriff ordered, "Someone scrape the dirt away." He looked over at the Yavapais.
    Big Eye said, "He's a white man. He might resent an Indian touching his face."
    Willie asked sourly, "Where'd you learn that?"
    It brought a smile to the Indian's face. "Not in any school."
    Willie glanced at the other Yavapais. They were determinedly gazing off, away from the grave.
    Willie dismounted from Almanac with weariness and began pushing dirt back from the spot where he thought the head might be. He worked for a few minutes, then stopped, wiping sweat from his brow and tilting his hat back.
    Big Eye reined to a position directly over the mound. "You think it might be your friend?"
    Willie responded with a cold look, then bent to the task again, brushing the fierce red ants off his hands.
    The sun was already savage in the badlands sky, cutting down on the small mesa, which was almost white on top, sloped up in sandrock from deeps of orange. The heat bounced off it in glassy waves.
    Big Eye lifted the paper poke from the ocotillo. He found a large red gumdrop still stuck to the bottom. He pulled it loose and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Then he looked up into the milky sky. Buzzards were already beginning to patrol.
    Willie finally uncovered the face. Red ants crawled across the cheeks, into the mouth, and up into the nostrils. He'd never seen this man before. He studied the smudged, death-paled face. He was young but ugly.
    He sighed relief, muttering, "He's a stranger to me." Rising, he marked the spot in his mind so that Sam Pine could type up a report. Perhaps someone would want to come and dig him out.
    As he began kicking dirt back over the face, he became aware of the buzzards aloft. It never took them long. They were circling in great, actually beautiful, glides.
    He heard Big Eye say philosophically, "What the coyotes don't get tonight, the buzzards will tomorrow. They'll feast."
    Willie nodded, almost certain now that the lone rider ahead was Billy, separating from the stickup riders, one of them dead.
    Head tipping toward the grave, Big Eye asked, "You think your good friend shot him? He seems to be getting deeper into trouble."
    Willie snapped, "I don't know," beginning to feel annoyance at the aloof Indian's comments.
    He looked around. "Let's find some shade and rest."
    They'd pushed the horses since leaving Dunbar's.
    A brave buzzard landed near the new grave and Big Eye shot it.

11

    BILLY RODE AWAY from the adobe, keeping south, where the land was a basin. Low, barren sun-roasted mountains, anchoring dried brush, reached up on either side. He'd spent too long with Adriana.
    Two miles on, he spotted a small herd of mustangs grazing on skimpy brown grass that had been watered by the winter rains sluicing down the arroyo into the basin. He slowed as they spotted him.
    Billy rode into them as they broke and ran, galloping south. Yelling, urging them on, he mixed his tracks with theirs for almost a mile. When he felt his bell mare gasping, he veered away, climbing one of the low mountains.
    The herd slowed but still pounded south in a cloud of dust.
    Reaching a shoulder about eight hundred feet up, Billy led the horse into shade beneath it. He sat down, breathing hard.
    After a while he made up a smoke and lit it.
    Billy relaxed on the hillside, thinking of Art and Perry.
    Rabbits hopped from brush tangles. Little