We were moved from the jail to the upstairs wing of the sheriff's office. Despite the fact Billy and I were the most famous outlaws in the territory, one guard watched us both full-time. This was on account of the town being too broke to pay extra deputies. The guard hired by the town was a scraggly fellow named Bell, and he wasn't precisely intimidating. This was mostly because Bell wasn't a whole lot bigger than Billy or me, and he was a little slow in the head. Bell would sit for hours while Billy told him wild, exaggerated tales about his life, and overall, Bell was a pretty decent guy. The same can't be said for his boss.
The sheriff of this particular town was a real nasty piece of work named Bob Ollinger. Ollinger would sit at his desk and do his best to look important, in between making crude remarks about our families. He also seemed to have an interest in seeing Billy and I suffer as much as possible before we were hanged. Our story picks up again on the day Ollinger sent his deputies to fetch him a roast chicken for lunch, sat about an inch from where Billy and I were chained, and then ate the whole thing by himself.
"Christ, a full belly feels good," Ollinger said with a nasty giggle. That bastard had made sure Billy and I hardly got even a single bite to eat over the past few days. Being hungry was nothing new to either of us, but the fact that Ollinger was starving us just because he enjoyed our suffering pissed us off.
Ollinger laid his rifle across his lap and began to polish it lovingly. "Just you try anything." he said. "I got 18 dimes in each barrel. Ever seen what a dollar and eighty can do to a forty-dollar steer? Just imagine what'd happen to a pair of cheap little crooks like yourselves."
Billy responded to this by blowing a loud raspberry. Ollinger dropped his rifle on the floor and got in Billy's face, his tobacco-stained teeth bared. "Just taunt me again, boy. That's all I'm askin', just taunt me again."
Billy remained uncowed. "I wanna talk to Garrett," he said.
"You can't; he's in Mesilla." Bell explained. "Got an interview and a tintype with The Independent."
"Sure, he's a famous man now," Billy muttered darkly. Then he turned to Bell. "Did you send my letter to Governor Wallace or did you burn it?"
Bell shifted uneasily. It looked to me like he had done the latter, but his words belied his face. "It was sent, Kid," said Bell. (He never called Billy by his first name; it was always "Kid").
"Why didn't he write back, then?" asked Billy.
Bell shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the governor ain't one for correspondence." (The mere fact he knew what "correspondence" meant blew my mind). "My sister up in Colorado's like that. If you want me to, I can--"
"Would you shut the hell up, Bell?" snapped Ollinger.
Bell closed his mouth, bit his lip, and looked down at the floor. He never took it well when someone was angry with him.
"You know, Bell," Ollinger said thoughtfully, running a dingy rag across the rifle stock. "The sheriff never said we couldn't have a little fun with that squaw filly 'fore she swings from them gallows."
The slur seemed to echo in my ears, making my blood boil. I stared at Ollinger through narrowed eyes, daring him to take a step closer. Ollinger ignored my challenge and came up behind me, dragging his fingers across my body. I gagged; he smelled like he hadn't bathed in at least three years. Ollinger sidled to my front and tried to unbutton my shirt; I stomped his foot with one leg and kicked him between the legs with the other. Ollinger screeched like seven devils and somehow managed to backhand me. I fell back, dizzy from the blow.
"You'll pay for this," Billy snarled at Ollinger. "Nobody hurts a pal of mine and gets away with it."
Ollinger was unconcerned. He shuffled to Bell and said he was going to visit the saloon to chase his lunch with some whiskey. He warned Bell not to let anybody in the office or to unchain us for even a moment. After Ollinger left, Billy clumsily pulled a silver dollar from his pocket. He held it up to Bell's face.
"Here's a little trick to prove the hand is quicker than your mind," said Billy. He closed one fist over the dollar and mimed shooting a pistol at it. When he opened his hand up again, the coin was gone. Bell watched in amazement as Billy leaned over to pull the dollar from behind my ear.
Bell swiveled away from Billy's sleight-of-hand tricks as he heard the door creak open. Framed in the doorway, dressed to the nines, was Billy's friend Jane.
"May I visit Billy Bonney?" Jane asked. "I'm an old acquaintance of his."
"Ma'am, I'm afraid Sheriff Garrett won't allow any visitations." said Bell.
"May I at least leave a gift for him?" Jane pressed, holding up a lacy handkerchief that was tied into a neat bundle.
Bell took it from her. Jane started to leave, winking at Billy as she crossed the threshold. Bell handed the bundle to Billy, who opened it as privately as he could. I never got a good look at what was in it, but about a minute later, Billy asked Bell to take him downstairs to the outhouse. Bell glanced my way, worried about leaving me to my own devices. I graced him with the most angelic smile I could muster. Somewhat reassured, Bell left with Billy in tow.
They were gone for about five minutes before I heard the clump of boots on the staircase and the rattling of Billy's chains. Then Billy started to plead with Bell about something. I can't be sure what because his voice was muffled by the closed door, but I distinctly heard a pistol shot and Billy mutter, "That was stupid, Bell."
The door opened. Billy had an easy grin on his face as he strolled in, carrying a ring of keys in his blood-soaked hands. He dropped the keys on the desk and went for the rifle Ollinger had carelessly left in the office. Billy smashed the window with the butt of the rifle and shouted, "Hello, Bob!" He fired, then shouted, "Good-bye, Bob! Best dollar-eighty I ever spent."
Billy walked over the desk to retrieve the keys. He fumbled with the keys for a bit before the chains unlocked and fell away. Billy cursed under his breath, rubbing his wrists, which were raw and bruised from the chains. I held out my arms and was released in seconds. Billy sprinted out the door. I followed him, doing my best to keep up, my legs stiff from being confined. We crashed down the steps, jumping the last seven or so because that's where Bell's body lay. I took a quick peek at the message Billy had daubed on the wall in Bell's blood: "Garrett's Place."
I hadn't a clue what that meant, but this was hardly the time to ask questions. Outside, townspeople were beginning to realize their sheriff had been gunned down. I leapt onto Storm's back and he began to gallop almost before I'd gotten situated. We pounded past the now-late Ollinger.
"Quit nappin' on the job, Bob!" Billy yelled with his trademark laugh.