Then Billy appeared, leaning in the doorway. "J.P. Wilson is gonna deputize us in the morning." he said. "Then we're goin' after the men who killed John. Now, Dick says you ain't to have no part of this. I say different. If you wanna ride with us, just go right on ahead; I won't stop you."
"I'll do it," I said.
"But there's just one thing. There ain't that many blue horses around, so you'd have to trade yours in."
"I can't do that. You know how much Storm Cloud means to me." I said. "Hey, just out of curiousity, are you askin' Chavez to sell Sparks?"
Billy arched an eyebrow. "You think I got a death wish?"
"And you sure as hell ain't partin' with Golden Boy," I said. (Golden Boy was Billy's palamino paint colt). "So Storm Cloud stays."
"You'll be a sitting duck," Billy warned. "Everyone knows who that horse belongs to."
"I'll take my chances," I said.
"Fine," Billy relented. "Meet us at the livery stables by dawn. Bring only what's important to you."
I couldn't sleep that night, so I spent it packing for the journey. My mother's books, my father's hunting knife and medicine pouch, an ample supply of bullets, an extra shirt, and some simple provisions. Not much, but too much weight might slow Storm Cloud down.
I changed clothes so I would be indistinguishable from the men and strapped on my six-shooter. I wasn't good with a gun, but I knew I'd need one. I took a last look at the ranch before I rode off to Lincoln.
The boys and J.P. Wilson were late, as usual, so I had to wait for them. The sun had almost fully risen by the time I saw the Regulators'
horses approaching, Dick in the lead. Billy grinned as he dismounted.
"Glad to see ya made it, 'Rena," he said.
Dick turned, his brown eyes blazing. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "I told you to stay home."
"I never listen to you," I said.
"Yeah, well, this time you should have." said Dick. "This isn't your fight. Seeking revenge is man's work."
"And last time we checked, you ain't a man," piped up Dirty Steve.
I glanced at Billy, who was smirking as he watched us. "Why don't you ask Billy what I'm doing here?" I said.
That wiped the smirk off his face quick. He was, after all, the one who'd decided to undermine Dick's authority as foreman. We were saved from an ugly scene by the arrival of J.P. Wilson. The mood became solemn. Inside the livery stables, we all piled our right hands on top of J.P.'s bible and swore the oath of office. Then J.P. pinned the tin stars to our coats and we left to serve our first warrant.
"We're gonna ar-rest Henry Hill, doodah, doodah," Billy sang as we rode through the prairie. "We're gonna ar-rest Henry Hill, oh doodah day..."
Dick rolled his eyes at Billy's childish behavior, but Charley and I thought the song was catchy and joined in. We kept singing until we reached an out-of-the-way saloon, which looked like it had been constructed with too many boards and not enough nails. Clearly, it wasn't a place where you'd find too many upstanding citizens.
"Henry Hill's been inside with a lady since noon," said Dick. "We'll show him the warrant and take him home. Hey, Billy, see if Hill's inside. If he is, bring him out."
Trusting Billy with our prisoner turned out to be a mistake. Less than five minutes later, we heard a shot coming from the direction of the outhouse, and Billy ran out so fast you'd have thought he was on fire.
"You weren't supposed to kill anybody!" Dick howled. "We have warrants; we're the law!"
Several men burst out of the saloon, shooting at us. We fired back until they were all on the ground, then we took off. Nothing much was said between us that day until late that night. We were starting to bed down when Dick asked why the hell Billy had shot Henry Hill.
"He resisted arrest by a sworn deputy of the law," said Billy. "I was in fear for my life, Dick. Shit, even lawmen can shoot if their life is in danger."
How much of that was true, I'll never know.
Charley, shaking like a leaf, spoke up next. "What's gonna happen to us now?"
I sighed. "I really don't know. But whatever it is, I guaran-damn-tee ya it's not gonna be good."
Things didn't improve the following day. Doc went into town to buy a newspaper, and the paper contained an article about the murder of Henry Hill. A miner had identified one of the shooters as William H. Bonney. Not good. Someone knew Billy's real name. The article went on to say that Billy was captain of our gang.
"You send a lamb to the slaughter and he walks out a king sheep," laughed Charley.
This pissed Dick off to no end.
"You're mentioned too," Doc said to me.
"I am?" I said, dazed.
"'Much of the slaying not performed by the kid, Billy, was achieved by a young woman." Doc read. "'A patron has identified the woman as one Serena Riddle, an ex-employee of L.G. Murphy. The voluptuous ex-prostitute--"
"What?" I shrieked.
Doc ignored me and continued reading. "'The voluptuous ex-prostitute severely wounded many of Hill's partisans. Perhaps it is time to change her name from 'Ravishing' to 'Rampaging' Riddle. Riddle is believed to be the sweetheart of someone in the gang, perhaps even The Kid himself.'"
Please. I was no one's sweetheart, and most certainly not Billy's. I was never a prostitute either. But as for my new nickname? Rampaging Riddle has a lovely ring to it...