Jane inhaled deeply; the scowl on her face would have stopped a clock. "I know that voice. It's Deputy Carlyle. I best go speak to him." She yanked open the front door of the saloon, marched out, and yelled, "Deputy Carlyle, what the hell is goin' on out here?"

There was a small scream. Deputy Carlyle called to us, "Billy the Kid, we've got Jane Greathouse held out here. I'm coming in to talk to you, and if anything happens to me, the citizens will string her up and burn her. Do you agree to those terms?"

Billy chuckled under his breath. "'Do you agree to those terms?' Who is this guy?" Quickly, he cleared his throat and called through the door, "Yes, sir. We agree to those terms."

I chanced a peek through the curtains. Jane was being restrained by two men in white hoods who were obviously armed. At least thirty other men were behind those two. All carried torches; some carried pitchforks and other farm implements. Things looked bad, all right, but Billy had a plan. "Boys, put your guns away and look respectable. Ladies, go back upstairs. Riddle, O'Folliard, disappear."

"Like hell I will," I said through gritted teeth.

"Now is not the time to screw around with me, 'Rena," said Billy. "Just shut your yap and do what you're told."

I stood my ground. Billy might have been our leader, but I only listened to him when he addressed me in a halfway respectful fashion. Dave saw my behavior in the worst terms and swung back one of his hands.

"If you harm so much as a hair on Querida's head, I'll bury you," Chavez warned.

While Dave was considering those terms, a bony hand curled around my arm and its owner dragged me behind the piano. I turned my head slightly and came face-to-face with Tommy. "You little--" was all I got out before Tommy covered my mouth. That damned kid was going to get it...

The boys scrambled to get into casual poses. Dave, Billy, and Doc sat around a large table. Billy leafed through an issue of The Independent while Doc dealt himself a game of solitaire; Chavez sat near the fireplace and opened up a book. A man of medium height and average build entered the saloon. He had a bushy black mustache and wore a long, dark coat. He cleared his throat and Billy looked up.

"Gentlemen, which of you is the leader of your gang?" asked the man, who I assumed was Deputy Carlyle.

"I am," said Dave and Billy together.

"You are not, Dave," said Billy.

"I am so!" Dave shouted back.

"You are not."

"I am so!"

"Not!"

"Am!"

Tommy giggled as the two continued their argument, sounding for all the world like children. I elbowed Tommy to make him shut up.

Deputy Carlyle cleared his throat again. "Gentlemen, I am a deputized man, and I do things the law way."

"Which way?" Billy asked, getting up from the table and planting himself about an inch from Carlyle's face.

"Law...way," said Carlyle, seeming to lose some of his coolness. "The people out there do things their own way. They got their minds set on a hangin', and it's gonna be hell if I can't control the situation. What I propose is this: I understand you have Indians in your group."

Billy nodded. "Yes, sir. Jose Chavez y Chavez, he's a Mexican-Indian. And, uh, Rampaging Riddle's a half-breed. How'd they be?"

At this, I squeezed out from behind the piano, almost knocking Tommy to the floor, and angrily strode into the parlor. How dare Billy betray me after all his big talk about pals and loyalty?

"Well, that'd be just fine," Carlyle smiled. "The rest of you can just ride out."

"I can agree to those terms." said Billy. "Now, Mr. Law Way, may I see your hat?"

"I don't see how hats are relevant in this situation," said Carlyle uneasily.

Billy cocked his pistol. "I do."

Not about to argue with that, Carlyle allowed Doc to remove his hat and overcoat. Billy went over to the fireplace and returned with Chavez's hat. He plopped it on Carlyle's head and wrapped a Navajo blanket he'd found on the sofa around Carlyle's shoulders.

"There. I can talk to you now. You don't look like such a politician," said Billy.

"Can I take the Indians with me or not?" asked Carlyle.

"The Indians are going out to satisfy the crowd, just like I said."

I prepared to run. If Billy was gonna betray me and I was meant to die that night, I sure as hell wouldn't go quietly. I glanced toward Chavez. He wasn't the least bit tense, which I found odd. Didn't he realize we were both about to die?

Billy pointed his gun at Carlyle's head. "You obviously don't understand the meaning of the word 'pals.' You honestly thought I'd hand my friends over to a bucket of mule dung like you? That's an insult. Turn around, Chief."

A male voice from outside bellowed, "Come on, Carlyle! Are ya bringin' him out or not?"

"All right, you white caps! We're coming out, but we'll be comin' out shootin'! Get ready for war!" Billy hollered back.

He got behind Carlyle and pushed him forward, trying his best to imitate an Indian war whoop. I went ahead of Billy and pulled open the door. Gunshots rang out the second I closed the door after Carlyle. I ducked the bullets, shards of broken glass raining on my back. For a moment, all was quiet. Then I heard many hooves pounding away.

"They're all skinnin' out," said Hendry.

I looked through the shattered window and immediately knew why. The citizens of White Oaks had just murdered their own deputy. Billy laughed his one-of-a-kind laugh as he ambled to the bar. He poured himself a sizeable shot of whiskey and raised his glass to us. "Pals," he said, throwing back his head to drain the glass.

I headed for the door when I heard footsteps on the front porch. Maybe someone had come to finish what Carlyle started. No, it was only Jane. She stepped idly over Carlyle's corpse, letting her long skirt drag across his face. She eyed the damage to her wall, window, and door; her face clouded with anger.

"I'm awful sorry 'bout this, Jane," Billy apologized. "I swear I can make it up to you." He handed Jane a wad of bills. "Here. This is for the damages. And this," he added, handing her some money Dave had carelessly left on the table, "is so you can buy yourself a pretty new dress."

She smiled coquettishly. "Why, thank you kindly, William H. Bonney."

"Always my pleasure, Jane." said Billy. He turned to the rest of us. "Let's saddle up before the good sheriff comes pokin' 'round."