"Well," I began, trying to remember a past that I had almost forgotten, "I was born in Santa Fe. I never knew my mom, she died giving birth to me, but my daddy was a gunsmith, and he was pretty damn good, too. He raised me on his own, he never remarried. He taught me iron. We moved to Arizona when I was eight, to a little town called Blackwater. There wasn't much more than a Market and a bar when we got there, so daddy set up a gun shop. The town grew fast, and daddy got more and more famous for his guns. He was good at comin up with new ways to cut down on draw time and such.
"But daddy made some enemies, too. He took in a little Cherokee girl, about my age, who's parents had been killed by some racist pigs down in Tucson. They followed her up to finish the job, and daddy defended her. They left, though, and we didn't hear from em for another couple of years. But me and the Cherokee girl got to be friends."
The man interjected, "What was her name? The Cherokee girl?"
"Hialee. It means beautiful meadow."
He nodded. "And what's your name?"
I smiled. "Kate."
"Anyway," I went on, "We kept on livin in Blackwater. Daddy's business was good, and Hialee and I got jobs at the livery when we turned ten. We learned to ride there, so daddy bought us both horses. I had a real nice one- a Mountain Horse. She was a kind of stony-brown, and had a blond mane and tail- real sweet.
"But, I'm getting off subject. Now, I told you that we didn't hear from those Tucson pigs for another few years. Well, it was on my eleventh birthday, when they got drunk up in Phoenix and decided to come down for a visit. They showed up at Daddy's store in the middle of the night. Hialee and I had already gone to bed. They got into a scuffle with Daddy, and, well… they shot him. Three bullets in the chest, one in his head. Then they set fire to the store. Our livin' quarters were right above it, and the smoke woke us up. We got out, and took the horses to the other side of town. We got the Sheriff, and he caught two of the men who shot my daddy, but the other three got away. We never found out what happened to them.
"Once the Sheriff got Daddy's affairs in order, he sent me off to live with my Uncle Henry. He's the ugly one who owns this pit. I don't know what happened to Hialee after I left. My uncle wouldn't take her cause she's Indian. But I came to live in my uncle's house, and when I turned fourteen, he put me to work here. Clarissa came around a year after that. She's the blond next door with your short friend. She and I are like sisters now. We look out for each other. And that's it. That's me."
He nodded and turned to look at me. He stared down into my eyes, and I was paralyzed. There was something about his gaze that just made me unable to move, unable to speak. His eyes were intelligent. They were dark, almost the color of coal, and seemed to be staring straight into my soul. It took all of the will I could muster to break the spell.
"So, um… what's your name?"
He looked away, and I gasped in relief.
"Jose"
"Jose." I said, glad that the moment was gone, "That's a good name. So why don't you tell me about yourself, Jose. After all, its only fair, I just told you my life story."
He smiled a sad half-smile.
"Alright. I was born and raised on the Red Sands Creek Reservation."
My heart sank. I had heard about the Red Sands. I could tell that his story was not going to be a joyful one.
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He told me about his mother- a young Navajo woman who had fallen in love with a Mexican Soldier who had promised to love her, then left her. He told me how His mother had never quite gotten over his father, but about how, seven years later, she had married a man from the tribe and had had three daughters. He told me about how hard life on the reservation had been. He told me how the company that had been under contract to supply them with beef had often fallen short on its duties.
Then he told me about the winter when the company had sent rotten meat. he told me that he had gone out with a group of men to a trading post to get food, and how they had been betrayed. He told me that he was the only survivor, and how he had ridden home to the Red Sands only to find his family, friends, his entire tribe gone.
He laid down on the bed, and I placed his head next to me as I sat listening. He seemed to be taking some kind of comfort in having me listen. I was glad to help him.
He told me that He had gone to Lincoln to take revenge on the man at the head of the company who had failed to do their duty. He told me how he had been saved by a man named John Tunstall, and how he had taken up work on his ranch. Then he paused.
"Kate?"
"Yes?"
"What would you say if I told you that I rode with Billy the Kid in the Lincoln County War?"
I laughed. "I'd say you were crazy. Any man who rode with the Kid durin' that war would have skinned out West by now. They would never have stuck around New Mexico, not with the whole territory after them."
He smiled his half-smile again. "So I guess you wouldn't believe me if I told you that your friend Clarissa is in there with The Kid himself?"
I opened my mouth to say something, but then several loud raps sounded on the door, and a panicked voice yelled,
"Chavez! It's Sheriff Brady! He's outside!"

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