(CHILDHOOD)

William Henry Bonney,
who was Catherine McCarty’s son,
was thought to come into this world
in eighteen sixty-one

The truth of who his father was
may never be revealed
since Catherine was an immigrant
from Ireland’s starving fields

She married, then was widowed,
McCarty was his name,
they had a son named Joseph,
who lived life without fame   

But young Billy was the eldest,
a leader, so they say,
he was very smart, an’ humorous
with other kids at play

His skin was always light an’ fair
with eyes of laughing blue,
hair― a sandy color,
and slight of built, its true

Education wasn’t plentiful
since schools were hard to find—
his mother taught him well though,
and he had a quick, strong mind

He was an avid reader,
was found often with a book,
spoke Spanish language fluently,
had no plans to be a crook

While living out in Kansas,
the widow with two sons,
bought property and sold it,
for a laundry she could run

She really was quite prosperous,
records show in Wichita,
but found she had consumption
and a change must come, she saw

A boyfriend, though much younger,
William Henry Antrim,
moved her west for better health―
her children threw a tantrum

The boys soon were adjusted
but her illness took its toll,
so they moved to Silver City
for dry climate was their goal

New Mexico was wilder,
she was worried for her sons,
she married William Antrim
when she knew TB had won

She worked hard as a laundress,
baked pies and other sweets
while William started mining,
and the children ran the streets

In one short year of marriage,
Will came seldom to her door,
she died alone and weary
in the year of seventy four

Not wanting to be father,
or stick around out there,
Will left the boys with others
for schooling and their care

These folks were always kind to them,
and glad to share their home,
but the youngster, Billy Bonney,
soon started far to roam.

(ON HIS OWN)

Many lies have been told
        about Bill’s life of crime,
        but if the truth be known now―
just a victim of his time

Billy loved to sing an’ dance,
he had a tenor voice,
with higher education,
music might have been his choice

But that’s not how it happened,
when dollars were quite scant,
he stole horses and new saddles
from the army post― Camp Grant

Billy practiced with his gun
until he got it right,
his only means in bad lands
for protection day an’ night

The first man that he murdered,
a tormentor named Cahill,
a blacksmith in a small town,
in the guts he got his fill

Then off to Dona Ana,
Billy fled to save his life,
joined the gang of Jessie Evans,
and only found more strife

They went to Lincoln City,
New Mexico, I mean,
and jumped into the middle
of a feud like never seen

In history books recounted
t’was the feud of Lincoln County,
and as the dust was clearing,
on Bill’s head there was a bounty

It wasn’t only by the law
Billy the Kid was wanted,
but by the gang he left behind
his life would soon be haunted

Because Bill had crossed over
to Tunstall’s side to win,
the man was filled with gratitude
and saw the best in him

Then, the boss was murdered
by Jessie Evan’s gang,
Bill swore that he’d get even,
and soon more bullets rang

He was sworn as regulator
to finish up the cause,
and with revenge deep in his heart,
he fought without a, pause

It soon became a blood bath,
he was wounded once or twice,
though he knew that he had shot none,
word about him wasn’t nice

Bill fin’lly found Fort Sumner
was a place he could call home,
he squired all the ladies
and no more wished to roam

The truce of Lincoln County,
amnesty to all concerned,
except to young kid, Billy,
a reputation never earned

All the rest were freed then
but Bill was never heard,
although for information,
Governor Wallace* gave his word

Billy helped the governor
naming killers of good men,
but Wallace turned his back on him,
and they never spoke again
   
(ON THE RUN)

Pat Garrett was a lawman
who wanted Billy bad,
to improve his sheriff position,
and show the skill he had

He gathered a small posse,
and in Fort Sumner snow,
ambushed Billy’s best friend―
left him there to die real slow

Garrett fin’lly captured Billy
with friends starving and real cold,
they had no place to run to
from their cabin an’ stronghold

Pat took him back to Santa Fe,
then to a higher court,
held in Mesilla, New Mexico
with hoodlums of his sort

On trial for double murder
of Roberts, and Sheriff Brady,
Billy knew he hadn’t shot ‘em,
and it almost drove him crazy

Of course, he was convicted,
then sent back to Lincoln City,
and when he fin’lly made escape,
it wasn’t very pretty

He really didn’t want to,
but Bill killed the two in charge,
he said to Bell, “I’m sorry,”
but left Ollinger no regards

Bill lit out to Fort Sumner
to stay with an old friend,
if he’d only crossed the border,
he may not have met his end

(KILLING BILLY)

He went straight to a girlfriend,
Paulita Maxwell was her name,
but her brother didn’t like him,
and told Garrett of the same

He said, “He’ll be at my place
if you want to get your man,
and I’ll gladly turn him over
if that is in your plan.”

Billy― unsuspecting,
was walking to his room,
two shots rang out an’ killed him
in the darkness and in gloom

Garrett told a different story
of how he bravely faced
the man named Billy Bonney,
but the truth has now been traced

The dirty little coward
ambushed Billy as before,
he didn’t give him warning―
through his back the bullets tore


EPILOGUE

I’d say before we judge Bill
and profess that he had sinned,
count twenty one he’d murdered
of true an’ lawful men―

We’d better read our history books,
only four or five were dead,
folks said they had it coming,
but the law blamed Bill instead

They’re not sure if he was twenty,
more likely just nineteen,
but from the life the boy lived
and reputation gleaned―

We now know it was made up,
an’ if he’d had the chance,
he’d been content to settle down,
and with his sweetheart― dance…

*Note…Billy the kid died July fourteenth, eighteen eighty-one.
Since historians claim his birthday was in November, he would
have been only nineteen.

*Governor Wallace was also the author of the book, “Ben Hur.”

Tamara Hillman

©2005