Sam almost always makes sense, and what he had to say calmed me down considerably. So much so that when I called my wife, Mary Kay, I never even mentioned the incident. And at nine the next morning I was in Denver. The book signing there went off without a hitch, and without William Bonney showing up.
Two days after that I was in Dallas, at yet another bookstore, only this time it didn’t go quite so well. The first person in line was William Bonney. He didn’t have a book. He walked up to the table and looked down at me.
“You and me,” he said. “That’s the only way to settle this. Just you and me, and the best man wins.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“You know,” he said. “A gunfight, a showdown. You and me. Then we’ll see who’s right.”
“You’re crazy. If you aren’t going to buy a book, then you’ll have to leave. I don’t have time for crazy talk like that.”
“It’s the only way to settle it. You have to see that. It’s the only way.”
“I’m going to have the owner call the police,” I said. “You’d better leave.”
I stood up and moved toward the counter. William Bonney stepped in front of me. “I’m leaving,” he said. “But this ain’t the end of it. We’re going to settle this right.”
He turned and walked out of the store. I waited until I was back at my hotel, then called the police and asked if there was anything they could do. It was carefully explained to me that so far William Bonney, if that was his real name, had done nothing illegal. At most he might be charged with harassment, and that only if he persisted in bothering me.
And even if grounds to arrest him could be found, where was he? I couldn’t be sure he’d given me his real name, I didn’t know where he lived, or much of anything else about him.
The police officer I spoke with advised me to go on with my tour and forget about Bonney. He was probably just a nut, and like as not, I’d never hear from him again. With no recourse, I tried to do as advised, putting Bonney out of my mind as much as possible. The last two cities on the tour came and went with no sign of William Bonney.
On Sunday I returned home, a ranch-style house in Arizona, located as far as possible from the nearest neighbor. I frequently feel guilty leaving Mary Kay alone there so much of the time, but she claims to love it. I let her convince me she’s perfectly all right.
Mary Kay is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and why she married a raw-boned, homely, country boy like me is beyond comprehension. But I’m eternally grateful that she did. She’s the love of my life, the very meaning of life. Coming home to her after a long absence is like leaving hell and entering heaven. It makes up for everything.
Time at home doesn’t seem to have a speed. We are surrounded by desert, and no matter the rush of time in the outside world, the desert remains timeless. So do we. The days blend, Mary Kay is there, and whether I’m at home with her five minutes or five months, the happiness and contentment I feel never fade.
This time a month passed, late summer edged toward fall, and all was right with our world. Then the phone rang and I answered it. William Bonney was on the other end of the line.
“Took awhile to find you,” he said.
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want. I want this settled. You ain’t telling the truth in your books. You make the Old West sound mean, cheap. I can’t allow that.”
“Look, I’m busy, and I don’t have time for silly games. Just leave me alone.”
His voice picked up speed. “You had better take me seriously. I mean to have it out with you.”
I said nothing, hung up the phone. It rang again almost before I could turn around. I answered, knowing it would be Bonney again. It was.
“No more fooling around,” he said. “Do you know where Gunsight is?”
“It’s a ghost town about twenty miles south of here.”
“That’s right. Meet me there day after tomorrow, a little before noon. Bring a Colt.”
“What? You are out of your mind. I’m not about to meet you there or anywhere else.”
“You’ll meet me,” he said. “One way or another. Remember, a little before noon.”
He hung up this time, and for a few minutes I stood there, wondering how to handle the situation. Then I talked it over with Mary Kay. “He sounds crazy,” she said. “We have to call the sheriff.”
“I don’t know what he can do.”
“Maybe the sheriff can scare him away, even if he can’t do anything else. Please, Jim, call him.”
I called him. His name was Trace Kerrigan, and he told me pretty much what I’d expected. “I don’t know how much we can do,” he said. “Until he actually makes a move against you it’s pretty tough to charge him with anything serious, and then it might be too late.
“William Bonney, huh? Sounds like a nut who thinks he’s Billy the Kid. Look, I’ll take a deputy and show up in Gunsight at the time you’re supposed to. If he’s there we’ll run him in. It won’t amount to much, but maybe we can frighten him off.”
The next two days seemed to fly by, but the morning I was supposed to meet Bonney the clock crawled toward noon. It was two o’clock when Sheriff Kerrigan called. “He was there,” Kerrigan said. “Armed to the teeth. We arrested him, but we can’t hold him more than seventy-two hours without a charge.
“Oh, I checked his driver’s license. William Bonney is his real name, though he might have had it legally changed. I’m looking into it.”
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Not much. All we can do is hope this scares him away. If it doesn’t, we’ll try something else.”
Sheriff Kerrigan did his part, holding Bonney until the last legal minute. He also threw in a tough warning when he finally had to set him free. Then all we could do was wait and see if the three days in jail had the desired effect.
Two weeks passed with no word from Bonney, and my hopes were high. Then Mary Kay drove into town to go shopping. Town is almost thirty miles away, and the road is a lonely one. Mary Kay never made it.
It was about ten in the morning, and I was watching some silly game show on TV when the phone rang. When I answered it, I heard Mary Kay’s voice. “Don’t come out here,” she said. “Call the police, he’s going—”
Then William Bonney’s voice came on the line. “You shouldn’t have called the sheriff,” he said. “You should have faced me like a man.”
“Let my wife go, you bastard. She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“You made me take her. She stays here until you show up. No law this time. I mean it. If you call the sheriff or anyone else, I’ll kill her. They may arrest me, but I’ll kill her first.”
My voice was thick. “I understand. Where do we meet?”
“Same place. Be here before noon. Come alone and bring your gun. I see anyone else and I’ll put a bullet through your wife’s head.”
He hung up. I slumped against the wall, trying to think, hoping there was a way out. There wasn’t. He was just crazy enough to kill Mary Kay if I didn’t follow his instructions to the letter.
I did own a Colt. In fact, I owned almost a dozen.
Mostly I bought them for research purposes, and while I’d fired one enough to be a decent shot, I’d never even tried a fast draw except once, and that was out of curiosity.
It didn’t work. My hand caught the Colt wrong and it flew out of my hand, discharging when it hit the ground. I felt the snap of air as the bullet whistled within inches of my ear. I never again tried a fast draw.
Now I had no choice. I went into my den and took a Model 1873 Colt Peacemaker from the display case, loaded it, slipped it into a holster, and belted it on. It was heavy, but rested well on my hip. Taking the Jeep, I drove south toward Gunsight.