{"id":1083,"date":"2026-02-01T02:45:00","date_gmt":"2026-02-01T09:45:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/?p=1083"},"modified":"2026-01-24T09:20:07","modified_gmt":"2026-01-24T16:20:07","slug":"billy-the-kids-tennis-raquet-by-richard-hollis","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/2026\/02\/01\/billy-the-kids-tennis-raquet-by-richard-hollis\/","title":{"rendered":"“Billy the Kid\u2019s Tennis Raquet” by Richard Hollis"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

For Paulie<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe weren\u2019t no great hero you know. Just flesh and blood like the rest of us. But he was my friend. And that\u2019s all I\u2019ll say bout that.\u201d The old man closed the book he was readin in and leant back in his stuffchair. \u201cBut back then,\u201d he went on, \u201cback in the day, even with him bein the younger, he were<\/em> my hero, though. And I tolt him so. And you know what he says? He says he don\u2019t know what the word means. And he was right, I guess. I just weren\u2019t ready to hear it right then. There was somethin, an appreciation a some kinda pilfered honor or somethin, and an appreciation a the triflin distance between right and wrong what we was livin just then. It kept tellin me, if I accept what he was sayin, if I consented to believe in it, I\u2019d fall into some bottomless hole in the middle a myself and never find my way back out. And I did feel like he had faced up to things. I tolt him I thought he had cause. But he tolt me he thought that was a full share a Brown Swiss bullpucky, tolt me the only cause was in relation to the effect. I remember he said that, soundin all educated-like. Said there weren\u2019t no particler cause he knew of. All he done was re<\/em>-act. You know, like, to his sichyashun there. Said he weren\u2019t never one to think bout how he might make the world a better place. Weren\u2019t innerested in rescuin the poor and down-fallen ner nuthin. Hell, he said he never had no interest in improvin nuthin a\u2019tall. His only interest was in gettin his needs met, the day to day of it, makin sure he saw the sun come up in the mornin. Anybody get in the way a that, they become the cause, and best a his bilities, he become the effect.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stood up from the stuffchair, went to the table and set his Billy book down. Had his back to me. \u201cNope, nope,\u201d he says, \u201cthat whole thing bout pursuin a heroes purpose, that\u2019s a misaccuration. Ain\u2019t doin nuthin but chasin your tail there. Don\u2019t for a minute let yourself get roped into thinkin thataway. Life just ain\u2019t that poetic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he went out onto the porch, I went and looked at the book. There was a pitcher a some guy in the front\u2014the one I weren\u2019t never sure who he was. Had a mustash what covered his mouth all the way from up under his nose to his chin. Well, I stand there for a minute lookin at him, wonderin how he fared eatin anything through all that tangle, then I just tore the page out and stuffed it in my pocket. When I follered the old man out onto the porch, he was just standin there lookin out at the sky. \u201cSo tell me how\u2019d you come to meet up with him, again?\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas in Silver City,\u201d he says. \u201cHe was upchuckin in the Big Ditch\u2014eleven o\u2019clock in the mornin. Said somethin bout bein took for six bucks by some Mormon at the Palace Hotel the night before. I didn know who he was then, didn know he was famous-like, just felt sorry for him. Noticed he done pissed hisself and tolt him I could give him a change a clothes and a place to clean up. He was clear-headed enough, but more hungover than a wet flapjack top a green wine bottle. Well, we goes over to the camp where I was squattin and he took hisself a bath where some muddy water backed up in the dry creek. I give him a extra pair a my coveralls and a new calico shirt what I stolt back in Arkansas\u2014was always too small for me, anyways\u2014and he cleaned up pridy good. Had snaggle teeth, but he weren\u2019t all that bad to look at.\u201d The old man pushed a rusty bean can off the edge a the porch boards into the dust with his cane and went to set in his rocker. \u201cAnd that\u2019s all I\u2019ll say bout that,\u201d he terminated with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pulled up near him on the bench along the front wall to the house and leant back agin the clapbords. We both set there starin out at the tawny-brown spread a the land, the purply choya buds and the yellow fluff on the chameesa bushes what was splattered all out round the valley and on up toward the blue gob a the Sangre da Cristos. The sun was an hour or two into its downside run and it was dead still, just plain hot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe died so young,\u201d the old man says. \u201cAnd for nuthin. But that\u2019s why everbody still calls him kid. Birthday was October 23rd. Never knowed what year he was born. I figure he musta been bout twenty at the end. Witch\u2019d mean he only got maybe five, six years out on his own after his Mama died and his stepdaddy kicked him out. He tolt me his first catch-up with the law was when he was thirteen, and that was for stealin beef jerky and that there bent tennis rackit from the general store outside a Fort Bayard.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, when did you apperhend on him bein who he was?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, he tolt me his name was Willam McCalister when we first meet up. That were July a \u201979, two years before the end. The guy what I was sharin my tent with, he was gone, so I tolt him he was welcome to make use a the extry cot. He tolt me his stepdaddy\u2014one, William Henry Harrison Antrim, a man he hated\u2014lived somewhere over on Walnut Street and he come allaway from Santa Rosa to kill him. When he first said it, I didn think much bout it\u2014he was so young, ya know. But I dunno, he mighta meant it. Everwhere we went round town that first week, he introduced hisself as somebody different\u2014Frank Haggen, Bill Munrow, Jesse Shanks and the like. He didn have nuthin, you know. I give him the clothes on his back. But somehow he started gatherin stuff up. Got hisself a Colt Lightnin from some Mexican what said he stolt if off a Canadian MP. And then he later come up with a whole bandolier a .44 cartridges for it. So I figure he\u2019s startin to take things serious-like. And he was serious like that mosta the time, lest he was drunk. When he got drunk, he got rowdy, sure, but he weren\u2019t never mean. He was mostly a happy drunk. Then again, he let you know he weren\u2019t gonna let you push him round none. And that\u2019s all I\u2019ll say bout that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas you round when he got kilt?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDepends what you mean by round. I was stayin at a ranchette outside a place what they now call Agudo, on the Achison, Topeka and Santa Fe run, six or seven mile outa Fort Sumner. I didn get word bout him dyin till two days after. A Sunday it was. When I get there to Fort Sumner, he\u2019s already in the ground. Buried him that Saturday. Weren\u2019t nuthin goin on there, but I didn know did Sherriff Garrett know who I was or not, so I weren\u2019t gonna hang about. There was a man at the grave, had a pachuco style felt hat, black. Wore a green vest with a string tie and a black longcoat. Mighta been Navajo. I don\u2019t think he was Mescalaro. Come in a three-wheeled Benz Motorwagen and just stood there over the grave. I reckon he was prayin on him. It was a ranch hand what tolt me bout him dyin, so I hada take his word. The grave was fresh, so somebody got buriet there. Whether it was him or not, I couldn say. At this junction, I\u2019m deposed to believe it was, though.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the old man\u2019s tabby cat jumps up next to me on the bench, I reach out and nudge it a bit behind the ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s Florencio. He took charge a things round here after you left.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI ain\u2019t crazy bout a cat,\u201d I finally declared to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t feel no need to stay there settin with him then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The cat jumps down, I stretch my legs out on the porch boards, and the old man keeps his peace. But I hada ask, \u201c So did he kill his stepdaddy, this here Willam Henry Harrison?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAntrim,\u201d he added on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRight,\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat part\u2019s important, boy. He got named after the eleventh president of these here United States, who turned out to be the shortest president in the history a these states\u2014bein as he wouldn wear neither hat nor gloves in the rain when he was speechifyin his naugral dress for six hours to a mob a wigs on the steps a the Washington Monument. Got sick and died, right there on the steps.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo he died a natural causes then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, you lunkhead, that\u2019s the president I\u2019m talkin bout there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, yeah, OK. So did he kill Antrim then, or not?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat I dunno. Never met his stepdaddy when we was skulkin round Silver City. Mighta, tho. I never got involved in none a that. I weren\u2019t always with him back in the beginnin. Harrison, what the kid called him. Claimed he was one sumbitch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sky looked like a blue enamel cook pot fulla still water. The Rhode Island red come pantin up through the dust, up into the porch shade and stood there tiltin his head at me, starin. Three a the leghorns clucked and fussed off by the barn. I thought bout pullin my boots off and itchin my feet some, but decidet I needed to be gettin long. \u201cThink I\u2019m gonna be gettin long,\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The old man didn say nuthin at first. Then he says, \u201cWell, you know you always welcome for a come-see. Your bruther, not so much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, he knows that, Daddy,\u201d I says. \u201cHe won\u2019t be botherin you none.\u201d I stood up and went back in the house to fetch my bundle. Stopped for a minute to look at the tennis rackit hangin there under the shotgun over the farplace. The warped handle on it was crookt worse than a broke hind leg on a kyote, and mosta the strings was sprung out of it. I grab my kit, shake my head at the mystery of it all and go back out to the porch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee you got a new mare,\u201d the old man says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, Sally, she\u2019s most lenient. Only gets her tail in a twist when they\u2019s kids runnin round her. And she don\u2019t much like the new blacksmith in town.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe all got our displeasantries.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I go to the barn, Sally, she\u2019s standin there with her head hangin and her eyes half closed. I give her a quick brush, saddle her up and tie my bundle down. Figure to be back in town by sunset.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


II<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Things was quiet in the alley when I get there. Weren\u2019t no light to see by. I tie up old Sally and climb the stairs to The Diamond Dollar. Things is slumberin inside as well. Cyril, the bartender, as always, he\u2019s got his foot up on a stool behind the bar. He nods to me when he sees who it is. The one lone stranger standin at the far end with his back to me turns his head to see who it was comin in. Didn say nuthin. Weren\u2019t nobody at the card table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pull up, take my hat off and set her down on the bar. Cyril come over with a nice cool drippy glass a beer and a bottle and I shove my lucky Jefferson at him. He gives it a look-see and shakes his head. When he brung my change, he asked me how it was with the new mare. I tolt him same as I tolt the old man and he went back to his place beside the stool. Started polishin glasses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLaRoyce been in?\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaw, he never comes in here. You keepin company over that-a-way?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knew he was gonna ask me that, cause a the squabble I got into with Lester, LaRoyce\u2019s oldest. \u201cNaw,\u201d I says. \u201cGot a job a work with him is all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cyril, he don\u2019t say no more. I was feelin itchy, bein it\u2019s a Sunday and all, so I says to the feller down the bar, \u201cMy Daddy knew Billy the kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat right?\u201d this stranger says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. My Daddy kin read, ya know.\u201d I reach into my pocket, take the wrinkled pitcher what I pinched outa the book, grab my glass and my bottle and head down his way. I flatten out the pitcher on the bar and deal it over to him. \u201cYup, that right there, that\u2019s Billy the kid\u2019s stepdaddy,\u201d I says, \u201cone, William Henry Harrison Antrim. People don\u2019t know this, but he was president back when.\u201d And without even lookin, I stab my finger down on Antrim\u2019s ear in the pitcher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now this here stranger, he weren\u2019t the usual punter come into the Diamond. He was kinda dressy-like. Had a press suit with a crease in his pants and a fancy tie. Smelt like witch-hazel and lemons. Wore a brown felt derby with a rolled brim what didn have no dust on it. \u201cHmmm,\u201d all he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your name, then?\u201d I ask him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNate,\u201d all he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, what are you doin in here, Nate?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHaving a drink and minding my own business.\u201d He says it same way Cyril talks, smidgy schoolin-talk like, but even more so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat right?\u201d I says, bein polite-like. \u201cWell whadya think bout what I just tolt ya?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot much,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell what is it you do, then, Nate?\u201d I ask him, even more polite this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m a wayfaring philosopher.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he stops right there, don\u2019t say nuthin futher. He takes a sip a his beer and sets the glass down, kinda limp-like. A philosopher, I\u2019m thinkin. Well what in hell? Ain\u2019t never had one a them in here. \u201cSo philosopher me somethin,\u201d I says, still bein respectable-polite.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, he stands there\u2014been leanin his elbows on the bar all this time\u2014straits his back up and puts both hands on the bar. Now that\u2019s when I\u2019m noticin this here\u2019s a tall feller. He turns his head, lookin down at the pitcher settin there on the bar and says, \u201cInteresting.\u201d All he says, just like that. Then he just stands there starin at the pitcher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cInnerestin. That all you can say?\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, friend, I could say more.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, why doncha, then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOK,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019m gonna tell you something, and you can take it for what it\u2019s worth. But it\u2019s true, this thing I\u2019m gonna tell you. It\u2019s the absolute truth. And that\u2019s a very interesting proposition, because there\u2019s not a lot of people in the world who will do that for you\u2014not because they don\u2019t want to, understand, but because they don\u2019t always know the truth, themselves. So what I\u2019m saying is that there\u2019s a lot I don\u2019t<\/em> know, but about this,\u201d and here he targets his<\/em> finger down onto the pitcher same as I did, \u201cabout this right here, I do<\/em> know. And I\u2019m gonna reveal what I know to you. And it\u2019s entirely up to you whether you accept it or not. Are you ready?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, I\u2019m standin there thinkin to myself, yessir, this dam well is<\/em> innerestin. \u201cOK,\u201d I says, \u201ctell me this here absolute truth then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not William Bonnie\u2019s stepfather.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, I had to admit, he could be right. The old man never tolt me who the guy in the pitcher was, exacly. I just judged it from the look of him. Decidet he had to be him. Got it in my head somehow that he was Amstrum. So, OK, I\u2019m thinkin, see what this rascal here has to say bout it. \u201cAnd how you think you know what your sayin there is the absolute truth?\u201d I says to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBecause that\u2019s a photograph of Frederich Nietzsche, taken in 1882. Says so right there.\u201d And he sets his finger back down on some printin right there under where the guy\u2019s been cut off at the ribs in the pitcher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I look over at Cyril and push the pitcher over his way. He departs his stool, doodles on over and takes a peak. \u201cYup,\u201d he says. \u201cNot sure about the spelling, but it definitely don\u2019t say anything about Antrim\u2014William, Harry or otherwise. Looks like Freder-itch Nitz . . . Nitz-shee or somethin.\u201d And he turns and goes back to his stool.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can<\/em> read some, you know,\u201d I tell this guy. \u201cJust not them kinda small print words like that. Can\u2019t see em is all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that there turned out to be one innerestin evenin. Me and that there feller\u2014name a Hinman, Georgie Hinman\u2014me and him, we had ourseves a lengthy twister. Turned out he played piano and we sang us ever last song he knowed, from Jimmy Crack Corn to Johnny Come Marchin Home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


III<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Next mornin, I get to thinkin bout what happened at the Diamond the night before. I\u2019m still feelin a bit skiddlish from all the deviltry, but I come to wonder in particular on the part bout that there Fred Nishee feller. So I pull out my readin glass from under the seed pot in the bottom a the cuddy and begin huntin for the pitcher a the guy. Turns out, I left it at the Diamond. Good thing I take my readin glass with me when I go get it, cause yessir, there it is, spelt right out underwise a the pitcher a the guy\u2014F-r-e-d-e-r-i-c-h N-i-e-t-z-s-c-h-e. \u201cYessir,\u201d I says to Cyril. \u201cAnd that\u2019s the absolute truth of it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo how you figure this fella in the picture fits into things?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDunno, but I aim to find out,\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And it weren\u2019t no simple galavant, goin back out to the farm. I nodded off twicet in the heat and fell off Sally both times, slipperier than a frog tween your fingers after you finish greasin on a wheel hub. And the old man weren\u2019t in the barn or at the house when I get there. The mule, the one he calls Aunt Maggie, well her and her rope harness ain\u2019t no where bout, so I figure he musta went to say his dutifuls over Momma and young Tooly out under the red maple on the hill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seein as it were nigh on noon, I fetch me a can a water from the well and head on in the house, where it ain\u2019t nuthin but hot. Everthing just as it were last time I come\u2014book on the table, Billy rackit on the wall, stuffchair by the farplace. So I pick up the book, take my readin glass outa my coveralls and set me down in the stuffchair to have a chummy little looksee. And when I open her up, whadya think I see? Don\u2019t even need no readin glass. Right there in letters big as silver conchos is some strange palaver I can\u2019t make no sense outa. This what it said\u2014Jensits von Gunt unt B\u00f6se: Vorsperil einer Philstophie der Zunf\u2014or some such.And sure nuff there\u2019s that Frederick Who-some-ever\u2019s name there too. And when I turn the page, it says right there on the back how old the book is, and its from 1886, which I calculate to be thirty-nine years ago. So I look thru it someways futher and whadya know, the whole damn thing\u2019s a mishmosh a them letters what don\u2019t make no kinda sense. Well, it takes me a minit, but then of a sudden, I knowed what it was. \u201cWhy, hell,\u201d I says, \u201cthis here ain\u2019t even writ in English.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, I sit there and flutter the pages for a bit, and I guess I musta fall asleep. Next thing I knowed, the old man\u2019s standin there in front a me askin, \u201cWhacha think your doin in my stuffchair?\u201d Then he swaggers out his cane and pokes me a hard one in the leg.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tired as I were and maybe still a little groggedy from that swigger of the night before, I jump up and back myself over to the farplace to get outa his way. \u201cSorry, Daddy,\u201d I says, \u201cmusta wallered myself inta a snooze. Stuffchair jus felt too good I reckon.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He don\u2019t care none bout that, says, \u201cAnd what are you doin with my Billy book, then?\u201d Says this while he\u2019s settin hissef down in the stuffchair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I ain\u2019t even remembered I got holda the dam book in my hand. So I reach it out to him, he takes it and I says, \u201cSorry, I was jus . . .\u201d But then it strick me of a sudden, right there in the middle a what I was sayin\u2014what in hell? And I says to him, \u201cWhadya mean, your Billy book? Ain\u2019t no Billy book bout it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhadya mean ain\u2019t no Billy book bout it?\u201d he says. \u201cWhat kinda book you think it is?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a book by some feller name a Nishee, ain\u2019t even in English.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow you think you know that?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCause I been readin on it while you was up on the hill with Momma.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou been readin on a book when you cain\u2019t even read?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI read nuff to know that book there ain\u2019t what you tolt me it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThink so?\u201d he says. \u201cWell you lissen here, you danged uneducatet son of a crosseyed peckerwood, you don\u2019t know nuff ta get your carcass out the way of a rollin freight train. That there book\u2019s in German, yessir, but I knows how to read in German. And Freddy Neechee was a friend what me and the kid both knowed. And the fellers what printed that book said they\u2019s gonna transfer it into English three or four years ago now, but they never did. Even said they was gonna put my pitcher in the English one. But they never done that neither.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well this was somethin I hadn reckon on. \u201cI never knew you could speak no German,\u201d I says. \u201cHow come you don\u2019t never speak no German round here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDidn say I could speak it,\u201d he says, \u201conly said I could read on it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, now I\u2019m just plain plum flum oxed\u2014the old man tellin me he knowed this here Nishee feller and then that they\u2019s gonna put his pitcher in the book. I dunno what to make a nuthin. \u201cSorry, Daddy,\u201d I says. \u201cI shoulda knowed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDang rite you shoulda knowed. Seem like you was bout as doutsome as your brother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaw, naw, its just\u2014well, what I thought I seen in that book there is all. Thought I knew somethin, didn know nuthin. Sorry. I wont disbelieve on you no more.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that was that. We both settled down some, and since it was gettin late, the old man tolt me I could pull out the cot and stay the night. And I slept like I were dead in the world, as the sayin goes. And when I get up next mornin, I\u2019m fresh as mint tea. The old man, he\u2019s still in the sack, so I don\u2019t take no time to eat nuthin, just scurry on back to town for biscuits and gravey at the La Luz. Cyril, he\u2019s already there chowin on some huevos when I pull up and set me down across from him. \u201cThat was some festivatin eevent the other night,\u201d I says. \u201cWeren\u2019t a sing-song that there swellbuck didn know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, that was somethin,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cInnerestin, all that bout the pitcher.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you know the old man reads on German? Reads it in the Billy book. Said they was gonna put his<\/em> pitcher in the English book of it, but they didn.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cyril, he don\u2019t say nuthin to that, just keeps eatin his huevos. And I begin cogitatin on all them times the old man had us all up to the Tooth-a-Time, up there in the Cimarron. Had us all up top there, oncet a year in July\u2014of the 14th of it. Cause that was when the kid got kilt. We\u2019d all set up round a campfar there and the old man he\u2019d say his pieties bout his friend, the kid. I remember cause a the date. It was most same as the fourth a July, only ten days later. And I thought why ain\u2019t he doin that no more? He was doin it ever year for many a year till it become a petchual habit. Why ain\u2019t he doin it no more in 1921, I\u2019m wonderin. And I kept wonderin for a long while. Then I set myself to rememberin to ask him bout it next time I see him, and put the whole dang sortment outa my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, me and Cyril, we set there for some time not sayin nuthin. He swep up his gravy with his last half a flour tortilla, then sets hisself back in his chair and reaches up to pull a folded crimp a paper from outa the pocket a his aberdeen tweeds. And while I\u2019m watchin him and spoonin a mouthful a biscuit, he unfolds the paper, spreads it out on the table and slides it over to me. \u201cAin\u2019t got my readin glass,\u201d I says. Well, I had it. It were right there in my coveralls. But I were sure tired a lookin thru it, so I sneaky-like says to him no I ain\u2019t<\/em> got it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat there,\u201d he says, \u201cis a handbill invitin people to a Billy the kid swahree at the opera house in Santa Fe next month. It\u2019s . . .\u201d and here he picks up the paper and reads from it, \u201cit\u2019s a celebration of the life and good deeds of the honorable young man shot down in cold blood in the middle of the night by the un . . . unscrew-pulus Sheriff, Pat Garrett, under order of the political thugs of Lincoln County.\u201d He stops readin there and sets the paper back down in front a me and says, \u201cThe fourteenth of next month\u2019ll be the fortieth anniversary of the kids death.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHonorable young man,\u201d I says. \u201cThe old man says he weren\u2019t no hero. Said he stolt horses and rustled cattle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMight have,\u201d Cyril says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat, you don\u2019t believe him now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And here\u2019s where Cyril gets all deep consideratin-like, shiftin in his chair and clearin his throat. \u201cWell, Junior,\u201d he says to me, \u201cyour Daddy\u2019s a complicated man.\u201d And then he just sets there squirmin and hesitatin, like he mighta ate somethin didn agree with him and he\u2019s tryin hard to figure whether its comin back up or not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d I says. \u201cWhat exactly is it you\u2019re tryin to tell me, Cyril. Spit it out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell,\u201d he says, \u201cI\u2019d hate to see you at odds with your Daddy, same as your brother, Ansel. All I\u2019m sayin is, you gotta be careful. Maybe the next time you go out to see him . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, maybe decide in yourself weather you wanna know, or you wanna believe. That\u2019s all I\u2019m saying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat in the lillies a the field, Cyril? You some kinda philosopher now too?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I can see he ain\u2019t bout to explain hisself no futher. He just sets there lookin like the dog what don\u2019t know the trick you\u2019re tryin to teach it but wants the treat all the same. Well, I ain\u2019t got no idea how to pro-ceed so I just says, \u201cCyril, you dang well beat all,\u201d and I gets up and goes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Weren\u2019t but about two months or so after that, I go out to see the old man again. Weren\u2019t too lengthy a time after that there forty year shindig up to Santa Fe, what I didn get to. And the old man, he\u2019s lookin a little peekidy. Says he cain\u2019t eat nuthin, cain\u2019t make nuthin stay put. I ask if he wants I should make him some mint tea, but he don\u2019t want none. Gets me serious worrisome, but I keep a smiley face so maybe he don\u2019t think too much bout it. \u201cBeen up the hill to declare yourself of late?\u201d I ask him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaw. Lookin like next time I get up thataway, it\u2019ll be cause I got carriet up in a buryin box.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFeelin that poorly, are ya?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He don\u2019t say nuthin to that. So I says, \u201cWell, I\u2019m here and I can stay with you till your feelin better. I\u2019ll see to Aunt Maggie and do the same with the chickens.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, while we was settin there, he looks up at the wall over the farplace. And I can tell he ain\u2019t lookin at the shotgun, cause his eyes gets a little dewy-like. I can tell he\u2019s lookin at that dang tennis rackit. Well he stares at it for a bit and then he looks over at me, where I\u2019m settin by the table. And I can see a real damp come up in both eyes now. \u201cWhat is it Daddy?\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAin\u2019t nobody believe it no more,\u201d he says, his voice a little chirpy and crinkly, like the way it sounds when I pull that rusty hasp open on the barn door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou mean bout the kid, don\u2019t you?\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can prove it,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cProve what, Daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFetch me down that rackit,\u201d he says, \u201cand I\u2019ll prove it\u2019s the kid\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I do it. I go over and take it down from the wall. And I tell ya, it gets me a little squishy, cause touchin it weren\u2019t never nuthin we was aloud of. Well, I hand it over to him there in his stuffchair and he grips it firm-like, holdin it in the air, and says, \u201cSee there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee what, Daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat there,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, I sees it. That there\u2019s the rackit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDanged right its the rackit. And what hand am I holdin it with?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou mean like which side like?\u201d And I says this tryin to see backwards like I\u2019m him. \u201cYour holdin it in your left hand,\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDang right I\u2019m holdin it in my left hand! Cause it\u2019s a damn left-handet rackit!\u201d he hollers, all excited-like. Then he waits, starin up at me for a bit, like I\u2019m the one supposed to explain the whole danged thing to him<\/em>, and he says, \u201cWell?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell what, Daddy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe kid!\u201d he shouts. \u201cThe kid! He<\/em> was left-handet! Everbody knows that! Here holt it! Tell me it ain\u2019t a left-handet rackit!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still all excited-like, he holds it out to me. I start to take it and he yells, \u201cNo, no, take it with your other hand, your left one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I do as he says and take it in my left hand. But the damn thing is so bent and practical worthless, I got no idea how he can tell its a left-hander or a right. \u201cYou mind if I try it in my other hand too, Daddy?\u201d I says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure, sure, go on, sparement with it. You\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, I stand there in the middle a Momma\u2019s roundy rag-rug, swingin that twisty-handle thing back and forth, switchin hands back and forth for a coupla minutes. And I tell ya, it didn feel no different in one hand than it did in the other. There just weren\u2019t no way to know was it a damn left-hander rackit or a right. And I was bout to hand it back to my Daddy and tell him so. But, of a sudden-like, I think two things at oncet\u2014I think bout what Cyril tolt me, did I wanna know or did I wanna believe, and I think bout how I tolt my Daddy right out, I weren\u2019t gonna disbelieve no more. And I grip that rackit in my left hand, swing it oncet nice and easy-like and say, \u201cYessir, that there\u2019s the kid\u2019s rackit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, the old man, he just slaps the armrest on his stuffchair and says, \u201cThere you go.\u201d And I could see he was some better. His eyes all sparkly-lit now. Yessir, I could see he was some better. And when I went to hand him back the rackit, he just waved his hand and said, \u201cBest put it back on the wall, son.\u201d So that\u2019s what I done. I put Billy the kid\u2019s tennis rackit back on the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The author is a 79 year old, who began writing in 1991. He graduated high school in Miami, FL in 1964, and traveled around the good old US of A for some years after that. His preferences in literature tend toward the classics. This is his first sojourn into the western genre.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

For Paulie I \u201cHe weren\u2019t no great hero you know. Just flesh and blood like the rest of us. But he was my friend. And that\u2019s all I\u2019ll say bout that.\u201d The old man closed the book he was readin in and leant back in his stuffchair. \u201cBut back then,\u201d he went on, \u201cback in … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1084,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1083","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/carol-highsmith-s-america-ykEbOieSkNU-unsplash-1.jpg?fit=640%2C458&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1083","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1083"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1083\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1124,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1083\/revisions\/1124"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1084"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1083"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1083"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1083"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}