Chapter 13 - ... but blood in the sand.

"...and so we find ourselves here," finished Joe quietly.

Marie looked at him, staring deep into his eyes. The old man had regained some colour during his recollections and sat looking at her with a small sad smile on his lined face, the years resting on his face in comfortable teak, polished by years of hardship, wind and rain.

Finally after many long seconds she spoke, her voice almost lost in the soughing wind that violently caressed the outside of the store.

"You mentioned an Emily at the end of your story."

"I did, I wondered whether you'd spot that. I was always fond of that girl. She grew into a fine young lady and married a local lad. They carried on running the shop after Anton passed away, the shop that passed down the generations finally arriving with you."

"My Grannie Em?"

"Yes."

"She used to tell old stories of gunfights and the sheriff..." Marie trailed off as she saw a look of sadness threaten to engulf the old man.

"...she died." She finished simply.

"And I missed the funeral," said the old man sadly.

"I'd been called to Washington to give evidence on a trial and I missed it. It's one of the greatest regrets of my life. That little girl stopped me becoming a monster, and the bravery and trust of her father shaped my future, began a friendship that would last through several lifetimes and brought me to where I am now.

"They became my family while I recovered, Anton gave me board and lodging and Emily became my little sister. I even worked in this shop for a while. Anton never did get round to repairing the beams that were damaged by the bullets, said it reminded him that some things were better left in the past. I never did find out about his past either, that was a chapter of his life that remained firmly closed to me and everyone else including Emily.

"It took me almost a year to fully recover from all my injuries and longer still to recover from the loss of Henry, although I'm not sure you ever truly recover from any loss like that. Perhaps time merely allows you to remember it differently.

"Once I was feeling able, I moved back into the cabin in the hills for a while and then, when called for by Anton and Ed and the other townsfolk, I took up the mantle of Sheriff, a role that was confirmed by the first Marshall who rode through the town a year or so later. I did that job my whole working life and then retired back to my cabin in the hills where I've lived ever since, only occasionally popping back in to visit you and a few others who welcome me.

"Your great grandfather was a tremendous friend who used love and patience as weapons in a harsh and unforgiving world. That fight was the only time I ever saw him handle a weapon other than in the day to day running of his store.

"Your grandmother was much the same, but had a core of steel as did Anton. They were wonderful friends who became my family, and I am eternally happy that I met them and stayed here; as I am happy to be here with you now."

Marie who had cast a glance at the gunman who still looked out through the door into the swirling wind and sand, looked back at him, snapping her head round in surprise.

"You're happy to be here? Now?" she said incredulously.

"I am," Joe smiled, "because it gives me the chance to finally repay a debt and make a difference. I've striven all my life here in Mimbres to make a difference, but I've never quite felt that I could make up for all the wrongdoings that stain my soul.

"What you have to remember Marie is that I was not a good man. Several times when I was a young man I killed for my own gratification, deliberately provoking fights to get out of paying gambling debts and much of my early life was dedicated solely to womanising, gambling, and killing. So, despite the circumstances in which we now find ourselves, yes, I am happy to be here."

He reached into his inside pocket of his jacket and produced a leather wallet, stuffed full of papers, placing the documents carefully into her hands.

"In here are the deeds to my cabin, the mine and all I own. It's all yours now; except Humphrey, he's coming with me. I've always had a hankering to travel down into Mexico. It's a journey that was interrupted a long time ago by a quick job in Mimbres that turned into a new life.

"For some reason today seemed right. Now I know why."

"Who are you Joe?" she asked quietly.

The old man smiled wryly. "You're not going to think very highly of me when I tell you." He breathed in deeply drawing himself erect, sorrow in his eyes.

"I haven't spoken these names for over half a century.

"I was born Henry McCarty. I was also known as William Bonney, Henry Antrim, Kid Antrim and of course the more well known and infamous Billy the Kid."

"But he's dead," hissed Marie, emotion and horror warring for priority on her features.

"Billy the Kid is dead, aye," smiled Joe. "He died at the hands of Pat Garret. Well, my brother Joe did. Joe and I were remarkably similar in appearance before Tennant tried to beat me to death. Joe often pretended to be me, desperate for the attention and some measure of the notoriety that I had accrued, he rarely used his own name. Once I headed up to Canada, Joe became me, utterly. Or perhaps rather he became what he wanted me to be.

"My brother ended up getting embroiled in the Lincoln County War and while he and a group of others were trapped in a house, he managed to kill a man called Sheriff Brady. He was the only one of the gang ever be convicted and punished, the rest were either killed or escaped.

"Ever the slippery one though, he managed to escape the Lincoln county jail by killing the guards and went on the run again, eventually ending up in Fort Sumner, where he was shot and killed by Sheriff Garrett who had recognised him while he was visiting a friend there. Garret and I never met officially, but he ambushed my brother when he went back to his friends for the night and then made sure he was buried.

"I was quite happy to let that particular legend die with my brother, and to be honest I wasn't worried that my brother had taken the blame as he did most of the killing that lead to the legend.

"Most, but not all. I did my fair share.

"So, as Henry McCarty – or Billy the Kid if you prefer - was buried, a new version of Joseph Antrim settled here in Mimbres and became, I hope, an honourable man and Sheriff of a small town. Your great grandfather was instrumental in that change, as was Emily. My secret died with your grandmother but now lives on in you.

"I only hope you can forgive me."

"If Grannie Em did, then I think I can, she was always a good judge of character." Marie leaned forward and kissed the old man gently on the cheek.

"So what do we do now?" she asked quietly, her eyes once again on the man who stared into the swirling sands outside.

"I'd suggest you get yourself out of the way. Things might get a little messy."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go back to my roots," he whispered softly. Joe reached out and gently touched her cheek with a calloused hand.

"You really are of Anton's line, and that's something to be very proud of."

He smiled at her, and a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. Then he stood up slowly and quietly, motioning her to move round to the back of the serving counter.

As he stood, the man at the door suddenly noticed movement outside and unlocked the door expectantly. The lock clicked and Joe swung his poncho up over his shoulder revealing a low slung holster on his right hip.

"Hey," he said softly and the man at the door turned towards him, his gun in his hand, opening his mouth to tell the old man to sit the hell down. With a speed that belied his age, the old man drew, the boom of the gun seeming to shake the foundations of the shop as the man at the door was punched from his feet.

Seconds later, the main window at the front of the shop shattered as a gun from outside replied.

As Marie scuttled behind the counter of the shop, desperately reaching for her father's shotgun, Joe moved behind one of the shelves to take cover. More shots punched into the wooden beams to join those left over half a century earlier and then all went silent.

Marie poked her head cautiously above the counter and was stunned to see the old man walking purposefully towards the door which now swung at the mercy of the wind that still battered the shop front. Tucking the leather wallet into the large pocket of her apron and grabbing the now loaded shotgun, she moved around the counter with it pointed outside and saw a man frantically loading his firearm.

"Put the gun down," shouted Joe from the steps of the shop, his pistol held loosely in his right hand. The robber slammed one last shell into the breech and lifted his head and his gun.

As he did, Joe automatically lifted his weapon and pulled the trigger, but even over the wind howling around the outside of the shop, Marie heard the click of the hammer falling onto the dud shell. As the man lifted his gun to shoot at the old man, she distantly heard herself scream in anger and let loose with both barrels from the hip. The resultant spray of shot broke the remaining windows, causing the robber to flinch and jerk the barrel of his pistol, the bullet intended for Joe caroming from the doorframe next to his head and buzzing angrily off into the sandstorm. As Marie looked over, Joe dropped his gun, turned slightly and reached to his back to draw his spare. As it lifted, his left hand automatically moved over to fan the hammer as he pumped shot after shot into the jerking body of the man who had tried to kill him, and the ghost of a younger man looked on approvingly while the shade of an old man cackled and shuffled his feet in the dust in a mad capering dance.

As the last bullet left his gun and the would-be robber hit the ground, she saw his lips move silently and he dropped his head as if in prayer.

There was nothing but the wind and blood pooling silently in the dust. Joe holstered his pistol, reached down and picked up his other gun and walked slowly back into the shop.

"That was bravely done ma'am, and thank you. As I said before, you really are of your great grandfather's line, and Emily would be proud of you too. I have to go now, but perhaps you'll give the Sheriff this for me to make sure he knows I was here."

Joe reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out the silver star that had once proudly hung on his breast.

"I think it best. Look after yourself Ma'am."

He reached down gently and took her hand, brushing his lips to the back of it and nodded at her with a soft smile, doffed his hat, picked up his saddlebags and walked out through the door.

She stood, stunned for a few minutes and then saw the shadowed form of Humprey with his rider move out from beside the shop. A hand was raised in brief farewell and then the swirling sand took him away.

Marie watched as the shadow disappeared into the storm, her hair whipping in a frenzy around her face, strands sticking firmly to her cheeks as they mingled with tears.

She moved to the door, opening it to move onto the step and looked at the man who lay sprawled on the ground, his eyes wide and staring at the darkness of his own soul. Blood pooled sluggishly from his body, his lifeblood seeping slowly into the unforgiving prairie sand that blew ever west.

"I will leave nothing but blood in the sand...," she whispered, her words disappearing instantly in the noise of the wind.

Marie leant the shotgun against the doorframe, gripping the leather wallet tightly in her hands as fresh tears welled, a wan smile rising on her lips.

"...and you leave a debt repaid."