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Description:

Fresh out of detective school, 19 year old Elfego Baca arrests a drunken cowboy who was spoiling for a fight. Baca earns the wrath of the most powerful ranch in New Mexico. Eighty cowboys fire more than 4,000 shots into a small adobe shack where Baca has holed up. During the siege, Baca single-handedly shoots and kills four of his attackers and wounds eight others. Thirty-six hours after it began, Baca< walks out of the shack unharmed and into history. Now charged with murder for the death of one of the cowboys, Baca is jailed to await his trial in Socorro.

Baca is finally acquitted, but that's just the beginning of his amazing story, now retold in this thrilling western saga that recaptures the final days of the rugged Old West.

Excerpt:

“McCarty, I fine you $10 for disturbin’ the peace. Pay up now or go to jail.”

I watch as McCarty reaches inside his vest, pulls out a money bag. It’s loaded with bills. He must have just been paid for the cattle he’d driven here from Texas and was bragging about in Milligan’s Bar. The cowboy peels off some dollars and hands them to the justice. Smith counts them, sticks them inside his coat pocket, and with an up and down motion of his hand, like he was striking a gavel on his bench, he makes his final declaration.

“Fine paid. Let the court record show this here dealin’ is adjuged. McCarty, you’re a free man. Now stay out of trouble.”

Elfego smiles, I have the feeling he is pleased that he has discharged his duties as a lawman. With great aplomb he pulls the handcuff key from his pocket and removes the ironware from McCarty’s wrists.

Carefully coiling the metal cuffs, he fits them into his belt keeper, returns the key to its hiding place and turns to go. He looks back for a moment at McCarty, then at Smith and gives a sigh of relief. He motions with his hand for me to stand where I am, then steps forward and takes the rifle I’ve been holding.

“Might need that piece with that crowd out there, thanks for your help, Nolo.”

He opens the courthouse door and steps outside.

Already in his teenage life, I know Elfego has faced angry men, but I am sure he’s never confronted such a rabble of rifle-toting, blood-thirsty westerners as he now sees waiting for him just below the bottom step of the courthouse building. In what I’ve been told is typical Baca manner, he strides out onto the top step, and looks over the crowd. I step closer to the doorway to get a better look. Elfego’s voice is steady.

“Good evening gentlemen.”

Before he can say anything more, there’s an explosion and a bullet whizzes by. I duck and drop to the floor in one motion, but I can still see Elfego, standing there proudly, unflinching. In one smooth motion, faster almost than the eye can follow, he pulls his pistol from its holster, grabs the nearest cowboy and using him as a shield, arm around his neck, he backs away from the mob. The rifle he’s carrying is grasped firmly under his armpit.

I get to my feet and follow his progress with my eyes. Elfego is now cautiously striding backward through the alleyway that we have just used to get here. With the cowboy in front of him, Elfego makes his way down the narrow street. He chances a look over his shoulder. I look where he’s looking and see in the distance a low hut, built of what must be the left over hand-hewn water-stained boards from the town dump, held together by a batch of adobe mud.

But Elfego must think it’s his only hope. He moves toward it, all the time keeping the cowboy between himself and the crowd. He reaches the porch of the shaky structure and kicks his hostage in the seat, sending him back the way he came.

Although Elfego’s voice reaches me from far away, I can still make out his words.

“You get on back there and tell those friends of yours that Elfego Baca fights his battles to the death.”

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