The Ballad of Black Hawk and Billy the Kid by Michael Scott

Author:Michael Scott [Scott, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2021-07-27T00:00:00+00:00

“It is an old word. It means Death,” Black Hawk said.

6

Billy: “Marethyu. Death,” I repeated, focusing on the coffee, which had cooled enough to drink. I can say, without fear of contradiction, that it was one of the best cups of coffee I’d ever tasted, or maybe it was just that in that particular moment, every sense was heightened.

Black Hawk: No, it was just a really good cup of coffee.

Billy: I tried to gather my whirling thoughts.

“You’ve got questions,” Black Hawk said. “I had the same questions. But first, there is something you should know.”

“I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.” My heart was starting to beat harder, but I think that might have been the coffee.

“Marethyu sent me to Albuquerque to find you.”

“Find me!” I couldn’t keep my voice even. “That’s impossible. I didn’t know I was going there until less than a week ago.”

“Remember those threads I mentioned, the ones that are occasionally twisted and woven into new patterns?”

I nodded.

“Welcome to the new pattern. Marethyu did some weaving.” Black Hawk poured himself another cup of coffee. “About ninety years ago, I set out on a mission…”

“Whoa! I think I misheard you…,” I stammered.

“No, you did not. I said ninety years ago, not nine or nineteen. Billy, I was born in 1767 or thereabouts. This year, I will be one hundred and thirteen years old. I’m not looking too bad for my age, am I?”

“One hundred and thirteen?”

“I am immortal, Billy,” he said very simply. “If I keep my head and do not suffer a catastrophic injury, I could, potentially, live forever.”

“I know what immortal means.”

Night had fallen now, and the small fire was dying. The only light in the circle of stones came from the glowing embers, and they turned Back Hawk’s eyes into red spots in the darkness. For some reason, it never even crossed my mind that maybe, just maybe, this Native American was crazy. There were a lot of really strange people in the West. Some were unhinged before they came out here, drawn by the empty spaces and the vast landscape. Others were driven into a type of insanity by the bad food, terrible drink, the loneliness, or a combination of all three. But I instinctively knew that Black Hawk was none of these.

Was I scared? Not in the slightest.

Black Hawk: Not even a little bit nervous?

Billy: Was I even surprised? Not sure about that either. At night, when you’ve got nothing else to do, cowboys gossip and tell tall tales, so you become accustomed to hearing the oddest things. And as you travel across the West, you come up against all manner of fantastic Native American lore, mixed in with stories from the English, French, Spanish, Scottish, German, Italians, Scandinavians, and Irish who’ve come here. Then you add in the African lore, South American folktales, and Chinese myth, and you get a rich stew of stories. The West is littered with myths and fragments of legends from those countries, and it all rolls together to form a new mythology.

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