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the grave when it was new-made and had a cross with the Kid's name on it at the head of it, and fresh flowers on it every day that the Mexican women of old Fort Sumner used to put there. The cross was shot away in 1883. Some soldiers passing through in charge of a bunch of Ute Indians sat on the adobe wall around the cemetery and popped away at the cross with their rifles in drunken devilment. Shot it plumb to kindling wood. And it never was replaced. I came out here with Pat Garrett years after the cross had been shot away. He knew about where the Kid's grave was but I had to show him the exact spot.

"'God rest his soul,' said Pat. 'If it wasn't him sleeping here it might be me. He would have killed me if I hadn't killed him.'"

Old Man Foor tamps some plug-cut into his pipe and, lighting a match on the seat of his trousers, gets a smoke under way with a few resounding puffs.

"There was once some talk about erectin' a monument over the Kid's grave," he resumes. "Somebody tried to start a public subscription. But people in New Mexico seemed scandalized. 'Why, he killed twenty-one men,' they said. 'Contribute to a monument for such a terrible desperado? Not on your life.' So the scheme fell through. Then I heard talk of Frank Coe settin' up a tombstone. He was a great friend of the Kid, and he's pretty well off now and could afford to do it if he wanted to. But he ain't made no special move in that direction yet that I know of. Anyway, the Kid's grave is still unmarked."

Old Man Foor pulls reflectively at his white moustache.

"Seems to me the grave ought to have some sort of marker," he says. "Sightseers and tourists come out