McNab, John
Middleton, Fred Waite, Henry Brown and Henry McCarty.
Next to the name of Henry McCarty, it read: aka William
H. Bonney, aka Billy the Kid.
In the very last room of the museum I found what I'd come across the country for: an exhibit featuring the Winchester
Behind a crystal-clear glass case was mounted a pristine Winchester, along with various posters and propaganda leaflets.
I took out the Winchester Xeroxes, compared them. The weapon in front of me looked identical to the one on the page.
Inside the case on a poster, written in big bold letters beneath two opposing firing pistols, were the words: Winches ter 1873 edition: The Gun That Won the West.
There were several bullets mounted to the display below the weapon. A placard identified them as authentic. 44-40 magnum ammunition, the very kind used by that edition Winchester.
I compared the gun and the Xerox until I was reasonably certain they were one and the same. Then I waited until the museum had quieted and the manager was free of troublesome tourists. He was reading a copy of the Albuquerque
Journal, looked bored to death, but he set it on the counter when he saw me approach.
'Help you?' he said.
I pointed at the relics lining the walls.
'This is some pretty amazing stuff,' I said, opening a window for him.
'Man, you don't have to tell me that. I get a buzz just sitting behind this desk.' The Albuquerque Journal was still splayed open on the counter.
'No doubt,' I said absently. I nodded at the display containing Chisum's military sword. 'How'd you come upon that beauty?'
'John Chisum,' he said without thinking. 'One of the most influential cattle drivers in U.S. history. Blazed the Chisum trail from Paris, Texas, all the way to the Pecos Valley. You know John Wayne himself played John Chisum in a movie?'
'No messing? Which one?'
'Was called Chisum. '
'Guess that makes sense.'
'Anyway, when Mr. Chisum passed on, died in Eureka
Springs, his great granddaughter endowed this museum with the sword. D'you know Chisum's only children were born to him by a slave girl he owned?'
'I didn't know that.'
''At's a true fact.'
'Sword like that,' I said, 'probably worth, what, few grand?' I saw the man's eyes twitch, and he looked down for a split second.
'Try a few hundred grand. The country's swarming with collectors of old Western antiques. 'Course most of 'em call it memorabilia, like a freaking baseball card. Most of 'em wouldn't know a Winchester from Worcestershire sauce, and
I never heard of a baseball card used in a gunfight.'
'Speaking of antiques,' I said. 'Is that a real Winchester
'73 on the wall?'
The man's chest puffed out with pride.
'You're darn right it is. Gun that won the West, gun that made this country what it is today. Winchester made over seven hundred thousand of those darlin's back in the day.
Nowadays, a '73 in working condition goes for upward of six figures on the open market.'
'Bet it goes for even more on the closed market,' I said.
The man winked at me, smirked.
'You'd probably be right there.'
'Can't imagine the security you must have in place to keep valuables like that. I mean, there must be a few million dollars' worth of memorabilia here.' The man bristled.
'We take the proper precautions,' he said.
'Have you ever had a break-in? A robbery?'
The man took a split second too long to say, 'Never.'
'That Winchester,' I said. 'How long have you kept that particular rifle in this museum?'
He took several seconds to say, 'I reckon upward of ten years.'
'And you've never been robbed.'
Finally he took a step back, eyed me suspiciously. 'Mind if I ask what you're asking all these questions fer?'
'I'm sorry,' I said. I reached into my bag, pulled out the tape recorder and notepad first, and then my press identification. 'Henry Parker. Pleasure to meet you. I'm a reporter with the New York Gazette. And I don't think that Winchester in your case is authentic. In fact, I'm willing to bet the gun that's supposed to be in that case is the same one used in three recent murders in New York this past week.'
The blood drained from the man's face, and his jaw dropped just a bit. 'Murders, you're sayin'? I read something in the papers, that pretty blond girl…'
'Athena Paradis,' I said.
'She was killed by a-' he nodded his head toward the
Winchester case '-model '73?'
I said nothing, turned on the tape recorder. 'That's a replica
Winchester in your case, isn't it? Where's the original?'
'I'd like you to leave right now.'
'If your Winchester was stolen, I need to know now. We need to alert the authorities in New York. More lives are in danger. Someone is using your gun and-'
'I don't know anything about that,' he said, and picked up the phone. I had seconds before he called the cops and I was done. I looked at the nameplate. It read Rex Sheehan.
'Rex,' I said. His eyes met mine. 'Even if you call the cops, at the very least they'll want to run tests on the gun. If you tell me now, at least we can try to keep some people alive.' Rex put down the phone. He bowed his head and crossed himself.
'I wanted to tell someone,' he said solemnly. 'But we don't have the money for security. We're not a governmentfunded museum like that fancy one down at New Mexico
State. We get by on donations. And if you look around, I don't need to tell you we're not exactly the Met here.'
'So somebody broke in and stole the gun,' I said. 'Did they steal anything else?'
He shook his head. His lip trembled. I felt sorry for him.
'Please don't tell anyone this,' he said. 'If people find out we're displaying a fake they'll just stop coming altogether.
Besides, it doesn't really matter, does it? If people think it's real, who gets hurt?'
'There are three dead people in New York who can answer that better than me.'
Rex bowed his head.
'But it still doesn't add up,' I said. '1873 Winchesters are a rare model, but not extinct, right?'
'No, there's a few still out there. Collectors, mostly.'
'So why come all the way out to Fort Sumner, New
Mexico? Why would someone rob a museum when there had to be easier ways?'
Again Rex said nothing.
'Tell me about the gun,' I said. 'It's not just a model 1873, is it? There's something else.' The man nodded.
'The gun that was stolen,' he sobbed, 'the one you're saying was used in those murders, well it belonged to
