“Billy the Kid was the bravest fellow I ever knew all through the battle; he was cool and cheerful as if we were playing a game instead of fighting for life. A little while before we made a dash for our lives, the Kid rolled a cigarette. I watched him. It seemed just then as if he had about a minute and a half to live. But when he poured the tobacco from his pouch into the cigarette paper he did not spill a flake. His hand was steady as steel. A blazing chunk of roof fell on the table beside him, barely missing his head. “Much obliged” he said as he bent over and lit the cigarette from the flame. Then he looked at me and grinned as if he thought that was a good joke. If you had seen Billy the Kid roll that cigarette and inhale the smoke and let it roll out of his mouth you would have known that once he was a brave man. When it became my turn to dart out the door of the Mcsween house, The Murphy men were firing at a distance of 10 yards. Why we were all not killed, I never could understand. I had not run but it didn't step but 10 paces when I was struck by 3 rifle bullets; in the hand, the left shoulder and the left side, the bullet in my side passing entirely through my body. I stumbled, twisted over in the air, and fell on my back among the dead bodies of Mcsween, Romero, Zamora and Harvey Morris. I laid there unconscious for a while. When I came to my senses, the fight was over and the Murphy men were laughing and drinking whiskey among the Corpses. It came to me in a Flash that my only chance was to play dead, and a pretty slim chance it was. I relaxed all my muscles and sprawled out on the ground as limp as a rag. Those fellows had sharp eyes, and how I managed to fool them I don't know. It was a wonder that the twitch of an eyelid or the tremor of a muscle did not betray me. I have always thought I must have been under the protection of guardian angels. When old Andy Boyle kicked me to see if I was dead, I thought to myself, it's all over now. And let me tell you that those old hombre’s Kicks were not love taps. He planted heavy boots in my wounded side with fearful force. That old man can kick like a mule. And every kick was torture. If he had kicked me only once more I think I might have groaned or yelled, the pain was so terrible. It took all the nerve I had to lie still and keep my eyes shut when I felt the muzzle of his rifle press down against my heart. I knew that old murderer's finger was about to pull the trigger. I hated old man Pierce but from my heart I gave him a benediction when I heard him tell Boyle that I was dead and not to waste one bullet on me. I lay there motionless for 3 hours and you must remember that all that time I was suffering in agony, which made my acting in the role of a deadman difficult. I knew that men's eyes remain open after death but I thought it best to keep mine closed. That would at least save me the danger of blinking. But at times I opened my eyes at least a little bit and through narrow slits between my eyelids I saw the Murphy men waltzing around and kicking up their heels as if they had gone crazy with joy. Some men played their violin and guitar and were as lively and Merry as if at a Fandango. To me they sounded like funeral dirges. I thought the music would never stop. I wondered how much longer I could hold out. The pain seemed to be killing me and felt I had to move, change position for relief. But I realized that the slightest movement would change me from a counterfeit dead man into a real one so I lay still. When the crowd finally got tired of their fun and went away whooping, singing and laughing and left me to die there sick and weak from three wounds, and in agony, and being half-dead, I was still the happiest man in the world. I crawled away stealthily making no noise, and got down by the river. There I fainted. When I revived, I stumbled on past the Old Stone Tower, intending to go to the Montana house, but I stopped when I saw the camp of soldiers and I fell over in another faint. I was growing very weak from loss of blood. I reached the house of Francisco Romero y Valencia and pounded on the door, but Romero was afraid to let me in. I staggered a little way further to Ike Ellis's place, but Ben Ellis, who answered my knock, wouldn't open the door either. Across the field I saw a light on at Jose Otero's house where my sister-in-law Nicolecita Pacheco, was staying. When I got there, Otero opened the door a little way and when he saw me, he was scared and slammed the door in my face. I said I am Yginio Salazar, I am dying, let me in. Still Otero wouldn't open the door again. But my sister-in-law had to recognize my voice and she caught Otero around the neck and hurled him to the floor and opened the door herself. I stood by a little fire in the fireplace and warmed myself for the summer nights in the mountains are cold. My shirt was black and stiff with blood all over and when my sister-in-law saw it she began to cry. For the third time I swooned and fell to the floor. Otero cut my shirt off my body with a butcher knife and put me to bed. I was confined to my bed nearly six months before I recovered.