The Last Resting Place of the Boy Bandit King
by M.P. Pellicer | Noir Notebook
A stolen grave marker, a vanished trunk, secret identities, and conflicting evidence challenge the accepted story of Billy the Kid’s death. Journey through one of the Old West’s most enduring mysteries and uncover the legends surrounding Fort Sumner’s most famous grave.
On August 30, 1950, someone stole a curious monument from the old cemetery at Fort Sumner, New Mexico. Carved into the stone were the words:
“The Boy Bandit King — He Died as He Lived.”
Beneath the inscription appeared another cryptic phrase:
“Truth and History, 21 Men.”
Crossed revolvers adorned the marker, a fitting tribute to one of the most famous outlaws in American history—Billy the Kid.
The theft sparked immediate attention. The stone weighed well over a hundred pounds and sat behind a steel fence. Whoever carried it away likely worked with accomplices and planned the operation carefully.
Yet the disappearance of the monument raised a deeper question.
What if the man buried beneath it was never Billy the Kid at all?
The Midnight Killing at Fort Sumner
Fort Sumner began as a military post on the east bank of the Pecos River during the 1860s. Hundreds of cavalry and infantry troops occupied the fort until the Army abandoned it in 1869. Ranching magnate Lucien Bonaparte Maxwell later purchased the property and lived there until he died in 1875.
Today, nothing remains of the adobe buildings that once stood along the river.
Only legends linger.
According to accepted history, Sheriff Pat Garrett shot Billy the Kid in Pete Maxwell’s bedroom shortly after midnight on July 14, 1881. The outlaw’s body supposedly went into the ground the following day.
But not everyone believes that story.
For more than a century, rumors have circulated that Garrett spared the Kid and buried another man in his place. According to the legend, Billy vanished into obscurity and lived under an assumed identity.
One candidate became especially famous.
Brushy Bill Roberts
Many believers point to Oliver “Ollie” Pleasant Roberts, better known as Brushy Bill Roberts of Hico, Texas.
Roberts claimed he was Billy the Kid and maintained that story until he died in 1950 at the age of seventy-one.
In the 1960s, researcher C. S. Holmes of Clovis uncovered a curious grand jury indictment filed in Hardeman County, Texas, on December 28, 1881. The document listed several witnesses, including a man identified as “Billy the Kid.”
The date presents a problem.
Authorities supposedly buried Henry McCarty—better known as Billy the Kid—in August 1881, four months earlier.
If the document proved authentic, either someone impersonated the outlaw or another man occupied the grave at Fort Sumner.
In February 1981, Hico school principal Jimmy Ramae recalled seeing Brushy Bill around town during the 1940s. Residents recognized him instantly. He wore a broad hat, plaid shirt, handlebar mustache, and gray beard. Though not a large man, he carried himself with confidence and occasionally chewed tobacco.
Most townspeople listened politely when Brushy Bill claimed to be Billy the Kid. Few took him seriously.
Others remained unconvinced.
Charles Machen, who grew up in Hico, remembered hearing stories about Roberts. According to Machen’s wife, Brushy Bill traveled to Santa Fe during the 1940s seeking a pardon from the governor.
Officials allegedly agreed to consider the request only if they could establish his identity.
A Mexican acquaintance who had known Billy the Kid reportedly met with Roberts. After speaking with him, the man declared that Brushy Bill possessed knowledge only the Kid could have known.
The endorsement failed to secure a pardon.
Brushy Bill returned to Hico and continued living much as he always had. He never owned an automobile. Instead, he rode a painted horse through town until the day he died.
The fact that refutes Brushy Bill’s claim was that he was born in 1879, two years before Billy the Kid was killed.
The Other Claimant
Brushy Bill was not the only man linked to the Kid’s identity.
Another candidate emerged from the shadows of New Mexico history.
His name was John Miller.
Unlike Roberts, Miller never publicly claimed to be Billy the Kid. The speculation surfaced only after his death, when friends and neighbors began sharing stories that had puzzled them for decades.
The timing of Miller’s appearance fascinates historians.
The first reliable record of him dates to August 8, 1881, only weeks after Garrett supposedly killed Billy the Kid. There’s been speculation that the couple met while she cared for him after he was wounded, and that Isadora wasn’t even her real name. It appears she was committed to living a life as a fugitive when she married John Miller, if indeed he was Billy the Kid.
Miller married Isadora in Las Vegas, New Mexico Territory. Witnesses noticed something unusual. He wore a revolver at his hip and appeared to carry a fresh bullet wound in his chest.
Immediately after the wedding, the couple headed west. Miller rode horseback while driving cattle. Isadora followed with a loaded wagon. They traveled mostly at night and rested during daylight hours.
The pair eventually reached the remote country around El Morro and Reserve, where Miller recovered from his injuries.
Afterward, he worked as a cook on Nation’s Ranch near Quemado. A dispute with a ranch hand escalated into a gunfight. Neither man suffered injury, but Miller lost his position.
The couple drifted westward once again.
Along the way, they met cattleman Jesus Eriacho, who hired Miller to oversee a large herd. Eriacho promised him half the calves born over five years.
Miller accepted.
For years, he and Isadora lived quietly in caves, abandoned homesteads, and isolated camps.
When the agreement ended, Eriacho honored his word. Miller used his share of the herd to establish a ranch south of Ramah, in what later became known as Miller Canyon.
Secrets in the Desert
Over time, Miller prospered.
Neighbors liked him and respected his abilities, yet many sensed he carried secrets.
He never went anywhere unarmed. A loaded rifle stood near the door of his home. Friends admired his extraordinary marksmanship and listened as he recounted stories of Billy the Kid and the Lincoln County War.
He also displayed numerous bullet scars.
On occasion, he demonstrated how easily he could escape ropes and restraints.
Though Miller denied being Billy the Kid, rumors persisted. Friends claimed he occasionally admitted the truth after drinking, only to retract the statement later.
His wife offered no such denial.
According to several accounts, Isadora openly stated that her husband was Billy the Kid.
The couple also guarded a mysterious locked trunk that traveled with them wherever they went. Many suspected it contained proof of Miller’s identity.
No one ever confirmed what lay inside.
The Lost Trunk
Around the turn of the twentieth century, Miller and Isadora adopted a Navajo boy who had been abandoned in the wilderness by his mother. Census records later identified him as Roman, though he eventually became known as Max.
The childless couple raised him as their own.
Miller continued ranching and occasionally served as an intermediary between ranchers and cattle rustlers, negotiating the return of stolen livestock. Some observers viewed his effectiveness as evidence of old outlaw connections.
One neighbor even claimed that Miller joined six outlaws in a Montana bank robbery during 1902 and escaped with a share of $8,000.
Whether true or not, the story added another layer to the mystery.
Hard times arrived in 1918.
Drought devastated the region. Disease spread through the countryside. Isadora’s eyesight deteriorated, and Miller struggled with rheumatism. Their adopted son, Max, serving in the U.S. Army during World War I, appeared on military rolls as missing in action.
The couple abandoned their ranch and moved to San Simon, Arizona.
Fortunately, Max survived the war and returned home.
A few years later, the family relocated again to Buckeye, Arizona, where mineral springs offered some relief from Miller’s ailments.
There he trained horses, rebuilt his finances, and established another ranch near Liberty.
Again, neighbors began whispering that Billy the Kid lived among them.
A Dying Confession
Tragedy struck near the end of the 1920s.
Fire engulfed the Miller home while Isadora remained inside. Rescuers pulled her from the blaze, but smoke inhalation had already claimed her life.
Miller never fully recovered from the loss.
His health declined steadily. After falling from a roof, he entered the Pioneer Home in Prescott, Arizona, in March 1937.
Several accounts claim that during his final months, he repeatedly asked friends and family to visit because he wanted to “set the record straight.” No one arrived in time.
Miller died on November 7, 1937.
After his death, authorities took possession of the mysterious trunk that had followed him across the Southwest for decades. A court representative traveled to Ramah searching for heirs and reportedly interviewed several of Miller’s old friends.
According to local accounts, the official told them the trunk’s contents strongly suggested Miller truly was Billy the Kid.
The courts never located Max.
The trunk vanished from history.
Its whereabouts remain unknown.
The McCarty Family Mystery
Most people know Billy the Kid as Henry McCarty or William Henry Bonney.
Few remember his family.
His mother’s life itself is shrouded in mystery before 1870. There are stories that she immigrated from Ireland as Catherine Devine and at some point married Patrick Henry McCarty, who was 24 years older than her. He is cited as a Civil War veteran who died in 1865 and was buried in Tennessee. This left Catherine with young children to raise.
Another version claims Catherine McCarty never married, which is why her children used her maiden name. Some historians believe Catherine’s common-law husband was William Bonney, who abandoned the family, and explains why Billy used the alias when he was older. His younger brother’s middle name was Bonney.
The backstory to this theory is the following: Around 1860, Catherine lived in Utica and worked for the Munn family. In the 1858/1859 city directory, John J. and Edward Finch Bonney lived 8 doors up from the Munn household. They were both around the same age as Catherine.
Rumors flew of a liaison with one of the brothers, but which one?
The Bonneys, who were upper-class and possibly English Protestant, would not have welcomed the scandal of bastards born to a 30-something maid from one of their son’s dalliances.
Did the Bonneys buy her silence by setting her up financially and shipping her out west to Indianapolis?
In an 1868 census in Indianapolis, she listed herself as the widow of one Michael McCarty. It’s believed she made herself a Civil War widow to shield herself and her children from disgrace.
The family’s supposed exodus from New York to Indiana to Kansas to Colorado to the New Mexico territory is sourced from later reminiscences and conjecture rather than documented travel, as is the story that she ran a laundry while living in Kansas.
The first factual event in Catherine’s life occurred on March 1, 1873, when she married William Henry Harrison Antrim in Santa Fe. He was 13 years younger than her, and the marriage certificate survives, eliminating any conjecture. Her boys signed the register as witnesses. Shortly after the wedding, the family moved south and west to the rough mining town of Silver City. The town was crowded with prospectors, merchants, and saloons clustered around Main Street where the family lived.
Catherine was not long for this world, and she died from chronic tuberculosis on September 16, 1874. This was 18 months after her marriage, and she was 44 years old. Catherine was buried in what is now Memory Lane Cemetery in Silver City.
Joseph adopted his stepfather’s surname and was known throughout his life as Joe Antrim.
Bill Antrim was off mining as he had been for extended periods of time when his wife died. Billy 13 and Joe, 11, stayed with the Truesdell family until he returned to Silver City. Supposedly, he left them in the care of the Knight family, but like Catherine McCarty’s true history, most of what happened to her sons after her death is shrouded in anecdotal evidence. What is known is that Bill Antrim had no intentions of raising his stepsons.
Within months of their mother’s death, the McCarty brothers had become separated. Each was sent to work for their keep at different hotels in town. The frontier was a hostile place, especially for teenage boys.
Henry McCarty’s first run-in with the law came in 1875 when he hid stolen laundry in his room at a boarding house. He had fallen in with a local street tough known as “Sombrero Jack”. The landlord turned him in, and even though the crime carried a minor sentence, he escaped by shimmying up a chimney.
He fled Silver City, and in August 1877, he killed his first man during a dispute in an Arizona saloon. This is when he adopted the alias “William H. Bonney” and became known as “Billy the Kid” or simply “The Kid.”
While Henry McCarty rode off into adventure, infamy, and a short life, his brother became a drifter.
When Billy the Kid was killed in July 1881, his brother was living in Trinidad, Colorado. It was reported that Joe Antrim threatened to shoot Garrett to avenge his brother’s death.
Antrim and Garrett came face-to-face two years later in the billiards room of the Armijo House, an Albuquerque hotel at the corner of Third and Railroad (Central Avenue). When asked about the encounter, Garrett said that Antrim had denied that he harbored any ill will against him. “I told Antrim I had only done my duty, and should not be hated for it, and we parted the best of friends.”
In 1883, Joe Antrim was a cook in an Albuquerque hotel, and later he was a bartender in El Paso; from there, he drifted to Colorado.
He married Jennie Stone on December 19, 1891, and had one child, son Claudie Stone Antrim. The marriage was short-lived; however, in 1894, Joe was charged with kidnapping his son from “disreputable surroundings in Pueblo.” Contrary to the mother’s claim, word had been sent to him from Pueblo that unless the child was taken care of by its parents, it would be given over to the state. He found the boy had been neglected by his mother, and so he took him and sent him to a private school in Denver. He said his wife had “refused to reform and is not a proper person to have the custody of the boy.”
In 1908, Joseph Antrim was working as a “runner “for poker games. He spent the rest of his life in Colorado in the gambling hall circuit. He kept the fact that he was Billy the Kid’s brother a secret.
He died of apoplexy at the old Murphy House, a gambling den at 1617 Latimer St., Denver, on November, 25, 1930. His body went unclaimed and was sent to the Colorado Medical School for dissection. According to information obtained from the Colorado Anatomical Board, his remains were later cremated and interred in an unmarked grave at the Pioneer Cemetery in Aurora (now called Melvin-Lewis Cemetery).
William Henry Harrison Antrim, Henry and Joseph’s stepfather, died in 1922.
The biggest surprise of all is that Henry and Joseph had an older sister named Bridget, born in 1853. She appeared in the 1855 census. What became of her is unknown.
The Stolen Tombstone
The mystery of Billy the Kid’s grave only deepened during the twentieth century.
In 1907, officials transferred military burials from Fort Sumner to the National Cemetery in Santa Fe. Some researchers believe workers may have mistakenly moved Billy’s remains during the process.
Others argue that his body never rested there in the first place.
Despite the uncertainty, a black granite monument was erected in 1940 to mark Billy the Kid’s supposed grave.
Eleven years later, thieves stole it.
For twenty-six years, nobody knew where it had gone.
Then a visiting couple informed museum staff that the monument sat in a field near a ranch outside Granbury, Texas. Residents reportedly treated it as a roadside curiosity for years.
Joe Bowlin, owner of the Fort Sumner Museum, recovered the stone and returned it to New Mexico in 1976.
The story did not end there.
On February 3, 1981—the centennial year of Billy the Kid’s death—someone pried open the protective fence with a crowbar and stole the monument again.
Ten days later, authorities received an anonymous tip directing them to a house on Delaware Street in Huntington Beach, California.
Investigators entered the residence and discovered the marker in a bedroom belonging to twenty-five-year-old Walter Nicolson.
De Baca County Sheriff “Big Jim” McBride personally traveled to California and escorted the monument back to New Mexico.
This time, workers anchored it with iron shackles.
Who Lies Beneath?
More than a century after a gunshot echoed through Pete Maxwell’s bedroom, the mystery refuses to fade.
Was Billy the Kid buried in Fort Sumner?
Did Brushy Bill Roberts spend decades telling the truth while everyone laughed?
Did John Miller carry the outlaw’s secrets into the grave?
And what became of the missing trunk that may have held the answers?
The granite marker still stands in Fort Sumner, chained against future thieves.
Yet the greatest thing stolen from that grave may not have been the tombstone.
It may have been the truth.
Source – Deming Headlight, The New Mexican, Western Liberal, The Albuquerque Tribune