ASJ Fan Fiction - Recently Updated Pages

Christmas and New Year's Goodies

AllegraW — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 00:25:43 CST

This page is open to all our writers to post their Christmas Goodies. Please be very careful so that when you add your contribution you do not edit or remove someone's masterpiece. Hit the edit button and add your wonderful work of creative genius beneath the last entry. First entry gets top billing.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE!!!

(Ghislaine Emrys is NOT dreaming of a white Christmas...!!!)

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If the Devil's Hole Gang went a-caroling, perhaps they sang this version...
(as revised by Ghislaine Emrys)

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Ex-Outlaw Season's Greetings Everyone

from Penski!

Here Come the Outlaws!

(to the tune of Here Comes Santa Claus)

Here come the outlaws!

Robbing banks and trains!

Heyes and Kid Curry and Devil’s Hole gang

are pulling up the reins.

Lobo, the Preacher, Hank, Kyle,
And Wheat; the gang’s all down

Playin’ poker an’ drinkin’ whiskey.

'Cause the outlaws come to town.

Here come the outlaws!

Robbing banks and trains!

No safe’s secure with Heyes’ fingers;

Kid’s twirling his gun again.

Safe is opened, money’s taken.

They’re wanted and renowned.

Ride from posse, back to the Hole,

'Cause the outlaws leavin’ town.

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THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS – ASJ FANFIC STYLE - from Calico

On the first day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the second day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the third day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the fourth day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the fifth day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: five pa-at hands,
Four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the sixth day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: six safes a-sinkin’
Five pa-at hands, (five hands and...)
Four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the seventh day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: seven Wheats a-blinkin’
Six safes a-sinkin’
Five pa-at hands, (five hands and...)
Four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the eighth day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: eight Kyles a-stinkin’
Seven Wheats a-blinkin’
Six safes a-sinkin’
Five pa-at hands, (five hands and...)
Four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the ninth day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: nine floozies winkin’
Eight Kyles a-stinkin’
Seven Wheats a-blinkin’
Six safes a-sinkin’
Five pa-at hands, (five hands and...)
Four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the tenth day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: ten Gov’nors still thinkin’
Nine floozies winkin’
Eight Kyles a-stinkin’
Seven Wheats a-blinkin’
Six safes a-sinkin’
Five pa-at hands, (five hands and...)
Four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the eleventh day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: eleven jail keys clinkin’
Ten Gov’nors still thinkin’
Nine floozies winkin’
Eight Kyles a-stinkin’
Seven Wheats a-blinkin’
Six safes a-sinkin’
Five pa-at hands, (five hands and...)
Four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

On the twelfth day of Christmas a fanfic writer wrote for me: twelve Sheriffs with no inkling,
Eleven jail keys clinkin’
Ten Gov’nors still thinkin’
Nine floozies winkin’
Eight Kyles a-stinkin’
Seven Wheats a-blinkin’
Six safes a-sinkin’
Five pa-at hands, (five hands and...)
Four twirling guns,
Three tub scenes,
Two trademark hats,
And ex-outlaws tryin’ to stay free.

---oooOOOooo--- ---oooOOOooo--- ---oooOOOooo---

A FANFIC WRITER’S NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS... from Calico

1) Have the boys get hurt more often.
2) Have the boys get nekkid more often.
3) Hey! Have the boys get hurt WHILE nekkid!
4) Investigate possible steam burn injuries while nekkid in saunas...
5) Investigate possible piranha nibble injuries while swimming nekkid...
6) Investigate possible sprained toe injuries from reaching for washcloths while nekkid in tubs...
7) Make even more use of ‘Whatshisname’ and ‘The other fella’ joke. Twice a story is simply not enough!
8) Make even more use of innuendo. (“What’s innuendo, Heyes?” “Isn’t nothing in MY end-o, Kid!”)
9) Include more orphans. And cute puppies. And winsome kittens.
10) Include more and more villainous villains! More dumb and dumber henchmen! More use of the phrase ‘Muhahaha!’
11) Each and every villain to be given a speech commencing: “I could keeeeell you now, Meester ‘Eyes, but that vould be too eeeeeasy!”
12) Investigate where the Sam Hill this villain’s accent comes from!
13) Finally get the boys to visit England! Specifically – get the boys to visit the Midlands. Nekkid. Nekkid and carrying plenty of chilled champagne. (Hey, it’s fiction – why stint myself?!)
14) Before getting boys to England, remember to send my Floozy outfit to be dry-cleaned. (Who said WHICH floozy outfit??!!)
15) Remember to get feathers fluffed.
16) Give Heyes a penchant for older women.
17) Fish out dictionary/thesaurus from cat basket and check ‘penchant’ means what I think it does.
18) After he’s finished his penchant, give Heyes a fondness, an inclination, a partiality, a predilection, a proclivity and a taste for older women.
19) Give Heyes a chance to get his breath back.
20) Give Heyes a... (CENSORED!)

---oooOOOooo--- ---oooOOOooo--- ---oooOOOooo---

Recipe for a Healthy and Happy 2010

Ingredients

2 Ex-outlaws in whatever condition you find them. Descriptions can be found in any sheriff’s office (except that of Sheriff Lom Trevors).

2 hot baths filled with the soapiest sudsiest water imaginable.
2 wash cloths
2 towels
2 portions of yellow ‘rough’-puff pastry shaped into yellow bandanas

Turn heat up to as hot as you want it for as long as you want it but remember this is a PG site so be discrete.

Method.

Take your two ex-outlaws and strip nekkid.

Place in your hot bath making sure that all the bubbles are discretely covering any non-PG areas. Outlaws can be very tough. Do not be put off by this – the story is very different on the inside so it’s worth taking the time. And anyway, you simply need to soak for a while to smooth and soften them up. Once they are properly soaked through, wash thoroughly all over. Remember dust and grime from the trail gets everywhere!

Soak your ex-outlaws in the bath for as long as necessary but remember to remove before they get too wrinkled. Then take two of the fluffiest lightest towels you have and wrap them up tightly. Then dry both thoroughly, again remembering all areas especially between…the toes. Tricky corners those!

Then wrap your ex-outlaws in the two ‘rough’-puff pastry yellow bandanas – again to make sure this recipe stays PG. You must make sure your outlaws are modest (well – as they can be wrapped up in only a pastry-bandana).

Once you have your ex-outlaws wrapped up tight divide and distribute equally to ALL ex-outlaw fans on BOTH sides of the pond.

To Serve:

Simply simmer your ex-outlaw until he is ready. You may want to turn the heat up just before serving but, again, I must remind you of the PG nature of this particular site. An ex-outlaw is ‘delicious eaten in any way’ so if, for example, you don’t like pastry… (less calories too).

This recipe is guaranteed to protect and soothe against all reality checks and the aches and pains of everyday living in the real world. It can be taken anytime and will guarantee a smile on your face no matter what 2010 throws at you.

And with that I wish everyone a very healthy and happy 2010. AllegraW

(‘delicious eaten in any way’ is a quote taken from the book Clever Polly and the Stupid Wolf by Catherine Storr)

"Haunted"

sistergrace — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 13:49:30 CST

Challenge - October 2009 - "Haunted"

Kindred Spirits
by Grace R. Williams

Mid-Day - October 31

"Saaay...what?"

"SE' - ance, Kid." Hannibal Heyes pronounced each syllable distinctly. "It's a ceremony where the participants sit around a table by candlelight, holding hands, in hopes of conjuring an apparition."

"By apparition, you mean ghost." Kid Curry's response was a statement, not a question.

Feeling the need to expound on Curry's unanticipated knowledge, Heyes continued, "Could be a ghost or maybe a vision or some other type of paranormal experience.

"Don't sound like no kinda 'normal' experience to me, Heyes."

Heyes choose to ignore the retort. "The seance is conducted by a medium."

"A medium?" Kid raised a questioning eyebrow toward his dark-haired counterpart.

Heyes nodded, "Mrs. Winchester. She's a medium."

"She ain't no 'medium', Heyes. You taken a good look at her? That woman's definitely a 'small'." Kid chuckled at his own joke, which came at the expense of his vertically challenged employer. Turning back to his work, he pounded another nail in a staircase to nowhere.

Undeterred by Curry's attempt at humor, Heyes pressed on. "Look, Mrs. Winchester wants both of us to join her tonight for a Halloween seance and I'm thinking we should do what we can to placate her, Kid. She's already suspicious. You've seen the way she looks at us!"

"YOU, Heyes. Mrs. Winchester looks suspicious at YOU. I think she kinda likes me."

It was true. Since their first day of employment at the Winchester Estate, Sarah Winchester had taken an almost motherly interest in 'Thaddeus Jones'. "Just right!" she had declared on meeting him, patting his cheek. Turning to 'Joshua Smith', she simply shook her head and mumbled, "Not quite."

"Kid, I still think it's in our best interest to oblige her."

"You can do what you want, Heyes. I already got plans for Halloween, which DO include hopes of conjurin' somethin' by candlelight and handholdin'...but not with Mrs. Winchester, or you either. Sorry, Partner."

"Candy?" Heyes confirmed, placing a final board in the pointless staircase.

"Nothin' wrong with a little 'Candy' on Halloween." Kid smirked, pleased at his own wit.

"Mmm!" Heyes shook his head for emphasis. "Can't say as I blame you, Kid. That Candy Dulcet is one fine-looking woman!"

"And sweet, Heyes. Real sweet!"

"Mr. Smith, Thaddeus Jones, I trust you will be joining me tonight?" Mrs. Winchester called, as she made her way toward her waiting buggy.

"Thaddeus here was just telling me how he will need to respectfully decline, due to a previous engagement. But I'd be more than happy to join you in your seance, Ma'am."

Mrs. Winchester glanced in Curry's direction, her eyes dropping in disappointment, then, sweeping over Heyes. "I guess your presence will have to be sufficient, Mr. Smith." She accentuated the surname, taking in the Smith and Wesson Schofield strapped to Heyes' thigh, "But Mr. Wesson," she pointed toward the weapon, "is not welcome. The contacting of spirits requires an atmosphere of loving acceptance. NOT of violence."

"Not a problem, Mrs. Winchester. I will join you tonight, unarmed."

Curry moved close behind his partner as Mrs. Winchester's buggy disappeared around a bend. "Heyes, I'm startin' to get a bad feelin'."

After dark - October 31

"I am so glad you changed your mind, Thaddeus Jones. Three participants in a seance will be so much more productive than two." The flame of the single candle she held, flickered, lending an eerie glow to the already spooky gathering.

"What should we do first?" Heyes asked, as a panel slid shut, closing them into a windowless and, seemingly, doorless inner room.

"First we sit." The three sat and Mrs. Winchester placed her candle at the table's center. "Now, we join hands."

Each reforming outlaw took hold of one hand of his employer, then, with a matching set of eye rolls, joined their free hands together.

"Now what?" This was Curry.

"Now we chat."

"Just like that? With the apparitions?"

"Not with the apparitions, Thaddeus Jones. With each other." The girlish giggle that accompanied her words was the first emotion either had witnessed from Sarah Winchester. "We get to know one another. To feel more comfortable."

"I'm all for feelin' more comfortable." Kid pulled his hand away from Heyes, tugging at his belt, mindful of the Colt tucked uncomfortably in the backside of his Levis. Having no intention of leaving himself and his partner unprotected, the Kid had been insistent. "If I don't need it, Heyes, she won't ever know I got it. But if I do need it, and I don't got it, then we're gonna be in real trouble."

"Mrs. Winchester, there's something I'm curious about. You always address my partner by his full name, Thaddeus Jones. Is there some particular reason?" Heyes reached for Curry's hand again as he spoke.

"There is, Mr. Smith. His name has thirteen letters. A perfect, full circle of thirteen. I don't suppose it is any secret that my favorite number is thirteen. If feel it is a sign. A sign of trustworthiness and kinship."

"And you don't feel you can trust me?"

Mrs. Winchester gave a heavy sigh. "I must confess, Mr. Smith. It is the reason I wanted you present for this seance tonight. Initially, I felt you were also a perfect, full circle soul, a kindred spirit so to speak, like Thaddeus Jones and myself. Yet the number of your name does not add up. Joshua Smith. Not quite."

The wanted outlaws exchanged a wary glance.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at, Mrs. Winchester." The note of apprehension in Heyes' voice could only be detected by Curry.

"I'm getting at the truth, Mr. Smith. If you won't tell me your real name, perhaps the spirits will!"

Mrs. Winchester took a deep breath. "Shall we begin?" She closed her eyes.

Curry closed one eye, keeping watch over his partner with the other. Heyes joined his boss, exhaling deeply and dutifully closing both eyes. With Kid Curry watching his back, what could happen?

Almost Midnight - October 31

"It's not the first time that gun of yours cost us jobs, Kid." Heyes wiped foam from his upper lip and placed his mug of beer back on the bar.

"This wasn't my fault, Heyes. Besides, may I remind you, it was YOU wanted me at that dang seance in the first place!"

"Not with a Colt shoved in your pants!"

"Well, I wasn't goin' in there without it! And how was I s'post'a know there was somethin' to all that apparition mumbo-jumbo? How'd she know all that stuff she knew 'bout you anyways?"

"It was a coincidence, Kid."

"A coincidence? You're tellin' me she guessed your initials are H. H. an' ya got thirteen letters in your name?!"

Curry's tirade was met with a cautioning glare from the owner of the so-numbered name. "That's exactly what it was, Kid. A lucky guess!"

Dangerously ignoring the signs of warning, Curry forged ahead, with his nose inches from his partner's. "Then how come we quit? How come we're leavin' San Jose?"

An accusatory finger made its presence known with repeated poking gestures against Curry's chest. "'Cause when Mrs. Winchester's cat jumped up on that table and YOU pulled out that Colt, quick as only YOU can, THAT'S when Mrs. Winchester put thirteen and thirteen together and came up with Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry!"

With a final glance at the offending finger, a smile tugged at the corner of Curry's mouth. "Guess I must'a looked pretty silly, huh?"

Unable to resist, Heyes nodded, then chuckled and soon, he and Curry shared a hearty laugh.

"Guess I must'a scared Mr. Whiskers pretty good too."

"Scared more'n one life outta that cat, but no more'n he scared you, I suspect."

Curry's expression sobered. "You don't think Mrs. Winchester'll go to the sheriff, do ya?"

Heyes shook his head. "She don't need the money, that's for sure. And besides, she looks on both of us as kindred spirits now."

"How do you figure, Heyes? She knows now my name ain't Thaddeus Jones and apparently, she always knew yours wasn't Joshua Smith."

"True enough, Kid. But my name IS Hannibal Heyes, with thirteen letters. And your name IS Jedediah Curry, also thirteen letters." His boastful grin turned into a full, dimpled smile and he lifted the mug again to his lips.

From the top of the stairs, an enticing pair of green eyes beckoned to Curry. Candy Dulcet winked his direction and mouthed the words, "Trick or Treat!" before blowing a kiss.

Curry finished off his beer in one gulp. "So you think this kindred spirit thing will buy us enough time we don't hafta leave town 'til mornin'?"

"It's a sure bet, Kid."

The blond, thirteen-lettered outlaw slapped his partner’s back and took the stairs two at a time, calling over his shoulder, “See ya in the mornin’!”

Author's notes:

The widow, Sarah Winchester, who held a major portion of the Winchester Repeating Arms Company fortune, was only four feet, ten inches tall. She believed spirits of the people killed by Winchester Rifles were angry with her. To appease them, she conducted seances, and ordered odd construction on her massive estate in San Jose, California, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, following the guidance she received through these seances. One such oddity is the 'staircase to nowhere'. She also had a fascination with the number thirteen.

Although 'Trick or Treating' and candy at Halloween were not part of the All Hallows festivities of the mid-1880's, for the sake of this fanfic, the author has thrown historical accuracy to the wind.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

All historical people and places are used fictitiously.

Grace R. Williams

sistergrace — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 13:37:49 CST

Hope and a Future
This story involves death. Kid and Heyes meet a woman and her young son. Can anyone outrun his (or her) past? A story of life and death, hurting and healing, hope and a future.

Mackinac
Kid and Heyes are finally granted amnesty - along with a job assignment. The guys travel east of the Mississippi to Mackinac Island, Michigan, for the opening of the Grand Hotel.

Spring Fever
Written as a birthday gift for Lana. Spring in Wyoming - the weather is unpredictable and so are Kid Curry's thoughts. Heyes and the Kid take refuge from a late spring snow storm in a cabin belonging to a young couple and seeds of change take root in Curry's mind.

All She Ever Wanted
Heyes and Kid help a family make a few changes, some of which last a lifetime.

Thirty
A sequel to "All She Ever Wanted." Not exactly an ASJ Fan Fiction, but I'm looking for a little leeway on that point. Dedicated to my Dad and for my husband, Matthew.

From Dawn to Darkness
Life on the run can be tough on an outlaw, or anyone who chooses to love him. And sometimes, choices made in a moment carry a lifetime of cost.

Regrets
A sequel to "From Dawn to Darkness". Seventeen years have passed since the pregnant Ann Morgan walked out on Kid Curry. Are Heyes and Curry still wanted? Will Curry ever meet the child he never knew? Is Hannibal Heyes smart enough to untangle the web of mystery surrounding Ann Morgan?

Regrets - Part One - A Shared Past

Regrets - Part Two - A Daunting Present

Regrets - Part Three - An Unwritten Future

Challenges -

January 2008 - "The First Meeting"

April 2008 - "The Wrong Choice"

July 2008 - "Fourth of July"

August 2008 - "What Made Us Go The Way We Went?"

September 2008 - "The Lie"

October 2008 - "A Certain Justice"

October 2008 - "Halloween"

December 2008 - "A Christmas Story"

February 2009 - "No Love Lost"

March 2009 - "Bad Things Happen When We Separate"

August 2009 - "Stand Off"

October 2009 - "Haunted"

November 2009 - "Counting Blessings"

December 2009 - "Glad Tidings"

The Pecking Order

Penski — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 22:10:41 CST

By
Calico
print version
fan fiction version

Starring:

The ASJ Fanfic Board Official Greeter as Oberon

Maz McCoy as Ophelia

Coyote as Olivia

Also Starring:

Tyne Daly and Sharon Gless as Ann Matthews and Jill Dexter

Lou Ferringo as Buck

Susan Oliver as Kitty

Special Guest Star:

Roger Davis as the Announcer

Extra Special Extra:

Monty Laird as Monty

The Pecking Order

RAIL STATION – ‘SCHILLING’ - A TRAIN CHUGS TO A HALT

A tired, bedraggled Kid Curry slides open the door of the freight car just an inch, a furtive glance to ensure no railway employees are watching.

No. Saddlebags slung over one drooping shoulder, he opens the door an ex-outlaw width and jumps down. Weary blue eyes move down the small-town platform looking for – ah, there he is. A familiar figure in a silver-trimmed hat raises a hand in greeting. Hannibal Heyes, neither tired nor bedraggled, peels himself from the fence on which he leans and strides towards his partner, a smile dimpling his sun-kissed cheeks.

“Good journey, Kid?”

“I’ve had better.”

“How was the job?”

A look, no make that THE look from the Kid.

“Not so good, huh?” Heyes injects a touch of sympathetic concern into his voice.

“When did us splittin’ up to take two jobs ever turn out good, huh?”

“Mine went fine.”

The frown underneath the brown brim deepens to a glower. “Okay. I guess I shoulda said - when did splittin’ up to take two jobs ever turn out good for ME?”

“Be fair, Kid,” innocent brown eyes meet disgruntled blue, “we did flip for who took the…”

“Yeah! But with WHOSE coin?”

A pause. Mock offense on one side, bristling on the other.

“Did you get the bonus?” asks Heyes, with the air of a man willing to make an effort to keep things friendly.

“Heyes. You can see I ain’t had a shave in days; I reckon you can smell I ain’t had a bath; an’ you just watched me sneak out of a freight car. Do I look like a fella with a $100 bonus in his pocket? Huh? Do I?” The shoulders droop further. “I’m plannin’ to flatten you; I just need some sleep first.”

“There’s no need to get proddy, Kid. Anyhow,” Heyes presses on, forestalling the Kid who is about to argue there dang well IS a need for him to get proddy, “look on the bright side. You’re here now. I’m gonna take you for a cold beer, then for a hot meal …”

Kid Curry brightens. He follows Heyes, who is striding off, presumably in the direction of the promised sustenance.

“There’s a barber’s where you can get a shave and hot tub.”

More lifting of gloom from the blond ex-outlaw.

“We’ll get back to the ranch.”

A blink. “Ranch? What ranch?”

“Didn’t I say? Good news; I already found us a job here.”

Return of the scowl. “YOU finding me a job is not good news …”

Heyes has reached a wagon, the back loaded with supplies. His hand strokes the velvet muzzle of the mare between the shafts.

Kid Curry interrupts his grumbling. “Is this ours?”

---oooOOOooo---

A BEER, A BEEFSTEAK, A BARBER-SHAVE AND A BATH LATER

A sleeker, shinier, well-fed and watered Kid Curry sits beside his partner, riding through fine scenery. He is still gently prodding at Heyes, but now simply in the spirit of: ‘hey, that’s-what-he’s-there-for-huh?’

“I thought we didn’t care for ranch work, ‘cept as a last resort?”

“Unless you got any bright ideas, Kid, I reckon we’re kinda AT our last resort.”

Musing under the brown hat. There is some truth in there.

“Besides,” goes on Heyes, “this is a nice place. A sheriff we’ve never heard of, there’ll be poker come Saturday when the other ranch hands come into town to lose their wages…”

“Uh huh,” nods Curry. No argument with any of that.

“And, if the work’s hard on the back, you’ll find Lazy Wing provides plenty of good food to keep your strength up and soft feather beds for you to rest up at the end of the day. I’ve been there near a week already. Not done me any harm – has it?”

Blue eyes look Heyes up and down. “Pffttt.”

Heyes grins. A pause. Kid’s expression signifies thinking.

“If’n this Lazy Wing place is so good, how come they’re scrapin’ the barrel and hirin’ you? Let alone takin’ me on, sight unseen. For all they know, I’m another skinny rail who yaks all day and likes to flip a coin to get himself outta anythin’ that means breakin’ sweat.”

“Hey!”

“Why aren’t the locals snappin’ up these jobs?” An idea; the Kid gives a resigned shrug, “The pay’s lousy, huh?”

“Twelve dollars a week.”

A purse of the lips from Curry. Not great, but not lousy.

Heyes clears his throat, “I reckon I got hired ‘cos Mizz Matthews and Mizz Dexter are real good judges of charact…”

“We’re workin’ as ranch hands for a pair of females?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So – LAST time we did that, I ended up hog-tied with a shotgun on me and you ended up robbin’ a bank for Harry Waggoner.”

“This is nothing like that. These ladies are respectable businesswomen. I told you, I’ve been there nearly a week.”

A stubborn bottom lip is stuck out, “’T’ain’t fittin’.”

“Oh, Kid!” An annoyingly indulgent smile from the dimpled one. “Don’t be so parochial.”

Kid Curry opens his mouth to deny being paro – er – whatever, furrows his brow, decides not to give Heyes the satisfaction of asking, shuts it again. He shifts in his seat, opens his mouth, changes his mind, closes it. More thinking. With studied nonchalance he asks, “These ladies, they’re both single, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

Another shift in the seat. Even more nonchalance, “Are they – y’know – good lookin’?” Dark brown eyes roll. “Not that it matters, o’course,” backtracks Curry.

“I told you, Kid. It’s nothing like last time. Ann Matthews and Jill Dexter are NOT Janet and Crazy Lorraine. They’re real nice ladies who run a ranch. Period.”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh! I’m only makin’ conversation. No need to get – er…”

“Defensive?”

“That’s the word.” Pause. “So – are they?”

“Are they what?”

“Y’know - lookers?”

“I guess they’ve two of everything they’re supposed to have two of and it’s all arranged roughly in the right order. But, they’re not…” Heyes stops.

“Not what?”

“Look, Kid. They’re respectable ladies, not exactly in the first flush of youth, who are NOT interested in getting sweet-talked by the help…”

Kid Curry’s face holds a hint of: ‘Turned you down, huh?’, but he says nothing as Heyes goes on.

“They’re offering jobs that’d see us safe through the summer without much danger of getting spotted by bounty hunters, chased by posses, or having to sleep out in the rain listening to each other’s stomachs growl.”

“Uh huh.”

The Kid takes the hint; according to Heyes, romance is off the agenda. A short pause.

“This ranch – er – Lazy Wing, was it? Cattle or horses?”

“Huh?” Heyes turns an innocent gaze on his partner. “Glorious day, huh?”

“Sure is. What are we lookin’ after, cattle or horses?”

“Erm,” Heyes twists his head to chirrup at the gray, “…Erds.”

“Yeah, but herds of what? Cattle or horses?”

“Oh, they’re - erermh – ‘erds.”

A crease appears on Curry’s brow. The breeze is balmy, but it has still carried away half his partner’s answer. Or – dawning suspicion – has it?

“We’re not farmin’ sheep are we? I mean, sure roundin’ ‘em up is lighter work, but all that bleatin’ gets on my…”

“Nah! It’s not sheep. I told you, it’s – erermh…” Heyes leans forward to brush invisible dust from his pants. His lips move.

A frustrated Curry gets louder with every try. “For Pete’s sake, Heyes, quit mumblin’ and tell me…” He tails off. Something has caught his eye in the distance. It’s… It’s… “Heyes! What the Sam Hill is THAT!”

“That?” Guileless brown eyes watch several feet of gangly legs lollop across the grass, bringing the spherical fluff of feathers topped by a long, long neck and absurdly small head closer. The head tilts to one side. Huge eyes regard a gaping Kid Curry, curiously. A sunbeam sends reflections bouncing from a polished belt buckle. Whip-quick, a beak dips. A fearless blond ex-outlaw simultaneously recoils and coils to protect his important little places with something that, in a lesser man, would be a squeak. “That’s an ostrich, Kid. I told you. We’re ranching birds.”

---oooOOOooo---

A FEW MINUTES LATER – IN A YARD BESIDE A SERIES OF BARNS

“Of all the dumb jobs you’ve roped me into, Heyes…”

Hannibal Heyes is unhitching the mare from the traces. The backside of Kid Curry is still firmly fixed to the wagon seat, his arms folded, stubbornly.

“…this has gotta be the dumbest. Whoever heard o’ ranchin’ birds?”

“Are you done?” queries Heyes, moving the horse into a corral.

Apparently not. “And if you’re gonna get us a dumb job on a dumb bird farm, wouldn’t ya think you’d pick chickens? Or…”

“’Cos, once you ARE done,” Heyes’ voice is all mildness, “You could make a start unloading.”

“…or turkeys? Or some other dang bird normal folk have use for?”

“You know, you could even start unloading without having to quit griping.”

“Not pick some kinda overgrown cat’s fur-ball on stilts… HEY! Will you quit it?!”

This last ejaculation is aimed at an ostrich. Our original bird has followed the wagon, is circling and has now made a beak grab for Curry’s hat. She blinks at the raised voice. One scaly foot rises, paw-like, to hover, beseechingly, in the air. The flexible neck draws her head back, reproachfully.

“That’s Ophelia,” puts in Heyes. A grin, “She likes you, Kid.”

“SHE?” Curry stares at Ophelia; she stares back. Another blink. “How the Sam Hill can you tell?”

“It’s easy,” begins Heyes, “the gals have…”

“Heyes, I don’t care what the gals have! What I care about is… QUIT IT!” The brown hat is rescued from a second attack and stowed safely between Curry’s boots. Ophelia’s eyes fix on the newly washed blond curls. “What kinda dumb jackass gets a dumb job…?” Curry feels something stir on his head; insect maybe? A hand reaches up to swat it away. “…On a dumb - HEY!” The Kid realises his hair is being tousled by an exploratory beak. He jumps down from the wagon and scowls up at the inquisitive ostrich. Something taps him on the shoulder. He spins 180 degrees and fixes on yet another long downy neck. Blue eyes rise to meet another dewy dark gaze amid tufty feathers. A bony beak opens in a silent squawk.

“This one’s Olivia,” introduces Heyes, hefting the first box from the wagon.

Wings are fluffed. A trailing end of Curry’s bandana is tweaked.

“Guess I was wrong; looks like you’re gonna be a success with the ladies at Lazy Wing after all, Kid,” teases the silver-tongued one. “Now you’ve been persuaded off your perch, any chance of you working while whining?”

An absolute classic example of the ‘look’ is thrown at Heyes as a brown hat is tugged firmly back over the tempting curls.

Then, “Hello! Mister Smith!” A pleasant contralto voice is heard.

“Hello!” And another, possibly a mezzo-soprano this time.

Heyes raises his hand in friendly greeting. Kid Curry wheels round and wipes the scowl off his face as two women in sprigged calico run, gracefully, towards them.

“This is Mizz Matthews,” supplies Heyes, “And this,” he indicates the taller of the two, “is Mizz Dexter.”

Curry takes them in. Like his partner said; not in the first flush of youth and probably not raving beauties even when they were, but – all the same. Kid’s opinion is evidenced by the subtlest of signs. A shade of shoulder squaring, a suggestion of stomach sucking, the hint of a flourish as the hat is swept from the blond head, the extra winning quality added to the Curry smile.

Ann Matthews holds out her hand, “You must be Thaddeus Jones. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Uh huh?” The Kid realises that – and the ‘what-tale-have-you-been-spinning’ glance he threw at Heyes – came out a touch suspicious. “I mean; the pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”

“Finding Mister Smith so keen to take the job was such a relief. You see, our foreman broke his leg and went to stay with his daughter while it mends, and our other hand decided to go stake a claim in the Dakotas. All at the busiest time of the year,” explains Ann.

Wide smile from Jill, “Mister Smith’s been simply wonderful.”

Smug waves emanate from the fella with the dimples.

“Uh huh?” Curry’s enthusiasm for the wonderfulness of Heyes is underwhelming.

“And hearing he had a friend, also looking for work – well! Our luck sure is in!”

“Aw, dunno ‘bout that, ma’am. I reckon the luck’s on our side, huh, Joshua?”

“You see, Jill and I have problems hiring. Some hands don’t think women should be running a ranch alone, so won’t come work here.”

“Sheesh, how - how parochial.”

Heyes blinks at his partner, then rolls his eyes.

“Exactly, Mister Jones. And other cattlemen think it beneath their dignity to farm ostriches. I’m so glad you don’t feel that way.”

Ophelia, neck sinuous as a serpent, curves her head to peer into the Kid’s face. He draws back, but manages a smile.

“Nah!” beams Heyes. “You can see for yourself, ma’am, Thaddeus has a real affinity with the birds.”

A quick glower directed partner-wards, then a return of the smile for Ann and Jill, “Well, ladies, I’d better get on.”

Is the Kid hefting boxes with an extra show of muscular grace to impress the new bosses? Hard to say. Let us simply join Heyes in a little fence leaning and enjoy the view of the blond breaking sweat.

---oooOOOooo---

THE RANCH HOUSE – SUPPER TIME

“You see Mister Jones, what with the current fashions for ladies…” The speaker is Jill Dexter.

“Jill means feather-trimmed hats and the passion for boas,” chips in Ann Matthews.

“…Whole evening cloaks trimmed with feathers if you can afford it,” continues Jill, “There’s a real demand for fine plumes. Ann was brought up on a cattle ranch. So she understands dealing with livestock. I’m city-bred, but have contacts with the fashion houses.”

“She means she handles the business side,” smiles Ann.

“Since I can count past ten and Ann works on the ancient; one, two, many, system…”

“Hey! At least I can hitch a wagon without half an hour of unladylike cussing and checking the manual to see if I’ve the horse right way ‘round!”

A feminine version of the ‘look’. Mock frowns belied by affectionate smiling eyes.

“Do you realise, Thaddeus,” this is Heyes, an extra sparkle in his voice as he speaks on a topic close to his heart, “the value per pound of tail feathers is almost equal to the value per pound of diamonds!” The blond one is too busy chewing for speech, but raised fair eyebrows show he is impressed.

“AND,” Jill Dexter carries on, “what makes things perfect for a city softy like me, the tail feathers are plucked in the molting season. It doesn’t even hurt the bird.”

“So, all we hafta do is keep ‘em happy an’ healthy?” muses the Kid. He mops up the last of what was clearly an excellent stew. A glance around the ranch house.Everything is spick and span and there are plenty of what Kid Curry would doubtless call ‘women’s touches’. Compared to most places we see the boys stay, this is a haven of homely comfort. He meets Heyes’ eyes. Heyes is radiating told-you-so vibrations. His partner gives a ‘guess-you-were-right’ shrug.

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that…” starts Ann.

Before Curry can fully switch off the ‘guess-you-were-right’ smile, Jill interrupts, “We’ll talk work later. Ann’s baked you a ‘welcome’ cake. Let’s have that first!”

“And I’ll go get the coffee,” chips in Ann.

Heyes half stands as the women rise. Curry goes further; he scoots ‘round to pull out Ann’s chair. A sparkling smile with an extra dollop of blue-eyed charm. The ladies leave the table.

As Curry retakes his seat Heyes leans in and hisses, crossly, “For Pete’s sake, quit preening every time Mizz Matthews smiles at you. The woman’s old enough to be your mo…” Forehead furrowing indicative of mental arithmetic. “…mother’s younger sister.”

“So? You know what they say ‘bout which fiddles play the best tunes. Since when did we not like older women?”

“Since I told you neither of ‘em’s interested in flirting with the help.”

“Jill Dexter likes you, Heyes.”

“They BOTH like me. They BOTH like you. Don’t mean they wanna do more’n bake us a cake or make us coffee, does it? Get over yourself.”

The Kid is not convinced. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’, Heyes.”

“You’re THINKING stuff.”

“I still ain’t DOIN’ nothin’. They’re bein’ nice. I’m bein’ nice back.”

“Hmm.” Doubt in the dimpled one, but the Kid does have truth on his side. “Keep it that way. Now shaddup, they’re coming back.”

Our point of view moves away; we see, but do not hear, the smiling conversation as coffee is poured. We note a sharp glance from keen brown eyes, but Kid Curry is, indeed, just being nice.

---oooOOOooo---

THE NEXT DAY. BACK AT THE RAIL STATION.

Our boys sit on a bench. The Kid is casting wary glances up and down. “Don’t seem to be no one around.”

“We’re not robbing this train, Kid. We’re collecting a – a legitimate delivery.”

Curry opens his mouth for a riposte, but is forestalled by two cowboys striding onto the platform. Then, two more. Civil hat tipping and masculine ‘howdy’ grunts, then one set of new arrivals settle on the bench to the left of Heyes, the other pair settle to the right of the Kid.

“Fine day,” remarks Arrival One.

“Sure is,” agrees Heyes.

Pause.

“You fellas work around here?” asks Arrival Two.

“Uh huh.” “Yup.” From Curry and Arrival Three in unison.

Pause.

“You’re waiting for the noon train?” Arrival Two, again (what a blabbermouth, huh?)

“Reckon we all are,” replies Heyes, affably.

“Me an’ Pa, we’re pickin’ up a prize Hereford bull. Gonna improve the stock out at Twin Fork,” confides Arrival Two, cheerily.

A pinging tobacco spit from Arrival Three. “Uh huh? We’re picking up a new breedin’ stallion – thoroughbred - for Five-Bar-T.”

“Yeah? Sheesh!” The little sweetie that is Arrival Two is disproportionately pleased. “Hey, imagine if you two fellas,” a youthful grin is directed at Heyes and Curry, “were here to pick up some’n for stud too? Huh? That’d be a real – er – er…”

“Coincidence,” supplies Heyes.

“Uh huh?” Not very bright, but certainly good-hearted chortle. “A real co-in-side-dence! Huh? We’d hafta call this here train,” chortle, winding up for a supposed witticism, “the love train! Huh? Huh? If’n you were pickin’ up some’n for stud too.”

Embarrassed shuffle of a Curry backside on the bench, “Guess so,” says the Kid, carefully, “if we were.” Blue eyes slide sideways to meet brown. Brown eyes slide sideways to meet blue.

The wide friendly grin is still splitting the freckled face of Arrival Two. “I ain’t seen you two fellas afore have I? Which ranch are ya workin’ at?”

He is annoying, but an ex-outlaw would have to be much meaner than either of our two to snub this boyish human Labrador. There is, however, reluctance in Curry’s eyes and even the supposedly nonchalant Heyes is poker-faced. Arrival One, whom we previously heard addressed as ‘Pa’, notes this.

“Zeke,” he grunts, “mind your business, son.” A half-apologetic glance at Heyes and Curry.

“We work out at - Hey, looks like the train’s arriving, huh?” says Heyes to Zeke. The ploy succeeds. The crestfallen look disappears and, pushing back his hat, Zeke hurries to stare down the line.

The five older men also stand. Adjusting of pants, hooking of thumbs in belts. Pa advances to join Zeke. The two cowboys from Five-Bar-T also stride forward as the train wheels slow and squeal and churn to a halt. Our two boys are, discretely, hanging back.

The platform becomes a bustle of activity. Crates are hefted onto trolleys. Shouts of greeting. Barked instructions. One of the pair from Five-Bar-T is signing paperwork. The other pats the flank of a magnificent stallion, as the animal is brought out of a car. The horse is led, whinnying and tossing his mane in the summer breeze, past our boys.

“Pretty fancy, huh?” grunts Arrival Three.

“Sure is,” agrees Heyes, genuine admiration in his voice.

Kid Curry contents himself with a low whistle.

Zeke and Pa are, respectively, excitedly and calmly, urging a magnificent bull out of HIS car. The man who has guarded him on the journey is, with due wariness, encouraging from behind.

“Wooo-weee-wooo!” enthuses Zeke. To Kid Curry, “Sheesh! Just look at him, Mister!”

“Fine beast,” agrees Curry, respectfully returning the stare of two dark eyes glowering beneath ruddy curls and gleaming ivory horns.

“Fine?! I should say so. It’s times like these you get to feel – y’know – that being a cowboy is …well, it kinda makes ya – y’know! Sheesh!” He turns to the Kid. “Don’t it make you feel kinda proud? Working with animals like this,” a finger points at the stallion, “an’ – an’ like that!”

Blue eyes slide down the length of the train: crates, men chatting, general busyness. The Kid clears his throat, “Guess so.”

The four cowboys move off. A hint of relaxation and relief on our boys’ faces, when…

“Any’un here from LayZee Wing Ranch?” The piercing yell travels the length and breadth of the station. All heads turn. All heads except two turn in the direction of the booming voice. “We’ve a d’liv’ry here for LayZee Wing!” The two rogue heads (no pun intended), one dark, one fair, are examining the clouds, their boots, an advertisement posted on a wall.

The cowboys have slowed in their walk away. Interested glances thrown over shoulders. ‘Lazy Wing?’ ‘Didn’t them two females…?’ ‘Ain’t they farmin’ them…?”

“LAYZEE WING? HEY! YOU TWO FELLAS?” The bellow is indisputably heading in an ex-outlaw direction. “You from Layzee Wing?”

Hopes of waiting for an almost empty platform evaporate. Heyes assumes a nonchalant smile. The Kid, more flush in his cheeks than usual, squares his shoulders. They stride towards the source of the hollering. Eyes follow them.

“You gotta get this fella out. We cain’t move him. Whaddya call this, anyhow?”

“Whatya collectin’?” This is Zeke, also loud, from the opposite edge of the scene. “Bull? Horse?” A cheery laugh, “It ain’t a sheep is it?”

No. It is not a sheep. If only.

“C’mon, Handsome,” encourages Heyes, a black hat disappearing into an open car from which straws flutter out, “c’mon. You’ll love it at Lazy Wing.”

By now the boys have the undivided attention of everyone there.

“Don’t just stand there, say something encouraging, Thaddeus.”

Still more flush in his cheeks, Curry makes the chirruping sound with which one usually encourages poultry to come to a bucket of grain. A scrabbling sound from inside. More straw floats in the breeze. Heyes gives the Kid a ‘well done’ glance and joins in the chirrups.

Audience on tenterhooks. Then…

A comical head, all beak and eyes, peers around the car door. Up. Down. Blinking left. Blinking right. Beak opening in a silent gape of surprise. A scaly foot emerges, hovering high above the platform. Shall I? Shan’t I? Toes flex. More wide-eyed gaping from the bug-eyes.

A titter from one of the watchers. Amused murmurs. More titters. Explosive squawk of laughter from Zeke, who goes so far as to sweep off his hat to have something to beat against his leg to fully express his enjoyment of the visual joke.

The Kid wheels and subjects Zeke to the full force of his icy blue ‘dangerous’ look. Zeke raises a hand in apology and is making a genuine effort to cough back the chortling when…

A desperate splurt of laughter forces its way out from the youth. Even the staid face of Pa twitches with mirth. Giggles from girls. Guffaws from guys. Kid Curry, not used to having his best gunslinger’s stare elicit such a reaction, deepens the frown.

“You thinkin’ of sharin’ the joke, son?”

Zeke points about a foot to the left and then to the right of the Kid. Too far gone to speak, he flaps his arms indicatively.

Curry glances over one shoulder; feathery softness rising in a graceful arc. He glances over the other; the same, gently flapping plumage. He is trying to do his standoff stare with wings. All he needs to complete the effect is a halo. He looks up. From a height of near eight feet six, huge eyes look back and blink. An exploratory beak comes to peck at the low-slung and always so well-polished gun. Silent questioning gape of the beak, as if to say, ‘what’s this?’ The Kid flinches away. The edge of the thong tying down his gun twitches like a tempting worm and…

A yelp, followed by explosive laughter from the audience.

There are circumstances in which no man, NO man, can sustain the role of strong, silent Western hero. Kid Curry gives it up. “Heyes,” he hisses, under cover of the surrounding hilarity, “let’s get’em outta here. THEN, I need to make good on that promise to flatten ya!”

---oooOOOooo---

THE MAIN STREET OF THE TOWN – OUTSIDE THE BANK

Heyes tries to look as if he is NOT with the fella attached by a rope to an eight foot six ostrich. Curry wears the mingled puzzlement and proddiness of an ex-outlaw wondering how the Sam Hill he ended up holding the bird halter. Passersby check out him and the ostrich. Some politely hide their smiles; others do not.

“Beats me why we’re pickin’ up another of these dumb birds anyhow,” Kid tilts down the brim of his hat with one finger to give him a shade more cover and directs a glower up the neck towering above him. “We fed near on two dozen of the dang brutes this morning. Seems like enough to me. Nope, strike that. Seems like two dozen too many.”

“Ah, but they’re all hens. They lost their buck, Orsino, last month and this fella’s come all the way from New York to…”

“Huh? They don’t have ostriches in New York.”

“No, Kid. They have ostriches in Africa. They have the edge of the Atlantic Ocean and a port in New York. Fill in the blanks, can’t you? Now, ostriches are polygamous, a successful male guarding a harem of up to seven hens. They mate from March to September…”

“Sheesh, no wonder this Orsino tipped up his toes at the end o’ May. Musta been plumb tuckered out,” grins the Kid. Then, “Heyes, where are you gettin’ all this guff?”

Heyes slides a book from his pocket and shows Curry the title: ‘A Simple Guide to Ostrich Breeding & Rearing.’

“Uh huh. Shouldn’t ya have a plain brown cover on that?”

Anything further is forestalled by Jill Dexter coming out from the bank.

She hands over a clutch of notes, “Here are your wages.” Happy smiles and murmurs from the boys. “Now, I still have to go have Mrs. Rodgers fit my new alpaca, AND I want to find a surprise for Ann, because next week’s her…” She tails off, seeing the expression on two ex-outlaw faces. A rueful smile, “And, you don’t want to stand around waiting for me to do women’s stuff.”

“Not a problem, ma’am.”
“Take your time, ma’am.”

The demurs of the ex-outlaws are gallant, if untruthful.

“Listen, why don’t we tether this handsome fellow outside the dressmaker’s, in the shade with a bucket of water? I’ll ask young Carrie Rogers to watch him. He’ll be fine. Won’t you, gorgeous?”

Squawk.

“And you two can take a little refreshment.”

A mute, though happy, exchange between the boys. An employer that pays AND gives breaks. Okay, it comes with feathered embarrassment, but – all the same!

---oooOOOooo---

THE SALOON

Our boys stride through the bat-wing doors. The saloon is quiet, as one would expect on a weekday. The barkeep serves two cold beers and returns to his paper.A rather ‘off-duty’ saloon gal sits with three cowboys, half watching them play blackjack, but giving more attention to buffing her nails. She glances up, registers the attractiveness of the customers just arrived and sashays over.

“Hi, I’m Kitty. Buy me a drink an’ I sit on your lap an’ purr.”

The boys grin at this and signal the barkeep, who pours something feminine-looking. Kitty does not, in fact, sit on either lap and, indeed, the tone was more passing-the-time friendly than shall-we-do-a-little-business flirtatious. Instead, she slithers between Heyes and Curry and studies first one, then the other.

“Gonna tell me your names?”

“I’m Thaddeus Jones and this is – hey, never mind who he is, huh?”

“Joshua Smith,” supplies Heyes, “A cat-lover, entirely at your, service.”

A giggle, “Well, ain’t you two just the cutest things ever?”

“I reckon that’s half true, Kitty,” smiles Curry.

“Same here,” dimples Heyes. “Half true. ’Course, me and this other fella, we may not agree over which half.”

Another delighted giggle. A swallow of drink. The voice becomes more matter-of-fact. “Haven’t seen you fellas in here before. Staying in Schilling long?”

Heyes smiles, “Dunno. A few weeks maybe. We’ve got us jobs out on one of the ranches.”

“You’ll be around for the fourth then?”

“I reckon so,” confirms the Kid. “There’ll be celebrations, huh?”

“Oh, sure.” A mop of untidy curls nod towards a poster displayed on the wall. “There’s the contest for the Schilling Ranch Cup.”

“What’s that?” Heyes’ sharp eyes scan the print.

“Well,” giggle, “it’s a kinda contest, for ranches. It got started by old man Schilling, who the town’s named after. An’ the winner wins this, er…” Kitty drains her glass and looks hopeful.

Signaling the barkeep for a refill, Heyes nods at this utter lack of useful information, “The winner wins a cup? Uh huh; with you so far, Kitty.”

She catches on to the gentle teasing and gives another giggle. “It’s a big thing round here. The ranch owners, they all like to get their names on the Schilling Cup an’…”

Curry catches Heyes’ eye and flicks a glance at the blackjack table. A cowboy who originally ignored Kitty’s departure is looking over at every giggle. A scowl deepens between his brows. Now, six foot five and 290 pounds of solid muscle, pushes back a chair and swaggers over. His friends nudge each other, turn to watch. Curry and Heyes keep their faces friendly. Belligerent thumbs are hooked into a belt. A pugnacious jaw is thrust out.

“These guys botherin’ you, Kitty?”

“Nope. They’re talkin’ civil to me. Which is more’n you were doin’, Buck.”

“I don’t like fellas messin’ with MAH gal.” A stubby finger pokes the Kid in the chest with every syllable.

The Kid, not looking for a fight, but not appreciating the pokes, grasps and pushes aside the hand, opens his mouth, but finds himself forestalled.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, give it a rest, Buck! I was only passin’ the time o’ day with these boys.”

“Which made our day a little brighter, ma’am,” charms Heyes.

“You see how pretty Joshua talks? Why can’t YOU talk like that, Buck? Ya big jackass! Besides! If’n you’re that keen to keep me a one-man gal, why ain’t ya got a ring on this finger?”

“It’ll go with the one she’s put through ya nose, Buck!” is chortled from the table.

Buck shuffles his feet.

Kitty fluffs her hair, “I was tellin’ these boys ‘bout the Schillin’ Cup an’ askin’ if’n they was gonna take part.”

“Take part!” A snort of laughter from the table. Hey! Now they have turned around, we have seen Cowboy Two and Cowboy Three before! They are the pair who picked up the prize stallion for Five-Bar-T. “Them two?! Pffftttt!”

“Why not?” protests Kitty.

“Why not?” asks Curry, with deceptive mildness. He receives a scowl from Heyes, but scowls back firmly.

“Because it’s a RANCH contest!”

“And…?!” prompts the Kid, with just a glimpse of edginess.

“Well,” snorts Cowboy Two, “you work at Lazy Wing!”

“You’re from Lazy Wing?” echoes Kitty. Another giggle. “Ain’t them birds the dang cutest?”

Buck stops looking cross. A slow grin creases his face.

“You ain’t gonna call that overgrown henhouse a RANCH, are ya?” he says. Another couple of pokes – admittedly, more jovial than threatening - for the Kid, “It’s a tough contest for MEN working real MEN’S jobs. NOT for blue-eyed, baby-faced – er…” His eloquence has run out. “Not for fellas who run round after a passel o’ freak-show giant turkeys for a pair o’ dang fool women who like play at bein’ farmers!”

The Kid squares his shoulders and settles into the mode usually seen before his ‘walk-off’ speech. “I reckon the way I see it, fellas, is…OW!”

The ending is both inelegant and sudden. Almost as if someone very close, not interested in winning profitless debating points with dumb cowboys, or in involving them in a small town contest for no real purpose, had kicked Curry sharply in the ankle.

---oooOOOooo---

OUTSIDE IN THE STREET

“He’s a blowhard, Kid. Let him blow!”

The Kid does not look convinced.

“You’d have liked a fight, huh? You wanna get the sheriff over to see who’s causing trouble in the town?”

“No. But…”

“Him saying you can’t go in for this Cup bothers you? I read that poster. Are you itching to get thrown off bucking broncos, or run ragged persuading ornery critters they wanna get in a pen? All for the honor of Lazy Wing?”

Brow furrowing from the blond. “I guess not. But…”

“You can’t mind him calling Ophelia and the rest overgrown turkeys – ‘cos you called ‘em far worse this morning.”

A contralto voice is heard, “Mister Smith! Mister Jones!”

It is Jill. She is frowning; her foot taps on the boardwalk.

“Have we kept you waiting, ma’am?”

“Not at all. You are punctual to the minute.” Still frowning.

“Shall we load the parcels into the wagon?”

“I suppose so.”

A glance is exchanged.

“Has something annoyed you, ma’am?”

“Huh?” Heyes’ query registers. “I do beg your pardon. Yes, something has annoyed me and, to answer the unspoken follow-on question, no, I should not take my bad temper out on you two.”

“What is it, ma’am?”

“It’s THIS!” She taps a poster displayed outside the store. It is a duplicate of the one in the saloon, extolling the forthcoming excitement of the Schilling Cup. “Ann and I knew we’d no chance of… I guess, I don’t like being told I’m not allowed to even…”

These half sentences are interrupted by two prosperous gentlemen coming out of the store. If a lady worthy of the name can be said to ‘glower’, Jill glowers.

“Miss Dexter,” says the first. “If we said anything to offend you, we do apologize.”

“Nothing could have been further from our intention,” chimes in the second.

Their eyes move to the boys.

“This is Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones,” introduces Jill, voice civil but with a touch of frost. “And this is Mister Crawley who owns Five-Bar-T and Mister Osbourne who owns Twin Forks.” Ex-outlaw hats are touched. “We’ve been talking about the Schilling Cup. Every year there’s a contest of skills to decide the honor of being declared the best ranch.” Jill’s voice drops further into the chill zone. “These gentlemen have been explaining women ranchers are not allowed to enter…”

“Now, ma’am, that’s not exactly what we said. The Pie-Bake competition is wide open…”

“And a sure thing for Mizz Matthews! After her performance at the Christmas Bake-Off I’m guessing no one else stands a chance!”

“Her pies sure are special.” This last comment is from a suddenly misty-eyed Curry.

“Without in the least denigrating the domestic arts,” fumes Jill, “the pie competition is NOT part of the Schilling Cup!”

“Surely, ma’am, you can see all that tussling and hard-riding is too arduous for two such lovely ladies?”

“If ranch owners have to compete personally, it’s news to me.” Jill’s fine dark eyes rest a moment on the spreading waistlines and balding heads before her. “Isn’t the rough stuff left to the young men on their payrolls?”

A pause. Crawley and Osbourne look at our boys. A bland smile from Heyes. Curry fingers his collar and opens his mouth, possibly to volunteer, possibly not. We will never know, as he is forestalled by Jill Dexter.

“That was NOT a hint Mister Smith, Mister Jones. Unless you happen to LIKE rodeo games, offering to take part is above and beyond the call of duty.” Despite her words, there is wistful hope in her voice. Another pause, but no rush of volunteers. She turns back to the ranchers, “It is not so much that Miss Matthews and I want Lazy Wing to take part, it is simply frustrating to be told we are barred! Do we not pay the same community taxes? Is it not enough that our skirts prevent us voting in local affairs – so much for no taxation without representation – without also stopping us taking part in patriotic celebrations?”

As she is speaking three familiar figures exit the saloon and approach.

“Miss Dexter, it is not you and the charming Miss Matthews being ladies which is the issue. Perish the thought! I bow, a slave, before the superior sex…” Osbourne takes her hand, and bends over it, puckering up. Jill slithers it free and hides it in her pocket.

“It’s the livestock, ma’am,” says Crawley. “I’ve no doubt this – er – creature,” the ostrich’s foot rises in affront,“…is profitable. But what could it possibly do pitted against a horse or a steer?”

Offended squawk.

“That’s what I told baby-face here,” chimes in Buck, walking over. “A hen-house for walkin’ bonnet trimmin’s growin’ outta a bird’s backside…”

“Now, now. Ladies present, Buck,” warns Crawley, who all the same, twinkles approval at his muscle-bound head hand.

“… AIN’T a ranch. However well Blue-Eyes and Smart-Mouth here go down with the gals.” Another poke at a shirt front. The Kid still does not like it. “They won’t do nothin’ for the Schillin’ Cup.”

“You know, fella,” says a provoked Curry, “I wouldn’t be too sure of…OW!”

Jill Dexter, who had clasped her hands in rising hope blinks at this sudden and inappropriate sentence-ending. “Have you a pain in your ankle, Mister Jones?”

“Yeah,” grimaces Curry, rubbing an abused bone, “it came on real sudden, ma’am.”

“I don’t think we’ve much to worry about, Buck,” smiles Mister Crawley, “Looks like I’ll be staring at the Schilling Cup as I drink my evening brandy for another year.”

“We’ll give you a run for your money, Crawley,” puts in Osbourne.

Synchronously with Osbourne: “Looking at the Cup makes the brandy taste even better, huh?” smiles Heyes, demonstrating to the Kid the arts of: not taking offence, keeping in good with wealthy men, and NOT offering to be thrown off horses and kicked by cows just to make a point to burly cowboys with hay for brains. “I think Mizz Dexter, it’d be the sensible thing to stay outta…”

“And,” goes on Crawley, as if there had been no interjections, “I reckon we know who’ll be winning another $200 prize, don’t we Buck?”

Chortle from Buck.

“…This competition,” finishes Heyes. He registers the last words out of Crawley’s mouth. A quizzical smile, “$200 prize?”

“The ranches compete simply for honor,” explains Jill, “but there’s a cash prize for the best individual performance.”

“Uh huh? Like I was saying – it’d be the SENSIBLE thing to stay out of this competition. But, when honor’s at stake, who wants to be sensible? I can’t see nothing in the rules of this contest saying the livestock entries have to be cattle or horses,” Heyes, following the smoothest change of direction since someone invented reversible seats on trains, is studying the small print on the poster, “Last time I looked, our birds were live and they were stock. As for the question of whether Lazy Wing is a ranch; I think a glance at the title deeds would settle that, huh?”

---oooOOOooo---

BACK AT THE RANCH

The wagon, proudly striding ostrich beside it, pulls to a halt.

A yelp from the direction of the ranch house. Ann Matthews, hands covered in suds from washing-up, races out.

“Oh! Look at you! You’re so handsome!” Ann Matthews enthuses.

An ‘aw shucks’ expression appears on Kid Curry’s face. Then, half a second later, he realises she is talking to the ostrich. He catches Heyes’ teasing eye.

“You are SO gorgeous! Aren’t you? Aren’t you gorgeous?”

“I sure am,” grins Heyes, “but what do you think of the bird, ma’am?”

Delighted laughs from two ladies.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he, Ann?” asks Jill Dexter. “What shall we call him?”

“What about – Oberon?”

“Ann likes folk to think we actually read the fancy books on her shelves and not just the dime novels hidden behind them,” Jill tells the boys, teasingly. Her hand reaches up to caress plumage. “Oberon, what do you think of that? A name fit for a king.”

The ostrich ruffles his feathers.

“He likes it! You see! Don’t you, Oberon?” coos Ann.

Another squawk. The boys exchange a glance. And an eye roll.

“Look, the girls have seen him,” says Jill.

Indeed, on the other side of the fence feathered lovelies are gathering. Oberon opens his beak, widens his eyes and takes a step back. He looks down, beseechingly, at Heyes.

An inquisitive beak, almost certainly belonging to Ophelia, reaches out.

Squawk! With a flump of feathers Oberon flattens himself to the ground.

“Oh, Oberon,” reproves Heyes, “you must never let women see you’re scared.”

---oooOOOooo---

LATER

The boys, leaning on a fence to give us a view of their pert buttocks, watch a still-nervous Oberon mingle with the hens.

“Which one do you think he’ll go for, Heyes?”

“I like the look of Odette. Good bushy tail, huh?”

“Yeah, but take a look at the drumsticks on Olivia!”

“He’s gotta court her, not cook her for Thanksgiving, Kid!”

A pause, while both boys watch hen ostriches strut their stuff.

“Heyes?”

“Uh huh?”

“How do they – y’know?”

“We’ll know he’s picked himself a gal when he starts flapping his wings. He has to show off first, see. A bit like us, huh? But, when it gets serious, we’ll see the female running circles around the male.”

“Figures,” sighs the Kid.

“Hey! He’s flapping at Ophelia.”

Blue and brown eyes both watch.

“C’mon, Kid, let’s go get supper, give them some privacy.”

The boys walk towards the ranch house.

“Heyes,” Curry looks worried, “Ophelia’ll be okay, huh?”

“Aw, Kid,” mock-concern in the brown eyes, “you’ll get over her. She was too tall for you anyhow.”

A few paces in silence. Kid Curry shakes his head, “Oberon! Oberon?! And the one before they saddled with Orsino?! Sheesh! Y’know what, Heyes, I can’t figure why nice ladies like Mizz Matthews an’ Mizz Dexter didn’t get snapped up years ago, but at least it saved their sons draggin’ round names like that!” A long pause. Contritely, “Sorry, Hannibal; I forgot. No offence.”

“’S’orright,” grunts Heyes.

“Heyes.”

“Uh huh?”

“I still gotta flatten you for getting us in that dang Schilling Cup.”

---oooOOOooo---

THE SUPPER TABLE

“Oh, Mister Jones, I couldn’t believe it when Jill said you and Mister Smith were willing to enter the Schilling Cup on our behalf. I think you’re wonderful.”

Ann Matthews beams admiration at Curry. The Kid basks.

“’S’nothing, ma’am.”

Ann’s gaze returns to a sign she and Jill are working on. Jill, ruler in hand, is pencilling even squares. Ann is sketching fancy lettering within the blocks.

“Sheesh, this is good!” Curry is masticating pie.

“Oh! Ann has a gift,” says Jill, “Every place we’ve lived, she always wins any pie contest going.”

“Never mind that!”dismisses Ann. “The Schilling Cup! I know we won’t really win but…” Her eyes sparkle with pleasure, “…just to see Osbourne and Crawley’s faces when we enter. Just to take part!”

“Not win!” scathes Heyes. “Does Thaddeus here,” the Kid is patted on the back by a supportive partner, “look as if he even knows the meaning of the word ‘lose’?”

More waves of admiration from the ladies. More basking from the Kid.

“It’s such a beautiful evening,” sighs Ann, looking out of the window. “It makes me feel, oh, I don’t know, romantic I guess.” A self-deprecating glance over at her friend. “At my age!”

“It sure is lovely,” agrees Jill.“Why don’t we leave this a while and go stroll by the edge of the lake, watch the sun go down?”

“That sounds,” Ann sighs, “…irresistible.”

Both ladies stand and, with a final smile at the boys, leave.

Kid Curry drains his coffee mug, stands, walks to a mirror, straightens his hair and smoothes his shirt. He reaches for his hat.

“Where are you going?” asks Heyes.

“Didn’t you hear ‘em? They’re feeling romantic and wanna watch the sun go down by the lake. Call me dumb…”

“You’re dumb,” obliges Heyes.

“…but, if that ain’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”

“Kid, an invitation is: ‘Will you come down to the lake?’ Not, ‘We’re going down to the lake.’ Spot the difference?”

“Pfftt.”

“I’ll say it once more; they’re not interested.”

“Heyes, if there’s one thing I understand, it’s women. You comin’?”

“You’re gonna find yourself superfluous.”

“Heyes,” the hat was adjusted to a jaunty angle on the blond curls, “I am always super. As for –er - fluous,” a wicked grin, “watch and learn!”

---oooOOOooo---

TEN MINUTES LATER

Heyes, glass of whiskey in hand, is reading the sign the ladies were working on.

‘Schilling Ladies’ Committee: Guess the Number of Beans in the Jar.’

His eyes turn to an absolutely enormous empty glass jar, bunting ribbons attached, standing, in a corner. Picking up Jill’s ruler, he goes over and measures it. He picks up a much smaller, ordinary glass jar from the sideboard, measures that, walks to the storeroom. Rummaging sounds. When Heyes emerges, the small jar is full of dried beans. He sits at the table, spills out the beans and starts to count. He pauses, takes a spoonful of Ann’s pie and chews, consideringly. He purses his lips, nods. Back to counting.

The door clicks. Kid Curry walks in, tosses his hat aside and, a pole-axed expression on his face, flumps into the chair opposite his partner.

“They resisted you, huh?” asks Heyes, without raising his eyes from his beans.

“Down by the lake… They’re…” Blue eyes fix on Heyes. “You knew!”

“I didn’t know. I might of guessed. None of my business.” Brown eyes look up with a hint of sternness, “None of yours either!”

A blond ex-outlaw is still stunned. “’Ain’t natural,” he pronounces. A shrug from Heyes.
“Heyes,” more tentative tone, “what d’you think they actually, y’know, do?”

“I dunno. Use your imagination, Kid.”

Curry’s face indicates thinking. Swift clicking of beans being counted. A log in the stove pops. Kid Curry wriggles in his seat. The clock ticks. The Kid crosses his legs.

Heyes sweeps the last handful of beans into the small jar, takes them back to the storeroom, returns the empty jar to its place. He pulls a pencil stub and paper from his vest pocket. “Kid…” he begins.

“Shaddup,” breathes Curry.

Heyes looks down at him.

“I’m usin’ my imagination – an’ I’m not done yet.

---oooOOOooo---

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING

“I’m telling you, it can be done! Look, there’s a picture.”

Kid Curry pushes aside the book his partner is thrusting under his nose and carries on tacking tarpaper onto a section of barn.

“I’ve seen a picture of a man ridin’ a flyin’ carpet. Don’t mean I’m gonna saddle up a hearth rug.”

“But, Kid, it’s a daguerreotype; the camera cannot lie!”

“Anythin’ can lie after spendin’ time with you, Heyes.”

“All you’d need is to get one of the birds to trust you.” An inquisitive beak stretches over Heyes’ shoulder, huge eyes blink at the illustration. “Look! Odette’s on board already!”

“You’re the one with the silver tongue. You get one of the birds to trust you.”

“Listen, Kid…”

The exchange stops as Ann Matthews walks across the yard. Curry returns to tacking tarpaper, he does not glance round as Ann arrives.

“Another fine day, ma’am,” Heyes touches his hat.

“Isn’t it?! Now, what I want to know is, have you seen Ophelia this morning?”

“Nope. But, Thaddeus has.”

Ann looks, hopefully, at the Kid. A pause.

“She was down by the creek,” he says, not looking at her.

“Oh. And did she look, er, happy?”

A shrug from a blond ex-outlaw. Another pause. Hammer, hammer, hammer.

“I’m sure she’s fine, ma’am,” says Heyes, he tries to throw a quick scowl at his partner, but Curry will not shift his eyes from the tarpaper.

“Of course, Mister Smith. I’m just being foolish. I’ll go get the pancakes on the stove.” Ann walks away, stops, squares her shoulders, turns, comes back. “Have I – have I done something to offend you, Mister Jones?”

“Nope.” Hammer, hammer.

Drooping, Ann turns back to the house. Curry scowls at his own hands holding the tacks, scowls harder, then, “Ophelia was pecking around at the ground in a quiet spot, gathering twigs and stuff, ma’am.”

“Nest building behavior!” Ann’s hands clasp together, “Wonderful!”

“And, Oberon, he’d got Olivia runnin’ circles round him just after dawn.”

“Also wonderful!”

“And, ma’am,” the Kid lays down his hammer and meets her eyes for the first time, “you haven’t done a dang thing to offend me. I guess I’m just a grouch before breakfast and I apologize.”

“Oh!” A relieved smile. “That’s fine! And easily solved! It’ll be ready in five minutes.”

As she walks away, now with a spring in her step, Curry goes back to hammering. Heyes comes over, gives the broad shoulder an approving pat.

“Shaddup!”

“I never said a word!” Pause. “Now you’re not so proddy, let’s talk about what you’re gonna do for the Schilling Cup.”

“No!”

“All it’ll take is a little practice.”

“No!”

“You’re right. Not before breakfast, huh? After.”

“Heyes, listen carefully; I am not – repeat NOT – ridin’ an ostrich. Not after breakfast! Not after lunch! Or supper! Not never!”

---oooOOOooo---

LATER THAT DAY

In the middle distance, Kid Curry is riding an ostrich. He cuts an awkward figure slipping and sliding astride the lolloping…

Oh! Strike that.

Kid Curry is NOT riding an ostrich. He cuts an awkward figure, flat on his back, limbs waving in the air like an upturned beetle. Meanwhile, Olga, much more elegant in movement without the 165 pound encumbrance, scissor-steps her way swiftly towards an exhausted-looking Oberon. Ophelia, twig in beak, steps over to take a look at the floored ex-outlaw. She shakes her head, sadly.

“You’re doing fine!” praises Heyes, running to help Curry to his feet, “Nearly twenty seconds! Next time, keep your…”

“Next time?!”

“I was taking notes and…”

“If’n you know the right way to stay on a buckin’ bird, then you get up on one. ‘Cause I quit!”

Ophelia, who has followed the conversation like a tennis spectator, looks up. The boys notice and follow suit. A horse stands on the other side of the fence, topped by the substantial figure of Buck, the saloon blowhard. He pushes back his hat. His shoulders shake. The boys exchange a glance and walk over. As we get closer, we hear guffaws.

“Anything we can do for you?” asks Heyes.

Curry contents himself with his best ‘dangerous glower’. He is unaware feathers sticking perpendicularly from the backside of his pants negate absolutely any chance of this impressing Buck.

“I need to water my horse.” Snort.

“There’s a trough by the barn,” Heyes sticks to inter-ranch etiquette.

“I guess the free show was a bonus!” Hoot.

“We’re generous that way.”

“You sure are! Gotta get my gal Kitty a front row seat on the Fourth! Watchin’ Feather-Fanny is better’n the circus! ”

Kid Curry follows Buck’s pointing finger. Scowling, he removes the unwanted plumage.

“I hope you ain’t lettin’ that pair of dried-up old maids think they really stand a chance of the Cup?” Snort. “That’d be just cruel!”

Heyes puts out a restraining hand to the Kid, who redoubles the scowl.

“Hey,” chortles Buck. “Am I wrong? Ain’t they so dried-up after all? Has Feather-Fanny been battin’ them baby blues? Did he…?” Huge guffaw at his own imminent wit. “manage to stay on for that ride?” Honk. Snort. “Only joshin’. No offense.”

Kid Curry shakes off Heyes’ grip. “You know, Joshua, I reckon what we got us here is a walk-off…”

“Blah, blah…left out the brains an’ they up an’ walked off,” interrupts Buck. “Stick to slapstick, Feather-Fanny, your jokes have whiskers!”

Kid Curry is a picture of chagrin.

Heyes’ expression suggests he is torn between annoyance at the muscle-bound blowhard and a grudging admiration for a man who saved him having to listen to his partner’s routine one more time.

“Like I said, the trough’s by the barn,” he says, coolly.

“And like I said, no offense meant,” responds Buck, good-temperedly. “See you at the Cup.” He gathers his reins, “’Course, I’ll be up on the platform with the winners, an’ you an’ Feather-Fanny’ll be down in the mud with the other losers, but I’ll wave, huh?” He ambles trough-wards.

“Hey, Buck,” Curry calls. A horse is wheeled.

“Uh huh?” Safe in his six inch and 125 pound advantage, Buck is not worried by the challenge in Curry’s eye as he swaggers towards the fence.

“Care to put your own money where your mouth is?”

“Twenty dollars?” suggests Buck. “Fifty?”

Heyes puts up a gloved hand to cover his mouth. “Don’t,” he coughs.

Ophelia serpents to face the Kid and shakes her head.

“Your best pal an’ your best gal are givin’ good advice,” grins Buck. “Skinny legs here…”

Offended squawk.

“…ain’t so bird-brained as you, huh? Back down afore you lose $50 you ain’t got!”

Another cough from Heyes. Wide warning eyes from Ophelia.

The Kid considers their wise advice, “Make it a hundred…”

---oooOOOooo---

A VERY SHORT WHILE LATER

“All the times you’ve gone for me for opening MY big mouth! For Pete’s sake…”

Heyes, hat pushed back, hands on hips, has clearly been delivering this tirade for some time. A calm Curry is letting it wash over him.

“Heyes…”

“I told you yesterday – the guy’s a blowhard – let him blow! So, what d’you do?”

“Heyes…”

“Offer him $100 we haven’t got!”

“I was thinking…”

“You were WHAT? You know we have an agreement on that! Sheesh!”

A pause.

“You done?” checks Curry.

The lips of the dark-haired fella purse. Is he done?

“Uh huh.”

“Listen, what’s the problem? We were gonna win $200, now we’re gonna win $300.”

“The problem is you just skewed the odds! Ten minutes ago we had two possible outcomes:We’d end up ahead $200, or we’d wind up even. Now we still got two outcomes, but number two is: hand over our wages to a human gorilla in a bad hat who’ll be within his rights to flatten us both when he finds it a few dollars short!”

“Last night, you said we couldn’t lose!”

Incredulous brown eyes blink. “Have you MET me?” A hand is held out, “Hi, I’m Hannibal Heyes. I’ve got a silver-tongue, and you know I just may stretch the truth on occasion. In fact, some folks even say I tell lies. Like my partner, ‘what’s-his-name’. Besides, you said I was crazy and we couldn’t possibly win!”

“Yeah, but I was only joshin’ ya, Heyes. I knew you’d got a plan.” Pause. More tentatively, “You do got a plan, dontcha, Heyes?” More pause. “Was the plan to let me bruise myself black’n’blue while you crossed your fingers?”

Wide, innocent brown eyes.

“For Pete’s sake, Heyes!”

“Not JUST that, Kid! I’ve been reading…”

---oooOOOooo---

Hot ex-outlaws run, full pelt, across a wide open space. Arms flail, crazily. Hats are brandished. Shouts of ‘Giddup there!’ and ‘Yah! Yah! Yehah!’ bellow from two lusty throats.

They are chasing a startled-looking Oberon. The ostrich hits his full stride which, joking apart: is something fine to see. The boys, gasping for breath, stop. Heyes pulls his watch from his vest and opens it. Curry, grasping his knees as he pants, keeps his eyes fixed on Oberon. Oberon passes a pole to which a bright bandana has been fixed.

“Now!” wheezes Curry.

Heyes’ gaze is glued to the watch. Oberon, glorious in motion, approaches a second bandana-decorated pole approximately 440 yards away.

“And…NOW!”

“Twenty three seconds!” cries Heyes. “That’s” rapid mental arithmetic, “over forty miles an hour! And, the book says they can do a steady thirty!”

“I didn’t believe it,” grins Curry, “but,” blue eyes watch a smoothly striding ostrich eating up the ground without any sign of flagging, “I do now! Let’s check the distance one more time!”

A fair and a dark head bend over a much-creased set of Schilling Cup rules. They exchange happy smiles.

“It’s cow ponies against thoroughbreds all over again, Kid! Now, for round two, we gotta find you a one-man gal.”

Squawk!

“Ophelia!” coos Heyes, “right on cue, Gorgeous! Howdya feel about me cosying up to you? Tell you what, I’ll sing to you…”

“You singin’, Heyes, is not gonna help nothin’!”

“’Tis a gift to be…”

Backing off. A warning foot is raised.

Edge of chagrin from Heyes. “What about Thaddeus here? D’you like him better? Go on, Kid.”

Flushing slightly, Curry approaches Ophelia. Welcoming nuzzles. He takes a gentle grasp on her flank and raises a leg as if about to mount a horse. An ostrich back is lowered accommodatingly. A serpentine head twists around. Slow, fluttering blink of ostrich lashes.

“No accounting for taste,” grunts Heyes.

---oooOOOooo---

ESTABLISHING SHOT – MAIN STREET

Crowds of happy townsfolk head for a field behind the whitewashed schoolhouse. A banner announcing ‘Schilling Cup Contest’ flutters gaily. Stands have been erected and a competition arena fenced in. Ladies have filled groaning tables with baked goods and barrels with lemonade. Bunting flutters from every conceivable angle.

“Competing today, we have” A megaphone-assisted voice booms. “High Ridge; Silver Falls!”

Applause greets each name.

“Twin Fork!”

Zach, huge bag of popcorn in his hands, stamps his feet and whoops out a cheer. Elbows settle on the fence, a huge grin announces to the world he is looking forward to a treat.

“Five-Bar-T!”

Loudest applause yet. Buck, very smug, among the other cowboys in a corner of the arena, is limbering up. A familiar blue-eyed blond flexes his shoulders then bends to tweak a strap on his boot.

Heyes, very dapper, escorts Ann and Jill to an area above which a sign announces: Competitor Stand. Osbourne and Crawley are already settling among the other ranchers. Patronising hat touching and smirks. Jill and Ann hold their chins high and take their places in the all-male enclave.

“Lazy Wing!”

Some laughter, but plenty of warm-hearted applause with it. Youngsters in particular, a group of whom are admiring Oberon as he scratches for insects, are cheering for the birds.

“Go Lazy Wing!” shrills a particularly piercing voice. It is Kitty! Dressed up to the nines and showing her support by the number of vividly dyed plumes in her hat.

Pan to Buck and Curry. One scowl. One smug smirk.

“It’s the feathers,” deadpans the Kid. “They tickle a woman’s fancy.”

Back to Heyes. After making sure the ladies are comfortable, brown eyes roam the crowd. Happy townsfolk, a bookie plying his trade, limbering cowboys, the bookie plying his trade, judges settling into their seats, the bookie plying his trade.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he dimples. “I have to go join Thaddeus.”

Heyes makes for the preparing cowboys – with a detour.

---oooOOOooo---

The booming voice-over is giving commentary, “A random draw determines which ranch hands round up which stock…”

Heyes and Curry, both mounted, yip competently at ornery cattle.

“The boys from Lazy Wing are rounding up stock from Silver Falls.”

Heyes and Curry work a system where one pens up the halfway cooperative steers and the other chases the two mavericks. A glum-looking Buck shrugs. At the judge’s table decent scores are raised: sixes, sevens, one generous eight.

“The fellas from High Ridge are rounding up our feathered friends from Lazy Wing.”

Two cowboys chase squawking ostriches. Birds scatter to the four corners of the arena. Wings flap. Eyes goggle. Horses circle in confusion as prancing legs cancan past them.

The crowd sways with helpless laughter.

“Can’t see them gals gettin’ penned anytime soon! No, wait! Monty’s got him a plan.”

The cowboys concentrate on a single ostrich – Olivia. They move in; classic pincer formation. They back her to the pen. A tiny head on a long, long neck swivels, searching for an escape route. Nothing. The one-at-a-time ploy is going to work, when… Flump! The High Ridge fellas face a motionless hump of feathers, fluttering dust around her edges and demonstrating how she would disguise herself as an earth mound if evading predators on the African savannah. They circle, trying a few quick approaches. Not a flicker from Olivia, though some of the other gals stop with the chorus-line high-kicking and gather to watch and exchange ostrich versions of the ‘look’. Monty dismounts and puts every ounce of his strength into trying to lever Olivia’s backside out of the dirt, the other fella takes the strain at the front. She shifts not an inch. Boots scrabble in the dust as they heave and heave and…

“Well folks, looks like the first cowpokes flat on their faces this year are the fellas from High Ridge.”

Monty, slapping dust from his hat, stomps up to the judges’ table.

“I reckon Monty’s gonna call for the fellas from Lazy Wing to come prove it can be done. We know the rules. If’n they can’t round up their own stock in a set time, their ranch is penalized.”

Heyes and Curry tether their horses to the fence and do a slow stroll to the pen. Chirruping. Soft calls of: ‘Hey, Olga, look what we got’; ‘Olwen, you ain’t never seen a worm this big!’ Revolting handfuls of – euw – are dug from pockets. Slowly at first, heads stretching to check what is on offer, the birds approach. Beaks nuzzle the boys. Necks are stroked. ‘Aw, Opal, you flirt!’; ‘S’okay, Oonagh, I’d never leave you out’. Following the ex-outlaws the gals pad into the pen.

“WhooHoo! They sure made that look easy! But they gotta get ALL the birds penned to avoid a penalty.”

Heyes strides to the flattened Olivia. He stretches out beside her, mouth close to where we would guess her ear to be. His lips purse; he blows. A soft whisper, “You scared, Gorgeous? You want a big fat worm?” Nothing. “No? I know what’ll make you feel better; ‘T’is a gift to be…’” A flicker. A flutter. A head comes up, then a backside, then, unfolding like a deckchair, a whole ostrich. Olivia trots to join the rest of the gang.
“They’ve done it!”

Cheer from the crowd.

“Well, she ain’t gonna lie there an’ suffer, is she?” deadpans Curry.

---oooOOOooo---

“…right folks, Buckin’ Bronco round. Same rules – random draw for which beast you hafta tackle. There’s the fella from Lazy Wing…”

Kid Curry climbs a mounting pen. Cheers. A significant proportion from sopranos and altos.

“Sounds like he’s a popular fella with you ladies! But how’s he gonna do with ‘Firefly’ from Five-Bar-T?”

A magnificent stallion, breathing metaphorical fire from his nostrils, glowers at the Kid as the dragon may have eyed up Saint George.

Heyes, on the sidelines, beams support. Curry takes another look at the fearsome horse and, mouths ‘I’m gonna flatten you!’ in a dimple-ward direction.

The pen releases. Kid Curry clings on in a classic one-arm-raised, one-hand-clutching-the-reins, flat-bellied, torso-bending, bucking bronco pose.

Heyes watches, pocket watch in hand.

Megaphone-Voice: “The points start one minute in. But, can he stay up there sixty seconds? That Firefly sure is feisty!”

Back to Curry. He is slipping, sliding – BUT, still up there.

“Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! He’s done it! Anything extra’s a bonus!”

Heyes snaps shut his watch, tucks it into his vest. Turning his back on the arena, he focuses first on a stand announcing ‘Pie-Bake’ and displaying, unsurprisingly, dozens of pies; second on a ‘Guess the Number of Beans’ booth; lastly on the fella with a showy hat, chalkboard bearing odds, and a cheerful line in fast-paced patter as he takes folks’ money in exchange for scribbled slips of paper.

A synchronised gasp from the crowd is followed by a sound suggestive of 165 pounds of yelping ex-outlaw thumping into the dirt after first having been launched skyward to a great height.

With not so much as a backward glance, Heyes strides off.

“Plucky performance there by Lazy Wing! Now we’re in for a real treat, folks. Buck from Five-Bar-T is gonna ride one of the gorgeous gals from Lazy Wing. Give a warm Schillin’ Cup welcome to - Ophelia!”

A calm Ophelia is backed into the Bronco pen by a very dusty Curry. A helpful beak straightens his hat.

“She looks a sweetie, don’t she folks? Last year, Buck here stayed ten full minutes on one o’ the meanest bulls we’ve ever seen. I can’t see this lovely little lady givin’ him much trouble.”

Buck smirks at Kid Curry as he takes his place.

“And – they’re off!”

Buck sits astride Ophelia as the pen opens and …

“He’s hit the dirt! I made that less’n a second!”

Buck hefts himself off the ground and scowls at Ophelia.

“’Course, Buck ain’t one to give up. He’ll try for a remount.”

Buck picks up his hat, replaces it. Ophelia beaks it off, tosses it two feet to the right. Scowling harder, he steps over, bends. A whip-quick scaly foot delivers a swift kick to the pants. A sprawling cowboy eats dust.

“Now, THAT ain’t very lady-like, Ophelia!”

Buck, breathing hard, approaches the bird. She is not backing off. Relieved, he grasps her neck. Smug smile. Then… a huge cowboy yelps as a whip-quick beak goes for a sensitive spot. He jumps back. Ophelia’s foot helps him on his way. His backside hits the ground. He buttock shuffles away from the approaching beak, manages to turn onto all fours, is scuttling away, when…

“Ouch! That’s gotta hurt!”

Buck is chased around the perimeter by Ophelia. He scrambles over the fence, landing in an undignified heap before the Judges’ table. Once back on his feet, there is a dumb-show of outraged ranting accompanied by finger jabbing at a now preening ostrich.

“Once again the boys from Lazy Wing are bein’ asked to prove it can be done.”

Kid Curry steps into the arena. Ophelia stops prancing, sidles up and head nuzzles him.

“I think whatever these gals like – this fellas got it, huh?”

Curry mounts a perfectly amenable Ophelia and the pair do a prancing circuit to warm applause.

---oooOOOooo---

“Time for our grand finale – the Schilling Six Furlong race.”

In the distance four, sleek, proud-stepping horses, are lined up by their riders.

“I reckon none of us has seen nothin’ like what’s in lane five afore!”

Oberon, Curry in the saddle, joins the line up.

“Lazy Wing coulda entered a horse – same as the cattle ranches – but the ladies have chosen to race a bird!”

Ann and Jill look anxious.

“And – they’re off! Five-Bar-T is well out in front, High Ridge comin’ up fast on the inside. Sheesh! I dunno if the big rooster is gonna even start!”

Oberon, startled, head swivelling, raises one foot.

Heyes is behind the finish line, holding Ophelia’s halter. “Here she is, boy! Isn’t she lovely?! C’mon fella! Call him, Gorgeous!” Squawk from Ophelia.

Megaphone-Voice: “Five-Bar-T looks sure to win. That bird was a mistake.”

Crawley is on his feet in the Competitor Stand, cheering. He throws a pitying look at Ann and Jill, whose bottom lips are caught between their teeth as they jig in frustration.

“Oh! He’s off!”

Oberon, spurred on by Curry urging and pointing at one end and Heyes flaunting Ophelia as a lure at the other, is finally running.

“Still, ain’t no way he’s ever gonna catch…” The confident Megaphone-Voice tails off as Oberon hits his stride. He is eating up the ground as the horses begin to slow.

The smile drains from Crawley’s smug face. Beside him, it is now Ann and Jill cheering.

“I’m gonna hafta eat my words, folks. I reckon Lazy Wing entered a ringer!”

---oooOOOooo---

The judges are up on a platform with Megaphone-Voice. A gleaming trophy stands before them. Townsfolk gather round, buzzing happy conversation. Ann, Jill, Curry and Heyes are at the front.

“After counting the scores…” announces Megaphone-Voice.

“Better get ready claim your cup, ladies,” smiles Heyes.

“…we have a unique situation,”

“Does my hair look alright?” frets Ann. “I kept clutching it in exciting moments.”

“You look fine,” lies Jill, smoothing her own eyebrows with a licked finger.

“Two ranches have tied for first place.”

Stunned looks from the Lazy Wing quartet.

“Five-Bar-T,” Cheers. “And newcomers, Lazy Wing!” Louder cheers.

“They got a bonus for that fancy rope work in the round-up!” reasons Jill. “I forgot!”

Heyes explodes, “For Pete’s sake! How can anyone reckon odds with this dang fool scoring system?!”

“The judges have decided each winning ranch will hold the cup alternate months.”

A feminine glance is exchanged.

“Suits me fine,” declares Jill.

“Since we were happy just to enter, suits me better than fine!” concurs Ann.

Ann, Jill and Crawley mount to shake hands and be photographed, smiling, trophy in hand.

“The bet with Buck was ranches not individuals, huh?” checks Heyes.

“I guess all bets are off,” says Curry.

He, grudgingly, touches his hat to Buck, standing a few yards off. Buck, after a poke from Kitty, shrugs and, with a sheepish grin, returns the gesture.

Ann returns. Jill walks into another part of the crowd.

“Before declaring the winner of the $200 individual prize,”

Curry cannot suppress a confident, indeed smug, grin.

“Let’s hear the results of the other competitions.”

Heyes removes two slips of paper from his vest. A smirk dimples his cheeks.

“The winner of the Pie-Bake is..,” Tantalising pause. “…Mrs. Hannah Jenkins!”

Heyes’ jaw drops.

A surprised murmur followed by hearty applause, as a plump grandmother bustles forward.

“You were robbed, ma’am!” Curry tells Ann.

“No!” Jill rejoins them, tucking an impressive bundle of notes into her bag, “She, or rather WE, made a bundle.”

Questioning look from a pole-axed Heyes. .

“You see, Mister Smith, I hope it does not shock you, but bookies always work the crowd at events like this…”

“Gambling, ma’am?” manages Heyes. “Really?”

“…and, an occasional wager is one of Ann and my vices. Now, the odds on Ann winning the Pie-Bake, given her track record, were…”

“…twelve to two on,” glooms Heyes.

“So even if we’d laid a bet so large as – ooh…”

“Fifty dollars,” suggests the dimpled one. “Just picking a number at random.”

“We’d still have won next to nothing. But betting on the second favorite…”

“Because, it’s just possible I somehow mixed sugar with washing soda…” giggles Ann.

“…we got…”

“…odds of ten to one,” finishes Heyes.

Misinterpreting his appalled face, Jill says, “It’s not cheating. It doesn’t affect the funds raised. We’ll just buy Ann’s pie back ourselves for a real good price. And, I’m sure a professional bookie can bear the loss; that’s his trade.”

“No, it’s not cheating at all, ma’am,” agrees Heyes. “It’s real smart.”

The ladies turn back to hear the next announcement. Heyes tears one of his slips, lets it fall to the ground.

“Heyes,” sighs Curry,“not a whole $50?”

“We couldn’t lose. And, you heard ‘em. The odds were so short it had to be a decent stake.”

Megaphone-Voice is speaking, “Next, the winner of the ‘Guess the Number of Beans in the Jar Competition’. The actual count was…”

Heyes perks up, clutching his remaining slip.

“…sixteen thousand…”

Once again, Heyes’ jaw hits the deck.

“…four hundred and thirty two. The nearest guess wins, and that was from: Zeke Harper!”

It is our own Labrador-like Zeke, grinning all over his face.

“Zeke!” Utter disbelief from Heyes. “Can he even count?”

The ladies finish applauding the delighted youth and turn back.

“At Christmas, we’d folk trying to work out the number rather than guess,” says Ann.

“Because, there’s a formula for everything,” explains Jill.

“Pi R squared by the height,” murmurs Heyes.

“Exactly! But it’s supposed to be a guessing game even a child could win; so this time…”

“…we hid an EMPTY jar inside the beans!” finishes Ann.

“Making any calculations from the math - useless,” sighs Heyes.

Two pleased female nods. Once again they turn to listen to the announcer.

Curry shakes his head, sadly, as he watches Heyes confetti another betting slip.

Heyes squares his shoulders. “Never mind. Any minute now you’re going to win us $200. We’re still ahead of the game…”

“And, finally, the best individual performance, for which we use not only judges’ scores, but sounding of popularity with the audience.”

Smug Kid Curry, already edging to the platform steps.

“The prize goes to…”

Blond curls are smoothed in readiness.

“…Ophelia!!”

Wild applause from Ann and Jill. The Curry jaw takes its turn falling to the floor.

“This prize,” Heyes tries to be heard above the delighted hubbub,“it’s for the best animal? Not the best ranch hand?”

“Yes!” nods Ann.

“That’s not in the rules, ma’am!”

“Isn’t it? I guess it’s just one of those things everyone knows.”

“Not quite everyone,” sighs Curry.

“Excuse me,” beams Ann, “we must go fetch her!”

---oooOOOooo---

Ann and Jill lead Ophelia up to the judges. Admiring pats to her flanks. The ladies collect $200. Ophelia, beak wide, swivels her head and, with dignified nods, acknowledges the crowd.

Heyes and Curry hold a mute conversation. Shrugs. With rueful grins they join in the applause for a worthy winner.

Meanwhile, the bookie with the showy hat bears down, purposefully, on Heyes. Heyes spots him. A moment of stillness. Then, best persuasive smile in place, Heyes goes to meet him. An arm goes round the bookie’s shoulder. Hand gestures and dimples show silver-tongued wiles are being deployed. The bookie, with a raised finger-click summons two heavies from nowhere. Clearly the wiles have failed.

---oooOOOooo---

EPILOGUE – THAT EVENING

Heyes and Curry sit on the ranch porch, boots propped on the rail, cigars lit.

“So, we started the contest with nothin’.” A smoke ring from the Kid’s cigar.

“Uh huh.”

“We won nothin’ from Buck. We won nothin’ for best performance. But I got me a fine set of bruises fallin’ off that brute of a…”

“AND, the ladies decided Ophelia’d like to share her win four ways – ‘cos she’s such a generous gal,” Heyes puts in before Curry can dwell on the bruises.

“So, that made us $100 ahead of the game?”

“Uh huh.”

“But, you lost $50 on a pie?”

Pause. More reluctantly, “Uh huh.”

“So, that left us $50 ahead of the game. But, we hafta take off whatever you lost on them dumb beans?”

Curry’s inflection makes it a question. But answer comes there none.

“Are you tellin’ me I’m black and blue for nothin’, Heyes?”

“Nope. I’m not telling you that.”

“How much ahead of the game did we finally come out, Heyes?”

A cigar-holding hand indicates the sunset. “How can you think about money on a beautiful night like this, Kid?”

“How much, Heyes?”

“In round figures…?”

---oooOOOooo---

THE END

Virtual Season 2009/2010

Beejaycat — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 09:40:39 CST

Episode #1 The Adventures of Avery Averill
by CD Roberts

Episode #2 When You're in a Hole -- Stop Digging
by Calico

Episode #3 Gonna Shoot Me a Sheriff
by Maz McCoy

Episode #4 The Prodigal Son
by Lana Coombe

Episode #5 Cowboys and Indians
by Penski

Episode #6 The Hole in the Vault Gang
by Shenango

Episode #7 The Pecking Order
by Calico

Christmas and New Year's Goodies

Episode #8

Episode #9

Episode #10

Buckshot Enterprises presents ASJ Fan Fiction

Beejaycat — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 09:38:50 CST

Alias Smith and Jones Virtual Season 2009/2010

Next episode: Now Airing!

This week we take a break from Virtual Season for a few weeks. Our next episode airs on January 16th, 2010. For those who suffer from ASJ withdrawal we will have a page available starting next Saturday to post your ASJ Christmas songs, poems and stories. Merry Christmas! Go to: Christmas and New Year's Goodies to post your masterpiece.

Welcome and join us at the ASJ Fan Fiction Forum

This site allows you to post your own stories. After you register as a member hit the Apply to be a Writer button at the top left. if you wish to post stories. Then go to How to Add Your Stories. But remember to return to the Home page to add a page with your name, and then go to that page to add your stories.

Everyone is welcome to make comments. The threads are at the bottom of the story pages. Sign in if you are a member and want your name on your comment. If you wish to add to a thread already started hit the reply button on the last comment post. You can find all the comment threads on the Discussion Page.

If you have a challenge on the old site, please copy it and if you wish, put it up on this site. I will be removing the challenges from the old site in the near future.

The site is rated PG. Please no adult or slash stories.
A Buckshot Enterprises Production

Writers:
Contact me when you put up a new story, and I will give it a plug here.
You can place print versions of your stories up directly on the site. For an example check Oracle Jones II under CD Roberts and check out the print version page. If you want to try, this see the instructions on How To Add Your Stories.

Virtual Season Saturdays at 6PM Pacific Time

Time for a Virtual Season episode. This week we have two versions of a fabulous and hysterically funny story by Calico: The Pecking Order and The Pecking Order: fan fiction version!

We're up and airing! This week's episode is The Hole in the Vault Gang by Shenango. Grab some of your favorite chocolate or some popcorn, relax and enjoy!

Big apology to Penski and all our readers. I really screwed up yesterday. I don't know why I thought there was another week before airing this story. Sorry for the delay, but now you get to enjoy a really excellent episode: Cowboys and Indians by Penski.

Tonight's episode is The Prodigal Son by Lana Coombe. This is another great story you will enjoy.

Gonna Shoot Me a Sheriff by Maz McCoy is now airing. This is a terrific story with a drugged Heyes and a vindictive doctor.

Our second Virtual Season episode, When You're in a Hole--Stop Digging is now airing. This delightful story is by Calico. We know you will enjoy it.

The new season has begun. Join us tonight and then every other Saturday for Alias Smith and Jones. The first episode is now airing. The Adventures of Avery Averill can be found using the link.

New Stories:

Coronado posted her second story, a hurt/comfort called Once More to Devil's Hole!

Avoca has added another new story! It is called Too Good to be True. A little bit of Curry h/c, I am sure you will appreciate.

AllegraW is our newest writer and wrote an outlaw story titled Don't Take What You Can't Afford! Hope you enjoy reading it!

Penski posted a new story about Heyes' ring called With You Always.

Please welcome new writer, Nell McKeon. Check her story page for Terms - Part I, Terms - Part II and A Man of Independent Means. I am sure you will enjoy reading these stories.

Coronado has put up her first story. It is a missing scene from "The Fifth Victim," entitled "A Short Tale of Two Partners." Happy reading, everyone.

Grace R. Williams has posted another wonderful story with a mystery. In three parts, it can be found at: Regrets Part I, Part II and Part III.

Arcadia is growing faster than I can keep up with! Happy reading!
Chapter II has been added! Calico has posted Chapter I of what promises to be a lovely, long, cleverly written romance. Arcadia

We are fortunate to have a new story by Denise Craig to read. It is called Good and Evil. Check it out. Definitely food for thought.

Avoca has posted a short story, Procrastination, about the boys' partnership. I know you'll enjoy it.

We have a new writer on the site. Penski has posted "Lom's Story."
This is a missing scene from the pilot, and is her first story here.

Grace R. Williams has a new story entitled "Thirty." It is the sequel to "All She Ever Wanted," and is a little bit different for the site. Enjoy.

Chat:
Chat is held every Sunday. Join us at : Chatzy (1pm Pacific time).
Entry Password: SmithJones

Previously Posted:
I am starting a page for The Story Challenges (by popular demand!). The Challenges through December 2008 are now posted.

"Ties That Bind", part of the Wilde Hearts series, by JoAnn Baker has been added. Chapters 1-7. Chapters 8-14.

"Hannibal Heyes Through the Mirror" continues with "Creepy Crawlers Through the Crevices."

"Beautiful Disaster" by Denise Craig is on the video page for all you video fans.

Ghislaine Emrys has started to add her Story Challenges. Look for more to be coming soon!

Grace R. Williams has posted a new story called "Spring Fever."

Coyote has pawed her way on board and has put up her Missing Scene Story. No small feat if you don't have thumbs.

Avoca has joined the site and has posted a her story: "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea."

Denise Craig has added a new story: "A Song in the Night."

Check out Lana Coombe's new stories! She has been busy adding new ones for everyone to enjoy.

All stories except the challenges have been moved from the old site. Now you can find JoAnn Baker's stories, moonshadow's stories and Hannibal Heyes Through the Mirror here.

The prolific Calico has uploaded about 100 of her great stories. (I lost count ;-))

Grace R. Williams and Shenango have been busy posting their stories. Check them out!

Lana Coombe has posted three of her wonderful stories.

Denise Craig has joined the site and has a story up: "A New Beginning."

All of last season's Virtual Season stories have been moved here.

The Pecking Order : fan fiction version

Beejaycat — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 19:14:42 CST

By
Calico
print version

THE PECKING ORDER

RAIL STATION – ‘SCHILLING’ -- A TRAIN CHUGS TO A HALT

A tired, bedraggled Kid Curry slides open the door of the freight car just an inch, a furtive glance to ensure no railway employees are watching. No. Saddlebags slung over one drooping shoulder, he opens the door an ex-outlaw width and jumps down. Weary blue eyes move down the small-town platform looking for – ah, there he is. A familiar figure in a silver-trimmed hat raises a hand in greeting. Hannibal Heyes, neither tired nor bedraggled, peels himself from the fence on which he leans and strides towards his partner, a smile dimpling his sun-kissed cheeks.

“Good journey, Kid?”

“I’ve had better.”

“How was the job?”

A look, no make that THE look from the Kid.

“Not so good, huh?” Heyes injects a touch of sympathetic concern into his voice.

“When did us splittin’ up to take two jobs ever turn out good, huh?”

“Mine went fine.”

The frown underneath the brown brim deepens to a glower. “Okay. I guess I shoulda said -- when did splittin’ up to take two jobs ever turn out good for ME?”

“Be fair, Kid,” innocent brown eyes meet disgruntled blue, “we did flip for who took the…”

“Yeah! But with WHOSE coin?”

A pause. Mock offense on one side, bristling on the other.

“Did you get the bonus?” asks Heyes, with the air of a man willing to make an effort to keep things friendly.

“Heyes. You can see I ain’t had a shave in days; I reckon you can smell I ain’t had a bath; an’ you just watched me sneak out of a freight car. Do I look like a fella with a $100 bonus in his pocket? Huh? Do I?” The shoulders droop further. “I’m plannin’ to flatten you; I just need some sleep first.”

“There’s no need to get proddy, Kid. Anyhow,” Heyes presses on, forestalling the Kid who is about to argue there dang well IS a need for him to get proddy, “look on the bright side. You’re here now. I’m gonna take you for a cold beer, then for a hot meal …”

Kid Curry brightens. He follows Heyes, who is striding off, presumably in the direction of the promised sustenance.

“There’s a barber’s where you can get a shave and hot tub.”

More lifting of gloom from the blond ex-outlaw.

“We’ll get back to the ranch.”

A blink. “Ranch? What ranch?”

“Didn’t I say? Good news; I already found us a job here.”

Return of the scowl. “YOU finding me a job is not good news …”

Heyes has reached a wagon, the back loaded with supplies. His hand strokes the velvet muzzle of the mare between the shafts.

Kid Curry interrupts his grumbling. “Is this ours?”

---oooOOOooo---

A BEER, A BEEFSTEAK, A BARBER-SHAVE AND A BATH LATER

A sleeker, shinier, well-fed and watered Kid Curry sits beside his partner, bowling through fine scenery. He is still gently prodding at Heyes, but now simply in the spirit of: ‘Hey, that’s-what-he’s-there-for-huh?’

“I thought we didn’t care for ranch work, ‘cept as a last resort?”

“Unless you got any bright ideas, Kid, I reckon we’re kinda AT our last resort.”

Musing under the brown hat. There is some truth in there.

“Besides,” goes on Heyes, “this is a nice place. A sheriff we’ve never heard of, there’ll be poker come Saturday when the other ranch hands come into town to lose their wages…”

“Uh huh,” nods Curry. No argument with any of that.

“And, if the work’s hard on the back, you’ll find Lazy Wing provides plenty of good food to keep your strength up and soft feather beds for you to rest up in at the end of the day. I’ve been there near a week already. Not done me any harm – has it?”

Blue eyes look Heyes up and down. “Pffttt.”

Heyes grins. A pause. Kid’s expression signifies thinking.

“If’n this Lazy Wing place is so good, how come they’re scrapin’ the barrel and hirin’ you? Let alone takin’ me on, sight unseen. For all they know, I’m another skinny rail who yaks all day and likes to flip a coin to get himself outta anythin’ that means breakin’ sweat.”

“Hey!”

“Why aren’t the locals snappin’ up these jobs?” An idea; the Kid gives a resigned shrug, “The pay’s lousy, huh?”

“Twelve dollars a week.”

A purse of the lips from Curry. Not great, but not lousy.

Heyes clears his throat, “I reckon I got hired ‘cos Mizz Matthews and Mizz Dexter are real good judges of charact…”

“We’re workin’ as ranch hands for a pair of females?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So – LAST time we did that, I ended up hog-tied with a shotgun on me and you ended up toting nitro for Harry Wagoner!”

“This is nothing like that. These ladies are respectable businesswomen. I told you, I’ve been there nearly a week.”

A stubborn bottom lip is stuck out, “’T’ain’t fittin’.”

“Oh, Kid!” An annoyingly indulgent smile from the dimpled one. “Don’t be so parochial.”

Kid Curry opens his mouth to deny being paro – er – whatever, furrows his brow, decides not to give Heyes the satisfaction of asking, shuts it again. He shifts in his seat, opens his mouth, changes his mind, closes it. More thinking. With studied nonchalance he asks, “These ladies, they’re both single, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

Another shift in the seat. Even more nonchalance, “Are they – y’know – good lookin’?” Dark brown eyes roll. “Not that it matters, o’course,” backtracks Curry.

“I told you, Kid. It’s nothing like last time. Ann Matthews and Jill Dexter are NOT Janet and Crazy Lorraine. They’re real nice ladies who run a ranch. Period.”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh! I’m only makin’ conversation. No need to get – er…”

“Defensive?”

“That’s the word.” Pause. “So – are they?”

“Are they what?”

“Y’know - lookers?”

“I guess they’ve two of everything they’re supposed to have two of and it’s all arranged roughly in the right order. But, they’re not…” Heyes stops.

“Not what?”

“Look, Kid. They’re respectable ladies, not exactly in the first flush of youth, who are NOT interested in getting sweet-talked by the help…”

Kid Curry’s face holds a hint of: ‘Turned you down, huh?’, but he says nothing as Heyes goes on.

“They’re offering jobs that’d see us safe through the summer without much danger of getting spotted by bounty hunters, chased by posses, or having to sleep out in the rain listening to each other’s stomachs growl.”

“Uh huh.”

The Kid takes the hint; according to Heyes, romance is off the agenda. A short pause.

“This ranch – er – Lazy Wing, was it? Cattle or horses?”

“Huh?” Heyes turns an innocent gaze on his partner. “Glorious day, huh?”

“Sure is. What are we lookin’ after, cattle or horses?”

“Erm,” Heyes twists his head to chirrup at the gray, “…Erds.”

“Yeah, but herds of what? Cattle or horses?”

“Oh, they’re - erermh – ‘erds.”

A crease appears on Curry’s brow. The breeze is balmy, but it has still carried away half his partner’s answer. Or – dawning suspicion – has it?

“We’re not farmin’ sheep are we? I mean, sure, roundin’ ‘em up is lighter work, but all that bleatin’ gets on my…”

“Nah! It’s not sheep. I told you, it’s – erermh…” Heyes leans forward to brush invisible dust from his pants. His lips move.

A frustrated Curry gets louder with every try. “For Pete’s sake, Heyes, quit mumblin’ and tell me…” He tails off. Something has caught his eye in the distance. It’s… It’s… “Heyes! What the Sam Hill is THAT!”

“That?” Guileless brown eyes watch several feet of gangly legs lollop across the grass, bringing the spherical fluff of feathers topped by a long, long neck and absurdly small head closer. The head tilts to one side. Huge eyes regard a gaping Kid Curry, curiously. A sunbeam sends reflections bouncing from a polished belt buckle. Whip-quick, a beak dips. A fearless blond ex-outlaw simultaneously recoils and coils to protect his important little places with something that, in a lesser man, would be a squeak. “That’s an ostrich, Kid. I told you. We’re ranching birds.”

---oooOOOooo---

A FEW MINUTES LATER – IN A YARD BESIDE A SERIES OF BARNS

“Of all the dumb jobs you’ve roped me into, Heyes…”

Hannibal Heyes is unhitching the gray from the traces. The backside of Kid Curry is still firmly fixed to the wagon seat, his arms folded, stubbornly.

“…this has gotta be the dumbest. Whoever heard o’ ranchin’ birds?”

“Are you done?” queries Heyes, moving the horse into a corral.

Apparently not. “And if you’re gonna get us a dumb job on a dumb bird farm, wouldn’t ya think you’d pick chickens? Or…”

“’Cos, once you ARE done,” Heyes’ voice is all mildness, “You could make a start unloading.”

“…or turkeys? Or some other dang bird normal folk have use for?”

“You know, you could even start unloading without having to quit griping.”

“Not pick some kinda overgrown cat’s fur-ball on stilts… HEY! Will you quit it?!”

This last ejaculation is aimed at an ostrich. Our original bird has followed the wagon, is circling and has now made a beak grab for Curry’s hat. She blinks at the raised voice. One scaly foot rises, paw-like, to hover, beseechingly, in the air. The flexible neck draws her head back. If an ostrich can look reproachful – picture that look.

“That’s Ophelia,” puts in Heyes. A grin, “She likes you, Kid.”

“SHE?” Curry stares at Ophelia; she stares back. Another blink. “How the Sam Hill can you tell?”

“It’s easy,” begins Heyes, “the gals have…”

“Heyes, I don’t care what the gals have! What I care about is… QUIT IT!” The brown hat is rescued from a second attack and stowed safely between Curry’s boots. Ophelia’s eyes fix on the newly washed blond curls. “What kinda dumb jackass gets a dumb job…?” Curry feels something stir on his head; insect maybe? A hand reaches up to swat it away. “…On a dumb - - HEY!” The Kid realises his hair is being tousled by an exploratory beak. He jumps down from the wagon and scowls up at the inquisitive ostrich. Something taps him on the shoulder. He spins 180 degrees and fixes on yet another long downy neck. Blue eyes rise to meet another dewy dark gaze amid tufty feathers. A bony beak opens in a silent squawk.

“This one’s Olivia,” introduces Heyes, hefting the first box from the wagon.

Wings are fluffed. A trailing end of Curry’s bandana is tweaked.

“Guess I was wrong; looks like you’re gonna be a success with the ladies at Lazy Wing after all, Kid,” teases the silver-tongued one. “Now you’ve been persuaded off your perch, any chance of you working while whining?”

An absolute classic example of the ‘look’ is thrown at Heyes as a brown hat is tugged firmly back over the tempting curls.

Then, “Hello! Mister Smith!” A pleasant contralto voice is heard.

“Hello!” And another, possibly a mezzo-soprano this time.

Heyes raises his hand in friendly greeting. Kid Curry wheels round and wipes the scowl off his face as two women in sprigged calico run, gracefully, towards them.

“This is Mizz Matthews,” supplies Heyes, “And this,” he indicates the taller of the two, “is Mizz Dexter.”

Curry takes them in. Like his partner said; not in the first flush of youth and probably not raving beauties even when they were, but – all the same. Kid’s opinion is evidenced by the subtlest of signs. A shade of shoulder squaring, a suggestion of stomach sucking, the hint of a flourish as the hat is swept from the blond head, the extra winning quality added to the Curry smile.

Ann Matthews holds out her hand, “You must be Thaddeus Jones. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Uh huh?” The Kid realises that – and the ‘what-tale-have-you-been-spinning’ glance he threw at Heyes – came out a touch suspicious. “I mean; the pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”

“Finding Mister Smith so keen to take the job was such a relief. You see, our foreman broke his leg and went to stay with his daughter while it mends, and our other hand decided to go stake a claim in the Dakotas. All at the busiest time of the year,” explains Ann.

Wide smile from Jill, “Mister Smith’s been simply wonderful.”

Smug waves emanate from the fella with the dimples.

“Uh huh?” Curry’s enthusiasm for the wonderfulness of Heyes is underwhelming.

“And hearing he had a friend, also looking for work – well! Our luck sure is in!”

“Aw, dunno ‘bout that, ma’am. I reckon the luck’s on our side, huh, Joshua?”

“You see, Jill and I have problems hiring. Some hands don’t think women should be running a ranch alone, so won’t come work here.”

“Sheesh, how -- how parochial.”

Heyes blinks at his partner, then rolls his eyes.

“Exactly, Mister Jones. And other cattlemen think it beneath their dignity to farm ostriches. I’m so glad you don’t feel that way.”

Ophelia, neck sinuous as a serpent, curves her head to peer into the Kid’s face. He draws back, but manages a smile.

“Nah!” beams Heyes. “You can see for yourself, ma’am, Thaddeus has a real affinity with the birds.”

A quick glower directed partner-wards, then a return of the smile for Ann and Jill, “Well, ladies, I’d better get on.”

Is the Kid hefting boxes with an extra show of muscular grace to impress the new bosses? Hard to say. Let us simply join Heyes in a little fence leaning and enjoy the view of the blond breaking sweat.

---oooOOOooo---

THE RANCH HOUSE – SUPPER TIME

“You see Mister Jones, what with the current fashions for ladies…” The speaker is Jill Dexter.

“Jill means feather-trimmed hats and the passion for boas,” chips in Ann Matthews.

“…Whole evening cloaks trimmed with feathers if you can afford it,” continues Jill, “There’s a real demand for fine plumes. Ann was brought up on a cattle ranch. So she understands dealing with livestock. I’m city-bred, but have contacts with the fashion houses.”

“She means she handles the business side,” smiles Ann.

“Since I can count past ten and Ann works on the ancient; one, two, many, system…”

“Hey! At least I can hitch a wagon without half an hour of unladylike cussing and checking the manual to see if I’ve the horse right way ‘round!”

A feminine version of the ‘look’. Mock frowns belied by affectionate smiling eyes.

“Do you realise, Thaddeus,” this is Heyes, an extra sparkle in his voice as he speaks on a topic close to his heart, “the value per pound of tail feathers is almost equal to the value per pound of diamonds!” The blond one is too busy chewing for speech, but raised fair eyebrows show he is impressed.

“AND,” Jill Dexter carries on, “what makes things perfect for a city softy like me, the tail feathers are plucked in the molting season. It doesn’t even hurt the bird.”

“So, all we hafta do is keep ‘em happy an’ healthy?” muses the Kid. He mops up the last of what was clearly an excellent stew. A glance around the ranch house.Everything is spick and span and there are plenty of what Kid Curry would doubtless call ‘women’s touches’. Compared to most places we see the boys stay, this is a haven of homely comfort. He meets Heyes’ eyes. Heyes is radiating told-you-so vibrations. His partner gives a ‘guess-you-were-right’ shrug.

“Well, there’s a little more to it than that…” starts Ann.

Before Curry can fully switch off the ‘guess-you-were-right’ smile, Jill interrupts, “We’ll talk work later. Ann’s baked you a ‘welcome’ cake. Let’s have that first!”

“And I’ll go get the coffee,” chips in Ann.

Heyes half stands as the women rise. Curry goes further; he scoots ‘round to pull out Ann’s chair. A sparkling smile with an extra dollop of blue-eyed charm. The ladies leave the table.

As Curry retakes his seat Heyes leans in and hisses, crossly, “For Pete’s sake, quit preening every time Mizz Matthews smiles at you. The woman’s old enough to be your mo…” Forehead furrowing indicative of mental arithmetic. “…mother’s younger sister.”
“So? You know what they say ‘bout which fiddles play the best tunes. Since when did we not like older women?”

“Since I told you neither of ‘em’s interested in flirting with the help.”

“Jill Dexter likes you, Heyes.”

“They BOTH like me. They BOTH like you. Don’t mean they wanna do more’n bake us a cake or make us coffee, does it? Get over yourself.”

The Kid is not convinced. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’, Heyes.”

“You’re THINKING stuff.”

“I still ain’t DOIN’ nothin’. They’re bein’ nice. I’m bein’ nice back.”

“Hmm.” Doubt in the dimpled one, but the Kid does have truth on his side. “Keep it that way. Now shaddup, they’re coming back.”

Our point of view moves away; we see, but do not hear, the smiling conversation as coffee is poured. We note a sharp glance from keen brown eyes, but Kid Curry is, indeed, just being nice.

---oooOOOooo---

THE NEXT DAY. BACK AT THE RAIL STATION.

Our boys sit on a bench. The Kid is casting wary glances up and down. “Don’t seem to be no one around.”

“We’re not robbing this train, Kid. We’re collecting a – a legitimate delivery.”

Curry opens his mouth for a riposte, but is forestalled by two cowboys striding onto the platform. Then, two more. Civil hat tipping and masculine ‘howdy’ grunts, then one set of new arrivals settle on the bench to the left of Heyes, the other pair settle to the right of the Kid.

“Fine day,” remarks Arrival One.

“Sure is,” agrees Heyes.

Pause.

“You fellas work around here?” asks Arrival Two.

“Uh huh.” “Yup.” From Curry and Arrival Three in unison.

Pause.

“You’re waiting for the noon train?” Arrival Two, again (what a blabbermouth, huh?)

“Reckon we all are,” replies Heyes, affably.

“Me an’ Pa, we’re pickin’ up a prize Hereford bull. Gonna improve the stock out at Twin Fork,” confides Arrival Two, cheerily.

A pinging tobacco spit from Arrival Three. “Uh huh? We’re picking up a new breedin’ stallion – thoroughbred -- for Five-Bar-T.”

“Yeah? Sheesh!” The little sweetie that is Arrival Two is disproportionately pleased. “Hey, imagine if you two fellas,” a youthful grin is directed at Heyes and Curry, “were here to pick up some’n for stud too? Huh? That’d be a real – er – er…”

“Coincidence,” supplies Heyes.

“Uh huh?” Not very bright, but certainly good-hearted chortle. “A real co-in-side-dence! Huh? We’d hafta call this here train,” chortle, winding up for a supposed witticism, “the love train! Huh? Huh? If’n you were pickin’ up some’n for stud too.”

Embarrassed shuffle of a jean-clad backside on the bench, “Guess so,” says the Kid, carefully, “if we were.” Blue eyes slide sideways to meet brown. Brown eyes slide sideways to meet blue.

The wide friendly grin is still splitting the freckled face of Arrival Two. “I ain’t seen you two fellas afore have I? Which ranch are ya workin’ at?”

He is annoying, but an ex-outlaw would have to be much meaner than either of our two to snub this boyish human Labrador. There is, however, reluctance in Curry’s eyes and even the supposedly nonchalant Heyes is poker-faced. Arrival One, whom we previously heard addressed as ‘Pa’, notes this.

“Zeke,” he grunts, “mind your business, son.” A half-apologetic glance at Heyes and Curry.

“We work out at -- Hey, looks like the train’s arriving, huh?” says Heyes to Zeke. The ploy succeeds. The crestfallen look disappears and, pushing back his hat, Zeke hurries to stare down the line.

The five older men also stand. Adjusting of pants, hooking of thumbs in belts. Pa advances to join Zeke. The two cowboys from Five-Bar-T also stride forward as the train wheels slow and squeal and churn to a halt. Our two boys are, discreetly, hanging back.

The platform becomes a bustle of activity. Crates are hefted onto trolleys. Shouts of greeting. Barked instructions. Our point of view zooms in on the pair from Five-Bar-T. One is signing paperwork. The other pats the flank of a magnificent stallion, as the animal is brought out of a car. The horse is led, whinnying and tossing his mane in the summer breeze, past our boys.

“Pretty fancy, huh?” grunts Arrival Three.

“Sure is,” agrees Heyes, genuine admiration in his voice.

Kid Curry contents himself with a low whistle.

Our focus moves to where Zeke and Pa are, respectively, excitedly and calmly, urging a magnificent bull out of HIS car. The man who has guarded him on the journey is, with due wariness, encouraging from behind.

“Wooo-weee-wooo!” enthuses Zeke. To Kid Curry, “Sheesh! Just look at him, Mister!”

“Fine beast,” agrees Curry, respectfully returning the stare of two dark eyes glowering beneath ruddy curls and gleaming ivory horns.

“Fine?! I should say so. It’s times like these you get to feel – y’know – that being a cowboy is …well, it kinda makes ya – y’know! Sheesh!” He turns to the Kid. “Don’t it make you feel kinda proud? Working with animals like this,” a finger points at the stallion, “an’ – an’ like that!”

Blue eyes slide down the length of the train: crates, men chatting, general busyness. The Kid clears his throat, “Guess so.”

The four cowboys move off. A hint of relaxation and relief on our boys’ faces, when…

“Any’un here from LayZee Wing Ranch?” The piercing yell travels the length and breadth of the station. All heads turn. All heads except two turn in the direction of the booming voice. “We’ve a d’liv’ry here for LayZee Wing!” The two rogue heads (no pun intended), one dark, one fair, are examining the clouds, their boots, an advertisement pasted to a wall.

The cowboys have slowed in their walk away. Interested glances thrown over shoulders. ‘Lazy Wing?’ ‘Didn’t them two females…?’ ‘Ain’t they farmin’ them…?”

“LAYZEE WING? HEY! YOU TWO FELLAS?” The bellow is indisputably heading in an ex-outlaw direction. “You from Layzee Wing?”

Hopes of waiting for an almost empty platform evaporate. Heyes assumes a nonchalant smile. The Kid, more flush in his cheeks than usual, squares his shoulders. They stride towards the source of the hollering. Eyes follow them.

“You gotta get this fella out. We cain’t move him. Whaddya call this, anyhow?”

“Whatya collectin’?” This is Zeke, also loud, from the opposite edge of the scene. “Bull? Horse?” A cheery laugh, “It ain’t a sheep is it?”

No. It is not a sheep. If only.

“C’mon, Handsome,” encourages Heyes, a black hat disappearing into an open car from which straws flutter out, “c’mon. You’ll love it at Lazy Wing.”

By now the boys have the undivided attention of everyone there.

“Don’t just stand there, say something encouraging, Thaddeus.”

Still more flush in his cheeks, Curry makes the chirruping sound with which one usually encourages poultry to come to a bucket of grain. A scrabbling sound from inside. More straw floats in the breeze. Heyes gives the Kid a ‘well done’ glance and joins in the chirrups.

Audience on tenterhooks. Then…

A comical head, all beak and eyes, peers around the car door. Up. Down. Blinking left. Blinking right. Beak opening in a silent gape of surprise. A scaly foot emerges, hovering high above the platform. Shall I? Shan’t I? Toes flex. More wide-eyed gaping from the bug-eyes.

A titter from one of the watchers. Amused murmurs. More titters. Explosive squawk of laughter from Zeke, who goes so far as to sweep off his hat to have something to beat against his leg to fully express his enjoyment of the visual joke.

The Kid wheels and subjects Zeke to the full force of his icy blue ‘dangerous’ look. Zeke raises a hand in apology and is making a genuine effort to cough back the chortling when…

A desperate splurt of laughter forces its way out from the youth. Even the staid face of Pa twitches with mirth. Giggles from girls. Guffaws from guys. Kid Curry, not used to having his best gunslinger’s stare elicit such a reaction, deepens the frown.

“You thinkin’ of sharin’ the joke, son?”

Zeke points about a foot to the left and then to the right of the Kid. Too far gone to speak, he flaps his arms indicatively.

Curry glances over one shoulder; feathery softness rising in a graceful arc. He glances over the other; the same, gently flapping plumage. He is trying to do his standoff stare with wings. All he needs to complete the effect is a halo. He looks up. From a height of near eight feet six, huge eyes look back and blink. An exploratory beak comes to peck at the low-slung and always so well-polished gun. Silent questioning gape of the beak, as if to say, ‘what’s this?’ The Kid flinches away. The edge of the thong tying down his gun twitches like a tempting worm and…

A yelp, followed by explosive laughter from the audience.

There are circumstances in which no man, NO man, can sustain the role of strong, silent Western hero. Kid Curry gives it up. “Heyes,” he hisses, under cover of the surrounding hilarity, “let’s get’em outta here. THEN, I need to make good on that promise to flatten ya!”

---oooOOOooo---

THE MAIN STREET OF THE TOWN – OUTSIDE THE BANK

Heyes tries to look as if he is NOT with the fella attached by a rope to an eight foot six ostrich. Curry wears the mingled puzzlement and proddiness of an ex-outlaw wondering how the Sam Hill he ended up holding the bird halter. Passersby check out him and the ostrich. Some politely hide their smiles; others do not.

“Beats me why we’re pickin’ up another of these dumb birds anyhow,” Kid tilts down the brim of his hat with one finger to give him a shade more cover and directs a glower up the neck towering above him. “We fed near on two dozen of the dang brutes this morning. Seems like enough to me. Nope, strike that. Seems like two dozen too many.”

“Ah, but they’re all hens. They lost their buck, Orsino, last month and this fella’s come all the way from New York to…”

“Huh? They don’t have ostriches in New York.”

“No, Kid. They have ostriches in Africa. They have the edge of the Atlantic Ocean and a port in New York. Fill in the blanks, can’t you? Now, ostriches are polygamous, a successful male guarding a harem of up to seven hens. They mate from March to September…”

“Sheesh, no wonder this Orsino tipped up his toes at the end o’ May. Musta been plumb tuckered out,” grins the Kid. Then, “Heyes, where are you gettin’ all this guff?”

Heyes slides a book from his pocket and shows Curry the title: ‘A Simple Guide to Ostrich Breeding & Rearing.’

“Uh huh. Shouldn’t ya have a plain brown cover on that?”

Anything further is forestalled by Jill Dexter coming out from the bank.

She hands over a clutch of notes, “Here are your wages.” Happy smiles and murmurs from the boys. “Now, I still have to go have Mrs. Rodgers fit my new alpaca, AND I want to find a surprise for Ann, because next week’s her…” She tails off, seeing the expression on two ex-outlaw faces. A rueful smile, “And, you don’t want to stand around waiting for me to do women’s stuff.”

“Not a problem, ma’am.”
“Take your time, ma’am.”

The demurs of the ex-outlaws are gallant, if untruthful.

“Listen, why don’t we tether this handsome fellow outside the dressmaker’s, in the shade with a bucket of water? I’ll ask young Carrie Rogers to watch him. He’ll be fine. Won’t you, gorgeous?”

Squawk.

“And you two can take a little refreshment.”

A mute, though happy, exchange between the boys. An employer that pays AND gives breaks. Okay, it comes with feathered embarrassment, but – all the same!

---oooOOOooo---

THE SALOON

Our boys stride through the bat-wing doors. The saloon is quiet, as one would expect on a weekday. The barkeep serves two cold beers and returns to his paper.A rather ‘off-duty’ saloon gal sits with three cowboys, half watching them play blackjack, but giving more attention to buffing her nails. She glances up, registers the attractiveness of the customers just arrived and sashays over.

“Hi, I’m Kitty. Buy me a drink an’ I sit on your lap an’ purr.”
The boys grin at this and signal the barkeep, who pours something feminine-looking. Kitty does not, in fact, sit on either lap and, indeed, the tone was more passing-the-time friendly than shall-we-do-a-little-business flirtatious. Instead, she slithers between Heyes and Curry and studies first one, then the other.

“Gonna tell me your names?”

“I’m Thaddeus Jones and this is – hey, never mind who he is, huh?”

“Joshua Smith,” supplies Heyes, “A cat-lover, entirely at your, service.”
A giggle, “Well, ain’t you two just the cutest things ever?”

“I reckon that’s half true, Kitty,” smiles Curry.

“Same here,” dimples Heyes. “Half true. ’Course, me and this other fella, we may not agree over which half.”

Another delighted giggle. A swallow of drink. The voice becomes more matter-of-fact. “Haven’t seen you fellas in here before. Staying in Schilling long?”

Heyes smiles, “Dunno. A few weeks maybe. We’ve got us jobs out on one of the ranches.”

“You’ll be around for the fourth then?”

“I reckon so,” confirms the Kid. “There’ll be celebrations, huh?”

“Oh, sure.” A mop of untidy curls nod towards a poster displayed on the wall. “There’s the contest for the Schilling Ranch Cup.”

“What’s that?” Heyes’ sharp eyes scan the print.

“Well,” giggle, “it’s a kinda contest, for ranches. It got started by old man Schilling, who the town’s named after. An’ the winner wins this, er…” Kitty drains her glass and looks hopeful.

Signaling the barkeep for a refill, Heyes nods at this utter lack of useful information, “The winner wins a cup? Uh huh; with you so far, Kitty.”

She catches on to the gentle teasing and gives another giggle. “It’s a big thing round here. The ranch owners, they all like to get their names on the Schilling Cup an’…”

Curry catches Heyes’ eye and flicks a glance at the blackjack table. A cowboy who originally ignored Kitty’s departure is looking over at every giggle. A scowl deepens between his brows. Now, six foot five and 290 pounds of solid muscle pushes back a chair and swaggers over. His friends nudge each other, turn to watch. Curry and Heyes keep their faces friendly. Belligerent thumbs are hooked into a belt. A pugnacious jaw is thrust out.

“These guys botherin’ you, Kitty?”

“Nope. They’re talkin’ civil to me. Which is more’n you were doin’, Buck.”

“I don’t like fellas messin’ with MAH gal.” A stubby finger pokes the Kid in the chest with every syllable.

The Kid, not looking for a fight, but not appreciating the pokes, grasps and pushes aside the hand, opens his mouth, but finds himself forestalled.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, give it a rest, Buck! I was only passin’ the time o’ day with these boys.”

“Which made our day a little brighter, ma’am,” charms Heyes.

“You see how pretty Joshua talks? Why can’t YOU talk like that, Buck? Ya big lummox! Besides! If’n you’re that keen to keep me a one-man gal, why ain’t ya got a ring on this finger?”

“It’ll go with the one she’s put through ya nose, Buck!” is chortled from the table.

Buck shuffles his feet.

Kitty fluffs her hair, “I was tellin’ these boys ‘bout the Schillin’ Cup an’ askin’ if’n they was gonna take part.”

“Take part!” A snort of laughter from the table. Hey! Now they have turned around, we have seen Cowboy Two and Cowboy Three before! They are the pair who picked up the prize stallion for Five-Bar-T. “Them two?! Pffftttt!”

“Why not?” protests Kitty.

“Why not?” asks Curry, with deceptive mildness. He receives a scowl from Heyes, but scowls back firmly.

“Because it’s a RANCH contest!”

“And…?!” prompts the Kid, with just a glimpse of the edginess beloved of Kidettes everywhere.

“Well,” snorts Cowboy Two, “you work at Lazy Wing!”

“You’re from Lazy Wing?” echoes Kitty. Another giggle. “Ain’t them birds the dang cutest?”

Buck stops looking cross. A slow grin creases his face.

“You ain’t gonna call that overgrown henhouse a RANCH, are ya?” he says. Another couple of pokes – admittedly, more jovial than threatening -- for the Kid, “It’s a tough contest for MEN working real MEN’S jobs. NOT for blue-eyed, baby-faced – er…” His eloquence has run out. “Not for fellas who run round after a passel o’ freak-show giant turkeys for a pair o’ dang fool women who like playing at bein’ farmers!”

The Kid squares his shoulders and settles into the mode usually seen before his ‘walk-off’ speech. “I reckon the way I see it, fellas, is…OW!”

The ending is both inelegant and sudden. Almost as if someone very close, not interested in winning profitless debating points with dumb cowboys, or in involving them in a small town contest for no real purpose, had kicked Curry sharply in the ankle.

---oooOOOooo---

OUTSIDE IN THE STREET

“He’s a blowhard, Kid. Let him blow!”

The Kid does not look convinced.

“You’d have liked a fight, huh? You wanna get the sheriff over to see who’s causing trouble in the town?”

“No. But…”

“Him saying you can’t go in for this Cup bothers you? I read that poster. Are you itching to get thrown off bucking broncos, or run ragged persuading ornery critters they wanna get in a pen? All for the honor of Lazy Wing?”

Brow furrowing from the blond. “I guess not. But…”

“You can’t mind him calling Ophelia and the rest overgrown turkeys – ‘cos you called ‘em far worse this morning.”

A contralto voice is heard, “Mister Smith! Mister Jones!”

It is Jill. She is frowning; her foot taps on the boardwalk.

“Have we kept you waiting, ma’am?”

“Not at all. You are punctual to the minute.” Still frowning.

“Shall we load the parcels into the wagon?”

“I suppose so.”

A glance is exchanged.

“Has something annoyed you, ma’am?”

“Huh?” Heyes’ query registers. “I do beg your pardon. Yes, something has annoyed me and, to answer the unspoken follow-on question, no, I should not take my bad temper out on you two.”

“What is it, ma’am?”

“It’s THIS!” She taps a poster displayed outside the store. It is a duplicate of the one in the saloon, extolling the forthcoming excitement of the Schilling Cup. “Ann and I knew we’d no chance of… I guess, I don’t like being told I’m not allowed to even…”

These half sentences are interrupted by two prosperous gentlemen coming out of the store. If a lady worthy of the name can be said to ‘glower’, Jill glowers.

“Miss Dexter,” says the first. “If we said anything to offend you, we do apologize.”

“Nothing could have been further from our intention,” chimes in the second.

Their eyes move to the boys.

“This is Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones,” introduces Jill, voice civil but with a touch of frost. “And this is Mister Crawley who owns Five-Bar-T and Mister Osbourne who owns Twin Forks.” Ex-outlaw hats are touched. “We’ve been talking about the Schilling Cup. Every year there’s a contest of skills to decide the honor of being declared the best ranch.” Jill’s voice drops further into the chill zone. “These gentlemen have been explaining women ranchers are not allowed to enter…”

“Now, ma’am, that’s not exactly what we said. The Pie-Bake competition is wide open…”

“And a sure thing for Mizz Matthews! After her performance at the Christmas Bake-Off I’m guessing no one else stands a chance!”

“Her pies sure are special.” This last comment is from a suddenly misty-eyed Curry.

“Without in the least denigrating the domestic arts,” fumes Jill, “the pie competition is NOT part of the Schilling Cup!”

“Surely, ma’am, you can see all that tussling and hard-riding is too arduous for two such lovely ladies?”

“If ranch owners have to compete personally, it’s news to me.” Jill’s fine dark eyes rest a moment on the spreading waistlines and balding heads before her. “Isn’t the rough stuff left to the young men on their payrolls?”

A pause. Crawley and Osbourne look at our boys. A bland smile from Heyes. Curry fingers his collar and opens his mouth, possibly to volunteer, possibly not. We will never know, as he is forestalled by Jill Dexter.

“That was NOT a hint Mister Smith, Mister Jones. Unless you happen to LIKE rodeo games, offering to take part is above and beyond the call of duty.” Despite her words, there is wistful hope in her voice. Another pause, but no rush of volunteers. She turns back to the ranchers, “It is not so much that Miss Matthews and I want Lazy Wing to take part,” (she does though, we can tell) “it is simply frustrating to be told we are barred! Do we not pay the same community taxes? Is it not enough that our skirts prevent us voting in local affairs – so much for no taxation without representation – without also stopping us taking part in patriotic celebrations?”

As she is speaking three familiar figures exit the saloon and approach.

“Miss Dexter, it is not you and the charming Miss Matthews being ladies which is the issue. Perish the thought! I bow, a slave, before the superior sex…” Osbourne takes her hand, and bends over it, puckering up. Jill slithers it free and hides it in her pocket.

“It’s the livestock, ma’am,” says Crawley. “I’ve no doubt this – er – creature,” the ostrich’s foot rises in affront. “is profitable. But what could it possibly do pitted against a horse or a steer?”

Offended squawk.

“That’s what I told baby-face here,” chimes in Buck, walking into shot. “A hen-house for walkin’ bonnet trimmin’s growin’ outta a bird’s backside…”

“Now, now. Ladies present, Buck,” warns Crawley, who all the same, twinkles approval at his muscle-bound head hand.

“… AIN’T a ranch. However well Blue-Eyes and Smart-Mouth here go down with the gals.” Another poke at a shirt front. The Kid still does not like it. “They won’t do nothin’ for the Schillin’ Cup.”

“You know, fella,” says a provoked Curry, “I wouldn’t be too sure of…OW!”

Jill Dexter, who had clasped her hands in rising hope blinks at this sudden and inappropriate sentence-ending. “Have you a pain in your ankle, Mister Jones?”

“Yeah,” grimaces Curry, rubbing an abused bone, “it came on real sudden, ma’am.”

“I don’t think we’ve much to worry about, Buck,” smiles Mister Crawley, “Looks like I’ll be staring at the Schilling Cup as I drink my evening brandy for another year.”

“We’ll give you a run for your money, Crawley,” puts in Osbourne.

Synchronously with Osbourne: “Looking at the Cup makes the brandy taste even better, huh?” smiles Heyes, demonstrating to the Kid the arts of: not taking offence, keeping in good with wealthy men, and NOT offering to be thrown off horses and kicked by cows just to make a point to burly cowboys with hay for brains. “I think Mizz Dexter, it’d be the sensible thing to stay outta…”

“And,” goes on Crawley, as if there had been no interjections, “I reckon we know who’ll be winning another $200 prize, don’t we Buck?”

Chortle from Buck.

“…This competition,” finishes Heyes. He registers the last words out of Crawley’s mouth. A quizzical smile, “$200 prize?”

“The ranches compete simply for honor,” explains Jill, “but there’s a cash prize for the best individual performance.”

“Uh huh? Like I was saying – it’d be the SENSIBLE thing to stay out of this competition. But, when honor’s at stake, who wants to be sensible? I can’t see nothing in the rules of this contest saying the livestock entries have to be cattle or horses,” Heyes, following the smoothest change of direction since someone invented reversible seats on trains, is studying the small print on the poster, “Last time I looked, our birds were live and they were stock. As for the question of whether Lazy Wing is a ranch; I think a glance at the title deeds would settle that, huh?”

---oooOOOooo---

BACK AT THE RANCH

The wagon, proudly striding ostrich beside it, pulls to a halt.

A yelp from the direction of the ranch house. Ann Matthews, hands covered in suds from washing-up, races out.

“Oh! Look at you! You’re so handsome!” Ann Matthews enthuses.

An ‘aw shucks’ expression appears on Kid Curry’s face. Then, half a second later, he realises she is talking to the ostrich. He catches Heyes’ teasing eye.

“You are SO gorgeous! Aren’t you? Aren’t you gorgeous?”

“I sure am,” grins Heyes, “but what do you think of the bird, ma’am?”

Delighted laughs from two ladies.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he, Ann?” asks Jill Dexter. “What shall we call him?”

“What about – Oberon?”

“Ann likes folk to think we actually read the fancy books on her shelves and not just the dime novels hidden behind them,” Jill tells the boys, teasingly. Her hand reaches up to caress plumage. “Oberon, what do you think of that? A name fit for a king.”

The ostrich ruffles his feathers.

“He likes it! You see! Don’t you, Oberon?” coos Ann.

Another squawk. The boys exchange a glance. And an eye roll.

“Look, the girls have seen him,” says Jill.

Indeed, on the other side of the fence feathered lovelies are gathering. Oberon opens his beak, widens his eyes and takes a step back. He looks down, beseechingly, at Heyes.

An inquisitive beak, almost certainly belonging to Ophelia, reaches out.

Squawk! With a flump of feathers Oberon flattens himself to the ground.

“Oh, Oberon,” reproves Heyes, “you must never let women see you’re scared.”

---oooOOOooo---

LATER

The boys, leaning on a fence to give us a view of their pert buttocks, watch a still-nervous Oberon mingle with the hens.

“Which one do you think he’ll go for, Heyes?”

“I like the look of Odette. Good bushy tail, huh?”

“Yeah, but take a look at the drumsticks on Olivia!”

“He’s gotta court her, not cook her, for Thanksgiving, Kid!”

A pause, while both boys watch hen ostriches strut their stuff.

“Heyes?”

“Uh huh?”

“How do they – y’know?”

“We’ll know he’s picked himself a gal when he starts flapping his wings. He has to show off first, see. A bit like us, huh? But, when it gets serious, we’ll see the female running circles around the male.”

“Figures,” sighs the Kid.

“Hey! He’s flapping at Ophelia.”

Blue and brown eyes both watch.

“C’mon, Kid, let’s go get supper, give them some privacy.”

The boys walk towards the ranch house.

“Heyes,” Curry looks worried, “Ophelia’ll be okay, huh?”

“Aw, Kid,” mock-concern in the brown eyes, “you’ll get over her. She was too tall for you anyhow.”

A few paces in silence. Kid Curry shakes his head, “Oberon! Oberon?! And the one before they saddled with Orsino?! Sheesh! Y’know what, Heyes, I can’t figure why nice ladies like Mizz Matthews an’ Mizz Dexter didn’t get snapped up years ago, but at least it saved their sons draggin’ round names like that!” A long pause. Contritely, “Sorry, Hannibal; I forgot. No offence.”

“’S’orright,” grunts Heyes.

“Heyes.”

“Uh huh?”

“I still gotta flatten you for getting us in that dang Schilling Cup.”

---oooOOOooo---

THE SUPPER TABLE

“Oh, Mister Jones, I couldn’t believe it when Jill said you and Mister Smith were willing to enter the Schilling Cup on our behalf. I think you’re wonderful.”

Ann Matthews beams admiration at Curry. The Kid basks.

“’S’nothing, ma’am.”

Ann’s gaze returns to a sign she and Jill are working on. Jill, ruler in hand, is pencilling even squares. Ann is sketching fancy lettering within the blocks.

“Sheesh, this is good!” Curry is masticating pie.

“Oh! Ann has a gift,” says Jill, “Every place we’ve lived, she always wins any pie contest going.”

“Never mind that!” dismisses Ann. “The Schilling Cup! I know we won’t really win but…” Her eyes sparkle with pleasure, “…just to see Osbourne and Crawley’s faces when we enter. Just to take part!”

“Not win!” scathes Heyes. “Does Thaddeus here,” the Kid is patted on the back by a supportive partner, “look as if he even knows the meaning of the word ‘lose’?”

More waves of admiration from the ladies. More basking from the Kid.

“It’s such a beautiful evening,” sighs Ann, looking out of the window. “It makes me feel, oh, I don’t know, romantic I guess.” A self-deprecating glance over at her friend. “At my age!”
“It sure is lovely,” agrees Jill. “Why don’t we leave this a while and go stroll by the edge of the lake, watch the sun go down?”

“That sounds,” she smiled, “irresistible.”

Both ladies stand and, with a final smile at the boys, leave.

Kid Curry drains his coffee mug, stands, walks to a mirror, straightens his hair and smoothes his shirt. He reaches for his hat.

“Where are you going?” asks Heyes.

“Didn’t you hear ‘em? They’re feeling romantic and wanna watch the sun go down by the lake. Call me dumb…”

“You’re dumb,” obliges Heyes.

“…but, if that ain’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”

“Kid, an invitation is: ‘Will you come down to the lake?’ Not, ‘We’re going down to the lake.’ Spot the difference?”

“Pfftt.”

“I’ll say it once more; they’re not interested.”

“Heyes, if there’s one thing I understand, it’s women. You comin’?”

“You’re gonna find yourself superfluous.”

“Heyes,” the hat was adjusted to a jaunty angle on the blond curls, “I am always super. As for –er -- fluous,” a wicked grin, “watch and learn!”

---oooOOOooo---

TEN MINUTES LATER

Heyes, glass of whiskey in hand, is reading the sign the ladies were working on.

‘Schilling Ladies’ Committee: Guess the Number of Beans in the Jar.’

His eyes turn to an absolutely enormous empty glass jar, bunting ribbons attached, standing, in a corner. Picking up Jill’s ruler, he goes over and measures it. He picks up a much smaller, ordinary glass jar from the sideboard, measures that, walks to the storeroom. Rummaging sounds. When Heyes emerges, the small jar is full of dried beans. He sits at the table, spills out the beans and starts to count. He pauses, takes a spoonful of Ann’s pie and chews, consideringly. He purses his lips, nods. Back to counting.

The door clicks. Kid Curry walks in, tosses his hat aside and, a pole-axed expression on his face, flumps into the chair opposite his partner.

“They resisted you, huh?” asks Heyes, without raising his eyes from his beans.

“Down by the lake… They’re…” Blue eyes fix on Heyes. “You knew!”

“I didn’t know. I might of guessed. None of my business.” Brown eyes look up with a hint of sternness, “None of yours either!”

A blond ex-outlaw is still stunned. “’Ain’t natural,” he pronounces. A shrug from Heyes.
“Heyes,” more tentative tone, “what d’you think they actually, y’know, do?”
“I dunno. Use your imagination, Kid.”

Curry’s face indicates thinking. Swift clicking of beans being counted. A log in the stove pops. Kid Curry wriggles in his seat. The clock ticks. The Kid crosses his legs.

Heyes sweeps the last handful of beans into the small jar, takes them back to the storeroom, returns the empty jar to its place. He pulls a pencil stub and paper from his vest pocket. “Kid…” he begins.

“Shaddup,” breathes Curry.

Heyes looks down at him.

“I’m usin’ my imagination – an’ I’m not done yet.

---oooOOOooo---

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING

“I’m telling you, it can be done! Look, there’s a picture.”

Kid Curry pushes aside the book his partner is thrusting under his nose and carries on tacking tarpaper onto a section of barn.

“I’ve seen a picture of a man ridin’ a flyin’ carpet. Don’t mean I’m gonna saddle up a hearth rug.”

“But, Kid, it’s a photograph; the camera cannot lie!”

“Anythin’ can lie after spendin’ time with you, Heyes.”

“All you’d need is to get one of the birds to trust you.” An inquisitive beak stretches over Heyes’ shoulder, huge eyes blink at the illustration. “Look! Odette’s on board already!”

“You’re the one with the silver tongue. You get one of the birds to trust you.”

“Listen, Kid…”

The exchange stops as Ann Matthews walks across the yard. Curry returns to tacking tarpaper, he does not glance round as Ann arrives.

“Another fine day, ma’am,” Heyes touches his hat.

“Isn’t it?! Now, what I want to know is, have you seen Ophelia this morning?”

“Nope. But, Thaddeus has.”

Ann looks, hopefully, at the Kid. A pause.

“She was down by the creek,” he says, not looking at her.

“Oh. And did she look, er, happy?”

A shrug from a blond ex-outlaw. Another pause. Hammer, hammer, hammer.

“I’m sure she’s fine, ma’am,” says Heyes, he tries to throw a quick scowl at his partner but Curry will not shift his eyes from the tarpaper.

“Of course, Mister Smith. I’m just being foolish. I’ll go get the pancakes on the stove.” Ann walks away, stops, squares her shoulders, turns, comes back. “Have I – have I done something to offend you, Mister Jones?”

“Nope.” Hammer, hammer.

Drooping, Ann turns back to the house. Curry scowls at his own hands holding the tacks, scowls harder, then, “Ophelia was pecking around at the ground in a quiet spot, gathering twigs and stuff, ma’am.”

“Nest building behavior!” Ann’s hands clasp together, “Wonderful!”

“And, Oberon, he’d got Olivia runnin’ circles round him just after dawn.”

“Also wonderful!”

“And, ma’am,” the Kid lays down his hammer and meets her eyes for the first time, “you haven’t done a dang thing to offend me. I guess I’m just a grouch before breakfast and I apologize.”

“Oh!” A relieved smile. “That’s fine! And easily solved! It’ll be ready in five minutes.”

As she walks away, now with a spring in her step, Curry goes back to hammering. Heyes comes over, gives the broad shoulder an approving pat.

“Shaddup!”

“I never said a word!” Pause. “Now you’re not so proddy, let’s talk about what you’re gonna do for the Schilling Cup.”

“No!”

“All it’ll take is a little practice.”

“No!”

“You’re right. Not before breakfast, huh? After.”

“Heyes, listen carefully; I am not – repeat NOT – ridin’ an ostrich. Not after breakfast! Not after lunch! Or supper! Not never!”

---oooOOOooo---

LATER THAT DAY

In the middle distance, Kid Curry is riding an ostrich. He cuts an awkward figure slipping and sliding astride the lolloping…

Oh! Strike that.

Kid Curry is NOT riding an ostrich. He cuts an awkward figure, flat on his back, limbs waving in the air like an upturned beetle. Meanwhile, Olga, much more elegant in movement without the 165 pound encumbrance, scissor-steps her way swiftly towards an exhausted-looking Oberon. Ophelia, twig in beak, steps over to take a look at the floored ex-outlaw. She shakes her head, sadly.

“You’re doing fine!” praises Heyes, running to help Curry to his feet, “Nearly twenty seconds! Next time, keep your…”

“Next time?!”

“I was taking notes and…”

“If’n you know the right way to stay on a buckin’ bird, then you get up on one. ‘Cause I quit!”

Ophelia, who has followed the conversation like a tennis spectator, looks up. The boys notice and follow suit. A horse stands on the other side of the fence, topped by the substantial figure of Buck, the saloon blowhard. He pushes back his hat. His shoulders shake. The boys exchange a glance and walk over. As we get closer, we hear guffaws.

“Anything we can do for you?” asks Heyes.

Curry contents himself with his best ‘dangerous glower’. He is unaware feathers sticking perpendicularly from the backside of his jeans negate absolutely any chance of this impressing Buck.

“I need to water my horse.” Snort.

“There’s a trough by the barn,” Heyes sticks to inter-ranch etiquette.

“I guess the free show was a bonus!” Hoot.

“We’re generous that way.”

“You sure are! Gotta get my gal Kitty a front row seat on the Fourth! Watchin’ Feather-Fanny is better’n the circus! ”

Kid Curry follows Buck’s pointing finger. Scowling, he removes the unwanted plumage.

“I hope you ain’t lettin’ that pair of dried-up old maids think they really stand a chance of the Cup?” Snort. “That’d be just cruel!”

Heyes puts out a restraining hand to the Kid, who redoubles the scowl.

“Hey,” chortles Buck. “Am I wrong? Ain’t they so dried-up after all? Has Feather-Fanny been battin’ them baby blues? Did he…?” Huge guffaw at his own imminent wit. “manage to stay on for that ride?” Honk. Snort. “Only joshin’. No offense.”

Kid Curry shakes off Heyes’ grip. “You know, Joshua, I reckon what we got us here is a walk-off…”

“Blah, blah…left out the brains an’ they up an’ walked off,” interrupts Buck. “Stick to slapstick, Feather-Fanny, your jokes have whiskers!”

Kid Curry is a picture of chagrin.

Heyes’ expression suggests he is torn between annoyance at the muscle-bound blowhard and a grudging admiration for a man who saved him having to listen to his partner’s routine one more time.

“Like I said, the trough’s by the barn,” he says, coolly.

“And like I said, no offense meant,” responds Buck, good-temperedly. “See you at the Cup.” He gathers his reins, “’Course, I’ll be up on the platform with the winners, an’ you an’ Feather-Fanny’ll be down in the mud with the other losers, but I’ll wave, huh?” He ambles trough-wards.

“Hey, Buck,” Curry calls. A horse is wheeled.

“Uh huh?” Safe in his six inch and 125 pound advantage, Buck is not worried by the challenge in Curry’s eye as he swaggers towards the fence.

“Care to put your own money where your mouth is?”

“Twenty dollars?” suggests Buck. “Fifty?”

Heyes puts up a gloved hand to cover his mouth. “Don’t,” he coughs.

Ophelia serpents to face the Kid and shakes her head.

“Your best pal an’ your best gal are givin’ good advice,” grins Buck. “Skinny legs here…”

Offended squawk.

“…ain’t so bird-brained as you, huh? Back down afore you lose $50 you ain’t got!”

Another cough from Heyes. Wide warning eyes from Ophelia.

The Kid considers their wise advice, “Make it a hundred…”

---oooOOOooo---

A VERY SHORT WHILE LATER

“All the times you’ve gone for me for opening MY big mouth! For Pete’s sake…”

Heyes, hat pushed back, hands on hips, has clearly been delivering this tirade for some time. A calm Curry is letting it wash over him.

“Heyes…”

“I told you yesterday – the guy’s a blowhard – let him blow! So, what d’you do?”

“Heyes…”

“Offer him $100 we haven’t got!”

“I was thinking…”

“You were WHAT? You know we have an agreement on that! Sheesh!”

A pause.

“You done?” checks Curry.

The lips of the dark-haired fella purse. Is he done?

“Uh huh.”

“Listen, what’s the problem? We were gonna win $200, now we’re gonna win $300.”

“The problem is you just skewed the odds! Ten minutes ago we had two possible outcomes:We’d end up ahead $200, or we’d at least wind up even. Now we still got two outcomes, but number two is: hand over our wages to a human gorilla in a bad hat who’ll be within his rights to flatten us both when he finds it a few dollars short!”

“Last night, you said we couldn’t lose!”

Incredulous brown eyes blink. “Have you MET me?” A hand is held out, “Hi, I’m Hannibal Heyes; I stretch the truth. In fact, some folks even say I tell lies. Besides, you said I was crazy and we couldn’t possibly win!”

“Yeah, but I was only yankin’ your chain, Heyes. I knew you’d got a plan.” Pause. More tentatively, “You do got a plan, dontcha, Heyes?” More pause. “Was the plan to let me bruise myself black’n’blue while you crossed your fingers?”

Wide, innocent brown eyes.

“For Pete’s sake, Heyes!”

“Not JUST that, Kid! I’ve been reading…”

---oooOOOooo---

We watch hot ex-outlaws run, full pelt, across a wide open space. Arms flail, crazily. Hats are brandished. Shouts of ‘Giddup there!’ and ‘Yah! Yah! Yehah!’ bellow from two lusty throats.

Our point of view moves back. They are chasing a startled-looking Oberon. The ostrich hits his full stride which, joking apart, is something fine to see. The boys, gasping for breath, stop. Heyes pulls his watch from his vest and opens it. Curry, grasping his knees as he pants, keeps his eyes fixed on Oberon. Oberon passes a pole to which a bright bandana has been fixed.

“Now!” wheezes Curry.

Heyes’ gaze is glued to the watch. Oberon, glorious in motion, approaches a second bandana-decorated pole approximately 440 yards away.

“And…NOW!”

“Twenty three seconds!” cries Heyes. “That’s” rapid mental arithmetic, “over forty miles an hour! And, the book says they can do a steady thirty!”

“I didn’t believe it,” grins Curry, “but,” blue eyes watch a smoothly striding ostrich eating up the ground without any sign of flagging, “I do now! Let’s check the distance one more time!”

A fair and a dark head bend over a much-creased set of Schilling Cup rules. They exchange happy smiles.

“It’s cow ponies against thoroughbreds all over again, Kid! Now, for round two, we gotta find you a one-man gal.”

Squawk!

“Ophelia!” coos Heyes, “right on cue, Gorgeous! Howdya feel about me cosying up to you?”

Backing off. A warning foot is raised.

“I thought so. What about Thaddeus here? Go on, Kid.”

Flushing slightly, Curry approaches Ophelia. Welcoming nuzzles. He takes a gentle grasp on her flank and raises a leg as if about to mount a horse. An ostrich back is lowered accommodatingly. A serpentine head twists around. Slow, fluttering blink of ostrich lashes.

“No accounting for taste,” grunts Heyes.

---oooOOOooo---

ESTABLISHING SHOT – MAIN STREET

Crowds of happy townsfolk head for a field behind the whitewashed schoolhouse. A banner announcing ‘Schilling Cup Contest’ flutters gaily. Stands have been erected and a competition arena fenced in. Ladies have filled groaning tables with baked goods and barrels with lemonade. Bunting flutters from every conceivable angle.

“Competing today, we have...” A megaphone-assisted voice booms across the scene. “High Ridge; Silver Falls!”

Applause greets each name.

“Twin Fork!”

Pan to Zach, huge bag of popcorn in his hands. He stamps his feet and whoops out a cheer. Elbows settle on the fence, a huge grin announces to the world he is looking forward to a treat.

“Five-Bar-T!”

Loudest applause yet. Pan to Buck, very smug, among the other cowboys in a corner of the arena, all limbering up to do manly, Old West stuff. A familiar blue-eyed blond flexes his shoulders then bends to tweak a strap on his boot. Despite the protests of Kidettes everywhere, we pan away.

Zoom in on Heyes, very dapper, escorting Ann and Jill to an area above which a sign announces: Competitor Stand. Osbourne and Crawley are already settling centre stage among the other ranchers. Patronising hat touching and smirks. Jill and Ann hold their chins high and take their places in the all-male enclave.

“Lazy Wing!”

Some laughter, but plenty of warm-hearted applause with it. Youngsters in particular, a group of whom we see admiring Oberon as he scratches for insects, are cheering for the birds.

“Go Lazy Wing!” shrills a particularly piercing voice. It is Kitty! Dressed up to the nines and showing her support by the number of vividly dyed plumes in her hat.

Pan to Buck and Curry. One scowl. One smug smirk.

“It’s the feathers,” deadpans the Kid. “They tickle a woman’s fancy.”

Back to Heyes. After making sure the ladies are comfortable, brown eyes roam the crowd. We see what he sees: Happy townsfolk, a bookie plying his trade, limbering cowboys, a bookie plying his trade, judges settling into their seats, a bookie plying his trade.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he dimples. “I have to go join Thaddeus.”

Wide shot. Heyes makes for the preparing cowboys – with a detour.

---oooOOOooo---

With a booming voice-over giving commentary, we see a montage of shots of the competition.

“A random draw determines which ranch hands round up which stock…”

Shot of Heyes and Curry, both mounted and yipping competently at ornery cattle.

“The boys from Lazy Wing are rounding up stock from Silver Falls.”

Shot of Heyes and Curry working a system where one pens up the halfway cooperative steers and the other chases the two mavericks with attitude. Shot of a glum-looking Buck shrugging. Shot of the judge’s table. Decent scores: sixes, sevens, one generous eight, are raised.

“The fellas from High Ridge are rounding up our feathered friends from Lazy Wing.”

Shot of two extras, one of whom bears an uncanny resemblance to Monty Laird, chasing squawking ostriches. Birds scatter to the four corners of the arena. Wings flap. Eyes goggle. Horses circle in confusion as prancing legs cancan past them.

Shot of the crowd. Helpless laughter.

“Can’t see them gals gettin’ penned anytime soon! No, wait! Monty’s got him a plan.”

Shot of extras concentrating on a single ostrich – Olivia. They move in; classic pincer formation. They back her to the pen. A tiny head on a long, long neck swivels, searching for an escape route. Nothing. The one-at-a-time ploy is going to work, when… Flump! The High Ridge fellas face a motionless hump of feathers, fluttering dust around her edges and demonstrating how she would disguise herself as an earth mound if evading predators on the African savannah. The cowboys circle, trying a few quick approaches. Not a flicker from Olivia, though some of the other gals stop with the chorus-line high-kicking and gather to watch and exchange ostrich versions of the ‘look’. Monty dismounts and puts every ounce of his strength into trying to lever Olivia’s backside out of the dirt, the other fella takes the strain at the front. She shifts not an inch. Boots scrabble in the dust as they heave and heave and…

“Well folks, looks like the first cowpokes flat on their faces this year are the fellas from High Ridge.”

Monty, slapping dust from his hat, stomps up to the judges’ table.

“I reckon Monty’s gonna call for the fellas from Lazy Wing to come prove it can be done. We know the rules. If’n they can’t round up their own stock in a set time, their ranch is penalized.”

Our boys tether their horses to the fence. Slow stroll to the pen. Chirruping. Soft calls of: ‘Hey, Olga, look what we got’; ‘Olwen, you ain’t never seen a worm this big!’ Revolting handfuls of – euw – are dug from pockets. Slowly at first, heads stretching to check what is on offer, the birds approach. Beaks nuzzle the boys. Necks are stroked. ‘Aw, Opal, you flirt!’; ‘S’okay, Oonagh, I’d never leave you out’. Following the ex-outlaws the gals pad into the pen.

“WhooHoo! They sure made that look easy! But they gotta get ALL the birds penned to avoid a penalty.”

Heyes strides to the flattened Olivia. He stretches out beside her, mouth close to where we would guess her ear to be. His lips purse; he blows. A soft whisper, “You scared, Gorgeous? You want a big fat worm?” Nothing. “No? I know what’ll make you feel better; ‘T’is a gift to be…’” A flicker. A flutter. A head comes up, then a backside, then, unfolding like a deckchair, a whole ostrich. Olivia trots to join the rest of the gang.

“They’ve done it!”

Cheer from the crowd.

Close shot of Heyes and Curry.

“Works every time,” smugs Heyes.

“Well, she ain’t gonna lie there an’ suffer, is she?” deadpans Curry.

---oooOOOooo---

“…right folks, Buckin’ Bronco round. Same rules – random draw for which beast you hafta tackle. There’s the fella from Lazy Wing…”

Kid Curry climbs a mounting pen. Cheers. A significant proportion from sopranos and altos.

“Sounds like he’s a popular fella with you ladies! But how’s he gonna do with ‘Firefly’ from Five-Bar-T?”

Shot of a magnificent stallion, breathing metaphorical fire from his nostrils and glowering at the Kid as the dragon may have eyed up Saint George.

Close shot of Heyes, on the sidelines, beaming support. Close shot of Curry taking another look at the fearsome horse and, mouthing ‘I’m gonna flatten you!’ in a dimple-ward direction.

The pen releases. Kid Curry is revealed in a classic one arm raised, one hand clutching the reins, flat-bellied, torso-bending, bucking manly pose, fit to warm the hearts of Kidettes everywhere.

Cut to Heyes watching, pocket watch in hand.

Megaphone-Voice: “The points start one minute in. But, can he stay up there sixty seconds? That Firefly sure is feisty!”

Back to Curry. He is slipping, sliding – BUT, still up there.

“Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty! He’s done it! Anything extra’s a bonus!”

Cut to Heyes. He snaps shut his watch, tucks it into his vest. Turning his back on the arena, he focuses first on a stand announcing ‘Pie-Bake’ and displaying, unsurprisingly, dozens of pies; second on a ‘Guess the Number of Beans’ booth; lastly on the fella with a showy hat, chalkboard bearing odds, and a cheerful line in fast-paced patter as he takes folks’ money in exchange for scribbled slips of paper.

A synchronised gasp from the crowd followed by a sound effect suggestive of 165 pounds of yelping ex-outlaw thumping into the dirt after first having been launched skyward to a great height.

With not so much as a backward glance, Heyes strides off.

“Plucky performance there by Lazy Wing! Now the one we’ve been waiting for! Buck from Five-Bar-T is gonna ride one of the gorgeous gals from Lazy Wing. Give a warm Schillin’ Cup welcome to -- Ophelia!”

Shot of a calm Ophelia being backed into the Bronco pen by a very dusty Curry. A helpful beak straightens his hat.

“She looks a sweetie, don’t she folks? Last year, Buck here stayed ten full minutes on one o’ the meanest bulls we’ve ever seen. I can’t see this lovely little lady givin’ him much trouble.”

Buck smirks at Kid Curry as he takes his place.

Pan back for another bucking bronco shot.

“And – they’re off!”

We see Buck astride Ophelia as the pen opens and …

“He’s hit the dirt! I made that less’n a second!”

Buck hefts himself off the ground and scowls at Ophelia.

“’Course, Buck ain’t one to give up. He’ll try for a remount.”

Buck picks up his hat, replaces it. Ophelia beaks it off, tosses it two feet to the right. Scowling harder, he steps over, bends. A whip-quick scaly foot delivers a swift kick to the pants. A sprawling cowboy eats dust.

“Now, THAT ain’t very lady-like, Ophelia!”

Buck, breathing hard, approaches our gal. She is not backing off. Relieved, he grasps her neck. Smug smile. Then… a huge cowboy yelps as a whip-quick beak goes for a sensitive spot. He jumps back. Ophelia’s foot helps him on his way. His backside hits the ground. He buttock shuffles away from the approaching beak, manages to turn onto all fours, is scuttling away, when…

“Ouch! That’s gotta hurt!”

Wide shot of Buck being chased around the perimeter by Ophelia. He scrambles over the fence, landing in an undignified heap before the Judges’ table. Once back on his feet, we see, in dumb-show, outraged ranting accompanied by finger jabbing at a now preening ostrich.

“Once again the boys from Lazy Wing are bein’ asked to prove it can be done.”

Kid Curry steps into the arena. Ophelia stops prancing, sidles up and head nuzzles him.

“I think whatever these gals like – this fella's got it, huh?”

Curry mounts a perfectly amenable Ophelia and the pair do a prancing circuit to warm applause.

---oooOOOooo---

“Time for our grand finale – the Schilling Six Furlong race.”

Distance shot of four, sleek, proud-stepping horses, being lined up by their riders.

“I reckon none of us has seen nothin’ like what’s in lane five afore!”

Shot of Oberon, Curry in the saddle, joining the line up.

“Lazy Wing coulda entered a horse – same as the cattle ranches – but the ladies have chosen to race a bird!”

Shot of Ann and Jill looking anxious.

“And – they’re off! Five-Bar-T is well out in front, High Ridge comin’ up fast on the inside. Sheesh! I dunno if the big rooster is gonna even start!”

Shot of Oberon, startled, head swivelling, one foot raised.

Shot of Heyes behind the finish line, holding Ophelia’s halter. “Here she is, boy! Isn’t she lovely?! C’mon fella! Call him, Gorgeous!” Squawk from Ophelia.

Megaphone-Voice: “Five-Bar-T looks sure to win. That bird was a mistake.”

Crawley is on his feet in the Competitor Stand, fist punching the air. He throws a pitying look at Ann and Jill, whose bottom lips are caught between their teeth as they jig in frustration.

“Oh! He’s off!”

Oberon, spurred on by Curry urging and pointing at one end and Heyes flaunting Ophelia as a lure at the other, is finally running.

“Still, ain’t no way he’s ever gonna catch…” The confident Megaphone-Voice tails off as Oberon hits his stride. He is eating up the ground as the horses begin to slow.

The smile drains from Crawley’s smug face. Beside him, it is now Ann and Jill punching the air.

“I’m gonna hafta eat my words, folks. I reckon Lazy Wing entered a ringer!”

---oooOOOooo---

The judges are up on a platform with the fella we know as Megaphone-Voice. A gleaming trophy stands before them. Townsfolk gather round, buzzing happy conversation. Ann, Jill, Curry and Heyes are at the front.

“After counting the scores…” announces Megaphone-Voice.

“Better get ready claim your cup, ladies,” smiles Heyes.

“…we have a unique situation...”

“Does my hair look alright?” frets Ann. “I kept clutching it in exciting moments.”

“You look fine,” lies Jill, smoothing her own eyebrows with a licked finger.

“Two ranches have tied for first place.”

Four double-takes from our quartet.

“Five-Bar-T,” Cheers. “And newcomers, Lazy Wing!” Louder cheers.

“They got a bonus for that fancy rope work in the round-up!” reasons Jill. “I forgot!”

Heyes explodes, “For Pete’s sake! How can anyone reckon odds with this dang fool scoring system?!”

“The judges have decided each winning ranch will hold the cup alternate months.”

A feminine glance is exchanged.

“Suits me fine,” declares Jill.

“Since we were happy just to enter, suits me better than fine!” concurs Ann.

Ann, Jill and Crawley mount to shake hands and be photographed, smiling, trophy in hand.

“The bet with Buck was ranches not individuals, huh?” checks Heyes.

“I guess all bets are off,” says Curry.

He, grudgingly, touches his hat to Buck, standing a few yards off. Buck, after a poke from Kitty, shrugs and, with a sheepish grin, returns the gesture.

Ann returns. Jill walks into another part of the crowd.

“Before declaring the winner of the $200 individual prize...”

Curry cannot suppress a confident, indeed smug, grin.

“Let’s hear the results of the other competitions.”

Heyes removes two slips of paper from his vest. A smirk dimples his cheeks.

“The winner of the Pie-Bake is..,” Tantalising pause. “…Mrs. Hannah Jenkins!”

Heyes’ jaw drops.

A surprised murmur followed by hearty applause, as a plump grandmother bustles forward.

“You were robbed, ma’am!” Curry tells Ann.

“No!” Jill rejoins them, tucking an impressive bundle of notes into her bag, “She, or rather WE, made a bundle.”

Questioning look from a pole-axed Heyes.

“You see, Mister Smith, I hope it does not shock you, but bookies always work the crowd at events like this…”

“Gambling, ma’am?” manages Heyes. “Really?”

“…and, an occasional wager is one of Ann and my vices. Now, the odds on Ann winning the Pie-Bake, given her track record, were…”

“…twelve to two on,” glooms Heyes.

“So even if we’d laid a bet so large as – ooh…”

“Fifty dollars,” suggests the dimpled one. “Just picking a number at random.”

“We’d still have won next to nothing. But betting on the second favorite…”

“Because, it’s just possible I somehow mixed sugar with washing soda…” giggles Ann.

“…we got…”

“…odds of ten to one,” finishes Heyes.

Misinterpreting his appalled face, Jill says, “It’s not cheating. It doesn’t affect the funds raised. We’ll just buy Ann’s pie back ourselves for a real good price. And, I’m sure a professional bookie can bear the loss; that’s his trade.”

“No, it’s not cheating at all, ma’am,” agrees Heyes. “It’s real smart.”

The ladies turn back to hear the next announcement. Heyes tears one of his slips, lets it fall to the ground.

“Heyes,” sighs Curry,“not a whole $50?”

“We couldn’t lose. And, you heard ‘em. The odds were so short it had to be a decent stake.”

Megaphone-Voice is speaking, “Next, the winner of the ‘Guess the Number of Beans in the Jar Competition’. The actual count was…”

Heyes perks up, clutching his remaining slip.

“…sixteen thousand…”

Once again, Heyes’ jaw hits the deck.

“…four hundred and thirty two. The nearest guess wins, and that was from: Zeke Harper!”

It is our own Labrador-like Zeke, grinning all over his face.

“Zeke!” Utter Heyesian disbelief. “Can he even count?”

The ladies finish applauding the delighted youth and turn back.

“At Christmas, we’d folk trying to work out the number rather than guess,” says Ann.

“Because, there’s a formula for everything,” continues Jill.

“Pi R squared by the height,” murmurs Heyes.

“Exactly! But it’s supposed to be a guessing game even a child could win; so this time…”

“…we hid an EMPTY jar inside the beans!” finishes Ann.

“Making any calculations from the math - useless,” sighs Heyes.

Two pleased female nods. Once again they turn to listen to the announcer.

Curry shakes his head, sadly, as he watches Heyes confetti another betting slip.

Heyes squares his shoulders. “Never mind. Any minute now you’re going to win us $200. We’re still ahead of the game…”

“And, finally, the best individual performance, for which we use not only judges’ scores, but sounding of popularity with the audience.”

Smug Kid Curry, already edging to the platform steps.

“The prize goes to…”

Blond curls are smoothed in readiness.

“…Ophelia!!”

Wild applause from Ann and Jill. The Curry jaw takes its turn falling to the floor.

“This prize,” Heyes tries to be heard above the delighted hubbub, “it’s for the best animal? Not the best ranch hand?”

“Yes!” nods Ann.

“That’s not in the rules, ma’am!”

“Isn’t it? I guess it’s just one of those things everyone knows.”

“Not quite everyone,” deadpans Curry, rolling with the punch.

“Excuse me,” beams Ann, “we must go fetch her!”

---oooOOOooo---

Ann and Jill lead Ophelia up to the judges. Admiring pats to her flanks. The ladies collect $200. Ophelia, beak wide, swivels her head and, with dignified nods, acknowledges the crowd.

Pan to Heyes and Curry. A mute conversation. Shrugs. With rueful grins they join in the applause for a worthy winner.

Pull back to reveal the bookie with the showy hat bearing down, purposefully, on Heyes. Heyes spots him. A moment of stillness. Then, best persuasive smile in place, Heyes goes to meet him. An arm goes round the bookie’s shoulder. Hand gestures and dimples show silver-tongued wiles are being deployed. The body language of the bookie, who, with a raised finger-click summons from nowhere two heavies, shows they have failed.

---oooOOOooo---

EPILOGUE – THAT EVENING

Heyes and Curry sit on the ranch porch, boots propped on the rail, cigars lit.

“So, we started the contest with nothin’.” A smoke ring from the Kid’s cigar.

“Uh huh.”

“We won nothin’ from Buck. We won nothin’ for best performance. But I got me a fine set of bruises fallin’ off that brute of a…”

“AND, the ladies decided Ophelia’d like to share her win four ways – ‘cos she’s such a generous gal,” Heyes puts in before Curry can dwell on the bruises.

“So, that made us $100 ahead of the game?”

“Uh huh.”

“But, you lost $50 on a pie?”

Pause. More reluctantly, “Uh huh.”

“So, that left us $50 ahead of the game. But, we hafta take off whatever you lost on them dumb beans?”

Curry’s inflection makes it a question. But answer comes there none.

“Are you tellin’ me I’m black and blue for nothin’, Heyes?”

“Nope. I’m not telling you that.”

“How much ahead of the game did we finally come out, Heyes?”

A cigar-holding hand indicates the sunset. “How can you think about money on a beautiful night like this, Kid?”

“How much, Heyes?”

“In round figures…?”

FADE OUT

---oooOOOooo---

THE END

A Christmas Gift

mouse4ever — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 13:56:59 CST

The Christmas Gift

By Denise Craig

Jennifer loved this time of year. The colors, the smells, the excitement in the air, she even loved the snow. She still felt the magic she had as a little girl and, as an adult, she would start planning for Christmas in September. She was laughed at but, she didn’t care. She wanted to make this first Christmas with Jed as special for him as it always had been for her.

It was December 11th and nothing had been said about a celebration. Kid and Heyes had been very busy with an investigation for the Mayor. Jennifer had hesitated to bring up the subject because Kid had been so tired. She had already started on her baking and had been gathering pinecones and boughs but wanted to incorporate what Kid loved about Christmas too. Jennifer decided that after dinner, she would broach the subject.

Jennifer thought that a special dinner for the two, hard-working men was in order. It would be a celebration for winning the case. She gave Margarita the night off and rifled through her recipes. When the men came home that evening, they were met at the door by the fragrance of ham baked with wild honey; Kid’s favorite, and squash casserole; Heyes’ favorite. The partners looked at each other and licked their lips.

“Honey, we’re home,” Kid called out.

“Follow your noses.”

Throwing their hats on the entry table, they walked back to the kitchen. What they saw there made their mouths water. There were green beans with onions, yeast rolls and pie.

“You have flour on your nose,” grinned Kid, kissing it.

Jennifer reached up to wipe it off but only succeeded in making it worse.

“Here let me help.” Kid grabbed a wet cloth, wiped away the flour and, kissed her nose again. “Is that apple pie?”

“No. Guess again.”

“Cherry?” Heyes asked, hopefully.

“No. Blueberry!” she announced.

“That’s my favorite!” said Kid.

“Every pie’s your favorite,” quipped Heyes.

Kid couldn’t argue. “Where did you get blueberries this time of year?”

“I saved a jar from this summer, for a special occasion, and winning this case is special. Being able to add the Mayor to your list of clients will be a real feather in your caps.”

“Well I for one am certainly glad you did.” Heyes gave her a hearty kiss on the forehead.

“Go wash up, it’s all ready.”

---oooOOOooo---

They all enjoyed the leisurely dinner and afterwards, the partners savored a pair of fine cigars on the front porch. Jen brought coffee to ward off the cold and sat on the porch swing, Kid covering her with the blanket. She loved sitting out there after a fresh snow.

“Is the case finished?” She directed her question to Heyes.

“Yeah, we cleared the mess up. Now we are looking forward to some well deserved rest.” To prove his point, Heyes put his feet up on the railing and puffed happily.

“Well I’m glad. You both worked hard and deserve a break.” She paused for a moment and then, “I was wondering what you would like to do for Christmas, Jed. What are your traditions? What makes it special for you?”

Heyes and Kid looked at each other for a moment. “Uh, we normally don’t,” Kid answered.

“Don’t what?”

“Celebrate.”

“At all?”

“We haven’t for a long time now.” Kid took Jennifer’s hand, “Whatever you want to do will be fine with me.”

Heyes put his feet down and looked into his coffee cup. “I hadn’t thought about you two wanting to have Christmas together. I guess that would be normal though.” He seemed to be talking to himself. He suddenly got up and kissed Jennifer on the cheek, “Thanks for dinner, Jen, it was delicious.”

“Han, I….”

He was already on his way to the barn.

Jennifer looked at Kid, “Did I say something? I just wanted to share Christmas…”

“No, Sweetheart,” Kid interrupted, “He tends to get a little moody around this time of year. He can’t seem to remember the good times we had without the bad.”

“Oh, Jed!” She looked sadly at the place Heyes had abruptly vacated. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories for him.”

“That’s just it. They weren’t all bad. He’s never allowed himself to think much about his childhood. It has always been an unspoken rule. We don’t discuss the past. The good or the bad.”

They saw Heyes, on his horse, lope through the gate.

Jennifer sat for a while. She wanted to share this Christmas with the two men she loved. Wanted it to be special. But how could she do that if one of them shut himself off?

“If Hannibal can’t have Christmas for himself; maybe he can make Christmas for someone else.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, just thinking.” A moment later, “Would you have any objections to inviting a few people over for Christmas Eve?”

“Who did you have in mind?”

“I’ll have to wait and see. I’ll have to send some telegrams. See who can make it.”

“Well,” Kid snuggled closer, “You can invite the whole town as far as I’m concerned. I don’t know what that has to do with Heyes though.”

“Sometimes the fun of a thing is in doing it for others. At least I’m hoping that’s how it will work. You said I could invite the whole town?”

Kid nodded. Then…“Wait! You really want to invite the whole town?”

“No, not the town…the orphanage.”

Kid looked at her for a moment and then a big smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Jen, that’s perfect!”

“You think it will work?”

“I don’t know, but he will have a hard time being Ebenezer Scrooge. It just might be the thing.”

Jennifer and Kid shared a hopeful smile and watched the night stars wink in agreement.

---oooOOOooo---

The next morning found Jennifer at the telegraph office. It took her an hour to send all the telegrams she wanted. The telegraph operator smiled as he saw the names and destinations on the papers. “Looks like it might be a real shindig.”

Jennifer looked worried, “I don’t know. What if I can’t find them, Sam? What if they won’t come?”

“If you can find them, they’ll come. I’m sure of it. Especially the way you phrased the telegrams. That’s sure to bring ‘em.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Jennifer paid for the telegrams and leaving it to fate, left the office and headed to her next stop.

As she entered the gates, at least half a dozen sturdy arms grasped her legs or any part they could reach, pinning her to the spot. And the noise! Her ears rang with it. Imprisoned and deafened, nevertheless, Jennifer’s face wore a huge grin.

“Hello Susan, Penny, Caroline, Mathew, John, Peter.”

A little body pressed itself against her legs, hidden amongst the other children. As they released her, she picked up the wee child whose grubby face was split with a smile.

“Hello Benji. What have you been up to? You look like you have ridden hard across the west in pursuit of an outlaw.”

At this, Benji grinned and nodded. He loved to play that he was a Sheriff in pursuit of that notorious bunch, the Devil’s Hole Gang. He never did catch them though, as they were a slippery bunch…and their leader was a clever one. In truth he just couldn’t put in jail the two men he worshiped. Heyes and Kid were special favorites at the orphanage. They found these particular grown-ups quite… fun.

Jennifer walked in the front door…her entourage intact … to the headmaster’s office. The children detached themselves and ran to finish their play. All except Susan, who stood, arms behind her back, hoping that Jennifer could read her mind.

Jennifer had been teaching her, and a few others, the piano. Susan had taken to it like a fish to water.

“Time for another lesson?”

Susan’s eyes lit up and her head bobbed in the affirmative.

“We may even be able to get Margarita to let us bake cookies. How would that be?”

Arms were once again firmly wrapped around Jennifer’s waist.

“Let me talk to Mr. Hunt and then, if he says it’s okay, we’ll go to the ranch.”

“Thank you Mrs. Curry.”

---oooOOOooo---

Susan had an ear for music and Jennifer wanted to sponsor her to the same school she had gone to.

The sound of a metronome could be heard as well as a melody that was almost perfect in its rhythm. It came to a halting stop.

“Mrs. Curry, I just can’t seem to get it to sound the way I want it to. I know the notes are right but…”

Jennifer looked into pale grey eyes. “Maybe if you tried it like this…” Her deft fingers flew over the keys and the notes took on a personality of their own.

“Yes! That’s what I wanted!” Susan tried again. Much better but… the 15 year-old stopped.

Jennifer suspected what the problem might be. “That sounded a lot like the way I played it, huh?”

Susan dropped her eyes. She didn’t want Mrs. Curry to think she was ungrateful but, it had sounded a lot like hers and she was trying for…Oh she didn’t know what she wanted.

“Did you know that my first husband had been a great pianist?”

Susan nodded her head.

“Let’s try his way. Close your eyes.”

Susan complied.

“Now, pretend that each of the notes has its own voice. The treble clef, the female voices, the bass clef, the male. How would they sound to you? Mrs. A has a personality different from Miss C. What would those personality’s sound like if they were really women?”

Jennifer could tell Susan was thinking hard. “Can you see them? All dressed in their finery, waiting to perform?”

Susan nodded her head, a smile just starting at the corners of her mouth.

Jennifer placed her pupil’s fingers lightly on the keys. “Open your eyes and let’s hear them sing.”

Susan began to play. It was the same notes but somehow different and unique. Susan’s smile came out in full force now. She finished the piece and sighed. “Thank you Mrs. Curry.”

“You’re welcome.” She hugged the girl’s shoulders.

---oooOOOooo---

When Kid entered the house that afternoon the smell of gingerbread met him at the door. It made his mouth water. He found his way to the kitchen where a lovely sight met his eyes. Jennifer and Susan were head to head over a paper, giggling like school girls. Kid smiled. It was a homey picture.

Kid cleared his throat and the two ladies looked up; two smiles met him. Jennifer came over and Kid put his arm around her waist.

“Hello Susan. My that’s a pretty dress you have on today.”

Susan blushed a deep red. “I saved the largest cookie for you, Mr. Curry.”

“Well, well. See Jen, that’s how a man likes to be treated.”

Now the tips of Susan’s ears matched the rest of her face.

Kid took the offered treat and with great relish ate his cookie.

“You’re home early,” remarked Jennifer.

“Actually, Heyes and I thought we might go over to see the new stallion Mr. Weber got. Thought you might want to come along.”

“I’d love to, and we can drop Susan off on our way. We’re finished.”

Susan would have liked to stay, but knew she would get to sit next to Kid if they were to take her back. Any excuse to be near her secret love was okay with her. As far as she was concerned, Mrs. Curry was the luckiest woman on earth.

---oooOOOooo---

That night at dinner, Heyes joined them and couldn’t stand not to tease Kid about Susan. At least a little. “You know Kid, if Susan makes it into Ms. Lilly’s school, she’s gonna forget all about you.”

Kid looked up, his fork halfway to his mouth.

“You know Susan will soon realize, men go downhill fast after 30,” Jennifer chipped in.

This comment earned her “the look” from Kid. “I am not THAT forgettable,” spoke a masculine ego.

Jennifer gave Heyes a sideways look and said to Kid, “What was your name again?”

---oooOOOooo---

As Christmas grew closer the ranch started putting on its finery. Evergreen boughs, holly and ivy, pinecones and candles started to appear in windows, on doors and mantelpieces.

Jennifer had used all her sisterly influence and had gotten Heyes to agree to go look for a tree with her and Kid.

It took all afternoon as Heyes got into the spirit and he and Jennifer argued over the perfect tree.

“You are kidding, right?” scathed Heyes.

“Hey! It’s beautiful!”

“It’s more crooked than a hand with five aces! Sheesh, I’ve seen bankrupt accounts better balanced! What you need,” a leather-gloved hand pointed, “…Is a proper tree like that!”

Jennifer shaded her eyes and squinted, scanning hard, “Sorry. The scrawny specimen with the gnarled trunk is in the way. I can’t see this ‘proper’ tree you’re pointing at.”

“This tree is symmetrical!”

“Yup. Equally scrawny both sides. What about this plump little number here?”

“Don’t talk about your husband that way!”

“Hey!” protested Kid, from the fallen log on which he had long since decided to sit the argument out.

“Oh! You mean the OTHER plump little number?” Heyes gazed at Jennifer’s latest choice. One eyebrow rose. “You’re extending your Christmas charity to the plant kingdom this year, huh? Help the height-less?”

“We could stand it on the low table!”

“What did that poor table ever do to you?”

“At least the trees I pick are bushy.”

“Bushy! It’s practically spherical! Put an angel on top of that, you’ll think the poor thing is doing some ball-balancing circus act!” A moment later, “What about this one?”

Jennifer considered.

“Lost for words, huh?” smugged Heyes.

“I’m lost for polite ones!”

Kid did not follow the two of them as they tramped the woods, still bantering and bickering. This could go on for a long, long time. It did. Finally, a nodding Kid was roused by, “Jed! Jed! We found it!”

Kid picked himself up and trudged to the spot he had heard Jennifer. When he got there, he had to admit that the tree was perfect. Jennifer was beaming and the smile on Heyes’ face made both dimples show.

Kid smiled too. It looked like Heyes was having fun.

When they finally got back to the ranch they were all half frozen but laughing. Jennifer quickly made up some cocoa while Kid built up the fire in the living room.

They sat in front of the fire, sipping their cocoa.

“Thank you Hannibal for your help. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know. I saw the trees you were picking. Are you sure you’ve done that before?”

Jennifer hit him playfully on the arm. ‘So far, so good’, she thought.

---oooOOOooo---

Christmas Eve morning dawned bright and clear. Jennifer woke when a rough tongue kissed her nose. Opening her eyes she saw a small bit of color subjecting her to a wide, innocent gaze. She gasped and quickly picked up the bundle of fur which then began a loud appreciation for the stroking. Kid smiled as his wife rubbed the silky ears. “Merry Christmas, Jennifer.”

“Oh Jed, she is simply beautiful. Where ever did you get her?”

“The neighbor’s barn cat had kittens. I picked this one out.”

“How did you know I have always wanted a kitten?”

“You told me.”

“I did? I don’t remember that.”

“Well, you weren’t quite yourself at the time.”

“And you remembered? Oh Jed!” The kitten was once again nuzzled.

“Hey! Do I get some of that affection?”

“Come here you.” He was soundly kissed. “Now for a name.” She thought for a minute and then, “I have the perfect name. You are hereby named Humbug, in honor of the holiday.”

Kid wasn’t so sure, “Humbug? That doesn’t seem like a name for a cat.”

“Never the less, she is Humbug.” Jennifer returned to stroking the kitten’s head. “Thank you Jed, she is perfect!”

---oooOOOooo---

Jennifer had invited Heyes over for breakfast and had planned on keeping him there all day. She had a sneaking suspicion that if he was left to his own devices he would end up celebrating Christmas Eve in the saloon.

She found things for him to do. Boxes of ornaments that needed to be brought down from the attic. Finishing touches on last minute decorations, even sampling the latest delicacies from the kitchen.

At last it was time to go meet the train. Kid drove one wagon and Heyes another.

As Heyes and Kid pulled into the station they could see a mêlée of passengers disgorging themselves from the train. Jennifer had kept it a secret as to who they were picking up but had said not to return without nine passengers.

The first thing Kid saw was a small streak rushing at him pell mell. He was then aware that his arms were full of a feminine body and his face was being kissed. He looked down at his arms when the kisses stopped. Clementine Hale! He hugged her warmly back. Clem disengaged herself and stood hands on hips, glaring at him. “Well! You used to greet me with a little more enthusiasm than that!”

Heyes came over and gave Clem a hug and a kiss. “He is a married man now, Clem. He only has eyes for Jennifer. But me, well, I’m still single so come here.” Heyes gave her the welcome she had wanted.

The next round of hugs and kisses went to Georgette Sinclair. “I’m so happy to see you two again. It has been ages!” George gushed.

Silky O’Sullivan and Soapy Saunders emerged deep in conversation. They would have walked past the partners had they not noticed the two beautiful women on the pairs’ arms. Introductions were made and the talk got even louder as tales were started.

A tap on Heyes’ shoulder had him turning and staring into the happy eyes of Reverend Spencer. Heyes heartily shook the man’s hand. “How are you Reverend?”

“Couldn’t be better Joshua, or should that be Hannibal?”

“Just Heyes if you don’t mind.”

“All right.” Reverend Spencer moved on to Kid.

“Congratulations on your amnesty, Thaddeus.”

Kid shook the man’s hand and said, “It’s Jed now, Reverend,” His smile made it all the way to his eyes.

Reverend Spencer’s smile widened with his own pleasure for the two outlaws.

Next off the train came Jim Stokely talking nonstop to Harry Briscoe. As Jim saw Kid, he rushed over and the two men shared a manly hug. Kid was excited to see his old friend. Heyes too welcomed Jim.

Harry Briscoe shook each man’s hand in turn and started right in on his new position in the Bannerman Detective Agency. The two ex-outlaws shared a knowing smile.

Lastly, came a very tall man of Spanish decent, his accent cutting through the crowd. “Han-I-Bul!”

Heyes turned and his eyes lit up. His mentor and friend was pushing through the crowd to engulf him in a big bear hug.

“Big Jim!” Heyes announced. Next a small hand was placed in his. “Welcome Clara. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Heyes. It was very kind of Mrs. Curry to include us in your celebration.”

After all the introductions were made, the two parties set out for the ranch. The excitement in the air was catching and soon carols could be heard.

---oooOOOooo---

As the guests arrived they were met at the door by Jennifer who gave each guest a hot toddy to help warm them up. They were ushered into the living room that was becoming toasty with the heat of the fire.

A knock on the door and Kid was ushering in Lom, Wheat, Kyle and Preacher. Heyes happily shook hands and slapped backs. More toddies and introductions were made.

Again a knock of the brass knocker and Big Mac, his wife Carlotta and her brother Senor Armendariz were ushered in.

The room was full of excited voices and happy laughter. Jennifer looked at the faces of her two men and knew it had been a good idea. Now all she needed was…Another knock and children of all ages and sizes were suddenly everywhere.

The house was fairly buzzing with excitement. Jennifer couldn’t have been happier. Kid locked eyes with his wife from across the room. He smiled a delighted smile at her and she returned one of her own.

As the children helped to decorate the tree, the adults quickly got into the spirit. Soon all that was needed was the star on top. The only problem was, it couldn’t be found.

Penny began to cry, “We just gotta have the Bethlehem star. We just gotta!”

Carlotta tried to soothe the child.

Benji came up and tugged on Heyes’ sleeve. Heyes bent down and the boy whispered in his ear. “Benji, thank you. I think we all would appreciate that.” Heyes cleared his throat, “Excuse me friends. I think Benji here has solved our problem.” He picked up the wee child and Benji placed his dented, dirty, tin sheriff’s star on the top of the tree.

“For baby Jesus,” he said proudly.

The room had gone silent as the child’s toy caught the firelight and beams of light emanated from the tips of the star.

Kid came over to Jennifer and placed his arm around her waist, “Merry Christmas, Jennifer.”

“Merry Christmas, Jed.”

Sentiments were murmured about the room and then Jennifer started to sing…

Silent Night

Holy Night

All Is Calm

All Is Bright

Everyone joined in. After the song, Jennifer moved to the piano and played more Christmas carols as the guests moved about.

Champagne was brought out and toasts were made. The children addressed themselves to the business of making sure that no cookie was left untouched. After a while Jennifer went looking for Heyes. She wanted to give him his present. She finally found him under the tree, legs crossed, children all around him. He was telling them a story. Jennifer stopped to listen.

“Draw, you low down, yellow bellied, sap sucking son of a one eyed prairie dog!”

Moustro sat, paws crossed upon his chest. He wasn’t about to give this varmit the time of day.

“Uh, Moustro…don’t you think you should do something?” asked his loyal sidekick Kit Scurry.

“Don’t worry my faithful feline. He can’t outdraw me.”

The calico cat looked at his mouse partner, hoping he was right. Kit knew Moustro was smart, but was he as clever as he thought he was?

Moustro sat calmly, his black cowboy hat, sitting at a jaunty angle, gun tied to his leg. The mouse was a sight to see, confidence oozing from every pore. He knew this opponent, knew he was right.

Kit wasn’t as confident. He stood a little to the right of his partner; paw hanging loose at his gun’s side, hat squarely on his head, ready for anything.

Slowly, Moustro leaned over and removed a card from his opponent’s hand. The crowd of onlookers gasped. He had done it!

Moustro’s whiskers twitched as a smile spread across his face. “I believe I win,” he said laying down his cards.

“He done it! He done it! One of the rabbits watching the game exclaimed. He beat Black Bart at his own game. Black Bart has the Old Maid!”

His captive audience cheered for the hero. As the children dispersed, Jennifer hugged Heyes. “You know you really do have a special gift. Have you ever thought of putting your stories down on paper?”

“Well, I have been toying with the idea of writing my memoirs.”

Jennifer laughed, “More like tall tales you mean.”

Heyes laughed too, “Too true, I’m afraid.”

Jennifer grabbed his hand, “Follow me; I want to give you your present.”

Heyes followed her to a room off the kitchen. Jennifer waved at the door and said, “Merry Christmas, Hannibal.”

Heyes thought his gift must be inside. He opened the door and saw nothing but a bedroom. He looked around for a box that would indicate his present. He entered the room and couldn’t quite put his finger on why it felt so comfortable. He looked at the bed, and then did a double take. It had the same quilt on it that he had at his place. He looked around again. The items on the dresser looked very much like his own shaving gear. The rug on the floor was the same pattern as his…wait; his had a tear in the corner. This one didn’t. He didn’t get it. He looked at Jennifer with a blank stare.

Kid came up behind Jennifer, put his arm around her waist, and smiled at Heyes. “You like it?”

“Like what? I’m not sure what I’m looking at.”

“You have a room here anytime you want. You have your own entrance and key. If you and Jed are working late, you don’t have to go all the way back to your place to sleep. You can sleep here. You are welcome here anytime you wish.”

Heyes turned back to the room and tried to collect his thoughts. It was the best present he could remember getting in a long time. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “I…I…” He came and enveloped her in his arms in a brotherly hug. She returned it with warmth and affection.

“I’m glad you like it. You can break it in tonight. This is to be your room anytime you want. I hope you will use it frequently.”

Jennifer and Kid left then. Heyes wandered around the room. It was like his room, but it also held little touches here and there that were uniquely Jennifer. Maybe Christmas wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Maybe, just maybe he could start fresh. Start making a few traditions.

He emerged from his room when he heard children’s excited laughter. It had started to snow. The room had been stuffy and the French doors had been opened to the garden. Clara went to the piano and started to play a waltz. Kid crossed the room and interrupted Jennifer’s conversation with Reverend Spencer. “Excuse me, Reverend, but I believe this is my dance.” He grabbed Jennifer’s hand and spun her around the room. She laughed as he brought her back into his arms. They danced their way out the French doors and into the softly falling snow. They didn’t even notice the cold. They danced and danced as the Christmas stars twinkled in the midnight sky.

Merry Christmas One And All
Denise

Denise Craig

mouse4ever — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 16:55:53 CST

A New Beginning
Heyes and Kid are hired to discover who is threatening a famous singer. Will they find out who is behind her mysterious accidents in time? Or, will Kid lose the woman he is fast learning to love? Lot’s of twists and turns!

Lovely Days and Lovely Nights Series
A Gift of the Gods:
Lovely Days and Lovely Nights. A series of short stories. The sequel to A New Beginning. What is so important that Heyes needs to go to Kentucky?

A Night To Remember:
Story 2 in Lovely Days, Lovely Nights. Kid and Jennifer’s wedding night.

Picture This:
Story 3 in Lovely Days, Lovely Nights. One month into his honeymoon, Kid is getting frustrated ... Just as with comedy, the secret's in the [Long pause. Longer pause - wait for it...] timing.

A Symphony of the Senses:
Story 4 in Lovely Days, Lovely Nights. Heyes has a problem, a big one, and only a few hours to solve it.

A Swathe of Pink Lace:
Story 5 in Lovely Days, Lovely Nights. Jennifer is looking at pink lace. Does this mean what Kid thinks it means?

A Song In The Night
When Jennifer has a hard time finishing a song, Kid comes up with a way to help.

The Gift:
A conversation where the boys talk about their favorite Christmas gift.

What Made Us Go The Way We Went?:
A story challenge short. Kid ponders the path they picked.

Good and Evil
After a grueling adventure, Kid and Heyes have a serious conversation.

A Christmas Gift
As Kid and Jennifer’s first Christmas together rolls around, Jennifer wants to be sure Heyes can look back with fond memories, and maybe start healing, just a little.

Convict 20805

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 23:31:02 CST

By Ghislaine Emrys

“Heyes, you sure about this?”

“You want the amnesty, don’t you, Kid?”

“Yeah, but…”

“The governor said if we do this, he’ll give us the amnesty.”

“And you believe him?!”

Heyes knew Kid’s skepticism was justified but tried, nevertheless, to persuade him. “Okay, I know he’s made promises before and broken them. But Lom was there, too. The governor knows he can’t back out this time. Not if we get him what he wants.”

“I don’t know, Heyes. It’s awful risky. What if he just decides to leave you in there? What if he denies you were workin’ for him? How am I gonna get you out of there then?”

“That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

Kid knew he’d lost the argument by the stubbornness in Heyes’ voice. But he tried one last time anyway. “Then let me go instead. I can take care of myself better than you.”

“You wouldn’t last two days, Kid! You’d lose your temper over some little thing and without a gun, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Kid scowled, knowing Heyes was right. “I still think it’s a mistake.”

“You can tell me that again after we have the amnesty,” Heyes smiled.

Kid gave up. He looked at his partner and hoped it wasn’t the last time he’d ever see him like that. Smiling, his brown eyes alive with mischief, black hat set jauntily on his too-long hair, gun tied down but rarely used, pants tucked neatly into his boots. He hoped his cousin wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

Heyes went out of the hotel room, down the stairs and out the front door, walked over to the office of the sheriff of Porterville, knocked once and entered.

* * *

“Time to go. You ready?” Lom Trevors looked at Hannibal Heyes, who was sitting in his office drinking a final cup of coffee.

“As I’ll ever be.” Heyes held out his wrists.

Lom snapped handcuffs around them, the loud click making Heyes wince. Then the sheriff knelt down and fastened shackles around his ankles. They didn’t hurt but it was uncomfortable, and knowing he no longer had freedom of movement—or freedom of any sort, really—was unsettling.

“You okay?” Lom’s solicitousness brought a smile to Heyes’ face, though not his eyes.

“Ain’t the most comfortable but, yeah, I’m okay. Give this to Kid, will you?” He nodded at the black hat he’d laid next to him on the bench.

Heyes awkwardly stood up and Lom guided him out the door to where two federal marshals waited by a wagon.

It was just after dawn so there weren’t many people around but a few did note the activity at the sheriff’s office. They were surprised to see the man they knew as Joshua Smith in chains and surrounded by lawmen pointing their guns at him. They saw the sheriff climb into the wagon, pull Smith on board and settle him against one side of the wagon. Then they saw him sit opposite and hold his gun on Smith. The marshals went around to sit on the front seat. The townsfolk wondered what Smith had done to warrant such treatment.

With a smooth flick of the reins by one of the marshals, the horses started forward at a trot and soon left Porterville behind. Throughout the entire episode, Heyes had been silent, the reality of his situation only just beginning to sink in.

As soon as they were out of sight of the town, Lom put his gun away. “Sorry, Heyes, but I can’t take the cuffs off. Can’t risk someone seeing you without them.”

Heyes nodded his understanding.

They took a short break around noon, stopping to eat lunch and stretch their legs. Heyes was helped down from the wagon so he could relieve himself, and a marshal kept his eye and his gun on him the entire time. They let the horses graze for a while, then continued on their way. Late in the afternoon, they neared the outskirts of Laramie.

It wouldn’t be long, Heyes knew, before they reached their destination, the Wyoming Territorial Prison. His eyes held a faraway look as he tried not think about what was going to happen soon.

When they could finally see the prison in the distance, Lom signaled the marshal to halt the wagon. Lom had grown increasingly concerned as Heyes seemed to withdraw inside himself, and he wanted to talk to the younger man while he still could.

“Marshals,” Lom said, “I need to speak to Heyes before we go any further.”

“You know we can’t leave you alone with him, Sheriff,” one of them replied.

“I’m not asking you to disappear, gentlemen. Just to walk over there a ways.” Lom indicated a few scraggly trees some yards ahead of them. “You’re still close enough to shoot Heyes if he tries anything.”

When Lom was satisfied the lawmen were no longer within hearing distance, he turned to Heyes, who was sitting in the wagon with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“Heyes. Heyes,” Lom repeated, a little louder the second time, to get his attention.

Heyes started. “Huh? What?” He pulled himself back to the present.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Yes,” he contradicted the sheriff, “I do.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind. We could say you took sick, something you ate at lunch maybe, and need to see a doctor. Once you’re there, it’d be easy enough for you to escape. I can make up a story about what happened.” Lom looked at his friend, half hoping Heyes would agree.

Heyes shook his head. “I can’t back out now. What would the governor say? He’d think we didn’t want the amnesty; he’d say we weren’t trying hard enough. I agreed to do it, Lom. I gave him my word. I have to do it.”

Lom heard the plaintive note in Heyes’ voice. “He doesn’t know what he’s asking. It’s too much.”

“I promised Kid…”

“Kid’s a grown man,” Lom interrupted. “He’ll understand. The governor can send another marshal instead, someone with more experience than the others.”

“There’s no one else, Lom. We all know I’m the only one who can do it. Only a criminal can get in there without raising suspicion and get the evidence. That’s me; I’m the criminal. Besides,” Heyes tried joking, “I’m supposed to be in there. It’s justice, right?”

“It ain’t funny, Heyes! You heard what the governor said. The conditions are brutal; too many men are dying and a lot of money is being spent with very little to show for it. He wants to stop it but needs proof of corruption. You go into that prison…” Lom shook his head. “You’re Hannibal Heyes. There’s no telling what they might do to you.”

“Why, Lom, I’m touched you care!” Heyes said flippantly, but wiped the grin off his face when Lom turned away from him in anger or disappointment, Heyes wasn’t sure which.

He regarded the sheriff for a moment, then said quietly, “I’m sorry. I know you mean well.”

Lom nodded once and then looked at Heyes directly, trying to figure out what Heyes was really thinking. He could rarely tell, but this time it was important and he needed to be certain that Heyes wanted to do this.

Heyes let slip the mask he’d worn up to that point. He wished Kid were there, but it was Lom with him instead. “I’m scared, Lom. I’m scared I’m going to go in there and I’ll never get out. What if Kid is right and it’s a trap? A way for the governor to get rid of us? All he has to do is announce I’ve been caught and then...” Heyes swallowed. “I don’t want to…” He shifted his position so Lom couldn’t see his face and didn’t continue.

Lom supposed Heyes had a right to be suspicious as well as afraid, but the bleakness in his eyes troubled him. Normally Heyes radiated complete confidence, and it was disturbing to see this side of the man. On the other hand, Heyes had never been in the Wyoming Territorial Prison before and, given the reports from the governor that they had both heard, it was not a place he would choose to send someone he considered a friend, even if he was a bank and train robber. Ex-bank and train robber, Lom hastily reminded himself.

“I won’t let you die in there, Heyes. I promise you, I’ll get you out,” Lom reassured him. “The plan was two months for you to find out what’s going on. Two months at the most. Besides, if I don’t get you out, Kid’ll shoot me and the governor, and I sure don’t want that to happen!”

Two months. One month was only four weeks. Only twenty-eight days. Just six hundred and seventy-two hours. Times two. He could do that, couldn’t he?

It was a challenge, and Heyes had always enjoyed a challenge. But this one might be too much even for him. The reward for success would be great—the amnesty for him and Kid. But if he failed, if he couldn’t find proof that the warden and the guards were using their positions of authority to illegally enrich themselves and brutalize the prisoners, or if the governor double-crossed him, the price might be his life. Was he willing to gamble those stakes? Heyes had told Kid he was willing to take the risk but now that he was about to actually put the plan in motion, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Lom waited patiently while Heyes thought it out.

It was frustrating not being able to pace, but Heyes managed to reach a decision soon enough anyway. He faced the one man he trusted almost as much as Kid. “All right. Take me in.” And get me out when the time comes, Heyes entreated silently.

* * *

Heyes stared fixedly at the building that loomed larger and larger in front of him as the wagon approached the Wyoming Territorial Prison. He blocked out everything but the sound of the wagon wheels rolling over the road, trying to focus on that instead of the emotions washing through him.

Lom saw how tense Heyes was. Few men would be willing to sacrifice themselves the way Heyes was about to. He wanted to help but wasn’t sure what he could do.

The wagon stopped at the prison entrance and one marshal jumped down to talk to the gatekeeper. The other turned around and leveled his gun at the outlaw. “No tricks, Heyes.”

“I don’t think that’s likely, Marshal,” Lom said quickly, before Heyes could respond.

Heyes barely noticed the gun pointing at him. Through the gate, he could see the door to the prison. It was big and solid and permanent. Once a man walked through that door, would he ever walk back out of it? Would he ever see the sunlight as a free man again? Heyes tried to stop thinking those thoughts, but wasn’t successful.

The first marshal got back in the wagon and drove it into the prison courtyard when the gate was opened.

“Let’s get you down from here,” Lom said when the wagon stopped. Heyes obligingly maneuvered himself to the end of the wagon, then swung his legs over the edge. Lom jumped off and took hold of Heyes’ right arm. He pulled him out of the wagon and steadied him on his feet.

The marshals were talking to the guards at the door, no doubt informing them who they were delivering to the prison. Lom knew they only had a few moments alone before Heyes was taken inside. He took advantage to whisper a few final words to Heyes. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. I’ll tell the warden I need to question you about Kid’s whereabouts. That’ll give me an excuse to come back a couple more times after that, too. Find out what you can but don’t put yourself in danger. You have two months—be careful.”

Heyes nodded his assent. “Look out for Kid, okay? Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Like you are? Lom thought.

“Let’s go, Heyes.” The two marshals came over to escort Heyes into the prison.

Lom understood the plea in Heyes’ eyes. “Think I’ll go with you. Just want to see this to the end, if that’s all right with you,” he said to the marshals.

“Sure,” one told him.

Lom put his right hand on Heyes’ shoulder and wasn’t totally surprised to feel him trembling. Only an imbecile wouldn’t be afraid, and Heyes was far from stupid. Lom kept his hand on Heyes as they slowly walked towards the prison entrance, trying to give him strength and comfort both. Although Heyes was hampered by the shackles around his legs, Lom knew that he was deliberately walking slower than he actually could. Lom certainly sympathized with the reason for that.

The marshals were getting impatient. “Hurry up, Heyes. Stop wasting time and get inside.”

Lom felt Heyes begin to turn around and was afraid he’d say something he’d immediately regret. He gripped Heyes more tightly, until Heyes exhaled slowly and stilled himself. Lom breathed a sigh of relief.

Heyes realized he was trying to delay the inevitable. He shrugged out of Lom’s grasp and went through the iron door and into the Wyoming Territorial Prison.

* * *

Lom and the marshals followed Heyes inside.

They were met by four prison guards who immediately surrounded Heyes. Each of them held a truncheon in his right hand and looked ready to use it at the slightest excuse. Heyes and the lawmen were led down a short corridor, Heyes trying to keep up with the pace set by the guards but finding it difficult because of the shackles. He stumbled once and thought the guard on his left was going to hit him, but Lom caught him before he fell and the guard lowered his arm.

There were rooms on both sides of the corridor but they didn’t stop until they reached one with an open door. All eight men entered and one of the guards announced, “Here he is, Warden.”

The man in charge of the Wyoming Territorial Prison, Warden Calvin Wilson, was sitting behind his desk and he signed a paper and put the fountain pen back in its stand before looking up. He was a large, beefy man, dressed in a suit designed to lull visitors into thinking he was a gentleman.

Heyes knew better. Standing directly in front of the desk, he instantly read him as a man to guard against. The gray eyes stared at him, daring him. But Heyes knew he didn’t have a winning hand and he broke eye contact first.

“Thank you. Sanders, Riley, wait outside.” Two of the guards left. The two remaining guards moved to flank Heyes. Lom and the marshals stood off to one side.

One of the marshals spoke. “This is Hannibal Heyes, Warden. If you’ll sign these, we’ll transfer custody of the prisoner over to you and be on our way.” The warden took the papers held out to him and quickly signed them, then handed them back.

The warden looked at Heyes. His demeanor made obvious his disdain for the man facing him. “From now on, you will be known as Convict 20805. Obey the rules and your time here will go smoothly. Break them, and we will break you.”

Wilson saw the key in Lom’s hand. “Sheriff, please remove the handcuffs and shackles from the convict.”

“What’s going to happen to him now, Warden?” Lom asked, as he unlocked the chains around Heyes’ ankles.

Heyes knew that Lom was asking on his behalf so he could mentally prepare himself for whatever was coming. But the question sounded strange and he didn’t want anyone to wonder why the sheriff was interested in his welfare.

So Heyes angrily said, “What do you care? Your job’s done.”

His outburst was rewarded with the whack of a truncheon behind his knees. Heyes fell to the floor, hoping that was all the punishment he was going to get. He didn’t think the guards would do anything more to him, not with the sheriff and marshals still there.

Heyes was dragged to his feet by the two guards and held securely. He didn’t dare look at Lom. But he was still handcuffed and it was Lom who had the key. The sheriff managed to subtly squeeze his left wrist as he pulled the metal bands off Heyes, in apology for what had just been said and done.

Wilson had watched with detachment as Heyes was taught his first lesson. When he spoke again, the anticipation in his voice was well hidden. The leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang was no ordinary prisoner and he knew it would take time to break this man. Warden Wilson was going to enjoy seeing that happen. “Convict 20805 will be processed. He will be kept in a temporary holding cell where he will become familiar with the prison rules and procedures. Then he will be transferred to a regular cell that will be his home for the next twenty years. Gentlemen, the Territory of Wyoming thanks you for bringing this prisoner to us. Rest assured, we will take good care of him.”

The warden stood and shook the hands of the lawmen. “Good day, gentlemen.” The two marshals and the sheriff exited the office.

Heyes was on his own.

* * *

Once the lawmen had departed, Heyes was shoved out the door by the two guards. The other two guards were waiting for him. All four led Heyes deeper into the prison. As he walked along, more easily now that the shackles were off, Heyes tried to file away his observations for later analysis. But the sounds and smells of the place threatened to overpower him, and it was all he could do to maintain his focus.

They stopped when they reached a small room around a bend in the corridor. One guard unlocked the door and another entered first. The other guards waited until he indicated he was ready, then they pushed Heyes inside. The door was locked behind him. Once again, they surrounded Heyes but he could only see the guard in front of him clearly. Two others were off to his side and one was behind him.

Heyes saw what looked like a gallows in the middle of the room. Except that instead of a noose hanging from the middle of the crossbar, there were manacles attached at the ends of it, as well as shackles attached to the bottoms of the two upright poles. On one side of the room was a water pump, from which two hoses extended in opposite directions. There was nothing else in the room although Heyes saw another door at the other end.

“Get over here,” one guard told Heyes, who complied by walking towards the gallows-like structure.

“Take your clothes off,” the guard standing to his left commanded, and Heyes didn’t miss the gleam in his eyes.

Heyes sighed and started to undress. He removed his bandana, then unbuttoned his shirt. He dropped them on the floor since there was nowhere else to put them. His henley was next. He unbuckled his belt, slid it out of his pants, and let it fall to the floor. He started to unbutton his trousers but had to remove his boots first. He pulled off his socks and then there were only his pants and longjohns left. Slowly, he pulled down his pants and tossed them aside. He paused, knew he couldn’t avoid it and, taking his time, took off his longjohns.

Heyes stood, naked, in full view of the guards.

Two guards, who stood on either side of him, grabbed his arms and pushed him so he was standing directly under the crossbar. Then they each lifted one arm above his head and snapped the manacles around his wrists. One of them kicked his feet apart and Heyes looked down in time to see the guards fastening the shackles around his ankles. He was standing spread-eagled, unable to move anything other than his head more than a couple inches in any direction.

Heyes tried to remain calm. The muttering and snickers he heard as the guards circled around him were not reassuring. It’d be all right if they only meant to hose him down but he had an awful feeling that wasn’t all they were going to do to him.

He could do nothing but wait.

“What’s your name, boy?” one of the guards suddenly asked.

“Hanni...”

Crack! The sting of the whip on his back was a surprise.

“Gets them every time, don’t it?” a guard laughed.

“They still think they’re men, not cons,” another sneered. “We got to teach them better.”

“Try again. What’s your name?”

Heyes wasn’t sure who was asking but he knew the correct answer this time. However, he took too long to say it and felt the whip lash his back again. “Convict 20805,” he managed to say through the pain.

“That’s better. But we didn’t hear it loud enough. Say it again,” the guard ordered.

“Convict 20805.”

“That’s right. You’re a convict now. Remember that, Convict 20805.”

Heyes didn’t think it likely he’d forget.

There was a gurgling sound and Heyes saw from the corner of his eye that two guards had picked up the hoses. One moved and stood in front of him; the other moved out of his view but Heyes supposed he was standing behind him. The first guard pointed the hose at him and Heyes saw the water gush out a few seconds before it hit his chest. At the same time, he felt another stream of water hit his back.

The guards aimed the hoses at him until he was completely wet. Then Heyes felt something slithery on his back and it took a moment before he realized it was soap and one of the guards was washing him. It stung when the soap was rubbed into the whip marks but Heyes remained silent, knowing that cleaning the wounds would help prevent infection. He saw the guards pick up the hoses again, and he was rinsed off.

Heyes stood, shivering, while he was freed from the chains. He hadn’t been given a towel. He decided not to ask, not wanting to risk another whipping.

“This way, Convict 20805,” a different guard directed, pointing to the other door.

Heyes found himself in a small storage room filled with clothes. At least now he’d be able to cover himself, he thought with relief. For a while, he’d feared they'd keep him naked.

The guard found a pair of longjohn bottoms and told Heyes to put them on. They were only a little too big. Better too big than too small, Heyes thought, trying to find something positive in the situation.

“Let’s go,” the guard told him.

“What?” Heyes couldn’t help asking. He’d expected the guard to give him more clothes. There were certainly plenty to choose from.

The guard grinned. “You think you deserve more? Well, if you’re a good con, maybe you’ll be rewarded with something else sometime. Until then, all you get are the longjohns. And I better not hear a complaint, Convict 20805, or I might just take them away.”

Heyes closed his mouth. He realized that his anger was a good thing. Better to be angry than embarrassed or disappointed. Anger was something he could use against these men. Anger would keep him sane. Anger could also get him killed. Heyes knew he had to tread carefully.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” he forced himself to say.

“Much better,” the guard told him. “Maybe it won’t take you so long to learn the rules after all.”

Heyes felt very self-conscious wearing only underwear as the four guards again surrounded him and walked him down another corridor. He began to hear voices and assumed they were nearing the section of the prison where the convicts were housed.

They reached their destination and Heyes saw cells lining both sides of the wide corridor. He saw men in almost every cell. They peered out through the bars as he and the guards entered the area, calling questions to the guards, who ignored them completely.

There was one cell in the middle of the area and the guards led Heyes to it.

It was more a cage, really, since all four sides consisted only of bars set close together. The top was also barred. The door was open and Heyes was pushed inside. The door was locked.

Heyes stood, grasping the bars with his hands, and wondered if the guards would tell him why he was in that cell and not one of the ones along the walls. He’d already discovered that the guards weren’t big on answering questions, but one of them was happy to explain things.

“Convict 20805, this is the ‘learning cell.’ You will remain here until you’re able to recite all the rules and regulations convicts must follow. You will be taught by the guards and the other convicts. During this time, you will receive one meal a day and one bucket of water. There is a pot for relief. You are expected to keep your cell and yourself clean. If you break any rules, you will be punished. Do you have any questions?”

Heyes did. “How long does it take for people to learn the rules and regulations?”

The guard mocked him as he answered. “It don’t take people any time—people aren’t in prison. You’re a convict and convicts aren’t people. Remember that!”

He laughed. “Sometimes it takes only a couple days but for some cons it takes a week. Depends on how smart the convict is. You… I’m guessing it’ll take you a week.”

* * *

In the end, it took four days for Heyes to talk himself out of the ‘learning cell’ and into a regular one. Four days of being constantly taunted and ridiculed by both the guards and the other convicts. Four days of sleeping on the stone floor, for there was no bed in the cell nor even a blanket to cover himself with during the cold nights. Four days of eating the slop they gave him and drinking water from the bucket that also contained a variety of insects, some still swimming around. Four days of relieving himself in front of anyone who cared to watch, and there were many who did.

“All right, I’m ready!” Heyes yelled on the afternoon of the fourth day, determined to make this his final day in the cage. He’d listened to all the conversations wafting around him, trying to separate the important from the trivial, holding on to what he needed to know to get out of there. Sometimes two guards would walk over to his cell and remind each other about some rule but then a convict would yell that they were lying, and Heyes didn’t know what to believe. Other times convicts would speak directly to him and tell him what he thought were regulations, but they sounded so strict he didn’t want to believe they were real.

Riley came over to him. He now knew the names of the four guards who’d met him upon his arrival at the prison; they were the ones who taunted him the most. They pretended he’d already gotten his food when in fact he hadn’t; they left the pot in his cell for two days and then complained he wasn’t keeping the cell clean enough because it stank. They made fun of who he’d been and who he was now, no longer a famous outlaw gang leader but just another common criminal with no future. Riley was the worst. He always managed to find a way to watch Heyes take care of his basic needs. His scrutiny annoyed Heyes until he figured out that was the intention, because if he got annoyed enough and said something, Riley had an excuse to punish him. After that, Heyes ignored the guard as much as he could.

“You think you know everything now, Convict 20805? Remember, if you make a mistake, you stay here longer,” Riley reminded him.

Heyes knew that very well. That was why he was still there. By the third day, he thought he knew all the requirements but when he’d finished reciting the rules and regulations to Parker, the guard laughed in his face and told him he’d gotten it all wrong. Parker told him he had to spend an additional day in the cage. Heyes was furious. He was sure he’d stated everything correctly. It was difficult for him to accept that even if he did everything right he might still be punished, just because the guards had complete control over every aspect of his life now. It was a hard lesson to learn but on the fourth day, Heyes finally realized that that was the point of the ‘learning cell.’

“I’m ready,” Heyes told Riley.

Heyes proceeded to state the only rules and regulations that mattered. “Convicts have no life except for what the guards allow. Convicts must always do whatever the guards say, as soon as they are told and without argument. Convicts are always at fault if something goes wrong or there is a problem, and the guards may punish convicts as they see fit.”

Convicts are slaves, Heyes finished silently, but knew he’d never find anything in writing that documented that. He was sure the guards had twisted the rules to suit themselves, and the question he had was whether or not the warden knew and condoned it.

Riley, who was hoping to tell the man in the cage that he was going to remain there even longer, was disappointed. He couldn’t deny the accuracy of what he’d heard, not with all the other guards and convicts also listening. Watching the recital was a show everyone looked forward to. It was one of the few forms of entertainment in the prison that didn’t involve physical pain.

“Excellent, Convict 20805. I think you understand the way of the world now. There’s just one more point you need to explain.” This was always the part he looked forward to—when the convicts came face-to-face with their new name and realized they could never escape what it meant. “Tell us the meaning of your name and then I’ll release you from here.”

Heyes had wondered about the number. He knew it had significance but it took some hints from other convicts before he puzzled it out. Grimly, he said, “Two zero stands for my sentence, twenty years. The eight refers to the initial of my...” He wasn’t sure how to avoid saying something that would prolong his stay in the cage. “My former name, and zero five is the number of the cell I’ll have.”

He held his breath and tried not to look expectant. All the guards took delight in crushing the hopes of the convicts as often as possible and Heyes didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing it happen to him, again.

Grudgingly, Riley said, “Congratulations, Convict 20805. You’ve now graduated to a regular cell.” He unlocked the door to the cage and Heyes stepped out, for the first time in four days.

Riley hit him with his truncheon. “Move along. You know where to go.”

Heyes certainly did, having looked with longing many times over the past several days at the cell he knew was waiting for him, halfway down the corridor on the right. He walked quickly, eager to remove himself from the sight of the convicts who’d watched his every move while he’d been in the cage. With what could only be called relief, he entered the fifth cell and didn’t even flinch when it was locked behind him.

“Welcome home, Convict 20805! Enjoy your stay!” Riley laughed.

* * *

Heyes surveyed his new place of residence, noting that although there was a wall instead of bars opposite the entrance, he still had no privacy since the sides of his cell were the bars that formed the walls to other cells. At least he had a bed now, if a wooden board two feet off the ground, flush against the back wall, could be called a bed. There was even a blanket, thin and musty-smelling though it was. Simple gifts, Heyes thought. A water bucket and chamber pot completed the furnishings.

He sat on the bed with his back to the wall. Neither cell on either side of him was occupied. But it was only late afternoon; Heyes figured the convicts were out working somewhere and would be back after the evening meal. He knew that regular prisoners were supposed to get two meals a day, one in the morning and one at night. He was looking forward to that even though he knew the meals wouldn’t be steak and potatoes.

Heyes thought about how he was going to get evidence that the prisoners were being mistreated. He wanted to have something tangible to tell Lom when he visited. So far, the only proof he had was his own personal experience and he knew that would count for nothing.

Lom and Kid would believe him but the governor was a different story. The governor needed documents, something irrefutable, not just the word of a criminal, even though said criminal was there at his behest.

Heyes figured he’d start working the next day. Then he could talk to the other convicts and find out how they were being treated. It would also give him the chance to see more of the prison and what conditions were like in general. If he could get a job in the warden’s office, maybe he could find what he needed. Then Lom could get him out of there long before two months had passed.

There were no windows in the cellblock so Heyes didn’t know what time it was when the convicts returned. They’d already eaten dinner. No one had given Heyes anything. The hunger pangs he’d felt the first days of his incarceration had mostly subsided but still, he’d been hoping that now he was in a regular cell, he’d be fed dinner too. So much for hope, he thought; he should have known better than to expect anything.

Heyes watched as the convicts, with only a cursory glance at the new prisoner among them, busied themselves in their cells by getting ready to sleep. It didn’t take long but they wore more clothes than Heyes and he wondered what they’d had to do to get them. He badly wanted at least a shirt; it’d been cold at night and he was afraid of getting sick. Then he wondered what the men had been convicted of and how long they’d been in the prison, and it didn’t strike him as odd that that was his second thought.

* * *

“On your feet, con!” A guard’s voice roused Heyes from sleep. Rubbing his eyes, Heyes got up and went to the door. At least he didn’t have to spend any time getting dressed, he thought wryly.

Sanders was in front of his cell, holding a lantern up to see inside. Parker was beside him. “Don’t you know the rules, Convict 20805? When you’re told to get up, you stand by your bed, not by the door. Get back there,” Sanders ordered.

Heyes went back to his bed, confused. He’d thought it was time to go to work and the guards had come to take the prisoners to their jobs. But now he could see that he was the only convict standing up. Everyone else was still sleeping.

Sanders unlocked the door to his cell and entered. He gave the key and lantern to Parker, who waited outside. “Time for your next lesson, Convict 20805,” Sanders said. “Put your hands on the wall and spread your feet.”

Heyes did what he was told, wondering if he’d done something wrong already and was going to be punished. He heard Sanders approach him, then heard the whoosh of air a split second before he felt the truncheon hit his buttocks.

He let out a cry. “What was that for?”

“Shut up!” Sanders glowered at the prisoner but answered the question. “That was for being famous.”

Thwack!

“That one was for being too smart for your own good! You cost me a lot of money, taking so long to be educated in the ‘learning cell’! Don’t you cross me ever again, you hear? If’n you do, I’ll teach you a lesson you ain’t never gonna forget, con! You ain’t the smart one no more! You’re in prison and you’re gonna be here a very long time. Best get used to the idea. You make trouble for me and you won’t know what hit you. You got that?”

Heyes could just barely nod through his pain and he slumped to the floor. He lay where he fell until morning.

* * *

“Get up!” The order was punctuated with a truncheon poked roughly into his stomach.

Cahill was standing over him, prodding him. Heyes moaned and tried to rise. Slowly, dizzily, Heyes got up and stood by his bed. He grimaced as he felt sharp, stabbing pains shoot through his body.

Cahill used his truncheon to move Heyes out of his cell. Heyes swayed and had to grab hold of the iron bars to remain standing. He saw a line of convicts in the corridor and just as he noticed they were chained together, Heyes felt something snap around his left wrist. He looked down and found the manacle on his hand was connected by a short chain to the manacle on the man next to him. As soon as a convict stepped out of his cell, he was chained to the others, effectively preventing any possibility of trouble.

The convicts marched to the dining area and in single file held out their metal plates and cups for breakfast. They sat on long benches and ate silently with their free hand. It was the first food Heyes had eaten for almost a day and the gruel and water was almost tasty. He ate every drop and wished for more. Being starved was almost as bad as being beaten.

Fifteen minutes after he sat down, the other convicts all rose, forcing Heyes to do the same. They picked up their dishes and walked in a line over to another table, where they stacked their plates and cups in two piles. Then they marched to the back of the room and stood facing the wall. As soon as the men at the ends of the line raised their hands and put their palms against the wall, all the others did, too. Heyes had no choice but to also stand in the same vulnerable position. He hoped he wasn’t going to be subjected to another beating.

He wasn’t. Slowly, the guards walked past the convicts and released them from their chains. The men remained standing against the wall until given a signal by the guard in charge. Then they moved off and formed small groups. No one told Heyes what to do so he did nothing except turn around and face the room.

“Get a move on!” one of the guards shouted at him.

“Where to?” Heyes asked. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go. For his audacity at speaking, he was hit with a truncheon.

“To your work detail. You so stupid you forgot what your job is?” The man was getting impatient and lifted his arm to hit Heyes again when Cahill went over and whispered to him. The two guards looked at Heyes.

“So you’re our new guest, Convict 20805,” the guard Heyes didn’t know laughed. “Well, it’s time to go to work and everyone has a job here. So what can we have you do—should it be making furniture or jewelry or shoes? Or maybe rolling cigars or stuffing animals or making brooms?”

He and Cahill consulted again, then Cahill spoke. “Making brooms is what you’re most qualified for, Convict 20805. Those hands of yours will be real good at it! Get over there!” He pointed to a small group of men near the door.

Heyes joined them. He had no idea how to make a broom but it didn’t sound like it would be too hard on the back.

Several guards surrounded each group of convicts while one guard systematically handcuffed the prisoners, though this time they had their hands chained together in front of them. The guards ushered them out the door and to their various work places. Heyes’ group walked into a building next to the cellblock and entered one of the rooms. There were different sorts of machines scattered around the room. The other men went to the machines and started using them. Heyes watched them, trying to figure out the process until Cahill, who’d accompanied his group, spoke to him.

“Convict 20805, don’t just stand there, get to work.”

“I don’t know how to,” Heyes replied. For his honesty, one of the guards hit him. None of the other convicts paid any attention to what was going on.

“Convict 91203.” Cahill spoke to a sandy-haired youth working at one of the machines. “You will instruct Convict 20805 in how to make brooms. You have permission to speak to him about the job.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man replied. He turned to Heyes and said, “Come over here. I’ll show you what to do.”

It took only about fifteen minutes for Heyes to learn more than he ever wanted to know about making brooms but he used the opportunity to find out from the younger convict if the treatment he had received was typical. To his disgust, Heyes found that it was.

“Why hasn’t anyone reported it to the warden?” Heyes asked, not really surprised that no one had ever done so.

“Who do you think is responsible for what’s going on? The warden’s the one behind it all,” the other man said bitterly.

“How do you know that? What else has he done?” Heyes pressed.

The convict looked around fearfully. “I’ve said too much already.”

“Please, I’ve got to know,” Heyes persisted, taking a chance on continuing the conversation. “Maybe if…”

“What’s going on there? Ain’t you done yet, Convict 91203?” Cahill called, and started to walk over to the two men. “Get to work now, both of you!”

“What about visitors? Can’t you tell one of them?” Heyes asked quickly.

The sadness was evident in the youth’s voice as he said, “Never had a visitor.”

“How long you been in here, then? And what’s your name?”

“Harry. Been here seven months. Two more to go, so don’t ruin it for me.” The youth moved away from Heyes and he knew that was all the information he’d get from him.

Heyes picked up some broomcorn and carried it to the bigger of the two empty machines in the room. He put the material into the curved top section and evened it out. With his right foot pushing the floor treadle, he used his right hand to keep the broomcorn in place as it was slowly flattened. When it looked good, he removed the half-finished broom and carried it over to the smaller machine nearby. He laid the broom on the flat surface and with his left hand, cranked the handle that cut the bottom of the broom into an even edge. Then he took the finished broom and stacked it against the wall with the others.

“Not over there!” Cahill yelled at him.

Heyes thought he’d done everything correctly. He opened his mouth to ask where he should put the broom but closed it before speaking. He didn’t want to get hit again. He stood by the wall and waited for Cahill to tell him what to do.

“Convict 91203, didn’t you tell him where to put his brooms when he finished making them?”

The youth looked scared and didn’t respond.

“Answer me!”

“I’m sorry, sir, I…I…” he stammered.

Heyes interrupted. “It’s my fault, sir. I was asking too many questions and he didn’t get a chance to tell me before you told us to get to work.”

“Convict 91203, you should have told him he has a quota.” Cahill nodded to one of the other guards nearer the young prisoner. He tried to back away but the guard was still able to hit him with his truncheon.

“Hey, I said it was my fault!” Heyes tried to get the guard’s attention focused on him.

“You’re right, Convict 20805. Good to see you taking responsibility for your actions.”

Heyes looked at Cahill through narrowed eyes, as the guard neared him.

“The quota is fifty brooms a day. You put your brooms over there,” Cahill pointed to an empty section of the wall. “If you don’t meet your quota, you’ll be punished.”

What a surprise, thought Heyes, as he figured out that he had slightly less than fifteen minutes to make one broom. Of course, without his pocket watch, he wouldn’t know exactly how long it took him to…

Thwack! He’d been so caught up in his calculations that he hadn’t seen Cahill raise his truncheon to hit him.

“Stop wasting time and get back to work!”

Heyes did what he was told. The monotony of the work was eventually broken when the guards gave the convicts a ten-minute break at midday to drink a cup of water and relieve themselves in the pot in the back corner of the room.

Slowly, his pile of brooms got larger. But the piles of the other convicts got bigger faster and Heyes became worried that he wouldn’t make his quota for the day. He didn’t want to be hit again so he worked more quickly, hoping he could catch up before the workday ended.

The guards made periodic inspections of the finished brooms and when Cahill inspected Heyes’ brooms, he shook his head.

“Convict 20805, what do you think you’re doing? These brooms ain’t good enough!”

Then why didn’t anyone say something before now? Heyes thought angrily, but wisely didn’t say. “I’m sorry, sir,” he apologized.

“You need to do redo them. We can’t ship such poor quality products to our customers. You’ve only got two more hours, so get to it.”

Heyes wondered who the customers were and if they knew the brooms they bought were made by prison labor.

With a sigh, he gathered a bunch of brooms in his arms and took them back to the machines, where he tried to make them suitable for sale. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make fifty brooms by the end of the day, so he resigned himself to another beating.

Some time later, the guards called a halt to the work. Everyone except Heyes met their quota. To his relief, he wasn’t hit. Instead, he was told to clean the room. Heyes picked up a broom to sweep the floor.

“Not that way! On your hands and knees, Convict 20805. Pick up the pieces with your hands.”

The other convicts watched him venomously but Heyes didn’t know what he’d done to cause that reaction. Heyes looked at the guard for a moment and then started crawling on the floor. The bits of broomcorn were like splinters, scratching and digging into his hands and knees. When he couldn’t hold any more, he stood up and looked to the guard for further instruction. The guard pointed to a basket and Heyes deposited the refuse into it, then resumed crawling.

“If you make us miss dinner, I’m gonna make you pay,” he heard one convict mutter.

Now he understood why the other prisoners were angry. He’d be angry too if he missed the evening meal.

Finally, he was done and he got to his feet. His knees and hands were covered with scratches and were beginning to bleed.

“Now get the pot.” Heyes did what he was told and picked up the full pot.

“Line up!”

The convicts moved to the wall and, as had happened after breakfast, were handcuffed again. Heyes still held the pot and it became clear that he was going to have to carry it back to the cellblock. Despite his best effort at holding the pot level, he felt some of the liquid slosh his legs as he and the other convicts quickly walked back to the cellblock to get their evening meal before it was too late.

Cahill laughed as he took the pot from Heyes’ hands and tossed the contents into the grass. “Didn’t think of doing that, huh, Convict 20805? That’s why you’re in prison—you ain’t smart enough to avoid it!”

Heyes seethed. He was furious at Cahill, furious at the governor for putting him in this position, and furious at himself for agreeing to it. Lom had been right—it was asking too much.

Heyes badly wanted out of there but knew he wasn’t even close to having that happen. What the young convict had told him only made him more certain that the warden was the reason the prisoners were being abused. Somehow, he had to get into his office and find the proof. In the meantime, he had to survive until Lom’s visit, whenever that occurred.

Heyes got his dinner and sat down with his fellow broom-makers. In between eating the watery soup and drinking the warm water, he tried talking to the convicts but was rewarded with angry glares. Heyes gave up. His silver tongue wasn’t worth anything when the cost of talking to another convict was getting hit.

After dinner, the convicts were chained together like they had been in the morning and were marched back to their cells.

Heyes entered his gratefully. He wrapped the blanket around his torso and pulled off his longjohns. He spread them over the chamber pot and scooped water out of the bucket and over the underwear, trying to clean the blood and filth from the only piece of clothing he had. He did that until the bucket was almost empty. He left the longjohns to dry and climbed onto the bed. Worn out, Heyes soon fell asleep.

* * *

For the next few weeks, Heyes followed the same pattern: Wakened at dawn, chained to the other prisoners to eat breakfast, spend the next twelve hours making brooms, after which he ate dinner and was returned to his cell, where he slept for some hours. Sometimes he was wakened and subjected to a couple whacks of a truncheon by one of the guards to remind him, he was told, that he had no control over any part of his life anymore, only to fall asleep again for a few more short hours, and then the whole tedious routine began again.

Despite his best efforts, Heyes was unable to get any information from the other convicts and he was slowly losing hope that he’d be able to get some evidence for the governor.

On Sunday mornings, the convicts were allowed to attend a religious service or remain in their cell. Heyes chose to remain in his cell, even though he knew he should go to the chapel to see what he could find out from the prisoners there, but he needed the time to rest.

He thought it likely that Lom would come in the afternoon, when the convicts were allowed visitors, so after eating breakfast, he returned to his cell and lay down to sleep until the sheriff arrived.

But although other convicts were released from their cells, no one came for Heyes.

He guessed that Lom had been delayed by poor weather or had gotten a late start from Porterville. He was sure the sheriff would be there eventually. Lom had told Heyes he would visit and Heyes couldn’t think of any good reason why he wouldn’t. Unless he’d been lying.

By late afternoon, when all the other convicts who’d had visitors had returned to their cells, he had to accept that Lom wasn’t coming. Heyes realized how much he’d been waiting all week to see him, how much he’d been counting on seeing his friendly face, even though he had nothing to tell him. His despondency was overwhelming and he rolled over on his bed and faced the wall, trying to swallow his disappointment. Never had he felt more alone.

* * *

Precisely twenty-six days after Lom Trevors delivered Hannibal Heyes to the Wyoming Territorial Prison, Kid Curry entered the sheriff’s office in Porterville.

“How is he?” Curry asked immediately, without bothering with any of the usual niceties.

The sheriff didn’t look up when he answered. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Kid said in a deceptively calm voice.

“I don’t know, because I didn’t see him.”

Kid waited impatiently for an explanation.

“They wouldn’t let me. The warden said convicts aren’t allowed any visitors for the first month.”

Lom raised his head and Kid could see the distress in his face. “I’m sorry, Kid. I tried to get in but they refused.”

“So what are you goin’ to do about it? You got to see Heyes! He’s goin’ to think you left him there and don’t care what happens to him!”

“I don’t know what I can do, Kid. If they won’t let a sheriff in…” Lom shrugged.

“Well, I’m not goin’ let him rot in there and think he’s been forgotten!” The agitation in Kid’s voice was obvious. He ran his hands through his curly hair and looked at the sheriff again. “Heyes don’t take kindly to bein’ locked up. Pacin’ helps some but he can’t keep that up forever. We got to do somethin’!”

“Calm down, Kid. Heyes can take care of himself.” Lom hoped that was true. He wasn’t sure he believed it, not after hearing the governor’s stories.

Kid stared at the other man. “Heyes was countin’ on you, Lom. I’m sorry you don’t feel obligated to help him.”

“That’s not fair, Kid! I’m doing the best I can!”

“Your best ain’t good enough!”

Kid stormed out of the office without looking back.

* * *

One hour and two whiskeys later, Kid walked back into the sheriff’s office.

Lom waited to hear what he had to say.

“Sorry.” The word was spoken with sincere regret.

“I’m worried too, Kid,” admitted Lom. “It’s all right; we’ll figure something out.”

Kid smiled his thanks.

* * *

Heyes gradually got used to his life in prison. He managed to meet his quota of brooms on his third day at work, and was rewarded by being thrown a shirt to wear. He was overjoyed that it was only a little too small and could almost be completely buttoned up. He got used to the food, the lack of privacy, the stink of himself and everyone around him, being chained twice a day, being hit, the silence, the work. The relentless monotony no longer bothered him.

It was a relief not to have to think anymore. All he had to do was whatever the guards told him. If he did it well enough and fast enough, they were happy. If he didn’t, he got hit. Life was simple. Follow the rules and all would be well. When he broke a rule, he accepted his punishment, knowing it was justified. That was the way of the world he lived in. That was how it should be.

He lost track of how long he’d been there. He never had a reason to go to the warden’s office so he gave up on trying to find proof of any misdeeds. From what he could see, all the convicts there deserved the treatment they got, including himself. He didn’t even think about Kid or Lom anymore. They were outside; it was as foreign a country to him as China and he was unlikely to see either before he died.

* * *

“Get up, Convict 20805! You got a visitor.”

Heyes blearily sat up in his bed. He hadn’t realized it was Sunday. Heyes got up and without being told put his hands on the wall and spread his feet. When he’d been handcuffed, he turned around and followed Parker and Riley out of the cell.

They took him to a room he’d been in only once before, when he’d first arrived at the prison. Complacently, he stripped when told and let the guards chain him to the scaffold. When the water hit him, he closed his eyes and tried to stand still so he could be thoroughly cleaned. It was his first real bath since his arrival. He was soaped and rinsed off and then, surprisingly, given a towel to dry himself. Even more surprisingly, Parker pointed to a pile of clothes near one of the walls and told him to put them on. They felt strange; he wasn’t used to wearing so much anymore.

He dressed and then was handcuffed again and led to another room and told to sit in one of the chairs. His wrists were secured to the chair, as were his feet. Riley bent over him and for a wild instant Heyes thought he was going to slash his throat with the knife he held in his right hand. Riley laughed when he saw the fear in Heyes’ eyes.

“Just gonna shave you, Convict 20805. Got to look your Sunday best for your visitor!” Parker held Heyes’ shoulders while Riley scraped the beard from Heyes’ face.

“Such a handsome man he is! Too bad he’ll never hear a…lady…say that to him again!” Riley jeered.

Parker released him when Riley was done and they escorted him down a corridor. There was no need for the truncheons. The guards knew Heyes had been broken and they had nothing to worry about anymore.

“If you’d told us you were Catholic, we would’ve let you see a priest before this,” Parker told him as they walked along. “You only punished yourself by keeping it a secret.”

“Yeah, we respect convicts’ religious beliefs, don’t we?”

“He probably felt ashamed. I would too if I believed in all that nonsense.”

Heyes had no idea what they were talking about.

They stopped in front of a door and Riley unlocked it, then all three men entered. There were two chairs in the room and Heyes was again securely chained to one of them. Then the guards left, closing the door behind them.

Heyes didn’t know how long he waited. He wondered what was going on but didn’t really care. He’d gotten washed and shaved and was wearing new clothes so whatever happened next didn’t matter. Heyes dozed off.

After a while, Parker opened the door and showed the priest in, telling him he had one hour for his visit. He closed the door and locked it from the outside, leaving the priest alone with Heyes.

* * *

The priest was shocked at the condition of the man in front of him. He vowed to make them pay for their mistreatment of the prisoner.

“Heyes! Wake up!” The priest put his hand on Heyes’ shoulder and gently shook him.

Heyes’ eyes fluttered open. “My name is Con…” he began automatically. Then his brain registered who was sitting before him.

“Kid?! Are you out of your mind?! What are you doing here?” Despite the heavy beard and mustache, despite the white collar and black robe, Heyes recognized his partner.

“Howdy, Heyes!” Kid grinned.

“You’re crazy! Get out of here—now!” Heyes was terrified of what would happen if Kid were caught.

“Is that any way to say hello to me?” Kid remained sitting in his chair. “After I dressed up special to see you and all?”

The only thing Heyes could grab was the seat of his chair, so he did. He’d strangle his partner another time. “I mean it, Kid, get out of here.”

Kid merely stared at Heyes. “Don’t look to me like you’re in a position to do anything about it, so I guess I’ll just stay and visit awhile. Besides, I got to hear your confession. Far as I can tell, that could take a while. ‘Cos of you being you, I mean, and havin’ so much to confess.”

Heyes said nothing but Kid saw his brown eyes glisten.

“Aw, Heyes. How bad has it been?”

Heyes shook his head and didn’t answer. What could he possibly say? Instead, he asked, “Impersonating a priest? Where’d you get that brilliant idea?”

“Lom tried to visit, Heyes, but the warden wouldn’t let him in. He wanted me to tell you he didn’t break his promise to you.”

Heyes was glad to hear that. He hadn’t known what to think when Lom hadn’t visited.

Kid looked closely at his partner. Heyes was gaunt; it looked like he’d lost at least twenty pounds. His hair was wet so Kid knew he’d washed a short while ago. He could see bruises of various colors under the shirt Heyes wore, and wondered what had caused them. He wondered if Heyes would tell him if he asked.

What really bothered him was the look in Heyes’ eyes. When he’d first seen him, before he made his presence known, Kid had seen the resignation in his cousin’s face. But it was more than that, Kid decided. It was more like—surrender. From the way he sat in the chair, Kid could tell Heyes had accepted the situation he was in and wasn’t trying to do anything about it.

Kid knew he had to do something to reach Heyes and he had to do it quickly. More than six weeks had already passed, which meant Heyes had only a short amount of time left to get whatever evidence he could find. Then Kid was going to make damned sure Heyes got out of the Wyoming Territorial Prison.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t say how you came up with this plan,” Heyes reminded him.

“Oh. Well,” Kid looked embarrassed and proud at the same time. “When Lom said not even a sheriff was allowed to see the prisoners, it got me to thinkin’ who they would allow. And the answer I came up with was, a priest or a minister.”

“So why’d you choose a priest? Wouldn’t a minister’ve been easier?”

“Yeah, but who’d ever think Kid Curry would be disguised as a priest?” Kid’s blue eyes gleamed with amusement.

Heyes tentatively smiled.

Kid was startled, then pleased. He continued with his story. “Besides, I figured if that girl, what was her name--you know, that typewriter we met that time? If she could pretend to be a nun, then I could pretend to be a priest.”

“Kid Curry, Catholic priest,” Heyes mused.

“So all I had to do was get the clothes and learn some Latin, and here I am,” Kid finished.

“You learned Latin?” Heyes raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “This I got to hear.”

“E pluribus unum,” Kid stated triumphantly.

Heyes almost laughed. “You got that from looking at all the money we stole!”

“So? It’s Latin, ain’t it?”

“What else did you learn, oh scholarly one?”

Kid glared at him, but secretly he was glad to see Heyes make fun of him. He wouldn’t mind if it meant Heyes was recovering his sense of self.

“Well, I also telegraphed Big Mac. I made up a story and he sent me the clothes along with some useful phrases.”

“Does Lom know about this?”

“Yeah. He don’t approve of me bein’ here but he helped me anyway.” Kid got up and walked away, then turned back to his partner, the anger clear in his eyes. “And it’s a good thing I came, too. Look at you. Sittin’ there all trussed up, looking like you ain’t been eatin’ for almost two months. Bruises all over you! What’s been goin’ on, Heyes?”

“That long?” Heyes muttered. “I thought it was…”

“You don’t even know how long you been in here?” Kid interrupted, astonished.

Heyes looked up at him and shook his head mutely.

Kid walked over and put his hand on Heyes’ shoulder, trying to give him solace.

“Kid, you have no idea what’s it’s like in here. I hope you never find out.”

“That’s why you got to get the evidence, Heyes. Ain’t no way you’re spendin’ any more time in here than you have to. You got one week and then I’m gettin’ you out no matter what. You got that?”

Heyes nodded.

“Just get the proof, all right?” Kid squeezed Heyes’ shoulder one more time.

Kid called to the guards but he was not quite ready to leave. “Please uncuff his right hand,” he requested.

“We can’t do that,” Riley said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I can’t finish taking his confession if he can’t make the sign of the cross,” Kid told him.

The guards looked at each other and shrugged. “I suppose if we stay here with you, we could do it.”

“No, my son,” Kid said gently but firmly. “Confession is private. No one can hear it besides me and God.”

“You sure you’ll be all right? This man is a troublemaker,” Parker said.

“I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Well, call us if he gives you any trouble.”

“Thank you, my son.”

Parker removed the handcuff from Heyes’ wrist. Kid looked at the guards pointedly until they left and the door was closed again.

“What was that for?” Heyes asked.

“There’s bound to be at least one real Catholic here so I need to do this right, in case anyone asks. Lom found out the proper procedures and told me.” Kid paused. “He helped a lot, Heyes.”

They chatted a few more minutes to make it look good, Kid telling Heyes what else he’d been doing while he prepared for his visit. Then Kid called to the guards and said he was finished.

Heyes had the last word, as usual. “Thank you, Father Thaddeus. You’ve been a great comfort.”

Kid had to bite his tongue from laughing out loud. He hoped Heyes was going to be okay now.

* * *

Revitalized, Heyes spent the next few days coming up with a plan. Time was running out and he knew he had to do something soon. For the first time, he noticed that there were fewer people in the dining area in the mornings than when he’d arrived, and that the people in his work detail seemed to change every few days. He didn’t know if that was because prisoners were being transferred, so friendships and, consequently, conspiracies couldn’t be formed, or if there was some other, darker, reason.

Heyes realized he wouldn’t be able to get into the warden’s office; there was no reason for him to ever be there, so he had to look elsewhere for evidence. It finally occurred to him that another place that would have written records of what went on in the prison would be the infirmary. If he could get in there, maybe he could find what he needed.

On the other hand, if he did find proof, he would have to smuggle it out of the infirmary and then out of the prison, and that posed a problem. How could he remove papers without anyone noticing? And where would he conceal them, once he had them? It wasn’t like his cell offered a lot of secret hiding places. He spent a great deal of time thinking about that. Because if he was caught, Heyes had a feeling his stay in the Wyoming Territorial Prison would be even shorter than he intended.

He didn’t have much time left. Late one afternoon, when no one was looking, Heyes sliced his left hand with the blade that cut the edge of the unfinished broom and it immediately started bleeding.

“Guard! I’m injured!” Heyes held up his hand so the guard could see.

Sanders came over to look. Heyes was holding his left hand with his right, trying unsuccessfully to stop the bleeding. The guard could clearly see the seriousness of the wound.

“I need the doctor, sir,” Heyes said, not faking the pain.

“You clumsy con! You’re going to have make up your quota, Convict 20805. Injuries ain’t an excuse.”

Heyes didn’t care. If he was lucky, he’d never have to make another broom in his life.

His hands couldn’t be handcuffed together so Sanders fastened one handcuff around Heyes’ right wrist and attached the other around his own left hand. Together, they walked to the cellblock and up to the second floor infirmary, where Heyes had never been before.

The infirmary was at the top of the stairs and Sanders entered first. The guard stopped just inside the door and turned to his left, where a desk that apparently served as a registration point was situated, for Heyes saw an open ledger filled with names and a few fountain pens and other office paraphernalia scattered on top.

“Doc Baker,” Sanders called. “Got a patient for you.”

Heyes, who’d been standing slightly behind the guard, leaned against the desk as if he were dizzy and needed the support to remain standing upright. He surreptitiously palmed a loose nib to a fountain pen, inserting it behind his ear when he brushed his hair out of his face.

The doctor, a young man in his twenties, wearing a white jacket over his ordinary brown suit, hurried over from the cabinet where he’d been stocking medicines.

“What’s the problem?”

“Convict 20805 cut himself on a broom machine.”

“Well, let’s take a look. Take the handcuffs off, please.”

“Can’t do that doc, he’s dangerous.”

Baker appraised Heyes. “You’re not going to do anything foolish, are you?”

Heyes shook his head. “No, sir. Please, just fix my hand.”

“I need to treat this man, Sanders. I’ll take responsibility if anything happens but I don’t think it will.” Baker stared at Heyes until he nodded his agreement.

Making clear his annoyance at the doctor’s softness toward the prisoner, Sanders grudgingly unlocked the handcuffs from their wrists. As soon as he did, Baker led Heyes to a chair and began to examine him. Sanders continued to stand by the entrance to the infirmary.

A few minutes later, the doctor looked up from his patient. “This man needs to be admitted,” he told the guard. “I’ll sign him in. Please let the kitchen know I’ll need a tray for dinner here and then you may return to your post.”

Sanders watched the proceedings a moment longer, then departed.

Baker gave his full attention to Heyes, asking for details of how the accident happened as he cleaned and bandaged the wound. The pain had lessened to a throbbing ache and Heyes answered the questions without arousing suspicion that he’d injured himself on purpose.

“Well, it’s not a deep wound but you’ve lost a lot of blood, so I’d like to keep you here overnight,” the doctor told Heyes when he was finally done.

“Sure, doc,” Heyes replied, not letting his relief at the prospect show. If he hadn’t been able to spend the night in the infirmary, his plan would have failed. “Is it serious, sir?”

“Not really, but I thought you might like a break from your regular routine. You can stay here tonight and be more comfortable than I’m sure you would be in your own cell. Food’s better here, too,” the doctor smiled.

“That’s very considerate, doc. Thanks.” Heyes was going to feel real bad if his actions got the doctor in trouble but that wasn’t going to prevent him from doing what he went there to do.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you to go in that cell now,” Baker said, motioning to an empty one on the other side of the room. As Heyes approached it, he saw for the first time that another prisoner occupied the adjacent cell.

“What’s the matter with him, doc?” Heyes asked.

The doctor glanced at the man lying on the bed inside the other cell. “He’s got some sort of stomach ailment. Don’t worry, it’s not contagious. He’ll probably sleep most of the night anyway from the medicine I gave him. I’m sure he’ll be all right in a day or two.”

“That’s good to know,” Heyes said sincerely. He walked into the cell the doctor had indicated and Baker locked it.

Heyes watched carefully as the doctor returned the keys to a drawer in the desk. Baker wrote something in the ledger; Heyes assumed it was his name and the date and time he was admitted to the infirmary. For the next couple of hours, the doctor busied himself with various tasks and periodically checked on the convicts in his cells.

There was a knock at the door and when the doctor opened it, a guard came in carrying a tray of food. The doctor told him to set it on the desk. Carrying a plate in one hand and a cup in the other, Baker went over to Heyes and slid the plate under the cell bars. Heyes took the plate and the cup of water that was offered him through the bars.

“Thanks,” he said, and went back to sit on the very comfortable bed. Heyes ate slowly, wondering why this seemingly decent man was working in the prison. But he knew better than to ask so he ate in silence and hoped Baker would leave soon so he could get to work.

His wish was finally realized an hour later when Baker straightened up the desk, packed his black bag and put his overcoat on. At the door, he turned to Heyes. “There’ll be a guard on duty outside in case you need anything during the night. Just call and he’ll come in.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, doc, thanks to you.”

Baker nodded. “Well, good night.” He left and Heyes heard a key lock the door from the other side.

Heyes waited until the guard would expect him to be asleep then, watching the other convict the entire time, he pulled the fountain pen nib out from behind his ear and moved quietly to the cell door. Carefully, Heyes inserted it into the lock and twisted it until the door swung open. Smiling with satisfaction, he exited the cell and closed the door.

He sat in the chair behind the desk and opened the top drawer. He carefully removed the contents and started to read the papers he found there. They were recent receipts for medicines; Heyes recognized the names of only a few but after cross-checking the receipts with the bottles in the cabinet, he realized that a lot more medicine had been ordered than was stocked in the cabinet. Perhaps there was another place to keep the medicine. Heyes put the papers back and opened the middle drawer. This also contained receipts but they were older.

Heyes found the ledger in the center drawer of the desk. Opening it to the last page with writing on it, he saw his own name listed. What surprised him was the description of his injury and the medicine used to treat it. Apparently, the wound was much more serious than Baker had indicated. Either the doctor hadn’t wanted to worry him, or the doctor was doing some sort of fiddle. Disillusioned, Heyes figured it was the latter and he no longer felt any guilt about what he was doing. He read the entries from back to front and decided the good doctor was scamming money by recording the use of expensive medicines when in actual fact he treated his patients with much cheaper ones. Heyes was also very interested to learn that many convicts were brought to the infirmary to be treated for relatively minor injuries. If the injuries he had sustained over the past weeks were any indication, something was not quite right about that, either.

Continuing his search of the desk, Heyes discovered a secret drawer. In short order, he had it open. Under a stack of papers, Heyes stared at a ledger, an exact duplicate of the one he’d just finished reading. Holding his breath, hoping this was what he needed, Heyes opened it and started to read.

The dates were the same, the names were the same, but the injuries and illnesses listed were different. They were much more severe than what was written in the other book. Many names had asterisks next to them and no date of release. Heyes had a bad feeling that meant the prisoners had died. After each of those names, the warden had signed his name along with the doctor. There was the proof! Heyes tore out a page from the middle of the ledger. Hopefully no one would notice anything missing.

As he put the ledger back, Heyes glanced at the top document in the hidden drawer. Then he took a closer look. It was a receipt for foodstuffs, dated a couple weeks ago. Heyes’ eyes widened as he read that he’d been eating bacon and eggs for breakfast and beef stew and apples for dinner that week. The Territory of Wyoming was paying sixty cents a day to feed the convicts, according to the document. That gruel and soup had sure fooled him—the prison cook must be really bad! The other loose papers were also receipts for food so Heyes took the first one he’d seen.

The warden was smart enough to use the infirmary instead of the safe in his office, but he hadn’t been smart enough to destroy all the evidence. Maybe he thought no one was clever enough to find it. Well, he hadn’t counted on Heyes working on the inside. The warden had made the same mistake so many others had by underestimating Hannibal Heyes.

Heyes put everything back in the desk the same way he’d found it. He looked around the room, making sure nothing was out of place. Then he locked himself back in the cell and mentally went over the rest of his plan.

Heyes folded up the two pieces of paper into very tiny squares. The only place he could think of hiding them where he’d be able to reach them surreptitiously was in his ears. He tentatively pushed one piece into his left ear and was relieved that it stayed there. But then he quickly removed it—no sense in plugging up his ears until it was absolutely necessary. He dozed the rest of the night.

The other prisoner hadn’t moved or made any sound the whole time.

* * *

Heyes slipped the papers into his ears when he heard the infirmary door being unlocked in the morning. He lay in bed until the doctor greeted him and came over to examine his hand. Heyes stuck it through the bars and the doctor unwrapped the bandage. He muttered to himself and then told Heyes he was fit to return to his cell.

“But you can eat breakfast here instead of in the dining area. Putting a handcuff around your wrist would irritate it and I’d like to see it heal properly.”

“Appreciate that, doc,” Heyes told him. Going back to his cell also made it less likely he’d be caught with the papers.

Heyes ate the porridge that a guard brought. He mentioned that the other prisoner hadn’t stirred at all the entire night. Baker’s gasp of surprise when he examined the man seemed genuine, but Heyes was cynical enough to wonder.

“Oh my!” the doctor exclaimed as he unlocked the cell door and went quickly to the convict’s bed. Leaning over him, he put his head to the man’s chest. Then he got his stethoscope from his black bag and listened again. He stood up with a sorrowful expression on his face.

“I’m sorry to say this man has passed on to his final reward. I suppose,” Baker said regretfully, “I should have realized he was sicker than he appeared. But he seemed to be on the mend. I just don’t know what happened.”

Heyes’ previous encounters with the medical profession had made him cautious. “Doc,” he called. “I’m feeling a lot better now. Can I go back to my cell, sir?” He wanted to leave the infirmary as soon as possible, in case Baker wanted to give him some additional medicine, as he suspected the dead man lying in the cell next to him had been forced to ingest.

“What? Oh, certainly. I’ll see to it that you’re relieved from your work detail for today. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so there’s no work then anyway. You’ll be fit to work again next week. You need to take better care of yourself, Convict 20805,” Baker lectured Heyes. “See to it that I don’t see you again anytime soon.”

“I’ll make sure of it, doc.” Real sure, Heyes told himself.

When a guard came for him, the doctor let him out of the infirmary’s cell. Heyes was handcuffed to the guard and released once he was inside his own cell again. Strange how he felt almost glad to be there.

Heyes lay down, pulled the blanket over him, and appeared to go to sleep. In fact, he was observing everything that happened around him. When he was certain no one was watching him, he pulled the papers out of his ears and stuffed them into the crack between the bed and the wall. He hoped they’d be secure there.

* * *

Since it had been established that Heyes was Catholic, he hoped to see Kid again after breakfast on Sunday so he could make his weekly confession. Much to his relief, he wasn’t taken to the washroom beforehand, just ordered to clean himself in his cell with the bucket of water they gave him. Can’t waste all that water on convicts every week, Heyes was told. He got dressed and was able to insert the papers in his ears as he raked his hands through his hair.

Shortly after he was settled in his chair in the same room where he’d met Kid last week, his right hand left unchained, the door opened and his partner walked in.

“Father Thaddeus, it’s good to see you!” Heyes said warmly.

Kid saw the difference in Heyes right away but couldn’t say anything because a guard was listening to their conversation. “Pax vobiscum, my son!”

Heyes’ eyes widened. He had no idea what Kid had just said. “Thank you, Father,” he responded, somewhat haltingly.

Kid turned to Cahill, who was standing in the doorway but hadn’t yet closed it. “Guard, you know I need privacy to hear his confession.”

Cahill went out and locked the door.

“Kid, what did you say to me?” Heyes asked, when it was safe.

“It means ‘peace be with you.’ Mac’s telegram said priests say it all the time.” Kid’s blue eyes revealed his enjoyment at stumping his cousin, despite the seriousness of their situation.

“You’re lookin’ much better, Heyes, but I’d rather hear you say you got the evidence with you. Do you?”

Heyes slowly grinned. “Yup.”

“Well, where is it?”

“Don’t get proddy, Kid! Don’t you want to know how I got it?”

“No, I just want to get you out of here now.”

Heyes lost the grin. “You can’t, Kid,” he told him. “Lom’s the only one who can get me released.”

Kid had come prepared to argue, and he did. “Heyes, if you got the evidence we need, it’s too dangerous for you to stay. What if they find out you took it? What do you think they’ll do to you then?”

“I know. That’s why you’re going to take it out when you leave. Tell Lom to come get me tomorrow, Kid. He’ll know what to say.”

Heyes reached into his right ear with his hand and pulled out a piece of paper. Kid stared at Heyes. Kid opened his mouth but shut it when Heyes pulled out another piece of paper from his left ear.

“Pretty clever, huh?” Heyes said smugly.

Kid was still speechless.

Heyes got annoyed. “Well, don’t just stand there, take off your collar!”

“Huh?” Kid found his voice.

“How else are you going to smuggle the evidence out of here?”

“Uh…”

Heyes’ impatience showed on his face. “Kid. Take off the collar to your shirt and open it up. Put these papers inside the collar and then fasten it on again. That’s how you’re getting these documents out of here. No one will suspect a thing.”

“Oh.” Kid did what he was told. Kid was very glad his partner’s spirits had returned but he could have done without the bossiness.

When the clerical collar had been reattached to his shirt, Heyes nodded approvingly. “Good, no one can tell. So you just walk on out the front door and wait for me in Porterville. You keep these papers, Kid. That’s our amnesty you have there. Take good care of it.”

Kid nodded pensively. “I will, Heyes. That’s a solemn promise.”

* * *

Heyes spent the rest of the day in his cell. For a while, he stood by the door and watched what was going on in the rest of the cellblock. If he turned his head a certain way, he could see the cage that he’d been held in when he first arrived.

There was a new convict inside it. Heyes looked at the man and speculated about what he’d done and how long his sentence was. Like Heyes had been, he was being taunted by the guards and other prisoners. Unlike Heyes, the convict was shouting back at them, saying there’d been a mistake and he didn’t belong there.

Then Heyes noticed that the man wore a shirt and pants and had shoes on his feet. As he thought about it, Heyes realized that he was one of only a very few convicts who hadn’t been fully clothed in the prison. It occurred to him that humiliating a man by keeping him almost naked was one way to break him. So his reputation had indeed hurt him.

Heyes had plenty of time to think. He began to pace, his thoughts a jumble of what he was going to do once he was released and what he was going to do after the amnesty came through.

Early in the evening he was taken to the dining area to eat dinner, for the last time he hoped. It was the same soup and water he’d enjoyed every day. It couldn’t cost more than thirty cents to make it; carrots and onions were cheap and water was plentiful and free. Heyes could almost admire the warden for all the ways he was skimming money out of the prison budget, except that Heyes had been the beneficiary of his frugality and he didn’t appreciate being victimized like that.

Back in his cell after dinner, Heyes sat and continued thinking. There was nothing else to do anyway. No prison library to borrow books from, no opportunity to engage in physical activity, no one even to talk to since convicts were punished whenever they were caught speaking to each other. Heyes knew that if he were really in prison for all his twenty years, he would go mad. He’d almost lost himself just in the time he’d been there already, and he’d known in advance that it wasn’t supposed to be for his full sentence. If it hadn’t been for Kid, well, he didn’t want to think about it.

* * *

The next morning, Heyes was with his work group waiting to go to the broom factory when a guard whispered to Parker, who was in charge that day. He was separated from the other convicts and told to go with the other guard. Sanders joined them.

“What’s going on?” Heyes asked.

“Shut up!”

Heyes was taken back the way he’d come but they didn’t stop at the cellblock and instead continued walking through corridors until they reached what he recognized as the warden’s office. Good thing he hadn’t left anything of sentimental value in his cell, Heyes thought facetiously, anticipating that he was going to finally be released.

Lom was waiting inside, talking to the warden as Heyes entered.

When the sheriff turned to greet him, he was appalled at Heyes’ appearance. “What the hell happened to him?”

Warden Wilson explained. “Convict 20805 was careless and cut himself on one of the machines where he was working. But I’m afraid the other convicts weren’t able to complete their work as a result and they took it out on Convict 20805 before the guards could stop it. It’s just a scratch but I never take a chance when it’s a medical issue so I had the doctor fix him up real good.”

Lom saw Heyes stiffen and knew there was more to it than that. But he had to get him out of the prison before he could hear the real story.

“Warden, I hope this man hasn’t been hurt so bad he won’t give me the information I need.”

“Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’m sure Convict 20805 is ready to tell you everything you want to know. He’s adjusted very well to life in prison,” Wilson said patronizingly. “You won’t have any problems with him.”

Lom thought for a moment that Heyes looked ashamed as the warden spoke but then it was gone, replaced by a spark of anger in the man’s eyes that also quickly disappeared.

“I’ll take custody of him now, if you please.” Lom took the transfer papers from the warden. Sanders removed the handcuffs from Heyes and Lom replaced them with his own. Lom also shackled Heyes’ feet. Heyes stood passively throughout and that worried the sheriff.

“Let’s go, Heyes,” he said. “We got some unfinished business to take care of.”

Heyes stared at the warden, who stared back and began to wonder if the guards had been too easy on the prisoner. Despite what the guards had told him, it didn’t appear Heyes had been broken after all. Well, they’d get another chance soon enough. As soon as the sheriff was done with him, Heyes would be back. Wilson determined to make sure that Heyes’ spirit was crushed then.

Without a word, Heyes shuffled out of the office and followed the waiting guards. Lom held onto him as they walked. When they reached the front door, one of the guards told the man on duty to unlock it. The heavy door opened slowly and the group finally went outside.

In the courtyard were the two marshals who’d brought him there many weeks ago, waiting by a wagon. Lom took him over to it, climbed in, and then pulled Heyes into the wagon, helping him sit against one of the side panels.

Sanders watched the activity unhappily. He was going to miss that particular prisoner. “Don’t worry, Convict 20805,” he called out to Heyes. “You’ll always have a home here! We’ll see you again soon!”

Heyes ignored him. There was nothing to say, anyway. But he was going to feel especially glad when Sanders, along with Riley, Parker and Cahill, were held to account for their treatment of the convicts in the prison. Heyes didn’t usually bother with revenge but he thought he could make an exception in this case.

The wagon started to move and was driven out the front gate. For the first time in a long time, Heyes saw the outside world. But instead of looking forward, Heyes looked back at the Wyoming Territorial Prison until it vanished from his sight.

* * *

They reached Porterville in the middle of the night and Heyes was glad that none of the townsfolk could see his return. It was going to be hard enough to explain why he’d been arrested in the first place.

They all went inside the sheriff’s office and Heyes was disappointed to see that one of the cells held a prisoner; it meant he and Lom wouldn’t be able to talk freely. Then the man rolled over and Heyes saw who it was.

“Inside, Heyes.” Lom directed him into a vacant cell. With the marshals aiming their guns at him, Lom removed the restraints from Heyes. He sat on the bed and rubbed his wrists.

Heyes was so used to being locked in a cell that he barely noticed when Lom left him there and went over to his desk to finish some business with the marshals. As soon as they’d left, Lom came back to his cell and unlocked it. He swung the door open and stood looking at Heyes.

“Figure you might prefer it this way.”

“Thanks.”

“Want some coffee, something to eat?”

“No.”

Lom hesitated. “Want to tell me what happened in there?”

“Not really.”

Heyes’ lack of communication exasperated Lom. “Heyes, I know it was bad. But Kid told me you got the evidence we need and he said you’d tell me about it. So, tell me about it.”

“Kid?” questioned Heyes, looking at the man in the other cell, who now sat up and grinned.

“Reckon you deserve the pleasure of tellin’ him, considerin’ all the pain and sufferin’ you went through to get it.”

“Lom, I’m tired, real tired. It can wait until morning. I’ll tell you then, all right?”

Lom looked at Heyes. The ex-outlaw leader was a shadow of his former self. The sheriff decided a good rest would go a long way towards healing his wounds, so he nodded his acquiescence.

“Lom, ain’t you forgettin’ something?” Kid reminded him.

“Oh, right.” Lom let Kid out of his cell and returned to his desk to do some paperwork.

Kid joined Heyes in his cell, sitting next to his partner on the bed. Kid didn’t say anything; he was waiting for the sheriff to go home.

Lom finally rose and put his coat on. “You sure you’ll be okay here, boys?” he asked.

“We’ll be fine.” It was a whole lot better than he’d had for quite a while, and Kid was there to share it with him. “Good night, Lom,” Heyes smiled at him.

As soon as the sheriff departed, Kid slung an arm around his cousin and held him tightly before releasing him. “You scared me, Heyes. Seein’ you like that in that place, I thought…”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What really happened to you in there?”

Heyes moved so he was leaning back against the bars of the cell. “It doesn’t matter, if we get the amnesty as a result.”

“It does matter. You got to tell me what they did to you.”

“Why, Kid? It’s over. I’m out. Soon it won’t happen to anyone else either.”

“If you can’t tell me,” Kid said softly, “How you goin’ to tell the governor?”

Heyes contemplated Kid. Since when had his partner gotten so smart? He began to describe his ordeal. “After Lom and the marshals left, they…”

Heyes spoke for a long time. The details were indelibly etched in his mind and he painted a picture that Kid would never forget either. When he was done, Heyes looked at Kid. “So if it hadn’t been for you coming when you did, well…”

Lightening the mood, he said, “Thank you again, Father Thaddeus, for everything.”

Kid could only nod. It had been far worse than he’d thought. After what Heyes had been through, Kid was going to make sure the governor gave them their amnesty if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

Knowing Heyes would feel better if he were wearing his own clothes again, Kid fetched some from his room, along with his hat. He ate breakfast at the hotel restaurant while Heyes filled Lom in. Kid had no desire to hear again what his partner had gone through. He lingered over his meal as long as he could, savoring the taste of the coffee and the looks of the waitress until he figured Heyes was done.

Kid also brought back a couple biscuits for Heyes. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Heyes took them from Kid’s outstretched hand. Before taking a bite, he examined one of them, turning it over and looking at it carefully. “You know, I don’t think I ever truly appreciated food before.”

“Sheesh, Heyes! I could’ve told you that! You didn’t need to go to the Wyoming Territorial Prison to find that out!”

“No, but it does make it taste better.” Heyes ate one of the biscuits. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat as much as you, Kid, even if I’d spent twice as much time there.”

“How can you joke about it? They practically starved you in there, and you think it’s funny?”

“No, Kid, I don’t,” Heyes instantly sobered up. “It’s not funny and we’re going to do something about it.”

“That’s right,” Lom interjected. He’d been listening quietly to their exchange, trying to make sense of what Heyes had told him about conditions at the prison. He knew Heyes hadn’t told him everything but he hoped he’d been more forthcoming with Kid. Heyes was going to need Kid’s strength to fully recover.

“I’ll get tickets for the evening train and telegraph the governor to let him know we’re coming. He’ll be mighty pleased you got the evidence for him, Heyes.” Lom left the office to take care of those matters.

Kid picked up the pile of clothes he’d brought with him and held them out to Heyes. “Figured you’d want to wear your own clothes now.”

Kid watched the office door while Heyes put them on. “That helps,” Heyes said. Kid turned around just in time to see him put his hat on his head.

* * *

The two outlaws and the sheriff arrived in Cheyenne early the next morning and went directly to the governor’s mansion. They were expected and were shown into the governor’s office straight away.

The governor scrutinized Heyes, who stared back calmly. “I believe you have something for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Heyes replied. He turned to Kid, who took the papers out of his suit pocket and gave them to the governor.

The governor perused the receipt and the medical record from the ledger. He took out a cigar from his humidor and offered one each to his visitors. He regarded the men standing in front of him thoughtfully. “This is helpful, but it’s not enough.”

“That list came from a ledger in the infirmary,” Heyes told him. “It’s filled with the names of prisoners and their injuries, their real injuries, not the ones written in the doctor’s files. That receipt is just one of many that shows how the warden is embezzling money. You can find them in a hidden drawer in the doctor’s desk. That should be all the evidence you need, Governor.”

“Excellent work, Mr. Heyes. I knew I could count on you and your, shall we say, unique talents.”

Heyes gave a half smile. “Yes, sir.”

“But there’s a problem.”

“Oh?” said Kid dangerously.

Heyes shot him a warning glance and said sharply, “Kid.”

“Yes, if the Legislature knew how I got this information, they’d impeach me. I can’t afford to have it known I’m consorting with criminals, especially you two.”

Kid started forward, his right hand dropping towards his holster. Heyes put out his hand to stop him.

“Don’t threaten me, Mr. Curry. I can have you arrested at any moment.”

“Sir,” Lom intervened.

“Sheriff Trevors, we all know these men belong in prison.” The governor kept his eyes on Heyes as he spoke, knowing he was the only one in the room besides himself who really mattered. “Mr. Heyes is very lucky he’s not still there. He did me a favor and now I’ll be able to get rid of the entire prison staff, difficult as it will be to find honest replacements. But when the people of Wyoming find out about the deplorable conditions at the prison, they’re going to blame me for allowing it to happen, not thank me for exposing it.”

“What’s your point, Governor?”

“My point, Mr. Curry, is that unfortunately I don’t have enough political influence to clean up the prison and at the same time, also grant you and Mr. Heyes amnesty.”

“I didn’t figure you would,” Heyes said flatly. “Do you think I really believed you’d keep your word…sir?”

Kid and Lom both stared at Heyes, one in disappointment and one in disbelief.

The governor reassessed the former leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang. He realized he didn’t understand Hannibal Heyes at all. “Then why’d you do it?”

Heyes looked at Kid and smiled, a genuine smile that told his cousin everything. Kid slowly nodded, his faith in his partner’s judgment restored.

Lom answered the question. “Because, sir, Heyes and Curry have been doing everything they could to prove to you they deserve an amnesty. They’ve worked very hard to lead honest lives and they meant it when they said they were going straight. They kept their end of the deal but you…”

Lom faced Heyes and Kid. “I’m sorry, boys, I really am.”

“Did you know about this, Lom? That he was just using us? Again?”

“No, Kid, I didn’t. I wouldn’t have let Heyes...”

Heyes interrupted the escalating argument. “Kid, let it go. It doesn’t matter.”

Kid tried to calm down for Heyes’ sake.

Lom tried again. “Sir, Heyes risked his life doing what you asked him to do. He and Curry both did. They’re decent men; they deserve a second chance. You can give them that chance, Governor.”

The governor hesitated. “I’d like to, but putting an end to the brutality and mismanagement at the prison has to be my priority right now. I’m sorry.”

Heyes spoke to the sheriff one more time. “It’s okay, Lom. We understand.” As he turned to leave the office, Kid just behind him, Heyes added, “Don’t worry, we’ll be in touch.”

Heyes and Kid walked out of the governor’s mansion. They didn’t have the amnesty but they had their pride, and their freedom, and for now, that was enough.

Author’s note: Although the author researched the Wyoming Territorial Prison for this story, only the list of jobs mentioned by one of the characters is factual. The description of the prison, and all the people and events, are entirely a figment of the author’s imagination.

Wanted -- A Good Sheriff

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 23:30:41 CST

By Ghislaine Emrys

There is no more sure tie between friends than when they are united in their objects and wishes. -- Marcus Tullius Cicero

“You’re criminals! Thieves! Robbers! Crooks! Felons! Need I remind you how much money you stole? You should both be in prison!” Lom Trevors was shouting at Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, who were sitting in his office in Porterville rethinking what had seemed like a good idea three days ago.

“Actually, Lom, we’re not felons. We haven’t been convicted.”

Kid shot a warning look to Heyes, who wiped the incipient smirk off his face before Lom saw it and got even madder.

“No, Lom,” Kid responded calmly. “We were there. We know exactly what we did.”

“And that’s why we’ve come to you,” Heyes added, sounding appropriately repentant yet also hopeful.

Kid nodded his head marginally; that attitude was much better.

Heyes turned one of his outlaw leader looks on Lom. “You’re our last chance, Lom. If you can’t help us, well, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

Lom, though now a sheriff, had once been an outlaw himself and was not totally immune to the power of his former leader’s looks. He sat in his chair behind his desk and contemplated the two outlaws. They had come to Porterville to ask him a favor. That much Lom knew. What he didn’t know, and what Heyes and Kid weren’t telling him, was why they needed $1,000 and why he had to be the one to give it to them.

“You’re just gonna have to trust us,” Kid said.

Lom stared incredulously. “Trust you? You? That’s a lotta money, boys. I need to know what you’re gonna do with it before I hand it over.”

“Now, Lom,” Heyes began. “You know our word is good.” He smiled wickedly at Kid. “Though it is kinda chilly here and Santa Marta sure is nice in October.”

Kid rolled his eyes. “Heyes, that ain’t helpin’.” He turned to Lom. “Look, if I tell you it’s for a good cause, will you believe me and just give us the money?”

Lom sighed. He did trust the two men, but not completely. They’d been on the right side of the law for over a year now, but that was just it. The Governor still hadn’t made good on his promise to give them amnesty. Lom knew Heyes and Kid were tired of waiting and he thought maybe they’d reached their breaking point. Maybe, despite Heyes’ joking, they really were going to take his money and run off to Mexico.

“You aren’t going to tell me what the money’s for?” Lom tried asking again.

“No, Lom,” Heyes replied. “It’s our secret.” He knew without looking that Kid pursed his lips, but he wasn’t sure if it was in amusement or annoyance.

Lom made up his mind. Heyes and Kid were smart. They didn’t look like outlaws, which was why they’d never been captured; well, never for long, at any rate. “All right, boys. I’ll give you the money. Can you at least tell me when I’ll get it back?”

“Thanks, Lom! Real good of you!” Kid stood and shook his hand, smiling.

“Yeah, thanks, Lom. I knew you’d…” Heyes choked off what he’d been about to say as he caught another glance from Kid, and ended with, “…know you won’t regret this.”

Lom said under his breath, “I already do, boys.”

They heard but chose to ignore him.

More loudly, Lom repeated, “I do want to know when you’ll repay me.” He looked first at Heyes, then at Kid.

Heyes shrugged. “Hard to say. Depends on…” Kid kicked Heyes in the leg. “Can’t really say. But I promise you won’t lose because of this.” Heyes neglected to clarify that payment might not actually be in the form of monetary reimbursement.

“All right. I’ll go over to the bank when I’m doing afternoon rounds. Where will you be then?”

“In the saloon. Where else would we be?”

“Great, my money’s going to support your drinking and poker habits. What was I thinking?” Lom looked upwards but found no answers in the ceiling of his office.

“Lom, have a little faith!” Heyes reassured the sheriff. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine!”

* * *

Over in the saloon Kid asked, “Heyes, just how are we going to repay Lom?” They were standing at the bar nursing beers, but had paid with their own money since Lom hadn’t come round yet.

“I’ll win it in a poker game, Kid. How did you think we’d get it back?”

Kid sighed. “As long as I don’t have to ride drag on some two-month long cattle drive.”

Heyes looked at his partner. “Like I told Lom. Have a little faith, Kid. It’s a good plan, you know it is.”

“I sure hope so, Heyes. We’ll be in big trouble if this don’t work. You know that as well as I do.”

Heyes nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and that’s why we have to do it. It’ll work, trust me. When have any of my plans gone wrong?”

“Are you kiddin’? What about all the jobs for Big Mac, takin’ Clara back to Devil’s Hole, guiding those archeologists... Heyes, the list goes on and on!”

“Oh, those were all someone else’s plans, Kid, I just happened to be involved.” Heyes flicked his wrist to brush away those inconvenient memories. “They don’t count, ‘cos I didn’t plan them.”

“You better be right, Heyes, I don’t want to have to deal with Lom if things don’t work out.”

Just then, Lom came through the bat-wing doors and stood for a moment before locating Heyes and Kid. They bought him a beer, then he took a thick envelope from his inside pocket and held it in his right hand.

“You’re really not going to tell me what this is all about, are you, boys?”

Heyes answered him. “We’re sorry, Lom, we just can’t. But I promise you, it’s nothing illegal. We’re not jeopardizing our amnesty and we’re not putting you at risk, either.”

Kid added, “We’ll be able to tell you in a few weeks but not before then.”

Lom stood up and, looking at them speculatively, said, “All right. I sure hope you know what you’re doing.” He handed over the envelope, wished them good luck, and returned to his office.

“I sure hope so, too,” Kid muttered as he and Heyes went back to their hotel room to finalize the plan.

* * *

Although it was barely half past eight o’clock in the morning, the store owners in Denver were setting up tables to display their merchandise and their assistants were sweeping the boardwalks clear of dirt and litter. Women strolled along, children in hand, chatting with friends and going in and out of shops to buy their week’s necessities. Men walked somewhat faster, on their way to work in the banks and offices that lined both sides of the streets. Heyes and Kid had to walk their horses carefully to avoid hitting pedestrians who weren’t paying much attention to the traffic and to avoid all the other horses, buggies, buckboards, and stagecoaches that were sharing the road with them.

They registered at the Denver Palace and after ascertaining directions from the desk clerk, the two men exited the hotel and started walking towards their destination. Twenty-five minutes later, they reached the building that housed The Denver Tribune.

“Heyes, you sure about this?” Now that they were actually there, Kid began to have second thoughts.

“Come on, Kid, everything’ll be fine.” Heyes strode through the entrance and looked around to find someone who could help them. He spotted a man at a desk and went over to him, with Kid following.

“Excuse me.” The man looked up. Heyes spun the tale he and Kid had earlier agreed on. “Good morning. My name is Joshua Smith and my partner here is Thaddeus Jones. You may have heard of us? We’re the owners of the gold mine up at Hahns Peak. Well, our little town is just growing so fast we decided to start a newspaper to keep everyone informed. But we really don’t know much about the publishing business so we thought, who better to give us some information than the people at Colorado’s most respected newspaper? That’s why we’ve come here. I know we don’t have an appointment but we don’t have the telegraph yet out where we are. We’re only in town for a few days and we’d really like to get our little journal started as soon as we can. I’m sorry for barging in here like this but if it’s at all possible to speak with the publisher or editor, we’d be mighty grateful. Do you think you could help us?”

The employee looked dazed and even Kid, who had heard it before, was impressed. Dang, but Heyes’ tongue sure was silver! Maybe they should’ve picked a place with a silver mine instead—be more appropriate. Although, Kid did like the idea of owning a gold mine. Next time Heyes could have a silver mine and he’d take the gold all for himself.

“Uh, certainly, Mr. Smith, was it? Let me see if anyone is available to meet you. Please, make yourselves comfortable.” The man gestured to a couple of chairs and then went up the stairs on the other side of the room.

Heyes and Kid sat down and waited.

“What do you think, Kid? Did he buy it?”

“Heyes, even I bought it, and I know it’s a lie!”

“Shh. He’s coming back. I think we’re in.”

The would-be newspapermen stood up as two other men approached. The second man spoke. “Gentlemen, I’m William Hill, the editor of The Denver Tribune. Please come with me. Mr. Horace Field, our publisher, was very interested to hear about your venture and he can spare a few minutes now to talk with you.”

Heyes and Kid followed him upstairs.

“You know, you’re very lucky. Mr. Field is an extremely busy man but he’s always willing to help out other newsmen.”

Heyes smirked at Kid.

“He’s helped quite a few people get their start. All he asks in return is that you send him the first edition of your newspaper.”

Kid stared at Heyes. Now what?

Heyes looked back calmly, and Kid relaxed. “We’ll be happy to do that, sir. But it may take us a while to get it up and running, being so busy with our gold mining. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Hill said. “Mr. Field understands that sometimes things don’t work out. It’s only natural that some people, not being as good a businessman as he is, have ideas that are bigger than their ability to achieve them.”

Heyes didn’t need to look at Kid to know he was silently laughing.

Fortunately, they reached Field’s office at that moment, so Heyes was spared from having to reply. They entered, and Hill left to return to his work. The publisher stood up behind his large mahogany desk. He was elegantly dressed in a dark suit but the window behind him made it difficult for Heyes and Kid to see him clearly.

“Gentlemen, welcome. How can I help you?” Field was pleasant in his manner, as befit a kingpin of industry who deigned to give a few minutes of his valuable time to two strangers who might, or might not, someday be worthy of his acquaintance.

Heyes repeated his story and added, “So, Mr. Field, if you could give us the names of some reputable printers here in Denver, that’d be a big help. We figure the rest should be pretty easy, just following basic business principles.” Heyes looked expectantly at the mogul.

“Did Mr. Hill tell you my condition for helping you?”

“Yes, sir, he did.” Kid spoke for the first time.

“We’ll be happy to send you our first edition as soon as it’s published. We already have a name for it,” Heyes added extemporaneously. “We think The Hahns Peak Herald sounds real good.”

“All right, gentlemen. We print the text of the paper right here in this building. You’re welcome to take a look on your way out; just ask Mr. Hill to show you. We use two different printers for the advertisements; which one depends on what kind of work we need.” He wrote out the addresses on a piece of paper and gave it to Heyes, who carefully put it in his suit pocket.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get this evening’s edition ready.” He ushered Heyes and Kid to the door.

“Thank you, Mr. Field, you’ve been very helpful.” Heyes said. Kid nodded his appreciation. They shook hands and left the office.

Since it would have looked odd to leave without seeing how the newspaper was printed, they found Hill, who was happy to give them a tour. After learning more about the business than they really wanted to know, they thanked him profusely and left.

“Sheesh, Heyes! Did we have to spend so much time there? I’m going blind from all that readin’!”

“I thought it was pretty interesting, Kid. You never know when information like that will be useful.”

“You plannin’ on startin’ a newspaper after the amnesty comes through? ‘Cos if not, I don’t see the point of knowin’ about all that stuff.”

Heyes stopped suddenly and looked at his partner. “That’s a great idea, Kid! We’ll publish a newspaper! I’ll write the articles and do the accounts and sweet-talk people into buying advertising. And you, well, you can deliver the paper to our customers. What do you say?” He grinned at Kid’s expression.

“Funny, Heyes, real funny. First we gotta get the amnesty, so let’s do what we came for and then you can dream on about it.”

* * *

The large, colorful sign over the door of the first print shop was an indication that the cost of doing business there might be too expensive for them. Nevertheless, they needed to investigate all leads so Heyes and Kid went inside.

“Good morning,” Heyes greeted the man who approached them as they stood inside the door. “I’m Joshua Smith and my partner here is Thaddeus Jones. Mr. Field, of The Denver Tribune, recommended we come here. We’d like to speak with someone about designing an advertisement.”

As soon as Heyes uttered the magic words “Mr. Field,” the man began to smile. “Certainly, gentlemen. I’m Charles Cunningham, the owner of this establishment. Please, come with me.” He guided them to a large desk. “What exactly would you like to have designed?”

Heyes and Kid looked at each other and Kid silently told him to go ahead. “Well, sir,” Heyes began. “We don’t have the design worked out yet so we’d like to see some samples of advertisements to give us some ideas, if that’s possible.”

“Of course.” Cunningham pulled out a large book from one of the drawers in his desk. “Here are samples of all our work from the past three months. If you tell me what kind of advertisement you have in mind, we could go through them faster.”

“It’s a little hard to say, sir. I think the best thing is for us to look through all of them and pick out the ones we like. Then we could discuss how to adapt the design for our particular purpose.” Heyes hoped Cunningham would accept that. He didn’t want to come right out and tell him what they wanted; the fewer people who knew, the better.

“Mr. Jones, Mr. Smith, I suggest you sit over there where the light is better,” he said, pointing to a table near a window. “When you’ve made up your minds, please let me know and we can discuss things further.”

Twenty minutes later, Cunningham looked up from his work when Kid coughed. “Have you found some you like?”

Heyes pointed to two advertisements. “Either of these would be suitable. Could you tell us how much it would cost to print them?”

“The first one, because it’s in color, naturally would be more expensive.” Heyes and Kid nodded. “For one print, it would cost $10.00. If you wanted multiple prints, say 100 copies, I could give you a ten percent discount.”

Heyes rapidly did the calculation. “So 100 advertisements would be $900.00.”

Kid’s eyes widened. They certainly didn’t have enough money for that. “And how much would it cost to do the black and white one?”

“That would be a lot cheaper. For one print, it would cost $6.00 and for 100, I could give that to you for $5.00 a print.”

Again, Heyes did the math. “Well, $500 is certainly a better price for us but my partner and I will have to discuss this. We’ll let you know if we decide to go ahead. Thank you for your time, Mr. Cunningham.”

Outside the building, Kid was morose. “Heyes, we can’t afford that.”

“I know, Kid. The quality was good, but…” Heyes didn’t finish his sentence. “Maybe the other place will be cheaper.”

* * *

The sign above the second print shop on Bannock Street indicated it would also be too expensive. Nevertheless, the two men entered the establishment.

Heyes and Kid walked in and turned to take a closer look at the artwork displayed on the walls. Mouths dropped open and they stared in horror.

“Heyes, we gotta get outta here!”

“I know, but we’ve been spotted. We can’t just leave now; it’ll look too strange.”

A man in rumpled clothes, a white apron with black stains covering his shirt, was coming towards them.

“We’ll just have to tell our story and hope he doesn’t notice.”

“Hope you polished that silver tongue of yours real well this morning,” Kid muttered.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I’m Bradley Evans, welcome. How can I help you?”

Only Kid noticed Heyes’ nervousness as he replied, “Sir, you were recommended to us by Mr. Field of The Denver Tribune.” As he repeated their story, he hoped he sounded like a businessman and not a con man.

“I see you’ve noticed what we call our Wall of Fame,” Evans chuckled. “We specialize in creating portraits and posters and we do a lot of work for the local law. Tell me, which one do you like the most?” he asked, pointing to the wanted posters prominently displayed in front of them, including those of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, right there for all to see.

Kid shuddered involuntarily and subtly moved to block Evans’ view.

Heyes was tempted to pick out Kid’s but he knew that was just asking for trouble.

“Uh,” he paused to think of how to answer. “We don’t have a lot of experience with outlaws.”

“We’re law-abidin’, peaceable folk, Mr. Evans,” Kid added.

“Oh come now. You must pick one, each of you. We ask everyone who comes in here to choose one, and we keep a list of the most popular wanted posters. It’s something we’re known for,” Evans said proudly. “Why, the good citizens of Denver come here just to see who’s #1 on our list each month!”

“You don’t say!” Heyes gushed, as Evans completely missed the silent conversation going on between his two potential clients.

Forced to make a selection, both Kid and Heyes pointed to a poster with a picture and description of a murderer wanted for killing hostages during a bank robbery.

“Interesting choice,” Evans said. “We’re certainly proud of the picture, but not many people pick him. Too violent, you understand.”

Heyes couldn’t stop himself. “So who’s #1 on your list now?” He was beginning to enjoy himself and he didn’t dare look at Kid.

“I have the list right here.” Evans walked over to a desk at the back of the room. Kid breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped away from the wall of disaster and glared at Heyes as Evans picked up a piece of paper.

“Let’s see. Oh yes, for the past two months, our top outlaw has been Kid Curry.” This time, Heyes glared and Kid smiled grimly, not especially appreciating this claim to fame.

“Really? I would’ve thought the leader of that gang, what’s their name? Oh yeah, the Devil’s Hole Gang…Hannibal Heyes, isn’t it…would be the most popular.” Heyes didn’t have to fake looking puzzled.

In Kid’s opinion, Heyes was really pushing it and they were going to have a talk real soon.

“Well, apparently, all the ladies who come in choose Mr. Curry. Though he is a gunslinger, he also has the reputation of being a real gentleman. And we have a lot of ladies come in; they order portraits of their children,” Evans explained.

Kid’s expression turned smug. “I can see how that’d make a difference,” he said. “And from what I’ve heard about that other fella, Hannibal Heyes is it?… His plans don’t always work out and he can’t get anything done without Kid Curry helping him.”

Heyes narrowed his eyes as he stared at Kid, who looked back blandly.

Evans was oblivious to the undercurrent between the two men. “I believe you gentlemen came in about a commission?” He steered the conversation back to business.

“I don’t think you can help us, after all,” Heyes said. “The job we have is completely different from the work you do here. But maybe you could give us a recommendation for another print shop? All we need is someone who can design an advertisement.”

“I see. You might try the Denver Art Association on Champa Street,” Evans suggested. “It’s a school and a gallery but they also have a small print business. You might find what you’re looking for there. Good day, Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones.” He returned to his desk, no longer interested in them since they wouldn’t be adding to his company’s profits.

Once outside, Kid grabbed Heyes’ arm and hissed, “What were you thinkin’?! What if he recognized us?”

“Not likely, Kid. A man like that’d never make the connection. We look too respectable to be those notorious outlaws. It’s a good thing I made you wear that suit.”

Kid grimaced. “I about had a heart attack when I saw those wanted posters on that wall. Why’d you have to go and keep talkin’ about them?”

“Evans might’ve gotten suspicious if we didn’t look interested. Besides, didn’t you want to know who’s first on that list of theirs?” Heyes shook his head. “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

“Don’t let it get to you, Heyes.” Kid grinned. He was going to enjoy annoying his partner about it at every possible opportunity.

As they walked in the direction of Champa Street, Heyes had a brilliant idea. He pulled Kid into a side street where they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Kid, I’ve just thought of the perfect design! We can make it look like a wanted poster!”

“What?! Are you outta your mind?!”

“No, it’s a great idea! This is what we’ll do. At the top, we’ll put ‘Wanted: A Good Sheriff.’ Then, in the middle, we’ll have a picture of Lom. Underneath, we’ll list all the reasons Lom should be reelected sheriff. It’s perfect!”

“Heyes, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard you say! What do you think Lom’ll do when he sees it?”

“He’ll like it.”

“No, he won’t. This election is serious, Heyes. He’s got a strong opponent and we can’t do anything that’ll risk his losin’. He won’t appreciate anything that reminds people he used to be an outlaw.”

Kid stood with his arms folded against his chest, ready to argue with Heyes. The reelection of Lom Trevors, Sheriff of Porterville, friend of and advocate for Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, was of the utmost importance to both of them, and Kid wasn’t about to let Heyes jeopardize Lom’s chances. If Lom lost, their chance at amnesty could very well be lost, too.

* * *

When they had first heard about the election, Heyes and Kid had assumed Lom would easily win again. But this time, Lom told them on one of their visits to Porterville, he faced an opponent who argued that it was time for a change, that after eight years, Porterville needed a sheriff with new ideas.

Heyes and Kid were shocked. Lom had done a good job of keeping the peace in his town, and they thought the citizens of Porterville needed to be reminded of that.

When Heyes had first proposed helping Lom, Kid was initially hesitant. Then Heyes had asked him, “What do you think will happen if Lom doesn’t win?”

“I guess Lom’ll have to find another job. Maybe the Governor will appoint him to be a marshal or something.”

“I mean, what do you think will happen to us?”

“Well…hmm,” Kid stopped. He finally understood what Heyes was getting at. “You mean, who’ll do our talking for us with the Governor.”

“Yeah, Kid. That’s exactly what I mean.”

So Heyes had devised a plan to get their friend reelected, and Kid threw himself wholeheartedly into making the plan work. But they knew Lom wouldn’t agree to it so they kept it a secret from him.

Heyes had enjoyed doing the research in libraries to find out the laws regulating political campaigns. Apparently anyone could contribute as much money to the candidates as they wanted, but the candidates themselves had to pay for all political advertisements. As a result, Heyes and Kid had to convince Lom to give them $1,000 to finance their plan. Reluctantly, he had.

Heyes figured that getting 500 campaign posters made in Denver would be enough to guarantee Lom’s reelection. He already had a plan for giving one poster to every family and business in Porterville. The tricky part would be getting the posters back to Porterville and distributing them without Lom knowing who was responsible.

* * *

And now Heyes wanted to play with their future. Kid wasn’t going to stand for it. Nope, not one little bit.

“Heyes, we are NOT gonna make a wanted poster of Lom. Is that clear?” He stared at his partner until Heyes finally nodded his head. “We’ll find someone at this Art Association. They’re students; they’ve gotta be cheaper. We’ll hire someone who can help us with a design. We’ll get the posters made. We’ll send them back to Porterville like we agreed and then finish the plan. All right?”

Heyes still wanted a Lom Trevors wanted poster. He was sure the sheriff would be amused. Maybe he could get one made without Kid knowing. “You’re really no fun, you know that?”

“Heyes, when it comes to the amnesty, I’m not in a jokin’ mood.”

* * *

The Denver Art Association didn’t have a big sign on the door; in fact, Heyes and Kid might have walked right past the building if they hadn’t been looking for it. They went inside and cautiously looked around the large room, which was evidently a gallery as paintings of all sizes were hanging on the walls. Real paintings, as well as advertisements for various household products. And not one wanted poster. They both gave a sigh of relief and let their eyes survey the room more thoroughly.

The next thing they noticed was that all the people they could see were women. Heyes and Kid sighed even more happily.

As they stood appreciating the view, a smartly-dressed woman holding a sketchpad and pencil approached them. “May I help you, gentlemen?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am, I certainly hope so.” Kid gave his partner an almost imperceptible nod to go ahead. Better to keep the stories the same in case any of these people ran into each other and talked about the two gold miners from Hahns Peak. Besides, Kid knew Heyes could charm anyone into believing whatever he wanted them to believe.

Mrs. Kingsley, the director of the art school, said, “Yes, I believe we can assist you. Please come with me.” She led them into another room filled with young ladies intently painting pictures from rough sketches.

“Now, Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, I need to know exactly what the poster is for, so I can find the right artist for you.” Mrs. Kingsley waited for a reply.

“Well, ma’am, it’s like this,” Heyes began. “We have a friend and we want to help him with something but we have only a limited amount of money.” He and Kid waited for Mrs. Kingsley’s reaction.

She didn’t disappoint them. “Gentlemen, I’m sure we can reach an agreement on the cost. The Denver Art Association provides training to young ladies who desire to learn how to draw and paint. You saw our gallery out front. We have monthly exhibitions where our students display their work and all of it is for sale. Unfortunately,” Mrs. Kingsley continued, “We don’t have too many visitors. In fact, you two are the first this week.”

Heyes and Kid found that hard to believe. Not only the paintings but the artists were beautiful, and they would gladly visit every day if they lived in Denver.

“However,” Mrs. Kingsley went on, “A few of Denver’s leading citizens have a more enlightened view of what women are able to accomplish, and they support our efforts. Our benefactors provide funding for our school, and they helped us establish a small print shop where some of our more talented students can earn money by taking on private commissions. But not many people want to hire ladies so the print shop isn’t really a profit-making business. Mostly, it just gives our students more practice in developing their artistic skills.”

Kid could tell his partner had decided they would have the posters made here. Kid also thought this was the right place, and not just because the cost would be right.

“In that case, Mrs. Kingsley, I’m sure we’ll be able to reach a satisfactory agreement.” Heyes gave her the details of what they needed done.

“Sheriff Trevors is a lucky man to have such good friends as you,” Mrs. Kingsley said.

Heyes and Kid thought it was the other way around. “We reckon we‘re lucky to have a friend like him, ma’am,” Heyes said, “And Porterville is lucky to have him for their Sheriff.”

“And we want to do our best to keep it that way,” Kid added.

“Yes, I can see that. Well, here’s what I think we should do. You can work with one of our students and tell her exactly what you need. She can design two or three sketches and you can select the one you like best. Then we’ll get it printed for you. Including the sketches, the cost for printing five hundred copies will be $900.00.”

Kid looked at Heyes in dismay. This was the same price they’d been given at the first print shop, although that was for only one hundred copies. But the cost was still too high.

Mrs. Kinglsey noted the look that passed between the two men. She didn’t want to lose the job. Before Heyes even started to negotiate, she said, “Since this is an unusual request, I think perhaps I can give you a better price. Let’s make it $850.00.”

Fifteen minutes later, they had agreed to pay $750.00.

“Now, who would be best for this?” Mrs. Kingsley mused. She swept her eyes around the room, touching on all the students busy at work. They finally landed on a blond-haired young lady. “Rosina, dear, would you come here, please?”

“Gentlemen, this is Miss Rosina Chain, one of our most promising students. Rosina, this is Mr. Smith and this is Mr. Jones. They have a private commission for you. Why don’t you take the gentlemen over to your desk and discuss things there.”

“Ma’am, I saw only two paintings in the gallery with Miss Chain’s name on them. Has she been studying art for very long?” Heyes wasn’t sure that Rosina was the best choice for them.

Kid noticed that Mrs. Kingsley was about to take offense, as she understood what Heyes was really asking. Quickly, he tried to soothe her. “Don’t mind my partner, Mrs. Kingsley,” he said, glaring at Heyes. “As long as she’s a good artist, it don’t matter how many paintings she’s done. I reckon you wouldn’t have recommended her if you didn’t think she had the talent. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Kid turned his smile on Mrs. Kingsley and she succumbed to its effect. “Yes, of course. I understand your reservations but really, Rosina does know how to draw. Only two of her paintings are on display because the other six have already been sold.”

Somewhat subdued, Heyes followed Kid and Rosina back to her work area. She sat down in her chair and the men remained standing, as there were no other chairs to sit in.

Rosina studied them for a few moments before speaking. “If you didn’t think a student could do good work, then why did you come here?”

Kid grinned. Seeing Heyes flustered by a teenager would have been amusing if the job hadn’t been so important.

Before his partner could make things worse, Kid spoke to Rosina. “Miss, I’m sure your work is wonderful. Maybe you could show us some of the things you’ve done, so we can see how good you are?”

Rosina allowed herself to be persuaded by the young man with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. She would certainly enjoy drawing his portrait—those eyes, that curly blond hair. Maybe she could convince him to sit for her while he was in town. She decided that she liked Mr. Jones a lot.

Rosina gave him a big smile. “I’d be delighted to.” She took out her portfolio and opened it to the first page.

“I apologize, Miss Chain,” Heyes said sincerely. “Your work is excellent.” Heyes gave her one of his looks that usually charmed, but she ignored him.

“We sure got lucky when Mrs. Kingsley chose you to help us with our job,” Kid said.

Rosina gave him a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Mr. Jones. It’ll be my pleasure to help you.”

Heyes looked from Rosina to Kid. He saw what was going on and he didn’t like it.

“All right, then. Now that we’ve cleared things up, let’s get down to work. This is what we’d like to do…” Heyes explained in detail what they wanted. As he talked, Rosina nodded her head and made notes. When he finished, Heyes looked at her expectantly.

Rosina directed her remarks to Kid. “That’s very clear. If you come back tomorrow afternoon, I’ll have a few preliminary sketches ready for you. You can tell me if you like them or if you want something in a different style.”

“That’ll be fine, Miss Chain. Thank you.” Kid was very happy at the way things were going. Heyes politely added his thanks and then they left, relieved that they had finally found a place that could do their job.

“Kid…” Heyes began, once they were on the street and walking back to their hotel.

“Don’t even bother, Heyes.” Kid knew what he was going to say, and didn’t want to hear it. He did in fact agree with Heyes, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit it.

“What? How do you know what I’m going to say?”

“’Cos I know you and I know that look.”

“Fine. If you already know, then I don’t need to tell you how foolish it’d be.”

“That’s right; you don’t.” Kid paused. “But it seems to me like you just did anyway.”

Heyes smiled, knowing he’d made his point about Rosina Chain and that Kid wouldn’t let things get out of hand.

* * *

In the evening, they engaged in the profitable pursuit of poker at the Criterion Saloon on Larimer Street. Heyes was winning big, Kid was winning more than losing, and both men were satisfied with the results.

Until one of the men at their table got it into his head that Heyes wasn’t winning naturally. Kid could see the man’s brain working, how it reached the wrong conclusion from the facts in front of him, and he knew what was going to happen next.

Kid looked over at Heyes. Heyes looked back ruefully.

Heyes also knew exactly what was going on. He could see it in the man’s face. Sheesh, the man’s tells were so obvious the bartender at the other end of the room could see what the man was thinking! Heyes waited calmly for the man to start making even more of a fool of himself. He didn’t have to wait long.

Heyes and Kid settled in to play their roles, both knowing how it most likely was going to end up.

“Mister, ain’t nobody has that kind of luck!” The fool opened with the standard challenge.

“That’s right. It ain’t luck. It’s skill, my friend. Something you are clearly lacking when it comes to poker.”

“You callin’ me stupid?”

Kid rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard this over the years?

“No, sir, I’m calling you a lousy poker player and a poor loser. How about you just take your money and leave. No one else thinks…”

Here it comes, thought Kid. He kept his eyes on the fool.

“I think you’re cheatin’!”

Kid could almost laugh if he didn’t know what he was probably going to be doing soon.

“Anyone else think I’m cheating?” Heyes looked at the other men at their table. They all shook their heads.

“See, no one else thinks I’m cheating. I know how to play the odds, is all. I suggest you take your money and go read Hoyle. Maybe you’ll learn how to be a better poker player, one of these years.” Heyes made the suggestion—the last part heard only by Kid--knowing it was going to be ignored. The fool was too riled up now and didn’t want to look like he was backing down.

“Nope. Not me who’s gonna leave. You are!” Pointing to Heyes, as if that’d make it so. He stood up, trying to get a height advantage. “Now!”

It didn’t work. Heyes remained seated. But the other men pushed their chairs back and began to move away.

“I said you’re gonna leave, mister, and I meant it. Now git outta here!”

Heyes was still relaxed. “I don’t think so, friend. You’re the one making accusations and you can’t back them up so I suggest you be the one to leave.”

Now comes the threat with the gun, thought Kid.

“Mister, you ain’t tellin’ me what to do! I ain’t leavin’ unless you make me!” The fool’s hand twitched near his gun.

True to form, the fool was playing his role perfectly. Kid knew it was almost time for his entrance.

Heyes tried one more time to settle things peacefully. “Look, I ain’t drawing on you. You made a mistake; I wasn’t cheating. I’ll accept your apology and then we can forget all about it. What do you say?”

“No. You talk too much and I’m done listenin’. Draw and we’ll settle this now.”

Kid gave the fool points for adding that bit about talking too much. He slowly stood up. It was his turn now and he took over from Heyes, who sat back to watch the rest of the drama.

“My partner said he ain’t gonna draw on you. So I suggest you just take your money and leave, like he told you.” Kid’s hard-edged voice would warn anyone with more than an ounce of brains, but if the man had brains, he wouldn’t be a fool.

“Mister, if you wanna draw for your friend, you go right ahead.”

The fool didn’t know what he was asking for, thought Heyes grimly.

“No, sir, I don’t want to draw.” The normal Kid response was given.

And immediately rejected, as he knew it would be. “Looks to me like you do.” The fool noticed the tied-down gun for the first time and a shadow of doubt crossed his face.

Heyes saw the fool reconsider for a brief moment. But he knew the fool had crossed the threshold of common sense and wouldn’t turn back now no matter what.

Kid continued staring at the fool’s eyes. Just so no one would think he wanted to do the inevitable, he made one last attempt to avoid the gunfight. “This doesn’t have to happen. Just take your money and go, no hard feelings.”

“Mister, now you’re talkin’ too much. You ready?”

Kid sighed. And waited.

Heyes sighed, never liking what was about to take place.

The fool reached for his gun but found himself staring at Kid’s gun instead, pointed straight at him before his fingers had even touched the butt of his weapon.

The man looked at Kid in shock. He didn’t look much like a fool now, Kid and Heyes both thought, just a man who realized he was lucky to be alive. He grabbed his money and left.

“Time for us to leave as well, boys,” Heyes said. He and Kid gathered up their winnings and exited the saloon. No one talked to them on their way out but they heard a lot of murmuring and knew they couldn’t go back there any time soon. At least he’d won enough money to pay Lom back, Heyes thought, although his satisfaction had vanished the moment Kid had stood up to try and prevent the impending showdown.

* * *

“Heyes, why does this keep happenin' to us?” Kid was lying on his bed, boots off and feet stretched out, hands behind his head, gun belt slung over the bedpost as usual.

Heyes shrugged. “I guess we’re being penalized for excellence, Kid.”

“Well, can you maybe NOT be such a good poker player next time?”

“Next time? How do you know there’s going to be a next time?”

“’Cos I know you, Heyes, and you can’t help it. Trust me, there’s gonna be a next time.”

“Well, maybe YOU don’t need to put on such a show with your gun next time, huh? Ever think about that?”

“Nope. ’Cos if I didn’t back you up, there really wouldn’t be a next time.”

“Nice of you to have such faith in your partner, Kid.”

“Anytime, Heyes, anytime.”

Heyes went back to reading his book. Kid lay on the bed a while longer, then got up and cleaned his gun. Again.

“Will you quit doing that?”

“What? I gotta keep my gun clean. You know that.”

“You don’t need to clean it twice in one hour, do you?”

“Fine. I’ll clean yours instead.” Kid reached out his hand to get it from Heyes.

“It don’t need to be cleaned. It wasn’t my gun that was used tonight.”

“My point exactly, Heyes. When was the last time you cleaned it?”

Heyes glared at Kid. Kid glared back.

Heyes sighed and closed his book. “Kid, I know you’re worried. So am I. We got to do whatever we can to make sure Lom gets reelected. But getting proddy with me ain’t going to help matters any.”

“I know.” Kid sighed and put his own gun back in its holster. “But what if something goes wrong?”

“Don’t worry, Kid. Rosina’s got talent. When the people in Porterville see all the good things Lom’s done, why, they’ll want to reelect him. That man running against him doesn’t have a chance. Nothing’ll go wrong, trust me.”

Kid shook his head. He wanted to believe. He really did. But he was skeptical. Whenever things seemed to be going well, bad luck just up and found them. And the day’s events hadn’t exactly all been positive.

“I hope you’re right, Heyes.” Kid turned down the lamp and got ready for bed.

Heyes did the same on his side of the room after first checking that the door and windows were locked securely. He went to sleep and dreamed of wanted posters with Lom’s name on them.

* * *

When they met Rosina the next afternoon, she had three sketches ready. “Mr. Jones, Mr. Smith, I drew these sketches for you based on your specifications.” She spread them out so they could easily compare them. “I can do more, if you don’t like them,” she added hastily, when she saw Heyes and Kid hesitate.

“Oh, no, Miss Chain. They’re all wonderful,” Heyes reassured her.

“It’s just that it’s hard to decide which is the best one,” added Kid with a smile.

Rosina smiled back. “In that case, please take your time. I have other work to do, so I’ll let you discuss it in private.” She walked over to another desk and started drawing.

Heyes pointed to the sketch on the right. “That’s the one, Kid. It’s the best. It’s short and to the point. People will remember it.”

Kid took another look at the sketch. He knew Heyes liked it because it was similar to the wanted poster he’d mentioned the day before. On the first line it read: Porterville Wants… The next line said: Sheriff Lom Trevors. And the last line had just one word, in big letters: Reelected!

It was not Kid’s favorite. “I dunno, Heyes. I think this one is better.” He pointed to the middle sketch. “We can write in why Lom should be reelected. I think the people in Porterville need to be reminded of all the good things he’s done.”

Heyes considered the sketch. He had to admit it was good. The top line said: Five Reasons to Reelect, and right under it the second line continued with: Sheriff Lom Trevors. Then the numbers one to five were listed; clearly the reasons for reelecting the sheriff were to be written in there.

But Heyes really liked the almost-wanted poster. Perhaps Rosina would let him keep the sketch and he could get her to draw a picture of Lom on it. Better yet, he’d have Kid ask her since it was clear Rosina favored Kid, for some unknown reason.

“That’s true, Kid. So let’s include a list of reasons but use the top part from the first sketch instead. That’ll catch people’s attention. It’ll be like this.” Heyes took a pencil from the desk and quickly wrote “Reelect Lom Trevors” at the top of a piece of paper. Under that, he wrote “The Perfect Sheriff for Porterville.” Then he wrote the numbers one to five below that.

Kid nodded. “That’s good, Heyes.”

“The only thing is,” Heyes paused and stared at what he’d written, “I’m not sure I can think of five reasons the good people of Porterville should reelect Lom.”

“Sure you can. Put that genius brain to work!”

Kid knew Heyes was disappointed they weren’t going to use the wanted poster sketch but he also knew Heyes was figuring out a way to make sure Lom saw it at some point. Kid wasn’t sure he wanted to be there when Heyes showed it to him. He had to get Heyes to stop thinking about that and start thinking about the new poster instead.

“Well, the first reason is…” Heyes pushed his hat back and looked from Kid to the poster. He shrugged. “How about… He kept those notorious outlaws Heyes and Curry from robbing the Porterville Bank?”

Kid rolled his eyes. “And how is he supposed to have done that? You still set on remindin’ folk he rode with us?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, you think of something, then!”

“Fine. How’s this? Reason #1 is… He keeps the peace in Porterville.”

“I like it. That’s got a nice ring to it. What’s your second reason?”

“How about… He treats everyone fairly.”

“It’s a little general but okay. What’s another reason?”

“Well, that’s two. Now it’s your turn, Heyes.” Kid waited while Heyes thought.

“The food in his jail is good?”

“What is wrong with you, Heyes?” Kid hissed. “Do you WANT him to lose?”

“No, of course not.” Heyes shook his head. “I guess I’m just having a hard time seeing things from the right side of the law.”

“Well, try harder!”

“I am trying! Don’t get proddy!”

“All right, maybe we just need three reasons.” Kid tried to pacify Heyes. “What about… He catches criminals quickly.”

“That’s good,” Heyes approved. “You can be a writer on our newspaper after all when we get the amnesty!”

Kid snorted. He liked to write even less than he liked to read.

They called Rosina back and she drew a new sketch while they waited. When she finished, Heyes and Kid approved the design. Then they made arrangements to have five hundred copies of the poster printed. Heyes put down a deposit and they were told everything would be ready by early afternoon of the following day.

On their way out, they stopped by Rosina’s desk to thank her again. At Heyes’ prompting, Kid asked if they could keep the other sketches. “We’d really appreciate it if you would give us the other sketches. I’m sure you understand how confidential this is and we want to make sure no one else ever sees them.” Kid smiled when Rosina hesitated. “And we’d also like to have them because you drew them yourself, Miss Chain.”

“Well…” Rosina gave in to Kid’s smile. “It’s not standard practice but I suppose I could make an exception once in a while.” She smiled back at Kid.

“I have one more favor to ask you, Miss Chain,” Kid began. “Mr. Smith and I would like you to do one more drawing for us.” Kid told her what they wanted. “So if we described our friend, you could draw his picture, couldn’t you? Of course, we’d pay you extra for doing it. Would fifteen dollars be satisfactory?”

Rosina looked at the two men and wondered. They seemed honest enough but it was an unusual request. Well, she could always use the extra money. “All right,” she agreed. “I have some time now so please, tell me what your friend looks like.”

As Heyes and Kid described Lom—short dark hair, dark eyes, mustache—Rosina quickly sketched a picture. After making several small adjustments to his facial features, the men pronounced the picture accurate.

Again they praised her work, and Rosina was pleased she was able to help them, especially Mr. Jones. She gave them the sketches and they returned to their hotel.

* * *

Promptly at one o’clock the next day, Heyes and Kid arrived to pick up their posters. They were met by Mrs. Kingsley, who ushered them to a vacant desk where they could examine the finished work. “I hope everything meets with your approval, gentlemen,” she said, waiting for them as they looked through all the posters, which were stacked in five bundles of one hundred each.

“Yes, everything looks in order, thank you.” Heyes said, carefully tidying up the papers in front of him.

“Miss Chain is an excellent artist,” Kid added. “We’re very satisfied with the work she did.” He handed over the balance of money they owed.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones,” Mrs. Kingsley beamed. “Let me get this wrapped up for you and then we’ll be all set.” She beckoned to Rosina, who’d been watching from her desk and now came over.

Mrs. Kingsley gave the posters to Rosina, who wrapped them in old newspapers and then tied the package tightly with cord. Heyes thanked her, as did Kid, and with one last smile at Kid, Rosina returned to her desk and her next commission.

Kid picked up the package and he and Heyes left the Denver Art Association, already thinking about the next step in their plan.

* * *

“What are you worrying about, Kid? It’s only 2:30; we got plenty of time!”

Kid didn’t answer, just got off his horse and tied the reins to the hitching rail in front of the post office. He’d been concerned that they wouldn’t get there in time for the posters to be sent out on that day’s stage but now that he and Heyes had made it across town without mishap, he breathed a sigh of relief.

They went in and made the arrangements to have their package sent to Porterville. The posters were now in a sturdy box Heyes had bought to protect them from the elements.

“It’s very important this gets delivered directly to the address here,” Kid said to the clerk, pointing to the label on the box.

“That’ll be twenty dollars, sir,” the clerk told him.

“How much? That’s robbery!” Heyes hid a grin as Kid tried, unsuccessfully, to negotiate a lower price. Grudgingly, Kid handed over the money. “For that price, I expect it to arrive in perfect condition!” Kid stared at the clerk, who was used to customers’ unreasonable demands and generally ignored them.

“Come on, Thaddeus.” Heyes and Kid walked across the street to the stage depot and sat down, casually looking around the room and taking note of the people who seemed to be likely passengers. No one looked suspicious. A few minutes later, a post office employee carried a mailbag over to the waiting stagecoach and handed it off to the driver, who fastened it securely to the top of the vehicle.

At 3:05, the stage driver called everyone to board. He stepped onto the roof and caught the various-sized valises the passengers threw up to him, tying them carefully so they wouldn’t fall off during the upcoming trip. Heyes and Kid watched as six people climbed into the stagecoach.

At precisely 3:20, the stagecoach departed on its regular route to Wyoming. Heyes and Kid would soon be riding behind it, out of sight, all the way. Heyes gave Kid back his saddlebags and bedroll, now that his horse wasn’t loaded down with the heavy posters anymore.

“Let’s go send the telegram,” Heyes said to Kid.

The telegraph office was conveniently located down the street from the stage depot so they walked over. Heyes picked up a pencil and paper and quickly wrote a message.

“How’s this? To Miss Porter, care of Porterville Bank, Porterville, Wyoming. Package arriving afternoon stage in four days. Will collect as discussed. J. Smith and T. Jones.”

Kid read it over his shoulder. “It’s a good thing we talked to her before we left, Heyes. It’s mighty nice of Miss Porter to let us send the posters to the bank and all.”

“Well, we can’t send them to her house; we don’t want her father or any servants wondering what’s in the package. Much more natural for a delivery like that to go to the bank. And why wouldn’t she help, Kid? She knows Lom is good for Porterville. Besides, I think she likes him. You’ve seen how she looks at him.”

Heyes laughed at Kid’s expression. “You don’t think she still likes you, do you? After you left her standing in the street at night? Not the most gentlemanly thing to do, you know.”

Kid scowled. “Just send it, Heyes.”

* * *

For two days, Heyes and Kid followed the stage at a distance as it traveled north out of Colorado and into Wyoming. The road they were on was well-used so even if the stagecoach driver spotted them behind him, there was nothing to make him suspicious since many other riders were going in the same direction. They had ridden this road many times and knew all the places they could hide, if that became necessary.

“You know, Heyes,” Kid turned to look at his partner riding behind him. It was mid-morning on the third day. With the sun climbing the sky and the horses steadily climbing the mountains, Kid was in a good mood. They were more than halfway to their destination and he was looking forward to spending the night in a cabin he knew they’d reach before nightfall. “Maybe we could catch us a rabbit or somethin’ for dinner. Sure would make a nice change from beans and jerky.”

Heyes agreed but, ever cautious, said, “Let’s wait and see how things are going later in the day. If they hear gunshots now, it might scare them and we don’t want to give ourselves away.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Kid sighed. “But I’m gettin’ awfully bored. That stage is goin’ real slow. We been ridin’ for almost three whole days now. I could’ve walked to Porterville faster!”

“Kid, how you can have the patience to practice shooting a gun for hours on end but not for a nice leisurely ride through the Rocky Mountains in beautiful weather is beyond me!” Heyes was only half teasing his cousin. He really did find it hard to believe Kid wasn’t appreciating the scenery. They rarely had the luxury to enjoy the landscape they rode through; too often a posse or bounty hunter was chasing them and they had to gallop as fast as their horses could to escape being captured. Today, though, was different and Heyes wanted to savor every moment.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I need to practice my fast draw so I don’t lose my skill. I don’t need to practice lookin’ at trees and mountains.”

“Sure you do! If you don’t take a real good look at them, you can’t appreciate what you’re seeing! I think you need to practice enjoying nature, Kid.”

“I’ll let you enjoy nature for the both of us, Heyes. I’d rather enjoy a soft bed and a warm bath any day over a hard bedroll and a cold wash in a stream.”

“What, you can’t compromise once in a while? It’s beautiful, Kid! Just look around you!” Heyes swept his arm around in an arc, trying to make Kid see the scenery from his perspective.

What Kid saw was five men on horseback riding out of the forest just where Heyes’ hand pointed.

“Heyes!” Kid’s whisper immediately caught his partner’s attention. “What do you suppose they’re doin’?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think we want them to see us.” He steered his horse off the road and into the cover of the trees. Kid was right behind him.

They watched as the men made their way onto the road and then disappeared as they cantered away from them.

Heyes had a bad feeling. Kid did too, and said, “I don’t like this. We need to see what they’re up to.”

“Yeah, I agree. Come on.” They moved back onto the road and rode after the five strangers.

A short while later, they saw the stagecoach at a standstill. The men had surrounded the stage and, pointing their guns, forced the passengers outside.

Heyes and Kid walked their horses off the road and slowly and quietly drew closer, under cover of the trees.

“I don’t believe it!” Kid moaned, remembering all the other bad luck they’d had with stagecoaches.

Heyes was shaking his head, also at a loss to comprehend why this was happening to them. “Do you think it’s payback? I mean, we robbed all those trains but never a stagecoach so now…”

“So now the stages are gettin’ even with us? And you say my ideas are ridiculous!”

“Well, if you put it like that...”

“Yeah, Heyes, it’s just bad luck.”

Heyes shaded his eyes against the sun and groaned as he saw the men throw everything from the roof of the stage onto the ground. “There they go!”

“That’s just great.” Kid watched as the men slung the mailbag and the passengers’ belongings over their horses, tied them down, and rode off into the woods. “Now what? Do we go after them or check on the passengers?”

“We go after them. You know the driver’ll tell the sheriff in the next town and they’ll get a posse after them. We can’t be around when they come looking.”

Kid agreed. “All right. We’ll track them ourselves.” Kid didn’t want to think about what would happen if the posse recovered the stolen goods and saw the posters for Lom’s reelection. That could spoil everything. Actually, so would being caught by the posse.

Now that the danger was over, the passengers reboarded the stage and the driver climbed back into his seat. He slapped the reins and the horses took off.

* * *

“You see anything?” Heyes was stooped over, searching for signs of the outlaws. He and Kid hadn’t had too much difficulty following the five men. But the afternoon was turning to dusk and the trail was getting harder to see.

“Shush!” Kid scanned the ground carefully.

“Shush? You need eyes for tracking, Kid, not ears.” Heyes repeated, more insistently, “You see anything?”

“No wonder I’m a better tracker than you,” Kid muttered.

“You say something?”

Kid continued to concentrate on the ground. “Nope. Shush.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Heyes stood up and climbed back onto his horse.

Kid went back to where the trail was visible and retraced his steps to where Heyes was waiting. He then got down on his hands and knees and very thoroughly looked at the path and the vegetation on either side. Finally, he noticed something that wasn’t natural and he examined it more closely. “Over here, Heyes. This way.”

With Kid in the lead, they slowly continued on their way. Every so often, Kid stopped to look around and make sure they were still following the trail of the outlaws.

The sky darkened from blue to orange and red to a deeper shade of blue. The noises from the forest changed as well. Suddenly Kid stopped.

Heyes rode up to his side. “What?”

“I hear something.”

“So do I. It’s the night animals, Kid.”

“No. There’s something else. Shush.”

“Oh, not that again!”

“You want to get those posters back or not, Heyes?”

There was a frustrated nod of the dark-haired head.

“Then be quiet and let me listen!”

“All right, then, listen!” Heyes listened, too, as his partner turned to him with a decided lack of patience clearly showing on his face.

“Heyes. When you cracked a safe, you needed silence, right? You couldn’t hear the tumblers unless it was absolutely quiet, right? And I was quiet while you worked, right?”

There was a nod of sullen agreement.

“Well, now I need you to be silent so I can hear what’s going on. I think I heard voices but I’m not sure. So will you please be quiet and let me do my job now?”

Heyes stopped talking and waited.

A few minutes later, Kid had a smile on his face as he said, “Yup, they’re up ahead. Sounds like they’ve made camp for the night.”

Now that it’d been pointed out to him, Heyes could hear, barely, men’s voices. But to be able to tell what they were doing, no, his ears couldn’t make that out. He was unsurpassed at distinguishing faint, up-close sounds, in contrast to Kid who, evidently, was excellent at picking apart sounds at a distance. No wonder they made such a good team.

They tied their horses to some trees and crept closer on foot. They saw the five men sitting around a smoldering campfire, eating dinner.

Heyes and Kid looked at each other. Kid spoke first. “Not even Kyle would be that stupid!”

“So how you want to play it, Kid?” Heyes deferred to his partner in matters where gunplay might be involved.

Kid took his time before answering. He didn’t think Heyes would like his plan. “I think you should go talk to them.”

“Huh? And say what? Give me back the mailbag, please? How’s that going to accomplish anything?”

“Sheesh, Heyes! You’re the one with the silver tongue! Use it!”

“There’s five of them, Kid, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

It was obvious to Kid that his partner was not impressed with his idea.

Heyes continued to point out the deficits in Kid’s plan. “I don’t think they’re going to just give me the mailbag ‘cos I asked them nicely. And we may not know them but what if one of them recognizes me?”

“Well, take advantage then! Tell them the whole Devil’s Hole Gang is waitin’ on you and if you don’t get back soon with the mailbag and other stuff, they’re goin’ to come in after you!”

Heyes considered. “I suppose that means you, huh?”

“Yup. There’s only five of them, remember?”

“I’m not likely to forget, am I? Seeing as how I’m walking into the lion’s den here.” Heyes checked his gun and ammunition. “So where will you be?”

As Heyes was talking, Kid had been surveying the area to select the best place to keep his partner covered while he remained hidden. He pointed to his left. “Over there.”

“All right,” Heyes sighed. “Here goes.”

He walked nonchalantly through the trees and into the sight of the outlaws.

* * *

Five guns were instantly pointed at Heyes, who immediately stood still and raised his hands.

“Take it easy, fellas,” he soothed. “No need for that.” He looked around, trying to see all the faces clearly. “Can I put my hands down, please?” He slowly started to lower his arms.

“Put ‘em back up and keep ‘em up, Heyes,” a dark-haired man in a dirty gray hat ordered.

Heyes had a sinking feeling.

“Well, lookee who we got here, boys. It’s Hannibal Heyes hisself!” The man stepped into the light of the fire and Heyes got a good look at him. He searched his memory and came up with: Bill Turner. A half-way decent outlaw, meaning not very bright or successful but not mean or double-crossing, either. Maybe he could deal with him after all.

The other men crowded around Heyes. He hoped he was reading the atmosphere correctly.

“Howdy, Bill. It’s been a long time. What have you been up to these years?”

“Oh, a little o’ this, a little o’ that,” Turner said noncommittally. “Ain’t heard much about you or Kid Curry.” He waved his gun, indicating that Heyes could lower his arms, and held it loosely in his hand.

Heyes smiled. The game was on. “Oh, you know how it is. You pull a job, got to stay low for a while.”

Turner looked at Heyes thoughtfully, “Reckon it’s been a year since we heard anythin’ ‘bout the Devil’s Hole Gang.”

“Oh, maybe you’re just not reading the right newspapers.” Heyes saw that remark didn’t go down well and then remembered that Turner wasn’t exactly literate. He quickly switched his tone of voice. “Well, we have been pretty quiet lately, taking time to plan some new jobs.” Heyes reflected that that was actually true—he and Kid really were planning new jobs; in fact, entirely new lives, if all went well.

He pretended to notice all the carpetbags and carry-alls and the mailbag for the first time. “Hey, what’s all this?”

Turner snickered. “Just some things we happened to pick up on our travels. Nothing that’d interest you.”

“Oh yeah?” Heyes walked over to the mailbag and kicked it. “This one interests me.” He bent over and picked it up.

Turner was suddenly suspicious. “Hey, what are you doin’ out here anyway? And where’s Curry? You two never went anywhere alone.” He peered into the woods but it was too dark to see anything.

“You two,” he gestured with his head at two of his men. “Go take a look around. See if you can find Curry.”

Heyes was confident that Kid would not be found. Keeping his eyes away from where he was hiding, Heyes answered Turner’s question. “The Kid and I split up. We were in Denver,” always better to tell the truth when it didn’t matter, “But we got recognized so we rode out separately. I have no idea where he is now.” That was literally true, too, Heyes told himself, since it was more than likely Kid had changed positions once he saw the two men go looking for him.

Turner wasn’t satisfied. “But how’d you get here? Were you following us?” He raised his gun again.

Trying to appease Turner and deflect attention away from the trees, Heyes admitted a little more of the truth. “As a matter of fact, Bill, I was following you. But,” he continued rapidly, as the gun now pointed directly at his chest, “I didn’t know you were here. I saw the fire and thought maybe I’d find me a nice place to make camp for the night. You know, enjoy a little company, maybe even play some cards. It’s lonely out here all by myself.” Heyes knew he sounded convincing and hoped Turner would buy it.

The other men waited for their leader to decide what to do.

The gun was gradually lowered. “Mebbe. Mebbe not.” Turner made another decision. “Let’s see what’s in that mailbag you’re so interested in.”

He reached for it and after a moment’s hesitation, Heyes handed it over. He hoped Kid was watching because once the bag was opened, Heyes wasn’t sure he’d be able to come up with a story for why the contents were so important to him. Even though Turner wouldn’t understand the significance of the posters, Heyes couldn’t take the risk that he’d just leave the mailbag and everything in it in the woods when he and his men rode out.

Turner took it over to the fire and sat down, followed by the other men. Heyes joined them, sitting within reach of the bag. He was ready to grab it and run, as soon as he heard Kid make a move.

Turner’s hand was on the cord, fumbling to open the mailbag. Heyes didn’t let his apprehension show but he was acutely aware of where all five men were sitting and of the distance between him and the forest.

“Well, what have we here?” Turner’s surprise was matched by that of the four other men. He saw the box among the letters and opened it, and after unwrapping one of the bundles, held up a stack of posters.

He haltingly read the top line. “Five Rea..sons to Reel..ect. That don’t make no sense.”

“Gimme that.” One of the other men grabbed the paper from Turner’s hand and read the whole poster out loud.

Turner looked at Heyes, puzzled. “Now what’s so important about that, Heyes?”

“Nothing. Didn’t know what was in the mailbag. It just looked like it might have something valuable in it, is all,” Heyes lied. He knew he had to come up with a better answer quickly.

“No, there’s something about that mailbag. You went right for that, Heyes, and nothing else.” Turner eyed him for a moment, and then he smiled. “Let’s find out just how important it is, shall we?”

Heyes tensed. He didn’t know what was coming but from the look in Turner’s eyes, it couldn’t be good.

With one fluid movement, Turner suddenly stood up and tossed the bundle of posters into the fire.

An involuntary “No!” escaped from Heyes as he tried to grab the posters before they were consumed by the flames.

He did not succeed and then he realized that five guns were now pointing at him. He sank back down onto the ground.

“So I’ll ask you again, Heyes, what’s so important about them papers?” This time, Turner’s tone of voice wasn’t as friendly.

Heyes didn’t answer.

“Get up.” With five guns on him, Heyes slowly did as he was told, inching towards the mailbag once he was standing.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Turner ordered. “Them papers are important and I wanna know why. So you’re gonna stay here until you tell us.” He waved one of his men over to come and tie Heyes’ hands.

Before he could do so, Heyes grabbed the mailbag and ran, zig-zagging towards the trees. He heard bullets whiz by him but it took him only a minute to reach the cover of the woods.

He looked back and saw four men down, including Turner, and realized the bullets had been flying in both directions. He hadn’t noticed during his dash to the trees.

He set the mailbag down and withdrew his gun from his holster. Then he walked back to the fire and met his partner already there, pointing his gun at the fifth man who now had his hands in the air. “How are they?” Heyes asked, nodding to the men on the ground.

“They’ll live. Only grazed them; nothin’ serious.” Kid looked at his partner. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Heyes knew Kid didn’t need him to say it, but he did anyway. “Thanks.”

“What do you want to do with them?” Kid asked.

“They’ll be all right for a while without a doctor?” Heyes checked.

“Not a problem,” Kid confirmed.

“Then let’s tie them up and leave them here.” Heyes walked away from the men, not wanting them to hear the rest of it. “We’ll take the mailbag, find the posse and give them the mail, and let them know the rest of the passengers’ belongings are here.”

“WHAT?!”

“Don’t worry, Kid.” Heyes laughed at his expression. “I got it all figured out. The posse can’t be that hard to find. I’ll pretend I was traveling behind the stage and saw what happened, and decided to follow the outlaws ‘cos I knew it’d take the posse too long to find their trail.”

Kid was skeptical. “And just how many honest citizens you know would do such a thing?”

“Well, at least one—me! Anyway, I’ll tell them I found the passengers’ things and the mailbag but there was no sign of the outlaws. Since I couldn’t carry everything, I thought the best thing to do was bring the mail back and tell the posse where to find the rest of the stuff.” Heyes paused to let Kid process the plan so far. “I have urgent business…somewhere…got to figure that part out…and that’s why I can’t show them the place myself. By the time they find Turner and his gang, we’ll be long gone. But just in case there’s a problem, you’ll be following me and staying hidden in the woods, just like tonight.”

Heyes felt he’d redeemed himself with this plan. It was much better than the one he’d just enacted, although, really, since that had been a Kid Curry plan, he’d half-expected a problem. But to give Kid credit, he had managed to pull it off in the end.

* * *

It didn’t take long to find the posse. Nine men riding together usually left a trail even a novice tracker could follow, and Heyes and Kid weren’t beginners. They tethered their horses at a distance and quietly crept closer. The posse looked like it was giving its horses a rest; the men were standing on the ground, drinking from canteens and waiting for their lead tracker to point out the direction the outlaws had taken.

“See anyone you know, Kid?”

“Nope. But I can’t see everyone. A couple of them ain’t lookin’ this way.” Kid looked at his partner. “What do you want to do?”

“What I want to do is go back and finish off Bill Turner for burning those posters. What I’m gonna do is walk over there and hope they don’t shoot me before I can explain.” Heyes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He picked up the mailbag and balanced it over his shoulder. With a half smile to Kid, he started to walk away.

“Wait. We need a code.” Kid called him back.

“Huh?”

“A code. In case there’s a problem. You say the code word and that’s my signal.”

“Kid, you been reading too many dime novels.”

“You want to take a chance I can’t tell you’re in trouble and need help? Fine, I’ll just wait here for twenty years.”

“That’s not funny, Kid.”

“That’s why we need a code.”

“Fine. It’s your idea, you think of one.”

Kid pondered. “How’s this? If I hear you say, ‘Sheriff Lom Trevors in Porterville ain’t goin’ to like this,’ that’ll be my signal to rescue you. But I’m warnin’ you, Heyes, I ain’t about to go shootin’ up a bunch of lawmen.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Heyes responded mildly. “But let’s hope it don’t come to that.”

He adjusted the mailbag on his shoulder and set off. Kid nervously watched him stride towards the posse, knowing that there was little he could really do if the posse decided to take Heyes into custody.

* * *

Heyes didn’t try to hide his presence so it was only a couple minutes later that he found himself standing completely still with his hands in the air, nine rifles pointed at his chest. The mailbag fell to the ground, forgotten, as Heyes tried not to breathe too loudly. His eyes located the sheriff who was leader of the posse and he addressed his remarks to him.

“Howdy, Sheriff. My name’s Joshua Smith and I’d like to return some stolen property to you all.” Heyes saw the suspicion in the sheriff’s face and quickly continued. “I was, uh, riding along the road to Porterville, minding my own business, thinking about seeing my wife and baby girl again after my trip to Denver. When suddenly I heard some screaming up ahead. Well, I thought someone might be in trouble so I rode up to see if I could help but…” Heyes took a chance and shrugged. “I saw some outlaws robbing the stagecoach passengers so I just hid in the forest. There were five of them, you see. I knew,” Heyes dropped his gaze to stare at the ground, the very picture of embarrassment, “That I couldn’t do anything right then, being outnumbered and all. But,” he raised his eyes, “I couldn’t let them poor ladies suffer so I just rode on after them outlaws when they was finished with their stealing.” A note of vindictiveness crept into his voice. “I just can’t abide outlaws, you know? Nasty, evil people, taking things what don’t belong to them. I thought it was my God-given duty to try and recover as much as I could of those poor people’s belongings. I mean, I knew a posse would be after them but, no offense, Sheriff, I didn’t think you’d be able to find them as quickly as me. See, I already had a head start on you, you know?” Now Heyes let a tinge of pride color his voice. “So I trailed those bandits and I found their lair. But there was too many grips and carpetbags and such, so I just took the mailbag instead. And here it is!” Heyes pointed with his head to the bag at his feet.

He waited, hands still in the air but with a smile of eager hopefulness on his face, as the sheriff considered his story.

“All right, Smith. You can put your hands down.” The sheriff indicated to the rest of the posse that they could lower their weapons. He, however, kept his gun in his hand. “That’s a good story, real good. I’ve a mind to believe it. You done good to bring the mailbag back but we’ll need you to show us where you found it.”

“Oh, Sheriff, sir, I’m really very sorry.” Heyes allowed an expression of regret to show on his face. “But I really must get back to Porterville. I’m sure my wife is very worried by now. You see, I was supposed to be home two days ago and of course I wasn’t able to send word I was delayed and I just know she’s worried sick about me. But I’ll be glad to tell you how to find the place. I can give you real good directions.”

The sheriff wasn’t about to be put off. “You there,” he called one of the men over. “Ride on into town and send a telegraph to Mrs. Joshua Smith that her husband’s helping a posse and he’ll be late getting home.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” Thinking rapidly, Heyes tried again to get out of going with the posse. “I’m afraid that just won’t do at all. I’ve also got a very important business transaction to take care of and it can’t wait. I’ll lose a great deal of money if I’m not there to handle it.” Heyes wryly reflected that what he said was, in fact, the actual truth. “Really, sir, I’ll tell you exactly how to get there. You don’t need me at all, really.”

He could see the sheriff waver. “I’m always more than happy to help out the law, sir, really I am. There’s nothing I admire more than a sheriff who does his duty well.” Since Heyes had met very few sheriffs who did their duty well—except for Lom, of course—he felt absolutely no guilt about making that statement. “But I’m sure you can understand that now I need to take care of my family and business.” He gave a look that appealed to the sheriff, man to man.

The sheriff gave in. “All right, Smith. Tell us where you found the mailbags and then you can leave.”

Heyes gave detailed directions to the posse. “Good luck, Sheriff. Hope you find them outlaws fast. Don’t like to think honest law-abiding folk like me are in danger when we travel around here.”

Even as Heyes spoke, the posse was getting back on their horses, tying the mailbag over the rump of one of them. The sheriff said quickly, “Thanks, Smith, you done good,” and then rode out with his men.

Heyes let out his breath and walked slowly back to where Kid was waiting.

“So they didn’t even question how you managed to carry a heavy mailbag all the way from where Turner and his gang were to here?” Kid started laughing. “You were right, Heyes. I might admire a sheriff who does his duty well, too, but I’m sure glad that sheriff ain’t one of them!”

* * *

After returning the mailbags to the posse, confident that their posters would soon be delivered to Miss Porter, in care of the Bank of Porterville, in Porterville, Wyoming, Kid and Heyes continued on their journey at a leisurely pace.

Two days later, they neared the outskirts of the town. Heyes and Kid found a secluded spot and without talking set up their campsite. Over rabbit stew, they finalized their plan for the evening’s activity.

“You been doing all the talking, Heyes, must be plumb wore out, so I’ll take first watch.” Kid settled himself on a log and started to clean his gun by the dying light of the campfire.

“All right. Wake me in two hours.” Heyes closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Kid spent the time thinking about their plan. He knew it was risky but didn’t see any alternative that Heyes would agree with. They had to get the posters. The posters were in the bank. Therefore, according to Heyes, they had to break into the bank to get the posters.

He had argued with Heyes about that. Why not just find a boy in the morning, pay him to go to the bank and give a note to Miss Porter asking her to bring the posters to some place where they could safely meet her without being recognized? But no, Heyes didn’t like that idea. Not that that was new. Heyes often didn’t like his ideas, didn’t think they had enough finesse. But Kid didn’t like Heyes’ idea at all, either. It was just asking for trouble. He knew the only reason Heyes liked it was because it’d give him a thrill to be using his safe-cracking skills again. And that did not please Kid one bit. Kid had to remind himself that this whole idea was a Hannibal Heyes plan and he’d promised himself to let Heyes take the lead. But when it came to something like breaking into a bank, even for a good cause, well then, Kid was sorely tempted to break his promise.

But, two hours later, all he said, as he kicked his partner in the leg, was, “Time to get up, Heyes.”

Wide awake as soon as Kid had kicked him, Heyes sat up and nodded. “Good night, Kid. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

Heyes spent the time going over all the details. Heyes knew when Deputy Wilkins made his rounds, so they could time their activity to avoid him. He looked over at his sleeping partner. He knew Kid wasn’t keen on breaking into the bank, but he also knew Kid would do his job as look-out. He couldn’t ask for a better partner, or friend, and that was why, despite Kid’s sometimes openly-expressed doubts, Heyes really did want Lom to be reelected. Sure Heyes wanted the amnesty for himself, but he also wanted it for Kid.

“Get up, Kid.” Heyes nudged him with his foot. “Let’s go.” He had their horses saddled and waited for Kid to join him. They both mounted up and set off for town.

* * *

It felt like old times. But they also felt more nervous than they ever had when they actually were robbing banks. They knew that if they were caught now, they’d have a very difficult time explaining to Lom what they were doing. Lom would have a hard time believing them. Heck, their story was unbelievable! Two outlaws wanted to reelect a sheriff? Why would anyone believe that?!

They rode into Porterville and left the horses a few streets away from the bank. Making their way stealthily through the town, they approached the bank without seeing another person. As Kid swept his eyes around the square in front, Heyes took out his lockpick and quickly opened the front door of the bank. They entered and Kid closed the door behind them.

Heyes grinned at his partner. “Having fun yet, Kid?”

“No, Heyes, and you shouldn’t be, either. Let’s get the posters and get outta here.”

Kid followed Heyes to the back. As expected, the door to Miss Porter’s office was locked but Heyes easily opened it.

“I don’t see any bundles of posters, Kid. Do you see any bundles of posters?”

Kid turned from his post by the window to look around the office. “No, Heyes, I don’t see any bundles of posters,” he responded with a loud sigh, knowing his partner was not at all disappointed at this turn of events.

“Well, gee, Kid, I guess I’m just going to have to open that safe over there,” said Heyes, pointing to the big, black Magnalock in the corner.

“Then shut up, Heyes, and get on with it.” Kid resumed looking out the window, annoyed with Heyes for obviously enjoying the situation and annoyed with himself for secretly enjoying it.

Heyes put his ear to the safe and splayed his fingers around the tumbling mechanism. Slowly twirling the dial, he listened for the familiar clicks. He heard the first tumbler fall into place, then the second. A few minutes later, he heard the third click. Eighteen minutes later, the door was open.

Heyes stuck his hand inside, ready to pull out the first bundle of posters. But his hand did not touch anything like a bundle of posters. He peered inside. The posters weren’t there.

“Kid!” Heyes hissed. “We got a problem.”

Kid was at his side immediately. Heyes pointed to the safe and Kid looked inside. “Where are the posters?” Kid asked, confused.

“That’s a very good question!” Heyes stood up. “Where are our posters?” Annoyed, he pivoted, searching the office. He didn’t see any place where they could be.

“You don’t think…” Kid hesitated.

“What?”

“You don’t think maybe Miss Porter put them in the Pierce & Hamilton, do you? We did tell her they were very important.”

Heyes groaned. “I sure hope not. I can’t open that safe without blowing it, you know that.”

“Yeah. What are we gonna do?”

Heyes sat down in Miss Porter’s chair and rubbed his eyes, trying to think. Kid waited patiently.

“All right. Let’s go look around the rest of the bank. Maybe she didn’t have time to put the posters in the safe.” Heyes got up and started pacing. “Maybe the posters just arrived today and she was too busy to put them all away. So where could they be?”

Kid offered another idea for consideration. “Or maybe they arrived in the afternoon and when she saw how many there were, she knew they wouldn’t all fit in the safe.”

Heyes stopped pacing and realization flooded his face. “Kid, that’s it! Now why didn’t I think of that?” he asked rhetorically.

Kid answered anyway. “Because, Heyes, you were too busy anticipatin’ the pleasure of crackin’ a safe again, that’s why.”

Heyes gave his partner a sheepish grin.

They found all the posters under the assistant manager’s desk, stacked neatly in two tall piles. Heyes and Kid carried them all over to the front of the bank and set them down on the floor. Opening the front door a crack, Kid made sure there was no one around.

“What time is it, Heyes?”

Heyes glanced at his pocket watch. “Don’t worry, Deputy Wilkins isn’t due for another fourteen minutes.”

Heyes and Kid divided the bundles between them and tied the posters to their horses; since they’d unloaded their gear in the woods, they wouldn’t be overburdening the animals by carrying all the posters with them. Neither man said a word until they reached their campsite.

“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Heyes asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Kid rolled his own eyes back at him. “Not really, no,” he sort of lied.

“You know, Kid,” Heyes looked at his partner thoughtfully. “You really have changed, you know that?”

“Yeah, it’s called goin’ straight. You should try it sometime!”

Heyes tossed a hurt glance at the man sitting across from him. “Aw, Kid. We can still have fun even if we’re going straight, can’t we?”

“Depends on your definition of fun, Heyes. Mine don’t include gettin’ caught by the only sheriff who’s tryin’ to help us stay out of the Wyoming Territorial Prison.”

Shrugging philosophically, Heyes ended the conversation. “Guess you got a point there, partner.”

They sat in silence for a while, then Heyes reminded Kid that their work for the night wasn’t finished. “You know we have to tell Miss Porter we got the posters. We can’t let her go to the bank tomorrow and find them missing. No telling what she’d do then.”

Kid climbed onto his horse and followed Heyes back to town.

* * *

“Do we know which one is her room?” Kid and Heyes were standing under cover of a tree, looking at the Porter house in the middle of the block and trying to figure out how they could get inside without being seen or heard.

“Not exactly. She said it was on the second floor.”

“That narrows it down!” Kid snorted.

“We need to use logic here, Kid. Give me a moment.” Heyes contemplated the two-story building. “All right. See that room over there?” He pointed to a corner room.

“Yeah. How do you know it’s hers?” Kid remembered another time Heyes had been sure about a room, and had fortunately discovered his error before they’d made a serious mistake.

“Simple. It’s the only one that’s lit up. Don’t you remember? We told her to leave a lamp on so we could find her easily.”

Kid wasn’t convinced. “Well, yeah, but she was expectin’ us two days ago. What makes you think she’s still lightin’ a lamp for us?”

“Kid, Miss Porter’s smart. She knows we’re going to get here eventually. Until then, she’s probably going to keep a lamp burning every night. Come on.”

Heyes ran across the street, Kid a few steps behind. They sidled up to the back of the house, noting the tree that conveniently stood just under Miss Porter’s window.

“How much you want to bet she used that tree when she was younger?” Heyes asked.

“That’s not something a gentleman usually says about a lady, Mr. Smith,” a voice called down.

Heyes started. “Oh, good evening, Miss Porter, ma’am.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” apologized Kid. “Didn’t expect to see you there.”

“Well, wait there, please. I’ll be right down.” Miss Porter’s head disappeared and the window closed.

Moments later, the back door opened and Miss Porter invited the two men inside. She led them into a study and closed the door. “My father is a sound sleeper, gentlemen. We won’t be overheard. Please, sit down.” She indicated the sofa in front of the fireplace, and she herself sat in the chair behind the large desk that faced the window.

“Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, I’m glad to see you, even though it is,” Miss Porter looked at the clock on the desk, “Almost four fifteen in the morning.”

“We were held up on our way to Porterville, ma’am.” Kid looked sharply at Heyes, who ignored the look his partner gave him.

“That’s right, ma’am.” Kid offered another apology. “We’re very sorry for the delay. I hope it didn’t cause you any trouble.”

Miss Porter decided not to tell them how tired she was after sleeping fitfully with a lamp on for the past two nights. “Oh, no trouble at all. I’m just glad you finally got here,” she added truthfully.

“Well,” Heyes took over the conversation. “We wanted to thank you for taking delivery of the posters for us. And we wanted to let you know that we found them in the bank and we have them now.”

“I was glad to help, Mr. Smith. You know I think Mr. Trevors is an excellent sheriff,” Miss Porter began. Her eyes widened as she comprehended the rest of Heyes’ words. “You found them in the bank…?”

“Yes, ma’am. You remember,” Heyes smiled persuasively, “You gave me a key to the bank when we discussed this before.”

Miss Porter looked uncertain.

Kid added his support to Heyes. “That’s right, ma’am,” he repeated. “You said Mr. Smith would need a key to open the door so we could get the posters, and you gave him a key.”

“I suppose I did. Forgive me, gentlemen. I’m not used to being up at this hour. I think I’m still a little tired.”

“Quite all right, ma’am,” Kid assured her. “We’ll take our leave now. Thank you again.”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Porter.” Heyes paused, then asked, “If we need to speak with you about the election, may we call on you again at night? I’m sure you understand that we still don’t want Mr. Trevors to know we’re here.”

“Of course, Mr. Smith. But how will I know when you’re coming?”

Heyes smiled. “We’ll send you a message at the bank. We’ll let you know the day and the time so you can expect us. Would that be acceptable, ma’am?”

“Perfectly, gentlemen.” Miss Porter stood up. “Good night.”

* * *

Back at their camp, they built a small fire to keep the chill of the night away. Kid wanted to know why they hadn’t stayed in town and put up some posters while they were already there. “I mean, we could’ve kept some with us and put them up before we went to see Miss Porter, or done it after we talked to her.”

“Kid, we didn’t have any nails or glue to post them. And we couldn’t do it after we saw Miss Porter. It was getting light and people might’ve seen us. It was too risky.”

Heyes looked at his partner. He could tell Kid wasn’t pleased. Heyes wasn’t often the recipient of one of Kid’s icy looks and when he was, he didn’t like it. He waited for Kid to speak his mind, not wanting to hear what he had to say.

“How could you forget a thing like nails? This ain’t like you, Heyes. First you fool around in Denver, then you can’t figure out what to do when those outlaws rob the stage, and now tonight. What kind of Hannibal Heyes plan is this?”

“I can’t always be perfect,” he tried to joke.

Kid stared at him and Heyes squirmed.

“Kid, it’s been over a year since we pulled a job. I’m out of practice, that’s all.”

It sounded reasonable but Kid wasn’t buying it. “Heyes, maybe you can fool yourself but you can’t bluff me. I’ve known you too long.”

“You’re the genius now; you tell me what’s going on, then.” Heyes’ sarcastic response had no effect on Kid.

“Heyes, just ‘cos I had some ideas a few days ago, that don’t make me a genius. I don’t think it rubs off that quick.”

Heyes smothered a grin as Kid continued angrily, “What’s the matter with you? Are you tryin’ to sabotage Lom’s reelection?”

“Sabotage…?”

“I mean, are you tryin’ to make Lom lose or what?”

“I know what the word means! And no, I’m not trying to sabotage his reelection!”

“Then what, Heyes? Why aren’t you thinkin’ things through like you used to?”

Heyes shrugged and didn’t respond. He turned to go to his bedroll but Kid stepped in front of him. Kid’s temper was barely under control.

“Do I have to flatten you to get an answer? I know you want the amnesty, maybe even more than me. So why can’t you figure out the best way to help Lom so he can help us?” Kid stopped yelling. “Why is this so hard for you?”

“Kid,” Heyes shook his head and sat down. “I guess…” he began tentatively. “I guess I’m just having a hard time getting used to the idea of helping a lawman, even if it is someone I know.”

Kid nodded, encouraging him to go on.

“We’ve been on the other side for so long, it just seems… I don’t know. I mean, it’s one thing to try and stay on the straight and narrow. But to go out of our way and actively support the law, I just can’t seem to get my mind around that, even if it was my idea to begin with.”

“Heyes,” Kid said, and the tension left his body as he continued talking, “You’re the one who said if Lom didn’t win, we’d be in trouble. You’re the one who came up with the plan to help him. It’s a good plan. But I can’t do it by myself so get serious and help me out here, okay?”

Heyes looked at Kid for a while longer, then he got up and started pacing. Kid smiled to himself, satisfied that his partner was thinking with renewed determination about how to make the plan a success.

* * *

Heyes risked riding into town later that day to buy several boxes of nails. While at the mercantile, he listened to the local gossip about the Sheriff’s election. Although people spoke about Lom with respect, he also heard many people say his opponent in the race, whose name he learned was Benedict Matherson, had many good ideas for keeping Porterville safe. A prominent businessman, Matherson knew all the other business owners in town and apparently they were willing to overlook the fact that he had no experience as a lawman. Heyes left Porterville feeling unsettled but now more committed to making his plan to reelect Lom work.

That night, Heyes and Kid packed the posters on their horses and, starting at opposite ends of Porterville, nailed them to all the homes, shops and businesses in the town. When Kid met up with Heyes again, he was staring at the office of Matherson & Sons, Land Agents, from across the street.

“No, Heyes.”

“What?” Innocent brown eyes glittered.

“We are NOT goin’ inside that office.”

“Why not, Kid? We could find out how Matherson is planning to defeat Lom. We could really help him out if we knew Matherson’s plans.”

“Or we could get Lom in really big trouble if Matherson suspects a break-in. And what would Lom say if he knew?”

“No one’ll ever know.” Heyes walked across the street and knelt by the front door. “Come on, Kid.”

“This is not one of your better ideas, Heyes,” Kid said, as he unwillingly but loyally followed his partner inside.

Kid stifled a curse as he bumped into a desk in the middle of the room, his eyes not fully adjusted to the dark interior. Heyes was already rifling through the papers on the large roll-top desk in the back and gestured for Kid to join him.

“Look at this,” Heyes whispered excitedly, pointing to a ledger he’d been reading. He held it up so Kid could see it clearly but all Kid could make out was rows of numbers in tiny handwriting and names to the left of each row. “It’s the accounts for Matherson’s campaign. Do you know how useful this’ll be?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

“With this information, we’ll know exactly who…” Heyes paused as Kid’s response sunk in. “All right; fine. We’ll know who supports Lom and who doesn’t.”

“Yeah, but what can we do about it? We can’t just target Matherson’s supporters or he might get suspicious and start askin’ questions. And if Lom hears of it, he’ll definitely start wonderin’ what’s going’ on. Lom ain’t stupid. If he looks real closely at those posters, he might figure out it was us who put them up. Then what, Heyes?”

“You picked a fine time to get all logical,” Heyes grumbled. He threw up his arms in vexation. “So…what, then? After you went and got me all fired up again, now you want me to sit back and do nothing? Make up your mind, Kid!”

“I’m just sayin’,” Kid retorted, not put off by Heyes’ theatrics, “We need to be careful, is all. We can’t afford to make Lom suspicious.”

“I know that.” Heyes started pacing around the room. A glance at a paper on the other desk caught his attention and, curious, he picked it up. He stopped pacing.

“Kid, come here.”

“What now?”

“You need to see this.” Heyes held out the paper for Kid.

“This ain’t good, Heyes. We gotta do somethin’.” Kid saw Lom’s name at the top, followed by a list of untruths about his record as Sheriff.

Heyes was staring at the paper. “I know,” he said absently, as he started pacing again.

Kid searched and found a stack of papers all repeating the same lies about Lom. He picked them up and counted one hundred papers.

“All right. Here’s what we’re going to do.” Heyes brushed his hair back and faced his partner. “We take all these posters…”

“Heyes, we can’t steal them! Matherson will think Lom did it!”

“Exactly,” Heyes grinned, “And Lom will have to investigate to prove he didn’t steal them. That’ll show the whole town that Lom’s an honest sheriff who can be trusted to investigate every crime, even when he’s under suspicion himself. He’ll prove that no one is above the law in Porterville.” Except us, Heyes reflected, and kept that thought to himself.

“Heyes, where do you get these ideas? Next you’ll be wantin’ to break into Lom’s office and make it look like Matherson did it.”

“Good thinking, Kid! No one would ever suspect us!”

“Heyes, we are NOT going to break into the Sheriff’s office. That’d make Lom look bad, ‘cos if he can’t even keep his own office secure, why would people think he could protect the town?” Kid dropped the papers back on the desk. “And we’re not taking these papers, neither!”

Heyes stopped teasing his partner. “Calm down, Kid. Of course we’re not going to take these papers. Or do anything to make Lom look incompetent. Boy, you sure rile up easy now that you’ve gone straight!”

Kid glowered at Heyes as he followed him out of the building and carefully closed the door.

* * *

The following day, they sent a message to Miss Porter asking to meet her and just after midnight, they settled into the chairs in the study in her house.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure you’d like to know what people in town are saying about the posters,” Miss Porter correctly deduced. Heyes and Kid nodded and tried not to look too anxious.

“There’s been quite a lot of talk, actually.” Miss Porter smiled as she recalled some of the comments she’d overheard in the mercantile. “You’ve certainly gotten people talking about Sheriff Trevors. They’re remembering all the good things he’s done for this town.”

“Good,” said Kid. “That was the whole point.” He was pleased the posters were having the desired effect.

“I just hope everyone will actually go and cast their votes for him,” Miss Porter said.

Heyes asked sharply, “Now they realize what a good sheriff he is, why wouldn’t they vote for him? Mr. Matherson doesn’t have any experience compared to Sheriff Trevors!”

“Well,” Miss Porter didn’t want to be the one to tell them, but they needed to know. “Apparently, someone broke in to Mr. Matherson’s office last night and although nothing was taken, some people are saying that Sheriff Trevors was responsible.”

“What?! That’s ridiculous!” Heyes’ eyes flashed with anger while Kid sat and watched his partner deflect suspicion away from Lom. “He’d never do anything like that! Sheriff Trevors is the most honest sheriff I’ve ever met!”

And, Kid thought wryly, they had met a lot of sheriffs over the years. “Ma’am, what makes people think the Sheriff had anything to do with it?”

“Some of Mr. Matherson’s supporters are saying that his campaign posters aren’t very favorable to Sheriff Trevors, and he might have heard about it and want to get rid of them before anyone saw them.”

“Well, that don’t make a lot of sense,” Heyes told her. “This ain’t the Sheriff’s first election so he knows his opponent will make things up about him. He wouldn’t do anything dishonest that’d jeopardize his chance of winning.”

Miss Porter nodded. “Oh, most people know that, Mr. Smith. The talk I heard today was that they like Sheriff Trevors well enough but now they’re not so sure about him.”

“Ma’am, what’s Sheriff Trevors doin’ about it? The break-in, I mean.” Kid looked over at Heyes who looked back calmly, silently telling Kid not to worry.

“He’s investigating, Mr. Jones. He and Deputy Wilkins went over to the office as soon as they were told about it.” Miss Porter recited the details succinctly. “Mr. Matherson said he had a stack of posters on his desk and it looked like they’d been moved from where he’d put them last.”

“But how would Sheriff Trevors know where the posters were?” Heyes pointed out. “Maybe one of Mr. Matherson’s friends did it to try and make the Sheriff look bad.”

Miss Porter considered that idea. “That could also explain how the culprit got inside.”

“Ma’am?”

“The door wasn’t damaged, Mr. Jones. Whoever did it, he used a key to get inside. And of course Sheriff Trevors doesn’t have a key to Mr. Matherson’s business office.”

“I can see why people are talking about this. Sure is a shame that people are blaming the Sheriff when it’s clear he had nothing to do with it. Do you think they realize it’s got to be someone who knows Mr. Matherson well?” Heyes planted another thought in Miss Porter’s mind. “Maybe Mr. Matherson did it himself to try and get sympathy from the townsfolk so they’ll vote for him.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen, gentlemen!”

* * *

“Heyes, if the folk in town think Lom was behind the break-in, we got to do something to help him.” Back at their campsite, Kid was too agitated to go to sleep. He laid out his bedroll but then just sat down on top of it and looked over at his partner.

Heyes had already taken his boots off and gotten inside his own bedroll but he lay on his side so he could talk to Kid. Heyes knew Kid was upset. “Don’t worry, Kid, everything’ll be fine. Lom will prove he had nothing to do with it.”

“But if he don’t? Then what, Heyes?” Kid wasn’t letting him off so easy. “We got to do something,” he repeated stubbornly. He angrily threw some twigs onto the fire. It flared up and he could see that Heyes was thinking.

“In case you’ve forgotten, we did.”

“Yeah, we broke into safes and offices! Can’t you think of somethin’ law-abidin’ we can do?” Kid grumbled.

“We did that, too.”

“Oh, right. Wanted posters!”

“And it’s working. Miss Porter said people are supporting Lom again.”

“I just hope it’s enough.” Kid finished undressing, lay down and pulled his blanket around him. He looked over at Heyes, who had closed his eyes and was trying to go to sleep.

It took Kid a while longer but soon he, too, was sleeping.

* * *

“Thank you for meeting us again, ma’am. I’m sure it’s not easy for you to wait up so late, what with having to go to work early in the morning and all.” Heyes and Kid were at Miss Porter’s house for another midnight meeting.

Miss Porter succumbed to the effect of Heyes’ eyes and she revised what she had been about to say. “Well, my father sometimes lets me arrive late to work. He says women shouldn’t be held to the same standards as men. Sometimes I let him think I agree with him and this will be one of those times, gentlemen.”

Kid added, “I hope you know how much we appreciate all your help, ma’am.” He tried to figure out a way he could repay her. But taking her out to dinner hadn’t worked very well before and he wasn’t sure what else he could do.

Miss Porter smiled. “Mr. Matherson isn’t doing himself any favors. Some of his supporters have been seen pulling down the posters about Sheriff Trevors. Mr. Matherson is trying to spread untruths about the Sheriff and that’s also turning the townsfolk against him. People in town are more and more impressed with how Sheriff Trevors is handling this situation. Most people now realize what a good job he’s done and don’t want to take a chance on Mr. Matherson.”

Heyes and Kid breathed sighs of relief.

“So Sheriff Trevors will be reelected?” Heyes checked.

“Yes, Mr. Smith, I believe he will be. But until the final results are in anything can happen, you know,” Miss Porter reminded him.

“Well, ma’am, I’m sure Sheriff Trevors is honored to have the support of you and all the other good ladies of Porterville. I know you’ll all vote for the man who’ll keep the town safe for you and your families.”

Once again, Kid was amused to see Heyes’ flattery charm her. He knew she would persuade all her women friends to vote for Lom and do her best to ensure his victory.

* * *

The evening before the election found them back at their campsite on the outskirts of Porterville. Heyes was walking around and around the campfire, a variation to his usual pacing that did nothing to help Kid’s nerves. Kid was sitting on a blanket, his back against his saddle, idly peeling the bark off a pile of twigs near the fire.

“Will you cut it out?” he groused.

“It calms me down, you know that.”

“Well, it’s not calming me, so stop.”

Heyes sat down for a moment next to Kid.

“Want to play blackjack?”

“No.”

“Want to clean my gun?”

“No.”

“Since when?”

“Huh?”

“Since when don’t you want to clean my gun? You always want to clean my gun!” Heyes got up and went over to his saddlebag. He returned and thrust his gun at Kid. “Here.”

Kid ignored him. “Go read a book, Heyes.”

“It’s too dark.”

“Plenty of light by the fire. Try it; you’ll see.” Kid chuckled.

Heyes had had enough. “How can you just sit there doing nothing?” he demanded.

Kid tossed the twig he’d been working on into the fire. “Ain’t nothin’ else I can do, Heyes. I reckon we done the best we could. Now it’s up to the voters.”

“Maybe we should pay them to vote for Lom,” Heyes suggested.

“Even if we had the money, how would we manage to do that? We’d be recognized right away.”

“I bet Matherson’s going to buy some votes.”

“Probably,” Kid agreed. “But if Miss Porter’s right, it won’t make a difference.”

“Kid, I don’t know how you can just sit there and wait. There’s got to be something more we can do!” Heyes didn’t want to accept the fact that his future was no longer in his control. He continued walking around and around and kept coming up with ideas, but discarded them without even telling Kid. They were all crazy and foolhardy and he knew his partner wouldn’t agree.

Finally, Heyes gave up. “All right,” he said crossly, as he sank down next to Kid. “You win. We wait.”

“No, Heyes. Lom’ll win. Have a little faith!” he reminded him.

“Shut up!”

* * *

Skulking around town in broad daylight wasn’t an option so Heyes and Kid found a spot where they could hide but which still gave them a good view of the schoolhouse where the townsfolk were voting. They passed the binoculars back and forth as Election Day wore on, trying to get a sense of how the voting was going. It seemed to them that a lot of people were going inside. People were dressed up and in good spirits, as far as they could tell. They hoped that was good for Lom.

“What time does the voting end, Heyes?”

“Six o’clock.” He looked at his pocket watch. “About an hour from now.”

“You think we’ll ever be able to vote?”

“You want to vote?” Heyes turned in surprise to look at Kid. “What for?”

Kid wasn’t sure he could explain. Wasn’t sure he even wanted to. He shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t you?” he asked, trying to avoid answering.

“Not really,” Heyes responded. He thought for a bit, then added, “Sometimes I do but then I see all the crooked people who get elected and I figure why bother, ‘cos it won’t make a difference one way or the other.”

“But that’s it, Heyes! If people vote honestly, then good people, like Lom, would get elected.” Kid wanted his partner to understand. “Maybe my vote could make a difference.”

Kid’s earnestness almost made Heyes laugh. Sometimes, Kid was just too naïve, always looking for the good in people. Heyes thought sourly that he was too cynical. Or maybe it was just that he’d seen more of life--and death--than Kid had.

“I guess doing our civic duty has inspired you,” Heyes joked. It was the wrong thing to say.

“This ain’t a joke!” Kid was angry. “We’re real close to havin’ normal lives, Heyes. If Lom don’t win... I don’t know what we’ll do if Lom loses.” Kid shook his head and turned his back to Heyes so he wouldn’t see how anxious he was. He’d hid it last night but now Kid was having a hard time being patient.

Heyes walked around so he faced Kid. “I want that, too, you know. But whatever happens, we’ll manage. We always do.”

“Bein’ able to vote, that’s normal. I just want…normal, is all,” Kid said softly.

Heyes didn’t know what to say. He looked back at the schoolhouse. “Hey, I think they finished. Look.” He pointed to the man carrying a big wooden box, padlock clearly visible, up the street, surrounded by Lom, Matherson, the Mayor and other town notables.

“Now what are they doin’?” Kid asked.

“Looks like they’re going to count the votes somewhere else.” Heyes and Kid followed the crowd, making sure to stay out of sight.

They watched as the men, along with by a substantial number of women and children, walked over to the church. A few men went inside and came back with a table and a few chairs. One of the town councilors set up a chalkboard he’d brought over from the Mayor’s office on the table, where everyone could see it clearly. He drew a line down the middle and at the top wrote “Sheriff Trevors” on the left and “Mr. Matherson” on the right. He underlined the names with a flourish. Two other councilors sat in the chairs, each holding a piece of chalk.

A few minutes later, the town’s minister came out of the church. The Mayor handed him the key to the box and then addressed the waiting crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know you all want to know the results of the election for Sheriff of Porterville. Before we start the vote count, I want to assure you that no one has tampered with this box. Sheriff Trevors and Mr. Matherson or their supporters have never let it out of their sight the entire day. Isn’t that correct, gentlemen?” he turned and asked them. Getting affirmative nods in response, the Mayor continued. “To make doubly certain there are no shenanigans as the votes are being counted, you can see we have taken extra precautions. I’ve asked our minister to count the votes; I’m sure everyone agrees that a man of God will be honest. There are supporters of both candidates here and two of the town councilors will record the actual votes on this board, in plain view of all of you. Does that meet with everyone’s approval?”

It did.

Heyes and Kid watched in fascination as well as trepidation as the votes were slowly tallied. The minister pulled the ballots from the box one at a time and loudly read out the name on the paper. The town councilors made a mark on the board under the name that was called. The townspeople and each candidate’s supporters ensured that the marks went in the correct place.

Over the next quarter of an hour, the marks in each candidate’s column increased at an even pace. Then, Matherson pulled ahead by fifteen votes.

“No!” Kid clenched his fists and then his right hand strayed unconsciously to his holster.

“Kid! It’s okay.” Heyes saw how tense Kid was and, although he didn’t really think Kid was about to shoot something, or someone, he needed to get him to relax. “Remember when all the offices closed for lunch and a group of men went together to vote? That must be what the minister’s counting now.”

Kid began to breathe again. So did Heyes.

The minister was still pulling votes from the ballot box but it was taking him longer to retrieve them. Lom was behind now by only six votes. The crowd sensed that the vote count was almost finished and began to get unruly. Scattered shouts of “hurry up!” and “stop dilly dallying!” were heard.

Lom moved to quiet the spectators. “Let’s be patient, folks. It’s just a bit longer and then it’ll all be over.” The Sheriff’s words calmed the crowd and the minister resumed his reading of the ballots.

Lom’s name was read out four more times.

Heyes was now just as tense as Kid. “Come on,” he encouraged the minister. “Three more votes; that’s all he needs.”

“Heyes! Maybe he hasn’t counted the votes from the ladies! They all voted in the morning, remember? They took their kids to school and then voted, before they went shopping.” Kid thought of something else. “So all their votes would be on the bottom, because they went so early, right?” He looked at Heyes for confirmation.

A big grin spread across Heyes’ face. “I guess being a genius IS contagious! You’re right, Kid. Lom’s going to win!” The relief on his face revealed just how uncertain he had really been of the outcome.

While they had been talking, the minister had continued his job and Heyes and Kid both noticed that Lom had pulled ahead by six votes. The minister was still plucking ballots from the box but he had to fish around for them. He read Lom’s name two more times and Matherson’s once. The Sheriff was now in front by seven votes. The crowd was silent, anticipating the end result. The last three ballots were retrieved and they all went to Lom.

The Mayor raised his hands to get the townspeople’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have all witnessed the vote count and as Mayor of this town, I certify that it was conducted openly and honestly. I am pleased to announce that the winner of the election for Sheriff of Porterville is Mr. Lom Trevors! Congratulations, sir, and well done!” The crowd applauded and although a few jeers were heard, it was obvious that the majority of honest voters were jubilant at the outcome.

Lom moved in front of the table so he could be seen clearly by everyone as he gave a short speech. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your support and confidence in me. I will work hard and serve to the best of my ability as your Sheriff. Now, duty calls and I must get back to work.” He walked over to his office and the crowd slowly dispersed.

Heyes and Kid stood there, unseen by the townspeople who were returning to their homes. Then, they grabbed each other and held tight for a moment, before letting go and looking at each other, elation and relief equally reflected on both their faces.

“We did it, Kid! We did it!” Heyes almost couldn’t believe it. “Lom won!”

Kid was dazed. He had hoped for this result but hadn’t truly expected it to happen. It was one of the few times in his life that something had gone his way. “And all because of the ladies. Let’s remember the ladies, Heyes.” He thought he’d be eternally grateful to Miss Porter and her friends.

“Well, we helped, too.” Heyes wasn’t about to let Kid forget that they had played a major part in Lom’s reelection. “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”

* * *

Back at the campsite and several shots of whiskey later, Heyes and Kid were still celebrating.

“Here’s to Lom, the best sheriff an outlaw could ever know!” Heyes raised his glass and drank.

“To Lom, the besht… the besht…” Kid couldn’t figure out how to end it. “The besht!” He tossed back his drink and poured another for both of them. “I think I’m drunk.”

“I know you are!” Heyes said, grinning. He thought a moment, then added, “Me, too!”

They drank until the bottle was empty, enjoying the feeling of freedom it gave them, knowing they could rarely indulge like that. They were safe in the woods and they needed to release all the tension of the past few weeks. Tomorrow they’d have hangovers but tonight they allowed themselves the pleasure, glad they were partners, secure in the knowledge that they’d always be there for each other.

* * *

“Howdy, Lom.”

He looked up from the paperwork he’d been filling out to see Heyes standing in front of his desk and Kid over by the stove.

“Want some coffee?” Kid asked, holding up the pot that was always half-filled. He poured three cups, passed them around, then he and Heyes sat down.

“What do you want?” Lom asked suspiciously, remembering the last time they’d visited him.

A hurt look crossed Heyes’ face. “We came to congratulate you,” he said. “Heard you got reelected.” A few days had passed since the election and he figured it was time they visited the Sheriff.

“Oh,” Lom said contritely. “Thanks.”

“Heard it got pretty exciting around here,” Heyes said, angling to see how much Lom knew about the events that had occurred during the campaign.

Lom eyed the pair speculatively. “It was a close race. I was lucky to win.”

“You got a lot of supporters, Lom. It’s a good town for a good sheriff.” Kid raised his cup in a toast.

“You know, Lom,” Heyes began. “When we rode in today, we saw a poster on the door of the livery with your name on it. Looked like it was from the election.” He managed to make it a question.

Lom flushed. “Well, last week the whole town was covered with them. Houses, businesses, even Matherson’s office. They just appeared one day.”

“Really? And no one knows who put them up?” There was laughter in Heyes’ eyes as he asked and Kid glanced at his partner, warning him not to push it.

“Nope. But it sure cost a lot of money to get them posters made. Wasn’t done in Porterville; I asked.” Lom stared hard at Heyes.

Heyes smiled back at Lom. “Well, whoever it was, he sure was a genius.”

Kid choked on his coffee.

“You okay, Kid?” Heyes thumped him on his back. Kid glared at him.

“We told you you wouldn’t lose, didn’t we, Kid?”

“Yup. We’re real glad you won, Lom.”

“Thanks, boys. I appreciate that.”

Lom told Heyes and Kid about his investigation of the break-in, hoping they’d slip and say something that confirmed their involvement but they knew what he was doing and were careful about what they said.

“Well, Lom,” Heyes said a while later, “I think we ought to be going. Here’s the money we owe you.” Heyes had wrapped all the bills in a piece of paper. He gave the money to Lom, who left it on top of his desk. “It means a lot that you trusted us with it,” he said seriously.

Kid stood up. “Thanks again, Lom, for everything.” He and Heyes shook Lom’s hand.

“You boys take care, you hear?”

“We will, and give our best to the Governor!” Heyes called over his shoulder, as he and Kid exited the office.

Lom watched them walk away, then began to count his money. Only after he had finished, relieved that the full amount had been returned, did he look at the paper the money had been wrapped up in. His name was printed at the top and his picture was underneath.

Sheriff Lom Trevors sat back in his chair and laughed.

Wretched

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 22:58:36 CST

By Ghislaine Emrys

There was a bowl of water next to him on the bed. He drank some and spilled more, but he was so thirsty he lapped up as much as he could.

Time passed.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. He didn’t even know how he got there. All he had was a vague memory of playing poker in a saloon one night, eating and drinking and winning as usual, and then waking up barefoot, his right foot securely tied to a bed with a foul-smelling mattress, his hands tied behind him.

He could see he was in a cabin, but there were no windows and it was dark so he couldn’t tell if it was night or day. He could hear, though, and the scurrying sounds made him uneasy. There was no furniture except the bed and a basin on the floor to his left.

A man entered the cabin and Heyes got a glimpse of sunlight. Is it morning or afternoon? I wish I knew how long I’ve been here. The man paused by the door, saying nothing, just looking at his prisoner lying helpless. He approached Heyes and exchanged the bowl he was holding for the other one on the bed. He closed the door as he went out, still without saying a word, and Heyes was left in the dark.

More time passed.

Heyes tried to figure out how to escape. The rope binding his wrists was tight. He flexed his hands, trying to create some slack. It didn’t work. He shook his leg, to see if he could loosen the rope. Nope. He was stuck. For now. Heyes had no doubt that he’d be able to free himself eventually. But if he couldn’t, then Kid would do it for him.

He lay on his back, thinking. I don’t remember seeing that man in the saloon so he must have a partner somewhere. He knows who I am, but I have no recollection of him. He was never a member of a gang I rode with, and I never crossed paths with him when I was robbing banks and trains. If he was a sheriff, he wouldn’t go to all this trouble. Must be a bounty hunter. Whoever he is, I will defeat him, one way or another.

Heyes shifted and looked into the bowl. It contained some kind of broth, and there were lumps floating on top. He had to keep his strength up, be ready to escape when an opportunity presented itself, but he didn’t know when he’d get more food so he had to ration how much he ate at any one time. He wasn’t hungry, so he carefully rolled over onto his back and continued thinking.

Where’s Kid? Is he all right or is he in trouble, too? How long will it be before he realizes I’m in trouble? How long will it take him to find me? Heyes had no doubt that Kid would find him. Hey, Kid? Make it soon, will you?

They could sense when the other one was in danger. How many times have I been miles away but known you needed my help? Like that time you were in Santa Marta—even before the telegram, I had a feeling something awful had happened. Or I’m in trouble and you have to, well, you know. Have to admit, this’d be another good time to show off your skill with a gun, Kid.

Heyes must have dozed off because he suddenly heard a noise. Oh, great. Rats. Lots of them, running all over the place. Now I have to make sure they don’t get into that bowl and eat my food.

Heyes slowly turned onto his stomach, eyeing the liquid in the bowl sloshing around as he tried to make himself more comfortable. His shoulders ached so he figured he’d been tied up for several hours, maybe even a day.

He sighed. Would’ve been nice if that bounty hunter had tied my hands in front. Would’ve made it easier to eat. Heyes had to lie on his belly and stick his face in the bowl and slurp up the broth as best he could. He got half of it down his throat and managed to spill only a little onto the bed. Not the most enjoyable meal I’ve ever had.

He wiggled his hands some more. All he achieved were rope burns. He gave up trying to free himself that way.

Maybe I can use my hands to loosen the rope around my foot. He tried to sit up so he could move to the end of the bed. Dizziness overcame him and he collapsed onto his back.

Very slowly, Heyes sat up again, giving his head a chance to stop spinning. He scooted down to the edge of the bed. Got to be careful. Don’t want to knock the bowl over. Don’t want to fall off the bed, either; might be difficult to get back on. And I sure don’t want to be on the floor with those rats.

When Heyes finally got a good look at how he was tied to the bed, he groaned. The rope that bound him was coiled around his ankle several times and tied with many knots. It would take him hours to undo it, even if he had full use of his hands. At least it’s not like being caught in a steel bear trap. Close, though. Heyes continued to stare at the rope around his leg. Maybe inspiration would strike if he looked long enough.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just staring.

Heyes’ fingers were bleeding from rubbing against the strands of the coarse rope when he finally stopped working at it. He twisted round so he could see the rope. It didn’t look like he’d made any progress at all. Heyes refused to be disappointed.

He thought again about his partner. Kid should’ve figured out by now something’s wrong. He’s smart. He knows if a job or person or place don’t look right, something’s likely wrong with it. Kid’s better than me at sniffing out danger, not that I’d ever tell him that. But it’s why he’s so good at watching my back. Just a matter of time before Kid tracks me down.

Having cheered himself up, Heyes got back to work on the leg rope. It was slow going. He rubbed his foot against the bedpost, trying to slide the rope off. He was successful only in gashing his ankle on splinters in the rough wood. Blood spurted out and soaked into the already-filthy mattress.

His shoulders hurt, his fingers hurt, and his stomach was beginning to hurt, too. Suddenly, his gut cramped up and waves of pain shot up and down his torso. Maybe I’m dehydrated; probably need to drink more liquid. Only had that one bowl of water and some soup since I’ve been here. Wish I could work out how long that’s been.

Heyes wriggled back up the bed until his head could reach the bowl. He slurped up some broth. His hair fell into the bowl as he reached the bottom but he didn’t care as long as the cramps went away. He left the gobs of meat for later, when his stomach could handle solid food better.

His face was sticky so he wiped his mouth on the mattress. He gagged at the reek of stale tobacco, cheap whiskey, and dried sweat.

The cramps weren’t going away. In fact, they were getting worse. Heyes lay on his stomach, hoping the pressure would reduce the pain, and tried to avoid inhaling the stink of the bed.

All of a sudden, he retched. Most of it landed on the floor. Some of it dribbled down his chin and his neck. Heyes was disgusted. Come on, Kid. Get me out of here so I can take a bath.

He shivered. Temperature’s gone down; must be night. Sure is cold. Wish I had my boots and a blanket. Heyes drifted into a restless sleep.

When he woke up, there was a new bowl on the bed. He hadn’t heard the bounty hunter come in to replace it.

Kid must be looking for me by now. He can’t be too far away. Got to be here soon. Heyes held on to that comforting thought for a long time.

The cramps had subsided while Heyes slept. But now, he needed to relieve himself. Even if he’d thought of it while the bounty hunter had been there, Heyes knew he wouldn’t have been allowed the dignity of leaving the cabin to take care of things. He was going to have to manage on his own, inside.

Except, he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t possible, tied up the way he was. The basin was on the ground, tantalizing him, but he was unable to use it. He slid as close as he could to the edge of the bed and gave in to the inevitable. Felt it running down his legs, wetting his longjohns and pants, wetting the bed.

Felt even worse, after.

Like when we were at Valparaiso and Jed and me were hiding ‘cos he was hungry and we took some food from the kitchen. Jed was too young and scared to stick up for himself, so I had to take care of him. I was glad to do it, too. But I got stuck in our secret cubbyhole and it took so long for Jed to come back with help, I couldn’t hold it anymore. Had to find a new hideout after that.

Kid’s my best friend and I still need to look out for him. ‘Course, I won’t object if he wants to even things up a bit now. Hurry up, Kid!

Heyes lay there for a good long time. His clothes were soaked but there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to ignore the discomfort.

Hungry, he moved over to the bowl. This time, the liquid was brown. How unappetizing. But he stuck his head in and drank some. Good thing I was the one who got caught—Kid would definitely not like the food at this restaurant. The joke sounded feeble even to him.

His stomach began to cramp and he felt sick. Oh, not again. Please, not again. This time, he positioned himself so he could reach the basin. After, he rinsed his mouth out with some broth but it wasn’t strong enough to wash the sour taste away.

Heyes rolled over onto his back. He closed his eyes and eventually fell asleep.

The rats crept nearer, sniffing the floor around the bed. A few climbed up onto the mattress and licked the dried blood from the cuts on Heyes’ foot. He dreamed he was being caressed and his body trembled with pleasure. The rats scuttled away.

When he awoke, Heyes was thirsty. He drank more of the broth. Then he shifted so he could work at the ropes that held him captive. He groaned, feeling miserable. This is not going the way it’s supposed to. Where are you, Kid? What’s taking you so long? I know you’re a good tracker and you won’t give up, no matter how faint the trail. But, damn it, you should’ve been here by now. It can’t be that hard to find me, can it? Heyes almost smiled. He could hear Kid’s voice telling him not to be so proddy.

The pain in his body, the smell and mess of the bed, the rats on the floor--all were conspiring against him as he attempted to untie his bonds. Heyes slumped in despair. For the first time, he wondered if he’d be able to get free.

He lay there, trying to breathe evenly, trying not to let panic overtake him. Stay calm. I have to stay calm. Don’t give up. Don’t let that bounty hunter win. That isn’t going to happen. I will escape. I will.

But how? Every time he ate or drank he felt sick, and he was no closer to loosening the ropes than when he started hours—days?—ago.

In a flash, it hit him. The food was making him sick. The man must be drugging it; there was no other explanation.

Heyes slept some more. He was stiff when he woke up. He was hungry but didn’t eat. He’d wait as long as he could before putting more of that poison into his body.

What happened to Kid? How’s he ever going to find this place? Maybe they’re just waiting for Kid to show himself so they can capture him, too. Maybe that was the plan from the very beginning. Use me as bait to capture Kid. Then, no more Hannibal Heyes or Kid Curry. Dead is just as good, and a whole lot easier, than alive.

Heyes lay there. His mouth was dry but he didn’t want to drink the broth. He held out as long as he could, but finally he broke down and slid up to the bowl. He almost knocked it over as he lowered his face into it. He took in a mouthful and drops stuck to the beard beginning to show on his face.

His mind wandered. He thought about places he’d been and places he wanted to go to but wasn’t sure which was which. Faces kept showing themselves but he couldn’t put names to them. He heard a low moan from somewhere and a sound like, “Kid…?”

He felt sick again but was too tired to move. Wasn’t sure why he should until he retched and it landed on top of him. Then he rolled over, and smeared the mess into his shirt and the mattress.

Shortly after that, he felt a wetness against his legs. Didn’t know where it came from. He rolled away but he was still wet.

The stench no longer bothered Heyes. He was only vaguely aware of his surroundings, couldn’t remember why he was there. He tried at some point to turn over but he only managed to knock the bowl onto the floor. The contents splattered and the rats quickly feasted on it.

Time passed.

A sharp sound pulled Heyes back to the verge of consciousness. He heard another sound, then nothing.

A man came through the door. The bright light behind him caused Heyes to blink his eyes open. Silhouetted by the sun, and half blind from being in the dark so long, all Heyes could make out was that the man had curly hair. The light hurt and Heyes closed his eyes.

“Oh, God, Heyes, what did they do to you?” The man stopped at the edge of the bed. In his hand was not a bowl but a gun.

Heyes wondered if he should know the man. But it took too much effort to think and he didn’t have the strength.

Kid looked at his best friend, trussed up and lying helpless on the bed. He hadn’t known what he’d find but he hadn’t been expecting this. This was bad. Kid could tell that Heyes didn’t even recognize him.

As Kid’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw what he’d missed when he first entered the cabin. The filthy mattress Heyes was lying on. Heyes’ clothes covered with food remains and other easily identified stains. Heyes stinking so bad Kid almost had to hold his breath when he bent over him.

Kid saw the basin on the floor, saw what was in the basin and what was on the floor near it. He saw the small bowl, tipped on its side. Most of the rats had disappeared but a few remained. Kid shook with anger as he put the pieces together.

Heyes—who’d always put a bath before breakfast, reduced to living like an animal for the past four days. Heyes—who could always talk himself out of a problem, but not this time. This time, he almost hadn’t made it.

“I’m sorry, Heyes, I’m so sorry.” Kid said it over and over as he cut his partner loose. “I should’ve come sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Kid picked his friend up and carried him out of the cabin, never giving the two bodies on the porch a second glance.

He carried Heyes to the wagon he had waiting, laid him gently in the back. He climbed up after him and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. “You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you, Heyes. You’re gonna be all right. I promise, Heyes. Everything’s gonna be all right now.” Kid said it for himself as much as for Heyes.

Then Kid climbed into the front seat of the wagon and drove away as fast as he dared.

Equilibrium

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 22:58:12 CST

By Ghislaine Emrys

“I think we should go towards Shingle Springs,” Kid said. “There’s a lake once we reach the mountains that’s …” He stopped talking when he saw Heyes’ face.

“I thought you didn’t know any fishing places around here,” Heyes said suspiciously. Kid didn’t answer, but looked a little guilty.

After spending a whole week in a no-name town, where no one recognized them, shot at them, or tried to arrest them, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry had decided to reward themselves with a fishing trip. They’d checked out of their no-name hotel, pleased to be leaving by the front door for once, eaten breakfast, paid off the man who’d looked after their horses at the livery, and ridden out of town. When they’d reached a sign at a fork in the road that pointed left for Shingle Springs and right for Salmon Falls, they’d paused.

“Salmon Falls sounds promising. I mean, with a name like that, there’s gotta be good fishing, right? At least, that’s what the bartender…” Heyes stopped abruptly, realizing that he wasn’t supposed to know any good fishing spots either.

Kid narrowed his eyes. Then he grinned. “Okay, what’d the bartender tell ya?”

“Uh, that Salmon Falls lives up to its name and it’s only half a day’s ride away,” Heyes responded sheepishly.

“Uh huh,” said Kid skeptically. “The waitress in the restaurant said Shingle Springs is real nice and that it was only half a day’s ride away.”

Heyes and Kid looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

“Got a coin, Kid?”

“Yup.” Kid made no move to take one out of his vest pocket.

“Aren’t you gonna give it to me?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? We don’t got all day, you know.”

“Well, Heyes,” Kid began. “Whenever we flip a coin, you always win.”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not—you won once!”

“Yeah, well, that’s because you let me win.” Kid didn’t sound too happy about it. “And look how good that turned out. I ended up in jail after that stupid job in Mexico.”

“So? You still won. And I got the money back from Grace to clear you.”

“Heyes,” Kid sighed. “Why even bother? Just pick a direction and I’ll follow.”

Heyes smiled and it reached his deep brown eyes. “I know, Kid.” For a moment longer Heyes sat there, as if he were mentally tossing a coin. Then he turned his horse to the right. “I know,” he said so softly that Kid didn’t hear him.

A little louder, Heyes said, “This way.” He nudged his horse onto the road to Salmon Falls and, after a minute, Kid put his knees to his horse’s flanks and caught up to Heyes.

* * *

A couple of hours later, they spotted some trees and decided to stop and rest their horses. The sun was almost overhead and Kid and Heyes were sweating and just about covered with dust. It hadn’t rained recently and the dirt road didn’t look to get any less dusty anytime soon. They led their horses into the meager shade, where their animals could graze on the little wisps of grass that managed to grow in the dry, sun-baked ground. Then they took their canteens and sat down, leaning against a couple of trees.

Kid took a sip of the warm water and grimaced. “I sure hope it’s cooler at that river. Fishing in this heat ain’t gonna be much fun.”

“Why, Kid, you complaining already?” Heyes was amused. “And we’re not even halfway there yet.” He stretched his legs out, took a swig from his own canteen, and contemplated his best friend. It seemed that lately, Kid was always finding something to complain about. True, the past week had been okay but before that, not a day had gone by but Kid found something to moan about—the food, the liquor, the lack of money, the lack of women, the weather. Every little thing seemed to bother Kid, and Heyes hadn’t been able to talk him out of his sour mood. So when he had heard there was good fishing in the area, he’d hoped that might be a restful, relaxing diversion for them both. Maybe once they were up in the mountains, smelling the fresh pine-scented air, sitting at the edge of a river with no one else around, Kid would finally tell him what was really bothering him.

“What do we have to eat?” Kid asked. He was rummaging through his saddlebags and found some beef jerky and beans. That was not his idea of a filling midday meal.

“Uh, coffee, jerky, beans, and flour,” Heyes replied.

Kid stared incredulously at Heyes. “That’s it? That’s all you brought? What are we supposed to eat for a week?”

“Well,” Heyes began, “Let’s see. I was thinking we’d have coffee and biscuits for breakfast, catch some fish or shoot something for supper, and then have jerky and beans for dinner. Very healthy if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you!” Kid was not pleased at the lack of variety in their upcoming diet.

“Yes, you did. And we also have some cigars for after dinner.” Heyes was glad he’d remembered to buy them; he always enjoyed a fine cigar in the evening.

“That supposed to make me feel better?” Kid demanded.

“Yeah. Does it?”

“No.”

“May I remind you…”

“No, you may not.”

“May I remind you,” Heyes spoke more slowly this time, “that the reason for this trip is to do some fishing? We will catch fish, cook fish, eat fish. We will be in the mountains. Wild animals live in the mountains. Wild plants grow in the mountains. We will be surrounded by food. Food will not be a problem. We will not starve!”

“The problem,” Kid gritted his teeth, “is that I’m hungry now! And I don’t see a stream around here or any wild animals, either! But I sure could shoot something right about now!”

“You could always eat that scorpion over there,” Heyes joked. “I hear it’s a delicacy in some places in Africa.”

Kid looked to where Heyes was pointing and saw a scorpion slowly crawling towards him. It was about two inches long and its curved tail was twitching in the air. Kid glowered at Heyes, drew his gun, and shot it. The tail soon stopped twitching.

“Feel better?” Heyes asked solicitously. “You know what? There’s only enough for one person. You can have it, seeing as you shot it and all.”

“Gee, thanks, Heyes.” Kid’s sarcasm was not lost on Heyes. “We’re not in Africa and I’m not gonna eat that thing!”

Kid stood up abruptly. “Let’s just go. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can have some real food.” He brushed the dust from his clothes and swung up onto his horse. “Coming?”

Heyes slowly followed, thinking that seven days could turn out to be a really long time.

* * *

Gradually, the landscape changed from shades of brown to shades of green. Cactus gave way to sage bush, then to high meadows of wildflowers and finally, to mountains covered with forests of pine and spruce. The road narrowed and became rockier but it was still wide enough for two horses to ride side by side. It was late afternoon and Kid thought they should be there real soon.

“Heyes, you know where we’re going?”

“Sure, Kid,” Heyes replied. “Salmon Falls.”

“I mean, do you know how to get there?” Kid glared at his partner. His stomach was telling him it was time to eat and his eyes were telling him it’d soon be time to stop and make camp for the night. It was certainly not time to fool around.

“Why didn’t you say so? Of course I know. The bartender told me all about it, remember?” Heyes smiled mischievously. He also had a map in his saddlebag but he didn’t want to tell Kid that, not if he could help it. “All we need to do is follow this road until we reach a river. Then we’re there. Simple, really!”

Kid sighed in exasperation. “That’s just great. We better get there soon, Heyes. I do not want to be riding in these mountains in the dark.”

Heyes looked at his partner and decided to stop joking around. “Kid, listen. What do you hear?”

“I hear you acting stupid.”

“Well, okay, but what else?” Heyes allowed Kid his irritation. After all, he had missed his lunch.

“Uh… Oh!” Kid looked up and saw Heyes smiling. The sound of water flowing over rocks had finally penetrated Kid’s brain. “You mean this is Salmon Falls? Why didn’t you say so?”

Heyes paused a moment before answering, letting his breath out in a slow but audible sigh. “I was about to, but then you got so riled up, you didn’t give me a chance.

“Sorry, Heyes.” Kid looked abashed. “You know how I get when I’m hungry.”

“Sure, Kid. Never mind. I think if we just ride a little further, we can find a good place for a campsite. Whaddaya say, partner?”

Kid flashed him a grin and rode on ahead, eagerly anticipating the end of their journey.

* * *

After reaching the river itself and setting up their campsite, Heyes and Kid found a path down to the water. There were some flat-topped boulders at the river’s edge, which would be a comfortable spot for fishing; the water wasn’t moving swiftly and they could see salmon and other fish clearly.

They returned to the campsite. “You know, Heyes, I think we made a good choice to come here,” Kid said, making a fishing pole as he talked. He gave Heyes a quick glance, which was ignored. “It sure looks peaceful, don’t it?”

“Yeah, Kid, this is just what we needed.” Heyes looked around with satisfaction. “How ‘bout we get us some dinner, huh? I’ll cook up some beans and you can try that out,” Heyes said, nodding towards the new fishing pole.

“All right.” Kid got to his feet and went down to the river. Heyes could faintly hear the plop of the fishing line as Kid repeatedly threw it in the water.

By the time Kid came back with two fish, Heyes had a fire going and the beans were ready, kept warm in the embers of the fire. Kid speared the fish with two twigs and held them above the fire, turning them over occasionally to cook evenly through. After about fifteen minutes they were done, and Kid took them and himself over to where Heyes was leaning up against his saddle.

Kid spooned some beans onto his plate and waited for Heyes to take a bite of the fish. “Well?”

“Gotta say, Kid, it’s about as good as your coffee,” Heyes joked.

“Guess that means it’s delicious!” Kid grinned and started eating his meal. It was simple but tasty, and soon he was full. He took his plate, and Heyes’, and went down to the river to wash them off. Heyes took out two cigars and he gave one to Kid when he returned.

They lit up and smoked contentedly, without feeling the need to talk. It was dusk and the nocturnal animals and insects were beginning to make their presence known. They listened to the forest sounds and heard nothing but raccoons, crickets, and other night creatures. They looked up at the stars, just beginning to be visible. Heyes and Kid welcomed the change from always looking over their shoulders, always wondering who was about to recognize them or betray them or blackmail them into doing something they didn’t want to do. Up here, maybe they could actually relax for a while.

Kid sighed.

Heyes glanced at Kid but didn’t say anything, waiting.

“I think I’ll turn in,” Kid said. “Been a long day.”

Now it was Heyes’ turn to sigh. So much for that idea! “I think I’ll stay up a bit longer. The stars look nice tonight, don’t you think?”

“Sure, Heyes, whatever you say.” Kid went over and opened up his bedroll. He folded his sheepskin jacket into a pillow. He sat down and pulled off his boots, putting them on the ground to his right. Kid took off his gun belt and lay it beside him, then removed his gun from the holster and slipped it under his jacket pillow, where he could reach it quickly if need be. Then he lay down and pulled a blanket over himself. “’Night, Heyes.”

“Good night, Kid. Sleep well.” Heyes sat for a while longer. He located the Dog Star and the Big Dipper, turned his head and found Orion’s Belt. Not for the first time, he wondered if man would ever travel to the stars. If it was possible to travel across the country by train, and circle the globe in a ship, then why not? Heyes pondered whether he would really want to do that, and decided that he had enough difficulty staying out of trouble here on Earth. He’d let some other genius think up the plan for travel to outer space.

And with that thought, Heyes got up and prepared his bedroll and as soon as his head touched his pillow, he fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning, Heyes was up first, as usual, and made coffee and biscuits. By the time Kid woke up, the sun was shining brightly. Heyes took a plate of biscuits and a cup of coffee over to Kid who, although he was awake, hadn’t yet put on his gun belt or boots. Heyes sat down next to Kid and started eating his own breakfast.

“Morning, Heyes.” Kid took the food proffered him. He took a small sip of the coffee and sputtered. “Sheesh! What is it with you and coffee? How hard can it be to make it right?”

“Kid, I’m in such a good mood this morning I’m just gonna ignore that,” Heyes said. He glowered at Kid but the effect was spoiled because his brown eyes were sparkling with humor. “Tomorrow, you can make the coffee, okay?”

“If you don’t mind waiting for it, that’s fine by me,” Kid told him. “Just don’t expect me to get up in the dark like you.” Unlike the coffee, the biscuits were good and Kid devoured three of them before speaking again. “Got any plans for today, Heyes?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m gonna sit right here and read this book.” Heyes held it up so Kid could see the title: Oliver Twist.

Kid snorted. “How many times you read that book, Heyes? Three? Four? Ain’t you sick of it by now?” Kid just couldn’t understand the attraction it held for Heyes.

“I like it, Kid. It reminds me that our lives could be a lot worse.”

“Yeah, but that don’t mean everything’s real good, either. You know that, right?” Kid’s blue eyes had turned hard and the look he gave his cousin would have given even Bill Sikes pause. He picked up his plate and took it over to the fire. Heyes had cleaned the empty bean can from the night before and filled it with water for washing. Kid scrubbed his plate clean, then threw the rest of his coffee into the trees and washed out his cup, drying both with the tail of his shirt. He took the dishes over to his saddlebag and put them inside to protect them from insects.

Kid buckled on his gun belt and checked that his gun was loaded. He stood and glared at Heyes, who was still sitting next to Kid’s bedroll. “I’m going hunting. Enjoy your book.” Kid stomped off.

Heyes shook his head. That went well, he thought ruefully. He picked up his book and began to read.

* * *

Kid knew his temper had gotten the better of him once again. He regretted snapping at Heyes but sometimes he just got so annoyed he couldn’t help himself. Why was Heyes always so optimistic? Couldn’t he see that the governor was stringing them along and had no intention of giving them the amnesty? It’d been well over a year and if anything, they were worse off now than when they’d been outlawing. At least then they could go to Devil’s Hole for a roof over their heads and meals when they needed to eat. But now? Now, they never had enough money and they were lucky to sleep in a bed three nights out of seven and if they ate two square meals a day they were happy. And let’s not even start with the sheriffs, posses, and bounty hunters, Kid thought to himself angrily.

What kind of life is this, anyway? Never staying in one place too long; always looking behind us, ahead of us, making sure no one recognized us. Always on the lookout, backing up Heyes in poker games in two-bit towns. I’m so tired of always having to rely on my gun to be safe. Kid’s thoughts spiraled downward.

Sometimes I wish I’d never learned to fast draw. There, he’d finally admitted it! But if I’d never learned to fast draw, would Heyes have kept me with him all these years? Kid didn’t think so. He didn’t think Heyes needed Kid for much of anything except security. True, they were cousins and had known each other their whole lives, but he could easily have found someone smarter than Kid for a partner. But only Kid’s gun could keep Heyes safe. So maybe he should be glad of his skill with a gun after all.

Kid hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going and now he found himself in a small clearing. As soon as he noticed the ramshackle cabin, his gun was out, his instincts on full alert. Scanning the area intently, he could feel as well as see that no one had lived there for a long time. Nevertheless, he approached the cabin slowly, his gun still in his hand. He stepped onto the porch and with his left hand, he carefully swung the door open but there was no sound except for some small animals scurrying out of the way.

Inside, the simple wood table and two high-backed chairs were covered in a thick layer of dust, further proof that the cabin was abandoned. Kid saw a bed up against the opposite wall, the mattress full of holes from animals who’d made it their own. A shelf over the fireplace held some dented metal plates and knives and spoons. Broken bits of crockery littered the floor. The fireplace itself was filthy—ashes had blown all over and there were at least two nests where the fire would normally be.

Outside, it wasn’t much better. At one time, there’d been a garden but now it was overgrown with weeds. Kid could see some red splotches among the green and yellow vines, enough to recognize them as tomatoes. Whatever else had been cultivated, Kid couldn’t tell.

Continuing his investigation, Kid finally noticed the well, at some distance from the cabin. Kid walked over. The wooden cover had long since been toppled over by the wind so he figured the water would be dirty. Surprisingly, the bucket was still attached to the rope and the rope hadn’t disintegrated. Kid threw the bucket into the well, heard the splash and pulled up a full pail of water. As suspected, the top was scummy but that was easily remedied. Kid cupped his hand and took a small sip of the water. It was refreshingly cool and sweet. He drank some more.

Kid took the bucket of water back to the cabin and used it to clean up one of the chairs, leaving it on the porch to dry. By this time, the sun was high in the sky. Kid knew he had to return to their campsite soon or Heyes would start to worry.

For a moment longer, Kid stood staring at the clearing. He decided not to tell Heyes what he’d found. First, he’d tidy up the cabin, weed the garden and clean up the well. When everything was fixed up real nice, he’d bring Heyes here and show him. Maybe Heyes’d be willing to stay here for a while; they could settle in for a few months and take things easy, for once. In the meantime, it’d be his secret.

Kid frowned—maybe keeping this from Heyes wasn’t such a good idea. On the other hand, who said they had to tell each other everything all the time? Just this once, Kid wanted to surprise Heyes. Nothing wrong with that, was there?

Having convinced himself he was doing the right thing, Kid followed his tracks back to the camp. Along the way, he shot two rabbits. He hoped Heyes was hungry. After all, reading was hard work!

* * *

Kid gave a cheerful “Howdy, Heyes” to his partner as he walked into the camp. Heyes was sitting where Kid had left him, although Kid noticed that the fire had been banked and there was another fishing pole next to his. Heyes glanced up from his book and saw the rabbits in Kid’s hand.

“Howdy, Kid. Good hunting, huh?” Kid just held up the two rabbits in response. “I told you we wouldn’t starve, didn’t I?” Heyes couldn’t stop himself from teasing Kid.

“Yeah, Heyes.” Kid sat down near Heyes and started skinning the animals. “There’s a lot of small game around here.”

Kid changed the subject. “What’d you do while I was gone?” He didn’t want to talk too much about his morning.

Uncharacteristically, Heyes didn’t notice anything different about Kid’s demeanor. He’d been so caught up in his book that a posse could have totally surrounded him before he’d’ve realized it. He’d gulped at his carelessness and vowed to be more watchful. But soon, he was again enthralled with the exploits of the Artful Dodger and the other characters in the book. It was mid-morning and he was thirsty before he’d finally risen and cleaned up the campsite. He’d also made a fishing pole for himself, so he and Kid could fish together in the afternoon. Heyes quickly related all this to Kid.

* * *

After a supper of rabbit stew, flavored with some wild onions Heyes had found when searching for the perfect fishing pole, they stretched out on their bedrolls to digest their meal and wait out the hot mid-afternoon sun.

“Kid,” Heyes ventured. “Whatcha thinkin’?”

“Not much.” Kid was focused on the clouds above, drifting lazily across the sky. They don’t have a care in the world, he thought. How come we can’t be like that? “It’s nice here,” he said.

“Yeah,” Heyes agreed. “You reckon the weather’ll hold?”

“Hope so. Don’t look like rain today, anyway.” Kid sat up and looked around. “Maybe we should make a shelter, just in case.”

“Kid, don’t you go wishing for bad luck.”

“Can’t help it. Bad luck seems to follow us, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“That don’t mean we gotta go search for it.”

“Nothing wrong with being prepared, is there?” But Kid lay back down and resumed his scrutiny of the sky.

Another hour passed in silence, each man keeping his thoughts to himself.

Heyes took out his pocket watch; the time was 4:05 in the afternoon. “Ready to go fishing?”

Kid went and got both fishing poles. He and Heyes walked down to the river, wiped some dead leaves off two boulders, sat down, and threw their lines into the water.

Within a few minutes, both had gotten bites but the fish were small and they threw them back. Kid tossed his line in again and was rewarded with a nibble. It, too, was small and he threw it back. Kid tried again and settled himself on the rock to wait.

“Heyes, you got anything yet?” Kid asked, looking over to his partner.

Heyes shook his head. “No, but I don’t mind just sitting here.” He wiggled his pole, trying to entice a fish to bite. “Don’t have much else to do, anyway.”

“Guess not. Hope we get some soon, though.”

“Why, Kid? What’s the rush?”

“Uh…” Kid paused and thought about it. “I guess I’m just not used to this.”

“To what? Relaxing?” Heyes laughed.

“At not having to watch our backs all the time. It don’t seem natural, is all.”

At that, Heyes sat up and looked directly at Kid. “No, Kid, this is natural. This is the way it should be. Out there,” Heyes waved his arm vaguely in the direction of the road, “out there, that’s… that’s not the way it’s always gonna be.” Heyes’ eyes were filled with confidence. “Someday, we’re gonna get that amnesty; I know we will.”

“Maybe.” Kid turned away. He didn’t want to continue this conversation. They’d had it before and it’d always ended up the same. Heyes said they’d get their amnesty and Kid wasn’t so sure. Kid shifted himself on his boulder and stared intently at the river, as if his piercing blue eyes were magnets that could simply pull a fish onto his line.

Kid knew Heyes was watching him. He ignored him and threw his line back into the river. After a while, Kid heard Heyes sigh and do the same with his line.

“I got one!” Heyes was on his knees as he pulled the fish in. He jerked his pole and the fish came flying out of the water. He hit it on its head and put it down next to him on his rock. “Must be about four pounds,” he said, grinning with delight. “That’ll keep us fed for a while! Now it’s your turn, Kid.”

Kid threw the line farther out towards the middle of the river this time. He didn’t have to wait too long. He felt a tug on his line and carefully pulled the fish in.

“I think we got enough, don’t you?” Kid asked. “We haven’t seen any bears and I want to keep it that way.”

The two men picked up their fishing poles and their dinner and returned to their camp. After a hearty meal, they turned in.

* * *

The next few days settled into a routine. Kid made coffee, Heyes made biscuits. After breakfast, Heyes read his book while Kid wandered off into the forest to hunt. Kid always took a roundabout way to the cabin but Heyes was so taken with his book, Kid didn’t think Heyes had any idea where he went. When Kid returned around noontime, they cooked the meat Kid brought and, afterwards, relaxed for a couple hours before heading down to the river to fish. The weather was good, there was no sign of other people, and Heyes and Kid finally began to enjoy themselves.

On the fifth day, Kid figured he was just about finished repairing the cabin. He’d swept out the interior as well as the porch, and washed down the table and chairs. The broken crockery and ashes were gone and replaced by wood Kid had chopped, which was now piled neatly beside the fireplace. The plates and silverware on the shelf were clean, and the bed had been stripped of its ruined mattress. He’d also weeded the garden and washed the cover of the well. All that was left was to make something so the cover wouldn’t get blown away by the wind or pushed off by some animal nosing around.

Kid took a break and sat on one of the chairs he’d left on the porch. Maybe he’d build a railing so he could put his feet up. That would just about make it perfect, he thought. He dipped his bandana in a can of water, having smuggled a few empty bean cans over to the cabin, and mopped his face. It sure was quiet, pleasant, peaceful.

The serenity of the place lulled him into a nap. Kid awoke suddenly. He remembered where he was when he saw a deer sniffing noisily around the garden. Slowly, he reached for his gun, not wanting to startle the animal. He aimed and … didn’t fire. The deer bounded off into the forest. Slowly, he lowered his arm.

Kid shook his head. What’d just happened? He’d had a clear shot, so why hadn’t he taken it? Yeah, carrying the animal back to the campsite would make him late and Heyes would probably flatten him for making him worry. But Heyes would’ve gotten over that, especially as they relaxed over a dinner of venison. So why hadn’t he killed the deer?

Kid sat in the chair and thought some more. The deer had just been standing there, not bothering anyone or anything. It had done nothing to justify being shot. Wasn’t right to shoot a defenseless animal, just like it wasn’t right to draw on a man who couldn’t shoot as well as him.

Wait a minute! What was he thinking?! He was a gunman, a gunslinger. That’s what everyone said. Well, not Heyes, but he didn’t count. People like Kid didn’t think twice about shooting their guns off. That was their job, to shoot.

Kid was tired of his reputation as the fastest gun in the West. No matter that he always tried to avoid having to draw, that he never wanted to kill anyone and was always sick after he had. Kid had a reputation so he had to keep practicing or else the next time someone called him out, he might end up dead.

And if that did happen, then what? Heyes would be grief-stricken, but he’d eventually get over it. He’d get the amnesty; probably a lot faster, too, with Kid not around anymore. Then Heyes could live a normal life--settle down somewhere, get married, have kids. Gradually, Kid would fade from his mind until he was just another memory from his long-ago past.

At least, Kid thought, he wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. He wouldn’t have to get up every day and act as if the only thing that mattered was being able to shoot straight and shoot fast.

This amnesty thing was killing him. He’d never had thoughts like these before they’d decided to go for the amnesty. Now, he couldn’t get them out of his mind.

Kid could never let Heyes know he was sick and tired of them depending on his gun for survival. He couldn’t let his partner down. Heyes had taken care of Kid when he needed it; now it was Kid’s turn to take care of Heyes.

They’d gone straight, but even when they were living honest lives they kept running into problems and, well, they just had to keep running. And he kept on having to use his gun to save them. It was never going to end.

Kid looked at the garden again, now devoid of any animal presence. He grunted and got to his feet. He was still brooding when he trudged back into camp.

* * *

Heyes was angry. He was also worried. Kid was late and he had no idea where he was. Anything could have happened and it could be days before he found out. He was pacing back and forth near their horses, when he finally saw Kid return.

“Where have you been?” Heyes demanded. In his relief at Kid’s safe return, Heyes spoke more sharply than he’d intended. “And where’s lunch?”

“Been busy.” Kid didn’t look at Heyes as he walked past him towards the fire and sat down.

“Doing what? Not hunting, that’s for sure.”

“Oh.” Kid looked as if he’d just realized he hadn’t brought back any meat. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Uh, I’ll cook up some beans and biscuits, catch some fish for later.”

“Kid, I don’t care about the food. It’s been hours and…”

“I’m sorry I worried you, Heyes. Everything’s fine,” Kid lied.

“No, Kid, it’s not.” Heyes went over and sat down near Kid. He stared at his cousin, until Kid met his penetrating gaze. Kid tried to stare him down but he dropped his eyes first.

“It’s nothing, Heyes. Leave it.” Kid started to build up the fire.

“I ain’t leaving it!” Heyes spoke vehemently. “You’re my partner and I want to know what’s gotten into you!”

“Ain’t nothing you can do. Let it go,” Kid said quietly.

Heyes stood up without another word and went back to the log where he’d been sitting earlier. He picked up his book, opened it at random and began to read. Every few minutes, Heyes surreptitiously looked over at Kid, who was still sitting by the fire, just staring into the flames.

Half an hour later, Kid took his fishing pole down to the river. Heyes thought it best not to join him.

When Kid came back with two salmon, he roasted them over the fire. Heyes made the beans and biscuits. They ate silently.

After, Kid lay back on his bedroll and looked up. The sky was clear, no clouds to distract him today. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he took a nap, he could clear his mind, though he wasn’t really tired since he’d already napped at the cabin.

Kid sat up. He’d go down to the river. He’d go swimming, maybe wash his clothes. They sure could use a washing after all the work he’d been doing. Maybe he could wash away his thoughts as well, he smiled to himself grimly.

“I’m gonna wash down at the river, Heyes.” Kid took his second pair of pants and a bar of soap from his saddlebag and followed the path to the water.

“Okay, Kid,” Heyes whispered to his back, as he watched his friend walk away.

* * *

When Kid reached the river, he first took off his boots, then his gun belt, laying them on a boulder where water wouldn’t reach them. He took off his sweat-stained red shirt and his Henley, grimacing slightly at their smell. Standing in the water at the river’s edge, he soaked the clothes and lathered them up with the soap he’d brought. Slapping them against another rock, he could see the dirt oozing out of each shirt. He dipped the clothes in the water and kneaded them again. Dirt was still leaching out but less than before. Again he dipped the clothes in the river and again he kneaded them. When he was satisfied they were clean enough, he rinsed each shirt separately in the river and then spread them over some bushes to dry.

He repeated the process with his pants and long johns. With each slap against the rock, Kid felt some of his anguish slide away. Slap—he had chosen to learn how to fast draw. Slap—he was proud of his skill with a gun. Slap—he was glad he could protect Heyes. Slap—they were going straight now, making up for their earlier evil ways. Slap—Maybe they’d get the amnesty after all. Slap—their lives weren’t so bad, they had each other, they were family, nothing else mattered. Kid finished washing his clothes and laid them out to dry.

He went back to the riverbank and walked carefully into the water. It was a little rocky but not so much that he couldn’t keep his balance. Kid submerged himself and came back up refreshed. The water was cool on his body; it made him feel alive, alert, reminded him he had things to be grateful for.

Kid soaped himself thoroughly, and rinsed off. He washed his hair, the dust from the road and the cabin leaching out, leaving it blond again. He felt good. He floated on his back, drifting aimlessly in the slight current. There were clouds this afternoon and they seemed friendlier, not smiling down at him in pity like they had the other day.

He swam back to where he’d left his clothes when he realized the current had carried him downriver and pushed him close to the opposite riverbank. He climbed up on the boulder with his gun and boots and sat there, letting the sun dry him. He dressed himself in his dry pants, strapped on his gun belt, and pulled his boots on. Then he gathered up his clothes, still wet, and went back to the campsite.

* * *

Heyes warily watched Kid return. He could tell Kid was in a better mood by the way he walked up the trail from the river. Kid had trudged down the path, carrying not only a pair of pants on his shoulders but seemingly all the troubles of the world as well. But now he came back with a lighter air about him and Heyes was relieved.

“Sorry, Heyes,” Kid said as he spread his clothes on some bushes near the fire so they’d dry faster.

“For what, Kid?” Heyes tried to make amends. “I shouldn’t have been so proddy.”

Kid had an idea. “Hey, how about you read me some of that book? You at an exciting part?” He knew Heyes enjoyed sharing his books with Kid, when Kid let him.

“Sure, Kid.” Heyes’ face brightened. He picked up the book and started reading. Kid sat back and listened, giving his best attention to the story. It’s really not that bad, he thought.

Heyes read for a while, then closed the book at a particularly thrilling moment. “I think that’s enough for today,” he said, smiling wickedly.

“Heyes! You can’t do that!”

“Do what, Kid?” Heyes turned an innocent face towards his partner.

Kid stared at his cousin. “That. You can’t stop in the middle like that!”

“Why not?”

“You know why not! It ain’t fair! How am I gonna know how it ends?”

“Guess you’ll just have to read the rest yourself, Kid.”

“No, Heyes, I don’t think so. I think you will have to read the rest. Out loud. To me.”

“Sure, Kid, whatever you say.” Heyes grinned.

“Thanks, Heyes, sure do appreciate that,” Kid retorted. Then Kid smiled, letting Heyes know that he knew exactly what was going on and that it was okay.

Kid got up and wandered around the edge of their camp, searching the ground. He picked up some fallen branches, using his knife to fashion them into targets. He spread them out on the log he’d set up their second day there and backed away.

Heyes shut his book and came over to watch. He always enjoyed seeing Kid demonstrate his prowess with his gun. Kid stood facing the log and Heyes stood off to the side, between Kid and the log.

Kid closed his eyes for an instant, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In rapid succession, he fired six shots. Kid walked over and put the targets back on the log. He didn’t have to check to know they’d all hit their target dead center.

Heyes narrowed his eyes. Something was wrong. Kid never needed to prepare himself. That was why he was so successful. No one could ever tell when he was about to make his move. One moment his hand was at his side, the next his gun was in his hand pointing at his opponent. Heyes walked away, pondering what he had just seen.

Kid continued practicing. His mind went blank before each round. Eventually, he was satisfied with the results. When he turned around, he was just in time to see Heyes go down to the river.

Suddenly, Kid caught a glimpse of a small animal in the forest. Without hesitating, he whirled around and let off a shot. He walked over and picked up the possum. Heyes’ll be happy, he thought. He took the animal over to the fire pit, skinned it, and put it in a pot of water to boil slowly.

* * *

As Heyes washed his dirty clothes, he considered Kid’s behavior. He couldn’t figure out why Kid had paused before shooting.

Clothes done and drying on bushes, Heyes then dove into the river and scrubbed himself clean. He emerged dripping and refreshed, and continued to think about his cousin’s behavior. Heyes began to think it had something to do with his gun. He knew he’d never completely understand what Kid went through when he drew on a man, but suffer he did. Heyes could only back him up the best way he knew how, by being there at his side. That’s all he could do now, too.

Heyes had just finished dressing and was sitting on a boulder deep in thought when Kid appeared.

“Got us a possum for dinner,” Kid told him.

“Huh? Oh, that’s nice.”

“I know it’s not the most tasty thing but at least it’s meat.”

“Kid, I like possum. You know that.”

“Yeah, guess you do. I’m the one not too fond of it,” he sighed.

“Tell you what, Kid. I’ll cook it and you just sit back and enjoy it. Whaddaya say?”

“Fine by me, Heyes! You go right ahead and sweat all you want by that fire. It’s already in the pot.”

“Hey, we’re gonna have stew? Thanks, Kid. That means I don’t need to be there watching it the whole time!”

“Whatever you say, Heyes. Figures you’d find the easiest way to cook dinner!”

“You know me—as little work as possible!”

Kid laughed. “Right. But how about you get us some watercress from over there,” he pointed to the plants growing nearby, “and some of those onions you found the other day. And I think I saw some mushrooms over by the horses. That’ll make it real tasty.”

“Your wish is my command, sir,” Heyes said mockingly.

“Oh, really?” Kid needed only a moment to take advantage of this opportunity. “In that case, you can also…hmm…let’s see…” He paused to consider what he should ask for. “You can … you can wash everything afterwards. Then you can take care of my horse for me and then you can…” Kid grinned triumphantly. “You can read me some more of that book! You know no one else’d listen to you going on and on about it, so that makes me the best partner you could have, Heyes.”

Heyes smiled. “Can’t argue with that, now, can I?” Kid was startled but Heyes’ brown eyes revealed his sincerity. Heyes got off his boulder and started gathering some watercress.

After dinner, which Kid had to admit was pretty tasty, Heyes took out his book and read. Kid made him read for quite a while but Heyes was secretly pleased that Kid was enjoying the story so much. When he couldn’t see anymore, they both went to bed and slept soundly under the stars.

* * *

The next day, breakfast eaten and the dishes cleaned, Kid hesitated as he was getting ready to go off into the forest. He turned and looked at Heyes, who was busily doing nothing in particular. Kid made up his mind.

“Uh, Heyes,” Kid began. “I was wondering…”

Heyes glanced over at Kid, who was hovering nearby. “Yeah, Kid?”

“Uh, you busy this morning? ‘Cause if you aren’t, maybe you’d like to come along with me today? I mean, only if you don’t got nothing better to do,” Kid finished in a rush.

“Sure, Kid. Nothing that can’t wait,” Heyes replied, pleased that Kid had asked him and curious as to what Kid was up to.

They were silent as they walked through the forest and it didn’t take Heyes long to realize that Kid had a destination in mind. Kid stopped when they came upon the cabin in the clearing.

Heyes looked around him. “What’s this?” he asked.

“I found it,” Kid responded.

Heyes continued to stare at the well-kept cabin and neatly tended garden. “Who lives here? Do they know what you’ve done?”

Kid shook his head. “No, it was abandoned when I found it. No one’s been around for a long time, Heyes.” He walked up to the porch and sat down in one of the chairs. Heyes joined him and sat in the second chair.

“So this is what you’ve been doing all this time? Fixing it up?” He hadn’t even looked inside yet but he could tell Kid had worked hard. “Why, Kid?”

“Just felt like it. Was something to do, is all.” Kid didn’t look at his cousin as he spoke.

“Sure looks nice. What’s inside?” Without waiting for an answer, Heyes opened the front door and went in. He whistled softly as he took in the clean table, the comfy-looking bed, the dishes and fireplace all ready for use.

He sat down again next to his cousin, who was looking straight ahead into the distance. Leaning back in his chair, Heyes repeated his question. “Why, Kid?’

Kid was silent for such a long time, Heyes thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Without turning his head, Kid said, “You ever think about dying, Heyes?”

“What? What kind of question is that?” It came out louder than Heyes intended.

Kid shrugged. “Never mind.” He didn’t meet Heyes’ eyes.

Heyes regarded Kid thoughtfully as he answered. “Course I’ve thought about it. Every time we get chased by a posse, or a bounty hunter comes after us, I think about it. Every time Big Mac gives us a job, I think about it.”

Kid sighed. Heyes waited for him to say more. “That’s not what I mean,” Kid finally said.

“Well, what then?”

“I just,” Kid hesitated. “Sometimes I think things’d be better if I was dead.” He got out the last words so quickly Heyes wasn’t sure he’d heard right. A glance at Kid’s face told him he had.

“If that’s what happens when you start thinking, you better stop right now!” Heyes moved his chair so he was facing Kid. “What brought this on?” he asked carefully.

“Heyes, I’m tired. I’m tired of running. I’m tired of not having any money. I’m tired of being cold, dirty, and hungry. I’m just…tired.” Kid shook his head and looked up. “And,” he started, then stopped.

“And what, Kid?”

“And I thought maybe we could hole up here for a while. We could go back to town and pick up some supplies, then stay up here a few months. We’d be safe here.”

Heyes considered the idea. It had its merits. “Could work. But won’t you get bored doing nothing?” He smiled as he asked the question.

“No,” Kid replied softly. “No, I wouldn’t. It’d be good, not having to worry.”

“Kid, you know I like it when you worry. Helps me stay alive!”

Kid turned a pair of blue eyes filled with sadness towards his partner. “Did you ever think that maybe…” Kid stopped. He didn’t know how to say it.

“Think what?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” Heyes repeated.

“Maybe I’m tired of that, too.”

Heyes wasn’t sure what Kid meant. “Tired of what?”

“Tired of…” It was obvious Kid was struggling with what to say. “Of having to use my gun to keep you safe,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t want to back you up,” he rushed on, “it’s just that sometimes I wish it didn’t always have to be with my gun.”

“Ahh,” Heyes nodded. It was all beginning to make sense. “Kid, I know it’s hard now, but I promise it’ll get better. We will get the amnesty. No, let me finish,” Heyes said, as Kid opened his mouth to interrupt him. “And you’re gonna be with me to enjoy it when we do. Nothing is gonna happen to change that,” he ended forcefully.

“You’d be better off if I wasn’t around. You’d get the amnesty a lot faster.” Kid couldn’t bring himself to look at Heyes as he said that.

Heyes shook his head. “No, you don’t know that. And it don’t matter. You’re my cousin and my partner. We’re doing this together, Kid. It don’t matter how long it takes. I can’t do it without you and I don’t want to do it without you.”

Kid looked at Heyes and Heyes saw fog overwhelming the sky-blue eyes of his friend. He had never seen Kid look so sad before, except that day in Kansas when they had lost their families. “I don’t think I can, Heyes.”

“Yes, you can. You have to. It wouldn’t mean anything to me if I couldn’t share it with you.”

“It’s my gun you need, Heyes, not me.”

“That’s not true, Kid, and you know it.”

“Don’t matter. I can’t do it any more. I just can’t. I’m sorry, Heyes.” Kid stood up and started to walk away.

Heyes got up and went after Kid. “Kid, stop. Stop,” he repeated as Kid ignored him. He caught up and, wrapping his arm around Kid’s shoulder, steered him back to the chairs on the porch.

“Okay, you’re tired. You need a break. Fine. We’ll spend some time here and rest up.” Heyes spoke reassuringly. “You’ll feel better when you’re not so tired.”

Kid shook his head and said angrily, “Don’t you get it, Heyes? We’ve been up here almost a week already, and it’s not any better.” He whispered his confession. “I couldn’t even shoot a deer the other day.”

“What are you really afraid of, Kid?”

“I told you,” he said despondently.

“No, you didn’t. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself. Well, you have every right to feel bad. You had to grow up real fast, and then I forced you into a life of crime.” Heyes paused as he gathered his thoughts to speak persuasively. “But you’re the one who wanted to learn how to use a gun and you’re the one who got real good at it. You made that choice and I gotta tell you, I am real glad you did. Because I could never, ever, have been leader of the gang without you to back me up. Do you understand that? Do you?” Heyes felt like he wanted to shake some sense into Kid, but he knew that wouldn’t help the situation.

Kid shrugged. “You didn’t force me into a life of crime, Heyes.”

Heyes continued talking, trying to convince Kid to see things his way. “Kid, think about all the things you did when we were robbing banks and trains.”

“Thought you told me to stop thinking!” A spark of humor momentarily appeared in Kid’s eyes.

“Yeah, well, I’m making an exception for you now. I can’t remember exactly what you did but you must’ve done something to earn a $10,000 bounty on your head.” Heyes tossed a quizzical look at his partner.

Kid stared fixedly at Heyes. “You know very well what I did, Heyes. I made sure the gang followed your plans. I told them what jobs they had to do. I was the one who made sure we all got back to Devil’s Hole safely.”

“Oh, is that all?” Heyes goaded his partner.

“No, that’s not all!” Kid said sharply. “I listened to all those plans of yours and I helped make them better! Yeah, you had great ideas,” Kid ignored Heyes’ immodest grin, “but I was the one who saw the problems and figured out the solutions.”

“That’s right, Kid, you did all that, and we’d’ve been caught a long time ago and be in prison right now if you hadn’t been so good at it.”

Kid was silent.

“But none of that matters now, Heyes. We’re not robbing any more,” he pointed out.

“So that’s it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You’re afraid of what’s going to happen after we get the amnesty. You’re afraid that you won’t be able to find work because you think the only thing you can do is use your gun.”

“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not. Didn’t we just get that settled?” Heyes was somewhat exasperated that Kid still didn’t get it. Evidently his silver tongue needed to be a bit more polished for his partner. “Kid, you have a lot of other skills and you can use them for anything!”

“Like what?” Heyes was relieved. Kid was listening.

“Any kind of job! Look, you can organize people and get them to follow directions. You can explain things clearly to people. You can take an idea, see its weaknesses, and find solutions. You can make sure a plan gets done smoothly and safely. Kid, not everyone can do those things.” Heyes hoped he had convinced Kid.

Kid looked thoughtful. “I guess.”

“Kid, believe me, when we get the amnesty, there’ll be plenty of jobs for both of us. If you need to use your gun, well then, it’s a good thing you are so good with it. But you might get a job that doesn’t need a gun. And you’ll be good at that, too. You’ll be good at whatever you do.”

“You really think so, Heyes?” Kid still wasn’t sure.

But Heyes was adamant. “Yes,” he said simply. “And another thing. We’ll still be partners. You can’t get rid of me that easily, you hear?”

Kid let Heyes’ eyes, intensely dark with emotion, finally persuade him. “All right.”

Heyes looked at Kid and thought some of the clouds in his eyes were gone. He stood up.

“Now,” Heyes said briskly, “how about we catch us some lunch? All that talking’s made me hungry.”

Kid managed a wry laugh, as Heyes knew he would. “You know me, Heyes, I’m always ready to eat!” Kid got up and, feeling more lighthearted than he had felt in a long time, followed his partner and best friend into the woods.

* * *

They came upon a brace of pheasant and Kid let Heyes take the first shot. Roasting the birds over their fire, they ate them with biscuits Heyes quickly made. The food was delicious and after cleaning up, they stretched out on their bedrolls.

“Heyes, how about reading some more of that book?” Kid was on his back, hands behind his head, gazing up at the deep blue sky that held only a few wisps of clouds.

“Sure, Kid.” Heyes rolled on to his side, looked at him and couldn’t resist adding, “It’s not that bad after all, is it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh, how far would you go, Kid?”

“Oh, I dunno. It’s better than some of that other stuff you’ve read but I still think the dime novels are more exciting.”

“Well, you shoulda brought one of them with you, then, huh!”

“Nah. I knew you’d bring a book with you. I didn’t want to disappoint you by not giving you the chance to read out loud.” Kid added slyly, “I know how much you like hearing the sound of your own voice.”

“What’s wrong with the sound of my voice?” Heyes pretended to be insulted.

“Nothing, Heyes. But when it’s the only one a body hears for a week, it can get downright annoying.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me to read out loud! Fine, then; find your own book to read!” Heyes turned his back to Kid and acted like he was reading silently, but he was having a hard time controlling his laughter.

“Heyes,” Kid began, speaking as if to a child. “Turn around and start reading. Out loud.” He knew Heyes was just waiting for him to ask.

“What, Kid? I didn’t hear you.”

‘I said, start reading.”

“Still can’t hear you.” Heyes decided to force Kid into saying it.

Kid groaned. “Aw come on, Heyes. You really want me to say it?”

“Yeah, Kid, I really want you to say it.” Heyes was grinning openly at him now.

“You’re a little weird sometimes, you know that? All right.” Kid sighed loudly, then spoke in a sing-song voice, “Please, Heyes, may I have some more?” He paused. “There, satisfied?”

“Why, sure, Kid. All you had to do was ask!” Heyes finally burst out laughing and Kid, after glaring at him for a moment, joined in.

They looked with amusement at each other, and settled back to enjoy the rest of the day.

* * *

The next morning they ate their last breakfast at the campsite. Kid made the coffee and Heyes made pancakes instead of biscuits, both men having tired of eating biscuits for six days straight. They packed up everything and got ready to leave.

“Kid, you still want to use that cabin for a while?”

Kid was thoughtful. “Yeah, Heyes, I think I do.”

“Okay. We’ll need to pick up some supplies. Food, probably some tools. What else?” Heyes looked to Kid for suggestions.

“A couple of buckets for the well would be good. Then we wouldn’t have to go to the river so often to wash.”

“Good idea,” Heyes nodded approvingly. “And this time, we can bring a few bottles of whisky as well as cigars. I can’t believe we forgot the whisky!”

“I didn’t forget it,” Kid said.

Heyes looked at him. “What? You were hiding it? Why?”

Kid shook his head. “No, Heyes. I just wasn’t in the mood before, that’s all.”

“But you are now, right?” Heyes asked.

“Yeah,” Kid reassured him. “Everything’s okay.” Even if that wasn’t completely true yet, with Heyes there to balance him, he knew it would be.

Ghislaine Emrys

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 22:57:14 CST

Alias Smith and Jones was one of my favorite TV shows when I was a kid. I'm pretty sure I preferred Kid Curry when I was younger because I loved his buckle hat and sheepskin jacket (and still do). Well, okay, it was probably more than just because of that! But after rediscovering ASJ in Spring 2008, I find that I'm now more enamored of Hannibal Heyes. Really, though, it's the two of them together that for me makes the show special, and I love them both. I think the two photos below exemplify what makes ASJ so great: The one on the left shows the deep friendship between Kid and Heyes, and the one on the right displays their self-sufficiency and self-reliance when they're on the trail. I'm having lots of fun writing ASJ fanfiction and I hope you enjoy my stories. Thanks for taking the time to read them and I welcome your feedback!

To read my stories, just click on the links in the frame at the left.

September, 2009

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 21:20:55 CST

Money Don't Grow on Trees

By Ghislaine Emrys

“Nothing worthwhile ever comes easy, Heyes.”

“That’s true.”

“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, again.”

“I know.”

“Two heads are better than one.”

“So what do you suggest, Kid?”

“Well, early to bed, early to rise, makes a man, healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

“Yeah, and a fool and his money are soon parted. All right, let’s go.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention, Heyes. You’ll think of something.”

For a moment longer, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry stared by the dim light of a lantern at the squat black form of the Pierce & Hamilton 1878 that was keeping its wealth from them, sighed almost in unison, and silently departed the bank, ignoring the sign above the door that read “A penny saved is a penny earned.”

FYI: The title is the 19th century form of the proverb, according to one of the sources I consulted. All but one of the proverbs included here date from before the 1880s, and since that one was used in an episode, I decided I could use it, too.

Challenge Stories

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 21:20:32 CST

These stories were written in response to a challenge, in which writers participating in the ASJ Fan Fiction Forum receive a word or phrase on the first day of every month. The word or phrase must be used as the title of or prompt for a story, and the story has to be written and posted on the message board by the end of that particular month.

Stories are listed by the month; just click on the link below or in the frame at the left to read them.

* * * * *

September 2009: Money Don't Grow on Trees
A ficlet about the temptation of a P&H '78

August 2009: Stand Off
The Devil's Hole Gang is trapped inside a bank during a robbery

July 2009: Dreaming of Independence
After Heyes and Curry outrun a posse, Heyes dreams of an alternate reality

June 2009: By the Pricking of My Thumbs, Or: Deja-Vu All Over Again
Kid can't figure out why Heyes is acting strangely but Heyes' secret just might end the partnership.

May 2009: Hard Lessons
Heyes and Curry reluctantly agree to do a favor for a friend of Lom Trevors; sequel to Alternatives

March 2009: Bad Things Happen When We Separate
Kid Curry seeks out Hannibal Heyes at Devil's Hole

February 2009: No Love Lost
After a bank job gone wrong, Kid helps Heyes make a decision

January 2009: How to Repair a Roof
Big Jim gives Hannibal Heyes a job he doesn't want to do

December 2008: Holiday Songs
ASJ version of two popular holiday songs

November 2008: Alternatives
Although Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry are in the Wyoming Territorial Prison, they still have something to be thankful for

September 2008: The Ballad of Heyes and Curry
A tribute by a fan, in iambic pentameter, that tells the story of Hannibal Heyes and Jedediah "Kid" Curry

August 2008: Amazed But Not Amused
Heyes and the Kid have a strange encounter on the Kansas Prairie

July 2008: Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness
Jed and Han have to write compositions about the Declaration of Independence for school. It’s a contest—who will win?

August, 2009

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 21:13:26 CST

Stand Off

By Ghislaine Emrys

“Drop your guns! You’re surrounded!”

Damn, thought Heyes, how’d they get spotted so fast? They’d been careful not to attract attention upon entering the town and he’d been sure no one had paid them any mind when he and Kid, and Wheat, Kyle, and some other members of the Devil’s Hole Gang had gone, singly and in pairs, into the bank. Once inside, everything had gone according to plan: The bank teller had read the note, then nervously pointed out the bank manager to Heyes, who escorted him to the safe behind the tellers’ section and forced him to open it by pointing his gun at the stubborn man; Kid politely but forcefully told all the customers and employees to sit on the floor with their hands where he could see them; and all the other gang members enforced Kid’s directive by spreading themselves throughout the bank and waving their guns around.

Heyes had known the manager would try to delay opening the safe but once he and Kid announced who they were, the man moved a mite faster. Heyes smiled. It paid to have a reputation.

“You can’t escape, Heyes! Drop your weapons and come out one at a time!”

The shouts from outside interrupted Heyes’ thoughts. Damn, he thought again, how did this happen? They’d only been in the bank for maybe five minutes.

The other men looked at him; Wheat with a scowl, Kid with confidence, Kyle and the others with frightened expressions. It was up to him to get them out of this mess. If he could.

“Who says so?” Heyes yelled back, trying to buy them some time, time for him to think of a plan.

“Jonah Parkinson. I’m the sheriff in this town! You got three minutes and then we start shooting!”

Again, Heyes wondered how the sheriff knew they were in the bank. He might have tried to bluff his way out, except Parkinson had used his name. Somehow, he knew exactly what was going on inside the building. Heyes thought about who he’d left as lookout. Could he have been caught? Could he have capitulated and told the sheriff what was going on? The lookout was a new man, young, but he’d seemed eager and bright and Heyes liked giving people a chance to prove themselves. Like Big Jim had once given him a chance.

“Heyes?”

“What, Kyle?” Heyes’ eyes were fastened on the front door of the bank as he replied.

“Whaddaya want us ta do?”

Responding to the tone as much as the words, Heyes calmly said, “Nothing just yet. Give me a moment to figure things out here.”

“Sure, Heyes.” Kyle chewed his tobacco a bit more slowly as he also tried to come up with a way out.

“Two minutes!” the sheriff updated them. “I meant what I said! Come out and no one’ll get hurt.”

Wheat snorted. “Yeah, right. What does he think we are, stupid or somethin’?”

Heyes bit back his retort of ‘speak for yourself,’ knowing it wouldn’t help matters any. Instead, he said, “No, Wheat, he thinks he’s got the upper hand and we don’t got a choice.”

“Well, what are ya goin’ ta do about it then?” the older man asked belligerently, thinking that if he’d been in charge, they wouldn’t be in this fix right now.

“Easy, Wheat,” Kid interjected. “Give Heyes some time to think.”

Heyes tossed a grateful look at his partner.

“Seems ta me the time for thinkin’s passed. It’s time fer doin’ is what I say.” Wheat had made no secret of the fact he thought he should be the leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang and he never lost a chance to try and undermine Heyes.

Wheat went over to a window and peered out. He didn’t like what he saw. “Sheriff’s right, Heyes! There’s a bunch o’ men all lined up along that street there.” He turned back to face the people cowering on the floor and brandished his gun more threateningly to cover his nervousness.

Kid went over to a window on the opposite side of the room and looked out. What he saw confirmed the sheriff’s claim. “Same here,” he said grimly.

Heyes regarded the customers and bank employees. Their expressions ranged from terrified, in the case of a woman with a baby, to triumphant, in the case of the bank manager, who’d joined the rest of his staff sitting in the middle of the lobby once Heyes had swept the money from the safe into his carpetbag.

“You can’t get away so you might as well give up,” the bank manager told Heyes. He was already thinking how the head office would reward him for being in charge of the bank where Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry and the rest of the Devil’s Hole Gang had finally been caught. “Your thieving days are over!” he gloated.

Heyes ignored him. He knew he had to stall the sheriff. He didn’t want innocent people getting hurt. He didn’t want any of his men or himself to get hurt, either.

Kid saw his partner shoot a glance at him and he walked over. He was halfway there when one of the tellers, a man in his mid-thirties, decided to be a hero. He grabbed Kid’s left foot and tried to wrestle him to the floor. Kid shook him off, hopping a couple times as he regained his balance.

With an angry glare, Kid slowly and very deliberately aimed his gun at the man’s chest. “Are you tryin’ to get shot?” he asked in a deceptively composed voice. “Don’t you ever do somethin’ like that again. I could’ve killed you!” He kept his gun on the man until he reached Heyes.

The man trembled and stuttered an apology. Everyone else sat as still as they could.

“We’re runnin’ out of time, Heyes. Got an idea yet?” Kid asked.

The trust in his voice gave Heyes confidence. “No,” he admitted. “What do you think? Can we shoot our way out?”

“Not unless you want a whole lotta people gettin’ hurt, or maybe worse.”

“You know I don’t want that.” He looked at all the people in the bank--the men who’d willingly followed him there and the townsfolk who’d accidentally been trapped there through no fault of their own--desperately trying to find a solution to the mess they were in. Heyes raked his hands through his hair. “I just need a little more time to figure this out.”

Sheriff Parkinson looked at his pocket watch, took a deep breath and yelled, “Time’s up!”

July, 2009

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 20:51:54 CST

DREAMING OF INDEPENDENCE

By Ghislaine Emrys

Somewhere between Sunrise, Wyoming, and Sunset, Colorado, they lost their pursuers. Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were getting better at eluding posses but they hadn’t gotten used to the feelings they engendered when they were running for their lives. That knot in their stomachs, twisting like a knife wound; the constriction in their throats that made it even harder to breathe; the panic in their minds, wondering if they’d be shot from behind but unable to look backwards for fear their horses would stumble and throw them if they didn’t keep tight rein. Robbing banks and trains was fun but what came after wasn’t, and they hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would sometimes be to evade capture. But after a few hours of hard riding and not hearing any hoofbeats or seeing anyone behind them, they figured they had beaten the odds once again.

“We need to rest. Horses, too,” Heyes said, interrupting Kid’s thoughts. He pointed his horse towards the trees and rode off, looking for a secluded spot where they couldn’t be seen from the road but which afforded them a clear view of anyone riding along.

Kid followed slowly, too tired to say anything but willing to follow his cousin as he had so many times before, and soon lost sight of Heyes. A few minutes later, Heyes returned, a smile on his face. “Found a good spot. Come on.”

They silently made camp, each man knowing exactly what to do and not needing words to do it. Kid took out the jerky he had left and offered some to Heyes. It was too dangerous to make a fire so they had to make do with an uncooked dinner. They fetched water from the nearby stream and drank it cold. After the unsatisfying meal, they spread out their bedrolls and lay down in companionable silence.

Heyes was the first to speak. “You ever think about what it was like a hundred years ago?”

The question jolted Kid out of his contemplation of how he was going to spend his share of the haul, once they got back to Devil’s Hole. “Huh?”

“I mean, you ever wonder what your life would’ve been like if you’d lived back then? Where you’d have lived, what you would’ve done, stuff like that?”

“Can’t say that I have, Heyes. Why’re you askin’?”

“Just wondering, is all.”

Kid shifted so he could see his partner. He waited for further explanation but none was forthcoming.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Not really,” came the unconvincing response.

Kid waited.

“Sometimes I wonder…” Heyes began.

“What?” Kid prodded, when Heyes didn’t continue.

“Nothing.” Although Heyes greatly enjoyed the challenge of helping to plan a robbery and cracking a safe, sometimes he thought that maybe the risks weren’t worth it. Sure, he liked the freedom of his life, doing what he wanted when he wanted and how he wanted. But was it enough? Was the independence this way of life afforded him really what he wanted to do until he died? He didn’t know anymore, and he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Kid about it. “Good night, Kid.”

Kid shrugged and let it go. If his cousin wanted to talk, he would. Kid pulled his blanket over him. “Night, Heyes.”

* * *

He was in a log cabin, standing just behind his leader who was giving orders to the men assembled there. Soon it would be dark and the temperature would drop even further; his threadbare clothes would be no protection against the cold December weather.

“Sir,” he snapped to attention when the other man turned to him. They were now alone in the cabin.

“Do you have anything to add?”

Gratified that he was being asked, but wise enough to know that his advice wasn’t really desired at the moment, Heyes shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Good. It’s going to be difficult to keep the men here if we don’t have success soon. Your plan is a good one and I thank you for it. I pray things will go smoothly but with this storm…”

“Yes, sir. Perhaps a few words from you, just letting them know you have faith in them, will improve the morale of the men, sir.”

The leader looked at his aide de camp. “I thank the good Lord every day that he saw fit to send you to me. You have been an invaluable help in these trying times, Colonel Heyes.”

“Thank you, sir.” Heyes allowed a brief smile to cross his face. He, too, was glad his plan to be noticed by General Washington had worked and that he was now his confidant. Heyes knew they would do great things together in this war for independence from Great Britain.

Washington gave additional instructions to the man who had become a trusted advisor. “At midnight, I want all the troops assembled and ready to march. As you know, we need to reach the Delaware River when it’s still dark. I’ll speak to the men then. You’re responsible for making sure all the boats are ready for the crossing, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. I won’t let you down, sir.” Heyes couldn’t quite hide his excitement at the prospect of the upcoming engagement with the Hessians.

Washington noticed. “Colonel Heyes,” he said sharply. “If we can capture their garrison without killing all the soldiers inside, we will have an even greater victory. Even in war, killing is not something to be desired. Remember that.”

Heyes nodded, sombered by the realization that his first battle was almost upon him.

“You’re dismissed.”

Saluting his commanding officer, Heyes pivoted smartly and returned to his tent to sleep for a few hours.

* * *

He woke up in a panic. He’d overslept and forgotten to rouse the troops. It was his fault they’d lost the…

“Heyes! Come on, wake up!” He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He rubbed his eyes and saw Kid kneeling in front of him.

Kid smiled. “Some dream, huh?” He held out a cup of water and Heyes splashed some of it on his face before drinking the rest.

“You have no idea, Kid!” Heyes laughed, as he put his boots on.

“Well, we need to get goin’. Ain’t safe to stay here any longer.”

“I know. Soon as I pack up, we’ll leave.”

Heyes tied his gear to his horse and Kid swept all traces of their camp away. Mounting their horses, they headed west, deciding to wend their way back to Devil’s Hole from that direction.

Sometimes they walked their horses, sometimes they cantered. Always, they rode side by side so they could talk to each other. All of Heyes’ doubts from the day before had vanished with his dream. They were young, they were free, they felt invincible.

“Kid, you ever think what life will be like a hundred years from now?”

Historical Note: Before December 25, 1776, when General George Washington and his troops crossed the Delaware River and subsequently captured the Hessian garrison at Trenton, New Jersey, the War for Independence had not been going well for the Americans but with the victory at the Battle of Trenton, they were reinvigorated in their fight for freedom.

June; 2009

GhislaineEmrys — Sat, 05 Dec 2009 20:47:18 CST

By the Pricking of My Thumbs, Or: Deja-V All Over Again

By Ghislaine Emrys

Kid Curry slumped over his whisky in yet another shabby saloon, in yet another small town, in the middle of nowhere much.

A saloon gal wandered over to try her luck at getting a little business on a dreary midweek afternoon. One look at the hostility born of utter misery in those blue eyes, scowling out from under a rain-splattered brown brim changed her mind. This was a man who didn't want to talk. Not yet anyhow. Maybe not for a long time.

Kid tapped his glass to order a refill of the whiskey so far removed from being the 'good stuff' he reckoned they oughta pay him to drink it. He didn't care. He just wanted to get drunk and do it quick. He wanted to forget. Forget about what had happened. Forget about Heyes. Forget about their years together. Forget he'd ever had a partner. Forget he was alone. Alone forever. Heyes was the past. Gone. Done with.

A WEEK EARLIER...

Kid and Heyes were in some nameless saloon in some nameless town, playin’ poker. Hey, that was pretty normal, huh? So why did he have a feeling somethin’ terrible was gonna happen?

It wasn’t because Heyes was winnin’ and he was losin’. That was pretty normal, too. It wasn’t because the prettiest saloon gal was castin’ not-so-furtive glances at him neither. That happened a lot. Not that he minded. It wasn’t even because some cowpoke drifter even dirtier than they were called Heyes a cheat. That was also pretty normal. And it was normal for Heyes to try and talk the man down, and normal for the man to be too riled up to see reason, and normal for Kid to take over.

Except, this time, he didn’t. Kid saw the warning signs but before he could clear leather, Heyes had shot the cowpoke’s gun outta his hand. Sheesh, that was fast! He heard the mutters and realized he was staring at his partner.

“I need a drink,” he muttered to himself, and he went and got two whiskeys from the bartender. He drank them both, still not sure what had just happened.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER…

Kid and Heyes were in another nameless saloon in another nameless town. Nothin’ outta the ordinary there, huh? So why did he have a feeling somethin’ bad was gonna happen?

They ordered whiskey and took the glasses and bottle over to an empty table. The saloon was only about half full, it bein’ early in the evening yet. Kid and Heyes had drunk about half the bottle, tryin’ to decide what to do next. They needed money and, well, Kid thought ruefully, arguin’ with Heyes was like arguin’ with the wind. He took hold of your words and flung them aside like they were as light as the air itself. Another ordinary evening in a very ordinary town.

But then, something changed.

“Okay, Kid, you want that job so bad, we’ll flip for it.” Heyes reached in to his vest pocket and pulled out his lucky coin.

Kid grabbed it out of his hand and inspected it. It looked ordinary enough but he had a sneakin’ suspicion there was somethin’ distinctly extra-ordinary about it. He just could never figure out what. How else was it Heyes always won the coin toss?

“Call it!” Heyes threw it into the air.

“Heads!”

Heyes caught it and slapped the coin on top of his left hand, then looked at it. Mouth open in shock, he said, in disbelief, “Heads?”

Kid peered at the coin. How’d that happen? After all these years?

YESTERDAY…

Kid and Heyes were in a no-name saloon in a no-name town. Pretty typical for two men who didn’t spend more than a few days in one place, right? So why did he have a feeling somethin’ really awful was gonna happen?

The piano player was tryin’ to play a fancy tune but the instrument was just a bit too old and a bit too banged up to be good. Like some of the people in here, Kid thought, as he swept his eyes over the saloon gals, townsfolk, and his partner.

Glancing up at the mirror over the bar, Kid saw the prettiest saloon gal watchin’ him and Heyes. He smiled at her and with a nod of his head, indicated she should join them at their table. He turned around and watched her approach.

Patting the chair next to him, Kid was shocked when the girl sat instead in Heyes’ lap. Kid’s mug of beer found his open mouth before his partner noticed. With narrowed eyes, he sat, speechless, as Heyes escorted the girl upstairs.

In all their time together, Kid could not recall one instance when a saloon gal ignored him. How could such a thing have happened?

THIS MORNING…

Kid woke to the smell of coffee. It smelled delicious. Something was wrong. Heyes’ coffee never smelled delicious. It usually smelled…burnt. Yeah, that was a nice way of puttin’ it. Kid grinned to himself.

Then he tasted it. Sheesh! It even tasted good! Something was definitely wrong. What had gotten into his partner lately?

MIDDAY…

Lunch at a restaurant somewhere. They both ordered the beef stew and biscuits. They both liked beef stew and biscuits. Kid liked beef stew and biscuits a lot. Usually. Actually, Kid’d usually eat anything. If it had beef in it, that was just a bonus. The biscuits were baked beautifully, the stew was stirred to perfection.

Heyes wolfed it down. Something was wrong. How come Heyes was eatin’ faster than he was? Usually, Heyes had to be prodded to finish even half his meals.

Kid looked at the stew and felt strange. He took a bite of the biscuit and it tasted…unusual. He put his fork down and looked at his partner.

“Something wrong, Kid?”

“Somethin’ don’t feel right.”

“You ain’t getting’ sick, are you?”

“Don’t think so. Just not hungry all of a sudden.”

“You’re right, Kid. That IS strange!” Heyes laughed to himself but was careful to keep the grin off his face.

“Think I’ll go lie down for a bit, Heyes.”

“All right. Can I have the rest of your food, then?”

Kid’s last thought before he sunk into a deep sleep in their hotel room was that Heyes had been actin’ real strange the past week.

TWENTY MINUTES AGO…

Kid woke up and splashed water on his face before he saw it. On a chair partially hidden under his partner’s black hat, there it lay. Something strange. Something not wonderful.

As soon as Kid touched it, he felt a shock. Like a bolt of lightning, a snake bite, a gunshot wound—all at once. But when he looked at it closely, he got an even bigger shock. It was a doll. But not an ordinary doll. This doll was…HEYES!

From the black hat to the white henley under the deep blue shirt down to the tan pants tucked into the brown boots, it was an exact likeness of his partner. It was a miniature Heyes. Where in Sam Hill had he gotten hold of that?

Just like Heyes! Kid shook his head in annoyance. He carried the doll over to the window to get a good look at it. Hey! What were those things sticking in its hands and head? Kid examined the thing carefully but couldn’t figure it out. Looked ugly with them things, though, so Kid pulled them out and flicked them into the spittoon one by one, always ready to practice his aim.

He took the doll with him and finally found Heyes in a saloon. One of those looks-like-all-the-other-dang-saloons-we-ever-been-in saloons.

Heyes was doin’ that five pat hand card trick again. Only, this time, he couldn’t quite seem to make five pat hands. He got as far as four, and then got stuck. He looked up with a puzzled frown on his face.

“Hiya, Kid.”

“Howdy, Heyes. What’s the matter?”

“Dunno. Something’s wrong. I can’t make five pat hands. Been here an hour, tried a dozen times at least. Just can’t do it.”

Then Heyes saw what Kid was holding, and he sucked in his breath. “Where’d you get that?”

“In our room. What’s it for?”

Heyes grabbed it out of Kid’s hands. “Where’s the…the…?”

“What? Those pin things?” Kid couldn’t see why his partner was so upset. “It looked a lot better without ‘em, so I threw ‘em away.”

Heyes’ head dropped into his hands. He moaned.

“What’d you say?” Kid asked suspiciously.

Heyes didn’t answer.

“Heyes…?”

Still no coherent answer, but Kid did hear a mumble. Or maybe it was another moan.

“All right, Heyes. Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna go buy us a drink, and by the time I get back here, you better be ready to tell me what’s goin’ on. You got that?” Without waiting for a response, Kid strode over to the bar and ordered two whiskeys.

As the bartender poured the drinks, Kid watched Heyes in the mirror. Heyes was readin’ a book. No surprise there. But when he realized Kid had seen him, Heyes hastily put it in his coat pocket.

Undeterred, Kid plonked the glasses on the table and fished out the book. He took one look at it and exploded.

“What the…???!!! Are you outta your mind?! How could you buy this and not tell me?! Some partner you are!!! Where’d you find this, anyway?”

Heyes sat there, mute. Nothing he could say could make it better.

Without a word, Kid drew back his hand and curled his fingers into a fist.

Heyes just sat there, staring at him.

Slowly, Kid lowered his arm and resisted the urge to flatten his partner. His now former partner. He turned on his heel and left the saloon.

NOW…

Kid Curry slumped over his whisky in yet another shabby saloon, in yet another small town, in the middle of nowhere much.

He wanted to forget. Forget about what had happened. Forget about Heyes. Forget about their years together. Forget he'd ever had a partner. Forget he was alone. Alone forever. Heyes was the past. Gone. Done with.

He’d never forgive him.

NOW…

In the other saloon, Heyes picked up the book and reread the name of the title and author: “Voodoo for Dummies,” by Michelle Monet. What on earth had ever possessed him???

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