The case of the silver pocket watch snapped shut and slid snugly into the pocket of the brown corduroy vest. It was a little over three hours since his partner had uttered anything other than a grunt and Hannibal Heyes decided it was long enough. Two dark eyes slid sideways toward the tall blond riding on his right.

"You gonna tell me what that sour look is all about, Kid?"

Kid Curry's reply had a distinctly acidic tone. "What sour look?"

"The one that hasn't left your face since we turned off the road."

"That's just it — we turned off the road."

"So?"

"So, this way takes us through the badlands."

"I don't know why your gripin', we've ridden through country like this before. Anyway, it'll save us a whole day's ride. Maybe even two."

Kid angled his hat away from his eyes in order to glare at his cousin more effectively.

"You might think that's a good idea, Heyes, but when it comes to sharing my bedroll with a bunch of critters that bite or sting I'll take that extra day in the saddle, if'n it's all the same to you." He added a quick humourless smile for good measure.

Heyes frowned. "Well, it isn't all the same to me. One minute you're complaining about how much time we spend in the saddle and the next you'd rather ride an extra day." He gesticulated wildly. "I can't keep up!"

"I still don't see why we couldn't stay in Cox Butte."

Kid Curry was tired — tired of having little or no money, tired of moving from town to town, and tired of the effort it took to stay one jump ahead of the law — especially when they weren't breaking it any more. For some time now he and his saddle-weary behind had begun to hanker over sleeping in a proper bed for more than just a couple of nights, not to mention eating and drinking on a regular basis. He hadn't said as much but Mexico or South America were looking better and better to him every day. He knew that Heyes intentions were good. He was only playing it safe, trying to keep them out of trouble and more importantly out of jail, but in his opinion his partner had been getting a little too jumpy of late. A jumpy Hannibal Heyes made Kid Curry nervous and nervous was not the best way to feel when you happened to possess a lightning-fast gun hand.

Clasping his saddle horn with both hands before he waved them again and spooked his horse Heyes took a steadying breath and said, "I already told you. I didn't like the way that sheriff kept looking at us and I'd bet my last dime he would have figured out who we are soon enough. No, Kid, Longridge will suit us just fine."

"Longridge?! I thought we was goin' through to Southwater."

"Change of plan."

"Again? Well, I still don't see why you were so worried about that sheriff, Heyes. He ain't the only lawman you think keeps lookin' at us funny. It's all of 'em!"

"Yeah, and I don't like it!"

Kid gave an exasperated sigh before asking, "What's Longridge got that's so good?"

Heyes smirked. "No sheriff and no telegraph office. I asked around a little and the best part is it has two saloons and a dance hall. Think about it. Whiskey, gambling and lots of girls. Even you can enjoy a place like that."

"Maybe, but...aaww, Heyes...there must be a better way to get there than across this."

Wrinkling his nose with disdain, Kid waved an arm expansively before adjusting his hat down low over his eyes once more. He was certainly not in the right frame of mind to appreciate the rugged beauty of the scenery that surrounded them. For as far as the eye could see low hills composed of bands of coloured rock ranging from reds and pinks to varying shades of grey and even a pale green rose from the barren landscape together with the occasional red, slick-rock mesa.

"You're right," Heyes admitted, quickly glancing back over his shoulder. "The road would have been an easier ride but if that sheriff comes after us we'll be much harder to track over this; it's mostly rock."

"Hmph! So says the 'champeen tracker of all southern Utah' who don't happen to know fresh tracks when he sees 'em!"

Heyes considered a smart retort of his own but, aware that his partner's bad mood could escalate very quickly if prodded, he stopped himself just in time and let the subject drop. Instead, while his horse picked its way over the uneven ground, he immersed himself in planning what he considered to be the ultimate heist — robbing the Denver Mint of its gold reserves. Granted it was ambitious, even for him, but it was a plan which he assumed would never come to fruition because the Governor would grant them amnesty long before he ever needed to use it.

When the sun eventually dipped below yet another line of hills the two riders made camp. They hobbled and rubbed down their horses and, as Heyes was certain that they would reach Longridge by midday tomorrow, gave the animals a long drink from the second canteen each of them carried for emergencies. Water was scarce in this environment but good horses were even scarcer. For supper they chewed their way through some hard tack and a few strips of jerky before settling into their bedrolls for the night. The absence of a fire meant they needed to be on their guard against coyotes and bobcats and so the flip of a coin determined who took the first watch.

Sleep did not come easily however, for soon tall clouds began to gather and white-hot streaks of lightning split the night sky to the accompaniment of a rolling thunder. With a deafening crack a bolt struck a nearby mesa, the static charge in the air making their skin tingle and the fine hairs on their arms and the back of their necks stand on end.

During the next flash Curry glowered at his partner. "This is another good reason for not crossing badlands."

"Aaw, c'mon Kid. Look on the bright side. It's a dry storm; you're not getting wet." Heyes reasoned.

"That don't make me feel a whole lot better. One of us could end up lookin' like an overdone hog-roast. Remember that old milking cow of my pa's? That bolt went clean through her. She was still smokin' when the rain stopped," griped Kid.

Heyes gave a faint smile as he allowed himself the rare luxury of recalling a childhood memory.

"That was a fierce storm alright. It came rolling across the prairie so fast we didn't even make it to the barn before the rain started. Only had time to hunker down in back of the wood store. I remember being sure we were gonna be sucked up by a twister — if we didn't get struck by lightning first."

Another deafening burst of thunder made further conversation impossible for a moment but as soon as there was a lull Kid growled, "Yeah, well I'm tellin' ya, Heyes, we'd better reach Longridge tomorrow or I swear you're gonna be struck by somethin'!"

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Awakening to a faint glow of pink on the eastern horizon Kid Curry looked around to check on his partner. When he spied him saddling up the horses he closed his eyes again and silently offered up a few words of thanks that they were both still in one piece. As he began to roll up his blankets and tarp Heyes heard the movement behind him.

"Thought we'd best get moving, that way we can be in Longridge in time for a bath and an early supper."

"Hmph, sounds like one of your better plans."

It quickly became clear that the Kid's temper had not improved overnight. He grunted and growled his way through the first hours of daylight so much so that Heyes began to doubt whether his partner was going to have anything even resembling a civil word to say to him until they reached town. In an attempt to lighten the mood he was just about to suggest that he treat him to the biggest, most expensive steak that he could find in Longridge when a scream pierced the clear morning air.

Startled, they pulled their mounts to a halt and scanned their surroundings. Not seeing anything untoward in the immediate vicinity Kid roughly calculated the direction the scream had come from and pointed to a gap in the hills. With only a quick glance between them the former outlaws dug their heels into their horses sides and headed straight for it.

They hadn't gone far before a covered wagon came into view, a desert schooner similar to those used on the busy emigrant trails to Oregon and California before the war between the states. It was hitched up to four mules but wasn't moving and as they got closer they could see a woman kneeling on the ground next to one of the front wheels. A pretty, tear-streaked face turned their way but, too distressed to be concerned about the arrival of a pair of strangers, she turned her large, brown, watery eyes to the body of a man laying on the ground and gently stroked the head cradled in her lap.

"He's dead," she choked.

Heyes threw his reins to his cousin and jumped from his saddle while the ever-cautious Kid Curry remained mounted, his hand resting on the butt of his Colt, watching for any sign of trouble.

Dropping to his knees Heyes bent forward, placing his ear against the seemingly still chest and listened. "Uh, no, I don't think he is, ma'am. I can hear his heart. It's a little faint but it's still beating. What happened to him?"

The young woman gently turned the man's head to show a large, curved depression near his temple. A thin line of blood still trickled from the man's ear dripping crimson onto her apple-green dress.

"He said he was going to check the wheel because the wagon wasn't moving. Next minute he's just lying there on the ground."

"Mule prob'ly kicked out," Kid opined.

Heyes raised his eyes to meet his partner's and he and Curry shared a concerned look. They both knew that being kicked in the head by anything was most likely a death sentence.

"Won't do him much good lyin' out here in the sun. While the wagon's still giving some shade, why don't we move him round the other side?" suggested Kid as he dismounted and offered his hand to help the woman to her feet.

It was then that they both noticed she was heavily pregnant, a fact which concerned the two former outlaws a whole lot more than the injured man. Having lived most of their adult lives in bunkhouses, or with droving teams and outlaw gangs all of which were made up entirely of men neither of them had any experience, or knowledge, when it came to pregnant women and babies.

"Oh, do be careful. Please."

Both men nodded their heads sympathetically before lifting the young man, which they did surprisingly easily. His arms and legs felt thin and bony in their hands and Heyes surmised that he had probably been giving a good proportion of his daily food ration to his pregnant wife.

"Thaddeus, I think the lady could do with some water," said Heyes, thinking that the young woman was beginning to look a little woozy.

As a precaution he helped her sit down in the small patch of shade and Kid duly fetched his canteen. While she took a few sips Heyes sat down beside her and removed his hat. "I'm Joshua Smith, ma'am, and this is my friend, Thaddeus Jones."

Kid politely touched the brim of his hat but remained standing.

"I'm Rebecca Parrish. He's my husband, Leland," she replied, her eyes never leaving her husband's face.

"Where are you headed?" Heyes raked the fingers of his right hand through his hair a couple of times before replacing his hat.

"West."

"West?" queried Kid. "There's a whole lot of places west of here, ma'am. Which place in particular?"

"California. Is he going to die?"

Neatly sidestepping the question, Heyes said, "You're a long way from any overland trail I know. Did you get separated from a wagon train?"

With a shaky hand Rebecca stroked her husband's pale cheek. "In a way. About a week ago we were one of a group of five wagons. We'd had a good, safe journey and everything was fine until a couple of children got sick. Their folks said it was mountain fever but Leland was sure it was cholera and didn't want to risk me catching it, so he decided we should take a different trail. Back at the last river crossing he'd bought a map from an old fellow who said he was a trapper and knew the area. But now... I think maybe we're lost."

"I think so too." Heyes smiled softly. "If you will excuse us for a minute, ma'am, I need to talk with my partner."

Glancing up at his cousin Heyes inclined his head toward their horses which they had loosely hitched to the end of the wagon.

"What we gonna do?" hissed Kid as soon as they were out of earshot. "It'll take us at least three days to get to a town pulling that wagon. Miz Parrish could be near her time so we'll have to go slow and that's without us havin' to stop some place and bury her husband."

"How long do you figure?" his partner hissed back.

"For what? Until he dies or until she has the baby?"

Heyes had a feeling his partner was being deliberately obtuse. His eyes narrowed. "Until he dies, of course!"

"Anyone I've ever heard of who's been kicked in the head that bad..." Kid Curry shrugged, "...a few hours, a day at most."

"Dammit!" Heyes huffed out a frustrated sigh. "How much water we got?"

"Not enough."

"Well, let's hope those barrels they've got roped to the wagon are full, Kid. It's not—"

Before Heyes could finish his sentence a cry prompted both men to make a rapid return to Rebecca who was now on her feet, one hand holding onto the wagon to steady herself and the other clasped across her mouth. Her eyes stared down in horror at her husband whose body was now rigid and shaking uncontrollably.

"What's happening? What's wrong with him?" she cried as Heyes gently steered her out of reach of the now thrashing limbs. He was about to speculate as to how long the seizure might last when the injured man suddenly stilled, his eyes half open and his lips tinged with blue.

This time it was the Kid who knelt down to listen to Leland's chest. Sorrowful blue eyes looked up at Rebecca. "I'm real sorry, ma'am."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

The sun had climbed high in the sky as two sweat-stained cowboys leaned heavily on their shovels and silently surveyed the result of their labours. Heyes pulled the sodden bandana from around his neck and wiped the dusty streaks of sweat from his face while Curry remained staring dubiously at Leland Parrish's grave.

"Shouldha dug it deeper," he said in a hushed tone.

"I know, but it's too hot to be digging," grumbled Heyes.

"It won't take long before some coyote digs him up, you know."

"We can't help that."

"Do you think one of us should say somethin'?" asked Kid. "It don't feel right burying him way out here without some words to send him off to Glory."

"Hmm, finding the right words isn't easy when you don't know anything about the person who died."

"Well, I sure don't know any prayers, Heyes, do you?"

A frown creased the dark-haired man's forehead as he tried to recall. "Maybe a few lines from one we said at Sunday School back in Kansas but not enough to make it proper. I'm sure Miz Parrish will know one. We'd best go get her. C'mon."

Tucking in their shirts and shrugging into their discarded vests the two former outlaws ambled back to the wagon where they had left Rebecca sitting on the tailboard, shaded by the heavy cotton canopy. For a moment both men stood and sadly regarded the grieving woman.

"Ma'am," ventured Kid, but Rebecca gave no indication that she had heard him. "Miz Parrish, do you want to come and see...?" When there was still no response he placed a grimy hand on her arm. "Rebecca?" he urged, chancing the familiarity of using her first name after such a short acquaintance.

Slowly she lifted dull, desolate eyes to meet his. "Is it done already?"

Kid nodded and held out his hand which she hesitantly took, allowing him to escort her to the grave site.

Rebecca stared at the ground. An assortment of small stones neatly arranged in the shape of a cross adorned the fresh mound of dirt which stood proud of the desert floor. She had seen numerous makeshift markers along the trail, too many if truth be told, and heard tales of graves being dug up by wolves or raided for clothes by indians.

"I don't suppose it will be long before some wild animal digs him up again," she said, quietly.

"We dug it real deep, ma'am." Heyes caught Kid's look of disapproval at the partial lie before he continued, "We thought you might like to say something, a prayer maybe."

"I don't know the right prayer to say." Feeling distraught at the idea of leaving her husband lying in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and without some form of ritual to mark his passing, tears once again began to trickle down her face.

Certain that any words they had to offer would be of little comfort the cousins exchanged a helpless glance and continued to stand in reverential silence until, at last, Rebecca spoke again.

"I know a hymn. Do you think that would be alright?"

"That'd be just fine," Heyes assured her and so Rebecca inhaled a shuddering breath and began to sing:

"Lord, dismiss us with your blessing, fill our hearts with joy and peace; let us each, your love possessing, triumph in redeeming grace.
Oh, refresh us; oh, refresh us, trav'ling through this wilderness.

Thanks we give and adoration for your gospel's joyful sound.
May the fruits of your salvation in our hearts and lives abound.
Ever faithful, ever faithful to your truth may we be found.

Saviour, when your love shall call us from our struggling pilgrim way, let no fear of death appal us, glad your summons to obey.
May we ever, may we ever reign with you in endless day."

The silence was almost deafening once Rebecca's clear but tremulous rendition of the hymn ceased.

After what they deemed to be a respectful period of time the two men replaced their hats.

Kid cleared his throat. "Uh, Miz Parrish, me and Joshua should go take a look at that wheel now so we can get moving."

"Do we have to leave so soon?"

"It's for the best, you being... in your condition." Heyes nodded uncomfortably toward her swollen belly.

"I suppose you're right."

"Why don't you sit yourself down here, ma'am? We'll let you know when we're done."

Rebecca Parrish nodded her assent then watched the retreating figures of the two men before slowly lowering herself to the ground. Stretching out a hand she lightly trailed her fingers over the crooked lines of stones that formed the cross and thought about the man who lay beneath them.

Twenty-five year old Leland Parrish had been an educated man. Back in Illinois he was extremely well thought of in his junior editorial post at the Evanston Daily News but always felt he would never achieve his full potential there. He and Rebecca had wed on her nineteenth birthday and instead of spending their hard-earned savings on building a house in Evanston, they had purchased a wagon, four mules and copious supplies in preparation for the journey to California. Meticulous to a fault, Leland had planned the trip down to the very last detail. He had even written to several newspaper offices offering his services, receiving replies from three in San Francisco suggesting he present himself for an interview upon their arrival on the west coast. Positive that he would secure a good position, probably even a promotion, and despite Rebecca being in the early weeks of her pregnancy they travelled south to Independence, Missouri where they joined a small westward-bound wagon train.

Leland had been unwavering in his belief that there was a great future ahead — he had a beautiful young wife, was soon to become a father and out west he could really make something of himself. What he had certainly not foreseen was that all his dreams would end here in a remote corner of the northern Arizona badlands.

Looking back toward the wagon Rebecca could see gentle Mister Jones smearing dollops of grease with a mop-like brush onto the front axle while Mister Smith, who appeared to her to be the leader of the two, lay on his back inspecting the brake block. She knew that she should be concerned about entrusting her safety, not to mention that of her unborn child, to these two strangers but deep down she had a feeling that she need not be. They seemed kind and, so far, had not given her any reason to doubt that their intentions were completely honest and forthright.

With a grimace she stood and tried to ease out her back. For the past couple of days it had ached almost constantly, something she had put down to sleeping awkwardly in the cramped confines of the wagon. Recently, Leland had insisted that she should no longer sleep on the hard ground each night in their hastily erected tent but in the wagon among their supplies and possessions. He had thought nothing of sacrificing his treasured box of books, among other things, many miles back along the trail in order to make enough room for her to lay down on the bed of the wagon.

Having just crawled out from under said wagon Hannibal Heyes was busy slapping the accumulated dust from his clothes with his hat as she approached.

"Looks like the front axle had gotten a little too dry," he stated. "Now, do you want to ride in the back or up front with Thaddeus?"

"Thank you Mister Smith but, if it won't slow us down too much, I think I'll walk for a while."

"Sure, ma'am. You just say when you want to ride."

Without warning Rebecca leaned a palm against the side of the wagon and took a few deep breaths.

"Are you alright?" Heyes asked, anxiously.

"My back aches, that's all." Rebecca Parrish straightened, forced a smile and patted her belly. "Must be the result of carrying this little one around for almost nine months."

Hannibal Heyes' returning smile didn't quite reach his eyes.