Rescue in Zion

by Skykomish1

Heyes and Curry are being chased by a posse through the mountains of Utah. This story includes a river, a resourceful inventor, the rescue of a young woman, and a case of mistaken occupations.

Rescue in Zion

Ba da dum, ba da dum, ba da dum, ba da dum. The pulsing beat of the galloping horses was driving a spike into Hannibal Heyes' brain. He was tired and thirsty, and the altitude was draining him and his horse. Kid Curry and his mount were also struggling with the thin air and the August sunshine in the high elevations of southern Utah.

They had arrived in Cedar City two nights before and delivered the mining documents to Colonel Harker's friend the following morning. They had even been paid! The bustling mining community and the US army in Cedar City insured that it supported two saloons and plenty of poker, even though it had started life as a Mormon missionary town. The ex-outlaws had slept in clean beds, eaten hearty meals, and played cards at the saloons.

Unfortunately, a retired railroad conductor recognized them, and the resulting posse hounded their trail eastward and into the mountains. They pounded up switchbacks towards towering cliffs that jutted above the forest in jagged, red-and-orange-striped sandstone. Luckily, both men and horses had benefited from a few days rest before the punishing 4,000-foot climb out of Cedar City. Yesterday afternoon they rode through forests of scrawny pinyon pine and juniper. When they reached the plateaus, pine and juniper gave way to aspen, spruce, and fir. The leaves of the trees dappled the glaring sunlight that sparkled through the thin air at 9,000 feet.

A cold camp near a small lake provided both outlaws and horses water and rest. By the time the thin rays of early sunlight threaded through the surrounding peaks, they were riding hard again, heading south and east through a sparse forest dotted with twisted lava formations. Since mid-morning, their trail had descended steadily. They picked their way down rocky slopes, followed dry stream beds, and walked their horses through shallow rivers. Now they were galloping through a grass-filled valley that followed the east fork of the Virgin River. Ba da dum, ba da dum, ba da dum. The drum beat of the horses' relentless gallop continued.

Heyes held up his hand, signaling a stop. His sorrel snorted and sidled while he gentled him with a pat and a quiet word. Curry pulled his bay to a walk beside his partner. He took off his brown hat, pulled a grimy bandana from around his neck, and wiped at the sweat matting his dark blond curls and beading on his forehead. Heyes pushed back his battered black hat, pinning his hair off his face. He wiped his own brow on the sleeve of his navy blue shirt.

"Do ya' think we lost 'em, Heyes?"

Shading his eyes with a gloved hand, Heyes peered north up the valley and then scanned the hills to the west. "I don't see any sign of them, Kid. You?"

"Not since mornin'. I think we lost 'em."

Heyes indicated a nearby stream with a tilt of his head. "Let's water the horses and decide where to go next."

Several hours later two muddy and sweaty men atop equally muddy and sweaty horses rode into a prim, starched town on the east fork of the Virgin River. The prosperous community was laid out in a precise grid. No debris littered the dirt streets or the boardwalks. Men and women went about their business with unhurried precision. Kid's clear blue eyes darted about the town looking for dangers and escape routes, but found only order and serenity. Heyes shifted his shoulders as people stopped to study the two scruffy cowboys riding into their community.

"Town's called Orderville. Appropriate, huh?" joked Heyes.

"Ya' think they know who we are?" Curry hissed, using only one side of his mouth.

"I don't see how," responded Heyes, while his coffee brown eyes catalogued the surroundings.

"Telegram?"

"Nah, I don't think the sheriff's had time to get back to Cedar City and send one."

Curry's expression hardened. "Then why are they staring at us like that?" he whisper-shouted.

"I don't know," Heyes muttered. "Let's check-out the sheriff's office." At least they didn't know the sheriff.

After failing to locate a saloon or a hotel, the partners headed for the livery stable to take care of their horses and find the answers to a few questions. The livery owner was a wide man with large hands and very little hair. "Yup, I got space for your horses. Will ya' be staying long here in Orderville?"

"Just passing through," answered Heyes.

The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously and inspected the two visitors more closely. "Don't get mucha that here. Mostly see folks visitin' family or comin' through on farm business."

Curry placed enough coins in the man's hand to cover the cost of board for the horses. "Is there a hotel in town?" he asked casually, as he pocketed the remainder of his money. "And can ya' recommend a saloon?"

"Hotel's two blocks down and to yer right. Nice place with a good café. But you won't find no saloon here in Orderville. No gamblin' house, either." He looked them over again and frowned. "Good day to ya', gents."

They stepped outside of the stable, puzzled by the curt dismissal.

"What now?" asked Curry.

"I guess we check out the hotel."

"Ya' sure we should stay? Maybe we should just eat and leave."

"I think we're safe for tonight. Besides, the horses need the rest."

The brown-haired man strode down the boardwalk, following the stable owner's directions to the hotel. The blond scanned the street before heading after his partner.

"Folks are still starin' at us, Joshua."

"I can see that, Thaddeus. What do you want me to do about it?"

"It makes me nervous."

Dark eyes sparkled as they slid sideways and peered at the Kid. A mischievous grin spread across Heyes' face. "I like it when you're nervous. It makes me feel safer."

Curry glared at Heyes. "What kinda town this size don't have a saloon?"

"I been thinkin' about that. Got an idea, but I think we should talk about it in our room."

Both men paused and politely tipped their hats at two women herding a bunch of neatly dressed children. Several shops down, the women greeted a distinguished gentleman with generous mutton-chop sideburns. He took the hands, and kissed a cheek, of each lady in turn. The man noticed Heyes and Curry watching. His face creased in a frown, and he propelled both women across the street. Before the group turned a corner, the man scrutinized the ex-outlaws again, and then hurried after the women and children.

"That does it, Joshua. Do we look like murderers or desperate outlaws or somethin'?"

Heyes' closed lip smile only hinted at dimples. "I sure hope not." He chuckled at his partner's irked expression.

Curry gave in and replied with a grin of his own. He placed his hand on Heyes' sweaty shoulder and steered him into the hotel lobby.

Upstairs in a corner room with two beds and fresh curtains, Curry sprawled in a cushioned chair. His long legs extended across the floor, nudging one of the beds.

Heyes placed his hat on a rack fastened to the wall. He checked to make sure the door was locked, and then sat down on a bed and toed off his boots. He ran long fingers through his dirty hair and looked up to find his partner glaring at him. "What?"

"What do ya' mean 'what'? Ya' said you'd tell me about the saloon when we got to our room." The cranky outlaw glanced around. "This is our room, ain't it? So talk. I'm thirsty, and there's no saloon. Why?"

Heyes rolled his eyes. "Sheesh, Kid. No need to get proddy. I didn't steal the saloon. I'd like a drink as much as you." Heyes leaned back on the bed. "You know much about Mormons, Kid?"

"No. Should I? I know they're in Utah."

"Just in case you haven't noticed, so are we- in Utah, I mean. Anyway, they don't hold with gambling, and that book of theirs is not too keen on drinking either, so I'm guessin' that's why there's no saloon."

Curry yanked his feet towards the chair and plopped his elbows on his knees. "We been in Utah before, Heyes, and they always had saloons. So what's wrong with this place?"

Heyes cradled the back of his neck in his hands and leaned against the headboard. "We're in a small town in the middle of nowhere. In fact, I'm not sure about this, but I think we might be in one of those missionary towns where they have," he paused trying to remember the word and stretched out its pronunciation, "co-mu-nal living. I think I read somewhere that Orderville is a town that follows the Order of," he paused and shook his head, "e … somethin'. It means they share everything and are real strict about followin' their rules."

Curry stared at Heyes with hurt puppy eyes. "No saloons?" he verified forlornly.

"No saloons," confirmed Heyes.

"Anything else I need to know about folks 'round here?"

"Well, Kid," Heyes hesitated. "They probably have pole-ig-amy."

"Pole what?" asked a frowning Curry.

"You know. When a man can have more than one wife."

"AT THE SAME TIME!"

"Shh, Kid. Don't shout. Yep, at the same time. It has somethin' to do with bringing lotsa children into the world."

"Well, that would do it, but it ain't decent."

Heyes chuckled. "I don't know, Kid. It seems to me that a man's got his hands full with just one woman living under his roof. I think a man with more than one wife is already paying for his sins in ways I can't even imagine."

About an hour later, two clean and shaved cowboys entered the restaurant. The large dining room suggested that it served the town as well as the hotel. Clean blue-and-white-checked tablecloths matched the gingham curtains, and a vase with a single flower sat on each table. Only a few places were available, but one next to a back wall suited Heyes and Curry.

The noisy room buzzed with chatter and laughter. A mix of children and adults sat at most of the tables. Several included two or three women with a whole passel of children. Each of these tables also had one prosperous and well-dressed gentleman. As the two cowboys entered, the dining room quieted, and the patrons stole surreptitious glances at the strangers. Once they were seated and looking at the chalk board where the day's menu was posted, the conversation in the room resumed.

Curry was studying the menu as he whispered to Heyes, "They're starin' again. We had a bath. What are we doin' that's so dang fascinatin'?"

"I don't know, but it's worrying me too."

A young waitress approached the table. She was polite, but nervously twisted her fingers in her apron. Her eyes darted to a man with a handlebar mustache at a table loaded with children and three women. Both cowboys ordered the fried chicken special. The waitress lifted the corners of her mouth in an imitation of a smile and glanced at the man at the large table again. He nodded slightly, and she scurried back to the kitchen.

Heyes opened his mouth, but abruptly shut it when he caught sight of a man wearing a tin star walking purposefully to their table. Curry recognized the expression on his partner's face and turned toward the approaching lawman. He looked a question at Heyes, who answered, no, with a mere twitch of his head. The lighter-haired man removed his hand from his Colt and deliberately placed both hands on top of the table.

"How do', gentlemen?" asked the sheriff, respectfully removing his hat. He was a small, wiry man with thick white hair and a broad smile. His tin star seemed shiny and new.

Both Heyes and Curry started to get to their feet, but the lawman waved them back down. He snagged an empty chair from a nearby table as he asked, "You gents mind if I join you for a minute?"

"Our pleasure, Sheriff," answered Heyes with an amiable, if not entirely authentic, smile.

"I just came to see if I could be a help to you two in any way."

A smile masked Heyes' discomfort. "I think we're doin' fine, Sheriff, but thanks for the offer."

"Thanks for checking on us, Sheriff. We appreciate that. Right neighborly of ya'," Kid's grin was bright and forced. "We're doing just fine. Just riding through. This is a real nice town ya got here."

Heyes' face told the Kid to stop talking while they were ahead, or at least not behind.

The sheriff just smiled and bobbed his head. "Yeah, real peaceable. So quiet, in fact, that I only sheriff part time. Don't need nobody full time. Everybody's real law-abidin' and peaceful. The townsfolk here work real hard and take care of each other. Don't leave much for me to do. But if anything is wrong, or we've missed somethin', just let me know, and we'll make it right"

Curry's smile slipped as his blue eyes sought his partner's. What did the man mean? Heyes' raised eyebrows told the Kid that he wasn't the only one baffled by the sheriff's behavior.

Oblivious to their silent communication, the sheriff pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He extended a hand to each of the ex-outlaws. "Well, if you gents need any help, or anything at all, just call on me anytime, day or night. We always want to be of assistance here in Orderville."

Placing his hat back on his head, the sheriff turned to leave. On his way to the door, he nodded at the gentleman with the handlebar mustache. The man returned the gesture and smiled.

Curry started to speak, but was cut off by the arrival of the waitress with their chicken. After shoveling several large bites of mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth, he asked, "What was that all about?"

"Don't know. I'm thinking on it." The man with the handlebar mustache was paying his bill. Heyes tilted his head in the man's direction. "But whatever's goin' on, that man has a finger in it."

"Well, there's no reason to stay in town and figure it out," stated Curry. His brow furrowed. "Is there?"

"Nooooo," replied his partner. "Let's just get a good night's sleep and leave real early tomorrow morning."

"After breakfast," affirmed Curry. Heyes rolled his eyes. "I don't want you to forget breakfast again." Heyes kept silent. "O.K., Joshua? After breakfast?"

"O.K. After breakfast." Heyes shook his head as he got up to pay the bill.

Heyes had finished his huckleberry muffin and was drinking his third cup of coffee while he waited for the Kid to finish a plate of eggs, hash browns, ham, sausage, and biscuits. They were seated next to a window, and Heyes was watching Orderville come to life in its sedate and methodical way. The sun had risen above the distant mountains and was washing the valley with friendly light. Fluffy white clouds dotted the blue sky, and a breeze fluttered the curtains. Later, the sun would turn hot and scorching, but this early in the morning, it was a warm caress.

Heyes sat forward, placing his forearms on the table, as his focus sharpened on a scene outside. Alerted by the other man's posture, Curry slowly lowered his fork and peered out the window.

"How long they been talkin'?" He indicated a knot of men clustered across the street with a movement of his chin.

"Not long, they just started congregating."

"Mustache man and sideburns guy are both there."

"So's the helpful sheriff," added Heyes.

"Ya' think they're talkin' 'bout us?"

"Good odds of it."

As the two cowboys watched, the man from dinner the night before handed a piece of paper to a younger man who walked quickly and purposefully to the telegraph office. After he went inside, Curry's and Heyes' eyes locked.

"You done?" asked Heyes.

"I am now," replied Curry. "You'll pack the bags?"

"And you'll pay for breakfast and check out?"

"Yup. Meet you at the livery stable. This town just got a whole lot less friendly."

Ba da dum, ba da dum, ba da dum, ba da dum. This time the horses galloped north. They had kept to a trot until Orderville was hidden by a bend in the road. Shortly after losing sight of the town, Kid spotted a dust cloud to the north. Heyes reined up where a stream crossed the road. He and the Kid walked their horses up the hillside by following the sandy-bottomed creek until they could cut across stony ground. High boulders shielded them from the road. Heyes pulled a spyglass from his saddlebag and studied the approaching dust cloud.

"Looks like a posse," he told his partner. "Six men."

"It's too soon to be because of the telegram, Heyes."

"Probably, but it's a posse just the same. Want to head northwest across country? I've got an idea."

"Sounds good."

They worked their way up a rocky ridge by zigzagging through scraggly trees and broken basalt. Groups of boulders provided cover and alternated with patches of pine trees and junipers. As their horses carefully picked their way out of the valley, fir and aspen replaced the trees from lower down.

Looking back at the road, Curry saw the dust cloud resolve into six figures on horseback. After a brief pause, the riders pursued the outlaws up the slope. Curry kicked his bay into motion and brought it next to Heyes' sorrel. The mare tried to crowd in front, but Curry controlled her with a firm rein.

"Ya' see 'em?" he asked while tussling with his mount.

"Yeah. We need to hurry."

As if to stress Heyes' point, a rifle shot chipped the boulder sheltering them. Each man kicked his mount, and soon they were riding hard and lying low against the necks of their horses. More shots rang out, but none hit as closely as the first. They pounded up the slope; hooves occasionally slipped on the rocky ground. Years of brutal chases, allowed Heyes and Curry to pull ahead of the posse.

They pressed north and west. After cresting a ridge, they dodged scattered oak and sagebrush before descending into a valley. The three-point beat of a gallop echoed through the surrounding hills.

Kid reined in his bay as it splashed into a shallow river. Heyes maneuvered next to his partner, patting his sorrel's neck as the gelding heaved deeply and tossed his head. Heyes let the horse reach for a drink.

"Ya' wanna follow the river?" asked Curry.

"Uh-huh," Heyes agreed distractedly. He craned his neck to peer up the valley. "Have you seen the posse?"

"Not for a while. You?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure they're still back there. I think we can slow up for a bit, though." Heyes took a drink from his canteen and then offered it to his partner. With the twitch of a leg, they each directed a horse downstream.

"I hope this is the river we're lookin' for, Kid."

"We're lookin' for a river?"

"Yep. Remember, I told you I had an idea how to shake the posse? Well there's a branch of the Virgin River somewhere hereabouts that goes through a narrow canyon and ends up in the town of Springdale twenty-five miles south of here."

"Heyes, if you've heard about this canyon, then I'm thinkin' someone in the posse knows about it, too."

"Kid, I thought we had an agree-"

"Yeah, Heyes, I know, we got a deal 'bout thinkin', but I'm still askin' my question."

Heyes hid his smile by looking down.

"Well?" demanded an impatient Curry.

"Well what?" Heyes shot back.

"Is it a good idea to go through this canyon if the posse knows about it, too?"

"Nope. Almost as bad an idea as going back to Cedar City or Orderville."

"Then why are we doin' it?"

"Coupla reasons, Kid. First off, we're going to send the horses on up the valley without us, hoping the posse will follow them and not us. The posse might know about the canyon, but maybe they'll assume that we don't. Secondly, the canyon's real narrow, so if they do follow us, it'll be easy for you to scare 'em off. Lastly," Heyes turned and looked directly into the Kid's blue eyes. "You got a better idea?"

"Nope. So how far to this canyon?"

"I was told that it's about three miles from where the valley turns to the west."

"Let's hurry."

Heyes slowed his horse to a canter and then a trot as the valley narrowed into a shallow canyon, and the river tumbled down a steep slope. He dismounted and handed his reins to Curry. Squatting near the waterfall, Heyes inspected the narrow ledge. Soon Curry stood next to him holding the reins of both horses.

"The horses can't run no further, Heyes. You sure this is the place?"

"It's gotta be, Kid. Let's get our stuff."

The two cowboys quickly removed their saddlebags and gear, but left the saddles and other tack on the horses. They remounted and rode back to where the valley widened. Curry picked up a stick and whacked each animal soundly on the rump, while both he and Heyes shouted until the horses bolted across the valley. They backtracked to where the river descended by walking in the creek to hide their tracks.

Curry picked his way down the ledge. Heyes followed him down the steep trail until both men stood next to a creek at the base of a sloping cliff. They studied the terrain in the late morning sunlight. Where the water hit the gravel, a small pool formed. Streams meandered across the canyon floor in a braided channel.

Curry smirked at his partner. "After you," he said as he stretched his upturned palm downstream.

Heyes adjusted his saddlebags on his shoulder before stepping over a narrow stream and picking his way on the dry gravel between the channels. The creek snaked through the bottom of the ravine, leaving patches of exposed rocks and sparse vegetation. The ex-outlaws chose a path on the dry ground. The gorge deepened and grew dimmer as they hiked downstream.

Soon the canyon narrowed, and the walls grew into vertical sandstone cliffs. Every route was now wet, and Heyes and Curry were forced to wade. The water, though only a few inches above their ankles, was chilly as it leaked through their boots and soaked their socks and feet.

About a mile further, the ravine peeled open into a wide canyon with the creek winding through the middle. The sun's heat soaked into the cliffs and heated the air. Soon both cowboys had sweaty shirts stuck to their backs. About noon, they stopped in the shade of a willow tree to get a drink and strip down to their Henley tops. As Heyes stored his shirt and vest in his saddlebags, he removed biscuits and jerky and handed some to Curry.

"My feet are startin' to hurt, Heyes."

"Mine, too."

"How far is this town?"

"I'm not sure how far we've come, but I'd estimate we have at least another fifteen miles or so."

"FIFTEEN MILES!" Curry exclaimed. "All in the river?"

"Relax, Kid, not all of it's in this canyon. It's in the river-off and on-for about half of that. Also, once we get out of the canyon, there are folks who farm the land north of Springdale. Maybe we can buy some horses or get a ride into town."

Heyes pushed the sleeves of his white undershirt above his elbows, then bent down to repack his saddlebags. Once Heyes was ready, he scrounged through fallen branches from the cottonwood and maple trees huddled near the cliff wall. After he found what he wanted, he strode back to the Kid and handed him a branch about five feet long and an inch around. He kept a similar branch for himself.

"What's this for?" asked Curry, clearly unimpressed.

"It's a walking stick," Heyes explained. "I thought it would help when we wade through the river."

"Oh. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Heyes placed a hand on Curry's shoulder as he passed him and headed downstream. "You coming?"

"I'm comin', Heyes. My feet might never forgive me, but I'm comin'."

They trudged downstream. The gorge narrowed, and widened, and narrowed again. Sometimes, they could hike on dry ground while the river chattered down one side or snaked around hummocks of gravel poking up between the channels. Other times, the cliffs crowed close, squeezing the river into a single passage which stretched across the canyon. Then they were forced to wade, bracing with the walking sticks as their boots slipped on round rocks slick with algae. The sides climbed higher, bracketing a single slot of blue high above their heads. By late afternoon, the slanting sunlight warmed sandstone of vibrant red and orange. White and tan striations streaked the walls in wavy patterns, like a great hand had swirled the stone before it hardened.

The splashing creek, swollen by tributaries, grew into the Virgin River. The water was nearly knee deep, and Heyes and Curry had been sliding on the rocky bottom for about an hour, when the river turned, and the canyon opened wide. The current hugged the right wall, and on the left a gravel bar was dotted with willow and maple trees. Low brush nestled near the cliff, and ferns and small plants cascaded where pristine springs dripped into lush hanging gardens.

Curry limped onto the dry ground and looked up at the colorful sandstone. "This is somethin', Heyes," he said with awe. "I've never seen anything like it."

Heyes nodded as he turned in a slow circle admiring the scenery. He stepped onto the gravel bar and hobbled over to Curry. His boots rubbed against the blisters forming on his feet.

"It's getting late. You wanna camp here?" asked Heyes as he pulled off his black hat and slapped it against his leg to remove a coating of dust.

"Yeah," Curry agreed, moving further away from the water. He gingerly sat on a large boulder, tossed his hat down, and then pried his boots off his feet and calves. His faded jeans were soaked halfway up his thighs, and the boots did not want to come off. Once his feet were bare, Curry stood and unbuckled his gun belt, carefully hanging it on a tree. He peeled off his jeans, and placing his hands on the small of his back, he stretched.

Heyes stopped collecting fire wood and turned back to his partner. "What are you doing in your drawers?" he demanded. "What if we have to run?"

"I ain't runnin', Heyes. My feet hurt, my legs hurt, my boots are wet, and so are my pants. I gotta let everything dry. If the posse shows up, we can all sit here and dry out together. Right now, jail don't sound so bad, as long as it ain't wet."

"Yeah, I'm drenched, too," Heyes glumly agreed. He extended his arms to demonstrate to his cranky friend just how soggy he was. His Henley was sweat-soaked and clung to his chest. His pants had turned dark brown where the water pasted them to his calves and lower thighs. As he shuffled toward the Kid, his boots made squishy noises, and water squirted out one damaged seam.

"We gotta get dry, Heyes, or it's gonna be real cold when the sun goes down."

"I guess you're right, Kid. Let's get the camp set, and then we'll let these clothes dry out near the fire."

The next morning was cool, but not cold. Thin clouds stretched across a strip of grey-blue sky framed by the canyon walls. After breakfast, two damp, but determined, cowboys splashed downstream. The river volume increased, and footing became treacherous, forcing them to wade through water that lapped at their thighs. Both Heyes and the Kid removed their gun belts and hung them around their necks, trying to keep both the weapons and their ammunition dry.

As morning wore into afternoon, the temperature climbed. They rested and ate lunch in the shade of a willow tree. Their downstream trek stopped when the canyon pinched into an especially narrow slot.

Heyes hitched his pants up at the knees and squatted down by the cramped channel. He tried to measure the depth using his walking stick, but it failed to reach the bottom. He cocked his head and studied his partner. "I suppose we can swim it," he summed up as he stood and faced Kid.

"Swim it!" accused Curry. "I can't keep my gun dry if we swim that!"

"Your gun's been wet before. It didn't melt. You'll just need to clean it when we get to the other side. You do that every day anyway."

"And the bullets, Heyes? I can't just clean the bullets! You want to end up in this Springdale place with no bullets?"

"I don't want to, Kid, but I prefer it to the alternative. You wanna just sit here? Or head back the way we came?"

Curry crossed his arms over his sweaty underwear. "You're the genius, Heyes. You planned us into this mess. Think up a plan to keep my bullets dry."

Curry turned his back on his soggy partner and limped over to a dry boulder where he sat down with a grunt.

Heyes rested his chin in the palm of his hand and tapped his cheek with gloved fingers. He stared at the swirling current and considered how to get the guns and bullets across the deep slot without getting them wet. Throwing them wasn't going to work. Somehow they would need to keep them out of the water while swimming, or the weapons were going to get soaked. Suddenly a wide grin split his face, and he picked up his walking stick.

"I got it, Kid." He hobbled to the boulder where a cranky Curry sat rubbing sore ankles through the leather of his boots. Heyes tapped the walking stick against his palm. He grinned at the Kid and planted the end of the branch firmly into the gravel at the blond's feet. Curry raised skeptical blue eyes and aimed them at his partner.

Heyes returned the gunfighter glare and then looked pointedly at the walking stick. When he still didn't get a reaction, the sweaty cowboy drummed the stick into the gravel and raised his eyebrows. Kid Curry didn't respond.

Frustrated, Heyes heaved a sigh. "We'll tie the gun belts to the branch at the top of the stick and hold it out of the water while we swim. River's deep, but it's not movin' too fast, so I think we can do it."

Kid stopped glaring.

Heyes saw that he was thinking it over.

"What about my box of extra bullets?"

"Put it in the holster with your gun."

"O.K. It might work." He grinned good naturedly. "Let's try it."

Curry pushed himself upright and took the walking stick from Heyes. Soon he had his gun belt secured to the branched top. "Gimme your gun, Heyes, and the box of bullets from my saddlebags."

Heyes shuffled over and returned with his belt and the extra bullets. After securing both weapons, Curry jammed his box of bullets into Heyes' holster.

"Why'd you do that," asked Heyes.

"To keep em' dry. Was your idea."

"Yeah, but you put them in with my gun. Why not yours?"

Curry made a dismissive noise and limped over to their things. He took a couple of leather straps and tied his bedroll to the branch. Heyes did the same with his, and then placed his saddlebags around his neck, draping both bags across his chest and tying them together, so they wouldn't float away.

After their gear was secured, Heyes waded to where the river pooled and swirled upstream of the constricted flow. He began to swim when it rose above his waist. He reflexively sucked in a breath when the cold water hit his torso. The walking stick, held with one arm, poked high in the air while Heyes kicked to stay afloat. The current pushed him downstream. Curry was right behind him, carefully watching the gun belts secured to the top of the pole. The narrowest section only lasted about ten yards. When the canyon widened, the river spread from wall to wall, but only reached about mid-thigh. They no longer needed to swim.

"That was cold, Heyes," complained Curry. He moved to stand in the sunlight at a spot where the water only reached his knees.

Heyes followed his dripping partner and pushed up the sleeves of his Henley to let the sunlight warm his arms. The Kid removed both gun belts and handed one to Heyes. They each secured their belts low around their hips and then bent to tie the thigh strap. Heyes jammed his hat on his head and then shoved it back, pinning his hair off his face. He squinted one eye and looked at the strip of sky high above.

"Day's turned kinda grey and sticky, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, Heyes, it has. But I can't get much wetter so …," Curry shrugged.

"Shall we get on out of this canyon?"

Curry nodded, and they resumed plodding downstream.

The sun burned high overhead, hazy and indistinct behind clouds filling the murky afternoon sky. The towering walls and sculpted sandstone faded from fiery red, to deep copper, to orange, and then to rust. A distant rumble echoed through the constant, lapping murmur and soft splashing.

Each ex-outlaw focused on moving one foot in front of the other. Boots were placed awkwardly among slick rocks. Walking sticks braced each step against the tug and push of the current. Riding boots slipped and bent, and tired ankles struggled not to crumple. Simply plodding downstream and staying upright required all their attention. The day was hot, but the water was cold, further sapping energy already depleted by the high altitude, a posse chase, short rations, scanty rest, and the arduous trek.

Another far-off rumble caught Heyes' attention. He looked around the canyon. The river was changing, and changing fast. Brown swirls stained the grey-green water. It was moving quicker, and rising. Another rolling growl interrupted Heyes' study. He looked up sharply with real fright in his brown eyes. He tried jogging to catch Curry, but slipped and fell to his hands and knees. Pushing upright he ignored a jagged cut bleeding on his hand. River water ran from his torso, plastering his clothes to his exhausted body.

"Kid!" Heyes shouted. "Flood coming!"

Curry spun around and lost his balance. He caught himself before bashing his knees. Heyes reached his partner and helped him stand.

"You sure?" snapped Curry, his eyes darting around looking for escape routes.

"Yep, I'm sure. Look at the water. Listen." The rumble swelled to a deafening roar. "We gotta run!"

"Can't outrun a flash flood, Heyes. Look for a place to get outta the water."

Both men rushed and stumbled downstream, searching for somewhere to scramble up the cliffs. Curry whirled around and shouted, but Heyes could hear nothing but the crash of the flood. Suddenly, a moving wall slammed into Heyes and threw him down like a doll. As the river swallowed and poured over him, he gasped in a lungful of muddy water. The last thing he saw, before the churning engulfed him, was his partner's terrified face. Kid Curry toppled backwards into the chocolate foam.

Seconds crawled as the river pummeled Heyes. All control vanished as he learned man's impotence when faced with nature's fury. He snatched a quick breath, before he was yanked to the rocky floor. The current gripped him like a giant hand, pushing him along the bottom, and then capriciously tossing him back to the surface. It slammed him into a boulder, forcing the air from his lungs. He tried to hold on and catch his breath, but the cold and scant oxygen made him clumsy. His arms slipped from the boulder. The sound and feel of the surging water overwhelmed his senses.

When the current spun him around, his downstream hurtle was slowed by an eddy of slack water behind the giant rock. He tried to will his flopping limbs to swim back to the boulder, but the river sucked away his strength. He glimpsed a valley downstream as he floated through the eddy. Hope rose when he saw the canyon walls open wide, and the river flatten and slow. The current blasted into an undercut cliff on the left as the river turned. An exposed island huddled near the side of the canyon. Heyes kicked his way to the right, hoping the current would carry him to the gravel bar. He was jerked out of the eddy and shoved back into the current. He resurfaced when the river pinned him against the trunk of a tree. The world went dark and faded into silence.

Hannibal Heyes woke to the smell of smoke and the crackling of a fire. A gentle hiss told him the wood was wet. He opened his eyes to a black sky smeared with the white stars of the Milky Way.

When he tried to sit up, his blanket slipped to the ground. He shivered and realized that he was naked under the rough wool. When he hitched it back over his shoulders, a sharp pain pierced his side. His hand met tight, cotton dressings binding his torso. He found a bandaged spot on his calf that was stained with brown patches. Everything ached, and his throat hurt.

Suddenly, Heyes lurched to his hands and knees and spewed river water on the gravel bar. When the vomiting stopped, he sank back until he was sitting on his heels with his forehead cradled in his palms. Strong hands secured the cloth around his shoulders and helped him lie down. Heyes clutched the blanket and then looked up at an unfamiliar blur. He raised himself on his elbows and peered at the pale smudge.

"Hold on a sec, there," advised a scratchy voice. "Let me help you sit up. If you need to gag up river mud again, let me know, and I'll help you to the side."

Heyes blinked his eyes, held still, and tried to focus. Slowly the blotch became a face. It was attached by a thin neck to a long, stretched body. The man was young, perhaps early twenties, and had thin shoulders and large hands. Reddish-brown bangs fringed his forehead, and freckles evenly peppered his face and forearms. Spindly legs folded up as he squatted next to Heyes, and his skinny limbs ended in large feet encased in worn leather boots.

"Hello," rasped Heyes, in a voice worn gravelly by river grit and retching.

A crooked smile lit up the man's face. "Are you all right?" he asked with concern.

Heyes sat up with the man's help and looked around. He saw the hissing fire and a set of soggy saddlebags, but he didn't see his partner.

"My friend?" he croaked. "Did you find another man? I wasn't traveling alone." Heyes struggled to stand, but the lanky stranger stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down. Your friend is on the other side of the fire. He hasn't come 'round yet. He took a good knock to the head, but his pulse is steady and his breathing is strong and regular."

"Help me over to him, would you please? And where are my clothes?"

The stranger grinned. "You and your friend were in the water a while. Those wet things were just keepin' ya' cold. I had to strip them off to warm you up. Sorry, but your clothes aren't dry yet, and everything ya' had with you is as soaked as what you were wearing. It's real lucky I had blankets with me."

The man helped Heyes get up. He gripped the blanket and stepped carefully across the tumbled rocks, on bare, blistered feet. Hunkered down next to his friend, Heyes checked Curry's breathing and heart rate. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to find, but Kid seemed to be breathing the same as always. His head was turned to the side, and Heyes could see where the hair was matted with dried blood. When he gently touched the raised knot beneath the Kid's curls, his partner shifted and groaned.

"Heyes... Heyes," the unconscious man muttered.

"It's O.K. I'm here," Heyes replied softly. He glanced around to see if their rescuer was listening. The tall man was tending the fire and didn't seem to notice what Curry was saying. He straightened up and walked over to them.

"How is he?"

"All right, I guess." Heyes moved closer to the fire, and then stuck out his hand. "I'm Joshua Smith," he introduced himself and shook the man's hand.

"Ezra Thompson. Glad to meet you, Mr. Smith, but from what I've seen you and your friend there are lucky to be meeting anybody this side of heaven and hell."

"Thanks for your help, Mr. Thompson. My friend is Thaddeus Jones." Heyes turned to his partner when he offered the alias, and then broke off and coughed. His throat still ached. Thompson grabbed a pot and a cup from near the fire and offered him some coffee. Heyes sipped the warm liquid. He was afraid that Thompson was going to ask how they had ended up in the canyon and was stalling so he could think up a story. Thompson returned the coffee pot to the fireside and sat down next to Heyes.

"You're lucky. I think you have some hurt ribs, but other than cuts and bruises, that's all ya' got. I was fishin' just upstream of here when the flood hit. I saw you two, but couldn't reach you until the water went down. Your friend's got a good knock on the head and a few scrapes, but nothing more. Riding out a flash flood could have been a lot worse. You two are lucky to be alive."

"We might not have made it if you hadn't been here. Thanks for helping us. How long have we been out?"

"'Bout five hours. I figure to keep an eye on you two through the night, then if you're feeling up to it, I'll leave you to watch your friend, and I'll go get my wagon to take you to my cabin."

Heyes nodded. "Sounds like a good plan, and thank you. Can you help me move my blankets over next to my friend? I'll rest better if I can hear if he needs me."

The sun was hot and bright by mid-morning of the next day. Heyes sat on a rock near the small fire tending to beans and bacon left by Thompson. He was dressed in clothes that were mostly dry. His partner's things were laid out in the sun in the hope that they would be ready when Curry woke up.

The Kid had roused several times during the night and early morning. The last time he had been lucid. After throwing up and allowing Heyes to check his bandages and the lump on his head, he had rested peacefully. He was still asleep. Heyes didn't like how much Curry was sleeping, but figured it would be a few days before the Kid recovered from the head bashing.

Heyes found their clothes spread out to dry. One set of saddlebags lay near the fire. The other he couldn't find anywhere. He saw one bedroll tied to a stick and stuck in a tree. What he didn't find were their guns or their gun belts. They had been wearing their gun belts when the flood hit. He figured that he should have found them with their clothes. Thompson must have taken their weapons. Heyes decided that the young man wasn't as trusting and amiable as he had first appeared if he took their guns with him. Not that it really mattered, since after that dousing, their bullets weren't going to work anyway. It made him a little wary that Thompson seemed to want them unarmed.

A soft clop of hooves interrupted his thoughts. Heyes forced his aching body to its feet and turned to watch Ezra Thompson cross a river that was now shallow and tame. The young man rode one bay horse and led another. Heyes waived in greeting.

"How ya' doing?" called out Thompson.

"Good. Thanks for the food."

Thompson urged his horse up onto the gravel bar and dismounted. "Has Mr. Jones come around yet?"

"He woke up a few times. The last time he threw up a bunch of water, talked a bit, and then went back to sleep."

"Was he aware of things?"

"Yep."

"That's good. I wasn't sure about that knock on the head, but if he's wakin' up, he should be o.k. in a few days. Has he tried eating?" Heyes shook his head. Thompson tied the horses and then dished out two plates of beans and bacon. "Wanna see if he'll eat?"

"I was trying to let him sleep."

"We're gonna have to wake him up to get to the wagon anyway, but it's up to you."

"Let's try. Thaddeus is mighty fond of food."

Before they left the campsite, Curry tried eating a few beans and some bacon, but the food wouldn't stay in his stomach. Heyes tucked him into a nest of blankets in the bed of the wagon for the four-mile ride to Thompson's farm. A stabbing headache, nausea, and black spots running in and out of his vision were Curry's main complaints. He endured the ride through the flood ravaged valley in stoic silence.

Debris and branches were strewn many feet above the current level of the murmuring river. They were grateful that Thompson's home was built above the crest of the flood waters.

It was a hot and dry afternoon before the wagon pulled up in front of a snug cabin built on high ground just underneath a canyon wall. A good-sized barn stood to the right of the cabin. A corral stretched between the two buildings and reached down to the Virgin River.

Heyes helped his partner to the cabin while Thompson cared for the horses and put away the wagon. They kept silent until Curry was lying down on the only bed in the one-room dwelling.

"You want some water?"

"That'd be good," replied the blond.

Heyes gave him a drink and then wetted a cloth to clean the matted lump on the side of Curry's head.

"Ouch, whatcha doin'? That hurts!"

"Lemme look at this, would ya'?"

"Can't ya' be a little more careful? OUCH!"

Heyes frowned and then positioned Kid's head so that he could pour water over the wound.

"That's cold, Hey- Joshua."

"Good, maybe it'll help the swelling." He let the Kid lie back down, satisfied that the injury only needed time and rest to heal. Glancing out the window, Heyes saw Thompson still working with the wagon. He crossed back to his partner and scooted a chair close to the bed. "Our host took our guns, Kid," he whispered. "I haven't seen 'em since the flood."

"Do ya' think he suspects us?"

"He's gotta suspect something. I just don't know what, yet."

Curry pursed his lips and considered the man's motives. "Maybe he just took the guns because he was bein' careful. He don't know us or what we're doin' in the canyon."

"That's just it, Kid. He hasn't asked me why we were in the canyon, where we're headed, or where we came from. It's like he don't want to talk about it."

"We don't want to talk about what we were doin' either, so can't ya' be glad he's leavin' it alone?"

"It's just not natural for him not to ask. Human nature bein' what it is, he's going to wonder what we were doing in the canyon. His not asking, combined with taking our guns, has me worried."

"Heyes, we can't use a gun with wet bullets anyway. Maybe he just put em' somewhere for safekeeping." Curry studied Heyes, silently hoping for confirmation of his theory. A deep frown drew lines between the brown-eyed cowboy's eyebrows. Curry's shoulders slumped.

"O.K," Curry relented. "Maybe he hid our guns, but I'd sure like to know where mine is. It needs cleanin' real bad after bein' in the water. We should ask him." Curry squinted his eyes and rubbed at his temples.

"Still hurts, huh?" Heyes asked gently.

Kid nodded, then slapped his hand over his mouth. His eyes widened in alarm. Heyes bolted out of his chair and grabbed a pan for the Kid. As he held the pan and helped steady his friend, Heyes strained his injured side. When Ezra Thompson opened the door, Kid Curry was retching into a metal pan tilted precariously in one of Heyes' hands. The dark outlaw was folded at the waist with his other hand clutching his bruised ribs.

"Could you two use a little help?" Thompson asked with a grin.

He took the pan from Heyes and waved him back to a chair. After Curry was done throwing up, Thompson handed him a cloth and a glass of water. Once the Kid's nausea was settled, he checked the scrapes and cuts under the Kid's bandages while a worried Hannibal Heyes peered over his shoulder and carefully examined his every move. Once Thompson was satisfied with Curry's condition, he turned to the hovering Heyes.

"Your turn, Mr. Smith. Sit down on the edge of the bed and let me see those ribs and your blistered feet."

Thompson unwound the strips of cotton binding Heyes' torso. As the cloth peeled away, dark purple and blue bruising blossomed over his right side. The Kid squirmed to get a better look at his partner's injury, but pain lanced through his head, and he collapsed back onto the pillows. Their host carefully probed the bruises as Heyes winced and whimpered.

"I don't think they're broken, just bruised, maybe cracked, Mr. Smith."

"Call me Joshua," Heyes answered, forcing a smile through the pain.

"Sure will, and call me Ezra," replied the freckled man cheerfully. "Just let me bandage you back up and then check your feet and your cuts. Then you two can take a nap while I do some work outside. I'll wake ya' for dinner."

Curry started to protest and ask if he could clean his gun, but his head was throbbing and black dots kept swirling before his eyes. He decided it just wasn't worth it and drifted off to sleep. Heyes checked his partner one more time, and then lay down next to him and was soon snoring lightly.

Two days, and many hours of sleep, later, Curry sat at the small table in Thompson's cabin eating scrambled eggs, fried ham, biscuits, and coffee. He still had headaches, but the black dots were gone from his vision, his appetite was back, and the swelling on the side of his head had gone down. Heyes' ribs were feeling better, but were still tender, and he kept them wrapped.

The brown-haired ex-outlaw was in his long johns, standing at the kitchen basin and fiddling with a water contraption their host had built for his cabin. A pipe entered the building under the kitchen window and projected over the sink. When a metal lever connected to the pipe was turned, water flowed into the basin. It came from a barrel filled by a spring under the cliff. Ezra had fashioned a system of metal pipes which carried the spring water into his kitchen and barn, eliminating the need to pump or tote water into the cabin.

"Did you see this thing, Kid?" Heyes asked, turning the lever first one way and then the other to watch the water flow and stop. He turned the lever to the off position and then squatted down, placing one eye at the end of the pipe. He peered into the opening, trying to figure out how the mechanism worked. He eased the lever toward the 'flow' position slowly, but his hand slipped, jarring the lever open, and the pipe spat water into his eye. Heyes spluttered and wiped his face, but kept smiling happily.

Curry chuckled at him.

"Ezra is a genius with his inventions." Heyes continued. "He's got a whole workshop full of gadgets out in the barn." Turning his back to the window, he leaned against the sink. "That man should be in a city somewhere, selling his ideas and making things work better." The dark eyes twinkled, and Heyes' grin turned mischievous. "Good thing he doesn't work for Pierce and Hamilton or Brooker, huh?" Heyes turned around and began turning the water on and off again.

Curry rolled his eyes. "Stop fiddlin' with that thing! Or I just might have to shoot ya'," Curry let out a disgusted snort. "If I had any bullets," he finished, morosely. "And would you put some pants on? It's not like you to run around in your underwear. What if we need to leave in a hurry?"

Heyes peered out the window, making sure their host was out of earshot. "What's the point? Where would we run. It's all one long canyon. Besides, you're still in your Henley. And what's got you so proddy?"

"I got my pants and boots on, and I'm not proddy," Curry shot back. Softly, he added, "I don't like not havin' my gun, Heyes."

"What do you mean? Your gun is in your holster hanging off the bedpost."

"I don't have any bullets! What do you want me to do if I need my gun? Throw it at someone?"

Heyes was staring out the window over the sink. "Shh," he cautioned. "Ezra's coming." Heyes started clearing Curry's breakfast dishes from the table.

The young beanpole with freckles was striding up from the river and heading to the barn. When he disappeared inside it, Heyes began washing the breakfast dishes. Ezra entered the cabin without a word and pointed a rifle at his guests. Alarmed, Heyes dropped the metal plate he was washing, and Curry knocked over his chair as he pushed away from the table.

"Everything's O.K. We just need to talk," cautioned Thompson. He lowered his scratchy voice in an attempt to sound soothing. "Go ahead and pick up the chair, Thaddeus, and sit back down at the table."

Kid pretended to obey the request, but after he grabbed the chair, he used it to try and knock the rifle away. Thompson stepped out of reach and cocked the weapon.

"None of that, now," he warned. "Just sit with your hands on the table so I can see' em. Come on over and join him, Joshua. Move slowly and place your hands on top of the table."

Blue eyes met brown in a question. Heyes frowned and shrugged before he complied with Thompson's demand. "What's this about, Ezra?" Heyes asked, wearing his most winning and innocent expression.

"I just want to talk with the two of you. I have a proposition for you," Ezra replied without lowering the barrel.

"Ya' don't need to point a rifle at us to talk," chimed in Curry.

"I just want to make sure that you two wait and hear everything I have to say." Thompson snagged a chair with his foot and dragged it over to where he stood by the door. He turned the chair so the back faced the table and then straddled it and propped the rifle on the back. He looked first at Heyes and then at Curry. He licked his lips nervously. "I need your help," he stated simply.

"Gotta say, Ezra, that pointing a gun at us isn't the best way to ask a favor," Heyes interjected smoothly.

"I didn't say I was askin'. I said I needed your help. You see, I'm engaged to be married. Her name is Jessie Tolliver."

"That's great, Ezra, but what does it have to do with us?" asked Heyes.

Thompson looked at the floor and then quickly back up, making sure that the rifle was steady and that neither cowboy had moved. "Her Pa doesn't want us to get married. He's real stubborn and mean about it. He promised her to Elijah Kellerman. Mr. Kellerman is a prominent citizen over in Toquerville. Marrying Jessie to Mr. Kellerman will mean a lot of money for the Tolliver family, but Jessie promised to marry me. Mr. Kellerman has lots of money, but he also has two other wives and is over forty years old. Jessie don't want to marry him, so her Pa's got her locked up at home and won't let me near her." Thompson paused and wiped one hand on his jeans. "I need you two to get her away from her Pa's house. We planned to move to Denver. I've got an uncle there who will help us. I want you two to break her out of her Pa's farm and then help us get to Denver."

They both scowled at the young man. "Ezra, why don't you get her yourself?" asked Curry.

"I tried, but he's got three sons and two farmhands, and they're all real loyal. The sheriff is on her Pa's side, too. I ended up in the Springdale jail for three days when I tried to get Jessie away from her Pa. I need someone who knows what they're doin' to help me."

"And what makes you think that we can do that?" asked Heyes, with a suspicious glance at his partner.

"You two were in a bad way when I found you." Ezra met Curry's cold glare. He smiled, and then shifted his hazel eyes to meet Heyes' brown ones. "You talked a lot while you were still disoriented, Mr. Heyes."

"What are you saying, Ezra? My name is Joshua Smith." His eyes darted to Curry. "And my partner's Thaddeus Jones. I don't know what we might of said while we—"

"You called me 'Wheat,'" Thompson cut him off, "and wanted to know if the Kid had been shot by the posse. You were very clear about all that, too."

Curry watched Heyes, waiting for the famed silver tongue to talk their way out of this mess.

"As for your partner," Ezra continued. "He mostly just called out for 'Heyes.' At first I didn't understand what he meant, but when you started goin' on about posses and the Kid, I put it together. Course, the telegraph from the sheriff in Cedar City warning that Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were riding in the area didn't hurt none."

Heyes closed his eyes and sighed. The Kid's shoulders slumped.

"What now, Ezra," asked Heyes. "You planning to turn us into the sheriff in Springdale?"

"Have you even been listening?" Ezra moaned. "For a man with a reputation for being real smart, you sure don't listen too good. I don't want to turn you in to the law. I want you to help me get Jessie. I don't imagine Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry are going to have much trouble breakin' her out of her Pa's farm."

"Ezra," Curry reasoned. "Even if we were those two notorious outlaws-." The glare from Heyes stopped him in mid-sentence. "What?"

"Kid, there's no point. This time we might as well tell the truth."

Curry frowned and nodded. "Ezra," he started again. "We just can't add kidnappin' to our records. We're real grateful for what you've done, but that's not a risk we can take."

"Did I give you the impression I was asking?" Ezra tried to make the words hard and threatening, but his voice climbed about half an octave and shook, robbing it of menace. He wilted, and uncocked the rifle. "Who am I foolin'? If you two don't want to help me, I can't force you. But I'll pay you two hundred dollars, and nobody is gonna think I had Heyes and Curry with me. Everyone in Sprindale and Toquerville will think I had the help of two federal marshals."

"Federal marshals!" barked Heyes. "What are you talking about, Ezra? What about that telegram from the sheriff in Cedar City about Curry and Heyes?"

Ezra flashed his crooked grin. "I work at the telegraph office part time. Nobody in Springdale, but me, saw the telegram about Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. But a telegram also came from the mayor in Orderville warning all the local communities that two federal marshals were in the area looking to arrest men in plural marriages. The town folk and the sheriff thinkin' you're marshals will just make it easier to get Jessie. I didn't know where you two were hiding out, but I hoped that if I ran across you, I might convince you to help me. If I help you avoid the law, will you help me get Jessie?"

Heyes squinted one eye and cocked his head. "Ezra," he soothed. "Holding a gun on us isn't the way to ask for our help."

Thompson broke open his rifle and showed the two outlaws that it wasn't loaded. He laughed when he saw the look on the Kid's face.

"I can handle a rifle, Mr. Curry, but I'm no expert. I didn't think it would be too smart to bring a loaded gun into the same room as Kid Curry." He stood up and propped the unloaded weapon in a corner. "What about it? I know the money I'm offerin' is probably chicken feed compared to what you'd get robbin' a bank. But it would be honest money, and you would be helping a nineteen-year-old girl as well as me. I also figure you owe me for fishing your sorry butts out of the Virgin River."

Both outlaws gawked at the skinny young man. Neither one could quite believe that this bookish and awkward inventor and farmer had spoken to them, knowing who they were, with such bravado. Heyes chuckled. Then he got up from the table and started pacing while he thought about what Ezra proposed. Curry studied their host, and then poured himself a cup of coffee. Heyes leaned a shoulder against a wall and regarded Ezra with a serious expression.

"You do know that we are worth $10,000 a piece, dead or alive?"

"Sure I do, Mr. Heyes. But what good is $20,000 without Jessie? Even if I was willing to take the money instead of Jessie, I'm not fool enough to think that I could get you and your partner into Springdale and locked up and collect that reward. Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry have run free for years while being chased by the country's best lawmen and bounty hunters. I'm not gonna get either one of you to do anything you don't want to. And Mr. Heyes, would you please put some pants on. I'm having a heck of a time talking business with an infamous outlaw standing in my cabin in his underwear."

Curry choked and spit coffee all over the table.

"Ezra, we can't ride out of this valley on your horses," explained Heyes, straining for patience. He placed the book he was examining back on the shelf. Thompson had a collection of about thirty worn volumes carefully stored above the kitchen table. The small collection reminded Heyes of his father's precious horde. He ran his fingers down the spine of the book one last time before facing Ezra.

"The folks in Springdale are going to recognize your horses, and no one's going to believe that two federal marshal came from Orderville through that canyon. We've got to come from another direction on strange horses. Otherwise, it just ain't gonna work!"

"Are you sure people will notice?"

"Trust me, Ezra, details matter. People do notice."

Thompson left the kitchen table and removed a small package from the pantry. He placed it in front of Curry. The Kid opened the box and was surprised to find it full of bullets that would fit his Colt.

"I thought you would feel a mite more comfortable with bullets for that fancy gun of yours."

"Thanks, Ezra," said Kid, with real gratitude. He stood up to load his gun and fill his gun belt. When he was done with his, he took care of Heyes'.

"Why?" Heyes challenged. "Aren't you afraid of what we might do with loaded guns?"

"I've been thinkin', and I decided that it just doesn't make sense to trust you with my Jessie, but not with your guns. I'm sure that you two could overpower me and escape if that's what you wanted. You agreed to help me, so I'm making sure that you have loaded weapons." He reached into his pocket and tossed some money on the table. "There's a hundred dollars. I'll give you the other hundred once we have Jessie."

Thompson turned to Curry. "Thadeu-…" He stopped. "What should I call you two now?"

"Just stick to Joshua and Thaddeus," Heyes answered quickly. "It's a lot safer for all of us."

"All of us?" questioned Ezra. "How's it safer for me?"

"You ever hear of aiding and abetting a fugitive?" asked Heyes.

"Can't say that I have."

"Under the law you can go to jail for helping us instead of turning us in. So let's all pretend that you don't know who you've hired to impersonate federal officers." Heyes took a sip of his coffee. "Speaking of impersonating federal officers, if we can get away with it, I would rather not actually say that we're marshals. Is there any chance that people will jump to that conclusion with just a bit of nudging?"

"Sure is. The church elders are so nervous about the pressure coming from the capital about plural marriages, that they're seeing federal marshals in almost any drifter."

"Has it always been like this?" asked Heyes.

"No. Sending marshals and arrestin' folks is new. Since the war ended, Congress has decided that plural marriage is as bad as slavery, and they're out to stop it. Personally, I don't care about it one way or the other."

"Is it usual to force a lady to marry a man she don't want?" asked Curry, showing his disapproval.

"Nah. Jessie's Pa is just mean and lookin' to move up in local society. Most times, the girl is given a choice about who she marries." He stood and grabbed the coffee pot off the stove. He offered a refill to his guests before he sat back down. "But, let's get back to the plan," he suggested.

"Ezra," Curry interjected. "You really should let Heyes do the plannin'. He's irritatin', but he's nearly as good as he thinks he is at schemin', particularly when it involves breakin' and enterin' and bein' sneaky around lawmen."

"All right, Joshua," Ezra relented. "How do you think we should go about this?"

"Stop scratching," hissed Hannibal Heyes at a wriggling and fidgety Kid Curry. Both cowboys lay in stuffy, hot darkness under a scratchy horse blanket covered with squash and ears of corn still in the husks. The wooden wagon jounced and jarred both men lying hidden in the bed beneath the produce and the blankets.

"This blanket itches, Heyes, and the corn husks are pokin' me. I can't breathe through that smell. What did those horses do to this thing?"

After over three hours under a stinking blanket while being jostled in a wagon and broiled by the hot August sun, the Fastest Gun in the West was in a sour mood. They had left the cabin early on a bright morning. Heyes had insisted that they hide in the bed of the wagon under the farm goods Ezra was taking to sell in nearby Rockville. Both men were hot and thirsty. Their shirts were plastered to their backs by sweat and covered in bits of hay, horse hair, and others particles they would prefer remain unidentified. The heat and constant bouncing brought back Curry's headache and aggravated Heyes' sore ribs.

They heard Ezra's muffled whoa, and the wagon eased to a stop. Soon the blanket was lifted. "Come on out," he whispered.

Both ex-outlaws slithered from the wagon. Curry sneezed as he and Heyes brushed the debris from their clothes and slapped the dust off their hats. The smell of hay and the sound of horses told them that they were behind the livery stable.

"The hotel is two blocks that way." Ezra pointed to the right. "Go get a room and get cleaned up."

"Where's the sheriff's office?" asked Heyes.

"You want to go to the sheriff's office?" Ezra asked with a wry twist to his crooked grin.

"We need to check it out. See if we know him," explained Curry.

"Or if he knows you?" teased Ezra. "His name is Russ Jenkins, if that helps."

Brown eyes met blue and came to the conclusion that neither outlaw had run into a sheriff by that name.

"Thanks, Ezra. You just saved us a trip," replied Heyes. "But wait a minute, did the sheriff here receive a telegram letting him know about two notorious outlaws seen riding in the area?"

"No telegraph office here in Rockville," answered Ezra. He smiled and lowered his voice. "They depend on the office over in Springdale. I believe Sheriff Jenkins received a message concerning two federal marshals, but not a word about wanted outlaws. I'll meet the two of you back here in an hour after you get cleaned up."

"Make it an hour and a half, and where's the saloon? I'm gettin' a beer before I meet up with you," Curry insisted.

"Make it an hour and I'll join you for something to drink," replied Thompson.

Heyes grinned. "Ya' got a deal, Ezra. We'll meet you in the livery in an hour."

Late the next morning, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry rode into the thriving town of Springdale on horses and tack purchased from the livery stable in nearby Rockville. They checked into the hotel and asked for directions to the diner where they had arranged to meet Ezra for lunch. After eating they went back to their room. A short time later, there was a knock on the door. Kid grabbed his gun and stood against the wall. When he was in position, Heyes opened the door. It was Ezra. Heyes stepped aside to let him enter. The Kid lowered his gun and returned it to its holster.

"You expectin' trouble?" asked Ezra with raised eyebrows.

"Not exactly expectin' it. More like always ready for it," replied Curry.

"Were you seen coming to the hotel?" asked Heyes.

"Yes, Joshua, I made sure of it."

"Good."

"Is all of this paradin' around really necessary?"

"The people in town need to see us together. We want them all to be real sure that you're working with us. How long before someone in town gets a message to Jessie's father?"

Heyes moved to stand against the wall next to the window. Ezra followed him, but stood directly in front of the opening. Curry strode over and steered Thompson to a position against the wall on the opposite side from Heyes.

"Ya' don't want the folks we're watchin' to see ya'," he explained.

Ezra nodded, and then pointed at a chubby man riding a buckskin horse toward the edge of town. "That's the deputy, and he's riding in the direction of the Tolliver farm."
Heyes smiled. "That's it then. Let's go." He grabbed his hat from the foot of the bed and his gun belt from the bed post.

"Mr. Heyes-I mean Joshua-do we really need to do all of this? Can't we just go get Jessie tonight? I can show you where the farm is."

Heyes sighed and placed a hand on Ezra's shoulder. "I need to see the place before I can plan how to remove Miss Tolliver from her father's house. And she needs to know we're coming." Heyes hooked his thumbs into his gun belt and studied the man in front of him. "I also want to see for myself if this is what Miss Tolliver wants. No offense, Ezra, but right now we only have your word for it that the girl wants to elope with you. Before the Kid and I take a lady from her home, we need to hear from her directly that it's what she wants."

"I should probably appreciate that."

"Come on, Ezra," coaxed Curry. "I thought you agreed that we would let Heyes here do the plannin'."

Less than an hour later, they stood at a closed gate in front of the Tolliver farm. A scrawny youth with high cheekbones and a sparse mustache leaned against the gate with a Winchester held loosely in both hands. Thompson got off his horse, but Heyes and Curry remained mounted.

"Howdy, Levi," Ezra greeted the man leaning on the gate.

"Whatcha doin' here, Ezra? Pa made it clear you ain't welcome."

"Sure did, but I'm just showing these two gents the way to your place. They want to speak with Jessie."

Heyes swung out of the saddle and offered his hand to the guard. Levi Tolliver reluctantly propped his weapon against the fence and grudgingly shook Heyes' hand.

"I'm Joshua Rembacher," Heyes introduced himself. "My partner there is Thaddeus Hotchkiss. We need to speak with Mr. Samuel Tolliver and Miss Jessie Tolliver."

Before Levi could respond, the chubby deputy rode into view.

"Let 'em in, Levi," the deputy called out. "Your Pa said he'd talk to them."

Heyes remounted. Ezra started to follow, but Levi grabbed his rifle and pointed it.

"Not you, Thompson," he growled. "Maybe we can't keep these marshals out, but we don't have to let you on our land. You can jest wait for yer friends right here."

"It's all right, Mr. Thompson," Heyes assured him. "We'll meet you here after we speak with Miss Tolliver."

"I'll be waitin', Mr. Rembacher."

A few minutes later, a painfully thin woman in a high-necked dress was leading Curry and Heyes into Mr. Samuel Tolliver's study. Blue and brown eyes furtively catalogued their surroundings as they walked through the house. Tolliver was a broad, strong, weathered man with deep creases in his face and hands. A ring of curly grey hair circled his head. He glared at the two cowboys from behind the protection of a large oak desk.

"I'm Rembacher," Heyes introduced himself, and then indicated Curry. "And this is my partner, Mr. Hotchkiss." Heyes extended his hand, but Tolliver ignored it. Curry stood a few steps behind Heyes with his thumbs hooked under his gun belt. He treated Tolliver to the icy glare.

"We're here to speak with your daughter, Mr. Tolliver. We have a report that you plan to force her into a polygamous marriage against her wishes. You do know that polygamy is illegal in this country?"

Tolliver pushed back his chair and ponderously rose to his feet. He leaned his upper body across the desk, resting his weight on his arms.

"I have only one thing to say to the two of you. Who can I contact to verify that you're really federal agents?"

"Of course, Mr. Tolliver. You can certainly contact our superiors in Washington, but they will want to know why you're asking." Heyes paused to let Tolliver catch the implications. "If you would prefer to be more discreet," Heyes slid a glance at his partner, "You may send a telegram to Miss Betsy Jamison in Kingsburg, California. Just a few months back, she helped us bring in a crooked banker who was embezzling funds from his own bank to speculate in mining stocks."

"You can be sure, I'll send a telegram just as soon as I get to town. In the meantime, I've been warned by our local authorities that I must let you speak with my daughter." Suddenly he bellowed, "Mildred." The mousy woman returned.

"This way, please," she mumbled, and they followed her out of the room and down the hall to a stuffy parlor. Seated demurely with her hands folded in her lap was a thin girl in her late teens with enormous grey eyes. Her hair was an unruly brown mop of curls escaping from braids and pins. She wore a plain, grey and white dress with a starched collar and fitted sleeves. The woman, Mildred, backed out of the room and shut the door.

"Miss Tolliver?" asked Heyes, quietly. The girl nodded and offered him a shy smile. "Ezra Thompson asked us to come and see how you are."

At the mention of Ezra's name, the girl's eyes sparkled, and her face was transformed by a dazzling smile. "Sit down. Tell me what he said," she urged in a low voice.

The cowboys sat on the settee facing Jessie's chair. Heyes reached into a pocket inside his leather vest and pulled out a note Thompson had written explaining their plan. Jessie unfolded the note and quickly read the message. Once finished, she looked at Curry and then Heyes.

"I want to marry Ezra," she breathed so quietly that they had to strain to hear her.

Curry stood up and listened for sounds outside the door. Heyes leaned forward and covered Jessie's small hand with his.

"Tonight," Heyes whispered. "Which room is yours?"

"Second floor, middle window. I'll leave it open a few inches."

"Is there a side door?"

She nodded. "It's on the north side of the house around the corner from the screened porch."

"Will your room be guarded?"

"Pa is keeping it locked and barred from the outside. He keeps the key with him. One of my brothers, or one of the hands, will be outside the house below my window. Another will patrol the grounds."

"Your father is that worried about Ezra?"

"No, he's worried about me. I got out twice before he added the guards and the bar on my door."

Late that night, after folks had gone to bed, Curry and Heyes lay flat on their stomachs behind some brush watching a farm hand patrolling the Tolliver property.

"He's real predictable, Heyes," muttered Curry. "Amateur. Don't change his routine at all."

"Just makes it easier for us, Kid. How you want to do it?"

"Once he goes around back, you hide by one side of the porch, and I'll wait on the other. After he passes me, distract him, and I'll take him out from behind."

Heyes nodded.

Once the farmhand checked the front of the house and disappeared around back, Heyes stealthily moved to the far side of the porch. He drew his revolver and crouched behind a bush next to the corner. Curry ran bent over, using his long legs to smoothly propel him across the empty yard. He pressed his back to the side of the house in a dark corner created by the junction of the porch and the wall. He removed his Colt and stood perfectly still, waiting for the guard to pass.

Soon the farmhand walked by Curry. Heyes rose up from behind the bush and pointed his Schofield. The man raised his rifle when the armed cowboy suddenly appeared. Immediately, the cold barrel of a six-shooter pressed into his neck, and Curry's gloved hand covered his mouth.

"No heroics. We don't want to hurt nobody," Curry warned. "Keep still, because the trigger on this gun is real touchy. You don't want my finger to slip and have it go off accidental."

Heyes removed the rifle from the farmer's trembling hands. Kid stuffed a bandana in the man's mouth and knotted the gag while Heyes bound his hands and feet with strips of leather. They deposited him behind the bush where Heyes had hidden, and secured him to a post.

Once the guard was tied and out of sight, Heyes moved to the back of the house, hugging the wall to avoid being seen. Curry trailed close behind. Both men had their guns drawn. Heyes stopped when they reached the corner of the house. He carefully peered around before stepping to the side entrance.

He tried the door, but it was locked. His fingers slid a pick out of the pocket sewn into the lining of his boots. Curry stood next to his partner, back against the wall, right arm stretched down against his side with his gun in his hand. Keen, blue eyes darted from horizon to horizon searching for trouble and watching his partner's back. Knowing Kid was by his side, Heyes fully concentrated on his job.

In mere seconds, the lock surrendered. Heyes replaced the tool and removed his gun from its holster. He turned the knob and eased open the door. Curry glided inside. Heyes followed and silently closed the door behind them. They crept up the stairs, staying near the wall, and placing each foot carefully before lowering any weight onto a step. A swinging door at the top of the stairs squeaked when Heyes began to push it open. Both outlaws froze. Curry held the door in place while Heyes reached into his jacket and brought out a very small tin of oil. He placed a few drops on each hinge, and then they waited for several seconds before trying the door again. This time it moved soundlessly.

Curry slipped through; his gun was pressed against his thigh. Heyes moved past him to a barred door in the middle of the hallway. Curry lifted the wooden bar while Heyes reached for his pick. A sturdy metal hasp with a large padlock secured Jessie's room. Heyes inserted the pick and was rewarded with a muffled click. Deft fingers removed the padlock and opened the door. Miss Tolliver stood waiting just inside wearing a riding skirt and carrying a small travel bag. She was ready to go.

Heyes placed two gloved fingers over the girl's mouth. Once he was sure she wouldn't speak, he removed his hand and circled her wrist with his fingers. A gentle tug towed her out the door. Kid Curry stood in the hallway outside the bedroom with his back against the wall. Heyes secured the hasp with the padlock. He lifted the wooden bar and replaced it in the brackets, barring the room again from the outside. While Heyes locked the door, Curry placed a finger against his own lips reminding Jessie to stay quiet. Once everything was relocked, he led the way back downstairs, followed by Jessie and then Heyes.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the Kid opened the outside door. A large orange and white tabby darted through the opening. Jessie tried to pick up the cat, but it leapt through her arms and pushed off a dainty table. The table wobbled, and a vase toppled to the floor where it shattered, spilling glass and dried flowers. The cat hissed and spit, and then streaked up the stairs. Heyes' dark eyes sought Curry's blue ones. The silent conversation was instantaneous.

"You sure?" Heyes barely breathed the question.

"Yep. Run!"

Heyes grabbed Jessie's hand and hurried out the door. He ran, hauling her across the property. Curry plastered himself against the outside wall next to the side door. The barrel of a rifle appeared around the corner. The Kid grabbed and pulled. When a startled Levi Tolliver followed the barrel, he found a cocked six-shooter pointing at his head. After taking the man's weapon, Kid placed Levi in front of him. He stood watching the side-door stairway, and wrapped his hand over Levi's mouth.

Light flickered in an upstairs window. Curry heard shouts as the household shook itself awake. Bare feet thumped on the stairs. The first person down hesitated because of the splintered glass. Kid shoved Levi into the foyer and aimed his Colt at the two men poised on the landing. The younger man raised his Winchester.

"I'd think real hard before pointin' that thing," Curry responded in a hard voice.

The young man lowered the rifle, but when Curry stepped further into the doorway he raised it again and aimed. His father used his own weapon to knock the barrel of his son's Winchester toward the ceiling. It went off, showering the room with chunks of plaster. At the same time, Curry fired and grazed the man's hand. The rifle clattered to the ground.

"Daniel, we don't shoot federal marshals," shouted Samuel Tolliver.

"But they're takin' Jessie, Pa," he whined while cradling his injured hand. Blood drops slipped through his fingers and splattered on the stairs.

"Listen to your, Pa," Curry recommended. "Bein' wanted for murder's not gonna bring your sister back home."

Daniel spun back to face his father. "We can't let -"

"The church elders ain't gonna tolerate anybody shooting federal officers. Let it go."

"Yes, Pa."

"That's right, Dan-" Curry began.

"Get off my land," Tolliver cut him off. "GET OFF MY LAND!" he bellowed and aimed his rifle.

The Kid backed away from the house. When he was no longer directly in front of the doorway, he turned and ran toward Heyes and Jessie. Tolliver and his sons burst through the door, and several shots kicked up dust in front of them. When the revolver fired, Curry leaped, pulling his legs into a tuck. He cleared the fence and rolled. Heyes offered him a hand, but kept his gun aimed at the Tollivers.

Curry was on his feet, and backing down the road with Heyes and Jessie.

"I can't believe we got caught because of a cat," muttered Heyes with disgust.

"Can't plan for everything," Curry concluded. "Some things just happen."

"Yeah," Heyes replied with a grin. "That's why I've got you. To watch my back when things don't go as planned."

"You saying that you need me to protect you from kitty cats?"

They reached a clump of trees and boulders. Ezra stepped out from behind the trees and handed reins to Heyes and Curry. He gave Jessie a quick kiss on the cheek and then helped her mount a horse. Heyes handed Jessie her travel bag before swinging up into his own saddle. Curry mounted but didn't turn away from the men in front of the Tolliver farmhouse until the other three had ridden some distance. Turning, he hurried after Heyes, Jessie, and Ezra.

Five days later, Hannibal Heyes, Kid Curry, Jessie Tolliver, and Ezra Thompson were all standing on a platform at the train station in Denver.

"I really wish you two would stay for the wedding," pleaded Jessie. "It won't be much, but we would love to have you there."

"We wouldn't be getting married if it weren't for you two," added Ezra.

"Sure wish we could," said Curry.

"It's really not safe for us to stay," added Heyes.

"But no one knows you're here," argued Ezra.

"It wouldn't take much to figure out where we headed," explained Heyes. "I don't want to be here when Jessie's Pa finds out we aren't federal marshals." He smiled. "And I meant that it isn't safe for you two if we stick around."

Jessie leaned close and gave Heyes a kiss on the cheek. As she hugged him, she whispered, "I'm not afraid to have you around, Mr. Heyes. You will be welcome at our home anytime."

Heyes shot Ezra an accusing glance. Ezra shrugged and flashed his crooked grin. "We're gettin' married," he said. "I couldn't keep lying to her about something as important as who rescued her."

Curry shook Ezra's hand. He kissed Jessie on the cheek. "Good luck," he said.

"Good luck to you too, Mr. Curry," she murmured, before she gave him a quick hug.

Heyes clasped Jessie's hand between his two gloved ones and then shook Ezra's. Both ex-outlaws climbed onto the waiting train and waved goodbye to the couple standing on the platform.

"We did good this time, Heyes," Curry said quietly.

"Yep, Kid, we did."

"But the next time we come to Utah, I'm bringin' a bottle of whiskey with me."

Historical Notes

I. All the towns referenced in this story are, and were, actual communities in southern Utah.

Orderville was the most successful town to follow the United Order (also called The United Order of Enoch) which was a Mormon experiment in communal living. The principles of the United Order, as they were implemented in the town of Orderville, were very successful and produced a thriving and prosperous community. During the 1870 and early 1880s, Orderville boasted a population of about 700 residents. It was also unusual in that about 67% of the marriages in Orderville were plural. This is compared to an average in other nineteenth century LDS communities of about 25%. (The plural marriage statistics are hotly debated making it hard to get firm figures, but all sources seemed to agree that most of the marriages in Utah were not plural, and that Orderville was an exception with a very high percentage of the marriages being plural.)

Rockville and Springdale both existed through the 1880s and are both still with us today. However, I did cheat. Today, Springdale is the larger community, because it sits at the entrance to Zion National Park. At the time of the story, however, Springdale was very small, only about 50 people. It had no telegraph, no post office, and no train service. Rockville (4 miles southwest of Springdale) was the larger community and offered the services Springdale lacked. I switched the size of these two towns and the location of the telegraph office, just to make the story less complicated.

II. Federal Legislation regarding polygamy in the nineteenth century and its enforcement by federal marshals.

a. 1862 – The Morrill Act made bigamy a felony according to federal law. It was a law with many loopholes and Abraham Lincoln chose to ignore it. He went so far as to send word to Brigham Young (through an intermediary) saying that "if he (Brigham Young) will leave me (Lincoln) alone, I will leave him (Brigham Young) alone."
b. 1874 – The Poland Act required that polygamy cases only be tried in federal courts with federal judges.
c. 1882 – The Edmunds Act barred anyone in a polygamous union from voting, serving on a jury, and from holding public office. It also provided for the dissolution of the LDS Church as a corporation and the seizure of all church property valued over $50,000. It was after the passage of the Edmunds Act that federal marshals and their deputies became a force in the lives of Utah residents practicing polygamy.
d. 1887 – The Edmunds – Tucker Act tightened and strengthened the Edmunds Act. Under Edmunds – Tucker:
1. Wives were required to testify against their husbands in polygamy cases.
2. All marriages had to be recorded.
3. Women lost the vote in Utah.
4. All citizens running for public office, serving on a jury, or wanting to vote were required to sign an oath supporting anti-polygamy laws.

III. The Zion Narrows - The Narrows is a 16-mile hike from the Chamberlain Ranch near Glendale, Utah to the Temple of Sinawava in Zion National Park. Most of the 16-mile trail is in the canyon and depending on the Virgin River water level, much of the hiking is done in the water. Several places in the Narrows do require swimming. Flash floods are not unusual and are most common in August and September.

IV. Alcohol Sales – I was surprised to discover that most of the communities in Utah had saloons during the nineteenth century. The Mormon prohibition on caffeinated drinks and alcohol was not as strictly enforced before the turn of the century. In 1902, adherence to the Word of Wisdom (the part of the Doctrines and Covenants detailing guidelines on the consumption of food and beverages) was made mandatory for admission into the church. Prior to 1902, church elders were urged to be lenient, with older church members in particular, who grew up without these restrictions.

Author's Note:

The ideas for this story came from investigating Utah history after a family trip to Zion National Park. I am not a Mormon, but I have tried to be respectful of the beliefs of the LDS Church. If I have offended in any way through my ignorance, please forgive me.

Finally, a big thank you to Fortitudine for providing information about nineteenth century ammunition. Any errors are, of course, my own.

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