A strong wind swirled through the blue spruces raising small puffs of dust and sending grit flying straight into J.D. Mackler's eyes causing him to cuss heartily as he tied off the last horse to the highline he'd rigged.
"Grandpa, you shouldn't curse!" Ten-year old Bobby stood a few yards behind him, holding a tin bucket, and wearing a disapproving frown. His brother, Tom, not Tommy-he was, at thirteen, too old to be called Tommy-gathered rocks in the meadow to construct a fire ring.
"I was cursing a blue streak while I was still in diapers, boy. I ain't breakin' the habit now. You just don't go telling your mama and everythin' will be just fine. C'mon, I'll walk you down to the river."
Smiling, the boy fell into step next to his grandpa, whom he loved even though his manners were rough. Bobby knew all about manners. His mama drilled them into him constantly; correcting his speech, his posture, telling him that the world would judge him by how he presented himself to it. But his grandpa was one of the best men he knew and he never gave a lick about what anyone thought of him. Bobby wanted to be just like him when he grew up.
He and his brother only got to spend two months every summer with their father's father, but they looked forward to it every year. The entire train ride west was spent with noses pressed to the windows watching the miles fly by until they reached Colorado. Each year, Grandpa was waiting at the station, his old, battered green 1921 Ford flatbed truck parked nearby. All three of them would squeeze together in the cramped cab and suffer through the long, bumpy ride to his ranch near Grand Lake.
This year was different, though. Mama was expecting again and she hadn't felt well all summer. The boys had been kept home to see after her while Papa worked long days at the courthouse. It had been a hot, sweltering Philadelphia summer spent cleaning closets and polishing windows all the while longing for the cool freedom of the Colorado high country.
Mama took to her bed a few weeks ago with painful cramps and the doctor had cautioned their Papa that Mama needed complete bed rest and total quiet. The next evening, their Papa told them they would be spending the fall with their beloved Grandpa and, two days later, they were on the train west.
"Boy, quit yer daydreamin' and hand me that bucket," said J.D., crouched on the bank of the North Fork of the Colorado River. They'd be crossing tomorrow; the river was low and it wouldn't be hard.
Bobby held out the bucket and his grandfather dipped it into the icy water. "Here, you carry it; you're big enough to do a man's work. See that you don't spill none of it on yourself; it's gonna turn cold tonight." The boy had to use both hands to lift the heavy bucket and he struggled with it the entire way back to camp but he never said peep about it. J.D. was proud of him. He and Tommy might be city boys, but he reckoned he'd pounded enough country into them each summer they'd grow up to be strong men.
Tommy was finishing the fire ring when they returned. J.D. and Bobby set the bucket next to the fire and went off to gather wood. A short time later, there was a hot, roaring fire. J.D.'s coffee pot sat in the coals and the remains of dinner lay scattered in the flames burning so as not to attract any critters. The boys were bundled in their saddle blankets hunkered down as close to the ring as they could manage without setting themselves on fire. He could tell by their eyes they'd be asleep soon.
J.D. watched the sun setting over the Never Summer Range. There'd be a full moon tonight; the Hunter's Moon. His Pa had taught him, as he'd taught his grandsons, about the September full moon-the Harvest Moon, and the October full moon-the Hunter's Moon. They were different from all other full moons because, after them, the moon rose later each successive evening so there wasn't a long darkness after sunset. The country folks loved them because the nights following them were so brightly lit that they could harvest their fields or hunt their game late into the night.
He'd need all the light he could get this year. His grandsons had never hunted elk with him and he was pretty sure there'd be problems. He'd done his best to teach them as much as he could; hunting varmint and deer during their summer trips, but it was different with elk. The animals were more elusive. These boys would be spending more time in the saddle than they ever had before and he knew it would be hard on them. They were good boys, but they weren't tough. Not like he'd been. Why, Tom was thirteen. When he was thirteen, he was already hunting by himself, his pa having died the winter before in a freak accident and him being the man of the family. Two winters later, he'd been on his own; his ma taken by the flu.
He'd been fifteen the last time he'd been in this valley and he'd been hunting-hunting two men that long ago fall.
"Grandpa, tell us a story," begged Bobby. He was leaning against his brother trying to stay warm. The firelight danced on their faces in the gloaming as J.D. pulled his own coat tighter to keep out the night's chill. Helooked at them like he'd forgotten they were there.
Tom sensed the change in his grandfather and he sat up straighter, pushing Bobby gently away. "Grandpa, are you okay?"
The concern touched J.D.'s heart and he grinned, "Sure, Tom, I'm just fine. Was thinkin', that's all."
"About what?"
"The last time I was in these parts." J.D. sat down across from his grandchildren and looked at them through the fire. He loved these boys so much and there was so much he wanted to teach them. He prayed the Good Lord gave him the time to do it.
The boys had done well today. They'd ridden into the valley this afternoon along the Grand ditch trail. The road was new and it was the perfect ride for them to get their seats under them again. Another day or so in the saddle and they'd be just fine. It had been a pleasant ride; the ditch company had completed its work this past spring and the runoff from the Never Summers now flowed merrily downhill towards the farms on the plains.
They'd ridden over La Poudre Pass just after lunch and dropped down into Hitchins Gulch. This area had been thriving when he'd been born. Silver had been discovered on Mt. Shipler in 1879 and the prospectors had poured in, founding Lulu City and Dutchtown, only to abandon them when the strike played out. Joe Shipler had been the last one to go; living alone here for nigh on thirty years; old man Hitchins only lasted twenty. Crumbling, empty buildings still dotted the valley.
He thought about the last trip he'd taken into these mountains. It was time his grandsons heard the story and learned the lesson he had. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was drafted into a posse?"
Two pairs of eyes widen at the same time, "You were in a posse?!" gasped Tom. J.D. chuckled. It was nice that he could still surprise the boy.
"I was just shy of fifteen and working at the livery down in Grand Lake. One day, the sheriff busted into the barn while I was shoveling the sh…manure and yelled for me to follow him. Next thing I know, I'm riding hell bent for leather in a posse chasing Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry."
Tom gasped loudly. He knew who Heyes and Curry were! They'd been famous outlaws, even more famous than Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. He'd read all about them in the dime novels he kept hidden from Mama between his mattress and springs. He'd read the stories to Bobby, too. Together, he and his brother leaned forward, rapt and lusting for more.
OOOOOOOOOO
"C'mon, c'mon," urged Hannibal Heyes spurring his sorrel gelding up the hillside. His partner trailed several yards behind him, still in the talus with his horse scrambling wildly under him. Heyes reached the top of the ridge and glanced back at the Kid. He had reached solid footing again and was closing the gap quickly. Heyes could see the plume of dust rising in the distance. The posse was closing the gap, too.
Curry pulled up next to him and panted, "Heyes, we've got to lose these guys. It's been two days and we don't have two more in us."
Heyes snapped, "Don't you think I know that? I don't hear you coming up with any great ideas on how to shake them!"
"Weren't me that pissed off those poker players, got them thinking about who he was and how come he played poker so well."
"Well, it wasn't me who drew on them and erased all doubt about who we were. C'mon, let's go."
"Go where, Heyes?"
"Don't know yet." The dark-haired outlaw was scanning the horizon. The sun was going down quickly and a full moon would be rising tonight; the Hunter's Moon. It could work to their advantage, but it was also going to make it easier for a posse to stay on them. Fortunately, he knew these trails like the back of his hand.
The mountains here were younger than the most of the Rockies and the peaks of the Never Summer Range rose jaggedly against the dusky sky. The trails through them were treacherous and riding them at night would be incredibly dangerous. Hopefully, the posse following them was full of store clerks and bank tellers and they wouldn't follow. Heyes made up his mind, turning his horse west. Curry trailed him without question.
OOOOOOOOOO
"They're heading towards Dutchtown," said the deputy, kneeling down by the tracks.
The sheriff nodded his agreement and yelled to the men clustered around him. "All right, we're gonna press on. Moon's gonna be full tonight and it should be easy enough going. Stay close, though, I don't want none of you damn fools getting lost and slowing us down."
J.D. glanced around at the men surrounding him. Mr. Bradley, from the telegraph office, was sweating profusely despite the cool of the evening. He was a kindly, mild man, but not much of a hand with a gun. Mr. Jeffers, from the saloon, was a different story. He was a mean, short-tempered man who thought he was tougher than he was.
As an orphan loose on his own in the west, J.D. had quickly learned to size up the strength and weaknesses of the men he met and he wasn't too happy with the company he was keeping now. He wondered what would happen, if and when, they caught up with the two desperate, infamous men they were tracking. The deputies with Sheriff Olsen were competent gunmen, but still, going up against Kid Curry required more than skill with a pistol. J.D. wasn't sure either man had the nerve to face down the notorious gunslinger. He sure didn't, but he hadn't been able to resist the offer to join the hunt. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him!
OOOOOOOOOO
Two tired horses picked their way carefully along the rocky trail. A walk was the fastest they could go and they relished the chance to catch their breaths. So did the two men on them.
"Ain't this the trail to Dutchtown?" asked the Kid.
"Yep."
"That's the only town around these parts, ain't it?"
"Yep."
"So don't you think the posse's gonna head straight for it?" exasperation laced Curry's voice and he looked over at the partner through the darkening night.
A white grin floated back to him. "I do."
Curry groaned. "We ain't going to Dutchtown, are we?"
"Nope."
"The Never Summers?"
"Yep."
"Geesh, Heyes, we'll break our fools necks!"
"Maybe, but that posse might just break 'em for us if they catch us."
OOOOOOOOOO
"J.D., fetch me that blanket!" ordered Jeffers. He was sitting by the fire, warming his heels. The others were lying around finishing off a meal of canned beans and dry biscuits. They'd ridden late into the night, but the Sheriff had called a halt just after midnight. He didn't want to face Heyes and Curry with tired, inexperienced men.
"Fetch it yourself. I ain't your errand boy," growled J.D., walking by.
Jeffers made a grab for the boy's leg as he passed, but J.D. was too fast for the heavy man.
"Boy's right, Jeffers. You want something, fetch it yourself. He's doing a man's job now. Same job as you," said Sheriff Olsen. He liked the Mackler boy and had done his best to befriend him, but the boy had a prickly nature. Most likely he'd seen some rough times since he lost his folks. He did all right for himself, young as he was; he worked hard and kept out of trouble which was more than Jeffers managed to do. He'd have to keep an eye on Jeffers; the man was a wild card. Sighing, Olsen leaned back into the saddle propped up behind him and closed his eyes. Pickings had been slim in town and he'd had to take what he could to get after Heyes and Curry quickly.
OOOOOOOOOO
Lovely Lila was standing at the foot of the bed, teasing him with her sloping eyes. Her hand strayed to the lacy chemise she wore and tugged at the bow holding it closed… "Oww!" yelled Kid Curry, bolting upright.
"Shh, sun's coming up-time to get going." Heyes held out a hand and pulled his partner to his feet. Curry was rumpled from sleeping in his clothes on the hard ground, but Heyes knew he didn't look any better. They'd tied the horses up, still saddled, and dropped where they had stood for a quick nap. The night was fading now and they needed to hurry on. Heyes fished out a piece of jerky from his pocket. "Here, mount up."
OOOOOOOOOO
A small settlement of log cabins was sprinkled in the center of the valley below the riders. The sheriff had cautioned them to ride quietly into town. They'd nose around and find the two outlaws before anyone else decided to share in the twenty grand being offered for Heyes and Curry. That kind of money could buy a man a lot of good things.
The sign on the outskirts of Dutchtown told a familiar story. The population had been noted originally as thirty-one, but a successive line of crosses had traced the defection of dwindling residents until only a faint four was scratched into the weathered wood.
Lulu City had been just over the hill from Dutchtown, but there had been bad blood between the two mining towns and after a long, bitter struggle, Lulu City had died out six months earlier. It wouldn't be much longer for this town.
Olsen knew just who he was looking for and rode straight for the ramshackle shed that served as the local bar. Peter Janssen was the proprietor and had been a good friend of the Sheriff's late uncle. All of the remaining residents were male and had put the fifty-year mark long behind them. Peter stepped out the canvas door and watched the riders approaching. He immediately recognized 'Olly' Olsen in the lead. Wiping his hands on his soiled apron, he smiled. "Olly, what brings you up here this time of the year?"
Olly pulled up his gray mare and rested his hands across the saddle horn, nodding. "Hello, Peter. Good to see you."
"You, too, son. Are you men hunting these parts?" The gray-haired man grinned at the young boy watching him from atop a roan.
"Yep. We're looking for big game. Anybody else working these hills?" asked Olly, casually.
"Nope; no one comes out this way much anymore. Sure is nice to see some new faces. You boys stopping for breakfast?" Peter asked eagerly, hoping to make a little hard-to-find money.
"Sorry, we're pressing on. Got a fresh trail and don't want it growing cold. Good to see you." Olsen tipped his hat to the old man and moved his horse along with his men trailing behind him.
OOOOOOOOOO
"Ouch, dammit!" Heyes rubbed his head where he had struck it on a low hanging branch. The trail dropped off dramatically to the right and climbed nearly vertically to the left. His horse kept its head down and its nose to the trail, ignoring the disgruntled rider on its back; it wasn't about to step off the trail on this stretch that dropped down a steep mountainside. Horseshoes clanged on the rocky path.
Curry was looking back over his shoulder at the trail behind. "I think we've lost them."
"Time we double-back, Kid."
"Trail widens out up ahead. I reckon we'll have a good view from there. Let's rest for a while and see what's coming up behind us."
"I don't know…last time we spotted them, they were a long ways away. I think we ought take that side trail around Jackstraw and circle back. Unless you have a powerful need to ride back down this trail in the dark." Daylight was fading and it would dark within the hour. While the moon would rise earlier tonight, this particular trail was too unsafe to ride by moonlight.
"We'll do it your way, Heyes; we always do," grumbled Curry.
OOOOOOOOOO
J.D. was trailing further and further behind the other men. His horse had started to favor its right leg an hour ago and he'd eased off pushing it to keep up. Stumbling, the gelding dropped to one knee, righted itself, and came up limping hard. He pulled up and jumped off, picking up the hoof and checking it for stones but he found nothing. Petting its neck, he spoke soothingly to the tired beast. Hearing the clatter of hooves on the rocky trail, he looked up and saw the Sheriff backtracking towards him.
"J.D. get back on that damned horse!"
"I can't, sir. He's dead lame. Stone-bruised."
" #$%!" Olsen would have to leave the kid behind. The boy could walk back to Dutchtown, but it was going to take him all night to do it. "Dammit, think you can follow the trail back?"
"Yes sir, I can."
"Good. Sorry, boy, I know you were looking forward to being in on this, but I can't take the time to get you a remount."
Devastated, J.D. could only nod. He turned his injured horse around and slowly started down the hill. The sheriff had already begun back up the trail and J.D. listened to his hoof beats fading away.
OOOOOOOOOO
The moon had fully risen an hour ago, and he could barely make out the rocky path. His own feet hurt him and he was limping nearly as badly as the horse. Working his way carefully past a steep section, he put down his foot wrong, rolled his ankle, and collapsed to the downhill side falling clumsily off the track. His horse reared away in fright, tugging the reins from his hands, and ripping away any chance of recovering his balance. He rolled and tumbled down the slope, bouncing off of rocks until he careened into a tall pine jutting out of a cliff above a sheer drop-off. A sharp pain shot through his side and he knew he'd busted some ribs on the way down. He tried to lever himself up, but his ankle was broken and throbbed dramatically. He sank back to the ground and stared into the dark space below him. He was going to die here; alone, just like he lived.
OOOOOOOOOO
"Careful!" cautioned Heyes as the Kid started back onto the trail. They'd spent most of the night circling back around Jackstraw and they'd finally found the main trail back to Hitchins Gulch. There'd been no sign of the posse, but they hadn't stopped; wanting to put as many miles between them and their pursuers as they could before the sun rose.
"Damn it, Heyes, I'm being as careful as I can. I can't see a blamed thing. Can you?"
"Just follow me close, Kid. We'll take our time." Heyes crept forwards slowly, every sense focused on the narrow trail.
"You hear something?"
"What is it?" Heyes paused and listened hard. He heard a soft sobbing sound drifting up from below them. "Sounds like crying; could be a puma."
"Don't sound like any puma I've ever heard. That's a kid," said the Kid firmly. He let go of his horse and slid a few yards down the hill, stopping himself with some effort. "Who's down there?" he yelled.
"Shhh! Are you nuts?" growled Heyes.
"Shut up and listen." The Kid was focused on the darkness below.
"Help," floated up the hillside on the breath of a shaky, young voice. "I broke my ankle. I can't get up." J.D. wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to regain the composure he'd lost during the long, frightening night. Someone was up there! He couldn't believe it. It was a miracle! His ma used to tell him that the Good Lord would keep him safe, but he'd stopped believing in much after his folks died. He felt hope kindle in his heart as he heard someone coming down the hillside. Several minutes later, a blond-haired man was by his side, holding a taut rope.
"Hold onto me, boy. My partner's going to pull us up" said the man, gently lifting him. A harsh pain shot through J.D. as he moved and he fainted.
OOOOOOOOOO
The semi-conscious boy bobbed along in Kid Curry's arms. He'd been out all morning. They were nearly down the trail and Dutchtown was laid out below them less than a mile away. Heyes had been bending his ear ever since sunrise, grousing about having to go into town, but the Kid knew his partner wasn't about to leave a young boy injured in the woods any more than he was.
OOOOOOOOOO
"Boy, wake up. Hey, wake up," said Heyes, patting the kid's face gently.
The boy roused and stared groggily at the dark-haired man before him. His back was sore and he could feel the large boulder propping him up pressing through his thin jacket. They were on the outskirts of Dutchtown, he recognized the shacks.
"Here, take this." The man was pressing a gun in his hand. His fingers closed about the unfamiliar weapon and he looked up into dark, concerned eyes. He remembered that his rifle had been lost with his horse. "You shoot this off a couple of times after we clear out of here and someone will come running. Got it?"
Nodding, he passed out again.
OOOOOOOOOO
"What happened to them, Grandpa?" asked Tom. The fire had died down to faint coals.
"When I woke up, they were gone. Posse never found them. I couldn't even be sure who they were until later, when they got the amnesty and their pictures were all over the papers. That's when I put two and two together."
"But, why did they help you? They were outlaws," said Bobby, confused.
"Listen up, boys, 'cause here's the lesson I want you to learn real good. In your lives, you're gonna find that there are very few men who are all good or all bad. Don't ever forget that.
The way I see it, Heyes and Curry were just two pretty good, bad men. At least they were that day."