The light in the room had changed; Heyes had been startled awake knowing something was different. His hand reflexively moved to the gun belt hanging from the bedpost, but another flicker of light halted its progress. Lightning; that's what he'd sensed.
He pulled back his hand and rubbed it across his eyes. Just his luck, he'd had a heck of a time getting to sleep in the first place. The Kid had insisted that they celebrate their good fortune in the privacy of their hotel room with some fine whiskey he'd bought. They had gotten Lom's succinct telegram yesterday: Come quickly. Stop. This is what you've been waiting for. Stop.
The Kid had passed out late last night, happy, drunk, and looking forward to the next day. Like some obscenely adult-like child the night before Christmas. Heyes had matched him drink for drink, but had hardly felt the effects. His mind had been working too quickly for the alcohol to dull it. Well, it was dull enough now. He had a headache and a bad case of dry mouth. Rolling out of bed, he walked to the dresser. The tray from last night's dinner was there and on it was a nearly empty pitcher of water. Heyes picked it up and drank from its lip, but there was barely enough water left to wet his whistle. He put it down and went to the window, drawing back the drapes.
A soft glow far in the distance lit up the craggy tops of the mountains. Heyes waited for the roll of thunder, but the storm was still too far away. Deciding that sleep wasn't coming for a while he sat down in the cozy stuffed armchair nestled in the corner of the room by the large paned window. Another flash brightened the room and he glanced at his snoring partner. Good old Kid, he could sleep through anything. He sat down in the chair and leaned his head back to get a good view of the bright explosions lighting up the night sky.
Heyes had rarely seen his cousin so happy over the past four years since they started trying for the amnesty. Last night, the Kid had been giddy with joy and so very determined to enjoy the anticipation of the next day. Why couldn't he be more like his partner? He wasn't really a pessimist; for the most part, he was very optimistic; maybe even more so than the Kid. All those times, Curry wanted to quit and he would never give up. So why was he worried now?
Heyes was fond of saying that he looked at life like a long, bumpy road and he always had one eye looking ahead for the next pothole so that he could smooth the way. That philosophy had worked well when they'd been thieving. He guessed maybe somewhere along the way it had become such a deeply ingrained habit that he could no longer enjoy the moment without worrying about the future.
Well, he had plenty to worry about. By the time the Kid had begun snoring, Heyes had filled his head with doubts and he took them out now to examine each one more closely. What was the amnesty really going to mean to him and his partner? The wanted posters weren't going to magically disappear from every sheriff's desk or bulletin board overnight. Even with modern communication it could take an awful long time for word to spread; and, in the meantime, he and the Kid would still face all the risks they've faced since outlawing. They'd probably get chased by the occasional posse or bounty hunter; still get shot at by honest citizens who recognized them from one job or another. Would their amnesty put an end to the anger felt by the people they'd wronged? No, it wouldn't; worse, it might even fan the flames of hatred to burn hotter and drive some of those folks to seek retribution on their own once they discover that the law failed them. The railroads certainly weren't likely to withdraw the money they'd offered for Heyes's and Curry's dead bodies. Heyes closed his eyes to wash away the image that had leapt into his mind.
If he didn't stop thinking, he'd never get to sleep and he wanted his wits about him tomorrow when they were supposed to meet with the governor. He went to the dresser and poured a glass of whiskey from the opened bottle on the tray. Downing it quickly, he poured another before going back to his comfortable chair. The lightning was drawing closer and he could see the jagged strikes now. A few lonely raindrops shattered against the glass.
What if the governor was going to pull a fast one on them? Maybe this is all a set up. Heyes shook his head. If the governor was going to trick them, he wouldn't be bringing Lom and the newspapers in on it. There had been a small mob of reporters awaiting them as the train pulled into the Porterville station. Out of habit, they had ducked out the rear and avoided facing the press. There'd be plenty of time for that after they had the amnesties in hand.
If this was it and they got the amnesties what was it really going to change? Not much. Heyes downed his whiskey and peered out the window. He could see the rosy glow of dawn rising over the peaks silhouetting the plentiful lightning strikes. As he stood up to go back to bed, he heard the first low rumble of thunder and chuckled ruefully. No doubt about it, there's a storm brewing one way or another.