Author's note: I have blatantly stolen the core of this plot from a classic 1947 western, "Angel and the Bad Man." In this old oater, John Wayne stars as a "bad man" – a gunslinging outlaw who is shot and wounded by a posse, and subsequently nursed back to health by a beautiful Quaker girl - the "Angel" of the title, played by the luminous Gail Russell. You can imagine Ruth Johnson looking like Russell, but the (pretty good) bad man in this story is our very own Kid Curry. And of course, that Other Fella plays a prominent role as well…
It was dé jà vu all over again. There they were, playing a friendly little poker game in a friendly little saloon in a friendly little town. They didn't know the sheriff or the deputy, were sitting on a nice healthy stake after completing a delivery job for their old friend Colonel Harper, and were looking forward to spending a few days relaxing, playing poker, eating steak dinners, and generally resting up, when suddenly it all went south. An upstanding citizen who happened to have been on a train that the Devil's Hole Gang held up about two years previous stopped into the saloon for a nightcap. Of course he recognized the two notorious outlaws, who, when they were actively robbing banks and trains had had a somewhat cocky habit of gleefully introducing each other to the spectators. And of course he raised a general alarm. Luckily, he was none too subtle about the whole recognition process, which did not go unnoticed by the two poker players in question. This delay thankfully gave them the chance to slip out the back door and dash over to the livery stable. Now Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were riding hell-bent for leather, a posse hot on their heels. They'd barely had time to get their horses saddled up and, unfortunately, had to leave their saddle bags behind in the hotel once again. As usual, the posse was taking potshots at them as they galloped in hot pursuit down the dusty trail leading out of Central City.
Suddenly, the Kid slumped forward in his saddle.
"You hit?" yelled Heyes.
"Just a graze," the Kid replied, sitting upright again and clutching his right tricep.
"Listen, Kid," Heyes called to his partner, "At the next fork, let's split up. I'll draw 'em off. We'll meet in Essex Falls in two days' time. If you don't show, I'll come back to bust you out."
The Kid never liked it when they split up, but the posse was closing in and he had to admit to himself that it was always better if one partner was free to spring the other, so he reluctantly agreed.
"And if you don't show up, I'll come back to bust you out," he called back gamely.
It wasn't much longer that they reached the fork. Kid veered off to the right, his horse's hooves resounding on the hard-packed soil, while Heyes, whooping and hollering and making as much commotion as he could, veered left.
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Curry couldn't help chuckling to himself at his partner's antics. He muttered a quiet, "Thank you, Heyes," as he heard the thundering sound of hooves and pistol shots fade away. Then he added, a fervent "And be careful!" The entire posse had followed his partner, but the Kid couldn't risk slowing up until he'd put a few more miles behind him. He was pretty sure the bullet had merely carved a crease across his arm, but it was bleeding bad and he wanted to stop and at least tie a bandana around it. When he finally pulled up his horse, the Kid was starting to feel light-headed. He fumbled with the bandana, his left hand refusing to cooperate. The gash was deep and he couldn't seem to get the bleeding to stop. He prodded his gelding forward, holding pressure on the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
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Hannibal Heyes led the posse on a merry chase. He was satisfied that they had turned down his trail and not Kid's – he had made certain to make his route as conspicuous as possible – both by his hollering and with the sizeable cloud of dust his horse's hooves were churning up in the loose, dry soil. He was doing all he could to give Kid a chance to get away. Of course, he fully intended to get away as well! Heyes had to admit to himself he was actually having fun. He laughed aloud for the sheer joy of galloping along through the golden afternoon and urged his mare on ever faster. His hat flew from his head, streaming behind him by its stampede strings. The wind whipped through his hair and the adrenaline coursed through his arteries. The sound of gunshots grew fainter and fainter. The posse was lagging behind.
When he could no longer hear them in pursuit, Heyes continued galloping for at least another mile. Then he slowed his mare from a gallop to a canter to a trot, and finally to a walk. Now it was time for some Hannibal Heyes evasive maneuvers. He began to lay several false trails leading off from the main trail here and there. Then he backtracked to a stream he'd crossed earlier. Once he entered the stream, he dismounted and wiped out his tracks with a branch. He walked the mare upstream, splashing through the shallow water, which spattered around her hooves, sparkling in the afternoon sun like so many diamonds. After traveling about a mile, wading through the stream, Heyes emerged from the water onto a pebbled bank. Congratulating himself on his cunning and resourcefulness, he checked the sun's position for orientation, and turned in the general direction of Essex Falls. He rode until sunset, then set up camp. Once the sun had gone down, the air cooled down considerably. Feeling full of confidence, Heyes decided to risk a campfire.
That was a decision he would live to regret.
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"RUTH! Ruthie! Come quick!"
The young woman looked up from the dish she was washing in alarm and rushed to the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on her apron as she hurried outside to see what her younger brother William was hollering about.
"What is it?" their elderly grandfather queried from the parlor nearby.
As Ruth emerged from the house into the neatly swept yard, she saw her twelve-year-old little brother attempting to catch a tall horseman who was slowly sliding from an exhausted-looking black gelding like a child's rag doll. Even in the gathering twilight, she could see that the horse was covered in lather and its rider was covered in blood. William was doing his best to keep him from hitting the ground, but Will wasn't very big, even for a twelve-year-old, and despite his gallant effort, was starting to go down under the man's larger bulk. Ruth hastened over to help. By now their grandfather was standing on the porch asking urgently,
"What is it? What's going on? Is someone here?"
Ruth took charge of the situation, helping her brother support the injured man's weight while answering,
"It's a man, Grandfather. He's hurt. William, help me get him inside, then go tend to his poor horse."
The old man held the door open for his grandchildren as they half-hauled, half-carried the unconscious young man into the house.
"Give him my bed, child. I'll bunk with William," he instructed as they dragged the injured man through the doorway. "I'll go heat up some water."
"Be careful, Grandfather. Don't burn thyself!" she cautioned.
"I may be a blind old man, but I reckon I can still fill a pan of water and put it on the stove," he replied, his tone more teasing than testy.
As soon as she and William wrangled the stranger into the bed, Ruth took up a scissors and began to snip the blood-soaked shirts away.
William hustled back outside to tend to the overworked horse as his elder sister began to gently wipe the blood away from the man's chest and arms with what was left of his overshirt and the Henley undershirt that came off with it, searching for the wound.
"Well, how is he? Is he hurt bad?" asked her Grandfather, now standing in the bedroom doorway after tending to the water.
"Not bad at all, thank the Lord. I can only find a gash across his upper arm. It's not too severe, but it's deep and he's lost a great deal of blood. It will require three or four stitches and he will need to rest for a few days to get his strength back, but as long as it doesn't get infected, he should be just fine," she answered, the relief evident in her voice.
William poked his head in the doorway and announced,
"His horse is bedded down for the night. I rubbed him down and gave him some grain and put him in with Amy. I think she likes him."
The boy approached the figure in the bed with curiosity and concern, asking,
"Is he gonna be okay?"
"The Good Lord willing, he will recover fully."
She paused, unbuckling the man's holster.
"William, will thee please take ... this … and put it out in the barn. We will not have it in our house."
With a clear expression of distaste on her face, Ruth held out the well-worn leather holster from which was protruding the mother-of-pearl handle of a shiny Colt revolver. After her brother took it, a little too eagerly for her liking, she continued,
"And then thee will please get that pan of hot water from the kitchen and some clean rags from my rag bag and bring them to me. And my sewing kit."
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William couldn't help admire the gun as he carried it out to the barn. He lit the lantern and gingerly withdrew the pistol from the holster to examine the weapon more closely. It was a Colt 45 six-shooter and it sure looked like a real gunslinger's gun – at least like what he imagined such a gun to look like from the descriptions he'd read in his dime novels. He peered closely at the edge of the holster. Sure enough, the leather lip had been filed down. He'd read that gunslingers did this to make their draws faster. He whistled softly. Was the wounded man in his grandfather's bed a bad man? A shootist?
After carefully returning the gun to the holster and almost reverently placing the rig on a shelf in the barn, William headed back into the house and stood in the doorway watching his sister tend to the injured man in their grandfather's bed. He was semi-conscious and thrashing about as if he were having a bad dream. Ruth was trying to calm him, speaking soothingly and stroking his forehead.
The man began to mumble. At first the words were unintelligible, but then a phrase came out clearly,
"…. Keep your head down, ya damn fool!"
"Shhhhhh. There, there. It's okay. You're safe here," Ruth soothed.
William smirked a little. His sister hadn't even batted an eye at the cuss word, yet whenever anything stronger than 'darn' came out of his mouth, she'd have that bar of soap in there before he could even shut it.
Under his sister's ministrations, the man's muscular body gradually relaxed and he slept peacefully for a few moments. William studied him critically, trying to imagine him squaring off in a gunfight, but it was hard to do considering the state of him - lying there in the bed, shirtless, wounded, and helpless. He had such a young, innocent-looking face, too, like a big kid… Then he began to murmur in his sleep again.
"….wait….no, don't….no, Heyes… no….'"
William's jaw dropped. He pushed into the room to stand next to his sister and asked her eagerly,
"Did thee hear what he said? He said 'Heyes,' I heard it plain as day!"
"Perhaps he has a friend named Hayes, William. Why is this so remarkable?" Ruth answered calmly as she pressed the wet cloth to the man's forehead.
"Thee saw his gun? It's the gun of a fast draw! Thee heard him say Heyes! Who's the fastest draw in the west with a partner named Heyes? He's Kid Curry!"
The youngster was utterly convinced he'd figured out the identity of the stranger, but his sister dismissed his words.
"Oh, William, don't be silly! 'Kid Curry'? That sounds like a fictional character from one of thy books."
"Ruth!" William answered in exasperation, "Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes are not made up! They're real, live outlaws! The most successful train and bank robbers ever! And that's Kid Curry! I just know it is!"
"William, thou art allowing thy imagination to get the better of thee. Now get thee to bed, and don't stay up half the night reading and coming up with more wild imaginings!"
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Bartholomew Johnson looked in on his granddaughter before he climbed the stairs to crawl into William's bed. That is to say, he stood at the doorway to bid her goodnight. He hadn't been able to see her lovely face for the last six years, when the cataracts had gotten so bad he could no longer make out images, only sense light and dark. His cronies had informed him that she had blossomed from a pretty little girl to a beautiful young lady. Even more important to him, she had matured into a thoughtful, gentle, kind-hearted, and capable woman. He could hear her speaking in a soothing voice to the injured man and he smiled at her with pride before calling softly,
"I am going to bed now, Ruth my dear. Can I get thee anything before I do?"
"No, thank thee, Grandfather. I have all I need."
"How is our patient?"
"He's burning up with fever. I am bathing him with cool wet cloths."
"I shall say a prayer for him."
"Thank thee, Grandfather."
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Hannibal Heyes was wakened by a sharp kick in the ribs. Instinctively he reached for his gun, but before he could get to it, he felt a booted foot step heavily onto his arm, pinning it to the ground. He opened his eyes reluctantly, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a rifle. He silently cursed himself for the fire, but his face gave nothing away. As per his usual, he greeted the intruders with cheerful bravado.
"Good morning, gentlemen. You seem to have a rifle pointed in my face," he said to his early-morning visitors, stating the obvious.
His visitors weren't quite so cheerful.
"Get up, Heyes. Nice and slow. Don't try anything funny," growled the man with the rifle and a shiny tin star pinned to his vest.
"I would, Sheriff, I really would," Heyes answered carefully, "but apparently you happen to be standing on my arm."
The Sheriff grunted and removed his boot from Heyes's bicep. One of the deputies reached over and extracted Heyes' Schofield from its holster, cocked it, and held it trained on Heyes's chest. With one gun ready to blow his brains out and the other one ready to stop his heart, Heyes rose slowly to his feet and raised his hands over his head.
A third man grabbed the captive's hands and pulled them down and behind his back roughly. Heyes could feel the cold metal of the handcuffs as they snapped shut around his wrists.
"I believe you have me mistaken with someone else," he ventured, still smiling gamely.
That's when the fourth man, a tall, clean-shaven youngster of about 18 or 19, said,
"Shaddup, Heyes!"
and clocked him in the face.
Unable to defend himself with his hands cuffed behind his back, Heyes's head snapped back and he went down on one knee. Stars danced in front of his eyes and a sharp pain registered in his cheekbone. He regained his composure and slowly rose to his feet, then tossed his head to get the hair out of his eyes. He stood there defiantly waiting for the next blow. The Sheriff spoke sharply,
"That's enough, Rafferty. Come on boys, let's get 'im on his horse."
But Heyes wasn't giving up yet.
"Sheriff, surely you don't believe I'm that desperate outlaw, Hannibal Heyes? I'm a respectable, law-abiding citizen. I'm on my way home to see my wife and baby boy."
"Shaddup, Heyes. Or this time I'll hit ya", the sheriff barked. "Barnes. Milton. Git 'im up."
Heyes decided discretion was the better part of valor and kept his mouth shut. At least for now.
As they trotted along the trail, Heyes once again cursed his own hubris for building that campfire. He'd been so sure the posse had given up and returned home by then. They must have seen the smoke and doubled back. Heyes did not despair, though. He just had to wait for the right opportunity to present itself. The deputy the sheriff had called Milton had hold of his horse's reins. At first they rode two abreast, but after a few miles, the party reached a section of the trail where it narrowed to such an extent that they had to proceed single-file. Heyes found himself bringing up the rear. Foolish move, he thought to himself happily. With no one watching him from behind, he was able to slip two fingers into his back pocket, where they closed on a lock pick. Deftly, he inserted it into the handcuffs' keyhole. It took less than three minutes to open the cuffs. That was much longer than his usual, but after all, he was doing it behind his back while riding on a horse. He removed the offending hardware silently and returned the pick to his pocket. As the line of riders continued along the narrow trail, Heyes rubbed his chafed wrists and planned his next move.
Just when the trail widened, he jerked the reins with all his strength, taking Milton by surprise and pulling them from his grasp. Yelling, "Yah!" in a loud voice, he dug his heels into his mare's sides and she lunged forward.
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Ruth Johnson had stayed up all night nursing the delirious man, trying to keep the fever down with cool, wet cloths, taking turns speaking to him soothingly and praying to the Lord for his recovery. Just when she would finally get him to sleep and was herself nodding off in the chair next to the bed, the wounded man would begin to thrash and mumble again. Around dawn, her grandfather came in and sat with him as she prepared a simple breakfast, sent William off to school, and tidied the cabin up. Now it was late morning and she took her place once more at her patient's bedside. Soon he began to twist and turn in the bed again. He kept grabbing at his hip as if he were attempting to grasp something. His gun, Ruth realized, shuddering to herself. She tried not to think of what William had said as she attempted to calm him, laving his fevered brow with the cool cloth. His mutterings were for the most part a slurred jumble of words, but suddenly, he sat straight up in bed, opened his eyes wide, and shouted out in an unmistakably clear voice:
"Look out, Heyes!"
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At that very moment in time, Heyes was in fact, looking out. Once again he found himself racing along the trail, one jump ahead of the posse. They were right behind him. And they were shooting at him again. This time, he was unable to recapture that joyous feeling of abandon from the previous day. They were just too damn close. And the bullets whizzing past him were just a little too close for comfort, too. Heyes pushed his mare faster and faster, and his lead began to increase. He allowed himself to start hoping again. If he could just keep up this pace, the lawmen would fall further and further behind. But he knew the horse, game as she was, couldn't keep this up indefinitely. If he could only get into the hills, he might be able to lose them yet. But just then, the horse took a false step into a rut along the road. She stumbled and went down, taking her rider with her. Heyes tumbled from the horse and rolled three full turns with the momentum. As he clambered to his feet, he saw his horse was uninjured. She struggled to her feet and he ran towards her to leap back into the saddle, but the small delay caused by the fall was enough to allow the pursuing lawmen catch up. They were now surrounding him, each with a gun aimed toward his head. He knew that they knew he had no weapon, but Heyes wasn't about to risk the possibility of any itchy trigger fingers. He assumed the familiar position, both hands raised over his head, a rueful grin on his face.
"Nice try, Heyes," deadpanned Sheriff Name. "But this is the end of the line for you."
This time the men weren't taking any chances. They forced the slippery outlaw to bend over his horse and tied his wrists to his ankles beneath the horse's belly with rawhide strips. Not only was it a humiliating position, it was doggone uncomfortable. Heyes found himself wishing they had knocked him out with a blow to the head first. He would have gladly traded the aftermath of a concussion to this seemingly never-ending torture. All the blood in his body felt like it had settled in his head, making him feel like his brains would soon leak out of his eyeballs. Every bump in the road caused his abdomen to slap up and down against the leather saddle. He was so physically miserable the entire ride that finally arriving at the jailhouse was a relief.
It was just about dusk when they reined up. Heyes tried to angle his head so he could at least figure out what town he'd been brought to. Judging by the distance they'd ridden, it could have been back to Center City or it might have been Granite Falls – he couldn't be sure because he had become disoriented while hanging upside down and had had a hard time keeping track of the turnings. He could hear the unmistakable sounds of a crowd gathering. It was only a matter of time before his identity would be revealed. This was burning Heyes up! Couldn't they have allowed him a shred of dignity? Kid, you better get here soon, he thought fervently. And I will never tell you what they did to me. He figured there'd probably be a newspaper story and he hoped to God they wouldn't include a description of his ignominious entry into town.
Soon he became aware of interwoven and overlapping voices. Heyes could make out some individual questions and comments among the tumult:
"Which one is it? Heyes or Curry?"
"That's Heyes! See his dark hair? Curry's got light."
"Is it him? Is it Heyes?"
"Is he dead? Didja kill him?"
"He's alive and kicking – well, he woulda been kicking if we hadn't a hog-tied him," answered Sheriff Haines, chuckling at his own attempt at a joke.
Immediately a ripple of protest ran through the crowd.
"Alive? And you've got him trussed up like that?" a man's voice demanded.
"Oh, the poor man!" came a woman's voice. Several feminine voices cooed agreement.
"How long did you make him ride that way?" a stern male voice asked. "Just because he is an outlaw there is no reason to subject him to torture! Sheriff, I must examine this man immediately."
"Alright, alright, Doc. I don't see what you're so bent outta shape for," came the sheriff's scornful reply. "He's Hannibal Heyes. He's wanted dead or alive anyway."
"Well, you're lucky he isn't dead. Untie him, man. Get him upright!"
"Everyone stand back," Haines announced dramatically, as if they were about to release a caged tiger. "Men, draw your guns and stand at the ready."
The deputies formed a human phalanx around Heyes's horse as the Sheriff untied the ropes and the town's doctor stood by to assist the captured outlaw. They effectively blocked the view of Heyes' return to an upright position from the surrounding crowd, which was at least something to be thankful for. When the ropes were untied, the captive outlaw tried to stand, but his legs and feet were so numb he couldn't feel the ground beneath his boots. As his knees started to crumple, the sheriff and doctor each grabbed one arm and kept him from hitting the dirt. Heyes painfully reached up one cramped arm to rake his unruly hair from his forehead. It was a struggle just to hold his head balanced on his neck. The deputies parted to let the trio pass, keeping the crowd hemmed in on either side. Townspeope pushed and shoved to get a glimpse of the infamous train and bank robber through the human barricade. Heyes gave his best attempt at a charming smile and was rewarded with a woman's gasp, followed by,
"Oh, he's so handsome!" and then a chorus of giggles and whispers.
A little boy shouted eagerly,
"Hannibal Heyes! Will you sign my book!"
The small fry thrust a battered copy of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry vs the Mysterious Man in Black toward the prisoner, but Rafferty batted it away. A man's voice called out,
"Hey, Heyes! Where's the Kid?"
Yeah, where is the Kid, mused Heyes to himself. Hope he finds out where I am soon. And where am I, anyway? He looked around for a helpful sign, but the Sheriff impatiently pulled him along before he could find evidence of the town's name. With as much dignity as he could salvage, Hannibal Heyes stumbled up the steps and into the jailhouse. He was frog-marched into a cell, where he collapsed onto the cot, feeling like he'd been trampled by a stampede. Soon the doctor was fussing over him, checking his pulse and listening to his breathing and peering into his eyes.
"I'm fine, Doc," Heyes insisted. "I just wanna sleep for about a week."
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The second morning that the man was in their home was a Saturday, but William was still up bright and early. He clattered down the steps to check on the man he believed to be Kid Curry. When he poked his head in the doorway, he saw him sleeping peacefully. Grandfather was sitting in the chair next to him. He could hear Ruth bustling about in the kitchen.
"William," she called, did thee start thy morning chores yet"
"On my way out now," he answered as he went out into the yard. After he gathered the eggs and fed the chickens, he went into the barn to see to the horses.
William had read in one of his dime novels that both Heyes and Curry rode stallions. That didn't seem like a very smart idea to him, considering what he knew about putting two stallions together. Purportedly, Curry's horse was midnight black with a lightning bolt-shaped white blaze on his nose. It was called Lightning and was almost as fast as the Kid's draw, so the books said. Heyes was said to ride a splendid golden Palomino that he had named Apollo, after the ancient Roman god of the sun, Heyes being the more poetical and intellectual of the pair. As William brushed the stranger's horse, he tried to make him fit the description from his book. Well, he was black… and he was a he, but no longer had the right equipment to be called a stallion. No lightning bolt-shaped blaze, either. But nonetheless, William called the horse Lightning whenever he talked to it and just assumed he was a lot faster than he looked… Their own horse, Amy, had some thoroughbred blood in her. She looked a lot more like she deserved the name Lightning than Lightning did, but William decided not to think about that.
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"What day is it?"
Ruth turned from her sewing to look into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. Although a bit anxious, they were clear and focused.
"Why, you're awake," she said to her patient. "How are you feeling?"
The lovely young woman set her mending on the table next to the bed and placed a cool hand on her patient's forehead. It was warm but not hot. The fever had finally broken. She smiled gently and said,
"You are among Friends."
"I'm much obliged for your kindness ma'am, but I really need to know what day it is!"
"It is Saturday, the 25th. Why? Do you need to be somewhere?" she added half-teasingly.
Curry sat up in the bed, alarmed.
"Yes, ma'am. As a matter of fact, I do have to be somewhere," he answered. "I thank you kindly, Miss, but I've got to go." He started to swing his legs out of bed, but she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder to prevent him.
"No, you mustn't try to get up. You are still too weak. You have lost a lot of blood and you've been feverish and delirious for two days. I cannot allow you to leave until you are stronger."
"I'm fine." Curry started to pull the sheet off himself when he suddenly realized all he was wearing was his long johns.
"Uh, Miss, I'll be needing my clothes, if you please."
She looked at him with a stubborn set to her jaw.
"Well, I will not be giving them to you. Not until you are stronger. Now eat this broth," she commanded.
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That same morning, about a hundred miles away, the prisoner, Hannibal Heyes, awoke to soprano female voices interspersed with a man's raspy, low-pitched growl. This was definitely a different voice than the Sheriff who had captured him, thought Heyes to himself. So he must have been taken to Granite Falls after all. It didn't seem to matter much to him one way or the other; this lawman sounded like he was just as curmudgeonly as the other one. He couldn't make out all the words, but from what he could tell, he gathered the sheriff was speaking to representatives of the Ladies Aide Society and they wanted very much to aid him. He heard mention of an apple pie and huckleberry muffins, clean socks, and warm blankets. One woman wanted to read to him and another asked if she could pray with him. The Sheriff was obviously annoyed, insisting the prisoner was too dangerous for visitors of the female persuasion and gruffly instructing the ladies to leave their donations on his desk and depart the premises. Heyes had a strong suspicion that none of these gifts would ever be passed along to their intended recipient. He sighed, rolled over on the hard, uncomfortable cot, and went back to sleep, thinking longingly about the nice warm blankets and the apple pie sitting uselessly on the sheriff's desk.
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"Miss, I really can't stay here any longer, Curry managed between the spoonfuls of broth Ruth kept shoveling into his mouth. You've got to understand, Miss...?" There was a questioning tone in his voice.
"Ruth. Ruth Johnson. And you are…?"
"Jones. Thaddeus Jones."
"How do you do, Mr. Jones?" Ruth smiled, spooning more broth into him. "And what is this pressing engagement you have?"
"I have to meet my partner in Essex Falls. He'll be worried…"
"That's a whole day's ride from here and you cannot sit a horse yet. If your partner cares about you, then surely he would not wish you to injure yourself further," she replied reasonably.
"Please – I have to at least get word to him," Curry persisted, becoming more agitated.
"How about this," she suggested gently. "My grandfather can go into town and send a telegram to your friend. You can tell us what to write."
Blue eyes filled with relief and the blond head finally settled back on the pillow.
"Thank you," he said simply, breathing easier at the prospect.
"William!" called Ruth, "please come in here and bring thy pencil and some paper from thy school things."
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William was thrilled to drive his Grandfather into town to send the telegram that Thaddeus had dictated to him. He felt very important as he handed the piece of paper with his careful block printing to the telegraph operator. He had been trying mightily to endow the cryptic message with a deeper meaning than it appeared to have. "To: Joshua Smith c/o Essex Falls. Delayed in Carterville. T.J." It must have been a secret code, he decided, because he was convinced that Thaddeus Jones was really Kid Curry and that meant that Joshua Smith was really Hannibal Heyes!
After they successfully sent the telegram and requested they be notified should any reply arrive, Mr. Johnson announced that they would stop in the barbershop for a shave and a haircut and to catch up on the local gossip with his cronies.
Vern, the somewhat ancient barber, greeted his old friend with a huge smile and a warm embrace. As he led his blind customer to the chair, he said,
"Bartholemew, how've you been? And can this be William?! You're getting so tall. You're almost a man. And how's that pretty granddaughter of yours? You marry her off yet?"
"Not yet, not yet," answered Bartholomew Johnson as he settled into the worn leather chair. "But sooner or later some young buck is going to steal her away from us. Then it will just be us bachelors, right, William? How are things with you, Vern?"
William, all ears, perched in the empty chair next to his grandfather as Vern began to apply the shaving cream and continued,
"Well, the latest news is all over town. Hannibal Heyes has been captured. He's being held in the Granite Falls jail."
The boy sat up straight.
"You don't say," the old man replied. He paused, thoughtfully. "What about Kid Curry?"
"He's on the loose," answered Henry, the other barber, who was trimming the hair of yet another elderly gentleman, Sam Kirshman. "Here, let me read it to you." He set down his scissors and picked up a newspaper and began to read aloud:
"The dangerous and notorious bank and train robber, Hannibal Heyes, leader of the feared Devil's Hole Gang, has finally been brought down by the strong arm of the law. Sheriff Walter Haines, of Center City, in a feat of heroic derring-do -"
"Ya know, I was on a train once that got robbed by Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry," chimed in Sam, interrupting Henry's recitation.
"Yes, Sam," Vern sighed, "we've only heard you tell that story a thousand times."
"I've never heard it," piped up William.
"Well," answered Sam, launching into his familiar tale. "I'll tell you what. It was about three years ago – in Wyoming Territory, it was. The Devil's Hole Gang stopped the train as it was headed into Cheyenne."
"Weren't you scared?" asked William, his eyes wide.
"At first, yes, but Heyes and Curry turned out to be the nicest, most politest outlaws you'd ever want to meet! They made gettin' robbed seem like a Sunday School picnic. And they didn't steal nothing from the passengers, no sirree. They made sure we was all out of harm's way before they blew the safe. Helped us off the train – no platform, y'see - and walked us a good ways away. Rogues they were, smiling and winking at all the young ladies. And those gals were all just a-swooning over them two – some of the married ladies, too! My Betsy was with me, God rest her soul, and I could tell she felt downright motherly with them two. She was a little partial to the Kid – I reckon because he looked so much like our boy, Randall, when he was that age. That blonde curly hair and those blue, blue eyes. Aahhh. Nice boys. Outlaws or not, I can't help but hope the Kid manages to spring Hannibal Heyes from that jail afore they send him off to the Wyoming Territorial Prison."
Henry held up the newspaper he was still clutching and added,
"It says right here that the posse shot the Kid. They reckon he's either dead or holed up somewhere nearby. They're asking all the sheriffs within a two-day radius of Central City to conduct a house-to-house search for him."
As the shaves and haircuts progressed, the conversation turned to other topics, but William couldn't tear his gaze from the folded newspaper, sitting tantalizingly close by on the counter.
As his grandfather paid up and bid his pals good bye, William surreptitiously scooped up the newspaper and stashed it in his waistband against the small of his back, underneath his corduroy vest.
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As they were driving back to the homestead, William urged Amy on at a faster pace than usual. Grandfather was very quiet most of the journey.
"William," he finally asked. "What color are Mr. Jones's eyes?"
"Blue."
Grandfather didn't say anything else, but he had a very thoughtful look on his face the rest of the ride home.
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As soon as they reached the house, William said to his Grandfather,
"Grandpaw, I'll take care of Amy in a minute! I got to run to the Necessary."
The old man smiled to himself as he heard his grandson's footsteps running not to the privy in the back of the house, but instead up the front steps.
William burst into his grandfather's room, newspaper in hand.
"Mr. Jones, I, um, thought you might want to see this," William said nervously as he proffered the newspaper to the injured man sitting up in the bed spooning soup into his mouth. He looked a thousand times better than he had when his horse had first wandered into the Johnson's home place, but he was still pale and wan. Blue eyes scanned the paper swiftly. Jones threw down the newspaper and sat up on the side of the bed, swinging his feet to the floor and commanding,
"William, hand me my pants and saddle my horse! I gotta go."
All William's suspicions were finally confirmed. Without a word he grabbed the stack of freshly laundered clothing from the chair and handed it to Thaddeus, who was hauling himself out of the bed by the brass headboard. His own shirt had been thrown out as it was beyond repair, but Ruth had replaced it with a faded and neatly mended shirt belonging to her Grandfather.
As Thaddeus began to dress, William ran out the door and headed straight for the barn.
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Once the Kid was dressed, he sat down on the bed to shove his feet into his boots, then leapt up and strode out the bedroom doorway. He must have stood up too fast because the room took a half-tilt and he found himself reaching for the nearest chair to steady himself.
"Mr. Jones!" cried Ruth in alarm. She rushed over to him and grabbed his arm, trying to lead him back to the bedroom. "You must get back to bed."
Before he could protest, William burst through the door.
"I've got Lightning ready!"
"Lightning?" Curry asked with bemusement. "I usually just call 'im Blackie."
At the same time, Curry and Ruth realized William was carrying the Kid's gunbelt. Curry reached for it, thanking the youth as he did so. Ruth recoiled, reacting as if it were a venomous snake.
"William! Why did thee bring that instrument of violence under this roof?"
"Ma'am, I'll get this instrument of violence out of your house straight away."
The Kid buckled his rig around his hips as he spoke. He bent over to tie the rawhide thong to the back of his thigh. As his fingers worked on the thong, he looked up at Ruth, blue eyes locking onto brown, and said softly,
"I thank thee for thy kindness."
He grinned at her, proud to have used what he thought of as "her" language.
Ruth froze and blushed scarlet. William started to giggle.
"What? Didn't I say it right? I been practicin'!" Curry insisted as he straightened up.
"Ruthie, I'm telling Grampaw," William chortled.
"Hush, William," Ruth admonished. "He doesn't know."
She was still blushing furiously and looking completely flustered. Curry reached out to grasp her hand.
"No!" Ruth cried, clutching his hand with both her own. "You must not leave – you are not strong enough."
"I've rode when I was hurt worse than this," he replied.
"Ruth," came the gentle voice of her Grandfather. "Let the boy go. Thee must not stop him."
Ruth dropped her hands obediently. The Kid shook Bartholomew Johnson's wrinkled hand, winked at William, and slipped out the door. Ruth stood as if stunned, then seemed to snap into alertness and abruptly dashed into the kitchen and began throwing items of food into a small flour sack. She picked up the sack and rushed out the front door. Her erstwhile patient was checking Blackie's cinch.
"Wait!" she cried as he swung himself up into the saddle. When he turned his head, she lobbed the sack toward him, calling,
"Take this!"
Curry caught the parcel with one hand, called his thanks to Ruth, and jabbed his horse with his heels. Blackie sprang into action and began to gallop, doing a credible impression of a horse that might be worthy of the name Lightning after all. Ruth stood on the porch listening to the sound of hoofbeats fading into the distance as the handsome stranger rode out of her life just as abruptly as he had entered it.
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Not ten minutes later, Ruth was setting the dinner plates on the table when she heard the sounds of horses in the yard. Her first thought was that Thaddeus had returned and her heart jumped at the notion, but it was soon apparent from the commotion that there were several horses and riders. Peering through the curtains, Ruth recognized Sheriff Warren Geraghty. He had his young deputy, Billy Crawford, with him, another man she had seen around town, and two more who were strangers to her. They were all wearing deputy stars on their lapels and were heavily armed. William politely took their horses' reins as the five men dismounted. Two of them immediately pushed into their barn, while the rest trooped up the steps and pounded on the front door.
"It's the sheriff and Billy and three others," she hissed to her grandfather, who was crossing to answer the door.
"Warren, what brings you out here so late?" asked Mr. Johnson as he pulled open the door.
Geraghty and Crawford removed their hats politely as they entered the house, but the second deputy did not. Both young deputies seemed restless and impatient for the sheriff to state their business so they could get to work. Their eyes scanned the room while the sheriff spoke to its inhabitants.
"Good evening, Mr. Johnson, Miss Johnson. Sorry to intrude on you, but it seems there's an outlaw on the loose," the lawman began.
"Oh, Mr. Geraghty, gentlemen, please sit down. Won't you join us for supper?" asked Ruth.
"Oh, no, thank you. We don't have time for that. Have you seem any strangers about? The man we're looking for is thought to have been shot."
Just then the two strangers pushed into the house without knocking, trailed by an anxious-looking William.
"Barn's clear," announced the taller, more grizzled of the pair. "Didja search the house?"
"There is no one here but us," said the old man gently. "Please, sit down and have some supper. There is always room at our table for more."
As much as Ruth did not want these men sharing her meal, she instinctively stalled for time, and realized her grandfather was doing the same. She was pleased that he evidently agreed that it would be best to give Thaddeus as much of a head start as possible. She continued to press the invitation,
"Please, gentlemen. We have plenty of stew and I just baked some fresh cornbread. William, please get more plates for our guests."
"Thank you kindly, Miss Ruth, but we'd best be getting along," the sheriff said.
"But we didn't search the house!" exclaimed Billy.
"Sorry, Bart," the sheriff apologized. "We gotta do it."
"You are welcome to look around," answered the old man pleasantly. "As I said, only we three are here."
Soon the men were ranging about the neatly kept home, opening doors, stomping up and down the stairs, poking about in the cellar. Suddenly, a whoop sounded from Grandfather's first floor bedroom. William and Ruth exchanged nervous glances: had Thaddeus left something behind?
The other lawmen converged on the taller deputy, who emerged from the room with a triumphant smile gleaming on his craggy face. He was holding out two tell-tale objects, a small piece of bloody gauze that Ruth was kicking herself mentally for overlooking, and even more damning: the newspaper with the large block headlines blaring, "OUTLAW HANNIBAL HEYES CAPTURED!"
"Lookee what I found underneath the bed!" he crowed.
"What have you got to say for yourselves?" demanded another of the men.
"Yeah! You said there was no one else here!"
"I was being truthful," Mr. Johnson answered. "There was a fellow here for a spell. He was injured, but he is no longer here. My Ruth nursed him to health and he rode on his way."
"What did this fellow look like?"
"C'mon, we're wasting time here," interrupted the man who still brandished the newspaper. He waved it around, gesturing as he growled, "There's $20,000 out there just waiting for us to collect! When did he leave and which way did he go?"
When none of the Johnsons answered this question, the other unknown deputy said to the sheriff,
"Shouldn't you be arresting these people for aiding and abetting?"
"The Johnsons are Quakers, Abe," responded the sheriff calmly. "It's part of their religion to help folks in need and not ask questions. Ain't that right, Miss Ruth?"
"Even dirty, lowdown outlaw scum like Kid Curry?" Abe spat out.
"We would help any man who needed it. It is not our place to judge," responded Ruth.
Again the tallest man spoke up in a sneering tone,
"Yeah, we heard that about you Quakers. Don't surprise me that N*** lovers would be outlaw-lovers, too."
Ruth's face flamed at the man's use of the hateful racial slur. Bartholomew began to speak up in defense of his granddaughter's virtue, but he was interrupted.
"Clem, there is no cause to be rude to the Johnsons. They are a fine family," Sheriff Geraghty said reprovingly.
Clem ignored the sheriff's reprimand. He narrowed his eyes at Ruth and continued,
"How about it, sweetheart, are you an outlaw lover? Everyone says Kid Curry has a real way with the ladies. Are you protectin' your lover?"
He said it in such an insinuating, nasty way that it caused a shiver to run through Ruth, but she faced him with head held high and answered defiantly,
"The Lord Jesus bade us to love one another as he so loved us."
"My granddaughter is a good girl," insisted Bartholomew. "You have no call to be insulting her virtue."
"Quakers," muttered Clem, as if it were a curse word.
"That's enough outta you, Clem. Leave 'er alone. Let's go, boys. Sorry about that, Mr. Johnson, Miss Johnson, William. We'll just be on our way," said the sheriff, touching his hat.
As the men stormed out of the house, William slipped out behind them unnoticed. He stood in the shadows on the front porch listening as they mounted up.
"Why dincha ask 'em how long ago it was Curry left?" demanded the man called Clem.
"Yeah, and which way he went?" whined Abe.
Geraghty answered patiently, "Wouldn't matter none. Won't help us catch up to him any faster. And we already know where he went. He must've seen that newspaper Clem found. He's headin' to Granite Falls to spring his partner outta jail."
"But the telegram said Heyes was being moved to Arcola first thing tomorrow morning," said Billy, the youngest deputy.
"Yeah, but Curry don't know that!" scoffed Abe. "It's a two-day ride to Granite Falls. By the time he gets there, his partner will be cooling his heels in Arcola and there'll be a mess of US Marshalls waitin' for him to show up. If we want a share in that reward money, we got to catch him up before he gets there! Come on, let's ride!"
After the posse had clattered away and disappeared down the road, William hastened to complete the nightly chores that had been interrupted by their arrival. At least he had mucked out the stalls before the lawmen had shown up, removing any signs that there had been two horses housed in the stable in the very recent past. At least that had bought the Kid a little time, he reassured himself. But now he was riding straight into a trap! Will made a decision. Curry had to be warned and he was the only one who could do it! He quickly saddled up Amy and whispered to her that he'd be back soon, then joined his Grandpa and sister for dinner. It seemed like an eternity until bedtime finally arrived. Luckily, his family was tuckered out and wanted to turn in early. As soon as everyone had retired to their rooms, Will tiptoed down to the kitchen and silently made up a sack of food. He stole out to the barn as quietly as possible, and led Amy to the road. Then he leapt onto her back and urged her into a gallop, following the road to Granite Falls.
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William was moving along at a brisk trot, staring at the moonlit road unwinding in front of him, alert for any trace of movement, ears straining to hear the sound of hooves. He must be closing in on that posse by now. What would he say if they saw him? He'd just have to make sure he spotted them first and figure out a way to get past them unnoticed. Up ahead he saw a silhouetted figure standing next to the road near a copse of trees. He squinted in the half-light. A match flared up, burned for a moment, then guttered out. The figure stood watching for a few moments, then faded into the trees. It had to be the Kid.
William slowed Amy and approached cautiously. When he arrived at the place where he'd seen Curry, he slid off Amy's back and led her into the trees, whispering,
"Ki —um, Thaddeus…?"
"William, what are you doin' here? I thought you understood that you couldn't come with me."
"No! It's not that! It's Heyes – they're moving him in the morning- to Arcola. They're setting a trap for you in Granite Falls! I just came to tell you that. Did you see the posse?"
"Yeah, they passed through here about 40 minutes ago – makin' enough noise I could hear 'em a mile off. I was just givin' 'em a chance to get ahead of me and tryin' to figure out how to get around 'em when I spotted you comin' up the road. But now I reckon I don't have to," he grinned. "You sure Arcola, now?"
"Yes sir! I heard the sheriff and his men talking when they searched our house."
"They searched your house?" Curry's face clouded. "Your sister okay?" he asked with concern. "I don't want your family to get in trouble for helping me."
"She never let anything slip. Grandfather neither. They were real trumps. I sure wish I could help you."
The Kid didn't answer at first. He had a far-away look in his eyes like he was thinking something through. Finally he focused his gaze on the boy in front of him and said,
"William, you just might be able to at that… You know how to shoot a rifle?"
"Yessir."
"Any good?"
"I'm okay – I'd be a lot better if Ruth would let me practice! But she lets me hunt because it puts food on the table. I'd say I'm a pretty fair shot."
"Think you could shoot at the ground near a horse's hooves and not hit the horse or the rider?"
"Oh, sure. That would be easy!"
"C'mon then. That is, if you still wanna help me. I mean, you'd be breakin' the law…"
"You bet I want to! Besides, I was taught that a Friend always has to do the right thing even if it's against the law."
"Gotta love Quakers," commented Curry as he swung into his saddle.
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William's eyes were shining and his chest bursting with pride as he climbed back onto Amy and prepared to help Kid Curry ride to the rescue of Hannibal Heyes.
The former outlaw and the young boy rode all through the night. Curry felt energized and alive. He couldn't stand laying around in bed all day, even with a pretty nursemaid like Ruth Johnson. Here in the cool night air, riding beneath the moon and stars, using his muscles, doing something – all this seemed to give him renewed strength. He felt like he could take on the world and win. And what a stroke of luck – Arcola! He and Heyes knew the road from Granite Falls to Arcola very well. And there was an absolutely perfect spot for what he had planned. He could probably do it alone, but most likely not without having to shoot somebody, and he'd rather not take that risk. How much better to have William. This way nobody would get hurt.
Curry glanced at the youngster riding next to him, slumped in his saddle. He'd been asleep the last few hours, chin resting on his chest. The Kid had taken hold of Amy's reins and was leading the mare and her slumbering rider as they took a diagonal short cut across country to the place he had in mind. The gibbous moon, two days from full, sank beneath the western horizon just as the opposite side of the sky began to glow softly pink. Curry silently thanked the moon for its light and once again counted his blessings. There was only a certain time of the month – along with clear weather – that would have enabled them to travel so easily at night. They reached the pile of rocks he'd remembered just as a golden sliver of the sun began to peek over the mountains to the east. Curry gently woke William and the two dismounted.
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As they breakfasted on the biscuits and ham that William had brought along with him, the Kid explained his plan.
"You gotta promise that no matter what happens, you'll stay hid," he repeated. "Look at this crevice right here. You climb in there, you stick the rifle barrel through here, you're safe. We'll hobble the horses right over there. If it goes south, you get on your horse and you skedaddle straight as an arrow thatta way and into cover."
Curry pointed to a line of trees running parallel to the road about 30 yards away. The boulder pile would hide the view of the boy if he had to make a run for it.
"No one can see you from the road the whole way to the treeline as long as you ride straight. You wait until everyone leaves, then you retrace our path and get yourself home. Don't do anything stupid. Just get home and - um, say a prayer or two for us," he added with a crooked half-smile.
The boy's eyes were huge and his face deadly serious as he listened to the Kid intently.
"But I don't expect that'll happen," Curry added lightly. "I'll be in the rocks the other side of the road. When the last horse gets even with that darker looking rock there," again the Kid pointed, "you start shooting at their feet. Don't stop 'til you see me wave my hat, like this." He demonstrated.
"Then you bring my horse and go to those woods the same way I just toldja and wait for me and Heyes. I don't want the lawmen to see you. Now do you promise you'll do exactly as I say?"
The boy nodded silently, his eyes blazing keenly.
"You swear on the lives of your sister and Grandpaw?" Curry persisted, his face looking dead-serious.
"I swear," William whispered reverently.
"Okay, then. This is gonna be fun," Kid grinned.
"B-but, Thaddeus. How do you know they haven't gone by here already?"
"I don't. I'm hopin' they didn't. But I doubt they did. We're gonna wait til noon. If they ain't here by then I reckon we missed 'em and you'll head on home and I'll just have to do things the old-fashioned way."
"How?"
"Oh, don't you worry about that. There's lots of ways to bust a fella outta jail. You might say me and Heyes are experts at that."
Curry couldn't help smiling to himself, thinking of some of the means they'd employed over the years. Disguises, weapon smuggling, dynamite, con jobs of almost infinite variety... a lot depended on the particular jail and the sheriff who ran it. But Kid wouldn't worry about that until he had to. This was the only way to Arcola from Granite Falls and he reckoned they couldn't have possibly gone past here already – that is, if the lawmen William overheard had been correct. When they brought Heyes through this notch, they'd be sitting ducks. It was a spot where highwaymen were known to ambush stagecoaches. Not only was there a huge pile of boulders on this side, with the perfectly situated crevice, but the other side of the road was lined by medium-sized boulders. There was no escape.
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Click.
The sheriff had been concentrating so hard at shooting up at what he assumed was the entire Devil's Hole Gang hidden among the rocks on the hill above the road that he didn't even notice Kid Curry himself coming up behind him until the gun was next to his ear.
"Howdy, Sheriff," Curry said genially as he relieved the man of his gun and tucked it into his own waistband. Steadily aiming his Colt at the lawman's chest, he instructed him to place his handcuffs onto one wrist and put both hands behind his back. With his left hand, the Kid neatly handcuffed the helpless man's hands together. He holstered his gun and quickly tied the sheriff's own bandana around his mouth and crept toward the next man, drawing smoothly as he approached. Soon he was repeating his actions with the deputy. There had been five men all together, one in front, one behind, and one on either side of the bound prisoner. Two down, three to go, Curry thought to himself grimly.
Meanwhile, taking advantage of the confusion that ensued as soon as the shooting commenced, Heyes had kicked his horse in the ribs and bolted away from his escort. Startled, the men guarding him seemed to forget their charge and concentrated instead on returning fire into the pile of rocks above them. The horse was panicky and skittish and Heyes knew there was no way he could hold on very long with his hands tied behind him as they were. He threw his right leg over her back, slid off his mare, and rolled behind a pile of rocks to watch the action unfold. He was relieved that the Kid was obviously recovered from his bullet wound, and also pleased that his partner had not only figured out where he was being taken, he even remembered this perfect ambush spot.
Curry silently approached Heyes where he crouched behind the rocks. He held a gun in each hand, one eye on the road, ready to shoot if needed, but not intending to give his position away just yet. William was keeping up a steady stream of fire as fast as he could shoot and reload. The boy was as good as he'd claimed, shells hitting the dirt and not human or horse flesh. The three remaining lawmen were firing back into the pile of boulders, using their horses as cover, their backs to the Kid and Heyes. The animals weren't too pleased at this turn of events and were dancing and rearing, kicking up a cloud of dust, which was no help to their masters. All in one smooth motion, Kid slipped his own gun into its holster, pulled a knife out of his boot, sliced through the ropes binding his partner's wrists, and returned the knife to the boot sheath. As Heyes brought his hands around to the front, the Kid passed him the Sheriff's gun with his left hand, simultaneously pulling his own gun with his right, again so smoothly it was as if it had been choreographed.
"Only two bullets left in there, if I counted right," he said, grinning at his friend. But when his partner turned to grin back at him, the smile turned to a scowl as he noted the livid bruising on Heyes's face.
"What took ya so long, Kid?" Heyes asked cheerfully as he reached into his gunbelt for more bullets, opened the chamber, and began to reload.
"Good ta see you too, Heyes," Curry said sarcastically, but he was smiling in spite of himself. He squinted at his partner's black eye.
"You okay?" he asked with concern.
"I am now," Heyes grinned. "How about you? How's the arm?"
"Good as new. Found a pretty gal to patch me up."
"Figures. That her up in the rocks?"
"Funny. Her kid brother."
"He's a good shot."
"Yeah, not bad."
"You do recall what happened the last time a coupla kids shot up a posse so's we could get away, Kid."
"That ain't gonna happen this time, Heyes."
Curry paused, examining his partner critically.
"How are you really? I see a nice big shiner on your face but I don't see no bruises on your knuckles."
"Well, you know how it is with lawmen. Sometimes they get a bit overexcited when they catch a celebrity."
Curry frowned, then asked,
"You ready to wrap this up?"
"Yeah, let's do it."
In unison, the partners turned to face the road and began to fire off their pistols at the dirt near the lawmen's feet and the horses' hooves. The men panicked when they realized they were now surrounded by unseen assailants. One horse reared up and his rider lost hold of the reins and stumbled onto the dusty ground as the frightened animal took off down the road and away from the fracas. His two companions twirled from one side of the road to the other like awkward ballet dancers, shooting wildly at the piles of rocks hemming them in. The seated man joined in clumsily from his position on the ground, his face a mask of fear. Bullets bounced in all directions, ricocheting off the rocks with a metallic pinging sound. The last two horses decided they'd had enough of this nonsense and raced away from the mayhem.
Kid and Heyes had ducked back behind the rocks after the first few shots and crouched there serenely, waiting calmly for the lawmen to runout of ammo. When there was a lull in the shooting while the men in the road were scrambling to reload, Curry turned to his partner and asked,
"Which one?"
"Tall, skinny guy – wait, Kid, you ain't gonna shoot him?"
"Aw, Heyes, you know me better'n that. Just wanna see if I can make him piss his pants!"
Curry swiveled around and aimed a shot at the tallest deputy's hat, which instantly flew off his head. The poor man let out a high-pitched shriek, dropped his gun, and hit the dirt, both hands clutching at his head. Thinking he was hit, his two companions threw up their hands as well, yelling out,
"Stop! Stop shooting! You win! We give up!"
Curry stood, waving his hat with his left hand to signal William to cease fire and retreat to the treeline.
"Throw your guns down, boys!" he hollered.
When they had done so and the tall man was helped back to his feet, all three deputies held up both arms in the air in surrender. The former outlaws ambled out into the open almost casually.
"Ya know, I always said that this is an unbelievably ideal spot for an ambush," remarked Heyes, looking around at the surrounding rocks appraisingly as they emerged from their cover.
"Yeah, ain't it, though? When I heard they was takin' you to Arcola I couldn't believe our luck – for once!"
"Hiya, boys," said Heyes as he approached the three men, gun leveled, a big smile spread across his face.
"Barnes, could you please hand me your cuffs and then stand back to back against Milton?" he requested politely.
Curry stood stock-still, still brandishing his pistol and staring ominously at the third man, hatless and fearful, while Heyes smoothly cuffed the other two together.
"This the one that hitcha?" Curry asked his partner, not taking his ice-blue gaze from the hapless deputy.
At Heyes's nod, the tall deputy took a step back, terror written across his youthful features. Kid twirled his Colt around in his fingers a few times in an impressive flourish and holstered it neatly. Keeping his icy gaze locked on the young deputy's eyes, he stated in a deadly tone of voice,
"That don't sit right with me, boy. You beatin' on my partner while he was helpless."
The Kid stared down the deputy, who was visibly trembling, no doubt expecting the notorious gunslinger to shoot him dead at any moment. He cast nervous glances at Curry's gun hand, resting casually on his belt buckle, but to the cowed man's mind still dangerously close to the butt of his gun. Abruptly, the Kid hauled off and punched the young deputy squarely on the jaw. He slumped to the ground with a dazed look on his face. Then Curry scooped up the three surrendered guns and tossed them into the shallow ditch along the side of the road.
"C'mon, let's get out of here," he said to his partner.
Heyes smiled and nodded in agreement, his brown eyes sparkling and the dimples appearing in his unshaven cheeks, managing to look rakishly handsome despite the two-day beard, the magnificent black-and-blue bruising around his eye and cheek, and a generally rumpled and unwashed appearance.
"Listen, fellas," said Heyes in a folksy tone, addressing the two handcuffed lawmen and their semi-conscious comrade, "as soon as Rafferty here wakes up, he can uncuff you and you can round up your horses and head back to Granite Falls. Sheriffs Williams and Haines are just the other side of those rocks. You might wanna keep in mind that we coulda killed ya." He paused a beat, then added, "but we didn't."
He let that sink in, then he grinned even wider and said,
"I'd say it's been a pleasure, but then…. I'd be lyin…"
Heyes whistled shrilly and his horse trotted out from behind the large pile of boulders where she'd taken refuge, having found comfort in the presence of her companion, Blackie, and another horse she didn't know, but who'd seemed friendly enough. He swung up into the saddle, kicked his foot out of the stirrup and reached down to haul his partner up behind him. Then they hightailed it down the road.
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"So what about the boy?" Heyes asked after they'd traveled about 100 yards or so.
"He's meetin' us in the woods straight behind the boulders with my horse."
Heyes continued along the road until they'd rounded a curve. He looked back to ensure they were completely out of sight of the incapacitated lawmen, then cut across country to the line of trees. They entered into the woods and turned back to return in the direction they had come, now hidden from view by the thick vegetation.
"That was fun. Let's do it again sometime," Curry joked.
"Okay, Kid – but next time I get to be the one that gets fixed up by a pretty girl and you get to be the one who gets beat up and has to sit in a jail cell for two days."
"I don't know Heyes, might be hard to find a pretty gal willin' to do the fixin'…"
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They soon met up with a very excited William. After an introduction and handshakes all around, Curry mounted his own horse and the three riders put a good twenty miles between themselves and the site of the ambush before stopping to rest and eat something. They didn't have many supplies left, but there was enough for a makeshift lunch. William was completely star-struck to find himself palling around with not just one, but both of his idols. Heyes commented that it was getting late in the day and they might as well camp there for the night. They were right by a stream that looked promising, and he suggested they might try their luck at fishing for their dinner.
"I think we should keep goin', Heyes," Curry said to his partner in a low voice.
"What? You think they're following us? No way, Kid. They would have gone straight back to Granite Falls to lick their wounds - and fetch the passel of Federal Marshalls who are all there just waiting for you to show up to bust me out so they can pounce on you. I figure it won't be 'til tomorrow that they'll try to pick up our trail from the rocks and by then we'll be long, long gone."
"That's not what I meant. The boy."
He jerked his head to where William was seated, polishing off his lunch and staring in undisguised admiration at the two former outlaws.
"This makes the second night he'll be gone from home. His family'll be frettin' over him something awful."
"Kid, you worry too much. This is a grand adventure for a kid his age. Look at him! He's having the time of his life."
"That's the problem. His folks are Quakers. You shoulda seen how his sister reacted when she saw him holdin' my gun. How's she gonna feel knowin' he's been ridin' with two notorious thieves? And that he shot up a posse to help bust you loose? And what if he decides he wants to be like us and follow the outlaw trail?
"Oh, we'll be sure to set him straight," Heyes answered, grinning wryly.
"Let's push on," Curry argued. "The sky's clear and the moon'll be almost full tonight so it won't set 'til mornin'. We'll be able to ride all night."
Heyes reluctantly agreed. They rode slowly but steadily the rest of the evening and into the night, William peppering Heyes with questions and Heyes telling tales about their outlaw days that inevitably featured some kind of catastrophe. Evidently, this was his means for warning William away from the outlaw life, but the way Will's eyes shone in excitement, Kid suspected the attempt might be backfiring. But he reckoned the boy's family would be a stronger influence on him than this little adventure, and the stories helped pass the time, so what was the harm…?
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The trio rode three abreast under the silvery moonlight, each one seemingly lost in his own thoughts. William rode in the middle, still not quite believing that his two favorite heroes rode at his sides.
As they reached the main road that led to the Johnson homestead, the Kid began to say his good byes.
"William," he said solemnly, "you've proved yourself to be a man who can be relied on. We're indebted to you and we won't ever forget you."
"But you're going to marry my sister, aren't you, Kid?" the boy asked, puzzled.
"Just call me Thaddeus, okay son?" answered Curry a little more gruffly than he meant to. "And what makes you think I'm gonna marry Ruth? Or for that matter, what makes you think that a nice Quaker girl like her would wanna marry the likes of me?
William was unswayed by this display of self-deprecation and insisted earnestly,
"Oh, she likes you real well. And I could tell you wanted to marry her by the way you spoke to her."
Kid was speechless. He looked from the boy to his partner, completely baffled.
"Just what did you say to her, Kid?" asked his partner with a wolfish grin, looking across William riding between them.
"Nothing!" Curry protested. "Well, maybe I coulda said something – untoward - while I was feverish, but nobody woulda taken that babble seriously. All I did was tell her thank you for tendin' me."
"Yeah, but the way you said it," cried William happily.
"Kid," Heyes asked solemnly, "did you call her "thee"?"
"Well, yeah. That's the way them Quaker folks talk to each other."
"Aw, Kid, Kid, Kid. Sometimes you can be so innocent. You practically proposed to the girl!"
William's head was swiveling back and forth between the two partners, following the conversation avidly and nodding vigorously at Heyes's words.
"What the hell are you talking about Heyes? All I said was thank you."
"You said thank thee."
"Well, yeah. Same thing."
"No it ain't, Kid. Quakers only use "thee" and "thou" when they are talking to their loved ones, immediate members of the family, wives to husbands and husbands to wives - or someone they intend to make their wife."
Curry looked uncomfortable.
Heyes addressed the boy gently,
"William, I'm sure your sister understands that my partner here didn't realize what speaking to her in that fashion implied. Sorry to disappoint you, but you're not going to have a notorious outlaw for a brother-in-law."
"Reformed outlaw!" spoke up Kid. "William, please tell your sister we went straight."
He wasn't sure why, but it somehow seemed to matter that the pretty Quaker girl not have a low opinion of him.
"But you can tell her yourself," William answered, still not quite sure what was going on.
"No, I don't think that would be a good idea," replied the Kid, shaking his head. "We've put you folks in harm's way as it is. We'll just be dropping you off at home and then going on our way."
"You mean, you're not going to marry Ruth?"
William couldn't hide his disappointment.
"Even though we've gone straight, we're still wanted," Heyes explained patiently. "What just happened is going to keep on happening until – well, for a long time. We don't want to put you or Ruth or your grandfather in danger."
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Ruth slept lightly these recent days, having first gotten used to remaining halfway awake to listen for the slightest stir from her former patient, and the last couple nights, praying and hoping for any sign of her little brother's safe return. Grandfather had said not to worry, that he'd be back soon enough, but she'd noticed him praying more than usual, too, and sometimes sitting out on the porch until late at night, as if he were waiting for something or someone. So it was that she awoke in the wee hours just before dawn to the sound of muffled voices and the snort of a horse. She leapt from her bed and dashed to the window. There were three horsemen in the stableyard below – well, make that two horsemen and her own beloved younger brother! Ruth stifled a gasp of joy and relief. The three were talking quietly and she couldn't make out the words. Although he was in shadow, one figure was unmistakably Thaddeus! She knew the slouch of those shoulders like the back of her own hand. Her heart fairly jumped at the recognition. The other rider must be his partner – possibly Hannibal Heyes to his Kid Curry, but she wouldn't let her mind go down that route. Ruth ran to her wardrobe and threw on her dressing gown and a shawl. She hurried down the stairs in her bare feet, her long dark hair tumbling unbound around her shoulders, filled with elation that William was back, but also feeling a deeper thrill of anticipation at seeing Thaddeus once again. But as she burst through the front door and out into the yard, she instantly saw that the other riders were gone. A lone boy stood next to the loyal Amy, holding her bridle with one hand, the other raised in silent farewell. The sound of horses' hooves faded into the still night. Ruth ran to William and hugged him as tightly as she could, tears of happiness and a few of regret mingling on her cheeks.
~~ The End ~~