Heyes pushed the creaking door open. In the dim moonlight from the window, he could just barely see an oil lamp. Curry waited quietly in the hall while Heyes struck a match to the wick, and a feeble light illuminated the shabby hotel room. Curry squeezed past Heyes, dropping his saddlebags onto the floor. He sat on the nearest bed, gingerly testing the mattress. Satisfied, he lay down across the bed, with his feet on the floor.
Heyes adjusted the lamp to burn brighter. In the dresser mirror, he saw Curry collapse onto the bed. Heyes put his own saddlebags on the dresser and took off his hat, carefully hanging it on a peg.
"You planning to sleep that way?" Heyes asked.
"What way?" Curry answered, eyes closed.
"With your coat and hat on. Wearing that hogleg."
"Maybe."
There was a pitcher and bowl on the dresser. Heyes lifted the pitcher carefully and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was full. He poured water into the bowl and splashed some on his face. Running wet fingers through his dirty hair, he looked at himself in the mirror and saw a three-day stubble of dark beard, deep circles under the eyes, and pale skin. His eyes shifted to Curry's reflection. Curry looked worse than he did. Heyes took a towel from the rack and, wiping his face, went to stand next to his friend.
"How're you doing, Kid?"
"Wonderful." Heyes put the towel on the nightstand, got down on one knee, and pulled Curry's boots off. Curry neither resisted nor helped.
"Good to hear, Kid. I was afraid that little tumble you took might've bruised you up some."
"I've had better days."
Heyes got up. His knees creaked and hurt.
"Why don't you take off your coat and hat and stay for a while?" Curry slowly sat up, grunting. Giving his hat to Heyes, he unbuttoned his sheepskin jacket, and Heyes helped him shrug out of it. Heyes knew better than to help with Curry's gunbelt; he waited, holding Curry's coat and hat, while Curry unbuckled the gunbelt and hung it on the brass headboard, within easy reach.
Curry sat slumped on the edge of the bed, head hanging, elbows on knees and hands clasped, while Heyes hung his coat and hat in the wardrobe. The clothes put away, Heyes went back to check on his exhausted partner.
"You hungry?"
"No," Curry said. He looked up at Heyes' concerned face and forced a small smile. "Don't look like that, Heyes. I reckon I'm more tired than hungry."
"How about I go down to the dining room and bring us back a couple sandwiches? That sound good?"
Curry tried to get up, but Heyes pushed him back down with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"You need me to watch your back, Heyes. There's no telling if any of that posse trailed us here."
"Not a chance, Kid. They're halfway to Mexico by now. Besides, it ain't likely I'll see anyone who knows me, especially since the restaurant's just about to close."
Kid looked at Heyes' drawn face. Heyes looked as bad as he felt. He looked at the pillow. He looked again at Heyes.
"You just rest for a bit, Kid. I'll be back in no time."
Kid looked at the pillow again. He felt like it was calling his name.
"Okay, Heyes. Just stay out of trouble."
"I'll be meek as a church mouse. Promise." He released Curry's shoulder, and Curry lay on his side and closed his eyes.
Heyes was almost out of the room when Curry spoke up.
"Heyes."
"Yeah?"
"No onions on mine."
Despite his worry, Heyes smiled at his partner. "Got it."
No customers were in the dining room when Heyes arrived. He glanced at a large wall clock – it was 9:02, and the restaurant closed at nine. A short balding waiter was picking up salt shakers from the tables. Heyes cleared his throat. The man turned around, frowning.
"Dining room's closed, mister."
Heyes pointed to the clock. "Only for two minutes. Can't I get something to take back to my room?"
The little man straightened up, surprised. "You're a guest here?" This skinny cowboy dressed in raggedy clothes didn't look like he had ten cents to his name.
"Yes, sir, me and my partner just checked in. We sure could use some food."
"Well. . . " the waiter hesitated, torn between his desire to go home and the boss's orders to take good care of guests. "If the dining room supervisor says it's alright. Kitchen's supposed to be closed."
"That'd be real kind of you. Anything you got would be fine, as long as it's got no onions. " Frowning again, the man went into the kitchen. Heyes waited, looking around at the comfortable dining room chairs, all arranged neatly around the tables. If he sat down, he might fall asleep right then and there. Better to stand, even though he felt so unsteady.
The wall clock ticked loudly. Five minutes passed. Heyes was trying to decide if he should go looking for the waiter when he heard clicking footsteps behind the kitchen door. He put on his best smile, but it faded as soon as the door opened. She was the last person he expected to see. She must have been as surprised as he was, because she stopped in mid-step and almost dropped the tray she carried.
"Hello, Louise. Fancy meeting you here." He pointed at the tray. "Is that for me?"
She looked quickly around the room. They were alone.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered loudly.
"I'm here for dinner."
"That's not what I meant! Why are you in Yuma? Did you come here looking for me?"
He ran one hand through his long hair. "No, Louise. Why we're here is a long story, but we're not here to find you. Seeing you is just a happy coincidence."
She almost threw the tray at him. "Here's some cold chicken with slaw and bread. Take it and go."
"Don't you want to know what room to bill it to?"
"No," she hissed. "Just go."
"Why Miss Carson," he said. "What kind of greeting is this? Especially after all we've been through."
She opened her mouth, ready to kick him out, when, all of a sudden, her anger evaporated. He was smiling, trying to work his charm on her. The deep dimples she remembered were still there, but his big brown eyes were dull. He'd been slender but now, he was too thin. The threadbare clothes hung loosely. He didn't smell too good, either. The last two years must have been hard on him.
"Are you alright, Mr. Smith?" The change in her tone caught him off-guard.
"I will be, once I get to eat. Thanks for this."
"Is your friend with you?"
"He's upstairs. He's resting."
"I see." They looked at each other without speaking. After a long moment, Heyes turned away.
"I ought to get back. Thaddeus gets cranky when he's hungry."
"You'd better go then. Unless you need something else right now?"
"No, Louise. Thank you. I guess you're the supervisor here?"
"Yes, I am. Almost since I arrived in Yuma."
"Yeah, well. . . that's good, Louise, real good. I guess I'll be seeing you again, since we're staying here."
"Yes, you probably will. And I'm sorry I was so sharp with you earlier. When I saw you, I thought. . . well, I thought you were here about what happened in Touchstone, with. . . with everything."
"Not at all, Miss Carson. That's all forgotten. Good night."
"Good night." Louise moved to hold the door open for Heyes, who was balancing the heavy tray. He smiled his thanks. Halfway up the stairs, he paused and looked back. She was standing at the door, watching him.
Heyes kicked the door of his hotel room. "Hey Thaddeus, can you open up? My hands are full." There was no answer. Frowning, Heyes put the tray on the floor and opened the door cautiously. Curry was laying on his side, snoring loudly. Heyes picked the tray up and put it on the dresser, closing the door behind him and locking it. Curry opened one eye and looked at his partner blearily.
"Everything okay?"
"Sure thing, Kid. You want to eat? Got some chicken, courtesy of the lovely Louise Carson."
Something about the name woke Curry up a little. "Who?"
"Louise Carson, remember her? From Touchstone, Arizona? She's the waitress who was fooling around with that Ken Blake, who murdered Jenny's boy Billy and blamed us for robbing own bank?"
"Oh." Ancient history wasn't interesting to Curry at that moment.
"She recognized me, too."
Curry's head snapped up. "She recognized you? Any problem?"
Heyes cursed his big mouth. He should have known better than to mention Louise now. Anybody who recognized either one of them was a potential threat, and Curry, even bruised and tired as he was, would react strongly.
"No, no," Heyes reassured his friend. "She asked how you were, and she gave me food. No problem at all."
"Oh." Curry punched his pillow and settled down again. "That's alright then."
"You want some of this chicken, Kid?"
"Maybe later," Curry mumbled into the pillow.
Heyes sat in the armchair. He was still hungry, but he felt too tired to eat, or move. Every inch of his body ached. He didn't have enough energy to do anything, so he sat and watched Curry sleep. Eventually, he closed his eyes. His mind was racing, but it wasn't the events of the last week keeping him awake. Instead, Louise Carson occupied his mind. Her face was the last thing in his mind's eye when he slipped off into a light sleep.