A change in his horse's gait caused Hannibal Heyes' head to jerk upright and he blinked in the harsh sunlight. The bay gelding's usual long, smooth walk had become jarringly shortened as it negotiated a particularly rocky section of trail. He'd fallen asleep in the saddle, bone-tired, and still a long way from Denver.

Heyes felt the back of his neck burning from exposure so he turned up his shirt collar to shade the skin not covered by his bandana. August had so far been unrelentingly hot and the mountains were as dry as he'd ever seen them. Grasshoppers clacked noisily out of the way of his gelding's hooves and the sere brush crackled and rustled as they passed by. Wildflowers had bloomed and died premature deaths. The aspen trees were turning weeks early, many golden leaves already scattered across the trail. Lakes he'd passed were drying up, banks revealed in concentric rings of baked soil, small turbid puddles all that remained. The streams and creeks that fed them trickled lifelessly and it had proven a major challenge to keep both horse and rider hydrated, contributing to his exhaustion. Heyes could smell smokiness in the air and wondered how close the nearest fire was—they were everywhere this summer. He'd seen a huge column of black, oily smoke reaching for the sky to the west of the Divide; too far away to be dangerous yet a constant, ominous reminder of the severity of the current drought.

Patting his chest pocket, he felt the bulge of the packet he'd been given by his fellow ex-outlaw, Sheriff Lom Trevors. The latest in a long line of new territorial governors of Wyoming was very eager to have his missive delivered to Colorado's governor quickly and discreetly. Lom had made big hints this could be the job to win them the amnesty they'd long awaited but only if it was completed by next Friday. If they were delayed, the governor would not be forgiving. That's why Heyes was riding alone. Kid Curry, his partner, had come down with a bout of food poisoning after eating at the saloon in Porterville and had been so sick Heyes had reluctantly left him holed up there so the delivery wouldn't be late. The Kid would rest up until he felt better and reunite with him in Denver before Friday noon.

The unmistakable sound of a cocking gun disturbed his reverie and caused him to reflexively reach for his own weapon.

"I wouldn't do that, Heyes. I got a bead on the back of your head, you'll be dead afore you hit the ground," growled someone behind him.

Carefully, Heyes eased his hands up in the air, his right still gripping the reins.

"That's better," said the disembodied voice. "You know the drill-left hand, two fingers, and real, real slow and careful-like." Heyes' Schofield landed with a soft thud and a puff of dust before he heard the noisy approach of his captor. A man stepped into his field of vision, picked up his gun, and moved a safe distance away from both horse and rider. "Good. You keep listenin' and you'll keep breathin'."

"Mister, I don't know who you think I am, but…"

"I damned well know who y'are. You're Hannibal Heyes and you're worth ten large to me dead or alive so shut your trap and git off your horse."

Heyes studied the man briefly. He was gaunt, greasy blond, sported a thick droopy mustache, and his sharp, dark eyes stared into his own. They held no fear, only resolution. Without breaking eye contact, Heyes slipped out of the saddle, his hands still raised.

"Now take off your boots."

"What?"

"You heard me, take off the boots. I ain't askin' again."

Awkwardly, Heyes lifted his left boot and slid it off, then his right. He stood up and gave the man a defiant glare, but the lean man simply lowered his gun slightly and fired. With a strangled cry, Heyes fell to the ground clutching his wounded foot and cursing foully. His horse skittered away, terrified, as he rolled in the dust for a few minutes trying to master the pain while his tormentor holstered his weapon and watched impassively. Finally, he lay curled up in the dirt, gasping for air. The man stepped forward, pulling a set of handcuffs from an inner pocket, roughly yanking him up into a sitting position, and expertly securing his arms behind his back.

"Son of a…, what'd you do that for?!" Heyes' ground out through gritted teeth.

For the first time, the man allowed himself a smile. "Insurance."

Heyes looked up at his captor, confused. "What?"

The man gave him a filthy, tobacco-stained grin. "Everyone knows you're a slippery devil. This way, if you do git away from me, you ain't gonna git far."

With a groan, the dark-haired man sank onto his back, his foot throbbing painfully, his sock soaked with blood, the bullet having gone clear through. "Who the hell are you?"

"Cyrus Elwood Lamford, at your service," the man said with a slight bow. "You can call me Mac."

Trying to push the pain out of his consciousness, Heyes focused on the conversation. If he could keep Lamford talking, he might find a way out of this. "Mac? Why Mac?"

The dirty man, shrugged. "I like Mac, don't like Cyrus or Elwood."

"So why'd you tell me your whole name?"

"'Cause that's what my mama christened me, God rest her sweet soul." Turning away from his prisoner, he walked over to the two horses, snatched up their reins and led them back. "Where's your partner? I been followin' you since the border and I ain't seen hide nor hair of 'im."

Heyes was relieved to hear it. He had no way of knowing whether the Kid was a mile or a hundred miles behind him; not that he didn't hate knowing he was on his own. He shook his head ruefully. Something always went wrong when they separated. "We split up."

Mac chuckled. "You think I'm beef-headed? You don't go nowhere without Curry watchin' your back."

"Do you see him watching my back?" Heyes struggled up again, wincing but thinking as fast as he could. "We had a dust up a few months back. Broke us up."

"Yeah? What about?"

Figuring a partial truth might be convincing, Heyes said, "I quit outlawing, the Kid didn't want to."

Mac roared with laughter. "The great Hannibal Heyes, retiring?"

"Why not? I'm not getting any younger. Look at me. Do I look like a big-shot outlaw?"

Heyes' dusty, old gray coat and the worn holster around his hips made Mac hesitate. He'd seen Heyes robbing a train a few years ago. He'd been all duded up with a silver-conchoed gun belt and silk vest. The only thing left was the fancy black hat and it, too, had seen better days. "You do look a mite down on your luck."

"Yeah, the lawful life don't pay so well," muttered Heyes. Mac grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Heyes stumbled as his wounded foot touched the ground and cried out, "Hey, take it easy!"

"Don't matter none to me where Curry is as long as he's not here. The ten grand I'll collect on you is more'n enough to feather my nest without tanglin' with the likes o'him." His eyes narrowed as he noticed Heyes' bulging chest pocket. "What you got there?" He reached out and pulled the governor's packet out, holding it up by the corner and squinting at the lettering. "This yer cash, Heyes?"

Heyes moaned, both from pain and defeat. He had no idea what the packet contained, but he knew he could kiss the amnesty goodbye if Mac took it.

Tucking the reins under his arm, Mac tore open the large manila envelope and peered inside. "Ain't nothin' in here but some damned paper." Unable to read, he threw it aside; several sheets of paper spilling out and scattering. "C'mon. We're gonna git your tail back in the saddle and head on into Denver so's I can cash you in."

Heyes kept glancing over his shoulder at the torn envelope as he was dragged by his arm, hopping as best he could to keep up, towards his horse.

XXX

Kid Curry reined his horse up at the top of a small rise. The animal was lathered on its neck and chest and blew its nostrils to clear them of the trail dust before he lifted his shaggy head and sniffed the air inquiringly.

"I know, buddy, I'm hot and thirsty, too," said the Kid, "but we've gotta catch up with Heyes."

The horse snorted disdainfully.

"How 'bout we find us some water and then we press on?"

Shaking its head, the horse started to paw.

"Hey, I ain't feeling so good either. If anyone should be bellyachin', it's me," said the Kid unaware of the irony. "Lom's the one who screwed up. He told Heyes Friday instead of Thursday. Now I'm the one bustin' our butts makin' sure the governor's packet arrives Thursday like it's supposed to. C'mon." Curry gave his irritated mount a boot in the sides and together they half-slid, half-leapt down the hillside.

XXX

The lengthening shadows foretold dusk's arrival but Heyes hardly noticed. For the past few hours, he'd ridden along slumped in the saddle, uninterested in his surroundings, his wounded foot out of the stirrup and banging painfully every stride. Looking down, he saw the bleeding had stopped and his sock was drying but not before his mount's side had been dyed red. At least the wound was clean by now. He must've leaked a gallon of blood. No wonder he felt light-headed. He wiggled in his saddle, trying to ease the ache between his shoulders.

"Stop squirmin' about. We're stoppin' up ahead for the night," said Mac.

"It's about time," grumbled Heyes.

"What'd you say?"

"I said, I'm fine."

"You did, huh? Don't look so fine to me. Nosiree, you look like somethin' the varmints got," laughed Mac, leading Heyes' gelding into a small copse of blue spruce and halting. He swung a leg over his saddle horn and slid to the ground. Walking back to his captive, he smiled as he examined the damaged, swollen appendage. "Looks pretty sore." He reached for Heyes' arm and yanked him out of the saddle.

"Argh," cried out Heyes as he hit the ground before he clamped his mouth shut. He be damned if he'd give this sadist the pleasure of knowing how much he was hurting. He struggled up and limped over to the largest tree. Leaning heavily against it, he lowered to the ground, his injured foot out in front of him. Once seated, he glowered at Mac while the man went about the business of setting up camp.

Chores completed, Mac started a fire and put a pot of hot water on to heat up.

"You gonna clean up my foot?" asked Heyes.

Mac gave him a tight, mean smile. "Why would I waste precious water on the likes of you? I'm makin' coffee."

"What'd I ever do to you?"

"Nothin', but you done enough to others. I ain't here to pamper you, Heyes. You're lucky I didn't just put one between your eyes. Might've been easier. Still could, I guess."

"Could you at least uncuff me?"

"Nope, don't see no reason to."

"How am I gonna drink?"

"You ain't." Mac grabbed a lead rope and walked over to Heyes. Squatting down, he tied Heyes to the tree and gave the rope a tug. "Ain't gonna eat neither. Way I see it, the weaker you are the less trouble you'll be. Soon you'll be someone else's problem. Right now, your mine and less'n you want me solvin' my problem the easy way, you'll shut up and leave me be." He stood and returned to the fire, ignoring his prisoner for the rest of the evening.

Heyes watched him warily until Mac kicked dirt over the spent coals and crawled into his sleeping bag. He kept watching until he was sure from the loud snores that Mac was asleep. Only then did he relax and let sleep seep into his own spent body.

XXX

The three quarter moon and the small lantern he'd lit allowed the Kid to continue along the clearly defined trail at a slow walk until late into the night, but both he and his horse were fading fast. He didn't want to risk killing the animal nor did he want to waste time sleeping. If he and Heyes failed to deliver the packet on time, it would spell trouble for their amnesty chances. They'd come too far and worked too hard to fail.

He lifted the light higher to illuminate the rocky ground and, as the shadows fell back, he noticed something out of place. A piece of paper, trapped by a chokecherry bush, fluttered in the soft night breeze. He stopped his horse and dismounted, carrying the lantern with him. Carefully, he extricated the sheet and held it up to the lantern. His eyes widened as he read. He lifted his head and looked frantically about, the lantern casting its glow. He saw another sheet and then another even further away. When he reached the third one, he saw the manila envelope half-covered with dirt. Running to it, he snatched it up and turned it over. It had been torn open but it was unmistakably the packet Heyes had been carrying. Swinging the lantern around, light bounced crazily off trees and shrubs, until the Kid saw what he'd dreaded finding. A large stain of blood.

His knees weakened and his hand rested on his gun butt as he issued a soft curse. Why did things always go so wrong when they split up?

XXX

Dawn saw Heyes and Mac in their saddles. The night had been long for Heyes. His foot continually woke him up and his thoughts made sure to keep him up. No matter how he'd looked at it, he was in terrible trouble. Mac had coolly crippled him. There was no way he was getting away on foot. But, in the wee hours of the morning, he'd come up with a desperate plan. One he was waiting to hatch. Heyes knew this country well from his outlaw days. The narrow trail they were on would skirt along a cliff face in the next mile.

Heyes bided his time, running past robberies through his mind in great detail—anything to take his attention off the pain creeping up his leg. He'd seen the red tendrils of infection snaking up his calf from under his sock and he knew he was beginning to fever.

As the land fell away to his left steeply, he focused all his attention on the back of the rider ahead of him. Mac's horse was tipping his head to one side, peering down the steep drop off. Heyes waited until the narrowest section of the trail before raking his heels into his horse and screaming with anger and pain. The frightened bay charged forward, all four hooves digging into the trail with terror, and plowed into the hind end of Mac's horse, sending it off the trail and plummeting down the hillside, its legs frantically trying to keep up with its body. Both horse and rider tumbling end over end.

The bay galloped on, his rider bouncing crazily from side to side with his hands tied behind his back.

XXX

To be continued