AGAINST THE ODDS
by Goldie
"You bastards!" the Kid yelled after them. There was no mistaking the intense anger in his voice, the probability of revenge.
Three of the bandidos found the Kid's rage and helplessness to be a source of entertainment. Riding away, they laughed as they chided him in Spanish.
But one of them, probably the leader, recognized a certain note, an undertone, to the Kid's voice. Always alert to enemies of his own making, he turned in the saddle to see Kid Curry shaking his fist. The leader recognized the tone. The Kid would want vengeance, retribution. The leader did not laugh like the other three men. He calculated the small chance that the Kid might find a way to follow through on his promise.
Suddenly, the leader aimed the Kid's own gun at him and pulled the trigger.
Kid Curry saw it coming and tried to dodge the bullet. His body jerked backward and fell heavily to the ground, his voice silenced.
Then all four bandidos laughed loudly as they continued on their way.
It was a good meeting place, Infierno was, but it wasn't good for much else. Its dubious placement in the desert, close to the Mexican border, was what made it worthy to Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. Two or three hundred souls had settled permanently in what could only seem like a hellhole to outsiders. But most outsiders weren't aware of the town's secret - a deep well painstakingly dug in the middle of town and covered by a fairly large adobe structure. The water was plentiful and cool and life- sustaining. In fact, it was the only source of water for twenty-five miles around in any direction, at the very least.
The few non-residents who were aware of the town were primarily outlaws who used the town as a halfway point between the small town Seco and the larger Magdalena.
Most sensible people stayed away from the desert. There was really no need to go there. Unless you were running from the law.
Heyes and Curry knew the place well.
Hannibal Heyes stood outside the town's well, holding a mug of cool water in one hand and a pocket watch that had been purchased as part of the booty of a long-ago robbery in the other. Six p.m. His partner Kid Curry should have ridden into town many hours ago. This was a source of anxiety for Heyes. The Kid knew better than to tarry in the desert. The desert was life-threatening. It was disturbing. Heyes guessed that he might have stopped to spend an extra night in Magdalena if there was some good reason to keep him there. But the Kid knew Heyes was waiting for him and that would make it a different situation. Kid Curry would never intentionally worry his partner. Not where the desert was involved. Anything else, maybe, but not the desert. The heat of the desert was a sore spot for both of them. They had both been stranded once or twice in the desert. A harsh, unforgiving land. A hell hole where the devil thrives. They had gone without water or food or relief from the horrific heat of the day or the stunning cold of the night. Both times they had survived but they had suffered.
And suffering was not something either enjoyed.
Heyes downed the cool water and went back inside to get more and to scoop up a pail of water for his horse. He brought it out to his mount, which waited in the shade outside the well building – the charca, as the locals called it. He watched contemplatively as his horse greedily lapped up the water. He returned the bucket to the charca and came back outside, once again checking the pocket watch. Sighing, he leaned against the building and allowed his body to slip gracefully to the ground.
Where on earth was the Kid? He should have been there last night. No sign of him this day, either. What could be so important that he would think it acceptable to arrive late and thus to worry his partner? To get there, he would have to cross the desert, and he knew Heyes would worry about him. This just wasn't like the Kid. Or was it? Heyes wondered sometimes how well he really knew his partner.
He leaned back and rested his arms on his knees. Deep in thought, he was only abstractedly aware of four Mexican men riding slowly into town from the desert, leading two horses, one of which had silver trim on its bridle and saddle. A horse that had apparently belonged to a rich man. The silver glinted in the sun. Heyes chuckled. They were most likely bandidos. That's all that ever came to this godforsaken place. He watched without interest as they passed him and reined up at the canteen.
Heyes allowed his thoughts to turn more serious. He knew that there was, in fact, a reason that the Kid may be staying away intentionally. An argument that they had recently had was most likely still sticking in his craw. But this was the desert. And that had even been the point of the disagreement.
Heyes finished the water in the cup and hung it on his saddlehorn. He was mystified and worried and water wasn't strong enough for him at the moment. Absently, he walked down the street to the same canteen the banditos had entered.
" Beer," he said to the bartender, holding up one finger. When the bartender simply stared at him, he said, "Cerveza." This got a friendly response. One bad thing about this town, thought Heyes, is that most of the people only speak Spanish. No matter. With his and the Kid's limited Spanish, they had always managed to get by sufficiently.
This fresh thought about the Kid depressed Heyes anew and he sat at a table to drink his beer in solitude. The banditos who had ridden into town a short while ago were at the bar, drinking, laughing, and talking loudly in Spanish. Heyes did not understand them but he suddenly had an idea. Walking over to them without much forethought, he attempted to communicate.
"Senors," he said, concentrating on the little Spanish he knew. They turned to look at him with curious expressions.
"Senors, when you were in the desert, the . . . uh, uh – desierto!" He pointed to them and then out the cantina door. They looked past him and then at him, trying to understand. He continued. "When you were in the desierto, did you see a man, an hombre, in the desierto?"
They looked at each other, smiles beginning to appear on their faces. Heyes took this as a good sign. "Did you see," he pointed to his eyes, "an hombre, a Yanqui, American, in the desierto? About this tall, sheepskin jacket, blond hair. Uh . . . blonde hair . . . how do you say blonde? Uh . . . maize! Hair colored like maize! Did you pass anyone like that in the desert?"
At first, Heyes wasn't sure if they understood him or not. They looked at each other as if he were crazy, then all four of them started laughing loudly. They pushed him away and seemed to be making fun of him. He did not hear any English words at all but their intent was clear. Probably summing up his worth. He noticed they seemed mildly interested in his gun. For the first time, he felt a stab of fear. Frightened and dejected, he returned to his table.
The beer was warmer than the water had been and tasted terrible. He abandoned most of it and left the saloon. Outside, he lingered near the horses the bandidos had brought in. All had full tack, including, of course, the one with the expensive silver hardware. Four had been ridden and two had been led.
Deep in thought and his eyes squinting off in the direction the Kid should have been coming from, Heyes absently ran his hand over the rump of one of the horses. He did not want to worry needlessly, and he knew his friend was quite capable of taking care of himself, but this was the desert! Heyes couldn't help himself. It just wasn't like the . . .
At the sound of the horse whinnying softly, Heyes turned his attention to the animal. With a shock so strong that he took an involuntary step back, Hannibal Heyes abruptly realized that he was looking at Kid Curry's horse!
His head was suddenly filled with horrendous thoughts. Heyes put his hand to his forehead for a moment to steady himself and to think. It was difficult. His partner's horse, fully saddled and with full gear including the rifle and, was standing in front of the saloon. The bandidos had brought it in and they were inside drinking, apparently having forgotten about him. Quickly Heyes ducked behind the horses so as not to be seen should the bandidos glance in his direction. He needed to think.
Hidden to his satisfaction, he ran his hand over the saddle. No blood. This was good. He examined the animal. It was fresher than the other horses because it hadn't been ridden. This, of course, was bad.
Where was Kid Curry?
Obviously, the Kid had been robbed by the bandidos. Again crazy thoughts filled Heyes's mind. He shook his head to clear it; this was no time to panic. He stole a glance at the banditos. They were still
living it up in the saloon, enjoying their beers, perhaps at the expense of the Kid. Clearly they had robbed him. And maybe much worse. Heyes groaned.
And there were four of them. This was a very obvious truth. There was nothing he could do against four armed men. Even Kid Curry himself was no match for four men. Standing well-hidden behind the horses, Heyes continued to scrutinize them. They were all armed, some had two guns, and he also noticed the Kid's treasured Colt and its gunbelt slung around the shoulder of one of the banditos. As the saying went, they were 'armed to the teeth.' There was nothing he could do against them.
Not one man, alone.
Heyes stealthily removed the Kid's canteen from around the saddlehorn. He then noticed something that shook him even more – the Kid's jacket was slung over the saddle of another of the horses. Now Heyes was beginning to feel a deep anger eating at his insides. How could his partner last the night in the cold desert without the protection of a coat?
He grabbed the jacket and walked quickly back to the charca where he had left his own mount. He was encouraged by the small whinny of recognition from his horse and put his arm around the animal's neck to hug it. This momentary sentiment was pushed to the back of his mind as he knew he had no time to waste. He quickly saddled his horse and checked his gear. He filled both canteens and slung them over the saddlehorn. He pulled out his compass and placed it in his pocket within easy reach. Lastly, he checked his gun for bullets.
When ready, he furtively steered his horse out of town. He walked at first, and then when he felt he was a safe distance away, he kicked up into a canter. Hannibal Heyes was heading directly into the desert, exactly where he had argued with the Kid that they should not go. Exactly in the direction the babdidos had come from.
Hannibal Heyes was heading alone into the treacherous desert. And he hoped with all his heart that he would not come out alone.
Kid Curry had been looking forward to meeting up with Heyes again for several reasons. For one thing, it would mean he would finally be out of the Godforsaken dry heat and where he could drink as much fresh water as he wanted. For another thing, it meant that he could continue the argument the two of them had been having as they had parted a few days earlier. If he wanted to, of course, or not.
But mostly he had just been looking forward to being reunited with his partner, someone he felt great fondness for. A sentiment that was reciprocated.
Only a few more miles to Infierno, he had thought. No more endless sand dunes. No more dry heat of the day. No more desert cold in the night. Cantinas, good meals, a hotel room with beds and blankets and pillows were what he had been looking forward to. Good conversation with his partner, bad beer, good tequila. Maybe some poker before moving on. Relaxing.
And then he had seen them.
There had been no point in trying to hide. A man on horseback on the desert sets a strong profile, visible for miles. There was no point in trying to outrun them, either. Instinctively he knew they were bandidos. From their speed it seemed they were probably riding fresh horses, whereas he had already spent a couple of nights in the desert and he and his mount were both exhausted.
They reached him far quicker than he expected and all four of them surrounded him. They spoke only in Spanish, a language he did not understand well. But he understood their motions that indicated he should remove the gunbelt and throw it their way.
Kid Curry was a gunfighter. He was fast and he was not afraid. He quickly calculated that he could possibly have taken three of them if they were lined up in front of him. But they had surrounded him, one in front of him, one in back, and the other two at his sides. He sighed and threw the gunbelt to the man who was obviously the leader.
Next they wanted him to dismount, which he also did. He held on to the horse's reins although the leader indicated that he should hand them over.
"No!" said the Kid belligerently. "You can't leave me out here without a horse. I'll die!"
"Senor, por favor!" The leader held out his hands for the reins. The Kid heard the sound of three cocking pistols all around him. Grudgingly he handed over the reins amidst the laughter of all the bandidos.
A couple of the bandidos began to turn away but the leader said, "Deme la chaqueta." When the Kid did not move, he repeated it and pointed to the Kid's jacket. "No!" yelled the Kid. "I'll freeze at night. I need my jacket!"
The leader of the bandidos was beginning to lose his patience. He pointed his pistol directly at the Kid's head. He was only a few feet away.
The Kid was irate. Being robbed was one thing, but being forced to disrobe in the desert was quite another. The jacket was something he needed to protect himself from the elements in the cold nights. And without a horse, he was probably several nights away from town. He tore off his jacket and threw it at the leader who deftly caught it. But it still wasn't enough.
The leader cocked the hammer of his gun, ending straight at the Kid's head. "Gracias," he said in an icy tone. Kid Curry and the three other bandidos watched breathlessly as the leader outlined the Kid's face with the barrel of his gun. Ever so slowly he moved the gun barrel, first pointing at the Kid's forehead, then his chin, his eyes. Kid Curry felt himself sweating, even in the dry heat of the desert. He heard nothing except the whisperings of the leader to himself in Spanish. Instinctively the Kid realized that this was the closest he had ever come to being killed. No one moved, no one breathed. The leader was clearly enjoying the moment of the supreme triumph over his adversary. The Kid realized, from the silence of the other bandidos, that they did not know what their leader was going to do. He seemed to be trying to hypnotize the Kid, perhaps even hypnotizing himself.
Then one of the other bandidos spoke and broke the spell. The Kid did not understand him, but he recognized the Spanish words for 'man,' 'horse,' and 'silver.'
Abruptly the leader turned the gun on his own man and yelled at him in Spanish. The man was stunned. Then the leader laughed. The other bandidos joined in his laughter, gingerly at first, then raucously as they realized he was only playing with them.
The four of them reined their horses in the direction of Infierno. The Kid estimated they would have a ride of ten or twelve miles. With their four horses, his horse, and another horse with expensive-looking gear they had obviously stolen, they would have no trouble making it.
But with no horse, no water and no jacket, he doubted that he himself would survive.
Kid Curry was livid. He had been humiliated, robbed, threatened, and now left to die. By four bandidos whom he considered scum. Men who had no apparent reason for living other than to harm everything and everyone they came in contact with. He had no gun. He was defenseless. But he had a voice.
"You bastard!" the Kid yelled after them. There was no mistaking the intense anger in his voice, the probability of revenge.
And that was when the leader turned around and took aim at him.
It wasn't long before Hannibal Heyes found it prudent to dismount and walk his horse rather than ride. Although they had only gone a couple of miles at best, the heat of the desert was already getting to both of them. Heyes spoke soothingly to his mount for a while, then abandoned the effort as it was too much trouble in the dry heat. The desert, he knew, would offer little shelter. The sun was beating relentlessly. His hat may have been protecting his head but its dark color also intensified the heat. He dismounted and ran his hands through his hair, taking a moment to look at the sun and estimate how much time he had before it set. This gave him the idea to rifle through his saddlebag for light-colored clothing. He found two shirts, one of which he donned. He put the other over his horse's head.
Water, he thought, for both of us. But then he remembered that it had only been a short while since they both had taken a drink in Infierno. The desert, Heyes took into account, plays tricks on all the senses. Including the sense of time.
But time, he remembered with a start, was not something he had an abundance of. His partner was abandoned in the desert. Without water or horse. With no way to leave but walk.
And that was only if he was capable of walking, Heyes thought drearily. The bandidos had robbed the Kid, but what if they had . . .
. . . they might have . . .
Heyes shook his head in a symbolic attempt to lose the thought. The Kid was fine. The Kid was capable of taking care of himself. Heyes knew all this. They had both been stranded in the desert in the past and had managed to stay alive. Heyes knew that, too.
But in those times, it was a different, perhaps more merciful desert. And it was sheer luck that had produced waterholes that had saved their lives. This was different. Heyes knew there were no waterholes in this desert, a smaller but deadlier place. The Kid would somehow have to get to Infierno for water.
There had been no blood on the Kid's saddle. Heyes was bolstered by this sign. He preferred to believe his partner was still alive. But bandidos, he knew, were unpredictable. They might have killed . . .
"Damn!" he said out loud, re-mounting and kicking back into a canter.
Kid Curry listened to the bandidos as they laughed and rode away. When the sounds became very faint, he slowly ventured a look. They were so far removed from his position that he could barely see them. He watched until they were completely out of his field of vision, then sat up.
"Damn, that was close," he said aloud, examining his shirt sleeve where the bullet had sliced the cloth. He looked at his arm underneath, amazed that the skin was intact with the bullet having been so close.
The Kid stood up and brushed the loose sand from his clothing. He grimaced at the sudden ache in his shoulder. It was that shoulder that had taken the weight of his body what he had hurled himself to the ground. The act saved his life, but he was stiff after forcing himself to lie still for so many minutes.
He shook his fist after them. "Bastards!" he yelled again. "Idiots! Stupid!" He slapped his head with his last word. Kid Curry blamed himself for his predicament. A man alone in the desert. Near the Mexican border. This was exactly what he and Heyes had argued about what they had last parted.
"We'll meet in Infierno late Thursday," the Kid had told his partner.
"No, Kid, we'll go together," Heyes had said. "This desert is too dangerous to fool with. Too hot and no other water except for Infierno. And the town itself is full of undesirables. We'll stick together . . ."
"Listen to me, Heyes." The Kid's ire was rising. He and Heyes had been together all their lives, cousins and the best of friends. There was a great love between them, but at times there was also animosity. The Kid usually let Heyes make the decisions, but on those occasions when he wanted things his way, he bristled at his partner's attempts to change his mind. "Nothing personal, but . . ."
Kid Curry bent over to pick up his hat. He frowned as he remembered the remainder of his speech to his partner.
"Nothing personal, but I'm sick of the sight of you." He grimaced as he recalled the hurt expression on Heyes's face. He remembered wondering at the time if Heyes was faking it for effect. He couldn't remember what he had decided but it didn't stop him. "I'm heading on to Magdalena for some . . ."
"I like Magdalena, too, Kid," Heyes had said. "But we've got to keep heading north. This time of year it's too hot . . ."
"You keep going. I'll catch up with you Thursday, in Infierno. Wait for me there. Or go north if you feel you have to."
Kid Curry remembered with a pain that he had taken umbrage with Heyes's very sensible attempts to keep them headed north. He knew very well what the desert held in store, but denied it when he heard, "We shouldn't split up in the desert and you know it!"
So the Kid had reined his horse – the horse that had later been stolen from him – in the direction of Magdalena. "Late Thursday. Infierno." He didn't turn around to see how Heyes responded but he did not hear the sound of hoofbeats following him. He was alone.
No, he reflected as he started walking, he wasn't alone then. He was alone now.
The winds were calm and made following the bandidos' footprints easy. Heyes continued to check his compass on a regular basis, but it was obvious that the bandidos had kept a straight path to Infierno. When the darkness became too profound, Heyes knew he would have to stop for the night or risk losing the trail.
He was well aware that there wasn't much cover or protection against the cold of the night. He picked a spot on the far side of a small hill and removed his horse's saddle, tethering him to it. From one of his saddlebags he removed pieces of dried firewood that both he and the Kid had procured before they had entered the desert. The realization that the Kid no longer had access to this basic need distressed Heyes. A campfire in the cold desert at night wasn't a comfort – it was a necessity.
Heyes kept busy to take his mind off his friend. He used paper and a match to start a fire. He added dried brush. When he was satisfied that the fire was burning sufficiently, he donned his jacket and spread out his bedroll. He remembered some dried tortillas and other foods he had stuffed into his pocket and prepared a meager supper for himself. He was careful not to eat much – the food and water might be necessary when he caught up with the Kid.
Hopefully.
A few short miles away, in the heart of the desert, Kid Curry at first felt grateful for the cooling of the temperature as the day came to an end. But he was seasoned to the desert and knew that his comfort would not last long.
True enough, after a short while the Kid was shivering. Walking would be easier at night, and would help to keep his blood moving and keep him warm, but without the sun as a guide the Kid was afraid he would get off track.
His track was the shortest route possible to Infierno. Because that's where the water was, because that's where Heyes was, and because that's where the bandidos were headed. One of those three reasons was far stronger to him than the others, and unfortunately, it was the bandidos. Kid Curry was not normally a vengeful man, but he had been humiliated and robbed and left to die, and he wanted revenge. He wanted it in the worst way, perhaps more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. And he planned to get it.
But vengeance would only be possible if he lived through the night. Again and again he rued the loss of his jacket to the barbarians who left him for dead. He took comfort at the foot of some rocks and covered himself with sand and ground debris as much as he could. There was no food and no water and his shelter was rudimentary and temporary. Kid Curry knew that it was dangerously cold and he was surprised that he did not really feel it. His thoughts traveled constantly to the delight he would feel as he imagined himself gunning down all four bandidos at once. He had never faced four men before, but his imagination allowed him to emerge victorious. When he thought of Heyes it was to remember the argument they had had. His anger extended somewhat to his partner, who had been right, whereas it turned out that he himself had been wrong. He pictured Heyes sleeping comfortably in a hotel bed at that very moment, his stomach full and his thirst quenched. Kid Curry did not even consider the possibility that his partner might have set out to rescue him. He wanted to be angry and to maintain that anger, and he did that very well.
Hannibal Heyes gazed at the moon, fully aware that such a clear night foretold a devilish chill. He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter, squinting at the moon and stars. They were beautiful but the night air was deadly. He tried hard to shake that thought but his own shivering made it impossible.
He retrieved the Kid's jacket from the saddle and threw it around his shoulders. Sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, he was able to find warmth. To avoid getting depressed he tried to think of things that made him laugh. He started with his childhood and allowed his mind to travel to his teenage years, his leadership of the Devil's Hole Gang, his ensuing partnership with the Kid. The problem was that his favorite memories all included his partner. They had been together all their lives. No one in all the world knew him better or cared about him more, and vice versa. Most of the good times in his life had included the Kid. He shuddered again at the thought that the Kid might be stranded in the desert, might be injured and freezing to death. Certainly at the very least he was without his mount or extra clothing to stay warm.
And at the worst, he might be dead.
Unconsciously Heyes pulled the Kid's jacket around his head as this thought once again crossed his mind. A sudden startling idea that the Kid was there with him gave him pause for a moment. He was distressed to realize that it was only the familiar smell of his friend ingrained in the jacket. Hannibal Heyes lay down next to the fire, burying his face in the jacket and hoping sleep would overtake him and ease his anguish.
At the first break of light, Kid Curry rose stiffly and tried to stretch. His body was too cold and fatigued from shivering all night. Or perhaps he was tired after walking the heat of the desert during the day. He decided that dawn would be the best time to travel and he should lose no more time. He was still a long way from Infierno.
It was simply a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward. But such a cold night spent in such deplorable conditions did not allow for easy ambulation. It was still quite cold, in fact, and the Kid was still shivering. He had not slept – partly due to his anger and partly because he knew that he might not wake up if he did. Over and over he had cursed the banditos who had left him to die. They thought they had shot and killed him. But, in reality, without his jacket, he himself had been afraid of dying in the cold.
And now the heat of the day awaited him – heat that he and Heyes had never seen the like of.
Heyes! Kid Curry wished with all his heart that he had listened to his partner. Heyes was probably safe and comfortable in the hotel in Infierno, sleeping or getting ready for breakfast. Or, if he had any sense at all, he had moved north like he had wanted to do. Away from the desert. Away from the heat.
Away from the cold. The Kid waved his arms around, just to make sure he could still move. He hugged himself and appreciated the momentary warmth. Through the filtered light of the rising sun, he could see the route ahead of him for the day. The same as the day before – sand, scrub brush, sagebrush, more sand. As soon as the sun rose, the Kid knew that the cold would melt suddenly and just as suddenly he would be sweltering.
His stiffness disappearing, Kid Curry started his trek for the day. Slowly at first, then picking up the pace as his legs adjusted to walking again. He hoped he would make it to Infierno alive, not a sure thing without water. But if he made it alive, it was a sure thing that the bandidos would not live.
The odds were against him, but Kid Curry wanted revenge. Perhaps that evened the odds.
Heyes was surprised to find that he had slept past first light. The fire had dwindled down but in his bedroll he had managed to stay warm and alive throughout the night. He rose stiffly, just as his partner had, and stretched and reached for the canteen and saddlebag for water and food, unlike his partner.
In only a few minutes, he had readied his mount and re-started his trek into the desert. As he rode, he kept the compass in front of him to help him with his route. The wind had been calm so he was still able to find prints from the bandidos in the sand. With the coming of the new day and the reassurance of the prints, Heyes's misery lessened. He believed he would run across his partner before the sun set. He chose to believe that the Kid was still alive because any other thought was overwhelming.
But Heyes's strength was beginning to sap, also. The night, although cold, had been anything but refreshing. He had slept little and fitfully, and he had awakened exhausted. The water in his canteen had cooled during the night and had tasted good, but he drank very little in an effort to save it for his partner.
He kicked up into a canter in order to cover as much ground as possible before the sweltering heat got to both him and his mount.
By midday, Kid Curry started to hallucinate. The heat was intense and his thirst was taking its toll on him. He knew there were no water holes in this part of the desert, but he continued to see water anyway. Walking had become difficult for him. Fighting his hallucinations had become just as wearisome. Many times he considered giving up.
But his fury at the bandidos kept him going, made him keep putting one foot in front of the other. Staying upright took all his strength and did not leave him any ability to do anything but look straight ahead with his eyes half closed. When the hallucinations came on, he closed his eyes completely, understanding that he was imagining things. But the hallucinations persisted.
The Kid began seriously to wonder if he would make it. He tried looking skyward at the vultures he heard, and lost his footing. When he stumbled, it took him a long time to even want to stand upright again, and doing so took almost all his strength.
When he stumbled a second time, he stayed down.
Not long after the Kid fell and did not have the strength to get up, Hannibal Heyes thought he saw something in the desert. He had been walking his horse for a long time but had just mounted up again. Being higher up allowed him the valuable opportunity to see further. What he saw did not appear to be anything that occurred naturally in the desert. It did not look like cactus or scrub brush or a sand dune. It looked like a man.
He kicked his horse in hopes the exhausted animal would pick up the pace. When he was unable to get it to move, he dismounted, grabbed the canteens, and headed on foot for the man.
As he approached closer, he could tell that the man was on his hands and knees, apparently trying to stand, and completely unaware of him. The man's head was down, with his hat hanging by its cord from his neck. Heyes could tell the man was blond. The man was not wearing a jacket.
The man was Kid Curry.
Positive identification sent a shock wave of relief through Heyes's body. The Kid was in sad shape but he was obviously alive. Heyes could have cried. He moved as quickly as he could toward his friend, calling out his name.
The Kid heard and recognized the voice with great relief, but his unsuccessful struggle to stand was taking all his energy. His hands collapsed beneath him, sending him sprawling in the sand. He tried to answer, but his voice was dry and raspy.
Heyes reached him in seconds. He dropped to his knees and removed the cap from a canteen in one swift move. He turned the Kid's face toward him and held the canteen to his lips. Realizing what he was being offered, the Kid grabbed it and drank greedily.
"Take it easy, partner," said Heyes soothingly. "Not so fast."
"I know," the Kid managed to gasp between gulps. When he began to choke on the water, Heyes made him sit upright and supported him. He poured some of the water over the Kid's head and enjoyed watching as the Kid shook his head in delight. The desert was so hot and dry that the water droplets seemed to evaporate in mid-air. Heyes waited until the Kid's hoarse laughter died down before asking him what had happened.
"Bandidos," said the Kid in his still-raspy voice. "Good thing you came along when you did. I'm not sure I would have made it."
Heyes shook his head knowingly. "I saw them in town. There were four of them, weren't there?"
The Kid shook his head and grabbed for more water. "They took my gun, my horse, and my jacket."
"Why'd they take your jacket?" This question was asked in all innocence, but Heyes was surprised at the sudden mood change in his partner that it caused. One minute the Kid was elated, the next minute he was irate.
"They didn't want me to make it out of here alive, that's why!"
"All right, take it easy. We'll head back to town. We'll get your stuff back." Heyes placed the Kid's hat back on his head, then helped him to his feet. The water had had the desired effect – the Kid was able to walk again, albeit with Heyes's help.
Once they reached Heyes's horse, the remaining water in the canteen filled a hat and was offered to the thirsty animal. Heyes slung the other full canteen over his shoulder and helped the Kid to mount up. "You ride and I'll walk," he said simply. The Kid was too exhausted to argue. He clung to the horse's neck. Even so, Heyes occasionally had to hold him to keep him from falling.
During the uncomfortable trek back to Infierno, Heyes tried a couple of times to get his partner to talk about what happened, but all he heard was how angry the Kid was at the bandidos. It was clear to Heyes that the Kid was still also angry at him. Heyes did not pursue conversation any further, figuring they could talk after they had rested.
It was late at night by the time they reached Infierno and the town was asleep. Heyes and Curry went directly to Heyes's meson (hotel) room. They were both completely exhausted. Heyes wanted nothing more than to collapse on the bed but he attended to his friend first, mindful that the Kid had had a very bad time in the desert. Mindful also that he himself was inconsiderately being blamed for something that was not his fault.
The room was hot and dry and Heyes awoke early in the morning, craving water. His sleep had been fitful and uncomfortable; he had slept in the chair so the Kid could get a decent night's sleep in the bed. He cast a glance at his partner, who was sleeping as an exhausted man would. Heyes smiled a little at the sight, then took a deep drink from the canteen. He lost his smile when he remembered what their day held in store.
When they had ridden in, he had seen the bandidos' horses near the charca.
Kid Curry awoke pleasantly to the enticing aroma of spicy food. At first he thought he was dreaming, but when he opened his eyes, he saw his partner sitting in the chair by the window, eating some Mexican concoction or other.
Heyes smiled at him and held out a tortilla. "Mornin', partner. Have something to eat."
The painful memory of the hot days and the cold night in the desert returned quickly to the Kid, but they were easily brushed away. The canteen and the food that his partner was offering were very tempting. And just seeing Heyes sitting across from him was gratifying as well. The Kid drank and ate hungrily.
But it was only a moment before his anger overtook him.
And Heyes knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
For almost an hour, Kid Curry deflected the level-headed entreaties of his partner. He ignored the emotional pleas, and he responded to the bellowing in kind. No matter what Heyes said, no matter what sensible argument Heyes lay in front of him, the Kid was not about to be swayed from his mission.
"They took my jacket, Heyes! You don't take a man's jacket in the desert unless you want him to freeze to death at night. Or to have no protection against the hot sun. These men were rubbish. You know the kind, all too well. Don't care about anyone. Sometimes not even themselves."
"Sure! We both know men like that! But they're the type who want revenge, too. Even though they caused it in the first place. They don't use logic, they don't plan, they act on pure instinct. And you're above that, Kid; I know you are."
"Not this time, Heyes. They stole my jacket! Not to mention my horse and gear and my gun. I'm down to their level. They have to pay."
"There are plenty of horses, Kid. And you can get another gun and we'll buy some gear. Everything's cheap in this town. Even the women." Heyes hoped injecting that last sentence would cause his partner's focus to change.
But it didn't work. "I want my gear, my horse, and my gun! And I want my jacket, Heyes! Why can't you get it through your head?" As he spoke, he threw Heyes's gun and gunbelt toward him.
Heyes deftly caught it but asked, "What do I want this for?"
"There's going to be a showdown."
"What?! There are four men, Kid! You can't take on four men!"
"I know. That's why you're helping me." He made for the door. "Coming?"
Heyes moved quickly to place himself between the door and his partner. "This is crazy, Kid! You can't take on four men! You'll be killed! Even you can't handle four!"
"That's why . . ."
"No! I'm not going to help you! I'm not a gunfighter, Kid. Never was. I don't want to die. And I don't want you to die! I just rescued you!"
A hint of a smile appeared on the Kid's lips and served to disarm Heyes momentarily. "All right, then," said the Kid, slipping past his partner into the hall. "I'll do it myself."
Heyes made a grab for the Kid but missed. He followed the Kid down the hall. "Listen to reason, Kid, you can't take on four men. Let's just steal back your horse and your gun and we'll take off!"
"You told me one of the bandidos was wearing my gun."
True. This was a little trickier. But Heyes was willing to try anything that would not put his friend in this serious danger. "Well . . . uh . . . leave it to me, Kid. I'll think of something."
"I already have!" The Kid's voice was filtering back at Heyes, as he headed for the cantina. The six horses of the bandidos, including the two stolen ones, were now tied outside the same cantina Heyes had seen the bandidos in a couple days earlier. Apparently these bandits were having too good a time to want to leave this town. Plenty of water, plenty of tequila, plenty of women and food. And plenty of money too, thanks to the Kid.
As they got close, Heyes hopelessly abandoned his arguments and worked with his partner. Noiselessly they placed themselves on each side of the cantina's batwing doors and looked inside. Sure enough, all four bandidos were once again drinking at the bar, having a good time. As before, they were armed to the teeth. The Kid gave Heyes a questioning look. He did not see his own gunbelt, and Heyes, of course, knew what the look was about. He shrugged.
They stepped quietly away from the doors and headed for the horses tied to the hitching post. The Kid picked out his horse right away and patted its nose, speaking comfortingly to it. Heyes checked the other horses. They had not been ridden lately but were still saddled. While the Kid checked his own horse for possible injury, Heyes found the Kid's gun and gunbelt slung over the saddle of a different horse. "This what you're looking for?" he whispered.
Kid Curry gave Hannibal Heyes a grateful look. "Thanks." He buckled on the gunbelt and tied it down, then checked the gun for bullets. It was ready. He was ready.
"Now get these animals out of here," he whispered fiercely. Heyes obediently led the six horses down the street and tied them outside the charca. From there, he waved frantically at the Kid. "Come on!" he mouthed. "Let's go!"
Heyes was dismayed but not surprised at all when his partner simply shook his head. Heyes watched from the charca as the great Kid Curry practiced a few fast draws. The man is fast, thought Heyes. So fast! But not fast enough to get all four. Someone's bullet will bring him down. And that's all it takes – one bullet.
The last thing on earth Hannibal Heyes wanted was to watch his beloved friend downed in a gunfight. But his own participation in said gunfight and possible resulting death ran a close second. Heyes knew – in reality, he'd known all along – that he would back the Kid.
So Hannibal Heyes took his place beside Kid Curry in the street.
"This is crazy, Kid," whispered Heyes.
"You take the one on the left," said the Kid deliberately, "and I'll take the other three."
Heyes cast a glance at his partner. The Kid's gaze was fastened on the inside of the cantina. There was no fear in his face, only hatred and anger. He was very calm. Heyes felt his own hands sweating.
Suddenly, the Kid yelled, "Stupidos!"
As expected, the bandidos inside the saloon heard him. Their interest sparked, they stepped outside. The first thing they noticed was their missing horses.
"Donde estan los caballos?" This came from the man the Kid remembered as the leader. The man who had taken a shot at him and left him for dead.
Caballos. Horses. Heyes caught the gist of the question and shrugged innocently.
Then the leader understood the situation. He suddenly recognized the man who he thought he had killed. He saw that the man had a friend, and they both looked like gunfighters ready for action. The situation looked invitingly like gunplay. And there were only two of them. On his side, he had two men for each of the hombres. He smiled. But he didn't understand why the man was still alive. He needed to know that first.
"You!" the leader said, pointing to the Kid. "I kill you myself. I shoot you. Why . . .?"
"You missed," the Kid said softly and unemotionally.
But the meaning of the bandido's words stunned Heyes. His eyes, which he had never taken from the man on the left, now opened wide and turned to the Kid. "What's he talking about?" he hissed.
Again, unemotional. "He took a shot at me and I pretended to take the bullet. He wanted me dead. It wasn't enough to steal my jacket . . ."
"Kid, you didn't tell me this!"
"Doesn't matter." During their terse exchange, the bandidos were talking low amongst themselves in Spanish. They began repositioning their bodies to best effect in a gunfight. The few people on the street could be heard clearing out.
"He tried to kill you!" Heyes cried out, once again riveting his gaze on the man on the left. The leader was next to that man. "I'll take both men on the left, Kid." Anger and hatred and even self-assurance were obvious in the tone of his voice. Heyes was no longer afraid. Heyes wanted revenge.
Eye contact between both sides was unaltered, but Kid Curry heard Heyes's last statement as if he had been struck by it, and he almost averted his gaze to look at his partner. A thousand things instantaneously flashed through the Kid's mind.
It suddenly occurred to him for the first time that Heyes could die in this gunfight. This gunfight that only the Kid had wanted. He then stole a glance at Heyes, surprised to see a murderous look on his friend's face. When did this happen? Time passed very slowly as Kid Curry's brain tried to assimilate new information. He intentionally hadn't told Heyes about the bandidos taking a close shot at him because he feared exactly this kind of response. And yet now here they were – Heyes at his side and ready to die for him.
Kid Curry did not fear death but he did not want Hannibal Heyes to die.
Heyes was not a quick shot. The Kid quickly calculated the postures of the bandidos and how far away they were. Realistically, he knew he could take two of them easily, probably three. But that fourth man would get to one of them before there was time. The Kid's face paled as he considered the possibility that it might be Heyes.
That would be intolerable.
He stole another quick glance at his partner and saw the same steadfast expression. Heyes was ready, ready to die. The Kid looked back at his adversaries. A small smile was stealing over the leader's face. Apparently he saw the glances the Kid made toward his partner as a sign of weakness. The Kid thought quickly.
"I'm taking my horse – my caballo," the Kid said, surprising everyone. "I've got my jacket. You can see I already have my gun."
The leader frowned in attempted understanding.
"My gun, mi pistola. This is it." The Kid nodded toward the Colt hanging obediently at his side. He did not lose sight of the fact that all four bandidos turned to look at each other. "I've taken back everything you stole from me. Except the money. Keep the money."
Heyes felt a big weight being lifted from his chest as he realized that the Kid was trying to talk their way out of the gunfight. He wanted to use his own silver tongue to add something, but found he could not speak.
"No need for pistolas! No pistolas!" Now the Kid barely moved but the palms of his hands were facing the ground. His intention was clear. The leader laughed and shook his head no.
"Usted muere," said the leader with supreme confidence. The Kid didn't understand, but Heyes knew at least one of those words. The hand at his side began to tremble with anticipation.
"No," the Kid persisted. "No gunfight. You don't have to die. This is stupid . . ."
But the bandido leader knew the meaning of the word 'stupid' and did not like it. His adversary had used it on him before. He was tired of dealing with these two Americanos. The game wasn't fun anymore.
He drew.
His men drew. And Heyes drew.
But Kid Curry was too fast for all of them. The Kid peeled off shot after shot, each coming so quickly after the last that it sounded as if there was only one thunderous crash. He felt like he was moving in slow motion but in reality he was astonishingly fast. The only sounds heard as the gunshots died down were the cries of the bandidos, all of whom had been hit in the gun hand. Three fell to the ground, cradling their hands. The leader stood apart, staring at Kid Curry in disbelief.
Heyes turned to look at him, too. Never had he seen the Kid's fast draw so swift and accurate. The relief he felt was almost overshadowed by the admiration for his friend's incomparable abilities.
Kid Curry was still all business. "Now we're even," he said softly.
The Kid nodded to Heyes and they left. Not a scratch on either of them.
The incident was not mentioned between the two of them for many days. By then, they had moved a few hundred miles north, out of the desert and into more welcoming land. One evening, as they sat in rocking chairs on the front porch of their hotel, imported whiskey in their glasses and in their stomachs, the Kid finally felt like discussing what had happened in the desert. The sun was setting beautifully, they were supremely comfortable, and each was in a mellow frame of mind.
"You know, Heyes, I don't think I ever really thanked you for finding me in the desert," said the Kid, studying his glass.
"You'd've done the same for me." Heyes continued to study the sunset.
Both were silent for a while, then the Kid spoke again. "Didn't apologize, either, for being wrong. You were right – we should have headed north instead."
"Forget it, Kid." Heyes continued to study the sunset as if it were riveting. The Kid turned to look at him and noticed a change in his partner's face. Subtle, but it was definitely there. A set jaw. A small sadness. The Kid lowered his eyes and sipped his drink.
In a moment, Heyes spoke. "You looked plenty . . . tired . . . when I ran across you in the desert," he said with a strained laugh.
"That's one word for it, I guess."
Another moment, then Heyes cleared his throat. It was a bit raspy. "Kid, I never thanked you, either. For saving my life, I mean. Shooting four men like that. I never got off a shot. No one did. I guess you know that's some incredible shooting." He stole a glance at his partner.
"Had to be done." They were getting into some painful subject areas. Heyes noticed the Kid was tense. He realized with a shock that the Kid indeed had felt the shootings 'had to be done.' Kid Curry, who had obviously wanted revenge, injured four men. After having considered it many times over the last days, Heyes finally understood the Kid's motives. Heyes knew him well enough to know this was a magnificent, stunning response to a rare desire for vengeance.
Magnificent in the display of marksmanship. Stunning in the reason the Kid felt it was necessary, the protection of his friend.
Heyes suddenly felt his heart in his throat. He went back to studying the sunset. "Thanks," he said simply. Both sank deep into thought. Their familiarity with each other allowed the silence to be comfortable.
In a while, the Kid ran his hands over his face. "Heyes . . ." he began.
But Heyes interrupted him. "I've been doing some serious thinking, Kid, about why you didn't tell me they tried to kill you."
"Oh."
"I know why now. You didn't want me riled enough to stand by you." They looked at each other for a minute and Heyes found truth in his partner's eyes.
"All right. But that was a brave thing you did, calling for the two on the left. Brave but stupid."
"You knew all along that you could take all four, didn't you?"
Kid Curry studied his drink somberly before answering. "No, Heyes, I didn't. I just hoped. Truly hoped."
Heyes was stunned by this admission. He'd seen the Kid in several gunfights, over several issues, but he'd never seen him anywhere near as fast or accurate as that day against the bandidos. Heyes had been fishing with his question, using friendship as bait. Now he had his answer.
Hannibal Heyes reached for the whiskey bottle and refilled both their glasses. "We make a good team, Kid," he said with great feeling.
The Kid clinked his glass.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," agreed Kid Curry.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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