Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

The Day the Outlaws Came to Thunder Ridge

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The riders stopped their horses as they reached the pass. Harry glanced over his shoulder. As always the gunman checked his surroundings. Behind them, the narrow dirt road they'd travelled from Four Corners appeared empty except for a faint cloud of dust on the horizon. He and his new associate had spent the previous night in the raucous town, gambling, drinking and carrying on in the saloon. They hadn't passed any other people on the road since leaving this morning. Harry faced forward once more. One of the poker players had mentioned the isolated little hamlet in front of them and Butch had to see it.

"End of the road," grinned the smaller man.

"Yep."

Harry's companion tilted his black bowler hat up to get a better view. Sparkling blue eyes gleamed. He abruptly swept the hat from his head, revealing short sandy blond hair. Butch's stiffly starched white shirt rustled at his movement. The pale faced man waved the bowler in an expansive gesture outlining the valley.

"Welcome to Thunder Ridge."

The younger man's brooding blue eyes narrowed. Harry sized up the town below. The road ended in a small cluster of buildings. A stable was easily identified by the corral and accompanying horses. A flag waved in the center of town. A bell clanged. Children ran toward a clapboard building. A school. There were a few houses surrounded by neatly tended gardens. Other buildings were harder to identify. Past the town, grazing land curved around an outcropping of boulders. A sprawling cabin on the opposite ridge was nearly level with their position.

"This place looks perfect for a hideout," continued the scheming man with a self-satisfied grin. "Why with a secure stronghold like this…"

"Town folks might object," countered the broad shouldered shootist.

Harry Longabaugh leaned forward, still assessing the layout of the town. He stroked his bushy mustache thoughtfully. The Pennsylvanian was by nature a cautious man. They were thinking about being partners, but Harry hadn't even told Butch his own real name yet. Looking at the town, he couldn't quite figure what it was that set off warning signals. He hadn't seen anything dangerous, at least not yet.

"I'm sure I can persuade the town folks into seeing our point of view," grinned the brash bank robber.

"Something don't feel right."

"Now Sundance, don't be so negative."

"Butch, I'm just saying…"

"Well don't," interrupted Butch Cassidy. "Leave the talking to me!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Heyes looked up from his desk at the sound of footsteps. The library door slammed open. The little man in the doorway flashed a toothy grin.

"Riders coming," announced Kyle.

"Thaddeus is back already?"

Heyes expected his partner back today, but not this early in the morning. Kid took a wagon to Porterville yesterday to pick up extra supplies before they got snowed in for the winter. Kyle shook his head. Wheat appeared behind Kyle. The older, heavyset man huffed with exertion. Even after all these years of living peaceably in Thunder Ridge, the former Devil's Hole gang kept watch.

"Riders," repeated Wheat. The burly man held up two fingers for emphasis. "They ain't Kid."

Heyes frowned. Wheat's slip, calling his partner Kid, was an indication of worry. The slender, dark haired man stood up. Heyes strode over to the window and peered out at the two men approaching Uriah's stable.

"Then who are they?"

"Outlaws."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry leaned back in the porch rocker next to Butch watching his companion and the slender dark haired man entreating him to leave Thunder Ridge. The former inmate of the Wyoming prison system tilted his black bowler hat back and grinned. The town's negotiator frowned.

"No." Butch jabbed his cigar in the air as a pointer. "Heyes, this town has just about everything we need."

Cigar ash went flying across the porch of the boarding house. The older man's jaw tightened, smoldering dark eyes narrowed.

"Smith," retorted Heyes in frustration. "Like I already told you, I'm a librarian not a bank robber. My name is Joshua Smith."

"Sure it is," grinned Butch. He pursed his lips and blew a smoke ring upwards. "Course you and I both know better."

Harry didn't know the librarian, but Butch insisted he recognized the resident of Thunder Ridge as Hannibal Heyes, one of the two most successful outlaws the west had ever known. The slim man dressed in black pants and a fitted jacket over a pressed white shirt with a black string tie didn't look like any outlaw Harry had ever met, didn't sound like one either.

"Thunder Ridge has a few things you don't need," reminded Heyes. "Like people."

Harry's lips curled up in a small smile as Heyes brought up the same problem that he'd tried to get Butch to see. The persuasive man leaned forward, his fingertips steepled together.

"Now I'd like to propose an alternative…"

"You already told me about Devil's Hole," interrupted Butch. He smirked, as if he'd caught the librarian out. "Sorta funny, you knowin' about Devil's Hole if you aren't Hannibal Heyes."

The librarian, Joshua Smith or Hannibal Heyes or whoever he was, exhaled sharply. Wild brown eyes glared at Butch. Harry straightened up and looked closer at the loquacious man. Joshua Smith didn't wear a gun on his hip, but the threat in those eyes didn't bode well.

"Did you listen to the part where I said the Devil's Hole gang took me in one winter?" snapped Heyes. "Or the part where I said no lawman ever found Devil's Hole? The entrance is secret, but I can draw…"

"You sure do like to jabber on," smirked Butch. He jabbed his cigar towards the ridge. "The entrance to this town is easily defensible. We would see anybody riding in."

As if to prove his point, a buckboard crested the ridge. The driver's floppy brown hat dangled between his shoulder blades.

"Only have to keep an eye on one spot," continued Butch. He swung his hand to point at the cabin on the opposite ridge. "We could set up watch from the front porch over there."

"My partner might object," retorted Heyes. "That's his home."

Harry watched Joshua Smith. The librarian's eyes were on the driver of the heavily laden wagon, not Butch. Harry pursed his lips in thought. For an out of the way, dead end road, nobody ever comes here kinda town, Thunder Ridge had three people arrive this morning. And if Butch was right that the librarian was Hannibal Heyes, then his partner… Harry followed Joshua's eyes. A muscular man with dark gold curls expertly handled the reins. A flash of sunlight glinted on the holstered pistol in his gun belt.

"Is that him?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Heyes eyed the Sundance Kid warily. Although the other man looked a little like Kid at first glance, this strong, quiet man reminded Heyes more of his partner in some respects, intelligent, soft spoken, with watchful eyes that didn't miss a thing. Supposedly Sundance was a fast draw too. The mustached man shifted in his seat, guarded blue eyes on Kid's approach.

"My partner," nodded Heyes. "Thaddeus Jones."

"Smith and Jones?" Butch burst out laughing. "You couldn't come up with anything better than that?"

Heyes didn't bother to answer the cocksure young man. He rose from his seat and hurried across the road to meet Kid. His partner pulled the wagon into the shade between Uriah's stable and Kid's workshop. The man of action already had the horses unhitched by the time Heyes reached the corral. Dexterous hands opened the gate. Their horses joined two unfamiliar animals in the enclosure.

"We got trouble."

"Don't we always?" sighed Kid. "What is it this time?"

"Who," corrected Heyes. "We got a pair of outlaws."

Not too many folks were out. Uriah could be heard inside the stable, heavy thuds sounded, followed by indistinct grumbling. Further down the street Lute Morrison, the undertaker, finished sweeping the porch in front of his building and sat down. Propping his feet up on a soap box, the thin man began to read a newspaper.

"What do they want?"

"Everything," Heyes spread his hands wide in a gesture to include the whole valley. "Butch thinks Thunder Ridge will make a good hideout."

"What's his name?"

Kid sounded puzzled, as if he couldn't quite place the name.

"Butch Cassidy, one of the fellas that robbed the bank in Montpelier last month," prompted Heyes. "And he thinks he knows me."

"Wish he'd stayed in Idaho," groused Kid. "And how could he know you? It's been nearly sixteen years since we..."

"Said he saw me when he was a boy," interrupted Heyes. "The other fella is his new sidekick, a fast draw that goes by the name of Sundance Kid."

"Phhht, what kinda name is that?"

"Don't know, don't care," retorted Heyes. "But they can't stay here."

Kid's blue eyes shifted their focus to look over Heyes' shoulder. Sharp ears heard the porch rocker stop squeaking. The heavy sound of footsteps clomping down the porch stairs told the older Kansan that the outlaws were on the move before his cousin spoke.

"They're headed this way."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and they're gonna leave."

Heyes flashed a grin that was equal parts hope and desperation. Kid gave a rueful smile in return.

"Joshua, when were we ever that lucky?"

Heyes turned as Butch sauntered towards them. The outlaw tossed the stub of his cigar in the road and quickly passed the flagpole. His careful colleague followed with slower, more deliberate steps, taking a moment to grind out the smoldering cigar butt.

"I was just telling my partner…," began Heyes.

Butch ignored Heyes, brushing his way right past the slim man to come to a halt before Kid. Bright blue eyes ran up and down Kid's long, lean frame, taking in everything from Kid's floppy brown hat to the scuffed toes of his boots. Heyes could tell from his partner's frown that Kid didn't appreciate being inspected as if he was a horse to be bought or sold.

"You must be Kid Curry, I've heard you used to be fast," challenged Butch.

Kid's eyes flashed at the rudeness. Heyes gave a barely visible shake of his head. Kid inhaled sharply. The rugged man took his time to slowly roll his shoulders and tuck his thumbs into the edge of his gun belt. Kid made an effort to smile at the newcomer.

"Mister, I don't know what you've heard, but I'm called Thaddeus Jones."

"Right," laughed Butch. The brazen bandit stepped closer, exhaling into Kid's face as he jerked his thumb towards Heyes. "Just like he's Smith."

"He is Joshua Smith," replied Kid in a mild voice.

"I don't believe that," objected Butch. "He's not Smith, and you're not Jones."

"Mister, I don't much care what you believe," snapped Kid.

Kid now raised his hands in front of his chest and began to remove his leather gloves. The look in his eyes would have made some men tremble. Heyes tried to insert himself between the two.

"Calm down…"

The wiry strategist placed one hand on Kid's chest and the other out towards Butch in an effort to distance the two men. Meanwhile, Sundance tugged on Butch's elbow causing the smaller man to take a step backwards.

"In some places talk like that will get you killed," Sundance interjected.

"Exactly what I was going to say," snapped Heyes.

Only Heyes heard his partner's barely audible words. "Walk off". Heyes turned to face the outlaw pair, his smile exuded charm.

"Mr. Cassidy, you…"

Butch's gleaming eyes were still on Kid.

"How about a friendly shooting match between you and Sundance?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry's face froze. He tried not to let his surprise show. What was Butch trying to pull? Harry wasn't going to gun down some fella over whether or not they could stay in this dead end little town.

"You want a shooting match?" echoed Thaddeus.

Butch nodded eagerly. Thaddeus looked from the two newcomers to his partner. Harry couldn't read the expression on Joshua's face. The librarian's long narrow fingers kept clenching and unclenching as if Joshua wanted to pounce on Butch and beat some sense into the braggadocio.

"You can't have a shooting match here in the center of town," hissed the librarian. "There are innocent folks…"

The man started babbling, wildly waving his hands. Harry only heard a few words, folks in the library, school, Lute, Uriah, Mrs. Henderson… Harry watched Thaddeus. The quiet man glanced briefly around the town. Harry watched the alert blue eyes linger for a moment on the school, before moving to the upper floor of the library. Was it Harry's imagination or did someone duck back behind the heavy drape at the second floor window? Thaddeus' blue eyes continued searching the town, finally coming to a rest on the cabin upon the slope. From this angle, Harry noticed the clothes line stretched between two trees up there. The line held a man's red union suit, bloomers, a petticoat, little dresses and lots of diapers. Thaddeus interrupted his partner's rant and pointed towards the meadow.

"Fence railing on the other side of those rocks is where I practice."

Thaddeus Jones set off abruptly, leaving the other three men to follow. It wasn't until they reached the outcropping and turned to face the fence that they caught up with the long legged man. The sturdy man finished placing the last of a set of six glass bottles in a row and started on another set. Harry swaggered over. Reaching into an open crate, he picked up a dusty blue glass bottle labelled castor oil. Harry set it on the railing next to a brown glass bottle labelled Adams Best Vanilla Extract.

"Vanilla extract?"

Thaddeus thumped a clear bottle labelled hair tonic next in line. His lips curled up in a gentle smile as he gazed at the brown bottle.

"Uncle Mac sends it all the way from Texas," Thaddeus explained. "Joshua's wife likes it for her carrot cake recipe."

Harry blinked. He didn't know which was more surprising, that Thaddeus had an uncle that kept him supplied with vanilla extract or the idea of Joshua Smith being married. The eloquent librarian hadn't said a word about a wife. Thump, thump. Two more vanilla extract bottles joined the others on the railing. Harry's fingers fumbled for another bottle. He set a green bottle labelled Jameson's Whiskey on the railing completing the second set of six.

"I didn't see a saloon in town."

"There isn't one," replied Thaddeus. "Nearest saloon is back at Four Corners."

Harry tried to read the calm fearless blue eyes but Thaddeus turned away at Butch's shout.

"Come on over here and line up," urged Butch in a gleeful tone.

For the second time, Harry found himself trailing behind Thaddeus. Butch dragged the toe of his boot across the dry earth, leaving a furrow across the brown grass. Thaddeus took out his pistol and checked the rounds, adding a sixth bullet. Harry did the same.

"Do you really want to do this?"

Thaddeus's soft question caught Harry off guard.

"It might get Butch to shut up for a few minutes," smirked Harry.

Harry didn't usually show off his fast draw, but Butch seemed bent of flaunting Harry's prowess. Maybe he thought Harry's shooting skills might convince the townsfolk to give up their hold on Thunder Ridge. Harry was cooperating because if Thaddeus Jones really was Kid Curry, a secret part of Harry wanted to see the shootist in action.

"Stand here," barked Butch. "And when I holler…"

Harry glanced at Thaddeus. The curly haired man already faced the targets. Harry lined up next to him.

"I don't like shooting when I'm standing still," grumbled Harry.

"Me neither."

But Butch's rapid fire words stopped further conversation.

"On your mark, set, draw!"

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

Four bottles on the fence shattered before Harry had his pistol in his grasp. Thaddeus Jones spun on his heels and stepped in front of Harry blocking him from the targets. The curly haired man grabbed Harry's wrist with his left hand, holding Harry's shooting hand immovable. Steely blue eyes stared into his own. Harry swallowed in sudden recognition. Harry knew, without a doubt, he was face to face with Kid Curry.

"You left some."

Harry tried very hard to sound nonchalant, as if it was nothing important, but he was very aware that Kid Curry still had two bullets left in his revolver. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his partner's voice registered. "That was just a friendly practice draw?" Butch sounded shocked. "I thought Sundance was fast!" But Harry's concentration was on the dangerous man in front of him.

"I don't want to have to shoot you," replied Kid's soft voice.

"Good," smiled Harry, still trying to appear unperturbed. He flashed a bright smile. "That makes two of us."

"Your buddy though…"

"I'd take it kindly if you didn't shoot him either," interrupted Harry. He flashed an apologetic smile. "Butch don't mean anything, just lets his mouth run away with himself sometimes."

A snort sounded, as if Kid knew exactly what Harry meant. But when Curry next spoke, his soft voice turned into a low growl that made the hair on the back of Harry's neck prickle.

"Do you really think Thunder Ridge is a good place for your hideout?"

Harry swallowed. In those determined blue eyes, he saw that there were things a man would be willing to fight for, things a man would be willing to die for. Or kill for. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Harry's forehead. Kid Curry's jaw clenched.

"Well?"

"No."

Harry shook his head and wrenched his wrist out of Kid's grasp. Harry backed up, carefully watching the fastest gun in the west. Kid Curry kept his eyes on Harry's every step. Butch squawked in protest when Harry bumped into him. Harry spun around and stepped on Butch's toes.

"We ain't staying," declared Harry.

"What do you mean Sundance?" protested Butch.

Harry frowned, trying to let an appearance of disdain mask his fear.

"I said we're not staying," Harry breathed into Butch's face. "The town doesn't even have a saloon."

Harry shoved past his partner. He took one more step. The smart thing would have been to keep on going, but Harry's pride wouldn't let him leave it like this. He spun around, drawing his own pistol, crouching low and stepping quickly sideways moving in an erratic weaving motion.

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

All six of his bottles shattered. Harry took a shuddering breath and slowly straightened up. With some gunmen, it would have been a risk to show off like that, but he knew Kid Curry wouldn't draw on Harry unless he threatened something more than a wooden fence. Harry kept his eyes on the fence railing. The Pennsylvanian relaxed his stance. Slowly he withdrew a cartridge from his gun belt. Harry took his time reloading, holding the empty revolver up in the sunlight and spinning the chamber before he inserted the first bullet into his gun.

"I never saw anybody shoot as fast as you do Thaddeus."

Fast, and accurate, a deadly combination. Harry forced a grin upon his face as he reached for another cartridge. He continued to reload his pistol as slowly as he could. Finally, he placed the weapon in his holster. Only then did Kid Curry's tense shoulders lower. Harry blinked and Curry had reloaded.

Blam! Blam!

Harry blinked again and the last two bottles shattered. Thaddeus Jones grinned back at Harry. The curly haired man twirled his revolver with a flourish and holstered it, keeping his fingertips near.

"Might fine shootin' yourself Harry."

Harry turned to walk back towards town, the stables, his horse and the road out of Thunder Ridge. He was surprised when Thaddeus stepped up to walk beside him. Harry only dimly registered Butch's voice.

"Did you say you could draw a map to Devil's Hole?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Heyes crossed his arms over his chest. Beside him Kid smiled at the tall blond rider. Harry touched his fingertips to the brim of his black Stetson and wordlessly turned away, nudging his horse into a fast trot. The smaller man scrambled up into his saddle.

"Be seeing ya gents." Butch spurred his horse on and called after Harry. "Sundance, wait up."

The two Kansans watched the riders leave. It wasn't until both of the outlaws disappeared over Thunder Pass that Kid spoke.

"Do you think we've seen the last of them?"

"Hope so." Heyes flashed a smile. "Butch seemed real taken with Devil's Hole once he got past the idea of staying here."

A wry smile lit up Kid's face.

"I don't remember the leader's cabin being quite as grand as you let on."

"Me neither," smirked Heyes.

Kid tilted his head. Heyes followed Kid's gaze to the second floor of the library building. At the first window of the Smith family living quarters, Kyle stepped away from the heavy drape, grinned and waved. At the second window, he saw Clem pluck a rifle away from Wheat. Kid and Heyes waved back. Today could have been a disaster, but they had all been very lucky.

"For a minute there in the meadow you had me worried," continued Heyes. "I thought you might really shoot them."

"Joshua, you know me better than that," chided Kid. "I wasn't quite sure what you had planned, but I knew it wasn't shootin' them fellas."

"Course not," answered Heyes with an enigmatic smile. How many plans had been made of nothing more than desperate hope, luck and faith in a partner? "Getting them outta here is all I wanted."

The partners stood together for a moment longer in a companionable silence. Uriah stepped out of the stable with his buffalo gun tucked in the crook of his arm.

"Them young fellas gone?"

"Yeah," answered Heyes.

"Good." The grizzled blacksmith turned and waved. Further down the street, Lute brushed an arm across his forehead and smiled. Across the street, on the upper floor of the boarding house an elderly woman closed a window. "Aunt Mary's rather particular about who stays in Thunder Ridge."

Uriah turned and trudged back into the stable, leaving Heyes gaping.

"She lets us stay 'cause she liked Uncle Clarence," smirked Kid. "He told her we were going straight."

"They know?" At Kid's nod, Heyes demanded, "Since when?"

"Probably since that first winter," answered Kid.

"And you knew?" spluttered Heyes. "That she… that they…"

Kid nodded with a genial smile. Heyes clamped his mouth shut and didn't say a word for almost a full minute.

"I should probably be getting back to the library," muttered Heyes. "

His partner placed a hand on his arm to stay him.

"Joshua, before you go, would you give me a hand getting Briscoe outta the wagon?"

"Harry Briscoe?"

"Yeah, I left Porterville yesterday afternoon, stopped the night at the stable in Four Corners," shrugged Kid. "This morning the Deputy saw me hitching up the team and asked me to bring Briscoe here."

"Why?"

"It was either that or arrest him."

"Arrest Harry? What for this time?"

"Harry is passed out cold. Got drunk and lost his shirt to some fast talker playing poker last night."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry Longabaugh reined in his black gelding at the top of the ridge and looked back on the tiny town of Thunder Ridge. The valley would have made a good hideout if it hadn't already been occupied. Butch joined him at the top of the ridge. He clutched the genuine Hannibal Heyes hand drawn map in one hand and the reins to his bay in the other. Butch flashed a bright smile.

"Follow this road back to Four Corners, then south…"

"Do you think we should tell Harvey?"

"Huh? We ain't telling nobody anything!" Butch looked appalled. "We promised..."

"Not their real names." Harry shook his head. "Should we warn Harvey... about... you know?"

"Warn Harvey about what?"

"That he might wanta give up that alias he's using?" prodded Harry. With a nod back in the direction of Thunder Ridge, Harry added, "He might not like it."

Butch crinkled his forehead in thought. Harvey Alexander Logan, having borrowed his friend Flat Nose's last name, currently used the alias Kid Curry.

"Nah," grinned Cassidy. "Jedidiah Curry ain't using that alias anymore, neither is Thaddeus Jones."

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