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.
Once More Into The Breach c1876
Chapter 1: Splittin' Up?
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"Kyle," called Heyes, "why are you stopping?"
"Loo… looky there," exclaimed Kyle, teeth chattering, gloved hand shaking as he pointed.
Wheat, followed by Preacher, reached the crest of the ridge and reined in beside the littlest member of the Devil's Hole Gang. Wind whistled through the air as Heyes joined the men. The mastermind's dark brown eyes narrowed at the unwelcome sight below. The talk they'd heard in Wildwood appeared to be true.
"That's gotta be General Crook and his men," declared Wheat in a sour tone.
"How many men do you suppose is down there?" asked Preacher.
Beneath his rounded black hat, the outlaw's ashen face was nearly as white as the light snow dusting the hill. The army column below stretched in a dark twisting, turning line parallel to the ice coated river. Cavalry, infantry, supply wagons, horses pulling Gatling guns and more, snaked northward.
"Six, maybe seven hundred, at least," estimated Wheat.
A fifth man arrived at the hilltop in time to hear Wheat's words. Lobo scrunched his shoulders and sank down into his saddle as if trying to hide from the cold wind. The wild haired outlaw tugged his hat down lower over his forehead and pulled a woolen muffler up over his hard frown.
"More," growled Lobo.
The oldest of the outlaw gang reached the summit. Clarence Jones' white nosed horse seemed older than the man himself. The animal blew hard, its breath steaming the air. The uphill trek drained the strength of both man and beast.
"Heyes, my joints is aching somethin' fierce," grumbled Clarence in a crotchety tone. "I know you said getting an early start this season would give us the benefit of surprise, but if we get caught out in a blizzard, the surprise will be on us."
"We're not gonna get caught out in a blizzard," assured the shrewd Kansan. Heyes gestured to the men below. "Although they might."
Dark eyes searched behind the genial old reprobate for the last member of their gang. Midway up the hill, a tall blond walked his horse. The gang rode abreast on the stage road for the first few miles after leaving Wildwood this morning. It wasn't until they turned off the road that the gang switched to riding single file. The riders rotated positions as they crossed the unmarked snow, all except one. Heyes watched Kid's laborious uphill climb as he brushed an aspen branch over the traces of their passage, blurring the hoof prints. Would it be enough so that to the casual glance of a passerby the trampled snow might be mistaken for markings left by deer or a wolf pack?
"Back up," ordered Heyes. "It will be awhile before Kid gets here and we don't want to attract the army's attention."
Hooves shuffled as the Devil's Hole Gang hunkered down to wait for the man who watched all their backs.
"Kid," greeted Heyes when his partner finally reached the waiting gang, "we're almost a mile from the road. I think you can let the wind do the rest of that job while we ride the ridgeline south."
"I thought we were gonna go over the ridgeline where nobody can see our tracks…"
Kid's words trailed off. His blue eyes widened as he took in the scene below. The partners exchanged a look.
"Change of plans, we don't want to follow the Powder River," replied Heyes. "It looks like the bartender in Wildwood was right about what the army is doing."
"Good thing we never made it to Montana," stated Kid. "Or we'd be right in their way.
Heyes pressed his lips in a tight grimace that could hardly be called a smile. Five years ago Kid and Heyes had left Texas full of dreams. The reference to the partner's one time plan to raise horses in Montana had long since been overcome by harsh reality.
"I wouldn't want to be a Cheyenne right now," declared Wheat.
"Or a Lakota," quavered Kyle.
"Or a soldier," added Preacher in a glum tone.
"Living in a war zone ain't safe for anybody," declared Kid. "Not even for outlaws."
"Come on," urged Heyes. "Kyle, get back with Kid, spell your horse."
The slender man pulled the reins turning his sorrel south. Moving past Wheat and Preacher, Heyes' resumed the lead position. Less than two weeks after Kid and Heyes returned to Devil's Hole from their journey through Colorado, Arizona and Utah, the gang was on the move. Necessity drove them. The last of the gang's winter supplies couldn't handle two more mouths. An overnight stop in Wildwood and a perusal of newspapers since last December hatched the crazy scheme for their next job.
"There's an abandoned farmhouse two miles from here. We'll stay there tonight," added Heyes. "Tomorrow we can follow the trail south. We'll be in Casper before nightfall."
"Yeah!" exclaimed Kyle. "And then we'll show them folks what a real Devil's Hole Gang robbery is really like!"
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Heyes rolled over on his side. Hay rustled. Sleepy brown eyes blinked open, he smacked his lips. Kid sat beside the fire. The circle of stones taken from the farmhouse's fallen down chimney outlined a crude circle in the center of the barn. Men and horses both snuffled in the early morning light. Steam rose from the coffee pot as Kid poured a cup of the dark beverage. He held the cup out towards Heyes.
"Thanks," murmured Heyes. The safecracker sat up and took the cup. He sniffed, then sipped. "Mmm, best wake the others up."
"Might as well let them sleep," objected Kid.
"We need to get moving."
"Heyes, we ain't going anywhere today," declared Kid. "Storm reached us last night. There's at least a foot of snow outside and it's still blowing."
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"Kyle," hissed Wheat in annoyance. "Do you hafta…"
"Well now Wheat," responded the smaller man, "four days of eating nothing but bean soup and hardtack is gonna have an effect."
"Sssh," ordered Heyes. "I can't hear the tumblers."
Heyes turned back to the shining new safe. Although he'd like to blame Wheat and Kyle's chatter, Heyes knew that there was something different about the Pierce and Hamilton 1875. The tumblers were quieter. Was he starting to lose his hearing? Or his touch? Or was it something else? Slender fingers spun the dial around. Best to start over. He leaned in close. Kid stuck his head through the bank's rear window.
"No one's about," determined Kid. "It's like the whole town decided to stay inside where it's warm. How much longer?"
"Depends on how many interruptions I get," snapped Heyes.
Twenty minutes later, Heyes smiled as the heavy black gilt trimmed door opened.
"Wheat, Kyle," called Heyes in a relieved tone.
The two outlaws stuffed money into empty carpet bags. When Wheat and Kyle were done, Heyes laid a piece of paper inside. The note looked lonely in the empty safe. Monday morning the folks of the Casper Independent Bank and Trust would find out they'd been robbed. Confusion over who had robbed the Casper payroll last December remained, despite their best efforts to convince folks it hadn't been Kid Curry, Hannibal Heyes and the Devil's Hole Gang. However, there would be no confusion over who robbed the bank on Friday night March 10, 1876.
"Maybe now you'll believe us," murmured Heyes as he closed the door and spun the dial.
The sassy note read: Mighty nice bank you got here. Just so you know, Kid Curry, Hannibal Heyes and the Devil's Hole Gang rob banks and trains. We don't rob wagons. See you again soon.
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Heyes mounted his horse. He flashed a bright grin at the gang. Moonlight shone on the slushy, brown snow that edged the streets of Casper. The heavily trampled road southwards would eventually take them to Cheyenne.
"Now single file, stay in between the wagon tracks so no one can separate out our tracks," declared Heyes. "With any luck we'll be in Cheyenne before anyone knows we robbed the bank."
Nods of agreement were accompanied by muffled grunts as cold men pulled up mufflers around their faces. It wasn't until the gang passed the front of the bank that Heyes heard anyone speak.
"Heyes, what's a subsidiary?" called Kid.
Kid pointed to the ornate gold and black lettering on the front window: Casper Independent Bank and Trust, a subsidiary of the Wells Fargo Bank.
"Well Kid," answered Heyes, "it means that the Casper bank ain't quite so independent. They're owned by the Wells Fargo Bank."
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"What do you mean you're out?" asked Heyes. The dark haired man laid his book down on the sofa. "We just got to Denver three days ago and you had a hundred dollars spending money when we left Cheyenne!"
"Well now Heyes…"
"Ssssh," hissed Heyes. Twisting and turning his head, Heyes scanned to see how if anyone in the lobby was within hearing range. "Newton, remember, I'm Timothy Newton."
The scruffy smaller man tilted his head sideways and looked confused. From his seat in the overstuffed chair opposite Heyes, Kyle leaned across the small table and lowered his voice obediently.
"I thought you was Hannibal Heyes," whispered Kyle.
"I am but…," Heyes shook his head.
While the hotel clerk probably knew the gang members weren't the ranchers they claimed to be, Heyes didn't want his real name bandied about. The note in the Casper bank had done its job all too well.
"Even with that funny lookin' get up," added Kyle.
"This suit is not funny looking," hissed Heyes.
The black suit, white button down dress shirt, and a collar starched so stiff as to make it difficult to turn his head, was supposed to make Heyes look like a prosperous cattleman out on the town. Kid's gibe that the suit made him look more like a telegraph clerk still stung. His easygoing partner had elected to look like a less prosperous rancher with a good new pair of brown leather boots.
"In Denver, I'm Newton and Kid is Orville Weston," reminded Heyes.
The Wells Fargo Bank had taken great exception to its Casper subsidiary being robbed. Since the bank's board of directors didn't know the names of everyone in the Devil's Hole Gang, they'd had to settle on raising the reward money on the gang's two most prominent members. Two thousand dollars was a lotta money, so Heyes and Curry moved the gang south again, into Colorado.
"I don't think Miss Priscilla knows Kid is Orville Weston," stated Kyle, "she keeps calling him sugar."
"That's alright Kyle," soothed Heyes. He would deal with Kid and Miss Priscilla later. "Now tell me, how are you out of money already?"
The litany of Kyle's expenses over the past seventy-two hours left Heyes rolling his eyes.
"Go back to your room," ordered the tactical genius. "Stay there!"
"But…,"
"And if Wheat or Lobo or Preacher or Clarence show up," added Heyes, "tell them to stay there too."
Heyes picked up his book and went in search of his partner. The news about the army's movements hadn't improved. The gang wasn't going back to Devil's Hole anytime soon and at the rate money was slipping through their fingers they couldn't stay in Denver much longer. They needed to make plans. He rapped on the door to Kid's room. Silence. Heyes tried the knob. The room was unlocked.
"Kid," called Heyes softly as he pushed the door open. "You really shouldn't leave your door…"
Kid wasn't in his room. Heyes went back downstairs. Kid wasn't in the hotel restaurant. With a long suffering sigh, Heyes braced himself and started towards the ladies parlor, but the front doors to the lobby swung wide open and Kid walked in carrying some papers in one hand.
"Where have you been?" demanded Heyes.
"Huh?" Kid's broad smile faded.
"I've been looking for you," snapped Heyes. He pointed towards the staircase. "We have to talk."
"Yeah, we do," agreed Kid in a mild tone as he followed his partner upstairs.
Heyes withdrew the room key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. A quick twist, a push and he strode inside leaving the door swinging. Heyes stopped in front of the bay window overlooking the street. He didn't turn around until he heard the door click shut. Heyes wheeled on his partner.
"Where have you been?"
"The telegraph office," answered Kid. His partner looked puzzled. "Heyes what's wrong? Why do you sound so angry?"
"Angry? Me?" Heyes threw up his hands and stalked across the room waving his arms every step of the way. "Lots of reasons! The US Army is running all over our territory! The reward for our capture has just doubled. The money we got from the Casper job isn't gonna last long at the rate Kyle keeps buying peppermint sticks…"
"Peppermint sticks?
"Forty-three dollars' worth of peppermint sticks," answered Heyes. "He mighta bought more, but he'd already spent forty-five dollars on dynamite, five dollars on blasting caps, two dollars on a bath and a shave…"
Heyes' voice trailed off. Kid's eyebrows went up.
"And five dollars personal expenses," answered Heyes.
Heyes slumped down in the straight back chair by the writing table. He rested his elbows against his knees and stared at the floor.
"And when all the money's gone, there may not be any more," sighed Heyes. "I couldn't open the Denver Merchant's Bank even if I tried."
"We ain't robbing the Denver Merchant's Bank," reminded Kid. "It's too close to where Clem lives."
Heyes looked up at his partner. Kid's blue eyes gazed back at him. The muscular blond held up the papers in his hand and waved them at Heyes.
"Of course if you ever did want to rob the Denver Merchant's Bank, it might be best to get a first-hand look at their new equipment," smiled Kid.
"What?"
"You been complainin' about all the fancy new safes ever since we left Casper," reminded Kid. "So I found out where the Pierce and Hamilton safe company is located."
"You did?"
Heyes was surprised. He didn't think Kid, or anyone else in the gang, had listened to his complaints about the Pierce and Hamilton 1875 he'd opened in Casper. Only he knew how very lucky he'd been to get the darn fool thing open. A smile spread across his face at the thought of seeing how a lockbox like that was put together.
"Where?"
"The company is based in Connecticut," answered Kid, he flashed the papers beneath Heyes' nose, "but they're doing some sort of industrial expositions for the Centennial celebration, and you can go see one of their newest safes up close and personal like in either Boston, Chicago or San Francisco."
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"Does everybody understand the plan?" asked Heyes.
At the far end of the private dining room, Kid's watchful blue eyes also took in everyone's reaction. The partners had been over the details twice already. Wheat frowned. Clarence looked down the long dining table at Heyes and shook his head. Lobo grunted, a sound that could be taken as agreement or not. Preacher picked up his shot glass and downed a gulp of whisky without saying anything. Kyle tilted his head sideways, still looking perplexed.
"Is you jus' funnin'? For April Fool's?" asked Kyle.
The partners exchanged a glance. Blue eyes rolled in wordless agreement. Heyes started once more, maybe the third explanation would sink in.
"No, you heard Kid. He's right, times are changing," repeated Heyes. "We got off to an early start this season, so we've got money to afford a little research."
"Research!" snorted Wheat. "Is that what you call sendin' us to get jobs building the new railroad tracks to Poncha Springs while you and Kid go galavantin' off to San Francisco?"
Brown eyes narrowed. For a moment, Heyes looked angry at Wheat's challenge, but then he leaned back in his chair. The master planner flashed a dangerous smile.
"You didn't mind me working in the bank in Lowell last Spring," chided Heyes. "I seem to recall that bit of research paid off rather well. And Kid and I will be working too."
"We got a good haul outta Lowell," agreed Wheat, "but we nearly didn't get away."
"The sheriff seeing us on the way out of town wasn't Heyes' fault," declared Kid in a low, hard tone. "Security is my concern, and you know it."
"Ain't saying it was anyone's fault," replied Wheat hastily. "Just sayin' sometimes things don't go according to plan."
"Yeah," chimed in Kyle. "Like the blizzard slowing us down on our way to Casper."
"Nobody controls the weather," reminded Heyes. "We couldn't rob the bank Sunday night like we originally planned, so we adjusted the plan and waited until Friday night to rob the bank."
The clever tactician looked around the wide oak table and decided to try another approach.
"This is a job, like any other, and…," began Heyes.
"It's different from when you went to research the job in Lowell," objected Wheat.
"Wheat," growled Kid.
Wheat sank down in his chair. Heyes raised a slender hand, shaking his head in dismissal.
"No, it's alright, I want to hear everyone's ideas, but one at a time," continued Heyes. He directed his gaze to the older man seated on the other side of his partner. "Clarence, you shook your head. Why? What don't you like about the plan?"
The sturdy man leaned back in his chair. Wrinkle creases around his eyes deepened as Clarence regarded Heyes. It was a moment before the gray haired man spoke.
"Poundin' rails ain't a job for a fella like me, it's a job for a younger man," replied the aging outlaw.
"Well I was thinkin' you might get a job that's not so hard on the back, maybe as a cook," replied Heyes.
Clarence's snort, and mingled groans from the other men stopped the Kansan.
"Nobody likes my cookin', not even me," reminded Clarence with a wry grin. "And if you and Kid are going to San Francisco, what's gonna happen to your horses?"
Heyes had telegraphed his old friend Silky O'Sullivan to ensure that he and Kid would be able to obtain advance admission tickets to the Pierce and Hamilton industrial expo. Silky's carefully worded response let them know that tickets to the May demonstration, and more, would be available in San Francisco.
"Wouldn't it be better if I took your horses back to Devil's Hole?" continued Clarence.
"No," objected Kid before Heyes could respond. "Going back to Wyoming right now is too dangerous."
Clarence's raised eyebrows left Heyes wondering if the canny outlaw had heard the same reports about the army's movements that Curry and Heyes had heard.
"You don't need to worry about me. It ain't easy to track one man by himself," reminded Clarence. "I can take the horses and get back to the Hole jus' fine."
Kid looked ready to argue, but Heyes shook his head. He pointed at the next man.
"Lobo?"
The wild haired outlaw pushed his plate away from him and slouched back against his chair with a frown.
"San Francisco is a long ways off," grumbled Lobo.
"Going there is better than Chicago or Boston, and we know folks in San Francisco," reminded Heyes. "Preacher, what about you?"
Preacher looked oddly vulnerable without his big floppy black hat.
"I don't like you working for Silky," answered the gaunt man.
Heyes pursed his lips. Preacher had met Silky before and the two didn't see eye to eye. At the end of the table, a self-satisfied smile spread across Kid's face. His partner hadn't liked that part of the plan either.
"The main reason we're going to San Francisco is to see the Pierce and Hamilton presentation at the industrial expo the first week of May," reminded Heyes. "Learning how the Pierce and Hamilton tumblers turn so smooth is something I've got to know if we want to stay in business."
"Yeah, but…," began Preacher.
"And just 'cause Silky offered us a job while we're there doesn't mean we're gonna take it," soothed Heyes, speaking as much to Kid as to Preacher. "We don't even know what kind of job Silky is planning."
Heyes turned to the small man seated between himself and Wheat. The dynamite specialist still looked upset.
"It sure sounds like we's splittin' up," sighed Kyle in a disconsolate tone.
"No, we're not splitting up," reassured Heyes. "We're just not working together for the next month or so, probably six weeks at the most."
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The last of the details, telegrams to keep in touch, were arranged. Chairs scuffed back from the table, followed by footsteps. Kid came to stand beside Heyes as the gang filed out of the dining room. Wheat's boastful words carried down the corridor, "Don't forget, I'm in charge!"
"Kid," smirked Heyes, "I think they've finally got it."
"No tellin' what kinda trouble they're gonna get into without us watching out for them," frowned the youngest member of the gang. "Especially with Wheat in charge."
"They're grown men Kid, they'll be fine," reminded Heyes. "And if anything goes wrong, we'll come break 'em outta jail."
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