The Rifle

Hannibal Heyes and Jed "Kid" Curry rode into yet another dry, dusty town in their quest for a few days' respite from a long, never-ending trail. Pulling their hats forward to shield their faces from close view, they rode past the sheriff's office and glanced over. Imperceptibly smiling at each other at the unfamiliarity of the local constable's posted name, they scanned the array of businesses and pulled up to a saloon. Dismounting and tethering their mounts, they strode toward the entrance.

"Get outta here, you drunk! Done told ya enough is enough!"

Two ex-outlaw pairs of eyes met with a mutual shrug, then started as a large body bowled through the door, knocking Kid Curry off his feet and almost sending Hannibal Heyes to the same fate. Reaching an arm over the still thrashing ejected one to help his partner up finally pulled Heyes into the heap as the swirling eddy of humanity engulfed him.

Dazed for a moment, Heyes rolled free of the tangle, only to be hit in the shoulder by another missile – a rifle, which thudded to the boardwalk to his side. He ducked to avoid any further projectiles, human or otherwise.

"Take yer trash and stay out!"

Kid Curry grasped at the man pinning him. One hand instinctively reached for his gun belt. Satisfied his pistol still lay secure in its holster, he renewed his effort to free himself.

"Now, Thaddeus!"

Seeking the split second of opportunity afforded by his partner's lifting of one shoulder of the now slurred-shouting ejectee, Curry rolled free. Picking himself up, he bent to his knees to catch his breath.

Heyes appeared alongside. "You okay?"

Kid nodded.

Heyes squeezed his partner's shoulder. "Good." Shifting his attention to the now quiet, supine man, he stooped to lend a hand. "Let's get you up." The man did not move. The ex-outlaw leader bent to one knee, pressing his hand flat against and lightly tapping the man's cheek.
"Mister?"

Several seconds later, one eye opened. "Dammit."

Heyes recoiled from the stench.

"Not again, Hanson!"

Regaining his breath, Kid straightened up as a man with a star on his shirt approached. He warned in a low tone, "Heyes."

"I see him."

The sheriff reached them, surveying the scene. "You two look a little worse for wear. Tell Smitty the bartender inside your drinks're on me. Sorry for the trouble."

The sheriff, though wiry and not as tall, effortlessly grabbed the now unconscious, floored man under the shoulders, dragging him toward the jail across the street and half a block down.

Heyes and Curry dusted themselves off.

"Sheriff's strong," noted Heyes. "Wouldn't expect that strength in a man his size."

Kid glanced after them. "Yeah."

"Let's get that drink. It's nice of the sheriff." Heyes walked ahead.

"Um hm."

The dark-haired partner held the door. With no hand soon taking it, he glanced behind him to see Curry stooping.

"Thaddeus?"

Kid stood with the forgotten rifle in his hand, inspecting it.

Heyes rubbed his shoulder with his free hand. "Not every day I get hit twice."

Curry smiled briefly at his partner before eyeing the long gun again. "Haven't seen one of these since the war. Hasn't been taken care of, though. It's rustin' up."

Heyes stepped out of the entrance to let a customer exit, peacefully this time. "Rusting? Gotta take better care of guns than that."

Kid smiled at his partner. "My feelin's exactly. Where'd ya learn that?"

Heyes rolled his eyes before turning serious. "Better leave that where you found it."

Blue eyes twinkled. "You know I can't do that. Blue this up and it'll be good as new." He thought. "Well, at least a good lookin' relic. Have it back to him before he wakes up."

"You mean, go to the sheriff's office?"

"Yup."

Heyes' eyes grew wide. The "look" overshadowed his countenance. "There you go again."

"What?" Curry sighed. "It'll be fine. The sheriff's obliged to us." He paused. "At least he seems to be."

Heyes shook his head and stepped inside, glancing behind to ensure his partner followed.

~~00oo00~~

"You two look like ya tangled with a cat. Sorry for the trouble, gents. Some don't know how to hold their liquor. What'll it be?"
Heyes placed two five-cent pieces on the bar. "Two beers." Spying a jar of hard-boiled eggs, he asked, "These free."

Smitty placed the pair of brews on the bar. "Yup, with a drink. And keep yer money. Bet the sheriff said they're on him."

Heyes nodded. Grabbing a mug, he asked, "How'd you know?"

"That's what he does, 'specially if strangers is involved."

Heyes gulped half his drink. "Ah, that's good." He replaced the mug on the bar. "Lotta trouble around here?"

"Not usually. Sheriff keeps a tight rein on things 'round these parts."

"I see."

Spying his partner's untouched beer, Heyes looked at him. Curry stood two steps back from the bar, examining the rifle.

"That thing's seen better days," Smitty offered.

Heyes smirked at his partner's lack of reaction. "I think Thaddeus here would agree with you."

Curry looked up. "Huh?"

Heyes shook his head. "That the rifle's seen better days. Your thirst leave you all of a sudden?"

"Um, no." Kid grabbed his mug and sipped before replacing it. Indicating the rifle, he looked at Smitty. "It has seen better days. Just needs a little attention is all."

The barkeeper started to turn to new customers. "Don't bother. It'll just encourage him more."

Curry's brow furrowed. He glanced at Heyes, who shrugged.

Smitty returned. "You gussy that thing up right, it'll start all over again. Do us and yourself a favor and burn it. Maybe then he'll move on."

"What'd he do?"

Heyes stood aside, momentarily forgotten, watching the speakers, outwardly showing disinterest while his curiosity was as piqued as his partner's. He never could resist a good story.

Smitty related flatly, "He's a no good drunk. Arrived in town a few months ago and been hangin' 'round since. Spends nights in the livery with his no good nag; glue factory's best place for the sorry beast. That's when he's not sleepin' off a drunk in the alley or in jail when the sheriff gets feelin' sorry for him. Sorry lot of humanity he is."

Curry reflected. "There's probably a good fella underneath. Too many good men hide behind a bottle. I've known a few." He indicated the rifle. "What about this?"

Smitty continued. "You get rid of that rusted piece of crap, you get rid o' him."

"Means a lot to him?"

"Yup."

"It's seen better days, but with a bit of bluin' and cleanin' up, it'll look just fine. Might even shoot good if the bore's intact."

Smitty's dander rose. "Young fella, you're new 'round these parts, and you'll be movin' on soon, I suppose. Don't go askin' for trouble."

Curry finally glanced at his partner. Heyes' eyes narrowed. Turning back to Smitty, Kid continued. "How's it askin' for trouble just to help a fella out?"

"Done told ya already. I want him outta here. He's no good. Trashin' that piece of old metal's best thing ya can do for the town."

A cold, blue-eyed stare met the barkeep's anger. Curry turned and walked out. Heyes opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He shook his head, glanced at Smitty, and followed after his partner.

~~00oo00~~

After checking in and performing the usual routine of checking the street from their window, complete with full view of the sheriff's office, the partners set about unpacking. This hotel's being more affordable than most, they took a larger room than usual with more furnishings. As Heyes loaded his change of clothes into a drawer, Curry spread out his gun cleaning equipment on a table just the right size for the task, pulled out a chair, and got to work on the rusted rifle.

Heyes crossed his arms and watched. When Kid did not look up, he sighed; still, no reaction. "Kid, you can't be serious. We could get in trouble. Just because the sheriff doesn't know us …"

"Put a trap on it, Heyes. I'm gonna finish this." Curry continued his task with no reaction to his partner.

"We're gonna regret this."

Kid ignored Heyes' comment. He took the rifle apart, gently setting down each piece in turn. Removing bluing accouterment from the kit, he fingered the rust on the barrel, picking at it lightly. "It's only just the surface. It'll be good as new."

Heyes threw up his hands. "Just what we need!"

Curry said flatly, "It'll be fine, Heyes. If ya don't like it, go take a walk."

"Can't afford to do that without you to watch my back." He paused. "Or, in this case, best be me who's watching yours."

~~00oo00~~

The light through the window began to fade. The silence of the room save his partner's ministrations distracted Heyes. He put down the book he had only half immersed himself in to gaze at Curry, whose attention had not left his task. Heyes had to admit to himself he sometimes did not give Kid the credit for his tenacity for something in which he took interest. Perhaps after amnesty his partner could become the gunsmith Heyes thought he might like to be – under a continuing alias, of course – because peace might never come to him using his own identity. There were too many young wannabes out for the glory of making a name for themselves, no matter how notoriously. Out-drawing the fastest gun in the West, well, that would do it. But there was Curry's restless spirit …

"Done."

Heyes blinked.

Curry stood, holding a nicely blued and oiled rifle. Both the rust and several glare spots gone, the long gun no longer looked the relic of a seemingly ancient war – still remembered perhaps, but hopefully long past the common consciousness.

The dark-haired partner stood, striding over to examine the piece. "Wouldn't recognize it, Kid. Damn, you're good." He smiled.

"Change your mind?"

"No." Dark eyes saddened. Heyes looked away. "You know, that do-gooding is gonna get us in real trouble someday."

"Lighten up, Heyes. We always come out okay in the end."

~~00oo00~~

"You comin'?"

Hannibal Heyes hesitated outside the sheriff's office. Twilight waned, but no stars appeared. He sighed and followed in step with his partner.

Curry opened the door. The sheriff sat at his desk. The rustle of papers stopped.

The lawman stood, extending a hand but keeping an eye on the long gun in Kid Curry's hand. "Good seeing you again, gents. Hope you're not the worse for wear."

Heyes spoke. "Nope. Just fine." He did not immediately notice the sweat that broke as he shook the sheriff's hand.

Kid stepped forward to do the same. "Sheriff."

The lawman nodded. "Any reason for the rifle?"

Kid offered it to the sheriff, who took it. "Yup. Belongs to that fella from this afternoon." At the lawman's puzzled look, Curry continued, "I
just cleaned it up a bit."

The sheriff examined it carefully. "Yeah, I guess it is his. Ya don't see too many of these anymore."

"Nope."

"It'll make him happy, I suppose." He looked at the door leading to the cells. "If he ever wakes up."

Heyes repeated, "If he ever wakes up?"

"Yeah. I feel sorry for him, although sometimes I think he'd be better off dead, and he probably does, too. Ever since he came to town a few months back, I don't think I've seen him sober for more than a few hours, and from what I've been able to piece together when he is, Hanson was a hero in some battle back East – Cold Harbor, I think. His one moment of glory, it seems. Not sure what he did with all the killing around him. Then the war ended, and he didn't know what to do with himself. Drifted around all these years because there was nothing to go back to. Said he couldn't find a place he felt comfortable, 'cept maybe in the bottle. Can't figure. True Union blue, I guess. That rifle is his life."

The partners glanced at each other with pursed lips.

Curry turned to the lawman. "That's too bad, sheriff."

"Yeah. A big man like him. Probably could've made something of himself."

Heyes nodded. The hour was getting late.

"What's your name? I'm sure he'll wanna know."

Kid caught the lawman's eye. "Just … a friend."

The sheriff's gaze narrowed, eyeing Heyes and Curry in turn. "A friend?"

"Yeah. That's all he needs to know."

The sheriff nodded. "I'll tell him."

"Thanks."

With a tip of hats, the partners turned, closing the door behind them.