Smoke & Water, Part One: Storm Clouds
by Wichita Red
All morning the storm had clashed overhead, booming which such ferocity that the world below shook. The rain coming down in thick sheets, drenching the pair of men who had dared brave the storm; until even their boots sloshed with water.
"Tell me again, why we're doing this?" Kid Curry asked.
Not bothering to look back, as he had finally gotten his hat adjusted so the rain, was at least, no longer pouring into his jacket collar, Heyes growled, "you should know."
"Between the rain, my empty stomach, and that damn posse that's been on our tail for these past three days; I've plain forgotten why we're doing this."
Heyes ignored him, his red-rimmed eyes scanning the empty meadow they needed to cross, in order to reach the next line of trees.
Kid Curry studied his silent partner for a time, before stating, "you look like hell...you gonna answer me?"
Heyes snorted, his mouth pulling tight.
"Well?"
Another snort and a mocking grin appeared, "this..." Heyes motioned expansively with one gloved hand, "...all this was your idea. Wasn't I, the one who said; amnesty was for chicken thieves, land grabbers, and rag-picking, penny stealers. And, weren't you, the one who kept after me, kept after me 'till I agreed. So now, here we are years beyond the alleged deadline and still wanted. And, to seal the deal, we aren't just wanted for our own indiscretions, but also for any crime which seems to equal our names!"
Curry stood in his stirrups, his face remaining impassive as he scanned their back trail. "How long you been holdin' that in?"
Sucking in his lower lip, Heyes' eyes narrowed and slanted toward Kid.
Settling back in his seat, Kid met the glare head on, "you think we lost'em?"
"How should I know!?" Heyes snapped. "I've tried every trick, I know. And, they've still stuck to us like pissed off hornets." He glared at the wet world around them, grumbling, "They just gotta have an Apache with 'em."
Kid's whisker stubble made a rasping sound as he scratched at his jaw, "don't be startin' that again."
In a voice an octave or two higher than his normal, Heyes screeched, "I tell you they hav-"
"Keep your voice down." Kid stated and bowing his head, he took a calming breath. When he looked up, his boyish grin was back in place, "sides it ain't my fault you're feeling so proddy."
Heyes' eyes shot wide, "Proddy?"
"Yeah, proddy." Kid chuckled, nudging his gelding forward, "and, it also ain't all my fault we're in this fix."
Heyes stretched, pushing back against the cantle of his saddle seat while straightening out his long legs in the stirrups.
Eyeing him, Kid shook his head and moved his horse out into the drizzling rain to cross the meadow. The tall grass bent, twisting away from the animal, flattening beneath its steel shod hooves.
Snorting and scrubbing at the back of his neck, Heyes thought, 'perfect, now we're going to lay down a trail a schoolboy could follow.' Chirking to his sorrel mare; he moved out after his partner, muttering, "suppose it ain't, really, all Kid's fault."
Riding along in silence, they pushed on; each meadow crossing only bringing them to another grove of trees which were too small to assist in hiding their trail. Still, they were climbing ever closer to the distant, humped-backed, mountains they figured to disappear in. Their horses easy, flowing gait caused the tall grass to sway about their legs; the soft swishing sound becoming louder as the patter of rain faded and the sun came out.
Looking back over his shoulder, probably for the fiftieth time in an hour, Heyes still saw no hint of the posse. Feeling he had outwitted them, a large smile appeared, and removing his hat, he studied its battered shape in contrast to its shiny, silver-studded band. He had purchased both back when money had flowed through his fingers as fast as he could steal it. Heaving out a sigh, that barely covered how trail worn and tired he felt; he looped the hat's stampede string several times around his saddle horn, leaving the old hat to hang there, tapping softly against his knee. Looking back again, he rubbed a hand up his forehead, pushing a line of sweat into his already wet hair. 'A shave, bath, and bed sure would feel all-mighty good,' he thought, dallying his reins about the saddle horn. Unbuttoning his shirt, he pulled it free from his beltline hoping some of him might dry out in the meager, too humid, breeze.
Seeing his partner relaxing, one side of Curry's mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin, "Don't be getting to comfortable, Heyes, I ain't so sure we're in the clear."
Raising an eyebrow, Heyes' dimples snapped into place, "I sure like it when you worry then I don't have too."
Kid Curry's smile vanished as his brow bunched tightly, "You know, when you talk like that, I ain't sure if I should say thank you or screw you."
A barking laugh exploded from Hannibal Heyes.
Giving up his attempt at anger, Kid fell to laughing also. When the crack of a pistol made them both jump and throwing wide-eyed looks at each other, the ex-outlaws slammed their heels into their mounts. Their horses taking off in a lunge, their hooves slipping on the greasy grass, but once they found their footing they became low, moving streaks.
Heyes' chest tightened for not only was the posse back, but they were gaining on them. 'Damn it, appears they found fresh mounts," he thought, flicking his long, split-reins from one side of his mare's rump to the other as bullets buzzed by, far too close for his own personal comfort.
Spinning his horse, Kid released a barrage of lead, that pegged saddles and sent hats flying, all in an attempt to discourage the posse's fast pace.
The huffing breaths of Kid's big gelding let Heyes know his partner was back alongside him and bending lower across the shoulder's of his own saddle; he expected to feel the excruciating burn of a bullet burrowing into him, at any moment. When their mad flight brought them to race along a raised ridge, shooting glance after glance at the brown, white-capped river below, Heyes thought, 'if we could reach the water, it would sweep us right out of here.' Aiming his mare down the steep slope. 'Surly, they won't be foolish enough to follow us.'
Partway down the muddy, rocky, grade his mare balked; throwing her head up, she protested with a snorting squeal.
"Sorry girl, I know this is crazy, but its all we got left." Heyes stated, laying into her once more with the tail-end of his reins.
She danced in spot, slipped, then began moving, the mud rolling and bunching beneath her hooves. Feeling her sliding, fighting for her footing, Heyes cursed himself for what a damn bad idea this was. When a high-pierced scream rang out. His head snapped around in time to see a mist of blood spray from Kid's gelding, as the horse was being shot a second time. Heyes' mouth fell open and before he could formulate a thought; the gelding staggered sideways, crumbling.
In a bold move, Kid launched himself from the dying animal, just as it tumbled over the slope's edge.
Whipping his mare furiously, Heyes forced her out of the path of the deadly carcass barreling toward them. As he did so, he spied a silver glint, somehow he knew it was Curry's Colt, skidding downhill in the mud and hollered, "Kid!"
Rising to his feet, Kid's muscled frame silhouetted darkly against the sky. He turned, looking to Heyes, and then back over his shoulder. He could see there was no escape...for him, and shouted, "get the hell outta here!" Snatching, his hat from the ground, he waved it toward his partner, "Go on! Get!" Then turned his back on him with his hands raised over his head.
The excited voices of the posse floated down to Heyes but disturbingly, so did the continued cracks of their pistols firing. Muttering a curse and pulling his Schofield, Heyes kicked his mare, sending her back up the slope. Although, he could hit what he aimed at just like the Kid, he was not being as particular as his partner in choosing targets, only snapping off shots at any man who came into view.
When a choked grunt filled the air, Heyes felt the blood pour from his face as he watched his best friend topple over the edge, the same as his dead horse had done moments before.
Kid Curry's limp body, flopped on down the embankment like wind pushed debris until it plunged into the swollen river. His red plainsman shirt standing out like blood as the water swirled him round and round, the rolling current finally dragging him under.
From somewhere, Heyes could hear a ragged, aching howl, never once, realizing the sound was rising from himself as he jerked his horse back toward the river.
Jerked the exhausted animal too hard. Too fast. The mare stumbled. Her legs becoming entangled. In a heartbeat, she was down. Thrashing, struggling against the mud, and in the chaos of it all; Heyes believed his leg was going to be ripped clean off at the knee. Just as the pain filled him, blocking all other thoughts from his mind, he was thrown free. Lying there, face down in the mud, gasping for air, his first thought was, 'I have to save Kid.' Inhaling, he pushed off the ground and rolled over to the gaping, mouths of three pistols and a double-barrel shotgun.
"If'n I was you, I wouldn't move nary an inch," drawled the man holding the shotgun. "Lessen you wanna be as dead as your partner."
Heyes' dark eyes riveted on the silver star, big as a hog's head, the shotgun holder was wearing.
The Sheriff stared right back, barking, "Val, Charlie, Micah follow the river and fetch 'em up; even dead he's worth $10,000."
"Will do," came a quick response and Heyes heard horses moving off.
"Now you," the Sheriff jammed Heyes with the shotgun, "go on now and show us how smart you are...by standin' up real slow."
Heyes' gaze drifted to the river, his expressive eyes becoming flat and lifeless.
The Sheriff jabbed him, again. "Come on, move."
Forcing down a hard swallow, Heyes climbed to his feet, but even as he did, his right leg buckled, tearing from him a ragged gasp as he staggered; just catching his balance.
"Hellfire, you gonna be able to get back up on your horse? Or, we gonna have to throw you up there?"
The left corner of Heyes' mouth rose, a deep dimple appearing, "depends if you plan on tying my hands."
"Why, hell yes, I plan on trussing' you up. Suppose though, I could hold off 'till you're on board." The Sheriff replied, his wide smile revealing a missing incisor. "Course, you should know, I plan on stayin' close enough, if'n you make just one wrong move...well, this here scatter gun ain't gonna miss an inch of you."
Heyes nodded and looking around, saw his mare a short distance off. She was standing solidly on all four feet, a rush of relief ran through him that his rashness had not lamed her. She was smaller than mounts he normally chose but she had proved plenty game and more than a little loyal. Taking a breath, he set to gingerly hobbling in her direction.
She turned her head, whickering.
"Come here, babe."
She shook her head with a snort, her eyes showing too much white.
Moving slowly, he whistled low, cooing, "come on, baby."
Little by little he made his way to her, until he was able to wrap a caressing hand about her muzzle. Moving closer, he tugged gently at her mane to further calm her. "I'm sorry, girl, you knew better from the get go, didn't you."
She lowered her head, leaning into him, offering her trust once more.
Scratching her ear and straightening her headstall, Heyes whispered, "Well, come on, we gotta go find, Kid." Latching hold of her neck, he stepped back on his left leg, launching himself from the ground. By passing the stirrup all together to sling himself into the saddle. A hot, searing pain shot through his right leg and through gritted teeth he inhaled loudly, sucking hard at the insides of his cheeks. After he felt he had pushed the pain back where it belonged, he bent forward using his hand to shove his boot in the stirrup.
"Nicely done." The Sheriff said, motioning to a posse member with a twitch of his head. "But, it sure does appear you've done and gimped yourself up pretty, damn good."
As this new man moved in close, Heyes considered whether the Sheriff would truly chance firing, with his posse member so close and all. But, that was when he noticed, a third man had latched hold of his mare's headstall. Then his hands were being tied to the saddle horn, his mind was racing in loping circle, 'I need a plan...I need to find, Kid...I need a plan...I need to find, Kid...' Letting his lashes droop over his eyes, he chewed hard at the inside of his lip, trying to center his thoughts. But, all he could see was Kid being shot and the river sucking him down.
