The two lathered horses splashed into the water without hesitation, their hooves clumsily clattering across submerged rocks as they carefully picked their path through the swift current until they reached the deeper channels and began to swim. The roan gelding drifted downstream with the flow towards a sand bar. His front legs found purchased on the gravel island and he scrambled out of the river. The stolid gray continued to the far bank, emerging and shaking off excess water. His curly-haired rider dropped his legs from where they'd been hooked around the saddle's cantle and turned to look at his partner.
"Heyes, let's go!"
"Give us a second to catch our breath, will you?" snapped the panting dark-haired man atop the heaving roan.
"We don't have a second less'n you wanna be on a first name basis with that posse."
Muttering under his breath to his mount, Hannibal Heyes closed his legs against the tired animal's sides and the roan reluctantly re-entered the water. A few moments later, he was standing beside the gray, dripping wet.
Kid Curry's horse leapt forward. The roan hurried to catch up.
oooOOOooo
"See anything?" The Kid yelled up to Heyes who was lying on his belly atop a rise, a pair of battered field glasses held to his eyes.
"Not a thing." As Heyes spoke, his partner visibly slumped in his saddle.
"'Bout time."
Heyes slid down the hill and walked towards Curry. He was covered in trail dust, his face grimy, and his blue shirt stained with several days' sweat. "Where d'you think we are?"
"I lost track of directions when the shootin' started." The Kid pulled his brown hat off his head and stuck his forefinger through a large hole in the crown.
"Better your hat then your head." Heyes rubbed his lower back and squinted up at the setting sun. "Let's head east. We'll hit a road sooner or later."
"The moon'll be up in a coupla hours, let's rest up a spell then ride through the night." Curry's gaze shifted from Heyes to the broad expanse of the high altitude valley as his partner nodded agreement. Scrubby sage brush was the tallest thing for miles. They'd stand out like sore thumbs.
oooOOOooo
A muffled tap of the hammer echoed loudly into the darkness as Heyes peered over Curry's shoulder and hissed, "Hold it down, will you?"
"I'm tackin' a shoe on, Heyes, it ain't somethin' that can be done quiet." The Kid shifted his grip on the haft, tightening his hold on the fabric wrapped around the head of the tool.
"Well, hurry it up then, I can almost smell that steak dinner." Heyes' eyes turned south to where a soft glow against the night sky signaled civilization.
"Don't rush me. This bar shoe's gotta be on just right or ol' Barry here's gonna come up lame again. You know how ouchy he gets."
"Ol' Barry ain't the only one who's gonna be ouchy if I don't get some food in my belly soon. Restaurants don't stay open all night, you know."
"Quit grousin', Heyes. I'm done. You'll be stuffin' your pie hole in no time." Curry drove the last nail into the shoe, dropping the hoof and standing up to rub his stiffened back.
Heyes mounted his roan and swung the horse around, impatient to be off. The moon was bright eclipsing the twinkling stars that loomed overhead and illuminating the rutted wagon trail they'd picked up hours ago.
oooOOOooo
The heavy, wooden door flew open with a bang and two trail-weary outlaws, their saddlebags slung over their shoulders, entered the poorly-constructed building standing alone by the side of the road a mile from town. Wide gaps in the warped planked walls allowed a cool wind to whistle about the room creating undulating waves of visible smoke circulating around the few remaining patrons. One man slid off his bar stool and onto the floor with a loud thud causing the sleeping barkeep to lift his head from where it, and his arms, had rested on the makeshift bar top stretched across a row of barrels. He teetered alarmingly on his tall stool before recapturing his balance and pasting a smile on his face.
"Welcome, gents. Don't mind our local barfly, he hits the floor 'least once a night. What'll it be?"
"Two beers, two steaks, rare, and one room for the night," answered Heyes. He pulled out a chair from a corner table, hooked his saddlebags on the ladder back, and flopped down into it. The Kid had stopped inside the door and was peering into a large birdcage nestled between the front window and the planked bar.
"Sorry, kitchen closed half an hour ago. Might be able to rustle up a couple of sandwiches; won't be steak, though."
Shooting his partner a venomous look, Heyes sighed, "Sandwiches will be fine, thanks."
"Room 2, up the stairs and on the left," said the portly man, fishing in his apron pocket and laying a brass key down on the bar.
"Hey, Mister, your parrot's dead." Curry was poking a finger through the bars prodding a brightly-colored, unresponsive form lying on the bottom of the cage.
"Naw, he ain't dead, he's restin'." The bartender set two beers down and disappeared into a back room. A bemused Kid picked up the mugs and the key before crossing the floor to join Heyes who was studying a group of four men engrossed in a poker game. The players weren't bad and neither was the pile of money pooled in the center of the table.
"My aches are achin'," moaned Curry as he sat down and put his saddlebags on the chair next to him. He lifted his beer and downed it without stopping for air.
The barkeep reappeared with a small tray bearing two sandwiches. He plunked the food down in front of the hungry men, snatched up the Kid's mug, and hurried off. By the time he came back with a fresh beer, the food was gone and tiny crumbs littered the tray. Heyes' cheeks bulged with his hastily-eaten meal. Unable to speak, he pointed at his now empty mug and the tray. The bar man nodded his understanding and left again.
"Being chased to hell and back sure seems to stimulate your appetite, partner," whispered Curry.
"Shh, someone might hear you."
"Ain't nobody could hear over the sound of you smackin' your lips."
"Very funny. You'll be a big hit in the prison yard," rejoined Heyes who was also whispering. "This is no game. That posse almost caught us. We could've been on our way to the Wyoming Territorial Prison right now."
"Well, we ain't and I don't intend to waste my time worryin' about what might've been."
Heyes nodded at the poker table. "Couple of guys just bowed out. Let's see if we can get into the game."
"You go on ahead, I'm gonna finish eatin' and find myself a soft bed to hole up in, preferably with a soft woman in it," smiled Curry, standing up and retrieving his saddlebags.
"You play your games, I'll play mine," chuckled Heyes, grabbing his sandwich and beer from the returning bartender's tray and sauntering off to the poker table.
oooOOOooo
Rolling over, the Kid flung out an arm across the mattress. His head was still spinning from the rotgut whiskey he'd consumed with the lovely Lila. Too much whiskey. He couldn't remember a lot about the night before except that she'd been costly and worth every penny. Somehow she'd managed to smooth out every kink in his exhausted body. He pried open his bloodshot eyes and saw she'd left some time during the night. Sighing, he closed his eyes again and spoke softly, "Coffee time, Heyes?" His eyes opened again at the lack of a response. He turned onto his other side and noted the neatly-made bed next to his. Heyes hadn't made it up to their room. The game must've gone on all night.
The Kid rose and picked up his shirt and trousers from the floor, his head pounding as he leaned over. He tugged on his clothes and lifted his gun belt from the finial of the brass bed. He could've sworn Heyes was too tired to spend the night in a poker game, but his partner was nothing if not unpredictable. Buckling the belt around his waist, he pulled on his perforated hat, and went down the rickety stairs.
The early morning light did nothing to enhance the saloon. A dark, wiry man was sweeping up the discarded cigar butts and detritus from the previous evening. Chairs were upturned on all the tables and dirty glasses were lined up along the bar. As Curry came down the stairs, the man looked up.
"Howdy," said the Kid. "I'm lookin' for my partner. My height, dark-haired."
The man said nothing and returned to his chore. Curry glared at him and caught his arm, his temper flaring along with his hangover. "Maybe you didn't hear me."
A quick jerk freed the man's arm. Brandishing his broom like a weapon, he unleashed a torrent of Spanish upon the Kid.
"Easy now, I don't speak Mexican and I'm guessin' you don't speak American. Sorry." Curry turned away and strode out through the front door. His gray and Heyes' roan were still tied to the hitching rail and dozing in the warming sunlight. Their heads popped up as he stepped out and four big, brown eyes watched him expectantly. "I know you want breakfast. So do I, but we've got to find our knuckle-headed friend first." He stood in the middle of the road and glanced in either direction. No sign of Heyes. Finally, he circled the building. Coming around the front corner again, he saw the horses solemnly watching him. The untied latigos on Heyes' saddle reminded him that he hadn't seen his partner's gear in their room.
Curry hurried back inside, running up the stairs as the swamper watched him warily clutching his broom. Searching their room, the Kid found Heyes' saddlebags on the floor half-hidden under the unslept-in bed. He seized them and quickly rifled through their contents. Nothing was missing as far as he could tell. There was even a small wad of dollar bills stuffed inside a spare sock. Despite finding the bags, a bad feeling began to coalesce in his stomach. Where was Heyes? Had he strolled into town to look around? Naw, Heyes wouldn't have gone off and left his partner without letting the Kid know where he was going. Not with a posse out looking for them.
oooOOOooo
The town was nothing much: a small store, a livery, a tiny jail, and a few ramshackle homes. The weather-beaten buildings stood sentinel over the windswept street that bisected them. White clouds cast darkened shadows on the sunbaked ground. No one was out and about, nothing moved except the two horses plodding along. Dust swirled about their hooves, but the light breeze stirred it away. The gray was mounted by his attentive rider, the other led by the reins, his saddle unoccupied.
There were no side streets to ride down, no other places for the Kid to search. He dismounted in front of the store and tied the horses to the rail out front. Stepping onto the porch, he peered through the wavy glass window. Nobody was inside. Not even the shopkeeper. He tried the door. Locked. Walking to the house next door, he knocked on the door and waited. No answer. He repeated his actions at each structure. No knob turned, no knock was answered. Finally, reluctantly, he crossed to jailhouse. The door was also locked. He gripped the bars on the window and tried to see inside but the glass was dirty and the only thing he could be sure of was this building was as vacant as the others. Where the hell was everybody?
He crossed back to the horses and untied them. He first thought was to head toward the livery on the south end of town. It was the only place big enough to accommodate all the citizens. He could only assume that it was separate, apart from the small burg, in an attempt to keep the smells and flies at bay. A small corral was attached to the west side and the Kid could see several horses contentedly eating hay. The double doors to the front of the large building were tightly shut and barred with a large plank slipped through iron handles. Even from this distance, he could hear the muffled sound of raised voices.
Heyes' roan let out a hopeful nicker and both horses, eager to get their share of the food, tugged at the reins, but the Kid pulled them around. Something didn't feel right. The first twinge of panic nibbled at Curry's throat. As nonchalantly as he could, the Kid mounted and rode away from the livery.
oooOOOooo
Curry stood in the dark shadow cast by the stacked bales of hay next to the corral. He'd left the horses tied behind the store and, using whatever cover he could find, he'd worked his way past the backs of the other buildings on the east side of town until he reached the livery. Whatever was going on inside, he'd need the element of surprise. Stealthily, he crept closer until he was next to the barn and could lean his head against the thickly timbered wall. The small window above him was tightly closed. He couldn't understand what was being said but he was sure he heard Heyes' baritone responding to the swell of other voices. Was Heyes being interrogated? Had someone figured out who they were? Had word of the theft reached this forlorn place?
They'd stolen a shipment of gold bars on its way to the Denver mint. News would've travel fast, almost as fast as Wheat and the rest of the gang considering the heavy load they'd carried. That's why he and Heyes had chosen to draw off the posse; the boys had been entrusted with the loot and the gold should be safely tucked away in the Hole by now.
Heyes sounded riled up even though the Kid couldn't make out what was being said. When he heard his partner shouting, his nerve broke. His imagination seized control of his self-restraint and he envisioned Heyes falling victim to a lynch mob. Drawing his gun, he ran to the front of the building and slid the plank out, unbarring the door. If Heyes was going down, he'd go down with him. Flinging open the door, he rushed inside, gun drawn, and stopped in his tracks.
Heyes stood at the front of a seated crowd and he was grasping a steel bar in his clenched fist waving it wildly until he spotted the Kid. With his arm still raised, he stared in shock for a brief second at his younger partner before continuing in a booming voice that held his audience spellbound, "'And he found a new jawbone of an ass, and put forth his hand, and took it, and slew a thousand men therewith.'"
The crowd roared their approval and clapped with enthusiasm until, putting down the rod, Heyes stepped off the overturned water trough he'd been standing upon and bowed slightly. "Thank you, thank you. You're too kind." Basking in the admiration, Heyes waited until the applause died down and the townsfolk dispersed before he walked over to a stunned Curry. "Might want to put that gun away, partner. Lord takes a dim view of firearms in church."
The Kid holstered his gun. "This ain't a church and you ain't a preacher."
"Well, you know what they say, beggars can't be choosers. Town hasn't got a preacher so I'm the next best thing." Heyes grinned, his dimples deeply carving his cheeks.
Curry watched the last of the crowd leave before he spoke again. "What the hell, Heyes, I thought something bad had happened to you! You damned near gave me a heart attack."
"Better watch that mouth. Cursing in church ain't too popular neither." Seeing the genuine angst on his partner's face, Heyes eased up. "Kid," he said softly, "don't you remember me waking you this morning and telling you I'd be here?"
"No."
"Exactly how much whiskey did you drink last night?" asked Heyes, noting his young friend's pallor.
The Kid groaned. "Too much, I guess."
"Probably ain't the smartest thing to do when you're on the run." Frowning, Heyes had another thought as he started for the door. "You didn't say anything you shouldn't have, did you?"
"I don't remember."
"You're really gonna have to learn to be more careful if you plan on continuing on your current career path. We'll skip the church picnic and be on our way just in case you murmured more than sweet nothings in Lila's ear."
"I'll get the horses, but tell me one thing. How'd you get pegged as a preacher?"
"I didn't. I told the other players in the game I was a lawyer. They figured I could read if I passed the bar. Town hasn't had a preacher or a schoolteacher for years; folks here are illiterate. They've been relying on the kindness of strangers."
"You volunteered to preach?"
"Naw, I took all their money so I didn't have the heart to turn them down when they asked me to lead the service."
"How come all the windows and doors were shut?"
Heyes shrugged. "Folks wanted to keep the flies out and the night air in, I suppose. Maybe it gets hot during the day."
"Sheesh, I thought they were stringin' you up."
Chuckling, Heyes slung an arm across his partner's shoulders. "Thanks for the rescue, but I wasn't in any danger."
"I wouldn't say that."
"You wouldn't?"
"With you thumpin' the Good Book, you could've been struck by lightnin'," smirked the Kid.
"Hey Kid, judge not, lest ye be judged."