You Gotta Have Faith

by Friscogirl

When Heyes learns that Curry is dead, he sets out for revenge. Now it's Heyes, not Curry, facing off in a gunfight, with every intent to kill.

You Gotta Have Faith

When the sun rose, Heyes set about doing something he hadn't done with such determination in months: he lined up pine cones and began practicing his fast draw. Pull, cock the trigger, sight and squeeze; in one smooth motion, like bringing up your finger and pointing it at someone. Bang! Evenly, carefully, just as the Kid had taught him years ago when they were boys. One movement, one energy. Calm, concentrated, thinking just of the target and gunning it down. Heyes moved like a machine, setting up the pine cones, loading his gun, drawing, drawing, shooting, setting up, gunning down. For hours he practiced, until his wrist ached and sweat was pouring down his back. His horse's impatient whinny brought him out of the trance he'd sunk into, and he straightened and shook his head, nodding grimly to himself. He loaded fresh cartridges into his gun. Kid Curry he wasn't, and never would be. But he'd do. He was fast enough to kill Jack Hogan, or die trying.

Two weeks earlier:

Kid Curry rocked lazily on his boot heels and surveyed the street before him with a mixture of amusement and disgust. Cambria Pines. Nice sounding name, Heyes had decided as they poured over their map after a bounty hunter was just too close on their trail for comfort. They decided to split up and meet again there a week later. Except that was ten days ago, and still no sign of Heyes; and if the town had ever had pine trees, they'd cut them down long ago, and now there was little but two streets dotted with some mournful looking buildings and nothing to block out the cold November wind that was swirling the dust in clouds around his feet.

Damn! The Kid muttered. Where in the hell was Heyes? He was three days overdue, which could mean two things: Heyes had either run into a poker winning streak too good to let go of, or he'd run into trouble of some kind. The Kid just hoped it wasn't the bounty hunter. Oh, he knew Heyes was perfectly capable of looking out after himself, it was just that they'd sort of shared that responsibility ever since they were kids, and when it came to fast draws, the Kid knew he had it all over Heyes.

He'd have gone crazy if it hadn't been for Sarah. Cambria Pines was a lumber town and little else. Strangers stood out like unwelcome sore thumbs, especially strangers who packed six-guns tied down on their legs, and who politely refused work when it was offered to them. The Kid figured they only half-believed his story that he was waiting for his cousin, who was overdue for a wedding they were supposed to be going to. But at least Sarah believed him, and she was the only face in town that lit up when she saw him.

Sarah was about twenty, and had the whitest blonde hair the Kid had ever seen on a woman before. If he could ever allow himself the luxury of falling in love, this would have been the time. Sarah was small, barely five feet tall, with surprising green eyes that flashed like fine-cut diamonds in the sun. Her father ran the general store; her mother had died in a prairie fire crossing the plains to Montana, so now it was Sarah who helped her father with the work in the store.

"No big cities for me," she had told him cheerfully when he came in to stock up on ammunition and asked her if Cambria Pines wasn't kind of boring for a woman of her age. "There are good folks here," she assured him. "And plenty to keep me busy. We have beautiful white winters, and springs that can take your breath away with their flowers and sweet warm air. I reckon I'll spend my whole life here, even if the right man doesn't come along like Pa keeps hoping he will." Her eyes twinkled at him invitingly, with a touch of mischief.

The Kid smiled now to himself at the memory, and his feet didn't need too much more encouragement to take him down the sagging wooden boardwalk to her store. Her father was working behind the counter as he entered, and looked up with a curt nod.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mathews," Kid greeted. "Is Sarah here?"

Before her father could answer, Sarah came in from the storeroom, balancing a pile of dress materials in her arms. The Kid hurried over to her and took the cloth from her with a grin.

"Hello, Sarah."

Her eyes shone in welcome. "Thaddeus! I thought you might have left by now."

"Still no sign of my cousin."

"Seems mighty peculiar to me," Mathews interjected. "A man shouldn't be late for a family wedding."

"Seems strange to me, too," Kid agreed politely. "If he doesn't show up pretty son, I guess I'll have to go on without him."

From outside, a deep rumble greeted his words. The Kid glanced out the window and saw a storm moving in. Black clouds already covered up most of the sky, and the wind was banging at the shutters.

"Not in this weather, I hope," Sarah said. "November storms blow in something fierce. Can't you wait a little longer here in town?"

Curry grinned. "Maybe if you could find something to keep me busy."

Sarah's cheeks reddened, and she glanced at her father to see if he'd heard the fresh remark, but Mathews was unpacking a crate of tinned vegetables and hadn't seem to notice. "Well," Sarah said, "you could begin by helping me put those cottons up there." She nodded to a tall row of shelves along the side of the store.

Kid smiled and tipped his hat. "With pleasure, ma'am." He pushed a ladder over to the shelf and carefully balanced himself as he lifted the heavy material up two steps. He was just laying the fabric in place when a cold voice called out from the doorway.

"Freeze right there, Kid! This is just the moment I've been waiting for."

Curry stiffened. With the cloth in his hands there was no way he could move for his gun. He stood motionless, his thoughts whirling. How had the bounty hunter caught up with him? Or was it someone who could be convinced he was not Kid Curry, but just someone who bore an uncanny resemblance to him.

"The cloth is heavy," Kid said, playing for time. "Do you mind if I put it down so we can talk?"

"Just no funny moves," the voice said. "Remember, I can take you in dead or alive."

The Kid slowly began to lower the bundle onto the shelf. Suddenly there was an ear-shattering crack of lightning, which seemed to strike right outside the window. The Kid whirled in surprise, without thinking. He caught a brief glance of a thin man with a black moustache dressed in dusty trail clothes, before the pistol the man was holding flashed angrily. The Kid felt a sharp pain in his head, and then the world exploded into darkness.

Hannibal Heyes decided he'd never been so wet and miserable in his entire life. His horse had thrown a shoe three days after he and the Kid gone off in different directions, and Heyes had been on foot ever since, leading his limping animal behind him and wondering where in the miles and miles of steep hills and dense forests he was ever going to find a town. Kid had the map, and Heyes was lost. At least the bounty hunter didn't seem to be on his trail, and even if he had been, the downpour made Heyes reasonably sure that he couldn't be following him much longer.

Heyes trudged down what he hoped was a lumber trail, which would lead him out of the woods and into a settlement of some kind. It was tough going, slipping and floundering in the thick mud that had been dust just the day before. Heyes hadn't eaten in more than a day; he'd forgotten what dry clothes felt like, and he was frustrated over how long it was taking him to get down out of the mountains. He knew he was overdue, and knew the Kid would be worrying. And when Kid worried, his trigger finger got mighty itchy. Heyes just hoped his cousin would have enough sense to stay put in the storm and wait it out, not come looking for him. One of them lost and miserable was more than enough.

Above him, the thick black clouds continued to roll in, and now and then angry flashes of greenish lightning lit up the darkness of the woods. His horse was spooked, and that made the going twice as rough, what with fighting to control the animal and fighting to keep his balance all at the same time. Heyes' feet and hands were numb with cold, and he was about to start looking for some sort of shelter to wait out the storm, when he came to the end of the grove of trees he'd been stumbling through and saw what looked like a real road dead ahead. His spirits perked, and he hurried his steps, pulling the unwilling and frightened animal behind him. Sure enough, it was a road; heading he didn't know where, but at least some place where there would be warmth and food and people to ease the loneliness of the last week in the mountains. Heyes clucked encouragement to his horse, rubbed his hands together to warm them up a little, and slogged determinedly through the mud.

Hours later he came over a rise and saw a town nestled in the shelter of a deep valley. It was bigger than he would have thought for these parts, with more than a dozen sturdy buildings lined up neatly along a few empty streets. Heyes grinned, and mentally sighed in relief. This was more than he hoped for. Most likely there was a decent hotel with a clean bed, and maybe even a poker game he could sit in on.

Heyes tied up his horse to the rack in front of a building with a newly painted "Hotel" sign on it, and untied his saddlebags. He allowed himself to feel the weariness which was settling down all over him. He clomped up the wooden steps to the lobby, stopping to scrape what mud he could off his boots. He was relieved to know that inside there would be someone to look after his horse, a hot bath to take the chill from his bones, a shot of whiskey, a thick steak, and bed. Poker could wait until he linked up with the Kid in Cambria Pines, which he hoped wasn't too far down the road.

The desk clerk looked up from the register as Heyes walked over to the counter. "You got caught in the storm, I see," the clerk greeted, and Heyes nodded.

"Afraid so. My horse threw a shoe. I've been on foot."

"Well, you never mind. We'll take care of all that for you. Just sign in here and you can be assured your worries are over. This is the Dutton Hotel, and we take first rate care of our guests."

Heyes grinned at the man's obvious pride in his job, and reached across the counter for the writing pen. His hand froze in the air as he spotted the headline on the newspaper lying next to the register: KID CURRY DEAD.

For a moment Heyes couldn't think. It was like his mind went blank and the only words he could think of were no, no, no and again no! It couldn't be true.

The clerk looked at him in puzzlement. "Something wrong, Mister?"

Heyes picked up the paper with a shaking hand, ignoring the clerk as he quickly scanned the story. According to the report, a bounty hunter named Jack Hogan had gunned the kid down in a general store in…Heyes felt a stab of pain lance through him…in Cambria Pines, North Dakota. The report said Hogan's aim had been good, and only one shot was fired. Kid Curry hadn't even gone for his gun.

The account began to detail the Kid's past with more fiction than fact, and Heyes got no further than some exaggerated details about one of their first bank robberies together, when the words blurred and he couldn't go on.

"Is something wrong?" the clerk asked again. Heyes turned to him in confusion. He felt like he was moving through cotton; everything seemed to be in slow motion. The table lamp seemed overly bright, and the rain pouring down on the roof sounded like it was splintering glass, as if the world around him was closing in and trying to swallow him up.

"Just….tired," Heyes murmured, and put the paper back down on the counter.

The clerk glanced down at the paper and his eyes lit up. "That's some story, isn't it? Imagine, Kid Curry, fastest gun in the West, killed without even going for his gun."

"Yeah," Heyes said hollowly. "Imagine."

The clerk pushed the register closer to him. "Now I just wonder where his partner Hannibal Heyes is. I wonder what he'll do when he finds out the Kid is dead."

Heyes stared down at the pen, and put it shakily to the counter. He was having trouble connecting thought with action. He needed to be alone. It felt like the room was going to smother him to death.

"It's kind of a pity, though," the clerk rambled on. "Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes were such interesting outlaws. Never knew what they'd be up to next. It was like readin' one of those penny novels. Yessir, real interesting." The clerk glanced around the empty lobby with a sigh. "Not like folks around here at all."

Heyes interrupted him. "Tell me, how far is Cambria Pines from here."

The clerk blinked in surprise. "Cambria Pines? Lesse. About fifty miles. Why, " he sputtered as Heyes shouldered his saddlebag and turned back to the door, "you aimin' to go there right now? In this storm?"

"Is there a horse I can buy? Maybe trade mine in for? I need to ride." Heyes spoke quietly. He had to get to Cambria Pines. The cold, his tiredness and hunger were all forgotten. He had to see for himself if the Kid was really dead. He had to know for sure.

"Sure, I can find you a horse," the clerk answered as he reached for a slicker hanging on a hook behind the front desk. "But you're crazy, I can tell you that. I don't know why you're all so fired set on getting to Cambria Pines." He suddenly took in Heyes' grim, ashen face, and his eyes widened. "Unless…unless you're?"

Heyes' mouth tightened. "Just get me a horse."

The clerk buttoned up his slicker and hurried importantly for the door. Heyes picked up the newspaper again, then slammed it angrily to the floor.

Kid Curry slowly opened his eyes, profoundly surprised that he wasn't dead. The gun had flashed so close, the noise had been so loud, the blackness so sudden. Yet here he was, opening his eyes to soft sunlight filtering down on his face in a room smelling of fresh flowers. Suddenly, he bolted upright. Maybe he was dead! Maybe he was…a sharp pain crashed through his head at the movement, and as he fell back down onto the bed he saw Sarah jump out of a chair beside him, alarm on her face. He slowly relaxed. It was incredible, but he was alive.

"Take it easy," Sarah said soothingly, and she brought a cool hand up against his cheek. "You've been through a difficult night. How do you feel?"

The Kid became aware then of a bandage tied around his head, and he lifted up his right hand to gingerly feel it. "I think my head must still be lying on the floor of your store," he replied with a faint smile. "Otherwise, confused. What happened to the guy who shot me?"

Sarah sat down carefully on the bed, her eyes twinkling. "He's gone. To claim his reward, I suppose." She laughed lightly at the Kid's confusion, but then her face grew more serious. "After the bullet hit you, you fell to the floor next to me. You were lying so awfully still; I thought for sure you were dead. I turned you over and I was so afraid and I was praying so hard that you'd be alive…" Her voice faced and the Kid could see tears welling up in her eyes.

"Hey, now," he began, but she took a deep, steadying breath and continued.

"That terrible man was coming toward you, and it looked like he was going to finish what he'd started. I'd put my hand on your neck and felt your pulse, so I knew you were alive and in a great deal of danger. There wasn't much time to think. I burst into tears and shrieked to the man that he'd killed you. He just stood there looking at me for a terrible moment, and then he slowly put his gun back into his holster. He came over to you and kicked you, but you didn't move.

'Get out of here!" my father shouted. "There won't be any more shooting in my store."

The man shook his head and said he needed to take your body with him to the sheriff in Carmichael to prove he'd killed Kid Curry. I didn't know what to do. But father said it would be sacrilegious not to give you a proper burial, and suggested we sign a statement as to what had happened, which would be good enough for the reward. The bounty hunter thought it over and said he reckoned that would save him all the bother of hauling you away with him, so we signed the papers right there and then. I could hardly write, my hand was shaking so, and I was terrified you'd stir or call out and the gunman would know I'd lied. But you just lay there, terribly still and pale, and Mr. Hogan, that was what he called himself, took the papers and left. Looking mighty pleased with himself, I might say." She snorted, and Curry smiled. "Then I explained to Pa that you weren't really dead as you seemed, that the bullet had just grazed your head, so together we brought you upstairs to this room."

Curry took her hand in his. "I bet your father wasn't too pleased about your part in all this."

"Well," Sarah said, suddenly shy. "He could see it was useless to argue with me. Once I make my mind up about something, it takes a team of oxen to change my thinking. I only knew that I didn't care if you were Kid Curry or not. I only wanted to see you well again, smiling again at me in that special way you have." She blushed. She hadn't meant to say so much.

"Sarah," the Kid said gently, "since you know who I am, you must also know I can't stay around here any longer than it takes me to get back on my feet again."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Why ever not? The newspaper in Carmichael says you're dead. No one will be looking for you any more. You can do what you want to do."

Curry sighed. "It's not that easy, Sarah. Someone will recognize me, sometime, somewhere. I can't hide from who I am, any more than you can hide from who you are."

"And who's that?" she teased. "Do you know?"

The Kid stroked her hand with his fingers. "You're a very pretty woman who just saved my life. And to whom I will always be very grateful."

"I'm not sure it's your gratitude I want," Sarah said. She got to her feet and straightened her skirts carefully as she looked down at him. "You'd better rest some more. At least you can sleep easy. The bounty man won't be back, and there won't be anybody bothering you."

Kid started to close his eyes, and then they flew back open. "Wait!" he called after her, as she was about to shut the door. "My cousin, who I was waiting for…"

"You mean Hannibal Heyes?" Sarah asked softly.

Curry sighed. "I'm sorry I had to lie to you before, Sarah. Yes, Hannibal Heyes. Has he shown up yet?"

Sarah shook her head. "Not that I know."

"Once he sees that newspaper you mentioned, he'll be coming." Kid frowned; imagining the anguish Heyes must be feeling. He knew how he'd feel if he were in Heyes' position. He'd be angry and upset, mad at the world, looking for whomever… Oh, no. What if Heyes didn't come to Cambria Pines? What if he did what the Kid himself would be doing if the tables were turned? What if Heyes headed straight for Carmichael and Jack Hogan? The Kid eased himself off the bed and tried to steady the suddenly tilting room so he could get to his feet. Sarah hurried over to him and put her hands on his shoulders to restrain him.

"What are you doing?" she asked in an angry voice to cover her worry. "You must lie quietly in bed until the swelling goes down."

"I've got to go after Heyes," the Kid said with gritted teeth. "Before he does something crazy."

"It is you who are acting crazy," Sarah reprimanded him. For the moment her strength prevailed, and he allowed her to ease him back down onto the pillow. "For your information, this last hour is the first time it's stopped raining since you were shot. Mr. Heyes has more than likely been delayed by the storm and the mud. The roads out here become impossible when it rains. Now that the sun is out, I wouldn't be surprised if he shows up this afternoon. So you rest easy and take care of yourself. You've had enough close calls with the Almighty for one week, I should think."

The Kid smiled at her bossy tone, and closed his eyes to the spinning room. He was suddenly very tired, and she was probably right. Heyes would come here first to find out what really happened, and they'd have a good laugh over the headlines. They'd spend a little more time with Sarah and….his lips were still smiling as he fell into a deep sleep.

For Heyes, it had been the worst two days he could ever remember; the knifing cold wind and rain, the thick, almost impossible mud that stretched down the endless, endless road. The awful aloneness. No other people on the road, no signs of ranches or farms. Just him, hunched over in the saddle trying to shield himself from the storm as best he could, beyond hunger now, almost beyond the cold. He was filled with a knot of pain and anger that seemed about to burst from within him. He had to know if the Kid was dead; he wanted to be in Cambria Pines at that instant. But instead, he had to endure mile after slippery mile, the horse protesting occasionally against the impatient bite of his spurs to its side.

Heyes rode through the night, not stopping except to occasionally dismount to give his horse a breather. Then he'd mount up again, thinking of nothing but Cambria Pines and an answer to the misery knotted up inside of him. The rain continued to fall steadily all the following day as he rode on, and throughout the long, black, starless night. Heyes was hardly aware that the next day had dawned until a stream of sunlight burst through the clouds and washed over his face. He squinted wearily up at the sky, grateful that the storm was finally moving on. Heyes shivered in the brisk morning wind and rubbed irritably at the whiskers on his face, wondering how far he'd come and how far he still had to go. He came upon a briskly running stream, and decided to rest his horse for what he hoped would be the final push into town. His whole body ached from the long hours in the saddle, and as his muddy boots touched ground a spell of dizziness came over him. First, he scolded himself, you find out about Kid. Then you can think about eating.

Heyes caught a glimpse of himself in the water, and started in surprise. Was that hollow-eyed, straggly-haired, muddy figure really him? He shook his head in disgust. He'd better at least shave before riding into Cambria Pines, or more'n likely he'd scare the townspeople to death.

An hour later he pushed on, feeling a little better after the rest, his spirits lifting in the bright sunlight of the morning. Maybe the Kid wasn't dead, after all. Somehow he'd always thought he'd know it deep inside if that happened. He and the Kid were so close, even though they were cousins, they felt more like brothers. He imagined Kid waiting for him in Cambria Pines with that big, silly grin plastered over his face, amused that Heyes would have believed someone could shoot him without his firing a shot. They'd drink a few beers together, and have a good laugh at the expense of the poor bounty hunter who thought he'd killed the famous Kid Curry.

A wan smile was tugging at Heyes' lips as he came around a bend in the road and saw the signpost advising him that he was entering Cambria Pines, population 65. Heyes straightened in the saddle, suddenly alert, aware that if the Kid WAS dead, he was taking a terrible risk by coming to town. Doubtless other bounty hunters might guess Heyes would come here to check on the report of his partner's death. For all Heyes knew, gunmen were already in town waiting for him to show up. At least no one really was sure what he looked like, and the description on the wanted poster fit a good percentage of their men. Nonetheless, Heyes pushed his jacket away from his six-gun and rested his right hand carefully on the weapon as he rode slowly into the small town, his eyes roving alertly around him for signs of danger.

So far, nothing. There was hardly any one on the street, except for a merchant sweeping the mud off the boardwalk and a few kids playing in a large mud puddle with some excited, barking dogs. Heyes spotted the General Store, and nudged his horse cautiously over to it. If that was where the Kid had supposedly been gunned down, the people in the store should give him the answers he needed.

Heyes looked around him carefully before he stiffly dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching rack. Then he stepped into the store, one hand on his handgun, his eyes apprehensive and searching. He saw a middle-aged man standing behind the counter, straightening some shelves of pots and pans. He looked over as Heyes came towards him, and gave him a brief nod.

"Afternoon," he greeted, his eyes narrowing at Heyes' haggard appearance. "What can I do for you?"

Heyes carefully scanned the rows of the neat shelves, the potbelly stove with its welcome fire, the barrels of rice and beans and wheat flour. It was hard to imagine the Kid dying in such innocuous surroundings. Heyes squared his shoulders and returned the man's nod

"I'm with the Sheriff's office in Carmichael. Checking up on the report that Kid Curry was shot down here."

At that moment the door to a back room opened, and a young woman came over to join the man behind the counter. She was very pretty, and Heyes politely removed his hat. "Ma'am."

She nodded back at him and turned to the older man. "What's this about, Pa?"

He explained Heyes' request, and the young woman turned to the ex-outlaw with appraising eyes. "What you heard is correct," she said evenly. "A bounty hunter shot Kid Curry over at those shelves." She nodded towards the wall, and Heyes' eyes followed her gaze. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

Heyes felt a stab of pain shudder through him. "You're certain it was him?"

The girl nodded. "He was helping me put some heavy cloths up on the shelf. A man suddenly came in and told him not to move or go for his weapon. Then there was a very loud streak of lightning, and suddenly the man was firing. And Kid Curry fell."

Heyes felt the blood leave his face as he imagined the scene. "I see," he said faintly. He took a steadying breath. "I'd like to see the body."

The girl surveyed him stonily. "That's not possible," she said. "We buried him early this morning. You can see the grave, if you like."

Heyes nodded woodenly. "Please, ma'am. If it isn't too much of a bother."

She led the way without speaking down the muddy street, her gaze intent on keeping her skirts from the worst of the mud and rain puddles. Once Heyes caught her arm to keep her from slipping, and she glanced up at him with a strained smile of thanks. At the end of the street they came to a neat picket fence surrounding several headstones and crosses. Heyes' stomach tightened as she led him over to a fresh mound of dirt and a simple cross.

"This is it," she said softly, not meeting his eyes.

Heyes took off his hat and stood silently, feeling the knot of pain begin to burst within him. "Can you describe him for me?" he asked her tightly. "To make sure you have the right man?"

She studied his face a moment, reading the suffering there, and dropped her gaze. "He was about your height, about your age. Light brown curly hair. Bluest eyes you've ever seen. A big smile," she added timidly, uncertain what more to say for hear Heyes would explode from the tension she could see in him. Heyes wined at her words, and closed his eyes briefly.

"That sounds like him," he said dully. He stared dully a few minutes at the simple mound of earth, and then put his hat back on his head. "When you get around to putting his name on the cross, his full name is Jedediah Curry. Born 1855."

Sarah nodded mutely, and followed him from the cemetery.

'What are you up to?" he father demanded as they watched Heyes ride slowly off down the street, a solitary dark figure against the milky blue light of the late afternoon. Sarah turned to her father with her chin high in the air.

"It's for the best."

"For whose best?" he father asked testily. "For Kid Curry's? Sending the man he's been waiting for off like that? Lying to him?" Her father appraised her carefully, and slowly shook his head. "No, I think not. It's for your best. You want this Curry, don't you, Sarah?"

Her eyes flashed. "And is that so terrible? You've said yourself there aren't many young men around here who can care for me, who might love me and stand by me the rest of my life! But Thaddeus…Kid Curry…is who I've been hoping for. He's kind, he's warm, and he's good-hearted. And I'm in love with him."

"Is sending his blood kin off like that with a pack of lies any way of showing your love? Is this how I've brought you up?"

Here eyes flashed. "You don't like him because he's an outlaw! But you've heard what I have. Hannibal Heyes is the leader of that Devil's Hole gang. It's he who makes the decisions, and the others follow his orders. If he's not around, Thaddeus will be able to decide things on his own. He can start life fresh, with a gravestone to rid him of his past. He'll be free!"

"Free?" her father echoed dubiously. "How can he be free, Sarah, when you're here putting chains on him?"

Sarah stiffed. "Please, Pa. I'm doing what's best. "

Her father sighed. "I hope so, Sarah. For you know, since your Ma died I've never been able to deny you anything you wanted in your entire life."

Heyes rode until darkness fell, his mind numb with grief. It still didn't seem real, the Kid's death. And it didn't seem fair. They'd been working so hard for that amnesty, and now it was all blown away for the Kid because of a silly moment off guard when he was flirting with a girl by putting clothes up on a store shelf. Heyes swore, and slowly dismounted. His horse was tired out, the sky was looking threatening again; it was time to build a fire and think over what he was to do. As he gathered some wood together and tethered his horse out to graze, it was hard to plan much of anything. Always before it had been him and the Kid, planning and hoping and dreaming about the day when they'd have a clean slate and the future could be whatever they wanted to make of it. Now, he looked ahead and saw nothing.

Heyes got a small fire started and huddled next to it, warming his hands against the chill of the evening. His clothes still hadn't completely dried out, but at least the blanket in his saddle roll was usable, and he was crushingly tired. As he stared at the hungry flames licking at the green wood, he felt the sobs welling up inside him, and gave in to his grief. He cried for all the years the Kid had been at his side, someone to count on and completely trust; an anchor in a world Heyes had always had to be on guard of. The friend who had saved his life more than he could count, and made him laugh those times when he thought he'd forgotten how.

When there were no more tears, Heyes wiped his face and lay back on the blanket to stare up at the cold, black sky. There was just one thing he knew he had to do. Everything else was shadows, but one thing stood out as clear as the stars twinkling among the darkening clouds: Jack Hogan shot down the Kid, and for that, Jack Hogan would die.

His gun was warm from firing as he slowly placed it into his holster and packed up his saddlebags. Carmichael was just a half-day's ride away, and the bartender in the saloon told him Hogan had spent a day there and then rode off towards White Bluff, another ten miles or so west. Heyes stopped to get something to eat, his first food in nearly three days, but could hardly get the meal down his throat. He pushed the half-eaten food away, mounted up and rode on.

He reached White Bluff late in the afternoon. It was a nondescript small town identical to dozens of others he'd passed through in the last six years. He eyed the sheriff's office warily as he dismounted at the livery, but then suddenly realized it didn't matter any more if the sheriff recognized him or not. He had only one focus left in his life, and that was to get Jack Hogan. Amnesty without the Kid didn't mean anything to him. He didn't care if he threw it away by drawing down on the bounty hunter. He didn't care if he wanted to kill a man face to face, something he'd never done before. Everything had changed, just as he himself had changed, and he'd have to make up the new rules as they came.

The stable hand took his horse off his hands and said yes, the man Heyes described was in town. He'd seen him go into the saloon. And wasn't it something how he'd shot down Kid Curry? Heyes gave the man enough money to cover the board and grooming, and set off down the street. He made a taut, grim figure; his eyes leveled on the saloon doors like an eagle swooping down for its prey. Some townspeople pulled out of his way as he walked, and he heard them murmuring excitedly to one another.

"Bet he's after that bounty hunter," a saddle hand said to his friend. Heyes ignored the duo and continued down the boardwalk.

He was almost at the saloon; he was so close he could hear the out-of-tune clanking of the piano and the sounds of men talking, when a loud voice cut through the stillness of the street. "Hello there, Heyes. Been waitin' for you to come."

Heyes turned slowly in the direction of the voice. A man in trail clothes with a black moustache and a leering grin was lounging against the hitch rack a half a block from the saloon. His coat jacket was pulled carefully away from his side gun.

Jack Hogan. Heyes squared off and pulled his own jacket out of the way.

"Hogan," he spat.

"That's right, Heyes," Hogan replied in a nasal voice. "I'm the man who gunned down your partner."

"In the back." Heyes snapped, and watched in satisfaction as Hogan stiffened and color rose in his cheeks. Get him mad, Heyes told himself, and he'll be easier to draw down.

"He was turning to fire," Hogan retorted. "It was a fair match."

"He wasn't even going for his gun. There's witnesses."

"He was just too slow," Hogan said smugly, and unlooped his fingers and brought his arm down to his side. "I showed myself to be the better man."

"You're a dead man," Heyes announced in a voice like ice. He took in Hogan carefully, never leaving sight of where his gun hand was. Heyes could see Hogan was tensing up to move.

Heyes stepped out into the muddy street. "There is no better man than Kid Curry." From the corner of his eye he could see townspeople staring from the windows, and several cowhands clustered along the store fronts safely out of range from the expected gunfire. It was suddenly unnaturally quiet, and Heyes felt a deep, cold, calm settle over him. He hardly recognized himself: this wire-tight man facing down a bounty hunter was not the Hannibal Heyes of a week ago. He was alone as he had never been before in his life.

Hogan joined Heyes on the street, and stopped a dozen or so feet away. Heyes tensed. He wouldn't draw first; he'd let Hogan do that. He wanted to kill Hogan, not murder him.

Before either could move for their weapons, an authoritative voice called out, and a man with a sheriff's badge cocking a rifle in his hands stepped between them.

"Hold it right there," he ordered. "Don't either of you two move."

Three other men stepped out of nearby buildings, each with a rifle aimed at the two gunmen. Heyes and Hogan both stiffened, and waited.

Hogan spoke first. "Sheriff, this man is Hannibal Heyes. I'm claimin' him for the reward. I got my rights."

The sheriff glared at him. "And I got my rights as the sheriff of this town to make sure no innocent people are hurt by your foolish gun play. There will be not shootouts in White Bluff, do you understand?"

Hogan nodded, and slowly returned his hand to his belt loop. Heyes didn't alter his stance, keeping cold eyes focused on Hogan. There might still be a chance. Hogan might still go for his weapon.

"You'll get your darn reward," the sheriff snapped. "You pointed out Heyes to us fair and square. But he's our business now. He is in my custody. You're out of the picture. You understand?"

Hogan's leering grin returned. "That's fine by me, Sheriff. Getting' one of them was satisfaction enough. Thinking of Heyes breaking rocks for the next twenty years is icing on the cake."

Heyes tensed in anger, but before he could move, the Sheriff swung his rifle toward him, aiming it at his chest. "Now you hold it right there, Mr. Heyes. Lift your hands up very slowly above your head. No funny moves, or I'll shoot. Remember, you're wanted Dead or Alive."

Heyes hesitated, hearing the rifles cocking at each side. He wondered if he wouldn't prefer the option of dying. Seconds passed. Slowly, he did as he was told.

"Now," the sheriff said, relaxing slightly, "lay down on the ground. Hands above you. Now!" he barked when Heyes hesitated.

Heyes felt what seemed to be every eye in town on him as he lay slowly down on the wet ground and stretched his hands over his head. Instantly one deputy took his gun from his holster while the other patted him down looking for hidden weapons. He found Heyes' derringer, and stuck it in his own coat pocket. Then the sheriff took out a pair of thick handcuffs and chained Heyes' hands behind him.

"On your feet now," he ordered, not lifting a hand as Heyes awkwardly obeyed. The deputies took hold of each of his arms as they pushed him towards the sheriff's office. Heyes heard a few of the townspeople shout out words of congratulations to the sheriff. Then they were inside, and the sheriff was unlocking the cell door.

The sheriff faced Heyes with a stern expression. He was tall and looked to be in his fifties, with steel gray eyes and a tough, weather-line face that had seen many a day riding posse. He patted Heyes down again, looking satisfied when he found no further weapons. "For the record," he said flatly, "are you Hannibal Heyes as that bounty man claims?"

Heyes met his eyes, and shrugged. The time for games was over. "Yes, sir. I am." A terrible weariness was settling over him as he stood there. Things were changing so fast: one minute Kid Curry was alive, next minute he was dead. One minute Hannibal Heyes was a free man hoping for amnesty, the next minute he was a prisoner facing the rest of his life in jail. Heyes was surprised that it mattered so little to him now. He was just tired, very tired, and cold all the way through. He was almost glad the long trail had come to an end.

The sheriff nodded in satisfaction, and nudged Heyes into the cell. The sheriff changed Heyes cuffs so that he was bound in the front instead of the back, and then took a pair of shackles off a hook in the hallway.

"On the bunk," he ordered. "Take off your boots." Heyes dully obeyed. The sheriff put one shackle around Heyes' right ankle, and fastened it to a ring in the cold stone wall. "I don't like to chain up my prisoners when they're in my custody, if the truth be known," he said. "But I've heard you're as hard to hold in a jail cell as to keep a fish out of water. So I figure to keep you cozy in here until I can bring in deputies from Wyoming to take you off my hands. Understood?"

Heyes nodded silently, and leaned tiredly against the wall.

"I hold with simple rules here, Mr. Heyes," the sheriff continued. "You obey me and my deputies, and you'll get square meals and be treated right. If you try to escape or try anything funny, it's potatoes and waters and shackles on both legs. You follow me?"

Heyes nodded again and closed his eyes, shutting out the dismal room with the grim-faced deputies staring at him and the chilling iron bars. The sheriff stepped back into the corridor, and Heyes heard the key lock the cell door shut. He could feel the sheriff's eyes on him, judging him, appraising him, perhaps not quite believing that his prisoner was indeed the notorious Hannibal Heyes. Then the sheriff spoke in a friendlier tone.

"You look all in," he said. "Want something to eat?"

When Heyes didn't answer, the sheriff sighed and walked back to his office, his boot steps hollow on the stone floor. Heyes heard the hall door lock shut, and then he was completely, finally alone. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, clumsy in the handcuffs, and tried for the escape of sleep.

Kid Curry was impatient with being in bed, and really worried about what on earth could be keeping Heyes. He wanted to be up and backtracking for his trail. When he got real itchy to move around, Sarah would sit next to him and talk or read to him, and somehow the hours passed. His head wasn't aching as much, and the room no longer tilted crazily when he tried to sit up, and Curry figured it would be long before he could be on his way. He would miss Sarah, he admitted. She was sweet and nice and had been more than good to him. But he had to find out what had happened to Heyes.

It was mid day and Sarah came in balancing a tray of food in her arms. She was, as always, a welcome sight in her pale green dress with dainty lace cuffs. She gave him a warm smile as she set the tray down on the bed stand. "You're looking much better," she greeted, and laid a gentle hand against his cheek. The fever was gone, and had been for the last two days. She didn't know how much longer she was going to be able to keep him resting. She knew he was anxious to get back on the trail after Hannibal Heyes. Somehow she had to stop him, and make him at least listen to some of the alternatives she wanted to offer him.

"I'm feeling pretty good," Kid said, returning her smile.

"I brought you some soup, and roast chicken, and fresh bread."

"Sarah, keep this up and you'll spoil me to death."

"It's about time someone did that." She stood up and glanced briefly out the window, then turned to go.

"Sarah, we've got to talk."

She searched his eyes worriedly before turning away. "I'll come back in a little bit," she assured him. "Pa's making a delivery out to the Groves' place, and I just saw a wagon pull in. I gotta get downstairs now and take care of business."

After she'd gone the Kid sighed, and straightened up in bed. He didn't feel just pretty good, he decided, he felt darn good. Good enough to be up on his feet and looking for Heyes. He fiddled a moment with the soup spoon, and then made up his mind. Pushing off the quilt, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, alert for any dizziness or double vision like he'd been experiencing. But nothing happened, so he eased carefully to his feet and straightened up, a little wobbly in the knees, but that was to be expected after days in bed. He smiled to himself and decided he'd surprise Sarah by getting dressed and joining her downstairs.

The Kid pulled on his clothes from where they were hanging neatly in the cabinet, and carefully buckled on his side gun. He immediately felt more like his old self; just better fed and more rested than usual. He quietly opened the bedroom door and saw it led to a large sitting room. Two other doors at the far end of the room were shut, and Kid figured they must open onto other bedrooms. The sitting room was pleasantly furnished with a combination of home made furniture, like the big desk against the sidewall and the two sitting chairs. But there were also some daintier things from the east; an upholstered sitting couch and a beautifully polished china cabinet filled with fancy plates and glasses. The room had a good feel to it, and the Kid realized it had been a while since he stood in someone's living room in the quiet of the day, without any particular business in mind.

He was turning towards the hallway when a newspaper on the desktop caught his eye. He walked over to it, curious to see if it contained any news of his recent demise. Instead, he saw the big headlines, and grabbed the paper to read further.

Hannibal Heyes Jailed!

(White Bluff, North Dakota) The notorious train robber and bank thief Hannibal Heyes has come to the end of his road. He was arrested yesterday on the streets of White Bluff by Sheriff Seth Hill and his deputies. The Sheriff reports Heyes was heavily armed, but gave no resistance when faced with the overwhelming firepower of the local constabulary.

The arrest comes just four days after Heyes' partner in crime, Kid Curry, was shot to death by a bounty hunter in Cambria Pines.

According to witnesses, Heyes came to White Bluff looking for bounty hunter Jack Hogan, the man who is taking credit for Curry's death. Hogan was seen in town by several of the inhabitants, but was not available for comment to this reporter. He has apparently left White Bluff for parts as still unknown, perhaps staying out of sight until he collects the huge reward of $20,000 for the two outlaws.

Kid angrily slammed down the paper. Heyes in jail! It didn't seem possible that just a small town sheriff could take him so easily. Sure, he reasoned, it was possible the sheriff somehow recognized Heyes from his poster. But hardly likely, given their experience with dozens of lawmen in dozens of towns since they'd been seeking amnesty. More than likely Jack Hogan had something to do with it, and the Kid's face darkened.

He heard a startled sound in the doorway and turned to see Sara standing there, her hand at her mouth in a gesture of surprise.

"Why didn't you tell me, Sarah?" Kid demanded. "Why?"

Sarah lowered her head. "I wanted to make sure you were feeling well enough. I would have told you soon."

"When?" Curry asked sarcastically. "After Heyes was shut up in prison for twenty years? That would have been a little late, don't you think? You know I've been worried about him, Sarah!"

Her eyes filled with tears. "I wanted to give you a chance for a better life," she pleaded. "Everyone knows that Hannibal Heyes is the leader of the Devil's Hole gang. He was the one giving you the orders, forcing you to join him in his robberies. Now you have a chance to start fresh. Everyone thinks your body is lying out there in our cemetery, so there's nothing to stop you from having a good and peaceful life. This is your choice, Thaddeus! Please stay here with me."

Kid walked over to her and gently wiped a tear from her cheek, all anger gone from him. "My name is Curry, Sarah. Kid Curry. And Hannibal Heyes might have had some schemes and outrageous plans, but I only did what I wanted to. No one forced me to rob banks or blow up safes."

"But…"

"No 'buts', Sarah. We're partners, Heyes and me. More'n that, we're cousins, and closer than brothers. I've never loved anybody as much as I love him. Can you understand that?" She nodded faintly, her face pale. "So do you see why I have to go after him now and try to undo what's been done?"

She laid her head weakly against the doorframe, unable to meet his eyes. Tears streamed unheeded down her cheeks. "I lied to you…Thad…"

"Call me Thaddeus, if you like," Curry said gently. "Most others do."

Her voice was almost inaudible, and her hands were clenched so tight against her apron that the Kid could see her knuckles were white. "He was here. A few days ago."

"Heyes? Heyes was here?"

Sarah nodded numbly. "I wasn't sure it was him at first. He said he came from the sheriff's office. He was so cold, and frightening. But when I took him to the cemetery to show him your grave, I guess I realized then. He was so sad." Her voice choked. "Oh, Thaddeus, I'm so sorry. It's just that I love you and want you so badly."

The Kid pressed her to him, his own eyes wet. Good God, he thought. Poor Heyes. He could imagine the black anger that drove Heyes to White Bluff and a face down with Jack Hogan. He knew Heyes' moods only too well. "Shh," he comforted Sarah, who was weeping uncontrollably in his arms. "It's all right. I had no right to flirt with you like I did. So it's just as much my fault as yours."

She sniffed at her handkerchief and pulled slowly away from him. "It was so selfish of me. When I saw how he was suffering I knew I should have told him. But I was a selfish, silly little fool."

Sheriff Hill looked up alertly as the door to the street opened, and reached to the desktop for his rifle. He was extra cautious these days, knowing who his prisoner was, and also knowing Hannibal Heyes had a good may friends on the outside who might try to bust him out of jail. But a man with a sheriff's badge on his vest stepped inside, and Hill relaxed.

"I'm Hill," he welcomed, getting to his feet and extending his hand.

The newcomer was in his late thirties, thin and strong looking, with keen brown eyes that zeroed in now with a quick assessment of Sheriff Hill. "I'm Trevors. Lom Trevors. Wyoming."

Sheriff Hill smiled in relief. "Well this is certainly good news! May I assume you've come here to take my prisoner off my hands?"

Trevors nodded, his eyes roving around the small but neat office. "He giving you much trouble?"

Hill shrugged and scratched his neck. "Nope. None at all. Kind of surprising. I expected him to kick up a fuss. But he's been real quiet. Mostly sleeps. Ain't eating. But I'm being real careful with him," he added hastily, misreading Lom's look of surprise for one of criticism. "I know his reputation and how many jails he's broke out of. I'm not taking any chances."

"I'd like to see him, " Trevors said. Sheriff Hill nodded agreeably, and reached for the keys hanging on a hook behind his desk.

"Alone, if you don't mind," Lom added. "We go back a ways."

Hill looked curious, then shrugged. "Whatever you say. You're the one doing me the favor of taking him off my hands. I keep waiting for some of his gang to ride in and try something. At least I don't have to worry about his partner." He motioned to Lom's six-gun. "Give me that first. I don't allow anybody, even myself or my deputy, to get near Hannibal Heyes with a loaded weapon."

Lom smiled briefly and obeyed. "Makes good sense." Hill nodded in satisfaction as Lom unbuckled his gun belt, and handed him the keys.

"If he gives you any trouble, holler, "Hill called to him as he opened the door leading into the back room and the cells.

Lom waved his hand, and locked the door behind him. For a moment he stood and peered into the semi-darkness of the unlit corridor until he made out a man lying on a bunk in the far cell. Hannibal Heyes. Lom walked over to the bars and stood for a few seconds looking in at him. Heyes was on his back with a blanket pulled up to his chin. His hat was pulled down almost covering his face, and Lom couldn't tell if he were awake, or sleeping. "Hello, Heyes."

Heyes stirred at the sound, and his head jerked up in confusion. His eyes darted groggily around the room before focusing slowly on Lom. He started in surprise before pushing himself up slowly off the bunk. "Hello, Lom," he acknowledged. "Excuse me if I don't get up, but they got me shackled to the wall." He kicked his right foot out from under the blanket, and Lom saw the iron around his ankle.

Lom fumbled awkwardly with the key before finally wrenching the lock open and stepping inside the cell. As he came closer and got a better look at him, his eyes clouded in concern. Heyes looked awful. His face had lost all color, and dark circles had formed under his eyes. He hadn't shaven, and his hair was matted limply over his forehead. Heyes leaned warily against the stone wall of the cell, unsmiling, and his eyes were hollow.

"I heard about the Kid," Lom began softly. "I'm real sorry."

Heyes' eyes flashed in pain, and before he dropped his gaze Lom could see Heyes was fighting back unwanted tears. "Me, too."

"You look terrible. Is the sheriff taking care of you all right."

Heyes ignored the question. What did it matter? "You taking me back to Wyoming?" he asked instead.

Lom nodded. "Heck of a mess. But I've wired the governor and asked for a meeting. Maybe now he'll decide on that amnesty for you. Maybe…"

"Forget it," Heyes said harshly. "The amnesty was for me and…and the Kid. Now that he's…dead…and I'm in here, the Governor doesn't have anything to gain by letting me go free. He's got me where he wants me." Heyes took a ragged breath. "Besides, the amnesty doesn't matter much any more. It was for me and…and the Kid. Now, there's just nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?" Lom asked angrily. "There's you! Hannibal Heyes! You've got your own life to think about."

Heyes mouth twitched into a tight smile, which didn't reach his eyes. "It is my own life and I'm thinking about. And I don't see anything there." His voice faded.

"Listen, Heyes," Lom said in a softer voice. "I know the Kid was like a part of you, and that there's a big pain inside you now that he's gone." Heyes eyes flickered unreadably. "But you gotta think of yourself. You've worked hard for this amnesty. I never thought I'd admit it, but I think you've really earned that clean slate. You've got lots of years ahead of you, and I'm not going to see you throw them away with a twenty-year prison term."

"Earned it, have I?" Heyes asked, and chuckled mirthlessly. "Lom, what do you think the Governor will say about earning that amnesty when he hears I came here to gun down Jack Hogan?"

Lom straightened in surprise. " You?" he asked in disbelief. "In a showdown with a bounty hunter?"

Heyes nodded slowly. "Except the sheriff interrupted us before I could get the job done. I shoulda let them shoot me out on the street." He pulled the blanket up around him again. The cell was cold. "So you see, Lom, I don't deserve that amnesty. Because I promise you, that even if I'm set free, I'm going to hunt that killer down and give him what he gave to…the Kid. I may not be as fast as the Kid…was," he added quickly, seeing Lom was about to interrupt. "But I can do all right." Lom was right. "So it's your decision, Lom. You can work to set me loose, and I promise you I'm going after Jack Hogan. Or you can lock me up for what's left of my life." He met Lom's gaze evenly, almost as if challenging him.

Lom glared at Heyes in exasperation. "I'll pin a badge on you and go after Hogan WITH you."

Heyes choked out a laugh. "Why, Lom? Kid was wanted dead or alive. Doesn't matter if Hogan was a weasel and back-shot him."

Lom tried a different tack. "Jed wouldn't want you to throw away your life like this. This isn't like you."

"No," Heyes agreed without rancor. "But I'm not the same man I was a week ago."

Trevors pushed open the door to his hotel room and thought for a moment he was seeing either a ghost, or Kid Curry's double sitting on the straight back chair beside the bed, facing the door with a wary, expectant look on his face and a six-gun pointed with deadly accuracy at Lom's heart. Lom didn't believe in ghosts, and had never heard of the Kid having a double. Instead, he froze where he stood, the room keys slipping into the palm of his suddenly sweaty hand. It seemed an eternity he stood there, feeling the Kid's icy blue eyes boring into him and staring down the black barrel of the gun, wondering if any second it would spout smoke and flame and end the standoff once and for all. He and the Kid had once been good friends; maybe they still were. But with Heyes in jail, their amnesty a big question, the tables were all turned. Curry had always been unpredictable, his temper held in check only by Hannibal Heyes. And without Heyes beside him now, Lom knew just about anything could happen, and his life could be very much in jeopardy.

Then the Kid's mouth twitched into the barest of greetings, and he tilted the gun barrel ever so slightly towards the floor. Lom discovered he'd been holding his breath, and let it out now in relief and annoyance. "Does that mean I can come in?"

Curry held out his left hand. "After you give me your gun." His voice was distant, neutral, and Lom decided he had little choice but to obey. Curry took the weapon wordlessly and stuck it into his own gun belt. Lom carefully shut the door; it creaked loudly as the hinges moved, but otherwise there was no sound in the room. Then the Kid's lips twitched again. "Hello, Lom."

"Hello?" Lom's nostrils flared in annoyance as he stepped forward, but stopped instantly as Curry's thumb moved at the same time to cock the trigger of his gun. "Is that all you can say?" Lom asked, instead. "You're supposed to be dead."

The Kid's attempt at a smile completely disappeared. "It looks like a lot of people think that. Including Heyes."

Curry suddenly got off the chair and walked over to the hotel window, carefully pushing aside the white muslin curtain and staring morosely through the dusty glass down at the sheriff's office directly across the street. "I saw you leaving the jail. How is he?"

Lom considered a moment before answering. Kid was so tense a spark could set him off, and Lom had never liked playing with fire. "He's quiet," Trevors finally said. "He's taking it hard."

The Kid swallowed with difficulty, his throat constricting as he again sensed what Heyes must be going through, what the Kid knew he himself would be feeling if he thought Heyes had been shot down by a two-bit bounty hunter. He felt both anger and helplessness rise inside him, and swallowed again to push the feelings down under where he could keep them in precarious control. "I've got to see him," he said, shoving back the curtain and turning back to Trevors. "I need to let him know I'm okay."

"I'll tell him."

"I've got to see him. He won't believe it till he sees me."

Lom sighed. "How in tarnation do you aim to do that? You can't very well just walk in there and announce yourself?"

The Kid's eyes turned pleading. "Then will you get him out of there? You have the authority to do it. There's the amnesty…" his voice trailed off helplessly.

Lom sighed again. "You know better'n me, there is no real amnesty. At least, not yet."

"The Governor will forget all about his promises," Kid said bitterly. "He won."

Trevors knew the Kid was right, and for a few moments they were both silent. "How did you two get into this mess in the first place?"

Curry told him as much as he knew. After he finished, Lom shook his head. "What a pile of bad luck."

"And bad timing."

"I wondered what could have driven Heyes to a showdown with Jack Hogan. From what the sheriff tells me, he cut a pretty deadly picture."

Curry smiled faintly. "You know Heyes when he gets in one of his black moods. He could stop a stampeding horse with a look."

Trevors was surprised. He'd always thought Heyes kept Curry in check. He'd never considered just the opposite could take place. It showed how much they relied on one another. Lom eyed Kid's weapon speculatively. "So now, what? Will you have some patience and wait for the Governor's answer to my telegram?"

Kid shook his head. "Once he gets your telegram he's gonna send a big posse down here to make sure nothing stops you from sending Heyes to bust up rocks for twenty years. Heck, Lom, the posse is probably already on the way."

Lom found the pistol once again taking dead aim at his chest. "You can't just spring Heyes from jail. You'll both be killed."

"I am not gonna stand by while Heyes goes to prison." He cocked the hammer of his gun, and Trevors knew it was not a bluff. "I'm gonna need to borrow your badge. Don't fight me, Lom."

Trevors eyed the gun barrel. "Would you really shoot me down if I refuse?" he asked softly.

Curry nodded grimly. "Don't try me, Lom. This is the end of our line. There's just no other way out right now." Lom sighed. "So turn around now and put your hands behind your back." Lom complied, and felt the leather thong being wrapped expertly around them. "I wish you'd just find a ways to set Heyes free," Kid said. "I don't like this any more'n you do."

Lom looked serious. "I'm sorry. But I'm legally…and morally…bound to uphold my oath."

The Kid carefully unpinned the badge from his vest. He stared down at it thoughtfully before pinning it to his own with a tight smile. "I know you are, Lom. And I know this badge means a lot to you. That's why we respect you so much, Heyes and me." He sat Trevors gently down on the bed, and wrapped a final length of leather from his wrists to behind the bedpost. Then he took off his bandana, and hesitated.

"Will you keep in touch at least?" asked Trevors as the kid started to tie the cloth in place. "Damn but I hate to see you two throw all your hard work away."

Curry chuckled. "Keep in touch? So you can direct the posse to us? No, Lom. Not any more."

"I promise I'll come alone. Let you know at least what the Governor said. Please don't cut off all your options. I give you my word."

Their eyes locked, and Curry took a deep breath before nodding. "If it's okay with Heyes." He shoved the cloth firmly in place, then took Trevors' weapon from his belt and quickly emptied the cartridges into his hand before putting gun down on the dresser. He tested the bonds around Lom's wrists, and then turned to the door. "I hope to God these hold you until we're away and gone. I'd honestly hate for you to get in our way, Lom. Because I'll do what I have to do to get Heyes free."

Hill looked up at his office door opened again, and once more saw a man with a badge coming in. The stranger was tall and sandy-haired, and gave him a smile, which didn't reach his eyes. "I'm with Trevors," Curry said, hoping his face didn't reveal the tension that was tightening inside him like a knot of wet rope.

Hill didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and extended a cordial hand. "Seth Hill." His handshake was solid, and the Kid decided this was a man to be reckoned with.

"Paul Jackson," he ad-libbed, and scanned the tiny room as Hill walked back to his desk. For the first time in weeks, Kid felt luck was with him. There were no other deputies to contend with; Hill was alone.

The sheriff motioned to a pot of coffee simmering on top of a dilapidated black stove. "There's coffee, if you'd like some. I made it this morning, so it shouldn't tear you up too much inside." He finished with a chuckle, and the Kid found himself taking a liking to the man. Push it aside, he told himself. Push it aside. There was too much to be done in far too little time.

"Sheriff Trevors thought you might like to be spelled for a while. Get away and take time for a real meal." Curry rested his hands easily on his gun belt.

Hill's eyes sparked, then clouded. "Right generous of him," he said, and the Kid thought he detected a new note of caution in his voice. "Why didn't I see you before, when Trevors was here?"

"I was at the telegraph office," the Kid said easily. "Wiring for instructions now that we found Heyes." His eyes narrowed as he saw Hill tense up, and Curry edged his fingers closer to his gun.

"Wired the office, did you?" Hill asked smoothly. Too smoothly. "Funny, telegraph's been down all week. Haven't been any messages either in or out of town all day." He reached for his gun, but before he even could begin to pull it from its holster he was looking down the barrel of Kid Curry's Colt. Hill's mouth fell open, and he dropped his hand back to his side.

"You're Kid Curry."

The Kid nodded, and stepped over to him and removed his gun.

"You're supposed to be dead."

"Well, as you can see, I ain't."

Hill shook his head; impressed despite the danger he was in. "Boy howdy. I've heard tell of your speed with that gun. And it's all true. You do move faster'n the wind."

"I was hoping this wouldn't be necessary," Curry said tightly. "I wanted to do this real peacefully. You seem like a good man."

"I'll stop you if I can," Hill said stoutly.

Curry nodded. "I know you will." Keeping his gun trained on the sheriff, he removed the keys from hook and motioned Hill to the door leading to the cells. Hill slowly obeyed, and Kid knew the man was waiting for any lessening of his guard to try to wrestle the gun from him. The Kid only hoped the sheriff didn't try something foolish. So far he'd never had to shoot a man wearing a star.

Hill led the way past the first two cells toward the back, where Curry could make out the dim shape of someone lying down on a bunk. Heyes. His stomach tightened another three notches, and he put his hand on Hill's shoulders to stop him. "In here," he ordered, and opened the door to the second cell. Hill stepped inside, and Curry locked the door behind him. He could feel the sheriff's eyes boring holes in his back as he rammed the key into the lock of Heyes' cell and swung it open.

The six steps to the bunk seemed the longest he'd ever taken. Heyes' eyes were closed, and he didn't appear to have heard him. Curry frowned as he stood looking down at his cousin. Heyes looked real bad. The Kid sat down on the edge of the bunk and laid a gentle hand on his partner's shoulder, giving him an easy nudge. "Heyes," he urged. "Wake up."

It seemed to take Heyes a long time to come out of his sleep, but then his eyes fluttered open and looked right up at the Kid. Curry saw the look of confusion, then incredulity, then joy flash across them, and Heyes' mouth pulled into his lopsided grin.

"I heard your voice. I thought I was dreamin'."

Kid returned the grin. "Nope. Larger'n life. I'll tell you about it later, when we're out of here."

Heyes struggled with his manacles to push himself up off the bunk. "We back in the jail break business?

Curry nodded and busied himself with unlocking the handcuffs. "I got poor old Lom tied up back at the hotel. We've got to move fast."

Heyes rubbed his wrists painfully while the Kid unlocked the leg shackle. When his foot was free he stretched it stiffly in front of him, grunting in satisfaction. He stood up carefully, stiff from being bound to the wall; then he turned to face his cousin, and allowed tears to well up in his eyes. "They told me you were dead, but I didn't want to believe it," he said huskily. "Damn, but I'm glad you're alive." He threw his arms around his cousin and hugged him tightly, feeling as the Kid's hands dug into his back returning the gesture. When he pulled away, he could see Curry blinking back tears as well.

"Let's move," the Kid said.

"Enjoy your hours of freedom," Hill said as they hurried past him. "You won't have too many. I guarantee you, the biggest posse you've ever seen will be hunting you down the second I get out of here."

"It's what we expect," Kid said, and locked the door firmly behind him. He could hear the sheriff's oaths as Heyes pulled on his boots and retrieved his handgun. Curry led the way out the back door to the alley, where he'd had the foresight to tie up two horses before going to the hotel. Heyes gritted his teeth as he used all the strength he could muster to haul himself up into the saddle; the days without eating left him light-headed. He weaved a moment once he was upright, and then found his balance.

"I'll follow you," he said, and dug his heels into his horse's side as the Kid whipped his mount into a gallop and headed out of town.

They rode steadily for as long as the horses could keep up the pace, and then reined in to a walk. It was rough, untamed country they were passing through as they headed higher up into the mountains. They kept a careful eye to their rear, but so far there was no sign of pursuit. The sky was filling up with thick, ebony clouds, and a distant, ominous thunder told them a storm was brewing. The air gradually grew so thick and wet it almost felt like breathing in water. Then the rain began to fall in huge, clumsy drops; first just a few, then a constant stream, then the clouds started dumping sheets of water on them. They pulled their jackets around them as tightly as they could, but it did little good. Within minutes they were both drenched through. Heyes was aware that the Kid was doubling back and forth along the route; pulling every stunt they knew to disguise their trail. At least the storm would make final work of it. No posse on earth could track through mud and streams of water pouring down the steep hills. Heyes felt he should be doing more to help out, but figured he was doing pretty well by just staying on his horse, and gladly let the Kid lead him along.

The sky had turned so black it was hard to tell when the sun went down. They rode on in the darkness through thickly wooded hills now, and Heyes felt comforted by the protection of the trees. The rain made too much noise for conversation, and it took all their attention to keep their horses from sliding on the wet ground. Finally the Kid reined in and waited for Heyes to join him.

"You got a destination in mind?" Heyes shouted over the wind.

Curry shook his head, sending rivulets of water pouring over the brim of his Stetson. "Just away." He motioned off to the right. "I saw some caves up there." Heyes followed his nod, but could see nothing through the blackness and sheets of rain. "Think it's time to hole up for the night."

Heyes hesitated. He knew they should keep moving at all costs and put as many miles as possible between them and White Bluff. But he also knew he wasn't going to be able to sit in the saddle much longer. The storm looked like it could blow for days; maybe they could afford the luxury of stopping and even lighting a small fire.

Curry started to lead the way up the steep hill face. Heyes clutched tightly to his pommel for balance as his tired mount slipped and struggled over the rocks and mud, snorting occasionally at his rider in annoyance. Finally they reached what Curry had spotted from the valley floor, a gaping opening in the side of the mountain, which offered a hiding place and protection from the angry rain. Curry nudged his horse carefully into the care and dismounted. He was pleased there was room for both men and beasts. The two partners shook off as much water as they could from their clothes and peered around them in the gloom.

Curry tossed Heyes a blanket from his saddle roll. "Wrap up in that while I start a fire. You look beat."

Heyes nodded his thanks. He pulled the blanket tightly around him and sat down well away from the cave opening, watching the Kid gather together the bits and pieces of kindling material scattered around the cave. Finally the Kid had enough to strike a match, and welcome flames began to leap out from the wood. As Kid turned to take care of the horses, Heyes realized how good it was to have the Kid to rely on. He remembered the pain when he thought he'd never see his cousin again, and smiled up at him now as Curry came over and squatted beside him.

"Good cave spotting," Heyes complimented. "So now, excuse my bluntness, but how come you're not dead?"

Curry recounted his days in Cambria Pines, and Heyes filled him in on his own misadventures. It was hard to believe so much had happened in just a couple of weeks. Finally Curry dug into his saddlebag and pulled out some jerky and biscuits. At first Heyes wasn't hungry, but then became ravenous as his body reacted to food after three days of hunger.

"You look half starved," Curry nodded while chewing on an apple. "How come you weren't eating?"

Heyes looked deeply at the caring blue eyes. He shrugged. "I just didn't want to go on living," he confessed.

Curry reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Aw, Heyes."

There was no need for further words. They sat companionably and watched the flames soft flicker before both fell into a watchful sleep.

At dawn the clouds had lifted. Curry went to the cave entrance and saw that it offered a good view of the countryside. They were in a steep canyon, with cliffs on each side rising up hundreds of feet. He spotted a river flowing downstream in the direction from which they'd just come. They hadn't heard it before because of the rain. Curry sighed. There was little choice but to keep going westward, towards Wyoming, and over the mountains. If the posse followed them as far as Wyoming territory, they'd lose their authority and be forced to turn back.

The smell of Heyes' terrible coffee brought him back to the campfire. He drank it for once without complaint, just relieved to have his partner with him again.

"What's it look like out there?" Heyes asked.

"No sign of a posse. We better keep heading west. We gotta get out of Montana." He shivered in the cold air. "We gotta find a place to hole up for awhile. Outa this weather."

Heyes frowned. "Devil's Hole?"

The question hung in the air. Devil's Hole meant a return to outlawing. Was that the road to choose? With the amnesty gone, what choice did they have?

"I've kinda gotten used to earning a living," Heyes finally admitted. He locked eyes with his partner, and Curry nodded.

"So what are we gonna do?"

"Keep headin' west, I suppose. As you say, try to find a place to stay out of sight till we can figure things out."

They broke camp and continued down the canyon, keeping to rock surfaces whenever possible to confuse their trail, just in case the posse was still combing the area for them. They listened for the sound of other horses, but there was little to hear over the angry roar of the swollen river and the rush of wind through the trees. The air thickened, and suddenly thick white flakes of snow began blowing down. Curry cursed. "Our luck just keeps gettin' better."

"At least no one's shootin' at us," Heyes said with a return to his usual optimism. He buttoned his jacket and pulled his hat lower over his forehead to try to keep the snow from his eyes. His horse snorted unhappily. "I'm with you, fella," Heyes said soothingly, and patted the horse's flank.

For hours they slogged on. The snow was forming ice crystals on their eyelashes, and settling in clumps onto the horses' manes. It was late afternoon when they rounded a steep curve in the canyon wall, and stared ahead of them in shock. One moment they'd been in a wilderness. Now the canyon opened before them to a small valley surrounded on all sides by even steeper granite cliffs. The valley floor was neatly fenced in by several farms, and some of the fields still showed some green even this late in the season. Heyes was astonished to spot acres of fruit trees picked clean in the summer harvest, and open fields where well fed cattle were grazing peacefully at troughs. Smoke was rising cheerfully from the chimney tops. Kid blinked his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming, but when he opened them again, the valley was unchanged.

The horses snorted eagerly and picked up speed as they trotted along a small path, which led through the fields to a cluster of buildings that seemed to serve as the heart of the settlement. One building looked to be a small chapel; another seemed to serve as a blacksmith's shop; there was a large farmhouse and freshly painted barn. The yard was deserted except for some foraging chickens and a few sleepy cats huddled away from the snow under a wooden crate. Curry spied a rope with a thick knot at its end hanging from the limb of a sturdy tree. It reminded him of the rope he used to swing on when he was a boy, and he smiled. It looked like this place had kids. Probably peaceable folks.

The cackling of the chickens brought a woman to the door of the farmhouse. She opened it cautiously, and the two men rode over to her. "Didn't mean to startle you," Heyes greeted through frozen lips.

To his relief, she smiled at him and pushed open the door. "We don't get many visitors," she greeted. She seemed undeterred by their bedraggled appearance. "Step inside out of the cold."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Ethan!" she shouted to the room behind her. A boy of about ten peered out at them. "Tend to the men's horses."

"Oh no, ma'am," Curry insisted. "We can do that ourselves. We don't want to be a trouble."

"You look frozen to death. My son can do what's needed while you warm up."

Her tone brooked no argument, so the partners dismounted stiffly and handed the reins to the boy. He led the animals off to the large barn, and Heyes and Curry stepped gratefully into the warmth.

They found themselves in a large room with several couches, a work table, bookshelves laden with reading material, and a hearth where a welcoming fire burned. A tall man with a tidy beard was adding wood to the hearth, and when he was done he turned to them appraisingly. "Don't be shy," he greeted. "Come over here and sit down."

The woman took their wet jackets and hats, and paused as she saw the gun belts they wore. Heyes followed her gaze. "We don't mean you any harm," he said.

"We don't hold with handguns," she said firmly. "If you'll take them off I'll keep them stored for you."

Heyes and Curry exchanged apprehensive glances, then slowly unbuckled their guns and turned them over to her. "Don't you worry," the woman said with a slight smile, "there is no one in this valley who will pose a danger."

The man extended his hand. "My name's Ezekial Fallows. My wife is Marta."

"I'm Joshua Smith," Heyes said, keeping with his alias until he figured out what came next.

"Thaddeus Jones."

As they joined him by the fire, Marta came over with two cups of steaming coffee, which the ex-outlaws took gratefully.

"Why on earth are you out here in such weather?" Marta asked. "This isn't the time of year to be travelling cross country."

Heyes explained that they were trying to reach friends in Wyoming. "We took the wrong fork somewhere," he admitted. "We got lost."

"Well, you're found now," Ezekial grunted. "You're more than welcome to wait out this weather."

Over supper Ezekial explained that they were a community of Quakers, driven out of Pennsylvania by the war. "Raiders from both sides came to our farms and took what they wanted. Burned some of us out. We decided we'd had enough, and when the fighting ended we pooled our resources and bought this land."

Quick images of his farm in Kansas flashed through Heyes' mind. The barn burning. The squealing cows. His parents dead. "We saw some of that ourselves," he confided.

"You must have been young," Marta said sympathetically.

"Yes, ma'am."

Marta didn't press further. She could see the pain in his eyes. "Well," she said briskly, "that's thankfully in the past. We've learned it's best to look to the days ahead, and make the best of what we can with them."

Heyes and Curry exchanged silent glances. That was just what they were trying to do.

The next morning the sun was peeking through the clouds as they joined Marta in the kitchen. Two other women had joined her at the large table, and they were industriously cutting vegetables and putting them in a large soup pot. Marta cut them some bread with cheese and poured fresh coffee.

"This is Grace," she introduced an elderly plump woman to her right. The woman nodded shyly. "And this," she added touching the arm of a much younger woman to her left, "is Grace's daughter, Ruth. Ladies, these are our guests Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones."

"Please. Just call us Joshua and Thaddeus."

The women smiled and returned to their chopping.

"Can we do something to help?" asked Heyes.

Marta laughed. "I won't ask you boys to chop carrots! Go out and get some fresh air. Make yourselves at home."

A gust of frigid air buffeted them as they stepped out into the barnyard. They could see Ezekial and another man tending to the cows in the enclosure next to the barn. It looked like they were trying to drive them inside the barn, but were having a rough go of it. Heyes and Curry walked over to see if they could help.

"Can we help?"

Ezekial looked up as a cow bolted from the small group. "Some of the fence is down at the far end. The cows seem to have a sudden attack of curiosity. We need to get them in the barn."

Kid was surprised. The farm seemed so neat and orderly. It was unexpected that they could have left a section of fence unrepaired this late in the year. He climbed over the gate and nudged a calf over to the grownups.

"You ever worked cows before?" asked the other man doubtfully.

"This is Thomas," Ezekial introduced.

Curry grinned. "I've worked a whole lot of cattle drives. And we had a cow or two on the farm where I grew up."

Thomas nodded. With the additional manpower they made quick work of it, and Heyes opened the barn doors and helped the others get the cows re-settled. Ezekial surveyed the animals in satisfaction, looping his strong fingers through the denim suspenders of his work pants.

"We're obliged."

They walked back out to the pasture to inspect the broken fence. Heyes frowned. It looked to him as if the wood had been hacked down intentionally. Suddenly a flicker of light in the direction of a barn further down the valley caught Curry's eye. He jumped up on the fence rail to get a better look. Then he saw it again, a small tongue of flame darting out of the opening above the hoist of the hayloft.

"Barn's on fire!" he shouted, and headed off at a dead run, hearing the heavy thumping of boots as they others followed him in alarm. When they reached the barn they were joined by men from other farms, who began organizing a bucket line.

As Curry threw open the barn door he was joined by a wiry youngster of maybe fourteen.

"We've a mare about to foal," he cried. "I gotta get her out."

"You go check on the fire!'" Heyes shouted. "I'll help with the horses."

Curry was halfway up the loft ladder when other men ran in to assist him. It looked like the fire so far was concentrated in one corner of the hayloft; one stack of hay was already in flames, it was only a matter of minutes before the whole loft could ignite. Below him he could hear the men shouting encouragement as they hustled the animals to safety. Curry grabbed for an empty gunnysack, and was glad when two more men clambered up the ladder to join him.

"Haul up the buckets!" the first man ordered the others as he grabbed another sack and joined the Kid beating at the flames. He nodded briefly in greeting, his face grim and sweating as they beat furiously at the ambitious embers.

Another man appeared with a bucket filled with water, followed by another, and another. Suddenly they heard the welcome sound of rain. Curry glanced out the hayloft opening and saw dark clouds had rolled back in bringing with them rain, not snow this time.

"Maybe if we cut a hole in the roof we can get the rain to help us out!" he shouted to the others. Thomas nodded, grabbed for a hatchet and pulled a ladder over and rested it precariously against the barn wall. He started unsteadily up the ladder, but the Kid held out a restraining hand.

"Let me do it," he urged. "I've got pretty good balance."

Thomas nodded gratefully and turned over the hatchet to him before rejoining the other men passing buckets up into the loft. As the Kid began hacking an opening, smoke from the fire began to swirl around him, choking him momentarily and causing his eyes to stream tears. He paused a moment to try to clear his vision, and stared out through the hole he'd made. Curry squinted and then frowned, blinking his eyes against the tears to make certain his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. They weren't. On the side of the hill beyond the far pasture, three men on horseback were watching motionlessly from the cover of a stand of trees, not making any attempt to pitch in and lend a hand. Curry brushed at his streaming eyes, but couldn't make out any of the men's faces. One thing was clear: they didn't belong to the Quaker community. They wore trail clothes and side arms, and one rider carried a rifle cradled across his chest.

Suddenly a voice called up to him. "I think you can stop with the roof!"

The kid looked down at Thomas and another farmer who were standing at the foot of the ladder with sooty faces, the gunnysacks hanging singed and limp at their sides. Behind them the hay bales were smoldering smokily, but the fire was out.

"The buckets did the job," the other farmer said, and Kid nodded.

"You folks are well organized." He glanced back towards the hill, and frowned again. The riders were gone.

"We've had practice," a younger voice chipped in, and Kid glanced down to see Ethan had joined his father to help with the fire.

"Hush, Ethan," Ezekial said. "This is our business. Not for strangers."

Curry climbed down the ladder looking for Heyes. He found him squatting outside the barn beside a mare that had just given birth. The foal was lying wet and slippery at her side, being tended to by a young boy. Heyes grinned at his partner. "It's a boy!"

Ezekial and Thomas joined them. Thomas extended his hand to Curry, and nodded at Heyes. "Thanks for lending a hand," he said. "We're not used to help from outsiders."

Kid glanced back at the hill. "You had a lot of help from outsiders today, seems to me," he said, and described the riders he'd seen. Thomas and Ezekial exchanged alarmed looks.

"They were probably just riding through," Ezekial said, "and didn't want to involve themselves in our affairs. Now come on, let's get in out of this rain. I believe soup is on."

After supper Curry asked Marta for his handgun. "I practice every day," he explained. "I'll go off away from the farms."

She looked doubtful, but opened a cupboard and pulled out his belt. "Guess I'll join you," Heyes said, and she handed him his gun as well. They walked off through the fields until they were out of site of the houses, and Curry set up some pine cones for practice. Heyes took his usual spot at his side as Curry methodically drew, aimed and fired, all in one fluid motion. Heyes always enjoyed watching his cousin draw, admiring both the speed and accuracy of each shot. Curry just never missed. Then Kid turned to Heyes.

"Your turn," he said with twinkling eyes. "I want to see what all that practice you told me about did for ya."

Heyes grinned. "You afraid I'm faster'n you now?" He waited for the Kid to line up fresh pine cones, and then he squared off and drew, emptying his gun's chamber quickly. Curry whistled appreciatively.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to watch my back. You've picked up speed, Partner."

Heyes put the pistol firmly back into the holster. "Yeah, maybe. But there's still none can beat you. And I wanta keep it that way."

Curry's sharp eyes were caught by a glint of something up along the cliff face. "I think we're being watched," he said softly. "If I'm not mistaken I just saw the flash of a pair of binoculars."

Heyes followed his gaze, but saw nothing but trees and outcroppings of boulders. "Think it's the same group that you saw watchin' the fire?"

"Who else could it be?"

"And now they've seen that the farmers have some gunslingers on hand."

Curry nodded. "You know, Heyes, I think there's something going on here that no one wants us to find out about. The fence looked like it was chopped down; then the hay bales on fire."

"What are you thinkin?"

Curry shrugged.

"Just as well," Heyes teased him, "since that's supposed to be my department."

"So, Big Thinker. What do YOU think is behind all this?"

Heyes scratched his chin and turned to walk back to the farmhouse. "Don't know. But it seems to me that there's somebody out there who's got a grudge against these people. Maybe we should stick around awhile and find out."

"Got nothin' else to do," Curry agreed.

Heyes sighed. His partner was right.

Snow came again that evening, and Ezekial and Marta seemed not to mind when Heyes asked if they could stay around a few days and wait for the weather to settle down. "We'll work for our keep," he said.

"You've already shown us that," Ezekial said. "You're more than welcome to bunk with us."

There was plenty to do as the families worked at putting things in order for the winter. The women were canning fruits and vegetables; cows were being brought in from the far pastures and for the time being kept in outside corrals. When the snow deepened, they'd be sheltered inside. The blacksmith was putting new shoes on horses needing them; there was tack to be repaired; fences checked for damage. And wood to be chopped. Lots of wood. While Curry went to help Ezekial fix the damaged fence, Heyes joined a team of men heading into the forest to cut down trees.

It was hard, muscle straining work, but Heyes found himself enjoying himself. It was good to be doing some productive where he didn't have to keep an eye out for danger. He wasn't wearing his gun, and that, too, felt good; not having the weight of the weapon banging against his leg. They'd just about filled the wagon with timber that would need to be chopped into firewood when they heard the sound of horses coming towards them. Heyes cast a wary look at the three men who rode into the clearing.

"That ain't your tree to be taking," the younger of the three said with a sneer. He looked to be around twenty, with shaggy brown hair, a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once; thin lips bared crooked teeth. His companions looked like they spent most of their lives outdoors, with leathery skin and rough beards; they sat their horses as if they were welded together; they wore chaps and leather boots. All carried handguns.

William, the most senior member of the cutting crew, stepped forward and removed his hat to wipe the sweat off his forehead. "You're mistaken," he said evenly. "Our holdings extend up to Jackson Creek."

"Says who?" the young man asked belligerently. "This is open land."

"We have papers from the territorial government," William replied.

"We!" The word came out with a snort. "You damn Quakers. You just take what you want. You never fight for it like men. Hell, you ain't even carrying weapons." His eyes flickered over the other men, pausing when he spotted Heyes.

"YOU know how to shoot, don't'cha? I saw you out in the pasture shootin' up a storm." His eyes narrowed. "Don't see no gun today."

"I don't need a gun. I'm chopping wood." Heyes kept his tone neutral, but his eyes were darkening in annoyance at the arrogant young man threatening peaceful people.

"Tough guy, ain't you," one of the young man's companions said.

Heyes ignored him, watching the young man's hand twitching towards his sidearm. When he pulled it from his holster, the two other riders did the same.

"Now you men just take off all that lumber you've loaded. It ain't yours to have. We'll send our own crew to pick it up. "

"Please," William said. "Our families need the wood for the winter. There are plenty of trees on this land."

"I ain't askin' you unload the timber," the rider said dismissively. "I'm TELLIN' you to. Now!"

William exchanged defeated looks with the others, and they slowly climbed up on the wagon and began heaving the wood back onto the ground. Heyes took a step toward the riders with the intent of pulling the young man off his horse, but William's hand restrained him. "Please, Joshua. It's not our way."

Suddenly the young man fired a bullet at Heyes' feet. "So jump TO it," he snarled. "Listen to the old coward."

Heyes hesitated, and then relented to Williams' tug on his arm. Slowly he pulled himself up onto the wagon to help the others.

"Who were those men?" he asked William as they rode back to the settlement.

"The leader is Carey Stevens. He's the son of Judd Stevens, who owns a large cattle ranch to the east of us. Our nearest neighbor, I suppose you could say. Carey's been away at school these past years. " William sighed. "We never saw much of him before, but he always seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, being the son of a powerful and wealthy man."

"Why'd his father send him away?"

William shrugged. "I can only tell you what I heard from a merchant in town; that Carey was getting into fights, and his father wanted him to go off and grow up before he hurt someone."

"Nice kid," Heyes muttered. "And now he's back." He thought about what he'd said about watching Heyes and Curry shooting, and frowned. "Is he behind the problems you've been having? Broken fences, fires?"

William nodded. "It looks so. We've lost some cows. Barn doors found open after they'd been closed for the night. Smashed chicken coops. The fire was the most serious thing they've done."

"Looks like it's escalating," Heyes commented. "They trying to push you out?"

William was silent. "It's all foolishness," he murmured, and snapped the reins to speed up the horses as a new flurry of snow began to fall.

The snow developed into the first real storm of winter. Curry had learned some blacksmithing at one town they'd stayed in, so volunteered to help with the shoeing to give him something to do. Heyes was content to sit with a book by the hearth. On Sunday they were invited to join the others for their services.

Neither Heyes nor Curry had ever been to a Quaker service before. They had heard a lot about Quakers; how they never carried weapons and refused to fight; how they wanted to live in harmony with the world around them. They were surprised that there was no pastor to lead the service and no choir to lead the hymns. Instead the community sat quietly, some with eyes closed, others gazing reflectively about them as if engaged in a conversation with themselves. Heyes and Curry looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and then fell into line and tried to just think.

Heyes thought a lot about what to do next. There had always been this goal at the end of the proverbial rainbow: the amnesty. He thought he could put up with just about anything; the lack of a home, the constant moving from town to town and job to job, always watching for danger, never letting down his guard. He could handle all of that, if it meant some day he would have clean slate and a way to make his mark on the world out in the open, not hidden with disguises and false identities.

Now Jake Dugan had kicked over that rainbow's gold. What purpose could he find in the aimlessness of his life?

Heyes sighed and glanced over at his partner. Curry was sound asleep.

When services ended they stepped out into the yard and found Carey and his two companions waiting for them, sitting astride their horses, their hands resting on their side arms.

"Well, well," Carey sneered. "Don't you all look nice in your Sunday best."

The congregation exchanged worried glances before Ezekial stepped towards them. "What can we do for you?" he asked softly. "We prefer not to do business on the Sabbath."

"We ain't here to conduct business, " Carey retorted. "We're here to tell you we've given you enough warnings. It's time for you to make plans to get out of here."

Ezekial stared at him, and Heyes heard the community members murmuring anxiously. "We will not leave our homes. We have a legal right to be here."

Carey spat at the ground. "Legal right! Forget legal right. My cattle need this valley. We're growing, adding to our herds. We need room to spread out, and this valley fits the ticket."

"It may 'fit the ticket'," Ezekial said, carefully weighing his words. "But this land is ours. We've worked hard to make it what it is, and we are not going to leave."

Carey nodded to one of his companions, who dismounted and walked over to a small boy and pulled him into his arms. The boy's mother screamed. "Please! Don't hurt him!"

Heyes had never felt so helpless. His weapon was in a cupboard inside the farmhouse. He had no means to stop the unfolding nightmare.

Ezekial and some other men lunged toward the saddle hands, but were stopped when they were suddenly faced with drawn weapons. "We keep this kid until we see your wagons heading out of the valley. Once you're gone, we'll tell you where you can get him back."

"You can't do that!" the boy's father cried. "Please, he's my son!"

"Who's gonna stop us?" Carey snapped.

For a long moment the worshipers were stunned into silence. Then a cold voice cut through the winter air. "I reckon I will."

Kid Curry was standing off to the side, his gun belt tied to his side. Heyes realized that Curry had used the confusion of the face-off to sneak unnoticed into the kitchen and retrieve his weapon. Now the Kid cut a deadly picture, his blue eyes colder than the winter sky as he stood alertly with his right hand near his gun.

Carey laughed. "Big tough gunfighter, hiding here with the chickens!" He slowly dismounted, and turned to face the Kid.

"Just let the boy be and ride out of here. No reason for shooting," Curry said.

"Reason a plenty," Carey replied. "I saw you shootin'. You may think you're pretty fast. Well I reckon you've just met your match."

"Just let the boy go and nobody needs to get hurt."

"Please," Ezekial begged. "We want no shooting here."

Carey ignored him, and faced off several feet from Curry.

"Don't do it," Kid said, but the words had barely left his mouth when Carey reached for his weapon. Kid's gun was in his hand firing before anyone saw him move. Heyes let out his breath as the gun retort died away and his cousin was still standing there. Carey was standing as well, staring in shock at his gun and holster, which Curry's bullet had severed from his belt.

Kid look at the two other riders, his gun still in his hand. "Am I gonna have any trouble with you boys?"

The men stared at him in disbelief, and the man who had taken the boy handed him shakily back to his mother. "No sir," they murmured. "We was just doin' what we was paid to do."

"Then you do THIS. You saddle up and get out of this valley. Don't come back threatening these people again."

Carey started to reach for his gun, but stopped when Heyes stepped over and retrieved it. "You won't be needing this," Heyes said dismissively.

Carey started to say something but thought better of it. He mounted his horse and dug his heels into its sides. "This ain't over!" he called, and galloped out of the yard, followed by his companions.

Ezekial was shaking his head sadly. "Where did this anger come from?" he asked no one in particular. "We are people of peace."

"Well," Curry said kindly, "that you may be. But this ain't a peaceful land."

Ezekial was not to be deterred. "Perhaps it would be if men didn't carry guns."

That night Heyes and Curry approached Ezekial in the kitchen, where he was helping Marta stack the jars she'd finished canning.

"You've been very generous letting us stay here," Heyes began. "But we know our guns bother you, and you'd prefer they not be in the house."

"That's true," Ezekial said, exchanging a look with his wife. "But you have been of great service to the community. We are grateful. Especially for today. I don't know how we could have gotten the boy back without going into town and bringing in the sheriff. And by then it could have been too late."

Curry nodded. "We know you think we should be moving on. But we hate to leave when you folks are still in danger. I don't think you've seen the last of Carey Stevens."

"We'll speak to his father. And the sheriff, if necessary. You can't feel obligated to stay here as our protection." Ezekial wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. "Who are you, really? I've never seen a man pull a gun so fast."

Heyes and Curry looked into Ezekial's honest face, and then at each other, sharing an understanding. "I'm Hannibal Heyes, and he's Kid Curry. We used to rob banks." He went on to explain their hopes for amnesty, which were ruined by the showdown with Jack Dugan.

"So what will you do now?" Marta asked softly. "You don't seem like dangerous outlaws any more."

Curry smiled. "Thank you, ma'am. As to what we're going to do, we haven't figured it out exactly."

"Perhaps you could give up those guns and find some peace."

"We'd like to, Ma'am. But we need'em for protection. Unfortunately we're wanted dead or alive. Maybe someday."

Marta wiped a tear from her eye. "I'll pray for that day. We all will."

"In the meantime, we'll have to leave Wyoming," Heyes said. "Too many people are looking for us. We might try California. We have a friend in San Francisco."

"But you'll always be on the run. That seems such a waste."

"It's that, or turn ourselves in," Curry said. "And I'm not generous enough to give Wyoming's prison the gift of my presence for twenty years." He smiled tightly.

"It looks like we're in for a spell of clear weather," Heyes said. "Best we head out in the morning."

They were saddling up and packing the sandwiches Marta insisted they take with them when they heard a wagon clattering up the road.

"Well, I'll be," said Ezekial. "It's Judd Stevens!"

Stevens was riding on horseback next to a wagon loaded with timber. He was a powerfully built man with a shock of white hair and a bushy moustache. The handshake he offered them after he dismounted was that of a man who worked hard for a living.

"This is your timber," he said abruptly. "I learned what happened when I saw my son slink home with a holster missing from his belt. He told me what he'd been up to." Stevens shook his head. "I don't know what's come over the boy. I sent him away to school because he was always getting into trouble. He came back no smarter, just older and more cock sure of himself. " He looked at Heyes and Curry, eyeing their handguns. "Which of you did the shootin'?"

"Me," Curry admitted.

"Well, I thank you for saving my son's life. Any other man would have done him in. He said you were faster than the wind."

Curry shrugged. "I don't go in for gunfights. Sometimes they're forced on me."

Stevens assessed him shrewdly, glanced over at Heyes, and his eyes narrowed. But he said nothing, turning to the men on the wagon and ordering them to unload wood. "I've sent him off to my brother in Chicago. If he wants to get into trouble there, so be it. But I can't have him bullying peaceful folks like you. I hope we can still be good neighbors?"

Ezekial smiled. "We always have been. I'm glad to see the troubles ending. Winter is harsh enough without new problems."

Heyes and Curry kept to back roads as they wound their way for several days through the mountains, heading south to Colorado. They caught a break with the weather; it stopped snowing, and offered them crisp temperatures and bright blue skies. Heyes sighed as they rode slowly into the little mining town of Granite Hill. "I'm gonna miss this country," he said to the Kid.

Kid smiled. "But maybe not the cold. I've gotten used to our winters down in New Mexico."

Heyes grunted. "Herding cattle. I reckon I've had about enough of that for the near future."

They dismounted outside a wooden building announcing itself as a boarding house, and stretched as they took in the grimy town with its rundown buildings, sagging boardwalks and red painted saloon. "Let's not over-stay our welcome," Heyes said with a grin.

It was too cold for a beer, so when they shinnied up to the bar they both ordered whiskey. Kid looked around the room scattered with chipped wooden tables and spilt beer on the floor, but didn't see anyone he recognized. They decided to stop at one drink and get settled in for what promised to be an uncomfortable night on a sagging mattress and a room stinking of cigar smoke.

"I was just thinkin', Curry said idly as they stepped out onto the street. "I wonder what old Dugan is gonna think when he discovers I'm not dead and you're not in jail?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

The partners froze. It couldn't be!

"Hand's up, and no foolishness." Slowly, they obeyed. Sure enough, a very angry Jack Dugan was standing on the boardwalk, a gun in his hand. "I been ridin' for weeks looking for you two after I learned what happened. You cheated me of my reward money, and I'm taking it back. And since you're wanted dead or alive…."

He grinned maliciously as he slowly cocked the trigger. Until a man stepped out of a doorway and pointed a gun next to his head. Lom Trevors.

"Finger off the trigger," he ordered. Dugan froze, and uncocked the gun.

Heyes felt his mouth drop open. "Lom? What….?"

Lom concentrated on taking Dugan's gun from him, then glanced over at Heyes and Curry. "Go ahead and drop your arms, boys. I ain't gonna shoot you."

"I don't get it," Curry confessed. "How could both of you be in the same place?"

"I knew Dugan would go gunning for you. So I trailed him. He wasn't hard to follow. He's used to hunting people, not the other way around."

"Sheriff!" Dugan exploded, "these are wanted criminals. I claim my right."

"Shut up, Dugan. You ain't got no rights. I'm arresting you for the shooting of a man back in Dry Creek."

"I ain't never been in Dry Creek!" Dugan protested.

"Well, I got witnesses say you was." Lom pulled Dugan's hands behind him and fastened them with a pair of handcuffs.

"You two stay put," he ordered Heyes and Curry. "We gotta talk." He pushed Dugan none-too-gently down the street to the marshal's office.

The boys blinked wordlessly, exchanging baffled looks. In a few moments Lom was back.

"Was he ever in Dry Creek?" asked Heyes skeptically.

Lom grinned. "Nope. But it'll keep him out of your way for awhile."

"Ain't he demanding you arrest us?"

"Sure he is. But who's that fool marshal gonna believe? A bounty hunter, or a representative of the law?" He glanced around at the street. "C'mon, let's go somewhere and talk." He led the way down an alleyway to where the town ended up in a field.

Heyes lost patience. "Well okay, Lom. You got us. So what's going on?"

He didn't answer immediately. "I hear you've been livin' with a religious community." He chuckled. "If that don't beat all."

"How'd you know that?" Curry and Heyes were genuinely puzzled.

"Well, boys, because they wrote a very nice letter to the governor. All of them signed it. Related what happened up there. How you came to their aid and saved a little boy." The partners exchanged surprised looks. "And then this rich rancher fellow….some man named Stevens… also wrote a very nice letter. Told the governor how Kid Curry saved his son's life."

"Uh….Lom." Curry found himself suddenly at a loss for words.

"So here's the result. Your amnesty is back on." Lom slapped them across the shoulders. " It seems you, Kid, can't be blamed for being shot at. And Heyes never actually pulled a trigger. So the Governor decided no harm done. Congratulations!"

The partners burst into wide grins. "No kidding? Did the governor say how much longer we have to wait?"

Lom chuckled. "Only one miracle at a time, Kid. But ya gotta have faith."

"Oh," Heyes smiled, "we've had some lessons in that lately. Wanta join us for a steak?"

Lom returned the smile. "My pleasure."

Curry gave him a sheepish grin and dug into his vest pocket, pulling out Lom's silver star.

"You seem to have misplaced this," he said contritely. "I know you wouldn't want it to fall into the wrong hands."

All three laughed out loud and together went in search of a hot meal.