The Wrong Hannibal Heyes
An "Alias Smith and Jones" Comedy by Carla Keehn
This story is written for entertainment purposes only, not for profit, and is not meant to infringe on any existing copyrights
Introduction: This story was inspired by my sons while we were watching the Roger Davis episode, "What's In It For Mia," on the Encore Western Channel the other night. Knowing my unwavering devotion to Peter Duel, the boys commented that the episode probably wasn't a favorite of mine because it had "the wrong Hannibal Heyes" in it. I started thinking about that and wondered what would happen if "the wrong Hannibal Heyes" showed up and I had to explain to him why I couldn't use him in a story. I hope that the story will be enjoyed, certainly no offense was intended towards any Roger Davis fan.
The icy fingertips of darkness were all around as the woman crept quietly up the stairs of her home. Coffee cup firmly in hand, she moved softly past a dimly lit bedroom, hoping that the creaking of the stairs wouldn't wake the children.
Safely past her first obstacle, she entered one of the darkened rooms and set the cup down next to the computer keyboard. After switching on the desk lamp, she sat down at the desk and waited while the computer booted into wakefulness. To pass the time, the woman glanced at the gallery of photographs that decorated the walls around her.
Gil Favor . . . Rowdy Yates . . .Wyatt Earp . . . The Lone Ranger . . . Looking at the heroes of her favorite classic television westerns always made the day start off right. Her eyes flickered across the wall again as she tried to sort through the story ideas running through her mind.
Her eyes came to rest on the grouping of photographs at the end of the row.
Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry . . .
Yes . . . she thought with satisfaction. Her two favorite reformed outlaws had been speaking to her quite a bit lately. And it was no wonder. She'd left the two in several bad situations of late. Captivated by the warm brown eyes staring back at her from one of the photographs, the woman remained lost in thought for a moment before forcing her attention back to the computer.
Finally . . . she thought, taking another sip from the cup. After weeks of real life interruptions, she finally had time to work on her stories. She straightened; the word processing file was open. Hands poised at the keyboard, she quickly reread the story, gathered her thoughts and then . . .
"Now hold on a second!" The voice drawled suddenly. "You're not going to use him in the story again, are you?"
She knew who it was before she even looked. A heavy sigh escaped from her lips as she glanced up at the man who had suddenly appeared beside her.
Oh, dear . . . the writer thought fretfully. She could tell by the look on his face that she'd hurt his feelings. Again . . .
"I'm sorry," she replied with as much sincerity as she could muster at that hour of the morning. "Like I told you before, I'm just not sure if you're the right man for this story."
"How do you know whether I'd be right for it or not?" Blond-haired Hannibal Heyes put his foot down defiantly; his jaw set in anger. "You've never given me a chance to prove myself!"
"Well, that's true, but . . ." Her voice trailed off. It was hard to offer an explanation without hurting the man's feelings even more.
In all the years she'd been writing the second Hannibal Heyes was one character that had never once talked to her. Until recently . . .
Now he's here every time I sit down at the keyboard . . . she thought, biting her lip. He's become quite a pest since the Western Channel started running his episodes all the time . . .
She shifted uncomfortably, well aware that his blue eyes were boring into her in expectation of an answer. The fan fiction writer felt her frustration growing. Much as she disliked hurting anyone's feelings, there wasn't any other way to answer the question.
"It's just that . . .I mean . . ." She took a deep breath and met his gaze head on. "I don't know how else to say it except that you're the wrong Hannibal Heyes!"
The wrong Hannibal Heyes . . . She'd thought the words often enough but this was the first time that she'd had the courage to say them out loud.
The second Hannibal Heyes shook his head angrily, his pride wounded once again. "Did you hear what she just said to me?" He muttered to the man that had joined him.
"I don't know what to tell you," Kid Curry replied as he tipped his hat and gave a polite nod to the woman. "Except that you ought to be used to hearing that by now."
The second Hannibal Heyes gave his partner a scathing look. "I knew I could count on your support," he muttered through gritted teeth.
There was silence in the room, a silence broken only by the tick-tock sound of the pendulum from the wall clock. The woman anxiously glanced at the face of the clock. Time was wasting. Figures that the one day that she'd scraped up a couple of hours to do some writing in would be spent defending her choice of characters for a story.
She continued speaking softly. "It's just that I didn't picture you in my mind when I was thinking about this idea. You can't force a place for yourself in the story. Suppose I make a mess of it and you don't come out looking good? I'd feel terrible if that happened."
"But that's just it," The second Heyes replied grandly. "You won't make a mess of it." His face broke into a pleased grin.
"You mind explainin' that?" Curry asked. "You know if you think about it, she's got a good point there."
"Kid," his partner berated good-naturedly. "The answer's so simple, it's as plain as the nose on your face." He turned on the charm, continuing to smile at the woman. "All you have to do is sit back and let me take over. I'll do all the thinkin' for you. Why, if you do that, the story'll be finished in no time and I bet people will say it's the best one you ever wrote."
The Kid rolled his eyes and gave the second Heyes a long-suffering look. "That's the best you could come up with?" He asked. "You know, I really think the banks and railroads should drop the reward on you – you've lost your touch." He shook his head sadly. "So much for your silver tongue . . ."
The woman sat quietly as they talked, waiting for a chance to jump into the conversation. But before she could find that opportunity, yet another character joined them . . .
"Why don't you leave the poor girl alone and let her get back to her story," a deep voice suddenly interrupted.
Curry gave the second Heyes a nudge with his elbow. "Looks like you just got dealt a losing hand."
"Oh, brother . . ." the second Heyes muttered under his breath. "He sure picked a fine time to show up . . .A few more minutes and I'd a had her seein' things my way."
At that moment, the first Hannibal Heyes stepped forward, smiling broadly at the woman. He pushed back the brim of his hat, giving Curry a nod in greeting. The smile left for a moment and he frowned, his brown eyes becoming stormy in recognition of the second Heyes.
"I'm not tossin' in that hand yet." The second Heyes replied, taking a defiant step towards his rival. "What are YOU doin' here?"
"I've been here the whole time." The first Heyes replied. "I'm kinda surprised to find you here." He gestured towards the photographs on the wall. "I don't remember ever seein' a picture of you hangin' in this room."
The blond haired man scowled at the man's jab.
"He's got you there," Curry added, nodding in agreement.
"That don't mean nothin'," the second Heyes shot back. "She's got pictures that she ain't even hung up yet."
"But none of them are of you," the first Heyes taunted sarcastically. "Come now, admit it, the fan fiction writers have always picked me over you."
"That's not true!" The second Heyes strode back towards the computer. "Tell him – tell him about that idea that you had a couple of weeks ago, that one that had nothin' to do with him!"
"Huh?" the woman replied blankly.
"You remember," the second Heyes continued. "That idea for an alternate ending to 'The Ten Days that Shook Kid Curry.' Why don't you work on that one for a while and leave the other stories alone."
"Well now, she ain't gonna do that," the first Heyes answered. "She's got two stories goin' already that the Kid and me are in a lot of trouble in. Heck, she's even got me burnin' up with fever from a shoulder wound in one of'em – she's gotta finish those before she can even begin to think about writin' about you."
The woman nodded in agreement. "Besides, that one you're talking about was just an idea that fluttered through my mind one day. It wasn't anything definite."
"Fluttered through your mind!" The second Heyes sputtered. "Nothing definite!"
The first Hannibal Heyes shot Curry an amused look. The dark haired outlaw was sounding good and knew it. "Fact is the ladies have always preferred me over you, there's just no way around that."
His rival's words rankled against the second Heyes. The second Heyes' hands balled into fists for a moment. His blue eyes met the dark brown ones that were intently staring back at him from under the brim of his opponent's hat. He'd never considered himself a failure in the romance department but he had to admit that what the first Heyes said was true. Like it or not, he never had been able to win the hearts of the ladies that were attracted to his rival's good looks or measure up in the fans eyes to the brooding intensity that made the first Heyes' legacy so hard to compete with.
"You'd better listen to him," Curry advised, nodding in agreement. "It's always been him and me in her stories. There's no sense in tryin' to change things, not when they're workin' fine just the way they are."
The second Heyes gave his partner a hard look. "That's easy for you to say. You're in the story no matter which one of us she picks."
"And that's my fault?" Curry scoffed. "Besides, it wouldn't be much of story, without me, would it? Everyone knows that it's Hannibal Heyes AND Kid Curry, not plain old Hannibal Heyes, you know."
Humph," the second Heyes said grumpily. It was bad enough having to plead his case with the writer and contend with his rival's presence. And now even Curry was ganging up on him.
Curry continued, giving the second Heyes a reassuring thump on the shoulder. "Besides, I was just tryin' to spare your feelings - there's no point in your hanging around here when there's probably someone else who'd jump at a chance to put you out front in a story."
Maybe the Kid is right. . . the blond haired man reluctantly admitted to himself. Maybe I have been dealt a losing hand . . . at least THIS time . . .
"It's those eyes of his, isn't it," the second Heyes muttered after a long pause, turning back to the woman again. "You just can't get past that, can you."
"Well . . . the eyes . . . and the smile . . ."she admitted shyly.
The second Heyes glared at his rival for a long moment.
The ticking of the clock suddenly seemed louder to her. The woman looked at the three men and began pleading with them.
"Please, boys, would all of you just go and let me get back to work?" She gave the second Heyes a pointed look. "I promise that I'll think about what you said and about using you in a story. I just need a little time to work it out."
"Well, whenever you're ready, you just let me know," the second Heyes answered sullenly.
"It's nothing against you," she added, not liking the hurt expression that she read on his face. "Really it isn't . . ." She paused, hoping that the man would see the sense in what she said and not make further trouble. "It's just that I don't feel the same way about you as I do about him. It's just that - -"
Annoyed, the second Heyes cut her off. "I know, I know - I'm the wrong Hannibal Heyes . . ." he finished.
"I told you that you had a losing hand." Curry took the blond haired outlaw by the shoulder. "My advice to you is to quit now."
The second Heyes sighed in defeat. "You're right, I reckon." He thought for a moment and then gave the other two men a polite nod. "But this ain't over yet. I'll be back. You can count on that."
"He never learns, does he," The first Heyes muttered as he watched the man disappear to the folds of darkness that nipped at the corners of the room. "Shame some people have to be thrown out like a sack of bad feed in order to get a point across."
"Go easy on him, Heyes," Curry admonished lightly, shaking his head. "You gotta give him credit for trying. And not giving up, even after all these
years . . ."
Then, a few minutes later, the woman was alone once again. The insistent blinking of the cursor caught her eye, forcing her attention back to the screen.
"Now, where was I . . ." she muttered under her breath. She thought again about the three characters. It bothered her to see the outlaws argue among themselves. Even though she could never have the same affection for the second Heyes that she had for the first one, she hadn't meant to wound the second Heyes' pride.
Maybe if I use him in a story, he'll leave me alone for a while . . .
She glanced around nervously, her eyes darting around the room. And, though she wouldn't want anyone else to know, especially the second Heyes, she had to admit that some of his episodes were fun to watch.
Then, suddenly, a picture began forming in her mind, a picture of a dark haired Hannibal Heyes and blond haired Kid Curry. She smiled; the next scene in her story was beginning to take shape nicely.
Satisfied that, for the moment, her characters would leave her to her musings, the woman straightened in her chair and began typing . . .
The End.