A shorter version of this story was originally posted on another board for a challenge featuring real historical people, events, and places. This will be a much expanded, multiple chapter, version of the original with new events and more detail. This first part is pretty close to the original posted story, with a few details added. The next part will introduce more changes.

His Office

"We'll get there sometime, Murray," said Karen from the driver's seat of her Jeep, addressing the cat in a carrier. "Maybe we haven't gone far enough yet. Wish I had a working GPS, but you know it gave up outside St. Louis."

In his mournful voice, Murray said, "Mrow."

"I know, you want to get out," said Karen. "Me, too. I've been driving all day." She looked along the Colorado highway for a place where a cat might be able to take a few steps and relieve himself in safety.

Karen cried, "Look! There's an historical marker. There's even a tree or two to shade you from all this blazing afternoon sun. Let's go!" She pulled in near the metal sign.

"Mrow."

"Yeah, yeah. But let me take a look at the marker while you go." Karen got Murray out of his carrier and into his harness. She opened the door of the Jeep and he jumped out. He sniffed around with delicate, feline care. Karen waited impatiently. "Come on, come on, let me read the sign. Well, if you must pee on the sign post."

"Curry Gulch. I never heard of an historical marker for a gulch before. It says – let me read, you disrespectful beast. This is history! 'Kid Curry's horse, Old Crow, is said to have jumped over this gulch during a desperate chase in 1892 in pursuit of a murderer known as Scarface LaRue. Curry and his partner, Hannibal Heyes, the infamous outlaws, had been granted amnesty in 1891. Curry became the sheriff for Louisville, Colorado.'"

"Gee," said Karen. "Old Crow must have been a champion jumper. Or maybe the gulch has gotten bigger in the last 124 years. Anyhow, it's cool to be in old outlaw country."

A few minutes after getting back on the highway, Karen exclaimed. "There it is, the exit for the University of Colorado." She steered onto the ramp and onto the local road. "Now let's find that house where we'll be staying."

After twenty minutes of wandering through Boulder, distracted by the spectacular mountains looming just outside town, Karen found the unremarkable house in a bland suburb. The key was hidden under a flowerpot. It didn't take long to get Murray's carrier inside and to bring in the luggage.

"I better go check in with the Colorado folks so I can get my files and books put away in my office. Here, let's get you some water and some food and set up your box. There. You alright, old boy?" The big cat rubbed against his mistress's jeans, then padded off to continue exploring his new home. "See you soon, Murray!" called Karen as she went to get back in the Jeep.

Karen drove around campus until she found guest parking. She slung her messenger bag full of books over her shoulder and grabbed a plastic box full of files.

Karen walked uncertainly along one of the paths between the stone buildings and towering trees. A voice behind her said, "Are you lost?"

"Yeah, I'm new here." Karen turned to address a tall, gawky man with a blond ponytail. "Can you help me find Old Main?"

The stranger smiled. "Sure. It's just up that path." He pointed up a steep hill. "It's a big, brick building with a tower over the front door and another over the back. You can't miss it. It was the first building on campus - built in 1876."

Karen smiled back. "Great! Thanks! It'll be nice to have my office in an historical building, since I do history."

"You're an historian?" asked the blond man.

Karen nodded. "Yeah. I'm a pre-doc fellow, finishing up my dissertation."

"What kind of history are you working on?" Asked the man.

Karen explained. "Ancient Sumer. It's in Iraq now. Or part of it is."

The blond man was impressed. "Cool! Or hot, I bet. Why are you writing here, not over there?"

"I was there last year, but it's not real safe over there, as I bet you know. The digging is done, and analyzing the material. I just need a place where I can have my books and papers and get some peace to write. It's kind of weird that I'm here in the middle of so much old West history and I don't know anything about it. But they gave me an office here and funding. What about you? Are you a professor?"

The blonde man grinned. "Aw, no. Just a PhD student. I'm in mathematics. I'm Wen." He extended a slender, tanned hand.

"Hi! I'm Karen. See you around. I better go and find my office and start moving my stuff in. There's a lot of it. Thanks for the directions."

"Sure. See you!"

Karen strode up the hill. Once she got past a hedge, she realized Wen was right. You really couldn't miss the cocky old West magnificence of Old Main.

Karen steadied the strap of her bag on her shoulder and got a good grip on her box of files, then scaled the precipitous stone stairs up to the showy front doors with their Gothic arch.

Inside, she found polished wood floors and a grand staircase. Overhead were glass and brass chandeliers that looked as if they had once been illuminated by gas. "Wow, great Victorian interior!" Exclaimed Karen.

A middle-aged woman in jeans walked out of one of the white painted wood doors leading off the hall. "Thank you! Hello!" She said with a friendly smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Hi!" Said the newcomer. "I'm Karen, the new Williams Foundation Fellow."

"Ah, good. You got here safely. It must have been a long drive from Pennsylvania. Welcome to the University of Colorado! I'm Alice McCall. You know - the fellowship coordinator."

"Oh, yes. Glad to meet you, Ms. McCall, after emailing back and forth do much." The two women shook hands.

"Thanks! Your work sounds fascinating! Call me Alice."

Karen grinned. "Thank you, Alice. What a neat old building! So it was built in 1876?"

Alice nodded. "That's right. When Old Main was built, there was nothing here but grass and wind. In fact, the wind blew out some of the windows before the architects knew what they were dealing with. When you have time, you'll have to go up to the Heritage Center on the third floor. There are some very colorful pictures and the staff are great."

"Cool!" Said Karen, "I'd love to see it. But first, I've got a bunch of books and file boxes to put in my office."

"Of course," Said Ms. McCall, "I'll get you your key."

"Great," said Karen as she followed the coordinator down the hall to her office.

"Here's your key," said Ms. McCall. "And here's the sheet with your campus ID information so you can get onto our server. You'll find lots of information on the web site, but let me know any questions."

Karen read tag on the key. "Thanks! Room 12. Where is that?"

Alice pointed. "Down the hall to the right. Let me know if I can help you with anything. I've got some work to do and then I'll be locking up."

Karen hurried down the hall, eager to get her things put away before Alice locked up. When she found the room, she put down her file box and dug for her key. Finding it, she looked up. She was taken aback to see, through the glass panel in office door, a man bent over what she thought must be her desk. Karen hurried back down the hall. "Alice! There's a guy in my office. Could I have the wrong room?"

"What?" Alice was surprised. "There's no one in the building except you and me. Or there shouldn't be." She followed Karen back down the hall. "That's your door alright." She knocked on the door and got no answer. Then she borrowed Karen's key and opened the door. "Well there's no one here now. Did you ask the man who he was?"

"No. I just saw him through the . . . Wait a minute, I thought the glass was clear. It's frosted. I couldn't have seen anyone in there. Sorry, Alice. I don't know what I saw." Karen looked through the door. There was no one in the office – just a desk, a rolling chair, a lamp, a bookcase with one book on it, and an old file cabinet.

"Funny," said Alice as Karen began to put her books on the shelves. She spoke uncertainly. "Maybe you saw a reflection in the glass of the guy on that poster on the hall wall behind us."

"Probably," said Karen dubiously. "Oh well, I better hurry and move my boxes so you can lock up and go home."

While Alice went back to her office, Karen went out to get her things.

She was glad to see Wen getting up from a bench where he been studying his smart phone. "Hi again, Karen. You want some help moving your things?" he asked.

"You bet!" Answered the new fellow. "I'll take you out for pizza afterward, if you'll show me a good place."

"It's a deal," Said Wen.

The pair fetched a file box and a tote bag of books each from her car and hiked back up to Old Main. As they got to Karen's new office, her new friend grinned.

"Cool!" Exclaimed Wen. "You got his office!"

"Whose office?" Asked Karen.

Wen's blue eyes shown with enthusiasm as Karen opened the door. "Hannibal Heyes."

Karen was startled. "You're kidding me. Why would an infamous outlaw have an office at a university?"

Wen laughed affably. "You're kidding me! You came to be a fellow at the University of Colorado and you didn't know that Hannibal Heyes taught math here in the 1890s? Why do you think they call us the Outlaws?"

"I thought you were the Buffaloes." Karen sounded skeptical.

"We are, officially. But if you go to a football game this fall, you'll see a lot of fans in black cowboy hats and hear a lot of people yelling 'Stand and deliver!'"

As they fetched the last load of file boxes, Karen said. "I know Curry and Heyes got amnesty in 1891 - I read that on an historical marker. But wouldn't Heyes have needed a graduate degree to teach college?"

Wen knew the story cold. "Oh, yes. He got an MA from Columbia University, using an alias. He was really brilliant, they say. After he and Kid Curry got amnesty, Heyes got a PhD. He taught here for years."

As they put away her things, Karen said, "Um, I had something weird happen earlier. I don't want you to think I'm nuts, but for just a second I thought I saw a guy sitting at the desk, through the glass, before I opened the door. Alice thought I saw the reflection of the poster over there. But the guy in the poster is a blond. The guy I saw had dark hair. And he was bent over a roll-top desk, like in the nineteenth century. It was nothing like the desk that's here now."

Wen's eyes opened wide. He got out his smart phone and clicked a few times. "Here," he said eagerly, holding up the phone for Karen to see a black-and-white picture of a dark-haired man in a high white collar. "Is that him?"

Karen stared at the picture. "Maybe. Hard to tell. Good looking like that, anyhow. But this picture is a three-quarter view. The guy I saw was in profile."

"Which side?" Asked Wen avidly.

"The right." Karen didn't hesitate.

"Damn! So you couldn't see the dimple or the scars." Wen sounded frustrated.

The new fellow suddenly realized what Wen meant. "You're talking about Hannibal Heyes?"

Wen nodded. "It's been years since anybody saw him. I've always hoped I would. My great-great grand uncle was Everett Carter, one of Heyes' best friends."

"Your uncle was a western outlaw?" Karen asked in disbelief.

Wen laughed. "Nah. He was a math teacher from Long Island. They met at Columbia University. Of course, my Uncle Ev died long before I was born, or even my father."

Karen looked around uneasily at the small office with its dark wood trim. "But seriously, you mean my office is haunted?"

Wen nodded. "Well, at least it used to be. Nobody's seen Heyes for years. Maybe he's back. Are you afraid of ghosts?"

Karen said, "Yes. Or, I thought I would be. But the guy I saw wasn't scary. He seemed nice. But let's go get that pizza. I'm starved!"

The two grad students sat at a sidewalk table in front of the pizza place. Karen asked, "So, when people saw the ghost of Hannibal Heyes, what did he do?"

Wen finished a bite of pepperoni pizza. "Nothing bad, don't worry. What I heard was he just showed up here and there."

"Where do you mean, here and there?" Karen asked.

Wen explained, "On campus, over in the coal town of Louisville where he and his partner lived and ran a hotel after they got amnesty, and out at Heyes Castle."

"Heyes Castle?" Karen asked, puzzled.

"A big, rambling old house he built for his family. It's still there, in the Flatirons, just a few miles from here."

Karen was interested. "Wow! Have you been there?"

Wen said, "No. It's been closed up since I've been here, and it's on private property. Still belongs to the Heyes family, I guess. You want to see it?"

"Maybe. Or not. Gosh, I might have to avoid working late, unless I want company." The two laughed.

"Has anyone ever seen Kid Curry's ghost?" Asked Karen.

Wen answered, "Yes. People have said they saw him riding around Louisville, with his partner, usually. But that was a long time ago. I don't know details."

The new fellow asked, "Is there an historical society in Louisville?"

"Yes. You want to go over there next weekend?" Wen suggested, trying not to sound too excited. But the sparkle in his grey eyes gave him away.

Now Karen sounded a little shy. "Yeah. But don't tell them I saw Heyes. If I did. Most historians don't take ghost sightings too seriously."

"What do you mean, if you did? Who else would you see sitting at a roll top desk in Hannibal Heyes' office?"

The early part of Karen's first week at U.C. was taken up with administrative things – getting an ID and a library card and so on. Then she added a few pages to her dissertation. Her only outlaw investigations took place in the evenings, as she combed the internet for whatever she could find on Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry and their time around Boulder and Louisville.

On Friday, she remembered the anonymous book that had been lying on a shelf when she had arrived in her office. She found it between two of her own books. The gold letting had worn off the spine until it was illegible. Karen opened the antique volume cautiously. The title page read, "A Study in Applied Mathematics, Professor Charles Hawthorne Homer, PhD." It had been published in 1883. There was an inscription inside the cover. In spidery writing in fading brown ink, it said, "To Professor H. Joshua Heyes, with affection. I hope you will soon replace this old text with your own. Good luck in Colorado. Charlie. August 25, 1891."

Karen felt she could practically see Professor Homer presenting the volume to his young protégé, filled with hope for a future that was now over a century in the past. It struck her how that promising future had come and gone as the handsome young Professor Heyes had grown grey in this very room. Had he been happy here? Would anyone any longer know, or care? She remembered a quote from one of the Laura Ingalls books. The little girl had said, "Now is now. It can never be a long time ago." Karen reached for a tissue.

With those those thoughts playing in her mind, Karen climbed the grand stairs up to the third floor of Old Main. A grey-haired lady at a desk said, "Welcome to the Heritage Center. Have you been here before?"

"No. I just started as a fellow. I'm in office 12. I thought I should come up and learn some more about my predecessor there," said Karen.

The lady behind the desk smiled. "Ah! Let's see what I can find for you on the subject of Hannibal Heyes."

"Thanks! I'd like that very much. But I have something for you. This book was on my bookcase." Karen held out her find.

The lady, identified by a sign on her desk as Mrs. Richards, opened the cover of the volume and smiled sadly. "Ah, yes. Charlie Homer was like a father to Professor Heyes after they met at Columbia. I haven't seen that book in a long while." She placed it on her desk. "I wish I could show you the references to Professor Homer in the signed copy of the autobiography of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry we had. But it disappeared a couple of months ago. We haven't been able to replace it yet. It's very rare. The unique signed copy would be priceless, at least to us."

"That's awful that somebody took it!" Exclaimed Karen with the fervor of an historian protecting her nation's heritage.

"Yes. But we do have some pictures." Mrs. Richards pointed to a reproduction on the wall among other images of the college's early years. It was the same picture Wen had shown to Karen on his smart phone. "This was taken for a newspaper story in 1891. Wasn't he a handsome devil?"

"He sure was!"

Mrs. Richards stepped into an exhibition about the local nineteenth-century photographer Rocky Mountain Joe. "And here he is, pretending to have a gunfight with his partner, hamming it up for the camera. They ran a hotel in Louisville called The Hideout. Easterners loved it. Here's a picture."

"Is it still there?" Asked Karen eagerly. "A friend and I are going over to Louisville this Saturday to visit the historic sites."

"No, I'm afraid not. It burned down in the nineteen twenties. But there's still plenty to see in Louisvile."

Wen and Karen met at Karen's rented house on Saturday morning. "Wow," laughed Wen as he looked around the vinyl tiled kitchen. "All in harvest gold and avocado green. Right out of the 1970s."

"Yeah, a relic in its own right.," said Karen. Her cat appeared and studied Wen, then came close enough for the mathematician to scratch him behind the ears. "Gee, here's Murray. He seems to like you."

"Is that rare?" Asked Wen.

"Sort of. Let's go."

They drove to Louisville in Karen's Jeep. They parked by the false fronted store that housed the Louisville Historical Museum. A lady was starting a tour just as they arrived, so Wen and Karen joined up with three families and their many children. They started in a neighboring building with a model of the historical town. Some devoted history buff had made it with every detail, right down to the red-brown coal mine dust in the streets. The group listened politely as the guide pointed out the railroad tracks, the saloons, the mercantile, and the bank. Soon the children were getting restless.

"Where's the Hideout?" Asked Karen.

"Ah, the hotel run by Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes, the famous outlaws, after they got amnesty," said the guide. The guide had their rapt attention again. She pointed at a large building near the center of the model. "It's here on Main Street. It was a sensation with eastern tourists, as you can imagine. And there's the jail where Kid Curry was sheriff, down on Front Street by the railroad tracks. He had a gunfight with the Green River Kid right there in the street – shot his trigger finger clean off!" That fetched oohs and ahhs and shrieks from the children. "And here's Christy's Place, the saloon Kid Curry and his wife had before they bought the Hideout."

"Are any of those places still here?" Asked Karen.

"Not the hotel or the saloon, though there is a saloon that's a little younger that you can visit. It's a restaurant now called 740 Front, because of the address. But the jail has been reconstructed to be like it was when Kid Curry was sheriff there in the 1890s."

"Wow! Can we go there?" Asked a little boy wearing a cowboy hat.

The guide said, "Yes. But first, there's something here in the historical museum that you should see."

She led them back to the Main building. They went past displays on the local coal mines. High in the back was a glass case. It held two aged cowboy hats, one black, and one brown. "There they are," said the guide in awe-struck tones. "The real hats Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes wore when they were outlaws."

"Ooh!" Whispered the children. "Wow!"

"Is that Kid Curry's hat with the hole in it?" Piped up a boy. "The black one with the silver things on it?"

"No," said the guide. "That's Hannibal Heyes' hat. He was the gang leader. He got shot in the head by a murderer. He nearly died." The children loved that, but Karen found herself taking Wen's hand. Neither one of them liked to think of their hero being so badly hurt. Wen didn't seem to mind her hand at all. He put his arm around Karen's shoulder. She didn't mind his arm, either.

After that the whole group walked to the historic recreation jail. They all looked at the sheriff's desk and saw a reproduction of his tin badge. They looked at the stark jail cells and a rack of rifles. "Hannibal Heyes picked a lot of jail cell door locks!" Crowed the guide. The boys were going wild, pulling pretend guns on each other and teasing the girls for being scared. Wen and Karen left while the guide was taking the group to see an historic house from the turn of the century.

They went toward Front Street. They lingered on the sidewalk in front of where Christy's Place had been, but there was a chic boutique there now. No historic atmosphere remained.

They went to eat at the 740 Front Saloon, which was cleaned up a great deal from its saloon days, though the carved wooden bar was well worth a look. The pair sat there.

The bartender told them, "The coal miners came in here a lot in the old days. Some of the mine entrances were right here in town close enough to walk to. That gutter down on the floor at the front of the bar that's glassed over now, used to have water it. Men used it for a giant spittoon." He winked. "And maybe other liquids went in there, too."

Wen and Karen laughed and looked down with distate.

When the bartender turned away, the conversation turned back to the day's Historical visit.

"I don't know why I'm disappointed," muttered Wen. "I wasn't expecting Kid Curry's ghost to come out and frighten all the kids or something."

"Of course not. But still, I know what you mean," said Karen. "You go to the actual place right where they were and you expect some real connection. Like I had for just a second there in my office. And I didn't even know who he was until you told me. Having all those strangers around today made it impossible to really connect. But we did get to see their real hats, with the hole where poor Heyes was shot. So dusty and faded, now. It reminds me of how long ago they lived, even if it was right here."

Wen took a sip of beer. "So, what's next, historian? I think our ghost hunt's just beginning."

"Yeah," said Karen. "I want to get closer."

Wen leaned forward and gave his new friend a kiss.

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This story was inspired by a trip I made to Boulder and Louisville in the fall of 2016. Old Main and the Heritage Center there are real and just as I have described them. Rocky Mountain Joe, the historic Boulder photographer, was real and I saw his exhibition at the Heritage Center. Of course, since Hannibal Heyes never taught at the University of Colorado, the school's teams are not not called the Outlaws and no one at games wears black cowboy hats or shouts "Stand and deliver!" Don't you wish it was so? The Louisville Historical Society is real and just as described, except that they don't have an 1890s sheriff's office or the hats of those two infamous outlaws. 740 Front is very real and a great place to eat. The people mentioned in the twenty-first century are all fictional, as are the ones from the nineteenth century other than Rocky Mountain Joe. But the real people I met were wonderful and very helpful. Many thanks go to them. I am now a member of the Louisville Historical Museum and enjoy getting their newsletter.