Hannibal Heyes was leaning back comfortably in a straight-backed chair on the porch of the American House Hotel, long legs crossed at the ankles and propped up on the spindled railing. He was smoking a fine cigar, purchased with some of his recent earnings. Despite the gathering dusk, Heyes had a good view of the stage depot, where his partner would be arriving any moment. His initial thought when he'd first read Curry's telegram was that the Kid shouldn't be wasting money on a stage coach ticket, but he had soon softened his opinion. After all, Curry had lost the coin toss back in Red Rock and therefore had wound up taking the longer and more difficult delivery job, and with the less interesting destination. He himself had already had two extra days to enjoy the night life and poker playing Abilene had on offer. Heyes decided magnanimously he would treat Kid to a steak dinner that night to help make up for the disparity.

It was almost dark when the shout went up that the stagecoach was arriving. A small crowd gathered to greet its arrival. Heyes waited patiently for the passengers to disembark. The driver hopped down and opened up the door. The first to clamber out of the vehicle was a tiny old woman, no bigger than a child, but wizened and wrinkled. As the driver helped the woman from the coach and handed her off to a middle-aged man in the crowd whose exclamation of "Mother!" could be heard clearly across the street, Heyes shook his head and thought to himself, must be a pretty young lady in there, too, or there's no way the Kid wouldn't help that old granny climb out.

But as he watched, only male passengers appeared on the footboard one by one. First a young man in cowboy gear, then a middle-aged man in an expensive suit, maybe a banker or lawyer. After that another middle-aged man dressed less formally disembarked, maybe a shopkeeper. Heyes grinned when he recognized the next pair of legs to emerge from the stagecoach. But when they were followed by the rest of Curry, the grin froze on his face. The Kid's hands were bound behind his back! Uh-oh, thought Heyes, staying seated but staring intently, looks like Kid ran into someone who recognized him. Sure enough, after Curry awkwardly jumped down from the stage, unbalanced without the use of his arms, he was followed by a tall, blonde man sporting a tin star on his chest, who dropped lightly to the ground, holding a revolver to his partner's back. Heyes squinted at the lawman. If he recognized Kid, he probably knows me too, he said to himself. Heyes scrutinized the tall frame, the blonde hair, the nondescript features. He knew this guy! But how did he know this guy….? He stood up and leaned casually against the turned porch post, affecting only a vague interest in the spectacle.

A general hubbub spread through the group of townspeople surrounding the stage coach when they realized there had been a prisoner inside. The driver seemed surprised as well, not being privy to whatever events had transpired within the coach as he had perched above them, driving the team of horses. Standing bound but not cowed amidst the growing crowd, Curry scanned the surrounding area. His keen eyes caught his partner's for a fleeting second. No one but Heyes would have noticed the subtle glint of recognition, the silent communication that was both a grim acknowledgment of the situation and a mute plea for rescue.

His returning glance also sent two messages: Don't worry, I'll figure something out.

And: Can't I ever leave you alone without you getting yourself into trouble?