Kid Curry's keen eyes scanned the surrounding red-brown bluffs of Deadline Point as Hannibal Heyes raised his old Schofield revolver into the air and fired the requisite three shots. They waited a minute or two, watching, but none of the outlaw gang appeared and waved them in.

Pursing his lips, Heyes leant on his saddle horn and glanced sideways at his partner. "Either that knot-head Wheat has done away with a lookout here, in which case I've just wasted three bullets, or whoever is on watch is staying outta sight for some reason."

A snort came from under the brim of a brown hat. "My money is on you wastin' three bullets."

"What would he want to go and do a darn fool thing like that for? Not having a lookout at the entrance to the hideout, that's downright crazy!"

"Heyes, this is Wheat we're talkin' about."

"Hmmph!" Heyes shook his head in disgust and nudged his horse forward.

As they rode on in silence through the familiar surroundings of the Devil's Hole canyon both Heyes and Curry experienced a sudden, and totally unexpected, sense of loss. For six years of their lives this isolated and unforgiving landscape had been a place of refuge, of fellowship, celebration and disappointment; a place they had called 'home'. Neither man had realized until now how much they missed its familiarity, not to mention its protection.

Back in their outlawing days it had been so easy to leave the lawmen, bounty hunters and posses searching the surrounding countryside while they and their men vanished through the numerous concealed passageways in the canyon walls to meet up again near these bluffs.

Heyes couldn't recall feeling this way the last couple of times he had been back here, but he assumed it was because this time the Kid was with him. Family made it 'home'.

Coming to a fork in the trail Kid automatically turned his horse to the left while Heyes turned to the right.

"Hey!" called Heyes. "This way."

Kid reined in his horse and looked back over his shoulder. "You forgettin', Heyes? This is the quick route, along the riverbank."

"Not any more, it isn't. We gotta go this way."

"Uh, how come?"

"When I was here last time the Spring rains had been real heavy," explained Heyes, "And they came at exactly the same time as the snowmelt. Washed out the bend and brought down a big rockslide on the far bank near Poacher's Nook. I figure the river has changed course by now so that trail will be washed out. We'd best go this way."

Kid rejoined his partner. "Sheesh! And I thought it was just us that was changin'. Guess the Hole is too."

Twenty minutes later and they could hear the waterfall. After five more they rounded a bend and the hideout came into view.

A loud whistle from a shotgun-toting man stationed atop the waterfall signalled their arrival, prompting several of the gang members to emerge from the bunkhouse. The riders halted by the small creek that crossed the clearing at the centre of the hideout, but they remained in their saddles. Both men knew that, as visitors, they should stay exactly where they were until invited to do otherwise.

Kyle waved his hat as he jogged toward them. "Howdy, Heyes," he chirped through his ever-present wad of tobacco. "Nice ta see ya, Kid."

"Likewise, Kyle."

"Y'all got the telegraph."

"Yeah, thanks for that," said Heyes, sardonically. "Now, what the—"

"You two! Take your guns outta your holsters and give 'em to Kyle," shouted a tall, well-built man sporting a droopy sandy-coloured moustache who had appeared at the door of leader's cabin.

Wheat Carlson took a step forward to stand on the small covered porch. He folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to appear every inch the outlaw leader. Neither Heyes nor Curry thought he succeeded.

"Then ya can get off your horses. We need to talk." Wheat turned and re-entered the cabin.

Heyes raised his eyebrows and gave a wry smile while Kid scowled at having to part with his precious Colt .45. He held out the weapon butt first. Kyle took it somewhat reverently along with Heyes' Schofield.

As the two men dismounted, the rest of the gang gathered round greeting them warmly. Amid the hand shaking and back slapping nobody noticed that Wheat had returned to the cabin door until he cleared his throat, loudly.

Heyes tilted his hat to the back of his head. "Guess we'd better go see what the leader wants to talk to us about, Kid," he said, barely containing his amusement.

Kid said nothing. Surrendering his gun had put him in no mood to tolerate any of Wheat's spurious posturing.

There had never been any doubt in anyone's mind that Wheat Carlson had always coveted the role of leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. For several months before Heyes and Curry had left to try for amnesty Wheat had sought to make things as awkward as possible between Heyes and the rest of the men. He had constantly questioned Heyes' rules, criticized his plans, and put him down at every opportunity.

However, it wasn't until the day of the Columbine train holdup that the men's loyalty had finally wavered. Wheat had declared that he had a better idea than Heyes when it came to opening the Brooker 202 safe and the men had decided, unanimously, to go along with it. Ultimately, his idea had failed but it had gained him a little more respect.

Heyes had, for the most part, ignored Wheat's efforts to supplant him as leader but there had been several occasions when Kid Curry had deemed it necessary to get a little mean, even to the point of drawing his gun, in order to put the man firmly in his place. It hadn't come as much of a surprise to the gunman, therefore, when Wheat had wanted their firearms removed.

Crossing the creek using the two wobbly planks masquerading as a bridge Heyes and the Kid sauntered through the door of the leader's cabin. It looked the same as it had the day they had left, only much dirtier. The table at which Heyes had worked for hours planning every detail of each of their many bank and train robberies was still there, as were the rickety old chairs and the small tapestry-covered couch. The bookshelf on the wall still tilted to the left but was now covered in a thick layer of dust. Heyes doubted that any of the books had been touched in the past year and he vowed to liberate one or two by way of his saddlebags before they rode out.

There was one item of furniture that was new to them. A large dark wood, high-backed chair with ornately carved arms and legs stood next to the fireplace. It dominated the room and this was where Wheat now sat. Hannibal Heyes fought down the urge to laugh out loud.

"Take a seat, boys," Wheat indicated the couch with a magnanimous hand gesture.

Kid flopped down onto the threadbare cushions but Heyes lowered himself slowly, looking around. "Like what you've done with the place, Wheat," he said, nodding appreciatively, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

Wheat's eyes narrowed. He knew little had changed since Heyes had left.

Heyes didn't give Wheat time to work it out. "Got any coffee?"

"Oh, oh yeah. Sure." Wheat replied hurriedly, almost leaping out of his chair.

Heyes held up a hand. "It's okay, Wheat. You stay where you are. I'll get it."

Moving toward the fireplace he picked up two cups from the roughly hewn plank that served as a mantelpiece and half filled each of them from the coffee pot balanced precariously on the edge of the fire. Heyes handed one to a still stony-faced Kid Curry before taking a mouthful from the other and nonchalantly leaning one arm against the fireplace, his customary pose when he was leader.

Wheat gave him a hard look.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Did you want one?" His partner's feigned surprise and apology almost brought a smile to the Kid's lips.

Wheat's brow furrowed. "Sit down, Heyes." His tone not as inviting as before.

Hannibal Heyes' left dimple began to put in an appearance as he dropped into the seat, casually resting his right boot on his left knee.

"Now Wheat, what's all this about?" he demanded. "Getting Lom to send us a telegraph!"

"Boys, I'd a sent Kyle or Lobo to get ya but...well, y'all don't keep in touch now you're goin' straight. How's that workin' out by the way?"

"It's a lot like bein' on the dodge, Wheat — only with hotel beds," said Kid, acidly.

Wheat ignored Kid's remark and continued. "A friend of yours came a-visitin'. Says he needs you two to help him out, real urgent like."

Kid swallowed a mouthful of coffee and grumbled. "Yeah, that's what the telegraph said. Why don't ya try tellin' us somethin' we don't already know?"

"I was just gettin' to it, Kid. Sheesh! See this goin' straight ain't improved your temper none."

Curry's icy stare hit with full force and Wheat shifted uncomfortably in his grand chair. Even disarmed, the gunman could still unnerve him.

Heyes shook his head and frowned. "Can't guess who that could be, Wheat. We don't have many friends...,"

Wheat ducked his head. "Pfftt. Can't say I'm surprised," he sniped under his breath.

"...except for Lom, Clem, Soapy..."

"Silky, Georgie, Big Mac McCreedy..." Kid chimed in.

"... Jessie and Belle Jordan..." added Heyes.

"...and their two girls, Beth and Bridget..."

"... we can't leave out good ol' Harry Briscoe," Heyes looked at Kid. The Kid nodded in agreement. "And then there's—"

"He rode in here 'bout a week ago, bold as brass," interrupted Wheat loudly. "Didn't take to him comin' in here demandin' to see ya. A body shouldn't just come ridin' in uninvited, friend or no friend. You should know that."

Heyes' eyes darkened a little and his tone hardened at the inference that he didn't know the rules — rules that he himself had made.

"Tell me," he asked, "How long has it been since you stopped posting a lookout over at Deadline Point? Our 'friend' wouldn't have been able to 'just ride in' if you'd had someone on watch. Me and the Kid gave the signal but there was nobody up there to hear it. So, when you think about it, Wheat," he shrugged, "We just 'rode right in' too. That's no way to run a hideout!"

"That's my business, Heyes, not yours." Wheat stated, haughtily.

"So, where is this friend of ours?" asked Kid.

"Got him locked up in the old shack where he can't cause no trouble. Figured that was the best place for him 'til y'all got here."

"You've had him locked up all this time?" Heyes glanced uncomfortably at Kid.

If Wheat had locked up Big Jim Santana someone was going to pay — possibly with their life — or at the very least get a sore jaw, once he was freed. Having experienced the full force of Big Jim Santana's fist in the not too distant past Heyes certainly didn't plan on having that dubious pleasure again anytime soon.

"Sure have. I'll show ya." Wheat rose from his grand chair and walked outside. Heyes and Curry heard his footsteps leave the porch, caught each other's eye and remained on the couch sipping their coffee.

Seconds later Wheat reappeared in the doorway. He glared at the two men and jerked his head indicating that they should follow before striding off again.

Heyes smirked and stood up. "C'mon, Kid. It's time to find out why Big Jim's here."

The former leaders caught up with Wheat at the tumbledown shack next to the bunkhouse.

"Is he loose in there?" Heyes asked.

"Course not! I ain't stupid!"

Kid Curry glanced down at Wheat's gun. His holster was feeling unnaturally light and he was wishing he had demanded his own gun back before they left the cabin. The thought of putting his faith in Wheat Carlson to provide protection was not a move he considered 'smart'.

Eyeing the door Heyes took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and straightened his hat. "Okay, Wheat, open her up."

Wheat pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it into the rusty padlock. He pushed the door open a fraction and stood back. In the gloom of the shack they could just see a man's feet tied to a chair. Hinges creaked in protest as Heyes tentatively opened the door a little wider. Daylight flooded into the dark interior.

Both he and the Kid stared in amazement before saying in unison, "Jim Stokely!"