Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.
Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Can be considered a sequel to Kid Plans, but should also stand alone.
Tintypes
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Heyes started to relax by the time the two former outlaws got past Hanford. Springtime in the Rocky Mountains was beautiful. Sunshine, blue skies, birds twittering about and the fact that no one was chasing after them and shooting at them tended to make everything look a little brighter. If only Kid would quit nagging.
"Clem was never happy with us being on the wrong side of the law," said Kid. "We should tell her about the amnesty."
"Kid we can't tell Clem," repeated Heyes for the third time this morning.
Clem didn't approve of their outlawing ways. They had both heard her tell them crime doesn't pay more than once. Heyes had once responded back that honest work didn't pay either. His ears still hurt to remember Clem's answering tirade.
"We've got to tell her something," continued his partner. "Clem knows we wouldn't be going back to Texas without a real good reason."
Heyes raised his eyebrow at that comment. The mastermind had wondered if Clem had ever told Kid that she agreed with Heyes' reasons for getting Kid out of Texas so many years ago. Her comment, doing the wrong things for the right reasons doesn't make it right… still made Heyes squirm to remember.
"You know Kid," cajoled Heyes, "if there's anything you want to tell me about what happened in Amarillo, or Waco, or San Angelo, or…"
Heyes still didn't know enough about Kid's time in Texas to feel entirely comfortable, but it had been almost ten years. Going back to Texas should be safe enough now, right?
"Ain't nuthin' to tell," snapped Kid.
Well, at least that kept the blond quiet for almost an hour. When they stopped by a gurgling stream to rest their horses and themselves, Kid started again.
"In case she needs to reach us, she should know what names we're using," said Kid. He squatted down and began to build a small fire. "After all, she's the first person who ever called us Joshua and Thaddeus."
"Yeah," replied Heyes with a dimpled smirk as he opened the nearest saddlebag and withdrew the dented coffee pot, "but we were Hales then. I'm not so sure if Clem's gonna like Smith and Jones."
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It had been late evening when Heyes and Kid arrived at Clem's the Tuesday before Thanksgiving eight years ago. Both outlaws were tired and travel worn, and Kid's shoulder was aching. Clem had taken one look at the blond's pale face and gone into full out mother hen mode.
"You both need hot baths!" ordered Clem.
Kid stabled the horses while Heyes manned the pump. Heavy pots were soon filled and set to heating atop the cast iron stove when a buggy pulled into the front yard. Clem gave a small groan as she peaked through the curtains at the new arrival.
"It's too late to have you boys hide out in the pantry," sighed Clem. "Just go along with me."
"Go along?" asked Heyes in consternation. "What do you mean?"
"Sssh," hissed Clem.
Heyes and Kid exchanged a glance. Kid gave a shrug. Footsteps sounded on the front porch and then a heavy handed knock rapped on the door. Clem pasted a false smile across her face and opened the door wide.
"Good evening Gladys," greeted Clem effusively. Tiny hugs, and tinier kisses on both cheeks were exchanged between the two women. "How nice to see you. Won't you come in?"
The stout woman stepped inside. Her tailored black dress and matching hat with black beaded lace across the top seemed to indicate the older woman was a widow.
"Boys," continued Clem as she turned to face Curry and Heyes, "this is my neighbor Mrs. Gladys Miller."
"Of the Glendale Miller's," added the pompous woman. One gray bristled eyebrow arched speculatively. "And who are you?"
Heyes started to open his mouth, but Clem spoke first.
"These are my cousins," explained Clem. With a small hand gesture towards first Heyes then Curry, she tilted her pert little nose up and added. "Mr. Joshua Hale and Mr. Thaddeus Hale… of the Connecticut Hales."
Mrs. Miller inhaled sharply. Her eyes narrowed as the nosy woman glanced from Heyes to Kid and back again to Clem. The taller woman looked down imperiously at Clem.
"Not much family resemblance," said Mrs. Miller in a snide tone.
Clem's face reddened with the implication of the woman's words. Behind the brunette, the now steaming pots on the stove began to bubble furiously. Clem smiled ever so sweetly and casually twirled one finger through her long dark hair. Her other hand reached for the tintype next to the oil lamp on the small round table beside her.
"Joshua takes after my father's side of the family," observed Clem softly. "Dark haired, like me."
"Hmmph," sniffed Mrs. Miller.
"Thaddeus takes after the Everett side of the family, my mother's side," continued Clem.
"I do take after my mother, mostly," admitted Kid with a boyish grin.
Clem held the tintype out towards her nosy neighbor. The image of Clem as a six or seven year old girl, laying on her stomach with her elbows on the floor, chin resting on her hands, peered up. Beside Clem, two young men dressed in army uniforms were seated in straight backed chairs. At the rear of the image, Clem's dark haired father stood beaming with paternal pride. A petite, fair haired woman stood at his side.
"Wouldn't Thaddeus have a different last name then?" asked Mrs. Miller with a gloating smile of triumph. The older woman was just looking for a scandal.
"Oh no," objected Clem. Hazel eyes widened and eyelashes fluttered innocently. "Thaddeus and I are double cousins. His mother and my mother were sisters, they both married Hale men."
Mrs. Miller looked askance. Clem sensing victory at last, forged ahead. She dropped her gaze to the uniformed men in the tintype.
"Joshua and Thaddeus are ever so dear to come and stay with me for the Thanksgiving holiday, since my own dear departed brothers aren't able to be here," sighed Clem.
A melancholy sniff sounded from the diminutive woman. Heyes knew Clem had a dramatic flair and was a match for himself when it came to manipulating people, but this scene was no playacting. Clem traced her finger sorrowfully across the faces forever lost. Another little sigh from Clem had Mrs. Miller looking totally abashed. The older woman turned her face away from Clem.
"It's very admirable of you two gentlemen to come visit your cousin," agreed Mrs. Miller. She added speculatively, "Not many people can take time away from work and go travelling all the way from Connecticut to Colorado Territory."
Covering for Clem's silence, Heyes flashed a dimpled smile and stepped in with his own line of blarney.
"Oh no Ma'am," interjected Heyes, oozing charm. "You might say our visit is mixing business with pleasure. Thaddeus and I work for the Colt Firearms Manufacturing Company. Right Thaddeus?"
Kid's blue eyes widened as he realized that he was being prompted to join in the conversation. Clem remained uncharacteristically quiet. The tiny woman placed the tintype back on the nearby table as Kid picked up the thread of conversation.
"No Ma'am," agreed Kid, "No trouble at all. Joshua is in procurement. I provide demonstrations on the practical use and care of our weaponry…"
Kid's talk of the newest Colt gun being manufactured, a single action Army revolver with a revolving cylinder, holding six cartridges, in test trials now, soon had Mrs. Miller's eyes glazing over. If the sudden hiss of hot water spattering on the stove top hadn't reminded everyone of the bath water heating up, the blond might have gone on all night. Mrs. Miller hastily excused herself. Clem leaned her forehead against the door as she shut it behind the busybody.
"I thought we'd never get rid of her," said Clem over the sound of the departing buggy. She turned and flashed a bright smile. "Jed, I've never heard you talk so much before about anything. Boring her was a brilliant idea!"
"What? Boring?" spluttered Kid. The young gunslinger looked affronted at Clem's comment. "What do you mean? The new Colt revolver is gonna be…"
Clem's bottom lip stuck out in a pout. Kid was beginning to frown. The pair looked as if they were getting ready to have a long drawn out argument. Heyes decided it was time to intervene.
"Clem," interrupted Heyes with a smirk, "where did you get those names?"
"What?" asked the petite brunette.
"Thaddeus and Joshua," asked Heyes. "And what's this about the Connecticut Hales? I thought you said your family was from Illinois."
"Yes, my family is from Peoria," agreed Clem with a smile. She walked over to the stove and peered into the closest pot. "Gladys is just so… so… so pretentious sometimes, I wanted her to think you boys were above reproach."
"So biblical first names and a last name that dates back to the revolutionary war," mused Heyes.
"Thaddeus?" asked Kid. "You couldn't come up with anything better than that?"
"Thaddeus is a lovely name," insisted Clem. She gestured toward the pump handle. Kid began to crank it up and down as she explained. "Thaddeus means God's gift, or some people say courageous heart."
Kid continued to look skeptical as he added water to the pots on the stove. Heyes smirked. The dark haired outlaw leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. Clem could be a match for Kid when it came to being stubborn.
"Hmmph," responded Curry. "What does Joshua mean?"
"God is Salvation," answered Clem. "But mainly I picked the name Joshua because he was a strategist and a warrior just like Hannibal of Carthage."
"See there Kid," added Heyes with a broad grin, "brilliant minds…"
"And then of course Joshua has a reputation for tooting his own horn," interrupted Clem with a devilish smirk.
"Hey!" exclaimed the dark haired Kansan.
Behind Clem, the fair haired Kansan hurriedly set the empty water pitcher down. Kid covered his mouth with his hand as he tried somewhat unsuccessfully to hold back his mirth. Clem opened the pantry door and pulled out a large folding privacy screen.
"But it doesn't really matter if you like the names or not. You will just have to answer to Joshua and Thaddeus whenever you visit me," insisted Clem as she set the screen around the bathtub. "After all, I can't really be having Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry come for Thanksgiving dinner, now can I?"
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Kid flexed his fingers in front of the flickering flames. Behind him, the tethered bay leaned down and began cropping the tender green groundcover. Heyes started towards the stream with the empty coffee pot in his hands.
"If Clem doesn't like the names Smith and Jones," responded Kid, "then she can take that up with Lom."
Heyes stopped walking abruptly. He turned to gaze at his partner. Brown eyes stared at Kid until the blond shrugged uncomfortably.
"What?" demanded Kid.
"Do you think Lom told her about the newest wanted posters?" asked Heyes. "Do you?"
Kid sucked in a deep breath as his blue eyes widened in understanding. Clem had come to Wildwood years ago for a visit. In spite of their precautions, during her brief stay the tenacious brunette found a way to meet each of the Devil's Hole gang in person. Heyes and Kid had worried about introducing the young lady to outlaws, but introducing Clem to Sheriff Lom Trevors had actually been more dangerous. Clem and Lom wrote letters too.
"Lom's probably told her," responded Kid slowly. "You know he sends her copies of our wanted posters."
Clem's collection of wanted posters had grown over the years. The reward amount continued to go up. Two hundred fifty dollars, five hundred, a thousand when Midwest Railroad started adding to the bounty, then five thousand when Midland Bank added some more money. Last Fall, the Wells Fargo Bank had upped the bounty again to ten thousand dollars, and added the words dead or alive.
"If we don't want Clem to start with the tears again," continued Kid, "we're gonna have to tell her something."
Brown eyes widened in alarm. Heyes locked his gaze with Kid's blue eyes. His cousin was right. Neither one of them wanted that. In Heyes opinion, Clem in tears was more dangerous than most sheriffs. Tears made two otherwise hardened outlaws do all sorts of stupid things, like sit in front of a photographer.
"Kid, you're right," agreed Heyes. "We're gonna have to tell her something."
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