Beth, Cat, and a package-laden Kid Curry were laughing as they walked along the lower stretch of Fifth Avenue past expensive shops and finely dressed ladies and gentlemen. "You ladies got all you need?" asked Jed Curry hopefully.
"I don't know about what we need, or want - but all we can afford," said Cat. She gave the Kid a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, honey. I'll feel elegant for years to come, pregnant or not."
"I'm done," added Beth. "When Heyes sees the bill for that new dress, I might be done in more ways than one."
"Oh, come on, Beth!" said Cat. "If he wants to complain about one little dress, he's nuts. And besides, you're paying all the bills."
Beth sighed. "I know. That's what drives him crazy. That and being so far in debt because of his clinic bills, schooling, and legal bills. The pressure – knowing all those people who gave him money believe in him and that he has to have a job before he can even start to pay them back –it's just destroying him. But I can't go naked till we pay it off."
"Beth, is Heyes alright?" asked Cat. "Between all our celebrations – the graduation, Jed getting to be a sheriff, and our weddings – it's easy to forget what hard stuff he's up against.
Beth looked grim. "He's really worried, I can't deny it. He's starting on applications already – especially Harvard. He's off picking up transcripts for those applications right now. But it's no worse than what Jed will be facing back in Colorado. Teaching's sure a lot less dangerous than being a sheriff." said Beth.
"I can handle it, Beth. Don't you worry," started Curry. But then he was interrupted.
"Sheriff?" asked a voice from behind the three shoppers. Instantly, the packages were on the sidewalk and Kid Curry had spun around to see the man speaking to him. With his right hand on the grip of a rather poorly hidden pistol, he found himself facing a grizzled man in a worn suit and a battered straw boater.
Realizing that he was reacting like an outlaw on a dusty street out west, not like a regular guy on a sidewalk in New York, Curry felt a bit sheepish. "Yeah?" he said, leaving the bags of clothing sitting on the sidewalk.
The stranger was obviously intimidated by the intense gaze of those famous icy blue eye, even if he didn't know whose they were. "Um. So that was you putting on that shooting demonstration at Buffalo Bill's show the other day, wasn't it?" The man's accent combined New York and someplace much farther west.
"Yeah," said Curry with nearly as much question in his voice. He relaxed some, but remained on his guard.
"Impressive!" said the stranger. "Haven't seen shooting like that since I left Wyoming Territory a lot of years ago. I surely do admire your skill. Pardon me for disturbing you, sir, ladies. I just wanted to say thanks for the great exhibition." The stranger tipped his hat and studied the man before him. He helped Curry to pick up the packages he had dropped. Fortunately, there was nothing breakable in any of them.
"Thanks," said Curry with a grin. "So you're from Wyoming?" Seeing that the men were likely to be talking for a while, the ladies found a nearby bench and sat down. Curry took a few steps to stay protectively close to them.
There was a far-away look on the stranger's face. "Yeah. I was born near Cheyenne. You, too?"
Curry shook his head. "No, not born there, but spent a lot of years there. Wasn't near Cheyenne, though. Lived out in the middle of no place."
The Wyoming man grinned. "Well, that's most of the territory – or state, these days. What's your name, sheriff?"
Curry tensed out of long habit. "Who's asking?"
The man said, quickly, "Brad Tomlin. I drive a cab. If you don't want to tell me . . ."
The Kid shrugged. "No problem. Name's Curry."
The cabby chuckled. He joked, "The way you shoot, must be a near relative of Kid Curry."
Curry started to laugh. "You could say that."
"Really?" the cabby was impressed. "Too bad him getting thrown in prison. Think he'll ever get out?"
"Just got out. Got amnesty, me and Heyes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Tomlin." Curry reached out to shake the man's hand. "But the ladies and me, we got to be on our way."
The cabby was stunned. "Pardon me, you mean you are Kid Curry?"
"Yeah. Can't keep it from a fellow Wyoming man." The kid winked at the cabby, trying to put him at ease.
Tomlin was in awe. "Wow! No wonder you shoot so good! You guys got out and got amnesty? I haven't seen it in the news, but I'm real glad to hear it."
The Kid was taken aback to have a stranger care about him that way. "Yeah. Ain't hit the papers, yet. Just as glad about that. You ain't press?"
"No, Mr. Curry. Like I said, I drive a cab. Congratulations on the amnesty. And getting the star. Hope things go well for you and your partner. Where is Heyes?"
"My husband is running errands," said Beth. "And we need to go meet him, Mr. Tomlin."
The cab drive tipped his hat again. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Heyes. Best to you and your husband. And Mrs. Curry."
"Thank you," said Beth as she expertly hailed a cab and the three of them climbed in.
"You've got fans, Kid!" grinned Cat as the cab pulled away.
Curry smiled. "Yeah. Who'd have thought? I hope he don't cause trouble. Sure was nice to see a guy from Wyoming. Seems like I've been out east forever."
"Do you miss all those wide open spaces, Jed?" ask Beth.
Jed looked out the cab window at the tall buildings they were passing. "Yeah, I do. Don't get me wrong – I'm real glad to be here with you and Heyes. But it ain't like home." Cat took her husband's hand. She knew well that Curry had not really had a home until he had gotten to Christy's place – which was theirs together now.
Once they had dropped off their purchases at Jed and Cat's hotel and at the Heyes' apartment, the trio went to meet Heyes at a little local deli. He had dropped off his transcripts at the apartment earlier and now had a package with him that contained his gun and holster. "Yeah, I've set up a good afternoon for us, Kid. A lot more fun than either of us had this morning." Cat and Beth pretended to look offended at this, but they understood.
"What's that, Heyes?" The Kid looked skeptical, but his eyes were starting to sparkle. "You said it's fun, but you asked me to bring my Colt. Something dangerous?" Danger and the Kid, of course, were old friends.
Heyes chuckled at Jed. "Not for you, partner. Remember that upper-crusty friend of mine we went riding with in Central Park about two weeks ago, Arthur Wainwright?"
"Course. Snobby, but he can ride. And he likes you for some reason, Heyes. We thought it'd be fun to go out to that shooting range where he practices – show off to those easterners. We never yet got out there. That what you got in mind, Heyes?" The Kid was grinning at the thought.
Heyes winked at his partner. "That's exactly what I've got in mind. We both need to keep in practice, but especially you. How many days has it been now, other than that one load at Buffalo Bill's show?"
The Kid started counting on his fingers, but soon gave it up. "I've lost track, Heyes. Too long. Hope I'm not too rusty to shoot good."
"Let's go find out, Jed, after we drop off the ladies," said Heyes.
"Aw, we don't get to come?" asked Cat in frustration. But she wasn't surprised. "What is it with Easterners? They never want women to do anything fun."
"Well, there are some enjoyable activities we get to participate in, even in New York," said Beth, running a suggestive hand down her husband's shoulder. Heyes smiled and leaned into the caress.
Not much more than an hour later, Heyes and Jed were riding with Wainwright in his surrey into the New Jersey countryside near Manhattan. "I can't wait to see how the guys out at the range react when they see you shoot, Mr. Curry," said Wainwright happily. "They won't believe it."
"Now you're makin' me nervous, Wainwright," said Curry. "It's been weeks since I drew 'cept just six shots at that show. Mostly, I shoot every day that dawns. Now I'm terrible out of practice. There's just no place to shoot in New York and they sure didn't let a prisoner in the Wyoming State Pen have a gun. Least I've kept my Colt clean and oiled, when I could get to it. And Cat did it when I couldn't."
Heyes was planning. "Let's keep the Kid's name from them until after he shoots, alright? I mean, don't lie, Wainwright – just try to duck saying the name. Or the Kid part, anyhow. Nobody ever knows Jedediah Curry. Pardon me, Kid, you know what I mean. But that means you can't give them my real name either, or it'll give it away. We can't legally use our old aliases, but it'll be so much more fun to spring it on them. That is, unless you already told them?"
Wainwright sounded as excited as a little boy. "No, Heyes, I thought it would be more fun to have you guys show up unheralded. But I did just kind of mention that I was going to bring some friends today who were pretty good. Don't want people to miss the show, Mr. Curry."
"Alright, Arthur, alight," sighed Curry. "And just call me Jed, please."
"Sure, Jed. Oh, I can't wait!" Wainwright shook the reins and hurried his horse on his way through the grand gate of the stone-walled sports club.
"Stop worrying, Jed," said Heyes in a low voice. "You could beat any of these guys in your sleep. They think I'm good."
The Kid replied, "You are good, Heyes. You just ain't . . ."
"In your league or anything like it. And never was." Heyes took the greatest pride in his partner's talents.
But the Kid looked down. "Remember that time I was so sick when we'd just joined up with the Holbern bunch? That's the last time I went this long without a gun in my hand, or enough to count. On the job we pulled when I got back, that skinny little deputy outdrew me. If he hadn't just plain missed, I'd have died then and there."
"Kid, you were just a boy then . . . " But the surrey was pulling up at the clubhouse The Kid was going to have to perform or be shamed in front of whoever Wainwright had gotten to come.
"Hello, Bunter!" said Heyes happily to the man in charge of the guns as they got to the lock. "I brought my own Colt today. And this is my friend Jed Curry, who brought his own, too."
"I'll try a Colt today, too," said Wainwright.
The aging British retired Sargent smiled at the enthusiastic young American as he buckled on the gun belt. "I understand some friends of yours are waiting at the range, Mr. Wainwright. Perhaps I had better come along to keep order?"
"And to watch the fun," said Wainwright with a little smile. "Of course."
Bunter was looking curiously at the Kid's carefully customized Colt as they walked out to the outdoor range. When they got out to the range, a dozen young men in suits were waiting for them. Wainwright rattled off their names, but not even Heyes could remember them all. Among them was one older man – a tall, lean, greying man with a scared face and a long, curling mustache. Bunter introduced the man, to the delight of Wainwright's crowd of friends. "I hope you don't mind that I asked a friend of mine to join us, since he's in town and needs some practice. This is Colonel Holtz Durer, retired from the German army. He's an international champion marksman. Colonel Durer, meet Mr. Curry, and Mr. Smith."
The German gave a crisp nod and extended his hand. Heyes blushed as he held up a hand to block the offered shake. "I'm sorry, Bunter, but I can't permit you to introduce me that way. Smith was an alias that I can't legally use any longer. My name is Heyes. Colonel Durer?"
The German smiled and his blue eyes shone brilliantly as he spoke in his heavy accent. "Heyes and Curry? Then friends, you must be Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, surely! An honor, gentlemen." The German clicked his heels and extended his hand. Bunter's jaw dropped and gasps came from Wainwright's friends.
"Yeah, Colonel," said the Kid, extending his hand. "My name's Jed Curry and this is my partner, Hannibal Heyes."
"Four governors gave them amnesty and let them out of prison," explained Wainwright, over the thrilled whisperings of his friends. "Now the Kid's a sheriff in Colorado and Heyes is going to teach college mathematics."
The Kid held up a hand to deflect the excited questions of the gathered men. He said apologetically. "Sorry to say, I'm in real bad shootin' practice. Heyes, is, too. Too long on trial and in prison and hanging around New York with no place to shoot. I haven't had a gun in my hand for weeks, 'cept for a few seconds at the wild West show."
"I heard about that. You beat the champion handily, Mr. Curry!" said a young, blonde friend of Wainwright's.
Curry shrugged. "He was a replacement. Not a real high standard. So, guys, can I shoot a few loads before I face off with anybody? I surely would appreciate it."
"Of course, Sheriff," said Bunter, delighted at the opportunity to watch so famous a marksman. "Do you object, Colonel?"
The Colonel shook his head, "Of course not, Sheriff Curry, Professor Heyes. I have just shot some rounds myself. We must be fair."
"You ought to see him!" one of Wainwright's friends said to him softly. "That German can shoot faster and more accurately than anyone I've ever seen in my life. If he's any indication, I hope we never have to fight against the German army."
The Kid gave Wainwright a few pointers with the Colt while the wealthy young man trained the heavy weapon on the target. Wainwright was a good marksman and had some experience with a Colt already, so Heyes wasn't surprised to see his young friend group all of his shots within a couple of inches of the gold bull's eye. The target was set up 10 yards away.
Durer looked on and said to Heyes, "Your fast-draw, it is has not been done a lot in Germany. But I saw Colonel Cody's Wild West show once a few years ago. Very interesting! I've practiced ever since as a kind of hobby, as they say, in my retirement. I think myself not too bad. I have faced a few Americans here and in Europe – including, I am proud to say, Colonel Cody himself."
The Kid walked over to Durer, curiously. "Can I ask, Colonel, did you beat Cody?"
Durer smiled, bringing out the dark saber scar on his cheek. "Yes, sir, I beat Cody at this same range a few days ago. And his champion – the man you beat, Sheriff Curry. I beat him, too. He is fair, I think, but very young."
"So, you want to try it?" asked the Kid.
"I would not miss the opportunity of facing so great a champion. I will surely learn much." Said Durer gallantly. "And you must participate, Professor Heyes. Mr. Bunter tells me that you are a fine marksman and very swift on the draw." Wainwright and his crowd of friends were listening avidly to this exchange.
"No!" said Heyes emphatically, facing away from the target with his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't mean to be rude, Colonel, but I haven't shot against my partner since we were boys. It's a rule with me – never shoot against the Kid. He'd beat me so bad, it wouldn't even be funny."
"Then why did you bring your Colt, Heyes?" asked Wainwright.
Heyes' eyes flared angrily. "To get some practice, which I sure need. Not to compete. Wainwright, the Kid doesn't shoot against me – he shoots for me."
The Kid shook his head placidly. "No, Heyes. I don't shook for anybody but the law, now. Come on, old man, why don't you try it?"
"I'll get you for that old man crack, Kid! As if two years between us made you a spring chick. And thanks for turning on your partner while everybody's watching. You know you and Durer will both drub me but good."
But Heyes looked at his partner and saw that Curry really did want Heyes to compete for some reason. Was the Kid truly so badly out of practice that he wanted Heyes included so he wouldn't finish dead last? Neither the Kid nor Heyes was getting any younger. Fast draw was a young man's sport. Not that Durer was any younger than 40. Heyes started to sweat. A shooting match and the pride involved was one thing. The danger the Kid would soon be in out west as a new sheriff was quite another. The one was only rehearsal for the other.
Curry wouldn't leave his partner alone. "Come on, Heyes, I know you're better than you used to be when you depended on me. I'd like to see how good you are, now." His voice got softer and he fixed Heyes with a keen gaze. "I might need to know."
"Oh, alright, Kid! Just this once. Just to accommodate our German guest. Never again," Heyes fumed, "You got that? I'm going to be a professor – I need to be dignified."
"Dignified, yes, but manly, surely," prodded Colonel Durer. "All of my professors at the academy could shoot."
The Kid looked skeptically at the range. "That a long enough shot for you, Durer?" he asked.
"It is about the distance I am accustomed to, Sheriff. Perhaps it is a bit short," answered the German. "I am accustomed to shooting the fast-draw at ten meters."
"What's a meter?" asked the Kid.
"One point oh nine three six one yards," answered Heyes promptly.
"Huh?" his partner was not used to the barrage of digits.
Heyes explained patiently, "A meter is a little more than a yard, Jed. 10 meters is nearly 11 yards. We might ask them to put the target back to 11 yards or even 12. It would be a bit longer than what the Colonel is used to, but it would be a better distance for you and me. More like where men stand in the street. Not that there's any rule on that, of course." That set off a bunch of wide eyes and whispers among Wainwright and his young friends, as they realized how serious shooting had usually been in Curry's and Heyes' past. Heyes asked, "Would you mind that, Colonel?" The German readily agreed.
Bunter suggested, "Gentlemen, shall we do two matches of two men? It would be hard to judge a close contest with three shooting at once. And what about three shots each for fast draw and accuracy?"
"Sure," said the Kid. "I got no objection to that, though it's more shots that I usually get."
"Go ahead, embarrass me three times over, what do I care?" groaned Heyes.
"It is agreeable to me," said Colonel Durer.
Once Bunter had had the target moved back, the men took their practice shots. Heyes and Curry watched closely as the German shot a few rounds. He was fairly quick, for a foreigner, but far more impressively accurate. After a couple of shots where he was adjusting to the new distance, not one of his shots outside of the gold center of the target. Heyes and the Kid wondered how much the German was saving for the competition itself. He had to be faster than what he was showing, if he had beaten Cody's man.
Heyes practiced next. His first few shots, after so many weeks away from the range, were slow and a little wild. Then he settled down to the steady accuracy and quickness that Wainwright had seen so often.
But the man everyone there watched the most closely, of course, was Kid Curry. The whole crowd looked on silently, hardly breathing as he methodically loaded his famous Colt and set himself before the target. At first, Curry made no attempt at any draw. He just got used to the gun again, and to the distance and target. Soon he was steadily hitting in the gold bull's eye. Then he tried a few draws from the holster. His speed drew gasps, but Heyes knew that his partner was holding a good deal back. At least, he hoped he was.
Then Bunter lined up Durer and Heyes at targets next to each other. "Shall I give you a count of three?" asked Bunter in his crisp British accent.
"Sure," said Heyes with a quick grin. "I counted off for the Kid, once, when he and a guy we met had a shoot off. He didn't want to kill the man."
"But he won, yes?" asked Durer. Heyes only laughed.
The two men settled in before their respective targets and gave Bunter the nod that they were ready.
"One, two, three!" cried Bunter. There was hardly a pause before the bangs of the guns sounded, so close together that they were nearly one. The two shots were both in the gold. Heyes grinned. He had narrowly beaten Durer. Heyes knew that he had not faced Durer's best draw, nor shown his own best the first time around. There was a smattering of applause for his effort.
Bunter counted them off again. Again, the shots were so closely timed that they nearly blended. This time, Durer had won on time, although Heyes' shot was more nearly in the center of the bull's eye. So the pair was even.
"One, two, three!" Bunter counted again. Heyes hurried his shot and nearly caught Durer on time, but the German beat his draw again. Both shots were in the gold, but Heyes' was on the edge while Durer's was squarely in the center. The audience politely applauded.
"Fine shooting, Colonel," said Heyes as he shook the winner's hand. "You beat me fair and square."
Durer smiled under his impressive mustache. "If you are out of practice and considered not good in the West, Professor Heyes, the United States is a country of formidable marksmen."
The murmuring in the little crowd that stood behind the shooters died as they watched Durer and Curry line up. This was the main event. Even Bunter's voice sounded high with excitement as he said, "Ready, gentlemen?" Both men were sweating in the June heat. Curry used a polka-dotted bandanna to wipe his face before he nodded. Durer nodded, working the fingers of his gun hand.
Bunter counted them off, "One, two, three!" The shots rang out absolutely together, both hitting in the gold. "A tie!" shouted Bunter. Durer smiled uneasily. His shot had been his fastest yet, but this was not the speed he had expected to face. Heyes was sweating more than the Kid. He had never seen the Kid so slow in his life, when it counted. Did recent practice make that much difference? Or was the Kid really slipping at the age of 36? The blonde former outlaw's jaw was tense.
Bunter watched the two competitors carefully as he counted them off, "One, two, three!" There were two bangs this time, both were faster than the last time. While both shots centered the gold, the Kid's shot had gone on its way before Durer had quite gotten his gun level. This was more like it, but still way off of the form Heyes had usually seen from his partner. How much were both men saving for the final shot? Durer wiped his lined forehead with a white handkerchief.
Bunter gave the pair a little more time to prepare. Curry gestured nervously with his gun hand for the contest to go on.
"One, two, three!" shouted Bunter. The first shot seemed to sound before the final sound of Bunter's voice had faded. The Kid's bullet knocked the center out of the target before Durer's barrel was even free of his holster. Heyes smiled. Now that was the Kid he knew! The little crowd of young marksmen erupted in furious applause and whistles and yells as Curry holstered his smoking pistol with a flourish.
"Sheriff Curry," said Durer, shaking the winner's hand, "You were leading me on with those first two shots – as if I could ever beat you! I never saw a human being shoot so swiftly in my life. It seems impossible!"
"Well, I didn't want to embarrass a foreigner. It's not friendly," said Curry with a playful light in his blue eyes. Now Heyes knew why the Kid had wanted him to compete – so the stranger wouldn't finish dead last. Beating Hannibal Heyes left the foreign Colonel his dignity. Of course, what it did to Heyes was another matter.
"Sheriff Curry, that is the most amazing exhibition of shooting I have ever witnessed in forty years around guns!" exclaimed Bunter, shaking the man's hand. "To be that fast and in the gold every time."
"I never shot at a target like that before," admitted Curry.
"What!?" exclaimed Wainwright when he got over being dumbstruck. "You hit the gold every time and you've never even shot at a target before? What do you shoot at?"
"Cans, bottles, whatever I can get," said Curry.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Heyes. "Anybody got a silver dollar they wouldn't be too upset not to get back?"
"Aw, Heyes, I ain't up for that," said Curry, but without much conviction. One of Wainwright's handsomely garbed friends produced a silver dollar that he handed to Heyes. Heyes held it up so the crowd could see that the coin was in perfect condition.
The Kid wiped his gun slowly, giving it time to cool a bit. Then he loaded it carefully and looked at his partner. He didn't even need to nod. Heyes knew the look of Curry ready to go.
Heyes tossed the silver dollar high in the air and watched it flash in the sun against the bright blue sky as it rose in a graceful arc. Curry hadn't even drawn yet as the coin rose to its height. Then, suddenly, the Colt was out. The Kid hit the hammer three times in stunningly quick succession so the roar of his gun seemed almost continuous. The coin rang and spun back up into the air, where the Kid plugged it again, and yet again before it hit the earth. Heyes strolled across the grass to pick up the coin. He held it up for the young men to see the three nasty dints in the mangled silver dollar. "You really want that back, boy?"
The blushing young man stepped up to claim his property. "Are you kidding, Mr. Heyes? I wouldn't take $100 for that silver dollar!" He proudly shook Curry's hand. "That is amazing shooting, Sheriff Curry! It doesn't seem possible."
"Actually, don't try that at home," said Curry softly, "I had to work a bit on that gun or it would have jammed being shot three times that fast."
"Sheriff Curry," asked Bunter, "who taught you to shoot like that, and work on guns like that?"
"My pa," answered the Kid with a distant look. "But he died when I was 7. After that, it was that guy over there." He pointed to his partner.
"Tell me, Professor Heyes," said Colonel Durer, "Does Sheriff Curry usually save his best shot for last?"
"When we're serious out West, Colonel," said Heyes, "a man shoots only once. And it's not at a target." Every eye went to the handsome face of Kid Curry, from which the triumphant smile was fading.
My research for this chapter included watching the "Exploding Lighter" episode of Mythbusters. They test fast draw myths about Kid Curry – the real one.