After a long of week of increasingly difficult school work, now taking more than the usual load of classes, Heyes felt rather virtuous putting up with Wainwright again to go riding for a third time. The stiff eastern man wasn't so difficult a companion as he had been. Heyes was interested to learn more that lay behind that often forbidding exterior. And Heyes enjoyed observing Wainwright as a character almost like a bird watcher watching an exotic bird. Wainwright was of a type Heyes had tried to portray (very badly Heyes now realized) in a con game years before. The man spoke immaculate English, which was good for Heyes as he tried to become really at home speaking correct grammar all the time. And Wainwright could discuss politics and world events very intelligently, which Heyes did enjoy. In fact, Heyes started to realize that he had come into this "friendship" with a chip on his shoulder. Both men, actually, were learning from each other.

As they walked their horses down a shady path in Central Park after a nice gallop, they passed a tall young policeman who was patrolling the park. Another policeman came up to the man just as Heyes and Wainwright rode by, and asked the tall officer jokingly, "Seen any famous western outlaws lately, Tryon?"

Heyes, in panicked shock, could not help letting his eyes turn toward Officer Tryon, the eccentric policeman who had spotted him when he had been riding on Long Island. Their eyes met.

The policeman smiled harmlessly at the man on horseback, and then turned to his fellow officer to make a reply that Heyes couldn't hear – at least partially because the blood was pounding in his ears. Heyes recognized the man who had watched him ride on Long Island, but without his western hat and boots, Tryon seemed not to recognize Heyes at all. The glasses, riding britches, and tweed jacket seemed to utterly fool Tryon. Yet Heyes had caught only a brief glimpse of Tryon as they rode by. He had feared this man for months as a major threat. Anything could be happening with the policemen Heyes and Wainwright had just passed. But Heyes didn't dare turn his head to look back – the risk of attracting the wrong kind of attention was much too great. If he pointed himself out, Tryon might look at him again and see something more.

"I said, Smith, are you ready for a trot? Didn't you hear me?" asked Wainwright and Heyes realized that he had been so worried and distracted that he had not heard the man at all the first time he spoke, and he was riding only a couple of yards ahead of his western friend.

"Sorry, Wainwright," said Joshua, "I was working out a theorem."

"On horseback? Without pencil and paper? You need to learn to relax, Smith!" Wainwright turned back to look at Smith and laughed. Smith laughed, too. Now that the Tryon threat was off his back – or at least he hoped so – unless the man was a consummate actor – maybe he could really relax. In between work on school! But Heyes was still glad to put some distance between himself and Officer Tryon with a good trot.

When they finished their trot and relaxed into a long strided walk again, Wainwright dropped back to ride alongside his western friend. He said tentatively, "Out West, you must have met some colorful types."

"Yeah," agreed Heyes, "plenty of 'em. There was this old gold miner . . ."

But Wainwright was not interested in random gold miners, he had something more specific in mind, "Did you ever meet any . . . outlaws?"

"Why does everyone always ask about outlaws! You easterners are obsessed with 'em! No, there are not outlaws hiding behind every tree west of the Mississippi!" Heyes sounded annoyed and he was. He was also a little worried. If Wainwright was another western fiction fan, he might know enough to be dangerous. Probably not, but Heyes was starting to get a little paranoid on the subject.

"You live in Colorado, don't you? When you aren't in New York? Didn't I hear Professor Homer talking to you about a little town in eastern Colorado?"

"Yeah, Wainwright, I live in Colorado. Little place near Boulder called Louisville. What about it?" Heyes couldn't figure out any rational reason, but he had a very bad feeling about this. He wasn't afraid to mention Louisville. Many people at Columbia knew where Joshua Smith lived so if Wainwright was curious, he would have found it out easily. So why was the hair on the back of Heyes' neck rising?

"You never happened to run into . . . Hannibal Heyes, did you?"

Heyes had to work supremely hard to keep his mouth closed and his eyes calm. For a moment he was so thrown by this direct question that he simply didn't say anything at all. Yet, he was almost sure that Wainwright didn't suspect who he really was. His voice sounded way too casual and not accusatory at all.

"Why?" Heyes finally managed to say without his voice shaking.

Wainwright slowed his horse, which had been trying to move ahead of Heyes' horse. "Because I heard, from a friend, that the last place Heyes and Kid Curry were seen was in a little eastern Colorado town. And since you're living in a little eastern Colorado town, I thought I'd ask. I've always been kind of curious about him. They say he's the most intelligent man west of the Mississippi. I mean, if he's smarter than you, that's really saying something."

"Thank you, Wainwright, I appreciate that. You're pretty impressive yourself. What makes you think I'm so darned smart, anyhow?" Heyes hoped he could redirect his eastern friend's questions away from Heyes and over to Smith. Using himself as a distraction from himself was weird, but it was all he could think of on the fly.

"If leading the whole math department in grade percentage doesn't prove that, I don't know what would. And Professor Hargrove says you are very impressive in English, too. But you didn't answer me – have you ever met Hannibal Heyes?"

Heyes' much vaunted mind raced. Wainwright knew so much already that it was impossible for Joshua Smith to convincingly deny any proximity with Hannibal Heyes at all. He tried to figure out a way to avoid lying too badly even while not giving away or suggesting too much. It wouldn't be easy, and no matter what he said, it would be risky. The apt quote from a poem by Sir Walter Scott came to mind, "Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive." Heyes had been practicing deception, often against his will, for many a long year. But he still knew how tangled the web could get – the truth, or a carefully chosen share of it, was almost always safer in the end.

So Heyes cautiously asserted about himself, "Not been introduced to the man, no."

"Oh, but you've seen him?"

Heyes was thinking, "Only in the mirror every morning!" but what he said was, "Yes. At least I think so."

"What do you mean you think so? Wouldn't you know?"

"Not many people know what he looks like – there aren't any photographs on those wanted posters. And he and the Kid keep their names to themselves. But mostly, well, I don't remember it. What they tell me is that a bunch of us took off out of little town in Colorado when the Kid and Heyes were flushed out of there. They lost the posse after a few hours. Posse gave up and started riding home. One of the guys let loose a shot accidentally and it hit off a rock. Then it hit me. In the head. I woke up three days later. With no memory of the thing at all. So I can't tell you anything else about it." Heyes emphasized those last words in hopes of discouraging further questions, but he knew it would take more than that to stop Wainwright.

"Is that when you got aphasia?"

"How did you find out about that?" Heyes couldn't help having a hostile reaction to that question. He still found it frankly embarrassing.

"How would I not? The whole school knows."

"Oh." Heyes hadn't realized that his medical problems were so widely known. It didn't make him any too happy.

"Yes, the bullet in the head gave me aphasia." He pulled back the long brown hair over his left temple to show Wainwright the ugly scar. The younger man's eyes widened.

"So you have reason not to like Hannibal Heyes." Wainwright seemed to think this was too bad. Heyes got the feeling that he might have a real fan here.

"So I have reason not to like the guy who fired the shot! Only I don't have a clue who it was. I don't remember it! It's a God damned blank Wainwright! Days before it and days after it – a God damn it all to hell blank!" Heyes allowed his real anger to show, and even played it up. It might be the only way to warn Wainwright off of this whole dangerous area.

"I'm sorry, Smith. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Wainwright sounded embarrassed in his turn to realize how rude his curiosity had led him to be.

"And I don't mean to be prickly. But it was a real hard time – took months before I could say a word. I'd rather go forward and not look back. You understand?" He hoped this appeal would work. Heyes felt very nervous about this whole conversation, and not only what it implied about what Wainwright knew. He really worried about how much people all over campus knew about him.

"Yes, I guess I can see that. I just . . . it's too bad you don't remember Heyes. I've always been darned curious about him. Oh well. Sorry to bother you about it." Wainwright sounded genuinely regretful.

"That's alright, Wainwright. Let's gallop." suggested Heyes – so they did. It would give Heyes good cover for breathing a little hard. His heart was still beating fast after two such narrow escapes in the space of an hour. Heyes would have to put up with Wainwright's inquires in the future for sure, since they had two classes together. If not questions about Heyes himself, he supposed there would be questions about other aspects of Western life. And it would be very obvious and ungraceful for Joshua Smith to suddenly drop a new friend. Heyes hoped that he had discouraged the easterner from this line of questions, but he doubted it. Curiosity could kill more than one cat!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooo

Joshua Smith and Neal George were sitting side and side on bar stools on another Friday night. Huxtable was in his dorm room studying for an approaching test and Ev Carter was out with Betsy, so it was just Smith and George this Friday.

"What the big deal with that creep Wainwright this semester, Smith?" Neal George's nose was out of joint.

Heyes sighed. He had known this was going to come up soon and he felt guilty about it. "He's useful, NG. He's got the money and connections on riding and shooting. I just don't have time for the trip out to Long Island to practice, and I don't dare get out of practice. It is too damn dangerous out west."

"Is it really that dangerous? I thought that was just in those silly books your friend Jim reads." George suspected he was being played for an innocent.

"You're asking me that?"

"What do you mean?" Neal honestly didn't get the reference.

Heyes pulled back the hair from the scar on his head. Neal blushed scarlet. "Sorry Smith! You talk so well now, you know I just forgot."

"Well, I can't forget it. Ever. And if you think that was the only time . . ." Immediately, Heyes was sorry he'd given away that much of the truth. It just tore him up to have to continually lie to almost all of his friends. But having told the truth to Beth and lost her, he was sensitive about telling too much.

"Just how many times have you been shot?" George was appalled.

"More than once." Heyes tried to shut down this line of questioning by taking a firm line, but he knew even as he said it that it wouldn't work.

NG leaped instantly to the wrong, needlessly embarrassing, conclusion that led him to hesitantly ask, "What, did you get hit . . . in a . . . bad place?"

"No, NG! Aw hell, I ain't gonna show you the scars. Leg, shoulder, and once not too bad in the head – before the other one. If you look hard you can just see the scar." Heyes bent over and George leaned close. In the bar's dim light, could just make out the faint white diagonal line on Heyes's left temple well in front of the much more serious later scar. Heyes felt pretty safe leaving off a few times he'd been hit – unless they went swimming NG need never know. "You had enough of shooting? I don't like to talk about it – bad memories – I wasn't the only one got hurt, you know. Or worse."

Now NG felt really bad. "Sorry, Smith. I didn't know. How're your other classes going? The ones I'm not in." School seemed like a much safer topic.

"Fine. Well, no, not totally fine. I'm having problems with aphasia and writing again, to tell you the truth. It's about to drive me up the wall. I've ground to a halt on that essay for . . . American lit. And that makes problems for other classes. I hope Dr. Leutze could help me, maybe. But I just don't dare go over to the clinic and maybe see Beth. Or even just her friend Polly who's the. .. receptionist. I'm sure she'd yell at me, even though it was Beth who left me." Smith sounded worried and upset.

NG looked concerned but took the edge off with a laugh. "And I thought you were a brave western hero getting shot left and right! Now your academic career is on the line and you're afraid of seeing two little women! You're a damn wimp, Smith, that's what you are."

Joshua blushed and studied his beer, but then he smiled. "You're right, NG. I'm a coward of the first water. It's stupid. I'll go over there Monday afternoon after class and hope Leutze can make a minute for me. He doesn't usually schedule Monday mornings too tight."

What he had said to Neal had made it sound simple. But after he made that promise, Heyes woke up in middle of the night panting and with his heart racing. He was having a real full-on panic attack. He hadn't felt that awful, unreasoning grip of fear since he had been a boy. And since even the phrase panic attack didn't exist yet, much less any scientific explanation for it, he didn't understand what was happening any more than he had when he was nine. And that in itself frightened him badly. He sat up in bed trying to catch his breath and argue himself into calming down. He wished had had the Kid in the bed next door like he used to, as a calming presence. He would say, "Go back to sleep, Heyes. We got to ride in the morning!"

Funny though, how when they were the in worst danger Heyes had usually slept like a log – except when he was planning something. He had been so used to danger then. He had thrived on it. He thought he still would manage just plain physical danger just fine, if he had to again. He knew how to enjoy it.

What was bothering him so badly now wasn't the threat of being turned in or killed, although those were still very possible. It was, he decided, the danger of realizing that Beth truly hated and despised him. Having her respect and support had been one of the most important forces in his recovery from aphasia. If Beth now truly did not care about him any longer, Heyes didn't know what he would do. Somehow, he was kept hoping that he and Beth could still be friends. At least friends. He could just feel her lips on his and . . . Heyes knew, rationally, that it wasn't likely. But he tried to hold out hope. And with that thought, he lay back down and started counting sheep. Or actually counting imaginary gold bars. That was so much more fun!

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Heyes took a deep breath and went up the familiar stairs at the Leutze clinic. As he reached the top and saw Polly behind the desk, he remembered how often she had greeted him gladly with a smile. No more of that.

She scowled at him. "What are you doing here, Mr. Smith?" Polly asked angrily.

"I . . . came to see Dr . . . . Leutze . . . if he has a minute. . ." Heyes choked out the words. He was shocked to suddenly face aphasia much worse than it had been in well over a year. He couldn't meet Polly's accusing eyes.

"You aren't a patient here any longer, Mr. Smith [did Heyes hear a faint pause there – did she know his real name? He wasn't at all sure]. If you want an appointment, write a letter." Polly said bitterly, and turned away to work on some papers on her desk.

But just then, Dr. Leutze saw Heyes and called down that hall to summon his old patient and friend into to his office. "Come on Smith, I have a few minutes before my first patient."

But before Heyes could get to the door, Dr. Bartholomew arrived and said to Dr. Leutze, "I need to speak with you, Doctor. Do you have a moment?"

"Can it wait a moment, Smith? I'll be back, but clinic business has to come first." Leutze said it lightly, but he could see that Joshua Smith was troubled.

"Sure . . . doctor . . . I'll . . . wait." Heyes was ashamed to have the doctor hear his speech in such bad condition. It had been fine until he had arrived at the clinic – it was only the writing that had been a problem until just now. Dr. Leutze looked at him in grave concern.

Heyes stood awkwardly in the hall, afraid to meet almost anyone who might be there who wasn't a stranger.

Beth Warren looked out of her office and saw him, obviously standing there at loose ends while Drs. Leutze and Bartholomew walked down the hall together speaking together in low voices.

Beth called to Heyes, "Come in, please. If you don't mind. I want to talk."

"Sure," said Heyes, profoundly surprised. "I came to see . . . Dr . . . . Leutze . . . didn't mean to . . . bother . . . you," he struggled to get out even two or three words together. Heyes felt like he was falling apart and Beth was watching, her face full of grief and concern.

"Come in!" Beth said anxiously. Heyes went in and stood by Beth, but looking away from her. "I was going to ask how you are, but you sound awful. What's on earth is wrong?"

"You . . . ought to know . . . what's . . . wrong. I . . ." He looked down and away from Beth. He couldn't stand to see the hate or disgust he was sure must be on her face. Or worse, pity.

"Is your speech this bad all the time?" She was really worried.

"No. Just . . . here . . . now. . . I came about . . . writing."

Beth's voice was full of pain. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Heyes. I didn't mean to cause you such distress."

"What do you mean? You . . . already. . . But - thank you for not turning me in – or the Kid. We're grateful, and so is Cat, his girl." Heyes had to say that – it had been praying terribly on his mind.

"I promised you, Mr. Heyes, and I won't go back on my word." Beth was just as firm and principled as she had ever been.

"I know that. I trust you, or I wouldn't still be in New York. I'm very sorry that I got mad at you. It was wrong and I'm sorry. I was . . . I was. . scared. I was scared." it was a battle for him to get the words out – and this was more than aphasia.

"Why is it so hard for you admit you're frightened? It's a natural human emotion." This comment, so typically Beth began to thaw Heyes' crippling fear and his speech improved a bit.

"Where I'm from, the . . . people I used to be with, letting anyone know you're . . . scared could get you . . . killed. I saw it happen. More than once. Shot in cold blood."

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Beth, truly shocked. This was a terrifying view into the world Heyes from which Heyes had emerged.

"I'm sorry. I . . . shouldn't have told you that." Heyes tried to get his speech back to normal.

"You should if it's the truth! I believe in the truth! More than anything!" This was the heart of Beth, Heyes knew. And he loved it. He had had to deal in lies so much in his life – Beth was his rock of truth. He needed her so desperately, but the very truth that made him love her kept them apart.

"But we can't always tell everyone all of the truth. It don't . . . it doesn't work. It causes problems – you ought to know." Finally Heyes couldn't help it. He looked down at Beth, standing so near him, such a little woman with tears streaming down her cheeks. He felt such a terrible temptation to tilt her damp face up to his and just kiss her until the tears went away.

Heyes fought to keep his voice steady, "I thought you didn't care about me any longer."

"Who ever said that!? I'll always care about you! And I respect what you're doing as a student, and leaving crime behind. I respect you a lot and I . . . I . . . I just can't be . . . romantically . . . with you . . . I just can't. Can you understand that?" Beth's voice was full of the conflicting emotions that were tearing her up. Heyes began to realize that she was as upset and wounded by this as he was.

"Yes. I understand that - too well. I'm danger incarnate." Now Heyes was glad he hadn't tried to kiss Beth. It would just have made things worse – make him look like a brute – frighten her again. He could just bet she was a virgin. She was such a good and honorable woman. She was frightened enough of him without feeling repugnance at unwanted sexual advances.

Before Beth could answer what he had said, and she was about to say something, Heyes heard Dr. Leutze in the hall, "Smith, where have you gotten to?"

Heyes felt terrible. He didn't want Dr. Leutze to see Beth with tears in her eyes. That would make Leutze so mad – and for good reason. Heyes had made her cry – again.

"Good-bye" said Heyes softly, turning away from Beth's distressed face. He walked out the door and closed it softly behind him. He was sure that he could hear Beth crying as he left. He hoped that he could see her again soon and try to finish sorting out the complex situation between them. He still kept a tiny spark of hope alive in his heart.

A half-hour later, as Heyes walked out of Dr. Leutze's office, he overheard a few words that gave him more hope yet even as it hurt him to hear them. He overheard Beth speaking very quietly to Polly just outside Beth's office: "He's going gray and I'm wast. . ." But as Joshua Smith reappeared, Beth vanished into her office.

Polly gave Hannibal Heyes a tiny smile as he left the clinic.