Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me, nor does Cat Ballou. 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. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.
Can't Let a Lady Shoot Alone
Chapter 6: Stealing Bridget
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"What's the plan?"
Heyes opened one bleary brown eye. Beth peered down at him in concern.
"Unh," groaned Heyes. The other brown eye opened, but all he could see was the crumpled papers he'd been sleeping on. Heyes pushed himself upright in the chair. "Musta fallen asleep."
Slender hands swept across the table. The loose insurance policies went back into the brown satchel Heyes had taken from Hackleby's safe. He pursed his lips, still hadn't figured out how to get this information to the sheriff. The remaining notes and drawings for Stealing Bridget were carefully folded and secreted away inside his vest.
"Where's Thaddeus?"
Heyes turned at Travis' voice. Behind the young man, Beth's narrow bed was neatly made. Travis sat on the floor below, one boot on and the other being tugged upwards. Heyes glanced towards the big double bed, crumpled sheets and a counterpane on the floor were evidence that Kid had slept there, but his partner was missing. Fortunately for his sleep deprived brain, Heyes didn't have to answer Travis' question. The door swung open almost bumping into Travis. Kid entered carrying a tray. Heyes' nostrils flared at the aroma of a freshly brewed pot of coffee.
"First coffee," declared Heyes
Kid set the tray in the middle of the table. Heyes reached for the coffee and began to pour. Kid lifted the cover off the plate to reveal fluffy, yellow scrambled eggs, three strips of bacon and three biscuits.
"Grab something to eat, and make it quick," urged Kid. "You all need to be outta here before that hotel clerk brings up the bath water."
"Bath water?" Travis squinted his eyes looking puzzled.
"Why are you wasting time taking a bath?" demanded Beth. "We've got to rescue Bridget!"
"Right," agreed Heyes. A deft hand reached for a biscuit. Heyes took a bite of biscuit and washed it down with another huge swallow of coffee before continuing. "We're gonna get Bridget outta jail and create enough alibis to make sure none of us go to jail.
"Alibis?" echoed Beth.
"Breaking a murderer outta jail is against the law," grinned Heyes.
"Bridget isn't a murderer!" insisted Beth.
"Of course not," nodded Heyes. "But Gigi Clochefill... she's got a reputation."
Heyes shrugged and let his voice trail off. The schemer gulped down the last of his coffee and set the empty cup beside a bowl of sugar cubes. Travis opened up a biscuit and spooned some eggs and a slice of bacon into the middle, then handed it to Beth, before repeating the process with the last biscuit. Heyes pushed back his chair and rose to stand.
"Come on," beckoned Heyes. "I'll tell you all about the plan on the way to the stable."
Beth and Travis followed Heyes to the door. Kid stared at the scant spoonful of eggs and lone slice of bacon next to biscuit crumbs. As Heyes stepped out into the corridor, he heard his partner's voice.
"This ain't breakfast."
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"Changing in a stall leaves a little to be desired," grumbled Beth's voice. "There's no mirror in here! I can't tell what I look like."
The willowy blonde stepped from the second stall. Attired in a summery white cotton dress, with her long hair in a thick braid down past her waist, Beth was the picture of innocence. Then she reached for the rifle leaning against the wall.
"You look beautiful Beth," blurted out Travis.
"Put the rifle back down," ordered Heyes. "You don't need that to visit the sheriff."
The dark haired man gave his bay a final stroke on the animal's withers. The freshly groomed horse whickered. Heyes tucked the book he'd retrieved from his saddlebags under one arm, then reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. He smiled. After leaving Thaddeus' room, they had stopped by Beth and Travis' rooms to make sure they looked as if someone had slept there. No one appeared to have tried to break in during the night searching for Beth. That was a relief. The plan hinged on Heyes belief that Hackleby didn't know Beth by sight, just as she didn't know the attorney.
"What makes you think he's gonna let me see Bridget this time?" demanded Beth.
Heyes' smile broadened into a dimpled smirk. The shrewd judge of character had noted the familiar way Sheriff Humphrey Willis and Nolene Baxter spoke to each other. Being on a first name basis with the law said something. Striding across the hard packed dirt, Heyes joined Beth and Travis beside the wagon.
"Because Mrs. Baxter asked him to let you see Gigi." Heyes tucked the pocket watch back into his vest. "But when you see Bridget, you're gonna say you don't know her. Gigi is not your sister."
"What?" Beth's voice ratcheted up in surprise. "Why? Why would I deny my own sister?"
"For her safety," explained Heyes. "After the getaway, we don't want anyone looking for Bridget Jordan. If anyone is looking, it would be better if they were searching for Gigi Clochefill."
At Beth's dubious look, Heyes handed the book he'd carried to Travis.
"You accompany Beth."
Travis hefted the heavy Bible with a puzzled look on his face.
"Careful with that," warned Heyes.
The strategist reached out and opened the cover to reveal the hollowed out inside. A small palm pistol nestled in between the ravaged pages.
"What's this for?" growled Travis. "You don't expect to me to use this, do you? I ain't shootin' a sheriff!"
"Of course not, but you can't walk into the jail with that hogleg on your waist," soothed Heyes. "And I'd rather you weren't totally unarmed."
Travis glowered. His blue eyes narrowed as he set the book down on the wagon seat and began to unbuckle his gun belt.
"You said Beth wasn't going to be in any danger," accused Travis.
"This is a little insurance plan of my partner's," assured Heyes. "Thaddeus has this idea that if you don't plan for something to go wrong, then it will."
"Right," Travis' disgruntled tone said the opposite.
"What's the rest of the plan?" Beth's question forestalled any additional argument from Travis.
"After you see Bridget, the two of you come back here, pack up the wagon, head west towards Denver so everyone in town sees you both leave," continued Heyes. "That's your alibi."
"We're leaving without Bridget?"
"Everybody is going to think you left," clarified Heyes. "Kid said he saw a clump of cottonwoods outside of town when the stage brought him in yesterday. Wait there for Bridget, Thaddeus and me to arrive."
"Does Bridget know the plan?" Beth's voice sounded dubious.
"Bridget knows to expect something," assured cunning man. Heyes didn't mention that Bridget didn't have any of the details. Instead, he diverted Beth with a question of his own. "Beth, do you have anything shiny, silvery, that we can use in my partner's disguise?"
Beth moved to the rear of the wagon to search her carpet bag. Heyes beckoned Travis outside to the corral. The big, sturdy matched team looked well rested. Heyes hoped the team would be ready to put some speed on when the time was right.
"There is one more contingency plan," informed Heyes.
"What else?" Travis sounded suspicious.
"Just in case something does go wrong…," began Heyes. Travis' thunderous look interrupted. Heyes tried to sound confident, "Not that anything is gonna go wrong, but…"
"What is it you want me to do?" growled Travis.
"Your job is to get Beth outta here," directed Heyes. "Keep her safe, take her to California."
"I was gonna do that anyway," retorted Travis. His blue eyes narrowed. "Is this another one of your partner's contingency plans?"
"Of course, Thaddeus is always in charge of security."
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Heyes twisted the knob on the door to Thaddeus Jones' room. Kid's fast draw had his colt pointed at Heyes before the door swung all the way open.
"Back already?" Kid slid the colt back into its holster and leaned back into the hot, steaming water.
"Yeah, Beth and Travis are over at the jail," informed Heyes. "Don't get too comfortable now, you're supposed to be injured."
"What a way to ruin a good bath," grumbled Kid.
The sinewy man stretched, then stood up. Water sloshed. Kid reached for the towel and wrapped it around his slim hips before he tossed a slippery, wet bar of soap on the floor. He set a bare foot on the carpet beside it, followed by another. The tall, muscular man stretched out on the floor leaving the soap between his feet.
"How's this look? Suitable for a sprained back?"
"Moan a little when the maid finds you injured," suggested Heyes. "Not too much, but make it convincing so the hotel clerk sends for the doctor."
"And why can't we do this after we both eat?" asked Kid.
"Timing, we don't want to wait all day for someone to find you," reminded Heyes. "I'll be waiting in the dining room, acting all impatient, and then send someone to look for you."
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"How is my partner doc?" greeted Heyes sounding worried when he walked into Thaddeus' room.
The balding medical man removed his stethoscope from Kid's bare chest. The curly haired man now lay on the bed. Kid opened one blue eye as the physician turned to face Heyes. Kid winked, then moaned softly. Heyes had all he could do not to roll his eyes.
"Your partner took a bad fall," asserted the doctor. He shook his head. "But I can't find anything wrong to account for your friend's pain."
"Maybe Thaddeus sprained his back," prompted Heyes.
The tactician tried not to let his worry show. Kid's alibi depended upon the doc being able to confirm his partner wasn't able to ride.
"No, I don't think so, not enough bruising," objected the man as he put his stethoscope back inside his black bag. "For now though, I'm gonna prescribe bed rest."
"How long?" Heyes tried to sound concerned instead of relieved.
"A day at least," the doctor eyed Heyes quizzically. "You'll need to take care of his personal needs."
"What?" Heyes blinked in surprise.
"I'll leave you a bed pan," replied the doctor. "Your partner really should lay flat on his back and not move, not even for… well, you know."
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Heyes stepped out of the hotel onto the wooden boardwalk. He pulled out his pocket watch and smiled, everything was going according to plan. Pleasantville was beginning to get busy. Near the gallows, a pair of musicians performed an impromptu ballad accompanied by a guitar and a banjo. Onlookers appeared enthusiastic. Heyes tuned out the lyrics "Gorgeous Gigi, gunning for a man, gonna do whatever she can…" and glanced towards the jail. The sheriff paced back and forth. Hackleby gestured towards the barred windows, but Humphrey shook his head. Beyond the jail, a door slammed. The boy the desk clerk sent to fetch the doctor was followed by a fat man carrying a black medical bag.
"Time for me to go have a chat with the undertaker," murmured Heyes.
Dexterous fingers snapped the pocket watch shut. Heyes tucked it back into his vest pocket and sauntered away from the hotel.
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"You see, with my partner being laid up, we're gonna have to stay at least one more night in the hotel," explained Heyes. "Maybe longer."
Heyes' warm brown eyes glanced from the undertaker, to the flatbed wagon containing an open coffin. Heyes sent a thankful prayer upwards that it wasn't one of those fancy glass enclosed hearses. An open wagon would make it easier to retrieve Bridget. He turned back to face the gaunt, hollow-eyed man.
"Rooms are expensive," continued Heyes. "I thought maybe with the hanging and all, you might want to hire a driver."
The whey-faced undertaker scratched his stubbled chin and frowned. A workbench crowded with wood working tools that separated them. A partially completed coffin sat atop the bench. Heyes held his breath. Given a choice, he'd rather have the man hire him, otherwise Heyes would have to tie the undertaker up and hope no one entered the malodorous workshop until after he'd spirited Bridget away.
"Well I'll help you out what I can," agreed the grim man. "You bring the deceased to her resting final place, finish digging the hole and I'll pay you two dollars."
Heyes exhaled and took another shallow breath through his mouth.
"You want me to dig the grave too? For two dollars! That's highway robbery!" protested Heyes as a matter of principal.
"Take it or leave it," shrugged the cadaverous man.
The undertaker resumed planning the side of the coffin. Heyes pretended to dither for a minute, although he'd already made his decision.
"I'll take it," agreed Heyes with the appearance of reluctance. He had no intention of bringing Bridget to the cemetery. The stench assaulted his nose again. His nose crinkled in distaste. "What is that smell?"
The undertaker gestured towards the rear of the room. A draped workbench, surrounded by bales of hay and dripping blocks of ice was the source of the stench.
"Hackleby," answered the man. "I've tried to keep him cool, but he's been dead for three days and it is June."
"The murdered man?" gulped Heyes, feeling nauseous. "Don't you folks bury dead people in this town?"
"Usually," nodded the undertaker as he continued planing the coffin. "But sheriff said to wait until the judge had a chance to see him."
"Judge? What Judge?"
"Whichever one the deputy can get," answered the undertaker. "Sheriff just said to make sure we had a judge come out to Pleasantville real quick and not to bury Hackleby until the judge got a good look."
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Heyes reached for the doorknob and startled as the door opened in front of him. He stood face to face with the doctor.
"What are you doing here?" blurted out Heyes.
The slender man anxiously tried to peer over the man's shoulder. Kid lay on the bed, seemingly asleep.
"Checking on my patient," harrumphed the medical man.
"Is he alright?" a genuine note of concern touched his voice.
"He's fine, just sleeping," soothed the doctor. "I wanted to see him before I head out on rounds."
On the bed, one blue eye opened and winked at Heyes. The pounding in his heart slowed to a more regular rhythm.
"You watch out for him now," ordered the doctor.
"Of course," assured Heyes. Worried that this doctor's unannounced visits would interfere with Bridget's rescue, he continued his assurances. "You don't have to come back, I'll be sure to watch over him."
"I always check my patients," informed the doctor. "But I won't be back until late, might not see him again until morning."
The medical man pushed past Heyes and started down the stairs.
"Thank you doc," called Heyes to the man's retreating figure.
Heyes counted to ten slowly before he stepped into the room and closed the door. He turned to see Kid sit up in bed. His partner pointed towards his brown valise.
"Would you please hand me my long johns?"
Heyes opened Kid's luggage, pulled out the undergarment and tossed them towards his partner. He poked through the rest of Kid's clothes, finally retrieving his partner's black pants. Heyes turned and handed the black pants to Kid. Reaching inside his vest, Heyes pulled out a black shirt he'd retrieved from his saddle bags and a white silk sash embroidered with tiny seed pearls and sparkling silver sequins. Kid whistled.
"Where did you get that?"
"It's Beth's, the belt she's embroidering for her wedding dress," answered Heyes. "She said to tell you to be sure and bring it back."
The partner's exchanged a glance. They knew Beth wasn't worried about a sash. The young woman wanted Bridget, Kid and Heyes back. If everything went well, Beth would get the finery back along with the rest of the Jordan gang. Kid set the sash down on the bed. The broad shouldered man tugged Heyes' shirt on, but left the top two buttons undone. Heyes untied the black bandana wrapped around his throat.
"What made you think of Otis Warren last night?" asked Heyes as he passed the cloth to Kid.
Kid shrugged at the mention of the unluckiest outlaw they had ever known. The fast draw began to tie the bandana under his chin, loose enough that Kid could pull it up and cover the lower half of his face.
"I was trying to think of fast draws that rode with their faces covered," explained Kid. "Surprisingly, there ain't that many. Ones that wouldn't get hurt if they were seen in Pleasantville, left only one person."
"Yeah," nodded Heyes. "The law doesn't know Otis is dead, and they're still printing wanted posters on him."
"I like our arrangement better, alive with the law thinkin' us dead."
Kid's blue eyes settled on Heyes. Kid held out his hand expectantly. The dark haired man narrowed his own dark eyes.
"You be careful with this," ordered Heyes sounding serious. He lifted the black hat from his own head and undid the hatband. Not stating his real concern, he rambled on. "Uncle Mac went to a lotta trouble to find a new one exactly like the old one, and I don't want you bringing it back with bloodstains."
Kid took the black hat and began to wrap Beth's shining sash around and around the hat in place of Heyes' hatband. Aside from the black attire, Otis Warren was known for a black hat with a silver hat band.
"Heyes, you worry too much," chided Kid. The younger man set the newly adorned hat atop his dark gold curls. "Blood won't show on black felt."
Heyes stepped back to view the total effect. Dressed from head to toe in solid black, with a neckerchief pulled up over his nose, his partner didn't look like Kid Curry or Thaddeus Jones. But Kid didn't look like Otis either. Kid was taller, but sitting in a saddle no one would really notice, determined Heyes. And Otis had usually been drunk, while Kid was sober. Heyes tapped his right forefinger against his lips. What else?
"Otis always carried two pistols," frowned Heyes.
"Don't worry," soothed Kid. "I'll shoot twice as fast."
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Heyes checked his stop watch. He strode over to the window and peered out at the rear of the stable. Beth and Travis had the four horses hitched to the wagon. Travis put his hands around Beth's waist and gave her a boost up to the bench seat.
"Yep, Beth and Travis are right on time."
Brown eyes narrowed as he watched the fake attorney Hackleby stomp out the door of his office. The murderer didn't spare a glance for Beth and Travis, but marched off in the direction of the jail.
"No one's in sight now," stated Heyes. "I'll cover you as far as the stable."
"No," objected Kid. "You have to get the undertaker's buckboard over beneath the gallows."
Heyes inhaled sharply. This was the part he always hated about any job. Splitting up to go their separate ways, not knowing if they would ever see each other again. A dazzling smile spread across Heyes' face, bringing an answering smile to Kid's face. Heyes picked up the brown satchel of insurance policies taken from Hackby's office and tucked it under his arm.
"Right. And don't forget the sugar cubes," reminded Heyes with a gesture towards the breakfast tray. "Because Bub…"
"Beelzebub, you mean," interrupted Kid. "That horse of yours don't like anybody!"
"Bub is a one man horse."
"I sure hope not! I'm gonna need to ride him today!"
"Don't forget the sugar!"
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Heyes pulled his pocket watch out and glared at the offending timepiece. It was twelve forty-five. The musicians started another round of The Ballad of Gigi Clochefill. The lyrics seemed to grow and change every time the two men sang.
"You're late," hissed Heyes under his breath. He glanced towards the jail. "We don't have time for any delays!"
The longer Kid waited in the stable, the more likely someone would see him or he'd run out of sugar cubes for Bub. Bridget coming out of the jail was the signal for his partner's ride to begin. As if the sheriff had heard Heyes' complaint, the door to the jail swung open.
"You forgot someone!" was Heyes first astonished thought.
The sheriff strode towards the gallows all by himself. Footsteps thudded on wooden planks as the lawman climbed up to the platform. The music faded to a stop. Disgruntled muttering from the bloodthirsty crowd rose in its place.
"What are we waiting for?"
"Bring out that murderous wench!" shouted a drunken heckler.
"She's the guest of honor at a necktie party!" catcalled someone else.
At the top of the stairs, the sheriff raised his hands, signaling for quiet.
"Now folks," greeted the sheriff. "There's gonna be a slight delay, the stage is late…"
"We don't need a stage!"
"We can't start the hanging until after the judge…," retorted the sheriff.
A sharp screech interrupted the sheriff. Heyes bolted upright. The whole town could hear Bridget's voice.
"Get your hands off me! I'm not going anywhere with you!"
An indistinguishable squawk, followed by another screech. The jail door slammed open. Hackleby appeared with Bridget over his shoulder. Feet and arms flailed as she continued to voice vehement objections to being manhandled.
"You dad dratted, lily livered, coward!" screamed Bridget. "Let go of me you murderer!"
Hackleby unceremoniously deposited Bridget at the foot of the scaffold. Only then did Heyes realize Bridget's wrists were cuffed. Hackleby looked up at the sheriff standing beside the noose. Bridget scrambled away from Hackleby. The only direction she could go was up the stairs towards the sheriff.
"Here I am, doing your job," growled Hackleby. "You were supposed to escort her to the scaffold…"
"Gigi!"
Kid's shout interrupted Hackleby's tirade. Heyes, the crowd around the scaffold, Hackleby, Bridget and the sheriff all turned to see a rider coming down the road. Brown eyes blinked at the spectacle.
"What have you done to my horse?" whispered Heyes.
The bay gelding was unrecognizable, dappled with streaks of white and black. The masked man, dressed all in black except for the silver hatband, shouted again.
"Gigi, darlin' I've come to rescue you…"
"Ain't nobody taking this little lady anywhere!" shouted Hackleby.
Kid continued to ride the prancing brindle horse closer. Hackleby pulled an ornate pearl handled revolver from the waistband of his trousers.
"She's gotta hang!" shouted Hackleby.
The first shot zinged by Kid's head. The bullet imbedded into the newly painted sign above the law office. Frightened townsfolk screamed and ran, pushing and shoving to get away.
"Hackleby what do you think you're doing?!" shouted the sheriff.
Hackleby spun around. He took aim, but Heyes couldn't tell if he was aiming at Bridget or the sheriff. A second shot sounded. The revolver flew out of Hackleby's hand. The fake attorney howled and clutched his bleeding hand. A third shot and the noose fell on the platform, leaving the severed end of the rope high out of reach. Another shot and the lever controlling the trap door splintered. The trap door itself dropped opened above Heyes. He could see Bridget's wild eyes, but she wasn't looking at him. Hackleby had somehow managed to retrieve his weapon. The man climbed up the stairs pointing the wobbly barrel at Bridget. Crazed muttering sounded from the murderer.
"This is all your fault!"
"Get down," ordered the Sheriff. The lawman made as if to shelter Bridget, but then met eyes with Heyes. "Get her outta here!"
The sheriff shoved Bridget through the trap door. Heyes needed no further encouragement. He slapped the reins. The undertaker's somnolent horses started with a lurch. Bridget climbed up to sit beside Heyes on the buckboard seat.
"Get down," ordered Heyes.
The blonde shuddered and shook her head no.
"I don't want to sit next to a coffin!"
Heyes glanced back over his shoulder. Hackleby stood up on the scaffold, weaving from side to side, trying to hold his gun with both hands. Another shot splintered into the side of the wagon before the lawman pounced on Hackleby. Kid wheeled Bub around, and took off after Heyes and Bridget. Heyes urged the horses onward, the buckboard rolled past the stable. For a minute Heyes thought they might be in the clear, but more shots rang out. A rifle poked out an upstairs window. Vigilante justice was alive and well in Pleasantville. Bridget's bound hands caressed his hip.
"What are you doing with my pistol?" demanded Heyes.
"Just drive!" shouted Bridget.
"Do you really want to go to jail for murder?" shouted Heyes.
"Can't let Thaddeus shoot alone!"
Heyes glanced back over his shoulder. Kid trailed behind them. His partner shot the lock on the stable paddock. Horses scattered through the open gate. The water tower sprung a leak. Bridget raised Heyes' pistol and took careful aim as they rode out of town. Six shots sounded in rapid succession. The sign that read Welcome to Pleasantville transformed into come to P antville. As the horses reached the top of the hill, the arriving stage coach passed them headed into town.
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"There," grinned Heyes.
The last little twist of the lock pick and the handcuffs around Bridget's hands opened. The bench seat on the buckboard squeaked as the blonde threw her arms around Heyes and hugged him tight.
"Thank you for rescuing me," breathed Bridget.
"It's only fair," replied Heyes. "As I recall, you and Beth saved my partner and me once."
Bridget glanced over to Travis' wagon nestled behind a stand of cottonwoods. Out of sight from the road, Travis checked the bits on the horse's mouths. At the rear of the wagon, Kid, transformed back into the guise of a blue shirted Thaddeus Jones, handed Beth a swath of sparkly white cloth.
"Is Thaddeus really going back to Pleasantville?"
"We both are," nodded Heyes. With a frown at his horse, he added, "As soon as he gets the white wash and coal dust out of Bub's coat."
"Why? It seems like such a risk," frowned Bridget.
"My partner is going to circle around and get my horse back into its stall and himself back into bed at the hotel. His alibi is that he was asleep and missed all the excitement," reminded Heyes. He grinned as he revealed his alibi. "I'm waiting right here until the posse finds me, too frightened to move. My story is the outlaw Otis Warren pointed a gun at me and demanded I release Gigi Clochefill."
Bridget's lips curled up in a smirk, but she dropped her gaze. A light flush appeared on her cheeks. Her unpinned hair fell down below her shoulders.
"Going back to town, it sorta reminds me of going back to Buckton to testify for my mother."
"Not really the same thing at all," shrugged Heyes.
"Did you flip a coin to see who got to be the outlaw Otis Warren and who got to drive the undertaker's wagon?"
"No," smiled Heyes. Unlike what many people, including Lom, thought, there wasn't a clear separation of the planning process. "We planned this together, each of us playing to our strengths."
"What do you mean?"
Heyes shifted on the hard wooden seat. The partner's didn't usually explain themselves to others.
"Today's plan needed a notorious fast draw," reminded Heyes. "Kid's the fastest draw I've ever seen, so that role naturally fell to him."
"And Buckton?"
"Kid's also probably the slowest lock pick west of the Mississippi," chuckled Heyes. "So that meant he had to testify and I had to get him out of jail."
Bridget laughed. Heyes picked up the brown satchel from the floorboard beneath the seat and handed it to her
"When you get to Denver, make sure this goes back to the sheriff in Pleasantville," advised Heyes. "It might not get your parent's money back, but it will help the sheriff figure out Hackleby."
"The sheriff told me this morning he knows that Hackleby is a murderer," informed Bridget. "That's why he was waiting for the morning stage with the judge from Brewster."
"You mean we did all this for nothing?" spluttered Heyes.
"No! It wasn't for nothing, this is the stuff of legends," beamed Bridget. "The two of you are heroes. They'll be writing songs and stories about you both for years to come!"
"Like the Ballad of Otis and Gigi?" Heyes laughed and shook his head. "I sure hope not."
The slender man jumped down from the wagon and held his hands up to help Bridget down. Behind him a twigged snapped as Kid approached. The muscular blond held Heyes' hat. The gaping hole in the crown was just like the one in Heyes' old hat. Heyes searched Kid's face. The tousled curls appeared as they always did, there wasn't a scratch on Kid. His partner smiled.
"It won't take long for the folks in Pleasantville to round up enough horses to get together a posse. These folks ought to get going to Denver," reminded Kid. "They've got a train to catch."
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Heyes and Bridget lagged behind Kid. Travis and Beth were already seated upon their wagon. Kid reached for Bub's reins and mounted.
"My baby sister is getting married," murmured Bridget. "She won't need me watching out for her anymore."
"She'll still need you," reassured Heyes. "And when you find some lucky fella…"
"No," Bridget shook her head.
"Then don't. Do something you like."
"The past few months, dancing and travelling, was exciting, but now I can't do that anymore."
"Why not?" prodded Heyes.
"Well…"
"You should probably get a different stage name," advised Heyes. His brown eyes twinkled. "There are lots of female artists working as dancers, actresses, I even know a chanteuse."
"Really?"
"Bridget," smiled Heyes. "You can do anything you want, you're free."
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