Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

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.

Chapter 7: Bullets and Blasting

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"I don't want you to go."

In the early morning light, volunteers lined up on the far side of the clearing. The army transport was filling fast. Silky frowned and looked away. Heyes stepped closer to Clem. With one gentle finger he tilted her trembling chin upwards.

"I'll be back soon," promised Heyes. "It's just manning a hose, I won't be near the demolition."

Clem wiped a strand of hair back from her pale face. Even though she wore his brown suit coat over her travelling dress, she shivered in the damp air. The children, slept on oblivious. She took his hand in hers and pressed a hard metal object against his hand. Heyes looked down to see the derringer.

"You should take this, in case that man…"

"No," Heyes grinned in an attempt at levity. "I've got the army to protect me."

He closed her fingers over the palm pistol.

"Keep it," urged Heyes. "I hope you don't need it, but I'd rather you had it."

Heyes turned to head towards the transport. He looked back over his shoulder. Her lips curled up in a shaky smile. Kissing her fingertips, she blew a kiss to him.

"Try to keep Arthur and Jennifer out of trouble while I'm gone."

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"Wouldja lookey there!"

Kid raised his head up from the view of the roiling blue and green water at Kyle's exclamation. Firefighting boats lined the edge of the harbor, spraying huge plumes of bay water on the nearest buildings.

"They've been doing that since yesterday morning," sighed a skinny man on the other side of Kyle. "Put one fire out and another starts."

Kid eyed the man in the natty business suit with curiosity. Kid and the skinny man were the only two men on the ferry dressed in suits. Kyle wore a pale shirt, vest and kept tugging his heavy gun belt up. The only other people with holstered guns were the four police officers. Thinking of his own difficulty getting on board the ferry, Kid wondered. What kind of rescue work was done wearing a suit?

"Why are you going over to the city?" prodded Kid. "Are you a fireman, policeman, or a dynamite specialist?"

The man hooked his thumbs in the lapels of his suitcoat and beamed with pride.

"I'm the superintendent of the San Francisco Mint," preened the skinny man. "Although I guess after yesterday's work I could also be considered a fireman. What do you two do?"

"Looking for…," began Kid.

"Dynamite," Kyle's eyes gleamed. "I gets to blow things up."

Kyle's answer wiped the smug expression from the superintendent's face.

"What happened at the mint?" Kid tried to distract the man from Kyle.

"It was wonderful! Our staff stayed through the worst of the fires and demolition," recounted the skinny man.

"You already started blowing things up?"

Kid glared at Kyle. The determined Kansan pressed his way forward to stand between Kyle and the superintendent.

"We had support from the army and civilian volunteers too," added the skinny man. "Everybody pitched in to save the mint. The mint is vital to the economy."

"Saving the mint is important," agreed Kid. "After all, it's where the money is made."

Kid pressed his lips together in a wry smile thinking what Heyes would say when he told his partner about meeting the federal man. He almost missed the superintendent's next words.

"That's the exact same thing that fella Joshua said. I wish all the volunteers cared about the mint as much as he did," grinned the skinny man. With a chuckle at his own wit, he added, "I put him to work up on the third floor with Smitty. Smith and Smitty..."

Kid's hand shot out. His fingers tightened aroud the superintendent's upper arm.

"Did you say that fella Joshua's last name was Smith?"

"Yes, Joshua Smith," the superintendent sniffed and looked pointedly at his arm. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm looking for my partner, Joshua Smith," Kid could hardly breathe. "This fella Joshua, what did he look like?"

The federal man tried to pry Kid's hand from his bicep. Kid gave an apologetic smile and released his grip.

"About your height," huffed the man. The fastidious superintendent smoothed his crinkled sleeve. "Slim build, brown hair starting to go gray around the temples…"

Kid swallowed. This was the first real lead he had on his partner, but where were Jennifer, Arthur and Clem?

"Did he have a tiny woman and two children with him?"

The superintendent stopped pressing the fabric and eyed Kid with a disparaging look.

"An army transport brought men to help fight fire," the superintendent stated in a scornful tone. "There were no women and children on the vehicle."

"Is Joshua Smith still at the Mint?"

Kid hoped his voice didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"Of course not, I sent the volunteers h- home," the superintendent's voice stumbled on the word home. He corrected himself. "I mean I released them last night. For security purposes, I only kept the mint employees for the night shift."

The ferry horn blasted, announcing their arrival. Dockworkers shouted for ropes as the boat shuddered to a stop against the pier. The superintendent started to move to the exit. Kid stepped in front of him.

"Did this fella Smith say where he was going?"

"Do you really think this fella is your partner?" countered the superintendent.

Kid didn't answer. And maybe the desperation he was feeling showed. The superintendent's officious air thawed.

"It might not be him. There are lots of folks named Smith in the world, including my very own employee," continued the superintendent. "Smitty is a nickname for Smith."

"I gotta start looking somewhere," replied Kid. "Did this Joshua Smith fella say where he was going?"

"He mighta said something about going to Golden Gate Park," answered the superintendent. "But I really don't remember."

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"You'll be handed a broom and a knapsack when we stop," shouted the corporal.

Heyes pulled the black neckerchief from his pocket and tied it loosely around his throat as the army transport slowed. His brown eyes widened to see the mansion he, Clem and the children had stopped in front of yesterday. All that remained of the once imposing building was smoldering wood and rubble. It looked like the roof had collapsed on the structure. The broken head of a stone lion peered up with one eye from the edge of the street.

"A broom?" Heyes' voice rose along with others. Protests sounded. "How are we supposed to fight fire with a broom?"

"Where's the fire wagons? The hoses?"

The corporal raised his hands in a call for quiet.

"Fellas, there ain't no water in the hydrants in this part of town," explained the beleaguered soldier. "The fire wagons are where they can do the most good."

"We can't put out a fire with a broom!" voices objected. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Hold the line as long as we can," encouraged the corporal. "When we can't, you'll hear me order Fall Back. Then we back up to the next street and make a new line."

"That's a plan?"

"It's the only plan we got."

Heyes was the only one to ask the next hard question.

"How long does that go on?"

"Until we meet the dynamiters."

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"How we gonna get around that?" Kyle's plaintive voice sounded. "Didn't you say Golden Gate Park was on the other side?"

Kid looked up the steep hill. Remnants of buildings smoldered, and in spots fire blazed out of control. According to the mint superintendent, a man could walk along the harbor edge and then make his way into town. Kid wished he'd asked the superintendent how he managed, but the skinny man had wriggled his way through the line of people exiting the ferry boat and disappeared from sight. They reached the gangplank. The ferry boat operator waited there with a self-satisfied grin on his face. An army corporal stood beside him.

"These two fellas came to help," smirked the boatman. "They're dynamiters."

"Kyle's the dynamite expert," corrected Kid. "I'm Thaddeus Jones…"

"Sure glad you fellas came to San Francisco," responded the soldier. "We need all the help we can get."

The thickset man looked at the corporal in surprise, obviously having expected a different greeting. A pudgy finger pointed at Kid.

"This fella ain't no dynamite expert," spluttered the boatman. "You ain't gonna let him…"

Kid glared. The annoying man's voice trailed off, but the corporal gazed at Kid quizzically.

"What do you do?"

"I'm usually in charge of security."

"That's wonderful!" beamed the corporal. "We need someone to secure the perimeter before the blasting starts."

"You gonna be able to get us up there?" Kid pointed to the fiery hills. The corporal nodded. "Past the fire?"

"Past it?" the corporal sounded surprised. "Sure, but not until we're done blasting. Why?"

"I've got family up there," replied Kid. He turned back to gaze at the cityscape. "Somewhere."

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"Thanks," gasped Heyes.

Heyes accepted the water canteen from the young soldier. The soot begrimed librarian pulled down the black bandana covering his mouth. Throughout the long day, the private kept going up and down the line of volunteer firefighters, providing food and water.

"Where are we?"

Heyes lifted the canteen to his parched mouth. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. The firefighters had zigzagged back and forth battling the raging flames. Heyes had lost track of how many times they had gone a block forward, and then been chased back by the fire.

"Polk Street," answered the youth. He pointed. "Colonel says everyone needs to get back past Gough Street."

"Three blocks? We're losing more streets?"

"The colonel said the dynamiters have all their charges in place," explained the young man. "He's gonna order everything between here and Van Ness Avenue to be blown up."

Heyes held the canteen out, knowing the young soldier need to move on to the next fireman. A sharp crack sounded. Water dribbled out on the dry, ash covered street. Heyes stared at the hole in the canteen.

"Someone's shooting at us!"

"Time to get outta here!"

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"When am I gonna get to blow the dynamite?"

Kyle slid the last charge into place along the cellar beam. Kid raked a sooty hand through his dirty curls, wondering again where he had lost his Homberg. His gray pinstriped suit was so covered with ash now that it appeared entirely gray, he couldn't see the stripes at all.

"Soon Kyle, I'll tell you when," soothed Kid. "Are all the charges in place?"

"The whole block is done," nodded Kyle. Deep creases marked his ashy face as Kyle grinned in delight. "This will be the biggest blast yet."

Kyle and other explosive specialists had demolished buildings throughout the long day, but the fire had merely danced around the smaller firebreaks. Now, Colonel Morris had ordered several consecutive blocks along Van Ness Avenue to be leveled.

"Let's get outta here."

Kid reached the top of the cellar stairs and stepped out into the waning light. The clouds in the west were lit with an eerie orange glow that wasn't fire. Kid hadn't seen the sun all day because of the smoke in the air, but he could tell it was getting late. The two tired men trudged toward a brick wall at the corner. On the other side, all the wires that Kyle had run from bundles of dynamite in different cellars tied into one big detonator. Kyle knelt down and started twisting the last set of wires into place. Kid's sharp ears heard something that sounded like a gunshot.

"What's that?"

Kid peered over the edge of the brick wall at the intersection. Further up the cross street a soot covered group of men raced towards Van Ness. They were moving so fast that Kid only caught a glimpse of them as they ran through the intersection. The men were nearly indistinguishable. One man carried a broom, another clutched a burlap sack, while the last man had a black neckerchief around his throat. A second shot kicked up dust mere inches from the feet of the last runner.

"No one is supposed to be on this street," protested Kid. "Who's shooting?"

The sinewy man strode out from behind the blasting shelter to the edge of the intersection. In the distance, a broad shouldered man crouched behind an abandoned dresser on the sidewalk. The shooter rested a rifle barrel across the top. Kid could tell it was a fancy gun, equipped with a thick round telescopic barrel usually only seen on army rifles. The gunman took aim at the firemen once more.

"Kyle!"

The gunman jerked his head up at the sound of Kid's shout. Kid was glad to distract the shooter from the firemen, but he had no desire to be the next target.

"Kyle, hurry up!" called Kid. "I need that pistol of yours!"

At this distance Kid wasn't sure if he could shoot the gun from the man's hands, but he was going to try. The gunman now looked in his direction.

"What fer?" called Kyle.

The rifle barrel swiveled to point at Kid. The fast draw moved from side to side as the gunman took aim. Kyle poked his head up and looked over the brick barrier at Kid. The little man frowned.

"You needs to get back here! You're too close."

Kid stopped moving as he turned to stare at his friend in shock.

"Did you press the plunger already?"

"Yeah." Kyle beckoned. "Come on!"

A shot furrowed the road near Kid's feet. It wouldn't take long for the shooter to get the range figured out. Kid started running.

"You were supposed to wait for my signal!"

"You done called me!"

Kaboom!

The blast knocked Kid off his feet. He rolled across the pavement, curling up into a fetal position with his arms wrapped around his head. He stopped with a thud against the brick wall. Dust and debris filled the air. A mound of rubble, once homes, blocked the other side of the road separating them from the shooter. The sounds of other blasts echoed, as one by one the other blocks were demolished. Kid sat up slowly. He ran a hand over his jaw, wiggling it back and forth. It still worked. He grinned to see Kyle's head peer around the corner of the brick wall.

"Is you alright?"

"Yeah, you?"

Kyle nodded and crawled out to sit with Kid in front of the brick wall. Kid leaned back with a sigh and rested his pounding head against the bricks.

"We were supposed to be the last group to light the fuse," reminded Kid.

"I just done what you tol' me," insisted Kyle.

Kid grinned. He couldn't be mad at his friend. Kyle had probably saved his life.

"What did you want my pistol fer anyways?"

"To shoot it," answered Kid.

"Well you can't, I ain't got no bullets."

"No bullets?" Kid stared at Kyle. "What about those cartridges in your gun belt?"

"They's empty," grinned Kyle. "I used the all the gunpowder for fireworks last Fourth of July."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"The shot sounded and all of us just ran, then the explosions," Heyes shook his head. "When we got to Gough Street, the soldiers put us on the transport and brought us all back here."

Except for their whispers, Golden Gate Park was quiet in the dark night. Clem dipped the torn piece of his dress shirt back into the pond. Her fingers twisted around the cloth tightly as she wrung out the excess water. Heyes hissed as Clem pressed the cool damp cloth against his forehead. She wiped the cloth down again, removing another layer of soot, ash and dirt.

"I didn't see anything but the man in front of me," continued Heyes. "No one knows who did the shooting. It could have just been some nut."

"You know it was that awful man," insisted Clem. "How many people in San Francisco want to shoot you?"

Heyes was very tempted to answer that it depended upon who was in San Francisco at the moment, but he didn't think his wife would appreciate that jest. The tired man frowned, thinking. Briggs had pulled a gun yesterday, trying to intimidate him like he had in West Bend. The bully wanted in on a non-existent smuggling operation and revenge on Kid. Heyes had made it clear that neither was possible. Would Briggs try to shoot him out of frustration? In place of Kid?

"How would Briggs know where I was?" countered Heyes.

Clem bent over and dipped the makeshift washcloth back in the pond and swished it to remove the grime. She repeated the process to wring out the cloth and began wiping Heyes' face again scrubbing the stubble on his jawline thoroughly to remove the caked on soot.

"For all you know he could have doubled back yesterday and followed you here last night."

"Then wouldn't he have tried something this morning?" Heyes frowned. "And when I saw Briggs he didn't have a rifle."

"That doesn't mean he doesn't have one," argued Clem. "For all we know he's got a Gatling gun too."

"I doubt it," grinned Heyes. "I hear they're hard to come by."

Clem sniffed. Water trickled down the back of Heyes' neck, running between his shoulder blades as Clem moved the cloth lower.

"Okay," conceded Heyes raising his hands. "Maybe you're right, maybe it was Briggs. But how did he know which fireman to try and shoot? You said yourself you couldn't recognize me when you first saw me this evening."

"He could have followed you from here this morning," retorted Clem. "Or maybe he just lucked out and saw you before you got so dirty."

Clem stroked the cloth across the dirty triangle on his bare chest where the top of his shirt had been unbuttoned. Heyes looked at his Henley soaking in the pond. The soot and grime hadn't really started sticking until the sweaty late afternoon. The tiny woman looked back up the slope to their camp. Silky sat upon the wheelbarrow, vigilant, watching over the sleeping children. Heyes swallowed. Clem's unspoken worry was readily apparent. If someone was taking potshots at him, a canteen might not be the only casualty.

"Tomorrow morning, we go to the ferry if we can get there," determined Heyes. "Otherwise we start walking towards the Daly ranch."

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"My men found this."

The corporal leaned a dusty rifle with a scope against the central tent post. Kid lifted his face from the field sink, a rickety table with a metal washbasin actually. Most of the dirt was gone, at least now Kid could recognize his own reflection in the tinny mirror. He set the razor down. Kid reached for a towel and started wiping the traces of shaving cream from his face.

"The gun was half buried by debris, but there wasn't a body," continued the corporal. "Whoever was shooting at you got away."

"Can't be too many folks have access to a rifle like that," Kid replied pointedly.

The corporal sighed and sat down in the camp chair facing Kid. The spacious tent at the Presidio was meant to be officer's quarters when in the field, but the corporal had wrangled special privileges for his dynamite crew including water for shaving and a change of clothes. Kyle had the next tent over.

"We're pretty sure the rifle was stolen," confided the young soldier. "A unit moving prisoners from the city prison to Alcatraz was stopped by a policeman, only it wasn't really a policeman."

"And one of your soldiers just gave this fella a gun?"

Kid couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice.

"No, our job is to help the police to keep order," answered the corporal. "The fake policeman asked for assistance, the OIC detached a private to go with him."

"Your folks gave this fella a soldier and a gun?"

"Yeah."

The corporal rubbed a hand across his face. Dark circles under the young man's even darker eyes gave mute evidence of the man's exhaustion.

"What happened to the private?"

"He was lucky. Another one of our units found him unconscious during a sweep to make sure all civilian personnel were evacuated from the fire zone," answered the corporal. The young man's lips pressed down in a tight frown. "He's in the hospital now, ten stitches across the back of his head, but he'll be alright."

"So you're saying, whoever this gunman is, he's got a fake badge and a genuine army uniform now," prodded Kid. "In a town that's got martial law."

"Martial law hasn't been declared," the soldier was quick to correct. "The army is just helping out the government."

"A uniform, or a badge, means something," reminded Kid.

"Yeah," agreed the corporal. "And in the wrong hands..."

The man's voice trailed off. Kid reached for a clean light blue shirt hanging from a peg, slid it over his torso and began buttoning it up over the dark wool army pants he now wore. The shirt was a little snug, but his own clothing wouldn't be dry until morning. Kid shook his head. He couldn't help the soldier, he had no idea who the shooter was or how to find him. Kid decided to change the subject.

"When do we go to Golden Gate Park?"

"I know I promised you I'd get you there tonight, but the blasting took longer than we thought it would," reminded the corporal.

"San Francisco ain't exactly the safest town right now," answered Kid. "I'd like to get my family outta here."

"It's dark, and there's a curfew in town. We can't go tonight. It's dangerous."

Kid's jaw tightened in frustration, but he knew the truth of the man's words. The blasting hadn't stopped the fire, merely turned it. Only fresh firefighting units were supposed to be on the streets tonight.

"First thing tomorrow morning, we go to Golden Gate Park."

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