The morning ride was for the most part uneventful. Thankfully, the road was much smoother and the hills gentler than the previous day's journey. Bridger and Brook toiled over their paperwork and ledgers, their low voices droning monotonously. Amanda alternately read or gazed out the window at the passing scenery. Kid alternately dozed and gazed out the other window - and often over at Amanda as she gazed out her own window. He enjoyed watching her expressions change, from delight to awe to curiosity, and so forth. At one point she spotted a half-grown moose at the edge of the forest, gangly and long-legged. This was an animal she had read about, but of course never before seen, having grown up on Illinois farmland. Thrilled at the sight, she forgot all of Mrs. Batenhort's lessons and reached over to grab Curry by the arm, urging him to look out her side. Amanda didn't even seem to notice that he had to lean his body over hers to catch a glimpse of the huge creature as they sped past it. Curry shot a glance at the men across the stage, wary of their disapproval, but they were so preoccupied with their work that they didn't notice the inappropriate physical proximity. As they passed by, the moose turned its head and seemed to look right at them, its large head looking out of proportion to its long, long legs. Amanda, her cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling, turned to him with eyes shining. "Wasn't that just wonderful? I feel privileged to have witnessed it."

"I feel privileged myself, ma'am," the Kid replied, possibly talking about more than the moose.

When the stage stopped at midday to change horses and eat some lunch, mindful of his chaperone duties, Curry didn't let the young teacher out of his sight, except of course for her visit to the outhouse. Harold Bridger dominated the mealtime conversation, mostly boasting about what a fine town Bridgerton was.

"You'll see it has all the latest amenities. The roads are covered in gravel, with boardwalks on all the major thoroughfares. The bank is equipped with the most up-to-date security measures. It is thoroughly robbery-proof," he bragged.

Curry added, "And the folks in Bridgerton are just about the friendliest people my partner and I have ever run across."

"Oh, you have a partner, Mr. Jones?" inquired Miss Grady curiously. "Is he in Bridgerton now?"

"Yeah, he stayed for the poker game. Thinks he might even have a chance at winning it."

"He wouldn't if Mr. Bridger were in town," said Brock loyally. "Isn't that right, Mr. Bridger?"

"Play a bit of poker, do you?" asked the Kid.

"I used to. I came to the conclusion that it wasn't really fair to the other players since I consistently win," replied the banker.

"That and his wife put her foot down," Brock muttered out of the side of his mouth so only Curry could hear.

Amanda's eyes were shining with excitement. "How much longer until we get there, Mr. Sheckerson?" she asked.

"By noon tomorrow, Miss," Sheckerson answered. "We'll make the halfway point at Sweetwater Station about suppertime and stay there tonight. Then we'll leave for Bridgerton at sunup."

Late in the afternoon, the occupants of the stage were roused by sharp rapping on the roof. The stage slowed and Shecky's voice called down to the passengers, "Folks, looks like trouble."

Curry was instantly alert. He levered the upper portion of his body out the window and looked ahead. There were six riders approaching rapidly. When he returned to the inside of the coach, he saw Miss Grady was doing the same thing out the other side. He took hold of her waist with both hands and hauled her back in. She gasped in surprise as Bridger demanded, "What's going on out there?" The percussive sound of hoofbeats now surrounded them.

"Looks like we're getting' robbed," Curry answered tersely. He turned to the woman next to him and explained, "Now, the smartest thing to do in a situation like this is to give 'em enough to satisfy 'em. Hide most of your money and valuables, but leave out what you might call a 'sacrificial offering.' Then yes 'em to death. And act scared – that makes 'em feel important."

"Act scared?! I am scared!" breathed Amanda.

"You'll be alright. I won't let 'em hurtcha," he smiled at her reassuringly. "Now, do you have anything valuable?"

"I have thirty dollars in my purse. All the rest of my money is hidden in my – er, on my person."

"Good. That should keep 'em happy." He then addressed the banker. "Mr. Bridger, I suggest you hide your watch and your ring real good if you want to keep 'em."

Curry bent over and untied the rawhide strings securing his holster to his thigh, then proceeded to unbuckle his gunbelt.

"What are you doing?" demanded Bridger in alarm. "I thought you were hired to protect us!"

"I was hired to protect her, not you, and that's what I'm doin'."

"What do you have that fancy gun on your hip for if you don't intend to use it?"

"Mr. Bridger, there's six of them and one of me. If I try anything against them, I might get two or three, but the rest of them'll make sure I get dead. And how's that gonna protect Miss Grady? Believe me, it's better if I ain't armed. They'll just take it anyway, and I don't wanna lose it."

Kid pulled the Colt from the holster before rolling up the gunbelt and cramming it beneath the wooden bench seat behind Amada's carpet bag. He considered stuffing the weapon into the back of his trousers, hidden behind his vest, but on impulse he turned to Miss Grady and said, "Stick this in your garter. Just in case."

Miss Grady looked startled, but then gamely reached for the pistol and, being careful not to reveal anything more than a shapely ankle, secreted the weapon beneath her full skirts.

By now Shecky had pulled the coach to a complete stop. A fury of pounding hooves sounded as the highwaymen reined to a halt all around them.

"You up there! Shouted a harsh voice. Don't even think about usin' that rifle. Just toss it down nice and easy-like."

They heard the thud of the rifle landing on the ground. Amanda moved to look out the window again, but Curry pulled her back before she could. "Don't call attention to yourself," he hissed quietly. She nodded earnestly at him. Kid sat back in the seat, but watched the action outside as best he could.

"There's nothing worth stealin' on this coach. Ain't got no payroll. Hell, I ain't even got any mail," they heard Shecky say defiantly.

"What's in all them trunks?"

"Schoolbooks, I tell you. Schoolbooks for the new school in Bridgerton."

"Prove it."

After some shuffling and commotion, and a few thuds of books being tossed to the ground – accompanied by Amanda's righteous gasps - the thieves lost interest in what was on top of the coach and turned their attention to the passengers on the inside.

"Alright, you, in the coach. Come on out. This is a stick up."

The Kid climbed out first, then turned to help Miss Grady descend from the stagecoach. He immediately pushed her behind him protectively. Bridger and Brock then emerged and climbed down. All four passengers stood in the dusty road warily, sizing up their besiegers.

"Here, take my money. Just let us be on our way," Mr. Bridger ordered the gang, thrusting out his billfold.

Curry' examined the criminals surrounding them. The obvious leader was a handsome, dark-haired man mounted on the finest horse of the bunch. He had dark wavy hair and a mustache that was waxed carefully into upturned points on either side. His clothes were fairly ordinary, save for the crimson brocade vest peeking out from his black duster. He was smiling broadly, but there was no true warmth in the expression, revealing impossibly perfect, white teeth. Kid knew he was in charge not only from his horse and garb, but also because he just slouched on his horse looking on smugly, arms crossed loosely at the wrists over his pommel while the rest of the gang did the actual work.

Two outlaws sat their horses on either side of him. One was short, stocky, and dark-skinned, possibly part Mexican, judging by the fancy spurs and tooled leather saddle. The other resembled his own Grampa Curry, the map of Ireland across his face, as the old saying goes. However, he was much larger, a veritable mountain of a man. They each held a rifle pointed at the passengers.

"Skeet" said the leader, addressing a scrawny, outlaw with a grizzled reddish beard and soiled clothes who was rummaging through the piles of baggage that had been thrown off the roof. "We miss anything or is it all books?". Then he turned to a slim, young, blonde-haired man on foot, holding a rifle on Shecky. "Walt, make sure he don't try anything." Skeet looked up from his work and called out, "Hey, Blake! He were tellin' the truth. It's just books and stuff like that." He held up a globe of the world in one hand and spun it on its axis with the other, chuckling. "See," he said. "Useless!"

Curry could sense that Miss Grady, still behind him, was about to say something in protest. He steadied her with a gentle touch to the arm and shook his head slightly without turning around. She seemed to calm down when the outlaw put the globe back in the trunk.

Kid's heart sank when he turned to examine the sixth outlaw, apparently the lowest man on the totem pole, who was standing off to the side holding the reins of three horses and looking on at the action. He knew this guy. From somewhere. He pulled his hat brim lower and studied the face surreptitiously. He was young, barely twenty. How did he know him…?

Then it came to him – It was about five years earlier, after a hard winter that he and Heyes had spent in Mexico and the other members of the Devils Hole Gang had whiled away in various warmer climes. When they all had reassembled at the Hole, Hank had showed up with his young nephew in tow. The kid was only about 16 years old. His pa was Hank's brother, who had been raising the boy alone since his ma had passed on. But then he up and died that winter as well. Hank, as the nearest living relative, had stepped in. Hank didn't see any reason why the kid couldn't follow in his footsteps along the outlaw trail, but both Heyes and Curry had immediately kiboshed that notion.

"He's just a boy," Heyes had said, in a tone Hank knew better than to argue against. "He's too young to decide if this is the route in life he's gonna take. Ain't you got any other kin?"

Hank disclosed he had a sister in Montana and reluctantly agreed it would be best to bring the boy up there to live. Lobo ended up riding along with them the very next day. So he was only in the Hole two days and a night. And it was five years ago… Would he remember..? What was his name again? Jack, or Jake, or –

"Jude!" called the leader. "Quit lollygaggin' with those horses and check the inside of the stage. Mick," he said, turning to the horseman on his right, the one that looked like he had some Irish blood in him. "What say you relieve these fine folks of their valuables so they can be on their way?"

Mick sheathed his rifle in the scabbard attached to his saddle and slid off his horse as Jude tied the reins he was holding to the branches of a scrubby bush and strode toward the stage. He paused when he reached the small group of passengers.

"Don't I know you from someplace?" Jude asked the Kid, wrinkling up his forehead.

"Nope," replied Kid in a slightly countrified twang. "Less you been to Illinois. This is the farthest west I ever been. I ain't never been in a robbery before!" he added, as if it was kind of exciting and he might even be a little in awe of the robbers.

The outlaw that had been addressed as Skeet spoke up proudly, "Well, then, this is yer lucky day, kid! Yer bein' robbed by the best! Blake Mason and his Wild Mountain Boys!"

Curry tried to look suitably impressed. Mick relieved Bridger of his billfold and began to pat him down roughly. Jude climbed into the stage coach as Mick finished with Bridger and turned to Brock, who was holding both arms above his head and wearing an expression of shear terror.

"Come on little fella," chuckled the big Irishman, "I won't hurtcha. All we want is yer money."

Brock lowered his hands cautiously and drew his own billfold from his vest pocket and handed it over to the brigand with a trembling hand. Mick opened it and pulled the few bills out with evident disappointment. "That's all?" he asked, dropping the empty wallet and tucking the money into a small cloth bag. "He doesn't pay you enough," he added, jerking his head to indicate Mr. Bridger. "Let me just check your pockets now, there's a good man."

"Hey! Lookee what I found here!" called Jude, who had been ransacking the inside of the coach, looking for hidden valuables. In one hand dangled Mr. Bridger's gold watch, swinging slightly from its chain. In the other he had Kid's gunbelt.

"Now see here!" said Bridger. "That watch belonged to my grandfather!"

"Well, it's ours now," Mason said, grinning. He stretched out a hand and Jude tossed the watch, the sun catching the gleaming gold as it arched through the air. The mustachioed outlaw caught it neatly and held it to his face examining it. "Nice…" he said appraisingly. He smiled at the irate banker and said, "You look like you can afford to buy another one." Then he turned his attention to the gunbelt.

"And who belongs to that?" he asked, pointing to Jude, still holding it up.

"It's mine!" piped up the Kid. "I bought it in a second-hand shop in Denver. I'm gonna get me a six-shooter and I'm gonna learn how to shoot it, too. I'm never goin' back to Springfield. I'm gonna stay out West and be a cowboy."

Blake Mason narrowed his eyes at the young man. Curry was known for his "babyface," and he definitely looked younger than his 28 years. With his affected accent and wide-eyed exuberance, he gave the impression of a young, naïve country boy.

"You been readin' too many dime novels, kid," advised Mason. "You'll soon find out that pushin' cattle ain't nearly as glamorous as them books make it out ta be."

Meanwhile Skeet had given up on the baggage and had relieved Curry of the small wad of currency he offered. When he finished patting him down, he made a move as if to reach for Amanda. "Hey!" Curry cried, "You leave my sister alone!"

"Hand me your purse, Sis," he instructed, reaching to take her small reticule and then passing it over to the skinny robber. "There. Now you've got everything we have. So just leave her alone."

"Your sister, eh? And is she going to become a cowboy as well?" sneered Mason from his perch.

"She's a school teacher," Curry-as-Amanda's-brother replied proudly. "She's goin' to her new job in Bridgerton and I'm gonna see that she gets there safe and sound."

"That's true," added Bridger. "I can vouch for –"

"Can't the little lady speak for herself?" interrupted Blake.

Kid groaned inwardly as the little lady did indeed begin to speak for herself. "Yes, I certainly can," she stated, poking her head out from behind her "brother's" shoulder. "It's just that Thaddeus has always been protective of me." Kid tried to push her behind him and out of sight again, but the gang had already seen and heard enough to become interested - very interested.

"She's awful purty," said Skeet with admiration.

"Geez, she talks like a real lady," enthused Jude.

"If I had her for a teacher, maybe I wouldn'ta quit school," added Mick, moving a little closer.

"She went to college," bragged Curry, attempting to get the attention back on himself.

Skeet pulled the money from Amanda's handbag and handed the currency, as well as Curry's money, over to Mick, who added it to the bag. Skeet held the empty purse out toward Amanda, saying, "Want it back?"

When the girl stepped around her protector to reach for it, the thief quickly pulled it away and said teasingly, "It'll cost ya!"

"But you've already taken all my money," she protested, ignoring the Kid's attempts to shush her.

"It'll cost ya - - a kiss!" Skeet leered.

All the outlaws began to laugh in an ugly way. Kid did not like where this was going.

Pulling Amanda behind him once again he said forcefully, "She don't want it no more after you put your dirty hands on it!" He deliberately knocked the purse from the thief's hand to the ground and kicked it away, hoping to distract him from the schoolteacher once and for all. At the same time, the stagecoach driver, who had been silently fuming, yelled, "Leave her be!" and ignoring the rifle pointed at him, began to stride towards her.

"Don't you take another step, old man," snarled Walt, the outlaw who was guarding him.

"What are ya gonna do, shoot me?" taunted Sheckerson. "Yer all nothin' but a bunch of cowards!"

Kid was sure Walt was going to kill the driver on the spot, but instead he flipped the long gun around deftly and smashed the butt into the back of Shecky's skull, whose body crumpled sickeningly to the ground. Amanda made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a gulp. She attempted to rush to the injured driver, but Curry held her back. Things were going south pretty fast. At this point, Mick was the nearest robber to him, but his attention was drawn to the outburst of violence, joining in the jeering laughter at the fallen driver. Kid seized the opportunity by hauling off and punching him square in the nose – not with all his strength, continuing to portray a wet-behind-the-ears farm boy. As intended, this didn't hurt the big Irishman so much as provoke him. He shook his head like an enraged bull, then, snarling, he slugged Curry hard on the jaw with a meaty fist.

The Kid could take a punch. And as punches go, this wasn't the hardest he'd ever been hit, despite his assailant's size. He supposed it helped that he knew it was coming. At any rate, he stayed in character and slumped to the ground. Just as he expected, Amanda immediately hastened to his side and crouched down to check on him. He lay with eyes closed as she patted his cheek gently repeating, "Thaddeus" in her most sisterly tones, despite the fear and panic rising within her.

The terrified young woman hid her surprise as she felt Mr. Jones's hand slide beneath her dress and up along her leg to grasp the pistol in her garter. He cracked one eye at her and whispered, jaw clenched, "Don't worry, I'm fine. Just stay here a minute while we see how this goes. And be ready to duck."

Immensely relieved, Amanda pretended to minister to her "brother," hiding him as best she could with her body. She could feel the tension running through him, vibrating like a taut bow strong, as he watched out of the corner of his eye, his hand on the handle of his Colt hidden beneath her full skirts. All the men were looking to their leader, apparently awaiting his signal, as if to see whether he approved or disapproved of this sudden turn to violence. Would he encourage more mayhem, or had they already crossed some invisible line? At some point during the upheaval, Mason had drawn his own gun, and he was now aiming it toward Bridger and Brock, perhaps expecting them, as the only men still standing, to act out next. Still feigning unconsciousness, Curry took note of each outlaw's position, mentally ranking and prioritizing their level of threat. He'd have to shoot Mason first, if it came to that. Then the mounted Mexican with the rifle followed by Walt... The math worked: Six men, six bullets. But could he get them all in time…? For one long moment that felt more like an eternity, no one spoke. A hawk screamed somewhere in the distance, an eerie intrusion into the tense situation.

At last, Mason's big, white teeth once more stretched into a wide smile. He uncocked his gun, twirled it a couple times, and shoved it back into his holster. The tension immediately lifted as all the other outlaws stood down, Mick and Walt lowering their rifles, Jude, Skeet, and Mick moving toward their horses. Amanda felt Mr. Jones's body relax and release the grip on the gun strapped to her thigh. He let his arm drop to the ground and pretended to slowly wake up. She helped him into a sitting position. Curry stared up at Mason, who had nudged his horse close enough to stand just next to him and Amanda, looking down at them from his saddle.

"We didn't wanna hurt ya, kid," Mason said, still smiling. "Ya shouldn't poke a wasp's nest if ya don't wanna get stung. But ya do have sand, I'll give ya that. Yer takin' damn good care of yer sister. When you get tired of eatin' dust drivin' cattle, you come look me up. Just ask around. Everybody knows Blake Mason."

"And his Wild Mountain Boys," chortled Skeet, climbing up onto his horse.

"C'mon boys. Let's ride. See ya 'round, kid!" called Mason.

Jude took one last look at Curry, now standing, and turned to his leader, "Huh. You keep callin' him 'kid' reminds me of who it is I thought he was at first. Kid Curry. Funny, ain't it? He don't even wear a gun!"

All the outlaws guffawed at that comment, kicked their horses into a gallop and disappeared into a cloud of dust.