Heyes and the Kid rode out of Louisville at a punishing but not foolish pace, allowing for that fact that they might have to ride for days without new mounts. They went on the main road for the moment, since it was much too cold and snowy off the road for safe going in those mountains. No one cleared the road, but at least the snow there was beaten down by passing hooves and the surface was relatively smooth. They wouldn't get off the road into the deep untrodden snow of the rocks and woods unless they had to. They loped and walked in alternation, eating up the miles until it was too dark to ride. The two constantly looked over their shoulders.

The Kid was leading the pair, since he knew the area better than Heyes did. Soon after they started the Kid looked over his shoulder and noticed that Heyes had put on his glasses. He couldn't restrain a smile at the incongruous picture of a desperate fleeing outlaw in scholarly-looking glasses.

"Don't you dare say anything!" cried Heyes, waving a finger at the Kid. "Not one word, Kid, or so help me . . !"

The Kid started to chuckled as he rode, then he laughed harder.

"Kid!" yelled Heyes in annoyance.

"You said not to say anything! I didn't say anything," laughed the Kid. And Heyes laughed with him. In the vast silence of the cold, darkening wilderness their laugher went out to mountains and echoed back at them. They just laughed harder as it occurred to them that it might be a long time before they got to laugh at anything again. And as they fled from a pair of confirmed murderers, there was certainly the chance that Curry or Heyes or both of them would not live long enough to ever laugh again. So they laughed hard and long at the universe that seemed all set against them. They might have lost nearly everything else, but they still had each other.

The boys rode on, lapsing into silence. No one went by except a stage. The driver looked at them askance – few were abroad so late in the day in that weather and he was worried that the two riders might be highwaymen.

As the sky went from blue to purple and the stars came out by the thousands overhead, the boys stopped at a small town and checked into the tiny lone hotel. They shared a ratty little room and put their boots under a single bed, as they so often had when they were on the run during their outlaw days, or in those first two years after they had gone straight.

Seemed like it was literally ratty – they could hear rodent activity in the walls. But at least they weren't aware of any bed bugs – yet. Bugs wouldn't have been any surprise, in a place like this. The Kid, sitting exhausted on the bed, looked at Heyes, who had striped to his long underwear and was already under the worn, stained covers. Curry sighed. "How did we wind up back at this, Heyes?"

Heyes responded bitterly, "We were just fooling ourselves to think we could leave it behind, Kid. Specially me with my big, stupid dreams. Put out that lamp and let's go to sleep. Got a long, cold ride in the morning. Or I hope it's long. Cold, I'm sure of." Heyes turned over and pulled the thin blanket over him. They could see their breaths in the cold room.

"God I miss Cat!" said the Kid softly as he put his wool-clad legs under the covers and turned out the lamp.

"Well, don't forget and put your arm around me!" muttered Heyes crossly, "You'll get a fat lip!"

Heyes' bad temper was better explained by what he didn't say than by what he did. "I miss Beth, too," thought Heyes silently, "But I've never had the privilege of sharing a bed with the lady. You lucky dog, Kid!"

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The pair was up before dawn in the cold and the dark. They didn't dare wait longer to be on their way. They roused the sleepy cook and got some poorly cooked bacon and eggs and a couple of cups each of very bad coffee to hold them until they could risk stopping. Then they went to tack up the horses, who were just as sour and tired as their riders.

"Stop blowing out your belly, Whistle!" grouched the Kid. "I'll get this cinch around you one way or another and I don't have time to be nice about it." Curry punched the furry bay horse gently in the belly and the beast deflated enough to allow him to finish saddling the ill-tempered animal.

Then they were on the road again, loping and walking, walking and loping, mile after frigid mile along the road. Their mounts scrambled up the snowy slopes and skittered down the far icy sides. They stopped for lunch in a sheltered spot between some rocks that blocked the bitter winter wind. They decided to risk making a fire – they were too cold to go on without some hot food and drink to warm them.

"Well, no matter what you thought, Heyes, that risk worked out alright." said the Kid as they put snow onto the fire to douse it. "No one out there that I can hear."

But Heyes, whose hearing was better than the Kid's due to the famous gun man's many hours of loud gun practice, cocked his head alertly and gestured to the Kid to mount up fast. They were on their horses instantly and riding away along the road at a dead run. It wasn't long before they could both hear the sound of hoof beats coming rapidly behind them on the far side of a mountain slope that blocked their view. There were at least four horses behind them. It didn't sound like a coach – there was no tell-tale rattle of metal-tired wheels on the frozen road, and they were coming too fast. The boys silently agreed to leave the road and strike off into the woods, hip deep in snow in many places, where they might be able to elude detection. Heyes tried to use a bundle of sticks to rake over their tracks to cover where they had left the road, but he wasn't satisfied with what he was able to accomplish and didn't dare take time to do any better. Everything was just too cold and frozen.

They weren't long off the road when the riders they had heard pursuing them approached. The boys were high up a wooded mountain slope, well hidden in the trees. They stopped and held still in the winter cold. Peering from behind the pine trees, Heyes and Curry watched the road. It was the Teasdales all right, with two nasty looking additional men along. The Teasdales were riding right by the spot where the Kid and Heyes had left the road – they had missed the tracks! The Teasdales continued galloping along and vanished around the next bend in the road.

Then Curry's horse whinnied loudly after the retreating horses.

"Oh shit!" exclaimed the Kid with feeling. He dug his spurs mercilessly into the sides of his mount, and off he and Heyes rode at top speed into the woods, or as close to top speed as the horses could make when they were plunging through snow that was often nearly up to their bellies. It wasn't safe to go that fast in the deep snow and ice and rocks of the wintery mountains, but they had no choice. The Teasdales were off the road and after them within seconds, coming on just as fast or faster on fresher horses. Heyes and the Kid rode recklessly fast around one mountain slope and then another, but they could hear the Teasdales catching up. Heyes' and Curry's horses scrambled up a slope and around its crest and they plunged down the other side toward a half-frozen mountain stream. A hail of bullets came after them as the Teasdales came over the ridge behind them. But soon the bullets stopped, none of them having hit their mark. The boys' pursuers hadn't spared time to re-load – instead they were still riding much too close behind the pair of fleeing reformed outlaws.

Heyes' unaccustomed mount shied badly as they approach the stream, ready to jump the narrow but treacherous water. The Kid shouted a warning, but it was too late. Heyes' buckskin had taken him under a low branch that swept his rider off and into the icy stream with an enormous splash. Heyes tried to get up amid the wet, icy rocks and fell. He was soaked through before he could manage to stand. The Kid, pulling up his own horse to help his partner, gasped in helpless horror. In the bitter Colorado cold, wetness could quickly be fatal. But Heyes, cursing a blue streak, still held his horse's trailing reins. He was able to pull the animal back to him. Although Heyes was already shivering hard, he mounted rapidly. Then the pair was off again, their mounts quickly climbing the far bank of the stream that had soaked Heyes.

There was no way to dry off Heyes without stopping and surrendering to the Teasdales or being shot by them. Heyes' fall had scattered ice and quickly freezing water all around the stream crossing. The Teasdales skidded and slowed to avoid falling into the stream themselves. This gave the Kid and Heyes the break they needed. They picked up a bit of a lead as they raced through the woods. But the lead was not enough - the Teasdales were only about seventy-five feet back. If they started shooting again, there wasn't much question of how this chase would end. With Heyes shivering violently in the saddle as hypothermia closed in on him, things looked bleak.

But Heyes' head went up alertly – his keen ears had caught the sound of another group of approaching horsemen. In moments, Sheriff Wilde and his loyal deputy burst out from behind a stand of pines. The Teasdales turned to retreat from the law, riding back toward the road while Heyes and the Kid took off in the opposite direction. Grover Teasdale was shouting, "God damn it! That's Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes – thirty thousand in reward money riding away from you!" But Wilde paid no mind and doggedly pursued the Teasdales through the snow drifts and rocks.

Heyes and the Kid didn't dare to stop just yet, since there were four Teasdales being chased by only the Sheriff and his single deputy. One or more of the Teasdale gang could come for the boys at any time. The Kid desperately wished that they could stop. He heard Heyes sneeze and cough again and again. His wet clothes were freezing to his skin. They had to get Heyes in out of the cold or he would be in severe trouble very soon. He probably already was. But there simply was no warm place to stop in the deep snow of the mountains. The sun shown, but it seemed to provide hardly any warmth. They were miles from any town.

The Kid had to get Heyes dry and warm. There was no sign of the Teasdales, but also no sign of any man-made shelter – not even a tiny line cabin such as was so common in the area. Enough before sunset that he still had light and time to gather what he needed, the Kid stopped and made camp in a spot behind a rock ledge that broke the biting wind and kept the snow shallow there. Heyes was slumped limply in his saddle coughing and shivering. The Kid had to help him down from his horse. Over Heyes' faint objections, Curry made a big crackling fire of dry pine branches as the sun began to set at the end of one of the shortest days of the year. The Kid stripped his shivering partner near the fire and tried to rub him dry and chafe some warmth into his nearly blue limbs. Clumsily, Curry changed the barely conscious Heyes into dry clothes while his wet ones steamed on branches by the fire. The slumping Heyes was so cold and exhausted that he couldn't do anything except shiver and cough and sneeze. He didn't even speak.

Having felt Heyes' skin so much in the last few minutes, the Kid was in no doubt that his partner had a high fever. This was no surprise, but what could they do about it? The Kid combined their bedrolls so they could share body heat, but it was still horribly cold. Curry gathered as much fire wood as he could and made their bed on the biggest pile of green pine boughs he could manage to get together, but Heyes was so wracked with alternate sweats and chills that none of it seemed to do much good.

It was a terrible night. Curry got up every hour or two to throw more wood on the fire while Heyes shivered and coughed and twitched in his fever. Bleary-eyed, having hardly rested, much less slept, the Kid got up with the dawn and fixed hot coffee and gruel for himself and Heyes. Heyes could barely sit up to eat. He leaned forward farther and farther as if he would collapse completely and his eyes kept drifting closed. When breakfast was over, the Kid had to saddle up both horses and help Heyes onto his horse. He doubted that Heyes could ride for long without falling. His eyes were dull and he was muttering incoherently about something the Kid couldn't understand. The Kid was sick with fear and worry. The Kid led the pair off into the woods, hoping against hope that they would find some shelter soon.

As if in answer to the Kid's prayer, they soon stumbled into a small town. A sign proclaimed it to be Dead Elk – not a name that gave the Kid any comfort. He had never heard of the place and had no idea where it might be. He found a doctor's office, but the doctor was out and there was no sign of when he would return. The Kid took Heyes to the local hotel where he could at least be in a warm place and get some warm food. On the way to the hotel, the Kid noticed a train station. The town must be on a small branch line. After he had fed Heyes some hot soup and tucked the sick outlaw into bed with a hot water bottle, the Kid inquired into where trains went and when. A train east was leaving at a few minutes after noon. There wouldn't be another for two days. But if they caught that noon train, Curry soon realized that it would take only two connections to get them on the main line to New York City. The Kid bought two tickets to New York. It took a big chunk out of their limited funds, but they would have enough for food and drink to get them to the city, and even some extra for doctors, if Heyes lived so long.

The Kid, stumbling with exhaustion, set off on a frantic series of errands he had to accomplish before they caught the train at noon. He went back to check on the doctor and found the office still empty. Then he went to the telegraph office to send several urgent messages. He didn't dare make them too cryptic – it seemed to him more important to communicate clearly than to keep secrets in this tiny place where he hoped no law (he saw no sheriff's office) and no Teasdales would ever come.

To Sheriff Wilde he sent,

We are in Dead Elk Co stop Smith very sick stop taking train to NYC stop arrive in four days stop What news of T brothers stop reply soonest stop we leave at noon stop

Thaddeus Jones

To Cat he sent much the same, but added:

Wilde on T brothers trail stop I will be back when Wilde says is safe stop

and he also sent:

To Dr. Leutze, Leutze Clinic, New York, New York

Smith and I fleeing Teasdale Brothers gang stop seem to have lost them stop so taking train to NYC hope to see you in four days stop Smith very sick stop

And Curry also sent an update to sheriff Lom Trevors in Porterville Wyoming to make sure the man knew that the Lodge Grass job wasn't theirs (which was obvious enough since Trevors knew all about Heyes' school in New York) and about what was happening with the Teasdales. Trevors knew the Teasdales all too well.

Then the Kid went back to check the doctor's office – the man was still gone.

Then the utterly spent Curry dared to take time to drop into the local bar in search of gossip about where the doctor might be and any other news of interest. He also desperately needed to sit down and get some lunch and hot coffee if he was to keep going. He ate some very good beef stew while he heard that the doctor was at a cabin far outside town delivering a baby and might be gone for hours. This was a bitter disappointment. At least there was no word of the Teasdales. Then Curry returned to the telegraph office. A message awaited him.

To Thaddeus Jones, Dead Elk, Colorado

T brothers still at large stop Two goons in custody stop watch your backs stop hope Smith better soon stop stay in touch stop

Sheriff Wilde, Red Gulch, Colorado

Curry wondered for a moment how Wilde had gotten the message, since he was many miles from his home office. But the Kid realized that the Sheriff must have left someone covering the Louisville office, and telegraphed to that person where he was, then had messages relayed to him. Ah, this modern technology!

At about eleven thirty, the Kid went to the hotel room where Heyes was asleep, breathing noisily.

"Heyes," he called softly, shaking his sick partner's shoulder, "wake up partner! We got a train to catch to New York." Heyes just moaned softly and didn't open his eyes. Curry shook him again. "Up and at 'em, Heyes!" Heyes moaned again, more loudly, but he slowly sat up and opened his eyes blearily. His eyes and nose were very red and he looked generally terrible. The Kid helped Heyes up and put his hat and coat on him. The feverish man could hardly breathe, much less walk.

The Kid, burdened with two sets of saddle bags and the stumbling Heyes, helped his partner to the train station and, with difficulty, got him on the train. The Kid got Heyes installed in a comfortable seat where his partner hoped he could get some sleep. Then the Kid fixed himself up similarly – he was yawning repeatedly, in terrible need of sleep himself. They pair soon dropped off to sleep. It might have been safer to have someone on the lookout, but they couldn't spare anyone – they both needed sleep more than anything else.

They had to wake up that evening to change trains. Again, the Kid had a hard time getting Heyes awake at all. The Kid got a conductor to help him with Heyes and the baggage, since he partner still couldn't stand on his own.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

The coughing Heyes tended to drive other people out of the train car where he was, so thank goodness the partners had some privacy. They were alone when the Kid shook Heyes awake the next morning, looking anxiously to see how the sick man was. Heyes looked awful - pale, almost grey, with a very red nose. He was so hoarse that he could barely talk, but he was alert enough to ask, "Where are we?"

"On the train east to New York, Heyes. Don't know what state we're in, but nearly a day east of that little town where we got the train in eastern Colorado."

Heyes coughed, but said, "Thanks, Kid." Gasping to speak through his hoarseness, he shortened his next question to, "Teasdales?"

The Kid hated to give an honest answer, but he had to. "Still on the loose, last Wilde telegraphed. They got the two goons but not the brothers. How you feelin'?"

"Alive. Unfortunately." Heyes coughed and moaned and dropped his head back onto the pillow.

"Hang in there. I'll get you some breakfast and then you get some more sleep. We got to change trains again this afternoon."

When the afternoon train change came, Heyes had to lean on the Kid to stand at all. A conductor helped them with their luggage. This train being too crowded to spare an entire car for the sick Joshua Smith and his partner, the train staff installed them in the little caboose with its pair of cots. The conductors would sleep with the passengers on this leg of their trip. The caboose afforded some privacy and the solid walls of the long freight door in the center of each side wall helped to keep the light from the many windows of a regular passenger car from waking Heyes during the day. There was even a pot-belly stove in the caboose with a hopper full of coal to keep them warm. Kid felt better himself – he was more rested and now they had a straight three-day shot to New York. A doctor Curry met on the train gave Heyes some powder to take that he thought would help. The Kid began to relax. No more horses, no more pursuing outlaws, no more shooting, no more snow. Just a nice warm train ride to New York where Heyes could get well in peace. They were able to sleep through the night with no one else in their train car – just as well because Heyes coughed half the night. The next day Heyes didn't seem to get any better, but no worse.

At some dark hour very early the next morning, Heyes and the Kid suddenly woke up in the darkness. They had been alone in the caboose when they went to sleep but they knew that they had company. They couldn't see a thing in the utter blackness, but they could hear the breathing of two additional people. They sounded like large people. They smelled like unsavory people. The Kid cocked his gun in the darkness. He heard three answering cocks in rapid secession. He thought Heyes' gun was the last one. The Kid was astonished that his partner was able to take up his gun at all. It was too dark for anyone to fire for several tense minutes.

Then the train rounded a bend and a faint beam of dawn cast grey light through the eastern bank of windows into the train car. Then the Kid could see that the two figures who had entered the caboose were all too familiar – the hulking black-bearded forms of the Teasdale brothers! Four guns went off almost simultaneously, and there were simultaneous howls from two men struck. One of these was Grover Teasdale, who stumbled and fell against the side door as he took a shot in the leg. "Al!" yelled Grover, "I'm hit!"

"How bad?" growled Aloysius in the darkness, making his way to his brother's side. "And where in hell is Heyes?"

But at the same moment Grover Teasdale had yelled there was also a cry from the Kid. He had taken a hit in his right arm above the elbow. Somehow he managed not to drop his Colt, but he doubted he could fire it, much less aim it accurately. The bullet hadn't hit bone or tendon, but it had ploughed a furrow across the side of his arm, damaging a lot of muscle and causing a lot of rapid bleeding. The Kid didn't hear any cry from his partner; in fact he couldn't spot Heyes any more than the Teasdales could before the darkness closed in again as the train changed directions.

Before Grover Teasdale could answer his brother to say how badly he was hit, a shot banged loudly in the tight space and Aloysius Teasdale gave a pained yell of his own. The side door of the caboose opposite the Kid opened suddenly while the train shuddered rounding another curve. As grey dawn light flooded the train car, the Kid saw Aloysius Teasdale collapsing. But Grover Teasdale was still standing, leaning against the caboose's door frame. And he had his gun pointed at the Kid's heart from only about two yards away – he could scarcely miss. The Kid wasn't sure that he could fire his Colt, but he had to try or die where he stood. The train shivered. The Kid's wounded arm made it almost impossible to aim. If they hadn't been so close he wouldn't even have tried. The two guns went off at the same moment.

As the two roars sounded in the confined space of the caboose, the Teasdales tripped over something low near the door, causing Grover's bullet to fly wildly into the car's ceiling. Whatever had tripped the Teasdales had saved the Kid's life and whatever it was caused both murderous brothers to tumble out of the opened door. As he fell, Grover yelled bitterly "See you at Leutze's place, boys!" Then the two bearded outlaws crashed into some bushes near the tracks and they were left behind by the train.

But very soon the train passed a town. Neither Teasdale seemed too seriously injured. Curry worried that if they could get medical attention in that town so near where they had fallen, they could catch the next train and follow Heyes and Curry to New York

Curry, trying in vain to staunch the rapid bleeding of his own wound, stumbled across the caboose to slide the side door closed. But before he closed the door, he took advantage of the light to see what the Teasdales had tripped over that made them fall out the door at just that opportune moment and avert a murder. It was Heyes.

The Kid's partner lay unconscious in a pool of blood, his smoking pistol near his extended right hand, just at the threshold of the door. Despite how sick Heyes was, he had obviously been the one who had shot Aloysius Teasdale; and he had opened the caboose's side door so he could tip the Teasdales out of it. The Kid was stunned by what his sick partner had managed. Curry looked in horror at Heyes – the blood around the fallen man was not all from the wounded Teasdales. There was a heavily bleeding bullet wound in Heyes' left hip. The Kid realized with sick certainty that only one man could have fired the bullet into Heyes. His aim spoiled by his wound and the moving train, when Curry had tried to shoot Grover Teasdale, he had fired low and hit his own partner instead.

The Kid, terrified that Heyes would slide out the wide opening, struggled to slide the caboose's heavy door closed. As he pressed his wounded right arm into service, he gave a moan. God it hurt! How on earth had Heyes managed it? With his left hand the Kid opened a window shade to let in light so he could see Heyes and figure out how badly hurt he was, but the dawn light was still terribly dim. A train conductor came in from the front of the caboose, carrying a lit lantern. He demanded to know, "What the hell is going on in here? The gun play all over?"

Curry collapsed onto the bloody floor beside his partner, muttering to the conductor. "Teasdale brothers jumped us. My partner tripped them out the train door. It's all over."

Curry leaned over the still, pale form of Heyes. Something was terribly wrong and Curry, struggling to stay conscious as his own blood flowed away, took a moment to realize what it was. Then it struck him. Heyes was silent – there was no sound of the sick man's labored breathing.

The train conductor crouched over Heyes and turned his head to tell the Kid, "It appears to me this man is dead."