Hannibal Heyes was glad he'd decided to pay for the hotel room in advance. And he was even gladder he'd stuffed $100 into his boot to buy a horse and tack when the livery stable opened in the morning. Other than that, he had just six bits to his name. He asked for his key from the sleepy clerk, then headed up the stairs. Once in the room, he was just about to flop down on the bed when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over the bureau. Out of idle curiosity, he struck a match and lit the lamp, then carried it closer to the mirror.
Heyes couldn't help laughing out loud. No wonder everyone was poking fun at his shirt! It was ugly enough when Rolly was wearing it, but somehow it looked ten times worse on him. My god! Where did Rolly get such a hideous shirt? What was it made from anyway, old curtains? And whatever possessed him to match it with this vest? Heyes stood in front of the mirror, appalled at his appearance. On impulse, he scooped up Rolly's hat from the chair where it was sitting on top of his saddle bags and bedroll and plopped it onto his head. Oh, man, he thought, Kid would never let me live it down if he saw me in this get-up. He stripped off the offending shirt and vest, balled them up, and tossed them in a corner, where he vowed they'd remain. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford to be so cavalier with the equally unsightly hat. He knew he'd regret throwing it away later when he was riding through the open country en route to Glenview. He didn't want to fry his brains and get his face all sunburned, so he placed the hat back on the chair with his other belongings. Then he unbuckled his gunbelt and hung it on the bedstead, pulled off his boots and trousers and climbed into the bed in his long johns. As was his custom, he began by reviewing the day's events in his mind. Then he would rehash tomorrow's plans, but somehow he never made it past watching the Kid climb into the stage early that morning before sleep enveloped him in its welcome embrace.
ooo
Just after dawn the next morning, freshly washed and shaved, and wearing a crisp white shirt and tan leather vest, Hannibal Heyes proceeded to the livery stable. As he passed the telegraph office, he briefly considered wiring Glenview to inform the Kid of his delay, but just as quickly dismissed the notion as a waste of time – and money. The Kid would be in no shape to check for telegraphs. As if he could go anywhere, anyway. He'd still be laid up at the doctor's. When Heyes got there, he'd take him over to the hotel to finish recuperating. Maybe while the Kid healed up, he could find a good poker game to start rebuilding their stake. Let's see, after the doctor bill, the Kid should still have around $100 or so, he calculated. That should be enough to get him in a game…
After a brief haggle with the livery man, Heyes, now with only the six bits to his name, was soon tacking up a nice-looking, but definitely overpriced, bay gelding. He was just strapping his own gear onto his new horse when he heard a deep voice behind him.
"Slattery," came the voice of the town sheriff. "Just wanted to thank you again for that information about Hannibal Heyes. You'll be pleased to know that I was able to reach the law in Masonville. They intercepted the train just after it went through Glenview and arrested Heyes. They're holding him 'til Marshall Harcourt can get there to identify him."
Heyes grinned happily, pleased for reasons other than the sheriff assumed. Masonville was even farther for Harcourt to travel than any of the other towns the sheriff had contacted. "Jest doin' my civic duty, Sheriff," he replied, assuming the same hayseed accent he'd employed when visiting the sheriff the night before. Evidently Snead had forgotten that he'd told him his horse was up in Fenton, Heyes noted with relief.
"Harcourt might be willing to share a little of the reward money for that tip, if you happen to be headed down Masonville way," added the sheriff helpfully.
"Jest might try that," answered Heyes, nodding and grinning at the sheriff.
When Hell freezes over, he added silently in his mind.
ooo
Heyes was riding along serenely under a wide blue sky with just a few white puffs of clouds scudding across it on a light breeze. It was pleasantly warm in the morning sun, but not hot. He passed through intermittent patches of shade cast by a scattering of trees along the trail. It turned out the gelding he'd bought was an affable, cooperative horse who kept a nice steady gait with no signs of fatigue so far. He was making excellent time and he felt on top of the world for the first time in days. His plan was playing out neatly. The Kid would be in Glenview by now, getting doctored up. Everyone thought he was dead, so no one would have suspected him when he showed up there with a gunshot wound. Harcourt and his posse was off their tail, on the way to Masonville to pick up Rolly. No one would be looking for them for at least several days. And at this rate, he should be in Glenview by lunchtime. Heyes began to whistle the tune of "Sweet Betsy from Pike," that had stuck in his head since his encounter with Rolly. He chuckled to himself when he thought of Rolly's ugly shirt and hat and then dragged the latter out of his saddlebag and stuck it on his head at a rakish angle. He sighed happily. It may be butt-ugly, he thought to himself, but it'll keep me cool and at least no one can see me out here.
His last thought was instantly proven false when sudden rifle shots rang out and his horse began to dance as bullets hit the dirt near its hooves. Heyes instinctively went for his gun, but thought better of it when he felt a bullet whiz just over his head. The fusillade was coming from all sides. Must be at least three men, he calculated, slowly raising his hands over his head.
"That's right, young fella!" called a voice from a pile of rocks to his right. "Don't do anything rash, now. Just you toss that hog's leg on the ground over here nice and easy."
Heyes complied, cursing his luck. His first thought was a posse, but as the three men came out from their hiding places, he saw they were just common, ordinary highwaymen, and he was being bushwhacked.
"Look, gentlemen," Heyes began genially, "I don't have anything worth stealing."
"Huh. We'll be the ones decidin' what's worth stealing," answered the first thief, bending down and scooping up Heyes's Schofield. "This is a real nice gun. Thankee, Mister." He laughed, a cackling sound that showed tobacco-stained teeth. "Now git off yer horse. We'll be takin' that, too."
Heyes considered making a bolt for it, but all three men had rifles trained directly on him. He slowly and resignedly dismounted and stood angrily as one of the men, short and skinny, at least a generation younger than the other two, started rifling through his pockets.
"Look, Paw!" he called triumphantly, holding up Heyes's pocket watch by the chain. "Lookee here!"
"That was my grandfather's watch –" Heyes started to protest.
"Well, it's ours, now!" laughed the man addressed as Paw as his son tossed the watch to him. He caught it handily and looked it over greedily before stuffing it into his pocket.
By the time they were done with him, the three bushwhackers had taken everything of value: his horse and gear, saddlebags with all contents, his pocket watch, and even the last six bits he had to his name. Then the third man spoke for the first time.
"What the hell kind of hat is that, boy?" he asked. "Take his hat, too, Ozzy. I ain't never seen such a headpiece." Ozzy took it off Heyes's head and crammed it onto his own head and cut a jaunty little caper. All three robbers guffawed uproariously.
Heyes stood looking at them in contempt as they gathered up his belongings. "At least leave me a canteen," he demanded. "You don't seem like killers."
"Paw" obliged, tossing Heyes a full canteen, but he also tossed Ozzy some rawhide strips and the boy commenced to tie their victim's hands behind his back. Then he pushed Heyes to a seated position and tied his ankles together. Ozzy said apologetically, "Jest so's ya don't foller us. You can have a drink when you get loose. And then you can take a walk! It's a real nice day for a stroll!"
The men laughed and jeered as they left him sitting forlornly in the middle of the trail, canteen at his bound feet and hands tied behind his back. He heard them in the clump of trees next to the trail mounting their horses, still laughing. Then they galloped past him, disappearing over the horizon in a cloud of dust, his own newly bought horse pulled along behind them by the reins. The dust from their passing settled slowly onto his bound frame, adding insult to injury as well as triggering a brief coughing spell.
At least that kid ain't very good with knots, thought Heyes darkly to himself, as he loosened the rawhide ligatures with practiced wrist-twisting. He managed to get them undone in less than fifteen minutes. He took a swig from the canteen and slung it around his neck and one shoulder. Then he tied his bandana around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes and started to walk.
The three crooks hadn't bothered to hide their trail. He guessed they never suspected he would get loose so quickly or that he'd try to follow them, no doubt confident in their superior numbers. They have no idea who they're dealing with, thought Heyes grimly.
ooo
After three hours of determined plodding, Heyes caught up with the thieves. They had left the main trail and entered a narrow path through a patch of woods. As he approached he could hear their voices. They were building a small fire, getting ready to cook up some lunch. Heyes crept closer, then dropped down on his belly and crawled to within a few yards of where they'd tied up the horses. Lucky for him, they had been careless. Two of the horses still had rifles in the scabbards buckled to their saddles. Heyes's own horse appeared to recognize him and whickered a greeting. Heyes froze in place, but the men took no notice of the noise.
"I'm here, buddy," he whispered, standing up and stroking the gelding along its neck. "Just give me a couple minutes."
He checked his saddlebags to make sure the contents were intact. Satisfied, he tied the canteen to the pommel. Then he slipped one of the rifles from its scabbard and checked to make sure it was loaded. He walked soundlessly to the men's camp and seeing that they were completely oblivious to their surroundings as they prepared some grub, he stepped confidently into the clearing and pulled the lever on the rifle.
At the distinctive sound of the bolt sliding into place, three pairs of eyes looked up in surprise.
"Howdy," Heyes called out amiably. "Remember me?"
He trained the rifle on the youngest of the men.
"D-d-d-don't shoot, Mister," begged Ozzy. "We ain't armed."
This was mostly true. The third rifle could be seen leaning against a log just out of reach and Heyes' Schofield was protruding from the back of "Paw's" pants. He might possibly have forgotten it was there.
"Take whatever ya want," the leader said. "Jest don't hurt my boy."
"I only want what's mine," replied Heyes. He stepped up to the thief and holding the rifle in his right hand, pulled his own sixgun from the back of the older man's pants with his left hand and cocked that weapon as well.
"Now if you would just please hand over my watch and my money, I'll be on my way," he commanded.
He tucked the rifle under his arm and extended his right hand, continuing to aim the pistol steadily with his left. Ozzy fished through his pockets and pulled out a handful of change that he poured into Heyes's outstretched palm. His pa pulled out the precious pocket watch and held it out toward him. The third man just stood dumbly, hands stretched over his head, not saying anything, seemingly frozen in place. Heyes glanced at the pile of coins in his hand and sifted through them, letting all of them fall to the ground except for three 25 cent pieces.
"I just want what's mine," he explained, grinning. "I ain't no thief."
Anymore, he added silently to himself. He shoved the three quarter dollars into his vest pocket, then took the proffered watch and placed that in a different pocket. He had spotted Rolly's hat sitting on a bundle near the fire. He briefly considered doing a trade – a hat for a hat wasn't actually stealing. But then he looked around at the available hats. Ozzy didn't have one. The two older men's hats were at least the proper cowboy style, but after noting the unwashed hair of the heads beneath them, Heyes thought better of that idea and instead picked up Rolly's unsightly derby and pushed it onto his head. Then he picked up the other rifle.
"Tell you what, gentleman," he said, smiling wider so the dimples appeared in his cheeks, "I'm going to treat you a mite better than you did me. I'm going to take your guns and your horses with me and leave them tied up about a mile down the main trail. You can finish your nice little picnic lunch here and then take yourselves on a leisurely walk to go fetch them." Then the smile slid from his face and his voice took on a menacing undertone. "And don't try to follow me, because if we meet up again, I guarantee you I won't be as charitable."
He transferred the rifles to his left hand and the Schofield to his right and backed up slowly to where the horses were tied. He pushed the two rifles into their scabbards, then untied the horses with one hand, all the while keeping his pistol leveled on the trio. They didn't look like they were going to try anything, but he couldn't afford to take any chances.
Then he holstered the pistol, mounted his own horse, and galloped away, leading the other three by the reins.