"Uh?" Heyes woke with a start. Beth was gone from the bed and the sun was shining in brilliantly through the curtains. The healing man wasn't surprised to have slept late and that Beth was up already. It had been the same the previous day. Heyes needed the sleep and hadn't thought it was a problem. So why was someone knocking on his hotel room door so frantically?

Heyes scrambled to his feet and pulled on a pair of pants. The rumpled, yawning, bare-chested Heyes opened the door to find Cat standing there with concerned blue eyes. She started to say something and stopped, realizing quickly that Heyes still couldn't understand her. Cat reached her hand toward Heyes in a vain attempt to communicate how she needed him. He looked helplessly at her – how was he going to find out what was going on that demanded his attention? He turned to find his pencil and pad so he could at least ask questions, although he knew understanding any answers would be hard. Beth must have fetched Heyes' writing materials from the floor after throwing them down the night before; the writing tools were neatly put back on the desk.

Heyes wrote, "What's wrong? How can I help?"

Cat pointed to the door knob and then made a gesture in front of the door as if she were unlocking it with a key. Heyes stared at her in puzzlement. Cat sighed in frustration. She pointed to Heyes and to the door. She shut the door and held it, rattling the door as if she couldn't open it. There was the sound of people talking loudly somewhere else in the hotel. Heyes recognized the voices of a couple of particularly stuffy guests who were the parents of a young boy. He had barely glimpsed them, but he knew their voices. The man sounded angry and Heyes thought the woman sounded like she might be in tears. Heyes thought a moment and then wrote on his pad, "Is somebody locked in someplace? A child?"

Cat nodded vigorously. Heyes wrote, "Isn't there a key?" Cat shook her head. "Is he locked in someplace dangerous?" Cat shook her head again. Heyes slowly nodded his understanding. The chief problem, then, was simply the child's fear. There was no serious threat so long as the door could be opened. The former outlaw quickly pulled on his socks, boots and a shirt, not wanting to look disreputable in front of hotel guests. Then he pulled his ring of picklocks out of a drawer and rapidly followed Cat to the scene of the trouble. It was on the first floor of the hotel. As Heyes ran down the stairs he was relieved not to feel dizzy any longer. In fact, he felt perfectly fine for the first time since the fight. He just couldn't talk, read, or understand most of what anyone said to him.

Mr. Benton, the stuffy guest, his delicate tearful little wife, and Barbara Dunham were all standing outside a locked closet door near the kitchen. They could hear the Bentons' child crying inside the closet and frantically trying to open the locked door. It seemed as if everyone was talking at once. Heyes couldn't decipher a word of it. Both the child's parents stared at the former outlaw suspiciously while Barbara talked fast. He assumed that she was explaining his condition to the Bentons so they would understand why Heyes couldn't talk with them. Heyes thought that the father looked particularly hostile toward him, while the child's mother was mostly just concerned for her son.

The ex-outlaw held up his hands to stop anyone from trying to speak to him. Heyes looked at the child's mother, then gestured at the closet and put his finger to his lips. The worried mother understood immediately. She spoke calmingly to her child, who stopped rattling the knob. The sound of crying softened. Heyes nodded and smiled encouragingly at the mother. Then he carefully selected a slender pick lock from his bunch and tried manipulating the door's lock with it. In seconds, the door was opened. Heyes stood back as a little boy about three years old ran out and into the arms of his parents. Everyone grouped around the little boy, leaving Heyes outside the circle of happy adults. Only Cat and Barbara smiled at Heyes in thanks. Heyes nodded and looked around. He wondered where Beth was.

The little boy's rescuer stifled a yawn and started to walk back to his room. His work here was done and it wasn't possible for him to understand anything said to him, so there wasn't much use in his staying. Soon, Heyes felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Mr. Benton standing there with his hand held out. Heyes shook the man's hand. Benton then pulled some dollar bills out of his wallet and held them out to Heyes. The retired outlaw shook his head and held up his hand in protest. He pointed at the happy freed child who was already prattling to his mother. Heyes smiled with honest happiness. The child's freedom was all he wanted.

Benton looked at Heyes in surprise. The last thing that had ever occurred to him was that such a man would act to help another person without any thought of reward. The puzzled father said something to Heyes. The recovering aphasic thought maybe he could understand some of it, but only vaguely. Heyes held up his hand to the father and pointed to the injury on his own temple. Mr. Benton nodded. Heyes' situation had been explained to him.

Heyes fetched the pad and pencil used to making shopping lists in the kitchen. He wrote to Mr. Benton. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't understand you very well. If you said thank you, then you're welcome. I'm glad to help. I did way too much harm before." Benton nodded – he certainly did want to thank Heyes. Heyes looked past Benton's back to where the man's little son was already happily playing with Charlotte and Virginia. Heyes wrote on, "I've been locked up alone in the dark before like your son was. It's no fun. Don't you want to be with your boy?" Benton nodded and looked gratefully at Heyes.

Heyes climbed upstairs to his room. Barbara brought him some late breakfast so he could eat in privacy. The hotel's were more and more curious about him. Heyes gladly dug into scrambled eggs, sausage, and flap jacks accompanied by excellent hot coffee.

Meanwhile, down the street at Mr. Murphy's office, Beth was consulting with the man who was caring for her husband. Murphy had given Beth some tea as they were talking in his handsomely appointed office. "I'm glad if I can help any with your husband's concussion, but the other symptoms are outside of my experience and training. It's a wonderful help to have you to advise me, Mrs. Heyes," said the doctor. "All that you've told me about aphasia and the workings of language in the brain – it's totally new to me. I learned nothing of it in medical school in Richmond."

"When and where did you graduate?" asked Beth. Murphy was fairly young, for a doctor.

"1880, from Virginia Commonwealth University," answered the doctor in his Virginia accent, before taking a sip of his own fragrant hot tea.

Beth now understood, "Ah, no wonder! The anatomical understanding of the speech centers and of aphasia have taken leaps forward in the last dozen years. The Germans have done wonders. Dr. Leutze has built on those discoveries to make his own strides. And, I must admit, some of what I told you is still officially considered conjectural. But Heyes' experiences are giving it more support by the day."

Murphy listened to Beth in fascination. "Your husband was very lucky to be treated by Dr. Leutze. I look forward to meeting the doctor. I hope to have some good results to share with him. Mr. Heyes seems to be improving rapidly, although I'm sure it isn't fast enough for a man waiting to apply for academic posts. He's a remarkable man."

Beth chuckled dryly. "That's putting it mildly, Doctor. I think that if he had gotten a proper start in life he might be just as famous as he is now – but for doing something on the right side of the law. His academic advisor and I agree that he's an authentic genius. I just pray that his use of language returns soon. He's becoming very anxious about it."

The doctor looked sympathetic. "That's understandable. I see it's 10:00. Mr. Heyes must be awake by now - let's go and see how he's doing this morning."

The doctor and his patient's wife walked down the street together, feeling the locals staring at them. A little boy with a toy pistol in his hand followed the pair half way down the block before his mother called him away. Heyes, watching the street from his hotel room, sighed and returned to lying on the bed with his pad and pencil beside him.

Doctor Murphy greeted Heyes with a handshake. With Beth to translate through gestures, the doctor asked his patient the now-familiar questions. Did he have a headache? Heyes shook his head firmly. Was he dizzy? Again, the shake of the head. Did he feel tired? No. Heyes expanded his answer on his pad. "I feel absolutely fine – other than the language stuff. I'm going stir-crazy, Doc. I've got to get out of this bed and do something. I'm starting to understand a word or two said to me. I can read the numbers and letters on the calendar there, though the context doesn't exactly make that hard. May I please, please get up and move around some?"

The doctor studied Heyes carefully. Then he shook his head. "Mrs. Heyes, please explain to your husband that I'm glad of his recovery, but it's too soon to take chances." Heyes listened with intense concentration, trying desperately to understand.

Beth had no vocabulary in gestures to express all that the doctor had said. She just gestured for Heyes to lie down. The healing man exhaled wearily and lay back down, leaning his head on his hand. Beth looked anxiously at her husband. Heyes was so bored and frustrated that she really worried what he might do.

As the doctor left, Curtis ran up to the door. "Is Uncle Heyes getting better? Can I see him?"

Beth gazed thoughtfully at the boy. "Yes, he's doing better. He still can't read much or understand more than a little of what you say to him, or talk at all. But I don't see why you can't see him. Don't tempt him to get out of bed. But he's bored stiff. If you can find any way to distract him, I'd be very grateful."

Curtis grinned. "I've got a couple of ideas, Aunt Beth."

Beth went off to visit with her sister and Cat, leaving Heyes and his nephew together. Hearing no noise from the room except for the occasional happy giggle from Curtis, the women of the house were content to leave the boy in charge of the patient.

When she went back to Heyes' room three hours later to bring her husband some lunch, Mrs. Heyes smiled. She found the boy and the man with their heads close together as they sat on the bed in rapt silence. Heyes was patiently teaching his nephew one of his easier card tricks. Next to the bed was a yellow legal pad with its pages curling to show page after page of stories Heyes had written out for his nephew to enjoy. Beth had brought Heyes a new pad just the previous evening and it was already almost full.

Beth was loathe to disturb this touching scene, but Curtis looked up and said, "Is it lunch time? I'm hungry! I think Uncle Heyes is, too."

Heyes nodded. He was hungry. Then it struck the silent man what had just happened – he exchanged surprised, happy glances with his nephew and his wife. Heyes' baritone laugh rang out in delight. His understanding was getting better!

As Heyes was eating lunch, he heard people entering the hotel. That was nothing unusual, but Heyes thought he recognized the voices of the newcomers. It wasn't long before there was a soft knock on his door. Heyes stayed seated on the edge of the bed, wary of disobeying his doctor in front of this particular company.

The door opened and two dear friends stepped in – Dr. Samuel Leutze and Professor Charlie Homer. Heyes stood and shook both their hands eagerly, but they could see in his face that he was far more upset than glad to see them. Heyes, on his side, could see the concern of his friends and mentors.

The silent man fetched his trusty pencil and pad and wrote, "I'm glad to see you both. But I'm so ashamed to be in this condition. It's my fault."

Charlie shook his head and spoke slowly, glancing at Dr. Leutze to see if he might be expecting too much. "Heyes, stop blaming yourself for everything. You have to cope with the results, no matter whose fault it was."

Heyes watched his advisor's face avidly through narrowed eyes. With a furrowed brow and despairing eyes, he shook his head.

"He can't follow what you're saying, Charlie," said Dr. Leutze. "Maybe soon, but not yet."

"It's so hard to see him this way, Leutze," said Professor Homer in anguish. "One of the greatest mathematicians in the world, reduced to not understanding simple spoken English. All because of one accidental move by someone who didn't even mean to hurt him."

"Careful, Charlie!" cautioned the doctor. "Heyes is understanding some of this."

Heyes, his dark eyes clouded with fear, motioned his advisor to where he could see the writing pad. "Charlie, I can write letters, but I can't write numbers. What if I don't get numbers back? What am I going to do?" Heyes' apprehension was plain in his face.

Charlie Homer looked helplessly at his friend and student. What could he possibly say or do to comfort Heyes? The two men stood gazing into each other's eyes in fear for the future.

So the doctor stepped in, speaking deliberately. "Heyes, you're recovering rapidly. You may get language back any time now. Try to relax and let yourself heal."

Heyes' face contorted as he strained to comprehend what his doctor was saying. Heyes made a little vertical circle with his hand. "What does that gesture mean?" asked Charlie Homer.

Leutze answered, watching Heyes to see if he could follow this, "He's using the gestural sign system that we use at the clinic. He asked me to repeat what I just said. I'll use slightly different vocabulary in case there might be a particular word or two that is causing him trouble." The doctor made sure that Heyes was paying attention to him. "Heyes, you're getting better very fast. You could be well very soon. Try not to get so upset."

Heyes panted with the effort of paying such close attention, but he slowly nodded. He was getting at least some of what the doctor was saying. Heyes gestured to the bed and to himself. He wrote on his pad. "Doctor Murphy has me on nothing but bed rest. It's driving me nuts. I just lie here and worry write out application letters with all the vital information left blank. My headache is gone. I'm not dizzy. I feel strong as a horse. I'm totally fine, except for the language and number things. May I please get up some, Doctor?"

"Heyes, I don't want to override the doctor who's been treating you. So let's ask Dr. Murphy." Leutze watch his patient's face. Heyes wasn't following much of this, so the doctor tried again. "Let me ask Dr. Murphy – your doctor here. Alright?" Heyes nodded uncertainly.

Charlie stepped out to the head of the stairs and called down to where Beth, Barbara, and Corey were waiting in the lobby. "Is there someone who can please go and fetch Dr. Murphy? Dr. Leutze wants to talk with him."

"Charlie, Dr. Murphy is already here," Beth called up the stairs. "He saw you come in. He wants to meet you both."

Dr. Murphy climbed the stairs. Dr. Leutze stepped out of Heyes' room to meet with the graceful southerner, gesturing to Heyes to get back onto the bed. Heyes' face showed his struggle to get past the barriers of understanding still in his way.

Murphy extended his hand to Dr. Leutze and to Professor Homer in turn. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Leutze. And this must be Professor Homer. Glad you meet you both. I wish I was getting to know your friend Heyes under easier circumstances. He's an extraordinary man."

"Dr. Murphy," said Dr. Leutze cautiously, "I'm pleased to meet you. And I certainly agree about how amazing Heyes is. But let me get right to the point. You have a very frustrated patient in there. He's about at his wits' end. And those are very considerable wits. Heyes' concussion symptoms have cleared. Is there some reason, beyond the concussion, that you're keeping him on bed rest? Why can't you just ask him to take it easy and let him get up? Does he have some other physical problem that you haven't told Beth Heyes about?"

Murphy sounded a little defensive at being questioned by this New York doctor invading his territory. "No, sir, I have not. But isn't a concussion enough? Once I let him out, I can't be sure of what he'll do. Bed rest is the only safe route until I'm positive he's totally out of the woods. Until he gets language back, I want that man where I, or his wife, can keep an eye on him."

Leutze was prickly in his turn. "Are you saying that you don't trust Hannibal Heyes to behave himself according to reasonable medical direction?"

Murphy flared up. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying! I don't trust that hot-headed ex-outlaw any farther than I could throw him. He must have known how dangerous any blow to the head could be, and yet he got into a fist fight with Kid Curry. Kid Curry! He's a loose cannon!"

At this point, Charlie Homer stepped into the verbal fray. He spoke heatedly, "You are talking about one of the most brilliant men I've ever known. And far more than that. I've known Hannibal Heyes for five years and I would trust him – well, let me tell you how much I trust him. When I was unable to teach a few weeks of classes, I chose Hannibal Heyes to teach for me. Heyes was merely an MA student, when I had several PhD candidates at my beck and call. But I trusted him more than any of them, despite the other students' superior qualifications. I chose Heyes because I trusted him to behave with wisdom. I trusted him to carry through the job even as he wrote his own term papers, wrote his MA thesis, and waited to be hauled away by the law at any moment. And that was exactly what he did. He didn't let down a single student for a single instant. He won an award for teaching. When that award came through, he was standing trial for murder in Montana. I would trust that man with my life. I certainly trust him with his own life."

"But he's . . ." Murphy was intensely puzzled.

"I know, Murphy, I know," said Dr. Leutze, holding up a hand. "He used to be an outlaw. The most brilliant outlaw in the history of this country. He disciplined a whole gang of outlaws. I know the man. I know him well. He can and will control himself, but not beyond reason. You're right in some ways. Heyes can get into trouble, still. If you try to keep him in bed any longer when he feels perfectly well, you're going to have trouble. How do you keep Hannibal Heyes locked up against his will? You can't. If he thinks what you're asking of him is reasonable, he'll hold the line through hell or high water. If he thinks you're holding him back unreasonably, he'll free himself from any lock ever designed. I think you're holding him back unreasonably. We can both tell him to take it easy. I'll back you up on that. But not enforced bed rest. That would backfire."

Doctor Murphy considered this for a moment. "If you both really think we can trust him, alright, I'll let him up. But it makes me nervous."

"Shutting him in that room any longer makes me nervous, Murphy," said Dr. Leutze. "He's climbing the walls. I cared for him for nearly six years. We'll have to lay down some laws for him He won't like it, but he'll deal with it."

When the two doctors and one professor returned to Heyes' room, they found their patient perched on the edge of the bed watching them avidly. He had certainly heard their raised voices. He wrote on his pad. "What's the verdict, gentlemen? Can I get up, if I'm careful and avoid, what's the phrase, 'undue exertion?'"

Dr. Leutze laughed. He nodded. He gestured to Heyes as if we were smoothing the covers on a bed. Heyes nodded. "I get it – keep it calm. I get it. I'll do my best. But I desperately need to get out of here. I don't want to meet with any people who would expect me to talk with them. I've figured out a way to do that. Could I possibly go riding with Curtis – my nephew? I promise to keep it calm until I get language back – no galloping. Just walks and nice, smooth lopes, alright?"

Leutze and Murphy exchanged glances. They both considered this for a moment and nodded. If they really trusted Heyes, they would trust him to keep to safe speeds on horseback.

Within a half hour, Heyes and Curtis were riding away on a pair of horses from the hotel's stable. Curtis looked as if he was about to burst with happiness. He was riding horseback alongside Hannibal Heyes, who was wearing full western gear including a six-gun tied down at his hip. Heyes looked back over his shoulder and winked at Barbara Dunham. He put his horse into a gentle lope and Curtis urged his horse to catch up. Curtis saw a friend of his on the porch of a house they passed and waved to the boy, who stared back in open-mouthed awe.

As the pair vanished onto a trail into the woods, Dr. Leutze sat down with Beth in the kitchen. The doctor took a sip of black coffee. "I could easily be wrong, Beth, but I strongly suspect that your husband is going to get back some or all of the rest of his language and number use very soon. From what I'm seeing, I hope he might be pretty much fine. Pretty much. I can't be sure he'll be perfectly fine, even if it seems like it. Beth, please give me some advice. You know him better than anyone."

"Except his partner," said Beth over her own mug of coffee with cream and sugar.

"Maybe," said Dr. Leutze. He spoke slowly and softly, his voice full of his own fears. "In some ways, especially recently, you know Heyes better than even the Kid. So please tell me what I should do. It's terribly likely, if Heyes does get language back, that there will . . . gaps. There could be trouble of unpredictable kinds. It's the last thing he needs to be worrying about while he's in the midst of academic applications, but it's what I've seen before. This kind of loss might clear up, but it's not like turning a faucet off and on. There's almost certainly going to be damage – just like there was before. His trouble reading aloud, the pauses before new names and some words – he never got past that and he probably never would have. This time is likely to be the same - we just can't know exactly what the new troubles might be. The gaps could go away, or they might be permanent, as with any stroke or head injury. Do I tell him nothing about the probable damage and let him believe everything is going to be fine? It could be true. It's not likely, but it could be. It's far more likely that he could run into some unexpected problems. He could be terrified that something new has happened when it's just existing damage. Or if I warn him, it could take away his self-confidence when he needs it most. It could be a self-fulfilling prophesy. So what do I do, Beth?"

Beth gazed with compassion at her boss. "Dr. Leutze, I think you need to learn the same lesson that Heyes has been working on for so long."

Leutze chuckled awkwardly. "You mean that honesty is the best policy?"

Beth answered that easily. "Yes, Doctor, that's exactly what I mean. Tell Heyes the truth. Tell him just like you told me just now, with all the uncertainty and your own worries. Or I can tell him. But I'd rather you did it – you can answer his questions better than I can. I think he'd rather know and be on his guard. It won't make him happy, but it's better that he's prepared. If he gets language back."

Leutze nodded. "Yes, Beth. If. It's always if, and you know it as well as I do. The human mind is too complicated for us to be sure. We can't see its intimate anatomy the way we can with other organs. Only the gross forms – not how the contents work. Someday, I suppose, we'll find a way to see what's going on in that mysterious grey mass. But not yet."

An hour later, Heyes family and friends were gathered upstairs in the family parlor discussing Heyes' prognosis. Beth wanted to make sure that nobody made her husband feel worse than he needed to as he recovered.

Suddenly, from a distance, a strange shrill cry sounded. "What on earth is that?" asked Aunt Bertha, startled.

"You're heard it before, Charlie," said Beth with a broad smile. "Please tell my aunt what she just heard."

Charlie grinned uncontrollably as he answered, "That, Madam, was an authentic cowboy whoop. That's how Hannibal Heyes celebrates good news. Pardon us, but I think there's about to be a stampede downstairs to find out what the news is. We'll let you know as soon as we find out."

"Off you go, then!" Aunt Bertha urged the younger members of the gathering. "And don't forget me up here!"

Beth led the group charging down the stairs. They arrived in time to see Heyes galloping up at full speed, and pulling up so hard in front of the hotel that his horse skidded on its heels. Curtis followed more slowly, but not too far behind, laughing in delight. Heyes patted the long-suffering horse, then jumped off right next to where Beth stood. He took her in his arms and gave her a kiss she would never forget.

"You promised you'd keep to a walk and a lope!" shouted Dr. Murphy.

Heyes looked up from kissing Beth. She caught a glimpse of momentary doubt in his face. Then he said, "Yes - until I got language back. Which I just did."

"Congratulations, Heyes!" exclaimed Charlie Homer.

"That's wonderful, Heyes!" added Cat Curry.

"You got language back? Just like that?" Murphy was stunned.

"I told you that's how it might happen," said Dr. Leutze. "I've seen it before."

"You got back everything?" asked Beth in amazement.

Heyes paused and slanted his head in thought before he replied. "So far as I can tell. I can read all the shop signs on the street just fine. Now I just need to try it out on those letters that came yesterday, and whatever came today."

"When did it happen?" asked Beth.

"Just now," Heyes answered with a grin, while Curtis sat his horse leaning on the saddle horn and grinning just as broadly.

"What, you mean what you said to the doctor were your first words?" Beth was astonished, despite her long experience of aphasia.

"Yes," said Heyes. "But I knew it was back before I opened my mouth. Otherwise I wouldn't have been galloping. Like I said, I kept my word." Beth knew, though she would never say it, that Heyes hadn't actually been sure before he opened his mouth. She had seen it in his eyes.

"How did you know?" asked Dr. Leutze in fascination.

Heyes sounded a bit uncertain himself. "I don't know. I just did. When we rode off, it was all still gone. Then after we'd been in the saddle a while and turned for home, all of a sudden it was back. Strangest thing I've ever felt since I lost it in the first place. Before, it came back over months. This time, snap, there it was. Is it going to keep coming and going like that, Doctor Leutze? I sure hope not!"

"No, Heyes, it shouldn't," said Leutze. "It's not that simple. When you have any kind of head injury, there's the possibility of lasting damage – a little or a lot. You seem to be lucky this time, but it could be a bit deceptive. I have to warn you about that. You might have some problems you didn't have before. Or you might not. Or any problems could go away later. Or not. We just don't know."

Heyes nodded slowly. "I see. Just like before. No guarantees. Thanks for warning me. Not that I couldn't have guessed." He didn't mention numbers – but Beth and Charlie knew that Heyes was more worried about numbers than anything else.

"How do you feel, Mr. Heyes?" asked Dr. Murphy.

Heyes paused to assess this. "A little tired – as much from the shock as anything, I guess. I have a couple of things to do first, but then I'll get back in that bed for a little while. Will that make you happy, you wet blanket?"

"It will, Mr. Heyes," said Murphy with a chuckle. "We'll have to keep an eye on you for a day or two to make sure you don't have a setback."

"Yes, Doctor," said Heyes like a man answering his nagging wife. "And by the way, thank you. I do mean that."

Heyes went back up to his new room and got his pad and pencil. Only Beth was with him as he hesitated with the pencil in his hand. He glanced up at Beth, took a deep breath, and then wrote out a long, complex equation. Heyes breathed out in profound relief. He had numbers back. He would have to do some more detailed exploring to be sure, but the initial trial looked good. Heyes called Curtis. "Go tell your great aunt the news, will you? You can tell her numbers are back, too." Curtis grinned at that and ran for the stairs.

Then Heyes and Beth walked over to the telegraph office. Where they got there, the telegrapher, a skinny young guy named Norman, looked up.

Heyes said, "Do you have any messages for Heyes?"

"Hannibal Heyes?" asked Norman.

"Yeah," said Heyes.

"Yes, I've got a message for you from a guy named Curry." Norman winked at Heyes and handed over the slip of paper.

Heyes read it in silence. Beth could see that he was disappointed. "Says Jed has gone off the main train line to go to a couple of jerk-water towns where he might find a deputy. He says to send all messages ahead to Louisville where he can get them when he gets home. He sends his love to Cat, of course. So he won't know about my recovery for at least a couple of days, unless he wires to check messages from home. Rats! But maybe he'll send good news himself soon. I sure hope so. Norman, let me write out the message for you."

"Are you really Hannibal Heyes?" asked the telegrapher.

"Yeah, I am. And that's really Kid Curry I'm writing to. We got amnesty."

"Gosh!" responded the young man.

In fact, at about that time, the Kid was walking down the street of a dusty little western town such as he and Heyes had ridden in and out of countless times over the years. He tried not to look dangerous and yet not to look like a push-over. He tried not to be too much the gunman, and not too casual. He tried to look like a sheriff, with his star on his chest. It felt very strange to wear that star. As an apprentice sheriff with Wilde, he had never been able to wear a star. Curry remembered the time he and Heyes had acted as deputies and had been jailed. That was the one time he had worn a star, other than a couple of scams over the years when he had been an outlaw.

Curry found the sheriff's office – a little stone building with bars in the window and a roughly hand-painted sign out front. Despite himself, Curry felt his heart beating a little fast. Other than Harvey Wilde's office in Louisville and, very occasionally, Lom Trevors' office in Porterville, Curry had never voluntarily entered a sheriff's office. He had certainly never entered one using his right name. "There's a first time for everything," the former outlaw thought uneasily.

Jed Curry squared his shoulders and walked in the door of the little law office. The young man behind the desk looked up, a bit startled. The young deputy said, "What can I do for you, Sheriff?"

Curry barely stifled the urged to look behind him in search of the law-man being addressed. It was hard to remember that that title now went with his own name. "I hear tell there's a good young deputy here looking to move up. Might that be you?"

"Could be," said the deputy noncommittally. "Depends on who's lookin' for a deputy and where the job is."

"Name's Curry. Jed Curry. I work out in Louisville, Colorado," answered Jed.

"Never heard of you," said the young man. "Should I have?"

Curry wasn't sure of how to answer this. The young deputy most certainly had heard of Curry – the poster proclaiming his amnesty was freshly plastered on the wall of the office next to the matching poster about Heyes. The youngster just knew the former outlaw by his nick name.

Before Jed could answer, the front door swung opened. The local sheriff, a weathered man with a battered star on his vest, walked in with a hand-cuffed man in front of him at gun-point. Another deputy was at the sheriff's side with his gun also drawn. Curry stood back to let the men past him while the seated deputy leapt to his feet and opened the cell door, then locked it again.

Curry's blue eyes met the grey eyes of the wiry man in the handcuffs. Both men hid the flash of recognition. As the local lawmen locked him up, Curry's old colleague kept sneaking glances at the Kid. Jed guessed that his former confederate was assuming the badge was some kind of con. He'd learn his mistake soon enough.

Jed stood quietly while the local lawmen settled their new prisoner and the older of the two deputies left to patrol the little town. "Well, that ought to hold Curt Stillwell for a while. I see we got a visitor," said the sheriff. "Welcome, Sheriff. I'm Coot Harris, Sheriff here. What can I do for you?"

"As I was telling your young deputy here, I'm looking for a deputy myself. My name's Jed Curry. I'm heading out to start up as sheriff in Louisville, Colorado." Curry glanced back at the man in the cage and saw his eyes widen in surprise that Kid Curry would be using any part of his right name. Jed Curry knew that Stillwell was illiterate, so the posters about Curry and Heyes, and any newspaper articles about them, meant nothing to the newly arrested outlaw.

"You're just starting up, eh?" asked Harris. "How'd you get into the job? I ain't surrendering my deputy to just any man with a star."

"I kind of apprenticed with Harvey Wilde for a few years, but now he's retiring," said Jed, unsure of how much news a man in this remote spot would know.

"Kind of apprenticed? I ain't sure what that might mean. You any good with that gun?" inquired Harris, getting right to the point.

A slow, small smile appeared on Jed Curry's face. "Some think I am," said Curry quietly.

"Do they, now?" queried the local sheriff. Curt Stillwell was listening to this exchange in total mystification. "How'd you get that reputation? Did you spend some time on the wrong side of the law before you commenced apprenticing?" The question wasn't unreasonable, nor was it rare.

"Yeah, I did," answered Curry reluctantly. "I rode with a few gangs. But I've been straight more than seven years."

"That so? That story sounds familiar to me," said Harris with growing suspicion. "Could it possibly be that folks used to call you Kid Curry?"

Jed nodded. "Yeah. Not now, though. Heyes and I've gone straight, like I said. And you know all about our amnesty if you can read the poster on your own wall."

"You're getting' mighty uppity for a man used to be wanted dead or alive," sneered Harris. He shouted over his shoulder, "Stillwell, you know Kid Curry?"

"Yeah, I do, Sheriff," called the lean old outlaw in the cell.

"Well, is that man in the star there him?"

"Yeah, that's the Kid. Gone straight and turned lawman. Damn shame. Can't count on nothin' no more," griped Stillwell, turning to spit on the floor.

"So, deputy, you gonna talk with me about that post in Louisville?" asked the Kid, turning to the younger man.

"No, he ain't," said Sheriff Harris. "You're gonna go get on your horse and get outa' here, Curry. We don't hold with turncoats hereabouts. They might just turn them coats back any minute."

"I'm on the side of the law now and I'm staying that way!" asserted the former outlaw.

"Go tell it to your congressman!" laughed Harris harshly. "Get out of here! I ain't lettin' my son ride with no turncoat outlaw."

"Have it your way," said Curry wearily. If his young deputy was the local sheriff's own son, there was no way Curry was going to get him to give an ex-outlaw a fair chance. Curry turned and walked out of the office.

As he left, the Kid heard the man in the cage exclaim, "Damn waste of a good outlaw!"

Curry was headed for the saloon. He felt the need of a drink and maybe a hand or two of poker. He was in no hurry - he'd have to wait for the next day before another train would be going out. He was tempted to go to the telegraph office to send a message to Heyes and Beth, but he decided against it. He didn't want to send them bad news and he dreaded getting bad news back. Oh well, there were other small towns with restless deputies.

Back in Cheat, West Virginia, Hannibal Heyes was in his room sitting at the desk reading letters. Most of them contained either good news or at least things he could deal with. But this last letter was different. "D-d-damn!" said Heyes, wadding up a letter and tossing it angrily onto the desk.

Beth could read the return address on the envelope. It said "Office of the Governor, Austin, Texas." Beth looked at her husband in dismay. Obviously, the fourth governor he had asked had just refused Heyes his request to take the middle name of Joshua.

And Heyes had just stuttered over a word that had never given him any trouble after he had been shot. Until now. He repeated, "D-damn!"

*The mentioned German discoveries in the 1880s about aphasia are historical fact.