"That went pretty well, if I do say so myself," Hannibal Heyes was congratulating himself, surveying the aftermath of the big showdown at the Old Spring with a wholly self-satisfied air about him.
"Easy for you to say," grumbled the Kid, looking a little worse for wear.
It had all started according to plan…
…The clear, cold waters of the Old Spring bubbled up from the ground at the dead end of a narrow arroyo among a tumble of rocks. It trickled through the scree along several silvery, braided ribbons of water, which then joined together to form a shallow stream about three feet wide that meandered along the canyon floor. Long ago, Sam Sterling had erected a fence to keep the cattle from wallowing in it, so the plant life here was lush and green. There were a couple date palms, several acacias and mesquite, along with tall grasses waving in the breeze. Birds could be heard squabbling over the ripening figs in a small grove of trees. The water made a musical burble as it found its way among the rocks. This peaceful oasis was what James's Uncle Sam had first stumbled upon all those years ago, but that peace was about to be breached.
James Sterling was sitting on a flat rock next to the stream, clutching what looked to be a large, rolled-up piece of paper in his hand. Nervous and anxious on the inside, he was deliberately slowing his breathing and using every ounce of his will power to appear calm and collected on the outside. At precisely noon, Will Silver rode confidently up the arroyo on a large buckskin gelding, flanked by two gunmen on foot, each with a pistol trained on James. Silver's smile held a look of triumph. Finally he'd gotten this upstart where he wanted him.
What Silver could not see was the large number of armed men concealed in the rocks and vegetation on both sides of the canyon. Guns drawn, they waited in grim silence for the signal to move in.
The horseman halted about ten yards in front of the seated man, but did not dismount. Will Silver immediately recognized James Sterling, even though he looked about 50 pounds lighter than Silver remembered him.
"Sterling!" he called, looking down on him from the horse. "Long time no see. Set the map down on that rock and back up ten paces. My boys got you in their sights."
"NO!" James hollered, rising to his feet. "Not 'til I see Katy Rose! Not 'til I know she's okay."
"How about this? As soon as you give me that map, I'll send her on in."
"You must think I'm stupid," shouted James. "You bring her in here now or I drop this map in the water!" He held the rolled-up paper so the edge just barely brushed the surface of the stream.
"Well, that just proves you're stupid," Silver taunted. "Because if you drop that map, my boys will shoot you dead and then they'll kill your pretty little niece, too."
"But you won't get the silver," James replied.
The older man sighed in annoyance, then whistled shrilly between two fingers. Another horse appeared around the bend downstream, approaching through the arroyo slowly, this one bearing two riders. As they got closer, Katy could be seen mounted in front of Dag, her hands securely tied to the pommel, her mouth gagged with a filthy bandanna. She sat rigidly upright, deliberately holding her body as far away from Dag as she was able so as to have as little physical contact as possible. She looked more furious than frightened, but she was definitely both. The one-eyed outlaw's left arm was holding her loosely around the waist. In his right hand he held a sixgun, barrel resting lightly against her temple. Her eyes widened as she saw a man who could only be her Uncle James. At least it looked like Uncle James, but he was changed. He was so gaunt. But she recognized her uncle's eyes and couldn't mistake the love and concern for her written all over his face.
"I kept my end of the bargain. Now hand over the map," commanded Silver.
"What's to stop them from shooting us both after I give you the map?" asked Sterling.
"Quite frankly, I really don't know," Silver said with a sneer.
Keeping his eyes locked on his old nemesis, James Sterling yelled, "You heard enough, Sheriff?"
Silver scoffed. "You really are stupid, aren't you? Don't you know the sheriff is on my payroll?"
A baritone voice called out from the rocks above, "That depends on which sheriff you're referring to." Sheriff Langston stepped out from behind a large boulder holding a Sharps rifle. Heads popped up from behind rocks and shrubs on both sides of the canyon.
And then all hell broke loose.
One of Silver's men squeezed the trigger of his Colt and James dropped like a stone. Katy screamed, but it came out as a throaty garbled rattle due to the gag. Dag roughly shifted his left arm from around her waist to her throat at the same time cocking the pistol in his right hand. At that precise moment, the second gunman took a wild shot at Langston, who reacted immediately. There was a deafening boom as the Sharps went off and the man's chest exploded in a fountain of blood and splintered bone. One of the hands shot Silver's horse from under him and he went down with it, but the grass was tall and Silver used its cover to his advantage, drawing his pistol and firing off shots into the surrounding walls of the arroyo. The first gunman had rolled behind a shrub and was continuing to shoot as well. One of Sterling's ranch hands took a bullet and toppled from his perch, bouncing sickeningly as he tumbled down the rocky slope. Somewhere among the greenery, Clay and Coyote were emptying their guns into the canyon walls. Dag's mare was shying and rearing, panicked by the dead man and dying horse at her feet. He released his grasp on the girl's throat and wrestled one-handed with the reins in a vain attempt to control the animal, his pistol still pressed firmly to her head.
Above this bedlam, Kid Curry, once again perched in the branches of a tree, this one on the crest of the hill overlooking the chaotic scene, calmly concentrated on Dag and Dag alone. That was his job. He had a clear shot, but he couldn't take it; couldn't take the chance that Dag's finger wouldn't reflexively squeeze the trigger as Kid's bullet drilled through his skull. Silently he cursed Dag, Snake, Silver, and Heyes too, just for good measure.
"Hold your fire!" Sheriff Langston's deep voice boomed out. Gradually the shooting ceased. "Give it up, Silver! You're surrounded! Give up now before you get kilt. I promise you'll get a fair trial if you do. I can't promise these men won't shoot you dead if you don't."
Silver yelled back. "If anything happens to me, Dag has orders to kill the girl. Now everybody throw down your guns and we'll just ride on out of here."
"You're not thinking this thing through, Silver, or should I say… Wilson?" Heyes's clear voice called out. He stepped from behind a date palm. His stance was confident, bordering on cocky.
"Sheriff's already heard enough to hang you twice over," he continued smoothly. "If you kill the girl now, you're only going to make things worse for yourself. And Dag," he reasoned, turning his gaze to the man on horseback, "so far you've only got accessory to kidnapping against you. If you murder an innocent woman in front of all these witnesses, you'll swing certain sure."
Dag's face clouded with doubt.
"Don't listen to him, Dag!" Coyote shouted from the grass. "That's Hannibal Heyes. He's manipulating you!"
"You're a smart guy, Dag." Heyes was grinning widely, but his brown eyes were cold and hard. "If I'm really Hannibal Heyes, then I guess you've figured out who's somewhere up on that cliff at this very moment drawing a bead on you." He paused a beat to let that sink in. "You don't stand a chance, lessen you just toss down that gun nice and easy and untie the girl. I promise we'll let you ride on out of here. All we care about it is the girl, right fellas?"
A chorus of 'That's right's and 'Si, señor's echoed from all directions.
A glimmer of hope flickered across Dag's face. His resolve was wavering. He lowered the pistol just a fraction of an inch as he considered.
Blam! Dag's gun flew from his hand as his wrist suddenly bloomed with blood. He clutched his wounded arm, at the same time involuntarily jabbing his spurs into the mare's flanks. She reared up onto her hind legs and Dag slid off her rump and landed in the dirt, still grasping his wrist and writhing in pain. The panicky animal scrambled up the side of the arroyo like a mountain goat, Katy still tied to the saddle. Silver was running now, too, splashing down the stream toward the mouth of the arroyo. Deputy Blake loped after him, long legs covering the ground in easy strides. Several of the hands attempted to chase after the spooked mare, trying to grab her halter as she clawed her way up the steep and rocky canyon, but she easily evaded her two-legged pursuers as they stumbled over the rough terrain. Silver's surviving gunman had already given up and was being handcuffed by Sheriff Langston. Pedro hopped from rock to rock, making his way down the embankment to where his boss lay unconscious, blood soaking his thigh. Clay and Coyote were waving their hands over their heads screaming their surrender to anyone who would listen, convinced that Kid Curry was indeed hidden up in the cliffs, and now that he'd taken care of Dag, would pick them off one by one.
However, at that moment, Kid Curry's full attention was focused on the runaway horse. As luck would have it – the good kind, for once – the mare's path arrowed straight towards the palo verde tree the Kid was perched in. He crouched on the branch, waited until she was directly beneath him, then jumped.
Katy had reached the very limit of her endurance. It had been bad enough lying bound and gagged on the hard, filthy floor of the shack all night, her arms cramping behind her back, listening to the taunts of her captors, but being tied to a saddle with a gun to her head was even worse. Then seeing her beloved uncle after all this time, only to witness him getting shot right in front of her almost sent her over the edge. And now she was completely helpless as this crazed horse prepared to carry her off to who knows where! Her already racing heart lurched when suddenly something large and heavy dropped onto the horse right behind her. Two well-muscled arms reached around her from either side and grabbed the reins. Filtering through the noise of the hooves pounding against the ground and her heart pounding against her ribs, she heard a familiar, calm voice crooning,
"Whoa…Whoa...Whoa there, girl."
The mare cantered a good twenty yards from the lip of the canyon, where she finally slowed and came to a halt. Then, as if nothing had happened, she abruptly bent her head and began to graze. Strong hands were now expertly untying the rawhide strips from Katy's wrists, then they disappeared and she felt them undoing the bandanna. She twisted around in the saddle to face her liberator and something inside her just snapped. Next thing she knew she was screaming hysterically and slapping and clawing frantically at the man who'd just come to her rescue. She couldn't stop herself. It was as if she was possessed.
Curry treated the hysterical woman the same way he had the spooked horse. He caught hold of her forearms, avoiding her sore wrists, bloody and raw from the bindings. He found himself repeating the same words in the same tone of voice that he'd used on the mare until Katy gradually stopped struggling and burst into tears. She turned away from him and sagged against his chest, her breath gasping raggedly as she sobbed uncontrollably, face buried in her hands. Kid held her small trembling frame protectively against his body with one arm and steered the horse with his free hand.
"Thatta girl, Katy. You just get it all out now. Good girl," he crooned gently as they rode.
The canyon was too steep and rocky for the horse to descend safely. By the time they had skirted around it, traveled down the more gradual slope, and entered the mouth of the arroyo, the distraught young woman was all cried out. Kid handed her his bandanna and she wiped her face with it and blew her nose shakily as they rounded the bend. They came upon a flurry of activity on the narrow canyon floor. Katy's heart soared when she saw her uncle limping toward them, supported by a concerned-looking Mexican man. Several ranch hands were busy tying up her former captors while one tended to a bruised and bloodied comrade with his arm in a makeshift sling. Sheriff Langston was calmly holding his gun on Silver and the surviving henchman, both in handcuffs. Someone was hoisting the body of the dead gunman across the back of a horse. Sheriff Lawson was sitting on a large flat rock with his hands tied behind his back, an expression of utter dejection on his face. And in the middle of all this was Mr. Joshua Smith, smiling from ear to ear and calling out helpful instructions, as though he were directing the whole thing, like a maestro conducting an orchestra.
"Welcome back, Miss Cassidy," he greeted her warmly, helping her down from the horse. "You alright?"
"I am now," she beamed and rushed over to greet her uncle, who enveloped her in a warm embrace.
Heyes turned to stare up at his partner, "What happened to your face? Your cheek's all red and you got a big scra -."
"Never mind what happened to my face! What happened to your plan?" cracked Kid.
