Jed Curry sat in his favorite rocking chair on the shady porch of Christy's Place with his busted leg in its heavy cast propped up on a packing crate. The sheriff sipped on a beer and wiggled his toes restlessly, as if to reassure himself that he still had a leg and foot down there that would be back in service eventually. He was watching the street from under the hat pulled low over his eyes to cut the summer glare. Waves of heat rose from the sunbaked red dirt in the middle of the street, but it wasn't bad in the shade. Now and then a breath of cool mountain air stirred. In the summer, Curry was heartily glad that he had chosen to settle in Colorado rather than Arizona territory.
After a busy first few days back at work, and in anticipation of the usual hard drinking mining town weekend, the sheriff was taking a rare couple of hours off on a weekday afternoon. But his officially off-duty status didn't prevent him from keeping his eyes peeled for trouble in the town he was paid to protect. He watched a wagon and a surrey going down the street and a trio of young women walking together on the board walk, perhaps headed for the new milliner in town. Curry tipped his hat to them and they nodded to him shyly from under their straw summer bonnets. A young man riding his pinto in the other direction tipped his own hat to the pretty young things before he tied up in front of Christy's and strode in to get a beer.
It seemed to the Kid that there was more traffic in Louisville each day. The coal mines continued to hire more men, though now and then the local population of miners dropped after one of the all-too-frequent accidents underground. But any such losses were offset by people arriving. There was a new livery stable and a new saloon. All the new businesses mean that the bank was thriving. The Kid wondered how much money was in the safe these days. He thought of how he and Heyes had used to survey any new town in search of such prosperity. That fat bank would have been a temptation to them in the old days. Now it was the Kid's business to keep it, and the other businesses, even his rivals, secure.
As Curry watched, Al Kelly trotted down Main Street on his red roan gelding, off on a wide-ranging patrol of the area. He had mines and farms to check. Kelly turned his head and tipped his hat to the pretty young ladies. "Kelly!" barked the sheriff.
The deputy neck-reined his horse sharply into a U-turn and jumped out of the saddle as he got back to Christy's Place.
"Yeah, boss? What is it?" asked the deputy.
"While those gals had your head turned you missed seeing a guy sneaking out of the rooming house across the way. Go look into it!" Curry growled.
Kelly turned and ran across the street, guessing that human feet would work better than horse shoes in this pursuit. He was right. It wasn't long before he had a miscreant by the collar and was putting handcuffs on him. It was a thief that the sheriff of a town nearby had been seeking for weeks.
As Kelly manhandled the burglar down the street, Curry muttered under his breath, "How often do I got to ride that boy to keep his eyes opened for somebody other than pretty girls?" Curry settled back into his chair. He was satisfied in the knowledge that even on his afternoon off, he got things done.
When Curry had had a bit of a rest, he got Bruce the porter to hitch up the hotel's wagon for him. Jed Curry was off to see how the house he was having built for his growing family was coming along out on the edge of town. It was frustrating not being able to simply ride out, but it would be a few more weeks before the cast came off and longer before he could ride.
As he pulled up the wagon next to the little maple tree by the road, Curry found the men putting in the stone foundation. The foreman ran to help Curry get out of the wagon. "Hello, Sheriff Curry!" he said in a Mexican accent.
"Good afternoon!" said Curry. "I'm glad to see you making progress."
The foreman smiled. "Thank you, sir. We've almost got the foundation done. See, here is where your front porch will be. And here," he pointed, "the entryway, the parlor, the kitchen, and the dining room. And upstairs, the two bedrooms, the nursery, and the office. And over there, we'll do the foundations for the stable and carriage house. Just as you laid out for us. I hope you and Mrs. Curry and your children will be comfortable."
Curry looked around curiously to see the ideas he and Cat had planned out starting to appear in real life. "Thanks, Diego. I'm sure we will be. Looks good to me. Where's the well going to be?"
Diego patiently walked with his slow-moving employer. "We'll start on that tomorrow – right there by the back porch, handy to the stable and the house, both. We can put in a pump directly to the kitchen."
"Good," said Curry with a nod. He could see the other workers watching him. He didn't doubt that they knew exactly who he was, though few of them spoke English. They mostly spoke Spanish. The sheriff happily inspected his plot of land. The aspen trees studded here and there rustled in the breeze. There was ample land here for the pastures the Currys would need for grazing their horses and a number of other uses. Jed grinned as he limped across the slopping plot. He admired the view of the mountains and laid out in his head places for a garden, a yard for their children to play in, and plenty of space to add on to the house if they had more children. Curry walked around the site with the help of his crutches, seeing the future vividly in his mind's eye. Finally, he had to leave. Diego helped him back into the wagon. Jed was eager to bring his wife out to see the changes already going on.
The next morning, Curry swung down the street on his crutches from Christy's Place toward his office. He was getting up earlier to go to work these days, as the hotter summer weather set in and the sun rose earlier. But that didn't mean that the drinkers in Christy's Place stopped making noise any earlier in the wee hours. And supervising the house building added that much more to his busy days. So each summer day that went by, Jed Curry had a little harder time getting up and he was a little more tired as he started work. He sent his deputies down the street to the Sheriff's office each morning before their boss because they could get to the office so much faster than could a man on crutches.
It took concentration for Curry to keep moving and not fall in the rutted dirt of the street. But no matter how hard he was working to use his crutches and no matter how sleepy he was, the sheriff tried to keep a careful eye and ear out for what was happening around him. He didn't want to neglect the same watchfulness that he was constantly badgering his deputies about. Suddenly, he stopped his progress. He balanced carefully. Something was wrong.
It didn't take Curry long to figure out what it was. Every morning, Mrs. Glover would wave to the Sheriff as he went past Glover's Dry Goods Store. The store wasn't quite opened at this hour, but it would be close to opening. Mrs. Glover would be bustling around getting things ready. Often, there would be a busy stock boy who would wave, too. The blinds were always up before 8:00. Now, it was 7:55, according to Curry's pocket watch, but the store's blinds were still down. Even if Mrs. Glover was sick or out of town, a hired clerk should have the place prepared to open.
Curry's instincts told him what was probably happening. The store normally delivered its cash profits to the bank on Friday afternoon so there wouldn't be extra money around the place over the weekend when the bank was closed. Friday was the day when there was more cash on hand at Glover's than any other day. He felt certain that there was a robbery in progress. This would be the time – before customers started coming. But Curry hadn't seen or heard any horses riding off at speed this morning – so the criminals should still be in or near the store. They might even be holding a gun on Mrs. Glover and her employees at this very moment.
Could he be wrong? No, a careful moment of listening alerted the sheriff to the presence of a horse or two that shouldn't be behind the store. He could hear them shifting their feet and pulling up bits of grass from the edges of the alley. He thought he heard a curb bit chain jingle. The former outlaw thought of how many times he had positioned get away horses – and been careful to quiet their harness in every possible way. These robbers might, if he was lucky, be relative amateurs.
But what could a sheriff on crutches do? Curry felt as if he was being punished yet again for his carelessness in letting himself be thrown from his horse while pursuing the murderer Hogan. And now other people might be robbed or even killed because of that one slip. This was his town; these were his people – he couldn't let them down.
The sheriff's mind was racing. If he took the time to go down the street to his office to get his deputies, the thieves could escape. And Curry had no way to sneak quietly into the store or the alley behind it. His crutches would be slow and noisy and would keep his gun hand occupied. If he tried to walk without them, he would be very likely to fall and his progress would be even slower than usual. In fact, it was possible that the thieves knew that the sheriff was on crutches and they were striking now to take advantage of the fact.
Curry decided to do what was normally the single stupidest thing a sheriff could ever do. He was going to let the thieves know who and where he was. But he knew it was stupid and was prepared for the consequences – or as prepared as a sheriff on crutches could be. He was prepared to sacrifice himself if need be. At least his deputies would hear what was going on and take care of it. The sheriff only hoped he would be alive and no worse hurt to see it. Jed Curry limped a few strides toward the side of the store that gave access to the alley behind. There was no window there, but there was a door. So no one could see him without exposing themselves. It was his one ace in the hole. He yelled as loudly as he could, "Mrs. Glover? Where are you? This is Sheriff Curry! Do you need help?" There – he had totally exposed himself. He had provided a distraction that might help the innocent people inside. However, if there were men with guns inside, there was a very strong chance they would shoot the lawman right away. At least the bang would bring help – it was just a matter of how soon.
Curry tensed in expectation. There was no immediate response from inside the dry goods store, no bang and no words. But a gawky teenaged boy ran out of the hardware store next door and looked into the sheriff's eyes. Curry, with his finger to his lips, gestured silently down the street toward the sheriff's office. The boy took off running to fetch the deputies. When the boy was gone, Curry yelled again, "Mrs. Glover?"
Now there was the soft sound of feet against a wooden floor. Curry stood facing the side door of the store. The sheriff was sweating. It seemed to be taking an eternity for his deputies to get there, or for anything else to happen, though really not more than one minute had gone by since the boy had taken off to get them.
Curry heard a scrape and saw what he had been looking for – the side door opened very slightly and there an eye looking out. Every person who worked in the store had brown eyes – this eye was pale – perhaps grey or maybe blue. So this was a stranger, so far as Curry knew. The sheriff took the strongest stance he could and dropped his crutches. Before they had hit the ground, his gun was drawn, aimed, and cocked. "Come out of there now!" he ordered in a loud voice, "or I'll drop you where you stand."
"If you do, Mrs. Glover dies, too," replied a rough baritone voice that seemed strangely familiar. But the sheriff couldn't identify it. As the voice spoke, the door closed almost completely so Curry couldn't see anything through the tiny crack, but he could hear that voice. "Drop the gun, sheriff."
"Do you really think you can outshoot Kid Curry?" asked the sheriff in his most arrogant tone. "A Colt will shoot right through that wall, easy." He kept his gun cocked in his hand.
"I don't have to outshoot you. There's another man in here with a pistol trained on Mrs. Glover, Sheriff," shouted that same, horribly familiar voice from behind the door.
Curry tried something he prayed would work, "I recognize that voice. You're going down, boy," yelled the sheriff. "You and your friend who has the gun on Mrs. Glover."
And as Curry kept the dialog going, he saw and heard a man sneaking down the alley. And then another man snuck by, creeping silently.
"Oh? So who am I?" asked the baritone voice.
"Come out here and own up to your crime, boy," ordered Curry. He was playing for time. He might pay with his life, but there was no place to hide and no way to move without falling over, which might happen anyhow.
The answer to the sheriff's demand was silence for a long moment. Then a new voice from the far side of the store ordered, "Put the gun down! Now!" The Kid breathed out in relief. The voice belonged to Billy Healy.
"Come out here before I send a bullet right through that wood and tar paper!" ordered Jed Curry. "And if you still have a gun in your hand when you come, you'll get bullet between the eyes. You know I can do it. You've seen me shoot a running rat dead." The sheriff hoped fervently that he was right about who his opponent was – the one person who had been standing next to him in the Christy's Place stable when he had shot that rat.
There were several noises from inside the store, and then the squeak of the side door opening. A red-haired teenager with an unusually deep voice stepped out with his hands up and a shaking voice. "You beat me, Curry, when I took that whiskey. I didn't know who you were, then, but I knew how you could shoot. I thought I could beat you now – when you're hurt and you don't have your partner with you," snarled the criminal whose career Curry had just nipped in the bud.
"I ain't forgot you, Ritchie Kleinfelter," said the Kid, "you were a rat when you worked at Christy's Place and you're a rat now. Only your voice has changed"
"I hate you, Curry," growled the boy.
On the other side of the store, Billy Healy was saying, "Hold still while I tie you up or my friend there will drop you in your tracks." In a moment, the black haired deputy came out with a burley stranger at gunpoint with his hands tied behind him.
Al Kelly came out right behind the pair of deputy and arrestee. "Can I give you a hand there, sheriff?" the blond deputy asked with a sparkle in his eye.
"Put this stupid boy under arrest, would you? And tie him tight," said Curry, gesturing at the former errand boy of Christy's Place, "My arm's getting' stiff holdin' my gun on him. Thanks for figuring out what was going on and handling it all so neat, Billy and Al."
"Well, you were shouting the whole situation so we could hear it all the way at the office, boss," said Billy Healy with a proud grin. "It didn't take a whole lot of thinking to figure out what you needed from us."
Curry smiled back at his deputy. "Right now, I need you gentlemen to take these damned thieves down to the office and put 'em behind bars. Is Mrs. Glover alright, and Tim and Lori?"
"We're fine, Mr. Curry, thanks to you and your brave deputies," said the slender, dark-haired proprietress of the dry goods store as she came out of the side door rubbing her wrists where she had been tied. The black dress she wore in morning for her late husband was a bit mussed, but otherwise the resourceful businesswoman seemed unharmed. Her stock boy and clerk came right behind her, sticking close together. "You were all three so brave! We'll be glad to swear out a complaint against those awful – or man and boy. To think that a boy from our own town could turn that bad."
"Yeah, well, some boys just don't learn no matter how you try to teach 'em. I ought to know," said the Kid as Kelly helped him to take up his crutches again. Curry limped over to the people his deputies had just freed. "Are you sure you're all alright? Lori? Tim?"
"Yes, sir," said young Tim, a skinny boy whose brown eyes were very wide right now. "Wow, you're a hero!"
"He certainly is," said Mrs. Glover. "And not for the first time. Mr. Curry was taking a big chance shouting like that. He could have been shot."
"Well, I didn't know what else to do, to tell you the truth, when I saw the blinds down and heard the horses behind the building as didn't ought to be there," said the sheriff, a little embarrassed. "I couldn't exactly sneak up on those guys and I was awful afraid they'd shoot you folks so you couldn't be witnesses against them in court. I had to distract them long enough for my boys to get here. Miss Lori, are you sure you're alright?"
Lori Darrow, the young woman clerk, still hadn't said a word. She looked pale and was trembling. When Curry address her, she was still silently watching Billy Healy and Al Kelly take the perpetrators down the street at gunpoint. As he spoke to her, she looked at the sheriff and blushed scarlet. "I'm fine, Mr. Curry," she whispered.
"No, you ain't," said Curry. "You sit down a while and have some tea or something. All of you need to take a breather. Don't come down to the sheriff's office until you're good and ready. I know all this stuff with thieves and guns tends to shake up folks. I'm kinda' used to it by now, but you ain't."
"Thank you!" breathed Lori, looking down the street again toward the sheriff's office where the deputies had just gone in the door with their charges. She self-consciously brushed back a stray lock of brown hair that had come out of her bun during the upset.
"Yes, thank you very much," added Mrs. Glover.
The sheriff nodded, tipped his hat, and headed back down the unpaved street toward his office. When Curry got to his office, he dropped wearily into his desk chair. "Good-morning, boys," he said to his two deputies. "Did you do all the paperwork for those thieves?"
"Yes, sheriff," said Al Kelly as he came back from the back cells with forms in hand. "I was just gonna file it, once you sign it."
"I'll call Denver with the news," said Curry. "Al, you do a patrol right away. Make sure those guys didn't leave any associates skulking around. And get the horses they left behind the store. And find out if they was staying anyplace around here and might have left some loot or evidence about other crimes."
"Yeah, they said they had horses tied in the back alley," said Healy. "Didn't say where they got 'em. I'm guessing they're stolen. We'll look into that. That'll be another charge."
"Good," said Curry. "Healy, get some coffee on."
It wasn't long before the portly mayor stepped in the door. "Well, sheriff, I heard about that theft you stopped. Fine work!"
Curry nodded. "Thanks. My deputies did most of it. They're good men."
The mayor said, "From what I hear, you all three make a fine team. I spoke to Mrs. Glover. She seems to be well, despite being shaken up by this morning's events. I hope you don't mind that I invited her to join our businessman's association meeting at your place tonight. This seems like a suitable time for us all to discuss ways to cooperate with you in cutting down on crime around here."
"Sounds fine to me," said Curry with a smile. He agreed with everything the man had said. To agree with an authority figure like a mayor was a new sensation for him. But he felt that he never would get used to arresting people he knew, even if he didn't like them.
Healy walked up to his boss. "Sheriff, I went right by that store not three minutes before you did, but it never occurred to me that somebody was robbing the place. How did you know?"
"The shades was down when they shouldn't a been," said Curry without looking up from a new law book that he was reading.
"And that was enough to tell you?" Healy sounded troubled.
Curry looked up from his law book. His young deputy wanted to learn something and it was his duty to teach. "And I heard horses pulling up grass out back. They don't have supply wagons coming in that time of day, so there was no right reason for horses to be there."
Healy shook his head. "Couldn't there have been an innocent reason for shades down and horses?"
"Sure, there could have been. But there wasn't," answered the sheriff, "not this time."
"Wouldn't you have felt awful foolish, sheriff, doing all that yelling if there hadn't been a robbery going on?" asked Healy.
Curry grinned. "Sure. But it's a lot better to feel foolish than to be foolish. Didn't your pa ever teach you that, Billy?"
The deputy didn't answer. He was considering. He asked "Boss, back when you were an outlaw, do you think you could have fooled a sheriff as good as you are now?"
"Could I fool me?" Curry tilted his head to one side as he thought. "Maybe. When I was with the Devil's Hole Gang, I'd say probably."
"Why do you think?"
"For one thing, I'd been an outlaw then a lot longer than I've been a sheriff now. And I had Heyes with me. I don't have him now. You and Kelly are good, but you're awful young and new to the business. But Heyes . . ." Curry just smiled at the thought.
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Heyes sat on the train headed east and north from Texas with an old Mexican song stuck in his head and his heart. He had heard the song in Denton for the first time in at least eight years. It struck him how long he had been away from the southwestern saloons and cafes where he had developed his love for the old-fashioned Spanish love songs of Mexico, New Mexico, Arizona, Texas, and Colorado. Heyes' understanding of Spanish had never been very good and his partner's was far worse, but these songs had long been part of them. Heyes and the Kid had, once upon a time, spent countless evenings listening to mariachi bands play sweet New Mexican corridos. The infamous pair had yipped and howled at just the right moments along with the rest of the crowd. They knew the melodies, the rhythms, and many of the words.
Heyes got out his journal and tried to see if he could remember some of the lyrics in Spanish and maybe translate them into English. He couldn't manage to bring to mind more than a snatch here and there about doves, hearts, flowers and tears. It wasn't worth writing down. Without the music of guitar, accordion, fiddle, and trumpet; without the shadowy, smoke-filled cafes and the black-veiled senoritas, it was mere sentimental tripe. On an east-bound train in broad day-light, the passionate words lost their power. So why had the music as he had heard it in the club only yesterday been so evocative for the former outlaw? Why did he think longingly of a Mexican beauty who had sat on his lap while he crooned the Spanish words into her ear more than a decade ago? He couldn't remember her name, but he clearly recalled the flash of her dark eyes and the smooth curve of her breasts against him. No matter what he said or sang to Beth or played limpingly for her on his little guitar, how could he ever communicate his nostalgic feelings to his eastern bride? He wondered if Beth would ever have any idea of this and so many things about the life Heyes had left behind. He thought he try to teach some of the songs to Marvin. A man should know how to appreciate good music and beautiful women.
Heyes' lips curved upward as he remembered his triumphant first win at billiards. This time it had been only a dollar, but he wondered if there might be more to come. The game might have been made for him. But it wasn't just the fine calculation of angles and forces that Heyes enjoyed so much – it was winning. It was seeing the ironic smile of his defeated teacher and hearing the cheers of the other men in the back of the club. Picking up a dollar was nothing. Besting another man gave Heyes a thrill like he had once gotten from stealing, conning, and poker. All of the other things he had had to give up, or, in the case of poker, at least cut way back on. Perhaps billiards would help to fill the hole that Heyes felt in his new life. Tension was one thing – he had plenty of that - excitement was another. As a professor, he hoped to find interest and fulfillment. Excitement and that special brand of respect he would have to find elsewhere. As with the music he missed, could Beth ever understand that? He could only try to tell her. Heyes thought that Charlie, at least, would know how he needed an occasional evening of thrill and victory. He only hoped that Beth would not stand in his way. He needed this. But then again, he would have to be careful. Heyes had seen billiards played in some very rough places where beating the wrong opponent in the wrong way could land a man in the East River, and perhaps not in any condition to swim. And the ex-outlaw realized that he was very ignorant of the fine points of the game. If a man tried to shark him – to cheat – Heyes might never even know it.
Heyes wondered if he would be able to tell his new son Marvin about his past without tempting the boy into evil ways. He hoped he could communicate some of the good parts without recommending the way of the ladron – his old, thieving way.
It was a long train ride back to New York. Heyes grew more and more restless. He kept thinking back to his two interviews and the one that had not happened. He was feeling increasing pressure, especially when he kept thinking about Beth and Marvin and perhaps a baby to come. When would he get word from the schools? Heyes sent Beth a telegram as the train stopped in a station that evening and collected one from her. She had not had any letters from any schools or any other notable news. Heyes sat down in the Harvey House and sighed over his dinner. No word – no word from the schools where he had interviewed. The summer was ticking by faster and faster. The autumn semester was approaching. Schools had to get their professors lined up. Word could not be much longer in coming from Utah and Wyoming.
As the sun set behind the speeding train, Heyes got up from his seat and paced up and down the train cars. He sat down again, but shifted around uneasily. He didn't see how he would be able to sleep that night in the uncomfortable, slick leather seat. It was hot and airless in the train car. The ever-present grit of coal ash caught in Heyes' throat and made him cough. "Pardon me," he said to the well-dressed man in the seat beside him.
"You seem restless," observed Heyes' neighbor, setting down a sheaf of papers he was reading. He was a middle-aged man with a brown beard that he stroking thoughtfully as he spoke.
Heyes sighed. "I'm just waiting for word about a job. It seems to take forever. I apologize for disturbing you."
"No trouble at all. Long train rides are hard. I ought to know. I've been on a lot of them."
"Oh?" Heyes could tell that the man wasn't averse to starting a conversation. Finding out about his neighbor seemed far more interesting to Heyes than just reading through a mathematics journal that he had already practically memorized.
As the two men looked at one another and the stranger next to Heyes was opening his mouth to speak, the train suddenly slowed and pulled to a shuddering halt with a long scream of the metal wheels on the tracks. Everyone was jolted forward by the sudden change in speed. Heyes jumped out of his seat to check on a woman and child who had been thrown from their seats. "Are you alright, Ma'am?" he asked, reaching out a hand to help the woman and her little girl to their feet.
"I'm fine, sir, thank you," said the young woman, leaning on Heyes' hand to stand. "And I think little Mary is as well, just startled. Why do you think the train stopped?"
"I don't know, but I'd like to find out," said Heyes in concern. He went to lean leaning over to look out a window between aisles at the center of the car. His seatmate was standing beside him doing the same. Their car was fairly near the front of the train. They could see that there was a large tree down across the tracks; it had been cut down on purpose. It was a standard means to stop a train and rob it. By leaning their heads right against the glass of the windows, they could see a group of men and horses near the engine. Guns were drawn. The engineer and the fireman got out of the cab and coal car and put their hands up. A conductor peeked out of railroad car door. The robbers shot the conductor down without a word. Somewhere in the train, a woman screamed at the noise.
The man next to Heyes raised his voice in an authoritative tone. "Everyone get down! Stay still and quiet. It's a robbery and there could be more gunfire. My name is North. I work for the railroad."
A young man with a gun on his hip started to move toward the front of the car. The man next to Heyes drew a gun. "Are you part of this robbery?"
"No!" replied the man hotly. "I want to help stop it."
North shook his head and spoke firmly. "Stay where you are. You'll only get in the way. Nobody try to help. Railroad security and the authorities will handle it."
A conductor came into the car, walking bent over very low. "Stay calm, everybody!" he said loudly. "It's a robbery. Nobody will get hurt if you stay calm."
"I've already told them that," said North.
"Oh, Mr. North. Good. Everyone listen to this man. He knows what he's doing," said the conductor.
Mr. North began to walk toward the front of the car. Heyes' put his hand on the railroad man's arm.
"Wait, Mr. North," whispered Heyes, who was still crouching and looking out the window between two aisles in the rapidly fading light. Heyes and North could see armed men going past their own railway car. They went to a car a few doors farther back. There was the sound of breaking wood. Heyes whispered, "I can help you if you'll listen to me."
"You already heard me say that we don't need help from passengers." But Heyes kept hold of North's jacket. "You're delaying me. Why should I listen to you?" asked North.
Heyes answered in a tense, rapid whisper. "Because I know who that is robbing this train and I know where they'll go with the loot." There was a loud bang from the car the men were breaking into. Everyone in the train car started at the noise and the shock they felt through the car.
North looked startled and worried. "Who is it? They just blew the safe."
Heyes wasn't at all surprised by the noise – he had been expecting it. "Yeah. It's Luke Benton and his gang. Your men had better not try any more to argue with those boys."
North obviously recognized the name, even though he hadn't known Benton's face. He nodded. "So, that's the infamous Benton? Fits the description I've seen. But how do you know Benton?"
Heyes' eyes darted out to the group of robbers and back to the man next to him. "I used to be on the other side."
North was startled, but he kept his voice low. "You what? What do you mean the other side?"
Heyes spoke in a low, fast voice. "The other side of the law. I used to rob trains. That's how I know who that is, why you shouldn't argue with them, and where they're going to take that money. I also know where you can cut him off and have a good chance to get the haul before it vanishes into his hideout."
Heyes had North's attention. "You're a former train robber and you expect me to trust you? Nobody knows where Benton's hideout is except that it's hidden deep in the Ozarks."
Heyes was talking faster and faster, "I know where it is and you'd better trust me or you'll lose those bastards. Four governors and the President of the United States trust me. Look – back by our seats I have a briefcase full of amnesty and pardon documents, but there's no time for you to read all that. You've got to get word to the authorities and tell them to take the road north of here and cut off that bunch of outlaws at the Glen Oak pass before they vanish. If they don't get them at the pass, they never will. And the Benton gang will steal again and kill again. Get this train moving as soon as the Benton gang is gone. Then get a telegram out to the law at the next station or you'll be too late."
North was thoroughly skeptical. "How the hell do you know this? Who are you?"
Heyes' eyes looked around, making sure no one else was near enough to hear his whisper. All the other people on the car were huddled in tight groups away from the windows, so no one was near these two men right by a window. Heyes hissed, "I'm the man who taught Luke Benton to rob trains."
"But he learned from Hannibal Heyes himself!"
Heyes raised his eyebrows silently. North stared at Heyes in open-mouthed disbelief. After a moment he said, "My God, I believe it. You look like Heyes. After all the posters I've read on you . . . Well, I may be nuts, but I believe you. I don't have time not to. There they go riding off with the loot right now. Can you draw me a map of where the hideout is and that cutoff point you mentioned?" He lit a match in the gathering dusk and used it to light a lamp he removed from the side of the train car.
Heyes nodded. He rushed back to his seat and got his journal and his pen. He quickly drew a map on a blank page and by lamplight showed Mr. North some details of it that he marked in ink. "You got that, North?"
"Yeah, I do, Heyes. Thanks! Now I'd better run and get this to the right people and make sure everything's alright with the driver and the security guys." He raised his voice to address the people on the car. "It's all safe now, folks, you can get up. We'll be on our way shortly. Don't worry. I think we have things well in hand." North gave Heyes a salute as he hurried forward up the aisle.
As North had said, train was soon on its way again, rather than waiting hours to send word to the local law as stopped trains normally did. Heyes hoped this would help the law to surprise Benton. "Sir, is it really safe?" the woman Heyes had helped asked him.
"Yes, it is." Heyes stood next to the woman and smiled at her young daughter. He said the little girl, "It's alright, sweetie." But the child clung close to her mother and wouldn't look at Heyes.
"But those men took the money from the safe. We had money in that safe. We need that money." said the woman.
"Don't worry, ma'am," said Heyes comfortingly. "They'll get it back. Mr. North will make sure of that."
"Is that what you were talking with him about?" asked the lady with the little girl.
"Yes. I know this area, so I was doing what I could to help," said Heyes with an encouraging smile. He hoped nobody would be more curious in that direction; he wasn't eager to let out his identity in the context of a train robbery.
Within fifteen minutes, the train pulled into the next station. There was a slight delay that Heyes thought was due to the sending of telegrams to the authorities to put his plan into action. He hoped so – it was the only way they would ever get that money back and keep the man from killing again. North was right – the Benton gang's hideout was well hidden in the Ozarks. Kid Curry had made sure of that when he had helped to establish it twenty years previously. Heyes hated and despised Benton, who had many times violated the Devil's Hole rule against killing. But the ex-outlaw had never until now had the opportunity to bring justice to the student who had betrayed him.
Soon after the train pulled out of the station in Missouri, Mr. North reappeared and sat down next to Heyes.
"Well?" asked Heyes. "Did anybody but you listen to me?"
North nodded crisply and said, "We acted on your information. When Benton gets through back tracking all over the place trying to lose the little posse we put behind him, he'll find a big surprise waiting for him at the pass. I just hope the guys get there in time to cut him off and that they have enough fire power to do the trick. I suppose it will be a few hours before we know anything. But we appreciate the information."
North paused for a few minutes, looking hard at the ex-outlaw sitting next to him. "So, Benton used to be your friend? Your protégé?"
Heyes nodded. "I'm ashamed to admit it, but yes." North could see that the infamous former armed robber was troubled. There was no denying that going straight wasn't ever going to be easy for Hannibal Heyes. He still had too many close connections on the other side.
North changed the subject. "Are you riding all the way to New York City?"
Heyes was glad to talk about something besides the killer he had once called a friend. "Yes. My wife and I live in the big city these days. Or we do until I get a teaching post somewhere. If I do."
"I'm headed there, too," said North, studying Heyes' famous face in the lamplight.
Heyes gave the railroad security man a tentative smile. "Thanks for trusting me, Mr. North. Not many people in your position would."
"You'd better be right about where they're going, Heyes. Or people might stop trusting you. Or me." North smiled at the ex-outlaw. He extended his hand. "Thank you."
"You're very welcome, Mr. North. I appreciate your listening to me. And letting me know the news."
The railroad man looked into his neighbor's dark eyes. "Sounds like you're waiting for other news, too."
"You mean about jobs? Yes. I'm having a hard time getting university and colleges to trust me to teach young men and women. After all the years I put in studying math at Columbia University, it might all come to nothing."
"I hope you get a good academic position. We can use men like you training people to work in industries like mine. Right now, I'm hungry and I'll bet you are, too. Why don't you come with me to the dining car and get yourself a steak dinner on the railroad's tab, Mr. Heyes? You've more than earned it."
"That, sir, sounds very appealing to me," said Heyes.
When they finished dinner, North took Heyes pack to the caboose where the conductors gathered between shifts. North said to a pair of conductors gratefully sitting down on break, "This is Mr. Heyes, who helped us with that robbery. Heyes, this is Mr. Carter and Mr. Hough."
Heyes shook the men's hands. Then he asked the small gathering of railroad men, "Anybody got a deck of cards?"
North laughed. He hadn't told anyone Heyes' first name but he certainly knew it. "You don't honestly expect me to want to play cards with you, do you?"
"There's other things you can do with a deck of cards than play for money," said Heyes with a smile. One of the other conductors, introducing himself as Mr. Carter, produced a deck. Heyes happily shuffled it with each hand and then fell to showing off fancy shuffles and some of the visual trickery he had last used on the guards on the train to the Wyoming Penitentiary. The conductors and Mr. North watched, entranced.
"Mr. Heyes, are you a magician?" asked North.
"Well, some folks think maybe I am, in some way or another," admitted Heyes with a sparkle in his eyes. "But you're the one who's sneaked the ace of spades into his pocket." Heyes reached into the security man's pocket and pulled out the card he had just named, while North and two conductors on break laughed at the clever sleight of hand.
"I guess it makes sense for you to be good with your hands," said North with a smile. "It would have to help – with your previous way of making a living."
"Yes," admitted Heyes. "Stage actors, magicians, con men, and thieves all practice to be good at what we call 'business.' I'll leave you gentlemen," the ex-outlaw smiled at the two conductors, "to guess which of those areas I used to work in before I turned to academia." He winked at his small audience. "Toss me your keys, Mr. Carter."
The off-duty conductor smilingly obliged. Heyes batted the keys off the wall of the train car and caught them behind his back. Then he turned back to showing off some more fancy card tricks, with the cards rippling and flashing back and forth between his hands and the table. "You ought to be on the stage, Heyes," said Carter after a couple of hours, "But I got to go back on duty."
North glanced at his new friend and said, "Mr. Heyes, is it not true that you still have Mr. Carter's keys in your pocket?"
Heyes smiled wickedly and said, "Why yes, so it is." He fished out the keys and tossed them back to the conductor, who was mortified that he had nearly allowed a stranger to walk off with his keys to the secured spots on the train. The little gathering of railroad men laughed at the blushing Mr. Carter. "And Mr. North, you might just need your gold pocket watch." Now they all laughed harder, especially North at himself as Heyes carefully placed the valuable article in question on the card table and North uselessly felt in his empty pocket.
The whole caboose full of railroad looked respectfully at Heyes. "Well, I'd better let you guys get to work on the night shift and I could use a snooze myself." The ex-outlaw threw them a jaunty salute and went back to his seat. He smiled to himself. He imagined that he might find a warmer greeting on trains in future, especially when they actually knew who he was.
It wasn't long before North joined Heyes back at their seats. Both men found spots with nobody sitting next to them so they could curl up for a night of something not too dissimilar from sleep. Sleeping on a train was something Heyes had never found easy, as much because it was so public as anything else.
As they were eating breakfast in the dining car the next morning, North asked his new friend, "Heyes, why did you have to do something as hard and that takes as much training as college teaching? Couldn't you have done something that would have been easy for, you like being an engineer on the railroad or in a mine?"
Heyes considered the question as he chewed his bacon. "I could have. I still can, if I have to. But I guess I've always had grandiose ambitions. I'd like to do something that would have a larger impact than one engineer can have. I have a bunch of ideas I think are pretty good, and pretty original, and good for saving lives. I'd like to get those ideas out there – save lives on more than one railroad line or in more than one mine."
North nodded. "I can see that. Your crime had national impact; you'd like to have your straight work to do the same."
"International," Heyes added proudly. "I've been writing back and forth to authorities all over Europe. They're already putting my plans for the safe and efficient handling of guns and explosives into action over there, from Denmark to Spain, England to Poland."
North smiled. "Good work. So let me show you a little problem we've been having with trains being snowed into cuts in the winter – see if you can help us to solve it. Folks have tied to use dynamite and it just makes it worse. I'm no engineer, but I've been told about this by men who know what they're talking about." He began to sketch out a diagram in Heyes' journal. The two men studied the page and were soon deep in speculative discussion.
That afternoon, a conductor brought a piece of paper to North, who stood up while the two men consulted quietly. North smiled and nodded, clapping the engineer on the shoulder as he turned to leave. Then he sat back down. He kept his voice very quiet and carefully avoided using his seat mate's name. "Well, it worked. Your plan caught the gang dead to rights with not only the haul from this train but the money from another job they'd pulled just before it. We got the whole bunch in handcuffs - Benton himself and all his boys. Now there are men out in search of that hideout. You're a hero!"
"My God," exclaimed Heyes in dismay. "You didn't tell anyone who told you, did you? Not the press, I hope!"
North shook his head. "No, of course not. I didn't tell the front office or the press your name or even that I got the information from a passenger. I had to tell the law who I got the intelligence from or they wouldn't have acted on it, but I made them promise to keep it very quiet. I'm not surprised that you'd rather stay under cover on this."
Heyes was relieved. "I sure would. I'm kind of enjoying being alive right now and I'd like to keep doing it. My old colleagues might suspect who ratted Benton out, but they can't prove it. If you told the whole world who betrayed the Benton gang, my life wouldn't be worth a paper picklock. Guys might not like the Bentons personally, but they don't want a former outlaw running around ratting out every outlaw west of the Mississippi. I'm not volunteering information unless I have to."
North sighed. "I can understand that. It can't be easy or very secure for you to go straight and have your name out in public. I respect you for trying it. We're grateful to you for deciding to share what you knew just this once. I only hope you and your family can stay safe."
"You and me both, North," said Heyes with wary glance around the train car.
The rest of the trip was much more enjoyable for Heyes than most train rides were, since he had an entertaining new friend at his side. He exchanged business cards with North and promised to stay in touch as the men got off the train in Grand Central Terminal.
Heyes was whistling as he walked into his apartment that evening. "Beth, honey! I'm back!" he called as he tossed his hat onto the sofa and carried his bags into the bedroom.
Beth stood up from the bed. "Hello, darling." The pair kissed, but Heyes was nervous all over again. He could see his wife's tension.
"What is it, Beth?" asked Heyes as he took off his jacket and vest and hung them neatly in the closet, then took off his tie, "Bad news?"
"You've got a letter from Wyoming." Mrs. Heyes handed her husband a thin envelope. It couldn't possibly have more than one sheet of paper inside it. Both of them knew what that meant. A "yes" would include paperwork for the next stage of the application. A thin envelope was a "no."
Heyes looked resigned as he reached for the letter tray on the night stand and got a letter opener. He neatly slit the envelope up the back. It didn't take long to read the contents. He sighed and handed the brief letter to his wife without a word.
As Beth read the politely worded refusal from the University of Wyoming, Heyes began to curse furiously. He paced up and down letting out his frustration and disappointment in a torrent of profanity that would have made a sailor blush. When he finally got to where he could say something suitable for polite society, he said, "Sorry. That was rude of me."
Beth put an arm around her husband. "You're only human, darling. That's what curses are for – to let out the pressure so you won't hit me."
"Hit you? I would never hit you in a million years, Elizabeth." He sighed again and he pulled his wife against him. Then he let her go as he collapsed onto the bed. "So, it's Utah or nothing. Probably nothing. I told you how Denton already pulled out and it's too late in the year for anything else to come through. We'd better see if it's too late to apply to teach at that new Colorado prep school, in case Utah says 'no' too."
"Heyes."
Heyes ignored his wife and went on, "They'll want you, not me – you've got a lot more tutoring experience than I have."
As her husband spoke in more and more depressed tones Beth was waving another envelope. "Heyes," began Beth again, but her husband kept talking with his head in his hands and his eyes closed in misery.
"I'll tell Cat and Jed that they probably don't need to look any farther for a manager. And I'll contact the warden at the Wyoming Pen and . . .
Beth finally burst out, "Hannibal Heyes would you shut up and listen to me?"
Heyes sat up and opened his eyes. "Sorry. What is it?"
"I've been trying to tell you that there's another letter for you."
"There is?" The rejected former outlaw sounded hopeful for a split second as he saw an envelope that clearly had more than one sheet of paper in it, but then he was in the dumps again. "Don't tell me Utah said 'no' on the same day as Wyoming."
"No. It's not from Utah." Beth bounced on the bed playfully.
"Then who's it from?"
Beth grinned as she handed her husband the sealed envelope. "Harvard."