Heyes sneezed and sneezed again. "Bless you!" said a young marshal with a handlebar mustache. The Kid chimed in as well. Heyes nodded his thanks to both. It was miserable traveling in chains on a train in wet clothes. But at least, in contrast to his brutal trip from New York to Montana, he had guards who cared enough to lend him a handkerchief and even bothered to be polite. And this trip Heyes had the Kid beside him. It was good to be together again. Yet Heyes sat with his head in his hands, wondering and worrying – even more for the Kid and his burgeoning family than for himself.

There was no one either man could ask about the progress of the amnesty, so they had no idea of what might really be coming next. Officially, it was a single trial about a theft the partners and their gang had committed nearly eight years before. But without amnesty, it would really be life in prison. There were, after all, forty-two other similar charges that could be brought and a wide assortment of other offenses beyond that. It would have been much less of a problem if there had been a statute of limitation on felonies in Wyoming, but as the partners had learned years ago, there wasn't. Heyes' and Curry's crimes would stand forever until or unless they got their long promised amnesty.

The presence of their corps of guards meant that Heyes and the Kid couldn't talk about the two things that were most on their minds – the amnesty and Cat's pregnancy. The first would be blown if it was not kept secret and the second would dishonor Cat irreparably. So, ironically, the partners who had so missed each other sat on seats opposite each other not knowing quite what to say.

"I appreciate your coming up here for this Kid, but now . . ." Heyes started awkwardly.

The Kid was out of sorts and his voice was tense, "You heard what I told Cole and the judge! I wasn't just bein' noble, Heyes. I had to come. They would've brought me up to Wyoming for this trial coming up, anyhow."

Heyes said, "But I still appreciate it, Kid – your leaving . . ."

His partner cut him off, "Just stop sayn' thanks, Heyes! We got to go on ahead, like when a posse's after us. We got no time to look back."

Heyes sighed. "You're right, Kid. It's great to hear all those nice things said about me, but none of it matters a damn, now. We have to go on. And maybe on into prison, but God I hope not! I can't imagine why they'd bring us to this trial if not for . . ." and he had to stop as he ran into the subject of the amnesty. He tried again, "I keep thinking about . . ." and he had to stop again, realizing that he was about to bring up another thing he couldn't mention in front of the guards. It was Senator Francis Warren's message that he was wondering about, but he knew that it must be kept secret. If anyone knew that the Senator had sent a message to Heyes and the Kid about the amnesty deal, the deal would be off.

"My boss tells me . . . hmn . . . guess I can't talk about that, either." The Kid fell silent and glanced uneasily at their guards. The marshals pretended not to be listening in despite the fact that they could hardly help hearing every word said just feet away from them. "Funny weather we've been havin', ain't it, Heyes?" said the Kid at last, chuckling. It really was kind of funny that two such close partners couldn't find anything much that they could talk about. So long as the marshals were there, the Kid's work with Sheriff Wilde was off the possible topics list as well. And so was any possible legal strategy. And so was anything about Lom Trevors – the man they kept expecting to arrive and yet he never did.

Heyes sighed again and leaned his head on his hands. "It's all my fault, Kid. If I hadn't . . ."

The Kid snapped, "Cut it out, Heyes! I'm sick a' you takin' all the blame on yourself! I was a grown man and did those robberies right alongside a' you!

Heyes growled, "You weren't a grown man when you were thirteen years old, Jed, and I took you into being an outlaw with me. So cut yourself a break."

The Kid growled back, "You weren't grown either, Heyes. I mean, you were fifteen! So you could use a break, too!"

Heyes winced, "You're even grouchier than I am, Kid, which is sayin' something. What's the matter?"

The Kid hung his head, "You know what the matter is. Heyes! Lots a' stuff, all bad. And this damn beard of mine is itching so bad. Useless thing! Sure didn't stop that creep Clitterhouse from spotting me."

"So that's what it is! The beard!" Heyes laughed and, eventually, the Kid laughed with him. "Gentlemen," Heyes said to the Marshals, "anybody got a razor this man can borrow?"

"Oh, right, Heyes!" laughed a rotund blonde marshal named, comically enough, Jones, "like we're gonna hand Kid Curry a cut-throat razor! And what about a Colt 45 and some ammunition while we're at it?!" So then everyone in the car was laughing. But behind the laughter, they were worried and even scared.

The partners squirmed around on their leather seats in damp clammy clothing that slowly dried on their bodies. As the evening went on, things got pretty quiet. Eventually the two emotionally exhausted prisoners fell asleep in their seats.

Heyes awoke sometime in the middle of the night, but he didn't move as he heard two of the marshals talking together quietly in the assumption that their prisoners were both still asleep. Anything he could learn from their unguarded exchange could possibly be helpful at some point. But soon Heyes was sorry that he was listening.

"Seem like decent men, Heyes and the Kid. Just like they always say. But they'll send 'em to the State Pen anyhow."

"Sure enough – no way out of it. I don't envy those boys at all, from what I been hearing about that place the last couple of years. Not many guys live to get out, but the ones that do . . ."

"I know. I've seen 'em. Those eyes. I seen a lot of jail birds kind a jumpy when they get out, but not like that. There's something bad wrong at the Pen."

"Yeah. Criminals gotta' take their medicine, but nothin' should do that to men."

Heyes felt a chill go down his spine. The words he was hearing were bad enough, but the tone of the men's voices was worse. These weren't men who were soft on crime, yet they were truly appalled by something that was going on at the Wyoming State Penitentiary. Heyes prayed harder than ever that the amnesty would come through. He had no desire whatsoever to find out any more about what had the marshals so upset.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The next afternoon they arrived in Cheyenne. Once again, there were crowds of gawkers to look at the celebrity outlaws as they were taken to the jail in a paddy wagon very similar to the one Heyes had ridden in when he had been arrested in New York City. Some people yelled support, some yelled curses, but mostly they just seemed to be there to enjoy themselves and eat popcorn. The Kid fidgeted on the slick seat of the paddy wagon and looked out the bars. He hadn't had this experience before as Heyes had, of being paraded through the streets. Curry wanted to hide and be alone with his fears and his grief. But alone was one thing he didn't get to be.

When the paddy wagon stopped at the local jail, more than a dozen marshals lined the path so the boys had no way to go but straight down to the sidewalk and into the hall that led right to their cell. They shared a single bare cell, but there were other prisoners in the cells around them who gawked.

One rough looking man with a black beard yelled, "Well, Heyes and Curry! Maybe we'll get some decent grub with the professor and the gunman here."

Heyes winced at the nickname he had gotten. Being a professor was one thing he had never achieved. He still wanted it, but such a possibility seemed more fantastical by the moment.

The pair of former outlaws had a nasty, utterly unprivate evening of bad food, and gawking guards and coarse fellow prisoners. "When you breakin' us out, Heyes? They say you hate to spend the night in jail. Well so do I!" called a scruffy black bearded man on trial for murder. He looked too much like one of the Teasdale brothers for comfort.

The boys had a hard time falling asleep on their thin, buggy bunks.

Finally, the next morning after a vile breakfast of gruel was served, Cole arrived. He had convinced the authorities that he had to have time alone with his clients.

The marshals led the boys on their chains to a handsomely appointed meeting room strikingly at odds with the stark, filthy conditions of the jail. They sat with their chains clicking against the polish mahogany of the table and leather-cushioned chairs. Finally, the marshals were gone and the three men could have some privacy to talk honestly.

"You heard anything, Cole, from the governors, or the Senator, or Lom?" asked Heyes eagerly.

Cole shook his head. "Nothing. I'm terribly sorry, but no, not a word. But what was that news about that you didn't want anyone in the courtroom to hear? Even I couldn't hear it, but I sure could hear you sobbing. If it's that bad I need to know, guys."

"Well, it's only bad if we don't get the amnesty. If we get the amnesty it's great. It's sensational," said Heyes.

"But if we don't, it's – I don't know a word bad enough," said the Kid.

"So what is it?" asked Cole, consumed with anxious curiosity.

The Kid just hung his head silently, so Heyes answered, "The Kid's gonna be a daddy. And, since he was waitin' for the amnesty, he hasn't gotten around to marryin' the lady."

"Oh!" said Cole, "Congratulations, Kid! But you had better keep that quiet, out of respect for the lady in question. It just makes me pray for the amnesty all that much more. My shower present had better be getting you off so your child gets to have a father."

The Kid nodded silently, unwilling to say a word on the subject to a virtual stranger.

Cole pulled out a yellow legal pad and a pencil. He looked back and forth between his two clients and said, "So tell me about this Blackfork robbery in 83. What's your defense?"

"Defense!" hooted Heyes, "We got no defense! We're as guilty as sin. I planned the job . . ."

The Kid broke in, "And so did I, as per usual . . ."

Heyes glared at his partner, who stubbornly refused to be defended, and continued, "as usual, and I opened the safe – a Stiffel and Freeman model 999. I was the only man west of the Mississippi who could open one without dynamite and it took me only four hours. The Kid and the guards stood guard with guns, so that's the armed part. All eight of us carried away the haul. It went clean as a whistle. No witnesses, but no doubts, either. We were the only ones who could've done it and we did it. If you wanted any other witnesses but us and the bank security guys in the box, you'd have to get the Hole guys themselves. And to get them, the ones who are still alive, you'd have to go up there with an army and a lot of luck. There'd be blood spilled – a lot of it. No, the only thing we can do is plead guilty and pray for amnesty. Right, Kid?"

"For once I agree with you, Heyes," said the Kid.

Cole bristled uselessly. "Who's the lawyer here? I'm the one who gives the legal advice, Heyes! Being a genius or a notorious criminal isn't qualification enough. Being admitted to the bar is. And there's only one of those in this room and that's me."

"Alright Mr. Lawyer, what do we do?" laughed Heyes bitterly.

Cole started to speak, "If there were no witnesses, see what we can do . . ."

Heyes interrupted him, "But we're guilty! We did it! I'm the only man in history ever to have opened one of those safes without dynamite. I did it three times and on the other two I'm afraid they didn't work out quite that clean- they knew it was me for sure. I'm the only one. Still true to this day, last I know. Guys blew them, but they also got caught. Dynamite, as you may have noticed, makes a lot of noise and tends to attract attention. Draws sheriffs like flies.

And besides, the Blackfork sheriff, eventually, followed one of the sets of tracks from the getaway right to the entrance to the Hole. I know who it was left those tracks and I sure made life hard for him after that! He got off the route I gave him. I worked out those routes practically to the inch and they worked – if followed precisely. He didn't and he gave the game away. But we got back to the Hole before they finished the tracking, and you know nobody's ever gettin' into the Hole with the law. So they never got us on it. But they knew who had gotten away with $57,302.00. And twenty-five cents – there was a quarter sitting at the bottom of the safe."

Cole shrugged, "Oh. Then I guess you'd better plead guilty and pray for amnesty. And by the way, Heyes, knowing the exact amount to the penny of every one of your robberies is weird."

The Kid, who didn't know his new lawyer that well yet, asked, "Are you joking, Cole? I mean about the guilty plea. I'm with you on Heyes – he's weird and always was."

Cole nodded. "I'm afraid not – on the guilty plea. It's all there is - unless you can offer me something better to work with."

The Kid shook his head. "No, Mr. Cole. We're guilty as sin. We did it. And everyone knew it. The folks in our little local town near the Hole – well, sort of near. The real name is Starkville, but we used to joke and call it Tarnation – you know like 'what in tarnation'? They knew about the robbery – the boys bragged about it. They always did, damn them. So the law'd just have to go up there and ask around that place. And we just can't let that happen. They've suffered enough on account a' us," said the Kid.

"And fattened on our account, too, by the way," added Heyes. "We were the main industry in town, actually. They sure missed us when the Kid and I went straight and the Hole boys brought in so much less money. I'm afraid they've got a real grudge against Jed and me. Wouldn't exactly hold back if anyone went up to question them. So no, it's not a good idea to try to pretend we're innocent on Blackfork. Cause we're not. So forget it, Cole. We've got to work on the amnesty instead."

Cole looked grim. "And there's nothing I can do about that, and you know it. If the governors knew that I knew about it, there'd be no amnesty."

Heyes rubbed his tired eyes. "What I keep wondering is about that message that Francis Warren, the Senator, sent to me by telegram. "Do not flinch. Do not fail. Never never never give up." What's the deal with the threes? Three phrases and three nevers on the end. What is about three? What's he trying to tell us?"

The Kid elbowed Heyes hard. "Heyes, not everything has to do with math and numbers! He's just saying not to give up!"

Heyes rubbed his side where the Kid's elbow had dug into it and gave his partner a dirty look. "I know, but he sent this to me. I'm the math guy and he knows it. So this one does come down to math. Or numbers anyhow. I'm sure of it. I just can't figure out what the three thing is about. He's trying to tell me something and I'm just not getting it!"

Heyes got up and paced up and down awkwardly in his chains.

"And anyhow, why would we give up if they give us amnesty? There's nothing to flinch from, nothing to make us fail – other than the last trial, which just wasn't that bad. No, it has to mean that he thinks they might not give us amnesty – or will not. But if they don't, what hope is there?"

Cole and the Kid looked at Heyes in horror. His argument was all too convincing.

Heyes went on with his argument with himself, "I keep thinking about those four powerful men – those governors – and us. They keep letting us down. I think they want us put away where we can't complain or make them look bad. I think they want us to vanish and nobody ever to think about us again. But in that case, how can Warren say never give up? Why not? What does he or anybody else – anybody but our friends, however – what do they care if we get put away and never seen again? I don't get it."

The Kid shook his head. "Heyes, you got a point there. I don't get it neither."

"Neither do I," said Cole. "And what's more, either way, there's nothing I can do about it and I doubt that there's anything you can do, either. Except just to endure what comes and hope that someone comes to get you out of it. Someone from the governors or the senator."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. At last Heyes said, apprehensively, "And Cole, this had better not matter to us personally, but it sure looks like it might. What have you heard about the Wyoming State Pen?"

Cole looked decidedly nervous, biting one corner of his upper lip. "What about it?"

"Then you know what I mean . . . abuse." Heyes spit out the word contemptuously.

Cole looked away to avoid Heyes' and Curry's probing glances. "Yeah, I know what you mean. One hears rumors. It's a bad place and bad things happen to men there. Frankly, it's not a real high administrative priority to make life better for criminals. So nobody's bothered much to try to figure out what's happening or who's doing it. I sure do hope it doesn't get to be a real concern for you. Because there'd be nothing anyone could or would do for you - if your senator and your governors won't help."

Heyes turned in surprise as his partner said in a shaken tone he had rarely heard from him before, "Heyes, I've heard it too. I hate to say it, but since you asked . . . I talked to an old con got out of there. He wasn't much older than we are, actually, but he moved like an old man. Seemed he was in pain all the time. I don't know what they did to him and I don't want to know. He wouldn't tell me, but the look he gave me when I asked . . ."

Heyes couldn't let the Kid go on. "I've gotta' be wrong. They keep sayin' they'll come through, the governors. They've got to. Someone's got to come for us. Someone's gotta get us out 'a this. We've got too much to offer them if we're free. Sheriffing in Colorado, teaching wherever someone'll hire me. No, they gotta get us out 'a this."

"Cole," said the Kid, "it sure goes against the grain to wait for somebody else to come along and help. We always got ourselves out'a things before, didn't we Heyes?"

"Or almost always, Kid," added Heyes. "Remember when Judge Hanley let us out on 'bail?'"

"I'm afraid that won't happen this time, gentlemen," said Cole grimly. And they knew he was right.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The boys still had the whole next day to wait before their hearing was scheduled. So the next morning they woke up tense and paced or lay around nervously in their tiny shared cell. They tried in vain to stay out of each other's way. Repeatedly they tripped over each other's chains or ran into each other. The day seemed like an eternity. And yet it wasn't long enough.

"God, they're takin' their time. When is that . . . you know – when is he – or they - gonna show up? Or our . . . um friend from P-ville?" asked the Kid, trying not to trip over his chain or say too much in front of their guards.

"Gotta come soon," said Heyes, glancing around at the other prisoners and the guards who would be listening to every word they said. "We're too popular. It'd be pol . . . you know what suicide to leave us . . ."

"But only if folks knew, and they don't! What if they don't pull the trigger, like you said yesterday? I mean, they've waited this long . . ." asked the Kid. "So what are you gonna' do, Heyes? What happens?"

Heyes looked bleak, "Come on, Kid. You know. We go to prison. That's it. After all these years . . ."

The Kid's voice fell to a whisper, "Don't you got some kind a' . . .?"

"No!" Heyes answered in an angry whisper. "I got nothin'!" The prisoners around them and the patrolling guards looked up, startled by the tense exchange between the two famous outlaws.

Heyes hung his head. As the older, the leader, he was supposed to have a plan and he had none. They could only wait for someone to come along and deliver them. "I'm sorry, Kid. But you know there's nothing I can do."

"Me, either, Heyes," said the Kid softly. "We're stuck unless . . ."

Heyes nodded and whispered his reply, "Yeah, unless . . . some kind'a political miracle comes along."

Cole came to see them after breakfast. The boys looked eagerly at him. He shook his head. "No news, buys. Nothing. No reply from your friend in P-ville at all."

"I hope there's nothing wrong!" said the Kid.

"I hope not!" said Heyes, "Since there's nothing we can do to help."

"We can't even help us," said the Kid sadly.

At a quarter of noon a figure came down the hall toward the cells. The boys glanced up in keen anticipation . . . and smelled baked beans. It was lunch coming.

An hour later, a slender figure in black came down the hall, his footsteps echoing off the walls eerily. The boys looked up, but it wasn't who they hoped. It was someone the men in the cells knew. They got to their feet respectfully and called soft greetings to a man in a clerical collar. "Hello, Father James! Thanks for comin' to see us!"

After speaking for a few minutes to men he already knew, the prison chaplain went over to the partners' shared cell. "Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes – is there anything I can do for you? Anything I can bring you? Any message I can take to anyone?"

Heyes shook his head. He spoke in low, dispirited tones. "No, Father, our lawyer has done all he can. There's nothing to be done until our hearing tomorrow. But thank you for asking."

"You could pray for us, father!" said the Kid. "We could use it! We've been straight more than seven years and nobody seems to give a . . . nobody cares."

"Would you listen to a Bible verse that might offer some comfort?" asked the priest, with little hope that the men would have any interest.

"Couldn't hurt," said Heyes. "Might be the last kind words we hear for a long, long time." The Kid looked at him in surprise. He had never known his cousin to pay any attention to the Bible.

The slender priest opened his Bible to where he had it marked. He had anticipated the need. He read quietly yet his voice carried to all the cells.

"This is the 121st psalm," said Father James. "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, whence commeth my help . . ." The men in cells all around him fell silent and listened respectfully, when they had not showed respect for anything or anyone else. Heyes and Curry, too, listened thoughtfully. " . . . The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore." The priest concluded.

"Thank you, Father!" whispered many of the men in the cells, including Heyes and the Kid both.

As the priest walked down the hall, Heyes said looked sadly at his partner and said, "Please forgive me, Jed. I've let you down every day of my life. You're a good man and I led you wrong after our folks were killed. I've tried to do better these last years – but it didn't get us far, did it? Maybe if I'd just gone home after I healed up and not been so ambitious to try to stay in New York and study, we'd still be safe."

The Kid looked his partner in the eye. "Aw, Heyes, you've always done your best. I know that. Your studyin' is a good thing and you oughta' know it. It was me got you into trouble in Montana, or we'd both be fine now."

"You were just tryn' to help somebody, like usual, Kid," said Heyes.

As it grew late after dinner, they finally heard more people coming down the hall. One of them was sobbing softly. The gentle sound carried strangely down the echoing halls. As she came nearer, with a marshal on either side, they could see that it was Beth, with Charlie Homer at her side. Heyes, of course, had known this from the first – he would know Beth anywhere. Heyes was surprised and relieved not to hear cat calls or any disrespectful words from the prisoners around him, though they looked up in keen interest to see a woman come to that hard, rough place.

"Can you get him out of there so we can meet alone?" asked Beth of the guards as she drew near. "Please? Mr. Heyes and I are engaged to be married . . ."

"No, ma'am, I'm sorry, we can't do that. You got to see him here or nowhere," said a young guard with what sounded like genuine regret in his voice.

"Hello, Heyes. Hello, Jed," said Beth. "I couldn't leave you here all alone tonight. Charlie was good enough to bring me to see you."

"Thanks for coming, Beth, Charlie" said the Kid in a choked voice. He was wishing so much that he could be with his own fiancée, but it was not to be.

Charlie looked at the two prisoners, "Hello, boys. I take that there's no good news?" Heyes and the Kid both shook their heads. Charlie stood quietly by for the engaged pair to come together.

Heyes went to the bars and took his lady's hand, "Oh, Beth, honey, you shouldn't have come here. Don't worry about us. The . . . you know . . . they'll come. They have to!"

Beth tried to be cheerful, but it was a battle, "I know, honey, they will. But still, I didn't want you waiting through the night alone. Don't ever think I've forgotten you. Both of you!"

Heyes sounded hopeless, "Well, if they don't come and we have to go in . . ., Beth – I don't want you left alone for always. Forget me. You find a nice, law-abiding man and . . ."

Beth sobbed again, "No, Heyes! Never! I could never forget you – not for a minute! Now, remember – they – they'll come. It's just a matter of when. Some political thing could be keeping them. . . "

"I know – that's what's been keeping them for seven and a half years! It could be another seven and a half years – or never!" Heyes was losing patience.

"Don't lose hope, boys! There are a lot of us in your corner!" said Charlie in as positive a voice as he could manage.

Beth lovingly stroked her fiancé's arm that was resting on one of the bars, "Heyes, Jed, they'll come through. They have to! You know what – what he said. . . Don't you ever give up!"

And then the marshals were saying, "Miss, you got to go. It's getting late. You got to go."

Heyes held Beth's hand through the bars. He whispered, hoping to keep his words for her alone, "I love you, Beth. Remember that! And Charlie, thanks so much!"

She whispered back, in a voice shaking with passion, "I love, you, Heyes! Never, never doubt that." Awkwardly they tried to kiss through the spaces between the bars, but it didn't work very well.

"Heyes!" cried Beth as the marshals gently steered her away down the hall. "I love you! They won't let me be there tomorrow, but I'll be thinking of you and knowing you'll both be safe – in the end, you will. God bless you, both!"

The Kid called, "Beth, please tell Cat that I love her and . . ."

"I knew, Jed, and so does she. I'll tell her," said Beth.

"We'll make sure she's safe! And I'll watch out for Beth." said Charlie. "Hang in there, boys!"

After hours of silence and pacing, as it grew close to midnight, Heyes and Curry could hear the prisoners around them sleeping, but sleep would not come to the prisoners whose hearing was in the morning. The Kid stood and looked into Heyes' eyes where his partner leaned on the cell's bars. He spoke so quietly that Heyes almost had to imagine his words, "Heyes, you really got nothin'?"

Heyes nodded and replied just as softly, "Nothin'. . . Nothing except," his eyes fell to the floor, ". . . the old last plan."

The Kid's lips parted and his eyes widened. He whispered. "No! Not now that I'm gonna' be . . ."

Heyes whispered miserably, looking down and away from his partner's appalled eyes that sparkled in the light of a distant lamp. "I know. Well, that's all I got, Kid. That or life in prison. A bad prison."

The Kid tried to keep up his spirits, "But you remember what . . . what he said – not to give up. Someone has to come!"

"Yeah," said Heyes, "He doesn't want us to give up. Hmn. Might just be playing with us."

"He doesn't seem like that kinda' man to me, Heyes," said the Kid softly. "I trust him."

And Heyes let those words stand. Eventually, the two tried their hard, thin mattresses again and they slept a little in the stillness before dawn.

Finally, the sun rose, though no faintest beam came into the dark inner halls of the jail. But lamps were lit. Guards brought the prisoners their thin gruel and bad coffee breakfast. As they finished eating, a marshal came hurrying back to Heyes and Curry. He was carrying a pile of clothes. "Look, boys! Your good suits and change of linen came in on the train from Montana last night! Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, marshal, just peachy," said the Kid. "Thanks."

Heyes and the Kid, with no privacy and only a minute or two without their chains, climbed into their best suits. The clothes were a bit wrinkled, but much better than the dirty things they had been wearing for three days.

The marshals weren't hostile, but they weren't friendly either as they accompanied the pair to the red brick courthouse with its high Mansard roof. It was warming up and beginning to rain. The crowd was thin but friendly and noisy, yelling things like "We love you boys!" "They got to let you go!" "God bless you!" A lovely young woman woman in the gathered crowd sprang forward with a big black umbrella to hold over the Kid. Heyes was irritated that he got wet - no one brought an umbrella for him.

But once they got up the courthouse steps, there were no crowds. The marshals hustled the boys down the long, echoing, empty halls to the courtroom. It was an elaborately ornamented courtroom, but it stood mostly empty with no one in the jurors' box or in the gallery. The only people in the room were Heyes and the Kid, their four guards, the judge, a couple of clerks, Cole, and the prosecuting attorney. More guards stood outside, guns at the ready, watching for the Devil's Hole gang to ride in. Of course, no such thing happened. Heyes was relieved not to see Beth there or any other friends. And no reporters. There was no one from the governors. No Lom.

The boys hoped that someone would arrive, so they kept looking toward the courtroom's massive white wooden doors, but they remained closed.

The judge, a wiry old man, looked fiercely at the partners. He spoke in a harsh, high voice in a decided western accent that echoed off the walls of the largely empty room, "Please state your full names."

"Jedediah Curry."

"Hannibal Heyes."

"Clerk, please swear them both in."

A mousey little grey-haired clerk said, "Gentlemen, please place your left hands on the Bible and raise your right hands. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do."

"I do."

The judge moved swiftly to the charge. "Jedediah Curry and Hannibal Heyes, you are charged with the armed robbery of the Merchants Bank of Blackfork, Wyoming then Territory, on August 31st, 1883. How do you plead, Mr. Curry?"

"Guilty, your honor," said the Kid steadily as he stood in his chains and looked respectfully at the judge.

The judge nodded as the clerks scribbled. The judge turned to Heyes, "And you, Mr. Heyes, how to do you plead?"

"Guilty, your honor," said Heyes, struggling successfully to keep his voice as steady as the Kid's. He had never been so scared in all his life, or at least not since the day his family had been slaughtered. He hoped that no one could tell this by looking at him, but he wasn't at all sure of that.

"Do you have anything more to say, gentlemen or does your representative? Is there any reason that you should not be given the customary penalty of twenty years in prison for this crime?" asked the old judge, looking back and forth at them and obviously expecting some argument.

The proceedings were abruptly interrupted as the tall doors of the courtroom swung slowly opened. A tall, slender middle-aged man with a long brown beard and a tall top hat hurried through, wiping his brow and looking at his gold pocket watch. "Sorry to be late gentlemen . . ." Heyes, Curry, and Cole looked up with hungry eyes – the man from the governors!

"You are interrupting a hearing, sir!" said the judge, very annoyed.

"Sorry – the train was late!" said the man, taking off his hat and looking anxiously at Heyes and Curry. The partners stared eagerly at the skinny man.

"Well, who are you, sir?" inquired the judge, in a rising temper.

"I'm Harman Kennedy. I'm the representative of," and the new arrival stopped to look down at a piece of paper in his hand, while Heyes, Curry, and Cole looked on, waiting "of the Merchants Bank of Blackfork, Wyoming!" The former outlaws and their lawyer stood stunned in disappointment. This man was on the wrong side!

"Oh!" said the judge, "Sorry to have started without you. Well, this'll be brief. They pled guilty, both of 'em. Have you anything to say, Mr. Kennedy?"

"Not at this time, sir," said the man from the bank as he took a seat.

The judge looked back at Heyes and Curry, "As I was saying, you who stand accused, have you anything more to say?"

Heyes stood very straight as he addressed the judge, taking care not to rattle his chain, "Your honor, and I speak for both of us, we would like to apologize to the people of Wyoming for this and our other crimes against them. We have gone straight – not committed any crimes except for a couple of jail breaks - for more than seven years. And you know that we have aided in the arrests of criminals and turned in a great deal of stolen money. But we recognize our past crimes and we regret them very deeply. Mr. Curry and I planned the Merchants Bank of Blackfork robbery. I opened the safe by the manipulation of the tumblers while our gang stood with with guns at the ready. We and our confederates took the money away to our headquarters at Devil's Hole. We are guilty as charged. We stand ready to serve our sentences."

The judge nodded briskly. "Accused, please stand," declared the court clerk. The Kid got up from his seat and stood beside Heyes, with his heart sinking. The judge did not appear to be in a forgiving mood.

The judge looked back and forth between the two former outlaws. "The people of Wyoming don't give a damn for your apology! They just miss their money!" said the judge snapped. "Twenty years hard labor at the Wyoming State Penitentiary, both of you!" He impassively pounded his gavel once and cried. "Marshals, take them away." The judge blew his nose and turned his face away from the men who stood before him.

Heyes and the Kid stood frozen in shock. They looked at the doors of the courtroom. But no one came. The courtroom doors stayed closed. Heyes' arguments for why they had to get amnesty had seemed to make such perfect sense. But so did his arguments for why the four governors would want them put away.

After all their years straight, trying and waiting and dodging posses, it seemed impossible that they would be hauled off and made to serve twenty years at the hard rock pile. A representative of the four governors had to appear and save them! But there was a long silence and no one came forward. No Lom. Nobody.

The marshals pulled at the partners' chains and urged them on their way, "What' cha waitin' for? Heyes; Curry – move it! We got fifty miles to cover today to the Penitentiary at Laramie. There's a special train waitin' just for you. Can't keep 'em waitin'."

"Oh my God!" whispered Cole. "I'm sorry!"

Heyes, his eyes hard and blank, said in a flat voice, "We knew there was nothing you could do, Cole. It was up to . . . those men who let us down."

"Good-bye, Cole," said the Kid in a warmer tone, "And thanks."

"Good luck! I'll do all I can!" said Cole.

"Shut up, n_!" growled the head marshal viciously at Cole. "Move it, Heyes, Curry! Don't expect no special treatment. You won't get it, boys."

Heyes and Curry exchanged miserable glances. Their long run from justice was over. They were on their way to prison at last. The jokes they had made so often about their twenty years behind bars had turned very serious, indeed. They could only suppose that, as Heyes had told Beth back in Montana, once they were put away they would never be let out.

The doors to the courthouse finally opened.

The marshals led Curry and Heyes out the doors. They went down the hall and down the steep stone steps to the paddy wagon that would take them to the train station. The wind blew and the rain fell. Thunder rumbled. The supportive crowds stood appalled and struck dumb as they watched their heroes carted away, not freed but being put away. The young woman with the umbrella stood and wept in the dripping rain, forgetting to raise her umbrella to keep Curry dry, or even to shield herself. Her long blonde hair was bedraggled and dripping in the rain.

The public couldn't believe that their heroes were still in chains and being taken to prison. The partners couldn't believe it. This just couldn't be happening. But it was.