Disclaimer: Neither 'Alias Smith and Jones' nor 'Magnificent Seven' belongs to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.

Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.

Chapter 6 –Who's Conning Who?

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The eastern sky was just starting to glow a rosy pink when Heyes woke the next morning. The banked fire still held a bit of warmth against the chill mountain air. Heyes pulled his blanket closer. Brown eyes blinked. The gambler must be feeling better. Standish was already up, fully dressed, even had that fancy stickpin in his cravat. The pile of weapons near Heyes had disappeared. The heavily armed man's Remington was visible in his holster. Heyes couldn't see the derringer or the conversion pistol, but was sure the man had all his protection. The southerner stooped.

"You're gonna hurt…," started Heyes.

A slight hiss of pain confirmed his words as Ezra lifted the saddle. The chestnut that had been so skittish yesterday when Heyes was trying to get the unconscious man off the horse now stood perfectly still as its rider tightened the cinch.

"How did you even saddle that dang horse in the stable yesterday?" asked Heyes.

"Needs must," responded the injured man.

In the stable the saddle was not on the ground, remembered Heyes. Still, moving it must have hurt. The lithe young outlaw sat up.

"Were you just going to run out on me?" asked Heyes. "Not even say goodbye?"

Green eyes turned to gaze at him in surprise. Originally, the Kansan had planned on following the main stage route south towards Texas, not this wilderness trail. And he certainly hadn't planned on travelling with someone, especially not someone that might bring a whole lot of trouble. Heyes didn't need anyone extra chasing after him, but he really didn't feel right about watching this man ride off all by his lonesome. Standish might be feeling better this morning, but what if he collapsed again?

"We're both headed out of Colorado. It wouldn't hurt if we rode together for a few days," added Heyes.

"If Harrow and his men found us together it would not look good," cautioned Standish. "Harrow would take it as confirmation that we were working together."

Heyes stood up, reached both arms overhead and stretched. He rolled his shoulders to get the kinks out of his muscles.

"Don't know if Harrow and his men are chasing us," interrupted Heyes. "But I do know these mountains are filled with dangerous critters."

"Really?" the soft-spoken southerner sounded as if he didn't believe Heyes. "What kind?"

"Cougars, wolves, bears…," with a pointed glance at Ezra, Heyes added, "even outlaws."

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By wordless agreement, Heyes and Standish rode slow. Neither man ever said if it was for the sake of the horses or Ezra's ribs. After the first day's ride, the gambler had packed away his red swallowtail coat and other accoutrements, exchanging them for plainer garb. There was no sign of pursuit from Harrow or his men. The early spring weather held for the next several days. Sunny days with glorious blue skies and clear starry nights.

"Haven't seen the sky so bright since I was a boy," murmured Heyes in awe.

The young outlaw was stretched out on his bedroll, hands crossed behind his head, staring straight up at the glittering stars. On the other side of the darkening coals, the gambler sat with a deck of cards in his hands. The cards were in constant motion as Ezra shuffled and reshuffled. Exercises to keep his fingers limber the gambler had explained.

"You make it sound as if your childhood was long ago," chuckled Standish. "Surely you've seen stars out often enough at night."

Heyes paused, lost in thought. He felt like he'd quit being a boy the day raiders attacked his family's home. At Valparaiso, boys were up at sunrise for work, then school, more work, and finally in bed by sundown. Boys out of the dormitory at night were punished. Similarly, in the Nebraska State Penitentiary, men were confined to dark cells and seldom saw the night sky. As an outlaw, Heyes had spent more time in smoky saloons or looking for lawmen than stars.

"Haven't had much time for stargazing since my folks died," the young outlaw said quietly. "Pa used to take us up on the hilltop on a good night and name the stars."

Heyes pointed at one of the constellations, moving his finger to trace several stars as if drawing a figure.

"I'm pretty sure that's what he called Virgo."

The shuffling slowed as the southerner looked up for a moment.

"Yes," agreed Standish with a nod. The flipping cards picked up speed again. "It's one of the constellations that make up the zodiac. Virgo was identified by the Greek astronomer Ptolemy…"

With a gasp, Heyes sat up straight. It had been so long since he'd heard that name. Maybe Big Jim would have known the name of an ancient Greek, but Heyes doubted anyone else in Devil's Hole had ever heard of an astronomer called Ptolomy. His brother's name. Eyes wide, Heyes stared at Standish. Raw pain showed in his dark eyes. The shuffling stopped. Green eyes gazed back at Heyes in concern. Heyes couldn't talk about Ptol…, not now, maybe not ever, but he could divert Ezra's attention from his reaction to the name.

"How do you know such a thing as the name of that Greek fella?" demanded the Kansan, unable to keep the hurt and the anger from his voice. "Where did you learn such stuff?"

For a moment, the normally urbane southerner seemed at a loss for words. Then the cards resumed their incessant motion.

"Mother ensured I received an education befitting a gentleman," stated Standish.

The southerner spoke in a stiff formal tone unlike his normal warm beguiling speech. Was the man affronted by Heyes' question?

"There were tutors when I was young…"

The gambler's steady stream of words washed over Heyes. The young outlaw listened to the chatter, only hearing snatches of Ezra's tale as he attempted to get his emotions under control.

"At nine, I was placed in a boarding school… the finest in New Orleans…," continued Standish.

The loquacious man kept talking. Heyes' heartbeat slowed and his breathing evened out. He noted Standish made no mention of a father, and seldom mentioned his mother. The only other relative the gambler mentioned was a distant cousin 'Butler.' The young Butler had briefly taken the role of guardian while the nine-year-old attended the New Orleans boarding school. Where had Standish's mother been during those years?

"Then at twelve I entered the preparatory program at College of South Carolina as a resident boarder…"

Heyes couldn't help but wonder if all those schools Standish went to were any better than the Home for Waywards.

"They ever beat you at those schools you went to?" the twenty-year-old interrupted.

The southerner's voice stopped. So did the motion of the cards.

"A gentleman tries to behave in such a manner as to never…," Standish's impersonal tone made it sound like he was talking about someone else.

"Can't you ever just answer a question?" snapped Heyes.

"Yes."

Heyes huffed in impatience. The gambler's eyebrow rose up at the sound of annoyance.

"Did anyone ever beat you at those highfalutin schools, lock you in the coal cellar for hours, or…"

The young outlaw clamped his mouth shut. The two men stared at each other. Heyes realized that he had probably told the gambler more about his own childhood than he had intended.

"There was discipline."

The frosty tone that Standish used told Heyes the subject was closed. The camp was quiet for a moment. Then they both spoke at the same time.

"Now if you will excuse me, I find myself fatigued…"

"It's time for me to get some shut eye."

Standish tucked his cards away inside his coat, then made himself comfortable on his bedroll. Similarly, the younger man rolled over, placing his back to the fire and his travelling companion. Heyes closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories. Ma, Pa, Ptol, Cleo, Grandpa, Uncle Owen, Aunt Mary, Henry, Maeve, Bridget…

"Jed…," Heyes whispered to himself. They weren't all gone he reminded himself. His younger cousin was alive. That's why he was headed to Texas.

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Heyes was slow to get up the next morning. Bad dreams during the night left him feeling drained. Standish was quiet too. Heyes wondered if his tossing and turning had kept the southerner awake, or if the man had bad dreams of his own. It wasn't until midmorning when they reached the crest of the ridge that Heyes roused himself from his lethargy. He pointed to the now visible western sky.

"Storm clouds moving in, fast too," observed Heyes. "We should look for shelter."

"We haven't seen signs of any settlements, and personally I'd prefer to avoid others until I'm out of Colorado," stated Standish. "Perhaps we should backtrack to the stream we just passed, there was a good stand of pines..."

"No, the storm looks like it's gonna be a big one, might last a day or two," Heyes shook his dark-haired head emphatically. "That stream bed was down in a gully, we don't want to get washed out."

"And you suggest?"

"Maybe a cave., or…"

Heyes scanned the trail ahead. While it was true they hadn't seen any signs of settlements in the last few days, there had been other signs of human activity.

"As long as the cave is not already occupied by those 'dangerous critters' you mentioned previously," agreed Standish. "I don't want to share a domicile with any cougars, wolves or bears."

For the first time that morning, Heyes' eyes lit up with a smile.

"What about outlaws?" smirked Heyes.

"Depends upon the outlaw," shrugged the southerner.

Standish didn't wince with the movement, noted Heyes. The thirty-ish man was definitely feeling better. Heyes nudged his horse forward at a slightly faster pace than they had been using. The trail twisted and turned through the woods. A short while later, Heyes grinned as he spotted the narrow, overgrown path that met the trail ahead of them. Brambles encroached on what had once been a wide path. Based on the deep ruts still scarring the earth, at one time the path had been wide enough for a cart or travois. Heyes gestured to turn. Not exactly a trail to a mountaineer's cabin, but something just as good.

"We could probably make do with a played-out mine."

"A mine?" Standish twisted in the saddle to look in the direction Heyes pointed. "What kind do you suppose? Gold? Silver?"

Heyes ducked his head under a branch as he turned his horse onto the path.

"I'm kinda hoping for the dry kind myself," answered Heyes.

The first raindrop spattered.

"Or perhaps gemstones," Standish rambled on. "I've heard Colorado has diamonds, amethyst, topaz…"

"An old, unused played-out mine," interrupted Heyes as he led the way through the woods, emphasizing the word unused. "You can see, this path hasn't been used in a long time."

"And mines have miners…," continued Standish as if he hadn't heard. "Perhaps we could get a poker game going…"

"Doubt there's any miners here," stated Heyes as they reached the small clearing.

More raindrops spattered. The small dark hole in the face of the mountain wasn't big enough for both men and horses. Nearby, fallen branches on what had once been a lean-to would provide shelter the horses.

"We'll need to hurry if we're going to get camp set up in the mine before it starts pouring," urged Heyes. "Then maybe we can have that card game you keep yammering about."

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Thunder crashed again. Outside the mine entrance the afternoon was dark as night. Rain poured as it had been doing ever since the young outlaw and gambler had arrived. The two men had consumed a meal of beans and hardtack. The empty coffee pot sat outside, lidless, to catch more water. Heyes reached into his saddlebags and pulled a worn deck of playing cards out.

"You ready for that card game?" asked Heyes.

At the other man's nod, he tossed the slim box to the gambler. The green-eyed man caught the pack. Looking down, he turned it over and over in his hands. The faded label 'Samuel Hart & Co' was still visible.

"I haven't seen a pack of Mr. Harts fine work like this in years," murmured Standish. He raised his head. Green eyes met brown. Standish tossed the pasteboard box back to Heyes. "But perhaps we can use my deck…"

Heyes flushed in anger as the older man reached inside his coat. Standish withdrew a new pack of Hart's playing cards, the box still sealed.

"My deck isn't marked," snapped Heyes. "I don't cheat at poker!"

"Neither do I," responded Standish in a calm voice. He gave a small shudder. "And I don't make it a habit to play with cheaters. Spoils the game."

"Then what…"

"I merely thought you might enjoy…"

Heyes watched as Standish's thumbnail pierced the seal. In an instant, the cards were spread face up where Heyes could see them. Unlike Heyes' old deck, these cards had visible corner indices.

"I find Mr. Saladee's idea to be most useful," continued Standish. "I understand he has a patent on it."

"I've used decks like that in the saloons," nodded Heyes.

Another crash of thunder, so loud it almost sounded as if the storm was in the mine with them. Standish jerked at the sound. The man rolled his shoulders. Heyes had noted the growing tension in the southerner. Some folks didn't like storms.

"I just never bought a deck like that," added Heyes. "Didn't think it important enough."

"The deck is almost as important as the players," his gold tooth flashed as Standish smiled. "The first lesson my mother ever taught me about playing poker was to either use my own cards, or a new, unopened deck."

"Your mother taught you to play poker?"

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Heyes sat on his bedroll, near the warmth of the fire. His agile fingers flipped the two headed coin across the top of his hand.

"Pretty neat trick there," smiled Heyes in contentment.

The young outlaw looked across the low fire to the gambler sleeping on his bedroll. Heyes had enjoyed the challenge of playing poker with Standish. He hadn't won any of the hands, but he'd learned a lot. The generous southerner had given him a couple of tips to improve his game, a few cautions on what to watch out for when cheating was suspected, this unique coin, and a compliment.

"You're good enough, you could make a living playing poker."

From the bedroll on the other side of the fire, came a low moan. Heyes frowned. It sounded like his friend was having a nightmare. Remembering his own bad dreams from the night before, Heyes decided to wake the gambler. He pocketed the coin and made his way over to the other side of the fire. Heyes reached out a hand to the southerner's shoulder. The next thing he knew, Heyes was sprawled back on the ground with a derringer pointed at his nose. The green eyes were wide, staring but not really seeing, wild.

"Whoa now Ezra," soothed Heyes in a soft voice. "You don't want to shoot that thing."

Green eyes blinked. Then they blinked again. Heyes could see awareness reaching the gambler.

"My apologies."

The palm pistol disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"Bad dreams?" prodded Heyes.

The chestnut-haired man nodded.

"About the war?" asked Heyes. Thunder continued to rumble. He gestured to the storm outside. "Sounds like a gun battle sometimes."

"More like cannon," sighed Standish.

The southerner reached up and rubbed the side of his forehead. A small scar disappeared into his hairline.

"You got experience with cannon?" prodded Heyes. He remembered Kyle's story of being blowed up too many times. "Maybe got blown up?"

Standish nodded.

"What happened?"

"What didn't?" responded Standish. Then he went on. "After training, I was assigned to an artillery unit."

Thunder rumbled again. Standish raised both hands, spreading his fingers wide.

"Usually I was the one making things go boom."

Lightning flashed, followed by another crash.

"The last battle I was in, we were overrun. There was an explosion," answered Standish. He shuddered. "I came to when someone laid hands on my person. I couldn't move, everything hurt too much. Couldn't see anything either, there was so much soot, dirt, blood..."

"Someone turned you over? Or picked you up?" prodded Heyes.

Standish shuddered again. Heyes reached out to clasp the man's arm.

"Picked me up," stated the southerner. "I must have looked dreadful. A behemoth of a man slung me over his shoulders."

"To take you to a field hospital?" asked Heyes.

"Doubtful. I think he was going to throw my body in a mass grave."

"Huh?"

"The only reason I'm alive today is due to a pair of men I've never even seen," sighed Standish. He closed his green eyes, lost in memory. "My ears were ringing, but I could hear them talking…"

"Hold on Preacher! That fella might not be dead," shouted a strident voice.

"There's so much blood," objected the other man.

"Doc says head wounds bleed a lot. He don't look like he's missing any parts, does he got any other holes in him?"

"I couldn't say."

"Don't take him to the pit. Let us take this one to the hospital tent!"

"Brother… are you sure?"

"The next time I woke up with a mind clear enough to remember anything, I was in a Yankee prison camp," added Standish. "I spent the last year of the war there. Might have died there too, if my mother and my lady wife hadn't managed to secure my release."

"You've got a wife?" blurted out Heyes in surprise.

But then the young outlaw remembered the glint of gold he'd seen under the man's ruby ring. It was probably a wedding ring.

"Don't mean to pry..." began Heyes.

The gambler's haunted green eyes looked up at Heyes.

"Had," replied Standish in a bleak tone. The gambler attempted a weak smile. "The war was not kind to my family, but I still have Mother."

There was a momentary silence. Then the southerner's expressive face changed. His features stilled, settled into an impassive visage. He shook his shoulders and sat up straight. In a nonchalant tone, Standish attempted to turn the topic of conversation away from himself.

"I know you said your folks were no longer living, but do you have any other family Heyes?" asked the gambler.

Heyes face hardened at the unexpected question. Standish pulled back from him, eyes widened as he realized his mistake. The storm outside the mine rumbled, no longer the booming thunderclaps from before.

"We should probably try to get back to sleep," began Standish.

Heyes knew the southerner probably didn't expect an answer now, but he said it anyway. Needed to say it.

"I got a cousin in Texas."

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Several days after the storm broke, the twisting woodland trail they rode turned back towards the main stage route. The two men stopped on a bluff overlooking a little town.

"We need supplies…," stated Heyes.

However, he hesitated. A strange town… anything could happen. Standish nudged his horse closer to Heyes. Their horses were almost touching.

"Not likely Harrow will be here, but he might have sent word…," continued Heyes.

"Harrow's men are looking for a gambler in a red coat and a drifter named Artie Jones," reminded the southerner.

"Yeah," growled Heyes in frustration.

"Hand me your pistol," ordered Standish.

"What?!"

Heyes turned to look at the southerner in surprise. The man dangled a pair of handcuffs from his finger. Brown eyes widened.

"Work with me," urged Standish. "People see what they want to see. Wear these. We'll get supplies and be out of town before you know it."

"How's me giving you my gun and wearing those dang bracelets gonna do that?"

"We circle around and enter town from the south," explained Standish. The southerner pointed along the winding trail as he spoke. "Let me do all the talking. You just keep quiet, act surly."

"Acting surly isn't going to be hard," snapped Heyes.

"Our little con will work," soothed Standish. "No one is looking for a bounty hunter taking the outlaw Hannibal Heyes back to Wyoming."

Heyes' jaw dropped open and his brown eyes blinked in surprise. The green-eyed man facing him jiggled the handcuffs expectantly.

"If it makes you feel better, the cuffs don't actually lock," added the southerner. "The keyhole is for appearances only."

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