Amnesty but First Penance
A Friend in Need Part Four
Heyes woke slowly and tried to open his eyes. His right eye was swollen shut. Trying to wipe his eye with his right hand, he realized it was handcuffed to the bed. Looking around, he noted it was still dark outside, still on my first of twenty-one days he thought. His left arm was bandaged tightly to his side with only his hand free but the pain in his shoulder had eased.
"Finally awake." Heyes turned and saw the nondescript doctor approaching him. Everything about the doctor was bland and average – his height, his eyes, his face and his voice. His skin reflected the pale walls about them. "That was some concussion you gave yourself. Warden wants to see you as soon as you are awake. They did as much of the processing as they could while you were unconscious." At Heyes' questioning expression, he gave a grin that did not change his expression. "Shaved your head, propped you up in front of the camera and took your picture. The way you're slumped in the chair, you look more dead than alive in that picture. I searched you everywhere and washed you up."
Heyes bent his head so he could rub his restrained hand over his now bald head. He was overwhelmed with mixed feelings at the physical intrusions that had taken place while he slept. His hair was indeed gone, replaced by bumps and small cuts. His familiar clothes were gone, replaced by the rough and scratchy, black and white striped prison garb
"Convict, enough lazing in the infirmary. Follow me." A guard's booming voice filled the room and Heyes immediately tried to sit up.
"Slowly, boy. You've been laying down awhile. You're still experiencing major symptoms from that concussion. Sit there for a moment until the spinning stops." The doctor was firm but unemotional as he came around and unhooked Heyes' restrained hand from the bed. "Try standing...slowly."
Doing as he was told, Heyes stood. His knees wavered. The guard grabbed his now free hand and forced it down to shackle it to his left hand extending below his bandaged shoulder.
"Careful, Ullman ," the doctor admonished. "I spent my good time bandaging that shoulder and don't want to have to redo it."
Heyes watched the guard shoot the doctor an impatient look. "Got my orders, Doc. Warden's tired of waiting for him."
The guard set a quick pace and Heyes struggled to keep up. Only seeing out of his left eye, the corridor seemed flat, tilted, one dimensional. As he tried to hurry, his vision's focus started to waver. He tried to reach out to the wall to orient himself just as the guard yards in front of him turned. He grabbed Heyes' good arm and pushed him forward. "Wait here."
Knocking on the warden's door, the guard stood silently until an "Enter" was heard. He entered, indicating Heyes to follow him. Stumbling into the room, Heyes vision was drawn to the ornate wallpaper. Swimming in back of his eyes, the greens, grays and whites of the swirling pattern rolled together and then apart. Looking for a calm place to look, Heyes was thrown off balance when he saw the wallpaper was different on the walls, ceiling and borders. Trying to force his swollen right eye open, he realized the warden had been talking at him.
"Convict, you do understand the rules or do you need someone to read them to you?"
"I can read."
"You can read, WHAT?"
Heyes recognized the phrasing of the question from his time at Valparaiso. "I can read, sir." With the effort he was making to concentrate and speak, Heyes' head ached.
The warden's superior attitude and sarcastic tone caught the little attention Heyes had. "Don't count on this trial thing your lawyer has pushed for. Even if you go back to Silver Springs for that so-called trial, you will be back that night and mine for the next twenty years."
"Twenty years." Heyes repeated, wavering slightly. He felt pain as the guard's club hit his good arm." He arched his back which jerked his head quickly. The swirling in his head caused a churning in his stomach and a dry heave.
"You do not speak, convict. Remember that. Next time the blow will be harder," the guard warned.
"Has this prisoner eaten?" asked the warden.
"No, Warden."
Studying the manacled prisoner before him attempting another dry heave, the warden belittled him. "Hard to believe you were the leader of a successful outlaw gang. Don't look like too much to me. Take him to his cell. Send him a meal on a tray. We don't want anybody to think we mistreated him when he appears at his trial." His ironic laugh was cold and threatening.
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Waking early, Curry let the cold mountain mist rouse him slowly. He felt rather than saw the calm beauty engulfing him as the morning sun sent its ray to peek through the trees around him. Hearing someone stoking the fire, the elegance of their surroundings was replaced by a profound loneliness as he realized Spencer was making coffee, not Heyes.
"Morning, Jed. I was going to let you sleep later. We're not meeting Mary Beaty until noon.
"Tell me again about Mary Beaty." Curry took a sip of the hot coffee, wondering what his partner was drinking with his breakfast in jail. Spencer had told him about the next part of the plan last night, but his attention kept drifting to Heyes.
"The Widow Beaty is a first cousin to the Andrews children's mother, but a lot younger and they were never close. Don't let the word widow fool you. she's still in her twenties. Her husband was an army officer. She has a pension from him that she lives on but she's also an accomplished portrait artist. When we first received Scott's letter, US Marshals were sent here. They couldn't get anywhere near the kids. Stepfather keeps 'em up at a house in the mountains. Anytime they came near, he yelled, "Trespassers" and fired at them. Hit two of our marshals. We have no information or evidence other than the child's letter so, legally, they couldn't do anything."
As he handed Curry a plate of bacon and a biscuit, Spencer continued, "Legally the marshals couldn't do anything, but they talked to people around here and found Mary. She's willing to adopt the kids and that got us thinking. We investigated further and found that the stepfather never legally adopted them. So, here in my pocket I have a court order making Mary Beaty their legal guardian. Just need her to sign it to make it legal."
"And we need to get the kids away from him."
"You need to get the kids away from him."
Giving Spencer a long stare, Curry answered, "And how am I supposed to do that?"
"By showing up in response to the kid's letter and being the Kid Curry of the dime novels." At the querulous look on Curry's face, Spencer allowed himself a small grin.
"Ain't never read one of those books."
Reaching into his saddle bag, Spencer pulled out a paperback book and threw it to Curry who caught it easily. "Time you did. We got three hours before we meet Miss Beaty; spend it reading."
Curry sighed deeply, staring at the stylized drawing of himself on the cover riding a tall black horse, with his two guns drawn and raised in the air.
"You can read, Jed, can't you?"
"Yes, I can read just fine as long as it's not a railroad schedule with all those asterixis. Just don't like to."
"Well, read that. Part of your penance. You might get a laugh out of it.
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Wishing that Heyes was near to laugh with him, Curry read about his exaggerated adventures. The book, 'Kid Curry Saved the Schoolmarm,' tickled him with his descriptions. He was described as benevolent and frightening in the same sentence. He was tall with golden hair the color of the sun and eyes that reminded one of the blue sky at morning. He rode Blackie, the tallest of black horses. He chuckled out loud at the conclusion as his character burst into the classroom doing a somersault and twirling his guns, shooting three outlaws before they got off a shot. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed the schoolmarm and spun her out of harm. Just then four lawmen entered the schoolhouse. "Well, thank you, sir, whoever you are. Looks like you caught the evil outlaws and saved the day." The story ended with the schoolmarm swooning into Kid Curry's arms saying, "My hero!"
Realizing Spencer was watching him, Curry tried to hide his mirth. "People believe these?"
"Yes, especially young impressionable boys who have nowhere to turn for help."
The heartbreaking seriousness of the situation quenched Curry's laughter as he tucked the book into his own saddlebag, hoping to share it with his partner soon. "Okay, I got some idea what I'm going to do, but I never use two guns. One's plenty if you know how to use it."
"You are going to have to dazzle Mr. Fish, as well as the kids. He has to feel comfortable with you walking out of the house with them. You have to get them down to Marmon Road, that's where his property ends. I'll be waiting there with a wagon."
"When do I go in?"
"Let's go meet Mary Beaty; she lives about five miles from here near Whitmore Springs. She can sign the guardianship papers. She also has met Ron Fish and may be able to give you some insight into the man, although from my observations in West Bend, reading people well is one of your talents."
"Spencer?"
"In West Bend, you read me right, Jed, and you were the only one who did. You read me better than I read myself. You can do this."
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Precisely at five thirty a.m., the prisoners in the Wyoming Territorial Prison started their day. Heyes had been already awake but stood to make his bed and relieve himself. Pleased that his right eye was able to open more than a slit, he hoped against hope that today would be a better day. The dire words of the warden had haunted his dreams all night.
"One day gone, "he thought to himself. "Only twenty left." He stepped out of his cell and fell into line with the other prisoners to get his morning meal tray. After he had awkwardly picked up his tray one-handed, two guards approached him and signaled him to stand aside and wait until the line had passed. "Doc wants to see you in the infirmary. Bring your food. You'll be spending the day there helping him." The guard smirked.
Not knowing what to say, Heyes remained silent, but questions, and a little fear, formed in his mind.
Heyes followed the guards and found the doctor waiting for them. "Sit at that table and eat," ordered the guard Heyes had heard called Ullman . The table was just big enough for his tray. Heyes sat down facing the wall and proceeded to eat one-handed.
"He's all yours for the day, Doc. We'll be back to pick him up just before dinner."
When the guards had left, Heyes continued eating the watery stew and dry roll that he knew would be his only sustenance until dinner. "Kid, couldn't last here one day with this food," he thought. Abruptly a bowl of thick warm oatmeal was added to his tray."
"Dogs couldn't exist on what they feed you in here," grumbled the doctor. "Finish up, then I want to take that bandage off that shoulder. Mind you, the shoulder and elbow are going to be very stiff after being held immobile for this long.
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Watching the road to the Fish house, Curry spent the day observing from a distance. The two-story house backed up to the mountain and even with the binoculars Spencer had provided he could not see back there. From Widow Beaty, Curry had learned the fancy house had been built with his wife's money. Ron Fish was a trapper and had a rough cabin before their marriage. With wildlife abundant in these mountains, he could check a line of traps every day and be home at night. Even when he was gone, the house seemed quiet with what Curry knew was a fake peace.
Spencer and Curry had spent the previous afternoon and evening with Mary Beaty trying to learn what they could about Ron Fish. She didn't know much, just what she had heard from her cousin on their brief visits. The last time they had met, her cousin had seemed healthy but there seemed to be a shadow over her. Eye contact had been non-existent. When Mary had tried to talk her into moving to Whitmore Springs, the cloud had turned to fear.
"She was certain that if she left, Ron would be very unhappy," Mary explained. "He was into her head and her thoughts." She looked straight into Curry's sympathetic eyes as she finished, "The next thing I knew, she was dead." She did nothing to stop her tears.
"You think he killed her?" Curry maintained his calm exterior, but Spencer saw his shoulders tighten as he sat up straight.
"I can't prove it, but I feel it in my soul." Mary's crying turned to sobs. "I went up there to see that she had a proper burial and he told me there weren't enough to bury after the bear got finished with her."
She looked at the guardianship papers she had just signed. "Can you get the children out and ensure Fish can't come after them?"
Feeling her angst, Curry understood her meaning. "Ma'am, I promise you I will get those children out of there, but I ain't goin' to just kill the man. I've never hired out my gun and I ain't goin' to start now." Curry saw Spencer nod approval at his answer.
With a look of sadness, Mary stood up and walked away from the men. "Then what's the use of rescuing the kids? Fish will have them back with him in days."
Curry wished Heyes was there with his silver tongue. That thought triggered the fear he felt for his cousin in prison. He searched for words to answer Mary, but Spencer stood and gently led Mary back to the table.
"The US Marshals will stay here to protect you. Three of them are already in town. They have arranged for you and the children to be on the stage to Bridgeford the same day Mr. Curry gets them out. Your traveling companions will include a marshal."
Mary did not look convinced of their safety but let Spencer continue.
"From the moment those children are off of Ron Fish's property, the marshals will be watching for him to follow them. They WANT him to follow them. They have a warrant for his arrest for kidnapping and slavery. He is not their legal guardian. Papers have been sent to him to bring the children to Whitmore Springs and turn them over to the sheriff."
"You said the US Marshals department had been workin' on this," Curry mused.
"They had not considered that he might have murdered his wife. I'll let them know."
Still anxious but calmer, Mary looked from Curry to Spencer to back to Curry. "Well, I guess it's all up to you now, Mr. Curry. I'll pack a few things and be ready to go."
"When Ron Fish is safely locked away, you can return here," reassured Spencer.
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Again, Heyes was awake before the five thirty wake up call. Lying still, he was pleased to find his right eye opened easily. Sitting up quietly, he sat on the edge of the bed until the slight spinning stopped. The bandage restricting his left shoulder and arm past the elbow itched. "Day two," he thought to himself, careful not to speak out loud. An errant mumble meant only for himself yesterday had resulted in another hit to the back of his good arm. "I made it two days. Only nineteen left to go. I can stand anything for nineteen days."
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