SHATTERED
Rae1013 & KathyKnudson1
**Warning Major Character Death**
Amnesty.
It had finally happened. Heyes felt the papers neatly and revelry placed with care in his vest pocket. He had buttoned his coat over them, adding more protection to documents that represented three years, two months, eight days and at least five Wyoming Territorial Governors - including one twice.
He wished Kid could have shared the moment, but he was in no shape to ride. Heyes insisted he stay in Greeley while he headed to Cheyenne to meet the Governor and Lom who naturally expected to be there for the much anticipated and hard fought moment.
Heyes had wanted to make the ride to Cheyenne and back to Greeley in one day, concerned for Kid, but the amnesty papers were revised, changing the once promised one year of good behavior to three, to appease constituents and the railroad companies and bank owners. A reporter from The Wyoming Tribune Eagle waited with a photographer to record the historic moment, but Heyes refused to have his picture taken. He gave a brief dozen word interview clearly disappointing the reporter who had expected a much longer interview from the reputed silver tongued outlaw. Heyes felt obliged to buy Lom dinner, luckily finding a restaurant still open at the late hour. Heyes decided to get a room in the hotel where he was staying and would ride back to Greeley early the next morning.
It was a fateful decision that Heyes would forever regret,
xxxxxxxxxx
Heyes noticed the congestion of people as he rode into town. People were gathered up by the mortician's office and the sheriff's office. Heyes blew out a heavy sigh of relief that there would no longer be the worry of the law or if they knew the sheriff in every town they passed through.
Seeing the crowd of people outside the Sheriff's office, Heyes first thought was that of his partner. Kid's ailment had left him bedbound for the past two days, and though the thought of a barroom brawl did cross his mind, Heyes quickly dismissed such a notion given the state Kid was in when he made the trip to Cheyenne.
"What's all the commotion?" Heyes called while still astride his sorrel.
"Ain't you heard? They got young Eli Rawlins locked up for killin' a man he claims was Kid Curry," someone shouted to Heyes.
Heyes pulled hard on the sorrel's reins, jumped from the saddle and shoved his way through the crowd and into the Sheriff's Office. "What happened?" Heyes demanded.
"Who are you?" the Sheriff asked.
"Who's dead," Heyes asked, struggling to keep from grabbing the Sheriff by the collar.
"A fella registered at the hotel as Thaddeus Jones."
Heyes gasped and his throat tightened to the point he couldn't take a breath. Willing himself to breath, he wanted answers. "How? Why? When?"
"Executed...one shot to the back of the head, kind of a cowardly..." the Sheriff began but Heyes interrupted.
"Where is he?"
"Outside the mortician's parlor."
Heyes' knees began to buckle and he looked blindly about the room until suddenly his black piercing eyes settled on the man sitting on a cot in the first cell. The rage that exploded inside him tightened every muscle in his body and he stormed the cell, only to be intercepted by the sheriff placing himself between Heyes and the cell bars.
"You son of a bitch! Heyes shouted. You know what you just done!"
"Yeah, I killed me an outlaw," the man replied coldly.
Heyes' jaw quivered with rage.
"I think you'd best leave, friend," the sheriff said. "If you don't, I'm taking your gun."
Heyes' mind was racing to the point he could not settle on a single thought. He took a staggered step back, then another, then turned to leave. At the door he turned back to the man in the cell and pointed an accusing finger. "You're a dead man," he hissed, then walked out of the jail.
Heyes quickly crossed the street to the mortician's office. As he approached the crowd his pace slowed until he stopped in the middle of the street. He couldn't see the body through the people packed tightly together. He didn't want to look. He wished he had gone to the hotel first. Kid could be lying stretched out on the bed, mouth slightly agape and snoring softly. He started to turn and head towards the hotel, when he stopped. He knew what he had to do. He forced himself to take one step then another and another until he reached the crowd and forcibly pushed his way through. He kept his eyes focused low, afraid to look up. He closed his eyes and slowly raised his head.
It was Kid.
It was as if all his life had suddenly drained out of him. By the reaction of people standing close he must have cried out. He took a staggering step towards his dead partner and reached a shaky hand towards him, touching his cold skin. Heyes couldn't breathe. His once analytical mind was frozen and he was reduced to pure raw emotion and pain. He doubled over and gasped for air, as tears stung his eyes.
Kid was in an open wooden coffin standing upright. One eye was closed, the other partially open. His once blue eye was faded to a dead milky white. Kid's hands were crossed, with his hat resting on them. His gun belt was looped over one wrist with his .45 nestled in the holster and his rifle placed by his side. It was evident that he had been executed, as a large wound was evident on his forehead representing an exit wound. Flies flew around him, some landing on the now dried blood that had run from the wound, down the side of his face. A hastily hand painted sign was propped against the bottom of the coffin: The Notorious Outlaw Jedidiah "Kid" Curry.
People stared at Heyes, before backing away as the realization of who he was sunk in. He heard his name muttered throughout the crowd.
Heyes sucked in a breath. "Where is he?" he demanded.
"Who?" someone asked.
"The undertaker! Where is he?"
Hearing a rise in the pitch of the crowd outside, the undertaker came out of his shop to see what was all the commotion. Dressed in a black suit, he immediately approached the obviously bereaved man. "Is there something wrong, sir?"
Stunned by the ludicrous question, Heyes' dark eyes stared at the man. "I want him inside, and I want these people cleared away. Now!"
"Sir, this man is a known outlaw. It's customary to..."
Heyes snatched the amnesty papers from his pocket and thrust them in his clenched fist within an inch of the undertaker's face. "No, he wasn't, and I can prove it! He snarled. "Now clear this crowd or I'll do it for you."
The undertaker nodded nervously, knowing the man meant every word he said and would stop at nothing to disperse the crowd. "Alright folks, move along, please. I'll take care of this matter," he told the crowd.
The crowd also sensed the gravity of the situation and one by one, the people backed away and dispersed.
"Now sir, come inside and..."
"He comes with us, and if he don't, you just may be laying right next to him," Heyes said, his voice shaking with anger.
The undertaker swallowed hard. "This box weighs over two hundred pounds," he stammered.
"You again," spoke a voice of authority from somewhere behind Heyes, and the sound of a cocked gun quickly followed.
The sound drew Heyes' attention enough to ebb his rage and he slowly dropped his hand to his side. "He don't deserve this," Heyes said, his voice cracking with emotion. "He ain't wanted, Sheriff. See for yourself."
Heyes raised a limp arm and the amnesty papers fell from his hand.
Sheriff Wilkes bent down and gathered the papers, then read enough to know Heyes spoke the truth. He raised his eyes to the undertaker. "Let's get this man inside," he said.