"Alright. Make you feel any better, hit me. NOT NOW!"
Hannibal Heyes staggered backwards, clattered through several chairs and sent two tables toppling in opposite directions before landing with a thud on the sawdust strewn floor of the saloon, the full force of his highly irritated and trail-weary partner's fist having collided with his chin. Unfortunately, he had said the first thing that came into his head, never considering that the man would take up the offer.
Unrepentant, Kid Curry turned his back and leaned heavily on the bar. "Whiskey. Two," he demanded.
The barman hastily lined up two glasses into which he poured full measures. Curry picked one up and downed the contents in one gulp. He then picked up the second and did the same.
The journey along the rough road through the mountain pass to the mines, with only two mules and a wagon packed full of explosives for company, had strained his nerves to the limit. The risk of being blown sky high for a mere two hundred dollars was not exactly something he welcomed, but the thought of Heyes picking up an additional three hundred for leading a bunch of tenderfoots into Devil's Hole had sweetened the experience considerably. The last thing he needed to hear was that Heyes had not collected his money for the trip.
Holding his throbbing jaw Heyes struggled to his feet and slowly made his way over to the bar. He leaned on the rough wood beside his partner.
"Don't I get one?" he asked.
Curry stared straight ahead.
"I think I deserve a drink for letting you hit me like that," pressed Heyes.
His eyes narrowing, Curry slowly turned his head to growl through gritted teeth, "You didn't let me. You invited me."
"Didn't think you'd actually do it," Heyes complained. "I am your partner, after all."
"My partner what don't collect his money."
"If you buy me that drink, I can explain..."
After an awkward pause Curry tapped the bar. "Two more."
Once the glasses were refilled he pushed one toward his friend. "I don't wanna hear what happened. All I wanna do is have a few drinks to steady my nerves. Then I'm gonna have me a nice hot bath and somethin' to eat. Understand?"
Heyes nodded. An explanation could wait.
ooooo-OOO-ooooo
"So, you're saying this fella Alexander wanted to be dead?" Kid Curry's cigar was gripped firmly between his teeth as he groped around for the soap in the greying bath water. He glanced quizzically over at Heyes who was reclining on the hotel bed.
"No," Heyes said patiently. "I'm saying Ashdown wanted everyone to think he was dead."
"But didn't he end up dead anyway?"
Heyes stopped himself from rolling his eyes and took a long, slow breath as he prepared to go through the story once more.
"Mister Alexander was the fella who hired me to guide him and his party of archy-ologists into Devil's Hole, but the name Alexander was an alias. His real name was Stephen Ashdown and he was on the run because he'd stolen millions of dollars worth of jewels from T.F. Ayres in London. With me so far?"
Curry nodded, so Heyes continued.
"Now Ashdown figured he'd con this fella Miles Parker, who looked a bit like him, to go on a trip, supposedly to find a tribe of dead, red-headed Indians. Once everyone was split up, looking for these Indians, he murdered him, hoping to put the blame on the Devil's Hole Gang, and planted his own papers on Parker's body so we'd all think it was really him who was dead.
"Another member of the party, Kevin Finney, a police sergeant from Scotland Yard in London, caught Ashdown trying to make a run for it and shot him."
Upon retelling the story Heyes once again avoided any reference to Julia, a pretty young woman from Boston who had joined the expedition pretending to be Finney's wife. Right from the start Heyes' instincts had told him that there was something not quite right about the marriage, and once he found out the truth, he had surprised himself by feeling more than a little relieved.
In truth he had become quite fond of Julia, not to mention a great deal closer than he had intended, so that for years to come the sound of a river gurgling over rocks would instantly conjure up memories of the passing of a very pleasant hour together on the riverbank.
Sadly, earlier that day he had kissed Julia goodbye and she had stepped onto a train and out of his life. As he held her for the last time, images of a possible future together flashed briefly across his mind. This had surprised him a little. All through his rather misspent life the thought of settling down and raising a family was simply that — a thought — and although he would never forget her, he knew he would never see her again.
The Kid certainly didn't need to know anything about her, and for good reason. As teenagers they had always told each other about any dalliance, no matter how fleeting, with the fairer sex. As adults this practice had ceased, but there had been times when one mention of Heyes' involvement with a woman — especially one who didn't work in a saloon — and the Kid would bombard him with questions until he was satisfied that his partner had divulged every detail.
"So you see," Heyes concluded, "Ashdown is dead and that's the reason I didn't get paid."
"Huh! He went through that whole charade so he'd be free to go back for some jewellery he'd cached?"
"Not any old jewellery, Kid. Two million dollars in diamonds."
Curry reached out a dripping arm and snagged a towel off the back of a nearby chair.
"Well, I guess that's that," he stated, with a resigned shrug. "We'll just have to live off my two hundred 'til we find some more work." Curry paused in the middle of rubbing himself dry to look at his friend's thoughtful frown. "What? You think he left some money here in town?"
Heyes nodded. "That is a possibility. But if I wanted to find out, or try to claim any of it, I'd have to visit Sheriff Benton again, and that would not be a good idea. Our wanted posters are pinned to the wall right behind his desk, and although he's not as smart as he thinks he is, I'd rather not take another chance on him recognizing me."
For the first time that afternoon Kid Curry smiled. "You're cooking somethin' up, I can tell."
Heyes replied with an impish grin of his own and wriggled two fingers into his vest pocket.
"First, I need to find out what this opens."
"Where'd you get that?" Curry stopped hopping around on one leg, mid-way through donning a clean pair of long johns, to peer at the small brass key that his partner was holding up.
"I found it on the ground beside Ashdown's body."
"The real Ashdown or that other fella?"
Heyes frowned. "What other fella? Parker?"
"Parker, Ashdown, Alexander. Heck, Heyes, I ain't sure who I mean, any more."
"It was beside Ashdown — the real one. Haven't you been paying attention, Kid? Alexander and Ashdown were the same person."
Curry fastened the last button on his favourite blue shirt and sighed inwardly. As far as he was concerned Heyes' story had been going round in circles for the last half hour and was proving to be a little too much for his overtired brain. He decided to stick to more practical matters.
"What do you figure it opens?"
Slowly rolling the key back and forth between his forefinger and thumb Heyes' brow knitted together thoughtfully. "A lock box in a safe would be my guess."
"Does the policeman, know you have it?"
"No, I stepped on it real quick; picked it up when he wasn't looking."
"But we can't go after any jewels," Curry pointed out. "It would finish our chances for amnesty."
"Not if we turn them in, it wouldn't," smirked Heyes. "I figure a company as big as T.F. Ayres will be willing to pay a fine reward for their return."
The thought of a reward made Kid Curry smile too, but soon his expression faded to one of concern as he recalled something Heyes had said during the first telling of the story.
"But, that policeman said they could be in Australia or Hong Kong." The idea of crossing hundreds of miles of ocean on some wild goose chase did not appeal to him at all.
"That's what Sergeant Finney thought," said Heyes, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "But I've got a strong hunch Ashdown didn't cache those jewels anywhere other than here in the good ol' USofA. Making the law chase him halfway round the world sounds a lot like us laying a false trail for a posse. You know how it goes, Kid. Lead 'em away as far as you can making a real bad job of covering your tracks, then find a suitable spot to shake 'em, loop back around and head for home."
Heyes leaned forward and continued earnestly. "Ashdown met Parker on a ship from Australia and I think that's when he hatched the plan of faking his own death. Finding that old piece of rawhide with the map of Devil's Hole on it was pure luck, but it gave him a reason to be out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers. The way I see it, he cached the jewels somewhere in San Francisco knowing that once the poor critter who looked like him was dead, all he'd have to do is go back and collect them. After that, he could go anywhere. South America most likely," he added with a knowing nod.
"And you think we should go to San Francisco?"
"Yep."
"Jeez, Heyes, San Francisco's an awful big place 'specially if you don't have a clue where to start lookin'," Curry pointed out. "And there's another thing. My two hundred won't last long in the city. We'll need someplace to stay. We can't ask Soapy. He's enjoying his retirement. Remember how hard it was getting him to help us with that shady banker."
"There's always Silky, Kid. He should be good for a little board and lodging while I figure it out. Heck, he may even offer to help."
Curry looked at Heyes incredulously. "Silky? He ain't the hospitable type, even with us — and we're his friends!"
Heyes grimaced. His partner's words certainly had a ring of truth about them.
"Aaah, Silky always sounds ornery," he declared, off-handedly waving away the idea despite knowing there was a very good chance the former flimflam man would not exactly welcome them with open arms. "But deep down he's got a real big heart."
Curry plonked his dusty brown hat on still damp curls.
"Oh yeah," he drawled, sarcastically. "If Silky's got a big heart, then I'm one of them archy-ologists!"
