The large, powerful locomotive slowly ground to a halt subjecting the people waiting on the platform to an ear-splitting screech of brakes and enveloping them in a large cloud of steam. In the midst of this cloud the passengers began to disembark, but it was not until the carriage was almost empty that two men alighted from one of the lower class, head-end cars; their clothing, gun belts and the worn leather saddlebags casually slung over their shoulders, clearly defining them as westerners.

California was a very long way from Winfield and getting there by rail had been deemed to be the best option. However, in order to avoid spending too much of Curry's hard-earned cash they had purchased tickets in the cheapest available carriage. This was not only crowded, but also fitted with uncomfortably narrow wooden benches. Sleeping berths were non-existent, and although they had taken turns using the other's shoulder as a pillow, the constant chatter, coughing, snoring and the piercing sound of crying infants had made restful sleep impossible. Ironically, it crossed their minds more than once that jumping a boxcar would have been a lot more comfortable, and peaceful, not to mention free of charge.

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were no strangers to San Francisco and were familiar with the hustle and bustle of the large railroad station, the wide streets teeming with horse drawn carriages, as well as the city's unique cable cars. The two men mingled with the crowd exiting the station, a lot of whom turned right: they, however, went left. Since giving up the highly lucrative business of robbing trains and banks, the less salubrious area of the city was where they were headed. Here they could guarantee that the cost of a hotel, as well as other essentials such as food, liquor and gambling would be more affordable.

On previous visits they had been lucky enough to frequent the up-market area of Nob Hill where two of their oldest friends, conmen Silky O'Sullivan and Soapy Saunders each owned impressive mansions. However, after further discussion it had been decided that they would not approach Soapy or Silky for help this time — a decision Kid Curry was fast beginning to regret.

"One of these will hafta do," Curry said wearily, stopping in front of two adjacent hotels.

Hannibal Heyes was not normally choosy, but having spent several days in an uncomfortable rail car he had already rejected an assortment of hotels and boarding houses. While they all appeared to be the kind of establishment which didn't ask too many questions, none of them looked like they would have beds with anything but lumpy flea-infested mattresses and questionable sheets; if indeed they had sheets at all.

He wrinkled his nose with disdain as he compared the two cracked windows and broken lantern hanging on the wall beside the entrance of one, to the peeling paint and askew signage of the other.

"Kid, would it really be such a bad idea to go see old Silky? He's not—"

Curry gave an exasperated sigh. "Heyes, we agreed already. We won't ask Silky for anything unless it's a matter of life and death, remember? So, pick one will ya!"

Heyes pointed at the lop-sided sign. "That one."

As it turned out, the Brass Shack was better on the inside than it looked from the outside. The carpet was a little threadbare in places and everywhere needed a fresh coat of paint, but apart from a few cobwebs, it was relatively clean. More to the point, for a reasonable rate, they managed to get a room overlooking the street with two beds and the desk clerk's assurance of freshly laundered sheets.

Heyes was in the process of adding his signature to the hotel register when he heard a voice behind him. It had a familiar Irish lilt to it.

"Well now, if it isn't Mister Smith."

Quickly gathering his wits he placed the pen back in the inkwell, casually tilted his hat to the back of his head and turned around with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant. This is a pleasant surprise."

Sergeant Kevin Finney nodded. "And quite a co-incidence. What brings you all the way to San Francisco?"

Although he could feel his partner's shoulders stiffen at the title of 'Sergeant' Heyes ensured his own smile didn't falter. "Me and my friend," he inclined his head toward the Kid, "we're here on a little vacation. He's just finished a rough job so we thought we'd see what a big city has to offer a couple of country boys like us."

"Ah, did you now?" Finney turned to Curry. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Mister...?

"Jones. Thaddeus Jones." Curry politely shook the sergeant's hand.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Jones."

The two former outlaws did their best not to look uncomfortable at Finney's sceptical tone when it came to their names, not to mention his sharp eyes as they flitted back and forth between them.

"Smith and Jones? That'd be another co-incidence, would it?" he enquired.

It was Curry's turn to flash a smile. "Yeah. We laugh about it all the time."

Finney nodded again. "I bet you do. Well, gentlemen, I'd better be getting along now. Enjoy your... vacation."

Once the policeman had disappeared amid the busy throng in the street outside Heyes turned back to the desk clerk.

"I'm real stupid!" he said, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "I forgot to ask my friend for his room number. Could you tell me which room he's in so I can call on him later?"

"Name?"

"Finney. Kevin Finney."

The clerk quickly cast an eye down the list of names in the hotel register. "He's not staying here."

"He may have arrived a week or so ago." Heyes pulled a coin from his pocket and slid it across the desk. "Can you look a little farther back?" He wanted to make absolutely sure.

After throwing Heyes an irritated look the clerk pocketed the coin, and traced down the list of names on the next few pages with his finger. He snapped the book shut.

"Like I said, nobody by that name."

Curry leaned toward his partner as they made their way up the stairs to their room. "Could be he's using another name," he murmured.

"He doesn't need to."

"So, why's he here?"

"Looking for clues, I guess."

"In the same hotel we happen to be checkin' into? You think it's another of them co-incidences, I s'ppose?"

"Gotta be." Heyes told him, trying his very best to convince himself, as well as his sceptical partner, that there was nothing to worry about. The last thing he needed was for the Kid to get started.

Curry's already brittle reaction to Heyes not being paid had convinced him that it would be a bad idea to mention that Finney already suspected he was no ordinary back country guide. The sergeant had claimed he had a policeman's instincts about people. "You can sense when a man isn't quite who, or what, he says he is", he had told Heyes with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. A comprehensive knowledge of the Devil's Hole area, as well as a willingness to ride off alone to speak with the outlaw gang, had no doubt drawn him to the conclusion that he was an outlaw. The name of Hannibal Heyes was never mentioned, but now that Joshua Smith had been seen in the company of a blond-haired, blue-eyed man closely resembling the wanted poster's description of his shootist partner, Kid Curry, the police sergeant would be in no doubt as to who he really was.

"Finney told me he would be starting his search here," said Heyes, turning the key in the lock and opening the door to their room. "He had to have taken a train the very next day."

"You know that for certain, do ya?"

"I didn't see him again. So...yeah."

"He couldha just kept outta sight." Curry heeled the door shut behind them.

"In a town the size of Winfield? Nah, we'd have run into him somewhere. Most likely the saloon or the cafe — a man's gotta eat and drink," Heyes reasoned.

Then, determined to put an end to any notion that they were being followed, he tried a different approach.

"Tell me something, Kid, did you recognize him?"

"Can't say I did, but—."

"So, look at it logically." Heyes cut his partner off before he had a chance to raise any further concerns. "We rode two hundred miles to Green River to make sure we weren't on the same train, didn't we?"

"Uh huh."

"If he'd followed us don't you think we'd have spotted him somewhere along the trail? Finney's a citified fella — he's not comfortable in a saddle. He had to have taken the westbound train from Winfield. Ergo, he can't have followed us."

"Er what?"

"Er-go. It's Latin," explained Heyes, loftily. "Means 'therefore'."

Curry closed his eyes and took a breath; he wished he knew where his partner got these foreign words from. He would never dispute the fact that Heyes had been blessed with a silver-tongue, but that was in English. The man had a long-standing struggle with Spanish without attempting something highfalutin like Latin.

"You're sure he didn't follow us?" he asked, again.

"Yes, I am," Heyes replied with conviction before ducking his head and muttering to himself, "Pretty sure, anyways."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Seated at one of the smallest tables he had ever seen in his life Kid Curry carefully dismantled his Colt .45 and attempted to lay out all the parts on a cloth. His revolver had remained in its holster the whole time they were on the train, but now that they were in a big city, especially in this particular neighbourhood, there was always a chance he might need to use it. While he meticulously cleaned and oiled each component, his partner paced back and forth across the room.

After about twenty minutes of listening to the rhythmic sound of footsteps, but without looking up in case he knocked over his precious can of gun oil, Curry asked, "You figured it out yet? 'Cause we don't have enough money to pay for new floorboards if you wear those out."

"Hmmm?" Heyes continued to frown at the small key in the palm of his hand.

"That key. How are we gonna find out what it unlocks? We can't go walking into every bank in the city and ask if it'll fit one of their lock boxes. They'll throw us out." At his next thought Curry jerked his head up in alarm. "No, they won't — they'll call the law!"

"Maybe."

"That's what they'll do, Heyes; there's no maybe about it!"

"In that case, I'll keep working on it."

Aware that his partner's temper could be short at the best of times, but would be stretched to the limit when he was hungry or in need of a good night's sleep, Heyes tucked the key away and pulled out his watch.

"The hotel will start serving supper in a minute. What do you say we get us something to eat then go visit the saloon across the street?" he enthused. "I can play a little poker and you can enjoy some female company."

"So long as you don't go losing your share of my money on some dogonne poker game," grumbled Curry.

"When have I ever done that?" Heyes' face was the epitome of offended.

"Well, there was that time in Carson City and—"

Not wishing to be reminded of bad losses, no matter how rare, Heyes said hastily, "Hey, Kid, you know me. I'm no plunger. I promise if I start losing I'll come straight back to our room. That good enough for you?"

Kid Curry finished loading his highly polished Colt with five equally shiny bullets and snapped the cylinder shut. "Okay, but remember, Heyes, I'll be watchin'."

Although his ego was still smarting at being accused of losing at cards Heyes could scarcely hide his amusement at his partner's last remark. After the stressful trip into the mountains he was sure that it wouldn't take long before the Kid found himself a pretty saloon girl and... well, let's just say, after that... he wouldn't be doing a whole lot of watching.

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

Fortunately, any misgivings Curry may have had were totally unfounded and the evening turned out to not only be profitable, but pleasurable too. The Brass Shack's dining room served up generous portions of unimaginative yet flavoursome food, and the saloon didn't appear to water down its liquor too much.

"You get the drinks and I'll find us a game," said Hannibal Heyes as he and his partner entered the noisy saloon.

While Curry eased a path through the men crowded around the bar Heyes made his way over to a table with two empty seats. The stakes wouldn't be high here — most of the clientele were probably locals, shopkeepers or travelling salesmen — and if his instincts were correct the Kid wasn't going to be playing for long, so it was essential that he pick a game where he wouldn't need his partner watching his back all night.

"Mind if my friend and I sit in?" he enquired with an engaging smile. "Oh, he's at the bar; he'll be right over," he added in answer to four amiable but questioning faces.

Once Curry joined them they all anted up and the game got underway again. After the first few hands Heyes had assessed the other players' skills, or rather lack of them; two didn't have a clue how to play the odds and the others were so inept he figured he could see through any bluff with his eyes closed. Both he and the Kid had won a couple of hands each before Heyes gave an almost indistinguishable nod in his partner's direction. This was their customary signal that it was alright for him to leave, and so Curry excused himself happy in the knowledge that if his partner made sure not to win too much there would not be any problems. In circumstances such as these it was also an unwritten rule between them that if his vacated seat was taken by someone who looked like trouble, Heyes would immediately leave the game, regardless of how much he was winning.

Twenty minutes later Heyes looked up from his cards - his second full house of the night - to see Kid Curry at a table on the other side of the room, an attractive blonde wearing a low-cut pink dress and yellow feathers in her hair sitting on his lap, and with whom he was already getting better acquainted.

It was a little after midnight by the time the two men decided to call it a night and return to the hotel. The lateness of the hour combined with strong liquor after a long and tedious train journey was quickly catching up with them, but as they trudged up the stairs to the second floor they each found a reason to smile. For Heyes it was the wad of greenbacks he was happily thumbing through for the third time; there had been more money in the game than he'd anticipated. Curry had an altogether different reason, but that didn't stop him from appreciating the one hundred and fifty his partner had won tonight, even if he hadn't actually witnessed him do it.

Both men settled into their respective beds with an appreciative groan. As usual, Curry fell asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, but the minute Heyes' head touched the pillow he found himself wide awake. It had been the same every night for the last week or so and it seemed no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop his thoughts drifting back to Julia. Fighting against it was useless. Instead he hoped that, in time, his memories of her would fade, but for now he would close his eyes and allow himself to drift.

Here, in a seedy hotel room, enveloped by darkness and surrounded by peeling paint, Heyes' mind again had him smell the sweet scent of orange blossom exactly as he had done when he held Julia's slight frame tightly in his arms and buried his face in her hair. Most vivid of all, however, was the memory of her soft lips on his as he kissed her farewell. He had come very close to stealing a kiss on the very first evening at Devil's Hole. It was only because he had not yet decided whether she was actually married to Finney that he had, somewhat reluctantly, remained a gentleman. Of course, once he found out that she was single, and only posing as Finney's wife in public, he had allowed himself to do what he had been wanting to do since the day they had been introduced.

Eventually Heyes drifted off to sleep, but he couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour before he abruptly sat up and fumbled around for a match.

At the crackle of the lamp's wick catching light, the Kid stirred. "Wassa matta?" he slurred, sleepily.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

The creak of bedsprings followed by the soft tread of sock-clad feet across bare floorboards made Curry turn over and open one eye to see Heyes rummaging through their saddlebags. Not finding what he was searching for he began opening each drawer of the dresser in turn.

"Whatever it is you're lookin' for do it a bit quieter, will ya," grumbled the sleepy blond. He was certainly not prepared to endure one of Heyes' middle of the night planning sessions.

At the sight of Heyes now pulling on his pants he assumed the man was off to pay a visit to the outhouse.

"Don't get jumped by some bounty hunter. I don't wanna hafta try and bust you out of a city jail," he said through a yawn.

"I'm not going outside."

Too sleepy to be interested in an explanation Curry turned his back and pulled the coverlet up around his ears. "Well, I need my sleep, so I don't wanna hear about whatever it is you're doin' 'til tomorrow."

Without another word Heyes let himself out of the room and quickly padded down the stairs to the dark lobby. The only source of light came from a lantern outside, but it was enough. Checking that nobody was about Heyes crossed the threadbare carpet to the front desk where he silently pulled open the top drawer and felt around inside. A grunt of satisfaction escaped his lips as he took out a couple of sheets of blank paper and a sharpened pencil stub.

He may only have been gone for a couple of minutes, but still Heyes was not surprised to hear his partner's soft snores as he re-entered their room, and not wishing to disturb him again he removed the lamp from the nightstand and placed it on the floor as far away from Curry's bed as possible. He then sat cross-legged beside it and pulled the small key from his pants pocket.

The intricate design on the key's head was exactly the same as it had appeared in his dream and he was superstitious enough to believe that it had to be a clue to finding the lock to which it belonged. He moistened the lead of the pencil with the tip of his tongue and began to sketch.