The morning was almost half gone by the time the sounds coming from the street outside penetrated Kid Curry's subconscious. Stirring from a deep sleep he took a slow, deep breath and blinked at the stained ceiling above his bed. Having spent days dozing fitfully on a train he was momentarily unsure exactly where he was — then he remembered. He was in a cheap hotel; the one where he and Heyes had run into that policeman. Damn. He was still finding it hard to see the policeman's presence in the hotel lobby as a mere co-incidence. If that fellow put two and two together it would be only a matter of time before the law came knocking.

Curry turned his head toward his partner's bed only to find it empty. He held his breath for the few seconds it took for his still bleary eyes to scan the room and locate him. Heyes was on the floor, slumped against the wall in the far corner of the room. He was clad only in his underwear. There was an extinguished lamp beside him and a piece of paper dangling from his limp hand.

Troubled by this Curry leaped out of bed to crouch down beside him. There were no wounds that he could see and Heyes did appear to be breathing. Assuming he could be roused, and to avoid waking him suddenly, he whispered his name. When Heyes still didn't stir he gave into his anxiety and urgently shook the man's shoulder, breathing a sigh of relief when a pair of brown eyes sprang open.

"Wh-why aren't I in bed?" Heyes asked, momentarily disoriented.

"I was wonderin' that too. You alright?"

Receiving an affirmative nod the Kid felt satisfied that his partner was okay, but he still held out a helping hand. Heyes grasped it, and groaning a little at the stiffness in his joints not to mention his numb backside from hours spent on the hard floor, allowed Curry to pull him to his feet.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, would you mind telling me what you're doing sleeping down there when we've paid for these beds?"

Having eased out the kinks in his back Heyes bent down to pick up the piece of paper.

"I was working on this."

The Kid didn't even glance at it. He shook his head. "Later, Heyes. Much later." It was well past dawn, but it was still too early for him to be listening to one of his partner's plans. He would need coffee, lots of it, and something to ease his growling belly before he could stomach one of those.

By the time they had shaved, dressed and made their way downstairs, breakfast in the dining room was over. So, there was nothing else for it but to make their way over to the saloon, where the barman who had served them drinks the night before was persuaded to provided them each with a mug of strong black coffee together with a plate of ham and eggs.

They ate in companionable silence and it wasn't until Curry had cleared his plate and taken a few gulps from his second cup of coffee that Heyes spoke.

"Wanna see what I was up to last night?" he asked with a grin.

Curry grinned back. "I was wonderin' how long you'd last. Go ahead, tell me the plan."

Heyes grimaced inwardly. He still didn't have anything even vaguely resembling a plan.

"Actually, I was drawing this." Sliding their empty plates to one side, he reached into his pocket and smoothed out a folded piece of paper on the table top. "It's the pattern etched on the key. I thought it might help some if I made it a little bigger."

"And does it?"

"Not as much as I'd hoped," Heyes tried to keep the disappointment from his voice. He had a hunch that the design was important, but thought it wise not to mention his dream. The Kid had voiced his opinion more than once on the credibility of things such as dreams and omens, and he certainly didn't want to start the day by going down that contentious road.

Curry shook his head in dismay. "Sheesh, you must really be slippin' if you sat up half the night and only came up with that!"

"It's a start!"

"Well, if you think the key is from a bank why don't we start with them?"

"I only said it could be from a bank. There are a whole lot of other places that could have keys like that. A jeweller or an assay office, even a big law firm might offer a lock-box to a client."

Seeing his partner's eyes begin to narrow to their sceptical best Heyes endeavoured to put as much enthusiasm into his next remark as he could.

"Why don't we get out there and start looking, huh? It won't take long."

Mentally he braced himself for his partner's response to the idea of spending hours walking the streets on the off chance they might come across a clue.

On the opposite side of the table Curry was sure his feet were beginning to ache at the very thought of it, but he hadn't come all the way to San Francisco to do nothing. Like Heyes, he'd come to find the missing diamonds, and because he didn't have a better idea, if scouring the streets was their only option then that's what they would do. Anyway, while they were looking there was a good chance they would find a better hotel; preferably one without a police sergeant lurking in the lobby.

"You know how big this city is, dontcha?" he asked, anyway.

"Mmmm." Heyes took another mouthful of coffee and regarded him steadily over the rim of his mug. He almost spilled the remainder down his shirt front when Curry abruptly pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Well, what ya sittin' there for? Let's get lookin'."

ooooo-OOO-ooooo

San Francisco was indeed a big city. Already home to over one hundred and fifty thousand people it was bigger than Denver and expanding all the time. Now that the gold rush was pretty much over, industrialization was spreading fast, as were the financial institutions needed to help fund it. Every conceivable industry could be found within the city limits; from factories churning out leather and fertilizer to iron works manufacturing anything from boilers to farming equipment, even safes. Interspersed between these factories were rows of living quarters for the growing number of workers, some of which also housed small enterprises producing handmade items such as brooms, or cigars.

The waterfront not only offered a berth to the many ships visiting the port, it was also home to a flour mill and a large bakery, as well as several new companies such as Levi Strauss and the Tillman-Bendel coffee and spice mill.

Since Heyes' and Curry's last visit the city had grown even more than they ever dreamed it could, so that during the next two hours they had not covered even a fraction of it. The area around the Brass Shack had been a natural starting point, and they had walked down each street in turn graduating toward the better side of town.

It was past noon by the time they paused, conveniently outside a cafe, which Heyes considered would be a good place to have a bite to eat and rest their feet while he planned their next route. He was about to put this idea to his ever-hungry partner when Curry's right hand moved lightning fast, but not to his revolver.

"Nothin' but trouble in there, boy," warned the gunman, tightly grasping the small wrist attached to the hand which had been about to dip into the inside pocket of his tan leather jacket.

Kid Curry had been doing what he always did in a strange town, discreetly checking out each person as he passed them on the street. So far there was nobody he recognized nor anyone wearing a badge that he could see, but several glances back over his shoulder had confirmed his suspicion that a street urchin had been following them for a number of blocks.

"Lemme go, mister!" cried the boy as he frantically tried to pull away.

Curry's grip intensified. "Did you take anything' from me or my partner?"

The boy's eyes grew fearful at the threatening tone. He swallowed hard. "N-no, sir."

"Don't lie to me."

Hannibal Heyes watched as the gunman made it clear that he would not tolerate his pocket being picked. Like his partner, Heyes was sure that he would know if he was the victim of a pickpocket, after all he was pretty skilled in that regard himself, but he still made a point of checking his pockets. He smiled to himself — his roll of banknotes was still there and the key was exactly where he had put it.

"Aaw, let the kid go, Thaddeus. There's no harm done."

"You wouldn't be sayin' that if he'd stolen all our money!"

Having dabbled in various forms of petty theft themselves for a number of years after fleeing the Valparaiso School for Waywards, Curry knew that this boy and so many like him had little choice but to steal in order to survive. Living on the streets was tough, but regardless of where his sympathies lay it still didn't mean he appreciated being taken for an easy mark.

An idea occurring to him, Heyes flashed a speculative look at his partner. "But, as he didn't steal it, maybe he could help us out instead. Earn himself a dollar?"

"How 'bout him just settlin' for me not breakin' his arm?" ventured Curry, sourly.

At the mention of money the boy had ceased wriggling, but this last remark made his eyes widen in fear. Amused by the boy's alarmed expression at what he knew was a completely empty threat Heyes assured him, "Don't worry, kid, he won't hurt you." He nodded toward an alley on the other side of the street. "Let's talk over there."

Nimbly dodging a number of horse-drawn buggies Heyes led the way. The street was filled with people intent on going about their own business and nobody appeared to notice, or probably even care, that his partner had hold of a child and was dragging him toward a dark alley. Not one person challenged them regarding their intentions toward him.

Sadly, neither man was surprised by this. It was all too easy for people to ignore you if you were down on your luck. You could, in fact, become totally invisible, especially to the wealthy. It was the two former Valparaiso runaways' desire not to be looked down upon by anyone ever again which had fuelled the overwhelming ambition to have a fortune of their own, and propelling them headlong down the only path they could see that was open to them in order to achieve it — becoming bank and train robbers. Unfortunately, this resulted in them being looked upon in an equally unfavourable way — that of thieving, lying, outlaws.

Once they were tucked away in the shadows of the alley Heyes asked, kindly, "What's your name, son?"

"Tag"

"Tag?"

"Yeah. Hamish Maxwell Taggart. Everybody calls me Tag."

"Okay, Tag, I'm guessing you know this city pretty well."

"Yessir."

Pulling the piece of paper with the sketch on it from his pocket Heyes held it up in front of the boy. "Have you seen this anywhere, on a sign perhaps?"

"I ain't no good at letters, mister."

"Look again. It's not a word, it's a picture. A pattern of some sort."

Tag peered at it more closely, then shrugged. "S'ppose it could be some kinda fish."

Heyes turned the piece of paper around and took another look at it. Now that the boy mentioned it, it could be a fish.

"Do you recognize it? Have you seen it anywhere in the city?"

"I think I seen it painted on a door someplace."

"Someplace near here?" Curry asked, optimistically. His grip had not loosened at all, but at least his voice sounded a little friendlier.

"Sutter Street." With his free hand Tag pointed. "Thata way, mister. Way 'cross town." Confident that he was close to having his wrist released the boy grew braver. "If ya want, I can take you there." He grinned cheekily displaying a set of dimples fit to rival those of a certain dark-haired, ex-outlaw. "Cost ya 'nother dollar."

Heyes couldn't help but admire the boy's nerve. He grinned back. "You've got yourself a deal."