The Kid was unsure of where he was, why he was lying down and where Heyes had gone and terribly uncertain as to why it was so dark. Only moments before he'd been riding in the warm sun, breathing in fresh mountain air, passing bubbling streams and laughing at some tall tale Heyes was sharing. Memory returned and he registered with a small groan that he'd been dreaming. But even after reality hit, the visions from his dream lingered right up until the sound of a loud bell dispelled the last of them and claimed his full attention.

"Up! Up! All of you up now."

He was already on his feet, his bed made, despite the gloom, when the door flung open and a weak light broke into his darkness.

After a breakfast of something that the Kid couldn't quite name, he and the other prisoners were marched out into the same courtyard they'd arrived in. They were roughly lined up in front of a guard with a sheet of paper in his hand. Looking about him, in an attempt to work out what was happening, the Kid watched as the men were spoken to and then sent off into different areas of the yard. Each of the groups the prisoners formed were assigned four guards. He was none the wiser as what exactly was happening, when it was his turn.

"Name?"

The Kid startled by the question was unsure whether he was expected to answer with his name or the number he'd been assigned in Wyoming. "Sir?"

The guard looked at him with some disdain and said. "Ain't that hard a question, son! What's your name?"

"83." The Kid blurted out the number and flushed in embarrassment when the man laughed at him.

"That ain't a name I ever heard before." After a few moments, the amusement in his expression faded and his face turned briefly sympathetic, before he looked away and down to study the paper in his hand. His eyes swept across the written columns before he looked back up. "Curry. You're assigned to work detail two. Now go line up with those men by the far wall."

The sun had been barely up when the Kid and his fellow inmates started cutting their first railroad tie.

"Well, look at you doing the prison shuffle, Kid Curry! Ain't that a fine sight."

"Ain't looking like he's learned to do it proper, neither."

At first, already uncertain and on edge from the new environment and frustrated by not knowing what was expected, it had been hard to ignore the guard's baiting at his stumbling gait. The heavy ball and chain attached to his ankle made shuffling the simplest way to keep his balance. Only the fact that they were merely looking for a reason to punish him, made him bound and determined to stay calm and frustrate them. Now, hours later, nauseous and light-headed, with a painful chest and trembling legs, the taunting barely registered in his struggle to stay on his feet.

Exhaustion from such intense labour, after months of relative inactivity was taking it's toll and he was stumbling with each step. His hands were shaking and full of splinters, with the skin torn from the constant rubbing of rough wood on bare skin. They'd been given three water breaks since they'd started, but what they'd received wasn't even close to being enough to offset the sweat pouring off him, which only added to his misery.

The constant bending to heave the heavy axe, interspersed by the hauling of unwieldy logs was making his back and shoulders ache, stretching the scars from the months old whipping to the point of pain.

It was a bruising reminder of just how far he'd fallen, that here he was, forced to do something for free, that he and Heyes had thought was hardly worth doing when they were going to be paid.

He gratefully straightened as the guards yelled. "Water break!" He shuffled over to join the line of men, but as he was about to drink he was jostled heavily by the man behind and the liquid missed his mouth, spilling onto his uniform. The Kid though irritated was willing to let it go, especially as it looked like the guard was going to give him another go. But a low laugh was followed by another elbow in his back, and he realised in some frustration that it hadn't been an accident.

In spite of his exhaustion, the low burning anger that had lain dormant for the last couple of months, flared fiercely into life. He swung round with his hands already in tight fists to stare at the idiot. The man glared back, his lip curled. He was a good few inches taller than the Kid and his fists looked like hammers. The guard realising what was about to happen, placed a heavy hand on the Kid's shoulder and said "Easy now."

The Kid unheeding shook the arm off and launched himself at the man, ball and chain swinging behind him. With the other prisoners stamping their feet on the ground, urging them on, the Kid swung at his opponent, who landed a heavy blow on Kid's cheek. The fight didn't last long as they were soon yanked apart, panting heavily and forced to kneel two feet apart.

The Kid in the tight grip of two guards, slowly calmed as both exhaustion and pain returned. Annoyed more with himself than at the man he'd fought, he closed his eyes,wishing he'd just kept hold of his temper as he'd fervently promised both himself and Heyes.

As he waited, a stray memory of a phrase that Heyes had once used in response to a comment about something, from someone he couldn't remember. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. He thought he finally understood,what at the time had seemed like just another of his partner's occasional flights of poetic fancy.

His head was pulled back and he was forced to look up into the the angry gaze of one of the guards holding him. "Now, it'll be a whipping for you, but you ain't escaping no hard work. So it'll wait till this evening." Keeping his hold on the Kid, he raised to voice as he glared at the rest of them. " I ain't gonna bother reporting the rest of you, cept Barker and Curry here, cos I don't want to waste my evening punishing you. But if you don't get back to work, I may reconsider."

Yanked roughly up to his feet, the Kid had extra restraints added, before he was shoved back to continue the backbreaking labour and left to contemplate exactly what he faced when he got back to the prison.

On his group's return as the others were allowed to eat, the Kid was instead hauled in front of the man in charge, who glared at him in some dismay. "You know how to make an entrance boy! I ain't real keen on whipping prisoners, 'cos it means they work slower and that ain't good for business. But I sure can't let this go. I hope it's just you adjusting to the new rules, cos I want this to harden into habit with you. Seeing as it's a first offence and I'm told you was provoked, I'm sayin' six with the level one whip. That oughta help remind you to keep your temper, without slowing you too much."

The Kid had no clue what that meant, but figured he was in enough trouble without digging himself in any further and said nothing, schooling his face to show no emotion as he was led out and made to wait facing the wall while the other prisoners finished their meal. He tried not to think of anything and simply studied the rough surface of the wall in front of him.

Dusk had fallen by the time the other inmates were assembled in the courtyard. He was turned round to face them. Pools of light created by newly lit gas lamps, broke into the shadows of the punishment yard and fell onto the huddled figures, giving them an almost ghostly appearance. To the Kid it also appeared that they highlighted the ominous pole in the centre.

The Kid was marched to stand in front of the pole and his shirt was removed to bare his back. He was roughly pulled until his right cheek rested on the hard wood before he was secured with his arms at full stretch above his head. The guard finished tying him, leant in close to his ear and hissed at him. "I think you're getting off mighty light, given the trouble you caused. But the boss thinks you'll learn better this way and he ain't one to argue with. Now six it is and you're going to count them, so them watching can hear! Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir! Count them." The Kid was careful to keep his tone respectful and as the man stepped back, took a deep breath.

The first blow landed with a thud and the shock of it briefly stole his breath, but he forced out a "One."

By the time he was facing the final lash, he couldn't feel any blood, but his eyes watered as his back stung and throbbed. He'd managed to stay silent except for the count, but as the last blow landed, the smallest of whimpers was forced out of him through clenched teeth. He took a painful breath, and had to clear his throat twice before he found enough air to call out. "Six."

He was untied and started to fall to his knees, but by curling his toes and bracing himself briefly against the pole, he kept on his feet as he was turned to face the watching crowd. He was thrown his shirt and with some difficulty managed to get it over his head.

Though his eyes burned and he was unsteady, he managed to walk under his own steam back to his cell. It wasn't until he lay on his bunk alone in the dark, that he finally allowed himself to properly feel the pain he'd been fighting since he'd woken. He'd not even been here a day and he'd already broken his resolve to stay out of trouble. He let exhaustion sweep him towards sleep and hoped for dreams of a better place.