Title: Alone
What prompts Curry to go looking for Heyes after their separation? A Curry only story.
The Kid had sat at the bar nursing a drink enjoying how the cool liquid was washing away the trail dust that coated his mouth when a young man, probably about the same age as him, all foolish bravado and pointless noise had deliberately stood too close. With his friends egging him on he'd soon made it impossible for Curry to refuse the challenge he'd thrown out.
So here they were, stood across from each other as most of the small community watched in breathless, bloodthirsty excitement. He wasn't even sure of the name of the town let alone knowing the name of man challenging him. He caught snatches of conversation around him and felt an edge of an anger at the unthinking words.
"Ya don't expect someone looking as young as him to be so deadly. Just shows how you can't trust what people look like."
"Well you can see he's a killer, just look at those eyes."
The words faded as he cut off his awareness of anything but the man opposite him. He was concentrating so hard that he both felt and saw the moment when his opponent was about to draw. Firing off a single shot he winged the man, who hit the floor holding his shoulder and groaning. The sudden eerie silence that had followed the crack of the shot broke and people ran over to the fallen man.
Curry twirled his gun back into his holster and watched for a few moments until he was sure that the crisis was over before walking slowly but purposefully to where his horse was tied up. He took deep breaths as he tried to clear his head and control the tremors that always followed the sudden release of tension. As his focus returned to normal, the hum of voices around him re-entered his consciousness.
"He missed, guess he ain't as accurate as they say, but he's mighty fast."
"Weren't as impressive as his reputation suggests."
Curry clenched his teeth as he mounted his horse carefully, still trying to control his slightly trembling leg muscles. He was glad the penny-ante dust bowl of a town had no law. It meant he could escape quickly to some-place where he might be able to remember that he wasn't just Kid Curry, gunslinger.
"Thank-you son, for not killing my boy. We ain't got much so he always thinks he got to be a big man. He ain't always easy to get along with but he's all I got left."
At the quiet comments Curry looked down into the warm brown eyes of a worn but still pretty woman. She managed a weak watery smile as she met his gaze and feeling strangely grateful he found a smile for her as he replied. "Whatever people believe I ain't too fond of killing especially when it ain't needed to make the point. He'll heal soon enough but maybe the pain will remind him to..." Curry stopped what he was about to say suddenly feeling he had no right to lecture the mother of a man he'd just shot. He tipped his hat in farewell and without a backward glance headed out of the town.
Far away from the scattered settlements, close to a babbling creek and hopefully well sheltered from whatever dangers the night might threaten, Jed tried to remember his life before everything had changed. The memories remained out of reach today, blocked too strongly by the shadows of things he had tried very hard to forget and the far too vivid thoughts of what he was becoming.
Curry cleaned his gun, ate a solitary meal of rabbit, coffee and beans and stared into the settling dark his mind full. Eventually after a couple of lost hours Curry settled down to sleep, hoping for some peace.
But his dreams were full of pain, fire scorched land, flying bullets and blood. These nightmares were chaotically interspersed with the bitter-sweet memory of warm brown eyes, mutual affection, good company and shared laughter.
Three nights of broken sleep had left him lonely, on edge and bleary eyed with tiredness. Desperate for a break from his own company, he decided to ride into Brownridge Quarry, a small town only a short ride West.
As he entered the main street he noted the freshly painted Sheriff's office, the re-signed and brightly re-coloured saloon and the newly constructed hotel. The rumours he'd heard about one of the railroad companies buying land out here to extend their route looked like they were true.
After he tied up his horse and saw to it that he had both water and grain, he headed into the saloon. He really needed a bath, but his funds wouldn't stretch that far if he wanted to eat. He was aware of the curious gazes that followed him as he took a place at the bar. The man serving eyed his tied down gun cautiously but his tone was friendly enough as he asked.
"What'll it be stranger?"
"Just a beer thanks." The man handed him his drink and then returned to his wiping. Curry, grateful for his lack of interest leant against the bar so he was looking outwards. He took a sip of his beer savouring the soothing feel of the liquid on his dry throat. He finished his drink and ordered another,relieved that after the initial burst of interest the other patrons had returned to their quiet conversation.
The peace didn't last long as a bunch of ranch hands came bursting in, making far more noise then they needed to. The relaxed atmosphere became tense and despite his best efforts The Kid's hand strayed automatically to hover close to his gun.
One of the rowdy crowd rolled up to order drinks and deliberately came close enough to jostle The Kid, which caused him to spill some of his beer which splashed onto the other man's sleeve.
"Hey Tom, ain't no need for that, he ain't doing no harm." The bartender looking a little nervous eyed both the men as he brought a bottle out onto the bar with several glasses.
Tom stared at Curry with an unpleasant expression on his already crumpled face. "Well his pretty face is causing me bellyache and he ain't too careful with his hands."
Curry said calmly, but not calmly enough to entirely mask his irritation, "Well I am sorry 'bout that, but if you just let me finish my drink, I'll take my face, my not very careful hands and everything else out of your way." He knew he should have just let it be, but too little sleep had left him irritable and the idiot was annoying him.
"Well, boy, you do have a smart mouth. Can you back it up with your pretty gun?"
Curry held up his hands in an attempt to prevent this getting out of hand "I don't want no trouble, let me buy you a drink and we'll start again." The Kid really didn't want to have to shoot today, he was so tired he doubted his aim would be as straight as it needed to be.
Tom unfortunately wasn't going to back down an inch , "Look, sonny, this is my town. I don't like smart mouthed pretty boys with fancy guns. So I think we should take this outside. "
Curry glanced at the barkeep who shrugged a little apologetically but said nothing, obviously unwilling to get too involved. Everyone else except the man's friends were trying to ignore what was happening and Curry realised he was left with no alternative. Jed felt an impending sense of doom as he reluctantly finished his drink and put down his glass. Tom walked back to his friends, his stance cocky and arrogant and then headed out towards the street.
One of his friends, his voice anxious called after him, "You know who that is Tom? It's Kid Curry."
"Course I know who he is and he don't look nothin' special to me. " Tom threw the retort over his shoulder as he headed out through the swinging doors.
Curry sighed threw some money on the bar and followed the idiot out into the street. He tried again to get the man to back down, "Look, there ain't no need for this. Let me buy you a drink."
"Nah sonny, I want to see how fast you really are. I think I got a chance of getting Kid Curry as a notch on my belt, so just stop trying to wriggle out of it."
Curry sighed, indicated that he was ready and followed Tom out into the central square.
A crowd had gathered, including a man who The Kid figured was the Sheriff flanked by two others, likely his deputies. Tom's friends had also spread themselves amongst the watching townsfolk.
Tom and Curry faced off. The Kid drew quickly, but the gun felt heavy in his hand and he knew as soon as he'd fired that his aim was off. His stomach knotted as the ranch hand fell and he closed his eyes briefly, well aware of what he'd done, even before he heard the startled gasp spread through the crowd. "He's killed him. Sheriff did you see that? He killed him. "
The murmuring became louder and angrier and before he could reach his horse he found himself slammed down into the hard ground breathless. The fists and feet when they came were solid and painful. He initially tried to defend himself but soon gave it up as an impossible task and just rolled with the blows as they came with increasing speed and strength.
Almost unconscious he was pulled halfway to his feet. He looked blearily up at one of the men holding him and saw a rope wound around his arm. They were dragging him to the only trees left in the main street and he suddenly knew exactly what was planned. He struggled hard against the restraining hold, but the grip was tight and he was in too much pain, so he was unable to free himself. A hard slap across the back of his head left him unable to do much else except breath and sink into a sort of distant panic.
At the sound of shots from two different guns and shouted words that he was unable to fully grasp, Curry was dropped heavily onto the ground. As darkness started to spread over his vision he curled onto his side in an attempt to stay conscious.
As he was no longer being dragged and when after a final hard kick the men involved retreated rapidly, Curry guessed the voice was the sheriff and he allowed himself to feel some relief that he likely wouldn't die today. He closed his eyes to shut out the spinning world and unable to move could only wait to see what would happen next.
A heavy scent of leather, gun oil and stale cigar smoke, mixed with the musky smell of sweat assailed him and he opened his eyes reluctantly to see a slightly blurry figure leaning over him.
"Now, I think it'd be best if you just git as I don't want no more trouble and likely won't survive it. I saw him draw on you and the barkeep said he pushed ya, so I can't rightly keep you." The Sheriff's voice took on the tiniest hint of admiration as he added, " I gotta say that was sure fancy shooting, son. Tom weren't no slouch and he didn't have a chance."
Curry rolled painfully onto his back as his stomach rolled in protest. He met the Sheriff's gaze, feeling lost and far too weary to pretend he didn't care. "Not fancy enough seein' as he's dead. I just wanted a drink and maybe some company."
The law-man's face suddenly softened and he offered his hands for The Kid to grab hold of. After a moment of surprise Curry accepted and managed to get to his feet, although he had some difficulty in standing straight.
The Sheriff murmured, "Foolish boy, you oughta find another way, you ain't got the temperament for killing," The Kid still struggling with his balance and not sure how to respond was glad that the man didn't seem to expect a reply.
The Sheriff with a resigned sigh, switched his hold to put a steadying arm round Curry's shoulders and steered him to to his horse.
Curry dizzy and aching with a little help settled uncomfortably into his saddle. He was conscious of the Sheriff's gaze on his back as he rode slowly out of town, but did not look back.
Barely two miles out, pain and nausea forced him to a halt. He crouched painfully on the side of the trail, continuing to retch heavily for several minutes even after his stomach was empty. As he attempted to marshal his strength in order to continue, he found himself struggling against unwanted tears. He hadn't cried for years and wasn't intending to start again now. He eventually gained some control, but was left with a lingering need for home, however hopeless that might be. But suddenly into the strange fogginess of his thoughts, came the crystal clear realisation of what his mind had been trying to tell him for weeks now- home meant only person and it was past time he found him.