Destiny's Cycle: Thirteen, Page | 8

"One man's trash is another man's treasure….."

Clad in a clean pair of pants, his bare feet hitched on the porch railing, Heyes looked up from his novel at the sound of Curry's approach. Shoving a hand back through his damp bangs, he said, "heard a yelp, a bit ago. . ." a mischievous grin expanded, ". . . was that Wheat taking the fast route down?"

Removing his hat, Curry slapped it against his leg, a puff of dust drifting off. "Yup!" Tossing his Stetson into the empty chair, he bent untying his holster strap from his leg, "moved his self off to that tree on the corner of the bunkhouse." Straightening, he shook his head, "it was touch and go if he was going to make it." Stepping onto the porch, Curry shrugged out of his vest. "Lost two dollars on it."

A snort erupted from Heyes, "Because, you bet he would make it?"

"Seemed like a safe bet." Curry shook his head, "and he did make it to the tree." Tossing his vest in the chair, he began unbuttoning his blue, sweat crusted shirt. "Anyway, while he was working his way down, he got hung up, and, well, when he twisted 'bout to get free…" He tossed the shirt atop his vest, putting his hands on his hips "… he slipped…" again, Curry shook his head, except this time there was a touch of sorrow to the move, "if I were you, I'd avoid Wheat for a while."

Heyes' right eye squinched up a bit as he peered up at his partner.

"He came down straddle on a limb."

Heyes brows shot up, his forming a perfect O as he released a soft gasp.

"That is what you heard, then he just kind of toppled out of the tree."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Heyes looked down, "he all right?"

"Took him a while to unball and stagger to his feet," Curry replied, unbuckling his holster. "I went ahead and set the ladder up for Lobo and Hank."

"Probably a good idea."

"Thought so," Curry said, rolling the holster belt about the skid, a frown settling in his face as he did so. "And, you ought to know the others kind of felt it was your fault."

"My fault?"

"Yup, so, while I clean up. . ." He stopped, looking pointedly down at his partner, "You did leave freshwater on the boil for me?!"

"Of course, I did," Heyes responded with a flat, indulgent smile.

"Good. Then, while I bathe, you might keep your guard up." Curry looked toward the bunkhouse, his hands tightening about the leather he held, "they all like Wheat, and they were grousing pretty good when I left."

"But, I'm their leader."

Curry's blue eyes were flints of ice when they came back to his partner.

Swallowing hard, Heyes pushed out a quick, tight grin, which did little to improve the anger aimed his way; for if there was anyone who could read him it was Kid Curry, and they both knew he had just been caught flat-footed, "I meant we're both their leaders, Kid, both of us."

Releasing a snort, Curry answered, "That being, use that brain of yours to figure a way to keep us… on all their good sides." Stepping forward, he handed his holster rig to Heyes, who did not have a firearm in sight. "But, just in case."

Heyes' eyes widened.

"Like I said, just in case, that bunch can be as hard to outguess as a ringtailed raccoon sometimes."

For a long while, Heyes stared at the closed door his partner had gone through, 'he can't really think they might... .' His gaze fell to the Colt handle emerging from the leather pile in his lap, before drifting out to the far trees, and anyone watching would have said they could see the gears turning as he worked out ideas, twisting them around until they suited him.

_ASJ_

Riding by the row of saloons, dance halls, and brothels, Curry kept close surveillance on the loud, boisterous arena, a heavy, sternness decorating his youthful face. Although, he was the only one appearing this way, for Heyes and the rest of the Devil's Hole were all grinning to beat the drum and having a grand time joking with each other. Nudging his horse closer to his partner, as they entered the corral attached to Lottie's Chicken Ranch, Curry asked, "You really think this will work?"

One of Heyes' big, wide, smiles appeared, making Curry instantly irritated because he recognized it as one used when his partner considered himself smarter than those around him. So consequently was not surprised when Heyes responded, "Why wouldn't it?"

Curry's climbed from his saddle, leading his horse away without a word.

Leaping to the ground, and hurrying after him, Heyes called, "Come on, Kid, have a little faith."

Placing his horse in a stall, Curry began unsaddling the bay.

Leaning against the edge of the stall, Heyes frowned, "Can you not get behind my plan at all?"

Curry blue eyes turned to Heyes briefly.

"They are being treated to all the drink they can hold, a fine supper, and a calico queen of their choice, and I'm-" Heyes' tongue darted across his lower lip, "we're footing the bill."

"That is one of the many parts of this plan, I don't care for."

Covering his disappointment by leading his horse into the next stall, Heyes asked, "what else is bothering you?"

"How about them getting liquored up while feeling unsure about your leadership."

"My leadership? We're in this together."

"Oh, but they haven't been talking out of the sides of their mouths about me. . ." Curry tossed his saddle across the railing and pointed at Heyes, "only you."

Heyes' face fell, his brown eyes softening with a touch of pain creasing their corners.

It was not the reaction Curry expected. He had figured on another quick, snide remark being flung his way, and stepping out of his stall, he walked over to Heyes as he threw his own saddle across the railing. "Don't listen to me, Heyes; I'm sure you're correct, and it'll all work out all right."

Heyes only nodded, and stepping by, Curry walked on toward the barn door.

Sighing heavily through his nose, Curry watched his partner's slumped shoulder walk, 'I forget, beneath all that swaggering confidence of his, Heyes is still a too smart for his own good boy, who wants others to notice him, and more importantly like him."

_ASJ_

Filling the shot glasses for each member of the gang, Heyes raised his own, "To the best crew to be found in all the West."

Smiles exploded, and with hurrahs, they threw back their shots, thumping the glasses down for refills.

Smiling so big it was contagious, Heyes walked along the backside of the bar, refilling all their glasses, except Curry's as he had turned his over. Seeing this, Heyes sharply arched a brow at him.

"Going to stay clear-headed."

With a chuckle, Heyes refilled his own, raising it, "to jobs that'll fill pages in the history books."

The Devil's Hole cheered again, and he went right back down the line filling their glasses, "Tonight is all on me, and Kid, 'cause, we felt you men should know you're appreciated. So, to pals worth riding the trail with."

More toasts were made, all disappearing just as fast as the first, with Heyes topping off glasses, even when he needed to open a second and third bottle, to do so.

Seeing how shiny their faces were becoming, Curry stepped behind the bar, slipping the bottle from his partner's grasp. "Could let you keep drinking, it'd be less strain on my wallet, but let's go enjoy that fried chicken dinner and the other extras Lottie's has to offer."

With a cheer, the men rushed for the dining hall, where the server's outfits were made of less cloth than was needed to cover a narrow window.

Heyes thought dropped his forearms on the bartop with his lower lip pouting out, seeing him, Curry clapped a hand about his shoulder. "What?"

"Why'd you do that? They were enjoyin' themselves."

"Making them storm drunk is only going to loosen their tongues and maybe, some of their tempers. Let Lottie's gals do the work of warming them over to you." Curry responded, hugging his partner's shoulder warmly. "Being a leader means we don't have to do all the work." Steering Heyes from behind the bar, he grinned over at him. "I recall someone teaching me that."

The dimpled smile was back, a little looser and sloppier than usual from all the rapid-fire whiskey shots, but back, and leaning into Curry, Heyes slurred, "Thanks, you're the best partner ever, really and truly the best."

"I already know that."

"You do?!"

"Yup, 'cause, I have Hannibal Heyes as my partner."

The dimpled grin positively engulfed his pal's face.

"And, that makes me the best partner ever. . . ." Curry squeezed Heyes closer, "because day and night, I get to deal with all of good ol' notorious Hannibal Heyes eccentricities."

Heyes tilted his head to the side, looking over from the slant of his eye, "What?"

Curry looked right back over at him, his eyes sparking with humor, "What… what?"

"Who taught you eccentricities?"

"Like I said," Curry responded with a warm laugh, nudging his partner toward the dining hall while watching his pal's whiskey-soaked mind try to muddle through what he had just been told, and as he did, Curry laughed even harder.

Stepping into the gaudily, decorated hall its tables covered with food and drink, they were greeted by Kyle hollering, "Heyes, Kid, this is the bestest, most wonderful night of my life."

Taking in the little brunette perched in Kyle's lap and the chicken leg gripped in his free hand, the partners shared smiles as wide as the Grand Canyon. Because, all throughout the hall, the beaming expressions of the gang members matched Kyle's, and it appeared, Heyes' plan was on the right track.

Before dinner was completed, a button nosed, big-eyed, brunette gal had attached herself to Heyes. As the merriment dispersed to various upstairs rooms, it came to Heyes his own partner was still drinking coffee and chatting with Lottie, who was a good twenty, maybe more, years his elder.

Leaning against the doorframe that led to the stairs, Heyes glanced to the cute little gal tugging on his left hand, to the whiskey bottle in his other, and back to Curry. Clearing his throat, he called, pointing to the stairs with his whiskey bottle "Uh, Kid… is you and…." as his words faded, his eyes darted to Lottie, revealing his unfinished question.

Curry looked quick to Lottie, and took a drink, his eyes darting to the inside of his cup with a touch of pink gracing his cheeks.

The large-chested, tight corseted, redhead laughed heartily, laying a hand on Curry's arm, "Par Dieu, does moi not wish. Alas, we are destined to merely remain friends." Reaching out she patted, Curry's arm, "It be all right Chér," She looked back to Heyes looking somewhat lost, "you go on beau with Betsy. Moi and Kid will enjoy some more talk and café," She grinned at Curry, "While he keeps guard over y'all like a shepherd over his bedded down flock. Bien que, moi does not deem much sleepin' shall be occurin' in them beds." Looking to Curry, she asked, "What do you think, Chér?"

The pinkness shifted to red, and to avoid answering, Curry took another drink.

"Uh, Kid, you sure?"

Without looking away from his cup, Curry responded, "I'm sure…get! Someone needs to stay alert."

Taking another pull on his whiskey, Heyes followed Betsy upstairs only to promptly run into Wheat, kissing on a full-figured, blonde in the hallway.

"Howdy, Wheat, all good 'tween us?" Heyes asked jubilantly, pulling his hand from Betsy and offering it to Wheat.

"Well, now, Heyes, it sure appears to be working out that way." Wheat answered, pointing at the bottle dangling from his leader's hand, and with a smile, Heyes passed it over.

Holding it up, Wheat toasted, "to old times." Then slyly popped his thumb across the bottle's mouth, making a show of taking a long drink before returning it.

Wobbling some on his feet, Heyes flung the whiskey up, swallowing down a good, healthy dose.

Pulling the bottle back, Wheat toasted, "to old grievances," and once more faked drinking, before handing the bottle to Heyes.

Heyes' nose scrunched up, "to old grievances?"

"Yeah, may they be fixed." Wheat replied, motioning for Heyes to drink on it.

The dark eyes narrowed, but with a shrug, he took another long pull, and when he lowered the bottle, only the smallest bit swirled to the bottom.

Taking the whiskey bottle from his slack hand, Betsy said, "Now, you knock that off Wheat Carlson, or he ain't gonna be worth a bucket of spit to me."

A snorted giggle slipped from Heyes, and he had to put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

With a bullish look, Wheat replied, "you mean he is normally."

With a shake of her head, Betsy latched hold of Heyes, propelling him down the hall and through her bedroom door. But, before she got in, Wheat snagged her, holding her back.

"I gave you a twenty-dollar gold piece; you are planning on upholding your end still, ain't ya?"

"Of course, I am." Hearing the thunk of a boot hitting the floor, she peeked in her room at Heyes, who had already flung off his shirt. "You ain't gonna hurt 'em. You promised you wouldn't hurt 'em none."

"And I won't Betsy. I don't break promises, never have, and never will."

She nodded, "well, then go on and wait for my whistle." Having said this, she slipped in, shutting the door after her.

"What you up to, Wheat?"

"Just a bit of payback to our high faultin' leader," Wheat replied, looking over his shoulder at the blonde, passing her a wink.

"Don't ya men, usually, do that by bustin' in one another's head or pullin' iron?"

Wheat made a chirking noise, "You got the right of it there, Hildy. Only, I ain't wanting to hurt 'em. Hell, I like Heyes, most days. But, I sure do want to injure that pride of his."

About that time, a wolf whistle rippled from Betsy's room.

A smile so huge that Wheat's teeth were fully visible behind his bushy mustache appeared and latching hold of the doorknob, he burst into the room like a bull buffalo on a rampage. "Hellfire, Heyes, there's lawdogs swarming in downstairs." Before him stood a slack-jawed, astounded Hannibal Heyes, as bare as the day he was born, and placing his hands on his leader's shoulders, who was so drunk, he was most likely seeing double, shoving him toward the window, Wheat hissed, "Kid, ordered me to get you out of here."

"Out... how?"

"Right here," Wheat responded, gesturing to the open window.

"But…" Heyes lunged for his pants and about fell down when they resisted his tug, not realizing Betsy was firmly standing on them.

Snatching up the holstered Schofield, hanging on a ladderback chair, Wheat tossed it out the window.

And, Heyes spun watching it go, "that's my…"

"I know, now get..." Wheat looked desperately back over his shoulder, "I'll toss your clothes down to you, but how am I supposed to get through that window if'n you don't move."

Heyes stammered, "need to get dressed first," his mind spinning from drink.

There were stomped steps in the hall, and Wheat had to hold back from laughing, knowing Hildy was helping him out. "Come on, Heyes, I was told to get you out first."

His blood pumping so fast, he could feel it, Heyes placed a leg over the ledge, "but…"

"If you get caught by the law, who's gonna think up a plan to get Kid out?"

Nodding, Heyes lowered his self until he was hanging from the window sill and taking a breath, dropped to the ground. Struggling to his feet, he cupped his hands about his mouth, drunkenly whispering, "Wheat, my pants, toss my pants down."

Leaning out the window, Wheat called, "What's that, I can't hear you?"

"My pants!" Heyes called more urgently, "and hurry the hell up, so we can go, help Kid."

"Why? He ain't havin' a lick of trouble, only you is."

"What?"

"There ain't no law here."

"What!?"

"Nope, just us outlaws, now have yourself a pleasant stroll," and, with a braying laugh, Wheat shut the window.

Staring dumbfounded at the closed window, Heyes felt gooseflesh rise up all across his bare skin, turning to the busy, brightly lit street before Lottie's he shivered. Picking up his holster, he stared at it, and looking up at the window, he had been tricked through, a barrage of curses bubbled from him, some aimed at Wheat and the rest at his drink addled mind for allowing him to be tricked. When he ran out of sufficient curses, he released a long drawn out sigh and buckled on his gun belt, feeling even more ridiculous, he frowned, shifting the holster to a loincloth position.

Darting along in the darkness, sweating bullets over the possibilities of being seen, relief sprung up in him on spying a sheet flickering in the pale, starlit night. Except, just as he reached to retrieve the sheet, it slid from his grasp, revealing one of Lottie's gals gathering it into her arms.

He stood frozen.

She stood frozen.

He grinned feebly.

She giggled.

He blushed.

She giggled more, "nice pistol."

Glancing at his Schofield sticking from his strategically placed holster, he flamed brilliant red from his cheekbones to his collarbones. Leaping forward, he yanked the next clothing items from the line, and wrapping them about himself, made his escape to her rolling laughter.

Now, with his bare back up against the rough, weathered wood of the rear side of the outhouse, he thought, 'I am going to string Wheat up like one of those piñatas.' Holding out what he had thieved, he rolled his eyes heavenward, 'not sure, this is better than being naked.' With a sorrowful sigh, he climbed in, hitching his holster back around his waist to hold the over-sized clothing in place.

Sober as if a cold bucket had been dumped over him, he soft stepped about the house, swearing each time his tender feet found a sharp rock along the way. But, at least, he had made it without being sighted. Taking a breath, he climbed the wide stairs to Lottie's front door, and shoving his long bangs from his face, he rang the bell.

The same gal he had met out back answered. Her green eyes glistened from having laughed until she cried, and now they were looking him up and down where he stood in a ragged, over-patched pair of pantaloons that belonged to their cook, Mrs. Rachel, which, in all reality, the old gal should relinquish to the rag bin. They were too short on Heyes and much too large, and his gunbelt was the only thing keeping them from slipping off. Shaking her head, her eyes slid over him once more, from his tousled hair, red cheeks, across the threadbare pantaloons, to his bare feet, and with a snort, she said, "Think I liked you better in just the holster."

Sliding by her, the tightly replied, "Thanks," handing her a short chemise with a built-in padded, bust improver.

Through an eruption of laughter, she barely got out, "Oh, you couldn't make use of it, too?"

Passing her a flat smile that did not reach his eyes, he strode to the dining hall, and when he stepped in, Lottie spat her coffee across the tablecloth just missing hitting Curry.

Spinning in his seat, and coming to his feet with his Colt cocked, Kid Curry froze at the sight of his partner. His brows lifted, his blue eyes widened, but in a perfectly straight voice, he asked, "My goodness, Heyes, was the dress so bad, you had to throw it in the trash?"

Looking to the floor, Heyes considered how he would look standing here only in his holster and decided the pantaloons were actually quite wonderful. Peering up through his bangs, he shrugged, "what is one person's trash, is another's treasure." And, lifting his head to look his partner straight in the eyes, he snarled, "Now, where in the hell is WHEAT?!"