Destiny's Cycle: Fourteen, Page | 9

"Halloween"

Wheat stepped up to the dark walnut bar braced to the sidewall and plucking a piece of paper, from the cubby above it, made a show of filling it out; while softly conversing with Curry standing beside him.

When the only other customer present appeared done with her business, Curry smiled and with a tip of his hat, stepped through the front door, holding it open for her.

"Why, thank you, young man, what delightful manners your Mother trained into you."

Bowing his head, Curry replied, "You're welcome, and thank you, Ma'am."

As her black heels clicked off her departure, Heyes walked through the door Curry held open, with Preacher in his shadow.

Looking left and right, Curry stepped in, flipping the sign to closed and followed his partner to the broad, hip-high counter. Before he had reached his partner's side, Heyes had placed partially filled Treasury Department Certificate through the teller cage.

The thin, freckled clerk behind it barely looked up, his eyes remaining hidden beneath the green visor he wore, "Are you wishing to add stamps to your certificate?"

"In a way," Heyes replied, the mirth in his voice catching the clerk's attention, for his head tilted a touch, and setting his pen down, he looked up. His eyes widened, darting to the ratcheting of Preacher's repeater rifle, the double-click of Wheat's six-shooter and back to the very, close, very large bore of Curry's Peacemaker; looking anything but peaceful.

Leaning in, Heyes passed him a wink, "No sudden moves."

Wheat kicked the door at the end of the counter, the latch splintered, and as the door swung open, Wheat raced in with Heyes following him placidly, stating, "Clear the drawers."

Clawing into the first drawer, Wheat shoved the currency in his saddlebag.

"Wheat!" Heyes barked from within the open safe, even as he stacked bundles of notes and certificates in his own bags. "Don't forget the stamps this time."

"How was I to know we needed them, thought they were for mailing letters."

Curry smiled, softly saying, his pistol pointed right at the trembling clerk, "Look like a post office to you?"

"No," was Wheat's muttered response, grabbing the box full of square, faded orange and blue stamps.

Before he could dump them in his bag, Curry said, "Might want to put 'em in an envelope."

Wheat's mouth pursed tight, but jerking open a lower drawer, he rummaged about removing a brown envelope and tumbled the stamps inside.

"You men have made a grievous mistake. Do you not know, the reason, no one ever even considers robbing Lone Gulch is for the simple fact that we are surrounded by miles and miles of flat nothingness, leaving nowhere to hide from a posse."

Bumping the man from his drawer, Wheat smiled at him, "Maybe so, but we feel pretty right certain 'bout ourselves."

Raising his chin, the clerk belligerently looked Wheat in the eyes, "Well, I for one shall laugh in your face when they drag each of you back here."

Coming up, Heyes said, "I would invite you to do so…" having buckled the saddlebags, he slung them across his shoulder, "however…" he gestured to a chair, "it will not be happening."

Stiffly the clerk walked to over, taking a seat, studying the man securing him with rawhide ties from his intelligent dark eyes, to his dimples, to the thick black hair, nearly touching his shoulders, to his gray ranch coat and the pistol tied down to his butternut colored pant leg.

"Get a good solid look?" Heyes asked. "Let me make it easier for you… you tell them it was the Devil's Hole Gang who visited you."

The man swallowed, his eyes drifting to Curry, "that means the pair of you are…."

Touching the brim of his brown Stetson with his Colt before holstering it, Curry replied, "Kid Curry."

Having pushed his hat, so it sat on the back of his head, Heyes wore a brilliant boyish smile, "and Hannibal Heyes." Then pulling the clerk's kerchief from his jacket pocket, he flipped and twisted it into a gag, "any last words?"

Looking a shade or two paler, the clerk shook his head.

"Good 'cause I got a schedule to keep," Heyes replied, tying the kerchief about the man's mouth and snagging the keys dangling from his vest.

Strolling over boastfully, Wheat told the man, "As ya can see, we ain't the brutes they make us out to be in the papers, we're gentlemen bandits." Tweaking one end of his mustache, he grinned, "Ya can tell 'em Wheat Carlson told you so."

Rolling his eyes, Heyes slipped through the front door, and once all his gang was out, he paused to lock the bank's entrance, pocketing the keys.

Disappearing into the alley, they slid across and down to the backside of the General Store, where they casually climbed aboard their horses, Lobo was holding.

"Others have instructions to leave town by twos, at a nice, easy-going pace, after you and Lobo are out of sight," Curry stated, nodding to his partner. "Wheat, and I will bring up the tail, making sure all is safe."

From the shadowed mouth of the alley, Curry monitored the Devil's Hole Gang abandonment of Lone Gulch, each kicking up so little dust not even the dogs sunning themselves bothered to raise their heads to watch. When he and Wheat started down the main drag, Wheat twisted in his saddle to check their backtrail.

Low in his throat, Curry snarled, "Don't do that!"

"What?"

"Look about like you're expecting a reaction."

Slumping in his saddle, Wheat took on the appearance of the cowhand, saddle tramp he had been before his outlaw days, "better."

"Much." Curry passed him a grin, hanging loose and easy on his own horse, "want us looking like nothing more than drifters."

"Can't we move any faster?"

"Yep, if we wanted to draw attention, which, I'm not."

A sigh escaped in a puff of warm breath from Wheat and fiddling with his reins, he glanced at Curry, "Uhm, Kid… uh, Heyes ever talked with you 'bout that prank I pulled on him."

Looking over, his face as blank as freshly fallen snow, Curry flatly said, "prank."

"At Lottie's."

"Oh, that…" the corners of Curry's eyes crinkled, "wouldn't want to be you."

Reaching up, Wheat rubbed the back of his neck, "was he pretty sore?"

"Would you be?"

The bushy mustache dipped, its tips making Wheat's frown look even more profound, "he say anything to you?"

"Why would he?"

"We all know, he confides in you."

Tugging his hat lower, Curry replied, "not as much as I'd like some days, and if you're hemming about trying to find out what he's planning against you." The smile slipped, coming free, "he's keeping it closer to him than he did his clothes."

Any other time, Wheat would have laughed, but he knew Heyes well enough to know this was not a laughing matter, and he once more rubbed of his neck.

"Like I said, wouldn't want to be you."

Well beyond the town, they rounded a bend, coming head-on into a line of drawn pistols that were immediately lowered.

"Golly thought y'all might'en been caught."

"Riding casual takes time, Kyle." Wheat replied, tipping his head toward Curry, "specially, when you're ridin' with him."

There were several chortled laughs, as the men knew how serious Curry could be when it came to caution.

Feeling someone watching him, Wheat turned to find Heyes' black eyes boring into him, and his jocularity dried up.

The tension could be felt, and all eyes went to Heyes, who took time to adjust his hat before saying, "All right boys, tonight we will be covering fifty miles, trade horses at the Villanova Ranch, and cover another fifty, but by then we will be on home ground… so to say."

"I don't know," Lobo stated flatly, shifting in his saddle, "ain't a one of us who doesn't know makin' thirty miles, a day, is doin' damn good on any hoss."

"Lobo's right. What if'n we don't make it?" Kyle asked, spitting on the ground between him and Hank. "These horses will be done in, and then we all will be caught for sure."

"It'll work," Curry said firmly. "Learned how during a poker game back in Wichita chatting with some Calvary boys." Leaning forward on his saddle horn, he held up a finger, "first we

walk, then trot, then gallop… each time only for fifteen minutes. They pridefully bragged how a horse can go all day and night like that if you stop and give 'em a hat full of water every few hours."

John sucked in his lower lip, looking twice as doleful and pathetic as usual, "sure hope it works."

"It will."

Scratching at his reddish beard, Lobo shook his head, "If 'n it wasn't 'gainst my best interest, I'd put money down, we're going to kill more than a few of these broomtails for were done."

Buttoning his coat against the night's chill, Curry said, "go on, Heyes, tell 'em what you always tell me."

The well-known, brash smile appeared, "come on, Boys, have a little faith."

The pocket watch chain clacked against the saddle horn, as the Heyes' watch bobbed along nestled in his hand, until he called, for probably the fifth time that night, "Walk!"

The moon lit their way hanging heavy and full above the tall, brittle grass, even when the night dimmed, becoming purplish, with the horizon behind them absolutely empty, except for the soft blush of impending dawn.

Whoaing his horse under the 'rocking V' brand hanging above the Villanova ranch, Curry wore a full gloating smile for each gang member as they passed by. Their horse's fur stood out ragged and curly from sweat, and steam rose from them, but not a single animal was baked or gimping. Following them to the corral, he leapt down, feeling proud of himself.

"Knew you were right." Heyes bragged, popping Curry on the back, a puff of dust rising from

his sheepskin coat, and the wide, toothy smile which often led people to believe Curry was younger than he was, appeared.

Exiting the house, a short, thin man with stooped shoulders and suspenders crossed over a faded, red, flannel undershirt, called, "Buenos días, Señor Heyes. Did not think ya would make it in before the sun, but ya did."

"Like I tell my men, you need to have a little faith, Hector."

"Me, I got plenty of faith, but I not spread it out beyond me own familia." Hitching his thumbs in his suspender braces, he looked Heyes in the eye. "But, I should know to have faith in ya, Señor

Heyes. Your regular mounts be fed, watered, and rested." Hector Villanova pointed to the large

corral of milling horses, before holding out his weathered, calloused palm. "We shook on $2,000 for keepin' yours and rentin' mine."

Heyes smiled like a cat licking cream, and with a shake of his head, he unbuckled one saddlebag, "you sure 'bout that price, Hector?"

"Sí. I always sure when it comes to dinero." Hector replied, passing amongst his horses as the gang transferred their saddles to their own mounts. "Charged you so much, 'cause, I figured I would be needin' to shoot a few of these cayuses when ya returned 'em. But, they look quite buena, need resto, but buena."

Walking over with his hands jammed in the deep pockets of his gray coat, Heyes asked, "Mean, I get a discount?"

"Ha!" Hector's thin shoulders rattled with his bolted laugh, and he punched Heyes in the bicep, "always admire your hopeful spirit, amigo."

Heyes nodded, holding on to his closed-lip smile.

"No discount. Ya can afford it, is what I consider."

"That we can," Heyes replied, pulling hundred dollar banknotes from his pocket. "In fact, Hector," Heyes tossed him the entire bundle, "I added a bonus if you never saw us."

"Me, I no see any of you." Hector rifled the bills like a deck of cards, "Especialmente you, Señor Hannibal Heyes." His smile drifted to Curry, and "you too Señor, would not want people to

say, I consort with the wrong sort. It be hard being different around, so many…. shall we say… who are not Catholic. But, ah, Señors to be known for harborin' malo men, that would be my undoin'."

Heyes laughed, "Hector, far as bad men go, I'd say we're pretty good, bad men."

The bushy walrus mustache adorning Hector's face vibrated with his laughter, "You wish me to inform 'em of that when they come askin' about you and Señor Curry?"

Heyes' notorious smile broke free, "best not."

One by one, the Devil's Hole Gang drug themselves into their saddles, grousing every inch it took them to get there.

"Come on, Boys, one more ride, and there will be hot food, drinks, and beds awaiting us at Lottie's." Waving good-bye to Hector, Heyes called out, "Ride."

Their fresh horses snorted, in the crisp dawn air, a few kicking up their heels, but the fifteen-minute gallop reminded them they were tame ponies, not the mustangs they had thought themselves to be upon leaving the Villanova Ranch.

They were, again, walking; the men riding slumped in their saddles. Exhaling long and hard,

Heyes closed his eyes, letting his body sway with the steady rhythm of his horse. Feeling himself drifting, he enjoyed the half-doze, when with a snap his head came up and checking his battered watch saw nearly fifteen minutes had passed. Rolling his neck side to side, Heyes looped his reins about his saddle horn, and rising in his stirrups, arched his back. Settling back in, he found Wheat had fallen in alongside him.

"Better."

Heyes nodded

"Kid sure was right."

Heyes nodded again.

"You planned it all just right, too."

His tone holding just enough bite to rankle the older man, Heyes asked, "You wanting something?"

"No! Just making conversation."

The watch's longhand was reaching for the six when Heyes again checked it, muttering, "Heyes replied, "Don't recall requesting any." Raising his voice, he barked, "Trot!" and with the increase in speed, the two fell apart with Heyes wearing a malicious grin that his partner saw clearly.

When the next call came to walk, Curry moved in close to his partner, "you got Wheat all on edge."

"Good. Won't be happy 'till he's tiptoeing by me."

Taking off his hat, Curry scrubbed at his matted curls, "Keep telling you, it'd be best if you just let this go."

Heyes'nose wrinkled.

"No harm was done."

An eyebrow arched Curry's direction.

"You weren't injured."

"You tell me how you feel when it's you using your Colt for cover."

"I do that all the time," Curry responded, almost getting it out without snorting.

Heyes' jaw tightened and glancing at his watch, he saw they still had a few minutes.

"Come on, you gotta admit it was funny."

Throwing a baleful look at his life-long pal, Heyes wheeled his sorrel, walking back through his gang members. "We got about another hour, and we'll be in town, and we're going to ride up to Lottie's like it was any other night, eat dinner, and crawl into bed."

"Ain't gonna be like any other night," Merkle called, "Cause most nights, I'm asleepin' alone, and tonight I'm plannin' to nest up with Lilly."

A chorus of grunted agreements and similar comments rolled forth, and when they quieted, Heyes called, "Trot."

Dusk was smothering the land when they swung sedately into Lottie's corral, riding straight into the barn. A couple of gang members stripped their saddles, tossing them over a rail and headed straight for the barn doors.

"Halt!" Curry called from the offside of his big bay, not wanting to see who it was, he continued checking and cleaning the horse's hooves, "see properly to your horse, it served you well and what if you need it later."

After that, every man took his time grooming their mount until the entire herd shone like award-winning racers.

Hooking his thumbs in his vest pockets, Kyle set back in his heels, beaming, "Don't think I ever seen our stock look so fine."

Dropping an arm across Kyle's shoulder, Curry leaned on him, saying, "and, no one is going to consider they traveled fifty miles today either."

"That be for sure."

"But, I sure as hell feel like I did." Lobo complained, rolling his shoulders. "… and more."

"That'd be 'cause we traveled a hundred." Hardcase shook his head, "never would have thought it possible."

Hank put in, "yeah, but I don't recall, last time I was so bone-tired, worn down."

"I do," Lobo answered, looking to Heyes, who was walking up with his saddlebags hanging

over his shoulder. "It was the reason; I gave up drivin' steers up the Chisholm Trail."

"Driving steers never paid like this," Heyes replied, handing a stack of banknotes to each gang member.

Despite how tired they were, the jubilation of payday from such a smooth, effortless heist perked

up their moods, and they set to joshing each other, all the way to Lottie's front porch.

When they rung the bell, the door was answered by a lumpy, short man in the brightest, gaudiest,

cowboy regalia, any of them had seen since Cody's Wild West Show passed through Denver.

Heyes brows shot up, then instantly dropped down low, "Is Lottie here?"

A tittering laugh erupted, "costumes that bonne, is it, Chér?" and the enormously wide-brimmed hat was pushed up, revealing Lottie's elaborately charcoaled eyes. "Come on in, each of ya is welcome as toujours."

"Why you decked out so?" Curry asked, slipping by her.

"Why, Chér, it's Halloween, and we're havin' a…." she waved her hand to the gaily attired and

wildly costumed crowd. "… Masquerade."

All the gang members grinned, the party-goers washing away some of their tiredness, when with a boisterous laugh Curry bumped against Heyes, roaring, "And, you without your bloomers."

At that, the entire gang broke into snorting, guffawing laughter.

Heyes flamed red, turning on Wheat.

Wheat slapped a hand across his mouth.

But then a smile erupted on Heyes' face that brought to mind the evil that Halloween hinted of, and pointing a finger at Wheat, he turned away walking off into the party.

"Like I said, before-"

"I know, Kid, you wouldn't want to be me."