Destiny's Cycle: Eighteen,

Page | 5

"Disastrous Enterprises"

Standing on the corner, opposite the jail, Wheat said, "Lobo, go check inside."

"Me!?"

"You got the shortest wanted poster, most likely ain't even posted."

Frowning deeply, but unable to find an argument, Lobo rode across and taking a breath, swung down eyeing the sign reading 'Tin Marshal's Office' and with a sigh, headed for the door.

Inside, the warmth enveloped him, setting his face to tingling. On the desk was a square metal tin of Coleman's mustard powder and a Mason jar, most likely, filled with honey. But, no Marshal, or even a deputy, and at this, Lobo scratched his backside, his mouth puckering in consideration.

"You planning on standing there, scratching yourself 'till they return from morning services?"

Spinning about, he found Hannibal Heyes, with his forearms propped against the bars of his cell. "Howdy, Heyes. Where's the keys?"

"In that little safe behind the desk."

"Where's your lock picks?"

"Same place."

Lobo blinked, "all of'em!?"

"Let's say, Marshal Clark was thorough in his search, after catching me using them on the Druggist door."

"You got caught stealing drugs?"

"Hadn't made it that far," Heyes replied with a snide smile, "And, appreciate you not spreading that about."

Lobo walked closer, "What you want us to do?" He hitched a thumb toward the door, "Wheat and Kyle is outside with the horses; we could try to pull the window off your cell."

"No, wall faces the street, you all might be noticed before you got it out."

"Should I find something else you can use to pick the lock?"

"Marshal doesn't seem to be the trusting sort," Heyes replied, pointing to the top of his cell door, where a chain and lock were wrapped. "Wouldn't do any good, nothing in here for me to stand on to reach it."

"Well, ain't that dirty of'em."

"I was thinking clever." Heyes sighed, "But, I suppose, I could be encouraged to see your way of it." Pushing off the bars, he said, "Go see if Kyle has a stick in his saddlebags."

"Thought you told him not to do that no more."

"I did." Heyes made a chirking noise, "also know, Kyle doesn't always listen when it comes to dynamite."

With a shrug, Lobo went outside, waving his pals over, "Only Heyes in there, and he wants to know, if'n you're carrying a stick."

Kyle suddenly took great interest in the lasso ring on the shoulder of his saddle.

"He seems to think, the answer is yes."

Exhaling loudly, Wheat said, "One day, you're gonna blow yourself sky-high. Hopefully, you don't take none of us with you."

"Ain't as dangerous as people think."

Stepping closer, Lobo barked, "Kyle! You got it or not?"

Twisting in his seat, Kyle unbuckled one flap of his saddlebag and rummaging about, he removed a box not much bigger than a single stick. Sliding the lid off, he extended a long, cloth-wrapped object to Lobo.

"I don't want that…" Lobo yipped, jumping back, and shoving his hands behind his back, "Heyes does."

Seeing where this was going, Kyle returned the stick to its box, stepping down from his saddle.

Moving further away from his, Lobo said, "You go on." He glanced up at Wheat, "We'll keep watch out here."

Hustling through the door, Kyle released a delighted smile, "Howdy, Heyes."

"Howdy to you." Nodding toward the box, Heyes dryly stated, "See, you're breaking rules again."

"Ain't that what rules are for, must be…" Kyle tilted his head, his smile full of laughter, "or, you wouldn't be where you are."

A low baritone laugh filled the room, "Guess I am calling the kettle black."

Rolling his wad of chaw deeper into his cheek, Kyle's smile took on a life of its own, and walking to the cell, he asked, "you wantin' me to blow the door."

Heyes' hands flew up, hollering "No!" His face alive with worried fear.

Kyle enthusiasm deflated, his smile slipping away, "Is ya wantin' me to blow anything at all?"

Heyes jabbed toward the Marshal's desk, "the safe."

Kyle yipped, "A safe!" his puppy dog, overzealous, smile back in place. Strutting over, he took off his hat, removing a fuse line from inside the sweatband.

"That isn't where you, regularly, keep the fuses?" Heyes asked, thinking they may not be of the best quality when he required them.

"Oh, no," Kyle replied, "only my special ones for me."

Heyes' shook his head, hitching his thumbs in his pant's waistband.

Squatting, Kyle scrutinized the safe and crawling back to the Marshal's desk, rifled the drawers, finding a ball of rawhide ties. "Just what I need." Using a couple, he secured the single stick to the safe's door handle and dug in his vest pocket for a match. Holding it up, he looked back at Heyes, "Shame, ya can't try ya hand at it."

"It is a crying shame," Heyes answered, backing from the bars. "Let me get down behind the mattress before you light it."

Kyle laughed, "Suppose it'd be ironic if'n ya was killed by a safe."

Heyes had the mattress in his hands and turned about, "Ironic? Where'd you learn that?"

"From you on the White Pine job."

Heyes tilted his head, "but… you alerted that nosy Sheriff, so we weren't able to pull the job."

Kyle looked sheepish, "Yeah…" then he shrugged, "that's when ya said it was ironic I was still alive."

"Been times, the thought crossed my mind."

"Well, that time, ya said it out loud and right in front of the whole gang."

A bit of shame flitted across Heyes' face, "I did, did I?"

"Uh-hum, none of the boys knew what you meant… not even, Kid. So, I up and asked Lottie, and she told me, it meant when something happens or is the way folks would not think it to be."

Heyes nodded, "And…?"

"I thought on it, figured ya was right."

Moving to the furthest spot in his cell, Heyes crouched down, "Take the honey and mustard powder out with you, would hate this all to be for nothing."

"It ain't for nuthin'" Kyle grinned, "I get to blow a safe." He struck the match, "Make sure ya stay down don't want folks sayin' ya ending was ironic."

With a roll of his eyes, Heyes growled, "Thanks, Kyle," ducking under the flimsy mattress.

To the hissing of the fuse, Kyle darted from the building, the Mason jar and mustard powder gripped to his chest, "It's gonna blow-"

"Sky-high," Lobo grumbled, twisting the reins of the four horses he was holding, tighter.

"Where's Wheat?"

But, in that moment, it blew… loud, thunderous, vibrating the ground. The back portion of the Marshal's office disintegrated, allowing a smoking plume to rise in the air, and with a high-pierced whistling sound a whirling set of keys plunked in the dirt before Wheat, who had just maneuvered a wagon up.

"Hey, it's the keys." Kyle laughed, bending to retrieve them. "Uh, Wheat, what's the wagon for?"

"Diversion." Wheat answered, "now give that stuff to Lobo, and go see if our illustrious leader is alive."

Nodding, Kyle did as told, while Wheat snagged the lanterns from the shepherd hooks planted on either side of the Marshal office steps.

Shoving the medical supplies in his saddlebag, Lobo called, "we best hurry, sounds like we shook the town out of the church."

While, from inside the smoking building, they heard Kyle holler, "Heyes, you alive?"

From beneath rubble, which was rolling off the mattress, Heyes appeared, his mouth dropping open at how an entire side of the Marshal's office was missing. Climbing to his feet, he stuck his fingers in his ringing ears, shouting, "Jehoshaphat, Kyle, I told you to only use one stick."

"It were just one, one of my purty fat boys," Kyle jangled the keys, "We get'em in a box, every so often, and I save'em back."

"Kyle Murtry, you really are a disastrous enterprise," Heyes hollered, shaking his head, and grimacing at the sharp ringing, while pointing at the chain and lock about the top part of his cell, "grab that chair, and get me the hell out of here."

"No reason to be proddy," Kyle whined, dragging the chair across the destroyed office. He peered up at the lock, "Is the one in the door broken?"

"Marshal Clark said it was useless as tits on a bull with me in here." Heyes grinned, swiping his hat from the floor and beating the film of white dust from it. "He sure had his self a good laugh when he put that lock out of my reach."

"Suppose 'n it would of gone better for 'em, if'n he hadn't done that."

From outside, Lobo's voice roared, "Y'all might want to hurry the hell up."

And, looking toward the door, they both watched a flaming wagon roll past.

"What are they up to?" Heyes muttered, exiting the cell. "Thanks, Kyle, really do appreciate it."

"I'd do it again, it were fun."

Eyeballing him, Heyes leapt over fallen boards and around the tossed desk to where the safe had been.

"What you lookin' for?"

"My rig," and sighting the little safe laying out in the alley, he climbed through the hole in the wall, nearly stepping on his gun rig, lying twisted at his feet like a dead snake. Grabbing it, he strapped it on, while trotting toward the safe, glinting in the light, a good distance away. Spying one bunch of his lock picks, he pocketed them, but it was his Schofield he wanted most.

Wheat came flying around the smoking building, his muscular sorrel snorting and jumping, with Clay swinging wide, behind him, on a taunt rein. "Blazes, Heyes, shake a leg. That wagon hit the mercantile. Some of the folks have started a water brigade, but them that are still coming are bristling with firearms. And, look raring to use'em."

Seeing the butt of a pistol barrel sticking out from under the safe, Heyes barrelled into the little safe, toppling it over and nabbing his Schofield, slammed it in its skid. Running for Clay, he latched hold of the rein, as Wheat released it, and hit his stirrup as Lobo and Kyle raced by, "Wooo Weee! Here they come."

Although, it was not a point, which needed announcing because the angry bark of firearms was already doing that.

Slamming their heels to their horses, the animals took off like they were going to be cougar feed. They left town at a full out run, and veering from the road, Heyes led his men up a twisting elk trail into the mountains. When the four of them made it to Spineback Ridge, they pulled let their blowing mounts rest.

Down in Tin, the townsfolk were zipping about like a knocked over termite mound, Heyes studied the smoke still rising from the destroyed jail, and the citizen's trying to keep the flames from the mercantile from spreading, a frown slowly taking over his face.

Standing closest, Wheat whistled, "thinking we should remove Tin from our list of places to visit."

Heyes' head turned slowly until he was looking straight at Wheat and rolling his eyes, said, "Come on boys, let's head home."