Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit.
Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.
A/N – story presumes the details on the wanted posters are not entirely accurate. Story exists in the same No Amnesty - Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.
Chapter 2: Something To Say?
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"Arthur had a red balloon. He blew it up when he was supposed to be singing, and then he popped it!" Five year old Jennifer babbled on about the abrupt ending to chorus practice. "And Miss Hendricks jumped, and knocked the podium over, and… and…"
"Cousin Clem said Arthur's gonna get it when Josh'a hears," interrupted Hannah.
Kid smiled at his daughters. Leaving aside the crankshaft and cylinders sprawled across his worktable, the forty-five year old reached one big hand out and tucked a stray blonde curl behind Hannah's ear.
"Your little sister wasn't finished speaking," reminded Kid in a gentle voice.
Little Hannah flushed red in embarrassment. The six year old shot her younger sibling an apologetic look.
"Sorry Jen," mumbled Hannah.
"You didn't tell the part about Miss Hendricks flower vase breaking," grumbled the younger girl. "Or her yellin' at everybody!"
"The teacher raised her voice?"
"Papa, it was more like she squawked when the water splashed all over her dress," explained ten year old Eliza. "I don't think Arthur, Clem and Josh'a will be coming to supper tonight."
Kid quirked up one eyebrow, but before he could ask where Arthur had gotten a balloon from, the door to his work shop opened again. Arthur stumbled inside, followed by a very pale faced Clem. Kid stood up, instantly alert.
"What's wrong Clem?"
"What?" Clem's lips curled up in a semblance of a smile. A worried glance over her shoulder as she pulled the door shut behind her told Kid more. "Nothing's wrong. Joshua will be along in a few minutes. He just wanted us to wait here before we all go up to supper. Together. In a few minutes."
Blue eyes narrowed. Kid recognized a con when he heard it. A few steps brought the long legged man close to the petite woman. Arthur slipped loose from his mother's grasp and moved to join the girls examining the drafting papers beside the disassembled engine on Kid's worktable.
"Clem?"
"Joshua just went to say hello to someone over at the livery," answered Clem.
Kid glanced out the window. Uriah was leading a strange horse into the barn. Heyes strode towards the livery blocking Kid's view of a tall man with sandy hair. Who was it? An old friend? A lawman? Or bounty hunter perhaps? After all this time, in the seeming safety of Thunder Ridge, were they found out at last?
"Who?" Kid's low voice sounded calm.
"He didn't say. I don't think he knows for sure," admitted Clem.
Kid nodded in understanding. Time changed some folks, laugh lines or wrinkles, gray hair or no hair, or like Kyle with his glasses. While Kid didn't think he and Heyes had changed all that much over the years, Heyes argued that they wouldn't match their old wanted posters.
"Eliza, take your sisters on home and tell your mother there may be one extra for supper," called Kid in a casual tone. In a lower voice to Clem, he added, "You and Arthur should go as well."
"Arthur, go with your cousins now," ordered Clem.
The back door opened and closed. Kid and Clem both watched as the children chased each other up the slope to the sprawling Jones family home. When the children disappeared inside, Kid reached for his gun belt on the shelf beside the front door. The fast draw buckled the shining Colt on and leaned over to tie the leather thongs around his thigh.
"Joshua asked me to keep you inside too." Clem's shaky voice whispered.
"Now Clem, you know I can't do that," chided Kid. He straightened up and reached for his brown hat. He flashed a warm smile at the petite brunette. "Don't worry, I've got his back."
"And who's got your back?" demanded Clem. Without the children around, Clem used her husband's real name. "Heyes is unarmed!"
"Clem, you should go home too," urged Kid with a soft smile. "Mattie's got her hands full with Carolyn and Charlotte, I doubt she's even started cooking."
"Is supper all you can think about?"
Kid stepped past her into the dusty street outside. Clem's frantic whisper followed him.
"Don't either one of you dare get shot!"
Kid's easy, rolling gait took him closer to the livery stable. Heyes' back was to him and Kid still couldn't see the man facing his partner.
"I think you're outta luck," the sound of Heyes' baritone carried in the empty street.
"The bank lady in Porterville said Jones lived in Thunder Ridge," objected the new arrival. "I've been searching from town to town, all the way from Texas just to meet this fella."
Kid recognized the distinctive tones of the man facing his cousin, the voice that narrated his bad dreams. It couldn't be!
"Caroline Porter? She's a little forgetful these days, gets things mixed up a lot," Heyes shook his head. A slender hand gestured towards the little graveyard. "There was a Jones fella living in Thunder Ridge when I first came here, but he died about twelve or thirteen years ago."
"Huh?"
"You might as well get back on your horse and ride right on outta here," urged Heyes.
"I ain't goin' nowhere just yet," insisted the drifter.
"Hey!" called Kid.
Heyes spun around, his pale face shot a glare at Kid. The unspoken, "What are you doing here? I've got everything under control!" caused Kid to shake his head. The tall figure standing behind Heyes stepped to one side. Kid recognized the long, lanky form. This man was younger than Danny, but otherwise a virtual copy of the man they had met in Stockton so long ago. The man that robbed them and Seth, abandoning them all to a slow death.
"Are you calling me?" demanded the stranger.
"He's my partner, he's looking for me," countered Heyes. "Just give me a minute to see what he wants."
Heyes stalked quickly towards Kid, keeping between his partner and the young man. The partners met toe to toe in the middle of the street. Kid peered over Heyes' shoulder, watching the stranger.
"You better hope Caroline Porter doesn't hear what you just said about her," warned Kid with a smile. Then his eyes narrowed looking at the Danny lookalike. "Who is he?"
"Kid, I don't know yet, just let me talk to him," whispered Heyes in a low hiss. The slim man reached up and placed one hand against Kid's chest. "Go back..."
The swift blond was around Heyes before his sentence was finished. His partner followed Kid back towards the livery, but stopped when Kid moved to the side of the barn. The careful shootist placed himself where any stray bullets the young man might fire would embed themselves in the stable wall behind him. Widening his stance, Kid lowered his hands to rest against his gun belt. The stranger might not have recognized the significance of Kid's movements, but Heyes surely did. Kid couldn't have said it any louder, he expected a shootout.
"What brings you to these parts?" called Kid.
"Do you fellas always get into everybody's business?"
Kid narrowed his eyes at the mocking tone.
"I'm thinkin' it might be my business," challenged Kid. "Especially if you're looking for my uncle Clarence Jones."
The sandy haired youth snapped his riding gloves against his thigh before tucking them under the edge of his gun belt.
"Never heard of Clarence Jones," sneered the youth. "I'm lookin' for a fella called Thaddeus Jones."
"Well you found me."
The youth's blue eyes blinked in surprise. The insolent teen swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
"Who are you?" demanded Kid.
"I'm called William Danielson Junior," gulped the stripling. "And…"
Danielson's knowing air deserted him. Instead of a brash, cocksure imitation of Danny, he appeared for a moment to be a hesitant and unsure teenager.
"Well? What do you want?"
"Are you the same Thaddeus Jones that killed Danny Bilson in Matherville back in 1881?" blurted out the lad.
Kid kept his face expressionless.
"I am."
The quiet words hung in the air between the men. The lanky young man pushed back the length of his coat on both sides to reveal the pistol strapped to his leg. The threat appeared obvious.
"Mr. Jones, the name Danny Bilson was an alias," informed Danielson. His square chin trembled for a second. "The man you killed was my father. I'm here to settle things."
"Settle things?" objected Heyes. The loquacious man rattled on. "Danny's dead! You can't bring him back! The sheriff said it was self-defense! There were no charges against Thaddeus. There's nothing to settle!"
Kid gave a long slow sigh. Danielson spread his arms out, his hands quivering by his hips.
"Boy, be careful what you're doing," warned Kid. "I don't want to have to shoot you."
The youth blanched at Kid's words, but then Danielson's jaw jutted out. The young man squared his shoulders.
"You won't get a chance old man!" huffed Danielson with a show of false bravado. "I'm a fast draw, even faster than my father!"
Kid's eyebrows went up at the insolent words.
"How old are you boy?"
"Old enough to get revenge on the man who killed my father!
"How… old?" Kid grated out each word.
"Nineteen!"
"Really?" disbelief was evident in Kid's tone.
"Nineteen… next month!" Danielson's blue eyes glittered, his nervous hands jittered at his side. "Thaddeus Jones, I'm calling you out!"
For a moment, it seemed as if nobody breathed. A metallic click echoed across the stable yard. The liveryman stood at the barn door, an aging Sharps buffalo rifle in his hands, the hammer pulled back. Uriah's lips curled up in annoyance. He spat a stream of tobacco juice before speaking.
"Ain't nobody calling anybody out in my livery!" drawled Uriah. "This ain't the O.K. Corral."
The barrel of the Sharps pointing at the youth bobbed up and down.
"Boy, you take one hand… very slowly now… and unbuckle that gun belt of yours and toss it over to Thaddeus," ordered Uriah.
"But…" Danielson objected.
"Now!" growled Uriah. "Jones was a deputy once. He's the nearest thing we got to a lawman in Thunder Ridge!"
Danielson glared but began to unbuckle his gun belt. A moment later, the gun thudded in the dust in front of Kid's brown boots. The tall blond knelt down. One finger reached out to prod the pistol from its holster. Kid regarded the weapon with a frown upon his face before sliding it back into its sheath. He wrapped the belt around the gun, picked it up and rose to stand.
"Thaddeus he's your responsibility now." Uriah frowned for emphasis. "I'm goin' home to supper."
The liveryman slammed the barn door shut. Kid didn't object to Uriah's conclusion. Watchful blue eyes gazed at Danielson. The youth's shoulders slumped, all the fight appeared to have gone out of him. The fast draw rubbed his jawline. What was he going to do with this boy?
"Supper?" echoed Danielson. Blue eyes darted from Kid, to Heyes, and back to Kid. "Do they feed you supper in jail?"
"Usually," Kid nodded. "Are you hungry?"
"I'm always hungry," admitted the teen.
"We don't have a jail in Thunder Ridge," added Kid. "And right now I'm trying to figure out what to do with you."
"What to do with him? He wanted to shoot you!" spluttered Heyes. The wiry man stepped closer to Kid. Heyes hissed, "Take him back to Lom and turn him in! They can keep him in the Porterville jail."
"We won't get to Porterville before dark," reminded Kid. His voice lowered, "And the boy ain't likely to shoot anyone with this."
Kid thrust Danielson's gun belt towards his partner. Heyes' nimble fingers took the weaponry. Brown eyes opened wide when Heyes saw the state of the dusty old relic. Kid stared down his would be assassin. The muscular man stepped closer.
"I need to check you for other weapons," informed Kid as he reached to pat down the near double of Danny.
"I ain't got nothin' else," objected Danielson.
Kid held up the pocket knife he'd retrieved from an inside pocket. The young man flushed.
"Nothin' but that knife," corrected Danielson. "And it's not good for much besides breaking up hard tack."
Kid opened the small folding knife. The blade was dull, didn't look like it would slice butter. For a man intent on a showdown, Danielson seemed a mite unprepared.
"Whatcha gonna do with me?"
"I reckon I could lock you up in the shed and take you to Porterville in the morning," mused Kid. "But then there's the issue of supper."
Kid paused, assessing the dust covered young man. William Danielson Junior, whomever he might be, wasn't Danny Bilson. Kid remembered a noisy saloon in San Antonio. Twenty eight years ago, he'd been the boy bound of vengeance, not caring if he lived or died. Only the arrival of his cousin stopped Kid from calling out a man he recognized from the devastation in Kansas. Instead, Kid spent the evening showing Heyes his fast draw.
"If you promise not to cause any trouble, especially not frighten my children by tellin' them you've come here to kill me, you could to come to supper with us."
It was hard for Kid to tell who looked more shocked by Kid's invitation, Danielson or Heyes.
"Thaddeus! What do you think you're doing?" demanded Heyes.
"A man's gotta eat Joshua," reminded Kid. His blue eyes regarded Danielson. "Maybe after supper you can explain to me why you think we need to settle things with a shootout."
The youth flushed. Danielson huffed and looked flustered.
"There's a lot to live up to when you're the son of Kid Curry."
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A/N2: Per balloon hq dot com, FAQ/history: As early as 1889, balloons could be bought by people in the United States. Montgomery Ward had them in their catalog that year. The catalog listed them as "…red rubber balloons with trumpet ends." The price was four cents each or forty cents a dozen. The balloons were not made in the United States, but were probably imported from Belgium.