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 3: Showdown

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"What?"

Heyes turned to meet Kid's blue eyes. The confusion Heyes felt was reflected in his partner's face. Kid shrugged and turned back to face the young would be vigilante.

"Kid Curry? I don't think you've got your facts straight," responded Kid. "That young fella runnin' with the Wild Bunch over in Johnson County isn't old enough to be your Pa."

"Not him!" Danielson flushed again. "The real one, Jedidiah "Kid" Curry! The fastest gun in the west!"

Kid rocked back on his heels and sucked in a deep breath before speaking.

"Who told you Danny Bilson was Kid Curry?" Kid's quiet voice asked. "That fast draw ain't been heard from in nearly twenty years."

"Everybody in Matherville said Danny Bilson was Kid Curry!"

"Everybody in Matherville was wrong."

Two stubborn men glared at each other. Behind Heyes, a door slammed. The strategist glanced over his shoulder at the sound. Clem stood outside of Jones' Mechanical Repair, glimpses of white petticoats flashed as she hurried towards them. Heyes turned back to Kid and Danielson.

"And where did you get the idea that Danny Bilson was your father?" Heyes' smooth voice broke up the staring impasse.

"After Ma's funeral, Otis helped me pack up," Danielson's face scrunched up. "I found the pistol wrapped up in an old wanted poster in the barn. Otis told me my Pa was an outlaw and got himself killed in Matherville."

"And you believed that?"

"Otis's story seemed to make sense," sighed the youth. "Leastways more sense than what Ma told me about Pa disappearing in the desert right before I was born and no one knows what happened to him."

Heyes met Kid's gaze. They both knew it was easy to lose someone in the desert. Years ago, they had tried to take the sheriff back to Seth's body when they stumbled back into Stockton, dehydrated and malnourished. They managed to locate Seth's claim again, but had not been able to retrace their meandering trail and find the small cairn they'd built for their friend's remains.

"Danny Bilson was a good shot, a good poker player, and knew how to work a mine claim," stated Heyes. "The only other thing we know about him is that he took off with twenty thousand dollars in gold, all the food, water and horses, leaving a nice old man named Seth, Thaddeus, and myself stranded in the desert to die."

Danielson's eyes grew larger as he listened to Heyes' story.

"We made it, Seth didn't," added Kid. "And that's why we tracked Danny to Matherville. We couldn't prove anything to the law, so we made ready to leave and that's when Danny called me out."

"Personally, I think I'd stick with the name William Danielson Junior," advised Heyes.

As Clem neared Heyes he ran a hand through his dark hair, strands of gray showed above his temples. He flashed a dimpled smile at his wife. Clem's worried eyes darted between the youth and the weapon now tucked under Heyes's arm.

"What was Uriah doing waving around that huge rifle?"

"Clem, you know Uriah likes to show off his buffalo rifle," soothed Kid.

"It looked like this boy was gonna draw on you!" Clem's sharp tone indicated her worry. Her hazel eyes drilled into the teen. "Were you?"

The teen gulped and looked from Heyes to Kid.

"You might want to introduce yourself to Mrs. Smith," suggested Kid.

"William Danielson Junior, Ma'am, at your service," Danielson replied with a polite nod.

"Do you always greet people by trying to draw on them?" demanded Clem. Without giving the boy a chance to answer, she asked, "Do we need to lock you up?"

"Clem we don't have a jail here," reminded Kid.

"I've got an old pair of handcuffs at home!" retorted Clem.

Kid's eyebrows went up. Heyes fixed his smile firmly on his face and tried not to look disconcerted by the puzzled look his cousin shot at him.

"I've invited young Danielson to supper, provided he remembers his manners," continued Kid. Sharp blue eyes narrowed at the teen. "Are you gonna behave?"

"My Ma taught me manners," retorted the youth.

"Good, I'll be watching you," warned Kid. "Let's go, I'm hungry."

The boy moved to walk alongside Kid. Clem set her jaw in a tight little frown, but didn't object. At the edge of the trail, Kid looked back over his shoulder. Sunlight slowly setting over the western ridge caressed him and made his hair glow dark gold.

"Are you two coming?" called Kid.

"Go on ahead Thaddeus," waved Heyes. "Clem and I will be up in a minute."

"Hmmph!" Beside him, Clem crossed her arms over her chest. "It looked like that boy was going to draw on Thaddeus!"

"He was," agreed Heyes.

Clem's hazel eyes widened as she turned to face him.

"And we're just gonna let him go up to have supper like he's part of the family?" protested Clem.

"Yep," nodded Heyes.

Heyes didn't exactly know what Kid had planned yet, but keeping one gangly teenager under control had to be easier than keeping order of an unruly gang of outlaws.

"Who is he?" demanded Clem. "And don't just say William Danielson Junior."

"He thinks he's the son of Kid Curry," smiled Heyes. "The real one, not that fella runnin' with the Wild Bunch."

"He doesn't look a thing like Kid."

"I know," agreed Heyes. "He looks just like Danny Bilson."

The tiny brunette inhaled sharply. Although the young children didn't know about Kid and Heyes' past yet, both Kid's wife and Clem knew the story of Seth, Bilson and Matherville.

"What are we gonna do with him?" worried Clem.

"If he tries anything again, I'll flatten him and you can get the handcuffs."

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"Were we ever that hard headed?" Kid demanded in exasperation.

"Yeah," smirked Heyes. "Probably worse."

Danielson had managed to get through supper without saying or doing anything to make Kid regret bringing the boy home. Now the boy was washing dishes, all of them. Clem was reading a story to the children surrounding her, while Kid's wife Mattie supervised putting the dishes away. The partners stood outside on the front porch, the moon and glowing embers of a cigar their only light.

"Nah, couldn't be," objected Kid. "He didn't believe me when I told him his gun needed cleaning!"

"What are you gonna do with him?"

"Watch over him," shrugged Kid. "I'll take him down to the shop tomorrow and show him proper maintenance of a Colt. Then maybe I'll show him what a fast draw looks like, he's gotta learn there will always be someone faster."

"That's it? Just watch him? He wanted to kill you," reminded Heyes.

"You can see it in his eyes, William ain't a murderer," Kid shook his head. "I can't see putting him in jail or a boy's home. That wouldn't do him any good."

"Might not do him any good, but I'd sleep better," retorted Heyes.

"His Ma just died and he never knew his Pa," reminded Kid. "He was lashing out at the world and Thaddeus Jones happened to be a convenient person to blame."

Heyes regarded his quiet cousin. The solid, comforting presence of the man at his side always seemed ready to take on anything. If Kid determined he needed to rehabilitate a wanna be fast draw, Heyes wouldn't bet against him.

"There's something else though," prodded Heyes. "What's worrying you?"

"Heyes, don't you think it's worrisome that I'm the nearest thing we got to a lawman in Thunder Ridge?

"No Kid," grinned Heyes. "That actually makes me feel really safe."

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1903 Milwaukee Mile

The tall sandy haired man nodded affably to the reporter. A blue ribbon attached to the front window of the sleek white roadster he leaned against declared the car from Wyoming to be the winner of this heat. Elegant green script painted along the side identified the race car's name "Lucky Draw."

"Sure, I'll answer questions," answered Danielson. "This fine automobile is owned and designed by Mr. Thaddeus Jones of Thunder Ridge Wyoming. He taught me everything I know about proper maintenance of fine machinery…"

The reporter interrupted with a different question.

"Me? Oh I go by William Jones, from Chicago now…"

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A/N2 As per Wikipedia, Milwaukee Mile: The first motorsports event was held on September 11, 1903. William Jones of Chicago won a five lap speed contest, and set the first track record with a 72-second, 50 mph (80 km/h) lap.