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 Man of Few Words
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"If you want, I can unsaddle the horses," suggested Kid. "We could rest here another day."
Heyes held on to the pommel for support. His head didn't ache nearly as much as it had when he first regained consciousness, but he still had the occasional dizzy spell. After three days camped here beside the river, it was time to go. They were low on supplies, and they were late to meet Lom. Their friend would probably be wondering where they were. And after all the work Kid did, packing up the camp and saddling the horses, Heyes wasn't going to ask his partner to put him back to bed. The dark haired man took a deep breath and mounted the horse in one fluid motion.
"No Thaddeus," Joshua settled in his seat. He flashed a smile at his concerned partner. "I'm really getting tired of listening to that cougar every night."
Kid's chuckle surprised Heyes. The blond mounted up and clicked the reins to start his chestnut in a slow walk, splashing into the water.
"The bounty hunters didn't like that cat screaming either."
"You ever gonna tell me how you convinced those bounty hunters to leave?" prodded Heyes.
"Yep."
Kid's smirk left Heyes wondering what was so funny? Heyes nudged his horse forward into the creek. He kept his horse well away from the deep spot. Already, the bounty hunters sunken weapons were covered with a light layer of sand and silt. Another few days and they'd probably disappear entirely. Heyes rode up the bank and pulled back on the reins as his partner dismounted.
"What are you stopping for?" prodded Heyes. "I thought we were leaving, looking for a nice quiet hotel with soft beds."
Kid knelt in the gravel and picked up a small shiny object. He held up the tiny key for Heyes to see.
"Could have used this a few days ago."
"Is that the key to the shackles?"
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Sheriff Lom Trevors lifted his gaze from the wanted posters on his desk. Feet stomped and shuffled across the porch outside. A shadowed form blocked the window at the entrance. A moment later, the door to the sheriff's office swung open.
"Quit gawking Jubal and get inside," ordered the gruff man at the entryway.
A tall, gangly youth, all arms and legs entered first. Jubal stared wide eyed in awe at the inner recesses of the jail. Quick eyes darted from the lawman at his desk, to the empty cells, to the gun rack. The young man's face lit up and he made a beeline to the wanted posters pinned to the back wall.
"You too Baxter!"
"But…"
The protest died at the glare from the man holding the door. A second man hobbled inside. His legs were shackled, the chains clanking against the wooden floor. The one called Baxter moved past Jubal to stand between the wanted posters and the solid wooden side door leading to the alley. The older man pulled the front door shut. He came straight to Lom's desk and leaned in close. The sheriff's nose wrinkled involuntarily at the odor emanating from the disheveled man.
"Name's Leroy Hopkins, bounty hunter," informed the grizzled man. "Sheriff, we had a run in with a couple of outlaws…"
"Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes!" Jubal turned, grinning in excitement. He took an eager step forward, explaining as if Lom didn't know who Curry and Heyes might be. "The two most successful outlaws in the west!"
Trevors let an amused smile spread across his face. He leaned back. His chair balanced on two legs, the lawman appeared totally relaxed. Lom's sharp eyes observed the bounty hunter glance sternly at Jubal. The short man waved the younger man back. With a crestfallen look, Jubal turned back to the wanted posters.
"Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes?" the dark haired lawman chuckled. "Hmmph, you don't say."
"I do say," insisted Hopkins.
"No one's seen those two around these parts in years… since about… oh… seventy-nine, maybe eighteen eighty," countered the lawman.
Trevors kept his voice light, conveying a tone of disbelief. For good measure, he widened his smile at the bounty hunter. All the while he wondered what kind of trouble Kid and Heyes had gotten into now.
"We caught 'em three days ago."
"You caught them?" Trevors straightened up in concern. All four chair legs thumped on the floor. "Three days ago?"
Trevors pulled his six foot frame up to a stand. He glared at the three bounty hunters. Hopkins stood his ground. The one he'd called Baxter backed up another step, thumping against the wall. The oblivious youth traced his finger over the lettering on one of the wanted posters, mouthing the words as he read them.
"If you captured two men, then where are your prisoners?" Trevors leaned down over his desk, his face mere inches from the shorter Hopkins. "What did you do with them?"
"They got away," groused Hopkins. He jerked his thumb back in the general direction of the shackled man. "Locked up Baxter in them shackles and kept the key."
"That's not right," objected the lanky young man. He peeled back another wanted poster. "You said yourself you thought the key was lost."
"Be quiet Jubal," ordered Hopkins.
Trevors tried to settle the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was certain Hopkins wasn't telling him everything. And Baxter… there was something tugging at Lom's memory, but he just couldn't pinpoint it. It didn't help matters that he hadn't got a real good look at the dirty, trail worn man. The shackled bounty hunter was surely trying to stay out of his sight. Hopkins leaned in closer to Lom. He jerked his thumb to indicate Baxter again.
"We couldn't ride long and hard with him being like that," explained Hopkins. "Stopped first at Wildwood, but it's a ghost town now."
"I hope you're not thinking I'm gonna round up a posse to go after them," growled Lom. "After three days, those men, whoever they were, could be anywhere."
"No, of course not," nodded Hopkins. His lips spread wide in an obsequious smile, one shoulder lowered. "It's just… we tried everything to get those shackles open."
Lom glanced over at the shackled man, noticing for the first time the dented, battered padlock. It looked like someone had pounded a rock on it in an attempt to break it open.
"I was wondering, does Porterville have a locksmith in town?" continued Hopkins. "Or would you recommend a blacksmith? We need to get Baxter outta those things."
Lom started to answer, but the young man stopped thumbing through the wanted posters. His head tilted to one side as he read the words.
"Hey Baxter, there is a fella here that looks sorta like you!" Jubal exclaimed, his voice pitched higher, his words coming out so fast it was hard to understand what he was saying at first. "Only his name is Rufus Baker and he don't have a mustache."
Jubal turned to look at the Hopkins. His voice slowed as he sounded out the syllables of the unfamiliar word.
"What does fel…o… ni… ous assault mean?"
"Shut up boy, or you're gonna find out!" threatened Baxter.
The shackled man threw his arm across the youth's throat. The tiny knife in his hand gleamed against Jubal's bare skin. Lom glared at the desperate man. Hopkins gaped, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly. Baxter shuffled back further into the corridor alongside the cells, dragging Jubal with him. He stopped in front of the side door to the alley.
"Sheriff, you've gotta have something to undo these shackles," hissed Baxter. "Toss your keys over here."
Lom didn't want to do anything to jeopardize Jubal's life. The sheriff raised one hand and pointed at the desk drawer. Moving slowly, he opened the drawer and lifted up a heavy iron key ring. The keys to the cell locks were obviously too big for the tiny dented padlock on the shackles
"These keys?"
Baxter let out a groan of frustration. He leaned back against the wooden door, pulling Jubal off balance. At that moment, the rear door swung open. A flash of white hair was the only glimpse of Deputy Harker Wilkins that Lom saw before all three men tumbled backwards out the opening into the alley. Lom pulled his pistol and hurried after them. Hopkins followed close behind.
"What's going on here?" protested Wilkins.
The normally easy going deputy was the first to get up. His broad hands brushed dirt off his pants as he grumbled about 'people in a danged hurry'. Hopkins pushed past Trevors. The bounty hunter moved quickly to help Jubal up off the ground. Baxter sprawled in the dusty alley, groaning, one hand pressed against his ear. A tiny trickle of blood seeped between his fingers. The knife blade quivered upright, pierced into the ground.
"Good job Wilkins," praised Trevors. "You've stopped an escape attempt."
The deputy looked up in surprise. He stopped brushing off his pants and grumbling.
"I did?"
The sheriff pulled his pistol and leveled it at Hopkins. The aging bounty hunter raised his hands slowly.
"We wasn't trying to escape," protested the man. His bushy eyes rose to disappear beneath his hairline. "I mean… Baxter mighta been, but me and Jubal…"
The bounty hunters words slowed to a stop beneath the lawman's stern gaze. Lom's eyes moved from Hopkins to the wide eyed young man. The youth raised his shaky hands too. Baxter remained unaware of the new threat.
"You're all under arrest."
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"I sent Lom a telegram, let him know we'd be late."
Brown eyes slowly blinked open. Heyes grinned at his partner as he leaned back in the rocker once more. He had very nearly fallen asleep on the hotel's sunny front porch.
"You up to going to the diner for some supper?" continued Kid.
Heyes nodded. The weary man rose to stand beside his partner. He drew his brown jacket closer to his chest against the nippy spring air.
"Sure, as long as supper isn't fish."
The curly blond head tilted to one side. Kid regarded him quizzically.
"Thought you said you liked the fish I cooked."
"I did Thaddeus. Once, but not for three days in a row," grinned Heyes. "Let's get some supper."
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"Sheriff, you gotta believe me," pleaded Hopkins. "Me and the boy, we ain't partners with him."
"You're riding with a wanted man," growled Trevors. "I don't got to believe anything you say."
Hopkins clutched at Lom's sleeve. Lom shook off the man's grasp.
"I just let Baxter join up with us in Denver," continued Hopkins. "I thought we might be safer with an extra gunman."
Lom pulled open the door to the cell nearest the sheriff's desk. The sheriff motioned for Hopkins and his nephew to enter. Baker, or Baxter, fussed and fidgeted in the last cell. The injured man held a cloth against his torn ear. Wilkins had gone for the doctor.
"Inside now," ordered Lom.
Jubal went first, dragging his feet. The wide eyes taking in the view from the inside of the bars didn't seem to be so excited now. Hopkins followed, but the older man stopped half in and out of the cell.
"Telegraph Albuquerque, Edna Banks," entreated Hopkins. "She'll tell you, I'm training Jubal to be a bounty hunter. We're law abiding folks! Really, we are!"
Lom noted the surprised expression on Jubal's face.
"Is that right?" demanded the sheriff. "You training to be a bounty hunter?"
The gangly young man shook his head in disagreement.
"Ain't never been out of New Mexico before. I came because I wanted to see Wyoming," blurted out Jubal. "Momma said I could go along with Uncle Leroy if I kept him outta trouble."
The young man looked at Hopkins.
"Momma ain't gonna be happy about this," added Jubal shaking his head again. "Nope, not at all."
Trevors put his hand against Hopkins shoulder and firmly shoved the man back into the cell. The lawman pulled the barred door shut, turned the key, locking the cell on Hopkins and Jubal with a clank.
"Telegraph office is closed now," stated Trevors. "You fellas are gonna spend the night here. Tomorrow morning, I'll telegraph Edna Banks in Albuquerque when I send the Denver law a notice about Baker."
"It's Baxter," insisted the ruffian in the last cell. "You've got the wrong…"
"Shut up!" three voices hollered.
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Heyes watched his younger cousin with a fond expression. Kid reached for another biscuit. He split the small round bread in two and began to wipe up the last remains of his fried eggs over easy from his plate.
"Reckon we should be going when you finish," suggested Heyes in a soft voice.
Kid's blue eyes looked up from his plate. The curly blond head nodded in agreement. Kid swallowed before answering Heyes.
"We can probably reach Porterville by tomorrow night."
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The door to the sheriff's office swung open again. Trevors pressed his lips together in a mocking smile. With all the people coming and going this morning, he probably should have left it open. The doctor had been back to check on Baxter's ear. Then Sam arrived with his tools. The blacksmith shook his head at the damaged padlock on the shackles and went to work. The first telegram response from Denver arrived a few minutes later. The second telegram arrived when Sam was leaving.
"Another telegram for you Sheriff Trevors," announced the tow headed boy. "Pa said to tell you he's sorry it arrived late. The operator over at Rooster Ridge sent it last night after we was closed, and then again just now."
"Tell him I said thank you," nodded the lawman.
Trevors accepted the missive, tipped the boy a nickel and unfolded the paper as the lad left. A slow smile spread across Lom's face as he read Kid's cryptic message. Trouble. Late. Jones. He set the paper on his desk beside the other two messages. Funny, he mused, Rooster Ridge was closer to Porterville than either Denver or Albuquerque. Yet that telegraph message was the last to arrive. Knowing the Kid and Heyes were safely on their way to Porterville made his next decision easier.
"Harker," called Lom.
The white haired deputy looked up from the stove. He held the coffee pot in one hand and a cup in the other. Lom picked up the telegram from Denver.
"Would you take this over to the bank?"
"Sure thing," agreed the deputy.
Wilkins set the coffee pot back on the heat, looked at the empty cup ruefully before he settled it on the shelf above the potbellied stove. The deputy ambled towards Lom.
"Make sure Miss Porter gets this message," added Lom. "And then it would be a good time to start rounds."
With a nod, Wilkins disappeared out the door. Lom turned to regard his prisoners. Jubal stretched out on the cot, looking like he was asleep. Hopkins sat on the end of his bed, elbows resting lightly on his knees, his head down. He hadn't said a word since last night. In the rear cell, Baker sat on his cot, one leg drawn up. He glared at everybody and everything.
"Hopkins, your sister telegraphed back," began Lom.
The dejected looking bounty hunter's head jerked up. Lom lifted the first telegram he'd received this morning up. In no uncertain terms, Edna Banks had told Sheriff Trevors that he better let Jubal and Leroy go. He hadn't yet received a telegram from the attorney she mentioned, but Lom was sure it would arrive before the day was out.
"She vouches for you and her son, gave a list of references too," informed Lom.
"You're gonna let us out?" Hopkins began to look hopeful.
Lom pursed his lips, his eyes narrowed. He set the telegram from Albuquerque back down on his desk.
"There is still the issue of you and your men waylaying innocent travelers."
"Innocent travelers?" spluttered Hopkins. He jumped up in outrage. "They weren't… they wasn't…"
The lawman glanced out the window. Outside, in the dusty Porterville street, he could see the determined Miss Porter striding towards the sheriff's office.
"Who were they?" prodded Trevors.
"Sheriff, Curry and Heyes, they're using aliases," confided Hopkins. He nodded for emphasis as if to convince Lom. "They're calling themselves Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones."
"Well that can't be," objected Lom. He swallowed a smile as the front door to the sheriff's office swung open again. Perfect timing, worthy of a Hannibal Heyes plan, he congratulated himself. "I've known Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones for several years now."
The slender dark haired woman stepped into the office clutching the telegram from Denver in one hand. Lom rose up from his chair to greet her. Miss Porter beamed a smile.
"Sheriff Trevors, did I hear you mention two of my favorite gentlemen?"
"You know them fellas?" blurted out Hopkins in confusion.
"Why yes," answered Caroline Porter, she tilted her head slightly to respond to Hopkins' question. "Joshua and Thaddeus are heroes around here! They saved the bank from some dastardly men! If they hadn't stopped those awful robbers we might not have a Porterville!"
Hopkins blanched at Miss Porter's gushing description of his former prisoners. The slim dark haired woman turned back to Trevors. She approached his desk and spread the Denver telegram on the surface alongside the Albuquerque telegram. She smoothed the paper flat with her hands.
"Sheriff, the bank has received the transfer of funds from the Denver Bank," smiled Miss Porter. "We are authorized to pay half of the reward money now. The Denver Bank will pay the remainder upon receipt of the prisoner Rufus Baker."
Lom ignored the grumbling coming from the back cell. His eyes watched Hopkins.
"Reward?" the bounty hunter's eyes gleamed. "For Baxter?"
Miss Porter looked suspiciously back over her shoulder.
"For Baker," clarified the bank woman. She turned back to Lom and hissed in a too loud voice, "Who is that man?"
"Bounty hunter."
"Me and Jubal caught Baxter!" Hopkins declared. Then greedily, he asked, "How much is the reward?"
Jubal stirred as his name was mentioned, but didn't wake. Miss Porter leaned away from the cell, her eyes narrowed.
"Who are you? And why are you in jail?"
Hopkins looked desperately at Lom. The sheriff answered Miss Porter's question.
"A slight case of mistaken identity," Lom tapped his fingers on the telegram from Albuquerque. "But I think we've got that all cleared up now."
"You gonna let us out?" Hopkins eyes lit up with hope.
Lom didn't answer the bounty hunter. Instead he directed his next comment to Miss Porter.
"Half of the three hundred dollar reward is one hundred and fifty dollars," stated Lom. "Is there an allowance for expenses?"
Miss Porter straightened up with a frown.
"One hundred and fifty dollars is the total that the bank is authorized to pay," sniffed Miss Porter. "There was no mention made of expenses."
Lom nodded. It was what he had expected, he just wanted Hopkins to hear Miss Porter say it.
"Meals and telegraph expenses add up to three dollars and forty-five cents," Lom stated. He turned to Hopkins. "As leader of the bounty hunters, I reckon that ought to come out of your share of the reward."
"Yeah, okay," agreed Hopkins.
Lom turned back to Miss Porter.
"Split three ways that would be…"
"What do you mean split three ways?" protested Hopkins.
Lom smiled. He held up his fingers as he ticked off the names.
"One hundred dollars for Harker Wilkins, forty-six dollars and fifty-five cents to be paid to Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Banks here," explained Lom. "The remainder to be paid in Denver."
"That ain't right!" objected Hopkins. "Me and Jubal…"
"Harker Wilkins stopped the escape attempt," interrupted Lom. "Since you brought the prisoner here, I thought you ought to get something for your efforts."
Hopkins gulped. For a moment he just stared.
"Of course you and Mr. Banks will need to get Baker to Denver," added Lom. "Train would be the fastest."
Hopkins leaned forward, his hands grasped the cell bars.
"How much are train tickets?"
"Forty dollars ought to cover three tickets," answered Lom. "You probably want to sell your horses and gear. It would cost extra to ship horses and tack."
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Two hours later, Lom stood by Hopkins. The last of the passengers boarded the train to Denver. Jubal already sat inside, on the aisle seat blocking Baxter from anyone.
"You getting on?" urged the sheriff.
"Yeah," nodded Hopkins. "Me and Jubal will get Baxter to Denver. Then we're gonna head home."
"If you need any help…"
Against his better judgement, Lom started to offer his assistance, but Hopkins shook his head.
"Nah, we can handle the likes of him," replied Hopkins. One bushy eyebrow went up inquisitively. "Even though we couldn't handle Smith and Jones."
Lom didn't say anything.
"If that's who they really were," prodded Hopkins.
Lom stared back at the bounty hunter. By now, the lawman had heard pretty much everything that had happened since the bounty hunters first came upon Smith and Jones' camp, including the details of the escape.
"There are lots of good folk in this town who know Thaddeus and Joshua," stated Trevors carefully. Then he added a question of his own. "Do you really think your nephew is fast enough to get a shot off at Kid Curry?"
Trevors noted Hopkins eyes widen at the implications.
"Would hate for a young man to get a dangerous reputation like that," added Trevors.
The grizzled man shook his head firmly.
"Don't you go starting any rumors like that," insisted Hopkins. "That boy ain't but twenty years old! He don't need that kind of trouble."
"Reckon Jedidiah Curry needed that kind of trouble?" prodded Lom. "He must have been twenty once."
The lawman and the bounty hunter stared at each other.
"Don't reckon anyone needs that kind of trouble," agreed Hopkins grudgingly.
The train whistle blew, sharp and shrill. The conductor stepped on the stairs to the last car.
"Last call! Last call!" shouted the conductor. "All aboard."
The train started to slowly pull away. Two men reached an understanding. Hopkins gave a short, sharp nod.
"You know, I always heard Heyes was the tricky one," he chuckled and stepped onto the train car. "It's a dang good thing we didn't find Curry and Heyes."
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Two trail weary men rode into Porterville late the next day, just as the sun was sinking in orange gold glory to the west. They stopped at the sheriff's office first.
"Thaddeus, Joshua," greeted Lom as they entered.
The blond nodded a greeting, but the dark haired man swept off his hat and smiled broadly.
"Hey Lom," the talkative man began. "Sorry we're late. You know, I really should let Thaddeus tell you about it, but there were these bounty hunters…"
Kid's lips curled up in a wry smile.
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