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 Smith and Jones story verse as previous stories.
By George! c Dec1875
Chapter 5: The Damsel of Distress
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"Let go of my arm," hissed George as Remy pulled her up the stairs.
"Or what?" challenged Remy in a mocking tone. "You'll scream?"
At the top of the stairs, Remy jerked her arm hard. George felt the fragile fabric of her sleeve rip from its seam as he dragged her down the corridor past the door to the big front room recently occupied by Kid and Heyes.
"Go ahead," sneered Remy. "Folks downstairs won't hear you. And most of these rooms are empty. The drummer at the end of the hall is practically deaf and the brown haired man in the front checked out earlier."
"What about his partner?" snapped George.
Her chest heaved with anger for this man she had once loved. They stopped in front of the door to George's room. The door she had shut and locked before going down to dinner was ajar. Splintered wood kept the latchpin from connecting with the strike plate.
"Don't try any of your scams on me," smirked Remy. "There ain't no other fella."
Remy pushed the door hard. It swung wide against the wall with a soft thud. He shoved George forward into the darkened room. Her foot connected with her empty carpet bag sending it skidding across the floor. She realized that Remy's search had left her belongings scattered haphazardly across the floor. George's arms flailed as she tried to regain her balance. The next thing she stepped on grunted.
"Unh!"
In the darkness, strong arms caught her and pulled her close. Before George could scream in earnest, another shadowed figure stepped forward.
"Kid!"
Silhouetted in the light spilling into the room from the corridor, Kid blocked with his left arm and drew back his right arm. His clenched fist crunched into Remy's jaw. The jewel thief slithered down the wall to land in a crumpled heap. The arms holding George released her. A match was struck. Light filled the room as Heyes lit the oil lamp on the nightstand.
"I shoulda flattened him when I first met him in Amarillo," huffed Kid with an angry frown at the downed man.
"Yeah, you shoulda," panted George in agreement.
The slim brunette sank down on the edge of the bed behind her, breathing hard. Kid tilted his head sideways and looked at her curiously.
"You asked me not to," reminded Kid.
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Heyes strode past George and Kid. The dark haired outlaw gingerly stepped over Remy to push the door flush with the frame. George looked from Kid to Heyes and gave them both a shaky smile.
"Not that I'm unhappy to see you both, but what are you two doing here?" asked George. "You're supposed to be long gone!"
Kid reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small square of folded paper. He held it out towards George.
"I forgot to give you Clem's address," answered Kid. "Couldn't leave ya not knowing how to get in touch with her."
Heyes squatted down. With a frown, he slid Remy's derringer away from the man before he began to examine Remy's crumpled figure. Kid shook out his fingers. His knuckles were already starting to redden.
"Aw Kid, did you have to hit him so hard?" complained Heyes. "He's out cold."
"You're worried about him?" glared Kid. "What about George? What about me?"
Staring at Remy as Heyes turned the jewel thief's head from one side to the other, George noticed a large goose egg at the base of his skull. It was nowhere near the reddened jaw or the side of Remy's head that connected with the wall. She gasped in realization.
"Remy is the one who tried to capture Kid," declared George indignantly.
"Hmmph, whaddya know," muttered Kid with another scowl for the man on the floor. "We can't let him go, he'll cause nothing but trouble for George. Heyes, what are we gonna do with him?"
Heyes looked up, a sparkle in his dark brown eyes. The grin on his face brought forth an answering grin from George and a wary look from Kid.
"This is an opportunity," grinned Heyes. "Remy is gonna help us solve the problem of the folks that robbed the Casper payroll."
"Huh?"
"What do you mean?" asked George.
"George, you're the woman who turned in a fortune in stolen jewels," stated Heyes, "but if you turn in Remy by himself, it will just be your word against his. He'll most likely implicate you to get his own sentence reduced."
George blanched. She hadn't thought of that.
"He might," nodded George.
With a gesture first towards Remy and then to Kid, Heyes continued.
"But if you turn in Remy and Kid Curry…"
"What?" interrupted Kid.
"You want me to turn in Kid?" repeated George in a surprised tone. She started shaking her head back and forth. "No, I can't do it. I won't do it."
Heyes came to the side of the bed and knelt before her.
"Sure you can," coaxed the scheming mastermind. "Kid can help you with Remy, and you can help us convince folks we were nowhere near that shoot out in Casper."
George lifted her trembling chin upwards to gaze directly into Heyes' eyes. Behind him Kid stood frowning, but he was listening too.
"What do you mean?" asked George softly.
"Think of the publicity," reminded Heyes. "Kid Curry being arrested and Hannibal Heyes breaking him outta jail ought to make the papers. Folks in Casper will know it couldn't have been us robbing them if we're in Colorado."
"How?"
"We'll have to work fast," started Heyes. He glanced around the room and spied the flowered pitcher beside the wash basin. "That oughta do."
Heyes stood up and headed to the door, muttering to himself.
"I'll get Remy's rope, and your brown leather coat Kid…"
"Do for what?" demanded George. The slim woman stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "What is it you want me to do?"
Heyes stopped. He turned and eyed her quizzically.
"You're not gonna get squeamish on me now, are you George?" asked Heyes.
George shook her head in response.
"Good," answered Heyes. "All I want you to do is break the pitcher over Remy's head and scream."
"I can do that, but the wash basin might be better," declared George with a scowl at Remy. "It's bigger."
"No, the pitcher is big enough," declined Heyes with a devious smile. "No need to overdo it."
"Heyes," growled Kid, "what's the rope for?"
The tactician flashed a bright grin at his partner before disappearing down the back stairs.
"That's to tie you up."
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"It's my turn to break you outta jail," declared Kid. "Let's have George turn you in."
"Nope," responded Heyes cheerfully, shaking his head so hard that his long dark hair flew back and forth. "Too many people in Poncha Springs know me as Willard Rembacker."
"Who?" demanded Kid.
"Aside from the folks in the hotel," answered Heyes, "there were the folks at the stable, the telegraph operator, the clerk over at the mercantile…"
"People have seen me too," interrupted Kid.
"Kid," objected Heyes, "when you arrived, people saw a man in a wet sheepskin coat and a brown hat hunched over and coughing. You were so wet and muddy I doubt even the doc would recognize you now."
"Heyes is right," agreed George. "I wasn't quite sure it was you and I know what you look like."
Kid directed a baleful glance toward her. George smiled at him. Heyes held the brown leather coat towards his partner.
"Did you see anyone besides the stable boy when you left?" asked Heyes.
"Didn't even see him," grumbled Kid. He reached to take his coat from Heyes. "He was mucking out the end stall and just hollered at me to leave the money in the bucket by his chair."
"And the bounty hunters have already left," stated Heyes. Going over the details of his plan once more, he added, "I'll have you outta jail before they can possibly get back..."
"Bertha," interrupted George, her eyes widening. "She saw Kid a couple times yesterday."
"The nice lady that brought breakfast Christmas morning," remembered Kid. The blond smirked at his partner. "See Heyes, I told you getting me arrested along with Remy wasn't gonna work."
"We can't have anyone identifying Kid as Henry Owens," sighed Heyes with a frown.
George turned a critical eye upon her young friend. While he was not the sixteen year old she had first met, Kid still looked younger than his years, not twenty-two as he now claimed. The brunette placed a finger against her lips and tapped thoughtfully.
"It still might work," countered George. "Bertha saw a sleepy eyed teenager with a little peach fuzz on his face, a blue shirt and enough money to pay for breakfast."
"Huh?"
"Heyes, get your black shirt and a razor," answered George. "If Bertha sees Kid we're gonna make sure she sees a dangerous shootist."
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"I don't see how a different color shirt is gonna change anything," grumbled Kid.
"Let's just see," soothed Heyes.
Kid rolled his eyes, but took off the sheepskin coat he had donned over his white long johns earlier. Taking the black shirt from Heyes' grasp, Kid pulled it on, followed by the trim fitting brown leather coat. Heyes stood back regarding the transformation. George smiled in satisfaction. With the big bulky sheepskin gone, Kid looked leaner than the water soaked arrival Christmas Eve.
"You know, George, I think you're right," stated Heyes. "Kid, the black shirt makes you look paler and a little older."
George stepped right up to Kid. He no longer looked like a youth in need of a shave. She patted the side of his freshly shaven face. Remembering his interaction with Bertha, George had one more piece of advice.
"Whatever you do, don't smile, people remember your smile," smirked George. "Frown, and think mean thoughts. You look scary that way."
Heyes approached carrying Remy's rope. Behind him, the flattened man groaned. Kid frowned first at the rope, then in Remy's direction.
"Frowning shouldn't be too hard," grumbled Kid.
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George surveyed the room. Her belongings had been hastily shoved back into dresser drawers. A book open on the nightstand made it look as if she had been reading. Kid sat on the floor, slumped against the wall, trussed up like a black and brown package. Heyes held out the flowered pitcher towards her with a smile.
"After I leave, count to one hundred slowly," reminded Heyes.
"You're leaving already?" replied George in dismay.
"I've got to get the horses out of here," explained Heyes.
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Then I'll have to break both you and Kid out of jail," answered Heyes with a smirk.
The strategist turned, walked over to Kid and squatted beside his partner. Kid's hands were tied behind him. Thicker rope coiled around his chest, pinning his arms. Another rope, similar to the one around his wrists, led from Kid's waist towards Remy' outstretched hand.
"Kid, it's just one night," coaxed Heyes. "One more night in a warm bed."
"The bed is in the jail," reminded Kid looking at his partner as if Heyes had forgotten that essential detail.
"You can stand one night in a jail, can't you?" wheedled Heyes. "One more night under a warm roof?"
"It's a jail roof."
"Sleeping in a nice warm jail cell has got to be better than sleeping under a pine with snow all around."
"One night ain't so bad, but the law always wants to make it longer," grumbled Kid.
"It won't be longer," promised Heyes. "I'll break you out tomorrow."
George listened to the partners talk with the dawning realization that Heyes was giving Kid one last opportunity to put a halt to this crazy scheme. Heyes gave the room one more cursory glance. The dark haired mastermind frowned as he looked back at Kid.
"Nobody's gonna believe Remy caught Kid Curry, tied him up and managed to get him into town without a fight," murmured Heyes.
"Isn't it a little late for you to just now think of that?" snapped Kid.
"It's always the little details that make or break a scam," replied Heyes. He pursed his lips. "But we can fix this."
"How…?"
Heyes' fist connected with Kid's jaw. The blond's head snapped back.
"Unh!"
Kid's mouth dropped open. For a moment, the younger man didn't move. Then the blond wiggled his jaw back and forth. Blue eyes winced. Kid's tongue darted out and ran around his teeth. It wasn't until Kid closed his mouth that Heyes reached out and gingerly turned his partners face to the side. Brown eyes winced at the purplish bruise already forming.
"That wasn't too hard," assessed Heyes, his voice sounding a little uncertain.
"Heyes," hissed George in outrage. "What did you do that for?"
"Kid Curry wouldn't be taken without a fight," answered Heyes. "A bruise is what a lawyer might call supporting evidence."
"Really…" huffed George, but Heyes wasn't done talking.
"Some posse members, even some lawman, feel like they need to personally punish prisoners," added Heyes, "but they tend to take it easier on someone that's already been beat up."
"Sheriff Tate wouldn't...," huffed George.
"Sometimes," concluded Heyes still looking at his partner.
George doubted Heyes had even heard her words. The brunette swallowed. For the first time she realized the danger her friends were getting into. She had only met the lawman once. Tate seemed like a decent person, but so had Remy when she first met him. By the doorway, the jewel thief stirred. Kid's gaze moved beyond his partner.
"Kid?" asked Heyes. "Are you alright?"
"Oooh," moaned Remy.
"Heyes, get outta here," ordered Kid.
George followed Heyes to the doorway and watched as the dark haired outlaw disappeared down the back stairs. Just inside the room, Remy stirred again.
"Wha… what happened?" questioned Remy as he struggled to sit up. He blinked his dark eyes at George, trying to focus. "Did you hit me?"
"Not yet," replied George as she raised the pitcher high overhead.
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"Bertha," wailed George. "Thank you for bringing the sheriff! I've never been so frightened before! I didn't even know I could scream that loud."
The brunette grabbed the stout older woman and clutched Bertha to her chest as if the woman was a life preserver. Two advantages were immediately obtained. George and her quaking knees had someone to lean on. And Bertha couldn't see into George's room.
"'s all right," murmured the woman's muffled voice. She patted George clumsily on her shoulder blades in an attempt to soothe George. "Ever'thing's gonna be jus' fine."
From her vantage point in the hallway, George's dark eyes scanned the crowded room. The drummer from the end of the corridor, timid Mr. Newton, had been the first to arrive at her sound of alarm. Newton tripped over Remy, and landed on the floor next to Kid amid broken bits of porcelain. Mr. Johnson, and his shotgun, arrived next. No one argued with his demand, don't anybody move until the sheriff gets here! Sheriff Tate arrived just minutes ago followed by a huffing and puffing Bertha.
"Tea, you need tea," Bertha's voice continued. The older woman struggled free of George's grasp and stepped back. "I'll go make you a fresh pot."
"I'll see you in the kitchen," called George to the kindly woman's retreating back. "I'm too frightened to go back in that room again."
Bertha disappeared down the stairs. George turned back to assess the activity in her room. She leaned against the doorframe. Mr. Johnson still held the barrel of his shotgun mere inches from Remy's nose. The jewel thief leaned against the chifforobe. Sheriff Tate helped Newton up off the floor. The lawman looked at the ropes binding Kid in confusion before he knelt and hauled Kid up to a standing position beside the drummer.
"What in tarnation happened here?" demanded Tate.
Remy stared wide eyed at Johnson's weapon. Kid remained close mouthed too. The drummer looked nervously past the cluster of men, finally settling his gaze on George. The brunette nodded, but Newton remained silent. George closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Mr. Newton," quavered George as she fluttered her hand before her throat, "came to my aid..."
Encouraged, the drummer picked up the tale.
"Mrs. Sinclair sc… sc… screamed," stuttered Newton.
The bald man gulped and stopped speaking.
"And," prodded the sheriff. "What next?"
"I came running and tripped over this man," Newton pointed to Remy, then to Kid. "Then I rolled past the chifforobe and nearly fell on top of this fella here."
"Did you tie this fella up?" asked Tate gesturing towards Kid.
"No," answered Newton sounding surprised at the idea. "He was already tied up."
"There hasn't been time to tie anyone up, not like that anyway," corroborated Johnson. The hotelier glowered at Remy and Kid. "Breaking into rooms, scaring paying customers, this kinda behavior is bad for business."
If anything, Sheriff Tate looked more confused. The lawman ran his gaze over Kid, the ropes binding him, and the lead rope trailing on the floor. Sheriff Tate's jaw clenched as he stared at that last rope. He looked up to meet Kid's blue eyed gaze.
"What were you doing on the floor?"
"It's sort of hard walking all tied up like this," replied Kid with a shrug. "Even harder if someone yanks that lasso."
Tate frowned at Kid's response. His eyes narrowed as he looked from Kid to Remy and back again.
"Why are you tied up son?" asked Sheriff Tate.
"That man bushwhacked me several days ago," answered Kid with a nod towards Remy.
"Did he now?" asked Tate turning to look askance at Remy.
Remy's eyes widened. He turned his gaze from Johnson's shotgun to face the new threat.
"No! That's not what happened! Don't believe him!" exclaimed Remy. "He's Kid Curry!"
George inhaled sharply. Mixed emotions churned her stomach. While she was relieved that Remy had identified Kid, sparing her the unpalatable task, she worried what would happen now to her friend.
"Kid Curry?" repeated Johnson, eyes widening. "The outlaw?"
Kid neither confirmed nor denied his identity, but directed a menacing scowl at Remy.
"I caught him," continued Remy, "but then he got away.
Kid rolled his eyes and looked at the Sheriff.
"Right, I got away," agreed Kid with a sarcastic tone. "That's why I'm still tied up. I came to Poncha Springs 'cause I like jail cells."
Johnson's snort of laughter was followed by a sharp glare from Tate. The lawman looked past Remy and Johnson to George.
"Mrs. Sinclair," asked the lawman in a gentle tone, "I understand you've had quite a fright. Do you know either of these men?"
George's chin quivered. She clutched her arms to herself and nodded.
"Would you tell me who they are?" asked the Sheriff.
George pointed a shaky finger at Remy.
"I know him. He's the man I told you about earlier," answered George. She tried to control her shaky voice. "He calls himself Remy De Moines. He broke the door... he had a gun... he demanded the jewelry box."
"She's lying," seethed Remy.
"That ain't no way to talk about a lady!"
Kid's sharp tone cut through the room. Beside Kid, Newton jumped a little. The timid man sidled further away from the bound man.
"Can I go back to my room?" questioned Newton.
Sheriff Tate frowned at Remy and didn't answer Newton, there was a more pressing concern.
"Where's the gun?"
Johnson prodded Remy with his rifle.
"I don't have a gun!" answered Remy as he raised empty hands upwards. "I told you she's lying."
"He dropped it when he fell," informed Kid with a scowl for Remy. "His sneaky little palm pistol is under the bed."
"Newton," directed Tate, "look under there for me."
The nervous drummer knelt down and lifted the edge of the bedspread. A frightened squeak signified he found the weapon. With two fingers, Newton lifted the derringer and stood up. He held the weapon out towards the sheriff.
"Can I go now?" wailed Newton as Tate took the gun.
A nod from the sheriff and Newton pushed past Johnson and Remy. The drummer stopped briefly at the door while George stepped back, then he dashed back to his room. George turned to see the sheriff examining the tiny pistol. He looked up at Kid.
"How did you know where the gun was?" asked Tate.
"I pay attention to guns, especially guns that are pointed at people," answered Kid.
"It's not my gun," lied Remy. "He's the gunnie, not me."
Both Kid and the sheriff glared at the scoundrel. Johnson prodded Remy once more.
"He's tied up and he ain't even wearing a holster," objected Johnson.
"Everyone knows when I have a gun, I wear it in plain sight," declared Kid. "I think you'll find my holster rolled up and tied down on his horse out back."
"Well maybe it's her gun then," suggested Remy sounding slightly desperate. "I told you she's a liar!"
"Of the two of you," snapped Tate, "I'm more inclined to believe Mrs. Sinclair."
"Why?" squawked Remy indignantly.
"Based on the evidence. It looks as if you came to town planning to turn this man in for the reward on Kid Curry," answered Tate, "but when you arrived and saw Mrs. Sinclair, you changed your plans."
"Evidence?" objected Remy. "You don't have any evidence."
The sheriff narrowed his eyes.
"The door is broken. Someone tore Mrs. Sinclair's sleeve and bruised her arm," glared Tate. Pointing at Kid, he continued. "It wasn't this man, his hands are tied, and from the white tips of his fingers, I'd say they've been tied a long while."
George tried to tuck the edges of her torn sleeve back under the shoulder of her dress as she listened.
"Mrs. Sinclair?" asked Remy as if the name was just now registering. He shook his head. "She isn't a missus anybody. You can't believe her!"
The sheriff looked at George in puzzlement.
"And he is Kid Curry," insisted Remy sounding slightly desperate. "She knows him! They are in this together!"
"In what?" demanded the Sheriff.
"In… in… in…," stammered Remy not quite sure how to answer.
Tate directed his next question at George.
"Now Mrs. Sinclair, or is it Miss Sinclair," asked Sheriff Tate, "do you know this other fella?"
"I'm not sure," hesitated George. She swallowed. "Years ago, I knew a sweet boy named Jedidiah but it… it… it couldn't…"
"Miz Sinclair," interrupted Kid with a polite nod of his head. "It is a real pleasure to see you again, I just wish it were under better circumstances."
George drew a shaky breath and clasped her hand against her throat. Kid's identification of her was vague, it could have been missus or miss, but Sheriff Tate was no longer concerned with her.
"Are you really Kid Curry?" asked Tate.
"Jedidiah Curry," corrected Kid.
"Shame, I guess that means I can't arrest him for kidnapping," responded Tate with a shake of his head. "I'm gonna have to take you both into jail now."
"Both?" squawked Remy. "No! You've got no reason to arrest me! I haven't done anything!"
Withdrawing his pistol, Tate pointed the weapon at Remy.
"Breaking and entering, assault…"
"Don't forget property damage," chimed in Mr. Johnson with a scowl at the broken lock.
"And depending upon what kind of telegraph responses I get tomorrow," added Tate, "there may be a whole lot more charges."
The sheriff nudged Remy towards the door.
"Ed," asked the sheriff with a nod towards Mr. Johnson, "would you keep your gun on Mr. Curry here as we escort these men to the jail?"
The hotelier's face lit up with a huge grin.
"Hoo wee! Now ain't that something to tell folks, I held a gun on Kid Curry," exclaimed Johnson. He pointed his rifle at Kid and gestured for him to follow Tate and Remy. "Are you really as fast as they say?"
"Not with my hands tied behind my back."
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George quickly changed her clothing after the men departed and then grabbed her cloak to hurry to the jail. Sheriff Tate looked up in surprise as she entered.
"Miz Sinclair," greeted the lawman. "What are you doing here?"
The cell closest to the door held Remy. Sheriff Tate stood near the bars of the second cell. Kid stood inside with his back turned. It wasn't until the rope fell on the floor between the two men that George realized the sheriff was untying Kid. Her friend shook out both arms, swinging them wide to get the circulation going again.
"I thought you might need me to make another statement," dissembled George.
"That coulda waited until morning," answered the sheriff.
"You should be locking her up too!" snarled Remy. "She's the one had those jewels all these years!"
"I didn't know I had them," protested George.
"Don't you worry none Miz Sinclair," soothed Tate. "I'm not arresting you. Sheriff in Wichita already telegraphed that a confidence man was the prime suspect in the Poindexter theft."
"Really?" replied George with a glad smile.
"Now why don't you go back to the hotel," urged Tate. "You can give me your statement in the morning."
George looked around the room uncertainly. Kid stretched his arms wide, then rolled his shoulders. The tall blond strode over to the narrow cot.
"I'm aiming to get a good night's sleep," stated Kid.
George knew he'd said that for her benefit. She watched as he laid down and stretched out, crossing his booted ankles. Kid reached to tilt his brown hat down over his face, but Remy's voice stopped him.
"Sleep!" exclaimed Remy. "How can you sleep when you've just been arrested for robbery?"
Blue eyes glared at the jewel thief.
"I know what I do, and I don't lie about it," answered Kid.
"What? Do you think that you're an honest thief?" jeered Remy. "There ain't no such thing."
"Be quiet and lemme sleep," growled Kid, he pulled the hat down over his eyes. "Or I'll come over there and tell you what I think about men that try to trick little old ladies out of their pretty geegaws."
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George entered the Sheriff's office early Monday morning carrying a tray of Bertha's cinnamon buns. The aromatic scent caused the sheriffs head to turn in her direction and Kid to sit up straight.
"I brought breakfast," declared George. "It's the least I can do for my hero."
The sheriff dipped his head, blushing, never noticing that George's smile was directed at Kid. A minute later the lawman rose from his desk. It was not to take the tray from her hands.
"I'll be back in just a minute," the sheriff excused himself.
George watched him hurry outside.
"Was it something I said?" asked George.
Kid pointed to the large coffee pot on the stove.
"I don't think he slept any," answered Kid, "but he drank a lot of coffee."
"Well would you like a cinnamon roll?" offered George.
"I want one," called Remy.
"I wasn't talking to you," sniffed George.
The brunette walked over to stand in front of Kid's cell. She held the tray towards Kid. The blond reached for a roll, but was stopped as the canvas covering the window to Kid's cell ripped open. A grappling hook appeared between the bars. A pull tightened the chain and the hook scraped against the metal bars. Another pull and the bars were out, crumbled brick allowed the brisk December wind inside. A head of dark brown hair appeared at the opening.
"Come on Kid," beckoned Heyes.
"Heyes," greeted Kid. "Can you come back and do the jailbreak in about ten minutes?"
"What?" came an incredulous reply.
"Breakfast just arrived," answered Kid.
"Do you know how long I've been waiting for the sheriff to step out?" demanded Heyes. "No, I can't come back in ten minutes. Come on before I forget why I wanted to do a jailbreak."
Kid snatched a roll and clambered out the opening. George gaped at the audacity of it all. No one would recognize the horses as the same ones belonging to Rembacker and Owens. White splotches on Kid's black gelding made the horse look like a pinto and Heyes' sorrel now boasted black stockings and ears.
"Hey!" called Remy. "What about me? Break me out too!"
"Normally, when I pull a jailbreak, I like to let everybody go, but I make exceptions" answered Heyes. "Just think, you're the man even Hannibal Heyes thought belonged behind bars."
Through the opening, George saw Kid and Heyes mount their horses. In the distance, Sheriff Tate stepped out of the outhouse fastening his britches. The lawman shouted in frustration as Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes rode out of Poncha Springs.
"George," hissed Remy. He pointed to the keys dangling from the wall. "Lemme outta here. We can work together again."
"We never worked together," reminded George. "You lied to me, you used me."
"We can be partners. Come on, it will be like old times," cajoled Remy's smooth voice.
"No," declared George in a firm voice.
"I'll tell the sheriff you were in on everything," threatened Remy, "including this jailbreak!"
"Say whatever you want Remy," replied George. "I fainted when Hannibal Heyes broke Kid Curry out of jail."
"Huh?"
George dropped the tray. Cinnamon rolls bounced across the floor as she leaned back and slowly sank to the floor. She didn't move again until the third time Sheriff Tate patted her cheek and anxiously called her name.
"Oh Sheriff! Are the bad men gone?" asked George fluttering her eyelashes.
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Tuesday morning George stood in front of the stage depot impatiently tapping her foot. Her carpet bag was by her foot and she clutched a rolled up newspaper in her left hand.
"Finally," breathed George, her breath showing in the frosty air.
The driver reined in the stage. George looked up at him expectantly. He didn't budge.
"Aren't you going to open the door for me?" asked George.
A splatter of brown chewing tobacco landed beside the wheel closest to George.
"Ma'am, I'm running late," declared the driver, "this stage is leaving in two minutes. Are you getting in?"
George hurriedly opened the stage door and shoved her flowered carpet bag inside before clambering up after it. Huffing she settled herself into the empty rear seat. Across from her the other seat was occupied. Two men sprawled. The long legged man with the floppy brown hat stopped snoring. The man with the pointed black hat covering his face sat up and tilted it back.
"Do you mind if we ride with you back to the next town?" asked Heyes with a grin.
"Kid, Heyes," greeted George, "what are you doing here?"
"We had to make sure you were alright," yawned Kid.
Heyes reached across and took the paper from her hands.
"And to see if the paper had anything to say about us," added Heyes.
The schemer flipped the folded paper open and frowned. Two inch type declared SHERIFF TATE CAPTURES NOTORIOUS JEWEL THIEF.
"Don't worry, local man makes good is more important to a local paper," soothed George. She pointed to the smaller type below the fold. DARING JAILBREAK. "The telegraph operator told me this article was wired to every newspaper within five hundred miles. People are looking for the escaped outlaws Curry and Heyes in Colorado."
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"Oh," George smiled through teary eyes as the partners walked her over to her next stage. "Now I really am a damsel in distress. I can't believe this is really goodbye."
"No, I was wrong," objected Heyes. "You're not a damsel in distress, more of a damsel of distress kinda woman."
"Huh?" demanded George.
She stopped walking and placed her hands against her hips.
"What do you mean?"
"You gotta admit," smirked Heyes, "you certainly gave Remy his fair share of distress."
"Hmmph!" spluttered George. "That's not funny..."
Kid leaned forward and wrapped her in a great big bear hug. George sniffed the scent of his sheepskin jacket and aftershave. Lips on the side of her face gave a brief kiss before whispering in her ear.
"Goodbye for now," promised Kid.
Kid settled George on her feet. The slim brunette turned to Kid's partner. Heyes swept off his hat and took her hand in his. Lifting the back of her hand to meet his lips, he placed a soft kiss on her gloves. The dark haired man helped her into the waiting stage.
"You've got the whole coach to yourself," stated Heyes. "You can stretch out and sleep until the next stop."
"I hope we'll meet again soon," said George.
"Not if I see you first," smirked Heyes with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "You're dangerous."
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