"Kid," said Heyes from his bed across the Homers' now very crowded guest room, in a voice that was still pretty hoarse, "I can't believe you could draw that fast and shoot that straight, hurt like you are." He shook his head in amazement.
"Sheer terror, Heyes. Nothing else. They were after a grandmother and a baby." Curry gasped softly as Mrs. Homer continued cleaning his new bullet graze while her husband held a basin under it to keep the blood from getting on the sofa where the Kid slept each night. Marie Homer was amazingly gentle, but it was impossible to clean the long bullet graze along the Kid's wrist and hand without causing him a little pain.
"Why did you take the head shot, Kid? It's the hardest, isn't it, so small and so likely to move? Why didn't you take the chest?" asked Charlie Homer, who had some western experience with a gun himself.
"But the Teasdales are – were – over six feet – much taller than anyone in the street. If I'd missed aiming that high, I wouldn't have likely hit anyone else," explained the Kid. Heyes nodded. He hadn't had to ask. He knew the Kid too well to have any doubts about the thinking behind that decision.
Finally, Mrs. Homer bandaged the Kid's newest wound with salve on a bit of raveled cotton held on by a long torn strip of old sheet. Professor Homer carried the bloody basin away to the kitchen to empty it. Heyes had been talking to the Kid to distract him while Mrs. Homer worked.
"There you go, Mr. Curry," said Professor Homer's round little wife as she tied off the bandage neatly, "that ought to hold you. I never thought I'd get to be expert at bandaging bullet wounds, but I sure am getting practice the last few days!" Marie Homer was a lively lady who had made no objection when her husband had brought home two outlaws. She welcomed all their oddly assorted friends with equal warmth. The boys were getting very fond of her. She had figured out how to bandage Heyes' bullet wound without hurting him or even making his blush too much. She knew just when to avert her eyes when the ticklish process of bandaging so awkwardly placed a wound threatened to expose more than his hip. It didn't hurt Mrs. Homer's standing with Heyes and the Kid that she was a superb and generous cook. Even the Kid had enough to eat at the Homers' place.
"You sure don't have to call me Mr.," said the Kid to his ministering angel. "Jed is my name, or you can call me Kid if there's no one around to hide it from. But I prefer Jed – 'specially from ladies."
"Fine, Jed," said Mrs. Homer, "but only if you call me Marie. Both of you boys are getting to be like family, you know. So first names all around is fine with me."
"Just so you don't call me by mine," said Heyes quickly. "Heyes is what I prefer."
"If you insist, Heyes it is," agreed Marie Homer good naturedly. Heyes and the Kid exchanged glances – they knew how lucky they were to have such a good couple to stay with. They just worried about the danger that might come with them – from the police or all the other usual threats they always faced.
"We are mighty grateful to you both," said the Kid as their host returned. "Don't know what we can do to pay you back."
"A few stories about Wyoming or Colorado wouldn't be amiss," laughed the professor, back from the kitchen. "But mostly, Heyes can study hard and Kid, you can get back to your home safely. That's all we want, isn't it Marie?"
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Later that evening, Marie Homer found Heyes leaned over a chair with a piece of newspaper on it that he was using to keep from making a mess as he methodically polished a pair of badly scuffed black shoes. Heyes worked quietly - the Kid had fallen asleep on the sofa just across the room.
Mrs. Homer said very softly, "I can do that, Heyes. It must be hurting your hip for you to lean over like that."
Heyes smiled gratefully at her. He replied in a low voice, hoping not to wake the softly snoring Kid. "Thank you, Marie, for the offer. But you're my . . . hostess, not my . . . servant. I can do it. I've got to start doing something besides just sitting here and reading that . . . Arabian Nights book your husband gave me - or all my muscles will stop working. I feel like I'm about 110 as it is. The longer I stay idle, the worse it'll get and the harder it'll be to recover."
Mrs. Homer looked at Heyes in concern as she tried to imagine all that this handsome young man had been through in the way of violence and injury over the years, "You sound like you have some experience recovering from gun shots."
Heyes grimaced as he sat up from leaning over the shoes and his stiff hip and back muscles protested. At least it was getting easier for him to talk as his throat began to heal, "That's too true. When you've got that big a price on your head, dead or alive, the lead tends to find you. What worries me is having anyone else – like you or Charlie – get in the way of the lead. And now, with that higher reward, it's going to bring even more attention. I mean just think of it – with thirty thousand dollars a man could live for ten years with every day eight dollars and twenty-one cents, point . . " Heyes' recitation of digits slowed down and trailed off in embarrassment as he realized how useless it was to figure up fractions of pennies for the mythical rewarded man's days, much less to actually say it out loud. "Sorry. I just mean, at least out west, you could live like a king for a long time on thirty thousand dollars."
Mrs. Homer could see from his eyes that Heyes hadn't been reciting a number he had figured up before – he had figured it up in about two seconds as she watched. She winked at Heyes indulgently, "I know what you mean Heyes. I am married to a mathematician, after all. And, by the way, I'm a mathematician, too. It's just a damn hard field for a woman to teach in. How many digits did you figure it out to?"
"Only seven," admitted Heyes sheepishly, "but it repeats after that."
Marie Homer shook her head at Heyes. "Charlie says you're amazing and he's right. But you forgot to figure in leap year, didn't you?" Heyes laughed softly and shook his head. He had met his match in Marie Homer. She went on, "I've met some people who can figure that fast in their heads, but most of them were savants. You know what a savant is?"
"Yes, ma'am. I mean, yes, Marie," Heyes knew all too well what it meant.
"But you aren't a savant." This was a statement – not hint of a question, to Heyes' relief.
"No. I understand what I'm doing." Heyes had heard himself called a savant a few times by visiting professors and grad students. He found it very insulting that people assumed that an ignorant westerner like himself who could do math so well had to be some kind of freak rather than a thinking man who understood what he was doing.
Marie nodded and looked seriously at Heyes, "You know what that means?"
Heyes nodded. "I hope so. Understanding what I'm doing makes it a bit slower, but it makes the process more useful in the end, don't you think?"
"I certainly do think," said Mrs. Homer enthusiastically – she looked up at the Kid to make sure she hadn't woken him, and returned her voice to a lower level. She had noticed that the Kid wasn't snoring any longer. She hoped he was getting some good rest. "And that's my point – how useful it can be. How useful you can be. Charlie says you're even better at figuring out how to use math creatively than at actually using it – and that's saying something. And perhaps even better yet at explaining it all. I think that could be your future – I think it would be a great future for you – and for a lot of other people."
"Thank you." Heyes looked down modestly to hide a brilliant smile. His ability to use his math creatively and to explain it was the thing he was proudest of in the world. No one, not even Charlie Homer, his own academic advisor, had ever said a word about the future this might promise for Heyes until this very moment. To think that Charlie had said it to his wife, but not to his own student, annoyed and baffled Heyes.
Marie had her eyes fixed firmly on Heyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Heyes?"
"Yes. I think so. I hope so. But does Charlie agree with you? That's what I want to know. I keep waiting for him to say it and he won't. I guess I'm impatient- I've haven't been studying with him that long. But I want to hear him say it – before I make up my mind and go for it. And sure before I tell anyone else. I know the Kid and everyone out West - they'd laugh hard at me if I told them what I wanted to do and couldn't back it up."
"Men!" said Marie in exasperation, "I think Charlie's waiting for you to say you want it before he tells you that you have the gifts to do it. So there you are, the two of you, like shy girls at a dance, waiting for their beaus to speak. One of you needs to come out and say it. Why don't you? You're old enough to know your own mind."
"Yeah, but I've got so little background. How do I know what it really takes to be successful? Charlie knows better than anyone. And with my aphasia better – it's better, but I doubt it ever will be gone - could I still do it with the aphasia holding me back? Am I a fool to even think it? To take the time for two degrees when the second one might never be useful?" Then Heyes sighed. "But I'm afraid that's pretty . . . academic . . . right now." He smiled at his own grim pun. "What someone really needs to come out and say right now is that the Kid and I need to get out of here before we get you both hauled off to jail. We've had friends up on aiding and abetting before and just barely managed to get them out of real prison stretches. I'm going to need crutches – do you think you could get some somehow?"
Marie's sparkling eyes quieted. "Nothing easier. Charlie broke his leg a few years ago and we still have his crutches around here somewhere. Always thought they'd come in handy one day. Never thought it would be Hannibal Heyes using them."
Marie looked sadly at this troubled and endangered young man. He wasn't really up to walking even with crutches, but a bed-ridden man who was polishing shoes surely had walking on his mind.
As Mrs. Homer retreated to the kitchen to fix dinner, the Kid cautiously opened his eyes. So that was what Heyes wanted to keep studying for. He needed two degrees for it, did he? The Kid decided then and there that he would be devoted to helping his partner get those two degrees – no matter how much lead flew. But if Heyes didn't trust him enough to tell his own partner about his dream, then the Kid wouldn't mention it either.
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The next morning Heyes, over the objections of both the Kid and Professor Homer, decided that he had to try to get up and walk a bit. He was anxious to be up and moving, knowing the amount of danger that could be in the offing if anything went wrong surrounding the shooting of the Teasdales. They hadn't heard a peep out of the newsboys about it as the evening editions the previous day and the morning editions that day hit the streets, so they hoped that was a good sign.
The Professor was glad to lend his old crutches to Heyes. But he worried that Heyes was trying to get up too soon after taking such a serious bullet wound to the hip.
Jim wasn't there – he had gone home to keep an eye on Hester Street so he could convey news if anything worrying turned up. He would have been too small to help much, in any case, since he was so much shorter than Heyes was.
With the Kid, bandaged as he was, on Heyes' right and the Professor on the other side, they slowly boosted Heyes to his feet. Beth and Mrs. Homer watched anxiously. Heyes braced himself on the crutches and waited for his two supporters to step away. Slowly, with hands reached out in case they were needed, the Kid and the Professor stepped back to let Heyes, with the crutches, stand on his own. Heyes stood, swaying slightly, with his jaw muscles very tight. Then he took a single slow, shaky step. He looked white as a sheet. When the professor asked, "Well, Heyes?" he didn't answer for a moment.
Finally Heyes breathed, "Thanks, guys," between clenched teeth, "Enough."
The Kid reached out to support Heyes and gestured to Professor Homer to help get him to get his partner back down on the bed - fast.
"Heyes, you ain't ready and you know it." Said the Kid. "I thought you was gonna pass out."
Heyes nodded and still had to catch his breath for a few seconds before he could speak. "Whew! You're right, Kid. Got near it. But I've got to try or I never will get walking again. The spring semester's starting in just two weeks. I got to be ready for it."
"For God's sake, Heyes!" cried the Kid in concern, "you ain't really going to try to go back to school so soon as that, are you?"
"I got to, Kid, or I'll take too much time to graduate. It's bad enough I have to miss winter session when I'd been counting on it. Besides, what would I do all semester if I wasn't in school? My sponsors – and you know those guys – they aren't paying for me to sit on my ass."
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The next day Dr. Leutze came by again to check on his former patient and friend. He and Professor Homer helped Heyes to get up on the crutches again and take a couple of very painful steps.
After he was back in his bed, Heyes had some serious things to tell Dr. Leutze. The whole story of what had happened with the Kid in Hester Street was still not in the newspapers, so it was all news to Dr. Leutze.
"Doctor," said Heyes, sitting up in bed, "I hate to say it, but we pretty much figure the word about where I used to live must have come from your place. We're awful sorry to have led them to you, but somebody there sold the Kid and me way, way down the river."
The Kid, standing nearby and leaning on the wall, nodded.
Dr. Leutze nodded. "I think I know what happened. We surely never saw a pair of black-bearded wounded men in or near the place. But a little girl ran up the stairs and into the clinic day before yesterday asking for Joshua Smith, wanting to know where he was. Roy Gelbart's little grand-daughter – you remember Roy – a man from New Jersey who had a stroke? Anyway, his granddaughter Nora, who hadn't seen you since you moved - she doesn't come that often, and she's only six – she said something about Hester Street and "the Smith Brothers" before anyone could stop her. And then the strange child ran away again. It was only later that it occurred to us that someone must have bribed the child to get the information. So now I can see that it must have been the Teasdale Brothers. We decided it was safer not to send any message to you – that could have led them straight to where you two really are living now."
"Whew!" said the Kid.
Heyes seconded him, "That's a relief, doc, to know that nobody at the clinic sold us out on purpose. I hope that leak's plugged, then."
"I'm so sorry to have had you, Kid, and Jim, and everyone else on Hester Street, in danger. Thank God you're such a great shot, even wounded, Jed." The doctor looked at the Kid with respect – a look Curry knew well. He had earned it often.
"Doc, there's one more thing maybe you can do for us," said the Kid. "I never did get to send those telegrams. Some folks out West must be mighty worried. There's no one I would trust more than you. If we repeat the messages to you – we don't dare write them out – can you send telegrams – real careful telegraphs – to Cat and to Lom Trevors for us? To let them know where we are and that Heyes is alive?"
"I would be more than happy to do that, Jed," replied the doctor. "I know a good, discrete office a few blocks uptown."
"And there's one more thing, Doctor," said Heyes very seriously. The Kid looked closely at the doctor. He knew what Heyes was going to say – he had been about to say it himself. "Would you please have a talk with Jim? I know he wants to be a . . . hero, but what he's being is damned stupid. He disobeyed a direct order from the Kid, who sure does know what he's doing. Jim almost got a bunch of folks shot and he and the Kid were among them. And he's been awful foolish with me in the past, too. If he keeps that up, I'm going to have to stop knowing him at all. Jim's acting that way could get us killed. And it could get Jim killed, too."
The doctor nodded. "I agree with you, Heyes. But I think the word on that can't come from me."
"I've tried to tell him, doc . . ." said Heyes.
"He knows you too well, Heyes. He just sees you as a friend, even now that he knows who you really are. I think the Kid needs to tell him. He might listen to you, Jed. But just remember – he's still blaming himself for the death of his father and his brother. He still thinks that, at the age of 15, he should have tried to stop a gang of full grown, heavily armed, men from beating his family to death. He still thinks that if he had been heroic enough, he could have done it." The Kid nodded. He suspected that he knew just the right tone to take with Jim. He and Heyes had dealt with difficult young men with violent pasts aplenty when they had been with the Devil's Hole gang, and they knew a thing or two about how to do it. Someone, after all, had once had to do it for them.
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Before dinner, while the men had their bull session in the guest room, Mrs. Homer and Beth were talking quietly in the living room. Beth came to see Heyes every day after work or church and gave him a chaste kiss every time, but Mrs. Homer understood the strain that Beth and her beau were under.
"You haven't gotten to be properly alone with him ever once since you decided to see each other, have you?" asked Marie Homer sympathetically.
Beth shook her head. "No – except in his hospital room, with the Kid or your husband or Dr. Leutze right outside the door. And then he was so sick and badly hurt. Thank God he's getting better now. There was one very, very memorable kiss . . ."
"I see," smiled Marie as Beth blushed. "You haven't ever gotten to follow up on that one kiss. It's great to have Heyes and Jed here with us and know that they are reasonably safe, but it's too crowded. Heyes must be one very frustrated man by now. No wonder he's so anxious to get better so fast."
Beth nodded and said, "He sure is. I'm a bit restless myself, and I'm not trapped in a sick bed like poor Heyes is."
Marie gave her an understanding smile. "I'll tell you what, Beth. There's a play on that Charlie and I had planned to see, before all this happened. It's Henry the Fourth – plenty of action. I suspect the Kid might enjoy it, if we can get him to relax enough to go outside the apartment without his gun on his hip. Since Jed can't exactly go around town in his cowboy gear, Jim's arranged with one of his Hester Street tailor friends to alter a suit for him. It got here today and it fit perfectly. So why don't I try to arrange a little theater outing for Charlie and me and Jed, and leave you and Heyes here for the evening?"
Beth smiled very broadly at that apt suggestion. But then she wondered, "But what about security? A wounded man and a woman – won't the boys want to have someone on guard duty?"
"You leave that to me, and to Charlie, alright Beth?" Marie Homer guessed that she knew an easy solution to the problem. There was a big, burly fire chief living right next door, who was a good friend. He would be glad to watch out for any danger. The Homers had only to ask him. If only all of the problems faced by this new couple could be solved as easily.