Sometimes in the warm summer weather with the sun rising early, Heyes would get restless and take off for a walk around the big city far from Columbia University. One early pale morning soon after his return from Montana, he went down to the docks where he had not been for many a month. He leaned on a capstan and looked up at the big schooners and steamers, wondering what it would be like to sail off to some distant place. He and Beth had talked about trying to go to England and Italy and other parts of Europe someday – when he had graduated and wasn't wanted by the law anymore. It seemed like the day would never come.

As Heyes stood dreaming by the docks with the sunrise gleaming golden over him, the deep voices of British sailors came to him across the water as they hauled their ship's sails up to catch the morning wind and tide:

"Our boots and clothes is all in pawn,

Go down, you blood-red roses, go down!

And it's flamin' draughty 'round Cape Horn,

Go down, you blood-red roses, go down!

Oh, you pinks and posies,

Go down, you blood-red roses, go down! . . ."

Though it was a warm morning, Heyes shivered to hear the heavy tread of the men and their rhythmic work song. He had heard a version of it before. A Devil's Hole man had sung it to the boys when he had come back from a long, bitter stint in prison. It was among the work songs he had learned while at hard labor. Remembering the haunted look of the jail bird's eyes, Heyes could not help but think that he could one day be at hard labor himself. What would it be like, to give up all his lofty dreams of education and professional work and family life – and freedom? He tried not to think about it, but hearing the sailors hard at work, he could not help it. He wondered sometimes how Beth Warren and Charlie Homer and so many others, these days, could ever believe in him for a moment. After all, the hard rock pile was where Hannibal Heyes really belonged – and might yet wind up.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Smith!" said Charlie Homer, "Smith, wake up! Man, you been working too hard."

Heyes jerked awake where he had dropped off to sleep on a bench outside his advisor's office. With thoughts like those he had had down the docks haunting him, he had, indeed, been working awfully hard since they had gotten back from Montana. There had hardly been a moment between getting back and taking a series of delayed exams and immediately starting a pair of summer classes.

"Uhn. Sorry. What's the news, Professor" Heyes leaned forward and pushed back his glasses to rub his tired eyes. Then he stretched his equally tired back as he stood up.

"Come into my office, Smith." There were a few students loitering around the halls, so Homer and Heyes couldn't speak freely in the hall.

Once inside the crowded little office, they didn't have to use Heyes' alias, or Homer's formal title.

"Here you go, Heyes. All As on the exams, of course," said Homer with a wink as his prize student as he handed him a stack of reports. "How you did it with no time to study except on the train, I still don't know."

"A's?" asked Heyes, eyebrows raised.

"A pluses," Homer laughed.

"That's more like it," said Heyes with a satisfied smile.

"And Wiseman got six months, aiding and abetting," Homer added. "You asked for the news."

Heyes started out of his chair in fury, "Damn it, Charlie! Why didn't you tell me the trial was on? I could've . . ."

"What, ridden out there and sacrificed the rest of your life, and the Kid's, and Beth's happiness, and Cat's, to save him six months? Don't be a fool!" Homer snorted in contempt at his friend's desire for heroic self-sacrifice. "And besides, they gave him just a symbolic week in jail – not even a real prison – and then the rest is community service. He gets to go around the territory reciting his poetry to school kids. He grumbles about being away from the ranch and his horses, but he'll be in hog heaven with those kids.

And besides, it's starting to get around that he saved the lives of Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes. He's an authentic hero out there. He refused to identify anyone – said he never heard any of our right names. Of course, no one knows we stayed with him. There's no evidence at all about any more than a few minutes together. There are good things about living on the neglected end of a very big ranch. They took it easy on an old man.

Bentley the deputy is gonna get hung, you'll be glad to know. The conspirators all ratted each other out, and Mrs. Gunther put in a few bad words, herself.

But you, Heyes, are being sought on man slaughter. I know they'd let you off on self-defense. . ."

Heyes' brow was furrowed, "But only if I stood trial – and that would mean. . ."

Homer finished the sentence for him, "showing up in court and getting arrested. Serving a bunch of life-times worth of twenty-years sentences for armed robbery – I know. So you just got to let it be – till it comes down to getting serious on the amnesty. Then it might get dicey."

Heyes frowned. "Life just never gets any less complicated, does it?"

"Not for you, Hannibal Heyes – sure seems like not for you."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Not long after the fall semester had started, Heyes was walking down the hall of the math department, hands in his pockets, talking with Paul Huxtable between classes.

"You going to knock me off the top spot again this semester, Missouri?" Heyes asked playfully. "I saw you in the library at 10:00 last night. You got to sleep sometime, boy."

The red-headed young Huxtable bristled at this man who was nearly twice his age. "So do you, Kansas. What were you doing there that late, if you're going to take it out of my hide?"

"Alright – you caught me," Heyes grinned guiltily. "Or we caught each other."

Huxtable stared hard at his friend. "What'd you really miss exams for, Smith? You looked tired when you showed up again, but you didn't look sick. Seems like there's always something going on with you and it's never quite what you say it is . . ." Huxtable was young, but he was no fool. Heyes worried if he could keep deceiving his school friends. He hated the thought of their finding out how badly he had been lying and for how long.

Just then Professor Homer came striding up behind them. "Gentlemen! Just the men I was looking for. The President's having a reception tomorrow night over at Grant Hall, and he wants me to bring my brightest students to introduce to some big wigs and funders. You up for it, or will you both be studying all night again?"

Huxtable moaned, but said, "Sure, Prof. What time? Black tie?"

"Eight o'clock, and yes, black tie. What about you, Smith?" Heyes looked just slightly nervous in the opinion of his observant advisor. Heyes had managed thus far to avoid meeting the president of the university – on whom he was, after all, perpetuating a pretty big lie about who he was. Huxtable had to hurry away to his next class, leaving Heyes and Homer relatively free to talk in a now deserted hallway.

"Do you think it's safe? They could ask the wrong questions." Heyes had been feeling even more paranoid than usual since he had found out he was being sought for man-slaughter.

Homer gave a short bark of laughter, "What, you think some major donor is going to ask what felony charges are pending against you? Don't be ridiculous. This is a fine opportunity for you to show off. Just think of it as a nice little con."

"Geez, Charlie, I wish you wouldn't say that kind of thing where anyone could overhear it," responded Heyes, looking furtively around the halls.

Homer smiled thoughtfully, "I'll tell what it really is, Smith. You have a problem with authority. You've been actively avoiding the President and even the Dean. Don't bother to deny it. You're one of the top students in the whole school and those guys know it. You're ducking any contact with men who are rightfully proud of you. I guess when I consider the only authorities you've ever been under, it makes sense – gang leaders and sheriffs, I guess."

"And you." Heyes didn't like to admit it, but Homer had become a father figure for him at an age when he had thought he no longer had any need for such a person in his life. Heyes gave his advisor a crooked half smile, "Can you blame me for ducking, them, Charlie? Think about what you and I are going to have to break to them one of these days – before I can graduate."

Despite his worries, Heyes did show up at the reception at 8 PM sharp, trying to look elegant in his black tie just as he would have on a con in the old days. He really had been trying to avoid the ceremonial side of the honors he had been winning. It was too much like the press attention that had been an active threat to his life for the last nearly twenty years. And besides, he hadn't exactly been elegantly brought up. He was well aware of being ignorant about how to behave in very formal settings. When he thought of how he had tried to carry off cons where he had been supposed to be rich or well educated, he couldn't imagine, now, how he had ever managed for it be anything other than a howling face. He guessed he had only been able to bring it off because he had been dealing with people even more ignorant and poorly brought up than himself.

Within minutes of Heyes' arrival, Homer brought over someone in a spotless tux – a dignified, bearded old man whom Heyes recognized as the President of the University. He looked even more authoritarian and frightening up close than he had when Heyes had been sitting in a crowd of students and the President had been up on a dais.

Professor Homer smiled encouragingly at his prize student, but it didn't help much. "President Barnard, may I present Joshua Smith, the current leading student in the mathematics department. You already know his rival, Huxtable."

The old man stuck out his lean hand to shake Heyes' own. He spoke in an educated New England accent, "So we finally meet, Smith. I've heard a lot about you but somehow we keep missing each other. No spring chick, are you? Guess that sounds like the pot calling the kettle black, but I expect a college president to be old. Most undergraduates are young. What were you doing with yourself out West before you saw reason and came to Columbia?"

Here it was – pretty close to the most dangerous question that anyone in authority could possibly ask "Joshua Smith." With most people he could get away with the saddle bum line, but not with the President of the University.

The famous silver tongue was a little tongue-tied now, "Um, this and that, sir. Nothing you would want to hear about. Nothing so worthwhile as I get to do here now."

"They tell me you were a cowboy. . ." said the President leadingly.

Heyes nodded. "I've been on a few cattle drives, but only a few. That's hard work. And don . . . doesn't pay much."

The white-bearded president was enjoying making an undergraduate sweat, but he was also honestly curious. "So, what else did you do with all those years out west?"

Heyes looked away from the man's keen blue eyes. "Honestly, sir, you wouldn't want to hear about it." He wished Homer would rescue him, but his mentor had withdrawn a couple of paces and had a slight but unmistakable smile on his face that betrayed how much he was enjoying the discomfort of Hannibal Heyes.

With the President's gaze still on him, Heyes had to go on, "Mining, body-guarding, ranch work – anything that paid."

The President gestured to call over a tall, grey-bearded man "Oh, here's Robert Harris, President of the Northern Pacific Railroad - one of our chief financial supporters. Harris, shake the hand of Joshua Smith, our leading mathematics student."

Heyes tried desperately not to sweat as he shook the hand of the immaculately suited man with his diamond tie tack and cuff links. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Harris," said Heyes, wishing that he could vanish out of this incredibly uncomfortable situation. Heyes had to take Homer's facetious advice and think of the whole thing as a con – it was the only way he could have any chance to get through it.

President Barnard told Harris, "Smith here is from out West – he was a cowboy, among other things, before he came to the University."

"Oh," said Harris, "What brought you east?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Heyes thought, "this just keeps getting worse!" Aloud he said, "Medical treatment. While I was at a clinic in New York, I got some tutoring as well. I never got to finish my schooling out West. I was glad to get the . . .opportunity for more schooling." His aphasia took that moment to cause a fairly obvious gap in his speech.

"I guess so, considering what superb use you've made of it," bragged the University President.

"What sort of medical treatment, if you don't mind my asking?" said Harris.

Heyes fought to stay casual and proper as the man probed into one of his deepest insecurities. Harris had offered him the chance to avoid the question, but Smith could not realistically do so without prompting worse questions for others to answer later. He pushed back the long hair over his temple, "For this, sir."

Harris' eyes grew wide, "What earned you that nasty scar?"

Heyes, the old con man, kept his voice even while his heart pounded, "Sheer bad luck and a stray bullet."

"What kind of problems did that cause you?" Harris asked.

The President knew the answer and Heyes could see the compassion in his eyes – he hadn't intended to embarrass Joshua Smith. "It's alright, Smith, you don't have to answer . . ."

Heyes shrugged. He might as well, now. If he didn't, it would come out behind his back anyway. He might as well tell the story himself. The familiar technical phrases came easily to him from his days at the clinic, where he had heard it explained so often. "Aphasia. Do you know what that is?" Harris shook his head. "In Greek it just means being speechless, but it really covers all kinds of trouble with language caused by a brain injury. Inability to speak, understand, read, or write. I had all those problems to begin with. But reading and understanding cleared up pretty quickly. The rest took a while." He didn't say that he still had more trouble than anyone except Dr. Leutze knew. He had to change word choices far more often than people realized and his trouble writing had gotten much better but never gone away.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Harris, "So you couldn't even talk or write, but you wound up leading the math department at Columbia University?"

The President spared Smith the discomfort of bragging about his own achievements, "Sheer hard work, from what Homer tells me. Most determined man he's ever seen. Could hardly talk when he started sitting in with classes, and can rattle off any formula ever invented, now. And he's putting up not just top marks in the school, but top marks in the history of the school."

Harris was wide-eyed. He was properly impressed, "Allow me to shake your hand, sir! That is quite a remarkable story. If you ever need financial backing, you just come to me." Harris handed Smith his card. He evidently meant what he had said. Not that Heyes would ever dare to take him up on it – to ask this man of all the rich men in the world to contribute to the betterment of Hannibal Heyes would be one of the world's great ironies.

Somehow Heyes got through the rest of the evening, but as they left well after dark, he found an isolated corner where he could say a few choice words to Charlie Homer in a very low voice. "Charlie, you're a mean, spiteful guy, you know that? You knew damn well that man Harris was going to be here. Do you have any idea how many reasons we gave him, and the guy before him, to hate us? What if I'd slipped up talking to him? What did I ever do to you?"

Homer grinned at Heyes, and whispered, "Slip up! You? You were cool as a cucumber. But what did you do to me? You mean, besides getting me tied up by a murderer and left on a horse in the pouring rain while I wondered if you and your partner were about to get murdered and Jim and me with you? And then hearing those gun shots . . ."

"Alright, besides that," laughed Heyes, realizing he was beaten. Charlie Homer really had owed him one over that.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Just after the end of the fall semester, Heyes and Beth were cuddling together in her office at the clinic after hours. It was one of the few places they could be alone together without it's seeming too terribly improper. If he just neglected to leave at the end of office hours and she just happened to be working late . . .

"It's been a quiet semester, hasn't it, Heyes? And the summer was pretty calm, too – after you got home from Montana Territory. No adventures in months. You getting restless?" Beth ran an affectionate hand down Heyes' back.

Heyes sighed with delight and nibbled on Beth's left ear, then replied, "No! I'm sick of adventures, and I think the Kid is, too. We've had too damn many of 'em for the last twenty years. Even Jim seems pretty happy just to be home for a while with no guns going off. I'm actually getting some work done."

"You sure are! Was that a record high standing you just set?" Beth asked proudly, before bending to nuzzle Heyes' dimple.

He kissed her cheek fondly, "You know it was. I'd never have gotten there without you, Beth. And do you know, woman, that after only two years in college, I'm actually at the equivalent of the middle of junior year? Those suffering summers and tedious winter sessions are paying off. I've caught up with Ev and Missouri, and they started a semester before me. In fact, I'm even a class up on them. If I keep it up, I'll have a bunch of grad credits under my belt when we graduate in a year and a half. The MA will get done in no time, I hope. But I don't want to count too many chickens . . ."

Beth looked into Heyes' glowing eyes, "You're always in such a hurry. I never understand why you work with such a fire under you, Heyes."

Heyes looked questioningly at Beth, "Don't you?"

"Well, maybe - I hope I do . . ." Beth suspected that there was something he needed to say and she wanted to give him the opening to do it.

"You know it has to do with – you. I want to – if you want to – I mean would you . . ."

Beth smiled and tried to give Heyes the time and space he needed.

Heyes got up her courage and went on, with a rambling sentence whose grammar was all out of whack but whose sense was clear enough, "Would you want to, if we can ever get amnesty, if I hurried and finished up my degrees so we could - get married?"

His answer came in the form of a passionate kiss, followed rather breathlessly by Beth's saying, "Yes! I would!"

"Yes? Really?" Heyes asked. Beth smiled and Heyes kissed her again.

Beth reassured him, "Yes, Heyes, yes! With all those ifs around it, I understand you can't get around the ifs."

"Gosh, I wish we didn't have to wait for that slow governor and my slow education." Heyes kissed her again, and started to work on Beth's blouse.

Beth stood and pulled out of Heyes' arms, but he resisted letting her go. Beth said, "Come off it, Heyes, we've got to stop. The cleaning lady'll be here any minute and if you take my clothes off, we'll have more than explaining to do. I'll get fired for lewd behavior and you know it." She laughed and slapped Heyes' wandering hand. "It's strictly again policy to — the patients."

"Why, Miss Warren!" exclaimed Heyes with mock surprise at Beth's explicit language. He was learning that Beth's vocabulary was much larger than he had ever realized when she had been merely his tutor.

Heyes laughed at Beth's playful and regretful swat. "Oh, alright. I won't force you and cause trouble. You know me – never one to cause trouble. But I sure am going to miss you over Christmas while I'm in Colorado and you're in West Virginia with your sister and her family and your aunt."

Heyes backed down after only a couple of more kisses and went back to his room full of frustrations, but all smiles.