Heyes was furious. Some creep he didn't even know – he didn't recognize the irritating name of author Basil Birch – was making money off of the Kid and Heyes. And there wasn't a thing they could do about it. Or was there? If there was a way to stop the author of The Adventures of Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes from getting rich off of their famous names, without giving away the boys' identities, Heyes couldn't think of it was just now. But he wasn't done thinking about it.

Heyes looked at his battered old pocket watch. It was 4:30. If he hurried, he could get to the Leutze aphasia clinic before it closed for the evening. He took off at his fastest walk and just barely made it up the stairs and to the door by 4:55. He dashed down the empty hall to Dr. Leutze's office door. The doctor's door was opened as he packed his brief case preparatory to leaving for the day – with a pile of reports to read and things to write, as always. "Doctor?" Leutze looked up. Seeing Heyes panting and with an anxious look on his face, the doctor invited his former patient in. Heyes closed the door, and then opened it again. "There are two things I need to tell you about – but let me go get Beth – I want her to know about this, too." The doctor, getting very curious, nodded and gestured for Heyes to go down the hall and get his fiancé before she left for the day.

Soon Beth had joined them and Heyes had a couple of things to tell his mentors. "First off, I need advice. My aphasia hit real bad when I was teaching. A word just left me and it seemed like forever before I could say anything. It made me real nervous and I hardly got through the rest of class."

Dr. Leutze looked understandably concerned. "I can see where it would bother you. But you were able to recover and keep teaching?" Beth, the experienced teacher, was also watching her love with alarm.

Heyes nodded, "Yeah, eventually. Not real well – I was pretty distracted. My usual, well – my style – it just wasn't there." Dr. Leutze and Beth shared a concerned glance warming into amusement. Heyes might think that his speech was still seriously compromised since he had been shot in the head, but Beth and Dr. Leutze appreciated that Heyes had recovered so much that he was a very skilled and charismatic speaker on a level they had never seen before in a patient. As they shared a look, he finished saying, "But we got through class."

"How long is eventually? How long were you unable to speak?" The doctor was watching his patient keenly.

Heyes stopped and thought, "It seemed like forever. I guess, realistically, maybe one or two minutes? And it was maybe another couple of minutes before I was back to pretty close to normal."

Dr. Leutze broke out laughing, "And you're bothering me about it? Get serious, man! That's nothing! Stop worrying! People without aphasia freeze up like that sometimes. To your students it would look just the same. Really – relax, Heyes!"

Beth and the doctor could see that as the doctor said that, Heyes did start to relax. His mentor's confidence meant a great deal to Heyes, and Dr. Leutze knew it. No matter whether he was worried by the incident or not, he wouldn't let Heyes see anything but a positive attitude about it.

Heyes exhaled, "Well, maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. It seemed awful at the time. I went to see Charlie Homer about it and he told me about the same thing that you did, Doc. But neither of you was there. I know my students saw that something was really wrong and they were wondering and worrying. I asked Charlie if I should tell them about my aphasia. He said only I could gauge that. What do you think?"

Dr. Leutze spoke casually, but Beth knew that he was measuring every word, "You and Charlie know more about teaching than I do. If it comes back, you might think of telling them. But it probably won't come back – so no need to bother them - or you. That's a lot to give away if there's no reason for it. But you said there were two things you wanted to tell me – what's the other one?"

Now Heyes looked even more worried. He looked down as he spoke, "There's a new book out about the Kid and me. It's not just a dime novel – a real hard-cover book. It's being pushed – at least at the one book store I saw there was a pile in the window and a poster. It's going to get people thinking about Jed and me all over again. Just when I thought they might be starting to forget all the stuff we did wrong. At least the poster doesn't look anything like us."

"Do you know the author? Could the stories be real?" Beth asked with concern.

Heyes shook his head uncertainly, "Name of Basil Birch is on the cover. I never met a man by that name – that I recall."

Beth chuckled, "No false modesty, Heyes. Could you have met the man?"

Heyes gave a crooked smile. With all he had been through, Beth knew that he hated to brag too much about any of his gifts – as if in fear that they might be taken from him as speech almost had been. "Alright – except for whatever that bullet wiped out, I'm flawless on names. I never met a man by that name in my life. But if he used an alias for any reason – like maybe if he was a journalist – then I could have met him. I didn't see a picture of him. I don't know what he looks like. So I don't know if he's ever seen me or the Kid. But just having our names out for people to be thinking about – that's dangerous enough and more than. And I do purely hate having someone making money on us when we can't get a dime of it!"

Beth nodded. She agreed with Heyes about the danger of having those two famous names back in the public eye. And she could understand the frustration of a man who couldn't use his name seeing someone else using that name to make money. Heyes, after all, wasn't in a position to make a dime in any way himself. Living on other people's money was eating away at Heyes worse and worse.

Dr. Leutze suggested, "I guess you'd better get the book. Find out what it says about you and your partner."

Heyes snapped angrily, "No! I refuse to let that . . . man make a penny from my pocket. I won't spend my – my supporters' money on that damn book!"

"Then ask Jim to buy it, honey," said Beth soothingly, "Someone has to find out what it says – if there's anything dangerous in it. It could be a problem not just for you, but for the Kid!"

"I know," sighed Heyes. "And don't worry – when I leave here, I'm going to send a telegram to the Kid warning him. Don't know where they're marketing the damn thing – could be just in the east, or out west, too. If only folks could forget us!" Heyes absently rubbed his head – right where he had been shot. Beth had a feeling that she knew what was really hurting him. With Jesse James long dead, this new book made it all the more unmistakable. Heyes and the Kid were easily the most famous western outlaws left alive. Once, Heyes had taken pride in his celebrity. Now it put his life and everything he cared about in danger.

But Heyes didn't have time to sit around and worry about the book. He had his graduate studies and his teaching to keep him plenty busy. After he sent his carefully worded telegram to Louisville, he went back to his room and read math until he was too tired to keep his eyes opened.

Heyes went about his work and tried not to worry about the new book. Of course, he couldn't tell most of his friends at Columbia about the book and his worries. They didn't know his real name and he didn't dare to let them learn the truth. If the name of Hannibal Heyes got around at Columbia, and got back to the dean and the President, that would be the end of his graduate degree and of his hopes for the future. It might even doom his amnesty.

Heyes found his friend Mattias Peale the next day – they often got together to work on their collaborative Master's thesis. This day they found a few minutes of privacy in one of the little teaching assistant offices. "Mattias," Heyes asked, "have you seen that new book out about the Kid and me?"

"Yeah, Heyes," said Peale in a worried tone. "Seems like it's all over town. I haven't dared buy it yet, but I got to find out if my Pa's in there. I don't recognize the author's name from anything Pa ever told me about the Hole."

Heyes nodded, "I haven't gotten it yet, either. I don't recognize the author's name, but he could have gone around using an alias. Or he could be making it all up the way they mostly do! Can't stand the thought of putting another dollar into that vulture's pocket. Maybe Jim Smith – you've met him – maybe he can get it and let us know what it says?"

"I'd be grateful if he would!" said Peale, "I sure don't want my Pa's past to come out and cause him trouble now! Or for your past to cause you even more problems than it does."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Two days later, Heyes was back teaching his lab section. Every time there was a tiny hesitation in his speech, he could feel his own uncertainty and was sure that all of his students were staring at him. But there were no further lock ups on words and he felt that he had his regular style back, or nearly.

As Heyes was walking home after his last class, a bit after 5:00, he met Jim in the street. Jim had the new Curry and Heyes book under his arm. Heyes knew that his friend had gone out of his way to find him. Jim spoke quietly, "Joshua – thought I'd b-better check this out. Saw it in bunch of stores. I'll let you know what it says."

Heyes said, under his breath, "Thanks, Jim. I'm beholden to you. If you could look for Mattias Peale's pa, too, he'd be glad to know. I'll pay you for it, if you like. Wouldn't want you to waste your money on that trash."

Jim shook his head, "It's not t-t-trash. Really. I started it. It's p-p-pretty well done, seems to me. One of the first stories is about how when you first t-took over with the Hole, when you were real young, you b-broke up a war between gangs."

Heyes' brown eyes widened with surprise. "Don't t-t-tell me it's t-true!" said Jim.

Heyes nodded, "Yeah, it is! I didn't know anyone but the gang members ever knew about it! They kind of kept it under wraps – a bit embarrassing having a young guy like me getting the old powers out there to agree. I wasn't any boy though - I was 23."

"Well, he exaggerates that, then. Said you were about 19," said Jim. "I'll keeping reading. Let you know the rest. Might b-be more interesting than you thought!"

"Yeah!" said Heyes. Then he gently tagged Jim on the shoulder and said, very softly, "You've been back working with the doc, haven't you?"

"Yeah," said Jim shyly.

"Good work! I'm proud of you!" Heyes winked at Jim. He didn't want to embarrass his friend, but the progress that he had made recently in reducing his stuttering was quite noticeable. Most of the consonants that had given him trouble were no longer causing him to stutter – only the worst few still caused him to hang up and even those weren't as bad.

"With as well as you've done, thought I'd b-better k-keep trying," said Jim, looking away from his friend, but smiling with pleasure.

Heyes was thinking about that as he went home. He couldn't let his aphasia ruin his career – it would be such a disappointment to Jim, among so many others. Not to mention Beth!

But the next week in class, Heyes could feel his students watching him every time he hesitated over a word. He was painfully aware that it did still happen a few times in every class. Then, as he was worrying over that, he locked up over the word equation. It just wouldn't come and he couldn't find a synonym or any way around it for at least five minutes. He sighed and ran a hand through the hair on his left temple, taking a moment to gather himself. Then he was able to go on.

But when they reached a moment between topics, a young man in the class spoke very nervously. He glanced at a couple of friends as he spoke – they seemed to have gotten together to decide to risk this personal question, "Mr. Smith, is there something wrong? You have trouble talking sometimes . . .? Does it have to do with that scar on your head?"

Joshua inhaled sharply and then slowly let the breath out. He had so hoped that no one would make that connection. But he had made up his mind that he wouldn't refuse to answer this personal question. It was distracting his students and the truth would put their fears to rest – he hoped. "Yes, Mr. Clark. It does. I have something called aphasia. It's trouble in speaking, or understanding, or writing, or reading, caused by a stroke – or an injury. It doesn't bother me much anymore – I've had very good treatment at a clinic here in New York. It's been five years since I was shot."

The whole class gasped. "Shot!" said Billy Clark.

"Yes," said Heyes, trying not to show how terribly hard it was for him to say such private things to his whole class. "A hunter loosed a stray shot – out in Colorado. It ricocheted off a rock and hit me in the head. I couldn't talk at all for a long time – or it seemed long to me. A few months. But, as I said, I got treatment at a clinic here. Now I'm almost back to normal. Or sort of normal. I used to be famous for my talking. Now speaking is a bit of a struggle and I guess it always will be. I'm sorry if it causes problems in class. I try to keep it to a minimum, believe me. But if you folks can be patient, we'll manage. Can you do that?"

"Sure Mr. Smith! Right, guys?" said Clark. The whole class nodded some said, "Yes, Mr. Smith!" Now that they understood what the trouble was, they could respect their teaching assistant for what he was able to do – rather than worrying about what he couldn't do. Clark spoke for the whole little class when he said, "That's really something! That you couldn't talk at all and now you can teach! Wow!"

"Thanks, Billy! I've been lucky." said Heyes, flashing a brilliant smile at the blonde boy, "Now, let's get back to work."

On the way home that night, Heyes passed another book store with a display of the new Heyes and Curry book in the window. He was trying to ignore it. But what Jim had told him as he continued reading was troubling. Most of the episodes in the book were invented, but a couple rang all too true. It was just possible that the author knew, or at least had seen, Heyes or the Kid or both. Heyes began to suspect that he remembered a man with a similarly British name who could well be the author.

The next week, Heyes saw at sign in the window of a book store that was selling the dreaded book, which was still selling well. Heyes had seen a complementary review in a newspaper that mentioned hot sales. The sign said that the author was going to do a book signing at that store the next day. It was at a time when Heyes couldn't be there – he would be teaching. He wished that he could confirm whether or not he knew the author, but he dreaded seeing the man and perhaps recognizing him.

The next day, after class, Heyes found himself walking by the same bookstore. He stood and looked in the window, his anger rising. "Oh, how I'd love to sue that bastard into the poor house! Fattening off of us!" he said to himself – and accidently said it aloud. Then he turned in disgust and walked away.

As Heyes walked through an alley a few blocks away as a short cut, he became aware that he was being followed. Before he could do anything about it, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked behind him.

"Hands up! Turn around very slowly, please, Mr. Heyes," said a man in a cultured British accent. It sounded like he was standing just a few yards behind the former outlaw. Heyes thought that he recognized the voice. As he turned around, hands up, he realized that he was right. It had been years since he had seen the portly little Englishman, and when he had known the man the name and the clothes had been different. But he never forgot a face.

"Parker Teagarten!" said Heyes. "It's been near fifteen years, but I don't forget a face – or a name. Specially not after all the times I done faced you across a poker table." Heyes had purposefully reverted to his old western way of speech, removing all evidence of his study in New York. If he could convince Teagarten that he was just passing through New York, and even imply that the Kid was with him, Heyes might just be able to get out of this little fix. Maybe.

The little neatly bearded Englishman was far better dressed than he had been when he had been a reporter out west a decade and a half before. And he had put on a few pounds and added some grey to his hair and beard, but he was unmistakable. "Yes, Mr. Heyes. I haven't forgotten your face either – or your name. And my new book, I must inform you, is selling extremely well in your native land. And in England, where I published first."

Heyes fought to restrain his fury – and his fear. He spoke with an oily smoothness designed to shake the Englishman's confidence, "That so, Teagarten? So you finally wrote up those stories like you said you was going to. But somehow you never sent the Kid and me our share of the money like you promised."

Teagarten was not in the least ashamed of his perfidy, "It is a little difficult to find and send funds to fugitives in hiding, and especially to men who've apparently vanished off the face of the earth after going straight. Dull thing – going straight. I hope you don't mind that on paper you and your compatriot are still outlaws."

"Dull!," laughed Heyes, surreptitiously holding his hands a little lower and a little lower as the conversation went on, "you don't have a clue about it, Teagarten! It's been more excitin' than anything you ever dreamed up!" Heyes shook his head in wonder at his own colorful recent past, "If you only knew all the crazy adventures we've had! And after I got sh . . . But I sure won't tell such good stories to a man who's holdin' a gun on me!"

Heyes could see an anxious light in the little man's hazel eyes. Heyes had been nonchalantly walking a step and another step and another step closer to his captor as they spoke. They were not more than three feet apart now. Teagarten chortled, "I won't worry about that, Mr. Heyes! I am just about to make an easy $15,000 by turning you in to the authorities! And if you give me trouble, I'll take the dead end of that famous dead or alive offer."

"Oh, really?" asked Heyes coolly. "You'd kill the goose that lays your golden eggs? What do you think it would do to your sales to have people knew that you'd turned me in or killed me?"

Heyes could see the little British man looking distracted as he pondered this question. "Why it would send sales through the roof!" exclaimed Teagarten, closing his eyes for a moment to dream and figure out this profitable new future, "I would be featured in every newspaper, and those books would be . . ." Before he could finish his sentence, the distractedly figuring man found that Heyes had a small pistol in his right hand and the British man's own pistol was in Heyes' left.

"As you so memorably said just now, Parker, hands up!" ordered Heyes with a satisfied smile. The little round author gasped and stepped back in terror as he complied. His memories of a very larcenous and dangerous young Hannibal Heyes flooded back. Heyes was delighted to see his victim turn pale.

"Now, Mr. Teagarten, I would like you please to keep your hands up and turn to face away from me," requested Heyes with unctuous politeness. As Teagarden complied, Heyes stuck the British man's pistol into his jacket. Then he expertly used his left hand to pull the little man's jacket back so that Teagarden was caught in the tightened sleeves and unable to move. Heyes used that moment to put his gun down carefully on the cobblestones and pull out the rawhide thongs he always kept handy for just such an emergency. There was an awkward transition as Heyes whipped the jacket off, but since Teagarten was facing the other way he couldn't see or reach the nearby gun to take advantage of it. In a few moments Heyes had the author efficiently tied up. The former outlaw stuffed a handkerchief – dirty, unfortunately – into Teagarten's mouth to keep him quiet.

Heyes turned his captive back to face him, so that he could see how very much in charge of the situation the westerner was. Heyes held his little pistol pointed at the British author's face, "Mr. Teagarten, I'm gonna you leave here in this nice, rat-infested alley until you can manage to untie yourself. It shouldn't take you more than, oh, maybe twenty minutes. Or maybe it could be a mite longer if you're terrible uncoordinated, or maybe real afraid of – pain." Teagarden's eyes widened and he choked on the handkerchief.

Heyes said, with calm malice and a wicked light in his eyes, "Now you ain't gonna try to follow me or figure out what I'm doing in New York just now, are you? And you wouldn't think of going to the police about this little incident, would you?" Teagarden vigorously shook his head. "'Cause I surely wouldn't like that even a little bit. And I surely never would tell you all of those wonderful, real salable stories, if I'm mad at you. And if I ain't happy with you – well, I wouldn't hurt you myself. Heaven forbid! I'm an upright, law-abiding soul these days myself. But I wouldn't like to go bail on the behavior of some of my local, ahem, friends. They might just be real, real displeased with you. And I know for a fact that the Kid would be mightily annoyed with you." The remaining cruel, wicked corner of Heyes' soul dilated with pleasure as he watched the author cringe in silent terror as the evening shadows gathered around him and a rat ran by. Heyes dragged his trussed up victim to lean him against a slimy brick wall. Then Heyes smiled evilly as he turned and walked away with a slow, confident swagger. He didn't want Teagarten to see any hint of hurry or worry, or to have any hint that the Kid was over a thousand miles away.

It was only when he got past sight and hearing of the tied up man that Heyes broke into a long-strided walk and hurried by a circuitous route back to his rented room. He surely hoped that the author wasn't more slippery or smarter than Heyes remembered. Heyes had left Teagarten's own gun near the tied-up man in the alley – so he couldn't be accused of theft. And he really hadn't tied the man too very tightly. Heyes had been careful not to give any hint to Teagarten that he was now headquartered in New York, so he hoped that there would be little likelihood that the police would be able to find him. Heyes asked Jim to go to the alley the next day to make sure that Teagarten was gone – which he was. And then they watched the papers with care to see any hint of the run-in between Heyes and Teagarten (or Birch as his name appeared on the cover of his books). Day after day and no hint of the incident appeared. But Heyes didn't really start to relax until the following week when he saw in the papers that Birch's speaking and book signing tour had taken him to Philadelphia, and then to Baltimore and Washington, D.C. , and other cities farther and farther from New York. Heyes supposed that the story of Parker Teagarten's capture by one of his own most famous characters would somehow never manage to make it into print.

But as he tracked events in the newspapers, Heyes' self satisfaction was soon eclipsed by his anxiety. He couldn't help but notice that Francis Warren had resigned as Governor of Wyoming in order to run to be one of the new state's first senators. Come November, Warren was duly elected Senator from Wyoming. And a surgeon named Amos W. Barber was elected governor of Wyoming. Heyes didn't know the new man at all and neither did the Kid or Lom Trevors or Charlie Homer.

Heyes and Charlie Homer and Lom Trevors all wrote to Cheyenne, but no letters came back. The problems of two little outlaws obviously didn't amount to a hill of beans to the leaders of a big new state. As Heyes and his "wife" Beth rode the train out to Louisville, Colorado, for one last Christmas at Christy's Place, they carried more worries with them than luggage.