A couple of days after Christmas, four men sat around a table in a very private room upstairs at Christy's Place. It was normally a regular guest room, but Cat had had a couple of men carry up a poker table and some chairs. The men gathered around the table with beers, sandwiches, and cards were playing what had to have been one of the most unusual poker games in the history of the West. On one side of the table sat Sheriff Lom Trevors and next to him Sheriff Harvey Wilde. On the other side sat the two most famous western outlaws left alive. The only two of the men at the table who hadn't met before a few days before were the two sheriffs.

"Aw, damn, Heyes, how do you do it? And keep on doing it?" said Wilde, throwing down his cards.

Hannibal Heyes smiled as he swept the multicolored pile of chips over to his side of the table to join his already impressive collection. "Mathematics, Sheriffs. Percentages," answered the famous outlaw and graduate mathematics student, as he winked at the well-financed sheriff. Heyes, who had started the game with very few dollars to his name aside from loans and the remaining scraps from some previous poker winnings, was certainly the best motivated man at the table. The Kid and even Trevors had much better sources of income than Heyes, the grad student, did.

"What do you hear from Cheyenne, Lom?" asked Heyes offhandly as he methodically arranged his newly won chips into ever taller piles sorted by color.

"Are we here to talk or play poker?" asked Kid Curry sourly. His own piles of chips were dwindling.

"Well, actually, Kid . . ," began Trevors

"Yeah," admitted the Kid. "I know we gotta talk. And I'm losing anyhow. When Heyes doesn't have to worry about givin' himself away, it just ain't worth sittin' down with him at all."

"I haven't heard anything other than what was in that letter to the Kid," scowled Lom. "I suspect that that new Texas man is gonna make trouble for you."

Heyes looked up from his chips to gaze steadily into Lom Trevor's eyes, and then those of Sheriff Wilde, and back again. "Lom, Wilde, am I gonna hang for murder?" the fugitive former outlaw asked frankly.

"I sure hope not, Heyes. But how do I know?" answered Trevors steadily. "From what you told me, it sounds like an open and shut case of self-defense. But that's only what you say. I haven't heard the opposing lawyer's presentation. And the only witnesses are two notorious wanted outlaws. Even if he weren't wanted, nobody could say that the Kid's exactly an impartial witness. And the sheriff who gathered up the evidence afterwards has his bread buttered on the other side."

Wilde put up a hand, "Hold on there, Trevors! I know Herm Pohank – we worked together for a while in Denver. He's a straight shooting sheriff. I can't imagine him faking or ignoring evidence from that crime scene on any account. And from what I hear, he wasn't real pleased with his deputy even before he got caught up in a conspiracy and hanged for murder. So it's not all bad."

"It might all come down to lawyer versus lawyer, and how the jury feels," said Lom Trevors, as he swiftly dealt another hand to each player. "It so often does."

"You think just plain public opinion might play into it, Lom?" asked Heyes, trying not to sound too concerned. "Even something like that new book about us?"

"Could be, Heyes," said Lom. "Men are men. They can't help how they feel about things – and people."

Heyes nodded. "That new book seems to be pretty positive, from what Jim says. Maybe I should change my mind on having my name kept secret during the trial, if the judge allows it?"

"I don't know, Heyes. I'll tell you one thing – I doubt you can keep that jury from figuring out who you are, whether you tell them or not," said Wilde, downing a swig of beer.

"I suspect you're right," said the Kid. "Might not make much difference."

"Maybe not in the courtroom," said Heyes, "But when it comes to your safety in Louisville and my chances of employment – if I get off – that's where the officially secrecy could help. If they allow it."

His three friends nodded. "Guess you have a point there, Heyes," said the Kid. "Are we gonna play or not?"

"Alright then, if I don't hang, or get jailed on man-slaughter, are the Kid and I gonna spend the rest of our lives in prison for armed robbery?" asked Heyes, with a little more anxiety coloring his voice. There was a pause while all four men studied their cards.

"Now there's a question that comes down to politics more than the law, in my opinion," said Trevors. "And there's arguments on both sides."

"I get the arguments against Heyes and Curry," said Wilde, "but what's the argument for them? I mean aside of their being decent guys, and popular with the public. What the political upside to amnesty?"

The conversation hesitated for a moment while Trevors dealt a card to Wilde, two to Curry, three to Heyes, and took one for himself.

Trevors shrugged, "Just plain popularity is a pretty powerful political force, I'd say. For Wyoming, I think the upside's pretty obvious. Having a pair of notorious outlaws on the loose attached to the reputation of Wyoming makes the whole state look bad. Giving them amnesty makes the place look better, without the trouble of catching them – and keeping them caught, which is the hard part. They're the slipperiest bastards west of the Mississippi, by reputation." He winked at his old friends.

"We are, that," said the Kid with notable pride. "Heyes just can't stand to spend the night in jail. He'll do about anything to get out before that first night is over."

"Kid!" protested Heyes irritably. He didn't like his little weakness to get exposed to lawmen, whether they were friends or not.

"But what about for Montana, Texas, and Colorado?" asked Wilde. "You've been watching this for seven years, Trevors. You must have a pretty good idea."

"Colorado would love to have Curry as a sheriff rather than an embarrassment, don't you think?" asked Trevors.

"Yeah, but what about Texas and Montana?" prodded Wilde again. There was a pause while the four men studied their hands.

"Those are the wild cards, so to speak," said Heyes, throwing down his cards. "I'm out."

"Raise you twenty," said the Kid. The two sheriffs matched his bet.

"Another kind'a pressing question," said Heyes, now unencumbered by cards, "If I hang for murder, or go to prison on some variation on man-slaughter, does that end the Kid's chances for amnesty?"

"The governor – now the senator – said they saw you guys as a package deal," said Trevors. "But what happens with the Kid's end of that deal if you go to jail or to the gallows, Heyes, I just can't say. I hope we never find out."

Wilde threw in his cards, but the Kid said, "I'll see you, Lom."

Trevors turned up his cards – he had three kings and two jacks. The Kid pitched in his cards in disgust. "Hope I do better in court than at poker."

"Might be just as much of a crap shoot," observed Heyes, gathering up the deck to deal. "All comes down to human beings, and you know how unpredictable they are."

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In wee hours of the next morning, Beth woke up in the dark to hear Heyes next to her in bed yelling in his sleep, "No! No! Take me!"

She shook her man out of his nightmare. He awoke panting. "Thanks, Beth. That was a nasty one. Sorry to bother you."

"Do you mind telling me what it was about?" asked Beth, caressing Heyes' bare chest as his breathing slowed back to normal.

"Aw, you don't wanna know. Just a stupid nightmare. Go back to sleep and don't worry," said Heyes, turning over to face away from Beth.

"If it's preying on your mind, then I do want to know, honey," said Beth gently, running a hand down his shoulder.

Heyes exhaled hard as he turned over to face Beth. "If you insist. They were hauling the Kid off to prison while I was graduating from Columbia with honors," said Heyes crisply. "It would never really happen. If he goes in, so do I."

"But you could go in and he could go free," said Beth with worry in her voice. "Or you could go in together.

"Yeah. But there's nothing I can do about it, either way," said Heyes miserably.

"Nothing except to just keep doing your best at school, and keep your nose clean – so you come across your best. And so you're ready to start your teaching career when you get off and you both get amnesty!" Beth murmured to Heyes. "So get your sleep, love. You need to have a clear head."

"You're right, honey," said Heyes. He turned back to over to kiss Beth.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

When Heyes got back to New York for the brief winter session, the weather was icy cold and the skies were grey. The retired outlaw met up with his thesis partner, Matt Peale, in one of the teaching assistant offices.

"Whew! Sure is cold out. Must be getting tense for you, Heyes," said Peale, "with your last semester's papers and the MA thesis and heading up your math lab section, and still no word on the trial or the amnesty."

"Don't remind me!" said Heyes with a wry smile. "I got to concentrate on school. If I mess that up, I'm in trouble anyhow. The other stuff, there's just nothing I can do about."

"Yeah, but it's got be distracting," Peale muttered.

"Not if I don't let it be," said Heyes testily. "So stop talking it and let's get to work! Let me show you my latest equations."

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Heyes buckled down to work. He was serious about not letting himself get distracted from school.

Professor Homer sat across his desk from his star student one day in March, "Heyes, you are amazing, considering what you're dealing with. Or even not considering it. I hear nothing but praise from all your seminar professors. You're doing great lab assisting work for me. Your thesis is coming along right on pace."

"Thanks, Charlie," said Heyes. "It all helps to keep me distracted from – you know."

"Yeah," said Homer, "Any word on the trial?"

Heyes' breath hissed. "No. Nothing. No word on anything. I wrote to the governor. And to Warren. Nothing back. Oh well – I didn't write to 'em that long ago."

But Heyes did relax on occasion. That Friday, he got together with Paul Huxtable, Neal George, and Ev Carter at their favorite bar.

"That statistics seminar is a bitch!" moaned George. "To everyone but you, Smith. How do you mange to sound brilliant in every single class?"

"I work at it, NG," said Heyes with a grin. "I read. I study. You know the drill as well as I do. We all do. Let's not talk about school. I'm sick of it."

"Not too much longer for you to be sick of it, Smith," said Carter. "I guess you're still on track to finish this semester? You'll beat us all if you do. But we ought'a be used to that."

"I'm trying, guys," said Heyes. "I just got to finish up so I can get a job and marry Beth."

"Were you this good at crime?" asked Huxtable. The rest of the friends looked at their youngest member in horror, hissing to shush him.

"Hush up, Paul!" said George before Heyes could say anything himself. "You never know who might hear you around here!"

"Sorry!" said Huxtable, "More than enough beers for me, I guess. I'm really sorry, Smith."

But Heyes could see his friends staring at him, wondering the same thing. He had always promoted the idea that he had been a pretty ordinary crook who worked alone. Considering how excellent he was at school, they couldn't help but wonder if, during his years out west, he had been far more than an ordinary criminal.

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When Heyes dropped into the worn leather chair in Charlie Homer's office in April, his advisor said, "You feeling good about your work, Heyes?"

"Yeah. Pretty good," said Heyes, who, hearing Homer's voice, was suddenly unsure whether he was right to feel that way.

"Well I'm not happy with it!" shouted Homer, "What do you mean rearranging lessons without telling me? Who's the professor here, you or me? You might be a damn gang leader in Wyoming, but here you're an assistant! Got it, Heyes? An assistant! A student! I'm in charge! Not you! You want to change something, you ask me first!"

Heyes' mouth opened and closed and he flushed in embarrassment. But in embarrassment not for himself, but for Charlie. Heyes spoke quietly, trying not to sound like he was complaining or attacking his advisor, who didn't sound like himself at all, "Those classes haven't happened yet. I just told Huxtable that I might make that little change – not that I would. I was about to ask you about it. I'll do whatever you want me to do, Charlie. I just thought it might work better if . . ."

Homer stood and raged at his star student. Heyes' mouth fell opened. It was like his advisor had turned into an utter stranger, "That's Professor Homer to you, Smith! You're paid to do what I tell you to do! Not to mess around with my plans. You will leave the lessons in the order I put in the syllabus! And it's been two weeks since you reported on your thesis. Please have something for me Thursday. Stop being lazy and insubordinate or I'll report you to the dean. Get out of here"

Heyes rose and left without another word. There was nothing he could say.

Heyes went and found Huxtable between classes in his teaching assistant office. Heyes asked, "Missouri, what did you tell Homer about my plans for lab?"

Huxtable looked at his older friend in bafflement, "I just said you had a good idea to make a little re-arrangement – you know what you said to me. I said he should ask you about it. What did he say?"

Heyes said, "He took my head off, Missouri! I've never seen Charlie Homer anything like that. You'd think I'd attacked his qualifications or something. Or, well, I don't know what to think. Has he seemed kind of testy and out of sorts to you lately?"

Huxtable nodded. "Yeah. I heard him dress NG down in the hall just yesterday over some tiny thing. There's something wrong, Kansas. You gonna talk to him about it?"

"I don't know if I can, Missouri. He threatened to report me to the dean," Heyes saw how concerned Huxtable looked and he agreed, "But I'll do my best. He wants me to see him on Thursday. I'll see what I can do. He's more likely to listen to me than to any other student."

Huxtable paused and looked at his friend. "Smith – does he know who you are – you know – what you did?"

Heyes nodded, "I told you that. Yes. Homer knows everything."

Huxtable swallowed, and said very softly, "Do you think he could be worrying – about you? You said that you would have to stand trial. Have you heard anything about that yet?"

Heyes looked down in shame. "No, Missouri, I haven't heard a thing about the trial. It has to be soon. And yeah, Charlie could be worrying over me. But not this much. I just can't believe that. It's something else. I'm sure it is. I'll see what I can find out on Thursday. I'll let you know what I find out," said Heyes. He hoped that Huxtable wasn't right. He couldn't stand the thought that his own legal problems could cause such worries and troubles for other people.

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Heyes felt a nervousness bordering on fear as he approached his advisor's office that Thursday afternoon. He wasn't sure that he really wanted to know what was bothering Charlie Homer so badly. Heyes knocked on his advisor's door, "Come in, Heyes!" he heard the reply come clearly through the door. Heyes had never heard Homer be so careless with his real name.

"Hello, Professor Homer. Can I please ask you to be more careful – with my name," said Heyes tentatively.

"What? I called you Smith, didn't I?" Professor Homer sounded shaken.

"No, professor. You called me Heyes and you said it pretty loudly. And I wasn't alone in that hall," said Heyes, a little more firmly.

Homer looked appalled at his own actions. "I – gosh, I'm sorry Heyes. I sure didn't mean to do that. And why are you being so formal all of a sudden?"

Heyes stared at Homer, who seemed to be an utterly different person than he had been two days before. "You told me to call you Professor Homer. You said you'd report me to the dean if I was insubordinate. I thought you meant it."

"I'm sorry, Heyes. And you don't have to present to me on your thesis, if you don't need to. I'm really not up to hearing it, honestly," Charlie Homer held him head in his hands. As he looked up, Heyes saw how very upset he looked, "Go away, Heyes. I . . . I just can't . . . Go away and leave me alone, Heyes. Please!"

"I'm not going away until you tell me what's wrong, Charlie!" said Heyes firmly, "There's something bothering you a lot. And it'd better not be me, 'cause I'm not worth it."

"No – or well, yeah I'm worried about you," Homer stopped and took a deep, shuddering breath, as he manfully fought to stave off tears, "It's Marie. She sick, Heyes. She's real sick."

Heyes was shocked, "Marie? What kind of sick?"

"She has cancer, Heyes. Bone cancer," Heyes gasped. Cancer in those days was a death sentence with little recourse. "We knew there was something wrong, but we didn't know how bad until just a couple of weeks ago. She's having surgery next week. She won't make it. There's no hope," now the tears were flowing freely down Charlie Homer's face.

"Oh my God! Charlie, I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Heyes, with tears starting in his own eyes "You can't keep teaching with this going on. It isn't right – not for you or for Marie. You need every minute you can have together. You have to take off. Hell, you should just retire. You've put in the time. Is she is pain?"

"Yes, she's in terrible pain," sobbed Homer, wiping his eyes, "And there's nothing we can really do. I'd love to take time off, but I can't leave all my students with no one to teach them,"

"What do you have teaching assistants for, Charlie? We can take over for you. You must have notes we can use," said Heyes.

"Yeah, I don't trust the other guys that much, Heyes. But if you would . . . I can't ask that of you, Heyes. You have your own classes and your thesis – and I know you're waiting or worrying," Homer sniffed, and wiped at his eyes, trying to pull himself together.

"You let me worry about that, Charlie!" said Heyes, "I'd be privileged to teach for you. It's just the one undergraduate class I'm assisting on and the grad seminar I'm in, right?"

"That's right," Charlie Homer gasped, "Oh, Heyes, I'd be so grateful to you. There's no one I'd trust more. No one on earth. If you could take just a day or two or three - tomorrow and next week – so I could be with Marie. Then I'll come back and take over – after . . ."

"No!" said Heyes fervently, "You can't come back right after that. You need some time. I'll take both classes until you're really ready."

"I'm in your debt, Heyes!" said Homer. "I'll tell the dean what we're doing. There won't be any trouble. I'll let you know what's going on – with Marie."

Heyes wiped his eyes, "Give her all my love, Charlie! Is she up to a visit – from Beth and me?"

Homer shook his head, "No, Heyes. She's dying. She doesn't see anyone. Except me."

That night, Heyes went to see Beth in her office at the clinic. He said, "Marie Homer's dying of cancer, Beth! I don't what Charlie will do without her. If it was you . . ." Heyes broke down and just held Beth and sobbed. "I'll be teaching for him – until he can manage it. It's the only thing I can do for them."

"You're the best, Heyes!" said Beth, stroking his long hair and talking through her tears, "Charlie and Marie have been there for us through thick and thin. They gave up their apartment to a bunch of outlaws and friends. Remember how Marie bandaged up the Kid and you, day after day? It's great that you can do this for them! Gosh, I love you, Hannibal Heyes! But oh, poor Marie and Charlie!" The two held each other and wept for their dear friends.