Two Degrees of Separation Part II

by Helen West

Hannibal Heyes puts it all on the line for his dream of going to college. Follows Two Degrees of Separation, which I can't post on any longer. The Original Two Degrees of Separation follows Hannibal Heyes Goes to New York, which Follows Not Again! All three must be read for this to make sense. This is a Heyes story, but Kid appears very tellingly.

58. Chapter 58

The Kid sat hunched over in his cell bunk in the predawn darkness. He wished that he could be sure of what Heyes thought he had figured out. From the way Heyes was acting, it sure seemed to be good news. Evidently something would happen soon. "So close!" Heyes had said with a smile. It sounded like he still thought that the amnesty might come through, and soon! But not being sure of that and not knowing what the authorities of the Penitentiary might be planning, the Kid felt helpless to do anything for his partner. He would simply have to watch like a hawk to see what actually did happen and what he could possibly do to help it to turn out well. And what if Heyes was wrong? He seemed very confident, but Curry knew his partner well enough to realize that he often put on a confident act when he was most unsure.

At the same time on the other side of the penitentiary, Heyes also sat up in his cell bunk in the dark worrying. He couldn't know what would happen the next day. His confidence, that had been so high when he had been talking to every man in the prison in turn, was now at a record low. The rhythmic work song the old jail bird had taught him kept going through his head: "Our boots and clothes is all in pawn! Go down you blood-red roses, go down!" Would Heyes be singing it, driving spikes, forever? Or would his desperate hopes be fulfilled? Or would he not live to see another sunset? He could only assume that Johnson's retribution would come home to himself and perhaps to the Kid as well. It had been taking a very long chance for Heyes to trust the warden with as much information as he had. Considering Heyes' only very doubtful, and possibly extremely short future, he simply had to get someone to look into Johnson. No matter what happened to him personally, he couldn't let these abuses go on. He had to do what he could to help, even if it cost him his life.

Heyes went over and back over and back over the logic of his simple solution to the mysterious brief telegram from Senator Warren. If he was wrong, it would certainly mean disaster for himself and probably for the Kid as well. But even if he was right, Heyes would have to pull off the con of his life against a canny and powerful opponent. And he would have to do it without being able to communicate openly with the Kid; and without his pick locks, or dynamite, or guns, or horses.

Back in his own cell, the Kid kept nervously waking and trying to go back to sleep as he waited for the later Sunday morning waking time of 7:30. Finally, the bugle sounded and the men got up to strip their beds and march off to breakfast. After the best breakfast he had had in prison so far, of hot hash browns, the Kid and his cell mate joined the line of men going to church.

The Kid looked surreptitiously around the small hall that was pressed into duty as a chapel on Sundays. But he could not spot Heyes anywhere. As the preachy sermon by a local clergyman started, the Kid was paying very little attention. His whole mind was on Heyes and his plans. Missing church was a serious punishment at the Penitentiary. So where was Heyes instead and what was happening to him? The Kid had no answer. He squirmed in his seat until the guy next to him actually swatted him. Listening to the sermon was one of the treats of the week and Curry was spoiling it for his neighbor.

As the men were solemnly filing out of the service, the man behind Curry whispered to him, "We're real grateful to you and Heyes!"

The Kid was baffled. He looked back in silent question.

The other prisoner replied very, very softly but with excitement, "You know – takin' down Johnson! Heyes sure got enough stories from us boys yesterday while he was hangin' up! Even the sellouts hate Johnson!"

A guard yelled at the talkative man, "Silence! No speaking to one another!" He pulled the prisoner out of line and hit him across the face with his switch several times. The Kid was relieved to continue on his way without getting any punishment of his own, although he felt bad for his fellow prisoner. But he was nearly as shaken by what the man had said as he would have been by a blow. Not having heard what Heyes had told the warden, nor what he had said to the other inmates, the Kid was shocked that his partner would come out in the open with plans against cell block warden Johnson. If Johnson heard that information, then things would soon get very bad for Heyes, and probably for the Kid as well. Heyes might be with Johnson, or some of his men, even now. And it wouldn't be a pleasant meeting.

Curry's mind began to work. If Heyes was alone with Johnson, then the Kid's partner had no chance. If the brutal cell block warden felt threatened, it would not be hard for him to find official excuse to do very great harm to the lowly, indeed notorious, inmate threatening him. With what the Kid had heard from Crum, Johnson might even have Heyes killed. And that might not be the worst possible threat. The Kid remembered the limping ex con he had met who'd gotten out of the pen.

The only way that the Kid knew to help his partner was to be with him – to work with him. But how could he possibly manage to get to where Heyes was and be anything but helpless himself? As he thought, the Kid was being marched back to his cell. Once he was locked in, he would be unable to help Heyes in any way. What could he do? If Curry simply stepped out of line and made a break for it, he would be caught and confined in seconds. It would do Heyes no good at all. And he couldn't think of any rational reason for him to ask to see the man in charge of a cell block that was not his own.

Curry simply couldn't conceive of how to do what he needed to do. He was watched every minute in this place. Then he was being locked into his cell. He had missed his opportunity. He climbed onto his bunk and stared dazedly on the wall. Maybe he was imagining things, but he thought not. Heyes was in danger and the Kid couldn't help him.

As the Kid sat, a guard came to the cell door. He said, "Step back!" to the Kid's cell mate, who had been sitting at the desk writing his monthly letter home. The man dropped his pen onto the desk as if it had burned him and stood with is back flat against the fronts of the bunks.

"Curry, you're comin' with me!" said the guard. It was the same nasty red-headed guard who had been with the Kid and Heyes while they had been working in the rail yard. It looked like Curry might be on his way to his partner's side very soon.

The Kid jumped down from his bunk at the far end away from the cell door. He stepped accidentally against the edge of the desk and felt his cell mate's pen roll against the back of his arm. The Kid's cell mate stepped away from Curry, toward the cell door, fetching a yell from the guard "Away from the door! You ain't goin' nowhere!" In that instant, while the guard was distracted, the Kid took the steel-nibbed pen in his left hand and secreted it in the back of the baggy waistband of his prison uniform. If its tiny reservoir leaked ink, it would be easily hidden by the garment's broad black top stripe. The Kid had a modest weapon and the beginning of a vague plan.

The guard marched the Kid down to the end of the cell block, and then up the stairs. The day was fine and the windows were opened. The Kid heard, ever so faintly, a distant church chime somewhere in Laramie. Considering the length of the sermon he had just sat through, Curry figured it must be striking 11:30. He recalled hearing that same church chime ring the same hour from much nearer on the day when he and Heyes had arrived in Laramie on the train the previous Thursday. It was hard to believe that they were less than half an hour from having been at the Wyoming State Penitentiary for only three full days.

Suddenly Curry knew what Heyes had realized the day before and tried in vain to communicate to his partner without giving it away to the guards around them. The Kid knew that his desperate little plan had a chance, if only a tiny one, to save the partners. He couldn't afford to get anything wrong. And neither could Heyes. But if they got everything right, things could come out very well for them. Just so long as Heyes really was right about the telegram. Once again, Curry might be entrusting his life to Heyes and his wild ideas. Heyes' ideas were very often right. But not always.

The fierce red-haired guard man-handled Curry up the steps toward Mr. Johnson's office. The Kid stumbled and fell to his knees on the steps. The guard jerked at his arm and threw off the Kid's balance even worse. As the Kid scrambled to get to his feet, the hidden steel-nibbed pen found its way into his left hand, carefully hidden against his side under his over-long striped sleeve. The guard growled at Curry, "On your feet, you clumsy fool!" Curry scrambled for a few more seconds, then figured that he had better go ahead and move on. He had taken all the time he could. He got to his feet. The guard and his charge made their way up to the second floor landing.

The guard took Curry to a door marked "Mr. Johnson." He opened it and took Curry into an empty outer office. The Kid stifled a sigh of relief. This layout of an outer and an inner office couldn't be more ideal for his plan. The guard knocked on the inner door and yelled in his gruff voice, "Mr. Johnson! I have Curry here! Do you want him?"

The smooth tenor voice of Johnson replied, "No, not yet. In fact, take him out and down the hall for a few minutes. Mr. Heyes and I still have some things to discuss and I would like to be sure that our consultation is strictly private."

The guard turned to take Curry back out of the outer door, but as he turned back to his prisoner, he found the man standing very close, facing him with a sharp steel-nibbed pen held in his left hand. Curry had the pen's base braced against the ball of his thumb and his fingers along the steel nib, making the little instrument into a precision weapon. The sharp pen was pointed directly at the guard's throat where the ends of his collar bone came together. While neither man was a doctor, both were familiar with the anatomical facts that made various parts of the body susceptible to attack. Both men knew well that if Curry jabbed the pen straight into the guard's throat and out its back, he would die a very nasty death, choking on his own blood and paralyzed by a spinal cord injury before he could draw his gun. The guard hesitated for just a split second about yelling for help – it would look very foolish for him to be caught so vulnerable by a prisoner. Curry took that instant and jabbed the pen forward with his left hand. The guard tried to reach for his gun, but Curry pounded his right hand as hard as he could into just the right spot on the back of the man's head. The guard fell forward, out cold. The jab with the pen had been only a feint to distract the guard from the true nature of the attack; Curry had drawn only a few drops of blood.

Curry was relieved to have avoided killing the guard and therefore being later hung for murder and attempted jail break. But the guard's body fell heavily against the outer office door that led into the hall, with his half-drawn gun also banging hard against the door. Curry froze, wondering what Johnson would do about the loud sound. There was a long, tense moment of waiting. Nothing happened. Johnson did not look out of his door or even call out a question. Belatedly, it occurred to the Kid that the sound of the guard's limp body and his gun falling into the door was very much like the sound of a door slamming – exactly what Johnson must have been expecting to hear as the guard accompanied Curry out and down the hall. So Curry was safe for the moment. He guided the limp but still living body to the floor with the greatest of caution. He couldn't afford to cause another sound that would get Johnson's attention.

Curry picked up the guard's gun and looked at it. The man was damned careless! There was only one bullet in the gun and the guard had no ammunition on him. But the one bullet could be enough – especially if Curry could play it right and never have to pull the trigger. But he didn't know whether Johnson might have a fully loaded gun in his hand or even a fully armed guard with him in his office. It would be much, much better to let the authorities take care of this – if Heyes was right!

Then Curry snuck silently to listen at the inner office door. He didn't want to break in at the wrong moment and upset whatever plan Heyes had going. What he heard was Johnson's unctuous voice, obviously continuing a long monologue to Heyes. "The longer he goes on the better!" thought the Kid. "As long as Johnson don't catch on to that!"

Johnson was saying, ". . . have outlined what exciting plans we can carry forward together for concealing . . . unexplained income. And the . . . acquisition of large volumes of . . . well, I think I had still better leave that dark. But something valuable, you may be sure, and something that your . . . peculiar talents and training would make it easy for us to get. Will you now consent to the proposition to work for me?"

There was a pause. Curry could practically hear his partner counting off seconds before he replied, just as slowly and unctuously as the cell block warden, "Mr. Johnson, I have explained to you my bitter experiences with having stolen large amounts of valuable substances. People didn't like it. They tended to send sheriffs and posses and other dangerous parties after us. And by the way, don't bother to hide the fact that it's gold you are talking about making away with. It always is. But by all means, please do tell me why your proposal would be better than my previous life of crime. Give me every detail, Mr. Johnson, for I am realizing what an eloquent man and what a powerful and intelligent man you are. Who knows, you may just convince me. I am not, I believe, an unreasonable or exceptionally demanding man. Nor is my partner, who must certainly be a part of any such agreement. You cannot leave him out of your calculations."

Curry grinned as he leaned against the door. He could hear Heyes counting up syllables and using as many as he could. He was playing for time. Curry himself was just as carefully counting off time until Johnson would expect the guard to return with his charge. Curry leaned away from the door for a moment and checked to make sure that the guard was still unconscious. He was. Then the Kid leaned back against the inner office door to hear Johnson speaking again.

". . . safety of being already behind bars where no one could possibly suspect you, cannot be over stated. Oh, Mr. Heyes, I can make things very comfortable for you and for your partner, for whom I could certainly find work as well. If you will consent to following my orders, regardless of their relationship to the law, I can get you both much more comfortable clothes, more comfortable sleeping arrangements, much better food, much more reasonable hours of waking, much more frequent and better baths. How does that sound to you?"

"Go on. I am quite certain that you can make your offer far more appealing than that. I'm sure that you can find attractive proposals for my partner, as well," said Heyes slowly. Curry could just hear him smiling as if he were warming to the idea of being a dirty bookkeeper and theft planner for hire.

Johnson went on with various offers of comforts that could be offered. Heyes, again, urged him to enumerate more specifics. This went back and forth for some minutes. It grew rather dull for the listening Curry, but he was happy enough. He checked the guard again – he was still not moving. "Tick, tick, tick," thought Curry. Heyes, the master con man was getting Johnson to trust him not with money, but with time. The Kid would bide his own time very carefully to make sure that he wouldn't upset this con. He didn't want to fire his precious single bullet too soon. He always wanted to avoid murder, but he also didn't want to waste the bullet.

"Oh, there are so many things that I can do for the pair of you," continued Johnson, "I can house you and your partner, Mr. Curry, in the same cell together. I can ask the guards to ignore whatever they might hear from that cell – so that you can speak freely. Or do whatever you like. We can put the deaf Mr. Smith next to you so you needn't worry over any lack of privacy . . ."

Johnson was still droning on. The Kid thought this would be an opportune moment for him to open and loudly close the outer office's door from the hall. He was now officially back in the outer office. Curry expected to be summoned any minute.

He put his ear back to the door to hear Johnson saying, " . . .can make whatever arrangements you wish, within reason. You would, after all, still technically be prisoners. But prisoners with very comfortable living conditions and the ability to own such property as books. And perhaps the occasional leave to visit outside establishments – under guard, of course. All of this, of course, providing that you will put your excellent minds and skilled hands to work for me. Only for me."

The contrast of the life Johnson was describing with what Heyes and Curry were enduring now was extremely stark. Curry had no doubt at all - Heyes would never agree to cooperate with Johnson under any conditions. The Kid trusted his partner absolutely. Yet Heyes made Johnson believe that he might be weakening in his resolve.

"I detect that your partner is now in the outer office," said Johnson softly, "Why don't we invite him in to see if my offers are more appealing to him? Perhaps he can make suggestions about what might make my offer more likely to sway you."

Johnson shouted, "Send Curry in! Stay out there, but just make sure that his hands are bound securely!"

This was a very ticklish moment. Would Johnson have a gun in his hand or another guard with him? Would Heyes have his hands free or be in handcuffs or chains? The Kid couldn't know. So he would have to play this entrance very carefully. His heart was racing as he prepared to step into Heyes' silver-tongued con.

Curry imitated the hoarse voice of the unconscious guard, shouting through the door "Yes sir, Mr. Johnson!" Then he paused for a moment to take the time that would have been needed to check the security of his own hands. Curry opened the door slightly and let it drift farther opened for a moment, taking the time to put his hands behind his back, holding the guard's gun between them. Then he stepped into the room with a jerk, as if he had been pushed from behind. The door closed softly behind him without Curry's having to do a thing. He sent a silent thank you to whatever guardian angel might look out after outlaws gone straight. How to close the door was a detail that had been preying on his mind.

The Kid found the slender blonde Johnson behind his desk. There was a pistol in an opened drawer right in front of him. Heyes was standing defiantly before the desk, with his hands handcuffed behind him. Heyes turned to look at his partner. He raised an eyebrow in question – was the Kid onto what was happening, the play for time? The Kid nodded ever so slightly, mostly with his eyes.

"Mr. Curry," said Johnson, "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Johnson. I am the warden of the other cell block – the one that you are glad that you are not in. I have been telling your estimable partner how very nice I could make life here for you both if you would simply agree to work for me. To do whatever I would ask of you, in exchange for the finest of housing, food, drink, and other comforts. We might even be able to provide, um, company for you of a more agreeable kind than you are currently experiencing. What do you say to that, Mr. Curry?"

The Kid went to the oldest trick in the book for taking up time. He looked thoughtful and did not say anything at all. As he stood silently, he appreciated the slight breeze that came through Johnson's opened office window on this very warm May day. Presently, something else came through the window – the distant sound of that same far off church bell that the Kid had heard before. It was striking noon. The Kid and Heyes exchanged a quick look that could be explained as partners deciding whether they were interested in this offer. What was really contained in that look was Heyes starting to get very nervous and the Kid was not feeling much better. The law should be here by now. It had been a bit before noon when arrived at the Penitentiary three days before. If the three nevers in Senator Warren's telegram meant that the authorities would free the partners after three days, then they should be here by now. The Kid assumed that the three days would have been seen by the four governors as merely symbolic punishment for two notorious felons before giving them amnesty. The governors could not have guessed all that the two men would go through in those three days.

And yet, there was no sign of the authorities arriving. Here Heyes and Curry were still on their own. What if the message really meant three weeks or three months or three years? Or what if Heyes' idea about three was wrong entirely? The two partners could be caught playing for time with a con that had no ending – or at least none that they could survive. The play for time could go on for only so long. Eventually the very perceptive Mr. Johnson would catch on and decide that negative persuasion might be more effective than positive.

"Mr. Johnson," said Curry, exaggerating his western accent and poor grammar in order to make Heyes look even more sophisticated than he really was, and to make Johnson feel superior to the simple fast gun outlaw. "You must not have heard – Heyes and me, we've gone straight. We're tryin' to do the right thing by folks. You may not understand why we'd do it, but it's important to us. You ain't told us nothin', least ways nothin' I've heard, that tells us why we oughta' go and mess that up after more'n seven years of work. You got somethin' better to offer?"

Johnson looked at the Kid in puzzlement. Then he began to laugh in a soft, nasty way. "It has just occurred to me what you are talking about, Mr. Curry. Amnesty! That is it, is it not?"

Now Heyes and the Kid exchanged really worried looks. If Johnson was on to them, their future could be extremely short and grim.

"Oh my goodness," continued Johnson, his voice growing softer and yet more threatening as he went, "don't make me laugh that hard! Do you really think that you would be inmates in the Wyoming State Penitentiary if that possibility were on the table? You are notorious felons! Give up any hope of being released. Go with my realistic and pleasant offer, gentlemen. The other way, only madness lies. Madness, suffering, and, if you continue to resist me, perhaps . . . death."

The Kid flicked his eyes to the side and saw his partner going pale. This was it. This was the time when the appealing offers would turn to terrifying threats. And then, all too soon perhaps, from words to actions. If the authorities didn't arrive soon, things would turn terrible. If Heyes was wrong, they had no chance. Even if Heyes was right, the tension was bad enough. The Kid remembered a guess that Heyes had made years before, about as the Kid had said at the time, "another man's character." The man had been Judge Hanley – who had let the boys go from the town jail after they had helped to locate a lot of stolen money and catch a dirty sheriff. So Heyes had been right that time, but the Kid had told his partner that the worry had taken thirty years off his life. If Heyes' current guess was wrong, it could cost the Kid all the years he had left. And even if Heyes was right, Curry could practically feel his short shaven hair going grey in worry and fear.

Johnson gave a cool look to each of the men before him. "So the answer you have for me is still no?"

"It is," said Heyes and the Kid nodded.

Johnson was no discouraged. "As you have said, Mr. Curry, murder is illegal, even here." The Kid cringed – only one man would know that he had said that – Crum! The man was in Johnson's pocket! "But a little light punishment, for discipline – the warden has no objection. It can be useful in correcting . . . um . . . violence. You could put up with a little light punishment, couldn't you, Mr. Curry? And perhaps Mr. Heyes as well, though he has proven how stubborn he can be. So perhaps it would be better to begin with Mr. Curry. You could endure a little punishment, could you not, in order to help your dear partner to make the right decision? I shall ask my, um, friend in the outer office to take it easy on you. His black snake whip will only remove a bit of skin from your back. Just skin. You've felt worse, many times. Neither one of you should worry about such mild punishment, right?"

Johnson paused and smiled. The partners began to sweat in earnest. Would the authorities come to save them? What an irony – to be eager to have the law come instead of dreading it as they always had before! The authorities might only be delayed – surely Heyes really was right? If not, the Kid would very soon have to decide when to use his one chance against Johnson – the gun with a single bullet.

Johnson's vile voice went on, "But then again, maybe you should be a bit more worried about our simple little punishment. Are you familiar with the germ theory of disease, Mr. Heyes? Are you?" Heyes swallowed hard. He was. "I am. Your background, Mr. Heyes, is in mathematics. Such a harmless field, I think, compared with my own former field – medicine. Oh yes, I was once studying to be a doctor. It takes so much work. But I did learn a few things before I left it behind." The Kid was baffled, but Heyes was beginning to realize the threat that Johnson was going to make. He looked at Johnson in increasing horror.

Johnson spoke just above a whisper, in mock kindly tones, as he explained his plans, "Mr. Heyes, if you continue to make trouble and you refuse to help me, you and your partner both will have reason to become very, very familiar with germs. As you know, Mr. Heyes, those tiny creatures, too small to see, can cause a man a lot of trouble. Or pain. Or death. Like when you had pneumonia a few years ago. Or when your partner here got an infection in a gunshot wound in his leg, I believe it was. Correct me if I am inaccurate. And if my assistant opens up a good area of skin, there's so much chance for an infection to take hold.

There are so many avenues for germs to enter a man's body, even in this place that is so clean, for a prison. A little of the wrong substance in your bath water, or your drinking water, or on your blankets, or in your clothing – well, the possibilities are endless. Aren't they, Mr. Heyes? Your prodigious brain can think of many more than I would take the time to mention. You would never know what to trust or what to dread, if you continued to cause me trouble and to resist my very reasonable offers, would you? And no one could possibly charge anyone with murder for administering a little mild punishment and having the man just so happen to die of infection later in the Penitentiary's excellent little hospital. Of course not. And no one will take your word – the word of a mere prisoner – against mine.

Oh and Mr. Heyes, I wouldn't take the warden's word on that little investigation. He's promised to do that more than once, and nothing has ever happened to me, as you can see. He fears me far, far too much for that."

With what both Heyes and the Kid had heard about this place – the men who had come out terribly transformed – they could have no doubt that Johnson's words were no empty threat. And Heyes, from what the inmates had told him the day before, had learned far too much to doubt how serious these threats were. There really had been men who had suffered from exactly what Johnson was threatening the partners with. If Curry and Heyes couldn't stop it, Johnson would do it again. He would do it to them. And more men would suffer after them. Johnson looked at them, slowly smiling. He was considering when to call upon his assistant – with the whip.

At that moment, the partners heard a faint but familiar and incredibly welcome sound. It was at least two wagons coming down the road and pulling up in front of the Penitentiary. On a weekday it could have been more prisoners arriving or perhaps supply wagons. On a Sunday, it could be only one thing, surely. The partner's exchanged a glance. Now they only had to make it for a few minutes more – the time it would take for the authorities to get from the front gate to this office. If they knew where they needed to get to within the prison – which they probably did not.

The other question was whether Johnson knew that he had anything to fear. Why should he? He had already dismissed the idea of amnesty, and indeed, any threat that mere prisoners could pose to him.

Johnson knew every reason that the partners should look at each other as their fear grew – he did not know how much of a plan the two could put together silently and swiftly. Curry shot a look at Heyes, then at the gun in Johnson's open desk drawer, and then back at Heyes as he gave a brief glance over his shoulder to where he had a gun hidden. The darker outlaw smiled very slightly. Their plan was on.

"And yet I am going to be speaking with the warden very frequently, as part of my program of rehabilitation, of course," Heyes said to Johnson, "so I will certainly have the opportunity to exercise my famous silver tongue on the man . . . Who knows of what I may be able to convince him. . .?"

"If you think that you will ever . . .!" Johnson was responding hotly and looking hard at Heyes with growing fury. As Heyes had the evil man most distracted, the Kid put his famous speed with a gun to use. He softly cleared his throat to make sure that Johnson saw the notorious gunman calmly holding a pistol on him and heard the gun loudly cocked. Johnson, who had assumed that the famous fast draw man was tied securely and certainly had no gun, was so stunned that he didn't even try to make a move for his own weapon. It didn't take him long to conclude that yelling for his man who was supposed to be on guard in the next room would be no use – where else would Curry have gotten a loaded pistol?

"Heyes, could you please go over and collect Mr. Johnson's gun?" said the Kid politely. "I know handcuffs won't stop you from doin' that real easy."

Heyes only laughed as he walked to the warden's desk and turned around to use his bound hands efficiently to take the weapon from the drawer. As Heyes was turning, Johnson yelled "Rogan! Rogan! Help me!" This did, as all three men had suspected, absolutely no good. The red-headed guard was still out cold next door. Heyes deftly picked up Johnson's gun and went back around the desk to hand it to the Kid. Now he had a gun in each hand.

"Gentlemen, if you think that a mere two guns will let you escape from this prison, there is a great deal that you have not thought out!" Johnson began, still sounding very confident of his mastery of this situation. He knew no reason that he should not be right about that.

"Quiet, Johnson," said Heyes with a threat lurking in his voice, "and unlock my handcuffs, please."

"I don't have the key here!" said Johnson defiantly. "And you will pay for your rudeness."

"Shut up, Johnson," said Curry. "I got a real itchy trigger finger after three days here!"

Meanwhile, Heyes turned and, with practiced skill, used his bound hands to open the door to the outer office. He checked and aw that the red-headed guard Rogan was just starting to wake up. Then Heyes stepped through the outer office and opened the door to the hall. "Hello! Marshals! Senator Warren! We're in Johnson's office on the second floor!" Heyes shouted at the top of his lungs. Curry could see Johnson start violently at that. He had had no idea that a Senator was on the premises and, what's more, on the side of two notorious prisoners. But then again, considering who was involved here . . .

"Now if you think that you can fool me into thinking . . ." Johnson began to say.

But then a loud voice echoed up the stairs. "I hear you, Heyes! We're coming with marshals! Are you both safe?" It was Senator Warren himself. Curry's blue eyes got as big as Johnson's blue eyes did but for the opposite reason. Johnson the apt brown noser had reason to recognize the booming voice, but so did the Kid and Heyes. Where Johnson dreaded what the senator's presence might mean, Curry and Heyes now began to smile. Despite their bold bluff, until this moment they had not been certain that the authorities really were coming with their amnesty. Now they could finally be sure that Heyes' crazy guess about the telegram had been right. They were really going to get their amnesty at last – if they didn't mess this up.

"Guard's waking up," said Heyes to Curry.

"I got a gun on Johnson, but there's a guard here! Come on up!" yelled Curry down the hall.

Instantly, there was the loud sound of many men running up the wooden staircase. A dozen marshals with drawn pistols came up the steps. The portly Senator Warren took a couple of minutes longer to make his way up the stairs, with his own drawn pistol in his hand. And a number of armed prison guards came with him, followed by the warden.

Another guard who was in Johnson's pay came running down the hall, but when he saw the large group of armed men who were there already, he came to a sudden halt and never drew his gun.

Curry herded Johnson out the door of the outer office at gunpoint, "This is a real, real dirty cell block warden named Johnson!" he announced. "I'd be obliged if you guys would take him off my hands!"

"I am a warden! These men are felons! They have stolen a gun! They are dangerous!" yelled Johnson, his voice getting higher and more nervous with every line he said.

Senator Warren laughed. "Those prisoners are on the side of the law!" he yelled, "Take Johnson prisoner and take that red-headed guard with him! I have good reason to believe Heyes and Curry long before I believe Johnson."

Johnson was still yelling shrilly, on and on, variants on, "It's all lies! They hate me! They lie about me!"

"Do as the senator says!" said the warden in a soft, strained voice, to make sure that his own guards caused no trouble. He knew that if Johnson was guilty, he was in serious trouble. He had allowed this to go on.

"Johnson's worse than any man here!" said Curry, smiling at the Senator. "Thanks for helpin' us out."

"Take him away, marshals. He will get due process of law, Mr. Curry," said Senator Warren as the marshals and guards escorted Johnson and Rogan away. The marshals took the still protesting Johnson down the stairs to put him safely in a cell, and the silent red-headed guard Rogan behind him.

Johnson's shrill voice grew softer and softer as he went down the stairs in handcuffs under heavy guard. Finally it stopped altogether. Heyes and Curry looked at each other and exhaled in relief. They had done it! They had conned Johnson for long enough. They made it through the day – and through seven and a half years of going straight. Now everything would, finally, finally, be alright. They hoped.

The senator looked cautiously at Heyes and Curry, in their rough prison uniforms and shaved heads.

"Are you men alright?" Warren asked anxiously.

Heyes smiled, "Never better, Senator! Thank you very much! How about you, Kid?"

"I'd agree, partner," said the Kid, sharing a smile with his partner, "Although I got to tell you, Senator, my partner ain't so good as he says."

"Ah, Kid, there's nothing bad enough to get in the way of what the Senator is talking about. That is, Senator, if you have for us what I think you have for us," said Heyes gladly.

"Gentlemen," said the Senator with a wide smile under his mustache, "let's go the warden's office and see."

The Senator summoned prison guards to come and unlock Heyes' handcuffs. Then the three men and a group of happy marshals and nervous prison guards made their way back into the halls of the Penitentiary and toward the warden's office.

As they walked, Heyes walked next to Warren. He said, "You were starting to worry me, Senator! I thought I must have misinterpreted your message. It was wait for three days in prison, right? The three nevers meant three days, right?"

The senator nodded, "Yes, boys, that's exactly right. That was the deal we came up with among the governors – a felony conviction and three days in the Wyoming State Penitentiary. You had to get some at least slight punishment in order to allow . . . um certain parties . . . to save political face. They couldn't let you seem to get off Scott free, even after seven years and seven months straight and all that money and criminals turned in. The three days were meant to be long enough to make you worry that it really would be twenty years. But it was meant to be a short enough time that you couldn't get into too much trouble. I would say that we miscalculated there. You boys seem to have a positive instinct for trouble. Maybe three hours would have been safer!"

Heyes asked, "So what kept you, governor? We were expecting you before noon! We were damned lucky to get off as easy as we did! Johnson was starting to talk about whips . . ."

"My apologies. Our train from Cheyenne was held up, gentlemen," said the senator with an embarrassed grin.

"Don't tell me!" said Curry, "Who was it? If I ever catch those guys . . ."

The senator laughed. "Not who, Mr. Curry, what. It was a fallen tree!"

The three men laughed, but two of them still sounded very uneasy.

They found a very shame-faced warden awaiting them in his office standing by his desk. Standing beside him was a little round, balding man with gold glasses and a large dark mustache. Senator Warren said, "Gentlemen, this is Governor Amos Barber of this great state of Wyoming! Governor, may I introduce Jedediah Curry and Hannibal Heyes!" Barber shook the former outlaws' hands happily.

"Right glad to meet you, Governor!" said Curry.

"I'm glad to meet you, Governor Barber," said Heyes eagerly, "Do those envelopes have what I think they have in them?"

The governor smiled and twirled his curling mustache happily, "I have some papers that you men have been awaiting. It has taken a lot of long hard work for these documents to come into being. Settling on the felony conviction and three days in prison before we would give these documents to you, well, I wouldn't ever want to go through negotiations like that again! But I know whose road has been longer and harder than anyone's. Here you are Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes! And may I say, 'Well earned!'" The boys smiled. They reached eagerly for what the governor handed them.

Each man got two large, cream colored envelopes with his name on each.

Senator Warren handed each of the partners a letter opener. "Gentlemen, will you do the honors?"

Heyes opened the smaller of the two envelopes with his name on them. He unfolded a stiff piece of paper nearly covered with elegant copper plate handwriting with a bold signature and a stamped gold seal at the bottom. Heyes looked up at the Kid, waiting until his partner had finished opening his own matching envelope. "Well," said Heyes, smiling, "We do appreciate the pardon, Governor! We will do our very best to be worthy of it." He shook the governor's hand again.

"Thank you very much, Governor! Like Heyes said, we won't let you down!" said the Kid, all of his teeth showing in a blazing smile as he also shook hands with the governor for a second time. Heyes, in his rough prison uniform, felt very self-conscious around these important men; it didn't seem to bother the Kid at all.

"Actually, gentlemen," said the Governor, "if what some of the guards have told me, and what I have heard from many other sources, turns out to be true, then I think we are far more beholden to you for helping us to address serious abuses here. Do I understand correctly, Mr. Heyes, that you have been promised testimony from every single inmate against Mr. Johnson?"

Heyes nodded. "You do, sir. They were all taking a terrible chance, but as each man heard the ones before him talking, he knew that he would have a lot of men to stand beside him. I swore to stand up for them as well. And I will."

"Me, too, Governor!" said the Kid. "I've got evidence on that man and I won't let it go to waste!"

The governor looked with respect from Heyes to Curry and back again. He said, "The authorities of Wyoming are deeply in your debt, gentlemen. We will take you up on your offer to testify. We owe you both a serious apology for making you put up with the conditions here, even for three days. And by the way, Warden, you are relieved of your duties pending investigation."

The warden looked crushed but not particularly surprised. He had exhausted all of his supply of surprise slightly earlier in the day when it had been explained to him what was going to happen with respect to his two most famous prisoners. Heyes couldn't help but grin at that. The investigator now was to be investigated!

"Go on, boys! Open the other ones!" urged Senator Warren, sounding nearly as eager as Heyes and Curry must be. This was a moment that he had worked toward for a long time!

Curry took the lead. He slit his large envelope and unfolded a pile of heavy creamy sheets of parchment covered with graceful writing that concluded with four signatures of governors and four gold stamped state seals adorned with bright colored ribbons.

Heyes thought that he had never seen his partner so happy in his life. And he knew that he was right. Jed Curry was a strong man who normally kept his emotions pretty much to himself in front of strangers, but he had been awaiting this moment for seven and a half anxious and dangerous years. Jed Curry blinked back tears of joy as he saw the word "amnesty" boldly inscribed on the papers before him. Perhaps no one else noticed the brief, bright sparkle in the Kid's eyes, but Heyes did. Heyes could well understand what amnesty meant to his partner. The Kid would not have to leave Cat and their child behind after all. He would get to be a husband and a father. He would get to live the life that he had always dreamed of. Or, at least, he would have a decent chance at living that life. And his partner could pursue his own marriage and his own dreams. It sure was better than rotting away in prison for the rest of their lives.

Curry didn't take time to read all of the articles through. He carefully set the precious stack of papers on to the warden's desk. The Kid, with a wide smile, shook his partner's hand and smiled and shook the governor's hand yet again, and smiled, and shook the senator's hand and smiled yet again.

Heyes gave his partner a fierce bear hug. As the men's faces came close, Jed whispered, "At last, Heyes, at last! Didn't know as we'd ever make it."

Heyes whispered back, "Yeah, Jed! We made it. At last."

Heyes then turned to opening his envelope and reading through the contents with more care than his partner had. "I see that our amnesty is contingent on our not committing further felonies, of course," he said seriously, "I see the condition of Jed's being a sheriff for at least three years is here, as we expected. And I am asked to make a good faith effort to get an academic position. In one of the four states granting the amnesty is preferred, but they understand that that might be asking too much. Won't be easy to get to teach at all, even if . . . Well, I would've tried even without the legal condition. But I also see that we can't use any aliases of any kind for any purposes whatsoever or we will forfeit the amnesty. I guess it's the only way to keep an eye on us and make sure we stay straight. That agreeable to you, Jed?"

"'Course it is, Heyes!" said Curry gleefully, "I'll be right glad to take my own name back. I'll be just fine and dandy. And Cat will, too! And . . . everybody." Heyes winked at the very relieved expectant father. Even to the governor and the senator, the existence of Cat and Kid's coming child must still be kept a secret until after their wedding took place.

Heyes also shook hands all around and thanked the important men who had made their amnesty possible. He smiled and looked very happy. No one but the Kid would have realized that this was not the brilliant smile that the Kid had seen from his partner in his happiest moments.

Heyes joked, "It's easy enough for you to use your real name, Jed, your name ain't Hannibal."

Or it sounded like a joke. But the Kid looked at his partner sharply. He was dismayed to see that, above a surface smile, Heyes' brown eyes looked very serious and perhaps even hurt. The Kid thought that far more was bothering his partner than having to use his detested first name. Curry wasn't at all sure that he wanted, at this happiest moment of his own life, to know what was worrying his partner. But he knew that something was.