"The Bucket of Blood! Have they lost their minds, Cat?" Beth vented her anxieties as they sat in Cat's room. "Even I've heard of the Bucket of Blood! Men get killed in there! What if somebody shoots them? Or Heyes starts drinking? Or the President of Columbia finds out? Or it gets into the newspapers? The Kid should know better! And so should Heyes!"
"Calm down, Beth! It isn't near as bad now as it was twenty-five years ago," said Cat, the knowledgeable saloon professional. The women were looking out the window of Cat's room in the Golden Fleece, watching for Heyes and Curry to return. But they knew it would be hours before they saw their finances. "They're no saints, our men, and you know it. They sure do a whole lot better than they used to when they were still outside the law. But you can't afford to forget that you're marrying a Wyoming outlaw and so am I."
"Former outlaw!" insisted Beth.
"Alright, former outlaw. But you know very well that they were based in Wyoming for many years! Believe me; Heyes and Jed know the Bucket of Blood. And I know them. About this kind of stuff, I know those boys a lot better than you do. Listen to me, honey. The Kid never takes long chances at the table. He watches himself. And if Heyes is playing poker, he's not drinking more than a couple of beers. He's a serious player. He knows better than to get drunk at the tables. The charge he gets from winning is a lot more potent than anything that comes out of a bottle." Cat was trying desperately to calm her future cousin-in-law, who had very little experience with this side of her future husband. She knew him far better as a student, scholar, and teacher.
"Then what if Heyes starts losing? He doesn't have much money!" Beth continued to be anxious.
Cat stayed calm. "Relax, Beth! This is Hannibal Heyes, remember? He doesn't lose, or not badly and sure not often. He knows how to handle himself. Where do you think he polished his math before college? At poker tables! He's a master. And Jed's no slouch either."
"But when will they be back, Cat?" Beth craned to look at the men walking down the street out front.
Cat shrugged matter-of-factly. "I don't know. They have a lot to celebrate and a lot of pressure to blow off. Could be a while. Let's just go get dinner in the dining room. One thing I'm pretty sure of. They won't be back for dinner. I just hope they have a real good time. Who knows if they'll ever get to enjoy themselves in a saloon together like that again? If Heyes is teaching, I don't guess it'd look real good. He knows that. I guess it's his last hurrah."
"I hope so!"Beth touched Cat on the arm. "But Cat, what if there are saloon girls there?"
"What if?" Cat laughed. "Of course girls are there! With our boys' big names, and winning like they will be? You know there are girls all over! Like vultures at a kill! It's their job." Cat wasn't upset. Of course, she ran a place where such women plied their trade.
"Cat . . . does Heyes, you know, with those girls, when he's at your place and I'm not there . . . ?" Beth had never dared to ask Cat about Heyes and prostitutes before, but it had long been preying on her mind.
Cat was appalled. "Beth! I have to respect the privacy of my patrons!"
But when Cat saw what pain this caused Beth, she relented. "You should trust your man, Beth. He's worth it. You don't have anything to worry about. But don't you ever tell him, or the Kid, that I told you that! If they thought I was reporting in on them they'd never trust me again! Seriously, Beth! There's a code!"
"But before he was shot . . ." Beth wouldn't look Cat in the eye.
"You know better than to ask that. Seriously, Beth." Cat turned away and walked out the door.
Beth sighed. Every profession had its code. She knew that Cat and the Kid didn't really understand the code of the academic world that Heyes was entering – or trying to enter. But she didn't understand the outlaw and saloon world that he was coming from. To what extent Heyes would or could really leave his old world, Beth wasn't yet sure. If he taught in the West, Heyes might try to keep one foot in his old world. Beth knew that there were things he loved about that world. Heyes had said to her when she first committed to be his girl that there were some things he didn't want to change, that he was no choir boy. Beth was still wrestling with what that really meant. She got a charge out of Heyes' masculine western style. But some aspects of that life troubled her. Beth followed Cat out the door and down to the restaurant.
After dinner, Beth parted from Cat and went up to her room. She paced restlessly around, looking out the window now and then. At about 10:00 she looked at the clock on her bedside table again. She got undressed and got into bed, feeling lonely and unhappy. She was sure that it would be many hours before Heyes and Jed returned. She worried more and more about how much Heyes might drink. The Kid had discretely warned Beth that his partner rarely drank much because when he did, it could get very bad very quickly. So Beth couldn't relax for fear of what might be happening at the Bucket of Blood.
But it was actually a little before 11:00 when Beth heard some familiar footsteps coming down the hall and then heard the door next to hers open and close. Within minutes, she heard a gentle knock on the communicating door. "Beth?" Heyes said quietly through the door.
Beth wrapped her robe around her and opened the door. She was relieved by the relatively early hour, but still concerned.
Beth felt strange to be in her robe while Heyes was still equipped with his boots, hat, black leather gloves, and his pistol at his hip. Seeing her man in full western gear made Beth's blood race. "Sorry to go off and leave you tonight, Beth," he said in a slightly scratchy, very deep voice. The words were just very slightly slurred. It was no surprise that Heyes had been drinking, but he wasn't really drunk. "Hope it didn't bother you too much. Old detective friend of ours took the Kid to the sheriff's office. Harry's been tryin' for years to strand us in the desert with no water or practice extortion on us or somethin'. Was pretty sweet to finally let Harry Briscoe know there's nothin' he, or nobody like him, can do to us no more." The bad grammar didn't in itself bother Beth at all in this context, but the implications of Heyes' loss of control did. He'd been drinking more than Cat had thought that he would.
"Some friend!" scoffed Beth. Heyes put a gloved hand on Beth's shoulder and gave her a kiss. She couldn't help being a little restrained in her response when she smelled the strong beer and cigar smoke on his breath. At least there was no whiskey. Beth was determined that she would not make Heyes feel bad about such very mildly bad behavior. If she started nagging now, she could make things much worse. She was painfully aware that her prim background made her unrealistically sensitive about drinking, smoking and gambling. For Heyes, coming in before 11:00 and drinking only beer must have demanded considerable self-control.
Heyes sat on Beth's bed, slowly taking off his black gloves. "Yeah, guess friend ain't exactly the word for Harry. But acquaintance don't really take in somebody who's been cordially tryin' to kill us for that long. Had a whole trainload of detectives once just to kill us!" Heyes smile faded as he looked up at Beth. He knew that she wasn't happy with him, despite her pretense. "I'm sorry Beth. Hope we didn't worry you, staying out at that saloon. It was stupid." Heyes rubbed his head where he'd been shot.
Beth stood by the bed and ran a loving hand along Heyes' stubbly cheek, determined not to hurt her man. "It's alright, Heyes. I appreciate your not staying out too late."
"I did alright – see?" Heyes grinned as he pulled a thick bundle of dollar bills out of his pocket. A few wrinkled bills fell to the floor. He gathered them up clumsily.
"You sure did well! But I'm glad you came back early." She leaned over to kiss Heyes on the cheek.
Heyes stood and moved to kiss Beth again, more thoroughly, but then, sensing her distate, he pulled back. "I'll head on back next door, Beth. See you in the morning, love."
"Heyes, you don't have to go!" said Beth, trying desperately not to put any emotional pressure on Heyes. She knew that it was the worst thing to do to an addict like Heyes. After all, she was one, too. He never mentioned her weight, but she knew that he didn't like to be with a fat woman any more than she wanted to be with a drunken man. She had been way too heavy when they had met. Even while he had been her student, she had started to get her over eating under control. While they had been a committed pair, she had dropped even more weight - a good 40 pounds. While Heyes had been on trial and in prison and jail, the weight had been coming back on. Beth was ashamed of herself. Heyes was well aware of Beth's weight gain, of course, but he never said a word and their first night back together had lacked nothing in passion.
Beth wanted to grant her man the same respect he had given her. But she hadn't hidden her aversion to his drinking well enough. Heyes' eyes dropped. He said, "I know you don't want to be with me when I'm drunk, honey. You don't have to pretend with me."
"Come on Heyes, you're fine. I love you! Come to bed!" said Beth.
"No, honey," said Heyes. "I'll see you in the morning. I need some good rest. We'll be at the Pen tomorrow – I ain't – I mean I'm not looking forward to it. Good-night then, Beth. I love you, darling." He kissed her on the cheek, tucked his gloves into his belt, and walked slowly back through the communicating door to spend the night alone.
Beth lay in bed alone, feeling horribly guilty for having bruised Heyes' feelings. She worried for the future. She had done everything she could not to hurt Heyes and it hadn't been enough. She just prayed that he wasn't starting down a destructive path.
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Early the next morning, Heyes and Curry both felt their hearts beating faster as the hotel surrey pulled up in front of the prison where the pair had been confined only a few days before. "Whew! I hate this place. But I keep thinkin' of the men who hate it more and can't get out." said the Kid. Heyes thought the same, but didn't say it. He had a pounding headache that kept him very subdued.
"You'll both do fine," said Cole. "But I don't blame you for not liking it. It doesn't look like a welcoming place." He was a little nervous himself. There was never any guarantee of how a negro lawyer would be welcomed by white law men.
The acting warden, a scared-faced old marshal named Brad Bartholomew, welcomed the three into his office with warm hand-shakes all around. Cole began to relax. "We sure do appreciate you boys doin' this for us. We're grateful all three of you," said Bartholomew. "This is my assistant, Marshal Meyers." He introduced a heavily built young blonde who looked like a tough man used to dealing with criminals.
Bartholomew continued, "We've got to get hard evidence before we can fix things up. I've read over what you had to say about all the men, Mr. Heyes. It's something amazing to me that you can remember that many men and get all the stories straight."
Heyes got the message easily enough. "Yes, Marshal, I am sure that I have each and every one of them straight. That's the kind of mind I have. Picky!"
"He's right enough about that, Marshal Bartholomew," said the Kid with a grin. "Guess it's why he's done so well with his studies. And he done us the best plans at the Hole."
Bartholomew nodded. "Very well. We'll have to verify every one of those stories, of course. But there are some men I'd like to ask each of you to meet in person. Both guards and inmates, so you can ask one another questions and get everything straight. Mr. Curry, if you can go with Marshal Meyers here, he has some men lined up for you to talk with. Mr. Heyes, I have some men being brought up here to this office to speak with you and me. Is that agreeable to you both?"
"Yes, sure," said Heyes, and the Kid agreed as well. "I just hope Johnson isn't one of them!"
"No," said Bartholomew. "In fact, he's in the state Insane Asylum in Evanston." Both partners, but Heyes in particular, looked shocked and troubled by this. Both knew that there had been a moment when the Kid had had to consider putting Heyes in just such a place. "Yeah, he totally fell apart after we arrested him. We still need to figure out what he actually did here, and how much the warden knew about. But mostly we need to know what these men have been put through and how we can keep discipline without allowing that kind of corruption by men in power."
Heyes met with a number of guards and inmates. The first was Billy Duke, a scar-faced, prematurely grey man. As he came in, Marshal Bartholomew reached out to shake his hand. The inmate pulled away in shock and fear. He didn't dare to touch the hand of a warden! "It's alright, Duke," said the acting warden. "We aren't here to hurt or trick you. We're here for you to tell us the truth about Mr. Johnson and anyone else who committed abuses. You can speak with perfect freedom. There will not be any reprisals for anything you may say, so long as it is the truth."
"Yes, sir," muttered Duke, looking at the floor with dull eyes. It couldn't be clearer that he didn't believe what Bartholomew was telling him.
"You can trust, him, Duke!" said Heyes with conviction. "You remember me – from when I was hanging in front of my cell? I'm Hannibal Heyes. They've given the Kid and me amnesty. We've went straight a long time ago. But before we go, we want to make sure that you guys get justice. And we know you haven't gotten much of that lately. So please, Duke, tell us the truth. Tell us about what you told me, when I was hanging there."
Duke looked up at Heyes with frightened eyes, breathing hard. He looked back and forth between Heyes and the Marshal, wondering what was really going on. The prisoner obviously assumed that he was being lied to. He took in Heyes' short hair and cut cheek – the marks of his imprisonment. He saw the long scar on Bartholomew's cheek, too. He looked confused. For a prisoner and a warden to be working together had, in his experience, meant nothing but evil and corruption and threat. Heyes saw this in his eyes. "You can count on us, Duke. I promise. Look at me! I promise, you won't be betrayed this time like you were before."
"How long have you been here, Duke?" asked Bartholomew gently.
"Ten years, sir," whispered Duke, avoiding looking into the warden's eyes.
"You've seen some changes in that time?" ask the warden.
There was a long, uncertain pause from Duke. "Yes, sir. Things got worse."
"Be specific, Mr. Duke. What got worse?" asked the warden.
Duke didn't answer at first. But slowly, Duke began to trust the warden and Heyes and to reveal some of the growing abuses in Johnson's time. It took a lot of patience to lure the long-time prisoner into being honest.
When asked about the whipping he had told Heyes about, Duke just took off his shirt. The Marshal and Heyes looked at the weals on Duke's back and chest with horrified eyes.
"Did this happen to a lot of men, Duke?" asked Heyes.
Duke's dull eyes flared to life at this. "No, sir. Just the ones who tried to stand up to Johnson. The worst ones, like Sammy Hall, they got whipped and then they went to hospital. And they came out in pine boxes. Infection they said. They was killed!"
"I believe him! That's what Johnson threatened us with!" said Heyes. "He spent some time in medical school, he said. So I guess he knows how to do some nasty things to folks."
"That won't happen any longer, Duke!" said the Warden. "We're gonna have justice around here, now" Duke looked warily at him. He'd heard things like that before. He would wait and see.
Heyes said, "Duke, if you have any problems, you write to me! Or the governor!"
"Now where'll you be, Heyes?" asked Duke, "And how do I know any letter'll get to you or the governor?"
"I got to admit, I don't know where I'll be," said Heyes, "But the governor knows to pay attention to men here! The Kid and I taught him that." But Duke only looked resentfully at the man who would soon be gone to start a life far from prison. Heyes wished he could make some promise that would mean something to men like Duke. But only time would tell how things would change.
When Duke had gone back to his cell, more men with similarly painfully stories of suffering and injustice came and talked to Heyes and the warden. There was pair after pair of dull, discouraged eyes. But nearly every one looked brighter by the time he left the room to return to his cell. They did get the feeling that Heyes and the Marshal cared about them and their future.
The last man they called in to see Heyes was Bob Smith, his former cell mate. The deaf man was angry at Heyes. "Heyes!" he shouted as he entered the room. "You said you was a teacher! You said you'd teach me to read and write. You went off an' left me! You ain't nothin' but a bank robber! You lied to me!"
Heyes blushed in embarrassment. He knew how this must look to Smith and he felt bad for the man. He spoke loudly and clearly to Smith, but did his best not to come across as shouting or being angry. "No, I didn't lie! Yes I am Hannibal Heyes. I was a bank robber. But I am also a teacher! I promise, that's true!"
"How's that possible, Heyes?" shouted Smith, who looked understandably puzzled.
Heyes raised his voice again to make sure that Smith heard him. "I studied in college for five years to be a teacher, Smith! It's what I'm going to do outside, if they let me! I'm going to teach college math!"
"College? Truly?" Smith was stunned.
Heyes nodded. "Yes, if they let me. They didn't know who I was when I signed up to study at a university. They might not let me graduate now that I have amnesty and I have to tell them who I am. But I will make sure that somebody teaches you here. Alright? It won't be me – it will be somebody better. I'm not a reading teacher. We'll get somebody who is! Alright?"
Smith looked like he might actually have some hope. "Well, alright, Heyes. If you could do that for me, I'd be right grateful. I surely would like to write to my family. And to read what their letters say without somebody doin' it for me. And I want to read the Bible. I always wanted to read the Bible!"
Heyes smiled encouragingly. "You will, Smith! I'll make sure somebody teaches you! Right, Warden?"
The new warden said, loudly, "We'll do our best to get someone to teach you, Smith!"
"Alright, Heyes! Thank you! And good luck with the teaching!" The prisoner's face looked much more hopeful as he left. He had something to look forward to.
Heyes spoke said to the new warden, "I'm glad that the rule about talking is being relaxed some. It caused real problems for Smith. He's very deaf, as you could tell. The only way he can hear anyone is if they shout at him. I got beaten for trying to talk with him, and guess other men did, too. So he's effectively been in silence almost every minute here."
"Poor man!" said the warden, shaking his head. "We'll do our best to make it better."
Heyes looked into the acting warden's grey eyes. "Please, please, do get someone to teach Smith to read and write. Must have been real hard on him, being that deaf, in a one-room school house, you know. I promised to teach him and I never got to do it. Would you please make sure that somebody understanding works with him? Being able to read letters from home and to write to people, and to read the books they have here – that has to be one of the things that can make prison bearable.
In fact, if you can have someone at least try to teach all the illiterate guys, it would be a great kindness to them. It won't be easy! It's hard to learn when you're an adult. I know. I had to learn to write again after I got shot in the head. Get someone very patient, who won't give up. Please, would you try to do that, for those men?"
"We'll do our best, Heyes. Money is always tight. Nobody wants to loosen their purses for criminals. You know how it is," said Bartholomew in frustration.
Heyes nodded. "I understand. But really, it would be the best if you could find someone to teach all of the men some math and literature and geography and all the things they didn't get when they were growing up – it would really transform their lives and make things so much better for those who get out in the world again. If I could send some money for it, I would, but I'm in debt way up past my eyebrows. I don't know when or where or if I'll find work. If I can find a funder for you, I will. I do know some people with money, although I've begged so many for loans, they might not even read mail from me anymore. College education doesn't come cheap."
"Mr. Heyes," said the scarred old acting warden, "I promise you that we will do all we can about teaching the men. I will appeal to the state for funding, and if they won't give it, I'll ask the local charities. Let us know if you find a funder – that would speed things along. I know it would make a great difference in the men's lives."
The Kid, too, was going through meeting with guards and inmates. Curry told the marshal about a long list of abuses and they searched for ways to make things better. The Kid emphasized to Marshal Meyers, as he finished up with his meetings with guards and inmates, "Sir, can you please get more meat and green stuff for the men here? As hard as they work, they need good food and they don't never get it. I know it costs a lot, but it sure would make things better for 'em. Maybe they could work in a garden to grow their own. I know they'd like that a lot – to do somethin' that makes a difference. And I know they'd be willing to work for it. I asked all the guys I met with today, and they said they would be real glad to work in a garden. It'd be a good skill for the ones who get out to have, too."
Meyers said, "Mr. Curry, we will do our best to improve the food. I think gardening would be a great activity for the men. We'll work on getting that going for next spring. Thank you for the idea!"
As the process came near to its end, the senator and the governor met with Heyes and the Kid in the warden's office, hosted by Bartholomew. The meeting couldn't have been more different than when Heyes and the Kid had had their first meetings in that room. Heyes perched on a corner of the warden's desk while the Kid sat in a big comfortable old arm chair usually kept for important visitors. The governor and the senator both chose rough stools normally reserved for inmates.
"I can't tell you how grateful we are to you both for doing this," said the Governor to Heyes and Curry. "It is incredibly generous of you."
"That's sure right, guys!" said Bartholomew, "What you've told us, and the support you've given the men in their own testimony, will help us to address the abuses and make sure they won't happen again. And you both have good, viable ideas for improving this place. I know what you have told us will make a lot of difference in these men's lives. I promise to make sure that it will!"
"We couldn't let those guys down!" said the Kid. "You may not believe me, but there are plenty of decent guys locked up in this place. We were here just three days – lots of them have years and years to serve. We can't just go off and forget 'em."
"Yeah, it might be their only chance," said Heyes. "It's so important to them, and to us! Having your ears, right now, Mr. Senator and Mr. Governor, and Mr. Warden, this is when we can make a difference. Please don't forget about it! We will follow up with you."
"I promise, Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry, we won't forget about this place and all the abuses and neglect you have brought to light," said the governor.
"And I'll keep an eye out, state wide and nation wide, on prisons!" said Senator Warren.
Heyes finally asked a question of his own. "Governor, senator, please tell us: why our three days here?"
"It had symbolic value, of course, that you serve some time," said the senator. "It had to be long enough, as I said before, to worry you. It had to feel real. There was someone who argued for months, not days. But others argued more convincingly. Governor Cooper of Colorado, I must say, in particular, said that he thought the most important end result was to get a good sheriff and a good professor out of this. If they put you in there for months, your skills would have gone stale, you could have gotten really badly hurt, you would certainly have been angry at the state, and your contact with your own fields would have suffered. And worst of all, your prestige suffered with every hour you were here. To lock you away for serious time would have sacrificed the real goal of the whole exercise. This wasn't about punishment. It was about what you can do for this country."
Curry said, "Thank you for explaining that. That's sure how we see it, ain't it, Heyes? We want to help out!"
Heyes nodded. "We won't forget what we owe you gentlemen. If not for you, we have been in here for the rest of our lives. And that wouldn't have been very long. One way or another, we wouldn't have made it anywhere near twenty years. That guy Johnson would have seen that we didn't last any longer than anyone else has who's caused trouble for him."
The governor shook his head. "I don't know, Heyes. I start to think that you guys would have found a way to get the word out about what was happening. You would have managed it. You're impressive men."
Heyes shook his head in turn. "No, Governor, I don't believe it. I couldn't find a way to do it in three days, and I can't think of a way now. Silence was a specialty here." Curry nodded.
The governor, the senator, and the marshal looked at Heyes and his partner in sorrow. They were afraid it would be very hard to change this place. The damage done to the inmates couldn't be turned around all in three days, or three months, and maybe not in three years.
As the boys left and the doors closed behind them for the last time, the Kid said, "Remind me to thank the governor again! He's sure got my vote!"
"And mine, if I ever wind up back living in Colorado," agreed Heyes. "If they let us vote."
As Heyes and the Kid left the place to ride the hotel surrey back to Laramie, the new warden and his new cell block wardens looked out the door at them. Bartholomew said thoughtfully, "Who would have thought that two old outlaws would be such decent guys? They spent three days swearing out testimony and going over every word so the men can have justice. That was an awful lot of trouble, when you can bet that all they want is to the see the back of this place as fast as they can."
"Yeah," said Meyers, "I used to think Heyes and Curry were just a couple of publicity hounds. Now I know better. And so does every man here."
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In the morning, still worn out from their testimony, Heyes and the Kid were eager to get on a train to New York with their fiancées. They stood on the platform rather nervously watching out for press. The press had found out about their night in the Bucket of Blood – it had been written up in the local newspapers the previous day. So the four were relieved when the train pulled in and they were able to get on it and ride away to the East. Heyes looked out the window of the train as they pulled away and got out of town. "I guess you won't be wanting to come back to Laramie any time soon, Heyes," said Beth.
"Oh, I don't know," said the former outlaw. "If the Pen gets better, I'd be kind of interested to check up on it. They promised to teach the illiterate guys to read and write. That'll make a difference. And I hope they'll really do the gardening that Jed suggested. The place might get almost livable, with a responsible warden and good men looking after the cell blocks."
But both boys looked eagerly east. They could hardly wait to get to New York and find out what would happen with Heyes' future.
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The four of them got into New York in the late afternoon four days later. They caught a pair of cabs to Professor Homer's place. He greeted them gladly. "Hello, folks! Come on in! I've lined up hotel rooms for Cat and the Kid over at the Black Eagle. You'll be more comfortable there than at my place, especially without Marie to cook for you. But right now, sit down and rest a spell."
"Thanks so much, Charlie!" said Heyes. "Do you have a briefcase I can borrow to take the amnesty and pardon with me to the President's office?"
Homer looked startled. "Now? Heyes, you're really going over there right now, without a chance to rest up? You ought at least to clean up some!"
Heyes looked sheepish, but he persevered. "Well, I guess I'd better wash off in your bathroom, if you don't mind, and change clothes. I don't want to be smelly! But yeah. I'd rather not wait. Is it too late in the day, do you think, Charlie? I just got to know!"
"No, if you bathe and dress quickly, you should make it in time. I know the President is eager to see you. He won't leave early. Since you said it might be today he'll be looking out for you. I did tell him who you are. He was expecting it, but that name of yours still didn't make him happy. And yes, I have a briefcase you can use. It's kind of old, but he'll recognize it. It's got my initials on it. One of these days, you'll need one that says HH."
Heyes grinned at that. He liked the mental picture of himself with his own personalized leather briefcase. He went to clean up and dress. Within just a few minutes, he was out front calling a cab. He had a worn old briefcase in his hands with the initials CHH on it and the most precious documents he had ever owned inside it.
Heyes had dressed with care in a conservative and relatively unwrinkled suit. He didn't want to get anything wrong on this errand. As Heyes got out of the cab across from the building where the President of Columbia University had his office, the former outlaw felt at least as nervous as he would have walking into a dusty western street to face down a gunman. Heyes had his heart in his throat as he knocked on the handsome, brass fitted door marked "President."
A bright young man in a neat suit let Heyes in to the well appointed outer office of the university president. "I am here to see the president," said Heyes. "I have some papers to show him. I believe he is waiting for me."
The young secretary looked curiously at Heyes. "Do you have an appointment?" The secretary had seen Heyes before, but not often. He didn't seem to recognize the former Joshua Smith. The short hair did make a lot of difference in his appearance, Heyes supposed.
Heyes said anxiously, "The president said to come see him as soon as I got into town, which I told him would be today. He knows what it's about. As I say, I have some papers that he needs to see."
The secretary said, "I believe he is free now, sir. May I say who is calling?"
Heyes cleared his throat. "I'm a graduate student here, but I was using a different name that I can't use now. My real name is Hannibal Heyes."
The secretary gulped. But he maintained his professional decorum. "I will ask the president if he can see you, Mr. Heyes. Please wait here."
The secretary pulled the door almost but not quite fully closed as he walked in to the president's office, so Heyes' keen ears caught what went on in the inner office.
"Mr. President," said the secretary, "there's a graduate student to see you and to show you some papers. Or he says that's what he is, but I'm sure we have no student by that name. He says he's Hannibal Heyes! You know – the notorious safe cracker from Wyoming!"
The President replied in his deeper, slower voice. "I know who it is, Rogers. His alias was Joshua Smith. You know – our top mathematics student."
"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed the startled secretary. "I didn't recognize him! But now that you say who he is, yes I can see that this is Joshua Smith. Poor man!"
The President sounded troubled. "Is he that changed? He's just out of prison, but he wasn't there for long."
"Yes, he is changed!" said the agitated secretary. "They cut off all his hair and there's a nasty cut on his face. He looks – well, he looks awful. Thin, tired, and tense."
The President sounded sympathetic, or Heyes hoped that was what he was hearing. "I guess I can understand that. He's an extraordinary man, but I don't know what we'll be able to do for him and neither does he. His situation poses some thorny problems. I wish I could avoid it right now – I'm tired, too. But I have to do my duty. Show the man in. The newspapers will be stalking him, so please don't say a word about this to anyone until I give you permission."
"Of course not, sir!"
The secretary came out of the inner office. "Please go through, Mr. Heyes. The president will see you now. Don't forget your papers."
Heyes grinned self-consciously. "Thanks!" He was so distracted that he had almost tried to walk in without that vital briefcase.
Heyes entered the elegantly appointed office respectfully, trying not to show the apprehension he felt. He was standing up as straight as he could, and trying to keep his face neutral. He wasn't at all sure of how the president would greet him.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Heyes!" said the white-bearded president, sounding irritable. And yet Heyes thought that there was something hidden behind the official façade and the white beard. It might just have been a smile.
The president sat behind his large, carved wooden desk and gestured for Heyes to take a seat in a chair across from it. "So. Now we know why you could not accept a diploma under the name of Joshua Smith or tell us your real name. I suppose that we also know who the second person was whose life you were protecting. Surely that was the notorious Mr. Curry. The deans in question and I had started to have strong suspicions when we saw that sensational story in the paper about the arrest of Hannibal Heyes just after you disappeared from campus. We hoped that we had dodged the bullet, so to speak, when the newspapers said you were a physics major from New York University. But no such luck! They got it wrong, as usual. So we have to deal with you here." He didn't sounds at all pleased at the prospect.
Heyes stood at attention almost as if he were back in prison. He was uncomfortably aware of how much trouble he was causing for his school. But the president looked with compassion at his school's most infamous student. "Heyes, please do sit down. Frankly, you look exhausted." Heyes sat, gratefully. He was bone tired and wasn't surprised that it showed. The emotional strain he had been under for weeks told far worse than did the physical ordeal of the long train ride.
Heyes, solemnly, "Mr. President, I deeply regret causing embarrassment for this institution that has done so much for me. If I could change the past, believe me, I would."
"Mr. Heyes," said the President, speaking with some passion, "all anyone can change is his future. A university is here to help people to do that very thing. Whether we can help you to reverse a past as hard as yours, especially after all that has happened to you in the past couple of weeks, I don't know. I believe you have some papers that I need to see. Perhaps those documents will help me to understand your situation"
"Yes, sir." Heyes opened the briefcase. He pulled out the large cream-colored envelopes that had been handed to him in prison by a governor and a senator. He now handed them to a university president. It occurred to Heyes that he was keeping different company than he and the Kid would ever have guessed when they were still robbing banks and trains.
The president took the envelopes and opened them carefully. Seeing the long pages of official scrip, he said, "Mr. Heyes, I beg your patience. It looks as if you have given me some very important reading here and I intend to read it all before we go on. The details may be extremely important."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Heyes amazed himself by sitting quietly and patiently until the president had read to the end of the pardon and the amnesty, with their important signatures and impressed gold seals. He waited in growing tension, but he didn't fidget. The rest of his life, and Beth's, hung on the decisions that the president made about him. Anything and everything he did could have an impact on the President's opinion of his most controversial student.
The president didn't hide his smile now. "Congratulations, Mr. Heyes! So you and Mr. Curry are now out of the shadow of the law!"
"Thank you, Mr. President," said Heyes, allowing himself a brief smile as the two men shook hands over the wide desk. "It's been a long time coming."
"May I ask how long?" The president sounded honestly curious.
Heyes answered promptly, "We first applied for amnesty in November of 1883. We had hopes that one year would be sufficient. It wasn't."
The president's furry white eyebrows rose. "You've been admirably careful to keep your noses clean for more than seven years!"
"Yes, sir. If I may bring your attention to one of the things mentioned in the amnesty document, we did more than keep our noses clean. We caught and turned in several criminals and over a million in stolen money." The president's eyebrows rose higher. "Of course, the murder trial caused problems. I sure never wanted to kill any man. But when it was life or death, I didn't have much choice. So I hope it won't count too badly against me. I was just trying to get my partner freed from unlawful detention. And then they arrested us and we had to serve three days on an old charge before they gave us our amnesty." Now Heyes' impatience got the better of him. "Sir, can you please tell me if you will permit me to to graduate?"
The president shook his head. "No." Heyes' mouth fell opened in miserable shock.
The president put up his hand. "No, Heyes, pardon me. I don't mean you can't graduate! I mean I don't know whether or not you can. That isn't a simple decision that I can make unilaterally. I will need to meet with the deans of your undergraduate and graduate colleges and with as many of your professors as I can. I'm afraid we will have to call the University board – or as many of them as we can manage - to rule on this. So you are looking at some delay before you know anything. It's hard to get people together in the summer. Half the board is probably off to Europe or at least distant states."
Heyes was distressed to hear this, but he tried not to show his disappointment. "I understand sir. I don't suppose this is a common situation. I'm very sorry to cause so much trouble. I can only say that if you allow me to graduate, I will strive for the rest of my life to be worthy of the honor. Is there anything I can do to help to make my case?"
The president looked thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, Heyes. If you can assemble a few character witnesses to speak for you – certainly including Charlie Homer and some of your classmates and students – that would be the greatest help. If you can get them together by the middle of next week, that should be in time. I know you can't gather everyone, since so many of your friends live far away out West. But then again, many of your western friends probably wouldn't be very suitable for this purpose."
Heyes grinned for a second. "I guess you're right! But I do know plenty of honorable men, too. The man who helped us to get our amnesty is a sheriff in Wyoming. He could speak for us, if I could get hold of him. But we haven't been able to communicate with Sheriff Trevors in some time. We don't know why."
The president studied Heyes, who was sitting very upright, trying to look as proper as he could. "I'm sorry to hear that, Heyes. I hope your sheriff friend is safe. But I suppose a western sheriff has a very dangerous job. It's kind of strange to think that you are, or have been, part of that dangerous life. To us easterners, you are a very exotic creature."
The president studied the former graduate student before him. Finally he said, "Pardon me, Heyes. I'm trying to figure out who I'm looking at. I mean, is this the jail bird, or the graduate student? The safe cracker, or the world-class mathematician? The poor farm boy or the innovator who writes back and forth to top European authorities in their own languages? The gang leader or the teacher who won the award for the best student teacher this year?" Heyes started. He hadn't heard about that award previously. He hoped it would help his cause. "The killer, or the guy who made a saddle so a crippled youth could ride? How do we sum you up for a bunch of eastern business men on the board who won't know what to make of you?"
Heyes bit his lip. He wasn't sure what to say and he ran into his aphasia just a little as he felt his way. "All of those at once, sir, I guess. Sir, if I may say so, I think that . . . denying the first half of each of those pairs wouldn't really serve either one of us very well. I think no one can understand who I am or what I can do for students, if they don't understand where I came from. I hope I have a much better . . . grasp of right and wrong now than I did even seven or eight years ago. It's the ability to change myself that I hope can help me to transform my students. I would be happy to teach anywhere, but I am most anxious to teach out west where I can help young men like I used to be. I went the wrong way for so long. I want to help others to go the right way."
Heyes sweated while the president studied him silently, considering this remarkable speech. "I've heard about your silver tongue, Heyes. It was supposed to have vanished after you got shot in the head. Yes, I can hear the pauses. But I find you a very eloquent man. If you can make a speech like that to the board, it could materially help your cause. Are you willing to do that?"
Heyes swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. If they would like to hear me, I would be more than pleased to speak to them. Um . . . about character witnesses, do you think they'd like to hear from my partner, from Jedediah Curry? He's not very polished, but he knows me better than anyone. A lot of people think he's dangerous, but that's only to people who are dangerous themselves. He's a good man. And I'm not the only one who thinks that. It wasn't just me who got amnesty. Four governors gave Jed Curry amnesty. He's the best man I know."
The president looked moved by this, and yet unsure. "I'm sure he is, Heyes. But let me meet with him before he speaks to anyone else. I want to make sure he does you more good than harm. He does, as you say, have a pretty bad public reputation.
Alright, you look done in. Go get some rest and marshal your forces. I'll send word to you as soon as I can about when the board will meet. I would guess in the middle of next week. Certainly not sooner. Do you have any other questions?"
Heyes looked this very important man in the eye. "No sir, unless you have advice for me. Maybe I'm naïve, but I think you're on my side. So if there's anything I can do to help my case, I would appreciate knowing about it."
The President gave the former outlaw a grin, then a rather playful frown. "Heyes, what you need to worry about is not so much doing as not doing. Can you please try to avoid doing spectacularly foolish stunts like playing poker in notorious saloons swarming with press? Professors frequently drink, I confess, and some gamble, but not for large amounts and not where the press will be watching. Most professors aren't people that the press cares to follow the way it does you, so you really must be more careful."
Heyes opened his mouth to defend himself. Then he shut it again. He blushed scarlet and looked at the floor. "Yes, sir. It was thoughtless of me. I won't do anything like that again."
The president laughed. "I'm sorry to have to clip your wings like that. It must be a lot of fun for a player as superb as you are said to be. Alright - I confess to being curious. How much did you take home from the Bucket of Blood? And how much did you start out with? And don't pretend that you don't remember it to the penny, because you do."
Heyes grinned. "It was just a small game. I walked in with $25.00 and walked out with $380.00. I played conservatively – for me – and left early – about 10:30."
The president whistled loudly. "If that's conservatively, I'd hate to see you taking chances! It seems to me that it took guts for you to walk in and do that, with everyone knowing your name!" he chuckled. "And that where winning that much that fast can get you shot, from what I hear!"
Heyes grinned. "That's true. Or it can be. If I'd won $10,000, as I have at times, I'd have worried a lot more. But it's just not that's not that scary when Kid Curry is sitting beside you, watching your back."
"I guess not!" The president laughed again. "I look forward to meeting the man. So long as he's really as good a man as you say he is."
The grin vanished from Heyes' face. He wanted the president to know that he wasn't kidding. "He is, sir. Rest assured, he is."