"It's nice to have an extra couple of days in New York before we go off to West Virginia to stay with Beth's sister's family," said Heyes to Charlie Homer as they ambled along a paved path in Union Square Park on a beautiful June afternoon. They were just two among many folks enjoying the lovely early summer weather. A trio of ragged children splashed happily in the grand fountain. "It's our family, now. Gosh, Family! Jed and I, we haven't had any family except each other in a long, long time."

"How do you like them?" wondered Charlie.

Heyes considered. "I don't really know, yet. Some of that family doesn't seem to like us much. Specially Corey, Beth's brother-in-law. Still, they did invite us. They're giving us a chance. I appreciate that. But Beth says we've got to wait a bit to head there, and that's fine with me. Gives us time to do a few things that need doing. And Barbara and Corey need a little time to get ready for us. I guess they'll tell their kids who we are. That has to be hard to say to little children. Don't want to scare them."

Charlie nodded. "At least the little ones should be easy – won't have heard of you yet. The baby will grow up knowing you before she hears about what other folks have to say about you."

The former outlaw was thoughtful. "But the oldest, the boy, he's eight. He'll have heard of us. We've been straight since he was a few months old. But then that stupid book came out, and all the stuff in the newspapers. He might not have read anything, but we don't know what he'll have heard on the playground."

Charlie nodded. "Or what his parents read in the papers. What they might have told him before, when they didn't know you'd be an in-law."

"Yeah or what they might be telling him now. No matter what Beth told Barbara and Corey, she has a lot of press blather to set straight. It's funny how our going into prison got headlines, but getting out and getting amnesty never seems to have gotten mentioned."

Charlie's furry grey eyebrows went up. "Not that funny really, Heyes. You know how long those politicians wormed out of giving you that amnesty for all those years. They don't want to look soft on crime. The four governors don't really have to deal with the amnesty until it makes the papers. And the longer it takes to come out, the less news it is and the less will be said about it. Good for you as well as for them, in some ways."

Heyes nodded. "Yeah. I wish I could keep the whole thing from the universities I'm applying to forever. I'd rather tell them the story myself instead of having the press mess it up."

"Heyes, do you really think they'll let you use the new middle name?" asked Charlie over his lemonade as the pair of westerners sat down on a bench under some trees where they could see the fountain with bright flowers around it.

"Don't know." Heyes wedged his cone of popcorn between his knees so it wouldn't spill. "I just hope it would help me to get in the door before those deans and University presidents slam it in my face. I know I can't keep my past a secret forever, but if I can just have a little chance on each interview before they realize who they're really dealing with."

"I hope it would work. It only has to work once, after all. The right once, of course." Charlie studied Heyes' face for a moment as the infamous former outlaw ate popcorn and pitched a couple of kernels onto the path for a squirrel and some pigeons to grab. More pigeons arrived, so Heyes added some more popcorn to the sidewalk. Yet more pigeons came, along with sparrows and another squirrel. Heyes laughed and emptied the half-eaten cone for them. "Enjoy, guys."

"You're a soft-hearted man, Hannibal Heyes," chuckled Charlie.

"Don't say that name so loud, you mind?" Heyes glanced around suspiciously, but there was not a living soul close enough to hear except Heyes, Charlie, and the greedily eating pigeons, sparrows, and squirrels. "I can't help remembering when the Kid and I were hungry and nobody would help. Guess it makes me a push-over now with any hard case."

Charlie looked skeptical. "But Heyes, you're awful hard on some folks. The press isn't the same as the law. Beth told me how rough you were with that poor little waiter at the Plaza – the one you got to send the message to me before you all headed my way. You shouldn't have frightened the boy like that. That could turn on you. The way you treat people does get around, even if you aren't some kind of celebrity, and worse if you are. Remember: the press won't kill you or lock you up like the law used to be looking to do."

Heyes snorted. "Don't be too sure of that. Time was, one word from the press would put the law on us. So it really was the same thing. Now, one wrong word could destroy my career. Or the lives of my friends. Including you. I was just plain scared when I put the screws to that little waiter. I was thinking what the press could do to your life, if they found out what you've done for me. 'Professor lies repeatedly to keep notorious outlaw at university.' Could've gotten you fired or worse. I know, I know, the President already knows all that. And the board. But I'm thinking of the publicity. The power of public opinion. It's a thing I have some experience with."

Charlie's voice hardened. "It's not worth being mean to somebody, Heyes. It really isn't."

Heyes shrugged. "I guess not. I did go back and thank the boy and pay him real good. And the guy who carried the message to you. They probably both blew it getting drunk like I would've at that age.

But seriously, Charlie - I just keep wondering when the press is going to get onto me at last. Me and Beth and the Kid and Cat. And maybe you and God knows who else. It was a narrow escape at the Plaza. We shouldn't have taken Buffalo Bill up on dinner. The Kid shouldn't have shot against that guy in public. We shouldn't have let Big Jim move us to the Plaza – not that he left us much choice. We messed it up over and over. I messed it up. It's a wonder there aren't reporters all over us right now." Heyes leaned his head on his hand and studied the scampering squirrels.

Charlie looked at his prize student with a measure of pity in his eyes. "You're going to have to make your peace with the press one of these days, you know."

Heyes watched the birds and squirrels as they ate with frantic haste. "I guess so. But I don't know how. I hate reporters. I'm also scared stiff of them."

Charlie laughed and cited a fictitious headline, "Ferocious outlaw confesses, the only thing he's afraid of is reporters!"

"That's not the only thing," said Heyes softly, watching the squirrels skip away and vanish into the trees.

"You want to tell me what else?"

"No." Heyes kept looking pointedly away from his mentor.

Charlie could see that the subject was over, so he asked. "Where's Jed this morning? And where are Beth and Cat? I thought you newlywed couples would be spending every minute together."

"We are, within reason. But this morning, Jed's taking Cat shopping and Beth went along. There's so much you can get in New York that you can't get out West, you know. Married ladies dress different than unmarried ladies, or so they tell me. And ladies who are expecting need different duds, yet. I feel for Jed. Can't stand shopping with ladies myself. I don't have a dime, anyhow. But tell me, why'd you ask me to meet you here?"

"I needed to get out and I know you did, too. But there's more to it. Has to do with where we aren't – as in at Columbia. And I know you're avoiding my place – still worrying over the press. Here comes the answer now," said Charlie, nodding toward three men walking in their direction with big smiles on their faces. It was Heyes' best Columbia friends - Ev Carter, Paul Huxtable, and Neal George. Neal had a long, narrow cardboard box in his hand with a big Colombia-blue bow around it.

"Hi, Charlie. Hello, Heyes." said Ev, with his eyes shining. "We got something for you, Heyes. Little belated graduation present. Give it to him, NG."

"Yeah, sorry it took a while to get ready," said NG as he handed the box to Heyes.

"You changed up on us, so we had to do two different kinds," said fiery-haired Huxtable with his boyish grin.

"Well, I got to get this thing opened – you got me all curious," said Heyes eagerly, although the particular shape and size of the box told him a lot. He slid the bow off the box and pulled the lid off. He grinned widely as he looked inside. He pulled out one of a stack of neatly printed calling cards and showed it to Charlie. It said, "H. Joshua Heyes, B.A., S.C.L, M.A., Columbia University/ Mathematician: trigonometry and applied mathematics specialties." Then it gave Heyes' new address at the apartment he and Beth had taken. There was a handsome tiny illustration of a crossed quill and a stick of dynamite at the bottom with a pistol below it – an apt symbol of a mathematician specializing in trigonometry about explosives and ballistics. The top card from the stack next to it was just the same except for one part of the name.

Heyes was delighted. "Wow, guys, thanks! I really love the picture. Suits me perfectly. And you even got me ones with Joshua and without so I'll be ready no matter what the judge says about my name. I sure do appreciate that. But it says telephone at the bottom and gives a number. Beth and I don't have a telephone. We can't afford it."

Ev said, "Your land lady does have one. She said she'd be glad to have you use it if you need to while you're applying for positions and stuff. She still a little nervous about having Hannibal Heyes in her building, but she's a nice lady. She's glad to encourage you in lawful ways. Like getting a job."

"That's real nice of her. I'll do my best on the job, guys. The cards will be a real help. This is mighty nice of you. I was dreading going into a printing shop and trying to explain what I wanted and why."

"I printed them myself on my little card press," said NG shyly, "I tried not to get inky fingerprints all over them. Betsy drew the illustration and I got a friend who's a wood engraver for Harper's to cut it in boxwood."

"Aw, NG, you're the best. You and Betsy, both. They look just perfect to me," said Heyes.

"What do you have the briefcase along for, Heyes?" asked Huxtable, noticing the new brown leather case by the former outlaw's feet.

Heyes touched the elegant case he had wanted for so long. "I got to go to campus and pick up some copies of my transcripts. Charlie says they should be ready with my real name on them by now. Can't do applications without them."

His three Columbian student friends exchanged uneasy glances. "What is it, boys?" asked Heyes with trepidation. There was an awkward pause while each of his three close friends seemed to want one of the others to speak first.

Heyes took a canny guess. "Don't tell me – word on my real name is getting around at school?"

"Getting? It's gotten," said Ev.

"I don't know who put out the word – maybe one of those undergrads who testified at your graduation hearing. Whoever it was, it got around quick as wild fire," added NG.

"People do find you pretty interesting," chimed in Huxtable.

"Great. Just great," said Heyes, sounding thoroughly dejected. "And I don't suppose everybody's as understanding as you guys."

There was another uneasy silence. "No," said Neal George at last. "Not exactly. So watch yourself, J . . . Heyes."

The retired outlaw grimaced. "I will. Thanks for the warning. And the cards." He slid the box of calling cards carefully into his briefcase, keeping aside a few of the ones without the name Joshua on them to put in his wallet. "Well, no time like the present. I might as well get it over with. Anybody going Columbia way?"

"Sure," said Huxtable. "I'm teaching summer school this afternoon. Might as well go over early with you."

"I'm getting lunch with Betsy on the West side," said Ev. "So I'll see you later, guys."

"And I've got work to do at the printer," said NG. "Bye, Heyes, Huxtable, Ev, Professor Homer."

"Bye, guys," said Heyes. "Bye, Charlie."

"Bye, Heyes," responded his old adviser, who seemed pleased to stay alone on his bench. "Be careful. And try to be understanding. That name of yours is hard on folks who thought they knew you."

"I know, I know!" moaned Heyes. "I've been thinking of writing a memoir – to undercut that creep Basil Birch. I'm thinking I'd call it 'My name is Hannibal Heyes.' I'm getting mighty sick of saying that to people over and over and seeing the reactions. Starting to make me self-conscious. Strange to think the Kid and I used to enjoy introducing ourselves to people."

"Huh? Didn't you keep your names secret?" asked Huxtable.

Heyes shook his head regretfully. "Not in the old days before we went straight. Got a charge out of telling train conductors who was holding them up. The Kid's name used to immobilize 'em so well he hardly needed to draw. We were a strutting pair of creeps in those days, I'm afraid. Learned better long ago – the hard way."

Huxtable stared in silence at his friend as they walked. Hannibal Heyes had come a long way. Sometimes young Paul Huxtable forget just how long until his friend reminded him.

As they got to campus, Huxtable said, "I've got to get to the campus printer to pick up some stuff for class, Heyes. See you later."

Heyes answered, "Sure, see you, Missouri. And thanks again for the cards. They make me feel like a real professional academic."

"But that's what you are, Kansas," said the retreating Huxtable.

As Heyes walked up to the office building where the records office was, he began to feel uneasy. A little group of young students was standing on the sidewalk near the door talking. As the westerner approached them, a young man in the group who had been in one of Joshua Smith's classes turned to see him. Heyes heard his real name spoken. The group on the sidewalk suddenly fell silent. Every eye was trained on the former Joshua Smith. The students' heads swiveled to follow him with open-mouthed curiosity. As Heyes began to climb the stairs toward the building's grand front door, a student he had seen around school but whom he didn't actually know by name was going down the stairs. The slender young man stared uneasily at the former outlaw and kept to the far side of the stairs from where Heyes was going up. Heyes tried to smile at him, but it didn't help. The guy just sidled away all the more before hurrying down the street. The young man didn't look frightened, exactly. He just looked nervous.

Heyes went down the echoing hall at a fast walk with his new briefcase swinging at his side. He wanted to get this over as fast as possible. He didn't relish explaining himself to lots of people and being stared at like a sideshow freak. A fellow math graduate student who had been in a class or two with Joshua Smith without getting any more friendly than any other classmate was going down the hall in the other direction. Heyes waved at him and the man started to wave back. Then as the two men passed in the hall, the student suddenly started and stared hard at Heyes. The word sure had gotten out.

Heyes went to the office of the registrar. There were two clerks in the outer office, one for graduate records and one for under-graduate. The neatly-dressed young woman at the desk nearest door, the graduate desk, looked up brightly up at the dark-haired man with the briefcase. The clerk wasn't someone the new graduate had seen before, but he knew that wouldn't help him much, considering what he was there for. "What can I do for you, sir?" she asked.

"I'm here to pick up ten copies I ordered of my transcripts. Here's the money for them – a dollar each, right?" Heyes tried to sound casual as he slid the ten dollar bill across the desk. The face of General Sheridan on the bill seemed to stare accusingly back at him. How many tens and twenties and fifties and hundreds had Heyes stolen in his day? And now the thief dared to pass himself off as an honest man?

The clerk smiled at the nice looking new graduate. "Yes, sir. That's right. Ten dollars total. Thank you. Here's your receipt – if you can please fill in your name and class. Then I'll get the transcripts for you."

Heyes tried not to sweat as he printed "Heyes, Hannibal, M.A., Columbia College, 1891," in the blanks on the form.

"What name . . . ?" the clerk's cheerful voice trailed off as she saw the name on the form and the flowing signature beneath it reading "Hannibal Heyes." She looked up at Heyes with something approaching terror in her wide, blue eyes. She pulled away from him as if evil might somehow be transmitted through the air from one being to another.

Heyes smiled at the clerk as well as he could, though he couldn't manage it for more than a couple of seconds and it wasn't much of a smile. "It's alright, Miss. I won't . . ."

The clerk got up and retreated to the back of the office. Heyes honestly wondered if she might call the police on him from the telephone in the back of the room. Instead, the young clerk went through a door marked "records." Minutes went past. Heyes stood awkwardly by the desk, with his hands in his pockets, while the middle-aged woman at the next desk turned to look at him and then nervously down at the papers in front of her. Heyes was sure he heard animated whispering from the records office, though he couldn't hear what was said. He would have laid money that his name was the chief topic of conversation.

Finally, the graduate records clerk returned with a neat stack of ten envelopes tied together with cotton string. "Here you are . . . sir," said the clerk in a strained voice. She pulled her hand back quickly before Heyes' hand could get near it.

"Thank you, miss," said Heyes. "Honestly, I'm just a mathematician now. I don't bite. I use a slide rule, not a gun." His smile was not returned. Heyes slide the envelopes into his briefcase, fastened the clasp, and turned away.

As Heyes went back down the hall, he saw young blonde Honus Messersmith coming up the hall. Honus, nick-named Hans, had been one of Heyes' fellow teaching assistants during the previous semester. He had been a staunch supporter when Joshua Smith stepped in to teach for Charlie Homer at the end of the semester while Marie was dying. "Hey, Hans," called Heyes happily. Surely this was one person who would be friendly?

But no, Heyes' former colleague glared furiously at him. "Hans, come on, man . . ." started the former outlaw. But the young man who had been his friend turned away and did not slow down as he hurried along the hall without speaking. Heyes didn't have the heart to try to follow him. He was afraid that there would be nothing he could say that would change the young man's attitude.

Heyes could only think of how, when he had been arrested in Central Park, he had apologized to the friends there for "all the lies." The line had even been cited by the prosecuting attorney at his much-publicized murder trial. He had no doubt that it was the lies that had hurt Hans so badly. Heyes had lied to protect himself and for a long time it had worked, at least in part. Now the protection was gone. Now he had to pay for all those years of deception.

For a wonder, Heyes was able to get out of the building and a block down the street without encountering any more hostile or even curious or frightened students. But just as Heyes was about to cross the street to escape campus, he found his path blocked by the tall blonde Aldous Clarksdale. The elegantly dressed son of a powerful business man was known to his cliquish friends as Aldy. Clarksdale had been one of the most arrogant and aristocratic of the students who had done his best to make Joshua Smith's life miserable for the last five years. It was his friends who had tied up Huxtable and Heyes and left them in a dark basement just before an exam. Clarksdale had been a keen and pushy rival of the slender westerner ever since Smith had sat in with that first geometry class. It was Clarksdale whom Heyes had planted on the sidewalk with a now famous punch when the boy and his pals had tried to beat up the still nearly silent Joshua Smith.

Clarksdale was absolutely the last man Heyes wanted to meet. The obnoxious newly graduated mathematician was a good five inches taller than Heyes. Now, five years after their first run in, Clarksdale was much stronger and heavier than he had been when Heyes had been able to deck him. Heyes, by contrast, had gotten positively skinny in these last stressful weeks. Clarksdale now probably outweighed his western rival by at least fifty pounds. Heyes was not eager to trade blows with the man. The last thing he needed on an academic interview was a black eye or a broken nose.

"Hey, cowboy, where you going with that briefcase?" asked Clarksdale in his most superior and grating voice.

Heyes bristled. "Out of here, Clarksdale. Graduated and gone. Just be a mensch and let me go, would you?"

Clarksdale planted himself across the sidewalk, arms crossed over his broad chest. "No, Hannibal Heyes, I won't let you go before we have a little talk."

Clarksdale knew, too. A furious string of obscenities ran through Heyes' head, but he stayed calm on the outside. "Yeah, city boy, I used to make my living opening safes. Been straight a long time. What's it to you? Just get outta my way."

Clarksdale wasn't backing down. "So it's true. All the time you were at Columbia, you were wanted dead or alive? They could've hauled you away to prison any time?"

Heyes hated looking up that far at another man like he had to with Clarksdale, who was a good six foot four. It made the former outlaw resentful and combative. "Yeah, or shot me and turned in the meat. In fact, they did take me off and try me – found me innocent of murder. I did kill the guy, but it was self-defense."

"Yeah, I heard about that. And then they found you guilty of armed robbery and put you in prison, didn't they?" Clarksdale seemed to take some satisfaction in his old opponent's defeat on that score.

"Yeah." Heyes felt like he was back in the street of some western town facing off with a bullying rival gang leader.

"So what are you doing out?" The big blonde looked seriously curious. He could see that there was a good story here.

"Got amnesty. The Kid and I've been working for that a long, long time." Heyes tried to vain to keep this discussion short.

Clarksdale grinned. "Congratulations!"

Heyes was utterly taken aback. "Huh? Um, thanks."

Having ferreted out some of the story, Aldy Clarksdale wanted more. "And that time you were limping in the spring semester, you said you fell off your horse. Is that what happened?"

"No, Clarksdale. I got shot in the hip. Couldn't exactly tell people in New York that the Teasdale brothers were after the Kid and me. What do you care?" Heyes was puzzled by questions and had some of his own.

Clarksdale side-stepped the query as he continued his own investigation. "Why were they after you?"

"'Cause the Kid and I stopped them from murdering some guys."

"You stopped a murder? How?" Clarksdale was impressed, but skeptical.

"The Kid and I ordered the Teasdales off – out of the Kid's place – his saloon - in Colorado."

Now Clarksdale really had a hard time believing the words of this famous liar. "Just like that? You said go and they went?"

"Well, we did have cocked Colts in our hands at the time. And even you easterners seem to know the Kid's reputation with a gun. Westerners know it a whole lot better."

"But the Teasdale Brothers had guns, too, didn't they?"

"Of course."

"Hm. Did Kid Curry come for your graduation?"

"He did. But he ain't behind me with his Colt now, so you don't have to be afraid. Just get outta my way, boy."

"And they said you got shot in the head and had to learn how to talk and write all over again before you started at Columbia. That true? So that's why you didn't talk much? That's what they say."

"Yeah. I had aphasia. Still do, some. Who's they saying all this?"

Clarksdale, hot on the trail of the truth on a campus filled with rumors, ignored the question. "So you went from blowing open safes to getting shot in the head to studying math at Columbia? How in God's name did you do it?" The admiration was plain in his voice.

"Hard work. Hard work and good friends. Please just clear out and let me go." Heyes was totally flummoxed by what was going on. Clarksdale had every tool he needed to make Heyes' life a misery to him and he wasn't using them. Maybe, Heyes figured, he should stop dismissing the young man, who was a pretty impressive mathematician in his own right. Clarksdale actually seemed to be acting decently, for once.

"Hannibal, I believe what you say. You're famous for lying, but you're telling the truth now. You got my respect." The big blonde aristocrat extended his hand. Heyes, unsuccessfully resisting a grin of sheer satisfaction, took his old rival's hand.

"Heyes, Clarksdale, just Heyes."

"Then congratulations, Heyes. And good luck!"

"Thanks, Aldy. Same to you. I'll be glad to see you around the field." To think that Heyes would ever be glad to see Aldy Clarksdale. Well, maybe he was stretching things a bit – just to be polite.

But Heyes did have something very true to say to this old rival. "Aldy, I'm glad to get a chance to set you straight. But could you do me a favor? I've been getting some pretty frightened looks from people on campus. Nobody needs to be afraid of me. Really. If anybody asks you, could you please tell them that? The Kid and I don't hurt people. We always tried not to. Everybody out West knows that, but the word doesn't seem to have gotten east yet. We're just trying to be good citizens on the right side of the law, now. Jed – the Kid – he just got made a sheriff. And I just want to teach some math. If you can help the truth get out, I'd be in your debt."

"Sure thing, Heyes. You don't owe me a thing. We never have gotten along, but I wanted the truth. You can't blame guys for being nervous about you when all they know is rumors. There are some pretty awful stories out there about you – stealing, lying, killing. I didn't believe a lot of it. I just wanted to know the truth – and so does everyone else."

"I guess you're right. I appreciate it. There were a lot of lies, before. I admit it. I try to stick to the truth, now. The Kid and I did used to steal, of course. We stole over $800,000. But we haven't stolen anything in seven and a half years. And we won't."

"Heyes, you ought to think about telling your story to the press."

"No way, Aldy. They print nothing but lies. I ought to know."

The blonde aristocrat tried not to push so hard, but he wasn't giving up. "Maybe if you pick the right reporter?"

But Heyes was adamant on his side. He'd been burned too many times. "No! There is no right reporter."

"Have it your way. My uncle owns a paper, and I minored in journalism myself, so maybe I'm prejudiced. Just think about it."

"I'll think. See you later, Aldy."

"See you, Heyes.

When Heyes told the story to Beth at dinner that evening, she asked, "So the notorious Aldy Clarksdale has turned into a decent guy? What do you suppose happened?"

Heyes thought for a moment. "It's been five years. I guess he grew up. I guess he could ask the same question about me. And get about the same answer. I just took a lot longer doing it."