Heyes sent Curtis to the kitchen to ask after lunch. Then the aspiring professor went to the Kid's room, but his partner wasn't there. The next place he looked was the back room near the kitchen. There he found the Kid with Corey Dunham, looking at a little rifle. "Ah, Heyes," said the master of the house. "Here's the rifle I learned on from my father. It's a Remington .22 rim-fire my Pa cut down to fit me when I was a boy just the age Curtis is now. I've kept it cleaned and oiled for years with my son in mind, since even before I had a son. I think it should be just the right size for Curtis to learn on. He's a big boy for his age, like I was. I've known children who learned at six, but I've always thought that was much too young. What do you think, Curry? It's not loaded, of course. And I have a new box of cartridges here."

The Kid took the rifle, being careful to point it down and away from everyone. He immediately opened the breech to confirm that the rifle truly was not loaded. Curry looked the rifle over by the bright light that came in the back window. He inspected it with the greatest care in perfect silence, opening the breech again and working the hammer and the trigger several times. Heyes could see that his partner was taking this extremely seriously.

Finally, the famous gunman smiled and looked up at Corey Dunham. "Looks good to me, Corey. It seems like a dependable piece. You've kept it in fine shape. Shouldn't have any kick. It's a good choice for a boy's first weapon. The size looks good, with the carved down stock and sawed off barrel. We can have Curtis try it and see if the stock needs any more carving, but I doubt it will." Curry handed the rifle back to Corey Dunham, who put it in a rack on the wall. "He's a smart little guy, just a little boy . . ." Curry's voice trailed off and he looked down. After the stories he and Heyes had told the night before, Corey could only guess at what distressing memory had come to mind.

Heyes clapped his partner bracingly on the shoulder. "Let's go get lunch, Jed, Corey. We've got a big afternoon ahead of us."

Curtis stepped into the room. He looked with a smile at the three men. "Ma's serving lunch now. Can we go shooting after lunch, please, Pa, Uncle Jed?"

Corey smiled at his son and put his arm around his shoulder. "We need to have a look to make sure the rifle is the right size for you. If it is we can go out to that range at Thompson's farm just outside town. I asked Thompson about it this morning. He said he'd be glad to have us – as long as he gets to see Kid Curry draw." Corey winked at the Kid. The men and Curtis all laughed.

The Kid smiled, but only briefly. "If it lets us use a safe range, alright. Curtis needs to learn, and Heyes and me need the practice. But I don't want a bunch of folks watching us. Could get dangerous for us if the word on the amnesty's not out yet."

Curtis ate in a state of rising but quiet excitement, sitting next to the Kid. He glanced over at the famous gunman now and then, as if he could learn something from how he sat and how he ate. As they reached the end of the meal, Curry turned to Curtis. "Now boy," said Jed. "Shooting is serious business. This ain't for fun. You mind your pa and me and Heyes. But your Pa first. He's the one who's gonna be here with you long after Heyes and me take off west and wherever Heyes goes to teach. When your pa and Heyes and I tell you something, you ask about anything you're wondering over. We all want to make sure you understand what we say. You got to know how deadly a firearm is before you ever lay a hand on one. On firearms, what we say goes!"

Corey nodded. "The rules we give you stand. We know what we're talking about. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," whispered Curtis, in awe at the two famous outlaws who, along with his father, were watching him closely.

"Good, son. Now you help your ma clean up," said Corey. Curtis nodded and went to do as his father asked.

"You're a good man, Jed Curry," said Cat, looking proudly at her husband.

"And you're pretty fair yourself, Heyes," said Beth. "You gentlemen are an asset to this family."

Curtis's father looked with gratitude at Curry. "I'm grateful to you, Curry, Heyes" he said.

"Our pleasure," said Jed, wiping his mouth with his napkin. But there was a distant look in his eye.

Corey and Heyes met in the little work-a-day back room as Curry went to wash his hands. "What is it, Heyes?" asked Corey. "What's upset Jed?"

"Nothing, Corey," said Heyes, a shadow passing over his own dark eyes.

"Come on, Heyes." Corey urged. "If this is bothering him, I don't want to . . ."

Heyes swallowed hard. "It's just - his Pa promised to teach Jed to shoot and he didn't live to do it. I had to teach him myself when I was hardly older than Curtis is and Jed was younger. That's all. Jed's never gotten to teach a boy that I know of. Teaching your son – I guess it makes him think of his pa and . . . and how it should have been. Don't say anything to him, alright?"

Corey shook his head, then ducked and cleared his throat. "My own pa died just a few months ago. I was lucky to have had him that long. I feel for you, Heyes, you and your partner."

Heyes' eyes flared and he looked up angrily. "We don't need your pity, Dunham!" he snapped.

Corey was taken aback by Heyes' sudden change of mood. "I'm sorry . . ."

Heyes looked down and held his head in his hands, "I'm the one who's sorry, Corey. I don't know what gets into me sometimes. Really, I don't. And you're being so kind to us. We're in your debt."

"Don't mention it, Heyes," said Corey softly. "I guess I understand. Here comes Jed."

Corey Dunham looked keenly at the infamous man who would be helping him to teach his son. Curry said, "Dunham, on this with Curtis, you take the lead. Like I said to Curtis, it's your rules that he's gonna obey every day. I don't want to confuse the boy. If you leave anything out, I'll let you know. But I think we'll agree right down the line. Watch the muzzle, check to make sure it's not loaded, make sure everyone's clear, don't touch the trigger if you ain't gonna shoot – the standard stuff."

Dunham smiled. "I agree, of course. Thanks, Curry."

Heyes smiled at his partner and then at Corey. "Three guys is too many for any boy to learn from, so I'm gonna shut up and stay out of it."

Curry laughed, "There's a first!" Corey laughed, too. He had heard plenty about the silver tongue of Hannibal Heyes. It didn't take long for Heyes to join in laughing at his own reputation.

Curry said to his host, "West Virginia's wilder than I thought any eastern state would be. I'll bet you do some hunting out in those green woods, don't you?"

Corey nodded. "Yeah, though we don't think of ourselves as eastern. West is in the state's name and its means something. I don't get the time for hunting I'd like. I get a goose or a deer now and then. But hunting for sport I don't get to do too much. Running a hotel and a family takes a lot of time and effort, as I guess you're gonna find out."

Curry grinned. "I sure hope so. If nobody puts a bullet in my back when I've got that star on." The thought of such violence didn't seem to discourage him as much as Dunham would have thought.

Corey looked back and forth between the two partners, "You know how to take care of yourself, Jed. I guess that's why I'm glad to have you guys to help train my boy up the right way. You have experience with shooting of a kind that I don't have."

Heyes nodded. "I sure hope that neither you nor Curtis ever have cause to get the kind of experience we have. A little deer hunting is about all I hope either one of you ever needs."

Corey shrugged, "Like Jed said, West Virginia's still pretty rugged. We get rabid dogs, hungry bears, burglars, drunken miners, fights – you never know when we might need to know more of what you guys know. So I'm glad for Curtis to get the right grounding."

Curry was going to reply when Curtis came through the door into the back room, blushing and smiling nervously to see the three men studying him.

"Hey there, young man," said Curry, ruffling the boy's curly hair. "Let's see about the size of that rifle. And a few other things you need to know." Heyes stepped back and watched silently as the Kid and Corey Dunham worked with Curtis.

Curtis's eyes were bright with excitement. "Here's the rim-fire son," said Corey, taking the little rifle out of the rack and holding it carefully pointed toward the ground. "It isn't loaded, of course. But I'm not going to let you touch it until we tell you a few things. Very important things that you must remember always. Of course, you already know not to touch a gun without the permission of an adult." The father looked hard at his son, making sure he had his total attention.

Jed Curry nodded. "Yeah, Curtis, you're pa and I agree on the ground rules. You listen to him." He gestured toward Corey, so Curtis turned to listen to his father.

Corey looked serious, but the partners could see his eyes gleaming. This was a big day as he took charge of this rite of passage for his son. "When you take up a firearm you must always watch where that muzzle is pointed. Be aware of it every second, whether or not the rifle is loaded. You understand?"

Curtis looked into his father's eyes respectfully. "Yes, sir."

The boy glanced at Curry, who said, "You listen to your pa and watch him. Just you mind every word your pa says."

"Yes, sir!" Curtis answered dutifully, but with a note of excitement in his voice. The boy turned back to look at his father attentively.

Corey went on, "This rifle isn't loaded. That is, I know I left it unloaded when I put it on the rack before lunch. But watch; I'm going to open the breech now and check to make sure it really isn't loaded. Somebody could have messed with it while I was gone. Don't ever trust that a firearm you thought you left unloaded is still unloaded. And don't trust if somebody, anybody, even me, tells you that a firearm isn't loaded. Always check! Always!" He looked deep into his son's eyes and made sure the boy was paying close attention and nodding.

Corey went on, "Here's how you open the breech to check if it's loaded or to load the rifle. Watch me. Notice, I'm careful every second about where that muzzle is pointed – down and away from anybody, in the house or outside." Corey opened the breech and Curtis watched his every move.

Heyes was careful not to smile, but he was pleased. Corey and Curtis were treating this instruction with all the care it deserved. He doubted that Corey had ever been shot. He hoped not. But as a man who had been shot more times than he liked to admit, and who had seen many other people shot, Heyes had a healthy respect for all firearms. He hoped one day to teach just such a lesson to a son or daughter of his own.

"So," said Corey, "this rifle isn't loaded. But still, any time you touch a firearm you make sure that you don't point it at anything or anyone you aren't serious about shooting. Keep it pointed down and away from everyone. Don't ever shoot or point a rifle or gun into the air. A shot that goes up into the air comes down later and could hurt someone on the way." Curtis nodded.

He glanced at Curry. The famous former outlaw nodded. "I've been around a lot of firearms and I've seen men take them lightly. But let me tell you: a rifle is not a toy. It demands respect. Your Pa is right, you don't point this barrel at anything you don't plan on shooting. You got me? And don't touch the trigger unless you're gonna fire and you're all ready to do that."

Curtis nodded. "Yes, sir! I understand."

"Be sure you do, son," said Corey solemnly. "Remember – a firearm has only one purpose: to shoot. You must be thinking about that all the time around any firearm. Don't get careless! The only reason an accident happens with a firearm is because somebody got careless." He looked at his son all the time he was speaking. The boy's attention was riveted on his father. "When you are holding a weapon, you must be aware of everyone around you – where they are, what they're doing. You must never, never point the barrel at another person. You point a firearm only at your designated target. Always pay attention."

"Yes, sir," said Curtis. "I will always pay attention. I promise."

Corey suppressed a smile. "Always assume that weapon is loaded. Treat it with respect. If I see or hear of your ever breaking any of these rules, you lose your privilege to fire and handle weapons." His son nodded.

"Now, son, tell me what I just told you. You don't have to use the exact words, but get the meaning right. If you miss anything, we'll go back over it. There's no hurry. There's plenty of time to make sure you don't just hear these words – you know them."

"Yes, sir," said Curtis. He glanced from his father to his Uncle Jed.

"Repeat it back to us!" said Curry. "Don't feel silly. There's nothing silly about it. It's serious. Deadly serious."

Curtis nodded and slowly repeated, "Never assume a weapon isn't loaded – always check. No matter who tells me!" The three men standing around Curtis all nodded.

The boy continued with his vital lesson. "Always know where the muzzle is pointed and make sure it's pointed down and away from everyone." The men nodded again.

"Don't aim the rifle at anyone, or up in the air, or fire up in the air." The boy looked at his father, who nodded and gestured for him to go on.

"Don't aim the muzzle at anything except the target – or down at the ground."

"Right!" smiled Corey.

"Don't touch the trigger unless I am going to shoot." The three men all nodded.

"Don't get careless or treat a firearm as a toy. Treat it with respect. Pay attention all the time. Is that all?"

"Very good, Curtis!" said Corey. "We aren't just being strict for the sake of it. We value your life and the lives of the people around you – including mine, your Ma's, you sister's lives, your friend's lives, and your aunts' and uncles' lives. And the lives of the people in town and the guests in the hotel. A firearm can shoot anyone dead. Including you. This is real and serious. This isn't a book or a game. Dead from a rifle shot is dead for always."

Curtis swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. I won't forget. Ever."

Corey looked serious, and yet full of pride. His son was treating this rifle with the respect it deserved and he sure hoped he always would. "Now you can hold that rifle, son, if you remember everything we told you. It's a lot to remember. Know what you're going to do with a firearm, have it all planned, before you touch it."

"Alright," said Jed Curry, "let's see how this rifle fits you, Curtis. Corey, you help him know how to hold it. I'll stand back and see how it fits. Remember, boy, keep your hand off that trigger. Just touch the guard to make sure you can reach it."

Corey handed the rim-fire to his son, while the three men watched the boy like a hawk. Curtis hesitated for a moment, obviously planning his actions just as he had been instructed to do. Then he reached up to take the rifle. He carefully pointed it down and opened the stock. He make sure that it was empty and closed it again. Curry saw Corey smiling. He son really was remembering the directions they had given him.

"Alright, son, let me show you how to hold that rifle so we can make sure it fits you. Here, hold it like this, cradle the stock back here, good and secure. Support the barrel with your other hand. Make sure you can reach that trigger guard."

Curry asked, "How does that feel, Curtis?"

Curtis, making sure the rifle was pointed down, "It feels good, sir. Not heavy at all."

"Good!" said Corey. "Give it back to me and we'll get ready for a trip to the shooting range on the farm."

"Wow, thanks, Pa!" said Curtis, showing his first opened excitement. "It's so light. I could hold it all day!"

"We'll see about that." laughed Dunham. "Well, that's good. I've got some boxes of cartridges in my bag. And we've got a couple of canteens. All set, Heyes, Jed? Let's go."

"Are you gonna show us your fast draw, Uncle Jed?" asked Curtis.

The Kid nodded. "I will. I'll show it to you and your pa and farmer Thompson. Nobody else. Well, except Heyes."

"Do we go by horse or wagon?" asked Heyes.

"Foot, if you don't mind," said Corey apologetically. "It's a long way around to the farm by road, but it's just a short walk on a little path through the woods."

"Fine by us, right partner?" said Heyes.

"Sure, Heyes," said the Kid. The three men and one eager boy went out through the lobby with the unloaded little rifle in a case carried by Corey Dunham. They also had along the Kid's big unloaded rifle and a Colt tied down on each partner's hip. Corey brought his own rifle along to get some practice. So he had a rifle on each shoulder.

As the four set off for the range, a tall man in a grey suit was checking in at the desk. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dunham!" said the new guest reaching out to shake his host's hand. "It's good to see you again. And my, haven't you grown, Curtis, since I was here last year!" Curtis gave an artificial smile. He was sick of being told how much he had grown. But as a hotel owner's son, he knew how to be nice to customers. "And who are your friends?" asked the guest.

Heyes and Curry exchanged an uneasy look, which included Corey Dunham. Now Corey was presented with the same problem the two partners had been facing since the day they had gotten their amnesty. "Bingham, welcome back," said Corey warmly to his long-time customer. "Meet my new brother-in-law, Mr. Heyes, and his cousin, Mr. Curry. Pardon us, but we're on our way to the range where we're going to give my son his first shooting lesson. Good day, Bingham."

Mr. Bingham shook the hands of the partners and continued signing in to the hotel as the three men and the boy went out the front door. Bingham turned suddenly and looked curiously at the backs of the four going out the door. Could he possibly have heard those names wrong?

The four were quiet and serious as they walked to the nearby farm. It was a lovely summer day with birds singing and squirrels dashing around in the leaves and underbrush. Finally Curtis dared to ask, "Uncle Jed, have you ever been shot?"

Curry nodded, "Yeah, boy, I been shot a few times. More than enough. It hurts bad." He lapsed into silence, looking around the trees and bushes along the trail.

Curtis could see that his uncles were very aware of everything that happened in the forest that closed in around them as soon as they left the streets of town. They were following a well-beaten path through the trees. The distant rustle of dry leaves made them both turn immediately to see what had happened. It was nothing but a passing squirrel. Curtis was starting to ask Curry, "When did . . ." when there was a louder rustling a few yards away in the underbrush, getting closer. Instantly, both ex-outlaws were flat on their bellies, Colts drawn, looking with silent intensity toward the sound. Curtis and his father turned, startled, to see what had so upset their new relatives. They crouched down low, Corey's arm around his son's shoulders.

"Step out of there real quiet and slow, hands up!" said the Kid in a commanding voice.

"Sure, mister!" said a countrified voice, shaking with fear, "I don't mean no harm!" A tall, skinny young man in patched overalls emerged from behind some trees. He held his hands high in the air.

"Who are you and what are you doing trailing us?" asked Heyes tensely, with his eyes darting quickly to Curtis and back to the stranger from the woods. Heyes could see that Curtis was frightened.

The young West Virginian was very distressed at this. "Trailing you? I waren't trailing nobody. Honest. I'm Jedediah Partridge – hand on Mr. Thompson's farm. I was goin' out to make sure the range is all set for shootin'. They said Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes was comin' to shoot and Mr. Thompson wants everything nice for them. Is you them?"

"I'm Curry and this is my partner, Heyes," said the Kid, standing up and putting his gun away. "I'm sorry, Mr. Partridge. We ain't had amnesty real long. Guess we're a little nervy about it, still."

Heyes reached out to shake the still trembling man's hand. "We are, that, Mr. Partridge. I'm sorry to frighten you without reason. It's a bad habit to assume the worst about everybody."

"After you've been wanted dead or alive that long, I guess it's hard to adjust to not being wanted," said Corey Dunham. "But honestly, Mr. Partridge is a good man. You can trust him."

"I'm sure we can," said Heyes. "We really are sorry, Mr. Partridge. After all the posses that have chased us, it's hard to trust strangers. But it's nothing personal. And Curtis, I'm sorry if we frightened you. We're looking forward to teaching Curtis to shoot. Right, Jed?"

"Sure are," said Curry with a smile.

"Huh?" said Mr. Partridge. "So you're a Jed, too, Mr. Curry?

"I am," said Curry. "Always glad to meet another Jed." He shook Partridge by the hand.

"Kin I watch you shoot, Mr. Curry?" asked Partridge, still sounding a bit shaky.

"Alright," said the Kid. "And it sounds like Mr. Thompson's coming too. But that's enough. I'm a sheriff, now. I ain't a gunman no more, 'cept what I got to do for that."

Soon the little band of men and one boy came out of the wood and arrived at the farm. It looked like a thriving concern with a big barn and extensive fields. Fine, fat cows were grazing on the hilly fields beyond the barn. Partridge led the visitors to the shooting range behind the barn. There was a single straw-stuffed canvas target with a bull's eye painted on it. It was leaning on the front of a steep earth bank.

"That's the best way to set it up," noted Heyes to Curtis. "Unless somebody misses bad, there's no way a shot at that target is going to get through and hit anyone beyond the target."

A bow-legged young man in very neat overalls was waiting for them. "Gentlemen, this is farmer Thompson," said Corey. "Mr. Thompson, meet Jed Curry and Hannibal Heyes. And you know my son, Curtis."

The farmer tipped his straw hat. "Good to see ya, Curtis. Welcome to my farm, Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes. So you have amnesty now? It's a privilege to have you." The farmer's accent was countrified, but his English was startlingly immaculate.

"Thank you for having us out to your place, Mr. Thompson," said the Kid. "It's a real nice set up you've got here."

"Thank you, Mr. Curry. Which of you gentlemen is married to Beth Warren?" the farmer asked, looking back and forth between the two former outlaws.

"That would be me, Mr. Thompson," said Heyes with a warm smile. "Do you know Beth? I worked with her at the Leutze Clinic."

"You worked at the clinic in New York where they teach folks to talk again?" the farmer was puzzled.

Heyes shook his head. "No, I didn't work there. I was a patient. The doctor taught me to talk again after I was shot in the head. And Beth taught me to write again. Taught me a lot of other things, too. I'd never have gone to college and gotten my degrees without Beth. She's a wonderful teacher!"

"I have cause to know it, Mr. Heyes," said Thompson, smiling back. "On her summer vacations a few years back, Miss Warren taught me to read and write, and to talk well. And to do math. I'd never have been able to afford and manage this farm without her help. I grew up poor and ignorant on one of the hill places around here. This is a far better place than anyone in my family ever had, before Miss Warren helped me."

Heyes shook the farmer's hand. "Congratulations, Mr. Thompson. To learn that much that fast, you must have worked very hard."

Curry added, "Just like Heyes did. This is a fine farm. You should be right proud."

Thompson blushed. "I am. You should be, too. Congratulations on your amnesty."

Curry put an arm around Curtis's shoulders. "Thank you very much, Mr. Thompson. But we didn't come here to talk. We came to teach this young man to shoot."

"And to see you shoot, Curry!" said Corey. "You've got to earn us the use of the range."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Mr. Curry," said Mr. Thompson. "You sure don't have to shoot for us if you don't want to."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Curry. "But let me tell you one thing, Curtis. I ain't gonna teach you to shoot a hand gun now. You need some solid experience with the rifle before you go to a pistol. And don't you never, never try fast draw. It's a darned good way to get killed. I've just been lucky to live this long."

"Yes, sir," said Curtis. "I won't try it. I promise. But I still want to watch you!"

"He's been lucky and, well, you're about to see what else has kept us alive. Watch this close and don't blink. It sure don't take long," smiled Heyes, bragging on his partner like a carnival barker. "Stand back, folks."

The men and the boy stood back and watched the Kid in fascination as he lined up to shoot at the painted canvas target. Curry checked the strap on his holster and sighted at the target. Before they knew it, the Colt was out and six bullets had gone into the bull's eye with stunning speed and accuracy. The Kid twirled his smoking pistol and resholstered it coolly.

The Kid's audience was silent for a moment, stunned. Curtis's mouth was hanging wide opened. "Wow!" he whispered.

"Whooee! I never done seen nothin' like that in my whole, entire life!" exclaimed Partridge.

"I've got to agree," said Thompson. "It's hard to believe a mortal man could be that fast." Corey just shook his head in wonder.

"Thank you, guys," said the Kid. "Now, let's get down to business. Where's that little rife, Corey? Let's show Curtis how to load it, now that we're out here away from folks. Thanks for the use of the range, Thompson. Nice to meet you and Partridge." Partridge excused himself and went off to his work.

Heyes stood back yards away, leaning at the side of the barn while Corey Dunham and Jed Curry worked patiently with Curtis, showing him how to load the rim-fire and how to use the sights. Meanwhile, Thompson spoke quietly to Heyes. "I'm trying to teach Partridge some of what Beth taught me, but I haven't gotten very far. I don't think I ever appreciated how hard teaching is."

As Heyes watched his cousin work masterfully with their young nephew, he spoke softly said to the farmer, "You're right there. It is hard, but it's good work. Work a man can be proud of. You can see my partner and my brother-in-law doing a good job of it over there. I've trained to be a mathematics professor. I won an award for teaching at Columbia University, but will anyone ever trust me to do it professionally?"

Thompson stared hard at Heyes. "That is an amazing story, Mr. Heyes. I surely do hope somebody hires you. Sounds like you deserve it."

The men paused while a bang sounded, and then another. Curtis was making a good start, making holes in the target and handling his new rifle safely.

Heyes sighed. "We'll see, Mr. Thompson. We'll just see. For Beth's sake, I hope so. I'd like to support my wife the way she deserves. I'm sure impressed with what you've done. I know what it's like to start out poor and ignorant and have to claw your way up. I did my clawing the wrong way. Sounds to me like you've been doing right all along. And you're willing to share what's come to you – that's right generous."

Thompson looked thoughtfully at Heyes. "Mr. Heyes, you've got plenty to be proud of. I'm glad you're going right now. We're a lucky pair of men."

Heyes paused and watched as his partner got out his own rifle and demonstrated some fine points to Curtis. Corey was watching carefully, as well. Curry with any firearm in his hands was an impressive sight.

"We are lucky" said Heyes, "And so is my partner. I just hope he stays that way. A sheriff named Curry could have a real short life out West, no matter how fast he is."

"Oh? I'd have thought the outlaws would respect him, and like him," said Thompson.

Heyes murmured so Curtis, Corey, and Jed couldn't hear him. "Respect him, yes. But like a man who's made peace with the law and even joined up with it? With the enemy? The outlaws hate us now. Or most of them do. We have a few friends left. Not many, though. And if any man could bring down Kid Curry – he'd be the King of the West. Until somebody else took him down, anyhow."

"So what does that mean for you, Mr. Heyes?" Thompson looked at the former outlaw with more understanding than Heyes had ever expected.

Heyes answered slowly, kicking at a tuft of grass as the bangs of Curry's and Dunham's gun and rifle sounded in the background. "I don't know, Mr. Thompson. They hate me, too. But I won't be working for the law. I won't generally have a gun at my hip if I'm teaching. And I don't know where I'll be. So it could be just as bad for me, or not. We'll find out one day, I guess. There's one thing I can ask of you and Mr. Partridge in the meantime."

"Of course, Mr. Heyes. Whatever we can do, we'd be glad to do it," said Thompson, growing curious.

Heyes looked into the farmer's eyes. "Thank you. Please try to keep our names to yourself until the word comes out in the local paper that we've got amnesty. Until everyone knows that, we're vulnerable to anyone who thinks he can put a bullet in our backs and get the bounty on us. That was $15,000.00 each, until we got amnesty."

Thompson nodded. "Alight. That won't be hard with me, although I don't know about Partridge. He's a good man, but he doesn't come from a very disciplined background. He's a hillbilly, as they call the real country folk around here. I was one, so I know what it really means. I'll try to keep him in check. It won't need to be for long. That's a weekly paper – the Cheat Liar they call it." Heyes chuckled along with Mr. Thompson. "Funny sense of humor we've got around here, I guess. The paper comes out in two days. If you want me to talk to the editor and make sure your story is in there, I can do it. I know him."

"That's good to know, Mr. Thompson," said Heyes with a brief grin. "We'd appreciate your trying to keep Partridge discrete and getting the story in the paper. Just the amnesty – no more details, if we can avoid it. We'd pose for pictures if they like. The Kid and I'll be leaving this town soon, but that will give us a few days of relative safety around here. The story is already out in New York City, but that's such a big place that you can't be sure who will know what."

"Heyes, you want to get some practice?" called Corey.

"Sure thing, Corey," said Heyes. "Pardon me, Mr. Thompson. But as we discussed, my keeping in practice with my pistol could be a matter of life or death. Thank you very much for everything. If there's anything we can do for you, you must let us know."

"Mr. Heyes, you just thank your wife for me and give her my regards, if you would," smiled Thompson. "I'll always be in her debt."

"I will do that, Mr. Thompson," said Heyes, "Now pardon me while I take advantage of your kindness in sharing your range."

An hour later, the three men and one tired, happy, boy set off walking back to the Green Tree along the trail. They walked in companionable silence, with Curtis tagging along at Curry's side, staring up at him now and then. Heyes and Corey walked side by side behind them, watching the boy's open hero worship of the famous ex-outlaw.

The boy now joined his uncles in watching the woods around them for anyone who might be sneaking up on them. For the boy, it was a game. For the former outlaws, it was still serious. But all they heard was birds and squirrels and one innocent doe.

As the four got back to the hotel, they found Beth, Barbara, and Cat sitting on the deep, shady front porch talking. Curtis's little sisters were playing under a wicker table while their mother and aunts visited and laughed.

"Well, how did it go?" asked Barbara as she stood to greet the returning shooters.

Corey grinned. "Curtis is getting started very well. He's safe, and also pretty accurate for a boy on his first day."

"He's doin' real well," said Curry. "I'm proud of him."

Curtis hopped up and down with excitement. "Ma, you should've come along! Wow, you should see the Kid draw! You never saw anything so fast in all your life!"

"Careful, Curtis, folks around here don't all know we've got amnesty yet!" said Heyes.

"And son," said Barbara, "you shouldn't call your uncle by his old nick name unless he's given you permission."

"I'm sorry, Uncle Jed," said Curtis. "Are you mad at me?"

The Kid shook his head and touched the boy's shoulder warmly, "No, but I'd don't like that name now. It's a name for an outlaw. I ain't that anymore."

"Then I won't call you by it," said Curtis. "I really am sorry."

"No problem, Curtis," said Curry.

"Why don't you gentlemen sit down and have some lemonade?" asked Beth Heyes. "We've got some cold and ready for you back in the kitchen."

"Sounds good to me!" said Corey, taking a seat in an Adirondack chair next to his wife.

Jed Curry sat down at another wicker table while Cat brought out the cold lemonade. Curtis sat next to him. "Uncle Jed, can you tell me about what you're gonna do as sheriff?"

"Sure," said Curry, drinking up the adulation of his nephew and starting to tell a story about Lom Trevors. Much as Heyes and Curry had been worshipped by boys for many years, until now it had generally been at a distance. The former outlaws had rarely gotten to be around their young fans. So the Kid was enjoying the unaccustomed acclaim.

Heyes sat next to Beth, watching his nephew and his cousin enjoy each other's company. "Don't be jealous, Heyes," said his wife softly.

Heyes shrugged. "Hey, I can't do anything as impressive or fun as the Kid can. I just do math and I don't even open safes and cells anymore. He really does shoot like nothing on earth. What boy wouldn't admire that? And he's a nice guy, too. Why shouldn't Curtis enjoy having Kid Curry for his uncle? I'm not jealous."

Beth chuckled softly. "Sure you are. And no wonder. But Hannibal Heyes is a pretty good uncle, too. What you do might not be so obvious, but it's pretty good. Teach him about magic squares."

Heyes laughed hard at that. "Math problems? That's nothing compared to shooting. No, I'm pretty dull next to the Kid."

Many thanks go Wichita Red for making sure I got the firearms information all correct. The Kid would get it right!