Heyes and Beth's bags were packed. Their clothes were off. Their lamp was out. They lay together in the hotel bed. But neither of the lovers could sleep. Heyes tossed and turned uneasily.

Beth hugged her husband and spoke softly in the darkness. "Go to sleep, Heyes. We have a long train ride in the morning. You're like a whirling dervish!"

"What's a . . . whirling . . . dervish?" Heyes had to struggle with the unfamiliar words much more than he would have had to only a week before.

Beth kept her worry out of her voice, leaving her wounded husband his dignity. "How should I know? Somebody who whirls around a lot, I guess. Miss Harkness used to say it. I don't know what it really means."

"Wow, there's something you don't know." Heyes chuckled fondly at his wife.

Beth snuggled next to her husband as she said, "If that's a complement, it's a damned left handed one."

Heyes sounded a little chastened. "Sorry. You do know an awful lot. I like to learn from you. I mean that and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah, now you're trying to butter me up so you don't have to sleep alone." Heyes could hear the kidding in his wife's voice.

"Who's Miss . . . Harkness." Heyes had a hard fight to get out the unfamiliar name. Beth hid her distress in the darkness.

"She was my fourth grade teacher."

"Oh." Heyes' voice was suddenly grave. "Speaking of what you know, I'll bet you know what Doc Leutze told me this afternoon."

Beth was caressing her husband as she spoke, trying to offer all the comfort she could. "Of course I do. It's what he tells everyone who's gotten aphasia from a blow to the head. I've heard a lot about all the ways you need to be careful."

"So why didn't you tell me?" Heyes asked softly.

Beth tried to keep the sorrow out of her voice. "Oh, Heyes, I did. More than once. And so did Dr. Leutze and Dr. Goldstein. You know that."

"Oh yeah." Heyes didn't like to remember how willfully he had ignored the guidance of his doctors and his teacher, now wife, on this topic.

Beth had her arms around Heyes as she said, "You weren't ready to listen then. So why are you listening now?"

"You." Heyes kissed his wife.

"Thank you. I think. You know how I hate for you to have to give up anything, Heyes. You've had to give up an awful lot since you got shot."

Heyes' voice was full of thoughtful resolution. "It seems like the only way to get what matters is to give up some other stuff that doesn't matter so much. So I'll stop adventuring around if it means I get to keep you. I've had more than enough adventures for a half dozen lifetimes already. So if I say no to more of that, I hope we can have a family together. And I can have a worthwhile career to support us."

"On your giving up adventuring, I'll believe it when I see it. But there is lot to gain on that exchange."

"There sure is." There was no more talk that night.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Beth, Heyes, Cat, Dr. Leutze, and Charlie Homer were up early the next morning to catch the train to Washington, D.C. From there they would go on to New York. When the sun was just coming up and the birds were singing in all the trees, the full family, along with Professor Homer and Dr. Leutze, sat down to a last good Green Tree Hotel breakfast. Heyes, who had slept late so often of late, was yawning.

Even Aunt Bertha had limped down the stairs to eat with the family and their guests. "We surely are going to miss you all," said that formidable lady in her quavering voice. "It's going to seem mighty dull around here without a pair of retired outlaws and their ladies to keep things lively."

"It sure will, Auntie," said Curtis.

Everyone laughed at that, but Beth thought Heyes wasn't really laughing very hard. He had always liked things lively; now he wasn't so sure. But he spoke warmly, "We're gonna miss you all, too. It's been nearly thirty years since the Kid and I had more family than just each other. I can't speak for Jed, but I'd nearly forgotten what it's like. Now we're just starting to realize all we've been missing. We're looking forward to some little ones of our own. Curtis, Virginia, and . . . Charlotte have given us a taste of how fine it is to have good youngsters around." Everyone followed Beth's lead and ignored Heyes' struggle with two names. Heyes, too, tried to ignore his own difficulties, but the aspiring professor couldn't help blushing slightly.

"I wish you all could come out and see us in Colorado some time," said Cat. "I know how hard it is to get away from a business like this, but we managed it. So you try, one of these days, when we've settled down some. And Charlie and Dr. Leutze, that goes for you gentlemen, as well. You're like family, both of you."

"We surely will take you up on that offer," said Corey. "But not until you're ready. It's not easy running a hotel and a family, too – we ought to know! We've always wanted to see the West, and now we've got a really good reason." He smiled at his wife, who nodded from where she stood serving up pancakes.

"Yes, we'd like that – I know the children would," said Barbara, looking at the shining eyes of her son and daughters.

"I'll get out there one day soon, too," said Charlie.

"I'll find my way back, when I can," said Dr. Leutze with a wistful smile, "I remember meeting you there when you were totally silent, Heyes. You have certainly come a long way! You and Jed both have. Cat you're going to have a full hotel one of these days!" Cat smiled at Heyes' doctor while the retired outlaw looked gratefully at him.

Curtis was very quiet for most of this meal, sitting near his uncle and watching him anxiously. He wasn't at all sure that Heyes was really well again. His struggles in speaking disconcerted his nephew. The trouble didn't comfort the speaker, either. He kept wondering how he would do lecturing in a classroom, or interviewing with a dean.

All too soon, their last meal together ended. Everyone was out front of the hotel as Corey and Curtis hauled the luggage out. Even Charlie took a hand carrying things. Meanwhile, Heyes stood around in frustration, ordered by his doctor not to carry anything heavier than his rifle.

"I'm fine!" barked Heyes to Dr. Leutze, who shook his head firmly.

"Listen to your doctor, honey. You'll be up to your neck in work soon enough," said Beth. "Nobody thinks any the worse of you."

"Well, I do!" fumed the ex-outlaw. He wiped the scowl off of his face long enough to wave up to Aunt Bertha, who was bidding them farewell from her balcony. Heyes let go of his anger and just felt sorry that he needed to leave these people he had come to love very much. He only hoped that they returned his feeling, despite some of what had happened since he and his partner and their wives had arrived in Cheat, West Virginia.

"Oh, Barbara, I'm sorry to have caused all this upset! You've been very kind to us. I can't tell you how grateful I am," said Heyes as he hugged his sister-in-law. Then Beth was hugging her sister in tears, unsure of when they would meet again.

"Bye-bye, girls," said Heyes to his little nieces, giving each a kiss. "You be good!"

"Bye-bye, Uncle Heyes! You be good, too!" piped little Charlotte. Virginia only giggled happily, while many others were smiling at the idea of Hannibal Heyes' being good at the bidding of a toddler.

As everyone was exchanging farewell hugs, the gawky boy who had watched Heyes and Corey ride out the day before came shyly up the hotel porch. "Hello, Curtis," he said to his friend, who was done moving luggage. Then the boy turned to Heyes, "Say, Mister, are you really Hannibal Heyes? Curtis says you are."

"Yeah, that's my name." said Heyes, trying to get his annoyance under control. No matter how peeved he was feeling at the moment due to the limitations caused by his own delicate health, and his displeasure at being interrupted as he said good-bye to his beloved new family, Heyes didn't want to be mean to a child who had done nothing to deserve it. "What's your name, son?"

The boy looked about Curtis's age. "Bobby Crowell. Curtis is my friend. My daddy keeps the best dry goods store in town." He spoke proudly.

"Nice to meet you, Bobby." Heyes leaned over to shake the boy's hand. "I got to go catch a train." But the wagon wasn't ready to go quite yet – Beth ran back inside to get something.

"Did you really escape from jail? The books say you did." the boy asked.

Heyes laughed. "Which time? The Kid and I have gotten out of a bunch of jails."

"Wow. How'd you do it?"

Heyes thought back. "A different way each time. Can't just pick the lock every time. Those sheriffs keep in touch with each other."

"How would you do it next time?" Bobby asked eagerly.

"Won't be a next time. We went straight and we got amnesty. It's a bunch better never to deserve to be locked up. Now, I really got to go. Nice to meet you."

As the wagon departed, one awe-struck youngster stood and watched it go. Another ran behind the wagon, which was too full to hold him. Curtis wasn't about to miss the chance to say his good-byes to his aunts and uncle at the station.

When the wagon arrived at the station, they had only a few minutes to say good-bye to Corey and Curtis. "Bye-bye, Corey! Thank you! Take care!" Heyes called to his new brother-in-law as they shook hands. His friends echoed his sentiments. Beth hugged her brother-in-law again, wiping away tears.

Finally, Heyes found Curtis and gave him a hug. "Don't forget us, Curtis! I'll write you when I get work." He winked at his nephew. Then the ex-outlaw turned to help his wife and Cat onto the train.

Heyes stood on the back of the last car and looked back to see his brother-in-law and his nephew standing on the little train station's platform side by side, waving at the departing train. Heyes gave them one final wave as the train went around a bent and trees hid the station.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Kid Curry squared his shoulders and adjusted his star as he walked into another sheriff's office. His stop in eastern Nebraska had seemed to do him little good, although the sheriff had warmed up later. So he had gone on north and west by train. This morning found Curry in a crummy little farm town in South Dakota with a very small headquarters of the law. A pretentiously lettered sign announced Sheriff Crawford was in charge here.

The head man himself was behind the desk with his feet up and the butt of a cigar between his teeth. Seeing the star on the chest of the man entering his office, the portly, middle-aged sheriff reluctantly put his feet on the floor. He his was muffled a bit by the cigar in his mouth. "You got business with me, Sheriff?" the man asked with the instant assumption of dislike for the stranger.

"No," said Curry, "With your young deputy. What his name?"

"Gyp Gurney, you mean? The junior man?" asked Crawford.

"Yeah, that's the man."

Crawford spot into a dented brass spittoon. "Boy, you mean. He ain't but twenty. What do you want with him? He made trouble for you?"

"No. I'm looking for a deputy. Friend of a friend told me about him." Curry saw no reason to hide his intensions from the man in charge.

Now Crawford sounded even more hostile. "You are, are you? Going around poaching deputies, is that your game? And what might your name be?"

"I don't poach. Everything aboveboard. Name's Curry." The Kid expected his fellow sheriff to be able to figure out the rest of his name with ease. The news was no secret. But he was surprised when the man asked.

"You got a first name?"

"Jedediah." Curry saw no reason to trot out his old nickname. "Where's your deputy."

The fat sheriff spat again. "Half way to the next county, last I heard, chasing cattle rustlers."

"You sent him on his own?" Curry asked in surprise.

"With my other deputy, Joshua Smith. You got any interest in him?" Jed couldn't help starting slightly at hearing of someone who had his partner's old alias for his real name.

Curry had heard nothing of this Joshua Smith. "Not that I know of. Would you recommend Gurney? Or Smith?"

"Yeah, he's not bad. Smith's good, too, if it comes to that. He's older and steadier. Got a gal here in town. But you ain't gonna talk then into leaving." The local sheriff still looked hostile.

"When do you expect your deputies back?" asked Curry.

"Not for at least two days." Crawford didn't seem at all worried.

Curry shrugged. If the men were any good, then fate was conspiring against him. With this lackadaisical a boss, he didn't have any faith in the deputies. He had heard of Gurney from a friend of Lom's, so he wasn't too sure there was anything to get excited about here. "Too bad. I can't wait. You might tell Gurney, or Smith if he's interested, that Jed Curry in Louisville, Colorado is looking for a good young deputy or two. Are they good with their guns?"

"Not bad. Specially Gurney - fast as lightning, too. So I ain't eager to give him up. Probably could beat either one of us to the draw without half thinking. Natural speed – just young. Not a lot of training."

"Oh, you think he could beat me?" Curry sounded only skeptical of this.

"Unless you're – say, you don't happen to be Kid Curry, do you?" Finally the local sheriff was catching on.

Curry tried not to strut, but he felt some pride in saying, "As a matter of fact, yeah, that's what they used to call me."

"Then get out of here, you scum. I sure won't mention you to my deputies except for them to steer clear of you. You and that snake, Heyes, probably just brewing trouble for the law."

Curry restrained himself with difficulty. "You might just want to take that back about my partner. And about me, too." His right hand hovered threateningly near his gun.

"No, I don't want to take back nothing. And you don't dare raise a hand to me, you wolf. Get out of here before I call in the marshals!"

"I'm an honest law man and I won't make trouble for nobody but criminals. But I wouldn't touch any of your deputies with a ten foot pole, if they agree to serve with a man like you. Good-bye, Sheriff Crawford." The emphasis on the man's title made it clear that Curry doubted his qualifications.

Curry turned on his heel and left. He heard the soft pat of a blob of spit land behind his heel. Curry didn't dignify the man's insult by reacting to it.

Curry was lucky to be able to catch a train out of the little town within the hour. By late that afternoon he was in a little town set in a lovely spot in the mountains of Wyoming, where he hoped to have better luck. He had heard only second hand word on Gyp Gurney. In this case, he had more direct information.

Curry walked into the little wooden sheriff's office that had a rough wooden sign out front stating that Sheriff Hurley was in charge. "Good afternoon, sheriff," said the slender young fellow behind the desk. "You must be in from east of here 'cause the train just got in."

The Kid looked around the modest, dusty little office for a second, quickly spotting the usual bulletin board with his own and Heyes' amnesty signs prominently displayed among the wanted posters. Then he answered. "That's right. I'm headed south. I'm going to Louisville, Colorado."

"They say Kid Curry's the new sheriff there." The blonde youngster wearing a deputy's star looked hardly more than 18. He paused and looked at the Kid respectfully with keen grey eyes. He stood up to look the stranger strait in his cool blue eyes. "Are you him?"

The Kid paused for effect before confirming the deputy's suspicions. "Yeah. What's your name?"

A spark of excitement flared in the young man's eyes. "Al Kelly. Are you as fast as they say?"

Curry ignored the question. "I'm looking for a young up-and-comer like you to be my deputy. I've got to serve the law to keep my amnesty. You think you might want to join me?" Curry sat down on the desk to study his young interviewee.

"Depends. I need to know a few things, beyond the famous stories. How'd you learn the sheriff's trade? Just running from the law?" The Kid couldn't blame the young man for being curious about how a bad man turned good.

"That ain't a bad way to learn some of what a man's got to know, but it's not the only one. I been working with Sheriff Wilde more than five years, learning the letter of the law and how to keep the peace. I've handled about every kind of criminal, from murders to cons. I know the town, the area, the lawmen, and the businesses. And the criminals. Personally."

The deputy stood with one hand on his hip, listening to this infamous man, trying to play it cool. The gleam in his eyes gave away his excitement. "I see. What's it pay?"

"What're you getting now?" Curry didn't want to offer less than the deputy's current salary, or go too much higher, either. He had to pay deputies out of his own salary.

"Pardon me, sir, but that number ain't your business," said the deputy awkwardly. The Kid was pleased to hear the boy speak so respectfully even as he refused information.

"That little, huh? What kind of schooling you got?" Curry continued with his informal interview questions.

"One-room school house till I was fourteen." The answer wasn't a rare one.

Curry wanted to set the poorly educated young man at ease, so he admitted, "That's more schooling than I got. You ready to work long hours and take on some rough characters now and then?"

"That's what I do here. Me and the sheriff brought in three bank robbers last week. And they weren't real happy to be caught."

Curry nodded. "I guess not. I been on their side often enough. Where'd you work before this?"

Kelly's resume wasn't long. "Saw mill in Montana. Didn't want to lose a finger like my friend did, so I got out of there. Did some work with a sheriff in Porterville. He was a good man and I'd have been glad to stay, but he got shot and hurt bad. He had to retire. The new man brought in his own guys. So I came down here."

"I know about that. Lom Trevors is an old friend." Curry could see that the young deputy was surprised for an outlaw to be friendly with a lawman.

"He is?"

"Yeah." Curry confirmed without adding any details.

"How do you know my old boss, Mr. Curry?" Kelly wasn't giving up easily.

Now Curry was the one to refuse information. "That, pardon me boy, ain't your business."

"Sorry, Mr. Curry."

"No problem. How old are you?" Curry continued to learn about this promising young man.

"Nineteen." He could see that this youth didn't bother his potential boss. "Um. So, what're you paying?"

"Twelve bucks a week." Curry cited what he was sure was more than the young man was getting now, but it wasn't too generous.

"Might a good man get a raise?" asked Kelly with a little verbal swagger.

"He might. If he's worth it." The Kid paused and studied the young deputy as he might a have studied a possible recruit for the Hole boys a few years before. "You interested?"

"Might be." Kelly's quick breathing and bright eyes showed that he was interested, but he didn't want to seem too eager.

Curry wanted more than just the young man's word on his skills. "Can I see you draw and shoot?"

"Can I see you?" Kelly came back.

Curry chuckled, "I see you first. I'm the boss and you, boy, ain't."

"Alright – if my boss here agrees. He ought to be back any time, if you can wait." Kelly kept looking out the front window anxiously.

Curry tried a little gambit. "There's nobody in the cage. Why don't we go out and shoot at some bottles while you wait for him?"

The young man sounded indignant. "I'm on duty. I got to be here in case somebody needs help."

"In this little spot? What are the chances?" Curry tried to dismiss Kelly's fears.

The deputy answered stoutly, "Not much, but on duty is on duty. I don't go until somebody's covering this desk."

Jed Curry barely hid a smile. He thought he might just have his man – cocky, but knew his duty. The Kid didn't want to mess it up now. He heard the rhythmic metallic sound of a man walking down the boardwalk out front in spurs with jingle bobs. He glanced at Kelly for a clue to the approaching man's identity. It wouldn't be a sheriff who would announce his approach that way. "That's got to be Fred Plank – foreman for the Flying Z. He's headed for the saloon." Sure enough, a tall man in a black hat went by in the direction of the sounds of laughter and piano playing.

"Is he trouble?" asked Curry, showing nothing but idle curiosity.

"No, not generally. But it don't do to ignore him. Now and then another spread's boss gets on his nerves."

Curry nodded. Kelly hadn't been in town all that long, but he had made good use of his time. This was the kind of information a deputy had to gather in a hurry.

The next man ambling down the boardwalk had quiet spurs. Curry saw the young deputy straighten up. The man coming had to be the sheriff.

A good-looking dark-haired man about thirty or so walked in. Seeing the man by the desk wearing a star, the local sheriff cast a wary eye in the Kid's direction. "Sheriff?" he asked.

"Curry. Glad to meet you, Sheriff Hurley." The two shook hands.

"Thanks. You from Louisville?" asked Hurley as he took his seat at the desk and his deputy got up politely to surrender the chair. The young sheriff didn't look openly nervous, but the eager sparkle in his eyes showed Curry that he knew exactly to whom he was speaking.

"Yeah. I come in from the east, but I'm headed back home now." It still felt a bit strange to say home. There had been so long when Curry had not had any home.

"What can I do for you?" Curry could swear than the younger man had almost called him sir. It was nice to hear even distantly implied respect from a sheriff.

Curry asked, "Could your deputy and I go out and take shots at some bottles for a few minutes?"

"Trying him out, huh?" Hurley seemed a bit tickled that Kid Curry would be interested in his deputy, as if it was a complement despite what would have to be the serious inconvenience of replacing a good deputy.

"If you don't mind, sir," Kelly said to his boss.

Hurley grinned. "I do mind. Young as you are, you're my best deputy and you know it. But I won't stop you. Go show off your draw to the best there is. Wish I could go along."

Curry said, "It ain't me showing off – it's your boy Kelly."

"Oh, I got a feeling you might want some practice, too."

The Kid kept his expression detached. "I might."

Curry saw young Kelly swallow hard as he moved toward the door. Giving Kid Curry a shooting display was a test designed to make any young man nervous.

"Where do you do your practice shooting, Kelly?" asked the Kid.

"I'll show you, sir. It's out back of the livery stable." Kelly was respectful but not obsequious or shy.

When they got to the fence behind the livery stable, it was easy to see that a lot of practice shooting went on here. There was pile of dented cans lying around and even a line of three cans standing on fence posts. This near the stable, it was much better to use old tin food cans than to use bottles that would shatter and leave dangerous bits of glass to hurt the horses' hooves. Kelly set up three more cans with their labels mostly gone.

The two men went to stand in a dusty spot where many a man had stood before. "Any time you're ready, Kelly," said Curry. "First just show me a good, accurate half dozen shots. Don't worry about speed." The deputy nodded. He positioned himself at an angle to the line of cans. Curry watched critically as the young man drew his gun and got set. Six steady shots went on their way deliberately, but not too deliberately. And every one hit the can squarely in the middle.

The Kid nodded. "Nice work. Now put in another load."

The young man followed directions silently. Curry could almost hear Kelly's blood racing.

Curry spoke calmly, trying not to put any extra pressure on the tryout. "Now, let's see how fast you can get out of the holster without getting wild. Try more for accuracy than for speed. Don't worry if you can't beat the world at it – just reasonable speed is fine."

Kelly grinned. "You've already got lightning speed in the office!" Curry shrugged.

Kelly set himself. Then he drew and pinged the side of a can that skittered away. The Kid nodded. "Don't rush it. Get the middle of the can. That's the difference between stopping a criminal and missing him, sometimes. Don't let your little finger fly off like that. That's gonna give you problems with both speed and accuracy. Try it again."

Kelly took a deep breath and drew. He was actually faster this time and hit the can closer to the middle. The Kid nodded again. "Nice. One more time."

Kelly took another deep breath and loosed another shot. This was even faster and hit the can squarely in the middle. "You want another?" the Kid asked.

Kelly nodded. The last draw was the fastest yet and nearly as accurate as the previous one.

"Fine work."

Kelly smiled proudly. "Thank you, sir. Alright, Sheriff Curry, show me how bad I was."

"You weren't bad at all. Professional standard. There's room for improvement, but you're young. I can teach you a few things, if you pay attention and work at it." Kelly grinned quickly. Praise from Kid Curry was something he would remember. If he actually got to have lessons from this famous man, he would grab onto every word.

"Alright, now you," urged Kelly.

"I could use a bit of practice. I'm pretty rusty after being in court, in prison, and then out east. Set 'em up, if you would." Kelly scrambled to pick up six cans and set them on fence posts. He quickly made his way to Curry's side. Kelly was hardly into safe territory before the Kid casually took his stance and drew. He fired six shots as rapidly as he could operate the pistol's hammer, which he had worked on to make it faster. Six cans flew off of six fence posts at Gatling-gun speed, each one hit precisely in the middle.

Kelly simply stood with his mouth open. He had been so proud of his fast shooting. He couldn't believe what he had just seen. The speed was stunning. To have it paired with that much accuracy seemed impossible.

Finally Kelly licked his lips and found his voice, soft and strangled, "Has anyone ever gotten anywhere near you?"

"Yeah." said Curry flatly. "Once."

"Who was he?"

Curry's genial mood of earlier in the interview had vanished. "That, boy, is none of your business."

"You killed him." It wasn't a question.

Curry looked into the distance. "Yes. A sheriff stood there and watched. It was self-defense. But that doesn't mean I'm proud of it."

Kelly had nothing to say to that. Kelly was now dealing with the fact that his potential boss was a cold blooded killer, if not technically a murderer.

"Let's go talk to your boss, Mr. Kelly. If you're still interested in working with me."

The two men began to make their way next door to the sheriff's office.

Kelly was now openly uneasy, "I am, sir, but . . ."

"But what?" Curry turned to find out what was going on.

The young man looked away from the older one until they got in the door of the sheriff's office.

"Well, Al," said the sheriff. "Did you tell him?"

"Tell me what?" asked Curry suspiciously.

Kelly looked away, and then into Curry's eyes. "I'm on probation. Like you, I'm serving the law to finish clearing my record. They put me away for a year for theft and asked me to serve as deputy here in Wyoming for one year. I'm glad to do it – it's a lot better than prison. I want to stay with the law. But I'm not free to leave the state for another five months. If you still want me then, I'd be glad to go. But I understand if you don't."

"What'd you steal, Kelly?" Curry was keenly interested.

The young man looked down in shame. "Food. And . . . liquor. After I left the saw mill, um, things, um, got kind of tough."

Curry wasn't sure how to react. This sounded too familiar, but he didn't want to be seen as soft on crime in front of a fellow sheriff who would certainly spread the word about this meeting. Jed paused and said, "Yeah. I know how it goes. Long way from home. I'll have to see how I feel about you in five months – how your record is. Stay off the sauce, boy. Not that saying it makes it any easier, but try."

"Yes, sir. You would have made me an offer?" Kelly bit his lip at he looked hopefully at Kid Curry.

"Yes, I would. Good luck, Kelly. Keep your nose very, very clean. Get in touch in five months if you're still interested. I'll be in Louisville." Jed was glad to see a slight smile return to young Kelly's face as he realized that Kid Curry really was still interested in him.

The Kid walked wearily down the street to the local saloon. It struck him that it was unusually hot and sticky for Wyoming in June. It had been a long, disappointing day. He wanted a drink before he went to the telegraph office to send the latest news to West Virginia and Louisville, and to hear the latest back. The Kid looked cautiously around him as he walked in, feeling the badge on his chest. He took it off and put it away carefully. The Kid was back in what had been his home territory for years. The chances that he would see someone who knew him, friend or enemy, were pretty good. He leaned on the bar and thoughtfully looked up and down. He saw no one he knew. He ordered a beer. He would have preferred a whiskey, but he had to be on his guard.

Curry looked around and found a poker game that looked pretty low stakes and relaxed. When a chair opened up, he walked over. "You guys got a spot?"

A wrinkled man in a plaid shirt took the lead, speaking for the table. Curry noticed he had a Colt at his hip. "Sure. Take the seat. You got a name, stranger?"

"Curry. You got a name"

"Thompson," he reached out to shake the new man's hand. "Where you from, Curry?"

"Every place west of the Mississippi. Colorado these days."

"You've spent some time around here, haven't you?" asked a grey-haired man in a dark suit.

Curry didn't recognize any man at the table and not one looked likely to be either an outlaw or a lawman. So he doubted he had been recognized specifically. He supposed his Wyoming accent was still detectable, even after a good six years headquartered in Colorado. "Yeah, a few years back. What are you playing?"

"Five card stud, aces high, jacks are better. Alright with you."

"You're dealing," said Curry casually.

The game stayed friendly and low stakes, though Curry could feel the men studying him. He wondered if word of who he was might be starting to get around. The Kid was doing fairly well, taking in just a little more than he lost. As they played, he heard a violent storm blowing up outside. Rain slashed down in gusts and the rickety building shook in the wind.

"Guess I'll be staying the night here, after all," said the Kid after a spectacular lightning bolt hit nearby with an ear-splitting bang of thunder. Then there was the rattle of hail hitting the roof and windows.

"Yeah, don't nobody want to go out in that."

After he had dinner and played a few more hands, Curry detected a slight pause in the storm. "I'm gonna make a break for that hotel next door, boys," he said.

"I'll join you, Curry," said Mr. Thompson.

The two wrapped themselves in their coats. Curry grabbed up his saddle bags. They peered out the door, seeing the dark clouds overhead, but the rain was slowing for the moment. They made a dash to the left and were hardly wet when they got to the hotel. They both checked in. "Good night, Mr. Thompson," said Curry. "Nice to meet you."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Curry," said Thompson. Something in his voice made Curry give him a second look. Did the man know something? Curry didn't think so. But what did it matter anymore?

Curry went on up to his room, feeling like he wanted to avoid more public scrutiny. Was Thompson watching him up the stairs? Jed wished he had Heyes with him for company, although it was a relief to know he wasn't being actively pursued by the law as the pair had been for so many years. It was hard to sleep well without Cat at his side and with the hotel shaking all night in the wind and the thunder.

The next morning the Kid went to local train station to send and check news by telegram, then get a train south to Colorado. He couldn't spare any more time deputy hunting before he started his new job. He was due in Louisville the next day. It was disappointing not to have a deputy at his side, but not surprising.

The town was in a shambles after the storm the night before, with bits of fallen woodwork and wet grass and leaves scattered everywhere. When Curry got to the train station and went up to the telegraph booth, he found it empty. A hand written sign was written on a piece of scrap lumber nailed over the door. It said, "Lines down."

"Damn!" said Curry to himself. He was starting to get anxious for news about his partner, his wife, and his business.

He went to ticket office and said to the scrawny man behind the grate, "The tracks still alright after the storm? Can I get a ticket south to Boulder or Denver?"

"Sure thing – train south leaves in one hour," said the ticket seller. The Kid stood rather than sit on a damp wooden bench as he waited. It was strange to be going home, knowing that Cat would not be there and that the sheriff would be named Curry.