As they rode the train toward Washington, a little group of friends and family gathered protectively around Hannibal Heyes. This was a pretty mild sort of gang compared to what Heyes was used to - nobody was even wanted by the law. But no gang could have been more devoted or alert. Heyes was sitting by the window next to his wife, across from his former advisor, while Cat sat across from Beth. Dr. Leutze was in the seat behind Heyes at least pretending to read a medical journal. Everyone kept an eye out to see if anyone would recognize Heyes and give him any trouble. They didn't tell Heyes what they were doing, but he wasn't oblivious. He could see the furtive glances of his friends as they studied every passenger walking by. Heyes was far less obvious and more professional in his own surveillance. He unobtrusively used the reflective train window to help him watch his own group as well as other passengers.

The former outlaw didn't take the devotion of his friends and family for granted. "Beth," murmured Heyes, "I hope your family doesn't d . . .despise me forever."

"Heyes! My family does not despise you," Beth reached to take her husband's hand. "My family adores you. With as many hugs, kisses, and handshakes as you got at breakfast, on the porch, and on the train platform, you ought to know that."

"They were just being nice," said Heyes, looking away from Beth and giving voice to his inner fears. "I must be the biggest em. . . embarrassment they've ever endured in their entire lives." Beth tried to ignore her husband's new troubles with certain words. She hoped he would get over it before he had to interview or lecture. But if not, he would still manage. She was confident of that.

Beth tried to talk Heyes out of his paranoia. "Oh, Heyes – you are not an embarrassment. You are trouble, sometimes, but you're worth it. Ask Jed. And darling, that was a lot more than a polite farewell. My family is not made up of con artists. When they hug people, they mean it. When they cry, they really mean it. I admit that before they met you, they were all pretty skeptical about having a reformed outlaw in the family. They weren't even crazy about a former cowboy before they knew your real name. Well, except Aunt Bertha. She had a long-distance . . . hm . . . appreciation for you from the first, based on my passionate descriptions. Tall, dark, and oh so handsome."

Cat chuckled at the grin on Heyes' face as listened to his wife talking about how she had described him to her aunt. Beth squeezed her husband's hand and told him, "You and Jed won them over, Heyes. Even Corey likes you both – and respects you. That's a long way from where he started out. He was sure you, in particular, were a total loser at first. But he and everybody else was on your side as soon as they got to know you. And nothing that happened later made any difference to that, except that they cared more and more while they were worrying about you got hurt. Come on, you know all that."

"I hope they really do like me as much as I like them. But I keep thinking I must be fooling myself. Why would a perfectly nice, law-abiding family like that embrace an old crook like me? I'm nothing but trouble and I proved that to them fast enough." Heyes was looking down at the yellow pad that had become his constant companion during his recovery. Beth saw that he was in the midst of writing yet another draft of an application letter.

"You're a charming devil, and you know it, Hannibal Heyes," said Beth playfully, resting her cheek on her husband's shoulder.

Beth hoped to make Heyes feel better, but he looked up in distress and his eyes darted around the train car. "Beth, be careful!" he whispered. His habitual outlaw caution was still in place as if the amnesty had never taken place. But then he smiled at his wife and gave her a wink with the very charm she had just mentioned.

"I kept my voice down. Oh, honey, when will we be able to just relax and be who we are?" The two held hands and silently watched the lush June green trees and burgeoning towns flickering by in the brilliant shafts of summer sun outside the window. There was no answer for Beth's question. Cat looked on quietly. Similar questions were churning in her own mind.

"Honey, do you think we could take a little time to see some of the Capital while we're changing trains? I've never been to Washington, D.C., and neither has Cat. Would the schedule work?" Heyes asked his wife eagerly, but uncertainly.

"Aren't you the logistics man?" Beth teased her husband mildly. "Don't you have it all figured?"

Heyes spoke with love and respect. "Beth, Washington, D.C., might not be your home town, but it's your home city. You know every inch of down town, from what you've told me. You have the train schedule pretty well memorized. You know what needs to happen when we get back to New York and how long it takes to get there. You can put it all together better than anyone. So I'm asking: do we have time? Because, my darling, I want to see the city you love."

Beth kissed her husband on the lips, looking into his eyes with almost more love than she could bear. "Even if there weren't time, I'd make time for a man who asks like that. But yes, honey, there's time for us to see a little bit of the city. If we don't take the next train, we can take the one two hours later and still get to New York tonight – and probably before we all collapse with exhaustion. After all, we don't need to do anything tonight except get home. You aren't going to see your lawyer today no matter what we do. The train station is just a few blocks from the Capitol building, and what could be better for us to see together than that?"

Heyes gazed at Beth. He couldn't quite understand what emotion was in her sparkling brown eyes, but it was something special. She glanced across the aisle to catch the eyes of Charlie Homer and Dr. Leutze. The doctor had come from his seat to visit with Charlie. "Gentlemen, Heyes wants to see some of Washington. You've both been there – do you think the Capital building would do as a satisfactory sample of the city?"

Charlie and Dr. Leutze shared their bright smiles with Beth. Cat looked perplexed. "I'd love to see the Capitol. I've seen it in so many pictures in newspapers and magazines, but I've never been there. It looks pretty. What are you folks grinning about? What's funny?"

Beth shook her head. "Not funny. Hardly. It's . . . well, you'll understand when you're there."

Cat sighed. "I just wish Jed could be here with us."

"I do, too. Jed would be excited. He's fine, Cat," said Heyes as soothingly as he could. "I'm sure he is."

"Then why haven't we heard from him in two days?" Cat sounded anxious. "He's usually real thoughtful about getting in touch with me."

"I know. But the paper said there was a storm out west – the telegraph lines could be down," said Charlie. "We'd have heard from your network of friends all over the West if anything had happened to him. He's fine, Cat. You might as well enjoy yourself and stop worrying."

"Alright," said Cat, "I'll try." She looked down. "Daddy's fine, junior." She softly patted her belly. "Uncle Charlie says so." That caused soft, affectionate laughter among the group. They all sure hoped Charlie was right.

"Do you think it really is a boy?" asked Beth as the women got up and the men started to gather their luggage.

"How would I know?" asked Cat.

Beth raised her eyebrows. "I sure wouldn't know, but some pregnant women seem so sure that they do know."

"I think of the baby as a boy. But that doesn't mean it really is. I guess we'll just have to wait and see," said Cat thoughtfully. "I think Jed would be happy either way. So long as he or she is healthy."

"And so long as you're healthy, too," said Beth fondly.

Meanwhile, there was a tense moment among the men. "I'm carrying my own stuff and Beth's, Doc, and that's that," said Heyes.

Dr. Leutze gave in easily enough. "Alright, Heyes, you do that. Just don't get over tired. It takes time to get over a concussion. And don't trip."

"Trip? What kind of a klutz do you think I am?" Heyes was indignant.

"What's that?" asked Cat.

"What's what?" asked the new Columbia graduate, unaware that he had said anything unusual.

"A klutz?" Cat was uncertain of how to even pronounce it.

"A clumsy person. It's Yiddish." Heyes had forgotten how much he had learned in New York – and that most of his friends hadn't had the opportunity to learn such things.

Cat grinned proudly, but she had to take a dig at her cousin-in-law. "Heyes, is there anything you don't know these days?"

Heyes snorted. "There's plenty. The real point of a graduate degree, so they tell me, is to realize how much you don't know. Far as I'm concerned, it's true. I sure have a whole lot better idea now of how much there is out there in the world that I don't know anything about. But I have learned a few things in the last six years. I live surrounded by people who speak nothing but Yiddish, so it would be kind of hard for me to avoid learning some of it."

Heyes jumped down from the train, struggling mightily not to trip with so much weight in his arms. He didn't want to give his doctor the moral victory of being right – he also didn't want to get hurt. Heyes led the way, carrying the luggage he had mentioned while the doctor and Charlie and Dr. Leutze split Cat's baggage. The group checked their luggage into baggage lockers so they wouldn't have to carry it. Heyes pocketed the locker key for his luggage and Beth's. It occurred to him how easily he could open the cheap lock without the key – but not without drawing the wrong kind of attention. Beth led the group out of the red brick station Baltimore and Potomac terminal with its pointed tower. They would, Heyes thought, have little trouble finding this distinctive marble-trimmed brick building again.

"Alright everybody," said Beth, "we're at Sixth Street and B, so we're only six blocks west of the Capitol. Everything in Washington counts from the Capitol. It's the center." She pointed up past the row of buildings where they stood. "There it is."

They all turned to the east and stared up at the towering dome that they had seen portrayed so often. Even those who knew the sight well were moved. Heyes and Cat, the westerners who knew so many impressive natural landmarks but were new to Washington, were dumb-struck by this majestic human construction. The gleaming white dome silhouetted against a vibrant blue sky was a sight calculated to touch the heart of any American. Two American flags fluttered in the breeze on either side of the famous building. Heyes, in particular, couldn't help thinking of the argument made so often in his bid for amnesty – that a free Heyes would be able to serve his country. The mighty Capitol dome was the most obvious possible symbol of his country. He studied it.

"What's the figure on top of the dome?" asked Heyes at last, sure that his wife would know the answer.

"Freedom," said Beth, taking her husband's hand.

Heyes blinked hard and sniffed. He looked down self-consciously, and then back up at the Capitol. "Sorry, but, you know . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes," said Charlie, "I think we all understand what freedom means to you – and how close you and Jed came to losing it forever."

Heyes looked around at his close group of friends and family. "I wish Jed could be here. We'll get him back out east one day." Cat nodded. She was wishing hard that her husband could be at her side right now.

Finally Heyes turned and looked over his shoulder in the other direction, pointing to the northwest. "So the White House is over there?"

Beth could see that something was making her husband uneasy. She had no idea what it was and she didn't dare ask with so many people hurrying past them. "Yes, Heyes, that's where it is. 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. But there are too many buildings in the way for us to see it." She turned slightly to the southwest, looking past the tunnel that took trains into the station. "And over there, those red sandstone towers – that's the Smithsonian Institution building. They call it the castle. They added another building in 76. I wish we had time to visit and see the exhibitions."

"And that's the Washington Monument," said Charlie, pointing to the towering white obelisk standing opposite the Capitol dome.

"It's impressive. But what happened? The color of the stone changes about a third of the way up," noted Heyes, with his usual mathematical precision.

Beth nodded. "Yes, they had to stop building it during the War, and even before that because of some political fights. Typical, isn't it? When they started up again, they had to use stone from a different quarry. That interruption - that division that they never can quite cover up – it's kind of symbolic, don't you think?" The five friends all nodded silently. All of them remembered the Civil War and all the political fight surrounding it vividly. The acrimony surrounding the north-south division was far from over.

"I wish we had time to go over the Patent Office Building where my father worked before the war, but we can't visit that and the Capitol both. They're in nearly opposite directions from here. You'd love the patent models of all the new machines, Heyes. Everyone who patents something has to submit a working miniature of the mechanism. Well, let's go to the Capital. There's plenty to see up there," said Beth, leading her friends east toward the Capitol Building. They walked several blocks past stores and office buildings, then started through a green park full of freshly-leafed trees. They climbed the steep hill along a curving path.

"This is beautiful. It reminds me of Central Park, back in New York," said Heyes.

"Well spotted, honey," said Beth. "The park around the Capitol was designed by the same man as Central Park – Frederick Law Olmstead."

"I'm glad of the trees," said Cat, wiping a rivulet of sweat from the back of her neck. "Hot, I'm used to out west, but not all this humidity."

Dr. Leutze looked at the pregnant woman in concern, but she said, "Dr. L, I'm perfectly fine."

"That's Washington in the summer," said Beth. "Hot and humid."

"If this is another Olmstead park," said Dr. Leutze, taking off his jacket as they climbed Capitol Hill, "there ought to be some kind of a fountain or something soon for refreshment. He always seems to know what walkers need."

"Well, since you asked," said Beth, gesturing ahead around a curve in the path, "there you go. It's called the Summerhouse."

They were looking at a little red brick hexagonal building with no roof. It was embedded in the hillside and surrounded by lush, green bushes. They went in a gate and found themselves in a cool, intimate enclosure with shaded stone seats surrounding a tinkling fountain. Three smaller fountains around the edge offered their water to thirsty visitors. Heyes picked up a handful of water and splashed the back of his neck. They had been hot in the still air on the train and now they were all hotter still from walking up Capitol Hill. But this little spot was delightfully cool.

"This is wonderful," said Heyes, peering through one of three stone grilled windows into a tiny, cave-like garden with a waterfall trickling down the rocky outer wall.

"That's the grotto," said Beth. "I've loved this place since they built it about ten years ago. With the big old Capitol looming up there, it's great to have this intimate spot where you can rest from being awed." Heyes began to understand Beth's love for this city. There was a lot of commerce, with stores and train stations right there between the major governmental buildings, and there was a lot of towering national symbolism, but there were also these little personal features.

As the little group enjoyed this intimate brick haven with its water features and greenery, a family came in the gate and remind them that this was a public spot. There was a mustachioed young father, a graceful blonde mother, and a laughing, playful daughter about four years old. They all three smiled and the little girl waved to the group of strangers. Heyes grinned and waved back. He glanced at Beth and took her hand. He didn't have to say it – seeing this little family made him think of how much they wanted children of their own – and a stable career so he could support them.

"We'd better go on up the hill and let them enjoy it on their own," said Charlie. "We can't hog the place, no matter how nice it is."

"Yes, let's go," said Beth, keeping hold of her husband's hand and looking into his eyes. She couldn't help wondering how the tourist family would have reacted if they had known who Heyes was. It was hard for her to get used to being married to so infamous a man.

The group walked up the steep path, and then across a wide stone-paved area before they reached the closest of the Capitol's three vast flights of white marble front steps. They were among many chattering tourists climbing up toward the soaring classical façade. Dr. Leutze held Cat's hand and made sure she didn't go too fast. Beth held hands with Heyes.

"This is the House wing," said Beth as they got to the top. "The Senate wing is on the far side – on the south side. We won't have time to see everything in the Capitol. Just the big stuff."

"Do you think we'll see senators and congressmen?" asked Cat, glancing around her as they caught their breaths and went in through the imposing lobby.

Beth, who had become their unofficial tour guide, answered confidently, "No, they're on summer recess right now. They're probably all back in their home districts raising money to get elected again."

"I'd be just as glad to miss them," said Heyes, looking around at the elaborate murals on the walls of the corridor. "Except for Senator Warren. I owe him a lot. He's a very decent guy."

"These are such handsome murals!" exclaimed Dr. Leutze. "And so detailed, with all the American animals and plants interwoven with classical motifs. I remember hearing about that from a tour guide last time I was here. It makes me positively proud to be American. But weren't they all painted by a Greek fellow?"

Beth answered, "An Italian, actually, despite the Greek-sounding name. It was Constantino Brumidi. He was here at work through the 50s, 60s, and 70s. I saw him once, on a scaffold, back when I was a little girl. I guess there weren't many Americans who were qualified to paint traditional murals in those days. There are some now."

They hurried down the corridor, pulling Heyes away from studying the details of painted classical architecture studded with countless familiar examples of flora and fauna. "It really is kind of funny," he commented, "to see a red-wing blackbird or a blue jay next to a – what is that thing with the lion's body and woman's head, Beth?"

"That's a sphinx. Famous for eating the flesh of smart-aleck men. I'm sure you'd be delicious!" laughed his educated wife. She led them through the next door into a grand semi-circular room with gilded coffers on the vaulted ceiling. "Here, this is Statuary Hall, in what used to be the House chamber before they built on the new one to accommodate the representatives from all those new states."

Charlie Homer checked the label on figure after figure. "Ben Franklin. John Hancock. George Clinton. Almost all from eastern states. Makes a westerner kind of resentful."

"Well, here's Abraham Lincoln," said Heyes quietly, confining his remarks to his group of friends. "Nobody could call him an easterner." He gave the late president a respectful salute. "He's always been a hero of mine – coming from a poor background and doing so much for his country. Not a bad example for a country boy like me."

"Maybe one day they'll have a statue of you here," said Beth.

Heyes shook his head regretfully. "No chance. Judging from the names I recognize, it's not fame – or infamy – that gets you here. It's real merit."

"You have plenty of merit, Heyes! You just need a chance to prove it," said Charlie Homer to his former student.

"Tell that to the college presidents and deans," said Heyes, putting his arm around Beth affectionately. "I doubt they'll be impressed by an aspiring professor who used to rob banks and trains." He kept his voice very low, of course.

"I will tell them, Heyes. If only they'll listen," said Charlie softly.

Beth leaned against her husband, "So will I, Heyes."

"I wish we had more time here," said Heyes. "All this history is really inspiring. And I can use all the inspiration I can get." Beth squeezed his hand. She understood.

Beth beckoned her friends to follow her down the corridor. "What are you rushing us to see?" asked Cat. "I'd like to spend some time with those murals . . . oh!"

They had just stepped into the Capitol rotunda. The soaring space left every mouth hanging opened, even for those who had seen it before. The vast dome ascended into illusionistically painted clouds where George Washington hovered among a bunch of symbolic figures. Everyone looked up. Around the edges of the dome marched a painted frieze that recounted American history, beginning with the landing of Columbus and went on from there. It ended abruptly.

"What happened there? They didn't even get to the Civil War, as far as I can tell," said Cat, pointing to the blank section.

"That's right. They ran out of money," said Beth. "I hope one day they'll finish it. There's sure plenty of history left."

"The dome is amazing!" exclaimed Heyes. "How can stone go up at that acute an angle without collapsing?"

"A plus, Heyes," chuckled Charlie. "Excellent grasp of physics. It's just too much for stone. The dome is cast iron. It's lighter and has much more tensile strength."

As their eyes came down from the dome, they looked at the large paintings framed around the walls. "Wow, there's the Declaration of Independence! I've seen that in prints," said Cat, glad to be able to bring some of her own background into play beside her far better educated friends.

"Yes," said Beth, "painted by John Trumbull, who fought in the Revolution himself. He also did that one of Washington resigning his commission."

The parade of history continued in vast canvases all around them, but they looked only fairly briefly. "We've got to go soon, and there's something else I'm eager to see and to show you all before we go," said Beth.

"What's that?" asked Charlie, but Beth was hurrying down a corridor with the others behind her and didn't answer. Heyes seemed to be getting an inkling. He didn't look too happy about it, but Beth didn't notice as she led the way.

Beth led the group around a couple of corners and up a grand marble staircase. They were up among seats like one would see in a theater, but all looking down at the floor of a grand chamber. "This is the Senate chamber," said Beth.

"Wow!" breathed Cat. "They make laws right here."

"Yes," said Beth, but she wasn't looking down at the Senate floor. She was looking up at the walls behind them. Finally, she found what she was after. "There it is!" she said grandly. "The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, painted in 1872 by Thomas Moran. Without the sketches for this painting, we wouldn't have Yellowstone as a National Park, or the other parks that came afterward."

Charlie didn't understand what was going on. "It's beautiful, Beth, but what's the big deal? There are all kinds of impressive paintings here. That one over there looks like the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. What's so important about the Yellowstone?"

Beth gave them a moment to study the beautiful work with a dramatic white, gold, and orange canyon embracing a waterfall surmounted by a tall plume of spray. Spectacular pinnacles rose around the canyon. The figures of men and horses in the foreground were totally dwarfed. "Heyes was there. He was on that expedition in 1871 with Thomas Moran." Beth announced proudly. Some other tourists looked up, hearing the pride in her voice, and started to come over.

"Really, Heyes?" asked Charlie. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah," said Heyes in dull tones, sounding not at all proud or excited. But he could see that Beth was emotional about this and he didn't want to disappoint her. "It sure is a pretty there. And the painting is great. I've never seen it before – only the sketches and watercolors little Moran made. He'd never even been on a horse before that trip, but you couldn't keep him back from anything. He was climbing all over with his sketchbook. I think that's Hayden, the expedition leader, in the foreground."

"But Heyes, in 1871 weren't you . . . ? I mean, what were you doing on a geological expedition?" Charlie didn't finish the sentence, realizing that strangers around the chamber could hear them. He had a feeling this wasn't a story to be told in public. During the early 1870s, Heyes had been with a procession of gangs. If he had ever made an honest living, Charlie Homer hadn't heard about it.

"Yeah. I was . . . you know. Up to no good. I'll tell you about it later," said Heyes with his voice falling to a whisper. He was blushing and looking away from Beth. His wife looked crushed. Heyes told her. "I'm sorry, honey. When I told you that story at the art show in New York, you didn't know . . ."

"I'm sorry, Heyes," said Beth quietly. "I should have known. You were only 18." She took his hand. The last thing she wanted Heyes to feel was that she would shy away from him when he told the truth. It was a very subdued group of friends that hurried out of the chamber, down a couple of corridors, down the marble front steps, across the Capitol plinth, and back down the hill toward the train station.

Somehow, when a sweaty little group of friends barely made it back to the train station, they got distracted from asking Heyes about the Yellowstone expedition. Heyes had something he needed to do before they left the station. He ran down the platform and around a corner to a little booth, then a few minutes later ran back toward the waiting group that was already on the train, tickets in hand. Heyes made it back just in time to jump onto the train before it began to pull out toward New York.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The Kid jumped off the train in Louisville, Colorado, with his saddle bags over his shoulder and his right hand near his holster. He walked down the street tensely, his eyes sweeping the street. All seemed normal for a lovely late spring day in Louisville. The mountains soared in the distance, their peaks still touched with white snow. The street was pretty quiet. There a few cowboys riding down the street. A young couple was coming out of the dry goods store. The sound of piano music could be heard from one of Christy's Place's rival saloons. Other than the advancing spring, all looked just like it had when Jed left, weeks back.

Suddenly an unfamiliar voice called out from behind him "Sheriff Curry!"

The Kid whirled around, dropping his saddle bags in the dusty street. His right hand went to the grip of his Colt. He saw a young black-haired man in cowboy gear standing in the middle of the street a few yards away, watching the new sheriff closely. The stranger had a gun tied down on his hip, but his hand was well away from his side, showing he had no intention of drawing.

The young man pushed his beige cowboy hat back to give the Kid a better view of his twinkling brown eyes. "So, you're Jedediah Curry and you're the sheriff here," prodded the stranger.

"Yeah," the Kid answered steadily. "I am."

"You think you're gonna keep the peace, with no deputies?" The youngster sounded doubtful.

"Yeah, I do." Curry felt his temper rising. How dare this punk challenge him?

"Well, I don't." Could there have been a slight tremor in the youthful voice?

"You gonna do something about it?" Curry's blue eyes flashed, but his hand didn't move. The stranger's right hand was still well away from his gun.

"Yeah, I am," said the young man. Curry stared hard at the youngster, who was steadfastly refusing to reach for his gun despite his combative words. The Kid noticed a sparkle in the man's eye. What was so funny?

The black-haired cowboy went on, "I mean, I'd better. I want to be your new deputy."

Curry tried not to look too amazed or to smile too much as the feeling of relief flooded through him. "You do?"

"Sure, who wouldn't want to learn from Kid Curry?" answered the aspiring deputy as he walked toward the man he wanted to work for. "Coot Harris wired me and said if I wanted a real good job I should come down here and see you. My father was a sheriff in Wyoming before he went back to ranching. And I worked with Sheriff Collins up in Sheridan County Wyoming for over a year. Here's a recommendation he wrote me. He wanted to keep me. But that's a little town and they got more deputies than they know what to do with. And, well, Kid Curry ain't the sheriff there."

Curry laughed and reached a hand toward the young man to receive the letter of recommendation the boy held out. Jed quickly read the glowing letter. As he finished, the Kid said, "Collins nabbed me once. He's smart and fair. It took Heyes' best con work to get me out." It was an impressive letter citing excellent riding skills, award-winning shooting, good school records, good work habits, and no criminal record. Curry chuckled. "You might be too clean for me. Will you take $12.00 a week and room and board while I see if I can put up with you?"

"Sounds good to me, Sheriff." The youngster grinned broadly.

"Good. Your name's," Curry glanced back down at the letter, "William Healy?"

"Billy. Glad to meet you, Sheriff Curry." the cocky young man advanced and took the hand of the most famous gunman in the West. From up close, Curry could see that the sparkle in Billy's eye had a nervous edge to it that was retreating only now. The young deputy had had the confidence to make a grand stand play for the famous man's attention. But he knew well enough to accord Kid Curry a healthy dose of respect. The boy wanted to make sure he didn't get on the nerves of his new boss.

Curry's smile returned to its old confidence. He had a partner again, if only a junior one. "I'm glad to have you. Every sheriff needs a good deputy. We'll see if you really are any good. But before we go to the office, I got to go drop my stuff off at the hotel on the way and do a couple of things there. Are you staying at Christy's Place?"

"I don't know yet, Sheriff. I just got in on the same train you did. Is it a good place?" Curry was just starting to see the youngster's uncertainty in a new place far from home.

Curry grinned. "It sure is. My wife and I run it. That's where we'll give you room and board."

"Thank you, sir."

Curry nearly fell into the kind of patter he always used with customers. "You'll be comfortable at Christy's, and even better when Cat – my wife – when she gets back. Right now she's back east with Heyes and his wife."

"I'm sure I will be very comfortable, sir," said Billy. Curry was about to ask young Healy not to call him sir, but he thought better of it. Authority was what he needed now, and his own brash deputy was a good place to start.

Then it hit Curry. Billy and the Kid. It was way too much like the infamous Billy the Kid. Oh, great. The boy had better be a real good deputy or he was going to be way more grief than he was worth. A sheriff whose name provoked laughter wasn't going to be very impressive.

The Kid walked up to the saloon entrance of Christy's Place and paused. He pulled out his pocket watch and studied it. "Give me about . . . oh . . . twenty minutes, Billy. Then I'll meet you at the Sheriff's office. I'm due to take over from Sheriff Wilde today. Anyhow, give me twenty minutes or so, alright?"

"Yes, sir. I'll need to get back to the train station to pick up my stuff. Then I'll check in and clean up. See you soon, Sheriff."

Now that he had a deputy to say it to him, that title was starting to sound pretty good to Jed Curry. He picked up his saddle bags and walked slowly in the door at Christy's Place, knowing that this would be no simple homecoming.

The Kid went up to the bar, seeing Joe the bartender standing behind it. A brilliant smile lit his face when he saw his boss walk in. "Mr. . .?" He left the name hanging in the air.

The Kid corrected him firmly but softly, glancing back and forth to make sure no customers heard until his own staff knew. "Curry. I told you by telegraph, Joe, I've got to use my real name now. If I use Jones, or any alias, I'll go to prison and stay there. Have you told the guys here? And the girls?"

"No, Jed, I wanted to wait and have you do it your own way." Now Joe was all business.

"Good. I'll take my stuff up to our room and get cleaned up."

"Yes, sir," Joe could see that Curry was uneasy.

The Kid studied the bartender, who understood the rest of the staff so well. "You think they'll all leave when they find out . . .?"

Joe looked confident. "No. They know you, even if it's by another name. They trust you. You'll see, boss."

"I hope so. Could be dangerous for a while – I don't want to cause trouble for the folks here. Least of all you, Joe. You've done real well by Cat and me and our place. But I can't help being who I am. I did get a deputy. His name's Billy Healy. Nice young guy with black hair. Don't know if he's up to it, but he's all I've got. He'll be in any time to check in. He'll be boarding here - I'm paying."

"Yes, sir," said Joe. "I'll tell Bruce – he's desk clerk this afternoon."

Jed Curry took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he needed to do. "Once Billy's gone up to his room, gather everybody in the big back room. Tell the customers, if any decide to stick around, that they need to wait just a few minutes. It's not as though there are many this time of day. I don't want any of our people to miss this. I got important stuff to tell them."

"Yeah, you do, Jed." Joe agreed. He looked sympathetically at his boss. This couldn't be easy to say.

The Kid trotted up the wooden stairs with his saddle bags. He washed his face and ran a comb through his very short wavy hair. Could there be a few short strands of grey among the deep gold ones? He sighed and headed back down the stairs.

Curry knew that his employees were gathered in the back room already – there was nobody out front and he could hear the murmur of voices from behind the door. Kid Curry held his head high as he walked in to a room crowded with saloon girls, cleaning women, and the few male employees of his place – the bartender, the piano player, and a couple of guys who did all kinds of jobs. Everyone gradually fell silent as their boss surveyed them.

"Where's Cat, Mr. Jones?" asked Bruce, one of the guys who did all kinds of things.

"My wife is still back east with my partner's wife. I'm going to be Sheriff here, starting today, and I was kind of nervous that things might be dangerous for her."

"You got married? At last!" exclaimed the oldest saloon girl, Madge, the madam. Her cry of congratulations was gladly echoed around the room. The Kid smiled and nodded his thanks.

"Yeah, we finally got hitched," said Curry with a happy light in his eyes.

"I hope you're real happy, but I don't like the new haircut," giggled a bleached blonde girl.

"Neither do I, but that's how they do it in the Wyoming State Pen," said Curry as casually as he could. The room fell suddenly silent. The joking mood vanished.

Jed Curry stood and looked around at his colleagues and friends. "Yeah, I was in the Pen. So was my partner. That's because our names aren't Jones and Smith. Those were aliases. I'll bet you guessed, considering stuff that's happened. We stood trial for armed robbery. They found us guilty because we were. Maybe you heard. They put us away, but then they gave us amnesty. At last. More than seven years we've been going for it. But we have to use our real names now so we can stay free. Mine's Curry. My partner's name is Heyes."

There were gasps around the room, but Ted the piano player and Madge the madam nodded. They had guessed. There weren't many men who could draw as fast as their boss. People started talking, but Curry put his hands up and whistled shrilly for attention.

"Quiet! I got more to say. Men, girls, if you don't want to work for Kid Curry, I understand. I didn't like lying to you, but, you know, we were wanted dead or alive, Heyes and me. Now we ain't wanted. Now we got amnesty. But if you don't want to work for me, like I say, I understand. If you want to leave, just tell me. I'll write you up a recommendation with no problem. Just do it private. I don't want to embarrass nobody. But if you want to stay, I'll treat you fair like Cat and I always do. We'll look after our folks. Nothing's changed there." He looked around the room and met their eyes. Nobody looked away from that keen blue-eyed gaze.

"We're proud to work for you, Mr. Curry!" declared Joe.

"Yeah! Guys are gonna come in here just to see you!" crowed Madge. "Happy days!" The room filled with joyous laughter.

"Thanks! I'm glad to put some money in your pockets. But I got to be sheriff, too," said the Kid. "And guys, I don't like to use my old name now that I'm sheriff. Jed Curry is my name. Forget the Kid stuff."

"Sure K . . . Mr. Curry," said Bruce with an uneasy laugh.

"Alright, I got to go take over at the sheriff's office," said Curry. "Joe's still in charge when I'm not here until Cat gets back. I hope she'll be here soon. I sure do miss her. But it might get dangerous, until the law men and the outlaws get used to the idea of me in a badge. I got a new deputy name of Billy Healy. He'll be staying here. Treat him nice, alright?"

"I saw him out front checking in," said one of the girls. "I'll treat him nice, alright. That boy is almost as fine looking as you are, Mr. Curry, and that's saying plenty." The back room echoed with laughter.

"Alright now, back to work!" cried Curry. "I see a customer out there looking for a drink and a gal!" He turned and went toward the door.

"What's going on with Mr. Heyes?" asked Madge boldly.

Curry had been dreading the question. "Heyes is . . . not real well right now. He married Beth Warren when I married Cat. He's staying with some of Beth's family in West Virginia. When he gets well, he'll be looking for work teaching math."

"I hope he's better soon," said Joe. "Heyes is a good man." The men and women around him nodded.

"Welcome home, Mr. Curry," said Ted in his nasal voice. "And congratulations – on lots of stuff. I sure am glad you're free. And I hope Mr. Heyes feels better."

"I'm glad to be free, Ted, and so is Heyes," said Curry as he went out the door. "I'm sure he'll be better soon. Thanks." Ted's good wishes and hopes for Heyes were repeated over and over by the girls and the men as Curry kissed the girls on their cheeks and shook the men's hand on his way across the saloon floor. He didn't usually make so free with the woman who plied their trade there, but it was a special occasion.

Curry walked thoughtfully down the street toward what was about to be his own office. He straightened his badge. He could see the back of Billy Healy, who was going down the street about 20 yards ahead of him. Jed pulled out his watch as he approached the door of the Sheriff's office and saw Healy walk in. It was exactly twenty minutes since he had asked Billy to give him twenty minutes. Promptness was a virtue, he supposed. But that much precision could get darned annoying. Curry knew it well from his partner.

Wilde standing in the front room of the sheriff's office. He stood up and reached for Curry's hand. "Welcome home, Sheriff Curry. Congratulations. Good luck with this office. Who's this young man?"

"Thanks, Wilde," said Curry. "I can use all the luck I can get. I've had some today, I think. This is Billy Healy, my new deputy – on a trial basis. He came down from Wyoming, same as me. Billy, this is Sheriff Wilde, who trained me. He's giving the office over to me today. Harvey, is there some kind of contract he's got to sign?"

Wilde turned to the new deputy. "Nice to meet you, Healy. You've got a good boss, here. Still the fastest gun I've ever seen or heard of, but he's a lot more than fast."

"Thank you, sir!" said Billy, and shook Wilde's hand.

"Yes, Sheriff Curry, there are forms for both of you," said the grey-haired and bearded Joseph Harrah, the local judge, who had been waiting in the back room. He had walked in when he heard Curry's voice. "If you can please read this paper and sign it. That will make you official. Then Mr. Healy can fill out this form here and sign it. Then I'll notarize both of them and you'll be in good shape. Welcome back, Jed. And congratulations."

"Thanks, Your Honor," said Curry. "I expect we'll see a lot of each other from now on. I'm glad to be able to use my right name with you."

Wilde, Harrah, Curry, and Healy now started sorting things out, asking and answering questions and showing Healy around the place. They were interrupted by a sound Curry had never heard in his life. It was a loud, insistent, metallic ringing. He stared at the unfamiliar upright black and silver object on his desk that was making the sound.

"Oh yeah, I was just gonna tell you. You got a telephone here now. The railroad ran the line through last week and they hooked us up," said Wilde. "Well, is somebody gonna answer it or do I have to?"

"So that's what that is! I've heard of those things." said Healy, but he made no move to answer the unfamiliar machine that kept ringing. He stared at it as if he expected it to jump up and bite him.

Since nobody else knew anything about telephones, Wilde did pick up the little hand piece and put it to his ear. He leaned over and shouted "Hello!" into the round receiver on its stand. "This is the Louisville sheriff's office. Oh, hello, Edna. I mean Central. Sorry – I'll get used to the new machinery and your new job. Who is it on the line?"

There was a loud crackle of unintelligible talk.

Wilde laughed happily. He handed the hand piece to Curry. "It's for you, Sheriff. Just shout in there and listen with this little round thing. Alright?"

Curry looked utterly baffled, but he followed directions. "Hello?" he shouted into the mouth piece.

"Hi!" said a familiar but badly distorted voice into his ear via the hand piece.

"Who's this?" shouted Curry.

"You mean you don't recognize me? It is hard to hear, isn't it? It's Heyes. Calling from the train station in Washington, D.C. We're headed back to New York. The telegrapher told me you just got a telephone there, so I thought I'd try it. Cat was worried when we didn't get word from you."

"Heyes! You can . . . you're alright?" Curry stopped himself barely in time from revealing his partner's recent injury in mixed company.

"Yeah, well, pretty much," hollered Heyes. "And Cat's just fine. Everybody is. You alright, Kid?"

"Sure, Heyes. I'm fine. Just got here. Got me a young deputy from Wyoming, name of Billy Healy. Used to work for Mark Collins in Wyoming. Remember getting me out of his cage? The folks at Christy's know my name and yours – didn't make trouble."

"Great! Well, I got to run. Literally. Train's about to leave. Good luck, partner. Best to everyone there."

"Give my love to Cat and Beth! Best to everybody back east!" yelled Curry. He got no answer except a loud click. Heyes had had to hang up and run for his train.

Curry sank into his new chair suddenly, overcome with relief. Heyes could talk again. He was also shocked at the thought that he had just had a conversation with his partner from 1,600 miles away.

Historical Note: Anyone who knows Washington, D.C., will recognize the many changes since these fictional events set in June 1891. The current open space in the plan of the National Mall was implemented starting in 1903. In 1891, there were still train stations, train tracks, and commercial buildings and streets on what is now the National Mall. The train station described was torn down and replaced by the current Union Station. The denser trees on Capitol Hill were in a park designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, as mentioned by Beth. Most of the plan has vanished, but the charming little Summerhouse is still there and is one of my favorite features downtown. It has its own page on the Capitol website. The Brumidi murals in the Capitol building are certainly very real and are currently undergoing gradual restoration. The Brumidi Corridors also have their own web page. Statuary Hall was well established by 1891, but most of the figures were from the east at that time. The freeze of paintings of American History in the Capitol rotunda would not be completed for decades to come. Thomas Moran's 1872 painting The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone hung in the Capitol building until 1950. It still belongs to the Department of the Interior, but is on long term loan to the Smithsonian Institution. It can be seen on the second floor of the Smithsonian American Art Museum. And the telephone described is authentic for the early 1890s.