Sheriff Curry walked into the front dining room at Christy's Place at 6:30 AM with a gleam in his eye and a well-hidden knot in his stomach. His gun belt was already in place. He leaned over to tie down his gun, then stood upright. The new sheriff stood in front of the mirror over the bar, adjusting his hat and pinning his badge onto his vest with special care for his first full day of work in his new job. The sun had been up for only an hour and there weren't too many customers at Christy's Place yet. Jed smiled to see that his new employee was an early riser, as he was. Curry walked around the bar and went to the table where his deputy was finishing his pancakes, sausage, and black coffee. The young man already had his hat, gun, and badge on. Curry smiled. "Good-morning, Billy. Hope your room's comfortable. Was breakfast good?"

"Good-morning, sir. Everything's just fine, sir," said Healy, rising politely and wiping his mouth with a red checked napkin. The young man brushed his long black hair back from his face with a nervous gesture. "I appreciate the room and board. You run a nice place here."

Jed's steady blue eyes met his young deputy's anxious brown ones. "Thanks, Billy. Joe does alright, especially with the coffee, but the food's better when Cat's fixing it. I'll get her back here soon. I just want to make sure you and me have got things under control before I ask her to come. She's expecting our child in the fall. I want them both as safe as they can be. So if you want good chow, you stay alert and work hard. Alright?"

"Yes, sir," said Billy, trying not to sound too eager for improved food, though he was. The two men in badges walked toward the door together.

Curry talked as they walked. "For right now, while I'm training you up, we'll both be on at least 12 hours a day, seven days a week. And if we got anybody in the cage, we'll work longer than that. We'll get our shifts worked out and get the hours cut back soon. Having another hand would be a big help. So if you know anybody who wants to work as a deputy, let 'em know we need 'em. We've got enough trouble in this town to keep us pretty busy. And when other sheriffs need our help, it'll get even busier. And, like I told you yesterday, I'm afraid guys just might come looking for me until they get used to having me wear a badge."

"I understand, sir." Healy tried to sound brave and composed even as he worried about how well he could handle all this in a strange town with a new boss.

"Alright, let's get to work, Billy." Curry clapped his new deputy on the back.

Once they got to the office and unlocked the door, Jed Curry got his new deputy settled at his own small desk. He made sure that both of them knew where everything was – guns, rifles, ammunition, forms, keys, the safe for valuables, files of past criminals, files of currently wanted criminals, personnel files for the two new employees and many past ones, stacks of local newspapers, a book shelf full of law books, and far more than that.

"There's sure a lot of paperwork to keep track of, isn't there Sheriff?" said Billy as he leafed through a wooden cabinet jammed with old files.

Curry took a second to realize the boy was talking to him. Then he chuckled. "Oh yeah. You've got enough experience – you ought to know keeping the peace is about a whole lot more than arresting guys and guarding the cage. When folks think we're just sitting around in between arrests – that's when we've got to be doing paper work."

"Yes, sir, I guess so. I've done some of that stuff. But where I worked before, the sheriff's wife did a lot of it for us."

"Don't all those school classes you were so good at help you to cope with the files and forms?" The sheriff looked critically at his deputy, hoping very much that the answer was "yes."

"I know my alphabet well enough. Filing and filling out forms is just dull."

The new sheriff paced across the office to the file cabinet Healy was studying. "Yeah, yeah, but you got to do it right. If you lose track of some form and do wrong by somebody, it could be really bad. I wish I was better at the paper pushing. I didn't do a lot of it under Wilde 'cause I couldn't spend a lot of time in the office – being a wanted man, you know. But he made sure I knew what had to get done and how it works. We'll both figure out the paperwork. I kinda' wish I had Heyes here to help."

"Mr. Heyes is good at paperwork?" asked Healy in disbelief.

Curry answered him firmly. "Mr. Heyes is a professional at paperwork."

"He is? I thought he was a professional at opening safes." Healy swallowed, wondering if he had gone too far.

But the sheriff wasn't upset. "That, too. Or he was. He's pretty out of practice now, I guess. But you know he just got a master's degree in mathematics? He can manage any work with numbers or organizing stuff you could imagine. He does the books for us at Christy's. He's amazing at it."

Healy stood up and looked at his new boss. "Golly. I never thought of a crook being good at office work."

Curry flared up. "Don't call my partner that! He went straight when you were a boy, just like I did."

"Sorry, sir!" said the contrite Healy, who was only just starting to feel his way with his formidable new boss.

Curry had a lot to figure out, too. He wanted to be fair to Healy. "I know, it's kinda strange for you, working alongside a guy from the wrong side of the law. It's kinda strange for me to be in a sheriff's office and not inside the cage."

"You got locked up?" Healy inquired cautiously, hoping he wasn't about to have his head bitten off again.

Curry wasn't at all upset or surprised by the question. "Oh yeah, we sure did. We was behind bars a bunch of times. And Heyes always got us out again. Or I did. Or somebody did. This last time, it was four governors and a senator. Enough about that. We've been in here more than an hour getting everything all straight. We got to patrol this town. Just cause it's still morning don't mean nobody's causing trouble. We'll go together at first so I can show you around."

Curry put on his hat and walked toward the door. He tossed a key ring toward Healy, who caught it effortlessly and turned to lock the door. The young man said, with growing confidence, "I've done rounds a lot back at home."

Curry turned to look at his deputy. "You ain't at home now, boy. You got to learn this town – and learn how I like patrols done. See that ratty old building over there? That's the Peavey rooming house. The worst drunks and drifters stay there. It's a good place to keep an eye on."

"Yes, sir. I guess you know guys like bank robbers pretty well."

Curry shrugged, pointing silently at a stumbling, raggedly dressed man walking out of the door of the boarding house. "I know about every kind of criminal real well – and who ain't a criminal. I know the drunk and disorderlies, the harmless creeps, every kind of low life. I've done a lot of stuff besides rob banks. Remember, I run a saloon."

As the pair walked down a side alley, the Kid said, "The first thing – watch for guys who watch for you. If somebody's planning something, they'll want to avoid both of us. They'll be watching for how your patrols repeat – so don't fall into a pattern. Vary the route, vary the times." Healy nodded. He felt sorry for any sheriff who had ever tried to stop Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes from robbing the local bank. Not many such lawmen had ever succeeded, if the stories Healy had heard were true.

They walked down the alley side by side, their eyes sweeping left and right along the back doors and sheds of the stores. Then they turned back onto the main street. They passed various town folks, all of them known to Curry and new to Healy. The sheriff tipped his hat to a pair of ladies walking along in bonnets toward the dry goods store. The women nodded politely, but the younger one turned to stare as Curry passed. Her older companion hissed at her to turn around. Then a stout, bald man walked by.

Healey gasped softly. He whispered, "Oh my God, Sheriff, did you see the look that man gave you?"

"Yeah," Curry replied quietly. "That ain't the look you're after. You're looking for fear or fast figuring – this guy just thinks I'm dirt." Then he raised his voice and gestured for the portly old man in the black hat and impeccable suit to come over. "Mr. Cobb, good morning. Meet William Healy, my new deputy."

"Good-morning, Sheriff Curry, Mr. Healy." Cobb's words were polite, but the tone was mocking and the man's eyes glared.

Curry returned the citizen's hostility, "Did Wilde tell you my real name, or does everyone know it by now?"

"Both. He told me, but he sure wasn't the only one." Cobb did not look very pleased by this revelation. "I hope you haven't lost your speed, Curry. You might need it keeping this town and my bank safe."

Healy bristled visibly at the banker's disrespectful attitude. Curry shot a warning glance at his new deputy and raised a hand to hold him back. The young man restrained himself, but the new sheriff spoke up. "I'm fast enough, Mr. Cobb. But it shouldn't matter. I know what I'm doing as a lawman. Sheriff Wilde and the governor who appointed me back me up on that."

"Just watch my bank extra careful, young man. I don't want your old friends thinking they can get away with robbing it. You hear me?" said Cobb imperiously.

Now Curry was the one bristling. "Mr. Cobb, if any of my old friends from the wrong side of the law try anything, I'll lock them up just like any other criminals. They know my draw. And I know my job, banker, like you know yours."

"Good thing, Curry." Cobb turned and walked briskly away.

When the banker was out of ear shot, Healy growled, "How does he dare talk to you like that, boss?"

The Kid sighed. "Get used to it, boy. I don't expect all the big wigs in this town to like me. Not at first. Maybe not ever. The lawmen don't like me – or most of them don't. The criminals hate me for turning to the law. And the rich men and politicians are gonna treat me like a stray cur. Like I said, get used to it. If we do our jobs right, we'll get through."

"Yes, sir, we will."

Curry smiled just a little at his new deputy. He wasn't entirely sure about whether he would get along with the upright young Healy in the long run, but if there were problems it wouldn't be because the boy didn't care or didn't try. Billy had spirit and already was developing a fine loyalty to his infamous superior.

Jed had plenty of faces, places, and details to point out to his protégé. "See, Billy, that rough-looking old boy going into the Pick and Shovel? That's Ralph Frantzen. I guess he's the town drunk, though he's got plenty of competition. Take everything he says with about a handful of salt. Ralph don't really know what's going on. He gets some funny ideas – mostly out of a bottle, I guess."

Billy nodded, filing away all this information. Now they were coming up on a solid brick building with white wooden columns out front.

"Cobb's right that we got to watch his bank. It's got plenty of cash in it. The building's pretty solid, but Heyes and I could've gotten in. It's brick and it's got iron bars on the windows, as you can see. But there's nothing but a thin sheet of tin to stop anybody getting in from the roof and that back door is an open invitation. Plain old wood. Solid and got a decent deadbolt, but there's plenty of ways past that. If you see anybody hanging around and studying that building, you let me know right away."

"Yes, sir," said Billy. He was learning a whole lot this first day. The pair walked into the bank and looked around, but saw nothing disquieting except the venomous glance of the clerk behind the counter. He knew a bank robber when he saw one, reformed or not.

The patrol went on, taking the pair to every store, saloon, house, livery stable, back alley, and get away route in and around the town. And for almost every thing, place, and person, there was a pithy lesson from the wise and observant Curry. Healy's head was spinning as he tried to make sense of it all. He was grateful when they finally got back to the office and sat down behind their desks.

Joe brought them steak sandwiches, pickles, and beers at the Sheriff's office for lunch. The new sheriff felt glad that it was a nice day. He hated the thought of routine patrols all day in the below zero Colorado winter that would be coming in a few months. By then, he hoped to have a couple of young deputies he could stick with most of the outdoor work. He'd been out in the Wyoming cold way too much back in the Devil's Hole days.

But this was a pretty June day. Late in the afternoon, the sheriff went on a round by himself, leaving Billy to watch the desk and do paperwork. The head man was eager to be on the street as he got back his feel for what was going on in Louisville, and the citizens got to see their new sheriff. He walked down the street glancing back and forth between the familiar false fronts of stores with snow-topped mountains peeking over them. Nothing seemed out of the usual for a June weekday afternoon. Jed looked around and realized how happy he was to be back home – and how glad he was to have a home. His thoughts strayed to his partner, who had no certain home yet besides borrowed ones here and with Beth in New York City.

"Hey, Sheriff!" Jed turned to see a smiling young miner he'd met often in his days as Mr. Jones of Christy's Place. The blonde boy in dusty jeans walked over to shake the hand of the new sheriff. His smile faded some. He looked more than a little uncertain as he said, "Word is, you're really Kid Curry."

There were times when the sheriff would want to intimidate people. This wasn't one of them. He gave his friend a warm grin. "Yeah, Gus, that's who I am. You don't have to be scared. My partner and I've been straight more than seven years. And now we got amnesty. So we can stop running and settle down."

Gus relaxed only a little. "That's great. Welcome back to town. Did they really put you in prison?"

Curry kept walking on his rounds with the young miner at his side. "Yeah. But just for three days. Then they came to their senses and gave us amnesty. Then Cat and I got married – in New York City. You should've seen the reception in the fanciest hotel they got! Heyes got married to his sweetie at the same time."

Gus was paying very close attention to all this great information. All he had been able to get before had been rumors. Now he was going to be a big man in town with piping hot new stories straight from the horse's mouth. "Congratulations to you and Miss . . . Mrs. Curry. Where is S . . . Mr. Heyes? Somebody said he was sick."

Curry felt a jab of loneliness for his partner. "He's fine, now. He called me yesterday on that newfangled telephone thing. He's in New York City, looking for work."

"He and his Mrs. are gonna live in New York?" Gus was surprised.

"They'll live wherever he can find work teaching. Teaching college math."

"College? Hannibal Heyes teaches college?" Gus was more than surprised.

"Yeah, if anybody will hire him. You know – being him."

"Yeah," said Gus. The two men turned and walked in the bat-wing doors of Christie's Place.

Before they were properly in the door, Curry could hear a familiar voice yelling and ranting. It was Ralph Frantzen, preaching more of his strange ideas. He was yelling something about Indians and Eastern politicians. The drunken man was more than annoying the card and domino players, as well as a few who were already drinking. He was spitting at somebody. Then he threw an empty glass at Joe the bartender, who ducked just in time. The glass put a bad crack in the mirror behind the bar. The sheriff shook his head regretfully – he'd have to pay for the damage himself. Mirrors were expensive and Frantzen wasn't likely to have a dime to pay toward this one.

A tall grizzled stranger turned to Curry and said, "Sheriff, can you please get this man out of here? He's more than a nuisance."

"Yeah, he is," said Curry. "You don't have to tell me twice." The sheriff turned to the drunken annoyance. "Ralph, shut up and go on your way. Now."

The tottering Ralph, slurring every word, shouted, "Jones, I got every right to speak my mind and drink your whiskey if I paid for it! Which I did!"

The sheriff wasn't angry – just crisp and business-like. "My name ain't Jones – it's Curry. And I'm the sheriff in this town as of today. So get out of here or I'll put cuffs on you and lock you up until you dry out."

"Curry? As in Kid Curry, like they been sayin'?" Ralph peered at the sheriff suspiciously through blood-shot eyes.

Jed knew that the whole place was listening to him. He kept his voice steady, with no hint of boasting. "Jedediah Curry. Yeah, they used to call me the Kid."

"God damn you for a liar!" the deluded drunkard spat at the sheriff now. Girls and customers all around the saloon were staring. The girls knew who their boss was and many of their customers had heard the news about the new sheriff. This was their first chance to see the legendary gunman turned sheriff in action.

The sheriff wiped his face with a polka-dotted bandana. His voice was still amazingly gentle. "Come with me, Ralph. We'll let you dry out and feed you."

But Ralph was angry and scornful. "If you're Kid Curry, prove it! Draw on me! Show me that speed!"

"If you say so, Ralph," said the Kid wearily. He drew his pistol. It wasn't his fastest move, but it was enough to elicit gasps and whistles from around the room. Ralph stood swaying on his feet in open-mouthed awe. "You've seen me draw. Now you're going to jail." Curry holstered his gun again and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Here you go, Ralph. Come quiet. You know the way."

"Congratulations on your first arrest as sheriff, boss!" called Ted the piano player over his shoulder, drawing a general laugh.

"You sure were brave facing down that dangerous criminal," laughed the local madam.

"Thanks, Ted, Madge!" Curry called back sarcastically. "Thanks a whole lot!" Everybody laughed again. "Get along, Ralph!" growled Jed.

A few minutes later, the new sheriff brought his first arrested criminal in the door of his office. "Hello, Healy. Hate to tell you, but we got a guy for the cage. Drunk and disorderly, as usual. I'll draw up the paperwork. You put him in the cage and make sure he's got no weapons or shoelaces or anything like that on him. Take his belt and put it in your drawer. You know the drill."

"I do, sir," said Healy. "This way, Mr. Frantzen."

"How d'you know my name?!" demanded the reeling Ralph.

"I read your mind. Now stand still and let me pat you down," ordered Healy.

Once the drunk was reasonably settled in his cell, only muttering to himself and no longer shouting curses, Curry told his deputy. "Go back to Christy's and get a few hours of sleep, Billy. Do a turn around town on the way. Tell Joe to send dinner to me and Ralph in a couple of hours. At eleven o'clock, you be back here and alert to watch until I relieve you in the morning. Alright? With this one in the cage instead of somebody dangerous, we can do a few rounds, but keep them real brief and vary the time you're gone. That's gonna be the drill when we got guys in the cage, until we got more hands. We'll let this one out in the morning, at least. But I sure hope we can find another deputy soon."

"Yes, sir. Me too, sir," said Billy, grabbing his hat and heading back to his room. "Good evening."

Curry sat at his desk and listened to Ralph snoring and mumbling in his sleep. Even yards away, the new sheriff could smell that the drunken man stank of whiskey and urine. "Thank you very much, Mr. Governor," murmured Jed to himself. He was mighty glad to be free and no longer wanted, but he missed his wife and he wasn't crazy about all the parts of his new job.

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When Thurmont Brown arrived at his office first thing in the morning, he found a familiar slender, dark-haired figure in gold wire rims sitting in his waiting room with a brief case by his side.

"Good morning, Mr. Heyes," said the pudgy young attorney, putting down his own briefcase.

Heyes sprang to his feet politely. His lawyer said, "I wasn't expecting you, but I don't have any appointments first thing. Can you wait about, oh, twenty minutes?"

"Good-morning, Mr. Brown. Of course, I'll wait as long as you need. I'm sure you understand why I need to see you as soon as possible, so I thought I'd take a chance on just coming in this morning. I appreciate your seeing me at all." Heyes was nervous, but it would have taken a close friend to know it.

"I'll be glad to see you in a little while, Mr. Heyes," said Brown, "And . . . um . . . to hear you." Brown's left eyebrow arched up just a tiny bit. For the first time Heyes thought he might have detected a hint of wit from the usually business-like lawyer who was helping him to change his name.

Heyes winced inwardly. Outwardly, he just said, "Thank you, sir." Heyes couldn't help wondering what his public fight with his partner would do to his legal chances. He couldn't hide it from his own lawyer, so he had written to him to tell him about recent events; evidently the letter had arrived. As Brown vanished into his office, Heyes sat back down.

The reformed outlaw looked up at the walls of his lawyer's waiting room. Now a painting of a cowboy roping a steer had joined the buffalo horns and framed Frederick Remington illustrations. This recent graduate from Columbia's law school had enough money to buy art. And he had a real thing for the Wild West. So why on earth did he give the impression that he had never heard of Hannibal Heyes?

Heyes had reading matter in his brief case, but he ignored it as he waited. He sat and thought about what had happened since he had last sat here. Would his life never be dull?

"Mr. Heyes. Mr. Heyes!" Brown's assistant, had to call Heyes a couple of times before he came out of his fog of memory.

"Yes. Sorry. Is he ready for me, Mr. . . . Jewell?" Heyes glanced at his watch to cover his embarrassment at hanging up for a second over the assistant's unusual name.

"Yes, sir. Please go in."

Heyes took up his briefcase and went into his lawyer's office. "Good morning, Mr. Brown. Thank you for seeing me with no notice." Heyes felt self-conscious about the slight hesitations in his speech. His sharp-eared young lawyer would not miss them.

Brown sat at his desk with a yellow legal pad opened before him. Those pads had come to have new meaning to Heyes since he had last sat opposite that desk and watched his lawyer take notes. "Of course, Mr. Heyes. You just got back into town last night?"

"Yes, sir. We came back as soon as I got my speech, understanding, and reading back." Heyes watched his lawyer note down this fact on his pad. As at their previous appointment, Heyes was impressed by how efficient and particular his lawyer was. He knew no detail would get past Brown.

"I'm glad you've recovered so well from your injury," said the attorney.

"Thank you, Mr. Brown," said Heyes. "I was lucky. I'll be more careful in future, you can be sure."

Brown nodded. "You must be anxious to know what name to put on those job applications, Mr. Heyes." Brown was looking down at his pad. "So let's get down to business."

"Yes, and the journal publishing my first scholarly article is holding the presses until I can give them the name to put on the title page. Not that it isn't obvious what's going to happen, now," said Heyes with a bitter edge to his voice.

"Is it?" Brown glanced down at his notes.

Heyes opened his own briefcase and pulled out a stack of letters. "Come on - you have copies of all of the letters from the Governors in question. I asked them all to send copies to you. You know that Hogg said no."

Brown glanced down at a pile of papers neatly stacked on his desk. "Yes, the governors sent me a copy of each letter, as agreed. I saw the 'no' from the governor of Texas. But I also saw this letter from Senator Warren that just arrived. I imagine you haven't seen it yet, since you left West Virginia so suddenly. He's very supportive of your application. Here, have a look. He's not a relative of your wife's, is he?" Brown finally looked up into Heyes' eyes as he asked this question.

Heyes shook his head. "No, sir. It's a common name. I wish my name was that common – I wish both of them were." He quickly read the brief but glowing letter.

Heyes smiled wanly. "He's mighty poetic. I don't suppose anybody ever called me 'upstanding' in print before, and calling me an honest man is pretty rare. And it's nice to be termed a scholar." But as he finished speaking, Heyes looked and sounded far more worried than proud.

"But you don't seem very happy about those complements," said Brown in concern. When Heyes had first come to see Brown, the man had hardly seemed to see his new client. Now, the young lawyer studied Heyes closely with steady hazel eyes.

The reformed outlaw studied the floor. "Come on. With a governor speaking against me, what judge is going to rule in my favor, since I am who I am?"

Brown said, "It's a very positive letter, Mr. Heyes. And, from all I understand, a very truthful one. I think it could help us to outweigh the refusal by Governor Hogg. After all, three governors and a senator have spoken for you. Shouldn't that count four times as much as what Hogg said? Hogg is known to be a resentful man against any criminal after those outlaws ambushed him. That should make people wonder if he's being fair to you. They may wonder if you're as bad a man as Hogg said."

Heyes sounded almost angry. "How much do you really know about my past, Brown? Sometimes I feel like you don't know much beyond my official records. When I first walked into your office, I was sure you'd never heard of me. Do you know what people in this country think of me? Infamous. That's the word they use for me. Among a bunch of other words a lot worse."

Brown looked down at his notes, but he spoke with authority. "Mr. Heyes, despite what you choose to believe, I do know something about your past and your public image. I've done some research. Most people see you as a positive figure. Outside of the one man you killed in self-defense, you are known for avoiding hurting or killing people. Indeed, many see you as a heroic figure." When his lawyer looked up at last, Heyes was surprised to see a keen light in his eyes.

The former outlaw gave a brief bark of laughter. "Garbage. I thought you were keeping this on a professional basis. I thought you were doing your best not to be swayed by all that stupid fiction they write about my partner and me. So many people think the west is full of romance. They see robbery as some kind of fun. What I remember is the blood. If the question is whether I'll use a new name to hide my past, what judge is going to look past the countless crimes I've committed?"

"But is it not true that you never murdered anyone? That you never ordered anyone killed?"

"It's true." Heyes didn't sound proud. "Not to say that I didn't order beatings, because I did."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but not surprised. But, like most of your fellow outlaws, you must have felt pressure to kill, to order killings."

"Yes. I felt plenty of pressure. From almost everyone."

"From your partner?"

"No. Never. Jed believed in me and my ideals when nobody else did. He knew why I felt the way I did – that I didn't want to be like the low lifes who murdered our families."

Brown nodded. "To me, that says a lot of good things about both of you. That's going to be very valuable with a judge."

"You don't get it, Brown. Forget the myths. I'm talking facts. Do you know who I am?"

"You're Hannibal Heyes."

"I don't mean my name. I mean who I am – what I am."

"Alright, I'll bite, Mr. Heyes. Who are you? What are you – other than a fully reformed outlaw who has earned two academic degrees and married an honest woman?"

"I'm not always sure I can figure it out myself, anymore. But people in the public have their own ideas. If you can forget the blood, remember the . . . silver tongue." Heyes fought his way past that hated phrase. "I was famous not only for opening safes and blowing bridges. I was also a con man, Mr. Brown. I was trained by the best. Lies were my stock in trade. I was known for being able to convince almost anyone of almost anything, true or not. Even with my verbal gifts badly eroded by aphasia, I can be a convincing speaker. I need that, as a teacher. What judge is going to believe that I won't use a new middle name for some kind of con games? I swear to you that I'll tell my first name to anyone who might hire me or create any contract with me, but who will believe that?"

Brown sat silently looking at his client. Finally, he said, "Are you conning me now?

"No, sir. I'm at least trying to be a different man than I was eight years ago, before I went straight."

"Tell me about it." Brown looked intrigued.

Heyes stated into space and probed his own mind and past. Then he began to speak slowly, "I've told people every kind of story about why we went straight. They've all had some truth in them. That we felt bad about ruining honest people and families – which is true. We met a family we'd ruined with one of our robberies. That about broke our hearts. I've said that I didn't ever want to have to hurt anyone. That's true, too. I've said that the sheriff and bounty hunters and detectives were chasing us too hard – there's truth in that. I've said the safes were getting harder to crack and the banks were getting more secure. That's undeniable. But when a young man . . ." Heyes paused, having a hard time going on, "a young man . . ." Heyes bowed his head "died because he wanted to be like me. Not like the Kid – like me. That was what did it. I couldn't stand it for one more minute. The Kid had been ready to go straight anyhow, I think. And when we found out that we might be able to get amnesty, that sealed it. Not that it was easy."

Brown had somehow forgotten to take notes. He was riveted by Heyes' tale. The lawyer said, "I suppose not. Tell me about it. What was it like when you first went straight?"

"We were still wanted. But after the governor offered us the amnesty, we couldn't break the law in any way or we'd lose our amnesty – or we would if anybody found out about it. We didn't have our gang to help us out. We left all our takes – the money from the robberies - behind at the Hole. We took only our horses, guns, bed rolls, the clothes on our backs. Man, it was tough. As soon as we'd think we had maybe decent jobs someplace – like working in a saloon or at a ranch - somebody would spot us, or we'd think they had. Off we'd go, as fast as we could ride. No money. No home. No security. Sometimes we'd think we had friends, but it wouldn't last. Somebody would turn on us or some bounty hunter would catch on to us. We both got shot a couple of times. In fact, I got it in the head once before that time in Colorado. We got close to starving more than once. We got jailed a few times and hardly got away. Almost died of thirst a couple of times in the desert. But I tell you, the hardest thing about going straight was figuring out what straight was. I'm afraid it might be a question of interpretation about how straight we were sometimes. There were some peculiar jobs came our way, and we did give way to committing a little jail break now and then. The governors know all that. But we got better and better at being law abiding as time went on. We got to figuring things out."

Heyes stopped and stared into space. Brown let him think.

"Yeah, we got to figuring out what straight was. Time was going by. They said go straight one year. Then it was two. How long was it going to be?"

Heyes stopped again. His pain was palpable. Again, Brown didn't interfere. But a careful look might have discerned fine beads of sweat on his brow. He was witnessing years of drama condense into a few minutes. And the drama wasn't over – this lawyer might have a big role in the next act.

"Then I got shot in the head. When I woke up, I couldn't figure out what was going on. Everything was nonsense. The world had gone crazy. It took me a while to figure out that it wasn't the world – it was me."

Heyes held his head in his hands for a long time in silence.

"I didn't even know I'd been shot at first. The Kid told me with gestures and I could feel where it hurt. But I had a hard time understanding anything at all. Yeah, at first I couldn't understand a thing that was said to me. I couldn't read. I couldn't write. And I couldn't say a word. I was surrounded by people in that hotel, but I felt all alone. Not even Jed could reach me most of the time. They tell me that I kept trying to kill myself. I don't remember. But it wouldn't surprise me. I didn't feel like myself. I didn't feel like a man." Brown had to resist the fierce urge to comfort his client, who was remembering all this in agonizing detail.

"Then I started to get a bit better. It was so slow! I got back understanding, then reading. Eventually, I started to use some signs to get things across to my partner. But to the rest of the world, I was a dummy – hardly human. They'd laugh at me in the street. Even when I started to get a word or two back with the doctor in New York, strangers would ride me. Looked down on me as some kind of idiot." Heyes sounded understandably bitter. Brown watched him with concern.

Heyes stared blankly into space. "It was . . . shattering. I'd probably been prouder than I had any right to be. Aphasia tore that to bits. I didn't have anything I was certain of any longer. Not even my own mind. I was hanging on by my fingernails. It took me a while to get patched back together. Quite a while. I don't know how, but I turned out to have friends – people who helped me all along the line. My doctor, my wife, my roommate, my school friends, my advisor. Before, the only guy who ever helped me was my partner. And sometimes Lom Trevors – you know, the sheriff who helped us to get amnesty. Not that the Kid stopped helping me – he sure didn't. And Lom stayed real faithful. But now I've got a bunch of good friends. I don't know exactly how it happened. I sure didn't do anything to deserve their help – except to try my best to stay on the right side of the law. And to work as hard as I could at the clinic and at school."

"And to stand up for those friends? And to tell them the truth, at least as much as you could?"

"Well, yeah, of course. Nothing unusual in that, is there?"

"For a slick, selfish outlaw there is. For a good, upright man working hard, not I guess it's not that rare. Sounds like once you got patched back together, you were a different man. You are a different man. You must see that."

"Yeah, I guess. But it might be hard to convince a judge of that." Heyes sounded uncertain.

"Come on, Mr. Heyes. From a hard-bitten conman, safe cracker, gang leader, and armed robber to a university professor reputed to be one of the great mathematicians in the world? A man who intends to devote his life to helping young people to learn? I'd say that's a pretty remarkable transformation. Surely, any judge would have to agree," said Brown earnestly.

Heyes shook his head. "You're awfully young, Mr. Brown. You haven't seen the injustices that I have. Try being in prison and you'll see how unjust our system of law and the people who enforce it can be. In civil court, we'll just have to see. As to what I am now, I'm only just barely started on the work it takes to really be a top mathematician. Math student, sure. To be a real mathematician takes years and years more work. And I'm not a professor yet at all. I won't be until somebody hires me – which they might not if I have to be a new man with a filthy old name." Heyes looked up at his lawyer anxiously.

Brown laughed. "There you go, Mr. Heyes. That's our argument. Anyone who insists that you stick with your old name is insisting that you remain the man you used to be. They're holding you back from reform. So long as you are honest about your past, I don't see why you shouldn't take a new name, if it will allow you to be a new man. To be a successful, honest, useful man."

"I guess it depends upon the judge. Maybe he'll allow it and maybe not. It's up to him what name I get."

"No, Mr. Heyes. Honestly, no. It's up to you. Your conduct every day of your life will decide what name is really yours."

Heyes stopped and thought about that, his gaze vacant as he turned his concentration inward. Then his attention returned to the conversation and he shrugged. "Well, that's always been true." The brown eyes looked up into the hazel eyes of the young lawyer. "At least, it's what I do that determines what my name means, no matter how it's spelled. One thing I can promise you and any judge – I'll try my hardest to do the right thing. It might not always come out perfect, but it's the best I've got. That's what I've done for the past six years. My wife and my friends are depending on me."

"Yes, they are. And so am I. And so are you. Well, I think we've got our strategy figured out, Mr. Heyes. I'll let you know when the hearing is. And I wish you the very best of luck."

Brown studied his client, but the business-like seriousness began to lighten and a sparkle enlivened his gaze. "So long as you keep up the good work, you should do fine. But Mr. Heyes, perhaps it might be a good thing for you to stay away from gambling parlors? It's not illegal, but it looks bad." The young man winked and Heyes laughed.

"I'll try, Mr. Brown." Heyes winked back.

Brown smiled compassionately. "I guess it's a terrible temptation for a man who has no income and knows he can win pretty easily. But remember – you might pay dearly for every penny you win."

"I suppose so. That's tough math, Mr. Brown! But thank you." Heyes shook his lawyer's hand and walked out with his letters and amnesty papers in his briefcase.

Heyes stood for a moment on the street outside the lawyer's office, wondering where he should go and what he should do on a work day when he had no work and no school. He still couldn't write applications until he knew what name to put on them. So what should he do? Going home to take a nap, which was what he felt like, wasn't a serious option. The reformed outlaw shook his head slowly, wondering at himself. It wasn't many years ago that the concept of a work day would have meant nothing to Hannibal Heyes. As a gang leader, he had set his own days and hours, and those of his gang members. If he felt like knocking off in the middle of any chosen day, he could do it, so long as they weren't in the middle of some job or fleeing from the law. Taking time off, even taking a nap, in the middle of a week day, hadn't bothered the criminal Hannibal Heyes in the least. Indeed, he had done it often, for a variety of reasons or no reason at all. What had happened to him? It made him think more about what he and his lawyer had said. He really was, in many important ways, a different man. The logic behind his actions had totally changed, especially since the bullet had plowed across the surface of his skull. Beth had once said being shot in the head might have been the best thing that had ever happened to Heyes. He supposed she might have been right.

Heyes started walking down the bustling urban street, unsure of where he was going. The sun was shining, but the day hadn't turned too hot yet. He walked thoughtfully, with his hands in his pockets. He found himself fingering the ring Beth had given him as a stand-in wedding ring – it was still the only wedding ring he had. And now there was a new ring on the next finger. The new ring was heavy and gold with a blue stone; it was a Columbia class ring that had come in the mail while he and Beth had been on their honeymoon. Heyes began to smile and then to whistle on his way down the street. He was thinking how lucky he was to be free, graduated, married, and able to talk. With the help of his lawyer, and his wife and friends, he was on his way toward the life he wanted. He wasn't even going to think about any judge who might stand in the way.