Charlie Homer climbed the stairs to the Leutze clinic with his heart in his boots. He hurried past Polly the talkative reception without a word. He knocked on Beth Heyes' office door. Beth, expecting her husband, or at least news about him, answered the door immediately. A young man was sitting at the wide desk across from the clinic's tutor. Beth saw the tense look on Charlie's face. She spoke quietly. "Professor, it's bad news, isn't it?"

Charlie's voice was solemn. "Yes, Beth. I'm sorry. But we need privacy for me to tell you the details. I'll wait in the lobby until you can finish up with your student, but please don't wait long. I have to make a trip." He glanced at his pocket watch. "I need to leave soon to pack and catch my train."

"Oh, Charlie!" whispered Beth anxiously, seeing the news was worse than a mere 'no.' Then she turned back to her student. Charlie shut the door and went to wait on a chair in the clinic's lobby. Homer sweated where he sat, worried Dr. Leutze or someone else who couldn't know about Heyes' being in jail would come by at any time. He wasn't eager to lie to anyone.

Beth quickly sent her student on his way. As soon as he was clear, Charlie went into the office. Beth was on her feet and anxiously asking Charlie Homer questions before he could even sit down. "Charlie, what is it? Where's Heyes? Why couldn't he come himself?"

"Beth, sit down. And promise me you won't breathe a word of what I am about to tell you to anyone except Cat and Jed. Promise me. Not even Dr. Leutze or Jim can know."

Beth swallowed and said, "I promise. I know you wouldn't ask me to do anything wrong."

"Beth, the judge made him tell an awful story - one that he says he's never even told you, much less anyone else. It was about why he hates the name Hannibal. He must have told you something." Beth nodded uneasily. "It was very violent and disturbing. I hope he'll tell it to you someday, but it won't be easy for him to get through it again. After hearing what he said, no one could question why Heyes would want another name. We were sure the judge was going to give him the new middle name he wants. But then the judge insisted that Heyes reveal the charges covered by the amnesty – and the ones that aren't. He forced Heyes to confess to transporting stolen property across state lines."

Beth leapt out of her chair. "That's a federal crime! He has no federal amnesty yet! They've been waiting . . ."

Charlie cut her off. "That's right. Federal marshals took him to jail."

"Oh my God!" Beth went to get her purse out of her desk. "Which jail? I'll go and bail him out. It's not that serious a charge. They have to let him be bailed out."

Charlie took Beth by the arm. "No! Heyes made me promise to insist that you not visit him and not bail him out. Only one man can get him out. If you're seen going to that jail, it could get into the papers and make it harder for Heyes to get the federal amnesty he needs."

Beth sat back down and shook her head. "Oh, Charlie! How can I not go to him?"

"You can't, Beth! He's right. It could tell the press where he is. If the word got out to the press, the person who needs to come through might not be able to do it. And it would compromise your reputation and his. I'm going to make sure Heyes gets that federal amnesty and gets it promptly. So I have to go and catch the train. I'm sorry about all of this, Beth. Heyes can never seem to get free of his past, no matter what he does. But we'll keep trying. Please call Jed right away and let him know, and let Cat know. Make absolutely sure that no one else hears it. You have to keep it out of the papers no matter what. Of course, once he gets out, it will be better to keep that jail stay secret. It could hurt his employment chances, although he'll have to reveal it if he's asked. His lawyer agrees with him about keeping it private, of course, and having you stay clear."

"Alright. It's hard not to tell Dr. Leutze, but if Heyes says so. If that's what he wants and what Mr. Brown thinks is best." Beth stifled a sob. "Thank you for what you're doing. I just hope it comes through soon. Please let me know what happens."

Charlie looked terribly concerned, so Beth knew there was more bad news. "Beth, there's one more thing. I think Heyes is coming down with a migraine. If anything can be done to make him more comfortable, please let Mr. Brown know. He'll come see you. He'll make sure they don't mistreat Heyes. So just sit tight and let me do my best for him."

Beth sighed. "Alright, but I'll worry every minute. He really does hate being in jail, especially at night. Who could blame him? And with one of those terrible headaches, it'll be agony. No jailer is going to be kind to a man who's locked up. My poor husband! But you'd better go catch your train, Charlie. Good-bye, for the moment. And good luck!" Beth gave Charlie a quick kiss on the cheek.

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Beth rushed home. Mrs. Heyes made sure her eyes were dry as she entered the apartment. "Cat!" she called "Are you here?"

Cat, hearing the distress in her cousin-in-law's voice, dashed into the front room. "Beth! What's wrong?"

"Oh Cat, they didn't just say 'no' to Heyes about the name. They locked him up on transporting stolen goods across state lines. It was the Denver job, I guess, from '82. They didn't wait for the federal amnesty – just locked him up. Charlie's going to try to get the amnesty hurried along for both of them. But what can he really do to sway someone that powerful?"

Cat hugged her cousin-in-law. "Beth, honey, it'll be alright. Charlie will get things fixed. He'll know what to do. I've got to call Jed right away. If they took his partner, they could take him, too."

"That's right," Beth said anxiously. "We can use the telephone downstairs."

A few minutes later, Cat was on the telephone in the landlady's flat. Beth stood by, in case Jed had questions she might be able to answer. So she heard only one side of the conversation. The other side came across as just unintelligible noise. Cat said, "Thank you, Central. Yes, the sheriff's office please. . . . Yes, hello, Mr. Healy. This is Mrs. Curry. Can I talk to my husband, please? . . . Of course, he did say he was going to Denver today. Do you have a number for him there? . . . Oh. Well, please tell him to call me at the Heyes' place as soon as he can. It's urgent. If he calls you before he gets back to town, please tell him that. He can call here any time – day or night. . . Thank you, Mr. Healy. . . Yes, I'm fine. Thank you. I'm glad Jed has you there with him – or he will when he gets back."

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When Heyes arrived at the jail, the marshals helped him down from the paddy wagon. Monty Brown was standing on the sidewalk waiting for his client. As they climbed the steps of the jail, with a marshal on each side of Heyes, and went in the door, Brown studied the former-outlaw. The man in handcuffs grimaced as the paddy wagon door slammed shut with a loud bang.

In the admitting office, the marshals and officers filled out paperwork and made Heyes sign his old name over and over. When there was a break in the routine and the arrested man and his lawyer could get a moment a little distance from any officers or guards, Brown asked, "Mr. Heyes, are you alright?"

Heyes muttered sarcastically, too low for anyone but his lawyer to hear, "Oh, just dandy, Mr. Brown. I'm only going off to jail instead an academic interview. But I do count on that man south of here to let me out, once he knows what's going on. And once he get around to it." Heyes was back in handcuffs now. He chafed at them, trying to get his wrists in a position where they wouldn't get cut.

"You trust him, do you?" asked Brown, looking into Heyes brown eyes.

Heyes nodded. "I do. I'm used to folks not trusting me. It sure would be ironic if I couldn't trust this man. He's all I've got. I'm not worried. I'm just hopeful I'll be out of here soon."

Brown looked curiously at his charge. He spoke in a low voice. "I'll glad you feel that way. I'm sure you're right. I hope so, anyway. But when I asked after you, I meant are you ill. You've been speaking very softly, and rubbing your head and shutting your eyes now and then. During our break earlier, Professor Homer warned me that you occasionally suffer from severe headaches due to your head injury and he wondered if you were in some discomfort today."

Heyes gulped and nodded. He spoke in a whisper. "He's right. I wasn't the only one at the aphasia clinic who got them. It's been coming on me worse and worse all day. It makes me real sensitive to light and noise and I'm sick to my stomach. I don't have flashing lights in front of my eyes yet, but give it time." He gave his lawyer a lopsided, ironic smile. "It's gonna be a real delight in jail, I'm sure."

Brown turned to the man behind the desk where they had been processing Heyes' paperwork. "Officer, this man . . ," but the ex-outlaw gave his lawyer a sharp look and a tiny shake of his head.

The young lawyer pulled his client to one side. "Why do you . . ."

Heyes interrupted him in a whisper, "I don't suppose you've ever been in jail. Well I have. So just let me handle it."

Brown looked distressed, but he gave in. "If you insist. I have no desire to make your situation worse. Is there anything I can do that would help?"

Heyes murmured, "Thanks, Mr. Brown. You've already done what you can. The rest is up to someone else. All I can do is wait and hope. I just hope it's not too long. I've got better things to do this summer." He smiled at his lawyer and gave him a wink. But a cage clanged noisily nearby and Heyes winced. Then he swallowed hard. He was trying to put a brave face on it, but he really did feel miserable.

Brown, feeling the need to give the stony-faced officer behind the desk some story to explain the private conferring, said, "Officer, I know that you are well aware of my client's past and his, um, skills. He is a law-abiding man now. So I expect you to treat him like any other prisoner."

The officer across the desk spoke in what seemed to the arrested man a needlessly loud voice, "Yes, Mr. Brown, we have heard quite a fair amount about your client. We do read the newspapers." Now he turned to the former outlaw. "Mr. Heyes, if you behave yourself, you will be as well treated as any man here."

Heyes swallowed and took a deep breath. "Officer, I'll behave myself. I promise you that."

"Fair enough, Heyes," said the officer harshly. "Mr. Brown, you can go on your way. Heyes is ours from here on out. We won't give him trouble if he doesn't give us any."

"I hope so. If you do not treat him well, you and your superiors will hear from me," said Brown crisply, being careful not to speak too loudly. Then he turned to the prisoner beside him. "Take care, Mr. Heyes. I'll be back tomorrow to look in on you."

Brown's client nodded. He swallowed and said, "Thank you." He squinted against the light that was pouring in a barred window nearby. Heyes put up with the familiar routine of giving up his personal effects and his belt.

"Come on, you. We got to get you into your cell," said a powerfully built guard. Heyes barely resisted visibly wincing at the man's loud voice. He looked around as he was led back through a long aisle of cells. This was easily the biggest jail Heyes had ever been in. It was more like a full scale prison than the little western jails with only two or three cells.

"In here, Heyes," growled a second guard, opening the gate of a small, bare cell with a single high, barred window. "The big man warned us about you. You ain't gonna make trouble, are you?"

"I won't make trouble," whispered Heyes, hardly able to bear the sound of his own voice.

"I can't hear you!" shouted the second officer.

"I won't make any trouble!" Heyes declared loudly. As the guard walked away, the ailing prisoner softly moaned and closed his eyes for a brief instant. He tried to avoid showing how terrible he was feeling, but his fellow inmates had sharp eyes and ears.

The bearded man in the next cell laughed harshly. "You must have had a gay old night!"

Heyes muttered. "No." But the man laughed again, not fooled about the misery of his neighbor. But if he just thought it was a hangover, that was better than having anyone know how sick Heyes really was.

The other jailbirds in cells near by rattled their cell doors and hooted. Heyes sighed and collapsed onto his bunk. He rubbed his head, wondering how long he would be in this agony. Right now, there was nothing he could do but wait and endure as best he could. He lay and worried about what trouble Beth, Jed, and Cat might be in because of him. And his thoughts raced south along the rail line where Charlie would soon be riding.

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Jed Curry, too, was stuck waiting and worrying about his partner. After sending his wife a telegram to tell her about his situation, he found a decent hotel and took a room. He made a quick trip back to the governor's office to let them know what hotel he would be staying in. Then Curry went and took up residence in the hotel. He paced restlessly around the sparsely furnished room and looked out the window at the busy street.

"What the heck am I looking for?" Curry asked himself, out loud since there was no one else to hear him. "Everybody I need help from is over a thousand miles away!"

The new sheriff didn't dare go near a saloon; drinking and gambling would not exactly help his image while he was waiting for favors. And besides, he had to stay in the hotel where the governor's staff could find him to let him know when there was news. The bored and worried ex-outlaw searched through the dresser drawers and found a Bible. There were worse ways to kill time than by reading. But then he looked in another drawer and was happier to find a greasy old deck of cards. Jed sat on the bed and started to deal out a game of solitaire.

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"So now we wait," said Cat to Beth as they sat in the apartment's tiny parlor.

"Yes, we wait and we pray. There's not one other practical thing to do for our men," said Beth as she pulled a stack of papers out of her satchel. "And I guess there's nothing our men can do, either. I wish we could at least be with them."

"I just hope nobody is gunning for Jed while his mind is on Heyes and that federal amnesty." Cat was knitting some small, wool garment for her coming child. Her needles clicked softly behind the conversation.

Beth started to dig idly through her work papers, knowing she wouldn't be able to concentrate enough to grade them. "Your husband can deal with more than one problem at a time, Cat. You know that."

"I know, but I still worry. He's the fastest there is, I'm convinced of that. I don't see how any human being ever could be faster to the draw than Jed is. But nobody's fast enough to get a man coming on him from behind."

Beth looked up from papers and at Cat. "You've seen that famous draw?"

"Yes – in the saloon a couple of times. It – Beth, it was terrifying. No human being should be able to do anything that fast – much less anything that dangerous. I love Jed, don't get me wrong. But his draw scares the heck out of me. And it surely is exciting." Cat gave Beth a little smile. Both of them knew the thrill of loving a man who had special skills.

"But at least it ought to give him a lot bigger chance of staying safe, Cat. Surely it does?"

"Yes. But then again, there are guys all over the west just hankering to see if they can outshoot Kid Curry. Now that he has to use his right name, they'll soon figure out where he is. Even though he's not using his old nickname, the rumors must be starting to get around. When he was out looking for deputies, he must have had to let out the word wider than he liked. Those guys would be crazy to try to outshoot Jed. Anybody who's seen him draw knows that. But the guys who haven't seen him can't appreciate that. Words just really can't describe what he does."

Beth shook her head. "I've never seen Heyes open a safe, either. But I have seen him pick some locks. I don't have a lot to compare it with, but I gather he's very fast."

Cat smiled thoughtfully. "It's strange, isn't it? We're married to the two most famous men in this country and we've not seen much of what they're so famous for."

"I guess it is strange. I got to know Heyes when he was trying very hard not to look like an outlaw." Beth fell silent and looked out the window.

Cat quickly guessed what was on her mind. Heyes was engaged in one of the most outlaw-looking things possible right now – he was sitting in jail. "Charlie will get Heyes out, soon, Beth. You know he will."

"I surely do hope so, Cat. But it can't be soon enough. Charlie thinks that poor Heyes has one of those dreadful migraines. They're bad enough at home. In jail, I hate to think how nasty it would be for him."

A little later, Thurmont Brown arrived and Beth let him in. "How is Heyes, Mr. Brown?" asked Beth as she settled him on a chair.

"Not well, Mrs. Heyes. He has one of those headaches he gets. He's very uncomfortable. But he's doing his best not the let the guards know how sick he is. He's worried that they might treat him worse. I played along with him, but I let the officers there know that I'll be watching them"

"I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Brown," said Beth bravely. "When you get back to see him, please give him my love and let him know I'm confident he will be out of there soon. What he needs now is quiet, dark, and peace. I hope it won't get as bad as it does sometimes. Sometimes it's so bad that he has to throw up. That would be impossible to hide."

When Thurmont Brown had left, Beth sobbed softly. Cat went and put her arms around her cousin-in-law.

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Professor Charles Homer looked anxiously out the window of the south-bound train, as if looking into the distance could get the train there faster. He hadn't taken time to pack much luggage. He desperately hoped that he would be home soon. He had taken a very formal suit and his best cufflinks and tie tack. He would need to look his best the next day. He sweated, just thinking about it. He was at home with cowboys, students, and professors – not politicians. He didn't know his way around the city where he was going very well, but he had been there before. He thought he could manage to get a cab from the train station to the right spot. It wasn't exactly an obscure address.

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"Chowtime!" yelled a guard. All the other prisoners went eagerly to the fronts of their cells to get their food. It was one of the few breaks in the boredom of long days in jail. Only Heyes stayed on his bunk. His eyes were closed, although he wasn't asleep.

The guard with the food yelled, "Heyes! Wake up! Come get your dinner. We got some real nice stew."

The miserable man called back, as loudly as he could bear, "No thanks. I'm not hungry."

"Suit yourself," said the guard and turned away. The other prisoners stared at Heyes. He wished he was up to eating, but he wasn't at all.

As the other men sat and ate, Heyes held totally still, listening. He hadn't yet heard his full name used in the jail. If the inmates and guards had known who he was, they would have been teasing him like mad. There were a couple of remarks about a hangover, but that was it. If they had known they had Hannibal Heyes there with them, it would have been a thousand times worse. And he most certainly wasn't going to help them to figure it out. Not so much because of his personal comfort, although that was a factor. His being in jail had to stay out of the newspapers. He kept his face toward the wall much of the time.

"Anybody know that guy, Heyes?" The ex-outlaw heard his name being discussed from cell to cell. "He's not a regular here."

"No, never seen him before, Linus. You think he's alright? He's not moving much."

"He's alive – I can see him breathing."

"He's got a hangover, I think."

"Whatever it is, he's not happy. Hey there, Heyes! You alight?"

Heyes lay still, hoping his fellow prisoners would forget about him.

"Heyes! You dead over there?"

"Hey, you!"

Heyes stuck his head out. "Shut the hell up! Oh." He finished with a soft groan.

"What are you in for, Heyes?"

Heyes snapped from under his blanket, "Helping little old ladies across the street. Shut up, I tell you."

"Well, you don't have to get huffy about it. We was just making conversation."

"Yeah, we was concerned."

Heyes sighed and turned over. The other prisoners yelled toward him for a while, but they finally gave up and turned to other subjects. Their voices still hurt the sick man's head. It was a long time before he got any sleep.

Heyes was suddenly and very uncomfortably awake. He scrambled under his bed and pulled out the pot. The miserable ex-outlaw fell to his knees and was violently sick. When he was done, he stayed on his knees for a moment, trembling. He spat into the pot again. Finally, Heyes grabbed for the bunk and stood up. He was barely able to climb back into his bunk. He cringed as he heard the man in the cell next door yelling, "Guard! Guard! This guy's sick. Come get his pot! The smell is getting to me!" It seemed like forever before the guards came and took away Heyes' mess and wiped him off.

Once he was back on his bunk and reasonably cleaned off, the ex-outlaw lay still, hoping he could avoid being further bothered. But it was a vain hope. The men around him talked loudly about him, and it wasn't complementary. "You damn lush, we don't need you getting' sick all over! Keep it down, alight?" The sick man ignored them. He was just glad to have them still assuming he only had a hangover, and particularly that they hadn't figured out who he was. He lay back trying to stay hopeful. He had waited for a lot of hard decisions lately. Having such a dreadful headache during this wait just underlined how much he hated to have to depend upon the good will and the work of other people. It really did make him feel sick to have to be dependent.

An hour later, Heyes heard his cell door open and somebody shook his shoulder. "Supper time, Mr. Heyes."

"No thank you," came the muffled reply.

"You ain't hungry for supper? We got crab cakes." The guard spoke quietly.

"No, thank you," repeated Heyes as politely as he could. He was glad to be getting any consideration at all.

"Well, they said you was sick. You got to at least have some water, or you could die on us."

"I won't die. But I could use some water." Heyes sipped some water the guard held out for him in a tin cup. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good-evening, Mr. Heyes. Let us know if you need anything."

"I will. Thank you. Good-evening."

Heyes tensed. The guard wasn't going away.

"Mr. Heyes," he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Are you really who they say?"

"I don't want to discuss it." Heyes was still under his blanket.

"Huh?" the guard didn't sound like the sharpest knife in the drawer.

"We aren't alone," answered Heyes crisply.

"Huh?"

"You're never alone in jail," said Heyes with commendable patience.

"No, I guess not. I guess you'd know." The guard was answered by stubborn silence. Finally he turned to go.

"Good-evening, Mr. Heyes."

"Good-evening," answered Heyes from his paltry wool shelter.

The night was long and miserable for Heyes. The other prisoners laughed and joked and sang rude songs until late. Even when they stopped talking he could still hear them relieving themselves into honey pots. The nasty smell was unavoidable. Heyes had to get up and spit into his bucket again. The guards came and went, rattling the bars now and then.

Heyes got little sleep. He got up once to get a drink of water and set off a bunch of unwelcome inquiries from the other prisoners. He answered them with silence.

The morning brought rattling bars, painful sunlight through the windows, and noisy guards bringing around coffee and gruel. Heyes tried a little coffee. He didn't dare attempt the gruel. It looked nasty and smelled worse.

Finally, things settled down. An hour went by and then two, interrupted by guards coming to get men to take them to be tried. Flies buzzed through the cells in the summer heat. Heyes lay as still as he could. He tried not to actively wonder when there might be good news. It could be days or weeks until that happened. But he thought about when he had first had aphasia and had thought that the New York police were arresting him at the Leutze Clinic. He had been completely terrified, back then. Now, even when he was actually in jail, Heyes felt far more confident. He had been shattered back then. Now, he had put himself back together with the help of many good friends and his faithful partner. So he waited calmly, sure he would be able to handle whatever came. And hoping that what came would be good – and soon.

The ex-outlaw lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling. While he was far from panicked, he did still have some practical worries. He worried what would be happening to his partner in Denver. And what Beth and Cat were going through as they waited, helplessly. And poor Charlie, arguing for the famous but mistrusted man he had gotten stuck teaching. Those cares were restlessly chasing each other around his aching brain.

The cell door rattled. Heyes moaned softly. The harsh sound of the clashing bars hurt his pounding head. "Heyes!" shouted a guard. "Wake up!"

The ex-outlaw cringed at the loud voice. He sat up slowly, but said nothing.

The guard looked at his prisoner hostilely. "You got a telephone call. Come out here and no false moves."

Heyes nodded cautiously. "Who is it?"

"How do I know? They don't tell me nothing," griped the guard.

Heyes got up from his thin, smelly bunk. Two guards with guns on their belts accompanied him to the outer office. The prisoner walked with his head down and his eyes half-closed against the daylight that streamed in the barred windows. He simply wasn't up to hiding his condition as carefully as he wanted to. He supposed Charlie or his partner might be calling with news. So he would have to take the call.

The policeman at the desk handed Heyes the phone. He looked at the former outlaw curiously. Heyes guessed that the man knew his full name. "Mr. Heyes, do you know how to use a telephone?"

"Yes, thank you," said Heyes just above a whisper, opening his eyes just enough to see the telephone.

He took the telephone's hand piece, dreading having to yell into the mouth piece on the desk and hearing the harsh sound that would come back at him over the hand piece. "Hello?" said Heyes loudly over the primitive instrument, bracing himself against the pain of his own voice.

"Hello, Mr. Heyes? Is that you?" said a young man on the phone. Heyes was surprised not to recognize the polite voice.

"Yes. I'm Heyes."

"Please hold the line for the President."

Heyes gasped out, "The president of what?"

A new voice came over the line – an authoritative older man's voice with a sharp mid-western accent. "The President of the United States, Mr. Heyes."

Heyes was shocked into silence.

"Are you there, Mr. Heyes?" asked President Benjamin Harrison.

"Yes Mr. Pr . . sir." Heyes' pulse was racing. He could hardly believe that the President of the United States would sign a paper for him, much less call him personally. As bad as he felt right now, he was terrified that he would somehow mess this up.

"Are you alone, Mr. Heyes?"

"No, sir. I'm in the jail's office. There are guards and officers here." Heyes did his best to be polite and respectful, hoping that he had reason to feel cheerful and grateful.

"I appreciate your discretion in not using my name and title where others could hear. You have quick wits."

"Thank you, sir. I used to make my living with them."

"I know that well. I'm glad you are going to use those famous brains of yours to make a more substantial contribution to society, now."

"Thank you, sir. I will try my best, if I am given the opportunity." Heyes' spirits were rising rapidly despite his physical misery. Surely this man would never have called him just to say "no."

"I'm glad to hear that. I would appreciate your keeping this conversation private from everyone except your wife, Professor Homer, and your lawyer. And your partner, of course."

"Of course, sir. I have no desire to embarrass you."

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I would prefer to open about it, but it's not very politic. I called to let you know that Professor Homer spoke with me at some length about your predicament. I agree with him that you will be far more of a benefit to this country if you are free to teach than if you remain locked away. Your federal amnesty is coming over the wires right now."

"Thank you, sir!" Heyes was suddenly feeling much better. He was even smiling.

"The official amnesty documents will be delivered by Professor Homer. So they will arrive in New York tomorrow. I'm afraid you may not be released until those papers arrive. Be sure to ask, but you know how old-fashioned the law can be. Copies of the documents are also going to all four states where you and your partner were wanted. And a wire is going straight to Colorado. So your partner will be taken care of promptly. Copies of the papers will go to all the other states and territories."

"Thank you very much, sir. My partner and I are deeply in your debt. It was very kind of you to call personally."

"I want to apologize for keeping you and your partner waiting so long. If I had realized what would happen because of the delay, I would have signed those papers immediately. I regret the inconvenience you have been suffering."

"That's alright, sir. I know you're a very busy man." Heyes wondered why the President of the United States was still on the line wasting his time talking to so infamous a person. "I know you don't have time to cope with every ex-outlaw who wants your help."

"Ha! In this case, an ex-outlaw who's probably better known and certainly more universally liked than I am."

"You are exaggerating terribly, sir. There can be no meaningful comparison between a truly important man and one who is merely notorious."

"You do start to sound like a college-educated scholar, Mr. Heyes. And I take it that you understand the distinction to be made between my granting your amnesty and my making this particular telephone call and the one I will make to your partner?"

"Yes, of course, sir. The one is a fairly pure legal act, although anything can have political consequences. But the second could be seen, if publicized, as grandstanding at the expense of, um," Heyes looked at the guards around him and tried to think of some way to phrase this that wouldn't give away to whom he was speaking, "the people in this state who are on the other side."

Harrison chuckled. "Yes, and I appreciate your phrasing that carefully. Professor Homer told me you were very bright and well informed. He was right."

"Thank you, sir," said Heyes happily. To have the respect of the President touched him. "It's a privilege to have the opportunity to speak with you. I'm afraid it's dull for you." Actually, Heyes got the distinct impression that the President was fairly tickled to get to talk to him. He suspected that he might actually have a fan in Washington.

"I wish I could meet you, Mr. Heyes. You advisor gives a glowing description of you. But my being seen with you would probably not be a good idea, even now."

"I suppose not, sir. Not good for your image, fine as it would be for my own."

"Professor Homer tells me that you are a truly brilliant man."

A little sparkle crept into Heyes' voice. "It would be immodest for me to agree with Professor Homer, but it would be rude for me to contradict my superior."

The President let out a brief "Ha!" then he roared with laughter. When he could speak again, he added, "I thought that bullet in the head was supposed to have dulled your famed silver tongue. It sounds to me as if it still shines on occasion."

"Good news is an effective polish, sir. Please keep me in mind if you ever need a favor from a mathematics professor or a trigonometer."

"I will hold you to that, Mr. Heyes. One never knows when some fine trigonometry will come in handy. Or perhaps a little safe cracking." The President added playfully.

"For that last, you will have to turn elsewhere. I, sir, have gone out of the business permanently."

President Harrison chuckled again. "Thank goodness. Teaching and research are far more worthy endeavors for that noble mind. Good-bye, Hannibal Joshua Heyes. And good luck."

"Good-bye, sir. And thank you."

Heyes went back to his cell in a much better humor. When his lawyer arrived a few minutes later, Heyes was still smiling.

"Well, Mr. Heyes, you are looking much more chipper than when I left you yesterday," said Brown gladly. "You must be feeling better."

"You've got that right. Physically, there's not much improvement. But I just got a telephone call," Heyes' voice dropped to a whisper, "from Washington. The man himself. Talking to me."

"Golly!" exclaimed Brown gleefully, losing hold of his lawyerly discipline for a moment and sounding even younger than he really was. He quickly got hold of himself again. "I hope the news was as good as it sounds."

"It was." Heyes grinned. "A wire about the federal amnesty ought to be here any time. And the papers will come tomorrow, with Charlie."

Brown excused himself and went to speak to the jail authorities. It was some time before he returned to his client's cell, looking frustrated. "I'm sorry, Mr. Heyes. The wire came in alright, but it does you no good yet. No amount of cajoling or threatening did any good. You're stuck until tomorrow when Charlie Homer's train gets in. I'll find out when that will be and let you know. I really am sorry that you have to continue to endure these bad conditions for another day."

"Never fear, Monty," said Heyes happily. "This place seems like the Ritz to me, since I know I won't have to stay." He lay back on his bunk and crossed his legs as if in the lap of luxury. "But please go right over to my apartment and let my wife know the good news. I don't want her to worry longer than she has to."

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Even as Heyes' lawyer was arriving at the jail, but early in the morning by local time, there was a knock on Jedidiah Curry's hotel room door. "Sheriff Curry!" called a voice.

Curry yawned and hurried to the door. He found a young bellboy waiting for him. "Sheriff, there's a telephone call for you. Please come down to the hotel office."

"Is it my wife?"

"No, sir. It's from Washington."

"On my way," said Curry. "I just got to pull my boots on." He hadn't shaved yet, but got the impression that he needed to get this call right away rather than returning it. So Jed Curry went down the stairs, still hopping a bit at the landing to get his feet all the way into his boots.

Curry hollered into the primitive phone in the hotel's small, paper-stacked office. "This is Sheriff Curry. Who's calling?"

Heyes would have recognized the educated, polite voice that said, "Please hold the line for the President."

Jed held the hand piece of the phone in dumb-struck amazement.

"Mr. Curry? This is Benjamin Harrison."

Curry took a deep breath before he could get a word out. "Good morning, Mr. President."

"Are you alone, Sheriff?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I would rather that you keep this conversation a secret from anyone other than your partner and your wife. Not even the governor should know."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Curry, your federal amnesty is coming over the wires as we speak. The papers will follow by special delivery. I spoke with your partner just now, so he knows already that he will soon be free."

"Thank you, sir. Heyes and me surely are beholden to you."

"I'm glad to help, Mr. Curry. I called to apologize for keeping you and your partner waiting. It was unconscionable for me not to sign those documents as soon as they arrived."

"We know you're busy, sir. We're in your debt."

"No, Mr. Curry. I was simply doing my job. It's just that there's a great deal of it to do."

"I guess so. Are you sending word to the Governor's office, sir?"

"Yes – to the offices of all of the governors in the states where you were wanted, and then to the rest of the states and territories."

"We appreciate that, sir."

"I hope this will leave you free to do your duty as sheriff, Mr. Curry."

"Yes, sir. I'll do my very best sir."

The president hesitated, and then indulged himself by asking a question that Curry had heard often before. "Are you still as fast on the draw as they say, Mr. Curry?"

Jed actually laughed at that. "I guess so, sir. Fast enough. I've never been beat."

"I hope you never are, Mr. Curry. Good luck to you. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mr. President. Thank you for calling. I do appreciate it."

As soon as the telephone handset was out of his hand, Curry leapt into the air. A cowboy whoop that might have woken the dead resounded through the hotel. The hotel owner put his head in the door. "What on earth, Mr. Curry?"

Jed cringed, thinking how he would have felt if the hotel had been his own. "Sorry, sir. It's just good news. Real good news." Curry put in a telephone call of his own to New York soon after that, but he was unable to get through.

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The next afternoon, Beth and Cat were restlessly waiting in the Heyes' little apartment. They heard familiar voices outside the front door. "Charlie, would you please stand back and let me walk on my own," said Heyes irritably.

"You'll fall on your face," said Charlie with laughter in his voice.

"I will not!" Beth couldn't hear the moan that would have followed her husband's raising his voice that much when he had a migraine, but she could easily imagine it.

Charlie Homer pleaded with his former student. "You haven't been able to eat for two days. You're weak as a kitten."

"I'll be fine if I can just get in that door, kiss my wife, and lie down. So stop arguing with me. Take your hand away and let me be. I don't want to worry Beth more than I need to."

"Alright, but don't be surprised if you wind up on the floor."

"I will not fall over in the two steps it'll take to get to the door!"

Beth took pity on both men and opened the door. "Heyes! Darling!" She flung her arms around Heyes, who embraced her and gave her a brief but passionate kiss. Mrs. Heyes was not surprised to feel her husband swaying in her embrace. He surely would have fallen without her help. "Oh, honey, come in and lie down"," said Beth.

"Hello Heyes! Congratulations!" said Cat.

"Thanks, Cat," Heyes responded. "Jed should be all set by now, too."

Beth smiled. "Charlie, and thank you so much for all you've done. Should I call a doctor for this silly man?"

Heyes walked in the door, leaning hard on Beth. "I'll be fine if I can just get to that bed and everyone will stop talking so much."

"Here, let me help you. Are you up to a little broth? I have some nice and hot for you."

"I think so. We can try. I feel better just being with you." Heyes rubbed his head. His stomach might be a bit better, but his head still ached fiercely.

Beth, with her arm around her husband, said softly to him, "Did you ever really think the President would come through?"

Heyes smiled. "I hoped so. As he said, I'm more popular than he is. He's a very decent guy. He actually called and apologized to me for making us wait."

"I know." Beth sounded self-satisfied.

Heyes looked sharply at her. "And just how do you know that, Mrs. Heyes? He asked me to keep it secret."

"He told me himself." Beth smiled proudly.

"He called here?" Heyes was stunned. That the President of the United States would make one call about Hannibal Heyes was shocking, but two really was more than he had thought possible.

Beth nodded. "He did. He talked to Cat, too. He was polite and apologetic. And don't worry. His secretary told our landlady he was calling from some office in Washington and she had no idea of who it really was."

Heyes laughed softly as they got near to the bed. "He's a nice man, our president, isn't he?"

"He certainly is. Now shut up, husband dear, and have your broth while it's hot. Then I hope you can get a hot bath and some real sleep. I'll gladly scrub your back."

Heyes sat on the bed. "Thank you. That sounds like heaven, honey. And thank you for drawing the curtains."

Beth looked fondly at her husband and knelt to help him to pull off his shoes. "I know, Heyes how much the light hurts when you're like this. We'll keep things dark and quiet so you can sleep. Then you'll be better in no time."

Heyes yawned. "I hope you're right, Beth. I've got an awful lot to do and not much time to do it. All those applications to finish. And I've got that symposium talk to prepare. And I need to talk with the journal publisher. And . . . lots of stuff. But right now, my head's too bad for me to think straight." He yawned again and lay down.

"Good-bye, Heyes," said Charlie from the bedroom doorway.

Heyes spoke sleepily. "Bye, Charlie. Thank you very much for arguing my case with the president. I'm sorry I grouched at you."

Charlie Homer looked indulgently at his favorite ex-student. "Don't worry about it, Heyes. I know you feel awful. And it didn't take much arguing with President Harrison. In fact, we had a nice talk. He had already decided what he wanted to do. The papers were all made out before I got there. He signed five copies while I watched."

"He's a good man." Heyes yawned again and closed his eyes.

"So are you, H. Joshua Heyes," whispered Charlie fondly, then turned and went on his way.

Most of what I have Heyes suffer from aphasia is total fiction. However, from what I understand, severe migraines are common symptoms for some of those who have suffered traumatic brain injuries, including injuries causing aphasia.