"So long, Cat. We're going to miss you terribly." Beth Heyes kissed Cat Curry good-bye as the new sheriff's wife was going out the door to take a cab to Grand Central Depot so she could go west to Kansas from New York City. "Be sure to tell Jed how much we miss him and how much luck we wish him as a sheriff, and happiness as a father."

"I know – I'm not the only one missing him," said Cat, glancing toward where Heyes was helping the cab driver to load her luggage into the cab. "I'll wire you when I get to my aunt's place in Kansas and again when Jed tells me it's safe for me to go home. I hope it won't be long. I'll miss you both, and Charlie, and everyone here! It's been quite a visit, hasn't it?"

"It sure has!" laughed Heyes. "Amnesty, graduation, the weddings, Buffalo Bill, West Virginia and then back here. And we thought our adventures would be over when we got amnesty. No such luck." Heyes boosted Cat up into the cab's seat, then climbed up beside her, "Here, Cat, I'll ride with you to the station and make sure you get off safely."

"Thank you, Heyes," said Cat. "I do appreciate it. Bye-bye, Beth! Hope we get together again soon!" Mrs. Curry leaned out of the cab to wave back to Mrs. Heyes.

Beth felt tears welling in her eyes as she stood on the sidewalk outside her apartment building and waved after the departing cab. The two women had become very close in the past month. They had said a thousand good-byes already.

Cat and Heyes rode quietly to the station. It was hard to know what to say after so much had happened. "You take good care of yourself, Cat. Let folks do things for you, like a pregnant lady should," urged Heyes solicitously.

When they got to the station, the pair found the train already waiting by the platform. "Are you sure you'll be alright riding by yourself until you meet up with your cousin, Joe?" asked Heyes.

"Yes! I've been all through that, Heyes, with you and Jed both," said Cat. "Nobody here really has time and money to head out to Kansas with me. It'll be only two days until Joe and I meet up. Joe might not be as fast as Jed, but he's not bad with a gun. And he's good with his fists. And most importantly, he's got a bunch of common sense. He'll watch over me."

"Well, alright, if you're really sure," said Heyes as a porter took charge of Cat's luggage. "It's going to be lonesome without you. I know things will go well with Jed as he settles in with that star and that new deputy. He'll be a lot happier when you get there. I can hardly wait to meet the new little guy in the family!"

Cat looked down at her slightly swollen belly. "I know what you mean. Jed and I are eager to meet the new little Curry, too. Who knows, maybe you'll get a job out our way so you and Beth can be close from the beginning?"

"I'd like that more than anything," said Heyes. He kissed his cousin-in-law on the cheek, hugging her warmly. "Fare well, honey. I really am going to miss you and so will Beth. Have a happy visit with your aunt. Then give Jed my best. You know I don't hold any grudge. Make sure he knows that, too, will you?"

"I will, Joshua," said Cat, kissing him on the cheek again and letting him help her onto the train. Heyes smiled his appreciation of her using his new name in public.

Heyes stood on the platform and waved after the train as it pulled away. Cat waved her hand out the window from her seat, but then the soot from the train got too much for her and she closed the window. Heyes walked back toward the street to find a cab home. He felt as if the West, his real home, was somehow farther away than it had been just a moment before.

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A few days later, sitting in their tiny parlor after dinner one evening, Heyes said, "Goodness, sweetie, look at this." He was looking through the evening mail Beth had brought in with her when she got home from work at the Leutze Clinic. He held up a letter on formal stationary. "You remember how New York University was looking for a junior professor of mathematics back even before I graduated or was on trial or anything?"

"Of course, honey," said Beth, seated next to her husband as she planned classes. "You wrote to them and asked if you could interview. Of course, you wrote as Joshua Smith with no MA yet."

"Yeah. Well, I wrote to New York University about my graduation and change of name a week ago. I asked if they still wanted to interview me, such a long time later. Do you believe they said yes?" Heyes sounded quietly excited.

"Of course I believe it, Joshua," said Beth as she looked up from her own work to look into her husband's shining brown eyes.

Heyes was grinning with nervous delight. "NYU doesn't seem to be holding the academic rivalry with Columbia against me. They asked if I can interview with the dean at five, tomorrow evening. I'll call in the morning to confirm."

Elizabeth Heyes kept the concern she felt out of her voice. "Who would let some silly rivalry get in the way of hiring a brilliant young professor? I know the amnesty asks for you to teach out West, but this would be an amazing opportunity and you know it. I hope the four governors wouldn't have any problem with your taking a position like that."

"I hope they wouldn't, but I'm sure not counting on getting an offer on my first interview. You know as well as I do that doesn't happen often, even for people without a criminal record." But the ex-outlaw couldn't help being keyed up. "I just wonder why five o'clock? I've never heard of an interview starting that late in the day."

"Who knows?" said Beth. "It seems strange, but every school is different and so is every dean."

The following day, Heyes was carefully groomed and dressed as he strolled down the street in the lingering heat of an early summer evening. His apartment was only a few blocks from New York University's campus on Washington Square in Greenwich Village, so there was no need for a cab. He just kept his pace slow so he wouldn't be sweaty when he arrived. Heyes looked calm and dignified as he went in the front door of the extravagant Gothic revival structure with its pointed arched windows and turrets. He knew well that he was entering the stronghold of the enemy. Heyes glanced one more time at his appointment letter to make sure of the room he wanted. Climbing the stairs to the third floor, he arrived perfectly on time for his appointment with the dean of the NYU Mathematics department.

As Heyes walked in the open door of the outer office, a young woman in a tight bun looked up from her desk expectantly.

Heyes smiled, showing his dimple, "I'm Joshua Heyes. I have an appointment with the dean at five o'clock."

"Go right in, sir. The dean is ready for you," said the secretary.

A short, round, balding man in a dapper blue suit rose to greet the new graduate. The dean welcomed his interviewee into a beautifully furnished office, all dark wood and gold fittings with an elegant oriental rug on the floor. A decanter of red wine stood on a table with two delicate glasses standing ready. "Glad to meet you, Smith," said the small but commanding dean as he shook the hand of the much taller man. "Your record is most impressive. Dr. Heintzelman from Germany has wonderful things to say about your original work. And Dr. Homer said that he was sure you would graduate summa cum laude. Have a seat."

Heyes was sweating as he sat in an overstuffed leather chair. He took a deep breath and said, "I'm glad to meet you, Dr. Marx. I did manage the summa. But . . . um . . . Smith isn't really my name. I thought you knew that. I made that plain in my letters and my telephone call when I arranged this interview."

"Your name isn't Smith?" Marx asked in a tense voice, raising his furry eyebrows skeptically.

"Um, no. My, um, my name is H. Joshua Heyes."

"Oh?" There was a flash of something predatory in Marx's blue eyes that made Heyes more than uneasy. "Please explain why, Mr. Heyes, you attended Columbia University under one name and now you are seeking employment under a different one."

Heyes kept looking into those sharp blue eyes. He felt himself dissolving into nervousness as he never had in his life. The confident gang leader was nowhere to be found at the very moment when he would have come in most handy. His aphasia made him fight for almost every word. "I've been . . . um . . . attending school under . . . under an alias. I had no choice. Until just now, when my, um . . . legal status . . . was . . . regularized. By the governors of Wyoming, T-Texas, Colorado, and Montana. And the President of the United States. Now I can use my real name. In fact, I have to. Legally. I have to use my real name when applying for employment."

"I beg your pardon?! You originally applied to teach on the college level, at New York University no less, under an assumed name due to legal irregularities? What legal irregularities might these be? What could four governors and the President of the United States conceivably have to do with the legal status of a graduate student?" Marx spoke softly, but his voice was full of threat.

Heyes felt certain that the dean knew exactly what his interviewee was talking about. For some reason this powerful man was making the ex-outlaw play the whole thing out in the most painful and embarrassing possible way.

"Um . . . yes. I . . . was . . . wanted by the law." Heyes struggled past this terrible sentence and began talking rapidly, trying to get out enough information to give himself a chance before the dean lost his temper completely. "The four governors, and the President, gave me, and my partner, an amnesty. A complete amnesty. And the governor of Wyoming gave us a pardon. We've been straight with the law for seven and half years. We've been gr -"

Marx interrupted Heyes in the middle of a word and sprang to his feet. "We know about you, Heyes! A widely distributed newspaper article about you – about your murder trial – wrongly cited you as a student at this very university! Do you have any idea of how much embarrassment and difficulty you have caused this institution? You allowed that error to stand! You left us to explain to our board members and potential applicants and many financial supporters why we admitted one of the most notorious criminals in this country! You let that lie stand!" The little dean's voice rose in pitch and grew louder as his anger filled the room.

Heyes' nervousness vanished as he began to feel his own flare of anger. But he kept his voice cool. "I beg your pardon, Dean. Did you honestly expect me to correct a newspaper article while I was on trial for murder? Or perhaps while I was confined in the Wyoming State Penitentiary? I had more pressing concerns."

Marx ranted as he stood over Heyes, "I imagine you did, Heyes. Like keeping your dirty neck from the hangman! How dare you dream that you could ever teach for this university?! How dare you come in here and try to present yourself as a serious candidate for a responsible academic position?! You! A felon! A common criminal! Only Columbia University would be fool enough to graduate you!"

Heyes kept his voice calm and rational. He was surprised how well he succeeded in this, though his tone was certainly crisp. "I have complete amnesty and a pardon, as I said. My record is clean. My gifts and academic accomplishments are such that professors all over the world respect them. But if you don't, then very well. I am only surprised you would waste your time inviting me here just so that you could speak rudely to me."

Marx was practically frothing at the mouth now. "Speak rudely to you? To one of the lowest creatures this country has ever spawned? How dare you think that anyone will ever take you seriously as a candidate for any academic position?! You'll be lucky to push a broom at a territorial college!"

Heyes didn't allow his fury to show except in his burning eyes. He spoke in icy tones, under perfect control. "Dean Marx, I must say I am surprised to hear from you the kind of talk I've before – from gang leaders out West years ago. They wanted what you want – for me to rise to the bait. They wanted me to draw on them so they could shoot me down. I never gave any man that opening. You, too, want me to resort to violence. You want me to be arrested for assault. That would land me in prison for the rest of my days and humiliate Columbia University. I'm not that stupid. I'm a rational man, even if you don't sound so rational yourself right now."

"How dare you . . .?"

Now Heyes was the one interrupting his opponent. "You have no idea with whom you are dealing, sir. The outlaws and lawmen of the West know me far better than do you. Hannibal Heyes, they'll tell you, is not a violent man. You can't get him to react rashly no matter how hard you try. The sheriffs had seven years to fool me into their clutches. They couldn't do it. Neither can you. With that sir, I will bid you farewell."

Heyes rose and turned to go. Marx stood, silent, with his mouth opened in shock.

Heyes turned on his heel. On his way out, he just happened to allow his briefcase to bump against the dean's table, causing the decanter of red wine to tip over and irreparably stain the priceless Oriental rug. As the little man's furious yells resounded, Heyes stalked out of the elegant office with no loss of dignity. He had no doubt that the wine had been poured to celebrate his defeat.

Heyes felt triumphant for only a few minutes as he left the building. By the time he arrived at the small apartment he shared with Beth, he was in a more realistic and far more depressed state of mind.

As Beth opened the apartment door to let him in, she knew instantly how disastrous the interview had been. Heyes came silently in the apartment door and collapsed onto the sofa. "Oh, Beth. Dean Marx just made the interview appointment to embarrass me. To embarrass Columbia," he choked out. "I didn't let him do it. I told him he had me all wrong and I left. I didn't yell. He did, but I didn't."

"Of course you didn't, Joshua," said Beth, putting her arms around her husband. "You're a better man than Dean Marx could ever dream of being."

Heyes shook his head. "But I did lose my temper. I knocked over his wine decanter on the way out. He might just make me suffer for that. Why did I ever think I could get anyone to hire Hannibal Heyes to teach college?" He cast his eyes down in shame and despair.

Beth took the briefcase from her husband's clinched fists. She embraced him and kissed him passionately. "Because you have rare gifts, my darling. It would be a terrible waste for you not to use them. You'll find someone to trust you and give you the chance to use those gifts. Just not NYU. Don't you dare give up! You've hardly started this fight."

Heyes' answer involved no words.

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The next day, Heyes went to see his advisor. "Aw, Charlie," he said, dropping into the worn chair in Homer's office where he had sat so often as a student. "I don't blame you, of course, but that bastard Marx had no intention of giving me a chance. He had me in to embarrass me and my school. I didn't yell back at him." Heyes' eyes sparkled. "But I did, clumsy me, spill red wine all over his oriental rug."

Homer broke out in raucous laughter. "Good for you, Heyes. Nobody can stand Marx and his damn silly rug. Officious little ass! He deserved what he got. Everybody in the field knows it but him."

Heyes grinned. As usual, Charlie Homer had made him feel better. "Well, I hope it doesn't come back to bite me. I told him the sheriffs knew me better than he did and they didn't manage to catch me, either."

"It might not have been smart to mention your criminal background straight out, but I don't blame you," said Homer, still chuckling. "Move on. Don't look back. Thank goodness there are plenty of deans a lot more reasonable than Marx. By the way, did you hear that Peale is hiring on at that new place in California?"

"Really? With Stanford? That's great. I'm happy for him. His parents will be real proud. I'll miss seeing him, unless I wind up out on the West coast myself." Heyes' voice betrayed that while he really was happy for his thesis partner, he was also jealous of him. With every day that went by, Heyes' chances for employment that fall got worse and he knew it. He had sent a lot of applications and gotten precious few replies to them.

Charlie knew what his advisee was feeling. "Don't worry, Heyes. Just keeping doing your best applications and your best interviews. Be on your best behavior. Use your best English. And remember - everyone gets at least ten rejections to every acceptance, and often a whole lot more than that."

"Yes, sir. Especially old cons like me, huh?"

Charlie smiled at the younger man. "Cheer up! That article of yours is making a great impression already."

Heyes ignored the praise. "I doubt there's time this summer for ten places to say no to me. I'll settle for six or eight. And next year I'll be damaged goods – couldn't find a spot in a seller's market."

Charlie tried to distract his friend from his fears. "Stop borrowing trouble, Heyes. Only one man's said no to you yet. Are you all set for that conference at Drexel this weekend?"

Heyes nodded and reached for his briefcase. "Yeah, I've got my presentation all polished up. I done it for Beth about five times and Ev, NG, and Huxtable have seen it. None of them can get to the conference. You know – they're teaching. You want to see me give the talk again?"

"Sure. I probably won't get to Drexel, much as I'd like to. Maybe. We'll see. All depends upon whether the dean gets that new grant application ready for me to finish. Let's go use a classroom with a blackboard so you can show me the equations and everything just like you'll do it at the conference." Heyes gathered up his briefcase and hurried down the hall after his long-strided advisor.

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Heyes went to sign in at the elegant red brick hotel where symposium attendees got a special deal in the heart of historic Philadelphia. The ex-outlaw climbed the white steps to the classical porch. Considering the flea-bags where he had stayed during his colorful life out west and the crummy joints where he had stayed as a student, this was really coming up in the world. It looked to him like this would be the nicest place he had ever stayed, other than his wedding night at the Plaza Hotel in New York. Heyes looked forward to the comfortable quarters, though he wished that Beth could have come with him.

The man from Columbia University was in line behind a couple of other conference attendees. The young men signed in and then porters came to help them upstairs with their luggage. The budding mathematicians were talking avidly as they climbed the stairs. Heyes was looking forward to meeting his fellow math guys during the conference. He only wished that any of his fellow Columbia students had been able to come. He wondered if some classmates had come whom he didn't know about yet.

As Heyes got up to the desk, the young clerk said, "Are you attending the Drexel Mathematics conference, sir?"

"Yes," said Heyes. "I'm presenting tomorrow. The Drexel folks told me you had a block of rooms for us."

The clerk looked down at his ledger. "Yes, sir. Your name, sir?"

"H. Joshua Heyes. Heyes with two es. I just got my MA from Columbia University," the new graduate said with a note of pride in his voice.

The clerk began to write in the hotel ledger. Suddenly he stopped and looked warily at the neatly suited man before him. Heyes looked back just as cautiously from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "What does the first H in your name stand for?" The clerk asked.

"I don't use my first name. I like my middle name better." Heyes darted a glance over his shoulder. There was no one in line behind him yet, but someone could come at any time to overhear if this exchange went in the wrong direction.

Seeing his customer's hesitation, the clerk pressed on. "Just answer the question. What first name begins with H?"

"Mine. Just give me the room key." Heyes couldn't help sounding defensive.

"If you refuse to answer the question, I'm calling the manager. We have the right to know who's staying at this hotel."

Heyes blew out a frustrated breath. He spoke softly, hoping no one else in the lobby could hear. "It stands for Hannibal, alright? Yes, I'm Hannibal Heyes. I used to rob banks and trains. Now I've got amnesty and I'm just an ordinary mathematician."

The clerk took a step back. He spoke loudly enough to make Heyes cringe. "You're Hannibal Heyes the outlaw? That sounds dangerous to me."

Heyes bristled, glad to still see no conference attendees in line behind him. "Former outlaw. I've got amnesty and pardons, like I said. I'm not at all dangerous."

The clerk was not comforted by the ex-outlaw's assurances. "I'm calling the manager." Heyes boiled silently. He would have to get used to this.

The young clerk went through a door behind the desk and was back in about a minute, accompanied by the tall, grey-bearded manager. The manager asked doubtfully, "Do you really claim to be Hannibal Heyes the outlaw? And you don't think we'll turn you in?"

Heyes held himself in check, but reached for his trusty briefcase. "I've been granted amnesty by four governors and the President of the United States and given a pardon by the governor of Wyoming. I have the papers here. I would be glad to show them to you."

The manager looked impatiently through the formal papers, studded with seals and ribbons and important official signatures. He was skeptical. "Weren't you tried for murder?"

"Yes. I was found innocent in a court of law in Montana." Heyes was determined to keep his temper, but his voice was tense.

The manager wasn't letting it go. "Montana – in the middle of the wild West! Does anyone trust those frontier courts? Is it not true that you killed the man?"

Heyes carefully masked the anger and sorrow he felt so strongly. "I did. It was self-defense. Self-defense was the decision of the judge and jury."

The manager began to look fearful, "But you killed a man?"

Heyes was losing patience. "You heard me. Better him than me. That's the law – self-defense. I was not required to die, though it sounds as if you wish I had. After that, I was granted the amnesty and pardons you just saw. One of them from the President of the United States. And I graduated from Columbia University with the highest honors they give. I'm right with the law and I'm staying that way. Are you going to accept my money and let me stay here or not?"

The manager had made up his mind. "No. Get out of here, you crook, and don't come back. I won't hesitate to call the law on you. It's our legal right to refuse service to anyone we choose for our own reasons. We don't take in outlaws who could be a danger to our customers."

Heyes' eyes blazed. "I'm not an outlaw any longer. I'm no danger to anyone. I have committed no crime for nearly eight years. And I've got two very good lawyers. But I don't want to make trouble – for you or for me. So I'll go." The ex-outlaw turned to go back out the door.

But he added over his shoulder, "But my lawyer and I will be back."

The manager looked uncomfortable and his eyes shifted back and forth. "Maybe we could work something out. You could come and go by the back door . . ."

Now Heyes did lose his temper. He turned to face the hotel manager. "No! Damn it, if you don't want me, I don't want to stay with you. I'm a law-abiding man and a leader in my field. I'll take my money where I'm welcome."

Heyes walked rapidly out of the lobby, relieved that the next conference attendee was only just now entering.

Heyes found a cheaper hotel nearby and registered without further incident. But he was furious at not being able to stay with his fellow presenters and attendees.

The next morning, Heyes prepared himself for the conference. He couldn't help worrying that the rejection at the hotel would follow him to the conference. If his name was challenged when he was surrounded by his fellow mathematicians, the repercussions could be far more serious professionally. He was glad to have the fine leather brief case Charlie Homer had given him to help establish his professional appearance. The ex-outlaw was dressed in a neat grey suit, set off by a new Columbia blue tie with a gold Columbia tie tack, and his gold wire rims. Just before the conference, Heyes had gotten the prescription made a little stronger. It was a hard reminder of his advancing age before he had gotten a position. And before he headed for Philadelphia, he had also gotten his first haircut since his release from prison. His hair was little more than an inch long, which was much too short for Heyes' taste, and too grey at the temples for his comfort. But at least it was neat. This would be his professional debut under his new name. It was also his first time to meet anyone in his field after his new article had come out.

Heyes took a deep breath and assumed a cool, professional demeanor. It felt familiarly like putting on a character for a con game. Then he swiftly climbed the stairs and entered the dignified classical building where the conference was being held. He saw other men, some younger than he was and some older, climbing the same steps and walking down the same elegant hall. Elegant shoes clattered loudly on the polished marble floor. This was nothing like the rough, dusty saloons and hotels where Heyes had formerly spent so much time. This was his new world. He resisted the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants.

Heyes glanced back and forth at the strangers in the hall who were his colleagues, wondering how and when they would learn about his past. And how they would react when they did. Would he ever be able to leave his criminal past behind and be just another mathematician and teacher in the field? Somewhere in his heart of hearts, he did enjoy knowing that he was a hero to boys across America. But it did him no good in academia.

There was a white-draped desk in the hall where two students waited to check in the attendees at the conference. There was one man looking after people with names A through K, and one for names L through Z. Heyes had nearly stepped up to the second line where his alias would have placed him. He suddenly realized his mistake. With a slight smile, he turned to the left to join the first line.

As Heyes got to the front of the line, the young man at the table said, "Welcome to the Drexel Mathematics conference, sir. What name, please?"

"Heyes. With two es." Heyes had to make an effort not to be nervous saying that name. He hoped the new middle name would provide some cover. But the experience at the hotel made him wary of assuming that.

"First name?" asked the young attendant with a rote smile.

Heyes was taken aback. "Don't tell me there's another Heyes spelled like mine!"

"No, sir. I just like to make sure the name tags are correct.

Heyes gave him a quick grin and a wink. "And that I didn't sneak in uninvited. H. Joshua – I use my middle name."

"Ah, here it is, Mr. Heyes. Or is it Doctor Heyes?"

"Not yet. Maybe one day." Heyes could only dream of a doctorate when he was still in serious debt from the MA and BA and had no position to enable him to pay those debts.

The young student recited from the list, "H. Joshua Heyes, Columbia University. Here's your program, and here's your name tag and a pin to hold it on with. I see you're presenting – so you get a gold ribbon on the tag. Good luck."

Heyes was grateful to have things go smoothly so he could put the incident at the hotel behind him. "Thank you. Are you a math student here at Drexel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good luck to you, too!" Heyes was under no illusion that he was past any problems about his past that could come up at this conference. He only wished he could concentrate on math and meeting colleagues. Those two areas were challenging enough with having to hide the first thirty years of his life.

Heyes took his packet and moved away from the table to use a straight pin to attach the neatly printed name tag to his jacket. The retired outlaw "accidentally" caused a crease in the left edge of the little paper tag so that no one would see any name but Joshua Heyes on the tag. He certainly didn't want anyone else asking what the first H stood for.

Even before Heyes could turn to walk down the hall, a tall young man with a neat mustache came up to his side. He had a name tag on, too, identifying him as a Drexel graduate student. "Did I hear him say H. Joshua Heyes?"

Heyes felt himself tense automatically, as if the young man was a bounty hunter. The ex-outlaw forced himself to relax. "Yes. I'm Heyes."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Heyes. I'm Bill Holman. I just graduated here and hired on to teach at Boston University."

Heyes shook the new professor's hand. "Congratulations!" Heyes did his best not to be openly jealous of the younger man. Holman had just gotten what Heyes himself wanted so desperately and hadn't gotten near yet. Most of his applications had, thus far, been ignored.

"Congratulations to you, too, Mr. Heyes!" returned Holman, reaching out to shake Heyes' hand.

"For what?"

"Your article in the Journal of Mathematical Inquiry."

Heyes smiled in pleasure "Thank you! Have you really already read it? It just came out."

Holman responded enthusiastically. "It's great! Your understanding of explosive force should really save lives. I read it the first day the journal came – day before yesterday."

"Thanks!" Heyes smiled, but he was still worried in the back of his mind. That someone knew his professional name and admired his work was great. But what would the man think if he learned about Heyes' past?

"Rich, come here and meet Joshua Heyes!" called Holman to a stout young man coming from the registration desk.

Holman's friend hurried over, calling out, "Wow, the ballistics and explosives man from Columbia?"

Holman told his friend, "Yes, here he is in person. Mr. Heyes, this is my friend Rich Cropsey, brand new MA from Penn State." Heyes shook the hand of another young man congratulating him.

"Good to meet you, Cropsey, and congratulations" said Heyes. "What's your specialty?"

As they spoke the group went into the next room where coffee was being served. Another man, a tall balding man who looked about Heyes' age, came over. He asked, "Cropsey, Holman, who's this with you?"

"This is Joshua Heyes from Columbia – the guy with the new ballistics article," said Cropsey. "Mr. Heyes, meet Professor Prendergast from Penn State."

Prendergast smiled broadly. "Well, well! I'm delighted to meet the new star in the field. I see you're presenting tomorrow, Heyes. I'll be there."

"Thank you, sir," said Heyes happily, "That's one in the audience."

Prendergast laughed. "Forget the sir, Heyes. I hope you enjoy speaking to crowds – I'm guessing you'll have the seats full."

Heyes smiled broadly. "Wouldn't bother me. I know what to do with a full house." He mimed spreading a hand of cards, making a pun of it.

Prendergast said, "You've broken on top with that sensational ballistics article, Heyes. But that introductory stuff with the article doesn't tell me much, besides the degrees and honors. Where were you before Columbia?"

"New York City. Where are you from, Dr. Prendergast?" Heyes tried to divert attention away from his own background.

Prendergast laughed. "With that accent? You're no New Yorker! I'm from Brooklyn and I got my degrees at the State University, so I ought to know."

"You're right. I'm from Kansas – just got to New York six years ago. What about you, Cropsey, Holman? Where are you boys from?" Again, Heyes tried to deflect questions about his past.

The group sat down and began to hear about Cropsey's Philadelphia roots. He turned out to already know Neal George, Heyes' fellow Columbia student. And then the talk went to Heyes' new article. Soon it was time for the first presentation, so they all went in to sit together and hear about the latest discoveries in geometry. With new friends around him who respected his work, Heyes felt like he was in hog heaven. But he worried how long it could possibly last. If he ran into anyone who had seen him when he was using the name of Joshua Smith, he would have some fast talking to do.

Sure enough, as the group stood up after the morning sessions, Heyes saw a Harvard student named George Jones coming over. The ex-outlaw had first met Jones at a scholarly conference when he had still been an underclassman. Joshua Smith, as he had been introduced then, had told Jones a fair amount about his past, but certainly nothing that would hint at his outlawed status or his real name.

Heyes backed away from his new friends as gracefully as he could, trying to keep them from meeting Jones and comparing notes. But it was not to be. Before Heyes could get more than a couple of steps from Holman, Cropsey, and Prendergast, Jones said, too loudly for them to possibly avoid hearing him. "Smith! Good to see you again. Huh - you picked up the wrong name tag. If that fellow Heyes thinks you're trying to impersonate him, he'll sure make trouble. He just came out with a big article that's the talk of the conference. And I hear he's not a man to cross." Heyes paused for a moment to figure out what to say to all this.

"What are you talking about, Jones?" asked Cropsey. "This is Joshua Heyes. Between sessions we've been talking about his article."

Jones starred at Cropsey and reacted with hostility. "I beg your pardon? I'm not an old man forgetting names. I met Smith three years ago. He stayed in my dorm room at a conference at Harvard."

"You're crazy, Jones!" said Holman, "He's Joshua Heyes - H. Joshua Heyes. Look at the name tag!"

At that moment, Charlie Homer came up to the group. "What's the controversy, Heyes? These boys causing my favorite protégé trouble?" Everyone looked at the highly respected and well known Professor Charles Homer.

"No, Charlie," said Heyes, shame-facedly. "It's my fault. Gentlemen, it turns out that you're both right. When Jones here met me, I was using another name – Joshua Smith. Heyes is my real name. Jones, I'm sorry to have deceived you. You were very decent to me when I stayed with you."

"Why would you need to use a false name, Joshua?" asked Jones suspiciously.

Heyes reached up and carefully straightened his name tag so the initial H came into view. He spoke softly, but he couldn't hide that he was getting truly sick of dealing with his name. "Why in hell do you think a man named Heyes was using an assumed name? It's called an alias, gentlemen. I used it for more than seven years to help me avoid getting arrested or shot. Not that it always worked real well in either direction." Charlie's face fell as he saw the shock on the faces around his favorite student.

"All those bullet scars . . ." whispered Jones in awe, thinking of what he had glimpsed when Heyes had been changing into his night shirt three years before.

The truth was dawning now on the men Heyes had hoped would be his new friends. Holman began to add it up. "You studied with Charlie Homer at Columbia. You have little hesitations in your speech – aphasia, I guess. You have what looks like a bullet wound on your temple. And you used an alias. We've all read the newspapers, Heyes, and we know they get things wrong. Considering your academic specialty, I can see how they messed it up. You don't work in physics like that article about the murder trial said, but something very close on the math side . . ."

Heyes put his hands part way up almost as if someone had a gun on him. "Yes, gentlemen. I admit it. I took the middle name just recently. But it isn't intended as a lie. It's just to give me half a chance. My name is Hannibal Joshua Heyes."

Heyes looked around the group of men who had just heard his full name for the first time. They all stepped back involuntarily. Only Charlie Homer stood firm. The former outlaw stood with his legs a bit apart and his right hand unconsciously cocked by his hip, like a gunfighter facing a rival in the middle of a western street. His voice went hard, challenging the men before him. "Anybody got a problem with that?" Seeing the dismay in the faces around him, Heyes turned on his heel. "I won't force anyone to accept me," he said as he began to walk away.

"Where're you going, Heyes?" asked Professor Prendergast. "Have you gotten a lunch invitation that much more attractive than ours?"

Heyes turned around in surprise. "What? You mean you guys don't mind being seen with me?"

"Why would we mind being seen with one of the new leaders in our field?" asked Cropsey. "We'd be proud to be seen with you, Mr. Heyes."

"Really?" Heyes was amazed. "I've gotten snubbed pretty badly in a dean's office because of my past. And I'm not staying at the hotel where everyone else here is. They threw me out. That's not the only place that's thrown out Hannibal Heyes. So yeah, I don't expect people to like me once they know about my past."

"I'll back you up any way I can, Mr. Heyes," said Holman. "Personally, you're my hero."

Heyes shook his head. "Grow up. A grown man shouldn't have a dirty outlaw as a hero. If you still need a good example, find someone worthwhile."

Holman's eyes blazed. "My hero isn't a dirty outlaw! And I think he's very worthwhile. They tell me he's one of the finest mathematicians in the world. If anybody gives you a hard time, Mr. Heyes, call on me. I'll come running."

"Me, too!" said Cropsey

"I wouldn't want your past to doom your future, so long as you stay straight," said Prendergast, who wasn't openly worshipful as his younger colleagues were.

Charlie Homer only smiled. Heyes knew where his former advisor and dear friend stood. Jones of Harvard was the only one of the young men standing there who didn't speak up with his support.

"I'm sorry, Jones," said Heyes. "I wouldn't blame you for wanting to forget all about me after I used a false name with you."

Jones seemed to be still trying to figure out how he felt. "But everything else you told me was the truth, right?"

Heyes nodded solemnly. "It was. I was real careful about that. I always have been since the Kid and I went straight."

Jones was being won over. "Like the judge at your trial said, I don't blame a man for wanting to stay alive."

"That aphasia doctor of yours at the trial sure had some great things to say about how hard you worked and what a decent guy you are," said Cropsey. There were nods all around.

Heyes looked at the circle of men standing around him. He was totally taken aback that so many people knew so much about him. "I don't believe it. It was in the papers even where you were? And you guys bothered to read those stories?"

"Yes," said Prendergast, "You were a big story, coast to coast. You made quite a hit. Didn't you know?"

"No," said Heyes, chuckling wryly, "They didn't exactly bring me the morning papers in the Lewis and Clark County Jail or the Wyoming State Penitentiary."

Jones said, in triumph, "But I knew it! I knew it! I knew it all along!"

"What?" Heyes turned to him, mortified. "I gave myself away that bad?"

Jones laughed. "You've got me wrong, Heyes. I didn't have a clue who you were when you visited Harvard, though I knew you had a colorful past with those bullet scars you have. No – what I meant was I knew the Devil's Hole gang had to have had a top logistics man doing math. No way you guys could've done all that efficient stealing without a man who knew math and knew it well!" There were smiles all around. The importance of mathematics, even for outlawry, was something in which these men took pride.

Heyes grinned and bowed, letting some western flavor into his voice and his grammar for the amusement of his new friends. "I thank you, sir! That's right nice of you. Now let's go get lunch. This retired outlaw is getting mighty hungry and you all must be, too. It's just a good thing the Kid ain't along. He'd eat more than the rest of us put together." The circle of mathematicians laughed.

"You haven't seen Cropsey with a plate yet, Heyes," chuckled Holman softly as his stout colleague blushed.

They sat down to lunch in the elegant restaurant at the conference hotel. Once the waiter left the table Heyes leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "Gentlemen, can I ask you a favor, please? Could you please not tell the people here about my past? I'd like to be able establish myself in mathematics without all the outlaw stuff hanging over my head. I know folks will find out in the end. But if I can just have the chance to present tomorrow without guys' having pictures of sheriffs and jails in their heads, I'd esteem that a real favor."

"Of course, Heyes," said Prendergast, with a careful look at Charlie Homer. "Your wishes are perfectly sensible. Right, fellows?" The younger men nodded their agreement.

"Thank you, all of you," said Heyes. "I've had to fight for everything I've gotten in this world. I don't object to that – it's the way the world works. I just prefer when it's a fair fight."

"We know about some of what you had to fight past, Mr. Heyes," said Holman. "I mean, we did read about your trial. I can surely respect a man who's climbed out of as deep a hole as you have."

Heyes nodded silently. He supposed the younger man meant the loss of his family and his being shot in the head. He hated to have strangers know about such things, but he guessed he would have to get used his troubles' being common knowledge all over America.

That afternoon, Heyes sat with Charlie and his new friends listening to some sessions by young graduate students. The first speaker of the afternoon was a skinny youth who appeared to be a teenager. He looked nervous. The hall was a large one, more than half empty, but still there must have been at least 75 people in attendance. The young speaker looked up at the crowd and was thrown by it. He stuttered and lost his place and was slow in finishing his paper. As the speaker finished and returned to this seat, Cropsey laughed softly. "Poor kid. Probably has never spoken to more than a classroom full of guys in his life. I'm just glad the place isn't full. That would really bother him."

Heyes smiled and nodded along with his fellow recent graduates. But inside, he fretted. He had never spoken to more than a classroom full of people himself. The conference at Harvard had been a small one; no more than twenty-five people had been in the seats when Heyes had spoken. He had spoken at a couple of other gatherings, but they hadn't been very large, either. He hoped the full hall Prendergast had promised him wouldn't throw him. That would be really embarrassing for a man that much older than most new MA graduates. And if word of his past got out, it would be truly humiliating. Heyes just hoped this wouldn't be the moment when the New York University dean got his revenge.

Heyes arrived in the morning with his paper in hand, ready for his presentation. It was nice to see his new friends in seats near the front of the hall, with Charlie Homer there also. Heyes' heart thumped as he saw the room filling up. For the first speaker, there must have been 150 people in the seats, and the man got a nice ovation. Then it would be Heyes' turn. During the break between speakers, more and more people filed in. The seats were filling up and the hall echoed with the many discussions carried on. The room held, Heyes' quick calculation told him, 200. He had to wait to speak because there were so many people coming in. He really worried that they were being attracted by his notoriety. He heard no word of anything but his article, but he couldn't hear what men were saying beyond the first few rows. The seats were all full, all the way back. More men came and stood in the back of the room. Heyes swallowed hard. He would debut as a professional academic speaker in front of a standing room crowd. That was a rare thing, from what he had heard. He recognized Aldy Clarksdale waving to him from the standing section. Heyes chuckled at the irony as he hurriedly wrote his equations on the blackboard. He turned. Charlie Homer stepped to the podium and gave Heyes an encouraging smile. The room fell silent.

"Gentlemen, and I am glad to see a couple of ladies, my name is Charles Homer. I teach at Columbia University. I would like to introduce to you the finest student I've ever worked with in more than thirty years in the classroom. He's had a lot of hard knocks in his life, but he keeps doing more than is asked of him instead of less. He started out in a one-room school house and then that got burned down, but he never stopped trying to learn. Now we've been lucky enough to have him at Columbia for his B.A., which he earned summa cum laude, and his M.A. during which he earned the award for the top teaching assistant at the University. Now he's got a new article in the Journal of Mathematical Inquiry which I hope will be the first of many publications. Mr. Heyes is revolutionizing our understanding of explosive forces and the calculations to guide us in directing them safely and effectively. Please welcome H. Joshua Heyes."

He was greeted by little more than the usual tepid applause that greets an unknown quantity at a conference. Heyes stood and turned to face his jam-packed audience. The speaker took a deep breath. This was his moment. Would he fall apart? Would his notoriety destroy this opportunity? He felt his blood pounding in his ears.

It was exciting to be able to share his ideas with this attentive, knowledgeable crowd. Heyes stiffened his middle so he could project to so large a hall. His voice boomed out over the crowd. Soon, they were hanging on his every word as he outlined his ideas for the equations needed to calculate the correct charges and blast shields for dynamite explosions in the field. Or were they? It was hard to tell from so silent a crowd. He did think he heard the sound of notes being taken. Heyes concluded by exhorting his fellow mathematicians to make sure the practical engineers in the field listened to them; only by working together could they save lives. He thanked the crowd for their attention. There was moment of silence. "Well?" thought Heyes. He wasn't sure if a word of what he said had gotten through.

The applause began. And it built. Heyes nodded his thanks and they clapped harder. Heyes gave the crowd a little bow and they clapped harder and some stood. Hannibal Joshua Heyes grinned in delight. He was a success. He left the stage, shaking the hands of friends and strangers as he went back to his seat. Not a word was said about any outlaw – only about the debut of a new authority in mathematics. The crowd began to settle for the next speaker, but a buzz of excited conversation continued for a while. Charlie Homer shook Heyes' hand. "You did yourself and Columbia proud, Heyes. Good work!" Heyes beamed. He had triumphed without hurting anyone. His infamous past had had nothing to do with it; this success belonged to H. Joshua Heyes and to him alone. His words might even help to keep people safe. It sure felt good.

Heyes had lunch with Charlie Homer, Aldy Clarksdale, his three new friends from Pennsylvania, and several men who had attached themselves to the popular new man in the field. The table was loud with enthusiastic technical discussions punctuated with exclamation and even laughter. These men loved math as much as Heyes did, and enjoyed it as much. These were his people.

As they were finishing up with cups of coffee, yet another young man in a suit hurried up to Heyes. "Excuse me, Mr. Heyes, but I've heard a rumor. Are you Hannibal Heyes, the outlaw?" There was a breathless pause in the discussions at the table. Curious eyes looked over from the table next door.

"He's Joshua Heyes the mathematician. Whatever else he may have been before that doesn't matter, does it?" asked Professor Prendergast. "Come on, Heyes, you haven't answered Clarksdale's question about blast shields." The young man at Heyes' side looked puzzled, but he listened as Heyes answered the question authoritatively. Someone pulled up a chair and the new young man sat down to join the discussion. Mathematical debate ruled the table and the room.

*Historical Notes – Drexel University in Philadelphia wasn't actually founded until 1891 and then it didn't grant degrees until the 20th century, so pardon my historical liberties there. I boxed myself in long ago by not looking up the history when I first put a character, Neal George, in school at Drexel. I apologize to NYU for giving it an evil dean of mathematics who is entirely fictional. Somebody had to play the heavy. New York University's Gothic Revival building at Washington Square, however, did exist in the summer of 1891, which is the time portrayed here. It no longer stands. The Journal of Mathematical Inquiry is my invention.