After Cat Curry left the room where her distressed husband lay, she found the hotel busboy and asked him to go down the street to get the doctor. She put her head back into the back room. "Jed, I'm having Bruce get Doc Grauer for you."
Curry growled, "I don't need the doc." He crossed his arms and glared at his wife as he leaned against a pillow propped up at the head of the bed.
"You fell out of that chair with a broken leg. You could have hurt it more. We'd better have the doc look at it." Cat's tone was firm and crisp.
"Don't baby me, woman. I don't need a doctor."
Cat countered, "You've got to be bruised up from that fall, at the least. I already asked the doc to come."
"I can live with a couple of bruises." Curry refused to see what his wife was driving at.
Cat burst out, "Jed, do I have to spell it out? If the people in town see the doctor come, they'll figure you're hurt. If Kyle hurt you, then it'll be harder to believe that you . . ."
Curry cut her off, snapping angrily. "I get it, Cat. Heyes and I have pulled plenty of cons. I know how to make people think what we want 'em to think. Alright. I'll let him look at me. But it don't mean I like it."
"Jed," pleased Cat, "an assault on you, or resisting arrest, or whatever they want to call it – it can't make much difference to Kyle's record. It's nothing compared to all those armed robbery charges."
Curry didn't dignify this with an answer.
Doc Grauer arrived while Sheriff Curry was still fuming. The doctor knocked on the door and called, "Can I come in, Jed?"
"Sure." Curry cut off the one syllable so it sounded anything but inviting. The doctor came in to find the deeply unhappy man sitting up in the big brass bad.
Grauer was, as usual, calm and sensible. "Well, Sheriff, so you got catapulted out of your chair. Did it hurt your broken leg?"
"Nope, it don't feel like it. It's in that big cast."
"Be honest with me, Jed. Something hurts – I can see that."
Curry grimaced. The doctor was right. "Not my leg - my ass."
The doc suppressed a smile. "I'll bet. Let me have a look."
"You ain't gonna strip off my pants and look at my ass," declared the Kid, sitting up straighter.
"Ain't I, though?" said the doctor, drying mocking his friend of six years. "Jed Curry, I've seen plenty of men's asses in my time. Yours is no different."
"Yeah, it is. It's mine."
"And I've seen it before."
"It's black and blue now, but it ain't changed otherwise. Take my word for it."
"Stop throwing a fit and let me have a look." The doctor kept his tone casual, but he wondered if there was actually something to worry about.
"I ain't throwing a fit. I'm just sore down there. I don't want nobody to touch it."
Dr. Grauer reassured his friend the sheriff, "I'll be gentle with your tender parts. I might be able to make it less sore – did that ever occur to you?"
"Alright." Curry stared combatively at his doctor. "Come on – give a man his dignity. You could at least turn your head while I take down my pants. It's gonna take a minute."
"Have it your way, Sheriff. I'll turn my head."
After Doc Grauer had looked over his friend the sheriff, he went to see Cat in the kitchen. Lunch had been served and the sheriff's pregnant wife was sitting down to rest. She looked concerned. The doctor sat down on a ladder-back chair beside the sheriff's wife and said, reassuringly, "Cat, he's fine. A little bruised and I think he might have cracked his coccyx, but there's nothing to worry about."
"His what?" Mrs. Curry had never heard of that portion of the anatomy and she wasn't eager to have anything on her husband cracked.
"His tail bone – the very last bones in his back. It'll be real sore for a while and you might have to make a round cushion for him with the center out, but it won't cause any real trouble. Did he know that man who got away?"
Cat gazed in distress at her old friend the doctor. She nodded. "Is everyone talking about it out there, Doc?"
The doctor nodded. "What do you think? A notorious outlaw just escaped a real famous sheriff. Of course the town's buzzing. The sheriff, however, isn't saying much. You know better than I do how he's really doing; I mean, other than physically."
"He just sent a deputy after a good friend. How do you think he feels? What I want to know is what the town's saying. Do they think . . . well . . .?"
"Do they think Jed let him go? Some do, some don't. It's causing arguments. If he didn't have the broken leg, it would be a lot more obvious. And it's not like Kyle Murtry doesn't have a reputation. Having me here will probably help Jed's case with the town. With the law I'd guess it's going to depend on who, if anybody, wants to take action. I'll go have a drink out front and let you know if I hear anything that might worry you."
Mrs. Curry touched the doctor's shoulder. "And make it real clear why you're here – to see my poor, battered husband."
"Sure, Cat." Dr. Grauer gave the worried wife an encouraging smile. He appreciated that if the community saw this incident the wrong way, it could disastrous for his friend's career and his family.
Cat wasn't done with the doc yet. She looked searchingly into his eyes. "Thanks, Doc. But what do you think? I didn't see it happen and he won't tell me much."
Dr. Grauer looked into Cat's blue eyes; he wasn't hiding anything. "He didn't tell me a lot, either. I think Jed Curry is a decent man who was boxed into an impossible spot. He didn't move any faster than he had to. But he sent a good deputy after Murtry. There are plenty of ex-outlaw-lawmen who would have helped that old friend get away instead of doing anything to catch him. That kind of thing happens a lot out in these parts and you know it."
"Yes. I hope people remember that."
"People are unpredictable creatures, but they do like your husband. He's proven himself. He'll be fine – you'll see." Cat still wasn't sure if the doctor was right, or was just hoping that he was.
As the doc walked out of the back room and into the bar, it seems as if every eye in the place was trained on him.
"So, Doc, how's Jed Curry? Was he hurt?" asked Joe from behind the bar in a low voice. The noisy bar sudden fell quiet. The bartender wasn't the only one who wanted to know the answer to that question.
"Beer, Joe. Yeah, he was bruised up some. But he'll be fine. He's a tough guy." The doctor sipped quietly on his drink.
"So – Kyle Murtry hurt him? The guy who used to be his boss?" asked an out of work coal miner.
"Yeah, he did." The doctor wasn't giving away any more information than he had to.
"Jed Curry hasn't ridden with the Devil's Hole Gang in seven years, you know that," said a store keeper who had come in on his lunch break to get the gossip. "But what did the sheriff tell you, Doc?"
"Not much," was the doctor's terse answer. "But as his doctor, let me tell you - he's got a broken leg. There wasn't much he could do against an able-bodied robber. The sheriff sent his deputy after Murtry and he hasn't heard back. That's all I know."
"He's Kid Curry – he could have killed that man Murtry easy enough, if he'd wanted to!" said a mine owner's assistant who had left his office in search of gossip.
"Murtry's just a thief – not a murderer," said the bartender. "The sheriff don't kill without need and you know it, Dick. Neither do any of the guys from his days at Devil's Hole."
"Kid Curry could have found a way to stop that criminal if he'd wanted to," said a stranger. "They say he can do about anything. And why was the thief back there alone with him in the first place?"
"Well I say . . .!"
The argument continued apace as the doctor finished his beer and went out the back way. Curry could hear much of the debate through the door, as could his wife. It was hard for either one of them to get a lot of work done.
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As customers were finishing up eating lunch, there was another knock on Jed Curry's door. He cursed to himself.
"Who is it?" barked the sheriff.
"Al Kelly."
"Come in." Curry didn't sound cheerful. His second deputy found the sheriff in his rolling chair, leaning over his desk, working on sheriff paperwork. He was uncomfortable and he wasn't hiding it real well.
"Hi, boss," said the young man from Wyoming. "How are you? Did that guy hurt you?"
"I'm fine. You heard anything back from Billy yet?" The grimace on the sheriff's face as he turned to face his deputy belied his words.
"No. Not a peep. I've got Hank watching the office. I'm gonna go check the telegraph office before I go back." The young blonde looked probingly at the sheriff.
"Yeah?" asked Curry in irritation.
"Boss, did you know that guy Murray?"
"Murtry. Yeah, I know him." Curry carefully corrected the verb tense his deputy had used. Kyle wasn't past tense yet, at least so far as Jed knew.
"From Devil's Hole?"
"Yeah."
"Boss . . ."
"Spit it out, Al."
"If we catch that guy, what do you want us to do?"
"Book him and send him to Denver, of course. Watch him close – he's broken out of half a dozen jails."
"But boss, didn't you help in some of those jail breaks?"
"Yeah. He's my friend. Or he was. That don't make a difference, now. He's wanted in this state. I'm a sheriff. What else do you want to know?"
"Nothing, boss. I'll get back now. See you later." The deputy turned and went out the door.
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After a quiet dinner, the Curries lay in bed together. Cat could feel how tense her husband still was. She rubbed his bare shoulders. "Jed, Billy still hasn't found Murtry. He's gone on to the next county. Do you think Kyle will really get away?"
Kid Curry lay silently in the dark for a long, long time. His wife began to despair that he would ever answer. Finally, he whispered, "I hope so."
"You don't have to whisper with me. I won't give you away, darling."
"I know – but you never know who's where in a hotel."
"Jed, there're nobody outside that door to overhear us. You let him get away. I know you did."
Curry nodded in the darkness, unwilling to say it aloud.
"Are you sure he knew you wanted him to get away?"
Jed put his arm around his wife and held her against his bare chest. He spoke very softly into her ear. "He ought to know."
Cat questioned her husband anxiously, "But did you tell him straight out?"
"I couldn't. Honey, you've met Kyle. You know how he is. You never know what he could say – to a sheriff, another outlaw – to anybody. 'Kid Curry let me go. Kid Curry is still my friend.' It would get around. The sheriffs would turn on me – maybe turn me in. And they'd be in the right, I guess."
"No! They can't arrest you for being decent to a friend. Or could they?"
Curry stayed silent. Cat finally said, "So you had to be the mean sheriff. That's hard."
"I had to. Wasn't no other way. Cat, sweetie, I love you. I love that baby and I haven't even met him. Or her." He placed a gentle hand over where the baby was growing. "I can't take chances with you two. And besides, Kyle can look after himself. He's real slippery."
Cat just breathed for a moment, feeling her husband's breath and heartbeat against her bare back and side. "But he can't come back here. Not ever again."
The Kid breathed tensed up again. "No. I couldn't let him think he'd be welcome. Folks remember him from when he was here before. They know we didn't turn him in then. To have him come around again and let him stay and feel welcome – I can't afford to do it. But . . ."
"I know, Jed. I know." There was quiet for a while as the loves kissed and caressed each other in the darkness.
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Coming out of the sheriff's office in Rawlins, Wyoming, Heyes glanced cautiously around to see if anyone was onto his identity. Wearing his real name openly made just walking down the street problematic in a whole new way from the alias days. Heyes saw a couple of dusty cowboys in front of the nearest saloon turn to watch him. They looked away when they noticed the sharp gaze of the ex-outlaw. The men walked away quickly, but when they met up with some other men, the group stopped to talk. And they kept looking toward Heyes.
"Damn," muttered the man the strangers were watching. He added aloud to Jake Hood, "I'll go change in the bath house and meet you at the stable in a few minutes."
"Maybe I'd better wait outside the bathhouse for you," said Jake, watching another group of attentive men going into another saloon across the street. "I can watch some of your stuff so you don't have too much to carry in. I kinda' suspect those guys over there know who you are. They won't keep it a secret. Somebody might find it awful tempting to try for a souvenir while you're down to your underwear."
Heyes snorted, "Those folks on the train and in the sheriff's office spread the word like one cow starts a stampede. I knew they would. Thanks for the offer – I'll take you up on it. I'll take my suitcase with my clothes in it and you can take the briefcase. Watch that thing like a hawk and keep your hands on it every second! I need those papers. I'd better not come out and find all my stuff gone and you with it." Heyes winked at the young cowboy.
"I'll watch your stuff," promised Jake solemnly. "Until you're in just your drawers; then I'll run off with the lot," he winked back at Heyes.
"You ever seen a real mad outlaw in just his drawers and a gun? Not a pretty sight," laughed Heyes as he walked into the bathhouse.
Man behind the counter at the bathhouse who wore a battered derby and chewed at the stub end of a noxious cigar. He asked, "What can I do for you?"
Heyes looked around the place skeptically. He'd been in nastier bath houses, but not many. There was an overflowing spittoon right by his feet and he was sure he saw a mouse scurry by in the shadowy hall. And it was clear that this one doubled as a brothel. "I just need a place to change. What'll that cost me?"
"Two bits'll cover it," said the cigar-chomper, holding out his hand. "No more than ten minutes, please."
A sign on the wall said, "Check your fire arms at the desk. No more than twenty minutes for a bath." Apparently, changing fell into a different category than a bath for both items mentioned on the sign, since the man behind the counter said nothing about Heyes' gun.
"For two bits extra, I'll come help you," joked a stout, badly-made up woman carrying a stack of yellowed towels.
Heyes' eyes sparkled with fun as he replied to the trollop. "I think I can manage, but thanks all the same, honey."
A man walking in off the street got in line behind the ex-outlaw. He craned his head for a better look at the man in front of him. "Say, you're Hannibal Heyes, ain't you?" he asked loudly.
"So what if I am?" snapped Heyes, his good humor vanishing. A dirty bath house was not his favorite place to be exposed. The man behind him took a quick step back, not eager to annoy the infamous outlaw.
"Oh, I'll scrub your back for free, Hannibal," cooed the woman with the towels, ogling the handsome celebrity with increased appreciation.
Another woman, pulling up her stockings as she exited a small room where evidently more than bathing had taken place, turned to giggle at Heyes. "So, what's an outlaw look like without his pants? I'd like to find out, sweetie."
"You'd have to ask my wife, and she ain't tellin'," cracked the man she was eyeing lustfully.
"If you pay me a dollar extra, Heyes, I'll let you out the back way and not tell anyone," said the man behind the counter in a stage whisper.
"I am not that much of a fool," hooted the man everyone was staring at as another customer entered. "Whatever I pay you, somebody's gonna top it to point me out. I'll keep my money and take my chances."
Heyes exchanged a quarter for a key and tried to ignore the curious gazes all around him. He was disappointed but not really surprised to find that what he had to change in wasn't a real room – it was a wooden stall with a door that didn't get very near the floor. Heyes growled at the lady of the evening hanging around just outside the door, but it didn't discourage her much. Heyes faced away from the door and changed into his cowboy duds and gun belt as fast as he could, but he still heard wolf-whistles from the soiled dove perched on a stool close outside the stall. He was just glad there was no need to change his underwear; he didn't want to show any more skin than he had to in this place.
"Oh, Heyes, now you're wanted all over again! I need you baby!" moaned the red-headed whore in her sexiest voice as Heyes took up his suitcase and hurried out of the stall, elbowing past the woman and heading for what he hoped for the bath house's back door.
Jake jumped as the ex-outlaw came up to him from the alley rather than the street. "There's been a lot of gossiping up and down the street while you were in there. I think the whole town knows your real name, now."
"Oh well, I've been stared at by crowds before," said the notorious man in resignation. "But I was wearing a little more when I was on trial for murder." Jake sneaked a peek at Heyes, wondering about what it was like to be that well known and have been through that many trials of various kinds.
The pair of men walked to the stable as rapidly as they could go, with rubberneckers turning their heads to follow the famed outlaw's progress all the way. Any hope Heyes might have had that a change of clothes would cover his trail was clearly in vain.
"Ah, here's my friend Joshua, ready to ride," declared Ranger to the groom who was leading out three saddled horses as Heyes and Hood approached.
"Forget the alias, Ranger," said the groom, holding out a hand for a tip. "We all know the truth. Welcome to town, Mr. Heyes."
Heyes sighed. "Thanks, Mister. I'd be happier to be here if every creature with a pair of eyes wasn't staring at me, from the rats on up to the vultures."
Ranger and Jake Hood both laughed. They were glad their infamous friend was taking the town's curiosity with good humor.
The visiting celebrity wrestled his briefcase into a saddle bag on his rented bay. "I wish I'd brought saddle bags instead of these bags, but I didn't know I'd be riding. What do I owe you for the horse?"
"Never mind that, Heyes. These are all Bull Run horses Jake and I had left with the livery stable. Just a second - I'll cut a piece of rope and tie your suitcase to the other side," said Ranger.
"Never mind," said Heyes. "I've got some thongs – they'll hold better and they're already the right length."
"You always keep thongs on you?" asked Ranger in surprise.
"Yeah. It's an old habit from when I used to have to tie up bounty hunters now and then," admitted Heyes.
Ranger chuckled over this revelation. Seeing his friends all ready to go, he said, "Now, let's mount up, gentlemen and get out of here before the town eats Heyes alive."
As the trio loped away toward Bull Run Ranch in the early evening summer sun, Heyes said, "I'm sure glad you invited me to visit the ranch. I hate to think of how many gawkers I'd have to put up with at a hotel in this town. Or this state."
"Yeah," said Jake Hood, "I hope the hands at the ranch don't give you too much trouble."
Heyes enjoyed the two hour ride out to the ranch. He had almost forgotten how beautiful Wyoming was; he had hardly been in the mood to enjoy it on his last trip. Now, with no threat of prison hanging over him, the vast open spaces seemed somehow more majestic. Finally, the trio trotted under a wooden arch with a roughly carved wooden bull running stretched out across it. The sun was close to setting as they rode onto Bull Run land and headed for the bunkhouse. Heyes smiled, fondly remembering the place. It had been pretty homey for a house filled with nothing but men. He and his partner had spent longer here with fewer fears than in any other place until Louisville. Neither one was very fond of working cattle, but working at Bull Run was a heck of a lot better than most of the other odd jobs they had done. Ranger had been a fair boss, the bunkhouse had been reasonably clean and comfortable, and the drovers had been, by and large, good company.
"Welcome back, Heyes," said Ranger. "I hope the men don't plague you too much. I know you have a lot on your mind. I'll come in with you while you say hello, but then I've got to go see Mr. Williams. I was out in Oregon buying cattle for him. And, of course, my wife is waiting for me. We've got a house right over there." He pointed to a comfy-looking cabin with a shady porch not far from the bunkhouse.
As the trio dismounted and tied up their horses to the rail outside the bunkhouse, the foreman looked carefully at Heyes. "I'm regretting letting you come, Joshua," he said. "You look worried."
Heyes studied the ground and kicked his boots idly. "This is Wyoming. I've done a lot of damage here. If anyone might see fit to give me a good going over, it would be a bunch of Wyoming cowpokes who work for a rich ranch. The Williams family must have suffered from our crimes. I couldn't really blame the hands if they decided to punch my lights out."
"Jake and I won't let the hands gang up on you, Heyes," Ranger reassured his former hand. "Not that you can't defend yourself just fine. But you're not seriously afraid of the boys in there, are you?"
Heyes answered uncertainly, "I don't know. I haven't met many folks in this state since I got out of the Pen. The Kid and I played poker one night at the Bucket of Blood. The boys there were decent to us, but we've got a history there."
"You've got a history here, too, Heyes," said Jake, putting his arm around Heyes' shoulder companionably. "Come on in. The boys will be glad to meet you."
"You never know," said Heyes thoughtfully. "I've learned not to be cocky. Or not as cocky as I used to be."
The young cowboy went first in the bunk house door, interrupting his fellow hands as some ate dinner and others were competing for mirrors while they were shaving or brushing their hair. It was Saturday night, so many of them would be riding into town soon.
"Guys, guys, come over here!" called Jake from the door as the dark-haired stranger stood awkwardly near him. "This is somebody you got to meet."
"Oh, hush up, Jake, boy" groused a man who had cut himself shaving with a straight razor as Jake came in. "We got stuff to do. Welcome back, boss!"
The men greeted Ranger, but most of them ignored the young hand and his guest as they concentrated on their food or their preparations for a night of fun. Heyes exchanged a humorous glance with Ranger. Jake's hopes for a triumphant introduction seemed to be falling flat. Heyes might get away without a lot of attention after all.
"Come on, guys, you're gonna want to meet this man," said Jake. The distracted ranch hands mostly ignored their notoriously enthusiastic fellow cowboy.
Only one hand who was wiping his mouth after having finished dinner came over and asked genially, "Alright, Jake. Who's your friend?"
Jake glanced at Heyes, who just looked back at him calmly. If someone was going to put his notorious name around in this potentially dangerous company, it wasn't going to be Heyes himself. He would allow his enthusiastic friend the pleasure of the unveiling. Ranger stood by watchfully.
"Dave Shorter, allow me to introduce a guy who was a hand here a few years back. Then he was Joshua Smith. Now he uses his real name. Meet Mr. Hannibal Heyes," said Jake as casually as he could manage. His gaze moved around the bunkhouse to catch the reactions to this understated but sensational statement.
"I beg your pardon?" choked Shorter. Dead silence fell and everyone at the dinner table looked up. Shorter stared at Heyes. Within seconds, every hand in the big main room of the bunkhouse was gathered curiously around the three men who had just come in the door. The hands' nervous anticipation was palpable. Heyes began to sweat – what might they do now?
"Maybe you better repeat that, now that you have their attention," said Ranger with a quiet smile at the men who worked under him.
"I said, I'd like to introduce Mr. Hannibal Heyes," announced Jake triumphantly.
There was a sudden outburst of questions and exclamations – too many at once for anyone to understand. Ranger whistled shrilly through his teeth to quiet the men. "One at a time, guys. What about George first?"
"Are you really Hannibal Heyes?" asked the youngest hand present in respectful tones. The men around him tensed.
Heyes nodded silently, with his left eyebrow raised skeptically. He would be fascinated to find out their reactions. It could help him get an idea of what kinds of attitudes he might face if he signed on to teach in Wyoming.
A hand with an Irish accent turned to a blonde man standing near him. "It's an easy claim to make, and just as easy to prove – or disprove. You went out to Heyes' murder trial, Chase. Is this really him?" The hands waited breathlessly for the verdict.
Chase, a fresh-faced youngster no more than 20 years old, stepped in front of the man Jake was introducing. He studied Heyes with care. Then he nodded. Chase extended his hand with a proud smile on his face. "Welcome to Bull Run, Mr. Heyes."
"Thank you," said Heyes quietly, taking the hand offered to him.
All hell broke loose. A good twenty cowboys whooped and whistled. They jumped up and down and jostled competitively to shake the hand and slap the shoulder of the greatest celebrity any of them had ever met or even seen.
"Wow, I seen the President go by on the train once, Mr. Heyes, but you're a lot better than that!" crowed a bowlegged hand Heyes would have thought too mature to be caught up in the excitement. Everyone laughed in agreement. The famous ex-outlaw shook his head in amazement. He tried to keep his composure, but he was soon grinning as widely as any man there as he shook hands and answered questions as fast as he could from all directions.
"Mr. Heyes, when did you ride with Bull Run?" came a question from a man Heyes couldn't even see in the crowd.
"The Kid and I were hands here about seven years ago."
"Who're your friends here?" asked the Irishman.
"I know Ranger and Jake, and Torrance, too. He's still here isn't he? I don't see him in the bunk house."
"He's still on the ranch – just not in the bunk house," said Ranger.
"You were straight when you rode here?" came another question.
Heyes nodded and answered, "Yeah, the Kid and I had gone straight more than a year before that."
"Where'd you get the scars, Heyes?"
"The one on my temple is from a bounty hunter's bullet. The one on my cheek is from some rough guards at the Wyoming Pen. There's a bunch you can't see."
The crowd laughed. Chase said, "I'll bet! How's the Kid?"
"He's a sheriff now, ain't he?" added another man before the former outlaw could answer.
The Kid's partner nodded. "Yeah, he is. He broke his leg chasing a murderer, but his deputy caught the man anyhow. Jed'll heal up fine. He always does."
"Is it true you were studying at a college in New York?" asked the Irishman.
"Yeah, I was. Columbia University. How did you know that?" Heyes was as curious as any of his questioners.
"It was in the newspaper. About your trial, you know," answered Jake.
"You read that? All of you?" The new graduate couldn't conceal his surprise.
The questions kept coming from throughout the riveted crowd of cow hands. "Of course we did! Are you still in school?"
"No. I've graduated now."
"Congratulations!" came a general cry.
"Thanks, gentlemen," said Heyes. "I've got two degrees in math. I'm looking for work."
Yet another man chimed in, "What kind of work, Mr. Heyes? It'd be great to have you back in Wyoming."
"I'm applying to teach college mathematics. I wouldn't mind winding up in Laramie."
That provoked baffled silence for a moment. Heyes might as well have said he was preparing to fly to Mars. "College?" asked the Irishman in open wonder. "No kidding?"
"No kidding. Nobody's said 'yes' yet, but I'm trying."
"That guy Homer who spoke at your trial sure made you sound smart. And that doctor guy, too."
"Yeah. Don't know as we'd want to play poker with you," commented yet another hand. There was raucous but friendly laughter all around.
The knowledge behind the questions made Heyes more than a little anxious. His long history of running made him prefer to keep the public in the dark about his personal business. "All you guys really read all about my trial?"
"Oh, yeah, Mr. Heyes," said a scar-faced hand who looked more than fifty. "We'd draw straws every night to see who got to ride into town early to pick up the morning papers. We had to get there early before they sold out. Everyone in town was reading about the trial. Ranger would read the articles about you out loud to us over supper."
A rugged, bow-legged man took up the tale in a bass voice. "When they put you in prison, we all wore black arm bands."
The scar-faced man added "And when you boys got amnesty, every man jack of us went to a saloon in Rawlins and got roaring drunk to celebrate, didn't we?"
The room was full of nodding heads and cries of "Sure did!"
"Even Ranger?" asked Heyes doubtfully.
The man himself guffawed and clapped his former hand on the back, "Yeah, Heyes, even me. Drunk as a skunk. We were happy for you guys."
"Yeah!" shouted more men than one.
"I appreciate that!" grinned Heyes happily. "I truly do." He had expected some hostility here, but he had encountered none.
"So you both got married to your lady friends?" asked Jake, finally getting a word in with his own friend.
"Yeah, we both married our gals after we got amnesty and I graduated," Heyes told the throng. "And Jed and Cat have a baby on the way."
There were fresh whoops amid the laughter all over the room. Jake exclaimed, "He's fast with more than his gun hand!"
"Tell them congratulations for us!" somebody yelled. "Wish he could have come."
"Now I get to ask one," declared Heyes, turning to stare around him at his eager cowhand audience. "What in thunder do you care? Other than Jake and Ranger here, none of you ever met me before today that I know of. Why do Jed Curry and I matter to you?"
There was quiet as the men thought that one over. But it didn't take long for the sixteen-year-old to pipe up, "We read about you in the papers. And dime novels."
"And magazines," added Jake "One lady author described your smile to a T." The hands laughed again.
"Really?" asked Heyes. "Then I'd say you ought to care about the authors who wrote the good stories, not me and the Kid."
"You mean what they wrote isn't true?" asked a voice from the back row of men crowded around the ex-outlaw.
"How do I know? I never read any of it. I just kind of assumed they were lies, since the authors weren't exactly following us around to find out what really happened."
"You never read about yourself at all?" asked the sixteen-year-old, thunderstruck.
"Well, we did watch the newspapers, of course. We had to know if the law was onto us. And all kinds of stuff we didn't do got blamed on us, so we watched for that kind of thing. But I never could stomach reading all the other stuff about us. For fiction, I prefer Mark Twain or Edgar Allen Poe. Or Shakespeare."
"You read Shakespeare?" The Irishman was dubious.
"Sure. I had a stack of his plays by my bed back at the Hole." The men stared at Heyes in amazement. "Yeah, the Kid thought I was crazy, too. Why am I saying thought – he still thinks it." Everyone around the ex-outlaw laughed warmly. He looked around at what seemed like a whole room of new friends. He could hardly believe it.
"But really, boys, stories or no stories, why do you care about the Kid and me more than other characters?"
"Are you joking, Heyes?" asked the scar-faced hand. "You're ours! When anybody from someplace else thinks of Wyoming, or the West, or even the whole dang United States, who do suppose they're thinking of? You and the Kid! And when we talk big about home to some easterner or foreigner, who do you think we want to be like? You guys!"
There was a loud, rough chorus of agreement from the other hands. Heyes just stood, open-mouthed and dumbfounded. Nothing other than a bullet in the head had ever silenced him like that in his life. Finally he said, "But why? We were common thieves."
"Common? Not hardly, Heyes," said Jake.
The scar-faced man said, "You took from the folks most of the state hates – the rich businessmen who steal our wages from us. The banks. The government."
"Yeah, Heyes, you and the Kid were sticking it to the man! You were our heroes! You still are," said Chase, the man who had travelled all the way to Heyes' trial.
Heyes knew what they meant, yet he was still deeply puzzled by what was appealing about his past. "But we were just stealing. We weren't trying to punish anybody. It's just that they had the money, we wanted it, and so we took it. What's heroic about that?"
"But you never stole from regular folks," said Chase, as proudly as if he was bragging about himself.
Heyes gave a bark of ironic laugher. "No. But only because they didn't have enough money to bother with."
"Come on, other guys did it."
Heyes chuckled. "Yeah, and they got caught. We knew better. Regular folks have eyes and ears. If you rob them, you're taking just as big as chance as you do for a bank haul, but no chance at as much money. It's not worth the risk."
There was a brief, puzzled silence as the crowd of cowhands tried to figure this out.
"But you never killed anybody – or never murdered anybody, at least. Right?" Heyes was startled to realize it was Ranger speaking.
Heyes nodded "Right, boss. We were careful about that. They don't chase you so hard if you don't kill guys. And people are a little nicer to you."
"But come on, it must have been awful hard not to kill men," pressed Ranger. "You have to have had a better reason."
Heyes exhaled hard. "Alright, yes. Our folks were murdered. We hate the guys who did it. We never wanted anyone to feel that way about us."
"Well, that makes you better than common, murdering outlaws," said Chase, the devoted fan.
Heyes raised his hands almost as if he was surrendering. "Alright, that I'll grant you. But don't go thinking we gave money to needy farmers and stuff, 'cause we didn't. We kept it for ourselves."
"Come on, Heyes," needled Jake, "you never gave somebody a nice reward for letting you stay the night and not turning you in?"
"Well, sure, when we had the ready cash, we'd hand out a little dough to somebody who helped us out. A fiver to a farmer wasn't gonna break us. Why not?"
The men were nodding to each other and smiling – yes, their heroes were decent guys. "And didn't you save a little boy from being trampled by a herd of cattle once?" asked Ranger.
Heyes was caught off guard "How'd you know that? That's never been published, has it?"
Chase asked, "I heard it from a trapper once. So it's true?"
The ex-outlaw admitted, "Yeah, it is. Anybody would have done the same. Couldn't let the little guy be killed by a bunch of loco longhorns."
"At the risk of your life when you were on the jump from a sheriff? Not just anybody would do that," said Ranger.
"Well, thanks." Heyes accepted this praise only reluctantly. He kept feeling like he was getting rewards he hadn't earned and that trouble was sure to come of it.
"So you don't deny it?" Jake prodded.
"No, it's the truth. I just did what I thought was right. The Kid did more of that kind of thing than I did – saving ladies from rough guys and stuff like that. He's always had a soft heart."
"Come, on, Heyes, you're a good guy, too!" insisted the Irishman.
The ex-outlaw shrugged. "But for a lotta years, I did stuff that was wrong. I know that now. I admit it. I enjoyed breaking the law; it was like a sport to us. But when we found out how badly that sport was hurting folks, we just had to stop."
"And now you're going straight, you want to help folks with your teaching. You want to help the West. Don't you think that's admirable?" Chase said.
Heyes was blushing by now. "Aw, well, I hope so. I'm trying to help. If anybody will hire me."
"If we can help get anybody to take you on, we will, Heyes." Heyes was pleased to hear this from Ranger himself. And it was clear that he meant what he said. The ex-outlaw gave him a grateful smile.
"Heyes, we're riding into town tonight to have some fun. You got to come with us! We can drink to your new life! You and the Kid!" said the Irishman genially.
Heyes shook his head. "No thanks, gentlemen. I want to rest up for my interview in Laramie. If there's a bunk for me, I'd be grateful. It's been a long trip from New York to Salt Lake and back. And I'll be in Texas before I go home to my wife in New York."
The scar-faced veteran pleased, "Aw, come on, Heyes. Every man in town will want to buy you a drink."
The aspiring professor laughed. "I doubt that, but I'd have to turn them all down. I want to look good to the University of Wyoming and other schools. I can't go around getting drunk."
The Irishman said in his brogue, "Heyes, nobody in Laramie ever has to know. You just come with us and we'll keep it quiet." He winked at their famous guest.
"Oh, right," chuckled Ranger. "I'll believe you guys can keep anything quiet when I see it happen, which I ain't seen, ever. And besides, every man, woman, and child in town figured out who Heyes was before we rode out. Somebody spread the word. He's right that the secret wouldn't last long enough for the Kid to draw." The men roared with laughter at that.
There was a knock on the bunkhouse door. The hands fell quiet and looked as nervously at the door as if they were all outlaws expecting a sheriff. "Aw, it's probably just Torrance," said the oldest hand, referring to the man who had formerly been head hand at Bull Run. "He said he's coming into town with us tonight. He married Eddie Mae Williams, you know, Heyes, so he lives up at the big house now. But he don't forget his old friends."
Ranger opened the door. On the other side was, indeed, the handsome blonde Clarence Torrance. He had hardly aged in the last seven years except for a few added pounds, it seemed to Heyes. And the newly married man was better dressed than the former outlaw had ever seen him, even for a night on the town.
"Come on in, Torrance," said Jake. "Look who we've got visiting us!" He pointed to their celebrated guest while the hands looked on proudly.
"Well, it's, oh, what's your name? Was it Jones?" said Torrance tentatively and without a lot of warmth. He shook Heyes' hand distractedly.
"Smith, actually. Remember how he saved the big house when he realized that you were going to use too much dynamite to drive the ground squirrels out from under the foundation?" asked Ranger.
"Yeah, I remember," said Torrance sourly. "He said I'd have blown up the whole house with the charge I wanted to use. I don't believe it. It just would have driven away those squirrels that were digging up the place."
"That's water under the bridge now," said Heyes. "I'm just glad the place is still standing."
Torrance asked, "What brings you back to Bull Run, Smith? I remember you got out of here kind of fast when you were a hand."
"He was on the run, Torrance," said the Irish hand. "His real name's Hannibal Heyes!" The hands fell quiet to hear Torrance's response.
"What?" the ex-head-hand turned to stare bug-eyed at Heyes in disbelief.
"Yeah," said Heyes, as low key as he could manage in the midst of a bunch of excited cowboys. "You know I've got amnesty now. I'm in the state to interview to be a professor at the University."
"Well, you don't say!" Torrance belatedly began to warm up. He clapped Heyes on the shoulder. "Welcome back to Bull Run! And congratulations on the amnesty."
"Thanks," said the famed ex-outlaw. "Congratulations yourself on snagging Eddie Mae. I remember her as a very fine woman."
The former drover who had vaulted over his boss's head, nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Heyes. Come on up to the house and say 'hello.' I know Eddie Mae will want to see you."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to cause any trouble," said Heyes awkwardly. "I promised Ranger I wouldn't go near the family. You know, with my past. I wouldn't want to frighten the ladies."
Torrance tried to cajole the visiting celebrity. "Come off it, Heyes. Eddie Mae always liked you. More than I wanted her to. Especially after you, well, you know, saved her life by not letting me use all that dynamite."
"But our gang must have hit some train or bank with Williams family money in it, or maybe more than one. I don't know if your in-laws would want me in the house. I wouldn't blame them at all if they didn't." Heyes was more than a little reluctant to break his word to Ranger.
"Eddie Mae would never forgive me if I let you get away without seeing her. About Mr. and Mrs. Williams, well, I'm sure they'll forgive you for the past. You're working hard on the right side of the law now, aren't you?"
Heyes confirmed, "Yeah, I'm doing my best. I'm doing some bookkeeping for a clothing factory – well, a sweat shop, back in New York. And I'm out here applying to teach at the University of Wyoming."
The blonde former cowhand grinned at that. "My father-in-law is on the board, so now you just got to come and say 'hello.' And stay the night in the guest room." He put his arm around Heyes' shoulder and guided him toward the door. The cowhands left behind watched the pair in disappointment, most of them feeling sure they would have eventually convinced Hannibal Heyes to coming drinking with them had their wealthy former colleague not unfairly interveined.
Heyes looked uneasily at Ranger, who reluctantly shrugged. This had all the earmarks of a very awkward situation. But it sounded like the visiting celebrity couldn't get out of it, now. The expectant father of the family's only grandchild wanted him to come, so Heyes would have to come along to the main house where the wealthy Williams family held sway. But he was sure he wasn't going to get anything like as warm a welcome as he had in the ranch's bunkhouse.
*Historical note - the phrase "sticking it to the man" appears hear a few years earlier than it has been recorded in use, but it seems to me to capture the spirit of the thing too well not to use it.
