Heyes sat on the train chugging south toward Texas with his journal open on his lap. He kept looking around self-consciously at the other passengers and the people who came down the aisles down and then. He wondered who might come along and see what he put on the pages. With the cooperation of the hotel employees in Laramie, he felt fairly certain he had made a clean exit from Laramie. No press and no gawkers had been at the station when the surrey dropped him off that morning. The former outlaw had easily blended in with the small crowd at the station. If anyone had spotted him, he had been unaware of it. He was dressed in his old western clothes, with the worn black hat, brown boots, and a wrinkled grey shirt. His suits all needed pressing, but he had plans to deal with that later. Heyes wanted nothing to point him out as anything but an ordinary traveler. He just hoped that no one knew who he was or cared what he wrote.

He wrote the date in July 1891 at the top of the page. Vivid as it was to him now, he knew he might one day forget on what day he had agreed to become a foster father and what day he had interviewed for might be the job that started his new career. "I felt very foolish today when I was interviewing at the University of Wyoming. There I was trying to tell the assistant dean who I was, about my outlaw days, when I've spent the past eight years and more trying to deny all that. I guess I'll never be able to leave my criminal past behind completely. Certainly, I'll never forget it. And I guess, truthfully, I don't want to. I have to admit that. Almost everyone knows who the Kid and I are, or who we were. A lot of people respect me, even if I don't deserve it. A lot of people seem to like me even though they've never met me. There's a real charge in having folks excited to meet me. I'm starting to get used to introducing myself with my real name. But switching over to Joshua Heyes is hard. To have people meet me and just treat me like anybody else is disappointing. I got used to being a celebrity. Of course, when I tell them "Hannibal Heyes," some folks despise me. It's just an exaggerated version of what everyone in this world faces. I can control what I do, at least I can try, but I can't control what other people think. In my con-man days, I tried to control it, and I learned that there's a limit to how much you can do about other people. It's tough enough to deal with myself.

I'm going to be a foster father, or I probably am. And Beth will be a foster. Our foster son is, or used to be, a thief. So I ought to understand him pretty well. But I'm frightened and I'm excited and I'm worried about being a father, too. I've wanted to be a father ever since I could remember. But I've never actually had that responsibility before. When I was with Devil's Hole, yes, I had boys I was in charge of. But if some boy messed up, I could throw him out. When he was gone, he wasn't my responsibility any longer. With a father, it doesn't work that way. I won't be able to get out of my responsibility for Marvin Mosely, or I won't if they let me take him on in the first place. I hope I won't want to get out of it, but when I think of what I was like at that age, I wonder. I do like him and I think he respects me as well as trusts me. We had a decent talk at the home for troubled boys where he is now. I could tell he was pretty over-awed by my name. He'll get used to it, but it will take time. I hope who I am won't make life too much harder for him. I guess it couldn't really get a whole lot worse than it has been for him before now.

He's a skinny little guy, growing fast. I hope the place where he is now is feeding him enough. And now they can't find his mother. He must be grieving. He tries to cover it up, but I know he's worried sick. She might be dead. He doesn't know. I've always known about my parents, when they were alive and when they died. It was bad to know they were dead, seeing the bodies and having to bury them when Jed and I were so young. But maybe that wasn't as bad as not knowing for sure would have been. Mosley doesn't know for sure about either one of his parents. He doesn't even know who his father is or was. And he doesn't know if his mother is alive. I can't imagine what that would feel like. I guess the closest I've ever come was when the Kid and I were apart for those years. It was tough wondering if I'd ever see him again or if he was dead.

Knowing Jed didn't want to see me was hard. I can't ever let Marvin know about that time. I don't want to take a chance on turning him against his Uncle Jed. He needs as many people he can count on as he can get. Me, Beth, Jed, Cat, Charlie, Lom, Jim, Dr. Leutze, NG, Huxtable, Ev Carter, and that's far from all. I've got a long list of folks I can count on, now. I'll be glad to share them all with Marvin. That is, if they want me to share them. They might have a hard time accepting me as a father to a little criminal, but if they do go along he'll have the biggest and best bunch of uncles and aunts any boy ever had. Of course, my old enemies come along with the deal. I just hope none of them will still want to do me in any longer. It's not as though they'd get any reward out of it, other than my blood. I know some men who'd go for that. I'll have to watch my back – and Marvin's back, too.

I remember . . . No, damn it! I'm not going to sit here bitterly looking back. "Let the dead past bury its dead! Act in the living Present!" Longfellow used too many exclamation marks and he's more famous than I am, which is some kind of sin. But sometimes he had it right. I know I need to write down all the facts of my past for posterity – for Marvin and any other kids we have – but not today. Today is for today."

Heyes slammed the book shut. He looked out the window at the mountains rising around him. He could enjoy them now as he rarely had before when he had ridden through mountains at a gallop with a posse on his trail. The former outlaw sat back and enjoyed the scenery. He followed a line of splashing waterfalls down a tall, grey cliff face. He looked for the biggest trees he could find around the train's path. He saw a flock of vultures circling high up in the distance and felt secure, knowing they weren't looking for his carcass or the Kid's.

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A small but encouraging crowd was gathering along the main street of Louisville, Colorado. They were watching a man walk down the street. So why did they care? Well, the man was swinging his way along slowly on crutches for one thing. For another thing, he was their sheriff. And he was also Kid Curry. "So, Sheriff, back to work already?" called the local barber.

"Yeah. It'll take me a while to get to my office, but I'm going," Curry called back good-naturedly.

"Just take it slowly, Jed," said Dr. Grauer from the porch of his office.

"Yeah, Doc," panted the sheriff as he swung carefully forward with his crutches.

"Glad to see you out, Sheriff!" called the sign painter who had put up the new sign over the Sheriff's Office door not too many weeks before.

"Thanks!" said Curry between deep breaths.

A number of middle-aged women of the town were gathered in front of the dry good store, watching the progress of their handsome sheriff. Their stood quietly with their eyes following every inch of Curry's progress. They had been missing seeing the handsome sheriff in the streets of their town.

When he got to the door of the sheriff's office, Jed looked up and saw where someone had drawn a smoking gun on the boards next to his name. He stood and fumed for a moment. Billy Healy was standing on the porch to help in any way he could, so Jed Curry addressed his remark to his deputy.

"Who drew that stupid thing?" demanded the Kid.

"I don't know, boss. Probably some kid. You want I should paint over it?"

Jed smiled. "Nah. It probably was some kid – like I used to be. Let it stand."

Kid Curry really was tired when he had managed to get up onto the board walk and over the threshold of his own office. He hadn't quite gotten to his own desk when the phone rang. He hollered, "Get that, Billy!"

Billy Healy dashed to his boss's desk and picked up the phone. "Louisville, Colorado, Sheriff's Office, Deputy Healy here," he called brightly through the primitive round receiver. "Yes, the sheriff's here. I'll ask."

Billy turned to his boss. "You want to talk to Sheriff Brevort from Boulder?"

"Sure," said Jed Curry. He muttered to himself. "Well, back to work." Quickly, the sheriff of Louisville caught up with the latest on the movement of criminals in the area. After having heard about a few petty thieves and pimps, the Kid asked, "You heard anything new about Kyle Murtry? No? Well, I guess he got out of Colorado. They'll get him up north. Bye, sheriff. Yeah, good to be back. Thanks. Bye." Curry didn't sound very enthusiastic.

As Curry was getting settled, the front door swung opened and Doc Grauer came in. He sat on the worn wooden chair near the sheriff's desk where suspects were usually questioned. The grey-haired doctor smiled at his friend the sheriff. "It's good to see you back here, Jed, where you belong. Thanks for giving my pal the dentist some business. I saw your deputy headed over there this morning. He's got pretty teeth, but I'll bet nobody ever looked at them and taught him how to keep 'em that way."

Curry nodded. "You're right. He's never been to a dentist in his life. But that's not why you came over here, is it, Doc?"

The doctor admitted, "I came to check on you, Jed. How are you after that long walk on the crutches? Any pain or irritation? There's no reason for you to put up with it if there is. If something is rubbing you wrong someplace when you go that distance, I can fix it up for you."

Curry considered this for a moment. "It kind'a rubs under the arms – right there and there. Can you fix that for me?"

The doctor nodded. "Sure. That's a common problem. I'll get you pads for the top of the crutches – fleece usually does it. Or maybe we could try making the crutches shorter?"

Curry shook his head. "No, Doc, not shorter. Then I'd be caught leaning over and you said I shouldn't do that. Just the pads ought to do it."

"Good. I'll be over with the fleece pads in a while. Now you take it easy, Sheriff. Don't try to be back to normal all at once."

Curry glared at the slight, elderly doctor. "You got to stop reining me in, Doc. I got a job to do."

"You can't do it very well if you're hurt. So listen to me and you'll be back on your feet in a few weeks with no problems. Alright?"

Curry sighed. "Alright, Doc. And thanks for doing the fleece stuff for me."

After that, business took over just like on any regular day in the sheriff's office. Curry was busy with paperwork for the next hour and more, catching up on details and coping with the old routines. He made up the patrol schedule for the work. A local woman came in to complain of a loose goat eating the clothes off her clothesline. Al Kelly went out on patrol and came back with a skinny boy of about twelve in handcuffs. "He was pullin' cans off the shelf at the grocer's down the street, boss, and creepin' out quiet-like but Mr. Crowder spotted him" said Kelly. "He'll be in after lunch to sign a complaint."

Curry sighed. As Kelly put the boy in the cage and filled in paperwork, the sheriff muttered to Billy Healy, "Geez, it's sad. I stole food myself, when Heyes and me was hungry as boys. But I guess we got no choice but to lock him up. I hope the circuit judge who comes to try him is a decent guy. I guess I better go talk to the boy, see what I can learn or if I can help him or his family. Help me up on these crutches. Thanks."

While Sheriff Curry was in the back with the young thief, Billy Healy went out on patrol and Al Kelly watched the desk. A few minutes after they heard the south-bound train come in and then leave, there was a knock on the door. A man Healy didn't know came in, wearing an old worn old black cowboy hat and carrying a valise and a suitcase. "What can I do for you, sir?" asked the deputy.

The man politely removed his hat. His dark eyes darted nervously around the office. He was glad not to see anyone other than the deputy. Healy could see that he was sweating. The stranger spoke in a quiet baritone, "I've got amnesty on some felony charges. I'm here to check in with you."

"I see," said Kelly, digging through his desk to find the right form to fill in. "And what's your name?"

"Heyes!" cried Sheriff Curry gladly as he limped up behind his deputy. "You didn't tell me you were coming!"

The sheriff's partner laughed gladly. "I've got to check in someplace while I'm passing through Colorado on my way to Texas; it might as well be here." Heyes dropped his luggage and went to shake his partner's hand.

"Kelly," said the sheriff with a happy glow in his blue eyes, "meet my partner. Heyes, this is Al Kelly. You know, the man you wangled past the governor of Wyoming. That was you, wasn't it, Heyes?"

"Well, I guess it might have been," said Heyes with a friendly wink at the deputy who got to his feet to shake the hand of his boss's partner. "It's good to meet you, Kelly."

"Wow, Mr. Heyes, it's a treat to meet you in person," said the blonde deputy with a broad smile. "I surely am thankful to you for helping me out. It's not as though my record was exactly perfect."

Heyes couldn't help grinning at the young man's awed reaction. But the retired outlaw's voice got very quiet. "Hey, it's better than my record by a long way. And don't mention it, Kelly. I mean really, don't. It might not look good for you or me, either. But I couldn't exactly let my partner be stuck with just one deputy when he couldn't even walk, now could I?"

Al Kelly looked with open curiosity at the famous former outlaw whose name had been paired for so many years with that of his boss. "But how did you know the governor would listen to you, Mr. Heyes?"

As his partner sat back down, Heyes said, "Drop the mister. I'm not your boss. And I didn't know if the governor would listen to me or not. He's a reasonable guy, so I thought it couldn't hurt to try."

Heyes looked down at the deputy's desk, "Well, Kelly, it's probably better for Jed to do that form with me. He'll already know most of what goes in those blanks."

Jed Curry gestured for his deputy to hand him the form. The sheriff used a fountain pen to fill in the blanks. He tried to write very clearly now that he was a sheriff and had so many official forms to fill out. "Name and address I know well enough. And charges you got amnesty on. Errand in the state I guess is transit from Wyoming to Texas for purposes of applying for employment, right partner? I've got your telephone number on that card you gave me. Got it around here someplace." He dug around his desk drawer. "Oh, here it is. Guess your rehabilitation is coming along pretty good, huh? If two college degrees don't please 'em, nothing will. How long you plan to be in town?"

Heyes watched his partner filling in the form. "Just overnight, I'm afraid. I'll take the 8:06 south in the morning. I'm on my way to Denton, Texas. They've got a Normal School started up – you know, a college just for teachers. I don't suppose Governor Hogg will let me have a chance at any school in Texas, but I'm required to try. Gosh, Jed, you don't suppose you could take off that awful thing while I'm here, do you? Makes me sweat even now."

"Take what off, Heyes?" Curry was truly mystified by the request from his partner.

Heyes pointed at the sheriff's chest. "You know what! That stupid tin badge. Makes me about break out in hives to be in a law office to begin with. And then I got to look at that thing on my own partner. I don't know how you stand it."

Curry laughed and so did Al Kelly. Their badges were nearly part of them by now. The Kid spoke rather sheepishly, realizing how much he had changed, "I got no choice, Heyes. And I'm used to wearing it. I don't have to look at it – just the folks I arrest do that. But I don't know how you stand all the academic stuff you're going through, yourself. We each got his own little cross to bear, huh?"

Heyes chuckled. "I guess so." He saw the deputy grinning at him in his naturally mocking way. "Yeah, Kelly, those damn badges give me the jim-jams. Your boss ever tell you about the time he and I were deputies? We were supposed to be paid and everything, but we were both all in a sweat, just looking at each other's badges. Man, we almost got locked up for good that time."

His deputy gave Curry a curious look. "No, Heyes, he ain't told me about that one."

"Don't remind me," said the sheriff bitterly. "You took a good 30 years in worry off my life when you had that stuff going on to trap the dirty sheriff and get that judge to take pity on us. And it wasn't like you told me about what you was doing. I just heard you whisper a whole bunch with that murderer, what was his name? Ribs, I think."

It was easy to see from his sparking eyes that Heyes, for his part, was still proud of his successful plan. "Yeah, it was. And you know damn well I couldn't tell you what I was doing. We were in jail at the time. There were deputies and outlaws from another gang on all sides of us, if you recall."

Curry growled, "I surely do recall, Heyes, every blasted minute of it." His voice suddenly lost its edge – he had business to discuss. "Well, that's it for the form. Here, have a look and make sure it's right. Then sign it, if you would."

Al Kelly was listening closely to all this while he pretended to watch the prisoner. It was one thing to work with Kid Curry. It was yet another thing to observe the Kid as half of the most famous duo of outlaws ever to grace the West. He hadn't know what to expect from Heyes, who was both outlaw and professor. The give and take between the partners had the young man fascinated.

While Heyes inspected the form, Curry commented, "This is weird, ain't it? Havin' me be the law you got to report to?"

Heyes snorted as he studied the paperwork. "Yeah, it sure is. It's like some con or other, 'cept it's real. Long as you don't arrest me, I'm fine." He took up the fountain pen and affixed his bold signature to the document. "Whew! There, I've signed it. Take it away. I'm getting real sick of embarrassing paperwork, from a law office or a university."

Curry filed the form in his desk drawer. Then he asked, "So, Heyes, how'd it go in Utah and Wyoming? I guess you'd have told me already if you had a job."

Heyes ran a nervous hand through his hair and put his hat back on. "It doesn't happen that fast, Jed. They both have a bunch of guys to interview. I might not be the last. I hope to hear in a few days if I've made it through to the next go-round. That would be talking to the president and the board. I think I've got a shot in both places, but not much of one. Nobody questions my qualifications. My mouth gets me in some trouble like it always did. But that idiotic name of mine is the worst. The problem is trust and that's all it is. Do they dare hire somebody who's been wanted for over 20 years, been in and out of a dozen jails, and been tried for murder? They're trying to figure it out." The aspiring academic looked as if he hadn't totally figured it out, either.

But then the darker ex-outlaw gave his partner a special kind of private smile. "But Jed, I've got another kind of news. Good news, I hope."

"Beth expecting?" asked Curry dubiously. He felt sure he would have detected that kind of news already in his partner's face if it had been true.

Heyes shook his head. "No, not yet. But it's in that family sort of direction. You remember I told you about that boy pickpocket I met at the Pen? Mosley?" Curry nodded, looking puzzled. "They let him out of the Pen and put him in a home for boys, but only until he turns 15 in the fall. So the state's asked Beth and me to foster him. Not to adopt him, mind you, just foster him for three years. And that's providing I can get a good enough job to support him. I've said yes and Beth's with me. So you're gonna be a cousin or an uncle or whatever you want to call it this fall, or you probably are. What do you think of that?"

The sheriff stared at his partner in speculative silence for a moment. "I don't rightly know what to think. I ain't never met the boy, after all. I remember guys that age as nothing but trouble when we was in gangs. Being a sheriff ain't changed my mind on that point. We locked up one just this morning, poor kid. But if anybody can turn that boy Mosley around, I guess Beth and you can. If Cat and I can do something to help you out, you say the word."

"Thanks, Jed. I appreciate that – I mean we do. One of the first things he asked was if he'd get to meet you. Of course, how much you'll see him is gonna depend on where we are. And that's gonna depend on where I get work. I don't think he'd be really happy in New York. And it's expensive to live there, especially with children. So we might think of moving someplace out West whether or not I can get a job teaching. I'll find something that pays and so will Beth."

Curry looked troubled by this. He didn't ever want Cat to think he was putting Heyes first, but he wasn't going to leave his partner out in the cold, either. He knew Cat would be glad to help Heyes and Beth, in truth. "If all the school folks are too stupid to hire you just yet, you can floor manage and do books for us, Heyes, like we've always said. When Cat has the baby and I'm being a sheriff, we're really gonna need a top rate manager. We'd trust you more than anybody. I'm getting some local guys to build us a little house so we don't have to raise the baby in a saloon. Cat will be there most of the time being a mommy. But I know you'll want more than just managing for us if you've got a family to support. Might be a bigger one than just three – I mean, what if Beth has a baby, too? A baby and fifteen-year-old? That'd be something."

Heyes looked miffed at Curry's doubts. He sounded prickly as he asserted, "We could handle it, Jed."

Curry tried to reassure his partner, "I know you can manage, but it wouldn't be easy for anybody. Not even for you two teachers."

"We'll be fine," Heyes repeated. "Well, you got work to do – if you want to call warming that seat and shuffling papers work. I better head down and see Cat and the folks at Christy's. See you come dinner or whenever you plan on getting home."

Curry smiled encouragingly at his partner. "I'll see if I can make it for lunch. It seems like an awful long way on crutches just to come back again so soon, but I guess it'll get shorter when I've done it a few more times."

"See you later, Kelly, Jed," said Heyes. He put his worn out black hat back on and went out the door.

"See you, Heyes," said Al Kelly. Jed silently watched his partner go out the door.

"So that's Heyes," the deputy noted when the brown-eyed man was out of ear-shot.

"Yeah, that's Heyes," said Curry distractedly as he read through a stack of new flyers and wanted posters that had arrived by train that morning. He somehow irrationally kept expecting his own name to show up among them.

"He talks real different from you," noted the deputy.

"Yeah. He had to learn to talk again after he got shot in the head. He learned in New York from real educated folks, including his wife."

"So he talks different than he did when you guys were with the Devil's Hole Boys?"

"Not that different, except the grammar. But he always was more careful about grammar and stuff than me. He liked to sound high class. He said it helped him on cons. Now I guess he does a lot better than he used to. It must help him with the interviews."

Kelly looked thoughtful. "I guess. It is funny, though. You don't sound like you grew up together."

Jed shrugged without looking up from his papers. "Some folks say we never have grown up too much anyhow."

Heyes sauntered down the main street of Louisville, looking around fondly at the growing town. There were a couple of new buildings to be seen just since he had come at Christmas. He stood out front of Christy's Place for a moment, smiling at the familiar fading sign. Then he turned and went down the side alley and into the back alley so he could go in the back way at Christy's, as he almost always did. Just as he expected, he found Cat busy fixing lunch in the big hotel kitchen. She turned around as she heard the door open. "Heyes! Gosh, it's good to see you!"

The dark ex-outlaw gave his cousin-in-law a warm hug and a peck on the cheek. "I'm glad I could come by on the way to Texas."

Cat smiled. She turned back to stirring a pot but spoke to Heyes over her shoulder, "We wondered if you might show up. How are the interviews going?"

"Oh, complicated. My academic history impresses them. But my other kind of history is another matter. My stupid mouth and I almost messed up the last one completely, but then the dean said he'd give me a chance after all. So we'll see. In Texas, I don't guess there's much hope. But you never know. How are things here?"

"Did you already go see Jed?" asked Cat. She left the stove for a moment and sat down on an old bar stool.

Heyes had no idea why she was concerned, but he could see that she was. "Yeah – I have to check in with the law when I'm in any state where I used to be wanted. So I went to see Jed first. Can't have his deputies arresting me."

"Heyes," Cat said uncertainly, "what did he tell you?"

"About what?" Heyes asked in puzzlement.

"Kyle," Cat said quietly, to be sure they couldn't be overheard in this place where busboys and all kinds of employees and customers came and went all the time.

"Kyle Murtry, from Devil's Hole?" Heyes' brown eyes opened wide in surprise.

"Yes. He came here."

"Oh shit! Sorry, Cat. What happened?"

Mrs. Curry spoke sadly, "He came to congratulate Jed. He even brought flowers that I guess he stole someplace. But, of course, Jed couldn't just let Kyle come and go like he wasn't a wanted man. My husband takes his job seriously."

"Of course – he has to or they'll lock him up himself. Everybody ought to understand that, even Kyle. Did Jed lock Kyle up?" Heyes sounded anxious. He didn't know whether he would be more upset if his old friend who was still stealing had been arrested or if he hadn't been.

Cat's voice fell to just above a whisper. "No. Jed told Kyle how mad he was and that he was going to have to arrest him. He moved as slowly as he could. And finally Kyle caught on. Jed was sitting on a rolling chair and Kyle shoved it so Jed was thrown to the ground, with that broken leg of his. He wasn't hurt bad, but he sure couldn't get up to chase anybody. So Kyle got away. Billy chased him for a while, but he couldn't catch him in his jurisdiction with that head start. Last we heard, nobody had caught him. It's tearing Jed up, wondering if he did the right thing and waiting to hear about what happens to Kyle. He doesn't say anything – you know Jed. But I see him reading every newspaper he can get his hands on. And I hear him asking the deputies every day for news generally, but I know what he's listening for in particular."

Heyes looked at Jed's wife. "Oh, Cat, I'm awful sorry to hear that. You met him – you know what a nice guy Kyle is. Not real sensible, but nice." The ex-outlaw paused. "I guess we'll never see him again. Or we better not. I'd be in a real fix if he showed up – just like Jed was. There might not have been a right thing to do." Heyes looked at his partner's wife in silent, pained understanding.

Cat sighed. "I'd best get back to work. I've got a hotel and saloon full of customers wanting their food." She stood up from the old bar stool where she'd been sitting. Heyes extended a hand to help her, noticing how she was just starting to get ungainly as her baby grew.

"Can you feel the baby move yet?" Heyes asked shyly.

Cat smiled at this much happier topic, "Oh yes. Jed can even feel him sometimes. I really do think it's going to be a boy. Jed says he hasn't had the nerve to ask you yet, but would you mind if we call him Joshua – after you?"

Heyes' mouth came open. He closed it and asked, "Why would I mind? I'm real complemented that you would want to do that."

"Well, we thought you might want to use the name for your own son."

The ex-outlaw suddenly sounded excited as he spoke rapidly, "I haven't even thought about names yet – that can wait until Beth is expecting. But Cat, I already know my boy's name. Or one of them, anyhow."

Cat turned away from the stove for a moment, "Wait you just said you hadn't thought about it? One of them? I don't understand."

"Sorry – it's complicated. Beth isn't pregnant yet, but we know we're going to have a family anyhow. I think I told you that I met a boy fourteen years old in the Pen – Marvin Mosley. He's been released into the custody of a home for boys, but they need someone to take him on when he turns fifteen. His mother's missing and nobody knows who is father is. He said he trusts me, Cat. Just me. So the state's asked Beth and me to foster him. We said we would."

Now Cat was concerned all over again. "A fifteen-year-old boy? Didn't you say he was a pick-pocket?"

Heyes nodded. "Yeah, he was. But he's trying to go straight. Like the Kid and I did. And Beth and I are going to help."

"That's wonderful, Heyes!" Cat hugged Heyes hard and gave her cousin-in-law a joyous kiss on the cheek. "Congratulations. And good luck."

Heyes smiled at the confidence Cat was expressing, whether or not it was realistic. "We're going to need all the luck we can get – on Marvin and my job and a lot of other stuff. Well, I'd better go say hello to everybody out front. Please don't mention Marvin to anyone but Jed. I told him, but I don't want everybody gossiping about it. We can't have him if I can't support him, so I want to be really sure before word gets out. Being the son of Hannibal Heyes might not be real easy."

"Any boy would love to be your son, Heyes. And you'll get a good job, I know you will."

"I'd better."

Cat, like her husband, immediately offered her own form of help. "You know you can manage for us here, if you can't get anything that pays better. We will need somebody good when the baby comes, and while Jed's being the sheriff."

"Thanks, Cat. I hope I don't have to depend on you like that. It's me I need to depend on. That's three people counting on me, or four if Beth gets pregnant. Plus you and Jed and Charlie – and I'd better stop counting and go out front before I lose my nerve."

As Heyes appeared in the Christy's Place saloon front room from the back door by the bar, the sounds of the place were wonderfully familiar to him - clinking glasses, loud talking, riffing cards and click chips and dominoes, the giggles of the girls, and the tinkle of the piano. But when people saw the man they had known as Joshua Smith, and whose name they now knew to be different, things started to get quiet. The piano stopped playing and most of the talking died away, too. Every eye turned to look at the man in the black cowboy hat.

Heyes searched for something to say to break the ice, but Joe the bartender did it for him. "Welcome home, Mr. Heyes!" called Joe with a broad smile. He reached a hand over the bar toward the famous former outlaw.

"Thank you, Joe," said Heyes and shook the offered hand. "It's good to be back, even if it isn't for long."

"So, what do you want us to call you, Mr. Heyes?" asked the piano player, who still looked a bit tense about meeting his old friend in his new guise.

"Heyes. That's what my friends call me. Or Joshua is still fine with me – I've taken it as my middle name."

"Well then, welcome back, Joshua," said the piano player, walking over to offer his own hand. "I don't suppose you brought your guitar to play some duets?"

"No. Sorry, Ted," said Heyes. "I'm just heading through on my way to Texas. I didn't bother with the guitar."

"Texas? What do you want to go there for?" asked a red-headed harlot from Indian Territory. The company in the bar laughed at the rivalry between the two places on either side of the Red River.

"Just looking for honest work, Trudy," answered Heyes.

Soon there was a crowd of men around Heyes, reaching out their hands. "Congratulations on the amnesty, Mr. Heyes!" said a retired miner who was often at Christy's playing dominoes with his grey-haired friends. "And the wedding! And the graduation!"

"Gee, thanks!" said the ex-outlaw with a broad smile. He was glad that folks seemed ready to accept him under his infamous real name.

"Yeah, congratulations!" added another regular, clapping eyes on the back. There were lots of handshakes from the local drinkers and poker players. Heyes was just as glad that Beth couldn't see all the soiled doves lined up to greet him with a kiss and a hug.

A citified young man who just gotten in off the train from the East asked the bartender, "Who's that man everybody's so glad to see?"

Joe answered under his breath, "Hannibal Heyes. His partner, Kid Curry, and Mrs. Curry run this place. Heyes and the Kid both got amnesty in the spring, you know."

"Golly!" exclaimed the young man. "I hadn't heard. When I came west, I never thought I'd get to see one of the biggest outlaws out here."

The bartender added, "You'll probably see both of them if you're a little patient. The Kid's down in the sheriff's office right now, but he ought to be back for lunch."

The easterner was confused by this, "What's he doing in the sheriff's office if he got amnesty?"

Joe laughed. "He's the sheriff – and here he comes, now, on crutches."

There was welcoming laughter all around as the two famous partners leaned on the bar next to each other. "Jed, here's Heyes! So, you guys are back together!" exclaimed Joe.

"Yeah, it's kinda' nice," said Heyes looking at his partner and clapping him on the shoulder rather cautiously. He didn't want to knock Jed down when his balance wasn't perfect. "It looks like you're gonna need to sit, Kid. Let's get a table."

"I asked you not to call me that!" griped the sheriff, but there was a smile on his face by the time he finished the sentence.

As the partners ate, Billy Healy came by. "Hello boss," he said. "Who's your friend?"

"If you can't guess that, then I ought to fire you for being real all-fired dim," said Curry with a grin.

"You must be Mr. Heyes, then," said Billy with a big smile. "I'm right pleased to meet you."

"Glad to meet you, Billy," said Heyes happily. "I'm glad I can use my real name now. Just call me Heyes."

Billy was delighted to be on an informal basis with his boss's famous partner. "Wow, thanks, M . . . Heyes. Boss, I'll watch things around the station for a while. I know you and your partner must have a lot to talk about."

"Thanks, Billy," said Curry. "I could use a bit of a breather after that long limp down here on the crutches. But I'll be back later in the afternoon to do my duty."

Billy reluctantly left the famous pair so he could do his rounds of the town.

"He's a good deputy. Does his duty, even when he'd rather not – like now," said Curry.

As Cat happily carried a hearty lunch of beef stew out to her husband and his partner, a new man came in to lean on the bar. The lanky blonde man looked around the place and listened to the talk about the sheriff and the man sitting with him. The names Curry and Heyes featured in every conversation. "Say, I thought those guys were named Smith and Jones," commented the bearded blonde man.

"Those were aliases," said Joe. "Say, you were here a couple of years back, weren't you? Aren't you the photographer who helped Heyes out with those experiments he was doing for school?"

The man at the bar nodded. "Yeah, I'm Howard Eakins, best photographer in the state. So you mean that portrait I took when I was helping out Joshua Smith was of Hannibal Heyes?"

Joe laughed. "Yeah, I guess so. Might be the only one there is, outside the newspapers. They both got amnesty since then, so photographers don't make 'em quite so jumpy."

Eakins was intrigued. "The Kid's the guy with the sheriff's badge on his chest and the cast on his leg?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah, the Kid's the sheriff here now, and of course he and his wife run this place. And Heyes is looking for work teaching."

Eakins paused a moment and thought. Then he walked over the table where the two former outlaws were catching up on one another's news and greeting regulars from the saloon. Guys who didn't normally come in at lunch kept coming by, having heard that Heyes was there. The bar was fuller on an afternoon than Jed Curry had seen it in a long time. He smiled to see the number of drinks being purchased.

"Hello there, Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes," said the photographer. "Would you happen to remember me?"

"Ain't you . . ." began the Kid.

"You're that damn photographer who took a picture of me without my permission back when it could have gotten me locked up or killed!" fumed Heyes. "Get out of here before I strangle you!"

The photographer started to back pedal, not eager to be beat up by the more able-bodied of the two notorious ex-outlaws. "Now, wait just a minute there, Heyes," said the Kid with a calculating look in his blue eyes. "Say, Eakins, do you have your camera and all that gear you need with you now?"

"Yeah, sure, out in my wagon," said Eakins. "You got a job for me?"

"I just might," said the Kid. "If my partner will go along with me."

"What are you driving at, Kid?" asked Heyes, sounding deeply suspicious. "You got a funny look in your eyes."

"I got an idea, Heyes," said Jed Curry.

"That's supposed to be my job, partner. Why do I get the feeling I'm gonna hate this idea?" asked the Kid's partner.

"Search me, Heyes. I kinda' think you really might like it. It has to do with money. Making money. Now listen to this, Eakins. What would you charge to take some pictures of me and Heyes, here, print 'em up about ten or twelve inches high, and frame 'em?"

"How many?" asked the photographer. It wasn't hard to see the greedy gleam in his eye, much like the look in Curry's eye. Heyes felt a shiver go up his spine. Sheriffs and photographers – he hated them both. And they were ganging up on him. Or maybe with him. He wasn't sure, yet.

Curry thought for a moment, looking at a spot behind the bar, "Oh, maybe three or four different kind of pictures."

"Different poses you mean?" asked Eakins.

"Yeah," said Curry, "different poses. And then what would it cost for me to get some extra prints, smaller, not framed?"

"Could I keep the negatives and sell prints of those myself?" asked Eakins. "I could cut you a special deal."

The Kid hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "Sure, if you print the address of Christy's Place on 'em. For advertising."

"You're crazy, Jed," interjected Heyes. But he paused and thought. "But well, I can look around here today and see that folks like to see us together. So maybe you're crazy like a fox. Why didn't I think of this, now that we have amnesty? But you're aren't selling pictures of me without my getting a cut of the take."

"That's just my idea, Heyes," said Curry. "We all get a cut. After all, we need you and that black hat of yours and you need me."

"And you both need me and my camera," added Eakins.

"Yeah, we do," agreed the Kid.

The three men negotiated for a while, with numbers and arrangements flying back and forth between them. They agreed that no one of them would sell any images to publications that would reproduce them without the permission of the other two men. And they arranged for prices of different sizes and numbers of prints and all kinds of other details. "Would you stop adding conditions and numbers, Heyes?" pleaded Jed at last. "I swear, I do get sick of mathematicians and their numbers, sometimes," he added to Eakins, who laughed while Heyes grimaced. So they negotiated a little more. Finally, everyone wound up smiling, though Heyes still looked a little twitchy about the whole thing.

"So, what kind of poses do you want?" asked Eakins. He watched the two famous men exchange glances. The unstated communication between them was uncanny and he was determined to capture that somehow. That would be the real money picture, in his opinion, not the cheesy publicity shots that Curry could use to attract business to his saloon and hotel.

"First thing, Kid, you take off that badge," said Heyes firmly. "You're on lunch break while we do this."

"So we can't take all day at it. And we got to find a way to hide my cast," added Curry, as he took off his star and gave it to Joe for safekeeping.

"We can find something for you to lean on or sit in or stand behind," suggested Eakins, "but what? Something real western, you know, so the easterners will like it."

There was a pause while the three looked around and thought. "I know the thing!" said Joe from behind the bar. "You know that fancy steak place that went bust a few months back? They sold off all their furniture and decorations to the antique shop."

"The horn chair!" exclaimed Curry, knowing just what Joe was thinking about. "Perfect! I can stand behind it and Heyes can sit in it, if the shop will rent it to us for a while."

"Or you can sit in it and we can do a half-length," suggested Eakins. So all the three trooped down to the antique shop.

"Mrs. Cooper, can we borrow that cow horn chair the steak place sold you?" asked Jed Curry.

"What do you want that for, young man?" the grey-haired lady asked.

"Watch and see," said Eakins. They hauled the chair made out of cow horns out onto the store's porch where the sun was shining to provide the brilliant light the photographer would need. They dusted off the chair and Heyes sat down.

"I'll get copies of those pictures?" the old lady asked.

"Sure thing, lady," said Eakins.

"And ten dollars to rent the chair?," the store's proprietor added greedily.

"Ten dollars to rent it?" exploded the Kid. "That's more than I'd pay to buy it outright!"

"It's yours," said the old lady.

"Oh, alright," sighed Jed as he handed over the cash. "I guess the tourists will like it. And when they see these pictures, maybe they'll pay to pose in it."

Heyes sat in the chair with his legs crossed and a greedy smile on his face while his partner stood behind it, hiding his cast.

"That awful old hat of yours just don't look right with the big hole in it," sighed the photographer from under the black drape as he focused his big camera on its tripod.

"Would this do?" asked the antique shop's elderly proprietor. She held out a black hat almost identical to Heyes' own, except that it didn't have a bullet hole in it or any silver conchas.

"No, too plain," said Heyes. "Unless – hm." He pulled the band with its conchas off of his own old hat and switched it for the plain band on the black hat the antique dealer had. There was a dramatic moment of doubt as the photographer settled the hat on Heyes' head. It fit perfectly and Jed clapped. Heyes adjusted the angle of the hat on his head and smiled. He handed a few dollars to the old lady and she smiled, too. She was cleaning up on this photo shoot.

The photographer stepped back and shook his head. "Just a minute, gentlemen." He dashed down the street and fetched back a big role of fabric from his wagon. He pulled out a couple of metal stands fro the center of the role and used them to hold the top of what proved to be a painted photographer's back drop. Heyes sat back down in the chair and the Kid limped over to lean behind it. The photographer adjusted their poses and the boys smiled. The photographer finally exposed a few negatives. Then Heyes and Curry switched places and the photographer promised he would crop the shot above the Kid's cast-encased lower leg. The boys were starting to enjoy themselves, and it showed in the smiles that were caught on film. A curious small crowd was gathering in the street, including a couple of excited young women.

"Think of the all the ladies who are gonna buy these and swoon over 'em," whispered the Kid to Heyes, prompting a particularly good smile.

"And the men who'll shoot bullets into 'em," joked Heyes.

"Just so long as they pay for the pictures and don't shoot the originals, I don't care," joshed the Kid back.

As they finished up the poses with the horn chair, they heard the stage coach rattle into town. "The stage coach!" exclaimed Eakins. "Mr. Heyes can stand outside and you, Mr. Curry, can get inside that, lean out the window, and nobody will see the cast."

"That's an idea," said Heyes. "But it'll take them a while to get folks out and the horses unhitched. In the meantime, where can we pose?"

"What about the porch post, right here, while the sun is on it?" suggested Eakins. "Just stand here, maybe back to back?"

"I can't just stand – I got to lean on something," said the sheriff.

"Well, there's the post for the porch roof right there. You can lean against it and I can cut off the picture three-quarters, above Mr. Curry's cast. How's that?" suggested Eakins.

So they tried that, facing forward, and backward and sideways, grinning like mad at the girls who came by and watched the proceedings while Eakins positioned his tripod and lined up his subjects.

They got in some poses, but as they tried to do one from the front side by side, the Kid lost his balance. As he fell, Heyes tried to save him. They both wound up lying in the street, covered in dry red Colorado summer dust. The girls in the street laughed and the boys did, too. But Eakins fumed, "Aw, gee, why'd you do that? We can't pose you all covered in dust! We'll lose the light while we get you cleaned off."

"Doesn't anybody care if I'm alright?" griped the Kid as Heyes helped him up.

"Well, are you?" asked Heyes. "Your pretty face looks fine, or it would if you'd smile."

"Yeah, I guess I'm good. But it'd be nice if somebody had asked first," groused the sheriff.

"Say, why don't we change into suits for the poses with the stage coach?" suggested Heyes. "I got my suit all pressed at the Chinese laundry down the street, so it should look great."

So the boys went back to Christy's Place, Jed getting more expert on his crutches, and they changed into suits. Soon, they were back smiling again as Heyes leaned on the coach's wheel and the Kid poked his head and shoulder as far as he could get them out the coach window. They had to promise the stage coach driver and ticket agent signed pictures. "This is getting expensive!" griped the Kid. "We'll wind up losing money if we ain't careful."

Cat came out and laughed as the boys posed in the stage and on a chair on the front porch of the hotel. She pulled out a couple of potted palms to add class to the shot. "My heroes!" she pretended to sigh.

Finally, Jed got back into his working clothes, now brushed off, and put his badge back on. He felt like the rest of the day in the sheriff's office was pretty dull after the early afternoon's sessions in front of the camera. Eakins went on his way once he, Curry, and Heyes had all signed a written agreement. And Heyes went to visit with Doc Grauer, who helped him to practice new interview ideas.

As the darker ex-outlaw said before he took the train out in the morning, "For once, Jed Curry, you did the thinking. Beat me to it. Good work, partner!" Curry hadn't even shaved yet, but he had gotten up early to see off his partner. Heyes shook the yawning sheriff's hand and hurried to catch his morning train south.

A couple of days later, early in the morning, Eakins delivered the big framed prints and piles of smaller unframed ones to Christy's Place. Joe kept some of the small ones to sell at the bar. "I wonder if anybody will ever want one?" said Jed nervously that morning as Bruce the bus boy hammered nails in the wall behind the bar to hang up the framed shots.

"I think they look great," said Cat, admiring the framed pictures as Bruce put them on the wall. "But then, the subjects are awfully handsome, especially one of them."

In fact, the photographs sold fairly briskly come late afternoon and evening when the saloon filled up. Earlier in the afternoon, the first print showing the pair of infamous former outlaws was purchased by a man Joe had never seen before that day. He was wearing an immaculate suit and a neatly trimmed beard that looked out of place in the dusty coal mining town. "Here you go, Mr. Sargent," Joe said to his customer. "Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes. There never have been pictures of 'em before, 'cept a few got in the newspaper when Heyes was tried for murder. Now that they got amnesty, they figure, what can it hurt?"

"Thank you. I'm new to the West, but I've heard of those men. Like anybody has, I guess," said Mr. Sargent as he carefully tucked the picture into his briefcase.

"Oh, where are you from?" asked Joe idly.

"I was born in Rhode Island, but I just moved to Boulder to take employment there," answered the easterner in his precise accent.

"Oh? What are you gonna do there?" asked Joe, making conversation at a time of day when he had few customers yet.

"I have a doctorate in chemistry." Joe went down the bar to serve another customer, so he missed hearing Sargent add, "And I teach." The newly transplanted easterner tipped his hat to the bartender and left Christy's Place, going in the direction of Louisville's tiny train station.

"So that's Hannibal Heyes. I wonder if he's the genius they say," muttered the purchaser of the photograph to himself.

Historical note – I realize that Hannibal Heyes has slightly misquoted Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's famous poem "A Psalm of Life," written in 1839. Heyes may be a genius, but he's not flawless. I also realize the familiar photographs described show the boys younger than they would have been in 1891, and with longer hair with no grey in it, but what the heck. You can imagine the changes.