Heyes headed eagerly back down the train car towards where he had left his briefcase on the rack over his seat. Only a couple of rows down, he got to the Evans family with whom he had been speaking before his outburst of temper had distracted him. Mary, Tommy, and Mr. Evans all looked up curiously to learn what had kept their former outlaw friend talking with the stranger he had confronted and what had transformed his mood from fury to something completely different. They had been unable to help overhearing some of the conversation, but Heyes and the dean of Keuka College had kept their voices low. And seeing how much being overheard had angered Heyes, the Evans were doing their best to leave him his privacy.

So Joshua stopped and leaned on the back of Mary's seat to explain. His eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Sorry about that. But, what do you know, folks? That guy who was eavesdropping on us might not be much older than I am, but he's the dean of a little college in New York State. Their math professor just died, so close to the start of semester that he was at his wits' end to find anybody to take on the classes. H wants to interview me to start teaching there this fall – less than a month away. Isn't that amazing? They need a math teacher, I need a math teaching post and we meet on a train. Not that I haven't been spending half my time on trains, lately."

"Golly!" Said Tommy. "He must have been startled to find out who you are."

"Didn't seem like it," said Heyes gladly. "I think the word on me is finally getting around the academic world. That I'm in math, I mean."

Mary Evans smiled. "And how good you are, surely. What a stroke of luck for you both! But what about Harvard?"

The hopeful academic clasped his hands over the back of Mr. Evan's seat as he spoke with frank calculation, "Harvard doesn't want me until spring, if then. I'm only one of the candidates for that post. I have no guarantee from them. Keuka College might want me right now, and they understand I might head to Harvard in the spring. I can't miss any opportunity for every minute of work and penny of pay I can get. I've got debts to pay. Plus a family to support. So you can see why I need to get a good post and soon."

"I can, Joshua, of course," said Mary, looking sympathetically into his eyes. She didn't have to think very hard to realize what Heyes meant about his family, just from the glint of a smile that appeared when he spoke about it. "Good luck."

"Yes, I hope you can come to an understanding," said Mr. Evans with an encouraging smile.

"If you can teach as well as you did books for Ma, they'd be lucky to have you," added Thomas.

"Thank you!" said the aspiring professor with a brief flash of a grin, glad to have friends in his corner.

Heyes hurried back to his seat and collected his brief case. Then he strode down the train aisle in the other direction. The sun from the windows played across his suit in broad stripes that came and went with his progress. Just as the former outlaw got to the seat of his potential boss, a stout, grey-haired conductor walked up to the pair. He glowered at Heyes, then turned to the dean. "Sir, is this man harassing you?"

The dean was taken aback. "No, of course not."

"Are you sure about that?" growled the conductor, who looked familiar to the former hold-up man. "I heard him growling at you before and now he's back with something that could have a weapon in it. Maybe you don't know you're dealing with a violent criminal here."

People in nearby seats turned around in distress. One middle-aged woman actually got up and moved out of the train car entirely, avoiding Heyes' apologetic gaze.

"I am well aware of who Mr. Heyes is, sir," said Dean White with dignity. "In fact, I think I know better than you do who he is now rather than in the distant past. I am a college dean. This man is now a distinguished scholar in the field of mathematics."

The conductor snorted with laughter and goosed the man with the briefcase. "Still conning folks, eh, Heyes? Professor, this guy could talk an ape out of a banana. Don't believe a word he says."

The former confidence artist looked daggers at the conductor but said nothing. He knew well that attacking another man in front of a potential boss wouldn't look good. Besides, he was interested to find out more about a potential boss who didn't hesitate to stand up for a job applicant who was a former outlaw. Heyes wasn't just gratified, he was fascinated. He just wasn't sure what would cause a dean he had hardly met to already feel such loyalty to him.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Heyes has a Master's degree in mathematics from Columbia University," said the dean angrily.

"So that's what he told you? Make him prove it is all I can say," muttered the conductor, "just make him prove it."

"As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I just did ask him to do," said Dean White, "as I would with any applicant. He has the proof in that briefcase."

Heyes was carefully keeping his temper in check, anxious not to mess up this opportunity. He asked the conductor, with as little sarcasm as he could manage, "Do you want to see my academic credentials, too?" He was doing his best to avoid a public disagreement with an authority figure. But as the former robber reached toward his briefcase, the conductor grabbed his wrist.

Heyes turned angrily and his lips opened, but he somehow managed to keep himself from violently protesting this combination of assault and insult.

"You get the papers out," said the railroad man to Dean White. "I don't want this old boy pulling out a gun and holding us up."

Heyes sighed at this blatant injustice and held out his open briefcase to the dean, who soon found what he was after and showed it to the conductor. Again, Heyes wisely let the dean do the talking. "There are you, sir - certified copies showing his graduation with two degrees from Columbia University with the highest honors. And here are his amnesty papers and pardons, along with what I understand is a sparkling curriculum vitae. Of course, he would not carry about with him the valuable originals of the legal documents. I've read his mathematical journal article and spoken with people who heard him speak at a conference recently. Believe me, conductor, H. Joshua Heyes is a scholar of international repute. In addition to his, um, earlier accomplishments." A little smile snuck across the dean's features as he mentioned Heyes' past.

"Sorry the papers are a little the worse for water," said H. Joshua Smith, directing his apology entirely to the dean. "My briefcase and I got caught in a flood in Connecticut."

"I heard about that – and how hard you worked to help out the villagers," said the dean to Heyes. It was becoming clear to the former outlaw that this dean had been paying him some attention long before this meeting.

"Well, I'll be," said the conductor, inspecting the papers. "You've gotten real sophisticated these days, Heyes. Into forgery now, from the looks of it. I just ain't expert enough to prove it." The aging conductor shook his head and started to walk away.

Now Heyes was warming into being seriously irritated. Having read the brass name tag on the conductor's chest, he used the railroad man's name to get his attention, "Wait just a minute, Conroy. You can't hang that on me! These papers are authentic; they were signed and sealed by the Governor of Wyoming and the President of Columbia University. Contact their offices about it if you don't believe me. Besides, you know full well our amnesty is real – you must have seen it in the newspapers."

"Amnesty sure, but on the college degrees, I don't know. If this gentleman chooses to believe it, that's his business," said the conductor, who turned and walked down the aisle of the train. By now more people than the members of the Davis family were watching Heyes and the dean.

The former outlaw ran a nervous hand through his hair. "I'm sorry to make you conspicuous, dean, but I'm not going to take slander like that from any man without saying a little something."

"Of course, you have a right to defend your good new name. But perhaps we had better choose another conductor to ask for the use of the caboose for our interview?" said the dean with arched eyebrows.

Heyes grinned sheepishly. "Well, we did hold up that conductor's train once, back in Wyoming," he admitted. "I got him so interested in a story I was telling him that he didn't notice until the last second that he was about to be tied up and stuffed under a seat by some of our men. I think his salary was in the safe I blew after that. He was pretty mad about it. Can't blame him, can you?"

The dean chuckled. "I guess not. In that light, I can understand his attitude a little better. But why don't I be the one to ask another conductor about our speaking in the caboose? It might be easier. I just hope you don't have a criminal history with any other conductors on this train."

The former criminal nodded. "Yes, you'd better do it. I don't think there are any other guys on the train whom I've held up personally, but I haven't checked every one of them. It's not likely I'd run into any of our other victims this far east. This guy is certainly employed on a different train line now than when we held him up – we never worked east of the Mississippi."

The dean kept his face straight as he said dryly, "Well, see that you don't start now, please. I don't need to lose a good teaching candidate to prison."

Heyes grinned. He was pleased to be dealing with a dean who had a sense of humor and who wasn't too easily shocked by his potential employee's past misdeeds.

While the dean arranged the use of the caboose and read over Heyes' transcripts and other official papers, the potential professor went to sit across the aisle from the Evans family. "Joshua, if you could use a character reference, I would be very happy to speak for you," Mary volunteered as she crossed the train aisle to take the empty seat next to her former employee.

"Would you? I'd be very grateful," said Joshua. "Since the dean just met a conductor I held up years ago, it would be good to have someone to offset that."

"But, Joshua, there is something I do wish you would explain to me," said Mary. "I've wondered about it ever since it happened. Back in Wickenberg, you and your partner risked your lives for reasons I've never been very sure about. And now you say it was your first job after you stopped stealing and it makes me wonder even more."

Heyes spoke quietly, "Well, the job you gave us wasn't exactly our first job, but it was the first one that was totally honest. Our very first job actually involved opening a safe to retrieve what we had been told was stolen property. It was when we decided not to take anything else out of that safe that we first started to figure out what going straight actually meant. It turned out that if we had stolen anything on our own behalf, we might still be in prison in Mexico. Being honest kept us free – and it got us to thinking. We were still working out what it all meant when we got to Wickenberg."

Mary listened thoughtfully. "You risked your lives to stay in Wickenberg when I'd fired you and you'd been told to leave. I know you seemed worried over me, but I wasn't at any risk, other than just the same financial problems I'd been facing before you fellows ever showed up at my saloon. And then apparently you put some kind of pressure on Mr. Sloane. Why?"

"First tell me why you were crying so hard when we asked you about why you fired us and hired someone to make us leave town," said Heyes.

Mary explained awkwardly, "Because Mr. Sloane had me really scared for your safety. I thought maybe Mr. Sloane had some reason to have you hurt or even killed. And somehow it seemed like it was my fault. I was scared that we were all involved in something dangerous. I still don't really understand."

Mary's former floor manager explained, "Well, we didn't understand, either, I guess, at that point. I think the whole thing was a real Comedy of Errors, abetted by Sloane."

Mary looked at the former outlaw in surprise. "You read Shakespeare?"

"Well, of course, even then I did," said Heyes. "Anyhow, the Kid and I thought you and your children, were in danger. We knew something illegal or at least improper was going on and we didn't know what it was. We wanted to find out the truth. We finally realized you weren't in any danger. But until then, we had been worried about you and so we felt we had to stay. We thought any good, honest citizens would stand up for the safety of a widow and her children."

Mary laughed. "Only exceptional citizens, no matter how honest, would do that at the risk of their lives."

Heyes nodded. "We know that - now. But back then, we'd been on the up and up for only a few weeks. We didn't really know what was required for the authorities to consider us honest while we were going for amnesty. If we let somebody get away with something shady and a lady and her kids got hurt, we didn't know if it would get us into trouble. And besides, you know very well that we liked you and the kids. We would have been real happy to stay. We cared about you. We still do. The Kid will be glad to know how well things are going for you."

"And I care about you, both of you," said Mrs. Davis, looking uneasily into the brown eyes of Hannibal Heyes. He had always wondered if a longer stay in Wickenberg might have resulted in stronger ties.

Mary said, just above a whisper, "And I still don't understand the hold you had over Mr. Sloane, Joshua, but perhaps I can guess."

"Perhaps you can, at that," said Mary's former floor manager. "Just please don't tell anyone about it."

Mary Evans smiled. "Alright, I won't. But there's one thing I am eager to tell, if it will help you. You were willing to take chances to help me and my family even when you weren't sure what danger you were in. I would be glad to tell the dean about that. Don't worry, I won't get specific enough to cause anybody any trouble."

"Well, we did ride away free, and with pay in our pockets," said Joshua, "But we've never minded helping out folks, when we could manage it safely. Hey, doing things like that established a fund of good will that's helped to keep us free, many a time."

"And maybe it helped to keep your consciences a little easier, too, just maybe?" said Mary with a secret little smile that Joshua returned.

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Mary went back to her seat to give her former employee a chance to prepare himself for his next interview. He was wondering how many such talks there would be. He certainly knew of people who had interviewed dozens of times before they got a teaching position. He hoped he wouldn't need to go through that many interviews, but if he got a faculty post in the end, it would be worth it.

Heyes read through the Keuka College brochure a couple of times. Set in a beautiful but fairly remote part of New York State, it sounded like a nice school, if small. It seemed an unlikely center for world-shaking mathematical research. But the little school might hold real opportunities to change the lives of students. And it sounded like a good place to raise children. It was close enough to Rochester for them to benefit from the attractions of a decent sized town. It wasn't so distant from New York City that it would keep a family from getting there now and then for museums, concerts, lectures, and libraries. But it was easily rural enough to keep them away from the crowding, filth, and criminal gangs of the city. Heyes got out his journal and wrote a few thoughts about his past and his future. Beth figured very prominently in those thoughts, as did the children they hoped to raise. He hoped writing out these thoughts would be good preparation for an interview. He knew that it made him feel better.

At last, Joshua checked his pocket watch and made his way toward the caboose. He stood up and straightened his glasses, then brushed a hair off of his suit. He avoided the gaze of the hostile conductor as the two men walked past each other in opposite directions. Heyes arrived at the caboose door at the precise minute he had arranged for the interview to begin. The Kid would have teased him about the picky precision, but the mathematician thought it wasn't a bad property to demonstrate to someone who might hire him to teach.

Heyes stepped out of the neighboring passenger car. The door into the caboose, just like the door of a house, opened and Dean White looked out cheerfully. "Come in, Mr. Heyes. They've agreed to give us an hour. We'll have to sit on bunks, but it's really very comfortable. They even made us coffee on their little stove."

"I hope it wasn't our pal Conroy who made the coffee. He'd be just as likely to spit in it," observed the candidate wryly.

The dean grinned affably. "No, it was a man named Herschel – have you robbed him?"

Heyes chuckled. "No, not to the best of my recall. You brochure is very interesting. I totally agree with you on admitting students from all backgrounds, and giving them as many practical experiences as possible. It sounds as if Keuka is set in a lovely spot. Being from very remote places myself, I appreciate the beauty of nature without too many people around to spoil it."

"I'm glad you do – Keuka is a bit remote and certainly really tiny compared to New York City. But it truly is beautiful. In spring and summer you have the fabulous green trees, and in the fall the color is spectacular."

"And I'll bet it's cold as h . . . heck in the winter," said Heyes with a wicked little grin.

The dean grinned back. "Well, we have been known to get a little snow. But then you can skate or fish on the lake. And, of course, fishing during the rest of the year is great, too."

The country boy in Heyes rejoiced, but he knew they had to move on. "But much as I might enjoy the lake the forests, and my family would, it's the academics I would be there for. If you had put out an advertisement, what would it have told me?"

Dean White sat down on a bunk in the cozy red caboose and Heyes claimed the bunk opposite. "Well, Mr. Heyes, our position calls for an all-around professor of mathematics to teach undergraduates the essential areas you know so well. A successful professor would be able obtain tenure. Here is the salary scale for a professor teaching a regular three/ three class load. Of course, that's all at the undergraduate level, at least for the first few years." He held out a printed sheet covered in columns of numbers and pointed to one column of figures. Heyes nodded. It was a solid starting salary, if not overly generous, but there was room for advancement in the following numbers showing future years' pay. The money would go farther in a rural setting, although Heyes would still need to pay off his debts incurred in New York City.

The dean continued, "Of course, the position includes advising responsibilities for majors. Requests for research sabbaticals will be entertained, once the professor is established. We will be happy to help an ambitious researcher find grants, though we have no such funding of our own at the moment. I hope that would soon change, but I'm not a professional economist and I don't trust the predictions of men who are. What else can I tell you beyond what you've just read in the brochure?"

"What classes was your man Denker planning to teach in the fall?" asked Heyes, holding a pencil ready to take notes in his journal. The dean answered the question and the two men quickly discussed such routine technicalities as what classes had already been considered for coming semesters and how Heyes might like to change those, the office available for a new math professor, the newly founded library, the number of students, teaching assistants, the structure of the department of mathematics and science, and such. "Alright, I think I have a good idea of the situation," said H. Joshua Heyes briskly, noting down details in his journal, "That all sounds very promising. I'm glad you're willing to entertain my new ideas for labs and applied mathematics practices. But you must have a lot of, um, other kinds of questions for me."

The dean nodded. "Yes. What I lack from you that I would have with a regular written application is a cover letter. Can you give me an idea of what you would have written?"

Heyes nodded. "Sure. Well, you already know that I have the broad qualifications across the field that your position requires. Of course, I can teach the basics – arithmetic, algebra, geometry, calculous, etc. My greatest strengths are trigonometry, mathematics in relation to physics and engineering, ballistics, geometry, and also finances. You've seen my CV. I prefer to teach in a way that plays directly into applied mathematics, keeping all the theory firmly attached to real life applications. As your brochure says is popular there, I like to get students into the field. As your brochure says about . . . Keuka College, I am very committed to having my work directly impact the lives and futures of my students. I haven't previously taught students who really knew about my criminal past, unless you want to count the young outlaws I taught to read and write and figure years ago. I used to send really promising ones on their way and urge them to go straight."

The dean nodded. All this sounded good.

Heyes paused to take a sit of coffee. "I would hope my own example of using mathematics to turn my life around would be more of an inspiration than a distraction. I do understand the danger there, but I am prepared to use every . . . . rhetorical gift at my command to help to guide students in constructive directions. This country is so desperately in need of well-educated engineers, surveyors, architects, bankers, businessmen, and educated men – and women – in so many other fields. I'm glad you include women students. I love what it says in your brochure about raising 'superior men and women who shall bring strength to the nation and help to humanity.' That sounds just right to me. My wife is trained to teach – we don't take to places that won't give women as good an opportunity as men. As I know too well, this country is teaming with ignorant people, women as well as men. Often they are not only not helpful, but destructive."

"Like you used to be?" the dean asked cautiously.

"Yes." Heyes spoke softly, studying a spider making its way up the far wall of the caboose. He sweated a bit, embarrassed by a few pauses over unusual words and names. He knew the dean had to have noticed it.

And sure enough, the dean spoke with evident discomfort, shifting around on the bunk bed where he sat. "Well, that would be an excellent opening to an application cover letter. I hate to ask about it, but I hear some pauses in your speech and I see a scar in a place that makes me wonder. I have heard about the famous silver tongue, of course. . ."

Heyes, unable to endure this long, delicate approach to a painful subject, cut off the dean. He spoke as swiftly as he could, trying to get past this. "I got shot in the head by a posse six years ago. It gave me aphasia. You know what that is?" The dean nodded, his face showing his compassion for the past troubles of the man before him. "It was total at first; I had no use of language at all."

The dean's mouth opened in surprise, then he closed it immediately, striving not to make his candidate too self-conscious. Heyes went on, "Understanding and reading came back on their own within weeks. I had to work hard – very hard - and had to have a lot of help so I could learn to talk and write again. That was what the Leutze Clinic in New York did for me – you saw them on my CV. They were wonderful. I'm afraid the recovery will never really be complete, but I'm able to function just fine in the classroom. Now and then there's a minute or two of t-trouble, or a little stumble like that, but nothing my students and I can't handle. I explained my situation to my students at Columbia and they had no trouble with it. Of course, they didn't know it was bullet fired by a posse that did the damage." Heyes finally met Dean White's hazel eyes. His own dark gaze was anxious.

The dean looked anxious as he said, "I apologize for having to bring it up. It must have been traumatic."

"Y-yes."

The dean was not oblivious to the pain he was causing, so he tried to move on smoothly. "You obviously cope superbly. In fact, even without knowing that story, I find your speech very impressive. I am really shocked – and delighted - to hear such immaculate grammar from a former Western outlaw."

"Thank you. You can credit my wife for that. She works at the clinic. She taught me grammar and a lot else very patiently as I was getting words back. I didn't just study math – far from it! I went for history and literature in a big way. I will never forget my time at the clinic. It changed me for the better in a lot of ways. And it wasn't just in the classroom and the doctors' offices that I learned. When folks around New York were laughing at the dummy who could hardly say a word, it drove out that outlaw arrogance."

Heyes had to avert his eyes from the pity in the dean's gaze on hearing that statement. The aspiring professor steadied himself and went on, "I guess you could say I recreated myself on a new model based on the good folks at the clinic, like Dr. Leutze and my wife. That new model was a lot better suited to college study and teaching than an outlaw ever could be. My Beth brought my schooling up to college level from about seventh grade. I only got to seventh grade at the home for waywards, but it wasn't much of a school. Then my cousin and I ran away. As I say, with my Beth's guidance, I did the rest at the clinic before I started at Columbia."

The dean stared in open amazement at the man sitting across from him. "That rapidly? You were learning to talk and write and you also finished all those years of schooling in a year and a half?"

Heyes gave a modest, lopsided grin, "Yeah. I demanded a lot from Beth – my wife – and she always came through. She even called in college professors to help."

Dean White shook his head in disbelief. "My God! I would say she was the demanding one. You certainly offer a powerful example of highly motivated hard work to your students."

"Thank you. But of course, it's not about me – it's about them. My concern is their progress, their benefit." Heyes hated to do it, but he felt he had to ask, "Do you have more, um, questions about my past? My criminal record? I'd like to get the bad stuff out of the way before we get back to the good things - mathematics and teaching. I know my criminal record is something your board is bound to ask about, and the parents of students. And the students themselves, of course. I wouldn't want to frighten them."

The dean signed regretfully. "Yes, that's all true. Your papers answer most of it. There are just a few things I was wondering about. Were you ever in prison other than the famous three days I read about in the newspapers?"

"Um, yes. Not for long," Heyes confessed, shifting on the bunk uncomfortably.

Dean White said, "I see. May I assume it wasn't a lawyer who got you out?"

Heyes grimaced, knowing this looked very bad. "Not exactly. That was before we went straight."

The dean kindly moved on, if only slightly, "What about jail? Other than that time in prison, were you arrested before you went straight?"

Heyes' voice was strained. "Yes. And after we went straight. About a dozen times, in all."

Like others who had learned this, the interviewer was curious, "Oh? How did you manage to escape being locked up for good before you got amnesty?"

Somehow the generalities he had used before about the gift for liberty didn't seem to fit this situation. To this earnest young dean, the former robber felt he had to come clean. "Well, there were a few kindly judges and helpful confederates. But we weren't supposed to tell people about the amnesty deal and we didn't. It was a real temptation, but we didn't do it. But now, I can't hide the truth from you. The one crime that we continued to pull off after we were going for amnesty was jail break. My partner, of course, is pretty handy in those situations. And I, um, have a gift for opening things – doors, gates, windows. And safes. I won't use that gift any longer to break the law, of course."

The dean nodded with an understanding that the former outlaw appreciated. "I see. It does seem very unfair for men who have gone straight and are seeking amnesty to be locked up by some sheriff or bounty hunter who just doesn't happen to know about the situation. And you couldn't even tell them. And you did have that little gift. I can understand the temptation. And I guess the four governors saw your side of things, too, since they didn't let a few jailbreaks get in the way of an otherwise well-earned amnesty. So I hope our board and President would look past those offences."

The expert jail breaker smiled wryly. "Thank you. I do realize that there are other ways you could choose to deal with those, um, little slip ups. We never did hurt anyone in the process of breaking jail, and along the way we managed to turn in other criminals and money they had stolen."

The young dean looked admiringly at the man he was interviewing. "It must have been very dangerous for you. I read in the newspapers about your criminal catching exploits."

Heyes looked curiously at the dean. "You, too? Did everybody in the country but the Kid and me read about that trial?"

The dean replied, "Yes, I suppose a lot of people did. I can imagine that you couldn't exactly keep up on the news while you were locked up. But now that you're free, you ought to read some of those articles, if you can get hold of them. It would help you to understand how people perceive you, and why they react as they do."

Heyes hadn't thought about it that way before. "Yes, I should read some about it – if I can find the articles. I just haven't had a lot of opportunity to hunt up old newspapers since the amnesty, what with my graduation and wedding and job hunting, and doing a job of work for that little clothing factory."

"You have been pretty busy," Dean White acknowledged.

Heyes exhaled hard. "Yes, we really have."

The dean looked down and made a note on his pad. "What is your partner doing these days?"

"He got married when I did. He's the sheriff of Louisville, Colorado. He and his wife run a hotel and saloon there. Louisville is the little town where he's been living for the last six years. It's where he found help for me after I was shot in the head that night."

The dean grinned. "A sheriff! That certainly helps us to make our case that you two are trustworthy now. But I must admit, it will take some doing to get the board to accept you. I assume your ideas of, oh, for instance, discipline have changed pretty drastically in the last eight years."

Heyes chuckled, "Yes, sir, of course they have. I've spent about five years around academia – I know how it works and how different it is than any gang. I know how to use words and wit to motivate students. I'm not exactly going to leave any of them stranded in the desert with only one canteen."

Dean White was shocked at even the suggestion of this. "You really did that? But you and Mr. Curry have such a clean reputation."

Heyes paused, torn for a moment between lying by denying the charge – saying he had only heard about it from others – and truthfully confessing to what he had done. Finally he said, "Yes, this is all about my earning your trust. So I guess I'd better fess up to the truth. Yes, we did that a couple of times. I mean, this was a criminal gang – not a sorority. Compared to what other guys did . . ."

Dean White made an effort to understand this insight from another world. "I suppose other gang leaders would just shoot men who angered them?"

"Yes. Or worse. Sometimes a lot worse. I've seen it. I had some narrow escapes, myself, before I was in charge. And I have to say, getting close to dying of thirst in the desert is no picnic. I've been there a few times."

Now the dean was really appalled. "You have? Not just once, but a few times?"

The former outlaw was casual about what he knew all too well. "Oh, yeah. It was rough, especially when we had no water at all and it got up way over 100 degrees. But with the Kid to help, I got through it."

His potential boss said, "I can see why you went straight. Avoiding having people do that kind of thing to do you would be worth giving up the easy money."

Heyes had to correct this. "Hold on there, dean! Two of the times that happened to me were after we went straight. And you shouldn't ever think stealing the way we did was easy. It took planning, preparation, and discipline. And no matter how well we planned, there were a lot of risks from all kinds of directions - not just from sheriffs, bounty hunters, and detectives."

The dean shook his head in disbelief. "Yet you got through all of that. And now you're ready to teach mathematics at the college level and do original research that I head is earth-shaking. It's amazing. Tell me about your approach to teaching, if you would."

Heyes' brilliant smile lit the caboose. They were past the hard stuff at last. Now came what he enjoyed. "With the greatest of pleasure, Dean. You know, I was just remembering dreaming about this very moment. It was when I was in prison. It seemed so real as I was telling a dean about my ideas. When I woke up to the prison bugle – and banged my head on the ceiling of my cell - I was so sure I would never really be sharing my vision with somebody like you. Now, it's happening. It honestly is a dream come true." There was a thoughtful pause as both men took sips of their coffee. The dean shook his head in amazement.

Heyes put his coffee cup down on a handy steamer trunk. "Let me sketch a class plan out for you. This isn't theory – I used it when I was subbing for Charlie Homer this spring."

"Just before you got arrested?" The dean asked.

"Yeah." Heyes was dismayed not to be totally past the hard stuff.

"Wasn't it distracting - knowing what was coming?"

Heyes explained, "Yes. I knew the arrest was coming, and Mrs. Homer had just died. So we were all in mourning. But having the students to care about was a whole lot better than just waiting around being helpless. Let me show you what I did, please."

Soon Heyes had the dean looking over his shoulder at his journal, which stood in for the blackboard. "This guy Willard always thought he was hot stuff, but he didn't have this calculation quite right – here's what I showed him - then I had him teaching the other students . . ." It wasn't long before the two academics were swapping stories about ways they liked to keep students involved. Heyes could see that while he was good at it, his potential dean had enough additional experience to have a great many more tactics at his disposal, and a lot more real understanding of the problems students faced. The job candidate filed away at least as much information as he gave out.

The dean made his interviewee smile when he said, "Mr. Heyes, I read that article you published, like I said. But I teach English – so I could use some extra instruction on how this big idea of yours really works."

Heyes had nearly finished walking the dean through the formulas in his journal, with the academic catching on quickly, when a conductor stuck his head into the caboose. "You gentlemen about done? Your time's more than up and we got men need to get in there to eat and rest up between shifts."

"Give us about, oh, ten minutes, could you?" asked Dean White.

"Sure thing," said the conductor. "Just come on out when you're finished.

The dean looked appraisingly at Heyes. He took a sip of coffee, then put the heavy mug down on the steamer trunk. "So, would you like to come up and meet the board and the president in a couple of days?"

Heyes stared at the dean in stunned silence for a moment. "The board? And the president of the college? Are you saying you want to hire me?"

Dean White nodded. "Yes. Or we do if the board and the President agree, and they had better agree at this late date when they're offered such an excellent candidate, yes. Do you want to come? Would you and Mrs. Heyes be willing to move up to Keuka in time to start in the fall?"

"You're serious. You really mean it." The ex-outlaw could hardly believe his good fortune. He knew it was unprofessional to show his surprise, but he couldn't help it. And he felt as if he had a friendship starting with the curly-haired dean.

The dean smiled and pushed back a stray lock of his honey-colored hair. "Of course I'm serious! We need you desperately. I think you'd be the most perfect fit imaginable. Once the word gets out, boys will come from all over the country to study with you. And girls, too, I hope. And we'd get an out-and-out genius to do research under our imprimatur as well. What a deal! So, will you come?" The dean stood and held out his hand.

Heyes sprang to his feet and extended with own hand. There was a brilliant smile on his face. "Just try to stop me! And if Harvard wants me the following semester, well, you do understand."

Dean White was smiling just as broadly. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I can't do it now, but I hope to be addressing you as Professor Heyes as soon as the end of this week."

"Professor Heyes. It sure sounds good!" exclaimed Heyes. He took a deep breath. So close. So close. But still, he wasn't quite home safe. There was a board full of rich folks in the way, and a president, as always. But the boards that had rejected him at other schools had heard about him only second-hand. Now he got to meet the men in authority in person. The last board he had met in person was the one at Columbia University – the board the former gang leader had successfully convinced to let him graduate. Surely he could do it again. "Thank you, Dean. It would be a privilege to meet your board. I'll get the train tickets as soon as I get in to Manhattan, or as soon as I can. I'll be getting in pretty late. Is there someplace you can put me up in Keuka? I'm about out of money."

The dean clapped Heyes companionably on the shoulder. "We'll put you up at the local inn and pay for the train tickets and meals, of course. Bring some riding gear – Western, if you like. I'd like to show you around the natural beauty of the area and on horseback is the best way to do it. And we can give you some help when you and Mrs. Heyes having moving expenses to cope with."

Heyes couldn't stop smiling. To let go, almost, of that anxiety over funds would be a terrific relief. "Thank you. I appreciate all that consideration very much, Dean. If you want to see me in my western gear, I'd be glad to oblige. Just don't expect me to do fast-draw for you. That's my partner, not me."

"Please call me Charlie," said the Dean.

Heyes tried in vain to restrain his delighted laughter. "Thank you, Charlie. You know that's the same name as my adviser at Columbia, Charlie Homer? Seems like a good omen to me. You can call me Joshua. It's my middle name."

The dean asked, "Wasn't it the first name of your alias?"

Heyes was taken aback yet again by how much the dean of Keuka already knew about him. "Yeah. I had to go to court to make it official. It's a pleasure to use it honestly at last."

The two men were both feeling far more relaxed than they had been only about an hour before. "So," asked Charlie White playfully, "what's it like to be Hannibal Heyes' boss?"

Heyes shrugged. "I don't know. Charlie Homer was more adviser and friend than boss. And Mr. Levy, the owner of the clothing factory where I do the books, hasn't been my boss for very long. You're welcome to speak to him. Past those guys, you'd have to ask Big Jim Santana, Weasel Plummer, Black Jack Richthofen, One-Eye Garrison, or a guy they call just Ranger."

"You honestly worked for guys with all those colorful names?" asked the dean skeptically.

Heyes burst out laughing. "Honesty had nothing to do with it! Those are all gang leaders except the last guy. Actually, nobody much but me and a couple of pals called Jim Plummer Weasel. Fit him real well, though."

"And what does Mr. Ranger do? That wouldn't be much of a name for an outlaw."

Heyes happily indulged his love of talking, "He's the ramrod at Bull Run Ranch in Wyoming, so you really could ask him about me. I saw him there not long ago, as a matter of fact. Not that I recommend your taking the trouble to get in touch with him – being a ranch hand isn't much like being a professor. And, frankly, I wasn't real good at the work, other than riding and breaking horses. I was good in the saddle, in those days. Now I'm terribly out of practice, as you'll see. If you want to ask somebody about bossing me as an outlaw, Big Jim Santana headed the Devil's Hole bunch before I did. He went straight not long after the Kid and I did. I talked him into giving up stealing, as a matter of fact. He's a successful businessman in California these days. He paid for a lot of my education. Or his wealthy wife did. She's pretty grateful to me for getting him on the straight and narrow."

The dean laughed. "I suppose so. So you talked another outlaw into going straight? That's interesting. And good – it might help me to convince the board about you. If you think of anything else that might help, let me know. I'm being sanguine, but it might not be perfectly easy to talk that bunch of businessmen and politicians into paying you to teach. I'll do my best, but as I say, any help you can offer will be gratefully received."

Heyes put away his journal and the pair headed for the door of the caboose. "You bet, Charlie. I can bring you written details about criminals my partner and I caught and turned in, and money we turned in, though most of it isn't real provable in a court of law since we were using aliases and keeping a real low profile. And another former boss of mine is on this train, as you know. Mrs. Evans said she'd be happy to speak for me, if you need somebody to address my character. The Kid and I worked for her just after we went straight, though it wasn't for long. But, well, she can tell you about it."

Dean White was just opening his mouth to say something when the conductor put his head in the door again, "Gentlemen?" He looked pointedly at his pocket watch.

"Sorry!" said Dean White. "We can leave you your caboose. We're done – for the moment, anyhow. Thank you very much, Joshua. I'll be getting off soon to take the spur line to Keuka. Here's my card. Give me a call or send a telegram and we can set up the details of your meeting the board – say, on Friday morning? Oh boy, will the president and the board be surprised when I tell them who I found for the post!"

"I guess so," laughed Heyes as they left caboose. "I just hope it's the right kind of surprised." The train jerked and he held on to the rail outside the door, then passed back into the next carriage.

When the former outlaw got back to his seat, Mary Evans looked gladly at him. "So, Joshua, it must have gone well."

Heyes' elation was already fading as he considered his situation, so he spoke soberly. "I think so. But then again, I've thought so before and gotten told 'no.' So we'll see when I meet the board and the college president on Friday."

Even so, Mary thought she could see a sort of glow about her former floor manager for the rest of the train trip. She went to sit next to the dean of Keuka College to tell him about her brief but telling acquaintance with Joshua Smith, AKA Hannibal Heyes. Dean White greeted Mary's story with enthusiasm. Then the dean waved to Heyes and got off the train to catch his connection. Having heard the enthusiasm in his potential dean's voice cheered up Heyes. He wrote happy in his journal for a while. Then he stretched out to catch up on his sleep. Mary was happy to see that even as he snored softly, Hannibal Heyes' face had a faint smile on it.

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It was late that night and Beth Heyes had long been in bed and asleep when she woke to the soft, distinctive clicking sound that told her the big, old-fashioned lock of her apartment was being picked. She smiled in the darkness. Her husband was home.

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Billy Healy came out from the shadowy back room where the cells and their unhappy inhabitants were. Early morning light came under the porch roof through the barred front windows to illuminate the front room of the sheriff's office brightly. The deputy whispered, though there was no one else in the room. "You know, boss, that guy Streeter says he's got stuff on you fit to put you away. He's even hinting you might get hung."

Curry scratched the back of his neck as he sat at his desk. "He's a con man, Billy. He said the same thing to me, as if I wouldn't know lies about my own self when I hear them. The law's got more on me than he does and I've got amnesty on the whole thing. So don't let Streeter worry you. The guys from Denver will be here any old time to get him anyhow. So then we can stop putting up with that mouth of his."

"Alright, boss. Whatever you say. You want I should go do a patrol now?" The black-haired deputy checked his gun and ammunition, having no doubt of the answer.

Curry stared out the front window, squinting into the light. "Sure, Billy, go take a turn around town. Keep an eye out to make sure there's nobody who looks like he might be watching this place. I don't suppose Streeter has friends trying to spring him, but you never know. I don't have to tell you to be back here by nine. Al ought to be in in time, but I want both of you here when they haul Streeter off."

"You know some interesting guys, boss, don't you?" Healy inquired just before he went out.

"Guess so," observed the famous gunman turned sheriff. As his deputy went out the door, Curry sighed and wiped the back of his neck with a sweaty blue bandana. Keeping track of criminals and other young men never got any easier, no matter which side of the law he was on.

Just as Kid Curry was left alone out front to watch over his former colleague in the cells, the phone rang. He stared at it for a moment, startled by the rare sound. "Louisville Sheriff's office!" he called over the line.

The voice on the other end was familiar, though he hadn't heard it over wires before, "Howdy, Jed. It's Lom."

"Howdy, Lom. How are things with you? The arm working any better?" asked Jed loudly.

The former sheriff in Wyoming tried to put a brave face on it, but he wasn't good at hiding his concern, even over the phone. "I can cut my own meat - if Izzy got a real tender steak and didn't burn it."

Now Curry was concerned, too. It wasn't like Lom to complain. "I'm sorry about the arm, Lom. It's a damn shame. But what'd you really call for? Ain't just to say howdy."

"No. I might not wear a badge any longer, Jed, but I talk to lawmen and I hear rumors. The scuttlebutt is the young Teasdales are heading south with their boys. Don't know if they're going in your direction, but I don't know that they ain't."

There was a pause before the Louisville sheriff replied. "Thanks for the word, Lom. We'll keep our eyes peeled. Not that we don't always. You know how it is for lawmen like us."

Lom replied, "Yeah, I know. How's Cat doing?"

Curry smiled even though Lom couldn't see it. "Fine, just fine. Getting bigger every day and blooming like a rose. How's Isabel?"

"Glad to hear you lady's well. So is mine, though she's getting ideas. Not healthy in a woman, but you know Izzy. I think she might make me go to Paris with her in the fall. Guess I can put up with it."

Curry only laughed over that, not knowing what else to say.

"You hear anything from Heyes about his job hunt?"

"Yeah. Most places said no, but he just interviewed at that big New England school – Harvard. They might want him in the spring. Don't know how it went. If nobody wants him before spring, he and Beth might be here with us in the fall, managing the place when Cat has the baby."

Lom said, "I wish Heyes all the luck in the world. You tell him that when you speak to him next. And give Cat a kiss for me. Well, I better let you be. Take care, Jed."

"Kiss Izzy for me. And thanks, Lom, for getting word to me."

"Well, you know what they done to me."

"Yeah, I know." The phone clicked. Jed sighed again. It already felt like a long day and it wasn't even 9:00 AM yet.

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By 8:30, both of Curry's deputies were in the office. Al Kelly paced up and down nervously, looking out the window while Billy Healy watched the prisoner. "Would you stop it with the pacing, already?" griped the Kid. "You're as bad as Heyes."

"Sorry, boss," said the blond deputy. He went and sat at his desk, but still looked antsy.

"What are you upset about, Al?" asked Curry grouchily. "Streeter don't say he's got any dirt on you."

Kelly squirmed in his seat as he checked the wall clock one more time. "What if the marshals listen to that guy? He ain't above lying."

"They're professionals, Kelly, they know better than to believe a confidence artist," said Curry as soothingly as he could.

Promptly at 9:32, there was a knock on the door. Kelly was already on his face, having seen the marshals coming. He opened the door. "Come on in gentlemen. We've got the prisoner all ready for you."

The sheriff had gotten to his feet. "Welcome to Louisville, marshals. I'm Sheriff Curry, and this is my deputy, Al Kelly. Billy Healy is the man in back with the prisoner," said Jed. He pointed to the forms on his desk. "Paperwork is all set for you to sign."

"So I see. And I do remember you, Curry," said a tall, lean marshal, fixing a steely grey gaze on the famous former outlaw, who returned it unflinchingly. "In case you don't recall, I'm Clinton Williams and this is David Velasquez." Kelly and Curry nodded to their guests but didn't shake hands. The tall sheriff looked at the papers on the sheriff's desk, then looked up, "It all looks in order. Curry, do I understand you know this man Streeter?" The scorn in his voice was unmistakable.

The sheriff nodded. "Yeah, I do. Not real well, but my partner and I did a couple of jobs with him, back about ten years ago."

"You're sure he's the same man?" asked Velasquez, a younger, powerfully built man with suspicious dark eyes. He was carrying a heavy canvas bag that clanked when it moved.

"I am," said the Kid. "He keeps changing names, but I know the face, the voice, and the way he operates. He's real shifty, I don't have to tell you."

"I guess you'd know, Curry," said Velasquez with the tiniest mocking edge to his voice.

The sheriff didn't rise to the bait. Al Kelly turned to look at his boss, who shot a warning look at his deputy.

"Alright, let's go get the prisoner," said Marshal Williams. He looked from Curry to Kelly. "You stay here. Kelly, stay on that door. Curry, with that bad leg, you'd better just keep clear."

"We know how to handle a prisoner pick up," said Curry coldly as he drew his pistol, ready to react if the Streeter made a false move or anyone appeared to try to free him. The two marshals just kept walking into the back.

Al Kelly opened his mouth to say something resentful about the marshals, but his boss shook his head. He didn't want any nasty words overheard by the two men in back who could make things much worse for two former criminals turned lawmen if they wanted to.

The lawmen out front heard raised voices from the cells. Then it fell silent until they heard the clank of iron chains. Streeter was white as a sheet as the marshals walked him into the office with his hands chained behind him and his legs chained together so he could take only short steps. It was clear as crystal to the con man that he wasn't going to get out of this, no matter what he said. Billy Healy, with his pistol drawn, followed the trio closely. Velasquez held the shackled man's chains as his boss signed the papers and folded up a copy to take with him. Williams said, "Alright, Curry. We'll take it from here." He tipped his hat to Curry and let the door slam behind him.

"What a couple of stuck up bastards!" said Al Kelly. Billy Healy just stared angrily after the departing marshals.

"Shut your mouth," said Curry. "They're marshals. Did you expect them to like me?" The sheriff grunted as he sat down at his desk.

"Where'd you run into Marshal Williams?" asked Kelly. Healy looked at him, startled.

Curry made his deputies jump when he laughed. "Heyes and me conned him once. He was all convinced we were honest traders – not the outlaws he was after. Now he knows better. Or worse."

Now all three men were laughing, partly with relief that the prisoner and his guards were gone.

Curry "Now get back to work. Do a patrol, Kelly. And keep your eyes peeled. If that goes good, let me know and then you're off until tonight."

"Yeah, boss." Kelly checked his weapon and headed out.

A couple of hours later, Curry went out on a patrol of his own. He swung his way down the street on his crutches with greater speed and grace than he would have thought possible only a few days before. Mrs. Glover was out front of her dry goods store talking with a couple as the sheriff passed by. She gave him a friendly wave. Curry nodded in return and smiled. He didn't have a hand free to tip his brown cowboy hat to her as he usually did.

A pair of gawky teenaged boys rode by double on a mule with its long ears nodding in time to its relaxed stride. The boys, too, waved at the sheriff and smiled. "How's the leg, Sheriff Curry?" asked the older boy who was in front to steer.

The sheriff called back, "It's coming along fine, thanks, Kirby. Doc says maybe the cast will come off in a couple of weeks. You boys staying out of trouble?"

"Yes, sheriff," the pair said in almost perfect unison.

The younger boy on the mule piped up "We just helped widow Kershaw weed and water her garden. She gave us two whole bits!"

"Good for you, Hank!" said Curry with the grin. He got a kick out of being a popular sheriff in a town where he had once had to skulk and hide his name.

It was nearly lunch time, so after Curry had checked the worst boarding house and the nearby pawn shop, he swung his way toward Christy's Place. As he went in the bat wing doors, he was greeted by a cheerful chorus of drinkers, domino-players, girls, and other employees, saying, "Hello, Sheriff!" "Hi boss!" and other close variants on those themes.

Curry paused to lean against the bar and said, "Hello, boys!"

"Hello, boss! Your wife's in back, expecting you," called Ted from the piano stool. "Smells like she's frying up the trout the Webster boys caught this morning and brought over for you."

Jed Curry didn't need any further excuse to get back on his crutches and hurry into the back room of the hotel next to the kitchen.

"Hey, honey," said Cat as she came out of the kitchen. "I heard you come in."

"Ain't like I can sneak up and surprise nobody," complained the sheriff, giving his wife a quick kiss. "I'm gettin' awful ready to get this cast off and be back on my feet like a man should be."

"I know you're antsy, Jed," said Cat. "Is that conman on his way to Denver?"

"Yeah. He's gone," said Curry in a louder voice as his wife vanished into the kitchen to get his friend trout for lunch.

"I hope the marshals were decent to you," said Cat over her shoulder.

"Decent enough," said Jed as Cat reappeared with a plate of fish, greens, and hot rolls for him. "I recognized one of the marshals. He's one Heyes and I fooled one time, so he didn't exactly fall over himself being respectful."

Cat put down Jed's plate for him and spread a red checked napkin on his lap. She poured him a glass of cold water from a glass pitcher. "I guess some of the law men who remember you on the wrong side of the law have a hard time with the change. It's understandable."

"Yeah," said the sheriff gruffly and started on his lunch. "So long as the folks in town trust me, that's enough for me."

Catsmiled at that. She was proud to have her husband be as liked and respected as he was in Louisville. She came to sit by Jed as he finished his lunch. She could see that he was worried, but she knew better than to ask about. Jed Curry would tell her when he was good and ready and not before. When he limped his way off to complete his rounds, he hadn't told his wife any more about what had him concerned.

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As the sun got low in the sky, Jed Curry felt like he needed a drink. But more than that, he needed to get home and lie down. It hadn't been any harder a day than usual, with just the usual run of obnoxious drunks, irresponsible parents, and wild boys. But he had been worrying about what Lom had told him over the phone, knowing he couldn't do anything about it until something actually happened.

The sheriff was about to swing his crutches up from the unpaved street to the board walk near the front of Christy's Place when he realized that he was nearly stepping on a figure collapsed in the shadows of the gutter. It wasn't unusual. The man would wake up and move on when he was ready. Every night there was at least one drunk in the gutter. But then Curry stopped. He leaned over and peered into the face of the collapsed man.

The sheriff moved carefully around the fallen figure and limped into Christy's. He went to find Billy Healy in the back room having dinner before turning in after a long shift. Curry could hear his wife working in the kitchen, but he didn't bother her. "Billy," said Curry quietly, "Can you help me out? Paul Dudley's lying in the gutter out front. He's dead drunk."

Healy put down his fork "Oh, Sheriff? Dudley - he's one of the coal miners from the Broken Heart that went bust, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is," said the sheriff. "Poor guy. No work, and no mines hiring, just now."

The deputy looked at his boss in puzzlement. "You want me to throw him in jail till he sobers up? He hasn't caused any trouble that I've heard of. Just quietly got pie-eyed all by himself in Dugan's place. I guess he was headed over here to get more when he passed out. Seems mean to give him a jail record on account of it."

"No, that I ain't what I want," said Jed Curry impatiently. "I want you to help me get him out of the gutter and put him in a room so we can look after him till he wakes up and can go home. And we got to let his wife know where he is and what's going on. You know where they live in that little cottage outside town?"

Healy said, "Sure, boss. What you want to take all that trouble over a drunk for?"

The sheriff's blue eyes were filled with concern. "Come on. You know Paul. He's a good man. He just lost his job and he got to drinking so he could forget how worried he is about his wife and kids. So I want to do what we can for him and his family. That's part of our job, looking after this town."

Billy Healy stared at his boss for a moment, then went to do as he was told. It took Healy and Bruce both to drag the inert form of the drunken miner up the stairs to the closest empty room and get him into bed while Curry held doors for them.

Curry went to find Cat in the kitchen. "Honey, Paul Dudley's in room 11, sleeping off a drunk. I almost tripped over him coming in tonight. Please make sure his wife knows when he's ready to go home. I'm gonna send Billy to tell her where he is tonight. I doubt she'll be in to see him until tomorrow, with those little kids to look after. She's gotta know he lost his job when the Broken Heart Mine went under today."

Cat kissed her husband on the cheek. "Sweetie, you are the best man going. What other sheriff cares about drunken miners in a coal mining town, whether or not they have families depending on them?"

The handsome sheriff said, "Hey, I hope somebody would do the same for me if I needed it."

Cat looked at the Kid in concern. "You've never been anything like that drunk since I've known you."

The Kid looked past his wife and toward the door in the direction of the bar. Cat could only guess what bitter memories lay behind his troubled eyes. And what new worries were troubling him.

Historical Note – the quote Heyes cited from the Keuka College brochure of 1891 is word for word.