The two Heyes woke up simultaneously, with their arms around each other. Beth saw early evening light coming in the curtains, casting a soft glow over her husband's sleepy face. He stretched and yawned.
"How do you feel?" she asked tentatively.
Heyes took a minute to consider that. "Lucky to still have you with me, after how damn thoughtless I've been. I still need a drink. But I could use some food."
"Well, that sounds hopeful," said his wife, leaning her head affectionately against his bare shoulder.
"I guess," said Heyes without enthusiasm. "How about you?"
"Feeling lazy to be lying here enjoying you. I'd better go get cooking, love" She regretfully freed herself from Heyes' arms.
"Thanks, honey," said her husband. "You do know I'm awful sorry. I don't know how you put up with me. You're so good. I'm not worthy of you at all."
Beth sighed, "Oh, Heyes, I'm no better than anybody else – who's in love. You make me feel like a real woman. To me, you're worth whatever it takes. I despair of getting you to believe that." She kissed Heyes again, then picked her clothes up off the floor, where they had landed a few hours before. She redressed quickly.
Beth closed the bedroom door carefully behind herself and locked it. She found Jim Smith on guard duty in the parlor. "Hello, Jim," she said. "Thank you so much for coming so the doctor could get back to the clinic. After what you did for us last night, we shouldn't ask it of you. You might have saved Heyes' life."
"I'm glad t-to help," said the scar-faced young man, startled at the thought of saving the famous outlaw who had once been his roommate. "But I won't b-be on d-duty for long. There should be somebody from Columbia here soon, the doc said. Good thing – I'm b-beat. How's Heyes?"
Beth talked as she gathered ingredients and dishes in the kitchen. "Better. He's hungry. And he's being honest that he's craving whiskey. I guess that won't change for a while. I'm just glad he's not lying about it the way he was at first. We still need to watch him carefully. Did the doctor tell you he's gotten out twice already?"
Jim nodded. "Yeah. And st-tole your money. That doesn't sound like the guy I used t-to room with."
Beth paused in her labors. "It used to be typical of Heyes, lying and stealing, before we knew him. You know that and so does he. Charlie helped him to remember that it isn't like him any longer. He gave the money back, Jim. What he hadn't already spent on drink. And he gave us his pick locks to keep. But I know not to trust him yet, no matter how many sweet things he says."
"I b-better go in the b-bedroom and watch him while you c-cook his dinner," said Jim. "The doc said he k-keeps slipping out when you think he's asleep or something. I mean, he is Hannibal Heyes."
"Yes, he's way too good at getting past us. It's effortless for him, even when he feels as bad as he does now, "said Beth. "But don't go in there without knocking. He's not dressed." She blushed, guessing Jim was well aware of what had been going on in the bedroom a few hours before.
"Thanks for the word, Beth." Jim grinned.
"Heyes, you d-decent?" he called through the door.
The answering was unsteady since, Heyes was rapidly getting dressed as he spoke. "No, but I'm trying." He clearly meant more than that he was putting on clothes. "You can come in while I finish dressing, if you want to keep an eye on me. You saw me in the buff plenty of times when we were roomies."
"Alright," said his former roommate. "Sorry to have t-to do this."
Jim found his former roommate still pulling up his pants. He looked tired, but much better than when Jim had last seen him. "I understand what you need to do, Jim," said the former grad student. "And why."
Jim nodded sadly. He tried to joke. "I hope you ain't going to try to climb out the window or something. Beth's in there cooking dinner for you. That'd be an awful way to treat her."
Heyes looked away from his friend, hiding his shame as best he could. He sat down on the bed in his stocking feet, motioning for Jim to sit next to him. The recovering drunk groped for something he could say without getting into awkward territory. The whole situation was horribly embarrassing. He asked, "How're things at the clinic these days?"
Jim kicked his short legs on the side of the bed while his friend put on his shoes. "Doing fine. You know P-Polly's leaving to marry that doctor she's been seeing?"
Heyes smiled. "That's nice. No, I hadn't heard, but I thought they'd tie the knot soon."
Jim said, "We got three new patients who heard about the c-clinic because of you. They've got a chance to live like normal folks – b-because of you, Heyes."
"Really? I'm glad I've done some good." Heyes didn't sound proud of himself. He stood in front of the bedroom mirror and combed his hair.
Jim said, "Yeah. Those folks are grateful t-to you – we all are."
"Thanks," Heyes whispered.
The ex-gang stood leaning on the wall for a few minutes in awkward silence. Then he said, "Jim, when I'm up to it, Beth and I are gonna move out to Louisville. We'll leave in the next couple of days. I'm gonna manage the new hotel Jed and Cat are buying. Or I will if they ever trust me again."
"Of course they t-trust you! That's your partner." said Jim.
"Yeah, he knows me. He knows it'll be a while before I'm good for much." Heyes couldn't hide how low he felt.
Jim said, "We're gonna miss you, Joshua. Me and all the folks at the clinic, and Columbia. You got a lot of friends here."
Heyes' head was down. "I did have friends. I appreciate that you've stuck with me. You and Charlie. But I've been through this before, Jim. A drunken outlaw gets short on friends right quick, when they find out they can't trust him."
Jim hated to think what his friend had been through in years past. "You aren't an outlaw any more, Heyes. You got better friends now. We believe in you. We know you ain't perfect. But you're a good guy. If you act right, you won't lose friends over this. Or jobs."
Heyes snorted. "I won't act right. I never do when I get to drinking. The Kid had to . . . well, it wasn't a lot of fun for him."
Jim wasn't giving in. "This time is gonna be different. You're a different guy than you were."
Heyes shrugged glumly. "I'm trying. I am. But I already lost all the jobs that count. The teaching jobs. I'm grateful to the Kid and Cat for wanting to hire me. But they're family. Nobody else is gonna want to look at me. I got a family to support. I wish I could do it without leaning on my partner. God, how I need a drink!" He ran both hands through his hair and started to pace nervously.
Jim spoke firmly, "Hold on, Heyes. You gotta hold on. It'll get better. Nobody's gonna tell any schools about last night."
Heyes looked at Jim questioningly. Could it really be possible that his drinking wouldn't destroy his career?
Jim wisely steered be conversation back to the practical concerns of the present. "Beth's got dinner coming along. Smells good."
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In Louisville, Jed Curry was standing in front of his bedroom mirror balancing against the dresser. He was combing his hair with more than ordinary care. "Damn it, it's still too short to lie down right," he muttered.
"Don't worry, sweetie, nobody ever refused to sell a hotel to somebody because he had a curl or two or even three sticking out," said Cat soothingly. "Here, let me fix it."
The sheriff fidgeted like a boy as his wife fussed over his him. She finished by brushing off the shoulders of his suit and nuzzling him playfully behind one ear.
A few minutes later a squeaky-clean Jed Curry was swinging down the street on his crutches, trying hard not to stir up dirt that could mess up his grey suit. He carefully boosted himself up onto the board walk in front of the Ross Hotel. The lobby was tiny compared to the Palace in New York, but with its potted palms and polished mirrors the hotel seemed terribly formal compared to Christie's place. Curry knew his polished boots were dusty, but it was impossible to avoid in a town with unpaved streets. He limped over to the front desk, feeling as if his crutches made a terrible amount of noise.
"Yes, Sheriff, what can I do for you?" asked the fastidious little clerk behind the counter, even though Curry wasn't wearing his badge.
"I'd like to speak with Mr. Ross, if he's available," said Jedediah Curry in his most business-like voice. He took off his hat.
"Yes, sir, he's in his office." The clerk pointed down the hall. He asked with concern "Is there some trouble?"
"No, no trouble. Just business," Curry assured the clerk.
"I'll go let Mr. Ross know you're here," said the clerk, hurrying down the hall. "Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Curry." Jed stood stiffly in the lobby, not daring to sit in the one of the upholstered chairs for fear he would have trouble getting out of it again with his crutches.
In a moment, the clerk was on his way back to the front desk. "Go right in, Mr. Curry."
"Thanks," said Jed Curry, wiping a bit of dust off his suit. He limped down the hall and looked in to see the grey-haired Ross sitting importantly behind his gleaming walnut desk in his paneled office.
"Sit down, sheriff," said the bearded proprietor, gesturing to a comfortable armchair across from his desk. He added, "I hope you and Mrs. Curry are well."
"We are. I hope you and Mrs. Ross are well, too," said Curry a bit awkwardly. He was eager to get down to business.
"Actually, my wife is not doing well. But I thank you for the good wishes." The hotel owner paused uncomfortably. Jed Curry recalled that he had heard Mrs. Ross was unwell. He guessed Mrs. Ross's troubles might have to do with the hotel's selling out, and perhaps Ross didn't want the details getting around. Ross went on, "Is it some legal trouble that brings you, sheriff?"
Curry fiddled with his pocket watch. "No, I'm here on my own account – for business."
"Oh? What is your business with me?" Ross asked, though the sheriff felt sure the canny business man across the desk had a pretty good idea of why a fellow hotel owner would come to him. There was, after all, a "for sale" sign was on the Ross Hotel.
"Mr. Ross," said the sheriff. "I'd like to make an offer for your hotel."
Ross watched the man across from him attentively. "I see. You are aware of the price we are asking?" Ross clearly was dubious that Kid Curry, proprietor of a saloon and a much smaller hotel, would have the funds to purchase a real hotel.
"Yes, sir." Curry. "Would you take $500 off the price you listed with the real estate agent?"
Ross's eyebrows rose. "No. The price is firm."
Curry, remembering facing off with gunmen in the street, was not put off. His famous poker face was in place. "$250.00 off?"
"No. The price listed or nothing." Mr. Ross wasn't backing off, either.
Curry nodded. "Alright. But I'll have to get back to you. When do you need to know for sure?"
Ross said, "Next Friday, at the latest. Would you change the name of the hotel?"
"Yes." The Kid guessed that this would be to Ross's liking.
The proprietor of the hotel nodded. "Good. If I'm not running it, I don't want my name on it. You could use any name you like, though I would recommend against using your own."
Curry allowed himself a very slight, cool smile. "The name of my hotel is my business."
Now it was Ross who looked a little tense. Offending Kid Curry might not be the best idea. "Certainly, Mr. Curry. Would you be interesting in retaining some of my staff?"
"If I can, yes. When I get back to you, you can tell me about them. Alright?" Curry got the feeling that, business-like as Ross was, he was not looking to throw his loyal employees out of work. The sheriff felt the same. If he was able to make this purchase, it wasn't going to be easy to decide on the full list of who he would keep from both staffs. Much would depend on who wanted to work for Ted and Joe and who wanted to come with Curry. There was also the question of who among the present staff of Ross's Hotel would care to work for a former outlook. And the qualifications for work at a fine hotel were very different than for workers at a saloon.
There were a few more negotiations back and forth. Then Curry was on his way back to his own current place of business. His head was buzzing with figures. When he got back to Christie's Place, he went to the kitchen and found Cat. He came up behind her on his crutches. "Well, I made my offer to Ross. He wants full price."
"You knew he would," said Cat over her shoulder as she stirred a boiling pot on the stove.
"Yeah. He wants me to keep on some staff."
"You guessed, that, too." Cat was confident in her husband. "Had he had another offer?"
Curry put his arms around his wife as she cooked. "I didn't ask – got the feeling he wouldn't tell me. No reason he's got to tell me that. But I think he ain't had another offer. He wasn't real picky about our offer, long as we pay his price and keep on some staff. He wants word for certain by next Friday."
Cat turned from the stove to face her husband. "So, you'll go to the bank and ask for a loan?"
"Yeah. Won't be easy getting a bank to trust me, I know, even with that letter Wilde wrote me. And the papers from the four governors. Wish I could wait till Heyes is here. He knows interest and stuff backwards and forwards. And you know how good he is at talking folks into things."
Cat said firmly, "You'll be fine." She turned back to her pot. "But honey, with Heyes as he is, would you trust his advice?"
Curry left no room for uncertainty. "You bet your life I would. Heyes knows numbers. He can figure interest in his head right out to the penny. And he knows the laws about money. Course, he won't be drinking here. Just wanting to. So, did you give the new deadlines to the paint and wallpaper guys? And the men helping with the move?"
"Yes, honey, I did." Cat stirred placidly.
Curry asked anxiously, "You didn't tell them why, did you?"
"No. I told them to keep the date of the move quiet," Beth affirmed. "We don't want to take any chances, considering what you heard about the Teasdale Brothers."
"Good. Thanks." Curry limped into the room next door and changed into his lawman clothes with the badge on the chest of the leather vest. He hurried down the street as fast as his crutches would take him.
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It was a strangely quiet, awkward dinner between three close friends. As they finished their apple pie, Beth looked sadly at her husband. "Heyes . . . "
"I know," the former outlaw said, getting to his feet. "You got to lock me in again. I asked for it."
"I'm so sorry, honey," said Beth. "I hope it won't be for much longer."
"That's up to me. I'm trying." Heyes rubbed his head and went into the bedroom.
"You want me to come in and k-keep you company?" asked Jim.
Heyes shook his head. "No, thanks. Think I'll lie down for a bit." Beth put a hand on her husband's shoulder and gave him a lingering kiss.
"You ain't like any jailer I ever had before," joked Heyes wryly before the door closed and Beth locked it behind him.
Jim spoke regretfully, "I p-probably better watch that door, much as I'd rather help you with the dishes."
"Yes, you must keep an eye on the door. I hope you'll be relieved soon. You've done so much already," said Beth before she went to the kitchen. Jim settled himself on the sofa in the parlor where he could watch the bedroom door. He listened carefully, but heard nothing that sounded like a window being opened. He supposed Heyes was in for the night. He hoped so. The previous night had been more than colorful enough for him.
Jim was starting to drowse as Beth Heyes returned from the kitchen and knocked on the bedroom door. "You awake, Heyes?"
"Yeah," came the reply. Jim thought his old friend sounded a bit testy.
Beth went through the door. Jim felt self-conscious as he tried to avoid listening in to the rather intense conversation between husband and wife. It didn't sound exactly like an argument, though there was some emotion on both sides. But they both kept their voices low enough that he couldn't understand more than a few words. He was sure he heard Beth say, "No, you're not!" Other than that, Jim couldn't make it out.
Mrs. Heyes came out the door and closed it behind her. She locked it. Clearly, Heyes wasn't inspiring her with enough confidence yet for her to leave the door open.
Jim jerked out of an unintended nap as he heard a sharp knock on the apartment door.
Beth got up and let in Paul Huxtable, the brilliant Columbia grad student.
"Hello, Beth, Jim," said the red-haired young man as his friends went to meet him.
"Hello, Paul," said Beth. "Thank you very much for coming and helping us keep watch. Heyes is upset to have you know about this, but I need all the help I can get. Jim can't stay all day and neither can the doctor or Charlie Homer. Tomorrow we'll start packing to move out to Colorado. It's going to be a lot to do, all the while watching out for Heyes."
"If it was anybody but Hannibal Heyes you had to keep in, it would be easier," said Huxtable. "I've seen him wriggle out of thongs and pick a lock. I could hardly believe my eyes. I didn't know who he was, then, of course."
"You must have had your suspicions, when you saw him do that," said Beth, remembering hearing about the incident.
Huxtable nodded. "Oh, yeah. Made me wonder. But he had me convinced he was just a regular criminal. Wasn't until that day in Central Park that I found out who he was. I guess none of us will ever forget that. How is he now? Still trying to get out?"
"Not since I've been here. Charlie and I have been helping Beth keep watch," said Jim. "B-but I'm about to fall asleep. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I'm gonna let you take over, Hux. Keep your eyes peeled! He's slippery. Thanks a bunch!" Jim slapped Huxtable on the shoulder as he left.
"Sure. Sleep well!" Huxtable called after his friend.
When Jim was gone, Paul Huxtable looked at Beth with deep concern. "Beth, how is he?"
"He's doing better. He just ate a little dinner, which is the first he's been up to eating. I hope he settles down soon. He hasn't had a drink since late this morning. According to the Kid, don't believe a word he says, no matter how contrite he seems."
"This has to be hard on him. He's a proud man, your husband."
Beth looked mournfully at the bedroom door, behind which they could hear the sound of Heyes' feet in restless motion. "Yes. And he's bored, which isn't a good thing. If you can find something for him to think about beyond his frustration with not getting hired and his anger at himself for one night of weakness, we'd both be in your debt."
"I'll try," said Paul. "I brought some help." He held up a handful of bound books. The young mathematician took a deep breath before he dared to go in with the notorious criminal who was his friend.
Beth unlocked the door and stood back. "Here's Paul. Don't bite his head off, Heyes," she said cautiously.
Heyes was pacing up and down the bedroom like a caged leopard. He stopped and looked at his former classmate apprehensively as Beth locked the bedroom door again.
Huxtable asked, "How are you, Kansas?"
Heyes had a hard time meeting his friend's keen green eyes. He wasn't going to lie again. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Missouri. Again. Yeah, I'm a drunk. I'll never teach. You'll have to do it for me."
Huxtable caught his breath, shocked and grieved to hear such despair from a man he so admired. His voice shook with emotion. "No, you can't believe that! I won't let you! You'll research and you'll teach. You're gonna be a big man in our field. You just gotta get past this little bump in the road."
"Little bump!?" Heyes was angry at having his agony dismissed so lightly.
"Yeah, I know it's hard for you. But the rest of the world is never gonna know. We'll make sure of that. Forget the damn whiskey. Look at this." He handed Heyes a fat little bound journal.
"Don't try to distract me." Heyes began.
Huxtable urged his friend, "Look at it! It's the first number of the Journal of the American Mathematical Society. Charlie got us the first copies off the press."
Heyes was suddenly interested. He exclaimed, "Oh, gee. I've been waiting for that. Didn't think we'd see it till September." He sat on his bed and opened the journal. His friend had his own copy. Both began to read avidly. Soon, they were talking back and forth intensely. Beth was glad to hear the happy voices. By bedtime, Heyes seemed almost normal again. Thinking about mathematics had proved a lot better for him than butting his head against an academic and financial wall. Paul Huxtable sat in the parlor keeping watch while Beth and Heyes got undressed and went to bed.
Late at night, Beth suddenly woke up. The bed next to her was empty. She felt the sheet where Heyes had been. It was still warm. Had Paul fallen asleep and let Heyes escape?
Beth got up, wrapped her robe around her and hunted for the door key. She unlocked the door and stood listening. Two voices were talking quietly in the parlor. The guard had changed – the voices were those of Heyes and Charlie Homer. The former outlaw said, "Alright, I think I've got the pieces straight. You might have to tell me about castling again, if it comes up. What else do I need to do?"
Charlie said, "Just like in life, Heyes – think ahead. Plan. Figure out what's possible and what's likely, and what you want to do about it. The more moves ahead you can think out and keep in your head, the better you'll do."
Beth could hear the smile in her husband's voice. "I think I might be able to manage that, Charlie. Sounds kind of familiar."
"I suspect you're going to enjoy chess, Heyes, if you can find good players out west."
"Let's see. You move first, playing the white pieces, right?"
"Well, you had to play black, with that black hat of yours." The professor laughed softly and Heyes laughed with him.
Mrs. Heyes smiled and went back to bed. She thought her husband would enjoy chess, too. She hoped she could remember how to play well enough to keep him distracted on the train going west.
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The next morning, the Heyes' apartment was bustling with activity. Beth and Heyes were packing clothes and valuables. Jim, Charlie, Paul Huxtable, Everett Carter, and Neal George hurried in and out with things like dishes and small furniture that the Heyes would be unable to take west. They were giving much of the excess away to impecunious Columbia University students and Leutze Clinic patients. There was no time to sell things before they left. Mrs. Westmoreland watched with concern from her door as they loaded goods onto a rented wagon.
"Come on, it's my stuff. I can carry a rug to the wagon without running away!" moaned Heyes to Charlie. "You got to let me out that door sometime."
"No, Heyes. You stay in the apartment where we can keep an eye on you," said his former advisor. "The Kid said not to trust you and you've proven that we can't, yet."
Five minutes later, Heyes was plaguing his wife with the same request. "Come on, honey, you know I'm alright now. I just need to get outside. It's stifling in here in the August heat."
"No, darling, we just don't dare let you out yet," said Beth, giving her husband a loving kiss before she locked the front door on him.
When they both found themselves in the parlor together, the professor talked to Beth. "It's driving Heyes up the wall to have to stay in the apartment while we're all going in and out. He keeps begging to go out with us. How do you feel about it?"
Beth sighed and watched her husband pacing the parlor. "We would all have to watch him like a hawk, even more than we do now. What do you think?"
Charlie looked at Heyes, too. "I think it's better to keep him indoors. He'll be on the train tomorrow – that's more than risk enough."
Heyes came up to the pair. He spoke under his breath, trying to keep his other friends from hearing, as NG carried a bag of flour down the front steps. The amnestied man said, "I heard you. You want to keep me caged up."
"I'm afraid it's the only way," said Beth, taking her husband's hand.
"Would it make a difference if I promised not to run away?" pleaded the former outlaw.
"No!" said Charlie and Beth simultaneously.
Heyes threw his hands in the air. "Alright, alright. I'll go clean out the desk drawers before they haul the desk away." He muttered bitterly as he stalked back into the bedroom, "My own wife doesn't trust me. How do I expect a university to trust me? I don't." He meant Beth to hear him.
She shook her head and looked at Charlie in anguish. He said, "There isn't a right thing to do. We can't avoid hurting him. It's not like he hasn't hurt you."
Beth watched the door. "He's frustrated past bearing. So am I. I just have to trust that it will get better. Are you sure you can afford the time to come out with us on the train?" she asked for about the fifth time, worried at taking the time of their important and responsible friend.
"I'll be back to New York in time to start the semester, Beth. I've been looking forward to seeing Louisville, with all you and Heyes have told me about it. Colorado will be beautiful. It's been years since I was there."
"Thank you, Charlie," said Beth. She went into the bedroom to face her husband's ire.
An hour later, the busy packing and carrying continued. Polly arrived, carrying a basket full of lunch for the busy workers. Everyone gathered on the front steps to eat – there were too many of them to fit at the kitchen table.
Beth came out and joined Polly and the men. "Thank you so much for coming. It's going to be very hard to leave my best friend behind."
"Oh, Beth, I'm going to miss you so much! I don't know how I'll manage." The Leutze Clinic receptionist threw her arms around her friend.
"Nonsense, Polly," said Beth, "You'll be too busy being blissfully married to worry about me."
"Can I see Heyes?" asked the lovely blonde Polly. "I know he's not quite himself, but I can't let him go without saying good-bye."
Beth opened the front door and called out, "Heyes! Heyes! Where are you?" There was no answer. She looked into the bedroom and came right back out. She checked the hall. "Where is he?" she asked Neal anxiously.
"He's got to be around here someplace. We've all been watching the door. I know he hasn't gone out that door. Right, Huxtable?" he asked the younger man.
"I haven't seen him go out," said the red-headed grad student. He ran out the door. "Charlie, have you seen Heyes in the last little while?"
Charlie went into the bedroom. He touched the window and it swung opened. Heyes was gone.
Beth checked her purse. All of her money was still there. "Well, he didn't take money this time. He can't go far with as little cash as he must have with him. As long as he doesn't steal more, that is."
Charlie gathered Jim Smith, Paul Huxtable, Ev Carter, Neal George, Beth Heyes, and a very worried Polly Moore in the bedroom. Charlie said, grimly, "I'll go search that dive where I found himself yesterday. He might be there, wanting to be found. Then I'll check the places on either side."
"I'll check Moe's Place, and the other ones on that end of Hester S-Street," said Jim.
Quickly, they had divvyed up the bars and dives in the area, leaving Polly to stay with Beth at the apartment. The men hurried off to their respective assigned places to search. Beth and Polly sat in the parlor. "I just can't believe it," said Polly. "I can't believe he would run off to drink while his friends are working so hard to help him. It's not like Heyes as all. If he gets the reputation as a drinker, he'll never get a position. It just doesn't make sense."
"Of course not, Polly," said Beth glumly. "When did getting drunk ever make sense?"
Forty minutes later, Heyes' friends gathered back in the apartment. No one had the former outlaw in tow. They consulted hurriedly. "So nobody found him, and no one in any of the places had even seen him?" asked Charlie. No one contradicted him. "I guess he's gotten farther away. We'll go back out. We'll find him."
"Has anybody checked Rory's Place?" asked Huxtable in his boyish tenor.
"Rory's Place?" asked Ev Carter incredulously, pushing his long blond hair out of his eyes, "Our old hang out? Why would he go there? Everyone at Rory's knows him. They even know he's Hannibal Heyes. If he got drunk there, it would be in the newspapers in no time."
"Yeah, he'd be crazy to drink at Rory's," said Neal George. "He might not be himself, but he hasn't lost his mind from what I can tell."
"I know," said Paul, "but still, don't you think we ought to check it?"
"If you think it makes sense, go on over there," said Charlie thoughtfully. "In fact, I'll go with you. Maybe Harry or Rory will have some other idea of where to look for him."
Charlie and Huxtable found the wood-paneled bar open, but no patrons there yet. It was very early for drinking and Rory's wasn't a place where hardened drinkers were often seen.
"Harry, maybe you can help us," said Charlie to the bartender who was back of the bar wiping glasses. "Have you seen Hannibal Heyes today?"
The skinny bartender put down his glass and his rag. "Heyes? Yeah. Early as it is, he was here about half an hour ago. He seemed mighty strange."
"Strange? How?" asked Paul.
Harry sounded as concerned as Paul did. "He ordered whiskey. Jack Daniels. A whole bottle. I've never seen Heyes drink whiskey, ever."
Charlie and Huxtable exchanged worried glances.
Harry went on. "He took it over to that table," he pointed to a table toward the back. "He poured out a shot glass full and just stared at it. Sat there and just let that glass and bottle sit in the middle of that table for the longest time. Maybe twenty minutes. Seemed like he was fighting himself about something. He get up and walk around and come back and sit down. Nobody else was here and Heyes didn't say a word. Just stared at that liquor."
Charlie and Paul were hanging on Harry's every word.
"Then he took that glass. Looked like he was going to down it. But he didn't. He threw it against the wall. Threw it hard. Smashed it. Splattered whiskey all over. I wiped it up, but you can still see a mark on the wall where the glass hit. Heyes still didn't stay a word. Just flipped me a silver dollar for the glass and walked out."
"Did he take the bottle?" asked Charlie just above a whisper.
"No, Professor Homer," said Harry, sounding as mystified as Charlie and Paul were. "I still got it back behind the bar, just that one shot glass worth out of it."
Charlie and Paul looked at each other. "Did he say where he was going?" asked Huxtable.
"No. Didn't say a word after he ordered that whiskey when he walked in. He was strange, I tell you."
"How did he look when he left?" asked Charlie Homer.
"That's maybe the strangest thing of all, actually," said Harry. "He was mighty serious all the time he was here. But when he left, he was smiling."
The professor and his prize student were quiet and thoughtful as they walked back to the Heyes' apartment. "He might be there before us," said Charlie as they climbed the front steps. Paul started at this, but didn't contradict his advisor.
Beth Heyes anxiously let her friends in. Charlie, Paul, NG, Ev, Polly, and Beth crowded the parlor. "Did you find him?"
"No," said Charlie Homer, "but we heard word. So he's not back yet?"
"Do you really expect him to return, on his own?" asked Beth.
"Yes, I do," said Heyes' former advisor. He told Beth the story of what had happened at Rory's Place.
"I hope that means what I think it means," said Mrs. Heyes. "That he's past the worst."
"Don't count on that," said Charlie. "He might be fine now and back to drinking tomorrow. You never know with a man like that."
They heard footsteps coming slowly up the stairs. It was Heyes. He gave them a sheepish grin.
As her husband came in the door, Beth said, casually, "Oh, there you are, Heyes. Well, get back to work, you lazy man! And the rest of you, back to work!"
The men all hurried to finish carrying things away, following Beth's lead by pretending not to be at all concerned. Only the two women remained. Polly stood staring uneasily at the infamous former outlaw.
Heyes looked at his wife in disbelief. "You weren't worried? You aren't mad at me?"
"You could have said something before you went out the window," she said distractedly as she folded a quilt.
Heyes "Well, you wouldn't have listened to me, no matter what I said. I had things to do. You weren't going to let me do them."
"We know. But Charlie and Paul couldn't track you past Rory's Place," said Mrs. Heyes as she wrapped a sheet around the quilt.
"I'm sorry. I just couldn't stand it any longer. I guess Harry told you want I did at Rory's Place. Then I, um, I went over to see Reverend Harrah," said the former outlaw, sounding a bit embarrassed.
"Oh?" said his wife. "Then it isn't our business what you both said."
Heyes moved his hands restlessly in his pockets. "Sorry if I worried you. I just – I had things I had to get straight. The reverend gave me some ideas that might help. We'll see. I won't be trying to get away from you again. But I don't expect you to believe that."
"I think I just might, considering," said Beth. "You can stop work long enough to say good-bye to Polly, then we do have a lot of work to do. I need to go and give my letter of resignation to Dr. Leutze."
Polly said, "Oh, Heyes, I do hope you feel better right away and get a very good job out West. It will seem terribly dull here without you to stir things up."
Heyes gave Polly a chaste hug and a kiss on the cheek. "You made me feel welcome the first day I came. It's hard to leave you and all our good friends behind. I'm sorry to make you ashamed of me."
"I'm not ashamed of you, Hannibal Heyes. I'm proud. You're going to do well, when you get back out where you belong," said Polly, giving Heyes another hug. "But folks stuck in New York are going to miss you."
"Thanks, honey," said the former outlaw. "And you're right about where I belong. I've learned an awful lot in New York, but my home has always been out West. I think Colorado might just be the right place, at least for now."
"Good-bye. I need to go meet my fiancé. We're picking out rings. Farewell, Heyes. Best of luck. And you'd better keep in touch!" said Polly Moore, waving her finger at the former clinic patient. Heyes grinned. "And Beth, it's going to be terribly lonesome without you." The two friends hugged and hugged. Polly took a little package out of her purse and gave it to Beth, then hurried away with tears in her eyes.
Beth unwrapped a piece of blue silk from around something small and square. It was a little leather case with a photograph inside. Mrs. Heyes called her husband over. "Look, Heyes. That's what Polly and I looked like when we first met at the clinic. She was still in her teens and I was about 24."
Heyes looked at the little picture. "You were almost as beautiful then as you are now. But not quite." He gave her a quick kiss. He looked at his wife questioningly. "I've got telephone calls to make. I hope Mrs. Westmoreland will let me in her apartment, after what I did night before last. Do you think I might do that without having anybody following to watch me?"
"We'll watch the front hall, if you'll promise not to climb out any more windows," said Beth with a teasing grin at her husband.
"Alright," Heyes agreed with a nervous half smile.
"I'll go with you, if you think it might help her to let you in," said Beth.
"What did I ever do to get you to be so nice to me, despite it all?" Heyes asked her as they went down the steps hand in hand. He took her arm as they stood in front of Mrs. Westmoreland's door.
Their elderly landlady's mouth came open in surprise as she saw who was knocking at her door. "Mrs. Westmoreland, I want to apologize to you and all your other tenants," said Heyes before she could say anything. "I'm ashamed of how and when I came home night before last. We'll be moving out in the morning, so you won't have to throw me out."
Beth was terribly afraid, from the almost guilty look on her face, that Mrs. Westmoreland had, indeed, been at least contemplating expelling these tenants. But now there was no need for her to make that dreadful decision. "I accept your apology, Mr. Heyes. I understand you've been under a terrible strain. You still are. I only hope you can find better hopes in the West. I'll write you a check to return your security deposit."
"Thank you, Ma'am," said Heyes, feeling relieved that she was taking this so well. She would have been within her rights to have denied them that check, since Heyes' recent behavior had technically violated the terms of the lease. "I appreciate that. You've been very kind to us, always. I hate to ask, but could I make three telephone calls? All are long distance, I'm afraid. You can take the cost out of the check."
"Are you calling in hopes of getting a position?" asked Mrs. Westmoreland earnestly.
Heyes nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. I also need to call my partner to tell him our plans. I expect to be working for him, but there are two other possible opportunities I want to look into."
"Good. I wish you the best of luck." Their kindly landlady ushered Heyes into her parlor once more, while Beth returned to her own apartment to continue preparations for moving.
Mrs. Westmoreland retreated, as usual, to her bedroom to give Heyes privacy for his calls.
Heyes picked up the ear piece of the telephone and spoke into the mouth piece that stood upright on a polished table. "Central? Please connect me to a number in Hartford, Connecticut." He looked at the card Samuel Clemens had given him and recited the number. It took a few minutes to make the connection. Heyes shifted on his feet. He hated the thought of reversing what he had said so positively the Clemens only a few days before, and most particularly of doing this to a man for whom he had such respect.
Finally, he was connected. "Clemens residence," said the man on the other end of the line.
"Hello, may I speak to Mr. Clemens, please?" said Heyes in the loud voice primitive telephones required, especially for long distance calls.
"No, I'm afraid Mr. Clemens is not here," said a brittle tenor voice.
"Do you know when Mr. Clemens will be available?" Heyes asked.
"Not for quite some time, I'm afraid. Mr. Clemens and his family are on a ship crossing the Atlantic. They are moving to Germany."
Heyes was startled. "Germany! I had no idea. I met Mr. Clemens recently, when he was speaking in New York He made a business offer to me. Could I have his address in Germany so that I could write to him?"
"To whom am I speaking, please?" asked the tenor voice skeptically.
"This is Hannibal Heyes."
There was a soft gasp on the other end of the line. "I am not empowered to give our Mr. Clemens new address without his authorization. I will communicate with him. It will be his decision as to whether he wishes to write to you. Where can he contact you?"
Heyes hated to let any stranger know, but he felt this was important. "He can write to me via Sheriff Jedediah Curry of Louisville, Colorado. I'll be my way west tomorrow. I'll move out soon, but the Curries can refer the letter as needed."
"I see. I, um, probably shouldn't tell you this, Mr. Heyes. But the Clemens are moving, um, in hopes that their means might go farther there."
Heyes paused. So Sam Clemens wasn't in good financial shape, either. There was little hope of an advance from him. "Oh. Thank you. Still, do let Mr. Clemens know where I will be. I would be happy to hear from him. Thank you. Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Mr. Heyes. I will convey your message to Mr. Clemens."
Heyes hung up, dismayed. He hadn't counted on Mark Twain for any kind of quick payment. But the famous author's idea of their working together on a memoir of Heyes' life that might be a best seller had been an appealing one, once Heyes had become certain that he wouldn't be teaching college any time soon. So that possibility for income was gone.
He took up the hand piece of the telephone again and bent to speak into the mouthpiece. This time, he gave a number in Philadelphia. A few minutes later, a highly educated voice said, "This is the office of Robert Harris. Who is calling, please?"
"Joshua Heyes," said the former outlaw whose gang had so often struck the Union Pacific during his earlier career. Harris was President of the company's board. Heyes thought it best to use his middle name in this case. "I recently graduated from Columbia University, where Mr. Harris is on the board. Could I speak to him, please?"
"I'm afraid Mr. Harris is not available," said the man who must be Harris's secretary.
"Will he be available later today? I am leaving New York tomorrow and would like to speak to him today." Heyes ran a finger around the inside of his collar.
"No, he will not. He is out of town and will be away for some time. May I take a message?" asked the secretary.
"Yes. As I say, this is Joshua Heyes. H. Joshua Heyes. H-E-Y-E-S. He made me an offer a few months ago. I would like to ask if that offer is still available. My wife and I will be living in Louisville, Colorado, but would be amenable to moving elsewhere if necessary. He can contact me via Jedediah Curry, who is the sheriff in Louisville. He is also the proprietor of Christie's Place, a hotel there." Heyes began to wonder if anyone with money would ever speak to him again.
"Thank you, Mr. Heyes. I will convey your message. Is there anything further?" Heyes thought he detected a sudden coldness in the secretary's voice. The combination of the names Curry and Heyes had certainly conveyed something to a man who worked for the Union Pacific Railroad. It wasn't something that was welcomed by any railroad man, except, perhaps, Robert Harris himself.
"No, that covers it. Thank you." Heyes put the handset down and straightened up. He heaved a heavy sigh. His high hopes were rapidly descending. Once again, he had to turn to his partner for help. It was dispiriting.
"Central, could you please connect me with the sheriff's office in Louisville, Colorado? Thank you," said Heyes.
It seemed to take forever to make the links across the country to his partner's office. At last, the final connection was in place. "Hello! Can I speak to Sheriff Curry, please? This is Hannibal Heyes."
"Hello, Heyes!" said Al Kelly cheerfully. "I understand you're coming out soon. How are you?"
"Not sure right yet, Al," Heyes answered. "Can I talk to my partner, please?"
"Sure thing. Here he is. It's Heyes, boss," said Al. There was a paused while Curry came to the telephone.
"Hello, Heyes," said Kid Curry. "How are you doing?"
"I wish everybody'd stop asking me that. I ain't sick!" griped the man in New York irritably. "Actually, I'm doing better than I used to do in the old days when I'd been on a bender. Something about having a wife to look after me, I guess. Or a baby on the way. I've been on the straight and narrow, mostly, since night before last. I stared down a glass of whiskey today and I won out. Didn't touch a drop. What do you think of that?"
There was a pause. "I hope it's good. I hope it's true. When are you coming out?" Curry sounded very uncertain. "I've never known you get straight that fast."
Heyes said, "Get used to it. I've got a whole crew watching me here."
Curry knew his partner too well to accept this at face value. "Are those civilians any good at it? How many times have you gotten away, so far?"
"Um, three times." Heyes admitted.
"Oh, and you expect me to think you didn't drink when you got out?"
"Charlie caught me the first two times. Yeah, I had a few sips in a dive the first time before he found me. The second time, he nabbed me on my own front steps. I wasn't feeling real well. And the third time, well, I went over to Rory's to face off with that drink. And where else I went ain't your business," Heyes finished a bit angrily.
"Alright, alright. Don't get all bent out of shape. Can I just ask again when you'll get here?"
"We'll take the first train tomorrow. So we'll be there early Saturday morning, if nothing causes trouble."
"Or nobody," Curry said curtly.
"Charlie's coming with us. I hope you got a room for him. He can't stay long, but he thought he'd better come along. You know." The darker former outlaw hated to say that much.
The Kid said, "Yeah, I do know, Heyes. One more pair of eyes. And one more set of quick hands. I hope he knows how to tie a good, strong knot."
Heyes bristled. "Partner, I don't need to be tied up. They can trust me."
"I'll believe it when I see it," said Curry in the steely voice that went with his poker face.
Heyes sighed. "I know, I know. I've given you good reason to think like that. I'm doing better this time, I tell you."
Curry paused for a moment. Heyes waited. "Uh, Heyes, you know I'm making a deal to sell out Christie's Place to Joe and Ted. They we'll buy Ross's Hotel."
"I knew you were selling out, but Ross's Hotel? That's a big place. You sure you can take that on, when you just bought land and a house and got a baby on the way?"
"I ain't sure." Curry's voice sounded as uncertain as his words. "I got to ask the bank for a loan. I got some saved up, and I'll have a good bit coming in from Ted and Joe once they get a loan of their own, but I think I'll need to borrow about $5,000.00. What kind of interest do you think they'll charge me, Heyes?"
"I knew you'd ask me that. So I've been watching the interest rates in the newspapers. It'll depend on what you give the bank down, if they agree to lend to Kid Curry at all." The newly graduated mathematician began to rattle off numbers for down payments and interest and monthly payments that would be due to the bank.
"Slow down, partner," cried the Kid. "I'm writing this down."
Heyes repeated the numbers and terms twice over, slowly. Then he asked, "You got that, Jed?"
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I think we can manage that, if they don't want too much down. If Ross's does well for us. Which it should – the businesses here are doing pretty good. Lots of rich men in and out with their wives all flashing diamonds. Makes me wish we were still in the business, stead of having to watch out for those guys. They're damn careless, some of them."
Heyes laughed. "We can't go back, Jed. You got to stick with honest business and upholding the law and you know it. I just hope you can pay me enough as manager to support Beth and our baby."
"Yeah, Heyes, we'll pay you good. But you might look for other work, too, if you got time. You know a bunch of stuff that guys around here would pay for. Engineering stuff. Locks. Money. You know."
"Yeah, I will look around. Not at a bank! But mines, maybe. But, partner, I got other plans for when we get there. Plans you got a part in. Plans that might even work. And it's all legal." The darker of the former outlaws sounded pleased with himself.
"A Hannibal Heyes plan that's legal and works? Well, I'll believe that when I see it," repeated Curry. But Heyes could hear his partner laughing as he spoke. Heyes joined in. It was good to make plans again that included Jedediah Curry.
Historical Notes - the Journal of the American Mathematical Society is a real journal that really was first published in 1891. Samuel Clemens and his family really did move to Germany in 1891 in hopes of living more cheaply so as to relieve their money worries. It didn't work. The story of Heyes' and Mark Twain's meeting is told in my story The Dark Side of the Moon.
