ANY OLD KIND OF DAY

Everything slowed…it was as if time suddenly moved at a snail's pace. Kid Curry's senses were magnified. Colors were brighter and smells sharper. He quickly absorbed and processed the information without any emotion crossing his face except for the slightest tightening of his jaw. All outside noise seemed to quiet and stay as a non distracting low hum.

He saw the beads of sweat crawl ever so slowly down the man's face. The man tried to give Kid an unwavering glare, but Kid saw the hint of doubt flash in his eyes before sinking into stupidity and overindulgence of liquor.

Kid's hand, glove free, automatically dropped to his holster and with his thumb flicked the hammer free from the leather strap.

His blue eyes conveyed nothing.

Slow methodical

His focus narrowed and his attention was solely on the man. He knew Heyes would have his back if the gunfight tried to draw in a friend or relative. Kid's breathing slowed as it became even and steady with minimal effort.

Kid felt the warmth of the sun on his back. He took what seemed to be random steps towards the middle of the dirt street but in reality was positioning himself to his advantage; moving so the sun was in the other man's eyes. Nothing was ever random but well calculated. Almost second nature, but not ever taken lightly or arrogantly, because one day he might find that person that was a split second faster.

He preferred it not be today…

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CAMP GRANT, ARIZONA

Heyes woke to Kid's cries and moans of pain. Heyes had thrown sleep away and was by his partner's side in a split second, stepping over the discarded blankets on the floor.. He watched Kid clutch his gut as if he could squeeze away the pain.

"Kid?" He bent close, concerned. "Hey…Hey…Hey," he said softly as he gently patted his cousin's sweaty bare shoulder.

Kid stiffened, as his eyes snapped open. He panted as his heart banged in his chest His blue eyes were clouded with pain and fear. He quickly raised his hands to his face, certain they would be covered in blood. There was nothing on them. His brow knit with confusion.

But he had felt the pain; the pain of a bullet ripping through his body…

Or had he?

He looked at his hands again, and met Heyes with a questioning look.

"It's not real Kid. You had the dream again."

Kid lowered his hand and gingerly touched his midsection. Where before there had been excruciating pain, now there was none.

He cautiously pulled himself to a sitting position, certain that his eyes were deceiving and the pain would be engulfing him again in a blinding agony. He pressed his back against the headboard and drew his legs to his chest as his head dropped onto his knees.

Heyes held his hand steady on his cousin's shoulder, as he slowly tightened the pressure, trying to reassure his cousin that things were okay.

"What the hell is going on?" Kid raised his head. "This is the second time in a week."

Heyes dropped his hand and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Sometimes dreams are questions that we don't know how to ask…"

Kid turned his head and met Heyes' eyes. "Huh?"

"Sometimes dreams…" Heyes started to repeat himself

Kid added irritation to his look of confusion. "I heard you the first time. What in the hell does that mean?" Kid grumbled.

"Don't you remember my ma saying it?" He searched his partner's face, "I guess not." he concluded. "Is it the same dream?"

Kid nodded.

"And you can't see the man's face?"

Kid shook his head, "Just remember the eyes. Blue. Not too tall…So tell me, Heyes what question am I askin'?" He didn't try to hide his sarcasm. "Beware of short people with blue eyes?"

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The poker game had started out amiable enough until the young man started taking offense to the large blacksmith's slow play. He tapped his cards impatiently on the table.

"I'm only seventeen years old and if you don't hurry I'm going to die of old age by the time you make your play."

The other players laughed nervously.

The blacksmith cast an angry glance at the young man and returned his attention back to his cards.

"And I know why they call you windy cuz it ain't cuz you're a talker." He waved his hand in front of his face. "Might want to lay off those frijoles."

The man, Francis "Windy" Cahill slammed his cards down with a roar.

"Listen you little son of a bitch!"

"Name's Bonney. William H. Bonney." His blue eyes darkened. "Billy for short."

Kid was leaning against the bar, his drink wrapped in one hand. He started to raise it to his lips, when the shouts from the blacksmith made him pause. He looked into the long mirror that ran the length of the back wall and watched the confrontation unfold.

The young man who was half the size of the burly blacksmith, must be drunk, totally reckless or just plain stupid Kid concluded, as he watched as he continued to provoke the bigger man. Suddenly there was the sound of chairs being overturned, as the other players fled to safer locations throughout the saloon.

The young man was suddenly on top of the older man, pinning him to the ground with a barrage of blows and an unchecked fury Kid has never seen before from someone so young.

People looked at each other nervously, too afraid to intervene. They knew they were going to witness a man being beaten to death before their eyes.

That was something Kid wasn't willing to do. He set his drink down.

"Enough," he said, "ENOUGH," he said louder and firmer.

The young man stopped, his bloody balled fist hovering inches away from what was left of the blacksmith's battered face.

He looked up at Kid and slowly pushed himself up, but not before wiping his hands on the beaten man's shirt.

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"And who the hell are you?"

"Nobody," Kid answered.

"Well nobody…mind your own fuckin' business."

"I was…minding my own business. I think you proved your point."

"I ain't close to provin' my point. The son of a bitch is still breathin'."

"Well I can't let you kill him."

"You the law?" The young man's full attention was on Kid.

Kid slowly shook his head.

"Didn't think so…so mind your own fuckin' business. I'm just usin' this fat son of a bitch as an example, as to why no one should ever lay a hand on me. So let me finish…and you go on your way and…"

Kid shook his head again, "Told you I can't let you do that."

"Well I guess we need to settle this. But I'll warn you…you'll be takin' the big jump with him. You've been warned."

"Billy…," the bartender said as he poked his head out from behind the counter, "Could you take it outside? Last time…" He saw Billy's look and ducked his head back behind the bar.

"Let's do it right here. Let's…"The colt single action army revolver materialized in his hand like magic.

But for the first time in his life, he wasn't quicker. He froze, shocked as he looked down the barrel of a gun.

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Billy stared at the gun for a long moment allowing the shock to evaporate from his face, before a slow smile circled the corners of his mouth. He carefully slid his gun back into his holster.

"They say…there is always someone out there faster. And I'll give it to you Mister Nobody…you were that someone today. I don't count on running on luck, but today I was lucky cuz you ain't a killer. If the tables were turned…you'd be lyin' beside this fat son of a bitch because I am a killer." He paused to look down at the broken body of the blacksmith, as he stepped across him. "Let ol' Mr. Windy know, this fella just saved his miserable life and if he ever lays hands on me again…"

Billy tipped his bowler to Kid, pausing to address him, "You ain't nobody mister. You are definitely somebody." He walked to the batwings and flung them open with both hands.

Heyes had stepped aside to let him pass, and watched the man untie his horse from the hitching post and ride off. He drew in a deep breath, not realizing he had been holding it.

Kid didn't even have to turn around and look, "You can put your gun away, Joshua."

Heyes quickly holstered his gun and hurried over to his partner's side as they watched the other men tend to the beaten blacksmith, before they lifted him with great difficulty and headed for the local doctors.

"I…I…,"Heyes started. "I need a drink," he finally blurted out, as his heart still banged in his chest. Kid slid his gun in the holster and joined his partner. Heyes grabbed the bartender's arm when he tried to take the bottle away after pouring two shots.

"Leave it," he instructed the man.

"That was some mighty fine…," Kid's cold look stopped the man from continuing.

"Just saying," the man grumbled, as he retreated to the end of the bar.

With the bartender out of earshot, Heyes couldn't contain his anger fueled by fear, "What the hell Kid?" He whispered. "Didn't I ask you to stay-"

"Ask? You mean tell. And I wanted a drink."

Kid stared straight ahead and sipped his drink.

"You didn't happen to notice the color of Billy's eyes did ya? Blue Kid. They were blue."

"So?"

"The dream, Kid! The dream!" Heyes whispered as his voice threatened to rise loud enough for others to hear.

"Shows you those dreams didn't mean nothin'."

"You're wrong Kid. They meant something."

Kid shook his head. "Nothin'." But he knew it wasn't "nothing" and because of them, he had drawn a fraction of a second faster, but would never admit it to Heyes. "Now leave it. So are we leavin' or stayin'?"

"Waiting for a reply from Big Mac. But I think we should leave and the faster the better."

"Why?"

"Why?! You don't think that young buck might come back…"

"No. He won't be back." Kid said with confidence. Something unspoken had passed between Kid and Billy. It was something that couldn't be explained to someone that didn't live the life of a gunslinger. A respect for one's ability and an appreciation from one, that the faster man hadn't pulled the trigger.

Heyes laid a hand on Kid's shoulder, "I want you to understand what would happen to me if something happened to you."

Kid turned his head, "And I want you to understand what would happen to me if I did nothing."

Heyes saw something in Kid's eyes he had never seen before or had chosen to never see before. A gunman as skilled as Kid Curry and as determined as Kid Curry not to be thought of as a gunslinger or shootist, carried a very heavy burden of responsibility on his shoulders.

"It's easy to be a gunman like that boy. It's something altogether different being a gunman like you, ain't it?"

"Heyes, I think you're beginning to understand."

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AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Francis "Windy"Cahill was a real person, who was Billy the Kid's first victim. After tormenting Billy, he called him a "pimp" which Billy responded by calling Cahill a "son of a bitch." Taking offense, the blacksmith threw Billy to the ground and began beating him. Billy took his gun out and shot the man, who died the following day.

"Big Jump" = death

Watch for my new chaptered story coming soon - "Hannibal the Cannibal." Our boys cross paths with the Donner Party.

Today sadly marks the 52nd anniversary…A life too short…Forever in my heart Pete ❤️

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