Chapter Four
The infirmary was a small, light, organized and clean place. The malodorous stench of the recent operation was dissipating slowly. Each patient station had a nightstand and chair placed next to the narrow iron bed. Kid Curry was propped up on several pillows lying in the first of six beds lined up against the wall, closest to the duty desk. Clean white sheets were drawn up to the patient's mid chest and his right leg was also elevated on pillows under the sheet. Curry was almost as pale as the sheets covering him except for the ruddy fever-flushed cheeks and the various colors of the numerous resolving bruises. Heyes and Lom Trevors sat in the straight-backed chairs on either side of the bed.
Captain Holman glanced at Marshal Walters then back at the ex-outlaws, "Heyes, reporters are starting to show up in Fort Bridger. Do you want to speak with them?"
Heyes stood and faced the calvary captain and marshal. He brought his hands up and pressed the palms into his eyes for a moment before heaving a huge sigh. "Do I have to?"
"No, you do not. Reporters can be kept away from the official fort's buildings. But I can't prohibit them from congregating and waiting in the town surrounding the fort. I would suggest that you avoid going into town, especially into the saloons and cafes." Answered the calvary captain. He hesitated then added. "You might want to give thought to some sort of statement. You will not be able to avoid them forever."
"We've spent years avoiding bounty hunters and the law. I think we can give a few inexperienced reporters the slip when we need to. Besides, we'll be old news in a few days."
Sheriff Trevors and Marshal Walters both frowned and looked vaguely uncomfortable. Walters suppressed the strong urge to remind them they were caught by an inexperienced small-town posse and look at what almost happened.
Captain Holman looked up from the second telegram he was reading. "I'm not so sure of that. I've been informed that the Associated Press has picked up the story and consequently it is being carried by all the major news outlets across the nation. It could get interesting in our little corner of Wyoming. Not everyone is going to take the news well."
Marshal Walters muttered, "The town of Lonetree sure didn't. I'm glad that we had your support last night 'cause I don't know if the sheriff and I could have held off that lynching party by ourselves."
Heyes shuddered unconsciously. Nervous energy drove him to pace a few steps in a circle. He looked down at his drugged partner, cutting his eyes briefly towards Lom. His ingrained self-sufficiency and inherent drive for recognition along with an ambition to be the best waged a silent interior war with a realistic appraisal of their position and the need to lay low out of the public eye for a while. He patted the Kid's good leg, blew out a breath, and straightened up to his full height to face his audience.
"On behalf of the Kid and me I want to thank all of you for what you have done for us. I don't believe I thanked you yesterday. Lom, we especially owe you our gratitude and friendship. I'll need your advice on how to thank the governor." Heyes extended his hand out to each of the three men, representing various aspects of the law, to shake in turn. The ex-outlaw's posture and expression projected his usual self-assuredness, but his words were slow and heavy with weariness and worry.
Lom grew thoughtful as he stroked his mustache. "I'm happy to be able to finally call you and the Kid a friend under your real names and not Smith and Jones. I'll do what I can to ease the transition to your new life, whatever that may be. Since you asked, one way you can thank the Governor is to make sure the two of you appear remorseful for your criminal actions, at least in public and especially with the circumstances of your amnesty being granted."
"The reporters?" Captain Holman broke in with a reminder.
"Tell them that Hannibal Heyes will have a statement for them soon but will not be giving interviews in near future." Walters stated, holding his right palm outward to forestall any arguments. He threw back his shoulders and rested his hands along his belt as if he were squaring off against an enemy.
"Very well. I'll return to my duties and have the reporters advised of your decision. Dr. Matthews or the corpsman know how to find me. Gentlemen." The captain spun neatly around and exited the infirmary as the two lawmen and one newly amnestied outlaw watched silently.
The explanation went a little further by Walters. "We need to give the reporters something otherwise they'll be relentless. We can work out some sort of short statement that will address the most likely questions they'll have and hope that that will satisfy the editors. You probably should at least publicly state your commitment to live within the law."
'We committed to live within the law almost three years ago. We've being doing just that ever since, trying to convince every new governor." The ex-outlaw snapped. "Mostly," echoed in his head.
Heyes dropped into his chair. He picked up the Kid's hand and drew comfort from the warmth of life. "There was a time when I eagerly read the newspaper accounts of our robberies. To me, the thrill of opening a safe is like no other. I'll admit that I got satisfaction from reading how the Devil's Hole Gang with their charismatic genius of a leader robbed the unrobbable…" a small half grin tugged at his lips in remembrance "…Kyle would get all excited and make Wheat read the articles to him again and again if the gang members were mentioned by name…." His lips smoothed out into a slight frown. "…Kid wasn't always overjoyed to see his name in print. He preferred to keep in the background, and I only talked him into announcing our names at the beginning of a robbery because that usually ensured cooperation. Of course, if it was helping some woman and children that was alright but mostly Kid Curry was associated with some sort of gunplay. The reputation as the Fastest Gun in the West is a double-edged sword and the adage of live by the sword die by the sword is always at the back of his mind."
The marshal relaxed his stance and crossed his arms in front of him as he observed the dark-haired ex bank and train robber. His preconceived notions of these particular outlaws were nowhere near what he was learning over the last day or so.
"Then when we were going for the amnesty seeing Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry in print usually meant trouble, big trouble. You know this, right Lom. Remember Kingsburg? It brought you running to that town quick enough."
Lom nodded as he sat back down on the Kid's other side.
Heyes glanced up at the marshal. He shrugged "Seeing our name in the papers for the last few years usually meant that we were accused of some crime like bank robbery or murder that we didn't commit and then had to find a way to clear our names before the amnesty was lost. We were convenient targets for every crooked bank manager or assistant bank manager who robbed his own bank or anyone else who wanted to throw the blame in our direction." The fury and feeling of unfairness, which had been banked, rose once again. Heyes' voice became harder in tone, his eyes darkened, and his voice trembled slightly as his control wavered. He dropped Kid's hand and stiffened in the chair. "Just like Lonetree. Had we known about the bank robbery, first we would have avoided the area, second, we would have been able for figure out something to clear ourselves…Although, this time, from what I could infer, we weren't even the suspects until the posse stumbled upon us, and we were recognized. They didn't even listen to…"
Walter's interrupted, "Heyes, that's Marshal Storz and my job now. We will find the real culprits. It's important for everyone, like Storz said in Lonetree." He met Heyes' eyes and held them with his sincerity. "Why don't you and Lom stay here. I'll go get us some coffee then the three of us figure out what can be said now to the reporters."
Kid swallowed and grimaced in his twilight state. The cloying leftover sweetness of ether mixed with the bitterness of the small dose of laudanum fed the rising nausea. The gunman fought through the fog he found himself in. The harshness of his partner's voice with its undertone of hidden distress parted the mist until he broke through into the present. Kid felt the rush of heat and the rising bile at the moment awareness returned. Bloodshot blue eyes peered through puffy slits as he struggled to turn to his side unnoticed by the three people surrounding him.
"Here. He's gonna be sick." The corpsman on duty rushed over and thrust a dented tin basin into Heyes surprised hands.
Heyes just managed to get the basin under the blond's chin before Curry retched wretchedly. He handed the basin back with its meager contents to the waiting corpsman.
Hanging his head as he remained twisted toward his side, Kid struggled to take deep gulping breaths. Furrows of pain deepened on his forehead and his hands shook as they gripped the sides of the bed. After several moments of trying to catch his breath and get the stabs of fiery pain under control, Curry calmed and was able flop onto his back. He squeezed his eyes shut tight as Heyes and Lom repositioned pillows and sheets. His right hand braced his wrapped ribs before drifting towards his right thigh until it was intercepted and moved gently away from the heavily bandaged wound.
"Still alive, judging from the pain... death was…kinda peaceful…when it came." Curry strained to make himself heard, his voice still a harsh, low rasp.
Heyes hand tightened his grip on his partner, and he had to look away. "Don't talk that way. Don't talk at all."
"You weren't all the way dead. Peaceful in your mind maybe. It sure didn't look peaceful to me."
"Lom!" hissed the dark-haired partner. His head whipped around to flash an intense expression over the patient at the sheriff. There was no doubt that the topic was off limits according to Hannibal Heyes. He released his partner's hand when he spotted the Kid grimacing and realized his grip had tightened to a painful level.
Lom lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered. He was sorry about a lot of things regarding the partners, not the least was his near miss of a rescue. It had shaken him badly and haunted his thoughts. The partners' sheriff friend slumped back in his chair and covertly studied the two men. He could only imagine that it was so much worse for Heyes, sitting impotent in that tiny, dingy jail cell, never mind the actual act that Kid endured. He shook his head slowly as he consciously dragged his mind into the present. The awareness that the experience would have to dealt with but not now crept into his consciousness. The Kid was too sick, and they were both too exhausted to deal with anything other than immediate problems. The capture, trial, and hanging were too raw. His gut was telling him that his previous assumption that Kid would be more resilient than his partner was most likely correct. He somberly reminded himself that Jedidiah Curry had to survive, or the amnesty would be wasted for Heyes as well, anger and vengeance were only banked not extinguished.
"Leg?" The gunman's right hand drifted once more to his right thigh to where his holster would be before tentatively touching the bulky wrappings. His lids dropped, brows drew into a V, and his lips thinned in concentration.
"Your leg is still all there. It's gonna stay that way. Don't touch." Heyes bent over the bed closer and reached out to gently pull the Kid's hand once more away. "Kid, this doctor, unlike the fake doc, seems to know what he's doing. From what he's said you've got a good chance. Although, it ain't gonna be easy and probably pretty painful." He slapped a cool cloth on the Kid's forehead. "Now rest, you know how prone to the grippe you are, and the doc says you already have a touch of pneumonia. Don't want it to get worse along with the wound fever."
Bloodshot blue eyes peered up from puffy purple lids at the two men sitting by his side. He took in their exhausted slumped postures, unshaven lined faces with dark circles, and disheveled clothing. "You too….the both of you….look terrible." A short bout of congestive coughing interrupted Curry and served to punctuate Heyes' directive. "Have you eaten….slept at all."
'No! He hasn't." Lom sat up straight and glared at Heyes with I told you so look.
"Yes," snapped Heyes almost simultaneously with the sheriff. He turned towards the bedside table and retrieved a tin mug filed with cool water, which was assertively thrust in the Kid's face. "Here. You need to drink as much as you can."
The gunman shifted his eyes between the two concerned friends. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment to Lom, knowing Heyes was stretching the truth if not outright lying to him. But He didn't have the energy to argue even though he wanted to. Kid took a small sip of the offered water, held it in his mouth to counteract the feeling of cottonmouth as well as the reluctance to swallow more than necessary. He turned his head away from the mug as Heyes pushed it forward again. A shaky hand weakly tried to push his best friend's arm away.
"Still hurts….to swallow….nauseous."
"I know but you have to drink anyway."
"Later." Curry breathed out as his eye's dropped closed abruptly.
~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~
Marshall John Walters sipped at the mug held in his hand and screwed up his face. The coffee was cold. He didn't know how his two companions were still drinking the stuff steadily. He peered down at his notes and sighed.
"I think this is as best as the reporters are going to get out of us right now." Walter's gaze lifted from the pad in front of him to each of the men sitting around the beat-up desk in an empty office of Camp Bridger's administration building. "Heyes, you look rough. Not sayin' that you don't have a good reason to look wrung out but it's not the image you usually project. Isn't one of the reasons you evaded capture for so long as that you didn't look like outlaws or the public's conception of outlaws."
"It might gain him and the Kid some sympathy, though," mused Lom.
"It could. But it could also make him look more like what people think outlaws look like. You know, dirty, slovenly, and mean." The marshal countered.
The ex-outlaw leader rubbed his unshaven darkly-stubbled jaw as he glanced down at himself. These were the same clothes he had worn continuously for almost a week and they were dirty and disheveled. A small grin formed unconsciously as he turned towards Lom with a falsely innocent expression. "I look mean?" He knew he could be authoritative but when he was at his most dangerous no one had ever called him mean, calculating with quiet intense control was more his style. Kid, on the other hand, could look scary, threatening, and easily intimidated people without ever raising his voice when he needed to. But Heyes couldn't recollect a single instance when Curry was called mean to their faces or in print.
"You look exhausted and at the end of your rope…sorry, bad choice of words. I meant that you, for once, are showing emotion. The anger that is simmering in you. But I think for someone who doesn't know you well, that would never be known. What the marshal is getting at is that it might be a good idea to at least get cleaned up and change your clothes before we go meet the press."
"Well, why didn't you say so, Marshal?"
"I was trying to be tactful since I don't know you well, only your reputation, which I'm finding out is a small part of who you are. But yes, go get changed and washed up. I'd order you to get some sleep, but I know that's not gonna happen so why bother."
"Gentlemen, I'll be back shortly after I check on the Kid and get cleaned up." Heyes rested his hands on his thighs, took a deep breath, and rose from the chair.
~~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~~
Dark evaluating eyes looked out at the packed Fort Bridger Meeting Room from the podium at the front, rapidly sorting the crowd into groups of sympathetic, curious, and frankly hostile members of the press as he read the prepared statement. He was surprised at the number of reporters and photographers that somehow made their way to the small nondescript town and Calvary outpost of Fort Bridger. It galled him to express great remorse for the past actions of the Devil's Hole Gang under his and Kid Curry's leadership. But he did it anyway with the insistence of Lom, knowing that the governor expected them to act contrite. He was ambivalent about the robberies in many aspects and only truly regretted the unanticipated consequences of their crimes on everyday people. He promised sincerely to live the remainder of their lives as law-abiding citizens. That, at least, was the truth. They both wanted a future without prison or a violent death.
Heyes was charming, tried to inject humor into the short statement by illustrating several of his points with humorous stories describing some of their amnesty-seeking adventures. He hid his distaste for the show he was putting on. All the while he wished his partner was standing right beside him, sharing Curry's quiet strength and support.
Reporters started shouting questions at Hannibal Heyes as he tried to exit the room. Sheriff Trevors and Marshal Walters had made it clear that Heyes would not be answering questions on the events in Lonetree at this time when they introduced the newly amnestied thief and gave an update on Kid Curry's condition. Most of those present respected the limitation.
"What are you going to do for a living now that you're free men and where will you live?"
"The Kid and I will go over our options and decide on the best course of action. We've certainly done a variety of jobs working our way to amnesty. Some suited us, others like droving we know are off our option list. There's always poker to fall back on while we work things out. As to where we'll live, all I can say is somewhere in the West. We like it here and want to stay, otherwise we would have gone to South America already."
Several men nodded in understanding. Others asked questions about their quest for amnesty. The session was winding down with a good portion of those present gathering their notes and paraphernalia to depart for the town's saloons, cafes, hotels, and stage depot/telegram office. However, the unsympathetic audience members hovered close to the exit, murmuring among themselves.
"Heyes, you weren't in Lonetree's square for the Kid's hanging? What were your last words to him? And his to you?"
Brown eyes briefly widened at the boldness of the question before he pierced the reporter with a blank stare. "It's personal."
"They said that your partner may not survive. You ever think that's God's way of getting justice."
Heyes spun around to confront another reporter whose voice dripped with contempt. He spat out, "If God administers justice, he doesn't do it here on earth. What happened in Lonetree wasn't justice of any kind. It was a barely legal form of lynching, sanctioned by a sham court."
"But he has killed. A life for a life. Whether it's technically murder or not doesn't matter. He's still a worthless shootist from the wrong side of the law."
Heyes' right arm drew back while his hand formed a fist. Lom grabbed his friend's arm with both hands, holding on with all his strength, before the punch was thrown. Heyes' eyes flashed dangerously and his voice vibrated with fury. "Let me go!" he demanded.
Lom pushed Heyes from behind and Walters pulled him along from the front as they quickly shoved the man out of the building. A knot of openly challenging men pressed forward, and the situation threatened to turn ugly.
Calvary guards that had been stationed unobtrusively in the corner of the room quickly moved into action. One stepped in front of the side exit while the second herded the remaining newsmen out of the fort's Administration building.
Calming down in the evening air the ex-Devil's Hole Gang's leader was thankful for the presence of Lom Trevors and Marshal Walters, who kept the crowd from mobbing him while they hustled him out of the room. He hated the feeling of losing control and recognized that he was on the verge of doing just that. Heyes took several deep breaths with closed eyes as he leaned against the infirmary wall, gaining full mastery of himself before seeing his partner.
Walters and Lom waited patiently, silently watching and assessing the ex-outlaw. Lom was worried. He had seen Heyes dead tired and stressed before but had never seem him on edge for so long. He realized that the Kid was the only one who knew how to help his brilliant and complicated partner manage his inner demons. Without Curry's full participation in the present situation, Lom doubted his ability to keep Heyes from inadvertently making things worse. Walters watched the approaches to the infirmary for anyone slipping past the cavalrymen, however unlikely that may be. He idly tried to analyze why he suddenly really cared that Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry survived to lead successful law-abiding lives. Up until two days ago he would have counted it a great professional achievement to arrest the two wanted men to put them behind bars for twenty years. Somehow in a short time they had managed to get under his skin and make him see them as people not wanted posters. Walters shook his head and internally shrugged. He would need to think so more.
~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~
Heyes and Lom were once again stationed in the infirmary by Kid Curry's bedside. Both men crowded around the bed trying to peer over Doc Matthews' shoulder as he changed the leg dressing. All three men were frowning in concentration and concern. The smell of purulent matter covering the soiled yellow cotton being pulled out of the cavity in the thigh or the sight of the red, weeping wound edges did not cause a visible reaction in any of the observers.
The doctor was giving a narration of what he was doing and why during the process. He tied off the clean new bandage and straightened up. Glancing at his patient's slack swollen face, the doctor sighed. His patient didn't even twitch and the laudanum sat unused on the bedside table. Curry's every rapid labored breath seemed to echo in the sudden silence. The physician fully faced his patient's friends.
"It's going to be another long night. Mr. Curry's wound is draining well but his overall condition is deteriorating. The infection from the wound and the pneumonia in the lungs are starting to overwhelm his system."
A husky quiet voice broke in, slightly trembling, "Can you help him? He's gotta make it. You don't know him but he's a good man despite all you've heard. His real name is Jed, doc."
"Heyes, I promise you I'm doing all that I can but you have to realize that the outcome may not be what we want."
Lom spoke up, trying to give Heyes purposeful things to keep his mind occupied. "Doc, is there anything we can do to help?"
Doctor Matthews looked around. He spotted the night corpsman hovering nearby, capping the carbolic acid bottle and arranging new materials for the next dressing change. The doctor's natural optimism and determination came through in his manner and voice. The skill was honed over the years when dealing with concerned friends and family. It was almost as important as all the medical knowledge and technical skill that he had gathered over his years of practice.
"Yes, there is. However, we do this my way."
Heyes and Lom glanced at each other warily before focusing on the army physician.
"It's going to take the four of us to get him through the night. We all need to get some rest while we can as well. Tomorrow's Monday and I run the clinic for the townspeople in the morning and Heyes, you especially, need rest before you collapse from exhaustion. So, we do this in two-hour shifts. Heyes and I will take the first shift. Lom and Private Murray will rest first and we alternate throughout the night. We need to concentrate of keeping Mr. Cur…Jed cool, the dressing clean and dry, and his leg elevated. For the pneumonia there are breathing treatments we can do with steam, poultices for his chest after chest physiotherapy to loosed the secretions – I can show you how to do that – and lastly, we need to force all the fluids we can into him to keep his kidneys flushing toxins out of his body. And maybe with all our hard work Jed Curry will still be with us in the morning. He's fought to survive a hanging and he's still fighting to live."
The doctor had no sooner finished explaining his treatment plan for the night when the door to the infirmary opened. At the unexpected noise the doctor and Private Murray looked towards the front of the building with raised eyebrows. At this time on night, disturbances usually meant a new patient or an emergency that needed attention. Both men's postures relaxed when Marshal John Walters strode into view.
"The watch reports that all the reporters and photographers have returned to town." Walters announced. He nodded towards Curry's cot. "How's he doing?"
"Not so good, probably dyin'" muttered the medical corpsman. Matthews sent a sharp look to the private, who lowered his eyes at the silent scolding.
"Marshal, my assistant and I along with Jed Curry's friends will be working diligently through the night to improve his condition. You are welcomed to bunk here in a spare cot or my suggestion is to go back to your quarters and if anything changes, we can send word."
Walters stood still for a moment, his eyes moving between the doctor, the patient, and the patient's friends. He unconsciously rubbed the telegram between his fingers he was holding in his left hand while his right rested on the butt of his revolver. Decision made, he needed to be at his best mentally and physically for what he had planned for tomorrow. The marshal half turned towards the door before speaking over his shoulder.
"Oh Heyes, my replacement should be here tomorrow morning so that I can join Marshal Storz on the trail of the real suspects."
"Who is it?"
"A Marshal Webb."
"Marshal Richard Webb? Rick Webb?"
"Yep. Do you know him?" The tone of Heyes voice caused Walters to halt and turn fully around. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"Oh, yeah. We know him."
TBC