Sorry for the delay. This story became a lot longer than originally planned. I am a slow writer. Normally when writing a longer story, I have the entire story written and send it to my gracious beta reader, Penski, who always improves my writing. I have done none of that this time and it shows. Please bear with me. – Thanks NM
Chapter Five
A lean early thirtyish six-foot tall, brown eyed, brown-haired man unsaddled his horse in the unfamiliar stable in the town of Fort Bridger. The tin star badge pinned to the brown corduroy vest reflected the late morning sunlight streaming in through the open stable doors and sent shards of brilliance dancing around the dark interior with every movement of the lawman. He was cognizant of the curious and watchful eye of the livery owner. Used to the stares of town folks he nonetheless felt the scrutiny was something more than the usual idle curiosity due to the appearance of an unknown marshal. He should have known. Everything having to do with Heyes and Curry was of the public's heightened interest, especially considering the past week's events. Already in the short time it took to ride through the town and fort to the livery he had overheard the names Heyes and Curry several times and articles on them, most with pictures, were on the front page of every newspaper from Cheyenne to Fort Bridger and beyond.
"Marshall Rick Webb?"
"Yes, That's me." Marshal Webb's hand unconsciously dropped to his right hip as he slowly turned to face the deep voice addressing him. His posture relaxed and the right hand extended into a greeting handshake as he spotted the marshal's star prominently displayed on the chest of the man addressing him.
"I'm Marshal John Walters. Nice of the service to send another man so that I could assist Marshal Storz in his investigation of the Lonetree robbery and murder. Are you familiar with the situation?" Walters spoke quickly as he led the way out of the livery towards the Calvary Fort.
"Actually, I volunteered. I happened to be in Cheyenne when word got out that they needed a man to make sure Heyes and Curry weren't lynched and were able to safely leave the area."
"You volunteered?" The surprise was evident in Walter's voice. He slowed his walk to position himself next to his new colleague, darting suspicious glances to the side. "Why?"
"Why?" Webb echoed.
"Well, most of us lawmen wouldn't exactly be thrilled, at least Storz and I weren't at first, at the thought of protecting two of the most wanted men in the West. We would rather have been dragging Heyes' sorry ass back to Laramie and to the Wyoming state prison and I wouldn't have put it past Storz to spit on the Kid's grave."
Rick Webb gave a brief chuckle before his manner turned serious as he nodded his agreement. "I bet most would feel exactly what you did. But I'm not most. I have a bit of a history with those two outlaws, which gives me a different perspective. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have had any problem arresting them, in fact I tried to twice and managed to arrest Heyes once. But let's just say I'm not totally shocked or upset that Heyes and Curry got the amnesty."
Walters got them walking again at a quick pace. "Heyes said he knew you when I got word of who was being sent. He didn't sound like it was a good thing. Like maybe you had grudge or something so that fits."
Again, a little chuckle escaped Rick Webb as he hurried after Walters, toting his saddle bags and rifle. "No grudge. At least not now. Where are they, by the way?"
"Captain Holman has agreed to shelter them until they can be safely on their way. Things got ugly in Lonetree and that's spilled over into the Town of Fort Bridger among those whose minds were made up as soon as they heard the names Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. There's already been one necktie party that was sent packing. That's one thing the Kid doesn't need. He barely survived his hanging and would never survive a second attempt. He may not survive at all."
Webb frowned and he muttered. "I read a few articles and saw some of the news photos. The papers are sensationalizing it for sure. Big bold headlines, pictures of the Kid on the gallows, him hanging and I've even seen one or two of you cutting him down. The stories are pretty vague on what happened next though. I guess I'm about to find out. You hear about men surviving being hanged but…"
"I know. It was close, real close. No one's got a chance to talk to him about it and Heyes ain't exactly open to talking either."
The two men were in sight of the infirmary when John Walters put a hand on Marshal Webb's arm. He pitched his voice low as he looked around. Walter's face was serious, and his gaze didn't waver as he watched the arriving marshal closely for his reaction. "Listen, Curry's in bad shape. He was shot and beaten when they were arrested and only kept alive so they could kill him in a slow vengeful way. The hanging is the least of his problems now. As I understand it the bullet wound got infected and that spread into blood poisoning. The wound looks nasty but is actually getting better. However, the beating fractured a rib and bruised a bunch, which led to pneumonia and that might kill him. Doctor Matthews is one of the best around, but he can only do so much." He had Webb's total attention.
Rick Webb leaned slightly forward as his eyes shifted to the nearest building. There was a long line of people waiting patiently in line and sitting on the benches located along the infirmary front. He studied the queue for a long moment before focusing on Walter's face. "What are you trying to say? Is Kid Curry dead?"
John Walters' eyes dropped to the ground. His hand lifted from Webb's arm and he unconsciously rubbed his hands together nervously before they stilled at his side. "No. He hasn't passed, at least not yet. But when you go in, you'll see it looks like Heyes and Trevors, the Porterville Sheriff who's been their amnesty sponsor, are sitting a death vigil."
"Oh, that's not what I wanted to have happen. Believe it or not. I liked Heyes. Didn't get to know Curry but I did respect him for not being the killer his reputation would have people believe. Then there's the fact that I'm grateful that there seems to a moral core inside him somewhere."
Dark eyebrows rose curiously as Walters cocked his head in an implied invitation to elaborate.
"I crossed paths with Heyes and Curry twice. Once I was part of an investigation of the Devil's Hole Gang's rash of robberies around Caspar. I inadvertently ran across Heyes and Wheat Carlson and gave chase. We were pretty far from any town but close to the railroad. They must have been casing the area for a future robbery. Anyway, I managed to wing Carlson, he fell off his horse. Heyes went back for him, got Carlson back on the horse and they rode away. Only Heyes' horse stumbled and threw him. Carlson rode off but I apprehended Heyes. He spent a few days in my custody on the way back to Caspar. You know what it's like out there in the middle of nowhere. You wind up talking just to talk to someone other than your horse, even if he's an outlaw."
Walters nodded in agreement. In the past he also found himself in conversation with prisoners, some worthwhile others he would and did prefer to gag.
"You know, I'm only about two years older than Heyes. In fact, if I took the tin star off my vest, I could pass for him. And we had more in common that I would like to admit. He likes to read to pass the time, so do I. He had read the book I had in my saddle bags and had some insightful comments on the author's style and theme. And the rumors are true, he does have a wide range of interests, has a quick wit and tried to get me to agree to bets that no self-respecting lawman would take. Good thing too because we wound up playing poker, with the proper precautions in place, of course, and let's just say he's a better poker player than me, that's for sure."
"Where was Curry?"
Marshal Webb chuckled ruefully, shaking his head in regret. "That's the question, isn't it. One I should have been more concerned about, but I was young and fairly new as a marshal. I know now to always assume that just because I haven't seen an outlaw's partners or gang doesn't mean they're not watching. Curry must have been looking for his partner. Even though I had us moving fast and Heyes well secured, The Kid popped out of thin air and rescued his partner, firing some expertly placed shots that got his point across quickly. Before I could plan to do anything, I was handcuffed with my own handcuffs, the key tucked into my vest pocket and tied up. I looked but they were well and truly gone by the time I could free myself. I guess I'm lucky that they left a way I could free myself even if it took a lot of effort and a good long while. The fact that Heyes didn't seem overly concerned about being on his way to jail, a trial, and a prison sentence in the company of a U.S. Marshall should have been a tip off. "
Walters patted Rick Webb's back in consolation. "Yeah, they're almost as good escaping as they were robbing. Unfortunately for them not in Lonetree, though."
Both men become somber and started to cross the short distance to the infirmary. Webb offering the finish to his story in a more subdued manner. "One reason I volunteered to come is I would like to repay Curry for saving my life. Purely by chance, I 'd come across them again a year or so ago. There'd been rumors of Heyes and Curry retiring from the robbery game and playing it straight but they were still wanted. I started to pursue them. Too bad it was once again not anywhere near where I could gather a posse. Only this time they proved to be better horseman then me. I got in trouble crossing a steep long slope rich in sharp slippery obsidian and loose shifting rock. They made it across, but my horse slid. I wound up coming off, sliding uncontrollably down, falling off a ledge and only managed to grab on to a scrubby pine growing out of the side of the cliff. Curry came after me despite the protestations I could hear from Heyes. Heyes was right, too. It was foolish, very risky, and they didn't owe me anything. That gunman is part mountain goat. I held my breath as I was thinking he was gonna fly past me and knock me tumbling down for sure. He didn't. He managed to climb down to the ledge and with Heyes' reluctant help with the rope managed to get me up top. Heyes was berating Curry the entire time. The Kid was unfazed. If I hadn't lost my gun over the edge, I would have been mighty tempted to blow Heyes' head off to shut him up. His tongue was a sharp as the sharpest obsidian shard. I couldn't have held on for much longer and definitely would have plunged to my death. Curry splinted my ankle and bandaged me up with Heyes throwing at him cutting sarcasm and pretty inventive cursing. Once again, they left me tied up. And after some vague comments about having been left to die without horses far from anywhere the Kid even found my horse, made sure he was okay, and left him within sight."
Marshal Walters shook his head in amazement. Not many outlaws he had come across would even think about saving the life of a man who was trying to arrest them and put them away for twenty years.
The front of the infirmary was a hive of animated activity. The line of people needing to visit the doctor seemed to be unusually long. The marshals' critical eye's determined that the townsfolk were mostly afflicted by a case of intense curiosity more than actual physical ailments, judging by the amount of socializing that was apparent. Inside the people coming in and out of the exam rooms all peeked past the silent sentinel stationed at the entrance to the infirmary ward before the medical corpsman could hustle them on their way. Lom Trevors sat in the doorway guarding the entrance to provide privacy to his grieving friend as Heyes prepared to say goodbye to his partner for the second time in a week. He kept one eye on the tableau but did not intrude. The Porterville Sherrif's bleak thoughts were consumed by his own grief and feelings of failure.
The darkened quiet ward was in sharp contrast to the brightly lit and active front of the infirmary. Shades were drawn halfway down the windows, lending a somber atmosphere to the room. Hannibal Heyes sat slumped in a chair. The dark circles around his eyes, accompanied by heavy lids accentuated the air of dreaded defeat surrounding the dark-haired ex-outlaw. He had Kid's right hand firmly cradled between his own hands, lightly rubbing the hand unconsciously in an effort to tether his best friend to this world. A steady stream of murmurings, part remembrance, part hopeful plans for a shared future, and entirely an entreaty to stay with him. Heyes would never have clear recall of the stream of consciousness one sided conversation. The slow irregular labored breaths of the patient marked the passage of time between periodic visits of Doctor Matthews or the medical corpsman. Heyes' dull reddened eyes no longer followed the medical men in fearful anticipation on their periodic visits to check on their critically ill patient. Exhaustion from relentless worry had numbed the ex-outlaw's mind and narrowed his focus to the still and ghostly pale figure in the narrow infirmary bed.
"Trevors?"
Lom looked up from the pages of the book he had been staring at and not reading at the sound of his name.
"How's Curry?" Marshal John Walters asked in a hushed voice.
"His fever broke a few hours ago. Heyes and I have been shoving spoonfuls of water in the Kid's mouth all morning and he does swallow them. That gave Heyes and me something to celebrate until the doc said that in this case that coolness is a bad sign 'cause it means the Kid's body is shuttling down." Lom nodded his head in the direction of the partners. "I think Heyes is resigned to losing his partner. In some ways this is almost worse than what happened in Lonetree. But at least he can see Jedediah Curry off to whatever comes after when he passes with some dignity."
Walters bowed his head in silence for a moment. He raised his eyes at the shuffling behind him.
"Oh, let me introduce Marshal Rick Webb, who is taking my place here. Rick, this is Sheriff Lom Trevors of Porterville, Wyoming."
Rick Webb dragged his wide eyes from the scene in infirmary ward. "I'd say pleased to meet you but I don't think anyone is pleased with the situation." Marshal Webb extended his hand to Trevors. He added in stunned disbelief, "If I didn't know who I was sent to protect, and Walters didn't give me a heads up, I would never have recognized Kid Curry."
All three men's gazes centered on the Kid. Walters and Trevors took a good long look with critical eyes, seeing the man anew. The marked deterioration in the last forty-eight hours was evident in the swelling of his face and neck that was well past what would normally result from the beating upon his arrest and the hanging. Cold cloths had been replaced by warm compresses to increase blood flow to reduce the swelling caused by fluid leaking from his tissues due to the blood poisoning as explained by the doctor. His face was swollen and bruised beyond recognition and his fingers resembled pale blueish sausages. The strong vibrant man that was in turns feared, respected, and admired by those he encountered disappeared into the almost grotesque barely breathing shell the rapidly progressing sepsis created.
Lom sighed and shook his weary head. He rose from the chair and led the men over to the side of the infirmary to unobtrusively stand vigil. He whispered "Yeah, I see what you mean. Neither Heyes nor the Kid are religious men. If you knew their history, you'd understand why. But Heyes has been praying for a miracle on and off now for a while. If anyone could talk God into finally listening to him and giving a couple of reformed outlaws a second chance, Heyes can. I was always told the Almighty doesn't bargain, doesn't do deals, and can't be conned but he can see into a man's heart and passes judgment." He made a small gesture with his hand towards his friends and quietly stated with conviction, "Under the tough hardened outlaws they're good men. Given the opportunity, I truly believe they'd make a success of themselves on our side of the law. But they need each other to do it. I have a strong feeling that one without the other will somehow fall short of having the better life they deserve."
"Well, I'm gonna do my own part and try to help Marshall Storz capture the real perpetrators of the Lonetree robbery and murders. That will at least clear up some of the animosity hanging over their heads. Having most people believing you're a murderer and conned the governor is not a good way to start a life after amnesty. They're gonna have enough trouble getting people to forget that they used to be thieves and some of the very best ones at that. And incidentally a conviction of somebody else will take some political heat off the governor." Walters declared. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way. Please, give my excuses to Heyes. I don't want to disturb him." He turned to leave, glancing back with sympathy. On the way-out John Walters found a supposed clinic patient that snuck down the short hall to the infirmary ward entrance and was rapidly sketching the scene on a pad. The marshal grabbed the sketch pad from the protesting man's hands, closed it, shoved it back at the sketch artist and strode out determinedly, manhandling the sketch artist along with him.
The sheriff walked to the ward desk and poured a mug of coffee from the carafe that was delivered earlier. He stuck the tip of a finger in the liquid, it was still acceptably warm, and took the black coffee over to his woeful friend. He held the mug in front of Heyes' face.
"If you won't eat at least have a drink."
"I need a saloon full of whiskey and even that won't help," came the flat reply. Heyes didn't look up and didn't reach for the mug.
"Here, all I've got is lukewarm coffee. Black, like you drink it."
"Sorry, Lom. I know you tried." The dark-haired partner dragged his eyes up to meet his stalwart friend. They sharpened and focused on the man behind Lom Trevors. Bitterness crept into his voice. "Marshal Webb, you missed your chance on me. You know the Kid and me have amnesty now. I guess you'll get to satisfy a wish for revenge at the Kid's passing." He turned in his seat and threw his left hand up to point towards the door. "Why you? Go away! Lom and I can take care of things without some marshal maybe wanting payback hanging around."
Marshal Rick Webb kept silent at the invective hurled at him. He walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down. He studied Kid Curry up close and reached out to straighten the covers.
Before the marshal's hand reached his target, his wrist was grabbed above the bed in a surprisingly firm grasp.
"Don't touch him!"
Webb stilled. He held Heyes' angry gaze, not trying to free his arm. The marshal gently replied, "I was gonna straighten the sheet. Heyes, I'm not here to gloat in your misfortune. I'm here because I want to make sure that the two of you get the second chance you both deserve. I'm to make sure you leave the area safely. I'm not sure when I arrested you, how much was an act and how much was the genuine man. I believe I saw and mostly talked with Hannibal Heyes the man. When it was just two men talking, I think we could have been friendly if we weren't on opposite sides of the law. Now that we're not why don't we see if I'm right.
As far as the Kid goes, I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for him. You most likely would have ridden away without a backwards glance and never checked to see if I was in trouble. I couldn't blame you if you did. However, I owe my life to the Kid. I want to be part of saving his. Never thought this is what I would find." He earnestly tried to convey his genuine gratitude and sympathy for the situation. He let a tiny smile tug crookedly at his lips. "Of course, I wouldn't have been in trouble in the first place had you not purposedly chosen the most treacherous route or better yet you could have surrendered."
Heyes released his grip and dropped his hand onto the bed, once again cradling Curry's hand. He nodded his acknowledgement of Rick Webb's sentiment.
"We did surrender outside of Lonetree. Look what that got us. If only…" The bitterness was back as his voice trailed off.
Lom nudged Heyes shoulder and once more offered the mug. "Drink."
"Are you gonna keep shoving that at me?"
"Yep, I insist. And you can be sure if the Kid were conscious, he would be telling you to eat and drink. At least I'm not shoving food at you, yet."
Heyes reached out for the offered coffee. "I wish he was all proddy and complaining loudly about missing meals."
"I know Heyes, I know." Lom agreed.
The three men settled down in somber silence to wait. All three hoping that what they were waiting for was not to be for a very long time.
~~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~~
Marshal Irwin Storz lay sprawled out on the sagging mattress in the only hotel in Piedmont, WY. Of the four saloons located in the wood and water refueling stop for the railroads and charcoal producing town, three rented rooms. Rumor had it that the Byrning Beer and Bed Saloon was the best place in town and looking around the tiny and tired room, Storz was tempted to move his base of operations there. Unfortunately, the U.S. Marshal service frowned on those sorts of accommodations when a more suitable hotel was available. He startled at the knock at the door. He called out, "Who is it?"
"It's me Irwin, John Walters."
"Come in, It's open."
Walters strode in the room and didn't have to go very far to reach the other side. He dropped his saddle bag and rifle on the dresser and plopped down on the second twin bed. He slid his hands around the top of the mattress. "Lumpy, but not the worst I'd had to sleep on."
"Ain't that the truth." Storz chuckled and slid his eyes sideways. Sitting up he continued, "Sheriff Baum and one of his deputies are over at the Byrning Beer & Bed Saloon. They reportedly have better beds, and company for them if you want it. I'll bring you up to speed and then we can go collect him. "
Both marshals rose from the beds and Walters stood next to Storz at the small table under the window. There was a paper pad and pencils, along with several bank notes spread out in a row. Storz grabbed the pad and started talking as he flipped pages.
"Our murderer and robber ain't too careful. He made a big mistake and that's gonna get him hanged once we find him. I believe he's still in the area. That's where you come in."
"Go on." Walters had picked up the bank notes having deduced that they were an important clue.
"The mistake is related to those bills you have in your hand. The bank president was very helpful in explaining that the some of the money taken was easily identifiable. You see, he had been collecting national notes issued by out of state banks until he had a sizable amount to be turned in for the newer national federal notes, which have brown ink backs unlike the earlier notes that have green backs." Storz started his explanation.
Both lawmen knew that paper money in circulation of the same denomination had several different appearances. Since neither man had an avid interest in finance, they didn't think much about why that was so or gave thought to the changes over the years. As long as it was legal tender, it was all good to them. Walters peered more closely at the paper $20 dollar bills he held in his hand. Yes, one had a brown back. He looked up with eyebrows raised.
Storz continued his tutorial on bank note design. "Now, the money robbed had a high percentage of paper currency issued by individual banks, not the federal government. And not only bank notes from banks but from banks from far flung states, meaning not nearby Wyoming, Colorado, or Utah, those the bank passes out on a daily basis. In fact, there was a substantial amount from a bank in South Carolina that was used as payment for prize livestock. You have one of the South Carolina bills in your hand that was turned into the Piedmont bank from the Iron Horse saloon on the day before Curry was scheduled to be hanged. You'll remember that Heyes and Curry did not have the money with them from the robbery when they were apprehended. The Lonetree posse assumed the cached it and wouldn't give up the location.
The reason the Lonetree Bank had so much money in the safe is that these miscellaneous bank notes were supposed to be going to Denver to be exchanged for the newer federal currency on the stage that was leaving the day after the robbery. It seems that there's a tax on the older bank issued notes 'cause the government wants to move towards a unified paper currency.
I sent out telegrams to all the surrounding sheriffs to contact the banks and business to be on the lookout for money not usually seen in these parts. They were to notify us if any unusual paper bills showed up in their town. Now what do you think the chances are of South Carolina bank issued notes showing up in this two-bit dusty town in nowhere Wyoming?" Storz smiled like a cat that was about to pounce on a cornered canary. He pulled a piece of paper from between the sheets of the pad. What's even better is the Lonetree Bank President made a record of all the serial numbers of the bills being exchanged for the newer federal notes and what bank they were issued from."
Walters laid the South Carolina note back on the table next to where Storz had placed the list. He ran his finger down the list to South Carolina and stopped when the numbers Storz was reading out from the bank note matched the numbers listed on the paper. Both marshals straightened up, grinning.
"This is gonna look real good as evidence in court. Do you have any idea where the robbers are? Are they still in town."
Storz satisfied grim disappeared as he pushed the curtains aside to glance out the window onto the main street. "No, the reports I have from the barkeep and the livery is that the man with light wavy hair and his two dark-haired friends pushed out on Sunday morning. However, the mercantile owner thinks they may be the same group of fellas that came in a couple of weeks ago for supplies. He's pretty sure he's seen them a few months ago as well. They probably have a camp around here somewhere. That's where you come in."
Walters was still fingering the twenty dollars bills as he nodded is acknowledgement. He knew this area fairly well and had a good idea of the most likely places to look.
Storz strapped on his gunbelt, grabbed his hat, and retrieved his rifle from the dresser. "Come on, let's collect Baum and his deputy. We scouted the area closer to town this morning. Didn't find anything of interest. Sheriff Baum and his deputy went over to the Bryning Beer and Bed saloon for a beer after lunch. There's plenty of daylight left for a search a little farther afield."
Walters followed Storz out. "Are we taking Piedmont's sheriff or a local posse with us? I know an area that has several caves that can be used for a hideout. There's a water source close by that I've used a time or two to stay in over the years. That's the first place we'll look."
Storz stopped on the staircase and looked up at his fellow marshal. "Nah, I don't trust the local sheriffs with this and don't want them looking too much on their own. Being the victim is a relative of Sheriff Baum there's too much emotion involved. I can overlook a little roughing up an outlaw every now and then. But shooting a man in custody and then letting a posse beat the hell out of him is going too far, never mind that barely legal trial they arranged. Baum was gonna go out looking on his own. I put a stop to that idea. I rather keep an eye on him so we're stuck with him and his deputy, and that's enough local law."
~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~
Marshal Irwin Storz frowned as he watched the two Lonetree lawmen stomp out of the last cave of any sized located in the tan rock of the cliff face. The Sheriff still had his gun drawn and his finger on the trigger. He mumbled curses under his breath as he peered back at the scattered caves of the cliff face. The deputy took one last look behind him before holstering his weapon. Both men half slid as they scrambled down the slope from the cave to their horses. Marshal Walters met them at the horses from his foray through the grove of juniper, bur oaks and small ponderosa pines. He easily stepped over the small stream that meandered down from a spring in the largest cave.
"Anybody find anything useful. There's nothing in the arroyos beyond that I can see." Storz reported.
Walters kicked at a small rock and started making circles in the dirt with the toe of his boot. His gaze wandered over Storz's shoulder to the orange sky. "Someone pulled dead wood into a pile but it looks like it's been there stacked for a while. No signs of recent activity."
Sheriff Baum's voice held strong tones of frustration as he gave his findings or lack thereof. "There's a fire ring in the last cave. The ashes are old. There's also a good amount of dust and dirt with no traces of men having been there within a week or two.
The men were standing in a loose semicircle in the deep shadow of the cliffs. Storz gazed up at the sky. It was a fiery orange deepening into crimson red and magenta at the horizon. "Okay then, it's getting late, and we need to get a move on to get back to Piedmont before it becomes full night. Tomorrow, we'll get supplies to last a few days and go on the hunt." He looked to Walters.
John Walters rubbed his jaw as he thought. He was visualizing the map and topography of the area and putting that together with what he knew of towns and ranches in southwest Wyoming." He glanced at the Lonetree sheriff and deputy before facing his senior marshal. Walters stated confidently, "They traveled northwest after Lonetree. This area's pretty deserted with only a few ranches. It's not the easiest terrain to travel in, especially if you want to stay hidden. My best guess is they're gonna continue northwest. So, I suggest that we head towards Evanston, close by the Utah border. It's the biggest town around these parts. We'll go through Altamont or Aspen on our way. Touch base with the local law there."
"Sounds like a plan. Let's see…" Storz threw a disgusted look at Lonetree lawmen as he mounted his horse. "…The bank was robbed on Friday afternoon. You led a posse after the robbers Friday night and all day Saturday before the trail was lost. On Tuesday you gathered another posse to go looking 'cause you decided to look in another direction based on a hunch. That's when you came across Heyes and Curry. The trial was Wednesday, and the hanging was on Saturday. By Wednesday night, or at the latest Thursday, the news of Heyes and Curry's conviction for the Lonetree bank robbery and murder had spread. Now on Friday one of the stolen bills shows up in the saloon in Peidmont. It took them five days to go from Lonetree to Piedmont. They might have been riding hard at first and in a circuitous route but for the six or seven days they took to go Piedmont, which isn't all that far from Lonetree, they took their own sweet time. My bet is they're still not too far away, thinking they're in the clear."
The Lonetree sheriff avoided the senior marshal's eyes as he finally holstered his revolver and got on his horse. He was torn. As each day passed the emotions inside him were becoming harder to tame. He most of all wanted vengeance for the murder of his daughter-in-law and unborn grandchild. He was proud of the fact that he was the one finally leading the posse that led to the capture of the elusive most wanted men, Heyes and Curry, in the West. He wasn't particularly sorry for shooting Curry even though some people thought he should be. He thought it was bit sanctimoniousness of the marshals and Curry's friend Lom Trevors to criticize the beating of a prisoner, like they never roughed someone up in their custody. He did suppose that maybe he should have stopped the beating earlier than he did. But on the other hand, he was starting to feel uncomfortable about maybe hanging the wrong man even though a part of him rationalized that the Kid must have committed murder at some point even though he wasn't wanted on a murder charge. And he didn't like being accused of sloppy unprofessional behavior that had more than a little truth to that accusation. Sheriff Baum had a lot to think about on the slow trip back to Piedmont in the coming twilight. He was silent most of the way, only acknowledging his deputy when he had to.
~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~~
Dusk sent rays of vivid coral-colored light through the half-shaded windows of the Fort Bridger infirmary, lending a momentary warm glow to the interior. Hannibal Heyes didn't feel the warmth of the sun's last rays. Anger and bitterness had been siphoned off by the emotional numbness that slowly engulfed the man sitting the death vigil.
The regular Monday's medical work was winding down. The duty corpsmen had changed shifts and the night medic started his routine tasks. Doctor Matthews finished up his copious notes for the day and closed the daybook, stacked the charts to be filed, and sat back in his chair. There was still only one inpatient in the infirmary, a critically ill infamous one at that. The doc rubbed his eyes tiredly, a long day was ending, and all indications were that it was going to be another long night bunking in his office. Despite all expectations to the contrary, Jedidiah Curry was still tenaciously clinging to life. Hannibal Heyes was a constant presence. He only left his partner's side to use the latrine. The medical man sighed with regret that had nothing new to offer, not that Curry's friends asked anymore, he had done all he could. They were resigned to the seemingly inevitable demise of the gunman.
The sheriff and marshal were in and out of the infirmary all day, keeping up a steady supply of food and drinks on offer that mostly sat unconsumed. They were now using the bed next to Curry's as a makeshift table. A map lay spread out and two recent telegrams from Marshal Storz were placed on top of the map. The two lawmen kept their voices low as they discussed the recent developments both in Fort Bridger and Piedmont.
Heyes was dutifully and carefully pouring a tablespoon of water in the Kid's mouth, stroking his neck until the adams apple bobbed indicating the liquid was swallowed. It was a task he performed by rote countless times during the day. Next in the routine was pulling the patient up in bed to aid his breathing. He stood to get better leverage to move Kid's dead weight. Heyes shuddered as he silently corrected himself no, not dead weight. Not dead!
"Here let me help you with that." Doc Matthews appeared at the bedside and took hold of one side of the under-sheet, used to position the patient more easily.
"I can do it," mumbled Heyes.
"I know, but it's easier with two people. And I have to change the leg dressing once we boost him up."
"I'm surprised you're still trying," murmured the dark-haired ex outlaw without looking up.
"Where's life there's still hope. I have a feeling that the two of you don't give up too easily. You're still here, doing what needs to be done. Listen, he survived a hanging. He's obviously survived being shot before, judging from the scars. He's still with us, despite the odds." Part of his job was to be realistic and help patient's friends and family accept that death was part of life. It was harder when the dying were young men in the prime of their life but it was a skill he was practiced in. Matthews gave a barely perceptible shake of his graying head. He'd seen men with lesser wounds succumb but he'd also seen a few in worse shape survive. He firmly believed that sometimes the patient's will to live and the caregivers' belief in them was the deciding factor. The doctor perceived that Heyes and Curry were survivors at their core. No, he wasn't ready to give up on them.
"He's not an odds player doc. Wins more than he loses anyway."
"Well, let's bet on his will to live a little longer. Shall we?" Doc Matthews reached across Kid Curry and gave a reassuring pat on Heyes' arm.
Curry was positioned higher in the bed. Matthews flipped the sheet off the right leg and using the scissors from the dressing supplies the medical corpsman arranged on the side table, cut off the old dressing. The wrappings showed little evidence of soiling. The doctor pulled the carbolic soaked cotton wadding from the wound. He bent over and examined the thigh closely. Heyes stood across from the doctor, following his ministrations with dull eyes.
"The wound looks better than I expected. All the pus is gone, the drainage appears to be normal serosanguineous fluid, which is what is normally seen in a recently debrided healthy wound. If he can make it through another night and give his body the chance to fight the infection in his bloodstream, he'll keep his leg and maybe his life."
Matthews replaced the sheet and started to listen to the patient's lungs with his stethoscope. When he went to listen at the lung bases his elbow rested in Curry's sheet covered lap. The doc straightened up in surprise and peered at the sheet. A spreading dark, yellow-tinged wet spot appeared. He sniffed the air to reflexively confirm his suspicion. "Well now, this is a good sign. His kidneys decided to start working again," the doctor exclaimed.
Lom Trevors switched his attention from the map before him to the men behind him. He stood and walked over to stand behind Heyes, placing a firm hand on his friend's back. Marshall Webb crossed to stand behind the doctor and looked over the medical professional's shoulder.
Heyes reached out tentatively to touch the wet spot with his index finger. He brought his finger closer to his face and inhaled deeply, wrinkling his nose. "It's urine alright. Pretty strong smelling."
Doctor Matthews nodded. "Yep. He hasn't voided since early yesterday, so the urine is concentrated. Your diligence in spoon feeding him water all day has made a difference."
"He hasn't wet the bed since he was really a kid. I mean very little. When he grew up as the youngest of six kids, he learned things fast or was teased mercilessly by his older brothers and sisters."
The medical corpsmen hustled the onlookers to the side as he started to change the soiled sheets. When he shifted the patient over to roll the soiled sheet out from under him in preparation to replace it with a clean white sheet, the Kid let out a soft moan. The corpsman loosened his grip in surprise and Curry flopped back over the rolled-up bump of sheet. He moaned again, eye lids fluttering before once again becoming still.
A small grin slowly tugged at Heyes' lips. A slight dimple and a few crinkles around the eyes in the bone-tired face of the ex-outlaw testified to the genuine pleasure at any signs of life in his partner. "I'm his older brother now. He'll be mortified that he pissed the bed in front of you all."
"Now Heyes, I think we can give the Kid a pass in his condition right now." Lom remarked.
Heyes glanced over his shoulder and then back to the man lying in the half-made bed. "Oh, I won't say anything to him when he wakes up. I'll just tuck this tidbit in the back of my mind and he'll hear about wetting the bed when the time is right." His expression turned serious again and the grin faded into a frown as he faced the doctor. "Are we talking will or if he wakes up, doc?"
Doctor Matthews, who had been doing a quick exam, let his eyes touch on the three faces of men who all stared at him in anticipation and concern. He focused on Hannibal Heyes and held his steady brown eyes. "It's too early to conclusively state an outcome but…." Matthews quickly shifted his gaze to the blond man in the bed and back again to the dark-haired friend standing beside the bed, who once again had a firm grasp of his partner's hand. Matthews' eyes widened at the sight of slight movement of the blond's fingers. "I'm betting it's a will wake up." The doctor leaned over to direct his next words into Curry's right ear while tilting his own head to keep an eye on the Heyes' grip on the Kid's hand. "Mr. Curry, squeeze Heyes' hand now."
"Nothing doc." Heyes replied in disappointment, eyes glued to his partners fingers. "Come on Kid, squeeze my hand," he cajoled.
Nothing happened. Lom Trevor's shoulders drooped.
"Maybe in a little while we'll have better luck in getting a response." Marshal Webb reasonably suggested, trying to lessen the sudden tension.
"Jed! Give your partner some hope. Squeeze his hand now!" Matthews tried once more a little louder and a little more insistent.
The swollen fingers curled ever so slightly around the fine-boned hand of Hannibal Heyes and held for a few seconds before relaxing.
"That's it Kid. Good job," Lom praised.
Heyes hoped for more. "Open your eyes, Kid."
Eye lids fluttered but did not open.
"Let's see those baby blues. Come on, Jed. I need to know you're still with me. Open your eyes."
Blurry blue, blood shot eyes appeared between slitted lids for a brief moment before the puffy purple lids dropped closed. Jed Curry managed a second attempt at another squeeze of Heyes hand, and a pathetically weak cough sounded before consciousness slipped away.
It was enough for the group watching to have a measure of hope that had been sadly lacking for the past twenty-four hours. Heyes breathed in a shaky long breath and dropped into the chair beside the bed. He looked up and around to see cautious smiles break out on all the men surrounding Kid Curry.
"I need some air. Lom, stay with him. Okay?" Heyes voice broke as competing emotions flooded into the void left by the despair of the day.
Lom nodded his assent. He didn't trust his own voice to remain steady.
~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~~
Heyes rushed outside, not wanting others to see him struggling for emotional control. He leaned against the building for a moment until the sudden tremors subsided. The cool night breeze hit him and helped steady his nerves. He wandered aimlessly around in circles outside of Fort Bridger's infirmary, taking deep breaths as he walked.
Heyes started back to the infirmary from his circuitous pacing. He plopped down onto the bench against the outside wall of the building. He was almost afraid to believe that Kid might win this hand after all. The knowledge of Curry almost folding only to be delt a card to keep him in life's game were too numerous over the years. This last hand to be played seemed to be the one to leave him busted for good and knock Heyes out of the game as well with not enough to ante. He remembered his words from only moments ago, The Kid's not an odds player. The older partner ran his hands through his hair and scrubbed his face, composing himself. He rested his hands on the bench on either side of him to push himself up. Realizing his left hand hit paper, he peered down.
The three-quarter moon was enough to see it was a newspaper. Heyes picked it up, not having read a paper in weeks. He reflexively checked the banner, it was a discarded Sunday edition of the McKinnon Dispatch, one of the larger towns in the area that had its own newspaper. His eyes landed on the large bold typed headline Kid Curry Survives Hanging. Swallowing hard and siting up straight on the bench he angled the paper to better see in the available light. The trio of side-by-side pictures covering the top half of the entire page was hard to miss. There it was, what he had been spared seeing only a few short days ago. The first was Kid stoically standing on the gallows, tied up and balanced on one leg with the Lonetree lawmen and a reverend surrounding him all smiling at the large crowd. The second was of Curry, hooded and hanging. The third was a blurry picture of Lom Trevors and Marshal John Walters kneeling on the ground next to the Kid under the gallows platform, although only Curry's legs were visible.
Staring at the paper in the glow of moonlight, the nausea of that day returned. Heyes squeezed his eyes tight and swallowed convulsively, willing himself to remain calm. He felt that the unflappable Hannibal Heyes that adapted, planned, and came out a winner was just beyond his reach. The visible reminder of how close he came to losing the only person he cared about without any reservations and that cared the same about him knocked him off kilter. Blowing out a forceful lungful of cool night air as he remembered the feel of Jed's fingers closing around his own restored his equilibrium. He shot to his feet, grabbed the paper, and pulled the infirmary door open forcibly.
Quick, loud, staccato hits of bootheels on the wooden floor caused all heads in the infirmary to turn towards the ward doorway. Hannibal Heyes strode into view. His upright posture, flashing eyes and red-tinged face was very different from the slump-shouldered, pale man who left only a short while ago.
Marshal Webb lifted his dark eyebrows in question at Lom Trevors. He murmured quietly, "What got into him?"
Lom shrugged his shoulders in a wordless reply.
"Have you seen this!" Heyes demanded rhetorically as he threw the crumpled paper on the ward desk.
Rick Webb walked causally over and glanced down. A soft "Oh," escaped as brown eyes met the questioning looks of Sheriff Trevors and Doctor Matthews. The two men's suspicions were confirmed as Webb continued evenly, "I see you've seen a paper. You must have known that Heyes and Curry are big news. You've seen the reporters, released a statement and even spoke with a few of them from what Marshal Walters told me."
The silently fuming ex-outlaw reluctantly nodded. "I know. But…" He blinked in frustration, his fists clenched as he darted his eyes to his partner and back to the lawmen.
"Heyes, if you recall Captain Holman told you that there was intense interest, including national news organizations, in what has happened. That's one of the reasons you were brought to Fort Bridger. To insure you and your partner's safety until you can move on while the fervor fades. You and your sheriff friend have been so caught up in Jed Curry's predicament that you haven't been around the fort or town much." Reminded Matthews. The doctor quietly spoke as an aside to Trevors, "I've been getting rid of the papers I find lying around where Heyes and you might see them. I must have missed that one."
"I don't want Kid to ever see a picture like that. It's bad enough he lived through it." Heyes proclaimed forcefully.
"You know on my way here there have been dozens of publications, big and small, that have covered your story in one form or another, and most have included at least one picture. It's national news. You can't escape that fact. You and Kid Curry will have to deal with how you won amnesty as you make your new lives." Webb informed Heyes, not unkindly.
Heyes was adamant. "That may be so but I don't want the Kid to see those pictures. No pictures, none, nada, zero, zilch, I make myself clear. I can control that, at least."
Lom placated with, "Okay, Heyes, I hear you." Although, he was not convinced Kid would not eventually be confronted with the disturbing images.
"Oh God!" Heyes exclaimed with eyes wide in horror.
'What?" Three sets of eyed darted to the Kid and back to Heyes.
"I just thought about Clem seeing those picture. I suppose the Denver papers had reporters and photographers in Lonetree and maybe even here. I don't remember who was all there at the makeshift press briefing Captain Hollman and Marshal Walters arranged." He peered down at the desk and starting moving things around frantically. "Where's paper and a pencil. I need to send a telegram. Probably a few telegrams." Under his breath he added, "I wonder how I can get one to Wheat."
Notes:
Paper Currency - The government did not issue paper money until 1861. In the interim years, however, the government did issue "Treasury notes" intermittently during periods of financial stress, such as the War of 1812, the Mexican War of 1846, and the Panic of 1857.
During this same period (1793 - 1861), approximately 1,600 private banks were permitted to print and circulate their own paper currency under state charters. Eventually, 7,000 varieties of these "state bank notes" were put in circulation, each carrying a different design!
With the onset of the Civil War, the government - desperate for money to finance the war - passed the Act of July 17, 1861, permitting the Treasury Department to print and circulate paper money. The first paper money issued by the government were "demand notes" commonly referred to as "greenbacks." In 1862, Congress retired the demand notes and began issuing United States notes, also called legal tender notes.
During the period from 1863 to 1929, the Government again permitted thousands of banks to issue their own notes under the National Banks Acts of 1863 and 1864. These were called "national bank notes," but unlike the earlier "state bank notes," they were produced on paper authorized by the U.S. government and carried the same basic design. Banks could issue paper notes based on their holding of government bonds. These disparate currencies were taxed out of existence in the following decades and replaced with national bank notes, giving the U.S. its first uniform paper currency
The 1880s saw a diverse issuance of paper money in the United States. There were two types of national bank notes being printed, two types of silver certificates, one type of legal tender, and one gold certificate. And all of that is just for the twenty dollar denomination.
There was a style change in the 1880s for all national currency. We moved from the first charter period to the second charter period. First charter notes would have only been issued by banks that opened in 1880 or 1881. These early $20 national bank notes will have a cursive date with the year 1880 or 1881 on them. The money would look like the $20 bill pictured below.
In 1882 the money was redesigned. These notes are known as brown backs by collectors. The name derives from the fact the back of each note is brown. All $20 bills will say series of 1882 on them. They could also have a cursive charter date in 1882, 1883, 1884, 1885, 1886, 1887, 1888, or 1889.
According to the Federal Reserve, the estimated lifespan of a $5 bill is 4.7 years. The estimated lifespans of a $10 and $1 bill are 5.3 years and 6.6 years, respectively. The highest estimated lifespan is for a $100 bill at nearly 23 years. The federal government reports that approximately 4,000 double folds (forward, then backward) are required to tear a note.
/twenty-dollar-bills-from-the-1880s/
/financial-resources/history-united-states-currency
Wound Care continued
Drainage can be (1) serous (clear and thin; may be present in a healthy, healing wound), (2) serosanguineous (containing blood; may also be present in a healthy, healing wound), (3) sanguineous (primarily blood), or (4) purulent (thick, white, and pus-like; may be indicative of infection and should be cultured).