Winter's Refuge

Chapter Forty-Four

HEYES

I let the Kid sleep. It looked like a calm sleep, no nightmares. I know he has nightmares. There are so many things he's seen - we've seen - to bring the darkness and the nightmares closer in our sleep. While he slept, I listened to all the men and their plans. I couldn't hear very well but the one thing I heard and understood, the Kid is in danger until Fitzjohn is caught. I look at the Kid's gun belt hanging on the back of the chair. I'm not allowed to touch guns. That's a rule of my parole. I left my knife at the ranch. So, I sit here and think and decide, if someone is about to shoot the Kid, I will touch the gun. I will fire the gun. I will save the Kid's life and let them put me in prison for the rest of mine.

JED 'KID' CURRY

I wake to someone knockin' on the door. What door? Where am I? Where are we? Heyes is with me, answerin' the door.

"Time to move, Mr. Curry, Mr. Heyes. We're going to slip you in the back door of the hotel so you can leave for the train station from there." The marshal talkin', was either Ken or Karl Josephs. Don't know which and don't care. But they are here to protect me and trap that madman Fitzjohn that's tryin' to kill me, so I tolerate their bossy behavior.

We got to see Lom before we left; he's recoverin' quickly and wanted to take the train with us, but the doctor refused to let him come.

Heyes kept rubbin' the bandage on Lom's side and saying, "Thanks, Lom," while we talked. We stopped when Heyes said, "Thanks, friend," instead. I can't help but smile when he uses a new word.

At my smile, he took out his chalkboard and wrote, "Dr. Arden taught me 'friend'."

"Always your friend, Heyes," Lom answered, graspin' his arm, and echoin' my smile.

Then the marshal called us, and we needed to leave.

We did as he asked and walked out the front door of the hotel just like we had slept there all night. I slept good last night but I don't think Heyes slept at all. He's got red circles under his eyes and he's even more nervous than normal.

"You still want to stop in Bridgeport?" I asked him. "You look tired."

He gave me a shrug of his shoulders and a wry grin. "Good. Go," he answered.

His eyes kept dartin' around and I know he was lookin' for Fitzjohn. Archer had told us the former warden was obsessed with actually watchin' me killed so he was probably near. I kept my jacket pushed behind my gun in case I needed to draw. I tried to look around, too, but not so people would notice. I saw some people I recognized placed along our route and when I glanced up, I saw one of the Josephs brothers on the roof of the station house with a rifle.

We kept walkin' and the train was waitin' when we got there. As instructed, we got in the first passenger car and walked through to the second car, settlin' in the last row of seats facin' the rest of the passengers. Heyes put his bag on the window seat and took the middle seat and left me the aisle seat. I saw him glance at my gun. I could read what he was thinkin' on his face.

"Heyes, no matter what, don't touch my gun. Do you understand?"

He looked down as if chastised. "No matter what." I repeated firmly and waited until he nodded. I felt like his pa scoldin' him and I was angry to be in that position. We were cousins, best friends, and I needed him to be safe.

"Got your knife?"

"No," he answered without lookin' up.

I reached into my boot and gave him my knife. I wasn't deadly with it like the Ortiz boys, Heyes had been practicin' with Juan and was improvin'.

ASJ*****ASJ

I shadowed my eyes with my hat but left it so I could still see around the railcar. I saw one of our marshals pretendin' to be a passenger by the front door, but no sign of Fitzjohn. I didn't know what the undercover marshal, Ecler, looked like. I recognized the armed conductor that collected our tickets as another marshal. He handed me a note with our punched tickets. "Ecler in first car. Careful FJ aboard."

The back door of the car right near my shoulder opened suddenly. The whish of cold air accompanied a man about Fitzjohn's build but older with gray hair and a gray beard. Without a look around, he walked in with a cane and started down the aisle headed for the front door.

I watched him ample down the aisle, back bent, grabbin' onto seat backs for support always intent on the front exit.

Heyes elbowed me in the ribs. Thinkin' he needed to use the water closet again, I started to stand but he put his arm out to keep me in my seat. He nodded at the old man. Marshal Josephs saw our exchange. I looked at Heyes for a moment, then examined the man. What had he seen that I hadn't? The limp, it had changed from his right leg to his left leg when the train jostled him. As he grabbed for the next seat back, he looked right into the curious face of Ken Josephs.

"Warden Fitzjohn." I could hear the marshal's controlled whisper from our seats. Fitzjohn turned around in a panic lookin' for an escape route. He was closer to the front door than the back, but I knew he saw me sittin' there. I saw a moment of decision on his face. He stood tall and used his cane to knock the gun from the marshal's hand and ran agilely the last few rows down the aisle and out the front door. With a hand up to me to stay put, the marshal followed.

It was against my every instinct, but I stayed seated. Alert, I drew my gun but kept it low, hidden by the seat backs in front of us. And I waited. I had to trust these men asked to protect us while I protected Heyes. My heart beat in rhythm to the clackin' tracks. I thought of the miles and miles of tracks I had laid in the unrelentin' heat of the sun. Who had built this railroad? Time seemed endless while we waited. Next to me, Heyes hadn't moved.

Finally, the armed conductor walked down the aisle tryin' to look as if he was just doin' his job. When he approached us, I saw a long bruise, probably from the cane on the side of his face.

"He escaped," he bent over and whispered. "But Ecler's with him."

I sheathed my gun as I felt Heyes tense near me. "Plan B."

HEYES

While Fitzjohn got off the train and away at a water stop, I was happy that the Kid was safe. I tried to remember what Plan B was, but I couldn't. We stayed in our seats until we got to Bridgeport. The train seemed to be traveling slower than usual. As we stood and got our bags, I watched the Kid closely. He seemed unconcerned, moving slowly, purposefully, focused on getting off the train, not protecting himself. Deliberately, we walked to the livery. The marshal that had been the conductor, leaned against the corral of the livery, now dressed like a ranch hand. He didn't acknowledge us. Winter's Glory and Fall's Bell were happy to see us and enjoyed the apples we had brought them. I didn't understand why the Kid stepped into the empty stall next to his horse but I followed him.

"Plan B?" he asked the two men that were sitting on the hay in the stall. I hadn't seen them before. At least I didn't think I had. The Kid seemed to have expected them to be there.

"Plan B. Your horses seem well trained. Anything we need to know about them?"

I was shocked at the question. The Kid is protective of our horses, especially Winter's Glory.

"Glory's spirited but obeys a firm hand," he told them. "Fall's Bell is the perfect ridin' horse."

Kid took off his jacket and vest and started to unbutton his shirt.

"Aawha." I was embarrassed at the sound I made, but the Kid was happy I tried to talk and he knew what upset me.

He told me, "Take your clothes and your hat off, Heyes, and put the ones in the corner on quickly. These marshals are gonna pretend they're us and ride out of here. Ecler will make sure that Fitzjohn follows them."

I didn't quite understand how this was working. I knew the conductor had told us that Fitzjohn and Ecler had escaped the train at a water stop. They couldn't be here already.

"Heyes, come on. Get changed." I knew the Kid was serious when I saw him give his gun and gunbelt to one of the men. I hurried to change.

Both men impersonating us wore guns. That was wrong. I wouldn't wear a gun. Fitzjohn would know this. He was on my parole board. He saw me confess that I touched a gun. I'd heard the men talking last night. Fitzjohn had convinced the board members to send the Kid to prison or make me go back. He was sure the Kid would refuse the deal, but he was desperate and wanted the Kid under his control. But he wouldn't forget I don't wear a gun.

I pointed to the gun on the man taking my clothes. He didn't do anything. I grabbed the Kid's arm and pulled him over pointing to the man's gun. He understood.

"Heyes can't wear a gun and Fitzjohn knows that," the Kid spoke firmly to these marshals. He wasn't afraid of them. He looked them in the eyes when he spoke. And he never called them 'sir'. He doesn't call many people sir and hates when anyone calls him that. In prison, we called everyone in authority sir. Sometimes I slip and call him sir. He gives me a dirty look. Chrissy sometimes slips and calls him that, he corrects her gently, "Jed, not sir," he says.

"Your hat, too, Heyes," the Kid was telling me. I need to concentrate on what's happening. This is important. This is Plan B. But I'm not sure what to do and I'm scared to do the wrong thing and I don't want to give the man my hat. The Kid gave his hat to the man now dressed in his clothes. His hair is starting to grow in, but it is short and sticks up straight, not yet long enough to curl. He looks embarrassed when the men look at it. It is the haircut of a man recently released from prison. He quickly grabs the new gray hat and puts it on his head.

Hoping no one will notice, I hand the man the new hat and settle mine on my head. I feel the Kid take off my hat and exchange it for the new one. I know I've lost but I beg the man with my eyes to bring mine back.

"Heyes dump everything in your travel bag into this." The Kid had just finished taking everything out of his bag and putting it into a pillowcase. He handed me another pillowcase. My horror must have shown on my face. We hadn't used pillowcases for our things since we were teenagers. But I did as he asked.

The Kid whispered to each of our horses as he saddled them. He has always had a closeness with horses. I watched our impersonators mount the horses with an uneasy feeling. I wasn't sure what we were supposed to be doing now that they were leaving. The clothes I wore were more formal than I was used to.

"Thanks," the Kid said as he shook the hands of each man before they rode out of the livery.

I stood still and looked to him to see what to do next. He was just standing there watching them leave. It surprised me but I heard him whisper, "Godspeed," into the wind.

When they had ridden away, Marshal Ken Josephs slipped into the livery. "I'll take your things. You're already registered at the hotel, Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones. Here's your keys, room 204."

"Smith and Jones?" the Kid asked with a slight smile.

"Mr. Jason Smith and Mr. Tim Jones," he said with a smile. "Everyone knows that Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones were the aliases for Heyes and Curry. It was in every newspaper when you were arrested."

A guarded smile from the Kid made me wary. No one was supposed to know we were here. But the marshal kept talking. "I've arranged for you to go in the side door of the newspaper office. The archives are kept there. The office there is available for you today and tomorrow. No one will bother you."

"Thank you." The Kid seemed sincere to me.

"And I'll be nearby watching out for you in case Fitzjohn doesn't fall for Plan B."

"How close?"

"Close enough. If I'm doing my job, you won't see me."

JED 'KID' CURRY

Heyes was confused, but he's focused now that we are in the newspaper archives office. This paper has been in business for almost forty years. There are a lot of newspapers in filin' cabinets and stacked on the floor. Some of the bottom papers in the stacks are fallin' apart. Heyes wrote down what he wants-articles on Devil's Hole Gang's robbery, startin' eighteen months ago until the day of the fire in the Three Birds Mercantile.

It took an hour to locate the right stack of newspapers. We'd told the current owner, a Michael J. Loveland, we'd keep the papers in order, but there was no organization that we could see.

The newspapers from eighteen months earlier we looked at listed the owner and editor as Gregory Crocker. I'd try to keep track to see when that changed.

I found an article about the gang in the second newspaper I started readin'. It was a reprint of an article from a small northern Wyoming newspaper. I read it, then gave it to Heyes to read. He took very detailed notes.

Bank at Murphy's Ranch Robbed by Devil's Hole Gang

A government mining payroll of over three thousand dollars was stolen yesterday afternoon from the Bank at Murphy's Ranch by the infamous Devil's Hole Gang, led by Mark McWinters. It is thought they had inside information on the day that the payroll would arrive.

Mark McWinters was identified by two clerks at the bank who had seen him rob a train earlier this year. Also identified were his brothers Matt and Bobby Bell. It is thought their brother John was the lookout at the side door. Luke McWinters has not been seen for over six months. It is rumored that he was shot in their train robbery near Smith's Summit and died from his injuries. The Bank at Murphy's Ranch is next to the livery and the gang stopped there first, holding the owner hostage. Two gang members stayed there.

One man was stationed at the side door and another at the back blocking all exits for the bank. Unmasked, Mark and Bobby Bell McWinters and a third gang member, tentatively identified as Tommy Camp, entered through the front door and drew their guns immediately. There were two clerks, four customers, and the bank manager inside.

Mark McWinters waved his gun around instructing the clerks to put all their money in a sack he threw at them. Mr. Laudate, the senior clerk, was flustered and dropped some bills on the floor.

"Ain't falling for that trick, old man," Mark growled. Witnesses reported he nodded at his brother Bobby Bell stationed by the front door.

Bobby Bell laughed and shot Mr. Laudate in the right leg just below the knee. The other clerk, Miss Diane Lynnette Harris, ran to assist him. Mark McWinters grabbed her, holding his gun to her neck. In the back office, he instructed the bank manager to open the safe and put ALL the contents in a second bag. He did as he was told and McWinters left, locking them in the room. It was later reported that Miss Harris fainted when he let her go, hitting her shoulder against the side of the desk in her fall and breaking her arm. She is recovering in Denver at her sister's home and was not available for comment.

The man identified as Tommy Camp finished gathering the money from the drawers, even dragging bloody bills from under the clerk's leg.

He then instructed the customers to put their money, wallets, and valuables in the bag. When one customer, a young rancher, decided to draw his gun, Bobby Bell McWinters shot him through the heart, killing him with one shot.

The Devil's Hole Gang left through the side door and ran to the livery. Sheriff Wade Cvik raised a posse quickly but lost their trail. He said after about ten miles all their tracks were gone.

It is believed they retreated to Devil's Hole. This is the fourth verified killing for young Bobby Bell McWinters.

ASJ*****ASJ

When he'd finished readin', I watched Heyes continue to make notes. Then he handed me the paper and mimicked foldin' it. When I finished foldin', he was already readin' the next paper. I went back to skimmin' the papers in my stack. But I kept watchin' the door and thinkin' about the marshals trying to catch Henry Fitzjohn. I thought about his diary in the pillowcase in our hotel room. I was tempted to read it, but something stopped me. The governor said he hated me as an obsession. I didn't need to read about that kind of evil.

Heyes made an odd sound when he found another article dated only three weeks after the first. I ignore the sounds that aren't words. He's embarrassed when he makes them, but I see them as progress. Aiden hasn't been much of a help around the ranch, but he does help Heyes with his words. He goes to Heyes' room if he hears nightmares and talks to him about them.

Even in all the danger yesterday, I heard Heyes use two new words. Progress.

The second article he found was reprinted from the Cheyenne paper who had taken it from a small town paper in northern Colorado. I read it when Heyes gave me the paper to fold.

VIRGINIA DALE BANK ROBBED; TWO MEN INJURED

Yesterday the Devil's Hole Gang, led by Mark McWinters, robbed the new Virginia Dale bank with three other men believed to be his brothers. After leaving their horses with one of the brothers at the livery close to the bank, three of them entered through the front door already shooting. The bank manager and the lone customer were both hit but expected to recover.

The safe was open at the time of the robbery as the manager was locking away the newly received payrolls for the Bar H and two other neighboring ranches that had arrived by train not twenty minutes before. The safe and the clerks' drawers were all emptied. They made their escape through the side door. They returned to the livery for their horses and escaped. The sheriff and his deputy were out of town at the time looking into chicken thievery at the Rossman Farm, so no posse was raised.

ASJ*****ASJ

I jumped when a knock broke the quiet of the archive room. I drew my gun before I opened the door. Arms full, Marshal Ken Josephs pushed the door all the way open and came in quickly.

"Brought you men some food and some coffee." He sat down in my chair without being invited to stay.

"Any news?" I asked, as I put Heyes' food in front of him and poured him a cup of coffee. He ignored it and continued to read the paper in front of him makin' noises and notes. He must have found another article.

Marshal Josephs shook his head. "Nothing. I expected word by now."

I asked what had been botherin' me. "How come the men pretendin' to be us left so quick? Fitzjohn and Ecler wouldn't have had time to get here and get horses."

"Ecler knows this country well and told us about a shortcut from that water stop to about five miles south of here. It was always Fitzjohn's plan to get off there, they had horses waiting. He would have preferred you were killed on the train before they got off, but they had a plan B, too."

"So did they catch up with our men then?" I asked. I knew Heyes was listenin'. He even took a bite of his lunch.

"I don't know. Wish I did." He shook his head and put down his food, like suddenly he had no appetite. "Can't do anything to help from here except be on the watch in case Fitzjohn comes back here. Going to go do that now." He stood to leave. "Gentlemen," he said as he tipped his hat on the way out the door.

HEYES

The Kid looks worried. He should be. Someone powerful is trying to kill him for something he didn't even do. We did a lot of wrong things in our lives. We've been punished for them, too.

This does mean we have time to read the newspapers. I need to read all these newspapers. We are finding Mark's gang, I don't like to call them the Devil's Hole Gang, pulled a robbery every three weeks to a month. We've read newspapers through spring and summer and I'm starting on autumn. They'll have to slow down in winter, too cold for robbing. Their targets were banks, trains, savings and loans, and two men on horses that had picked up their monthly ranch payroll and were going back to the ranch.

Their plan was almost always the same. They like banks near liveries and trains that had to slow for sharp bends. It was always the four McWinter brothers. Mark and Bobby Bell always went inside the bank or to the railcar that had the safe. John watched the horses. Matt did what was needed. There was no mention of Luke. The Kid told me Luke left the gang and got amnesty and became a priest. I started to imagine a priest among his killer brothers, but my thoughts can't picture that.

"Heyes, you find anything else?" The Kid's voice is firm. He must have called me before. He looks tired now. I don't think he likes being closed in here with me. I feel safe here, but he needs to be outside.

I found my board. "You sleep. I'll read," I wrote and pointed to an old couch against the far wall. Like everywhere else in the room, papers were stacked on it and the stacks falling into each other.

He smiled but said, "No, want to stay alert in case the good guys miss Fitzjohn, and he comes back here."

I heard the caution in his voice. But then I drew a deep breath. "Look!" I said before I realized I had a new word. On the back page of the paper I was reading, there was an ad that took up almost one eighth of the page. It simply said, "An eye for an eye. A sibling for a sibling." It had an address in a Colorado City that I didn't recognize. I didn't remember seeing this in the new papers at the ranch or the ones I reviewed in Three Birds. But I could have missed it. I don't usually look too closely at the ads. I need to talk to the Kid about putting ads in the paper for our stud service and another for the blacksmith shop.

"What's got your attention, Heyes. You find another article?"

I showed him the ad and he gave a low whistle. "You seen it in any other papers?"

"Haven't really looked." I wrote.

We found the ad in every Tuesday's newspaper from then on and one before that. The Kid folded one of them up and slipped it under his shirt. We'd bring it back after we showed it to Lom.

Lom. I wondered how he was doing. He took a bullet that would've killed me. But he's not here; he's in Cheyenne.

JED 'KID' CURRY

I looked around quickly as there was a knock on the door. I drew my gun and opened the door a crack. Again, Marshal Josephs pushed the door and entered quickly. He didn't bring food this time, but he sat in my chair. I closed the door, folded my arms across my chest, and leaned against the door, waiting.

"Got him," the marshal spoke first.

I saw Heyes let out a relieved breath.

"Here's what happened as I heard it." Marshal Ken Janss started to tell the story, "Fitzjohn and Ecler cut off our men as they rode through Mundi's Pass. Our backup was late and Fitzjohn held his gun on them while Ecler dismounted."

"Tie them up. Curry first; Heyes isn't armed. The sniveling mute isn't allowed to carry a gun but watch out, he may have a knife," Fitzjohn instructed.

"Got it, sir."

"No wait. Curry, take off your shirt. I want to look at your back and remember the taste of vengeance," Fitzjohn growled with an ugly smile.

"Sir, his hands are already bound. Let me tie up Heyes before I untie him to take off his shirt." Ecler stalled for time hoping back up would arrive soon. He took his time tying up the man supposed to Heyes. His bound partner continued to look down, not giving the ex-warden a good look at his face.

"Just kill him now. Curry look me in the face so I can see your eyes when you die. Do that and I'll let your partner live. His brain is so damaged no one would believe him that an ex-warden ordered your death."

"But they'll believe us," a deep voice came out of the woods behind them. Two US Marshals, badges prominently displayed, pointed their guns at Fitzjohn. "Drop the weapon."

"It's him! He made me do it! He's a fast gun." Fitzjohn pointed his gun at Ecler and fired, hitting him in the hip, sending his gun flying.

The man posing as Curry raised his brown eyes and looked at the warden. He had been tied lightly and easily slipped his bindings.

"You're… you're not Curry," Fitzjohn said in amazement.

In the diversion, the new marshals attempted to grab Fitzjohn's gun. But he made a surprising agile move for an overweight middle-aged man and slipped away from them, turning his gun on them. "No, Marshals, it's your turn to drop your guns. Throw them over there." He looked over at Ecler, the man who was his ally bleeding on the ground. "Ecler, you good to grab those guns?"

Ecler, his face showing his pain, slowly pulled his vest back revealing his US Marshal badge.

"No, no you work for me. I paid you to kill Kid Curry!" His eyes became glassy, and he looked around like the caged animal he was. "No, no!" He swung his gun around pointing at the fake Curry. "You aren't the Kid Curry."

"Fitzjohn, put the gun down, now!" Ecler commanded.

"No one tells the warden what to do," he answered, pointing the gun at first one then another marshal, all the time backing up until his back was against a boulder.

Then, he laughed loud and hard, waving the gun recklessly in the air. "Of course, you're not Kid Curry because I'm Kid Curry. Oh, Priscilla, I was Kid Curry in that dark barn that night. My poor innocent Priscilla." He raised the gun to his throat, aimed it upward and killed himself."

Josephs leaned back in his chair when he finished. He looked like telling the story drained him. I thought about it. His brother was one of those marshals involved and he had mentioned that Ecler was a friend. He looked at me. "They're bringing his body here for you to identify but there ain't much left of it. The governor's coming, also."

I nodded. I wasn't pleased to see the body, but I would do as they asked. If Colin came along, I would show him the ad in the newspaper. I wasn't sure what to do about it.

"Marshal, what about our horses?"

"They're fine. And from what I hear, they are both magnificent animals. If that's an example of the horses from your ranch, I understand why you're getting a reputation."

Heyes looked up at the last word and Josephs laughed. "A reputation as a ranch that breeds fine horses."