Road to Amnesty
Days in the saddle
Nights under the stars
Watching for posses
To avoid prison bars
Two lonely outlaws
Mending our ways
Waiting for amnesty
Counting the days
Life sure ain't easy
Times they are tough
Watching our backs
Is that even enough?
Wanted posters hang
On every jail house wall
Dead or alive
We stand or we fall
Given an alias
That we didn't choose
Told to stay outta trouble
Or the amnesty we'd lose
The governor's promise
A pipe dream we fear
Cause he promised a deadline
Of only one year
It's been three years now
And we're still on the run
Thanks to a silver tongue
And my fast drawing gun
Don't know if it's worth it
Won't know till we're free
Heyes wants to keep trying
Don't know about me
Days in the saddle
Nights under the stars
So far we've been lucky
To avoid prison bars.
"Heyes, what's this?" Kid asked as he approached the campfire with a wrinkled piece of paper and an equally wrinkled bag of coffee.
Heyes looked up and his eyes grew wide with surprise and embarrassment. "Where did you get that?"
"Outta your saddlebags. I was looking for the coffee," Kid replied and held up the small bag as proof.
"It's a poem."
"I can see that. You wrote it?"
"Uh-huh."
"You make it sound like I did. Why'd you do that?"
Heyes didn't want to admit he had done so to save himself some embarrassment if the poem ever got into the wrong handa. "Dunno," he replied.
Kid grinned. "You didn't want nobody to think you wrote poetry," he said, amusement dripping from his voice.
Kid stepped over a log near the fire and Heyes snatched the paper from his partner's hand and quickly folded it and stuffed it into his shirt pocket.
Kid didn't say anything, but the smile was frozen on his face as he crouched down and picked up the coffee pot to set to work making some coffee. "You got any more poems hidden in them bags?" he finally asked.
"I'm working on one about the slow demise of a has been gun slinger," Heyes quipped.
"Alright, I'll stop teasing you. But seriously, is that your first try or have you written other ones?"
Heyes shrugged, embarrassed that his secret was out in the open, but seeing no reason to hide the truth. "I wrote some when we was at the orphanage."
"Where are they now?"
"I burned the evidence before we left."
"You remember any of em?"
Heyes thought for a moment. "Bits and pieces, maybe. I haven't thought about them in a long time."
The coffee pot now ready to heat, Kid slid it into the embers of the fire, then moved back and sat down on the log. "You being a writer don't surprise me. Anybody that likes books as much as you do likely fancies himself a would be writer."
"I wrote some when we was at Devil's Hole, too," Heyes said with immediate regret.
"Did you burn them before we left?"
Heyes chuckled. "As I recall, we left a bit unexpectedly. I suspect they're still there, but I had a good hiding place."
"Were they about being an outlaw?" Kid asked.
"Some of em."
Heyes got up and adjusted the skewered rabbit roasting over the fire. "I wrote about lots of things," he confessed.
"You know, that poem ain't bad, Heyes. Maybe someday you ought to try your hand at writing a book of poetry."
"Books of poetry don't sell except to lonely ladies pining away for a fairy tale life."
"So you're saying there is a good market?" Kid teased.
"You know Kid, for all your making fun of it, I do like to write. It's a way of escaping from... the life we've got."
Kid looked at his partner, fully understanding all that Heyes had just said without putting into words.
"See, that's the kind of thing I mean when I say you should give it a serious try. It would take me a whole page to say what you just said in one sentence. I mean, you just described our miserable lives just by saying you like to escape it. I bet that fella, Mark Twain, couldn't write that any better than you."
"Is that a back handed compliment, Kid?"
"If that's how it sounded to you, it wasn't meant to be one. I really mean it. Heyes. You should really try your hand at writin.' Who knows, you could become a famous author. Of course you would need an alias like that Twain fella."
"Sorrowful Poems by Hannibal Heyes doesn't sound like something that could make us rich?" Heyes said with a grin.
"It should be a distinguished name like... Cole Minor."
"Cole Minor?" Heyes repeated with a cringe.
"Mark Twain is a play on words, ain't it? Well, so is Cole Minor."
"You know, I'm beginning to like that name, Kid."
"I think the coffee is ready, Cole."
0-0-0-0-0
The next morning, after a quick breakfast and packing of their staples and gear, the two were once again in their saddles with no particular destination.
"Where do you think we are?" Kid asked.
Heyes looked at the miles of dry, flat land with mountains way off in the distance. "Still in northern Utah I would think."
"So not far from Wyoming."
Heyes smiled. "You paid attention in geography class?"
"Very funny. Actually I was thinking maybe we could pay a visit to Devil's Hole."
"What!"
"Calm down, I ain't suggestion we move in. I just think... it wouldn't hurt to stop by."
"I know exactly what you're thinking and we ain't going!"
"Grown particular of the company you keep?" Kid asked with more than a hit of sarcasm.
"Apparently not as I'm still riding with you," came the equally sarcastic reply.
Kid pulled his horse to a stop and waited for his partner to notice. It only took Heyes a few yards before he too came to a stop, then pulled the reins to the right to turn his horse around to face Kid.
"Heyes, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry are famous."
"Only in Wyoming," Heyes replied.
"Wyoming and all the surrounding states and territories. Heyes, if your writing is as good as that poem, you could get a book published and that would bring us some money."
"So that's what this is all about. Money."
"Well what else? Heyes, Devil's Hole ain't more than a day's ride from here. What harm would it do?"
"These things aren't book worthy, Kid."
"Maybe not, but do you wanna risk havin' the boys finds your poetry stash?"
About to issue a final no about returning to Devil's Hole, Kid's last comment struck a chord with Heyes. "Fine," he said and followed up with a heavy sigh. "But no more than one night. I seriously doubt the governor would approve of our returning to Devil's Hole."
0-0-0-0-0
Wheat Carlson stepped off the porch of the Leader's Cabin when he saw Heyes and the Kid riding into camp, and joined Kyle who was standing by the hitching post with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Well look what the cat dragged in," Wheat exclaimed. "Kyle beat you back here to let me know you was coming."
Kyle dropped his head and used the tip of his boot to scuff the dirt. The outlook protocol had changed since Wheat became leader and Kyle was nervous about how the former leader would react. But Heyes offered no visible reaction and he and Kid simply dismounted and extended their hands to acknowledge the hospitality that had been offered allowing them to ride into the camp.
"S'pect you got a reason for payin' us a visit?" Wheat asked.
Heyes nodded with a friendly smile on his face. "Just wanted to pick up something I left here."
Wheat eyed the two former leaders with some skepticism. "Ain't seen nothing belongin' to either of you, 'cept some clothes that got dispersed out to the boys already."
"Oh, nothing like that, Wheat. Just a book," Heyes replied.
"A book?"
"Well, more like a tablet, and I think I know right where it is."
"You gonna invite us inside?" Kid asked with just a hint of an edge in his voice.
"Oh, sure Kid. Come on in, both of you," Wheat stammered while hoping Kyle did not notice the sense of intimidation he tried hard to hide.
"A drink would be nice if you've got a bottle inside," Heyes added. "Might help get the dust out of our throats."
Heyes and Kid followed Wheat up the path to the cabin while Kyle tagged along behind them. Inside, Kid and Heyes were both immediately struck with a sense of nostalgia. Little had changed inside the cabin and it felt somehow warm and safe.
"I ain't seen no tablet," Wheat told them as he walked to the cupboard to fill four shot glasses with some cheap corn whiskey.
Heyes and Kid both sat down in the chairs they had long ago often occupied while planning a train or a bank robbery. Kid smiled when he discovered the lumps and broken springs had not been repaired.
"I'm sure it's here and it won't take me a minute to find it," Heyes replied while accepting the proffered shot glass.
"It's late in the day. You two can share Kid's old room if you're wanting to spend the night," Wheat told them and handed Kid and Kyle a shot glass.
"Don't wanna boot you outta your room Kyle," Kid replied.
Once again a nervous look spread across Kyle's face, but before he could say anything, Wheat did the explaining.
"Kyle's still living in the bunkhouse. He said he didn't want to shake up the routine."
"Been livin' in the bunkhouse for a good many years," Kyle added. "Don't want the other fellas to think I'm uppity."
"I don't think anybody would ever describe you as uppity Kyle," Kid replied.
Kyle's chest puffed slightly at what he perceived as a compliment from a man he very much admired.
"So just where is this tablet?" Wheat asked.
Heyes leaned forward and set his empty glass down hard on the table. "My old room," he replied.
Wheat's eyes squinted. "I've been through every drawer and every inch of the closet. There ain't nothin' of yours in there, Heyes."
Kid groaned when he heard Wheat's comment. "Don't tell me you kept it under the mattress," he bemoaned.
Heyes nodded and stood up. "That's right. Wheat, I'm guessing it's a fair bet that you ain't turned the mattress."
Wheat shook his head at such a ridiculous suggestion and for just a moment, locked eyes with the former leader.
"Then shall we?" Heyes asked with a grand sweep of his arm.
Two more glasses were quickly plopped down on the table as Kid and Kyle jumped to their feet to follow the current and past leaders into the bedroom.
Wheat, Kid, and Kyle stood just inside the doorway while Heyes crossed the room to the far side of the bed. He eyed the mattress that was covered with sheets that hadn't been changed or washed in months and his face pinched at the stale odor of sweat. He reached for the bottom corner of the mattress and lifted up several inches, then smiled and slid his free hand under the mattress for the tablet that had remained hidden there for nearly three years. Heyes pulled the tablet free and let the mattress drop back into place, emitting a small gust of the stale odor right into his face.
"What is that, your book of plans?" Wheat asked.
Heyes shook his head and shot a quick and nervous glance toward his partner. "Just some personal musings," he explained.
"You write songs?" Kyle asked.
"Not music Kyle, musings," Kid replied. "It just means thoughts and ideas."
Heyes tucked the tablet under his arm and proceeded back into the main room while the others followed. He returned to his seat, but just as he bent to sit down, Wheat acted on impulse and snatched the tablet away from Heyes, then ducked to the far side of the kitchen table.
"Wheat, give that back to Heyes!" Kid demanded, not even trying to temper his threatening voice.
Ignoring the threat because no gun had been drawn, Wheat quickly opened the tablet and began reading the first page he came to. He read just a few lines, then stopped and raised his eyes toward Heyes. "You write poetry?" he asked with an amused grin.
"You mean like limericks?" Kyle asked.
"This is the very reason I did not want to come up here," Heyes snarled at his partner.
"Wheat, give the tablet back to Heyes right now, or somebody's gonna get hurt," Kid growled.
Being as the damage had already been done, Wheat tossed the tablet across the room to Heyes. "The boys are gonna enjoy hearing this news," he laughed. "Hannibal Heyes, poet laureate.
"Does Wheat Carlson, operatic soprano sound like a fair exchange?" Kid asked.
The look in Kid's eyes told Wheat this was no idle threat and he conceded with just a bit of visible cowering. "Alright Kid, you win."
"Kyle, same goes for you," Kid said.
Kyle didn't know what the threat actually meant other than he was not to breathe a word about the tablet or something dreadful would happen at the hands of Kid Curry.
"Sure Kid, not a word."
"Now Wheat, how about another drink?" Heyes suggested.
0-0-0-0-0
Breakfast was in the bunkhouse the next morning with the entire gang reminiscing and swapping stories before Heyes and Kid were on their way once again.
"You gonna let me look at that tablet of your, Heyes?" Kid asked as they rode east with no real destination in mind.
"Nope," came the simple reply.
"No? Heyes, ain't I the one who has set you on the road to fame and fortune?"
"Or public disdain."
"Disdain! You're a natural born writer, and I'm the one making you see that!"
"Kid," Heyes began in a knowing tone of voice. "Being a writer and being a good writer are two totally different things. It's like you writing telegrams. Sure you can do it, but can you do it well?"
Because of the tone of Heyes' voice, Kid wasn't quite sure if his partner was being critical or simply practical. He knew what Heyes was saying was true. He was far too wordy when writing telegrams and Heyes often scratched out half the telegram just to cut the cost down to something manageable.
"True, but I don't profess to being a writer," Kid replied.
"Neither do I," Heyes replied. "You're the one that professes to me being a writer."
"You know, there is a way to determine if you're any good or not."
"How's that?"
"By letting me read what's in that tablet."
"Since when did you become a literary critic?" Heyes asked.
"Alright then," Kid replied indignantly. "Then let's find a literary critic!"
"You got somebody in mind?"
Kid thought for a few moments, then snapped his fingers with an idea. "That lady friend of yours that writes poetry!"
"What lady friend of mine that writes poetry?"
"When that school teacher and her boyfriend tried to frame me for robbin' the bank, you cozied up to that lady so you could copy her poems!"
"Are you accusing me of plagiarism?"
Kid slowed his horse and looked at his partner with a puzzled expression. No... What is that?"
"It's stealing somebody else's work and claiming it as your own."
Kid now brought his horse to a complete stop. "Heyes, did you do that?"
Seeing this as a prime opportunity to put an end to the topic, Heyes decided a lie in the form of a confession. "Alright, if you must know..."
"Heyes, that's gotta be the lowest form of stealin."
"Is that the conclusion of an expert thief?"
Kid knew he had no argument. "Who did you steal them poems from, that lady?"
"No," Heyes said flatly.
"The who?"
Heyes scrambled to think of a plausible explanation, then remembered who he was talking to and opted for an easy answer. "You know who Sam Clemens is?"
Kid tried to recall the name. "No," he replied.
"Sam graduated from the orphanage the same year we arrived."
Kid tried to put the name to a face but simply did not remember anyone named Sam Clemens. "And you stole his poems? Why?"
"I thought they might come in handy. And I didn't exactly steal them. He left em under his mattress and must have forgotten they were there. I took them after he left."
"Why?"
Heyes shrugged. "I thought they might come in handy if any of the teachers made us write a poem."
"So none of these poems are yours?' Kid asked.
"The one you found in my saddlebag is mine, but that's the only one."
"So we went back to Devil's Hole to get somebody else's poems?"
Heyes nodded. "I told you I didn't want to go back."
"You know Heyes, sometimes you're just hard to get along with," Kid replied and spurred his horse.
Heyes watched Kid gallop way ahead before breaking into a laugh. "And Kid, sometimes you're just too gullible for words."
Author's Note: Sometimes life gets in the way of creativity. I'm currently in one of those times. So, I'm focusing on some simple scenes that don't require a lot of concentration, rather than any lengthy story. Bear with me. My life's motto is "this too shall pass."