Winter's Refuge
Chapter Five
LOM
Heyes had more trouble as each month went by. My next two visits were canceled as he lost his visitor privilege. I learned he had spent a week in solitary, but not the dark cell. Still, I had seen the solitary cells there. At the end of the rows of cells, the hallway lamplight was dim.
He did write letters. He asked about the Kid and always mentioned the latest book and anything else I sent to him, but the rest of the letters were complaints about the legal system. At first, I wasn't sure why the warden let the letters get sent to me, but when I thought about it, they gave me an inside view of the anger growing in Heyes. It was an anger carrying his growing isolation and desperation. With those thoughts I understood why he was disobedient and getting into fights. My sources told me he was instigating the fights himself, unable to contain his temper when irritated. In return, I sent letters with veiled hope. The Kid was learning a profession, I wrote to him, although I did not mention what or how. It worried me that he never asked. I tried to give him hope that the governor was coming around, without giving any hope. And I tried to pick optimistic books. Still, missing two visits meant I would not see Heyes for three months. I felt he needed to see me. He needed me to be the steadying reminder of reality that the Kid had always been to him. I couldn't do that in letters.
True to his word, the Kid wrote faithfully. For my part, I posted a book and a letter to him every month. The books were getting to him, but sometimes he received three together and sometimes the wait between books seemed endless. At first, he was excited to learn that as a blacksmith he got to be around some horses. The Kid had a way with horses, always did. He knew a lot about taking care of their hooves and now he was learning more. He had learned how to quickly and expertly round the hoof wall with a rasp to help prevent flares and some cracks. After two months, he had taken over the responsibility of shoeing all the railroad horses.
For those first three months, his words were chatty, but knowing Kid well, I felt his hidden horror behind each sentence as the tone grew darker. He complained little but mentioned that working in leg shackles was confining. I tried to imagine working twelve-hour days in the heat wearing iron shackles, but I only got as far as the insufferable heat. I could get little information through my contacts but did learn enough to know that the blacksmith he had apprenticed to was a drunkard who had been fired by the railroad. In Kid, he was training his replacement and he resented it. I had reports of him beating the Kid for insolence and accusations of theft. Kid's hope had turned into his nightmare.
I had little recourse. First, I raised my complaints to the warden, who listened but dismissed me. Then I raised my grievances with the governor in our biweekly meeting. Sharing Kid's last letter, which spoke of unbearable heat with no water for hours, brought anger to the governor's countenance. I had a report from the inspector from the prison that the warden had sent to investigate my complaints. The governor didn't ask how I got it. I was sure he had already seen it. The inspector had encountered the blacksmith drunk, screaming at Curry and snapping a whip across the Kid's back while he efficiently worked shoeing a horse. The Kid had remained quiet, ignoring the verbal abuse and the cutting lashes that found his back until the whip was aimed near the horse. He caught the flying whip in his gloved hand and pulled it from his master. Throwing the whip to the ground, he took a menacing step toward the man, then gained a calm over his temper. "Do what you want to me. You own me for these three months, but I will not let you harm an innocent animal."
"Why you insolent outlaw; I'll see you thrown back into that prison to rot."
Per the inspector's report, he stepped in at that point. The railroad still needed horses and the horses needed care, so the inspector dismissed the blacksmith master. The inspector stayed and took over the contract on Jed Curry. That's where it stayed until I spoke with the governor. I had requested that the warden attend, but still was surprised when he did.
Both read the Kid's letter and the inspector's report. I asked to go visit him but was refused.
"Sheriff Trevors, would you wait in the anteroom while we discuss this?"
I wanted to be involved, to plead for better treatment for the Kid, but had nothing more to add so I left and paced outside the office for twelve minutes. Colin, the governor's aide, watched me pace and gave me a cup of water.
"Sheriff Trevors, please come in. We have some questions."
"For me?"
"Yes. Except for his partner, I believe you know Curry better than anyone else. This railroad contract for men we have is very lucrative for the prison and the states of Arizona and Wyoming. Do you understand?"
I understood now; it was all about money. "Yes."
"The contract is dependent on us providing a blacksmith for the horses and odd jobs. He will also work with the other men preparing the underbed and laying track. Curry says he can handle the blacksmithing work with the training he has had. Can he be trusted to evaluate his ability accurately?"
"I have never known Kid to be wrong about his abilities," I answered, knowing how important this chance was to him even if I disagreed. The only ability I remember the Kid talking about was his prowess with his gun. He was never wrong about his abilities with his gun.
"Then, we will consider his three-month contract fulfilled two weeks early. We were going to return him to prison for that time, but the railroad has an urgent need for our prisoners. His eighteen-month contract with the railroad will start tomorrow. We will let the inspector overseeing him currently, know to expect the rest of the men and railroad guards to arrive tomorrow," said the prison warden. With a sideways smile at the governor, "and we have instructed him to give Curry all the water he wants, when he wants."
I didn't receive a letter from the Kid for two months. And then it was just a quick hastily scribbled one of few words:
Lom,
Doing okay. Blacksmith in the morning. Lay track the rest of the day. Back strong. Tired. Thirsty. Hungry.
Heyes?
Kid
At least the Kid was alive, even if the conditions were not the best. I included more sweets and cheeses in with his book each time. I debated what to tell him about Heyes, deciding to tell him about my visit with the governor and warden instead. Another two months went by before I got his next letter.
Lom,
I'm okay, working hard. Guards starting to be fair. Books and food you send welcome.
What's wrong with Heyes?
Kid
When I finally got to visit Heyes, he had changed. He was defiant but cautious. I saw he did as ordered. The required "Yes, sir" in response to the order was said, but unhidden contempt ruled his eyes. His rebellious tendencies were only held in check by his fear of the dark cell. If he caused trouble again, he knew that was where he would spend time.
When he shuffled into the visitor room, I thought I saw a hint of gratitude cross his face, but it was gone quickly. He was smaller in frame and in spirit now than at my last visit. The shackles seemed to overpower his whole body. I thought if he lost any more weight, he'd be dead.
"Hi, Heyes," I said, trying to be nonjudgmental in my tone.
As was required, he looked at the guard for permission to speak. The guard nodded approval. When Heyes looked back at me, his eyes were shallow, red and filled with fury. "Lom, thanks for coming."
I could see a red inflamed lash mark from a whip on the back of his neck. He could not sit still, looking from side to side and tapping his foot uncontrollably. "You been getting the books I sent?"
'Yeah, thanks. They help to pass the time. I've got quite a collection to choose from now but keep them coming, if you can."
"Sure, Heyes, sure. Heard you been fighting?"
"What else you heard?" his tone had turned defiant in a moment. The brown eyes turned black. I had seen that happen at the Hole when a man had put another man in danger. I did not expect to see it here.
"You are no longer the ideal prisoner. Reports get back to the governor, you know."
He was silent, thinking before he talked. "My behavior have an effect on Kid's pardon?" he asked, suddenly engaged fully in our conversation.
"Heyes and Curry, you're a package deal," I answered quickly. I did not really know if the governor would consider granting them pardons separately. It had never been discussed. But if Heyes thought his actions hurt the Kid's chances, maybe it would keep him in line.
Maybe he saw the doubt in my eyes before he answered me, maybe not. "Then tell the Kid I'm sorry." It was the first and only sincere comment I heard that visit.
"What happened, Heyes?"
He sat in the chair shackled and looked at me as if I had just asked the stupidest question ever. But he said nothing.
"Anything I can do to help?" I asked to break the silence.
"You still talking to the governor?"
"Twice a month. You got something you want me to tell him that might help?"
"He talks out of both sides of his mouth. Tell him I said to eat shit." Heyes laughed.
The guard stepped forward firmly. "That's enough. Visit's over. Let's go, convict."
With his feet shackled, Heyes stood with difficulty. He shrugged his shoulders at me, still grinning at his words. "Until next time, Lom."
"Convict, silence." Heyes shrugged his shoulders again and shuffled out the door and I sat there in silence.
A voice behind me startled me. A young guard had opened the door. "The warden would like to see you, Sheriff Trevors."
"Of course."
The warden's office had ornate wallpaper that was different on each wall. I assumed it was in style, but it looked unnerving to me.
"Sheriff, I wanted a word with you before you left."
I shook his hand while realizing this man could make Heyes' life easier or immeasurably harder. "Sir."
He motioned me to sit and started talking before I had even reached the chair.
"You visited with Convict Heyes?"
"I did.
"Did you see a change in him?"
I weighed my words carefully wishing I had Heyes' once silver tongue that could make a negative sound positive. "He's lost weight, a lot of weight. I saw he had been whipped."
"More than once. I'm afraid it only exacerbates his behavior."
Not knowing how much of his childhood Heyes would want me to disclose still I told him. "He was beaten often growing up."
"By his father?" the warden asked.
Now I knew the man knew nothing of Heyes' background, but I had started to answer so finished. "No, in the Home for Wayward Boys he and the Kid were placed in when their parents were killed."
"I didn't know that," he said, making notes. "It explains some things. May I assume they also used isolation as a punishment?"
I just nodded to confirm his words.
"I have notes from the governor that the dark cell is only to be used as a last resort for Heyes. Unusual for the governor to be that involved with a prisoner although he was responsive when you met with him on Curry."
I nodded again but stayed silent.
"May I assume that a dark room of some kind was also used as a punishment at this Home?"
"Yes, sir." I kicked myself mentally. I had said too much. I gave away secrets that Heyes kept close.
I watched as the warden made more notes. He rose and went to a file case and after a moment returned to his desk with a thick file that labeled H. Heyes 20 years.
"I've seen it before, men who grew up as orphans and were beaten as children and young adults have remarkable resistance to lashes as punishment. They have survived it before and know the pain will eventually ease. Their fear of being whipped is minimal. Instead, it brings back childhood defiant behavior and anger. Now that I know his background, I think we have to make a decision here and use the only thing he fears to break his behavior."
"The dark cell? Warden, if there is any other way, please don't." I knew I was begging but I had witnessed the nightmares that still haunted Heyes at night. I put it together. His red eyes, his weight loss, the nightmares were back and he was staying awake to avoid screaming out in his cell when sleeping.
"I think he's already reliving it, sir. He doesn't look like he's sleeping."
But the warden ignored my concerns. I could tell he had made up his mind. He stood up and opened the door for me. I knew that when Heyes stepped out of line again, he would be put in the dark cell.
ASJ*****ASJ
The Kid's eighteen-month contract had turned into two years. His letters were short, abrupt, and infrequent. He always mentioned the books, so I kept them coming. He still liked adventure stories, but his tastes had expanded. The only nonfiction books I ever sent him were secondhand manuals on how to be a blacksmith. They prompted his longer letters. He was obsessed with the section on designing locks and keys. Said if he had the chance, he just might like to do that.
Reports I got on him were few and positive. He worked hard and kept out of trouble. I reported this to the governor twice a month but still worried about him. Laying rails was dangerous work and the injury, and death, rates for leased convicts was high. Still, it was his decision to sign the contract for the additional six months instead of returning to prison.
Heyes on the other hand had spent most of those two years in solitary or the dark cell. When he was out of the cell, he was starting fights. The dark cell disrupted his mind. Unable to tell reality from his nightmares, he retreated into himself and had not spoken to anyone in eight months. I was only allowed to visit him once in that time. It was a visit shrouded in silence. I told him more than I had planned about the Kid, but he didn't respond. Completely nonverbal, his only response was standing and leaving when the guard told him. His letters had stopped a year before that visit. I still sent books faithfully but had nothing to write about. Besides, I had another troubled prisoner to worry about.
I will always remember the day things changed. I was held in the governor's anteroom for two hours while official looking men and their aides hurried in and out of the office. Finally, Colin, the aide I'd seen every two weeks for almost three years, approached me.
"Sheriff Trevors, the governor is ready to see you now."
The formality was new. Our relationship had become relaxed, informal over the last years. Now, I was on alert, anxious.
"Sheriff Trevors, please sit down." The governor stood at my entrance and his aide had followed me into the office.
"Hello, sir," I said, taking out my ever-present notebook.
"Trevors, today is a momentous day!"
"Sir?"
"I have here the official pardons you have been asking for as well as amnesty documents for anything not covered in the trial."
I sat up straight not sure I heard right. "Sir?"
The governor did something I had never seen him do in our meetings, he smiled. "You heard right."
He gestured to the sets of papers on his desk. There are codicils on the one for Hannibal Heyes. He will serve six additional months and must stay in the general population. I am hoping he behaves himself."
I picked up his paperwork and read it, a cold feeling running over me. "Murder? Parole?"
"Another convict. It was definitely self-defense but Heyes lost his temper and couldn't stop. The extra six months are justified." I thought I heard concern in the governor's voice. "Then six months of parole to make sure he can fit back into society."
He had heard about Heyes' behavior, of course he had. But he was still willing to take a chance on him. "Thank you," I said quietly.
He nodded his head in reply. "I will notify the necessary authorities. Head to Arizona and get Mr. Curry out before I make the formal announcement. The paperwork will be complete and waiting for you."
I hardly heard him explain all the other papers. I was planning how to get to the Kid as fast as I could.
ASJ*****ASJ
Getting off the train in Yuma early in the morning, I bought two return tickets for Canon City and passage for two horse. Then I bought the two horses as soon as the livery opened. I was pleased to find a big black horse, the kind that the Kid always favored. I rode to the Yuma Arizona Territorial Prison; they had all the paperwork waiting just for the Kid's signature. The railroad he was bonded to was now working about forty miles away. Kid was smart enough, or hopeful enough, to include a clause in his contract that his bondage would end the day he was pardoned, paroled, or his sentence was complete. He didn't know it, but he was now a free man. One of the junior prison guards, Stu Neilson, went with me to find him. He carried the papers to be signed and he would return them to the prison.
"Sure do appreciate all them books you send to Curry," he told me.
"You read them?"
"We all do, convicts and guards and I even seen the warden reading one in his office. Curry passes them around and then donates them to the prison library when he finishes reading them. Says he knows where they are if he wants to reread them again. More than half the books in that library came from you."
Sounded like the old Kid to me, sharing what he had with others. "Well maybe I can still send one now and then."
The guard tower overlooked the Colorado River, and the railroad tracks they were laying did, too. Although not ready for commercial travel, an old engine waited by the tracks to nowhere. It was used to transport supplies to the temporary camp where the Kid worked. No supplies were ready to go, but the warden had arranged for it to take us in the lone car, an old box car. I left the horses at the prison. When the boys had been arrested, their saddlebags and tack had been sent with them to Cheyenne. Their guns and hats were missing. It took months, but I tracked down the members of the posse that had worked with the US Marshal. Backed with money from the boys' friend, Silky, and threats of theft, I managed to buy both guns and holsters and Heyes' black hat. I had emptied the Kid's saddlebag years ago, putting everything in a box, not knowing what, if anything, he wanted. Now, I brought the empty saddlebag with me, in case there was anything he cared to bring from this time. And I brought his gun.
The dry heat was oppressive as we rode in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. It wasn't ten o' clock yet; the sweat rolled down my neck and the front of my shirt was wet. We slowly traveled on the newly laid railroad tracks that so far led nowhere. The desert landscape had its own kind of infinite unchanging beauty, but I was impatient. Today was Friday.. The Kid and I had to be in Colorado, a thousand miles away by early next Wednesday morning.
Sharing the meager lunch the prison had provided, we ate in the stifling boxcar, with the sliding door wide open to catch any breeze. The breeze that came was hot and dry and little improvement. The tracks always stayed within a mile of the river. I experienced one of the mirages of the Arizona heat on the train. I could clearly see the small temporary camp where the Kid was working. I shuddered as I saw the smoke coming from the makeshift building I assumed was the forge. Heat upon heat. It looked very close and I started to gather my few things and prepared to get off.
Stu laughed. "We ain't gonna get there for at least another hour. It's flat and hot out there, makes far places look close."
He was right, it was just over an hour before we got there. When we did, although no one moved towards the train, we drew a crowd of eyes.
I didn't recognize the Kid. I wouldn't have been able to pick him out in a saloon if you paid me. He had changed. Almost everything about him had changed except the piercing blue of his eyes. And that's how I recognized the large shackled shirtless man hurrying toward me from the forge as I jumped out of the boxcar. The blue eyes fastened on mine as he spoke, "Lom? Heyes?"
"Hi'ya Kid!" I tried not to look surprised at his appearance. He had taken his six-foot frame and developed every muscle. He was serious and literal when he told me he was going to get strong to take care of his family. He was fit and strong and the shackles did not impede his running steps toward me. I thought it strange that none of the guard's moved to stop this running convict, but then where did one escape to in the middle of a desert?
"Heyes?" he asked again. I knew that silence was not imposed at the Yuma Territorial Prison but still I was surprised to hear his voice. This was not a man who lacked food or water.
"Your pardon, came through, Kid!. Just sign a paper and you're a free man. And an amnesty, too, for any crimes you may have committed that weren't included in your trial."
It took a second to sink in and then his blue eyes sparkled. This man mountain that my friend had become picked me up and swung me around as if I weighed no more than a child.
We had gathered a crowd. "My pardon!" he exclaimed to the gathered crowd of guards and men. "The governor finally signed my pardon!"
As a thought struck him, he put me down asking, "Heyes, too?"
"Yes, he signed papers for Heyes, too." This wasn't the time to tell him of the codicils attached to Heyes paperwork. "We need to go back on that same train I came on within the hour." I didn't tell him why. There would be time for explanations as we traveled.
One of the guards approached us and I saw no fear in the Kid's manner. "Finally, get to take these off you for good," he said, as he bent down and unlocked the leg shackles. Kid jumped into the air to test his freedom.
He became quiet after that, an observer rather than a participant, and I got the impression that this was his usual manner. The joyful celebration was spontaneous and startled the other men.
I handed him the saddle bag and it suddenly looked small next to him. Stu had insisted that I leave the gun on the train, and I understood the wisdom in his request. I was also sure it would have become an order if I tried to insist. The Kid recognized his saddle bag and rubbed it gently.
"Everything that was in it is in a box at my house."
His eyes told me thanks as he gestured to me to follow him to the forge. He yelled out to the guard, "Gonna shut this down."
I watched him as he methodically closed up the forge. When he had finished, he waved me over and opened a drawer. Taking out an elaborate lock and three keys, he gave me a quick grin. "Used that book you sent me to learn to make locks. Made this one for Heyes. It needs three keys. Want to see if he can open it without 'em before I give him the keys." I saw him take a detailed drawing of the lock from the same drawer and put everything in a small wooden box. The thought crossed my mind if he would be allowed in to visit Heyes. If so, maybe he could give him the lock puzzle to occupy his mind in prison.
I followed the Kid to the convict sleeping tent. The heat in there struck me across the face harder than a hand slap. A guard table sat just inside the door. Metal beds lined each side, secured together in sets of two by chains. He went to the last bed on the left. It looked too small for the man he had become.
He saw me looking at the double chains and cuffs hanging from the foot of each bed "Be nice to sleep with my legs free, been a long time." He pulled a shirt from shelves next to his bed and put it on.
"I brought you a shirt and pants. They're on the train but I doubt they'll come close to fitting ya."
Ignoring my words, he sat on the bed and placed the saddle bag next to him. When he didn't move, I thought something was wrong.
"Kid?"
Those blue eyes looked at me, no longer innocent but determined, yet somewhere I felt thankfulness hid there. "Not much I care to take with me." He looked around looking a bit hopeless, almost lost. But the look passed quickly, replaced by a drive I had never seen before. He slid the box with the lock and keys into the saddlebag. Reaching under his bed he pulled out the blacksmithing books I had sent. "Gotta, bring these, of course. Best books you ever sent, Lom. Thank you." Opening one of the books, he took out an envelope and handed it to me proudly. "My papers that certify I've finished my apprenticeship as a blacksmith. Should help someone hire me, if they don't mind the outlaw and convict parts."
I opened the envelope and read the certificate while he looked around the space near his bed. He took a stack of letters and a pair of socks and added them to the saddlebag. "Gotta see the guard on duty then see if I can find Senior Guard Mays." The joyous emotion I had seen earlier was gone but it was not replaced. His face was empty of emotion. I wondered what had happened to him here. I had seen the multiple lashes healed on his back, but I knew there was more.
He stood up and, without a look back at his bed or me, took long strides towards the exit. Before he got there, a guard entered with an envelope. "Here's your wages, Curry. We added a bonus." With a look at me, he continued talking to the Kid, "Need to talk to you. In private." I was interested in the guard's relaxed attitude toward the Kid. I did remember that he said he would get paid for the blacksmith responsibilities.
"Sheriff Trevors' my friend. You can say whatever it is in front of him." I couldn't read the Kid anymore and wasn't sure if he really didn't care if I heard or wanted a witness to the conversation.
"Well, okay. Railroad wants to keep you around; make you a job offer to stay at three times the pay you get now. Senior Guard Mays is away for the day but I can make the job offer."
Curry was quiet. I came up and stood next to his shoulder for support as I had seen Heyes do in the past. His eyes flicked to me for a second, before he addressed the guard. "That's a mighty generous order, sir." The Kid spoke with the respect due to a prison guard.
"And a bonus if we finish a week ahead of schedule."
"Like I said, sir, it's a mighty generous offer, but I need to respectfully decline. I'm leavin' with my friend in a few minutes."
"Curry, the convicts here look up to you. Trust you. We need you."
"Treat them fairly, feed them well, and you won't have any trouble. They're good men."
"They're convicts!"
"Haven't I shown you a man can be both?"
"You're sure you won't stay?"
"I'm sure."
The guard's manner changed. "Well, you have a contract with the railroad you must fulfill before you can leave," he said firmly.
"No, sir, Mr. Bowman."
Turning, the guard saw Stu Neilson standing at the tent entrance. "You do remember me, don't you? I have been here before. I am one of the guards from the prison."
"Yes, I remember you. What does that have to do with Curry?"
Stu smiled at me. "Mr. Curry has a clause in his contract with the railroad that states it ends the day he gets a pardon, a parole, or an amnesty. I have a copy of it here if you would like to review it?"
"No, no." The private guard Bowman knew when he had lost and held out his hand. "Goodbye, Curry. Good luck," he said with little enthusiasm before he left.
"Mr. Curry," Stu addressed him. I have paperwork for your signature. Two copies, one for you. One I'll take back with me. The governor has already signed."
The Kid carefully put the papers giving him his freedom into his saddle bag and handed it to me. With a look, I know he wanted some time without me before we left. Stu and I walked to the train, and I looked at it closer. I had been too anxious to really look at it on the trip here. It was old. It was rusty and missing sections of the roof. The engineer and the stoker looked as old as the engine. Still, it had gotten us here, slowly but steadily.
We sat on the floor, feet hanging out the open door. The Kid first went to the small corral and allowed each horse there to nuzzle him. I couldn't hear him, but I could tell he spoke to each one of them. Then, he placed his hands on his hips and watched the prisoners who had returned to the backbreaking work in the beating sun. With a nod to the guards, the Kid shook each of the men's hands, usually in silence. A few also got a pat on the back or some mumbled words, but he was soon done. Then, he turned to the line of guards watching him say his goodbyes. Without hesitation, he shook the hand of each man in silence.
Done, he headed for the train. Jumping into the car, he ignored me and Stu and went inside. I watched him as he saw the clothes I had brought him, but his eyes were fixed on his gun. Anxious as if seeing an old friend, he took the gun from the holster and cradled it in his right hand. I had taken the time and cleaned it the night before. Probably not up to the Kid's standards of a clean gun but the best I could do.
Putting on the gunbelt, I saw that he was still fit around the waist. Although it might have been in one larger hole, it fit him snugly. After tying it down around his thigh, he stood up straight. If Kid Curry had looked threatening before, this stronger version exuded danger. Thus attired, the Kid came back and took his gunfighter stance looking out the open door of the boxcar. The obliging convict no longer, I saw the younger guards blanche at the sight, taking a step back and putting their hands on their guns. The Kid stayed that way as the train got underway and at least the first ten miles. I had no idea what he was thinking, standing there unmoving watching the dry unchanging scenery.
Stu and I had moved inside trying to stay out of the sun. Finally, the Kid turned back into the boxcar. "Where do we go from here? To get Heyes?"
He saw me look at Stu and gently shake my head, recognizing that we would speak of that later.
"First stop is back to the prison," Stu said, trying to be helpful and break the silence.
"I have to go in?" The Kid looked at me to answer.
"No, you have your copy of the paperwork. Guard Neilson here will file the internal copy. All we need to do is get our horses and leave."
I saw relief that he didn't have to go into his prison and then interest when I mentioned horses.
"Horses?"
"Yeah, I brought horses for us. We'll need them when we leave Colorado. They'll travel with us on the train.. Found a big black fellow for you. You always liked the big blacks."
He thought before he answered, "I did."
That was all the conversation. The Kid went back to his sentry place looking out the open boxcar door, staring out at the landscape, busy with his own thoughts.
ASJ*****ASJ
The Kid stayed in that same position for the whole trip, uncommunicative, seeming not to notice the brutal sun beating down on him. Stu and I stayed in the shaded back corner of the car. I closed my eyes, but no sleep came in the heat.
"That black horse… he tall?"
The Kid's first words in hours startled me. "Yeah. Reminded me of that horse you called, Blackie."
I caught the hint of a grin on his face, then it was gone and all I saw was his back staring out into the endless desert.
The Guard House of the Yuma Arizona Territorial Prison overlooked the Colorado River. I could see the Kid had been fixated on it ever since it first came into view. As we came closer, he stood taller. The train pulled onto a siding below the guard tower. Stu said his goodbyes, but Kid either didn't hear him or ignored him. I chose to believe the former.
"Let's go, Kid," I said, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"DON'T TOUCH!" he growled lowly, turning. Then, as if he remembered where he was, he softened. "Lom, sorry. Let's get out of here."
He refused to look at the prison entrance, at the hot building absorbing the heat of the sun, instead he led me to the prison stables.