The Lie September 2008

By Caroline "Jed, remember, we promised that we would die together. It looks like you're doing your level best to break that promise." Hannibal Heyes' voice cracked with emotion as he admitted his worst fear. He hung his head as a tear escaped, it was out of his hands. He had done all that he could. It was up to Kid Curry now. Heyes opened his eyes and drew a slow, deep breath before he dared to look at his partner, afraid that he would have to face the worst. Finally unable to avoid it any longer, he looked at his partner. He reached a shaky hand out and felt his cousin's forehead. It was cool. Kid's fever had broken. He was having a hard time believing it, thinking it would be easier to believe the lie that he could learn to survive with, the lie that Kid would be waiting somewhere up ahead for him, just a little further down the trail, that he had just missed Kid by a few days in whatever town he happened to come to.... Heyes closed his eyes and let his mind drift. The lie that he had begun to spin for himself would be so much easier to live with, so much easier to survive with. Kid Curry opened his eyes, he ached all over and was thirsty. He slowly turned and looked at his partner, "Heyes, I need a drink." The words came out as a hoarse whisper. Hannibal Heyes' head snapped up at his name, a huge smile coming to his face, "Sure thing, Kid." He reached for a canteen and went to help his partner. Reality was wonderful, even though Kid was still in trouble. The truth was so much better than the lie.

By Grace R. Williams From Dawn to Darkness (A story set just before the series pilot) “While we are free to choose, once we have made those choices, we are tied to the consequences of those choices.” - Russell M. Nelson Before the sun rose, he woke her. His lips softly brushing her cheek, his fingers tracing a path from her ear to her shoulder. Before she even opened her eyes she knew. He was leaving - just like he had so many times before. She fought back the tears that threatened to fall. She refused to cry. Instead, she held him, loving him the way she knew he wanted her to. Softly, tenderly.

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Words escaped her lips, though she hadn't meant to say them out loud. "I love you." And she did love him, God help her. Kid pulled her closer, whispering her name. He heard her words, even felt the same. Why couldn't he tell her? Instead, he showed her the only way he knew how. With the sun's first rays just painting the sky in vivid shades of pink and purple, Kid gave her a wink and a smile. She returned it with her own lop-sided grin. Then he was gone. Would her life always be this way? She had known who he was, what he was from the start. She should have known better. She tried to ignore the sick feeling deep inside and rose to face the day, alone. *** Hannibal Heyes bit his tongue, holding back the reprimands he wanted to fling at his partner as he watched him check the cinch and secure his saddlebags. Kid felt as if the angry glare could have burned a hole right through him. Finally, Heyes broke the morning silence. "You tell her?" Kid said nothing and continued saddling his horse. "She's an unnecessary distraction." Still nothing. Louder now, "I'm tellin' you Kid, whatever you got goin' on with her has got to end! It's dangerous!" "Really? And where'd you spend last night, Heyes?" Curry's eyes flashed fire with the accusation. Heyes shook his head, "That's not the same and you know it!" Heyes didn’t feel his passing interest in an occasional saloon girl could be compared with the on-going relationship Kid had established with Ann Morgan. He turned back to his horse but Heyes grabbed hold of his arm. "I'm talkin' to you!" Kid pulled back roughly from Heyes' grasp. "We've talked about this before, Heyes."

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"And you know I'm right, Kid." The two locked eyes for several moments. A battle of wills took place between the leaders of the Devil's Hole Gang. Curry closed his eyes and turned again to his horse, "We need to go, Heyes. The boys are waitin' on us." The conversation was over...for now. *** It was late afternoon by the time Heyes and Kid rode into Pine Ridge. The gang had split up several days before, each taking his own share of the proceeds after the recent, successful train robbery. After weeks of lying low in Devil's Hole, Heyes and Kid had declared it safe to leave. Everything had gone exactly according to plan and there hadn't even been the long chase of a posse to deal with. They'd simply stopped the train, opened the safe and ridden off - with over twenty thousand dollars to show for their efforts. It was easy, almost too easy. So easy it could become addictive. After a bath and a meal, the two headed toward the town's one saloon. It seemed packed tonight, but Heyes was able to find an open seat at one of the poker tables. Kid found a spot and leaned back on the bar. From here, he had a clear view of Heyes. He'd be able to keep on eye on him without attracting any attention. It wasn't long until the all too familiar scene began to play itself out again. A poor loser accusing Heyes of cheating. Heyes' denial. Kid stepping in. The only difference was, this time the loser knew who they were. With his hot breath inches from Heyes' face he spoke, "Wha'da'ya s'pose these people here would think if they knew you was playin' tonight with stolen money?" "Don't know where you got that idea, friend." Heyes' practiced his innocent smile. "I got that idea on the train you robbed last month...Mr. Heyes." Looking toward Kid, who was now at Heyes' side, he added, "...and Mr. Curry." "I'm afraid you're mistaken. My partner and me got faces alot'a people think they seen before." Heyes tried to diffuse the situation before it went too far. "I ain't mistaken." There was a pause. "Now, I'm gonna take my winnin's and go." He turned and began picking up the money on the table when Curry's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "I don't think so, mister. My partner here won. The money's his."

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The loser jerked free from Kid's hand and threw a punch at him. Kid stopped the man's hand mid-air. Kid's eyes turned an icy blue. "I said, I don't think so. Now, you gonna let this go, or are we gonna step outside?" The man cast a look around the room. All eyes were on him. Humiliated in front of the crowd, he turned and left. Heyes exchanged a grateful look with Kid. He picked up his winnings and, as gracefully as possible, bowed out of the card game and left with Kid. "Ya think he'll be followin' us?" "I'd say that's a safe bet, Kid." "Let's get the horses." They were just leaving the livery when the angry voice called, "I'm gonna kill you, Curry!" Kid turned. Seeing the wild look on the loser's face, gun in hand, aimed in his direction, it was a choice. Kill or be killed. Kid drew and fired. The once quiet street suddenly filled with people coming from every direction. Whispers of, "Heyes and Curry...never seen nothin' so fast..." mingled with, "...killed him outright..." or "...fair fight..." But the world seemed to stop when the accusing eyes of an eight year old boy met Kid's, "You killed my Pa!" Heyes pulled Kid toward the already waiting horses and they rode fast, putting as much distance as possible between them and Pine Ridge. *** It was nearly morning when they finally felt it was safe to stop. Heyes took the horses to a nearby stream. Kid walked some distance away and studied his hands. They were shaking now. Not with fear, but with the realization he had taken another life. No, it wasn't the first time, but it didn't get easier. Maybe it got harder. Knowing he'd been responsible for ending someone's life. Knowing he'd just taken a husband away from a wife, a father away from a son. This needed to stop! He didn’t want to do it anymore. Kid fell to his knees in the bushes and retched. They made camp and tried to rest, but sleep wouldn't come. The eyes of the boy haunted

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him. "You killed my Pa!" The words would stay with him forever. Even thoughts of Ann didn't bring him comfort. How long would it be before she would be brought the news he'd been killed in some gunfight with an angry gambler or shot in some robbery? He silently thanked a God he didn't know, that Ann wasn't pregnant. What if she had his child to raise alone? It was a future he didn't want for her or for any child they might create together. He couldn't let that happen. Heyes was right. He needed to end it. It was too dangerous - for all of them. *** Ann was startled awake, sensing the presence of someone standing over her bed. His hand was quickly on her face, calming her fears. She jumped up, flinging her arms around his neck. "Are you really here?" She had dreamed this so many times. Kid closed his eyes, finding comfort once more in the loving arms around him. "You hungry?" she asked, ready to cook something for him, but he shook his head. "I just need you." He led her back toward the bed and lay down beside her. He was quiet. She moved closer to him. She was at home in the safety of his arms, but something didn't feel right. "Kid? What's wrong?" It was quiet for a long time. "Nothin'," he lied. In the weeks since the shooting, he had made a firm resolve. He needed to see her again. Needed to end things with her. She deserved so much more than this. It was the right thing to do. But now, feeling her warm in his arms, he couldn't find the strength to do it. "Did I ever tell you I love you?" His whispered words carried a wistful tone that sent a chill through her. "No," she answered honestly. "Well, I do." She nodded but said nothing. Something was wrong, really wrong. Other than to stroke her hair with his fingers, he didn't move. They just lay there together, holding each other.

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She must have fallen asleep sometime during the night, because when she opened her eyes again, she was alone. Had she been dreaming? No, she was sure he had been here. *** Kid spent most of the day at the saloon. Heyes found him there toward evening. "Thought you'd be with Ann." "I was." Heyes grabbed a second glass from the bar and joined Kid at the table. He helped himself to a portion of the bottle that sat before Kid, untouched. "So you told her?" Kid shook his head. "I couldn't do it, Heyes." Heyes supposed he had known it for a long time, had hoped to convince Kid to end it before it went too far. He could see now it was too late. "Ya wanna talk about it." Kid hung his head. "No." "Ya wanna come with me and get some supper, then maybe play some cards?" Kid shook his head again. Heyes finished his first glass and poured another while the two sat without talking. When he finished it he said, "I'll tell ya what, Kid. I'm gonna go find a paper and get somethin' to eat. I'll check back with ya later. OK?" Kid nodded. Heyes knew his partner still struggled with the recent death of the gunman, as well as his feelings for this woman. He sincerely hoped his friend would find some answers soon and be able to put it all behind him. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. If Kid was distracted, he wasn't at his best. And a Kid Curry not at his best could be fatal for both of them. As he walked toward the cafe, he saw her. Heyes greeted Ann with a guarded smile.

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"I'm lookin' for Kid. You seen him?" "In the saloon." She started off in that direction then, changed her mind. "What's wrong with him, Heyes?" "Why don't you ask him?" If Kid wasn't telling her, neither was he. "I know you don't approve of me, but please, I know somethin's not right. I wanna help." Heyes turned hard eyes on her. "You really wanna help? Then leave him alone! You got him all twisted up inside, Ann!" His voice was an angry whisper now, "And that could get him killed!" She felt her own anger rise. She could see she would get no where like this. "I'm sorry you feel that way." She turned to leave. "I just needed to talk to him." Heyes gave a heavy sigh. "Alright, I’ll ask him to meet ya, but I can't guarantee he'll come." *** This time, there was no familiar smile on his face when he entered her door and removed his hat. "Heyes said you needed to talk." He leaned against the table, crossing both arms over his chest. He seemed so distant, so unlike the 'Kid' she knew. She had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times over the previous weeks, but now her mind went blank. She ran her hands over her weary face and searched for the right words. "I know this ain't a good time Kid, but there's somethin' I gotta tell ya." "I'm here. I'm listenin'." Was he? She wasn't so sure. A soft knock stopped her. Kid drew his gun while Ann carefully opened the door. Heyes stepped in, quickly checking the alley and closing the door behind him. "You need to look at this." Without acknowledging Ann's presence, he shoved a newspaper in Kid's direction.

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"What's this?" "Seems since our last robbery, the railroad has decided to add another zero to the price on our heads, Kid." "Ten thousand dollars? Catchin' us is worth that much to the railroad?" "Catchin' us or stoppin' us. They've added a couple words too." Scanning the article, the color drained from Kid's face when he found the words, Dead or Alive. He swallowed hard and looked from Ann to his partner. Every bounty hunter west of the Mississippi would be looking for them now. Heyes pointed again and Kid read the last sentence out loud, "Last seen in Denver." Heyes nodded. "We gotta get outta here, Kid. Now!" Kid turned to back to Ann. "I gotta go." "I know ya do." She took hold of his arm, summoning all her courage. She knew she needed to make this quick, "But there's something I need to tell ya before ya go." Heyes spoke up, interrupting her, "It'll have to keep." Ann held Kid's eyes imploring him to listen to her. Kid turned his back on both of them, the pressure becoming too much to bear. Voices echoed inside his head: "...price on our heads...tell her!...need to talk...gotta go...kill you, Curry!... killed my Pa!...Dead or Alive..." He covered his face with both hands, trying to silence the voices. He felt trapped. Couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out of here. He needed to think. He needed... Her touch was light on his arm. "Kid?" It was a mistake she wouldn't repeat. In desperation, Kid exploded, the full force of his fury directed at the closest target. He spun around and as he did, violently swung his right arm. Ann didn't see it coming. The back of Kid's hand struck her hard across the face. Heyes was stunned into silence.

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Ann stood in shock, unable to move, unable to believe what just happened, unaware of the blood trickling from her nose. How could he have hit her!? Kid tentatively reached a hand toward her face, wanting to apologize, wanting to take it back. Ann flinched and for a moment, Kid saw the fear and hurt in her eyes before they turned cold. The look pierced him deeper than any bullet ever had. He fumbled for words, attempting to bridge the chasm which so suddenly separated them, "Ann...I'm so sorry..." He reached for her again and this time she didn't pull away, though she didn't respond as she usually did. A sense of panic seized him. She had to know he didn't mean it! Had to know it would never happen again! "You wanted to tell me somethin'. I'm listenin' now. I wanna hear." Ann looked at Heyes, then turned her eyes back on Kid, an unnatural calmness in her voice, "You really do need to go. Heyes is right. It'll keep." "Kid?" This time Heyes spoke quietly, almost apologetically. And although he addressed Kid, Ann knew the words were meant for her, "Ann knows you’re sorry, Kid and she knows we have to leave." Kid didn't want to let go. He couldn't leave her like this, could he? But in the end, he made his choice. The same choice he’d been making for far too long. He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. "I really am sorry, Annie. You know that, don't you?" She nodded, but the pain was still evident in her eyes. He pulled the bandana from his neck and wiped the blood from her face with a trembling hand. "I'll be back. You know that too, right?" She nodded again. Kid gently touched her face and wrapped his arms around her one final time before he turned to go. Heyes was the first out the door. He gave Ann a nod as he left. Kid gave her the familiar wink and a smile, a feeble attempt to make things right again. Her voice held no emotion. "Good-bye, Kid," she said as the door clicked shut.

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*** Ann stared at the closed door after he left. She knew his words were true. He had to leave. He was sorry. He would be back. Placing a loving hand over the child growing inside her, she packed everything she owned. When he did come back, she wouldn't be here. *** Late that night on the trail, Kid finally spoke. "She knows, right Heyes? That I didn't mean to hit her, that I love her...all that?" Heyes nodded, "I'm sure of it, Kid." He was glad his partner couldn't see his face in the darkness, because he had seen the look in Ann's eyes. Heyes was just as sure, the next time Kid returned to Denver, Ann Morgan would be gone.

By Grace R. Williams Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, the two most successful outlaws in the history of the west, posed for a portrait along with Sheriff Lom Trevors, of Porterville and Governor, Francis E. Warren. It had been a long road, one filled with setbacks and doubts, but finally the long-awaited amnesty had arrived! There had been rousing cheers from the assembled crowd that morning, when the Governor took pen in hand, signing the document that would give both men a clean slate, a fresh start, a second chance. A photographer from a fancy New York newspaper ordered them all to stand still, and the moment was forever captured by the wonder of cutting edge 1890's technology. "Mr. Heyes! Mr. Curry!" a young, starry-eyed reporter from the same fancy newspaper heralded them. He ran toward Heyes and Kid, trying to hold his awkward-looking derby in place, and held out his hand. "I'm Henry Greer. Reporter with the News. I'd like an interview with both of you, if you don't mind?" Heyes and Kid exchanged a look, then shrugged. It couldn't hurt.

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Seated in the saloon, all three men sharing a celebratory drink, the reporter began. "I'd like to know, from both of you, your feelings about today, some of the obstacles you've had to overcome to get to this point, if you ever thought of abandoning your pursuit of amnesty, your most fearful hour, your most successful robbery, your..." "Hold on boy!" Heyes was chuckling, finding the obviously admiring young man entertaining. "Sorry," Henry blushed, "I guess I've never interviewed anyone of your..." he paused, searching for the right descriptor, "...your 'legendary status' before," he finished, smiling at having chosen just the right words. "Legendary status, huh?" Heyes liked this young man better every minute. "How 'bout you start again. And this time, one question at a time." "Alright," he took a deep breath, "tell me about the biggest lie you ever told." Kid Curry leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs. He crossed his arms in front of him. "I think I'll let my partner, the one with the Silver Tongue, answer this one." He propped a foot on an empty chair and waited for Heyes' answer with as much anticipation as Henry. Heyes thought long about his answer. He considered several options. There was the elaborate 'sting' they had concocted, tricking Grace Turner into wagering enough so they could return the money she had collected for turning in the Kid. But maybe he ought to hold onto that one. It made a great story and someday, someone with one of those new-fangled motion picture machines might want to buy that story. It would make a great film. Maybe the land hoax, where August Binford invested loads of money, not his, in a diamond field that turned out to be nothing but a bunch of dirt. Or maybe the 'coin flip'. But he couldn't very well admit to that lie here and now, with Kid sitting right here next to him, gun strapped to his leg and all. "Mr. Greer, I believe the biggest lie I... 'we' ..." he motioned with a gloved hand, including his partner, "...ever told was the lie we told ourselves." Curry's chair landed back on all fours with a thud. He leaned forward with both elbows on the table. He raised an eyebrow toward his partner. Henry was already scribbling frantically on his tablet. "...lie we told ourselves, go on Mr. Heyes." "Ya see, Henry, me and the Kid here been strugglin' since we were kids. A couple'a poor

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orphans, tryin' to look out for one another. Tryin' to keep body and soul together, tryin' to make our way the best we could. Growin’ up during the war years, we just didn't see much different 'tween what we was doin' and what had been done to us most of our lives." Heyes went on to include every heart-wrenching incident, every trial of monumental proportion the two had suffered together over the years. Embellishing to utter perfection of course, and expressing just the proper amount of regret over their lives of crime. "...and I guess that's about it, Henry." The interview concluded with a smiling Henry Greer being walked back to his hotel with enough information to write a book. After the young man was out of sight and earshot, Kid slung an arm around Heyes' shoulder. "Lie we told ourselves?" Kid couldn't contain his laughter any longer. "Heyes, where'd you come up with that bucket 'a hogwash?" Heyes looked at his partner. The grin tugging at the corners of his mouth belied his innocent look. "Hogwash? That's what you call that sincere, insightful, remorseful, apologetic..." he couldn't think of any more words so he stopped there. "Kid, I'm highly insulted that you would think for a moment..." "Heyes. It's me! The Kid! That's got to be the biggest shovel full'a..." "Kid! That reporter seemed to like us plenty. No reason to make the boy think we're a couple'a criminals. Is there? Besides, I think he just heard it." "Heard what?" Heyes' smile grew wider. "The biggest lie I ever told!"

By Lana Coombe Beating the Odds continued … “Are you OK?” Hannibal Heyes was crouched down behind a large rock. His partner, Kid Curry was a little ways off, behind a similar rock.

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“Yeah! You?” Heyes sighed with relief at the sound of his partner’s voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Can you see them?” Having been pursued by a relentless posse for the last three days, they had made a desperate attempt to loose them once and for all. Heyes had made a run for cover through the rocks, while the Kid covered him with his gun. Next, Heyes covered the Kid as he made the dash across the open ground. Once the again the crack and ping of bullets had resonated about the surrounding rocks. With a lunging dive, the Kid had found cover behind a nearby boulder. Both men gasped for breath, winded by sheer exertion and breathless with anxiety. The Kid rolled himself on his side and peered around his rock. The sharp crack of a bullet ricocheting passed him made him draw his head back in swiftly. He closed his eyes and found his head was swimming. Taking in several deep breaths he tried to calm himself. Heyes pressed his back against his rock and closed his eyes also so as to help him think more clearly. He reckoned that it would not be that much further to the top, so that they could descend into the valley below, giving them a little time to widen the gap between themselves and the posse, who would take a little while to climb to the top and find their tracks. “Kid?” he called. “Huh?” came the faint reply. “I reckon we can make it if we go now and you cover me again. When I get to the top, I’ll cover you. I’m getting low on bullets though. How about you?” The Kid swallowed hard as he shifted position to check his belt for ammunition. He counted about ten bullets - not many, but enough. “I’ve got a couple of rounds,” he told his partner. “Think we need to move as quickly as possible before they get too close. When I say ‘Go,’ you start running while I keep ‘em busy. You just keep running, Heyes. D’ya hear me?” “Yeah, I hear you. I’ll take it up when I get to that rock at the top,” he answered. “No!” The Kid’s reply was sharp. “When you get to the top, you just keep going as I’m going to be right behind you and I don’t want to be tripping over you! You understand? You just keep running, Heyes. Head for the river, as that’ll be our best chance of loosing them once and for all.” “Don’t you want me to cover you?” Heyes questioned. There was a pause for a moment. Heyes smiled to himself, picturing Kid thinking this through behind his rock, checking every detail, ensuring the safest route for them both.

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“No. I figure with both of us running we’ve got a better chance of avoiding the bullets as they won’t be able to track both of us.” The Kid bit his lip and wiped his shirt sleeve across his now perspiring brow and gritted his teeth. ‘Please, Heyes, don’t be stubborn about this,’ he pleaded quietly to himself. “Well, if you’re sure that’s the best way to play it …” Heyes deferred to his partner’s superior understanding of these situations and always trusted him on such matters. “Yeah - I’m sure,” came the definite response. “You ready?” he continued. “As I’ll ever be! You?” Another pause. Kid Curry gulped mouthfuls of air before checking his gun was fully loaded one more time. “Yep, ready!” “Right!” The Kid heard the scratch of the dirt as Heyes shifted himself into position. The Kid did not move. He let his eyes drift slowly down his body to his left leg and the glaring, dark, red patch on his jeans that was now slowly spreading across the ground. The bullet was deep and he was beginning to loose feeling. His leg felt like a great weight tied to his body, one that refused to let him move. He winced once more at the throbbing ache, clenching his teeth as he tried to manoeuvre himself, so that he would have a clearer shot down the hillside. Gathering his breath and squeezing his eyes shut against the piercing pain, he called out, “Remember, Heyes, just keep running. I’ll be right behind you!” Heyes shoved his hat more firmly on his head and prepared himself for the next dash. Just as he was about to run, the Kid called out, “Heyes? You take care of yourself, you hear?” “You too, partner,” he shouted back. As he began to run, he heard the first few shots from the Kid’s gun ring out and him call, “Keep running, Heyes. I’m right behind you!”.

By Ghislaine The Lie? “If the gov’nor didn’t tell us a lie,” Heyes and the Kid said, “We’ll give it a try.”

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“Boys,” said Lom, “I know the time will just fly. Before you know it, the year’ll go by.” Big Mac McCreedy, he was an ally. But that Caesar bust almost made them cry. Harry Briscoe had plans that went awry But Curry and Heyes, they helped him out, aye. With friend Clementine Hale they weren’t shy About their feelings for her; sheesh, oh my! From the southwest deserts so brown and dry To the snows up north in winter so high Kid’s gun could save them; he had a good eye. And he sure could eat any kind of pie! And Hannibal Heyes with his grin so sly, Dreaming and scheming, his head in the sky. In other people’s business they did pry. Always in trouble, they gave a deep sigh. Partners together, their hopes were so high. They wanted the amnesty—not to die. On their horses after a drink of rye They rode side by side; their future was nigh. Said the Kid to his friend, “Please tell me why We go to Cheyenne and say to him ‘hi’.” “It’s the only way,” said Heyes, his smile wry, “To prove for ourselves it’s not just a lie.”

By LAK It was nearly mid-day when the two men, trail-worn and dusty, rode into town. As they guided their horses slowly down the main street, the men eyed the surrounding buildings and any townsfolk currently out and about. As far as they knew, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry didn’t know the sheriff of Tipton, but years evading the law had taught them that you could never be too cautious about some things. So as they made their way to the

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livery stable, they took careful note of the sheriff’s office and jail, which they spotted up ahead on their right. The sign over the door confirmed the identity of one Sheriff James McKendree. The partners shared a look, and a brief, wordless conversation – they didn’t know any lawman named McKendree. Thankfully, that meant they could likely afford to spend at least a few days in town, and a respite from the trail would be more than welcome. They’d been spotted yet again – how many trains and banks had they robbed, after all, and why did the people on those trains and in those banks have such good memories, anyway? After the old man in the mercantile had recognized them, they’d lit out of Oak Creek sooner than expected, and spent that afternoon and most of the next day losing a posse, and then another few days putting some distance between themselves and any possible pursuers. In that time they’d had too much hard riding and too little sleep, and they were more than ready for a bath, a decent meal, and a real bed. Luckily there’d been pretty good pay the last time they’d had work, and they’d been in Oak Creek long enough for Heyes to play some poker, so at least they didn’t have to put together their last few coins just to share a steak dinner. So it was that a couple of hours later a much cleaner Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were seated across from each other at a table in the hotel’s restaurant, each enjoying his own steak, thank you very much. Heyes took a swallow of his coffee, and looked up at his partner. He smiled at the Kid’s typical enthusiasm when tucking into a good meal. Feeling Heyes’ eyes on him, Kid looked up. “What?” Kid said, with a slight frown. “Nothing,” Heyes replied, but his smile only got bigger. Kid held his frown a beat longer, but there wasn’t really any heat behind it. “Just because you can get so caught up in plannin’ that you forget to eat,” he said with a smirk. “Just because you can eat enough food for three people,” Heyes shot back, but it, too, was a good-natured jibe. Kid merely shook his head, looking amused, and returned to his eating. After dinner they headed over to the saloon. Food and a bath had done a lot to restore their energy and improve their mood, and while both men were still looking forward to the real beds waiting for them in their hotel room, they figured they might as well get a quick drink and see what they could learn about the town at the same time. They learned, among other things, that with a bit of time in one of the local poker games Heyes was highly likely to add to their current funds. They also learned that while Sheriff McKendree seemed careful and competent, he didn’t appear to be overly suspicious. He’d come into the saloon and upon noticing the unfamiliar faces had stopped to ask the boys if they were passing through or intending to stay for a while, but seemed to accept their story that they were in town for a few days or so, resting up after a job on a cattle drive. Heyes played a few hands of cards, increasing the boys’ stake a bit while being careful not to win too much. This was a town they might be able to stay in for a spell, and there was no sense getting anyone angry or suspicious. Neither of the partners was

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really up for a late night, though, so it wasn’t long before they retired to comfort of their room at the local hotel. Heyes woke early the next morning to find his partner snoring softly, still sound asleep. Smiling, he dressed as quietly as he could, buckled on his gun belt, and picked his hat up off the night table. Digging through his saddlebags, he pulled out a somewhat batteredlooking book. He was just about to leave a note for his partner before heading downstairs when Kid rolled over and lifted his head up, giving Heyes a bleary-eyed look. “Heyes?” he questioned. “Mornin’ Kid,” Heyes replied. “I was just gonna go down and get a cup of coffee. Maybe read a while.” Kid shook his head at that. Not only was Heyes awake at this hour, but he wanted to read? “Well, I guess that means you won’t mind if I go back to sleep,” Kid said with a yawn. Heyes smiled at that, and headed out the door. He’d come back up and fetch the Kid for breakfast in a little while. After a cup of coffee in the hotel restaurant, Heyes settled in a chair on the front porch and spent an uneventful hour or so reading and watching the occasional early morning passer-by. He and the Kid then spent an uneventful hour or so having a leisurely breakfast, followed by an uneventful morning checking out the town a bit more thoroughly, visiting the general store to stock up on a few supplies, and stopping by the blacksmith’s to arrange a new shoe for the Kid’s horse. After lunch, they retired to the hotel porch with the best cigars Mr. Porter, the proprietor of the general store, had to offer. Later that evening, they’d had a relaxing and uneventful evening in the saloon, where they’d gotten some food and some surprisingly good whiskey, after which the Kid had made the acquaintance of a pretty young saloon girl and Heyes had played some more poker. One morning after another couple of lazy days in the town of Tipton, the partners were eating breakfast and putting off discussing where they might head next. They didn’t have any immediate job prospects, and the last telegram they’d gotten from Lom hadn’t been particularly encouraging. This was hardly the first time they’d been in such a position since starting their quest for amnesty, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant, or any easier. For the time being, Kid was enjoying a good breakfast – possibly his last for a while, if they were setting out the trail again – and Heyes was absently picking at the remains of the his bacon and reading the newspaper. “Kid,” Heyes said, looking up from the paper he’d been reading, “I hate to have to tell you this….” “Heyes?”

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But Heyes didn’t answer, instead handing the newspaper to his partner. Kid only got as far as the headline before throwing the paper down on the table in disgust. “Again?” he practically shouted. “Thaddeus,” Heyes warned, with a meaningful look around the room, where several tables were occupied by other diners. “Fine, Joshua. Let’s go back to the room.” The door of their hotel room had barely shut behind them when Kid started in. “This is crazy, Heyes! How many times are we going to go through this? We’ve never even been to Wallsburg, let alone robbed the bank there!” “I know, Kid. But you know what we have to do.” “I know. Go to that town. Now.” After yet another long couple of days of too much hard riding and not enough rest, Heyes and Curry made it to Wallsburg. They stopped to water their horses and Kid looked longingly in the direction of the saloon. Catching his partner’s look, Heyes smiled but shook his head. “You know what we have to do,” he said. “I know, I know,” Kid replied. “This is the one sheriff’s office west of the Mississippi we can walk into like a pair of Texas Rangers, right? I remember. But I don’t see why we can’t get a drink first, and then walk into the sheriff’s office like rangers.” “Come on, Kid,” said Heyes. “Let’s get this over with. The sooner we talk to the sheriff, the sooner we can start figurin’ out what really happened. We don’t clear our names, we can say goodbye to our amnesty.” “Fine, Heyes. Let’s go. But the first thing we’re doin’ after we talk to the sheriff is gettin’ a drink.” It wasn’t a question, and Heyes didn’t argue. The two men walked the short distance to the sheriff’s office from where they’d tethered their horses. Taking a deep breath, Heyes pushed the door open. In truth, he was probably just as uneasy about being in such close proximity to the law as the Kid was, but he carefully kept any of that unease from his face. It would only make Kid more nervous, and might also draw unwanted attention from the sheriff. Stepping inside, the two outlaws looked around the room. Three cells lined the right side of the room, and a man, presumably the sheriff, sat at the desk to their left as they came in the door. The man looked up as the door opened. “Sheriff Carson?” Heyes asked as he and Kid approached. The sign over the door had

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declared one Sheriff Henry Carson to be the law in town. “That’s right,” the man replied. “What can I do for you?” “Well, Sheriff,” Heyes began, “My name is Joshua Smith, and this is my partner, Thaddeus Jones.” Heyes thought for a moment he saw a spark of something in the sheriff’s eyes – recognition, perhaps? But it was gone so quickly Heyes couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. He mentally chastised himself for his jumpiness, then started back into his story. “We’re bounty hunters,” he said, pausing a moment to gauge the sheriff’s reaction, but the man at the desk didn’t seem to have anything against the profession. “We’ve been tracking a couple of outlaws – Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. Been on their trail for about three weeks now. Almost caught up with ‘em a couple of times. Then we heard tell that they’d robbed the bank down here in Wallsburg. Took us by surprise, I can tell you, seeing as we’d been chasin’ them ourselves, some hundred of miles or so away.” “That so?” the sheriff replied, his brow furrowing in thought. “That’s right, sheriff,” Heyes said. “I’m sure you can imagine our confusion.” He paused there, giving the man behind the desk as sincere a look of puzzlement as he could. The sheriff nodded his acknowledgement of the point, and Heyes went on. “Seems like someone must of been wrong. Either we weren’t chasin’ who we thought we were, or it wasn’t Heyes and Curry robbed your bank. Figured we’d come down here and try and find out which. So what we’re wondering, Sheriff, is if you could maybe tell us how it is you know it was those outlaws that hit the bank.” Sheriff Carson looked from one man standing in front of him to the other, as if he was perhaps trying to decide what – or maybe how much – to tell them. After a moment he nodded, apparently having come to a decision. He met Heyes’ gaze and held it, meanwhile quietly bringing one hand up from behind his desk, the gun he was holding pointing at the two men. Heyes’ eyes went wide, and Curry’s hand instinctively started toward his own weapon. “Don’t do it, son,” Carson said, his voice hard. Kid was fast, but the sheriff’s gun was already drawn and Kid wasn’t about to just up and shoot a lawman in any case. Slowly, deliberately, he moved his hand away from the gun at his hip. Meanwhile, Heyes had recovered from his initial shock, and immediately started trying to diffuse the situation. “What’s this all about, Sheriff?” he asked, a study in innocent confusion. “You asked how I knew it was Heyes and Curry who robbed the bank here. Well, I have to confess, what I know is that Heyes and Curry didn’t rob the bank.” “They didn’t?” Kid asked, clearly lost.

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“No.” “And how do you know that?” Heyes asked, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know. Whatever was going on here, he was fairly certain it couldn’t be good. “First, because the bank wasn’t actually robbed to begin with. And second, because Heyes and Curry weren’t in town until today, were they?” It took a moment for what Carson had just said to sink in. When it did, Heyes decided that he’d been right. This was going nowhere good. Still, he kept up the pretense of bewilderment. “I don’t understand Sheriff,” he said, then paused as if thinking. “Wait a minute. Are you suggesting that my partner and I are…?” At this point Heyes went for a long-suffering look. “Not again,” he said with a sigh. “This has happened to us before, Sheriff. It seems that – and it is unfortunate, I must say – my partner and I do bear some resemblance to those two no good outlaws. I assure you, however….” Before he could get any further, Sheriff Carson interrupted him. “Enough. I’m not going to sit here and debate with you.” “But Sheriff, this is all just a misunderstanding.” “I said enough,” Carson said sharply. “For the moment, I suggest you raise your hands and shut your mouth.” Heyes and Curry shared a look. They were pretty certain the man meant business. Not only that, but their chances of getting out of this mess in the immediate future – whatever this mess actually was – were looking pretty slim. With a raised eyebrow from Curry and the slightest nod from Heyes, they agreed that for now they’d best go along with things. So when the Sheriff gestured with his gun to get them moving they put their hands up and waited, Heyes biting his tongue. “That’s better. Now, you first,” Carson said, gesturing with his gun at the Kid, “take your gun out, nice and slow, and lay it on the desk here. The Kid complied. “Your turn,” Carson directed, and Heyes carefully took his gun from its holster and laid it beside his partner’s. “Thank you, gentlemen,” the Sheriff said. “Now how about you take a couple of steps back, so we can make sure you’re not tempted to try and reclaim those guns of yours.” Again, Heyes and Curry did as they were told. “Now,” Carson said, looking the men in front of him in the eye, “something is going on here, and I intend to get it sorted out. And if it turns out that this was all some kind of misunderstanding, I’ll offer you boys my sincerest apologies. But you ride in here together, asking how I know Curry and Heyes robbed my bank – just like that bounty hunter said would happen – and on top of that, the two of you fit the descriptions of Curry and Heyes as well as any two men could. Well, it would be irresponsible of me not

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to find out for sure. So how about you two get yourselves in that cell over there, and then we can talk things over.” Heyes and Curry turned equally puzzled looks on each other. “Bounty hunter?” Kid said, sounding lost again. Heyes shook his head in frustration. “I have no idea,” he said, angry not only at the situation, which was going downhill at a rapid clip, but also at himself, for being so totally blindsided by whatever was going on here. The Sheriff, meanwhile, stood up and gestured toward the nearest cell with his gun to move the boys along. Not really having any choice, the partners obeyed, wincing at the sound of the cell door locking behind them. “Sheriff?” Heyes asked, not wanting to anger the man further, but thinking that maybe now he and the Kid were safely behind bars the Sheriff would be more amenable to conversation. And he really wanted to know what was up with this bounty hunter story. Heyes was feeling more than a little lost at the moment, and it was neither a very familiar feeling nor one he liked…not at all. When his attempt to get the Sheriff’s attention didn’t seem to draw the man’s ire, Heyes decided it was probably safe to carry on. “Sheriff,” he repeated. “This is a case of mistaken identity.” In case the Sheriff was inclined to interrupt, Heyes kept right on talking, doing his best not to give the man the chance. “Still. . . I must admit I can see your point . . . about being responsible and all, and checking us out.” he said, sounding like a man who was doing his best to be reasonable, despite the unfortunate situation. “Maybe if you tell us about this bounty hunter, we can get help you get this thing sorted out. You say he told you Thaddeus and I would be comin’ to town?” Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance to talk their way out of this. Unfortunately, an hour or so – and one trying conversation with the Sheriff – later, the two ex-outlaws were still locked up and it didn’t look like they were going anywhere soon. Except perhaps Wyoming. Both men sat dejectedly on one of the bunks in the cell, Heyes shaking his head and muttering in disgust. “It was all a lie,” he said, a touch of disbelief in his voice. “I can’t believe they printed it in the paper!” Kid, knowing there was nothing he could say that would improve Heyes’ mood, held his peace. Though he had to admit, putting that story in the paper had been a clever trick, and he and Heyes had fallen right into the trap.

By Calico

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LIES OF OMISSION… I usually drag myself upstairs, bone-tired, after a double shift. Not tonight. That is, I AM bone-tired, but tonight I take the stairs two at a time. I haven’t done that for years! Not since before… Not for years. The newspaper’s tucked under my arm; I‘ve been itching to get it back to my own room for hours. I didn’t wanna check out what I thought I’d seen in front of Mrs. Cuddy, or any of them. I light the oil lamp; sit on the narrow bed. The springs under the thin mattress squeak in protest. As I unfold the newspaper, my hands fumble. Partly excitement – though, ‘excitement’ is the wrong word. ‘Excited’ tends to suggest ‘happy’ and that ain’t it. Maybe ‘agitated’ would be better. I dunno. Anyhow, my hands are shaking partly with ‘it’ and, partly ‘cos they’re cold. I do what I do most evenings. I stare at the grate, wonder if it’s worth making a fire to before I get into bed. Then, I take the decision I always – nearly always - take. No! It’s a waste. I don’t have money to burn. Literally. Sometimes, I cannot bear to make the sensible choice one more time – and I make a fire and curl up to watch the flames – go to bed without having to shiver. Tonight I wrap an old scarf round my head, pull on my shabby outdoor coat, wriggle under the blankets and get back to my paper. Did I really see it? WAS it him? He hasn’t been caught has he? That was my first thought. He’s been caught. Or killed. And… despite the fact he’s nothing to me now … despite the fact that NOTHING really matters much now…my heart pounded like crazy. Don’t let him be dead. Please, please, don’t let him be dead. Please. You don’t hafta be a genius to work out the lie back there, huh? He AIN’T nothing to me. He oughta be – but, he ain’t. When Mrs. Cuddy turned the page, ‘he’s been caught!’ raced through my mind. I kept my face blank, tried not to show what’d caught my eye. I calmed down. Somehow, I didn’t think that WAS it. If it WAS him… I only got a glance, I could be wrong. Though, it did look like him. Looked like both of them. IF it was him – he was all gussied up in a suit – posed - smiling. That don’t feel like ‘caught’ or ‘killed’, does it? Unless… Unless it was an old photograph. Scanning the pages. No. No. No.

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Oh… It’s only paper. A grainy grey image, four inches by four, already a week out-of-date, creased, stained where someone’s put down a coffee mug. That’s all it is. It…it… What is it they say in books sometimes? It takes my breath away. ---oooOOOooo--How long do I stare at him? Dunno. I guess it’s one of those moments when – quote ‘time stands still’. In case you haven’t worked it out, I used to read dumb romances. I don’t now. Reckon I learnt my lesson where romance gets you. I don’t quite mean that. Though, if I’m gonna spit out bitter things, up here in my room, just talking to myself is the best place. But, I don’t quite mean that. All the same, I don’t read romances no more. I drag my gaze from the picture, read the words. Oh! He – both of them – have been granted amnesty. It says… My eyes race along the close print. He – they’ve been going straight, hoping for amnesty ever since… I blink. That’s less than six months after the last time I saw him. He’d gone straight before – before Patrick was born. I picked – Patrick – because it’s Irish. ‘Jedediah’ wasn’t the right choice, but I wanted something… I wanted… Dumb, huh? There’s more. Lots about them being ‘the most successful outlaws in the history of the West’. Sentimental stuff about their hard childhoods. Jed won’t like that. Not one bit. He told me about it once. I mean, about his folks and the home. Not playing for sympathy, nothing like that. Just told me. It was before he told me he loved me. But, that’s when I knew, knew for sure, he did. I was stroking his hair, his head was all nuzzled between my breasts and I said something like, “D’ya reckon that’s why you did it? Became an outlaw.” He went real quiet for the longest time. I wondered if he’d

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fallen asleep. ‘Cos we’d not long finished – and men do fall asleep. Then he said, “If our folks’d lived – I don’t see how we coulda gone this way. But, that’s not the same as it bein’ any kinda excuse. We weren’t the only boys who lost everyone in that War. Sheesh, some fellas lost everyone AND an arm or a leg. They still kept straight, made better choices than us, made some’n of themselves!” He wouldn’t have opened up like that if he didn’t love me, would he? If he didn’t love me, he’d have stuck to the bravado – the ‘It’s a good life and not too hard on the back’ stuff. I stop remembering, concentrate on the newspaper. Next is ‘your reporter in Cheyenne’ interviewing them. They talk about regretting all the crimes, say how it’s never too late to change, never too late to turn over a new leaf. It all sounds a bit flowery. Don’t sound much like them. Well, maybe it sounds like Heyes, if’n he’d his tongue in one cheek and was pulling this fella’s leg. But… Even if ‘our reporter in Cheyenne’ is gussying up the words, it don’t mean there ain’t a grain of truth in there. Does it? To go straight for over three years, they musta changed. THAT bit hasta be true. Don’t it? ‘Course, I want that bit to be true. But, me WANTING it to be true don’t mean it ain’t true. You see, though I never had any regrets about leaving so Jed couldn’t find me … You didn’t fall for that, did you? It’s the lie I tell myself often enough – no regrets – but you’re too smart to fall for it, huh? I haven’t fallen asleep a single night without regretting the choice I made. I don’t mean, if I had it make again I’d do different; but, every night, I go through ‘what ifs’ and ‘yes, buts’ convincing myself I did the right thing. I did. Once a man starts hitting you, don’t matter how much he swears it’ll never happen again – it will. Certain sure. I learnt that watching my mother and …him. “He’ll change. He really means it this time. He can’t help it. He loves me. I can’t leave – I love him. I need him. He needs me. It’s my fault; if only I hadn’t…This time – it’ll be different. I KNOW he can change.” I’ll leave you to sort out lies from truth in there for yourselves.

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Doesn’t matter what they say. Next time never is different. Never. Except… With Jed, it was only the once. Don’t everyone deserve a second chance? AND, I don’t believe folk can NEVER change. That’d be…That leaves you nowhere. Folk CAN change. This is the kinda stuff I lay awake thinking. ‘Cos, though I did make the right choice - I DID - figuring out the right choice is not black and white, huh? The right choice meant I’d never see Jed again. And, I loved him. Loved him, loved him, loved him, loved him. And, he loved me. I believed that. Still do. It was only the once. And, it wasn’t like him. Jed’s a good, kind, gentle man…If only I hadn’t… And, I love him And… Did you spot the lie? It’s a lie I told myself during the happiest few months of my life when I spent my all time thinking about Jed. Lying awake hoping I might hear the signal. Hoping this was one of the nights he’d appear. One of the nights he’d climb into my bed and… I fell in love with Jed Curry because he was the most exciting, exhilarating thing that’d ever happened in my life. I fell in love with Jed Curry because him choosing me, wanting me, loving me, made me feel the most desirable woman in the world. Made me feel alive in a way I’d never felt before. I did NOT fall in love with him because he was good, or kind, or gentle. A man who hustles frightened mothers and crying children out of a train at gunpoint so he can have money to gamble and drink and buy women – is he gentle? A man who levers up a track, knowing full well if the driver is too slow to react, it risks a crash, risks mangling the bodies of innocent people – is he kind? A man who steals a payroll headed for a mining town full of men who sweat underground daily to feed their wives and families, families who need that money on time for rent and provisions and doctors’ bills – a man who laughs at the idea of their honest job as ‘too hard on the back’ – is he good? I tried to shut my eyes to all that. Tried? When he was with me, I DID shut my eyes. But… I think, when he let down his guard with me, lost the bravado, I think then I saw he was trying and failing to shut his eyes to all that too. He wanted things to be different. He wanted to change. And…I couldn’t have been so deep in love with him if I hadn’t seen that.

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‘Course, WANTING to change and doing nothing about it; feeling bad and carrying on the same way anyhow…That don’t exactly deserve much sympathy, huh? Though, we’ve all been there. I sure have. Sure was then. I knew what I was doing with Jed was just plain wrong. I knew what might happen too. I don’t blame him for that. Well… That’s a lie too. There were nights I lay awake cussing Jed for leaving me with a bellyful of trouble. I shouldn’t have. The rules are – if a man turns on the sweet-talk; the woman says ‘No!’ He never pushed me, not one little bit. All my fault. Well, nearly all my fault. Besides, how could I BLAME anyone for giving me Patrick? ---oooOOOooo--I think about what I’m gonna do for a long time. It’s something I’ve thought about a hundred times. This time’s different. First, I’m not thinking, ‘Jed could change; I should give him a second chance’. I’m thinking, ‘This is hard evidence, in black and white, that Jed HAS changed, struggled real hard to change. I should give him a second chance’. Second, all the other times I’ve thought, ‘At the very least, maybe I should tell him about Patrick’…even got as far as starting a letter…not that I ever REALLY meant to send it… I’ve hadta face the fact a letter addressed to ‘Jedediah (Alias ‘Kid’) Curry, Devil’s Hole, Wyoming’ isn’t an option. This time, I pull a sheet of notepaper – and the newspaper – towards myself and write: ‘Jedediah Curry. C/o Sheriff Lom Trevors, Porterville…’ “Dear Jed, I read about you and Heyes getting amnesty…” I try and say how pleased I am. Not just pleased they have amnesty, but, pleased they wanted it – worked for it – stuck with it… I try and say ‘part of me always believed in you’… try and say it so it’s true, try and say what I really mean. It’s hard, real hard, to write what I DO mean. I guess I’d hafta know what it is before I could write it and, even then, I’d hafta find the right words. “…I cannot say I’m sorry I left Denver leaving no way for you to find me, because, I thought I was doing the right thing. But, I can say – I hope you understood and have been able to forgive me. What I can also say, hand on heart, is that I’ve forgiven you…”

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Will he care? Will he even remember me? I know he came looking for me at least once in Denver, I had word. But, that was so long ago. Now the hard bit. Another fresh sheet – ‘cos, I am fairly happy with what I wrote so far and I don’t wanna hafta redo the lot if this part goes wrong. “…It’s time to finally tell you what I meant to on that last day. You and me, we had a son, ‘Patrick’, I hope that name’s okay by you. This is him – in the photograph. He’s the dead spit of you here, Jed…” It’s a copy of a studio portrait taken on Patrick’s second birthday. Mine’s over there, in the frame by my bed. I guess it was a waste of money when I was saving up so hard… Sheesh! You can’t put off any kinda pleasure or treat for ever and ever! Scrimping and saving and waiting for this ‘tomorrow’ that never seems to come. Anyhow, the photographer said, did I want copies to send to Patrick’s grandparents or anyone? I was about to say ‘No, thank you’, when he added the first coupla copies were free. So, I said ‘Yes’. I mean, just ‘yes’ I wanted copies. I didn’t tell any extra lies about Patrick having grandparents. When I rechecked his price list, he’d been lying; the first two copies WEREN’T free. I guess, after watching me count out all those nickels and dimes, he was just being nice. I look plain as pie, the usual stiff ‘photograph’ face. Patrick, kinda half turning to grin up at me, looks so adorable it makes me wanna… ---oooOOOooo--Sorry. Sorry about that.

I try not to, in case folk hear.

I have a good blow, mop myself up. I had the sense to push the letter away so all the blubbing didn’t blot it. I pull it back towards me. “…When I first left Denver, I got me a good job in Twin Forks. Then, I moved on here and had the baby. It was hard at first to make ends meet, but, having Patrick, holding him, loving him, made everything worth it…” It is not lies. Half-truths are not lies. And… what else is there to say? If Jed cares, he’ll hear it all first hand when he finds me. If he don’t care – what do details matter? I did get me a reasonable job in Twin Forks. Saved real hard, ‘cos I knew I couldn’t stay. The timings were wrong; I couldn’t claim to be a widow there. Well, I’d hafta have come up with a story about losing my husband only a few weeks ago, and… Anyhow. That’s the choice I made.

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When I couldn’t hide it no longer, I bought me a cheap ring, a cheap black widow’s dress and an expensive train ticket. Real expensive, to get far away from where Jed Curry might come looking. I came here. I married myself off on the journey, arrived as Mrs. Brown. I didn’t make up any fancy story. I let the ring and the mourning do most of the lying. If asked, ‘I lost my man and I don’t like to talk about it.’ The job here wasn’t so reasonable. Who wants to hire a girl six months gone? Still, it coulda been worse. Room and board included, so I didn’t hafta worry about rent. Be honest, how many jobs for women, I mean uneducated women like me, stretch to ‘rent’? The birth wasn’t easy. Sheesh! The month AFTER the birth wasn’t easy! I ran up one long Doctor’s bill! Mrs. Cuddy was…She was okay. Didn’t turn me out. Paid the Doc on my behalf. She knew. Caught me out in a lie. She never said nothing and neither did I, but, she knew. The only thing she did tell me, once I healed up, was she’s got a reputation to keep. Any hint of anything with the male guests – I’m out. She wasn’t mean, just straight. She’s okay. Treat me the same afterwards. Hasn’t told anyone else. I reckon she believes in second chances. All those months of saving – all gone. Worse than gone. I was working nearly half a year of double shifts before I got back to ‘zero’. And, I didn’t work all the double shifts I could, ‘cos – that’d have meant seeing even less of Patrick. I stare at the half-truths in the letter for a long time. ‘Having Patrick, holding him, loving him…’ ‘Loving him’ is true enough. But, ‘having him, holding him’? Written that way, it makes it sound as if… You know I said back there I used to read dumb romances? Sometimes the girl ended up on her own, struggling to support a baby. Not the same way as me! No! The virtuous heroine would be separated from her husband through some machination of the villain. Nothing so simple (or should that be nothing so dumb?) as letting a man you know perfectly well can’t marry you even if he wants to, climb into your bed. Anyhow, in books, even though the heroine’s poverty-stricken and battling gamely against adversity, somehow she has a place for her and her baby to live. Night after night, she comforts herself with the clutch of tiny fingers and the sight of an innocent smile. Yeah, right! How she pays rent, how she keeps the place warm and puts food on the table is left kinda sketchy. We’re sometimes shown brief scenes of ‘honest toil’, but no way are we given a weekly budget, that’s for sure! I don’t live in Novella world, so I hadta do what any single mother with nowhere to live

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does (if, that is, she cannot bear to give up her child). I paid half my wages to a foster mother. I lived for my afternoons off and every other weekend. After a late shift, I’d walk round just to gaze up for a while at the window where he slept. I scrimped and scraped and hoarded every dime towards that ‘tomorrow’ when I’d be able to afford somewhere to be together. I reckoned up how many years away that ‘tomorrow’ would be… ‘Course what I shoulda done is count my blessings. Mrs. Stewart, Patrick’s foster Ma, was – well, I guess she was everything you could ask for. Kind, calm, competent. Loved babies. Loved Patrick. Treated him just like her one of her own. He was happy, I could tell. When he started to talk he called her ‘Mama’. Not her fault; she called herself ‘Aunt Beth’ to him. He was just copying her own kids. ‘Love you Mama! Love you BEST, Mama!’ Yup. Quite. He called me ‘Mama’ too. Oh! Spelling and punctuation mistake. I told you I wasn’t educated. He called me ‘Mama Two’. ---oooOOOooo--Sorry. Sorry. Maybe I AM a heroine after all, huh?! Crying again! All over. Another fresh sheet. In case the letter goes wrong. “…There’s been no one else, Jed. I could never feel how I felt about you for any other man…” I tear that page up. I’m NOT saying THAT! I may as well write ‘I’m so lonely! I need you! I’m begging you, please come find me! Please!’ It may be what part of me is screaming inside, but I ain’t saying it! I’ll keep this letter simple and…and leave us both a little dignity. Not that I care about dignity. Not that I care about much now. But, I should. So, I will. Now I think of it, one of those two sentences I tore up is a lie. Which one? You KNOW which one. Because, you know which one is true. “I could never feel how I felt about you for any other man…” is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. There WAS someone else.

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Not THAT way. Sheesh! Even if I hadn’t learnt my lesson, I wasn’t interested in any other man in THAT way. If’n you don’t count rerunning every conversation I ever had – or didn’t have - with Jed Curry and every possible ‘what if’, the only thing I was interested in was: ‘how soon do I get to be with Patrick?’ So, for me to be interested in a man he needed a home (with a room for Patrick), a steady income (enough to keep me and Patrick) and to be definitely looking for a wife (with a son thrown in). Not romance. Not flirtation. Not making friends. Not ‘let’s get to know each other, see where it goes’. Scrub the ‘in order to be interested in a man’ start. I had zero interest in any man, ever. I was only interested in: Marriage, home, income. Now. That sounds real mercenary. That IS real mercenary. I’m trying to be truthful there. I’m rationing myself to only so many lies a minute. Besides, I didn’t spend time thinking ‘maybe I’ll meet someone’, ‘cos it wasn’t gonna happen. I spent the days working and saving and reckoning and ticking off the hours to ‘Patrick time’. If I occasionally varied my night-time ‘what if’ fretting’ to a ‘suppose I had a home?’ fantasy, so what? It wasn’t gonna happen. Then, it happened! A man took an interest in me. A respectful, serious interest. He – he started to court me. It was the photographer. I reckon he saw me at my best. I don’t mean all gussied up for the portrait, though, I was. I mean, laughing with Patrick. Happy in the moment. When I went back the following week to pick up my prints he asked if we – me and Patrick – would like to go to the ladies’ committee picnic next Sunday? It was my Sunday off. Patrick would LOVE to go to a picnic. I would love to see Patrick go to a picnic. Entrance cost twenty-five cents a head – all proceeds to charity. That’s before laying out any nickels on the stalls or raffles. That meant, we weren’t going. Period. I was gonna say ‘no thank you’ when… Patrick had taken a fancy to him. Maybe ‘cos of the ‘watch the birdie’ moment – I dunno. He was tugging at this man’s sleeve; I was trying to unwrap his fingers from the cloth, shushing him. Then the photographer…his name was Tom…he squatted down and gave Patrick his full attention. He did that dumb ‘Dicky Bird, Dicky Bird’ rhyme. Patrick loved it. Tom did it again. When he straightened up, I said ‘yes’. It was only a picnic. Tom was dull. He told the same jokes over and over, laughed at them though they weren’t funny. He was half an inch shorter than me, plump and thinning on top. Not that THAT really matters. You can marry the love of your life and ten years on he’ll be plumper, balder and you’ll have heard all his stories, huh? He lived in a real nice set of rooms above his studio. Aside from portraits he’d a regular

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contract with the local newspaper. A safe, steady income. If Tom married me I’d never hafta worry about new boots for Patrick, or a warm winter coat for Patrick, or schoolbooks for Patrick, or – or maybe someday – college fees for Patrick, ever again. If Tom married me – it’d be ME giving Patrick his breakfast every morning, ME tucking him up every night. I’d be with him every day. EVERY single day! I don’t think – I’m trying to be honest here – I’d have carried on seeing him JUST ‘cos he was ‘settled’. It was… You see, Patrick liked Tom. Little kids don’t mind ‘repetitive’ huh? They like the same stuff over and over! At first I reckon Tom tried his hardest with Patrick to please me. Hardly a crime, huh? Later… Well, I’m biased, but Patrick was adorable – and he wound Tom round his finger. The day I knew, KNEW for sure, I’d say ‘yes’ was when I watched Tom stop Patrick howling after a tumble and then hoist him onto his shoulders. Say ‘yes’? Sheesh! That day, I knew I’d crawl naked across broken glass to this dull, plain, little man – this gentle, kind, good man. I’d kiss his feet if he’d give me and Patrick a home. I’d cook his meals, wash his clothes, iron his shirts, laugh at his jokes, hang on his every dreary word! I’d…I’d fall on my back, open my legs and do any dang thing he wanted, if he’d only marry me first so I knew I could always be with my son. If he’d only ask. When he did ask – I made a big mistake. No. I did the right thing. I’d do it again. Maybe… I said, before I accepted, there was something he’d a right to know. I told him the truth. Not ‘who’. Only, I wasn’t Mrs. Brown; wasn’t a widow. He deserved at least that. I couldn’t just keep lying. Besides, if I’d married under a false name – would it count? Suppose it all came out later? I told him. And… I guess he musta read novels too. He sure was a romantic about women. I simply wasn’t what he’d thought. Whether it was my – my lack of chastity; or, the ‘lies of omission’, I dunno… He was too nice to say. He – he admired my honesty. But… Maybe, it was ‘cos he asked if I still loved Patrick’s father. The silence went on and on. I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t.

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Anyhow, that was that. Do I have any regrets? What do you think? ---oooOOOooo--None of that need go in a letter. It can wait for if I ever see Jed face to face. Maybe? Another fresh sheet. “…I told you it was hard to make ends meet…” Where am I going with that? Does it sound as if I’m asking for money from him? I’m not. It’s not what I meant to write.

I kinda know what I hafta write, but…it won’t come.

I read it again. At least it’s true. It was hard to make ends meet. It still is! The ends DON’T meet. The ‘ends’ are twenty two dollars and fifty four cents of debt apart. No one’s pressing me for it. I know Mrs. Cuddy will give me all the time I need. Mrs. Stewart told me to stop fretting and forget all about the money I still owe her. But… I hafta pay it back. They work hard too. They have families. I don’t want Patrick having a thief for a mother as well as for a… I didn’t mean that. Sorry, Jed. It’s just – staying straight and trying to do the right thing is about all I have left. You see, when Patrick caught scarlet fever a few months back, I ran up another long, long doctor’s bill. And, I wasn’t even working, ‘cos I needed to… No, no more lies. I WANTED to nurse him myself. I didn’t NEED to. No way am I a better nurse than Beth Stewart. I couldn’t fault a thing she did. I was so grateful to have her… So, there were all the weeks I didn’t pay her. And, the doctor’s bill – which Mrs. Cuddy settled for me. And the red flannel and the clean linen and the ice and… “…Jed, there’s something I have to tell you…” And, the undertaker’s bill.

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“Patrick died…” I stare at those two words, all lonely on the page with empty white space all around them. I think real hard about what I might find to say to Jed Curry if I ever saw him again. I think real hard about second chances. It takes a long, long time to decide what to write next. Very carefully, very neatly, I add a full stop. Then, I do what I guess I always knew I’d do, even before I took my pen from the drawer. I tear up all the sheets, hold them over the oil lamp until they catch alight and throw them into the cold grate to burn.

By Maz McCoy “Get down!” Heyes said when Kid pulled his horse to a halt in front of the cabins. Kid immediately knew something was wrong. There was no friendly greeting, no congratulations for a job well done, just a cold stare. Heyes’ stood grim faced, hands planted on his hips, his hat tipped back on his head. Saying nothing, Kid eased himself out of the saddle. No doubt his partner would explain soon enough. “What’s wrong?” he asked, as he brushed the dust from his jacket. Heyes’ fist collided with his jaw. Kid went down hard, landing on his butt in the dirt. He stared up at the darkhaired man standing over him. “Get up!” Heyes ordered, fists clenched. “No,” Kid replied, holding his jaw. “What the heck was that for?” He saw Wheat and Preacher standing behind Heyes, shocked expressions on their faces. Other members of the Gang came out of the cabin to watch. “You were supposed to be back here yesterday. D’you want to tell me where you’ve been?” Heyes demanded, angrily. “Is that all? You couldn’t just ask?” “When I tell you to do something, you do it! When I say get back, you get back. If you want to stay with this Gang you do as I say, is that clear?” Heyes fixed dark eyes on his friend. Kid stayed where he was, but his hand had moved to hang beside his gun. Each man held the other’s gaze. “I said is that clear?” Kid gave a slight nod. “Get yourself up!” Heyes sneered, and then, turning his back on his partner, he headed towards the leader’s cabin.

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Kid shot a look towards the others. Wheat and Preacher could sense his embarrassment and anger. Kid pulled himself to his feet and set off after the man he considered his best friend. Heyes stood by the fire, his back to the door, as Kid entered the cabin. “Heyes?” Receiving no reply, Kid closed the door. The leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang turned around. Brown eyes met blue ones. “You all right?” Heyes asked. Kid rubbed his chin. “Yeah. I told you when we were kids, you punch like a girl. Probably didn’t even leave a mark.” Heyes smiled and looked at his friend’s face. “You’re right,” he agreed. His fist caught Kid again sending the blond man sprawling backwards into the door. Kid fell to the floor, stunned. “You okay?” Heyes asked with genuine concern as he crouched beside him. “What was that one for?” Kid held the back of his head. His bottom lip was bleeding. “Well, like you said, I didn’t leave a mark. It has to look convincing.” Kid struggled to sit up. The room was spinning. He touched the back of his head once more and looked at his hand. No blood. Giving his partner a disgruntled look he felt his mouth, tasting blood. He winced. “Well I guess you left a mark now.” “I don’t know. If a bruise doesn’t show…” “You’re not hittin’ me again!” “It has to look right, Kid.” “You want it to look right, then let me shoot ya!” Blue eyes met brown ones. “I won’t hit you again,” Heyes promised, holding out his hand. When Kid took it he hauled him to his feet. “D’you think they bought it?” he wondered. “I sure hope so. I don’t want to think you humiliated me for nothing.”

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“We’ll send some of the boys into town tonight. Word will soon get around. No one should doubt you, when you say you’ve had enough of me and want to join Ritter’s gang.” Heyes sat in a chair beside the fire and rested his chin on his hand. “We shoulda just gone after him,” the blond man said, sinking into the chair opposite. “I’m sure if you’d put your mind to it you coulda come up with a less painful plan. Wheat and Preacher sure looked surprised. You’d better explain once the boys have gone.” “Oh I don’t know,” Heyes mused. “I like them thinking I’d flatten ya.” “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot ya. I’m not sure it’s done my reputation any good.” “Kid, if anyone is foolish enough to question your reputation, you have a sure fire way of showing them how wrong they are,” Heyes reminded him. There was a knock on the door. “Heyes?” It was Kyle and he sounded nervous. Heyes smiled at Kid. “WHAT?” he snapped in reply. “We woz jus’ wondrin’ if…” “IF WHAT?” Heyes asked, opening the door quickly and startling the man. Kyle stepped back. “If everythin’ woz alright?” Kid had to give Kyle his due. It took a brave man to approach their leader after Heyes’ performance. “Ya know…between you an’…Kid?” He looked past Heyes to where the blond man sat, massaging his chin. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Heyes asked, flatly. “Well you jus…I mean everyone saw…” Kyle pointed back to where Kid’s horse was still tethered. “I mean…” Heyes fixed Kyle with a look. He received a view of Kyle’s tobacco in return. “I’ll go tend to Kid’s horse,” Kyle told him and walked swiftly away. Kid looked at Heyes. “I guess they bought it.”

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By Helena Dressed in their best and only suits, looking every bit like respectable city gentlemen, the two reformed outlaws, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry waited. Heyes leaned casually against the wall, watching his partner pace up and down. He was beginning to find Kid’s restlessness annoying. “Will you quit that, Kid?” “What?” “Pacing! You‘re gonna wear a hole in that expensive carpet of the Governor’s. That sure isn’t the best way to introduce yourself to him!” “In case you ain’t noticed, Heyes, I’m not wearing my gun. You know how I get when I haven’t got it on me.” Ignoring Heyes’ request, Kid turned and walked back down the corridor. “I know Kid, but Lom made it clear the Governor stipulated no guns.” Heyes reminded him. “You sure about this, Heyes?” He came to a halt and stood regarding his friend anxiously. “I mean, he even told Lom not to come along with us.” Heyes gave an exasperated sigh. He empathized with his friend’s concern but they had been over this several times already. They trusted Lom and, as all their hope for the future hinged on this meeting, they had to abide by the Governor‘s request. “He told Lom he was ready to sign the papers. Lom’s back at the hotel now making sure the champagne is chilled.” Kid resumed his pacing, every now and then picking up an ornament from a table, then returning it to its original place. The clock at the end of the passageway chimed the hour. Kid stopped in front of the Governor’s office, a frown furrowing his brow. The door remained firmly closed. Heyes noticed the agitated look and laughed softly. “And glaring like that won’t make it open any quicker.” As if in contradiction to his statement, the door opened and the Governor’s secretary appeared.

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“The Governor will see you both now.” Heyes pushed himself away from the wall and clapped Kid on the shoulder. “Let’s go then, Kid.” he smiled, broadly. “Looks like the waiting is finally over.” Each taking a deep breath, the two men moved forward, removing their hats as they went. “Mr. Hannibal Heyes and Mr. Jedediah Curry,“ the secretary announced. He stepped aside to allow the partners to enter the room, then backed out. At the sound of the door clicking firmly shut Kid tensed and glanced over his shoulder. “Calm down, Kid,” Heyes murmured, an amused twinkle in his brown eyes. Kid shot an apologetic grin back, then turned his attention to the man in front of them. The Governor was seated as his desk. He didn't look up as the two men entered; just continued to peruse a document in front of him. Heyes and Curry waited for him. Finally, he put the document down and leaned back, resting his elbows on the polished arms of the chair. Steepling his fingers before pursed lips, he surveyed the men thoughtfully. An air of expectancy filled the room. “So Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry, I get to meet you both at last. Trevors has kept me informed of your attempts to stay out of trouble. He is very impressed with the commitment you have both shown, as am I.” The tone of his voice didn’t seem to match the statement. “We really appreciate all that Lom has done for us," Heyes replied, trying not to sound concerned by the man’s terseness. “We’ve been determined not to go back on our word. We want to become honest, law-abiding citizens.” Having decided it was best to let Heyes speak for them both, Kid laughed inwardly at his partner’s attempt to get a positive reaction The Governor didn’t respond. Heyes glanced at Kid. He suddenly had a bad feeling about the whole situation. Sensing his partner’s unease, Kid returned the look. The Governor rubbed his jaw, his eyes on Heyes, as if sizing him up, then he reached a conclusion. “However, after long consideration I have decided not to sign the papers granting you both amnesty.” The silence in the room was deafening. Kid looked to Heyes, desperately seeking some

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sign he’d heard incorrectly. The expression on his friend’s face however told him there was nothing wrong with his hearing. This was some cruel joke the Governor was playing. Both men stood uncomprehending, for a moment, numb from shock. Heyes was the one who eventually broke the silence. Running his fingers through his dark hair in frustration, he forced himself to remain calm. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Lom swore to us that you had agreed to it.” Even as he spoke he had found himself wondering if maybe they’d both misjudged Lom; put too much trust in the ex-outlaw turned Sheriff. That thought was soon dispelled as the Governor continued. “Trevors wasn’t informed of the final decision as I couldn’t have him warning you both. It was the only way to get you here. The amnesty was never guaranteed.” “Why?" Kid forced the single word out from between gritted teeth, bewilderment and anger welling up inside him. “I’ve made an agreement with the bosses of Midwest and Northern Pacific Railroads. In exchange for having you brought in, they will provide backing for my next election campaign. “You can’t do this," Kid raged at the man seated before him. “We’ve done everything possible to stick to the terms of the agreement. Lom told you that. You said so yourself.” "It isn’t in my best interests to grant you amnesty. I have to put the good of the territory before the needs of two outlaws." Kid turned to his partner, fear in his eyes. The thought of up to twenty years locked away behind the cold walls of Wyoming Territorial Prison was too much. Both men knew neither would be able to survive that. "I've also decided that to make the publicity surrounding your reparation more useful for all my benefactors, you, Mister Heyes will be joining a work gang laboring on the Midwest Railroad. An arrangement has been made for Mister Curry, to be transferred to Dakota Territory where he will labor on the Northern Pacific. This interview is now concluded,” the Governor announced, with an air of finality." Heyes reeled from the shock as the words sank in. Up until now he’d convinced himself that loss of freedom was the worst that could happen to them. Now he had just been proved wrong. By separating them as well, the Railroad Bosses had shown that they were intent on getting their pound of flesh for all the trouble the two men had caused. His chest heaved as he tried to force down the overwhelming despair at their situation. He looked around desperately for a way to escape.

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“No!” Kid could not believe this was happening. His hat dropped from his grasp, as fists balled in frustration, he threw himself towards the figure seated at the desk, intent on using the only weapon available to him, his bare hands. Heyes lunged forward, pulling Kid back, as the door was flung open and the room filled with armed men. They didn’t stand a chance against so many. Quickly surrounded on all sides, their arms were forced behind them and secured. Heyes flinched at the sound of the metal cuffs snapping shut. “Get them out of here!” the Governor ordered. Kid had seen the hope die in Heyes’ eyes. He continued to struggle against the restraints, trying to work the cuffs free from his hands, even as both men were hustled out. As they passed a window, they caught a glimpse of the prison wagon waiting for them down below in the street. Kid faltered. A tightness clutched his chest. He felt the hard jab of a gun barrel against his spine. Fear swamped Heyes. He felt blood pounding in his ears, his head spin. The past few years had been spent looking over their shoulders, dodging posses and bullets in the belief one day they would receive amnesty. And now…now it had all been for nothing. There was nothing left to fight for anymore. “This can’t be happening Heyes. It ain‘t right,” Kid choked, his voice faint and broken. He couldn’t understand how they had strived for something for so long and suddenly found it unobtainable. He shivered as an icy sweat ran between his shoulder blades. Heyes had never heard such hopelessness and defeat from the younger man, as Kid’s forlorn voice broke into his thoughts. “I know, Kid,” Heyes replied, his voice heavy with regret and disbelief. “We stayed out of trouble like we said we would. I guess it was never going to be enough.” He swallowed, painfully, as he caught the expression on his friend’s face, the blue eyes pleading with him. A look of silent agreement and understanding passed between them as they were ushered down the back stairs. They had made a deal years before to see it through together. Rather than endure the loss of freedom, it was better for it all to end now in a failed escape attempt. The final choice would be theirs to make and they would still have their pride.

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Once the last of the men had left the room and the door clicked shut behind them, the Governor went back to his desk and sat down. “The end justifies the means boys. That’s politics,” he muttered to himself, as he picked up a pile of papers and began to shuffle them into a neat bundle. The sound of frantic shouting from out in the street, followed swiftly by gunfire startled him. He rose and crossed swiftly to the window, clasping his hands behind his back, as he took in the scene below. He could see people gathering, milling around the two figures lying on the ground. Slowly, he returned to his desk and, sitting down heavily in his chair, poured himself a whiskey from the nearby crystal decanter. Swirling the amber liquid around the glass a couple of times, he tossed it down his throat in one swift movement only to find it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

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