OBLIGATIONS

by

Brenda A

Hannibal Hayes sat alone at a corner table in the noisy saloon sipping his beer, waiting for an opening in the poker game. He'd been waiting most of the evening without success, and he was just about to call it a night even if it was still early. Probably just as well, he decided. He had more on his mind than poker right now, and it wasn't a good idea to sit down to a game with anything but poker in mind. That was just plain asking for trouble.

He settled back in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, and fingered his glass absently. What was occupying his mind right now was why Kid Curry was two days late showing up in Redstone. He had finished up that little job for Big Mac McCreedy without incident, and his telegram, sent four days ago from Meredith, stated he was leaving immediately and would be in Redstone in two days.

A small delay was one thing, but two days... Heyes frown to himself as worry began to nag at him once more. Two days was not a small delay. Two days could only mean trouble; and with the Kid, that trouble could be anything. Curry knew him well enough to know he'd be worried by now, and if the delay was simply routine he would have telegraphed him - if he was able. But there were a lot of reasons why he might not be able, and none of them were pleasant.

Quickly finishing the rest of his beer, he sat the empty glass firmly on the table, his decision made. He couldn't just sit here worrying. First thing in the morning if the Kid hadn't shown up, he'd set out looking --

"Your name Smith?"

Pulled abruptly out of his thoughts, Heyes raised his head to find himself staring unexpectedly at a Sheriff's badge. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to tilt his head and turn an unconcerned smile on the wearer of that badge. "Something I can do for you, Sheriff?"

"If your name's Smith."

"Well, yes, my name is Joshua Smith, but --"

"You got a friend named Jones?"

Somehow he managed to keep the momentary flash of panic off his face. "Yes, Sheriff," he said carefully, "I do have a friend named Jones. He's supposed to meet me here --"

"Then you'd better come with me."

Heyes hesitated, his mind whirling with the implications. As always, he had made it a point to check out the local law when he first came to town. Sheriff Pat Buchanan wasn't anyone he'd ever met or heard of...but that certainly didn't meant Buchanan hadn't heard of him. And how did he know about Thaddeus Jones?

"Mind tellin' me what this is all about, Sheriff?" he asked politely, slowly getting to his feet.

Buchanan jerked his head toward the door. "Be happy to - in my office."

During that seemingly endless walk to the Sheriff's office Heyes heard nothing but the sound of his own heart pounding wildly in his chest. Was this why the Kid hadn't shown up? Was he sitting in the local jail right now? Were they about to be handed one-way tickets to the Wyoming Territorial Prison?

Despite the coolness of the early spring evening, he was sweating by the time they reached the jail. Buchanan swung the office door open and strode purposefully inside. Heyes followed slowly.

Inside he let his eyes sweep the interior, half-expecting to see his partner sitting morosely in one of the cells. Instead the office was empty, except for a boy of perhaps ten years old who was sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk, swinging it from side to side. He hopped quickly to his feet when they entered.

"Will, this man says he's Joshua Smith. Tell him what you told me," the Sheriff directed.

The boy looked up at Heyes, his grey eyes solemn with responsibility. "Name's Will Ramsey, Mr. Smith. Are you waitin' here for a Mr. Jones?"

Heyes glanced quickly at the Sheriff before answering. "That's right. He was supposed to meet me here two days ago. You know where he is, son?"

Will nodded, his wheat-colored hair tumbling onto his forehead. "He's at my grandpa's ranch. He's been hurt --"

"Hurt?" Dropping to one knee so they were at eye level, Heyes grasped Will's shoulders. "How bad? What happened to him?" The intensity in Heyes' voice obviously startled the boy, and he took an involuntary step backwards, almost pulling out of his grip. Heyes closed his eyes briefly and gave himself a quick mental shake. "How bad is he hurt, Will?" he repeated in a gentler tone. "Is he all right?" the questions were calmer this time, but there was no missing the urgency behind them.

This time the boy didn't retreat. "He didn't look too good when we first brought him in, but my grandpa thinks he's gonna be okay."

Heyes' grip on the youngster's shoulders relaxed. "What happened to him? Was he shot?"

"No, sir. Got caught in a rockslide up at Horseshoe Pass a couple'a days ago."

Rockslide. Heyes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. How did the Kid do it?

"When he came to grandpa got a few words out of him. He sent me here to see if I could find somebody named Smith who might be lookin' for him."

Heyes smiled. "Well you did a real fine job, Will. How long will it take to get to your grandpa's ranch?"

"Couple'a hours."

"Then we'd better get goin'." He stood, letting one hand rest lightly on the boy's shoulder, and they started for the door. The Sheriff's gravelly voice stopped him just before he stepped outside.

"Smith."

He turned.

"Soon as your friend's fit to travel, you'd best be movin' on. There's no reason for the two of you to stay on at Jesse Ramsey's place. Understand?"

Heyes stared at the Sheriff, his features carefully schooled to neutrality. No he sure didn't. But he had no intention of staying anywhere there might be trouble brewing -and that subtle little warning the Sheriff just dropped promised trouble. As soon as the Kid was able to ride, he was going to get them as far away from here as possible. They had enough troubles of their own without borrowing from anyone else.

"You don't have to worry about that, Sheriff," he said truthfully. "My friend and I are just passin' through."

Buchanan nodded his understanding. "Just make sure you keep it that way."

***

There was no opportunity to get any more information out of Will during the ride to the Ramsey ranch. The boy rode like he'd been born in the saddle and set a pace Heyes was hard-pressed to keep up with in the dark and on unfamiliar terrain.

"Just up ahead, Mr. Smith!"

Will's voice drifted back to him over the thunder of the horse's hoofs, and Heyes could see soft dots of light in the distance. Within minutes they pulled up in front of a solidly built ranch house, and Will jumped nimbly from his horse. Heyes' boots hit the ground a scant second later. Will too the reins out of his hand and nodded toward the well-lit bunk house. "Mr. Jones is in there; Grandpa's with him. Don't worry, I'll see to your horse." He was on his way to the barn leading both mounts before Heyes could even thank him.

Turning, he broke into a trot, quickly covering the distance to the bunk house. His boot heels banged loudly as he strode across the porch, then stopped abruptly as he pushed open the door. Hesitating for just an instant in the doorway he took in the scene at a glance. The tall, rangy man standing by the pot-bellied stove received only the briefest scrutiny. His entire attention was caught and held by the still form of Kid Curry lying in one of the bunks.

"You must be Mr. Smith."

Heyes flicked his attention to the man who was ambling toward him, hand outstretched.

"Joshua Smith," he acknowledged, accepting the firm handshake.

"Jesse Ramsey. I take it this is your friend?"

Heyes was already on his way to the bunk when he answered. "Thaddeus Jones. Yes, it is." Slipping into the chair by the bed, he laid a hand on his cousin's arm. "Thaddeus?" he said softly. "Thaddeus, it's Joshua." There was no response, and he transferred his hand to Curry's forehead, frowning slightly.

"He still has a bit of a fever," Ramsey confirmed, "but it's down considerable from what it was. He's had a pretty rough couple of days, but I'd say he's through the worst of it. In fact, I think he's just sleepin' now. Best thing for him."

Heyes sat back a little, his anxiety slowly subsiding as he studied his partner. His skin was still warm from fever but not alarmingly so, and he appeared to be breathing easy. There was a clean bandage on his forehead with a dark spot in the center where blood had seeped through, and some visible scrapes and bruises; but he did appear to be sleeping peacefully.

"No broken bones that I could tell," Ramsey was saying. "The worst of it seemed to be that bump on his head - that, and the fact he was trapped out there overnight before I found him. He was pretty much out of his head by the time I got him back here, and fightin' that fever took a lot out of him."

It had rained most of the evenings he'd been in Redstone, Heyes recalled. Cold, spring rains. A vision flashed through his mind of the Kid lying in those hills, injured and helpless, while he sat in his hotel room, unaware, waiting for him.

"My friend," he said softly, "you're going to have to stop doing this to me." Giving his cousin's arm one final pat, he stood and turned to Ramsey. "Your grandson said he was caught in a rock slide." He managed a slight smile. "I believe that's a new one - even for Thaddeus."

The older man nodded as he lit up a pipe. "Horseshoe Pass. Always catches one or two travelers this time of the year, people who don't know the area. Found his horse while I was out roundin' up some strays. She was cut up some, and I had a feelin' somebody might've got caught in the Pass. So I rode on over to take a look. Your friend isn't the first I've pull out up there." He paused, drawing on his pipe. "But he is one of the few I've brought out alive."

Pulling off his hat, Heyes ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly aware of how tired he was. "Well, Thaddeus always did say there seemed to be someone looking out for even the likes of us."

Ramsey smiled. "Appeared he was right."

Now that he was over his initial scare about the Kid and felt like he had at least some kind of control over the situation, Heyes was free to relax a little and turn his full attention on Jesse Ramsey. Ramsey was a lanky, rawboned man with a thatch of white hair, intelligent eyes containing a glint of humor, and a direct manner that had immediately put Heyes at ease. Forced by circumstances to learn to size up men quickly and rely on his instincts, Heyes knew he liked this man. He only hoped he could trust him as well. God only knew what the Kid might have let slip during his periods of delirium. Well he'd just have to play the hand as best he could. Even if Curry had blurted out his whole life story to this man there wasn't a thing he could do about it now. The Kid couldn't be moved, and he wasn't leaving without him.

"Will said Thaddeus was conscious for a little while," he remarked casually, "and that's how you found out about me."

If Ramsey suspected he was fishing he gave no indication of it. "He came around a few hours ago. He was still pretty weak, but he was right upset about bein' late gettin' to Redstone. Said a friend was waitin' for him there, and he'd be mighty worried if he didn't show up."

Heyes glanced back at his sleeping cousin with a smile. "I was," he said dryly, "and with good reason." Turning back to Ramsey he shook his head. "Mr. Ramsey, I don't know quite how I can repay you. Thaddeus would've died out there if you hadn't --"

Ramsey waved that aside, smoke curling from the bowl of his pipe. "Nonsense. When I first settled this land the only way to survive out here was for all of us to look out for each other. A man couldn't survive on his own out here. We gave help when it was needed and knew we would get it in return. I realize times have changed, maybe we're not the pioneers we used to be, but I still believe in lookin' out for a man who needs help."

"Well I'm very grateful, Mr. Ramsey. We'll leave, of course, as soon as Thaddeus can travel. But in the meantime, we can pay for our keep --"

"We can talk about that in the morning, Mr. Smith. Right now it's late, and now that you're here, I'm going back to my own bed. It'll be a few days before he'll be up to goin' anywhere, and you boys are welcome to bunk here." He headed to the door with a wave of his pipe. "There's coffee on the stove and a pot of broth I've kept hot in case he woke up. Try to get some into him when he does." Another wave of his pipe, and then he was gone.

***

Heyes poured himself another cup of strong, fresh coffee and settled once again into the old rocking chair by the stove. It creaked with easy familiarity as he rocked back and forth, sipping at the hot brew. He'd spent most of the night in this chair, turned so he could keep an eye both on Curry and the bunkhouse door.

For his part, the Kid had slept soundly and stirred not so much as a muscle, exhausted perhaps from his tiring battle with fever. Heyes hadn't been so fortunate. He could have used the sleep, but he had half-expected the Sheriff of Redstone to come crashing through the door at any given moment all night. The fact that it was sunrise now, and there had been no sign of the sheriff of a posse hadn't gone very far toward reassuring him. He was far too conscious of the dangers of living on the dodge to allow himself to relax too soon.

Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he shifted his gaze to find Curry awake and frowning at the ceiling. He didn't look as though he'd found his bearing yet, and Heyes pushed himself slowly to his feet, careful not to startle him. "Kid."

Curry's head turned sharply in his direction, and his frown immediately transformed into a grimace. "Heyes?" His voice was low and hoarse, and when he tried to swallow he began to cough.

Heyes covered the distance between them in two long strides. Dropping down into the chair by the bunk, he slid a hand under his cousin's head and held the cup of coffee to his lips. "Easy, easy," he cautioned. "Take a drink of this."

Curry managed a few swallows, and Heyes removed the cup.

"Better."

"Yeah. Thanks." The Kid's voice was a little stronger this time, and Heyes sat back in the chair, watching as his cousin raised a hand to touch the bandage on his forehead. "Heyes, what happened?" he rasped.

Heyes' voice was somber. "The way I heard it, you had a little disagreement with some falling rocks...and the rocks won. Don't you remember?"

For several moments Curry frowned, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Then slowly the confusion faded as memory return. "Oh Yeah." He shifted slightly on the narrow bunk, then winced. "Kind'a wish I didn't."

Heyes smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, I'll bet." Laying a hand on his partner's arm, he gave it a pat, his voice softening. "You're makin' an old man outta me, Kid. This one was close. Real close."

Careful not to move his head again, Curry shifted his eyes so they locked with Heyes' solemn ones. His lopsided grin was a pale imitation of the real thing, but it was enough to coax an answering grin out of the older man. "Well I didn't do it on purpose."

"No, I suppose you didn't," was the dry retort.

Then Curry's grin faded as the unfamiliar surroundings slowly registered. "Where are we? And how'd I get here? And how did you get here? What --?"

"Hey, hey, take it easy." Heyes' firm hand kept him from trying to push himself up. "We're on a ranch a few miles outside of Redstone. A rancher by the name of Ramsey found you. You came to last night and told him enough so's he was able to find me in town."

"I don't remember that," Curry said slowly. "I don't remember any rancher or..." His eyes widened in alarm. "Heyes, I don't know what else I might've told him. Maybe I said something --"

"We don't know that you told him anything," Heyes interrupted calmly. He wasn't entirely convinced he believed that himself, but there was no point in worrying the Kid any more than he already was. "He sent his grandson into Redstone lookin' for me; he could've just as easily sent for the Sheriff."

"Maybe he was just waitin' to get us both together," Curry suggested darkly. "Twenty thousand dollars talks a whole lot louder than ten, y'know."

Heyes pointed out, "I was here all night, and nothing's happened yet. So let's not go borrowin' trouble. He may not know anything."

"Or he may know everything," Curry said grimly. "And I don't think we can take that chance." Before Heyes could make a move to stop him, he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and pulled himself up. He froze suddenly as dizziness hit him and squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of vertigo. "Damn..."

"Damn is right," Heyes muttered, carefully easing him back down onto the mattress. "That's a pretty good-sized dent you've got in that hard head of yours, Kid." He waited until his partner's eyelids fluttered open, then raised a warning finger. "And I don't think you want to try that again for a while," he finished sternly.

The Kid's attempt at a grin was meager at best. "I think you may be right."

Before Heyes could assure him of that fact, the bunk house door creaked open, and young Will walked in, carrying a cloth-covered tray. Heyes, who had tensed when the door opened, forced himself to relax and glanced at Curry to see whether he had noticed his reaction. He had.

"Morning', Mr. Smith. Mr. Jones." Will crossed the door and placed the tray on the small, sturdy table next to the stove. "Grandpa said you'd prob'ly be wakin' up soon," he continued, turning to face them. "How you feelin', Mr. Jones?"

"Like I was stomped on by a herd of buffalo," Curry replied sourly.

"You'll have to excuse Mr. Jones, Will," Heyes said dryly. "He has a tendency to exaggerate at times."

"Not this time," Curry grumbled, rubbing his head.

"Will, meet Thaddeus Jones. You'll just have to take my word for it that he's not always this bad-tempered. Thaddeus, this is Will Ramsey. It was Will's grandpa who brought you in, and it was Will who found me in Redstone."

The Kid looked like he was wrestling with a headache the size of the Grand Canyon, but he stuck out his hand and managed a friendly, "Good to meet you, Will. Seems I owe you and your grandpa my life."

Will's eyes widened a bit at not being brushed off as the ten year old he was and solemnly accepted the handshake. "We were glad to be able to help, Mr. Jones," he replied, sounding very grown up. He indicated the covered tray on the table. "Grandpa thought you two might be gettin' hungry by now, so he sent some breakfast for you. He'll be along himself directly." He turned to leave, then paused in the doorway, his hand on the knob. "It's nice to have comp'ny again. We don't get many visitors here." Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

There was a long silence after the door closed, broken finally by Curry's sigh. "Poor kid. His folks must be gone. Any brothers or sisters?"

Heyes shook his head, his thoughts elsewhere. "Haven't seen any."

"Heyes."

Rousing himself out of his thoughts, he raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "What?"

"You almost jumped outta your skin when that kid walked in. What's goin' on?"

Heyes considered the question for a moment, then met his partner's steady gaze. "Well, I was going to wait until you were feeling a little better before I told you the rest of it."

Curry stiffened. "The rest of what?"

"When I was in Redstone, the Sheriff said --"

"The Sheriff?" Curry almost sat bolt upright. "How did the Sheriff get into this?"

Laying a hand flat on his cousin's chest, Heyes firmly forced him back down. "This is exactly why I didn't tell you, Kid. You're gettin' yourself all worked up."

Between his raging headache and Heyes' infuriating condescension, Curry had about all he could take. "Well, sheriffs do that to me," he snapped.

Heyes patted his arm. "I know," he said patiently. "Now look, what the Sheriff said was that he didn't think it would be a good idea for us to stick around here on the Ramsey ranch after you got back on your feet. He...suggested we move on as soon as you were fit." Heyes paused, his dark eyes thoughtful. "Do you read any particular message into that suggestion?"

Curry nodded slowly. "Enough to know there's something goin' on here."

"Something that smells like trouble," Heyes agreed. "Which is something we have to avoid if we hope to keep on the Governor's good side."

Curry smacked the mattress decisively. "Heyes, I think I'm fit to ride," he declared.

:I think we're safe enough for a couple of days anyhow," Heyes smiled. "Can't have you fallin' off your horse every two miles. You hungry?" he asked, changing the subject. "That breakfast smells pretty good."

The younger man settled back, perking up considerably at the prospect of breakfast in bed. "I'm starved. I haven't eaten in..." He stopped, puzzled, then looked to Heyes for help. "How long has it been since I've eaten?"

"From the looks of you," Heyes said dryly, "I'd say too long, Kid. Way too long."

They were just finishing the breakfast Ramsey had sent when they heard the sound of boot heels on the wooden porch outside. Curry shot Heyes a questioning look, and Heyes, in return, tried to look appropriately reassuring. Nevertheless, he let out a small sigh of relief when only Jesse Ramsey stepped inside.

"Will told me you boys were stirrin'. Well, Mr. Jones, you certainly look a whole lot better than the last time I saw you."

Curry's smile was a little strained. "'Fraid I don't recall that meeting'."

Ramsey nodded, his tone amused. "Not surprised. You were out of your head for most of it."

Heyes stood, clearing his throat. "Thaddeus, this is Jesse Ramsey, the man I told you about."

With some assistance, the Kid pulled himself to a sitting position and eased his legs over the side of the bunk. "Mr. Ramsey, I believe you saved my life." He stuck out his hand, and Ramsey grasped it in a firm shake. "Thank you."

"Just glad I was around," Ramsey said easily. "Don't get up that way often. Seems it was fortunate for both of us that I was."

"We're both very grateful," Heyes acknowledged a little warily, wondering what Ramsey meant by it being fortunate for 'both of them'. "And as I told you last night, we can pay for our keep."

"I've been givin' that some thought, boys." Ramsey ambled across the room, struck a match against the stove and lit his pipe. "It's not that I couldn't use the money, but there's somethin' I need even more right now."

It was a hazard of living on the dodge for so long, and it had become so ingrained in him that it was almost second nature now: Heyes automatically looked for a hidden meaning in everything anyone told him. He looked at Ramsey now with hooded eyes, wondering what hidden meaning his words held. He didn't have to look at Curry to know his partner was studying Ramsey with the same question in mind. But the Kid remained silent, satisfied to let Heyes take the lead.

"And what is it that you need?" Heyes asked in a neutral tone.

"Help."

"What kind of help?"

Ramsey indicated their surroundings with a wave of his pipe. "As you boys can see, I seem to be fresh out of ranch hands. Never had more than two or three at a time, but right now I don't have any."

Heyes' gaze never left the older man's face. "What happened to them?" he asked politely.

Ramsey shrugged. "I scratch out a livin' on this ranch. It's not much, but it's enough for me and my grandson. I pay fair wages, but others around here pay more for the same work. I was already behind what with losin' my hands and all, but since I spent the last two days keepin' an eye on Mr. Jones here, things have only gotten worse." He paused, meeting Heyes' steady gaze. "I could really use some help around here, Mr. Smith - at least until your partner is up to travelin'. What d'you say?"

Heyes turned to Curry and saw the same trapped look in his cousin's eyes that he knew was in his. Ramsey had them dead to rights. The man had saved the Kid's life, and all he was asking in return was help with the work he'd let slide while he was looking after Curry. Sheriff Buchanan's thinly-veiled warning still nagged at the edges of his mind, but Heyes could find no way out of their situation without arousing suspicion. If they lit out now he had no doubt that Ramsey - perhaps prodded by something Curry might have said in her delirium - would draw the inevitable conclusion and pay a visit to that no-nonsense sheriff in Redstone. And the Kid was in no shape to try to outrun a posse.

Silently he tossed it up to his partner, who responded with a barely perceptible shrug. He had come to the same unhappy conclusion. What choice did they have really?

Turning back to Ramsey, Heyes managed to dredge up an appropriately bright smile. "Well, that certainly seems fair enough after what you did for us. Mr. Ramsey, you've got yourself a ranch hand - at least for the next couple of days."

***

By their third day on the Ramsey ranch, Curry was feeling well enough to be getting restless, and Heyes had done enough ranch work to remember why they'd always tried to avoid it.

While Ramsey and Heyes were out rounding up strays and mending fences, Will hurried through his chores in order to spend more time with Curry. It was obvious the boy was hungry for companionship, and the Kid discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that he didn't really mind spending his time with Will. He filled the hours pleasantly enough showing the boy the proper way to clean a revolver, playing checkers, and even helping with some of his lighter chores.

He was still stiff and sore and still suffered from annoying headaches, but he felt sure he'd be able to travel the next day if Heyes still insisted on it. Despite Heyes' concerns, there had been no sign of any kind of trouble on the ranch, and Curry was beginning to wonder if his partner hadn't simply overreacted to some innocent remark the sheriff might have made. After all, to them, no remark made by a lawman seemed innocent. They had been living on the doge for so long now that sometimes their view of life tended to be a little cockeyed. Maybe the trouble was just something personal between Ramsey and that sheriff. Maybe there wasn't any reason to move on just yet. Maybe, he mused, he could talk Heyes into staying on a little longer.

Sitting on a bale of hay in Ramsey's barn, Curry stopped working on the bridle strap he'd been mending and took a deep breath. The musty smell of hay and animals, the special kind of quiet found only in a barn on a spring day, the streaks of sunlight that invaded the cracks between the boards and highlighted the dust notes dancing in the air... If he closed his eyes he could almost believe he was back in Kansas, back in that old barn where he and Heyes used to play at Cavalry and Indians. A slight smile touched his lips. He didn't think about the past often; there seemed to be as many bad memories as good ones jumbled together there, and he didn't like to have to sort through the bad to get to the good. But these particular memories were good, warm memories, and he let himself drift away for a little while, visiting a place he had lost a long time ago.

He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be safe. Safe and settled, with a life undisturbed by the threat of posses or sheriffs or wanted posters. A part of him - the realistic, pragmatic Kid Curry - knew better than to dwell on it. But another part of him - the part that was Jed Curry - had never really forgotten how it felt to be part of a secure, loving family; and it was that part of him that yearned for that kind of peace in his life again.

Curry rubbed the smooth piece of leather absently between his thumb and index finger. He wondered if it bothered Heyes. If it did, he never let on about it. But then his cousin was pretty adept at concealing his feelings - even from him.

"Mr. Jones."

An insistent tapping on his arm brought Curry out of his wool-gathering, and he blinked at Will. "Hmm?"

"I said," Will repeated with the patience of a ten year old, "would you teach me to play poker?"

"Poker? Now why would you want to learn to play poker?"

Will was trying to look suitably mature. "I think it's time, don't you?"

Curry concentrated on the leather strap in his hands in an effort to conceal his grin. "Yeah, I reckon it is," he said seriously. "Tell you what, Will, if your grandpa don't object, I'll teach you. But," he continued, looking up, "the person you should really have teachin' you is my partner."

"Mr. Smith? Is he any good?"

"Yeah," he answered wryly. "He's pretty good."

"Did he teach you?"

Curry laughed. "Well, if you asked Mr. Smith that, I think his answer would be, he tried." He help up the bridle strap. "But we've got some work to do before we think about poker. Why don't you scout around and see if you can find me a piece of leather so we can get this mended."

The boy obediently trotted out into the sunlight while Curry continued to work half-heartedly at the torn bridle. His mind was still elsewhere, still wondering what it would be like for him and Heyes to be able to live in one place with no worries of a dead or alive bounty over their heads. It was because he had allowed his mind to wander that he didn't see what was coming until it was too late.

He heard a scuffling noise outside the barn door and, without looking up, called, "You got that leather, Will?"

"No, he never got around to it."

Curry's head snapped up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, and his hand dropped immediately to his gun. But froze there on the butt of his revolver as his brain raced to override his automatic response. A tall, slender man stood framed in the doorway of the barn, dressed in black from his Stetson down to the tips of his expensive boots. Flanking him were two men, one holding a Colt peacemaker, the other a shotgun, both leveled directly at him. But Curry's eyes were fastened on the man in black. Because he had Will in front of him, one hand clamped over the boy's mouth, the other holding a six-shooter, the barrel of which was resting casually on Will's shoulder. The unspoken threat was all too clear. If the man in black had wanted to get Curry's attention, he had certainly succeeded.

Curry let his gun hand relax but kept his eyes on the man in the center and slowly got to his feet. "Who the hell are you?" he asked coldly.

The stranger shrugged, smiling. "WE just want to have a little talk with you, friend. Came to deliver a message."

Curry nodded slowly. "Fine. Let the boy go, and talk."

The other man kept smiling. "Why, sure. We didn't mean to scare him none. Just didn't want him yellin' is all." He removed his hand from Will's mouth, and the boy immediately made a move toward Curry.

"Mr. Jones --"

"Go to the house, Will," he said sharply. Will was directly between Curry and all those guns. If any one of them made a move...

"But --"

"I said, go to the house," he ordered. "Now. And stay there 'til I tell you to come out."

The tone of Curry's voice, enough to put the fear of God into full-grown men, probably scared Will more than the guns. He spun around and ran out of the barn like he was being chased by a swarm of hornets.

Once Will was safely out of the way Curry allowed himself a silent sigh of relief and shifted his stance a bit, still aware of the two guns that flanked him. "So talk."

The man in black tilted his Stetson back to reveal a shock of white-blond hair. "We heard Mr. Ramsey had gone and hired himself a couple of new hands."

"You heard wrong," he said flatly. "My friend and I are just passin' through. Mr. Ramsey gave us a place to sleep, and we agreed to help out for a couple of days." He paused. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Just passin' through, are you?" The stranger seemed to contemplate that. "That's good. That's real good, friend. That must mean you're plannin' on leavin' first thing tomorrow." He made it a statement, not a question.

"Could be I was," Curry answered. "But could be I might change my mind."

The man in black cocked his head as if studying a puzzle he couldn't quite work out. "Now why would you want to go and do a fool thing like that?"

"Could be," Curry said grimly, "someone just gave me cause."

If Curry hadn't been looking him right in the eye he would have missed it. At that instant something flickered in the stranger's cold ice-blue eyes. Kid Curry had known what these three men were the minute he saw them. These boys weren't ranchers or towns people or even errand boys. They were professional hired guns. He knew that from the way they stood, the way they wore their guns, the way they were facing him off now. Whatever kind of trouble Ramsey was in, it was serious, and Curry knew he'd just bitten off a part of it. Because that flicker in the tall man's eyes told Curry he recognized him too. He didn't know who he was, but the Kid was sure he knew what he was. This stranger recognized the way he stood, the look in his eyes, just as surely as Curry could recognize it in another man.

"Maybe you haven't heard what happens to Mr. Ramsey's hired hands," the other man said in a sharper tone than he'd used before. "The poor unfortunate men keep having accidents. And those accidents just keep getting worse. Pretty soon, Mr. Ramsey's liable to have to bury his help."

Curry eyed him without expression. "That all you got to say? Because now I'm gonna tell you something." His voice was deadly cold, but only hinted at the lethal anger inside him. "You ever lay a hand on that boy again, and the next time I'll be the one deliverin' a message. And somebody'll end up buryin' you."

He was aware that the other two men had moved closer to him, one on either side, but he was in no position to do anything about it. Even if he took out the leader, either that Colt or the shotgun would still be around to finish what he started.

"Actually, I came here to deliver two messages," the other man said, seemingly unconcerned with the threat. "That first message was for you, friend. Just consider it friendly advice - and I only give advice one. The second message..." He walked toward Curry. "...is for your boss." He stopped directly in front of the Kid, a mocking smile on his face. "Can I trust you to give it to him?"

Curry sensed the movement to his right, but too late. The butt of the shotgun caught him on the side of the head as he tried to swing around, and he dropped to the hay-covered floor, registering pain for only an instant before everything went black.

***

Cattle ranching might be honest work, but it was definitely not easy on the back, and most definitely not how Heyes wanted to spend the rest of his life. He pulled off his hat and used his sleeve to wipe at the sweat on his forehead while he mount automatically followed Ramsey back home. How the hell did that old man do it? He wondered, a little annoyed. Heyes had been with him every step of the way since sun-up, yet Ramsey didn't even look tired. For himself, all Heyes wanted was a hot super, an early night, and a soft bed. He consoled himself with the thought that this should be the end of his cattle ranching career. The Kid would most likely be able to travel tomorrow, and they could be on their way.

Thinking of the Kid brought a small, troubled frown to his face. His partner hadn't said anything about it, but Heyes had sensed his reluctance to move on. He was starting to get attached to Will - and perhaps to the idea of staying in one place for more than a few days at a time. Heyes sighed. He knew how tired the Kid was of moving on every time they started to get comfortable with a place, but it was far too dangerous for them to linger in one spot for too long. He liked the Jesse and Will Ramsey too, but it just didn't pay to get too involved with folks. He didn't have to like it any better than his partner, but he knew it would be up to him to make the decision to leave.

Settling his hat back on his head, he nudged his horse closer to Ramsey's. He'd have a little talk with the Kid tonight, he decided, to get it out into the open. Curry would be disappointed, but there was no point in letting him entertain any notions about sticking around. Some day, he mused, as wistful as he ever allowed himself to get, when all this was behind them and they had their amnesty, they'd find themselves a place to settle down. Maybe even --

"What the devil?"

Heyes was jolted out of his thoughts by Ramsey's exclamation. He sat up straighter in the saddle and followed the older man's gaze. Up ahead he could make out the Kid sitting on the ground outside the barn, slumped over, while Will stood beside him, anxiety telegraphing off him. Digging in his heels, Heyes urged his mount into a gallop, Ramsey right behind him.

Curry's head snapped up as soon as he heard their approach, and his right hand went for his gun while he pushed Will behind him with his left. As soon as he saw Heyes, he dropped his hand away from his gun.

Heyes slid of his horse and knelt down beside him.

"I'm all right," Curry said before Heyes could utter a word.

Heyes settled back on one knee and tipped his hat back. He had to admit the Kid looked more mad than hurt. In fact, he looked furious. The younger man was rubbing the side of his head, and Heyes pulled his hand away, gently probing until his fingers encountered a large, fresh knot hidden by the thick hair.

Curry swore under his breath and swatted his hand away. "I said I'm all right," he repeated crossly.

"You seem to have picked up something new since I saw you this morning," Heyes observed mildly. "What happened."

"We had company," Curry said grimly. "They came to deliver a message." He raised his eyes to glare at Ramsey, who was standing silently nearby, watching. "Jess, I think it's time we had a talk."

This was met with silence. Then finally Ramsey nodded. "I suppose it is," he said heavily. Turning to his grandson, he directed, "Will, see to the horses. All of them."

Will glanced at Curry, then looked back at Ramsey. "But Grandpa --"

"Do as your told, boy," Ramsay said sharply.

Will clamped his mouth shut and spun around, running into the barn. Ramsay watched him for a moment, then turned back to Heyes and Curry, nodding toward the ranch house. "We'll talk inside."

Inside, Jesse took up a spot by the fireplace and began methodically filling his pipe while Heyes and Curry, by silent agreement, chose two chairs across from one another. When it became obvious Jesse wasn't going to open the conversation, Heyes took charge. "All right, Thaddeus, what happened this afternoon?"

The Kid was an angry as Heyes had ever seen him, and he turned his stormy eyes on Ramsey. "you had three visitors today, Jesse - hired guns." Heyes' gaze snapped to his cousin's face, but Curry's attention was centered on Ramsey. "They told me your hired help has a way of havin' accidents. They said that me and Joshua should move on tomorrow unless we'd like to start havin' accidents too. One of them," he continued, his voice rising, "held a gun on your grandson.' He jabbed angrily at his head. "Then he gave me a little something to remember him by. Now you want to tell me just what in the hell is goin' on around here?"

Heyes frowned to himself as he watched the Kid's anger simmering so close to the surface. Considering his temper and what might have happened, he was grateful all his partner came away with was a bump on the head and a bad case of wounded pride. He suspected the fact that those gunmen managed to get the drop on him rankled him more than the sore head they left him with.

Ramsey looked first at Heyes and then Curry. Then, with a sigh, he laid his unlit pipe carefully on the mantle. "What's going on, boys," he replied in a tired voice, "is the railroad. They want my land. All of it. Want to run their damned railroad straight through my ranch to Redstone."

Heyes exchanged a grim look with his cousin. The railroad. That certainly explained a lot. They had both seen it too many times before. Jesse Ramsey wouldn't be the first rancher or homesteader forced off his land by the almighty railroad. Heyes laid out the land in his mind and studied it for a moment. The place was bordered by mountains on either side. If they wanted to lay a spur into Redstone, Ramsey's ranch was the only logical course; anything else would cost a fortune.

"Jesse, we're sorry," he said finally. "We've seen this sort of thing before. But you should have told us what was going on. Thaddeus could've been killed this afternoon."

Ramsey nodded slowly. "Yes I should have," he admitted, "but I was afraid if I did, you wouldn't stay, and I needed the help."

Heyes met his gaze squarely. "You're right, Jesse. We wouldn't have stayed. We have enough trouble of our own; I'm afraid we can't afford to take yours on too."

"I appreciate your honesty, Joshua." Turning his bright blue eyes on Curry, Ramsey was sincerely apologetic. "I'm truly sorry you got caught up in this Thaddeus. I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

His anger quickly receding, Curry waved that aside. "Forget it, Jesse." He shot a quick glance at Heyes. "I normally don't need any help to get into trouble."

"Amen to that," Heyes muttered under his breath.

"But I don't care if they were hired by the railroad; what those men did here today was against the law. You can go to the sheriff --"

"The sheriff?" Ramsey laughed, but it was hard and brittle. "You think I can turn to my find neighbors in Redstone for help? Boys, who do you think hired those gunmen?"

Heyes and Curry looked at one another in shock, then growing dismay.

"The people in Redstone want that railroad," Ramsey said bitterly, "and they don't care what they have to do to get it. All my neighbors have already sold their land and moved out. I'm the only hold-out. So they think they can scare me out." The old man pushed himself away from the fireplace, his eyes blazing. "But they're not going to get my land! I settled this land, carved this place out with my bare hands. Just me, my wife and son. My wife is buried on this land. And my son and his wife - Will's folks. And, by god, I'll be buried here too. This land is mine, and it's going to be Will's. Nobody - nobody - is going to take it away from us!"

Heyes studied his hands for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Jesse," he said carefully, "Thaddeus and I understand how you feel. We don't have any particular love for the railroad either, and if there were any way to help you, we would. But there isn't."

"I'll find a way."

Heyes shook his head. "There's something you'd better understand about railroads, Jesse: you can ride 'em, you can rob 'em, you can pay their price, or get out of their way. But you can't fight 'em."

"You speakin' from experience, Joshua?"

Heyes' eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to decide if that remark was as innocent as it sounded. "We've seen this sort of thing before. The landowner never wins."

"This one will. Or I'll die tryin'."

"Then you'll die tryin'," Heyes said quietly, "and then Will won't have the land or a grandfather."

"He'll have both," Jesse insisted stubbornly. "But I need help."

Heyes shook his head. "We can't help you, Jesse."

"Joshua."

The Kid's quiet voice brought his head around.

"Maybe we'd better talk this over."

"There's nothing to talk over," he said firmly, sending his cousin a warning look.

But Curry ignored it. "I think there is." Pushing himself to his feet, he faced Ramsey. "Give us some time to talk it over, Jesse. We'll let you know in the morning." Then, without looking at Heyes, he turned and walked out of the room.

Heyes stared after him, too surprised for the moment to even get up and follow.

"I think Thaddeus wants to help," Jesse observed mildly.

Heyes shot him a sharp look, then got to his feet. "We both want to help, Jesse; we just can't." Jamming his hat onto his head, Heyes stalked from the room and after his cousin.

Curry was sitting on his bed when Heyes reached the bunk house, his head bowed in concentration as he methodically took apart his revolver. He didn't look up, even when Heyes shut the door behind him with enough force to rattle the coffee pot on the stove. "The answer is no, Kid," he stated flatly.

"Don't believe I asked you anything," Curry replied, his attention still absorbed in his gun.

"But you were about to."

There was a brief silence, broken finally by the Kid's uncharacteristically brusque reply. "No, I wasn't."

Heyes' mouth tightened, but he forced himself to walk over to the old wooden rocker and drop down onto the worn seat before saying anything. "In other words, you've already made up your mind."

"I think I've got the right."

"I see." Heyes took a deliberate deep breath in an effort to contain his straining patience. "Kind of late in our lives to be changin' the rules, isn't it? Whatever happened to the two of us talkin' something out before one of us makes a decision that's going to affect both of us?"

Curry hadn't looked at him once since he'd come inside, and he didn't look up now. "Only problem with that," he said in a neutral tone, "is that they seem to be your rules; and you're the one who usually ends up makin' the decision for both of us."

Heyes stiffened. "I didn't know you had a problem with that."

The Kid was concentrating fiercely on the gun in his hand. "Well, now you do."

Heyes stared at his cousin, stunned by both the words and his behavior. "Kid, what the hell's gotten into you?" he demanded.

"Maybe something that should have gotten into me a long time ago," was the disquieting answer. "You seem to think I can't make my own decisions; maybe it's time I show you I can."

"Kid, I never said --"

"You didn't have to say it, Heyes," Curry interrupted. "You made it plain enough."

"Kid!" So unexpected was this reproach that, for once, the man with the silver tongue was left nearly speechless. "Kid, I never meant to..." His voice trailed off helplessly as it became obvious his partner wasn't gong to look at him, much less listen to him. He sank back into the chair, both puzzled and hurt. It was true that since they had been left on their own he'd done most of the planning and made most of the decisions for them both. But the Kid had never objected to that. On the contrary, he had always seemed quite content with the arrangement.

Heyes closed his eyes, hearing the Kid's words again in his mind, his tone of bitter accusation. Had he really been so resentful all these years? Had the Kid resented him? Then, abruptly, he shook his head. No, that wasn't possible. Those weren't the words and actions of Jed Curry, of the one man on earth he knew as well as he knew himself.

Then what the hell was gong on? The way the Kid was acting it was as if he was intentionally trying to goad him into an argument or force him to... Heyes' eyes popped open. So that was it.

"Nice try, Kid."

Curry's head shot up guiltily.

"It was an ambitious plan, Kid. Tryin' to get me mad enough to walk out on you. And it might've worked too. Only problem is," he continued, his voice softening dangerously, "I know you too well." Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Heyes half-turned away and poured himself a cup of coffee. "And if you ever try to pull something like that again," he warned in the same deceptively soft tone, "you're going to be very, very sorry."

Heyes heard the explosive sigh of frustration from across the room. "Damnit, Heyes, one of us mixed up in this mess is enough! I don't want you --"

Heyes spun around, eyes blazing. "One of us mixed up in this mess is too many," he corrected sharply. "Kid, you know as well as I do that we can't take on the railroad - or a whole town!"

Curry's tone was steady in response. "I can give you three or four reasons why I should."

"And I can give you one very good reason why we can't," Heyes said sternly. "Our amnesty."

Curry snorted in disgust. "Our amnesty."

"Yes, our amnesty," he snapped. "I thought that meant something to you."

"Apparently not as much as it means to you," Curry shot back. "Seems to me every time you don't want to do something, you use that amnesty as an excuse."

Heyes' lips thinned. "You tryin' to pick another fight, Kid? Or do you really believe that?"

For a long moment they stared at one another, neither one reacting. Then, abruptly, Curry dropped his gaze. "No," he said, sounding positively miserable, "I don't believe that>"

Heyes felt his brief flash of anger drain away. He wasn't made - not at the Kid anyway. More than anything, what he was right now was scared.

"Kid." His gentle tone brought the blond head up. "This isn't your fight."

Curry's somber blue eyes locked with his. "I'm makin' it mine," he said steadily. "But I'm not askin' you to make it yours. I'm askin' you to stay out of it."

Heyes slammed his nearly full coffee cup on the stove, ignoring the angry hiss of splashed liquid hitting the hot surface. "Damn it, Kid."

"He saved my life, Heyes."

It was a quiet plea for understanding, and Heyes closed his eyes briefly, stifling a sigh. Walking across the room, he sank down onto the bunk next to his cousin.

"I know."

"If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead now."

"I know that too."

"He's asking for help. This is his home. Nobody should be allowed to force him off his hand."

"No," Heyes agreed. "But it happens, Kid. Happens all the time, and you and I both know it."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No. No it doesn't." The two sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Finally, Heyes said quietly, "This isn't Kansas, Jed."

Curry's head snapped around. "What?"

"You heard me," he said seriously. "You can't change something that happened twenty years ago."

The other man looked away quickly. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Yes you do," Heyes insisted in a firm voice. "Kid, we were boys then. You weren't much older than Will, and I wasn't much older than you. There's no way we could've saved those farms with our folks gone. And you stayin' here and gettin' yourself killed isn't going to change any of that."

"Maybe if we'd had someone willin' to help us, we wouldn't have lost those farms," Curry retorted. "Damn it, Heyes, I don't want Will to end up in an orphanage. You remember what that was like. And I don't want him to turn out like --" He broke off and ran a hand through his unruly curls in agitation.

"Like us?" Heyes finished softly. "No, I wouldn't want him to end up with a price of his head; and I sure wouldn't want him to end up like this friend of mine who just can't seem to keep his nose out of other people's business." But his feeble attempt at lightening the mood fell flat.

"Jesse saved my life," Curry repeated stubbornly, as if Heyes hadn't even spoken. "I figure I owe him something for that...and maybe I'll be able to make the difference."

Heyes rubbed at the headache that was beginning to send splinters of pain through his skull. "One man isn't going to make any difference in this war, Kid," he argued. "He's up against a whole town - not to mention the railroad. You can't find those kinds of odds."

"I've been fightin' odds all my life, Heyes," Curry answered with a shrug. "These don't seem any steeper than others I've faced."

Swearing viciously under his breath, Heyes jumped to his feet and strode angrily to the door.

"Where're you goin'?"

"Out," Heyes snapped. "Because if I spend one more second in here, Kid, I swear I'm liable to turn out into the Law myself!"

The door rattled loudly in its frame as he slammed it behind him.

***

"Jesse."

Ramsey was still standing in front of the fireplace, his back to the door, when Heyes returned to the ranch house. "Come in, Joshua," he said without looking around. "I've been expecting you."

"Is that so?" Heyes asked warily, stepping into the room.

Ramsey nodded. "Figured you'd be back." Turning, the old man waved toward the chair Heyes had vacated only a short time before. "Couldn't talk him out of it, could you?"

Heyes eased down into the chair, his eyes never leaving the other man's face. "I think you're the only one who can do that."

The old man sucked thoughtfully on his pipe. "Afraid I can't do that, Joshua. I need his help."

"You don't stand a chance of winning this fight, Jesse," he said seriously. "All you're gong to do is end up getting yourself - and quite possibly my friend - killed. Now, if you want to take on those kind of odds yourself, that's your business." Under the brim of his hate, Heyes' dark eyes narrowed and his voice hardened. "But I'm not going to stand by and watch you drag my friend into this as well."

"Seems to me that Thaddeus is old enough to choose his own fights."

Nodding, Heyes pushed himself slowly to his feet. "He is. And normally he shows pretty good sense when it comes to deciding when to bet and when to fold. But not this time." Walking closer to Ramsey, he squared off against the older man. "You saved his life, Jesse. He's grateful, and I'm grateful. But I think his gratitude is kind'a clouding his good judgment because of that."

Jesse studied him for a moment, and Heyes was keenly aware of those sharp eyes searching his face. "But your gratitude doesn't cloud your good judgment," he mused, "does it, Joshua?"

Heyes shook his head slowly, never breaking eye contact with the other man. "Can't afford to let it."

It was Ramsey who finally looked away. "Well, I don't care why he's doin' it. I'll take his help no matter what his reasons."

Heyes felt the control of his temper, already tenuous, slip out of his grasp. "You just don't get it, do you? A piece of land is not worth dyin' for!"

"This piece of land is!" Ramsey thundered. "This is my home!"

"It's a piece of land," Heyes repeated flatly. "If you lose it, you can always buy more land. But if Will loses you, what's he going to do for family?" He took a deep breath, trying to force himself back under control. "You've got two choices here, Jesse," he continued, persuasion softening his tone. "You can choose to die for a piece of land, or you can choose to live for your grandson. And don't tell me you're doin' this for Will, because if you asked him what he wanted, I know what he'd say - and so do you."

For several moments Ramsey didn't say anything. Heyes thought he might have finally managed to get through to him, but that hope was soon dashed. "I'm gong to fight for my land and Will's birthright," Ramsey said quietly. "Will understands."

Heyes' jaw tightened as he fought the angry pounding intensifying inside his skull. "And it doesn't mean anything to you," he demanded in a hard voice, "that you're draggin' my friend right along with you - and that he'll probably die right along with you?"

For an instant, something like regret flickered across the older man's face; then it was gone. "You and Thaddeus," he said slowly, "have been ridin' together for quite a spell, haven't you?"

The question caught Heyes off-guard, and he chose for the moment not to respond, waiting instead to see what Ramsey was leading up to.

"I can tell," Ramsey continued, not unkindly. "I saw it in your face the night you rode in...and I can see it now."

Hastily, and belatedly, Heyes tried to mask the concern he had recklessly allowed to show and cursed himself for his carelessness. It was just too dangerous to let folks think that the bond between him and the Kid went much deeper than they might imagine. Harry Waggoner, a man from their past, had understood that bond, and he had used that knowledge against them, knowing full well Heyes would never risk his cousin's life. That kind of knowledge in the wrong hands could be deadly.

Slowly he nodded. "We've been ridin' together quite a spell," he acknowledged shortly.

For some reason that confirmation seemed to subdue Ramsey a bit, and he was silent a long time before saying, "I'm sorry, Joshua. But I have an obligation to my grandson, and Thaddeus feels he has an obligation to me."

Heyes' dark eyes hardened. "I've got an obligation too, Jesse," he said grimly. "And I'll be takin' my obligation - willing or not - and ridin' out of here tonight." Turning, he strode across the room, heading for the door.

"Afraid I can't let you do that...Mr. Heyes."

Heyes froze in his tracks. His hand drifted toward his gun, but he stopped as he heard the click of what he recognized as a shotgun hammer being thumbed back.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you," Ramsey instructed quietly. "I don't want to hurt you, Joshua, but I can't let you leave." Hearing the determination in the rancher's voice, Heyes believed him. "Real careful now, drop that firearm to the floor."

Hesitating only long enough to berate himself for a fool, Heyes dropped his revolver to the floor with a thud, then slowly turned. Ramsey must have had that shotgun loaded and ready all the time, probably leaning against the corner of the fireplace so it was easily concealed by where his had been standing. Closing his eyes briefly, Heyes gave himself a sharp, silent tongue-lashing. "It seems my friend must've done some talkin' while he was fighting that fever," he said finally.

Ramsey nodded. "That's a fact. But I knew who he was as soon as I found him out there under that pile of rocks."

Heyes smiled thinly. "Don't tell me - you were on a train we stopped once."

"Matter of fact, I was," Ramsey replied, with the hint of a smile. "It was about two years ago, just outside Cheyenne. Bunch of fellas stopped the train to get at the payroll it was carryin'. Introduced themselves as the Devil's Hole Gang." He paused, sending Heyes a curious look. "You boys didn't rob the passengers though."

"We never robbed the passengers," Heyes informed him stiffly.

"But one of your boys tried."

Heyes frowned slightly, trying to recall the occasion.

"A big man," Ramsey prompted, "with coal black hair and a scar along his left cheek."

"Carson," Heyes murmured, remembering the man with distaste. "Drake Carson." Carson had been one of his few mistakes as leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. He flicked his gaze to Ramsey. "That was the first and last time he ever rode with us."

"Figured as much," Jesse acknowledged wryly. "I was standing near the end of the train while we were waitin' for you boys to clean out the safe. I saw this Carson get a young gal off behind the train. Seems he had taken a fancy to a necklace she was wearin' - and to her too. Then this curly-headed fella came 'round the car and saw what was goin' on." Ramsey's tone took on a touch of respectful awe. "Never saw a man draw a gun so fast in my life - or lose his temper so quick. Thought he was gonna blow that fella's head clean off."

Heyes nodded to himself, remember how close the Kid had come to doing exactly that.

"I got a real good look at him. Somebody told me later it was Kid Curry. Caught a glimpse of you too, Mr. Heyes, but I wouldn't have recognized you if you hadn't come ridin' in here to claim your friend."

"I see. So you knew you had Kid Curry lyin' unconscious and helpless in your bed for two days, and you didn't send for the sheriff?" Heyes considered the older man for a few moments, bitterness tingeing his tone. "Could it be that you thought havin' the gratitude of a famous outlaw like Kid Curry might prove more useful than the ten thousand dollars on his head?"

Stung, Ramsey stiffened noticeably. "I would've brought him in no matter who he was," he said sharply.

"But you didn't turn him in," Heyes repeated with emphasis.

"No," Ramsey agreed, his tone restrained, "I didn't. Joshua, try to understand. I'm fighting for my life here, for Will's life. I know what I'm up against. I'm no gunfighter, but Kid Curry --"

"--is no hired gun," Heyes interrupted sharply. "Can't you understand that? Kid Curry has never sold his gun - not for any price!"

Ramsey stared at him incredulously in the aftermath of his outburst. "He's got a ten thousand dollar bounty on his head - payable dead or alive. You both do. Now I don't figure you boys got that from teachin' Sunday School, did you?"

Heyes looked away abruptly, clenching his jaw in angry frustration. It seemed like no matter what they did, no matter how hard they tried, they were never going to be able to escape their reputations. Even if they got their amnesty, people would probably go right on believing what they wanted to believe about them. Why should he expect Jesse Ramsey to be any different?"

"So," he said coldly, bringing his gaze back to stab the older man, "what do we do now? Go visit the sheriff?" If that was Ramsey's plan, he had to keep him talking until he could figure out a way to somehow warn the Kid.

"No, Joshua, we don't visit the sheriff - at least not as long as you and Thaddeus do as you're told."

Heyes stared at him, his eyes widening in awful comprehension. "So that's it," he said softly. "As long as you've got me for a hostage you think you've got Kid Curry for a hired gun."

Ramsey's somber blue eyes locked with his. "I'm sure of it."

"You bastard."

It was barely a whisper, but the force behind those words clearly staggered the other man. It took him several moments to recover, and when he spoke, his tone was defensive. "I could've turned you both in for the reward, you know. But I didn't."

"I almost wish you had," Heyes snapped. "At least I could've respected you for that."

"I don't like it any better than you do, Joshua," Ramsey retorted sharply, "but you don't give me any choice."

"There's always a choice, Jesse, and you've made yours. I just hope you can live with it."

"I'll live with it, or die with it."

Heyes drew back a moment and considered his opponent. He was about to be taken out of the game, and if that happened his cousin would be on his own with no one he could trust to back him up. All the Kid was to Ramsey was a hired gun, and Ramsey would sacrifice him in a minute to save his precious ranch. If ever he needed a silver tongue, it was now.

"You know, Jesse," he said in a tone too casual to be taken at face value, "if I were you I'd give this a little more thought. My friend isn't going to take too kindly to me being held hostage. In fact, he's just liable to try to do something about it." He paused long enough for Jesse to appreciate that, then added, "You think you can take on Kid Curry?"

Ramsey's fingers tightened on the shotgun he held, but that was the only indication that Heyes' shrewd warning had an effect. "Don't figure I'll have to," he said quietly, "as long as I have you."

***

Curry didn't look around from stoking the fire in the stove when he heard the door open behind him. "That was some walk," he commented. "Where'd you go - Wyoming?" When there was no reply, he sighed; he was hoping his cousin would have cooled down by now, although he probably should have known better. Heyes didn't get mad often, but when he did he could brood for days on end. "Look, Heyes, about some of those things I said...I'm sorry." He turned, the poker still in his hand. "I just don't want you --" He broke off abruptly when he saw Jesse Ramsey framed in the doorway, shotgun leveled at his chest.

"Don't do anything foolish, Mr. Curry."

Swearing under his breath, Curry threw the iron poker to the floor in disgust.

"Now just take that gun out of your holster and drop it on the floor real easy - with your left hand. I don't want to hurt you, but knowin' who you are, I know I can't take any chances."

Furious in equal measure with himself and the man he had allowed himself to trust, Curry did as he was told. "Where's my partner?"

"He's all right," Ramsey assured him.

Curry's voice was grim. "He'd better be."

"Son, if I'd wanted to turn you boys in, I would've done that a long time ago. I've known who you are from the beginning."

"Then why didn't you?" he demanded angrily. "What kind of game are you playin' here, Jesse?"

"This game's for keeps, Thaddeus," Jesse told him seriously. "I need your help - Kid Curry's help - and I think I've found a way to make sure I get it."

"My partner," he said flatly.

Ramsey nodded. "I didn't want to have to do it this way, but Joshua didn't give me any choice. I've taken him some place where he'll be safe, but out of the way. As long as you do as your told, he'll be fine." He must have seen the deadly glint of cold fury in the young man's eyes because he continued quickly, "When it's all over he'll be free to go - you both will. You have my word on that."

Curry's reply was positively glacial. "Under the circumstances, I'm not sure your word's gonna be enough for me."

Very slowly, Ramsey lowered the shotgun. "I'm afraid it'll have to be."

"I would have helped you anyway, Jesse," he told the other man, bitterness hardening his tone. "You had no right to drag my partner into this."

"Like I said, he didn't give me any choice."

"How do I know he's all right," Curry demanded. "How do I know you haven't already turned him over to the sheriff?"

Ramsey smiled slightly. "He asked me to give you a message. Told me to tell you: 'This is just like a Harry Waggoner scheme.' He said you'd understand."

The blond man nodded to himself. He understood all too well.

"He also said," Ramsey continued slowly, "that for once in your life to let him do the worryin' and you just concentrate on stayin' alive."

Curry closed his eyes briefly. Wherever Heyes was right now, he was no doubt working feverishly at coming up with some sort of plan to get them out of this. And Curry had no doubt he was worried half out of his mind.

"Thaddeus."

Ramsey's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts, and he opened his eyes, turning a stony stare on the older man.

"I have to warn you...if you try to run out on me, I'll turn him over to the Law. I don't' want to, but I won't have any choice. Will's with him, and if he doesn't hear from me when he's supposed to, he'll go straight to the sheriff --"

"All right, Jesse, you've made your point," Curry interrupted sharply. "I believe you." Eyes narrowing dangerously, he took a deliberate step toward the older man. "So maybe I'll just have to do something about that."

"Plan to beat it out of me, Thaddeus? Think you can get me to tell you where I'm holdin' your friend?"

Curry nodded grimly. "It crossed my mind."

If he was scared of such a prospect, Ramsey didn't show it. "Won't work, Thaddeus. I'm fightin' for the two things that mean more to me than my own life - my land and my grandson."

It didn't take Curry long to weight the determination behind that statement and decide Ramsey meant every work of it. He'd go to his grave before he'd surrender any part of this fight. And Heyes? The Kid took a long, deep breath. The price for his cousin's freedom was his gun. Well, it was a small enough price to pay. When he spoke, his voice was as hard as flint. "If I help you, you won't turn him over to the Law?"

"I won't turn him over to the Law."

"No matter what happens?" he pressed. He had no illusions about his chances in this war.

"No matter what happens," Jesse promised. "He's safe, and when this is all over, he'll be free to go. You both will." He hesitated. "It may not mean much to you, Thaddeus, but you do have my word on that."

Hooking his thumbs under his gun belt, Curry adopted a stance that any sane man would recognize. "All right, Jesse," he said, in a voice that was too soft not to be menacing. "I'll believe you. But I'll make you a promise of my own. If for some reason you don't keep your end of the bargain, or if anything - and I mean anything - happens to my friend, you'll have me to answer to. And you'd better keep in mind who it is you made this deal with. Understand?"

Ramsey stared at him, and for the first time Curry saw a flicker of fear in his eyes.

"You wanted an outlaw, Jesse," he said grimly. "Well, I guess you got one."

***

Heyes tried to ignore the stream of water dribbling down his chin and splattering his pants. Young Will was doing an awkward job of holding that tin ladle to his lips, and Heyes was doing his best to get some water into his mouth. Well, he wasn't really thirsty anyhow. The drink was just an excuse to get Will to remove the gag from his mouth. He was trussed up tighter than a Christmas turkey up here in this line shack, and the only chance he had to get himself - and especially the Kid - out of this mess was to talk his way out. He couldn't do that with a gag in his mouth.

He managed one last sip of water, then pulled back slightly. "Thank you." Will nodded silently and dropped the ladle back into the water pail. But when he began to readjust the gag, Heyes flashed an ingratiating smile. "Do you really have to do that? My hands are tied, my feet are tied, I'm even tied to the chair. I'm not going anywhere."

Will hesitated. "I don't know," he said uncertainly. "Grandpa said to keep that gag in."

"Now, will," he coaxed, "what difference can it make? Your grandpa's got me tied so tight I can't even feel my fingers anymore. All I'm askin' you to do is not put the bag back on."

Will chewed on his lip, blue-grey eyes dark with distrust. "Grandpa said your mouth could be just as dangerous as Kid Curry's gun," he said spitefully.

Heyes' easy smile flickered, then disappeared. "You and your grandpa have a lot of strange notions about Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes."

Will tilted his head defiantly. "You lied to us! Lied to us all along. Told us your names were Smith and Jones."

"Well, now, we couldn't very well tell you our names were Heyes and Curry, could we?" he pointed out reasonably. "Besides, your grandpa knew who we were all along."

But young Will wasn't interested in listening to reason. His eyes flashed with righteous anger. "I thought you were my friends. I trusted you. I thought you and Mr. Jones --" Then abruptly he bit his lip and turned away, and Heyes saw him swipe hastily at his eyes.

He averted his own eyes, giving the boy a minute to himself. He didn't blame him one bit for feeling angry and betrayed; but he had to get through to him, and quick, if his plan was to have any chance of working. His partner's life could very well depend on whether he could earn the trust of this ten-year-old boy in the next few minutes. But trust, once lost, was not easily regained.

"We are your friends, Will," he insisted, "and that doesn't have anything to do with whether our names are Smith and Jones or Heyes and Curry." After a moment he saw the boy's stiff spine relax a fraction and, encouraged, he pressed on. "Will, I'm going to tell you something, but you can't tell anyone else because it's a secret, okay?" They weren't supposed to tell anyone about their provisional amnesty, but he had to get this boy back on their side, and this was the only way he knew to do that.

Reluctantly, Will turned back around, still wary, but too curious to let his wounded pride stand in his way. "What kind of secret?" he asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"The Kid and I have gone straight, Will. The governor of Wyoming has promised us a pardon, but we have to prove to him that we mean to stay honest. That means until he decides to make it public, we're still wanted men." Holding Will's gaze, he added sincerely, "But we haven't robbed a train or a bank in over a year. We're really trying to earn that amnesty." He paused for a moment, trying to read the expression on the boy's face. "And that's why," he continued in a gentler tone, "we can't afford to get mixed up in your grandpa's fight with the railroad. If word got back to the governor that we were involved in something like that, he'd think we hired ourselves out as a couple of hired guns, and there'd go any chance we had at our amnesty."

Will was frowning, but some of the resentment had faded from his eyes. "Is that really true?" he asked finally. "About you and Mr. Jones goin' straight? And About the governor?"

"It's all true, Will."

The boy walked slowly around the small shack, a thoughtful look on his face. When he finally came to a stop in front of Heyes, his eyes were solemn. "My grandpa says he can save our ranch," he said staunchly, "but he said he needs Kid Curry's help to do it."

"Your grandpa," Heyes corrected sternly, "doesn't stand a chance of winning this fight, and he's going to get himself - and my friend - killed unless we do something."

"Nobody can stand up to Kid Curry!" Will exclaimed. "Everybody knows that! He's the fastest and best there is! He can take anybody! He's been in hundreds of gunfights! Killed dozens of men!"

Heyes' eyes slid shut. "For God's sake, Will," he said wearily, "where did you hear that?"

Will's eyes were as big as saucers. "It's true! Everybody knows it."

"Well I'm not 'everybody'," Heyes said impatiently, "and I've known Kid Curry his whole life. So let me tell you what I know." He waited until he was sure he had the boy's complete attention before continuing. "In the first place I don't know of anyone who'd want to get into a gunfight with Kid Curry, so I can guarantee you he hasn't been in 'hundreds' of gunfights. He's been in some, yes; more than he ever wanted to, I can promise you. And in the second place, despite what you may have heard about him, Kid Curry is no cold-blooded killer. He's killed two men in his life - both in fair fights, and both because he had no choice."

"Two men?" Will echoed, sounding deflated.

"Two men. Not dozens. The first," he recounted, his voice softening, "was to save my life. He was only eighteen at the time. The second time was just a few months ago. He did his best to walk away from it, but the other fella wouldn't let him." Heyes lapsed into silence for a moment, then pinned the boy with a steady gaze. "He's had to live with those two killings, Will," he said levelly, "and it hasn't always been easy for him."

The boy looked surprised, then crestfallen. "You two sure don't act like any outlaws I ever heard of."

Heyes grinned in spite of himself. "Thank you," he said dryly. "We're trying very hard not to be outlaws. But, even when we were, we didn't go around shooting people."

Will frowned. "Are you tellin' me that Kid Curry won't help my grandpa?"

"Oh, no, the Kid'll help your grandpa," Heyes said bitterly. "As long as I'm a hostage, my partner'll do anything your grandpa tells him to - and your grandpa knows that. Even if it means," he added pointedly, "gettin' himself killed."

The youngster walked slowly over to an old wooden crate and dropped down, frowning in thought. "I don't want Mr. Jones to get killed," he said in a small voice.

"Neither do I, son," Heyes said gently.

"But I don't' want my grandpa to die either!" Will cried, as all his carefully submerged fears suddenly rushed to the surface. "I don't care about the ranch! Why can't he understand that? I care about him! I don't' want the ranch without him!"

"There's still time, Will," Heyes urged. "We can stop this before anyone gets killed." A spark of doubt ignited in the tear-filled eyes, and Heyes pressed on carefully. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, we're on the same side here. You want to save your grandpa, and I want to save my friend."

"How?"

"You don't win this kind of war with guns, Will. You win it with brains - and a plan."

Will cocked his head and studied Heyes, his eyes widening. "You got a plan?"

Heyes' lips slowly curved in a grin. "Will," he informed the youngster, "Hannibal Heyes always has a plan."

***

It had been a long, sleepless night for Kid Curry.

Now, with daylight breaking, he sat at the small table in the bunk house methodically reassembling the parts of his cleaned revolver. He had often wondered in the private of his own mind if, in spite of all their efforts to leave their outlaw lives behind, his life wouldn't come down to this after all...his gun. He wasn't like Heyes, who had a mind so quick he could have put it to use doing anything. He was Kid Curry, and his only real talent was with a gun. Deep inside, he had always suspected that it would come to that.

His revolver reassembled, /curry laid it on the table in front of him, then rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his palms. With Heyes by his side, with his encouragement and steady guidance to keep him on track, he had allowed himself to hope that things could e different, that his life could be different. Heyes' enthusiasm for amnesty had been infectious, and despite his early reservations he soon found himself pinning all his hopes on that pardon too. It was to be their chance to start over, their chance for a new life. But that was all over now. At least for him. Very shortly a small war was going to break out around here, and he was going to be a part of it. Even if by some miracle he survived the gunplay, any hopes he may have entertained for amnesty would be blown to hell.

Dropping his hands, he absently fingered his revolver for a moment, then picked it up, noting grimly just how natural it felt in his hand. Kid Curry, hired gun. His lips tightened. Well that would just confirm what everyone believed about him anyway. At least Heyes wouldn't be involved. No matter what happened in the next few hours, his cousin's bid for amnesty should still be secure. After all, the governor couldn't very well blame Hannibal Heyes if his partner went off and got himself involved in some rancher-railroad feud.

His forearms resting on the table, Curry pursed his lips in thought. He had always believed that Heyes would have stood a better chance of earning that amnesty on his own anyhow, but he could never get him to admit it. Heyes had always argued, emphatically, that their best chance for that pardon was to stick together - after all, as a team they had always been unbeatable, right? But Curry secretly suspected the real reason behind Heyes' insistence was a deep-seated belief that his younger cousin needed him around to keep out of trouble. Despite himself, Curry felt a reluctant grin tug at his lips. There may have been some truth to that, he admitted ruefully.

The sound of the door opening behind him brought Curry immediately to his feet, and he spun around, gun leveled. He relaxed only slightly when he saw it was Jesse in the doorway.

The rancher had his shotgun cradled in his arm and an old Navy Colt stuck in his belt. "We've got company, Thaddeus," he announced quietly.

Curry nodded, a little surprised by his own calmness. But then, he had always been what Heyes called 'pragmatic' about life. If this was where the road led, then so be it; he was just glad Heyes wasn't around to witness it. Flipping open the cylinder to his gun, he checked the load one last then, then snapped it shut and slid it expertly into its holster. "Let's go."

But Ramsey didn't move. "Thaddeus," he began, then hesitated. "I hope you don't mind if I call you that. That's how I've come to think of you." When Curry didn't respond one way or another, the rancher shifted his stance self-consciously. "Before we go out there, I just wanted you to know, I'm sorry about the way all this turned out. I never meant to--"

"I don't want your apologies, Jesse," Curry interrupted shortly. "You saved my life, and I'm grateful. You found a way to keep my partner out of this mess, and I guess I should thank you for that too. So let's let it go at that, okay?" He looked away and took a long, deep breath. "Maybe if I had my partner's brains," he said finally, "I could figure out a way of gettin' us both out of this without anyone gettin' killed. But I don't, so I figure we'll just have to play it out the best we can. When we're out there, you follow my lead. I'll do what I can to get us both out of this alive."

There was understanding in Ramsey's eyes as he nodded. "Agreed. And you can rest easy about your friend, Thaddeus. When this is over, Hannibal Heyes will be free to go. Will knows what to do."

Curry turned his gaze on Ramsey, His face was expressionless, but his hand rested lightly on the butt of his gun. "And if I just decide here and now not to go out there with you...?"

The older man's face was calm, but his reply was pointed. "Will knows what to do in that case too."

Curry's jaw tightened, but his hand dropped away from his gun and he bobbed his head abruptly. "Then let's get this over with."

***

There were six of them, and they were riding in from the east. That meant they'd have the morning sun at their backs, and he and Jesse would have it in their eyes. They were also carefully spaced just far enough apart to make it impossible to keep an eye on all of them once they got close enough. These six knew their business. But then, he hadn't expected any less. After all, they were professionals.

Curry let his eyes sweep over the riders as they approached at a steady walk, his mind automatically weighing the odds. Six to two. He shook his head slightly, thinking what his cousin would say about that. If he was lucky he might get two of them. If Jesse was very lucky he might get off one blast from that shotgun, but he'd never get the chance to lay a hand on that Navy Colt.

His eyes narrowed in recognition as he picked out the man who was riding in the center a little ahead of the others. It was the man in black, the one who had paid him that visit yesterday and delivered the 'message'. He was the one to watch, Curry knew, because the others would be taking their cues from him.

He focused his thoughts on that one man as the glimmer of an idea began to form in his mind. He and Jesse had no chance at all against six hired guns acting as a group. But if it came down to just him and that man in the black Stetson... It was a long shot - he didn't even want to think about what Heyes would say about it - but if he could somehow manage to turn this into a personal challenge between just the two of them, maybe he could improve the odds a little. His instincts told him this man would not be easy to provoke; but his good sense told him it might be his own chance, and a slim chance was better than none at all.

Curry positioned himself so he was standing off the left-handed side of the right-handed gunman as the pack rode up. Recognizing the tactics, the tall man smiled sardonically as he reined in a few feet away. "Well, if it isn't the new hired hand. "How's the head?"

"Good as new," he answered calmly. "It's harder than it looks."

The other man nodded easily. "Good." He glanced around at the surrounding hills. "And where's your friend?"

"Oh, he's around," Curry said pleasantly. "In fact, I'd be willing to bet he's got his rifle sighted right about in the center of your chest by now."

The expression on the gunman's face barely shifted. "Now you don't expect me to fall for that old bluff, do you, friend?"

Curry didn't answer.

"No, my guess is your friend got a sudden attack of good sense and took off - like any sensible man would." He studied Curry from under the brim of his black hat. "I see you didn't take off though. Guess you're not as sensible as your friend."

"I've been told that once or twice," Curry agreed.

A little amused, and perhaps a little surprised, by Curry's coolness, the tall man considered him a moment longer before turning his attention to Ramsey. "Mr. Ramsey, I've come back one last time to make you an offer for your land."

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say, mister," Ramsey said forcefully. "You're trespassin'. Now get off my land."

The leader tipped back his hat in a casual gesture. "Now it appears to me you're not bein' real neighborly about this, Mr. Ramsey."

"Neighborly?" Ramsey was incensed. "You call comin' onto my property and threatenin' my grandson neighborly? You call scarin' off all my help neighborly?" His fingers tightened on the shotgun. "I warned you what would happen if I saw you on my land again --"

"Jesse!"

Curry's sharp voice made the rancher freeze, and he threw the Kid a quick, guilty look.

The gunman's voice was deadly cold. "I'm real sorry that's the attitude you want to take, Mr. Ramsey. You've been made a good offer by the railroad, but this is the last time I'm gonna make it. I suggest you take it before it's too late."

"You know," Curry said conversationally, hooking his thumbs in his gun belt, "you're real brave when it comes to scarin' little boys and old men - as long as you've got enough guns behind you to back you up. But how are you when the odds are a little more even?"

The tall man considered him with cool, impassive eyes. "You sound like you'd like to find out, mister."

"I have to admit, I'm curious."

"Curiosity can be a dangerous thing."

Curry shifted his stance just enough to be challenging. "Now don't' tell me you're not just a little bit curious too?"

The other man nodded slowly. "You do make a man wonder," he admitted. "Who are you anyway, friend?"

"Name's Thaddeus Jones."

A slow, disbelieving smile curved the gunman's lips. "Doesn't quite suit you."

"Oh it suits me just fine. How about you? You got a name?"

The tall man settled back casually in his saddle. "Well, my ma named me Jackson Wallace Thompson. But now most folks just call me Texas Jack."

Curry was aware that Thompson was watching him closely for his reaction, and it was with an effort that he kept his expression neutral. So this was Texas Jack Thompson. He had heard plenty about the man, of course, but had never run across him before - not that he had ever wanted to. The word was, if you wanted to hire a gun and wanted the best you sent for Texas Jack. He had a reputation for getting results for whoever was paying his way. He also had a reputation, Curry remembered, of being the fasted gun this side of the Big Muddy... present company included.

"I've heard of you," he allowed.

Thompson leaned forward, resting his hands on his saddle horn. "Yeah, I'll bet you have. But I've never heard of you...Mr. Jones."

"Does that bother you?"

Thompson nodded. "Yeah it does. I like to know who I'm dealin' with. Now why don't you tell me who you really are?"

A derisive grin pulled at Curry's lips. "Wouldn't want to scare you off."

If his intention had been to provoke a reaction out of Thompson, Curry had succeeded all too well. The transformation in the gunman was immediate and chilling. His blue-grey eyes went flat, and his deceptively languid muscles suddenly tightened into knotted cords. He reminded Curry of nothing so much as a rattler coiled to strike.

"I haven't heard a man yet that scared me, mister," Thompson informed him coldly, "and I don't figure I ever will." Dismounting, he walked out in front of the semicircle of riders and took up a position opposite Curry. "The rest of you stay out of this," he ordered flatly. "This is between me and Mr. 'Jones'." Lifting his eyebrows, he added, "If that's how you want to be remembered."

"Jones will do just fine," Curry replied steadily, knowing that his anonymity was the one edge he had, the one thing that might keep Thompson off-balance, if only a fraction. The gunman didn't quite know what to make of him, and he had to use that to his advantage. His plan had been to try and reduce this confrontation to a personal level, and he'd certainly accomplished that. But changing the odds from six-to-two to one-to-one against Texas Jack Thompson didn't seem like much of an improvement. He could almost hear Heyes now: How many times have I told you, Kid - don't think!

Well it was too late now. A man of Texas Jack's pride and reputation always had something to prove, and Curry had left him no choice when he challenged him in front of his men. The only glimmer of hope in this whole mess was that if he somehow managed to take down Thompson, it would probably be all over, at least for now. These five were Thompson's hired help, and with their leader - and paymaster - gone, he didn't figure they'd have any interest in sticking around. But all that, he knew grimly, depended on if he could survive the next few minutes. And that was a very big if.

"I believe it's up to you, Mr. Jones."

Curry forced his muscles to relax, then disassociated his mind from his body the way he'd taught himself to do, letting his instincts take over. His instincts were a heartbeat away from taking charge when a shout from one of Thompson's men stopped everything.

"Jack, riders!"

That brought everyone around. Five riders were approaching fast and hard, and Curry went rigid when they got close enough for him to pick out the badge on the one in front. Two thoughts flashed through his mind, neither of them pleasant: if this was the sheriff of Redstone, he was in a lot of trouble; and even if it wasn't the sheriff of Redstone, he might be in a lot of trouble.

The five pulled up sharply in front of the group, and the lead rider, a lean, weathered man in a mud-splattered duster, looked them over with cool, impassive eyes. Curry studied his face, sifted quickly through his memory, and decided this lawman was a stranger. A closer inspection of his badge revealed he was a federal marshal and not the sheriff of Redstone. So far so good. Still, he pulled his hat down a little lower over his face.

"Problem here, boys?" the marshal asked calmly.

Thompson turned a forced smile on the law officer, but Curry noticed that he, too, had pulled his hat down a little. "No problem, Marshal. We were just talkin' over a little business proposition with Mr. Ramsey here."

The marshal turned his attention to Jesse. "Mr. Ramsey?"

The rancher nodded, his relief evident. "I'm Ramsey."

"Name's Cole Hewitt, U.S. Marshal, and these are my deputies. On the direct order of the governor of this state, I have relieved the sheriff, the mayor and the town council of Redstone of their duties. I'm the law here now until new elections can be held. The governor understands there may have been some trouble around here." He looked directly at Thompson. "There won't be any more trouble. Mr. Ramsey, are you through conducting your business?":

"I'm through, Marshal."

"Well, then, unless Mr. Ramsey has invited you all to tea, I don't think you have any reason to stick around."

Thompson knew the game was over. He looked at Curry and touched the brim of his hat. "Mr. Jones. Perhaps some day we'll have the chance to finish our business." Then he turned, mounted his horse, and led him men away.

Thompson's meaning was clear enough, but Curry's thoughts were no longer on him. He had a fresh worry: Jesse Ramsey. Backed up by five federal lawmen, he might just decide since he didn't need a hired gun anymore, he might as well turn a profit in all this. He had Hannibal Heyes stashed safely away somewhere and Kid Curry comfortably outnumbered by five federal badges. The odds seemed too good to pass up."

"Mr. Ramsey." Hewitt pulled a sealed envelope out of his pocket and handed it to the rancher. "My instructions were to deliver this to you and wait for any answer."

A little puzzled, Ramsey accepted the envelope and clumsily ripped it open. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and spent a few moments reading it, then with a faint smile, stuffed it back into the envelope. "Thank you, Marshal. This explains a lot. My friend, Mr. Jones, and I can take it from here."

Hewitt turned his horse to leave. "You have any more trouble, you come to see me, Mr. Ramsey."

"You can count on that, Marshal."

Curry tried not to flinch as the lawman let his sharp eyes rest on him for a moment before kicking his horse into action. Only when the band of lawmen were safely on their way did he allow himself to breathe easily. "I have to admit," he said finally, "you had me a little worried there, Jesse." He turned to look at the rancher. "Why didn't you turn me in? You had Hannibal Heyes and you had me; that was twenty thousand dollars."

"No need for you to be worried, Thaddeus. I gave you my word."

"People have broken their word for a whole lot less than twenty thousand dollars," he pointed out.

Ramsey nodded. "That's a fact. And I have to admit, the thought did cross my mind."

"Then why didn't you?"

The rancher fingered the envelope in his hand. "I may have had you, Thaddeus, but I didn't have Hannibal Heyes. Those lawman showin' up like that wasn't exactly luck."

A knowing grin creased Curry's features. "Heyes." He should've known.

Ramsey looked at him curiously. "You mind tellin' me how a couple of wanted outlaws can get word to the governor of this state about somethin' like this, and he not only believes 'em, but he sends in federal marshals on their say so?"

"It's a long story, Jesse," he said dryly, "and it's not really somethin' I'm free to talk about. Let's just say I'd be willin' to bet the governor of Wyoming had a little somethin' to do with this."

"Wyoming? You boys do get around, don't you?"

Curry nodded at the envelope Jesse still held. "What was in there?"

The rancher glanced at it, then tucked it away in his pocket. "Oh, that was just a little private message from your partner to me. We had a discussion yesterday about obligations, and he reminded me of mine...just in case I had any notions of forgetting them." He shook his head in real admiration. "Your friend does have a way with words, don't he?"

Curry chuckled to himself as the two began to walk back toward the ranch house. "Don't feel bad, Jesse. I've known him all my life, and I haven't won an argument yet."

***

Hannibal Heyes sat close to the warmth of the small campfire and sipped thoughtfully at his hot coffee. On the other side of the flickering flames sat his cousin, who had been staring into his own cup for the last fifteen minutes and hadn't so much as moved a muscle in all that time.

"You're kind'a quiet tonight, Kid," he observed, breaking a silence that had lasted most of the evening. "Somethin' on your mind?"

Jolted out of his thoughts, Curry's head snapped up, and he produced a strained grin. "I'm just thinkin' that it's a good thing we got out of the business when we did. I'm getting' too old for these kinds of close calls."

"Amen to that," he agreed fervently. He continued to sip at his cooling coffee, studying his partner's shadowed features a while longer. The Kid had been uncharacteristically withdrawn ever since they'd left the Ramsey ranch. It wasn't like Curry to brood. Something was bothering him, but so far Heyes hadn't been able to coax more than a few words out of him.

"What was he like, Kid?"

The younger man raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Texas Jack Thompson," he clarified. "What was he like?"

Curry frowned into the flames for a moment, then return his attention to the coffee. "Scary."

Recognizing the dismissal in his tone, Heyes refrained from saying any more, but he had a feeling he'd just touched a nerve. Maybe his partner was still a little shaken from his encounter with Texas Jack today. Any sane man would be. He had been shaken himself, and not just a little, when Jesse told him what had happened and he learned just how close the Kid had come to provoking a gunfight with Thompson. Heyes shook his head. There was a reason he did the planning for both of them. Under any other circumstances Curry's plan might have worked; but it was the Kid's usual luck that the man he chose to force into a face-off turned out to be Texas Jack Thompson.

They had both just settled back into a companionable silence when the sound of a horse picking its way through the brush brought them both to their feet. Curry's gun was already in his hand when he called out, "Who's out there?"

"Jack Thompson," came the calm retort. "I'd like to share a little of your coffee and campfire before movin' on, if that's all right, Mr. Jones."

Curry stiffened but never took his eyes away from the cover of trees hiding the rider. "Heyes?" he murmured.

Heyes chewed on his lip for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm not so sure it would be a good idea to turn him away, Kid," he said in a low tone. "Besides, if he wanted to shoot us, he could've done it by now."

Curry didn't look happy about it, but he nodded in agreement. "All right," he answered, "come on in." But Heyes saw that he didn't immediately lower his gun. It was only after Thompson had ridden into camp and was in full view of the firelight that the Kid slipped his revolver back into its holster.

Thompson nodded pleasantly to Curry. "Mr. Jones. And Mr...?"

"Smith," Heyes supplied with a polite smile. "Joshua Smith."

"Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones." Thompson grinned wryly. "Is that a fact?"

"You said you wanted some coffee before you moved on," Curry said pointedly. "Help yourself."

Again Thompson nodded and slowly dismounted. Squatting down by the fire, he poured himself a cup of coffee and cautiously sampled it before straightening.

Heyes could never remember seeing his cousin so tense. Outwardly he appeared to be completely calm, even relaxed; but Heyes knew the signs of tension in Kid Curry, and he felt his own strained nerves quiver in response.

"There's another reason I wanted to stop by and see you again," Thompson said conversationally. "I believe you and I have some unfinished business, Mr. Jones."

Heyes' gaze shot to his cousin's face, then back to Thompson. Actually, he was so scared he didn't know where to look.

"What unfinished business is that?" Curry asked coolly.

"My curiosity, Mr. Jones. It needs to be satisfied."

"Like you said, Mr. Thompson: curiosity can be a dangerous thing."

Thompson sipped at his coffee. "That's a fact. But you're a puzzle, Mr. Jones, and that bothers me. I don't think I can move on until I've solved it." The gunman began to stroll casually around their small camp. "See, a man in my line of work gets to know when a man's scared, learns to look right into his soul and see fear. But you weren't scared this morning - not against six men, and not even against me." He stopped in front of Curry and smiled briefly. "Now that's a little unusual, to say the least." He took another taste of his coffee, then resumed his ambling. "I can think of just two men in these parts who might react that way...and one of 'em was lynched in Yuma a couple'a months ago. I know; I was there. That only leaves one other."

Curry's eyes had never left the gunman as he moved around the clearing. "You got a point to make, Mr. Thompson?"

Thompson stopped and turned to face Curry. "Just one point. A man in my business gets to know who the other players are. And there just aren't any players named Jones."

"Maybe I'm not a player," the Kid said levelly.

Thompson studied him in the dim firelight. "Oh, you're a player, Mr. Jones. Maybe a reluctant one, but you're a player." He flicked a glance at Heyes. "This is mighty fine coffee."

Heyes smiled faintly. He wanted nothing else at the moment than for this man to get on his horse and ride away. He decided he'd rather work with nitro seven days a week and twice on Sunday than watch this cat and mouse game between Texas Jack Thompson and Kid Curry go on for one more minute. "You said you were movin' on Mr. Thompson?" he commented, trying to move the conversation back to safer ground.

"Yep, job's over for me in Redstone; there's no money in it anymore. That US Marshal means business, and I decided I'd better get out before he goes through those flyers in the sheriff's office and figures out who I am." Bending over, he tossed the last few drops of his coffee into the fire and sat the empty cup on the ground. "Figure that's why you boys are movin' on too. Well, I thank you for the coffee. I'll be on my way now."

Puzzled, but relieved, Heyes was about to allow himself a well-deserved sigh when he noticed his cousin hadn't relaxed one fraction. Curry's eyes followed Thompson as the gunman walked back to his horse and mounted.

"Your curiosity satisfied, Mr. Thompson?" Curry asked in a tone that brought Heyes' head sharply around. He threw a furious look at his cousin, but was wasted on Curry.

Thompson only grinned. "Yeah, I think so." He looked at Heyes and tipped his hat. "Evening, Mr. Heyes." Transferring his gaze to Curry, he added, "Mr. Curry." Seeing the slight tightening of the Kid's jaw, he shrugged. "Process of elimination, friend. I said I only knew of two men who might've stood up to me the way you did this morning, and one of them is dead. That left Kid Curry." He turned his attention to Heyes. "That US marshal was your doin', wasn't it?" Heyes looked appropriately blank, but Thompson tipped his hat in respectful admiration. "You mind tellin' me just how you managed all that?"

How had he managed it? It had been a race against the clock from start to finish, one he hadn't been sure he was going to win. It began with a mad dash to Monroe, the nearest town outside Redstone with a telegraph office. First he had to wire Lom to warn him what was about to happen in Redstone and solicit his help. From then on the telegraph wires crackled with activity between Porterville and Monroe, and Porterville and Cheyenne, and finally Cheyenne and Denver. Once Lom managed to get in touch with the governor of Wyoming, the governor of Wyoming contacted the governor of Colorado to inform him that unless he took immediate steps a small war was about to break out in one of his counties. The governor, who happened to be up for re-election, wasted no time. He immediately dispatched a crack group of federal officers to Redstone to relieve the law there and take charge. A lot of people had lost a lot of sleep last night, but Heyes had known, if he could only get to the right people in time, his plan could work.

He smiled slightly. "It helps to have friends in high places."

Thompson pursed his lips. "You live up to your reputation, Mr. Heyes." Shifting his gaze to Curry, he comments, "Maybe someday I'll find out if you live up to yours." Nudging his horse, he began to ride out of camp, but stopped when he got beside Curry. "You were pushin' mighty hard this mornin', Mr. Curry. You're lucky I understand it wasn't personal. You were doin' a job, just like I was." He paused. "If I thought any different, I'd kill you. You're good," he acknowledged, "but I could take you."

Curry's gaze was unwavering. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Thompson considered that for a moment, then settled his hat squarely on his head. "Yeah. Well let's hope we never have to find out...Mr. Jones."

There was dead silence in camp after Thompson vanished into the darkness. Heyes finally indulged himself and let out a long, shaky breath. "He knows who we are."

The blond man's gaze never moved from the spot where Thompson disappeared. "Yep."

"You think he's gonna do anything about it?"

"I think if he wanted to do something about it," Curry stated darkly, "he would've shot us both dead while he was standin' here. On the other hand..." He turned finally with a sick smile. "I don't think we can count on him not changin' his mind."

"My thoughts exactly," Heyes agreed and turned to start breaking camp.

They worked in silence, Curry saddling the horses and Heyes gathering up their belongings. Throwing their saddlebags over his shoulder, Heyes walked over to join his partner. He worked alongside him until the horses were read, but as the Kid was preparing to mount, he laid a light hand on his arm to stop him. "You weren't surprised when he came here, were you?" Something about the Kid's actions tonight had been bothering him, but he finally thought he had it figured out.

At first, Curry looked as though he was going to deny it; then his shoulders slumped a little. "No, I guess not," he admitted.

"But you were surprised," Heyes continued, watching his cousin carefully, "when he rode off, weren't you?"

Turning, Curry rested his arms on the saddle and dropped his head as the long hours of built-up tension slowly drained from his body. "Yeah," he said finally, "I was."

Heyes' lips compressed in understanding. At least that explained what had been troubling him. After that confrontation this morning, Curry had expected Thompson to come calling at some point in time, and he hadn't expected him to just walk away. No wonder he'd been so preoccupied. Laying a hand on the younger man's arm, he gave it a quick pat.

"You're right, Kid," he said softly. "We're getting' way too old for this sort of thing. I'm not sure my nerves can take it anymore."

Curry's head snapped around, and he glared. "Your nerves? What about mine?"

Heyes grinned. "Why, Kid, I didn't know you had any." Clapping the younger man on the shoulder, he hauled himself up on his horse. "What do you say we take your nerves and my nerves and find ourselves some place nice and peaceful to rest 'em?"

Curry followed suit and twisted around in the saddle to throw him an inquiring look. "Got any suggestions?"

Resting his hands on the saddle horn, Heyes considered the question for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I think so. There's this little town I heard of up in the mountains, almost a ghost town. Might be a good place to hide out for a while and just relax."

"What's it called?"

"Apache Springs."

The blond frowned. "Apache Springs? Never heard of it."

"See what I mean? A nice, quiet little town without any reputation. Trust me, Kid, it's perfect."

Curry looked skeptical, but duly followed him as he led the way out of the clearing. "Heyes, why do you suppose it's called Apache Springs? Sounds like there might be Indians around there --"

"Indians?" Heyes laughed. "Kid, will you listen to yourself? When was the last time you heard of Indian trouble? Now remember our agreement - I do the thinkin'. You can mark my words, Kid," he said confidently, "Apache Springs is going to turn out to be the perfect place for a vacation..."

ASJ