SquidgeWorld Archive

HUNTING

The hunter and the hunted ... the hunted is the hunter this time. Good joke, good joke ...

A good day hunting always gives a man an appetite. Kid Curry sniffed the air as he rode into the cabin clearing, hoping to pick up the inviting aroma of coffee or beans cooking. Nothing. He felt a bit of pique; a hot cup of coffee would have tasted good. Patting the sling of game on his saddle horn, he said aloud, "Well, anyway, we have fresh meat for supper." He called out to his friend Hannibal Heyes as he walked his horse to the corral. Heyes's horse looked up at him. The Kid unsaddled his mount and placed the saddle and tack next to his partner's under the little lean-to. The Kid looked up at the sky and shivered. There was clearly a storm coming and the day had turned suddenly cold as the sun lowered in the sky. As he began to walk toward the cabin, he noticed there was only a slight amount of smoke drifting from the chimney. Odd, he thought, it's November. He called out to Heyes again. There was no answer either time. His friend might be sleeping.

As the Kid crossed the muddy yard to the cabin, he noticed a number of horses' hoofprints, circling in no particular pattern. This was not good. He and Heyes should have been alone. This meant danger - clear danger. Instantly the Kid became alert and drew his gun. He crouched down, realizing he was in the middle of the yard and had no protection of any kind. He listened intently but heard nothing but the sound of autumn's last remaining leaves crashing into each other before ending their lives on the ground. The analogy was not lost on him. Hesitation was not an option. He ran for the shelter of the cabin, plastering himself to the side while he gathered his wits. He was young and quick and possibly the fastest man with a gun around. He scanned the area around him before making a move. The woods he had emerged from were quiet except for the wind. The woods on the other side of the cabin were equally peaceful. He felt a bit of the tension ease so he made a sudden move and bolted through the front door of the cabin, rolling to a landing. Hoping to find his partner making a witty or snide comment about his abrupt entry, he was disappointed to find himself alone.

Alone! Where could Heyes be? His horse and tack were in the corral. His jacket was hung on a hook. There were two clean plates on the table, but the fire in the fireplace was dying down. Heyes had clearly been there, but it had been some time ago. The cabin was getting quite dark in the wake of the setting sun, and no lamp had been lit. The Kid lit both of the oil lamps so he could see and think clearly. Heyes knew better than to leave the shelter of the cabin, under the circumstances. The Kid noticed the rifle and gun that Heyes always carried sitting off to the side. It appeared he had been cleaning them earlier. The Kid went to the doorway and called "Heyes!" at the top of his lungs. There was no answer except from the trees.

Now the Kid began to feel the first pangs of true panic. The things that Lom Trevors had told them only a week earlier crept back into his consciousness. He tried to push out these thoughts but they persisted. The Kid shook his head to clear it. He knew his partner was in trouble. He knew he alone was the only hope Heyes had. He knew he had to fight down this feeling of dread in order to think clearly. Taking one of the lanterns, he ventured back into the yard.

The Kid crossed immediately to the area of numerous hoofprints he had noticed earlier. He studied them carefully. The mud had somewhat dried in the wind and that meant that the horse or horses had been there only a couple of hours before. He looked more closely with the lantern and determined he saw the repeated prints of only one horse. He traced the hoof prints to the woods, noting that they had entered and left the cabin clearing in the same area. That meant, unfortunately, that the rider's intention had been to visit this particular cabin. For a particular reason. The Kid stiffened as he realized the implications of that. He turned back down to the hoofprints and peered more closely.

Yes, he was right. There was unmistakably blood mixed in with the mud. The Kid felt weak and helpless. As he stood up he felt dizzy. Reason prevailed and he took a deep breath to clear his head. This was not the time to fail his friend. It was time to think clearly, to remember.

To remember the summons by telegraph he and Heyes had received about a week ago from their friend Sheriff Lom Trevors. "Meet Me Cabin Saturday. Important. Lom."

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry knew better than to ignore any summons from their friend Sheriff Trevors. Lom, acting as a go-between, was trying to procure a pardon for their past bank robberies from the Wyoming governor. Amnesty, it was called. And Heyes and the Kid wanted that amnesty in the worst way. Any time Lom wanted to see them was a chance of news from the governor.

And they knew exactly where Lom's cabin was. They'd met him there a few times before. Lom had a hunting cabin about fifty miles from his home in Porterville. A cabin in the woods that was remote and fairly secure. They usually felt safe from bounty hunters when they met him there.

So they'd ridden hard and managed to reach the isolated cabin by late afternoon on that Saturday.

It was a simple one-room cabin with a front porch that held a rocking chair. Inside the cabin was a large fireplace which Lom used for cooking and heat, a bed with a couple blankets and a pillow, a table with two unmatched chairs, and a bureau with several drawers. There was one window without curtains and a small stand near the window where Lom stored his gunbelt and hunting rifles. There were even a couple of simple paintings on the walls. Outside the cabin was a clearing that Lom called his yard. In the clearing was a lean-to with a simple roof and a storage bin for tools and inside the corral were feed and water troughs for horses. Next to the cabin was a sturdy wood and metal box that Lom had built into the ground for storing root vegetables. The simplicity of the situation always suited Heyes and the Kid because it reminded them of the way they had lived as children.

Lom had ushered them inside and asked them to sit down, a waste of breath and he knew it. There were no formalities, just a curt nod and an expectant "Well?" from Heyes.

"I have bad news, Kid," said Lom, "and it's not about the amnesty." He had practiced this speech but still hesitated for a moment to gather his wits together. He was talking to Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes, men he considered friends of his, but still notorious outlaws before they had decided to go straight, a decision in which he had been involved. He wondered for the umpteenth time how they would take this news. "Do you remember Garth Dugan?"

The Kid stiffened a little while Heyes shot him a glance. "Yeah, I remember Dugan. Last I heard he was in the Territorial prison for life."

"He was, Kid, he was, until last week. He and a wild man named Sharps broke out together. On the way out they managed to kill two guards." Being a lawman, this was the unnerving part of the story for Lom. But the worst was yet to come for his friends. "After he was gone, the other prisoners were questioned. They all said the same thing - they could have gone with him but were afraid of him. And they said he broke out for one reason only - to kill you, Kid."

The Kid's eyes softened but Heyes's got harder. "The Kid's not easily found, Lom. You yourself wouldn't know where we were if we didn't telegraph you. "

"He doesn't know where either of you are. And he never will, if I have anything to say about it. That's why I asked to meet you fellas here. You spend the winter right here. You'll be safe in my cabin."

Heyes and the Kid shot each other a glance that clearly said "no," so Lom continued. "Don't be foolish. Think about it. This is a haven for you. The snows will start soon and make it hard for anyone to get in or out. You're fifty miles from the closest town. No one will bother you. Dugan doesn't even know this place exists. You need a safe place for the winter."

"I don't think so, Lom," said the Kid. "Thanks anyway."

"We can take care of ourselves. You know that, Lom," said Heyes.

"Heyes," said Lom impatiently, "Dugan killed those people with his fists!"

Now Heyes and the Kid stared at each other for a different reason - brutality had never been part of their code as outlaws. It was worrisome. Heyes sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

Lom paused a moment and continued. "There's more. A couple of days ago the body of Sharps was found near Acton. He was beaten and shot. If Dugan did it that means he has a gun now. Probably one of the guard's guns."

The Kid started to say, "Acton - that's ..."

" ... halfway between the Prison and Porterville." Heyes finished it for him.

"It might be coincidence," said Lom, "or he might be headed to the Porterville area for a reason. Either way, you need ..."

"We need to be moving on," Heyes abruptly interjected.

The Kid gave his friend a thoughtful look and then said, "Wait a minute, Heyes. Maybe Lom's right. The snow will fly soon. If we stay here, Dugan most likely won't find us."

Lom knew he had them, at least the Kid. "That's right - you'll only have to be careful until the snows start. It's comfortable here. There's plenty of hay in the corral. And I brought a lot of food for you. Look here - there's sacks of beans and rice and flour for bread and even honey. There's tins of food over there. And I filled the bin with root vegetables and apples my neighbor lady gave me. And there's coffee. Plenty of clay pots for cooking by the fireplace. The pump won't work once it freezes but you'll have plenty of snow for water. And there's a bed. And a pillow. And I brought extra blankets. Anyhow, you have everything you need. Especially safety!" He glanced at the table and grabbed four bottles, which he waved over his head like he had just won them in a shooting gallery. "And I brought you whiskey! What do you say?"

Heyes gave the Kid a beseeching look, but he was deferring the decision to him. The Kid was quiet for a moment, then he said, "OK, Lom, we'll stay. You've gone to a lot of trouble." Heyes looked skeptical but did not reply.

Lom was clearly relieved. "Good, Kid, good. Dugan's an animal. Doesn't care who he hurts or kills. He's eluded the law so far but should be locked up soon. You'll be safe here until that happens."

It had been so easy to escape from the cage that it was laughable. Dugan had a lot to laugh about these days. For one thing, the look on the first guard's face right as Dugan's fist pushed the face into another dimension. The second guard had raised a gun but Dugan knew that a gun was no match for his powerful hands. He swung the first guard's nightstick so quickly and accurately that the second guard fell heavily to the floor. To make sure he was finished off, Dugan pounded him into pulp. The best part of it all was stealing the cell key from the first guard's belt while he was distracted.

But Dugan didn't understand why none of the inmates cheered or clapped except for his own cellmate, Sharps. He looked back at them and asked if anyone wanted to come along and help him destroy Kid Curry. The fastest gun in the West was about to go down without gunfire. That's all he wanted. But no one answered. He threw the key into the cell next to his before he and Sharps took off but no one used it to open the cell door. Their problem, he thought. But he and Sharps were free, easily free, and headed for the prison stable.

It was getting darker and harder to see, but as the Kid walked around the perimeter of the mishmash of hoofprints, he saw something he dreaded: near the horse's hoof prints was the unmistakable sign that something large had been dragged. Further examination produced another similar print leading away into the other woods, away from the rider. It was a bit different: a large broken print as if someone had been dragging a large sack, along with one or two partial human footprints placed erratically. Irrationally the Kid wondered momentarily why Heyes had dragged their big sack of beans into the woods. Closer examination with the lantern showed that the blood trail followed this track. Now the Kid knew what he was dealing with and sprang into action.

"Heyes! Heyes!" he called out frantically as he followed the print into the woods. There was no answer. The Kid needed to place the lantern close to the ground to see the print clearly but had little problem following it. Leaves and debris had been pushed to the side; something large had been dragged through the woods. Holding his breath, the Kid noticed blood intermingling with the entire path. The trail was slow going and the Kid kept looking behind him to make sure he wasn't being followed.

"Hey ...." he began to call when he tripped over something large. Righting the lantern, he crawled to his knees to examine what he had tripped over. It was a man, injured and doubled over into the fetal position. Gently the Kid turned the man on his back so he could see the face.

As he feared, he was looking into the barely recognizable face of his partner!

"Heyes!" gasped the Kid as he realized that the smooth, even features that he knew so well had been battered and beaten until swollen and almost unrecognizable. Heyes was clearly unconscious - the Kid made certain that his friend was not dead and allowed himself a moment to breathe a sigh of relief - but he had been assaulted and beaten horribly. The Kid knew he needed to get his partner into the relative safety of the cabin but was afraid to attempt to lift him from the spot. The cabin was only a short ways away, so he removed his jacket and placed it over his friend's chest and ran back to the house, taking the lantern with him. He grabbed two of the blankets Lom had left for them and ran back to Heyes. Spreading one blanket out on the ground, he gently turned his friend to the side and placed the blanket underneath., tugging at it until it was beneath his friend's body. Then he spread the other blanket over his partner and slowly dragged him back to the front door of the cabin, constantly on the lookout for any interruptions. Once at the door, he dropped both blankets and picked Heyes up in his arms and carried him inside, where he placed him on the bed.

Now the Kid had a better view of the damage that had been done to his partner. The once proud handsome face had been beaten bloody. His left eye was swollen completely shut and the other eye was also bruised. Blood was still oozing from his mouth. There was a large gash across his forehead and blood had dried in his hair. The gash looked like it had come from an object such as a piece of wood; there were splinters near the wound. The Kid shuddered as he remembered seeing a small log from the woodpile out of place in the yard. He gently lifted his friend's head with his hand and felt the caked blood on the back of his head. Nausea threatened to overtake the Kid. He shook with anger, closing his eyes until the queasiness and rage had passed.

He shuddered with the cold, too, and brought himself to the realization that he would need to determine the extent of Heyes's injuries. The cabin would have to be warmer for that. He crossed to the fireplace and stoked the fire, placing more logs in the hearth. "Damn it, damn it, damn it," he swore under his breath. It took a moment, but soon the fire grew with his prodding. It made him feel a little better to know that he was doing something to help Heyes. He thought about the talk he and Heyes had had right after Lom had left.

"You didn't want to stay here, Heyes. Why not?"

Heyes was quiet, then suddenly very direct. "Kid, Dugan is a killer. Cold-blooded killer. That's why he's in prison. Excuse me, was in prison. He killed men by trying to get to you, remember? You've never even met the bastard but someone told him that you shot some kin of his and he's been determined to kill you ever since. He's living a lie! He's crazy! There won't be ... I would just feel more in control if we were moving. We'll be sitting ducks here, Kid."

The Kid's manner softened. "But that's exactly why I feel safe here. The cover. Why didn't you say something when Lom was here?"

"Because this is your fight, Kid. Your decision. I'll get your back, but that's all I can do."

"You don't have to stay. He's not after you. Maybe you should keep moving. We can arrange to meet somewhere in the spring. Maybe Mexico."

Heyes sat down; he had said what he wanted to say. "No, we're partners. No matter what. I'll watch your back."

Sharps laughed too much. Sometimes he laughed at Dugan. Dugan told Sharps that they were headed to Porterville and Sharps laughed at the idea. Dugan had always found people to be afraid of him and he didn't like the laughter. Sharps had been all right as a cage mate but he wasn't likable any more. Dugan didn't give it a lot of thought before he decided to end the problem. At a lonely place off the road, he beat Sharps into unconsciousness with his powerful hands and then shot him. No more laughing. It felt better to be alone. He didn't want any witnesses to what he was about to do.

The Kid poured water from the jug into a pot near the fire to heat up and poured some water onto his neckerchief. The cabin was already beginning to warm so he unbuttoned Heyes's jacket, shirt and henley. It was slow going as all three had been soaked in blood that had started drying. And it was slow going because Kid Curry was afraid.

The famous gunfighter - the man who had faced down numerous enemies, the man who feared no one - was afraid that he could not help the only person in the world who meant anything to him. Heyes had promised to watch his back and had almost made the ultimate sacrifice in so doing. The Kid realized his hands were trembling and pounded his fists together to collect himself. It didn't work. He took a deep breath and folded his hands together, momentarily resting his forehead on them. Kid Curry was not a religious man, but, to the uninitiated, it may have looked like he was praying. In a tiny wisp of breath, the word "Please" escaped his lips. In a moment, the Kid rubbed his eyes and was ready to face the task at hand.

Forcing himself to do the unthinkable, he used the wet cloth to wipe away some of the blood and ground debris on Heyes's chest. His friend was almost completely bruised but the skin did not appear to be broken in more than one or two spots. The blows would have had to have been powerful to break skin through several dense layers of clothing. This was the first time he noticed the rope burns around his friend's neck. The burns were not deep but it appeared Heyes had been dragged at least a short ways by his neck. This discovery produced another barrage of blasphemous language. The Kid then pushed gently on the ribcage and decided that a couple of the ribs were probably broken or cracked. A painful injury, he realized, glad that Heyes was still unconscious. Holding his partner with one arm, he managed to remove the jacket and shirt completely. He winced when he saw that even Heyes's back was covered in bruises, some of them still bleeding. He felt sick when he saw that his partner's left arm was lying at an odd angle, clearly broken. He laid his friend back on the bed and cradled the broken arm in his hands. "How did you live through this?" he whispered beneath his breath, closing his eyes again.

Gathering himself together, he realized that he was only half done. He gingerly removed Heyes's boots and socks and was gratified to see that the feet did not appear to be injured. Since it was necessary, he carefully removed the tattered trousers and henley. The Kid had not seen his friend naked since they used to skinny-dip in the mill pond as young boys. He was embarrassed but did not allow this emotion to overtake him. There was much bruising and some blood from cuts. He gently caressed the legs and feet and felt what appeared to be another broken bone, just above the ankle. Wringing out the cloth in the hot water as best he could, he once again very gently removed the dirt and dried blood from his battered friend. He shuddered again at the sight of all the bruising his partner had endured; the shuddering reminded him of the cold. The Kid retrieved one of the blankets from the bed and placed it over Heyes's torso, legs and feet. Heyes had felt cold to the touch although his head was hot; the Kid hoped that wasn't important.

It then occurred to him that the bruises and the broken bones alone would not account for the large amount of blood he had noticed, most of it on the shoulders and chest. He held Heyes up again, searching for wounds he may have missed the first time, but concluded that the majority of the blood came from the head gash. Retrieving the warmed water from the fireplace, he cleaned his neckerchief in it as much as possible and began the unnerving job of swabbing the head wound. It was still bleeding slightly. The Kid instinctively knew that this was the most important attention he could give his partner.

The shock of his partner's aggressive attack had abated and he was able to begin thinking more clearly. He needed more cleansing cloths, so he went to their saddlebags to rummage for anything useful. Glancing out the window, he noticed it had started snowing heavily, so he placed a few empty pots outside to gather snow for fresh water. Turning back in, he made sure to bolt the door securely. He leaned against the door for support and then began to laugh slightly when he realized the futility of placing all the water pots outside; he could have simply gathered up snow in one pot at any time he wanted. But the laugh had broken the constant stress and given the Kid a much needed break. Back at his patient's bedside, he began cleansing the head wounds in earnest. He gently but firmly placed his palm over the large wound until it seemed the bleeding had stopped. The idea of using the whiskey to sterilize the wound occurred to him so he grabbed the bottle and cautiously applied a little. Satisfied, he tore a clean cotton shirt into strips and used some as bandages, which he wrapped around Heyes's head and tied in place. He then examined his friend's eyes. He was unable to open the swollen eye and concluded that it would heal itself in time. The skin around the other eye was bruised and colored but inspection showed the eye to be undamaged otherwise. He wadded up the feather mattress so Heyes's head would be elevated slightly.

Next, the Kid had to concentrate on the broken bones. He squeezed the arm while examining it, starting slightly when Heyes groaned with the pain. Vowing to be more gentle, he continued prodding until he was able to feel exactly where the break was. It wasn't hard to find. Taking a deep breath, he used both hands to pull the arm until he felt the broken parts fit together. Heyes groaned again, loudly, and the Kid apologized quietly to him. The Kid then gently cleaned the arm and used a couple of log splinters as braces for the arm, setting it straight and wrapping shirt bandages around it so the arm couldn't be moved. He repeated the process with the leg, including tying two sticks between the ankle and knee so the leg could not be moved easily. He worked gingerly, tenderly, as he knew Heyes would do if their positions were reversed. He fervently wished they had been.

By this time, he wanted to quit. He had run out of clean cloth and his partner now was groaning in pain regularly. Also, he himself was exhausted; he had hunted all day without eating, and the emotional toll his partner's distress was having on him was growing. Sighing, he slowly stood up and unbolted the door to step into the yard. He took a deep breath and then wrapped his arms around a pillar. He hung on for a minute with his eyes closed, breathing deeply to gather his wits together again. Then he walked back to the corral to choose two of the rabbits he had shot earlier. Before entering the cabin again, he filled one clay pot with snow and brought it with him. Inside the cabin, the Kid skewered the rabbits over the fire to cook and put the snow in the cooking pot to boil, unsure whether he would need it for Heyes or if he would turn it into coffee. Before he turned back to his partner, the Kid buried his face in his hands, remembering a conversation they had shared just a couple of days before.

"It's not too late, Kid," Heyes had said in the morning. "The snow's not here yet, we can get out quickly. We could leave right now and move like jackrabbits."

"Heyes," sighed the Kid, exasperated. "We've had this conversation over and over. I feel good about being here. You don't. Why don't you just leave? There's nothing keeping you here. I want to winter here - there's plenty of food and protection."

Undaunted, Heyes tried a different approach. "Did I tell you that I have a funny feeling about this place?"

"All right. Now what?"

"Maybe it's haunted. I've been getting strange feelings ... maybe there was a murder here."

"No, you haven't. No, there wasn't. Listen, Heyes. If you had said something while Lom was still here, we could have all talked about it. And Lom would have talked you into staying ..."

"I know," Heyes mumbled.

" ... but you didn't. So here we are. I like being here. And I'm going to stay. You can do whatever you want. I wouldn't blame you for leaving if that's what you want. But stop trying to talk me out of it." The Kid's tone softened when he looked out the window. "You'll feel better when the snow comes."

"Maybe there will be a murder here," Heyes had murmured thoughtfully.

But Heyes had stayed and had not mentioned it again. The Kid raised his weary head from his hands and looked at his battered friend. He had been wrong ... Heyes did not feel better when the snow came. Heyes almost died when the snow came. The Kid used this thought as a spur to do everything within his power for his beloved friend.

He knew he had to finish attending to his patient's wounds and bruises. The only things he had left for bandages were the two shirts in Heyes's saddlebag. The Kid decided it wasn't necessary to shred them; he wrapped them whole around his patient's torso, tying the sleeves tightly. He hoped it was sufficient to stop Heyes from moving and allow the cracked ribs to heal. Next he retrieved the neckerchief he had used as a cleansing cloth. The water it had been placed in was boiling so he needed his knife to remove it. He tenderly cleansed his friend's body a second time, inspecting all open wounds he found. He was satisfied with his job and placed the two blankets over his friend to provide some comfort. Heyes had stopped groaning. The Kid reflected that he had not found a bullet wound; he was grateful but not surprised. He placed the chair by the window to bide his time while the rabbits cooked. He had a clear view of the swirling snow in the early moon, and he occasionally nodded off.

An hour later, after dining on the rabbits, the Kid had removed any uneaten meat from the bones and placed the meat and the bones in one of the clay pots. He placed the food outside to keep and secured another pot inversely on top. Stepping back inside, he noted how cold the little cabin became with the door open just a short time. He worried for his friend, but Heyes did not stir. As he had done often in the last couple of hours, he checked his friend's pulse. It was weak but steady, much stronger than it had been when he had first been discovered. The Kid decided he should try to stay awake that night, so he turned the hot water he had been saving into coffee. It was not good and he grimaced as he tasted it, but it was still coffee. Throwing more logs on the fire, he unrolled his bedroll on the floor but realized it was too low to keep watch over Heyes sufficiently. It was better, he decided, to rest in the chair. He pulled the chair up next to Heyes's bed and settled in, leaning back against the wall and carefully propping his feet on the bed.

The Kid was bone-tired, the day having taken far more of an emotional toll on him than a physical one. He rubbed his eyes. He remembered his friend the way he used to be. Even just that morning. But now he looked at Heyes and saw a broken man who resembled the Civil War veterans he had seen limping home when he was a boy. They had been missing arms or legs and they had bandages around their heads and their pain was unimaginable. He winced at the memory, as he had winced at the time. Staring at Heyes, he felt his eyes fill with tears. There was only so much he knew how to do, and he had done it all. Even so, Heyes may not recover .....

Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he stood suddenly, ashamed of himself. He paced for a moment, glancing out the window and seeing nothing but snow. He snuffed one of the oil lamps and turned the other low. Then he got his gunbelt and checked his gun carefully. The cold steel felt good in his hands, something he could count on, something he knew how to control. He replaced the gun in the holder and tied on the gunbelt. Then he sat down again as he had before, watching his friend.

Sometime during the night, Hannibal Heyes awakened quietly. His vision was blurred at first. He stared at the ceiling with his one good eye, trying to remember where he was. He turned his head and spied his friend sleeping in the chair. Heyes smiled slightly at the sight of the Kid's rhythmic breathing - it was proof the Kid was still alive. Besides, with his partner nearby he knew he himself was safe and being cared for. But then the pain overtook him and he gasped loudly.

Before he was even fully awake, Kid Curry's gun was drawn and pointed directly at Heyes.

Heyes managed another small smile. "Go ahead and shoot, Kid," he said hoarsely. "I couldn't feel any worse."

The Kid holstered his gun. It was enormous relief to see his patient smiling at him. "How are you feeling, Heyes?" he asked softly.

The Kid was such a sweet sight that Heyes couldn't take his eyes off him. But the pain was getting to him and caused him to cringe and sometimes took his breath away. "Been better."

"Don't move, Heyes. Try not to move. I think you have some broken ribs."

"The arm?"

"Broken, too. I set it best I could. And the leg. You need time to heal now." While he was talking, the Kid had removed the pillow from the chair and placed it gently under Heyes's head. Heyes squeezed his good eye shut, trying in vain to block out the pain, but it was getting the better of him. "Heyes," the Kid fairly breathed, "could you drink some water? "

It was a moment before Heyes could answer. "Whiskey ..."

The Kid retrieved the bottle of whiskey. He placed one arm under the pillow and raised his partner's head to allow a bit of the whiskey to grace his lips. Heyes coughed slightly, which in turn caused more pain, but he steeled himself and took a couple of swallows of what was the closest thing to medicine he would see. The whiskey burned as it went down and after a short time, he motioned that he had had enough.

Heyes became very quiet. The whiskey was doing its job, thought the Kid. Heyes stared at the Kid mournfully; he had never known such pain. He extended his good hand and the Kid grabbed it readily. Once again his eyes filled with tears as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Heyes. This should have been me." Heyes shook his head "no" very slightly, and it was understood forgiveness was unnecessary.

It took several days for Dugan to reach Porterville because he didn't know the right route and because he tried to avoid the open road as much as possible. But he eventually reached Porterville and headed right for the Sheriff's office. He didn't know what Lom Trevors looked like, but there was a sign near the door that said "Sheriff Trevors." A man with a badge was just unlocking and entering the building; it appeared he had just returned from a long ride. Good, he's alone, thought Dugan. He tied his horse at the rail and allowed his huge bulk to fill the doorway as Lom turned to him. Dugan knew from experience that first exposure to his size was often sufficient to momentarily stun his opponents. Lom hesitated for just a moment, but it was long enough for Dugan to move like lightning. With his bare hands, he dragged Lom to the floor by his neck, then bashed his head into the desk. Sitting Lom in the chair, he bullied the half-unconscious man. "Sheriff, there's a knife in your ribs, aimed right at your heart." It wasn't true, but Lom's eyes grew bigger so Dugan knew he was getting to him. "You tell me one thing - where's Kid Curry?" When Lom didn't reply and struggled feebly, Dugan placed a powerful blow mid-face, breaking Lom's nose and maybe more. "It's rumor you know Kid Curry. You're friends, so I figger you warned him about me. Where is he?" Lom tried again to break free. Dugan had been in a good mood, but now he was beginning to get angry. This wasn't fun any more. "I'll kill you, Sheriff," he said, raising his fist ready to strike. Lom finally broke. "He's at ... my cabin," he gasped. "Where?" growled Dugan. Between gasps, Lom told him. Dugan knew he was probably lying about the location, but he knew enough about that hill area to figure he could find it on his own. Now he was satisfied, in a good mood again. "Thanks, Sheriff," he said. He grabbed Lom by the neck again and bashed his head into the desk, happily watching as the unconscious man slumped to the ground. "You get to live because you were good to Dugan." On the way out, he noticed the Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry wanted posters and made a mental note of their descriptions, proud of himself for remembering to check.

When Heyes awoke again it was late morning. He saw the Kid leaning on the windowsill, staring out at the snow. He wanted to call out to his friend but thoughtfully considered that the Kid had had a bad night and probably needed some peaceful time to himself. But he was wrong; as soon as the Kid heard him stirring, his full attention was turned to his patient and he hurried to his bedside.

"Is it better today?" he asked gently.

Heyes didn't want to be more of a burden than he knew he already had been. He ventured a small smile and said "Better" hoarsely. But the unrelenting pain was still there. He was about to try to concentrate on what hurt the most when the Kid asked him to do just that. The head wound made him dizzy and nauseous and burned a little, but the majority of the pain was spread out over most of his body in the form of great dull aches. And the arm and leg! They hurt like the devil, too. And those ribs! He couldn't move even a little without sharp pains from his ribs. And even his throat was sore. Heyes concluded that there wasn't much on his body that didn't hurt and told the Kid so. Then he said quietly, "It was him, Kid."

The Kid sat down heavily in the chair and bowed his head. "I know," he said, sighing. He looked at Heyes with a wearied expression on his face and his body appeared somehow defeated. Sighing again, he said, "I need to know what happened here yesterday, Heyes. Can you tell me?"

Heyes's first response was negative, but he reconsidered and realized the Kid did indeed have the need to know what had happened. He nodded. He was grateful when the Kid put a mug of cool water to his lips. It helped to ease the pain of speaking, of remembering.

He began, "I was inside cleaning my gun when I saw him ride into the clearing. He called out for you, Kid, so I knew who he was. He's a big man, like a bear. I could have taken him from inside but that would have been murder; it didn't look like he had a gun. I knew what he wanted and thought I could sweet-talk my way out of it. And I knew you'd be back soon. So I left the gun inside to show peace and went out ..." Even this small amount of talk was a strain for Heyes and he began to cough. The coughing in turn caused hurting from the ribs and he cried out in pain. The Kid grabbed him around the ribcage to steady him and gently laid him down again, propping his head up slightly with the pillow and giving him a sip of water. For just a moment, Heyes grabbed his friend with his one good arm and rested his head lightly against the Kid's shoulder. He was gasping for breath. "Don't talk any more," said the Kid, "just take it easy now."

"No," gasped Heyes, "Let me tell it." In a moment, he did. "He thought I was you, Kid, so I figured I could use that to my advantage."

The Kid closed his eyes; his worst nightmare had come true.

"He dismounted. Said something about his kid brother being killed, so I explained it wasn't me."

"You?"

"He didn't buy it; I remember he screamed at me. I didn't see it coming; he jumped me and got me to the ground. He beat me and kept screaming. He was on top of me and I couldn't defend myself. Then he hit me with something hard. Must've blacked out for a minute because the next thing I remember I was near the woods."

The head gash! The Kid winced and buried his face in his hands. Then he also remembered that Heyes had been dragged by a rope around his neck. The Kid didn't think he could take much more of this; he wondered dully how Heyes could even talk about it.

And, truly, Heyes had started out rationally enough, but now his memories were taking an emotional toll on him, too. The Kid asked him once again to stop, but he kept talking.

"I remember he just kept kicking me. I covered my head with my arms but he managed to get my left arm, too. I tried to relax so the damage wouldn't be bad. But ... I ... I don't know, Kid. I must've blacked out again. When I woke up, it looked like he was gone, but I dragged myself into the woods in case he came back. I couldn't stand. That's all I remember." He took a deep breath to steady himself.

The Kid's voice was barely above a whisper. "Why didn't you tell him who you were? Why did you let him think you were me?"

Heyes stared at the ceiling. He spoke quietly and slowly. "It wouldn't have mattered. I knew he wanted to kill you - I thought it would save your life. Lom was right - Dugan's an animal. He wouldn't have spared me if he got to you. Better he should think he'd killed you so he'd move on. And I figured I could survive by playing possum."

There was a catch in his throat when the Kid whispered, "Heyes, I can't ever make this up to you."

Heyes turned to him and tried to smile. "You already have, Kid."

The Kid turned away so his friend could not see his eyes. His heart was in his throat and he felt a deep wave of appreciation for the partner he often took for granted. When he could talk again, he told Heyes, "There's a rabbit soup here I want you to eat. And coffee. And all the water and whiskey you want." He sniffed and turned back to his partner, who had been watching him the whole time, also with appreciation. "Hunting was good yesterday. Besides more jackrabbits, we have ... a lot. A lot. We'll eat well for a while."

Heyes thought how very good it felt to be safe in the presence of his friend. "Where's the game?"

"Under the lean-to. Frozen. It's been snowing since yesterday."

"Oh?" This was a surprise. The Kid helped Heyes sit up and placed the pillow strategically behind his back. Heyes was pleased when he saw nothing but white out the window. "Maybe I should think about staying here for a while to heal." The Kid actually smiled.

Dugan couldn't remember a time when he had been happier. Everything had gone according to plan. He was proud of himself for not killing that Sheriff and he was especially proud of himself for beating Kid Curry to death. Curry deserved it; he should never have shot Timmy. Ah, Timmy. The good times they used to have together. Their maw had died right after Timmy's birth and their paw never had time for them. When he did see them, he beat them. Dugan and Timmy had thought they were helping out by stealing cows and pies and saddles and things, but their paw sure didn't appreciate them. So they lit out on their own. It was lots better then. Dugan thoughtfully remembered his kid brother. He didn't really think he had loved Timmy, but he didn't dislike him, so maybe that's the same thing. The more he thought about it, the more he thought about how much he had disliked Curry. Beating him to death was too good for him ... he should have also ... Wait a minute! ...

Dugan thought back to the descriptions of Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes on the wanted posters. He had been so proud to remember to look, but now he couldn't remember which description fit which man. What if he had killed the wrong man? What if Curry was still alive?! This thought worried him for a minute, until he realized that it only meant he had killed Hannibal Heyes instead. That was really all right, too - it meant Curry's friend died and that would make him feel bad.

But it also meant Kid Curry was still alive!

Dugan spurred his horse back in the direction of the cabin. If he rode all night, that meant he could reach the cabin by day after tomorrow.

Staying in bed to heal was not second nature to Heyes, who became restless almost immediately. He was content to relax the first day, but by the second day he wanted to try to walk. The Kid thought better of it and forced Heyes to stay in bed each time he tried to get up, no matter what his partner tried to bribe him with. By the third day, Heyes decided to try a different tactic.

"Kid," said Heyes, "I'm so tired of being in this bed alone that even you are beginning to look good to me."

The Kid raised one eyebrow. A Hannibal Heyes joke. He must be starting to feel better. "You're not my type, Heyes," he said as he finally helped him to stand and walk around a bit, allowing his partner to lean on him. After those days of healing, it was easier than either had thought it would be, but not by much. The pain in the ribs was still staggering and the arm and the head and some of the bruises still hurt, but, with help, Heyes was able to walk around the cabin before tiring. His good leg responded and the broken leg pained him; his breathing got harder the more he moved. So it was back to bed for a while again. The Kid continued to wait on him, providing whatever he wanted, probably grateful for something to do. Often when Heyes was resting, he watched his partner staring out the window at the blowing snow. Without exception, Heyes always sensed that the Kid was miserable.

At one point, Heyes decided to question him. He stirred from his nap and greeted the Kid with, "Hey, partner in ex-crime."

The Kid turned suddenly and offered Heyes the usual small smile and "How are you feeling?"

"Kid," said Heyes softly, "why so sad? It's all over. The bad part is over."

The smile disappeared. "No, it's not, Heyes."

Heyes stiffened. "I know what you're thinking, Kid, and I don't want you to do it. Let the law handle it."

The Kid's anger was under control but his partner still sensed it. "Heyes, Dugan almost killed you. He thought he had. You know I can't let him get by with that."

"Don't do it, Kid. I don't want you to. The law will find him. If they haven't already." Heyes knew this mood well. There was nothing he could say or do to change his partner's mind when he sensed this deep rage.

"Don't give it another thought. Your job is to rest and heal up. We'll talk about it later."

But there was more. It wasn't Heyes who had the intuition about things that had happened when he wasn't there - it was the Kid. Because the Kid figured out how it was that Dugan knew to find the cabin. And biding his time inactively while his partner healed was eating away at him.

The next day Heyes sternly said "Talk to me, Kid." Heyes could always use that phrase to get the Kid to talk when he would otherwise be inclined not to.

The Kid turned to him with a worried expression. "We have to leave, Heyes. Are you ready to ride?"

This was totally unexpected! The last thing on earth Heyes wanted was to try to sit a horse and ride through fresh snow but he recognized an urgency in his partner's voice that he had been sensing for days. "If necessary. How far?"

"Porterville."

Fifty miles! Heyes hid his unenthusiastic attitude and asked, "Why, Kid? Why?"

The Kid sighed and pulled up a chair next to his friend. "You've been through a lot, so I didn't want to worry you. But I think I know how Dugan found us." He paused but there was no response other than Heyes's full attention. "He got to Lom, Heyes. And Lom wouldn't have told him anything by choice. So I'm worried about him. I want to check on him. If he's still alive."

The Kid was right, of course. There really was no other explanation. Heyes stared hard at the Kid for a moment, then lowered his eyes. He had been so wrapped up in his own pains and problems that he hadn't been thinking about anyone else. But Dugan had beat him and left him for dead, so there's no telling what kind of shape he would have left Lom in. Heyes remembered that Dugan had killed two guards during his escape, and he had been put in prison in the first place for murdering another lawman. He had no fear of the law. He was like a grizzly bear - he had no fear of anyone. But he did leave Heyes for dead, and he did think he had killed the Kid. His mission was accomplished. "Kid, maybe you should go on alone. Dugan thinks he killed you; I should be safe here. ‘Fact, there might not be a safer place. You can travel a lot faster without me."

"No. Don't ask me why, but I have a feeling that we're not safe here at all. I'm not going to leave you here alone." It was the tone of voice that told Heyes there would be no arguing. Once again, they disagreed. But this time Heyes was inclined to trust the Kid completely. Even though the Kid had been wrong before, Heyes knew that he was adamant about the decision to leave - and there might be some truth to what he said!

"I'm ready any time, Kid," Heyes said softly.

The Kid looked out the window. "By the looks of things, it will be clear tomorrow. How about if we start out at dawn? We might be able to make it in two or three days then."

Heyes nodded solemnly. "Dawn."

Before heading outside to ready their mounts, the Kid said soberly, "I know you're in no shape to ride, Heyes. Don't think I don't know that. I'll try to make this trip as easy as possible. I just want to say thanks for ... for humoring me, I guess. This whole thing could turn out to be a waste of time; I hope it is." Heyes looked at his partner and nodded. It was snowing lightly again.

It was full daylight by the time the Kid went outside to saddle the horses. They had arisen early, but the going was slow for Heyes, who still could not walk or move well and whose bandages had to be inspected and changed. Both knew that it would be a long slow ride for Heyes and not a pleasant one. The Kid felt sick about it, but he felt his mission was of great importance, and he knew Heyes felt the same way.

The Kid packed the horses with plenty of food, in case they ran into another snowstorm, and he attached the walking stick he had made for Heyes, along with Heyes's gunbelt, to the saddlehorn.

He never heard the man enter the clearing from the woods because the man had made sure to be very quiet.

That's him!

The sudden intensity of a gunshot startled Heyes, who had been in the cabin dousing the fire. He hobbled to the window as quickly as he could. What he saw was the Kid lying face-down on the ground, a red stain on his shoulder. It took a moment for Heyes to piece together what had happened. He saw the Kid use his good arm to pull himself to his knees and then he heard the man speak. "Throw it!" When the Kid didn't move, he yelled, "NOW."

Heyes reluctantly tore his gaze away from his partner to find the source of the voice. Even before his eyes reached the man, he knew who it was. With horror he focused on Garth Dugan, who was aiming his gun at the Kid.

The Kid responded to Dugan's demand by carefully lifting his gun from the belt and throwing it toward the cabin door. He glanced at the window and gave a quick nod to Heyes, trying to signal him to stay inside.

But Heyes was frozen. The horrifying memories of his last encounter with Dugan flooded his head, causing him to feel nauseous. A low moan escaped from the back of his throat. He tried to think what to do but couldn't concentrate. Hatred and fear overtook his entire being.

From the yard came the voice of the most reviled man Hannibal Heyes had ever faced. "I know it's you, Curry. I know it's you. Your judgment day is come ..."

Heyes worked hard to gather his wits together. He looked at his partner, kneeling in front of the enemy. Heyes could see blood on the shoulder, both in front and in back. That was good, meaning the bullet exited. The Kid was too far away from his gun for it to be of any use. And with that shoulder he wouldn't be able to make any fast moves. Heyes knew it was up to him to do something.

"It was MY brother you killed. MINE. You're high and mighty, you think. You've met your match, Curry. I can't beat you in a gunfight, but with my bare hands I'll tear you apart. You'll meet your Maker. You don't kill my kid brother ..." Dugan was waving the gun around and appeared to be getting more and more angry with every word. Heyes looked quickly around the room for his own gun. It wasn't there.

The Kid staggered to his feet and attempted to steady himself. But in an instant Dugan was on him. Dugan flung his gun toward the woods and jumped on top of the Kid, bringing him to the ground again. The Kid was unprepared and unable to shield himself from the blows that rained on him. Heyes watched in horror, reliving through the Kid everything that had recently happened to him. The memories came back to him as fast and furious as the blows to the Kid. And the Kid, just like Heyes, was unable to defend himself against such a large and formidable opponent. He covered his head with his hands but his movements were limited due to the shoulder wound. Dugan was reliving his revenge and with each blow his rage was fueled more. And the blows kept coming, to the head, to the body ...

The Kid was going to die.

Heyes knew his own body was useless. He knew his brain was not concentrating. He knew he was close to being overcome by his emotions. But above all, he knew he had to do something or the Kid would die. It was the one coherent thought he had, the one and only thing he thought of that could spur him into action. Where's the gun?, he thought frantically. Spying it out on his horse, he looked around the cabin for Lom's rifle. It was handy, but Heyes knew his bad arm would not be able to hold it properly or aim it accurately without a good chance of hitting the Kid. Then he spotted the Kid's handgun where it had been thrown. It was a few feet in front of the cabin door. No! thought Heyes. If he knows I'm here, he'll kill me!

But it was the Kid Dugan was trying to kill.

Heyes's selfish hesitation lasted only a moment. He hobbled to the door. Taking a deep breath, he flung open the door and quickly estimated how far away the gun was. Ten, maybe fifteen, feet. The terrible stream of profanity that Dugan had been raining on the Kid stopped as he noticed Hannibal Heyes standing in the doorway. He stood, abandoning the Kid on the ground. Both Heyes and Dugan were dumbstruck as each eyed his enemy.

"You're dead," an astounded Dugan growled, "I killed you myself!"

Heyes was the first to recover. "You bastard!" he screeched. In spite of the broken leg, in spite of the broken arm and the painful ribs, Heyes quickly limped and staggered to the gun, lunging to the ground to grab it with his good hand. He had a clear enough head to know he would have only one chance, for Dugan had not hesitated, and was already almost on top of him. Lying on the ground, Heyes took an instant to steady and aim the gun. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes and pulling the trigger - twice - was Dugan, airborne and filling his entire field of vision.

For what seemed like hours but was really only a couple of seconds, Heyes was afraid to open his eyes. He heard nothing except the Kid screaming his name and the reverberations of the gunshots. He felt nothing except the pain from his broken arm, freshly broken. And then he heard - rather than saw - Dugan bluntly hit the ground immediately to his left. The bullets had been well-timed and had kept the body from falling full-force on top of Heyes, although the body was lying across his good leg. Heyes knew Dugan was dead. Blood was everywhere and Heyes was abhorred by it. "Ah, ah, ah," Heyes gasped in horror as he tried with all his strength to remove his body from the grasp of his dead enemy. In a moment he was successful and rolled over several times to escape any close proximity. Heyes lay on the ground panting and trying to keep from being sick. The pain was back in the ribs and the leg, and the arm, which he had fallen on, and there was blood in his eye from his head wound, which had re-opened. With utter revulsion, Heyes forced himself to look at Dugan, the bear, the enemy, the wild man, the man ...

And then Hannibal Heyes did something he had not done since he was a boy - he screamed. His scream came straight from his heart and pierced to the heavens, letting God know that he had been through more than he could handle. And - because of that - he had killed someone.

From his short distance away, Kid Curry had watched his friend's heroic act. He was not badly injured - Heyes had intervened in time. He staggered to his feet and tried walking to the body, falling to his knees to check Dugan for signs of life. Mercifully, there were none. He crawled to Heyes and lay down next to him. By that time, Heyes was lying quietly. Both did not move for several minutes until their breathing gradually evened out.

As if by magic, they turned to each other at the same time. "Are you all right?" "How bad is it?"

The Christmas dance in Porterville was always the biggest event of the year. The community hall was beautifully decorated and festive with dance music. All the men and women in town were there - had looked forward to it all year, in fact. There were three single men in attendance who were bandaged and bruised, two with arms in slings, and one even with a broken leg.

Hannibal Heyes had to tear himself away from four very pretty young ladies in order to speak with his two friends by the punch bowl.

"Didn't I tell ya? Didn't I tell ya? Always listen when the prophet speaks," he said excitedly to Lom and the Kid, after limping over to them.

"I admit it, Heyes. Now I'm glad I came," said Lom.

"It's true," continued Heyes. "Women just want to take care of men who are injured. They want to mother them."

"I didn't have "mothering" in mind," the Kid said with a smile. "I had a different kind of comfort in mind."

"The night is young, Kid. And I noticed you had quite a choice yourself. Personally, I like your blonde."

"I think I like my brunette the best - the one with the big ... uh ... hair ribbon," Lom said thoughtfully. He was going to stroke his chin, but his hand graced the bandages on his head and reminded him of his injuries. "Think I'd better get back in there. Don't want them to forget who I am," he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He carried three cups of punch as he walked away.

After Lom had gone, the Kid told Heyes, "I noticed your limp seems a lot worse tonight."

Hannibal Heyes flashed his best impish smile to his friend. "They're fighting over who can get me to dance first. I have to give them something to look forward to."

"So you can have something to look forward to."

"Exactly!" Heyes turned back to his ladies and waved at them, since they were waving to him.

The Kid smiled at the ladies also. "Dancing's not so easy when your arm's in a sling. And you've got a bum leg, too."

"Oh, I figure I'll recover enough for the last two dances of the night. After that I'll probably be too tired and have to lie down somewhere."

There was a hesitation as the Kid looked at his friend thoughtfully. "You know, Heyes, I haven't seen you in high spirits like this in a while."

Heyes turned to the Kid and paused meaningfully. "No reason not to be," he said softly.

"Are you all right?" They stared at each other for a moment with great affection, the memories of the last month flooding back and threatening - unsuccessfully - to wound two healing men.

Then Heyes flashed another of his big smiles to his friend. "Ask me tomorrow," he said, limping back to his ladies.

More of Goldie's Alias Smith and Jones stories can be found at:  https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1458308/goldieasj 

1.     Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.