SquidgeWorld Archive

There was no question that the Alcalde of Santa Marta, Mexico, was a fair man.  A man of unwavering honesty, a man whose professional life had been spent in the pursuit of justice.  And even a congenial, amiable man.  Kid Curry had liked him immediately, notwithstanding the fact that he was a lawman, and Hannibal Heyes found himself admiring the Alcalde as well.  It was impossible not to admire someone with that much integrity.

The Alcalde knew that the evidence that had placed Kid Curry in his Mexican jail for the crime of murder was circumstantial.  The murder had in fact been committed by another person or persons unknown, but the meager amount of evidence that existed pointed right at the Kid as the culprit.  A jury would decide.  The Alcalde seemed to sense that the evidence was wrong, but his job was to see justice done.  And the Kid was the only suspect.

The evidence pointed to the wrong man, and since the Kid himself was in jail, it was up to Heyes to prove it and see that his friend was freed.

At first it had been almost a game.  Kid Curry, as Thaddeus Jones, had been arrested for the murder of another visitor to Santa Marta, Rolf Hanley.  The Kid had sent for Heyes to help him and had cooled his heels in the cool of the jail cell while waiting for him.  He had wondered who had been responsible for the coldblooded murder of Mr. Hanley, an altogether likeable man, but, with his new restrictions, had been unable to do anything other than speculate.  The Kid knew that Heyes would shed light on the drama and hand-deliver the real murderer to the Alcalde.  And the Kid figured that he would be released with an apology, thanks to his partner.  During those days of waiting, the Alcalde and the Kid had spent some time conversing.  Kid Curry had enjoyed the talks and the gentle spirit of the Alcalde.  He particularly liked his voice, or rather his tone.  He spoke evenly and softly and seemed to be a caring person.

But, after Heyes arrived, that soft even tone suddenly became ominous with the response the Alcalde gave to the query about what would happen to the Kid if the jury found him guilty of murder.

“You see that wall outside your window?  You stand against that wall and we shoot you!”

It was a blunt, simple answer to a blunt, simple question.  Heyes and the Kid probably already knew the answer before they asked.  But the general friendly mien of the Alcalde had prompted them to risk the question, perhaps hoping against hope that the response would be more positive.

“ . . . shoot you!”  The words resounded in their heads and took their breath away.  Heyes groaned.  Although spoken in his usual soft tone, the Alcalde’s implication was strong that justice would be served and that, if Thaddeus Jones was guilty, he would suffer.  The Alcalde meant business.

It was no longer a game.  Kid Curry’s life was in danger.  Hannibal Heyes found himself in the unwilling position of protector against an unseen enemy, the Law.    In the short time he had spent in Santa Marta, he had met several people he considered suspects, but unless he could discover which one actually committed the murder, and deliver him to the Alcalde, the Kid would be killed as soon as his short trial ended.

And time was running out.

Within a couple of days, Heyes had narrowed down his list of suspects.  Two strong ones were Margaret Carruthers and Meg Parker.  He couldn’t for the life of him understand why either woman would want to kill Rolf Hanley, and no motive was revealed with sly questioning.  He wasn’t even sure why he suspected them.    It was more a matter of eliminating everyone else.

Margaret Carruthers was a Santa Marta resident, and had an unbelievable alibi for the time of the killing.  She claimed not to have an acquaintance with Mr. Hanley but her disavowal did not seem believable.  And she hailed from his hometown, Lexington.

And Meg Parker, although over the US border at the time, could easily have hired someone to do her killing for her.   It seemed odd that she showed up in Santa Marta, a woman alone, when she did.  She could have been checking to see that her murderous orders had been followed.

This also meant that someone else could have been involved.  Santa Marta was not a large town, and Heyes did what he could in those couple of days to canvas as much of the population as possible, accounting for all residents he could find and determining if their alibis were sound.  If there was a second party involved, that person was long gone.

But Margaret Carruthers and Meg Parker were still there.  Both denied any knowledge of Mr. Hanley’s murder, and Mrs. Parker, in particular, took offense at any suggestion that she might be involved.  Heyes was confused and distressed.  Time was running out for his partner.

Heyes visited his friend daily.  With each visit, the Kid’s spirits seemed to have sunk lower.  The closer the trial got, the more depressed he seemed to be.  Heyes no longer had any idea what to say to him.  It wasn’t like Kid Curry to allow outside events to upset his equanimity, but he was, after all, locked in a jail cell.  There was absolutely nothing he could do.  He was completely dependent on Heyes to find some way to free him, and Heyes didn’t appear to know how to do that.

On the day before the trial, Heyes still was no closer to finding the murderer.  No new facts had presented themselves, there were no other suspects in his mind, and both Margaret Carruthers and Meg Parker were just as closed-mouthed as they had been all along.  He had nothing but suspicions and had never been so frustrated in his life.

Hannibal Heyes had to come up with a plan.

He visited the jail.  On the way in, he stopped as always to hand his gun to the deputy at the front desk.  He glanced around to make sure there were no other people in the room and then strode quickly into the Alcalde’s office without announcement.

“Let him out on bail,” Heyes shouted for the umpteenth time.  “He’s not going anywhere.”

“I am far from convinced of that.  This is a serious charge.”

“Look,” Heyes continued, reaching into his jacket’s inside pocket and pulling out the money he had won at poker.  “There are hundreds of dollars here.  You can have it!  All of it!  This is good bail money.  Think of what this can do for Santa Marta!”

Heyes detected a brief flicker in the lawman’s eyes before he spoke.  It was almost imperceptible but Heyes read it.   “Mr. Smith . . . “

“If you don’t take this money and let Mr. Jones out on bail, you will be responsible for denying the good citizens of Santa . . . “

“No, Mr. Smith!  As I have said repeatedly, Mr. Jones will remain in jail until his trial.  It will be a fair trial  –  I will see to that myself.  If he is found to be innocent, he will be allowed to go free.  If he is found to be guilty . . . “  He shrugged.

There was no yield.  Heyes had spent the last couple of weeks doing everything he could think of to save his partner, and it was quite clear to him that he wouldn’t win this argument any more than he had won any of the others.  The Alcalde believed strongly in the law and hoped the correct verdict would prevail.

But in this case, the law was wrong.

They studied each other for a moment, neither speaking.  Finally, Heyes spoke in a low steady voice, a voice that suggested he was out of options.   “You know as well as I do that he’s innocent.”

 “A jury will decide,” the Alcalde said simply.

Heyes ignored him.  “It’s Margaret Carruthers!  That woman in the big hacienda outside town.  I’ve told you before!  It’s her.  You know it’s her!”

The Alcalde sighed.  “Mr. Smith.  You have no . . . “ 

 “No, I don’t have any proof.  But if you give me more time, I can get it!  I don’t know why she killed Hanley, but I know the Ki – my friend – didn’t!  She hasn’t made a wrong move yet, but she will.  And when she does, I’m going to be there;  I’m going to make her confess, and bring her in to you.  That’s what I’ll do for you.  Just give me the chance!  Put off the trial a couple of weeks.  That’s all I ask!” 

Heyes was surprised when the Alcalde hesitated briefly before speaking.  “Mr. Smith,” he said sternly as he stood up, “our opinions are not on trial here.  Justice will be done tomorrow.  I promise you that.  And you must do nothing – nothing! – to stand in its way.  Do you understand me?”

Clearly this was a threat.  Heyes stood slowly as well.  He desperately studied the Alcalde’s eyes.  The man had an expression of steel.  His face yielded nothing.  Heyes’s nerves were already in a shaky state and he was cowed by the intensity of his opposition.  He backed away unconsciously.

The Alcalde retained the same firm demeanor.  “This will be the last time you will be allowed to see your friend before the trial.  The trial will go on as scheduled.”  He opened the door to the hall and signaled to his deputy to escort Heyes to the jail cells.  The Alcalde spoke to the deputy for a moment in Spanish, a language Heyes did not understand.

Once in the Kid’s cell, Heyes sat immediately on the bunk without greeting his partner.  He said nothing until the deputy had left the cell room and closed the door.   He was about to speak when he heard the dejected inquiry, “Well?”

Heyes looked at the Kid.  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

The Kid’s response was incredibly sad.  He said nothing.  He merely sat on the bunk with his head lowered and his hands clasped.

Heyes studied his partner.  The Kid’s face was set in a deep frown.  His eyes were closed and he seemed miserable.  Heyes’s heart went out to him.  He had never seen his partner this dejected before.  “Thaddeus?” he said softly.  When there was no response, Heyes touched his arm gently.  “Kid?”

The Kid slowly shook his head.  “What’s the use?” he whispered.   “There’s no hope for me.  You can’t figure it out.  What’s the use?”

“Kid, listen . . . “

“It’s over, Heyes.  I didn’t want it to end like this.”  His voice was close to cracking.

Heyes sucked in his breath.  “It’s not as bad as you think,” he whispered.

The Kid squeezed his eyes shut and then slowly opened them.  His partner’s comment was beginning to register.  He looked at Heyes.  “What?” he said dully.

“I said I’d get you out of here and I meant it.  If we can’t do it the right way, we’ll have to do it the hard way.”  A sly Hannibal Heyes smile was beginning to appear as Heyes reached inside his jacket pocket and allowed his partner a glimpse of the butt end of a 45 revolver, nestled deep inside the wad of bills.

The Kid was beginning to come to life.  “You mean break out?” he whispered furiously.

Heyes nodded and put his hand over his partner’s mouth.  “Keep quiet, will you?”  The Kid nodded.  His eyes were very wide and suddenly registered hope.  It was exactly what Heyes wanted to see.  His smile widened.

“When?  Now?”

“No, next Tuesday.  Of course now!”

“How?  It’s the middle of the afternoon!  Bright sunshine!  How will we make it?”

Heyes turned his partner toward the window.

“Take a look, Kid.  It’s siesta time.  Everyone’s napping.  Except, of course, the guard.  He’ll be tied to the cell bars.”

“You’re right, there’s no one out there.”  The Kid turned anxiously toward his partner.  “What about the Alcalde?”

“Same fate as the guard.  And there’s a couple of horses in back waiting for us.”

The Kid grabbed Heyes’s jacket lapels.  “What’re we waiting for?  Let’s get out of here.”

Heyes laughed and grabbed him back.  “All right!  Let’s . . . “

But he never got the chance to finish the sentence.  At that moment the door to the cell room burst open.  The Alcalde, the guard, and another guard Heyes had only seen sporadically ran in and surrounded the cell Heyes and the Kid were in.  All three were pointing guns at Heyes.

“Use your left hand, Mr. Smith,” said the Alcalde calmly, “to reach into your coat and remove the pistol you have hidden inside the money.  Do this carefully!”

Heyes was almost too stunned to react.  He had quickly planned the escape for his partner after spending much time painstakingly attempting to uncover the real killer, to no avail.  He knew the Kid wasn’t the murderer, as did, he suspected, the Alcalde.  There were no options remaining except for the Kid to escape.  And no one to help him do so except Heyes himself.

And now this!  Heyes stared at the Alcalde for a moment, then at the two guards.  For one horrible second, he actually considered making a play for his gun, but common sense stopped him.  At a further  urging from the Alcalde, Heyes reached slowly inside his jacket and removed the pistol, spilling a handful of bills on the cell floor.  One of the guards reached through the cell bars.  For an irrational moment, Heyes hoped the guard was reaching for the money and could be bribed. 

But, no, he took the gun. 

Heyes was still dazed.  “How did you know?” he managed to ask. 

With the safe removal of the pistol from the cell, all three lawmen relaxed.  The Alcalde said something to his deputies in Spanish and they left the cell room, taking the life-saving pistol with them.  Heyes longingly watched the gun disappear from his sight, then turned back to the Alcalde, a man he suddenly hated.  “I said . . .”

“I heard you, Mr. Smith.”  The Alcalde kept the same even tone of voice that he had always used.  “I caught sight of the pistol when you flashed the American money at me.”

“That’s a lie!  It was hidden – hidden deep inside . . . “

“Mr. Smith, have you considered the possibility that I expected you to do exactly what you just tried?  You have repeatedly tried to pin the murder on other people – most notably Margaret Carruthers – and you have not been successful.  Your devotion to your friend and your anger suggested to me that you are not the kind of man who will take no for an answer.  You will be held in this jail until after the trial.  Perhaps longer.”

An understanding was reached.  Heyes and the Alcalde continued to stare at each other for a small moment, then the Alcalde returned to his office, closing the cell room door quietly behind him.

Heyes was seething.  “I don’t believe it.  I just don’t believe it!”  He had been bested, and it galled him.  He turned to his partner for comfort, completely forgetting the implication of what had just happened.

But the hollow look of hopelessness on the Kid’s face reminded him harshly.

As the Alcalde had once suggested, the trial was indeed short.  A couple of hours, at most.  During this time, there was nothing for Heyes to do except pace like a caged animal.  An animal waiting to be led to slaughter.  Or a man waiting helplessly for his friend to die.

The trial ended late-morning.  Heyes knew this by the yells he could hear out the cell window.  He ventured a look out the window and could see nothing since he was facing the private yard in the back of the jailhouse.  But he did see the post against which the Kid would stand to be shot to death in just moments.  Heyes wanted desperately to see the Kid again, but at the same time hoped he would not, for that would mean the execution was just minutes away.

For some reason, Heyes felt weak.  He did not think he could sit still, so he grabbed the cell bars for support.  In a moment, the Alcalde opened the cell room door, slipping into the room and standing outside the cell motionlessly.  He stared at Heyes in his cell momentarily before he spoke.

“Mr. Jones was found guilty.  He will be placed in the cell with you momentarily while I arm the firing squad properly.  He will then be taken into the area behind this building and allowed to speak with the padre.  Mr. Jones will then be shot to death.   I am sorry, Mr. Smith, that this trial did not go the way you expected, and I am sorry for Mr. Jones.  But the jury has spoken.  I know you will grieve . . . “

“You are a dead man,” Heyes barely managed to snarl at his adversary.

“I am an officer of the law.  And it is my duty to see that the law is enforced.  Which I am about to do.”   The Alcalde opened the cell room door wide as the Kid was led, handcuffed and at gunpoint, into the room by one of the deputies.  The other deputy unlocked the cell door, pushed the Kid inside, and locked it again.  Heyes had been considering making a play for the deputy’s gun, but completely forgot when he saw the ashen look on his friend’s face.  Heyes grabbed his friend’s shoulders to support him.  Kid Curry clearly understood that he only had a few more minutes on earth and that very thought was robbing him of the little time he had left.  He stood meekly in the middle of the cell, staring at nothing. 

Heyes did not find his tongue until the deputies had left the cell room.  The Alcalde remained.  “Mr. Smith,” he said with a tone that bordered on compassionate, “you will remain in custody for a few days due to your threats against my life.”

Suddenly Heyes  came to life.  He sprang for the cell bars, momentarily startling the Alcalde.  “He’s innocent!  You know he’s innocent!  Jury or no jury – you kill him and you’re the murderer!”

“I’m sorry.”  The Alcalde bowed respectfully and exited the room.

“You bastard!  You animal!  You  . . . ”

“Heyes . . .”  The word was barely above a whisper but it stopped Heyes in his tracks.  He turned back to his friend.  The beloved friend who was about to die.  “Kid,” he whispered.

“I didn’t kill him,” the Kid continued in a whisper.  “I didn’t kill him.  I don’t want to die like this.  Can’t you help me?”

Heyes squeezed his eyes shut.  Suddenly the ability to see was too painful.  He could not speak as his throat felt tight.  He wanted more than anything in the world to sit, but felt too faint to do so.  He remained standing and rocking slightly with the weakness that threatened to overcome him.

“Heyes!” the Kid whispered more strongly.  “Help me!  Please!”

When Heyes finally opened his eyes, his gaze was met directly by the Kid’s.  In an instant he registered the hopelessness, desperation and vulnerability felt by an innocent man about to be put to death.  And not just any man, but the only person in the world he felt love for.  Heyes was overwhelmed.

“I . . . I . . . can’t,” he started to say, but found that the pain of helplessness was too oppressive for speech.  “I . . . tried . . . to . . . I . . . tried. .  . ”

Kid Curry had truly been focused on himself up to that point.  It had been that way since the Alcalde had told him he could be killed after the trial.  But when he realized the extent of the despair that his friend was obviously feeling, he began to understand that there was more at stake here than his own life.  In many ways, Heyes’s very life itself was on the line.  The Kid saw pain and despair on his partner’s face that seemed to exceed his own.  And Heyes had to go on living – living with the memory, living with the pain.  The Kid knew there was no one else in the world who cared about him, and he knew that Heyes cared very deeply.  Heyes would have to bear the pain of living without his friend the rest of his life.  Kid Curry felt a wave of compassion engulf him.  He began to feel his fear melt away and be replaced with something else, something he had felt many times but never put a name to.  He recognized it now, now at this most important moment of his life.

Love.

“Sit down,” he urged softly, attempting a smile.

Heyes blindly obeyed.  He averted his gaze to the floor in an effort to stem the flow of the tears he was beginning to feel.  “Kid, I’m . . . I’m . . . it’s not . . .”

“Never mind,” said the Kid gently.  “Never mind.  I know it’s not fair.   I know you tried.  If you couldn’t do it, I guess no one could.”  The small smile the Kid had been working at finally came around.  He began to feel a kind of peace – peace of the soul that can only be experienced in conjunction with selflessness.  Kid Curry had switched his concentration from his own troubles to his partner’s.  He knew he could not leave his partner in pain.  “Thanks – for everything.”

Heyes began to feel a small quiet harmony descend on himself, also.  Surprised, he stared at the Kid, the obvious source.  A tear or two escaped down his cheek , but no more.  He saw Kid Curry was at peace.  Finally.  After all the days of waiting.  After the death sentence.  The fear, the desperation – the  helplessness – that had shown in his face just a few minutes ago had now been replaced with a quiet glow of acceptance.  Peace.

“Kid!” whispered Heyes pleadingly.

“Shh.  Doesn’t matter.” 

Heyes continued to stare at his partner, who was smiling back at him.  It hurt less to know that the Kid had accepted his fate, especially since Heyes seemed helpless to prevent it.  But it still hurt a great deal.  Heyes realized it would be in everyone’s best interest if he could ignore that hurt and accept the inevitable.  He knew that a moment ago that would not have been possible, but now – now that the Kid was asking him to do so – perhaps he could try to accept . . .

The cell room door burst open and the Alcalde and his deputies, along with another man dressed like clergy, quickly entered.  Both deputies opened the cell door and grabbed the Kid, who offered no resistance.  Heyes had little time to think but kept a clear enough head to make a grab for one of the guns.  The other deputy shoved him rudely back onto the cot.  By the time Heyes got to his feet, they had ushered the Kid quickly from the cell and swept him out of the cell room, re-locked Heyes in the cell, and slammed the room door behind them.

Heyes’s head was spinning.  Instinctively he shouted threats and profanities after them.  The peace he had felt momentarily had been destroyed.  They had come for his partner!  They had come to kill him!

And there was nothing he could do.

Heyes continued ineffectually screaming through the bars for a short while.  Soon, he realized that there was one last thing he had to do for his partner.  Something scary, sad, and exceedingly difficult.

He had to watch.

He quieted down and turned toward the window of the cell.  Through this window he could already hear men’s voices.

This window faced the yard behind the jail.  The yard with the wall.  The wall against which convicted prisoners got shot.

Prisoners like the Kid.

Heyes forced himself to look through the bars.  The two deputies, now armed with rifles, were telling three other armed men where to stand.  These men constituted the firing squad.  Heyes shuddered.  He looked for the Kid, but the Kid, the Alcalde and the padre were not present.

The deputies placed themselves in the line.  The five executioners stood more or less at attention as they waited for their unfortunate prisoner to appear.  In his cell, Heyes gritted his teeth.  He wondered where the Kid was.  Perhaps the Kid had been fortunate enough to find some way to escape the clutches of . . .

But, no.  In a couple of minutes, the Kid appeared in the yard.  His arms were tied behind his back and the Alcalde was leading him to the wall.  The padre was walking alongside them, reading from a book.

When they reached the wall, they stopped.  The Alcalde positioned the Kid so his back was to the wall and he faced the firing squad.  The Alcalde checked the Kid’s wrist bindings and then said something to him.  The Kid shook his head.  The Alcalde backed away.

The padre had been speaking softly the entire time.  He closed his book and said something directly to the Kid.  Heyes heard his friend speak but could not make out his words.  From his lips it was clear he had said “thank you.”  Heyes appreciated the fact that before dying, the Kid had taken a moment to thank the man who was trying to save his soul.  For some reason, tears again welled up in Heyes’s eyes.

The padre backed away to the safety of the building and stood next to the Alcalde.

Kid Curry looked directly at Heyes in his cell.  Eye contact was made and held for a short time.

Until the Alcalde gave the signal to fire the guns.

Then the Kid’s eyes closed tightly as his body shook with the sound of the bullets and he fell to the ground.

The Alcalde made no attempt to speak with Heyes  for the next couple days.  If he had entered Heyes’s cell, the outlaw would have strangled him with his bare hands.  During this time, Heyes could think of little besides his love for his dead friend and revenge against the man responsible for his death.

It was a surprise when the Alcalde suddenly made an appearance on the third day.

Although he heard the cell room door open, Heyes sat motionless in his cell, staring straight ahead at the wall.  He heard a man approach the cell and knew immediately that it was the Alcalde, his smell familiar and his attitude of prominence overwhelming.  The footsteps stopped at the cell door.  Neither moved for a moment.

When he heard the key being turned in the cell lock, Heyes jumped to his feet and faced his enemy.  “That’s right – you can’t keep me here.  But be warned, you murderer!  You wanted justice?!  You’re going to see justice for yourself!”

The Alcalde seemed oddly undisturbed by Heyes’s threat.   “Please calm yourself, Mr. Smith.  I am setting you free.  And there is more good news.”  He opened the cell door wide.

Heyes did not move.  The depth of his anger was unprecedented, and he had not expected to be freed quite so quickly.  Now the cell door was open, the murderer was within striking distance.  This was his chance.

Yet he did not move.  Somehow his desire for revenge seemed to be checked.  He recognized this and wondered at it.  Kid Curry had been systematically killed by this man.  Yes, the man had liked the Kid, and yes, the man had shown remorse, and yes, the man believed it was the right thing to do.  But the man had killed the Kid.  And now Hannibal Heyes had the chance to avenge this death.  Yet it was too simple – the Alcalde stood unarmed right in front of him and the cell door was open.   Heyes tried wildly to concentrate on his next move.

The Alcalde spoke.  “You were not the only one who suspected Margaret Carruthers, Mr. Smith.  I, too, suspected her from the first.  Her home town was the same as Mr. Hanley’s, and I do not believe in coincidences.  When a witness came forward at a later date and described Mr. Jones as the murderer, I wondered why he did not speak up sooner.  I know this witness, an advantage I had over you.  He is a poor man with a large family and many debts.  Although I believed in his integrity, I was wrong.  Later when I offered him money, he admitted that his voice was bought by Margaret Carruthers.  He had lied when he accused Mr. Jones!”

Heyes listened to this speech in a daze, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.  Was the Alcalde saying that Margaret Carruthers had been exposed as the real murderer?  Had the Alcalde killed the Kid – for nothing!?

“I see from your face that you wish to speak, Mr. Smith, but are unsure of the words.  Please allow me to continue.  This admission of false testimony was made to me by the witness after the trial.  I had spoken to him twice before the trial, but he said nothing then.  Apparently after he heard Mr. Jones had been killed, he felt safe to admit his lies.  But he is wrong;  the law will punish him.”

Heyes shook his head as if searching for reality.  “What are you saying?  Are you saying Margaret . . .”

“ . . . Carruthers was the real murderer, yes.  She paid a ‘witness’ to lie and implicate Mr. Jones.  That witness has now said to me that Margaret Carruthers admitted to him her hand in the murder.  As we speak, my deputies are now on the way to her hacienda to arrest her.  It should be a short trial . . .”

The Alcalde’s sentence was cut short as Heyes suddenly lunged at him, wrapping his hands around the lawman’s neck and squeezing hard.  Heyes had the advantage of surprise on his side, and he felt morbid satisfaction as he heard the lawman gasp for breath.  The Alcalde struggled in vain to slip his hands into the middle of the death grip, but Heyes had the strength of a madman.  The weeks before the trial, the days after the execution – the execution! – had taken their toll on Heyes and he no longer cared what happened to himself.  All he knew at that moment was that his dear friend had been killed in vain and the Alcalde had to die to avenge this death.  Heyes had the strength of the just and in his opinion he was doing what needed to be done.  He squeezed as hard as he could.  The Kid had died in vain!

The Kid!

The Kid’s voice came to him as if in a dream.  “Stop it, Heyes!  You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“No!” screamed Heyes.  “He has to die!”

The Kid’s voice again.  “Stop it, Heyes!”  This time Hannibal Heyes felt someone pulling him from behind.  Someone was trying to stop him from strangling the Alcalde.  He resisted and continued squeezing his opponent’s throat.  The Alcalde was losing strength and making choking sounds.

“Listen to me, Heyes!  I’m here!  I’m alive!  Stop it!”  It was Kid Curry’s voice!  The significance of that thought caused a sudden decline in Heyes’s strength.  Then one great pull from behind and Heyes’s grip was broken.  The Alcalde fell against the cell wall, panting for breath and holding his throat.  He dropped to his knees. 

Heyes made another attempt to lunge for his throat, but was grabbed in a bear hug from behind by someone.  “Stop it!” he heard again.  Heyes turned violently to face his attacker.  He could not believe what he saw.

Kid Curry was the man who was trying to keep Heyes from killing the Alcalde.  Kid Curry himself!  He was obviously alive, and was trying to save the life of the man who – who what? - killed him?

Heyes ran both hands through his hair and snapped his head back.  He looked wildly around the cell.  When he looked forward again, Kid Curry was still standing there!  Too stunned to respond, Heyes backed away.  He could not take his eyes off the Kid, but his vision was suddenly unclear.  Feeling himself reeling, he grabbed in vain for something to hold on to. 

“Hey, hey!  Better sit down.”  The familiar comfortable voice of his partner cut through his haze.  Heyes felt someone grab his shoulders and gently direct him to the cell cot.  He knew it was the Kid.

Kid Curry was alive!

Heyes felt a sudden tremendous rush of joy.  He was overcome and sat quietly to clear his head.  He watched as his partner turned toward the Alcalde to check on his well-being.  He vaguely understood that the Kid was helping the Alcalde to his feet and asking if he was all right.  The Alcalde!  The man who had given the order to shoot to kill!

But the Kid was not dead!  It was true – his friend was right there!  As the Kid turned back toward him, Heyes suddenly threw his arms around him and hugged with all his might.  He squeezed and grasped at his jacket and hair.  He heard the Kid’s gentle laughter and knew he himself was saying something, although he did not know what.  All he cared about at that moment was the fact that the Kid was still alive.  It was the only thing in the world that mattered.  

Kid Curry allowed the embrace for as long as Heyes wanted.  After a moment, Heyes backed away, never taking his eyes off his partner.

“Are you all right?” asked the Kid.  The same question he had asked the Alcalde a moment ago.

Heyes nodded vigorously.  He remembered the Alcalde and ventured a look at him.  The lawman was rubbing his throat but he was smiling gently at Heyes.

Heyes looked wildly back and forth between them.  “What . . .  How . . . ?”

“You never gave me the chance to tell you, Mr. Smith,” said the Alcalde.  “You were right that it was Margaret Carruthers.  But the trial and execution time came too quickly for me to prove it.  I could not allow an innocent person to die for a crime he did not commit.”

Heyes continued to gawk questioningly between them.  “But how . . . I mean, how . . .”

This time the Kid spoke.  “No one shot me, Hey . . . Joshua.  Those guns were loaded with blanks.  The firing squad thought they were shooting me, but I only pretended to be hit.  It was supposed to look like the real thing.”

“But . . .”  Heyes’s head was still spinning, but he was beginning to understand.

“I believe strongly in the law, Mr. Smith,” said the Alcalde, “but this time it would fail unless I stepped in.  With the assistance of the padre, I was able to . . .”

“You faked his execution!” Heyes said breathlessly.

“Yes.  The firing squad was sent away right after they thought they had done their job.  The padre helped me carry Mr. Jones into the building, where he remained hidden in my office until nightfall.  For the last few days, he has been a guest in my hacienda.  Hidden from view, of course.  It was necessary for the general public to believe that the execution had taken place.  People are much more willing to talk when they feel safe.  During this time I have been able to secure information that implicates Margaret Carruthers as the murderess.  I have no doubt that this time the correct criminal will be brought to justice.”

Heyes turned back to the Kid.  “But when I saw you . . . when they led you out of the cell . . . you looked so . . . you looked like you thought you were going to die.”

“I did,” said the Kid softly, lowering his eyes.  “The Alcalde and the padre told me the plan just as we headed to the yard.  That’s why it took so long for us to get out there.  All I had to do was pretend to be shot and they would do the rest.”  The Kid nodded toward the Alcalde.  “He believed in me.”

“Yes,” said the Alcalde.  “I have believed in your innocence for some time now.  But I was unable to secure a confession from Margaret Carruthers or other proof before the trial and execution.  It was clear I had to do something to save an innocent man.  To buy time.  I am sorry, Mr. Smith, that I had to jail you, but you were clearly not going to allow me to do my job.”

Heyes suddenly felt a little sheepish.  “I’m sorry, Alcalde.  And for trying to strangle you now.  Don’t know what came over me.”

“I do.  You allowed your emotions to overcome your reason.  Not good for a lawman but admirable in friends as . . . noble . . . as you are.”  Heyes and the Kid looked at each other, jointly recognizing the truth in the Alcalde’s statement. 

“But,” continued the Alcalde, “you are free to feel as you do since you are truly not lawmen.  Perhaps this kind of bond is common in America.  I have heard of famous friendships in those who are on the other side of the law.  In fact, I have heard of outlaws whose devotion runs so deep that they would kill for each other.  Names such as Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry come to mind . . .”  His expression did not change but there was a gleam in his eye that indicated he did not pick these names at random.

Heyes and the Kid exchanged a worrisome look.  Neither could think of the right thing to say.  “America is . . . is . . .” said the Kid.

“ . . .is home.”  Heyes finished it for him.  “I think we should get back there, Thaddeus.  Home, I mean.”

The Kid nodded in approval.  They both turned toward the Alcalde.  “There’s nothing to keep us here any more, is there, Alcalde?”

The Alcalde peered out the cell window.  He seemed to be lost in thought.  After a moment, he smiled at them.  “At this time, my friends, you are free to go.  Perhaps – some day in the future – I will think of a reason why you should have stayed.”  He turned back toward the window.  “Perhaps tomorrow.”

Heyes slapped the Kid on the back and guided him quickly outside the cell.  Before they exited the cell room, they both looked back.  The Alcalde turned to them with a smile and respectfully nodded his head.

In great admiration they nodded back to him before leaving. 

There was little conversation between them after they departed Santa Marta.  Deep friendships do not need small talk to reinforce them.   But there was a common feeling shared between Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, a feeling that did not lessen over time.

They both felt very lucky in many ways.

 More of Goldie's Alias Smith and Jones stories can be found at:

 https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1458308/goldieasj

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.