SquidgeWorld Archive

Left-Handed Gun
By Nell McKeon

It was a dark and stormy night. The pounding of the horse's hooves could barely be heard over the pouring rain. Lightning flashed across the night sky. Thunder boomed in the small wooded valley and echoed between the mountains towering on either side. Two shadowy forms struggled to maintain control over their terrified mounts while weaving in and out of the trees, taking chances with the horses' lives and their own in a desperate run from pursuit.

"Do you see him, Heyes?" Kid Curry hissed loudly in order to be heard above the rain.

"Kid, I can barely see you. No, I don't. Maybe he gave up after you took that shot at him. Maybe you hit him worse than you thought." Heyes couldn't keep a tiny bit of wishful thinking from leaking into his reply.

"I doubt it, Heyes. With this weather, we'll be lucky if I even nicked him, maybe slowed him down some," Kid said more to himself than Heyes as he continuously scanned the immediate area, straining his eyes to see in the dark.
They were in desperate straits and they knew it. Luke Dearborn, a half-breed Sioux bounty hunter, was close on their trail. Normally, the partners were better horsemen, at least one of them was a better tracker than any posse or bounty hunter after them and they both knew all the tricks to evade capture. However, Dearborn was among the best of his profession, very determined, smart, and if the warrant allowed, preferred the dead option. Dead outlaws didn't cause him any problems.

Heyes had the lead and they moved to ride a little slower and in single file as they came up out of the valley and to a small ridge. Heyes turned to make sure Kid was right behind him when another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. Kid's eyes registered a dark silhouette atop the ridge in the momentary brilliance and he spurred his horse forward, drawing his .45. A loud, close boom that shook the ground startled all three mounts and set them rearing. A brief intense personal struggle between man and horse took all three men's immediate attention. Another blinding flash of light illuminated the night along with the men who sought to locate their quarry and to take aim.

Stormy intense blue eyes locked on Dearborn, who had stilled his horse and was raising his rifle, taking aim at Heyes. Heyes had drawn but was still struggling for control with his chestnut. Kid, having only barely regained control, urged his dark bay faster, raising his right hand to fire. Once again a thunderclap echoed around the valley and once again Kid's horse started to rear. With only feet now between Kid and the bounty hunter, Curry abandoned the struggle to stay on his mount and leapt at Dearborn. His .45 was knocked from his wet hand's grasp upon impact with the half-breed. He grabbed at the rifle as Dearborn swung the barrel from Heyes to the closer threat. The bounty hunter was thrown off balance and tumbled from the saddle.

The two men fought hand to hand, slipping in the rain on wet leaves and mud. Each combatant was trying to locate a dropped weapon. Kid was knocked down by a blow to his face and his left hand brushed against cold metal. Picking up the rifle by the barrel, he swung at the advancing bounty hunter's bloody right hip. The half-breed cursed in pain but managed to grab hold of the stock. Each man was fighting fiercely to gain possession of the weapon. Kid's hands slipped along the barrel and he finally lost hold, falling to his knees. Dearborn swung the rifle with all his might at the fallen outlaw's head but Curry's quick reflexes allowed him to block the blow, his right forearm taking the full brunt of the impact. Kid heard a sickening crack simultaneously with the loud retort of Heyes' Schofield. Dearborn staggered, clutched his thigh and sank to the mud, dropping the rifle.

"Kid, you alright?" Heyes called anxiously from his still-nervous mount.

"Yeah," came the terse reply as Kid grabbed the rifle and threw it as far into the bushes as he could, then swept his left hand about the ground in a last-ditch effort to locate his dropped Colt. He thanked the gods of reformed gunmen when his fingers brushed the familiar butt and he scooped it up with his left hand as he ran for his horse.

"Come on, don't know how long he'll be down!" Curry shouted as he mounted his gelding. The two ex-outlaws rode furiously down the ridge deeper into the storm.
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"Kid, we have no choice. I think it's broken. You need a doctor and they're likely to have one," Heyes insisted for the umpteenth time.

"I don't know, Heyes. How do you know it's broken? It could just be really badly bruised. I don't know if we can risk it with Dearborn only hours and one town back," Kid argued back in a tight voice while cradling his right forearm with his left hand.

"That's just it, Kid, I don't know, but I think it's real likely I'm right. You can't move your fingers, your arm's black and blue and swollen and you can't hide that it's paining something fierce. Dearborn's shot, worse hurt than you are; he needs to get to the first town and the closest town is on the other side of the ridge, not the side we're on. Then he'll have to stay a while recuperating. You know that's true," Heyes answered, his patience about to wear thin with his stubborn partner.

Two very weary and very wet riders stared at the mountain town of Pie Plant, Colorado, in the gray morning light. The town looked like any number of fast-growing mining towns in Gunnison County. Mining towns were generally a safe haven for the partners to disappear into, especially if one was hurt. They usually had a doctor who didn't ask questions, the law usually didn't have a strong presence in town and the poker was usually profitable.

Kid looked back along the ridge, then at Heyes and finally down at the town. If he was honest with himself, his arm sure felt broken and that crack he heard probably wasn't the rifle barrel but his bones cracking. He didn't want to acknowledge the problem and what it might mean. It was his right arm, his gun arm. He sighed, capitulated and lightly kicked his horse towards town, each step of the way jolting his arm and his psyche.
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Heyes was happily playing poker in the crowded saloon while keeping one eye on his partner who was standing at the bar, damp hat pulled low, scowling at his whiskey with his right arm in a sling. The brown-haired partner raked in the generous pot, gathered his winnings and left a few dollars in the middle of the table as he pushed his chair back and stood.

"That's it for me tonight, fellas. Next round's on me." Then Heyes added as he met the questioning glance from several of the losing miners, "Don't worry, me and my partner will be around for a time. I'll be back tomorrow." Heyes walked over to Curry who had a cleared space around him despite the crowded condition of the narrow saloon.

"Well, Thaddeus, are you ready to leave for the hotel?" Heyes quietly asked while evaluating his partner's demeanor, which wasn't good. "The doc said you need to be careful how much you drink with the pain powders he gave you."

"Yeah, I'm ready," Kid growled back.

The two walked out of the saloon with Kid stepping in front of Heyes as they pushed through the bat wing doors. The blond stopped abruptly and his eyes swept the surrounding area methodically. Only when he felt it was safe did he continue on, despite Heyes walking into his back. Curry continued to scan the area all the way to the hotel and up to their room.

"Do you need help?" Heyes cringed when he asked but after watching his partner struggle with his boots, the buckles, the buttons on his trousers and now fumbling with the shirt buttons one handed, he couldn't not ask. Kid's right arm was wrapped in a bulky bandage and splinted from elbow to mid fingers and rendered nearly useless.

"No," the stubborn, prideful blond spit out as he continued to wrestle with his clothing. Heyes watched for several more moments before going over, gently pushing his partner's hand away and unbuttoned Kid's shirt.

"Let me help, at least in private, where no one can see. The doc said you have to wear that splint, then a cast and be careful for at least six weeks. Are we going to fight the whole time or are you going to admit it now that you can't do everything for yourself?" Brown compassionate eyes stared into blue unreadable ones.
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Kid tossed and turned all night long and Heyes was grateful for a room with two beds. He was going to change beds, though; the constant squeaking of the Kid's bed was almost as annoying as if Curry were prodding him all night long. Consequently, both partners slept late. They had a leisurely breakfast and a walk about town. Heyes bought a newspaper to bring up to the room until the afternoon poker games started.

Heyes reclined against the headboard reading the paper, periodically peering over the top to discuss an article with Curry. Kid sat in his usual spot, on a chair by the table under the window engaged in his usual activity, cleaning his .45. This day, however, the activity that Kid normally found soothing and routine, which he could accomplish without thought, was frustrating. Curry was laboriously trying to clean the weapon using his left hand, knees and elbows; muttered curses bursting forth when the process did not proceed smoothly. Heyes rolled his eyes and ignored the outbursts. Earlier, he had opened his mouth to volunteer but shut it without saying a word after catching his partner's posture and facial expressions.

Lunch, consisting of nothing that needed to be cut with a knife, came and went without incident. The partners parted peaceably, Heyes on his way to the saloon, Curry to check on the horses, survey the town once more and maybe take a nap.

Kid watched the silver-tongued, self-proclaimed genius enter the saloon, and turned down the boardwalk to the center of the main street. He entered the busy mercantile and took a minute to orient himself. Most stores were organized along the same lines and this one followed the general pattern. He found his way to the leather goods and the items he was looking for. Curry walked out carrying his purchases and made his way to the livery to check on the horses.

Kid laid out his purchases on a hay bale behind the barn, looked around to make sure no one was in sight and proceeded to prepare for his afternoon's planned activity. He placed the new holster on the new gun belt after slowly filling the belt with ammunition from one of the ten boxes of .45's he purchased. Next, with difficulty, he unbuckled his old gun belt and after donning the brand new one, settled it on his hip and awkwardly tied it to his left thigh. It wasn't fastened as tight as he liked but it would do. The specially-balanced Colt was placed in the holster with the "Fastest Right-handed Gun in the West's" left hand. Curry packed up his things and set off to a secluded area on the outskirts of town for some much-needed practice. When darkness approached he repacked up his new purchases as before walking back to town.

The ex-outlaws met up for dinner and jointly went to the saloon where Heyes played poker while Curry watched his partner, the saloon, the door and what he could see of the outside.
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The partners settled into a comfortable routine for the next few days. Curry was developing some inventive ways to fend for himself but grudgingly allowed Heyes to help him in private. They spent the mornings together, went their separate ways after lunch and met up for dinner. Evenings found them in the saloon where Heyes would play poker and tell stories, winning money and good relations with the locals. Kid occasionally joined a blackjack game, doing well, but mostly sipped at a beer and watched his partner and the room. Neither partner attracted unwanted attention beyond a few solicitous comments regarding Jones' obviously broken arm and an appreciation for Smith's poker playing from their new acquaintances.

Late one afternoon Heyes stood on the boardwalk outside a second saloon wondering where Curry had gotten to. Heyes had spent the afternoon winning steadily but not spectacularly from the lunchtime crowd. He was taking it easy since they would be hanging around the town until the doctor removed the splint and bulky bandage on Kid's arm after the swelling went down and applied a new-fangled plaster of paris cast. Heyes' sharp ears detected muted, rapid, methodical gunfire in the distance, towards the end of town, and he wondered if that could be his partner.

Heyes crept silently up to the where the sound of gunfire was coming from and stopped where he thought he still couldn't be seen. He took in the empty cartridge boxes strewn about, the piles of blasted debris along a log, mangled metal pie plates wedged into crooks of trees and the intense concentration of the man in the clearing. He watched his partner with concern.

Kid stood still and relaxed, feet shoulder width apart, concentration on the targets in front of him. The unfamiliar gun belt was slung low on his hips with a new looking holster on the left hip, the right thigh holsterless. With a speed most men would be envious of, six shots hit six targets dead on. The Colt was painstakingly reloaded and dropped in the holster without any flourishes. Curry was all business. The Kid resumed his stance and concentration. Once more six shots hit six targets with impressive speed. The blond gunman gathered more debris to be used as targets and set them up with his left hand on a fallen log and walked back to his mark.

"What do you think, Joshua? I know you're there," Curry called out without turning around.

Heyes came and stood in his traditional supportive position, behind and to the right of Kid.

"I wouldn't stand there anymore if I were you," Curry remarked offhandedly, staring at the targets, but Heyes read much more in Curry's tightly controlled voice than the Kid wanted to reveal.

"Kid, you're still as accurate as you always were and there isn't a man around that wouldn't be jealous of your speed," Heyes said seriously.

"It isn't the men around I'm worried about, Heyes, and you know it." Curry finally turned to look Heyes squarely in the eyes.

"Dearborn's out there, he's coming. He's good, very good, one of the best and if he found help, which he probably did, he'll heal quicker than me. Now, I've shot two-handed before but I use the left for covering fire and sight the target with my right. I know I'm okay with the left but not the same caliber as the right. It's not enough." Blue eyes held brown and demanded the truth.

"Maybe you're not as legendary with the left but it's good enough, better than most, better than Dearborn, I'll bet. Besides, I'm not exactly slow, you know." Heyes sought to reassure his partner but knew Curry was holding something else in. It showed in the set of his shoulders, the guardedness of his eyes and the line of his jaw. Heyes was an expert at reading his partner; he had been doing it for a lifetime.

Kid turned back to the targets and another six small chunks of wood flew off in all directions. He felt Heyes' eyes on him, patiently waiting. They could probably rely on Heyes' right and Curry's left hand for normal protection if Curry kept up his level of vigilance. Kid knew Heyes was faster than most but he just wasn't in Kid's class.

Curry had vowed as young teenager to never let anybody hurt those he cared about if he could in any way help it and he meant to keep that vow. He owed it to Heyes. In pursuit of perfection, after countless hours of practice, he had gained the reputation of being the best, the "Fastest Gun in the West." A reputation that was both a blessing and a curse, a reputation that came before and was apart from the outlaw bank and train robber. This was a reputation that proclaimed him a target to be blasted away in the pursuit of a shootist's dreams of glory.

Kid knew that within the small circle of men that vied for the title, not all were honorable men. He knew what was considered a fair gunfight could be broadly interpreted. He knew most of those men knew what he looked like just as he made it his business to know everything about the competition that he could possibly find out. If word got around of his vulnerability, his reputation, instead of being a deterrent, would become a magnet. His reputation now was as insubstantial as a ghost haunting his every step.

"It's not just the bounty hunters, we can handle them together, I guess." Kid paused and stared at the revolver in his left hand. He could feel Heyes' steady presence behind him, supportive, ready to listen.

"It's that I can't afford to be anything less than I was. It's not the "Fastest Right-Handed Gun in the West," it's the "Fastest Gun in the West." Kid raised his eyes from the Colt to the blue sky, where the beginning of a beautiful sunset was painting the clouds in brilliant colors. He took a deep breath. "I'm not ready to meet someone faster. For a long time I was; I didn't care what happened to me but now I want that amnesty. I want a future. I want to grow old as partners. For the first time in our lives we have a chance and it may be out my left-handed grasp."

Heyes reached out and pulled Curry around to face him. "Kid, I'm going to stand right where I always stand. You are not going to meet that someone faster. I won't let that happen." Curry held his best friend's eyes, wanting to believe but knowing nothing was guaranteed in life, especially for them.

"All we have to do is lay low for six weeks, two months at the most. We'll travel around this part of Colorado, circling back to Pie Plant in time for the doc to take the cast off. Dearborn, when he's healed up, will think we're long gone from Colorado. Once you get it off, a couple of practice sessions and you'll be back in top form. What are the odds of having a gunfight in the next eight weeks? They gotta be low." Heyes exuded confidence as he helped his partner gather his things to begin the walk back to town.

"I promise not to accuse anybody of cheating and not to win more than I think the other players can lose. You have to promise to think before you rush to someone's aid, just to you're back to normal that is, otherwise it wouldn't be you. We'll both watch each other's back and before you know it ..."
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And so it was that two ex-outlaws traveled in a big circle around the Taylor Park area of mine towns in Gunnison County, Colorado. They stayed a week each in Bowman, Dorchester, Red Mountain and Forest Hill before heading down to the relatively large town of Tin Cup where they planned to stay a while before heading north again back to Pie Plant.

Heyes played poker to cover their expenses and Kid played blackjack to cover the cost of the ammunition he was going through. They moved from town to town, gathering no unwelcome attention. Kid maintained a high level of vigilance during their travels and luckily his gun remained in the holster tied to the left thigh, and was only used during the daily practice sessions. Heyes was relatively confident that they had eluded Luke Dearborn once again.

The partners paused on the top of Tin Cup Pass to admire the view for a change. The last few times they were in the area they had been either racing though at top speed or entering town in the early morning or late evening hours, not during a glorious warm sunny afternoon.

"Heyes, do you think Tin Cup has managed to keep a sheriff yet?" inquired the blond as he gazed down into the valley at the gold mining town.

"Sure hope not. Last I heard it was lawless as ever," Heyes replied as he lightly kicked his chestnut into motion.

Curry followed more slowly. When he judged his partner was far enough ahead of him, he reached back with his left hand and extracted a thin, slightly pointed stick from its hiding place in his bedroll. He kept his horse at a slow walk, and with the stick in his left hand he focused his attention on his extended right arm, encased in hard, dingy plaster from elbow to thumb and mid palm. Kid carefully inserted the pointy end of the stick down the cast and moved it up and down his forearm vigorously. A look of blissful satisfaction passed over his features.

"Hey, what are you doing? Stop that! You know better! Sheesh, Kid!"

Crack! The stick broke when Curry's hand jerked in surprise. He held up the short end of the stick in his hand and raised his angry eyes to meet equally angry eyes staring back at him. Heyes had stopped and turned in the saddle, Damn, caught in the act.

"Now look at what you made me do. I broke it," Curry stated without remorse while he shook his right arm above his head, hoping to dislodge the slim piece of wood from the interior of the cast. After one particularly violent shake, the thin pointed missile dropped down and struck the blue eye staring up.

"Ow! @#$%*," the thankfully not blinded but itchy-armed ex-outlaw exclaimed. "Heyes, don't you say a word."

"Serves you right. The doctor said -Do not put anything down the cast. It will itch but you'll just have to put up with it.' So what do I find you doing every time you think I'm not looking? I find you putting sticks and anything else you can fit down there, that's what."

Heyes ignored Kid's order to be quiet.

He continued, "Do you want to cut yourself? The cut will fester and the infection will spread. Next thing you know you'll have blood poisoning or an infected bone. Then you know what will happen? I'll tell you. They will have to cut your arm off! Do want that? You'll be a left-handed gun for the rest of your life. So stop it and act your age!" Heyes berated his stunned partner.

"Jeez, Heyes. You know, you can be really heartless at times. I know that but it really itches and it's not like I'm sticking a knife down there or anything," Kid tried to explain.

"Stop whining and be a man, not a kid, Kid," Heyes snapped back then broke into a grin to take some of the sting out of the words. "I know the cast is hot, itchy and uncomfortable but you act better when you've been shot. Most of the time is past; we'll be on our way back to Pie Plant before you know it. Don't mess it up now, okay?"

Curry nodded sheepishly, after all, Heyes was right; he had been whining about stupid little things and if that was the extent of their problems during this time, they were doing well. He kicked his horse to catch up with his partner.
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Tin Cup hadn't changed much since the last time they had ridden though as active outlaws. The tin cup, after which the town was named by the miner who brought his gold to town in the cup, was still nailed to the town sign. The town was as rough, corrupt and full of hard-living and hard-playing miners, as well as those who made their living off the mines in less direct ways, as before. Several sheriffs had come and gone, the only ones to stay permanently were under six feet of dirt in the large cemetery; consequently the town residents didn't much care who was spending money as long they were spending it. The town was currently without the presence of the law, which suited Heyes and Curry just fine.

They checked in at the better of the two hotels serving Tin Cup and went in search of food and entertainment. After an overpriced but satisfactory steak dinner at a relatively clean café, the partners stood on the uneven boardwalk and contemplated their choices for the evening.

Curry stuck his plaster encased right arm in front of Heyes, stopping his progress though the swinging bat wing doors. He smiled to himself; the cast, if good for nothing else, served to help control Heyes as he would immediately stop in order not to bump his partner's arm. Kid quietly said, "Let me take a look first to see what we're walking into." He swiftly but thoroughly surveyed the crowded interior of the smoky saloon. Curry lowered his arm and nodded his okay.

It took two beers worth of time for an opening to materialize at Heyes' chosen poker table. Curry grabbed his glass, walked to the other end of the bar, leaned back against the gouged dark wood and settled in to watch over his partner and the room. He flirted briefly with a pretty black-haired saloon girl in a bright red satin dress but when he didn't show more enthusiastic appreciation of her assets, the girl moved on to more likely customers. Kid continued to scan the room periodically for any potential problems or threats.

An older but still attractive blonde stood at the top of the establishment's stairs, making a hurried adjustment to the purple plume in her disheveled hair, and tugged the tight bodice to display her ample cleavage. She glanced down at the room, planning her next foray when her gaze stopped on the blond with the soft honey curls at the bar. It had been a couple of years and the hat was different but she was fairly certain it was Kid Curry. He still had that baby face and a man's lean muscular body. Light brown eyes scanned the poker tables and spotted the dark-haired man she expected to find.

"It's been a long time, Kid," Ginny greeted the blue-eyed gunslinger in the best quiet sultry voice that she could manage as she maneuvered her way close beside him.

"It's Thaddeus, Thaddeus Jones. Hello, Ginny. Still here and looking good, I see," Kid answered, hiding the dismay at being recognized so quickly, although they had expected to be known but quietly ignored by the inhabitants of Tin Cup.

Ginny appreciated the lie since she knew the years and life had not been especially kind but then Kid Curry had always been a gentleman in disguise. "Yeah, I'm still here, waiting for a fairy godmother to turn me into a princess so Prince Charming will take me away," she gave a short bitter laugh. "You're as adorable as ever, except for your arm. What happened?" Ginny stepped closer and ran her hand up and down his right arm.

"The horse spooked. I fell off and broke my arm. It'll be good as new real soon though."

"Is that all that's broke?" Her hand moved lower.
Kid stopped scanning the saloon and met the suggestive brown eyes. "Just my arm but I'll admit it makes it hard to concentrate on other things." He really wasn't in the mood and Heyes was busy at the tables.

Ginny sighed, "Maybe later. Gonna be in town long? -Praps your handsome partner will tear himself away from the cards."

Kid laughed, "Don't hold your breath. When Joshua Smith is playing poker it would take a stick of dynamite to get him up."

The saloon girl laughed and moved towards a more likely customer. She threw a thoughtful glance over her shoulder at the man she left at the bar.
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Heyes and Curry walked into the café on a bright sunny morning. The hastily-built building looked almost respectable with fairly clean, red-checked tablecloths on tables that barely wobbled. The slate board by the door advertised the breakfast special of coffee, two eggs, bacon, homefries and a short stack of flapjacks, all for fifty cents. Kid's eyes lit up and his stomach growled in anticipation. He wouldn't even really need a knife if the forks didn't bend too much. They seated themselves and ordered from a no-nonsense motherly-type waitress.

Heyes was thoughtfully chewing his biscuits and gravy. "You think Ginny will do anything about us?"

Kid swallowed and looked out of the cracked front window before turning back to his partner. "I don't know but she never has before. I think she'll keep quiet. With all the wanted men that ride through here, she'd lose her livelihood and maybe her life if anyone had doubts about her ability to keep her mouth shut. You do it once and you better disappear," Kid replied seriously.

Heyes nodded. "You could disappear with $20,000."

"Yeah, but there ain't no law here, -sides, she would have to split the bounty and the reality is that not too many men would give a saloon girl a fair share of it anyway. I think we'll be Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones to her and anybody else here who know us."

"You better be right, Lefty," Heyes said, pointing his fork at the casted arm lying on the table.
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Ginny peered out the back door of the cheap boarding house. No one was in sight. After a sleepless morning, she had made her decision. She liked Kid, she really did, but when a saloon girl started to show signs of age, contingency plans needed to be made. Besides, she told herself, it wasn't like she was turning him in for the bounty, just selling information.

She hurried down the back alley to the telegraph office. It wasn't betraying him, it wasn't. He'd have a fair chance, or at least he would have if his arm wasn't broken. Maybe she should wait but then again she didn't know how long Curry and Heyes would be in Tin Cup or the surrounding area. She might not have another chance; she had to send the telegram now. Ginny hardened her heart as she counted the coins and placed them on the counter.
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A solitary man in his early thirties sat with a bottle of the "regular" at a table in the corner of a saloon in White Trees, Colorado. He reached into his vest pocket and extracted a folded and creased piece of paper placing it on the table before him. With his left hand he reached for his whiskey glass, while his right smoothed the paper along the surface of the table. His hard, pale blue eyes grew hungry with anticipation as he read the words. After years of being considered not quite the best, Sam Snyder was finally going to prove that he was the "Fastest Gun in the West." Kid Curry's days were numbered; one of his spies had come though and if Curry was still in Tin Cup when he got there, Ginny would have earned every dollar of her finder's fee.

Snyder refolded the telegram and carefully put it back in his pocket. He sipped his whiskey and studied the painted blonde at the bar who draped herself around the cowboy at the end. His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. The leather-skinned, tall man with long, straight, black hair looked familiar. The couple turned to head up the stairs and the face clicked. Snyder realized the man was no cowboy but Luke Dearborn. He pushed his own too-long dark hair out of his eyes and thought hard. Dearborn had been after the ever-elusive Heyes and Curry almost as long as he had. It was too much of a coincidence that the bounty hunter was in the area.

Snyder glanced up the stairs and watched Dearborn limp into the girl's room. If Dearborn was hurt and if the half-breed was also going after Heyes and Curry, maybe the bounty hunter would consider a deal. He didn't care about Heyes but he needed the Kid. Snyder's fee for his gun would increase dramatically if he were known as the man who gunned Kid Curry down.

An hour later the hired gun, who had remained balanced on the line of what was considered legal, caught the eye of the bounty hunter slowly descending the stairs. He raised his bottle and an empty glass as an invitation. Dearborn headed his way.

"Howdy, I'm Sam Snyder," Snyder said in an overly friendly manner while pouring his invitee a drink.

"Yeah, I know. You're not wanted...yet," the bounty hunter replied tonelessly.

"Nor do I intend to be. I intend to keep being useful to the important folks and I'm real careful. But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about why you're in the area and how maybe we can help each other."

"What makes you think I need help?"

"Well, that limp for one." The fast gun looked pointedly at Dearborn's legs. "Look, I think I know who you're hunting. If you're interested, I'd be willin' to sell you their location, for a price."

Dearborn's face registered no reaction but the bounty hunter pulled a chair from the table and accepted the drink Snyder poured for him. "Okay, I'm listenin'."

"A reliable source telegraphed me the location of Heyes and Curry. My price for sharing the information is Kid Curry. They get one hint that you're in the area and they'll disappear. I want you to stay outta the way until I conclude my business with Curry. After that, you can claim his dead body and his partner in any shape you can arrange and collect the reward on the both of them." Snyder downed his shot and studied the half-breed.

"If I am interested, why should I trust you not to claim them for yourself?" Dearborn leaned over the table and stared into the fast gun's eyes.

"I'm only interested in Curry. I'm the best, I know it, but until a man has stood against Kid Curry you can only be second best and only get paid second best wages. That outlaw gunslinger has been in my way for too long. I'm tired of hearing that Sam Snyder would be the best, except for Curry. I've been after him for years, the same as you, I might add, and can never manage to be in the right place at the right time. Unlike you, I need get him into a showdown in front of a lot of people. People that can spread the word - Sam Snyder gunned down Kid Curry in a fair gunfight. That happens and I'll make more than the bounty quick enough." Snyder sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face and waited for the bounty hunter's reaction.

"What about Heyes? Aren't you worried he'll come after you if you gun down his partner? They're real protective of each other, you musta heard that. I can handle him for you," Dearborn replied matter-of-factly.

"I'll admit it's a small concern but Heyes is no fast gun. -Sides, Curry's reputation is that he's the one to beat, he never draws first and he's a stickler for a fair fight. He won't let his partner get involved. If you're there or even suspected of being in town the gunfight will never happen, at least not the way I need it to happen. When we get there we can make plans for where you can wait and how you'll collect them both, $20,000 for layin' low. Do we have a deal?" Snyder held out his right hand across the table.

Dearborn slowly nodded and met Snyder's hand. Snyder signaled for another bottle in celebration and the two conspirators ironed out the details and laid their plans with dollar signs in their eyes.
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The light of the waning moon illuminated the man slinking out of the back door of a run-down boarding house in Tin Cup. Ginny had been worth the finder's fee and the fee for the extras; it was time to set the next phase of the plan in motion. He patted his back pocket to check the contents and moved to retrieve his horse from its hiding place on the outskirts of town.

Several hours later the conspirators were finalizing their arrangements at an abandoned miner's cabin in the hills above the town. Both men covertly eyed each other, trying to gauge their temporary partner's trustworthiness. Snyder thought Dearborn was showing signs of uneasiness with the ad hoc alliance.

Dearborn was restless, prowling the worn and dirty cabin floor all morning. It was against his nature to trust in another's skills. Snyder should realize that he was the best also. There was nobody better at tracking and stealth. Snyder was in danger of underestimating Heyes. Heyes might not be a gunfighter but he was clever, a quick thinker and would wait, if needed, to exact his revenge. He didn't want the fast gun to let half his money slip away and then have to worry about Heyes' need for vengeance. He needed to be in town; he could get there and remain undetected. And he must plan for the possibility that Curry still was the "Fastest Gun in the West."

The bounty hunter made a decision. He turned from the broken window he had been gazing out of only to hear an ominous click. Hard, dark eyes narrowed in anger as he stared into the barrel of the Schofield pointing at his chest.

"What's this?" There was no mistaking the threat in Dearborn's voice as he stared into the unrepentant pale eyes of his former ally.

"I can't take no chances on you messin' this up for me," Snyder replied. "Unbuckle your gun belt and drop it to the floor slowly and carefully... Good, now stand next to that post in the middle of the room and put this on your right wrist." A pair of handcuffs was thrown to the half-breed, who caught them reluctantly. "Now put your left hand around the post and finish the job."

When Dearborn didn't immediately comply the gunslinger aimed at the bounty hunter's good leg. "You want to limp with both legs? Do it now!" The cuff clicked and the bounty hunter was secured with his arms around the post.
Snyder dragged a rickety chair up to the post. "Here, you can sit on this. A girl will come here and unlock you as soon as Curry is lying in the dirt. If Heyes is still alive, he should still be in town by the time you get there, probably distraught and arranging the Kid's burial. There's no law in town so he won't run right away and even if he does, you're supposed to be a hellava tracker; it shouldn't take too long for you to catch up and get the drop on him. You'll get your money. I just want to make sure I get my reputation. No hard feelings."

Snyder twirled his .45 into his holster and arrogantly strode out the door, whistling. Luke Dearborn glared murderously after him, cursing himself for trusting anyone.
______________________

Kid cut his daily practice short on Saturday afternoon in order to meet his partner for a quiet beer in the "Tin Pan of Gold" saloon. The town was filling up with miners and ranch hands ready for a rowdy night on the town. The partners decided to rest up before a long night at the tables. They hoped to increase their stake and move north back to Pie Plant come Monday morning.

Heyes was observing the few early poker games, evaluating the players, while Kid was watching their surroundings. Heyes drew his attention from the tables to his partner, who had suddenly tensed.

"What?" Heyes questioned quietly as he looked unobtrusively around.

Curry, whose blue eyes turned cold and remained fixed in the direction of the bat wing doors, answered with voice heavy with resignation, "Sam Snyder just entered and I bet I know why."

"Snyder, are you sure?"

Curry's gaze steadily met the wary brown eyes and Heyes had his answer.

"We have to get out of here without drawing attention to ourselves." Heyes started planning their escape route.

"Too late. Here he comes, apparently to talk, at least for now." Both partners were watching the dark-haired gunman saunter up to their table with his hands in plain sight, holding onto the bottom of his vest's lapels.

"He's gotta see your cast, Kid. He wouldn't, would he?" Heyes whispered, grasping at straws.

Snyder stopped in front of the table, looked down at the arms resting on the tabletop and a smile formed as he noted a right arm encased in dirty white plaster of paris. This was gonna be easier than he thought. Two sets of blue eyes met and Heyes' stomach clenched in fear.

Snyder spoke loud and clear for all to hear, "Kid Curry, I'm calling you out. Finish your beer, it's the last drink you'll ever have. Say good-bye to your partner and meet me outside in five minutes. I want everyone to witness that there's a new "Fastest Gun in the West" and his name is Sam Snyder." He lowered his voice and continued, "Don't think about leaving from the back door either. I paid some fella $100 to watch for you out back but I think you'd rather die in a fair fight than be known as a coward who tried to slink away. Heyes, I'm not interested in the reward. As far as I'm concerned I have no business with you, understand?"

Heyes stared back, his expression neutral as his insides seethed with anger, frustration and fear.

Snyder swept his confident gaze around the crowded silent saloon and spoke to the patrons directly, "Anyone wantin' a good view is invited to line the boardwalk outside, better hurry though." The challenger turned and left to wait for reigning the fastest gun.

Men and saloon girls came alive at once. The noise level rose dramatically and lowered just as quickly as the patrons left to spread the word and claim a spot. An older blonde saloon girl stared at the stained floor and regretted her betrayal. What sounded like a good idea before suddenly lost its appeal. Her eyes strayed to the partners sitting glumly at the small table. Ginny wanted to return the money and take back her telegram but it was too late. She didn't have the heart to watch and trudged up the stairs.

Kid stared into his beer for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He had so much he wanted to say to his best friend and partner but now there was no time and it wasn't the place. He heaved a resigned sigh and pushed back the wooden chair. Kid Curry stood, adjusted his gun belt, removed his gun and checked the load somewhat awkwardly with his left hand.

Heyes watched silently, thinking furiously. He reached out and grabbed the free right fingertips of his partner as Kid turned from the table.

"Kid, I have a plan. You have to draw first," Heyes stated with utmost seriousness.

Curry stopped and stared incredulously at his partner.
"That's your plan, Heyes, to have me commit murder?"

"It's not murder, Kid, it's self-defense. He's going to kill you!"

"I appreciate the support. Heyes."

Heyes interrupted, "You know that's not what I mean. You're the best, it's just ..."

Curry laid his left hand on his partner's shoulder and gave a squeeze of understood affection. "I know, I know. But if I draw first and by some stroke of luck win, we can say good-bye to the amnesty, good-bye to prison and hello to a noose.

"Mexico is nice this time of year," Heyes snapped back, his anxiety getting the better of him.

"No. I don't want to live in Mexico forever. Plan A is a lousy plan; I'm going with Plan B. I'm not a murderer and if I'm going down, since there's no guarantee I'll win even if I do draw first, I'm going down alone. We want that amnesty real bad and if I can't have it at least maybe you still can."

"I want you alive more," Heyes implored half under his breath as Kid walked resolutely across the floor, the steady thud of his boot heels echoing in the silence.

Curry hesitated at the bat wing doors, took a half turn and rapidly scanned the saloon. The crowded room had emptied swiftly of patrons and employees alike, all wanting to witness the history-in-the-making gunfight. The eagerness of the masses to consider the death of a man entertainment caused an involuntary shudder of revulsion to pass through his body. The growing crowd swelled as the townspeople competed for space on the boardwalk lining the dusty main street. A solitary man sat still, his hand white-knuckled around a glass and his face set in a darkening look of angry determination.

"Heyes, a condemned man is entitled one last wish, right?"

"You're not a condemned man, Kid."

"If I haven't practiced enough and it don't come out in my favor, promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"Curry, you comin' or are you turnin' yeller?" Snyder yelled at the man in the doorway.

Curry put his hands on the doors and started to push them open. "Heyes, I don't have time to argue. I really need to hear you promise me you won't do anything stupid. You taught me revenge is for fools and you ain't no fool." He glanced out the doors and took a step through. Kid Curry stopped once more, looked over his shoulder and met those simmering, frustrated and rapidly-taking-on-a-dangerous glint, brown eyes. He turned back to face his fate.

"Please, Heyes, I need to hear you promise."

With a low, grudging voice, as if every word was being torn from his throat against his will, Heyes gave in, "I promise I won't do anything stupid."

Curry nodded his gratitude.

"Curry!" Snyder yelled impatiently.

"I'm coming, Snyder! I'm just finishing setting things straight," Kid shouted back unemotionally.

"If the law allows, I want to be buried at Devil's Hole. If I'm dying as an outlaw, that's where I belong. I don't want my grave turning out to be some tourist attraction. Maybe Lom can get my body turned over to him; the law shouldn't care where I end up, just that I ended," Kid said in a rush, then let himself slip into a state of icy, calm determination and focused concentration.

Curry swiftly pushed all the way through the doors and stepped out into the cleared path on the boardwalk. Heyes stared at bat wing doors slowly swinging in his partner's wake.

Kid Curry gave every appearance of confidence as he calmly and deliberately strode into the middle of the street to take his ritually appointed place.

Heyes lifted the glass to his lips. His mind was made up, if Kid was going with Plan B, and truthfully he expected nothing less, then he would be right there with him. He slammed his fist on the table, sending shattered glass and beer across the scarred surface, and sprung from his seat. He sprinted across the saloon, out the bat wing doors and pushed his way through the crowd.

Heyes stepped onto the dirt, sighted his partner and made his way into the street.

Kid stood tall, feet shoulder width apart, muscles relaxed, his left hand perfectly still along his left thigh, ready. His concentration focused completely upon his opponent in front of him.

The brown-haired partner sauntered confidently to his self-appointed location. Heyes knew Kid would not acknowledge his presence but prayed he would know, as he always did, that Heyes was backing him up.

An unnatural quiet descended upon the highly tense atmosphere of Tin Cup, Colorado. Everyone's eyes were glued to the motionless combatants, yards apart in the middle of the main street, while a collective breath was held in anticipation of a historic gunfight between "The Fastest Gun in the West" and his closest rival.

Heyes tried to shut his racing mind down, without success, and concentrate on what he would need to do in the next few seconds. His eyes scanned the spectators and ascertained Sam Snyder was the only threat, for now. He tried to read Snyder's face and saw nothing. He knew Snyder would see nothing in Kid's face.

The sounds of simultaneous gunshots shattered the charged stillness. Kid Curry staggered backwards a few steps before regaining his balance, his eyes never leaving the man across from him. The challenger, his pale, blue eyes glazing fast, hung motionless in space before dropping to the street bonelessly. "No...left...can't be," were the last words to pass the lips of Samuel Snyder as his life's blood leaked from his chest and formed a spreading pool in the dirt underneath him.

The crowd gasped, excited conversations and exclamations burst forth and filled the silence. Spectators surged in all directions and purposes. Ginny pushed through the morbidly curious onlookers as she rushed into the street from the upstairs saloon room.

Heyes closed his eyes briefly, took a deep calming breath, thanked lady luck and Curry's obsessive, dogged devotion to practice. He stepped up to his stunned partner and touched his left side.

"Kid? Kid, you're bleeding. How bad are you hurt?" Heyes tried to elicit a response from Curry, who hadn't moved and was swaying slightly on his feet.

"Come on, we gotta get you taken care of. Kid?" Heyes pulled Curry's shirt up and saw a deep furrow, welling blood just above the left hip. He sighed in relief; it could have been a lot worse. It could have been the unthinkable.

Kid Curry finally placed his gun back in the holster tied to his left thigh and turned to face his partner, staggering a step. Blue eyes locked onto brown and unspoken feelings of mutual gratitude were exchanged. No words were necessary but Curry tried anyway, "Thanks, I didn't think...I mean, I didn't expect..."

"Shut up and save your strength," Heyes cut him off. He knew what his presence meant, he felt the same way when Kid had his back, and the middle of a crowded street with his partner turning pale before his eyes was not the time to discuss once again beating impossible odds.

A woman's hand reached out to Curry as he swayed and almost toppled. Ginny helped steady the Kid as Heyes wrapped his partner's arm around his shoulder. She talked rapidly as they slowly walked Curry towards the hotel, the crowd respectfully making way, "You gotta get him fixed up quickly and get out of town. Luke Dearborn's in the area, close by. I'll get you supplies and tell the livery to get your horses ready while you patch him up but you gotta go."

Heyes and Curry stopped and stared at the girl. Heyes' eyes narrowed and he asked, "How do you know that?"

"Never mind how I know. I just do. I can give you a few hours head start, maybe longer. I'll do what I can," she replied and would not meet Heyes probing gaze. She was nervous but she needed to make amends.

They reached the hotel, struggled up the stairs and into Heyes and Curry's hotel room. Heyes knew there was more to the story but it was not his priority at the moment. Heyes sat Kid on the bed and helped him out of his bloody shirt, using it to apply pressure to the wound until he could clean and bandage the deep gash.

Ginny stayed in the doorway, twisting a handkerchief in her hands. "I have some money, tell me what you need and I'll get it for you."

Heyes looked up at this uncharacteristic display of generosity and his dark brown eyes bored accusingly into the guilt-ridden light brown of the saloon girl's. He rattled off a short list and turned his attention to his wounded partner.

Heyes pried Kid's hand off his side and wiped the blood away with a damp towel. A finger probed gently and continued to do so, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from the gunslinger.

"Kid, it's deep. I think you need stitches. There's no doctor here, do you want me to try to do it?" Heyes asked with a forced air of confidence.

"No, just put a good amount of padding and bind it tight. If Ginny-s right and Dearborn is around,and not to mention that now the whole town knows who we are, we have no time to spare. I won't be able to ride as fast as we should, at least not for the miles we'll need to put behind us," Curry responded wearily as he stared down at the bloody towel pressed to his left side.

Heyes was busily ripping up a sheet to wind around the Kid's middle when Ginny's tremulous knock sounded at the door. He put the sheet down, opened the door and wordlessly accepted the sack of supplies from the girl. He blocked the door and steered her out into the corridor, pinning her to the wall with one hand on her shoulder.

In a voice low and calm Heyes stated threateningly, "Now you are going to tell me what's going on. Where's Dearborn and how do you know? We haven't seen hide nor hair of him and the Kid and I are good so if he's in town, we would've noticed."

The blonde stared back, remorse, fright and a little desperation flitting swiftly across her tired features. She had a hard time finding her tongue under the intense scrutiny of one very angry Hannibal Heyes. She would rather have dealt with the Kid; he might take pity and forgive and forget, on the other hand, Heyes might forgive, for now, but he never forgot. Heyes applied a little more pressure and a little shake to Ginny's shoulder, not enough to hurt her but to bring her back to the here and now. He needed answers and he needed them quickly.

"Snyder paid me to telegraph him if you and the Kid ever showed up. I'm getting older and it was a lot of money," she whispered, then her chin lifted and a spark of defiance lit briefly in her eyes before she darted a look towards the half open hotel room door and the reality of what had happened hit once again - one man dead, another wounded and on the run when he couldn't afford to be.
Ginny continued, "I don't know how Snyder hooked up with Dearborn but they did. Snyder was going to kill your partner in a fair gunfight and Dearborn was going to claim his body and then go after you for the reward. Only Snyder didn't trust him to wait for the gunfight to be over to come into town so he has him handcuffed in a miner's cabin outside of town. I'm supposed to let him loose as soon as your partner fell." Ginny's voice lowered to a choked whisper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You gotta believe me." Her painted fingernails pressed desperately into Heyes' forearm as she clutched at his sleeve. Tears started to well in her eyes.

Heyes shook his dark head in disgust. Money, greed; how often it all came down to them being looked at as nothing but a huge stack of dollar bills. He thought it ironic and maybe that was part of the penance that he and the Kid were paying for their life of crime and their denial of the human cost of their own actions. A pained gasp from inside the room focused his attention to the immediate concern, getting himself and Curry out of town - fast.

"All right, I believe you. Give us as long as you can; he can't ride fast and I don't know how far he'll be able to go before we're forced to stop or take alternate modes of transportation," Heyes grudgingly responded as he turned from Ginny and stepped towards the door.

The repentant betrayer rubbed her shoulder and thanked her lucky stars that this particular pair of outlaws were basically decent men. She started to slink down the hall until Heyes' voice stopped her progress.

"If our horses are ready, can you lead them to the back of the hotel? I'll pay you what we owe before we leave." Ginny nodded her head to the request before descending the stairs.
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Heyes watched his partner, who was lying on his stomach, with his right arm soaking in the water of a freezing cold mountain stream, with a bemused expression on his face. He took a drink from his freshly-replenished canteen, stretched out his legs and leaned comfortably back against a large tree in the place they were going to camp for the night.

"That's not gonna work. Why don't you just wait until we get to Lom's. The doc there can take it off for you. It's only a couple more days until we reach Porterville."

Kid lifted up to look at his partner but sunk back down to the rocky ground when the healing wound in his left side started to pull. He spoke to the stream, "It'll work. It just might take awhile. The doc..."

"What? I know your talkin' but I can't tell what you're sayin'," Heyes called out.

Kid raised his voice, "I said that this will work. The doc said not to get the cast wet -cos it will weaken it and dissolve the plaster." He started to rub the cast vigorously with his left hand in the cold water.

Kid slowly and carefully pushed himself into a sitting position at the edge of the stream. He pulled at the edges of the cast and succeeded in slightly enlarging the openings at the top and bottom. He looked up at his skeptical partner, smiled and held his right arm out to show that indeed the idea was working.

Heyes grinned back. "Okay, so it's working a little. I still don't see why you can't wait a few more days. And besides, the cast will prove our story that much better and maybe even get Lom to feel sorry for you, which will work to our advantage when he tells the tale to the governor, who undoubtedly has heard or read all about the unavoidable gunfight already."

"Heyes, we might have eluded Dearborn once again by taking a very roundabout way to Wyoming. And you're probably right in that he'll never expect us to head in that direction but it's been six weeks today and I'm not gonna go one more day left-handed, " Kid stated adamantly as he lowered himself once again to the stream and continued to work at the cast.

Many minutes later and after much soaking and rubbing, Kid, with blue lips and numb fingers, had succeeded in weakening and stretching the cast to enable him to slip the sodden mass of linen off and toss the hated thing far into the woods. His triumphant smile faded with the chuckles, which were rapidly turning into loud laughter, emanating from his watching partner.

Heyes pointed to Kid's right arm and managed to achieve a straight face before remarking, "Well, if your arm continues to look like that Lom will have no trouble believing the left-handed gun reason for Sam Snyder's demise."

Heyes quickly became serious when he noticed the stricken look that passed swiftly across Curry's face, "Kid, there was no other choice. He forced the fight. With your right arm in a cast and as good as Snyder reputedly was, it was either you or him. Everybody there could see that and that's the way it was reported. You know that."

Curry nodded slowly and glanced down at his drying right arm.

"How's the arm and your hand?" Heyes asked with concern, as they both knew the importance of a full recovery.

Kid flexed his fingers, made a fist, and rotated his wrist and elbow before answering, "Weak and ugly." Curry and Heyes both stared at the scaly, flaky, white, atrophied forearm. Kid rubbed his left hand up and down the limb and flakes of dried skin fluttered to the ground like a light dusting of dirty snow.

Curry rose to his feet, pressed his left hand to his side for a moment while he gathered his breath. Blue eyes met brown. The blond looked skyward to gauge the amount of daylight remaining. He determinedly walked over to his saddlebags dumped next to his saddle lying on the ground and started to rummage through them.

"Heyes, why don't you start the fire, make some coffee and start dinner heating. While there's still some daylight left, I wanna get some practice in," Kid directed. He placed a box of .45's on a rock, unbuckled his newest gun belt and dropped it gently to the ground. Stooping to the saddlebags once more, he fished out a familiar worn leather gun belt and stood up. He settled his old right-handed gun belt low on his hips, tied the thong to the right thigh and retrieved his Colt. Grabbing the bullets, Kid Curry strode into the trees.

An hour later, Heyes was still stirring the pot of beans and inhaled the aroma of his fine trail coffee to the sounds of rapid gunfire among the background noises of a camp in the wilderness. Heyes let a small sigh escape as he wondered just how many boxes of .45's and hours of practice it was going to take for his partner to be satisfied but was thankful for Curry's self discipline. Heyes wouldn't have it any other way, at least until the amnesty came through, and they could leave their old lives and reputations behind.
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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.