"I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again"  [James Taylor]

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Hannibal Heyes sat on his horse atop a ridge and looked down at the scene below him.  The rain that had persisted since he’d left Abilene, the best part of a week ago, finally began to die away as faint rays of sun poked through the heavy, grey clouds.

 

It was the first time he’d set foot in Kansas in years, and even longer since he’d ventured into Douglas County.  Twenty years to be precise.  But, after completing a cattle drive from Texas to Abilene, he’d found himself drawn here.

 

He closed his eyes, images of fire, gunfire and screaming, on the fields that lay below him, pushing their way into his mind, the memory of the acrid smell of gunpowder and the stench of death as fresh now as it was then.

 

Opening his eyes he cast an involuntary glance to his side, where his friend, Kid Curry, would usually be seated, feeling the familiar ache in his gut on remembering he wasn’t there.

 

It had been nearly a year since they’d parted company. A year ago tomorrow in fact, Heyes suddenly realised.

 

It had started innocuously enough.  Another posse, another close call in getting away, another bout of bickering over whether it was worth continuing with the quest for amnesty. Only this time it had transcended just bickering and become a full-scale row as each took out the anxieties and frustrations caused by their nomadic lifestyle, trying to stay alive and one step ahead of the law and the twenty year prison sentence hanging over their heads, on each other.

 

It had ended with Curry saying he couldn’t do it any more, that he’d had enough of chasing a pipe dream. That his temper, and his reputation as a gunman, were more likely to be the cause of any trouble they got into and that if Heyes was determined to carry on trying for it he‘d have more chance of succeeding on his own.

 

While he could understand Curry’s frustrations - indeed he shared many of them himself - Heyes was dismayed by his words.

 

He had tried every way he could think of to talk him out of leaving, but Curry wouldn’t be swayed. They’d said some pretty cruel and hurtful things to each other before Heyes, resentful of Curry wanting to break up their partnership after everything they'd been through together, and everything he'd done for him back when they were children, had finally snapped and yelled, “Fine!  If that’s the way you want it!  Go!  But don’t expect me to be there to bail you out when you wind up in jail! "

 

"Ditto!" Curry had retorted angrily, before slamming out of their hotel room and heading to the saloon.

 

They’d parted company the next morning, with barely a goodbye and without even agreeing a place to meet up if their amnesty were to be granted.

 

Heyes had watched him ride away without a backward glance, wanting desperately to go after him and try once again to talk him round, but knowing it was pointless. Once the Kid made up his mind about something, he wouldn’t be moved. And so he’d reluctantly turned his horse and headed off in the opposite direction. To where, he didn’t know, or particularly care, the future seeming bleaker than ever without his friend at his side.

 

He left enough clues on his travels that Curry could have tracked him down, if he’d wanted to, but he hadn’t.  Periodic telegraphs to Lom revealed that he hadn’t heard from him either.

 

Heyes was sure, if he were to be jailed, or killed, it would be news enough that Lom and himself would get to hear about it and so he chose to believe he was okay.  But he missed his companionship. Travelling the country alone, as a wanted man, was hard, not able to stay long in any one place, or make any friends, lest his identity be discovered.  It had been tough enough living that way together, but at least they'd had each other for company. On his own, it was soul destroying.

 

He had to acknowledge that Curry probably wouldn’t feel it as much as him.  The more introverted of the two of them, he was quite happy with solitude and his own company, and while his talent with a gun could get him into trouble it could also get him out of it.  Heyes, on the other hand, disliked solitude. Extrovert and gregarious he liked to talk, and be with people, and he had struggled with the limitations imposed on him, by their notoriety, that prevented him from doing so. And, while he was a decent shot, he was nowhere near as good as Curry and would be likely to come off the loser, if he ended up in a face-off, without him there to back him up.

 

As the weeks turned into months, Heyes’ solitary existence had begun to take its toll on him. He travelled from place to place, playing poker to raise money. But even that had lost its appeal after a while.

 

He undertook a number of different jobs just to be able to mix with other people for a while. A few weeks as a ranch hand in Nebraska. A couple of delivery jobs for Big Mac McCreedy. A month working for a casino, in Cheyenne, as a security expert, helping to uncover various frauds being run by the staff, followed by another few weeks as a ranch hand in Colorado, But while, in the short term, that satisfied his need to mix with others, it didn’t replace the void left by his partner’s departure.

 

Every town he passed through he searched for clues that he might perhaps have been there before him, but always drew a blank.

 

Christmas came and went with him barely noticing. At New Year he’d celebrated with the locals in the saloon of the small town of Springer, New Mexico, putting on a façade of happiness, and anticipation of a new year, adjourning to the street at midnight to watch the firework display.  He didn’t think he’d ever felt as lonely as he had at that moment, standing on the street, surrounded by a crowd of happy, smiling people ooh-ing and aah-ing at the fireworks, his only conscious thought being to wonder if Curry was out there somewhere doing the same, and maybe wondering where he was, perhaps with the same sense of loneliness. A sense of something ‘missing’.

 

Leaving town the next morning, he headed off once more on his lonely travels.

​

Three months later found him signed up for a cattle drive, in Texas, herding a bunch of longhorns up to Abilene in Kansas.

 

It had taken a month to complete the drive, the last week of which had been hampered by torrential rain and strong winds that had made an already long and draining journey even more miserable.

 

On arrival in Abilene, exhausted, and chilled to the bone after days camping out in the rain, Heyes had booked himself into a hotel, took a leisurely soak in a hot bath, ate a hearty supper in the local restaurant, and then slept, for eighteen hours straight.

 

The next morning, as he ate breakfast in the restaurant, it suddenly registered with him where he was.  Kansas!

 

After the murder of his and Curry’s families while they were still children, they’d left Kansas at the earliest opportunity, hoping that by leaving the state, with its civil and political unrest, they could also leave the memories of their families deaths, and their unhappy time at the orphanage they’d been sent to, behind them.

 

Not that their lives had been much better, even after leaving.  Due to their young age, nobody would give them work and begging usually only got them a clip round the ear.  In desperation, they’d resorted to stealing. First food, then clothes, then money, and before long they’d fallen in with bad company and ultimately ended up as outlaws.

 

Heyes had often wondered whether things would have turned out any better if they’d stayed in Kansas, but had decided that they probably wouldn’t. The orphanage would either have auctioned them off to the highest bidder, for cheap labour, or else kicked them out, once they reached fourteen, to support themselves in the world with no community help.  With Curry being two years younger than him, that would have meant them being separated. Deciding they didn’t want to be separated, or auctioned off as slave labour, they had decided to run away.

 

Once they’d left Kansas it had become almost a taboo subject.  They never spoke about their lives there, or their families deaths, and had subconsciously avoided going back there, spending the majority of their time in Wyoming until becoming outlaws, when their ‘work’ had taken them all across the western states.  All except Kansas. They hadn’t even ventured back there to undertake a robbery.  Maybe it was time now, he mused, since he was in Kansas, to go back home, face the past and put it to rest.

 

After collecting his wages for the cattle drive, Heyes packed up and left town, heading eastwards, some subconscious urge drawing him towards Douglas County and their home town.

 

It took him five days to cover the distance, stopping off at Parkersville, on the first night, and then camping out the next night before reaching Harveyville, the following day, where he’d stayed overnight before heading on to Scranton. 

 

As he’d set off this morning, on the final part of his journey, his thoughts had once more been occupied with Curry, going back over their argument and wondering again, for the thousandth time, where he might be and whether he was alright.

 

It was early afternoon when he arrived at his destination, bringing his horse to a halt on top of a ridge, a short distance from the ruins of their family homes, where he now sat, eyes closed, trying to banish the images from that terrifying day when raiders had come and murdered them all.  All except for him and Jed. 

 

They’d skipped off their chores that day and gone off to fish in the creek, half a mile away, blissfully unaware of what was to come. It had been a fun day, Heyes recalled, until they’d returned home. A beautiful, cloudless day, sunny and warm.  He had caught four fish and Jed two.  What had happened to those fish he couldn’t recall. He supposed they must have dropped them when they’d exited the treeline and seen the destruction.

 

Heyes shook his head and opened his eyes, looking once more at the trees and fields below, searching for a sign of the creek where they’d gone to fish.  He couldn’t see the water from up here but a line of trees and bushes indicated its path.

​

Kicking his horse into motion, he rode slowly down the ridge towards the ruins.

 

He came first to what had been the Curry home. Only the foundations of the house were still visible, everything else having rotted away over time.  Where the barn had stood were the remnants of the supporting timbers, but that was all.

 

Turning his horse, he headed across to the spot where Curry’s parents were buried, a few yards from where they’d died. The outline of the graves was still visible, from a line of rocks placed around the edges, but the makeshift wooden crosses they’d erected had long since disappeared.

 

With a shake of his head and a heavy sigh, he steered the horse across the short distance that had separated the two farms, bringing it to a halt in front of what had been the door to his parent’s farmhouse.  Like the Curry’s house, only the foundations of the building were visible, but Heyes could still picture it in his mind; where the door had been, the windows either side of it, with their pretty, floral curtains, and the internal layout of the rooms.

 

He moved his horse around to where the back wall of the house had stood, where his bedroom had been, visualising it in his mind.  His bed, with the shelf above it that his father had made for him to keep his schoolbooks and other paraphernalia on. The small desk and chair, beneath the window, where he’d sat to do his homework, and the tall chest of drawers that had housed his clothes.  It had been a small room, but comfortable.  He’d felt safe there, cherished by his family, unknowing and uncaring of the hostilities going on in the adult world that were threatening his very existence.  Those had been introduced to him abruptly, and brutally, on that fateful day.

 

Memories flitted through his mind, of happier times.  Of Christmases spent at either the Curry farm or their own, with plentiful food and lots of laughter, and of he and Jed having snowball fights in the yard. Of long summer days, during school recess, spent climbing trees or fishing in the creek with Jed. Of helping his Father to mend fences, or to plant and harvest vegetables, and of picking fruit for his Mother to make pies.  A smile came to his lips as he remembered the taste of his Mother’s blueberry pie.  He and Jed had got into trouble more than once, for sneaking pieces from pies fresh out of the oven and cooling on the table, ready for dinner, and running off into the fields to eat them.  Back then, they’d thought those happy, carefree days would go on forever. How wrong they’d been.

 

He turned his horse and headed over to where his parents were buried, their graves, like the Curry’s, outlined by the line of rocks laid around the edges, two or three feet apart.  Again, like at the Curry’s, there was no sign of the makeshift wooden crosses they’d erected. Nothing to show, apart from the line of stones in the dusty ground, what, or who, lay beneath.  But Heyes knew which grave was which.  The image as fresh now as then.  His Mother on the left, his Father on the right.

 

Dismounting, he crossed slowly to stand at the foot of the graves, staring absently at them for several minutes before seating himself, cross-legged, on the ground, his mind returning to that fateful day.

 

After catching their fish they’d headed home, late in the afternoon, intending to give them to their parents. They could smell smoke in the air but didn’t think anything of it until they exited the treeline to the sight of their homes burning, men riding around on horses and the sound of screaming and guns being fired. 

 

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Heyes had ordered Jed to go back to the riverbank, hide in the bushes, where they’d been fishing, and stay there until he came back for him. 

 

“But…” Jed had protested, but Heyes had shouted at him.  “Do it!  Now!  And don’t come out for nothin' ‘til I come back for you. Understand?”

 

His friend’s grave demeanour had galvanised the young Jed who had obediently turned and run back into the woods.

 

Relieved that his friend would be safe, for now, Heyes had tried to get closer, to see what, if anything, he could do to help, but had been overtaken by fear, on seeing his parents, prostrate on the ground, blood seeping through their clothes, and had hidden himself in some bushes lest the raiders find him and shoot him too.  He watched as the gunmen searched every part of the properties, taking anything they deemed useful, before opening the corrals, shooing out the horses and riding away with them.

 

He’d stayed hidden in the bushes for some time, afraid the men might come back.  Once he was satisfied they were gone he had run down to where his parents lay, horrified to find them both dead, standing there staring fixedly at their bodies, having no idea what to do or how to feel.

 

Then, remembering Jed's parents, he ran across to their property in the hope that they might still be alive and would be able to tell him what to do, but found them dead also.

 

Frozen to the spot, with fear and panic, he tried to think of what to do, where to go.  Then he remembered Jed.  He would have to go and tell him what had happened before he disobeyed his instruction to stay hidden and ventured out to look for him.  He started to run, back through the woods, trying to think what to say to him.

 

The look on Jed’s face, when he’d told him what had happened, still haunted Heyes.  His blue eyes, at first wide with fear on learning how the raiders had attacked their homes, filling with tears at the knowledge that their parents were gone forever.  Heyes had held him in his arms, as he’d cried, telling him not to worry, that he would take care of him and that everything would be alright.  A promise that Heyes had made without any knowledge of what the future held, but one he had tried, since that day, to honour. 

 

He’d stayed with Jed until he’d calmed down, his mind working on what to do next.  He realised that, as the eldest surviving member of their families, it was up to him to be strong, and take charge. The first thing to do was to bury the bodies of their parents and, as he’d looked down at Jed, huddled across his lap, he knew he would have to do it alone. Not only was Jed was too small to be of much help, he didn’t want him to have to see his parents like that. So, once his tears had subsided, Heyes had made him promise to stay where he was while he went back to salvage what he could from their homes, telling him it was for his own safety, in case the raiders should come back for them.

 

“Go to sleep and I’ll be back by the time you wake up.” he’d told him, before heading back to their homes. 

 

The sun was just dipping below the trees by the time he’d found a shovel and began to dig a grave wide enough to take both of his parents, dragging their bodies across to it and carefully placing them side by side, with their fingers entwined, before covering them over.  Then he hurried across to the Curry’s farm and repeated the process for them.  It was well after midnight when he finished the task, before returning to the now smoking ruins of their homes and searching for a few mementos of their parents that hadn’t been destroyed by the flames, which he placed in a small sack he’d found on the ground and carried it back out to where he’d left Jed. There, exhausted by his labours, he had dropped to the ground alongside his sleeping friend and fallen into a dead sleep.

 

He’d taken Jed back, at sun up, to show him where their parents were buried where, at Jed's suggestion, he'd helped him to place rocks around the edges of the graves, to mark their location, and then to make makeshift crosses with wood from the ruins of their homes. Then, with nothing more left to be done, they’d turned and walked away without looking back. 

 

There had been no chance to say goodbye, and no time to grieve. Their lives had been changed in an instant, going from their happy, comfortable homes to the cold and uncomfortable orphanage they'd been sent to, where the other kids were mean and the staff were cruel and unforgiving.
 
Heyes had never shed a tear over what had happened. Not then - his mind having been taken over by the immediate problems of burying the bodies, taking care of Jed, and keeping them safe from any possible return of the raiders - nor in the years since. Surviving their time in the orphanage, planning their escape and then trying to keep themselves alive had given them little time to think of anything other than the here and now and so Heyes had compartmentalised his grief and buried it away deep inside him.

 

Now, all these years later, as he sat here on the land once owned by his family, in front of the graves he’d dug with his own bare hands, he was transported back to that day, reliving it once more in all its ghastly detail.

 

How different might their lives have been but for the hand of fate? he wondered.  It was a question he had asked himself many times, over the years, but now, sitting here, back where it had happened, alone, with Jed, who had been his constant companion in the years since, no longer by his side, it seemed all the more poignant.

​

Jed – Kid, closer to him even than a brother, the last, and only, person connecting him to his family, to his past - even he was lost to him now.  He was truly alone.

 

He realized now that it was only Jed that had kept him going all these years, as he’d tried to live up to his promise to take care of him. But for that promise, he would probably have given up long ago.

 

As he sat there, reliving that fateful day, the grief that he’d buried all those years ago, and more recently, began to well up inside him.  Tears spilled onto his cheeks and he lifted his hands to cover his face, cursing the twist of fate that had taken their families and their childhoods from them and set them on the path to becoming the wanted criminals they were today. If his parents were here now they would surely be appalled at what he’d become. 

 

“I’m sorry…” he said, out loud, to their graves, hoping, in some way, that they could hear him while at the same time praying they couldn’t.  He had never felt ashamed, before, of the path they’d chosen in life, convincing himself that it had been necessary in order to survive and, in some kind of twisted logic, that they were somehow owed the luxury that outlawing had given them – in the early years at least – as payback for what had been stolen from them as children. But now, all he felt was shame, misery and loneliness. 

 

His silent tears gave way to gut wrenching sobs, as a lifetime of stored up grief, anger and regret overcame him.

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there before his grief subsided and his mind came back to the present. He knew now why he’d never come back here. Facing up to what had happened here, and how it had changed their lives, far from being a cleansing, therapeutic experience had just served to depress him all the more when he thought of what their lives might have been if their families had lived.

 

He stared absently at the graves in front of him, trying to decide where to go from here and not coming up with any answers. He’d spent his life trying to honour his promise to Jed, to take care of him and make things right. He hadn’t done a very good job given how things had turned out, he decided. Leading him into a life of crime.  Jed probably was better off on his own. He should just stop looking for him and let him get on with his life. But what then?  This past year, on his own, had been soul destroying, and he couldn’t see how things would get any better any time soon.

 

Fresh tears spilled onto his cheeks as he contemplated a future alone, without Jed by his side. The amnesty might never be granted, condemning them to a life in prison if, as would no doubt eventually happen, they were caught. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison, but he didn’t want to carry on living the way he had been, this past year, either. So, what was he to do?

 

So lost was he in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the approach of a rider, on horseback, or the footsteps as the rider dismounted and walked towards him, his mind locked in its morbid deliberations.

 

The stranger stopped walking a few feet behind him and stood, silently, studying the man seated before him with his head in his hands. 

 

“Hey!”

 

Heyes jumped, startled, dropping his hands and twisting round, shocked to see, not, as he’d half expected, a local resident, perhaps coming to investigate his presence here, or a thief, come to rob him, but the face of Kid Curry, staring down at him, his expression impassive. 

 

“K-Kid?” he gasped, eyeing him in confusion.  He looked thinner and was sporting a closely cropped beard that had him questioning if he was mistaken.

 

Curry’s expression gave away nothing of his thoughts but his eyes showed a mixture of emotions as he looked at Heyes’ haggard, tear streaked face; lassitude, perplexion, sadness and regret.

 

“Heyes.” Curry inclined his head towards him.

 

“Wh-what are you doing here..?”
 
“I could ask you the same question.” Curry countered, moving forward to stand a couple of yards to his side.  When Heyes made no comment, he continued, “I was working, over in Kansas City.” He shrugged,  “Just got the urge to come back here.”

 

Heyes nodded.

​

“What about you?” Curry asked. 

 

Heyes shrugged, “I signed on for a cattle drive.  Ended up in Abilene. Seemed like a good time to pay a visit…” he trailed off, his gaze returning to the graves in front of him.

 

“Long overdue.” said Curry, his gaze following Heyes’, to look at the graves.  Unbeknown to Heyes, Curry had been there for some time, hidden behind some bushes, and had watched Heyes’ belated outpouring of grief.

 

Heyes nodded, but said nothing.
 
“Did it help?” he said now, remembering how Heyes had suppressed his grief, back then, as he’d put on a show of strength to protect and support the younger Curry, and then buried it away inside him. Purging himself of it had indeed been long overdue.

 

Heyes shot him a startled glance. 

 

Curry gave a small nod of acknowledgement to Heyes’ unspoken question, “I’ve been here a while… I didn’t want to intrude…”

 

Heyes lowered his gaze, embarrassed to know that Curry had witnessed his grief, and gave a small shrug.

 

Curry turned, to survey the ruins of their homes and the graves of their families, marked by the lines of stones, his mind drifting back to the events of that fateful day.

 

It was several minutes before he said, “I don’t know how you did this, Heyes… You were just a kid…” waving a hand towards the graves, trying to imagine a child, of the age he’d been then, trying to dig graves for, and bury, their families.

 

Heyes shrugged again, lifting his gaze to look at the graves, remembering his labours.

 

“It had to be done… I didn’t want strangers doing it…”

 

Curry nodded, understanding.

 

“…and I didn’t want you to have to see them… not like that…” Heyes added, with a shake of his head.

 

Curry studied him, realizing how much he owed him, for what he’d done for him. Shielding him from the horrors of that day, in as much as he’d been able to, caring for, and protecting, him in the days afterwards, and during their time at the orphanage, indeed pretty much their whole lives since, neither asking for, nor receiving, any payment or reward. Curry wasn’t sure, if he had been in his shoes, whether he would have had the intuition, strength or courage to do what he’d done. And how had he repaid him? By turning his back on him and walking away, at a time when they needed, more than ever, to stick together, united in trying to keep each other safe.

 

He shook his head, feeling suddenly ashamed.

 

“I’m sorry, Heyes.” he said now.

 

Heyes lifted his eyes now, to meet his, still scarcely able to believe he was standing here, in front of him. He’d always tried to hold onto the belief that they would see each other again, but that belief had been sorely tested, this past year, during his fruitless search to track him down.

 

“I tried to find you.” he said quietly.

 

Curry nodded,  “It wasn’t long before I regretted breaking up our partnership the way I did, and I thought about trying to track you down but…” he shook his head,  “I still believed you’d do better on your own, without me around to mess things up, with my temper an’ all… So I decided not to, and made sure to cover my tracks so you wouldn’t be able to find me.”

 

“And now?”

 

“Now?”

 

“Do you still feel the same way?”

 

Curry thought for a moment before nodding,  “Yes.”

 

“Oh.” Heyes’ heart sank.

 

He watched as Curry wandered over to the graves of his own parents where he stood, for some time, gazing down at them.  Heyes could only guess at his thoughts.

​

Presently he turned and crossed to the ruins of the Curry house and barn, walking around the perimeter of the foundations, obviously remembering, as had Heyes, how it used to look.

 

Heyes turned away, wrestling with his own dilemma. What were the odds of he and Curry coming here at the same time? Astronomical, he guessed, almost as if fate had decreed it.  He dearly wanted to repair their relationship but, from what Curry had just said, it was obvious he still believed Heyes was better off without him and had gone out of his way to make sure he didn’t find him. So what was he to do? Just say ‘nice to see you’ and let him walk away again? That was the last thing he wanted.  He supposed he could try begging him, but he knew that was pointless.  If Curry still believed the choice he’d made was the right one, even that wouldn’t sway him. They would just end up arguing round in circles as they had before. There seemed to be no obvious solution. But having found him, accidentally or otherwise, he was loathed to just let him disappear again.

 

He was still pondering the dilemma when Curry wandered back over to him, stopping in front of him and gazing pensively at the graves.

 

“Kid?” Heyes said presently.

 

“Hmm?” said Curry, without looking at him.

 

“What made you come here, today of all days?”

 

Curry thought about that for a few moments, before turning to look at Heyes.

 

“Dunno.  I just suddenly felt a need to come back here… maybe for closure or somethin’… I don’t know…”

 

Heyes nodded.

 

“It was the same for me.” he said presently, “When I signed up for the cattle drive I didn’t really give any thought to where it was going.  It was only when we got to Abilene that it dawned on me where I was, and I just got this urge to come here.”

 

Curry nodded.

 

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Heyes said presently, “That we haven’t seen each other in a year and yet we both arrive here, at the place we’ve avoided going back to for twenty years, at almost exactly the same time?”

 

“I guess.” Curry muttered, thoughtfully.

 

“You do know, it’s a year tomorrow since we split up?”

 

Curry looked surprised,  “Is it?”

 

Heyes nodded.

 

Curry blew out his cheeks, surprised that a whole year had passed so quickly.

 

“It’s almost like… it was fated.” Heyes ventured.

 

Curry pursed his lips.  He wasn’t much of a believer in fate.  He preferred to make his own luck.

 

When he didn’t reply, Heyes said, “Kid, I don’t know what urged me to come back here after all these years… maybe I wanted to reconnect with the past - our past, I don’t know.  But I do know that this past year has been hell.  Before you arrived, I was sittin’ here, thinkin’ to myself that I didn’t want to live another year like that…” He risked a glance at Curry who was watching him impassively.

 

“I know you think I’d be better off without you around, but… Kid, you’re wrong.”

 

He could sense Curry withdrawing as he said, wearily, “Heyes, we’ve been through this…  You stand a better chance of getting amnesty without me along.” turning as though to leave.

 

“No, Kid,” Heyes hurriedly cut in, scrambling to his feet,  “without you along I stand a good chance of not making it at all.”

 

Curry hesitated and turned back to look at him.

 

Their eyes met and held, Heyes’ pleading, Curry’s uncertain.

 

“I need you, Kid.” Heyes said, quietly, his voice hoarse with emotion, “We need each other.  We’re a team. Always have been.”

 

Curry eyed him, considering his words.  He had to admit that this past year hadn’t been all that great for him either. He’d regretted their acrimonious parting, even though he still believed in what he’d said – that staying with Heyes would harm his chances of getting amnesty, maybe even of survival.  But he’d been in his thoughts constantly, wondering if he might have gotten into trouble - maybe been accused of cheating at cards or something - and, without him there to back him up, had perhaps been injured, or even killed. They hadn’t been pleasant thoughts, yet still he’d stuck with his belief that he’d made the right decision for them both, by walking away, reluctant to allow himself to believe that Heyes, who could talk his way out of pretty much anything, would come to any serious harm without him.

 

He wondered too, now, about the coincidence of them both deciding to come here, after all these years, and arriving almost at the same time.  It was indeed odd. If he was a believer in that sort of thing, he would have said it was some kind of a psychic link, that each had somehow communicated the idea into the other’s mind. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?  But, impossible or not, inexplicably, here they were.

 

And, as he looked, now, at Heyes and remembered the things he’d done for him, not only on that fateful day, when their families had been murdered, but in the years since, he realized he was right. They were a team, they did need each other, and he owed it to Heyes to support him, the way Heyes had always supported him, regardless of the challenges, or the outcome.

 

“I guess you’re right…” he said quietly.

 

As Heyes gave him an anxious look, he held out his hand,  “Partners?” he said, with a shy smile.

 

Heyes’ anxious look turned into a relieved grin. Reaching out, he grabbed Curry’s hand and shook it before they stepped forward and threw their arms around each other in a warm embrace.

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They stayed at the site of their homes for the rest of the afternoon, reminiscing about the happier days of their childhood, and tidying up some of the rocks placed around the graves, which had sunk or been covered over with dirt and moss, before fashioning some new crosses with some wood, and leather thongs, onto which they carved their family names.  Then they headed off towards the meadow, near the creek, where they’d played as children, and found some wild flowers, which they picked and fashioned into bunches which each had placed on their family’s grave with a silent prayer.

 

The sun was dipping towards the horizon when they finally took their leave, planning to spend the night in Baldwin City, an hour or so east.

 

They brought their horses to a halt at the top of the ridge and turned to take one last look at the place of their birth. They knew they wouldn’t come back here.  There was no need.  They’d finally made their peace with the past. Now it was time to look to the future, together.

 

Turning to each other they exchanged a bittersweet smile before kicking their horses into motion and heading off into the fast approaching night.

 

 

 

--oo00oo--

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