[Original 1973/Updated 2005/2020]
Chapters: 15
Word Count: 82,681
​
Warnings: Angst, Violence, Rape, Suicide (mention of), Character death
​
RETRIBUTION
​​
by
Eleanor Ward
​
After a trivial argument, Heyes and Kid part company, and Heyes finds himself abducted by
a Bounty Hunter, with shattering consequences that plunge him into emotional crisis
and drive him to a quest for revenge that has devastating repercussions.
​
~~~~~~~
It was a hot, dusty afternoon as two strangers rode into the small township of Harrison, just inside the Nebraska border. They had been travelling for the better part of three weeks, as they worked their way up from Colorado.
A few of the locals gave them a passing glance as they pulled their horses up outside the hotel. Had they known that the two strangers were the two most wanted outlaws in the West, they would likely have been rather more alarmed.
Kid Curry climbed wearily down from his horse, took off his hat and raked a hand through his wavy, fair hair before replacing it on his head and then reaching in his pocket to see how much money he had, grimacing when he counted just under two dollars.
“How much you got?” He glanced across at his partner, Hannibal Heyes, who had dismounted and was removing his saddlebags.
Heyes delved into his pocket and drew out his money, bending his head to count it.
“Two dollars… fifty… sixty… seventy five.” He glanced across at Curry, raising a dark eyebrow questioningly.
“One eighty five.” sighed Curry, “Just enough for a room and supper.” He gave his partner a rueful look, “Let’s hope your luck’s in tonight.”
Heyes sighed, “I wouldn’t bet on it, the way things have been going lately.” he said sourly. Turning, he headed into the hotel with Curry on his heels.
After a successful ‘career’ robbing banks and trains with Heyes’ gang, Heyes and Curry had decided – or, more accurately, Heyes had decided, and Curry had reluctantly followed – to go straight, before the increasingly efficient law caught up with them, and had sought the help of a former gang member named Lom Trevors. Trevors, who had gone straight several years earlier and won an amnesty from the Government, was now Sheriff of Porterville, a small township in Wyoming, and, working with the Government, he had helped several small time criminals get an amnesty for their crimes and become free citizens once more and Heyes and Curry had asked him if he could do the same for them. Because of their notoriety however, the Government were suspicious about their motives, and of their ability to stay on the right side of the law, and had imposed a waiting period on them, initially of one year, during which time, if they got into any trouble, the amnesty would be refused and they would be condemned to ride the outlaw trail to it’s predictable end. If, however, at the end of the trial period, they had proved that they could live on the right side of the law, then an amnesty would be granted and they would be free citizens once more.
Lom was to be responsible for them during this time, and would report on their progress. He had given them new names to live under during this trial period, Joshua Smith for Heyes and Thaddeus Jones for Curry.
After the initial one year trial period however, the Governor had decided that politically, it wasn’t a good time to grant them an amnesty, and a further waiting period had been imposed, with a date to be advised, when the political climate improved. Heyes and Curry had almost quit at that point and gone back to their outlaw ways, but Lom had persuaded them to stick with it and for the last few months they had been travelling around, keeping a low profile, doing odd jobs to earn money, avoiding confrontation, and hurriedly leaving town when, as frequently happened, someone recognised them. They had ended up in jail several times, for minor misdemeanours, but Lom had managed to rescue them on each occasion so far without having to report the incidents back to the Governor.
After their exciting, extravagant lifestyle as outlaws, Heyes and Curry had found staying on the straight and narrow hard going. They had spent a large part of these last few months broke and hungry, and, at times, the temptation to go back to their old life was almost irresistible. But so far they’d stuck at it, knowing that this was their best chance of living to what could be called a ripe old age. If they continued in their ‘profession’, the longest they could realistically hope to survive was perhaps two more years as the telegraph network spread its tentacles across the country, enabling the law to get to the scene of a robbery almost as soon as it happened, reducing their chances of escape, and increasing their chances of getting killed.
After booking a room in the hotel they went back outside to unsaddle their horses. Not having enough money on them to pay livery fees for their horses and for a room and food for themselves, they decided to store their gear in their room and then picket their horses in some woods just outside town. With luck, Heyes would be able to get into a poker game, later, and win them enough money to be able to stable the horses tomorrow, and keep their hotel room for another few days.
The horses safely picketed near a small stream, they returned to town and headed to the restaurant for a meal and then on to the saloon where Heyes sat in at a poker game going on in the corner.
Heyes was a gifted card player and won frequently, although his luck had often got them into trouble when his opponents accused him of cheating.
Curry propped himself against the bar with a drink while Heyes played. He studied the game for a while, trying to work out how it was going. He could gleen nothing from Heyes’ expression. His dark eyes gave away nothing - his normally mobile mouth set, his expression impassive.
Curry turned away, bored with watching, and began chatting to some people standing near to him.
Heyes returned some time later, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Well?” Curry enquired, his blue eyes looking perturbed.
“Don’t worry, Kid, you can have your breakfast tomorrow.” Heyes told him.
Curry grinned.
After a couple more drinks, they went back to the hotel where they fell asleep, on the luxury of real mattresses, almost as soon as their heads touched the pillows.
The next morning, after picking up their horses, they rode over to the bathhouse, for a long awaited bath, and to get their clothes laundered, and then up to the barbershop for a long overdue haircut. Later, after a leisurely brunch at the restaurant, they rode over to the saloon, intending to take their horses to the livery, which was at the other end of town, once they’d had a couple of drinks.
“Well.” said Curry, after they had downed their first drink and poured a second, “I feel almost human again now.” He sighed, his expression becoming solemn, “I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to wonder if this amnesty lark is worth it. I’m sick to death of always being broke and hungry, and always having to slink away when we’re recognised.”
Heyes sighed, irritated by this latest bout of whingeing that Curry had kept up more or less constantly since the day they’d approached Lom for help in going straight.
“We’ve been through this.” he said impatiently, “What would you rather have? A couple of years hardship now, and then a decent, hopefully long life to look forward to, perhaps a family, kids? Or, twelve months of the high life now, followed by 20 years in jail, or the hangman’s noose? If we live that long that is.”
Curry shook his head contemptuously, “Do you know,” he downed his drink and picked up the bottle to pour another, “at the moment, I think I’d settle for the high life. My backside’s killing me from all this travelling, and sleeping rough aint doing my back any good either.”
Heyes tutted, “The trouble with you is, you’ve got no stamina.” he said scathingly, picking up the drink Curry had just poured him.
Curry's eyebrows shot up, “That’s rich, coming from you.” he retorted, “As I recall, you’re pretty quick to complain yourself if you have to do a full day’s work, especially if it involves getting your hands dirty.” he snapped angrily. Heyes loathed physical labour, preferring to use his active, intelligent mind for planning and organising, and made no secret of his penchant for the finer things in life, although, to his credit, since agreeing to try for the amnesty, he had complained very little at having to bow and scrape to people he would just as soon punch in the face, and take on dull jobs that paid little in the way of wages by normal standards, let alone the money they’d been used to getting from their robberies. They had argued several times about the merits, or not, of going straight and trying to get an amnesty, and Curry's remark, which sounded to Heyes as though he was inferring that he was somehow not pulling his weight in their endeavour, rubbed him up the wrong way.
“At least when I make my mind up to do something, I stick with it.” he retorted, “I don’t quit just because my butt’s sore.” he added waspishly, turning away and picking up his glass.
Curry glared at him, anger flaring in his eyes as he picked up the tone of sarcasm in Heyes’ voice, “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.
“You know perfectly well.” replied Heyes, his tone condescending, “All you’ve done this last three weeks, in fact this last three months, is bitch and complain, and I’m sick to the back teeth of hearing it. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. If you can’t handle it, why did you agree to do it?”
“I didn’t have a lot of choice.” Curry snapped, “You railroaded me into it.”
“I what?” Heyes’ eyebrows shot up indignantly.
“Oh, sure, we discussed it,” Curry continued, “but as always you decided, and, as always, you decided to do what you wanted.” he said, with sarcasm.
Anger glittered in Heyes’ dark eyes, “You agreed it was the best thing to do.” he growled, “You didn’t have to do it. You’re quite capable of making your own decisions. You don’t have to do everything I say. I’m not your Mother, for God’s sake.”
Curry recoiled from Heyes’ remark like a physical blow. After their parents had been murdered by bushwhackers while they were still small children, he and Heyes had had no-one to provide for them, or care for them, and had had to rely on each other for their survival. They had been each other’s Father, Mother and Brother, and the tone of disdain in Heyes’ remark seemed, to him, to make all those years count for nothing.
“I…” Heyes began, seeing his expression and realizing how his remark had sounded, but Curry raised his hand to cut him off and spoke over him.
“No.” he agreed, “My Mother always did what was best for me, not for her.” He glared at Heyes, his eyes dark with anger.
A tinge of colour touched Heyes’ cheekbones at the implications of Curry's remark.
“You know, I might just do better on my own.” Curry continued before Heyes had a chance to protest to his earlier comment.
Heyes grunted, cynically, hurt by his remarks but too proud to admit it.
“Feel free.” he snapped, waving a hand theatrically towards the door, “Don’t let me hold you back.” he added sarcastically, “I wouldn’t want to be accused of preventing you from bettering yourself.”
Curry picked up his hat, his face white with temper.
“I don’t know why I’ve stuck with you for so long.” he hissed furiously at Heyes, “You’re a… self opinionated… arrogant… overbearing son-of-a-bitch.” He thrust his hat on his head and, turning on his heel, headed towards the door.
“I love you too!” Heyes tossed sarcastically at his receding figure, “Oh, and don’t forget to give Lom your forwarding address, because I won’t be around to bail you out when you end up in jail!”
Curry turned to glare furiously at him.
Heyes gave him a deliberately dazzling smile, which just served to infuriate him further. He clenched his fists in anger before turning and thumping out through the saloon door.
Heyes turned back to the bar and poured another drink, downing it in one gulp and banging the glass down angrily on the counter.
Self opinionated was he? Overbearing? Arrogant? Heyes took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger bubbling inside him. The Kid had a pretty big ego himself, Heyes noted, especially when he had a gun in his hand. He had an extraordinary talent with a gun, the best Heyes had ever seen. The Kid knew it, and delighted in amazing others with his speed and accuracy. Fortunately, he wasn’t of the sour disposition that seemed to dog a lot of sharpshooters, and he had never killed anyone. Neither had Heyes, although rumours had it that between them they’d slaughtered dozens of people.
Left to his own devices however, Heyes thought that the Kid could be provoked into it. His quick Irish temper all too easily got the better of him, like just now.
Heyes sighed. He just hoped he didn’t do anything stupid while he was in a rage. But why was he worrying? he chastised himself. The Kid had made it plain he didn’t want any help from him.
With a sigh, Heyes poured himself another drink. If the Kid thought he could do better on his own then let him try. He smiled, smugly. He gave him two days at the most, before he came skulking back. Like Heyes, the Kid wasn’t, by nature, a loner. He would be out of his mind with boredom after one day on his own.
Picking up his drink he headed to the poker table, where he won a reasonable amount of cash.
After a couple of hours of play, he quit, while his luck held, and returned to the bar.
It wasn’t long before he was approached by one of the saloon girls, a pretty girl, with long blonde hair, peachy skin and big blue eyes, a complete contrast to his own dark colouring and swarthy complexion.
She introduced herself as Josie. Heyes introduced himself as Joshua Smith and poured her a drink. They stood chatting at the bar, Heyes amusing her with his sharp wit, she tantalising him with her firm young body, pressing herself to him as she giggled at his jokes. They adjourned to one of the tables, Heyes surprised to find, as they talked, that, for a saloon girl, she had a very intelligent mind, and he was drawn to her as much for that as for her body. They spent the rest of the evening chatting and drinking.
When Josie told him it was the end of her shift at the saloon and suggested that they go back to her place Heyes didn’t object. It had been quite a while since he’d been with a woman, and even longer since he’d been with one as lovely as Josie, and it would do the Kid good to stew a while, to wonder, if he went back to their hotel later, where he’d got to and if he were coming back or not.
Heyes finished his drink and stood up, dropping his arm around Josie’s shoulder as they walked towards the door. Josie slipped her arm around his waist and tilted her face up to kiss him tantalisingly on the lips. Heyes sighed with anticipation. Falling out with the Kid did have its compensations, he thought with a smile.
Unnoticed by Heyes, two men got up from an adjacent table and followed them.
As Heyes and Josie stepped out of the saloon and onto the boardwalk, the barrel of a gun was suddenly pressed against Heyes’ temple by one of the two men who had followed them out.
“That’ll be far enough… Mr. Heyes.” said a voice off to his left.
Heyes stopped dead in his tracks, shifting his gaze to look at the man who now stepped out of the shadows to stand in front of him, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants. He was an evil looking man, thin faced, with cold dark eyes and dark auburn hair that was greased down.
“Who are you? What do you want?” asked Heyes.
“Who I am isn’t important.” the stranger sneered, “It’s who you are that counts.”
“My name is Joshua Smith.” Heyes told him.
The main raised an eyebrow, “Really?” He shook his head, “You’re Hannibal Heyes.”
Josie, who had stood watching the proceedings nervously, drew in a shocked gasp. She had heard the stories about Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry over the years. Could this handsome, witty, happy-go-lucky man really be the ruthless outlaw she’d heard all those terrible stories about?
“Who says?” asked Heyes.
“I say.” replied the stranger.
Heyes shook his head, “Well I’m afraid you’re mistaken, friend.”
“We’ll see who’s mistaken when we get to Cheyenne.” The man glanced around him, “Is that your horse?” He nodded to Heyes’ horse tethered nearby.
“Yes.”
“Get on it.”
Heyes stared at him momentarily, while he tried to think of a way out of the situation, before deciding there wasn’t an immediate one.
“You heard.” the man holding the gun on him hissed in Heyes’ ear, “Move it.”
“McKenzie, take his gun.” The stranger ordered.
McKenzie reached down and removed Heyes’ gun from his holster before giving him a hefty shove in the direction of his horse that all but sent him sprawling.
Heyes glared angrily at him, but before he could speak McKenzie turned to the stranger and said, “What about the woman, Red?”
“Bring her too. We don’t want her gossiping to all and sundry.”
Josie looked terrified, “No, please… let me go. I won’t say anything. I only met him today… I don’t know anything….”
“Yes, let her go.” echoed Heyes, “She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Shut up.” snapped Red, “She comes with us.” He grabbed Josie’s arm and pulled her towards him, pulling his own gun and holding it on her, “She could be useful… in more ways than one.” he added, leering at her voluptuous figure.
“But…” Heyes began.
“I said, shut your mouth, and keep it shut, unless you want her death on your conscience.” he told Heyes, nodding towards Josie.
Heyes shut up and got on his horse. Red and McKenzie did the same, Red hauling Josie up into the saddle in front of him.
They turned their horses and began to walk them towards the edge of town, McKenzie leading Heyes’ horse, with Red following behind.
“Where’s your partner, Kid Curry?” Red asked presently.
“My partner’s name is Thaddeus Jones, and he left town.” Heyes replied. He didn’t want them going after him too.
“Don’t give me that.” snapped Red,“He was with you last night.”
Heyes raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t suspected they were being followed by anyone.
“Yes, he was.” he agreed truthfully, “We had a… disagreement, earlier today, and he left. That’s why I was with this young lady. I don’t know where he is.”
Red contemplated what Heyes had said. He had been hoping to be able to capture both of them but it was possibly a good thing that Curry hadn’t been around. He was too good with a gun, and it would have made it harder to capture them.
“No matter.” he said finally, “He’ll keep. When he gets to hear his partner's in jail he'll make some kind of rescue attempt. We'll catch him then."
They rode along in silence. Heyes wondered if there was any chance of him making a break for it before deciding there wasn’t. Even if he could break away, they could shoot him before he got twenty yards, or run him down, or hurt Josie. He wondered about the Kid. Heyes had certainly got his wish to make him stew, he thought with a grimace of irony. It would be a while before he realised something was wrong, if at all, and even if he did, there was no way of him finding them. No-one had seen their abduction from outside the saloon. He sighed. What a mess.
Some way out of town, they met up with another four members of Red’s party, camped with a covered wagon containing their supplies. They talked amongst themselves for a few minute before setting off again.
They’d been riding for a couple of hours when Heyes became aware of the men sniggering. He turned his head to see what was going on. Red was kissing and fondling Josie as they rode along, viciously biting her neck, ears and breasts, the men sniggering as Josie squirmed with pain. Her eyes caught Heyes’, pleading with him to help her.
Heyes clenched his fists, “Leave her alone.” he told Red.
Red looked up from biting Josie’s neck, while his hands squeezed her nipples, so hard she moaned with pain, her hands pulling uselessly at his as she tried to remove them.
“I told you to shut up.” he growled at Heyes, his eyes like steel. He gave an evil smile, “Perhaps you’d like to watch while I have her?” He removed one hand from her breast to grab her long blonde hair and yanked her head backwards, bending to kiss her, forcing his tongue into her mouth while his other hand pulled and twisted each nipple in turn, so viciously it was like someone clamping her in a vice and crushing her. She thought she would choke as his tongue probed almost down her throat, the smell of sweat and hair oil turning her stomach. She tried to scream, but only an agonised gurgle emerged as she beat her hands about his shoulders, her body writhing as she frantically tried to free herself from his grip.
Heyes turned his horse alongside Red’s, leaning across and lashing out at him, trying to pull him off her.
“Leave her alone!” he yelled.
There was a sudden explosion in his head as McKenzie clubbed him with the butt of his gun. He slumped over the horse’s neck as stars floated before his eyes. His horse, unhappy at being crowded by the other horses, reared up, throwing the semi-conscious Heyes backwards out of the saddle. For an instant the world spun about him before he landed, with a jarring thud, in a heap on the ground, gashing his forehead on a rock.
He lay there, dazed, until McKenzie crouched down by him, putting an arm around his throat and hauling his head up to look at Red who had now dismounted and was holding onto Josie who was struggling frantically.
“Watch, and take heed.” Red hissed at Heyes, his eyes blazing with fury. He turned and hurled Josie to the ground, throwing himself on top of her, while Josie screamed and struggled. Red slapped her face and then stuffed a large handkerchief in her mouth to quieten her screams before ripping open her clothes and brutally raping her.
Heyes, still groggy from the blow to his head, couldn’t take in what was happening at first. He felt like he was in the middle of some awful dream. But, as his senses began to clear and he realised what was happening, he tried to struggle free of McKenzie’s grasp, to help her.
“No!” he cried, but his cry was cut short as McKenzie tightened his grip on his throat, pulling out his gun and pressing it to Heyes’ temple, “Shut up.” he hissed in his ear.
Heyes had no choice but to lie there and watch while, first Red, and then three of the other men, raped her.
As the last man stood up from her half naked, bruised and bleeding body, Red glanced around the group.
“Anyone else want a go?” he enquired. When no-one else took up the offer, he turned to Heyes.
“How about you?” he sneered, “After all, that was your intention, wasn’t it?”
Heyes closed his eyes, feeling sick. When he opened them again, Red was crouching over Josie’s crumpled form, gun in hand.
“Well?” he smiled evily, “We’ve no further use for her, so unless you want her...?” He trailed off, lifting Josie up by one arm and pressing the gun to her temple. He turned to look at Heyes once more, lifting one eyebrow questioningly, “What’s it to be?” he asked, his dark eyes boring into Heyes’.
Heyes couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Rape her to save her life? It was an impossible choice, and Red knew it. Even if Heyes had been physically able to do it, which, at this moment, he wasn’t, morally, he couldn’t.
He looked into Josie’s pleading gaze, his eyes silently begging her forgiveness for being unable to help her.
“I… can’t …” he choked.
Red gave a nonchalant shrug, and, without further hesitation, pulled the trigger, an evil smile on his face as he watched Heyes’ reaction.
Heyes stared in horror at her blood spattered body, unable to believe that Red had actually done it.
“No…” he gasped, shaking his head in shocked disbelief, “No...” She'd had nothing to do with this. She’d just been an innocent bystander. She’d died just because she happened to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong person. Him. Nausea welled up in him and he retched as the realisation hit him.
“You… bastard…” he choked.
“Shut up.” Red snapped breathlessly at him, “Let that be a lesson as to the sort of thing that could happen to you if you try to pull anything. Some of these guys don’t only fancy women either.” he added menacingly.
Heyes stared at him momentarily, while he took in the implications of what Red had said, before returning his tortured gaze to Josie’s blood spattered remains.
“What about her... you can’t just… leave her there…”
“I can do what the hell I like.” Red snapped, levelling his gun at Heyes, “Now, stop your whining and get on your horse.”
Heyes stared at him for a moment, deciding he had no option but to comply. Not with a gun at his head anyway.
He tried to get up but yelped at a sudden pain in his right leg. He had fallen badly and landed with his leg bent up under him. He’d been too dazed, and shocked, at what was happening, to register it before, but now, even trying to straighten it was agony. He bit his lip, sinking back down onto one elbow.
“My leg… I think it’s broken.” he said, through clenched teeth.
Red raised his eyes to the sky, obviously irritated by this unexpected inconvenience.
“McKenzie … have a look at it.” he instructed.
McKenzie crouched down by Heyes and examined the leg. Heyes grunted with pain as he straightened it and prodded around.
“It’s broke alright.” he announced presently, “Just about here.” He pressed on the spot, about five inches above Heyes’ ankle, causing him to yelp with pain.
“I’ll see if I can make a splint.” McKenzie got up and disappeared into their wagon, returning, a few moments later, with some rope and some stout branches, that they were keeping for their camp fire, which he cut with a knife to make a makeshift splint from Heyes’ knee to his ankle.
“Right.” said Red, when McKenzie had finished, “Now, get up and get on your horse.”
Heyes shot him a startled glance. A bruise was already starting to show on his temple where McKenzie had clubbed him, and a trickle of blood ran down the other side of his forehead from where he’d struck his head as he’d fallen.,
“But… I can’t walk.” he said, his tone incredulous.
Red levelled his gun at him, “It don’t make no difference to me if I deliver you alive, or dead.” he told him, “If you want it to be alive, you’d better get up and on your horse… now. And if I suspect you of trying to slow us down in any way at all, I’ll put a bullet in your head. Get it?”
Heyes stared at him in disbelief. Surely he didn’t expect him to walk with a broken leg? And if he didn’t give a damn about taking him in alive, why hadn’t he just killed him instead of taking him prisoner? It was easier to take in a corpse than a prisoner. That probably meant he was bluffing, to keep him in line. Well, Heyes bristled, he wouldn’t make it easy for him.
“I can’t walk.” he said flatly, his eyes challenging Red’s.
Without any hesitation, Red aimed his gun at Heyes and fired, the bullet hitting him in the left shoulder. Heyes slumped to the ground with a grunt, as much of surprise, as pain.
“You’ll walk… or else.” growled Red.
Heyes struggled to get back up onto one elbow, turning his gaze to Red’s as he clutched his injured shoulder and tried not to show how much it hurt.
“Get on your horse.” Red ordered, his eyes cold, totally unmoved by what he had done, to Heyes or to Josie.
Heyes stared at him, humiliated at calling Red’s bluff and losing. He hadn’t believed he would follow through with his threat, but it was obvious to him now that Red would indeed kill him if he gave him the slightest reason. If he wanted to arrive in Cheyenne alive, he would have to do exactly what Red told him.
What Heyes didn’t know was that Red enjoyed torturing his prisoners, physically and psychologically, and would do so at the slightest opportunity. If they died before he delivered them, that was just too bad. Either way, he still earned the Bounty.
Heyes struggled to his feet, pain flowing through him. Stars floated before his eyes and he felt dizzy, but he fought to stay conscious, limping and hopping over to his horse.
To get on the animal, he had to take all his weight on his injured leg. As he tried to, pain washed over him and he thought he would pass out. He hung onto the saddle, leaning his head on his arm, his eyes closed, taking deep breaths as he tried to fight off the red mist that threatened to engulf him, his face beaded in perspiration.
“Move it.” Red growled behind him.
Heyes took a deep breath, and, grasping the saddle, held his weight while he got his good leg in the stirrup. He swung up, groaning as he swung his injured leg over the horse’s back.
“Tie him on.” Red told McKenzie.
Heyes glared at hi,. “There’s no need for that. I’m hardly going to be running away am I?”
“Just making sure.” sneered Red, “You’re a valuable cargo. Can’t afford to take any chances.”
“I’ve told you, you’ve got the wrong man.” Heyes said quietly.
“Yeah, yeah.” scoffed Red, “And I’m Abraham Lincoln.”
McKenzie approached with a length of rope which had a loop in one end. He placed the looped end around Heyes’ injured ankle and pulled it tight, causing Heyes to grunt with pain. He then took the rope under the horse’s belly before tying it to his other ankle. Then he grabbed Heyes’ wrists and bound them securely around the pommel of the saddle. His left hand was streaked with blood which had soaked his shirt and run down his arm from the wound in his shoulder.
McKenzie took out a large handkerchief and stuffed it inside his shirt to stem the bleeding.
“I think we ought to bury the girl Mr. Felton.” One of the men addressed Red, “Just in case anyone tries to track us.”
Red contemplated for a moment before nodding, “Alright, but be quick. Put her over there in amongst those rocks.” He pointed to some boulders about thirty yards away.
Heyes watched with tortured eyes as a shallow grave was dug, and Josie’s remains hurriedly buried, before everyone mounted their horses and moved off, Felton towing Heyes’ horse behind his own.
The gang chatted amongst themselves as they rode, totally ignoring Heyes.
Heyes pondered on who these men were, and what his chances were of getting away from them. He shook his head. Who was he trying to kid? He wasn’t going anywhere, except maybe to an early grave. He shuddered at the thought of what lay in store for him. Their amnesty was unofficial. Until it was, they were still wanted criminals with a $10,000 price on each of their heads and 20 years in jail to look forward to. The only person who might be able to save him was Lom, and there was no way for him to know where he was, nor for the Kid to pass on a message to tell him. He sighed. It looked pretty bleak.
He tried to flex his aching back and shoulders. The fall had shaken him up, and being tied to this horse wasn’t helping matters. He didn’t know which part of him hurt the most.
His thoughts returned to the Kid. What would he do when Heyes failed to contact him? Probably nothing at first. After their argument, he would think Heyes was sulking. That was assuming, of course, that he hadn’t left town altogether and came back to the hotel to look for him, which was by no means certain. Later, he might go to the saloon to look for him. But, even if they even remembered him being there, they would only be able to tell him that he had left, and there the trail would end. There were no clues, no witnesses, nothing.
“Lord, what a mess.” he muttered to himself.
His thoughts returned time and time again to Josie. They’d had no right to do what they’d done to her. She’d done nothing wrong, except get involved with him. He was consumed with guilt that she had died because of him, and so brutally.
His stomach turned over as his mind replayed it to him once more. He would never forget the look in her eyes as she’d silently pleaded for salvation. This guy Felton had to be crazy, he decided. He would have to be very careful if he wanted to live long enough to even get to trial.
As dusk fell, Red stopped the gang, to make camp for the night. One of the men untied Heyes and told him to get down off his horse.
Heyes did as he was told. He limped, with difficulty, over to their wagon, where he was pushed down onto the ground. His leg and shoulder hurt like hell, and he felt sick and faint.
Someone handed him a small plate of food and mug of coffee. The rest of the men sat in a circle some distance away, eating and passing around a flask of whisky. Heyes licked his lips as he watched them drinking. He could really do with a swig of that himself right now.
When McKenzie came to take the plate and mug from him, Heyes caught his sleeve.
“Wait.”
McKenzie looked disdainfully down at him, “What?”
“This bullet… will you get it out?,
McKenzie looked doubtful, glancing across to where Felton was sitting with the men. He knew if he did anything like that without his permission he would be in big trouble. On the other hand, he didn’t much like the way Felton treated his prisoners and couldn’t see what harm it could do to help the guy. The trip to Cheyenne would be rough enough on him without having a bullet in him.
“Please.” Heyes’ eyes pleaded with McKenzie’s.
McKenzie sighed, drawing out a knife. “Alright, but keep it quiet, or we’ll both be for it.”
Heyes nodded, unfastening his jacket and shirt. McKenzie knelt by him and began to probe around inside the wound while Heyes leaned back against the wheel of the wagon, his eyes tightly closed and his teeth clenched as he tried to stifle a groan of pain.
After a few moments McKenzie announced, “Got it.” and held up the bullet for Heyes to see.
“Thanks.” Heyes whispered weakly, tilting his head back and letting out a deep sigh, his face beaded with perspiration. McKenzie tossed the bullet away before stuffing another handkerchief inside Heyes’ shirt to help stem the bleeding, “It didn’t hit anything major. It’s just a flesh wound.” he told him, before returning to the other men, who had started a game of cards.
Heyes watched them, through half closed eyes, trying to block his mind to the pain wracking his body,
When it was time to turn in, McKenzie came over to Heyes with a length of chain in his hand. As Heyes looked questioningly at him, McKenzie gave a sheepish shrug.
“Lie down.” He told him. Heyes did so.
McKenzie secured the chain about his neck and then fastened it to the spokes of the wagon wheel, leaving him just enough room to turn over. He gave it a tug, to test it was secure, almost choking Heyes. He felt humiliated to be chained up like an animal, but, when he looked into McKenzie’s face, his dark eyes were defiant.
McKenzie left without further conversation, and Heyes tried to get into a moderately comfortable position. He couldn’t lie on his injured shoulder, and lying on his other side hurt his leg, but he had no other option, the chain around his neck preventing further movement.
The ground was hard and stones dug into him no matter how hard he tried to push them from underneath him, and, as a stiff night breeze blew up, the dusty earth got up his nose and down his throat. The other men had blankets to keep them warm, but they hadn’t deigned to give him one, and, in the light clothes he wore, he was soon shivering with cold. But eventually he fell asleep, to be rudely awoken the next morning by a boot in his ribs.
One of the men unfastened the chain and Heyes struggled into a sitting position, every bone and muscle stiff and store.
McKenzie handed him a mug of coffee. Heyes took it, wondering, once more, how the hell he was going to get out of this mess. In the unlikely event that he could get away from them, he couldn’t travel far with his injured leg.
What was the Kid doing, he wondered. He regretted their argument the previous day. If they hadn’t gone their separate ways in a huff, he might not be in this mess now.
​
* * *
​
​
