Retribution
​
- 8 -
They had been travelling for about a month when they found themselves passing through some of the territory that they’d crossed as Curry had tracked Heyes after his abduction by Felton and his gang.
Curry said nothing, wondering if Heyes recognised any of the land. They had crossed this territory many times and knew the area quite well, but hopefully he had been too out of it to notice where they going. But, it became obvious, from Heyes’ preoccupied mood, that he did remember. In fact, they passed only a few miles away from where Felton had buried Josie’s body, but Heyes said nothing about it. He didn’t want to think about it, and he certainly didn’t want to go there. So he tried to behave as though everything was alright. But, that night, he dreamed again of that day, of Josie’s brutal murder and of Felton’s treatment of him, waking Curry as he cried out and thrashed about.
"Heyes." Curry shook him, "Heyes, wake up."
Heyes woke, with a start, his breathing strangled, a look of terror in his eyes.
"It’s O.K." Curry told him, "You were just dreaming." It was the first nightmare he’d had since leaving Lom’s, and Curry had been hopeful that he was beginning to put it all out of his mind. Obviously that wasn’t the case.
Heyes sat up, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them, holding his head in his hands as he wrestled with the all too realistic visions still in his head.
"Oh, God." he groaned into his hands.
Curry sat down by his side, adopting a similar pose, gazing nervously at his friend.
"You O.K?" he asked, placing a hand on Heyes’ shoulder.
"I… guess… so…" Heyes’ voice was muffled through his hands. He removed them now, to hang limply between his knees, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, a deep sigh escaping him. He gazed out into the night, his eyes troubled, and Curry could see that tortured look creep back into their depths.
"Heyes." He called, softly.
Heyes looked at him.
Curry shook his head, "Don’t torture yourself. It’s just a dream. It can’t hurt you any more."
"It’s just a dream now." Heyes said hoarsely, "But it was real, and every time I dream it, it’s like it’s happening all over again, and all the pain, the fear… it all comes flooding back…" he shook his head, "…I can’t stand it…"
"I know." Curry patted his arm, "But you’re getting stronger all the time, and it will get easier."
"I guess." Heyes sounded unconvinced.
"Want some coffee?"
Heyes nodded, and Curry went to get some from the pot they kept on their little fire at night.
When he returned, Heyes was lost in his thoughts. As he watched, Heyes closed his eyes and a tear forced it’s way through his lashes to trickle slowly down his cheek.
Curry swallowed as a lump came to his own throat. Was it still so painful? After all this time? How did he live with it?
He crouched down by him, holding out the cup.
"Heyes." he called, wondering how to deal with this. He wasn’t as cool as Lom. He couldn’t stand on the outside, calm and detached, uttering soothing words.
Heyes jumped at the sound of his voice, opening his eyes.
"Here." Curry offered him the cup.
"Thanks." Heyes’ voice shook as he tried to control the emotions raging within him.
He raised a hand to dash away the tear, and then took the cup, as another tear followed the path of it’s predecessor.
"Don’t, Heyes, please. I can’t stand it." Curry pleaded, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
"I’m sorry." Heyes turned away from him, his head bowed, obviously embarrassed for both himself and Curry.
Curry sighed. This was just the attitude Lom had told him not to take.
"No. I’m sorry." he said, "I’m not like Lom. I don’t know how to comfort you… I’m sorry." he stood up abruptly and turned away, raking a hand through his unruly fair hair.
Heyes caught his sleeve, looking up at him with wide, moist eyes.
"Just be here." he told him gruffly.
Curry nodded, their eyes holding, "Sure." he whispered, patting Heyes’ shoulder.
Heyes turned away, lying back down on his blanket with his back to him.
Curry stoked up their fire and settled down himself. He lay awake, feeling Heyes’ misery across the three or four feet of ground between them. He wished he could think of something to say. He knew Heyes was crying. He could hear the odd muffled sniff and choked sob from underneath the blanket, and his heart went out to him. He knew he should try to comfort him. Indeed, he wanted to, but he couldn’t think of anything to say, or do. ‘Just be here’ Heyes had told him. Well, he knew he always was. But was it enough? Curry didn’t think so.
He lay awake until Heyes grew quiet, his deep, even, breathing indicating he’d fallen asleep.
Well, you made a right mess of that, Curry chastised himself. Now Heyes would feel guilty for upsetting him and embarrassed to have broken down in front of him, and he would probably try to bottle up his feelings next time. He shouldn’t have pleaded with him not to cry. "Damn." he muttered under his breath. "Damn, damn."
Heyes’ bad dreams and melancholy moods grew less frequent over the next few months, although, occasionally, he would wake in a cold sweat, after dreaming about it, but he was careful not to let Curry see how much it still upset him. He said little about the whole affair, partly because he knew Curry wouldn’t fully understand his feelings, and partly because he felt that after this long he should have put it behind him and didn’t want to embarrass himself by admitting how upset he still felt when he allowed himself to think about it. So he tried to put it out of his mind and appear cheerful.
But Curry could tell that Heyes was still haunted by it. Sometimes that tortured look would creep back into his eyes, or he would drift off into a world of his own, and he knew he was thinking of it. But, if he asked him about it, Heyes would insist he was fine, and Curry was worried he was bottling up his feelings, as Lom had warned he might.
It was about six months later when they arrived in Denver, having worked their way through Wyoming and into Colorado stopping off at various small townships on the way, taking odd jobs to earn money, and as they rode into Denver they had just enough cash to pay for their hotel room and some supper. After stashing their belongings in their hotel room, they decided to go to the saloon and try and get into a poker game and win some money.
Denver was a bustling city and the saloon was large, noisy and crowded.
Curry watched Heyes carefully. After the episode with Agnes, he’d only been in one or two small town saloons since, preferring to have a drink in their hotel room while he entertained himself with the ladies, and he was concerned how he would react. But he seemed perfectly calm, or else he was putting on a good act.
Curry propped up the bar, chatting to some of the locals, while Heyes played poker. Heyes was by far the better card player of the two, with a quick eye and a natural flair for the game, and he won them enough cash to last for several days.
After a good night’s sleep, in comfortable beds, they spent a leisurely day around town, getting a bath, shave and a haircut, and getting their clothes laundered.
In the evening, after a good meal, they returned to the saloon where Heyes once again sat in at the poker table, winning a respectable amount of cash, while Curry went upstairs with one of the girls.
Heyes had steered well clear of any involvement with women since Agnes. He had satisfied himself that he could still function physically as a normal man, but, right now, emotionally, he wasn’t ready to.
He bowed out of the game while he was ahead and rejoined Curry at the bar. After a few drinks they were in mellow mood, chatting to a couple of local farmers.
Heyes was in the middle of telling them one of his repertoire of amusing stories, when his gaze was suddenly taken by something behind Curry's shoulder, the smile dying on his lips and the colour draining from his face.
With a sinking feeling, Curry turned to see what he was looking at, only vaguely surprised when he saw Red Felton now sitting in at the card game.
He quickly scanned the room for any of his sidekicks, but couldn’t see anyone he recognised. He turned back to Heyes, who was staring at Felton, his eyes like chips of coal.
"Joshua..." There was a warning tone in his voice, but Heyes seemed unaware of him, of anyone, his gaze riveted unblinkingly on Felton.
Curry grabbed Heyes’ arm, "Sorry, just realised there’s somewhere we’re supposed to be. Excuse us." he said to the farmers. He took a step towards the door, but Heyes seemed rooted to the spot.
Curry took a firm hold of Heyes’ arm and yanked him towards the door, almost pulling him off his feet. The jolt seemed to bring Heyes back to reality, and he glared at Curry while attempting to free himself from his grasp.
"Let go of me." he growled, as Curry fairly dragged him through the door, much to the puzzlement of the farmers, praying that Felton hadn’t seen them.
"No way." Curry shook his head determinedly, "The more distance I put between you and him, the better I’ll feel."
"No!" Heyes grabbed hold of the rail outside the saloon, used to tether the horses, planting his feet firmly, "Leave me alone."
"No, Heyes. I know what’s on your mind and I won’t let you do it."
"It’s none of your business." Heyes hissed, trying to wrench fee of his grip.
"It is my business. I’ll be associated with anything you do, whether I’m guilty of not. If you kill him, you’ll be signing both our death warrants, and I for one am not ready to die yet."
"If we’re caught, we’re as good as dead anyway." growled Heyes, in reference to the twenty year jail sentences on their heads, "I might as well do something worth dying for, and getting rid of scum like him would certainly qualify under that heading. Now, let go of me." He tried once more to wrench free of Curry's vice-like grip on his arm, "If you’re so worried about being associated with me, then go someplace else, get yourself an alibi. Go rob a bank or something." he added with sarcasm.
"No. You can say what you like but I’m not letting you back in there." said Curry.
Their eyes held momentarily, each as determined as the other.
"I can’t believe you really want to do this, Heyes." Curry said presently, shaking his head, "He’s nobody. It’s not worth throwing your life away for."
"It is to me." Heyes growled, trying to wrestle free.
They struggled for several moments, pushing and pulling, before Curry, rapidly losing patience, hissed breathlessly, "Don’t make me hit you, Heyes."
"Don’t even think about it." Heyes hissed back.
"Then come ON!" Summoning all his strength, Curry heaved Heyes away from the rail and, twisting his arm up behind his back, to prevent him making an escape, dragged him, fighting every inch of the way, back to their hotel.
The desk clerk gave them a forbidding stare, as they pushed and shoved their way up the stairs, assuming they were in the throes of a drunken argument.
Curry didn’t let go of Heyes until they’d entered their room and he had locked the door and pocketed the key. When he did let go of him, Heyes struck him hard across the face with the back of his hand.
"Don’t ever do that again." he shouted, his eyes glittering with anger, wagging a finger inCurry's face, "Or so help me I’ll…"
"You’ll what? Kill me?" Curry grunted cynically, resisting the urge to rub his cheek which stung painfully. Instead, he glared disdainfully at Heyes before reaching over and snatching Heyes’ gun from his holster and holding it out to him, "Here, go ahead then." he growled, "They say, after the first one, the others come easy."
Furious, Heyes threw a punch at him, but he ducked it and caught his arm, shaking his head, before pushing him forcibly away. Heyes stepped back against the bed, falling back onto it.
"Go to bed, Heyes." he said flatly, turning his back on him and beginning to undress. He climbed into bed, putting the room key, and his and Heyes’ guns, under the pillow, nervous about him having a weapon while he was in this frame of mind. He glanced across at Heyes who was sitting on the edge of the bed, glaring at him, rubbing his upper arm which would be bruised, come morning, from Curry's vice-like grip.
"Come on, Heyes." sighed Curry, "Get some sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning when you’ve calmed down." He reached over and turned out the lamp before closing his eyes.
After a few moments, Heyes took off his hat and tossed it aside, lying down on top of the bed, his arms folded behind his head. He gazed into the darkness, his mind full of Felton and the things he’d done to him.
It was almost nine months since the Kid had rescued him from them, and the time had done little to dim the memory of the pain and humiliation he had suffered. He had believed he’d got it all straightened out in his head, but seeing Felton again had wiped out all the months of rational thought and logical thinking that he’d used to convince himself that it didn’t matter any more. It did matter. It mattered one hell of a lot.
* * *
It was after ten the next morning when Curry woke up. He stretched, yawning, and turned over with a glance towards Heyes’ bed on the other wall.
"Wha…?" He sat upright, suddenly wide awake. Heyes was gone.
He felt under the pillow. The key, and the guns, were still there. Then he noticed the window was open. He jumped out of bed and looked out. There was a narrow ledge under the window and a flat roof a few feet to the side. Obviously Heyes had edged across to it and climbed down that way, and Curry knew exactly what he was planning.
"Oh, no." he groaned, hurriedly climbing into his clothes and splashing his face with water, before dashing downstairs and heading out into the street. He headed in the direction of the saloon, looking into all the stores, and down all the side streets, as he went, in the hope of spotting Heyes. He prayed that Felton had left town so Heyes wouldn’t be able to find him, but realized that was probably an unrealistic hope.
Turning a corner, he glanced down an alley and had gone on three paces further before stopping and backing up. There, at the bottom of the alley, was Heyes, squared up to Felton, his rifle lined up on him. Curry had forgotten about their rifles, which they’d checked at the livery to save carrying them around. Felton’s gun was tossed on the floor a couple of feet away. He was gazing icily at Heyes who was saying something to him, but Curry was too far away to be able to hear his words.
He approached, quietly, not wanting to startle him. To have got this far, Heyes obviously meant business. He never started something he didn’t intend to finish. Curry just hoped he could talk him round before it was too late.
He skirted around them, approaching from the side so that Heyes could see him. He didn’t want to startle him into pulling the trigger. As he approached, he could hear Heyes speaking, his voice thick with hatred and bitterness.
"…I’m going to take you apart bit by bit, just like you did to me, you miserable son-of-a-bitch. What did I ever do to you for you to treat me that way? Wasn’t the reward money enough?"
Felton grinned evilly, "I enjoy watching hot shots like you squirm." he sneered.
"What do you mean ‘hot shot’? You don’t know anything about me."
"Your reputation precedes you." said Felton, "And the size of the reward for your capture speaks for itself. You and Curry are just about the hottest shots around."
There was no denying that, Curry allowed. Most of the stories about them were untrue, but, like mud, they stuck.
"Well, I’m going to make you squirm now." said Heyes, levelling the rifle at him.
"Hey." Curry spoke now.
Heyes gave him a brief, startled, glance, before returning his gaze to Felton, "I thought you didn’t want to be ‘associated’ with me." he said, his tone contemptuous.
"Don’t do this." said Curry, shaking his head.
"I told you last night, mind you own business." Heyes growled.
"And I told you, it is my business." insisted Curry.
"Just get lost." Heyes snapped, nervously adjusting the rifle. Curry could tell he wasn’t absolutely sure he wanted to use it, but it was as though he was driven by some force deeper than his own conscience.
"Come on, give me the gun." Curry held out his hand and began walking slowly towards him.
"Get away." Heyes yelled, nervously adjusting his position.
Curry stood still, "You don’t really want to do this." he told him. "Revenge is for fools. You’ve said it yourself often enough. Come on," he coaxed, beginning to walk towards him again, extending his hand for the rifle, "give me the gun. Please. Don’t bring yourself down to his level. It’s not worth it… He’s not worth it.
Heyes turned his head to look at him now, uncertainty in his eyes. Felton saw it, and seized the opportunity to dive for his gun.
Out of the corner of his eye, Heyes saw the movement. Knocking Curry's outstretched hand aside, he swung round and levelled the rifle at Felton. Curry, who had his back half turned towards Felton and hadn’t seen him begin to move, knew he intended to use it.
"No!" He grabbed for the rifle, just at the instant Heyes pulled the trigger. He felt a searing pain in his chest, falling to the ground, still holding onto the rifle barrel, his weight pulling Heyes down also. Felton hastily picked up his gun and melted away into the shadows. He didn’t want to get caught up in this. They would keep until another time, if Heyes didn’t get the gallows for this, and if Curry didn’t die, although, looking at him now, he didn’t give much for his chances.
Curry lay on the ground, clutching his chest and gasping for air. His chest felt as though it was on fire, and he felt as though he was floating in a red mist. Was this it? he wondered vaguely. Was this what dying felt like? He wondered why he’d been so afraid of it. He was in pain, but he felt detached from it somehow, as though he were dreaming it.
Heyes scrambled to his feet and ran to him, staring down at him in horror.
"Oh, God, no..." He shook his head in disbelief, falling to his knees and ripping open Curry's shirt to try and see how bad the wound was, horrified at the amount of blood seeping through his clothes.
"Oh, God, Kid, I didn’t mean it." his voice was agonised, "Can you hear me?" He shook him, lifting his head and shoulders onto his lap, "Don’t die. You can’t die." he pleaded, shaking him frantically.
Curry was vaguely aware of Heyes’ presence, but it was as though he was at the other end of a tunnel that grew longer and darker until he could no longer hear Heyes’ voice, just a rushing sound that grew louder and louder, drowning out every other sound and feeling, until unconsciousness enveloped him.
The Sheriff and a doctor appeared, along with several sightseers alerted by the shot. Today was Sunday, and there were few people about at this hour.
They whisked Curry's blood soaked and unconscious form off to the doctor’s office, while Heyes, still on his knees on the ground, watching after them with a tortured expression, was hauled roughly to his feet and dragged to the Sheriff’s office where he was locked in a cell.
"My partner… is he alright?" Heyes pleaded as the Sheriff locked the door, "I didn’t mean to shoot him… it was an accident. Is he alright?"
"He’s at the Doc’s. If he dies, you’ll hear about it soon enough." the Sheriff told him, locking the door and walking away.
Heyes sat down heavily on the bunk, his mind a whirl. What had he done? What had Felton made him do? He thought about what the Sheriff had said. What if the Kid died? His blood ran cold at the thought. He had to see him. He got up and banged on the bars until the Sheriff appeared.
"Quit that racket." he snapped at Heyes.
"Please… I have to see my friend. I have to say I’m sorry… in case…"
"You should have thought of that before you shot him."
"Please…" Heyes pleaded, his eyes searching the Sheriff’s for some sign of compassion, but the Sheriff merely shook his head, turning to leave.
"Wait!" Heyes called, his mind working overtime, "Please… will you send a telegraph to Sheriff Trevors of Porterville? He’s my friend. He’ll come over. He’ll vouch for me."
"Who are you?" The Sheriff looked at him as though he couldn’t believe a Sheriff would have anything to do with the likes of him.
"Joshua Smith." replied Heyes, "And my friend is Thaddeus Jones."
"Friend?" sniggered the Sheriff, "With friends like you, he sure don’t need no enemies."
Heyes’ eyes filled with tears at the remark, "Will you send it? Please?" his voice caught.
The Sheriff gazed into Heyes’ pain filled eyes. The guy certainly didn’t fit the picture of a killer. He had honest eyes and an amiable face. He sighed, nodding briefly at Heyes, "O.K. But it don’t make no difference if he comes here or not. You’re staying put until we know if your friend lives or dies. And if he dies, it’s the gallows for you." With that, the Sheriff turned and left.
Heyes lay on the bunk in a trance, oblivious to the passage of time, his mind full of thoughts of what he’d done to the Kid and the possible consequences. Night came and went with Heyes barely noticing. He dozed from time to time, but mostly just lay gazing at the ceiling, praying that the Kid would live, the image of him falling to the ground covered in blood flashing through his mind again and again.
The Sheriff put trays of food inside the cell for him, but Heyes ignored them.
​
* * *
Two days later, Lom arrived. After checking into the hotel, he went to see the Sheriff who explained what had happened.
Lom couldn’t believe his ears. Heyes trying to kill Curry? It didn’t seem possible. Unless he’d gone completely crazy. After what he’d been through these past months, Lom had to concede the possibility.
He went straight over to the doctor’s office to visit Curry, before returning to see Heyes, who was so lost in thought he didn’t even hear them come in.
Lom stood, momentarily, looking at him. He was sitting on the bunk, his knees drawn up under his chin, his arms folded around them, gazing blankly out of the barred window. He looked terrible. He hadn’t shaved in three days and his eyes were heavy from worry and lack of sleep.
"Hey." said Lom, but Heyes didn’t appear to hear him.
"Hey, Hello." Lom called again. He couldn’t call him by his real name, and he didn’t expect him to answer to Joshua Smith in his present state.
Heyes jumped, turning tortured eyes in the direction of the voice.
"Lom!" He scrambled off the bunk and hurried to the bars, "Oh, Lom," he choked, "thank God you’re here."
Lom nodded to the Sheriff, "It’s O.K. Let me in with him. I’d like to speak to him alone."
The Sheriff shrugged, and opened the door, locking it after Lom and then departing.
"What the hell happened, Heyes?" Lom spat the words as soon as the Sheriff had left.
"How is he, Lom?" asked Heyes, ignoring the question, "They won’t tell me anything."
"He’s still alive. Just." Lom growled, "What the hell happened?" he repeated, looking as though he wanted to shake him, "The Sheriff said you tried to kill him. Is that true?"
Heyes shook his head, "I went after Felton. The Kid tried to stop me. He just got in the way. I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t have hurt him on purpose."
"Felton? But…" Lom was confused, The Sheriff hadn’t mentioned a third party. But the look in Heyes’ eyes said he was speaking the truth. Or believed he was. He looked at the wild look in Heyes' eyes, wondering if it was just distress about what had happened to Curry, or if he’d lost his mind.
"He was in the saloon." Heyes continued, "The Kid tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn’t listen. I just had to go after him." he added, his voice full of self disgust.
Lom sighed. If he was telling the truth, then that guy Felton was a jinx as far as Heyes was concerned. But was it the truth? The only person who could answer that was Kid Curry, and it was possible he wouldn’t live to tell it. Then Heyes would be hung, guilty or not.
"How is he, Lom?" Heyes pleaded again, his eyes boring into Lom’s.
"He’s lucky to be alive." Lom told him, "The bullet didn’t miss his heart by much. He’s holding on, but he’s lost a lot of blood and he’s running a fever. I don’t know, Heyes… It could go either way."
Heyes sat down heavily, his face ashen. Oh, God, what had he done? He gazed out of the window, his expression agonised.
Lom studied his face. He wasn’t sure if Heyes was telling the truth, or merely what he wanted to believe had happened.
Curry had told him he believed Heyes might kill Felton if he ever saw him again, but the Sheriff had said that no third party had been involved. Maybe Heyes had lost his mind and somehow mistaken him for Felton? Lom could scarcely believe it, but, with the absence of any other evidence… His thoughts returned to Curry, fighting a fever, with a gaping hole in his chest, delirious and in pain. If Heyes could see him now, see what he’d done… Lom got up and called the Sheriff as a thought occurred to him. If Heyes had lost his mind, maybe, if he could see Curry, see the state he was in, it would bring him back to his senses. It would be a punishment to him, far worse than any law could inflict on him. Lom was also aware of what the shock could do to him if he’d done this while not in his right mind, but it was a chance he would have to take to try and find out the truth. He couldn’t wait around in the hope that Curry would be able to explain what had happened. He might not make it, and Lom didn’t want Heyes hung unless he was sure of his guilt. Not even then, but it would be out of his hands.
He whispered briefly to the Sheriff who nodded and unlocked the door, having agreed to let Lom escort Heyes to the doctor’s office and back.
"Come with me." Lom ordered, taking Heyes’ arm and hauling him off the bunk.
"What …? Where...?"
"Wait." The Sheriff stopped them at the cell door and, producing a pair of handcuffs took Heyes’ arm and snapped it around his wrist, before taking his other arm and pulling it behind his back intending to secure his hands behind him.
"There’s no need for that." said Lom, as Heyes took an involuntary step away from the Sheriff, but the Sheriff shook his head. "I aint taking no chances." he said, "Either he wears these or he aint going no place. Sorry." he added with a shrug.
Lom nodded, knowing that he would do the same in his position.
The Sheriff secured the handcuffs and Lom took his arm and led him out.
"Where are you taking me?" asked Heyes.
"Wait and see." Lom said flatly, without even looking at him.
They arrived at the doctor’s office and Lom pushed him through the door.
"See for yourself what you did." Lom told him, leading the way to a room at the back where the doctor was looking after Curry.
Heyes just stood and stared in shocked disbelief. After a few moments of watching him moaning with pain and muttering unintelligible words, while the doctor bathed his sweat soaked face, Heyes turned away, but Lom grabbed him and forced him to look again.
"See what you did, with your obsessive quest for revenge." he hissed in his ear, "Are you satisfied?" he questioned angrily, "Or do you still want it?"
Heyes nodded slowly, his gaze riveted on Curry, "More than ever." he croaked.
"What?" Lom couldn’t believe his ears, "Even after this?" he waved a hand towards Curry.
Heyes shook his head, "Because of this."
Lom gave a groan of frustration, "I don’t believe this." he ground out the words, "He could very well die because of your stupid pride, and…" He grunted in disgust, "Oh, I’ve had it with you." he snapped, "Come on." He grabbed Heyes’ arm and hauled him out of the doctors office and back towards the Sheriff’s, Heyes practically having to run to keep up with Lom’s determined stride. Keeping a tight grip on his arm, he dragged him up the steps to the Sheriff’s office and propelled him forcefully through the cell door.
The Sheriff removed the handcuffs from Heyes’ wrists and hurriedly departed, sensing the atmosphere between them.
As soon as the Sheriff had left, Lom rounded angrily on Heyes.
"I’d like to knock some sense into that thick head of yours." he shouted at him, "The Kid’s right. If you kill Felton, it’s the end for you, and probably him too. I thought you were smarter than this, Heyes, I really did!" He shook his head in exasperation, "You’ve both worked so hard to make a go of things. Is it worth throwing it all away over some two-bit punk? I don’t think so, and the Kid doesn’t either. But you? You just have to make a point, don’t you? To save face." he said cynically, "The Kid’s risked his life to save you, not once, but twice, and how do you repay him? By damn near killing him, that’s how." He sighed heavily, "I’m very, very, angry about this, Heyes." Lom wagged his finger in Heyes’ face, "And if I were the Kid, I’d wash my hands of you." He turned away and paced about the cell, hands on hips, shaking his head in annoyance, while Heyes sat motionless on the bunk, head bowed, his expression unreadable.
"If I were him, I’d press charges against you and leave you to rot in here, as a punishment, until you see sense." he continued, his tone venomous, "If he lives that is." he added, "If he doesn’t… you’ll be hung, and Felton will get away scot free. If he was ever here at all." he added doubtfully, "That’ll be two lives, wasted, and all because of your stupid quest for revenge." He stopped pacing and turned to face him, "When will…" he broke off when he saw Heyes, his face buried in his hands, weeping silently, his shoulders heaving. Lom’s words were an echo of his own thoughts, and right now he just couldn’t handle any more criticism. He hated himself enough already. He couldn’t handle hearing the same thoughts echoed by Lom, and probably the whole world.
"It’s a bit late for remorse isn’t it?" Lom said contemptuously.
Heyes’ only response was a choked grunt, as the sobs he’d tried to keep hidden from Lom finally escaped him.
Lom sighed and leaned back against the wall of the cell, his arms folded. He had no intention of comforting him. As far as he was concerned, Heyes had brought all of this on himself, and he would have to suffer the consequences, whatever they might be.
Heyes sat for some time, great sobs wracking his body. Lom remained where he was, waiting for him to collect himself, feeling sorry for him in spite of himself.
"You… don’t… understand…" Heyes managed finally, his words muffled through his hands, "No-one understands."
Lom frowned, going over to sit beside him on the bunk.
"There’s nothing to understand, Heyes. You were wrong to do this, and whatever your reasons, they’re not good enough."
Heyes shook his head, removing his hands and wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. He leaned an elbow on his knee, holding his head in his hand, the other periodically wiping tears off his face.
"You didn’t have to… go through what… they put me through." he choked, "You don’t know how it felt… still feels."
"I know you had a rough time, Heyes, but I thought you’d got all this out of your system."
Heyes shook his head. "I thought I had… until I saw him… in the saloon… and then it all came back… and I couldn’t think of anything… except making him pay for what he did… has done… to me, and to…" he broke off, lifting his head to look at Lom, and Lom could see in his eyes that, whether his words were the truth or not, Heyes genuinely believed them.
"He had no reason to do the things he did…" Heyes croaked, "I was already hurt… there wasn’t much hope of my getting away. All he had to do was take me in for the reward." He shook his head, his gaze sliding off Lom and out of the window as his thoughts turned to Josie. Presently, he drew in a trembling breath, his voice shaking with emotion as he continued, "He enjoyed every minute of pain… and humiliation… he inflicted on me, the sadistic bastard… If I hadn’t already broken my leg, he’d probably have done it himself… or something worse…" he trailed off, a tortured look in his eyes as he remembered the threats Felton had made to him, "He doesn’t deserve to live." he muttered, "He’s more evil than any criminal I’ve ever met."
"And you’ve made it your personal crusade to get rid of him?" said Lom flatly.
"Unless someone else beats me to it."
Lom studied Heyes face as he gazed past Lom out of the window. Tears still slid down his cheeks to drip unchecked onto his lap. He looked genuinely upset about what had happened, but even so, the fire of retribution still burned deep in his eyes, and Lom knew that if he and Felton should ever cross paths again, it would be the same thing all over again.
"Oh, Heyes." sighed Lom, shaking his head, "You always said revenge was for fools. Can’t you just let it go?
A stifled sob escaped Heyes as he remembered the Kid saying those very words on that morning. He bowed his head, shaking it no.
Lom tried to put himself in Heyes’ position. He knew that killing someone, anyone, was against his basic beliefs. To be driven so badly to do what was so fundamentally against his principles must be sheer hell, especially when innocent people, friends too, got hurt in the process. He also knew that if Curry died, Heyes wouldn’t be able to live with his guilt, and would more than likely end up taking his own life. He sighed. Either way, Heyes couldn’t win, unless he could let this obsession go, and that looked virtually impossible. God, what a mess.
"I’m sorry I yelled at you." he said to Heyes now.
"I’m sorry… that the Kid got hurt… I didn’t want for this to happen… God, if he dies… I’ll never forgive myself…" he broke off, burying his face in his hands, overcome once more.
"Come on, Heyes, lie down and try and get some rest. I’ll keep tabs on the Kid, and I’ll let you know if there’s any change."
Heyes nodded, lying down, and Lom threw the blanket over him.
Back outside in the Sheriff’s office, Lom asked him to keep an eye on him.
"I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth about this being an accident. He’s really upset about it and I’m worried what he might do. Mr. Jones is his closest friend. I’ll be over at the hotel. If there’s any problems, send for me."
The Sheriff nodded. "O.K."
Lom left and went back to the hotel. He took a bath and ate supper before paying a visit to the doctor’s office to check on Curry. There was no change. All the doctor could tell him was that he was holding his own. Lom left and went to the saloon for a drink, chewing the situation over in his mind, before retiring early, tired after his long journey from Porterville.
The next morning, he ate a leisurely breakfast and then went over to the doctor’s office. The doctor’s assistant, a plump middle aged woman with kind eyes, was looking after Curry, the doctor having gone out on his rounds. She informed him that the fever was beginning to subside, but that he was very weak and still unconscious.
"Will he make it?" asked Lom.
"Difficult to say. He lost a lot of blood, and the wound was so very close to his heart. Perhaps, if he’s strong."
"Oh, he’s strong." said Lom.
"Then let’s hope so." smiled the woman.
It was almost lunch time when Lom went to the Sheriff’s office.
"Hi, Joe." He smiled at the Sheriff, "How’s it going?"
"Oh, O.K." the Sheriff looked up from his paperwork.
"How’s Joshua?"
"Quiet."
"Has he eaten today?"
"No. I took him some breakfast, but he aint touched it. Nor any of the other meals I’ve left him."
Lom frowned, "Is that some soup on the stove?" he asked.
The Sheriff nodded.
"Can I?" asked Lom.
"Help yourself."
Lom took a bowl and spooned some soup into it. Then he poured two mugs of coffee and turned back to the Sheriff, "Can you let me in?"
"Sure." The Sheriff led the way, unlocking the door for Lom to enter and locking it after him, before departing.
Heyes was lying on the bunk, one arm folded under his head, gazing up at the ceiling.
"Heyes?" Lom called, but Heyes didn’t answer.
Lom put down the bowl and cups and walked over to him, "Heyes?" He touched his shoulder.
Heyes returned from his thoughts and shifted his gaze to Lom’s.
"Hi." Lom smiled, "No change." he added in answer to the unspoken question in Heyes’ eyes, "The Sheriff tells me you haven’t eaten. I brought you some soup."
Heyes shook his head.
"You haven’t eaten for days, Heyes. You can’t go on like this."
"I’m not hungry." muttered Heyes.
"I know." said Lom sympathetically, "But you need to eat. Will you try some?"
Heyes shook his head.
"Please, Heyes. You’ll make yourself ill."
"I can’t." croaked Heyes.
Lom sighed. It was hopeless, "At least have some coffee then?"
Heyes shook his head again.
Lom gave up. He picked up his own cup and took a sip of the coffee, peering worriedly at Heyes over the rim of the cup.
"What are we gonna do with you?" he muttered. Heyes didn’t reply.
Lom sat with him for an hour, but it was hopeless trying to talk to him, so he left and went back to the hotel.
He popped back later that evening, to find Heyes still lying on the bunk, dozing now, but otherwise, nothing had changed since lunch time.
The next day, when Lom went across to visit Curry, the doctor greeted him with a smile.
"Hello Mr. Trevors. I have good news. Mr. Jones has regained consciousness this morning."
"Really? Thank God. Is he going to be alright?"
"Yes, but it’s going to take a while. He’s very weak and he’s going to need plenty of rest. But he’s out of danger now."
"May I see him?"
"For a few minutes." The doctor led the way into the back room.
They’d raised Curry up a little since his last visit, and he smiled tiredly up from amongst his pillows.
"Hi, Lom." he whispered, raising a hand in a feeble wave,"When did you get here?"
"Hi." Lom took the hand and shook it gently, "A couple of days ago." he told him, "Glad you’re back with us. You had us worried there for a while."
Curry gave a tired smile, "I’m O.K." he said softly.
"Are you hurting much?" asked Lom.
Curry's eyelids drooped, "Not much." he muttered, before drifting off to sleep again.
Lom left and went straight across to the Sheriff’s office. He was relieved that Curry had come round, because Heyes was rapidly going downhill. He was so consumed with guilt for what had happened he’d just given up on himself completely. Nothing Lom had said had brought him out of it, but, pray God, this would.
He went inside and asked the Sheriff to let him in.
Heyes was sitting on the bunk, his knees drawn up under his chin. He looked round when he heard the Sheriff jangling the keys.
Lom smiled. Heyes didn’t. His eyes, reminding Lom of a frightened deer, followed him across the room.
"Good news." Lom told him.
A flicker of interest appeared in Heyes’ eyes.
"He’s gonna be O.K." Lom beamed at him.
Heyes just stared at him, dumfounded.
"Did you hear me?" Lom placed his hands on Heyes’ shoulders and shook him gently, "The Kid’s come round. The Doc says he’s gonna make it."
Heyes closed his eyes, all the tension leaving his body in a deep sigh of relief.
Lom took a step backwards as Heyes uncurled himself from the bunk, looking as though he couldn’t believe it.
"A-Are you sure?" he asked, getting to his feet, feeling light headed.
Lom nodded, "I’m sure."
"Thank God." croaked Heyes, raising a hand to his head as the room started to spin about him.
"Heyes?" Lom called, as Heyes’ legs buckled underneath him and he sank to the floor in a dead faint.
Lom caught him before he hit the ground, calling for Joe to give him a hand.
The Sheriff helped him get Heyes back on the bunk, and Lom covered him with the blanket.
When he came round, Lom insisted he have some food and a drink, "You’ll be out of here soon. You want to go under your own steam don’t you?"
Heyes nodded, taking the bowl of soup that Lom offered. It was hard to eat after five days with no food. He had virtually no appetite left. But he forced it down, and the chunk of bread that Lom handed him.
"Better now?" Lom asked as he handed Heyes a mug of coffee.
"A bit." said Heyes, "I’m just so relieved."
"I know." Lom patted his shoulder, "No more than I am, believe me."
Heyes went to sleep after the meal. He had barely slept since the shooting and was physically exhausted.
Lom asked Joe if he would let Heyes out of jail now.
"If Mr. Jones can confirm it was an accident, yes." said the Sheriff.
"I’ll see how he is tomorrow, and if he’s up to talking, I’ll come over to fetch you to speak to him. O.K.?"
"Sure." replied the Sheriff.
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