Kid Curry leaned against the doorframe of the leader’s cabin, a cup of coffee in his hand as he studied his partner, perched on a rock some yards away, gazing absently into the distance.

 

The rest of the Devil’s Hole gang knew not to disturb Heyes when he was ‘thinking’ and, presuming he was plotting another job, carried on about their daily business.

 

Curry however knew different.  His partner had been in thoughtful mood ever since they’d been given that flyer, about amnesty, and had jokingly discussed applying.  Except now that the seed had been planted it had become less a joke and more of a possible way to escape their outlaw life before getting killed, or sent to prison for twenty years.

 

Curry knew that Heyes was somewhat conflicted. He enjoyed the outlaw life, enjoyed being leader of the gang, and of using his active and intelligent mind for masterminding robberies and outwitting the law, and had certainly enjoyed the financial benefits that came with its success, as had they all.  But being leader came with a certain amount of responsibility, and that responsibility weighed heavier with each job they pulled while the perils of their lifestyle grew in magnitude.

 

Heyes had, for some time, pondered the course of their ‘career’ to its predictable end but hadn’t been able to see any solution, until now.  But, while the possibility, however remote, of getting amnesty and starting over as free men was appealing, the idea of giving up the outlaw life, which was pretty much all they’d known since running away from the orphanage as teenagers, was difficult to contemplate.

 

Curry sauntered across to where his partner was sitting and, perching himself on an adjacent rock, joined Heyes in contemplating the scenery. Heyes did not acknowledge his presence, although Curry knew he wasn’t unaware of it.

 

Below them birds fluttered between the trees, chirping merrily, busily building nests for the breeding season.

 

Several minutes passed as they studied the tableau.

 

“Do you think birds have dreams, Kid?” Heyes said suddenly.

 

“Huh?” Curry shot him a puzzled look.

 

“When I was a kid I used to envy birds…“ Heyes continued, “the way they could just take to the sky and go wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted… To fly, free… with nothing to hold them in any one place...”

 

“Can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought.” said Curry.

 

“…I used to dream I could be one of them… to be able to take off and just... fly away… Especially after our folks were killed…”

 

Curry turned to look at the birds, his mind going back to that fateful day.

 

“Did you have a dream, Kid?  Of what you wanted to be when you grew up?” Heyes’ voice brought him back from the memory.

 

Curry thought for a few moments,  “Can’t say I did… other than bein’ a cowboy.” he said presently. 

 

Heyes gave him a sideways glance.  Playing cowboys and Indians had been one of their favourite pastimes as young children. But after the murder of their families, by bushwhackers, when Curry was only seven and Heyes just turned nine, dreams, of anything other than survival, had been obliterated.

 

“But bein’ a cowboy aint as romantic as it seems when you’re a kid.”

 

“True.” Heyes nodded.

 

They both returned their attention to the birds.

 

“What about you?” Curry asked presently,  “Did you have a dream of what you wanted to be?”

 

Heyes shrugged,  “Dunno…  I know I wanted to travel, to see what was ‘out there’… and I know I had a hankerin’ to make a name for myself…”

 

“Well, you certainly achieved that.” smiled Curry.

 

Heyes snorted, softly,  “Yeah, but not in the way I would have planned.”

 

“So, you’re seriously considering this amnesty thing?” Curry eyed him curiously.

 

Heyes looked thoughtful, “It could give us a chance to get our freedom, have a proper life.” he said presently.

 

“We have our freedom, and outlawin’ has given us a good livin’." said Curry.

 

“Yeah, I know, but it aint real freedom, Kid.  We’re wanted by the law, with a long time in jail waitin’ for us when we get caught.”

 

“If.” Curry put in.

 

“No.” Heyes shook his head,  “When.” He sighed deeply,  “I don’t want to spend half my life in jail, an’ I don’t particularly want to get killed either, but the longer we stay in this game the sooner one or the other is gonna happen.”

 

Curry returned his attention to the birds as he contemplated Heyes’ words.

 

“When we were kids,” Heyes continued, several minutes later, “we had no worries, other than when we’d get into trouble with our folks, for ducking out of our chores, or if we broke somethin’… We were like those birds in a way, our imagination free to roam wherever it wanted. We could be anything we dreamed of.”  He sighed, his gaze fixed vacantly on the horizon,  “It’s funny how all that slips away from you… and you can’t pinpoint the day, or the month, or the year it happened… but, the person you were… all the things you hoped for, all the dreams you had… are just… gone…”  He trailed off, his mind going back to those carefree childhood days. Of playing cowboys and Indians, making catapults, climbing trees and fishing in the river, playing hide and seek, or picking fruit for their Mothers’ to make into pies, before moving on through time and their parents’ deaths, their time in the orphanage and their descent into the outlaw life they lived today.

 

That life had been dictated by circumstance, not desire.  It had served as a means to achieve his desire to travel, and make a name for himself, and the money he’d gained from it was far beyond than anything he could have hoped to achieve from a life of honest labour, but it wasn’t the life he would have chosen had a choice been given to him.

 

Their childhoods had been snatched away from them in an instant, and it was only now that Heyes began to appreciate just how much he’d resented that.  They’d been denied the opportunity to take their time to learn, and develop, and discover talents and ambitions that might have allowed them to have decent, stable lives, working at jobs that they had chosen to do because they wanted to and not ones they’d been forced into out of the need to survive. How different might their lives have been, but for that fateful day? Settled, perhaps married, with families of their own, not living as they did now, like gypsies, with the ever-present threat of prison, or death, hanging over them. How different might they, as individuals, have become if fate hadn’t played its hand? It was a question Heyes had asked himself many times in the intervening years, usually when things were going badly, and he would long to be able to go back in time, to those uncomplicated days, to the boy he used to be, who laughed a lot and played silly pranks just for the sheer fun of it.  The boy who hadn’t had a care in the world had turned into the man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Heyes missed that boy.  He missed him a lot.   

 

As children, they’d danced to their own tune, and had believed, with their success as outlaws, that they were still doing so. But, Heyes realized now, they were doing anything but.  The law was now playing the tune and eventually they would have to dance to it, one way or the other.

 

“The boy who used to be me wouldn’t have wanted this life.” he said presently, turning to look now at Curry, who was surprised by the hint of melancholy he saw in the depths of those normally iridescent dark eyes.

 

“So, are you saying you want to try for an amnesty?”  he questioned.

 

Heyes turned his gaze back to the horizon and thought for a moment before nodding,  “Yes.”  Then, turning back to Curry, he said, “Do you?”

 

Curry eyed him for a moment before saying,  “If you think it’s the best thing to do.”

 

“I do, but I can’t make that decision for you. We’re not kids anymore. You have to decide for yourself if you want to carry on with this life or try for a better one.”

​

Curry turned his pensive gaze absently towards the other men, wandering about doing their chores, while Heyes studied him, furtively, trying to read his thoughts.

 

“I like this life, despite the dangers…” he began, some minutes later,  "But…” he paused, momentarily, before giving a deep sigh,  “I wouldn’t want to go on with it without you…” he finished, turning to meet Heyes’ eyes.

 

Heyes gave him a gentle smile, swallowing down a sigh of relief.  He had been by no means certain that his friend would be prepared to consider the idea and he hadn’t relished the idea of doing it alone.

 

“So, are you up for it?” he raised a questioning eyebrow, pressing for confirmation.

 

Curry eyed him for a moment before returning his smile,  “O.K.”

 

They both turned their attention back to the birds as they contemplated the decision they’d just reached.  Neither were sure what the outcome would be, but Heyes knew it was the only choice that offered them any real prospect of a future, and Curry trusted Heyes to make decisions in their best interest.

 

“I don’t know what the boys will think about it though.” Curry said presently, nodding towards the rest of the gang.

 

Heyes grinned,  “Aww, they’ll get over it.  Maybe some of them might even want to do it too?”

 

Curry gave him a withering look, at the idea of the likes of Lobo, Kyle, or Wheat wanting to make honest men of themselves.

 

Seeing his expression, Heyes rolled his eyes and said,  “Maybe not.”

 

“So, how do we apply?” asked Curry.

 

“Lom Trevors got an amnesty, and he’s a Sheriff now. Over in Porterville.  We could go and see him about it. At least we know he won’t arrest us on sight.”

 

Curry nodded, thoughtfully. That sounded reasonable enough. Lom, a former outlaw himself, who had ridden with them briefly before going straight, could be trusted to at least give them a fair hearing and not throw them straight in jail.

 

Presently he said, “Wheat’s been achin’ to oust you as leader.  This could be his chance.” 

 

He turned to meet Heyes’ eyes, and they both burst out laughing as they pictured Wheat puffing himself up and declaring himself leader.

 

“I almost wish we could stick around to watch the chaos.” chuckled Heyes.

 

“Yeah, me too.” Curry sniggered.

 

Their laughter died away and they fell silent once more, as they reflected on the implications of the decision they’d just made.  Devil’s Hole was the closest thing they’d had to a home since those childhood days, and the gang had become almost like a substitute family.  If they applied for amnesty it would mean leaving it, and them, behind.  The thought was a sobering one.

 

Some minutes later, Curry said, “I guess we should go tell them.”

 

Heyes shook his head,  “No, not yet.  I think we should wait until we’ve been to see Lom.  With our reputations we might get turned down flat. No point in telling them until we know for sure if we can apply.”

 

“I guess.” acknowledged Curry.  Then, turning to Heyes, he said, “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

 

Heyes studied him for several moments before saying, “Nothing’s for certain in this life, Kid… but it could be a chance for a normal life… a chance of freedom.  I think it’s a chance worth taking.”

 

Curry held his gaze momentarily. As the eldest, Heyes had taken on responsibility for his younger friend’s wellbeing after their parents’ murders. They’d had some hard times back then but Heyes had always come through for him. Always protected him from harm, cared for him when he was sick, or hurt, found them food when they were starving and, as they’d grown older, had used his wits and intelligence to become a master safebreaker and become leader of the most famous gang of outlaws in the West, and all without ever having harmed or killed anyone. In Curry’s eyes, the man was nothing short of a genius – although he would never openly admit that to him – and if Heyes felt this was the right thing for them to do, then he’d be with him all the way.

 

Smiling, he gave a brief nod, “O.K.”

 

They both turned again to look at the birds. There were no guarantees, but any chance of starting over had to be worth grasping.

 

Heyes let his mind drift back once more to those carefree childhood days before fate had intervened in their lives.  The boy he used to be had dreamed of having the freedom of a bird, able to go wherever it wanted, on a whim, with nothing to hold it down. The man he was still held onto that same dream. A dream long buried, as the pressures of staying alive had pushed it further and further into the recesses of his mind.  But now…

 

With a wistful smile, he crossed his fingers behind his back.  Maybe dreams could come true sometimes.

 

--oo00oo--

​

​