[Original c:1975/ Updated December 2017]
Chapters: 6
Word Count: 32,829
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Warnings: H/c, Angst, Romance
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THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE
by
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Eleanor Ward
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Heyes and Curry learn, to their cost, the bittersweet truth of the saying
'the course of true love never runs smoothly'.
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* * *
-1-
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It was a hot dusty afternoon as Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry rode into Denver, Colorado.
The locals sauntered about in the heat of the day, or else lazed in rocking chairs in the shade. Had they realised that these two strangers were the most wanted outlaws in the West, it was unlikely they would have stayed so calm.
Heyes and Curry rode up to the hotel and dismounted.
Tethering his horse, Curry stepped up onto the boardwalk, pushed his hat back and gave a deep sigh.
“It sure is hot.” he commented.
“Uh-huh.” Heyes agreed, repositioning his hat on his head and preceding Curry into the hotel, “First thing I’m gonna do is get me a bath.” he said as he tapped the bell on the counter.
“First thing I’m gonna do is get some grub.” said Curry.
Heyes rolled his eyes, “Don’t you ever think of anything else except your stomach?” he retorted.
The desk clerk emerged from a back room, through a beaded curtain.
“Good day.” He smiled at them.
“We’d like a room please.” said Heyes, “Twin beds, facing the street, if you have it.”
“Certainly.” the desk clerk reached for the register, “May I have your names please?”
“Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones.” replied Heyes.
They paid the deposit for the room and, taking the key, headed upstairs.
Heyes unlocked the door and entered the room, Curry following. Curry immediately flopped down onto the bed and closed his eyes.”
“I thought you were hungry?” Heyes tossed at him.
“I am.”
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“So why are you going to sleep then?”
Without opening his eyes Curry said, “You said you wanted a bath. It takes you so long to get prettied-up, I might as well forget supper ‘til breakfast time.”
Heyes glared indignantly at him before going back downstairs to order his bath.
* * *
“You and food are never apart for long, are they?” Heyes remarked, as, both bathed and shaved, they ate dinner in the restaurant a couple of hours later.
“Eating helps me think.” replied Curry.
Heyes raised a sceptical eyebrow.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Presently, Heyes said, “So, what are you thinking about?” in a tone that said he already knew.
“Bill Burton.”
Heyes sighed heavily, his mood souring. He turned his attention to his stew while Curry studied him across the table.
Heyes had cleaned ’Big’ Bill Burton out at the poker table, in Clearmont, just over a year previously, while killing time as he waited for the Kid to meet up with him after a job. ‘Big’ was appropriate, for he stood 6’ 5” tall and weighed in excess of
280 lbs. Burton, an uncommonly brutal outlaw, and conman, who Heyes knew by reputation only, had tried to claim that Heyes, who he knew only as Joshua Smith, was cheating, but Heyes had turned the tables on him by exposing Burton’s own cheating. The locals, who had lost a considerable amount of money to Burton prior to Heyes’ arrival, had turned nasty and had wanted to lynch Burton, on the spot, for fleecing them of their hard earned cash. Burton had only just managed to get out of town in one piece, swearing revenge on Heyes, who had been hailed as a virtual hero for exposing Burton’s cheating ways.
Heyes hadn’t seen him again until two weeks ago, when they’d walked into a saloon in Cheyenne and Heyes had spotted him at the poker table. Heyes had told the Kid all about Burton when he’d finally arrived in Clearmont, but the Kid had never seen him and so was surprised when Heyes had grabbed his arm and hauled him hastily out of the saloon, hoping that Burton hadn’t spotted him.
To avoid the risk of any trouble, that might draw attention to themselves, they had decided to leave town early the next morning, but, a short time later, they saw the Sheriff, and Burton, heading purposefully towards their hotel and realised that, somehow, Burton must have discovered their true identities and intended to have them arrested and claim the $20,000 reward on their heads.
Grabbing their belongings they’d hastily left the hotel by the back door, made a beeline for the livery and made it out of town by the skin of their teeth.
Fearing pursuit, they’d been too afraid to spend more than one night anywhere and had passed through seven towns in as many nights, as well as spending nights camped out, and were tired and irritable.
The subject of Burton had become an increasing bone of contention between them over the past two weeks. After fleeing Cheyenne, Heyes had given considerable thought to what might happen next and realised that, if Burton did know their real identities, their escape from him was likely to only be temporary. Now he had sighted them, he would very likely pursue them, and although they had escaped him for the time being, it would only be a matter of time before they ran into him again. But they couldn’t keep running indefinitely. The Kid was for keeping on the move to avoid him, but he could sense that Heyes was becoming increasingly disenchanted with running and knew that before long he was going to get belligerent and put his foot down and insist they stop, regardless of the risks. He hadn’t had to wait long. Despite suspecting that Burton was probably still on their trail, it was Heyes who had insisted that they spend at least a couple of nights here, in Denver, to catch their breath. Curry had argued that it wasn’t a good idea to stay more than one night, but Heyes had refused to be swayed.
“Can’t you just drop it, for one night?” Heyes growled.
Curry sighed, irritably, but refrained from further comment.
After they’d eaten, Heyes suggested going over to the saloon, but Curry refused, saying he was tired. It wasn’t totally a lie, after two weeks of constant travelling he was tired, but he’d had about as much of Heyes’ incongruous behaviour as he could stand for one day.
Heyes contemplated going to the saloon alone, but decided against it and reluctantly followed Curry up to their room where they undressed, with little conversation, and climbed into their beds.
* * *
The next morning, Heyes and Curry went across to the telegraph office to send a wire to Sheriff Lom Trevors, to let him know their whereabouts.
Trevors, once an outlaw himself, riding for a time with Heyes’ Devils Hole Gang, had gone straight, won himself an amnesty from the government, and was now Sheriff of Porterville, a small township in Wyoming. He represented any other outlaws who genuinely wanted to go straight, and acted as an agent between them and the government to try and obtain them an amnesty for their crimes.
After deciding to give up their outlaw life, Heyes and Curry had approached Lom and asked him to act on their behalf in trying to get an amnesty. After much deliberation it had been decided that, due to their notoriety, Heyes and Curry would have to prove themselves capable of staying on the straight and narrow before being considered for amnesty. An initial period of one year was imposed, with the warning that if they got into any trouble whatsoever, during that time, any chance of amnesty would be denied, permanently.
Lom was nominated to be responsible for them during their probationary period and as such he kept close tabs on them. It was Lom who had come up with the aliases they now lived under, Joshua Smith for Heyes and Thaddeus Jones for Curry, in the hope of there being less chance of them being recognised.
They had still fallen foul of the law several times however, and they’d had to get Lom to bail them out on more than one occasion, although so far they had managed to prove their innocence of the crimes charged against them and so Lom hadn’t had to notify the governor. He had suggested that they go prospecting up in the mountains for a while, in the hope of staying out of trouble, and it was while on a vacation from that, in Cheyenne, that they had run into Burton.
After sending the wire to Lom, they crossed the street to the local restaurant to get breakfast, the conversation between them still somewhat stilted. Curry, still bristling over his partner’s refusal to ‘see sense’ and keep on the move, to put as much distance as possible between them and any possible pursuit, was beginning to wonder if Heyes had developed some kind of death wish. Heyes was distant, the way he always got when he didn’t want to listen to the truth if the truth disagreed with his own ideas.
Breakfast finished, they headed off to get a much needed haircut. Then, after getting their clothes laundered, they then headed over to the saloon for a drink.
“Leave the bottle.” Heyes growled at the bartender as he poured them each a glass of whisky.
Curry raised an eyebrow at his surly tone, but said nothing.
They drank the drinks in one gulp and then Heyes poured them a second, which they drank more slowly.
“Heyes, I don’t like this.” Curry tried again, after taking a sip of the drink, “We should keep moving. Burton could be right on our tails.”
“We need time to rest.” Heyes protested, “We’ve been on the move for two weeks solid.”
Curry grunted cynically, “You’ll get plenty of rest when you’re in a pine box, six feet under.” he growled.
“We should be safe enough here for two or three days.” Heyes replied, taking another sip of his drink.
Curry shook his head, “I think we should leave. Today.” he said, eyeing Heyes, who stared fixedly at the row of bottles on the shelf behind the bar, refusing to meet Curry’s gaze.
“No.” he said finally.
“Why, for God’s sake?” Curry exploded, “Are you suddenly tired of living or something?”
Heyes lifted his shoulders dismissively, his gaze still fixed on the shelf behind the bar.
Curry shook his head disgustedly, “Boy, you sure pick your times to get ornery.” he said under his breath.
Heyes sighed, “I’m tired of running all the time.” he said wearily, “That’s what this amnesty thing is all about, so we won’t have to run away any more.” He lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug, “We may as well start right now. If he shows up, he shows up. We’ll deal with it.” he added as an afterthought.
“We?” Curry shook his head, “Oh, no, don’t count me in on this.”
Heyes shot him a questioning glance.
Curry sighed, “Look, I never even met the guy.”
Heyes lips compressed, “Maybe. But he knows who you are. Why do you think he was bringing the Sheriff over to the hotel in Cheyenne? Not to accuse me of cheating at cards, that’s for sure. He obviously knows who we both are, and wants the rewards on our heads.”
“Which is why we shouldn’t be staying here.” Curry pointed out angrily. When Heyes made no comment he said, “So how do you plan to ‘deal’ with it? Kill the guy?” He grunted disgustedly, “That would really seal our chance for amnesty wouldn’t it?” he said scathingly.
Heyes’ gaze remained fixed on the back of the bar. Noting the familiar set of his jaw, that indicated he wasn’t going to discuss the subject any further, Curry shook his head disparagingly.
“You surely can’t want to risk throwing away our chance for amnesty just because you’re too pig-headed to know when to hi-tail it?” he growled.
“Look, Kid,” snapped Heyes, turning to look at him, “we’re bound to run into him sooner or later, so why not now, and get it over with?”
“Because I’d like to live a little longer, that’s why not now.” snapped Curry. Then, shaking his head, he said, “I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you, but whatever it is you need to get over it. If Burton does know our identities, he aint gonna rest ‘til he catches up with us and either kills us or turns us in, so the more distance we put between him and us the better. You know that, so what’s with the ‘stay and fight’ attitude all of a sudden? It’s usually you who’s trying to talk me out of that.”
Heyes gave a weary sigh and turned back to the bar, “It’s bad enough we have to keep looking over our shoulders for the law, and, mostly, they don’t know us. Burton obviously does. I don’t want to be forever looking over my shoulder for him too, wondering how far he is behind us, waiting for some ambush somewhere. I want it finished, one way or the other, so I’m staying put.”
Curry shook his head disgustedly, “Well I aint gonna.” he said flatly.
Heyes shrugged, “If you’re so keen to hi-tail it, then go. It’s no skin off my nose.” he said dismissively.
Curry looked at him in astonishment, “You aint never killed nobody in your whole life.” he told him, “You aint got the heart for it. You come up against him and you’re gonna end up dead.”
Heyes shrugged and poured another drink before saying, “I may not be as good with a gun as you, but I can manage perfectly well on my own. I can do whatever I have to. If you’re gonna go, go, and leave me alone.”
Curry slammed his glass down, his knuckles white with temper, “O.K, smart ass.” he growled, “If that’s the way you want it.” He turned to leave and then paused a moment, turning back to look at Heyes who refused to meet his gaze.
“Don’t expect me to be around to pick up the pieces, Heyes, ‘cos I won’t.” he warned, in a last ditch attempt to change his mind, “If you won’t leave with me, now, you’re on your own.” He waited for a response from Heyes and when he received none, he turned and stalked out of the saloon without another word.
Heyes watched him leave with soulful eyes. It would be for the best if the Kid left. If Burton did catch up with them, he knew the Kid would kill him rather than risk them being arrested and sent to jail, or killed themselves, and Heyes didn’t want that to happen. If Burton only found Heyes, maybe he would be satisfied with killing him, or turning him in, and leave the Kid be. After all, it was him who Burton had a grudge against, not Kid, and $10,000 would maybe be enough for him to forget pursuing the Kid any further. That was what had prompted Heyes to deliberately spark an argument, in the hope of getting the Kid to react exactly as he had done. The last thing he wanted was for the Kid to end up getting hung for murder when it was Heyes himself who had riled Burton in the first place.
With a deep sigh, Heyes poured himself another whisky.
* * *
Later that night, Heyes returned to the hotel a little worse for drink. One of the saloon girls had tried to persuade him to spend the night with her, but he had decided to come back and have it out with the Kid instead.
He opened the door to their room, expecting to find the Kid in bed despite his threats to leave, and was only mildly surprised to find that he and all his belongings were gone.
Heyes gave a deep sigh, “So, he’s gone after all.” he muttered under his breath.
He undressed and climbed into bed, going back over their conversation earlier that afternoon and wondering whether or not the Kid was still in town.
His thoughts turned to the future. Perhaps the Kid had been right about Burton. Maybe he was being foolish in thinking that there was some way to resolve the situation without anyone having to get killed. Burton had a reputation as a brutal outlaw and was unlikely to be swayed by Heyes’ ‘silver tongue’. Heyes was a pretty good shot, although nowhere near as good as the Kid, but, as the Kid had pointed out earlier, he didn’t have the heart for killing, preferring to use words, rather than violence, to solve any arguments. But he was tired of running. It was bad enough running from the law, but running from their own kind was even harder.
He sighed heavily. Well, he’d made his bed, metaphorically speaking, so he guessed he’d have to lie in it. He decided he would stay in town for a day or two, to see if Burton turned up or not. If he did, Heyes knew it was likely he’d either end up in jail, or dead. If he ended up in jail, Kid would find a way to get him out, of that he was sure. If he ended up dead, well at least he wouldn’t have to worry about running any more. His gaze shifted to his gun on the dresser beside him. He’d never killed anyone with it. In fact, he hardly ever used it – it was the Kid who took care of all that – yet he felt lost without it. The Kid had always insisted that they wear them all the time “just in case of trouble”. Heyes wondered whether, if he didn’t wear it, Burton might not be so willing to challenge him. He snorted, softly. Who was he kidding? It wouldn’t matter to Burton if he were armed or not. It would be all the easier for him if he wasn’t.
Heyes shook his head, cursing himself. He knew the Kid was right to suggest they keep on the move and he wished he could explain why he’d suddenly felt the need to make a stand. He tried to tell himself it was just because he was trail weary after being on the run for the last couple of weeks, but he knew that wasn’t the reason. They lived most of their lives like that. No, it was something else, but whatever the reason was, Heyes couldn’t put it into words.
Eventually, he grew too tired to ponder on it any more and fell into a fitful sleep.
* * *
Kid Curry cooked bacon over his camp fire. He stabbed at it viciously, still in a temper from the night before.
He had intended to head off to Porterville, three days ride away, to discuss the situation with Lom, but had gone only two miles from town before drawing to a halt, subconsciously unwilling to leave his friend behind.
Rather than go back to the hotel, and face another argument with Heyes, he had decided to make camp just outside the town.
He ate and cleared away and then washed up in a nearby stream before beginning the ride back into town.
As he trotted along, he began to think back over their lives.
His and Heyes’ parents had been killed in the border wars. They had been full of bitterness at first, that innocent people should be killed in a war they didn’t understand.
Later, as they grew up and listened to all the different sides, they realised, that, in their own way, all of them were right, but couldn’t understand why people couldn’t sit down and talk through their disagreements instead of slaughtering each other.
Heyes had once said that he thought this mixed-up period in their lives had contributed to their falling on the wrong side of the law. If everyone could go around killing each other for no reason, then, surely, stealing couldn’t be so bad? After all, it was only money. They could print as much again, and more, as they could ever steal. True, it might not be rightfully theirs to take, but then, what was right about killing innocent people, like their parents, whose lives couldn’t be brought back. At the time, it had all seemed so straightforward.
Curry dropped his horse off at the livery and began to walk down the main street, still thinking back over the past. Yes, he and Heyes had been through some pretty rough times, but they’d never taken it out on anyone, except each other maybe.
He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t see a young woman coming out of a nearby store.
“Oooff!”
He was startled out of his reverie to see the young woman sitting on the floor amongst her parcels.
“Why don’t you look where you’re going you… you…”
“Gee, I’m sorry M'am. I didn’t see you.” Curry apologised, bending down to pick up her parcels.
The girl scrambled up off the floor and dusted herself down.
“I’m sorry.” Curry said again.
Their eyes met and he thought how pretty she was. Blonde ringlets hung down over her shoulders and she had pale green eyes, full of childish innocence, which matched exactly the colour of her dress.”
She looked away, unsettled by the effect his blue eyes were having on her.
“It’s alright.” she said, “Er… excuse me…. I must be going.” She held out her arms for her parcels.
Curry shook his head.
“Let me. It’s the least I can do.”
The girl eyed him for a moment before nodding a curt acceptance, “Thank you. It’s not far.”
She led the way down the street. At the end of the main street, she stopped by a white painted fence surrounding a handsome two story house.
“This is where I live.” she told Curry, who looked admiringly at the petty, white painted house.
“Would you … er … care for some coffee?” the girl asked tentatively.
“Thank you, Miss….?”
“Marston. Hannah Marston.”
“Thank you, Miss Marston, that would be nice.”
She led the way up the garden path, and as Curry followed her he began to think he hadn’t done himself such a bad turn after all.
* * *
Later, after lunch at the restaurant, Curry crossed to the saloon and peeked his head over the door to see if Heyes was in there. When he didn’t see any sign of him, he entered and crossed to the bar. He hadn’t wanted to come in, if Heyes was here, and have it look like he’d backed down from his comments the previous night. He was still mad at Heyes but loyalty prevented him from abandoning his partner completely. He would wait here a while to see if Heyes came in and whether, after a night alone to think about it, he had seen sense about the wisdom of hanging around town waiting for Burton to show up.
At dusk, there was still no sign of Heyes and Curry reluctantly decided to go over to the hotel to see if he was still registered.
Finishing his drink, he paid the bartender for what he’d consumed and headed for the door, a perturbed frown creasing his brow.
“Oooff.”
He was startled out of his reverie as, lost in his thoughts, he collided with someone walking past the doorway, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw it was Hannah.
“This is getting to be a habit.” he grinned, as he took her arm to steady her, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Hannah smiled, shyly, “That’s alright. I was… er… hoping I might perhaps run into you again.” she said, looking away as a flush of colour came to her cheeks.
Curry grinned, “I’d say I would buy you a drink, but the saloon aint no place for a lady.” he told her.
“Well, I….” Hannah began, but her sentence was cut off as a tall man with over-long black hair staggered out through the saloon doors, a part full whisky glass still clutched in his hand, and then stopped in his tracks as he saw Hannah standing there.
“Well, if it aint Miss Hannah Marston.” he said sneeringly, “Now, what would your Uncle think if he could see you canoodling with your men friends outside the saloon?”
Hannah looked up, alarmed.
“It’s none of your business what I do, Luke Hardington, or who with.”
“Now that aint a nice way for a lady to talk.”
“If I wish to stand here and ‘canoodle’ as you put it, I’ll do so.” Hannah shot back at him, “I am of age, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“All the same, ah think ah’d better take you home with me.” Hardington put out a rather grubby hand, intending to take her arm.
“The lady’s with me, mister.” Curry said, in a quiet, but firm voice.
Hardington raised his hat and bowed graciously. Curry could smell the liquor on his breath a yard away.
“Pardon me.” he said with heavy sarcasm, “I didn’t notice you a-standin’ there.” He sniggered and turned back to Hannah.
“Come on, Hannah, love.”
“I said, the lady’s with me, mister.” Curry repeated.
Hardington turned round unsteadily and studied him momentarily. Then, in a sudden movement he threw the contents of his glass in Curry’s face. Curry took a step backwards, lifting his hand to wipe the liquid away, before lifting his gaze back to his attacker. Hardington swayed drunkenly on his feet, amused by what he’d just done.
“That was careless of you, mister.” growled Curry.
The next thing Hardington knew, he was flat on his back on the boardwalk, looking up at Curry through a haze of stars.
Curry took off his hat and wiped his sleeve over his face before replacing it and then, taking hold of Hannah’s hand set off up the street towards her house at a brisk pace, Hannah practically having to run to keep up with his determined stride. Although he didn’t speak, Hannah could tell he was furious about what had just happened.
“Thank you.” Hannah said breathlessly as she tried to keep up with Curry’s pace, “My Uncle’s the doctor here and Luke used to work for him, but he drank so much, my Uncle had to fire him.” she glanced across at Curry whose gaze was fixed straight ahead.
“…He’s known me since I was a little girl. I guess he feels responsible for me. My folks are dead you see…” Hannah stopped walking and leaned against a fence.
“For goodness sake…” she panted, “Do you always walk so fast when you get mad?”
Curry stopped and turned round, hands on hips. They eyed each other for a moment before they both burst out laughing.
“Sorry.” Curry muttered apologetically.
Hannah shook her head wryly, and, taking hold of his hand, led him the rest of the way to her house. With a smile, Curry followed, Heyes temporarily forgotten.
* * *
Heyes was in the saloon himself later that evening. After consuming more alcohol than he had intended the previous evening he had slept late and had spent the majority of the day in his hotel room, recovering from his hangover and brooding about his argument with Curry the previous night. He had half expected Curry to come back that morning and try to persuade him to leave town and found himself both surprised, and disappointed, when he didn’t show up. After a brief supper, which he’d just about managed to keep down, he’d decided to go to the saloon for a few hours and maybe play some poker, but even though he was on a winning streak and had amassed a considerable sum of money, his heart wasn’t in it as he continued to brood on Curry’s words the previous night.
At eleven o’clock, having reached a decision, he bid his fellow players goodnight and, gathering up his winnings, headed back to the hotel. He guessed Curry had more than likely gone to Porterville to discuss the situation with Lom and he decided to ride over there to sort things out with him. It wasn’t an ideal time to travel, but Heyes didn’t want to wait until the morning to set off.
Collecting his belongings, he checked out of the hotel and headed over to the livery to get his horse. It was around midnight when he set off for Porterville, but he wasn’t tired and now that the effects of his hangover had worn off, it was quite pleasant travelling at night, without the heat of the summer sun. He knew the way to Porterville petty well and there was a bright moon tonight which aided his journey.
After riding for some thirty minutes, he entered some woods.
He trotted along, enjoying the peacefulness of the balmy night when, suddenly, a shot rang out. Heyes’ horse reared and the next thing he knew, he was rolling down the embankment with a searing pain in his shoulder. Down and down he went, crashing through brush and bracken, down into black oblivion.
Back in town, Curry woke, with a start, sitting bolt upright and instinctively reaching for his gun.
He looked around him in confusion wondering what had woken him. His eyes fell on Hannah asleep beside him and, with a shake of his head, he lay back down next to her and in seconds was asleep once more.
* * *
At just about dawn, a citizen of Denver, a Mr. Archibald Johnson, was returning through the woods from an all night poker party at a friend’s house.
He was surprised when he suddenly came upon a fully saddled horse grazing peacefully by the side of the trail. He slowed his horse and looked around him as he rode slowly along the trail looking for a sign of its rider. He pulled up his horse when, in the brightness of the rising sun, he noticed a path of flattened bracken and broken twigs going down the embankment.
Dismounting, he peered down, drawing in a sharp breath when he saw what appeared to be a man’s body at the bottom of the embankment.
He clambered down the hillside and stopped beside the body lying face down in the grass. Kneeling down, he reached out to turn him over, pausing as he noticed a bullet hole in his jacket.
Uncertain, his hand hovered over the man’s body for a moment before he finally turned him over and bent to listen for a heartbeat.
“Still alive, but only just.” Johnson spoke out loud. There was a large gash on the man’s forehead where he must have stuck a rock or tree stump on the way down, and as he touched his thick black coat, it was sticky with blood. Johnson guessed he must have lost a considerable amount of blood and that it wouldn’t be wise to move him without medical treatment in case he had sustained any broken bones or internal injuries during his fall down the embankment.
He put his own coat over him for warmth and then scrambled back up the embankment to ride into town.
On arriving, Johnson rushed into the doctor’s office.
“Doc Marston.” he panted, “I’ve found a man up in the woods. He’s been shot in the back. Looks pretty bad.”
“Is he still alive?” asked the doctor.
“He was when I left him, although barely.”
Doctor Marston called his assistant and, taking his wagon, they followed Johnson back along the road to the spot he pointed out to them. The doctor scrambled down the embankment and knelt at the man’s side, the other two following close behind.
“We must get him to town, quickly, but I must try and stem the bleeding first.” said the doctor, opening his bag, “My niece will look after him for us.” he added as he padded the wound.
“There!” He stood up. “Help me get him up to the wagon.”
* * *
Hannah Marston came down the garden path to where Curry was chopping logs.
“Breakfast is ready Thaddeus.” she smiled.
“Thanks a lot. I could sure use it. Nothing like chopping logs to work up an appetite.”
Hannah took his hand and they walked back up to the house.
“Must you leave today, Thaddeus?” she asked, coyly, as he seated himself at the table, “I could sure use some help around here.”
“I wish I could, but I can’t.” said Curry, trying to find an easy way to let her down, “My... work... takes me all over the country. I don’t get to stay any place for very long.” He was deeply attracted to Hannah, and under any other circumstances would have stayed around to pursue the relationship, but until, if, they got their amnesty, it was too risky to stay in any one place too long, or get involved with anyone. But, even though they’d only spent one night together, Curry knew that leaving wasn’t going to be easy. “Anyway,” he added, with a nonchalant laugh, “I’m a drifter, always have been, always will be. My work takes me around the country but even if it didn’t I couldn’t stand being stuck in one place.”
Hannah sighed, “I see.” she muttered, disappointedly. Then, drawing herself up, said, “Eat. It’s getting cold.”
Curry eyed her momentarily before switching his gaze to the breakfast she had cooked. As he ate, Hannah turned away and began to wash up the dishes.
“Is there anything you’d like doing, before I leave?” Curry asked presently.
“Well, there are a few things I need from town, if you wouldn’t mind?” said Hannah, “They’re too heavy for me to carry.”
“Sure. Just make me a list.”
After he’d eaten, Curry headed into town while Hannah busied herself with her chores. Some time later, there was a knock at the door. She ran to open it.
“Why, Uncle Matt! What are you doing here this early in the day?”
“Hannah, my dear,” her uncle smiled at her, “this gentleman found an injured man in the woods, just outside town.” He indicated the well dressed man at his side, “I have nowhere to accommodate him and I was hoping that you might be able to look after him for me.”
“Of course. Bring him in, quickly. I’ll make up a bed.” Hannah hurried upstairs and began to put fresh sheets on a bed in the front bedroom, while Johnson and Doctor Marston carried their patient upstairs.
“Who is he, Uncle?” asked Hannah as they settled him in the bed.
“We don’t know, my dear.” shrugged her Uncle, as he removed the bullet and dressed his wounds, “He’s not a local man, and he has no identification on him.”
“Will he be alright?” Hannah asked anxiously.
“I hope so, my dear. I don’t know for sure. He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s been outside all night, which won’t have done him any good. He took a nasty blow to the head too, and there’s no way to know how that may have affected him.”
“What happened?” asked Hannah.
“Well, he’s been shot in the back, and he has quite a lot of money on him, so maybe he upset some poker player in the saloon.” Doctor Marston speculated, “Although I would have thought, if that were the case, the culprit would have taken the money.” He snapped his bag shut and straightened up, “Maybe he can throw some light on what happened, when he recovers.” he added, eyeing his patient thoughtfully.
“Well, I’ll call in again tomorrow. I doubt he’ll recover consciousness for a while, but send for me immediately if he takes a turn for the worse.”
Hannah nodded, “Don’t worry. He’ll be alright here. I’ll take good care of him.”
Doctor Marston patted his niece’s hand, “I know you will my dear.” he smiled.
They spoke for a few more moments and then the two men left.
Hannah filled a bowl of water and put it on the dresser at the side of the bed along with some cloths. She was just tidying the bedcovers when she heard the front door open. She ran downstairs, to see Thaddeus in the hallway laden down with several bags and packages.
“Thaddeus, you’re back!”
“Yes.” replied Curry, putting the bags and packages down on a table near the door, “Who were those men leaving just now?”
“Oh, that’s my Uncle Matt. I told you, he’s the doctor here. He brought a patient here for me to look after.”
“Is that something you usually do?” Curry raised a surprised eyebrow.
“Oh, yes. I help him out sometimes if he has nowhere to accommodate his patients.”
“I see.” Curry replied thoughtfully, thinking it wasn’t a good idea for her to nurse strangers at her house, “Do you know who it is?”
“No.” Hannah shook her head, “A passer by found him unconscious in the woods early this morning.”
“Him?”
Hannah nodded, “Come upstairs and see.”
She led the way upstairs and crept quietly into the front bedroom, Curry following behind her.
“Hey...” Curry stopped dead in his tracks, when he saw Heyes' motionless figure in the bed, before hurrying across and looking anxiously down at him.
Hannah eyed him curiously. “Do you know him, Thaddeus?”
Curry nodded, “Yes. He’s my partner. We came here together a couple of days back, but we er... had a… disagreement and he left town. Is he badly hurt?” he asked anxiously.
Hannah came to stand beside him at the side of the bed
“He’s been shot in the back,” she told him, “and he has a nasty concussion.”
“What happened?” Curry asked hoarsely.
“Uncle Matt thinks he may have upset some poker player in the saloon, as he had quite a lot of money on him. Perhaps the man he won it from wanted revenge?”
“Maybe.” Curry muttered thoughtfully.
Hannah leaned down and pressed her hand to her patient’s forehead.
“I think he’s starting a fever.” she said anxiously, “He was outside, in the damp, all night.”
“That’s a nasty cut.” said Curry, nodding towards the gash on the side of his forehead. The area around the gash was swollen and purple bruising was spreading around it.
Hannah nodded.
“What other injuries does he have?”
“A couple of cracked ribs, cuts and bruises.” said Hannah, "Mr. Johnson, the man who found him, says he must have fallen from his horse when he was shot and fell down a steep embankment, which was where Mr. Johnson found him. That’s probably how he hit his head and cracked his ribs. His horse was grazing nearby. Mr Johnson took it to the livery for him.”
“That was good of him.” replied Curry.
“Uncle Matt says, if he has a strong constitution, he has a good chance of recovery.” Hannah told him.
“Well, he’s as tough as old boots, if that’s any help.” said Curry, in a feeble attempt a humour, turning his anxious gaze back to his friend.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” smiled Hannah, seeing his concern, “Come and have some coffee.”
“I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.” said Curry, moving to sit on a wicker chair at the side of the bed.
Hannah eyed him, as he leaned down in order to examine the gash on the injured man’s forehead more closely, gently pushing his hair back off his face and placing the back of his hand to his cheek to check his temperature, a frown of concern on his face, and she was touched by the depth of caring she saw in those simple gestures.
“We’ll take it in turns to sit with him.” she told him.
Curry nodded, his attention focussed on Heyes.
Hannah closed the door and went downstairs to make coffee.
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