Revenge

A Matter of Faith and Trust... continued


The Governor hadn’t moved.  He sat quietly, watching the outlaw leader’s Scofield pistol as it wavered to and fro, in time with the cogs whirring inside Heyes’ head.  Heyes stared back for what felt like a very long few seconds, as he tried to get the measure of the other man’s character.

This Governor, Governor Valentine K. Johnson, was not an easy man to read.  But there was something Heyes recognised, something in the man’s manner and bearing that brought to mind, a certain, fair minded Judge of their acquaintance.  A Judge whose word could be trusted.

Slowly, Heyes lifted and holstered his gun.

“It’s… Heyes … just Heyes.”

Kid, still stood with the door knob in his hand.  He stared at Heyes as he trained his Colt on the seated Governor.  He looked confused.  What was this? They were leaving. It had all been a lie. A trap, to get them to the prison.  No way, was he holstering his gun.

“Well … just … Heyes …” said the Governor ignoring the gunman’s pistol, “You … may call me Johnson … if you wish … for now.”

A small smile of satisfaction crossed his face, or was it relief, as Heyes placed a hand over Kid’s gun and lowered it to point at the floor.

“HEYES … You’re not gonna listen to this snake… ARE YOU? He just admitted it’s all been a pack o’ lies! He’s just stallin’ us … till his guard comes back … COME ON HEYES … WE GOTTA GET OUTTA HERE!”

Heyes’ gaze hadn’t left the seated man.

“I wanna hear what he has to say Kid … You can keep him covered while we talk … if it makes you feel better… but … I don’t think we should leave without hearing what he has to say.”

Kid stared at his cousin in disbelief.  Saw that Heyes was in earnest, and wouldn’t be swayed. So, with a scrape of more dirt from his face to the floor and a frustrated growl of anger, Kid resumed his vigil at the door, whilst keeping his Colt trained on Johnson’s middle.

Heyes sat, crossing his legs and clasping his hands in his lap, all ears.  Johnson eyed Kid Curry behind the seated Heyes in question.  Heyes merely smiled.  He wasn’t surprised, their reputations were such, that many a man believed Kid merely did Heyes’ bidding.

“He can hear you well enough from there” he assured the Governor.

“Well … Gentlemen …” Johnson seemed to accept that this was the best he could expect from his august company, just at present. 

“I presume you would like to know why, your friend Trevors, had you turn up a day early for a meeting with the Territorial Governor?”

Heyes’ eyebrows did his answering.

“Yes… Governor Thomas Moonlight himself … is coming here tomorrow morning.  And I presume you’d like to know why he had you come to this… “

Johnson waved a hand towards the window and the parade ground beyond.  It was filling up with a bedraggled bunch of half-starved looking men, whose hair looked recently shorn and who were all wearing the same striped uniform. They were overseen by more of the mammoth guards wielding rifles.  Kid watched as the men were directed to move boulders, the size of small doggies, from one side of the yard to the other.  He was not impressed.

Heyes wasn’t distracted however, he was listening to every word Johnson was saying.

“To this … facility … this great bastion … of penal reform?”

‘Ah, that was it,’ thought Heyes.  ‘That was the angle.’
 

JThis is a continuation of last month's tale.  There's more to come, but please don't worry--I'll never leave a story unfinished.  I'm hoping to keep this one going for a few more prompts as an incentive to get back into regular writing.  Thanks for your patience!

Struggling to stay centered in the saddle, Heyes ignored the pain that shot through his shoulder and his dangling, wounded foot every time he careened against the sheer cliff wall to his right.  To his left was a steep slope of several hundred feet falling away from the rocky, precarious trail his horse was madly racing across, the lead rope whipping between all four legs.  So far the animal had managed to remain upright but one wrong step, or a shift in weight, could send both horse and rider to their deaths.


Heyes could see the widening of the trail as it cleared the cliff and snaked along a forested slope, but he wasn’t sure they’d make it. Sheer will kept him mounted as the bay made one more crazed leap before landing on softer soil.  They plunged into the trees and the horse galloped, unaided, until it began to slow.  First to a jog then a breathless walk before stepping on its lead rope and stopping altogether, dropping its head to anxiously tear the sparse, tall grasses on the forest floor.  Heyes panted along with the bay, both of their hearts racing from exertion and adrenaline.  He attempted to guide his horse using his legs and body, but the gelding was still too shaken to respond.  Together, they wandered off the trail and into the trees.  As Heyes’ heart rate slowed, fatigue and fever overcame him and he tumbled to the ground rolling over onto his back and staring up at the sky, inert.  His eyelids closed.  The horse continued nibbling, drifting further and further away, contented to be relieved of him.


***


A hollow grumble issued from the Kid’s stomach, closely followed by a thunderous belch from his mouth.  His horse’s ears swiveled towards him noting the sounds as it jogged along the trail.


“Um, sorry, guess I should’ve had more breakfast before we started out.”   The thought of food brought an instant wave of nausea.  “Or maybe not.”  He hadn’t eaten much since the night before last and had yet to recover his appetite.  He’d managed to down a small piece of dry biscuit early this morning but, rather than curbing the hunger pangs, it had set his gut to roiling.  At least, the food had stayed where it was supposed to, but he was feeling light-headed and weak.   They’d had a few hours rest in the early hours of the morning, but he’d spent half of it tossing and turning, worrying about his partner and letting his fear and anger build.  He hoped whoever had Heyes wasn’t in any hurry to get to where he was going, because the Kid was planning on sending him straight to Hell.  With a click of his tongue, he sent his sorrel into a lope.


***


A weak groan roused Mac from his stupor.  A shifting, heavy weight across his legs chased away the last vestiges of unconsciousness.  Pain radiated through him before he bolted upright only to find he was pinned in place by his injured horse.
“Dickie!  Aw, %$#@*, Dickie!!”  The horse’s leg was clearly broken and it was groaning with pain, too far gone with shock to thrash.  Without wasting a moment, Mac slid his Colt from its holster and leaned towards the prone head.  Gently positioning the barrel of his gun where it would swiftly put the animal out of its misery, he pulled the trigger.  A small jerk and the big brown eyes glazed over.  


Mac’s eyes welled up and tears spilled, coursing down his cheeks.  He sobbed like a baby, gulping and sniffing, for several minutes before pulling himself together.  “Heyes is gonna pay for killin’ you, Dickie boy.  You was the bestest pony that ever was.”  His rough hand lovingly stroked the glossy, soft neck as the skin cooled.  “I swear to you, he’ll pay.”   His pledge made, Mac began using his bare hands to dig out his immobilized legs.  His nails broke and his fingers bled, but his furious grief fueled his determination. 


***


The faint echo of a gunshot reverberated across the peaks.  Curry pulled up his horse and sat for a moment but he couldn’t be sure where it came from.   He waited pensively hoping for a second shot to help him locate the source, but none came.  His nerves tightened.   The best he could do was to hurry along the trail he was on and hope that Heyes was still alive.  Both he and his mount were worn out but his fear drove them on. 


***
Dark eyes snapped open to the bark of a gun.   Heyes’ mind tried to catch up to his instinctual reaction as his bruised and battered body sat up.  He moaned.  His aching muscles screamed in protest while the throbbing in his foot penetrated his foggy brain.  Twisting his arms, he tested the cuffs.  The chain binding them together was too short to allow much give.  He’d have to try to pick them.   He wasn’t worried, he’d done it blindfolded often enough, but how to get his lockpick from the sleeve inside his hat band; the hat band that was on the hat dangling from his neck? 
 
Swinging his upper body, Heyes worked the hat around so it was hanging against his chest and caught it between his knees.   He dropped his head and, after several failed attempts, his teeth trapped the small knot of leather securing the band to the crown.  Yanking and pulling and ultimately chewing, he worked the lacing loose and the band slipped to the ground.  Again using his teeth, he picked it and a considerable amount of soil up before looking around for something to lay the strap on so he could work on it without eating another pound of dirt.  A nearby downed pine tree was perfect.  He shuffled along on his knees until he reached it. Tipping his head, he managed to lay it down inside up, the lockpick visible and resting securely in its pocket. 
 
Heyes spit as much of the remaining grit from his mouth as he could.  Using his open mouth to keep the band pinned, he fished at the lockpick with his tongue.  Finally, he levered it up, closed his teeth on one end, and shaking his head like a crazed dog, the pick slipped free from the band.  Heyes gave a stifled howl of pleasure as sweat dripped from his chin.  Gingerly placing the pick on the tree trunk, he turned around and leaned back until his numbed fingers felt the tiny metal instrument.  In seconds, his hands were free.  As his arms swung to his side, he nearly fainted with pain. The nerves in the confined extremities shrieked with the shock of movement and he fell forward onto the tree trunk, panting as the blood flowed back in his arms and hands.  At last, when he could feel the texture of the coarse bark and flex his fingers, he sat up and turned his attention to his real wounds.


Heyes pulled off his crusty sock and examined his foot.  Luckily, the bullet had gone straight through leaving a large exit wound in its wake, but what sort of foul debris had it left behind?  Poking both putrefying holes gently, ignoring the pain, he forced pus from them until blood freely flowed.  Better the wounds healed from the inside out.  His pants leg was stretched tight around his swollen calf and his attempts to roll it up failed.  Using his lockpick as a dull knife, he slipped the tip through the material and tore at it until the fabric fell open.  Fascinated, he traced the ugly, engorged veins from his ankle to his knee.  He could see them pulsating with infection.  If it continued unchecked, he would die.


***


Mac slid his legs out from under Dickie’s carcass.  They were sore and numb but as far as he could tell he was a very fortunate man.  He reached across the corpse and tugged his Spencer from its scabbard.  Opening the breech, he checked the load and set the weapon aside.  Turning back to his saddle bags, he removed his small store of beans and coffee and tied each bag to his belt.  Matches went in a shirt pocket and his good hunting knife was slipped into his gun belt.  He un-cinched the saddle and slid the wool blanket from under it, draping it around his neck.  Examining his saddle, he found the tree had broken in the fall.  Another thing Heyes was gonna pay for.  It had taken him years to break that saddle in so he could sit it comfortably for days but Mac had to admit he didn’t need to be lugging forty pounds of leather while chasing down that no-good outlaw trash.  His canteen of drinking water and the one he’d confiscated from Heyes had also been crushed by the weight of his dying horse.  He’d have to make do.


Mac looked up the slope to the visible cut along the cliff face.  It had to be a couple of hundred feet above him.  He’d work his way back to the trail on an angle.  It would cost him some time but the slope was too steep to scale and he was too sore.  Besides, he was pretty sure Heyes wasn’t going to get too far with a wounded foot and his hands tied behind his back even if he was still mounted.  He gave Dickie one last regretful pat then picked up the rifle, grabbed his hat from where it had fallen, and walked away.  


***


“Come back here, you worthless nag!” growled Heyes, heavily leaning on a forked, snapped-off tree branch as a makeshift crutch.  His bay danced just out of his reach each time he neared, preferring to be free to graze at its leisure.  Both reins had long since snapped off the bridle, but the obstinate beast still trailed the braided lead rope.  It had taken almost all of Heyes’ remaining strength to track the animal to the grassy meadow, but he’d had no choice.  If he was going to survive, he needed his horse.  Frustration was making the ex-outlaw angry and his face had purpled with exertion.  Horses sensed these things so he forced himself to calm down and think about how to get the beast to come to him.  That’s when he remembered the peppermint candy in his shirt pocket.  The waitress at the café had given it to him along with the check at breakfast.  He pulled out the small candy and un-wrapped it.  Placing it in the center of his palm, he held out his hand and whistled.  The sound lifted the horse’s head and it turned towards him.  Seeing the offered hand, the bay remembered other tasty treats.  His ears pricked up and he cautiously stepped towards his rider with his neck stretched out.  His nose wiggled in anticipation until his lips close around the sweet.  Happily, he crunched the sugary snack placidly while Heyes quietly reached out and gripped the lead rope.  “Aha, gotcha!” 


Clutching the rope and stumping along on the crutch, he led the bay to the closest tree and tied it securely.  Balancing against the animal’s side, he opened a saddlebag, and withdrew a spare rein.  Lacing the proper end to one side of the bit, he knotted the split end to the other side fashioning a short, looped rein.  He worked his way around the bay’s hind end to the other saddle bag, pulling out some muslin bandaging, a bindle of powdered white willow bark, and a bottle of whiskey.  His hands full, he dropped the crutch and hopped to another tree, putting his back against it and carefully sliding down it to a sitting position.  He uncorked the bottle, taking a long draw from it then tore open a corner of the packet, shook a third of the contents into his mouth, and grimaced at the bitter taste before washing it down with a lot more drink as he considered what to do next.  The willow bark should keep the fever down and ease some of the pain so he could clean the wound with the booze but it wouldn’t take care of the infection working its way through his body.
  
There was some dried out skunk cabbage around a dried up waterhole in the middle of the meadow.  He knew it, too, could relieve pain.  Struggling to his feet, he slipped the branch under his arm and limped out into the patch of dying plants harvesting as many leaves as he could stuff in his pockets.  Turning away from the waterhole, he scanned the forest undergrowth; he had to find chokecherry.  It was plentiful around these parts and he remembered an old mountain man telling him the Indians used it on gangrene.  His foot wasn’t there yet, but it would be soon if he didn’t do something now. 
 
The chokecherry was easy enough to find but tearing the bark off took the use of his lockpick and a lot of effort.  Winded and feverish, Heyes returned to his horse and sat down against the same tree. He picked up the whiskey bottle and drank some more.  When he began to feel suitably fuzzy, he poured the some of the alcohol into the open wounds swearing huskily as the fluid burn into the raw flesh.  Tearing the chokecherry bark into tiny shreds, he packed it into his wounds, gritting his teeth against the pain.  He sprinkled the skunk cabbage on top, soaked it with some more whiskey, and wrapped the muslin around everything to hold it in place.  It was the best he could do.  One more swig and he was ready to try mounting.


Getting to his foot with difficulty, Heyes stowed away the remaining herbs and bandaging in his saddlebag.  He retrieved his hat and the band, using a piece of latigo to tie the band back on before slipping the stampede strings over his head.  He untied the gelding.  He had one chance to vault into the saddle without doing any more harm to himself.  Grabbing the mane, he tucked his forearm into the horse’s shoulder blade, took a deep breath, and swung into the saddle, his sore foot clearing the cantle easily.  Relieved, he took a moment to catch his breath before urging the horse on.


***


The Kid’s sorrel plodded along at an exhausted walk.  His rider’s head pitched forward and his eyes strained to read the rocky ground.  Game trails crisscrossed this section of trail making it difficult to discern tracks but telltale drops of spilled blood were still visible in the weakening afternoon light.  Curry prayed the blood wasn’t his partner’s. Every few steps, the horse stopped and refused to move on.  Finally, both horse and rider could go no further.  The Kid dismounted, stiffly leading the sorrel to the lowest branch of an old blue spruce.  He pulled the saddle from the weary creature, dropping it on the ground, and spreading out the saddle pad to dry.   Giving the animal the last of their water, he stretched out on his bedroll.  


Immediately, the Kid drifted into a fitful sleep, his dreams filled with his worst nightmare.  


Author’s note:  what is commonly called Skunk Cabbage in Colorado is also called Corn Lily. It is not the same plant as Eastern Skunk Cabbage and has different medicinal uses.

 

Hannibal Heyes had a large bruise on his jaw, his hands were tied behind his back, and he was mounted on a short tempered mule. Dustin Kaden, the largest bounty hunter in the group, was riding alongside him, just close enough that Heyes couldn’t finish getting out of his bonds.

He was close, so close. One more twist and he’d be free. Problem was that there was a bounty hunter behind him, one beside him, and only water on the other side. Kid was in a similar situation ahead. The string of riders was moving as quickly as possible and Heyes stared blindly at an old abandoned beaver dam near the opposite bank as they passed.

They weren’t too far from the hills that held the old trapper’s shack Heyes and Curry had used in the past as a hideout. They’d been headed there to give Heyes’ lame horse a few day’s rest after a trail guiding job. Unfortunately, on their way there, they’d ridden right into the Kaden family of bounty hunters and of course one of them knew them. What were the odds? Two reformed outlaw cousins running into five bounty hunter brothers?

Heyes started to open his mouth, but remembered the last warning he’d received from the man to his left; the bruise along his jaw.

“That’s right, Heyes, keep your mouth shut unless you want me to hit you again,” Dustin said.

“Takes a real brave man to strike someone who’s tied up and unarmed,” Kid Curry called from ahead of them.


Shut up, Kid, Heyes thought.

“Keep talkin’ Curry an’ you’ll end up getting’ your share of beatin’ when we stop for the night,” the burly man replied.


Don’t reply, Heyes thought at his partner.

“If it’ll make you feel better,” Kid said in that unconcerned tone that never failed in provoking.

Heyes sighed and wondered what it was about being captured by a family of bounty hunters had made his partner suddenly so chatty. Okay, so Kid was actually trying to redirect Dustin’s considerable dislike for Heyes to himself, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. They’d both refused Dustin entry to the Devil’s Hole gang when he’d try to be the rebel of the Kaden family, but Heyes had beaten him at cards.


 “I don’t like the look you got on your face, Heyes. Makes me think about when you cheated me in poker,” Dustin said, trying to provoke him.

“Oh give it a rest, Dusty,” Clyde, the oldest brother and the leader of the band, said. “You’re just pissed he figured you weren’t no good at outlawin’ before you. It’s a good thing or else I’d have turned you in.”

Heyes was focused on Dustin and whether he would hit him or not so he was slightly surprised when his mule startled. Hannibal fought to control the animal with only his legs.

“Easy, easy,” Heyes said to the mule. Unfortunately, his horse had been shot by Clyde because he’d slow down the pace so Hannibal Heyes was riding on their unfamiliar pack mule.

Kid looked back at him awkwardly since his own hands were tied behind him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Mule’s just jumpy.” The animal started to dance sideways and struck Dustin’s horse.

“Watch it!” the burly man next to Heyes yelled.

“Sorry,” Heyes muttered, still fighting the mule. Unfortunately the animal danced sideways and bumped into the large horse a second time before Heyes regained control.

He was feeling triumphant at mastering the animal so he was surprised when the butt of his rifle struck the side of his head.

Dustin must have hit harder than intended because Heyes fell off of the mule and directly into the water. Right before he hit, he heard his partner scream, “Heyes!”
The large splash sounded through the twilight.

“Heyes!” Kid leapt off his horse. The fact his hands were tied behind him made him clumsy and he fell heavily. He shoved himself upright in haste and stood up as he yelled. “Help him!”

The five men still on horseback were still staring, dumb struck, at the now rider-less mule that danced in alarm next to the water. The mule his partner had just been on.

“Help him and cut me loose!” Kid insisted as he staggered forward.

“I’ve got a rope, I’ll help! Do you see him?” Ross, the youngest of the Kadens called. He jumped off his horse and headed for the water but was cut off by Clyde who rode his horse over to block his way.

“We don’t take orders from them,” Clyde said.

“Help me, damn you! He’ll drown!” Kid hurried around the horses. Once in the water he could hopefully curl in a ball, maneuver his hands around the back of his legs, and then get his hands in front of him. They’d still be tied, but he could pull Heyes up that way. Was his partner unconscious? Was it a ploy? Curry couldn’t risk it.

“Stop!” Clyde yelled, but Kid Curry kept going, running to the place where Heyes had fallen in. He was going to get his partner or die trying.

Clyde aimed his gun and fired…

And it was Kid’s turn to fall.


 
“Mr. Curry?” Ross Kaden’s voice was in his ear. “Mr. Curry? You awake?”

Kid let out a groan and his lashes fluttered. He couldn’t take in a full breath; he was on his stomach and there was a sharp and heavy pain in his back. “Heyes?” he gasped.

The blonde tried to sit himself up but failed and gritted his teeth against the pain. Ross held him down.

“Stay still,” Ross continued. “You’ve been shot and it bled a heck of a lot. You need to stay still. Besides, everyone’s trigger happy just now.”

“Heyes,” Kid said once again, trying to turn onto his side so he could look around. He gritted his teeth at the difficulty of movement.

Ross helped him roll over, ignoring the condescending looks most of his brothers were sending his direction. “I’m sorry, Mr. Curry. I’m afraid he’s gone.”

Kid lay there in a considerable pool of his own blood, but it wasn’t the blood loss or the night air that made him shudder. He dimly heard himself ask, “Escaped?”

“Don’t think so,” Ross said. “Didn’t see him or hear anything break the surface of the water nearby. You find him, Patty?”

“Nah,” said Patrick Kaden. “You, Mort?”

“Nope.”

Curry swallowed. He was in shock. Numb. Literally and figuratively. Heyes couldn’t be dead. It had to be a ploy.  Kid thought about it and he would know if Heyes was dead, he was sure of it. Almost.  “I have to find him.”

He tried to sit up but Ross held him down. “Mr. Curry, the rest of my family thinks we should just let you die and they will shoot you if you get up. Besides, it’s too dark to find him. I tried.” He raised his voice. “I happen to think we owe the men we turn in decent treatment!”

“Cry, baby brother, cry,” one of the others said in the kind of tone that told you it wasn’t the first time.

Kid ignored him. “It’s freezin’, he could be hurt and he’s wet, he’ll be sufferin’ from the cold. I’ve gotta find him. Keep me tied, I don’t care!”  

“I did look and all I found was his hat floating in the water. Tied it to your saddlebags,” Ross said sympathetically. “Mort and Patrick looked, too. We didn’t find him.”

“If you move, gunslinger, I’ll finish what I started,” Clyde said, his voice right on top of them, and then tremendous pain burned through Kid’s back and the world went gray.

“Get off him, Clyde!” Ross shoved his brother’s foot away from the injured man’s back.

Kid remained conscious, barely, staring through the dark toward the water. Heyes was fine wasn’t he? Or had he failed his partner? Let Heyes drown? Kid couldn’t stop the small groan that escaped and he blinked a few times before he clenched his jaw and his face went cold and hard.

If Heyes was gone, Kid would kill the men responsible. He focused on that. Thinking about revenge meant he didn’t need to think about anything else. Heyes…

“Mr. Curry?” Ross asked as he checked the injured man’s wound.

“Heyes,” he murmured.

Kid Curry had already bled a lot and a little more blood was on the bandage. Ross wasn’t sure the gunslinger would survive the night, but the man himself was only worried about his partner. The bounty hunter sighed. He had too much sympathy to be in the family business; his brothers were right.

“Here, take a drink of water.”

Kid didn’t want it, not if Heyes was hurt and freezing in the dark, or worse, but he took some because he needed every ounce of strength in his body. He wouldn’t die until he found his partner, one way or another, and then he’d get some justice for him.

He managed several drinks and then the dark took over.


The blow made Heyes’ head spin but the cold water was bracing and he remained conscious, getting out of his bonds the rest of the way as soon as he was underwater. Hannibal Heyes thought about surfacing, but then realized this could be the chance they’d been waiting for…

He thought about the old beaver dam they’d passed and he swam for it, finding the entrance and just barely being able to surface under part of the structure. He breathed in a gulp of air and listened. It was dark and cramped inside and he could hear yelling through some of the holes in the structure. It was Kid—Kid and someone else.

Heyes frowned; he hadn’t had a chance to warn Kid who no doubt was worried he was drowning. He’d just decided maybe he should swim back and keep the partners together when he heard the gunshot. His face drained of color.

Heedless of the men, Heyes took a gulp of air and dove back under, surfacing next to the dam, straining his eyes to see the other bank. It was dark enough he couldn’t see the bounty hunters, but more importantly he couldn’t see or hear the Kid anymore. He tried to swallow but there was a lump in his throat and he shivered not just from the water.

“What in the hell did you do that for???” Ross, the most decent among them, was yelling.

“We just lost 10 thousand in the water, didn’t want to make it 20!” Clyde yelled back.

“You killed him! He was just trying to help his friend and you killed him! He was TIED for Christ sakes!”

Heyes was frozen in horror, holding the logs automatically. No. No.        

“He ain’t dead,” one of the other men said and Heyes clung to the words as much as the dam.

“Let me see,” Ross said.

There was silence a long moment while Heyes concentrated on not being sick. Kid was shot trying to get to him. It was his trick. His fault. Heyes did something he rarely did; he prayed.

“You’re right,” Ross said, relieved. “He’s still alive. But he needs a doctor.”

“Let me be clear. He’s wanted dead or alive and I don’t care which he ends up. We’re campin’ here for the night and we’ll look for Heyes’ body in the mornin’,” Clyde said.

“Fine, but I’m treatin’ him.”

“Suit yourself, little brother.” Clyde said. “Just keep him tied.”

“He’s unconscious. I need to—“

“Keep. Him. Tied. He’s dangerous. ‘Specially since Heyes is dead.”

“That’s your and Dustin’s fault!” Ross said, anger making his voice louder. “I was gonna help Curry get Heyes and you stopped me! And Dustin, why’d you hit Heyes in the first place? You good as killed him.”

“You’re such a soft heart,” Dustin said. “Maybe you should stay home with Ma and tie on an apron.”
The other brothers laughed but Clyde spoke up. “Actually, Dusty, you done cost us 10 thousand. You better hope we find his body or you ain’t gonna be laughin’ tomorrow.”

The laughter stopped.

“And Ross, don’t use all our medicine on Curry. He’s a gunslinger and ain’t worth it. Who cares if he’s dead or alive? We get paid both ways an’ he’s more dangerous breathin’. Dusty, you’re on guard duty. You deserve it.”

Heyes gritted his teeth. They shot Kid. They shot him in the back when he was unarmed and tied up and trying to get to his partner. Heyes swam quietly for the opposite shore while they were making a lot of noise preparing to camp.

They thought Hannibal Heyes was dead and most of them were getting ready to bed down for the night. They had no idea what was coming.

Yeah, Kid Curry could be dangerous. But a worried Hannibal Heyes out to rescue his injured partner and get revenge? Well, he could be downright deadly.

Well shoot. I was a bit late so it's okay if I'm not counted. I just started this story and it fit Revenge too well so I had to add to it.

PS) This is not a continuation of last time.