Parenthood. What's more challenging; raising children or running Devil's Hole?

Admin wrote:

Just taken  over at the Hole?  Oh, that'll fit this month's theme.   

I promise I hadn't seen the new theme when I wrote the following lines from Kid Curry to his wife as part of my cycle:
"Heyes and I took care of outlaws. How much harder can children be?"
HW

LOL HW!  We've noticed before how great minds think alike.

I am afraid this is a very loose take on the prompt, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Nancy

 ~ ~ ~

"Nice aim," shouted the Kid to the boy as he watched a crow stop mid-flight and fall to the ground.

"Thanks, mister," grinned the boy, tucking his sling into his belt as he wheeled round to survey the two mounted men.

No more than ten, the boy was freckled, friendly and all legs and teeth.  "'S'part of my job.  I kill the birds if they eat the crops.  I'm a scarecrow!"  His pride was overwhelmingly disarming.

Heyes laughed along with the boy.  "Can you tell us where we can find Mr. Gibbs?"

"Sure, he's my Grandpa.  Follow me;  he'll need me to show you where everything is."  The boy turned and happily loped off towards the ranch.

The cousins shared a smile as Kid shouted to their new found friend, "What's your name?"

"Everyone calls me Gnat," the freckled face called over his shoulder.

"Gnat?" Heyes questioned.

"Sure," the boy momentarily paused and turned to face the men.  "Grandpa says it's 'cos I can sting like the very devil," he brandished his sling, "And I am as irritating as hell!"  At this the boy howled with good natured mirth relishing the amusement on the faces of the men.  Laughing again the rangy lad turned and jogged merrily off, resuming his course towards the house.

oooOOooo

Gnat had virtually dragged the men into the house then disappeared into another room.

"Mr. Gibbs?"  Heyes asked politely.  The older man was seated.

"Come in boys.  Take a seat, Gnat will be back in a moment with some coffee."

"He tells us he's your grandson."  Heyes took in the splinted leg and the crutches.  Ruddy and weather-beaten features were set above a powerful frame.  His work-worn features relaxed into a natural smile rather than a scowl.

Gibbs tapped his broken leg gently.  "Bad fall from a horse.  My own damn fault, I should have been paying more attention.  Still, no fool like an old fool!"

He shifted slightly to ease the itch that was gnawing at his leg.  "As you can see I am out of commission for a while and need someone to keep this place running.  Bill Riley told me you boys could help me out till I get back on my feet."

"Yes sir, Mr. Gibbs.  We've been in town for a couple of days and looking for work as we head west."

Gnat bustled in with a tray of coffee, placed it between the men and poured.  "I've put the stew on to warm slowly."  The Kid noted Gnat studying the boys, drinking in all the information he could.

"That's great, Gnat, could you fetch me my medicine?"

"Sure," the lad took off at speed two stairs at a time.

"He's a sweet kid.  Reminds me of my son at that age."  The older man gave a slight sigh.

"Your son not around?"  asked Heyes gently, guessing the answer.

With a resigned shake of the head Gibbs wrinkled his nose.  There was both grief and acceptance in his reply.  "No sadly.  Drowned.  Accident trying to rescue some cattle from a flood."

"Sorry for your loss," muttered the Kid.

"Well, the good Lord don't send us adversities we can't rise to.  He left me with Gnat."  The noise of footfalls and clattering resonated from upstairs.  "He's a force of nature."  An older version of Gnat's laugh erupted, heightening the family resemblance.

Gibbs suddenly turned serious.  "Your knuckles are bruised.  From what I hear there was a bar fight two nights ago.  I don't like brawlers."

Heyes paused and levelled serious brown eyes on his host...  "Mr. Gibbs, we were new in town.  Enjoying a quiet drink and looking for work.  A fight broke out, we kept out of it until we saw it was three against one.  Well that didn't seem fair to us, so we just evened up the number and made it a fair fight.  We broke it up."

Gnat appeared in a tornado of helpfulness.  "Here's your medicine, Grandpa.  You need a quilt or somethin'?"

Both Heyes and the Kid smiled indulgently.  The enthusiasm and the grin were infectious and they helped themselves to the proffered coffee.

oooOOooo

Gnat was in his element as he showed the men around, showing them every nook and cranny.  He chattered incessantly and even dragged them into the barn to introduce his new chums to a mangy looking heavily pregnant barn cat.  "This is Bathsheba.  Best mouser in the county!  She looks after the mice and I tackle the crows.  We're a team."  The cat rolled over, presenting her tummy for a rub and Gnat happily obliged.

Over the next couple of weeks Gnat was true to his nickname, constantly hovering around the boys as they worked.  His continual babble forming a background hum.

Where ever the men went their friendly, noisome little shadow followed, asking questions, sharing stories, pointing things out.

"Have you ever been to India?  I read a book and it says it's on the other side of the world...  I'm gonna go there when I grow up... The book talks about jewels as big as a babies head and snakes as long as a boat!  My teacher says she is gonna get me a map of the world...  Can you imagine that?  A map of the whole world!  I haven't even been to Denver and I hear that is gigantic!  I can show you where the snakes are here if you like.  They're not as big as a boat, but still beautiful.  They spooked my pony once, but we was faster and got away..."

And so it continued.  The Kid laughed at his cousin who was crumbling under the onslaught.  "Gnat is just the wrong side of friendly.  He's alright Heyes.  You need to let it wash over you."  Heyes glared at Kid, almost unable to believe that an infamous gunslinger was telling him to loosen up.

oooOOooo

A good meal had been had, and sipping whiskey they chatted companionably.  The smell of good cigars hung in the air.  Gibbs stretched his legs out in front of him, happy to have had the splint removed.

"Well boys, you did a swell job.  You'll find a small bonus in your packet as a thanks."

"That's real nice of you, Mr. Gibbs," Heyes raised his glass.

"You'll be more than welcome if you want to swing by here in the future."  More thanks were drunk, and the glasses refiled.  "I know Gnat will miss you both."

"He's a good boy," the Kid smiled.

"He definitely is.  I know he can be aggravatin' but that is 'cos he's a dreamer.  His father was a dreamer too, but he was a good hard worker, loyal and honest.  A good man."

"And Gnat's Mother?"  The Kid gently murmured.

"Oh, she was an angel.  She had this way with animals.  She could calm them with a whisper.  She loved my son and he loved her right back.  They made a good team."  Silence descended, punctuated only by the ticking of a clock.  "She was taken too soon.  Child-bed fever.  Still, at least they're together again.  Gnat's got the best of both in him."

After a while Heyes leaned in, "We only know him as Gnat.  What's his real name?"

"Ah, well, his mother was a parson's daughter.  Loved the bible, loved the bible names.  His given name is Jedidiah."

oooOOooo

Two days later the boys made their way west after saying their goodbyes.  Gnat had trailed along after them for a while, making them promise to visit, and if possible send him a map of the world when they reached a metropolis.  Heyes eventualy broke the silence.  "You ever thought about it Jed?   Settling down, marriage, family?"

"Well, the way I reckon it Heyes, is that we are going all out for this amnesty deal, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if we are putting all this effort into bein' respectable then that is part of the deal.  Marriage, family and so forth.  After all, that's what respectable folks do."

"True..." mused Heyes as the boys lapsed back into contemplative silence.

"Heyes..."

"What?"

"Let's make sure we get that amnesty."

An oldie but a goodie.  Too focused on other things to write a new story though I'm sure it will be new to some of you. 





  Heyes left the main road into town and was flying at a full gallop across open country. Karma was feeling her oats and wanted to run so as soon as Heyes and turned her head towards freedom she had let loose with a small squeal of pleasure, gave Heyes a little buck just for the fun of it and then lit out full speed ahead for parts wherever.

  After three years of riding this mare Heyes had never gotten over the thrill of her full out gallop. He was relieved that Kid hadn’t pressed coming with him as he had really felt the need of some time alone—a telegram to Harry being just a convenient excuse. Now all the restlessness and worry that had been building up inside of him just slipped away and he laughed into the full force of the wind.


   Karma heard him laugh, and snorting herself, she flung her head in response. She loved it when her human let her go like this, just the two of them flying over the countryside together. Not to misunderstand her, she had become quite fond of Buck over the years and many a time it was his steadying presence that had helped to calm her nerves when unexpected things happened and they did seem to happen a lot in this new life of hers. But there were times when she found his patient understanding towards her and to all things around him just downright boring. Both man and horse had been in need of an adrenaline rush.

   Eventually, as Heyes felt Karma start to slow down on her own accord, he settled back into the saddle and slowly brought her down to an easy lope, then a trot and finally to a nice walk. Karma mouthed the bit a couple of times, then set out on a loose rein at a comfortable swinging gait, looking around and taking in the scenery. Heyes had no idea where they were in relationship to the ranch, but that didn’t matter right now. He got his bearings and casually made his way in the general direction of town thinking that he should at least send the telegram, since that was his excuse for leaving the ranch in the first place.

   Heyes was still worried, no doubt about it, but not the pent up stressful worry that had been building in him that morning. He hoped that by coming out here, just him and Karma that he could clear his mind and perhaps settle some of the nagging questions that had been taking hold.

   Watching Kid that first day with the Jordan’s when he was holding their new son had affected Heyes more than he had realized at the time. It had re-arisen in him some of the doubts that had settled onto him soon after they had applied for the amnesty. Until now he had just pushed back out of the way and hoped they would simply disappear. No such luck.

   That big question of what they were going to do with their lives if and when the amnesty came through still lingered. On the rare occasions when the subject would come up between them Curry would just laugh about it and proceed to list off a series of the most ridiculous and unlikely professions that two single men in their mid-thirty’s would ever consider doing.

   But Heyes knew, first and foremost, that Curry wanted a family. He wanted to put down roots, have a home and a life he could call his own, and coming to visit the Jordan’s had brought that yearning to the surface again. Over the last few days Kid had snatched moments here and there to help with the care of J.J., assisting whoever with the bathing and the dressing. Playing with him when he was awake and rocking him to sleep when playtime was over. And always, he looked happy doing it, content even, and Heyes would worry.

  Heyes didn’t think he could settle into that kind of life. He was hopeful, that one day he would find a woman who could put up with him well enough to consent to marry him. But children? A family life? He wasn’t so sure about that. He was consumed by a restlessness that he could not understand. Oh, he grew tired of the fugitive life for sure, always sleeping with one eye open, never knowing when a peaceful morning was going to blow up in his face, but two or three days in one place and he needed to get going again.


  The only thing that seemed to calm him enough to stay put for a longer period was a good book or a good poker game because then his mind was kept busy. Sometimes he felt it was his mind that was his biggest enemy. Sure his ego loved it when he could out maneuver a posse or effortlessly rule over a poker game just for the fun of it. His flashes of genius that would dazzle everyone around him into awed submission were like candy to his psyche. It was like an addiction that he needed to keep feeding in order to feel alive, to feel that he was actually worth something. Without his incredible mind he was no different from any other worn out ex-outlaw with nothing to show and nothing to offer.

  But he couldn’t turn the damn thing off! Constant impulses of information bombarding his senses, twisting and turning into schemes and plans and what if’s and why not’s. He’d learned how to settle his mind down to some degree at night so that usually he could at least sleep, but even that wasn’t a guarantee. How did Kid do it? Even in the middle of the day he could stretch out anywhere, pull his hat over his eyes and be asleep in minutes! And there would be Heyes up and pacing. Pace, pace pace. It drove Heyes nuts.

  It seemed that the only way he could relax at all was to keep moving or to keep his mind focused and calculating on something. So far, Kid had been happy to just follow along whenever Heyes got restless and had to hit the trail again, but what if Kid got married and settled down? Would that be the end of their partnership, their friendship? Heyes’ throat involuntarily tightened at the thought. Could he go on? Could he face a life without Jed by his side? He needed Jed’s calming influence, his quiet down to earth common sense, just as Karma had come to depend on Buck’s steadying support in times of stress.

  The possibility of Curry moving into another life, a life that Heyes could not emulate scared him more than death itself. So he simply chose not to think about it. Until they were sitting around the lunch table with the Jordan’s and Curry was sitting there holding a infant in his arms with a smile on his face that lit up the room.


  Heyes was stressing himself out again. No questions answered, no doubts relieved. So again, he pushed these thoughts out of his mind and decided to just enjoy his day out with his favorite girl. He pushed Karma up into an easy lope as they headed towards the town. Maybe he’d even be able to find a poker game.

Spoiler alert - This is from a chapter in my story Two Sheepskins and a Star which is the last (thus far) in a cycle: Not Again!, Hannibal Heyes Goes to New York, Two Degrees of Separation, and Two Degrees of Separation, Part II. Much has happened in the eight years since Curry and Heyes went straight.


Hannibal Heyes sat in a leather covered armchair across from the new warden’s desk at the Wyoming State Penitentiary. “Thank you for the tour, Warden Miller. You’ve made some good changes since my partner and I were here.”

The portly warden’s smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Heyes. I hope we’re on the right path, thanks to the testimony from you and Mr. Curry.”

Heyes nodded, trying to look casual and professional though his neck was sweating under his collar and tie in the summer heat. He had a hard time relaxing in a prison. “But I have some questions.”

The warden looked expectantly at the famous former inmate. “I’ll be happy to fill you in.”

“There was a youngster here when I was in – a fourteen-year-old boy named Mosley. I haven’t seen him today. How is he? He seemed like a bright boy who could do better than picking pockets if he got some guidance. In fact, he was teaching me things when he’d been inside only a few days more than I had.”

Heyes thought he saw a smile quickly hidden behind the warden’s ample mustache. “Before we get to that, what are your other questions?”

The former safe cracker didn’t conceal his annoyance. “Why did I have to come here? The deputy in Rawlins said they had a letter ordering me to report to the Penitentiary. I’m glad to see the reforms you’ve made, but being seen going to a prison could harm my chances to get a faculty post. What’s this about?”

The warden said solicitously, “I’m sorry the sheriff gave you that impression, Mr. Heyes. We had no intention of putting any pressure on you. Quite the contrary.”

The visiting former outlaw’s eyebrows rose. Why did the law care to stay on the good side of Hannibal Heyes? What favor did they want?

“On the subject of Marvin Mosley, I concur - the boy has promise,” said the Warden. “Indeed, he’s been released.”

Heyes grinned. “Released? That’s great! I hope he’ll get the chance to make something better of himself – but he’ll need help. He’s still a boy, and a head-strong one.”

“Yes, he needs better guidance than he’s had,” agreed the warden. His voice turned serious. “But he doesn’t have an upright family. No one knows who his father is. And his mother - we can’t even find her at the moment. I don’t think she’d be much of a help even if we did manage to locate her. She is, well, a prostitute. And an alcohol-addicted one at that. Not a good influence on the boy.”

“No,” said Heyes sadly. “So where is Mosley now?”

“In a home for troubled boys here in Laramie.”

“A home for waywards?” Heyes leapt furiously from his seat. “Jed Curry and I went wrong in a place like that!”

Warden Miller put up his hand. “Calm down, Mr. Heyes. This isn’t like the home that neglected you and Mr. Curry. The state keeps careful watch. Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland take good care of them.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it!” said the ex-inmate hotly, still standing with his eyes blazing. “An institution is no place for a boy – especially not one like Mosley.”

The warden watched the man opposite his desk closely as he replied. “He’s in a good place, but I agree that a boy needs a proper home and family. Especially a smart, but undisciplined boy like Marvin Mosley. And the Laramie Home for Boys won’t take on any boy past the age of fifteen. Marvin’s fifteenth birthday is coming up soon - on October 15^th.”

“So where will he go then?” asked Heyes anxiously, now sitting down, but still on the edge of his chair
.
A line of tension appeared on the warden’s brow. “We need to find a responsible family to give him guidance and a good education. We’re working on it.”

The aspiring academic said in worried, “I’m glad to hear it, but I’ll be a sight gladder when I know where he’ll be. He needs guidance but also freedom, or he’ll just break loose again. I understand how that is. I’ve been there.”

“I imagine you have,” murmured the warden, looking down at some papers on his desk. “We’ll, that’s our concern. As to why we asked you . . .”

“Your concern? A prison? Do you really think you’re qualified to know what a spirited boy like that needs?” asked the former inmate fervently, reaching across the desk.

A light flashed in the warden’s eyes as he locked gazes with Heyes. “And you do know? A notorious outlaw, only recently released from prison? Who hasn’t had any parents since he was nine and who’s never raised a child? How would you know? And what concern of yours is Marvin Mosley anyway?”

“I worked beside him. I was put in solitary confinement on bread and water because I stopped a guard from beating him. I’m making Mosley my concern!” exclaimed Heyes, leaning forward in his chair.


“Have you ever cared for a teen-aged boy,” the warden’s voice was hard, “outside of a criminal gang?”

Heyes sounded chastened. “I know heading a criminal gang doesn’t sound like good experience, but I gave those guys rules. A lot of them were real young. I started at fifteen, myself. At the Devil’s Hole I made the rules clear and enforced them. I taught a fair number of the guys to read, write and do some math. I even told some of them to leave and make an honest living. None of them ever came back. I hope I understand better now what young guys need than I did back before I went straight. After all, I’ve been trained to teach college – including boys in their teens. I won an award for teaching.”

Warden Miller sat back in his chair. A sigh escaped him. “Very well. We are searching for a proper
guardian for Marvin Mosley. We asked him if he knew of any adult whom he would trust - whom he would respect and obey. He could think of only one such adult.”

“And who was that?” asked Heyes.

“You.”

Heyes sat in stunned silence. Finally he breathed, “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Heyes said softly, “But we were together for just a couple of hours before they hauled me off in irons.”

“Yet I understand you had quite a talk,” noted the warden.

The ex-con nodded. “About three words at a time, under cover of the washing machine noise, so the guards wouldn’t beat us into silence. It was Mosley who taught me how to do that. But he couldn’t keep it up – he got too enthusiastic and let the guards hear him talking.”

Miller’s voice was low, but firm, not letting the man before him off the hook. “And in those brief phrases, he learned enough to admire you.”

Heyes snorted. “Only because I’m famous. He doesn’t know me, and I don’t know him. Not really.”

The warden commented critically, “Mr. Heyes, you’re backing off mighty rapidly from a boy you were breathing fire for a moment ago. Do you care or don’t you?”

Heyes couldn’t let that stand. “Of course I care! But he needs a stable home with plenty of space and enough money to get him food and clothes and all the stuff a boy needs. My wife and I live in a tiny apartment in New York City, barely scraping by. It’s no place for a boy. I’m ashamed to say it, but we live mostly on my wife’s income. I don’t have a regular job yet. I’m doing some part-time bookkeeping and looking for a position as a professor of mathematics. We want to have children of our own. There’s no way we can take him on. I can’t ask that of Beth – my wife. I have to say no.”

The warden said crisply, gathering up some papers on his desk and putting them aside, “Very well. We’ll find someone else. Thank you for caring even a little. Of course I don’t want to endanger your own rehabilitation by burdening you with that of another person.”

Heyes slumped in his chair. He sat silently for a moment. “Um, Warden, what else was it you wanted to see me about? That was so important that you sent letters to all the sheriffs in Wyoming?”

“We just discussed it, Mr. Heyes. Mr. Mosley’s future is that important to us, but if you can’t help . . .”

Heyes swallowed. “Warden Miller, can you wait until I ask my wife about it?”

The warden’s face lit up with hope. “Certainly, Mr. Heyes. But you were saying it wasn’t possible.”

Heyes nodded, biting his lip as he tried to figure this out. “All the problems are true. But if I can get a post as a professor, maybe out west, even in Wyoming, maybe we can do it. Or if I can get any honest job that would pay better than what I have. Beth – my wife – she needs to agree, of course. Could you give us any financial help? We have a lot of debts.”

The Warden looked thoughtful. “We might be able to manage a small allowance to help you at first, to get you started. Not much, but something.”

“How long do you want us to take Mosley? Until he turns eighteen?”

“Yes. And, of course, young men often need guidance after that.”

Heyes smiled, thinking of himself. “Of course. Are you looking for someone to formally adopt Mosley?”

The warden explained, patiently, “No – just to foster him. Now, if a husband and wife proved to be good guardians and decided to adopt him, and he was amenable, then the state would not stand in the way. But right now, he just needs a home and a family he can count on.”

The warden could see Heyes thinking about this as he said, “I see. I – Beth and I – we could try that.”

Warden Miller looked at the infamous former criminal in front of him with genuine concern in his warm brown eyes. “Mr. Heyes, I know this is asking a great deal when you and your wife are struggling. I don’t want to pressure you to do something you don’t want to do.”

Heyes replied, talking himself into something he could hardly have envisioned when he had walked through the prison doors earlier that morning. “I do want to do it. I’m telling deans that I want to educate western boys, to help my native part of the county. I mean it. Mosley is just the type of boy I hope I can help. He might listen to me when he’d ignore somebody who’s never faced the kinds of troubles he’s known. No two people are alike, I understand that. I’d to listen to him – not assume I know what’s in his head. But I was an orphan, like he almost is. After I lost my family, I said I didn’t want another family. But I think another family, the right family, if they’d come along in time, might have saved me. Maybe it’s the same for him. It’ll be hard for Mosely to trust another family. But if he’s willing to try, if he trusts me, and my wife, then just maybe. And Beth – she’s an orphan, too, you know – she wants children. And she loves me, with all my faults. I think she might say yes. If I can just get that job.”

The warden smiled cautiously as he extended his hand. “Mr. Heyes, thank you. This is something we can’t order you and Mrs. Heyes to do. Young Mosley said you’d come through, if I asked you the right way. I’m glad he was right. If you and your wife will consider it, that’s all I can ask.”

Heyes’ eyes looked distant as he thought ahead. “I’ll call my wife tonight.”

“Would you like to go and visit Marvin now?” volunteered Warden Miller.

“No. Not yet.”

The warden was surprised. “Why not?”

“When I see him, I have to be totally certain. If I’m not sure, he’ll pick up on that immediately. I’m a pretty decent conman – I guess you know that. But I can’t con that boy. I have to be completely honest with him. He’ll understand why I need to wait until I have a job – that’s a practical thing. But if I’m not totally committed, if I’m not sure of the woman who would a mother to him – that would destroy his trust.”

“I see. I’m glad you want to start honestly and go on that way. You’re right. God bless you, Mr. Heyes.”

 “I think you might have a little conman in you, too, Warden Miller. I know what Mosley meant by how you asked me. It had to look like it was my own decision. I’m as independent as he is. I’ll keep it in mind next time you try to convince me of something.” Heyes winked at the warden. “I’d better go – I’ve got things to do before that interview on Monday morning. There’s even more hanging on it now.”

In New York, Beth Heyes was putting on her apron, preparing to fix herself and lonely dinner, when she heard a knock on her apartment door. Through the door she heard her landlady call, “Mrs. Heyes, there’s a telephone call for you!”

Beth opened the door. “Mrs. Westmoreland, thank you. I’m so sorry you’ve been bothered by us once again.”

The kindly landlady said, “It’s no trouble. Your husband is on the phone. He sounds concerned.”


The two women hurried down the stairs. As had become their custom, Mrs. Westmoreland withdrew to her bedroom to give Beth privacy. “Heyes? What is it?” Beth said loudly into the mouth piece on Mrs. Westmoreland’s parlor table.

“Beth? How are you?” came Heyes’ voice, distorted by the primitive telephone.

“I’m fine, Heyes. How are you? Where are you?”

“I’m at the hotel in Laramie. I’ve got something to ask you.”

“What’s that, dear?”

“Beth, do you remember I told you about that boy I met in prison? Mosley?”

“Yes, I remember. He was in for picking pockets.”

“Yes. His first name is Marvin.”

“Marvin Mosley. An alliterative name like yours. That’s nice, but why did you call?”

“Um, Beth, they freed Mosely, but they put him in a home for wayward boys.”

“Oh, dear! That doesn’t sound like what he needs.”

“It isn’t. He needs a real home. And the place will throw him out when he turns 15.”

“When is that?” Beth was already worrying and calculating.

“October 15^th – just three months away. They need to find a home for him. He never knew his father and they can’t find his mother. She isn’t a fit mother anyhow.”

“I see.”

“He said I’m the only one he trusts.”

“That makes sense, Heyes. You stood up to the guards and didn’t let them beat him. Maybe nobody ever stood up for him before. It must have meant a lot to him, for Hannibal Heyes to care that much.”

There was a long pause.

“Heyes, darling, you don’t have to be afraid to ask me. I understand. You want to take in Marvin Mosley.”

“Yes, I do. I keep telling deans and governors I want to help western boys who need teaching and guidance, and who might listen to me when they wouldn’t listen to someone from a privileged background. He’s just that kind of a boy. He’s very bright. I think he’s a good kid – just wild. Like I was. Would you think about it?”

“Do you think he really wants to try to do better? To go straight – like you did?
”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him. It could be hard for him. He’s used to being independent.”

“Like you were at that age.”

“Yes. Except he doesn’t have a cousin or anyone.”

“He needs parents.”

“Guardians. We wouldn’t have to adopt him.”

“Heyes, did you promise that we would take him?”

“No, honey. I said to the warden that I want to, if I can get a job, but only if you agree. I won’t go to see Mosley until you tell me how you feel. I don’t want to be someone else he can’t trust.”

“I understand, Heyes, darling. You know I want to be a mother.”

“But we want our own babies. A fifteen-year-old pickpocket isn’t what you signed on for.”

“Is a fifteen-year-old pickpocket that much worse than a thirty-two-year-old bank robber like you were when we met? Or the Devil’s Hole boys you taught to read and write?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only spent a couple of hours with him.”

“Enough to think you might want to love him for the rest of your life?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Heyes’ voice. “I guess I’m a sucker for people who trust me.”

Beth took a deep breath. “If you want to be a father to this boy, then I want to be his mother.”

“I love you, Elizabeth Heyes.” Beth heard a catch in her husband’s voice.

“I love you. I’m sure I’ll love Marvin, too.”

“He might not think he wants to be loved, Beth.”

“He’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, he will. Gosh, how I love you. Good-night.”

“Good-night, Heyes.” Beth Heyes hung up the phone and collapsed onto a blue velvet-covered love seat.

She took a deep breath and let it out. “What are we doing, Heyes?” she asked the empty air. Getting no answer, she went on, “Well, as long as we do it together.”

Heyes and Warden Miller rode to the Laramie Home for Boys early the next morning in a wagon with “Wyoming State Pen” stenciled on the side of it. “I’m sorry you have to be seen with those words,” said the warden.

“I just don’t want Mosley to be afraid of being hauled back to the Pen,” said Heyes.

“You’re already thinking like a father,” said Miller encouragingly.

The wagon pulled up on in front of big, rambling house on the edge of town. Heyes paused a moment before he knocked on the door. He could hear young voices on the other side. “You don’t really know Hannibal Heyes. That’s not him in the wagon.”

“I do so know him. That is him. We were in the Pen together. He told me all about the Devil’s Hole bunch.”

“Mr. Cleveland, Marvin’s lying!”

“Don’t call me that!”

The argument sounded very familiar to a boy named Hannibal. He knocked on the door. A lean man in a dusty suit opened the door. His blue eyes inspected the man before him. He asked warily, “Are you Hannibal Heyes?”

Heyes answered self-consciously, feeling the curious gazes of three boys on him. “Yes, sir. I’ve come to talk to Marvin Mosley. Are you Mr. Cleveland?”

“Yes. I run this place. Come in, please, Mr. Heyes, Warden.”

“Thank you,” said Heyes.

Heyes smiled at the dark, slender boy who was watching him. “How are you, Mosley?”

“Not so bad, Heyes,” said the dark little fourteen-year-old with a confident swagger. He glanced at the other boys, making sure they were impressed. Judging from their enormous eyes, they were.

“That’s Mr. Heyes,” said the famous man firmly, with a commanding gaze to match his voice, “If you want my wife and me to take you in, you’ll treat us with respect, please.”

Mosley’s eyes widened. He said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Heyes. And um, I’d like to introduce Clarence Peters and Jeb Harrison.” The manners sounded stiff and new, but the young jail bird was trying.

Heyes shook the hands of the two boys, who stood in silent awe. “I’m glad to meet you Clarence, Jeb. But may Mr. Mosley and I please talk privately?” asked Heyes.

“Of course,” said Mr. Cleveland. “The other boys and I can show the warden our garden and our barn.”

Soon Heyes and Mosley had the parlor to themselves. They sat side by side on a worn divan. Marvin whispered, “I didn’t think you’d really come. That you’d want me.”

“I do. But do you really want me? Are you sure you want to go straight? Really straight? To be a part of a family instead of going your own way like you have?”

Mosely stared at Heyes silently. Finally, he said, “Yeah,” but it sounded more like a question than an answer. Heyes hadn’t yet won his full trust, no matter what the boy had told the warden.

“What do you want to know about Mrs. Heyes and me and our home, before you decide?”

“Mrs. Heyes? You said you didn’t have a wife.” Mosley looked suspiciously at the man he had met in prison.

“I didn’t, then. Elizabeth Warren – my tutor – married me after the Kid and I got out.”

Heyes could see surprise in Mosley’s young face. The boy said, “Oh. Would I get to meet the Kid? Mr. Curry, I mean?”

The former outlaw watched his potential ward closely, “Sure. He’s my cousin – but how often I see him is gonna depend on where I wind up working.”

“Could I have a horse?”

Heyes chuckled. “A horse? What would you do with a horse in New York City? – even if we could afford one.”

“New York City? I thought you lived in Colorado.”

“No, my partner does. Beth and I rent a tiny apartment in Manhattan. We’re poor. I haven’t been able to find a good job since I got out of prison. People don’t trust an ex-outlaw.”

“I do,” said Mosley. “I mean – I’m one, too.”

“Thanks,” Heyes gave the boy a warm smile. “A lot of folks won’t hire me, being who I am. So my wife supports us, mostly. I’m trying to get a better job – maybe teaching college. It’ll be a while before I know if I’ve got the post here in Wyoming, or any of the other jobs I’m trying for. So I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a while.”

This was a lot for Mosley to take in. His mouth made a surprised “o.” “Wow! You must be really smart.”

“I am. I think you are, too. You just have to learn to use it right. I hope that will be easier for you than it was for me.”

Mosley stared at Heyes in wonder. “You’d really take me in? Truly?”

“We will if that’s what you want. I can’t take you now, but I can come back when I have a good job.”

“Would you really come back for me, in October?”

“Sooner, if I can. Until then, I’ll write to you.”

Mosley studied the wooden floor. “I don’t read and write so good.”

“I’m glad you’re being honest with me – like I am with you. Are you working hard in school?”

“I will.” Marvin spoke very softly, but Heyes heard fresh conviction in those two words.

Heyes smiled warmly. “You be sure to do that. Mrs. Heyes and I like to teach students who work hard.”

“You do?” Mosley looked up with bright eyes. “Even pickpockets?”

“Even pickpockets. I was a bank robber, after all. She taught me to write again after a bounty hunter shot me in the head. For a while I couldn’t even talk. I was hard to teach. Beth can teach you, easy. Easily. See – I still have to work at speaking correctly. We can help you, like she helped me.”

Mosley paused. “My Ma’s gone. I never had a Pa.”

Heyes’ voice sounded hoarse, “You do now.”

HW

Chili Con Carnage


Appraising brown eyes smiled at the bleary-eyed gunman.  “Sleep well?”


“Ya know I didn’t,” the Kid dropped into a chair.  “Is there any coffee?”


“Yeah, in the pot.”  


A grimace flickered over the fair man’s face.  “I guess I’ll make some more.”


“I just told you there was some in the pot.”


“Yeah, but that means you made it, considerin’ there’s nobody else here. “  The Kid hauled himself to his feet.  “I’ve had a bad night, I ain’t gonna make it a bad start to the day too.  Who was caterwaulin’ at the top of his voice like that?  I’ll kill him.”


“I think that was our employer’s son.  He’s got a liking for songs about girls from Nantucket.”  


“Yeah, but only ones of ‘great renown.’  Those words are burned into my memory after hearing them over and over,” the Kid lifted the pot, “and over.  What’s so special about Nantucket anyway?”    

“Probably good as Bristol City for rhyming; judging by the amount of mentions that got too.  He used to be a sailor, so he likes his songs salty.”  Heyes smiled as the contents of the coffee pot were tipped away.   “Mrs. Malone made the coffee.”


Pained blue eyes hooked his partner.  “Why didn’t you tell me before I poured it away?”


“Because you were rude about my coffee again.  I thought you could wait,” Heyes tossed back the rest of his drink, “but I’ll have some if you’re making it.”


“How come you’re so bright anyway?  You must have heard it too.”


“I don’t need as much sleep as you,” Heyes retorted with an irritating grin.  “I do my best thinking at night.”


“Yeah?  I did some pretty good thinking myself, and if I see that idiot before I get some rest I’ll be tempted to follow through on it.”


“Mrs. Malone doesn’t seem to have much control of her son,” Heyes reflected.


“It’s gotta be hard for an older woman to stand up to a sailor returned from the sea without a man to back her up,” a smile tugged at the gunman’s lips.  “Kinda like a young ‘un runnin’ an outlaw gang without a quick gun.”  Heyes glanced around nervously.  “Relax, nobody’s about.  There sure were some fun times back then.  Runnin’ the Hole could be like baptizin’ cats at times.  Bringin’ up children has got to be easier.”


“I dunno,” Heyes swung pensively back on his chair.  “Remember Lazarus?”


Blue eyes danced with memories.  “Do I?  A one-legged cook?  What were you thinkin’?”


“He came recommended and needed a job,” Heyes shrugged, “and we needed a cook real bad.”


“Yeah, well real bad is just what we got.  I remember the day we met him.  What was the name of that town?  Ah, yes.  Trickle...”


Heyes shook his head.  “Nah, that was the name of the sheriff.  Walter Trickle.  He was pretty useless.  That’s why we went there to kick back.  The town was called Crumbling Butte.”


“Yeah, how could I forget that?  We were in the bar weren’t we...?”


Five Years Earlier


“Heyes?  I met up with an ole pal.  I thought you’d like ta meet him.”  


Hannibal Heyes looked up at the twinkling, puppy-dog eyes and joyful jowls of his explosives man.  “Ya did, Kyle?”


“Yeah, you’ll like him.  Well, what’s left of him, anyways.”


“Huh?”  Heyes turned, his interest piqued.  “Left of him?”


“Yeah, he was an explosives man in the war, then he rode with a few outfits.  I met him when I was in the Carter gang out Utah way.”  Kyle turned and whistled through uneven teeth.  “Hey, Lazarus.  Git over here!”


The Kid grinned.  “Lazarus?”  


They all turned to observe the remains of the man who stomped up to them on a wooden leg; which from the fluted gouges and rich turns had obviously been retrieved from a good piece of furniture.  He raised  a right arm which ended in a hook.  “Howdy, fellas.”


“Lazarus?”  Heyes repeated.


“The real name’s plain old Bob.  Bob Terry.  I get called Lazarus on account of risin’ from the dead after an explosion; well most of me, anyways.”  He waved his right arm.  “It took my leg and my arm, but I survived.”


The outlaw leader nodded sympathetically towards the eye patch over his right eye.  “And that too?”


“No.  That was an itch.”


“Some kind of infection?” queried the Kid.


“Nah,” the right arm was raised again.  “It was my first day with the hook.”


There was a brief silence before laughter drifted through the tobacco smoke clouding the bar.  “We’s lookin’ for a cook, Heyes and Lazarus is great at it.  It’s what he’s been doin’ since he lost them bits.  He’s the best one-legged cook in the whole territory.  Real trustworthy too.  He’s never seen a law he wouldn’t break.  How about it?”


Heyes swung back on his chair.  “Why’d you leave your last outfit?”


“I didn’t.  Most of ‘em left me.”  The mobile features arranged themselves into a grin which revealed that many of his teeth were also casualties of a life of hard knocks.  “They got caught; and them that didn’t has gone south.  ‘Tweren’t my cookin’ that’s for sure.”


Heyes nodded.  “And before them?”


“The Thompsons,” Lazarus shrugged.  “I might have helped them get caught.  They ate an awful lot of boggy-top and biscuits.  That mighta slowed ‘em down a bit.”


The Kid settled back in his chair.  “You just cook?  You even done any outlawin’?”


“Sure have.  I used to be a dynamite man,” Lazarus shuffled on his Sheraton style prosthetic.  “I didn’t get this lot from choppin’ too fast, did I?  I had to learn a new skill.  I make the best chili this side of the Pecos.”


Heyes glanced at his cousin for a second opinion, but the warmth in the twinkling blue glint already confirmed his own thoughts.  “You got yourself a chance, Lazarus.  Wheat’s over at the store getting supplies.  Go and see if you want to add anything to the order.”


Kyle backslapped his old friend, ducking quickly to avoid a hooked return.  “C’mon, Lazarus.  Let’s git goin’.  Welcome to the Devil’s Hole Gang.  I can’t wait ta sink my teeth into your huckdummies again.  There ain’t nobody cooks ‘em like you.”


oooOOOooo


The Kid sat on the porch of the leader’s cabin, swinging back on his chair.  Life was dreary at the hole in the winter because it was too easy to follow tracks in the snow and a horse could stumble on ice.  It wasn’t worth the risk, so they stayed close to home and bided their time.  Things could get rambunctious as the boys got more and more bored, but life was surprisingly smooth at the moment.   Lazarus was a great cook; the gang would play poker in the evenings after a day of odd jobs.  They seemed to sleep late and live quietly for the moment.  So far so good, but it was only early January.  Men forced together in close proximity would soon get on each other’s nerves.  


Sharp blue eyes scanned the men heading out to relieve the guards, but there was something in the way they wove towards the end of the valley which made the gunman stand.  “Heyes!  Git out here.”


“What is it?”


The Kid nodded towards the relief guards.  “Trouble.”


The brown eyes narrowed.  “Huh?  At this time in the morning?”


“Looks like it.”


The outlaw leader strode decisively from the porch and headed straight for Kyle and Wheat closely followed by his cousin.  “Hi.”  


Kyle stopped and spread his hands in question.  “Are you angry at me, Kid?”


“Why should I be angry at you, Kyle?”


The rumpled outlaw drew aimless circles with his toe.  “No reason, Kid.  Just wondered is all.”    


The partners exchanged a glance before Heyes spoke again.  “How are you two feeling this morning?”


“I’m good,” Wheat twitched his moustache before wiping his nose on his sleeve.  “We’re just going to relieve the watch.”


Heyes frowned, noting the glazed eyes and slurred speech.  “Do you think you’re fit for it?”


“Sure, we’s dressed real warm,” Kyle grinned and patted his chest.  


“That ain’t what we’re talkin’ about,” the Kid cut in.


“Something’s not right.”  Heyes walked over to Wheat and sniffed before doing the same to Kyle.  He grimaced and tuned back to his partner.  “I think it could be due to alcohol.”


Kyle guffawed and punched his leader lightly on the shoulder.  “That’s alright, Heyes.   I’ll come back when you’re sober.”  


“No, Kyle.  You!”  Heyes turned and glared at Wheat.  “And you.  You’re swaying from side to side.  How many of me do you see?”


“There are always too many, that’s for damn sure,” Wheat muttered.  “I’m fine.”


“No you ain’t,” the Kid snapped.  “I saw you winding your way from the bunkhouse like a horse on ryegrass.  Where’d you get it?”


“Get what?”  Kyle’s’ contrived innocence only served to underscore his guilt.  “We ain’t done nothin’”


“Nothing?” Heyes barked.  “You’re completely roostered!  How can you guard the place like that?”


“I’m fine, Heyes,” the sun caught the beads of perspiration on Wheat’s ruddy face.                              


“You know I allow one bottle of whiskey a day for the bunkhouse because we can’t afford to be caught drunk,” Heyes barked.  “Unless you two necked it between you there’s been more booze around than I allow.  What’s going on?”


“It ain’t no more than prairie dew,” Kyle protested.  “It’s just somethin’ Lazarus cooked up from old ‘taters.”  


“Potatoes?” the Kid demanded.  


“Yeah,” Wheat nodded.  “It ain’t whiskey.  It’s just a few vegetables.  What harm can that do?”


“It can get you shot because you’re too drunk to defend the place,” growled the Kid.  “Has everyone been drinkin’ this stuff?”


“Not everyone,” Kyle replied.  “Lazarus ain’t givin’ it away and some is too mean to pay knowin’ that you give us whiskey for free.”  


“Good!  Come with me,” Heyes turned on his heel and headed down towards the bunkhouse.


“We get off with guard duty?” chirped Kyle.


“You ain’t got off with anythin’,” the Kid retorted.  “Once you sober up you’re gonna face the consequences.”


“T’ain’t fair” Wheat protested.  “All we did was drink some ‘tater juice.”


“Yah, got sozzled when you should be on duty,” the Kid glowered.  “You’ll be doing extra shifts to make up for it.”


“And no whiskey for a month!” Heyes added.


“Aw, but...”


“No arguments,” Heyes called over his shoulder.  “I’m beginning to see how Lazarus’ last gang got themselves caught.  I’m going to nip this in the bud.”


“Potatoes ain’t got buds,” snickered Kyle.


“Ya ever heard the sayin’, ‘when you’re in a hole stop diggin’’?” demanded the Kid.  


Wheat and Kyle trotted behind Heyes as he strode towards the cookhouse.  “Yah ever heard the sayin’ ‘sleep with one eye open’?” the larger outlaw muttered.


“Keep talkin’, Wheat,” growled the Kid, “you ain’t exactly burned your bridges, but you’re sure loosenin’ the bolts.”    



oooOOOooo


Lazarus plunged his hook into the barrel and pulled out the joint of brined beef.  He slapped it onto the table and lifted the knife in his left hand.  Heyes paused at the door to the cookhouse.  “Hi, Lazarus.  Got a minute?”


One grey eye fixed on the speaker.  “For you, Boss?  Always.”


“Good,” Heyes strolled in glancing around the building.  “I’ve come to see you about your moonshine.”


The knife was thrown into the table with a ‘tduff’ before it waved back and forth like a menacing metronome.  “Moonshine?”


The dark eyes never left the cook’s face.  “Yeah.  The gut warmer you’ve been making from potatoes.”  Heyes folded his arms.  “I’ve just found two men drunk on their turn on watch.  I can’t have that, Lazarus.  In fact, let me be clearer; I won’t have it. ”


“I didn’t mean no harm by it.  I just like to keep folks happy.  What’s wrong with celebratin’ Tuesday?  There ain’t nuthin’ else to do around here.”


Lazarus shrugged.  “There’s plenty to do around here.  There’s making sure nobody can surprise us for starters, then there’s general fixing up the place... we don’t have time in summer.”


“Yeah, but men get bored of an evenin’.  I like something full of the strong stuff.  So do they.”


“I’ll fetch Wheat.  He’s about as full of the strong stuff as a man can be and still remain upright.  This place isn’t about what you like.  How come you kept this secret from me?”


“T’weren’t a secret, Boss.  I just thought you might... disapprove.”  


“You knew he’d skin your hide,” growled the Kid from the doorway.  “How much were you sellin’ this stuff for?”


“Two bits a bottle.”


Heyes propped his hands on his hips.  “And how many have you sold?”  He watched the cook’s eyes drop to the floor as he ‘ummed’ and ‘ooh’d’ evasively.  “Out with it!”


“Three or four...”


“Bottles?” the Kid demanded.


Lazarus shook his head.  “Gallons...”


Gallons!?” exclaimed Heyes and Curry in unison.  “How long has this been going on?”


“Not long.  Just a few weeks...”


Heyes raised his hand and rubbed his face, beating down the instinct to smack the grinning cook in the mouth.  “So there are a couple of gallons of hooch somewhere, waiting for you to sell it on?”


“Nope.  I sold it already.”  Lazarus widened his one good eye innocently.  “I’m makin’ a new batch now.”


“Stay where you are.   Kid, come with me.  We got gallons of gut warmer to find before the boys neck it.”


oooOOOooo


Wheat rolled off his bunk with a snarl.  “This ain’t fair.  First yah send me back to the bunk house. Then you hunt me out of bed ta look under the mattress?  ‘The man’ says drinkin’s wrong and we all stop it?  ‘The man’ forbids it so we don't do it.  ‘The man’ tells us what to do and we all jump to it!  Is that how it is?  It’s like bein’ in jail.”


Kyle frowned.  “Who are all these fellas?”


“They’re me!” barked Heyes, rolling back the bedding


Kyle nodded.  “Is you seein’ double too, Wheat?”  


The Kid rolled his eyes.  “Where’s everyone else?”


Wheat smirked while Kyle suddenly recognized the endlessly fascinating qualities of the ceiling.  “Dunno, Heyes.  They’s all gone out.”


“You know what this means, Heyes,” the Kid snapped closed the trunk he’d just rifled through without finding any contraband.  “They’re out hidin’ the hooch all over the hole!”


Heyes raised his eyes to the heavens and muttered as though in prayer.  “Give me strength.  Dealing with this lot is like trying to tie a knot in fog.  No wonder they call this The Devil’s Hole.  If I died and went to hell it’d take me a week to realize it.  I’m starting to feel sorry for the staff at Valparaiso.  Do you think we were this bad, Kid?”


“Worse,” came the chuckled reply, “but at least we think like the gang.  Criminals ain’t complicated, Heyes.  They’re always workin’ at bein’ either lazy or selfish.  Right now they’re bein’ selfish.  We got hit them with lazy as a reward to get them to work as a team.”


“Yeah?  Well there’s a huge ‘A’ in this team, if you catch my meaning.  I’m going to start by cutting off the source.” Heyes kicked the door back against the wall with a clatter.  “Where does Lazarus keep his still?”    


oooOOOooo


“So where is it, Lazarus?”  Heyes’ eyes glittered dangerously.  “And don’t even try to sell me any stories about there being no permanent set-up.  You don’t turn around that amount of hooch in a day or two.”


Lazarus nodded.  “I put it somewhere folks don’t go very often.”


“Yeah?  Where’s that?” the Kid demanded.

       
“You know the hut at the end o’ the place?”  Lazarus watched his bosses closely.  “The one with all the tools and creosote and fixin’ up stuff...?”


Heyes nodded.  “It’s in there?”  


“Nope.  You go passed there, ain’t nobody goes near the work stuff.”  The cook pegged his way to the door on his wooden leg and pointed outside.  “Ya can’t set up a still inside.  You’ll burn the place down.  It’s real stinky too.  You go passed the buildin’s and down towards the river.”


“The gang go down to the river all the time,” Heyes replied.  “So do we.  Why hasn’t anyone seen anything?”


“Not that way, they don’t,” a grin twitched beneath the eye patch.  “They go the easy way.  Mine is up near the rocks, where the trees get thick.  Ain’t nobody goes there.”


The Kid propped his hands on his hips.  “Show us.”  


They followed the cook across the well-worn paths.  They went passed the bunkhouse, the corrals, the latrines, the barns and the various shacks; then through the long grass which snagged the man’s old table leg.  The Kid kicked out at a snaring shrub.  “There ain’t a path.  How did you get a still down here with your leg?”


Lazarus turned and tapped the side of his nose with a hook.  “Bit by bit.  It don’t come as a machine, you know.  It’s tubes an’ stuff.”


“But still...it’s gonna be hard with just one hand.”


“I gotta hook, Kid.  You stick it all in a bathtub and drag it behind by the handle.  I used my smarts.  I mighta lost lots o’ bits, but I ain’t lost my mind.  Not yet anyways...”


“What about your patience?”  Heyes muttered.  “I’m right out of it.”


“We’re here.”  Lazarus stopped and cast his hook in the direction of a thicket where vapors wafted through the natural cover of foliage.  


Heyes frowned.  “There’s steam?  You have to keep a fire burning?”


“Sure.  It’s perfectly safe.  I’ve been doin’ this for years.  I feed it every two hours.”  Lazarus limped forward.  As they turned the bend the still came into view; a copper and rubber contraction which puffed, chugged and huffed great clouds of billowing steam.  


The cook raised a log to throw it back under the copper, but a yell from Heyes caused him to catch himself.  “I didn’t bring you here to feed the thing.  I want it dismantled!”


The log slipped from Lazarus’ left hand, already caught by the momentum of his attempt to toss it on the fire.  It bounced off the nearest tree and into the galvanized bucket sitting under the dripping tap which collected the dripping, filtered alcohol.  It tipped over, the clear liquid spilling into the fire which sat under the tun containing the potato mash being boiled for the first stage of the distillation.  The fire flashed up in excited fingers of blue flame, licking the grass and the dry winter branches with alcoholic zeal as the cook let out a cry.  “It’s spreadin’ too fast.”  He took off his jacket and started beating out the flames around him, appealing to his bosses for help.  “It ain’t rained.  These things’ll explode if we don’t stop this.”


The Kid nodded and took out his gun, shooting in the air to attract attention.  “They’d better stop hidin’ all that booze and come runnin’!”  


Heyes grabbed the bucket from amongst the flames and kicked it over to the river to cool it down enough to grab it and start throwing buckets of water over the cracking and spluttering grass.  The vicious hiss coming from the cloud of steam turned to an alarming squeal which made everyone pause and stare at it in concern.


“It’s gonna blow!” bellowed Lazarus, turning to run.  “Git outta here!”


Heyes and Curry ran, but the old man’s disability seemed to hit both men at the same time, and they turned on their heels and sprinted back the way they'd come.  Lazarus was a good fifty yards behind then and was stomping towards them, but he wasn’t quick enough.


There was an ear-shattering boom and flashes of blue and yellow flame ripped through the air, lifting the recalcitrant chef off his feet and sending him into the river with an enormous belly flop and the Sheraton style wooden-leg flying through the air in the opposite direction.        

     
The Kid jumped into the water, wading through the thigh-deep flow until he flipped Lazarus right way up.  “Are you hurt?  Speak to me.”


“My leg...,” he moaned.  “My leg....”

                             
Alert blue eyes quickly scanned the remaining limb for injury but found nothing obviously wrong.  “Where?  Tell me.”


“My leg!”


The gunman dragged him ashore where Heyes helped to pull the soggy cook onto the riverbank.  “He says he hurt his leg.”


“It looks fine to me.”  Heyes took the ankle and gingerly manipulated it.  “How does that feel?”


“It feels fine!  I’m talking about my other leg.”


“Your stump?”  the Kid queried.


“No!  My wooden leg.”  Lazarus sat up and blinked his one good eye at them.  “Where’s it gone?”  


“Oh, that!”  Heyes dragged off his hat in frustration.  “I dunno.  “It went flying.  I was more worried about you than some dumb bit of furniture.”


“But it’s got all my money in it.  My life’s savin’s.”


“In your leg?”


“Sure,” Lazarus blinked at them.  “There’s a high criminal element around here.  I ain’t leavin’ it lyin’ around.”  


The Kid turned at the arrival of the gang, here at last to help.  “Where’ve you lot been?  Heyes fired a warnin’ shot ages ago.”


“We ain’t bloodhounds, Kid,” sniffed the Preacher.  We had to find ya first.”  He nodded towards the still burning bushes.  “The fireworks sure helped.”


“Yeah,” Kyle leaned against a nearby tree.  “What you been doing?  Ain’t nobody told ya that fightin’ fire with fire is just an expression?”  He stood upright again, the shifting weight made the tree waver and jiggle.  He jumped back as a heavy object tumbled from the branches above, clunking the half-drowned cook firmly on the noggin.


“I guess Lazarus found his leg,” muttered the Kid.  

   
“Yeah.  That’s the end of your moonshine, boys,” Heyes stood and glared at each of the gang in turn.  “Now get that fire put out and we’ll get Lazarus back to the bunkhouse.  Peacher!  Come with us to check him out...”


oooOOOooo


Five years later – Mrs. Malone’s Guesthouse.      


“Yeah,” Heyes sat back with a smile, “they were a wild gang to manage but they weren’t bad at heart.”


The Kid arched a cynical brow.  “Bad?  They were more crooked than a dog’s hind leg.  Lazarus got his carved leg back, but he only got half his money.”


“And we never did find all those bottles of moonshine,” chuckled Heyes.  “They hid them all over the place; in the rafters of buildings, under bushes, in holes.  I bet there are rabbits bumping their heads on them to this day.”


There were the sounds of voices drifting down from the floor above.


“Sounds like Mrs. Malone’s trying to get the sailor outta bed,” the Kid observed.”


The female voice rose an octave to mezzo soprano.  


“It sounds like he ain’t too pleased at the notion,” Heyes replied.      


There was the clunk of something heavy against a wooden object.  “Sounds like a boot bein’ thrown.”


Heyes nodded, his gaze sliding cautiously over to his cousin.  “Yup.”  Muffled shouting blared through the ceiling, escalating into a cacophony of anger.  “He sure doesn’t like to be wakened, does he?”


“Who does,” growled the Kid with feeling.


The battle continued overhead, still hard to distinguish, with only the music of the words discernible as the volume rose.  There was another whump as the partner of the first projectile was reunited with its partner which provoked a female scream.


“It’s not our fight, Kid,” Heyes warned the twitchy gunman.  “Ya don’t want to get in between family.”


There was a shattering smash which brought the Kid to his feet.  “That’s it,” he declared.  “I’ve had enough.  He kept me awake all night and now he’s throwing things at his Ma.  He needs a lesson, but at least your story told me what I need to do here.”


“It did?” Heyes queried.


“Yeah, I’m gonna rip his leg off and beat him over the head with it.”

Not being a motherly type, my take on the prompt is a little different.



The thunderstorm last night had been fierce, rain pelting down and lightning tearing the sky apart.  But it had finally managed to clear the atmosphere.  This morning the air felt fresh, not oppressive any longer, grass and trees looked newly laundered and a balmy breeze carried smells of grass, wood, moist earth, wildflowers and other less distinct aromas.

 

Hannibal Heyes leaned on the porch railing of the leader’s cabin in Devil’s Hole and enjoyed the morning sun, blue skies and the birdsong accompanied by the droning of insects… This morning was too beautiful to waste.

 

Decision made, he turned around, went back into the cabin and stuck his head into his partner’s room, instantly filling it with his baritone.  “Hey Kid. Are you awake yet?”

 

Some groaning grumble answered from under the blanket-covered lump on the bed, putting an impish smile on the outlaw leader’s face.  “It’s a beautiful morning.  You should really get up,” he boomed happily.

 

This time the blanket mound moved a little and the grumble sounded distinctly annoyed.  The smile only grew wider, bringing forth deep dimples.  “Alright, suit yourself, but don’t complain to me later.  I’ll go for a stroll, sleepyhead.”

 

Moments later, black hat on his head and gun belt around his hips – Devil’s Hole might be a safe haven for outlaws, but caution was a deeply ingrained habit – the brown-haired man stepped out on the porch once more.  Glancing around he decided to walk down the canyon towards the sentry post, combining pleasure with precaution.  Nobody in their right mind would have tried getting into the outlaw hideout during the storm, but he wanted to make sure a guard was now back on duty.

 

Heyes strolled down the path leading out of the compound towards the entry to Devil’s Hole, reveling in how good life could be.  He might be an outlaw with a price on his head, but how many law-abiding people had the time to just go for a pleasant long walk on a whim, simply to enjoy nature on a beautiful day?  How many of them had enough money to hurrah a town whenever the fancy took them?  How many had skills which paid so well?  And how many only had to work a few days every few months to lead a life of leisure the rest of the time?

 

All in all things had turned out pretty well for his partner and him. Nobody told them what to do or when to do it and the occasional spats with a recalcitrant gang member thinking they could do better only added spice to life.  Even on a bad day he usually could outthink and outtalk any of them and if they still didn’t get the point there was always his partner backing him up with his particular brand of arguments.  But generally, leading the most successful gang of outlaws seemed like child’s play.  Chuckling he added to this thought “And sometimes it’s nice to get away from the children for a spell.”

 

When he came to the point where the path dipped down closer to the stream the ground became muddy, so Heyes decided to leave the track and take the hidden footpath along the canyon wall for a while.  He had just entered the band of trees hiding the path, when he spotted a mass of feathers on the ground.  Some poor bird had become breakfast for some lucky hunter.

 

About twenty yards further on he noticed a sound he hadn’t heard before.  Out alone it always paid to be careful, so he stopped and listened if the sound would repeat.  Yes, there it was again.  A kind of faint squeaking.  Involuntarily he took a few steps trying to locate where the sound had originated.  It only took him moments to realize the source of the noise must be close to where half a tree had tumbled to the ground.

 

Watching out for further branches ready to drop down he stepped closer still until he found the squeaking animal.  It was a little bird, or rather a nestling, huddled in the only home it knew, which now hung only a yard above the ground, at an angle but still securely fastened to the branch which had toppled down to earth when lightning struck and split the tree.  It seemed a miracle that the small animal had managed to stay put – his siblings had obviously not been so lucky.  Three slightly larger nestlings lay close by on the ground, not showing any signs of life. And judging from the wing peeking out from under another thick branch, at least one of the parents had died too.

 

The image struck Heyes like an unexpected blow.  He swallowed several times, thinking back on the feathers he had found earlier.  There was no doubt in his mind that this little guy was all alone in the world now.  How could such tragedy have happened on such a beautiful day?  It just did not seem right.  His memory was about to go back to another beautiful day, too lovely to do chores, which had brought about tragedy, but he reined it in firmly.  No need to go back there!

 

Normally not sentimental about wild animals – he had hunted his share of game for the pot after all, and some critters had to die so others could live, this was the way of nature – he could not bring himself to walk away.  The little guy had lost everything except his life (yet), and still he had not given up, he still squeaked, chirped and called to get food, he stubbornly clung to life and his nest, determined to survive.  Having been the smallest, he was the most likely to die and yet here he was, the lone survivor.  He deserved a second chance.

 

Decision made, Heyes stepped closer and scooped the nestling up, almost getting bitten for his efforts.  “Hey little guy, better stop biting the hand that feeds you.  I need my fingers intact and they sure aren’t birdfeed!”

 

Wondering how to get the bird back, and where to house it in the cabin, he decided to take the nest as well.  After a short hesitation he switched the bird to one hand, took off his hat and placed the little orphan in it, talking softly while setting the impromptu bird bassinet on the ground at a safe distance.

 

“You’re gonna stay here, just for a little while.  Don’t worry and don’t make a mess, it’s my best hat!  I’m gonna get your bed for you, but I need both hands for that.  So, you just wait here a moment.”

 

Before working on the nest he quickly scooped up the three small pathetic bodies and placed them next to the wing he had spotted earlier. He told himself that it was just so he did not step on them, did not get his boots messy.  It had nothing to do with re-uniting a family, even if it was in death.  But he wasn’t sure if his silver tongue worked on himself.

 

Plucking the nest from its perch was harder than expected.  The outlaw had to admire the little builders who had managed to do all this work without hands or tools.  After cutting and breaking off some of the outer layer, he held his price in his hands, wondering at the soft, smooth interior.  Hearing another squeak from behind, he turned around and started chuckling.  The spunky current inhabitant of his beloved hat obviously did not share his attachment to the black felt.  It was trying hard to work his way up to the brim to escape the unfamiliar housing.

 

“You’re a proper little outlaw, only captured for ten minutes and already trying to escape.  You have to learn to plan better, my friend.  You need to have a means of transport and you need to remain quiet if you want to get away.” Kneeling down next to his hat he sat the nest down on the ground and lifted the hat so that the brim rested on the edge of the nest.  “It also pays to have friends helping you with an escape.  See, if I lift you a little bit you can climb up here, and what do you know?  There’s your nest, waiting for you.”  He followed action to his words, helping the little orphan along, making sure he would reach his home safely.  “Come on.  Just hop in, it’s your nest, you can trust me.  Figure you’ll be feeling better with something familiar around.  See?  That wasn’t so hard.”

 

Heyes couldn’t help feeling proud of the little fighter.  After a quick check of his hat – no mess inside – he put it back on his head. Then he scooped up nest and nestling and carefully making sure he didn’t drop either, he started walking back to the compound, not giving a single thought to the long-forgotten lookout post.

 

He had walked the hidden path often enough so he didn’t need to concentrate on it, instead he gave his full attention to the young bird in his care.  It looked ugly, with its too-large beak and feet, its too-small wings.  The skin was visible here and there between fuzzy baby feathers and spike-like adult feathers still growing in and the thin neck was almost completely bald.  Fully grown, he – somehow Heyes had started to think of “it” as “he” – would be a beautiful bird, sporting off-white and blue plumage, a crest, and a black ring framing the white-cheeked face, white spots and black bands giving the wings and tail their distinctive markings.

 

“Now, little one, what do you think I should call you?” rumbled his baritone soothingly over the crouched down nestling, “if I protect, feed and adopt you, you need a name.”

“It must be something fitting for you,” mused the outlaw leader, deep in thought, “not 'Birdy', 'Buddy'or 'Tweety', don’t worry.  What about 'Blue'? Little Mr. 'Blue Jay'. How do you like that?”

 

The orphaned blue jay looked up at warm chocolate eyes peering down at him and even though he was confused and scared, he was mostly hungry and so opened his beak to call for food.

 

A warm chuckling answered him.  “I see.  'Blue' it is.  And I think we need to do something about feeding you, am I right?”  A louder squeak answered the outlaw.  “Blue, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

 
Looking around for something to feed little Blue, Heyes noted once more the morning’s beauty, but it had taken on a new meaning now.  It wasn’t just something to enjoy and contemplate; it was something to be a part of, to grasp, to become one with.