“All you need to do is go on over to the Sheriff’s office and tell him you heard a couple of men getting into it over at the saloon. Say you heard them say they was gonna shoot it out.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, the sheriff and us are good friends, ya see. We go way back. We just want to play a little practical joke on him. Just in fun, nothing serious-like.”

“Friends, huh? What’s the sheriff’s name?”

Heyes stared down at the boy, his chocolate brown eyes narrowed with irritation. “Seventy-five cents. And you don’t ask any questions.”

Starring

Pete Duel as Hannibal Heyes
Ben Murphy as Kid Curry

Guest Stars

Tyne Daley as Emma Crabtree

Harry Morgan as Hank Jameson

Larry Linville as Wesley Watson

Clint Howard as Trevor

If You Can’t Trust a Lawman, Who Can You Trust?
by Leah Anders

"How much money you got, Heyes?" The two cowboys had just arrived in town, saddle worn and chilled to the bone, after spending several days and nights on the trail, settling for whatever meager shelter they could find.

"Why?"

"Cuz I'm cold," Kid's words puffed out of his mouth in steamy little clouds.

"Hmmm?" A chill wind whispered past them where they stood on the boardwalk in front of the hotel. It carried with it various and sundry bits of debris that had been accumulating on the street in anticipation of just such a breeze. Heyes squinted his eyes into the wind and pulled his oversized gray coat tighter around his body.

"I said I'm cold. I'm not sleeping outside again tonight. We need to get a room. How much money you got?"

"Naw…this ain't cold. Why, I remember one night back in eighteen, seventy-"

"Heyes. How much money you got?" Kid pronounced each word carefully to make sure he had his friend's undivided attention.

Feigning offence at being so rudely interrupted, Heyes glared pointedly at Kid for a moment before reaching into his pants pocket and bringing out a few silver pieces. Heyes studied the contents of his open palm intently before meeting Kid's eyes again. "Ninety cents. You?"

"Even less than that. How much you figure a room would run us?"

"About three bucks a night, I reckon."

"Figure they'd let us pay later?"

"Not likely."

"Well, we gotta try. I'm cold!" Kid bounced lightly from one booted foot to the other in a vain attempt to ward off the icy chill seeping into his joints.

"Kid, I'm surprised at you. Making such a fuss over being a mite chilly."

"A mite chilly?" He looked up at the gray and overcast sky. "Heyes, it's starting to snow." The wind whistled past them from the north, threatening to steal the hats from their heads.

"OK, Kid. You win. If you're gonna let a little thing like snow bother you…" his voice trailed off as they entered the lobby of the hotel. Heyes plastered a confident smile across his ruggedly handsome face and leaned his arms on the counter. "A room, please."

The clerk was a rather weaselly-faced little man; the type who thought he was infinitely better than his station in life implied. His pointy nose crinkled up as he gave Heyes and Curry a contemptuous look through his too-close-together eyes. Finally satisfied that the pair was-marginally-acceptable, he handed Heyes a pen and gestured towards the guest register. "That'll be three dollars."

Heyes accepted the pen, still smiling, and said, "Yeah, right, can we pay that later when we check out?"

Quick as a snake, the clerk snatched the pen from the outlaw leader's hand and slammed the register closed with a sharp snap. Heyes looked up at him, startled, but still maintaining the smile he reserved for people he didn't particularly like. Kid, who wasn't smiling at all, watched his friend and waited to see what was going to happen next.

"Up front…cash!"

The smile slipped from Heyes' face as he replied, "Well, see…we don't exactly have that much right at the moment."

"But we'll have it before long. All we have to do is-"

"Sorry. No money, no room," the clerk said with finality, his beady eyes never blinked even once.

The two stared at Weaselly a moment longer. He was too dim to realize that he was skating on thin ice, especially with Kid. Heyes sighed in resignation and turned to his partner, "Now what, Thaddeus?"

Kid glared at the clerk. "Any other hotels in town?"

"This is the only one," he answered with an arrogant sniff through his pinched nostrils.

Heyes and Curry started towards the door, pulling their coats closed against the chill that would soon hit them.

"You could try Mrs. Crabtree's, I suppose," Weaselly called after them.

In unison, they wheeled around and headed back to the counter.

"Mrs. Crabtree's?"

"Yes. She runs a boarding house down at the end of Cedar Street. You might be able to get a room there. And I hear she's looking for some help around the place. That old house is falling down around her ears. An eyesore, that's what it is. Ought to be torn down, I say."

"Cedar Street, you say? Thanks. Let's go Kid."


* * * * * *

The house at the end of Cedar Street was pretty much as the desk clerk described it. At some time in its past it had been a handsome home but now it was in serious need of some repair. There were shingles missing from its tall, pitched roof, the front porch sagged, and shutters were hanging, or missing altogether, from some of the big windows facing the street. Curry and Heyes stood looking at the house for a few minutes before venturing across the street to its front steps.

"Whaddaya think, Kid?"

"I think anything is better than freezing our tails off. Let's go see about getting a room."

A shiny brass knocker hung precariously from the front door. Curry grasped its handle and rapped it a couple of times. It smacked soundly into the heavy wooden door, before coming loose from its hinges in Kid's hand. He was still holding it, wondering what to do with it, as the door swung open. Hastily, he stuffed the knocker into his coat pocket. In an aside, he said to Heyes, "I'll fix this later." Heyes stifled a grin.

"Yes? Can I help you boys?" The woman who stood there staring at them curiously from the other side of the doorway looked like she should have had about a dozen grandkids swarming around her. She was a little woman, all billowy and soft looking like a gramma should be. Her gunmetal gray hair was tied in a tight braid and wound around her head from bottom to top and back again.

"Uh, yes ma'am. My name is Joshua Smith and this here is my friend, Thaddeus Jones. We heard you might have a room to rent for a few days?" Heyes asked. "Cheap?"

"Yes, I do happen to have one room available…Why don't you come in? We're letting all the cold air in."

"Much obliged, ma'am." She stepped aside and let the pair into the house, cozy warm from the heat of a fire blazing in the nearby fireplace. The inside of the house was in much better condition that the outside. It looked immaculate, not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Still, there were things that apparently needed repair even here.

"How much is the room?"

"Don't you want to see it first?"

"Does it have a bed?"

"Why, yes, of course!"

"It's perfect. How much is it?"

"Three dollars a night. Up front."

"Up front?"

"Certainly. That includes two meals a day."

"Well, that's surely a fair price, ma'am. Only problem is, we don't exactly have the money right now…"

"But we expect to have it shortly, don't you worry."

"Oh, I believe you, but you see, I really can't afford to take the chance." She leaned towards them and whispered, "I've had boarders skip out on me in the middle of the night without paying, can you believe?" Speaking in a normal tone again, she continued, "Now I don't imagine that you boys would do anything like that…you look like nice young men, but I'm afraid it has to be paid up front."

"Oh." Kid's face sagged in disappointment. He tipped his hat to Mrs. Crabtree. "Thanks anyway, ma'am." They turned to leave. As an afterthought, Kid dug into his pocket and brought out the brass doorknocker. "I think this belongs to you. Sorry about that."

They were just pulling the door open to head back into the cold evening air when Mrs. Crabtree called to them, "Just a second, boys."

Once again, in unison, they spun around on their heels and faced the matronly lady of the house. "Ma'am?"

"First off, stop calling me Ma'am. Just call me Mizz Emma. Everybody does. Now, I think maybe we can work something out." She looked them up and down, appraisingly. "You look like fine strappin' young men…you don't mind a little hard work, do you?"

"No Ma'am…uh, Mizz Emma. Hard work is what we do best…when we can't find somethin' else to do, at least."

"How'd you like to help me do some repairs around this old place? I'd give you free room and board, three meals a day, for as long as you're willing to help."

"Free room and board? Sounds pretty good, eh, Joshua?" Kid was anxious to take her up on her offer. He was not looking forward to another night out in the cold.

However Heyes was not ready to seal the deal quite yet. "How about free room and board plus three dollars a day?" He paused and added with a charming smile, "We gotta get a stake for when we're ready to move on."

Mizz Emma frowned and looked ready to put them out, unwilling to accept Heyes' terms. Curry was just about to intervene when she said, "You drive a hard bargain, young man, but I'll agree to pay you what you ask. It will be so wonderful to have this old place looking nice for the holiday."

"Your room is upstairs, first room on the left. Get yourselves settled in there. You can have this evening to relax and tomorrow you can start on the repairs around here. Supper is at six. You'll get a chance to meet my other boarder, Mr. Jameson, then. I know you'll all get along famously."

As they walked away to find their room, Kid asked Heyes, "What holiday is she talking about?"

Heyes shrugged his broad shoulders, "Must be Christmas. That's the only holiday I can think of coming up."


* * * * * *

Supper was served promptly at six, as promised. As Heyes and Curry entered the dining room, they were welcomed by enticing smells of Emma's home cooking coming from the attached kitchen. The table was set, well-used china marking four places. An elderly man was already seated at one of the places.

"Ah. Our new boarders, I assume. Smith and Jones, is it?”

"Yes, sir. That's right. I'm Jones and this is my partner, Smith," Kid extended his hand. "You must be Mr. Jameson."

"Bingo, boy. So what are you waiting for? Sit. You're in for a real treat tonight. Emma has made one of her specialties. Brisket with mashed potatoes on the side. Purely melts in your mouth I tell ya. And I'm pretty sure I smell some of her delightful buttermilk biscuits coming out of the oven."

"Much obliged, sir." The two had barely pulled out their chairs and planted themselves before the door leading into the kitchen swung open. Mizz Emma backed into the room, struggling slightly under the weight of a large platter that she set down in the center of the table.

"I hope you're hungry, boys. I always make more than just two of us can eat. I still haven't adjusted to not having more family around for meals," she chuckled. "You'd think by now…aw well, old habits are hard to break, you know. And at my age, old habits are the only kind I have."

"Well, don't worry Mizz Emma. I'm hungry enough to eat the whole cow," Kid answered. Heyes smiled fondly at his partner, knowing that he was probably exaggerating just a little.

"That's what I like, a young man with a good appetite."

"You don't know the half of it, Mizz Emma," Heyes grinned, earning the expected glare from his partner.

"Go ahead and get started then. I'll be back in a minute with the rest," she said, rushing back into the kitchen.

By the time she returned with the rest of the meal, all three men had dug into the brisket, helping themselves to hefty chunks of the savory meat. Once the mashed potatoes and gravy and biscuits with freshly-churned sweet butter were added to their plates, Kid Curry looked like he thought he had died and gone on to heaven.

Around big mouthfuls of the food, he said, "This is delicious. Just like my gramma used to make."

"Emma is the best cook in town. She's gonna make some lucky man very happy some day," Mr. Jameson grinned with a wink.

"Oh, Hank! You stop that now. Don't tease me so!" Emma's kindly face warmed and she giggled like a schoolgirl.

"So how long have you been living here, Mr. Jameson?" Heyes asked, focusing his dark brown eyes on the older man.

"Let's see. I think it's been almost two years now, isn't that right, Emma? It was shortly after I retired from working. Forced to retire actually."

"Forced, Sir?"

"Yep. Never really recovered from that bullet I took. Couldn't fulfill my duties as sheriff anymore-"

Heyes' choking and sputtering over the mouthful of coffee he had been trying to swallow cut him off.

Kid was alarmed, both by Heyes' outburst and by Jameson's statement, but managed to cover nicely by talking loudly over the sounds of his friend, who continued to gasp and wheeze even as Kid thumped him soundly on the back.

"Sheriff, huh? That's great. That's really something. Never met a real sheriff in person before."

Heyes, whose face had turned a rather unusual shade of purple, finally recovered enough to squeak out a few words, "Wrong pipe," he croaked miserably, holding his throat. "So you were saying…you've lived here for two years?"

"Yes, he has and it's been a real pleasure having him around too. A quieter boarder I couldn't hope to find. And since my daughters married and moved out, he's been a great comfort to me too."

"And how long have you been running the boarding house, Mizz Emma?"

"Since right after Mr. Crabtree, God rest 'im, passed on. Almost five years, it's been. I had my daughters to support so I had to find a way to bring in some money. Never regretted it even once either. I'm hoping that you boys can stay on a while, leastways 'til you get some things fixed around here."

"Ma'am, you keep cooking like this and we're likely to start breaking things just so we can stay on a little longer," Kid said, pushing away from the table to give himself a little more breathing room now that his plate was polished clean.

"Yes, ma'am," Heyes laughed nervously. He was still thinking about Jameson and wasn't one hundred percent sure they'd be staying on too long at all!

"Good. That's settled then. Now I'd like to see you get as much done by Thanksgiving Day as-"

"Thanksgiving Day?"

"Next Thursday, of course. Oh, it'll be so nice to have you boys here to help celebrate the holidays. I don't expect my daughters will make it home this year," Emma said sadly.

"Oh, sure---Thanksgiving Day. Uh-huh." Heyes and Curry exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Without a word, both men pushed their chairs back from the table and rose as one. "Will you excuse us, Mizz Emma? Thank you for the fine dinner."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jameson."

Emma looked surprised but said, "Yes, of course. Breakfast is at 6:00 am," she called after them as they rushed from the room and made for the stairs and the privacy of their room.

She looked at Hank. "What strange young men."

He shrugged his shoulders, bewildered as her by their sudden departure.


* * * * * *

Heyes and Curry took refuge in the room at the top of the stairs. Whoever had decorated this space had a passion for pastels and lace. A delicately stitched quilt of many colors, pink, lavender, blue, and pale yellow, covered the full-size bed. A girl's room, it probably looked much the same as when it was lived in by one or both of Emma's daughters. The two rough and ready cowboys seemed out of place and too bulky to occupy such a room.

"Heyes, help me out here. What's Thanksgiving Day all about?"

The ex-outlaw leader looked surprised at the question, "Kid, don't you remem-"

Frowning, Heyes stopped in mid-sentence and took a different tack. "Well, near as I can figure, it's…uh…" Heyes shrugged and continued lamely, "a day set aside for giving thanks."

"That's the best you can do? A day set aside for giving thanks? I had that much figured out myself."

"Awww, whaddaya want from me, Kid?"

"I just expected a little more from you, is all, what with all that book readin' you do. I'll tell you this though. I don't plan on having no Thanksgiving Day. What've we got to be thankful for anyhow? Look at us, no home, no family, no steady jobs. Heck, we don't even have use of our real names anymore. Smith and Jones-what kind of names are those?"

"Kid, I'd like to argue with you, but I gotta admit you're right for once. There ain't much in this world that I can rightly say we got to be thankful for. But it don't make no sense for us to up and leave right now. Thanksgiving Day is still a ways off. Let's stick around here where we got a roof over our heads and three squares for a while, but we'll head out before the holiday gets here. How would that be?"

"Yeah, that'll do, I reckon."


* * * * * *

Sleep did not come easy to Jedediah "Kid" Curry that night. As he lay on his half of the bed that he shared with his long-time friend and partner, thoughts and remembrances thrashed through his head. He found himself thinking about a happier time; a time that he had almost forgotten ever existed, it was so far gone. He had a family once, a mother, a father, brothers, but he had been on his own for so long that sometimes he couldn't even remember their faces. Sometimes when he tried to conjure up the people he loved all he could muster was a vague silhouette.

Tonight was different. Lying there in the cool stillness of the room; Heyes' even breath giving some small comfort, slow and steady; Kid had a picture in his mind of a woman he once knew and loved with all his heart, loved beyond all reason. Her face floated there behind his closed eyes. To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, always had been, always will be, although her face bore the lines and sorrow that a life on the rough and dangerous plains of Kansas would inevitably bring to anyone.

Tonight, he envisioned her how he remembered she was in the evenings, after all the chores were done, after all the children were tucked into bed. She would come to his room, the one he shared with his brothers, to give him a good night kiss. Some nights, she would be dressed for bed herself in a long flowing nightgown. Her corn silk colored hair would be loose around her shoulders, not knotted at the nape of her neck like it was during the day. Her hair was always shiny and soft, her crowning glory. Not even the harsh Kansas weather could take away from its beauty.

Jed liked to twist small sections of this hair around one of his chubby fingers as she leaned over him to give him his kiss. She would always smile at this; after all he was her baby, her youngest. He remembered the feel of her hair in his hand, so fine and soft, and he remembered the smell of it too, like lilacs, heady and sweet.

If he lay real quiet and didn't breathe, he could even imagine he heard her laugh, sweet and melodious as a church choir, as she wrapped him in her loving embrace that carried him down to sleep.

In his childish mind, Jed thought he would stay with her forever, basking in the reflection of her love. But of course, childish dreams have a way of vanishing in an instant and this one was no exception. Those happy memories were lost when people he didn't know and never got the chance to repay snatched his family away from him.

Thanksgiving Day, a day for families…not a day for people like him. Orphans, vagrants, transients as Deputy Harker had put it…there is no thanksgiving day for people of their ilk. As sleep finally claimed his troubled soul, a single tear, silent and solitary, slid down his cheek until it was swallowed up by the pillow cradling his head.


* * * * * *

Heyes was lost in his own thoughts. He knew Kid was awake. It was apparent in the restlessness of his breathing and the little twitchy movements he made as he tried, unsuccessfully, to shut his mind off. He didn't disturb his partner with talk though, he had his own demons he was wrestling with.

He lay staring up towards the ceiling in the gloomy darkness. All the colors that had brightened and cheered the room during the day had been sucked out by night's black vacuum. And there was a blackness in Heyes' heart to match.

He was good at concealing his feelings from most of the people he met. Oh, he knew that sometimes his more intense emotions shone out dangerously through his eyes and the set of his smile or lack thereof, but most of the time he had a pretty good poker face and he used it for more than playing games.

About the only person who could read him right most of the time was laying there next to him. That's why, on nights like this, he was glad for the darkness. He wouldn't want Kid to see him like this, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, all worked up by his emotions and memories of a time that he wanted more than anything to put behind him once and for all.

His breathing wouldn't give him away. He had practiced the slow and rhythmic inhale/exhale so many times that he was sure Kid had no idea that he was even awake. All his turmoil was bound up inside of him as he lay there, rigid, staring wide-eyed into his past.

The headmaster was a devious man, with a black heart and no compassion for the lost and pathetic children put in his charge. But in order for him to continue receiving full funding from the state, he had to carry out the charade of a Thanksgiving Day dinner. The President of the United States, after all, had made the proclamation of a national day of thanks.

Under threat of beating, all the children were expected to be there in attendance as some of the city's big shots were going to be there, to see what a fine place this charitable home for unfortunate youth was.

Hannibal didn't care about the beating though. Lord knew he had already had more than his share, but not more than most everybody else had got too. There wasn't any way he was going to be marched out there in front of all the rich folk just to make Headmaster Glock look good.

But he didn't intend to go hungry either. So while everyone else was going about their business, he snuck into the kitchen and stole what he wanted. It wasn't hard; he'd done it a lot of times before.

Then just as the dignitaries were beginning to arrive, after all the boys had been scrubbed up and given something decent, meaning anything better than the rags they normally walked around in, to wear; Hannibal disappeared into his secret hiding place to enjoy his 'thanksgiving' dinner in peace. The food tasted good, but not as good as it could have. It was somewhat tainted by the knowledge that his current exploit was likely to earn him a whippin' to end all whippins' by the end of the day.

Heyes remembered how alone he felt that night, sitting there in the shadows of his secret place. He was tough, but sometimes he didn't feel so tough. Sometimes he felt like that little boy who still missed his family.

Remembering, Heyes saw himself as that young boy, already so full of the knowledge of how the world can be. He thought about the wall that he had felt going up around his soul as a boy. Then he thought about the only person who had been able to crawl over, break down, and ultimately destroy that wall before it had destroyed him.

Heyes remembered how the boy had shown up in Heyes' secret hiding spot the night of the big Thanksgiving feast and how the two of them had shared the food he had stolen from the kitchen. He remembered how glad he had been to see him there, peeking around the corner in the semi-darkness of his hidey-hole, risking his own beating by sneaking away to join his best and only true friend.

Hannibal hadn't felt so alone anymore that night. That night, they made a pact to always be there for each other. They swore to it in blood drawn from their fingers with Heyes' pocketknife. That was the second time they had made such a pact, the first had been at a happier time, not long past.

And in all these years since, that boy, now a man, had been the only thing that was constant in his life. Everything, everyone, else had come and gone, by choice or by force, but Kid was always there for him, holding him steady and strong against a world that sometimes seemed determined to destroy him. For that he was thankful, little else.


* * * * * *

Sunlight breaking through baby blue lace curtains woke Kid. Heyes was still asleep, lying on his stomach, mouth open, the side of his face smashed into his pillow.

Kid considered his sleeping friend for a moment before giving him a gentle nudge on the shoulder, "Heyes. Get up. It must be nigh on six o'clock."

"Uhhngg," Heyes muttered in return. His eyelids didn't so much as flutter.

"Heyes." Kid said again, more insistently this time. "Wake up. You're droolin'. You're gonna drown if you don't close your mouth." He nudged Heyes as second time, not quite as gently as the first.

"Mmmmm…I'm up, Kid. Leave me alone." Slowly, Heyes opened his eyes, first one and then both. They felt gravelly from lack of sleep. He hadn't fallen asleep 'til very early in the morning, haunted by the memories of his time spent in the orphanage. He didn't know why Kid didn't remember that time, the one and only Thanksgiving they had shared, but it was probably better that way anyway.

"And I'll have you know, I don't drool," he muttered with all the indignation he could work up at such an early hour.

"Uh, huh," Kid smiled, his blond curls tousled and wild from his restless night.

Heyes met Kid's smile with a frown. While Kid was busily getting dressed, Heyes sneaked a look at his pillow through sleepy eyes. His frown deepened and he flipped the pillow over before resting his head on it for another quick minute.

"C'mon, Heyes. You can't sleep all day. Besides, breakfast is waiting."

Heyes sighed, "How come you always have to be so full of energy in the morning? Would it kill ya to sleep in once in a while?"

"It's just my nature I guess. I'm a morning person. You…well, I'm not sure what you are, but I like mornings. 'Sides, we don't wanna miss breakfast. So get up!"

Something landed on Heyes' head with a soft plop. "Here's your shirt. Get dressed!"

Heyes had a pretty good idea what was really driving the Kid. The smells of bacon frying and good strong coffee brewing drifted up the stairs and through the gap at the base of the bedroom door. If there was anything that motivated his friend, it was food.

Kid was in a pretty good mood this morning, the sadness that accompanied his fitful passage into sleep replaced by a feeling of serenity. After finally drifting off, his dreams were visited by the same lovely face he had remembered while awake, but in his dreams, her beauty re-assured him that things were going to be alright, and he believed her.


* * * * * *

They found Mizz Emma in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on breakfast. When she saw them, she smiled cheerfully and shooed them back out to the dining room. She didn't have to ask them twice to sit and eat. Heyes inquired as to Mr. Jameson's whereabouts.

"Oh, he's out for his morning constitutional. He never eats breakfast, just a cup of coffee. But you boys go ahead. You have a lot of work ahead of you today."

Not really liking the sounds of that, but grateful for the food, they ate.

Mizz Emma kept them company while they had breakfast. She kept up a steady stream of chatter; commencing with the list of chores and repairs she wanted them to do. The list was considerable. Before she had finished counting them off, Heyes and Curry had exchanged more than one glance, undoubtedly wondering if they had made such a good deal after all. Mizz Emma was determined to get value out of them.

When she finally paused, Mizz Emma reached into the deep pocket of her apron and pulled out the brass doorknocker. She handed it to Kid, saying, "You can start with this. You'll find nails and whatever materials you need in the shed out back."

Kid grinned sheepishly, "Thank you, ma'am."

Once breakfast was over, they set to work. Kid had fixed the doorknocker good as new, with Heyes' careful supervision and unwanted advice. Then they both moved on to the once white picket fence surrounding Mizz Emma's home. Several of the pickets had started to rot out and needed replacing. They were busy tearing off the old boards when Mr. Jameson approached them from behind. He studied them thoughtfully for a few minutes before he made his presence known to them.

"Howdy boys. Hard at work, I see. Good…you know what they say about idle hands."

"Yes, Sir. That's why I enjoy poker so much."

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing Sir. I was just saying that there isn't much danger of our hands being idle as long as Mizz Emma is in charge. Did you enjoy your walk?"

Jameson frowned and cleared his throat noisily, "I guess so. Mostly I just do it to keep this dang leg from stiffening up on me. Ain't been the same since I took that bullet."

"Yes sir, you were saying that. Mind if I ask how it happened?"

"To be truthful, it was just a senseless accident, I suppose. Would you believe I was shot by my own dang deputy? Blamed fool. Should never have been carrying a gun, let alone wearing a badge, that one. Dumb as one of those posts you're fixin' in that there fence."

"Were you chasing outlaws when it happened?"

Jameson guffawed bitterly, "I wish…no, we was in the office and that dimwit was cleaning his gun. I'm just lucky he didn't kill me."

He paused, recalling the event, and then added, "You know what makes it even worse? The blamed fool is my own nephew! Can you believe that? My own sister's son. You just can't trust anybody in this world."

"That's too bad, Mr. Jameson. What happened to him? Is he still deputy?"

Jameson laughed again, "No, he got booted out same as me. Now he works as the desk clerk down at the hotel. Say, you mighta met him. Shifty looking little character? Name's Wesley."

Heyes and Curry nodded, remembering the weaselly clerk from the day before. "Yep, we met him. You say his name is Wesley? Somehow, that seems to fit, don't you think, Joshua?"

"Sure do, Thaddeus."

Jameson turned to go. As he walked away he repeated, "Yep, that's my nephew. Just goes to show you can't trust anyone. Let that be a lesson for you boys."

"So Weaselly…I mean Wesley was a deputy. How's that for luck, Heyes? We've met three people in this town and two of them are ex-lawmen. The way things are going, I wouldn't be surprised to find a tin star pinned to Mizz Emma's dress under that frilly apron she wears."


* * * * * *

At supper, later that evening, Mizz Emma was not her usual cheerful self. Although she tried valiantly to conceal her discontent from the three men seated at the table around her, frustration radiated off her like steam from a hot stone on a cold day. Mr. Jameson asked, "What's wrong, my dear? Has something happened?"

Emma looked up from her food that she had been attacking as though it were still living and she wanted it dead. Her face was set in an unhappy scowl, which she attempted to smooth out when she realized that she was being appraised by 3 pairs of curious eyes. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm just being silly. Don't mind me."

The three men, being men, did as she asked. They went back to eating their dinners, not minding her. Emma stared at the three bent heads for a moment longer, her frustration rising to a new level. Suddenly, with a loud clank, she dropped her silverware onto her plate. Three heads snapped up in unison as she started, "I stopped in at the mercantile this afternoon to pick up a few things."

Heyes, Curry, and Jameson waited expectantly for more. Emma sat looking at them for a few seconds, then shrugged her shoulders and said, "Oh, never mind. What's done is done." Then she picked her fork back up and, taking a deep cleansing breath, started to eat again. The men, seeing this as a signal that all was fine, did the same.

Clank! Down went the fork again. Up came three male heads. This time it was up to Heyes to speak. "C'mon, Mizz Emma. Something is obviously bothering you. It's not good to keep it bottled up like that. Why don't you tell us?"

"Well, alright…like I was saying, I stopped in at the mercantile this afternoon."

"Uh, huh. Go on."

"Well…I wanted to pick up a few things for the Thanksgiving Day dinner and also, I had asked Carolyn…you know Carolyn, Hank…"

"Of course, my dear…go on," Mr. Jameson encouraged.

"I had asked Carolyn-you men will probably think this is silly-but they had the most beautiful bolt of fabric in the store a few days ago, a very pretty yellow with little pink roses on it, and I had asked her to save me enough material off that bolt to make a dress for the holidays. It would have made the most beautiful dress and you know I haven't had anything new for so long. Anyway, I went down there today to buy that fabric and you won't believe it, but she had sold every scrap! Said she forgot I had asked her to hold it for me." Emma looked as though she might start to cry. This made the men squirm in their seats.

"I'm sorry, Emma. Maybe there is some other fabric you could buy that would work just as well. The mercantile must---"

Mizz Emma dismissed this line of thinking with an impatient shake of her head. "There wasn't anything else in the store that even came close to that material and now it's gone. Why, come Thanksgiving, I'm going to have to watch Mrs. Jenkins parading around in a new dress made out of MY fabric. And I thought Carolyn was my best friend! You just really can't trust anybody now, can you?"

As she talked, high points of color had appeared on Emma's cheeks. Heyes and Curry looked at each other, trying not to reveal their amusement at Emma's plight. Heyes knew she was truly upset about the loss of the fabric and wouldn't take it lightly if one of them so much as smiled, but it was hard to keep a straight face, nonetheless. He just looked at her; lips set in a sympathetic line; and shook his head slightly to demonstrate his empathy to her plight.

Getting it off her chest seemed to help a little. The color receded and she picked up her fork again, seemingly more calm, at least on the outside. In a more normal voice, she continued, looking at Mr. Jameson. "Oh, by the way Hank, when I was down town I ran into your nephew."

"Wesley?"

"Yes. He asked if you could stop in and see him tomorrow morning while you are out. Says he needs to talk to you about something."

"Oh? Did he say what?"

"Well…" Emma glanced over at Heyes and Curry before continuing. "He did say a little more but he told me not to say anything to anyone but you." After a short hesitation, she went on to say, "But I don't think it would matter if you boys heard. Wesley is always up to some great scheme. I'm sure this is no different."

"So what did he say, Mizz Emma," Heyes asked, curiously.

She leaned forward conspiratorially, "Well, seems he has some plan to get his job back." She turned to Hank for confirmation, "You know how he hates working at the hotel and thinks they should never have let him go after…well, you know. Seems he heard something that he is sure he can use to convince them that he should be a deputy again."

"Saints preserve us if that ever happens, Emma. If he expects me to help him get that badge back, he's crazier than I gave him credit for. I'll stop by and see him alright, but it won't be to help him, it'll be to talk him out of whatever fool scheme he has cooked up for himself."

While Mizz Emma recounted her encounter with the weaselly Wesley, Heyes became increasingly uncomfortable. The little hairs on the back of his neck started to rise in a feeling of dread. He looked over at Curry and could tell by the hard set of his jaw and his unblinking gaze that he was feeling it too.

As one, both men pushed back from the table. With a tight smile glued to his face, Heyes asked, "Will you excuse us?" Without waiting for an answer, they made for the safety of the little room at the top of the stairs once again.

Emma, startled but not entirely surprised, looked after them as they hurried from the room. After they were gone, she turned to Hank and said, "Sweet boys and hard workers too…but rather strange, don't you think?"


* * * * * *

As soon as they shut the door behind them, Heyes started to pace the room thoughtfully, running his fingertips over his lips as he did so, brown eyes focused on a spot on the floor always before him in his circuitous pattern. Curry allowed his partner a few minutes of this routine, never taking his eyes off his moving friend as he sat slouched in the only available chair in the room. Soon his patience wore thin. He wanted to talk about what this might mean and what Heyes thought Weaselly's plan might have to do with them, if anything.

"Heyes…" Rising from his chair, Kid walked over to the spot where he would intersect Heyes' path, positioning himself in such a way that Heyes would have no choice but to give him his undivided attention. When Heyes got close enough, Kid reached out both his arms and laid his hands on Heyes' shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. "Heyes, what are you thinking?"

Heyes raised his eyes to meet Kid's. Brown eyes met blue ones and held for a heartbeat's time before he spoke. "I'm trying to think back to when we were in the hotel talking to Wesley. Did we say anything that might make him suspicious of us?" His face wore a worried expression.

Curry knew that Heyes wanted him to say something reassuring. After thinking about it for a few seconds, he answered, "I don't see what, Heyes. We weren't in there more'n a few minutes. What could we have possibly said or done to arouse Wesley's suspicions?"

Heyes' expression cleared a little. He looked relieved and with a decisive nod, he said, "You're right, Kid. What am I worried about? No, whatever Hank's nephew has cooked up…it has nothing to do with us."

Kid smiled at Heyes, glad to be able to help set his mind at ease. He had no intention of revealing his own niggling doubts that they had indeed done something to raise Wesley's hackles. The best thing to do would be to just wait until after Hank had seen his nephew and then try to find out what plan had hatched in Wesley's mind. He'd worry about that tomorrow.

Turning the conversation to safer ground, Kid said, "You know, Heyes, I been thinking."

"Great."

"Seriously, I been giving this Thanksgiving thing some more thought and I was wondering if we really needed to set out before it gets here. Mind you, I ain't sayin' we got anything to be particularly thankful for, but what harm is there in joining these folks for their celebration?"

"Ain't no harm in it, exactly. But what made you change your mind all of a sudden?" Heyes teased. "It wouldn't have nuthin to do with Mizz Emma's good cooking would it?"

"Heyes, you know me better than that. Course not. I'm just thinking of how happy Mizz Emma is gonna be if we stick around. You heard what she said about how lonely she's been since her daughters up and married off."

"I'll tell you what. If you can think of one thing that you are genuinely thankful for between now and Thanksgiving morning, then we'll talk about staying. Otherwise, I think we ought to get moving on."

"One thing?"

"Yep, but it has to be something you're genuinely thankful for."

"Hmm…I think I can manage that. You're on."


* * * * * *

Early the next morning, the two cowboys were already hard at work repairing the sagging front porch of Mizz Emma's home when Hank Jameson returned from his morning jaunt. His limp, a result of the errant gunshot, was a little more pronounced this morning. Kid saw his approach before Heyes and gave his partner a gentle nudge with his elbow. Trying to appear nonchalant, they waved hello at the older gentleman. Hank returned the wave cautiously. As he got closer, he tried to smile but his attempt fell short of genuine.

"Howdy, Mr. Jameson. Uh…nice day, ain't it?" Heyes asked, wanting to engage Hank in conversation long enough to find out what Wesley had said to him. The old man looked weary already, and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet.

"Yeah, I guess it is, for this time of year." Jameson looked them over for a long time, his eyes coming to rest on the holster tied to Kid's thigh. "You always carry that gun, Thaddeus?"

"Yes, sir. I do. It's sorta become a habit, kinda like putting on my pants in the morning. Why do you ask?"

"Hmm? Oh. No reason, just thinking about something, I reckon." After one more curious glance Hank tipped his hat and said, "You boys don't work too hard now. I'll talk to you later. I gotta go sit for a spell now." He turned and walked towards the front door, every step seeming to take more effort than the one before it.

Heyes watched him leave, his brow furrowed with renewed worry about what Wesley might have shared with his uncle. Frowning, he turned to Kid and said, "What do you make of that, Thaddeus? You still think we ain't got nuthin' to worry about?"

"I ain't sure, Joshua, but I think we oughta find out."

"Yep, we oughta, all right. Got any ideas how?"

"Actually, I think I do. C'mere." Kid led the way around the side of the porch. Sure enough, the window to the front room had been left open a few inches, allowing the day's unseasonably warm weather a chance to get inside.

Heyes stopped at the edge of the window frame. Cautiously, he leaned forward and peaked one eye around just far enough to see into the room. Satisfied, he slowly pulled his head back and whispered to Kid, "They're in there, all right. Both of 'em. Wouldn't hurt to listen for a while, now would it?" he smiled.

Kid returned the smile, then ducking low, moved to the opposite side of the window. From where they stood they could hear everything that was said inside the house.

Hank had apparently gone directly inside and found the closest comfortable chair to rest in. He looked physically and emotionally worn out, both from his walk and from his meeting with his weaselly nephew Wesley. From where he sat, the men outside could see his profile. Emma was standing next to him, with a concerned look on her matronly face.

"Land sakes, Hank. What is wrong with you? You don't look so good. Do you need me to get the doctor over here?" With motherly instinct, she reached out her hand and laid her palm flat against his forehead, measuring his body temperature against hers.

He gently removed her hand from his face, holding it for a second longer before releasing it. In a falsely gruff voice, he said, "Stop fussing over me, Emma. I'm not sick. Well, I take that back, I am sick. Sick about what that no-account nephew wanted to tell me this morning."

"What, Hank?"

Before answering her, Hank stared off into space for a minute, confusion muddling his thoughts. His eyes met hers and he said, "I'm not sure I should even repeat what he said. It's plumb crazy!"

Outside the open window, Heyes and Curry listened intently. Heyes willed Jameson to continue. They had to find out what Wesley had told him. If it came down to it, they better be ready to ride out of there a lot quicker than they had planned.

Under his breath, Heyes encouraged, "Come on, Hank. What did your over-anxious nephew tell you…"

On cue, Hank started to tell his story as Emma and the two wanted outlaws listened. "This might just be Wesley's latest half-baked idea to get his deputy job back, I guess. You know how bad he wants it." Emma nodded silently in confirmation, she did indeed know how bad his sister's son wanted to be a lawman again. Heck, she was pretty sure everybody in town knew it.

"Seems as though he's got the notion that your two young boarders might not be exactly what they appear." Outside, Heyes and Curry made eye contact across the space of the open window. "Apparently, as they were leaving the hotel the other day, he swears he heard one of 'em call the other 'Kid'." Hank paused for dramatic effect. Heyes was stunned. He didn't remember letting Kid's name slip out that day, but if Weaselly heard him say it, then he must have! His eyes locked on Kid, wide and worried.

Kid could tell by his partner's expression that he was ready to high tail it out of town, NOW! With a slight shake of his head, he let Heyes know that he should simmer down for a minute, at least until they heard the rest of what Hank had to say. To his way of thinking, a few more minutes wasn't going to make any difference. Besides, if Hank believed what Wesley had told him, then why hadn't he pulled his gun on them when he first came home like any good ex-lawman would? Kid figured there had to be more to this story and he aimed to hear what it was.

From where they stood, cautiously peering around the edge of the windowsill, they had a good view of Emma's face. She was still just looking at Hank, waiting expectantly. Finally she said, "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. So what if one of them called the other Kid? It's probably just a nickname. You know, like Butchie or Doc, something like that."

Hank smiled wryly. "Of course, you're right, Emma dear, but my nephew doesn't see it that way. He thinks that our friends Joshua and Thaddeus may be hiding something…like a criminal past."

Emma gasped quietly and laid her hand against her ample bosom. Her eyes widened as she said, "Oh my! Is that possible, Hank? No, I don't believe it. They are such nice young men. Wesley is just stirring the pot, looking for trouble…don't you think?" she finished doubtfully.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know what to think. We don't know those two very well. As much as I hate to admit it, Wesley might be right. On the other hand, the thought of my nephew pinning that badge back on his chest sends a shiver down my spine."

"OK, well. Let's just say he's right, they are outlaws…what does he intend to do about it. He can't really prove it, can he?"

"Don't know. He's sure that if he looked through those old wanted posters over at the sheriff's office, he'd turn up a couple with those fella's descriptions on 'em. He'd be over there right now, 'cept he's gotta work all day at the hotel."

"Well, I say let him look. I don't believe it for a second. I think I'm a pretty good judge of character and I say those two sweet boys are just that…sweet boys!"

Hank laughed to himself. Emma thought everyone was sweet. Heck, Billy the Kid hisself could be sleeping in her upstairs bedroom and she'd think he was a sweet boy. Good judge of character? Not likely.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was a chance that Wesley was right. The only problem Hank had was he wasn't sure that Wesley being right was such a good idea, especially if it meant he might get his wish and become a lawman again. Hank figured the townsfolk hereabouts weren't ready for that. He certainly knew HE wasn't ready for that!

Emma tenderly patted his shoulder, rousing him from his thoughts. "You're looking a mite better, Hank. Why don't you just rest here a while longer? I have some things I need to attend to in the kitchen."

He nodded and smiled gratefully at her. He laid his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes after watching her make her exit.

Outside, Heyes and Curry quietly tiptoed away from the open window and around the back of the house where they could talk privately. "Whaddaya think, Heyes? You think we oughta get our things and get out?"

"Probably."

"OK, you sneak up to our room and get our stuff. I'll go get the horses." Kid turned to leave, anxious to put some space between themselves and Weaselly Wesley.

"No." Heyes reached out and grabbed Kid by the forearm, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"Huh? I thought you said we were going?"

'I said we oughta be going…probably."

Kid looked crestfallen. "Awww, Heyes. You mean we're not going?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Kid, think about it. If we leave now, it's gonna look like Weaselly is right."

"Weaselly IS right, Heyes!"

"Course Weaselly is right. I know that and you know that but if we leave now, he's gonna make sure everybody in town knows. We'll end up running again with a posse dead on our heels. I think there might be a better way."

"What, Heyes? Tell me."

"You heard Hank say Weaselly is gonna go look through the wanted posters, right?"

Kid nodded, waiting to hear more.

"We're just gonna have to get there first, is all. We'll get our posters before he gets the chance to look for them. Then he won't have any proof of who we are."

Kid looked skeptical. "So lem'me get this straight. Your plan is to walk into the sheriff's office and ask to look through the posters so we can just take ours? Heyes, you really are slipping. That's one of the worst ideas you've ever-"

"Now wait Kid. Hear me out. First of all, we won't have to waste a lot of time searching through posters. Remember, we're a couple of the most wanted men in the whole of the west. Our posters won't be shoved away in some drawer gathering dust. They'll be out in plain sight where the sheriff can see them everyday."

"You're making this sound so much better," Kid said sarcastically. "Now the sheriff has the posters where he looks at them everyday! So how are we going to get them past him? Ask him to cover his eyes?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Kid. Why would the sheriff cover his eyes? I'm starting not to like your attitude. I've a good mind not to tell you the rest of my plan. Let's go."

"Just tell me one thing, Heyes."

"What's that?"

"Even IF we manage to carry out your plan and stop Wesley from proving who we are, how do we know we can trust Hank? His suspicions might be enough for him to decide to do something himself."

"Good question, Kid. I don't know, I just got a feeling about Hank."

"A feeling? You're risking our freedom on a feeling?" Kid followed Heyes down the street heading down town, shaking his head with misgivings.


* * * * * *