royannahuggins
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 | | The Job by Little Bluestem | |
Starring
Peter Duel as Hannibal Heyes
and Ben Murphy as Kid Curry
Guest Starring
James Coburn as Colonel Harper
Danny Glover as Bass Reeves
Claudia Cardinale as Belle Starr
Adam Beach as Sam Starr
Zahn McClaren as Henry
Tantoo Cardinal as Lushanya
David Mudthunder as Miko
Chad Michael Murray as Ben Bowlegs
Kiefer Sutherland as Ezra Jackson The Job
by Little Bluestem SCENE ONE: opens to a sunny cafe replete with blue-checked tablecloths, bustling waitresses, and a small throng of customers. There is a murmur of conversation and the clinking of flatware against plates. At a corner table sits our own Kid Curry, cheerfully tucking into an impressive spread of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, buttered biscuits, green beans – the works. Bells on the door jingle merrily as it opens to admit the other fella.
Hannibal Heyes enters, removing his battered black hat and raking the fringe of dark hair from his forehead with his fingers. Spotting his partner, he grins slightly and strides over to Curry’s table. As he slides into the opposite chair, placing his black hat next to Curry’s brown one, a pretty teenage waitress sets a plate of chicken and fixings on the table in front of him. Heyes nods his thanks with a dimpled grin, and she smiles shyly, curtsies, and hurries away.
“Did Lom answer our telegram?” asked the Kid around a mouthful of potatoes.
“Yeah. No word from ….” Heyes made a slight shrugging gesture before continuing. “But Lom said Colonel Harper has a job for us.”
“What kinda job?” asked Curry, mopping up a puddle of gravy with a biscuit.
Heyes shrugged again as he picked up his knife and fork and began to cut into his meal. “Didn’t say. Just that we should get down to Paris. Harper’s gonna meet us there.”
Heyes put a forkful of chicken into his mouth, then reached for a biscuit and began to butter it as he chewed.
“Well, that should be easy enough,” the Kid replied. “From here we can cut across Indian Territory and be there in three or four days.”
“I don’t think we should do that,” Heyes disagreed, shaking his head. “We should go around.”
“Around? That’s gonna take us almost a week! Why not go straight through?”
“Kid, I’ve been reading about this Deputy Marshal in the Indian Territory, name’s Bass Reeves. He’s getting quite the reputation for bringing in outlaws – lots of outlaws.”
“So? He’s never seen us before. He don’t know us from Adam.”
“No, but according to what I read, this guy Reeves is practically super-human. He’s brought in more than three dozen wanted outlaws single-handedly in the past year alone. And get this: Reeves was born a slave, so he can’t read or write. He gets a deputy to read the descriptions on the wanted posters to him and then he memorizes them. He probably has our descriptions memorized down to the last detail.”
Curry, unimpressed, replied, “Even if that were so, which it ain’t, our descriptions are pretty vague – and Indian Territory is real big. You’re an odds player – what are the odds we’d even cross paths with him?”
“I know it doesn’t make any sense, but when it comes to us and lawmen, somehow the odds don’t seem to matter. I say we go around.”
“I say we cut through. This guy Reeves is just a man like any other man.”
“Kid,” Heyes whispered, “Reeves arrested his own son!”
“For what?”
“Killing his wife.”
“Well, there you go,” said Kid, continuing his meal unconcerned. “In all the banks and trains we robbed, we never killed anybody.”
“True, but we're still wanted -- dead or alive. He’s bound to have run across our posters.” He paused and looked at his partner cagily. “They also say he’s a fast-draw.”
“Yeah?” Curry’s attention captured, he glanced up from his food, a look of intrigue on his face.
“Two-handed,” Heyes added, miming a cross-body double-handed draw.
“Like Harry Briscoe?” Curry snickered, returning his attention to his dinner.
“Nothing like Harry Briscoe. Like Bass Reeves. You heard of the Brunter Brothers?”
“Yeah,” Curry scowled. “Bunch of stone-cold killers, all three of ‘em.”
“And all gunnies,” replied Heyes. “So, this guy Reeves goes to arrest them, right? But they get the drop on him, force him off his horse. Now they’ve got him at gunpoint. And they ask him what he wants. Just as calm as you please, Reeves says he’s gonna arrest them. And then he asks them what day it is! And he pulls out their warrants and says he needs to know cuz he has to write the dates on ‘em –”
Curry interrupted to ask, “Thought you said he couldn’t read or write?”
“That’s not the point, Kid! He was just trying to distract them. And it worked, because the Brunters all busted up laughing. And then Reeves grabs the first brother’s rifle by the barrel with one hand, draws his own gun with the other, and Bam! Bam! He shoots two of ‘em dead without blinking an eye, then clocks the third one on the head with the butt of his Colt and cuffs him. And he did all this on his own, nobody there to back him up.”
“A Colt, huh…” Curry murmured, nodding approvingly. He chewed thoughtfully, then took a swallow of coffee and asked, “How do you know so much about this guy Reeves, anyway?”
“I told you – I read about him! It was all over the papers when he got the Brunter Brothers. I’m telling ya, Kid, this is one lawman we definitely don’t wanna run into.”
Curry finally threw up his hands and gave in. “Alright, alright. You win. We go around.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A travel montage takes place accompanied by a slow, melodic version of the theme song. Overlapping scenes of our heroes fade into each other: the partners riding together through the wooded northwest Texas countryside, camping out beneath the stars, passing by various hand-hewn signs naming towns and their distances. They stop to consult a compass, then carry on. They ford a river, lifting their legs from the stirrups to keep their boots dry.
They ride through a small town where a handful of townspeople go about their business. Finally, they approach a signpost. As they ride past it and on into town the camera zooms in to read the name Paris, Texas, population 856. The camera follows them down the main street to a large clapboard building with ornate columns bearing a sign with “Lamar Hotel” painted in curlicue letters. The boys dismount and tie their horses in front.
Fade to interior of hotel…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes entered the ornately decorated hotel lobby, brushing the travel dust from their clothing. A well-dressed, distinguished-looking older gentleman put down his newspaper and rose from a leather wingback chair, calling, “Joshua! Thaddeus! I was about to give up on you.”
The two young men strode forward to meet him; hands outstretched for handshakes.
“Good evening, Colonel,” Heyes murmured, grasping the older gentleman’s hand.
“How ya doin’, Colonel?” Curry asked, taking his turn to greet the retired army officer.
Harper, a mild look of concern on his face, said, “When Lom telegraphed that you were on your way here, he said you were up in Sweetwater. What took you so long? No trouble on the way, I trust…?”
“Um, er…” the Kid began ineloquently, but Heyes interrupted smoothly, ”Thaddeus’ horse pulled up lame. It slowed us down some. Added a few days to the trip.”
“But he’s fine now,” Curry quickly added.
“Well, that’s certainly a relief to hear. I was just about to go into dinner. Would you care to join us?”
“Us?” asked Heyes.
“Yes, I want to introduce you to someone. Someone I hope you will be able to help.”
“So, this is the job you told Lom about…?” ventured Curry.
“Yes, I think you two will be ideal for this one. Come along,” Harper replied, turning to enter the hotel dining room. Heyes and Curry exchanged a look of cautious anticipation before following him.
The trio approached a table set for two at which another man was already seated, sipping a cup of coffee. He looked to be in his late thirties, handsome features, broad-shouldered, and sporting a thick, wiry, black mustache. Although he was sharply dressed in a well-cut suit, crisp white shirt, and bolo tie, complete with knee-high black boots polished to a gleam, his dark leathery skin had the appearance of someone who spends most of his days out-of-doors. His clear brown gaze was alert and intelligent. He sat with a casual ease that belied strong self-confidence. He seemed to be assessing the two young men, who were, in turn, assessing him. When he rose to greet Harper, he towered over the elderly gentleman, standing a good three inches taller than Heyes and Curry.
Harper spoke first, “These are the two fellas I was telling you about, Bass. Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones. The best men I know for this job.”
“Bass, you say,” said Heyes with a friendly smile, shaking the proffered hand while catching his partner’s eye. “That’s not a name you hear every day.”
“Smith and Jones,” murmured the man called Bass with a slight air of speculation. “Rather the opposite.” His handshake was firm, his grip strong
“Oh, forgive my bad manners!” Harper said, then completed the introductions. “Joshua, Thaddeus, this is Deputy United States Marshal Bass Reeves, the best gosh-darned lawman I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“Yes, I believe I have read something about you in the newspaper,” answered Heyes as the four men took their places around the table. “You have quite a reputation, Marshal.”
“And Harper here has told me about you two as well,” replied the marshal. “I believe you could be just the men I’m lookin' for to bring in a couple of hard cases.”
A waiter approached with a steaming pot of coffee, accompanied by an assistant who hastily added two more place settings to the table. The waiter topped off Reeves’ cup, then filled the other three as the men settled in.
Harper said, “This place has the best roast beef in three counties – with all the trimmings. My treat, of course. That sound good to you?”
The other three readily agreed. Orders taken, the servers departed and the conversation resumed.
“I read that you typically work alone,” Hannibal Heyes said, addressing Reeves.
“Sometimes, but not always,” the lawman answered. ”I often work with another deputy marshal that also happens to be a good friend, name of Grant Johnson. Matter of fact, he was with me for my biggest catch: Bob Dozier. I chased him for years. Finally tracked him down way up in the Cherokee Hills.”
“I read something about that. Is it true there was a terrible storm that night?” asked Heyes.
“Yes indeed. It was winter, and it was cold, the kind of damp cold that chills you to your bones. But not too cold for it to rain – and rain it did. It was pourin’ down in buckets,” Reeves warmed to his story. His small audience listened intently as he continued, “It was gettin’ dark and me and Grant were just lookin’ for a good spot to set up camp for the night, tryin’ to stay dry. Couldn’t barely see a darned thing. Suddenly, a rifle shot rings out. And I swear to you, I heard that bullet whiz by my head, it was that close. Grant and me, we hit the dirt, and there we stayed, just waitin’ for another shot so’s we could pinpoint Dozier.” He paused for dramatic effect, looking at each of his listeners before continuing.
“Nothin’ – not a sound but the plop plop plop of raindrops hittin’ the leaves. Then I see a shadow movin’ through the trees. I fire twice and three shots come right back at us. Then it gets quiet again. We just stay low, watchin’ and listenin’. And then we hear somethin’ downright unsettlin': Laughter. It was Dozier. He’s laughin’ just as loud as you please, thinkin’ he done kilt us. Suddenly, the rain just up and stops. It’s still kinda misty, but I spot Dozier’s silhouette through the trees, just standin' there, holdin’ his rifle and laughin’ to beat the devil. See, he thought he won. Thought he beat me. But then I jump up, and I yell out, “This is Deputy US Marshal Bass Reeves. Bob Dozier, you are under arrest. Drop your weapon and come quietly.” But Dozier, he ducks into a crouch and he brings up his rifle, so I ain’t got no choice but to shoot. Hit ‘im in the neck. He was dead ‘fore he hit the ground.”
“That’s quite a story, Marshal,” ventured Heyes after a moment of silence.
Colonel Harper, his eyes shining, exclaimed, “See what I mean, boys? Dead or alive, right, Bass?”
Curry and Heyes exchanged an uncomfortable glance, which did not go unnoticed by the marshal. “I never shot a man when it was not necessary to do so in the discharge of my duty to save my own life,” he pronounced proudly.
“Why us? I mean, why don’t you take your friend Johnson with you?” questioned Curry.
“Grant’s unavailable right now and I just got a tip about where a particular snake I’ve been after for months is holed up. I’ve devised a fool-proof plan for infiltrating his gang. I want some back-up for this one and Harper here tells me you boys can handle yourselves.”
“Two best men I know,” the colonel commented, pride evident in his voice, oblivious of the aforementioned two best men flinching slightly at Reeves’ use of the term ‘fool-proof.’
“He also told me how you two managed to bring Blanche Graham back from Mexico to face murder charges – through charm alone.”
“Well, charm and a little bit of deviousness,” Heyes answered, grinning impishly.
“That’s just the kinda men I need for this job. Not only handy with your guns, but smart, too. And able to play a role, like you did with Blanche.”
The conversation was interrupted by two waiters, who placed steaming plates of sliced roast beef and mashed potatoes in front of them. Meanwhile, at another table in the back of the restaurant, two diners took notice of the foursome. They kept looking over at Reeves, staring overtly. One of the men, on the skinny side with reddish hair and a sparse mustache, was obviously agitated. His companion attempted to soothe him, but eventually, as if he couldn’t stomach what he was witnessing a second longer, the ginger-haired man stood, tossed down his napkin, and walked over to the table. He reached it just as the servers departed and the men began to dig into their meals.
“What are you doin’ in here, boy?” the stranger demanded, staring at Reeves belligerently.
“I don’t see any boys about, but we’re fixin’ to eat some supper,” Reeves answered mildly. “Why don’t you go on and find your way back to your own table and finish yours.” He continued eating as if he hadn’t been interrupted.
Heyes frowned, Curry eyed the interloper warily, and Colonel Harper turned in annoyance, saying, “This gentleman is my guest, sir. Please leave us.”
Other customers started to notice the developing situation. Some whispered to one another, while others scraped their chairs back, ready for what might happen next.
“Gentleman?!” scoffed the intruder. “Why, he ain’t nothin’ but a –”
“That’s enough!” interrupted Curry, his blue eyes cold.
“Come on back here, Red,” called his friend from their own table, a worried look on his face.
Reeves calmly dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, then placed it next to his plate and rose to his full six foot two inches. He took a step towards the redhead, looking down at him impassively. He was taller, broader, and more imposing than the man he faced. A flicker of fear passed across the shorter man’s countenance, but he blustered on. “This is a respectable hotel. How did you even get in?”
“Same way you did, walked through the front door,” replied the marshal. “Now that your curiosity is satisfied, you can go on back to your meal.”
“I ain’t eatin’ ‘til you leave,” insisted Red, pushing the edge of his jacket away from his holster menacingly.
Beneath the table, Kid Curry’s right hand crept subtly toward his hip. Heyes, noticing, caught his partner’s eye and twitched his chin ever-so-slightly in the negative direction. Curry looked questioningly at Heyes, who nodded towards Reeves. Curry shrugged slightly, then turned his attention back to the ongoing confrontation.
“Then I reckon you’re gonna go hungry,” replied Reeves, turning away in dismissal. Red suddenly went for his gun.
In a blur of movement, Reeves spun on his heel, reached with both hands across his body and whipped out his brace of pistols, leveling them at his opponent before the man could even clear leather.
Heyes and Curry turned to each other and swapped impressed expressions. A chorus of gasps, whistles, and murmurs rolled through the restaurant. Harper chuckled in a satisfied way, looking over to Heyes and Curry.
“See, I told you,” he bragged.
Red stared into both barrels, his already pale face draining of what little color it had.
“I...I...I... uh... I didn’t mean nothin’, mister… You ain’t gonna shoot me, are ya?” he stammered.
After a beat, the marshal holstered both guns – no fancy twirls or flourishes, just a straight-forward replacement. “Not worth the bullets,” he muttered. Retaining his deliberate, calm manner, he sat down and resumed eating his meal, pointedly ignoring the man standing as if rooted in place, attempting to gather his composure.
By this time, Red’s companion had thrown some bills on their table, donned his own hat, and scooped up that of his friend. He hurried over, grabbed the unfortunate fellow by the arm, thrust the Stetson onto his friend's head, and hustled him out of the establishment.
The other patrons gradually resumed their own meals and conversations, but cast more than a few awed glances at the dark-skinned marshal who now sat placidly polishing off his roast beef and potatoes.
When the restaurant had returned to normal, Heyes turned to Reeves and commented, “It must be difficult, having to deal with men like that.”
“It’s a mite irritatin’. S’why I spend most of my time in Indian Territory. Folks out there tend to judge a man by the content of his character rather than the color of his skin. Here in the States, it often ain’t so.”
Heyes shook his head, grinning ruefully, and replied, “Rather ironic, considering that in the States, 'All men are created equal.'”
“Yeah, well, people like that don’t consider people that look like me to be men, no matter what ol’ Tommy Jefferson wrote down on that piece of paper.”
“Gentlemen,” pronounced Colonel Harper, consulting a pocket watch, “it’s getting late. I have one more appointment tonight and an early train in the morning. As a matter of fact, I have to go up to Wyoming Territory to meet with the governor. Are we in agreement, then? May I tell the governor you’ll be working with Bass?”
Curry began, “We don’t even –” He was interrupted by a sharp kick beneath the table.
“Of course, we’ll take the job,” Heyes answered, smiling.
“Uh, yes,” Curry joined in, shooting a resentful look at his partner, “I was just gonna say we don’t even need to know what the job is to agree to it.”
“Good, good,” enthused the colonel. “It’s all settled. You can tell them the details over breakfast, Bass. Joshua, Thaddeus, I am going to have to steal our marshal away from you. I want him to meet some friends of mine.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fade to…
A hotel room containing two twin-sized beds with tarnished brass headboards, covered in colorful patchwork quilts. Between the beds is a marble-topped night-stand sporting a glass-shaded kerosene lamp, burning low. Against the floral-papered wall stands a quarter-sawn oak dresser with cut-glass knobs and a large mirror etched with fillagrees above it. Reflected in the mirror is the door, which swings open to admit our two favorite former outlaws...
“I cannot believe it; I simply cannot believe it!” Heyes spluttered as he burst into the room, turned up the lamp, and began to pace back and forth across the small room.
Curry slammed the door shut, then flopped down on one of the narrow beds, saying in resignation, “Huh. I can. It’s just our luck.”
Heyes spun on his heel, and stabbing his finger into the air to punctuate his words, retorted, “The man we spent an extra three days traveling across miles of nowhere to avoid is the same man Colonel Harper wants us to team up with!”
“Did ya see the way he looked at us?” Curry asked. “And the way he said, ‘Smith and Jones’ all suspicious-like? You were right! We need to keep well clear of him!” He straightened up, swinging his legs over the side to perch on the edge of the bed. “Heyes, we can’t take this job!” he exclaimed.
Hannibal Heyes stopped pacing and faced his partner with a grim expression. “Kid, we can’t afford NOT to take it – not after we came all this way. Harper will be suspicious. He might even say something to the governor,” he added resignedly.
“Can’t we fake an emergency? Some long-lost relative sends us a telegram tellin’ us they’re in desperate need of our help?” the Kid suggested as he pulled his boots off one at a time and tossed them to the floor.
Heyes sat down heavily in the upholstered armchair in the corner of the room despondently. ”No, no,” he answered. “Harper knows us well enough to know we don’t have any relatives. We’re just plain stuck, Kid. We’re stuck working with Reeves.”
Curry sprang to his feet and pronounced, “I don’t like it, Heyes. I don’t like it one bit.”
“Neither do I, but like I said, we’re stuck. We have to be very careful. Smart thinking not to draw down on that yahoo in the restaurant.”
Curry began to unbuckle his gun belt as he replied, “Didn’t have to. Reeves is fast. Real fast.”
“Told ya.”
Curry hung his gun belt over the headboard, then turned to his partner with an accusatory glare and practically snorted, “You said he drew like Harry Briscoe. That was nothin' like Harry Briscoe!”
“I did not say he drew like Harry Briscoe. I said he draws two-handed across the front and YOU said like Harry Briscoe.”
“Well, nothing about him comes anywhere near Harry Briscoe. This Bass Reeves is the real deal.”
“You could beat him.” Heyes stated confidently.
“I dunno. And I don’t wanna find out,” Curry grumbled.
“Yeah, we don’t wanna give him any reason to look at us more closely,” Heyes agreed.
“So, no poker for you tonight, Heyes. He might be over at the saloon and we don’t need him seein’ you cleanin' out the locals.”
“This is going to be hard, Kid. This is going to be real hard.”
“And we don’t even know who the guys are we’re helpin’ him bring in yet,” Curry pointed out. “Reeves never got the chance to tell us before Harper pulled him away. What if it’s someone who knows us?”
“Come on, Kid,” Heyes cajoled. “What are the odds?”
Curry shot his partner a dark look.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, back in the hotel restaurant. This time Harper is not present. Heyes, Curry, and Reeves are once again seated around a table, now eating breakfast – eggs, bacon, biscuits, and coffee.
“I’m pleased you boys are willin’ to partner up with me,” Reeves said, taking a sip of coffee. “Specially not even knowin’ what the job entails.”
“Yes, about that,” ventured Heyes. “We really would like to hear the details. Wouldn’t we, Thaddeus?”
“That we would,” agreed the Kid. “Just so we, uh, know who – or what – we’re gonna be up against.”
“Understandable. First outlaw on my list is Myra Maebelle Shirley Reed Starr, more commonly known as none other than Belle Starr, the Queen of the Bandits. I figure you can charm her the way you charmed Blanche Graham, Smith. You heard of her?” answered Reeves.
Curry met his partner’s eyes with an urgent silent look, but Heyes ignored him and replied smoothly, “Sure we’ve heard of her. Not too many lady outlaws around, so she’s pretty well-known.”
“Not so sure I’d call her a lady,” Bass commented dryly.
“But she’s not dangerous – as far as I’ve heard, she’s just a horse thief,” added Heyes.
“Well, folks take horse thievin’ pretty serious in these parts. And she and her husband Sam are known to provide safe harbor for all kinds of outlaws at their ranch. Judge Parker wants her brought in. Fact is, Parker wants her brought in somethin' fierce. So, she’s tops on my list,” answered the lawman, patting his vest pocket, where the edges of three paper warrants peeked out.
“Judge Isaac Parker?” asked Heyes. “The one they call 'The Hanging Judge'?”
“Some folk do. Parker has made it his personal mission to clean out the territory of outlaws. And he has a bee in his bonnet when it comes to Belle Starr. Parker’s the one hired me as a marshal after he heard I had lived in the territory for a spell and can speak the lingo. Seems he’s friendly with your Colonel Harper – that’s how you two got involved.”
“Surely the great Bass Reeves doesn’t need our help to bring in Belle Starr,” offered Heyes.
“Prob’ly not,” Reeves said candidly, “but if you use that charm of yours to get her to come in quietly, Smith, then I won’t have to be rough with her. She may be an outlaw, but she’s still a woman. And I may be a deputy marshal, but I’m still a gentleman. It’s the other fella I’m lookin’ for help with –” Reeves’ attention was suddenly diverted across the opposite side of the restaurant to a man who had just entered. “Excuse me,” he interrupted his own explanation. “I just spotted an old friend. I’ll be right back.” Reeves rose, crossed the room, and warmly greeted the man he’d noticed, leaving the partners alone at the table. Immediately, they began an urgently whispered conversation.
“Heyes! You’ve got to get us outta this!”
“Oh, quit worrying, Kid. We’ve only met her the two times. Besides, Belle wouldn’t turn us in. Remember, she loves outlaws. And she has a soft spot for me.”
“Yeah, but you never returned her affections – she might hold that against you,” the Kid said, reaching for another biscuit.
Heyes raised one eyebrow.
Curry stopped in mid-bite, blue eyes wide. “Wait – you been holdin’ out on me, partner?”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he answered coyly.
“But she’s married!” protested Curry.
“Not when we met her that first time. Remember, she was still Belle Reed back then. A widow. She was lonely. And she’s always had a penchant for outlaws. Oh, stop looking so shocked. It didn’t go that far.”
“Even so, you can’t be serious about about turnin’ in Belle. You know yourself, all that Bandit Queen and Lady Outlaw stuff is mostly just fancy talk. What’s the worse she ever did? Steal a few horses? It ain’t like she ever killed anybody.”
“I know, Kid, I know. Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”
Curry rolled his eyes and retorted, “Fine, but if it turns out the next guy knows us, too, that’s it. We leave in the night and head south – and learn to speak Mexican.”
Just then Bass Reeves returned to the table.
“Sorry about that, fellas,” he apologized as he took his seat and picked up his fork. “Haven’t seen my old friend Bo Hopkins in a dog’s age. I just had to go over and pay my respects. So, where was I?”
“You were just about to tell us the name of the other outlaws we are planning to arrest,” Heyes reminded him helpfully.
“Ah, yes. Well, Belle’s husband Sam for one, but he’s small potatoes compared to the third one. His name is Ben Bowlegs. Or at least that’s one of the names he goes by.”
The partners exchanged a look of relief, then listened as Reeves recited, “Also known as Ben Billy, also known as Billy Williams. Aged 34. Hair: Sandy brown. Eyes: hazel. Ruddy complexion. Height: 5 feet 10 inches. Weight:170 pounds. 2-inch scar on left cheekbone. Wanted for assault, robbery, and first-degree murder.”
Curry flashed a look at Heyes, then said to Reeves, “You memorized that? From the warrant?”
Bass smiled and patted his vest pocket again. “Yup. Had a deputy read it off for me. But I can also tell you that Bowlegs is a real snake. Which is an insult to snakes everywhere. Word is, he found out his partner was cheatin’ him. So old Bowlegs stabs him to death – in his sleep! Talk about low-down. Most of his gang ran off after that.” Reeves paused and shook his head ruefully, then continued.
“Heh. Reckon they were afraid to go to sleep at night. Now he just has a few fellas runnin’ with him and he’s tryin’ to recruit new members. I’ve been informed by a reliable source that they’re hidin’ out in an old adobe ranch near Tahlequah. My plan is, we three pose as saddle tramps and show up there, askin’ to join Bowlegs’ gang. We gain their trust, bide our time. Then when their guard is down, we surprise ‘em. I’ve played this act many a time before on my own, but with that rattlesnake I’d prefer to have a couple of good men by my side.”
“When do we leave?” asked Heyes.
“First thing in the mornin'. We’re travelin’ light – but then I reckon you boys are used to that – more than me, at least,” said Reeves. “I usually travel with what seems like a small army! Wagon full of supplies, driver, cook, and a posseman. Grant, when I can get him and he’s not off findin' his own criminals. We stay out in the territory for months at a time, roundin’ up outlaws. But this time, Judge Parker wants me to get in and get out and bring back the Starrs and Bowlegs to Ft. Smith as quickly as possible.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fade to:
Early the next morning, the sun is just rising over the horizon and a handful of townsfolk are out and about on the streets, beginning their day. Curry and Heyes walk from the hotel to the livery stable, carrying their saddle bags and other belongings, the Kid still buttoning up. As they enter the stable, we see Bass Reeves already inside, saddling a beautiful silvery white stallion, at least 16 hands tall, its sinewy muscles rippling beneath its glossy coat. He is murmuring affectionately to the horse as he works. Reeves looks up as the boys walk toward him.
“Beautiful animal,” Curry commented, reaching over to pat the sleek equine neck.
“But what…?” queries Reeves. “I can hear an unspoken ‘but’ at the end of your compliment.”
“I think what Thaddeus means is that he’s a bit, well, flashy. Noticeable, if you will,” Heyes explained as he and his partner busied themselves tacking up their own horses.
“That’s why I like him,” Bass grinned, pulling himself up into the saddle. With his considerable height and imposing size, he cut a striking figure indeed sitting atop the tall silvery-white steed. He reached forward and stroked the base of his mount’s ears affectionately. “When folks see me comin’, they know it’s me.”
“But, isn’t that a bit counter-productive? Didn’t you say you like to work incognito?” asked Heyes, tightening his saddle’s girth.
“Well, I sure don’t ride Silver when I’m in disguise, if that’s what’s worryin’ you. Ya see, I’ve got two ways of operatin’, dependin’ on the situation. Sometimes, I go in with my head high, ridin’ Silver – all flashy, like you said – to intimidate my quarry. Other times, I’m low-key, incognito; I gain their trust, then surprise ‘em. For this arrest, we’ll stash Silver when we get to Tahlequah and I’ll ride a horse that blends in better – more nondescript, like your horses.” He looked significantly at the brown and bay. “They’re more like somethin' somebody who don’t wanna be noticed might ride. Come on, then. It’s a three-day ride to Briartown.”
The statuesque lawman turned and rode out of the open stable door and into the street, leaving the partners to quickly finish readying their own horses, mount hastily, and trail behind him.
“What do you think he meant by that last crack?” Curry muttered.
“Come on, Kid. You worry too much!” answered Heyes. He urged his horse into a trot and began to close the distance between himself and Reeves.
Curry rolled his eyes and quickly followed suit.
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The three men riding off into the distance in the early morning light blurs into the three men riding through the wilderness when the sun is high in the sky. A rabbit, startled by the riders, bounds past them. Curry pulls his rifle from the sheath strapped to his saddle and shoots it, then rides past it, leans down to pick it up and tie it his saddle.
“Thought this might come in handy for supper,” Curry commented as he quickly caught up to his companions.
Reeves shook his head and said, “Good shootin’, Jones, but it ain’t gonna be enough.”
Curry shrugged and said, “Still have a couple more hours of daylight. We’ll probably run across another one.”
They hadn’t gone much farther when they came to a group of about five mule deer placidly grazing near the edge of a copse of trees. The animals looked up from their meal and scattered, most of them fading into the trees. Before they could all disappear, Reeves pulled his rifle from its scabbard, took aim, and brought one of them down. Curry and Heyes looked at each other curiously.
“Guess he’s got a big appetite,” Heyes remarked under his breath as Reeves urged his horse over to his kill. The partners watched, somewhat puzzled, as the lawman laid the carcass across his horse’s back, took him by the reins, and began to walk his horse back to the partners waiting on the rutted trail.
Curry said to Heyes in a low voice, “How we gonna carry that with us and make any kind of time? And it’s gonna spoil before we can eat it all!”
Heyes shushed him as Reeves came within earshot. Both men looked like they were awaiting an explanation, but Reeves only said, “Two miles to go,” and walked ahead of them.
As Heyes and Curry plodded along slowly so as not to overtake their companion, they looked at each other quizzically, but after the predicted two miles, they rounded a bend and the trees opened up to reveal a small village. A cluster of huts surrounded an open area where a group of villagers in native dress congregated.
As they neared the settlement, several young children came running toward them calling out gleefully, “Bass! Bass!” The little ones ran up the big lawman, swarming around him, a couple bolder ones grabbing him around a leg, which was all they could reach. They looked delighted to see him and giggled and chattered excitedly, forming a small escort for the trio. Some cast shy, hopeful glances at the Kid and Heyes as the two young men dismounted and led their horses behind Reeves and the swarm of children. When one or the other would smile or wave at a child, that child would giggle and hide their face behind a companion.
When the group reached the center area of the village, which appeared to be the locus of activity, the villagers welcomed Bass happily and greeted him in their own language, in which he answered fluently. Two middle-aged women detached themselves from the small group that was busy preparing food around an open fire. They approached Reeves, who stopped and pulled the dead deer from his saddle and handed it to them. With happy and grateful smiles, they thanked him profusely. They hauled the large carcass back to the fireside, where several women immediately set to work butchering it, exclaiming happily and calling out and waving their thanks to Reeves.
“You could have said –” began Heyes, but he was interrupted by high-pitched feminine giggles, soon joined in by deep laughter from Bass. Heyes glanced over to the source of amusement. His partner was offering the rabbit to the women, who, although appreciative, seemed somewhat amused at the appearance of the rabbit, painfully small and inadequate next to the much larger deer. The Kid was a good sport, smiling self-deprecatingly as the women teased him good-naturedly.
The children were surrounding Reeves now, some literally hanging from him, others trying to search his pockets. With a teasing grin, he pulled out a small paper bag. The smiles stretched even bigger and small hands clapped together gleefully as he held it out to them. Pudgy fingers reached into the bag excitedly and pulled out pieces of hard candy. The children stuffed them into their mouths with gusto.
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We fade away from this wholesome scene, and soon open back up into another equally homey one. The entire village plus the three visitors are seated cozily around the fire, which burns brightly against the blue-black night sky. There is no audio, just gentle music with a slight “Native American” overtone to it. Their faces bathed in the soft golden glow, everyone is sharing the meal that the women had been preparing earlier, now rounded out with the venison and rabbit.
Bass looks very much at home among these villagers, holding a sweet-faced toddler on one knee as he eats and converses. So too do the Kid and Heyes, the former being offered more helpings of food from a pretty young woman on either side of him. A young boy about eight years old is seated next to Heyes, happily wearing the battered black hat, which obscures most of his face, revealing only a broad grin with a gap where he is missing one front baby tooth. After the meal there is singing and more talking.
As it latens, each former outlaw now holds a sleeping child. People begin to excuse themselves and head for their homes. The mothers of the sleeping children gently take them from the visitors and carry them off to bed. The woman who had taken charge of the deer carcass beckons to the guests. She leads them to two small huts, ushering Bass to one, and Heyes and Curry to a second.
Cut to interior of the hut where the boys are bedding down in piles of furs.
Curry commented, “This was sure a lot different from our last experience with Indians…”
“You can say that again,” murmured Heyes.
Cut to the next morning as the sleepy village begins to stir to life. Pantomime goodbyes as the travelers set off again. The children run after the riders for several yards, calling and waving their farewells.
Last edited by royannahuggins on Fri 06 Mar 2020, 4:00 am; edited 9 times in total | |
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