What do two fortune hunters, a pair of strangers with familiar names and a treasure map all have in common? The odds are good that Heyes and Curry will be able to figure it out.



Kinsey City, Colorado, Fall 1883

Kid Curry yawned.  He took his eyes off his partner’s back and let his glance drift around the saloon.  A swamper was mopping up the rough planked floor and two barmaids sitting on the staircase chatted quietly.  The barkeep noisily rummaged through bottles on the back bar holding each one up to the dim gaslight over the bar and replacing the ones drained dry.  Through the glass in the front window, the Kid could see a tumbleweed appear out of the darkness, be briefly illuminated by the light pouring through the window, and ramble on into the night.  On the other side of the empty street, he could see the General Store’s sign swinging in the wind.  A faint glow to the east foretold the dawn.

“I ain’t takin’ no piece of paper.  I don’t bust my bones all day workin’ dirt for paper!  Pony up or fold,” growled a gruff voice.

Curry’s attention snapped back to the only occupied table.  A man in denim overalls and a scraggly, three-day beard was addressing the old man seated to Heyes’ left.  

Heyes gave the farmer a conciliatory smile and looked around the table before saying, “Why don’t we see what our friend here is offering up instead of turning him down cold?  Seems only fair.”

Another player with mutton-chop whiskers nodded and yawned.  “I’m willing to hear him out.”  

“It’s a map to my treasure,” said the old man proudly.  His gnarled hand reached into his tattered shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.  With reverence, he carefully opened the brittle document and smoothed it out on the pine table.  “It’s worth more’n that whole pot.”

Guffaws and snorts greeted his statement.  Even Heyes had difficulty keeping a straight face but his eyes were kind as he said, “Mr. Connor, you shouldn’t gamble away something so valuable.  It might be best if you fold.”



“I can’t.  I already bet everythin’.  This is all I got left.”  Desperately, Connor begged his companions, “You got to let me play out this hand.  Please.”

Another man, dressed in rumpled city duds, grimaced.  “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Connor, but if you can’t ante up, you’re out.”

“I’m willing to let him play,” said mutton-chop.

“Kare, we all know you’ll extend credit to anyone,” said city duds.  “As your banker, I feel the need to tell you, one of these days you’ll parlay that general store into an empire or you’ll go bust.  I say cash or he’s out.”  The other players nodded their agreement with the last statement but Heyes was watching the old man.

Connor’s eyes watered with unshed tears.  “But…”  He bowed his unkempt gray head, his long beard quivering as he struggled with his emotions.

Heyes cleared his throat and eyes shifted to him.  “I’ll cover Mr. Connor’s bet.”  He took several chips from the pile amassed in front of him and tossed them into the pot.  “That’s all right with the rest of you, isn’t it?”  His tone made it clear he expected no argument and he didn’t get one.  

“I can’t let you do that, Smith,” said Connor.  “I ain’t taken charity my whole life and I don’t aim to start now.”

“It’s not charity, it’s an investment.  You win and I’ll expect you to repay me with interest.  Say two dollars on top of what I chipped in.  You lose and we both leave this table older and wiser.”  Heyes looked over to the Kid who was watching intently.

Kare grunted.  “Those are generous terms.  Mr. Smith, you obviously don’t have a head for business.”

Connor looked at Heyes.  “Why’re you doin’ this?”

“I’m a gambler.  Taking chances is what I do,” responded Heyes.

Slowly, Connor’s face broke out into a smile and he nodded.  “All righty, then, you’re on, Smith.  I win, you win.”  Happily, he drew two cards and carefully worked them into the hand he held.  

Heyes cashed out when it was his turn.  He picked up his chips and walked over to the Kid, still watching the game.

“Why’d you quit?” asked Curry so softly only Heyes could hear him.  “You were winnin’.”

“I don’t have the heart to clean him out.  Let someone else do it.”  Heyes glanced at his partner, his expression unsure.  “I guess maybe I should’ve stuck it out and helped him along.”

“You don’t cheat at poker.  You made it a point your whole life not to cheat at poker.”  Snickering, the Kid added, “It’s about the only thing you don’t cheat at.”

“Is it cheating if I don’t profit from it?” posed Heyes.

A groan returned their attention to the table in time for them to see the banker reach out and pull the pot toward him.  Connor looked pale with shock.

“Well, it’s done now,” said the Kid with finality.  “Let’s head out.  If we leave now, we can make Grand Lake by day after tomorrow.”  He started for the door but looked back over his shoulder.  Heyes was still watching the grief-stricken old man.  Curry walked back and gently gripped his partner’s forearm.  “C’mon, Joshua, give the man some privacy.  We both know he ain’t gonna let you help him again.”  He tugged firmly.

Heyes shook his head sadly and followed Curry out the door and up the street to where their horses stood tied to a hitching rail.  As he checked his horse’s cinch and retrieved his coat from his saddle bag, he kept his eyes on the entrance to the saloon.  The other players poured out the door bidding each other good evening and going off in opposite directions.  A few minutes later, Connor emerged just as the saloon lights winked out.  He looked up and down the street then stepped unsteadily off the sidewalk and started to cross.  His gait was odd, as though he was drunk.

“Kid, look,” said Heyes.  Curry looked up and followed his partner’s eyes.

Heyes continued, “Something’s wrong.  Connor didn’t finish one beer the whole game.”  He tied off his horse again and hurried toward the lonely figure now stopping and swaying alarmingly in the middle of the dusty road.  He broke into a run as Connor sank to the ground one hand clutched to his left side and he could hear the Kid running behind him.  Reaching the old man, Heyes knelt at his side and gently lifted Connor’s head out of the dirt.  

“Hey, hey, I gotcha, take it easy!  Mr. Connor?”  Heyes’ voice rose with each word.

“My heart…it hurts,” whimpered Connor.  Frantically, his right hand pawed at his left pocket.  The Kid slid down next to his partner as Connor grappled with a small piece of paper.  “T..t..take the map.”

“Thaddeus, get a doc,” urged Heyes.  He tried to still Connor’s hands but was slapped away.  The Kid jumped up and took off running down the street, his head turning right and left looking for some indication of a doctor’s office.  Heyes looked down at the prone man.  “Hang on, Mr. Connor, the doc’s coming.”

“He ain’t…gonna make it,” gasped Connor, pushing the folded paper into Heyes’ hand.  “Please, take it, Smith.  You was kind…and….I…I…pay my…debts.”  A soft gurgling noise punctuated the last statement as the light faded from the old man’s eyes.  Heyes sighed deeply, pushed the small bit of paper into his pocket and gently lowered the grayed head.  He heard someone running up to him.  Familiar boots appeared next to his knees and he tiredly said, “He’s gone.”

“I’m sorry.  I couldn’t find an office.”

“It’s all right.  Nothing was going to save him.”  Heyes gently closed the old man’s eyes.

“Heyes, we need to go.  Someone’s goin’ to be comin’ around soon and we can’t afford to wait to meet the sheriff.”



“I know but I hate to leave him like this.”  Heyes took off his bandana and folded it into a large square.  Lifting Connor’s head, he positioned the cloth so when he lowered the dead man’s head, it was shielded from the dirt.  He stood up and removed his hat, holding it across his chest for a moment before placing it back on his head and turning away.


The big bay shuffled up a narrow, rocky slope and stood at the top, heaving.  His rider turned in the saddle and watched his partner’s buckskin struggling nearer.  The gelding stopped next to the bay and both men read the weather-beaten sign proclaiming “Stillwater Pass” that hung askew on a post held by a single, rusty nail.

“You doin’ all right?” asked Kid Curry.

“I’m fine,” replied Heyes.  “It’s just…Connor reminded me of Seth.”
The Kid nodded.  “Yeah, he kinda did me, too.”

“I guess it sort of brought it all back.  You know, Bilson and the desert.”

“I figured somethin’ was botherin’ you.  You’ve been pretty quiet all mornin’.”

Heyes was looking out over the vista opening up below them.  “It’s sad.  Both of them thinking they’d made their score only to have it snatched away.  Neither of them had a chance to enjoy it.  It doesn’t seem right.  What’s the point of working so hard?”  



The Kid looked at him quizzically.  “Are you talkin’ about Connor and Seth or have we somehow got onto talkin’ about us?”

Heyes laughed weakly.  “How many times have we gotten our amnesty hopes up only to have it turn bad?  Is it all going to end up being a great big waste of our time?”

“Maybe this time will be different.  Lom’s telegraph sounded urgent.”

“All his telegraphs sound urgent.  What if we do get it this time?  What’s to stop something from happening?  Until word spreads, folks will still think we’re wanted and, even when it does, it ain’t gonna stop would-be gunslingers from wanting to try their luck against you.”

“Heyes, c’mon.  It ain’t like you to turn all dumpish; that’s my job.  You’re worryin’ me.”  The Kid lifted his reins.  “Lom’s not the only thing waitin’ for us in Grand Lake.  There’s also a brand, spankin’ new saloon with lots of pretty gals and all those miners with money burnin’ holes in their pockets just waitin’ for you to come and take it.”

The dark-haired ex-outlaw smiled slightly.  “You always do know how to cheer me up, Kid.”


“I knew it!  I told you, Thaddeus!” snarled Hannibal Heyes as he left the Grand Lake Telegraph Office.  He viciously crumpled up the telegram in his hand.  “Lom couldn’t even be bothered to meet us in person!”

“He explained that.  There was no point in him meetin’ us.  Look, no one expected the governor to get sick.  Lom didn’t say the amnesty was off; only that whatever he was goin’ to tell us was gonna have to be put on hold for a while.”

“A while?!  How long is a while?!”  Heyes was up in the Kid’s face, his own turning bright red as he shook the telegram at his partner.  “First, it was a new governor and we had to be patient.  Wait to see if he’d honor Thayer’s deal.  Then it was ‘too soon’.  Now, it’s ‘he’s sick and wait a while'!  All this time, we’re getting chased and shot at, run out of every one-horse town we come across.  You know what?  I’ve had it! I’m done!  Through.”

The Kid calmly asked, “So what now?”

Heyes threw the telegram to the ground.  “Now, I’m going to go play some poker, drink some good whiskey, and find one of those pretty girls you were talking about.  Then, maybe then, I’ll be able to figure out what I wanna do next.”

“I’ll come with you; you just let me know when you’re done thinkin’.  I’ll be waitin’.”


The next morning, Kid Curry sat at a sunny corner table in Lacy’s Café.  The waitress standing next to him poured coffee in the mug by his right hand.  Her dishwater-blond hair was piled untidily on the top of her head, long strands escaping down the back of her neck.  A faded green apron encircled her generous waist and laugh lines crinkled in the corners of her eyes.  “Thank you, ma’am,” said the polite ex-outlaw.

“Call me Lacy.  Ma’am makes me feel old,” said the middle-aged woman.  “You sure have a fine appetite on you, Mister.”

“I’m Thaddeus, Thaddeus Jones,” the Kid grinned.  “Lacy, if your food was any better I’m afraid I might have to marry you.”

Beaming, Lacy scuffed him on the shoulder.  “If your tongue was any smoother, I might just have to say yes.”

A bell over the door tinkled merrily but the dark-haired man who stumbled into the café was anything but merry-looking.  Heyes was bleary-eyed and a man going out the same door cringed away from him and grabbed his nose, but the ex-outlaw failed to notice.  His face still bore a scowl.  The Kid sighed as his partner sat down across from him.  Lacy pulled another mug from the pocket of the apron she wore and wordlessly poured Heyes a cup of coffee, nodded to the Kid, and moved on to her next customers.

Heyes slurped his coffee noisily until it was empty and banged the mug back down on the table.  He scowled at the Kid who sat watching him.  “What?” he snapped.

“You look mean enough to steal a fly from a blind spider.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m feeling a whole lot meaner than that.”

“Seemed like maybe you were gettin’ over it last night, but not so much this mornin’.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna get over it.”

The Kid looked at him carefully before speaking quietly.  “So what are you sayin’?  You want to go back to our old life?”

Heyes’ anger deflated and he exhaled, rubbing his face.  He didn’t say anything for a minute.  “Is that what you want?”

“I’m not the one all worked up here, partner.  What do you want?”

“I want the amnesty.  I want to stop looking over my shoulder or into every face waiting to see if I’m recognized.  I want to stop running.  I want…I want to go back and make different choices.”  Heyes sat back in his chair, his face sad.  He looked around the tiny restaurant.  Several diners were enjoying breakfast.  The sun streamed in through the glass window, highlighting the silverware on the table behind them, the whole place looked cheerful, but not Heyes.  

“What’s done is done,” said the Kid pointedly as he picked up his knife and fork, sawing off a piece of steak and putting it into his mouth.  “Have some breakfast, you’ll feel better once you eat.”

Heyes shook his head.  “I’m not hungry.  Let’s pay up and get outta here.”  He fished in his pocket and pulled out a fistful of coins, dropping them on the table.  Included with the coins was Connor’s folded map.  Heyes saw it and picked it up, staring at it for a second, then carefully unfolded it and smoothed it out on the table.  He scanned the crude map and read the notes down the side slowly before looking up at the Kid.  “What if there really is a treasure?”

It was Curry’s turn to snort and he did, loudly.  “You want us to go on a treasure hunt?”

“Shhh,” hushed Heyes as he glanced around to see if they’d been overheard.  Two men at the next table were watching him with curiosity but quickly looked away.  “Someone might hear you.”

The Kid laughed.  “And what?  Think we’re nuts?”  He picked up another bite of his meal.

Heyes turned back to the Kid.  “I’m serious!  What if this map is real?  Those old miners are famous for hiding their nuggets.  Claim-jumping is a real problem.  Connor could’ve buried his grubstake.”

The Kid chewed thoughtfully then said, “Maybe, but I don’t recall Connor sayin’ he was a miner.”  

“What else could it be?  There’s a rush on in these parts in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I don’t know.  The last time we went on a treasure hunt, we nearly got ourselves killed by Indians.”

Heyes leaned closer into the table and lowered his voice even further.  “So we know better this time.  We’ll be careful.  Thaddeus, this could be the answer to all our problems!  With a big enough score, we could disappear.  Change our names, buy a place somewhere far away from these parts, maybe go up to Canada and homestead.”

Rubbing his chin, the Kid visibly contemplated the idea then nodded.  “You could be right.  Maybe we should find out what old Connor buried.  What else do we have to do?”

Heyes leaned back in his chair, a wide smile creasing his face.  “You know what?  I think I’m hungry after all.”

The Kid held up his hand to beckon Lacy to the table.  When she arrived, he politely made an introduction.  “Lacy, this here’s my partner, Joshua Smith, I do believe he’s feelin’ peckish now.”

“What would you like, Mr. Smith?” she asked Heyes.

“Bring me your best breakfast and more coffee, please.”  Heyes gave her his most brilliant smile.

She smiled back, “If my coffee perked you up like that, I’m going to have to up my price.”  As she filled his mug, she noticed the map spread out in front of him.  “You boys miners?  ‘Cause if you are, you need to find another line of work.  There’s no ore in those mountains,” Lacy said as she nodded at the map.

Hastily gathering up the map, Heyes shoved it in his pocket and smiled innocently up at her again.  “No, we’re not miners.  That’s a map of a ranch.  We’ve been offered work there and were just tryin’ to figure out how to get to it.”

“What’s the name of the ranch?”

Blushing, the Kid lied, “We don’t know, we only have the map to get there.”

Lacy laughed out loud.  “You took work and you don’t know where?”  Her loud voice brought them attention from all the other diners.

Heyes colored and said, “Please, we’re embarrassed enough.  I don’t want anyone to overhear.”

Her blue eyes dancing merrily, Lacy said, “God love you and good luck to you.  You’re gonna need it.”


The frosty morning had rimed the high country grasses and caused puffs of vapor to exit from four pairs of nostrils.  Light filtered through the mixed aspen and spruce forest shining on two riders atop their horses.  The animals fidgeted as they stood waiting for their riders’ next cues.  An open meadow could be seen through the trees and mountains rose in dusty layers of purple beyond it.  Dark storm clouds were forming to the west.

Heyes sat atop his buckskin, studying the map while the Kid scanned the area.  “You know, I’m not feelin’ too good about this treasure hunt.  Seems to me, we’ve been lost for a couple of days and the weather’s turnin’ colder.  We’ve been ridin’ in circles all mornin’.”  

“Don’t call it a treasure hunt.”

“What do you want me to call it?  A fishin’ expedition?  A fool’s errand, maybe?  How about…”  

“A chance, Kid.  Call it a chance,” said Heyes, seriously, folding up and putting away the map.  He protectively patted his pocket.  “If this pans out, we can finally quit drifting.  We can buy us a little place, change our names, our looks, maybe even live a life we could learn to love.”  He closed his legs and sent his buckskin into a slow walk.  

The Kid’s horse fell into step next to the buckskin.  “You really think you can settle down?  I’m not so sure.”

“I’m sure I’d like a chance to find out.  Ah, here’s the trail.”  Heyes pulled up his buckskin at an intersection.  Cutting off to the left was a well-worn single track.  He laid a rein on the right side of his gelding’s neck and they turned onto the new path leading towards the meadow.  The Kid followed, his bay happy to browse on the shrubs overgrowing the path as he ambled behind.


“You see which way they went?” asked the lanky man.  His partner, shorter and stockier, was leaning over the neck of his roan studying the trail ahead of him.  They were the two men from the café.

“Looks like they turned off here,” said the stocky man.  “Caleb, you’d better be sure about this.”

“I ain’t sure about anything.  I just heard that dark-haired fella say ‘treasure’ and my ears pricked up.”

“Treasure could mean a whole passel of things, but I admit they did leave town like their tails was lit afire.”

“What’ve we got to lose, Travis?” asked Caleb.  “Mining was a bust and, between you and me, it was a little too hard on my back.”

Travis grinned displaying several missing teeth, the remaining ones all darkened by tobacco plugs.  “You got me there, partner.”


“Don’t look, Heyes, but I think we’re bein’ followed,” said the Kid.  His horse meandered through a large colony of spindly, immature aspen trees.  The buckskin next to him carefully avoided a low hanging branch as his rider ducked across the animal’s shoulder.

“Yep.  Two men, both armed, professionals.  I saw them at the café.  You think they recognized us?”

“Don’t know.  What d’you wanna do?”

“We can’t shake them here; not enough cover.  Let them follow, the first chance we get, we’ll double back and see if we can’t persuade them to vamoose.”

The Kid chuckled and when Heyes looked over at him, he shrugged.  “You sound funny when you try to talk South American.”  


“Hold it right there, fellas,” said Curry as he emerged from a thick tangle of willows alongside a creek crossing, his Colt in his hand.  

Caleb and his partner quickly pulled up their horses and raised their hands.  “Don’t shoot, mister.  We don’t mean no harm!” cried Travis.  

Heyes rode out of the tree line with his weapon drawn and leading the Kid’s bay.  As he reached the stream, he pulled up and smiled devilishly.  “Drop your gun belts real easy and maybe you’ll keep breathing.”

Travis was the first one to divest himself of his weapons.  His gun belt landed on the sandy bank with a soft thud and he went onto digging a penknife out of his pants pocket.  His hands slid nervously into the shaft of his boot where he drew out a sharpened hoof pick.  Finished, he looked to his partner, his hands raised.

“Why were you followin’ us?” challenged the Kid angrily.

“Why, we wasn’t…” stammered Travis.

“Save it.  We spotted you on our trail yesterday,” snapped Heyes, his pistol aimed at Caleb.

Making a show of it, Caleb slowly undid his belt and held it to the side for a long moment before contemptuously dropping it next to the other man’s gun.  He crossed his arms over his saddle horn and smiled.  Leaning over the horn, he said conversationally, “Now, there ain’t no reason to get proddy.  We just happened to overhear you talking about your treasure in that café and thought we’d see if you might want some help finding it.  Me and Travis know these parts pretty good.”

“You do, huh?” said Heyes, skeptically.  He looked west and pointed.  “What’re those mountains called?”

Caleb squinted.  “The Arapahoe call them, Ni-chebe-chii.  They say it means ‘the place of No Never Summer’.  See that one with the clouds setting on it?  There’s a pass just north.  That’s where you’re going, right?  It’s rough up there; easy place to get lost.  And, boy howdy, when it snows, it snows hard and deep.”

Turning to face his partner, Heyes’ brows shot up and he mouthed, “He’s right.”

The Kid looked back at Heyes blandly but addressed Caleb.  “What do you have in mind?”  He ignored his partner’s glare.

“Well, seeing as you fellas have the map and we have the know-how, we’ll help you get to where you’re going.”

“And how much is that going to cost us,” asked Curry without any real interest.

Caleb appeared to consider the question, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  “Hmmm, why don’t we say a fifty-fifty split?”

Heyes’ own mouth dropped on and he sputtered.  “Fifty-fifty!  You’ve got to be kidding!”

“The way I see it, mister, is that there treasure map you got don’t do you no good if you can’t find the treasure,” said Caleb smugly.

“Who said anything about a treasure?”  The Kid stared at Caleb coldly.

The tall, lanky man grinned back at him.  “Your partner did. We heard him in the café and I reckon he just confirmed it.”  

It was the Kid’s turn to glare at his partner.  “Sixty-forty and it’s a deal,” said Curry without waiting for Heyes’ agreement.

“Deal!”  Caleb held out his hand.  The Kid looked at it for a few seconds then holstered his gun, walked over, reached up, and took it.

“Wait just a minute…” protested Heyes, still holding his gun.

“Thaddeus Jones,” said the Kid.  “This here’s my partner, Joshua Smith.  Joshua, put your gun away.  We just struck a deal.”

Caleb laughed, “Smith and Jones, you say?  Well, don’t that beat all?!  That there’s my partner, Travis Smith, and I go by Caleb Jones.”  Travis seemed surprised, but quickly nodded.  All four men looked at each other warily.  Curry’s face looked a little sick and Heyes’ frown deepened to a dark scowl.  

“Guess we’d better get real friendly-like fast and use our first names or we’re gonna git confused,” said Travis.


“You still not talkin’ to me?” asked the Kid a few hours later as the shadows were growing longer and evening was coming on quickly.  Four horses ambled placidly, strung out along the switch-backed path up a steep, rocky ridge.  The sun resting on the peaks to the west was glowing pinkly through thick, darkened clouds.  A cold wind gusted up the hillside.
“No, I’m not!” growled Heyes, glancing at Caleb and Travis riding in front before turning to his partner.  “What the hell were you thinking making a deal with these two?”

The Kid frowned.  “I was thinkin’ I was tired of being lost and there’s a storm comin’ in.”

“Were you thinking?  That’s good to know because from over here it didn’t seem like you were thinking at all!” Heyes groused.  “Smith and Jones!  Wonder what they did to make ‘em need those aliases?  Oh, let me think.  If we’re lucky, they robbed a few banks like us but, if we’re not, they probably killed people!”

Curry’s frown grew bigger.  “This is you not talkin’ to me?”

“You know what?  You aren’t the one who’s gonna lay awake all night wondering if we’re going to get our throats cut for a damned map that may or may not lead to a treasure.”

“Gimme the map.”  

“What?”

“I said, give me the map,” the Kid firmly demanded as he held out his hand and carefully pulled his horse up alongside his partner’s mount.  Heyes passed over the map.  Curry glanced at it and tucked it away.  “Hey Caleb,” bellowed the Kid.  “According to the map I have, we should be taking a trail to the right soon.”

“Yep, that’s true,” answered Caleb.  Travis turned in his saddle to look back speculatively at the two ex-outlaws.

Smiling, the Kid gave him a happy little wave while snarling under his breath to Heyes, “Now you can stop worryin’.  You can also stop talkin’.  Again.”

Heyes started to open his mouth, but quickly shut it when cold blue eyes turned towards him.


The campfire crackled and big wet snowflakes fell silently on the shoulders of the four men hunched around the flames.  A small stewpot rested on a large rock in the middle of the fire and, occasionally, a gloved hand would reach out and give the contents a stir with a stick left in the pot for that purpose.

“Does it always snow this early in these parts?” asked the Kid, his breath puffing out with each syllable.

“It snows every month of the year here.  I seen blizzards on the fourth of July.”  Travis sipped from the mug of coffee nestled in his hands.  “The good part is it ain’t gonna last long.  By noon tomorrow it’ll be melted off.  Ground’s still warm.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time here?”  Heyes shifted uncomfortably, shivered, and tugged his saddle blanket tighter around his shoulders.  His lashes had a buildup of snow on them and his hat had turned almost white.

“Me and Caleb know these mountains like the backs of our hands.  We hi…hunted out here many a time.”  Travis was suddenly intent on the contents of his mug.

Both Heyes and the Kid caught the hesitation but didn’t react.  Instead, they watched Caleb turning out their hobbled horses in the meadow below their camp.  

Smiling in a friendly fashion, Heyes bluntly asked, “So why the need for aliases?”

Travis looked up, shocked by the question.  Several emotions sprinted across his face before he stammered out, “W…what?”

“Smith and Jones.  Why’re you calling yourselves Smith and Jones?  What did you do?”

Travis attempted to look baffled but failed.  “What do you mean?  Those’re our names.”

Heyes pressed on.  “Oh, c’mon, no one believes that.”

“Why not?  Ain’t those your names?”

“Yes, they are but no one ever believes us.”

“Us neither.  Hmm, maybe we’re related,” mused Travis.  “Now wouldn’t that be somethin’?”

“Something,” confirmed Heyes, turning to watch Caleb rustling through the underbrush.

“Brrr,” said the tall man, blowing into his fists to warm them.  “Horses’ll be all right.  The creek is still running and there’s forage.”

“Travis was just telling us how you got your names,” said Heyes.  

Caleb’s eyes cut to his partner, the storm gathering in them rivaling the incoming weather.  Travis shook his head and Caleb took a moment to visibly control his annoyance before he turned back to Heyes and softly said, “Why are you tryin’ to cause trouble, Joshua?  I thought we had us a friendly deal.”

“I just like to know who I’m doing business with.”  Heyes sat stirring the pot.  

The Kid sat across from the two men, watching, his gun hand noticeably unencumbered.

“I could say the same thing but I ain’t.  You know why?  ‘Cause I know to leave well enough alone.”

“And here I thought it was because we have your guns,” stated Heyes grimly.

Caleb grinned.  “Well, that too.  C’mon.  Why spoil a good thing?  We’ll get you to your treasure, take our cut, and you’ll never see us again.”

“Why not just tell us?” questioned Curry.  “We already know you’re wanted.”

“Yeah?  So are you!” blurted Travis.

“Not for murder.  Are you?” countered Heyes.

A belly laugh escaped from Caleb.  “Listen to us.  We’re a bunch of crooks setting around expecting to be honest with each other!”

This provoked a small smile from Heyes.  “You have a point.”

“But I’ll answer that question.  We never killed no one.”

Heyes watched him as he spoke, his head cocked.  

“What do you think?” asked the Kid.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” replied Heyes, “but we’ll keep the guns.”