Starring
Pete Duel as Hannibal Heyes
and Ben Murphy as Kid Curry
Guest Starring
Anil Kapoor as Manjot Bhatt
Parminder Nagra as Chandra Bhatt
Naomi Scott as Jasleen Bhatt
Ayesha Dharker as Jayanit Bhatt
Danish Farooqui as Harbir Bhatt
Tony Papenfuss, William Sanderson, and John Volstad
As Ennis, Jocko, and Buster
Warren Oats as Grayson
Harry Carey, Jr as Max
Nolan Gould as Stu
Stuart Whitman as Marshal Ricker
Curried Curry and Heyes - Part 1
by Nell McKeon
A warm, but fierce, October wind howled along a narrow valley. A turban-topped man wearing a loose, long, tan tunic with bright red and turquoise-colored embroidery and light brown pants drove a team of large, solid-looking draft horses. The animals pulled a faded painted caravan along the valley floor. A black-haired head came out half-way though the small door in the front of the caravan behind the driver and called out,
“ਮਨਜੋਤ, ਕੀ ਤੁਸੀਂ ਗੁਆਚ ਗਏ ਹੋ? ਅਸੀਂ ਕਈ ਦਿਨ ਪਹਿਲਾਂ ਇੱਕ ਕਸਬੇ ਵਿੱਚ ਆਉਣ ਲਈ ਸਫ਼ਰ ਕਰਦੇ ਰਹੇ ਹਾਂ।?”
The driver turned his head to briefly give a look of annoyance at the woman before once again facing front. “English, Chandra, we need to practice our English now that we are going to be Americans,” he gently admonished in a British-tinged Indian accent.
“Manjot Bhatt – you are a hard taskmaster! In any language I say the same thing!” She rolled her eyes at him. Slowly Chandra added, enunciating each word clearly, “Manjot, are you lost? We've been traveling to a town for several days now.”
Manjot's voice was matter of fact. “No, I am not lost.”
His wife humpffed as she narrowed her eyes skeptically at her husband. She nodded her dark head and pronounced assertively, “Yes, you are. I saw you studying the map last time we stopped. You said that we should have been there already. You did not look happy.” Chandra pulled her head back into the caravan quickly as Manjot stiffened on the seat.
Her husband shouted back at the disappearing black hair, lightly wrapped in blue silk, “ਮੈਂ ਗੁਆਚਿਆ ਨਹੀਂ ਹਾਂ। ਬਹੁਤ ਵੱਡੇ ਦੇਸ਼ ਵਿੱਚ ਦੂਰੀਆਂ ਬਹੁਤ ਹਨ।!”
“In American, Manjot. We are in America now,” came drifting through the still open door in an overly sweet voice.
The driver smiled even as he muttered to himself, “English, they speak English in America. It is not called American.” Manjot’s voice raised in volume and held notes of exasperation as he replied, “I said, I am not lost, but I may have underestimated the distances in this very big country and…” Manjot abruptly stopped speaking as the two large, dappled gray Percherons who had been steadily plodding along, suddenly raised their heads with flared nostrils and pricked up their ears. He looked around quickly. Brown eyes narrowed as the driver surveyed his surroundings. His voice became commanding when he turned in his seat towards his left and shouted, “Harbir! You need to stop walking alongside the wagon and get inside!”
The young male teen, similarly dressed like his father, only with a darker brown fabric, frowned as his steps slowed. “ਕਿਉਂ ਪਿਤਾ ਜੀ?”
Manjot sighed irritably. “How many times do I have to tell you and your sisters, as well as your mother, to speak English? All of you know English quite well from actual Englishmen, who taught in the English school you attended back home, and from those who were customers of our shop. And the why is because this is an open valley surrounded by wooded bluffs and we are vulnerable to all sorts of highwaymen. I have read in the newspapers since we arrived in the West that there are areas thick with thieves. Highwaymen of the worst kind who prey on travelers in trains, coaches, and even in wagons.”
“But we have been traveling along this valley all day, why now?” Harbir looked up at his father with a mouth set in a frown of dismay and a posture stiff with defiance, but his dark eyes were sparking with genuine interest.
The patriarch of the Sikh Punjabi, and new would-be American family, pointed towards the surrounding low-wooded mountains and high bluffs before centering on the carpet of green flowing down into the valley straight ahead. He explained patiently, his normally quick speech pattern slowing into a teaching mode. “Up ahead, the forest extends almost to the valley floor before opening up again. That would be a good place for thieves to lay in wait to attack travelers along the road. We must be careful and watchful.”
Harbir’s eyes narrowed in thought as they traveled along the edge of the trees.
“I am glad you understand. I need you to stay with your mother and sisters to protect them as best you can if we need to.”
The young teen straightened up, puffed out his chest, tucked in his chin, and attempted to look manly. “ਹਾਂ, ਪਿਤਾ ਜੀ, I mean, yes, Father.” Harbir stood still as the wagon continued on its way, getting ready to jump on the back as it passed.
Manjot called back over his shoulder, meeting his son’s serious eyes. “Harbir, make sure most of our money is well hidden. If we are robbed, we need to leave some for them to find, but no more than we can afford to lose. Your mother and I discussed this; she knows what to do. I have the business stock taken care of, which we cannot afford to lose if we want to succeed in our new country. Your uncle in San Francisco is depending upon us to arrive safely in that city with all that we have invested in and brought over from India.”
~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~
“Come on, we should be able to meet up with the road after we get over the ridge,” Hannibal Heyes urged his lagging partner to catch up as his chestnut gelding picked his way up the rocky, steep, forested slope. “We lost that posse hours ago,” he stated confidently.
Kid Curry turned in his saddle from studying their back trail and prodded his large, dark bay to draw even with his partner. They were nearing the crest of the ridge. As Curry pulled up even with the chestnut, he looked over at the dark-haired rider and nodded once.
Heyes quickly glanced back over his shoulder and then again at the blond’s face riding beside him. “What’s the matter? You didn’t see anyone following, did you?”
“Nope.”
“Then why’re you frowning and looking all serious? We dodged the bullet, literally and figuratively, on this one.”
“That’s just it, Heyes. We know there are two active gangs in this area. The one, who has some members that we happen to know, robbed the railroad north of here. So naturally, the posse that’s been chasin' them just happens across two better known – and more valuable – train robbers and decides to chase us instead. I want to shout out to them that we haven’t robbed anything in two years. Go chase someone that you have a chance of recoverin' the haul from. But no, all the posse sees is the ten thousand dollars hangin' over each of our heads and that’s more than that whole gang together. It gets discouragin', that’s all.”
“I know, but it won’t always be like this. You’ve got to keep the faith. Our luck is bound to change.”
“Says the odds player who doesn’t believe in luck. Yeah, sure, with the way our luck has been goin' lately, the second gang will rob a bank in the next town we get to, and we’ll be on the run again.” Curry slapped his hat down more firmly on his head as the horses reached the crest of the ridge. Both riders stopped to give their mounts a breather from the steep difficult climb.
The older man let a short laugh escape as he looked at his glum, and cross, partner who was glowering down the ridge in the direction they needed to travel. He retrieved the canteen hanging from his saddle and unscrewed the top for a quick drink. “What are the odds that…”
“Don’t say it, Heyes! ‘Cause the odds don’t apply to us. Take stagecoaches, for example; you know how many people ride stagecoaches every day and nothin’ ever happens?” Curry looked up and noticed the smile on his partner’s face, which only served to increase his general ire. His blue eyes grew stormy, and his face flushed. “Know how many times that we’ve ridden stages and we’ve been held up? Well, I’ll tell you. There was that time with Clint Weaver’s gang. Remember, him and Charlie Utley were havin’ a shootout on who was gonna turn us in? Then there was the time that gang held up the stage and stole Leslie O’Hara’s letter and we got stuck takin’ and payin’ for Leslie to go to Denver.
“And what about the time that a gang was after Lom, and we were all tied up and held as bait? Not to mention that private stagecoach ride with Mr. Hanley guardin’ the filly Hyperia. I got accused of murder in Santa Marta and came way too close to bein’ stood up in front of a firin' squad.” Curry slightly shuddered involuntarily and shook his head. “And then there was the time that I got off a stagecoach and was immediately surrounded by the law and arrested, turned in by Grace Turner. Plus…”
“Okay, okay! Point taken.” Heyes held his left hand up, palm outward, the reins dangling from his fingers. He couldn’t help chuckling at his partner’s annoyed tirade even though every word the Kid said was true. Their stagecoach experiences did defy the odds. “But we’re not riding a stage, and the second gang that’s around here is pretty small-time, from what I hear.”
“That’s what I mean. If a posse has a choice of chasin’ a bunch of rag-tag, small-time robbers or us, they’re gonna choose us. It’s not fair, that’s all.”
“Fair? Since when has life been fair? Where is this fairness you’re talking about?”
Curry’s blue eyes softened, and a half-grin formed almost unwillingly. “Nowhere and never. I do know that and have even said the same to you a time or two.”
“Don’t worry, Kid; at least you stopped frowning. Believe me, the odds of the bank being hit so soon after the railroad, with a posse possibly in the area, are pretty low. After all, they ain’t the Devil’s Hole Gang with my brilliant plans for rapid, successive robberies. We’ll never see them while we’re passing through.” The brunette kicked his horse into motion again and started on the path that pointed to the more thickly forested area. That gave them the most cover before coming to the open valley floor.
The partners had descended halfway down the ridge when they reached a bluff that afforded clear sight of their destination. Heyes gave a cursory glance through the clearing before turning to enter the trees once again. Not hearing the blond behind him, Heyes turned in his saddle to look and was brought up short at the sight of Curry rising from his saddle into a half-stand posture in the stirrups, still at the vantage point on the small bluff.
The Kid was peering intently at something below, his blue eyes narrowed and focused at a point on the valley floor. His body stiffened and his jaw clenched, then his right hand drifted to the Colt tied to his right thigh. He quickly dismounted and scrambled up the small rise, keeping low to the ground. He lay flat and peered over the edge of the bluff.
Heyes grew alarmed and sat up straight in the saddle, watching his partner closely. “What is it, Kid? What do you see? Is it the posse? Do you see a problem?”
“Yep, there’s a problem,” the Kid answered distractedly, his attention still firmly focused on the road meandering through the valley below.
Heyes rode back up to the bluff to check out the situation for himself. There on the road was a caravan surrounded by a group of men. He counted under his breath, “Two with rifles, one with a shotgun, and three with pistols makes six.” Still mumbling to himself, he continued, “It figures; Kid is half right.” He dismounted and belly-crawled to the edge next to his partner. His voice rose so he could be heard by Curry, but not carry far afield. “This must be the second active gang in the area, but it appears they’re robbing people on the road and not the bank. At least we won’t be accused of this. The Devil’s Hole Gang never robbed ordinary people and definitely not travelers on a road.” He shot a glance at the man next to him, who was checking his gun.
Curry didn’t answer. He scooted back from the edge of the bluff, ran to his horse, and jumped in the saddle. He reached into the saddlebag and withdrew a box of cartridges. The Kid then rapidly, but methodically, reloaded his gunbelt until it was full, cursing softly, “Shoulda done this earlier. I know better.”
“Come on, Kid; it’s not our problem. We’ll stay under cover and ride along the ridge for a while before joining the road.” Heyes peered closer at the action taking place on the road. He winced as one of the robbers tore a yellowish scarf from a woman’s head and shoulders revealing a long jet-black braid that hung down to her waist. “Those might be Indians down there. Look, they’re all wearing some sort of long shirt and pants, even the girls. It don’t look exactly like buckskins, but their clothes could be, they’re mostly the right colors. The guys have some sort of headdress; I don’t know what, but something’s on their heads that’s not a hat. The last thing we need is to ride to the rescue of Indians and then get skewered by arrows or shot with rifles by their tribe in a misunderstanding.”
Curry looked up from his task and shot a glance at Heyes before focusing on the altercation below. “Indians or not, they’re still women. And their men can’t help since they’re bein’ held at gunpoint. We’re not in Indian country and I don’t see any tribe around to rescue them. So, we gotta.” Then he swiftly turned his horse down the slope and took off, swerving through the trees.
“No, we don’t gotta!” Heyes called after him fruitlessly, even as he mounted and spurred his chestnut to follow the dark bay. “We don’t need this complication, not with a marshal and a posse that still may be in the area. Kid, there’s six of them! Kid, do you hear me!?”
~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~
The leader of the band of small-time bandits spat a glob of tobacco juice, missing the kneeling man in front of him by a few inches. The roughly dressed ruffian bent down and brandished a fist holding three gold necklace chains and a scant selection of paper bills into the man’s face. “Is this all you got?” He called over his shoulder to one of his scruffy friends, “Hey, Ennis, go join Buster and search the inside again. Look for anything valuable or easy to carry that we can sell and get hard cash for.”
“Sure thing, Jocko.” Ennis lowered his shotgun and ambled around the back of the stopped caravan.
Jocko withdrew his fist from the kneeling man’s face and pocketed the robbery’s meager spoils. His jaw worked furiously on his chaw and light brown eyes under a grubby brow narrowed in anger. A dirty boot lashed out and hit Manjot Bhatt in the chest, causing the Punjab patriarch to tumble backwards.
Manjot heard gasps from his wife and children and scrambled upright as soon as he regained his breath. He looked towards his family. His wife Chandra, his daughters – the older girl, Jasleen and the younger girl, Jayanit – were being guarded by two dirty, disheveled men still on their horses. The two disreputable bandits were pointing their pistols at the women standing in a line a little way from the back of the caravan.
Manjot’s dark eyes met his wife’s wide-eyed and pale, distressed look. He manufactured a small, half-hearted grin to signal that he was alright. His gaze then darted to his son, kneeling between him and the women. With the two bandits in the back, tossing the caravan’s contents around, that left the last one holding a rifle on his son. Manjot studied the American highwaymen’s faces. He risked talking to reassure his family.
“ਕੁਝ ਨਾ ਕਰੋ. ਉਹ ਉਸ ਚੀਜ਼ ਨੂੰ ਲੱਭਣ ਦੇ ਨੇੜੇ ਵੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਹਨ ਜੋ ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਕੋਲ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੈ। ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਸਾਡੇ ਤੋਂ ਕੋਈ ਡਰ ਨਹੀਂ ਲੱਗਦਾ। ਮੈਨੂੰ ਨਹੀਂ ਲੱਗਦਾ ਕਿ ਉਹ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਮਾਰ ਦੇਣਗੇ ਅਤੇ ਸਿਰਫ਼ ਸੌਖੇ ਧਨ ਦੀ ਭਾਲ ਕਰਨਗੇ।.” {Do not do anything. They are not even close to finding what they cannot have. They appear to have no fear of us. I do not think they will kill us and only seek easy riches.}
The three robbers outside the caravan all exchanged looks between each other and grinned.
“Hey Jocko,” called out a greasy-haired bandit in a battered gray derby. “What tribe do you think they are? They’re not from around here. They don’t have much that we can sell easy without questions. But those women would bring a nice price south of the border, or maybe even on the Indian reservation. And we can have a little fun on the way,” he added, ogling the girls.
Manjot spat rapidly between clenched teeth, “ਅਸੀਂ ਅਮਰੀਕੀ ਭਾਰਤੀ ਨਹੀਂ ਹਾਂ.” He caught himself and slowed his speech to speak deliberately. “We are not your American Indians.”
Gray Derby Man answered derisively, “Hah, you ain’t white, you ain’t chinamen, you ain’t black, and you ain’t Mexican, so that leaves Indian. Only you’re not any kind of Indian I seen ‘round here, so shut your mouth!” He jabbed his gun towards the kneeling man for good measure.
Jocko looked over at his derby-wearing gang member and gave his opinion, “Yep, Grayson, they’re Indian alright. And they’re not from a tribe around here by the looks of them.” Jocko waked over to the women standing towards the back of the caravan and stood in front of the middle one in the pale-yellow clothes. He leered at her as his eyes roved up and down her figure. His hand rose, and he snatched the yellow scarf from the girl’s shoulders and dropped it. The scarf fluttered in the blustery wind before landing in the dirt. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
Jasleen stood still and kept silent. Her dark eyes darted between the bandit pawing her and her family. Her mouth remained clamped shut and she stiffly leaned away from the malodorous man.
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. As a whore in Mexico or a slave on the reservation, you’ll be called whatever your buyer wants to call you.” Jocko laughed at the girl’s small acts of defiance and holstered his revolver. He grabbed her wrist and started to drag her to Grayson's horse. “Max, you keep guardin’ the men. We don’t want no trouble from them.”
Manjot Bhatt started to rise off his knees at the same time Harbir lashed out with both hands and knocked his guard’s rifle out of the man’s grip. The teen shot forward in an effort to reach Jasleen. Max bent and grabbed hold of the rifle barrel and swung the weapon hard, hitting the boy’s head, knocking him to the ground where he lay still.
“Nobody move or I’ll shoot,” shouted Stu, the youngest robber, who had been silently observing while covering the little group with a revolver from his horse. “And at this distance, I’m not likely to miss anybody.” He slid off the saddle to stand threateningly with a wide stance, face set in a sneer, and pointing his weapon at Manjot.
Manjot sank back to his knees and peered anxiously at his son on the ground as his wife cried out in distress.
Chandra swiftly raised one hand and aborted the forward motion to bring it to cover her mouth. “ਤੁਸੀਂ ਵਹਿਸ਼ੀ, ਮੈਨੂੰ ਤੁਹਾਡੇ ਚਿਹਰੇ ਤੋਂ ਉਨ੍ਹਾਂ ਦਿੱਖਾਂ ਨੂੰ ਥੱਪੜ ਮਾਰ ਦੇਣਾ ਚਾਹੀਦਾ ਹੈ.” {You barbarians! I should slap those looks right off you face.}
Chandra and Jayanit huddled closer together when they became an object of interest by Ennis and Buster, who had been ransacking the caravan. The two men came up behind them, holding the girls' arms with one hand while the other was roving over their bodies. A blue scarf and a burnt orange and gold scarf were flung away into the stiff breeze.
The leader’s decision made, he got a tighter grip on Jasleen and, fighting the struggling woman, managed to hand her up to Grayson, who pulled the girl in front of him on the horse. Jocko turned from the horse and gave his orders. “Tie the man and boy up. We’ll leave them here. It’ll be a while before they’re found, and we’ll be long gone. Load the women on horses and tie their hands, then let’s go.”
The men sprang into action. Ennis and Buster stopped fondling the women. Buster pushed Jayanit towards Stu's horse.
“Get her up on the horse,” Jocko continued, “while me and Ennis go find something to tie everyone up with in the caravan. Yeah, I like that; tied up with their own things.”
Bang, Bang, Bang.
The rifle flew from Max's hand, who was pacing between Manjot and the women being loaded onto the horses. He stood still for a few moments in confusion. He shook his red, stinging hand while watching his prisoner scramble across the short distance to his son. Manjot hurriedly pulled himself and Harbir under the caravan while Max was occupied retrieving his damaged weapon.
Then Stu grabbed his suddenly bloody, and painful, right bicep, shouting loudly, “*&^%#* where did that come from? Did one of you idiots shoot me?” He lost his hold on Jayanit, looked to see where the shots had come from, then ran to the other side of his horse.
Jayanit stumbled, then righted herself. She caught sight of her father beckoning her to join him and Harbir under the caravan and ran to join them.
Manjot’s steady voice could be heard over the sound of incoming hoofbeats, whinnying horses, the dull roar of the ever-present wind and the robbers shouting curses. “ਐਥੇ ਆਓ. ਅਸੀਂ ਗੋਲੀਆਂ ਤੋਂ ਕੁਝ ਹੱਦ ਤੱਕ ਸੁਰੱਖਿਅਤ ਰਹਾਂਗੇ ਜਦੋਂ ਤੱਕ ਸਾਨੂੰ ਪਤਾ ਨਹੀਂ ਹੁੰਦਾ ਕਿ ਕੀ ਹੋ ਰਿਹਾ ਹੈ.” {Come here. We will be somewhat protected from the bullets until we know what is happening.} Chandra was already with them; somehow, she had managed to crawl to safety and join most of her family under their traveling home.
Jocko spun around after his hat went flying off, one hand rapidly traveling to pat around his head and the other fumbling to draw his revolver.
Two horses burst from the trees and were thundering across the open valley straight towards the caravan. The blond, in front, had his Colt out and aimed at the little band of bandits. The following brunette was laying low across his chestnut’s neck, speeding up in a trajectory to cut off the robbers’ escape route as he simultaneously drew his revolver.
The two gang members at the back dove into the caravan and scrambled to return fire from under cover. “Who are those guys? The law? What’re we gonna do, Jocko?” came an angry high-pitched shout from Buster, who was turning as red as his hair.
The robbers who were left in the open struggled to return fire at the incoming riders, zigzagging in a run for cover.
Jocko shouted tensely, “Shoot them!” His head swiveled to look in every direction in a panic before he took off at a run. The leader’s left knee buckled, and he fell face first, howling and skidding along the hard ground. Blood blossomed from the outside of his thigh and his revolver went flying from his hand.
Max crouched down, forcibly flinging the damaged rifle away and crawled towards Jocko’s revolver.
Bang!
Dust kicked up in Max's face. He changed directions to slink towards the Percheron draft horses who were flicking their ears to and fro, standing erect and stamping their feet. They hadn’t moved more than a few feet from where they originally stopped.
Bang!
Dust kicked up again in his face. Max tentatively swiped at his cheek, then brought shaking fingers in front of his eyes. He saw blood and stopped moving, lying flat on the ground with his eyes tightly closed.
Heyes cut off the fleeing gray derby-wearing Grayson that still had a firm hold on the girl in the pale-yellow clothes and chased them back to the robbery site under the steady aim of his Schofield. He spotted the rest of the victims under the caravan as he drew near. He looked up just as his partner jumped from the stirrups onto the roof of the caravan.
“Joshua! Cover them. Don’t forget about the one behind the horse. I’ll get the two inside,” Curry called from on top of the caravan as he reloaded his Colt. His boots thudded across the roof, towards the back. The Kid then sunk to his knees, and stretched flat out, facing the front of the vehicle. He slid noiselessly along the top to hang upside down from his waist over the front. The front small hatch door was slightly ajar. Curry eased the door slowly open with the barrel of his Colt and peered in, spotting the backs of Ennis and Buster. Pulling himself back up, the Kid scooted around and prepared to drop down onto the driver’s seat.
Buster and Ennis cowered in the caravan, guns at the ready, pointing out the back. Ennis whispered to his cohort, “I’ve got the shotgun; I’ll aim straight back in case he jumps and winds up in front of us. You aim up and give him a face full of lead if he so much as peeks over the back.” They got into place.
“Toss the gun. Two fingers only. Now, get down off the horse and check on you friends. You, behind the horse – come join the rest of your gang on the ground,” ordered Heyes, keeping one eye on the mounted robber in the gray derby and the two moaning, wounded men flat on the ground. Grayson tossed his revolver to the side. Jasleen started to struggle and pulled on the leather ties binding her wrists to the saddle horn. Heyes noticed. “Untie her first.”
The Kid dropped, booted feet hitting the seat boards, and quickly crouched in front of the open hatch door, sending a bullet into the narrow space between the heads of Ennis and the red-headed Buster. “Drop the guns, boys.”
Buster turned and aimed at the Kid, but before he could pull the trigger, he jerked back, falling onto the side of the caravan. The rifle dropped into the mess of the family’s ransacked belongings from his suddenly limp fingers. Buster’s left hand clamped onto the top of his right shoulder and was soon slick with warm blood.
Ennis had tumbled out of the back of the caravan from the force and shock of a bullet skimming his shoulder. His trigger finger tightened reflexively, and the shotgun went off in the direction of the gathering gang and the dark-haired rescuer.
Stu came from behind the horse and was slowly walking in the direction Heyes indicated. He faltered, stumbled, and then spun around, facing the back of the caravan. Dark brown eyes narrowed in anger and disbelief. “%$#*%&*! What the hell, Ennis!? I can’t believe you did that! I’m already shot without you adding more holes with that scattergun of yours!” cursed Stu as small blood spots started to sprout up along his outer left side.
Heyes ducked instinctively. Straightening up, he did a quick self-check. His dark eyes darted around the area, touching on each gang member. Tense with anger, he muttered under his breath, “I swear to God, Kid, you’re lucky there’re no holes! Couldn’t you have shot the shotgun outta his hand? I hate shotguns!”
While Heyes’ attention was diverted by Ennis' shotgun blast, Grayson took off on his horse with Jasleen still mounted, but not tied to the horn, in front of him.
“JASLEEN!” Chandra and Manjot screamed in unison from under the caravan.
Curry jumped down and ran rapidly around the caravan. He kicked the shotgun under the wagon and reached in to grab the rifle, then tossed it to join the shotgun. He pulled Buster out of the back. “Here, put this towel on your shoulder and press hard. I only hit you across the top so it shouldn’t be too bad.” The Kid turned his attention to Ennis and prodded him with his boot. “You, too. Get up. It’s only a graze. You’ll both live.”
“Thaddeus, the girl!” Heyes called to his partner as Curry rounded the back of the caravan, herding his two captives. “I’ve got this. Go!”
Kid Curry ran to his bay and jumped in the saddle, kicked the gelding into a gallop, and swiftly took off after the retreating gang member and his victim.
Heyes took charge, his voice was low and commanding, his eyes hard and focused. “Okay now, this is how we're going to handle things. All the robbers get on the ground over here.” Maintaining a tall, balanced, ready stance, he pointed with his Schofield to where Jocko, Max, and Stu were located.
Ennis and Buster shuffled over to their cohorts and plopped down beside the other three wounded men. The five of them sat in a huddle, shoulders slumped, grimacing in pain, and glowering at the dark-haired man holding them at gunpoint.
“You, under the caravan, you can come out now; it’s safe,” Heyes called to the family, who were silently watching from their sheltered position, without taking his eyes from the robbers.
Manjot Bhatt emerged first and cautiously looked around as he stood up. Seeing that his rescuer had the situation well in hand, he spoke to his family, “ਇਹ ਸੁਰੱਖਿਅਤ ਹੈ, ਤੁਸੀਂ ਹੁਣ ਬਾਹਰ ਆ ਸਕਦੇ ਹੋ।.” {It is safe. You can come out now.}
Chandra, Jayanit, and Harbir slowly crawled out. The two women helped steady Harbir as he staggered a step or two when he stood up, blinking in the bright sun. Chandra grabbed her husband’s arm, her fingers whitening as her grip tightened. Her dark eyes widened as they roamed searchingly over the open valley and into the trees that the fleeing robber and his pursuer had disappeared into. “ਮਨਜੋਤ, ਜਸਲੀਨ ਉਸ ਨੂੰ ਕਿਵੇਂ ਵਾਪਸ ਲੈਣ ਜਾ ਰਹੇ ਹਨ!” {Manjot, we have to get Jasleen back!}
Manjot’s brow furrowed, and his eyes seemed to darken as he replied, “ਚੰਦਰਾ.” He half- turned towards his rescuer, while laying a large, strong hand over his wife’s on his forearm. “In English, Chandra, our rescuer does not understand our language. Don’t worry, we will get Jasleen back even if I have to follow the highwayman to the ends of this vast country.”
“Don’t worry, ma’am, my partner will bring your daughter – Jasleen, is it? My partner will bring Jasleen back,” Heyes assured the family group. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Joshua Smith and the blond fella that went after them is Thaddeus Jones. We were on our way to the next town when we spotted your trouble.”
“Thank you, sir. I am Manjot Bhatt, my wife Chandra, our younger daughter Jayanit, our son Harbir and our oldest daughter Jasleen is the one Mr. Jones is pursuing. We are Punjab Sikhs from the north of India. We have traveled halfway around the world to make a new life in your country. My brother is already settled and doing quite well in San Francisco and my family is joining him in business there. We thank you deeply from our heart.” The patriarch bowed slightly in front of the ex-outlaw.
Heyes’ brown eyes roved over the family, studying them carefully. He shifted his feet, and his unoccupied left hand pushed his hat back further on his head before tapping thinned lips a time or two. “You’re welcome and good luck in your new life. Right now, though, do you have anything that I can tie up these men with while we decide what to do with them? Like rope or leather strips?”
Manjot nodded. “Harbir, find some rope for Mr. Smith. Chandra, Jayanit, see if you can start to make some order out of the mess these highwaymen made.”
Harbir took a step towards the front of the caravan before stopping, turning around to find his father’s eyes. He eagerly pleaded while swaying slightly from foot to foot. “I could take one of the horses to follow them. I could help rescue Jasleen. Father, please let me go.”
Jayanit and Chandra looked up from retrieving their soiled dupattas. Jayanit’s large, dark eyes widened with hope and her face brightened. Chandra straightened up and the hand holding the blue and yellow dupattas drifted to the middle of her chest, her face a mixture of pride, hope, and fear. She looked for her husband’s reaction.
The Punjab wiped the beginnings of a small smile of pride from his face as he shot a glance over his shoulder towards the forested slopes of the valley’s side. He turned back to his family. “No, Harbir.”
Jayanit’s hopeful expression fell, while Chandra blinked, and her mouth tightened before they turned back to the task of collecting the family’s strewn belongings.
“It is noble of you to want to help your sister against such men with guns, Harbir, but Mr. Jones’ and Mr. Smith’s horses are riding horses. They appear to be swift steeds. Our horses are draft work horses. The Percherons are big, strong, steady, and will never quit a pursuit, but they are not fast. The highwayman already has much time and distance ahead of you. No, we must trust these good men who stopped to help travelers in need.”
~~~~~~~~~~~ASJ~~~~~~~~~~~~
