Nothing Good Ever Happens When We Split Up
by Nell McKeon

A Deserted Crossroad Somewhere in Northern Arizona



“I’ll be fine, Kid.  You forget I have a silver tongue and I’m not totally incompetent with my Schofield.  I just don’t have to use it much with you around.”

“That’s just it, Heyes, I won’t be around.  I don’t like it when we have to take separate jobs in opposite directions.  Nothing good ever happens when we split up.”

“Now, we agreed that…”

“Yeah, I know I agreed but I don’t have to like it.  Be careful.  I’ll see you in Kanab, where you’ll be buyin’ me a nice steak dinner ‘cause I’ll get there first.”  Kid Curry’s frown transformed into a teasing grin as he held out his right hand to Hannibal Heyes for the ritual parting handshake.

The dark-haired partner returned the smile with one of his own as he firmly shook his partner’s hand.  “I don’t remember there being much in the way of fine dining in Kanab, so the steak dinner might have to wait until we get to Moab or even Provo.  Only you’ll be doing the buying.”

“Well, we’ll find out in a little over a week who’s right.  Be seein’ you.”  Curry kicked his horse into motion and trotted off in the northern direction.

“I’m right.  I’m always right.  You keep out of trouble, you hear!?  No helping the needy or getting involved,” Heyes called, unease growing in his gut.  The dark head shook in mild disgust with himself, his forehead creasing in sudden apprehension for his friend.  Brown eyes traced the retreating back of the Kid as his left hand gathered the reins to his chestnut gelding.  Heyes whispered to his horse with worry mixed with fond exasperation, “Bad things do happen when we separate, mostly to him.  Come on then, you and me will just have deliver these documents to Iron City and get up to Kanab to save him from himself.”  Horse and rider took off at a good clip along the road going west.


One week later – Kanab, UT

BANG!  BANG!  BANG!

“Oh my God!  He shot him!”

“Is he dead?  He was moving as fast as he could.  You didn’t need to do that.”

“Not fast enough.  Now hurry up and fill those bags or one of you will be next!”

“Why you...”

BANG!

“Hey you, the last man standin’, iffin ya still wanna be standin’ an’ not bleedin’ on the floor like those two, get a move on – NOW!”  The blond gunman turned slightly towards the dark-haired man beside him and a light-colored eye winked above the red bandana covering the rest of his face.  He tossed over his shoulder, “The rest of you, get the horses and shoot anyone who comes runnin’.  Someone's bound to have heard those shots.  We’ll be right behind ya.”


Five days later – Kanab, UT

Kid Curry slumped in his saddle; his posture projected tiredness, and his eyelids drooped over bloodshot blue eyes in a slack face.  The faded red shirt was stuck to his back, sweat trickled down from under the brim of the floppy brown hat and along his temples when he approached Kanab, Utah in his very own dust cloud at the end of a long day.  Curry patted the neck of his equally sweaty dark bay.  He murmured soothingly to the gelding’s sagging head, “I know, I’m tired, thirsty, and hungry, too.  I’ll find the livery and get you taken care of first.  I’m even hopin’ that Heyes arrived from Iron City before us so we can get movin’ north after a good night’s rest.  I won’t even mind buyin’ him that steak dinner.  But I don’t expect he’s here yet since we had the shorter trip and I can, and did, avoid gettin’ into trouble, even though Heyes doesn’t ever think I can.”

Unaccountably uneasy, Curry hesitated for a moment at the town sign. His posture straightened in the saddle, senses on alert with widened eyes and head cocked slightly.  He mopped his sweaty brow with his red bandana.  The blond stuffed the cloth square half into his pocket and continued slowly into town, eyes constantly surveying his surroundings.  He turned down a small street that ran parallel to the main thoroughfare.  “Blackjack, this is just a little longer way to the livery.  It pays to be cautious until I can scope out the situation more thoroughly,” the Kid explained to his equine companion.

He dismounted at the livery and studied the horses in the corral, looking for Heyes’ chestnut gelding and not finding him.  He secured his horse to the corral and went in search of the liveryman, glancing at the stalls on his search.

“Hello, anyone here?”

A tall, rangy older man peered out of a room at the back of the barn.  He studied his new customer closely before ducking back into the room, calling, “Be right with ya.”

Curry watched a young boy scoot around the man, who reappeared in the doorway, and run out the back door.  His attention was brought back to the liveryman.

“What can I do for ya?”

Arrangements were made for the blond ex-outlaw’s horse.  The liveryman was banging feed buckets around, making a loud, distracting racket.  With a bemused smile, he shook his head at the ruckus as he led his dark bay into his assigned stall and was retrieving his saddle bags off the saddle when the hair on the back of his neck stood on edge.  An unpleasant tingle of being watched rushed down his spine.  His ears picked up the unmistakable sound of multiple firearms being cocked.

“Get your hands up where we can see them!”

Out of habit, evaluating eyes rapidly scanned the surroundings and immediately registered the lack of options afforded by the livery stall.  The ex-outlaw raised his hands above his head and slowly turned to face the sheriff, a deputy, and several assorted armed townsmen walking towards him from the front and back of the livery barn with their firearms steadily pointed straight at him.

“You’re under arrest!” the sheriff announced.  The lawmen continued authoritatively, “Bill, get his gun and then we’ll cuff him and escort this piece of scum to the jail.  You others keep your guns trained on him until we get him safely into the cell where he can join his partner. Don’t get too close. ”

The Kid stiffened slightly at the mention of his partner, but he kept quiet as he was manhandled out of the livery in handcuffs.

The small group proudly paraded the manacled prisoner down main street.  The men basked in the praises by onlookers who stood in doorways of the establishments and in the street to watch.  Jeers, curses, and threats were shouted at the Kid, who kept his attention on the deputy’s back, ignoring the gathering crowd.

Crossing the threshold into a jail caused a sense of panic and doom, which manifested itself in a barely suppressed shudder.  The cold sweat trickling down Curry’s back by the mention of having his partner for company intensified once he was in the jail.  He whispered to himself, unheard by the captors in their noisy self-congratulations, “It’s harder to escape without one of us on the outside.  

“Partner, I’m hopin’ you’re already workin’ on a plan that don’t depend on me findin’ out what happened before walkin’ into a trap like I did.”  Blue eyes scanned the cells for Heyes, who he didn’t see.  What he did see brought his sandy brows down in a frown over his suddenly slitted eyes.  His shoulders stiffened and he resisted the hands pushing him forward into the one unoccupied cell of the two in the jail.

The sheriff was intent on getting his dangerous prisoner safely behind bars and ignored the protest as he roughly propelled him forward.  Bill, the deputy, landed a hard punch to the prisoner’s gut, doubling the man over before giving him the final push behind the bars. The cell door clanged shut with a loud bang.  The armed townsmen that helped with the arrest nodded with satisfaction.  The various townsmen stood in front of the cells for a few moments, some glaring with undisguised hatred, others gloating with wide smiles before exiting the jail with waves to the lawmen.

Deputy Bill gave a low growl.  “You’ve done plenty in this town a few days ago robbin’ our bank, injurin' a teller with one of your cursed bullets, and shootin' dead a good family man.  You’re stupider than I thought, comin’ back, even to save your no good, murderous, thievin' partner’s neck.  Turn around and Sheriff Ruffing will take the cuffs off.”

The Kid stood with his back to the room, giving the prisoner in the cell next to him the side eye while he placed his wrists next to the bars.

The sheriff roughly yanked Curry’s hands into the iron bars before unlocking the handcuffs and formally pronounced, “Vernon Bucks, you are under arrest for murder, attempted murder, and armed robbery.”  He then added in a hard voice while looking the blond straight in the eyes, “Me and everyone in Kanab are goin’ to be happy to see you hung, just like your partner, Les, over there.  I might even delay ol’ Lester Jaspar’s appointment with the hangman.  It’ll be more satisfyin’ to have a double hangin’ for the leader and the gunman of the Jaspar gang.”

The Kid paled and gripped the bars tightly.  He adopted his best innocent alarmed look with wide, clear blue eyes and sandy brows raised in confusion.  “I’m not Vernon Bucks.  My name is Thaddeus Jones.  I didn’t rob the bank in Kanab and I didn’t murder anyone.  I’m not part of the Jaspar Gang.  And even if I did rob the bank in this town, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to ride back into it in daylight, stablin’ my horse at the livery.”

“You might as well shut it.  I’m not listenin’ to anymore of your lies.”  The sheriff rubbed his stubbled chin before turning around, heading for his desk.

The deputy smiled and leaned against the wall, crowing over the capture of two notorious gang members.  He laughed before his voice turned menacing.  “You fit the description people gave of a tallish blond about medium build and weight in his early twenties.  Light colored eyes.  Of course, you always wear bandana’s covering your faces during robberies, so no one’s got a good look at the rest of your face.  But we can see the red bandana hanging out of that pocket there.  The one you wore during the robbery.  Yep, you’re Vernon, alright.  Your wanted poster is right over there on the wall.”

The Kid peered through the bars at the bulletin board and spotted Bucks’ poster next to Les Jaspar and slightly overlapping the one for Kid Curry.

Deputy Bill pushed off the wall and stepped closer to the cork board.  He started to read aloud, “Wanted dead or alive for bank armed robbery and murder.  $5,000.  Vernon Bucks, gunman of the Jaspar Gang.  Description – 24 years, blue or gray light-colored eyes, light brown hair, 5’10” 180 lbs.  Usually covers face with a red bandana…”

“I can read, Deputy.  You can stop.  You know, there’s lots of people that fit that description.  I’m Thaddeus Jones and happen to be one of them.  And red bandanas are sold in just about every mercantile.” Curry hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting to the bulletin board and back before adding, “Plus, I’m older, taller, and lighter than what’s on that poster.  Why, I bet…”

The sheriff interrupted from across the room.  “Shut up!  I have paperwork to do.  Plus, I don’t hear your pal, Les, there denyin’ it.  If you have official-type proof that you’re Thaddeus Jones, you can talk to the circuit judge pre-trail.”

The dark-haired powerfully built man in the next cell rose from his bunk and ambled over to the bars separating the two cells.  He half-turned from the room, so his face was hidden from the lawmen.  Les Jaspar’s dark eyes bored into the blond’s angry dark blue ones and his face was set into a threatening expression which belayed the disgusted, resigned tone of his voice. “Give it up Vern.  They got us.  It had to end sometime, friend.”

“Yep, tell it to the judge and jury.  But they’ll see through your lies.”  The deputy turned from the bulletin board and joined Sheriff Ruffing on the other side of the room.

The Kid kept his poker face, but his blue eyes lightened and turned ice cold as he held the brown eyes of the outlaw.  “It’s not ending for me.  I’m not your friend or your gunman, Les.”

Les was the first to break eye contact as he whispered under his breath, “Nothin’ to be scared of Curry.  Stay nice and quiet and I won’t have to tell them who they really have.  You may not be my gunman or wanted for murder, but you’re still a wanted dead or alive big-time outlaw and gunman.  I’ll even admit you and your partner are more of a prize than me and Vern.  We’ll talk more when those two ain’t liable to listen.’”  He returned to the cot, laid down, and closed his eyes.

Hours later the Kid was laying on the narrow cot, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing as he listened to the increasingly noisy crowd gathering outside the jail.  He drew his hat down to completely cover his face and spoke almost silently into the inside of his hat.  “I can’t worry ‘bout myself gettin’ lynched when I don’t know where my partner is.  For all I know he’s waitin’ for me to rescue him.  I hope not.  I’m not even sure what exactly Heyes is gonna find.  I hope he has better luck than I did when he finally does arrive from Iron City.  He should; he’s smarter than me and if I’m still alive, he can come up with a plan.  If I’m not, and he finds me swinging by the neck, then he better not do anything stupid.”  The Kid pushed his hat off his face with one finger and slid backwards to lean against the adobe wall.  His attention focused on the deputy.

The deputy nervously peered out the barred front window.  He worriedly looked over his shoulder toward the cells as the shouts for immediate action against the murderers inside grew louder.  He resentfully glanced back at the occupied cells.  Deputy Bill’s forehead furrowed, and his mouth drew into a deep frown as his shoulders slumped.  His breath clouded the window as he cursed nervously under his breath.  He moved from the window and checked the lock on the door, muttering to himself, “I wish the sheriff would hurry back from his late-night rounds.  Guardin’ two such dangerous outlaws is not what I want to be doin’ tonight.  Especially when the entire town is clamorin’ for swift justice, not that I don’t kinda agree with them.  But that’s not what the law is and I swore to uphold the law, even with scum like those two.”

Les Jaspar had dragged his cot to the side nearest to his fellow prisoner.  He sat with his back to the wall looking out into the main room of the jail.  Les pitched his voice low and with a confidence not warranted by his situation, spoke to the Kid.  “Don’t look so worried, Curry.  Like I said earlier, there’s nothin’ to be scared of in this one-horse, good-for-nothin’ town.  The haul from the job wasn’t worth all this aggravation.  My partner – my real partner – is comin’ to break me out with the rest of the gang.  Probably tonight, or possibly tomorra.”



Narrowed blue eyes flicked sideways.  The Kid kept his voice to a low growl. “If we have a tomorrow.  Maybe I'll let you tell them who I am once I decide if bein’ hanged by a lynch mob is better or worse than twenty years in prison.”

Jaspar gave a snort of laughter.  “We ain’t gonna hang.  My boys are gonna come a-shootin’.  Of course, when they get here, if you want to stay in your cell and wait for Heyes to break you out, that’ll be fine with me.  Vern may have different ideas, though.  He’s got a mighty powerful grudge against you.  I’m guessin’ he’s gonna insist you come with us and shoot it out with ya later.  He’s been practicin’ and has the speed of the wind now.  By the way, where’s your partner, Heyes?  If you’re here, he’s got to be around somewhere.  You gonna wait and hope for him to break you out?”

The Kid opened his mouth to respond but shut it quickly at the sudden opening of the back door of the jail.

Sheriff Bert Ruffing strode rapidly in and went straight to the rifle rack on the wall.  He took out his keys and unlocked the rack.  Grabbing a rifle for himself, he then tossed one to his deputy, who had moved from the window in the front door to the middle of the room.  The sheriff then quickly opened a drawer and removed boxes of cartridges, stuffing a few boxes in his pocket and tossing two boxes to Bill.  Lastly, he crossed to the desk where he withdrew two pairs of handcuffs.

Kid Curry and Les Jaspar had moved to the middle of their cells and silently watched the sheriff.  The two outlaws shared a puzzled and concerned look between them.

The Sheriff grabbed the gaping deputy, shoved the cuffs into his hands, and dragged him over to the cells.  He ordered with more than a hint of urgency in his growl, “Come up to the bars so Bill can cuff your hands.  The crowd is getting nasty, too riled up, and is bigger than the two of us can safely handle.”

“What are you talkin’ about, sheriff?” Les demanded as the deputy cuffed his hands in front of the prisoner’s body before moving on to the Kid.

“My duty is to legally see you hanged, Jaspar.  You too, Bucks, soon enough.  Lynchin’ ain’t legal, but I’m not gonna fire into a crowd of my neighbors to protect the likes of you.  Bill and I are gonna take you the back way to the livery.  The tack room there has a good, strong, solid door and lock with no other way in or out.  You should be safe enough there until I can calm the crowd down or they wind down on their own.”

All four men inside the jail froze at the closeness of the loud, angry shouting from the rapidly growing mob.

“Come on, we don’t have much time!  I’m doin’ you a kindness by cuffin’ your hands in front so we can move more quickly before the mob gets wind you’ve been moved.  Iffin’ we think you’re even thinkin’ of runnin’ or tryin’ anything, Bill and I will shoot you both in the back with no regrets.  Although, that would be a quicker death than the two of you deserve.  Now get goin’!”

Bill unlocked the cell doors and, with a rifle in their left hands and their pistol in their right hands, he and Sheriff Ruffing prodded the two outlaws out the jail’s back door into the moonlit night.

A group of unsavory hard-bitten individuals rode unnoticed into Kanab.  The leader of the pack held his hand up as his light-colored eyes caught site of the unruly mob gathering down the main street.  Indiscernible shouting could be heard drifting up towards the Jaspar Gang.

“Well, Vern, looks like we have a ready-made diversion.”

Flint gray eyes darted to the side and then back down the street.  “Yeah, maybe we can make this work for us.  The lawmen will busy in front, and we’ll bust in the back to free Les.  And if there’s a problem, it will be like shootin’ fish in a barrel the way they’re all close together.”

The Jaspar Gang veered to the side and filed quietly into the dark, dusty street that ran behind the buildings of the main street.  The soft clomping of the horses, the creaking of leather from the saddles, and of men pulling sidearms from holsters were drowned out by the noise of the angry mob in the main street.  They kept in the deep, shadowed darkness on the side of the seemingly deserted back street, avoiding the moonlit center.

In the front of the gang, Vernon Bucks suddenly straightened in his saddle.  He pushed his dirty, light brown hair out of his eyes to peer intently at the four shadowy forms slinking further down the back alley towards the other end of town.  The metal clanking of chains rang softly out in the dark, the harsh sound funneled up the street by the closeness of the buildings.  “They sure are making it easy for us.  We don’t even have to bust into the jail.”

“Who’s the other guy with Les?  Do we shoot him, too, or just the lawmen?”

“Just the lawmen for now, but we’re here for Les.  Nobody else matters, got it?” the Jaspar Gang’s gunmen stated menacing and unequivocally.  “Let’s go!”

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The Jaspar Gang came thundering down the back way with their guns blazing.

“UGHHHH!  I’m hit!”  The deputy fell flat on his face as his left leg gave out on him.  The rifle went flying out of his hand and skidded into the middle of the street.  He managed to push Les Jaspar down and lay sprawled across the outlaw's legs.  He was able to twist around and emptied his revolver in the general direction of the unwelcome on-comers.  Deputy Bill crawled and pushed and pulled Les with him into a more protected position next to the building.

“Get to cover!” the sheriff yelled, pushing the Kid in front of him and closer to the back of the general store.  Curry crouched down behind a full barrel of chicken feed and quickly sized up the situation.  He tugged at the handcuffs to no avail.  The few inches of chain between the cuffs severely limited his preferred options.  The sheriff was crouched beside him, firing at the incomers.

Bullets were flying around, ricocheting off the buildings.  Neither the Jaspar Gang nor the lawmen were taking the time to aim.  The lawmen were pinned down and the gang members were visible targets in the open.  One of the gang members reeled in his saddle, fell off and landed heavily, bleeding out in the dirt.  Vernon Bucks was swerving closer, leading a saddled horse ready for his gang leader to jump on.

The sheriff and the deputy had the spare cartridge boxes spilled out on the ground next to them and away from their prisoners.  The sheriff’s rifle was lying on the ground just out of reach of the Kid.

Les Jaspar managed to free himself from under Bill and stood up.  He waved his manacled hands at the gang.  “Vern, over here!”  He turned towards where the Kid and Ruffing had taken cover.  “It’s now or never, Curry, make your choice.  I told you my boys would come through.”

Bill reached out and grabbed Les’ ankle, causing him to drop to the dirt, cursing.  The deputy's shooting became even more erratic as he divided his attention between hindering his prisoner’s escape and defending himself.

“Umppf!”  The sheriff groaned in pain, grabbed his right shoulder, and leaned back onto his heels.  Warm blood ran between his fingers.  His right hand dropped to the ground, the gun still held in frozen fingers.

The Kid pulled the sheriff further behind the barrels and shuffled forward on his knees.  “Give me your gun.”

“No.”

“I’m not Vernon Bucks, can’t you see that now?  Do you wanna die?  Give me your gun!”  Curry ducked back as two shots skimmed the edge of the barrel, sending a spray of wood splinters and chicken feed their way.  He managed to get off his knees and onto his feet into a low crouch.

“No, I don’t want to die, but…”

The sound of rushing feet and more guns being fired drew the attention of the gang and the law.  Armed townsfolk from the crowd in front of the sheriff’s office were starting to run to see what was happening. Acrid smoke drifting along the back street obscured a clear view of the situation.

“The Jaspar Gang!”
“Get them, the murderous thugs!”
“Don’t let them get away this time!”

The Kid spun around to face the sheriff.  “Give me your gun.  People are gonna die if you don’t!,” he growled furiously.  Not waiting for the sheriff’s reply, he yanked the revolver from the lawman with his still-handcuffed right hand.  The infamous gunman grabbed a handful of bullets from the blood-splattered dirt with his left hand as the right was already opening the gate somewhat awkwardly.  Skillful fingers loaded the Colt in a blink of an eye and the Colt was raised in a two-handed steady grip.

BANG!  BANG!

The two nearest outlaws, who had been aiming up the closest alleyway, dropped to the ground, writhing in pain.  Their horses bolted down the street and out of view.

More shots came from the deputy and the sheriff who managed to fire once using the rifle before dropping the long gun once more into the dirt.

Horses wheeled and the remaining members of the Jaspar Gang took positions on the other side of the street as best they could.  Vernon Bucks was closest to the defender’s location, shielded by his horse and a large red rock boulder.  Bucks had the reins of two horses firmly in hand.

Les Jaspar eyed the deputy.  The junior lawman’s paleness was visible even in moonlight.  Les smiled.  The deputy wasn’t gonna remain conscious much longer and the sheriff was also wounded.  He glanced to his side across the gap.  He couldn’t see clearly, but Ruffing’s posture didn’t indicate much of a threat in his opinion.  He yelled out to his gang’s gunman, “Cover me!  Watch the alley ways; shoot whoever shows their face!  Or just shoot up the alley, you’re bound to hit somebody and teach those townies a lesson!  Let’s see how brave they are when we’re equally armed and not separated by iron bars!”

The Kid inched forward slightly, checking positions of the remaining gang members.  He cocked his head, listening to sounds coming from behind and to the left of him.  It sounded like some of the angry townspeople were still coming cautiously down the alley.  He cursed and glanced at the sheriff by his side.  “Those men are about to get their heads blown off!” he hissed.  “I doubt they’re as ruthless as, or a match for the Jaspar Gang.”  He fired a few shots at the gang to keep them back and behind their cover.

Curry spotted a supply wagon a little further up that would give him more protective cover and a much better angle of fire.  He once again yanked his hands apart fruitlessly.  “Where’s the key for these?” he demanded.

The sheriff didn’t answer.  Ruffing’s head hung low as he muttered into the dirt, “I failed.  I can’t protect my people…”

Curry sighed impatiently, then prodded the man with his foot.  “I can.  The key, hurry, I need the key to free my hands.”

The injured senior lawman lifted his head.  Glassy eyes looked blankly at the Kid.  ”Huh?  My keys?  Can’t give my keys to an outlaw.  I can’t…” his voice trailed off and his head dropped to his chest.

Giving the sheriff one last look of disgust, Curry scooped up the remaining ammunition, then got into a crouch position ready to run.  He took off for the wagon, shooting a covering pattern to keep everyone down.

Les saw his chance and, as the Kid took off, he kicked the deputy hard in the man’s injured leg and managed to get to his hands and feet, then ran as fast as he could towards his gang’s gunman.  He stooped down in the middle of the street and grabbed hold of the deputy’s rifle on his way.  The outlaw turned slightly as he cocked the rifle and took aim at Curry.  He faltered as red blossomed in the middle of his thigh and his shot hit the dirt a few feet in front his intended target.  A few more stumbling steps were all he managed before falling in front of the large red rock providing cover for Vernon Bucks.  The rifle slipped from his hand.  Les extended his arm and scrambled forward a bit.  The rifle was hit and skittered just out of his reach.  He gave up the quest for the gun and yelled, “Vern, the shooter's Kid Curry – he’s still cuffed! And he ain’t workin’ with us!”

Les was able to gain his footing but tripped and had a hard time regaining his balance with his hands still in handcuffs.  His leg buckled under him.  The injured leader of the Jaspar gang started to crawl and pull himself towards the large boulder when a rifle crack was heard from the alley.  Les Jaspar jerked once and was still.  Bright red stained the back of his shirt.

The Kid, having reloaded, took aim at the still-shooting members of the Jaspar Gang.  Two of which recklessly stood at either end of a stack of lumber to get a better angle down the alley.  Two quick shots from Curry had them both down and still.

Men started to take shots from the edge of the alley before ducking back out of sight.  A shout from the side rang out in the chaos.  “Come on, men; these are the scum robbers who robbed our bank, took our life savings, and shot Jeff, the teller, and killed Stan, the bank manager!  There shouldn’t be any more widows and orphans at their hands!  Come on, we have the courage to stand up to them!”

Vernon Bucks’ eyes widened in the dim light and his face hardened.  He muttered determinedly, “Curry’s a dead man.  He got the better of me once, he’s not gonna do it again.”  He watched the three still relatively uninjured gang members run for their horses and swore vehemently, “*%$&*!.  Yeah, turn yella, you cowards!  I won’t forget this, you're gonna be real regretful when I catch up to ya!”  One made it to mount and escaped into the night.  The Jaspar Gang gunman inched himself around to the other side of the boulder.  His line of fire was improved.  He gave a small, evil, anticipatory smile upon spying the glint of metal around Kid Curry’s wrists and heard the telltale clinks of metal links when the other man reloaded the revolver.

The Kid raised his head from his task to check on the rapidly changing situation.  He didn’t immediately see Bucks where he had last seen him.  Calm eyes quickly darted to either side before glimpsing the tip of the brim of the ruthless gunman’s hat.  The killer seemed to be the only gang member still capable and conscious in the area, although, he wouldn’t count on that until all the men on the ground were thoroughly checked.  His focus was now divided between the gunman across from him and the angry armed townsmen to the side of him as he fired rapid glances between the two directions.  The Kid took a deep breath, his lips set into a thin determined line; and he consciously relaxed his muscles briefly before tensing for action.

Vernon Bucks popped up, took a stance, gun aimed squarely at Kid Curry’s head, and yelled, “See you in hell, Curry!”  He and the Kid pulled the trigger seemingly simultaneously.  The outlaw staggered back in shock, then sank back against the boulder, sliding slowly to the ground.  Grey eyes glazing fast, the pistol fell from his hand as the left hand tentatively touched his red splattered chest before slowly dropping to his side lifelessly.  Bucks’ bullet sailed inches from the Kid’s head to lodge in the supply wagon’s sideboard.

The guns were silenced.  A quiet fell on the back street.  The peace only lasted a moment before the mass of men from the alley rushed forward into the mess left by the gun battle.  Some men ran to the fallen outlaws and kicked the weapons
away from them before checking to see if they were dead or still alive.  Others rushed over to the injured lawmen.  

Still others gathered around the still-handcuffed other prisoner and surrounded him with cocked firearms.  A small group had him in their grasps, having retrieved the sheriff’s purloined pistol from the outlaw’s still steady right hand and forcibly dragged him upright.  A red-faced man stuffed a dirty handkerchief into Curry’s mouth as he started to protest.  One had a rope fashioned into a noose, slipped it over the struggling man’s neck and pulled it tight.

“No!” called the deputy desperately.  “He saved our lives, practically singled handed.  Probably some of yours, too.  Never saw shooting like that before and in handcuffs, too. Never would’ve believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.”

Most of the milling mob of men looked over to the deputy skeptically but paused long enough in their quest for swift justice to listen.

The injured lawman continued while his leg was being bound. “He’s not Vernon Bucks and never was part of the Jaspar Gang.  We were mistaken on that.  Bucks is dead over by the boulder.”

The man holding the rope noose around the Kid's neck raised his head.  He looked into the prisoner’s eyes and his own eyes widened in shock not seeing fear, but an icy calm steadiness instead.

“I’m not Bucks,” Curry said earnestly, as the handkerchief was pulled out of his mouth.   “You’d be makin’ a mistake that you’d regret in the light of day.  I’m not a cold-hearted killer like him.”

Men looked at the body by the boulder before returning to the handcuffed outlaw in their grasp.  One person asked to no one in particular, in the stillness after the gun battle, “Is that right?  I sure don’t want to be hanging the wrong man.”

“Maybe, I’m not sure.”
“We better wait for the judge and trial and then hang him if he deserves it.”
“Yeah.”

The noose was loosened then lifted off Curry's neck.  The general tenseness of the mob began to dissipate into concern for the injured, pride in their part, and satisfaction of the defeat and near annihilation of the murderous Jaspar Gang.

The sheriff roused fully as he was being lowered onto a makeshift stretcher for transport to the doctor’s office.  He was able to prop himself up on his good side elbow to take in the surroundings.  Having heard the deputy's words, the sheriff gestured to the solicitous man hovering by his feet as he grimaced in pain at the movement.

“Joe, I’m appointing you actin' sheriff until Bill and I are fit for duty.  Get yourself an acting deputy or two, maybe Sam Keller.  You’re gonna need it.  That fella that done all the fancy shootin’ is Kid Curry, accordin’ to Les Jaspar and Vernon Bucks.  I believe it.  He fits the description on the Kid’s wanted poster.  Yeah, he ain’t exactly gonna admit who he is, most likely gonna give you some story about being Jones, like the one that he gave me.”  Sheriff Ruffing’s voice was getting weaker; he lowered himself back down to catch his breath.  Joe came closer to his head and nodded to the man gripping the board at the top to hold still.  

The sheriff continued, “Can’t ask the two no-good outlaws how they know he’s Curry no more.  Gotta hold him until we can get this straightened out.  Lock him up again.  The jail and cuff keys are in my right pants pocket.  Keep a close eye on him; if he’s really Curry, he’s gotta history of escapin’.  I’ll be at the jail as soon as I’m able.  And watch out for his partner, Hannibal Heyes. Heyes’ wanted poster is on the board as well.  He’ll probably show up callin’ himself Smith since Kid Curry is callin’ himself Jones. And I always thought those two had imagination…”  With that last piece of advice, the sheriff’s eyes screwed up in pain before he once again dropped into unconsciousness.

There was renewed enthusiasm for dealing with the blond prisoner.  Men started to slap their fellow men’s backs and congratulating themselves on having Kid Curry handcuffed and in their hands.  The group, who moments ago were intent on hanging the man they thought was the killer gunman Vernon Bucks, were now intent on getting the infamous Fastest Gun in the West, Kid Curry, into a locked jail cell as quick as they would have strung him up.

The Kid murmured quietly to himself as he was being pushed and pulled back up the alley to the main street and into the jail, “Heyes, I sure hope you’re on your way.  And, partner, when you get here, be careful and think up a darn good plan to get me outta this.  Hurry, I need you… again.”