Starring
Pete Duel and Ben Murphy as
Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry
Guest Starring
Jon Lormer
as the Livery Owner
Allan “Rocky” Lane
as Sheriff Bert Ruffing
Buck Taylor
as Deputy Bill
Powers Booth
as Les Jaspar
Michael Biehn
as Vernon Bucks
Peter Breck
as Acting Sheriff Joe Bogert
Joan Blondell
As Greta Bogert
Dennis Miller
as Acting Deputy Sam Keller Nothing Good Ever Happens When We Split Up - Part 2
by Nell McKeon
“Say, what did you say your name was?” There was a slight tremble, mixed with suspicion, in the livery owner’s voice.
“I didn’t, but my name’s Joshua Rembacker. What’s Heyes supposed to look like?” the ex-outlaw leader raised his voice in pitch. He darted looks around in false fear.
“Well, the poster says Heyes is slim with dark eyes and hair. He’s about six feet tall. Late twenties or early thirties. You could pass for Hannibal Heyes.”
“That description can fit a lot of men, me included. But I can assure you that I’m just a drifter on my way to Provo for a job.”
The reins were reluctantly handed over as the brunette hesitated momentarily in seeming indecision.
“You’re right about the description; it fits an awful lot of men around these parts. Besides, you don’t look like an outlaw, and you didn’t draw your gun on me when I asked, like a real outlaw would. Come to think of it, that was pretty dumb of me.” The livery owner shook his head ruefully. He once again gave his customer the once over before meeting his eyes, then continued. “Don’t worry fella. If Heyes shows up, we’ll be ready for him. Like the Jaspar Gang, where only one of the gang escaped this town. All the rest are dead. Them are those new graves in the cemetery. You can see them if you want. Besides, you and your horse don’t seem like you’re fit to go anywhere tonight.” The man sought to reassure the newcomer as all suspicion died from his face.
Heyes pulled off his saddle bags, rifle, and bedroll. “I’m not worried. And you’re right; me and my horse do need at least a night of rest in town before we move on. Extra grain and a good rubdown for him. I’ll pay you now and if I stay longer we’ll settle up later. I’ll pass on the cemetery.” He pushed a few dollars at the unknowingly helpful man.
Walking out of the stable and keeping to the shadows, the ex-outlaw slowed until he came to a stop in the small side street. “Thank the law for the vague description and my parents for the fact that I look like half the men roaming around,” he muttered to himself. “It’ll have to be a quiet night at the hotel. I hope they serve food and have baths.” He glanced down at himself, slapped his clothes a few times to remove the loose dust, and straightened his appearance. Dark eyes looked longingly at the saloon, a little way up the street, before reluctantly focusing on the modest hotel on the opposite side of the main thoroughfare.
That EveningThe door to the jail swung open with a bang, startling the two occupants within. Joe jumped slightly in his chair by the cells and dropped his cards on the small table dragged over to the occupied cell. The Kid swung his head towards the door as he reached through the bars and picked one card from the stack in the middle of the table.
Sheriff Ruffing entered. His right arm was tightly tucked into a sling. His gaze swept the interior of the jail before stopping on his acting sheriff and his prisoner, who appeared to be congenially playing cards. By the evidence of coffee mugs and plates with nothing but crumbs scattered about the floor on either side of the bars, they had been for some time.
“Um, I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?” the sheriff asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
“Nope, Sheriff. We’re just passin’ the time. Gin,” Curry answered amiably as he discarded one card from his hand and laid his cards face up on the table.
Joe looked quickly at Curry’s shown hand and his face took on a mild disgusted expression that rapidly morphed into faint embarrassment as he gathered up all the cards and stood up. “How’re you doing, Bert? And how’s Bill doing?”
“Bill and me are doin’ as fine as can be expected. I was lucky the bullet didn’t hit nothin’ important. It was just a flesh wound and pretty much the same for Bill. It’s a good thing that most of the Jaspar Gang weren’t any kind of skilled shootists. Not like our big-time gunnie, Mr. Fastest Gun in the West, we have locked up nice and safe over there.” The sheriff shot a brief a look of disapproval toward the cells before walking over to his desk where acting sheriff Joe Bogert joined him.
“I keep tellin’ you, I’m Thaddeus Jones,” Curry called out.
Ruffing ignored him and turned his attention to the acting sheriff. “Joe, you’re being careful around him, right?” the sheriff lightly scolded. “Kid Curry’s not one to be underestimated. Him and his partner are sly ones. I aim for him to be here in our cells when the Wyoming marshals get here.” His good left hand dipped into his pocket and withdrew a small sheet of yellowish paper.
“I’m careful, Bert. I leave my gun belt on the desk out of his reach when I go over there. He won’t escape on my watch. It’s been quiet in town and in the jail. Haven’t seen anyone suspicious or looking like his outlaw partner hanging around on my rounds. Nobody at the livery, hotel, bathhouse, café, or saloon have reported anything or anybody suspicious either. The only strangers reported are some ranch hands on their way down to Albuquerque, a couple visiting the Moderna Ranch, and a guy on his way to Provo from Iron City, who had to stop in Kanab ‘cause his horse went lame.”
The Kid’s attention was caught at Joe’s last statement. He straightened up after pushing the empty coffee mug and cake plate under the bars. The blond remained at the front of the cell, listening closely.
“Humph, just see that you take care and keep your eyes open. By the way, did you get the name of the guy goin’ to Provo?”
“Yeah, I went over to the livery and hotel. His name is Rembester, or something like that, not Smith, like you have us watching out for. He could fit Heyes’ description but then, so could I. Everyone who saw him agrees he don’t look like or act like an outlaw. I went up and spoke with him at the hotel. When I knocked on the door, he was reading a book. He wasn’t planning on stopping in Kanab, but his horse went lame and needs the rest, which was confirmed when I went by the livery.”
The Kid struggled to keep his poker face in place as a hint of smile passed briefly across his lips.
Joe continued, “Apparently, he went immediately to the hotel, ordered a bath and dinner, and has been in his room since. Said he might be leaving tomorrow, depending on how his horse is doing. No Smiths and you can be darn sure no one has come into town saying he was Hannibal Heyes. No one looking or coming around the jail that shouldn’t be,” Joe reported to the sheriff a bit defensively.
Bert Ruffing dropped into his comfortable chair behind the desk. He gazed up at his friend, who had agreed to take on the added responsibilities of sheriff to help out while he was unable to perform all his duties and gave him a conciliatory smile. “Thanks, Joe. I really mean it. I’m just on edge ‘cause of what happened with the Jaspar Gang and now havin’ an important prisoner like Kid Curry in custody.
“I’m not that important.” Curry piped up.
The sheriff glanced back at the occupied cell. “Yes, you are. At least, the Wyoming authorities think you are,” the sheriff answered. He turned to face Joe and continued,
“This is more serious trouble than Kanab sees in years. You know that he and his partner, Heyes, have been caught before but they always escape. No one has ever held them long enough for the marshals from Cheyenne to come and get them. I don’t want to be on that list of those who lost them. Which reminds me.” He waved the yellowish paper around before placing it on the desk. “I telegraphed Wyoming before I went to the doc's, and by the time I was out their reply came back.”
The sheriff rose from the chair and strode to the middle of the room, Joe trailing him. He addressed the prisoner, “Curry, I guess we’ll find out if you’re really Kid Curry or Jones in about four days when the marshals from Wyoming get here. They think you’re pretty important since they’re sendin’ five marshals. Five tough lawmen for just one man, that seems to me that it’s pretty important to get you to Cheyenne. Don’t think you’ll escape from them. Don’t mind sayin’ that I’ll be glad to get rid of ya.”
“It’s not like it was my idea to be here, Sheriff. I would have loved to have ridden out of here days ago,” the Kid answered truthfully.
Joe and Bert Ruffing laughed. The lawman and his temporary replacement walked to the door of the jail. Ruffing putting his one good hand briefly on his friend’s back before reaching for the door latch handle. “Joe, thanks again. I saw Sam goin’ in the café for his dinner and beans for the prisoner’s dinner. He should relieve you in a few minutes.”
Later that NightA slim shadowy form slipped unseen down the back hotel service stairs. He stopped on the bottom step and listened for a moment. No sounds drifted from the small hall that led to the hotel’s service workspaces. Dark hair briefly appeared around the corner of the staircase opening and the head swiveled quickly to look both ways. The form quickly and decisively stepped into the corridor and traversed the hall to exit the back service entrance of the hotel.
Keeping close to the sides of the back alley, the slim form turned up a side street and stopped at the edge of the entrance, deep in shadow. The barely discernible man leaned against the hotel and his lips curved into a slight smile of satisfaction. Brown eyes gazed intently at all that was going on in the main street. This vantage point afforded a good view of the jail, the two saloons and most of the likely area that would see activity in the late evening and night. Hannibal Heyes settled in for a long night of watching.
Inside the jailhouse, acting deputy Sam Keller put down the book he was trying to read in-between spells of nodding off. He checked the large wall clock and announced to the only other occupant of the building, “Time for my rounds.”
The Kid pushed up his hat from his face with one finger and peered disinterestedly through the bars from his recumbent position. “Don’t let me keep you, Deputy. Hey, you mind turnin’ the light a little lower? It’s kinda hard to sleep in here with you keepin’ it so bright. It is the middle of the night, you know. If you unfolded that cot over against the wall and set an alarm clock for your rounds, maybe we both could get some sleep.”
Deputy Sam pushed the desk chair back and stood up. “Why, so you could escape while I’m sleepin’ on the job? Sheriff Ruffing is counting on me to do a good job while Bill’s leg is healin’. You ain’t gonna go nowhere while I’m here.” He rummaged in the desk drawers and withdrew a set of handcuffs before walking over to the cells. “In fact, as an added precaution, stand up and put your hands through the bars.”
Curry just looked at the deputy, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disgust. His sandy brows drew down into a v and his lips turned into a frown. He didn’t move.
Deputy Sam’s face reddened, and his brown eyes narrowed as he watched the unmoving outlaw. “I said on your feet!”
The Kid heaved a big sigh but didn’t move from under his blanket. His stare turned cold.
The deputy swallowed and dropped his eyes momentarily. He drew his gun, pointed it at the non-compliant prisoner and yelled, “Now!”
Muttering under his breath, “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” Kid Curry slowly threw off his blanket and rose reluctantly to his stockinged feet. He extended his hands through the cell door bars.
Deputy Sam carefully placed the handcuffs on his prisoner’s wrists on his side of the bars. “This is just an added measure to make sure you stay put while I’m on my rounds. And, if you give me any trouble, you can stay standing that way all night. No reason you should sleep if I’m awake, Curry.”
“It’s Jones. I haven’t caused anyone a bit of trouble; no reason for you to be unreasonable.”
“I’ve got me ten thousand reasons to be extra cautious and as unreasonable as I want. I was part of the group that made sure you stayed caught after the Jaspar Gang Shoot-Out and done brought you back to jail when the sheriff and deputy couldn’t. Wasn’t an actin’ lawman then. Now, you stay put and I’ll be back when the rounds are finished,” Deputy Sam called back over his shoulder as he exited the jail.
Across and down the street, Heyes perked up from his perch on an overturned crate in the side street next to the hotel. He pocketed the deck of cards he had been idly shuffling one-handed. Keen, wide-awake eyes traced the deputy’s movements. He compared what he was observing with what he had observed in the two previous times the deputy left the jailhouse. The deputy appeared to be following the exact same routine. The ex-outlaw withdrew his pocket watch and peered closely at the face in the scant moonlight. “Time to talk to the Kid,” he whispered.
Darting out from his vantage point, Heyes quickly crossed the street and disappeared into the side street running alongside the jail. He stayed close to the side of the building as he traveled down the narrow side street. The dark-haired partner stopped below a barred window with its wooden shutter open in the still warm night. “Well, here goes,” Heyes barely audibly commented to himself. “Thaddeus?” he called in a semi-loud whisper.
Kid Curry cocked his head and angled his body to better hear noises in the back of the cell. He stepped back as far as his arms would allow at the sudden sounds drifting in from the small cell window. He waited with his breath held while he strained to catch any stray noise.
“Thaddeus? Can you hear me?”
The Kid kept silent while he peered intently around. He opened his mouth when the voice returned.
“Kid? You there?”
“Heyes, is that you? Yes, I’m here, but I can barely hear you.”
“Yes, it’s me. Who else are you expecting? Come closer so we can keep our voices as quiet as we can.”
“I can’t come closer. The deputy has got me handcuffed to the bars on the cell door while he’s out doin’ his rounds.”
Heyes swiped at his hat in frustration. He glanced at his pocket watch and brought it so it was almost touching his face in the dark. He stretched and rose up on his toes but could not see through the barred window. His voice rose slightly in volume. “Can you hear me better now?”
Curry strained towards the rear of the cell. He turned his head as far over his shoulder as he could. “Yeah, I can hear you. Listen, they’re lookin’ out for you. They know a Rembacker has registered at the hotel, but so far haven’t connected Rembacker with Hannibal Heyes. But they are suspicious.”
“That’s one thing in our favor. We can’t use the lawyer scenario this time. I sure didn’t look like any lawyer when I rode into town, and I don’t have a disguise handy with me right now. We left our suits in Denver with Clementine last time we rode through there. I’ll have to come up with something else.”
“Whatever plan you come up with will have to be soon. Five marshals from Wyoming are due to be here in four days from today, or rather yesterday. It’ll be all over then and hello to twenty years in the Wyoming pen.”
“I’ll get you out of there, Kid. Don’t worry. One way or another, you won’t be going to Wyoming surrounded by marshals.”
“I know you’ll think of something. But whether we’ll have enough time is the question. I think I’ll worry just a little bit. Heyes, be careful. If things don’t work out, I don’t want your company on my trip back. Maybe you should leave town before their suspicions get any stronger on why Rembacker is hangin’ around town instead of heading up to Provo.”
“Okay, I’ll head out tomorrow, if my horse is okay, and camp out of sight a little ways out of town. Me buying supplies for moving on will be expected. If the horse is still not able to make the trip, then I have a reason to stay an extra day.”
“Buy another horse, Heyes, and get out of town if your horse ain’t ready. It’s safer.”
Heyes shook his head slightly as he listened to the worry evident in his friend’s voice. “Alright, but I’m not going far. This deputy is pretty predicable, so I’ll be back as soon as I have a plan and clue you in. When you’re out of there, you’re gonna have to tell me how you got into this mess. I heard a version from the livery man when I rode in. That’s how I found out you were in jail.”
“Guess that was a bit of good luck so you didn’t tell anyone your name was Smith ‘cause I said I was Jones. Heyes, you won’t believe what happened.”
With fond amusement and exasperation, the older partner peered up at the barred window. “Knowing you, I’ll believe most anything. Don’t go anywhere and listen for me during the lawman’s rounds.” Heyes slid along the adobe building and melted into the shadows.
The Next DayThe plump middle-aged woman watched the blond clean his plate by mopping up the last of the tangy gravy with a homemade roll. “Mr. Jones, would you like a second helping?” she asked with a hopeful note.
The Kid looked up from his plate and glanced over at Joe, who was also finishing up his hearty lunch before focusing on the cast iron dutch oven siting on the pot belly stove. “Please, call me Thaddeus. I’d like that very much, ma’am. I never had this type of meat and these potato dumpling things before. They’re very tasty and really good. And the red cabbage and the rolls are just as delicious. Joe’s a lucky man.”
Joe looked up at his wife affectionately and nodded. “I guess I am. Greta, what’s for dessert?” He patted his stomach before peering into the picnic basket set on the sheriff’s desk.
Greta lightly slapped her husband’s hand away. “You’ll have to wait until Thaddeus finishes his seconds.” She walked over to the cell and retrieved the plate that was passed under the bars. “It’s called sauerbraten and kartoffelklöße. It’s a very common meal from Germany where my family is from. I’m glad you like the cabbage and brotchen, too. Make sure you keep room for strudel. It’s one of my husband’s favorites.”
“Thank you, ma’am, I’ll always have room for your cookin’. The apple cake, Apfelkuchen I think you called it, that we had yesterday, hit the spot with Joe’s coffee. I think I’m gettin’ fat sittin’ in this cell doin’ nothin’ but waitin’ for the breakfast and lunches you’re bringin’ your husband and me…”
“Hah, doing nothing but waiting! You’ve been beating me at poker, blackjack, and even gin rummy. At least I’m ahead in checkers, although not by much,” Joe interrupted.
“I appreciate you includin’ me. Sure beats the beans that I get for dinner every night.” The Kid flashed her one his genuine charming smiles. It had the desired effect and caused the middle-aged wife to blush and giggle.
“It’s my pleasure, Thaddeus. Joe has to eat and it’s nice to cook for someone so appreciative. My sons eat so fast, I don’t think they even taste the food. My Joe, here, is so used to what I cook that he just eats it.” Greta gazed fondly at her husband to take the tiny sting out from her words. She slid the refilled plate under the bars and walked back to her husband. Bending down towards his ear she leaned on the sheriff’s desk and asked quietly, “Are you sure he’s a notorious outlaw? He looks so innocent and is much too polite for a bad man gunfighter.”
The temporary sheriff shrugged. He glanced at the blond, young man behind bars. “Bert Ruffing’s convinced he’s Kid Curry, so that’s what I have to go by.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “I’m almost sorry to see the marshals. I like the man, Greta.” His wife silently nodded in agreement.
Joe directed his attention back to the prisoner. “Enjoy your meal and eat all you want. Tomorrow Sam and I are switching shifts for a day. I have something I have to do. You’ll get whatever prisoners get for breakfast and lunch. I think it’s grits and then probably beans. I’ll be here for the night shift, so I’ll bring us something good to eat and a little something for a late-night snack. The sheriff's gonna stop by again during the day tomorrow. Sam and I never had a real prisoner to guard when we’ve been deputies. Just the odd drunken cowboy sleeping it off during round-up season. Sam say’s it’s exciting.”
‘I don’t know about the excitin’ part. Nobody's gonna come ridin’ in here with guns blazin’ for Thaddeus Jones.” The Kid shook his head and looked solemnly down at his feet.
“That’s a good thing. I don’t think Sam or anyone in this town really wants a repeat of the Jaspar Gang shoot out and the ruckus of having Les Jaspar in jail. Bill and the sheriff say your shooting is one of the reasons they’re real convinced you’re Kid Curry like those no-good outlaws said. Say, were you friends?”
The Kid answered truthfully, “Nope, I can honestly say I was not any kind of friend to anyone in the Jaspar Gang.”
Greta spoke up as she gave a little shudder. “The scaffold they started building to hang that killer was not something I wanted to see when I came into town. He was a mean man and a killer that the law said deserved death, but I didn’t want to be anywhere near when they hung him.” She suddenly turned a deep red and stuttered, “Oh my, I’m sorry… How insensitive of me…You won’t be hung, will you?” Greta cast her hazel eyes at the ground and clutched at the apron she wore.
The Kid rose from his seated position on the cell cot and leaned against the bars. His quiet, soft drawl filled the sudden silence of the jail. “If I was Kid Curry, then no, I wouldn’t be hung. Curry and his partner, Hannibal Heyes, are not murderers. It’s a matter of public record that they have never shot anyone in all their robberies. And from what I know, Kid Curry never draws first. They’re wanted for armed robbery and that’s not a hangin’ offense, last I heard. I think it'll get Kid Curry twenty years in prison, not somethin’ a man would want, either. I also heard Heyes and the Kid have quit robbin’ and are tryin’ to go straight.”
Joe grabbed his wife’s shaky hand and squeezed it in comfort. “No, twenty years in prison isn’t something any man would want.”
Greta murmured to herself, “I want to believe you, Thaddeus Jones.”
