Alias Smith and Jones Writers
Would you like to react to this message? Create an account in a few clicks or log in to continue.

Alias Smith and Jones Writers

A forum devoted to writers of Alias Smith and Jones Fan Fiction
 
HomePortalGallerySearchLatest imagesRegisterLog in

 

 a disagreement

Go down 
AuthorMessage
cjp242




Posts : 2
Join date : 2016-02-01

a disagreement Empty
PostSubject: a disagreement   a disagreement Icon_minitimeSat Jun 29, 2019 5:05 am

This is actually the start of a story I haven't finished yet, but seemed to fit the prompt well. It struck me the outlaws wouldn't think much of each other's choice of female and the Kid's generosity would certainly irritate Heyes, if he knew about it…


Yet another sizzling hot day; sweat-stained, heads hanging low, two horses plodded through a shimmering heat haze, the clip clop of their hooves echoing from the barren, rocky ground. The rider of the rear beast pulled off his black hat to mop his brow, and push back the hair clinging damply to his face, irritating his eyes, but despite the intense physical discomfort of butting head on into this wall of heat, Hannibal Heyes, former leader of the Devil's Hole gang, was fizzing with excitement and anticipation. He smiled fondly at the back of his cranky partner – his silver tongue has done it again, finally persuading Jedediah 'Kid' Curry, fastest gun in the west, to see sense and travel on to Deadman's Holt.
Until that morning, the Kid had dug in his heels at Golden Bluff, a delightful town which boasted three lively saloons packed with good-natured, bad gamblers, a comfortable hotel next to a well-run bath house, and a naive young sheriff whom they'd never met before. Not only that, while Heyes spent highly profitable nights at the gaming tables without a hint of trouble, the Kid had become friendly with an exceptionally pretty young lady, a lithe, flaxen-haired dancer who had been abandoned by her troupe after injuring her foot, and who was now back treading the boards, showing off her considerable assets to earn a ticket back east. Yes, Golden Bluff was an earthly paradise for a couple of pretty good bad men who had turned their backs on a life of crime in an attempt to win amnesty; they had had no reason whatsoever to move on, except one – a notice in an abandoned  newspaper had caught Heyes' eye.
'NEW POKER PALACE IN DEADMAN'S HOLT! RICHIE ROCKERFELLA RAINS RICHES ON “ACES AND EIGHTS” SALOON' screeched two-inch-high letters in thick bold type. Underneath, the effusive reporter lavished equal praise on the wealthy entrepreneur and his new enterprise. The West had never seen the like before! Unrivalled luxury, a cellar packed with vintage whiskies, cuban cigars, expensive women encrusted with jewels, the works. What's more, it was rumoured that, lured by generous inducements, all the big names in gambling were flocking to the grand opening and what promised to be the poker game of the century, in just three weeks' time. Men and women such as Bret and Bart Maverick, Poker Alice and Jefferson Randolph Smith II. All the big names, Heyes reflected, bar one, but why not make it a full house?! Untold wealth would be changing hands and who deserved that money more than a brilliant, but needy ex outlaw! Yet even more irresistible was the challenge, a once in a life-time opportunity to pit his wits against the very best. The paper was barely one week old, leaving plenty of time to travel the 500 miles south, and the gods were smiling on him. Having had an exceptionally profitable run at the tables lately, he had plenty of money for the buy in. He'd need to assume a disguise, of course, but he simply had to be there!
However, the Kid didn't see things that way, no sir! He wanted to stay right where he was, and ask anyone who knew him, if there was one word they'd use to describe Jed Curry – apart from fast-draw – that word was stubborn. Yet the opening gala of the Aces and Eight was too dangerous a destination without back up, so Heyes used every ounce of his cunning, and exercised his silver tongue until it fairly ached to get his own way. However, the scintillating visions of wealth and glory he conjured up failed to make the slightest impression on his mule-headed, so-called partner, and in desperation, he'd begun toying with the risky idea of exposing their true identities in order to get chased out of town by a posse, when unexpectedly this morning the Kid had caved in, and they were on the road again. Not riding together, as the gambler was keeping a judicious distance to the rear, to avoid a torrent of complaints from his disgruntled partner, but on the road, both of them. He'd make it up to Kid by buying him a steak dinner and a bottle of good corn whiskey, when they reached the Holt.
It had been a late night working the tables, and not wanting to chat to the Kid under the present circumstances, Heyes left his mare to follow her stable-mate, allowing himself to be rocked into a torpor by her steady, dull plod. He was dreaming of poker Alice sitting opposite in an alluring decolletage, bending forward to layout a royal flush and expose …All of a sudden a clamour up ahead jerked him awake. He looked around wildly, before his eyes settled on the Kid's back –  the Kid was the source of the uproar, doing what he called singing – or rather, Heyes corrected, howling – his favourite song. The senior outlaw broke into a broad, half-incredulous, dimpled grin, his silver tongue had worked a miracle – his bone-headed partner had truly grasped the brilliance of his plan. Then a few moments later, the smile began to slip: there was something deeply wrong here. Kid was dun coloured, his red shirt stuck to his back with sweat, with a thick layer of dust adhering on top; all they had to eat was jerky, since Heyes had anxiously hurried them out of town without resupplying, before the Kid could change his mind; all they had to drink was warm water from their canteens, and too little of that. Alright, the song was the usual dirge about having no mother, no brother and no sister and no place to go, but an angry Kid didn't sing at all, no siree. He stared suspiciously at the gunman's back, why was he so cheerful? Kid ought to be furious, miserable and moaning. He should not be happy. Had he, Hannibal Heyes, a recognised genius, missed something? If the Kid had had good news – for a fleeting second a vision of the elusive amnesty flashed through his mind, but he dismissed that thought immediately – whatever it was that had put Curry in such a good humour, why hadn't he shared it? They were partners weren't they? Was the Kid, the good-hearted, but dull-witted and unimaginative Kid, putting one over on him, the great Hannibal Heyes? Kid, the one-trick pony, the best in the west with a gun, but otherwise just another unambitious drifter. Heyes frowned, and disturbing memories of the salted diamond field floated before his mind's eye – as well as robbing banks and trains, their lives of crime had encompassed numerous cons and scams. He had dreamt up the schemes himself, but Kid had always been a ready participant: whether they were gambling on balancing a boiled egg on end, or catching a murderer with a bluff on fingerprints, he always followed Heyes' subtle play, coped effortlessly with any unexpected twists and turns and added just the right comment to land their mark.
What could be making the Kid so happy? His eyes dropped to the holster at the Kid's right hip – shaving a few hundredths of a second off his already impossibly fast, fast-draw? But the colt was resting in it's holster and wasn't even as shiny as usual since every step of the horses' hooves raised a puff of dust.
Heyes sat brooding while the Kid crooned on, then the younger man turned and remarked with a broad, engaging smile, 'Ya ever see a sight so dang pretty, Heyes? The sweet smell of the sage! The sun kissin' the mountain tops!'
Heyes looked around and saw dull, grey-brown rocks, a half dozen stunted sage bushes, and yet more dull, grey-brown rocks; OK, the sun was up there, baking them like pancakes on a griddle, but the Kid must have a livelier imagination than he gave him credit for, if he could call this god-forsaken wilderness pretty! He mulled over his partner's words sun kissing the mountain tops …so pretty – That was it! That was the self same phrase Kid had used after rescuing the bounty hunter Joe Sims from a lynching party. Utterly incomprehensible though it was, the Kid got a kick out of doing good, it was the one thing above all others which could make his eccentric partner euphoric. The Kid must have done a good deed. But what? How? When? Heyes frowned again. They'd had another furious row yesterday, and still Jed had refused point blank to budge; in the evening, he'd leant against the bar, sipping a beer, watching Heyes' back, as always, but radiating such an air of lethal menace a couple of feet remained clear either side of him in an otherwise packed establishment. Rough, thirsty men would head towards this quick route to the counter, then catch sight of the gunman and shy away into the crowds on either side, like swirling waters, parting to either side of an immovable rock as they tear down a canyon in the spring floods. No, the Kid had soured the whole atmosphere all evening and had gone to bed angry. When Heyes woke the next morning, Kid wasn't there, and for a heart stopping moment, he thought he'd gone for good, but his saddlebags were on the far side of the bed, and he'd found him in the dining room, eating breakfast. Heyes had looked down at him fondly, no poker game, even the showdown in Deadman's Holt was worth ruining their partnership. He'd opened his mouth to concede defeat, but before he had a chance to say a word, the Kid had looked up and remarked, 'Ya know, Heyes, I still say ya a dang fool; we're in a nice peaceable town, and we got so much money stuffed in our pockets, we wouldn't hafta look a dang steer in the backside fer a whole year if ya weren't so darn set on giftin' it all to Poker Alice, but,' the Kid looked up from his breakfast, wearing a stern, poker face, '…if ya still wanta play in that big game, gawped at by crowds of onlookers, a good half of whom will 've bin sat on some train we once robbed, then I'll come along ta save ya sorry hide.'  He burst into a broad grin. Astounded, Heyes whooped for sheer joy, threw his hat in the air and danced a jig, causing heads to turn throughout the entire establishment, but he didn't care. He was going to the Big Match. He'd been so pleased, so delirious with excitement, he didn't stop to wonder what had caused this change of heart. He had just concentrated on steering the Kid clear of any opportunity to turn mule again, and rushed him out of town, giving him barely a moment to kiss his girl goodbye.
So what good deed could the Kid possibly have done between turning in at 2am and breakfasting at eight? There didn't seem to be much time and opportunity, and in any case, Kid didn't like to do anything much at all before breakfast! Everything had seemed so, so …so normal. No gunfire, quiet diners, quiet streets, no signs of a burning building or out-of-control buckboard, giving the Kid the chance to play the hero. Then the image of Jed kissing his dancing girl swam before Heyes' eyes. They'd found her near the stage depot with her suitcase on the sidewalk. Had Kid arranged to meet her at Deadman't Holt? No, there wasn't a stage south for two days, it was the eastbound service which ran on Thursdays and this girl had been trying to raise the fare home – that's how the Kid had got to know her  – by rescuing her from a drunken cowboy who thought more was on offer than just a glimpse of her legs. Was it simply the loss of the girl that changed his mind?
Another scene floated before Heyes' eyes…they were leaving the hotel, approaching the desk, and Kid had said, 'Ya pay, Joshua. I've got ma hands full.' True enough; as usual, Heyes had left his partner lumbered with all the luggage, but when it came to settling up with the liveryman, it was the same story, the senior ex-outlaw had had to pay. 'Where's your money gone, Thaddeus?' he'd asked, more than a little peeved.
'Ya know me!'
Yes he did. It was a given. The Kid was no good at cards and was always broke. Heyes forgave him that, just as Kid forgave Heyes for never improving his fast draw. But did the 'facts' stack-up? Of course, Jed didn't stand a chance against Heyes himself, and passing the time with a pretty woman like Clem or Georgette, his brain went to mush and his game went to pieces, but then little or no actual money was at stake. On the other hand, playing Red Dog in old Clarence's cabin, Kid had had the biggest win ever, of either partner, and he'd kept efficient count of the cards, biding his time for a cinch hand, though Heyes had felt his heart jitter in his chest before the final king of clubs was laid down. Heyes thought back: whenever they'd been sat at the same table, the Kid had played a boring, pedestrian game, winning and losing small amounts and occasionally ending up far enough ahead to be called out for 'cheatin''. Did Kid transform into a reckless, high-stakes gambler when free from Heyes' scrutiny? He'd wondered about this, but never pursued the matter. After all, what else could the Kid be spending such large sums of money on? Bullets, women, food, gambling and beer, those were his partner's priorities. Besides generous tips to calico queens what other large expenses did he have?
…like a shock, more scenes from their past wavered in front of Heyes' tormented gaze: he could see sister Grace clambering into a stage, and the little singer Michelle waving goodbye from a coach window, and Trudi, and Mary Beth and Mary Ellen… and how many more? The solution to the mystery hit him smack between the eyes, how had he not realised before? Kid must have paid that pretty, dopey dancer's fare back east. He was willing to bet large sums that this was the Kid's good deed.  In fact, he now realised, herds of helpless, brainless females were criss-crossing the west in luxury, like the great buffalo migrations sweeping across the prairies, all courtesy of his, Hannibal Heyes' success at the poker tables! A red mist began to form. Now he understood why they were always flat broke. How many times had they slept on the rocky ground, their only food a sage hen  shot by the Kid, no money for a beer, eating dust, forced to work 18 hours a day herding cattle, and all because of his soft-hearted, soft-headed partner! How had he not known?!– it was so unimaginably stupid even the great Hannibal Heyes, a true genius, had been deceived! Betrayed by his own partner, the one person whom he thought he could trust! Heyes quickly patted his pocket and checked in his hat. The fat banks rolls were both there… but were they quite as fat as they ought to have been?
Heyes dug his spurs into his mare who indignantly swished her tail, and leapt forward alongside her stable-mate.
'Where's all the money gone, Kid?' he growled,
'Huh?'
'Where's the money gone?'
Alerted by Heyes' tone of voice, Kid Curry straightened in the saddle and narrowed his eyes, his good mood vanishing instantly like mist under the Arizona sun, 'What's it ta ya?'
'You aint gambled it away, have you?' the furious ex-outlaw hissed.
'Never said I did.'
'I gave you 500 good American dollars on Monday night, an' that stupid gal, that floozy, that, that!… ' in his agitation, Heyes' silver tongue failed him, 'she only had to bat her eyelashes, and you shower it in her lap, my money!, and you didn't even get a roll in the hay!'
Kid shot out a hand to grab hold the front of his partner's shirt front, and reined his horse sharply to the right, dumping the other man hard on the rocky ground. 'Her name's Rosalind, she's aint stupid, she's a nice, respectable gal, an' if ya say another word ta insult her, I'll…' He left the thought unfinished. 'Yeah, I paid her fare home an' gave her a little extra ta tide her over. So what? She's a lovely young woman who needed ma help. It aint none of ya darn business how I spend ma money!'
'Your money! That's a good one! If it weren't fer me you'd be a penniless drifter, without 2 cents to rub together, and no gal would look at you twice!'
'What ya tryin' ta say, Heyes. Spit it out!'
The other scrambled to his feet and stood hands on hips. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, knew he should rein in his temper, but he was so furious he couldn't help himself, 'All the money you're squandering on those brainless, soppy girls you're so fond of comes from me, my winnings at poker. Well not any more it don't! That's gonna stop right now! In future, everything I win at the tables, I keep. I'll pay all the bills, and any reas'nable expenses you got, you come to me; anythin' else you can whistle fer it!'
A tense pause was broken only by the caw, caw, caw of a desert raven circling overhead, as the Kid nailed Heyes with the intense, gunfighter glare he usually reserved for fellow shootists. He spoke quietly, but with deadly menace.
'Ya seem to be forgettin' somethin', Heyes. I ain't goin' beggin' to ya like some shirt-tail kid, tuggin' at his mama's skirts. Ya may win more 'n ya lose, but ya'd scarcely get to keep a dime, if I weren't there watchin' yer back. Yer draw's like treacle,' Kid's lip curled scornfully, 'Any man half decent with a gun could shoot ya down like a dog, or drag ya down some back alley an' beat the livin' daylights outta ya!'
Under the Kid's implacable gaze, the older outlaw felt his skin crawl. Knowing what his partner was capable of, his nerve almost gave way, but he had his pride and he was too angry to back down now. He straightened his jacket and took a deep breath, 'I aint going sit back while you lavish my money on those witless females. It's as simple as that. I aint gonna argue. You aint spending another dang cent without my say so and that's the end of it.' As he bent down to pick up and dust off his hat he heard a noise behind him, but before he could react a lasso dropped neatly over his head, pinioning his arms. He staggered as the rope drew tight.
'What the hell do you think your doing?!'
'Ya're the genius. Work it out!'
Once his prisoner was firmly secured, the Kid started rifling his pockets, not forgetting to check his hat and his boots.
'Now, I reckon we were square up until three nights back…'
'You wait, Jedediah Curry. If it's the last thing I do, I'll get you for this. You're…'
'…since when ya've won, let's see, I reckon it must be $600 or thereabouts…'
'…never gonna sleep easy in your bed at night! However long…'
'…so seein' as how we were partners, I'll go halves with ya, an' take $300…'
'it takes, I'll…'
'…an' a 10 dollar bonus, as I'm the one who puts his life on the line, an' I'm the one havin' all this grief an' aggaravation gettin' paid!' The Kid finished up cheerfully. Then he stuffed the remaining cash in Heyes' hat and plonked it on his head.
'XQ@£!PQO!'
'That's enough of that!' Kid tied a gag in place. 'Now mind ya temper, an' step ta the backa this bluff. An' I'd keep quiet if I were ya. Ya don't want no bounty hunter stumblin' over ya, do ya?!'
When, with some encouragement from the lasso, his furious partner had moved to a safer spot, the Kid tied him up securely enough to keep him busy for half an hour or so, which he figured should be plenty of time to get clear, then he picketed his horse in the shade a little distance away.
Slinging down a full canteen, he swung himself into his saddle. 'Ya take care, Heyes. Remember, ya aint got no one watchin' ya back no more, no fast draw ta dig ya out of whatever mess ya land yaself in.' Then touching the brim of his hat, he urged his mare into an easy lope and a few minutes later was lost from view.

Twenty-five minutes later, a fuming Hannibal Heyes tossed the latigo that had bound him aside and snatched up the reins of his startled horse, muttering, 'Bin partners all these years! How could he?! I'll show that ingrate, that 2-bit gundog not to mess with Hannibal Heyes, you just see if I don't!'
Back to top Go down
 
a disagreement
Back to top 
Page 1 of 1

Permissions in this forum:You cannot reply to topics in this forum
Alias Smith and Jones Writers  :: The Writing Spot :: The Story Challenge-
Jump to: