Jan 2020 Absent Friends

Happy New Year to you all ...

A slightly New Year Topic for you...

Let your clever and nimble fingers tap about

Absent Friends

I blame this on the melancholy I always feel at this time of year as well as on watching the early Roger Davis ASJ episodes.


Heyes stared out of the window not really noticing the falling snow, his mind and thoughts far away. He had woken in a melancholy mood and had been unable to shake it even now as the day was close to ending. There was no word on the amnesty and he couldn't see that changing any time soon. He turned at the footsteps behind him and dragged up a smile for Clem who looked at him with a critical eye. “You don't look so good.”

Heyes had no will to disagree with her. He didn't feel good. Not physically ill maybe, but heartsick as his Grandpa Curry would have said.

In the year since he and The Kid had parted ways he wasn't sure there'd been a day when he'd woken without a sharp pain at the emptiness beside him and as the months had gone on it had only seemed to worsen. Now as the year turned into a new one, the pain was so sharp he wondered how he could breathe round it. He couldn't find a way to explain any of it, not even with all the words he knew and instead with the smallest of shrugs he said quietly. “Just thinking, Clem, just thinking.”

Clem came up beside him and slipped an arm round his waist, her face sympathetic.

“Kid wrote about a month or two ago. I still got the letter, you want to read it?”

Heyes was surprised that Curry had taken it into his head to write a letter, but then he had often complained how hard it as to say what was needed in a telegram. Heyes was almost afraid to find out was in the letter, but was also desperate to know, so he nodded not quite trusting himself to speak.

She removed her arm and walked over to a small jar and dug out what was obviously a well read piece of paper and handed it to Heyes, who took it with suddenly slightly shaky hands. “Not sure what it says will make you happy, but read it to the end.” Clem kissed him on the cheek and then walked back into the small living area, leaving him to read the letter alone.

Heyes sat at the table and was reminded of the last time he'd been here. They'd been so full of excitement at heading to Santa Marta with five thousand dollars in their pockets. It'd gone wrong as usual. He wondered now, had that disaster played a part in breaking the seemingly unshakeable faith the Kid had always had in him, in them?

Clem,

Figured I oughta write and tell you, me and Heyes ain't travelling together no more. I've been meanin' to write before but I weren't sure what to say. I never seemed to have much time till now neither.

Wasn't no big row, just lots of little ones. A lot of 'em were my fault cos I  kinda lost my faith in him somewhere along the line. I ain't really sure what I was thinkin' but it don't matter much now I guess. Well that's 'bout all I can think of to say- but thought you should know so you don't start fretting or nothin' if you find out from someone else.

Heyes blinked at the stark words confirming what he'd known to be true. He started to fold the letter back up, almost wishing he'd not read it when his eyes caught more writing in a much neater hand.

I hope whomever is reading this knows the best thing to do with what I'm adding. I'm not sure Thaddeus would be exactly happy with me, but needs must when I feel God is calling on me to do His work.

I guess I ought to introduce myself. I'm Sister Magdalena from The Fairport Mission Orphanage and Convent in Yuma. About a month ago a man working out at one of the ranches was brought here with a nasty leg wound. We weren't sure he'd survive as he was in a bad way with a fever and all. But he seemed bound and determined to make it through and after a week he was hobbling around the place. He's charmed even our Mother Superior, who hasn't much time for the foolishness of men. He'd been brought to us as Thaddeus Jones, but when he was fevered he kept calling out for someone named Heyes. Not all of us are as sheltered as most would believe so we knew who he really was before he was fully conscious. Though we mostly continue the pretence as it seems to be easier for us all. Please do not worry, we've no interest in assisting those who carry out earthly punishments and no mortal will learn the truth from us. He has shown no sign of wishing to move on, seemingly content to help out with whatever we ask of him. While I fear the children and our younger novices have learnt words not exactly proper, he is a hard worker and kind and causes no other problems. We would be sorry to lose him.

He asked me to post this letter for him when I came into town to collect our supplies. I find him often by the river staring at nothing with a slightly lost expression on his face. I asked him once what was wrong but he'd only say. “Just thinkin' I made a bad decision not so long ago. I'd not make the same choice again."

Now I must finish or I will miss the mail stage

Heyes read and re-read the words before he felt a grin spread across his face. Yuma wasn't even that far. Standing up he raised his voice as a wave of excitement replaced the strange emptiness of the last year. “Clem, Clem, you got a train timetable round here?”

Kid Curry stood on the cabin porch, a cup of coffee in his hand, gazing absently out into the night.  It was a cold, crisp, night, frost glistening on the grass and the nearby trees.  There had been no snow yet but indications were that it would arrive any day.

Curry took a sip of his coffee without shifting his gaze, wondering, for the thousandth time, where his partner might be.

His mind drifted back to the day, eight months ago, when they’d parted company.

Curry had been arrested, while Heyes had been out of town on another job, when a local woman had accused him of killing her husband, after losing to him at poker and, but for Heyes coming up with one of his genius plans, to lure out and trap the real culprit, he would now be languishing in the Wyoming Territorial Prison.

It had been a close call. Too close. Afterwards, Heyes had sardonically chastised  him for ending up in jail, with a mocking “Why do you always get into trouble when I’m not here to keep an eye on you?” that caused him to lose his temper, leading to a full scale row, as each took out their anxieties and frustrations on each other.  It had ended with Curry suggesting that they should part ways, telling Heyes that he would probably stand a better chance of staying out of trouble and getting the amnesty if he wasn’t with him.

Heyes had disagreed, saying he’d just been teasing him about getting into trouble when he wasn’t there. But Curry had been insistent and had refused to listen to all of his reasons for why they should stay together, sticking to his argument that, with his reputation as a gunman,  he would more likely be the cause of any trouble they ended up in than Heyes, who was less combative than him and more easily able to avoid, or talk his way out of, trouble, and that they would be better off going their separate ways.  He hadn’t meant to imply they should part forever, just until they got the amnesty.  But it was obvious that Heyes had taken it that way.

In the end, Heyes had given up trying to change his mind, throwing up his hands and saying “Fine!  If that’s what you want.” resisting the urge to add ‘But when you get yourself into trouble who’s gonna be there to rescue you?’

They had parted company the following morning, Heyes catching a train in one direction and Curry boarding a stage in the other.

Curry had accompanied Heyes to the train station, since his stage wasn’t due to leave for a couple of hours, both of them standing silently on the platform, as they waited for the train to come in, both wanting to try and change the other’s mind but neither able to find the words.

They hadn’t shook hands or even said any farewells, only a gruff “Take care.” from Curry, with a half nod and a brusque “You too.” from Heyes before he turned and boarded the train without looking back.  But, as the train had pulled out and Curry had met his gaze through the window, the look in his eyes had spoken volumes about his feelings; anxiety, annoyance, sadness, and even a hint of betrayal.

Despite the warmth of the day, Curry felt a chill run through him as he watched the train disappear from view.  Then, turning away, he had headed over to the restaurant for a cup of coffee, while he waited for the stage, haunted by the look in his partner’s eyes as the train had pulled out.

Curry came back from his reverie and took another sip of his coffee, the look in Heyes’ eyes, as he’d met his through the window, still in his mind’s eye.

After eight weeks on his own, Curry had realized the error of suggesting that they part company. He worried constantly about Heyes’ safety without him there to back him up in any arguments, and he missed his friend’s companionship. They were so in tune with each other’s thoughts and behaviours, even periods of silence between them was a kind of communication.  Even arguing with him was preferable to being alone.

He decided he needed to find Heyes, apologize to him for getting so obstinate and forcing the break-up of their partnership, and, hopefully, get things back on track.

Firstly, he telegraphed Lom to explain that they’d parted company and to see if Heyes had been in touch with him, disappointed to find that he hadn’t.  He then wired him back to ask him to let him know if he heard from him, and where from. Lom promised he would.

Next, he decided to follow the train line, stopping off at all the stops along the way, in the hope of finding, if not Heyes himself, some clue to him having been there, perhaps at a saloon, playing poker, or having booked into a hotel or hired a horse from the livery stable.  But, when he reached the end of the line, he’d found not a trace of him.

He didn’t know why he should feel surprised.  Heyes was good at hiding his tracks if he didn’t want to be found. Clearly, he had taken Curry’s words to heart and had deliberately chosen not to leave any clues for him, or anyone else, to follow.

Curry was disappointed, but vowed to continue his search, spending the next few months traveling to anywhere he conceived Heyes might go, but drew a blank on every occasion. He even contacted Soapy, and Silky, and a handful of other friends that they would trust well enough to turn to in troubled times, on the off chance he’d gone to visit any of them, but none had heard from him

The more places he visited, with no success, the more he regretted forcing them to part company.  He was plagued with images of Heyes having got into trouble - such as perhaps being accused of cheating at cards - and, without him there to back him up, getting killed.  To cover his tracks so thoroughly he was no doubt using another alias name so, if he were to get killed, not even Lom would get to hear about it.   The thought that he might have been killed and buried somewhere under an assumed name, with no way for him to find, him weighed heavily on his mind. Knowing for certain that he was dead would be hard, but not knowing was even harder.

Periodic telegraphs to Lom confirmed that he hadn’t heard from him either.  It was as though he’d disappeared off the face of the earth.

Curry stared, now, into the night, once again cursing himself for driving his friend away from him.

A few flakes of snow began to drift down from the sky, drawing his gaze.  Was Heyes camped out somewhere, watching these same snowflakes and wondering where he was? he wondered.

He gave a deep sigh.  “Where are you, Heyes?” he said under his breath.

He blinked away moisture from his eyes, that he told himself was from staring too long into the cold night air, and drained the last of his coffee.

“Kid.  It’s nearly midnight.” a voice from inside the cabin pulled him back from his thoughts.

Turning, he went inside, to see Lom with two glasses of whisky in his hand.

With a smile, Lom offered one of the glasses to Curry who took it with a muttered thanks.

He had arrived here, at Lom’s, on Christmas Eve. Lonely for company and knowing that, as their friend, and mentor, Lom was the only other person in the world who could understand how he was feeling, it had seemed the logical place to go.

Lom had been happy for the company and he had stayed the whole week.  Now it was New Year. Time for positivity. Time for new beginnings and making amends.  Maybe Heyes was out there somewhere, having the same thoughts as himself, and might perhaps decide to make contact. If not with him, at least with Lom, for Auld Lang Syne – for old times sake.  It was a hope to cling to.

Lom eyed him, knowing what he was thinking.

“Let’s drink to a Happy New Year.” he said, holding out his glass for Curry to clink.

Curry shook his head.  “Let’s drink to… absent friends.”

Lom nodded, giving him a lop-sided smile, clinking his glass against Curry’s.

“Absent friends.” he echoed, before they both tossed back their drinks.

As he swallowed the whisky and savoured its flavour, Curry crossed his fingers and prayed that this year would bring not only their amnesty, but also his friend back to him, safe and sound.

This turned out to be a follow-up to my December challenge. Heyes and Curry have spent the holidays with Clem.
----------------------------------------------

“Oh boy that feels good!”

“Didn’t I tell you, Heyes? And don’t splash me.”

The three friends sat in a circle around a large metal tub filled with steaming hot water. The men’s pants were rolled up to their knees, and Clem’s party dress billowed across her lap.

Hannibal Heyes looked to heaven for patience.

“I didn’t splash you, and, yes, you did. Soaking our poor, tired feet in Epsom salts was a good idea, Clem. But you have to give me credit for this bottle of Spanish sherry.”

Clementine Hale smiled sweetly. With her dance shoes discarded in the corner, her sore feet in the salty water, and the smooth sherry warming her insides, she felt pretty darn good.

“Alright, you have credit. Are you happy now?”

“Will you two stop bickering?” Curry complained. “We just had one of the best New Year’s Eves ever. Don’t spoil it by arguing.”

“We’re not arguing. Clem and me, we’re just . . . we’re just, you know.” Heyes reached for the bottle and refilled his glass, to the brim.

“You’re just drunk.”

Heyes raised the bottle. Clem and Curry both held out their glasses for refills.

“No, I’m not drunk” He put the bottle on the floor with exaggerated care. “But I do feel mighty fine.”

“I’m not drunk either. And I’m definitely not arguing, so please don’t tell me I am. Don’t give me that look, Jed!” Clem took an appreciate sip, careful not to spill on her ornate dress. “Anyway, I’m allowed to be a little tipsy. It is New Year’s Eve after all.”

“Absolutely. It’s the time to celebrate, especially for you. After all, you were the belle of the ball. Me and Heyes couldn’t get on your dance card.”

“Me! I hardly saw you two all night! You were too busy dancing with every pretty girl in Denver.”

“All but one,” Heyes protested, pointing at Clem. “And I couldn’t get every pretty girl to dance with me, not while he was out there.” He and Curry touched their glasses together. “I got to hand it to you, Kid. You sure know how to work the room. All you do is flash those baby blues once at a woman, and she takes a shine to you.”

“What can I say. It’s a gift.”

Clem laughed, then sobered quickly.

“What is it, Clem?”

“I was just thinking. We had so much fun tonight at the New Year’s Eve dance and saw so many people, but . . .”

“But what?”

She threw back the sherry in one gulp and held out her glass for Heyes for another refill.

“Not everyone was there. Some of my friends were absent.”

“Like who?” Curry asked.

“A lot of people.” She sighed. “Like my friend Jenny. She got married in the spring, and I never see her now. She’s too busy with her husband and being a married lady, and she’s got no time for me. We used to be such good friends. She's forgotten I even exist.”

“That’s to be expected, isn’t it, Clem? She’s got a different life now. Maybe you don’t have so much in common with her anymore.”

“I guess. And then there’s Dorothy.” She looked down at her hands, not meeting his eyes. There was a long silence. Finally, Curry asked, “What happened to her?”

Clem looked up, eyes glistening. “She caught consumption. Her parents sent her to a sanitorium in Glenwood Springs to recover, but it didn’t help. She died last month.”

“Clem, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry to hear that, Clem. You must miss her a lot,” Heyes said.

“I do. I do miss her a lot. You know, she and I went to the New Year’s Dance together last year. We were planning to do it again.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m glad you two showed up like you did on Christmas Eve. Otherwise, I might’ve sat here and cried all night tonight instead of dancing till the small hours.”

“Yeah. It did work out, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did. I’m still sad, though. You know how it is, don’t you? Especially with the kind of life you two have led. Don’t you think about people who’ve passed, when you come to the new year?”

“Yeah. Someone we knew got hung this year.”

“Are you serious, Jed? Was he innocent?”

Heyes and Curry exchanged a glance.

“No,” Heyes said. “He got involved with a different gang, a gang that was a lot more comfortable with shooting than we were.”

“Charlie O’Rourke was his name. Good man. Really, Clem, he was. Smart, easy-going, loved to have a good time. Wouldn’t you say so, Heyes?”

“Too easy-going. He got himself mixed up with some idiots who bungled a robbery, then killed three members of the posse. Charlie got caught.”

“Did he actually kill someone?”

Heyes shrugged. “Hard to say Most likely everybody was turning in his saddle, spraying bullets at everything and everyone chasing them. No way to prove whose gun actually killed those deputies. It could’ve been Charlie, or not.”

“No way to know for sure, but he was there, so he got a conviction for murder. His mistake was joining that gang in the first place.”

“And his next mistake was not leaving when he saw what kind of men they were.” Heyes shook his head. “Tragic.”

“Tragic? Are you joking? It was his choice to get involved. Dorothy’s death is tragic. She didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t deserve to die.”

Heyes straightened in his chair, ready to respond, but Curry waved him back.

“You’re right, Clem. When all’s said and done, Charlie chose to do what he did. He never hurt a flea when he was riding with us, though. I never thought he’d end up like he did. I wish he’d made some different choices, that’s all.”

“We both wish he’d chosen to go straight,” Heyes said. “He might still be alive today.”

“I’m sorry, Kid. I shouldn’t have said what I did. If you two counted him as a friend, he must’ve had some good in him.”

“He had plenty good in him. What he didn’t have was judgment. How about a toast to Charlie, Heyes? Fill us up again.” Heyes topped off their glasses.

“To absent friends.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Heyes said. “And one more toast, for the friends who are still with us. The three of us.”

“Absolutely. I’m so glad you showed up in Christmas Eve. It’s been a wonderful holiday, all three of us being together again. Let’s drink to absent and present friends.”

“Amen to that, Clem. Amen to that.”

It’s been years since I’ve written anything creatively but even though I’m very rusty I thought I would dip my toe into the ASJ fandom again. This short scene can be read as a stand-alone, however, it reads better if the reader has read an old offering of mine “Canada” from the prompt Canada. This scene would take place after the main story but before the epilogue.  - nm131 (Nell McKeon)


Kid Curry stood on the rocky shore of Yellowstone Lake, looking out over the crystal-clear water, his body tense and blue eyes unseeing in gloaming of the day. This place felt at once familiar yet foreign. He’d been here before, in fact he knew the area well, it was himself that felt foreign, his muscles tense, his skin tight and in his mind, thoughts racing in circles, going nowhere.  His unblinking eyes snapped shut and opened slowly. Kid consciously slowly inhaled the crisp air of the higher elevation and upon the equally slow exhale his thoughts slowed and the world sharpened into focus once more. He was utterly alone.

Alone, as he never felt before, not even when he and Heyes had separated for a few years, for possibilities still existed then and it was their choice. Not like now with Heyes a free man and him still wanted. Now, he had no choice, the hope for amnesty was taken away by his own actions outside the law, vengeful railroad owners, wealthy, important bankers, and ever-changing governors who didn’t keep their promises. His gaze drifted east.

Turning from the lake shore, he trudged up the slight incline towards a large boulder surrounded by several smaller boulders and rocks at the edge of a dense stand of lodgepole pines. He had used this particular clump of rocks as a campsite before - before, when he was coming or going from Devil’s Hole.  A crevasse in the large boulder provided shelter of sorts and a solid wall of rock protected his back, while the lake served as a barrier on one side, leaving only two directions for a possible attack. A reluctant smile briefly ghosted across his lips as Curry remembered past possies left behind and lost in the general area. Yellowstone was a very good place to shake a tail to a man that knew how to live in the wilderness, and the Kid did.

A roll of the shoulders and a slight looseness in the hips gave evidence of the slow draining of the pent-up unrelenting tension of the last several weeks. The outlaw was managing to corral his new constant companions of fear and anxiety from roaming freely around his psyche only to find melancholy and loneliness having taken their place.

The Kid checked on his big black gelding that he had settled in a sheltered area with forage close by. Devil’s Hole, the only place since a Kansas farm that he had called home, seemed to beckon him from the east. He had felt the pull for some days and the decision to turn east or continue north had to be made when he left this place.

“Well, Blackjack, it’s just me and you, still.” The black nickered and nuzzled the blond outlaw’s shoulder. Seeking comfort and companionship from his human owner or perhaps providing it.

“I’ve managed to keep you for a long time, longer than most mounts since Heyes and I left the gang. Perhaps too long. You’re a good horse, steady, strong, and damn fast, faster than you look, I’d hate to give you up,” murmured the Kid into the gelding’s sleek neck.  “But…” Curry raised his head and once again glanced to the east before looking the horse straight in the eye.

“But…it’s become known that I favor larger, dark-coated mounts. You understand that a man worth twenty thousand dollars all by his lonesome can’t take any chances, especially with that new wanted poster with a better description stuck up all over the place. Devil’s Hole ain’t far, I could trade you for one of the gang member’s horses, maybe Kyle’s small dun mare.”

A rough calloused hand stoked the black’s muzzle, before digging into the sheepskin jacket’s pocket for an apple. “Here, I was gonna eat this later but you deserve it for all the runnin’ you’ve done lately.  It’ll be hard tack and jerky for me one more night. Tomorrow, we’ll stick around here and I can catch some cutthroat trout. This place is safe enough to risk a small fire. I’m tired of cold camps and colder food you can’t even call meals.”

Devil’s Hole is mighty temptin’ for both of us. You can be part of a herd and I can go back to my own kind. Wheat might welcome my gun, iffin’ I let him still be leader or at least think he’s still the leader and the guys will be glad to see me. But they’ll liable to say I told you so and I surely don’t wanna hear that. I’ve backslid already, kinda. You see that apple, well I took it along with bullets, coffee, jerky, and a few cans of beans from that mercantile in the last town we passed. There’s no store-keeper in the middle of the night and I can’t exactly be seen in most towns anytime soon, especially in Wyoming.  It took me a lot longer than it would have taken Heyes to open the door’s lock. Not exactly armed robbery, more like petty thievery. Of course, I did leave money on the counter for what I took, not that I have much left. The honesty habit is hard to break. Who would have thought? “

Kid gave Blackjack a pat on the withers before turning towards his small camp. He snorted to himself, “If Heyes could see me now, holdin’ a conversation with a horse, half-expectin’ an answer.”

He ruefully shook his blond unruly curls and tossed a last comment to the gelding over his shoulder, “Nah, no Devil’s Hole for us, I promised my partner…former partner…and I don’t really want that kind of life anymore. I’ve gotten no credit for it but I’ve changed, amnesty or no amnesty for the Fastest Gun in the West. I’m still fast with a six gun, probably still the Fastest Gun in the West but I’m not the kind of man the reputation assumes I am.  We have to make it up north to Canada, you and me, and then what?” Blackjack had no answer.

Curry gathered kindling and wood he could use for a small fire and dumped it down by an existing fire ring. For all he remembered he could have been the one to build it in the first-place years ago. He squatted down, built a fire and started to rummage in his saddle bags for the battered coffee pot, the first coffee in weeks of running. An intense feeling of melancholy swept over the Kid and he found himself wishing for a cup of the mud-like brew that Heyes called coffee.

Resting against his saddle, staring into the fire and uncharacteristically feeling sorry for himself, the once and still technically outlaw’s sharp ears caught the distant whinny of horse, not his own. Blackjack grew restless on his tether, increasing The Kid’s always present sense of watchfulness. It was too late to completely douse the fire as whoever was out there had undoubtedly seen its glow but he nonetheless dimmed its flame with a few handfuls of dirt. Dim light wouldn’t compromise his night vision as much. For the presence of another horse announced a human intruder and not any one of the numerous species of predator and prey that roamed the Yellowstone area. Kid Curry knew which he felt most like; he could be a deadly as the most fearsome predator but was sought after like the choicest of prey. With that thought speeding though his consciousness, he noiselessly pulled his Colt from his well-worn holder. He slowly stood, balanced on the balls of his feet, outwardly looking relaxed but his muscles were primed for action, and his finger was ready on the trigger. His eyes and ears searching for sounds or shadows that shouldn’t be there.

Curry’s excellent hearing detected slow, steady footsteps coming closer. A human-shaped shadow began to resolve itself out of the gloom of the dense grove right in front of him. The Kid stood stock still, poised to react but reluctant to fire first in spite of his belief that he would soon be face to face with a determined and talented bounty hunter. A bounty hunter that had to know he knew someone was out there and still coming into the camp towards him and not trying to sneak around unnoticed and that gave Kid Curry pause and caused his body to tense incrementally.

“Hiya, Kid. You sure are a hard man to track and find. Good thing I know where to look.”

The Kid’s jaw dropped slightly open and the blue eyes widened in disbelief at the sound of the voice from the dark. His right hand dropped to hang limply by his side.

The figure stepped into the faint light, hands at shoulder height with palms outward in a non-threatening posture. The black hat tipped back off the forehead left a great big grin unshadowed and brown eyes shone in the orange firelight with genuine relief, affection, and pleasure. “I hear British Columbia is a nice place, not too cold or at least not as cold as most places in Canada. Do I smell coffee? Can I have a cup?”

“Heyes!”