March 21 - Planting

Well ... I am tardy again.
Swimming in work - sorry.

Nevertheless - better a day late than never...

This month, one that has sat on the list for a good long while...
Have a productive mull on the subject of

PLANTING

Abruptly, Heyes jerked backward from a strong push on his shoulder.  Dropping the rock he was carrying, he whirled his arms to stop himself from falling.  His efforts proved unsuccessful as he landed on his bottom.  Looking up he saw the six-foot-four, grizzled face of Jimmy Joe Rigoli.

“Smith, you’re lazy.  Just like you’re a liar and a cheat at poker.”  Rigoli’s deep voice was dominant.  He was accustomed to being the prisoner in charge and held that title by brutality and force.

Moving to stand, Heyes was forced down again by a strong kick to the chest.  Rigoli continued, “You cheated at poker last night in the common room.  Nobody wins that many hands in a row.  You lied to the guard about how many rocks you moved yesterday, didn’t you?  Your partner moved a lot of those for you.  Cheat! Liar!”

From his sitting position, Heyes raised his hands slowly.  “You’re right, Jimmy Joe.  My partner and me, we work as a team so we both hit our quotas.”

The thought of the beatings given to prisoners who did not hit their daily quota of rocks flashed through Heyes’ thoughts.  He had fallen short their first day.  Dragged out of line, his hands were tied in front of him, around a pole.  He refused to yell until the fourth lash caught part of the back of his newly shaved head.  After the fifth lash, he was dragged to the cell he shared with his partner and thrown on the dirt floor.  They had resolved that night to combine their efforts so that would never happen to either of them again.  

Jimmy Joe took a threatening step forward.  Heyes scooted backwards while still sitting.  “And I don’t believe your names are Smith and Jones.”

“Lots of people named Smith and Jones.”  Heyes tried a small grin.

“Not you two.  I recognize you two from somewhere, just ain’t placed you yet.”

Catching a movement behind Rigoli, Heyes yelled, “Thaddeus, NO!”  He watched Curry march across the quarry, anger in his eyes.  

With a protective glance at his sitting partner, Curry spun Rigoli around to face him.  Without waiting, he landed his right fist to the larger man’s jaw.  He followed by planting his left fist to Rigoli’s left eye.  Rigoli swung back widely, only grazing Curry’s cheek.

As Heyes struggled to his feet, he saw four guards encircle the combatants.  “Thaddeus, enough.”

Curry stepped back and nodded to Heyes.  “You okay?”

“For now,” he answered, knowing that the punishment for fighting was lashes and solitary.

Not struggling against the guards, Curry allowed one of them to herd him against the mountain of quarried rock.  Rigoli felt differently.  He punched the first guard that tried to restrain him.  Whirling, he knocked out the second guard with a blow to his head.  

“Don’t move!”  The guard holding Curry pushed him further into the rocks.  Curry raised his hands.  “Yes, sir.  Not goin’ anywhere.”

The third guard moved from Curry and approached Rigoli from the back, billy club ready.  Skillfully, he whacked the large prisoner just below the back of his knees.  He crumbled forward onto the floor, growling.

Then all Heyes could see was guards swarming everywhere.  He stood up gingerly, favoring an ankle that had twisted under him when he fell.  Watching the guards subdue Rigoli, Heyes hopped to stand next to his partner.

Four guards roughly pulled Rigoli to his feet and supported him as his injured knees failed beneath him.  Dragging him from the quarry, the rest of the guards turned their interest to Heyes and Curry.  “You convicts, follow me,” the older guard ordered.

With Curry supporting a limping Heyes, they quietly followed the guard.  Heads down, eyes down, both dreaded the coming punishments.  Lost in his thoughts of a whipping, it took a moment before Heyes realized what Rigoli was yelling.  “They ain’t no Smith and Jones!”  His deep voice was pleading, “Just take me to the doctor and I’ll tell you who they really are!”

Sharing a silent gaze with his partner, Heyes realized there was nothing they could do at this moment.  Curry shrugged his shoulders in despair.  If Rigoli named them, instead of serving six-months here in the small Idaho Territorial Prison as Smith and Jones, they would serve twenty-years in the larger and rougher Wyoming Territorial Prison.

Instead of outside to the whipping post, Heyes and Curry were led to the solitary cells deep into the prison.  The only light here came through a rectangle hole in the roof.  The guard unlocked the first cell and indicated both of them to enter.  At their questioning looks, the guard smiled.  “Warden figured Rigoli been pushing you two hard.  Mostly, you been model prisoners, holding your tempers.  You won’t get the lash but solitary for ten days for fighting.  Both of you,” he added as Heyes was going to try and object.  “We’re short on cells so you will share a cell…and a honey pot,” he finished, pointing to the bucket in the corner of the metal cell.  “Reckon Rigoli will be in the infirmary for that long.”

Slamming the door of the cell, he looked back.  “One meal a day.  A shower after seven days.  Hope you two can stand being together, alone without killing each other.”  He flipped a deck of cards into the cell with a wink.

As the guards walked away from the cell, Heyes put his hand over Curry’s mouth before he could talk and nodded down the hall.  They were rewarded as they heard the guards talking.

“Imagine Rigoli thinking those two are members of the Blue Mountain Gang.”

Their laughter floated down the dark hallway.  “Yeah, he said the talkative one was Sure Shot Webster.”

“He sure don’t fit the description of a six-foot-two, left-handed gunfighter.”

Their laughter died away as they left the building.  With a relieved look, Curry turned to Heyes.  But before he could utter a word, he saw Heyes had his finger to his lips for quiet.

“Thaddeus,” Heyes emphasized the name with a nod of his head.  “This is going to be a long ten days.”  Pointing to his ears, he indicated that their conversations could be overheard.

Nodding in understanding, Curry answered using Heyes’ alias.  “With one honey pot and one meal per day, I think you’re right.  We can play cards during the day.  But look at it this way, when we get out of here, we’ll only have two weeks left on our time.”

*****ASJ*****ASJ

One month later, freemen Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones walked out the front door of the Idaho Territorial Prison.  Dressed in the clothes they wore when arrested, every possession and dollar was returned to them.  Curry kept drawing his gun, faster and faster each time.  Heyes relished the feel of his battered black hat on his head.  He looked back and smiled.  “Good to be out of there.”

Taking a deep breath of freedom, Curry answered, “Feels good.  Never want to go back.”  He realized Heyes had stopped and was looking back at the prison.  

“Thaddeus, it does give one a feeling of accomplishment to see the work we did building that prison though.”  

“Joshua, we quarried, moved and broke rocks that the builders used to build the new cell building.  We didn’t do nothing special to take credit for.”

“Probably should check in with Lom.”Heyes clapped Curry on the back as they walked to the nearest town.

Busy counting the money in his pocket, Curry nodded.  “We ain’t goin’ tell him what we been doin’ these last six months are we, Heyes?”

“Why Kid, Heyes and Curry were law abiding citizens working in construction away from Wyoming.”

Smiling a wide grin, Curry said, “But Smith and Jones are now ex-cons. They were even innocent, just in the wrong place at the right time.”

“Better them than us.”

It's officially 31st March here in the UK so I just managed to get in before the deadline, with a very rare plot bunny






Cheyenne, WY. Wednesday, March 21st,  1883

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry stood on the steps of the Cheyenne Courthouse, staring blankly across the street, expressions of shock on their faces.

Lom Trevors stood a few yards off to the side, a smile on his face as he watched the two try to come to terms with what they’d just been told.  That they had finally been granted amnesty.

He could understand that they weren’t quite sure how to react. Whether to laugh, cry, or jump up and down with glee.  They’d spent the last three years staying out of trouble – while still being wanted and subject to arrest, on sight, to serve a twenty year prison term  -  in order to earn their prized pardons. Three years of having to be constantly on the move, lest someone recognize them. Three years of living hand-to-mouth, and of being unable to put down roots and build a new life.  

Both had doubted they would ever be granted amnesty and so had given little serious thought to what they would do afterwards.  Now they had it, and it was obvious that they had no idea what to do next.

He watched them for a few moments longer, as they stood, side by side, Heyes, for once, speechless, Curry, flabbergasted as they tried to take it in.

When Lom had ordered them to attend the Courthouse today, to meet with the Governor of Wyoming, they had been concerned that the Governor was going to tell them that the amnesty offer had been rescinded, or else the terms were to be changed, yet again, to make them wait even longer, and they hadn’t been very keen to attend the meeting.  The thought that this was the day they were finally going to receive it never entered their heads.

Lom too, had been surprised, the Governor not having made him privy to the reasons for the meeting, only that he should ensure that Heyes and Curry attended.

Presently, he moved behind them and put a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Congratulations, boys.  I told you you’d get it eventually, didn’t I?”

Heyes finally found his voice.

“I can’t believe it!” he croaked, turning now to look at Curry, “Can you?”

Curry shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“What do we do now?” muttered, Heyes, genuinely stumped.

“Well, first, we’re going to go to the nearest saloon, for a celebration drink.” said Lom, propelling them down the steps and down the street to the nearest saloon.




Some time - and several whiskies - later, Heyes and Curry were beginning to absorb the fact that they were now free men and didn’t have to keep looking over their shoulder for the law.  It was a heady feeling.

Curry took out the paper detailing his pardon, for about the fourth time, and re-read it just to be sure he hadn’t imagined the events of the past couple of hours.

“You aint dreamin’, Kid. It’s really true.” grinned Heyes.

Curry blushed and put the paper back in the pocket of his jacket.

“Well, boys,” Lom began, “You’ve spent years harvesting other people’s money and assets. Now it’s time for you to do some planting.”

“Planting?” Heyes gave him a quizzical look.

“Seeds.”

“Seeds?”

Lom nodded.  “Your outlaw life is finished.  So is your life as transients, always having to be on the move. Now you can settle down, and begin to plant the seeds of a new life.  Have you given any thought to what you want to do?”

Heyes and Curry exchanged glances.  They’d sometimes indulged in idle ‘I wouldn’t mind doing that’ conversations, for when they might once more be free men, but not with any kind of conviction since they’d never really believed they would get the chance.

“Well…” Curry began, tentatively, “I always fancied trying my hand at breeding horses…”

Lom turned to Heyes, “What about you?”

Heyes thought for a moment before saying, “I’d quite like to enrol in law school…”

Curry almost choked on the whisky he’d just sipped, at the idea of the former leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang becoming a lawyer.

Heyes glared at him, “Why not? You’re always telling me I think like a lawyer. I think my past life would be a benefit, in that line of work, not a hindrance.”

“You’re right, Heyes.” Curry managed to get his amusement under control. “You definitely think like a lawyer.  If that’s what you want to do, go for it.”

“One step at a time, boys.” said Lom, “To do either of those things you’re first going to need money.”

“We’ll raise it playing poker.” said Heyes.

Lom gave him a withering look. “Poker?” A gifted poker player, Heyes had often been accused of cheating and could have ended up dead several times but for Curry’s fast draw, which usually stopped any attempt at violence before it could escalate.  But, getting involved in such situations now that they’d received their pardons was not a wise move in Lom’s opinion.

“It’s the fastest way I can think of to make the kind of money we’re going to need.”

“When you play poker, you draw trouble like a magnet,” Lom told him, “and pulling your gun” he looked at Curry now, “to help him out is the quickest way to find yourselves back on the wrong side of the law. Or dead.”

“Relax, Lom,” Heyes put a hand on Lom’s shoulder, “I don’t mean playing poker in some cheap saloon.  I’m talking about high stakes poker, like at some of those highfalutin’ gentlemen’s clubs they have in San Francisco.” He turned to Curry now, “Soapy could arrange for us to get into some of the ones his friends frequent.”

Curry nodded. That definitely sounded a better idea to him than having to get some mundane job where it would take three times as long to earn what they could make at one of those high-class poker games.

“I’m sure Soapy would lend us money for a buy-in and we could pay him back out of the profits,” Heyes continued, “and there would be far less risk of trouble playing in places like those.”

Lom could see the logic of Heyes’ suggestion, although he still didn’t care much for it.

“Well, I guess you two know what you’re doing, but just be careful.” he warned, “Those amnesties have been hard won. If you get into trouble again you won’t get a second chance to start over.”

Heyes grinned, “We will, Lom.  Now, who’s round is it?”



Denver, CO. Tuesday August 21st, 1883

Hannibal Heyes stood on the platform of Denver’s railway station, watching as the noon train pulled in, in a cloud of smoke.

As disembarking passengers mingled with those attempting to board, Heyes craned his neck looking for a familiar face.

Presently, a smile came to his lips when he saw Lom Trevors exit the railway carriage to stand looking around him.

Pushing his way through the throng of people Heyes called out Lom’s name.  Lom turned in the direction of the voice, breaking into a smile as Heyes approached him.

“Hi, Lom.  Glad you could make it.”

“I have to admit, I was a little surprised to get your wire. I didn’t expect to hear from you for some time yet.”

“I told you those high stakes poker games were the fastest way to make money.” grinned Heyes.

“I know, but even so…”

“Once we make our minds up to do something, we don’t let the grass grow.” Heyes told him, “Come on, I’ve got a buggy outside.  Kid’ll join us shortly. Said he had an errand to run.”

Heyes led the way outside where he’d left the horsedrawn buggy.

“How far is it?” asked Lom, as they rode.

“Oh, about half an hour.”

They made idle chit chat as they rode, until Heyes turned off the road and headed up a lengthy track at the end of which was a fairly large, single storey ranch house with a railed porch running around the outside of it.  The rear of the house was shielded from the cold northerly winds by a line of tall trees but off to the right-hand side were acres of grassland looking towards the mountains.

Heyes watched Lom as he looked around with open admiration.  They’d only moved in a couple of weeks ago and had invited Lom to come over and have a look around.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I’m impressed,” said Lom, “This is perfect for raising horses.  How much land do you have?”

“About 700 acres, with an option to buy more if and when we need to. Took us a couple of months to win enough money for a down payment on the place and to get enough horses to get started.”

“Why Denver particularly? There’s lots of places where you could have set up a place like this.”

“We’ve always liked Denver.  We decided early on that it would be a good location – fairly isolated, with lots of open space, yet still fairly close to the city – and we were lucky that this place came up for sale just at the right time.  It’s registered in both our names, and we’ll both live here, but Kid will mostly be running the place himself.  It is his dream after all.”

“And you?”

Heyes grinned.  “I’m going to study law.”

Lom’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  When he’d mentioned it in Cheyenne Lom hadn’t been sure he was being serious.

“Won’t you have to go to New York to do that?” he asked.

“Not right now.  I found a law firm here in Denver who are willing to take me on as an apprentice, to read law.  I might go to Columbia or somewhere, later on, maybe, once the ranch gets established, but I can get started this way. I wouldn’t want to head off to New York or somewhere and leave Kid on his own until then.”

“Seems like you have everything worked out.”

“Hope so.  By working at the law firm, I’ll still be around to help out here until it’s financially viable to take on more staff.  Kid’ll show you the horses later. In the meantime, come on in and I’ll make some coffee.”  Heyes climbed down from the buggy and headed into the house, Lom following after him.

The house was more than adequate for the two of them, having a large living area with a separate kitchen off it, two good sized bedrooms, a dedicated bathroom housing a wash stand and basin and a cast iron bath tub, and a further room which Heyes said he was planning to utilise for his legal studies.  The previous owners had left a fair amount of the furniture behind and so they’d only had to buy beds and few odds and ends to make it comfortable.

“Did you tidy up specially for me?” quipped Lom, noticing how neat and clean everything was.

“Just because we used to live like gypsies doesn’t mean we don’t care about how we live,” said Heyes, looking slightly miffed, “It’s the first time we’ve ever had a place to call our own and we’re still a mite houseproud I guess.”

“Sorry.” Lom looked contrite.

“But I daresay the novelty will wear off after a while and we’ll get fed up of having to clean up after ourselves but, hopefully, by then, we’ll be able to afford a housekeeper.”

Lom smiled.  “Got it all planned, haven’t you?”

“That’s always been the secret of our success.  Good planning.” grinned Heyes.

Just then, the sound of a wagon approaching drew their attention.

They went outside where Kid Curry was just dismounting from a buckboard.

“Howdy, Lom. Good to see you.” he smiled, as he went around to the back of the wagon, “What do you think of the place?”

“I’m impressed so far.”

“I told Lom you’d show him the horses later on.” said Heyes.

“Sure.  We’ve got some beauties.  Good starter stock.”

“What on earth have you got there?” asked Heyes, as Curry reached into the back of the wagon and hefted a large tree sapling out of it.

“I got this to mark a special occasion – well a couple actually,” said Curry as he leaned the twenty-foot sapling against the porch railing.

“Oh?”

“Not only does today mark five months since we got the amnesty but it also marks twenty years since our folks were killed.”

“Oh.” said Heyes, his expression clouding at the mention of that fateful day when their lives were changed forever.

“This is the first place we’ve ever owned. That we can call home.” Curry continued, “I thought it would be good to plant a tree, not only to make our mark on the place, but in memory of them too.”

“That’s a nice idea.” said Lom.

“Yes, it is,” agreed Heyes, feeling a little guilty for not having remembered what the date was.  Although he and Curry rarely talked about that day, the date was etched indelibly into their minds and each would silently remember their families on it.  But, with everything that had been going on this last few months, as they’d worked to sow the seeds of their new lives, for once it had completely slipped his mind.

“So, we just need to decide on a place to plant it.” said Curry, his hands on his hips as he looked around for a suitable spot.  

“How about if we put it over there?” Heyes pointed off to the left about twenty yards from the front of the house, “That way we’ll always be able to see it from the living room window, and watch it grow.”

Curry nodded, “Good idea.”

“I’ll go get a shovel.” said Heyes, heading off to the barn situated at the rear of the house.

“I’m sure your folks would be proud of the way you two have turned your lives around.” Lom said now.

“I hope so.” said Curry, sadly, “I can’t say we didn’t enjoy our time outlawin’, even though we only started it from a need to survive.  But a part of me always felt bad about it because I knew my folks would have been disappointed in me for it. They wouldn’t have taken a cent from anyone. Heyes’ folks neither.”

“I’m sure they would have understood, given the circumstances.” said Lom.

“Maybe.”

Just then, Heyes returned with a shovel which he handed to Curry.  “Hang on a minute.” he said, going back inside the house and returning a few moments later with a tray on which stood three glasses of whisky.

“Might as well make it a proper tree planting ceremony,” he grinned, as he headed over to the spot where they were to plant the tree, placing the tray on the ground a few yards away.

They took it in turns to dig a hole deep enough to accommodate the tree’s roots and then Curry held it in place while Heyes filled in the hole.  Lom went to fetch a bucket of water with which to bed it in and then they stood back admiring their handywork.

“I wonder how long it’ll take to get full grown?” Curry said, presently.

“Longer than you and I will be around, I imagine” said Heyes, “although in thirty years it should be pretty big.”

“Thirty years? You think we’ll still be here then?” Curry cast him a sidelong glance.

“Don’t see why not, Kid.  We aint on the run no more, and I don’t have any burning desire to move anywhere else.  Do you?”

Curry smiled.  “Nope.”

Heyes picked up the tray and handed Lom and Curry a glass each before taking his own.

“Well, we made it, Kid.  From orphans to outlaws to respectable businessmen in twenty years. Who would have thought it, eh?”

“It is a bit hard to take in.” said Curry.

“I’m happy for you both,” said Lom, “I did have my doubts that you two would manage to keep to the straight and narrow, but I’m very glad you proved me wrong.”

“We’ve got you to thank for that as much as anyone, Lom.” said Heyes, “Without you keeping tabs on us we may well have backslid to our old ways.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”

Heyes’ eyes met Curry’s, an unspoken conversation passing between them.  After that fateful day, twenty years ago, when their childhoods had been torn away from them, they hadn’t been able to see any kind of future for themselves. But now, here they were, having survived all the trials and tribulations that life had thrown at them, on the brink of a new life and with a place of their own for the first time ever.  It seemed nothing short of a miracle.

They turned back to the newly planted tree, each taking a moment to remember their families.  Curry had been right, Heyes mused. This tree would serve not only as a memorial to them, but also as a symbol of the start of their new life, growing along with them as they moved forward into new ventures.

Glancing at the others, Heyes said, “Here’s to the future!”  crossing his fingers, behind his back, that the future would be brighter than their recent past.

“To the future!” echoed Lom and Curry, as three clinked their glasses and tossed back their drinks.