August 2013 - Forget Me Not...

Hello all!!

Once again you have to thank the Cat's other Half for the challenge topic.

I wanted something with a nod to Alaska (Sigh, it was great) BUT you know I like to keep all your writerly options fairly open.

So, in honour of Alaska's state flower your challenge for this month is:


"Forget Me Not"


Let the potential tugging of heart strings   and inevitable descriptions of Curryesque eyes begin!!!

Okay. I keep saying that I'm not going to do this again, but then the prompt for the monthly challenge comes up and it fits so nicely with something that I had just written for my longer epics and I just can't resist. In a way it's kind of cheating, but it helps me to feel as though I am still contributing to the monthly challenge.


It was early Sunday morning but even so, all the basic chores were done around the barn yard.  Sam was up at the line cabin with Deke preparing to round up and then break out the two year old colts.  They would be heading off to auction come Fall so it was going to be a very busy and boisterous two weeks for the wranglers to get the half-wild youngsters ready. 
 After that it would be time for the round up of the cattle, another two weeks of hard, dirty work.  Not only did the new calves have to be temporarily separated from their mothers in order to be branded, but the yearling bulls also had to be castrated.  Then the two year old steers would be segregated and herded off in a group to the rail heads in order to be transported to market.  The days of the long drawn out trail drives were coming to an end but somehow the work didn't seem to get much easier. 
 Jesse always hired extra hands during this time and never expected Heyes or Jed to become too involved with the rounding up or the breaking out.  That was a job for young men and the two ex-outlaws were not exactly spring chickens anymore.  Jesse also knew in his heart that neither his new son-in-law or his cousin were natural-born ranchers.  Jed had filled in that job when he had to, as a way to earn his keep and still be able to focus on his main goal—getting his partner out of prison.  And Hannibal?  Well Hannibal was happier sitting around a poker table than a branding fire so Jesse saw no point in pushing it.
 It was still a hectic time of year though and pretty soon even their Sundays were going to be busy getting the ranch ready to support itself through another winter.  Everyone in the Jordan household was determined to make the most of the beautiful day that had been given to them and all of them, including Jesse were dressed in their 'going to town' duds.
 Heyes was still in his room while Jesse and Jed were outside getting particular horses either tacked up or harnessed up in anticipation of the trip to town.  Hannibal could hear them talking out in the yard but he was distracted, his mind on something else.  He stood quietly in front of his dresser for a few moments before pulling the top drawer open and slipping his hand underneath the clothing that was there.  He carefully pulled out a photograph and again stood still as stone and quietly gazed upon the image.
 Finally a soft smile played up the corners of his mouth and he brought the photo up to his lips and he gently kissed the facsimile of the woman's face.

 “Goodbye, Abi.”  He whispered softly to the picture.  “I know you want me to get on with my life and I suppose it's time I did that.  I won't tell you to look after our daughter because I know you already are.  It's what you've always done—far more than I have.  But one thing I do ask is that you don't let her forget me.  I know you promised to tell her as soon as she was old enough, but I'm so afraid that life will move on and things will change and that maybe you'll think it's easier if she doesn't know. But I'm begging you now Abi; please don't just let this go—don't let her forget me.
 “I'll always love you, you know that.  But finally, I think I can honestly say to you that I hope you can find love again as I have done.  I'd hate to think of you spending your life alone.  Oh, I know you have Anya but that's not the same thing as finding someone to have and to hold.  I want you to find love again Abi, I really do.  You're a beautiful woman and you deserve it.”

 Knock, knock, knock!

 “C'mon. Heyes!”  Jed's voice echoed from the other side of the door.  “Everybody's ready to go!”

 “Yeah, be there in a minute.”

 He heard Jed walk away and he smiled down at the photograph as he gently brushed his thumb across the image in a loving caress.

 “Goodbye, Abi.  Until we meet again.... somewhere.”

 He tucked the photo back into the drawer where it nestled in amongst his other keepsakes.  The picture of Anya that Abi had sent him in prison—the one that had saved his life.  It was there along with the other letters that Abi had sent him while he was incarcerated.  Added to those was the letter from his daughter and the post card describing in youthful delight all the wonders that she was seeing.  And then that other letter from Abi telling him not to get in touch.  Telling him to let them go and get on with his life; the one that broke his heart every time he saw it yet could not bring himself to burn it or tear it up.
 Now he was glad that he hadn't done any of those things because bit by bit, the pain it caused him was beginning to lessen.  More and more it was becoming simply a valued keepsake, something that was of her that she had given to him and he would cherish it.  He slipped the photo back into the drawer and slid it shut.
 He sighed deeply and smiled a big dimpled grin.  Those people would always be apart of who he was and they would stay with him for the rest of his life but he was ready now, ready to move on.  He gave another sigh and picking up his hat from the bed he strode out of the room and carried on out to the yard to meet up with the family that was waiting for him.

“I pray my dearest your heart shall be a garden where forget-me-not remembrances shall grow forevermore.” The actor warbled sinking to the floor. The wooden sword jammed under his arm jerking dramatically as he flopped and flopped in his death throws.  

Scrubbing a hand across his face Hannibal Heyes said, “This is terrible.”  

“Shhh.” Hissed Kid Curry, watching every movement on the stage.

“You complain when I read Henry the V aloud and you want to watch this gibberish?”

Kid leaned close to his partner, his eyes never leaving the stage, “If you don’t like it, leave.”

Heyes looked to the actress wrapped, barely, in a Greek toga, flower petals drifting down from her blonde hair as she knelt over her now dead lover. “You realize there are gals over at the saloon.”

“I swear, you don’t shut your pan or leave, I’m going to escort you out myself.” Kid said turning a steely gaze on his partner.

“Fine.” Heyes replied standing, putting on his pristinely clean brown bowler. “Have it your way.”

Curry did not even bother to look up and with a shrug, Heyes turned on his heel exiting the seating row and then the theatre even faster.

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Back in their hotel room, Heyes was still muttering to himself, “Amazes the hell out of me how he lets a pretty face turn him ‘round.” Dressed now in his far more comfortable everyday clothes, he patted his pockets, making sure he had everything. “Well, he can stay at
that pitiful excuse for entertainment. I’m going to hunt up some players who don’t understand the odds of being dealt an inside straight.”

Halting on the bottom step of his hotel Heyes frowned at the misty clouds rolling up from the bayside streets. Out on the walk, he was focusing on his footing on the wet bricks when a thin man rushed by grasping a carpetbag to his chest. He came so close, the pair of them brushed against each other. Placing a hand over his wallet pocket Heyes spun to watch the man only to see him disappear in the fog. The hairs along his neck rose up rigid sending a chill down his back he stepped closer to the buildings keeping them snug to his left side, even as his right hand drops down to the gun tied to his thigh. ‘Why’d I let Kid talk me into coming to Portland? I’ve heard plenty of rumors about this town and….’ Not liking where his thoughts were trailing he shook his head, his long-legs extending into a faster walk.

At the corner, standing beneath a gas lamp, he found its garish bright light reflecting off the wet stones only made him feel more alone. ‘Maybe I should have waited on Kid.’ He considered peering at the impenetrable wall beyond the lamp, then with a snort, he threw back his shoulders striding into the fog. Once away from the lamp’s yellow glow, he found he could actually see better and on down the street he spied a saloon.

Climbing the saloon’s steps, Heyes felt the eeriness plaguing him fade away like the vestments of a bad dream. Pausing he looks up reading, Erickson’s emblazoned above the threshold and with one final look at the indistinct street below, he shrugs walking in. It is loud inside, the place is crowded and a picking band plays on a small stage. The poker tables have several ornate gas lamps hanging over them but for rest of the building the owner is stingy with his use of gas, leaving the large room draped in dark shadows. From the long well polished bar, Heyes surveys the poker tables waving to the bartender, he calls, “Bourbon, the good stuff.”

“Thirty cents.” The bartender states holding out his right hand. A full highball glass still clasped in his left.

Handing off the coins, Heyes accepts his drink and nodding toward the felt tops asks, “Honest games?”

“Mr. Erickson runs a clean place.” As the bartender says this, the two men hear a derisive snort, they both turn to look at a saloon girl whose dark hair falls in waves about her shoulders, and seeing her, Heyes tilts his head, arching an eyebrow.

“Doreen.” The bartender barks. “I believe you’ve better things to do.”

Fear moves swiftly across her face and shifting she lays a hand on Heyes’ arm, “Buy a lady a drink?”

“Sure.” He replies laying three dimes on the bar and her drink appears quickly. Seeing how clear the liquid is in her glass, he shakes his head.  

All the while, she has been eyeing him from his western hat to his stovepipe boots and she asks, “Ain’t you a bit far from the range?”
“Change of scenery.” He replies. Rolling his back into the bar so he can have a better view of the poker games and seeing no empty seats, he frowns.

Searching his face, she sidles up closer, “You here alone?”

He does not answer.

Watching his dark eyes skip from one table to another she steps closer, her voice husky, “Hey Sugar I could show you a change of scenery upstairs.”

He does not answer.

Her nose wrinkles and she pushes herself up against him, “Hey cowboy you hear me?”

Pulling his attention back to her, he looks down one dimple softly flickering on his cheek, “Apologize Ma’am I suppose I wasn’t listening.”
“That’s for sure.” She smiles empting her glass, “And, it’s Doreen, Sugar. I was asking if you was alone?”

He nodded, taking a drink, enjoying the smooth warmth of good bourbon rolling down his throat.

“Buy me another drink, Sugar?”

He grinned tightly, “Well you see Sugar, I believe you could get the same from the pump and it wouldn’t put me out no thirty cents.”

Her brow bunched, her lips pressing tightly together and Heyes laughed. “I know - house rules.”

“Well yeah.” She licked her lower lip, slipping in under his arm, fingers trailing down his flat stomach coming to rest on his well-worn holster belt. “So you want to go upstairs.”

Stepping away flashing his dimples, he shook his head, “Not tonight.” Taking another swig from his glass, his eyes trailed back to the tables. “Not in the mood.”

Reaching out a finger, Doreen touched his face where she had seen the dimple dancing, “Bet I could put you in the mood.”

“I am positive you could.” He grinned capturing her hand and kissing it, “But like I said not tonight.” And releasing her, he walked away.

Doreen’s hands went to her hips, her gray eyes narrowing, “Hey Matt.” The bartender moved closer as she watched Heyes circling the room, his entire attention on the poker players. “He’s alone.”

Matt nodded, “I will let the boys know.” He said a hand slipping under the bar and just barely, primarily because the two of them knew to
listen, they could hear the distant clang of an alarm bell.

Stepping from the bar, Doreen strode toward a pair of men waiting near the barber’s chair in the corner. She hesitated, looking once more to the handsome dark-haired cowboy, her breath choking in her chest. She glanced at the bar and shook her head, ‘What does it matter…I gave him his chance.”  

Heyes edged by the tables, finally finding a spot near an ornately carved beam support he leaned into it, studying the players learning their ticks. As he watched, a confident contentment came to his face and when a player stood to leave. A real smile leapt into play.  To reach the table, he needed to skirt about four large barrels parked in the way, stepping around them into the murky grayness, the floor disappeared beneath his boots.

To finish this tale check out my sories on ASJ Fanfiction -- The tale is called Portland http://asjfanfiction.wikifoundry.com/page/Portland or on FanFiction at http://www.fanfiction.net/u/4405211/WichitaRed

A client, most delightfully, cancelled giving the cat unexpected time on it's paws.  So...

AUTUMN 1855

“Alex, Hannibal, hurry up and get ready.  We’ll be late for church.”

Hannibal frowned.  Couldn’t his mother see he was busy?  If these new troops he’d had for his birthday went into battle without learning their drill…

“Hannibal, did you hear me?  Put your toys away…”  

Toys?!  Could she possibly be referring to his crack skirmishers?

“…You can play with them later.”

Play?!  Outraged brown eyes stared at Sarah Heyes as she swiftly dried the breakfast dishes.  He was not playing.

“A gen’ral is du-ty fulfilling,
When his troops are good at drilling.”

“You can drill them later.”

“A sol’jer does not brook delay
His duty’s…”

“Hannibal, what have you been told about answering back?”

The indignation writ large upon the small face intensified at this new evidence of how injustice stalked the land.  And, more specifically, stalked the Heyes’ place.

“I was quotin’!  Quotin’ isn’t ans’rin’ back.  It’s – it’s…”  Hannibal searched.  “It’s QUOTIN’!”

“To be fair, Sarah, he was quoting…”

Hannibal beamed at this support from his father.  Men had to stick together, huh?

“…AND, quoting a veritable literary genius, no less.   Now,” Alex scratched his head, as if trying hard to remember.  “…What was the name of that gifted author who wrote; A Birthday Gift for Hannibal, or the Pachyderm Package?”  

“It was – it was,” Hannibal bounced on his chair.  A small finger pointed.  “Mother.”

“So it was.”  A sorrowful shake of the dark head.  “She’s too dang smart for us, son.  If I were you, I’d do as she says and get ready for church.” Alex disappeared back behind the Kansas Enquirer.

A balled up damp tea towel smacked into the raised newspaper.

“Hey!”

“Alexander Heyes, if you don’t separate your posterior from that chair and get yourself and your son ready for church...!”  The threat remained unspoken.

“Can’t a man have…?”

“I am going to count to one.”

---oooOOOooo---

Hannibal, face newly washed and hair wet combed into a tidy parting, sat on the edge of his parents’ bed watching his father tie his necktie.

“Why’se we hafta wear ties to church?”

“Search me, son.  My money’s on a female conspiracy.”

“Huh?”

“It’s like putting dogs on a lead.  Just be grateful…”  Alex turned away from the mirror. “…Women are satisfied with a halter round our necks and don’t want to put a ring through our noses.”

Hannibal knew his father was only joshing.   He held out his own tie, in mute request.   Alex hunkered down knotted it and then turned down the linen collar.   Instead of straightening up he remained squatting, studying his son, intently.  

“What?” said Hannibal.  What the Sam Hill had he done now?

“Nothing.  Except…” With a sigh, Alex undid his earlier good work by ruffling the dark hair.  “You’re growing up so dang fast.”

Hannibal snorted.  Not fast enough!  He was still two inches shorter than Esther Curry.

“I think it’s about time you learnt to tie your own tie.  When we get back from church, I’ll teach you.”

---oooOOOooo---

Father and son sat side by side, facing the mirror above the dresser.   “Watch me first.  I’ll go real slow – then copy me.”

A youthful duplicate of his own features, nodded solemnly, brown eyes fixed intently on his throat.

“You cross the broad end – see how one end is wider - in front of the narrow end…”

“Whassit called?”

“Fold the… What do you mean, what’s it called?  It’s a necktie.”

“Knots are called diff’rent things ‘cos sailors give ‘em names.  Like when they splice the main brace.”  Kindly informative tone.  “That one’s a splice.   An’ Danny Boone, he uses a lariat loop.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.  Well this knot – if it was used sea – would be, I think, a buntline hitch.”

The small lips mouth, silently, committing this to memory.

“BUT, when it’s a necktie, this knot’s called a four-in-hand.  Now, watch.  You cross the broad end…”

“Why’sit called that?”

“I read somewhere it’s to do with how drivers with four horses tied their reins together.”

“’S’not reins though. It’s a necktie.”

“Well, since tying your own tie is a bit like learning to swim - one of those things you never forget once you’ve learnt – if you like, we can call it a Forget-Me-Knot.”

Hannibal considered this.  “Awright,” he said, indicating that his father – on this occasion – had fulfilled his obligation to act both as a fount of knowledge and as an ideas generation device.   “Carry on,” he gave permission.

“Thank you.  You fold the broad end behind the narrow end…”

---oooOOOooo---

“…Through the hole, Hannibal.  That’s it.  Don’t drop the other end.  Aww.  Nearly.”

“It won’t go!”  

“You’re doing fine,” said Alex.  He eyed the scarlet frustration on the dimpled face beside him.  “D’you want to leave it – try again tomorrow?   There’s no rush.”

Hannibal tugged the much abused strip of fabric over his head and glared at it.  

“No.”  Menacingly, “I’m gonna git this right even if I hafta...”  The woollen cloth is wrung like a chicken’s neck.  

“Okay.  Nice and slow.   We take the broad end…”

The door opened, just a crack.  Sarah Heyes smiled as the hands of her two menfolk – and the two mirror images - moved in quadruple unison.  Quietly, she shut the door.

---oooOOOooo---

“I did it!”  

Alex surveyed his son’s triumph.  The crumpled necktie would win awards for neither style nor hitting the epicentre of the collar.  But, it was definitely tied.

“You did it!  Well done.”  

“An’ – an’ I’ll always remember how?”

“You’ll always remember.”

A smug beam.  Then, “MOTHER!  Come see what I can do!”

---oooOOOooo---

VALPARAISO 1863

“HEYES!  If you’re not ready for church in two seconds flat…”  The older boy, responsible for the East dormitory left the threat unspoken.

Jostled by neighbouring elbows, but wary of discipline points for Sabbath untidiness, Hannibal gave a final glance in the pitted glass above the long row of wash-stands.  His thin hands slid the obligatory Sunday necktie snugly into place.  Smoothing down the collar, he raised his eyes.

His heart leapt in sudden, joyous recognition… He remembered…
Hannibal almost gasped as a nearly instantaneous gut punch of disappointment hit home.
Disappointment?  How could he be so dang dumb?  
He was looking into a mirror – who and what else did he expect to see?

Forget-me-knot.

I am a wire dodger! 

Forget-Me-Not
By Maz McCoy

Friday Afternoon
Abner Weed tied his mule to the hitching post in front of the saloon and gave her a pat on the neck. “You wait right here ol’ gal,” he said affectionately.

The mule was laden with two packs, a pick axe, shovel, ropes and a bucket. She peered at Abner from under the brim of a cowboy hat in which two holes had been cut for her ears to pass through.

“I know, I know,” Abner continued as if the mule had spoken to him. “But it’ll be jus’ one drink and a handa poker.” With a final pat to her neck he turned, climbed the three steps onto the boardwalk and pushed through the bat wing doors into the saloon.

Inside the saloon was welcomingly cool and empty except for the bartender and a group of men seated at a table playing poker. All eyes looked up when Abner entered, watching the dusty old prospector head towards the bar.
“Afternoon, Abner,” Mike the barman said as he picked up a bottle and glass. “The usual?”

“Yup.” The old man licked his lips as he watched the glass fill with whiskey. It was placed on the bar in front of him. Abner’s grubby fingers closed around it and he downed it in one grateful swallow. He gave a contented sigh. “Same again.”

Mike obliged, pouring another glassful as Abner felt in his pockets for something. A moment later he pulled out a pipe and a bag of tobacco.

“How’s my tab?” Abner asked as he pushed tobacco into the bowl of the pipe with his thumb.

“Paid up ‘til Doomsday.” Mike smiled.

“In that case I’ll take the bottle.” Balancing the glass and bottle in one hand and his pipe in the other Abner shuffled across the room to the poker table. “Got room for one more, fellas?”

***

Hannibal Heyes looked up from his cards, his expression unreadable. Kid Curry looked up from his cards and his expression didn’t change. Abner Weed looked up from his cards and grinned.

The dealer slid a card to the next player who looked at it muttered a cuss word and threw the cards on the table. The next man wanted two cards but they did him no good. His cards hit the table face down in disgust. Kid took one card spread his hand carefully then threw them away. It was between Heyes and Abner now. Both men declined a card.

“I hope you got enough money in that pile, son.” Abner waved a hand at the pile of coins and notes in front of Heyes.

“More than you have if you want to see my cards, old timer,” Heyes replied.

Abner chuckled. “Son, I reckon I got more money than King Solomon himself. I also got me the perfect hand.”
Coins clinked and notes rustled as money entered the pot. Kid watched Heyes with amusement. His partner was enjoying himself.

“Old timer, you talk a lot but I can see what’s in front of you. That’s not enough to see these cards.”

“I ain’t got the cash on me that’s for sure. Will you take somethin’ as collateral?”

“Not if it’s your hat.”

Abner chuckled. His hat had to be older than he was and twice as dusty. He turned towards the bar. “Mike, tell this young fella I’m good for a dollar or two.”

“That old man could buy my saloon outright with what he’s dug outta the ground,” Mike informed them helpfully. “If he says he’ll pay ya, he’ll pay ya.”

Heyes looked at Kid who shrugged. It was Heyes’ call. Brown eyes narrowed then he said, “All right.”

Abner asked for pencil and paper which Mike provided. The old man scribbled something on the paper then held it up. “A note okay?” Heyes nodded and the old man placed it on top of the pot. “I reckon that’s more than equivalent to my fifty dollar bet.”

Heyes laid his cards face up on the table. And Abner swore. “I’da bet my last dollar you didn’t have that ace.”

Heyes picked up the piece of paper. “Well, let’s see what you did bet.” He opened the paper and his smile faded to a frown. Kid looked worried. Heyes read aloud. “I owe you fifty dollars. I grant you sole custody and care of Forget-Me-Not until the money is handed over to you. Abner Weed.” Heyes brow furrowed, confused.

The old man nodded, satisfied.

“Who’s Forget-Me-Not?” Kid asked.

Abner smiled. “My Mule.”

***

“A mule!” Kid scoffed. “You accepted a mule as collateral.” He sidestepped a pile of horse manure that lay steaming in the street.

“You don’t have to tell me, I was there. I know what I did.” Heyes tugged on the rope attached to the mule’s halter. Forget-Me-Not obligingly followed them towards the livery stable. “Besides you heard what the bartender said; Abner’s dug a fortune out of his mine. Once the bank opens on Monday morning we’ll get our money.”

“Yeah, and it’ll have cost us the price of a stall and feed for three days. That old man’s not stupid.”

They reached the livery and Brody Rees, a tall broad shouldered Welshman, stepped into the doorway to greet them. “What can I do for you fellas?”

Heyes gave him a genial smile. “We’d like room and board for the lady here.” He jerked a thumb in Forget-Me-Not’s direction.

Rees looked at the mule’s cowboy hat as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “That ol’ Forget-Me-Not?”

“It is.”

“Abner lose a bet to ya?”

Kid’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”

Rees smiled. “He does that a lot. I’ll give you the same rate as for ya horses.” He reached out a hand and took the rope from Heyes. He chuckled as he led the mule away. “Abner’s pulled this one a time or two.”

Kid looked at Heyes. “He has, has he?”

“Yeah. He’s sorta known for it.”

“Imagine that.”

Heyes shrugged. “Let’s go eat.”

Kid fixed him with a look. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day.”

***

Saturday morning

The stall was empty.

“Where is she?” Heyes demanded.

Rees looked up from where he was shovelling soiled hay into a wheelbarrow. “Guess she went for a walk.”

“What?” Heyes looked again at the stall as if expecting Forget-Me-Not to reappear.

Kid settled his hands on his hips. “We paid you for…”

“Board and feed and that’s what you got. You never asked me to see she didn’t wander off if she felt like it.”

“If she felt like it?” Heyes’ found himself uncharacteristically lost for words.

“How d’you know she wasn’t stolen?” Kid asked.

“Forget-Me-Not? Never. She goes wanderin’ all the time. I’m surprised Abner didn’t tell ya.”

Kid looked at Heyes. “I’m surprised about that too, ain’t you, Joshua?”

Heyes refused to comment.

***
“Don’t worry boys,” Abner said reassuringly as he shovelled his breakfast into the gap in his beard where he presumably kept his mouth.

Kid and Heyes sat across the table from him in the small town cafeteria. Despite having eaten earlier the smell of the bacon on Abner’s plate and the aroma of coffee in the air made their stomachs’ rumble.

“Ol’ Forget-Me-Not likes to take a walk now and then. She’ll probably be on the road east of town or down by the pond. You’ll find her.” He shovelled a forkful of beans into his mouth. “Course if you don’t I can’t give ya your money.”

Kid shot Heyes a look.

***
Kid Curry sat on his horse just east of town. His left leg was looped casually over the saddle horn, arms rested on his knee as he watched Hannibal Heyes, feared leader of the infamous Devil’s Hole Gang trying to persuade a mule in a cowboy hat to stop eating the flowers at the side of the road and follow him back to town.

“Got everythin’ under control there, Heyes?” Kid asked helpfully.

“Yes!” Heyes grasped the mule’s halter tightly and pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled again. Forget-Me-Not ignored him and continued to chomp on a rather tasty bush. Heyes dug his heels into the ground and heaved. The mule didn’t budge. He muttered something best not repeated in the presence of ladies and moved to the rear and began to shove the animal’s rump.

“Not sure you should touch a lady’s behind without askin’,” Kid observed.

“If she doesn’t want me round her she can…” Heyes felt a hard thump, a pain shot through his right thigh and then he was lying on the ground looking up at a circling turkey buzzard.

Kid jumped off his horse and stood over his friend. “You okay?”

“I think she broke my leg.” Heyes clasped his thigh and winced.

Kid held out his hand. “Let’s see if you can stand.”

“How can I stand if she broke my leg?”

“Maybe she didn’t break it.” Kid used his most patient tone.

Heyes caught hold of Kid’s wrist and let his friend pull him to his feet. He took a moment to steady himself.
Kid looked at him “Well?”

“Guess she didn’t break it after all, but I bet they’ll be a bruise!” He looked up. “Where the heck is she?”

Kid spun around. No Forget-Me-Not. He turned full circle and pointed. The mule was heading back to town.


***

“Do you see that?” Heyes asked. He sat on his side of the bed the lower half of his union suit around his ankles.
Standing in front of the mirror, Kid ignored him as he continued to shave.

“Look at the size of it!”

Peering into the mirror Kid paused, the razor still pressed against his soap covered chin. He could see Heyes pointing at his lower half. “Please tell me you’re talkin’ about the bruise.”

“Huh?”

“Nothin’.”

Heyes shook his head. “This thing’s gone purple already.”

Kid looked at his reflection in the mirror. What the heck could he say to that?

Sunday morning

“Again?” Kid stared at the empty stall.

“It’s Sunday, maybe she’s gone to church,” Rees offered with a smile as he carried a bale of hay into an empty stall.

“How’d she get out?” Heyes asked as he flicked the stall’s catch up and down.

“She lets herself out.” He looked over at the men and realised they expected more of an explanation. “She lifts the latch. Damn clever mule.”

“And knowing that you couldn’t have locked it?” Heyes could hardly contain his disbelief. He limped over to a bale of hay and sat down.

“If you wanted me to lock her in you shoulda told me,” Rees informed him. “Padlocks are extra.”

***
“Any sign?” Heyes called.

“Nope,” Kid replied as he urged his horse up the hill to meet Heyes astride his own mount at the top.

“Where the heck can she be?”

“One of them rhetoricals?”

“No!” Heyes’ eyes scanned the open plain. “I thought you might have an idea seeing as you’re both so stubborn an’ all.”

“I’ll let that pass seein’ as how you took her as collateral in the first place. I mean you could have read the note Abner threw in the pot.”

Heyes ignored the remarks. Kid looked around not expecting to find the…His eyes narrowed on something moving in the distance. A mule wearing a cowboy hat was making her way towards the distant escarpment.

“Where d’you think she’s going?” Heyes asked as his horse followed Kid’s.

“Why are you so convinced I have any idea what a mule’s thinkin’?”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Heyes, just ‘cos she kicked ya, don’t take it out on me.”

“You coulda helped.”

“Yeah. I coulda kicked your other leg.”

***

Heyes flipped the latch on the stall where Forget-Me-Not now stood chomping on a bale of hay. He attached a padlock and secured it, giving a reassuring tug on it before he let it drop from his hand. Heyes headed towards the livery exit and spotted Kid’s silhouette as he stood leaning against the wall. Six feet tall, cowboy hat hiding his eyes, gun hanging on his hip. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Every once in a while he was reminded just how dangerous Kid could look and the price his friend paid for his reputation as a gunslinger.

“Gotcha girlfriend settled in?” Kid asked as he pushed off the wall.

Heyes smiled. “I think she’s more your type.”

Kid followed him as he limped down Main Street. “Wasn’t she impressed by your silver tongue?”

Heyes chose to ignore him. “You owe me a beer.” He stepped onto the boardwalk.

“How d’you work that out?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“So?”

“Last Sunday I bought the beers.”

“You’re keepin’ score?”

“We’re partners, we’re supposed to share things evenly.”

“Well, I’ve bought a few beers since last Sunday.”

“I’m not counting incidentals.” Heyes crossed the street heading to the saloon.

“Incidentals? What the heck are incidentals?”

***
Monday Morning
“Boys.”

Kid and Heyes looked up from their table in the cafeteria and found Abner Weed standing before them.

“Abner,” they chorused before each man shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.

“Got my money?” Heyes asked, his cheeks were stuffed with partially chewed food.

“Sadly, Joshua, I ain’t.”

“Bank not open?” Kid asked as he took a drink of coffee to wash down the beans.

“It’s open.”

“So what’s the problem?” Heyes wiped his mouth with his napkin and picked up his own coffee cup.

“Forget-Me-Not ain’t in her stall.”

“Oh yes she is,” Heyes assured him. “I locked her in myself last night.”

“Well, she ain’t there this mornin’. I can’t give you your money if I don’t get my mule back.”

Kid looked at Heyes. Heyes looked at Abner. “She couldn’t have let herself out.”

Abner looked at Kid and shrugged. “She ain’t there.”

Confused, Heyes came to a decision. “She can’t have gone far. Thaddeus and I will find her.” He pushed back his chair and stood up.

Kid didn’t reply but his expression suggested he was getting fed up with the we part of Heyes’ plans. He scooped as much of the remaining beans as he could onto his fork and shoved them quickly into his mouth.

Abner smiled. “Thanks fellas. I’m right fond of my gal Forget-Me-Not. I’ll wait for you at the saloon.”

As Abner headed for the door Kid waved a gravy covered fork at Heyes. “You know for all the time and effort that mule’s cost us youda been better off losing.”

***

“There.” Kid pointed to the escarpment they had found Forget-Me-Not wandering towards the previous day. The mule plodded along a rough trail towards a distinctive rocky outcrop. The outlaws urged their horses in the mules’ direction eager to take her back to town and collect Heyes’ $50.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Heyes asked.

“Does it involve a saloon gal and a lot of beer?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not thinkin’ what you’re thinkin’.”

“I’m thinking she knows where she’s going.”

“The mule?”

“Yeah.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because she was going the same way yesterday and…”

“You think she’s goin’ back to the mine?”

Heyes smiled as he studied his friend’s face. “My genius really is wearing off on you.”

“You want to follow her?”

“To the mine?”

“Yeah.”
Heyes considered this then sadly shook his head. “Wouldn’t be much point? It’s not our mine.”

Kid smiled. “You’ve turned honest, Heyes.”

“No, just staying outta trouble.”

***

“There’s your money, son.” Abner handed Heyes a wodge of notes. Heyes counted it, smiled and then handed Forget-Me-Not’s halter rope to the old miner.

“Why d’you call her Forget-Me-Not?” Kid asked.

“Hadta name her somethin’.” Abner informed him and Kid nodded. “Besides it describes her well. She remembers where we live. It don’t matter how drunk or sick I get, she’ll always take me home.” He patted the mule’s neck affectionately then looked up at the men. “But then I reckon you know that don’tcha?”

The partners exchanged a look. “What makes you think that?” Heyes asked innocently.

“You followed her. She always went the same way, right?”

“Yeah.” Kid agreed.

“Yet you never let her take you to my mine. Why?” The weather-beaten face looked from one man to the other.

“Just naturally honest, I guess,” Heyes informed him.

Abner chuckled. “Guess that’s it all right.”

“If that’s the case you took a risk letting us look after her.”

Abner looked from Kid to Heyes. “I don’t think so. I read faces real well.” Without another word he led Forget-Me-Not away.

“What d’you think he meant by that?” Kid asked.

“Huh?”

“I said…” Kid realised Heyes wasn’t listening to him. “What is it?”

Brown eyes looked up at his friend. “How did she get out of that stall?”

Howdy All.  It has been so long since I have written a challenge that I hope I remember what the boys should sound like.



He noticed the basket first.  It was the flowers.  Five tiny petals in shades of blue and lavender circling a sunny center.  Forget-me-nots.  

The beer roiled in his stomach and shoved against the sudden constriction in his throat.  He closed his blue eyes and willed his breathing to slow.  He swallowed.  Opened his eyes.  Swallowed again.  Tiny white fingers gripped the basket handle and peeked out of blue petals.  

“Is something ailing you, mister?...  Mister?...  What is it.”

The concern in her voice pulled his eyes to her face.  Errant, blond tendrils curled about her ears where the hair had slipped free of her braids.  Wide hazel eyes studied him.  

She tried again.  “Mister?  You ailing?”

Kid Curry reached down deep and found a smile for the small child.  “Ye- uh.”  He coughed and cleared his throat.   “I'm fine.  Thanks for askin'.”  His lips smiled again, but it failed to reach his eyes.  

She extended her arm displaying a bundle of blue petals and leaves clasped between her fingers.  The floral bundle was tied with a string.  “Only a penny, mister.  Buy a bunch for your sweetheart?”  

Curry dug into his pocket and handed the young vendor three pennies.  With a wide grin, she offered three large bunches.  “Thank you, mister.”


Shafts of silver moonlight painted the room in shades of charcoal and ashes.   Matted blond curls, washed gray in the wan light, crowned a head resting against a worn headboard.  Legs stretched the length of the bed and ended in stockinged feet crossed at the ankles.  

A muffled click broke the silence just before a crack of light shot across the floor.  The barrel of a colt pointed at the door.  Hannibal Heyes paused until his partner re-holstered his gun.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?  I thought you were asleep.”  Heyes lit the lamp near the door and turned toward the bed.

“Just thinkin'.”

“Thinking?”  Brows raised over brown eyes.  “At two in the morning?  In the dark?”  He grinned.  “I thought we had a deal about thinking.”

“Yeah, Heyes, I know.”

“I thought you were coming back to here to catch up on some sleep.  What's so interesting that it's keeping you up in the middle of the night?”

“Hmm.”

The old bed creaked as Heyes sat on the side near the door and toed off his boots.

“So what are you thinking about?”

“How much did you win?”

“Trying to distract me won't work.”  Heyes turned to face his partner with a wide grin.  “I still want to –” Heyes stared at the crumpled blue petals in Curry's fist.  “Forget-me-nots?”

“Leave it, Heyes.”

The dark eyed partner ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.  He caught the gaze of the other man.  “It was a long time ago, Kid.  Why are you thinking about this now?”  He unbuckled his gun belt and hung it from the bed post.    “And where did the flowers come from?”

“There was this little girl selling bunches of flowers on the hotel porch.”

“Let me guess, she had blond curls and pigtails.”

“Just let it go, will ya, Heyes?”

“I'm not the one brooding in the middle of the night.”  He turned down the lamp and crawled into bed.

The sun had just begun to paint rose highlights on the clouds stretched thin across the sky.  The quilt on the hotel bed scrunched and pulled with jerky twists.  A groan escaped from deep in the bedding.  Kid Curry fought his way free of the covers and sat up, panting into the light tinged darkness.

“Bad dream?” asked the rumpled lump on the far side of the bed.

“What are you doin' awake?”

“Hard to sleep when the bed keeps moving and you keep groaning.  Your late night thinking has gotten loud.”  Heyes pushed himself up and studied his partner in the gloom.  “She's fine, Kid.”

Blue eyes turned steely and glared.  “Who?” The stubborn set to his jaw dared his partner to answer.  

Heyes rolled his eyes and snorted.  “Your little sister, Alice Curry.”

Early birds chirped into the silence.  

“She asked me to remember her.”

The light gathered and spread in the dingy hotel room.

“She gave me a bunch of forget-me-nots.”

Heyes waited.

“How do yo know she's fine?”

“Kid, she was adopted by a real nice couple.  Respectable folk.  I'm sure she's fine.”

Kid Curry stared at the ruined blue petals scattered on the bedside table.  “She said that the forget-me-nots were to help me remember her.  I promised to never forget.”

“You haven't forgotten her.”

“It sure must look like I forgot her to her.”

“Kid, you were ten years old.  It's been almost twenty years.  Alice is a grown woman.  She's probably married to a farmer or a shopkeeper and raising a bunch of children.”

“Oh that makes me feel much better, Heyes.  Not only have I forgotten my only living sister, but my nieces and nephews as well.”

“You didn't forget them.”

“I haven't let her know that.”

“Kid, be reasonable.  You don't even know for sure where she is.”

“We could find her.”

“Maybe, but then what?  She was raised by a respectable couple.  If she is married with a family, what are you going to bring her if we track her down?  A visit from her brother, Kid Curry, gunfighter and wanted outlaw.  Do you think she will appreciate the bounty hunters staking out her home waiting to see if her brother shows up again.  Does her husband even know that you are her blood kin?  Face it, Kid, we don't have a lot to offer to a respectable woman.  Leave it be.  She knows that you remember her.”

"Maybe."