Kirwin, Wyoming

by EmberRose23

Summary:

The Devil's Hole Gang plan and execute a Wells Fargo Stage Coach Robbery--and learn a valuable lesson because of Kyle.

Many thanks to WR, for the coaching, the learning and the friendship!

Notes:

Kirwin, Wyoming was a mining town situated along the Wood River, in the Shoshoni National Forest. This remote town was at one point home to over 200 miners and their families. Kirwin was a boomtown fueled by the gold and silver found in and around Spar Mountain. The biggest mine was the Wolf Mine. The town quickly grew to include a hotel, a sawmill, several general stores, a post office, and an assay shop. Eventually it even had phone lines. In 1907, a catastrophic avalanche leveled half of the town, killing three people and destroying several buildings. A mass exodus occurred, leaving the town ‘frozen in time’. It eventually became a tourist attraction with remnants of its heyday still existing.

This story occurs about a year into Kirwin’s existence, while it was just starting to grow to a pretty decent size, with about 100 miners and their families. Some of the buildings were being constructed, and the ones that were there were in the process of upgrading from tents and hurriedly constructed buildings.

Chapter 1: The Scout

Kyle Murtry had been riding from the Devil’s Hole for three days.  He was dog tired, but still beaming with pride that Hannibal Heyes had sent him, alone, to scout out Kirwin, Wyoming.  

Heyes trusting him to do this meant so much to Kyle.  He was moving up in the gang.  This child of a Missouri river trapper and a card dealer, was coming into his own after all this time. 

He wanted to make Heyes proud so he was on his best behavior, not spitting chaw in the street, and making sure his shirt was tucked in. He was determined to do exactly what Heyes had asked him.  It all started weeks ago when Heyes sat him down in the cabin:  

 

’Okay, so we’ve established that you were the one who found out about the Kirwin payroll.’

Heyes cleared his throat and shot a sideways glance at Kyle. 

‘You brought the idea to me, and after thinking it over, and talking to the Kid, we’ve decided to go ahead and send you there to ‘scout’ it out for us.’  

‘And, since according to Kid, I’m going against my better judgement…’ Heyes had given kid a disgruntled look ‘this is your chance to prove to the Kid and me, that you have what it takes to do this.’ 

Heyes had been sitting at the table in the leader’s cabin. In the next chair, Kid was cleaning his Colt.  As he listened to Heyes giving him the instructions, he quietly stewed about the man not listening to him, but made sure to smile and nod along with the outlaw leader to show he backed him, and to boost Kyle’s confidence.

‘All you have to do is go into town, map it out for us.  Make it so we will ride in there knowing exactly where the bank is, the Assay Office, the Mining Headquarters, and of course, the saloon…”  Heyes said, naming off the locations on his fingers. 

Kyle enthusiastically replied, ‘Got it, Heyes.’

‘While you are there, pay a visit to the bank, especially where the safe is located.  Check if they keep any guards on duty in or around the bank. Also, scout out the mine itself.  We have to know if there are armed guards, or if it’s patrolled by the miners.  Need to know what we might be up against.”

“Got it, Heyes.  I’ll make sure I count anyone with a gun.”  Kyle had said in earnest.   

Kid, having looked up at him in surprise said. ‘Kyle, most everyone will probably have a gun of some type.  Just count the ones that are standing around watching people. You know, the ones in front of the bank, the assay office, and the mine.’

‘Uh, right Kid that’s what I meant.’  Kyle had answered, looking down at the table for a second, thinking about what to say next. “Just count anyone who is dallyin’ around those places. Got it.’

Kid shot a look at Heyes as if to say, ‘are you sure about this, Heyes?’

Heyes nodded, grinning at Kid, then turned his attention to Kyle. ‘That is exactly right, Kyle.  Just go in there, stay for a day or two, don’t draw any attention to yourself, you’ll be fine.’

 

Kyle was brought back to reality by the sound of his horse, Paycheck, neighing, then he pulled the reins coming to a stop in front of the saloon.

Dismounting, Kyle tied his horse to the hitching post, and surveyed the town.  Standing next to Paycheck he took in the location of everything that Heyes had told him to watch. 

The Wolf Mine stood majestically above Kirwin, on a rock cliff. 

He spotted the bank, assayer’s office, along with the mining headquarters. 

Briefly he also noted where any guards were stationed and saw no one.

Having done this, he concluded that it wouldn’t hurt to have one beer to decompress from the ride. 

Walking into the saloon, he first noticed the ornate bar, the mirrored wall behind it, the solid-wood flooring that was underneath the bar that only stretched ten perfectly cut identical boards past it. 

The rest of the place was like something that had been thrown together overnight.  It had rickety chairs and tables, nothing on the walls, whiskey barrels stacked up against the back wall, with creaky floorboards through the rest of the saloon.  This was indeed a town that was growing and building.  Just slower than one would expect.

Kyle looked around and shrugged. 

He had business here; he was going to conduct himself as professionally as possible.  Wiping his nose with one hand, he pulled up his pants and walked confidently up to the bar.  “A beer, please.”

The barkeeper, without even looking up, poured a beer and set it in front of him.  Kyle took a coin out of his pocket and laid it on top of the bar.  The barkeeper took it, then walked away to the other side of the bar to wipe down glasses. 

Kyle glanced around, spotting a table with one chair at the back of the room.  This could be a strategic place to park himself for a while, as he drank his beer. 

He picked up his glass and sauntered over, sitting down. 

He tried to put his feet up, but his chair was too far back from the table, and his feet hit the floor with a thud.  He embarrassingly sat up straight,  drinking a bit of his beer, then looked to see if anyone saw him.

After a few minutes, he heard the steam whistle from the mine, signaling the end of the workday.  Outside, he heard the hustle and bustle of people coming down the road, telling each other good night, then going their separate ways. 

Two of the miners came into the saloon.

They were caked in dust and bone tired. Kyle watched as they walked up to the bar, bought a beer, then came over to sit at the table next to him.  He made a point of listening to their talk. They drank their beers with a sigh.

“What an exhausting day, Fred.”  George wiped his dust covered face with an equally dust covered rag he pulled from his pocket.

“I’ll say.  I really thought by now, George, we would be further along than we are.” Fred answered, staring at his beer on the table.  “It just seems like we break rocks and get nothin’ ‘cept three dollars a day.   Makes me wonder if they situated this mine in the right place.”

“Can’t do nothin’ about it.  Right now, it’s just work, work, work.  Payday ain’t until the end of next week.” George lamented, a weak grin on his weathered face.

Fred sighed as if the heaviness of the mine was on his shoulders. “Yeah, and it’s all spent ‘afore it even gets here.  It’s a never-ending cycle, especially when ya got a family to support.  Pay the company store most all of what you make to balance the credit to get the food you need to survive.”

“Ain’t much to be able to save neither.  I really want to buy a small spread, but puttin’ away a dollar every payday sure doesn’t add up to much.  The wife is tired of livin’ in the boarding house, wants me to build her a home..  At this rate we will never get enough to buy land, let alone build anything on it.”

“I hear ya.” Fred stretched and reached for his beer, both men drinking them down.  Leaving their glasses on the table, they stood up.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Fred.  It sure comes early.”

“That it does, George.”  Kyle watched the pair walk wearily out the door, thinking about what they had said.  It sure seemed like this mining wasn’t as lucrative as he had always thought it was.  He finished off his beer, took the glass back, setting it on the bar as he went out the door. 

He checked out the town and its inhabitants. 

Doing so, he saw a small, barefoot boy, who looked too thin, with holes in his pants, while playing in the dirt by the boarding house. The boy looked up, giving Kyle a gap-toothed smile. It struck Kyle as a sad scene.

 

It reminded him of himself as a boy, dirt-poor but smiling.  Always smiling.  It was the only way he could get through the days when his card-dealing father was away for months at a time. 

His ma was resilient and taught him how to trap, to fish… how to be a boy, finding the joy in the simple things in life.  To this day, Kyle always tried to see the best in everyone and everything—even if his heart was full of laziness or heartbreak. 

But then he lost his mother, his father nowhere to be found.  At 12 years old, Kyle had found himself without a home. 

He took up with an old conman who was selling snake-oil elixir from the back of his wagon.  There he learned the art of pickpocketing as he cruised through the crowds, a snake around his neck, while listening to the man as he hawked his fake medicine to unsuspecting townsfolk. 

 

He looked back at the boy who, even though he was caked in dirt, still found a reason to be happy.  Kyle smiled.  Oh, the innocence of the young. 

But right now, there was work to be done, so he could get back to the Devil’s Hole gang.

 

ASJ

 

Hank was standing guard at the entrance to the Hole when he heard the three shots that signaled someone was coming.  He stood up, aiming his rifle just in case. 

Kyle came walking his horse around the bend and waved at Hank.

At the Hole, Heyes and Kid, in the leaders’ cabin, heard the gunshots. 

Heyes smiled. “Must be Kyle,  Heyes said walking out the door.  See, told you he would do fine.” 

“We’ll see.”  Kid smirked as he followed Heyes.  “At least he made it back.  Have to give him credit for that.” 

Kyle came trotting up the hill to the hideout.  He jumped off his horse, and bounding to Heyes and Curry as they waited for him to arrive.

Grabbing the reins of Paycheck as he ambled by,  Heyes smiled. “Kyle!  How’d it go?”

Tipping his hat to Kyle, Kid asked,  “Were you able to get the information?”

Stone faced, Kyle looked at Heyes.  He looked at Kid with the same expression.  After a drawn-out second, he smiled, his crooked teeth gleaming.  “Sure did.”

Both Heyes and Curry smiled, laughed, and patted him on the back. 

From the bunkhouse came Wheat, Lobo, Monty, and Preacher to gather around him.

“Ya did it, Kyle!”  Wheat slapped him on the back. 

There was chatter and congratulations all around.  Kyle was lapping up the praise like a sponge at a bragging contest, leaking pride all over everything. 

Heyes draped his arm across Kyle’s shoulder and led him to the leader’s cabin.  “Come on Kyle, let’s get all that great information you brought back out of your brain before it all disappears.” 

Everyone followed behind. 

Sitting at the table were Heyes, Kid, and Kyle. The others crowded around them. 

Peering around the room, Heyes realized how pushed together they all were.  “Back up a bit, fellas, give Kyle some room to think!” 

They backed up a step. 

Turning his attention to Kyle, Heyes shook his head, while Kid moved in a bit closer in order to listen.

Kyle felt like a king with all the attention he was receiving. 

Until…

Everyone waited with bated breath. 

And, they waited. 

Staring straight forward, Kyle was hit with a feeling like at that second everything that was in his head just fell right out of it.  He couldn’t find the words to say anything, let alone tell Heyes about Kirwin. 

 

His mind drifted to a time when he was courting the only woman who he really cared about, Coraline, the pianist who had been married at least three times, at the Jubilee Saloon in Deadwood.

He had written a poem for her.  Coraline wanted her lady friends in the saloon to hear it, so she asked him to recite it aloud so her friends would know how much Kyle loved her. 

He agreed—until he actually stood in front of this group of scantily dressed saloon girls and tried to recite it.  His mind had gone blank like he had swallowed bleaching powder—clean and shiny, but no words.  Not one. 

He blinked, then swallowed, bringing his mind back to his current situation.  The entire gang was intent on him.  He slowly turned to Heyes, who was sympathetically looking back at him, as he had seen that look before from Kyle. 

“Take your time, Kyle.  Think.  What did you see in Kirwin?” Heyes leaned in to him.  “You got this, it’s all in that brain of yours. just spit it out like you do your chaw. Boys, get him some chaw.  And some coffee.”

 Scattering to get the coffee, Wheat set the coffee down in front of him.  Lobo found some chaw in his own pocket and handed it to Kyle. 

 “Come on, boys.” Kid stood up.  “Give him some room.  Kyle, you can do this, it’s in there somewhere…”  

Coming back to himself, he slowly, said “Pierce and Hamilton 1878.”

Everyone cheered! 

Kyle sighed with relief. 

Chapter 2: The Plan

Later that evening, Heyes had sent the rest of the gang back to the bunkhouse. Kid, having long since given up on hearing the rest of Kyle’s report, also went to the bunkhouse to play poker with the gang.

Leaving Heyes and Kyle alone in the leader’s cabin. 

Drinking a beer, chewing on some tobacco, Kyle was much more relaxed. 

Sitting next to him was Heyes, with a pencil in his hand, trying to draw what Kyle had described so far. He had about run out of patience, but he was determined that Kyle was going to succeed… regardless of how long it took. So here he was still coaxing as much information as he could from Kyle’s slowly refilling brain. 

“Ok, one more time,” Heyes smiled reassuringly, “close your eyes. Try again to picture the bank layout.”

 Closing his eyes, face straining as he ‘looked’ into his memory,  Kyle started recounting what he was seeing in his mind. “Uhm… well… ya go through a double set of doors. To the left, no to the right is… a line of chairs. Next to that is a big ole’ plant. Then you go through the wooden rails… that gate thing, and there’s a tall table for folks to write out their slips to give to the clerks—there’s three of those stations, with bars before each window.” Scratching his face, he opened one eye to look at Heyes. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Sketching out what Kyle described, his brow furrowed when he glanced down at the drawing,.

Something’s off, he thought, it’s all lopsided—like there’s a piece missing. He tapped the paper once, then looked up, saying, “Keep going. What else did you see?”

“The safe.” Kyle looked Heyes straight in the face. “It’s over in the far corner on the left. It’s be-autiful Heyes, sittin’ there just waitin’ for ya.”

Heyes leaned back in his chair, finally satisfied with what Kyle had told him. “Great job, Kyle. I knew you could do this.”  Standing, he gripped Kyle’s shoulder. “Go on back to the bunkhouse and get some rest, you earned it.” 

Kyle stood to face the man he admired. All I want is his approval…. In the worst way. It sure were a stressful last seven days, riding all that way over to Kerwin, and doing everything Heyes asked of me. Then havin’ to ride back and not being able to remember until he helped me. “So, I didn’t disappoint ya, Heyes?” 

Heyes smiled slyly, “Not in the least, Kyle, I’m very proud of you—you didn’t disappoint at all.”  Holding his breath, he hoped that was what Kyle was looking for.

Flashing his crooked grin, Kyle went out the door.

Heyes blew out a heavy sigh. He knew how hard that was for Kyle, even though it took quite a bit to get the information out of him, it was worth it. He looked down at the drawing, knowing it still didn’t look right, but at least it was something he could plan with—more or less.  

Later, Heyes and Curry were in the leader’s cabin, going over the plan. Heyes had redrawn the map and was now sharing it with the Kid.

“What we gotta figure out is if we directly hit the bank, or—” Heyes sat back. “We go after the Wells Fargo stage that will be delivering it.”

“Either way works for me, Heyes.” Kid shrugged, giving Heyes a flat stare. “ But we don’t usually mess with Wells Fargo…”

“I know. But this time it might be worth it, rather than trying to hit the bank.” Heyes smirked. “Besides, Kid, when you consider the remoteness of the trails in that area, we could hit the stage and be gone in no time.”

Leaning back, Kid laced his hands behind his head.. “Your call, Heyes. I just provide the protection.”

Smiling like a Cheshire cat, Heyes’ eyes met Kid’s eyes. “Precisely my point, partner. You provide the protection, we rob the stage, and we all take off, easy as lyin’ to a banker—only less paperwork.”

Eyeing him, Kid grinned. “You keep callin’ things easy, Heyes. Think I need to start packin’ a shovel for all these holes we end up diggin’ when they’re not. But if that’s what you want to do, ya know I’m right behind ya.”

“Don’t need shovels, Kid, just need a stick of dynamite to blow the bolts off the treasure box, while you take care of the armed messenger and the driver. All we need to do is figure out if Wells Fargo plants an agent on board.”

“Oh, that’s all.”  Kid skeptically rolled his eyes at Heyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were lookin’ to get us caught. How we gonna be able to figure that out?”  He said flatly, throwing his hands down. “Wait until we stop the stagecoach, then ask everyone if they are a special agent for Wells Fargo?”

Heyes’ eyes sparkled, “Exactly.”  Leaning his forearms on the table, he smiled. “Kyle said that on the way, there is a steep hill where the driver has to walk the horses through with leads. That means the armed shotgun will still be up on the box, holding the horses’ reins while the driver leads them.” Heyes tilted his head, giving Kid a direct look. “And what does that mean?”

Kid thought for a second, glancing to his Colt and back to Heyes. “The armed messenger won’t have his rifle in his hands—” 

Heyes slapped his hand on the table, “You got it, Kid!” 

They smiled at each other, then laughed.

“Sometimes, Heyes, I do believe you are a genius!”  Kid said through his laughter.

Heyes’ smile flattened to a blank stare, “Sometimes?”

Kid stopped laughing and looked Heyes straight in the eyes. “Well, most of the time anyway, I’ll give you that.” 

Heyes’ smile lit up again, with a snort. 

Kid just smiled and chortled.

 

ASJ

 

That night, Kyle’s sleep was restless and full of dreams. The third time he opened his eyes, he looked about, seeing he was still in the bunkhouse, with Wheat snoring away in the bunk next to him. 

  I’m sure glad that Wheat is my friend. There’s no one better—well, except maybe Heyes. But—no, Wheat’s my best friend. Has been ever since we met in that jail cell, way back when, in some small town I can’t remember the name of, and discovered we had a lot in common.

  Wheat was the one who got us into the Devil’s Hole Gang. Still remember that first time we rode up to the Devil’s Hole. Big Jim Santana was leadin’ the gang, Heyes was his second, and Kid—well, Kid wasn’t around then. It all felt so surreal. Goin’ from two-bit outlaws robbing stagecoaches, to the bigtime with Big Jim and the Devil’s Hole Gang.

And now Heyes and Kid are the gang leaders. And, Devil’s Hole sure is a safe place where Wheat and me can be ourselves. It’s an okay  life. There’s always food and chaw… and whiskey.

Heyes even let me ‘supervise’ any job that requires dynamite. Now, I can add ‘scout’ to my growin’ list of accomplishments. 

In the dark bunkhouse, with everyone snoring around him, Kyle smiled and closed his eyes.

As he drifted off to sleep, he again saw that young, sandy-haired boy in Kerwin, playing in the dirt. And, how he was happy, even though most everything around him was one level below crisis.

Chapter 3: The Preparation

“We’re gonna what?!” Wheat Carlson growled, “Are you crazy, Heyes? That’s the worst idea I ever heard!”

Every time Heyes opened his mouth, Wheat was right on his tail, questioning every word. He was in fine form today.

The entire gang had gathered in the bunkhouse, listening as Heyes laid out the plan.

Heyes sat at the table, calm and focused, while Kid stood behind him, leaning against one of the bunks, keeping a sharp eye out for any unruly behavior.

Heyes’ idea was a good one, Kyle thought. Since he’d actually been to Kirwin, he figured robbing the stagecoach was safer than trying to go into the bank. And the notion of using dynamite on the treasure box… that sounded just fine to him.

Standing up from where Kyle had been reclining on his bunk, he said, “Now, Wheat, it ain’t a bad idea—I been there and I know right where he’s talkin’ about. I’m with ya, Heyes.”

Though proud of himself, Kyle couldn’t help sneaking a glance Wheat’s way—his partner was glaring at him.

“Why thank you, Kyle. I appreciate a man who knows a good plan when he hears one,” Heyes retorted smugly, fully aware Wheat wasn’t pleased. “Now, anyone got questions?”

Naturally, Wheat, had questions.

“So, if we do this, how do we know there ain’t a Wells Fargo man inside that stagecoach?”

“We don’t. Not ‘til we ask. If there is, we’ll just tie him up, slow him down while we get away. Anything else?” Heyes looked around the room, eyebrows raised.

As usual, Wheat was pouting, Kyle looked attentive, Lobo and Hank stood with blank expressions, while Preacher wasn’t paying attention at all—he was absorbed in his Bible. Monty was still on guard duty and didn’t even realize there was a plan in motion.

Shruggin, Heyes turned to Kid.

Finally, Kid straightened up. “Alright, guys, let’s get our gear together. It’s gonna take at least three days to get there.”

Leaning in, Heyes whispered to Kid. “Seein’ the looks on their faces, you’d think we were headed to a funeral instead of a robbery. As outlaws, we oughta be more enthusiastic.”

Kid smirked. “We’re lucky they’re breathing. That’s about the best we can hope for, Heyes.”

AS&J

Three days later, the Devil’s Hole Gang was about ten miles from Kirwin. After a lot of trial and error, Kyle declared, “This here is the road we use.”

Scanning the landscape, Kid rode over to Heyes, leaned in quietly, as he said, “I thought the road was winding upward. This one twists, but then veers off that way—and there ain’t no hill. Let alone a pass.

You absolutely sure we should be listening to Kyle? I know you want to build his confidence, but me—I want to rob a stagecoach and not get caught.”

Knowing full well Kid was right, Heyes sighed, grudgingly saying, “I know, I know. Listen—how about you ride on up to the next road, see if it’s a better option. We’ll stay put until you get back.”

“Sure thing. Better we check ahead than blindly follow someone who can’t find his way out of a flour sack,” Kid retorted, riding off.

“Let’s stop for a bit, fellas. Take a rest,” Heyes called out as he dismounted. The others followed suit, stretching and adjusting themselves after the long ride.

Walking up, Wheat and Kyle stood beside Heyes.

“Where’s he going?” Wheat asked.

“Oh, he’s just scouting up ahead a bit.”

“What, you don’t trust Kyle’s word about this being the right path?” Wheat asked slyly, clearly trying to push Heyes’ buttons.

“Yeah, Heyes, don’t ya trust me?” Kyle chimed in. “I know what I’m doing. I’m sure this is the road—sure as a bull in springtime.” He looked down and spit. “Trouble is, it’s flatter’n a flapjack after a stampede and sure ain’t goin’ uphill nowheres.”

Giving Heyes a gruff look, Wheat drawled sarcastically, “Yeah, if Kyle says it’s the road, you can bet it’s the road.”

Heyes put his hands on his hips, staring Wheat down, as he looked to the others.  “Just making sure, fellas. We’ve got too much time invested in this job not to double-check our facts. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Monty chimed in, “Uh, sure, Heyes. Need to make sure, everything’s alright.”

Nodding agreement, Heyes dropped his arms to his sides and turned just in time to see Kid returning.

Kid pulled his horse to a stop beside Heyes.

“Well?”

“This ain’t the road, Heyes. It’s the next one—it’s even got a sign pointing to Kirwin.”

Well, at least he got us close, didn’t he?” Heyes said, walking to his horse. “Alright, it’s the next road, men. Let’s mount up.”

Looking flatly at Wheat, his voice as outlaw as he could muster, he snarled, “Good thing to double-check. Right, Wheat?”

Mounting his horse, Wheat just looked down. The rest of the gang climbed on their horses, turning to head toward the next road.

As for Kyle, his smile went limp as he realized he’d made yet another mistake. For all his effort, he felt like he was failing. Head hung low, he followed at the rear of the gang.

Heyes noticed.

He wondered if he was making a mistake by pushing Kyle so hard.

Maybe the Kid was right.

Maybe Kyle wasn’t ready for more responsibility.

Hanging back until he was even with Kyle. Heyes watched him for a moment before speaking, their horses walking slowly side by side.

“It’s okay. This ain’t the first time we’ve gotten lost on our way to a job, and it sure won’t be the last.”

“I know, Heyes, but I’m tryin’ so dang hard. I’m about as useful as a preacher in a poker hall. Might as well act like one and do nothin’.”

“Now don’t get this way, Kyle. We’ve still got a long ride ahead, and I need you in your best thinking mode, so we know where to stop that stagecoach. You hear me?”

“I dunno, Heyes. I ain’t got no more thinkin’ mode left.”

Heyes sighed. “Sure you do. Remember—the gang’s countin’ on you.”

He gave Kyle a reassuring smile, and Kyle managed a slight one in return.

Flicking his reins across his saddlebags, he trotted to join Kid, bracing for the inevitable.

“Don’t say it, Kid.”

Kid gave a sardonic grin. “Heyes, I understand what you’re tryin’ to do with Kyle. But you know he is who he is. Ain’t no call to try and make him anything else.”

Shaking his head, Heyes confidently said, “Nah, there’s somethin’ there. I know there is. He’s making me more determined than ever to pull it outta him.”

“At this rate, we’re all gonna find ourselves starin’ down twenty years.”

Throwing Heyes a warning glare, Kid moved in front of him. After a moment, he thought to say something back, but fell silent as they reached the road they needed to take.

Turning on to it, Kid broke into a trot, leading the way, the rest of the gang followin’ like a parade, along a trail that climbed higher, narrowing with each step.

Heyes could see his plan starting to take shape—this stretch looked exactly like Kyle had described.

The incline was so steep now that the stagecoach would have no choice but to stop so the driver could lead the horses by hand.

Swinging down from his saddle, Heyes motioned for the others to stay put as he stepped carefully to the edge.

He peered over the side. A twenty-foot drop yawned below, a tumble of pine trees and jagged rocks waiting like open jaws. One wrong move, and that stagecoach would be lost to the abyss.

Heyes smiled to himself, mumbling, “Kyle, by golly, I think you did it.”

Leaping down from his horse, Kid Curry walked over to Heyes, and catching his expression, followed his gaze over the edge.

“Whoa. That’s one big drop,” Kid said, eyes wide. “This could be even more dangerous for us with that drop.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Heyes said, scanning the road ahead to see if it narrowed further before widening out again in the distance. “Maybe we should walk some of this, see how much thinner it gets.”

Pulling off his gloves, as he considered the road, he then pointed toward a broader stretch. “Let’s go take a look at that area ahead—see if there’s someplace to stop for the night.”

Kid grabbed his horse's reins and addressed the men. “Okay, from here we need to walk. Stay away from the edge—don’t want no one peekin’ over unless you’re lookin’ to trade your teeth for gravel and pine cones.”

Everyone dismounted and began walking their horses.

Wheat leaned toward Kyle. “Now, how in the world did you figure this would be a good place to stop that stage?”

Kyle just grinned, spat a long arch of chaw, and said, “I looked over the side. You can go forward or backward—but that sidestep’s a doozy.” He let out a soft hee hee.

Having reached where he wanted to investigate, Heyes surveyed the area—it looked like a good place to stop. “We can set up far enough off the road that any passing by won’t notice us.”

The gang got to work setting up camp, with Monty gathering wood for the fire, Wheat heading off to see if he could find something to shoot for dinner.

Walking the road a little farther, Heyes and Kid continued on.

“Looks like Kyle may be right about this being the spot,” Kid said, reluctant but honest.

“Yeah, looks like it. Let’s head back to where the road starts widening.”

They retraced their steps, walking by their camp, the widest stretch of road.

Kid pointed to a rock formation above. “Looks like we can put Monty up there to keep watch in case anything goes wrong.”

Heyes followed his gaze. “Yeah. Good line of sight. He’ll be able to see the whole area.” Walking to the point where the driver would be forced to stop and lead the horses. He said, “We rob her right here, in the middle of the road…” he chuckled, “if you can call this narrow strip a road at all.

Just before it opens up, but tight enough that there’s no escape. Go on and put Wheat and Kyle at the far end, where it thins out. Have them come up behind the coach.”

Kid nodded, asking, “Where do you want Lobo?”

Heyes thought for a moment.

Watching him, Kid said, “How about he’s with me? That leaves you to deal directly with the driver and messenger while we hold ’em.”

Considering the layout, Heyes said, “Okay, but I want Preacher to come up from behind and stay just outside the back window. If there’s a Wells Fargo agent on board, we’ll have them covered from the start.”

Kid nodded again, saying, “Sounds like a plan.”

“I think we got this, Kid. Stage is due tomorrow. Since it’s supposed to be in Kirwin at two o’clock, we’ll be ready by ten. Piece of cake!” He clapped his partner on the back, and they walked together toward camp.

Glancing back at the narrow road, Heyes added, “Think I’ll call it the Devil’s Thread.”  He flashed his dimples at Kid. “It’s barely holdin’ together—and one wrong move could be the end to all of us.”

Chapter 4: The Execution

The day of the stagecoach robbery had arrived; everyone had breakfast, coffee, and was busy breaking camp.

Before sending Wheat, Kyle, and Preacher off to wait at the beginning of the Devil’s Thread, Heyes and Curry were giving them one final briefing.

“Alright, you know what to do, right, Wheat?” Heyes asked, bracing for the inevitable complaint.

“Sure,” Wheat replied, smiling tightly at his gang leader. “We’ll be right behind them as soon as they pass us headin’ into the Thread.”

Heyes didn’t realize Kid Curry was standing directly behind him, hands hooked in his belt loops, eyes locked on Wheat.

When he turned, he ran straight into Kid.

Clearing his throat, Kid’s eyes dropped slowly from Wheat to Heyes before walking away.

Heyes blinked. Wondering what he had just missed.

Monty headed up to his defensive position high above the trail.

Striding to Kyle, Heyes asked, “You got the dynamite?”

Kyle’s grin curled like a fuse. “Fresh as daisies. Blow your eyebrows clean off if you sneeze wrong.”

With that and without another word, Wheat, Kyle, and Preacher strutted up the Thread, boots crunching on gravel as they made their way higher into the canyon.

Which left Heyes, Kid, and Lobo to crouch in the trees at the mouth of the Devil’s Thread.

Flicking open his pocket watch, its ticking loud in the hush, Heyes checked it again. And again, until, at last, the distant clatter of hooves echoed in the ravine.

Snapping the watch shut, Heyes eagerly said, “This is it, boys.”

Just before the dangerous, narrow stretch the outlaws had marked for their ambush, the Wells Fargo stagecoach groaned to a halt. Its front wheels angled precariously on the uneven rock shelf—one side scraping the mountain’s jagged ribs, the other flirting with a twenty-foot plunge into pine-choked oblivion.

The driver set the brake and climbed down.

His boots hit the dirt with a thud that echoed through the canyon. He didn’t speak—just moved past his wheel and swing horses, to the lead gelding. Patting on the neck, he attached a lead rope to his headstall.

Lying his rifle across the seat, the shotgun rider picked up the lines, in case his assistance was needed to steer on the treacherous stretch.

Each step the driver took, he did with careful purpose.

The six-up team walked with him, hooves clattering over loose stones, the coach creaking and swaying behind them, its passengers holding their breath.

The driver knew better than to look back. He kept the coach moving, praying nothing spooked the team. On this narrow stretch, it wasn’t speed that saved you. It was respect.

Trailing the coach, their boots silent on the packed earth, Wheat, Kyle, and Preacher’s eyes were locked on the dust-choked wheels.

Heyes stepped from behind a centuries-old pile of boulders, revolver raised, with Kid and Lobo flanking him, Colts drawn.

The driver stiffened, the lead rope slackening in his hands, as the shotgun messenger twitched toward his rifle.

“I wouldn’t,” Kid said, voice flat as iron.

Slowly, the messenger raised his hands.

Clambering up the coach’s red box, Lobo snatched the rifle from the seat with seasoned ease.

“Everyone off,” Kid ordered. “Nice and slow. No heroics today.”

Plucking the driver’s pistol from its holster, Heyes strode to the coach door.

Preacher emerged from the shadows, pistol leveled through the first window, eyes gleaming, and Heyes yanked the door open.

Inside, a woman gasped. Her husband reached for her, but Preacher’s voice cut through the stillness. “I wouldn’t.”

The man froze, hand hovering midair.

“No need for anyone to get hurt,” Preacher added, his revolver remaining steady.

Stepping in, Heyes scanned the couple. No uniforms, no badges—but looks could lie. He kept his Schofield on them, flashing a dimpled smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Morning, folks. Fine day for travel. You wouldn’t happen to be Wells Fargo agents, would you?”

The couple exchanged a wide-eyed, silent glance, and the man swallowed, shaking his head. “We’re just passengers. Headed to Kirwin.”

“Glad to hear it,” Heyes said with a nod, still watching them. “We’re not looking for trouble. Just the treasure box up top.”

Scrambling up and over the boot, Kyle landed on the coach’s roof with a thud.

The woman shrieked, clutching her husband’s arm as dust sifted down from the ceiling.

Crouching low, hands swift, Kyle began setting his dynamite in place.

“Alright,” Heyes barked, stepping from the coach body gracefully. “Both of you out, nice and easy. Don’t rock it—unless you fancy a short ride to Kingdom Come.”

The couple hesitated, then climbed carefully down, to be met by Preacher, who tied their hands without a word, his gaze unreadable.

Up front, Kid directed the driver and guard toward Lobo, who bound their wrists with a rough cord and marched them behind the boulders where Heyes and Curry’s horses waited.

Keeping his revolver on the passengers, Heyes gestured with a flick of his wrist. “Now you two—over there with the others. Real gentle-like.”

When Heyes climbed onto the coach seat, the horses snorted and stamped, ears flicking.

Moving in, speaking to the team, Kid and Lobo moved in, cutting the traces, freeing the horses. Whipping off their hats, they sent the team running on without its load.

Heyes watched them go, then turned, running a hand over the metal bars holding the treasure chest to the Wells Fargo roof. “Just like always,” he said with a grin to Kyle before asking, “Got it?”

Kyle grinned back. “Sure do. This baby’s gonna blow sky-high!”

Heyes’ eyes snapped wide. “Sky-high? Kyle, we want a boom—not a catastrophe!”

Kyle blinked. “But Heyes, this set up’ll—”

“Send us and the loot into the canyon!” Heyes shouted. “Think, Kyle! We want the cash, not a crater!”

Kyle sighed, removing two sticks of dynamite. “All right, all right. I’ll set it to just go....” he frowned. “boom.”

Using the driver’s step, Heyes jumped from the coach, boots crunching gravel, as Kyle crawled to the driver’s bench, struck a match, and lit the fuse.

Then he was on the ground, and they were running—fuse hissing behind them, boots pounding the dirt.

Kid calmly told the group he was holding behind the boulders. “Y’all might want to crouch down now.”

They did as they were told.

The thin, glowing fuse hissed, burning inch by inch toward its mark—the devil’s thread treasure box.

Heyes and Kyle dove in beside Kid, just as the front of the coach blew apart with a deafening crack.

The treasure box shot skyward, spinning through the air before crashing down right where the horses had been.

The blast echoed up and down the canyon, shaking loose a wall of debris from the rocky mountainside. Its cascade covered the already burning driver’s seat, sending a fresh cloud of smoke and ash into the air.

Per Heyes’s plan, Preacher snatched the treasure box and wove through falling debris, bolting to where Wheat held their horses. Together, they galloped down the Thread, dust trailing behind them.

As the stunned captives began to rise, Kid was already on his feet. “Folks, we got what we came for,” he said, pointing with his Colt. “Now, you all are going to walk back down, ‘til you can’t no more. And we’ll be on our way.”

Brushing dust from his coat, Heyes flashed them a grin. “Been a pleasure, folks.”

As the driver, the shotgun messenger, and the married couple walked away, Kid kept his revolver pointed in their direction.

Kyle scrambled toward the rear of the blown-to-bits stage, boots slipping on the drop-off side as he clung to the frame. Making it, he let out a whoop, collected his horse, and galloped after Wheat and Preacher.

Moments later, Monty emerged from his perch—silent, watchful—having only moved after the driver and passengers had walked out of sight.

That left Lobo, Curry, and Heyes—and their horses—stranded on the wrong side of the burning stage, needing to find a way over the slope where a clear trail had become a jagged wall of rock and ruin.

Lobo slipped warily along, leading his horse, gravel crunching beneath each step, echoing in the stillness. When he reached the rear of the coach, he swung into the saddle in one fluid motion, vanishing after his partners, beyond the ridge, without a word.

Kid urged his horse up the slope, picking his way along a path between the wall and the stagecoach.

Once he was clear, Heyes took the same route—only the mountain gave way. A sudden slide roared down, stones rolling and bouncing.

His horse reared, shrieking, jerked from Heyes, bolting past the coach. Heyes, though, stumbled, slamming hard to the ground.

Kid barely had time to shout before a boulder crashed on his partner, Heyes crying out, trapped between the stagecoach and the stone wall.

Running to Heyes, Kid dropped to his knees. “Heyes!” he called, eyes scanning the damage. His partner’s leg was pinned beneath a slab of rock, his face pale and tight with pain.

With both hands, Kid shoved at the boulder, but it didn’t budge. “Hang on,” he muttered, voice steady.

Scrambling to the coach, he yanked free a broken board from the undercarriage and wedged it beneath the rock.

Leveraging his weight, he strained until the wood creaked—then cracked— the stone shifting.

Heyes gritted his teeth as Kid pulled him free, past their stamping, snorting horses.

Crouching beside his partner, Kid gripped his shoulder with one hand, the other brushing dirt from his brow. “You with me?” he asked, voice steadier than he felt.

Heyes nodded, jaw clenched. “Yeah. Just—don’t let me pass out yet.”

Kid gave a tight smile. “Not a chance. We’ve got to get you out of here before this whole slope decides to come down.”

He looped Heyes’s arm over his shoulder, bracing them both as they limped away from the wreckage, Heyes’s right leg dragging uselessly.

“Can you ride?” Kid asked.

Heyes tried to sound confident, “Just get me up there. I’ll be fine.”

Kid stepped in close, “All right, partner. I’ll do the lifting—you just hang on.”

Heyes gave a tight nod, jaw clenched against the ache. “Hey, Kid?”

“What?”

“Don’t drop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kid crouched beside him, one arm wrapped about Heyes’s waist, the other braced under his good leg. With a heave and a grunt, he lifted, guiding the wounded leader’s weight upward.

Grabbing the saddle horn in a white-knuckle grip, Heyes swung his injured leg as best he could. Settling into the saddle, he slumped forward for a moment as the pain caught up with him.

“You’re up,” Kid said, stepping back, breathless but relieved. “Now stay that way.”

Heyes managed a crooked smile. “You always make it sound so easy.”

Kid made sure Heyes’ boots were in his stirrups, then looked up at his partner. “Easy’s never been our style.”

Mounting his own horse in one smooth motion, he cast a glance back. “Let’s get outta here.”

As the two outlaws rushed away, the passenger and his wife emerged from a wooded area, along with the driver and shotgun messenger.

“Wells Fargo’s gonna fire me. My first time on the job and this happens.” The agent sighed, taking his wife’s hand dejectedly, and they began to walk.

Chapter 5: The Delay

Kid kept glancing back to make sure Heyes was still upright as they galloped away from the Devil’s Thread and back onto the main trail.

By the time they reached the rendezvous point, the others were already there, waiting.

Smiles faded into concern as the gang realized Heyes had been hurt.

Preacher rushed over, eyes wide as he took in the sight of their wounded leader.

“Heaven’s sake, Heyes, what did you do?! Let’s get you off that horse.”

Kid stepped in, voice firm. “No time right now. We gotta make tracks—put distance between us and that mountain pass. Preacher, can you tell how bad the leg is?”

Preacher felt around on Heyes’ leg, with Heyes flinching hard in response.  “Don’t see no blood drippin’, no bones stickin’ out.  He can go further; I’ll keep an eye on him.”

All mounted their horses and dashed away, with Preacher riding next to Heyes.

Kyle felt like he had been punched in the gut.  Not only had he messed up the route, the dynamite… now Heyes had been hurt. 

Knowing he messed up, once again, was disheartening.  It seemed the harder he tried, the worse things became.  The euphoria of the successful robbery had turned into remorse feeling he had failed again.

After a few hours of hard riding, Preacher glanced over at Heyes. He was still upright in the saddle, but barely—his grip slack, his eyes half-lidded, drifting in and out of awareness.

Preacher moved his horse forward, closing the gap between himself and Kid. “Think we need to stop for a while. Heyes ain’t doin’ so good.”

Kid looked back and saw Heyes swaying, his balance faltering.

“Yeah. I think we’re far enough away now. Wheat, Kyle—find us a good hidden spot.”

Wheat tipped his hat and veered off into the pine and brush, Kyle trailing close behind.

A few minutes later, they returned. Wheat rode up to Kid, his voice steady and sure, “There’s an opening next to a creek about a half mile that way. Room for everyone, and cover if it rains. I say we head that way—catch some fish for supper, get Heyes fixed up.”

 “Thanks, Wheat.” Kid nodded, grateful. “You lead the way.”

They reached the clearing within minutes. Just as Wheat had promised, it was sheltered, quiet, and large enough for the whole gang.

Kid dismounted, going straight to Heyes, while Preacher and Monty moved in to help. Heyes groaned softly as his feet hit the ground, his weight sagging between them.

Kyle, heavy with guilt, pulled his bedroll from the back of Heyes’ horse and laid it out beneath an overhang, snug against the rock wall.

Heyes was eased down onto it, grimacing with every move. “Thanks, Kyle,” he murmured, voice barely audible.

Kyle waited nearby, watching as Preacher and Kid tended to him.

Kneeling, Kid carefully removed Heyes’ boot and rolled up the pant leg.

Preacher examined the swollen calf—the part that had taken the worst of the rock slide.

“Doesn’t look like anything’s broken, you got gouges here,” Preacher said sympathetically.  “It’s swollen, you prob’ly tore the muscle.”

He turned to Monty. “Can you fetch some water from the creek? Someone get a fire goin’ so we can heat it—need to clean these wounds proper.”

Kid leaned in, voice low and steady. “It’s okay, partner. We’ll get you fixed up. Just lie back.” He shot a glance at Preacher, worry etched deep in his face. Then, to Heyes, he offered a strained half-smile. “Shoulda let you go first.”

Heyes managed a tight smile. “Yeah… better you were layin’ here instead of me.”

Kid gave a soft chuckle, then turned back to Preacher. “How’s about I mix up a bit of laudanum—take the edge off.”

Preacher nodded, continuing his careful inspection, fingers probing for deeper damage.

“Are we safe here?” Heyes asked, eyes fluttering.

Kid nodded encouragingly as he went to remove his saddlebags from his gelding. “Far as we can be. Don’t you worry—there’s enough of us here. Ain’t nobody or nothin’ gonna get to us.”

Returning to Heyes’ side, Kid uncorked the laudanum and tipped a few drops into a tin cup. He added water from his canteen. He swirled it gently, watching the mixture darken.

Preacher lifted Heyes’ head. Kid steadied the cup, helping him drink.

Heyes grimaced, swallowing with effort.

Preacher eased him back onto the bedroll, his movements careful, reverent.

Kyle had been watching, but now he faded into the background. He sank onto a nearby rock, eyes distant, memory pulling him under.

It was supposed to be simple.

A quick hold-up at a crossroads outside Bitter Creek. One stagecoach. Light guard. Easy job.

The Devil’s Hole Gang didn’t usually go after stagecoaches, but they were desperate . . . Big Jim had just been arrested, and Heyes was still finding his footing as leader.

Besides, Kid had only just returned after a long absence as Heyes’ partner.

I had one job: signal the gang when the coach appeared and make sure the road behind was clear. I wanted so much to prove himself. Wanted to show I could handle it.

But I misread the timing when I saw dust on the horizon and panicked. Still, can’t believe I waved the signal bandana too soon.

The gang sprang into action—Wheat, Hank, and Jesse, a new kid barely eighteen.

Only it wasn’t the stagecoach, it was a military supply wagon, flanked by two armed cavalrymen. Our ambush turned into a firefight, gunshots cracking through the air, bullets ricocheting from rocks around us.

I dove behind a boulder, heart hammering, trying to wave them off—but it was too late.

Jesse took a bullet to the chest. He dropped in the dirt, eyes wide, blood spreading across his shirt, and Wheat dragged him behind cover, cursing and firing wildly.

The cavalrymen retreated, but the damage was done, and by the time the gang regrouped, Jesse was dead.

I had stood frozen, my signal bandana still clutched in my hand, cold chills creeping along my skin.

No one spoke until later, around the fire, Wheat didn’t yell. He just looked at me and said, “You cost us a boy today.”

Heyes kept silent, just staring into the flames, jaw tight.

Kid finally broke the silence, the second time, saying, “He was just a child.”

I recall nodding, and answering, “I thought I was helpin’. I thought I was doin’ it right.”

That night, I didn’t sleep.

From then on, I stuck to dynamite and horses—things that didn’t depend on timing or judgment.

Things that couldn’t bleed.

And now, I’ve done it again with this job. Too many misjudgments. And Heyes was wounded. Don’t matter what anyone says, I know, deep down, it was his fault.

As Preacher and Kid worked to make Heyes more comfortable, Wheat noticed Kyle sitting apart, shoulders drawn tight. He walked over and sat beside him, saying nothing.

Kyle’s voice was barely a whisper when he finally spoke, “It was my fault.”

Wheat didn’t need to ask. He already knew what Kyle was feeling.

“It weren’t nobody’s fault, Kyle. It just happened, that’s all,” Wheat’s voice was rough as he spoke, but kind—his version of empathy. “Heyes is gonna be fine, we’ll all be fine. Tomorrow we’ll ride outta here like nothin’ happened, and soon be back home.”

Kyle shook his head. “I know. It’ll all be forgotten. But I won’t forget it. Just add it to the list of stupid moves I’ve made all my life. Now I done hurt Heyes.” He paused, voice cracking. “Every time I start to feel confidence in myself… somethin’ bad happens.”

From the bedroll, Heyes stirred. He was still semi-alert—just enough to catch Kyle’s words. “Kyle—git over here.”

Wheat gave a small nod of encouragement.

Kyle rose and walked over like a man headed for judgment. He knelt beside Heyes, eyes full of regret.

“I—I’m so sorry, Heyes.”

Heyes gave him a half-awake smile, soft and forgiving. “You didn’t do nothin’, Kyle. That was me—I did it to myself. Wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’. Stop beratin’ yourself.”

Kyle blinked slowly.

“You got the treasure box?” Heyes asked, his voice drowsy and low, in his laudanum-induced state.

Hope flickering through the guilt, Kyle’s face lit up. “Yes, sirree, we sure did.” His voice was stronger now, pride growing in his chest.

“That’s what counts.” Heyes’ eyes drifted shut, the opioid pulling him gently into sleep.

Kyle watched Heyes for a long time, his eyes burning from the effort of holding back tears. He’d been forgiven. Again.

Someday, he swore, he’d do something so right for Heyes that he could finally forgive himself.

Wandering over to Kid, Wheat cleared his throat. “Speakin’ of the treasure box…”

Kid turned, eyeing him, “What?”

Hesitating, gaze dropping, Wheat spoke. “I was, uh… just thinkin’. Maybe we oughta open it. Make sure what we got.”

Kid glanced down at his sleeping partner, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, thinking, ‘Maybe we should take a look. But not yet.’

 “Let’s get down to the creek,” Lobo said, “catch some fish for supper. Give Heyes a couple of hours of sleep first.”

Accepting the decision without argument, Wheat nodded.

The box could wait.

Right now, rest and recovery came first.

Chapter 6: The Lesson

After supper, the camp settled into a quiet rhythm.

Preacher and Kid sat off to the side, speaking in low tones while the others lounged nearby, coffee cups in hand.

Clustered together, Wheat, Kyle, and Lobo were murmuring over the fire, as Monty kept watch at the edge of the clearing, eyes scanning the dark.

Leaning toward Preacher, Kid said in a hushed voice, “Think Heyes’ll be able to ride in the morning?”

Preacher took a slow sip of coffee before answering. “I think he’s torn that muscle. Those things hurt like the dickens and take a long time to heal. But now we got cold compresses we’re changin’ out—and if the good Lord’s willin’—they should help. It’s gonna hurt him, but he oughta be able to ride.”

“Good,” Kid nodded, jaw tight. “We need to keep movin’. We’re still too close to that robbery for comfort.”

They both paused when a voice rasped from the bedroll. “So… what’d we get?” Heyes’ eyes were half-open, the laudanum still tugging at his senses.

Kid stood and moved to Heyes, dipping a dried cloth into the pot of cold water beside him. He wrung it out, preparing another compress.

“Don’t know yet,” he said over his shoulder. “Waitin’ for you.” “We can open it whenever you’re ready, Heyes.”

Wincing when he tried to move, Heyes growled, “Somebody help me sit up.” He knew everyone was itching to find out if the job had paid off.

Rushing over, Lobo gently eased Heyes to lean against the rock wall that shielded him from the wind.

Kid gave Kyle a grateful nod, “Why don’t you and Wheat—grab the treasure box.”

Already on the task, Wheat set the box on a flat rock as the gang watched tension thick in the air.

Kyle opened the lid slowly. For a moment, he just stared.

“Well?” Heyes asked, voice strained.

Reaching in, Kyle pulled out a stack of bills. “We gots us some money, boys!”

Cheers erupted—hoots, hollers, boots stomping in celebration.

Kyle passed stacks of money to Heyes, Curry, and Wheat.

“Good job, men,” Heyes smiled, weak but satisfied. “Looks like our Wells Fargo robbery was a success.” He handed the bills back to Kyle. “And now, if you all don’t mind… I’m gonna go back to sleep for a while.”

The next morning, Heyes woke early while snores still filled the clearing. He focused on the silhouette against the pale dawn light, deciding it was Lobo on sentry.

He felt grateful for the quiet… until he moved his leg. Pain shot through his calf like fire. He rolled over, trying to ease it—only to make it worse.

“M-mercy!” he gasped, voice ragged with agony.

Bolting upright, Kid ran to his side. “You okay?”

“No. Hurts like hell. Actually, I’m in hell. Feels like a knife in my leg.”  Heyes’ face twisted with pain, eyes squeezed shut, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. He couldn’t remember pain like this—not even in the worst scrapes they’d been through.

Bending in close, Kid said, “Let me see if I can straighten it for you…”

“No!” Heyes barked, then softened. “I’ll, uh… do it myself.”

He tried. “Nope. Nothin’ doin’. Stayin’ right here.” The pain was too much—searing and unrelenting.

“Let me give ya some more laudanum.” Kid was sympathetic, as worried as he had been in too long of a time.

“Nah, I’ll be okay,” Heyes said, laying on the ground, with his face in the dirt.  “We gotta get movin’.”

“Heyes, the Lord saw fit not to break your leg—just gave you a mean bruise and set your muscles to screamin’,” Preacher said, stepping in, calm and resolute. “Take the laudanum, and I’ll get the cold compresses goin’ again. You ain’t goin’ nowhere’s today.”

Around the camp, life stirred. The fire crackled to life, with the coffee beginning to boil.  Breakfast fish sizzled in a pan, the scent drifting through the clearing. 

Monty brought a fresh pot of water to soak the cloths, setting it next to Heyes.

“Come on, partner,” Kid knelt beside Heyes. “You need to sit up to take this.”

He glanced over at Kyle, still curled in his bedroll.  “Hey, Kyle. Help me get him sittin’ up, please.”

Kyle jerked, looking like he’d been asked to catch a rattler, and he didn’t move any further.

“Kyle, I mean now!”

Reluctantly, Kyle rose, his gaze flicking to the injured leg, panic rushing through him, he stammered, “I—I can’t, Kid, what if I snap somethin’ that ain’t supposed to snap? He’s all busted up like a dropped pie!”

Incredulously, Heyes blinked at him.

Clutching his hat, Kyle backed up a step. “I ain’t no doctor. Once tried to fix a busted mule—it bit me clean through the boot! Heyes, you’re smarter’n a mule, but you look meaner right now.”

He glanced around, helpless, then looked straight at Heyes. “Maybe you could just… roll a little? Real gentle-like?”

Kid gave him a look that could curdle milk. “Kyle, my Colt is sayin’ git yourself over here. Ya hear me?”

Hesitating, he reached for Heyes, and together, he and Kid pulled him up by the arms.

Heyes yelled, voice raw. “Holy…”

They quickly turned him, sitting him upright with his back against the rock wall.

Bending down, Kid carefully lifted Heyes’ legs to straighten them.

Kyle stood nearby, watching every twitch of pain.

Heyes grimaced.

Kyle grimaced.

Heyes shut his eyes tight.

Kyle did the same.

It was as if Kyle felt every ounce of pain Heyes did. His face a mirror to the suffering, until his leader’s pain started to subside.

Mixing laudanum with water from his canteen, Kid brought it to Heyes, and helped him drink. When he looked up—Kyle was still watching, eyes wide and stricken. Kid sighed, “Go sit down, Kyle.”

Wheat stepped in, gently taking Kyle by the arm. “Come on, Kyle. Let’s go have some breakfast. Lobo’s got it ready.”

Exhaling slowly, Kid leaned back against the wall beside Heyes.

“We can’t just stay here,” Heyes said, closing his eyes, waiting for the laudanum to take hold. “You and I both know that.” 

“Got no choice,” Kid continued. “There’s no way you can ride right now—heck, you can’t even stand. We’ll be okay. I’ll post two guards at a time for the next two days—”

Heyes grabbed Kid’s arm, tight.  “T-two days?! We can’t stay here for two days, Kid. We’re still too close to Kirwin. If they find us out here, they’ll know it was us that took that coach. Ain’t nobody else around these parts.”

“Look, you got a badly bruised leg—maybe even torn the muscle. Any movement’s gonna make it worse. Now you just close your eyes, let me worry about keepin’ us from gettin’ caught.”

“I know you will, Kid,” he said, releasing him, “I’m just gonna close my eyes for a minute.”

And with that, Heyes drifted off, the pain dulled, the camp was quiet once more.

Kid watched his cousin making sure he was truly asleep. Satisfied, he took a blanket and gently laid it over his partner.

Then he stood and walk to the campfire. “Y’all get over here. We need to talk.”

The gang gathered—Preacher, Monty, Lobo, Wheat, Kyle, and Kid—eyes wary but waiting for directions.

“We got a problem. Heyes can’t move for at least another day, maybe two,” Kid spoke plainly. “We’re still too close to Kirwin, so we need to stay quiet and keep our eyes open. We’ll pair up for guard duty—six-hour shifts.”

Wheat grumbled first.  “Aww, Kid, that’s gonna be tough.”

Kid’s voice dropped cold as ice, and he threw Wheat a look even colder, “You got a better idea?”

Silence.

“Didn’t think so. I know this ain’t ideal, but we’ll make do.”

“How about you go catch some fish for supper and for dinner. We’ll make do with fish rather than shootin’ anything.”

Wheat nodded, unusually obedient.

“Monty and I’ll take the first shift. Preacher, you keep tending to Heyes—keep those compresses coming.”

Shifting from foot to foot, Kyle asked, “What do I do?”

Looking at him for a long beat, torn between brushing him off and giving him something useful, Kid at last said, “For now, just keep the fire going.”

No one spoke.

Looking at them each in turn, Kid said, “Wheat, you and Kyle’ll take the next shift. Let’s go, Monty.”

Later that afternoon, Kyle lay on his bedroll, trying to catch some sleep before his guard shift. But rest wouldn’t come. His mind wandered—drifting through the past few weeks like dust on the wind.

I can’t forget that conversation I overheard at the saloon. Those two men, worn thin by their backbreakin’ labor . . .  workin’ for three dollars a day. Can’t figure out how they do it—day after day—with so little to show for it.

All those townsfolk, all chasing the same thing: a little pay to just help ‘em survive.

The mine owners don’t care. 

They don’t care that folks are scrapin’ to put food on their tables, or tryin’ to build something lastin’ in a land that gives nothin’ easy.

Life’s hard, and we had just made it harder for ‘em.

 I know . . . At least two of those workers . . . those men were counting on that payroll—the very money we took.

This ain’t like robbin’ a train, where the only ones hurt are the railroad men in suits.

This was different.

This was money meant for real people.

People who work hard.

People who are just tryin’ to make it a little further down the road.

I wonder if that little boy will eat this week . . . ‘cause of us.

If the old woman at the mercantile will have enough for supper . . . ‘cause of us.

If the man saving for his homestead will have to wait another month, maybe more . . . ‘cause of me.

Feeling sick about all of this, Kyle flopped over, trying to get comfortable, and dug a rock out from beneath his blanket. Sighing, he glanced toward Heyes.

And now Heyes—layin’ there, hurt. Guilt sure is pressin’ down on me like a stone.  All of this is my fault.

Of all the people I ever met, only Heyes—and Wheat—have treated me like I was somebody.

Sure, he is the leader, but Heyes never looked down on me. Never made me feel small . . . for men like me, he’s something more.

He can make a plan that’d shake up half the territory, or be so quiet folks never even knew they’d been hit.

He’s got that dimpled smile that makes ladies swoon—or the roughest buffalo hunter think twice about tangling with him.

And now he’s laid up, ‘cause I messed up. Again.

Smartest man I’ve ever known . . . Hannibal Heyes can talk his way out of anything.

Even when Wheat needles him—sometimes downright provokes him—Heyes never makes Wheat feel stupid.

Even when it’s plain as day that Wheat is missin’ something. He still treats him with respect.

To be fair, there was that one time Heyes did deck ‘em. Even then, it was more about . . . Wheat askin’ for it than malice.

He never shows me any malice... and I ask for it all the time.

Turning over again, he stared into the fire, watching the flames move, and somehow it carried him to standing in front of his home back in Arkansas.

I ain’t never forgot the day my Pa walked away—I knew he wasn’t comin’ back, I even yelled, “Pa, don’t go!”

Back then, I was just a sandy-haired, barefoot kid in threadbare pants and no shirt with tears streaking my face.

“Pa, please!? Don’t leave us!” I yelled that over and over.

And Pa stopped, and turned slow to stare at men, then he walked back and knelt down, eye-level with me… I was just eight and he told me,

“Now, Son, you gotta be a strong man. Your ma’s gonna need you.”

“We need you, Pa!” I had told him, my voice cracking and face wet with tears.

“Your ma don’t need no one.” He reached out, wiped my tears with a rough thumb.  “And she sure don’t need me. All I do is take her hard-earned money and lose it gambling. Then you don’t have nothin’ to eat. Your ma’s right, Son. I ain’t no good. No good for you or her. Now you take care of your ma, you hear?”

Then, he put his hand on my head, tousled my hair, and gave me a sad smile.

With that, he walked to his horse, mounted, and rode away.

That was all . . . I just stood there, tears dripping from my face, watching until he was out of sight.

Then my ma came out to get me.

Chapter 7: The End

Jolted back to the campsite by the sound of moaning, Kyle sat up to see Preacher, crouched down beside Heyes.

“It’s better than it was,” Preacher said, changing the compress on Heyes’ leg. “Can you move it?”

With eyes still closed, Heyes gave it a try. The leg shifted an inch or two before the muscle rebelled, shooting pain straight up through him.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Preacher said gently. “Let’s get you sitting up, more awake. All right?”

He took one of Heyes’ arms, glancing over at Kyle. “Well, brother, you gonna help or just sit there gawking at me? The good Lord gave ya ears to hear him moan, eyes to see me strugglin’—so come help.”

Scrambling to his feet, Kyle hurried over, and together, they lifted him, so he could lean against the wall.

“Thank you both,” Heyes said, voice shaky. “Dang, this is awful. Where’s Kid?”

“He’ll be back soon. He and Monty are on guard duty right now. You want some coffee?” Kyle asked, echoes of the troubled thoughts that had plagued him in his bedroll, about the outlaw leader, still fresh in his mind.

Heyes nodded, so Kyle went to fetch him a cup.

 Picking up the pot, Preacher said, “I’m headin’ down to the creek to get fresh water. We’ve been doin’ cold compresses for near twenty-four hours. Time to switch to hot ones.”

Leaving Wheat and Lobo snoring like polecats and Kyle sitting next to Heyes.

Watching him for a moment, Heyes quietly asked. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’.” Kyle mumbled, plucking a twig from near the fire, he drew circles in the dirt.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Heyes tried to clear the fog to wake himself up. “Come on, Kyle. You bein’ quiet . . . ain’t like you.”

His face etched with the pain of all he had been carrying,  Kyle took a deep breath. “Well... I—I want to say I’m sorry, Heyes. I really am. I didn’t mean for ever’thin’ to go wrong like it did.”

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for. It was an accident,” Heyes softened his voice.  “You didn’t mean for that rockslide to happen, or for it to hit me. Up to that point, everything was goin’ fine. We got the money, we’re all okay—well, most of us anyway.”

“But you put your trust in me. I tried my best… I broke it. But now... I got guilt.”

“Guilt over what? I told you—it’s fine, it was an accident.”

“N’ain’t that.” Kyle hesitated, voice low. “Um... there was a part I didn’t tell you about when I was scoutin’ out the town.”

“Okay, tell me now.”

“Ya see… when I went into town,” Kyle drug the words out, “I—I saw this little boy. No shoes, just playin’ in the dirt with a stick. Just like I used to, growin’ up.”

“Okay. Go on,” Heyes said as he could tell Kyle was leading up to something.

“When I saw that boy I thought he looked sad, but ya know what?” Kyle peeked at Heyes. “He wasn’t. He was happy. Just playin’ in the dirt with that stick. Just like I used to be. Only… with me,” his voice dropped lower, “it weren’t ‘cause I was happy. It was ‘cause if I wasn’t pretendin’ to be happy, I was cryin’. Had to keep the sadness down deep inside.” Kyle stopped swirling the dirt, and eyed Heyes warily.

Heyes smiled faintly at Kyle, “And?”

“Well, then I…” he grinned sheepishly just a bit, “listened in on these two fellas who worked for the mines. Did you know they make three dollars a day?” Kyle threw the stick in the fire. “Three dollars for all that backbreakin’ work. And the only store in town is the company store—where they gotta buy their food. And who makes the profits? The mining company. They get paid, and they’re forced to give it right back just to survive.” Kyle turned a little to look Heyes straight in the face. “Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t,” Heyes answered. “But that’s why we don’t work in mining, not lucrative enough… unless it’s our own claim.” He grinned slyly. “Now go on. Where you goin’ with this?”

 “I got ta thinkin’... “ Kyle fidgeted, picking up a rock, turning it in his hand.  “When we rob trains, the only folks we’re hurtin’ is them railroad maggots—”

“Magnets. Railroad magnets, Kyle.” Heyes smiled through the fog in his eyes and mind.

“Yeah, magnets. Anyways, we just take money from the rich railroad guys. They don’t miss it.”

Now it was dawning on Heyes what was gnawin’ at Kyle.

“But when we took that Wells Fargo money… it belonged to people. Ever’day folks workin’ just to buy food. One guy was talkin’ about buyin’ a homestead. They all live in these boarded houses, squeezed together. Ain’t got no land of their own. We took that money, Heyes. Right outta their mouths. We took it!”

He stopped, looking hopefully at the outlaw leader.

“Go on. What else you got to say?”

“I reckon that’s all. It’s just been botherin’ me. People work hard and get nothin’. Railroads and minin’ companies are all the same. They take and take and take.”

“True.” Heyes sighed, considering what Kyle was saying.

“And when folks finally get ahead… people like us come along, take it all away.” Kyle shifted broodily, staring at the fire.

Heyes did the same, letting the silence stretch.

Then Preacher returned, placing the pot on the fire to heat. He knelt beside Heyes and began preparing a compress.

As Kid and Monty returned from their shift, Wheat rushed over, pouring himself some coffee.

“You’re up next, boys.” Kid told them, brushing dust off his coat.   “Ain’t seen no movement or nothin’, but keep alert just in case.”

The Kid had brought a fairly long, round stick with him, and laid it down by his saddle, then walked over to check on Heyes.

“How ya doin’?” Kid bent down beside him, adjusting the blanket, trying to make sure Heyes was comfortable.

“Fine, long as I don’t move my leg. Everything goin’ okay?”

“Yeah. Nothin’s movin’ out there. You need anything?”

“Nah. Preacher and Kyle are takin’ good care of me. We do need to get outta here soon, though.”

“I know. But not ‘til you can at least stand.” Kid reached to pat Heyes’ leg, then paused mid-motion, flashed his toothy smile, and lowered his hand.

Later that evening, after supper had been eaten and dishes done, Kid had the stick he had brought back earlier, in his lap, carefully carving and smoothing it with his knife as he sat next to Heyes, who was napping.

While Preacher read his Bible, Monty and Lobo were resting before their next sentry shift.

Opening his eyes, Heyes stirred, watching Kid carving. “What are you doin’?” he asked, voice low and rough.

 “You said it yourself, Heyes—we gotta get outta here.” Kid smiled as he worked. “And you can’t put no weight on that leg.”

He held the stick up, admiring the smooth, rounded finish from top to bottom. It was sturdy, shaped to support Heyes’ weight.

“That for me?” Heyes asked, impressed—touched that his partner had taken the time.

Grinning proudly, Kid replied, “Yep, all for you. That, and so’s we can get outta here. You’re draggin’ us down.” His smile turned into a smirk, blue eyes twinkling. “Seriously, Heyes—it’s quiet now, but by this time they’ve gotta be out lookin’ for that stagecoach. Or at the least the driver and passengers have made it to town. We can’t stay here much longer.”

 Looking down at his leg. Heyes tried to move it—managing a couple inches before pain shot through him like fire. “Dang!”

Kid set the stick down and gently repositioned Heyes’ leg. “What are we gonna do with you? Maybe cuttin’ it off’s the answer.”

“Um, no. It’s not.” Heyes winced. “I’ll be fine. Let me see that stick.”

He reached for it, but Kid slid it further away.

“You’ll get it when I say you’re actually ready to get up, get on that horse, and get us outta here. ‘Til then—forget it.”

Frustration etched across Heyes’ face, and he leaned back against the wall.

“Ya know,” he said quietly, “I had a talk with Kyle earlier.”

Raising an eyebrow, Kid asked, “What excuse did he give ya this time?”

“No excuses,” Heyes said. “Just an apology. And a timely reminder of why we don’t rob stagecoaches.”

 “And why’s that?” Kid’s expression shifted, serious now.

“Ya know, when we sent Kyle into Kirwin, I didn’t think about how he’d interact with the townsfolk. One thing we don’t always take into account is how sensitive Kyle is about certain things.” Heyes shifted, and groaned with a frown, before saying, “He saw a little boy that reminded him of himself. Then he remembered an old lady with no food, the miners workin’ for three dollars a day… and it got him feelin’ guilty.”

“Guilty about what?”

“It was their money we took. Took the food right outta their mouths, according to Kyle.”

The whole idea settled in on Kid as he looked down. “Yeah. Not the kind of thing we can be proud of, is it?”

Kyle and Wheat returned to camp and went straight to the fire for food. Monty and Lobo grabbed their weapons and slipped out for their shift. Later, the camp fell quiet again. When Monty and Lobo returned, they woke Kid and Preacher, who rose wordlessly and took their stations.

Heyes had not taken any laudanum. His leg throbbed, burning and constant. Sleep would not come.

He lay there, staring into the dark, thinking about Kyle’s words, and rubbed a hand across his mouth.

Dang, but he’s right. It isn’t like Kid and I to take from folks who can’t afford it. If there are two principles we hold to, it’s this. Don’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it. And, don’t steal from people who work hard for what little they have.

We’ve broken both rules.

Now we’re stuck here—unable to travel, increasing the chances of getting caught. And with me not paying attention, and getting injured, I’ve put us all at risk.

All I wanted to do was build Kyle’s confidence. Wanted to give him a chance to shine. But it led to a few missteps, and it has awakened all this guilt in Kyle. Real guilt.

Putting his hands behind his head, Heyes closed his eyes, listening to the forest around him.

Nearby, Kyle laid down on his bedroll, closing his eyes, and sleep took him almost instantly.

But rest did not come easy to him.

Dreams took him—sharp, strange, and relentless—dreams.

In them, he saw that little boy again, barefoot and dusty, reaching out with pleading eyes. “Don’t take the money… our family needs it!”

Then there was a man, holding his wife close, voice low and broken. “I’m sorry, but I can’t even put the dollar away for the homestead. It’ll be another two weeks before we get paid. Not sure how much credit the store’s gonna give us this time…”

Next, came the little old lady—storming toward him with a rolled-up newspaper. “You ornery cuss! Took all my son’s money—how could you!?”

She chased him into the street, whacking him with the paper as he held his arms over his head.

And the street filled up—townsfolk closing in, voices rising, berating him, accusing him, surrounding him.

Heart pounding, Kyle yelped, bolting upright. He looked around the camp, disoriented, then saw Heyes watching him.

“Sorry, Heyes. Bad dream,” he muttered, embarrassed.

Heyes gave a soft smile. “I can imagine. So, tell me… what do you want to do about it?”

Still shaken, Kyle rubbed his face. “I don’t know. Can’t rightly take it back, can I?”

The outlaw leader did not answer, he closed his eyes again, the firelight flickering across his face.

Laying back down, Kyle stared up at the stars, trying to find sleep again.

The next morning, after breakfast, the gang gathered their gear and prepared to get Heyes on his horse.

Except, Heyes called them together. “Before we go,” he said, “I want to give everyone their share of the money.”

The group paused, surprised.

“Last night, Preacher and I counted it all out. Everyone’s share is right here.”

He handed Lobo his cut. Lobo walked off, already counting.

“Preacher. Monty. Wheat. Kyle. Kid.” Each man stepped forward, took his share, and tucked it into his saddlebag.

Then Heyes looked at Kyle. “One more thing. Kyle, come here.”

Kyle hesitated, unsure if he was in trouble again. But Heyes simply held out his own share.

“You go do what you need to do,” he said—knowing exactly what Kyle intended.

Eyes wide, heart thudding, Kyle took the money, grateful beyond words.

Staring with disbelief written all over his face, Kid asked, “What’d you do that for?

Heyes looked around at his group.

“Ya see, Kyle reminded me of somethin’ real important. I got so caught up in tryin’ to help him build his confidence… only he ended up teachin’ me a powerful lesson I’d forgotten.”

He paused, letting the words sink in.

“Kyle’s takin’ his share—along with mine—and headin’ back to Kirwin. Those folks need that money more than we do. Kid, can you help me up now?”

Kid stepped forward with the walking stick. He and Preacher each took an arm and pulled Heyes to his feet. He leaned on the stick, unsteady at first, pain etched across his face—but he managed to put a little weight on the leg.

Slowly, they assisted him to his horse and helped him mount.

Kid walked back to his saddlebag, pulled out his share, and handed it to Kyle. “Yeah… reckon it’ll do them more good than me.”

Followed by Preacher, saying, “The Bible teaches that one good turn deserves another. Guess this is in response to your good turn, Kid.”

Then, Monty stepped up and gave his share to Kyle.

Everyone watched Lobo as he looked down at the money, then at the faces of the gang. After a long moment, he sighed and handed his share to Kyle.

Kyle stuffed all the bundles into his saddlebag, eyes shining, “Thanks,” he said softly. “It’s just the right thing to do.”

A sly grin tugging at his lips, Heyes looked over at him. “Just don’t get caught takin’ it back.” Turning his horse, he started off.

One by one, the rest of the gang followed—except Wheat.

Wheat watched the Devil’s Hole Gang ride away, and then he turned to Kyle, who sat wondering why his friend had not moved.

“Let’s go, partner,” Wheat said. “I got a plan how we can get that money back to the townsfolk—and they’ll never know who did it.”

He aimed his horse toward town, and Kyle sat for a moment, letting the good feeling wash over him. He had made a choice. Done the right thing. And his best friend had chosen to go with him.

He squeezed his calves against Paycheck’s side and rode after Wheat, headed for Kirwin...

 

THE END