The Archimedes Screw

By Gemhenry

“I’m going now, Heyes.”

“I SAID I’M GOING NOW.”

With no response from the infamous leader of the Devil’s Hole Gang, Jed “Kid” Curry turned on his heels, slapped his hat on his head and stomped down the slope to his saddled horse.

Hannibal Heyes dragged his eyes away from the hot springs gurgling in the valley below the hideout and turned towards the retreating figure of his partner.

“Bye, Kid. Stay out of trouble.”  But the words were lost as Curry dug his heels into his mount and rode out of Devil’s Hole.

Heyes walked slowly back down the incline towards his cabin, his thoughts still on the springs below and the means of piping the hot water up to the Hole, in particular to his bathtub. These thoughts kept him busy for the next few days.

The night was drawing in as Heyes walked into the bunkhouse. His men were either playing cards or lazing in their bunks. Heyes’ gloved hand moved towards his nose to mask the variety of odours lingering in the cabin.

“No sign of the Kid?” he asked, trying not to breathe too deeply.

“We ain’t seen him, Heyes,” muttered Kyle, not looking into the leader’s eyes.  A mumble of assent followed on by some of the men.

“He should have been back yesterday.” Heyes drew his lower lip between his teeth as he contemplated the next action. “Hank.”

Hank’s head shot up from the cards he was holding.

“I want you to ride to Golden tomorrow and see if you can find him.  He’s probably dallying with one of the saloon girls so check the upstairs rooms.   Drag him back if you have to,” Heyes ordered forcefully.

Hank looked at Heyes in astonishment. “I’ll do my best, but it is Kid Curry we are talking about.”

“He won’t shoot his own men,” Heyes replied dryly.  May flatten you though, he thought to himself. 

Three days later, Heyes heard the three shots that announced someone was entering the hideout.  He walked onto the porch of his cabin ready to give his partner a dressing down. The rules applied to all gang members and unless Curry had a good reason for his delay he was no exception. But Hank was alone looking dirty and exhausted.  The outlaw jumped from his mount, hurried across the wooden bridge approaching Heyes with a worried look upon his face.

“The Kid’s in jail.”

“He’s what?” exclaimed Heyes.

“I rode straight through the night, Heyes.  It’s not looking great for Curry,” Hank replied.

Heyes guided Hank into the leaders’ cabin and sat him down, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of the good stuff from the top of the dresser. He filled the two glasses, handing one to Hank.

“Well?” Heyes asked softly, sipping his whiskey. He was hoping that the Kid had been arrested for fighting, which wasn’t unusual, and not because he had been identified as the Fastest Gun in the West.

Hank began, leaning forward and immediately dashed Heyes’ hopes, “He was recognized. The barman told me that an ex Sheriff from Bramberg was in the area on a visit to his daughter and he knew the Kid by sight.  The town was all a buzz knowing that Kid Curry was in jail, celebrating in all the saloons. I was bought two whiskeys and a beer.” He glanced at Heyes to judge his reaction, continuing, “A circuit judge arrives next week.”

 A very troubled Heyes started pacing, rubbing his hand over his chin.  “Did you see him?”

“No.  Guards everywhere, even on the rooftops; the Sheriff has deputized at least six more men.  He already had two deputies and of course, that visiting Sheriff is waiting to get the bounty. I didn’t hang around too long as they seemed to be questioning anyone new in town.” Hank placed his empty glass on the table, his eyes following Heyes’ movement from one side of the room to the other.

“Thanks Hank.  Gather the men together and let them know we ride out tomorrow.  I have some thinking to do,” said a shaken Heyes.

“You’d need an army,” muttered Hank as he exited the cabin.

“Aaww, not beans again,” Kid Curry exclaimed as he leaned forward from the cot he was occupying and gingerly pulled the plate towards him.  He had encountered ex Sheriff Wade Sawyer in the library.  Unfortunately as the young and pretty librarian was eagerly explaining to the Kid how the books were organized he hadn’t noticed the ex lawman quietly approaching them both. 

With Curry’s guard down his instinct for self- protection was lacking, when the first of many punches made contact with his face.  He had eventually been knocked to the floor, colliding with a bookcase on the way down. The library books scattered around the room and the Kid heard the librarian scream in vain for Sawyer to stop the assault but it continued with kicks to his ribs, stomach and head.

Luckily none of his ribs were broken although they were bruised and painful, causing his movements to be sluggish.   His right eye was swollen, his bottom lip split and his face covered in small cuts and grazes. Once in jail the elderly Sheriff had arranged for the Doctor to examine the prisoner, binding ribs and applying salve to the cuts and bruises.

“Ever heard of the eleventh commandment, son?” asked the Sheriff as the Kid dug his spoon into the beans. “When in the army or in jail, never complain about the food.”

“Then, it was good. Real good,” the Kid agreed with a smile. The Sheriff chuckled; he thought that Kid Curry would be a hardened gunslinger so it was with great surprise that he found him to be a very pleasant and amiable young man.

“Circuit judge will be here next week along with some US Deputy Marshals who will be accompanying you to Cheyenne,” said the Sheriff sadly.

“What happened to a man’s presumption of innocence until found guilty?” Curry asked innocently.

The Sheriff laughed.  “Miss Sawyer will be along with her blueberry pie soon.  She hasn’t spoken to her father since the incident in the library, and I can’t make my mind up, whether she can’t forgive him for the beating he gave you or if it’s for the mayhem he caused in her library.”

The Sheriff returned to his office, closing the door to the two jail cells behind him.

The Kid finished the barely warm beans before putting the plate down on the floor and lowering himself slowly back down on the cot. He wondered whether his partner was aware of his predicament.   He had exhausted any thoughts of trying to escape due to the additional lawmen brought in to guard him and to prevent a rescue attempt by the Devil’s Hole Gang. He realised that his future was looking very bleak.

He also believed that he wouldn’t survive twenty years in the Wyoming Territorial Prison.  He had heard the rumours and realized that he would become a target for other inmates and prison guards alike; they would all want a piece of the legendary gunman. But deep down the thought of not seeing his cousin again was what he feared the most.

The saloons and restaurants in Golden were always busy on a Saturday night as local ranch hands descended on the town but now with the notorious gunslinger Kid Curry in the jailhouse, there were many other visitors crowding into each establishment hoping to cash in on the carnival atmosphere.

One such man was Arthur Twirly, purveyor of ladies unmentionables and associated garments. Mr Twirly had arrived in town on the stagecoach from Denver. Although a fairly plump individual, he was well dressed in a tailored grey suit and a flamboyant red waistcoat could be seen underneath his jacket.    Round framed eyeglasses slightly hid the intelligent dark brown eyes that were scrutinising the town and its inhabitants. He had approached the proprietors of the General Store and the Ladies Dressmakers to sell his wares but both retailers had sent him on his way due to the smell of liquor emanating from his person.

 The salesman eventually settled down at a poker table in one of the saloons where he drank heavily and lost most of his hands. With his funds dwindling, Arthur Twirly decided to use a card trick that had helped him out on many previous occasions.

“You have company tonight, Mr Curry.” The Kid lifted his hat up from his face and looked up to see the sheriff pushing a man onto the cot in the adjoining cell before locking the door.

“This here is Mr Arthur Twirly, would you believe he is a seller of ladies’ undergarments,” the Sheriff added with a grin on his face.

“How many years in prison do you get for that?”

“None that I’m aware of,” replied the lawman, still smiling. “He was betting on the odds that he could make five pat hands if he was dealt twenty five cards from a pack and of course he couldn’t.  He hasn’t the money to cover the bet but says he will when the bank opens on Monday. We will see then, meanwhile I will leave you two to get acquainted, when he wakes up of course. Don’t frighten him, Mr Curry.” 

At the mention of the five pat hand card trick, the Kid had blown his cheeks out to suppress a smile as a small glitter of hope sneaked into his thoughts. He looked across at the occupied bunk but the occupant was lying face down unmoving.

Arthur Twirly heard the Sheriff lock the door adjoining the office and the cells and say his goodnight to the Deputy replacing him for night duty. Rising from the cot Twirly moved over to the bars of the adjoining cell.  There was enough moonlight filtering in through the small windows sitting high in the outside walls to light his way and placing his arm through the bars he gently shook the Kid’s shoulder.  Curry had been silently waiting and his patience was rewarded when he turned to look into the eyes of his best friend. 

Curry’s face lit up at the sight of his partner; his emotions clearly in view. As he started to speak, Hannibal Heyes placed a finger to his own mouth to silence him. 

“I have a plan to get you out but I need to know how badly you are hurt.  Can you ride?” Heyes asked quietly.

“Heyes, what are you doing here?  This place is full of lawmen. I don’t want you to risk it, what if they see through your disguise,” whispered Curry through the bars.

“Let me worry about that. Are you hurt?”

“I’ve been worse, Heyes. I can ride.”

Curry explained softly how he was arrested, the brutality of Wade Sawyer and the kindness of the Sheriff.  The Kid detailed what he knew of the deputies but Heyes had already established the location of the lawmen as several of the gang were already in position around the town. He had also arranged for some other friends to visit Golden.

“What I fail to understand Kid, is what you were doing in a library.”

“What’s the plan, Heyes?”Curry asked ignoring the previous comment.

“You’re gonna like the first part, Kid. Tonight we sleep and you can heal some more.”  Heyes gently squeezed Curry’s shoulder and moved back to his cot.  He was just relieved that his partner was not as badly injured as he was led to believe by the barman at the saloon who had heard about the beating firsthand from the bragging ex Sheriff Sawyer.

Breakfasts of beans and coffee were supplied by a Deputy to the two occupants of the jail.  Another Deputy held a gun on Curry who was sitting on his cot watching the movements of the two nervous men.  Heyes remained on the cot and let out a few snores to give the impression that Arthur Twirly was still sleeping off the excess drink and remained in that position for the rest of the day.

Miss Sawyer visited just after midday and produced from her basket a peach cobbler for the outlaw. She looked with disgust at the figure lying on the cot in the next cell. In the absence of the Sheriff, the Deputies would not leave her unaccompanied in the jail so her visit was shorter than usual. 

“Mr Curry, I thought you may be interested to read this journal. Obviously your plans are now changed but I thought you would find it helps to alleviate the boredom in here.” Miss Sawyer looked sadly into the blue eyes staring up at her. “I will visit again tomorrow.”

Sundays in Golden were usually very quiet; most town folk would attend the church service in the morning and then returned home. The Sunday which commenced with Kid Curry and Arthur Twirly residing in the jail was no exception until late afternoon when a stagecoach arrived in town. From every window waved a highly painted, colourfully dressed saloon girl.  Shouts of “Hi ya, honey” and “Come see me, baby” were called out to the deputies standing outside the jail and on the roofs of the Sheriff’s office and adjoining buildings.

 The stagecoach pulled up in the street and the Deputies all moved towards the front of the buildings to gain a better view. The girls waved and shouted, flirting outrageously with the men.  The two deputies on duty inside the jail opened the door and joined the other men leaning into the coach.  Other men pushed through the saloon doors and joined the group blocking the board walk.  Fifteen minutes later the stagecoach driver flicked the reins and the coach set off down the street and out of town much to the disappointment of the crowd of onlookers.

The Sheriff arrived at his office in the early evening to check on his deputies and his prisoners. The door to the cells was locked which he found surprising as this was normally kept open until later in the evening.  He took the key from his desk, unlocking the door and proceeding through to view two empty cells.  He strode over to the back door trying each cell door as he passed.  They were all locked. On the floor was an envelope which the lawman opened to reveal two hundred and thirty dollars and a note.

Sheriff

Thanks for taking care of the Kid for me.  This is the cash owed by Arthur Twirly. Never let it be said that Hannibal Heyes doesn’t pay his gambling debts.

HH

The Sheriff smiled and decided that he was getting too old for this job. He had become quite fond of Curry.

Hannibal Heyes was looking down the valley at the hot springs clutching the Science journal Kid had passed to him and in which was contained the answer to his conundrum, ‘The Archimedes Screw’. Now, he understood why his partner had visited the library.  But it would have to wait as tomorrow they would be riding out.

He walked down the slope to join his partner and best friend.