No Surrender!
By NellyPledge
“Cause once we made a promise we swore we'd always remember
No retreat, baby, no surrender
Blood brothers in the stormy night
With a vow to defend
No retreat, baby, no surrender
No retreat, baby, no surrender”
Bruce Springsteen
The day had started so well.
Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were in celebratory mood, having arrived in the little town of Lost Springs, Wyoming, to some very good news. Not only had they successfully completed their latest job for the Governor, but a telegram from Lom Trevors had been waiting for them.
Uncharacteristically, before settling their horses or checking into a hotel room, they headed for the nearest saloon to celebrate. Having got through half a bottle of the saloon’s best whiskey, and well on their way to becoming inebriated, they were about to raise their glasses for yet another toast when they froze at the unmistakeable sound of several guns being cocked. Looking toward the sound, they found themselves facing a number of men of various ages, all pointing guns at them in dangerously shaking hands. One, slightly in front of the others and wearing a deputy’s badge, spoke up.
“Well Charlie,” he said, without taking his eyes off Heyes and Curry, “is this them?”
An elderly man standing slightly behind the deputy, puffed out his chest importantly and declared, “Sure is Deputy, I’d know them two anywhere! Made my last run afore retiring the most exciting of darn near 30 years working that line. It was a few years back, but yeah, that’s Heyes and Curry alright!”
Deputy Mullings felt both nervous and excited. He had been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time, and bringing in Heyes and Curry would be the biggest moment of his life. People would see him in a whole new light. He would command respect rather than the scorn he usually encountered. Being not too bright or terribly brave, there had been nothing to distinguish him as a good lawman in the 10 years he'd been a deputy. Standing taller, and with a commanding voice, he ordered, “Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, I'm taking you in! Put your hands in the air and stand up, real slow.”
Whether it was the amount of alcohol Heyes had consumed, or complacency at their good news, but of all the times for Hannibal Heyes to do something without thinking, this was the worst. He started speaking as he reached across his chest to his shirt pocket.
“No, you’ve got it all wrong, we’re not...”
He felt the burn of the bullet a split second after the shot, but was not aware of a second shot being fired. All he heard was his partner's anguished cry and the sensation of being dragged backwards across the floor.
Kid Curry had simultaneously shot the gun from the deputy’s hand and caught his partner before he hit the floor. Taking advantage of the commotion that followed, Curry dragged Heyes out through the back door. With adrenaline-fuelled strength, he managed to get his now unconscious partner over the saddle of his gelding, jumped up behind him and galloped out of town.
_ _ _
Deputy Mullings regained control of the situation by firing a shot into the air.
“Come on men, let's get after 'em. They won't have got far. I hit one of ‘em right in the chest, he's a dead man for sure!” he yelled as they all scrambled through the door. Some followed Deputy Mullings to the livery while a number of others quietly melted back into the alleyways towards the safety of their homes. Nobody was keen to tangle with an angry, fully armed Kid Curry!
_ _ _
The bartender, Joe Mason, having witnessed the whole incident, spotted a piece of paper on the floor close to where the outlaw had been shot. It was a telegram and he shook his head in despair as he read it.
SMITH AND JONES.
GOOD NEWS. FULL AMNESTY GRANTED. ARRIVING ON 10AM STAGE 21ST WITH OFFICIAL PAPERS. MERRY CHRISTMAS. SHERIFF LOM TREVORS.
Joe groaned. What a day for Sheriff Barton to be out of town. He would have to meet the stage in the morning and could only hope that both lawmen were on it.
_ _ _
His mind in turmoil, not knowing if his partner was alive or dead, Kid Curry continued to push his tired gelding as fast as he could go. Heyes’ motionless body slung across the saddle in front of him caused Curry’s tortured mind into thinking that he had already lost him, and he fought to stifle the anguished sobs threatening to overcome him. Then it started to snow — the first few flurries quickly becoming a full-blown snowstorm. His worry for Heyes deepened further, as having removed his heavy wool coat just moments before the shooting, Heyes was now clad only in his blood-soaked shirt. Curry knew he had to find somewhere to shelter soon, but it was becoming more and more difficult to see in any direction. At that moment Heyes gave out a long, low moan and a violent shiver spasmed through him. He then became still once more. With some relief at the signs of life, Curry renewed his efforts to find somewhere to shelter. A couple of miles later he spied a small outcropping of rocks, the largest of which had a good-sized overhang, and he headed straight for it. Quickly dismounting he got Heyes to the ground as gently as he could. Looking worriedly at his partner’s pale face, bloodstained clothes, blue-tinged lips and now shivering body, he gently wrapped him in his bedroll and warm sheepskin coat and hugged him close until the shivering had abated.
Heyes was unconscious again when Curry uncovered him enough to examine the wound. He couldn't believe his partner was still alive with a hole in his chest until he noticed another wound in his forearm. The bullet must have lost some velocity going through his arm before hitting his chest. Curry cleaned and bound both wounds as best he could, then wrapped him up and held him close, trying to keep them both warm.
_ _ _
The somewhat depleted posse, more having turned back when the snowstorm hit, were catching up fast. As they rounded a bend, they spied Kid Curry’s forlorn horse, head down and tail to the wind, trying to shelter behind a tree. The deputy raised his bandaged hand and drew the posse to a halt.
“They can’t be far now men, we better dismount here. I reckon they’re holed up over there in them rocks,” he yelled above the storm. “No sense risking our lives against a gunman like Kid Curry. We’ll just wait ‘em out. If he’s not already dead, Hannibal Heyes will bleed out or freeze to death by the morning, and Curry won’t be far behind.”
_ _ _
All through the long, cold night an anxious Kid Curry spoke softly to his partner, willing him to open his eyes, pleading with him not to let go, to stay with him, and lamenting the fact that this should happen on the very day they learned that their hard-won amnesty had finally come through. He knew they were cornered; he could see the smoke rising from the posse’s fire. Knew they were waiting him out.
“What we need right now is a brilliant Hannibal Heyes plan; a miracle even,” he murmured as he kept vigil over his partner.
Sometime in the early hours, Heyes’ eyes slowly fluttered open. Kid Curry looked down into the pain-filled, unfocused brown eyes, reflections of his own hopelessness the only readable message.
“It's okay Heyes, I've got ya. Stay with me partner,” he soothed. Heyes’ only response was a convulsive shudder, a low moan and a deep sigh as he drifted back into unconsciousness.
The next time Heyes came to he looked directly into Curry’s worried blue eyes with surprising clarity. He clutched at Curry’s arm and pleaded, “You gotta leave me Kid; get away. Please. At least one of us can enjoy the freedom we worked so hard for.”
“I ain't leavin' you, Heyes! We made a promise to stick together always. If we go, we go together. Heaven, hell, prison or freedom.”
Seeing that Heyes was losing his grip on consciousness again and with tears running down his face he desperately pleaded with his partner. “Heyes, you stay with me you hear! Remember our promise! Don’t you dare leave me! We'll get out of this; I know we will, together like we always have.”
_ _ _
The next morning dawned bright and clear, the snow having stopped an hour or two before. The men in the posse huddled around the campfire, warming their hands on steaming mugs of coffee.
Deputy Mullings stood and turned to face the rocks, making sure to stay well out of range of Kid Curry’s gun.
“Hannibal Heyes. Kid Curry,” he shouted, “we got you tied down tight. Throw your guns out and come out real slow with your hands high. I know one of you is hurt bad and you must be half froze to death. We got a nice fire over here and hot coffee. You come out peaceable-like and we’ll get you warmed up and back to town to the Doc’s in no time.”
Kid Curry knew in his heart that the moment he showed himself he would be gunned down, so he answered with one well-placed bullet, which hit the ground far too close to the Deputy’s feet for the man's nerve to withstand. Whilst quickly scurrying backwards, he called, “Have it your way. Makes no difference to us — we got all day!”
_ _ _
Joe Mason was standing outside the stagecoach depot in plenty of time to meet the 10 o'clock stage, anxiously peering up the street for the first signs of its arrival. He gave a sigh of relief when, at just one minute past 10, he spotted the unmistakable sign of a fast-approaching cloud of flying snow.
The coach had barely come to a stop when he grabbed the door handle and yanked the door open. He was met with two startled faces, both wearing shiny tin stars, and he slumped with relief that one of those faces belonged to the town sheriff, Tom Barton.
Barely taking a breath he said, “Sheriff Barton, thank goodness you’re back. Hopefully, you’re in time to stop a whole bunch of townsfolk committing double murder."
As fast as he could, Joe told the Sheriff what had happened and showed him the telegram. As Sheriff Barton listened, he shook his head several times with increasing dismay.
“I already know about Heyes and Curry. My travelling companion here is Sheriff Lom Trevors. He’s told me the whole story,” he said jerking his head to indicate the stricken face of the wearer of the other tin star. “Didn’t Jack get a telegram yesterday? Sheriff Trevors tells me telegrams were sent to all law offices in Wyoming.”
“I checked with Harold, the telegrapher, and he confirmed that one was delivered to your office, but it's still on your desk unopened,”Joe answered.
Unable to contain himself any longer and getting increasingly worried about his friends, Lom jumped down from the stage and fired questions at Joe.
“How long ago was this? Which direction did they go? Are you sure that one was killed? Which one? Is there a doctor in town who can come with us?”
Before Joe could answer, Sheriff Barton began to set things in motion. Having all the necessary information from Joe, he sent him to get Doc Evans with instructions to meet them at the livery as soon as possible.
_ _ _
After riding for a couple of hours in the direction Joe had given them, the two sheriffs and the doctor saw the smoke from the posse’s fire in the distance and headed towards it at a gallop.
_ _ _
Having had no response from his periodic, goading remarks for some time, Mullings figured it was time to collect the two outlaws’ bodies. Making sure his fellow posse members were ready with guns drawn, he shouted across to the rocks.
“Throw your weapons out. We’re coming in!”
About to move with all guns blazing, they were stopped in their tracks by the sound of galloping horses and urgent shouts of “Stop — don’t shoot them!”
Recognising Sheriff Barton as he came to a skidding halt beside him, Jack Mullings beamed proudly at his boss.
“You're just in time Tom, we got Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry holed up over there. One of 'em I shot right in the chest, so he’s probably bled out by now. Anyhow, they’re likely both froze to death — we been waiting ‘em out, haven’t heard a peep from 'em for at least an hour.”
Not waiting to hear what the deputy had to say, Lom had already leapt from his horse, calling over his shoulder, “You better hope they’re still alive, otherwise I’ll be arresting you all for murder! Come on Doc, I think you’re gonna be needed.”
Deputy Mullings looked towards his boss, confusion replacing the broad grin on his face.
Sheriff Barton gave an affirmative nod. “He’s right Jack. Heyes and Curry were granted full amnesty by the Governor of Wyoming several days ago. If you’d opened the urgent telegram on my desk you would have known.” He ran to catch up with Lom and Doc Evans as they moved towards the rocks.
“Kid! Heyes!“ Lom shouted. “It’s me Lom, don’t shoot. You're safe now. The doc is with me - we’re coming in!”
Lom’s words barely penetrated the foggy mind of a semi-conscious Kid Curry, but nevertheless an instinctive wave of relief washed over him. Pulling his unconscious partner closer, he whispered into his cold wet hair, “Everything's gonna to be alright, Heyes — we got ourselves another miracle,” before passing out himself.
_ _ _
A few days later, on Christmas Eve, wrapped in heavy wool blankets and sipping whiskey laced coffee, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, sat companionably in front of the roaring fire in Lom’s cosy cabin.
Doc Evans had easily removed the bullet from Heyes chest as it had not penetrated deep enough to cause too much damage; its path having been slowed by first passing through Heyes’ forearm. Although he was sore and weak through loss of blood, and both partners felt they would never be warm again, they knew how lucky they had been, especially as Doc Evans had declared, “Another thirty minutes and you’d have been goners.”
While dancing lights from the fire reflected on their freshly washed hair, the partners smiled warmly at each other, daring to look forward to a brighter future as they celebrated their first Christmas together as free men.
THE END
