The hot August sun blazed down upon two weary riders as their horses trod listlessly along the faint game trail. Scrub oak and mesquite dotted the canyon floor. The rest of the sun–baked earth was sparsely covered with the stiff, bleached husks of long–dead grasses.
Kid Curry squinted his eyes against the relentless waves of heat as he scanned the hills ahead of him. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of another soul for five days and that had been a solitary traveler and his burro. Curry figured that they'd probably lost their pursuit a day or two before that. They had had to do some hard riding and a few desperate tricks to shake them, and the close call had put a bad scare into them. By tacit agreement, each day he and his partner, Hannibal Heyes, rode deeper into the wilds of northern New Mexico, seeking to put as much distance as possible between themselves and all signs of civilization. They were tired of being chased, tired of running, and tired of being constantly alert. They needed a break.
Curry glanced briefly behind him and noticed that Heyes hadn't changed his position in the last hour. With his hat low over his eyes and his head nodding in time with the slow gait of his horse, he snatched a nap to make up for the sleep lost during his midnight watches. Eyes forward again, Curry sighed. Always a worrier, the Kid was beginning to fret about his partner's condition. Heyes had lost his sparkle and had been unusually quiet lately. Both men were weary, but Heyes' fatigue seemed to come from the core. Curry hoped it was just one of the moody spells that gripped the older man from time to time — and nothing more.
The Kid pondered his problem as his eyes ceaselessly scanned the distant countryside. He was totally unaware when the chestnut mare he was riding walked obliviously over a heat–dazed rattler. The snake quickly gathered itself in time for the second horse and was just able to give a warning rattle before it lunged.
Heyes' bay reared, dumping its rider in the dust as the horse bucked in fright. Curry's own horse startled and leapt forward, but the Kid whirled his nervous mount around as Heyes' horse galloped past. He saw his partner lying stunned on his back as the coiled rattlesnake zeroed–in on the fallen man. In an instant, he drew and fired his pistol, the bullet catching the snake's head in mid–strike not two feet away from its intended victim.
"Heyes!" Curry yelled as he leaped off his horse and ran over to his partner. Picking up a stick, he used it to push the writhing remains of the rattler a safe distance away. Curry knelt beside his friend and noted with concern a dusty hoof print on Heyes' chest.
"Heyes?" he questioned uncertainly as his friend's wide brown eyes stared at his, dazed and slightly frightened. Curry rather imagined that waking up amid a wild melee of bucking horses, snakes and gunfire might shake even the strongest of personalities and he grasped Heyes' shoulder reassuringly. "It was just a snake that spooked your horse. Are you hurt?"
Heyes stared at him, mouth open, but no words coming out.
Puzzled and alarmed, Curry quickly unbuttoned the black shirt to investigate. As he stared at the hoof–shaped abrasion near Hannibal's right shoulder, he realized that Heyes wasn't breathing. "Musta' got the wind knocked out of you," he said. It had happened once to him and he remembered what Heyes himself had done to hurry along his recovery. Quickly, he reached down and placed his hands on each side of his partner's rib cage and squeezed a few times. "Come on, now. In with the good air," he muttered. Sure enough, Heyes finally took in a ragged breath and began to cough weakly.
The Kid sat back in relief. "You alright now?" he asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.
Heyes nodded as he curled onto his side, his hands coming up to his chest to cover the injury site.
Somewhat relieved, Curry patted his back and stood. "Look, I'd better go and fetch your horse before he gets too far away." He looked down at Heyes, the unasked question hanging in the air. When Heyes made a 'run along' gesture with his hand, the Kid felt reassured that his friend would be all right. He got on his horse and galloped after the errant mount.
As Heyes slowly got his breathing under control, he struggled to sit up. The fall had done more than knock the wind from him, for he had smacked the back of his head hard enough to see stars when he hit the ground. He felt dizzy now, but was determined to be standing when the Kid got back with his horse. He knew the Kid looked to him, depended on him, and he wanted to be strong and sound for him. More importantly, he didn't want the Kid fretting about him. When the Kid got into his mother hen mood, he could be downright pesky and Heyes didn't feel up to being annoyed at the moment.
He propped himself up with his left arm and waited for his right shoulder to quit aching so much and for his head to stop spinning. The headless snake twisted into view, its rattles shaking now and then as the dying body contracted reflexively. He stared sourly at it, feeling that his lot in life couldn't get much worse.
Of course, when Curry led his now–limping horse into view, he gloomily changed his mind.
* * * * *
It was decided that Heyes' bay had probably pulled a muscle — at least they hoped that's all it was. The horse would need a few days of rest to recover, but they were going to have to find a sheltered spot near some water before they could stop for any length of time. To lessen the injury, the Kid decided they should ride double on his horse. Curry gathered the reins of the injured bay, then mounted his horse, offering Heyes his stirrup and his arm. As his partner settled in behind him, the rattler buzzed briefly again and the horse shied slightly. Heyes wrapped one arm around Curry's waist and wedged his other hand under the Kid's belt.
"That reminds me," Hannibal said as he scooted closer. "Thanks."
The Kid was baffled. "For what?"
Heyes smiled. "For all those times you drove me crazy practicing your fast draw."
Curry laughed and kicked the horse forward. Grinning, he said, "Heyes, half of the fun was seeing how peeved I could get you." He twisted in the saddle till he could see his partner. "Yup. That's the expression alright!"
* * * * *
Hours later, they came to a wide river. After resting and watering man and beast alike, they turned upstream and headed into the mountains. When the river forked, they picked the smaller tributary rushing out of a steep and nearly hidden canyon. The passageway constricted down to a narrow bottleneck and the water gushed through forcefully, causing the horses to nearly refuse to continue on the narrow path. Once clear of the mouth, the ex–outlaws felt like they had entered a lush and secluded garden.
The canyon wasn't that big — maybe a half mile across and three or four miles long and the river wound its way snake–like down its relatively flat bottom. The west side of the canyon was a rock face that rose vertically and gave no purchase to anything, even plants, while the east side, through quite steep, was covered with pine and mesquite growing amidst soil so loose it was basically a slide area.
After exploring their immediate surroundings, the partners chose a meadow that was cradled in a bend of the river for their camp. Curry unsaddled the horses and gave them a quick, but thorough rub down with some twists of grass while Heyes fashioned some hobbles for the horses.
Their animals thus cared for, they quickly went about setting up camp. When Curry straightened from building the fire pit, he noticed Heyes standing with a bar of soap in his hand as he eyed the river. He ambled over to his partner and pushed his hat back on his head.
"Don't tell me it's Saturday night already!" he joked. In reality, both he and Heyes enjoyed baths and being low on cash was the only thing that kept them from indulging as often as they liked — that, and being on the run.
Heyes turned and grinned. "Kid, not only is it time for your monthly bath, the local laundry is running a special — all clothes are cleaned free today."
"Well, you can't get much cheaper than that," Curry drawled, pleased to see his partner smiling. "I guess I'd better get them all done."
"Good idea. It'll stay pretty warm tonight, I think. That'll give 'em plenty of time to dry."
"And us too," Curry said as he started unbuckling his gun. "Last one into the water is a Bannerman agent!" he challenged. At that, he ran down the riverbank, shedding his boots and gun as he went, and Hannibal Heyes was just a half step behind him all the way.
An hour later they both lay naked, basking on the grass with their clothes and long–johns spread out to dry on the rocks below. Even though it was late afternoon, the sun was still hot and it roused Curry from the light doze he'd fallen into. He felt boneless from the heat, unable to do more than breathe in the heady scent of the delicate wild flowers as he listened to the steady buzz of an industrious honey bee. Glancing over at Heyes, he noticed a faint red hue to the pale skin. Come to think of it, his own skin was feeling a little tight, too. The memory of past sunburns and knowing how irritable Heyes would get if his sit–upon got painfully burnt finally prodded him into action. He stood and walked over to his partner, intending to nudge him awake, but he stopped when he saw that even in sleep, Heyes' shoulder were nearly up around his ears. Curry had long ago noticed that the more tense and agitated Heyes got, the higher his shoulders went up. It was a infallible barometer to how his partner was feeling, and it looked like Heyes had yet to relax. Well, Curry knew a cure for that.
He stepped over Heyes and sat on him, resting his butt on his friend's rump and letting his knees tighten on either side of Hannibal's chest.
Heyes started and tried to push up. "What?" he yelped as he collapsed back down, securely pinned beneath his partner.
"Just relax now, Heyes," the Kid soothed as he started to massage his back. "You're gonna get a shoulder rub whether you like it or not."
Heyes took a breath to protest Curry's high–handed treatment and order him off, but changed his mind as the Kid dug firm thumbs into his neck.
Hey!…Ouch…not so hard…."
The Kid kept working. "Come on, Heyes. Loosen up. You know this wouldn't hurt if you weren't so tense. Help me out a little here."
"Mm." It was little more than a grunt, but it sounded like a more relaxed grunt to the Kid. He smiled to himself and settled in to his task.
Concentrating on the lean body beneath him, he became more and more aware of the smoothness of Heyes' skin and of the warmth where their bodies touched. He leaned forward to reach his partner's neck again and, with his palms flat, made firm circular patterns down his back towards the base of the spine. He became aware that this movement caused his balls to slide against Heyes' back. It felt good, and without hesitation, he repeated the gesture. In a blink of an eye, the friendly backrub had become a sensual and erotic experience. Now with each touch to his partner, Curry could feel a tingle in his hands, and the sensation aroused him. The Kid paused, consciously biting back a groan as he felt the painful sweetness of his member swelling.
Heyes was quite relaxed now, but he still noticed the hesitation and he asked dreamily, "What's up?"
The Kid's eyes rolled at his friend's choice of words. "I don't think you want to know," he said tightly.
You couldn't live in a man's back pocket as his partner for six years without getting to know every mood of that man, especially when you were as observant and sharp as Heyes was. He knew immediately the source of the Kid's discomfort, particularly as he was experiencing a similar problem himself. The Kid's movements had pressed his groin rhythmically into the soft earth, stimulating his young body with memories of past delights. And Heyes even knew the cause of Curry's reluctance to admit what was troubling him: it was his concern for Heyes himself.
A small smile played at the corner of Heyes' mouth as he fondly remembered past times he and Curry had allowed the love they felt for each other to have physical expression. The Kid was a man who saw things simply. Even though he was attracted to ladies of every shape and size, he also loved Heyes and to him, it didn't matter one bit that Heyes was a man. Curry believed in goodness and he knew love was good. Therefore, loving Heyes also had to be good. It was as simple as could be for the Kid: A loving God would approve of any manifestation of love.
Heyes, on the other hand, was a couple of years older than the Kid and those years had been hard ones. The killing of his parents and the years spent on his own in his late teens and early twenties had taught him cynicism. He'd seen the evil side of men's souls. True, he'd lived through it and had gained a great deal of insight into the human condition because of it, but the cost had been his basic trust in his fellow man. Heyes knew trust was only dangerous when you had to depend on it, so he always made damn sure that he had Plan B ready. His cynical side would only stare with a sad lack of disappointment as, more times than not, it had proven to be the correct assessment of a situation. It was a reality that made him aloof and distant to most people, while on the surface still appearing to be friendly.
But Heyes did love the Kid. One of the things he loved most about him was the Kid's faith in his fellow man. Curry wasn't stupid, so he guarded against their unpredictable nature, but deep down he still trusted them. That attracted Heyes, for it was something he had lost and still secretly longed for.
Heyes also loved Curry's basic goodness, and that's where the conflict appeared. Heyes had been taught by church and state that sex between men was bad. He'd had some earlier experiences that reinforced the point. Being on your own as a good–looking young man of slight build, with only a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue to defend yourself with while traveling in unsavory circles proved to be a poor mixture on a few occasions. Heyes had trouble getting past the notion that even though he longed for Curry's love and warmth, it might be wrong — not for him, but for the Kid. Heyes had a deep suspicion that the being who was in charge of everything was not the all–loving God the Kid believed in, but a vengeful and merciless one. It made Heyes feel that, for himself, he might be past redemption, but he still feared for Curry and felt guilty that perhaps having sex with him might be corrupting the younger man.
But there were still the occasional days when Heyes could quit worrying about tomorrow and just enjoy the present. Lying in the cool, sweet grass with the comfortable heaviness of Curry sitting on him while the tension was worked from his muscles helped to convince Heyes that today was one of those days, and he could give into it with all the hedonistic pleasure he usually kept under rigid control.
"I thought we had a deal, Kid," he stated neutrally, "I'm the one that's supposed to do all the thinking." He hesitated a moment and then continued, his voice very grave. "So, I'll tell you what I do want."
"Yeah?" Curry drawled when Heyes didn't finish.
Hannibal twisted his head around until he could see the Kid's face. "Yes. I want you to make love to me. Here. Now," he said seriously.
Curry's face broke into a wide, delighted smile. "Now, that's what I call a good idea!"
A pleasure shared, particularly a naughty one, was a pleasure doubled. A wide, roguish grin lit Heyes' face as he chuckled devilishly, "Ain't it the truth!" Eagerly, he twisted around until he was lying face up.
Curry leaned forward and rested his hands on the ground to either side of Hannibal's head. He bent down slowly, enjoying the suddenly serious expectation in his partner's face and stopped, hovering just inches above Heyes. Hannibal licked his lips with anticipation and waited. Curry grinned and quickly gave his partner a playful peck on the nose.
Heyes' startled look turned into a scowl. "If you want something done right…." he said, snaking his arms up behind Curry's back and pulling the larger man down on top of him. He captured the Kid's mouth in a kiss that quickly grew into hot passion. It had been too long since either of them had had an intimate encounter and their sexual energies caught fire like dried brush.
One of Curry's hands snaked down Heyes' side to his thigh, then back up to his neck and through his hair, while the other hand found a nipple and rubbed and pulled at it. God, how touching Heyes could excite him! Curry's hips bucked reflexively, thrusting his cock against Hannibal's hip.
"Yes…."Heyes moaned as he moved his kissed to the Kid's neck. He brought his own hand down to rub and knead Curry's butt, bringing them closer together. He began to move rhythmically, rubbing himself against Curry's stomach, letting the heat and exquisite feeling build up between them. "Oh, yes…." he repeated, as both of them began to fuck harder, striving blindly for the sweet release that finally came. They convulsed as their seed spurted out, first the Kid then Hannibal.
Curry allowed his head to rest limply against his partner's shoulder, aware of the faintly musky odor of Heyes' suddenly sweat–soaked curls. Spotting the hoof–shaped bruise on his chest, the Kid tenderly kissed it before he rolled off, still breathing hard from their fast and furious lovemaking. Staring up into the bright blue sky, he reached down and wiped the sticky fluid from his penis and stomach. He lay his other hand on his partner's chest and slowly caressed him, relaxing in the afterglow.
Turning his head so he could see Heyes, he said earnestly, "You know, I wish we could do this more often."
But the flawless blue sky above Heyes suddenly made him feel very exposed and uncomfortable. His desire and passion sated, Hannibal was now too aware that they had made love in bright daylight and in the open for all to see. Too much like tempting fate, their boldness unsettled him and stirred up his doubts again. He captured the Kid's hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the palm for a long time before he placed it back on his chest. "I know," he said softly, unable to say the words the Kid wanted to hear.
Curry sighed and stared up at the sky again. He didn't really understand why Heyes was the way he was. He just was and that was it. Curry wasn't good at unraveling complicated knots, and sometimes Heyes was as knotty as a person could get.
Hannibal heard the disappointment in the Kid's sigh and hazarded a glance over at him. Even from this angle, he could see the Kid's brow furrowed in thought. Curry didn't deserve so much trouble in return for the love he so freely gave and Heyes resolved to try to make it up him later. But for now, there were chores to be done and those tasks would serve to break up the suddenly melancholy mood.
He kissed the Kid's hand again and said, "I think we got time for one more swim before we need to get dinner started."
The Kid grunted noncommittally.
Heyes knew the Kid was almost always hungry and he persisted in the same vein. "If we're lucky, fresh fish is on the menu for tonight, but only if we get a move on."
The Kid gave another sigh and sat up. "Alright, Heyes. Let's go."
* * * * *
Night had fallen, but the temperature remained hot. The humidity had increased, bringing a heaviness to the air about them. Neither man had bothered to get dressed again; it was too comfortable being without clothes. They had just finished eating and now lay relaxed around the campfire.
Feeling like he was being watched, Heyes glanced over at Curry and saw him quickly look away. Hannibal looked back up into the night sky again and saw yet another fiery trail as a falling star burned out its existence. He wondered briefly how anything could burn when the air felt damp enough to wring out.
"Feels like thunderstorm weather. By the looks of how deep the riverbed's cut, I reckon the flash floods come down it with a vengeance."
"We'll be safe up here," the Kid said after a pause.
A few minutes went by before Heyes tried again. "Sure is a lot of shootin' stars tonight. But I guess there is every August."
"I guess." Curry stood up, dirty plate in hand. "I think I'll go down to the river and wash up." The tightness was back in his voice again, and the blond man started to walk away, turning quickly from Heyes.
"Oh." So that's what was bothering him and the Kid wanted some privacy. Well, he guessed now would be a good time to make it up to Curry.
Heyes held up his plate. "Here, do mine too while you're at it."
Curry paused, then walked back to Heyes. In the firelight, Hannibal could see that Curry's penis was engorged and lengthening. The Kid stopped in front of Heyes with just a hint of a confrontational attitude, or perhaps it was resignation — the Kid had such a good poker face, it was hard to tell.
Heyes took in the full sight of the Kid standing there. The golden light of the fire made his body glow with warmth and strength, its wavering illumination etching out in sharp clarity his well–defined muscles. There was no doubt in Heyes' mind why so many women fell for the Kid; the man had a classical beauty to him and was undeniably attractive. With his golden body and blond curly hair, he was a vision from the light, just as Heyes sometimes felt he belonged to the darkness.
He pushed himself up on his knees and held out his free hand for the Kid's plate. "That can wait," he said.
Curry, suddenly hopeful, stepped up and handed his dish to Heyes, who tossed both plates to the ground.
"Come closer," Heyes ordered, reaching out with both hands for Curry's hips.
The Kid felt his heart start to race. Speech wasn't the only thing that Heyes could use that silver tongue of his for — he'd picked up a few tricks from some of the more talented saloon gals. The Kid stepped up to him and when his partner lay his head against his stomach in a hug, he cradled and stroked the long, dark hair and whispered, "Thank you."
"My pleasure," Heyes whispered back. Then he leaned his head down and kissed the now erect cock. "Believe me, the pleasure's all mine."
Curry arched his back as Heyes ran his tongue back and forth along his penis. When Heyes engulfed the organ and began to suck in earnest, Curry gasped out, "That's what you think, Heyes!"
* * * * *
Unknown to them, a pair of eyes was watching hungrily from high up on the eastern side of the canyon. Willie D'Spear was a lone prospector who had been on his own for way too long. He'd found an abandoned mine in the canyon that had some promising ore. He had worked it by himself for over a year now, stopping only for brief visits to a distant town where he traded in his dust for enough supplies to last another few months. Being alone was hard on most folks, but a solitary schedule of hard work and frustrated dreams had done nothing for Willie's state of mind, which hadn't been all that stable to begin with.
He stepped out of his mine for a break when he spotted the campfire glow. Visitors to the canyon below had only been by once before that he knew of and he figured that these ones wouldn't stay long either. Secretive by nature, he started to turn to go back inside when the men's shadows on the rock wall opposite him caught his attention. At first he couldn't make heads or tails out of what they were doing, then the reasons for their positions became clear to him with a rush.
"What the…!" he muttered and scooted along the faint trail that ran along in front of the mine until he could see the men themselves. Sure enough, they were both naked and one was on his knees in front of the other, touching him in intimate and forbidden ways. "Damn!" he said, shocked. He knew he was witnessing pure wickedness and it unsettled him, but it was also mesmerizing and exciting. Uncertain of what to do next, he settled down to watch.
* * * * *
Heyes could tell if he kept up this pace the Kid would be finishing soon, and that would be too early for Heyes. He drew back off of Curry's penis and bent down a little, kissing and laving its base, a spot of particular sensitivity he had discovered on his partner. The Kid groaned, shuddering in response, and Hannibal smiled. Still, he stopped that too, because he wanted something more tonight than just a good time with completion. He eyed the Kid's cock as it strained tautly at him, glistening and flushed in the hot tones from the firelight. It was beautiful, full of power and vitality, and he desired it. He wanted the Kid closer yet — he needed to feel him within himself tonight.
Heyes pulled back and stared up at Curry, his eyes black with the love he felt. He rubbed the Kid's thigh and stomach with one hand while he left the other wedged in between Curry's buttocks.
"Why'd ya stop?" the Kid murmured as he gazed back at Heyes, fully aware that he was becoming totally lost in the love and warmth that shone from his lover's eyes.
"Well, I thought you might like a choice," Heyes said, his face full of trust. "If you'd like, you can take me tonight," he offered.
Curry was near bursting with the desire for just that, but he hadn't dared to ask. True, they had done it that way a few times before, and while Curry felt it was the most satisfying sex he'd ever had, he worried about Heyes — did it hurt him or did he enjoy it? He just never felt comfortable asking for something that might cause Heyes any distress, but now it was being offered freely.
He stroked Hannibal's hair and said softly, "I'd like that very much, but are you sure?"
Heyes gave a lopsided grin at the Kid's concern. "Well, thanks for asking, but of course I'm sure. You're nice and slick now so don't go worrying that you're gonna hurt me."
The Kid raised his eyebrows, his face full of innocence. "Me? Worry?"
Heyes smiled at the dodge and said, "I promise I'll let you know if it hurts, all right?"
Curry tousled Heyes' hair and grinned fondly. "All right," he agreed. "You talked me into it!"
Heyes kissed Curry's rod again and said, "I figured I probably could." He turned around and settled on his hands and knees.
Curry knelt down behind him and gripped his friend by his hips while he inched up closer. With his thumbs, he spread Heyes, positioned himself and began to push in. When Heyes squirmed and groaned, the Kid stopped.
"No, no, don't stop. It feels good," Heyes said as he shifted, pushing back against Curry's firmness.
Reassured, the Kid slowly continued. Fully sheathed, the only thing he was aware of was the heat and pressure on his throbbing cock, and the love he felt for the man who could make him feel this way. He pulled out some and slowly pushed in again. He reached down to find Heyes' cock and was surprised and excited, pleased to find him fully erect. He pulled on the organ at the same time he made his next thrust and was rewarded by another throaty groan from his friend as Hannibal twisted, tensing his muscles around the Kid's cock. Yes, Curry had Heyes right were he wanted him, and he was going to keep him there as long as possible. Tonight, he was going to go slow, pouring as much love and pleasure into Hannibal Heyes as was humanly possible.
* * * * *
Up on the canyonside, Willie felt his penis go rock hard when the blond man entered the dark–haired one. "Damn!" he said again, reaching down to rub his pulsating organ through his canvas trousers. His momma had always slapped his hand when he'd been caught doing this as a young'un, but he was alone now. Even still, he cast a guilty gaze around the area before continuing his rubbing and watching. His eyes were glued to the dark–haired man and he stared intently at him, noticing his every movement as the man slowly writhed with apparent enjoyment at the wickedness that was being done to him.
When the dark–haired man went down on his elbows, hands grasping spasmodically at the blanket beneath him while his head rolled and tossed about, Willie climaxed, shooting sperm into his pantleg. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have that man in front of him right now! Or maybe even better, if he had him in the mine, available to serve his needs whenever they became too pressing. Startled, he held that thought longer, giving it serious consideration as his lust–filled eyes hungrily watched the dark–haired figure again. It was obvious that the man was a wanton, anyway.
The idea was so attractive that it kept Willie up all night, long after the two men below were asleep in each other's arms. Willie got his gun and broke it open, polishing the long–neglected weapon as he planned and waited for daybreak.
* * * * *
It had been light for over an hour when the Kid woke up. The canyon was deep enough that the sun's direct rays hadn't yet reached their camp, and the dawn's dewy chill lay heavily about. He was warm though, mainly because Heyes' arms and legs were all tangled up with his. Hannibal was sleeping with his head on Curry's chest, his left arm thrown over the Kid's torso, hugging him like he was a pillow. It pleased the Kid immensely to find him so. He lay quietly for many minutes, enjoying the intimacy with a contentment that only close contact with Heyes could bring him. Only when the pressing need to empty his bladder became unignorable did he begin to softly stroke Heyes' back.
Hannibal mumbled contentedly and burrowed in a little closer.
"Heyes," the Kid called quietly. "Time to get up." He continued his tender caresses.
Eyes still closed, Heyes sighed. "You sure?" he asked, somewhat resigned. He was never at his best in the early morning.
"It's not a case of want to, but have to," Curry explained.
"Oh." Heyes sleepily pushed up off Curry and blinked his eyes clear as he checked out their camp. The scene was so idyllic, he cleared his throat and said, "Nice little place, isn't it?"
Curry sat up and stretched. "Real nice," he agreed. "What would you say about us staying here for a few days or more while we wait for your horse to heal up?"
Heyes nodded. "Yeah. This place could be just what we needed."
Curry smiled fondly at his partner. "Oh, I'm sure of it."
* * * * *
It was midday when Curry strapped his holster over his trousers and pulled on his boots. He had been relaxing with Heyes under the wide canopy of a shady oak when he began to feel a little restless. "What do you say to a little fresh meat for dinner?"
Heyes laid the book he was reading down on his chest. He was also wearing just his pants, the heat had been enough to keep the both of them shirtless till now. "What do you have in mind?"
"I saw some rabbit holes near the mouth of the canyon," the Kid said as he pulled on his shirt and tucked it in.
Heyes looked interested. "Roasted or stewed?"
Curry shrugged and looked about at the nearby greenery. "You could stay here and look for some wild potatoes or such while I'm gone. Stew sounds pretty good to me."
"True, but have you been noticin' those thunderheads above the mountains? Remember you have to cross the river by those rocks to get downstream."
Heyes was referring to an area just below their camp where the river widened out and became relatively shallow. A man on foot could hop across the well–placed stones and not even get wet, but that was assuming the river didn't rise any.
Curry shrugged. "I'm not gonna be gone that long. Besides, rabbit stew sounds worth the risk — I'm tired of beans. Don't you get tired of beans?"
Heyes sighed. "Kid, some days I think I'm gonna wake up and find out I've turned into one."
* * * * *
When Willie saw the blond man go off down the canyon, he knew the time to act had come. Very quietly, he made his way down a well–hidden path to the valley floor, holding his loaded pistol in one hand and a couple of lengths of rope in the other.
* * * * *
An hour later, Heyes stood on the river bank and watched with concern as the water level rose. It had gone up nearly a foot in the last ten minutes, the clear placid water now brown and churning as it accepted the runoff of a summer's cloudburst. He looked up into the sky and fretted even more about the black thunderhead that was moving directly over the valley. He'd heard a couple of gunshots about a half hour earlier and he figured the Kid ought to be coming into view any minute now. If he didn't arrive soon, Curry was going to be stranded by the flood waters.
Which was a real shame because Heyes had managed to find some vegetables. He had cleaned them up and now had them safely piled up under the tree. He'd found some wild potatoes, cattails, and even a stand of corn that had a few ears on it that were close enough ripe to be edible. Their coffee pot was now full of wild berries soaking themselves clean in the cool river water. The Kid would be pleased when he returned, but if it wasn't soon, the rabbit stew would have to wait until tomorrow when the river would be safer for him to cross.
The wind started to pick up, and the trees began to sway and creak. A few big raindrops hit the leaves above Heyes as he anxiously moved closer to the river, his eyes glued to the path Curry had taken as he tried to will him into view.
The sudden sound of a pistol being cocked froze Heyes where he stood, but his eyes shot over to where his gun belt lay on a nearby rock. It was perhaps ten feet away and in plain sight, but it was too far to be any good to him. He lifted his arms slowly away from his body and waited, hoping that whoever had drawn a gun on him wanted him alive.
"Git down on yer belly now!" The voice came from directly behind Heyes and sounded quite agitated.
"All right…." he soothed, keeping his voice low and calm as he slowly got down on his hands and knees.
A booted foot kicked him in the thigh, sending him sprawling. "All the way down!" The voice was higher pitched and definitely more excited. "Now put yer hands behind yer back," he ordered.
Heyes complied and in short order his wrists were tied securely together. Now that he couldn't be considered a threat, he tried talking to his captor.
"Look, I don't mean to be telling you your business, but I think you may have made a mistake," he stared reasonably.
"I think if'n you keep to talkin', the mistake'll be yers."
Heyes grimaced to himself, but he kept quiet. The man didn't sound too bright and Heyes didn't want to push his luck. Besides, he still had the Kid as an ace up his sleeve. Maybe he could distract the man when the Kid showed up.
"Yessir–ee," the man said and stepped past Heyes toward the river.
Heyes twisted his head to get a better view, then he groaned. The Kid had come into sight and he was holding a gutted rabbit in each hand. It was raining harder and he was concentrating on hopping the stones, some of which had disappeared beneath the turbulent water. It was obvious that, in his haste, he hadn't looked over to the camp yet.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw his scruffy captor raise his pistol and take aim.
"NO!" he shouted as he rolled to his side and kicked out with his legs, tagging Willie behind the knee and causing him to sway.
Angry, Willie turned and booted Heyes, catching him in the head just above the ear. The blow stunned the ex–outlaw and he lay still, a roaring filling his ears.
The Kid had been teetering on a partially submerged stone, close to losing his balance when he thought he heard Heyes call out. He recovered and looking up, he saw a large, burly man pointing a gun at him from the river bank. Shocked by the sudden danger, he dropped the rabbits and went for his fast draw.
Heyes heard the thunderous explosion of Willie's gun as it went off…and he saw the Kid go down, falling into the flood waters of the river.
"KID!" he yelled, struggling to sit up. Nausea hit him and he fell to the side, vomiting. He was frantic to try to see the Kid, but he couldn't move from where he lay helpless on the ground. A shadow fell over him and he squinted up at it, his vision blurry. He could only see that it was man–shaped. As its hand reached down towards his throat, Heyes' vision dimmed entirely and he blacked out.
The whole thing went as smooth as Willie thought it would and now he was anxious to get his prize safely to his mine. He watched the brown turbulent waters of the river for a minute, gun in hand as he waited for the blond man to surface, but he never did. Willie laughed and slapped his thigh, pleased at his accuracy.
"Got 'im first try!" He walked over to his captive and leaned down, placing his hand on the bare chest, greedy to feel the young flesh. He watched as the dark brown eyes slid closed. "Just like imma gonna git you too," he promised as he leered at the now unconscious man and felt the beginnings of an erection.
His hand trailed down till it reached Heyes' belt and he fingered the buckle, deciding whether he could wait until he got him home. The rain was still coming down hard, and Willie decided he didn't like the light and openness here. Shoving the gun in his waistband, Willie grabbed the belt and one arm, easily hefting the slim stranger over his shoulder. With a shrug, he settled his load and started uphill, carefully following the barely discernible path to his mine.
When he reached the mine, his penis was painfully hard. He dumped his wet burden onto the mess of empty flour sacks and dried hay that he used as his bed and fell to his knees beside him. His captive groaned when he hit, the impact waking him somewhat. Willie's cock throbbed as he pulled at the young man's belt and fumbled at the fastenings of the trousers. He grabbed the garment at the hips and yanked, pulling it completely off. The sight of all that pale nakedness made his balls contract and he jerked his prisoner onto his stomach. Spreading the young man's legs apart with his knees, he unbuttoned his own fly. He couldn't contain himself any longer and he threw himself down, fumbling with the damp body beneath him as he thrust blindly against his prisoner. His excitement was intense as he penetrated, and he thrust harder, distantly hearing a yelp. Feeling his captive tense and squirm, Willie gripped him hard, giving a final brutal pump as he climaxed.
The fall had jolted Heyes back to consciousness. Distantly aware of his pants being tugged off, he was floating in a numbing haze and felt no connection to the action. He felt movement, then a sudden heavy weight. The dry penetration was a sharp pain and he cried out. The burning hurt continued as his rapist went deeper and Heyes tried to fight, struggling weakly. The weight on him increased as he felt the molten liquid spurt inside him. Then the assault was over as quickly as it had begun and his attacker left him, shoving him roughly aside. The numbing haze returned and Hannibal slid back into oblivion.
* * * * *
The second and third attacks weren't much different. The harsh handling and sudden pain would wake Heyes and he resisted as best he could, but with his hands tied behind him and his mind still muzzy, there was very little he could do.
The fourth time he awoke, it was naturally. He lay quietly and tried to piece together what had occurred, hampered only slightly be a moderate headache.
His eyes tried to pierce the darkness that surrounded him, but all he could be sure of was that he was in a mine or a cave — the complete and utter silence plus the cool air convinced him of that. He felt the straw and cotton bags he lay on and twisted somewhat to ease the strain on his arms. From the ache in his shoulders and judging from how thoroughly numb his arms were, he estimated that he may have been tied up for a day already. He rolled onto his stomach as he tested his bonds and grimaced — both at how tight the ropes were and the sour smell of sweat and urine that lingered in the bedding.
The movement made him aware of something on his ankle. With his other foot, he felt about and found himself tied by a heavy rope. He tested it without success, for whatever it was tied to was very secure. Inching backward on a hunch, he discovered the wall the bedding lay against and pushed himself up into a sitting position. His exertions did little to remove the chill that caused his limbs to ache dully. He was no longer wet, but without any clothes, the cold had seeped into his bones. He curled his feet under as he tried to warm up his legs, and settled down to do some serious thinking.
Laying his head against the wall, he cast his mind back, trying to recall what he could about the shooting. The Kid had been maybe two hundred feet away; and easy shot for someone proficient with a gun — Heyes could have done it himself. But how good was the maniac that did it? Heyes hoped he wasn't that good. Plus, Hannibal hadn't seen any blood on the Kid. His analytical side stated that it happened so fast, blood wouldn't necessarily be visible, and that his blurred vision would make that information unreliable anyway. His desperate side protested, pointing out how slippery the rocks must have been and that the Kid may not have been shot at all — maybe he just fell, off–balanced.
He sighed and thumped his head against the wall as he tried to figure the odds, ignoring his headache. The bottom line was that if Curry had escaped the bullet, where was he? At least a day had gone by and Heyes was still a prisoner. He knew Curry and he knew if he was able, the Kid would have freed him by now. Unless he had tried and failed when Heyes was unconscious. Or maybe he was wounded, lying hurt and bleeding somewhere in the wilderness. That possibility frightened Heyes and he tugged at his bonds again. He had to get out of here, not just for himself, but more importantly, he had to find out about the Kid!
But the bindings held tight. Heyes sighed in frustration and continued to tap his head as he tried to fit what he knew into some sort of equation — tried to come up with an answer that wouldn't make his stomach ball up into a lump of ice. The Kid had to be alive, and that was all there was to it. He had to.
Except Heyes knew he didn't have to at all. Kid Curry, perhaps the fastest shot alive and unparalleled in accuracy could indeed be lying dead, bushwhacked by a crazed miner who wanted Hannibal Heyes, one of the most talented bank robbers around and blessed with a mind as brilliant as the diamonds he used to steal — for nothing more than a body to be raped. Of all the bad ends Heyes had imagined for them, this hadn't been one of them.
He shifted to one side as the ache in his backside became more uncomfortable. There was nothing he could do about it though, and he tucked his legs further underneath himself and waited for the return of his kidnapper. The man would have to have a lantern and maybe with the light, Heyes would be able to see some way out of his fix.
* * * * *
Even though Heyes couldn't see it, a fiery sunset was painting the cloud–filled sky an angry blood red. Curry sat under the oak tree at their camp and felt close to despair. He was oblivious to the vivid color overhead, he only knew that the light would soon be gone and with it his chance to search further for his partner.
The last twenty–four hours had been hell on earth for Curry. He had been shot, the impact driving him into the churning flood waters. The swift current pulled him under and he rolled along the river bed until the next bend washed him to the surface. Gasping for air, he tried to catch hold of anything to keep him from being carried away, but the river was too powerful. Still clutching his gun, he was spirited by the flood waters through the mouth of the canyon and was battered on the submerged rocks. It was after his river merged with another that he barreled into a downed tree that was struck fast in the flood waters. He hung on for dear life, afraid that if he lost his grip he wouldn't have the strength to keep his head above the angry waters for much longer.
Slowly, he caught his breath and took stock of his situation. He was turning numb from being in the water so long, the hypothermia working to steal his strength and return him to the deadly flood. Miraculously, he still had hold of his gun. Carefully, he slipped it into his holster and slid the loop over it, tying it down. He double–checked, then triple–checked it, cautiously tugging at it with numb fingers to make sure it couldn't fall out. Satisfied, he now had both hands free to pull himself along the tree. The branches tore at his skin and clothes and he had to stop frequently to work himself loose. After an eternity of painstaking effort, he finally touched earth. On his hands and knees, he crawled up the crumbling river bank until he was well clear of the madness below. Exhausted, he collapsed into a deep sleep.
He awoke the next morning to discover he hurt in more places than he knew he had. Stiff and aching all over, he slowly sat up and looked himself over. His clothes were a mess, muddy and ripped in many places. His bare skin, which he now had plenty of, was a network of scratches and bruises. He investigated further, almost awed by the mess he was in. It was when he pulled his shirt–tail completely out that the lead slug dropped with a thud onto the sand. Unbelieving, he picked it up, his other hand rubbing his ribs where he had felt the bullet strike him. Looking down, he saw yet another bruise, but this one was small and circular.
"Well, I'll be damned…." he said, astonished. He tucked the slug into his pants pocket, deciding that the bullet had either been packed with faulty gunpowder or else divine intervention had saved him. He guessed he would never know for sure, but he was grateful for the second chance just the same. He looked up into the powder blue sky of the new day and said fervently: "Thank you!"
The walk back into the canyon had taken most of the day. The river had shrunk down to almost its previous level and he very carefully negotiated the narrow entrance to the valley. Once inside, he hurried as best he could to camp, more afraid of what he might find there than he'd ever admit to himself.
But the camp was empty and there wasn't a trace of where Heyes had gone. Curry found the neatly piled vegetables, Heyes' gun and hat and all their belongings completely untouched. Puzzled, the Kid noted that even their horses were still there.
He stood where he'd last seen Heyes lying on the ground and was able to make out his impression, plus the boot prints of the big man who'd shot Curry. He knelt down and scuffed up the earth, looking for blood and finding none. The tightness that had gripped the Kid's throat since he'd started the walk back was somewhat relieved — at least Heyes hadn't been murdered as he lay on the ground. The Kid stood and followed the tracks until they left the protective canopy of the oak. After that, the heavy rain had destroyed any further markings.
Discouraged, Curry sat under the tree and watched night fall. He took out the oil and rags he kept and broke down his gun, determined to have it in perfect condition soon.
When he finished with that necessity, he was calmer, soothed by the familiar action. He looked wistfully at the fire pit and then made himself a cold dinner of jerky, berries and raw vegetables. He figured that Heyes must be a prisoner somewhere nearby because he hadn't found his partner's body. Yet his horse was still there, therefore, whoever had taken Heyes must have taken him to a place within walking distance. On the chance that they might be in visual range, Curry decided it would be a fireless night. He didn't want to alert Heyes' captors to his return.
As Curry thought things through, his first food since yesterday morning took effect and he began to feel more optimistic. Heyes had to be nearby and if he was, the Kid would find him tomorrow. It would be all right. And any doubts that crowded up, he blindly stuffed back down and refused to think of them. He would find Heyes tomorrow.
* * * * *
Willie straightened up and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a dirty hand. He was beginning to get a little tired and while normally he would have kept working for at least a couple of more hours, today he looked back toward his living quarters and licked his lips. Being able to have that boy whenever he wanted was sure a lotta fun, but it was cuttin' into his minin' time. He looked down at the pile of ore and noticed the specks of gold glinting cheerily at him, then he thought of his prisoner. It was the latter that sent the heat coursing into his groin. He rubbed the crotch of his pants a few times and then turned away from the gold. The gold had waited for millions of years; it could wait another day.
When he entered the chamber that served as his living space, he was disconcerted to find his captive awake, sitting up and glaring at him. He hung his lantern up on a nail that was driven into the post and considered the situation. Nothing's changed, he told himself. There was only the two of them here and he was in control — it was only what Willie wanted that mattered. He rubbed his groin again, turned and advanced, eyeing his victim hungrily.
Heyes stilled as he realized it was going to happen again. He had known that it would, but he still felt himself go pale. He swallowed his nervousness and spoke, trying to make his presence felt. "My name is Joshua Smith and you've got no right…."
Willie interrupted. "Yer name is 'whore' boy, and I got every right I need." He unbuttoned his pants and tugged them down his thighs.
Heyes felt his innards turn to ice. His backside was still crampy and hurting from the last time, but perhaps he could try to save himself from further damage. Unable to keep the anger from his voice he said, "If you took the time to slick yourself up with some soapy water, you'd enjoy it a lot more."
Willie stroked himself, pulling his erection to fullness. "Yer mean you would."
Heyes gave him his best hard look. "Why don't you try it before you go calling me a liar."
For some reason, that rattled Willie. He took a step back and hesitated. The strength of will in his opponent was palpable and he found himself turning to the water bucket. Finding the soap, he started to get angry — this wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Nonetheless, he soaped himself up. "If'n you ain't right about this, I'm gonna make you wish yer were lyin' dead in the river next to yer friend."
The words were a kick in the stomach, re–igniting Heyes' fear and anxiety. Could it be true? His active imagination instantly supplied a vision of the Kid's body floating in the river and a dreadful horror overwhelmed him. 'He's lying' Heyes told himself, trying to quell the inner panic. He had to keep calm and try to gain some control on the situation — it was the only way he was going to get out of here alive and find out for sure about the Kid.
But if he did get out, and if he did discover Curry's body, Heyes knew that he would come back here and kill this murderous animal. Even though he'd never killed a man before, he knew he could do it this time and be damned with the consequences.
Willie finished and walked to the edge of the bedding. Kneeling down, he grabbed the rope that was tied to Heyes' ankle and pulled, dragging his prisoner closer to him. He started to pump himself erect again and said, "You ready to be bedded, boy?"
Heyes knew resistance was useless, but he couldn't stop himself from placing his free foot on Willie's chest, trying to stop from being dragged any closer to him. His mouth was dry and he swallowed, anxiety making his throat tight.
"You can't do this. This isn't right," he whispered in protest, all his skill in persuasion suddenly gone.
Willie gave an unpleasant smile that showed a bad set of teeth. "So yer still got some fight left in ya. Good. I like it when yer struggle — makes it more fun."
The miner grabbed the foot on his chest and slowly twisted it, making Heyes roll over onto his stomach. He threw himself down on the struggling man, easily pinning open Heyes' legs as he groped between them. Willie was getting quite practiced at entering him and before he knew it, he had Heyes penetrated, the soap letting him ride in effortlessly. He pumped a few times, enjoying the new sensation, then he grunted as he thrust hard and went all the way up.
Gripping Heyes' shoulders to hold himself in position, he placed his mouth next to Hannibal's ear. "I can tell yer dinnit like that, did ya?" He slid his tongue along Heyes' neck and the ex–outlaw jerked his head away from the repulsive intimacy. Offended by the rejection, Willie bit Heyes hard on the shoulder. It startled his captive and made him jump and tense, squeezing Willie's cock hotly.
Willie groaned. "Dammit, boy, but you've got the sweetest ass!" He started to fuck him hard then, the thrusts short and fast.
Heyes clenched his teeth and endured it. His attacker was large and it seemed the burning rod stretched and filled him up further than was possible. The soap had diminished the pain of being scraped raw, but it caused a hot burning that would last for hours and was only marginally better than being torn up. As Heyes waited for it to be over, he kept telling himself that this didn't matter, that there was nothing he could do to stop or prevent the assault. Fighting back would only make it worse, perhaps inciting his attacker to deadly violence. All that was important was that he survive this, get loose and then find the Kid.
The pounding on him continued and Heyes realized that during the first attacks, the miner had been so excited that he'd climaxed soon after penetration. Either Willie was getting better at withholding completion or the soapy slickness was allowing him to go longer. In either case, the rape was now stretching into minutes. The end finally came when he felt the semen spurt into him.
Willie lifted himself off Heyes and roughly extracted his organ. He sat back in a kneeling position and eyes the prone form with satisfaction. "Yer the best damn whore I've ever had in my whole life!" he stated proudly as he reached down and slapped Heyes smartly on the ass. He stood, hitched up his pants and left.
Heyes grimaced with pain as he slowly rolled over onto his back and pushed himself up against the wall. He sat there and bleakly watched the miner go about his business. Now he could get a better look at his captor, and he saw a man in his late forties, powerfully built, perhaps a trifle on the fleshy side and well over six feet tall. His hair was a dirty, stringy mess, and his best estimate of color was 'dark.' The face was bearded, covered with a salt and pepper growth that hadn't been trimmed in months.
As the miner fixed supper, Heyes stared dispiritedly around the chamber. The place was a pigsty, but unfortunately there didn't seem to be sharp edges or useful pieces of metal lying within reach. About the only thing that looked promising was a nail that stuck halfway out of a nearby beam. It wasn't much, but if he could work it out and have a couple of hours of privacy, Heyes felt he might be able to worry his ropes in two.
Heyes heard water splash as the miner took a drink. It reminded him of how thirsty he was and he swallowed dryly. Clearing his throat, he asked, "What's your name?"
The older man paused, wiping the water out of his beard. "Willie D'Spear, but knowin' that ain't gonna do you no good."
Heyes tried to hide his irritation as he pressed on. "Well, Willie D'Spear — do you think you might let me have a drink of that water?"
Willie looked at the water and then at Heyes. He smiled that unpleasant smile again. "Shore thing," he said as he picked up the bucket and walked over to Heyes. Kneeling beside him, Willie took up the ladle and hesitated, enjoying the obvious want on his victim's face. Bring the dipper to his own lips, he took a huge mouthful, but didn't swallow it.
Heyes clamped his eyes closed and turned his head to the side, sure the man was going to spray it on him. Instead, Willie grabbed a yankful of Heyes' hair with one hand and bent his head back. He leaned in close, bringing his mouth down next to Heyes'. Hannibal kept his jaw clenched, disgusted by Willie's intention. Unperturbed, Willie reached down with his other hand and grabbed Heyes's genitals. He gave a warning squeeze as he pressed his lips to his mouth. As Heyes opened his mouth, the water poured in and he swallowed the warm liquid reluctantly. Willie took full advantage of the open mouth, exploring it with a deep kiss that turned Heyes' stomach.
Willie ended the kiss and picked up another ladle full of water. "Wouldcha' like some more?"
Heyes shook his head mutely.
Willie laughed and stood up. "Well, anytime you want some more water, or even some vittles, you be shore an' let me know!"
"When hell freezes over!" Heyes muttered defiantly as he glared up at his tormentor.
Lightning fast, Willie leaned over and slapped Heyes' face hard. "I don't hold with blaspheming!"
He straightened up and said with authority, "Best you remember that in future," before he turned and walked away.
As Heyes realized he could add 'insane' to a list that already included 'murderous, violent, cruel, and sadistic,' he had the horrible sensation that he was standing on the middle of a lake covered by thin ice. Vowing to keep his temper in better check, he watched Willie for a few minutes. Slowly, he became aware that the chill was creeping into him again. Deciding that hell was already too cold for him, he slid down into the hay and grabbed a rough cotton bag with his bound hands. Rolling somewhat, he pulled it over his legs as best the could and tried to ignore the miner as he went cheerfully about his business.
Willie meant to fuck his prisoner again after dinner, but he ate too much and felt sleepy. Before turning in, he put a ladleful of beans on a plate and tossed it on the ground next to the bedding, figuring he'd better start feeding and watering is captive if he wanted him to last. He placed the water bucket close by, and as an afterthought, tossed the soap bar next to it.
"First thing in the morning," he promised. "Gives ya sump'n to look forward to, dudn't it?" he said as he lay down beside Heyes. Soon, he was snoring.
Heyes closed his eyes in relief and forced some of the tension to leave his body now that he realized he wasn't about to be raped again. He tried to think of a way to make good use of his few hours' reprieve. Carefully, he rolled onto his stomach, believing he might try to reach that nail tonight. He inched toward it, but the movement shifted the hay and Willie quit snoring. Heyes held still as stone until the miner's breathing slowed down again.
Unhappily, he realized that acquiring the nail would have to wait until after Willie left; to try it now might expose his plans. It also unfortunately meant that he'd have to face another rape in the morning. Frustration and anger started to rise in him, but he quickly put a lid on it. He couldn't afford those emotions right now. Instead, he began to slowly flex his arms and rotate them as best he could in spite of the bindings. If he was going to try to use that nail with any efficiency, he needed to relieve the cramps and restore the circulation tonight.
He also needed to eat and drink. The thirst was the worst and he worked his way over to the bucket, not caring if Willie was aware of his movements this time. By kneeling over the bucket and carefully bobbing up and down, he was able to drink his fill. He looked over at the dirty plate and sighed, but food was food. Eating the beans was easier, but messier. Afterwards, he drank from the bucket again and swished his face in the cool liquid to clean it off.
He straightened up and paused, feeling the strength from the nourishment course through his body and his mind clearing. His headache remained, but he felt better about his situation. Heyes had always depended on his intellect to get him out of fixes — that and the Kid's reflexes and physical power. Curry wasn't there, but Heyes' natural self–confidence began to reassert itself anyway. He'd been in bad situations before and gotten out of them. And if he was very careful, he'd get out of this one, too.
* * * * *
The Kid woke suddenly, his body soaked in a cold sweat from a bad dream. His hand went reflexively to where his gun lay beside him, easing somewhat when he felt the reassuring cold steel that seemed to mold to his hand. Still drawing comfort from the weapon, the Kid let the disturbing images of the dream float back over him.
He remembered standing alone in a place that was darker than the blackest night. He was frozen in place by some unseen force and strained to hear a voice that was distant and faint.
"Kid?" It was Heyes, but Curry couldn't tell where it came from.
"Kid, I can't find you." The voice sounded puzzled, lost. "Please, I need you. Help me…." he pleaded.
It tore at Curry's heart to hear Hannibal sound so bewildered and he fought to move, to speak, to do anything, but he couldn't. Heyes kept calling to him, moving farther away, but there wasn't a thing Curry could do to stop him from leaving. The Kid's powerlessness and anxiety tore into to him, and he felt his legs weaken in his desperation.
Suddenly, a knife blade glinted in front of the Kid. He drew back in horror as it arched, slashing down toward its target. He felt it enter his chest, but at the same time, he knew the white heat had struck Heyes, that it was his partner who would die and not him at all.
The Kid woke up at that point, his stomach twisted into a icy knot. He looked about the camp, glad it was beginning to grey in the east. Soon, it would be light enough to start his search. It was just a dream, he told himself. Still, he couldn't shake the cold foreboding that lay like a blanket across the valley floor.
* * * * *
Heyes balanced on his side in the darkened chamber. Tightly gripping the crude nail, he worked the point into the side of the hemp rope that tethered his leg to a post. By using his free foot to stretch the line taut underneath him, he was able to worry apart a few fibers at a time. It was slow going, but he'd been left alone now for hours. Heyes figured he had more than three–quarters of the rope frayed and that he'd soon be free.
The hard–packed floor made the ache in his shoulders almost unbearable. Whatever relief he'd won the night before was destroyed by the harsh treatment Willie had given him in the morning.
The miner woke up enraged and hard, his erection straining against his trousers. With urgency, Willie dropped his pants and pulled the bucket to him. Dipping the soap in the water, he briefly soaped up his penis. He cursed as the touch to his organ excited him further, making his movements hard and abrupt. Tossing the water out, he slapped the bucket upside down. Willie reached down, snagged Heyes by the arm, jerked him up and threw him over the bucket.
Heyes yelped and tried to twist away, the sudden pain and brutality spurring him into action.
His resistance increased the violence of the attack and Willie hit Heyes in the side below the ribs. The agony of a kidney punch blotted out all else. When the pain faded, Heyes discovered he was kneeling over the bucket, the rough wood digging in and tearing at his skin as Willie thrust into him. The miner gripped his bound arms, holding them like reins. He pulled back on them as he pumped, the strain of it hurting far worse than the violation.
Fortunately, this attack ended quickly and Willie pounded on his victim's back as he climaxed. He withdrew and, still in the grip of his savage state of mind, stood and booted Heyes, knocking him cruelly to the floor. Eyes wild, Willie looked down furiously at Hannibal, seemingly confused as to what to do next. Angrily, he kicked Heyes in the stomach and stormed away, taking the lantern with him.
The ex–outlaw lay curled up on his side, trying to ease his pains. He didn't have the vaguest idea why the miner had attacked him so violently, but one thing was sure; his life expectancy looked pretty short if he stayed there any longer. Willie was becoming more erratic — obviously the current situation was pushing him deeper into madness.
When he was able, Heyes pushed over to where he knew the nail was and worked it loose. Grimly, he positioned himself and started on the rope with barely concealed desperation.
* * * * *
Willie worked for hours like a man possessed, gripped by a panic rooted in guilt and fear. He was losing control of himself and becoming more and more obsessed by his captive — and it scared him. The dream that had awakened him left him in a high rage even though he couldn't remember any of the details. Frightening stories of biblical retaliation against sinners haunted him, and he dug blindly into the vein.
Finally, exhausted, he collapsed to his knees and dug his hands into the soil.
"I never did anythin' like this before," he moaned to himself. "It's all 'is fault. That boy did this t'me. I never…."
He froze as he heard his own words. "That must be it. That boy I bet has been sent here by the devil hisself to get me!" He stood and grabbed the pickax he'd been swinging seconds earlier.
"Well, he ain't gonna! I'm gonna send him back to hell where he belongs!"
* * * * *
Only a few strands of the rope were still intact and Heyes twisted to his side. He held the line tight with the foot it was tied to and kicked at it with his other. It snapped on the fourth try and Heyes rolled to his knees, staggering to his feet. Leaning his shoulder into the wall, he followed it around to the entrance of the chamber and paused. Willie had come from the right last time and that was reason enough to go left now. Heyes didn't know if that was the way out or if he would be stumbling into an unseen mine shaft. At this point, he didn't really care; he only wanted to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.
* * * * *
The Kid was on his horse, slowly walking the animal towards the north of the valley, criss-crossing as he went searching for any sign of tracks. It was mid-afternoon now and Curry had finished his search in the south. He'd found evidence of their arrival in the valley, but that was it. He was beginning to wonder if he might have better luck if he widened his search to outside the valley.
* * * * *
Heyes burst out from the mouth of the mine and skidded to a stop, leaning up against a pine. Squinting into the bright daylight of another hot summer's day, he tried to get his bearings. High up on a hill, he quickly realized he was above the valley where he and the Kid had camped. If his belongings were still there, all he had to do was to get his knife from his saddlebag to cut his hands free and strap on his gun. He'd be ready for Willie then.
He looked down at the slope of loose dirt that dropped away in front of him. It was steep, but it was the quickest way to get to the valley floor. Taking a deep breath, he jumped down the slope. Staggering at first, and unable to properly balance himself with his arms still bound, he found he could control his descent more if he leaned back and slid to slow his momentum.
He reached bottom within a small avalanche of dirt and stone. Struggling against the loose footing, he clumsily waded free. He could see the oak tree that they had camped under and he increased his speed to a trot.
Heyes was half-way across the warm meadow when he heard Willie shout out. His heart, straining from the sudden effort after two days of captivity, leapt with fright. Heyes had hoped to have his hands free before Willie followed him, but now it was going to be too close. Willie had him spotted and knew where he was headed — there was no point in hiding. Alarm gave him a boost and he put his head down and sprinted. Desperation fired his other hope, too. The hope that perhaps Curry was alive and nearby.
"Kid!" he shouted. "Kid, help!"
He skidded into camp and was both elated and frantic. Things were changed — the Kid had been there. He was alive! But damned if he hadn't put Heyes' belongings away! His gun was out of sight and his saddlebags were hanging up on a tree branch.
Taking a deep breath, he braced himself. "KID! Kid, get back here! NOW!" He ran over to the tree and stood on his tiptoes. Just able to reach the saddlebag, he bit it hard and pulled back. It dropped to the ground and he fell on top of it, rolling over so he could reach the buckle. As he fumbled with the clasp and worked it open, he turned so he could see across the meadow. What he saw wasn't encouraging — Willie was sliding down the hill, a pickax in his hand.
"Slowly, now," he coached himself. "Do it right the first time — it's quicker. Calm down." He took another deep breath. "KID!" he yelled.
Willie tripped and began to tumble down the hill.
"I hope you break your neck, you crazy bastard," he muttered as the bag opened. He poured the contents out and turned so he could see them. There was no knife! Cursing, he threw himself over on the saddlebags again, fingers clawing at them, pulling the other half closer. He found the buckle and pulled hard at it, for he could see Willie staggering to his feet.
"KID!" he screamed, panic rising in him again.
Willie, dizzy from his fall, looked around drunkenly. Where was his pickax? He fell to his knees and pawed about in the loose dirt, but it was gone. Willie shrugged and stood. He didn't really need the axe; there were many ways to kill a man. He started off across the meadow.
* * * * *
Curry froze in his saddle, straining to hear. After that dream he'd had, he'd imagined hearing Heyes call to him with every breeze that rustled the leaves. But this time was different. Uncertain, he turned his horse back, spurring it to a trot. As he got closer to where they'd camped, he heard the rumble from a dirt avalanche and saw dust waft into the still noon air. The foreboding from this morning came back and was stronger yet. He kicked his horse hard and bent low over the animal's neck as it stretched out to a full gallop.
* * * * *
"KID!" Heyes yelled. "Oh, please, Kid!" he pleaded quietly to himself. The buckle opened and he shook the bag out. He turned and saw the knife. Grasping it, he pulled it open. Awkwardly, he turned it towards himself and sawed at the rope. His grip started to fail as the handle got slick. His arms wee completely numb, so only God knew what damage he was doing back there. He redirected the knife and began again.
"Yer need some help there?" Willie was right behind him. The miner dropped down beside him and yanked the knife away.
"KID!" Heyes screamed again, putting all his desperation into the cry. He jerked his bonds hard, praying that he'd cut them enough to fray open, but they held. His breath was coming in short gasps, fear sending large amounts of adrenaline through him.
"Get away from me!" he ordered.
Willie let his hand trail along Hannibal's back. Should he kill him now, or fuck him one last time? While he considered it, he growled, "Yer tried to git away. Yer know I ain't gonna let you." He could feel himself getting hard again. He threw a leg over Heyes and knelt, straddling him as he unbuttoned his fly.
Heyes knew this was it, he wasn't going to survive this unless a miracle happened. But he had taken all he could, and he vowed to go out fighting. Taking a deep breath, he arched and bucked violently, trying with all his strength to throw Willie off.
Willie was tossed to one side, but he recovered quickly. Grabbing hold of Heyes' hair, he pulled sharply, "Hold still, boy!"
Heyes tried to shake his head loose, but Willie tightened his hold. Gritting his teeth, Hannibal said, "Go to hell!"
"Naw, not me. But it sure the hell is where yer goin' and I'm just the man ta send yer there." Willie reached down and picked up the knife. The blade was already ruby red with smeared blood and Willie was momentarily fascinated by the vivid color. Words form the strange and frightening stories that were read to him in his childhood returned to him.
"Ez this ah dagger I sees before me?" he repeated. His delight at the long–forgotten phrase turned sour as it conjured up the image of his mother, cold and stern, her face pinched with disapproval as she read from a huge, old book.
Angry, he pulled back harder, baring Heyes' throat. Resting the knife edge against the exposed flesh, he warned, "Say yer prayers, boy, cause yer goin' back to where you belong!"
Heyes closed his frightened eyes and waited for the end.
"No!" the Kid whispered as he saw a man bending over Heyes, a knife glinting at his partner's throat. Curry was too far away for an accurate shot as Heyes' attacker had pulled his partner upwards and his body was shielding him. Curry whipped out his gun and fired a warning shot into the dirt in front of the man.
"Hold it right there!" he yelled, and was relieved when the man hesitated, his attention drawn from his captive, the knife falling down from Heyes' throat.
A mere fifty yards away now, Curry pulled his mount to a sliding halt and threw himself out of the saddle. He had to be on firm footing if he needed to do any fancy shooting.
The man squinted at Curry and the shock of recognition put fear in his face. "Yer dead!" he accused. "I saw the river take yer life."
Curry advanced slowly, his revolver fixed unerringly on his target. "Put the knife down," he advised.
"Oh. I know, now. You came back fer him!" Willie said with a smile. "Yer come to take him back to hell with ya." He straightened up higher, pulling Heyes with him. Shifting his grip on the knife, he leaned over, extending the blade to reach the far side of Heyes' throat.
"Don't do it!" the Kid shouted. A split second later, he fired a shot, striking the miner in the head. The man jerked reflexively, then slumped down over his victim.
"Damn!" Curry sprinted forward.
Reaching the pile of bodies, he skidded to a stop. He grabbed the miner's shoulder and belt and rolled him carefully off his partner. Blood was spattered and pooling everywhere. Hannibal lay still with his head turned to one side.
"Heyes?" he asked softly, pushing the long hair out of his friend's face.
Hannibal's eyes snapped open. He hadn't been able to breathe when Willie fell on him and he figured the knife had done its job. "My throat…." he whispered, scared that he was dying. "Is it cut?"
Curry pulled him over on his side and peered closely. There was blood there, but not much. He smeared it away and spotted a small cut, maybe an inch across and skin deep. His stomach lurched as he realized how close Heyes had just come to dying.
He leaned into Heyes, holding him close in a hug. "You've got a small cut, partner. You're going to be fine," he reassured him.
"My arms…."
In answer, Curry picked up the bloody knife and turned to free Hannibal's wrists. It was then that the full impact of his partner's condition hit him. He saw that Heyes was completely naked. Bruises were scattered around his torso and cuts bled freely above the bonds that restrained his arms. His legs and feet were a mess with all manner of scratches and cuts. There was a bite mark on his shoulder.
Curry carefully cut the ropes off Heyes' wrists and with a flick of the knife, removed the one on his ankle also. His mind slowly, reluctantly, pieced together the evidence before him.
Heyes groaned as he brought his arms forward, his elbows and shoulders stiff with pain and slow to move. Bending his head down, he caught sight of his hands. They were blue and puffy from being bound too tightly, but they would recover. Once, he'd talked to a man who'd been tied so tightly that one of his hands had turned bone white. The damage was permanent and the hand had been cut off.
Heyes curled forward, attempting to sit up. Curry quickly supplied a strong arm to his back for support and steadied him.
Hannibal stared at the huddled form a few feet away. "Is he dead?" he asked, his voice flat.
The Kid gave the body a cursory glance. "There's no way he could be alive."
Heyes nodded a few times to himself, then checked Curry's expression. The Kid was shocked, uncertain — probably both of what had happened and what he should do next.
Hannibal sighed. "Give me a hand to the river. I gotta get clean."
"Sure, Heyes," Curry answered, glad to be able to do something. Once he had his partner situated near a shallow, sandy pool with some soap, another thought struck the Kid.
"Is there any more where he came from?"
Picking up the soap and moving stiffly into the water, Heyes said, "I doubt it. I only saw him."
"I'd better make sure. Where's his camp?"
"Straight up the hillside, nearly to the top. It's in a mine." He paused, then added, "Just leave me my gun where I can reach it before you go."
When Curry went back to the oak tree to fetch the weapon, he saw the miner's body in the middle of their camp and realized that it would have to go before Heyes returned. The body looked too heavy to safely carry by himself and he didn't have a shovel to dig a grave with. Curry looked speculatively at the canyonside with its loose soil and its tendency to slide and decided it was perfect. It had the advantage of being quick, easy and actually being a burial for the body, which was more than it deserved.
He got the gun and returned with it to the river's edge, placing it on a large flat rock near Heyes. Curry watched in silence as Hannibal awkwardly washed himself with hands that frequently fumbled the soap. He was pained to see the fingers that were normally so quick and nimble fail his friend at such a common task.
When Heyes picked up a handful of grit to scrub his skin, Curry swallowed hard and spoke, his voice unsteady at first. "Here's your gun," he called out.
Ever polite, Heyes automatically said, "Thank you." It sounded strained even to his own ears, but he didn't know what else to say. He could tell that the Kid had figured out what had happened to him and was upset.
"I'm going to use my horse to drag the body over to the slope and cause a landslide to bury it," Curry said.
Heyes paused for a few seconds. He had a strong desire to do some violence to Willie's body, to express the anger he felt. But decent folk didn't abuse the dead and he was trying mighty hard lately to be 'decent folk.' Maybe it was best that he try to bury the past few days with Willie D'Spear's body. If that was even possible.
"That's a good idea, Kid," he agreed. Then in a apprehensive voice he asked, "Do you think you can handle it by yourself?"
"Yeah, don't worry about it. See you back at the camp." The Kid turned and strode up the river bank.
Heyes stopped to watch him go. Things weren't right. Just a few hours ago, he had been willing to give anything just to have the Kid back beside him. And now that he was, things were strained and awkward and he didn't have a clue how to make it better.
Heyes had just finished shaving when he was startled by the rumble of a dirtslide. He looked up ad saw Curry standing between some trees, kicking at the soil. Another cloud of dust went up as more dirt tumbled down the hillside. Not for the first time, Heyes found himself wishing certain events from his past could be buried as easily.
* * * * *
Later, when Curry reached the mine entrance, he paused to catch his breath. It had been a steep, hot climb and he wiped the sweat from his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Looking back, he saw their camp directly below with Heyes kneeling in the water washing his hair. He shook his head — they had been sitting ducks.
Turning, he picked up a lit lantern that was resting just inside the mine's mouth. Revolver in his other hand, he carefully and quietly advanced, following the dusty tracks into the cool interior. When he had explored the different tunnels and was satisfied that the mine was empty, he returned to the chamber that served as the living quarters.
Circling the room, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the outhouse odors that abounded. He stopped and stared at the filthy bedding, his imagination filling in the details. He spotted the other half of the frayed rope that he had cut off of Heyes, his face growing stony as his outrage became stronger. Revolted by the room, he quickly searched the rest of the chamber. The food stores were mostly beans and flour, but he did discover a bottle of whiskey that he set aside.
He even found a cache of gold dust. He hesitated for a moment, knowing that Heyes would say leave it, that they were no longer thieves. However, Curry's practical nature overcame his qualms and he stuffed the pouch into his pocket. The dust would help ensure their survival, maybe even let them buy some non–essentials for a change. Besides, Curry figured it was owed to Heyes even if he wouldn't take it. The Kid decided he would hold the gold in reserve and cash in small amounts from time to time.
The last thing Curry picked up was Heyes' trousers which he found tossed in a corner. They were in good shape and as Heyes only had one extra pair of working pants, Curry knew his partner would need these. He slung the garment over his shoulder.
Standing at the chamber's exit, he picked up the whiskey. There was nothing else of value here. He tossed the lantern into the hay bedding and stepped back as it caught fire. Everything in here was going to burn — fire was the only thing that could cleanse such a place. It's what people did to clean out a varmit's nest. But it didn't help to lessen the anger he felt until the Kid remembered he had killed the man who had hurt Heyes. At the time, Curry had shot the man who was about to kill his partner — it had been a defensive action. Now, he wanted to punish that man for his crimes. The Kid slowly realized that the miner had been punished and Curry had done it himself — he just hadn't known it at the time.
The flames rushed upwards, eager tongues of red heat turning outward as the ceiling barred their fiery progress. The Kid backed out, the scorching smoke billowing up after him. Witnessing the raw destruction of the fire, Curry felt his anger diminish. It was with sudden calmness that the Kid realized that justice had been served after all. Now all that was needed was to make sure that Hannibal would be all right.
When he reached camp, he found Heyes sitting against the tree trunk, wrapped in a blanket and clothed in his long johns. Curry eyed the holster in his lap, noticing that Hannibal's hand was resting on the gun's handle. He tossed the trousers down next to him.
"I thought you might need these."
Heyes stared at his pants, then looked up at his partner, his face unreadable. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
Hannibal sounded odd and Curry didn't know what to make of the question or the hint of challenge that it contained. He decided to ignore both. "I set the place on fire."
Hannibal looked away. "Good."
Curry shifted his weight to one foot and stared up at the late afternoon sky. It was going to be another clear and warm night. "You hungry?"
Hannibal ran his hand up through his damp hair and sighed. "Kid, I could eat a horse, but I'll settle for beans if you got 'em."
* * * * *
Evening closed about them with awkward silence. The Kid set about starting a fire and preparing dinner. He wanted to ask after Heyes' injuries, to make sure that he didn't need a doctor, but he never did. He could sense a stony wall about Hannibal and he didn't want to upset the man any more than he already was. Heyes would talk when he was ready to and Curry could wait until then. When necessary, patience was one thing the Kid was good at; he could out wait granite if he needed to. Instead, he watched surreptitiously as Heyes moved stiffly about, absentmindedly hugging himself as he slowly rubbed his arms. The dark–haired outlaw was restless and he paced about, spending much of the time staring at the countryside. Finally, the Kid asked him if he thought they should move their camp.
Heyes looked startled, then said no. Aware that the Kid was watching him, he attempted to settle down. He tried sitting, but found it uncomfortable and he shifted around until he found he could sit with his legs curled under him. Even still, he was back up on his feet within five minutes, slowly walking the perimeter, looking anywhere except at Kid Curry. His thoughts were chaotic and freewheeling as he tried to put his emotions in some sort of order. He didn't really want to discuss what had happened until he had time to come to grips with it himself. He needed to put it behind him, to be in control of himself again.
Unfortunately, he wasn't successful. The discomfort he felt was a constant reminder, and he found himself full of 'what–ifs'. What if he had been wearing his gun like he should have, or if he'd gone with the Kid, or if the Kid hadn't left. He felt anger at himself, some anger at the Kid, and a lot of guilt. He should have been able to stop the kidnapping and subsequent assaults. Here he was the infamous Hannibal Heyes, legendary for his skill in persuasion, and he'd been totally ineffective against an ignorant miner. Heyes felt shaken in more ways than one.
By the time dinner was ready, the stars were beginning to sparkle above them. Curry dished up a plate of food and set it down across from him. He had considered taking the food to Heyes, but had decided against it. It was high time Heyes settled down for the night. He poured two cups of coffee, dosing both with the whiskey. After a pause, he double–dosed Heyes' drink. The man needed to unwind and maybe this would help.
"Supper's ready," he called out quietly. Without waiting, he dug into his own plate. He had to admit he was looking forward to his first hot meal in days.
Heyes appeared and picked up his dinner. He hesitated briefly as he considered how to sit, then opted to lean against the tree. He wolfed down the beans, meat and pan biscuits in record time.
Curry nodded at the cooking pans. "I made plenty. Wasn't sure how many meals you'd missed."
Heyes came forward for seconds. "Most of them. How many days has it been?" he asked as he helped himself to more food.
"Two."
Heyes grunted an acknowledgement, then asked, "Where have you been?" He meant to ask what had befallen the Kid during that time, but the question came out more as an accusation. He saw Curry start as the plaintive nature of his words sank home and he hurried to cover the slip. "I mean, I take it you weren't shot when you fell in the river," he said quickly.
Curry was a little taken aback by the tone, but at least Heyes was talking. They had to begin somewhere.
"It was the darndest thing. That bullet hit, knocked me over, but didn't break the skin." He set down his plate and undid his shirt. "Looky here."
Heyes was shocked to see the circular blue–green bruise on his chest along with a multitude of other scratches and bruises. He hadn't realized that the Kid had been hurt and his guilt intensified. For days he had worried about the Kid's safety, and when they had finally gotten back together, he was so caught up in his own injuries that he'd forgotten to ask about the Kid's.
"Looks like you were dragged," he said, feeling pretty small.
"That's what it felt like at the time. When I got clear of the river, I was pretty far downstream. Took me to yesterday evening to get back here."
"Oh," Heyes said. That explained a lot.
"I figured you were nearby since your horse was still here, but I couldn't find any tracks. The cloudburst must have destroyed them."
When Heyes didn't comment, Curry continued, "To tell you the truth, I didn't even consider that there was a way up that hillside. Good thing you got free when you did."
Heyes gave a weak smile. "Yeah, I guess I was real lucky.
Curry put down his plate, annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know what I meant."
Heyes stared down at his food. "I know. I'm sorry. We're both here and alive — we are lucky. It's just that I don't feel very lucky is all."
Curry thought about it, then asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Hannibal shook his head. "Would you?"
The Kid considered the question for a spell, feeling the awkwardness come between them again. "Well, tomorrow's a different day. Maybe things will seem better then."
Heyes nodded. "Yeah, maybe."
Curry waited for Heyes to continue the conversation, but he didn't. The Kid sighed. Perhaps in the morning, Hannibal would be more like his old self.
* * * * *
A couple of hours later, they lay in their bedrolls across the campfire from each other. The fire was banked for the night and it cast a soft, orangish glow. The Kid could see Heyes lying on his side, blanket pulled up to his chin as he stared at the embers, eyes wide and unfocused, lost in an inner world of thought and memory.
Curry rolled on his back and gazed up into the glittering canopy above him. Tonight, he felt his partner was just as distant as those stars — and he was a little hurt by it. He was used to Heyes' moods, the periods of quiet when he was wrestling with some plan, or the easy companionship when they were enjoying the breezy freedom of their lives. No matter what the mood, he had felt close to Heyes. But now he was closed off, and that wasn't right. They were partners, had been for years. To Curry, that meant sharing everything — good times and bad. It just didn't seem right that Heyes was shutting him out like this.
A yawn overtook him and he decided he couldn't do anything else for now. The whiskey was taking effect, its warmth spreading through his limbs, helping to relax him. Curry smiled. Heyes hadn't said a word when he first sipped his coffee. In fact, he'd asked for seconds.
Pleased that he had been able to do that right at least, the Kid rolled onto his side and put out his hand to check where his gun lay. Secure, he shut his eyes and was soon asleep.
It was many hours later when he awoke. There was a chill to the air that accompanied the darkest hours of the night. He lay still, letting his ears take stock of the surroundings. He had almost dozed off again when he heard a mumbling from Heyes' direction, followed by a groan as Hannibal tossed his head from side to side.
Curry frowned. Usually, Heyes wasn't one to be bothered by bad dreams. He sat up, debating whether to awaken him or not, but then Heyes quieted on his own.
Noticing that the fire was not going to last until dawn, Curry leaned over and added another branch. He stirred up the coals and waited till they caught. The movement made him realize he needed to take a leak and he got up, walking stiffly away from camp. Finished, he was headed for his bed when he caught sight of Hannibal. He was disconcerted to see his partner awake, looking more than a little stark and gripping his gun like it was his lifeline. That was the final straw as far as Curry was concerned.
Instead of walking back to his own bedroll, he went to Heyes' and slipped in behind him. Snuggling up close, he reached an arm around Heyes to pull him near. He could feel Hannibal tense, but he ignored it; the man needed support and comforting whether he realized it or not.
And finally, Heyes was beginning to see that, too.
He had awoken from the terror of the nightmare, sweaty and with heart pounding. He had been chased down black corridors, pursued by something he couldn't see. Hands had reached out from nowhere to grab him and hold him down. Legs forced apart, he had been pierced by a sharp pain and he felt a huge cock tearing into him.
Snapping awake at that moment, his hand found his gun without conscious thought as he looked about for the Kid. But the bedroll across from him was empty, and disorientation and near panic was added to the fright. Where was the Kid and why was he now alone?
When Curry wandered back into camp, Heyes was overcome with relief, the Kid's very presence taking the edge off the worst of Heyes' anxieties. He saw the Kid glance at him, his expression darkening with concern and worry. As Hannibal searched for some words to say, Curry simply lay down beside him and pulled him close.
Unexpectedly, the touch startled him, the after–effect of the nightmare causing him to flinch. The Kid only held him tighter, and for that Heyes was grateful. He could feel the solidness of his partner. Curry's strength permeated Hannibal's confusion, giving him something to hold onto in a world that was suddenly more dangerous and threatening than it had ever been before. Curry's centeredness offered security and it was as if Heyes was suddenly grounded. Fears and doubts drained from him, leaving him strangely calm. The only reality that mattered was the Kid and him; all others faded away. He placed his hand over the Kid's and squeezed it, pulling it up near his heart, drawing his partner closer still.
"Thanks," he murmured.
Curry smiled and laid his cheek against the back of Hannibal's head, thankful that his instincts were right.
"Bad dream?"
Heyes sighed. "You could call it that."
Curry mentally took a deep breath in preparation of the question he had wanted to ask all day; "How badly were you hurt?" His voice was full of gentleness and caring.
Heyes stared vacantly into the flames. The question didn't bother him as it would have earlier. "Nothing that won't heal. I'll be back to normal in a few days."
Curry leaned forward and laid a warm, breathy kiss on Hannibal's neck. "I've missed you."
Heyes' mood was somber, though. He was suddenly anxious to confide in the Kid. "I thought…I was afraid you were dead."
Curry considered it. "I can see how you might of thought that." He nuzzled Hannibal's neck. "But I'm not."
They lay quietly together for many minutes, simply drawing comfort from each other as they stared, lost in their own thoughts. But Curry's attention returned to Heyes' skittishness and to the flinch when he first touched him. It reminded him of other things, and one disturbing thought led to another.
"You've been raped before." Curry whispered the statement, his voice revealing the enormous implications the sudden realization had on him.
Heyes didn't see how it mattered, or how the Kid had guessed. Nonetheless, even though it hadn't been a question, Hannibal decided to answer it.
"Yes, but it was years ago, before I joined the Devil's Hole gang." He was uncertain of where the conversation was leading.
But the Kid was suddenly very afraid. The way he figured it, if previous attacks long ago were responsible for Heyes' continuing, if intermittent, reluctance to make love, maybe this recent assault was enough to end their physical relations completely. The thought of losing Heyes forever scared him more than anything.
The stillness of the night was broken by the fire as it snapped and popped.
"Does this mean that you won't…that we can't ever…." the Kid fumbled.
"What? Sleep together?" Heyes was puzzled. What had happened in the past had long since been put behind him. Why did the Kid think it would matter now? Of course, at the moment, he didn't want to engage in anything that would make his sore spots hurt worse, but what was the Kid getting at?
"You're thinking we won't make love again. Why?"
The Kid was on the spot and he didn't like it. "Well, in the past, you haven't been all that keen sometimes…." he trailed off, a trifle petulant.
Heyes was genuinely baffled. "What does being forced have to do with being with you?" he asked, twisting around so he could look at his partner.
Even in the dim light, Hannibal could see that the Kid was blushing. He also noticed, from the set to his jaw, that the renowned Curry stubbornness had set in. The Kid wasn't going to answer.
Finally, Heyes grasped Curry's hand tighter.
"I love you," he said, and he felt Curry tighten his hold. Those words were no stranger to Heyes as he had never hidden how he felt about the Kid. The love was always there — it was just the act that he wasn't sure about sometimes. But now it was important that he tell Curry how he felt about loving him because life was too uncertain to put off the important things.
That realization hit Heyes like the proverbial bolt of lightning. The physical expression of their love was important. Probably more important to Curry, Heyes thought dryly, since the Kid had a much stronger sex drive, but it was important for them both, nonetheless. He suddenly felt a little foolish for being reluctant to participate at times. As a gambler, he knew he had to play the cards he was dealt if he wanted a chance to win the pot — there was no choice in the matter.
Heyes leaned forward, his mouth seeking Curry's. The kiss was gentle, full of caring as he sucked on the Kid's lower lip, running his tongue lightly over it.
The Kid drew back. "Heyes…. You don't have to do this now." He seemed embarrassed. Heyes gave a slight smile. "I wish you'd make up your mind. First you want to, then you don't."
The Kid still looked uncomfortable. "It doesn't seem right after what happened to you."
Heyes was thoughtful, for the Kid had strong feelings about what was right and wrong. He found Curry's hand with his own and entwined their fingers together. Laying his other hand against the side of the Kid's face, he let his fingers tenderly trace the well–loved features.
"Just this morning, I feared I would never to able to do this again," Heyes said with a gentle sadness. Then, slowly, he smiled, the warmth of his expression tentatively taking root in his dark brown eyes. "You know, Kid," he said finally, "I suddenly feel very lucky after all."
Abruptly, there was a lump in Curry's throat. He swallowed, but the painful sweetness only grew larger and threatened to make his eyes water.
"Heyes…." he said hoarsely, all to aware of how close he had come to never being able to share a moment like this again. He pulled his partner close, letting his head rest against the shaggy dark hair as he breathed in the familiar scent. The yearning to be closer still seemed to be wrenched from his very being, powered by the terrible near loss. His hug grew tighter yet as he tried to hold onto the moment.
Heyes baked in the affection and warmth that flowed from the Kid. The chill that had afflicted Heyes for many days vaporized before the radiance of Curry's love. Hannibal's recent ordeal had illuminated the contrasting powers for him. He had been forced face–to–face with darkness and now realized that his choice was simple. More than simple, it was easy. All he needed to do to leave the shadows behind was to walk into the light of the Kid's love. It drew him like a moth to a flame, in any case.
Heyes pressed himself closer to his lover. With a sigh, his doubts were given freely to the darkness and both were banished from him. In their place, deep emotion soaked through him, healing him. And if he were unable to put his trust in a merciful God, he would put his trust, totally and completely, in Curry. At last he had found, and realized, his redemption through the Kid's love and he knew he would be okay.
They were together again and that was all that mattered.
END