by Anita Sanchez

          “That you, Joshua?” Kid called, when he heard the knock on the door of his hotel room. He swished his razor in the bowl and finished scraping the last of the lather off his face.

          “Yeah, open up,” he heard Heyes’ voice through the door, and the doorknob gave an impatient rattle. “Hang on, it's locked,” Kid called, wiping his hands with a towel. The knock sounded again, louder.

          “Hang on, hang on,” said Kid, approaching the door unhurriedly. “You’ve been keeping me waiting for two days, I thought you were getting into town Wednesday. You get lost or something?” He swung the door open, and the smile left his face as he saw Heyes, white-faced and drawn, leaning heavily against the door frame for support. “Jesus, what happened?” Kid demanded, then as Heyes swayed he grabbed his arm and helped him over to the nearest chair. Heyes sank down on the soft armchair with a sigh of relief.

          Kid went back to the door and threw a suspicious glance down the hall, then slammed the door shut and locked it. “How bad you hurt?” he asked, looking over Heyes' mud-stained, rumpled clothing for signs of blood.

          “I’m okay,” said Heyes, leaning back in the chair wearily. “Bumped my head, that's all. I'm fine.”

          “Yeah, you look fine,” said Kid, bending over him. He turned Heyes’ head to one side to show a purple gash, crusted with dried blood, on the side of his forehead.  Heyes jerked his head away and leaned it against the tall chairback. “It’s nothing,” he said impatiently.

          Kid stared down at him, frowning, then crossed the room to the shaving stand and came back with a bowl of warm water and a towel. He sat down on a stool in front of Heyes and reached up towards the wound, but Heyes put up a hand to shove him away. “Leave me alone,” he said with surprising anger. “I told you, it's nothing.” Kid made no reply, but his eyes widened as he stared at Heyes’ arm; the wrist was darkly bruised and streaked with blood.  Kid shoved back Heyes’ other sleeve, and saw that his other wrist was also mottled red and purple. He looked up and met Heyes’ glance, but his partner looked away. 

          “So, what happened?” Kid said slowly. “You're gonna have a hard time convincing me it was nothing."

          He began to wash the cuts on Heyes' arm, and Heyes closed his eyes tiredly. “It was a bounty hunter,” he said finally. “He must have seen me somewhere, recognized me. I thought, all yesterday on the road from Lewisburg, that someone was following me, but he was good, I never could get a glimpse of him. Then he circled around in front, and before I knew it, he got the drop on me." He shook his head in disgust. “Rode right into it, don’t know how I could be so stupid.”

          “Takes practice," Kid said solemnly. Heyes snorted. "Who was it, ever see him before?” asked Kid, beginning on the other wrist.

          “No,” said Heyes. “Skinny guy, red hair, tall. Young guy. But he was good.” He winced as Kid rubbed at his wrist, the blood from the freshly opened cuts turning the water in the bowl to red.

          “He tied you up pretty good,” Kid commented. “How long it take you to get loose?”

          “Long time,” said Heyes. He sat with closed eyes as Kid finished with his arm. The right wrist was cut worse than the left, and Kid got up to look for a bandanna, and made a soft bandage.

          “So how’d you get this?” he inquired, starting to wash off the gash on Heyes’ forehead.

          “Just stupid,” Heyes replied, and sighed deeply. “Damn, that young guy was quick, though. He put down his gun to tie me up, and I made a jump, and that’s all I remember. I suppose he grabbed the gun and hit me.”

          Kid nodded. “Not much I can do here," he said, inspecting the wound. “It’ll close up on its own, I guess.  Bet you got a good headache. So then what happened?”

          There was a long silence and Kid waited patiently. “Well, I woke up, and he wasn’t there,” Heyes finally continued. “He’d left me in a little hollow by some rocks, tied up like a chicken, but he wasn't around, and his horse was gone too. I don’t know where he went, maybe into town to check the wanted posters, see what the reward was...anyway, he was gone, so I worked on getting loose. Took forever, but finally I managed it.” He fell silent. Kid waited for more details, but the silence lengthened.

          “Well,” said Kid. “Any chance he followed you, you think?”

          “No,” said Heyes shortly.

          “You sure?” Kid asked. “If he’s as good as you say, he might track you here. We should probably head out.”

          “No,” said Heyes again. Kid eyed him, aware that something was up. “Yeah, but if he...”

          “I shot him,” said Heyes flatly. “He’s dead.”                   

          Kid stared at him, thinking he hadn't heard right. “What did you say?”

          “You heard me,” said Heyes irritably. “He got back from wherever he’d been, and saw I’d gotten loose. He grabbed me...he could have taken a shot, but he ran after me and caught my jacket...I took a swing at him, and we each tried to get the gun, and... anyway. He’s dead.”

          Kid scratched his head, not knowing quite what to say next. “You sure he’s dead?”

          “Well, I dug a hole and buried him, so I’m pretty sure,” Heyes snapped. “If he was faking he was doing a damn good job.”

          “Okay, okay,” said Kid quietly. “Take it easy.” He put a hand on Heyes’ arm, but Heyes flung him off.

          “Take it easy,” Heyes said bitterly. “No big deal, right? That’s easy for you to say.”

          Kid frowned. “That’s right,” he flared. “I’ve lost count of how many guys I’ve mowed down, let me check the notches on my gun.” He got up and carried the bowl of water back to the bureau, spilling a little.

           “Sorry,” Heyes said. "I didn't mean...sorry."

          Kid stood with his back turned for a minute. Then he sighed and came back to sit down in front of his partner. “Listen, Heyes, he’s dead. You buried him. Let him stay buried. It’s the only way.”

          “He only tied me up,” said Heyes raggedly. “He could have shot me. He was just a young guy.”

          “He was a bounty hunter,” said Kid in a hard voice. “He was out looking for trouble. Maybe he didn’t shoot you because he wasn’t sure if the reward’s good dead or alive.”

          “Maybe,” said Heyes. “Maybe he didn’t shoot me because he thought it’s bad to kill people. Maybe...”

          “Maybe you better get some sleep,” said Kid.

          “No,” said Heyes quickly.

          “Come on,” said Kid. He stood and hauled Heyes up out of the chair. Heyes pulled his arm away, not hard. “I guess you’re right,” he said. He took a few unsteady steps across the room and sank down on the bed, grabbing the bedpost to keep from falling over. He unbuckled his gunbelt and slung it on the floor. "How do you get any sleep on this bed, the way it keeps spinning around?" he murmured. Kid smiled, and knelt to pull off Heyes' boots. "Thanks," Heyes said, and lay down.

          Kid bent to pick up the discarded gunbelt, and pulled out the gun. He sat down and began to clean the barrel, as the acrid smell of cordite filled the air. Heyes lay with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Kid carefully scraped the barrel, and re-oiled the chambers, glancing over at the bed from time to time. "Most people sleep with their eyes closed," he observed after a while.

          "Not me," said Heyes. "Can't nobody sneak up on you if you sleep with one eye open."

          "Go to sleep," said Kid firmly.

          "Yes, Ma," said Heyes, and obediently closed his eyes. He lay still, and Kid began to hope he was asleep.

          "He had red hair," Heyes said suddenly. "Freckles. He was just a young guy."

          “Yeah,” said Kid.  “I know.”