The Gift
A story challenge in which writers produce different stories from the same theme. In these stories a gift is involved.
Content
By Maz McCoy He watched their faces; mouths dropped open, eyes wide in astonishment at the speed of his partner’s draw. Heyes shoulders visibly relaxed and he let out the breath he had been holding. Kid was fast, lightning fast, faster than he’d ever be. Kid practiced, he cleaned his gun until sometimes it quite literally shone and his speed continued to save their lives. The man opposite Kid at the poker table had no idea who he was talking to when he called the young blond man a cheat and a liar, as he threw down his cards in disgust. He pushed back his chair, with dramatic outrage and glared at Kid. The man’s face began to turn red with anger, as two cool blue eyes met his own. Heyes tried to reason with him but the man wasn’t listening. Kid sighed and slowly pushed back his chair, rising to his feet to face him. His voice was calm. He was being very reasonable but the man wanted only one thing. He went for his gun. And then there were the gasps and the wide eyed expressions, as Kid out drew him. His Colt pointed unwavering at the man, who could only stand and wait to see what the blond man would do next. Some said Kid had a gift and Heyes had to agree that he did. He was the fastest he’d ever seen; the fastest gun in the west, but that was down to hours of relentless practice. Kid didn’t pull the trigger. He met the man’s gaze, allowing him to know what could have been. Allowing him to live. The ability to do that, in the heat of a life and death situation; to judge in a split second when not to pull the trigger; to Heyes that was Kid’s gift. He gave others in turn, the gift of their lives back. Heyes smiled. “Whatcha grinning at?” Kid asked, as he twirled his gun a couple of times before dropping it into his holster. “You,” Heyes told him, rising to his feet. “Me?” “Yep.” “You’re weird sometimes Heyes, you know that?” Kid told his friend. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a beer,” Heyes said, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder, as they turned towards the bar. “After that, I could sure use one.”
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By Denise Craig "I don't know Kid, I guess...I guess the year I got the cannons." Heyes smiled at the memory. "It made the battle I was trying to win, a sure thing. How 'bout you? What was your favorite Christmas present?" "That's easy, the pocket knife. I remember I had wanted that knife for two Christmas'. Pa kept saying, "Next year, when you've out grown the leprechauns. I remember walking around on tiptoe trying to seem taller," Kid laughed. They were sitting by the fire, cups of coffee in their hands as the snow swirled about them. It was not something that they intentionally brought up...the past. Tonight however, it just seemed as if the memories needed to be spoken and shared. "I always loved Christmas. I remember the smells... cookies, candles, the tree. It all seemed so magical somehow." Kid blushed slightly, he really hadn't meant to say that out loud, he had been thinking it and it had just come out. He looked over at his partner, sure he was about to be teased. Heyes just looked at him, a wistful look in his eyes. "I know what you mean, and then the excitement of Christmas morning, it was..."Heyes faltered, looking at the floor. "Magical?" Kid smiled. "A gift. The gift of family, friends..." Heyes looked up, "...the magic..." here he did smile, "...the excitement. All of it. A gift that kept giving. It held the gift of good memories." Kid smiled back. "Yeah Heyes, I think you're right. Merry Christmas partner." He raised his coffee cup as the clock struck twelve. "Merry Christmas Kid." Heyes met Kid's cup with his own. " Merry Christmas."
By CD Roberts A large gloplet of salted water welled up in the corner of Hannibal Heyes’ right eye. It latched onto one of his lower eyelashes, three in from the nose side, pooled up, and dribbled down his face. “It’s, it’s indescribable,” he managed to choke out, “I don’t know what it is about it, but it’s…” and here his voice quavered and wavered out. “…um unique,” finished the Kid for his partner. “Boys, that’s gotta be just about the most, um, well, the most orange piece of clothing I’ve ever seen.”
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“Thank-ee, Kid,” said Kyle proudly. The Devil’s Hole Gang nodded in agreement. “We had to search real hard to find that vest. It had to be just right to show how much we appreciate the leader of our gang for leading us in such a successful hold up. We wanted something unique,” the Preacher said. “It’ll sure stand out on our next robbery,” added Lobo. “We wanna show everyone our leader is real special, and we’re real proud of him,” whined Kyle. Wheat looked over jealously. It wasn’t the gift of which he was jealous. He figured it had to be about the ugliest piece of clothing he had ever seen, orange with red paisleys patterned on it. The kind of thing that was guaranteed to give its wearer a headache. He was jealous of the attention Heyes was receiving. “You know, some of us here contributed to the success of that there hold up,” he began. “I know,” said Heyes, “this vest, well, it belongs to everyone in this room.” He held it up in all its glory, and the Kid and Wheat flinched at the sight of it. “I don’t know what it is about it, but it reminds me of something,” and here Heyes broke down in tears, sobbing uncontrollably. “Reminds me of a warthog run over by a wagon,” muttered Wheat. The Preacher gave Heyes a comforting pat on his back, which only contributed to the sensitive man’s gulps and sobs. “Boy, Heyes sure is deep,” observed Kyle. Lobo nodded sagely. “That’s ‘cause he’s got deep thoughts, and all those deep memories.” “I’m sorry boys,” Heyes managed to mumble out, which wasn’t easy, as his head was on his arms on his lap, and he was still crying, “I don’t know what’s come over me.” “Oh hell, here we go,” grumbled Wheat, who stood up and opened the door. “I’m going over to get some grub, any of you coming with me? I think I can stand to miss this session.” Kyle looked over, clearly torn between food and his loyalty to his leader. But it was clear Heyes needed their help, and he decided to remain, at least until his stomach rumbled out
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loud. And it must be pointed out that, on the whole, the Devil’s Hole Gang was a loyal bunch. Then again, it could be that they weren’t smart enough to not be loyal. At any rate, the remaining gang members settled in to begin the group help session. “Now Heyes, what’s this here vest remind you of?” “I don’t know,” gulped the distraught outlaw, “but it reminds me of something from my past I know that.” He looked at the others bleakly. “What’s wrong with me?” “Maybe you are sufferin’ from a feeling of abandonment,” suggested Kyle. “Abandonment from what? Wheat?” asked the Kid, his face clearly displaying skepticism at this idea. “Wheel, I dunno,” said Kyle, “it just sounded real good-like.” “Now boys, we need to get serious here. Maybe Kyle’s got a point. Maybe Heyes does feel abandoned,” said Preacher. Heyes looked at the man thoughtfully. “Naw,” said Lobo, “I think he’s got a personality disorder. You know something you're sort of born with, but it becomes real pronounced during you're developing years, you know nurture versus nature, and then it takes a real emotional crises, like getting this here gift, for it to surface.” “Hmm, well I agree that getting this vest is sure some emotional crises, but I don’t think he’s borderline, maybe he’s narcisstic,” Kid mused. Heyes looked balefully at his partner. “Well, you do think a lot of yourself. You even said you are a genius.” “I have a right to think highly of myself, and you yourself said I was a genius, if I may point that out.” “Now fellas, I think we’re off the track here,” added Hank. He paused thoughtfully. “Heyes maybe what you’ve got is a Medusal Complex.” Everyone turned to Hank. Even Heyes was impressed. “That’s a real big word Hank. What exactly do you mean?” “Um,” said Hank. “That’s real helpful Hank,” said the Kid, rolling his eyes. “Maybe Heyes suffered something real bad, real long ago, and the vest makes him think of it,” said Kyle brightly.
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“Well, my family was murdered during the war between the states.” “And so was mine,” pointed out the Kid, “in fact I believe we are talking about the same family here.” “So,” questioned Lobo. “So how come I’m not sobbing at the sight of that vest.” “’Cause we didn’t give it to you,” stated Hank, “and ‘cause you ain’t Heyes”. Everyone nodded in agreement with Hank. “Well you boys may have a point here. I gotta admit this vest sure could cause nightmares,” said the Kid. “That’s right,” added Preacher, “or bring back nightmares, especially in someone as artistically inclined as Heyes, and we all know artists are subject to all sorts of emotional outbursts, and deep feelings, and other stuff like that. I mean, Heyes, being what he is, has every right to be an emotional wreck.” Heyes sniffed. “Sure, but that don’t mean Heyes don’t have other psychological disturbances. Or maybe he’s got some physical ailments or syndromes that bubble up into bursts of emotional bursts.” Lobo poured himself a drink after that particularly long, and he felt, incredibly articulate, speech, to whet his whistle. “I like that Lobo, I mean, I’m not a simple man, so I probably have real complex problems.” “That’s right Heyes. You may look confident and capable, and in charge of every situation, but we know you are a real mess underneath.” The Kid sat back, and smiled. “Yeah, I bet you have Cronies Disease, or maybe Sarcoidosis.” Kyle sat forward and spoke quickly and excitedly. The boys warmed up to this theme. “I know, I know, he’s got Fatty Liver Disease.” “That’s in cats, stupid.” “I think he’s got Annabelle’s Palsy.”
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“Maybe it’s Bright’s Syndrome.” “Maybe it’s Dark’s syndrome.” “Dark’s Syndrome?” “Well, if there’s a Bright’s Syndrome there’s gotta be a Dark’s Syndrome, right?” “He’s got Hairy Tongue,” screeched Kyle. Everyone paused. Heyes looked at Kyle and stuck his tongue out. “Nope, I guess he don’t have that,” mumbled Kyle, shamefacedly. “Maybe he’s got the Plague,” whispered Preacher to the now hushed room of outlaws. The men exchanged worried glances between themselves and backed away from Heyes. “Um, I just heard my stomach; I gotta go eat,” said Kyle. “Me too,” came from the others in quick succession until only the Kid remained. Heyes looked at his partner. “Well Heyes, maybe they figured plague is one gift they could do without.” The Kid smiled. “Kid, not only is that not funny, it’s a lousy finish.”
By Calico The collected shoulders of the Wet-Whittering-under-Wold branch of the Ex-Outlaws Appreciation Society drooped. Both sets. Their annual party lacked a certain – ‘je ne sais quoi’. It lacked – élan. It lacked – verve. It lacked – pep. Since the last of the Vin Tres Ordinaire had been gulped down and the box turned inside out to suck the lining dry – it lacked alcohol. Two dextrous fingers and two supple tongues gave up trying to squeeze a last lick from two battered litre tubs. It was official. Now – the party also lacked double chocolate chip ice cream.
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Cally and Rimona HAD invited the neighbouring Bog-Whittering-by-the-Wold branch of the Appreciation Society to share the festivities – but, her bunions were playing up. “Want to watch – The Day they Hung…?” started Rimona, capturing and swallowing a final chocolate chip off her cardi. “Not with YOU holding the remote,” interrupted Cally. “…We never get past the tub scene!” A beat. “…Apache Springs?” she counter offered. “Pffftt!” dismissed Rimona. Another beat. “…What about bringing down the life size cut-outs and playing ‘Pin the Hat on the …”?” “They’re both too battered to stand upright,” sighed Cally. “…And – the inks come off both their…” “You mean…” casually interjected, Rimona, “…as if someone’s slobbered all over …? No!” she interrupted herself. “We’re both sensible, mature, responsible women! Would we?!” “Exactly!” agreed Cally, firmly. “Would we?!” Two guilty faces exchanged a glance. A sigh. No – make that two sighs. Suddenly, a delivery van pulled up outside and there was the sound of sharp ‘Rat-TatTat’. “That’ll be the door,” remarked Cally. “Must be a delivery,” chimed in Rimona. The reader will gather both ladies were not only obsessed with ex-outlaws, but – as are many women with this hobby – startlingly observant, highly intelligent and razor sharp on the deduction front. They were. They WERE! Listen! Do you want to write your own dang stories? Do you? Right then – Rimona and Cally both had minds like a steel trap. AND – they were gorgeous. Oh alright. But, they HAD both remembered to put lippy on. “They’re big boxes!” observed Cally, surveying the crates, once they had been signed for. Cally made some spurious claim to having once, long ago, been some kind of engineer and so felt qualified to make this kind of complex dimensional judgement.
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“Must be just over five foot eleven!” agreed Rimona. She in turn claimed some kind of scientific bent – and so had a multifarious variety of measurement systems at her polished fingertips. Cally tore open the envelope fastened to the first crate, while Rimona fetched a fish slice and spatula from the kitchen to lever off the front. TOLD you she was practical. “From your fellow board members across the pond,” Cally read aloud. She read aloud so Rimona could hear, you understand. She COULD read to herself. Sometimes – sometimes she could even manage it without moving her lips! “From your fellow board members across the pond. A little gift to help your party go with a swing…” By now, Rimona had jemmied off the front of the first crate. Startling blue eyes! Floppy brown hat! Snug…Wow! Rimona blinked. Snug fit in there! “Howdy ma-am.” Despite the tight squeeze – the blond managed a civil tip to his hat and a dazzling smile. I should perhaps clarify. The phrase ‘tight squeeze’ referred to the space constraints in the crate, NOT to any actions on Rimona’s part. Although… “Let him go! Put him down! Open the other one! Hurry!!” squealed Cally. With dignity. “Hurry Up! Ooooohhhh!!! Please!! Rip the front off! RIP IT, WOMAN!” Not many ladies can squeal stuff like that with dignity. Not while clutching their own hair and falling off their party heels, anyhow. So – I hope you’re impressed. “Finish the letter,” panted Rimona, doing her best with the fish slice and gallantly ignoring the chips to her ‘Flirty Fox’ varnish. “…Lots of love, Breda and Emgar,” read on Cally. “…P.S. They will be hot, sweaty and VERY dirty from the journey - so please wash thoroughly before use…” Cally’s eyes took in the full dimpled, chocolate-eyed glory of the contents of the second crate. “…Not a problem, ladies…” she breathed. “…Certainly isn’t,” agreed Rimona, still enjoying her blond moment, as she rolled up her sleeves.
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By Shenango Kid Curry sat in the room reloading his colt. He'd just cleaned it, again, right after he'd cleaned and oiled his partner's and was silently waiting for the tirade he knew was to come. "I don't believe it," Heyes was trying not to shout, and only marginally succeeding. "I can't believe those ranchers are cancelling the passenger train to put another freight run through town. We're going to need to check to see if our supplies were put on this one or if we're going to have to wait. It's getting dangerous staying in this town for too long." "Yep," came the agreement from across the room. Heyes continued pacing. "We need those supplies, Kid. I don't want to have to dynamite that safe. You know the Bryant pump is key to the job. Can't open the P&H without it. I really wanted us to be out of town before this, it ain't safe waiting around." "Well at least we don't have to worry about the sheriff. Having the boys get that mining payroll as a distraction worked pretty well," Kid commented. "Yeah, Kid. But even with that distraction, the delivery won't be here till tomorrow, earliest." A knock suddenly interrupted the pacing, and the two looked at each other. "Who is it?" Heyes asked, cautiously. "It's Edward from the front desk. Got a delivery for you Mr. Rembacker, sir," was the muffled reply. Cautiously, Heyes cracked open the door; Curry sitting across the room, armed and ready, just in case. As he realized it was safe to open the door, Edward peered in. Seeing "Mr. Hotchkiss" sitting across the room with a gun, he paused, until he noticed the cleaning supplies on the table. Feeling less threatened by the man's nonchalant smile, Edward held out a small crate, sealed, with a note attached. Thanking the man, Heyes took the box and closed the door. Opening the envelope, he pulled out the note inside. "Happy Birthday Heyes!" it read and he read out loud. "What in the world..." he trailed off. Looking at his partner, he started to open the box. "Kid?" he asked puzzled. Kid grinned. "Open it already." Using one of his flat lock picks to pry the nails up, he opened the box. His eyes widened at the contents. There, inside the box, were a bar spreader and a Bryant pump, carefully packaged in enough excelcior to keep them from rattling around. "Kid?" he repeated.
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"What do you think, Heyes?" Kid asked him. "How did you manage to get..." he stopped, a confused look on his face. "I sent a telegraph to Silky when you first started talking about this job. Told him what we were going to need; told him when we were going to need it by. Glad to see he could get it to us a couple days early." "What's Silky got to do with this?" Heyes asked. Kid stood and walked over to him. "I wanted you to get everything you'd need for this job and I know how antsy you get about waiting in town. I thought you wouldn't want to be camping out on your birthday, so I made arrangements with Silky to get it all sent. Silky was happy to help. So," Curry said, trying to tamp down the big grin and getting one over on his partner, "How d'you like your gift?" His answer was a huge smile. "I guess this means I better come up with something good for your birthday then." "Yep," was the answer, "Guess you better. C'mon, let's got get dinner and a drink to celebrate." Grabbing their hats, they walked out the room to the restaurant.
By moonshadow They had already said their goodnights to the family and were on their way to the bunkhouse, when a few steps short of the door Curry veered off and headed towards the barn. “You go on ahead inside, I'll be there in a little while.” “Okay.” Heyes half-turned to watch his partner until he disappeared. Still lost in thought, he pushed open the bunkhouse door and stepped inside. When thirty minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Curry, the dark-haired outlaw moved away from the window where he had been keeping watch for the past ten minutes, shoved his arms into his jacket, grabbed his hat and walked outside. A full moon illuminated the yard, allowing Heyes to traverse the distance between the two buildings without mishap. In the otherwise quiet of the night, his footsteps sounded loud enough to wake the dead as they crunched on the loose rocks. He paused as they died away, then pushed the door open and stood for a moment watching his partner. Seated on a bale of hay with his back to the door, head bent and shoulders hunched over, Curry was so absorbed in what he was doing he failed to notice the man standing silently behind him.
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“You planning on staying out here much longer?” Although the voice was quiet, Curry shot up from the hay, his hand automatically reaching for his gun. He spun around to find a grinning Heyes leaning against the door, “People shouldn't go 'round sneakin' up on other people 'less they want to get themselves shot full of holes!” he snapped, his blue eyes shooting out sparks of their own as he shoved his gun back into his holster and dropped back down onto the hay. Heyes' grin grew even broader, “Wasn't sneaking; you were just too busy to listen.” He crossed the distance that separated them. “Maybe,” Curry shrugged his shoulders. Heyes sat down on a bale opposite his partner and watched as the other man's attention was once more captured by what he held in his hands; he also noted the frustration evident on Curry's face. The grin still firmly in place, he held out a hand, “Give it to me.” With a rueful look, Curry sighed, then tossed the object towards his cousin. “Some things never change, do they?” Heyes chuckled as he caught it easily. Curry's answer was a lop-sided grin, “Well, I promised the girls that after all the chores were done we'd all go fishin, but unless you can work some miracle on that tangled up mess its not gonna happen.” He watched as Heyes' nimble fingers swiftly began to unravel the knots in the fishing line that had been causing him so much grief. A few moments of silence filled the barn before the sandy-haired outlaw spoke again, “Do you remember how you always used to make the time pass more quickly by tellin' me some kinda story while you worked.” Heyes never looked up, “Well, Kid, tonight I think I'll let you do the storytelling.” The statement was met with silence; the sudden tension in the night air was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. “You noticed, huh?” Curry mumbled finally. “I did.” An uneasy quiet hung in the air as Heyes continued to work his magic; part of the waiting game was patience. Curry plucked some straws of hay loose from the bale, then heaved a deep sigh, “Heyes, do you ever think about 'em?”
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With a feeling akin to being blindsided, the words caught his attention; Heyes stopped to look up, “Think about them, who?” his tone was one of reserved caution as he began to wish he'd never started this conversation. “Not who- what.” “Okay, them what?” Heyes echoed, a blank look on his face. “The words.” “The words? What words?” Struggling hard to hold onto his patience, Heyes realized that repeating everything wasn't helping, but he was at a loss to do anything else at this point. Curry inhaled, then released the breath slowly. When he began speaking, his voice was pitched low, the words coming forth slowly, as if he was still feeling his way around his thoughts, “That song we sang tonight- the same one we've sang at least a hundred times, ever since we were kids. Have you ever thought about the words, or do you just sing 'em?” Now where in the hell had that come from? Heyes kept his eyes on the fishing line as he stalled for time. He'd noticed his cousin's preoccupation earlier this evening, but Kid had made sure he was never alone long enough for his observant partner to ask any questions. “Well, that's a pretty interesting question, Kid.” Grampa Curry used to look at you and smile; he'd say, 'Our little Jed is like the still waters that run deep,' and I think he knew what he was talking about. When you get to thinking, Kid, all kinds of things happen! Curry raised his head, “So, do you?” he persisted. Heyes met the gaze without blinking, “To be honest, no; for me, I think its more the melody- the tune- that makes me want to sing it. We don't really know that many songs, and even less that I can play on the guitar, so I guess I just sing it because I know it.” Curry nodded absently, then looked down at the ground between his boots. After a few moments of staring at the top of his cousin's head, Heyes broke the silence, “What about you? I gave you my answer; I think I deserve to hear yours.” There was another long stretch of silence, during which Heyes continued working on the snarls of twisted line. Curry lifted his head, scooted back on the bale of hay and leaned against the boards behind him. “Tonight, spending time with the Jordans, while we were singing that song, I suddenly realized that you and I- we could have a family like that by now-we should have one- but that's not gonna happen, is it?” Heyes looked into the pain-filled eyes of his cousin, “Aw, Kid-”
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“No, let me finish!” Curry cut him short as he stood up. Heyes closed his mouth and nodded, then waited for his partner to go on. Pacing in the confines of the barn, the sandy-haired outlaw continued, “Those words, 'Tis the gift to be simple, and free and come down where we ought to be...' we can't ever do that- we're outlaws- wanted men with a price on our heads!” His voice no longer quiet, Curry spoke with fervent conviction, “ '...and when we find ourselve in the place just right, we'll be turning- 'til we come 'round right.' Heyes, we ain't ever gonna find ourselves in any place that's right- we're too busy runnin', tryin' to stay outta the hands of the law- sheriffs, posses and bounty hunters. Hell, I'm not even sure we'd recognize what the 'right place' would look like if it jumped out right in front of us wearin' a big sign!” He kicked a rock across the floor in his anger. “Well now, I wouldn't go quite so far as to say that, Kid,” Heyes chuckled, “give us some credit!” But when there was no answering laugh, he realized he was going to have to switch tactics. Without knowing it, the Kid had offered him the opening he'd been waiting for; he seized the opportunity and ran with it, “I can't think of two more deserving people to find themselves in the 'right place at the right time' than us- you and me. We've both turned around so many times trying to do the right thing I've lost track, and its like I keep telling you, the odds are bound to be with us at some point.” He crossed to stand in front of his friend, “Listen to me; we're doing the best we can, with what we've got and that's all we can be expected to do. We know, deep down in our hearts, that we're doing the right things now- no matter what others may think. I don't know when or where, but I can promise you, our 'right place' is waiting for us out there somewhere- and no one can ever take that away from us.” Heyes fell silent and waited, almost holding his breath as he watched his partner sift through his words, unraveling what he hoped would be the last and final knot in the Kid's tangled thoughts. When Curry looked up at last, the troubled look had vanished; in its place was a look of hope. Heyes grinned, “Hold out your hand.” A curious look on his face, Curry did as he was told. As Heyes dropped the fishing line into his outstretched palm, he looked at it and grinned. It was completely free of tangles; Heyes had taken the time to turn something that most people would have given up on and thrown away into something that could be salvaged, just like he'd had the wisdom and patience to turn a potentially bad situation into one that offered a light at the end of the tunnel.
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Offering Heyes a smile of thanks, Kid realized just how lucky he was to have someone like his cousin as a partner as well as a friend. Just like when they were kids and he'd managed to get his line into a snarled up mess and turned to his cousin in his frustration. Heyes had once more managed to work his magic on the twisted knots of his problems as well as straighten out the tangled mass of knots of the real fishing line. While they might sing about “Simple Gifts,” as far as Curry was concerned, of all the gifts that Heyes possessed and unselfishly shared with him, none of them were even close to being considered simple...and that was the real gift!
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By Denise Craig "I don't know Kid, I guess...I guess the year I got the cannons." Heyes smiled at the memory. "It made the battle I was trying to win, a sure thing. How 'bout you? What was your favorite Christmas present?" "That's easy, the pocket knife. I remember I had wanted that knife for two Christmas'. Pa kept saying, "Next year, when you've out grown the leprechauns. I remember walking around on tiptoe trying to seem taller," Kid laughed. They were sitting by the fire, cups of coffee in their hands as the snow swirled about them. It was not something that they intentionally brought up...the past. Tonight however, it just seemed as if the memories needed to be spoken and shared. "I always loved Christmas. I remember the smells... cookies, candles, the tree. It all seemed so magical somehow." Kid blushed slightly, he really hadn't meant to say that out loud, he had been thinking it and it had just come out. He looked over at his partner, sure he was about to be teased. Heyes just looked at him, a wistful look in his eyes. "I know what you mean, and then the excitement of Christmas morning, it was..."Heyes faltered, looking at the floor. "Magical?" Kid smiled. "A gift. The gift of family, friends..." Heyes looked up, "...the magic..." here he did smile, "...the excitement. All of it. A gift that kept giving. It held the gift of good memories." Kid smiled back. "Yeah Heyes, I think you're right. Merry Christmas partner." He raised his coffee cup as the clock struck twelve. "Merry Christmas Kid." Heyes met Kid's cup with his own. " Merry Christmas."
By CD Roberts A large gloplet of salted water welled up in the corner of Hannibal Heyes’ right eye. It latched onto one of his lower eyelashes, three in from the nose side, pooled up, and dribbled down his face. “It’s, it’s indescribable,” he managed to choke out, “I don’t know what it is about it, but it’s…” and here his voice quavered and wavered out. “…um unique,” finished the Kid for his partner. “Boys, that’s gotta be just about the most, um, well, the most orange piece of clothing I’ve ever seen.”
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“Thank-ee, Kid,” said Kyle proudly. The Devil’s Hole Gang nodded in agreement. “We had to search real hard to find that vest. It had to be just right to show how much we appreciate the leader of our gang for leading us in such a successful hold up. We wanted something unique,” the Preacher said. “It’ll sure stand out on our next robbery,” added Lobo. “We wanna show everyone our leader is real special, and we’re real proud of him,” whined Kyle. Wheat looked over jealously. It wasn’t the gift of which he was jealous. He figured it had to be about the ugliest piece of clothing he had ever seen, orange with red paisleys patterned on it. The kind of thing that was guaranteed to give its wearer a headache. He was jealous of the attention Heyes was receiving. “You know, some of us here contributed to the success of that there hold up,” he began. “I know,” said Heyes, “this vest, well, it belongs to everyone in this room.” He held it up in all its glory, and the Kid and Wheat flinched at the sight of it. “I don’t know what it is about it, but it reminds me of something,” and here Heyes broke down in tears, sobbing uncontrollably. “Reminds me of a warthog run over by a wagon,” muttered Wheat. The Preacher gave Heyes a comforting pat on his back, which only contributed to the sensitive man’s gulps and sobs. “Boy, Heyes sure is deep,” observed Kyle. Lobo nodded sagely. “That’s ‘cause he’s got deep thoughts, and all those deep memories.” “I’m sorry boys,” Heyes managed to mumble out, which wasn’t easy, as his head was on his arms on his lap, and he was still crying, “I don’t know what’s come over me.” “Oh hell, here we go,” grumbled Wheat, who stood up and opened the door. “I’m going over to get some grub, any of you coming with me? I think I can stand to miss this session.” Kyle looked over, clearly torn between food and his loyalty to his leader. But it was clear Heyes needed their help, and he decided to remain, at least until his stomach rumbled out
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loud. And it must be pointed out that, on the whole, the Devil’s Hole Gang was a loyal bunch. Then again, it could be that they weren’t smart enough to not be loyal. At any rate, the remaining gang members settled in to begin the group help session. “Now Heyes, what’s this here vest remind you of?” “I don’t know,” gulped the distraught outlaw, “but it reminds me of something from my past I know that.” He looked at the others bleakly. “What’s wrong with me?” “Maybe you are sufferin’ from a feeling of abandonment,” suggested Kyle. “Abandonment from what? Wheat?” asked the Kid, his face clearly displaying skepticism at this idea. “Wheel, I dunno,” said Kyle, “it just sounded real good-like.” “Now boys, we need to get serious here. Maybe Kyle’s got a point. Maybe Heyes does feel abandoned,” said Preacher. Heyes looked at the man thoughtfully. “Naw,” said Lobo, “I think he’s got a personality disorder. You know something you're sort of born with, but it becomes real pronounced during you're developing years, you know nurture versus nature, and then it takes a real emotional crises, like getting this here gift, for it to surface.” “Hmm, well I agree that getting this vest is sure some emotional crises, but I don’t think he’s borderline, maybe he’s narcisstic,” Kid mused. Heyes looked balefully at his partner. “Well, you do think a lot of yourself. You even said you are a genius.” “I have a right to think highly of myself, and you yourself said I was a genius, if I may point that out.” “Now fellas, I think we’re off the track here,” added Hank. He paused thoughtfully. “Heyes maybe what you’ve got is a Medusal Complex.” Everyone turned to Hank. Even Heyes was impressed. “That’s a real big word Hank. What exactly do you mean?” “Um,” said Hank. “That’s real helpful Hank,” said the Kid, rolling his eyes. “Maybe Heyes suffered something real bad, real long ago, and the vest makes him think of it,” said Kyle brightly.
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“Well, my family was murdered during the war between the states.” “And so was mine,” pointed out the Kid, “in fact I believe we are talking about the same family here.” “So,” questioned Lobo. “So how come I’m not sobbing at the sight of that vest.” “’Cause we didn’t give it to you,” stated Hank, “and ‘cause you ain’t Heyes”. Everyone nodded in agreement with Hank. “Well you boys may have a point here. I gotta admit this vest sure could cause nightmares,” said the Kid. “That’s right,” added Preacher, “or bring back nightmares, especially in someone as artistically inclined as Heyes, and we all know artists are subject to all sorts of emotional outbursts, and deep feelings, and other stuff like that. I mean, Heyes, being what he is, has every right to be an emotional wreck.” Heyes sniffed. “Sure, but that don’t mean Heyes don’t have other psychological disturbances. Or maybe he’s got some physical ailments or syndromes that bubble up into bursts of emotional bursts.” Lobo poured himself a drink after that particularly long, and he felt, incredibly articulate, speech, to whet his whistle. “I like that Lobo, I mean, I’m not a simple man, so I probably have real complex problems.” “That’s right Heyes. You may look confident and capable, and in charge of every situation, but we know you are a real mess underneath.” The Kid sat back, and smiled. “Yeah, I bet you have Cronies Disease, or maybe Sarcoidosis.” Kyle sat forward and spoke quickly and excitedly. The boys warmed up to this theme. “I know, I know, he’s got Fatty Liver Disease.” “That’s in cats, stupid.” “I think he’s got Annabelle’s Palsy.”
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“Maybe it’s Bright’s Syndrome.” “Maybe it’s Dark’s syndrome.” “Dark’s Syndrome?” “Well, if there’s a Bright’s Syndrome there’s gotta be a Dark’s Syndrome, right?” “He’s got Hairy Tongue,” screeched Kyle. Everyone paused. Heyes looked at Kyle and stuck his tongue out. “Nope, I guess he don’t have that,” mumbled Kyle, shamefacedly. “Maybe he’s got the Plague,” whispered Preacher to the now hushed room of outlaws. The men exchanged worried glances between themselves and backed away from Heyes. “Um, I just heard my stomach; I gotta go eat,” said Kyle. “Me too,” came from the others in quick succession until only the Kid remained. Heyes looked at his partner. “Well Heyes, maybe they figured plague is one gift they could do without.” The Kid smiled. “Kid, not only is that not funny, it’s a lousy finish.”
By Calico The collected shoulders of the Wet-Whittering-under-Wold branch of the Ex-Outlaws Appreciation Society drooped. Both sets. Their annual party lacked a certain – ‘je ne sais quoi’. It lacked – élan. It lacked – verve. It lacked – pep. Since the last of the Vin Tres Ordinaire had been gulped down and the box turned inside out to suck the lining dry – it lacked alcohol. Two dextrous fingers and two supple tongues gave up trying to squeeze a last lick from two battered litre tubs. It was official. Now – the party also lacked double chocolate chip ice cream.
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Cally and Rimona HAD invited the neighbouring Bog-Whittering-by-the-Wold branch of the Appreciation Society to share the festivities – but, her bunions were playing up. “Want to watch – The Day they Hung…?” started Rimona, capturing and swallowing a final chocolate chip off her cardi. “Not with YOU holding the remote,” interrupted Cally. “…We never get past the tub scene!” A beat. “…Apache Springs?” she counter offered. “Pffftt!” dismissed Rimona. Another beat. “…What about bringing down the life size cut-outs and playing ‘Pin the Hat on the …”?” “They’re both too battered to stand upright,” sighed Cally. “…And – the inks come off both their…” “You mean…” casually interjected, Rimona, “…as if someone’s slobbered all over …? No!” she interrupted herself. “We’re both sensible, mature, responsible women! Would we?!” “Exactly!” agreed Cally, firmly. “Would we?!” Two guilty faces exchanged a glance. A sigh. No – make that two sighs. Suddenly, a delivery van pulled up outside and there was the sound of sharp ‘Rat-TatTat’. “That’ll be the door,” remarked Cally. “Must be a delivery,” chimed in Rimona. The reader will gather both ladies were not only obsessed with ex-outlaws, but – as are many women with this hobby – startlingly observant, highly intelligent and razor sharp on the deduction front. They were. They WERE! Listen! Do you want to write your own dang stories? Do you? Right then – Rimona and Cally both had minds like a steel trap. AND – they were gorgeous. Oh alright. But, they HAD both remembered to put lippy on. “They’re big boxes!” observed Cally, surveying the crates, once they had been signed for. Cally made some spurious claim to having once, long ago, been some kind of engineer and so felt qualified to make this kind of complex dimensional judgement.
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“Must be just over five foot eleven!” agreed Rimona. She in turn claimed some kind of scientific bent – and so had a multifarious variety of measurement systems at her polished fingertips. Cally tore open the envelope fastened to the first crate, while Rimona fetched a fish slice and spatula from the kitchen to lever off the front. TOLD you she was practical. “From your fellow board members across the pond,” Cally read aloud. She read aloud so Rimona could hear, you understand. She COULD read to herself. Sometimes – sometimes she could even manage it without moving her lips! “From your fellow board members across the pond. A little gift to help your party go with a swing…” By now, Rimona had jemmied off the front of the first crate. Startling blue eyes! Floppy brown hat! Snug…Wow! Rimona blinked. Snug fit in there! “Howdy ma-am.” Despite the tight squeeze – the blond managed a civil tip to his hat and a dazzling smile. I should perhaps clarify. The phrase ‘tight squeeze’ referred to the space constraints in the crate, NOT to any actions on Rimona’s part. Although… “Let him go! Put him down! Open the other one! Hurry!!” squealed Cally. With dignity. “Hurry Up! Ooooohhhh!!! Please!! Rip the front off! RIP IT, WOMAN!” Not many ladies can squeal stuff like that with dignity. Not while clutching their own hair and falling off their party heels, anyhow. So – I hope you’re impressed. “Finish the letter,” panted Rimona, doing her best with the fish slice and gallantly ignoring the chips to her ‘Flirty Fox’ varnish. “…Lots of love, Breda and Emgar,” read on Cally. “…P.S. They will be hot, sweaty and VERY dirty from the journey - so please wash thoroughly before use…” Cally’s eyes took in the full dimpled, chocolate-eyed glory of the contents of the second crate. “…Not a problem, ladies…” she breathed. “…Certainly isn’t,” agreed Rimona, still enjoying her blond moment, as she rolled up her sleeves.
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By Shenango Kid Curry sat in the room reloading his colt. He'd just cleaned it, again, right after he'd cleaned and oiled his partner's and was silently waiting for the tirade he knew was to come. "I don't believe it," Heyes was trying not to shout, and only marginally succeeding. "I can't believe those ranchers are cancelling the passenger train to put another freight run through town. We're going to need to check to see if our supplies were put on this one or if we're going to have to wait. It's getting dangerous staying in this town for too long." "Yep," came the agreement from across the room. Heyes continued pacing. "We need those supplies, Kid. I don't want to have to dynamite that safe. You know the Bryant pump is key to the job. Can't open the P&H without it. I really wanted us to be out of town before this, it ain't safe waiting around." "Well at least we don't have to worry about the sheriff. Having the boys get that mining payroll as a distraction worked pretty well," Kid commented. "Yeah, Kid. But even with that distraction, the delivery won't be here till tomorrow, earliest." A knock suddenly interrupted the pacing, and the two looked at each other. "Who is it?" Heyes asked, cautiously. "It's Edward from the front desk. Got a delivery for you Mr. Rembacker, sir," was the muffled reply. Cautiously, Heyes cracked open the door; Curry sitting across the room, armed and ready, just in case. As he realized it was safe to open the door, Edward peered in. Seeing "Mr. Hotchkiss" sitting across the room with a gun, he paused, until he noticed the cleaning supplies on the table. Feeling less threatened by the man's nonchalant smile, Edward held out a small crate, sealed, with a note attached. Thanking the man, Heyes took the box and closed the door. Opening the envelope, he pulled out the note inside. "Happy Birthday Heyes!" it read and he read out loud. "What in the world..." he trailed off. Looking at his partner, he started to open the box. "Kid?" he asked puzzled. Kid grinned. "Open it already." Using one of his flat lock picks to pry the nails up, he opened the box. His eyes widened at the contents. There, inside the box, were a bar spreader and a Bryant pump, carefully packaged in enough excelcior to keep them from rattling around. "Kid?" he repeated.
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"What do you think, Heyes?" Kid asked him. "How did you manage to get..." he stopped, a confused look on his face. "I sent a telegraph to Silky when you first started talking about this job. Told him what we were going to need; told him when we were going to need it by. Glad to see he could get it to us a couple days early." "What's Silky got to do with this?" Heyes asked. Kid stood and walked over to him. "I wanted you to get everything you'd need for this job and I know how antsy you get about waiting in town. I thought you wouldn't want to be camping out on your birthday, so I made arrangements with Silky to get it all sent. Silky was happy to help. So," Curry said, trying to tamp down the big grin and getting one over on his partner, "How d'you like your gift?" His answer was a huge smile. "I guess this means I better come up with something good for your birthday then." "Yep," was the answer, "Guess you better. C'mon, let's got get dinner and a drink to celebrate." Grabbing their hats, they walked out the room to the restaurant.
By moonshadow They had already said their goodnights to the family and were on their way to the bunkhouse, when a few steps short of the door Curry veered off and headed towards the barn. “You go on ahead inside, I'll be there in a little while.” “Okay.” Heyes half-turned to watch his partner until he disappeared. Still lost in thought, he pushed open the bunkhouse door and stepped inside. When thirty minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Curry, the dark-haired outlaw moved away from the window where he had been keeping watch for the past ten minutes, shoved his arms into his jacket, grabbed his hat and walked outside. A full moon illuminated the yard, allowing Heyes to traverse the distance between the two buildings without mishap. In the otherwise quiet of the night, his footsteps sounded loud enough to wake the dead as they crunched on the loose rocks. He paused as they died away, then pushed the door open and stood for a moment watching his partner. Seated on a bale of hay with his back to the door, head bent and shoulders hunched over, Curry was so absorbed in what he was doing he failed to notice the man standing silently behind him.
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“You planning on staying out here much longer?” Although the voice was quiet, Curry shot up from the hay, his hand automatically reaching for his gun. He spun around to find a grinning Heyes leaning against the door, “People shouldn't go 'round sneakin' up on other people 'less they want to get themselves shot full of holes!” he snapped, his blue eyes shooting out sparks of their own as he shoved his gun back into his holster and dropped back down onto the hay. Heyes' grin grew even broader, “Wasn't sneaking; you were just too busy to listen.” He crossed the distance that separated them. “Maybe,” Curry shrugged his shoulders. Heyes sat down on a bale opposite his partner and watched as the other man's attention was once more captured by what he held in his hands; he also noted the frustration evident on Curry's face. The grin still firmly in place, he held out a hand, “Give it to me.” With a rueful look, Curry sighed, then tossed the object towards his cousin. “Some things never change, do they?” Heyes chuckled as he caught it easily. Curry's answer was a lop-sided grin, “Well, I promised the girls that after all the chores were done we'd all go fishin, but unless you can work some miracle on that tangled up mess its not gonna happen.” He watched as Heyes' nimble fingers swiftly began to unravel the knots in the fishing line that had been causing him so much grief. A few moments of silence filled the barn before the sandy-haired outlaw spoke again, “Do you remember how you always used to make the time pass more quickly by tellin' me some kinda story while you worked.” Heyes never looked up, “Well, Kid, tonight I think I'll let you do the storytelling.” The statement was met with silence; the sudden tension in the night air was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. “You noticed, huh?” Curry mumbled finally. “I did.” An uneasy quiet hung in the air as Heyes continued to work his magic; part of the waiting game was patience. Curry plucked some straws of hay loose from the bale, then heaved a deep sigh, “Heyes, do you ever think about 'em?”
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With a feeling akin to being blindsided, the words caught his attention; Heyes stopped to look up, “Think about them, who?” his tone was one of reserved caution as he began to wish he'd never started this conversation. “Not who- what.” “Okay, them what?” Heyes echoed, a blank look on his face. “The words.” “The words? What words?” Struggling hard to hold onto his patience, Heyes realized that repeating everything wasn't helping, but he was at a loss to do anything else at this point. Curry inhaled, then released the breath slowly. When he began speaking, his voice was pitched low, the words coming forth slowly, as if he was still feeling his way around his thoughts, “That song we sang tonight- the same one we've sang at least a hundred times, ever since we were kids. Have you ever thought about the words, or do you just sing 'em?” Now where in the hell had that come from? Heyes kept his eyes on the fishing line as he stalled for time. He'd noticed his cousin's preoccupation earlier this evening, but Kid had made sure he was never alone long enough for his observant partner to ask any questions. “Well, that's a pretty interesting question, Kid.” Grampa Curry used to look at you and smile; he'd say, 'Our little Jed is like the still waters that run deep,' and I think he knew what he was talking about. When you get to thinking, Kid, all kinds of things happen! Curry raised his head, “So, do you?” he persisted. Heyes met the gaze without blinking, “To be honest, no; for me, I think its more the melody- the tune- that makes me want to sing it. We don't really know that many songs, and even less that I can play on the guitar, so I guess I just sing it because I know it.” Curry nodded absently, then looked down at the ground between his boots. After a few moments of staring at the top of his cousin's head, Heyes broke the silence, “What about you? I gave you my answer; I think I deserve to hear yours.” There was another long stretch of silence, during which Heyes continued working on the snarls of twisted line. Curry lifted his head, scooted back on the bale of hay and leaned against the boards behind him. “Tonight, spending time with the Jordans, while we were singing that song, I suddenly realized that you and I- we could have a family like that by now-we should have one- but that's not gonna happen, is it?” Heyes looked into the pain-filled eyes of his cousin, “Aw, Kid-”
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“No, let me finish!” Curry cut him short as he stood up. Heyes closed his mouth and nodded, then waited for his partner to go on. Pacing in the confines of the barn, the sandy-haired outlaw continued, “Those words, 'Tis the gift to be simple, and free and come down where we ought to be...' we can't ever do that- we're outlaws- wanted men with a price on our heads!” His voice no longer quiet, Curry spoke with fervent conviction, “ '...and when we find ourselve in the place just right, we'll be turning- 'til we come 'round right.' Heyes, we ain't ever gonna find ourselves in any place that's right- we're too busy runnin', tryin' to stay outta the hands of the law- sheriffs, posses and bounty hunters. Hell, I'm not even sure we'd recognize what the 'right place' would look like if it jumped out right in front of us wearin' a big sign!” He kicked a rock across the floor in his anger. “Well now, I wouldn't go quite so far as to say that, Kid,” Heyes chuckled, “give us some credit!” But when there was no answering laugh, he realized he was going to have to switch tactics. Without knowing it, the Kid had offered him the opening he'd been waiting for; he seized the opportunity and ran with it, “I can't think of two more deserving people to find themselves in the 'right place at the right time' than us- you and me. We've both turned around so many times trying to do the right thing I've lost track, and its like I keep telling you, the odds are bound to be with us at some point.” He crossed to stand in front of his friend, “Listen to me; we're doing the best we can, with what we've got and that's all we can be expected to do. We know, deep down in our hearts, that we're doing the right things now- no matter what others may think. I don't know when or where, but I can promise you, our 'right place' is waiting for us out there somewhere- and no one can ever take that away from us.” Heyes fell silent and waited, almost holding his breath as he watched his partner sift through his words, unraveling what he hoped would be the last and final knot in the Kid's tangled thoughts. When Curry looked up at last, the troubled look had vanished; in its place was a look of hope. Heyes grinned, “Hold out your hand.” A curious look on his face, Curry did as he was told. As Heyes dropped the fishing line into his outstretched palm, he looked at it and grinned. It was completely free of tangles; Heyes had taken the time to turn something that most people would have given up on and thrown away into something that could be salvaged, just like he'd had the wisdom and patience to turn a potentially bad situation into one that offered a light at the end of the tunnel.
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Offering Heyes a smile of thanks, Kid realized just how lucky he was to have someone like his cousin as a partner as well as a friend. Just like when they were kids and he'd managed to get his line into a snarled up mess and turned to his cousin in his frustration. Heyes had once more managed to work his magic on the twisted knots of his problems as well as straighten out the tangled mass of knots of the real fishing line. While they might sing about “Simple Gifts,” as far as Curry was concerned, of all the gifts that Heyes possessed and unselfishly shared with him, none of them were even close to being considered simple...and that was the real gift!
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