Thief of My Heart (Watty Awards Finalist 2012)

Chapter 1

He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it. He, Hannibal Heyes, had just lost a coin toss to Kid Curry.  Never in their long years of friendship and outlawing had he ever lost a coin toss to his fast-drawing friend.  Now, he had used a trick coin on a couple of those occasions but mostly he used a regular coin and relied on his own uncanny good luck to bring about the desired outcome.  But today he had lost.  

"Well, Heyes, there's a first time for everything! WHOO HOOO!!"  The Kid was practically dancing a jig in the street of Roswell, New Mexico to celebrate his victory.

Heyes stood  there with a confused look on his face, still not able to believe it.  He looked back and forth from the coin facing tails up on the back of his hand to his friend, still dancing in the street.  "Yeah, it's too bad that Briggs isn't around today, he'd be real happy with that jig your dancing." 

Joe Briggs had bullied the entire town of West Bend for years.  But when he'd forced Kid into dancing a jig just for the privilege of wearing his gun, he had no idea who he'd been tangling with.  If he'd had any idea he was trying to publicly humiliate one of the fastest guns in the west,  he might not have gotten his shooting arm permanently disabled.  Kid stopped and frowned  at  the mention of the old foe he'd had to put in his place those few months ago.  But then a smile crossed his face and his blue eyes twinkled as he knew his lifelong friend and partner was just a little miffed at having been bested on a coin toss.  "Now, Heyes," Kid said as he slapped his partner on the shoulder, "don't let it eat at ya.  Maybe you're just losin' your touch in your old age.  Or maybe my luck is changin'. Either way, I'm escorting Big Mac's property on the train, while you will have     'a 10 day ride to the middle of nowhere on horseback, through wild and hostile country.'      I believe that's how Big Mac put it anyway."  

The Big Mac he spoke of was their old friend Patrick McCreedy.   Mac had purchased several valuable pieces of art in San Francisco that were being delivered here to Roswell and he wanted one of the boys to see that the valuables were placed safely on the train and escorted to his home in Red Rock, while the other delivered the certificates of authenticity and the bills of sale to him personally.   He was out in the wilderness of southwest Texas, where trains and stagecoaches didn't go and few people did.  Apparently Mac had also purchased land out there for the sole purpose of selling it to  the railroad at a ridiculous profit, and he was out there to meet with the railroad company.  Heyes was to meet Mac in the small town of Alpine.   Why he needed the documents delivered there neither of the boys knew, and they didn't really care.  He was offering them $1,000 to complete both tasks.  Heyes had been sure he would be the one riding on that train in comfort while the Kid had to ride out and meet Mac.  But fate, as it turned out, had other plans.

                                              ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She couldn't feel anything anymore.  Her body had gone numb.  Her mind too.  She sat in a heap on the ground.  Her eyes were open but saw nothing anymore. She could hear the movement around her.  Knew they were still there, but it didn't matter.  Nothing mattered now.  Everything she had, everything she knew and loved was gone.  What would it feel like when she died?  When they killed her?  At least she hoped they would kill her.  The alternative was to be taken away with them.  That would be far worse than death.  "Don't worry, no harm will come to you.  I need you unblemished," he'd said to her.  But she didn't believe it. She knew a fate worse than death awaited her.  Somewhere in the distance she heard a shot ring out.  This was it.  She would feel it slug into her body any second and it would all be over.  She closed her eyes and waited but it never came.  Instead she felt the breeze of something as it fell swiftly  to the ground beside her and then the spray of dust and debris that spattered her face and hair as it hit the ground with a thud.  Then there was more gunfire and the sound of horses riding off fast.  Then more gun shots.  Why wasn't she dead?  She would welcome the sweet release of it.  But it never came.  "God, please just let me die. Send an angel to take me away from here," was her last prayer before she fell into a dead faint.