A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

DRENA HILLS

Tell me who admires you, who loves you

And I will tell you who you are.

Charles Augustine Sainte-Beare

"You sure you wanna go in there?" the lean young deputy said scrutinizing the man standing before him with a wry grin. "He's madder than all tarnation about what you wrote Mr. Bronson."

The young reporter merely laughed and twirled the end of his handlebar mustache with false bravo. "I hardly think Kid Curry is much of threat without his gun."

The deputy took one more look at the Chicago reporter's city clothes and shook his head; "You don't know a lot about Kid Curry obviously." But deciding it was the man's own funeral he picked up the keys and motioned him forward.

The Cheyenne jail was in fact more of a prison due to it often being used as a waiting station for prisoners awaiting the paperwork to clear sending them on to the Territorial Penitentiary down the road in Laramie.

A.C. Bronson noted all of this as he was checked through three security gates until finally he reached the heart of the confinement and the man who had summoned him.

He stopped surprised as the figure pacing the small cell looked up sensing who he was and he watched as his clear blue eyes grew cloudy and dark and for the first time he began to wonder if this story was really worth it.

He was younger than he had expected, the name Curry invoked a steely eyed trail worn gunslinger thanks to the dime novels, but this young man was no more than some past 20, though the trials of the last few weeks had done their best to age him.

"You Bronson?" he asked and the reporter felt like he was being called out.

"I am sir."

"You wrote this garbage about my partner?" he said and Bronson was surprised to discover his eyes could go an even darker more dangerous shade of blue.

"Yes sir I did."

"It’s a pack of lies."

"So you said in your note."

"Hannibal Heyes never killed anyone and he sure didn't lie and cheat and steal from widows and orphans like you branded him. And I think its wrong to paint a man so, when he can't defend himself."

For the first time he saw the grief, the anger had hid it up till now, but for a second it caught in his voice and Bronson made up his mind.

"Then perhaps you would like to set the record straight."

"Your damn right I would," Curry said in control again.

"Well then if I can have your assurance you will not throttle me if I enter your cell, perhaps we could discuss it?"

Curry considered this. The article had been slipped to him by one of the more sadistic guards delighted to rub salt in his grieving. At first Kid had ignored it, but finally he had read the front-page obituary of his cousin and his rage had grown with every paragraph.

Furious at the malicious slanders he had asked that a letter be taken to the reporter visiting from back east demanding to see him.

Normally such a request would have laughed at, at best, but the Sheriff was up for re-election and mention in the Chicago Tribune in an article by A.C. Bronson was too tempting so he had allowed the note to go through on the condition the man see him first.

Bronson, knowing how every reporter in the country would give his eyeteeth for ten minutes with Kid Curry had agreed. Even bringing his old trusted photographer, Micah along to take a picture of the man who captured Kid Curry. Bronson knew how to smooth the ropes; he was from Chicago after all.

But Curry was a different kind of fish and intrigued he entered the cell and took a seat on the bunk across from the man who sat cautiously waiting for the guard to leave.

"You just holler you have any problems Mr. Bronson," the guard said giving Curry a meaningful look.

"Thank you, Jenson wasn't it? I'll remember that for my article," he smiled and watched the guard puff up, nothing like making sure the man who could get you out would do so in a hurry if need be.

Curry caught all of this and leaned back almost amused. "Got you worried Bronson?" he asked.

"Well you are Kid Curry," he said hoping flattery would dispel some of the tension the man's gaze was causing.

"Big city reporter like you needn't worry though, I'm unarmed, what's Kid Curry without his gun?"

He was moving now, like a cougar looking down from the rocks above him. Curry knew he had to sit to take notes and his every move was calculated to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

Bronson pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. "Mr. Curry I am beginning to suspect you could win a gunfight without a gun, hell sir, without even showing up."

Kid stopped surprised and impressed for the first time, "Why'd you tell those lies about my partner?"

"To get to see you."

Kid frowned.

"I had heard you refused to talk to every reporter in the territory, but I also heard how close you and your partner were, I hoped to goad you into seeing me."

"So you made that stuff up?" Kid said shaking his head disgusted.

"So you could put me straight."

"And you think I'm gonna after what you just told me?"

"I think you want people to know the kind of man your partner really was."

The outlaw fell down on his bunk suddenly devoid of life, "Mister you haven't got a clue."

"But you could tell me!" Bronson said leaning forward eagerly tossing down his derby hat to reveal dark slicked back hair, not a strand out of place. "You could let everyone know who the real Hannibal Heyes was."

Kid looked at him. The anger he felt for this man had all but disappeared in his disgust of him and it had left him feeling drained and beaten. The anger had been good; it had blotted out the grief, given him something to concentrate on, something to fight, something else to think about.

For a moment Bronson felt he had lost and then slowly Kid looked up, his eyes a remarkable shade of blue as memories filled them of a time long ago, "Tell me Mr. Bronson you ever known anyone who could make you believe the word impossible applies to everyone but you and him?"

Bronson smiled at Kid's smile, "I heard he had a way about him, could talk a man into anything."

"No sir, not talk into, make a part of. Heyes never forced anyone to do anything, he just spun a tale of could be's and what ifs until you didn't care whether he was mad or not, you wanted to believe, you wanted to be part of whatever magic he was conjuring."

The gunslinger leaned back, "You ever been to Kansas Mr. Bronson? Wasn't a whole lot to the patch our folks owned, but ya know to Heyes every creek and fallen tree held possibilities. I remember I would finish my chores and run to find him because I knew he would have some plan, some possibility for the day, as he called them."

"Sounds like you were close."

"Hard not to be," he smiled. "I about pestered him to death following him everywhere, even when his friends wanted him to lose me. I remember once I was only about 5 and this older kid asked him why he put up with me and he just grinned and punched me in the arm and said, 'Jed's got potential, I like that in a man.' " He looked him dead in the eye. "He always knew the right thing to say."

"I heard he had a silver tongue."

"Yea, but what you don't understand was he meant it, Heyes honestly believed it when he was telling it to you, our grandfather said that was the mark of a great storyteller and an even better liar."

"Your cousin ever lie to you?"

"Yea," Kid said honestly. "Like when he told me my mother and sister didn't suffer none before they died and when he'd hand me supper and say he'd already eaten or when I'd made a dang fool of myself and he'd tell me story of how he'd done the same thing worse and make me laugh. Yea my cousin lied to me Mr. Bronson and I'd give my right arm to have him lie to me one more time."

He looked up and neither man acknowledged the wetness around his eyes when he finally looked back at him.

"How did it happen?"

Kid sighed not wishing to relive it; "He was looking after me, as always. We were being chased by a posse and got caught between them and a dry riverbed when a flash flood came down on us. I got completely knocked off and hit my head. He pulled me up to high ground, but they tell me in doing so gave himself no chance to get clear and was swept away."

"I hear they found the body about a mile down stream."

Kid looked at him bitterly, "I wouldn't know they didn't let me attend the funeral, they were real kind about making sure I knew he was in a pauper's grave without even a marker to state who he was."

"Can an outlaw expect much more?" Bronson said and was relieved when Curry's eyes flashed in anger and pulled him up from his melancholy.

"Yea he was an outlaw Mr. Bronson, but that’s only one word and only a part of him. Do you know who kept the Wyoming Home for Waywards in food and clothes each month? My partner did, though he'd have denied it flat out if he thought I or any one else knew. People think I'm a soft touch, but the fact of the matter is my cousin was the one who really came through when someone was in trouble. And not with just a fast dollar that would only last a day, he'd go away and think on the problem and soon things would mysteriously happen, like and old veteran begging on the street would be eligible for a back pay or the farm that was gonna foreclose suddenly had a glitch in the legal paperwork turning it around so the bank owed them money.

Heyes hated injustice and though he claimed to be a cynic, fact of the matter is he was the most optimistic man I ever knew. There was always a way, a chance, in fact I almost half believe he'll find away to free me from here from his grave."

Bronson coughed suddenly uncomfortable, "But you two belong in prison, you rob banks."

"Yes sir, but I also kind of think if everyone was arrested who stole be it a man's hope or his reputation, why there might not be anyone out there to lock the gates. Least wise were honest about what we do."

Bronson got up slowly, "You've given me a great deal to think about Mr. Curry, thank you."

He offered his hand, not completely sure the man would take it and then considering and forgiving Kid did.

"I would like to come back tomorrow with my photographer, a picture for the story."

"Story isn't about me, it's about my partner."

"Yea, but I think it will generate some sympathy for you, might even help cut your sentence, 20 years is a long time."

"No."

Bronson nodded and moved for the door and then stopped, "Not even for a grave marker for your friend?"

Kid looked up sharply, angry the man would tempt him so, but tempted none the less.

"One picture Mr. Curry, you’re a legend, people like to see pictures of legends."

Kid sighed defeated, what difference did it make, he wouldn't see freedom for 20 years and he sure wouldn't look the same then and if it would buy Heyes a decent marker.

"All right Bronson you'll get your picture," Kid said angrily, "But you see to it that my cousin gets buried right."

"I promise."

************************************

Bronson stopped at the Sheriff's office and after dropping hints of how prominent the man would be in his story quickly secured the permission he needed to return the next day with Micah.

Then feeling in need of a drink he purchased a bottle and wearily made his way to his room at the hotel.

He opened the door and tossed the key on the dresser as the gun clicked back.

"Well?"

"You didn't lie," he said opening the bottle and filling the water glass.

"Which means?"

"Which means now I really don't know what to do," Bronson sighed downing the glass.

*******************************

Kid Curry ignored the sly comments that came with his food his mind preoccupied with the visit earlier. Finally the guard tossed his food down and gave up disappointed he couldn't rile the young man into the need to have him subdued and taught a lesson. Curry was still too cocky, too self assured and it bothered him and if he was honest the sheriff as well how he could give off that feeling when they had the guns and he was unarmed.

Kid, however didn't notice. The visit had brought his partner back to life and the ache inside him burned and twisted as he tried to find away to see the purpose some reason in what had happened. Oh they had talked about death once or twice, usually when they had drunk too much or had a close call, but always, always death had been on their terms and for a purpose they chose.

Kid closed his eyes and remembered a summer day seen through a wheat field frame.

************************

"Han you ever think about dying?" 8 year old Jedediah Curry asked.

Ten year old Hannibal Heyes looked over at his cousin studying the sky. They had just finished a most serious game of tag and were now resting on their backs the undisputed champions of the county.

"Sometimes, I think I'm gonna like the women weeping and the men going on about how great I was."

Jedediah nodded, and then thought a moment, "What women?"

"Women that love me of course, be dozens of them."

"You don't know a dozen women."

Hannibal rolled his eyes, "I will when I'm grown Jed."

"Oh yea, you think I'll have women crying at my funeral?"

"Oh yea, be a whole passel weeping after you."

Jedediah considered this, so far girls were more an annoyance than an asset, but if Hannibal thought it was a good thing then it was a good thing.

"Han?"

"Yea?"

"Let me go first."

For the first time Hannibal rolled over and faced him, "What?"

"When we gotta die, let me die first," there was an urgency in his voice now and looking down Hannibal realized his cousin was gripping his sleeve.

A smart response crossed his mind and then his eyes met his younger cousins and what he saw there made it evaporate.

"What you worrying about dying anyway for?" he said uncomfortable.

"War I guess, Mrs. Daily's son died and he want no more than 17."

"Yea well were just kids, kids don't die till their grown so quit worrying."

"But promise me you'll let me go first," Jed said not giving up.

"What you afraid you won't get a proper u-lo-gee," Hannibal laughed and then stopped there was fear clearly in his friend's eyes. "Tell you what Jed I'll make you a promise, we'll both die together in a grand blaze of glory after living us a life full of adventure and romance and fine goings on."

He was rewarded with a smile that made him smile back.

"I like that Han, cept for maybe the romance, I still ain't sure girls are worth the trouble."

"You ain't never kissed one," Hannibal said rolling back on his back with a mysterious smile.

"You ain't kissed a girl!" Jed said scornfully, then suddenly propped up on one elbow looked at him in wonder, "You ain't have you?"

His cousin merely smiled and he never did find out.

****************************

Death didn't come up again until two years later in front of three hastily dug shallow graves under a hot August sky.

"Come on Jed," 12 year old Hannibal said wearily. Five graves in one day were a lot to ask of a boy, who had buried his childhood with his family.

"Han?"

"Yea."

"You remember your promise?"

Hannibal Heyes sighed wanting to strike out at the younger boy in anger and fear and frustration, but something about the tone made him finally look at him and he understood.

"Yea I remember Jed, we go out together, blaze of glory, somebody else gonna have to bury us, we'll be gone and left and have better things to do."

"Promise?" Jedediah asked as if deciding to live another minute depended on it.

"Promise," Hannibal Heyes swore.

**********************************

"You didn't keep your promise Heyes," Kid said and angrily threw the plate of food at the wall knowing it would cost him a beating. "You didn't keep your promise."

***********************************

"He said this?" the dark haired man stared down at the written article Bronson had just finished.

"He thinks a lot of you."

"He tends to overlook the bad in a man and compensates for it."

"No, no I don't think so and I'll tell you the truth sir this little scheme would be going no further if I hadn't talked to him, but then you knew that. You knew if I met him I'd have to help him didn't you?"

The man smiled as he too remembered a childhood day long ago, "Yea I kinda thought he might tip the scales, man like that is worth saving."

"For what to rob more trains and banks? To be hunted down and caught eventually? To perhaps die at the hands of those who hunt you?"

"Ah," and this time Hannibal Heyes really did smile as he remembered. "But to die together, a promise is a promise."

****************************

Bronson caught his breath as Kid Curry looked up from his bunk. His eye was swollen and blue and he looked like he had suffered a painful night if the bruises were any indication.

He felt the man next to him tense and then force himself to relax.

"You didn't say they 'd beaten him," Hannibal Heyes whispered softly.

"They hadn't when I was here, will it be a problem?"

"No, might even help," Heyes said, but Bronson watched as he noted the faces of the guards opening the cell and he shivered at the expression and resolve in the man's eyes.

"Mr. Curry this is my partner Micah, he's here for that picture!"

Kid nodded not looking up as the cell door was shut.

"Then we'll see to it that your bold dashing partner gets the funeral he deserves one with lots of women weeping, least a dozen."

Kid looked up sharply almost afraid and stared at the dapper man grinning down at him eyes twinkling.

"Come on Kid you really think I would break my promise?"

The grin on the man's face made Bronson feel better about himself than he had in a long time and he grinned back from the old man's disguise Heyes had so carefully covered him in.

"How…" was all Kid managed in delighted shock.

"Long story, tell you somewhere with a better view," Heyes looked over to make sure the guard was out of sight. "We haven't got long, take off your clothes."

"What?" Kid asked but was doing it as he asked.

"Your going out as Micah," Heyes said. "And Mr. Bronson is taking your place," Heyes added as Bronson pulled off the whiskers and Heyes began blackening his eye.

"Why?" Kid said amazed.

"Your partner promised me a serial if we pull this off, but this alone should keep me in clover for years."

"They put people in jail for aiding and abetting," Kid said confused.

"Ah, but a poor city boy like myself was threatened and forced to help by the notorious Hannibal Heyes, who by the way wrote the story that was sent to you. He said it would force you to see me."

Kid glared at Heyes; "You could have got word to me Heyes!"

"You can flatten me later, I was a bit laid up myself," Heyes said applying the whiskers and wig to his cousin.

Kid instantly gave him a once over, "You all right?"

"Fine, can we discuss this later on the other side of these bars?"

********************************

Ten minutes later the guard unlocked the cell door and glanced down at the figure curled up on his bunk.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked.

"Guess that beating he took caught up with him," Heyes said quietly.

"He tell you that? He fell, accident."

"Of course he did," Heyes smiled pleasantly and taking the large awkward camera tri-pod from his partner accidentally swung it around catching the man in the kidneys doubling him over in agony. "Yup accidents happen all the time."

****************************

"And they believed you!" Kid laughed two weeks later as the three men sat on the porch of Devil's Hole sharing cigars and a memory.

"Well I am just a reporter and a city one at that," Bronson grinned. "Hardly a match for two desperados like yourselves."

"We can't thank you enough for what you did," Heyes said sincerely.

"No it is I who should thank you, reporters kill for stories this good, one favor though after I interview your men, I would like to take few pictures…including one of you both….no, no I understand and I promise you it will never be published or anyone know who you are, just something for me to remember when I'm back in my smoky dingy office."

The two men looked at each other clearly a silent conversation going on between them.

Finally Heyes nodded, "All right one picture, we get the negative and under the condition you never tell who the two men in it are."

"Agreed," Bronson smiled.

"So how you want us to pose?" Kid said uncomfortable.

"I don't, when I see the picture I want I'll know."

******************************

"Well the conquering hero returns, we though you had decided to stay and become an outlaw yourself Bronson!" the editor sneered as he breezed by the clattering typewriters and escaped into his small office and the familiar clutter that felt like home.

"You'd never get so lucky Denton!" Bronson yelled back and looked up as a friendly face peered in.

"Man you must be the luckiest SOB on the planet, Heyes and Curry, you know that story got picked up world wide."

"Yes I do," he grinned at his friend "And Davy my boy I earned it believe me," Bronson said cockily as he opened his case and began tossing out notebooks and then suddenly froze finding something that made him smile.

"What's that?" his friend said as he pulled the framed picture out and absently put it on the file cabinet beside his desk.

"Just a reminder Davy," the man smiled leaning back in his chair and studying it with a faint smile. "A reminder to old cynical reporters that people still do keep their promises."