Full Circle

by Joann Baker

Jed Curry sat in the sheriff’s office with a grim expression on his face. He had known he was in trouble as soon as he saw the look on the lawman’s face. Now he sat boxed in with only one way out. Without showing any indication as to what he intended to do, he slowly lowered his right hand.

“I fold,” he said, as he laid his cards flat on the table.

Sheriff Jack Caldwell let out a loud hoot, as he leaned over to rake in the pot--eight dollars and fifty cents. Neither man was a high stakes gambler, but both were highly competitive and had found a good sparring partner in the other. That each man would have thought the other the least likely of companions only a year before was also true.

Back then, Jack Caldwell had made no secret of the fact that he did not approve of two notorious outlaws being granted amnesty, nor did he make it a secret that he did not welcome them as residents in his town.

Jed Curry, for his part, had shown no interest in changing the other man’s mind. He had been in a melancholy mood after suffering an injury to his leg that had left him with a profound limp and in almost constant pain.

All of that had changed a year ago when the two had become reluctant partners in catching a horse thief who had tried to frame Curry and seduce his young daughter. In the end, Caldwell had been the one to shoot the thief and save Curry’s life. Although almost ten years his junior, Jack Caldwell had gained Curry’s respect and trust for his handling of the matter, and Caldwell had developed a deep admiration and respect for the man Jed Curry had proven himself to be. Since then, the unlikely friendship had developed.

“When do Mr. and Mrs. Heyes get back?” Caldwell asked, casually, as he dealt the next hand.

“Next week,” Curry replied, picking up his cards. “I sure will be glad when they get back. They deserved some time to themselves though.”

“How have you and Clay been managing out there by yourselves?”

“We’ve been taking care of the place just fine. I hardly give my leg a second thought these days--good as new.”

Caldwell smiled and nodded, though he knew that was not quite true.

“So you gonna be doin’ the saddle breaking yourself this year then?” Caldwell asked, with raised eyebrows.

That very question had been the subject of a heated debate between Curry and his partner just before Heyes had left.

“Why not?” Curry challenged.

“Oh, I don’t know, just thought that since your place is doing so well now, you could afford to hire someone else to do that.”

“Clay and I can manage. Plus, now that school’s out Heyes and Charlotte will be spending most of their time out at the ranch. And you know that Catherine will be arriving on Friday. Having a young man around while Catherine was here didn’t exactly work out very well last year. I don’t plan to make that mistake again,” Curry grimaced at the memory.

“Well, not all young men are scoundrels like that Jeremiah Wilde turned out to be. And uh, maybe Catherine will have other men to think about besides ranch hands.”

Curry’s eyes narrowed, as he stared at the man across the table. “Just what is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve been meaning to tell you, but, Catherine and I have been corresponding some.”

“Corresponding?”

“Well, yeah, I wrote her a letter about a month after she left. You know, just to let her know everything here was back to normal. Then she wrote me back and…well…we’ve been corresponding.”

“She never mentioned that in any of the letters she wrote to me!” Curry exclaimed.

“Oh, well…we thought we wouldn’t bother you with that unless…well unless things got serious.”

“Are you telling me that things are serious between you and my daughter? She’s only seventeen!”

“Well, Jed, a lot of women get married at seventeen—even at sixteen.”

Curry stood and stared down at the younger man. “Married? Now you’re talking about you and her getting married?”

“Well,” the sheriff drawled. “I didn’t exactly say that. Just…well, it’s a possibility.”

Curry inhaled deeply, fixing his eyes on Caldwell. “I’m gonna need some time to let this sink in,” he said quietly. “I’d best be getting on back out to the ranch. I’ll think on what you’ve just told me. See you next week, Jack.”

“See ya, Jed.” Caldwell looked down nervously, wondering if he should have waited until Catherine arrived to tell Curry about his feelings.

Seeing the younger man’s discomfort, Curry hid a smile. He’d let Jack worry a while…but if Catherine was going to get married, there was no one he’d be happier to see her with.

Before Curry made it to the door, he was surprised by the sudden arrival of Ed Mathers, the new deputy sheriff. The man rushed straight to Caldwell and handed him a small piece of paper. ‘Urgent telegram,’ Curry observed, waiting near the door to see what the trouble was.

Caldwell frowned and reread the telegram before looking up. “Train robbery,” he said finally and sat down. Curry waited a minute for him to say more, but the sheriff remained silent.

“That’s it? A train robbery? That’s not exactly unheard of in these parts,” Curry commented, wondering why Caldwell had gone Pierce as a sheet when he read the telegram.

The lawman flashed the reformed outlaw a dark look. “It’s the way this gang does it.”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t blow safes or steal payrolls. They rob the passengers—they seem to know when a few particularly wealthy passengers are on board.”

“Okay, so who are these guys?” Curry asked, still not sure what made this so unusual.

“Nobody knows,” Caldwell said, dryly.

“Well, what do the passengers have to say?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, they must have something to say.”

“They don’t say anything because the gang shoots everyone in the cars they rob, anybody who sees them,” Caldwell’s eyes met Curry’s.

“My God,” Curry breathed, softly. “How many?”

“This train? Fourteen.” They’ve hit a few others further south in Colorado and Utah. This one was hit about twenty miles from here on the Utah boarder.”

“You mean they’re going around stopping trains and massacring the passengers and nobody has any idea who they are?”

“That’s about it.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this?” Curry demanded.

“The railroads have been trying to keep it quiet. They don’t want to create a panic.”

“You mean they don’t want people to stop buying train tickets,” Curry observed, wryly.

“Look, I know you don’t think much of the railroads, but they’re doing their best.”

“How much reward are they offering?”

“Nothing yet. Besides, they don’t have any descriptions to put on posters.”

“Hmph, I wonder how motivated they really are. It’s not their money these guys are taking.”

“That’s not fair, Jed.”

“No? Back when we were robbing trains, the railroads put out a reward of ten thousand dollars on Heyes and me, dead or alive, and we never killed anyone on any of their trains. We just took their money.”

“Well, you have to admit, you took quite a lot of their money.”

“I can’t believe you’re comparing what we did to a massacre like this train job!”

“Whoa, slow down, Jed. There’s no comparison here. These crimes are brutal; brutal and senseless. They didn’t even spare the women and children. I don’t understand how anyone can do a thing like that.”

“Well, some men just have that in ‘em,” Curry said, as a distant and haunted look came over his face. “I gotta go.”

“Jed, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up…” Caldwell started to go after him, but the other man didn’t look back as he continued walking out of the office. “Damn,” he muttered, going back to his desk, remembering the story he’d been told of how Curry lost his family.

000000000

The small ranch house stood quiet in the early morning light. A pile of wood lay neatly stacked on one side, and the nearby corral was in good repair. Jed Curry sat on the porch and looked out over the landscape that he and Heyes had turned into a damn fine horse ranch. It had taken them some time; a few years to establish their stock, and equally long to gain the trust and respect of the other ranchers. It turned out that Heyes had an instinct for breeding lines and they were beginning to get a reputation for the quality of their stock.

Curry’s attention abruptly turned to the main entrance to the property; the sound of horses approaching brought a concerned frown to his face. Heyes wasn’t due home until the next day and he wasn’t expecting any regular visitors. The former outlaw stood and faced the riders as they got closer. Even before they reined their horses to a stop in front of the porch, he knew what they were—lawmen. He didn’t know their names or who they worked for, but he could guess their profession from a mile away.

“Good morning. We’re looking for Mr. Curry.” The man in the center spoke with the authoritative air of a man who was used to being in charge.

“What’s your business?” Curry asked, his body tensing involuntarily as he noticed a silver star on the man’s chest.

“You Curry?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “We want to talk to you about a train robbery that occurred a few days ago,” the man replied.

Curry snorted a disdainful laugh. “A train gets robbed in the territory of Wyoming and you ride all the way out here to my ranch to ask me about it? I’m not in that business anymore, in case you haven’t heard.”

“Oh, we heard about you and Heyes receiving your amnesty alright, and we heard about you two laying low here for the last few years.”

Curry clenched and unclenched his fists and let out a slow breath before speaking.

“I don’t like your attitude, Marshal,” Curry said, looking into the man’s face. “I’m a law abiding citizen now and you’re on my property; so you’d better explain what right you have to come here accusing me of something.”

“We’re not accusing you of anything, Mr. Curry,” one of the other men spoke up, his soothing tone an obvious attempt to calm the suddenly tense situation. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions. We’d like your help.”

“My help?” Curry asked, incredulously. “I’m not in that business either. I’m a rancher. I raise horses. If you want to buy some good reliable mounts, then I might be able to help you.”

Curry studied the marshal’s two companions. Both were dressed in suits and weren’t wearing badges. Detectives of some sort, he surmised.

“I don’t think you understand, and maybe we got off on the wrong foot here,” the third man suggested, with a quick glance at the marshal next to him. “Would you mind if we came inside and talked?”

Curry nodded slowly. “Suit yourself. You can tie your horses up over by the corral. I’ll make some fresh coffee.” He retreated into the ranch house, leaving the men to tend to their horses.

“Well, what is this all about?” Curry asked, after the three visitors were finally seated inside.

A dark haired man in a gray suit spoke first. “Let me introduce myself. My name is William Jennings, chief detective for Midwest Railroad. This is my associate, Tom Blackburn.” Jennings looked young, maybe mid twenties, but he had a confident air of a man who was used to giving orders. Blackburn was slightly older, a shorter stockier man with reddish hair and a ruddy complexion.

“Didn’t know Midwest had its own detectives,” Curry observed, glaring at the men seated in his living room. After all this time, how can these guys still make me so uncomfortable?

“The Bannerman Agency didn’t seem to be able to get the job done,” Blackburn replied, his eyes never leaving Curry’s face.

“And what about you? Have you got any leads to this gang that’s been robbing your trains and killing the passengers?

“As a matter of fact we do. We know where they’re hiding out,” Jennings interjected.

“Well, then do your job. Go arrest them,” Curry said, curtly, with a glance at the marshal who had remained silent during the exchange.

“That’s what we’re trying to do, Mr. Curry. That’s why we’re here,” the marshal said, coldly.

Curry stared in disbelief at the three men. “I thought we already covered this. You can’t possibly think…”

“No, Mr. Curry, we don’t think you robbed the train, but we think you can help us capture the men who did,” Blackburn said quietly.

“We have reason to believe that this gang is using Devil’s Hole as their hideout,” the marshal supplied the last bit of information with an accusing glare.

“We’d like you to lead a posse into Devil’s Hole,” Jennings added.

Curry’s eyes widened, unable to hide his shock. “You gotta be kidding,” he laughed. “Now I know I can’t help you, even if I wanted to. There’s no way a group of riders can get close to that place without being seen. They’d pick us off one by one and we’d never see a soul. There’s no way,” Curry declared.

“We think some of your old gang may be riding with this bunch, or at least know who they are,” Jennings continued.

“Not likely,” Curry argued. “No one who rode with me and Heyes would be a part of a thing like this. Besides, almost all of the boys are either dead or in prison by now.” The last part wasn’t quite true, but these detectives didn’t need to know that.

“Well, somebody showed them how to get in there, now didn’t they?” Blackburn raised his eyebrows and waited for Curry’s response.

“There are plenty of people over the years who knew how to get into Devil’s Hole; men that only rode on one or two jobs, or hid out there for a time.”

“You can get us in, Mr. Curry. Whoever’s in there probably knows you and you could convince them to let us in,” Jennings said, hopefully.

“I said no. It won’t work. That gang isn’t going to let anybody in there. It would be suicide for anyone to try. I think this conversation is over.” Curry rose to escort his guests to the door.

The men stood, reluctantly. “We’ll be in touch. Come on, Bill,” Blackburn said, gesturing to the other man.

“Don’t count on it,” Curry replied, as he ushered the three men to the door.