Three Short Color Themes: 100 Tales
May. 23rd, 2011 10:31 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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aliassmithjonesHere is a trio from my 100 Tales. All G-rated. All take place during the time "my" Heyes and Curry are teens, still not the famous outlaws they'll become.
First, a short-short -- Heyes and Curry enjoy a lazy Spring morning.
Hannibal Heyes lay back in the grass. Green surrounded him. There was little Heyes liked better than a cool spring morning, just after the sun had warmed the dew off the grass, but before it heated the air. He plucked a stem and stuck it into his mouth, chewing gently.
Yep, a man could get used to this country thing. Back home, Pa had kept the lawn mowed short, and Ma frowned upon kids who came home with grass stains on their clothing. Out here, he could flop on the cool ground and nobody would say a thing.
Heyes stared up at the slice of blue sky he could see through the green canyon waving gently over him. He put his hands behind his head.
"Heyes?" The Kid was lying in his own grass canyon close by.
"Mmm?"
"Think we ought to go catch some fish for breakfast?"
"Eventually."
Next, grab on to your seats -- somebody gets shot! As an aside, there was an actual town called Never Sweat in Wyoming.
Blood is not red. It's brown and ugly. And when the brown, ugly fluid is seeping from the leg of your best friend, blood is terrifying. Hannibal Heyes wasn't sure how it had happened. They'd been so careful -- he'd been so certain the gang had gotten all the weapons, that none of the passengers on the train had posed any threat! Then, just as they'd spurred their horses, a single pistol had barked.
Heyes had reined in, checking his men, but nobody seemed to be in any pain, so he'd wheeled to follow them. It had been a little surprising that the Kid hadn't returned fire, but Heyes had thought it was good his partner saw the logic of a quick getaway. Returning fire meant they could get pinned down, trapped until a posse arrived.
It wasn't until they were almost back to Devil's Hole that he'd seen the brown stain spreading across the ribs of the Kid's horse. He'd turned, thinking the pinto was hit, but then he'd seen the Kid's face. His skin was the color of snow, and sweat beaded his forehead. His teeth were clenched tighter than the jaws of a bear trap. The Kid barely glanced at his partner, but stared straight ahead at nothing. And the ugly, brown flood just kept spreading.
Hannibal Heyes rode behind his partner, reining his horse more and more as the Kid slowed. There was nothing either of them could have done -- even if there had been a doctor within miles, stopping would have meant waiting for a posse. The two bandannas they wrapped around the leg were soaked through in minutes. He trotted up beside the Kid, who glanced at him with wide eyes that mirrored his own terror.
"We're almost to Never Sweat -- you gonna make it?"
The Kid flashed him a tiny smile. "I'm sweatin'."
Hannibal Heyes tried to grin back, but his lips wouldn't stretch that far. The Kid's eyes were glazed. Heyes could see his jaw muscles pop as he ground his teeth on the pain.
Heyes fell back once more and let the Kid set the pace. The rest of the gang was out of sight already. Even odds if they'd head back to the Hole or find a spot on the trail to wait for them. Heyes had the loot, so they might wait. He rode on, trying not to scream as pinto's side slowly turned brown beneath the Kid's saddle.
By the time they got to the outskirts of Never Sweat, Kid Curry was barely conscious. His hands were clenched on the saddle horn, and he swayed loosely in the saddle, flopping back and forth as the pinto moved. Heyes swung alongside, ready to grab his partner if he lost consciousness.
The gang had figured Heyes would head for the nearest town, and met up with them on the road. Heyes didn't even think -- he just shoved the bag of loot at Kyle and waved them off. He heard a hoarse, rasping voice speaking.
"We'll ... catch up to you later." It was only when he felt the pain in his throat that he understood it was himself speaking. He swallowed hard. "We'll find a doctor. The Kid'll be OK."
Because he had to be OK. He had to be fine, in spite of that ugly, terrifying stream of brown that soaked his pants from thigh to boots. In spite of the brown flood coloring the white patches of the pinto's ribs. Because Hannibal Heyes could not come up with a plan for a future without Kid Curry.
He thought about trying to get the Kid off his horse. What if that just made things worse? His partner was so much bigger than he was, now he'd had his growth spurt. What if Heyes couldn't hold him up? The Kid wasn't going to be able to walk to the doctor's! In the end, he just rode straight into town, leading the Kid's horse.
Heyes flagged down the first people he saw -- a group of boys playing marbles.
"Doctor," he yelled. The youngsters pointed, and Heyes pulled the horse around. He had to force himself not to spur the animal into a gallop.
The doctor's place was two streets up, behind the grocer's. Heyes flung himself out of the saddle and threw open the door.
"M'friend got shot!" he gasped. The fear in his own voice nearly had his legs folding up under him. He felt his eyes watering, and shook his head in irritation. The doctor, blessedly, wasted no time asking questions, but darted outside.
Together, they got the Kid down - he passed out completely during the process -and onto the doctor's table. Hannibal Heyes had averted his eyes from the horse with the brown stripe along its side, but he couldn't do the same as the doctor split the Kid's trousers and reached for his implements.
Heyes put his hands on his partner's shoulders, in case the Kid roused during the surgery. He could see the ribcage jerking up and down. The heartbeat beneath his palms felt much too slow, too soft. He watched the doctor swab the wound with carbolic acid and start digging for the bullet.
Hannibal Heyes felt every cut of the scalpel, every dig of the forceps. His body trembled until he felt the table shake. Several days elapsed before the doctor gave a short, satisfied grunt and tossed a heavy metal lump onto the tray. Heyes glanced at the wall clock and noticed it had been fifteen minutes since they'd arrived.
He kept his eyes on the doctor's hands as the man expertly put a line of stitches along the wound, and then wrapped the entire thigh in bandages. The doctor glanced up. Something in Heyes' face brought a look of exasperated concern to his, and he shoved a chair across the floor.
"Son, sit down before you fall down!" He strode to the washbasin. The brown stains on the doctor's hands and forearms spread across the water in a cloud - a red cloud! Hannibal Heyes felt the strength drain from his body. He could feel the blood leave his face. His belly shivered, then his legs just folded up. He barely managed to thump into the chair instead of sprawling across the floor. He thought he was going to throw up.
"Put your head between your knees and breath deep," the doctor commanded. Heyes did so without thinking, though later he would kick himself for not even wondering if the doctor might be an enemy, much less checking to be sure the place was safe. God must look after fools, for the doctor did nothing but clean up the horrid brown and check the Kid's pulse.
When his muscles stopped quivering, Hannibal Heyes sat back up and stared at his partner. The Kid was so still. His face was pasty white, and he didn't move -- didn't move at all! Heyes had to stand up on wobbly legs, had to put a hand on the chest to feel his partner breathing in and out.
"Is he ... will ... "
"He should be fine, son." The doctor's voice was deep and soothing. Hannibal Heyes spared the man a glance, and decided to take the chance and trust him.
The doctor leaned over the Kid and pulled his eyelids back, peering into his eyes. Whatever he saw made him nod, a satisfied smile on his face. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he's young enough to bounce right back."
Heyes sucked in a deep breath. He swallowed -- then swallowed again. The Kid stirred, just a little, and tears sprang to Heyes' eyes.
"How long?" he whispered. He couldn't take his eyes off the Kid, in case he woke and looked for his partner.
The doctor stepped close, and clapped a heavy hand on Heyes' shoulder. "I want him to stay here for a few days at least," he said. "He needs rest. He may need more stitches if that wound starts bleeding again. And I want to make sure he gets enough liquid into him to replace some of that blood."
He leaned down to stare into Heyes' face. "I'm not going to ask what you were doing, son," he said. "But I hope you learned that it's not going to pay."
Heyes widened his eyes. This time, he didn't have to fake the tears for the Contrite Youngster Face. "Doc, we'll never do it again, I swear! We was just fooling around -- we didn't know them cowboys would take us serious. We wasn't really gonna cut their herd."
The doctor grunted, and turned to clean his instruments. The Kid gave a soft sigh. Hannibal Heyes stared. The blue eyes opened and looked blearily around the room. A crease formed between the brows.
"I'm right here, partner," Heyes murmured.
Kid Curry moved his head, and looked up at Heyes. A tiny smile creased the corners of his mouth. "Damn if we ain't both sweatin' in Never Sweat," he whispered.
And here's a little comedy to end the evening on:
The Kid was starting in on him again. Hannibal Heyes tried to rein in his temper and not snap, but his partner was trying his patience.
"Kid, forget it. I had this hat since we met. I ain't getting rid of it."
"That's my point. That thing's nearly four years old. And it's not like either of us could afford a good hat back then."
"This was the first hat I ever bought. It's fine."
The Kid glanced at Heyes from the corner of his eyes. "You know, an outlaw who can't even afford a decent hat's not gonna get much respect."
Heyes narrowed his eyes. "You're getting on my last nerve, partner."
"Just try this on and look in the mirror."
Hannibal Heyes put hands on hips. "Kid, that is a black hat. I am naturally dark-complexioned. People with dark hair and eyes need a light colored hat to play up their color. This is a well known fact in the fashion world."
"Humor me."
Heyes snatched the hat from the Kid's hands. He glared at it. What the hell was so wrong with his comfortable old brown hat anyhow? So it had a couple of threadbare spots ... maybe a little torn place or two. And there was that bullet hole from when Kyle was target shooting. He turned the hat in his hands.
It was stylish, no question about that. The band was brown leather, with random silver designs fastened onto it. They kinda reminded him of suits in a deck of cards. The only problem was the damn color.
He glanced back at his partner. The Kid crossed his arms and tilted his head. Heyes rolled his eyes. He clapped the hat onto his head and stomped over to the store's mirror.
"Now, young fella, that there hat looks fine on you." The shopkeeper, alert to a possible sale, followed him across the floor. Of course, he might just suspect the two of them of plotting to steal something.
Hannibal Heyes ignored the man and stared at his reflection through narrowed eyes. Just as he'd thought, he looked -- Heyes widened his eyes and took another look. Actually, he looked pretty damn good in black.
First, a short-short -- Heyes and Curry enjoy a lazy Spring morning.
Hannibal Heyes lay back in the grass. Green surrounded him. There was little Heyes liked better than a cool spring morning, just after the sun had warmed the dew off the grass, but before it heated the air. He plucked a stem and stuck it into his mouth, chewing gently.
Yep, a man could get used to this country thing. Back home, Pa had kept the lawn mowed short, and Ma frowned upon kids who came home with grass stains on their clothing. Out here, he could flop on the cool ground and nobody would say a thing.
Heyes stared up at the slice of blue sky he could see through the green canyon waving gently over him. He put his hands behind his head.
"Heyes?" The Kid was lying in his own grass canyon close by.
"Mmm?"
"Think we ought to go catch some fish for breakfast?"
"Eventually."
Next, grab on to your seats -- somebody gets shot! As an aside, there was an actual town called Never Sweat in Wyoming.
Blood is not red. It's brown and ugly. And when the brown, ugly fluid is seeping from the leg of your best friend, blood is terrifying. Hannibal Heyes wasn't sure how it had happened. They'd been so careful -- he'd been so certain the gang had gotten all the weapons, that none of the passengers on the train had posed any threat! Then, just as they'd spurred their horses, a single pistol had barked.
Heyes had reined in, checking his men, but nobody seemed to be in any pain, so he'd wheeled to follow them. It had been a little surprising that the Kid hadn't returned fire, but Heyes had thought it was good his partner saw the logic of a quick getaway. Returning fire meant they could get pinned down, trapped until a posse arrived.
It wasn't until they were almost back to Devil's Hole that he'd seen the brown stain spreading across the ribs of the Kid's horse. He'd turned, thinking the pinto was hit, but then he'd seen the Kid's face. His skin was the color of snow, and sweat beaded his forehead. His teeth were clenched tighter than the jaws of a bear trap. The Kid barely glanced at his partner, but stared straight ahead at nothing. And the ugly, brown flood just kept spreading.
Hannibal Heyes rode behind his partner, reining his horse more and more as the Kid slowed. There was nothing either of them could have done -- even if there had been a doctor within miles, stopping would have meant waiting for a posse. The two bandannas they wrapped around the leg were soaked through in minutes. He trotted up beside the Kid, who glanced at him with wide eyes that mirrored his own terror.
"We're almost to Never Sweat -- you gonna make it?"
The Kid flashed him a tiny smile. "I'm sweatin'."
Hannibal Heyes tried to grin back, but his lips wouldn't stretch that far. The Kid's eyes were glazed. Heyes could see his jaw muscles pop as he ground his teeth on the pain.
Heyes fell back once more and let the Kid set the pace. The rest of the gang was out of sight already. Even odds if they'd head back to the Hole or find a spot on the trail to wait for them. Heyes had the loot, so they might wait. He rode on, trying not to scream as pinto's side slowly turned brown beneath the Kid's saddle.
By the time they got to the outskirts of Never Sweat, Kid Curry was barely conscious. His hands were clenched on the saddle horn, and he swayed loosely in the saddle, flopping back and forth as the pinto moved. Heyes swung alongside, ready to grab his partner if he lost consciousness.
The gang had figured Heyes would head for the nearest town, and met up with them on the road. Heyes didn't even think -- he just shoved the bag of loot at Kyle and waved them off. He heard a hoarse, rasping voice speaking.
"We'll ... catch up to you later." It was only when he felt the pain in his throat that he understood it was himself speaking. He swallowed hard. "We'll find a doctor. The Kid'll be OK."
Because he had to be OK. He had to be fine, in spite of that ugly, terrifying stream of brown that soaked his pants from thigh to boots. In spite of the brown flood coloring the white patches of the pinto's ribs. Because Hannibal Heyes could not come up with a plan for a future without Kid Curry.
He thought about trying to get the Kid off his horse. What if that just made things worse? His partner was so much bigger than he was, now he'd had his growth spurt. What if Heyes couldn't hold him up? The Kid wasn't going to be able to walk to the doctor's! In the end, he just rode straight into town, leading the Kid's horse.
Heyes flagged down the first people he saw -- a group of boys playing marbles.
"Doctor," he yelled. The youngsters pointed, and Heyes pulled the horse around. He had to force himself not to spur the animal into a gallop.
The doctor's place was two streets up, behind the grocer's. Heyes flung himself out of the saddle and threw open the door.
"M'friend got shot!" he gasped. The fear in his own voice nearly had his legs folding up under him. He felt his eyes watering, and shook his head in irritation. The doctor, blessedly, wasted no time asking questions, but darted outside.
Together, they got the Kid down - he passed out completely during the process -and onto the doctor's table. Hannibal Heyes had averted his eyes from the horse with the brown stripe along its side, but he couldn't do the same as the doctor split the Kid's trousers and reached for his implements.
Heyes put his hands on his partner's shoulders, in case the Kid roused during the surgery. He could see the ribcage jerking up and down. The heartbeat beneath his palms felt much too slow, too soft. He watched the doctor swab the wound with carbolic acid and start digging for the bullet.
Hannibal Heyes felt every cut of the scalpel, every dig of the forceps. His body trembled until he felt the table shake. Several days elapsed before the doctor gave a short, satisfied grunt and tossed a heavy metal lump onto the tray. Heyes glanced at the wall clock and noticed it had been fifteen minutes since they'd arrived.
He kept his eyes on the doctor's hands as the man expertly put a line of stitches along the wound, and then wrapped the entire thigh in bandages. The doctor glanced up. Something in Heyes' face brought a look of exasperated concern to his, and he shoved a chair across the floor.
"Son, sit down before you fall down!" He strode to the washbasin. The brown stains on the doctor's hands and forearms spread across the water in a cloud - a red cloud! Hannibal Heyes felt the strength drain from his body. He could feel the blood leave his face. His belly shivered, then his legs just folded up. He barely managed to thump into the chair instead of sprawling across the floor. He thought he was going to throw up.
"Put your head between your knees and breath deep," the doctor commanded. Heyes did so without thinking, though later he would kick himself for not even wondering if the doctor might be an enemy, much less checking to be sure the place was safe. God must look after fools, for the doctor did nothing but clean up the horrid brown and check the Kid's pulse.
When his muscles stopped quivering, Hannibal Heyes sat back up and stared at his partner. The Kid was so still. His face was pasty white, and he didn't move -- didn't move at all! Heyes had to stand up on wobbly legs, had to put a hand on the chest to feel his partner breathing in and out.
"Is he ... will ... "
"He should be fine, son." The doctor's voice was deep and soothing. Hannibal Heyes spared the man a glance, and decided to take the chance and trust him.
The doctor leaned over the Kid and pulled his eyelids back, peering into his eyes. Whatever he saw made him nod, a satisfied smile on his face. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he's young enough to bounce right back."
Heyes sucked in a deep breath. He swallowed -- then swallowed again. The Kid stirred, just a little, and tears sprang to Heyes' eyes.
"How long?" he whispered. He couldn't take his eyes off the Kid, in case he woke and looked for his partner.
The doctor stepped close, and clapped a heavy hand on Heyes' shoulder. "I want him to stay here for a few days at least," he said. "He needs rest. He may need more stitches if that wound starts bleeding again. And I want to make sure he gets enough liquid into him to replace some of that blood."
He leaned down to stare into Heyes' face. "I'm not going to ask what you were doing, son," he said. "But I hope you learned that it's not going to pay."
Heyes widened his eyes. This time, he didn't have to fake the tears for the Contrite Youngster Face. "Doc, we'll never do it again, I swear! We was just fooling around -- we didn't know them cowboys would take us serious. We wasn't really gonna cut their herd."
The doctor grunted, and turned to clean his instruments. The Kid gave a soft sigh. Hannibal Heyes stared. The blue eyes opened and looked blearily around the room. A crease formed between the brows.
"I'm right here, partner," Heyes murmured.
Kid Curry moved his head, and looked up at Heyes. A tiny smile creased the corners of his mouth. "Damn if we ain't both sweatin' in Never Sweat," he whispered.
And here's a little comedy to end the evening on:
The Kid was starting in on him again. Hannibal Heyes tried to rein in his temper and not snap, but his partner was trying his patience.
"Kid, forget it. I had this hat since we met. I ain't getting rid of it."
"That's my point. That thing's nearly four years old. And it's not like either of us could afford a good hat back then."
"This was the first hat I ever bought. It's fine."
The Kid glanced at Heyes from the corner of his eyes. "You know, an outlaw who can't even afford a decent hat's not gonna get much respect."
Heyes narrowed his eyes. "You're getting on my last nerve, partner."
"Just try this on and look in the mirror."
Hannibal Heyes put hands on hips. "Kid, that is a black hat. I am naturally dark-complexioned. People with dark hair and eyes need a light colored hat to play up their color. This is a well known fact in the fashion world."
"Humor me."
Heyes snatched the hat from the Kid's hands. He glared at it. What the hell was so wrong with his comfortable old brown hat anyhow? So it had a couple of threadbare spots ... maybe a little torn place or two. And there was that bullet hole from when Kyle was target shooting. He turned the hat in his hands.
It was stylish, no question about that. The band was brown leather, with random silver designs fastened onto it. They kinda reminded him of suits in a deck of cards. The only problem was the damn color.
He glanced back at his partner. The Kid crossed his arms and tilted his head. Heyes rolled his eyes. He clapped the hat onto his head and stomped over to the store's mirror.
"Now, young fella, that there hat looks fine on you." The shopkeeper, alert to a possible sale, followed him across the floor. Of course, he might just suspect the two of them of plotting to steal something.
Hannibal Heyes ignored the man and stared at his reflection through narrowed eyes. Just as he'd thought, he looked -- Heyes widened his eyes and took another look. Actually, he looked pretty damn good in black.
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no subject
Date: 2011-05-24 02:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-24 03:44 am (UTC)*turns cartwheel ... sprains something*
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Date: 2011-05-24 04:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-24 12:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-24 09:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-24 12:02 pm (UTC)I know ... usually it's hurt/comfort with Heyes being hurt, right? I figure Heyes ain't so good on the comfort part -- and this would have been their first real serious injury.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-24 09:20 pm (UTC)Yee-ha!
no subject
Date: 2011-05-25 09:23 pm (UTC)The first one...so nice & peaceful. :D (So, your Heyes was a city or town kid?) :D
The second one....oh my....it really moved me!!! :) They're still young and inexperienced...and Heyes can still act all innocent-eyed and lie even in the worst of situations...and Kid is so strong and brave in this and silently suffering....(Poor Kid!!) And his last lines... I thought you did a great job. :D
And the hat story was delicious, of course. :D
All in all a nice, cheer-me-up read. Thanks. :)
no subject
Date: 2011-05-26 01:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-27 06:56 am (UTC)"This is a well known fact in the fashion world."
"Humor me."
LOL—Too funny!
Nice job :)
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Date: 2011-05-27 11:24 am (UTC)