A tiny missing scene from the Pilot.
The door of the cell slammed shut. Hannibal Heyes lowered himself onto one of the cots, tossing his black hat aside and raking angry fingers through his hair. “Aaargh! I KNEW we shouldn’t have trusted Lom! I KNEW the governor wouldn’t offer amnesty to a couple of outlaws like US!”
Without a word, Kid Curry joined his friend, a supportive figure sitting at his side, lending a listening ear.
“I wanted to believe this might be our lucky break, Kid. I know you wanted that amnesty, but…”
“Heyes, ain’t you the one always tellin’ me to have a little faith?”
“Faith in Lom? Faith in the governor? Look around, Kid! Lom’s had us locked up! He’ll be collecting a handsome reward too, soon as we’re transported to Cheyenne.” He slapped both hands against his knees and rose, beginning to pace. “And we just walked in here and handed it right to him! We should NEVER have come back to Porterville!”
The rant would have continued, had Curry not interrupted. “Maybe you ought’a count your blessin’s.”
“Blessings?! Which blessings would those be, Kid? The blessing of having a roof over our heads, provided courtesy of the taxpayers of the Territory of Wyoming! Twenty years’ worth of two squares a day, consisting of moldy bread and water! Or maybe the blessing of having an old friend be the one to stab us in the back!”
The Kid moved toward the cell door, leaning against the cool bars, allowing Heyes’ tirade to subside. “I was just thinkin’ what Grandpa Curry used to say.”
Heyes emitted a heavy sigh.
“‘When things are lookin’ gloomy,’ he used to tell us, ‘count your blessin’s.’ Remember?”
Heyes, calmer this time, replied, “I remember.” He waited, unable to think of any blessings at the moment, but knowing Curry would.
“Things could be worse.”
Heyes’ dark eyes flashed in a silent dare to explain exactly HOW things could be much worse.
Instead, Curry proceeded with his positive outlook. “If we hadn’t come back to Porterville, Heyes, we never would’a met Miss Porter.”
There was a funny, but familiar, gleam in the blue eyes. Heyes covered his face with one hand, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
“And Wheat and the boys are in town.”
Heyes interrupted, “Wheat Carlson? A blessing? Man’s more of a curse if ya ask me! He’s been a thorn in my side since the day…”
“AND we ain’t tran-si-ents.” The Kid sounded the word out carefully. “Got us a couple’a real jobs, workin’ at the bank.”
“Kid, you’re not thinking! We’re not gonna have those jobs come morning when Miss Porter finds out that…”
Undeterred, Curry continued his tally. “An’ seems to me, YOU ought’a be mighty grateful for the blessin’ of a partner, every bit as larcenous as you.”
Keys jingled from the hand of Kid Curry.
“You know, Kid, Grandpa Curry was right.” His wide smile matched his partner’s. “Those gloomy skies are beginning to brighten.”
He reached for the keys but the Kid pulled them away.
“Uh-uh. You didn’t say it, Heyes.”
“Aw, come on, Kid! This is no time for…”
“Nope. You want out, you gotta say it, just like Grandpa Curry would’a.”
“Alright, alright!” Heyes exhaled an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. “When I count my blessings, Kid, I count you twice.”
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