NOTE: This story started out as a tribute to that wonderful hunting picture of Kid Curry that we Curry fans have been so chatty about the last few days. But, like most of my stories, it evolved into something completely different.

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Kid Curry moved quietly through the densely wooded forest, being cautious so as not to snap twigs or crush dried leaves that covered the ground. The doe, no more than a hundred yards away and still oblivious to the impending doom, chewed on the leaves she had stripped from a low hanging tree branch.

Slowly Kid squatted as he raised his rifle and set his sites. With a steady, smooth motion, Kid cocked the hammer. Instantly the doe's head raised and turned in the direction of the foreign noise. In one quick motion, Kid pulled the trigger and the deer dropped, dead before she hit the ground.

Kid stood, swung the rifle over his shoulder and approached his bounty. It was a clean shot, directly though the animal's heart.

Kid pulled off his Sherpa and retrieved his hunting knife from his boot, then quickly set to work dressing the dear for transport back to the Devil's Hole compound. Once he had bled and gutted the animal, Kid retrieved his horse and returned quickly to load the deer on the back of his horse. When he had the deer tied and secured, Kid poured water from his canteen to clean his knife and hands before returning the knife to his boot and slipping back into the Sherpa. He sheathed the rifle in its scabbard and mounted the Chestnut, giving him a few gentle pats on the neck. Kid then tugged the reins and headed back to the compound.

Heyes and the other men of the Devil's Hole gang would be pleased with Kid's success as it meant hearty eating for a few days. Venison steaks would eventually give way to stew to stretch the meat as far as they could.

It was autumn now and they had yet to stock the compound with the necessary staples needed to get through the hard, cold Wyoming winter. This meant for the past few weeks, meals had been small in portion, and heavily based on biscuits, beans, and coffee. But tonight would be thick Venison steaks to fill the belly and satiate the appetite.

Kid pulled up in front of the bunkhouse and climbed off his horse to begin untying the doe. Several of the men from the bunkhouse came out to assist.

"I kilt it, you fellas skin it, carve it and cook it," Kid told them as he helped them pull the deer off the back of the horse. Kid then took the reins and led his Chestnut to the barn to wash and brush him. He unloaded the saddle, rifle and tack and set them aside before walking out to the well to fill a bucket to wash the blood from his horse.

Once the horse was clean, brushed, stalled and fed, Kid picked up the rifle and headed across the compound and up the wooded hill toward the Leader's cabin. Glancing up, he saw Heyes stepping off the porch. Kid stopped, slung the rifle over his shoulder and and rested one foot on a stump while Heyes walked toward him.

"Hear we're having a good supper tonight," Heyes said with a smile.

Kid nodded. "Yep."

"Well, come on in and take a load off. We've got things to talk about."

"Something wrong, Heyes?" Kid asked as they made their way to the cabin.

Once inside, Kid rested his rifle against the wall and followed Heyes to the kitchen table and sat down. Heyes poured them each a whiskey and then joined Kid at the table.

"I'm thinking we should head into town tomorrow for supplies for the winter," Heyes said, sipping his whiskey.

"We got enough money for winter supplies?" Kid asked.

"Oh, yeah. That's one fund we never dip into except for supplies. But, I was thinking of getting supplies in Table Rock this year."

"That's a bit of a ride. Take most of a day getting there. You got a reason for choosing Table Rock?"

"Uh-uh," Heyes replied and reached into his pocket for a newspaper clipping that he handed to Kid to read.

Kid read the article and looked at Heyes questioningly. "You want to go to Table Rock for their Founder's Day Celebration?" he asked.

"Not just any Founder's Day Celebration. They're having a parade, Kid. Did you see who the Grand Marshal of the parade is?"

"Uh-uh. Name don't mean anything to me, Heyes."

"Sam Clemens," Heyes exclaimed.

"Who is Sam Clemens?"

"Mark Twain!"

"He goes by some kind of alias or something?"

"Sort of, Kid. It's a pen name."

"A what?"

"A pen name. Lot's of writers use pen names."

"Cause they don't want folks knowing it's them that's writing?"

"Sort of. It gives them anonymity, so's they can go into restaurants and theaters and such without being recognized."

"Well he ain't got a very good alias if folks like you know all about his real name and his alias name. You planning on getting a chance to talk to him?"

Heyes nodded. "Yeah, maybe."

"Well if you do, you might want to point out to him that he ought to consider a new alias and not let folks in on what his real name is."

Heyes was feeling increasingly exasperated. "Kid, what he decides to call himself isn't important. The important thing is that he's going to be the Grand Marshal."

"Why does someone need an alias anyways, Heyes. I mean, if you're good at something, why wouldn't you want everyone knowing how good you are at it? It's like us, we're good at robbing banks and trains, so why wouldn't we want folks knowing it's us?"

"Well, suppose you and me didn't want to rob banks and trains no more. We wouldn't want people thinking we still were."

"Why not?"

"Well, nobody's as good at it as we are. So if we quit and jobs started getting sloppy, we wouldn't want people thinking we were doing those poor jobs."

"So you're saying we shouldn't be robbing banks and trains under our real names? We should be doing it under an alias, in case we ever decide to quit?"

"No, I..."

"Or if we was to stop robbing banks and trains, then maybe we should go by an alias?"

Heyes stopped to decipher Kid's argument but found he was simply to excited to give it much thought.

"Forget about the alias names, Kid. I can't see any time in our lives where we're going to need them, so just forget that whole idea, will ya?"

"Okay, Heyes, but if we ever decide we do need an alias, let's come up with something original and clever."

"We will, Kid. I promise. Now, can we get back to this Founder's Day Parade?"

"I don't know what there is to talk about, Heyes. You got your mind set on going to this parade, so I guess we're going to this parade."

Heyes smiled and released a much relished sigh. "Alright then, we'll leave tomorrow."

Kid yawned and stretched his arms. "I'm going to go and sleep awhile, Heyes. Wake me when the steaks are ready."

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Table Rock was a small town like any other small western town. It was nestled in the Sweetwater Valley, and consisted of the usual, necessary businesses common to nearly all towns in the west.

Heyes and Curry rode into town on a Friday, the day before the Founder's Day Celebration and the town was decked out with a banner that hung twenty feet above the one street town, colorful ribbons were tied to every post, and booths and tables lined both sides of the street. Children held tight to the strings of helium balloons as their mothers led them by the hand down the street. Church ladies stood behind tables selling cakes and pies, street vendors shouted out product enticements to attract customers. Music wafted through the air as the town's makeshift band played a limited variety of popular songs.

"Boy Heyes, this looks like the social event of the century. I can sure see why you didn't want to miss it," Kid said, half in sarcasm, half in humor, and a smirk on his face.

Heyes ignored the remark and continued down the street, stopping his horse only when reaching the hotel.

They went inside to see if they could get a hotel room. Heyes was surprised to find the hotel was anything but fully occupied.

"I would think with the parade Grand Martial you've gotten, every room in town would be booked by now," Heyes said to the clerk.

"We were pleasantly surprised that he agreed to come and Grand Marshal our parade. It was more than some of us could have hoped for."

He familiar with this town for some reason?" Heyes asked.

"Why, yes. He's been coming here at least twice a year for most of his adult life. He always stays at Sylvie's," the clerk replied and then leaned across the desk and spoke in a low, hushed voice. "Many of us suspect the two have shared quite the little tryst for many years."

Heyes smiled at the suggestion. "This Sylvie must be quite the looker," he joked.

The clerk nodded. "She certainly was in her prime. Of course, she's getting older now."

"So am I just standing here," Kid grumbled.

Heyes shot Kid a disgruntles look. "Where do I find this Sylvie's place," Heyes asked.

"Just down the street, at the edge of town. It's the big, white, Victorian House with the wrap-around porch."

Heyes signed the register for the both of them and picked up the key as he shifted his saddlebags on his shoulders and headed for the stairs. "You coming?" he said to Kid.

"Right behind you," Kid replied.

They dropped their saddlebags on their beds and Kid plopped down on his back on the bed and clasped his hands behind his head.

"Don't look like your author friend is much a draw to this town," Kid said as he closed his eyes to settle in for a nap.

"Oh you just wait till tomorrow, Kid. You'll see. This street will be filled with people clamoring to catch a glimpse of him."

"Uh-uh."

"You just gonna lay there and sleep?"

"That's the plan, Heyes."

"Well, I'm going out to look around and maybe stroll by that boarding house, see if he ain't sitting out on the porch smoking a cigar."

"If he is, you gonna just stroll up the walk and start a conversation?"

"I might," Heyes said defensively.

"Probably inside enjoying his little tryst," Kid replied and rolled over on his side and slid one hand under the pillow.

"Humph," Heyes said and headed out the door.

Heyes stepped outside on the boardwalk and carefully scrutinized each of the few people shopping the booths, most of whom were women and children. Not seeing anyone that even remotely resembled Mark Twain, Heyes turned and headed toward the boarding house.

A small wooden sign marked Sylvie's as a boarding house. Heyes smiled when he saw the smaller sign clipped to the bottom that announced there were no vacancies. He saw a couple of women sitting on the porch shelling beans, but the porch was otherwise vacant. Deciding to check again after supper, when Twain might be on the porch enjoying a fine cigar, Heyes returned to the center of town and headed for the saloon.

For the hour of the day, Heyes was surprised that the saloon was so sparsely populated, only three old men sat at a table, nursing beers and reminiscing of better days. Heyes strolled up to the bar and ordered a beer.

"Things look pretty slow around here," Heyes commented to the bartender.

"Well, I suspect wives are wanting to keep their husbands sober for all the excitement tomorrow."

Heyes smiled. "Yeah, that's what I'm here for. It ain't often such a small town can get such a big name for their Grand Marshal."

The bartender nodded as he wiped the top of the bar. "I suppose," he replied.

"Thought I might find you in here," Kid said as he pushed open the bat wing doors and joined his partner at the bar. "Right lively place, ain't it?"

"What are you having?" the bartender asked."

"Beer," Kid replied and turned his attention back to Heyes. "Ain't seen him yet?"

Heyes shook his head.

Kid smiled. "Aw, Heyes, you look as sad as a wallflower at a barn dance. Cheer up, you'll get your chance."

Heyes sucked in a mouthful of his beer so big his cheeks swelled out.

"I was hoping we could move into the boarding house, but the sign outside says it's full," he said after swallowing the beer.

"He probably travels with an entourage. I've heard a lot of famous folks do that. Probably needs someone to carry all them books around."

Heyes' eyes lit up. "Hey, maybe there'll be a book signing tomorrow," he said excitedly.

"That's right, Heyes, maybe you can get an autograph of the man to prove what close friends the two of you are."

"You really are enjoying this, ain't you, Kid? Seeing me so disappointed and all..."

"Heyes, you've only been in town a couple hours. There's still plenty of time for you to meet up with the man who gives your life purpose," Kid said, trying to hide the grin that threatened his face.

"Would you stop it, Kid. You ain't that funny. Ain't you ever had an idol before?"

Kid shook his head. "Just you, Heyes. I can't think of nobody else I look up to as much as you."

"You really are kind of a pain in the ass sometimes," Heyes replied.

Kid took the last gulp of his beer. "Right now, I'm just hungry. You ready for some supper? Then we'll come back and liven things up here...if that's even possible."

Heyes dropped his empty glass on the bar and headed for the doors. "You just wait till tomorrow, Kid. You'll see how lively this town can be."

"Uh-uh," Kid replied, following his partner out the door.

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The next morning, Heyes was up and dressed early. The parade was to begin at ten and Heyes wanted to find the perfect spot to get the best view of the Grand Marshal carriage as it headed past the throngs of people that Heyes was confident the parade would attract. At seven-thirty he was nudging Kid's shoulder vigorously to get him awake and moving.

"Come on, Kid. If you want breakfast, and I know you do, we have to get downstairs to the dining room quick. I want time to find a good spot to see this parade."

"Heyes, the entire town is just one street. There ain't a bad spot," Kid grumbled as Heyes tugged at his arm to get him moving.

"Would you let go of me! I'm getting up. already!"

"It's just that this is important to me, Kid."

While Kid didn't understand his partner's obsession with Mark Twain, he was well aware that the obsession existed, and this was a very important event for Heyes. So he wearily dragged himself out of bed and got dressed.

After breakfast they headed out to the street and Heyes carefully scrutinized both sides of the street, finally choosing a site in front of the saloon. There he and Kid stood, waiting, one of them with high anticipation, for the parade to start. Kid noted that there were no more than a hundred and fifty people lining the street, and nearly of of them were children. In a display of empathy, he did not point this out to his partner.

The parade was no more than fifteen minutes late in starting. Heyes leaned forward and peered down the street until he finally caught his first glimpse of a shock of curly white hair sitting in the front seat of the first open carriage. He watched eagerly as the carriage slowly approached, an extended arm waving to the people lining the streets.

But as the carriage approached, Heyes suddenly stepped back in shock, shaking his head with great disappointment. As the carriage passed, Heyes looked at the short, portly old man waving to the crowd.

"What's the matter, Heyes?" Kid asked with great concern.

"I don't know who that is, Kid, but it ain't Sam Clemens."

"It ain't?"

Heyes shook his head. "Come on," he snarled and cut through the parade to the hotel.

"Who the hell was that Grand Marshal?" Heyes demanded of the clerk behind the counter.

"That was Sam. I know, I seen him ride by."

"That was not Sam Clemens," Heyes snarled.

"Who?" the clerk asked.

"Samuel Clemens! Mark Twain for God's sake."

"Who ever said Mark Twain was our Grand Marshall?" the clerk asked.

Heyes pulled the newspaper article from his pocket, smoothed it out, and slapped it down on the counter. "It's right there in print! Heyes exclaimed.

The clerk slowly picked up article and read it. Both Heyes and Curry saw the amused smile on his face.

"Leave it to the newspaper to get the spelling wrong," he said.

"What are you talking about?" Kid asked.

"The author is Clemens C-L-E-M-E-N-S. Our Grant Marshall is Sam Clements. It's spelled "C-L-E-M-E-N-T-S."

"Who the hell is Sam Clements?" Kid asked.

"He's a traveling shoe salesman. He's been coming to Table Rock twice a year every year of his adult life. This year marks his sixtieth year. The man is at least eighty years old. The town Council thought it would be nice to honor him for his years of dedication.

Kid couldn't control the amused smile that spread across his face. "Well, it's nice the old timer got such a fine turnout," Kid said with a chuckle in his voice. "So, he's the fella having a sixty year tryst with the owner of the boarding house?"

"That's right."

Kid slapped Heyes shoulder with the back of his hand. "Come on, partner, lets get packed up and headed home."

Heyes only nodded, too disappointed to speak.

"I'm sorry, Heyes. I really am," Kid said as they packed their possessions into their saddlebags. "I know how much you admire that writer. Maybe someday you'll finally get to meet him."

"Yeah, maybe, Kid. I appreciate you not gloating over this."

"Aw, I know about disappointment, Heyes, maybe not over some sort of idol, but disappointment hurts no matter what it's about."

Heyes looked up and smiled as his surprisingly compassionate partner slung his saddlebags over his shoulder, ready to check out and head back to Devil's Hole.

Heyes," Kid said as they walked down the hotel stairs.

"Yeah, Kid?"

"If you ever do get to meet this Sam Clemens..."

"Yeah?"

"Talk to him about that alias, Heyes."

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AUTHOR"S NOTE: Table Rock, Wyoming did not exist in the 1880s. In fact, it does not exist today. The community was constructed in the 1970 ceased to exist by 2010. But this author liked the name of the town and incorporated it in this story.

Kid yawned and drank the last of his whiskey."Wake me when the steak's ready."