When the noise died down suffiently, Griffith led the young man to the podium. "Folks, this is Fred Philpotts, a shoe salesman from Minneapolis, Minnesota." Griffith patted Fred's arm reassuringly. “Begin when you are ready.”
Fred took a deep breath and looked around. When Sheriff Lom Trevors telegraphed him about speaking on behalf of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, he had been reticent, unwilling to once again become the center of attention. The last time all eyes were upon him like this, he’d been about to swing at the end of a hangman’s rope. True, he would have gone to his eternal damnation as the famous Kid Curry, but since then he’d had time for serious reflection and had wisely concluded that living anonymously back in Minneapolis as Fred Philpotts was better than dying as a notorious outlaw.
He cleared his throat.
“As you can all tell, I sort of resemble Mr. Curry. That’s what got me into trouble a couple of years back. I am ashamed to admit now that I had a part in makin’ folks believe I was Mr. Curry, leastways while they wanted to pump my hand and ask me questions about the robberies they thought I done. Those of you who read the papers know it almost cost me my life in Red Rock. I was a young kid and, well, I hope I growed up some since then and come to my senses. Which, I wouldn’t have any senses to come to if it wasn’t for Mr. Curry there and Mr. Heyes.
“There I was, sittin’ in the jail cell waitin’ on the hangman. I didn’t kill Mr. Boggs, but the jury saw it different and convicted me. They figured ‘Kid Curry’ would do anything for easy money. At first, I was ready to die. It suited me, I have to admit, bein’ the center of attention. Why, even the editor of the Red Rock Gazette come to talk to me about how I was goin’ down in the history books as one of the most successful outlaws in the West and how it would make Red Rock famous as the town where Kid Curry met his Maker. It bothered me when Mr. Heyes came along knowin’ I really wasn’t his friend, but I was so full of myself then, I figured I could bluff him out.”
Fred shook his head and looked down at his hands. He mused a bit on his youthful folly. When he raised his eyes and met the gaze of the former outlaws, a sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You might say Mr. Heyes convinced me of the error of my ways. I know him and Mr. Curry had their reasons for not wanting me to die usin’ his name, but Mr. Heyes is a powerful thinker and I know he coulda come up with another plan to save their skins while still lettin’ me die in mine. Why, if it wasn’t for his plan for the jailbreak, I’d be under six feet of Montana earth right now. Jailbreaks is not the customary way to get folks outta prison, but there was no other way and he had to prove to the judge who I really was.” Fred shrugged and smiled. “Or really wasn’t.”
“Of course, we got caught in the end, me and Penny, my girlfriend, and Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry. But the important thing is, is that I’m still here to tell the story. Iffen it wasn’t for those two gentlemen, I’d be rottin’ in my casket. They knew I was innocent and wouldn’t let me die in my foolishness. It’s sure enough that Jack Brown got caught and admitted he done the killin’ but by then, it would have been too late for me.
“So I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry done a real good deed when they saved me from myself. I don’t claim to be anybody famous any more. I’m happy just to be me now.”
Fred paused a moment to scan the crowd. “And that’s the end of my story. I sure hope they get their amnesty ‘cause they’re two of the most decent gentlemen I know and I’d be proud to be mistaken for either one of ‘em.”
