by Judith Pella
But above all, could she face what must surely lie ahead? How could she give up the ranch she loved, the life she loved? And her family…? Dear God, how can I give them up? She and Sam had only just begun their life together. How could she part from the man she loved so dearly? And Sky and Carolyn—
Deborah glanced covertly at her daughter. Carolyn had been looking at her mother all along, perhaps seeing the sudden fear and distress that etched her face. Their eyes met and held for a moment. Carolyn’s large, expressive eyes probed hers, questioning, even silently demanding an answer. Carolyn had remained silent during the ride, but she was not the type to remain passive for long.
In a sudden flash of memory, Deborah recalled the day Carolyn had been born. Broken Wing, in his gentle, simple way, had helped her accept the child she had been so fearful of bearing. Over the years, Carolyn had often been a challenge to raise, but Deborah’s love and acceptance of her capricious and headstrong daughter, apart from the tragic circumstances of her conception, had been unfailing and genuine. And it was that very love—misguided, perhaps—that had prevented her from revealing the past to Carolyn. Sam had always favored complete honesty with Carolyn, but he had never forced Deborah to follow his way of thinking. Deborah wanted to be honest, but every time she thought of the torment her existence with Carolyn’s father had been, the circumstances of his death, and the fact that she herself still stood convicted of his murder, she could not find the courage to tell her daughter.
At last Deborah’s cowardice was about to catch up with her. By postponing the inevitable, she had only created a worse situation. Now Carolyn would not only have to face the truth about her parentage, but would have to do so without her mother’s present comfort.
But this was not the time for those revelations. Griff was dying; perhaps…he was already dead. Deborah could only deal with one crisis at a time.
Her grip tightened around the reins, and she pressed her knees against her mount’s flanks, urging him forward. Over and over she reminded herself that she was not alone, that God was riding into this crisis with her.
Still, she felt her heart wrench as they rode down the hill.
5
Griff figured he didn’t have long. He lay sprawled out on the nice couch Deborah had bought last year and had shipped all the way from Boston. Even in his pain and distress, he couldn’t help thinking that he was getting blood all over the fabric. Yolanda had attempted to bandage the wound, but it wasn’t doing much good. His blood was soaking the bandages faster than she could change them. Griff had tried to get Pollard to take him to a bed in one of the back rooms, but Pollard wanted to watch the front door. He wasn’t about to let Griff out of his sight.
Griff thought about trying to attack the man, but every time he moved the pain nearly made him faint.
“You know, Pollard,” Griff said, “you’re a fool if you think she’s gonna walk right in here. Those cowhands that work for her will move heaven and earth to protect her.”
“We’ll see.”
“Why, she probably ain’t even gonna come back at all. She’s probably halfway to Mexico by now.”
“You better hope that ain’t true, McCulloch, ‘cause if it is, you’re a dead man.”
Unfortunately, Griff knew Deborah well enough to be pretty certain that she’d never run out on him—the fool woman! She wouldn’t even think of going to Mexico.
“What’re you gonna do if I die before she gets here?” Griff asked.
“I’ll figure that out when she comes.”
“If she comes.”
“I don’t take her for the kind to turn her back on a friend—and if you’ve been with her for all these years, I bet you’re that, and maybe more, eh?” Pollard gave a leering wink.
“Why, you dirty—” Griff yelled and tried to lunge at Pollard, but everything went black and he fell back against the couch. He felt a fresh trickle of warm blood in his side.
Pollard smiled at Griff and shook his head without much pity. He then licked his dry lips. “Hey!” he called toward the kitchen door. “You, woman in there, what you got to drink?”
Yolanda, looking pale and frightened, appeared with a pot of coffee.
“I mean something stronger than that,” Pollard sneered.
“We keep no spirits in this house, señor,” she said in a shaky voice.
“All right, gimme more coffee then.”
Yolanda refilled his cup, then set down the pot and turned to Griff. “Señor Griff, are you…all right?” His eyes were closed and his breathing was so shallow she could not be sure if he was, in fact, still alive. She bent close and felt a weak stream of breath from his mouth. She dabbed his forehead with a cloth, then lifted the blanket covering him to inspect the bandage. She shook her head dismally. The bandage she had changed only fifteen minutes ago was soaked.
“He still alive?” asked Pollard, sipping his coffee as if he really didn’t care.
“He will die if he doesn’t get proper care.” In her deep concern, Yolanda found the courage to speak firmly. “If you are a lawman, you cannot allow—”
Before she could finish her thought, the front door opened. Yolanda jumped up and ran to the door. Upon sight of Deborah, relief filled Yolanda’s face as if Deborah had the power by her very presence to fix everything—to make Griff live, to make this awful deputy sheriff leave their home. Sobbing, Yolanda ran to Deborah and embraced her.
“Oh, Deborah, I…I…” Weeping overcame her, and she sank into Deborah’s arms.
Deborah held Yolanda tenderly, this dear woman who had been a faithful servant, friend, and family member for so many years. While she held her, Deborah took in the situation. She recognized Pollard, even though he had aged beyond the toll of the years. He had been somewhat sympathetic toward her during her trial and at the time of her near-execution. There was no sympathy now on that hardened and worn face.
“I was right,” Pollard said in a voice that sounded like a dry desert wind.
The sound of his voice seemed to steady Yolanda; at any rate, she straightened and, with determination, stepped aside so Deborah could fix things and make all return to normal.
Deborah ignored Pollard and headed directly for Griff. But Pollard tensed and swung his gun toward her, forcing her to stop halfway there.
“Not so fast, ma’am,” Pollard warned. He nodded toward Longjim and Carolyn. “I want all of you to get outta here now.”
“You can’t—” Longjim began to protest.
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” snapped Pollard sharply. He might be close to victory, but that only seemed to make him more jumpy and nervous.
“Do as he says,” said Deborah.
Carolyn, stoic that she usually was, seemed near to tears. She loved Griff like the father she never had, and she was obviously distressed not knowing if he was alive or dead. “I don’t care what happens,” she said stubbornly, “I’m not leaving Griff here like that—”
“You listen to your ma,” came a weak voice from the couch.
“Griff!” exclaimed three voices at once.
“Go on!” yelled Pollard. “Get out now. And don’t try nothing like sneaking in the back way, ‘cause I’ll shoot McCulloch first and ask what you want later.”
Longjim, Carolyn, and Yolanda slowly retreated, closing the door behind them. Pollard seemed to relax a little. He hadn’t liked the look of Longjim, whom he judged to be a dangerous man. He could handle a mere woman and a dying man.
“Well, Mrs. Stoner—but I forgot, it’s Mrs. Killion, now, ain’t it? I reckon, as they say, you are through running,” Pollard said.
“Please,” pleaded Deborah, “let me help Griff.”
“Ain’t this touching? Why, I begin to regret siding with you nineteen years ago,” Pollard went on in a less-than-sympathetic tone. “They were probably right about you back then; I bet you and McCulloch had something going on together all along. That’s why he rescued you and why he’s still around.”
&nbs
p; “I swear, Pollard,” Griff said, somehow managing to infuse his weak voice with menace, “I’ll kill you before this is all over!”
“If you last that long.”
Ignoring Pollard, Deborah went to Griff and knelt down on the floor beside him. She took the cloth that Yolanda had left on a nearby table and blotted the sweat from Griff’s forehead.
“Why’d you come back, Deborah?” he asked.
“Do you really need to ask, Griff?”
“Naw…I just wish you hadn’t. It was blame crazy of you…blame—” He stopped, gasping as a sharp pain assailed him.
Deborah paused a moment to study his condition. She needed no medical degree to see he was in a bad way. His normally ruddy complexion was ashen, even beneath a two-day growth of beard. The bandage at his side was soaked with blood. She well knew that men with wounds such as his, especially this far out on the frontier, did not usually survive. Deborah wanted to weep. She had never before seen Griff down like this, so helpless, so vulnerable. She realized how much she had always counted on his strength, his protection. Now she must protect him.
Deborah looked at Pollard. “Griff needs a doctor and some fresh bandages.”
“All right,” said Pollard. “Get that Mexican woman in here to help, but no one else, you hear? They can call a doctor after we leave.”
“Leave? Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you in to Danville tonight.”
“That’ll take all night!” protested Deborah. “It’s dark out there, and dangerous. And when will we sleep?”
“I got a couple hours of shut-eye before you got here,” answered Pollard. “You can sleep in the saddle if you want. I ain’t taking no chances staying around here any longer than I have to.”
Deborah called to Yolanda, but when she appeared Pollard had another task for her first. He tossed a length of heavy rope at her.
“Tie up Mrs. Killion,” Pollard instructed. “Make it tight, ‘cause I’m watching.”
When Yolanda hesitated, he put his gun to Griff’s head. Deborah nodded to her and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “It’s okay, Yolanda. Do what he says.”
“Oh, but Deborah! How can he do this thing…?”
“It’s going to come out all right.” Deborah tried to back her words with an encouraging smile. “We just have to trust the One who is really in control.”
“Sí, señora.”
“When I’m gone, Yolanda, do everything you can for Griff. Concentrate on him, and don’t worry about me.”
Yolanda nodded again, tears once more filling her eyes. As she tied the rope, following Pollard’s instructions, each knot, each tightening pull, seemed to bring more pain to Yolanda than to Deborah. But in the end the job was done to Pollard’s satisfaction. The rope bound Deborah’s hands firmly in front of her, with two strong lengths going up from her hands to wrap around her neck. It gave her very limited movement, exactly the effect her captor wanted.
From his bed, Griff groaned when he saw her trussed up like a wild beast. Fury surged across his face, but he was so weak he could do nothing but curse himself for his own helplessness.
“Okay, you,” Pollard said to Yolanda, “go tell someone to saddle up two fresh horses.”
“What about Griff?” asked Deborah.
“There’ll be plenty of time for that after we’re on our way.”
Five minutes later, the horses were waiting out front. Deborah felt hollow inside and a little shaky. Being tied up as she was reminded her of that terrible day when she had made her way to the gallows in Stoner’s Crossing. Again she was a prisoner, and again beside the same man who had been with her then. Once more a gallows loomed in her future, but there would be no Griff McCulloch to rescue her.
There was, however, an important difference between then and now. This time she had more than a human deliverer to depend upon. And for that reason, she did not want her friends to risk their lives for her. When Griff mustered the strength to threaten Pollard, she silenced him.
“Griff, you just worry about getting better. I’ll be fine.” But when she took a final look at him, all the stoicism in the world could not have kept her tears at bay. She had seen enough death and dying to know Griff was as close to death as a man could get. She might never see this dear friend again. “Oh, Griff!” she cried. One last time she dropped down beside him, and unable to embrace him as she wanted, she kissed his cheek instead. “You know I love you, Griff. You are my dearest friend.”
“I know that, Deborah. And I know you can be strong now, just like always.”
When Yolanda opened the front door, Longjim thrust his way forward. His expression clearly indicated that he wanted to attack Pollard, but the deputy held his gun close to Deborah. An abrupt move would place her at too much risk.
“Longjim, don’t try to come after us,” Deborah said. “I don’t want anyone else in danger. We will leave this in the hands of justice. Mr. Pollard is taking me to Danville until I can be transported back to Stoner’s Crossing.”
“I ain’t gonna let ’em hang you, Deborah!”
“Longjim, please!” said Deborah, with a sidelong glance at Carolyn who was close by and listening anxiously.
“Ma, what does he mean?”
“Carolyn, when Sam gets to the ranch, I’d like you and Sky to come with him to Danville. I’ll explain everything then.”
“Let’s get moving,” said Pollard.
He grasped Deborah’s arm and led her outside, just as he had done nineteen years before.
6
Sam wasted no time in getting to Danville. At that, nearly three days had already passed since Deborah’s arrest. But it had taken Sky all the first night and part of the next day to locate Sam, so they didn’t even arrive at the ranch until sundown the next day. They stopped long enough to change horses, hear a more complete explanation of events, and check on Griff.
McCulloch was finally under the care of a doctor, who had arrived only moments before Sam and Sky. The man couldn’t give them encouraging news. The patient had lost a lot of blood and it appeared as if an infection was setting in. The one hopeful sign was that the bullet had gone clean through and no surgery would be required.
“Time will tell,” sighed the doctor.
But Sam was not inclined to leave it in time’s hands. He knelt beside Griff, who was by now only semiconscious, and prayed over him, pleading to God for a miracle.
Then they were off—Sam, Carolyn, and Sky. Another long, hard ride lay before them. They pushed their horses to the limit and rode into the night, stopping only for a couple of hours of sleep when Carolyn nearly fell out of her saddle with fatigue. But none of them wished to loiter along the way, for they had no idea how long Pollard would keep Deborah in the Danville jail.
Bone-weary and anxious, they rode into the dusty Texas town that afternoon.
They found Deborah in the Danville jail. A sick lump rose in Sam’s throat and tears welled in his eyes to see her so, but he was proud of how strong and peaceful she looked. She was no longer a helpless pawn, at the mercy of circumstance or the whims of others. Only when Pollard let Sam into the cell and Deborah rushed into his arms did she break a little. She was, after all, only human—and in a frightening and dangerous situation. He rubbed a hand over her silky hair and murmured soothing words in her ear. In a few moments, she seemed to calm down.
“Well, Sam,” she said, motioning for him to sit with her on the low cot that served as a bed, “my father used to talk about the chickens coming home to roost. I guess this must be what he was talking about.”
“I don’t doubt for one minute that you’re gonna get out of this, Deborah. I won’t rest until you do.”
“The sheriff says a conviction for murder never runs out. It still stands today, as does the sentence.”
“Listen here, Deborah, the legal authorities ain’t never executed a woman in Texas yet, and they ain’t about to start with you; I don’t care what Caleb Stoner does.”
&nbs
p; “He’s more powerful today than he was twenty years ago.”
“So are you, and don’t you forget it! You got friends now, and you’re not alone against his manipulations. That’s the only way he was able to do what he did then. You were isolated. He called all the shots. It’s different now.”
Neither of them mentioned the fact that hanging wasn’t the only fear weighing upon them. Imprisonment could be even worse than death, especially for a woman. They silently clung to each other as if that closeness could banish such fears away.
After a few moments, Deborah said, “Sam, something is eating at me even more than all that. It’s Carolyn. I never wanted her to find out like this. I never wanted her to know at all, but to have it all thrown so suddenly at her…I should have told her long ago. And Sky also, but I don’t worry as much about his reaction as hers.”
“Do you want me to have them come in?”
“Yes, but I’ll talk to Sky first. I think it’s best if I tell Carolyn alone.”
Sam nodded his agreement.
“Before we discuss anything else, Sam, I must know…how is Griff?”
“There’s a doctor tending him now, and he don’t look real good. But you know Griff—he’s a tough old cowboy. I reckon he’s got a few more years left in him.”
“I hope so. Tell him when you see him that I’m praying for him. Maybe God will use this to have an effect on his heart.”
“That’s what I’m praying, too, Deborah.”
They paused for a few moments to get a sense of God’s peace in the matter; then Sam went on. “Pollard said there’ll be a Texas Ranger here tomorrow to transport you to Stoner’s Crossing. He said he didn’t want to risk taking you alone.”
“I reckon I’m a mighty dangerous hombre,” she responded in an unsuccessful attempt at humor. It brought only a forced twitch to Sam’s lips.
