by Judith Pella
But it was a hard ride back to Stoner land—an hour and a half, and that was after the ride to Leander earlier in the evening. Caleb was exhausted, and they had to take it easy for his sake. He tried to ignore the pains in his chest, but they had to stop several times to allow him to catch his breath.
During the second stop, Pollard urged Caleb to get it over with.
“Come on, Caleb! This has gone on long enough.” Pollard had been looking skittishly behind him during most of the ride, and Caleb knew the old goat was losing his nerve.
Just to spite him, Caleb pushed on. After all, Pollard had botched the first hanging. That wasn’t going to happen this time; they had a healthy lead over anyone who might try to follow.
“I’ll say when we’re going to stop,” said Caleb. “That woman’s got more backbone than you, Pollard. Now shut up and get back on your horse.”
Caleb noticed Deborah eyeing him. Was that pity in her eyes? Or fear?
He sneered at her. “You’re dying to talk, aren’t you? Well, you’ll get your chance—and they’ll be your last words.”
Deborah briefly closed her eyes, and when she opened them, he knew it had been pity he had seen in them. It made him furious. He wanted to see her tremble with fear. He had been tempted to remove her gag so as to hear her beg for mercy, but he knew she was too stubborn to do that.
Even now, when she was so close to the end, the cursed woman was robbing him of the satisfaction he had dreamed of for so many years. Why couldn’t he feel the sweet comfort of victory?
But even Caleb knew that he’d never be fully victorious. When he hanged Deborah, he would lose the only person who had shown any inclination to love him in many, many years. He tried to tell himself that Carolyn didn’t matter to him. She had walked out on him, refusing to see the truth. It was her choice to take Deborah over him—to side with the murderer of her father. Why should he care anymore?
Yet he could not wipe from his memory the pain he had detected in his granddaughter’s eyes as she had left the ranch. She had desperately wanted him to be her grandfather, to love her as she wanted to love him.
Vengeance is stronger than love, Carolyn, Caleb told himself as he mounted and urged his horse forward.
76
The ropes were too tight. Lucy had struggled and twisted so much that her wrists were raw and bleeding. She had lost hope that someone would miss her and come looking for her; Stoner had no doubt told the bartender she’d be gone for a while.
A good fifteen minutes had passed, maybe longer. Lucy had lost track of time. She had to get loose. But another wrench against her bonds only brought tears of pain to her eyes. She tried again to work at her gag. If only she could make some noise, draw attention to her plight. She pushed against the cloth with her tongue, moving her jaw frantically up and down until her mouth ached. Still, she didn’t give up. She had to help Deborah.
Suddenly she felt her upper lip come free. With a silent cheer, she continued to work at it until the cloth was pushed down around her chin.
“Yes!”
Then she rolled across the floor until she was near the door. In another second, the people in the saloon heard such a bellow that no one could ignore it. Lucy yelled till her throat was as raw as her wrists.
One of the other saloon girls found Lucy in the back room. “What in tarnation happened to you?”
“No time to explain. Get these ropes off me quick.”
Lucy had to wait five agonizing minutes before her co-worker came back with something to cut the heavy ropes. Then she dashed out of the saloon, down the street to the jail. But she was too late. Deborah’s cell was wide open, and the sheriff lay unconscious in the other cell.
She felt each precious minute tick by as she went in search of Griff. Since Pollard had started to come to the Dancing Tumbleweed, Griff hadn’t come around as much. She had to waste more time because she didn’t think to look in the most obvious place—his hotel. She ran into Longjim at one of the other saloons.
“He turned in early tonight, plumb tuckered out,” Longjim explained. “You know, only a few weeks ago, he was at death’s door,” he added as if he had to make excuses for his friend.
“We gotta find him. Caleb Stoner’s got Deborah.”
Longjim, a man of pure action, didn’t waste time with questions; they ran for the hotel at top speed.
By the time they had roused Griff, Slim, Sam, and Jonathan, and all had heard Lucy’s story and sorted out everything, ten more minutes had passed. They took a few extra minutes to go to the jail to check on the sheriff and question him in the hope he knew Caleb’s destination. The sheriff was just coming to, but he had no more information. It was decided that Lucy and Jonathan would stay behind to see that the sheriff got some medical attention and to be there to meet Sky and Carolyn, and to deal with the court in the morning, should Deborah still be absent.
On a hunch, Griff suggested they head out of town in the direction of the Stoner ranch; it would place Caleb nearer to home once his deed was done. Caleb had nearly an hour lead on them when they finally thundered out of town, but once they determined for certain Caleb was indeed heading back to his ranch, the preacher and three ex-outlaws rode as if they were being dogged by a prairie fire.
Nearer to the ranch, however, they had to slow considerably so they could read the trail more carefully and learn exactly where on the huge ranch Caleb was heading. Tracking at night with little moonlight was tedious, frustrating work—a match even for Sam, an ex-Texas Ranger, and for Longjim, who had learned tracking during his years living with the Crow Indians.
All Sam could think was that anything might have happened in the time since they had discovered Deborah missing. If Caleb Stoner intended on carrying out the court’s sentence of nineteen years ago, they might already be too late. He thanked God there were few trees in that country, but every one they passed caused Sam’s heart to constrict and his stomach to knot for fear of the gruesome sight they might encounter at any time.
****
Caleb looked pale and gaunt, with a tinge of blue around his tightly pursed lips. Deborah had never seen him look so vulnerable. She wondered that she could have ever been so afraid of him. She felt sorry for him now.
But some of her fear returned when she chanced to look into his eyes during one of their stops. She and Caleb held each other’s gaze for a moment in that old power struggle she remembered from the past, and she saw that this was a dangerous man—and he was intent on executing her. Nevertheless, she wanted desperately to talk to him, to share her heart with him, to tell him that she did not hate him any longer for what had happened when she was married to his son. She wanted to tell him that she did not see him as her enemy, and that for Carolyn’s sake she truly wanted to reconcile with him. But the gag kept her silent. She wondered if Caleb kept it on her, now that there was no one to hear her cries for help, because he feared her words as much as she feared the death he had planned for her.
Soon they came to land she vaguely recognized as Stoner land…at least she judged it must be because they had been heading in that direction, and enough time had passed so they should be near the ranch. When they came to a rise that gave them a view for some distance, she could see the ranch house about half a mile away, all dark and mostly in shadows. They made a wide circle, skirting around toward the back of the house.
Deborah wondered if anyone from the ranch would come to her aid if they knew what travesty was about to take place. She couldn’t count on it; the place was, by appearances, deep in sleep. Even the cook was not yet awake to prepare breakfast. Dawn was still two hours away.
They traveled for another twenty minutes until they came to a little green patch of ground with a few cottonwoods and one big oak lining a small pond, or buffalo wallow. Three cows were bedded down near the water, but they were apparently strays because there were no herds anywhere near. The water source was hardly enough to support the three animals, much less a herd. But it must have had as its source
an underground spring, for the trees were healthy and green even that late in summer. Deborah wondered that she had never discovered this little haven during her time at the ranch. Then she saw why Jacob had never brought her here.
On a mound a few feet from the oak were two tombstones, side by side. It was difficult in the dark to read the inscriptions on them, but Caleb made a point of drawing Deborah’s mount close enough so that she was able to make them out. The first one read: Leonard Stoner, Beloved Son. May he rest in peace. Born 1839. Died 1865.
How inadequately those few words expressed all that was encompassed in that single span of life. The pain, the disappointment, the terror of a wronged and abused wife; and no less, the consuming grief of a father, filling him with hatred and bitterness that spanned a time almost as long as Leonard’s entire life. But what struck Deborah even more profoundly as she gazed at the stone was that she felt nothing but a deep sense of irony toward this man who had once been her husband. There was no affection, no pain, no grief. She had never felt grief for Leonard Stoner, and that was the deepest shame, the deepest irony.
The second headstone read: Elizabeth Stoner, Beloved wife and mother, Born 1821. Died 1843.
Deborah remembered the diary Carolyn had shown her of Elizabeth’s hardships and discontent. The woman had been only twenty-two when she died so tragically. Was it just a coincidence that her inscription said nothing about her resting in peace?
Deborah wasn’t surprised that there was no grave here for Caleb’s second wife, Jacob and Laban’s mother. She wondered where the poor woman was buried.
Caleb motioned to Pollard to take Deborah’s reins and lead the horse to the oak tree. Deborah hadn’t noticed before, but there was a stout branch there that would withstand her weight.
Pollard removed the gag. “Okay,” said Caleb, “you have five minutes for your last words.” He was perhaps surprised at her first statement.
“I’m sorry, Caleb, for all the grief I’ve caused you. I wish it could have been different. But we can’t change the past.”
“Don’t tell me how we can only affect the future,” said Caleb caustically. “Don’t preach to me, Deborah.”
Deborah smiled in spite of herself, for she had been about to do just that. Instead, she said, her own bitterness lending an edge of sarcasm to her tone, “If I’m not to have the privilege of fashioning my own last words, then you tell me what you want me to say, Caleb. What do you want to hear? Shall I confess to the murder of your son? Would that ease your conscience over what you are about to do?”
Caleb shrugged. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Caleb! No matter what I say, you are going to believe what you will. You’ve hated me so much that you have never been able to let yourself see that Leonard had many other enemies who would have loved to see him dead. But I don’t want to talk about that now. If these are my last words, I want to talk about Carolyn. I want to tell you what you are sacrificing in carrying out this foolish vendetta you have against me. She wanted to be your granddaughter, Caleb. She wanted to love you, maybe even take care of you. She needed you in a way that a child needs an elder to look up to. She would have done anything for you until you forced her to make a choice no child should ever have to make. Leaving you broke her heart. But there’s still time to win her back if only you’d see the foolishness of what you are about to do. For once in your life, look within yourself, Caleb! Ask yourself if your hatred and bitterness is really worth it. Try to find the man Carolyn longs to love—I know he’s there, Caleb. You couldn’t have loved Leonard so much if your heart was made entirely of stone.”
“Is that all?” Caleb said when she paused. His voice was thin with strain.
Deborah nodded. She could preach for an hour at this man, but it would be to no avail unless he was ready to hear.
“All right, Pollard,” said Caleb. “You got that rope ready?”
While she was talking, Pollard and one of the cowhands had formed a noose in a heavy rope and attached it securely to the limb of the oak tree.
“Get it right this time,” Caleb said as Pollard raised the noose over Deborah’s head.
****
“It looks like they stopped here,” Sam said, kneeling down on the ground.
“Yeah,” said Longjim, “but this rocky stretch pretty much covers up the direction they took when they started again.”
Griff peered into the night. “It goes on for half a mile or so.”
“We could lose a lot of time if we head wrong and have to double back,” said Sam.
“Too bad we don’t know the ranch better,” offered Slim. “We might have an idea where they went if we knew where the best trees were—” He broke off when he realized what he was saying, and gave a skittish look at Sam.
“Why don’t we split up?” suggested Longjim. “There’s only a couple of ways you can go through here. Whoever catches up with their tracks again can fire a warning shot.”
Longjim and Slim went northeast; while Sam and Griff went southeast. After half an hour of picking carefully over the rocky trail, Sam found the tracks again. Griff fired, and before long their two friends caught up with them.
Longjim took the lead, with Slim riding next to him. Griff fell back with Sam and rode up close to him, indicating that he wanted to talk. The tracks were easy to follow now and Sam didn’t have to give the task his full attention with Longjim leading.
“Sam,” said Griff, “there’s something I think we better talk about before we find Caleb.”
“What is it?”
“I just want to know what you got in mind. You haven’t said nothing and you ain’t armed, so it just made me wonder. I doubt Caleb’s gonna give Deborah up without a fight.”
“I only hope we’re in time to face that quandary.” Sam’s tone was dismal. He was trying to have faith in God, but what if God’s will was to take Deborah home with Him this night?
“Does that mean you’re gonna be willing to fight?” asked Griff ruefully.
“I don’t know, Griff.” This moral debate had been plaguing Sam the entire way. It frightened him, worried him, confused him. “Sometimes I feel as if I could kill anyone who tries to harm Deborah. But how can I be true to my God if there is a limitation on my commitment to Him, to my promise many years ago to never again draw my gun against another human?”
“I feel sorry for you in that respect, Sam. At least I ain’t got no burdens like that to bear. I can kill to save someone I care about, and I will kill if I got to. It’s simple.”
“I guess in a way I envy that, Griff, but on the other hand, I pray it never gets that simple for me. I suppose you’re a better man than me and that’s why God’s put these checks on me. I still remember what it was like to be out of control, to actually enjoy killing. I never want to go back that way again.”
“Aw, Sam, I’ll never be better’n you, and you know it. I was just blessed with one of them minds that sees things black and white, hot and cold, not getting all bogged down with them sticky gray places.”
“So, Griff, where does that leave us?”
“I guess we’re both gonna have to do what we gotta do. I only ask that you don’t try to stop me.”
Sam shook his head. “I’d be mighty hypocritical if I let you do my killing for me, Griff.”
“Blame it! There you go with all that philosophizing. Maybe you ought to stay behind.”
“I can’t do that either.”
“Let’s just play it by ear then,” said Griff.
“Maybe with a little prayer thrown in, too.”
“That’s your department, Sam, but I sure ain’t gonna stop you!”
They rode on for a few moments; then Griff added in a grim tone, “One thing, Sam. If we’re too late, I’ll move heaven and hell in order to kill Caleb Stoner.”
Sam said nothing, but in his mind and heart he cried out: Oh, God, please don’t let us be too late.
77
The ride to Waco had taxed Carolyn and Sky
nearly to their limits. They had covered over one hundred miles in twelve hours, changing horses once. That was better time than many of the Pony Express riders had accomplished twenty years ago, and their rides had become a legend.
They arrived in Waco after midnight Sunday morning, dusty, hungry, and tired. It was too late to find a place to get food, so they ate the jerky and hard biscuits in their saddlebags. They had to wake the hotel clerk in order to get a couple of rooms for the night. As anxious as they were to complete their vital task, they just had to wait. They figured if they had no trouble finding the housekeeper and she was cooperative, they could get her deposition in the morning and ride back to Leander in time for the opening of the trial on Monday. They might even have time to sleep a few hours before the trial.
They awoke next morning, ate a quick breakfast, and after asking around, discovered where Maria’s sister lived. Unfortunately, when they arrived, Maria had gone to attend morning Mass at the local Catholic church.
It dawned on them that it was Sunday, but it didn’t look as if they’d be able to attend church. They didn’t want to barge in on the Mass after it had started, and the Protestant churches wouldn’t have services until after Carolyn and Sky were well on their way back to Leander—at least they hoped they’d be on their way by then.
While waiting for Maria, they went back to the hotel, had a more substantial breakfast, and tried, not very successfully, to relax. At nine-thirty, they went to the Catholic church to wait for Maria.
The old housekeeper recognized Carolyn immediately. “Oh no!” exclaimed Maria, hurrying up to her. “What has happened? Is it the Patrón?”
“No, Maria, my grandfather is all right as far as I know,” Carolyn said. “I’m here because of my mother’s trial. I found your chest, Maria,” she went on, getting to the point immediately. “I know that was invading your privacy, but I had to find some evidence that would clear my mother. I remembered you said something that made me think there were secrets locked away somewhere. When I looked in your trunk, I found Jacob’s letter and Elizabeth’s diary and your letters, but I still have questions.”
