Zach slept little that night. The next day when Ellen brought his breakfast, he asked her to send Betsy to him.
“Oh, she’s already gone out for a ride, Mr. Winslow,” Ellen said brightly. “Her and that Mr. Perrago left about half an hour ago.”
All morning Zach fretted and fussed, and finally got Jericho, the yardman, to push him outside in his wheelchair. The sun was hot, but he was sick of the house. Jericho wheeled him around the street to a small park, where he stayed for a couple of hours, then said, “All right, Jericho, might as well go back.”
“Yes, suh,” Jericho said cheerfully. He pushed the wheelchair briskly down the street, and when they were half a block from the house he said, “Looks like Miz Bronwen’s a-comin’ to get you. You musta stayed out too long, Mistuh Zach.”
Zach looked up to see Bronwen coming down the street, and one look at her face told him something was wrong. He didn’t want to mention anything in front of Jericho so he said, “You go on, Jericho. Mrs. Winslow can push me the rest of the way.”
“I need to help you up the steps,” Jericho reminded him. “Go on, I said!” Zach snapped, and Jericho took off. When Bronwen reached Zach, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Without a word she handed him a single sheet of paper.
He felt a premonition, such as he had had a few times during the war. Once when, for no reason, he felt compelled to get out of a trench he was lying in. Ten minutes later a shell landed in it, blowing it to bits. As he took the paper, an empty feeling swept over him and almost made him sick. Without reading it, he stared up and whispered, “It’s Betsy, isn’t it?”
“Yes. This came fifteen minutes ago. She’s run off with Perrago,” Bronwen said stiffly.
He saw the stricken look on his wife’s face and knew that for her to be so affected, it must be bad. His eyes scanned the note:
Dear Mom and Dad,
Vic and I are in love. I know you would never accept him as a son-in-law, so we are leaving Chicago. I’m going with him to be his wife. I will write you as soon as I can. Don’t worry about me—and please don’t hate me!
Betsy
The paper trembled in Zach’s hand, and then he crushed it, wishing it were Perrago’s throat instead. “We’ve got to do something, Bron!” he said insistently. “I’ve got to go after them! Right now!”
“You can’t do it, Zach,” Bronwen replied, looking at his broken leg. “We’ll have to hire someone to go.”
He looked mutinous for a moment, but then his shoulders sagged as he realized what she said was true. “Yes, I guess you’re right. We’ll have to get the police onto them—at once!”
“No. They haven’t done anything wrong; they haven’t broken any laws,” Bronwen pointed out. “It’ll have to be private detectives.”
“All right, we’ll get them! The best there is! Send a wire to Lanie. She can find someone for us,” Zach said through gritted teeth.
Bronwen reached out, easing the crumpled paper out of his clenched fist, then took his hand. She held it gently, and though her own heart was breaking, she said, “We have to keep on trusting God, Zach. He’ll give us our daughter back.”
****
The secret could not be kept, of course. Bron immediately sent for Lanie, and she came home on the next train. The family did the best they could, but there were servants and neighbors, so Betsy and Perrago’s elopement was soon broadcast in the neighborhood and among their friends.
Zach and Bronwen were naturally the most distraught, but Lanie was not far behind them. She was terribly concerned about Betsy and she blamed herself. “I should have been here to look after her!” she lamented to Wesley Stone. The two were standing outside her father’s study, where he was in conference with a private detective. “I never felt right about it! If I’d been here instead of off on a stupid shopping trip—”
“It’s not your fault, Lanie. I’m the one to blame—for insisting on taking you with me.” Worry creased his brow, for he knew how much this had hurt the family. Besides, he had been close to Betsy, too. Stone was head over heels in love with Lanie, but actually he had spent more time with her younger sister. He had come to the house many times to see Lanie, only to find her gone somewhere, and then had spent the evening playing games or talking with Betsy. When she overcame her shyness, she was a witty and charming girl, more fun than most her age, and with more sense, he had thought. Secretly he thought the Winslows treated her badly, being far too demanding, but he had never said so to any of the family.
“They can’t have gone far,” he reassured Lanie, knowing even as he spoke that it might not be true. “This detective your father’s hired comes highly recommended and he has a good staff. They should find them in a day or two.”
“And what then? What if they’re not married?” Lanie asked worriedly. This had been in her mind—in all their minds, in fact—from the very beginning. Her mother had revealed that Perrago was not, in her judgment, the marrying kind. “Poor baby, she’s ruined, even if they find her!” Lanie moaned. “And how can we make her come home?”
To Wesley’s surprise, tears came to Lanie’s eyes. He had never seen her cry before, and wanted to put his arm around her. But he sensed that she would resent it.
The study door opened, and a slight man with a closely cut black beard emerged. He looked a great deal like a young General Grant. “Good afternoon,” he said courteously, and then left the house.
Lanie hurried into her father’s study, followed by Stone. One look at her father’s face told her it was not good news, and she asked tremulously, “What did he say, Dad?”
“They traced them as far as St. Louis, then lost them there,” Zach answered wearily. “I told the detective to go back and keep looking, put as many men on the case as they had to.” Misery cast a pallor over his features, and Lanie ached to comfort him but could think of nothing to offer.
A dark cloud of gloom seemed to hang over them. The three talked about what should be done now that they knew where Vic and Betsy had been. Bronwen came in the room. She listened quietly, then said, “We can’t let this destroy us. We’ve got to be thinking of the boys. Hurting we all are—but they must see that we still have faith.”
“Do you really still have faith, Bronwen?” Zach asked her dully.
“I do,” she said sturdily, looking at her husband with a direct gaze. “Remember past days, Zach? If you’ll think back, God has done marvelous things in our lives, has He not?”
Zach’s face lightened just a little, and he nodded. “Yes, He has. All right! I’ll just believe, whether I believe or not!”
“And that’s true faith,” Bron nodded. “The Bible says that when Abraham lost hope, he kept on hoping, and that’s just what we’ll do!” She turned to Wesley. “Wes, it’s glad you’re here I am. You’re a comfort to me. To all of us.”
“I wish I could do more,” he said, frustration roughening his gentle voice. “Do you think I should go down to St. Louis and start looking?”
“It’d be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Bron stated matter-of-factly. “We’ll stay here, and we’ll fast, and we’ll pray, and God will do something.”
****
Four days later God did do something. It came in the form of a telegram their detective, Phineas Lowery, brought. After the family had gathered, all except for the three younger boys, who were in bed, Mr. Lowery looked around the little group, opened the telegram, and frowned, saying, “I wish I had a good report, but all I’ve got is some news.”
“Have you found her, Mr. Lowery?” Lanie inquired uneasily.
Lowery turned his sharp black eyes toward her and replied in a carefully measured voice, “We know where she is. My men picked up their trail in St. Louis and traced them to Fort Smith, Arkansas. I hired one of the federal marshals there to find out what they did after they arrived.” He hesitated, his mouth drawn in a firm line. “The news isn’t good.”
“She’s not—dead?” Zach asked sharply.
“Oh n
o—!” Lowery said in a shocked tone. “I didn’t mean to imply anything like that. The problem is”—he cleared his throat and continued—”that Vic Perrago is an outlaw.”
“An outlaw? What kind of an outlaw?” Bron asked in bewilderment.
“A bad one,” Lowery said evenly. “He’s got a gang, and they operate out of the Nations, the Indian Territory. They got off the train—we found that much out—and he left the next day with your daughter, both on horseback. The marshal found a man who said he sold them some horses and watched them ride out. So it’s definite, I’m afraid.”
“What is Indian Territory?” Tom demanded. He was very fond of his sister, and his face had grown apprehensive at the detective’s words. “There are Indians there?”
“It’s the land set apart for the Indians, son,” Lowery explained. “When they were more or less driven out of the South, the government set apart that territory for them. Pretty barren, mostly desert, I suppose.” Lowery stroked his beard thoughtfully. “But the thing is, the only law there is tribal law. White man’s laws don’t apply. So what’s happened is that every crook and desperado in the Southwest has taken refuge there. They ride out every once in a while to kill and rob, then they go back in.”
Tom’s eyes were wide and his voice fearful. “Can’t the law do anything?”
“It’s under the jurisdiction of Judge Isaac Parker, the federal judge there. He has about two hundred marshals, but the territory is huge and unfriendly. I understand he’s lost about fifty of them—killed pursuing their duties there.”
Lowery’s explanation had cast a pall over the room. Wesley, glancing at Lanie’s stricken face, asked, “But, Mr. Lowery, surely we can do something!”
“Of course. We can send a fugitive warrant out after Perrago.” He hesitated, looking back and forth at the grim faces of Zach and Bronwen. “Not for taking your girl, of course. There’s no evidence that he kidnapped her. She went of her own free will.”
They all started talking back and forth about the situation. After about twenty minutes, Lanie’s voice rose accusingly over the rest. “Do you mean to say that the marshals won’t pick Perrago up?”
“Not for taking your sister, Miss Winslow,” Lowery said quietly. “That, unfortunately, was not a crime, though it was very wrong.”
Lanie’s face was set, her eyes contemplative, Wesley noted. He knew something was going on in her head. He had seen her like this before, as had the rest of the family. When Lanie Winslow decided something, she did it with her whole heart, soul, and mind. Once Lanie was in motion, there was no stopping her.
Lowery remained a little while longer. As he was leaving he offered, “I’ll get what information I can, if you like.”
“Would you go after Perrago, Lowery?” Zach demanded.
“No. I wouldn’t have a chance,” he replied. “I’m a city man, and that’s the worst territory in the West. I couldn’t do you any good. Now, you might find someone in the area who would take on the job, Mr. Winslow. But for me to tackle it would be almost hopeless.”
Zach’s face fell and he sighed deeply.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Lowery said. His voice was respectful but not obsequious, and he bowed politely as he left.
Then the debate erupted again. What could they do? Zach was ready to hobble down to the railroad station to catch the next train to Fort Smith. The others wouldn’t hear of it and finally convinced him that that simply wasn’t practical. “You can’t even walk, much less ride a horse!” Lanie scolded.
“I can ride in a wagon!” Zach said, his eyes flashing. “If I can get within rifle shot of that skunk, I can settle accounts!” Although Zach was basically a gentle man, everyone knew he had been pushed to white-hot anger.
They finally managed to quiet him, and he agreed to go lie down. After he had calmed somewhat, Lanie came to his room. There was a challenging light in her eye that told him she was in one of her determined moods, and he became wary.
“Dad,” she said slowly, “I’m going to Fort Smith.”
“I thought that’s what you had on your mind,” he grunted. “What good do you think that will do?”
“If you’ll give me the money, I’ll find somebody to run Perrago down. Maybe one of the federal marshals, maybe another outlaw—I don’t know and I don’t care!” She looked at him defiantly for a few moments; then her expression softened and her lips trembled slightly, revealing to her father that she was not as hard as she seemed. “It’s my fault—partly at least. If I’d been here, I could have done something. I just have to go, Dad!”
Zach’s expression grew somber as he listened to her. For the first time he was seeing something of himself in his oldest daughter. He realized that she had the same steel and stubbornness that he had possessed, and still possessed, although it had moderated slightly with age. He grew thoughtful as he considered the matter, then said, “I think you’d better do it, Lanie. I can’t go with this blasted leg. I need to stay with the boys anyway. You can have all the money you need. Just go down there and hire the best men you can find, and stay there until they run him to ground. Bring my girl back.” He dropped his head, staring down at his tightly clenched hands and whispered, “Bring her back, Lanie.”
CHAPTER THREE
A Sad Awakening
As Betsy Winslow stepped up into the train, escorted by Vic Perrago, she had a sudden impulse to whirl around, jump to the ground, and run back to her home. A shudder of fear ran through her as she realized she was leaving everything she had known and loved for a life she knew absolutely nothing about.
At that moment, Vic stepped up beside her, gave her a hug, and smiled down at her, saying, “All right, honey. We’re on our way to our ranch.” Perrago had seen her hesitation and moved quickly to reassure her. Taking her arm he escorted her down the aisle of the train and found her a seat by a window. He carefully engaged her attention until the train pulled out, talking about his ranch and the life they would have there. He was very skillful at manipulating people and had found it easy to lead Betsy in the direction he chose.
The train gave a sudden lurch, the whistle screeched; then as the big drivers turned the enormous wheels, and the steam engine huffed and puffed its way out of Chicago, Betsy felt small, alone, and vulnerable. She held Vic Perrago’s hand tightly; now he was the only security she had left. Looking up at him, she thought of how quickly he had captivated her. Then she thought of her parents. They would be devastated by her decision to run away and marry Vic Perrago. But they’ll be all right, she tried to assure herself. We’ll come back to visit them soon, and they’ll learn to love Vic as I do.
All day long, the train moved steadily south, and Perrago exercised all of his charm to draw her thoughts from the fact that she was running away with a man she scarcely knew. Night came and Betsy got into her bed made up by the porter. When she was settled, Vic came to her, pulled the curtain back, reached in, and gently stroked her cheek. He whispered, “It won’t be long, sweetheart, and we’ll be in our own place. It’ll be all right then.” He kissed her, strongly; and she clung to him like a child until he withdrew and went to his own bunk.
Throughout the next day the train forged southward. Late that afternoon, almost at dusk, they disembarked in order to change trains for another, this one heading west. The stationmaster told them, “The train won’t leave until eight o’clock in the morning. Better put up at a hotel, sir.”
Perrago came back with the news, adding, “I don’t fancy sitting up in a train station all night. C’mon, Betsy. We’ll find a nice little hotel.”
“All right, Vic.”
He picked up their two suitcases and found a carriage, giving instructions to the driver to take them to a nice hotel. “Yes, sir!” the man said. “The Majestic is a mighty nice place. Nearly all the travelers stays there while they’s waiting on trains,” he told them with eagerness, his black face gleaming.
When they got to the hotel, Vic helped Betsy down and led her into the lobby. She stood close b
eside him at the registration desk. “Yes, sir?” the clerk asked.
“Room for two. Just for the night,” Perrago said.
Betsy stirred with discomfort as the man’s eyes lit on her. She dropped her own eyes to the registration book as Vic signed it “Mr. and Mrs. George Harrison” in a sweeping handwriting. Alarm ran through her, but she said nothing.
When they got up to the room, Vic tipped the bellboy, who then left with a snappy salute. As soon as the door closed, Betsy asked, “Vic, why didn’t you use our right names?”
“Just habit, honey,” Vic said carelessly. “When you’re traveling, you just don’t know what you’ll run into. So I always just make up names. What does it matter?”
“So then, is Vic your real name?”
“I’ve told you my name is Vic.” Evading her question, he came over and took her in his arms, pressing his lips to hers, holding her and savoring her tender young form. “I’m still Vic and you’re still Betsy.” He smiled when he raised his head. “That’s all that matters.”
Betsy struggled and pulled away from him. Her face was troubled and she said in a low voice, “Vic, we can’t stay in this room together.”
“Why not?”
“Well, we’re not married.”
Vic Perrago smiled, amusement wrinkling the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes gleamed and he chuckled. “May as well be, Betsy. We’ll get married as soon as we get to the ranch.”
“No! This isn’t right!” she said. “I can’t stay here with you.” Betsy was growing fearful, and her lips trembled. She reached down toward her valise, but Vic stopped her.
Taking her arm he pulled her up and said, “Wait a minute, Betsy. Don’t be so hasty, now.”
“I can’t stay here.”
Perrago stared at her, his hazel eyes no longer amused. He looked hard and cruel, not at all like the Vic she knew. Then another expression slid over his face, a knowingness she didn’t understand.
The Gallant Outlaw Page 3
