Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1)

by Cynthia Wright

  Back in the sheriff’s office, Katie recognized the man sitting with Sheriff Jones as the ruffian who had threatened her in Columbia. She took a chance. “Good morning, Mr. Potter.”

  He gave her a curt nod. When Katie had left the office, Potter listened as the deputy related the details of the meeting between the Wyatts. When the young man had finished, Jones and Potter exchanged satisfied smiles.

  “Don’t sound to me like you have anything to worry about,” the sheriff remarked. “If Wyatt’s own wife won’t do anything to help him, it’ll be a short trial.”

  Potter lit a fat cigar. “Wouldn’t matter much if she did care. We made sure that there was barely time for Wyatt to find a lawyer, let alone anyone to testify for him. It’d take a miracle to save him now.”

  Across the street from the courthouse and jail, Katie seated herself in the lobby of the hotel and waited.

  * * *

  Jack’s lawyer, Abraham Humphrey, was a grizzled old man whom Sam had persuaded to travel down from Jackson to take the case for a sizable fee. Now, sitting next to him in court, Jack prayed that his attorney would at least be able to argue effectively before the jury, because he certainly seemed to have no other strategies for exonerating his client. The prosecution—aided by such witnesses as Benjamin Potter, who testified that his employer, Aaron Rush, had been threatened by the Griffin just a few weeks ago—had presented a strong case. Most of the testimony consisted of hearsay, but people had come forward all the same, all seemingly intent on seeing the Griffin hang. Jack felt certain they’d been paid off. The morticians who had prepared Brian MacKenzie, Harold Van Hosten, and Aaron Rush for burial spoke in gruesome detail of their mortal wounds. And the driver of the stagecoach on which Katie and Conrad had been passengers had been questioned so skillfully that he’d said little more than, “It was the Griffin who fired the shot that killed Aaron Rush. And when he removed his hood, he turned out to be that man—” pointing theatrically toward Jack. When cross-examining, Humphrey did little to erase that image from the jury’s mind. Potter had done his work well over the past two days, raising a hue and cry against highwaymen. Jack could tell from looking at the jury that they had forgotten how beloved the Griffin had been just a few months earlier. Aaron Rush’s recent exploits had blackened the Griffin’s name beyond repair.

  Jack wouldn’t let himself think ahead to the probable outcome of his trial. The possibility that he would hang, that his life with Katie was over, was very real, but it would do no good to dwell on that now. He felt slightly ill whenever he thought of his meeting with Katie earlier that morning. More than anything else he had wanted to hold her in his arms, to kiss her lips, to reaffirm the precious bond between them. But obviously she had had other ideas. That might have been their last chance to speak privately and touch each other! He had managed to translate the cryptic things Katie had said—he understood that she forgave him for his part in Brian’s death and that Sam had told her all about the tragic accident—but still he longed to talk with her openly. He simply couldn’t imagine what she thought to accomplish by pretending to hate him and staying away from the trial.

  Now, as he walked forward to take the witness stand on his own behalf, a murmur swept over the courtroom. Jack swore on a Bible to tell the truth, then sat down and looked out over the sea of unfriendly faces. The only person there to give him support was Conrad, looking more frightened than Jack had ever seen him.

  “Now, then, Mr. Wyatt,” Abraham Humphrey began soberly, “I am going to ask you tell us your story in your own words. Who are you in reality, and why did you become the Griffin?”

  Jack was glad of the opportunity to explain. As sincerely and concisely as he was able, he told the jury about Conrad’s misfortune with his gold and how he, as the older brother, had decided to correct the injustice. Then he explained that the corruption he found at the Rush Mine went much deeper than he had expected, and that he had become concerned for all the miners. Insisting that he had never intended to hurt anyone, Jack further swore that he had not kept any of the confiscated gold for himself but had made anonymous gifts to the poverty-stricken miners and their families.

  Humphrey then brought up the day MacKenzie and Van Hosten had been shot. When Jack told his side of that story, the whispers of disbelief in the courtroom grew louder. The general sentiment seemed to be that Jack was a rich man from San Francisco playing games with the lives of people in the foothills. After Jack had finished telling the story of Rush’s death and his own capture, Charles Milton, the lawyer for the prosecution, stood up to cross-examine.

  “My, my, Mr. Wyatt—or should I call you Mr. Griffin? You certainly do have a knack for accidentally killing your enemies!” Milton paused, smiling as a wave of taunting laughter rippled through the courtroom. After a moment he continued, caustically picking apart Jack’s story point by point, ending with, “Well, sir, I must say that it does seem odd that there is no one here to support your claims, while there are plenty of witnesses for the prosecution. If I were on the jury—”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Humphrey cried, heaving himself to his feet.

  “Sustained,” muttered Judge Kincaid.

  “Well, I think I’ve made my points,” Milton said with a snide smile. “I have no more ques—”

  “Wait!” cried a female voice from the back of the courtroom.

  Jack gazed out over the crowd to see Katie entering through the double doors. Next to her were Sam, Victoria Barnstaple, and a heavy-set young man whom Jack vaguely recognized. Could it be...?

  “What is the meaning of this outburst?” the judge demanded.

  “I am Mrs. Jonathan Wyatt, and my friend, Samuel Clemens, has brought two very important witnesses to testify on my husband’s behalf. They were delayed by the snowstorm, and have only just arrived in San Andreas. Please, Your Honor, give them a chance to speak!”

  The judge was silent a moment, then nodded. “Well, as there have been no witnesses for the defense except the defendant himself, I suppose it would be only fair to hear these two out.”

  Seated in the courtroom, Potter glared at Sheriff Jones and hissed, “I thought you said Mrs. Wyatt was no threat! I’d’ve seen to it that she was out of the way today if I’d known she’d try to interfere!”

  Katie hurried toward the defense table and whispered to Humphrey. Places were made for her, Sam, and the unidentified man to sit on the bench behind the table, and Victoria was sworn in. When Jack returned to his chair, Katie leaned forward to clasp his hand. Beaming, she whispered, “I love you.” Jack’s heart swelled with relief and hope.

  “So, Mrs. Barnstaple, I understand that you were a passenger on the stagecoach the day Harold Van Hosten and Brian MacKenzie were shot,” Humphrey began. “Why didn’t you come forward sooner if you saw what happened?”

  “Well, the Griffin wasn’t caught, and I suppose I was afraid to get involved. It was a very shocking experience. I didn’t want to think about it afterward.” She trembled like a frightened sparrow at the memory. “Also, I was a close friend of Brian MacKenzie’s, and I was very upset by his death. I was angry at the Griffin for attacking the stagecoach! But if he might be hanged for this, it’s only right that I come forward and tell the truth.”

  “And what is that?” prompted Humphrey.

  “I saw it all. Harold Van Hosten had a gun, and Brian tried to get it away from him. The Griffin told Brian not to interfere, but he was too good and brave....” Victoria began to weep. “Such a good man! Mr. Van Hosten’s gun went off, and that was how Brian died. Then, Mr. Van Hosten tried to shoot the Griffin, who fired in self-defense. In fact, I am certain that the stage driver also fired, and he may have been the one who killed Mr. Van Hosten.”

  Charles Milton gruffly declined to cross-examine.

  Next, the fat young man took the stand, identifying himself as Lawrence Learoyd of Sonora. He testified that he had been on the stagecoach with Katie and Conrad when it was stopped by the Griffin.

  “I had
been sleeping, and at first I thought I was having a hideous nightmare!” he cried dramatically. “The man demanded our money, and then another man, also dressed in a long duster and hood, jumped down from a ledge on the cliff above. He told the first man to throw down his shotgun, but he—the first man, that is—tried to fight instead, and the gun went off. Soon after that, he—the first man, that is, the one who was killed—was unmasked, and I recognized him as Aaron Rush, the mine owner. He was an acquaintance of my uncle’s. What I want to say is that the killing was accidental. I believe in doing what’s right, and that’s why when Mrs. Wyatt and Mr. Clemens sought me out yesterday, I agreed to come here and testify. I don’t know any of these people. I just want to do what’s right.” Learoyd extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his moist, moon-shaped face.

  “Will you cross-examine, Mr. Milton?” the judge asked.

  “No,” he muttered sourly.

  “Thank you, Mr. Learoyd,” said Humphrey, smiling. “You may step down. Your Honor, lastly I would like to call Mrs. Jonathan Wyatt to the stand.”

  Katie strode regally to the front of the courtroom, her violet silk dress rustling softly. When she began to testify, her voice was clear and calm.

  “I would like first of all to verify what Mr. Learoyd has said. I was also a passenger on that stage, but since I am Jack’s wife, I knew that my testimony would not be sufficient to convince the jury. I didn’t know then that my husband was the Griffin. The truth is, I hated the Griffin because I believed that he was responsible for my father’s death. I understand now that it was an accident, and I know that Jonathan Wyatt would have died himself before knowingly allowing any harm to come to my father. They were very fond of each other. Papa would not have wanted Jack to be blamed in any way for his death. The truth is that Harold Van Hosten caused not only Papa’s death, but his own, just as Aaron Rush chose his own fate rather than be exposed for the truly evil man he was.” Katie paused to take a deep breath, then continued, “I didn’t know Jonathan Wyatt very well when I married him but I learned to trust him as I discovered what a truly fine man he is. I love him, but I also respect him. As the Griffin, he only tried to see that justice was done. Aaron Rush impersonated him and sullied his reputation, but I can testify that it absolutely could not have been Jack acting as the Griffin during the past three months, because he was in San Francisco with me.” One crystal tear spilled onto her cheek. “I realize that the jury may think I am biased, but I am also honest. Jonathan Wyatt is the best man I know, and he deserves to be free.”

  * * *

  At four o’clock, barely an hour after the jury had retired to deliberate the case, they sent word that they had reached a verdict. Jack was returned from his jail cell, and Sam and Katie both stood up as he approached the defense table. Sam gave his friend a hug, and Katie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “I love you, sweetheart,” Jack said hoarsely. “And, no man could ask for a better friend, Sam.... Thank you.”

  He was told to stand as the jury filed in and the foreman stood to read the verdict. Jack said a silent prayer, while Katie began to tremble as she clutched Sam’s hand. Her heart threatened to burst, it was beating so hard.

  “Gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” Judge Kincaid intoned.

  “We have, Your Honor,” replied the foreman. “We the jury find Jonathan Wyatt innocent in the deaths of Harold Van Hosten, Brian MacKenzie, and Aaron Rush.”

  The judge looked at Jack. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Wyatt. I suggest that you take your wife home to San Francisco and forget about this Griffin business once and for all.”

  Jack flashed a grin. “With pleasure, Your Honor.”

  Epilogue

  San Francisco, California

  June 21, 1865

  “Happy birthday, Katie!” the guests chorused as Mrs. Gosling set the beautifully decorated cake on the marble table in the parlor.

  “Do you have a birthday wish?” asked Hope Menloe.

  Katie turned to Jack, who smiled at her with sleepy green eyes, thinking that his wife had never looked more beautiful. Clad in a gown of pale yellow muslin that flowed gracefully over her swollen belly, she was a vision of summer radiance, her black curls swept back in a simple yellow ribbon.

  “I couldn’t wish for anything more than I have right now, unless it might be an extra prayer for a healthy baby.”

  “The baby is coming in August, isn’t it?” asked Hope. Smiling at Ambrose she added, “Goodness! You’ll be a great-grandfather!”

  Katie nodded. “We can hardly wait. You’ll help me decorate the nursery and pick out baby clothes, won’t you?”

  “I’ve already begun embroidering little dresses!” Hope laughed.

  “I still can’t believe that you were... with child when we traveled to Columbia in January, Katie,” Conrad complained for the dozenth time in four months. “Why, all sorts of things could have gone amiss—”

  “But they didn’t did they?” she replied sweetly. “Don’t fret so, Conrad. You’re too young to have those little wrinkles between your eyebrows. Besides, everything turned out just as it should have—even Jack’s trial.” She laughed. “Thank goodness for that, otherwise Sam and I would have been forced to put our alternate plan into action.”

  “Do I want to know about this?” Jack asked, pretending to cringe.

  “I don’t know why not. We were simply going to break you out of jail if they’d sentenced you to hang,” she replied offhandedly.

  “Of course,” he murmured. “I should have guessed.”

  Katie began to cut the cake, all the while surveying her guests. “I am so very happy!” she announced. “It’s staggering to think how much my life has changed since my last birthday. Then, I never would have imagined that I would fall in love, let alone get married... or leave Columbia. I miss Papa at times like this, yet I have to remember that other people have entered my life who love me. I have a tremendous amount to be grateful for.”

  “Well, we’re grateful, too, sweetheart,” said Ambrose. “You’re a ray of sunshine in this house.”

  Katie grinned at him. “I love you, too, Grandfather!” Then, handing a cake-laden plate to Lim Sung, she inquired, “Lim, how have you been? I don’t think you’ve come to see me all this month.”

  “I’m happy, Katie. I like San Francisco, and I’m glad to be with my family again.” He lowered his voice, blushing slightly. “You haven’t seen me very much because I’ve been courting Li Wong, the girl my parents introduced me to. I like her very much....”

  “Well, you are nineteen now,” Katie said doubtfully. “You’ll have to bring Li to dinner soon. We’d like to meet her.” She glanced over at Conrad and Emma. Sunlight glinted off the new diamond ring Emma wore on her left hand. “Love certainly seems to be in the air.”

  Ambrose cleared his throat suddenly, and Hope turned pink. Katie, in the process of passing out the last pieces of cake, gave Jack a mischievous look.

  Then they all took seats and chatted amiably over coffee and birthday cake. Katie shared the news from Abby’s latest letter. The Hendersons had purchased the saloon but kept the name unchanged in honor of Brian, and they had moved into Katie’s house in March. “It was silly for them to live with Gideon’s mother while my house stood empty,” Katie explained. “I wanted it to be lived in, and with a baby coming, they can certainly use the extra space. They both sound very happy, and apparently the town is, too. Finally, after I don’t know how many years of doing without, Columbia has found a sheriff. Jack’s old friend Missouri Dan has taken the job!”

  “Just the man to breathe some new life into that town,” Jack said, chuckling.

  Hope spoke up. “I have a bit of news, too. I saw Elizabeth Braithwaite at Madame Braust’s yesterday, and she said that Genevieve is engaged to marry a wealthy banker from New York. They’ll make their home there, and apparently will be sailing next week.”

  “How lovely,” Katie remarked. “I can’t thi
nk of a better place for Miss Braithwaite than New York.” While her guests laughed, she gazed pensively out the window.

  “What’s wrong, darling?” Jack smoothed back one of the loose curls that had fallen over her brow.

  Katie sighed and turned to him with a wistful smile.

  “I miss Sam. How I wish he could be here today! It seems like an eternity since he left for the Sandwich Islands. I keep thinking about the fate that befell Captain Cook, and I can’t help worrying about Sam.”

  Jack laughed. “Allow me to set your mind at ease, my sweet.” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a letter. “This arrived two days ago, but Sam asked that I save it for your birthday.”

  “He remembered?” Katie exclaimed, delighted.

  “Kathleen, no one forgets about you!” Eyes twinkling, he opened the letter and read aloud:

  “Birthday Greetings, dear Katie! When I return, we’ll celebrate again. The schooner leaves within the hour, so I must be brief, but I wanted to assure you and Jack that I am well. I have been hard at work on my articles for the Union about the sugar interest, and recently managed to carry off an exclusive story that you may have heard about. While in Honolulu, I met with the survivors of the clipper Hornet, which had burned on the line. They were mere skin-and-bone relics, having spent forty-three days in an open boat on ten days’ provisions. I wrote an article about the matter and flung it aboard a schooner bound for California. It should be the only full account in print. Aren’t you sorry now that you didn’t fund my journey to the Sandwich Islands, Jack? Perhaps when I return to San Francisco, I’ll break into the lecture field.... In the meantime, Katie, you have my permission to steal any or all of what I wrote in the Union for an article of your own. I’m glad to hear that your ‘condition’ hasn’t put a stop to your journalistic pursuits.

  “I miss you both, and often reminisce mistily of our adventures in the foothills. I hope to be on hand when your baby is born, trusting that he will be named Samuel—or, Mark, perhaps? Either one will do. Until then, I remain, your faithful comrade, Sam.”