by Bobbi Smith
"Turn him around," O'Malley told Bryant.
Bryant started to unfasten the chain at Walker's wrist to reverse his position.
The thought that he was going to be unchained for even a few moments drove Walker to take desperate action. He knew his chances of escaping were slim, but he also knew this was the only opportunity he would have. The two guards had left the door behind them standing open, so if he could get away from these two and lock them in, he had a chance. The solitary building was isolated from the other buildings in the prison, so it was possible that he might be able to find a way out before anyone was alerted to his escape.
When the guard finally released the chain, Walker made his move. He lunged at Bryant, knocking him backward, and then charged O'Malley, who was standing near the door.
Walker didn't get far.
O'Malley was always ready for trouble. He expected the worst from the prisoners and he usually got it. When Walker came at him, he reacted instantly, hitting him savagely. Bryant got back to his feet and rushed to help. The two guards dragged the still-struggling Walker back, stripped off his shirt and chained him up, facing the wall.
"That was a real stupid thing to do, Chief," O'Malley taunted as he prepared to use the bat on him. "I just may have to beat a little more sense into you than I thought."
O'Malley began the punishment, wielding the bat with practiced ease. He enjoyed teaching these prisoners lessons they wouldn't forget. He knew the marks the bat left on his back would remind the Chief for a long time of the mistakes he'd made that day.
Walker locked his jaw against the pain and fought for control as the guard lashed him repeatedly. The pain was agonizing, the leather raising blistering welts upon his back.
"What do you think, Bryant? Think the Chief here has learned his lesson?" O'Malley asked after hitting him five times.
"He deserves a few more—savage that he is," the other guard said, wanting the prisoner to learn his place once and for all.
O'Malley delivered several more violent lashes, and decided he'd done his job when he finally saw the prisoner lose consciousness.
"That should be a lesson he remembers," O'Malley said as he smiled at Bryant.
"I guess we'll find out when he comes around," the other guard told him. He'd seen some strong-willed prisoners over the years, but this half-breed seemed one of the worst. There was no way of telling whether the beating O'Malley had just given him would break his spirit or not.
They unfastened him from the wall and left him lying face-down on the dirty cell floor, then locked and barred the door on their way out.
It was some time later that Walker finally stirred, opening his eyes to stare around the darkness of the solitary cell. No light shone through the small window in the door, so he knew night had fallen. He tried to shift positions and sit up, but excruciating pain racked him. He stayed where he was, unmoving. Walker told himself he was lucky to be alive after his failed escape attempt, but he wondered what luck had to do with anything right then.
A driving rage sustained him through the long, pain-filled hours of darkness. He knew whoever had killed Ben was still out there. Walker didn't know how he was going to do it, but he became even more determined to escape the hell his life had become and prove his innocence.
He remembered Jim's promise never to give up on the search for the real murderer, and he knew if anyone could find a way to outsmart the killer, it was Jim.
Roni slipped into Walker's thoughts then. The memory of her kiss and declaration of love strengthened his resolve to get through this trial.
In silence, he awaited the coming dawn, trying not to think of what torture the guards had planned for him in the new day.
O'Malley went out to check on the other prisoners as they were bedding down for the night.
"What happened to the Chief?" one of the inmates asked. Many of the prisoners wondered if he'd been killed by the guards.
"Don't go getting excited about the Chief being gone, boys," O'Malley told them sarcastically. "Your friend's alive and well. He's just doing some time in solitary."
Foley heard the exchange and was sickened by it. He'd done his share of time in that hellish place and knew Walker was paying the price for coming to his aid. Foley couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself to be beholden to anyone, but he felt he owed the other man. Once Walker was out of solitary, he would see what he could do for him.
O'Malley threw the door open and stood in the doorway of the solitary cell, staring down at Walker where he sat on the floor.
"Let's go, Chief," he ordered, satisfied that the beating—along with two days of being given no food and only small amounts of water—had taken their toll on the prisoner.
Walker got up slowly and made his way to the door to pass by the guard.
O'Malley smiled when he saw the ugly welts on Walker's back. He knew they would be a reminder to him of the consequences of acting up for quite a while.
"Head over to the mess hall. It's time for lunch," he directed, and he followed Walker there, keeping an eye on him.
When they reached the mess hall, one of the other guards handed Walker a shirt.
Walker said nothing as he started to shrug it on. He gritted his teeth against the pain as he drew it up over his back, then went to sit at his assigned place at one of the tables.
The other prisoners watched him cross the room.
O'Malley went up to the front of the mess hall and looked out across the room. "You boys pay attention to the Chief, here. He just got taught a real good lesson about what happens if a prisoner causes any trouble around here. The same thing will happen to you, if you try anything, so remember that!"
Nothing more was said as the food was dished up.
Having gone without food for two days, Walker quickly downed the boiled bacon and corn bread and drank all the water he could. He wasn't certain if they planned on putting him back to work that afternoon, but he knew he was going to need all the strength he could get.
When the meal was finished, the guards took the prisoners back outside to work. They weren't about to go easy on Walker. They were tempted to put him right back doing hard labor. They knew it might kill him and they didn't really care. Even so, they didn't want to slow the other prisoners down, so they found a different job for him to do for that day.
It was much later that afternoon before Foley got the chance to speak with Walker. He kept it short, not wanting to draw the guards' attention.
"I know what you did that day," Foley told him, "and I appreciate it. Give me some time. I'll make it up to you."
And he did.
When the news came some days later that Walker was among the prisoners who had been leased out to a chain gang, Foley managed to slip him a piece of a file, small enough that it could be hidden on his person. As difficult as it would be, the odds of escaping from the chain gang were better than escaping from the prison.
The day for their departure dawned hot and humid. The sun's glare was harsh as it beat down on the prison grounds where the inmates had been lined up and chained together by the neck. Their hands and ankles had also been chained, for the guards wanted to make sure they had no chance to cause any trouble while they were being transported to the lease camp.
Walker stood unmoving with the other prisoners, watching as the iron prison gates slowly swung open. Waiting there just beyond the gates were the transport wagons that would be taking them away.
"All right, boys. Move it out!" one of the guards shouted.
Chained together as they were, the prisoners had to move slowly through the open iron gates.
"So long—Chief," O'Malley sneered he walked past him.
Walker didn't show any outward response to his taunt. Keeping his gaze downcast, he appeared resigned to his fate, but inwardly his anger raged.
Chapter Fourteen
The prisoners had heard tales of the horrors of working on a chain gang, and they quickly found out everything they'd been told was tr
ue. They were kept chained together by the neck for the four days it took to travel to the location of the labor camp. They would be breaking rocks at a quarry situated near a small river.
Once they were in the camp, the neck chains were taken off, but their leg irons remained. Their quarters were flimsy tents with filthy straw mattresses, and the food was worse than what they'd had at the prison. Walker was sharing his tent with a man named Russell, who was in for bank robbery. They had little to say to one another, and that was fine with Walker. He was concentrating on figuring out how he was going to escape. He knew it wasn't going to be easy. Heavily armed guards watched over them constantly, and vicious guard dogs were everywhere. He knew using the river as his escape route was probably his best option, but he was going to have to wait until the time was right.
Each night when Walker was certain the other men were asleep, he took out the file he kept hidden and worked at his ankle chains. It wasn't easy, but he wanted to weaken the chain so that when the opportunity came, he could break them by hand and make a run for it. He was hoping that time would come soon.
It was during the third week in camp that black storm clouds loomed threateningly on the horizon. Lightning could be seen in the distance, and thunder rolled across the land. Though it was late in the day, the guards refused to let the prisoners stop. Even as the storm moved nearer and the wind picked up, they kept the chain gang hard at work.
Walker watched the storm strengthening and knew it was going to be a powerful one. The landscape around them was mostly barren, and he realized they should move to higher ground to avoid a flash flood. But the guards were too intent on getting in a full day's work to worry about any possible flooding. When the storm finally broke, unleashing its fury upon them, the guards raced to get the prisoners back to the campsite.
As they were trying to reach their tents, Walker heard the ominous sound of the rushing water and knew the river was rising fast.
The raging waters were soon upon them, and chaos erupted. The guards frantically tried to move the chained prisoners to safety, but panic set in.
Walker knew the moment he'd been praying for had come. As the others struggled to get to higher ground, he stopped only long enough to break his ankle chain and then took off running toward the swollen, fast-moving river.
One of the guards saw him make his move, and he yelled to the others to warn them that Walker was trying to escape.
When the other prisoners saw what was happening, they decided to try to make a break for it, too.
Despite the lightning and continuing downpour, the guards were well-trained and quick to react. They unleashed the dogs, turning them loose on the fleeing prisoners. The men gave chase, too, shooting at the escaping convicts as they ran.
Some of the prisoners were brought down, but Walker, unhampered by chains, was too fast. He dodged the bullets and escaped the attack dogs by diving into the gushing waters.
Walker wanted the guards coming after him to believe he'd been shot, so he stayed under as long as he could, swimming with the violent current, trying to put as much distance between himself and the camp as possible. When he finally came up for air, downed tree limbs were being swept along in the current near him, blocking the guards from seeing him. Walker grabbed one of the branches and hung on for dear life as it continued rapidly downstream.
Back near the campsite, two of the prisoners who'd tried to flee were dead and several more lay wounded on the riverbank.
"Did you get Walker?" the head guard demanded as the storm continued to rage around them.
"I hit him," one guard answered quickly. He honestly wasn't sure if he'd shot Walker or not, but he didn't want to anger his boss by admitting that. "I saw him fall. He went under and never came back up."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure, and even if I only winged him, there's no way he could survive being caught up in that flood."
They looked at the river as it tore past them. The storm was showing no sign of letting up, and they knew the flooding would only get worse.
"We'll look for his body when the water goes down," the lead guard said. They got the dogs back on their leashes and started to herd the wounded prisoners back to camp in the continuing downpour. They would come back later for the dead men.
Walker clung to the branch as best he could, but when it crashed into a boulder, he lost his grip. He fought to keep his head above water as he was washed away. It seemed an eternity before he was able to escape the torrent. Struggling with what little strength he had left, Walker finally managed to break free of the river's treacherous hold. In a last desperate effort, he hauled himself out of the water and collapsed on the steep riverbank.
The storm had passed, and darkness was falling when Walker regained consciousness. For a moment, he stared around, trying to remember where he was and how he'd gotten there. His confusion vanished as his memory returned, and he sat up quickly to look around for any sign that the guards were closing in on him. He saw and heard nothing, and the terror that had filled him eased for the time being. If they'd been close, he would have heard the dogs barking. The river was still swollen and running high, and he hoped the fierceness of the storm would convince the guards that he had drowned so they wouldn't search too long for him.
Walker stared at his surroundings, trying to figure how far downstream he'd come. Unsure, he knew he had to get moving. With great effort, he managed to get to his feet and stagger off. As much as he would have liked to believe they wouldn't come after him, he couldn't be complacent. The dogs were trained to hunt the prisoners down, so he had to get as far away as he could, as quickly as possible. The terrain was rugged, and Walker knew traveling on foot would be slow, but he hoped he was far enough from the campsite that he could make good his escape.
Concentrating only on keeping moving, he started west.
He was headed toward Two Guns—and Roni.
He had unfinished business there.
It was near noon the following day when the guards who'd gone looking for Walker returned to the campsite with the tracking dogs.
"Any luck?" the boss asked.
"There was no sign of him. The dogs couldn't find a thing," one guard told him.
"You think there's any chance he lived through that?"
"Not if he took a bullet."
The boss looked uneasily down the river. Knowing Walker was a half-breed, he had no doubt the man knew how to live off the land better than most. A part of him wanted to keep up the hunt, but he realized there was little point.
"All right. Let's get back to work. I'll send word to notify his relatives—if he has any."
The guards thought little more of the lost prisoner. He was a murderer, and they figured the murderer had just got what he deserved.
Two Days Later
"Jim, I need to speak with you. It's important."
Jim looked up from where he was sitting at his office desk to see Frank Carson, the man who ran the telegraph office, standing in the doorway. "Of course, Frank, come in."
Frank entered his office, and Jim could tell he was nervous about something.
"Have a seat," Jim invited.
"No, I won't be staying that long. I just wanted to let you know—"
Standing up, Jim walked around his desk to face the other man. He could tell now that something was seriously wrong. "What is it?"
"A telegram just came in." Frank held it out for him to read.
Jim took the message and stared down at it, first in disbelief and then despair.
His best friend was dead.
"This can't be true."
"Oh, it is," Frank said. "I wired the prison back to make sure I'd gotten the message right, and I did. There's no mistake. Walker Stevenson died in a flash flood at a labor camp." He shifted uneasily. "I know the message was for Stacy, but I thought it would be best to tell you first."
Jim looked up at him. "You did the right thing, Frank. Thank you for bringing this to me. I'll take care of
it from here."
Frank said no more. He just nodded and started from the office.
"Oh, and Frank—"
He looked back.
"Don't say anything to anyone else until I've had a chance to speak to Stacy."
"I won't," he promised.
Alone, Jim stood where he was, still staring down at the telegram, wondering what he was going to do. Stacy hadn't yet gotten over the horror of Walker's conviction. Even though she was a strong woman, watching her brother be wrongfully sent to prison had devastated her emotionally.
And now this.
He thought of Roni and knew the news would be heartbreaking for her, too.
Miserably, he sat back down at his desk, the telegram still held tightly in his hand. The knowledge that Walker was dead tore at him. His weeks of searching for a lead in the murder had turned up nothing, and the injustice of it all filled him with rage.
It took Jim some time before he was able to leave the privacy of his office and go to Stacy. No matter how he told her, he knew this was going to be the most difficult thing he'd ever done.
The ride he made to the Dollar was the longest of his life.
Stacy was up at the house when she heard the ranch hands call out that someone was riding in. She went out the front door to see who was coming and was surprised to find it was Jim. Though she was always glad to see him, having him show up this way in the middle of the day left her concerned about the reason for his visit.
Jim had been dreading this moment ever since he'd gotten the news in town, and seeing her standing there, looking so beautiful and innocent as she watched him ride in, just made it that much harder. He was about to completely shatter her world, yet there was nothing else he could do.
"I didn't expect to see you today," Stacy greeted him as he reined in and dismounted.
"Stacy," Jim began after he'd tied up his horse and turned to her. "A telegram came today—"
