“I am, yes, I’m Mr. Grant.” Isaac sighed with relief, believing he was being released.
“Step away from the door,” the man said.
Isaac did as he said.
The man unlocked the cell door and opened it wide. “Step out.”
Again, Isaac did as he requested without protest.
Using a rusty pair of shackles, the man secured Isaac’s arms in front of him and escorted him out of the darkened jailhouse and into a courtroom nearby. “Where am I going?”
“To see the judge,” the man replied.
“Judge? For what? I’ve done nothing wrong. I was attacked. You should be finding the man who assaulted me,” Isaac said, confused by what was happening. Inside the small courtroom, Isaac scanned the space to find it was empty save for one familiar face, Mr. Everett Wagner. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mr. Wagner. I’m so happy to see you.”
The man took Isaac and sat him behind a table.
Isaac quickly turned around and said, “Mr. Wagner, what is going on? Are you here to get me out?”
Everett ignored Isaac.
“Mr. Wagner?” Isaac asked, concerned by Everett’s silence.
A door opened and closed towards the front of the courtroom. A man dressed in a black robe came in and took the seat at the bench. He examined a piece of paper then looked up. “Why is the accused not standing?”
The man came up and lifted Isaac to his feet.
Knowing the decorum of a courtroom, Isaac said, “Your Honor, I respectfully—”
“Silence, you were not summoned to speak,” the judge said. He looked past Isaac and saw Mr. Wagner. “Nice to see you.”
Baffled by what was happening, Isaac couldn’t restrain himself. “Your Honor, there must be a mistake.”
Looking up again, the judge replied, “Since the accused won’t remain silent and allow me the time to review the statements, I’ll begin. Mr. Isaac Grant, you’ve been charged with robbery, breaking and entering, theft, and inciting a riot.”
“Inciting a riot?” Isaac asked.
The judge hammered the gavel and barked, “Will the accused remain silent until I call on him!”
Isaac shook his head in disbelief.
“How do you plead?” the judge asked.
“Not guilty on all charges,” Isaac said. “If you’re referring to the break-in, I witnessed it and—”
“Will the witness come forward,” the judge said.
Looking around as to who that might be, Isaac watched in shock as Everett walked up and stood before the judge.
“What do you know about the charges against Mr. Grant?” the judge asked.
“Aren’t you going to swear him in?” Isaac asked.
Slamming the gavel down hard, the judge barked, “Will the bailiff restrain and gag the accused until I need him to speak.”
The man stepped up behind Isaac and secured a thick leather strap around Isaac’s mouth.
“Last I saw of Mr. Grant, he was angry—left my house in a blind fury, to be more exact. If you’re asking me if he could commit such a crime, I have to say…yes, he could,” Everett lied. “In fact, I knew he had been consorting with some rough individuals for some time, but we thought he could move past his ways. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to.”
Isaac leapt to his feet and began to yell from behind his gag.
“Bailiff, secure the accused,” the judge ordered. Putting his attention back on Everett, he said, “You’re an upstanding and respected pillar of our community, and what you say holds water with this court. Thank you, you may be seated.”
Everett walked back to his seat, not giving Isaac even a glance.
“Will the next witness please come in,” the judge said.
A guard opened the door and escorted in an unfamiliar man. He walked up to the bench and stood.
“Are you Frank Sellers?” the judge asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you know the accused sitting behind you?” the judge asked.
Frank glanced back for a second before facing the judge again. “That’s him, he planned the robbery. I was there when he did it.”
Isaac leapt to his feet and grunted.
“Secure the accused!” the judge barked, slamming down his gavel.
Two other men, guards, entered the courtroom. They rushed to Isaac and held him down.
“If the accused acts out one more time, I’ll add contempt of court to the charges,” the judge howled. Looking back to Frank, he continued. “So you know the accused?”
“Yes.”
“And you know of his plan to rob that establishment last night?”
“Yes. He planned it. He’s the ringleader,” Frank said, nodding his head vigorously.
“Thank you, you may leave,” the judge said.
Frank turned and rushed out of the courtroom.
The judge removed a small pair of glasses from the bridge of his nose and placed them on the bench in front of him. He looked at Isaac and said, “I have considered all the evidence and now the eyewitness testimony that corroborates and supports what occurred last night. This leads me to conclude that you’re guilty on all counts. Mr. Grant, you will be sent to and housed in Blackwell’s Island Penitentiary for a period of no less than twenty years. I pray you will use this time to reflect on what you’ve done.” The judge slammed the gavel down, got up, and exited the room.
Horrified by the nightmare scenario that had just played out before him, Isaac squirmed and hollered behind his gag, frantic to get free.
Everett stood and walked up to a mortified Isaac, leaned in, and with a devilish grin on his face said, “I told you that you’ll never marry my Lucy. You should have listened to me, but you didn’t. This is what hubris brings. Enjoy your time on the island.”
Isaac lashed out but was quickly subdued by the bailiff and the two guards.
Unable to control Isaac in his current state, the bailiff took a small club from his belt and struck Isaac over the head, knocking him out.
Everett strolled out of the courtroom, his face showing the pleasure he was taking in the moment.
The three men picked Isaac up and hauled him away.
CHAPTER ONE
OCTOBER 21, 1869
BLACKWELL’S ISLAND PENITENTIARY, NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
The first year he spent on Blackwell’s Island, Isaac wrote letters to city councilmen, senators and congressional leaders, detailing the miscarriage of justice he’d been a victim of, yet he never received a reply. It seemed that he’d been locked away and left to rot. When the first year turned to the second, with no replies or visits except from his best friend, Gerald, he began to worry that he would be forced to suffer another nineteen years for a crime he didn’t commit.
By year three, all hope had left him, and he now was resigned to his condition and tried to make the best of it.
Then year four came, and even Gerald stopped visiting. His resignation now became despair. He could no longer imagine living like he was and wanted it all to end. So after much thought, he unsuccessfully tried to kill himself. This only led to worse living conditions, as he was placed in a cell by himself with nothing that could be fashioned to aid him in committing suicide.
Stuck in solitary confinement with only rotting and moldy straw for a bed, he lay pondering just how he could end his miserable life.
The distinct sound of a guard holding keys came from the other side of his door.
The door unlocked and opened. A tall and slim man wearing a blue guard uniform stepped inside his cell and tossed his clothes at him. “Put them on and be quick about it.”
Isaac stared at the clothes. They were his from that very night four years before.
The guard looked nervous. He peeked through the door then back to Isaac. “Hurry if you want to leave.”
Sitting up, Isaac asked, “Leave? Go where?”
The guard stepped for
ward and whispered, “If you want to get out of here, now’s your chance, but you must hurry.”
A perplexed grimace took over Isaac’s face. “I don’t understand.”
“Your friend Gerald sends his regards and has secured your unofficial release. Now hurry,” the guard said.
Unsure if this was a ruse of some sort, Isaac moved slowly.
The guard took Isaac firmly by his arm and lifted him to his feet. “If you’re not dressed in five minutes and out that door, your chance to leave this place is over.”
He still had sixteen years left of his sentence. If this was a ruse and he was captured trying to make a daring escape, what was the worst that could happen? His life was essentially over if he stayed. Jumping to his feet, he ripped off the ratty clothing he had on and swiftly put on his old clothes.
Once Isaac was dressed, the guard escorted him out of the cell and down the darkened and wet hallway until he reached a large metal door. He removed a set of keys and fiddled through them until he found the one he wanted. He inserted it into the lock and turned it until he heard a loud clack. He swung the door open and glanced at Isaac. “Now go. Run.”
“Where?” Isaac asked, looking out through the door into the pitch black.
“Go down the stairs to the bottom, and go out the door, it will be unlocked. Once outside, head to the south of the island. There’s a man with a boat set to meet you.”
“Which way is south?” Isaac asked.
“When you go out the door, you’ll be facing south; just head in that direction. The man with the boat will be just south of the prison grounds.”
“Isn’t there a perimeter wall?” Isaac asked.
“Just a six-foot wall, climb it and go south until you reach the riverbank,” the guard said.
“And Gerald sent you?” Isaac asked, confused.
“Yes. He said for you to flee the city. Don’t come find him,” the guard growled. He was growing nervous that the longer this took, the higher the chances were he’d get caught.
Isaac stared into the blackness and, without hesitating one more second, disappeared into it.
CORRIGAN RESIDENCE, BANE, NEVADA
Lucy struggled to wake. Her body felt as if a ton of bricks were lying upon it, keeping her pressed into the mattress.
The light of the early morning sun peeked through the corner of the drawn blinds, illuminating the ornate and beautifully decorated bedroom.
Knowing Mortimer would soon be calling on her, she sluggishly sat up and went for the bottle of laudanum on the nightstand. Taking it and the glass dropper next to it, she opened the bottle and inserted the dropper. Filling the tube, she dropped its contents on her tongue and pressed her mouth closed. She allowed the liquid to sit on her tongue for a count of ten then swallowed. She closed the bottle and placed it back on the nightstand.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet dangling just above the cold wood floor, she stared at the bottle. The opium-based medicine had become an anchor for her, or as she sometimes mentioned, it had become her friend. Ever since arriving in the mining town of Bane nine months before, she had taken to the medicine to relieve the anxiety attacks she’d been having. It had helped by numbing her, but it had also made her dependent to the point she couldn’t rise for the day without taking some, nor could she manage to go throughout the day without it.
A tap on the door told her Mortimer, her husband, was home from his early morning meetings. “Yes.”
“Are you decent?” Mortimer asked politely.
“Yes, come in,” she replied as she got up and made her way to the vanity, which was located against the far wall.
Mortimer entered the room, a smile stretched across his face. “I have some good news. I came home to share it with you.” He hustled to a small chair adjacent to the vanity and sat down.
As she ran the hairbrush through her thick brown hair, she said, “Do tell me.”
“I think I found the man who will be perfect for the position,” he blurted out happily.
“Do you mean for sheriff?” she asked, her speech slurred from the dose of laudanum.
Sensing she was under the influence, he smiled and said, “Yes, for sheriff.” Mortimer didn’t think much of her using laudanum, as it had been his idea for her to seek medical attention for her anxiety and the migraines she so often complained of having. After having been married for three years, an arranged marriage set up by Lucy’s father, he’d seen a shift in her demeanor upon their arrival in Bane. He knew she didn’t like it there, but there wasn’t any other option. Mortimer was a successful businessman who was fifteen years her senior and had been a partner of her father’s in a shipping enterprise. He was always seeking new opportunities, so when he’d heard that a silver-mining town in Nevada was available for purchase, he immediately secured it and took Lucy out west. Bane had since proven to be a savvy business investment and had provided Mortimer with significant profits. The only issue that caused a constant disruption in town was the lack of law and order.
When they had arrived, murders, rapes and assaults were a daily occurrence in the town that boasted seven thousand people, many of whom worked in the mines. Mortimer had strived to get the crime under control by hiring a sheriff and giving him adequate resources to bring on a team of four deputies; however, not two months went by before the first sheriff had been gunned down in the streets.
Mortimer promoted one of the deputies to fill the position. Within weeks, crime and murder within the town limits lowered, but the new sheriff wasn’t able to stop the rogue bands of road agents and bandits from robbing incoming shipments and stagecoaches. Pressed by Mortimer to find an answer, the new sheriff promised to crack down. When nothing changed, Mortimer came to discover after conducting an investigation that the new sheriff was being paid off by someone in town who happened to be benefitting from the robberies. Mortimer fired the sheriff and placed an advertisement in many newspapers, looking for a new lawman to come in and handle the situation, and now he believed he had found the right person.
“That’s nice,” she said.
“His name is Ethan Travis and he hails from San Antonio, Texas. His most recent job was as the chief of police in Scranton, Pennsylvania, but he’s most notable for being a Texas Ranger before the war. He’ll be perfect for the position,” Mortimer said.
“That’s nice,” she repeated.
Seeing that she wasn’t really listening, he sat and looked at her. He loved her dearly, though at times he could sense she didn’t love him the same. He strived to do everything he could to make her happy, but she just wasn’t. He had thought about hiring a city manager to handle the day-to-day operations of the town and mines but had found in his years of operating other successful businesses that no one could do a better job than the owner and visionary.
She placed the brush down and swiveled in her seat to face him. “I’m happy that we have a new sheriff coming. When will he arrive?”
Happy to see she did have an interest, he answered, “Soon, I expect him to be here in a little over a week. He’s tying up loose ends then will take the train out to Elko then coach it from there.”
“I know having Mr. Travis will ease your mind,” she said.
“It will, and I’ve made sure to insulate him from the corruption too by paying him twice the salary of any town sheriff, and I plan on offering him bonuses too if he can find the ringleader behind those raids on the shipments,” Mortimer said.
“Well, I hope he works out. Losing all those goods isn’t good for the townspeople,” she said.
“We’ll get it figured out; I know, I’m an optimist,” he said.
Patting his hand, she said, “That’s why my father liked you.”
“Speaking of your father, I need to send him a wire and let him know; he’s taken great interest in this endeavor of mine out here. I think he might even want to invest.”
“You’re looking for investors? So his trip out here isn’t just social?” she asked.
“It’s both. You know your father better than anyone. I do know he does wish to see you more than anything. And to answer your question about investors, I want to expand the operations, and I’ll be needing some additional capital for that. So I thought why not keep it in the family?” he said, smiling.
She furrowed her brow and frowned.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Not wanting to express how she really felt, she lied and said, “My head, it hurts. I think I have a migraine coming on again.”
Getting to his feet, he said, “I’ll let you get back to getting ready for the day. How about we have lunch together?”
“That sounds nice. Let Phyllis know; tell her I’d like the potato soup,” Lucy said.
“I will,” Mortimer said, leaning down and kissing Lucy on the right cheek. “I love you.”
“And I you,” she said, reaching for a makeup brush.
Mortimer left the room, closing the door behind him.
Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror, her thoughts drifting to Isaac. Four years had passed since she’d last seem him, and still she couldn’t fathom he’d actually done what he had been accused of doing. She would often think of what her life would have been if they had been allowed to marry. Would they have had children by now? Would they have lived in New York, or would he have found a job somewhere else, maybe in New England or even in the Midwest? Never seeing him again was what she found so disturbing. He’d left that night after arguing with her father and never returned. It was as if he had died, but she knew he hadn’t. She had tried to visit him, but her father had forced her not to. “Where are you, Isaac?” she asked out loud.
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
By the time Isaac reached Lower Manhattan, the sun was rising to the east. He hurried along the streets, looking over his shoulder as he went, fully expecting someone to notice him or to see a squad of police in pursuit. He crisscrossed the narrow streets until he reached the tenement building where Gerald had last lived.
The Lawman Page 2