by DiAnn Mills
She nodded while perspiration trickled over her forehead and stung her eyes. “You’ve warned me of this before, but I have to tell what I know. Running is no life at all. If the President grants me this pardon, I can rely on the law’s protection from Jenkins.” She rubbed the top of his knuckles with her gloved hand. “I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit how much this scares me.”
“Let me pray for you,” he said, and she nodded. “Oh God, help us to say the right words today. I pray we find favor in Your eyes and our mission will be acceptable to You. I thank You for this courageous woman who is putting her life on the line to bring the truth to light. I am so unworthy of her, and I thank You every day for her. Whatever happens today, I know You will be beside us. I thank You for Your guidance and Your hand on our lives. Amen.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. With all of her other self-doubts, why did she still question marrying Morgan? Not now. I’ll have hours to consider this once today is over.
She drew a lace handkerchief from her handbag and patted beneath her eyes. Where had this heat come from? Had Satan set foot into the day? Sensing Morgan’s gaze upon her, she turned in his direction and silently reassured him of her composure. The remaining two miles were ridden in silence.
Up ahead at the abandoned ranch house, two horses stood tied to a hitching post, and two men waited on a decaying porch.
“Are there two marshals?” Casey whirled around to see if others were there. Had she been led into a trap? Had Morgan betrayed her?
He glanced about them. “I was told one, but this is good. Both men will hear your testimony.”
She refused to tremble. The marshals might see her fear. “Yes, you’re right.” If one didn’t believe her, the other one might.
The closer the wagon drew them to their destination, the more apprehensive she felt. The unknown tugged at her senses. She wanted the confrontation with the federal marshals to settle all the accusations against her. But it could all go wrong. Raging fear threatened to seize her.
“I feel your trembling,” Morgan said. “Remember who’s in control.
Once they stopped in front of the deserted cabin, Morgan assisted Casey down from the wagon and escorted her to the darkly tanned federal marshals who stood like statues against the rickety cabin. She eyed them evenly and tried to imagine what preconceived notions lay in their heads.
Morgan greeted the nearest man and shook his hand. “Morgan Andrews.”
Both marshals looked as though their faces had been carved in stone. Casey had seen the lean, hungry look before. She wondered if their ambitions were for justice or to seal their reputations.
“Zach Bennett, federal marshal,” the rail-thin man said. “And this is Joe Henderson.”
The other man nodded, and Morgan shook his hand. “This young woman is Miss Casey O’Hare.”
Casey stepped forward and lightly grasped each man’s hand. Pushing aside any visible signs of emotion, she forced pleasantries. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I trust you haven’t been waiting long in this heat.”
“No, ma’am. We were here but a few minutes before catching sight of the wagon.” Zach’s beady eyes reminded her of a hawk. Could he see her soul?
“Shall we get down to business?” Joe said. “It’s mighty hot, and we have a lot of work to do.”
“First I’d like to see your credentials,” Morgan said. Both men produced identification for him to examine. When he finished, he handed their papers to Casey.
Once convinced Zach Bennett and Joe Henderson were indeed federal marshals, she handed their documents back to Morgan, and he returned them to their owners. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “Your papers appear to be in order.”
Morgan gave Casey his full attention. Compassion emitted from his turquoise eyes. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. Let’s get this done.” And for the first time, she relaxed.
Inside the cabin, it took several minutes to wipe the dust and dirt from a roughly constructed table and find suitable seating. They opened doors and ripped frayed cloth from the windows to let in light and fresh air. The stuffy odor plus the stale scent of tobacco reminded Casey of days best forgotten. Still, the atmosphere would aid her in recollecting sights, sounds, and smells of another time.
She sat on the only chair directly across the table from Zach and Joe, who swung their legs over a rough-sawn pine bench. Morgan pulled up a wobbly stool next to Casey. Out of habit, she gauged how quickly she could get to the door. Some things from her former life never changed.
“We understand you’re willing to help us locate wanted men,” Joe said. “Is this true?”
“Yes, sir.” She observed paper and pen before Zach. His penetrating gaze nearly unnerved her. “Is Mr. Bennett writing down everything I say?”
“Yes, ma’am. The questions and answers will be recorded exactly as they are spoken,” Joe said.
Casey studied the man’s leather like face. No emotion. She well knew that stance. “May we see them when we’re finished?”
“I’ll take notes for us.” Morgan already had paper and pen in hand. “But I want to see what you’ve recorded at the close of our meeting.”
“We can do that.” Joe cleared his throat. “We understand you’ve received a pardon from Governor Ireland of the state of Texas for criminal activity, and you want to request the same from President Arthur.”
“That is correct.” Casey sat erect with the perfect posture she’d seen from the town’s ladies. Be with me, Lord. I can’t do this alone.
“Upon the completion of this meeting today, the governor has entrusted me with your official pardon, signed and sealed. He will then instruct his secretary to file the proper papers with the President. Let us begin with a few formalities. Would you kindly state your name?”
“Casey Shawne O’Hare.”
“And are you the same Casey O’Hare who rode with the Jenkins gang for seven years?”
“Yes, sir. I joined them when I was fourteen with my brother, Tim. At the time, Jenkins thought I was a boy. When he discovered otherwise, he forced me to continue riding with them.”
She detested the time it took to record the questions and answers. Her patience ran thin each time the two men painstakingly wrote each word. She hadn’t told Morgan about the two weeks that Jenkins didn’t know she was a girl. Everything changed when he caught her bathing . . . She shook her head to dispel the thought.
“How were you forced to ride with them? This is no longer a country of slaves.”
“Davis Jenkins threatened to kill my brother if I left the gang. He also threatened to sell me as a . . . . prostitute.”
“What’s your brother’s full name?”
“Timothy John O’Hare. He still rides with Jenkins.” She hesitated. “Although I heard he and Jenkins split.” Her voice sounded faraway as if it belonged to someone else.
“Didn’t you just state Davis Jenkins threatened to kill him if you left?” Joe’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ve witnessed what Tim has done.” She took a deep breath. “My brother chose his path a long time ago. If I thought he’d change, I wouldn’t be here today.” Why did her heart have to pound so hard? “It took me a long time to see that my brother had become just like the rest of them.”
Joe removed his bandanna and wiped the sweat from his brow. “So why did you finally leave the gang?”
“I hated how they lived and what they did. My life seemed headed nowhere except a hangman’s noose or a bullet. I chose to take my chances and run from Jenkins rather than stay. I realized I would someday have to face charges for the crimes held against me, but I had to take that gamble.” Was she rambling?
“It says here that although you held horses for the gang during holdups, you did not commit any of the crimes we’ve listed, except the shooting of a man in Billings, Montana.”
“The man recovered,” Morgan said.
Joe nodded. “I’ve read the letters written on Miss O’Hare’s behalf. Each one will re
quire an investigation. Your statement given to us by your lawyer, Mr. Andrews here, indicates a strong desire to lead a decent, respectable life. Is this also true?” Joe had not moved since they began.
“Yes, sir. The statement also says I’m a Christian. Jesus Christ is now the Lord of my life.”
The federal marshal coughed and shifted his feet. “Yes, ma’am. It does state your—your newfound religion.” Zach handed Joe a map of the western United States and territories. He turned it for her to see. “We’ve been unable to penetrate a good many of the outlaws’ hideouts. Are you willing to give us a hand?”
“Yes, sir. I mentioned this in my statement to Governor Ireland.”
“Would you kindly indicate how we could get into the Hole in the Wall?”
Couldn’t you have asked me something easier? Casey found no need to examine the map. “You can’t. There’s only one way inside—through the opening. Two men with Winchesters can easily hold off any posse. Most likely you’d have to bribe another outlaw to gain access.”
“What about Brown’s Park?” Joe pointed to the familiar area in the far northwestern corner of Colorado and the Utah Territory.
She didn’t need to take a look at his map there, either. “It will take a long time before lawmen can cleverly outdo the outlaws in this area.”
“Why?” Joe’s question sounded angry, even hostile.
Casey carefully picked her words. “Outlaws are clever. They aren’t afraid to take a gamble on the odds against them. This is serious business for them. Not only are they getting rich, but they’re also working on their reputations.” She hesitated and clenched her fists in her lap. “Most lawmen—forgive me, gentlemen, for being blunt—form a posse and take off after them without any forethought or plan. Now I can show you trails leading out of the various hideouts.” She leaned over the table and pointed to Brown’s Park. “But it won’t assist you in finding outlaws. It will only help your men get out alive.”
Joe continued the lengthy process of questions and answers. At last he folded the map and handed it back to Zach. “Your information will definitely help us. We also have several wanted men who’ve disappeared. Possibly headed north to Canada or south to Mexico and South America. Given the list, can you help us locate them?”
“I’ll do my best,” Casey said. “Please understand, the locations may be outdated. Usually outlaws return to the same hideouts to rest up and plan their next job. But with a hint of trouble, they move on. An outlaw changes his name as often as respectable folk say their prayers.”
The meeting lasted until early evening. They broke once for water and continued on. Casey and Joe were tense with the tedious questions and answers, and the other two who had labored over the written portion were equally tired.
“I believe we’re finished, Miss O’Hare,” Joe finally concluded. “I want to thank you for your cooperation. It will be rewarded. I promise.”
Was he sincere? “I appreciate the government giving me this opportunity to tell the truth and possibly clear my name.” She watched for movements in his face. None. No help at all. “How long before I can expect to hear from the President?”
“Six weeks, I’m sure. Since the governor’s office researched your other documents, the process should not be any longer than that.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his saddlebag on the table. “Here’s the governor’s pardon just as I told you at the start of the day. I know you heard his decision before our meeting. This is the official document.”
Casey took the paper and read it slowly. She savored every word. Her eyes dampened upon completion, and she held it firmly in her grasp. “Thank you, sir. God bless you for delivering this to me.”
The two federal marshals stood. “Good luck, Miss O’Hare,” Joe said. “I wish you the best. Is there anything else you’d like to say on your behalf?”
Casey didn’t need to deliberate the matter. “Only that I would be forever grateful if you could stop Davis Jenkins.” Even the name of the dreaded outlaw upon her lips caused her to tremble.
“Yes, ma’am. With your information, I hope we’re able to find him and a lot more like him,” Zach said. “And I want to thank you for your patience while I recorded your statements. After listening to your answers, I plan to write my own recommendation to the President.”
Afterward, the wagon creaked and groaned away from the deserted house and back toward the ranch. Twilight shadows darkened to evening against a three-quarter moon and the first hint of stars.
“It went well,” Morgan said. “Casey, you displayed considerable control the whole time.”
“It wasn’t me.” The emotional strain of the day left her exhausted. “God must have stood right behind my chair with His hand on my shoulder and directed it all. And I couldn’t have done nearly so well if you hadn’t been there to support me.”
Morgan lifted his hat and wiped his wet forehead. “I’m so proud of you, and I’ll make sure Ben knows about the official pardon. Most likely he’ll sleep easier knowing he’s not bending any laws.”
They laughed. It felt good. Casey’s gaze swept over the silhouette of the man she loved. “This was a hard day, wasn’t it?”
“I felt as though each drop of sweat was a prayer in itself. Between the heat and the tension, I lost track of time. Recording every word was like being in law school again. But it’s over, and we did our best.”
“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.” Casey sniffed and reached for her handkerchief. “In one breath I want to shout, and in the next I’m so relieved it’s over that I want to cry a bucket of tears.” She stretched stiff, aching back muscles. Suddenly a realization hit her. “Morgan, they’re making the recommendation for a full pardon.”
He laughed again. “I knew they would.”
“Now we wait.” She attempted to sort out the inquiries and her replies from the afternoon. Both men had asked numerous questions, and she didn’t always have an answer. She offered information and drew maps, especially in the area of the lower Colorado Plateau and on south through the canyon lands.
Six weeks. Seems like forever. Surely I gave them enough information. Both of them said they were grateful for my statement. Still, I’m impatient. I want it over, but all I can do is allow God to work out His plan. She felt Morgan’s attention on her and met it with a weary smile. His devotion never ceased to amaze her. If only she could reveal her own devotion to him.
Chapter 31
Three weeks passed, and Morgan sensed Casey moving farther and farther away from him. He tried to ignore her black moods and the way she avoided being alone with him, but how much was he supposed to take before he confronted her? He had no intention of ever turning back into the old Morgan who resorted to behavior that looked like a three-year-old’s temper tantrum. Telling her he loved her never seemed to be enough. Many times he thought she didn’t believe him, or maybe her feelings had changed.
Morgan’s selfish attitude made him angry. He needed to be thinking more about her and less about his wounded pride. Confusion etched his every waking moment and haunted his dreams.
The problem lay in waiting to hear from Washington. He knew how much Casey looked for the official pardon. The worry and wondering had to be driving her nearly crazy.
Davis Jenkins . . . he hadn’t given up. The man held a grudge against anyone who crossed him. If Morgan let his mind dwell on the way the outlaw had pursued Casey from the time she was barely a girl, the old fury threatened to take over. If he chose to dwell on her brother, Tim, who had done nothing to help Casey, he grew angry again. Morgan could only imagine what he’d do if faced with Jenkins or Tim.
Don’t dwell on it. You can’t change the past.
Tonight he planned to ride out to the ranch and ask her straight out if she’d changed her mind about him. He shrugged. Maybe she’d met someone else. After all, Grant was right there at the ranch ready to step into his big brother’s shoes. The age difference wasn’t that much. I am really pathetic to be jealous of
my own brother. If she was happier with Grant, I’d have to walk away.
With a deep breath, Morgan decided to sidestep his own feelings and ask her what he could do to help. He’d join his family for dinner and hope for the right words—and the right answers.
*****
Casey wondered why Morgan showed up unexpectedly for dinner, but she didn’t ask. Lately she’d treated him shamefully, and she didn’t really mean to. He simply irritated her with his constant urging to spend time with him. She wanted to be left alone until this whole ordeal was over. The idea of being touched or kissed repulsed her. Then she’d remember all Morgan had done and how much she really did love him.
“What can I do to help you through this?” Morgan said while they sat alone on the front porch step.
“Nothing. This is my war.” She listened to the singing insects and fought the unexplained anger rooted deep inside.
“It’s our war.” Morgan’s voice rang tenderly against the approaching evening shadows. “Casey, don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not. I’m simply tired of waiting on something that probably won’t happen.”
“I love you—”
“Morgan, please, must our conversations always lead to this?” She turned her attention to the lights of the bunkhouse. Not that she cared at all about what went on out there.
“I sense the cool night air is getting to you,” he said much too cheerfully.
“Not the air. Just you.”
He rubbed his palms over his jeans and stood from the porch step. Without a glance in her direction, he walked toward the corral, where the faint light of dusk cast a golden shadow on a single horse.
“I’m sorry.” How could she be so cruel? When he failed to reply, she ran after him. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
His eyes stayed fixed on the horse grazing nearby. “What did you mean?”