by Bobbi Smith
"Don't worry. I'm going to be doing all the checking into this I can, and I'll send word to you right away if I find something," she promised. "Is there anything else we can do?"
"Just take care of Stacy. I know that's what Walker wanted." Jim saw the tormented expression on her face. He added gently, "You love him, don't you?"
Roni could only nod and whisper, "Yes."
Chapter Twelve
One Week Later
The sun was beating down and the heat was merciless as Walker stood with the other men in the yard of the penitentiary, dressed in his striped prison clothes with his head shaved. One of the guards walked up to inspect the line of prisoners, while three other heavily armed men stood back, holding the leashes of snarling, barking attack dogs. The guard eyed each prisoner up and down. When he got to Walker, he stopped directly in front of him and smiled coldly.
"Welcome to your new home, Chief," he greeted him sarcastically.
Walker knew better than to respond. He waited to see what the guard was going to do next. The trip to the prison had been a long one, and though he'd been there for just a day, he'd already witnessed some of the ugliness that was prison life—the chains and the beatings.
"My name's Taylor. Remember that," the guard told him. "You work hard and do what you're told, and you'll stay alive in here. But don't even think about trying to escape. You see those dogs?"
He pointed to the growling animals.
"They like tearing prisoners apart, don't they, boys?" he asked the other inmates.
They grumbled a "yes" in reply.
"All right, all of you get to work or there will be no meals for you today!" Taylor ordered.
Walker followed the other inmates to the worksite. He'd heard talk that there was the possibility they might be leased out to a chain gang sometime soon, but no one had any idea of when. Walker had come to believe the other prisoners were hoping to be leased out, for life in the prison was as close to hell on earth as you could get. Their beds were bug-infested straw mattresses. There was nowhere to bathe. The food consisted of boiled bacon, molasses, corn bread and coffee. It wasn't much in the way of nourishment, and if anyone dared to say a word in the mess hall, he paid the price. It was a harsh life.
He'd already made up his mind to keep quiet and stay out of trouble.
He knew it was the only way to survive, and he had to survive.
He had to find out who had killed Ben and framed him for the murder—and he had to get back home to Roni.
Thoughts of trying to escape were already entering his mind as he set to work chopping and loading heavy lumber onto the waiting wagons.
As he finished his whiskey, Chet figured out exactly what he had to do: convince Stacy to push up the wedding and marry him now.
He would play the part of concerned fiancé and try to get her to the altar as quickly as possible. He smiled. He could think of no reason why she wouldn't want to marry him. She'd eagerly accepted his proposal, so moving up the wedding date shouldn't be hard to do. Soon—real soon—the Dollar was going to be all his.
"What are you smiling about, big guy?" Suzie asked as she came strutting up to the bar to stand next to him. She leaned forward enticingly to give him a better view of her bosom, blatantly displayed by the low-cut neckline of her red satin gown.
"Why, I saw you coming and couldn't help myself," he lied to her.
"I'm not used to seeing you in town in the middle of the week. You got something exciting going on?"
"I do now," he said quietly, leering at her with a hungry look in his eyes. He was glad the bar wasn't busy. The fewer people who knew he spent time with Suzie, the better.
She smiled knowingly as she said in a low voice, "I'll meet you around back in ten minutes." She moved away.
And ten minutes later, Chet was there at the back door.
He changed his plan about going straight out to the Dollar. He didn't leave Two Guns until late that night. He decided to pay Stacy a visit the next day.
It was late when Roni, exhausted both physically and emotionally, returned to her office. She had spent the last, long hours at the bedside of elderly, frail Sarah Mallory. She had given Sarah laudanum to ease her pain, but had known there was nothing more she could do to help her. Sarah's passing hadn't been unexpected. Her family had been with her, but death was never an easy thing to deal with.
After locking the door, Roni went upstairs and got ready for bed. Sleep would not come, though, for thoughts of Walker haunted her. She found herself wondering how he was, and when she would ever see him again. She'd spoken with Jim several days before and had learned that he'd had no luck at all, trying to find a clue to the identity of the real killer. In spite of the discouraging news, she kept alive her hope that they would ultimately find a way to free Walker. Still, she knew tracking down the one responsible would only get more and more difficult as time went by.
Getting out of bed, Roni went to stare out her bedroom window. The moon shone brightly in the starlit night sky. It was beautiful, and serene. She wondered if Walker could see the sky from where he was. She wondered, too, if he was thinking of her.
Her tears began to fall freely as she imagined his suffering, and she knew she'd done the right thing in telling him that she loved him.
Her heart was aching as she turned away from the window to go back to bed.
In the silence of the dark night, she offered up a silent prayer for his safety.
Walker stretched out on the filthy straw mattress and lay there in silence, staring up at the ceiling. He had thought he'd known the meaning of a hard day's work, but today had proved him wrong. Every inch of his body ached, and his hands were blistered and bleeding from the long hours he'd spent chopping wood. Some of the other prisoners had said that being leased out to the chain gangs was even harder, so Walker knew there was nothing to look forward to.
This was his life now.
Turning on his side, he stared out the barred window. He thought of the time he'd spent as a child growing up in the Comanche village and of the freedom he'd known then. He remembered, too, the night of the dance when he and Roni had managed to slip away into the darkness for those few stolen moments alone. Knowing that if he was to survive he must focus all his energy on just staying alive, he fought to regain control of his wayward thoughts. There was no reason to torture himself with memories of the past. He pushed them away, denying them, then closed his eyes and waited for the release of sleep. But even as he fought against it, the memory of those last moments with Roni stayed with him and sustained him.
Chet was in high spirits as he entered the bank to speak with Jim.
Jim had been sitting at his desk in his small office in back when the teller came to let him know Chet was there.
"Send him in," Jim directed. He went to stand in his office door to welcome Chet. "I didn't expect to see you today," he said him as they shook hands. "Come on in and have a seat." Jim closed the door to give them privacy, wondering at the reason for Chet's visit. "Has Stacy heard something new?"
"No, nothing. And I seriously doubt that we will."
Chet took the chair in front of Jim's desk as Jim sat back down.
"I know what you mean," Jim agreed, disheartened. "Then what can I do for you today?"
"Well, I'm here on business," Chet began. "I just heard that with Ben dead, the Thompson ranch is going to be put up for sale. I want to buy it, so I'm going to need a loan."
"All right," Jim said, turning to business. "Do you have cash for a down payment?"
"No, I don't, but I've got my place. I can use that for collateral."
Jim was thoughtful. He knew Chet's ranch was small and, though Chet had made improvements, it was not one of the best in the area. "Do you have anything else you could put up to secure the loan?"
Chet knew what a serious moneyman Jim was, and he had feared the discussion would take this turn. He smiled with easy confidence. "Well, you can count the Dollar as part of it."
Jim glanced at him sharply. "How do you figure that? Your name's not on the deed."
"Stacy and I are as good as married. If I buy up the Thompson place now, with my ranch and the Dollar, we'll really be the biggest and"—he added with emphasis—"the best spread around."
"Have you discussed this with Stacy?"
"I wanted to surprise her. As proud as she is of the Dollar, I'm sure she'll like my idea about improving the place even more," Chet declared confidently. He hadn't even talked about it with her yet, but she was going to be his wife, so she would do whatever he told her to do.
"Well, once you have things arranged with her, let me know, and I'll draw up the papers," Jim offered.
"Thanks for your help," Chet said.
He stood up to leave, and they shook hands again. Chet went on his way, but instead of heading to the Dollar to talk with Stacy, he went to the saloon and had a stiff drink at the bar. He'd hoped to pull off the loan without involving her, but Jim wasn't going to let that happen.
Chet knew Jim was a smart man when it came to money. That was why he was as wealthy and successful as he was. It angered Chet that he hadn't been able to convince the banker to go ahead with the loan based on his future marriage. He was going to have to do this all legal-like and convince Stacy to go along with his plan. Stacy didn't know how short on cash he was, and he wasn't about to let her find out before the wedding.
All the more reason to convince her to move up the wedding date. The faster he got her to the altar, the faster he'd get control of the Stevenson money.
Chet threw down the rest of his whiskey and got ready to ride. He had some serious sweet-talking to do that afternoon.
Stacy was in the corral, working some horses, when Zach called out to her that a rider was approaching. She quit what she was doing and left the corral to see who the visitor was. She recognized Chet right away and wondered what had brought him out to the Dollar. She wondered if he'd been in town and heard some news about Walker.
"I was hoping you'd be here," Chet told her as he reined in beside her and quickly dismounted. Uncaring that there were ranch hands nearby, he kissed her and then said in a voice only she could hear, "I was in town for a while, and I've been missing you, so I decided to come by and check on how you're doing."
"Did you hear any news about Walker while you were in town?" she asked.
Rage flared within him at her question, but Chet didn't let it show. Here he'd just ridden all the way to see her, and the only thing she cared about was her brother. "No. I haven't heard a thing."
Stacy looked worried. "I don't know if that's good or bad."
"I would say it's good," he said, wanting to distract her. "If there had been any trouble, they would have sent word."
"Well, I'm glad you're here," she said, finally relaxing enough to smile at him. "How long can you stay?"
"I don't have to be back at the ranch until tonight."
"Good. Come on. Let's go up to the house and visit for a while. I've been missing you, too."
They made their way to the house and, once they'd gone inside, Stacy took a quick look around to make sure Sandy Leeds, the housekeeper, wouldn't walk in on them. When she was certain they were alone, she went back to Chet and kissed him again.
Chet was pleased by her actions. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as he kissed her deeply. When at last they broke apart, she led the way into the parlor and they sat down on the sofa together.
"So, how have things been going?" he asked.
"Zach and the boys have been a big help. There hasn't been any trouble to speak of."
"That's good. If you ever need me—"
"Oh, I always need you," Stacy said softly.
Chet didn't pass up the chance to kiss her again.
"I love you, Stacy," he told her in a husky voice. "And I wanted to ask you—"
"What?"
"What do you think about moving our wedding up? I know you don't want to elope, but we could talk to the reverend and see if he could marry us in the next week or two."
"Why?"
"Honestly, I worry about you, out here all alone like this. With Walker gone, there's no one to protect you if anything should happen."
His answer surprised her. "You don't have to worry about me. Zach and the boys are here, and Sandy, too."
"But I do worry about you," he insisted. "And I want us to be together."
"You're so sweet." Stacy sighed, touched by his concern. She leaned closer to kiss him again. "Our wedding day will be here before you know it. You'll see."
"Are you sure you don't want to talk to the reverend?" Chet pressed.
"I'm sure. So much has happened . . ."
"All the more reason to let me take care of you." Chet wanted to slap her, but he hid his anger, tenderly touching her cheek instead. "I want to be here with you every day."
Stacy was completely unaware of Chet's true emotions. She embraced him and sought his lips in a sweet exchange.
Only the sound of the housekeeper coming back into the house forced them to move apart.
"Are you hungry? Would you like some lunch?" Stacy asked. "Sandy should have something ready."
"I'm hungry," he told her as he gave her a wicked, smoldering grin, "but not for food."
Stacy kissed him one last, quick time, and then led the way into the kitchen.
Chet spent the rest of the afternoon with her, playing the role of concerned fiancé, but, in truth, his mood was black. When the time finally came for him to leave, he again took her aside to kiss her.
"Remember what I said," he told her. "Think about it. I want to be with you all the time."
Stacy only nodded and walked outside with him to see him off. She thought it strange that she felt slightly relieved when Chet had finally ridden out of sight. She dismissed the feeling, though, telling herself she was just still upset over all that had happened and needed more time to heal.
Chapter Thirteen
The days seemed endless to Walker. He slaved from sunup to sundown in the blazing heat under the ever-watchful eyes of the guards and their dogs. The other prisoners had heard the guards taunting him about his Indian blood and most of them stayed away from him, wanting nothing to do with a half-breed, and that was fine with Walker. He kept to himself, doing what it took to stay alive, day by day.
The brutality of the guards was never in doubt. If any prisoner showed signs of slowing down in his work, he was beaten viciously. When the guards went after one of the prisoners, the others kept on working, not wanting to risk being punished themselves.
Al Foley was one of the oldest inmates, rumored to be over sixty. He had a reputation for being a hard man. Gray-haired, thin and wiry, he was stronger than many of the younger men and worked harder. Many of the prisoners resented him, for the guards forced them to keep pace with Foley.
It was a brutally hot day. Foley had just finished loading more lumber onto the wagon and had turned away, when one of the prisoners pushed a log toward a guard named O'Malley. O'Malley was standing with his back to the wagon, watching the prisoners work, and had no idea of the danger he was in.
"Look out!" shouted Bryant, another guard.
O'Malley was lucky enough to get out of the way before the log crashed to the ground. Both guards were furious and went after Foley, believing he was responsible.
The other inmates knew better than to interfere. They quickly backed away to watch the old man get what was coming to him. The younger inmate who'd managed to shove the log toward the guard, unnoticed, was enjoying the spectacle as Bryant and O'Malley began to beat him.
Foley was a tough man, but any attack on a guard brought severe punishment. O'Malley and Bryant were out for blood as they pummeled Foley to the ground.
Walker had seen what had really happened and went to Foley's defense. He grabbed one of the guards by the shoulder to pull him off the fallen inmate, but before he could say or do anything more, several more guards who'd seen him make his move joined in
.
The prisoners were hooting and hollering in excitement as they watched the bloody battle. More guards came running with their guns drawn to make sure no rioting occurred. The fighting didn't stop until both Foley and Walker were unconscious on the ground.
"What started this?" Parker, the head guard, demanded of O'Malley.
"We were beating Foley, and the Chief jumped in!" O'Malley told him.
"Put the Chief in solitary and use the bat on him when he comes around!" the head guard ordered.
"What do you want us to do with Foley?"
"Leave him there, so the rest of these animals will see what happens if they give us any trouble."
Walker was dragged off to the dark confines of the solitary cell, where he was left chained to the wall.
The pain was excruciating as Walker slowly regained consciousness, and he realized his ribs had been injured even worse. He lifted his head to stare around the dark room and recognized that he'd been taken to the isolated building that was used for prisoners in solitary confinement. The only light coming in was from a small window in the door, just wide enough for the guards to look in. He tried to move, and it was then that he realized the iron cuffs cutting into his wrists were attached by a chain to a ring in the wall. He hadn't meant to make a sound, but he couldn't stop the groan of agony that escaped him as he righted himself and sat up, leaning back against the stone wall to brace himself. The last thing he remembered was trying to help Foley, and he wondered if the other man had survived the beating.
"So, you've finally started stirring," O'Malley' taunted from the door, having heard his groan and the sound of the chains moving.
Walker didn't respond. He just looked up. All he could see were the guard's eyes watching him through the small opening. He had heard the other prisoners talk about what happened in solitary, and he knew he was going to experience that horror firsthand now.
The door opened and O'Malley and Bryant came in.
The sudden harsh light coming through the open door blinded Walker for a moment. When he finally could see again, he realized O'Malley was carrying the weapon known as "the bat." It was a wooden handle with leather straps attached to it that was used for whipping the inmates. He'd seen the scars on some of the other prisoners and knew what was about to happen.