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 true. 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—"
Stacy tensed and her eyes widened as she stared at the piece of paper he was holding in his hand. "What is it?"
"We'd better go inside," he said quietly.
She glanced up at him quickly and then hurried back into the house. She spun around to confront him as he came through the door. "Is it about Walker? Is he all right?"
"It's from the prison authorities," he began painfully.
"Why are they sending me a telegram?" Stacy demanded.
"According to them, Walker was on a chain gang that got caught up in a flash flood and—"
"No," she protested, fear filling her heart.
"Stacy—"
"No!" She didn't want to hear what she knew was coming. She started to back away from him.
Jim saw the panic that gripped her and quickly moved to take her in his arms. "I'm sorry, Stacy. I'm so sorry. Walker drowned—"
Stacy was sobbing, and she fought against Jim's hold for a moment, pounding on his chest with her fists, trying to make it all go away, and then suddenly she collapsed against him, weeping inconsolably.
Jim didn't hesitate. He lifted her in his arms and carried her into the parlor. Sitting down on the sofa, he cradled her to him, wanting to absorb her pain, wanting somehow to make things better for her, and yet knowing no matter what he did, he couldn't change what had happened.
They remained that way for a time, caught up in the nightmare of their loss.
Stacy finally drew a shaky breath and tried to steady her runaway emotions. She had always considered herself a fairly strong woman, but the sorrow that had come into her life lately was too much for her to bear alone. She was immensely grateful for Jim's comforting presence.
"Are you all right?" Jim asked in a gentle voice as her crying quieted.
Stacy lifted her head to look up at him. "I don't think I'll ever be all right again."
"I know," he said as he drew her head down to his shoulder and kissed her softly on the forehead. "I know."
Zach's unexpected call at the front door forced Stacy to try to pull herself together.
"Stacy, is everything all right?" He had been working out at the stable when he'd seen Jim ride in and had wondered at the reason for his visit.
"Zach—"
He frowned when he heard her choked voice, and when she came to the door to let him in, he could tell by her tear-ravaged face that something was terribly wrong. He entered the house as Jim came to join them.
"What is it? Is there anything I can do?" He looked between them.
"There's nothing anyone can do," Stacy managed. "Walker's dead."
Zach was shocked, and he listened in horror as she told him what little they knew.
"I'm sorry, Stacy." His words were heartfelt, for he had the greatest respect for Walker. They had been friends.
She looked up at him. "Will you tell the men for me?"
He nodded. "If you need anything—"
"Could you send someone to let Chet know, too?"
"Right away."
When Zach had left them, Jim looked down at Stacy. She seemed so fragile he wanted to continue holding her, but he held himself back.
"Did you tell Roni?" Stacy asked him.
"No. I came straight to you."
"She has to know. We have to go to her."
"I can tell her when I get back to town," Jim offered.
"She'll need both of us there."
He nodded in understanding.