The Glorious Prodigal (39 page)

Stuart and Merle had made the rounds of the farm, and Stuart now grinned. “I never thought pigs would be so beautiful. Did you, Merle?”

“Well, they ain’t exactly what you call beautiful,” the older man said. “But iffen you think of them as cash money, I reckon they’re right pretty. You done had a good idea here. We gonna have a fine crop ready for shippin’ pretty soon. We ought to do even better next year.”

“I’ve already got an offer, Merle. A lot better than I thought.”

“Well, ain’t that fine. Now I reckon you can buy Miss Leah a brand-new red dress.”

“And you can get Annie one, too. Maybe with a red petticoat to match.”

The two continued their stroll around the farm, speaking of the improvements to be made. It was Saturday, and Leah had taken Merry and Raimey over to the Devainys’ for a visit while Stuart had stayed home to catch up on work.

He worked outside all morning and at noon had gone inside to fix a quick lunch—a bologna and cheese sandwich washed down with fresh milk. After lunch he had opened up the books and was going over the numbers when he heard a voice urgently calling his name. He went at once to the front of the house, where he saw Merle’s son Wash dismounting from a horse lathered up from a hard gallup.

“What is it, Wash? Somebody hurt?”

“Not yet. But it’s bad, Mistah Stuart.” Wash’s eyes were wide and his expression tense. “It’s that Hack Wilson. You know I done been workin’ for him some, and I was listenin’ to him talk. He didn’t know it, but I heard him. He said he’s going over to beat up Mistah Devainy. I thought I better come and tell you right quick ’cause you might want to help.”

Instantly Stuart ran toward the car. “Thanks, Wash.”

“You better let me go with you, sir, and you get a gun. You know how he is.”

Ignoring this comment, Stuart started the car and left the driveway in a roar. He bent over the wheel, trying to urge more speed out of the Ford, and dodged a wagon that almost sent them into a ditch.

The Devainy place was only two miles away, and as he pulled up, he saw a strange car in the driveway along with a truck.

He shut the engine off, leaped out of the car, and ran up the front steps. As soon as he stepped inside, his eyes swept the room, and he saw Leah backed against the wall holding tightly to Merry and Raimey, one on each side. Ace was slumped against another wall, his face bloodied, and on the opposite side of the room, held strongly by two men, Ellie was crying and holding on to two of her children.

“Well, look who’s here. If it ain’t the jailbird,” Wilson said with a cruel grin.

Hack Wilson’s fists were bloodied, and cruelty glinted in his eyes. “What’d you do? Come to save your buddy?”

“Leave him alone, Hack.”

Stuart’s words were clipped, and he took in the three others who were with Hack. They were all roughnecks. He knew one of them, Zane Butler, a tall rawboned bully of a man who had been in trouble all of his life. He was grinning broadly as he held on to Ellie.

“Well, it looks like it’s the fiddle player here. You gonna play us a little fiddle music?”

Ace was barely conscious. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and blood trickled down his chin. He gasped, “Don’t let ’em make you fight. That’s what they want, Stuart.”

“Make him fight! Why, this yeller belly won’t fight.” Hack moved over to where Raimey stood, held by his mother’s arm. Reaching out, he took the boy’s arm and jerked at it. “How’s it feel to have a coward for a daddy, boy? He ain’t much of a man, is he?”

“Leave the boy alone,” Stuart said, keeping a tight rein on his temper. His mind was working quickly to find a solution. Though he could not see any good end to this, his one idea was to get Hack and his cohorts outside of the house. “Come on outside and leave Ace alone.”

“You ain’t givin’ no orders here!” Hack growled. The
muscles under his thin shirt rolled, and he gave Raimey a shake. “Come on. I’m mistreatin’ your boy. Ain’t you gonna do nothin’ about it?”

“Don’t do anything, Dad,” Raimey pleaded. “He’s just tryin’ to get to you.”

Stuart blinked at the boy’s words. He could see that Raimey’s face was pale, his lips set. “He ain’t nothin’ but a coward himself, son,” Stuart said. “He wouldn’t pick on anybody that could fight him back.”

Wilson cursed and released the boy, but then a light leaped into his eye. His hands shot out, and he caught Leah by the arm. He pulled her over despite her cries and said, “Well, at least I’ll get a little lovin’ out of this good-lookin’ woman here.” He laughed at Leah’s struggles and said, “Come on, now. You ain’t had no real man. You and me might have some
real
lovin’.”

At that moment Stuart realized there was no way out. A coldness overcame him, and he knew he was sealing his own doom. But these were his wife and son and daughter and friends, and he would fight for them no matter what penalty he might have to suffer.

Hack’s eyes were averted, and his back was half turned. He heard Zane Butler cry out a warning, but even as he whirled around, it was too late. Stuart had lifted his right arm and pivoted his weight to bring his forearm down full force across Hack’s neck. The impact drove him to the floor. It would have broken the neck of a smaller man, but Hack’s thick muscles and heavy bones protected him.

Stuart spun in time to see Zane Butler release Ellie and lunge for him, yelling, “Get him! We’ll beat the soup out of him!”

Zane was a wild and wicked fighter, the best in many a barroom brawl, and his blow caught Stuart high on the head. Stuart half blocked it and at the same time grabbed Butler’s neck. He swung him around, grinding until the man screamed
out, then was forced to loosen his hold, for the other two were upon him now, throwing punches.

The room was filled with shouts, and Hack Wilson was getting to his feet and shaking his head. When he saw the three closing in on Stuart, he yelled, “Hold him!”

Hearing Hack’s voice, Stuart picked up a chair, and as one of the men he did not know rushed at him, he shoved the chair legs at him. One of the legs caught the man in the mouth, shattering his teeth and ramming back into his throat. He fell back with a gurgling scream, and as he did so Stuart caught a tremendous blow in the mouth from Butler. He reeled backward and struck the wall. He doubled over to dodge a fresh onslaught of the two and was driven to the ground. The three began kicking and throwing blows, and Stuart knew he was no match for them. He struggled to his feet, but Hack was there and caught him with a blow that struck him in the chest. Again he was driven back against the wall.

He had no chance to move, for Butler and the other uninjured fighter had grabbed him by the arm.

“Well, y’all have seen it now—Stuart Winslow fightin’. You’re going back to the pen, Winslow, but first I’m going to mark you up a little bit.”

Stuart struggled but could not free himself from the grip of the others. He saw, as through a red haze, Hack Wilson drawing his hand back, and he knew it was over.

Suddenly Stuart caught the sound of footsteps, and everyone turned to see Merle come roaring into the room holding a pick-ax handle above his head.

“Get out of here!” Zane Butler snarled.

Without a word, Merle swung the pick ax with all of his force. Butler raised his arm, but the blow snapped it like a dry stick. His scream was cut off as the pick-ax handle came down on his head.

“Now, wait a minute—” the other man said, releasing Stuart’s arm.

But there was no stopping Merle. He advanced, swung the
pick ax, and caught the man on the shoulder. It drove him down, and he began scrambling to get away.

Shocked by this turn of events, Hack Wilson reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a revolver. “All right! I’m going to blow your brains out!” he snarled.

At the instant he raised the revolver, something crashed into his head.

He fell to the floor, dropping the pistol, and Stuart, who was now free, saw that Ellie Devainy had brought down a massive piece of her prized pottery on his head. It had shattered, driving Wilson to the floor.

Instantly Leah stepped forward, picked up the pistol, and pointed it at Wilson. Wilson’s thick head was cut by the pottery, and he was dazed. But he got to his feet and saw the damage around him. Taking in the gun, he snarled, “You won’t shoot!” He took a step forward, but no more, for Leah lowered the gun and deliberately shot him through the thigh.

The slug knocked Wilson’s leg from under him, and he lay there with his eyes enormous. “She shot me!” he gasped. “She shot me!”

“Should have shot you in the head!” Ace said. “We’ll have to have some law on this. Go get the sheriff, Merle. Better get a doctor, too,” he added. “But if we have good luck, this bum will bleed to death before he gets here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Leah’s Song

Richard Winslow looked up with a start, for Leah had come rushing into his office, her eyes wide with alarm. Her hair was mussed, and she cried. “Dad, you’ve got to help us!”

“What’s wrong?” Richard said. “Is it one of the kids?”

“No!” Leah gasped, almost out of breath. Luke Garrison had arrived and taken charge, and Leah had come into town at once.

“It’s Stuart,” she said. “He’s under arrest.”

Richard blinked with surprise. “Under arrest! What for?” He listened as Leah told the story and then took a deep breath. “That’s all right. Don’t worry about it, Leah,” he said grimly. “He was just defending his family. No jury would convict him for that.”

“Luke hated to do it, but he said that the law was clear. You’ve got to do something.”

“I will do something,” Richard Winslow said, his jaw set. “Have you told Diane?”

“No. I wanted to come to you. I know you can help him. You’ve got to, Dad.”

Richard Winslow, despite his agitation, felt pleased. “I’m glad you felt you could come to me, Leah. You haven’t always been able to do that, but I’ll tell you one thing. Before my son goes to jail again, there’s going to be a lot of people made miserable! Now you go tell Diane, and I’ll take care of this end.”

Ten minutes later Richard stormed into the jail. He found
Luke Garrison disturbed about the whole thing. “I didn’t have any choice, Richard. I arrested those four thugs for assault and battery and anything else I could think of. Don’t worry. They’ll do some time.”

“But what about Stuart?”

“Well,” Garrison shrugged. “They all said he fought. You know what the condition of his pardon was.”

“Forget the conditions, Luke! I’m not going to stand for this! You know as well as I do they set him up!”

Garrison stared at the older man and said, “I didn’t think you would. Come on. You can see Stuart. Stay as long as you want.”

Following the sheriff back, Richard waited until the cell door was open, then stepped inside. He found Stuart sitting on the cot looking despondent.

“Well, I guess I did it again, Dad.”

“Don’t talk like that, Stuart,” Richard said sharply. “This won’t amount to a thing.”

“I think it might,” Stuart said. Ever since the brawl he had been subdued. The governor had made it plain that one infraction would send him back to Tucker Farm. He had thought of little else, and now he shook his head. “I don’t know, Dad. It looks pretty bad.”

Sitting down beside Stuart, Richard put his arm around him and squeezed him. “I’m not worried a bit. God hasn’t brought you this far to let you down. We’ve just found each other, son, and we’ll get out of this bind. You see if we won’t.”

Stuart’s heart warmed, and he felt the pressure of his father’s arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Dad,” he said simply. “I need you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get on the phone, and if I have to, I’ll go all the way to Little Rock to see the governor. Stokes is up for reelection, you know. He’s walking a mighty fine line. So if he wants my support and this county’s, he’ll listen to me.”

Once again Stuart said, “I need you, Dad. I’m glad you’re here.”

****

The courtroom of Judge Franklin Markham was packed. Every chair was filled, and spectators lined the walls. The bailiff had finally been forced to lock the doors. The air was full of the buzz of talking as the judge entered, and only when he slammed his gavel and said, “Order in the court!” did the noise mitigate.

Judge Markham was nervous, although he tried not to show it. He knew this case would be a hot potato. The district attorney, James Madigan, was a young man who wanted to get his name in the newspapers and was determined to press the charges against Stuart Winslow. Markham had argued with him that it was not right or just, but Madigan had simply grinned and said he was upholding the law and the conditions of Winslow’s pardon.

“The governor got his seat by putting Winslow away once. I may get his seat by putting him away again.”

What Madigan did not know was that Judge Markham had been under considerable pressure from many in the community. Every decent person despised Hack Wilson and those who had joined him in assaulting Ace Devainy and his family, and there was warm sentiment for Stuart Winslow everywhere. One of Markham’s firmest supporters had said to him directly, “You send Winslow back to jail, Franklin, and it’ll be open season on decent citizens. Put Hack and his bunch away as long as you want, but leave Winslow alone.”

Now District Attorney Madigan rose and began addressing the judge. There would be no jury until later. “Your Honor,” he said, “this is a clear case. I never hope to see a clearer one. The governor showed mercy on this man. He let him out of prison with only one condition—that he not get into a fight or trouble of any kind. The governor was very strict about that, and I trust he still is. I sympathize with the defendant,
but he broke the condition of his pardon, and he must answer for it.”

Madigan continued for some time, making a strong case against Stuart Winslow. When he finally sat down, Judge Markham said, “We will hear from the defense.”

The lawyer that Richard had engaged, Dennis Cole, was a middle-aged man of good reputation. He had an excellent record of winning cases and now stood forward. A short man with quick motions of eye and hand, he said, “I will be as brief as my opponent. We at once admit that the condition of the pardon was fair and just. But there are mitigating circumstances here. The defendant’s wife and family were being abused. A friend of his had been badly battered. Hack Wilson was carrying a gun, and I have no doubt he would have used it.”