DISTINGUISHED VISITORS
GOVERNOR McDOWELL was a cattleman himself. His sympathies were much
engaged in behalf of the Bald Knob raiders. All the evidence at the
trial tended to show that Tait had forced the trouble and had refused
all compromise. From his talk with the prisoners the governor had
learned that the tragedy had flared out unexpectedly. Personally he
liked Rowan McCoy very much. But he could not get away from the fact
that murder had been done. As a private citizen, McDowell would have
worked hard to get his friend a parole; as governor of the State of
Wyoming he could not move in the matter without a legitimate excuse.
It was his hope of finding such an excuse that led him to diverge from
the direct road to Yellowstone for a stop at the Circle Diamond Ranch.
On the way he called at the ranches of several old-timers whom he had
long known.
“It’s like this, Phil,” one of them told the governor. “The Government
has stepped in and settled this whole sheep and cattle war. We don’t aim
to go night raiding any more—none of us. Sheep are here, and they’re
going to stay whether we like it or not. So we got to make the best of
it—and we do. What’s the use of keeping Mac and Brad and the other boys
locked up for an example when we don’t need one any more? Everybody
would be satisfied to see ’em paroled; even the sheepmen would. You
couldn’t do a more popular thing than to free the whole passell of ’em.”
The governor made no promises, but he kept his ears open to learn the
drift of public opinion. Even before he reached Circle Diamond he knew
that there would be no strong protest against a parole from the western
part of the State.
Ruth did not make the mistake of letting the governor see her in the
rough-and-ready ranch costume to which she was accustomed. She dressed
her hair with care and wore a simple gown that set off the slender
fullness of her figure. When she came lightly and swiftly to meet them
as the car drew up at the Circle Diamond, her guests were impressed anew
with the note of fineness, of personal distinction. There was, too,
something gallant and spirited in the poise of the small head set so
fastidiously upon the rounded throat.
Mrs. McDowell always admired tremendously her school companion. She was
more proud of her than ever now, and as she dressed for dinner she
attacked her husband.
“You’ve got to do something for her, Phil. That’s all there’s to it. I
can’t look that brave girl in the face if you don’t let her husband out
of prison.”
He was wrestling with a collar and a reluctant button. “H’mp!” he
grunted.
“And that baby—did you ever see such a darling? It’s a crime to keep
his father away from him.”
“It’s a crime to keep a lot of men in prison, but we do it.”
“I’m not worrying about the rest of them. But Ruth’s husband—you’ve
just got to let him out.” She came in and perched herself down on a
couch beside him and cuddled him in a cajoling fashion she had.
“You can’t bribe me, young lady,” he blustered. “Don’t you see that I
can’t let McCoy out unless I parole his accomplices, too? This isn’t a
matter to be decided by personal friendship. I’ve got to do what’s
right—what seems right to the average sense of the community.”
“Do you think it’s right to keep Ruth’s husband shut up from her and the
baby?” she demanded indignantly.
“I don’t know. I wish I did.”
“You told me yourself that he’s a fine man,” Louise reminded him
triumphantly.
“I talk too much,” he groaned humorously. “But say he is. The
penitentiaries are full of fine men. I can’t free them all. He and his
friends killed two men. That’s the point. I can’t turn them all loose in
a year. Folks would say it was because I’m a cattleman and that Rowan
and Brad Rogers are my friends. What’s more, they would have a right to
say it.”
Ruth and Tim Flanders showed the guests over the ranch, and afterward in
the absence of the mistress, who was in the kitchen consulting with Mrs.
Stovall about the dinner, the owner of the Dude Ranch sang her praises
with enthusiasm:
“I never saw her beat, Phil. That slim little girl you could break in
two over your knee has got more git-up-and-dust than any man I know. Mac
wanted her to sell the ranch and live off the proceeds. Did she do it?
Not so you could notice it. She grabbed hold with both hands, cleared
off the debts of the trial, wiped off the mortgage, got a permit to run
a big bunch of cattle on the reserve, and has made money hand over fist.
Now she’s in lettuce an’ I’m blamed if I don’t think she’s liable to
make some money out of it. Two or three others are aimin’ to put some
out next year.”
McDowell smiled dryly. “She’s doing so well it would be a pity to let
Mac come home and gum the works up.”
But in his heart the governor was full of admiration for this vital
young woman who had thrown herself with such pluck and intelligence into
the task of saving the ranch for her imprisoned husband. The situation
troubled him. He wanted to do for her the most that he legitimately
could, but he came up always against the same barrier. Rowan McCoy had
been convicted of first-degree murder. He had no right to pardon him
within fifteen months without any new, extenuating evidence.
The governor was a warm-souled Scotch Irishman. Until the past year he
had been a bachelor. He was very fond of children. Rowan, junior, walked
right into his heart. Children have an infallible instinct that tells
them when they are liked. The young boss of the Circle Diamond opened up
his mouth in a toothless grin and stretched his dimpled fingers to the
governor. He rubbed noses with him, goo-gooed at him, clung mightily
with his little doubled fist to his excellency’s forefinger. Whenever
Rowan was in the room he claimed the big man immediately and definitely.
As for the governor, he surrendered without capitulation. He was a
willing slave.
None the less, he was glad when the time came for him to go. It made the
big, simple cattleman uncomfortable not to be able to relieve the sorrow
of this girl whom his wife loved.
Ruth made her chance to see him alone and let him know at once what was
in her heart. She stood before him white and tremulous.
“What about Rowan, Governor?”
He shook his head. “I wish I could do what you want. In a couple of
years I can, but not yet.”
She bit her lip. The big tears came into her eyes and splashed over.
“Now don’t you—don’t you,” he pleaded, stroking her hand in his big
ones. “I’d do it if I could—if I were free to follow my own wishes. But
I’m not.”
Softly she wept.
“Get me some new evidence—something to prove that Mac didn’t shoot
Gilroy himself—and I’ll see what I can do. You see how it is, Ruth.
Someone shot him while he was unarmed. All five of them pleaded guilty.
If Mac’s lawyers can find the man that did the killing I’ll parole the
others. That’s the best I can do for you.”
With that promise Ruth had to be content.