GOOD NEWS
RUTH telephoned a message down to Wagon Wheel to be wired to Governor
McDowell that night. It was impossible for her to sleep, and after she
had packed she lay awake for hours planning the fight for Rowan’s
freedom. She found herself framing a passionate plea to the governor and
the board of pardons for justice to her husband. She visualized the
scene until it became so real that she had to rise from bed, get into a
loose gown, and take notes of what she must tell them. Not till nearly
two o’clock did she fall into a broken sleep.
The sheriff drove her and the baby to town next morning. From here she
sent Louise a telegram to tell her they were on the way to Cheyenne.
Matson, with strong letters in his pocket from Haight and the district
judge recommending clemency, took the noon train also to add the weight
of his influence.
When the train rolled into the station at Cheyenne, Louise was waiting
for them in her car. She and Ruth, after the manner of their sex, shed a
few happy tears together in each other’s arms, while Matson, rawboned
and awkward, stood near holding Rowan, junior.
“The board of pardons is to meet this afternoon in Phil’s office, and
you and Mr. Matson are to have a hearing before it,” her friend told
Ruth. “It’s going to be all right this time, I do believe. I can see
Phil means to be reasonable. He’d better. I told him I was going over to
the ranch to live with you if he didn’t pardon Rowan.”
“What does he say?”
“He says that if Falkner’s statement is as strong as your wire claimed
the board will have to free all four. Phil wants to push the whole thing
through as quick as he can for you.”
“That’s fine,” commented Matson. “Will it be a parole or a pardon?”
“Depends on the confession, Phil says,” Louise declared. “He has wired
the warden at Rawlins to call in any of the four men if they are out on
road work. I expect that by this time Rowan and his friends must guess
there is something in the air.”
This was not the first time that Ruth and her attorney had appeared
before the board of pardons. From the very day of his conviction she had
missed no possible chance that might help her husband. The members of
the board had been very kind to her. She had read admiration in their
glances. But the majority of them had voted against her request. To-day
somehow it was different. As soon as she entered the inner office of the
governor with Sheriff Matson and Rowan, she knew that victory was in
sight. The cordial handshake of the chairman, a fatherly old gentleman
with Horace Greeley whiskers, was more reassuring than promises. She
felt that his grip was congratulating her on the success he anticipated.
Little Rowan prevented the meeting from being a formal one. He wriggled
free from his mother and ran forward with arms outstretched to his
friend the governor. He insisted clamorously on having his “tick-tock”
to play with, and he experimented with the pockets of his Excellency to
find which one of them had supplied the candy with which he had been
furnished earlier in the day.
Ruth forgot all about the arguments she had meant to present. Instead
she told, between tears and smiles, the story of the blizzard and its
consequences. The adroit questions of the governor drew the tale of the
adventure from her in a simple, dramatic way. No doubt its effect was
greater coming from this slender, girlish mother with the dark, wistful
eyes and the touch of shyness in her manner. Rowan’s lawyer, an expert
with juries, knew when to avoid an anticlimax by getting her out of the
room.
Just before leaving his office for the night Governor McDowell called
Louise on the telephone. That young woman beamed at what he said, and
beckoned Ruth.
“Phil wants to talk with you.”
Ruth took the receiver, her hand trembling. “Hello!” she said. “Yes,
it’s Ruth.”
“I have good news for you, my dear,” the voice at the other end of the
wire said. “Rowan and his three friends are to be paroled at once. I am
going to make it a full pardon for Rowan and perhaps for the others,
too.”
For years Ruth had been waiting for this news. Now that it had come she
did not weep or cry out or do anything the least dramatic. She just
said: “Oh, I’m so glad! Thank you.”
“I’ve been instructed by the board to tell you how much it appreciates
the game fight you made and to add that it gives this parole with more
pleasure than any it has ever granted.”
“When can I see Rowan? And when will he be out?”
“He’ll be out just as soon as the papers can be prepared, my dear. I’m
coming right home to tell you all about it.”
Two more telegrams were flashed westward from Ruth that night. One was
to McCoy, the second to Tim Flanders. The message to Flanders laid upon
him the duty of notifying the families of the paroled men. Early next
morning Ruth sent still another telegram. It was addressed to Jennings,
and gave him instructions that made him get busy at once looking after
horses, saddles, pack saddles, a tent, and other camping outfit.
Later in the day Rowan, junior, and his mother entrained for Rawlins.
The adventure before her tremendously intrigued the interest of the
young wife. It was immensely more significant than her marriage had
been. All the threads of her life for years had been converging toward
it.