CHAPTER 7

Huntsville, Texas April 5, 1878

True to his word, Captain Dillard had kept in touch with Nathan Stone, taking him newspapers and occasional word from Byron Silver and the McQueens. This day, however, the Ranger didn’t relish the task that lay ahead. As soon as the prison guard led Nathan into the little room with its barred window, he sensed something was wrong. The Ranger always greeted him with a smile, but this time it seemed forced.

“Bad news, Captain?” Nathan asked.

“I’m afraid so,” said the Ranger. “Your appeal has been denied. I have petitioned the court for a new trial, and Silver’s demanding a change of venue. He’s going to act as your counsel before the court, and if he has his way, the trial will take place in Austin.”

“I have all the confidence in the world in Byron Silver,” Nathan said, “but do you really believe a change of venue will make any difference?”

“I most certainly do,” said Captain Dillard. “Remember that bank teller who swore you were one of the bank robbers? At Silver’s insistence, I backtrailed that young man. He is the son of a woman Sheriff Oscar Littlefield was more than a little fond of a few years back, and it was our friend Sheriff Littlefield who got the boy a job at the bank.”

“So the bank teller might have helped Sheriff Littlefield look good at my expense.”

“Silver thinks so and I agree,” said Captain Dillard. “It’s one of those things we can’t prove beyond the shadow of a doubt, but we don’t have to. It’s enough to blow Sheriff Littlefield’s credibility to hell and gone. We’re demanding a trial by jury, too. So that’s the good news. You will definitely be granted a new trial. The bad news is, of course, that we don’t know how long you’ll have to wait. It may take longer if we’re granted a change of venue, but I believe it’ll be worth the wait.”

“So do I,” Nathan said.

 

“Damn it,” Barnabas McQueen said, after receiving a telegram from Captain Dillard, “I don’t see how they can do this to a man and get away with it.”

“They haven’t gotten away with it,” said Bess. “Captain Dillard said we would soon be hearing from Byron Silver with more information.”

“I have confidence in Mr. Silver,” Vivian said. “I know a new trial will take longer, but I want Nathan free of all charges and I believe it’s the best way.”

A week later, Captain Powers—in charge of the federal outpost in New Orleans—rode out to the McQueen place with a lengthy letter from Byron Silver. It explained much of what Captain Dillard had told Nathan, and ended by assuring them that Silver would be Nathan’s counsel when he again went to trial.

St. Louis, Missouri September 2, 1878

It was a dreary Sunday afternoon and the rain came down in gray sheets, slashing at the windows of the little church Anna Tremayne had attended all her life. Now she lay in a coffin before the altar, soon to be lowered into a grave in the little churchyard, beside her husband, John. As the minister droned on, young John Wesley Tremayne—not quite twelve years old—gritted his teeth and gripped the back of a pew with his hands. While he mourned the loss of Grandma Anna, his grief had been all but swallowed up by his anger. While his life without mother or father hadn’t been ideal, it was about to become infinitely worse. He had been temporarily taken in by the minister and his wife, but only until arrangements could be made to send him to an orphanage.

Finally the service was over, and he was led into the drizzling rain, among mourners who followed the coffin to the old graveyard behind the church. He watched them lower the coffin into the grave with no outward emotion, and as though from far away, he could hear the shocked whispers of some of the female mourners.

“... alone in this world, and not a tear.”

“A cold-hearted little devil he is, and if I’m any judge, he’ll come to a bad end.”

But to young John Wesley Tremayne, tears were a sign of weakness, and in a world where he had continually fought for the dubious honor of a mother he had never known, he had dared not show anything but strength. He fought those stronger than he, and when he arose, bruised and bloody, it was without a whimper. Now he took fierce pride in not having allowed them to see him weep, and he silently vowed that no orphanage was going to hold him for long. Somewhere he had a father, an elusive being who could supply those answers his mother and grandparents had taken with them to the grave.

 

Except for the one time John Wesley Hardin had sided Nathan in the mess hall fight, Hardin had become a model prisoner. He remained friendly to Nathan, and the little free time that he had was spent in the prison library with the law books.

“Point me toward some of those law books you’re finished with,” Nathan said. “A man can do worse than study law, I reckon.”

Denied access to newspapers, Nathan began reading law, and for him, too, the study soon became an antidote to the tedium of prison life. He and Hardin bothered nobody, and even the prison guards seemed to respect their dedication. Time passed, and with the regular letters Vivian had begun writing, Nathan kept his spirits up. Each time Nathan stepped into the little visitor’s room with its barred window, he studied Captain Dillard’s face. Finally, on the first day of March 1879, the Ranger brought welcome news.

“You’ve been granted a new trial, Nathan, along with a change of venue. It’s set for July fourteenth in Austin. Every Ranger within riding distance will be there. I’ve already telegraphed Silver and the McQueens. You’ll be leaving here on July tenth. Silver will be there ahead of you.”

“I want you there,” said Nathan. “You’ve kept me alive all these months.”

“God willing, I’ll be there,” Captain Dillard said.

“I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done,” said Nathan.

“You once did for Captain Sage Jennings what he was unable to do for himself,” said Captain Dillard. “That’s enough.”

 

“There’s a horse race in Beaumont, Texas on July fourth,” Barnabas McQueen said. “I see no reason why we can’t let Diablo win that race before we ride on to Houston.”

“It might be a way of cheering Nathan,” said Vivian, “and it is on the way.”

“Barnabas McQueen,” Bess said, “you ought to share Diablo’s winnings with Nathan. I believe Eulie would have gone on to great things had she lived, and now Vivian’s never lost a race, riding Diablo. You have Nathan to thank for bringing them to you.”

“I’ve never denied that,” said Barnabas, “but he wouldn’t have it. He can win plenty, just as he did in Little Rock.”

“Not on Diablo,” Vivian said. “He’s made a name for himself, and there are no more twenty-to-one odds.”

“I reckon not,” said Barnabas, “but that pair we brought from San Antonio should be ready by the time Nathan’s free. We’ll begin racing them when you think they’re ready.”

“They’re ready now,” Vivian said, “but I can’t bring myself to leave Diablo for them.”

“Vivian,” said Bess, “why don’t you invite your brother for a visit? He’s never seen you ride, has he?”

“No,” Vivian said, “and I am going to invite him. He wants to be there for Nathan’s trial. He can take the train to Kansas City or St. Louis, and a steamboat to New Orleans.”

Houston, Texas July 5, 1879

Again Byron Silver took a sailing ship bound for Corpus Christi, and when he left the ship at the Houston port, he secured himself a horse at a livery. He then rode immediately to the Texas Ranger outpost.

“I’m glad you got here a few days early,” said Captain Dillard. “Are you ready with your defense?”

“Pretty much,” Silver replied. “We only have to convince the jury there’s reasonable doubt, that no effort was made to prove or disprove what Nathan told the court actually happened. I’m prepared to go considerably beyond that.”

“Then you’ve learned something I don’t know,” said Captain Dillard.

Silver laughed. “Count on it, pardner.”

 

An hour before sundown, Harley and Vivian Stafford and the McQueens arrived. They rode to the Ranger station, where Silver and Captain Dillard were about to go to an early supper.

“I’m buying the steaks,” said Barnabas McQueen. “Vivian rode Diablo to another big one, and we’re all flush.”

“My God,” Harley said, “the last thing I ever expected was to win two thousand pesos on a horse, with my sister ridin’ him. Why, I can remember her havin’ saddle sores all the way from her knees to her—”

“Harley,” said Vivian, interrupting, “can’t we talk about something else?”

“Let’s go eat,” Silver suggested. “When I’m offered a steak, I just purely can’t keep anything else on my mind.”

When the meal was done, they spent some time over coffee, talking.

“I don’t even like to suggest this,” said Vivian, “but is there a chance we could lose, that Nathan won’t go free?”

“There’s always a chance,” Silver replied, “but in light of what I’ve learned, I’d call it slight.”

“Who are you going to question, besides Sheriff Littlefield and the bank teller?” Bess McQueen asked.

“Except for one that’s dead,” said Silver, “I’ll call every man that rode in that posse, if I have to. But I don’t expect it to come to that.”

“I haven’t seen Nathan in more than two years,” Harley said. “I’d like to ride to the prison and talk to him.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Silver. “Vivian, do you want to come?”

“Yes, please,” Vivian said.

“You can tell him Bess and me will see him in Austin,” Barnabas said. “Do you want to take Empty with you?”

“Not unless he particularly wants to go,” said Silver. “We’d have a hell of a time trying to smuggle him in to see Nathan.”

Barnabas had arranged for the hound to be fed steak trimmings, and having had his fill, Empty was waiting with the horses.

 

On July 9, Silver prepared to ride to Austin. With him rode Captain Dillard, Bess and Barnabas McQueen, and Vivian and Harley Stafford. It was a festive occasion, and in his enthusiasm, Empty ran on ahead.

“We’ll take rooms near the courthouse,” Silver said. “One of the hotels has a livery, and there are plenty of cafes. It’s about a hundred and twenty miles, so we’ll be arriving after dark. Not much between here and there, and I reckon I’m gettin’ soft. I don’t sleep on the ground, if I can get out of it.”

 

The day before Nathan was to depart for Austin, John Wesley Hardin joined him for supper for the last time. While the man had the name of a killer, he had been Nathan’s only friend.

“I wish you were gettin’ another chance,” Nathan said. “No way,” said Hardin, flashing his lopsided grin. “I was guilty as hell, and I count myself lucky that I didn’t get the rope. I’ll have time to read the rest of those law books, and if you ever see me outside these walls, I’ll be wearin’ a top hat and a swallowtail coat, and carrying a briefcase in my hand. Good luck.”

 

Two prison guards escorted Nathan to Austin, and it was well after dark when they arrived. There were holding cells in the basement of the three-story brick courthouse, and Nathan was taken to one of them. Compared with the quarters at Huntsville, the cell was luxurious. A guard brought Nathan his supper, and he was barely through eating when the guard returned.

“You have a visitor. They’re usually not permitted at night, but he’s your counsel. I’ll have to lock you in, Mr. Silver.”

“Perfectly all right,” said Silver. “Is there a limit?”

“No,” the guard replied. “Take as long as you like.”

He locked the door, leaving Silver and Nathan alone.

“Well,” Silver said, “it’s been a long time coming. Sorry we couldn’t do it sooner.”

“I have no complaints,” said Nathan. “You did the best you could. If we win this, can it be removed from my record? I reckon I ought to be satisfied, just gettin’ out, but—”

“I know how you feel,” Silver replied, “and if I can prove you were wrongly convicted, then the State of Texas will owe you. The very least they can do is clean the slate. My God, if they need character references, you have every Ranger in Texas on your side.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Nathan. “Your influence means a lot.”

Silver laughed. “I’m not sure the courts take me seriously. I’m a Texan, and we have a reputation for standing by our friends, even when they’re guilty as hell.”

“Strange you should mention that,” Nathan said. “The only friend I had in Huntsville was John Wesley Hardin. He’s reading all the law books in the prison library, and claims he’ll open a law office when he gets out.”

“He might just do that,” said Silver. “Any time you want a Texan out of the game, you’d better kill him. If you don’t, he’ll come after you with a club, if he can’t get his hands on anything more lethal.”

Nathan laughed. “I guess all we can do now is wait until Monday.”

“That’s it,” said Silver. “I had no real reason for coming by tonight, except that I just wanted you to know we’re all here. I doubt there’ll be any visitors allowed over the weekend. I really don’t expect the trial to take more than a day, unless there’s something I’ve overlooked.”

Austin, Texas July 14, 1879

With Byron Silver beside him, Nathan sat at the table for the defense. Twisting around in his chair, he surveyed the courtroom. Tears came to his eyes when he found three entire rows of seats occupied by men who wore the symbol of the Texas Rangers, the silver star-in-a-circle. There were others he had met in his checkered career, and one of them was the infamous Ben Thompson. Another was King Fisher. He almost laughed aloud as he recalled accompanying Fisher on a wild horse hunt into Mexico. An untamable stallion had demolished Fisher’s corral and reclaimed his herd.

“Everybody stand,” said the bailiff as the judge took his seat on the bench.

The judge waited until everybody had been seated. Then he spoke.

“I am Judge Warnell Travis. This is a new trial with change of venue, with counsel for the defense seeking to overturn the prior conviction of Nathan Stone. The defense has requested trial by jury. Since this is a change of venue, the court is seeking to dispense with some of the formalities. Eighteen potential jurors are present. Does counsel for the defense or the prosecution have cause to strike any of these potential jurors?”

“None for the defense,” said Silver, rising.

“None for the prosecution,” Sterling Ackerman said. He had been the prosecutor when Nathan had been convicted.

“Bailiff,” said Judge Travis, “seat the first twelve men from the list of potential jurors.”

“Now,” said Judge Travis, when the jurors had been seated, “the bailiff will read the original charges against Nathan Stone, the testimonies, and the sentence imposed.”

“Objection,” Ackerman shouted. “The original witnesses are present, and prosecution believes they should, for the sake of accuracy, testify again.”

“Denied,” said Judge Travis. “This court has the right to hear the testimonies that sent this man to prison. Is the prosecution implying that the original testimonies might have been in error?”

“Of course not,” Ackerman said nervously.

“Very well,” said Judge Travis. “The bailiff will read as so instructed.”

The bailiff read the transcript, ending with the sentence imposed.

“Now,” Judge Travis said, “read the testimony of the defendant, Nathan Stone.”

Nathan’s brief testimony was read; it included repeated objections of the prosecution.

“I am hearing objections by the prosecution,” said Judge Travis, “but not a word from Mr. Stone’s counsel seeking to deny those objections. Why?”

“Judge,” Silver said, rising, “why don’t you allow Nathan Stone to answer that?”

“Objection,” said Ackerman.

“Overruled,” Judge Travis said. “Mr. Stone, approach the bench.”

Nathan did so, looking Judge Travis in the eye.

“Where was your counsel, Mr. Stone?” Judge Ackerman asked.

“You’re looking at him, Judge,” said Nathan.

“Did you choose to speak in your own defense, or were you denied counsel?”

“I was denied counsel, Judge,” Nathan said. “I asked to send a telegram, and I was denied that as well.”

“You may be seated,” said Judge Travis. He then fixed stern eyes on the prosecutor, and Ackerman got hastily to his feet.

“Judge,” Ackerman said, “the evidence was overwhelming. We didn’t think—”

“You are exactly right,” said Judge Travis, in a dangerously low tone. “You certainly did not think. Be seated. We’re going to hear from the defense. Mr. Silver, approach the bench.”

Silver got up, approached the bench, and stood facing the judge.

“Mr. Silver,” Judge Travis said, “in a brief opening statement, tell this court what you expect to prove. You may then present any new evidence or call witnesses.”

Instead of speaking to the judge, Silver turned to face the jury.

“Gentlemen of the jury,” said Silver, “I can prove that Nathan Stone had nothing to do with that bank robbery, that he was riding west and stumbled onto their camp. Two of the robbers were in camp, one of them wounded. Stone traded shots with the men, killing one. The other escaped, and from somewhere behind Stone, the third robber shot him in the back. Two of the robbers then escaped, one of them leading the dead man’s horse. The other man led Stone’s horse, and the two rode away with the money stolen from the bank.”

“Objection,” Ackerman shouted. “Counsel for the defense is speculating.”

“Overruled,” said Judge Travis.

“Judge,” Silver said, “I have used these preliminary remarks to set the stage for an accusation I am about to make. According to the testimony of Sheriff Oscar Littlefield, two of the bank robbers were wounded in the chase, having been shot from behind. However, Nathan Stone is prepared to testify that he was facing the man who fired at him, that he returned the fire, killing the man. What kind of lawman looks at a dead man and doesn’t bother to determine if he was shot from front or back?”

“Does the prosecution care to comment on that?” Judge Travis asked.

There was just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and one of the jurors laughed.

“Judge,” said Ackerman, “both men had been wounded in the chase. I’m sure Sheriff Littlefield just assumed—”

“You don’t send a man to prison based on anybody’s assumption,” Travis snapped. “You may continue, Mr. Silver.”

“When Stone was found wounded near the outlaw camp,” said Silver, “the sheriff and his posse apparently made no further effort to trail the robbers who escaped. If they had, it wouldn’t have been too difficult to find the tracks of four horses, one of them belonging to Nathan Stone.”

“Your honor,” Ackerman cut in, “there was a storm, and the trail was—”

“Mr. Ackerman,” said Judge Travis, slamming the podium with his gavel, “you are out of order. Another such outburst and I’ll declare you in contempt of court.”

“Your honor,” Silver continued, “the storm in question didn’t wash out the trail until well after dark. In fact, the sheriff and his posse had returned to town well before the rain began. While Sheriff Littlefield seems to have forgotten that, most of the men who rode in that posse are here. I believe we can jog their memories, under oath.”

“Do you have anything to say to that, Mr. Ackerman?” Judge Travis asked.

“There was little use in pursuing a trail soon to be lost,” Ackerman said. “The sheriff had two of the bank robbers, one of them dead. There were three to start with, and it was safe to assume- ”

“It’s never safe to assume anything, Mr. Ackerman,” said Judge Travis, “when false assumptions send a man to prison unjustly.”

“An eyewitness—one of the tellers—testified that Stone was in the bank,” Ackerman said. “Are you calling that an assumption too?”

“No,” said Silver, “I’m calling that a carefully calculated lie to save Sheriff Littlefield’s reputation, to justify sending an innocent man to Huntsville prison.”

“That’s a damned lie,” Ackerman bawled. “You can’t prove it.”

“Order in the court!” Judge Travis shouted. “Mr. Prosecutor, I am declaring you in contempt of this court and fining you fifty dollars. You will pay before you depart, and if I am forced to declare you in contempt a second time, I’ll have you jailed. Mr. Silver, you may continue.”

“I had hoped this wouldn’t be necessary,” said Silver, “but since it is, then I’ll make it easy as I can on the parties involved. Twenty-three years ago, Oscar Littlefield had an affair with a woman whose name was Eva Montgomery. She’s long dead, and I mention her only to prove the truth of what I am about to say. Eva had a son. Oscar Littlefield’s son. To Littlefield’s credit, he helped with the boy as best he could. When the boy was barely eighteen, Oscar Littlefield got him a job as a bank teller. This son of Littlefield’s —Stewart Montgomery—is the teller who identified Nathan Stone as one of the bank robbers. If I must, I can call Stewart to the stand, put him under oath ...”

But the truth of Silver’s accusation was immediately evident. White-faced, the young man in question leaped to his feet and ran for the door. Two men caught him, dragging him back into the court room.

“Mr. Ackerman,” Judge Travis said, “have you anything to say?”

“Your honor,” said Ackerman, sweating, “I knew nothing of this. I ... I don’t know what to say ... I ...”

“Then take your seat,” Judge Travis said. “Gentlemen of the jury, it’s time to retire and reach a verdict. Shall this man be returned to prison, based on original evidence, or should the court set him free?”

“Set him free!” shouted the jury in a single voice, rising to their feet.

“Nathan Stone,” said Judge Travis, “you are free to go. I regret that I can offer you nothing on behalf of the State of Texas but an apology.”

Judge Travis left the bench, seeming not to notice the stomping and shouting that prevailed in the courtroom. People Nathan didn’t know wrung his hand and slapped him on the back. Texas Rangers, their faith in him vindicated, surrounded him. Finally he was able to speak to Ben Thompson and King Fisher.

“God,” said Fisher. “Ben and me would of busted you out if we’d knew you was in there.”

“Damn right,” Thompson agreed, obviously more than a little drunk.

“Thanks,” said Nathan, “but you hombres are generally in enough trouble without jumping into mine.”

Nathan didn’t get a chance to speak to Silver, Harley, Vivian, or the McQueens until he finally escaped the courtroom. He was barely down the courthouse steps when Empty came romping toward him, yipping his excitement. Nathan knelt, ruffling the dog’s ears, and when he eventually got loose, he kissed Vivian long and hard. That done, he turned to Bess McQueen with the same treatment.

“I won’t hold it against you,” said Harley, “if we just shake hands.”

Silver laughed. “That’s kind of how I feel.”

“Nathan, now that you’re free,” said Barnabas, “what’s the first thing you’d like to do?”

“Order me some grub that I don’t have to eat off a tin tray,” Nathan said, “but I’ll need to get out of these prison clothes.”

“I thought of that,” said Captain Dillard. “I have the clothes you were wearing when you went to Huntsville. They’re in my saddlebag. Your Winchester and Colts are in my office in Houston.”

“I’m obliged,” Nathan said. “I can get another horse, but those weapons were given to me by Captain Sage Jennings. I wouldn’t part with them for any price.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Captain Dillard. “I’ll get your clothes from my saddlebag. I think there’s a cloakroom in the courthouse where you can change.”

Nathan changed into his familiar clothing, leaving the prison clothes in a trash can. As he was about to leave the courthouse, a door—probably to a closet—opened, and Oscar Littlefield stepped out. He froze when he saw Nathan. He seemed much older, for he had his hat in his hand and his hair was snow white.

“I’m sorry that ... had to come out,” Nathan said.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” said Littlefield. “A man does wrong, and it catches up to him. A lie always needs a bigger lie to cover it, until you can’t hide it no more.”

He went on out the door, and Nathan waited a few minutes before he followed.

“Sheriff Littlefield just came out,” Captain Dillard said. “What was he doing in there?”

“Facing up to his past,” said Nathan. “I feel sorry for him.”

“Nathan,” Silver said, “don’t waste your sympathy on him. To cover his own carcass, he sent you to prison, for God’s sake.”

“I came out of it without any scars,” said Nathan, “but Littlefield’s hurting, and he’s just been sentenced to life.”