The vision of her waiting in the cabin doorway flamed in Donovan’s mind. A wave of black hatred for a world that had separated them rolled over him. He stood clenching and unclenching his hands. “Glory, I’m going to give you the best living Mexico has to offer. Nothing will be too good—”
“Don’t say it, Frank! I want only two things. Your freedom, and our peace.”
“I’ve got my freedom.”
“You can’t have one without the other.” She came back to him, pressed her cheek against his chest. “Go back, Frank! Don’t destroy us. We’ll never really be free this way — a hunted man and his woman, running, forever running. But never able to escape the shadow hanging over them.”
He fought the touch of her flesh and the pull of her words like a swimmer fighting a strong river current. Every cell of his being cried out at the injustice that had been done him. She must understand. He would make her understand.
“We’re going to Mexico, Glory. And God help the man who tries to stop us.”
Old man Julius Silvers was plowing a piece of bottomland in the growing heat of the early morning sun. Reaching the end of a furrow, the stooped, bony patriarch stopped his mule, took off his floppy hat, and wiped his brow. When he lowered the bandanna across his eyes, he froze in his tracks. Before him a tall, gaunt man had stepped from the underbrush at the edge of the field.
“Frank Donovan!”
“Hello, Jule.” Donovan frowned. “No call for you to tremble like that. It’s the same Frank Donovan who helped you doctor a sick calf to life.”
“Why, sure, Frank. Heard you had busted out. But you can’t stay in these parts. Why, man—”
“Save it,” Frank cut in. Looking at the old man, he felt a knot form inside of him. Old Julius had once been one of his firmest friends. But now the old man was only eager to get him away from here, to remove the threat of hunting lawdogs, shooting, bloodshed perhaps. It was as if something from a dark, strange world had come crashing into Silvers’s normal, sane, peaceful world.
Tight-lipped, Frank said, “You still marrying folks?”
“Still a justice,” Silvers admitted. He managed a weak laugh. “Ain’t figuring—”
“Sure am. Come on, Glory,” he called.
Glory came out of the underbrush, leading two horses.
“Let’s go up to the house,” Frank said, hating the way Silvers licked his lips, the fear that was showing in the man’s eyes.
Frank had caught some sleep, washed, put on clean clothes, strapped a sixgun that had been locked in a trunk in this house around his middle. Silvers weakly tried to make friendly conversation as they walked to his house, which was set at the base of a knoll.
“Who’s here?” Frank asked.
“Just me, Elda, and our boy.”
“Good. We can have witnesses.”
“Frank—”
“Yes, Jule?”
“My wife and boy—”
“You don’t have to worry. Nobody’s going to get hurt. I’m still the same Frank Donovan.”
“Sure, Frank, sure. I didn’t mean to rile you. Come in.”
Sounds of entry into the front room brought Elda Silvers and a fourteen-year-old boy out of the kitchen. At the sight of Frank Elda went white, instinctively placing herself between Frank and her boy.
The creases deeper in his face, Frank said, “Good morning, Mrs. Silvers.”
She swallowed. “Howdy, Frank.” She shot a worried, questioning glance at her husband. He said quickly, “Got a wedding to perform. Right pleasant task to start the day, eh, Ma?”
“Y-yes.”
“Listen,” Frank said, “quit cowering. I’m Frank Donovan — your neighbor, remember? Donovan, the farmer.” He sounded as if he were telling himself.
Julius said, “Ma, fetch the proper papers.”
Julius put on his glasses, filled in the license, had them sign it. Then he instructed Frank and Glory to stand together before the fireplace. Frank took Glory’s hand in his. It was cold. He tilted her chin up with his fingers. She forced a smile.
Julius read the ceremony, finished with:
“Usual for me to kiss the bride.”
He leaned forward, pecked Glory on the cheek. For a moment she clung to the old man. Elda Silvers reached out as if she would touch Glory. Then the old lady burst into tears.
Donovan stood with a trembling running over him. “Stop it!”
They looked at him, drew away from him. He pulled out a tattered bill from his pocket.
“You don’t have to pay me, Frank,” Julius said.
“Yes,” Frank said thinly. “I do have to pay you.” He forced the bill in the old, wrinkled hand, said, “Come on. You’re riding with us a spell.”
Elda Silvers moved forward. Donovan cut her a glance. “I’m not going to harm him. I just can’t take chances of you running straight to town for the sheriff.”
The boy, with bunched fists, took a step. “No stinking outlaw on the run is taking my daddy!”
Elda moved between them. “He didn’t mean that, Frank!”
“Then he should keep his mouth shut.”
“Ride with them, Jule,” Elda said. “Ride in peace.”
Shortly after midday, Frank made the old man dismount. With a slap of his hand, Frank sent Jule’s horse running.
“He’ll find his way home. It’ll be a long walk, but it won’t hurt you,” Frank said. “It’ll give us plenty of time to put distance behind us.”
Julius gave Frank a cold, pointed response of silence. Then he turned toward Glory. “God bless you, girl,” he said in pity.
Frank felt his jaw muscles tighten. “Let’s go, Glory. We’ve got a long ride.”
The silence, and the heat of the day, and a horrible, bitter sense of injustice crawled through Donovan.
He glanced at Glory as they rode. “You didn’t have to go through with it.”
“But I did. We’re married. That’s what counts. Please don’t talk about it, Frank.”
Something had happened to Glory. The light had gone out of her face...
Where a stream flowed, they stopped for the horses to drink.
“We’ll have to push on fast,” Frank said. “I want to make Yadkin’s place by night.”
“Yadkin?”
“Karl Yadkin. He did time with me. Finished his sentence six months ago. He told me once that he knew people in Mexico, had connections. Said if I ever needed help to see him.”
In the last red rays of dying day, they reached the Yadkin place, a low squat house at the forks of two creeks, as Yadkin had once told Frank.
Diamonds of water flew into the air as the horses crossed Crazy Cow creek, the northern stream.
They drew rein. “Hello the house!” Frank called.
The door opened, revealing a man with a rifle in his hands. He was slender and hard-bodied, with a long, lean, coldly handsome face. He was not Yadkin, who Frank remembered as a heavy, slow-moving man.
“What do you want?”
“Looking for Karl Yadkin.”
The man stepped into the yard, his gaze resting on Glory. “I’m Radek, Yadkin’s sidekick. You can talk to me.”
“I’ll talk to Yadkin.”
Yadkin appeared in the doorway, filling it with his bulk. “Donovan!”
Frank caught the inflection of his name. Every time his name was spoken that same inflection of slight disbelief was used.
“I remembered what you said to me, Karl.”
“And I meant it. Come in, Frank.” He gestured at Radek. “Take care of their horses.”
“If you’re sure they’re all right.”
“They’re all right,” Yadkin laughed. “Spot Frank Donovan must be in right now he’ll have stray sheriffs for breakfast!” Yadkin held the door wide, standing aside as Frank and Glory entered. “How’d you manage it, Frank? It had to be a bust-out.”