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  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’l
l 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.”

  “Objection!” Madigan shouted. “Supposition!”

  Judge Markham wanted to overrule, but there were no grounds to do so. “Sustained. You must not read the mind of anyone, Mr. Cole.”

  “Very well. I will not read his mind, but he has shot people in the past.”

  “Objection!” Madigan said. “No bearing on this case!”

  Dennis Cole said quickly, “I withdraw the statement.” He went on to state the record of Stuart Winslow, stressing the fact that he had at one point refused to defend himself when attacked by Hack Wilson. “In that case he kept the rules of his parole to the letter, but when his family was attacked, that was a different matter. I think Your Honor would not want any man to let his family be harmed while he stood idly by.”

  The duel between Madigan and Cole went on for some time, but finally the judge said, “The court will recess for one hour, at which time I will render my verdict.”

  Stuart was taken back to the small room by the bailiff. At once it was filled up with his parents and family, along with Ace and his family.

  “Well, we’ve got to be prepared for the worst,” Stuart said. “The judge doesn’t have much choice.”

  “Yes, he does, Daddy,” Merry insisted. “That judge has got to let you go.” Merry had sat beside her mother in the courtroom and understood little of the proceedings, but she knew well enough that her father was in danger. Now she sat on his lap and held to his hand tightly. “God’s not going to let anything happen to you. You’re too good.”

  Stuart had to laugh. “I wish I agreed with you, honey. But we have to face the facts.”

  “Well, the fact is that God is going to help us,” Leah said. “I know all the facts, but God’s people never go on facts, do they? If the children of Israel had faced facts at the Red Sea, they would never have gotten across.”

  Richard nodded. “That’s right, son. We’re not going to give up. And no matter what that judge says, it’s not over.”

  Ace, however, said, “I know the judge would like to let you go, but I don’t think he can. The governor was pretty plain.”

  “Could you ever get in touch with the governor, Richard?” Diane asked.

  “Yes. I talked to him on the phone. He said he didn’t want to get involved. I put the matter as well as I could, but that was all I could get out of him. I got the feeling that he’s sorry it all happened. But he’s walking a tight rope these days trying to get reelected, and I don’t think he needs another touchy issue to muddy his political ambitions. His opponents would say he’s soft on crime.”

  The door opened at that time, and the bailiff said, “The judge is coming in.”

  Leah put her arms around Stuart and hugged him. “It’ll be all right,” she said. “I know it will be.”

  It took some time to get the court settled down, but finally Judge Markham got the quiet that he asked for. He hesitated and shot a glance at Stuart Winslow and then around the room. His position was a lonely one, and in all his years on the bench, he had never had to face such a difficult case. He began quietly by saying, “It is a difficult thing to sit in this place. Many times I have had to give decisions that I regretted.” He went on for some time explaining how it was the judge’s responsibility to follow the law, no matter what his personal feelings. Everyone in the courtroom could see what was coming. He was leading up to a verdict against Stuart Winslow.

  “And so it’s incumbent upon me to render a verd
ict, and I must do so. No matter what my personal feelings are—”

  At that moment the door opened, and a hubbub of voices made everyone in the courtroom turn around. Judge Markham sat up straighter and exclaimed, “Governor!”

  Governor Leonard Stokes strode down the aisle. He smiled, speaking to those he knew and exuding confidence. When he got to Stuart, he stopped and looked at him and smiled crookedly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Winslow. It’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Governor,” Stuart returned. He felt Dennis Cole’s elbow punch him, and he heard the attorney chuckle.

  “Something’s happening, boy. Something’s happening!”

  Planting himself before Judge Markham, Leonard Stokes said firmly, “I apologize, Your Honor, for invading your courtroom. It is unforgivable. And if such a thing had happened to me, I would have been very strict.”

  Markham knew something was in the air. He was a supporter of Leonard Stokes—as Stokes was his supporter. The two had been friends for years and knew each other well. Markham said smoothly, “You’re very welcome in this courtroom anytime, Governor.”

  “Actually, I come as more than a spectator. I haven’t had time to speak with the defense attorney, but I would like to ask him if he would call me as a witness.”

  “Certainly, Governor! Certainly!” Dennis Cole jumped up, smiling, beaming, and waving his hand freely. “I do call Governor Leonard Stokes as a witness.”

  Stokes took the witness stand, was sworn in, and then began by reviewing the case. He spoke rapidly at first as he reviewed the earlier history of his experience with Stuart Winslow. He then began to speak more slowly, and his face grew sober. “The law is about people,” he said. His voice was quiet but powerful, and everyone leaned forward to hear. “In this case justice must take off her blindfold. Stuart Winslow proved he was aware of the limits of his pardon. He allowed himself to be publicly beaten rather than resort to using his fists or any other weapon to defend himself.”

  A murmur of agreement went over the courtroom, and Stokes, showman that he was, allowed the moment to go on. He turned to Stuart then and said in a firm voice, “But when this man’s wife and family and friends were attacked, he did what any good man would do. He sacrificed himself. He knew well that he would sit in a courtroom like this before a judge. He understood what the consequences could be, but he sacrificed himself.”