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.