Chapter Forty-Two
U.S. Marshal James Crown was only semi-conscious of the fact that one of the two nooses about his neck was now choking him! The beating he'd just taken at the hands of Mareck's bodyguards, an' boots--together with the continuous torture caused by the constant 'lurching' motion of their current mode of travel--had finally taken it's toll. He tried--and failed--to reach for whatever it was that was strangling him. The breathless lawman found he couldn't seem to speak, either. But, before he blacked out completely, Cimarron's capable Marshal managed to use what little air there was left in his lungs, to 'cou-ough' for help.
Mareck heard the cough and came riding up, "CAREFUL, YOU FOO-OOLS!" he cried, pulling his horse up alongside the now perfectly limp--and lifeless looking-- lawman's, "When that train comes along, I want Crown ALIVE!" he added and pulled the tightest noose loose...just a little. He shot his incompetent henchmen angry, annoyed glares and then gave their slightly hung hostage a few rough shakes--to revive him.
On account a' how it was now nearly dark, Mareck didn't see the angry glares his hired goons gave him. But if he had listened real closely, he might've heard their gritted teeth 'grinding'.
Speakin' a' gritted teeth...
Crown exhaled his first 'gasped' breath in an agonized groa-oan. Someone--it seemed--had latched onto his right arm by his shirt sleeve and was shaking the hell out of his slightly dislocated shoulder. The pain was intolerable! So he stiffened and tried to pull away from it. The shaking stopped, but then, so did his breathing--again! His sudden movement had caused one of the thick cords that seemed to be encircling his neck, to tighten--and take another strangle-hold on him-- again!
"Hold still!" he heard 'Mister' Mareck say. "Or you'll hang yourself!" the little man added as a morbid--and amusing--afterthought. The noose was pulled loose a second time. Then, satisfied that their 'train bait' was once again breathing, Roger Mareck reassumed the lead, and their grisly little procession proceeded.
Jim Crown tried to stay as still and straight in his saddle as the constant pain--and his level of consciousness--would allow. The lawman knew his life depended on his maintaining such perfect posture. Those two ropes that were attached to him were being kept rea-eal taut, and any sudden movement on his part might jes' sna-ap his neck! The man remembered what a battle it was to maintain yore balance--with both a' yore hands tied behind yore back. He knew what a struggle it was ta have ta stay alert--with a bullet hole in you...an' yore life's blood slowly drainin' away. Yessir, the Marshal had a real good memory! Yah see, this was not the first time that he'd been forced to endure such trying travel arrangements...
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James Crown was not the first 'peace officer' by that name, either. His great-great-great-grandfather, James was the Sheriff of West Coventry--in Ingham County, England--for 45 years.
Jame's boy, Malcolm Crown, held the job for over 40 years. Malcolm's son, Thomas Crown chose his father's father's profession as well and held the post of Sheriff for over 40 years, also.
In the spring of 1800, Thomas--and his wife, Edith--had a son, James Malcolm. Instead of staying in West Coventry and following in his father's footsteps, James Malcolm decided to set out on a course of his own choosing.
So it was that in 1827 James Malcolm Crown, his wife, Helen, their four-year-old son, Andrew and James' cousin, Edward Crown, left England and sailed for America.
Immediately upon landing in the 'land of opportunity', the two cousins went West. Braving raging rivers, raving renegades and ruthless robbers, they eventually ended up in Mexican Territory--in an area that is now Southwest Texas.
The two cousins pooled their finances and, in the summer of 1828, they founded the 'Two Crowns Ranch'. All went well-- until the Fall of '32--when James lost his entire family, including his cousin Edward, during an Indian raid on the ranch.
Two years later, he married the daughter of his closest neighbor, Don Miguel Cassilion. It was a marriage of convenience. Entered into solely to form a 'family alliance' with the wealthy, and powerful, Mexican landholder.
In 1835, James--and his new wife, Anna Theresa--had a son, which they named Thomas Michael--after his two grandfathers.
Don Miguel died in '47, leaving his daughter--and hence Ja-ames--all of his massive land and cattle holdings. With the two rancheros' now combined, 'The Two Crowns' came to cover over 32,000 acres...50 square miles of prime 'cattle country'...bordered on the east by the Rio Caldero, on the west by the Rio Bravo, and on the south by the Rio Grande. Tragically, James' second wife died--less than a year later--of the same 'fever' which had taken her father.
In 1852, James Malcolm Crown 'arranged' a marriage between his seventeen-year-old son, Thomas and Louisa Arroya--the daughter of his next closest (and wealthiest) neighbor, Don Alexandro Arroya.
But, following in his father's footsteps, Thomas Michael chose not to follow in his father's footsteps. Instead of marrying for property and money--as his father had--Thomas intended to follow his heart and announced his intentions to wed his childhood sweetheart, Katrina Thatcher.
Katey's father, Rolland Thatcher, was foreman of 'The Two Crowns'. Her mother, Letara`, was the daughter of an Apache Chief and a white captive.
Thomas' father positively forbade the marriage! No son of his was ever going to get 'hitched up' with some 'half-breed'! No, sir! Not on his ranch!
So, Thomas Crown left his father's ranch--along with Katey and her father...and her mother...and her brother, Wesley...and a quarter of 'The Two Crowns' crew!
Tom and Kate were married in the first Mission they came across. Following the wedding, the whole lot of them worked their way north and finally wound up settling down on a little spread near Duran, in northwest Texas.
In the spring of 1853, Thomas and his bride had a son, which they named after his grandfathers--James and Rolland. To his pa, he was Jim, to his ma-a, he was James...and his Uncle Wes' jes' called him J.R.. Not being one to hold a grudge, Thomas had sent word to his father--informing him of the birth of his grandson.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch... ( Sorry...but I just couldn't resist :) )
Rosa Messina, who took charge of raising twelve year old Thomas, following his mother's untimely death, intensified her efforts to convince James Malcolm to go find his son and bring him--and his family--back home...where they belonged!
So, partly to appease his housekeeper...partly because he missed his foreman...and partly because he wasn't as sore at his son anymore for defying him--but mostly because he was interested in seeing an heir to 'The Two Crowns'--James Malcolm conceded and sent word to Thomas to return home with his family--his entire family--and his friends.
Thomas sent word back that they were pleased with the reconciliation and grateful for the invitation, but that they liked it in Duran and intended to stay there. Duran was now their home. His father was welcome to visit them. O-Or, perhaps when J.R. got a little older--and could withstand the long, arduous journey--they might make it down to see hi-im.
James Rolland Crown was four years old by the time Tom and Katey got around to making the trip south. It was the Fall of '57. Things had slacked off some on the ranch, allowing Katey's folks the opportunity to travel along with them. Wesley was to catch up with them a little later on.
Too late...
Wes' found his family massacred! They--and their escort--had been ambushed along the trail about sixty miles or so from 'The Two Crowns'.
Wes' buried the lot of them and then lit out after the bandits. His father, Rolland Thatcher, was one of the finest trackers there ever was! And he had taught Wes' everything he knew. The seventeen-year-old spent several weeks on the outlaw band's trail before finally making any headway. It was in a little border town--in what is now New Mexico--that Wes' came across Thomas Crown's horse and saddle and the gold medallion he used to wear around his neck--the one with the 'two crowns' emblazoned on it. It was also there that he found Thomas' son--James Rolland--his sister's boy, his nephew...ali-ive!
After avenging his family's deaths, upon what few outlaws he could find there, Wes' set J.R. up on his father's horse, in his father's saddle, and placed his father's medallion around his neck. Then the two of them rode off together. Since Wes' was only a boy himself, he didn't reckon he could raise J.R. right. So he intended to turn him over to his grandpa. J.R. wanted to stay with him and B.J. (Wes' pet raven, Black Jack), but Wes' took him to 'The Two Crowns' and told him, "There are worse things kin happen to a boy than growin' up in the lap a' luxury! 'Sides, what I'm gonna be doin's gonna be way too dangerous!"
But, after a brief discussion with James Malcolm, Wes' realized what one a' those 'worse things' might be--growin' up without love! James Malcolm Crown took the loss of his son hard. He felt responsible in a way. The only thing that kept him going was the hope that his 'grandson'--and sole remaining heir--might still be found...alive! After all, Wes' had found no trace of the boy at the sight of the massacre.
When Wes' posed the purely hypothetical question of what would happen to the 'boy' if he were to get him back alive, James Malcolm Crown responded by assuring him that his 'grandson' would receive the best of everything his money could buy! The boy would be sent to the finest schools--back East. Then, when he was old enough, his grandfather would hand everything he had over to him! (On a silver platter, no doubt!) As for 'love' and 'affection'? No mention was ever made of tha-at! It seemed the boy's grandfather was ready, willing, and eager to give J.R. everything but tha-at! And--right then--tha-at is what J.R. needed the most!
"C'mon, J.R.!" Wes' Thatcher said when he reached the little rise overlooking 'The Two Crowns' main ranch house, "We're gettin' out a' here! There's worse things kin happen to a boy then growin' up in poverty! Yer' jes' gonna have ta learn ta duck!"
The four-year-old stepped out from the clump of bushes--in which he had been told to remain hidden--and started reaching for the stirrup of his father's saddle.
"You'd better ride with me for awhile," his uncle warned, seeing the weary look in his nephew's eyes, "I wouln' want you ta go dozin' off an' fallin' out a' yore saddle..." he explained lightly and flashed the tired little fellow a warm smile.
J.R. readily handed over his reins and then allowed his understanding uncle to haul him up onto his horse.
Wes' locked his arms around the boy and then urged his mount forward.
His nephew beamed a broad upside-down smile up at him and sat there, hugging onto him by his wrists.
J.R. hadn't smiled in weeks. Apparently, the kid felt quite safe and secure with him...and yes, even loved. Wes' returned the boy's smile--and his hug--and the two of them rode on together...for nearly nine whole years!
As for J.R.'s 'grandpa'...?
The old man never gave up the idea that some day he'd get his 'grandson' back. He even offered a sizeable reward for information leading to the boy's where-abouts. (Which is why Wes' Thatcher had avoided the southwest corner of Texas like the plague!)
And which is why certain criminal elements had been so interested in a certain saddle that was seen on some young cowboy's horse in San Antonio. Only these guys weren't interested in no mere reward...no-o, what they had in mind was more of a RANSOM!
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Averaging almost forty miles a day, the eleventh evening of Jim Crown's kidnappers' forced march across Texas brought them--and their hostage--to a secluded clearing in a thick grove of trees less than five miles from 'The Two Crowns' main ranch house.
The young cowboy was seated--bareback--on his horse, with his raw wrists now bound behind his back. There was a blood-soaked strip of cloth tied around his right thigh, and there were two nooses looped about his neck. The cloth wrap covered a couple of holes in his leg. (The bullet had passed clean through.) The nooses--which encircled his throat--were on the ends of a couple of ropes, which were attached to the saddle horns of two of the four men who constantly surrounded him. Jim just sat there, quietly, waiting for 'Santi' to return. The loss of sleep--and the loss of blood--had finally caught up with--and subdued--their unruly captive.
Or, so it seemed...
"'Gramps' wants to examine the goods before he forks over any money," Santi said upon his return.
His companions voiced their dismay at the delay. The saddle and Bible and medallion should have been sufficient proof of the boy's parentage for him!
"Now you see why I said ta jes' 'wing' 'im?!" Santi inquired, shooting the loudest complainer of them all an 'I told you so' glare.
The man replied by rubbing a bruise on the back of his head and glaring icily back at the young cowboy responsible for putting it there, "I'll kill 'im after we git the money then!" he rationalized aloud.
"No you won't!" Santi snapped back, "The old man made it very clear! He said he'd pay just as much a reward--dead or alive--for his grandson's killers as he is a ransom to his grandson's kidnappers!"
"Speakin' a' the ransom," the outlaw with the gold-toothed grin readily interjected, "How much does he figure his only 'heir' is worth?!"
"Twelve thousand in cash, an' close to another twelve thousand in gold, silver an' jewels!" Santi announced.
The 'heirs'' eyes widened--in amazement.
Carlos' colleagues' eyes narrowed--with ra-age.
"You said the old man was loaded!" the bandit with the bruised head grumbled, "You told us he was worth ten times that!"
"And he is!" Santi assured his still frowning trio of friends, "It seems his 'wealth' is all locked up in land and livestock--and a number of local banks! I searched the whole house myself and personally saw him empty his safe. He's giving us everything of value on the place! I swear! Now, I say we take it an' git!"
"Santi's right!" his previously silent associate suddenly piped up, "Twenty-four grand ain't nothin' ta sneeze at!"
"Yea-eah!" gold-teeth agreed, "It could take days for him to raise more money! We wait aroun' here that lo-ong an' somethin' might go wro-ong!"
Seeing as how he was outnumbered, the bandit with the nasty lump on his noggin begrudgingly nodded his compliance with the plan.
The group's leader looked pleased and promptly ordered that a fallen limb be placed in the crotches of two of the trees on the edge of the clearing. Next, he ordered that they tie their prisoner to said limb.
And so, Jim found himself hanging there...with his aching arms above his head and his bound wrists draped up over the branch...leaving his boot heels suspended about four feet or so up off'n the ground.
At the sound of an approaching rider, three of his captor's disappeared into the surrounding trees.
A fire had been hastily built on the ground at Jim's feet and by its flickering light, the cowboy could see the glint of the metal on their rifle barrels--all three of which were trained on hi-im. Their 'target' coughed and then winced as the ascending cloud of acrid smoke from the fire choked him and burnt his eyes a bit. The cowboy kept right on coughing and staring blurrily down into the flames--which were now licking at his feet.
All other eyes watched as a distinguished-looking, well-dressed, grey-haired gentleman rode into the little clearing and dismounted. He stepped right past 'Senor Santi' and up to the young man dangling from the tree limb.
The outlaw tossed a bundle of dry twigs onto the fire. They crackled into a brilliant flame, illuminating the entire area like a lantern.
The elderly gentleman stared up at Jim for a long while before speaking. "What's your name, son?!" he inquired finally, his deep, resonant voice sounding somewhat 'gruff'.
Another long silence followed as the cowboy failed to reply.
"The man asked you a question!" Santi shouted, springing to his feet and giving their prisoner's ribs a rough prod with the butt of his rifle.
The cowboy grimaced and gasped and finally flicked his gaze up from the fire. Jim saw his 'grandfather' for the very first time--and his already burning eyes stung even more, "If I said...John W. Smith...would you jes' go ridin' off...an' leave me hangin' here?"
There was a weakness in the young man's voice, but a burning intensity in his dark eyes. The old man recognized those eyes. They belonged to his son, Thomas! "No," Jim's grandfather answered, following another long bout of silence, "no-o, I don't believe I could do that," he tacked on--with just a hint of an English accent.
Jim forced a weak smile, "Then I'm proud ta say...the name's Crown, Sir...Ja-ames Crown."
"What a coincidence," his grandfather replied, his voice now choking up just a bit, "so's mi-ine!" he added--equally proudly--and flashed his grandson a warm smile.
"Satisfied?!" Santi inquired impatiently.
The elderly gentleman answered by stepping over to his horse and pulling a bulging pair of saddle bags from the pommel of his saddle. "Cut him down!" he ordered and whipped the ransom money at the closest--and so most visible--kidnapper. "I sai-aid, CUT HIM DOWN!" he commanded again, sounding more than a little impatient himself, "NO-OW!"
Santi paused in his examination of the bulging bags' contents and passed the 'shouted order' along to his compatriots.
Three mounted figures suddenly appeared in the clearing. One--with a gold-toothed grin--led their leader's horse over to him and then reached up and sliced effortlessly through their prisoner's thick leather bonds with the glistening blade of an obviously very sharp knife.
James Crown caught his grandson under the arms and gently lowered him to the ground--a safe distance from the still blazing bonfire. The very distinguished gentleman then dropped to his knees in the dirt beside the collapsed cowboy and cradled the lad's head in his lap, "Are you all right, son?!" he inquired anxiously, his voice and face filled with concern.
Short of his hair and nails, there wasn't a single part of Jim's body that hadn't suffered from some form of abuse these past eleven days. His head was throbbing--as was his right leg. The circulation was returning to his hands--causing them to hurt like hell. The muscles of his arms ached from the strain of having to support his weight, and his shoulders felt like they'd been completely wrenched out of their sockets! He was cold--and hungry--and incredibly tired! No-o, no what he was feeling went way beyond ti-ired--the cowboy was TOTALLY EXHAUSTED! However, not wishing to worry--o-or lie to--his grandfather, Jim just stared up at the elderly gentleman and simply stated, "I, uh...reckon I will be...Si-ir."
His grandfather's face filled with relief.
"All right!" Santi shouted, "Let's get outta here!" And--with that--the group's leader got to his feet and started striding towards his horse.
The outlaw with the lump on his head pointed his pistol at the two Crowns and thumbed back its hammer, "I say we take them along...ta guarantee our safe--"
"NO-O!" the old rancher interrupted, sounding absolutely outraged, "The boy's obviously lost a lot of blood! He can't afford to lose much more! He's been through enough hell already! Any further travel could kill him!" The gentleman realized his plea was falling on deaf ears and quickly changed tactics. His grandson's life meant nothing to these men, but what about their own? "I have over forty men working for me," he icily informed the little band of outlaws, "and all of them have the same 'orders'. If anything happens to either of us," he paused for effect, "they are to hunt you's down and," he paused again, for even greater effect, "I guarantee the four of you will DIE!"
"Say we leave you's here an' ride out," the outlaw with the lump began, keeping his gun leveled on them, "what's ta keep those forty men a' yores from opening fire on us?!"
"My men don't know what my grandson looks like," James Crown quickly explained, "but they do know how much he means to me. They won't open fire on you for fear they might be killing him!"
"C'mon!" Santi urged, "We're wasting time! We could be halfway to the border by now!"
The baddy with the bump on his head begrudgingly lowered his pistol and began easing its cocked hammer back down. "What happens when they find out he ain't with us?!" he wondered, glaring menacingly down at the young man on the ground.
"If they don't know what he looks like," his gold-toothed associate reminded him with a grin, "how will they know he's not with us?!"
And--with that--all four of the outlaws lit out of the clearing.
No sooner were they out of sight, when James Crown Jr. propped himself up on his elbows and posed a rather pertinent question of his own, "You got a gun I could borrow?"
James Crown Sr. pushed his grandson back down onto the ground and then held him there, "It appears to me what you have more need of--at the moment--is a DOCTOR!"
"Right no-ow, I need a GUN!" the cowboy corrected, struggling back up onto his elbows, "They took mi-ine, an' I cain't go after 'em without one!"
"You can't go after them in your condition, anyways!" James Crown Sr. determined.
"I'll be all right!" Jim promised and proceeded to sit up.
"What about that leg?" his grandfather inquired.
"It'll be all right, too," Jim assured him, "the bullet missed the bone!"
"That may be so," James Crown Sr. conceded, "Sti-ill, it looks like you've lost a considerable amount of blood..." Seeing as how his only heir seemed to have his heart set on standing, the old rancher sighed in surrender and finally helped him to his feet.
Jim stood there for a few moments--on unsteady legs--and studied his unbelievably calm looking relative, "Don' it bother you that 'that bunch' may be gettin' away?!"
"Not particularly," came back James Crown Sr.'s even calmer reply.
"Well, it bothers me-e! I don' 'particularly' like bein' carted clear across Texas--ta be strung up like some trophy elk!" the cowboy paused to whistle for his horse.
The animal stepped out into the clearing.
"Besides," Jim continued as he started 'hopping' over to where the gelding stood, grazing, "it ain't right for a man ta have ta buy his own 'flesh an' blood'--" he stopped in mid-hop and turned to stare disbelievingly back at his grandfather once again, "Did you really hand over twenty-four thousand dollars...for my-y hide?!"
The old man nodded.
And Jim looked even more amazed. Why, the cowboy couldn't even begin to imagine such a hu-uge sum of money! "I hate ta have ta tell yah this, but--you got took!"
"Oh-oh, I don't know," the old rancher reasoned calmly, and gazed proudly after his apparently gutsy--and once again 'hopping'--heir, "I'm beginning to think I got myself quite a...bargain!"
The completely exhausted cowboy managed--somehow--to reach his horse. But when he bent down to retrieve his reins, a tidal wave of dizziness washed over him.
The old rancher reached his grandson's side in seconds. Which means he got there just in time to keep the young cowboy--who had slumped up against his horse--from falling flat on his face.
"I'll be...all...right..." Jim reassured him rather dazedly.
"I'm sure you will," his grandfather agreed, wrapping his right arm about the collapsing cowboy's waist, "but, in the meantime, maybe you'd better ride with me." The rancher draped Jim's left arm around his neck and began leading him off in the direction of his horse, "C'mon, son. We've got to get you back to the ranch so that the Doctor can have a look at that leg."
"But," Jim protested, "they're gettin' away!"
"I don't care about the money!" the old rancher assured him, "You're home now, and that's ALL that really matters!"
"It ain' jes' the money," the cowboy confessed, "One a' Santi's boys has it in his head...ta put another bullet in me�only--this time--he's gonna be aimin' a lot higher!"
"Well, now," his grandfather said rather solemnly, "that changes everything!" He helped the young cowboy climb aboard his horse, being careful to keep the reins in his control.
Jim watched as the old rancher pulled a pistol from behind his back. He continued watching as his grandfather raised the gun above his head and began firing it into the air.
" ker-pow! ker-po-ow!...ker-pow! ker-po-ow!...ker-pow! ker-po-ow!"
Because the shots were squeezed off in such a deliberate pattern, the young cowboy took them to be a signal...of sorts.
"Just letting the boys know that the both of us are safe," James Crown Sr. calmly explained and plunked the empty gun into his grandson's empty holster.
A tremendous wave of relief washed over Jim this time. He stared rather admiringly down at the foxy old fellah--his 'grandfather'--for a few moments and then proudly proffered his hand.
The old rancher took it--and shook it--and, once more, the two 'Crowns' exchanged smiles.
"I got a feelin' you're gonna be gettin' yore money back..." the young cowboy calmly spoke--over the sound of distant gunfire. The two 'Crowns' took an even firmer hold of each other's hands and Jim helped the elderly gentlemen up onto his horse.
"It doesn't matter if I do or don't," James Crown Sr. honestly admitted, settling down into his seat and locking his arms securely around his grandson, "because I feel a whole lot richer now, than I did this morning. Let's go home, son..."
Jim wasn't sure if the old man's last comment was directed at him or his stallion, so he didn't say anything. Besides, his leg had begun bleeding again and he was suddenly feeling almost too weak to speak. But he'd be better by morning. He had to be! He had to get back to San Antone! All he needed was a night's rest, a fresh bandage...oh, and a fresh horse wouldn't hurt, either. His gelding was feeling just as spent as he was--and had been every bit as abused. "That old brush popper a' mine...mus' be plum broke down..." he realized regrettably.
"Don't worry about your horse, son," his grandfather said, "I'll send one of the boys back for him. I promise, he'll be well taken care of."
"Si-ir?" the dizzy cowboy didn't have the energy to beat around the bush, so he decided he'd better get right to the point, "You reckon...you could loan me...a horse?"
"You don't have to borrow a horse, boy! As soon as you're fit to ri-ide, you can have your pick of any animal on the place! What's mine is your's now! It all belongs to you-ou!"
The elderly Crown's only heir did not hear his reply, however.
Upon posing his question, his grandson had gone completely limp in his arms. The old gentlemen tightened his hold on the unconscious cowboy and then encouraged his horse to pick up the pace. After sixteen years of searching, he'd finally found his own 'flesh and blood'! And he couldn't afford to lose him now! Especially not no-ow!