Naughty Marietta. Nan Ryan

said Cole as the priest stepped closer and began to read passages of scripture.

      The hangman was tightening the noose around Cole’s neck when an out-of-breath gentleman, soon identified as Marcus Weathers, forced his way through the crowd, shouting, “Stop! Don’t do it! I have signed orders from Colonel Patten of the Federal Occupation Forces for you to cease and desist!”

      The shout drew everyone’s attention to the well-known attorney. In his raised hand was a blue legal document. Marcus Weathers rushed up onto the platform and handed the papers to the executioner. The document was read and then, frowning, the executioner announced, “Take the rope from the prisoner’s neck. The hanging’s off!”

      Two

      A low moan went through the crowd.

      Amid rising jeers and cheers, Cole stood stunned and totally still as the jailer roughly removed the noose from around his neck.

      “You’re free to go, Heflin,” the big lawman said, clearly disappointed.

      Marcus Weathers stepped forward, smiled at Cole and said, “Come with me, Mr. Heflin. The carriage is waiting.”

      “Where are we going?” Cole asked.

      “You’ll see,” replied Weathers as he took Cole’s arm and slowly guided him down the gallows steps, through the buzzing mob and toward the black carriage.

      Cole was driven a short distance to the city’s waterfront. The carriage soon turned into a long palm-bordered avenue that led to an opulent seaside mansion. The white two-story building was located at the center of a great expanse of well-manicured acreage. It gleamed in the late-morning sun and Cole quickly realized its inhabitants were afforded an unobstructed view of the Gulf of Mexico.

      Cole was ushered into the imposing mansion and immediately directed to a large, darkly paneled library where an old man sat in a wheelchair.

      Maxwell Lacey smiled when Cole entered the room and said, “Welcome to my humble abode, Mr. Heflin. Won’t you have a seat.”

      Cole continued to stand. “I’m afraid you have the advantage, sir.”

      “I usually do. Or, at least, I try to,” Maxwell Lacey said with a chuckle.

      Cole didn’t share his amusement. “Who are you? What’s this all about?”

      “You’ll know soon enough what it’s about, Mr. Heflin. But allow me to introduce myself. I’m Maxwell Lacey. You may have heard of me.”

      “No, I haven’t.”

      “No matter. Would you like a drink?”

      Cole accepted. An unobtrusive servant immediately handed him a bourbon. Cole turned the heavy shot glass up to his lips and drank thirstily.

      Maxwell Lacey dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand and said, “Please, sit down, Mr. Heflin. Let’s have a little talk.”

      Cole drained the glass, set it aside and folded his long body down onto a comfortable sofa. Lacey wheeled his chair out from behind his desk and moved closer. He continued to smile as he sized up the lean, darkly bearded man.

      The man he had chosen to do his bidding.

      Maxwell laced his fingers together in his robe covered lap, leaned forward and said, “I know all about you, Heflin. You’re the man who singlehandedly burned Hadleyville during the war and—”

      “Ancient history,” Cole interrupted with a dismissive shake of his head.

      “Not ancient history to the occupying federal forces,” Maxwell Lacey reminded him. His eyes flashed when he added, “You were tried and convicted in absentia years ago and sentenced to hang! Took them seven years to catch you.”

      Cole shrugged his wide shoulders. “What’s that got to do with you?”

      “Everything, Heflin. I saved your life. Had the federal commander order you taken down from the gallows. I am a very powerful man in Galveston. And a rich one. I greased the necessary palms, pulled the necessary strings to have your life spared.”

      Cole raised one well-arched eyebrow, looked Maxwell Lacey in the eye and said, “My sincere thanks. But again, why?”

      With an ominous laugh, the old man ignored Cole’s question and stated, “I expect to be repaid for your deliverance. You will do exactly as I ask, Mr. Heflin.”

      “And why would I ever do that?”

      A sharp pain pressed Maxwell’s spine. He paled, but continued as though Cole had not spoken. “There is a special young woman, a Miss Marietta Stone, an opera singer in Central City, Colorado.” He pointed across the room to the poster featuring Marietta. “She is my granddaughter and my only living relative.” He paused.

      “Go on,” Cole said.

      “I am dying—I have only a matter of months, perhaps weeks, to live. My granddaughter must be brought to Galveston before I pass away.”

      “And you’ve chosen me to go get her, bring her here.”

      “Exactly.”

      Cole looked thoughtful, as if he was considering the proposition. But when finally he spoke, he said, “No, I don’t think so. Find somebody else.”

      Maxwell’s wrinkled face instantly turned scarlet with anger. He thundered, “Damnation! If just anyone could bring her back from Central City, you’d be swinging from the gallows this very minute! I saved your life. You owe me, young man!”

      “True,” Cole admitted, pausing briefly. “I’ll go,” he finally answered. “But here are my terms. Before I leave for Colorado, you’ll pay me ten thousand dollars cash.”

      “Ten thousand dollars! Why, this grand house didn’t cost much more than that. You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll give you that kind of money.”

      Cole sat calmly, said nothing.

      “That’s highway robbery! You’re in no position to demand anything,” barked Maxwell Lacey. “Let me remind you again, I saved your life. You will go after my granddaughter or you’ll go right back to the gallows and be hanged.”

      Still, Cole didn’t budge. “Ten thousand or your precious granddaughter stays in Central City.”

      Maxwell Lacey was not a man used to being bested. His first inclination was to order this arrogant upstart out of his house. Send him back to the gallows. Let the ungrateful bastard swing. But time was short. Running out. His days were numbered.

      “Very well,” he said grudgingly, “I’ll pay you the ten thousand.”

      Cole smiled for the first time since entering the mansion. He said in a low, level voice, “You will have your attorney deposit the money in the Gulf Shores State Bank this afternoon. I’ll leave for Colorado in the morning.”

      “Agreed,” said Maxwell and he, too, was smiling. His attorney had, by telegraph, queried both Union officers and fellow Confederate officers and all had agreed that Cole Heflin’s word was as good as his bond. “Weathers is waiting in the parlor. He will accompany you to the bank.”

      Cole nodded, rose, shook the old man’s hand and then turned to leave the library.

      But he stopped abruptly when Maxwell Lacey said, “Ah, one last little thing I didn’t mention, Heflin.”

      Cole turned. “Which is?”

      Maxwell looked sheepish when he admitted, “Marietta may not want to come with you.”

      Cole frowned. “Jesus, are you telling me I’m supposed to bring this woman back against her will?”

      Maxwell nodded his head. “Absolutely! I’m certain she’ll refuse to come. It’s a long, complicated tale and of no concern to you.