She followed them to the small, ramshackle house where the old man must have lived. She thought about going to the authorities if there were any authorities to be had here, which she doubted, but if she did, they'd be on Kid's captor's side.
As she stepped onto the porch. narrowly missing a hole caused by the rotted wood, she heard the old man grumbling from inside, "St Louis needs a jail. It ain't going to be easy carting you all the way to Franklin just to collect my reward. Take me a week at least. They ought to have to come to me."
She boldly knocked on the door and he answered the door.
"You got the wrong man," she said immediately before he could get a word in edgewise. "I know for a fact that he was with me further south while these robberies were happening. It couldn't have been him no matter what that wanted poster says."
"Sorry, gal. I'd like to oblige by letting him go, but it don't much matter to me whether he done it or not. I'm interested in the money. As you can tell, I'm in sore need of it. The way I see it this was a gift."
"At least let me see him, speak to him," she pleaded.
His frown lessened to a grim line. "I ain't so hardhearted that I won't let a wife say goodbye to her husband. I know they'll likely hang him."
A strangled cry escaped her throat. She'd expected as much but to hear him say it made it so much more real.
A guilty look crossed his face and he explained, "People can abide a lot of things out here, but thievery ain't one of them. We're not exactly crawling with sheriffs out here what with the sparse population and it being such a hazardous occupation. How else is folks going to protect their property?"
"But don't it matter if they actually done it? In their rush to justice, have they hung innocent people? Do they even get a fair trial?"
"I'm sure they have and I'm sure they get a trial. How fair it is would depend on the jury and judge, I imagine. I know that seems harsh to a lady's ears, but that's the way it is, pure and simple."
"Simple maybe, but it ain't pure. Where is he?"
He pointed toward the only other room in the house and when she came through the doorway saw that he was tied to a chair. She rushed over, throwing her arms around him and sobbing onto his shoulder. He tilted his head so that it rested against hers, not free to return the embrace though it was clear he yearned to.
"Don't worry," he said. "Ain't it you who's always telling me God's got everything under control. Well, this situation ain't any different, is it?"
"No, of course not," she said with firm resolve. She ran her hands down his face as if trying to commit it to memory. "Don't mean I'm going to sit back and do nothing neither. The Lord empowers us."
Kid didn't like the sound of that. "I'll think of something. I'd rather you not get mixed up in this."
"Mixed up? I'm already mixed up in it. You're my husband."
"Just don't do anything dangerous. I won't be able to help you if you run into trouble."
"The Lord will keep me out of trouble. He'll help us both. I know He will."
Kid wished he could be as sure of it as she seemed to be.
The old man had been watching the scene, making sure she didn't try to release him. He looked as if he was close to caving and letting Kid go but then realizing he was in danger of letting the profit go with him, he hardened and said, "Hurry it up now. I got things to do to get ready for the trip."
It was useless to waste her breath on asking to give them a few moments alone. He wouldn't take his eyes off his prize and take a chance on losing it.
Ruth kissed Kid softly with a tender passion that communicated her sorrow and love.
"I don't mind being tied up with you kissing me but I wish it had been under different circumstance," he whispered teasingly in her ear after the kiss, aching to see her smile.
It brought a small, fleeting smile to her lips.
"If we don't get a chance to talk again—" he said, growing suddenly serious.
"Kid—" she interrupted.
"I want you to know how much I love you," he said, ignoring her protest. "You're my first and only love and you always will be."
Her eyes shimmered. "I love you too, but we will talk again," she said, her tone saying she would allow no argument on that score.
"Okay, missy, time for you to get going," ordered the old man from the corner.
Ruth nodded almost having forgotten he was there. "Can I at least know your name in case I need to find you later?"
"Bill Morris."
"I'm Ruth Cole."
"I know. I saw the wagon and you did say Mr. Cole was your husband."
"Right. You are going to feed him, ain't you?"
"I ain't going to bring him to Franklin starving. Rest assured he's in safe hands till I hand him over as long as he don't try anything funny."
She left hardly assured, knowing Kid would try to get away, but she was glad she had a week reprieve to think of something. It was late by the time she made it back to the hotel. She went to her room without supper. She was certain the cook would have insisted on scrounging something up despite the dining hour having long passed, but she wasn't hungry and only saw one of the kitchen help scrubbing dishes when she went by.
She fell to her knees as soon as she shut the door, suddenly overwhelmed by the events. "Oh, Lord, help us. If the stage company gets him, they're only going to care that they've got Kid Cole. They ain't going to believe it's someone entirely and they're going to hang him. We need you. Kid needs you."
She didn't feel like going to bed either but being in a fog from lack of sleep wasn't going to help him. It was long time of studying the ceiling, but at some point, she fell into a fitful sleep.
She reached out subconsciously once, expecting to feel him there, and woke when she didn't. She sighed heavily and then suddenly like a bolt of lightening had struck her brain, she knew exactly whose help she needed.