Chains

By Bobbie Sue Nicholson

The Wild West earned its title. Some of the wildest men lived there.
Milo Black was born and raised there. His father, a former bounty hunter and lawman tried to make Milo follow orders.
The elder Mr. Black wanted Milo to marry a child from a refined Eastern family.
Milo did not willingly follow his fathers orders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491808009

Bobbie Sue Nicholson

After graduating from Denver University, with a degree in Art Education, I attended Indiana State University for my master’s degree. Having earned two degrees in 5 years, I begin teaching and continued to take classes. I now have a lifetime teaching license in Indiana. I have taught Art at all grade levels from Kindergarten to College. I’m married and still living in Indiana. We have two sons who lived nearby. I wrote my first story when I was in grade school. My mother was the only one kindness to read it. My children were in grade school before I started to write seriously. I took a writing class from Perdue University. My stories are a joy to write. The characters can form to my winds and wishes.

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© 2014 by Bobbie Sue Nicholson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/10/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0799-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0801-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0800-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013916783

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 1

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Tell me a story, Grandma, the blond headed boy begged at his grandmother’s knee. The child made a point of always sitting either beside his grandmother or at her feet. He never stood up to talk to her or to listen to her talk. He knew without being told that looking up was difficult for the frail, bent, white haired woman that he dearly loved. She always wore the same old fashioned, long skirted dresses with a high stiff collar in dark colors. She never wore black except for a funeral. Today she wore black. They had just returned from the cemetery. The house was draped in black. The dark clothing that they wore was in keeping with their sadness at the loss of a much loved and respected family member. The death had not been expected. They had buried her husband that morning. She had amazed everyone with her show of quiet strength throughout the church service and the burial. Now that everyone was home she had gone to her room to rest. The boy was not bothering his grandmother. She welcomed his visits. She knew her time was short. She had lived a long and exciting time. She was ready to rest for a long time.

The young boy had seen pictures of his grandparents when they were young. When stories were told about the family he knew what they had looked like at the time. He could see them in his mind. His grandmother had never changed her style of dress, her family love or her love and devotion to her husband, Milo Black.

The old woman ruffled the toy’s blond hair with her too thin fingers. She always wore the same two pieces of jewelry. One plain gold band, which was her wedding ring, and a pin that looked like it had been made from a golden chain tied into a knot. Both pieces were gifts from her husband many years before. She called the pin a ‘love chain.’

Tell me how you met Granddad and how you decided to get married, the child pleaded. He had heard the same story many times, but he never tired of it.

First, you must go find your father and tell him you will be here with me. He has enough on his mind right now. We don’t want him to worry about where you have disappeared to. Now do we?

No, I’ll be right back. The boy quickly got up and left the room. He found his father in the front room. Worriedly watching the crowd of reporters on the front lawn.

Dad? Is something wrong? the child asked.

No, not really. His father answered without turning around. It’s just the reporters outside. They want to interview us… me, truthfully. The boy’s father hated talking to the press. He was a business man but he preferred working to talking.

I could speak to them, the boy volunteered. But I don’t know what to say. What do they want?

They need a story. Something to sell newspapers. It’s their job to get the news. We just happen to be the news. It isn’t everyday that a millionaire dies. The press wants to know everything about your grandfather. The boy’s father was tired. He sat down in the closest chair and put his head back as he spoke, I owe them a comment of some sort.

Granddad always said a man must always pay what he owes. The boy waited for his father to comment. His father smiled and answered, Yes, I know. He told me that many times. But now I have to decide how to do it.

You could tell the reporters one of Grandma’s stories.

The child’s father was surprised at his son’s suggestion and then he realized the value of the boy’s words and was very pleased. You’re right. That is just the thing. I’ll do it. You go play now while I give your suggestion some more thought.

Grandma is waiting for me. I just came to tell you where I will be.

Fine, the father answered, already deep in thought, as his child moved away.

The little boy quickly returned to his grandmother’s room. The room smelled of her own special perfume.

The old woman smiled as he entered and love radiated from her like the rays from the sun in the heat of summer. She had been waiting for her grandson and remembering. The memories had come flooding back and brought a youthful glow to her face. She seemed to grow younger just sitting there.

The child settled himself at her feet and looked up to her. She began to speak… to tell the story as only she could.

The sun was high in the sky. Not a breath of air stirred. The wagon bounced hard as the wheel slipped into another rut in the dirt road. The mules plodded on without much hesitation. Milo Black bounced and banged about in the bed of the wagon. It was his own fault that he was in the wagon. If he had made good his last attempt to escape… But he had not been very lucky lately. Lady Luck was smiling on someone else. She sure was not smiling on Milo.

His already battered and bruised body continued to absorb punishment from the bone jarring jolts as the wagon rolled onward. Milo tried to brace himself against the wagon sides but met with only partial success. His ankles were chained together with legirons. There were handcuffs on his wrists and a too short chain between the two restraints that kept him from being able to stand up straight or stretch out to sleep comfortably. Milo had not been comfortable in a long time. His head throbbed and his empty stomach growled and chewed on itself. He moved his head to shake off the flies that plagued his bloody lips. He needed water but did not ask for it. He was not about to beg. And he would have to beg to get any water or anything else before evening. Milo was not sure if begging would even help. But that did not matter. He was not about to beg.

Four large, rough looking men rode behind the wagon. They enjoyed watching Milo being bounced about in the nearly empty wagon. They wanted him to suffer. As he tried to brace himself to avoid the bone jarring bounce of the wagon, one rider lashed out at the chained man with the knotted end of a rope. Milo stopped trying to brace himself. The knotted rope hurt worse than the bumps… usually.

The wagon wheel hit another bump and Milo felt a splinter pierce the side of his face. He squirmed to get the wood out and a knotted rope struck his shoulder. The riders laughed as he cringed under the blow. The wagon driver and the four riders were responsible for the tattered, chained and tired condition of Milo, but Milo was responsible for all of the busted lips, black eyes, missing teeth and bruises that they were suffering from. They had been hired to find Milo Black and bring him home. Milo’s father had paid them a small amount and promised to pay them handsomely when Milo was returned all in one piece. But they soon learned that they would earn every penny the hard way. Milo was not obligated to go by the rules that his father had demanded of Milo’s captors. Milo had tried to break their bones whenever possible. Milo was broad shouldered but thin and wiry. What he lacked in size, he made up for in speed and determination. The guards were fighting to earn money. Milo was fighting for his freedom. Milo had no intention of going home. He and his father had quarreled three years before. No one in town knew the true cause of the trouble, but Milo had packed his saddle bags and bedroll. He left behind everything else and rode away. Now, ‘Old Man Black’, as Milo’s father was known, wanted his son brought home. He had sent two men to bring his twenty five year old son home the year before. They were a humiliating failure. A fact that truly amazed the old man. The second group had heard of the first group’s failure and had learned. The second group had also succeeded in getting Milo almost home. The men of the second group believed that within the next two days Milo would be delivered home to his father and that they would be well paid. That belief, that hope, kept the men on the job. The fact that Milo was bruised and battered was not a worry to his captors. Milo had not been shot, nor did he have any broken bones, yet. That was all the Old Man Black could expect. Milo, who was smaller but just as tough as his father had been at that age, had always been a disappointment to his father. Even as a child, Milo had always known that his father was never pleased with him or anything that he did. Milo had never understood why that was true but it was. Milo had spent many hours trying to figure out why his father treated him as he always did… Milo never found an answer.

The wagon hit yet another deep rut and Milo’s head banged hard against the wooden bottom of the wagon. He endured the pain without comment as the guards laughed.

That evening, just before dark, the wagon stopped at a hitch rack to the side of a log building. Milo looked up and knew where they were. The Ferndale stage station sign hung from the porch. They were not far from his home. If he was going to escape he knew he would have to do it soon. He had not been able to think of a way yet but he was not about to admit defeat. If he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open and tried to use every chance he got… he still had time… but not much.

Evening, the wagon driver called to the four people sitting on the porch of the stage station. The two men and two women on the porch were dressed in expensive, Eastern clothes. The men nodded to the wagon driver as he spoke but the women did not acknowledge the greeting. They were not use to seeing such rough looking men so close. The younger,