The Girl at the Halfway House, Emerson Hough [best summer books .TXT] 📗

a man for murder when it is not shown a murder has been done? And would you hang a man who is more ignorant than a child of right and wrong? Is that fair play? Gentlemen, we are all here together, and one of us is as good as another. Our ambitions are the same. We stand here together for the best interests of this growing country—this country whose first word has always been fair play. Now, is it your already formed wish to punish this man? I say, no. I say, first give him his chance."

As Franklin ceased and seated himself the silence was again broken by a rising buzz of conversation. This was proving really a very interesting show, this trial. It must go on yet a little further.

"By jinks," said one cow-puncher, "that's right. That fellow Juan is loco, an' you all done knowed that, always."

"He ain't so d——n loco but what he could kill a man, all right," said another,

"Sure. Cal Greathouse was worth sever'l o' this Greaser," remarked another.

"I don't see how you c'n hang him legal," said a judicial voice.

"To h——l with this new-fangled law," growled a rough answer from near the door. "Are we dependin' on this here new way o' takin' care of fellers that kills too many folks? If the Greaser done it, he's guilty, an' that settles it. Hangin's too good for a feller that'll kill a man in camp, an' then try to burn him up."

"That's right!" "Sure!" "That's the talk!" were the many replies greeting this comment.

"Order, order, gentlemen!" called the judge from the bench, pounding on the box before him.

"Call William Haskins," said the prosecuting attorney, standing up, with his hands in his pockets.

"William Haskins, William Haskins, William Haskins! Come into Court!" cried out the clerk from his corner of the store box. No immediate response was made. Some one nudged Curly, who started up.

"Who—me?" he said.

"Is your name William Haskins?" asked the judge.

"Reckon so," said Curly. "My folks used to call me that. I usually go under the road brand o' Curly, though." He took his seat on a stool near the store box, was sworn, with his hat on, and the prosecuting attorney began the examination.

"What is your name?"

"Why, Curly."

"What is your occupation?"

"What?"

"How do you make your living?"

"Punchin' cows. Not that I 'low it's any o' yore d——d business."

"Where do you reside?"

"Where do I live?"

"Yes."

"Well, now, I don't know. My folks lives on the Brazos, an' I've been drivin' two years. Now I taken up a claim on the Smoky, out here. I 'low I'll go North right soon, to Wyoming maybe."

"How old are you?"

"Oh, I don't know; but I 'low about twenty-four or twenty-five, along in there."

"Where were you last Wednesday?"

"What?"

"Were you one of the posse sent out to search for Cal Greathouse?"

"Yep; me and Cap Franklin, there."

"Who else?"

"Why, Juan, there, him. He was trailin' the hoss for us."

"Where did you go?"

"About sixty miles southwest, into the breaks of the Smoky."

"What did you find?"

"We found a old camp. Hoss had been tied there, and broke its lariat.
Bushes was broke some, but we didn't see no blood, as I know of."

"Never mind what you didn't see."

"Well, now—"

"Answer my question."

"Now, say, friend, you don't want to get too gay."

"Answer the question, Mr. Haskins," said the Court.

"Well, all right, judge; I'll do it to oblige you. The most we saw was where a fire had been. Looked like a right smart fire. They was plenty o' ashes layin' there."

"Did you see anything in the ashes?"

"What business is it o' yourn?"

"Now, now," said the Court, "you must answer the questions, Mr.
Haskins."

"All right, judge," said Curly. "Well, I dunno hardly what we did see any mor'n what I tole all the boys when we first brought Juan in. I tole you all."

"Correct the witness, your Honour," said Franklin.

"Answer only the questions, Mr. Haskins," said the Judge.

"Very well," said the prosecutor; "what did you see? Anything like a man's figure?"

"We object!" said Franklin, but Curly answered: "Well, yes, it did look like a feller a-layin' there. But when we touched it—"

"Never mind. Did the prisoner see this figure?"

"Shore."

"What did he do?"

"Well, he acted plumb loco. He gets down an' hollers. 'Madre de
Dios!' he hollers. I 'low he wuz plenty scared."

"Did he look scared?"

"I object," cried Franklin.

"S'tained," said the judge.

"'Ception," said the prosecuting attorney.

"Well, what did the prisoner say or do?"

"Why, he crawls aroun' an' hollers. So we roped him, then. But say—"

"Never mind."

"Well, I was—"

"Never mind. Did you—"

"Shore! I foun' the end o' the lariat tied to a tree."

"But did you—"

"Yes, I tole you! I foun' it tied. End just fits the broke end o' the lariat onto the saddle, when the hoss come back. Them hide ropes ain't no good."

"Never mind—"

"If ever they onct got rotten—"

"Never mind. Was that Greathouse's rope?"

"Maybe so. Now, them hide ropes—"

"Never mind about the hide ropes. I want to know what the prisoner did."

"Well, when we roped him he didn't make no kick."

"Never mind. He saw the figure in the ashes?"

"What do you know about it?—you wasn't there."

"No, but I'm going to make you tell what was there."

"You are, huh? Well, you crack yer whip. I like to see any feller make me tell anything I don't want to tell."

"That's right, Curly," said some one back in the crowd. "No bluff goes."

"Not in a hundred!" said Curly.

"Now, now, now!" began the judge drowsily. The prosecuting attorney counselled of craftiness, at this juncture, foreseeing trouble if he insisted. "Take the witness," he said abruptly.

"Cross-'xamine, d'fence," said the judge, settling back.

"Now, Curly," said Franklin, as he took up the questioning again, "please tell us what Juan did after he saw this supposed figure in the ashes."

"Why, now, Cap, you know that just as well as I do."

"Yes, but I want you to tell these other folks about it."

"Well, of course, Juan acted plenty loco—you know that."

"Very well. Now what, if anything, did you do to this alleged body in the ashes?"

"'Bject! Not cross-examination," cried the State's attorney.

"M' answer," said the judge.

"What did I do to it?" said Curly. "Why, I poked it with a stick."

"What happened?"

"Why, it fell plumb to pieces."

"Did it disappear?"

"Shore it did. Wasn't a thing left."

"Did it look like a man's body, then?"

"No, it just looked like a pile o' ashes."

"Bore no trace or resemblance to a man, then?"

"None whatever."

"You wouldn't have taken it for a body, then?"

"Nope. Course not."

"Was any part of a body left?"

"Nary thing."

"Any boot, hat, or bit of clothing?"

"Not a single thing, fur's I c'd see."

"That's all," said Franklin.

"Re-direct, Mr. Prosecutor?" said the Court. This was Greek to the audience, but they were enjoying the entertainment.

"Pass the re-direct," said the State's attorney confidently.

"Do you wish to recall this witness, Mr. Franklin?" asked the Court.

"Yes, if your Honour please. I want to take up some facts in the earlier life of the prisoner, as bearing upon his present mental condition."

"Very well," said the judge, yawning. "You may wait a while, Mr.
Haskins."

"Well, then, Curly," said Franklin, again addressing himself to his witness, "please tell us how long you have known this prisoner."

"Ever since we was kids together. He used to be a mozo on my pap's ranch, over in San Saba County."

"Did you ever know him to receive any injury, any blow about the head?"

"Well, onct ole Hank Swartzman swatted him over the head with a swingletree. Sort o' laid him out, some."

"'Bject!" cried the State's attorney, but the judge yawned "M' go on."

"Did he act strangely after receiving that blow?"

"Why, yes; I reckon you would yerself. He hit him a good lick. It was fer ridin' Hank's favourite mare, an' from that time to now Juan ain't never been on horseback since. That shows he's loco. Any man what walks is loco. Part o' the time, Juan, he's bronco, but all the time he's loco."

"He has spells of violence?"

"Shore. You know that. You seen how he fit that Injun—"

"Oh, keep him to the line," protested the prosecutor.

"We won't take up that just now, Curly," said Franklin.

"Well, this here shorely is the funniest layout I ever did see," said Curly, somewhat injured. "A feller can't say a d——d thing but only jest what you all want him to say. Now, say—"

"Yes, but—" began Franklin, fearing that he might meet trouble with this witness even as the prosecutor had, and seeing the latter smiling behind his hand in recognition of this fact.

"Now, say," insisted Curly, "if you want something they ain't none o' you said a word about yet, I'll tell you something. You see, Juan, he had a sister, and this here Cal Greathouse, he—"

"I object, yo' Honah! I object!" cried the State's attorney, springing to his feet. "This is bringin' the dignity o' the law into ridicule, sah! into ridicule! I object!"

"Er, ah-h-h!" yawned the judge, suddenly sitting up, "'Journ court, Mr. Clerk! We will set to-morrow mornin' at the same place, at nine o'clock.—Mr. Sheriff, take charge of the prisoner.—Where is the sheriff, Mr. Clerk?"

"Please the Court," said the prosecuting attorney, "Sheriff Watson is not here to-day. He is lyin' sick out to his ranch. He was injured, yo' Honah, in arrestin' Ike Anderson, and he has not yet recovered."

"Well, who is in charge of this prisoner?" said the Court. "There ought to be some one to take care of him."

"I reckon I am, Judge," said Curly. "He is sort o' stayin' with me while Bill's under the weather."

"Well, take him in charge, some one, and have him here in the morning."

"All right, judge," said Curly quietly, "I'll take care of him."

He beckoned to Juan, and the giant rose and followed after him, still smiling and pleased at what to him also was a novel show.

It was three o'clock of the afternoon. The thirst of a district Judge had adjourned the district court. Franklin's heart sank. He dreaded the night. The real court, as he admitted to himself, would continue its session that night at the Cottage bar, and perhaps it might not adjourn until a verdict had been rendered.

CHAPTER XXIX THE VERDICT

There came over the town of Ellisville that night an ominous quiet. But few men appeared on the streets. Nobody talked, or if any one did there was one subject to which no reference was made. A hush had fallen upon all. The sky, dotted with a million blazing stars, looked icy and apart. A glory of moonlight flooded the streets, yet never was moon more cold.

Franklin finished his dinner and sat down alone for a time in the great barren office of the depot hotel where he made his home. The excitement of the trial, suspended at its height, was now followed by reaction, a despondency which it was hard to shake off. Was this, then, the land of his choice? he thought. And what, then, was this human nature of which men sung and wrote? He shook himself together with difficulty.

He went to his room and buckled on his revolver, smiling grimly as he did so at the thought of how intimately all law is related to violence, and how relative to its environment is all law. He went