The Missourian

by Eugene P. Lyle

  CHAPTER XXII

  EQUIDAD EN LA JUSTICIA

  "... and I think I shall begin to take pleasure in being at home and minding my business. I pray God I may, for I finde a great need thereof." --_Pepys's Diary_.

  An hour later the candles were still guttering in the court room, andhere Colonel Lopez assembled his minions of justice a second time. Inhis manner now there was nothing of the uncertainty, nor the feigning ofpenetration, which had before marked his handling of the trials. Hepounded the box with his sword.

  "In the light of new evidence," he announced shortly, "the two cases ofa while ago are reopened."

  Din Driscoll strolled in. "I've come for my belt and pistols. Dupin tookthem," he said.

  Lopez signed to the Dragoons to close round him. Then he gave vent. Didthe Senor Gringo laugh so much at Mexican justice, since instead ofescaping while he had the chance, he came back, coolly demanding hisproperty? It was insolence!

  "_Gra_-cious," exclaimed Driscoll in his counterfeit of a startledold lady, "what's the matter?"

  But Lopez put on a mien of dark cunning, and replied that he would findout later.

  Murguia's case came first. The stricken father was there, dragged fromhis dead by the petty concerns of this world which cannot bide forgrief. He was as a sleep-walker. He had come into another universe. Thehacienda sala, where his child lay mid tapers, where mumbled prayersarose, or this adobe, where uniformed men fouled the air with cigarettesand looked after the Empire's business--the one or the other, bothplaces were of that other universe, dark and silent, in which his dazedbeing groped alone.

  The new element in the court martial was Tiburcio, and Tiburcio had inmind one golden goose to save and one meddling Gringo to lose. Heriddled the foregoing evidence with refreshing originality. He testifiedto the brigand attack for possession of the marquise. Had he not foundDon Anastasio stretched upon the ground? Had not the dauntless anciano,the self-same Don Anastasio, fallen in defence of the two Frenchsenoritas? And yet, did he not keep Rodrigo at bay? Si, senores, he hadindeed, until Colonel Dupin and the Contras arrived. He, the witness,was with them. He had seen these things. Now, let anyone say that theloyal Senor Murguia was an accomplice of that cut-throat without shame,Rodrigo Galan; whom he, the witness, loathed from the innermost recessesof his being; whom he, the witness, should be greatly pleased to strikedead. But let anyone again besmirch the character of Don Anastasio!

  "No, no," vociferously growled the Austrian.

  Lopez opposed nothing. He had a clear notion this time as to what hewanted. Driscoll marveled, and enjoyed it. Pigheadedness had made DonAnastasio guilty, why shouldn't perjury make him innocent? And it did.The mountain of suspicion and some few pebbles of evidence melted awayas lard in a skillet. The verdict was acquittal.

  Driscoll knew well enough that the presence of the loyal Imperialistwith the baleful eye meant a reversal in his own case too. But therecent and very definite animus of Lopez against him he could in no wayfathom. The blackmailer testified again. The prisoner, this Americano,had waylaid him in the wood two days before, and had robbed him of hislast cent.

  "Which you stole from Murgie," suggested the prisoner.

  "I? I steal from Murguia?" cried Tiburcio indignantly. "Ask him! Askhim!"

  Murguia was asked. Had the witness ever, on any occasion, robbed him?They repeated the question several times, and at last the rusty blackwig, which was bowed over a chair, slowly shook in the negative. Perhapshe had settled a debt with the witness? The wig changed to anaffirmative.

  Tiburcio gleamed triumphantly. "An audacious defence!" he exclaimed."But luckily for me, Don Anastasio is here."

  "Oh, hurry up!" protested Driscoll.

  Asked if he knew anything more of the prisoner, witness could not swearfor certain, except that he recognized in the American one of theguerrillas who had ambushed and slain Captain Maurel near Tampico. Yes,witness was scouting for the murdered captain at the time. Naturally,witness was present.

  "You wanted proof, Senor Americano, that you crossed the river?" saidLopez. "Well, are you content now?"

  "Go on," Driscoll returned. He was bored. "Some people on earth arealive yet, but while Tibby is on the stand maybe I killed them too. Iwouldn't swear I didn't."

  Murguia was called next, but he did not seem to hear. His body was bentover his knees, silently trembling. A Dragoon pressed a hand on hisshoulder, but a sobbing groan racked his frame, as of a very sick manwho will not be awakened to his pain. The pause that followed wasuncanny--a syncope in the affairs of men like a gaping grave undermidnight clouds. Lopez spoke again. He regretted that they must intrudeon a fresh and poignant sorrow, but the case in hand was a matter ofstate, before which the individual had to give way. It was very logicaland convincing. But the feeble old shoulders made no sign.

  Tiburcio leaned over and shook him gently, and whispered in his ear.Still Murguia did not move. Tiburcio gripped his arm. "You and Rodrigo,"he said, so low that none could hear, "there was something arrangedbetween you. What was it? Tell me! Tell me, I say, if you want theGringo shot!"

  He bent nearer, and against his ear came a muffled sound of lips. Whenhe straightened, it was to address the court.

  If he might ask a question, had they searched the prisoner? They had.But thoroughly? Thoroughly. But not enough to find anything? No. Then hewould suggest that they had not searched thoroughly. The court seemedimpressed, and Driscoll was fumbled over again. Still they foundnothing.

  "Whose flask is that?" Tiburcio demanded, pointing to where it had beentossed and forgotten. The prisoner's. "Look that over again," Tiburcioinsisted. A guard handed it to Lopez, who squinted inside. "There isnothing," he said. It was only an old canteen whose leather covering wasdropping apart from rot.

  Murguia's head raised, and his eyes fixed themselves on the judge, andin their intense fixity glittered a quick, keen lust. It was hideous,loathsome, fascinating. The eyes were swimming in tears, but theirhungered, metal-like sheen made the sorrow monstrous, and was the morefoul and ghastly because it distorted so pure a thing as sorrow.Driscoll felt queerly that he must, must remove from the world thisdecrepit old man who bemoaned a dead child. The itch for murderterrified him, and he turned away angrily from the horrid face thataroused it. But Murguia's stare never relaxed while Lopez toyed with thecanteen. And when Lopez, as though accidentally, thrust a finger underthe torn leather and brought out a folded paper, the bright points ofMurguia's eyes leaped to flame. But the head went down again, as oncemore his grief swept over him, and another sob caught at theheartstrings of every man there.

  Lopez spread out the paper, and as he read, he started violently. Hepassed it on to the Austrian and the color sergeant, and they alsostarted. But the most amazed was Driscoll, when he too had a chance toread.

  "Ha, you recognize it?" exclaimed the president.

  "Sure I do. It's an order from Colonel Dupin to Captain Maurel. Rodrigohad it in Tampico, making people think that _he_ was CaptainMaurel."

  But the court was not so simple. "How came you by it?" demanded Lopez."Have occasion to be Maurel yourself sometime, eh?"

  With wrath, with admiration, Driscoll faced round on Don Anastasio. "Ohyou pesky, shriveled-up gorilla!" he breathed. He was no longer amazed.This accounted for Murguia's borrowing his flask the night they were inthe forest. It accounted for Murguia and Rodrigo plotting together inTampico. But why tell such things to the court? The Missourian was not afool like King Canute, who ordered back the waves. "Hurry up," he saidwearily to the waves instead. Since he could not hold the tide,anticipation chilled more than the drowning bath itself.

  The tide assuredly did not wait. It rolled right on, nearer and nearer.Murguia was lifted to his feet. He was remembering already what Lopezhad told him, about his daughter and Maximilian, as Lopez had said hewould. The American's easy, stalwart form in gray filled his blurredeyes. Here was a Confederate emissary come with an offer of aid for thatsame Maximilian. Such had been Murguia's suspicion from the f
irst, andnow it moved him with venomous hate. Yes, he would testify. Yes, yes,the prisoner had ridden out alone at Tampico. Yes, yes, yes, theprisoner was with Rodrigo there.

  "But why, Don Anastasio," asked Tiburcio purely in fantastic mischief,"did you bring such a disturbing man to our happy country?"

  "That will do," Lopez interposed. "The Senor Murguia could not know atthe time that this fellow was Rodrigo's agent."

  "And," Murguia added eagerly, "I was helpless, there at Mobile. TheConfederates could have sunk my boat, and he held an order fromJefferson Davis."

  "What's that?" cried Tiburcio, his humor suddenly vanished. "What'sthat, an order from Jefferson Davis?"

  Tiburcio's was a new interest, now. He possessed a mind as crooked ashis vision, and being crooked, it followed unerringly the devious pathsof other minds. So, they had made a tool of him! Rodrigo and Murguiawanted the Gringo shot to help the rebel cause. And he, Tiburcio of thecunning wits, had just sworn away, not only the Gringo's life, but thepossible salvation of the Empire. Coming from Jefferson Davis, theGringo with his mission could mean nothing else. Then there was Lopez.Tiburcio did not love this changeling Mexican who had red hair. But whatcould be the mongrel's game? Why had he freed Murguia, if not to unleasha small terrier at Maximilian's heel? Why was he trying the Americanover again, if not to poison a friendly mastiff? And why either, if DonMiguel Lopez were not seeking to make friends with the Republic? Orperhaps he was at heart a Republican. Thus Don Tiburcio, a loyalImperialist, read the finger posts as he ambled down the crooked path.

  Yes, and here was Lopez putting on the final touch. Here he was, thetraitor, pronouncing the death sentence, and poor impotent Don Tiburciognawing his baffled rage, as one would say of a villain. The executionwas to take place the very next morning. His Majesty the Emperor wouldbe asked to approve, afterward.