With Hoops of Steel

by Florence Finch Kelly

  CHAPTER XX

  The first days of October were at hand, and the court session at whichEmerson Mead was to be tried for the murder of Will Whittaker wouldsoon open. The supreme court of the territory was sitting at Santa Fe,and its decision upon the shrievalty would be announced in a few days.The flames of partisan feeling were already breaking out in LasPlumas. The dividing line of Main street had begun to be drawn,although fitfully as yet, and conveniently forgotten if businesscalled to the other an occupant of either side. But in the matter ofmint juleps, cocktails, and the swapping of yarns Main streetstretched its dusty length between Republicans and Democrats as grimand impassable as a mountain barrier. On both sides there were meaningglances and significant nods and half-spoken threats of assault andresistance. The Democrats professed to believe that the Republicanswere determined to hold the office of sheriff through the trial ofEmerson Mead, whatever should be the decision, in order that theymight find some means to end his life should the court discharge him.The Republicans insisted that the Democrats were planning to seize theoffice by hook or by crook before the trial should begin in orderthat they might allow him to escape. And each side declared, withangry eyes and set teeth, that the other should not be allowed tothwart justice, if the streets of Las Plumas had to be paved with deadmen.

  Judge Harlin sent word to Mead's ranch, asking Nick Ellhorn to comeinto town as soon as possible, and telegraphed to Tom Tuttle at SantaFe to return to Las Plumas at once. But it happened that Tom waschasing an escaped criminal in the Gran Quivera country, far fromrailroads and telegraphs, and that Nick was out on the range and didnot receive the message until nearly a week later.

  Nick had settled the matter of the Chinaman's queue on his last visitto Las Plumas, two weeks before, but not to his entire satisfaction.Judge Harlin had refused to conduct his suit for the recovery of thequeue against Harry Gillam, the district attorney, and Nick haddeclared that he would be his own lawyer and get that "scalp," if it"took till he was gray headed." Secretly, he was glad that JudgeHarlin would not take the case, because he had an active animosityagainst Harry Gillam, mainly because Gillam wore a silk hat, and hethought that, as his own lawyer, he could contrive to cast enoughridicule on the district attorney to set the whole town laughing andmake Gillam so angry that he would lose his temper and want to fight.So he set about preparing his case, with advice and suggestion fromJudge Harlin, who, while he did not wish to be openly connected withthe matter, was very willing to see Gillam, who was a Republican andthe judge's chief professional rival, made a laughing stock andbrought to grief. And he knew that the case, with Nick Ellhorn at thehelm, would be the funniest thing that had happened in Las Plumas formany a day. Ellhorn's plans began to be whispered about. Presently thewhole town was chuckling and smiling in anticipation of the fun therewould be at the trial. Gillam fidgeted in nervous apprehension forseveral days; then he put the pig tail in his pocket, hunted upEllhorn and invited him to have a drink. As they drained their glasseshe exclaimed:

  "Oh, by the way, Nick, are you really in earnest about that fool suityou've filed against me?"

  "You mean about my Chiny pigtail?" asked Ellhorn.

  "About the Chinaman's queue, yes."

  "You bet I am. That blamed thing's cost me a whole heap more'n it'sworth to anybody except me and the Chinaman. I reckon he's sold it tome for that five hundred dollars. It's mine, and I mean to have it. Isure reckon I naturalized one heathen when I took that scalp. There'sone bias-eyed fan-tanner that won't pull his freight for Chiny as soonas he gets his pockets full of good American money. I reckon I was apublic benefactor when I sheared that washee-washee, and I deserve thepig tail as a decoration for my services. No, sir, the scalp's mine,by every count you can mention, and you'll have to give it up."

  "Is the queue all you want?"

  "If that's all you've got that belongs to me."

  "Well, then, take it, and stop your jackassing about the fool thing,"said Gillam, holding out the queue.

  "The hell you say!" Nick exclaimed, quite taken aback and muchdisappointed.

  "Yes, here it is. And I call these gentlemen to witness that I offerit to you freely and without any conditions."

  So Nick reluctantly took the braid and gave up his case againstGillam. "It was just like the blamed whelp," he complained to JudgeHarlin, "to back down and spoil all the fun, but it's no more than youmight expect from a man that wears a stove-pipe." Harry Gillam was theonly man in Las Plumas who wished, or dared to wear a silk hat, andhis taste in the matter of headgear gave constant edge to Ellhorn'sfeeling of contempt and aversion. "I'm blamed sorry for it," Nick wenton, "for I sure reckon half the kids in town would have been shyin'rocks at that plug before the trial was over."

  "I guess he was buffaloed," he said later, as he finished giving anaccount of the affair to Emerson Mead. "It was the meanest sort of abackdown you ever saw, but it just showed the fellow's gait. A manwith no more grit than that had better go back east, where he canwear a stove-pipe hat without lookin' like a fool, which he sure is."

  "What made you so determined to have the thing, Nick?" Mead asked,examining the braid.

  Nick gave a twist to the ends of his mustache and lookedcontemplatively at the ceiling. "Well," he said slowly, and there weresigns of the Irish roll in his voice, "it was my scalp. I took it,first, and then I was after payin' for it. Sure and I wanted it,Emerson, to remind me not to mix my drinks again. It's my pledge totake whisky straight and beer the next day. And I sure reckon wheneverI look at it I'll say to myself, 'Nick, you've been a blooming,blasted, balky, blithering, bildaverous idiot once too often. Don'tyou do it again.'"

  Notwithstanding his feeling about it, Ellhorn went away and forgot theearnest of his future good behavior. Emerson smiled that evening as hesaw it trailing its snaky length over the back of a chair and stuffedit in the side pocket of his coat, thinking he would give it toEllhorn the next time his friend should come to the jail.

  Judge Harlin thought Emerson Mead unaccountably despondent about theprobable outcome of his trial, and at times even indifferent to hisfate. He wondered much why this man, formerly of such buoyant anddetermined nature, should suddenly collapse, in this weak-kneedfashion, lose all confidence in himself, and seem to care so littlewhat happened to him. The lawyer finally decided that it was all onaccount of his client's honesty and uprightness of character, whichwould not allow him, being guilty, to make an effort to prove that hewas not, and he lived in daily expectation of an order from Mead tochange his plea to guilty. The time was drawing near for the openingof the case when Judge Harlin one day hurried excitedly to the jailfor a conference with Mead.

  "Emerson," he said, "some member of the last grand jury has beenleaking, and it has come to my ears that testimony was given there bysome one who declared he saw you kill Whittaker. And I've just foundout that the other side has got a witness, presumably the same one,who will swear to the same thing."

  Mead's face set into a grim defiance that rejoiced Harlin more thananything that had happened since his client's imprisonment, as heanswered:

  "I've been expecting this. Who is it and what's his testimony?"

  "I haven't been able to learn any details about it--merely that hewill swear he saw you kill Whittaker. I'm not positive who the man is,but I feel reasonably sure I've spotted him. I think he is a Mexican,a red-headed Mexican, called Antone Colorow."

  Mead nodded. "I think likely," he said, and then he told Judge Harlinhow Antone had tried to lasso him and of the angry man's threats ofrevenge for his broken wrists. "I've expected all along," he added,"that they'd come out with some such lay as that. I don't see how wecan buck against it," he went on, despondently, "for I can't prove analibi. Unless you can break down his testimony we might as well giveup."

  "I guess there won't be any difficulty about that," said Harlinassuringly. "What you've just told me will be a very important matter,and if I can keep Mexicans off the jury it won't take much to convinceAmericans that he is lying, just because he
is a Mexican."

  After Judge Harlin went away Mead sat on the edge of his bed, hiselbows on his knees, his chin in his hands, and his broad shouldersrounded into an attitude of deep dejection.

  "What is the use?" his thoughts ran. "They are bound to get me sooneror later, and it might just as well be now as any time. It won't makeany difference whether they clear me or convict me. She will believeme guilty anyway, because her father and all her friends will say so."He rose and began pacing the room and his thoughts turned persistentlyto Marguerite Delarue. Since he had heard the rumor of her approachingmarriage to Wellesly he had tried not to let his thoughts rest uponher, but sometimes the rush of his scanty memories would not beforbidden.

  Again he recalled the day when he first saw her, as she stood with hersick baby brother in her arms. She was so young, so blooming, so fair,that her anxious face and troubled eyes seemed all the moreappealing. He remembered that he had looked at her a moment before hecould speak, and in that moment love smote his heart. He had wished tosee her father and she had laid the sick child on a couch while sheleft the room. The little one had fretted and he had sat down besideit and shown it his watch and his revolver, and it had put out itshands to him, and when Marguerite came back she had found the big,tall, broad-shouldered man cradling the sick child in his arms. Hehalted in his moody pacing of the cell and a sudden, shivering thrillshot through his whole big body as he saw again the look of pleasureand of trustful admiration which had lighted her face and shone in herdark blue eyes. The child had clung to him and, pleased, he had askedif he might not take it in his arms for a short ride on his horse. Andafter that, whenever he had passed the Delarue house alone, he hadtried to see the little boy, and had tried still more, in roundaboutways, to bring the child's sister outside the house, where he mightsee her and hear her voice. Four times he had done that, and once hehad seen her in her father's store and had held a few minutes'conversation with her. He remembered every word she had said. Herepeated them all to himself, and went over again every least incidentof the times he had stopped his horse at her gate and had taken thelaughing child from her arms and they had looked at each other and hehad tried to say something--anything, and then had ridden away.

  When the meager little memories were all done he sat down on his bedagain and felt that nothing mattered, since she was to marry AlbertWellesly and would surely believe him guilty of all that was chargedagainst him. He felt no jealousy of her chosen husband, and no angertoward Wellesly because he had won her. He was conscious only of avague wonder that any man had dared ask Marguerite Delarue to be hiswife.

  On Saturday of the first week in October Judge Harlin received aprivate dispatch from Santa Fe saying that the supreme court haddecided the shrievalty contest in favor of Joe Davis, the Democraticcandidate. At once the threatened storm began to break. By noon Mainstreet was again divided into two opposing camps. Every rifle,revolver and shot-gun in the town that was not carried on some man'sperson was put within easy reach of ready hands. Shops and offices,stores and gardens were deserted, and men hurried to the center of thetown, where they drifted along the sidewalk or stood in doorways inexcited groups, each side anxiously and angrily on the alert for someopen act of hostility from the other. The Republicans said they hadnot received official notice of the decision of the court, and thatthey would not surrender the office until it should reach them. TheDemocrats demanded that it be given up at once and accused the otherside of secreting the court order with the intention of holding theoffice through Emerson Mead's trial. The district court was to conveneat Las Plumas on the following Monday. Mead's case was the first onthe docket.

  Men who were next door neighbors, or friends of long standing, passedeach other with scowls or averted faces, if they were members of theopposing parties. Mrs. John Daniels was planning to give a swellbreakfast to a dozen chosen friends early the next week, the firstappearance of that form of entertainment in Las Plumas society, andshe was delightedly pluming herself over the talk the function wouldbe sure to create and the envious admiration her friends would feelbecause she had introduced something new. She had talked the matterover with her dearest friend, Mrs. Judge Harlin, whom she had sworn tosecrecy, and she was on her way to the post-office to mail herinvitations when she saw that the threatened storm was breaking. Herglance swept up Main street on one side and down on the other, and sheturned about and hurried home to substitute in her list of guests forthose whose sympathies were Democratic, others whose masculineaffiliations were Republican.

  Hurried messages were sent out to mines and cattle ranches, and in theafternoon fighting men of both parties began to come in from thecountry. A procession of horsemen poured into the town, bronzed andgrim-faced men, each with a roll of blankets behind him, a revolver athis side, a rifle swung to his saddle, or a shot-gun across itspommel. They loped about the town, sometimes surrounding thecourt-house, angrily discussing whether or not the clerk of the courtwas probably hiding the official order, and sometimes lining the twosides of Main street, as if they were two opposing companies ofcavalry ready to join battle. Among the Republican forces Judge Harlinsaw a red-whiskered Mexican who, he learned, was Antone Colorow. Theman's broken wrists had healed, but they had lost all theirsuppleness, and he could never throw the lariat again. He could shootas well as ever though, and not a day had passed since that morning atthe round-up when he had not sworn to himself that Emerson Mead shoulddie by his hand. He hated Mead with all the vengefulness andfierceness of his race. His mind held but one idea, to work upon theman who had ruined his occupation the crudest possible revenge, inwhatever way he could compass it. He had allied himself with theRepublican forces only because they were opposed to his enemy, and hehoped that in the impending clash he would find opportunity to carryout his purpose.