“Did either of those men draw on him?” Gillespie asked.
“Not that I seen.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
Van Arsdale didn’t rise from his chair as he asked the question. “Mr. Sharp, I have a list of everyone who was in the saloon at the time of the shooting. Why is it that I don’t find your name?”
“I was standin’ just outside, lookin’ in through the door.”
“No further questions.”
“Redirect?” Judge Dawes asked.
“Deputy, why were you there?” Gillespie asked.
“I knew that Drago was going to try and bring MacCallister in for questioning about the killing of two of the sheriff’s deputies, so I was there just to make sure ever’thing went all right.”
“But it didn’t go all right, did it?”
“No, sir, it sure as hell didn’t.”
“Call your next witness, Mr. Prosecutor,” Dawes said.
“Your Honor, I don’t feel that any further witnesses are necessary. Prosecution rests.”
“Defense, your first witness.”
“Defense calls Miss Hannah Butrum.”
“Hannah Butrum? Who is that?” someone asked.
The woman who walked up to the witness stand to be sworn in was very modestly dressed, but even the most modest dress could not conceal her ample bosom.
“I’ll be damn! It’s Big Tit Hannah!” one of the men in the jury said, and the courtroom erupted in laughter.
Judge Dawes used his gavel. “I will have order in my court!” he demanded.
Hannah was sworn in, then she took her seat in the witness chair.
“Miss Butrum, you heard the testimony of Deputy Sharp. Does his testimony give an accurate portrayal of the events as you witnessed them?”
“No, it does not,” Hannah said. “Mr. Drago confronted Marshal MacCallister, and while they were talking, Deputy Russell took a shot at Marshal MacCallister.”
“And where was Deputy Russell?”
“He was up on the second-floor overlook.”
“What happened after he took his shot?”
“Marshal MacCallister shot back. And while he was doing that, Drago was drawing his own gun, so Marshal MacCallister turned and shot him, too. It was all in self-defense.”
“Thank you, Miss Butrum.”
Van Arsdale called half a dozen witnesses, all of whom described the events leading up to the shooting. To a witness, they testified that Russell had fired first and that Drago drew his gun on Falcon as he was responding to the challenge from Russell.
In his closing argument, as he had in his opening statement, Van Arsdale addressed, not the jury, but the gallery. It was his hope that, in so doing, he might bring enough pressure on the jury to make the right decision.
“You heard the account of every witness, men and women that you all know, men and women who have absolutely no reason to lie. And these testimonies, even though they came from different people, and from different positions within the saloon, indeed, from different stations in life, have given us testimony that has layered truth upon truth, until you are forced to come to the only conclusion possible.
“The unfortunate incident that took place in the Brown Dirt Cowboy was clearly justifiable homicide. And here is the bottom line, gentlemen of the jury. Had Mr. MacCallister not been an officer of the law, but merely an ordinary citizen who dropped in for a beer . . . the shooting would still have been justifiable by reason of self-defense.
“If you return any verdict other than not guilty, you will be acting contrary to the facts of this case, abundantly established. Your duty is clear. You must find Marshal MacCallister not guilty, by reason of justifiable homicide.”
The gallery applauded and cheered, and an angry Judge Dawes pounded his gavel so hard that it broke and the head of it flew into the jury box, hitting one of the jurors in the nose.
“I will fine the next person who makes so much as one sound!” Dawes said angrily.
The gallery grew quiet.
“Mr. Prosecutor, your closing statement, please.”
“Your Honor, gentlemen of the jury, there is no need for me to grandstand and play to the crowd as did Mr. Van Arsdale. These people aren’t going to decide this case, you are. And I ask that you not let them decide this case for you. Pay no attention whatever to their outlandish response to Mr. Van Arsdale’s pitiful attempt to take from you your rights as a juror.
“Though I called only one witness, defense called several witnesses. But let us examine the quality of these witnesses, shall we? His lead-off witness, the one on which he bases most of his case, was Miss Hannah Butrum. I daresay most of us didn’t even know Miss Butrum’s real name. We know her only as Big Tit Hannah.
“Consider the veracity of the witnesses, a deputy sheriff, duly sworn by oath to uphold the law and tell the truth, and Big Tit Hannah, who is nothing more than a whore.
“I called only one witness, because there is only one truth. And that truth, as Deputy Sheriff Sharp pointed out, is that MacCallister, known to have been holding a grudge against Al Russell, killed him with malice and aforethought. MacCallister is also known to be a prideful man. It is easy to understand how such a man might be jealous of Loomis Drago. It is not difficult then to imagine that MacCallister killed Drago in order to enhance his own résumé.
“There is but one verdict you can find in this case, and that is the verdict of guilty. And for the crime of murder, there is but one sentence, and that is that MacCallister be hanged by the neck until he is dead.”
“Gentlemen of the jury,” Judge Dawes said, “you may be excused to consider the verdict.”
Half an hour later, the jury returned and took their seats in the jury box.
“Have you reached a verdict?”
“Yeah, Your Honor, we have. We find the son of a bitch guilty.”
“Bring the defendant before the bench.”
Sheriff Poindexter walked over to the defendant’s table.
“Get up,” he said gruffly.
Falcon stood and, with his chains rattling, walked over to stand before the judge.
“You have been tried and found guilty by your peers. I sentence you to death by hanging, the execution to be carried out two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”
“No!” someone shouted from the gallery.
“Your Honor, request an extension so that I may file an appeal.”
“File your appeal, Counselor, but there will be no extension. The prisoner will be hanged at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Court is adjourned.”
“That ain’t right!” someone shouted. “That ain’t in no way right!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Miscarriage of Justice
Yesterday, Theodore Dawes directed a packed jury to return a decision in a case that, by comparison, would make the Spanish Inquisition appear to be a paragon of jurisprudence. The jury, and the judge, discarding the testimony given by honest men and women, relied instead on the perjury of Deputy Sharp to find Marshal Falcon MacCallister guilty.
And what was Marshal MacCallister guilty of? He was guilty of defending himself when attacked both by Deputy Russell and the infamous murderer, Loomis Drago.
The counsel for defense, James Earl Van Arsdale, presented his case brilliantly, sufficient to convince everyone present of the justness of his cause. Everyone but the jury, who, if the judge had told them that the sun rose in the West, would have returned a verdict of same.
Mr. Van Arsdale entered a plea for a sentencing delay of sufficient time to allow him to file an appeal. The appeal was filed, even though the delay was denied. All we can hope for from the appeal now is the validation of our belief that Marshal MacCallister is innocent of all charges, and that the trial was a mockery of justice.
But that validation, when it comes, will be too late for Marshal MacCallister, who is scheduled to be hanged today, at two o’clock.
HANGING TODAY
2 o’clock
/> Public Invited.
Word that Falcon MacCallister was to be hanged reached into every corner of the county, and ranchers and farmers began streaming in to voice their protests. They stood in a crowd around the gallows, some of them holding up signs to display their belief that this was wrong.
“This isn’t a hanging, this is a murder!” Leon Frakes shouted.
“I’ve written the governor about this!” David Bowman added.
Two blocks from the gallows, Deputy Sharp walked back to the cell where Falcon MacCallister lay waiting to be conducted out to the gallows.
“Here’s your last meal,” Sharp said. “Steak, fried taters, a mess of greens, and biscuits. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t feed you nothing but bread and water, but the sheriff wanted to be nice to you.”
“That’s very good of the sheriff. Did you bring catsup?” Falcon asked.
“Of course I brung catsup. You can’t very well have fried taters without catsup.” Sharp laughed. “And I’ve noticed that the prisoners that’s about to get hung purt’ nigh always don’t eat their meal, so I wind up eatin’ it for ’em. And I like catsup with taters.”
Falcon took the food, then returned to his bunk and sat down.
“I tell you the truth,” Sharp said, turning his back to the cell and walking to the front window to look out onto the street. “I do believe they’s more folks that has come into town to watch your hangin’ than any hangin’ we’ve ever had before. Yes, sir, this is goin’ to be quite a show.”
Sharp heard a gagging sound from behind him.
“What’s the matter, you chokin’ on somethin’?” Sharp asked, heading back toward the cell.
He saw Falcon lying back on his bunk. His throat was covered with blood, and his arm was draped down off the bunk onto the floor. The knife, its blade smeared with blood, had fallen from his open hand.
“Sumbitch!” Sharp shouted. Unlocking the door, he ran into the cell. “What the hell did you do that for? You done spoiled ever’one’s fun!”
Sharp leaned down to get a closer look at the blood-smeared throat, when all of a sudden Falcon’s hand came up from the floor grabbed him by the collar and jerked his head down so that it slammed hard against the table where the food tray was setting.
Deputy Sharp fell to the floor, knocked out, and Falcon, after wiping the catsup from his neck, stepped outside the cell and locked the door. Then, rifling through the sheriff’s desk, he found his pistol and holster belt. Putting it on, he stepped out through the back door of the jail and walked back to the jail livery, where he found his horse and saddle.
This Horse and Saddle to Be Sold after the Hanging
“Hello, Lightning,” Falcon said quietly. “Happy to see me?”
Saddling his horse, Falcon MacCallister rode slowly and quietly down the alley toward the end of the block. He could hear Sheriff Dewey Poindexter talking from the platform of the gallows to the gathered crowd.
“Yes, sir, folks, as long as I am your sheriff, there ain’t no outlaw in the country goin’ to be safe in this here county, no matter how bad they might be. And this here feller we are hangin’ today, Falcon MacCallister, has prob’ly kilt more men that John Wesley Hardin.”
“But I ain’t never before heard nothin’ bad about Falcon MacCallister,” someone said. “I’ve read about him in books. He’s a folk hero!”
“They’ve made a hero out a’ Jesse James, too, ’n’ he ain’ nothin’ but a thievin’ murderin’ outlaw. Don’t believe ever’thing you read in books.”
When Falcon was clear of town, he urged his horse into a rapid, ground-eating lope.
The crowd gathered around the gallows and heard someone yelling, but he was too far away and his words too indistinct for them to hear clearly. Then they saw that it was Deputy Sharp, and as he got closer they could understand him quite easily.
“He’s escaped! MacCallister is gone! He broke out of jail!”
The crowd broke into immediate cheers.
“I knew it!”
“Ha!” Les Karnes said, hitting his fist into his hand. “I knew damn well you couldn’t hold him!”
“Sheriff, I wouldn’t much want to be in your shoes now,” Eb Smalley said.
“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”
“You’ve made an enemy of Falcon MacCallister. I can’t think of any man in America who I would least want as an enemy than Falcon MacCallister.”
“You think MacCallister is going to stay around here? I’d be willin’ to bet you five to one that he’s headin’ out to California or some such place.”
“Maybe he is. Or, maybe he’s going to come back into town to settle up, once and for all.”
“What are we going to do?” Poindexter asked Judge Dawes.
“We don’t have a problem,” Judge Dawes said.
“The hell we don’t! This son of a bitch has more lives than a damn cat.”
“Ahh, but now he is an escaped, convicted murderer. I can put out a reward on him that will be valid all over the state. He’ll have bounty hunters buzzing around him like flies on a cow pile.”
“But what if he comes back here?”
“Do you suppose you could round up ten more deputies if we offered to pay them two hundred and fifty dollars apiece?”
“For two hundred and fifty dollars apiece, I could get forty men,” Poindexter said.
“I think ten men will be enough. It’s going to cost you twelve hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Wait a minute! What do you mean it’s going to cost me twelve hundred and fifty dollars?”
“That is your share,” Judge Dawes said. “I shall be putting the same amount. Surely that is not too much to pay for your own life. For if he does come back to town, and I think that he will, who do you think he will be coming after?”
“He’ll be coming after you,” Poindexter insisted, then, hesitating for a moment, he added, “and me. All right, I’ll come up with my share.”
“Now we are right back where we started,” Smalley said. “Only maybe it’s worse. All MacCallister did was stir up the pot.”
“I wouldn’t give up on him yet,” Denham said.
“You don’t think he’s going to come back here, do you? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame him. I mean now he is a convicted murderer.”
“You know damn well that trial was a farce,” Denham said. “He’s no more a convicted murderer than I am.”
“Still, if he comes back here, it will be his death warrant. Have you seen all the deputies Poindexter has now? They are all over the place,” Travers said.
“I’ve not only seen the deputies, I also see that every deputy he hired came from Judge Dawes’s jury pool.”
“Yes, and they’ve started collecting taxes again. Not only that, they’ve raised the taxes so that they are higher than they ever were,” Smalley said. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on here. I would leave today, if I could sell my store.”
“I may leave whether I can sell my place or not,” Travers said.
“Well, if the town dries up, there sure won’t be a need for a newspaper,” Denham said.
“There’s always a need for a good newspaper,” Falcon said, and at the unexpected sound of his voice, everyone looked toward the back of the saloon. They saw Falcon standing just by the back door.
“Falcon!” Denham said. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes!” Then the smile faded. “Wait a minute! What are you doing here? Poindexter has hired ten new deputies, and I hear he will be paying a bonus to whichever one of them gets you. That’s ten, no, with Poindexter, Sharp, and Peters, that’s thirteen. Thirteen to one.”
“Thirteen to two,” Les said, stepping in through the back door then. Les was carrying a shotgun.
“Even so, thirteen to two, that’s not very good odds,” Doc Gunter said.
“Maybe not, but it’s the only odds we have,” Falcon said.
“Where do we start?” Les asked.
“Suppose we surro
und them?” Falcon proposed.
“Surround them? With two people?”
“In a manner of speaking. I will come into town from the east of Front Street, you come in from the west. That way we’ll have them from both sides.”
“Surround them,” Les said. He laughed, broke down the shotgun to check the loads, then snapped it closed again. “All right, Marshal, let’s surround them.”
“I’m not the marshal anymore, Marshal Karnes, you are. I’m just a deputy.”
Les nodded, then the two men went out the back door.
“What do you think they are going to do?” Travers asked.
“I’m not sure. But I wouldn’t want to be wearing a deputy sheriff’s badge right now,” Denham said.
Scarns and Evans were two of Sheriff Poindexter’s new deputies. Both men had served as jurors many times, but before becoming deputy sheriffs their work ethic had been spotty at best. Scarns had tended bar for a while in the Long Trail; Evans had worked as a hostler from the freight company. Now they were enjoying their new position.
“What I like is, we can have us any whore we want, any time we want,” Scarns was saying.
The two men were walking down the board sidewalk and had just walked by the bank, when, about sixty feet in front of them, Falcon MacCallister stepped out from behind a building to confront them.
“It’s MacCallister!” Scarns shouted as his hand dipped toward his gun. Evans drew as well, but Falcon’s draw was faster. Only two shots were fired. Only two shots were needed.
Carnage of Eagles Page 23
