‘You are accused on four counts, Green, all of them serious charges. You’re a stranger, without means of identification, and precious little money. A drifter, a saddle tramp. We don’t need that kind in Cottontown. Four charges —-you heard what the sheriff said. How do you plead: guilty or not guilty?’
‘Yu mean it makes a difference?’ was Green’s sardonic response. He raised his eyebrows and looked surprised, and his byplay was greeted by a slight snicker from somewhere in the audience. Sim Cotton turned and glared at the onlookers.
‘Your humor is about as well-judged as your actions,’ rapped the old man at the table. ‘Have you anything further to say?’
‘I got plenty to say!’ snapped the cowboy. ‘To begin with, I just managed to stop yore sheriff an’ that young sidewinder over yonder —–’ he gestured contemptuously towards Buck Cotton, who sat glowering on one of the benches alongside the saloon wall ‘—-from tryin’ to salivate an unarmed man. What did yu expect me to do -sit an’ watch while they blew his light out?’
‘The sheriff was apprehending a criminal, Green. Your statement does not alter the charges against you. Did you assault the sheriff?’
‘If you mean did I stop him from killin’ the kid, yes—’
‘And did you fire your gun?’ droned Kilpatrick inexorably.
‘Shore I did. I was —–’
‘Did you then rearm a disarmed prisoner?’
Green shrugged. ‘For an impartial judge, yu shore seem to know a hell of a lot about what happened,’ he said. ‘Yu ain’t heard any fac’s but yu got yore mind made up for yu already. Get on with it, yu ol’ fraud.’
A mottled flush rose in Kilpatrick’s face, staining his wattled neck. He banged on the table.
‘Be silent!’ he screeched. ‘You are in contempt of court!’
‘Yo’re right, on’y I ain’t shore the word contempt is strong enough,’ came the reply from the unperturbed Green. Once again, as he spoke, he caught a signal passing from Sim Cotton to the judge. Kilpatrick leaned back in his seat, mopping his face with a filthy red handkerchief.
‘Court finds the charges proven. You are guilty on all counts, Green. Fined fifty-eight dollars and to be taken beyond the city limits, and there turned loose. I don’t think this town wants to even feed scum like you,’ he hissed venomously.
The ruthless effrontery of the old man’s actions, and this farce of a trial, a travesty of every judicial procedure, took away Green’s breath. Then he spoke.‘Well, if that’s yore idea of law, this town’d be better off with a horned toad for a Judge.’
A movement caught Green’s eye, and he turned to see Sim Cotton lumbering towards him.
‘Yo’re pretty cocky, son,’ was the soft-spoken remark which opened the exchange. ‘Don’t push yore luck too far. This town won’t stand for it.’
‘This town’d stand for bein’ boiled down for tallow if yu said the word, wouldn’t it, Cotton?’ Green’s eyes locked with the older man’s, and it was Cotton’s slatey gaze which dropped first.
‘I’m bein’ as fair with yu as any man Cotton told him. ‘Yo’re gettin’ off light. But don’t make the mistake o’ comin’ back to Cottontown —-ever.’ There was no emphasis in the words, but the threat was plain and lay between the two men like a knife. Sim Cotton turned abruptly, dismissing Green from his reckoning. Norris, the tall deputy who had been guarding Green earlier, gestured at the seat Green had formerly occupied, emphasizing the unspoken command with the simultaneous movement of the shotgun.
Green shrugged and sat down. One movement in resistance and he could be shot down like a dog without a hand being lifted by these men watching. His lip curled; he surveyed the inhabitants of Cottontown with contempt. They, however, were quite unconscious of his vitriolic gaze. Their attention now was completely focused upon the sturdy back of Billy Hornby, who had been hustled to his feet and was standing, as his fellow prisoner had stood, before the table.
‘Your name?’ Kilpatrick began his questioning.
‘Yu know my name, Kilpatrick,’ Billy said, shortly. ‘An’ yu know my occupation an’ where I live an’ yu know I ain’t a drifter an’ yu know I ain’t broke.’
‘Not yet yu ain’t,’ muttered someone behind Green, and the words struck a chill in him. These people were like the ancient Romans he had read about somewhere, waiting avidly for someone to be torn to pieces by wild animals —-and enjoying the waiting.
‘Answer the questions, yu!’ Harry Parris bustled forward, gun in hand. ‘An’ don’t give His Honor no lip, if yu know what’s good for yu!’
‘Sit down, Harry!’
Sim Cotton’s deep voice crackled like a whiplash, and Parris, starting as though he had been stung, took a step backwards, tangling his own feet, and stumbling on to the knees of his deputy. Laughter sprang to the throats of the watchers, and again died stillborn when it was seen that the Cottons were not laughing. Green kept his eyes fixed now on Art Cotton, for he had noticed that the man was completely ignoring the proceedings in the crowded room. Art Cotton sat, his long, white hands dangling limply between his legs, his expressionless eyes fixed unseeingly upon the blank wall in front of him, looking neither right nor left.
‘That one’s a renegade or my name’s Shaugnessy,’ Green told himself. Meanwhile, the judge had listened to Billy’s self-identification and now asked Parris to state the charges against the boy.
‘There’s plenty o’ charges, Judge,’ Parris said, pompously, ‘but the main one’ll do to tie to —-attempted murder!’
A whisper of conversation grew among the spectators, those who had not yet heard the story of the fight in the saloon hearing it now from others who had either witnessed it or been told about it. The old man banged once more upon the table until silence fell
‘That’s better,’ he nodded. ‘Now, Hornby. You plead guilty or not guilty?’
‘Not guilty!’ Billy’s voice was clear, his head held proud and high.
‘I see. Do you wish to be tried by jury?’
Billy shrugged. ‘Why not? Give these animals their fun.’
‘That will do,’ snapped Kilpatrick, like a schoolteacher. ‘You will receive a fair trial in this court.’
‘Yu won’t mind if I don’t hold my breath waitin’?’
Kilpatrick’s face mottled again. ‘You are in contempt’ he screeched. ‘I will not permit this kind of insult to the dignity of the court!’
Sim Cotton nodded, and again raised his voice slightly.
‘Yu, boy. Don’t let yore tongue run away with yu.’
‘Why?’ snapped Billy, defiantly. ‘What difference does it make?’
‘Yu might have to pay a big fine,’ Cotton pointed out, his voice still level. ‘An’ since yu ain’t got any money, mebbe the court would have to confiscate anythin’ yu own —-like yore ranch, mebbe.’ Billy’s face fell, and the anger receded from his expression to be replaced by frustration and shame. Cotton’s well-aimed verbal barb had now robbed him of even the defense of bitter jibes. He could not afford to jeopardize all he owned for the sake of a brief gratification.
‘Well, boy, speak!’ rattled Kilpatrick. ‘Do you want trial by jury?’
Billy nodded wordlessly, and Kilpatrick, after a brief glance at Sim Cotton for confirmation, inclined his head towards Sheriff Parris.
‘Empanel a jury, Sheriff,’ he told the lawman.
‘I already got that done, Judge,’ interposed Parris, holding up a hand and waving it airily towards a group of men bunched together at the side of the room alongside Buck Cotton. ‘I figgered that Hornby’d ask for jury trial, so I picked some o’ the boys out in advance, to save time.’ He turned towards the group, and told them ‘Yu boys take up yore seats an’ line ’em up alongside the Judge, there. Make it lively, now.’
Green watched Billy Hornby’s face become even more bitter as he saw the jury of his ‘peers’ chosen by the cunning Parris. Drunks, bar-scourings, and minor hangers-on of the Cotton clan —-what hope had he from such as these
? Billy Hornby shook his head. There was nothing he could do. There were several men he failed to recognize, tough-looking fellows whose presence he did not fully comprehend until he saw the leering countenance of Buck Cotton; no doubt the youngest of the Cotton brood had recruited these men himself to make doubly sure of the verdict.
‘Sheriff, outline the circumstances of the case for the jury,’ the judge bid Parris. Nothing loth, Parris strutted into the space in front of the two Cotton brothers.
‘This one—–’ he jerked his thumb at Billy,‘ —-rode into town this mornin’ about ten. He stood outside the saloon an’ yelled that he was comin’ in to kill young Buck Cotton, there. Didn’t say why. Buck remained in the saloon. Refused to brawl in the streets. Sent a man to get me. I was in my office, an’ got over to the Oasis just as fast as I could. Got there in time to see that one—-’ he jerked his head again towards Billy, ‘—-threatenin’ Buck Cotton with a pistol. Buck warn’t even armed…’
‘That’s a lie!’ burst out Billy. ‘He was heeled.’
‘Have you a witness to this fact?’ interposed Kilpatrick.
‘Shore I have! Green there seen it, didn’t you, Jim?’
Green nodded. ‘Cotton was wearin’ a gun,’ he said flatly.
Kilpatrick regarded him sourly, then turned to face Buck Cotton.
‘Bucky, were you armed?’
Young Cotton uncoiled his length lazily, and got to his feet, an arrogant smirk on his face.
‘Nope, I wasn’t, Uncle Martin. I mean Judge.’
There was a murmur of amusement, quickly stilled by Kilpatrick’s gavel. The old man turned in his chair to face the jury.
‘The jury will take due note that the accusation of the prisoner is substantiated only by a convicted criminal, a proven troublemaker, while it is denied by the brother of our leading family.’
He smiled at Sim Cotton, who nodded portentously.
‘The jury will know whom to believe, I am sure,’ he added. The twelve men nodded, almost in unison.
‘Carry on, Harry,’ the judge told the sheriff.
Parris again resumed his actorish stance.
‘When Buck, there, didn’t choose to brawl with this young feller, he got real mad. Had blood in his eye for shore. Claimed he was goin’ to shoot Buck down where he stood—-an’ he still hadn’t give no reason for his quarrel. That was when I stepped in an’ got the drop on him.’
He looked around proudly, as if expecting applause.
‘Do you deny any of this, Hornby?’ Kilpatrick’s face was wooden.
‘The fac’s are in there someplace,’ retorted Billy. ‘But yu’d have to be smarter than yu look to find ’em.’
‘Be assured we shall,’ was the icy jibe. ‘Continue, Sheriff.’
‘At this point,’ continued Parris, ‘just as I’m about to march Hornby off to the hoosegow, this other jasper, Green, puts in his oar. He takes two shots at me, one o’ which goes wild, an’ the other hittin’ me in the arm.’ He rolled back his shirt sleeve to reveal the grimy, bloodstained bandage on his forearm. ‘A lucky shot I reckon, but it knocked me off my balance an’ made me drop my gun. Whereupon this feller Green pulls Hornby aside, an’ is all set to run for it when Chris Helm, who’s in town an’ has heard the shootin’, arrives at the door behind the two prisoners. He sees what’s up in a flash, an’ buffaloes the both o’ them. We drug ’em over to the jail, an’ that was that.’
‘You say that the prisoner here intended to kill Buck Cotton’? asked Kilpatrick.
‘He was shoutin’ it all over town, Martin,’ replied the sheriff. ‘I can produce a dozen witnesses—–’
‘No need, no need,’ Kilpatrick waved an airy hand. ‘Nobody doubts your veracity, Harry.’ He turned to the jury again. ‘Did any of you men see or hear Hornby threatening to kill Buck Cotton?’ Several of the jurymen nodded. One of them stood up, a roughly dressed man with a broken nose. ‘I shore as hell did, Judge,’ he called. Kilpatrick nodded, as if these words were all the proof that was needed.
‘It would seem to be an open and shut case. The accused was heard to threaten the life of an unarmed man. He threatened him with a gun, and was heard to say that he would kill him. Only the timely intervention of the sheriff prevented murder. As it was, shots were fired; the sheriff was wounded.’ He turned towards Billy, frowning. ‘I will ask the jury for its verdict unless you have something to say, prisoner. I warn you, however, that it had better not be anything insulting to this court.’
‘I misdoubt I could think of anything which would insult this court,’ was Billy’s cold reply, but his irony was completely lost upon the elephant hide of the old judge, who was leaning back in his chair, confident that his task was completed. But Billy was not finished. ‘If I was out o’ here, I’d take after that polecat again!’ Kilpatrick leaned forward sharply.
‘Then perhaps we shall have to ensure that you are prevented from doing so, won’t we?’ There was malignant evil lurking deep in his reddened eyes, and a message passed between him and the older Cotton, unspoken but explicit.
‘Jury, have you heard enough?’
The broken-nosed man who had spoken earlier stood up.
‘We shore have, Judge. We don’t need to waste any more time considerin’ any verdict. That young hellion’s guilty as hell!’ Billy’s lips tightened at these words, but he made no other motion. An excited buzz of conversation swept through the room now, and the spectators craned to get a better view of the condemned man. Kilpatrick cleared his throat, and banged upon the table for silence.
‘Hornby, you’ve been found guilty. It now becomes my painful duty to pronounce sentence on you.’
A hush descended upon the listening audience. For the first time, Art Cotton leaned forward, his flat eyes watching the proceedings with something like interest. His brother leaned back in his chair, arms spread wide along the backs of his own and his brother’s seats, his legs crossed, a long cigar in his thick lips. He looked as if he was enjoying himself in his own parlor.
‘The sentence of this court is that you be taken to the Territorial prison, by the sheriff of this town, and delivered there to serve a sentence often years hard labor for the willful and deliberate attempt at assassination you have perpetrated today. Sheriff, see to it that my sentence is carried out!’ He banged once upon the table with his hammer and stood up. With a last baleful glance at his victims, he shuffled off down to the other end of the room, where the bartender had set up a bottle of whisky and a glass. Kilpatrick gulped a large dose down like water, and splashed another into the glass in the time it took Parris and his deputies to prod Green to his feet and precede Billy through the jeering crowd of spectators out into the street and towards the jail. As they crossed the street, Green heard Sim Cotton’s bull voice shouting ‘Set ’em up for everyone, Blass!’ and heard the ragged cheer which followed this command.
‘That’ll make him popular,’ commented Billy bitterly. ‘In a few hours they’ll be thankin’ him for treatin’ them like dawgs.’
‘Yu shut yore yap, Hornby!’ snapped Parris. ‘No more talkin’.’
‘I’ll talk when I please, yu fat tub o’ lard,’ retorted Billy. ‘I ain’t takin’ orders from yu, an’ that’s whatever.’
‘Yu’ll take ’em when we step out for Santa Fe,’ Parris reminded him. They clumped into the little office, and the deputy called Norris motioned Green to sit down. Billy was shoved through the heavy door leading into the corridor where the cells lay, and in a moment the puncher heard the heavy door bang shut, and the grating sound of the metal bolt being shot. Parris and his other deputy came back into the office.
‘Yo’re movin’ on, Green,’ the sheriff told the puncher levelly. ‘An’ yu better keep on movin’ if yu’ve got the sense God gave ants. Yu show yore head in this town again, an’ someone’ll shoot it off. Dan!’ This to the shorter of the two deputies. ‘Yu an’ Jerry ride a ways with Mr. Green here. Make shore he takes the right road.’ He looked meaningfully at the deputy, who
nodded.
‘I got yu, Harry,’ he said. ‘We’ll take care of it.’
Green had not missed the inflexions in their voices, and he recalled what Billy had told him earlier in the jail.
‘Can I see the kid afore I go?’ he asked.
‘Yu can talk to him through the door,’ Parris allowed. ‘One minute. Go with him, Dan. An’ keep him covered the whole time.’
Green stood up and preceded the deputy into the dark, cool corridor. He stopped outside the heavy door. It was closed by two heavy metal bolts, one at the top and one at the bottom.There was no padlock.
‘Billy!’ he called. ‘Yu hear me?’
‘I hear yu, Jim,’ came the boy’s voice, muffled by the thickness of the cell door. ‘Yu watch out. Remember what I told yu.’
‘Keep yore chin up,’ Green shouted. ‘Don’t quit yet.’
‘I ain’t about to. Watch yoreself, Jim.’
‘Yu, too, kid.’
‘Come on, that’s a-plenty,’ growled Dan. ‘Yu had yore minnit.’
He hustled Green back into the outer office. Parris looked up expectantly. ‘What did they say?’ he asked cunningly.
Dan reported the conversation, and Parris nodded.
‘I thought yu might have some idea o’ comin’ back to help the kid,’ he said, peering at Green shrewdly.
‘Hell, ain’t nothin’ I could do now,’ Green said, a bland look on his face. ‘I’m shore regrettin’ I ever come near this place.’
‘Now yo’re thinkin’ straight,’ Parris told him. ‘Get goin’,boys.’
‘Don’t I get my guns back?’ asked the puncher.
‘Where yo’re headin’ yu won’t need yore guns,’ was the chilling reply. ‘Besides, we don’t want yu changin’ yore mind, do we?’ He grinned evilly. ‘Dan, Jerry, get this saddletramp out o’ here. I got work to do.’
The deputy called Jerry grabbed Green’s arms and hustled him out into the street. The two men helped the bound puncher on to his horse and motioned him to lead the way up the street, almost completely deserted except for a few loungers on the porch of the saloon who watched incuriously as the three-man procession headed out of the town. They headed south, across the wooden bridge which spanned the Bonito, and out into the rolling, gully-creased foothills which lay to the south of Cottontown. Once they were clear of the town, the two deputies, their shotguns cradled in their arms, lagged about three yards behind Green, keeping their distance constant, never coming near enough for him to make any move against them, never falling behind sufficiently to allow him to contemplate making a dash for freedom. The skin on Green’s back crawled. He knew the old Mexican ley del fuego —-the unwritten law under which prisoners were shot down “trying to escape” in order to relieve their captors of the necessity of guarding them. When a man was wanted dead or alive the easiest way to bring him in was across a saddle. The infamous bounty hunters had made this law their own, covering their foul actions with the thin coating of legality.
Sudden--At Bay (A Sudden Western #2) Page 3
