The Adventures of Gopher Piddington

by David Michaelson

  “During all that time, the defendant was abused, whipped, denied food, water and shelter and was forced to march with the rogue band until his parents finally caught up to them and retrieved their son.”

  “The deceased was an Apache?”

  “Yes, your honor. And a bad one at that.”

  “What tribe was he affiliated with?”

  “The Mescalero, your honor.”

  Judge Bartell made some side notes and asked Mister Ridpath if there was anything else he wished the court to know.

  “Yes, your honor. The deceased was bitter about being struck out by my client while at bat and began a series of taunts and insults, culminating in exceedingly lewd remarks about my client’s mother.

  “If it please the court, I myself, may have reacted similarly if insulted in that manner, for I dearly loved my own Mother and I can sympathize with my client’s discomfort and his rage at the time.”

  “That’s very big of you, counsel. But your feelings for your mother have little to do with the matter at hand. Is there anything else?”

  “Not at this time, your honor.”

  “Then I would like to call any witnesses for the prosecution. Marshal Krew, would you kindly introduce them one at a time and swear them in?”

  After the third Indian ball player relayed his rendition of the tragedy, the judge leafed through his papers and asked where the remaining witnesses were. He was told they had other business and couldn’t make it.

  The judge made additional notes.

  “Call your next witness, please.”

  The barkeep introduced himself and repeated much the same story about the shooting. “Heck, your honor, pointing at Gopher, that there skinny fellow in chains took out his shootin’ arn and plugged that Indian square in the chest. He was dead before he hit the floor. Then I grabbed my shotgun ‘cause I feared them other heathens would bust my place up. When I got them calmed down and held the defendant at gunpoint, they all left quietly and went about their business.”

  “Was the defendant drinking that night?”

  “Well, no sir. Can’t rightly say he was. But he ordered a couple of rounds for them Indians. Then he shot the one feller.”

  “So, let me get this straight. The defendant bought a round for the group of Indians at that table but he didn’t drink. Do I have that about right?”

  “That’s pretty much the way it was. . .Yer honor, sir.”

  The Marshal had no more witnesses. Judge Bartell ordered a halt to the proceedings while he examined his notes and sifted through the various testimonies. “Court resumes in two hours.”

  Gopher was hauled out of the courtroom and locked inside an anteroom until court resumed. He was not allowed any visitors, much to the dismay of his parents and the two women that had come to offer testimony in his defense.

  When court was once again called into session, Judge Bartell asked the defense to call his witnesses.

  “Your honor, I call to the stand the defendant’s own father, Mayor Absalom Piddington.”

  Once Able was sworn in, he relayed the story of how his son was taken that dusty afternoon on the Mescalero Reservation.

  “May I ask what you and your family were doing within reservation boundaries?”

  Able told the story of his wagon train that was helped by a band of friendly Apache. “In return for their help, Kirsten and I volunteered to escort them all the way to the Mescalero by first snowfall; otherwise, the soldiers at Fort Union would have been dispatched to hunt them down and deliver them.”

  “What was the time span between when you first met the Apache band and when your son was taken?”

  “I would guess it was five, maybe six years.

  “Thank you, Mister Piddington. Is there anything else you wish to add?”

  “Just that the soldiers were too busy elsewhere to help hunt the kidnappers, so we went out on our own to find them and bring our boy home.”

  “So, your visit to the Mescalero was purely a social event?”

  “Well, yes and no, sir. I ordered a new sign for our restaurant and had some time to spare while it was being prepared. Tularosa isn’t far from the reservation. That’s when we decided to go visit our old Apache friends.”

  “I’ve not heard of whites being welcome in reservations anywhere. How did you manage that feat?”

  “We stayed as guests of Mister Woodbark, the administrator of the Mescalero.”

  Judge Bartell made more notes.

  “You may step down. Will the next witness come forward and be sworn in.”

  Grenda Freidman jumped up and offered to take the witness stand.

  “And may I ask what your relationship is to the accused?”

  “Just a friend, your honor. He helped my family move building materials to our homestead near Chimayo—that’s a small town in New Mexico. He helped bury my little sister when she got snake bit. And, he was kind enough to go out of his way to repair our broken wagon without being asked.

  “I have known Gopher to be a good person, not swayed by the wiles of femininity. Lord knows I teased him on several occasions and not once did he stray from the gentleman he is.”

  “Thank you miss Friedman. Next witness.”

  Ellen Nielsen introduced herself as Gopher Piddington’s former employer from Denver. “When I read about Gopher being accused of murder I just had to come to his aid. Surely there must have been a very good reason to kill that man.

  “But I didn’t come here to argue his innocence or his guilt. I came here to tell the court that this man has proved himself every bit the respectable gentleman in every aspect of his time with me.

  “It is with some trepidation that I also admit to the occasional bout of teasing, just like miss Friedman. Through everything thrown at him; through good times and bad, Gopher Piddington has been the consummate example of what a fine man should be and I am proud to have made his acquaintance.”

  “Thank you, madam. Are there any further witnesses for the defense?”

  A man in the back row raised a hand.

  “Come forth, identify yourself and be sworn in.”

  “I am Lefty Clarkston, manager of the Leadville Blues base ball club. It has been my pleasure to observe mister Piddington for some time, both as a player for the Denver team and as one of our star performers.

  “At no time did mister Piddington exhibit any behavior other than sterling. He got along well with his teammates and performed to the best of his ability on the field.

  “While the rest of the team imbibes upon occasion, I have never seen Piddington drink anything stronger than milk or water.

  “It is with great sadness that this unfortunate incident has occurred, as Mister Piddington was beginning to blossom as a first-class hurler. For the good of the sport and for the town of Leadville, the Blues offer their support.”

  “Are there any more witnesses?”

  Kirsten stood. “Just his mother.”

  “Come forth and be sworn in.”

  “Everything I wanted to say in my son’s defense has already been said by other witnesses. But there is one thing this court needs to take into consideration before passing judgment upon my son.

  “If, in your haste to reach a verdict, you elect to sentence my son to death, I insist I be hanged right alongside him.”

  The courtroom buzzed with hushed whispers.

  “You see, your honor, I have shot four human beings all by myself. Three are as dead as that damned Apache kidnapper; one was a young woman. There was one that lived but I suspect there were times he wished he were dead, as I shot him in his fanny.”

  The gallery of onlookers snickered.

  “None those four threatened me in any way. I shot those people because they deserved to die; they were all messing with my family.

  “That dead Apache kidnapped my son. For that he deserved to die. Could I have found him ten years ago I would have killed him, as well.

  “So, consider what the newspapers will say when Judge A.
J. Bartell hangs both mother and son for similar crimes. I see the reporters are already busy scribbling down all this juicy bit of information and I can guarantee Eugene Cartwright of the Santa Fe Daily News will insure the outcome of this trial goes international.”

  The judge had to bang his gavel several times before he could restore order in his court.

  “Madam, your admission of guilt is a highly unusual turn of events and therefore may be unprecedented. For that reason, this court is adjourned until ten o’clock Monday morning.

  “The prisoner is remanded to custody.

  “This court is adjourned.”

  Bang, went the gavel.

  THE VERDICT

  Marshal Krew reluctantly allowed visitors throughout the long weekend. Each one was carefully checked for weapons. When it came Kirsten’s time to be checked, she slapped the marshal’s hands away from her body. “Touch me again and I’ll consider blowing you away, too.”

  The marshal backed away and allowed her into the cell without additional fondling.

  When Grenda’s turn came, the marshal was very careful where he touched the young woman.

  Even the purchased food was carefully inspected for contraband.

  The weekend passed with Gopher being allowed nearly unlimited visitations. Marshal Krew complained about the frequency but allowed them.

  Monday morning arrived much too quickly for all but the marshal. He was eager to have the trial done and over with so he could get his crew busy building the gallows.

  The courtroom was filled to capacity. This time there were at least six newspapers represented. They had come from far and wide to cover the trial and included Eugene Cartwright from Santa Fe. The bombshell Kirsten had dropped on the proceedings by admitting to three separate killings stirred everyone’s interest.

  The Piddington murder trial turned out to be bigger than when Doc Holliday was accused of murder back in ’83.

  Judge Bartell had to pound his gavel a number of times to quiet the crowd.

  “This court is now in session.”

  The judge spent several minutes leafing through his papers before speaking.

  “The position of a Circuit Judge is unique in several ways. My courtroom can be a schoolhouse, a mercantile or a residential parlor. I have held court in barns and community halls—even once out of doors under a hanging tree.

  “In addition to enduring odd or unusual locations, Circuit Judges are often called upon to make odd or unusual decisions.

  “Had this crime been committed in any one of this country’s larger cities it would have been moved to a neutral location where an impartial jury might be found. Here, however, the accused has been subject to damning rhetoric at the hands of the local news media, creating an unfortunate and premature climate of guilt even before testimony was heard.

  “And, considering the vast distances between cities in the west, there is no possibility of locating this trial elsewhere.” Judge Bartell looked directly at the editor of the Leadville News.

  “It is understandable why the community of Leadville is so protective of their reputation. And, it is understandable why this community wishes no repeat of the Doc Holliday trial of 1883.

  “For those concerned about justice being done in this case, I assure you there are extenuating circumstances that did not exist in the Holliday trial.

  “However the law is specific when it comes to defining murder in various degrees, and it is not within my power to change the laws of the land.

  “But I am empowered to interpret those laws as I see fit.

  “That is the unique responsibility of a Circuit Judge, and that is how this trial will be decided.”

  Judge Bartell poured a glass of water. He was clearly concerned about his next words.

  “Several things stand out regarding the case against the accused.

  “First, the majority of the Indian witnesses subpoenaed to testify against the accused failed to appear in court. As for their reasons, it has since come to light that they were merely intoxicated.

  “Considering their preference for strong drink and their inability to honor my simple orders, it is therefore my opinion that all of them were under the influence at the time of the shooting and all of their testimony is suspect.

  The Indians mumbled protest.

  The gavel came down hard, quieting the crowd.

  “Now, for those of you concerned about an Indian uprising, I assure you the U.S. Army will be alerted and brought in, should any threats to this court or this community be made.

  “As for the moral fiber of mister Piddington, I can only assume, by the revealing testimony of two very attractive women, that in all regards, he is an upstanding citizen and a fine young man.

  “The events of the night of the shooting are clear and irrefutable. This court does not condone pre-meditated murder, not even for kidnapping.

  “Currently, the sentence for kidnapping in this territory is incarceration, not hanging.

  “Therefore, the accused has overstepped the bounds of common sense and executed an unarmed man in direct violation of our laws.”

  The crowd murmured loudly, causing the judge to pound his gavel again.

  “The role of a Circuit Judge is somewhat different than a sitting justice. Circuit Judges do not often have the luxury of qualified attorneys to represent the prosecution or the defense.

  “Our role, therefore, is to piece together the events leading up to the act and evaluated the reasons behind those events to the best of our ability by considering what evidence and testimony is available.

  “In that capacity, I have taken the liberty of requesting the official records through the Office of Indian Affairs regarding the transcripts and notations of the Mescalero Reservation for the year 1881.

  “As stated under oath, the U.S. Army was indeed, called away to settle other conflicts and was unable to respond to the pleas of the Piddingtons to rescue their son, even though such an act of protection is clearly within a soldier’s ordinary and regular duties.

  “As duly recorded by the reservation administrator of that time, a mister Ishmael Woodbark—apparently a man of such moral character and efficient leadership that President Rutherford B. Hayes felt the need to present him with a most unique and subsequently useful rifle.

  “Those transcripts clearly show mister Woodbark’s involvement and willing support in the kidnapping and rescue attempt of the young accused. By his doing so, the Piddington kidnapping became a matter of federal involvement. The active agency support became tantamount to deputizing those assigned to retrieve the boy, even without actually doing so.

  “Therefore, the two Apache killed by Kirsten Piddington fall under the protection and authorized duty of a deputized citizen acting with official permission or direction from an active government agent charged with keeping the peace.

  “As for the third individual reportedly killed, the newspapers of the time clearly stated that the dead man, a known Mexican bandit named, Despiado, was attacking a ranch in California when Kirsten Piddington shot him dead.

  “Considering the nature of those killings and the justification for them, this court finds no reason to pursue or recommend further investigation into those incidents.

  “As for the man allegedly shot in the backside, I can find no substantiation for that claim.

  “In addition to the oral testimony received in this court in defense of the accused, I have several statements sent via telegraph from two Apache leaders that claim undying support for the accused and his family.

  “Mister Gopher Piddington, you may not know it but you have managed to befriend just about the entire Mescalero population. Do you recall the two warriors that came to your aid—a man named Na’aki and his friend, Kuruk?”

  Gopher said he was much too little to recall those men.

  “Nevertheless, those two are now spokesmen for the Mescalero Apache and hold you and your parents in the highest of esteem.

  “With that unexpected sup
port of a white man accused of murdering one of their own, any threat of an uprising by the Apache is nonexistent, regardless of my decision.

  “I would also council the friends of the deceased that the Mescalero have refused Lartano’s remains. Further hatred toward mister Piddington would be misdirected, as it seems the deceased was banished by his own people for the act of kidnapping. In Apache terms, that means he was alone and certainly not a part of any Apache culture. Apparently, during his banishment he managed to find refuge as a ball player for the Pueblo Pastimes.

  “There are times, as a Circuit Judge, that the law, as it is written, must be observed and interpreted from a slightly different angle; that of common sense.

  “There are two ways to look at our laws: from the letter of the law or from the intent of the law.

  “The letter of the law is how it is written. There are no gray areas in the letter of the law, and it is clear what the letter of the law is when concerned with punishment for murder. When taking another’s life, there are several levels of involvement and each carries its own form of punishment.

  “What is not so cut and dried is the intent of the law; what is the law attempting to do? And why was it written in such a specific manner?”

  The judge poured another glass of water and looked out over the faces of the crowd. Some reporters were busy scribbling notes, while other merely listened and observed.

  “When considering all the evidence and testimony from all available sources, a determination of guilt or innocence can often be made.

  “However, that does not mean that the determination is fair or equitable.

  “As in the case of the acquittal of Doc Holliday, here in Leadville, there was little in that decision that was fair or equitable.

  “In the case of Gilbert G. Piddington, I must take into account all of the information and make a decision that is fair and equitable.

  “From everything this court has heard and examined, I cannot find a suitable or comfortable niche for the crime the defendant is accused of. The extenuating circumstances far exceed the long-established intent of our lawmakers to assign a title and subsequent form of punishment for what he has done.