by B. M. Bower
If he were deliberately trying to goad Shorty to further profanity, the result should have satisfied him. The huge shadow of Shorty moving back and forth upon the front wall of the tent, became violently agitated and developed a gigantic arm that waved threateningly over the ridge pole. The other guards laughed and checked their laughter with a suddenness which made Jack’s eyes leave the dancing shadow and seek questioningly the closed tent flaps.
“If I’m any good at reading signs, we are now about to be tried by our peers—twelve good men and true,” he announced ironically. “Brace up, old man! The chances are you’ll soon be out of this mess and headed for home. Don’t be afraid to tell the truth—and don’t act scared; they’ll take that as a sure sign you’ve got a guilty conscience. Just keep a stiff upper lip; it won’t take long; we do things in a hurry, out here!”
“Say, you’re a brick, Mr. Allen!” the boy burst out, impulsively gripping the hand of his champion.
Jack jerked his hand away—not unkindly, but rather as if he feared to drop, even for an instant, his flippant defiance of the trick fate had played him. The jerk sent a small, shining thing sliding down to the floor; where it stood upright and quivered in the soft sand.
“Lord!” he ejaculated under his breath, snatching it up as a thief would snatch at his spoils. He looked fearfully at the closed flaps, outside which the trampling of many feet sounded closer and closer; and with a warning shake of his head at the other, slid the dagger into his sleeve again, carefully fastening the point in the stout hem of the buckskin.
“You never can tell,” he muttered, smiling queerly as he made sure the weapon was not noticeable.
He was rolling another cigarette when the Captain parted the tent flaps and came stooping in, followed by twelve men of the Committee who were to be the jury, and as many spectators as could crowd after them.
“Gentlemen, be seated,” the Captain invited formally, and motioned the jury to the crude bunks that lined one side of the large tent. Jack and the boy he moved farther from the entrance, and took up his own position where his sharp eyes commanded every inch of the interior and where the gun which he drew from its holster and rested upon his knee could speak its deadly rebuke to any man there if, in the upholding of justice, the Captain deemed it necessary.
The jury shuffled to their places, perched in a row upon the edge of the bunks and waited silently, their eyes fixed expectantly upon their Captain. The crowd edged into the corners and along the sides, their hat crowns scraping the canvas roof as they were forced closer to the low wall.
The Captain waited until the silence was a palpable thing made alive by the rhythmic breathing of the men who were to look upon this new travesty of justice.
“Gentlemen,” he said at last, his sonorous voice carrying his words distinctly to the crowd without, “we are now ready to proceed with the investigation. I wish to state, for the information of those present, that after the prisoners were placed here under guard, I went to get a statement from the wounded man, Mr. Texas Bill. I found him dying from a wound inflicted upon his person by a pistol ball which passed through his left lung, above and to the right of his heart. I did not take a written statement, for lack of time and writing materials. But Texas swore—”
“Yeah—I’ll bet he swore!” commented Bill Wilson under his breath. Every one looked toward Bill, standing just inside the flaps, and the Captain scowled while he waited for attention.
“Texas swore that he was shot by one of the prisoners, Jack Allen by name, who fired upon him without due provocation, while he was talking to this other prisoner, whose name we have yet to learn. Texas stated that Allen, appearing suddenly from behind some bushes, began shooting with deadly intent and without warning, wantonly murdering Rawhide Jack, who lies dead in Smith’s back room, and shooting him, Texas, through the lung. He also stated that Mr. Dick Swift was with him and Rawhide Jack, and was also shot by the prisoner, Jack Allen, without cause or provocation.
“They had met the stranger and were standing talking to him about his luck in the diggin’s. This stranger, who is the other prisoner, was inclined to be sassy, and made a pass at Rawhide with his fist, telling him to mind his own business and not ask so many questions. Rawhide struck back; and Allen, coming out from behind some bushes, began shooting.”
The Captain stopped and looked calmly and judicially from face to face in the crowd.
“That, gentlemen, is the statement made to me by Texas Bill, who now lies dead in Pete’s Place as a result of the wound inflicted by Allen.”
“That’s a lot of swearing for a man to do that’s been shot through the lungs,” commented Bill Wilson skeptically.
The Captain gave him a malevolent look and continued. “We will ask Mr. Swift to come forward and tell us what he knows of this deplorable and, if I may be permitted the term, disgraceful affair.”
Mr. Swift edged his way carefully through the crowd with his left arm thrust out to protect the right, which was bandaged and rested in a blood-stained sling. He asked permission to sit down; kicked a box into the small, open space between the Captain, the jury, and the prisoners, and seated himself with the air of a man about to perform an extremely painful duty.
“Hold up your right hand,” commanded the Captain.
Swift apologetically raised his left hand and gazed steadfastly into the cold, impartial eyes of his Captain.
“You swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so-help-you-God?”
Swift, his purplish eyes wide and clear and honest as the gaze of a baby, calmly affirmed that he did.
Jack grinned and lazily fanned the smoke of his cigarette away, so that he might the better gaze upon this man who was about to tell the whole truth and nothing else. He caught Swift’s eye and added a sneering lift to the smile; and Swift’s eyes changed from bland innocence to hate triumphant.
“Mr. Swift, you will now relate to us the circumstances of this affair, truthfully, in the order of their happening,” directed the deep voice of the Captain.
Mr. Swift carefully eased his wounded arm in its sling, turned his innocent gaze upon the crowd, and began:
“Texas, Rawhide, and myself were crossing the sandy stretch south of town about noon, when we met this chap—the stranger there.” He nodded slightly toward the boy. “I was walking behind the other two, but I heard Rawhide say: ‘Hello, son, any luck in the diggin’s?’ The kid said: ‘None of your damn business!’ That made Rawhide kinda mad, being spoke to that way when he just meant to be friendly, and he told the kid he better keep a civil tongue in his head if he wanted to get along smooth—or words to that effect. I don’t,” explained Mr. Swift virtuously, “remember the exact words, because I was looking at the fellow and wondering what made him so surly. He sassed Rawhide again, and told him to mind his own business and give advice when it was asked for, and struck at him. Rawhide hit back, and then I heard a shot, and Rawhide fell over. I looked around quick, and started to pull my gun, but a bullet hit me here—” Mr. Swift laid gentle finger-tips upon his arm near the shoulder—“so I couldn’t. I saw it was Jack Allen shooting and coming towards us from a clump of bushes off to the right of us. He shot again, and Texas Bill fell. I ducked behind a bush and started for help, when I met the Captain and a few others coming out to see what was the matter. That,” finished Mr. Swift, “is the facts of the case, just as they happened.”
The Captain waited a minute or two, that the “facts” might sink deep into the minds of the listeners.
“Were any shots fired by any one except Allen?” he asked coldly, when the silence was sufficiently emphasized.
“There were not. Nobody,” Swift flashed with a very human resentment, “had a chance after he commenced!” He flushed at the involuntary tribute to the prowess of his enemy, when he saw that maddening grin appear again on Jack’s lips; a grin which called him liar and scoundrel and in the same flicker defied him.
The investigation took on the color
of a sensation at that point, when the stranger sprang suddenly to his feet and stood glaring at the witness. There were no signs now of tears or weakness; he was a man fighting for what he believed to be right and just.
“Captain, that man is a dirty liar!” he cried hotly. “He and his precious cronies tried to rob me, out there. I was coming into town from across the bay; I had hired a Spaniard to bring me across in a small sailboat, and the tide carried us down too far, so I told him to land and I’d walk back to town, rather than tack back. And these men met me, and tried to rob me! This man,” he accused excitedly, pointing a rageful finger at Swift, “was going to stab me in the throat when he saw I resisted. I was fighting the three, and they were getting the best of me. I never owned a gun, and I just had my fists. The two others had grabbed me, and this man Swift pulled a knife. I remember one of them saying: ‘Don’t shoot—it’ll bring the whole town out!’ And just as this one raised his knife to drive it into my throat—they were bending me backwards, the other two—I heard a shot, and this one dropped his knife and gave a yell. There were two other shots, and the two who were holding me dropped. This one ran off. Then—” The boy turned and looked down at Jack, smoking his cigarette and trying to read what lay behind the stolid stare of the twelve men who sat in a solemn row on the bunks opposite him. “This young man—” His lips trembled, and he stopped, to bite them into a more manlike firmness.
“Gentlemen, do what you like with me, but you’ve got to let this man go! He’s the coolest, bravest man I ever saw! He saved my life. You can’t hang him for protecting a man from murder and robbery!”
“Young man,” interrupted the Captain after a surprised silence, “we admire your generosity in trying to clear your fellow prisoner, but you must let this jury try his case. What’s your name?”
“John Belden, of Cambridge, Massachusetts.” The young fellow’s rage faded to a sullen calm under the cold voice.
The Captain made a startled movement and looked at him sharply. “And what was your hurry to get to town?” he asked, after a minute.
“I wanted to get a ticket on the boat, the Mary Elizabeth, that is going to leave for New York tomorrow. I wanted to go—home. I’ve had enough of gold-hunting!” Youthful bitterness was in his tone and in the look he turned on the jury.
The Captain cleared his throat. When he spoke again, he addressed the twelve before him:
“Gentlemen of the jury, I have reasons for feeling convinced that this young man is in part telling the truth. I am acquainted with his father, unless he has given a name he does not own—and his face is a pretty good witness for him; he looks like his dad. While he has undoubtedly glossed and warped the story of the shooting in a mistaken effort to make things look better for the man who did the killing, I can see no sufficient reason for holding him. This Committee stands for justice and is not backward about tempering it with mercy. Gentlemen of the jury, I recommend that John Belden be released from custody and permitted to go home. He was unarmed when I took him, and there is no evidence of his having dealt anything but hard words to the victims of the shooting. Gentlemen, you will give your verdict; after which we will proceed with the investigation.”
The jury looked at one another and nodded to the man on the end of the first bunk; and he, shifting a quid of tobacco to the slack of his right cheek, expectorated gravely into the sand and spoke solemnly:
“The verdict of the jury is all in favor of turnin’ the kid loose.”
“John Belden, you are released. And we’d advise you to be a little careful how you sass men in this country. Also, you better see about that ticket on the Mary Elizabeth. Jack Allen, you may come forward and take the oath.”
“This box is just as comfortable as that one,” said Jack, “and you needn’t worry but what I’ll tell the truth!” He took a last pull at his cigarette, pinched out the fire, and ground the stub under his heel. He could feel the silence grow tense with expectancy; and when he lifted his eyes, he knew that every man in that tent was staring into his face.
“I used to believe,” he began clearly, “in the Vigilantes. If I had been here when the first Committee was formed, I’d have worked for it myself. I believe it cleared the town of some of the worst scoundrels in the country, and that’s saying a good deal. But—”
“The Committee,” interrupted the Captain, “would like to hear your story of the shooting. Your private opinions can wait until the investigation of that affair is ended.”
“You’re right. I beg your pardon for forgetting that it is not settled yet!” Jack’s voice was politely scornful. “Well, then, this kid told the truth in every particular, even when he declared that Dick Swift is a dirty liar. Swift is a liar. He’s also a thief, and he’s also a murderer—and a few other things not as decent!
“As to the row, I was walking out that way, when I saw this kid coming up from the bay toward the town. The three, Swift, Rawhide Jack, and Texas Bill, met him where the—er—trouble took place. I was too far off to hear what was said; in fact, I didn’t pay any attention much, till I saw the kid struggling to get away. I walked towards them then. It was easy enough to see that it was a hold-up, pure and simple. I was about fifty yards from them when I saw Swift, here, raise a knife to jab it into the boy’s throat. Texas and Rawhide were both holding the kid’s arms and bending him backwards so he couldn’t do anything. When I saw the knife, I began to shoot.” His eyes sought those of Bill Wilson, standing in the crowd near the door. “That’s the truth of the whole matter,” he said, speaking directly to Bill. “I didn’t try to make trouble; but I couldn’t stand by and see a man murdered, no more than any decent man could.” He paused; and still looking toward Bill, added: “I didn’t even notice particularly who the men were, until I went up to the boy. It all happened so sudden that I—”
The Captain cleared his throat. “You admit, then, that you killed Rawhide Jack and Texas Bill this morning?”
“I surely do,” retorted Jack. “And if you want to know, I’m kinda proud of it; it was a long shot—to clean the town of two such blackguards. And right here I want to apologize to the town for making a bungle of killing Swift!”
“We have two witnesses who also swear that you killed Tex’ and Rawhide, though they give a very different version of the trouble with the boy. Would you ask us to believe that Texas Bill lied with his last breath?”
“If he told the story you say he did, he certainly lied most sinfully with his last breath; but I’d hate to take your word for anything, so I don’t know whether he lied or not.”
“Mr. Swift, here, tells the same story that Texas Bill told.” The Captain chose to ignore the insults. “I think their testimony should carry more weight with the Committee than yours, or the boy’s. You are trying to save your neck; and the boy probably feels that he owes you some gratitude for taking his part. But the Committee’s business is to weed out the dangerous element which is altogether too large in this town; and the Committee feels that you are one of the most dangerous. However, we will call another witness. Shorty, you may come forward.”
Shorty came scowling up and sat down upon the box Swift had occupied. He took the oath and afterwards declared that he had overheard Jack coaching the boy about what he should tell the Committee. The Captain, having brought out that point, promptly excused him.
“Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the evidence, and your duty is plain. We are waiting for the verdict.”
The man with the cud looked a question at the Captain; turned and glanced down the row at the eleven, who nodded their heads in unanimous approval of his thoughts. He once more shifted the wad of tobacco, as a preliminary to expectorating gravely into the sand floor, and pronounced his sentence with a promptness that savored of relish:
“The verdict of the jury is that we hang Jack Allen for killin’ Texas and Rawhide, and for bein’ a mean, ornery cuss, anyway.”
The Captain turned coldly to the prisoner. “You hear the verdict. The Committee believes it t
o be just.”
He looked at the group near the door. “Mr. Wilson,” he called maliciously, “you will now be given an opportunity to collect from the prisoner what he owes you.”
“Jack Allen don’t owe me a cent!” cried Bill Wilson hotly, shouldering his way to the open space before the Captain. “But there’s a heavy debt hanging over this damned Committee—a debt they’ll have to pay themselves one day at the end of a rope, if there’s as many honest men in this town as I think there is.
“I helped form the first Vigilance Committee, boys. We did it to protect the town from just such men as are running the Committee right now. When crimes like this can be done right before our eyes, in broad daylight, I say it’s time another Committee was formed, to hang this one! Here they’ve got a man that they know, and we all know, ain’t done a thing but what any brave, honest man would do. They’ve gone through a farce trial that’d make the Digger Injuns ashamed of themselves; and they’ve condemned Jack Allen, that’s got more real manhood in his little finger than there is in the dirty, lying carcasses of the whole damned outfit—they’ve condemned him to be hung!
“And why! I can tell yuh why—and it ain’t for killing Texas and Rawhide—two as measly, ornery cusses as there was in town—it ain’t for that. It’s for daring to say, last night in my place, that the Committee is rotten to the core, and that they murdered Sandy McTavish in cold blood when they took him out and hung him for killing that greaser in self-defense. It’s for speaking his mind, the mind of an honest man, that they’re going to hang him. That is, they’ll hang him if you’ll stand by and let ’em do it. I believe both these boys told a straight story. I believe them three was trying to pull off a daylight robbery, and Jack shot to save the kid.
“Now, men, see here! I for one have stood about all I’m going to stand from this bunch of cutthroats that’ve taken the place of the Committee we organized to protect the town. Tonight I want every man that calls himself honest to come to my place and hold a mass meeting, to elect a Committee like we had in the first place. I want every man—”
