by Max Brand
8
Denver Jim was already heartily in the spirit of the thing.
"Sit down on that black rock, Jig," he said, taking Gaspar to thedesignated stone as he spoke, and removing the noose from the latter'sneck. "Black is a sign you're going to swing in the end. Jest atriflin' postponement, that's all."
Riley placated the judge with his first appointment. "Judge Lodge," hesaid, "you know a pile about these here things. I appoint you clerk.It's your duty to take out that little notebook you got in your vestpocket and write down a note for the important things that's said.Savvy?"
"Right," replied Lodge, entirely won over, and he settled himself onthe grass, with the notebook on his knee and a stub of a pencil poisedover it.
"Larsen, you're sergeant-at-arms."
"How d'you mean that, Sinclair?"
"That's what they call them that keeps order; I disremember where Iheard it. Larsen, if anybody starts raising a rumpus, it's up to you toshut 'em up."
"I'll sure do it," declared Larsen. "You can sure leave that to me,judge." He hoisted his gun belt around so that the gun butt hung moreforward and readier to his hand.
"Denver, you're the jailer. You see the prisoner don't get away. Keepan eye on him, you see?"
"Easy, judge," replied Denver. "I can do it with one hand."
"Montana, you keep the door."
"What d'you mean--door, judge?"
"Ain't you got no imagination whatever?" demanded Sinclair. "You keepthe door. When I holler for a witness you go and get 'em. AndSandersen, you're the hangman. Take charge of that rope!"
"That ain't such an agreeable job, your honor."
"Neither is mine. Go ahead."
Sandersen, glowering, gathered up the rope and draped it over his arm.
"Buck Mason, you're the jury. Sit down over there on your bench, willyou? This here court being kind of shorthanded, you got to do twelvemen's work. If it's too much for you, the rest of us will help out."
"Your honor," declared Buck, much impressed, "I'll sure do my best."
"The jury's job," explained Sandersen, "is to listen to everything andnot say nothing, but think all the time. You'll do your talking in onelittle bunch when you say guilty or not guilty. Now we're ready tostart. Gaspar, stand up!"
Denver Jim officiously dragged the schoolteacher to his feet.
"What's your name?"
"Name?" asked the bewildered Gaspar. "Why, everybody knows my name!"
"Don't make any difference," announced Sinclair. "This is going to be astrictly regular hanging with no frills left marabout's your name?"
"John Irving Gaspar."
"Called Jig for short, and sometimes Cold Feet," put in the clerk.
Sinclair cleared his throat. "John Irving Gaspar, alias Jig, alias ColdFeet, d'you know what we got agin' you? Know what you're charged with?"
"With--with an absurd thing, sir."
"Murder!" said Sinclair solemnly. "Murder, Jig! What d'you say, guiltyor not guilty! Most generally, you'd say not guilty."
"Not guilty--absolutely not guilty. As a matter of fact, Mr.Sinclair--"
"Denver, shut him up and make him sit down."
One hard, brown hand was clapped over Jig's mouth. The other thrust himback on the black rock.
"Gentlemen of the jury," said his honor, "you've heard the prisoner sayhe didn't do it. Now we'll get down to the truth of it. What's thewitnesses for the prosecution got to say?"
There was a pause of consideration.
"Speak up pronto," said Sinclair. "Anybody know anything agin' theprisoner?"
Larsen stepped forward. "Your honor, it's pretty generally known--"
"I don't give a doggone for what's generally known. What d'you know?"
The Swede's smile did not alter in the slightest, but his voice becameblunter, more acrid. From that moment he made up his mind firmly thathe wanted to see John Irving Gaspar, otherwise Jig, hanged from thecottonwood tree above them.
"I was over to Shorty Lander's store the other day--"
His honor raised his hand in weary protest, as he smiled apologeticallyat the court. "Darned if I didn't plumb forget one thing," he said. "Wegot to swear in these witnesses before they can chatter. Is thereanybody got a Bible around 'em? Nope? Montana, I wished you'd lope overto that house and see what they got in the line of Bibles."
Montana strode away in the direction of the house, and quiet fell overthe unique courtroom. Larsen, so pleasant of face and so unbending ofheart, was the first to speak.
"Looks to me, gents, like we're wasting a lot of time on a rat!"
The blond head of Cold Feet turned, and his large, dark eyes restedwithout expression upon the face of the Swede. He seemed almostliterally to fold his hands and await the result of his trial. Theillusion was so complete that even Riley Sinclair began to feel thatthe prisoner might be guilty--of an act which he himself had done! Theopportunity was indeed too perfect to be dismissed withoutconsideration. It was in his power definitely to put the blame onanother man; then he could remain in this community as long as hewished, to work his will upon Sandersen.
Sandersen himself was a great problem. If Bill had spoken up in goodfaith to save Sinclair from the posse that morning, the Riley felt thathe was disarmed. But a profound suspicion remained with him thatSandersen guessed his mission, and was purposely trying to brush awaythe wrath of the avenger. It would take time to discover the truth, butto secure that time it was necessary to settle the blame for thekilling. Cold Feet was a futile, weak-handed little coward. In thestern scheme of Sinclair's life, the death of such a man was almostless than nothing.
"Wasting a lot of time on a rat!"
The voice of Larsen fell agreeably upon the ear of his honor. Behindthat voice came a faraway murmur, the scream of a hawk. He bent hishead back and looked up through the limbs of the cottonwood into thepale blue-white haze of the morning sky.
A speck drifted across it, the hawk sailing in search of prey. Underthe noble arch of heaven floated that fierce, malignant creature!
Riley Sinclair lowered his head with a sigh. Was not he himself playingthe part of the hawk? He looked straight into the eyes of the prisoner,and Jig met the gaze without flinching. He merely smiled in anapologetic manner, and he made a little gesture with his right hand, asif to admit that he was helpless, and that he cast himself upon thegood will of Riley Sinclair. Riley jerked his head to one side andscowled. He hated that appeal. He wanted this hanging to be the work ofseven men, not of one.
Montana returned, bringing with him a yellow-covered, red-backed book."They wasn't a sign of a Bible in the house," he stated, "but I foundthis here history of the United States, with the Declaration ofIndependence pasted into the back of it. I figured that ought to doabout as well as a Bible."
"You got a good head, Montana," said his honor. "Open up to that thereDeclaration. Here, Larsen, put your hand on this and swear you'retelling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Theyain't going to be any bum testimony taken in this court. We ain't goingto railroad this lynching through."
He caught a glistening light of gratitude in the eyes of theschoolteacher. Riley's own breast swelled with a sense of virtue. Hehad never before taken the life of a helpless man; and now that it wasnecessary, he would do it almost legally.
Larsen willingly took the oath. "I'm going to tell the truth, the wholetruth, and nothing but the truth, damn me if I don't! I was over toShorty Lander's store the other day--"
"What day?"
"Hmm! Last Tuesday, I reckon."
"Go on, Larsen, but gimme nothin' but the facts."
"I seen Jig come into the store. 'I want to look at a revolver,'" hesaid.
"'The deuce you do! What might you want to do with a revolver, Jig?'says Shorty. 'You mean you want a toy gun?'
"I remember them words particular clear, because I didn't see how evena spineless gent like Jig could stand for such a pile of insult. But hejust sort of smiled with his lips and got steady with his eyes,
like hewas sort of grieved.
"'I want a gun that'll kill a man,' he says to Shorty.
"Shorty and me both laughed, but, when Shorty brung out a forty-five,doggone me if Jig didn't buy the gun.
"'Look here,' says he, 'is this the way it works?'
"And he raises it up in his skinny hand. I had to laugh.
"'Hold it in both hands,' says I.
"'Oh,' says he, and darned if he didn't take it in both hands.
"'It seems much easier to handle in this way,' says he.
"But that's what I seen. I seen him buy a gun to kill a man. Them washis words, and I figure they're a mouthful."
Larsen retired.
"Damagin' evidence, they ain't no question," said Mr. Clerk severely."But I can lay over it, your honor."
"Blaze away, judge."
Larsen took the oath. "I'm going to show you they was bad feelingsbetween the prisoner and the dead man, your honor. I was over to thedance at the Woodville schoolhouse a couple of weeks ago. Jig wasthere, not dancing or nothing, but sitting in a corner, with all thegirls, mostly, hanging around him. They kept hanging around lookingreal foolish at him, and Jig looks back at 'em as if they wasn't there.Well, it riles the boys around these parts. Quade comes up to him andtakes him aside.
"'Look here,' he says, 'why don't you dance with one girl instead ofhogging them all?'
"'I don't dance,' says Jig.
"'Why do you stay if you won't dance?' asks Quade.
"'It is my privilege,' says Jig, smiling in that ornery way of his,like his thoughts was too big for an ordinary gent to understand 'em.
"'You stay an' dance an' welcome,' says Quade, 'but if you won't dance,get out of here and go home where you belong. You're spoiling the partyfor us, keeping all the girls over here.'
"'Is that a threat?' says Jig, smiling in that way of his.
"'It sure is. And most particular I want you to keep away from SallyBent. You hear?'
"'You take advantage of your size,' says Jig.
"'Guns even up sizes,' says Quade.
"'Thank you,' says Jig. 'I'll remember.'
"Right after that he went home because he was afraid that Quade wouldgive him a dressing. But they was bad feelings between him and Quade.They was a devil in them eyes of Jig's when he looked at big Quade. Iseen it, and I knowed they'd be trouble!" Lodge then retired.
"Gents," said his honor, "it looks kind of black for the prisoner. Weknow that Gaspar had a grudge agin' Quade, and that he bought a gun bigenough to kill a man. It sure looks black for you, Gaspar."
The prisoner looked steadily at Sinclair. There was somethingunsettling in that gaze.
"All we got to make sure of," said the judge, "is that that quarrelbetween Gaspar and Quade was strong enough to make Gaspar want to killhim, and--"
"Your honor," broke in Gaspar, "don't you see that I could never kill aman?" The prisoner stretched out his hands in a gesture of appeal toSinclair.
Riley gritted his teeth. Suddenly a chill had passed through him at thethought of the hanging noose biting into that frail, soft throat. "Youshut up till you're asked to talk," he said, frowning savagely. "Ithink we got a witness here that'll prove that you _did_ havesufficient cause to make you want to get rid of Quade. And, if we havethat proof, heaven help you. Montana, go get Sally Bent!"
Gaspar started up with a ring in his voice. "No, no!"
In response to a gesture from Sinclair, Denver Jim jerked the prisonerback onto the black rock. With blazing blue eyes, Gaspar glared at thejudge, his delicate lips trembling with unspoken words.
Sinclair knew, with another strange falling of the heart, that theprisoner was perfectly aware that his judge had not the slightestsuspicion of his guilt. An entente was established between them, anentente which distressed Sinclair, and which he strove to destroy. But,despite himself, he could not get rid of the knowledge that the greatblue eyes were fixed steadily upon him, as if begging him to see thatjustice was done. Consequently, the judge made himself as impersonal aspossible.
