STUTTERIN' ANDY
"Oyez, oyez, o-y-e-z, the Honorable Court of the Third Judicial Districtof the State of New Mexico is now in session," cried the one-armedbailiff, and the district court in Alamo came to order for the afternoonsession.
The judge settled back in his easy chair; the twelve jurymen at his leftidly watched the crowd pour into the little courtroom. By the time theprisoner had been escorted in by the sheriff, every inch of space wasoccupied by eager spectators, both men and women; for the case of AndyMorrow, locally known as "Stutterin' Andy," charged by the grand jurywith stealing one red yearling branded X V from Joseph Barker, hadattracted the attention of the entire community.
During the morning session, the prosecution had given their side of thecase. Old man Barker and a detective from Denver had each testified tofinding the hide of a yearling bearing Barker's well-known brand, buriedbeneath a pile of brush on Morrow's "dry farm" claim.
The resurrected hide was also placed before the jury, the X V on theleft ribs being plainly visible and when court adjourned for the noonrecess, Barker was jubilant.
"We'll git him, we'll git him," he said to his foreman as they trampeddown the narrow staircase leading from the courtroom. "I'll make ashinin' example of Mister Stutterin' Andy, what'll put the fear o' Godinto a lot of them cow thieves, an' last this here community for sometime."
"I reckin' so," replied the foreman who felt that the reputation of theX V outfit was at stake. After lunch, court having been duly opened, theyoung lawyer, who owing to Morrow's poverty, had been appointed by thecourt to defend him, addressed the jury with a short statement of thecase.
The poverty of the prisoner, his struggles to make a home, theiniquitous "fence law" which forced the little farmer to fence his cropsagainst the wandering herds of the cattlemen, the wealth and standing ofBarker, the complaining witness, and his use of a hired detective tohunt up evidence, was all pictured to the jury in his strongestlanguage.
"Say, Barker," whispered a man at his side, nudging him with the pointof his elbow, "don't you feel sort of ornery like, to be made out such aconsarned old renegade?"
"Don't you be a-feelin' sorry for me," he snapped back, "them whatlaughs last laughs best, an' I reckon' we got a big ole laugh a-comin'when this here performance is concluded."
"I swear," muttered a man in the audience to his neighbor, "ef thatthere lawyer chap hopes to make anything out of Andy's testimony thatwill help him, I miss my guess. Why the pore devil stutters so thatnobody kin git a word outa him scarcely, when there's nothin' excitin'goin' on, let alone with all these here people a-settin' therea-listenin'. I'm a-bettin' he won't be able to tell his own name to saynothin' about explainin' how he didn't kill that there yearlin'."
But the attorney knew his business and Morrow remained quietly in hisseat beside the sheriff. Having finished his preliminary statement, theyoung lawyer whispered to the bailiff, who walked across to a small juryroom opening off the main courtroom, and opened a door.
A low-spoken word, and there stepped from the room a woman--the wife ofthe prisoner.
She was tall, slim and about twenty-five years of age. From the cornerof her mouth protruded the "dip-stick," that ever present solace of thesex among her class, and without which she probably never could havefaced the crowd.
A faded blue calico dress over which she wore a small shawl, and on herhead a bedraggled hat with a few tousled roses stuck on one side, madeup a costume which only accentuated her drawn face and sorrowful eyes.
After a few moments of whispered conversation with the lawyer, she tookthe witness chair.
At first her answers to his questions as to her name, age, etc., weregiven in a low, scarcely audible voice, and the room was so still it wasfairly oppressive.
"You understand, do you," he asked her, "that your husband is chargedwith killing a yearling belonging to Mr. Barker?"
"I shore do," was the reply.
"Will you, please, tell the jury in your own words, just what you knowabout this matter," the lawyer said.
"Mought I tell it jist as I want to, jist as I done tole it to you downto the hotel?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied very kindly, "tell the jury your story just as youtold it to me."
She carefully removed the "dip stick" from her mouth, placing it in alittle wooden box which she carried in a battered leather hand bag.Then, turning to the jury, she began her story in a clear firm voice, asif she realized that upon her testimony hung the fate of her husband.
"I want to tell you-all men, the truth about this here thing," she saidlooking into their faces with unflinching eye, "jist how it happened,an' don't mean to hide narry part of it from nobody.
"Andy an' me's been married now nigh onto six year. We moved into thiscountry about a year ago, comin' from Arkin-saw in a wagon. We had twochillen, a boy an' a gal.
"When we gits here, Andy located down there on the claim an' tried dryfarmin'; 'kaffir korners' I reckin' some of them calls us. It tuckmighty nigh every cent we had to git the seed an' some farmin' tools,an' after the crap were in, Andy he gits work in a sawmill up into themountings, leavin' me an' the kids to make the crap.
"Andy he done built a little loghouse an' a corral, an' puts a brushfence around the land we broke up to keep the critters out, we nothavin' any money fer to buy barbed wire fer the fence.
"_Andy done built a little ole log house_"]
"We had a heap o' trouble with the range stock all summer an' it kep' mea-steppin' pretty lively to keep 'em out, but I managed to fight 'emoff, an' we done pretty well that year.
"Andy worked all winter in the sawmill and jist about spring the manclosed down, an' tole the boys a-workin' fer him that he couldn't pay'em anything he was a-owin' 'em. Most of 'em he owed a right smart to,because he kep' a-promisin' he'd pay every month, an' when he donebusted up he owed my man 'bout two hundred dollars.
"So Andy he come home to put in the crap, an' we both worked powerfulhard to git it in, an' as we owed the store up thar so much, we couldn'tgit anything more on our account.
"So, 'bout all we had to eat was taters what we raised the year before.Then the little gal took sick, an' we nussed her fer a time till she gotpowerful weak, an' then Andy he goes to town fer a doctor, tellin' himwe ain't got no money to pay him, but fer God's sake to come an' seeher.
"'Twas twenty-five miles fer the doctor to ride, but he come along withAndy all right, an' when he sees the little gal he ses, 'Scarlet fever,an' a bad case too.'
"The doctor done give her some medicine he brung with him, an' saidshe'd orter be carried to town where he could see her, kase he couldn'tcome out that way very often, even if we done paid him fer it.
"So me an' Andy hooked up the hosses an' brung her in here, an' bein' asit was what the doc calls a contagious disease, we couldn't git no houseto live in; so we had to camp down below town in the creek bottom undera big cottonwood. 'Twere powerful hard to take keer of the little galthere, an' Andy had hard work gittin' grub an' medicine, an' 'cept ferFrank Walton, the man what keeps the 'Bucket of Blood' saloon, we'dnever a-pulled her through.
"Frank he sends down a lot of stuff fer us an' tells Andy to git all themedicine he needed at the drug store an' he'd pay fer it hisself.
"Bimeby, the little gal gits better, an' Andy he bein' anxious to gitback an' look after the crap, we packs our traps an' goes back to theranch.
"The doc he ses the little gal's all rite if we git her plenty goodstrengthnin' stuff, an' Frank he gits us considerable to take home.
"When we left the place we done turned the ole milk cow out on the rangetill we comes back. Andy he rode three days a-lookin' fer her an'finally meets up with her where she lays daid in a little medder up onthe mounting. Andy ses he reckoned she was pizened eatin' wild pasnip.She had a big long-eared calf along with her, but 'twan't nowhere about,an', as the round-up passed that-away a few days afore, Andy he 'lowedthey done picked it up fer a dogie an' put ole man Barker's brand on it.
"Andy h
e couldn't git no work, fer he couldn't leave me alone with thetwo chillen, an' we tried to save the little handful of grub we brungout fer the gal, an' lived mighty nigh on straight taters an' water. Oneday, the little boy he come sick too an' Andy he gits on a hoss an'rides to town to see the doctor agin'.
"The doctor he ses he reckined 'twas scarlet fever too, 'cause thesimptons was about the same an' he give him some medicine to take outan' sed he'd come out hisself soon as he could, but he had a lot of sickfolks to look after, an' didn't like to leave 'em to make the trip, hebein' a lunger hisself, an' not fitten to work very hard.
"Somehow the little feller didn't seem to do very well, an' Andy he goesin after the doctor agin', an' he come out to see him. He looks mightyserous when he gits thar an' he sed: 'I reckin' this little chap'smighty porely; what be ye a-feedin' him?' Andy he busted out a-cryin'an' ses; 'Doc,' ses he, 'we ain't got nothin' but taters an' a littlehawg meat what Frank Walton sent out when we brung the little gal back,an' we been a-savin' that fer her, not thinkin' that the boy was gittin'sick too.'
"'Ain't ye got no cow,' ses the doc, an' Andy tole him how she done diedwhile we was all in town before.
"The doc he ses fer Andy to git ready an' come on to town with him thatnight, an' he'd git him some more grub, an' so 'bout a hour afore sunAndy an' the doc sets off fer town leavin' me with the two chillen."
The courtroom was so still excepting for the low, spiritless voice ofthe woman, that one could hear the muffled sobs of one or two of thewomen in the room whose hearts were touched with the sorrowful story shewas unfolding.
She stopped for a moment to choke back her own tears, and the attorney,leaning towards her as she faced the jury, said almost in a whisper,"What happened that night?"
"The pore little feller died in my arms jist about a hour before sun upnext mornin'," she replied without a quaver in her voice, but with bothhands clinched in an agony which could find no tongue in herdisheartened, hopeless condition of mind.
"Please continue, if you can," said the lawyer kindly, knowing that inher homely recital of their grief and misfortunes lay the open road toher husband's acquittal.
"Well, that mornin' Andy he come home with the grub, but 'twas too latefer the boy.
"He was shore all broke up over it an' sat all day long without sayin' aword 'ceptin' he guessed the Lord 'sort of had it in fer us pore folksan' only looked after the rich ones like ole man Barker an' his kind.
"'Twas fifteen miles to the nearest neighbors, an' anyhow they was alla-skeered of the fever, they havin' a lot of kids of their own, so mean' Andy we reckoned the best thing we could do was to bury him rite inour field whar we could take keer of his little grave.
"'Bout this time, the range stock began to bother us a-gittin' in thefield an' a-damagin' the crap. Andy he sent word to Barker to send someof his men down thar an' carry off the worst ones, but the foreman hesaid 'twan't none of his business, thar was a fence law in this herestate, an' we must fence our land ef we wanted to raise a crap.
"Then the grub what we brung down from town done give out an' the littlegal she sort of seemed to be a pinin' away right afore our eyes.
"One evenin' some of the cattle broke into the field agin', an' Andy wasa-drivin' 'em out, a yearlin' calf breaks back an' dodged into thelittle pole corral we done made fer a milk pen.
"Andy he vowed he'd put a 'yoke' onto him, he bein' the wust one of emall for breakin' through the fence; so he puts up the bars intendin' tofix him as soon as we got the rest out.
"Bimeby, we goes to the corral meanin' to fix him with a yoke an' turnhim out, but when I seed that there brand of Barker's onto him, an' weain't nothin' to eat but taters, an' Barker's stock a-ruinin' our crapfaster than it could grow; I just got that bitter I didn't much carewhat did happen.
"Andy he sets down the axe he done brung out to the corral to make theyoke with, an' goes into the cabin fer a piece of balin' wire to tie theyoke on with, an' while he's gone all the bad in me come to the top, an'I drives the yearlin' into the little calf pen where we shuts up themilk calves, an' taken the axe an' hit him a lick on the haid with it ashe made a sort of pass at me, which brung him to the ground.
"When Andy come back with the balin' wire, the calf was daid. He wereterribly cut up about it but I ses, 'We can't be much wuss off, an' I'mthat hongry fer somethin' besides taters, that I don't care what happensto us.'
"As fer the rest of it, I reckin what the detective feller said is aboutright. We done butchered the calf the best we could, an' buried the hidewhat was found, an' so I reckin you all men knows now jist who killedthat thar yearling of Barker's, fer 'twere me what did it an' not AndyMorrow a-tall."
Her voice was raised as she spoke the last few words, and she threw herhead back, and swept a look of defiance around the courtroom.
Directly before her sat old man Barker, his eyes staring straight intohers, his great hairy hands gripping a red bandana until the cords andveins stood out like ropes, while down his face the tears were makingtheir way through the rough stubbly beard that covered it without anyeffort on his part to stay their course. Barker moved uneasily in hischair; in the tense stillness of the room its creaking smote the silencelike a shot and drew every eye in the room to him. He grasped the backof the chair in front of him, struggled partly to his feet, and thensank back again. His mouth opened; he licked his parched lips like somehunted wild animal.
"The, the--gal," he gasped, never taking his eyes from the woman's face,"the little gal, wh--what come of her?" he demanded hoarsely, a greatsomething in his throat almost choking him, "did-did-sh-he," and hisvoice failed him completely.
The woman smiled scornfully. "She did not," she said, realizing thedrift of his unspoken question, "we done made a pot of soup out of someof that there yearlin' an' fed her some of the meat, an' she perked upan' come through all right." Then--daughter of Eve that she was--shebroke down and burst into tears.
Over the face of the old cattleman swept a look of joy and relief thatwords cannot portray. He mopped his flushed face and streaming eyes withthe handkerchief, utterly unconscious that every eye in the courtroomwas upon him, then, turning, brought his great hand down upon the backof his foreman beside him with force enough to have almost broken it.His face was wreathed in smiles. "Glory be," he almost shouted, "glorybe--thank God for that."
* * * * *
Five minutes later Stutterin' Andy walked out of the courtroom a freeman.
Tales from the X-bar Horse Camp: The Blue-Roan Outlaw and Other Stories Page 10
