White Wolf's Law. Dunning Hal

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СКАЧАТЬ prisoner was brought in, the charge was read, and the trial was on. Pete Cable, a big brute of a man, grinned insolently. The judge realized with something of a shock that, in spite of the prisoner’s pale skin and American name, he was a Mexican; he understood now why the Mexican vote would be against him in the next election.

      The Honorable J. T. Williams, the defense lawyer, had been imported from Washington at great expense. He towered over Bill Herrick, the little prosecuting attorney, who was obviously nervous and frightened. The judge wondered if Herrick, too, had been threatened, and, if so, if he had weakened.

      Tom Powers had seen to it that there was no chance to fix the jury. He had collected his panel only the night before, and no man knew he was to serve until given a summons, when he was straight-way conducted to the jail and locked up in a large room.

      From the first it was apparent that Williams sought delay. He did all in his power to make the trial drag and to encumber it with technicalities. He offered objection after objection, forced the judge to rule on a fine point of law at every opportunity.

      One by one the jurymen were called, and Williams challenged them peremptorily. He had no idea of the size of the panel called by the sheriff and hoped to force him to call another. If he were successful, the defense would not be caught napping again and would see that among those called there were several who would bring in a verdict of acquittal, no matter what the evidence.

      But by late afternoon Williams saw his challenges mostly used up, and still there was no sign of the end of the panel. The jury box was full before the court adjourned for the day.

      The judge was thoughtful as, followed by his two shadows, he walked home that evening. The die was cast; he had clearly shown that he was in the camp of justice. He refused to think of the consequences.

      Bill Anderson was waiting for him when he arrived at his house. The political boss apologized for losing his temper the evening before. His regret appeared so sincere that the judge almost forgot that momentary flash he had seen of the man’s real character.

      A little later Mac Kennedy and Ace Cutts arrived. Kennedy was a frequent visitor at the house and a great favorite of Mrs. Ransom’s. Ace Cutts was a sleek-haired young fellow of twenty-three, who went in for flashy clothes and handmade boots. He had full charge of the Bar X, and the judge had brought him up as his own son, although he had never adopted the boy legally. At times Ace’s wildness bothered him. Now Ace drew his foster father aside.

      “Look here, dad. Why lean over so straight you fall over backward? Be sensible. Take things easy. They can’t possibly acquit Pete Cable. Why not work things to have a hung verdict? Then you grant a new trial. You can be in Washington, and another judge will hang him.”

      “I’m sorry to hear you talk like that, my boy,” the judge said severely.

      Ace flared up.

      “Rats! It’s sense. They’ll break you,” he cried angrily.

      “Ace, come on, if you’re going to dinner with me!” Kennedy called sharply.

      Kennedy said good night to the judge and departed, followed by the sulky Ace.

      The judge watched them thoughtfully. He wished Ace would get control of that temper; he said foolish things when he was angry, and people might misunderstand him.

      About ten that night Toothpick and Jim Allen arrived back in town. All day they had lain flat on their stomachs, under cover of brush, and watched the lava fields with a pair of powerful binoculars. Now they had circled the town and entered it from the north.

      Toothpick went to the jail, where he held a long, whispered conference with the sheriff. Powers’ expression changed from surprise to delight as he listened. Allen went to Maria’s cantina. He staggered as he arrived, but he had money to pay for a bottle, so Maria allowed him to remain. He chose a table close to the rear door; here he drank the first bottle and called for another. He was halfway through this when Dutchy and another man entered. They argued drunkenly for a time, and ended in a fist fight.

      A table and a chair crashed over. Maria screamed. She left her bar to stop the fight and assailed the two men with furious words. They mumbled and staggered out. When she returned to the bar she looked about for Allen; he had vanished. Puzzled, she stared about for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders with indifferent indolence.

      Allen had slipped, under cover of the fight, out of the back door. He found, as he expected, another door beyond, that led from the storeroom into a path. This, in turn, led to an alley, which cut the block in two and was lined by shacks, little better than hovels. Directly opposite from the intersection of the path and the alley lay a corral.

      “That’s where Mr. Anderson got straw on his feet. He comes by that narrow alley so he won’t have to go by them greaser shacks, ’cause, if he did, they might talk. Let’s see what he comes for.” Allen chuckled to himself.

      He removed his blue glasses, took a Colt from his shoulder holster, and tucked it inside his belt. Then he flitted across the alley and ducked under the corral bars, silent as a ghost. He crossed the corral to a wall on the farther side. Music within told him that this was the rear of the Red Queen Saloon. There was no door here, so he slipped over to the barn and examined that. He passed the double doors that led to the stable. Beyond these he found a small door which was locked. He recrossed the corral, slipped under the bars, and tiptoed down the alley toward Depot Street. In one or two of the shacks there were lights, and once he passed two slovenly Mexicans seated in a doorway. They called to him, but he hurried by.

      Back on Main Street he fell into his rôle once more, staggering and singing softly to himself. He peered through the doors of the Red Queen, not daring to enter, because of the danger of being thrown out. Yet if he found Anderson, he had a plan that he thought would reinstate him in the Red Queen. He waited until several men clattered in to the bar and slipped in after them. He ducked through into the dancing hall, unseen by the bartenders. By good luck he found Anderson watching a poker game. He plucked his sleeve.

      Anderson scowled at him.

      “Say, mister,” he whined, “don’t let that sheriff jug me. They tell me you’re a good guy that don’t kick a guy just ’cause he’s down on his luck.”

      Several other men who heard the hobo’s appeal looked curiously at the tattered figure and laughed.

      “You just stick in here, an’ Powers dasen’t come in after yuh,” one of them said.

      “But them gents out front will give me the bum’s rush,” the hobo complained.

      Anderson grinned good-naturedly. “I’ve been down on my luck myself. Tom Powers can’t touch you, if you have a job.”

      The hobo drew back suspiciously.

      “I ain’t very strong, mister.”

      Again the others laughed, and the political boss smiled.

      “I wasn’t thinking of anything that would hurt your health,” he said. “How about doing odd jobs about the Red Queen?”

      Anderson went over to the Toad and talked to him for a moment. The Toad grinned and assented. Allen had known there was no love lost between Anderson and Tom Powers, but, even so, things had worked out better than he had hoped. Now he was hired as handy man about the Red Queen.

      He took up his new duties on the spot. And between errands he kept his ears open.

      “Ace СКАЧАТЬ