The Eagle's Heart. Garland Hamlin

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СКАЧАТЬ liar."

      "What made you say that to him?" persevered Bradley.

      "Because that's what he was."

      "Did he say something to you which you resented?"

      "Yes—he did."

      "What was it?"

      Right there Harold closed his lips and Bradley took another tack.

      "Harry, I want you to tell me something. Did you have anything to do with killing Brownlow's dog?"

      "No," replied Harold disdainfully.

      "Did you have any hand in the raid on Brownlow's orchard a week later?"

      "No; I was at home."

      "Did your folks see you during the evening?"

      "No; I was with Jack up in the attic, reading."

      "You've taken a hand in some of these things—raids—haven't you?"

      "Yes, but I never tried to destroy things. It was all in fun."

      "I understand. Well, now, Harold, you've got a worse name than belongs to you, and I wish you'd just tell me the whole truth about this fight, and we will do what we can to help you."

      Harold's face grew sullen. "I don't care what they do with me. They're all down on me anyway," he slowly said, and Bradley arose and went out with a feeling of discouragement.

CHAPTER IV

       Table of Contents

THE TRIAL

       Table of Contents

      The day of his trial came as a welcome change to Harold. He had no fear of punishment and he hated delay. Every day before his sentence began was a loss of time—kept him just that much longer from the alluring lands to the West. His father called often to see him, but the boy remained inexorably silent in all these meetings, and the minister went away white with pain. Even to his sister Harold was abrupt and harsh, but Jack's devotion produced in him the most exalted emotion, and he turned upon his loyal chum the whole force of his affectionate nature. He did not look up to Jack; he loved him more as a man loves his younger brother, and yet even to him he would not utter the words young Slocum had flung at him. Lawyer Talcott had asked young Burns to get at this if possible, for purpose of defense, but it was not possible.

      The court met on the first Tuesday in September. The day was windless and warm, and as Harold walked across the yard with the sheriff he looked around at the maple leaves, just touched with crimson and gold and russet, and his heart ached with desire to be free. The scent of the open air made his nostrils quiver like those of a deer.

      Jack met them on the path—eager to share his hero's trouble.

      "Please, sheriff, let me walk with Harry."

      "Fall in behind," the sheriff gruffly replied; and so out of all the town people Jack alone associated himself with the prisoner. Up the stairs whereon he had romped when a lad, Harold climbed spiritlessly, a boy no longer.

      The halls were lined with faces, everyone as familiar as the scarred and scratched wall of the court room, and yet all were now alien—no one recognized him by a frank and friendly nod, and he moved past his old companions with sullen and rigid face. His father met him at the door and walked beside him down the aisle to a seat.

      The benches were crowded, and every foot of standing space was soon filled. The members of the First Church were present in mass to see the minister enter, pale and haggard with the disgrace of his son.

      The judge, an untidy old man of great ability and probity, was in his seat, looking out absently over the spectators. "The next case" to him was only a case. He had grown gray in dealing with infractions of the law, and though kindly disposed he had grown indifferent—use had dulled his sympathies. His beard, yellow with tobacco stain, was still venerable, and his voice, deep and melodious, was impressive and commanding.

      He was disposed to cut short all useless forms, and soon brought the case to vital questions. Naturally, the prosecution made a great deal of Harold's bad character, drawing from ready witnesses the story of his misdeeds. To do this was easy, for the current set that way, and those who had only thought Harold a bad boy now knew that he was concerned in all the mischief of the village.

      In rebuttal, Mr. Talcott drew out contradictory statements from these witnesses, and proved several alibis at points where Harold had been accused. He produced Jack Burns and several others to prove that Harold liked fun, but that he was not inclined to lead in any of the mischief of the town—in fact, that he had not the quality of leadership.

      He pushed young Burns hard to get him to say that he knew the words of insult which Slocum had used. "I think he used some girl's name," he finally admitted.

      "I object," shouted the prosecution, as if touched on a hidden spring.

      "Go on," said the judge to Talcott. He had become interested in the case at last.

      When the lawyer for the prosecution cross-examined young Burns he became terrible. He leaned across the table and shook his lean, big-jointed finger in Jack's face. "We don't want what you think, sir; we want what you know. Do you know that Slocum brought a girl's name into this?"

      "No, sir, I don't," replied Jack, red and perspiring.

      "That's all!" cried the attorney, leaning back in his chair with dramatic complacency.

      Others of Harold's companions were brow-beaten into declaring that he led them into all kinds of raids, and when Talcott tried to stem this tide by objection, the prosecution rose to say that the testimony was competent; that it was designed to show the dangerous character of the prisoner. "He is no gentle and guileless youth, y'r Honor, but a reckless young devil, given to violence. No one will go further than I in admiration of the Reverend Mr. Excell, but the fact of the son's lawless life can not be gainsaid."

      Slocum repeated his story on the stand and was unshaken by Bradley's cross-examination. Suddenly the defense said: "Stand, please."

      Slocum arose—a powerful, full-grown man.

      Bradley nodded at Harold. "Stand also."

      "I object," shrieked the prosecution.

      "State the objection," said the judge.

      "Keep your position," said Bradley sternly. "I want the jury to compare you."

      As the prisoner and the witness faced each other the court room blossomed with smiles. Harold looked very pale and delicate beside the coarse, muscular hostler, who turned red and looked foolish.

      Ultimately the judge sustained the objection, but the work was done. A dramatic contrast had been drawn, and the jury perceived the pusillanimity of Slocum's story. This was the position of the defense. СКАЧАТЬ