The negro swept as he had never swept before. Twice a bullet cut the floor at his feet; and at last the stick of the broom was shattered in his hand. "Coloured scion," said Ike Anderson, as though in surprise, "yore broom is damaged. Kneel down and pray for another." The negro knelt and surely prayed.
On all sides swept the wide and empty streets. It was Ike Anderson"s town. A red film seemed to his gaze to come over the face of things.
He slipped his revolver back into the scabbard and paused again to think. A quiet footstep sounded on the walk behind him, and he wheeled, still puzzled with the red film and the mental problem.
The sheriff stood quietly facing him, with his thumbs resting lightly in his belt. He had not drawn his own revolver. He was chewing a splinter. "Ike," said he, "throw up your hands!"
The nerves of some men act more quickly than those of others, and such men make the most dangerous pistol shots, when they have good digestion and long practice at the rapid drawing of the revolver, an art at that time much cultivated. Ike Anderson"s mind and nerves and muscles were always lightning-like in the instantaneous rapidity of their action.
The eye could scarce have followed the movement by which the revolver leaped to a level from his right-hand scabbard. He had forgotten, in his moment of study, that with this six-shooter he had fired once at the whisky barrel, once at the gla.s.s of straws, once at the negro"s heel, twice at the floor, and once at the broomstick. The click on the empty sh.e.l.l was heard clearly at the hotel bar, distinctly ahead of the double report that followed. For, such was the sharpness of this man"s mental and muscular action, he had dropped the empty revolver from his right hand and drawn the other with his left hand in time to meet the fire of the sheriff.
The left arm of the sheriff dropped. The whole body of Ike Anderson, shot low through the trunk, as was the sheriff"s invariable custom, melted down and sank into a sitting posture, leaning against the edge of the stoop. The sheriff with a leap sprang behind the fallen man, not firing again. Ike Anderson, with a black film now come upon his eyes, raised his revolver and fired once, twice, three times, four times, five times, tapping the s.p.a.ce in front of him regularly and carefully with his fire. Then he sank back wearily into the sheriff"s arms.
"All right, mammy!" remarked Ike Anderson, somewhat irrelevantly.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE BODY OF THE CRIME
Hour after hour, in the heat of the day or the cool of the evening, the giant Mexican strode on by the side of the two hors.e.m.e.n, sometimes trotting like a dog, more often walking with a shambling, wide-reaching step, tireless as any wild animal. His feet, seamed and parched into the semblance rather of horn than of flesh and bone, were quite bare, though now it was a time of year when the nights at least were very cool and when freezing weather might come at any time. He was clad lightly as ever, in torn cotton garb, and carried no bedding save a narrow strip of native woollen fabric, woven of undyed wool and so loose of texture that one might thrust a finger through at any point of its scant extent. He bore no weapon save the huge knife swinging at his belt. Fastened to the same girdle was a hide bag or pouch, half full of parched corn, rudely pounded. Expressionless, mute, untiring, the colossal figure strode along, like some primordial creature in whom a human soul had not yet found home. Yet, with an intelligence and confidence which was more than human, he ran without hesitation the trail of the unshod horse across this wide, hard plain, where even the eye of the cowboy could rarely discern it. Now and then the print of the hoof might show in the soft earth of some prairie-dog burrow; then perhaps for an hour Juan would walk on, his eye fixed apparently upon some far-off point of the horizon as upon the ground, until finally they would note the same hoof-print again and know again that the instinct of the wild guide had not failed.
The Mexican was running the back trail of the horse of Cal Greathouse, the missing ranchman, and it was very early seen that the horse had not returned over the route taken by Greathouse when he started out. He had gone along the valley of the Smoky River, whereas the course of the loose animal had been along the chord of a wide arc made by the valley of that stream, a course much shorter and easier to traverse, as it evaded a part of that rough country known as the breaks of the Smoky, a series of gullies and "draws" running from the table-land down to the deep little river bed. All along the stream, at ragged intervals, grew scattered clumps of cottonwoods and other trees, so that at a long distance the winding course of the little river could be traced with ease. The afternoon of the first day brought the travellers well within, view of this timber line, but the rough country along the stream was not yet reached when they were forced to quit the trail and make their rough bivouac for the night.
There was a curious feeling of certainty in Franklin"s mind, as they again took saddle for the journey, that the end of the quest was not far distant, and that its nature was predetermined. Neither he nor Curly expected to find the ranchman alive, though neither could have given letter and line for this belief. As for Juan, his face was expressionless as ever. On the morning of this second day they began to cross the great ribbon-like pathways of the northern cattle trail, these now and then blending with the paths of the vanished buffalo.
The interweaving paths of the cattle trail were flat and dusty, whereas the buffalo trails were cut deep into the hard earth. Already the dust was swept and washed out of these old and unused ways, leaving them as they were to stand for many years afterward, deep furrows marking the accustomed journeyings of a now annihilated race.
All the wild animals of the plains know how to find their way to water, and the deep buffalo paths all met and headed for the water that lay ahead, and which was to be approached by the easiest possible descent from the table-land through the breaks. Along one of these old trails the horse had come up from the valley, and hence it was down this same trail that Juan eventually led the two searchers for the horse"s owner.
The ponies plunged down the rude path which wound among the ridges and cut banks, and at last emerged upon the flat, narrow valley traversed by the turbid stream, in that land dignified by the name of river.
Down to the water the thirsty horses broke eagerly, Juan following, and lying at full length along the bank, where he lapped at the water like a hound.
"_Que camina--onde, amigo_?" asked Curly in cowboy _patois_. "Which way?"
The Mexican pointed up the stream with carelessness, and they turned thither as soon as the thirst of all had been appeased. As they resumed the march, now along the level floor of the winding little valley. Franklin was revolving a certain impression in his mind. In the mud at the bank where they had stopped he had seen the imprint of a naked foot--a foot very large and with an upturned toe, widely spreading apart from its fellows, and it seemed to him that this track was not so fresh as the ones he had just seen made before his eyes.
Troubled, he said nothing, but gave a start as Curly, without introduction, remarked, as though reading his thoughts:
"Cap, I seen it, too."
"His footprint at the bank?"
"Yep. He"s sh.o.r.e been here afore."
Neither man said more, but both grew grave, and both looked unconsciously to their weapons. Their way now led among ragged plum thickets, and occasional tangles of wild grapevines, or such smaller growths as clung close to the water among the larger, ragged cottonwoods that dotted the floor of the valley. The Mexican plunged ahead as confidently as before, and in this tangled going his speed was greater than that of the horses. "_Cuidado_!" (careful) "Juan," cried Curly warningly, and the latter turned back a face inscrutable as ever.
The party moved up the valley a mile above the old buffalo ford, and now at last there appeared a change in the deportment of the guide.
His step quickened. He prattled vaguely to himself. It seemed that something was near. There was a solemnity in the air. Overhead an excited crow crossed and recrossed the thin strip of high blue sky.
Above the crow a buzzard swung in slow, repeated circles, though not joined by any of its sombre brotherhood. Mystery, expectation, dread, sat upon this scene. The two men rode with hands upon their pistols and leaning forward to see that which they felt must now be near.
They turned an angle of the valley, and came out upon a little flat among the trees. Toward this open s.p.a.ce the Mexican sprang with hoa.r.s.e, excited cries. The horses plunged back, snorting. Yet in the little glade all Was silence, solitude. Swiftly Franklin and Curly dismounted and made fast their horses, and then followed up the Mexican, their weapons now both drawn.
This glade, now empty, had once held a man, or men. Here was a trodden place where a horse had been tied to a tree. Here was the broken end of a lariat. Here had been a little bivouac, a bed sc.r.a.ped up of the scanty fallen leaves and bunches of taller gra.s.s. Here were broken bushes--broken, how? There was the fire, now sunken into a heap of ashes, a long, large, white heap, very large for a cowman"s camp fire.
And there--
And there was it! There was some Thing. There was the reason of this unspoken warning in the air. There lay the object of their search. In a flash the revolvers covered the cowering figure of the giant, who, p.r.o.ne upon his knees, was now raving, gibbering, praying, calling upon long-forgotten saints to save him from this sight, "_O Santa Maria! O Purissima! O Madre de Dios!_" he moaned, wringing his hands and shivering as though stricken with an ague. He writhed among the leaves, his eyes fixed only upon that ghastly shape which lay before him.
There, in the ashes of the dead fire, as though embalmed, as though alive, as though lingering to accuse and to convict, lay the body of Greathouse, the missing man. Not merely a charred, incinerated ma.s.s, the figure lay in the full appearance of life, a cast of the actual man, moulded with fineness from the white ashes of the fire! Not a feature, not a limb, not a fragment of clothing was left undestroyed; yet none the less here, stretched across the bed of the burned-out fire, with face upturned, with one arm doubled beneath the head and the other with clinched hand outflung, lay the image, the counterpart, nay, the ident.i.ty of the man they sought! It was a death mask, wrought by the pity of the destroying flames. These winds, this sky, the air, the rain, all had spared and left it here in accusation most terrible, in evidence unparalleled, incredibly yet irresistibly true!
Franklin felt his heart stop as he looked upon this sight, and Curly"s face grew pale beneath its tan. They gazed for a moment quietly, then Curly sighed and stepped back. "Keep him covered, Cap," he said, and, going to his horse, he loosened the long lariat.
"_Arriba_, Juan," he said quietly. "Get up." He kicked at the Mexican with his foot as he lay, and stirred him into action. "Get up, Juan,"
he repeated, and the giant obeyed meekly as a child. Curly tied his hands behind his back, took away his knife, and bound him fast to a tree. Juan offered no resistance whatever, but looked at Curly with wondering dumb protest in his eyes, as of an animal unjustly punished.
Curly turned again to the fire.
"It"s him, all right," said he; "that"s Cal." Franklin nodded.
Curly picked up a bit of stick and began to stir among the ashes, but as he did so both he and Franklin uttered an exclamation of surprise.
By accident he had touched one of the limbs. The stick pa.s.sed through it, leaving behind but a crumbled, formless heap of ashes. Curly essayed investigation upon the other side of the fire. A touch, and the whole ghastly figure was gone! There remained no trace of what had lain there. The shallow, incrusting sh.e.l.l of the fickle ash broke in and fell, all the thin exterior covering dropping into the cavern which it had inclosed! Before them lay not charred and dismembered remains, but simply a flat table of ashes, midway along it a slightly higher ridge, at which the wind, hitherto not conspiring, now toyed, flicking away items here and there, carrying them, spreading them, returning them unto the dust. Cal Greathouse had made his charge, and left it with the Frontier to cast the reckoning.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE TRIAL
"Your Honour," said Franklin to the Court, "I appear to defend this man."
The opening sentence of the young advocate might have been uttered in burlesque. To call this a court of justice might have seemed sheer libel. There was not the first suggestion of the dignity and solemnity of the law.
Ellisville had no hall of justice, and the court sat at one place or another, as convenience dictated. This being an important case, and one in which all the populace was interested, Judge Bristol had selected the largest available a.s.sembly room, which happened to be the central hall of Sam Poston"s livery barn. The judge sat behind a large upturned box, which supported a few battered books. At his right the red-nosed prosecuting attorney shuffled his papers. Along the sides of the open hall-way, through whose open doors at each end the wind pa.s.sed freely, sat jury and audience, indiscriminately mingled. The prisoner himself, ignorant of the meaning of all this, sat on an upturned tub, unshackled and unguarded. Back of these figures appeared the heads of a double row of horses. The stamp of an uneasy hoof, the steady crunch of jaws upon the hay, with now and then a moist blowing cough from a stall, made up a minor train of intermittent sound. Back of the seated men others were ma.s.sed, standing in the doorways. Outside the building stood crowds, now and then increased or lessened by those who pa.s.sed in or out of the room where the court was in session. These interested spectators were for the most part dark, sunburned men, wearing wide hats and narrow boots with spurs. They all were armed. Leaning against the sides of the mangers, or resting a hand upon the shoulders of another, they gazed calmly at the bar of justice. The att.i.tude of Ellisville was one of sardonic calm. As a function, as a show, this trial might go on.
The trial did go on, rapidly, without quibbling, indeed without much regard for the formalities of the law. The jury had been selected before Franklin made his appearance, and he was given to understand that this jury was good enough for him, and was the one before which this prisoner should be tried. A formal motion for the discharge of the prisoner was overruled. Without much delay the prosecuting attorney arose to present his charge.
"Yo" Honah," said the attorney for the State, arising and striking an att.i.tude learned in earlier forensic days--"yo Honah, an" gentlemen, I rise to present to you, an" to push to the ultimate penalty of the law, a case of the most serious, the most heinyus crime, committed by the most desperate and dangerous criminal, that has thus far ever disturbed the peaceful course of ouah quiet little community. There he sets befo" you," he cried, suddenly raising his voice and pointing a forefinger at the prisoner, who sat smiling amiably. "There he sets, the hardened and self-confessed criminal, guilty of the foulest crime upon the calendar of ouah law. A murderer, gentlemen, a murderer with red hands an" with the brand of Cain upon his brow! This man, this fiend, killed ouah fellow-citizen Calvin Greathouse--he brutally murdered him. Not content with murder, he attempted to destroy his body with fiah, seekin" thus to wipe out the record of his crime. But the fiah itself would not destroy the remains of that prince of men, ouah missin" friend an" brother! His corpse cried out, accusin" this guilty man, an" then an" there this hardened wretch fell abjeckly onto his knees an" called on all his heathen saints to save him, to smite him blind, that he might no mo" see, _sleepin_" or wakin", the image of that murdered man--that murdered man, ouah friend an" brother, ouah _citizen_ an" friend."
The orator knew his audience. He knew the real jury. The shuffling and whispers were his confirmation.
"Yo" Honah," began the accusing voice again, "I see him now. I see this prisoner, this murderer, the central figger of that wild an" awful scene. He falls upon his knees, he wrings his hands, he supplicates high Heaven--that infinite Powah which gave life to each of us as the one most precious gift--he beseeches Providence to breathe back again into that cold clay the divine spark of which his red hand had robbed it. Useless, useless! The dead can not arise. The murdered man can remain to accuse, but he can not arise again in life, He can not again hear the songs of birds. He can not again hear the prattle of his babes. He can not again take a friend by the hand. He can not come to life. The heavens do not open fo" that benef"cent end!
"_But_, yo" Honah, the heavens will open! They will send down a bolt o" justice. Nay, they would send down upon ouah heads a forked messenger o" wrath it we should fail to administer justice, fail to do that juty intrusted into ouah hands! There sets the man! There he is befo" you! His guilt has been admitted. Answer me, gentlemen, what is ouah juty in this case? Shall we set this incarnate fiend free in the lan" again--shall we let him come clear o" this charge--shall we turn him loose again in ouah midst to murder some other of ouah citizens?
Shall we set this man free?" His voice had sunk into a whisper as he spoke the last words, leaning forward and looking into the faces of the jury. Suddenly he straightened up, his clinched hand shaken high above his head.
"No!" he cried. "No! I say to you, ten thousand times no! We are a people quiet an" law-abidin". We have set ouah hands to the conquest o" this lan". We have driven out the savages, an" we have erected heah the vine an" fig tree of a new community. We have brought hither ouah flocks an" herds. We shall not allow crime, _red_-handed an"
_on_-rebuked, to stalk through the quiet streets of ouah law-abidin", moral town! This man shall not go free! Justice, yo" Honah, justice, gentlemen, is what this community asks. An" justice is what it is a-goin" to have. Yo" Honah, an" gentlemen, I yiel" to the statement o"
the defence."
Franklin rose and looked calmly about him while the buzzing of comment and the outspoken exclamations of applause yet greeted the speech of the prosecutor. He knew that Curly"s thoughtless earlier description of the scene of the arrest would in advance be held as much evidence in the trial as any sworn testimony given in the court. Still, the sentiment of pity was strong in his heart. He resolved to use all he knew of the cunning of the law to save this half-witted savage. He determined to defeat, if possible, the ends of a technical justice, in order to secure a higher and a broader justice, the charity of a divine mercy. As the lawyer, the agent of organized society, he purposed to invoke the law in order to defeat the law in this, the first trial, for this, the first hostage ever given to civilization on the old cattle range. He prayed to see triumph an actual justice and not the old blind spirit of revenge. He realized fully how much was there to overcome as he gazed upon the set faces of the real jury, the crowd of grim spectators. Yet in his soul there sprang so clear a conviction of his duty that he felt all fogs clear away, leaving his intelligence calm, clear, dispa.s.sionate, with full understanding of the best means to obtain his end. He knew that argument is the best answer to oratory.
"Your Honour, and gentlemen of the jury," he began, "in defending this man I stand for the law. The representative of the State invokes the law.