The Texican

"As I am tendering my services without hope of compensation," observed Angy suavely, "and also without submitting briefs or other legal papers, I hope that the court will overlook this trifling irregularity. The law referred to by the district attorney, as applied to this case, was intended solely to protect the defendant in his rights, the inference being that no one not a regularly practising attorney is competent to adequately represent the defendant against the learned district attorney" – Angy bowed to that gentleman – "but at the same time, Your Honor, I wish to say that in days gone by I have stood before the bar" – the bailiff struck his gavel to quiet the sudden laughter – "I have stood before the bar of justice, Your Honor, and I have stood there, sir, not as Angevine Thorne, the drunkard, but as a regular practitioner in that court. I submit, Your Honor, that I am fully qualified, both by past experience and present information, to represent Mr. Dalhart in this unfortunate case!"

A murmur of astonishment passed around the room at this revelation of his past; for while Angevine Thorne had been about Geronimo, drunk and sober, for over twenty years, he had never referred except in the vaguest terms to the life which he had left behind. It struck wonder into the breasts of the court-room bums, many of whom had shared the jag-cell with him in times past, and Mr. Baker of the Blade sank down into a seat and began to write hurriedly upon his pad; but Shepherd Kilkenny, with a sudden premonition of what Angy's "present information" might lead to, did not yield himself to any such puny emotion as surprise. He was a fighter, and a sure-thing fighter to boot.

"Your Honor!" he cried, "I wish to protest most – "

"Objection is overruled!" interposed the judge. "I see no reason why Mr. Thorne should not conduct this case if the defendant so wishes, and the clerk will enter him accordingly. Would Wednesday be too soon for you to prepare your argument, Mr. Thorne? Is it satisfactory to you, Mr. Kilkenny? Very well, then, I will set the case for Wednesday, the eighth of October, at ten A. M. Call the next case, Mr. Bailiff!"

The bailiff called it, still smiling, and in the pause half the occupants of the court-room boiled out onto the court-house lawn and gave vent to their pent-up emotions. Babe Thorne was going to buck Kilkenny and plead a case in court! He would make an impassioned appeal and raise Cain with Ike Crittenden's witnesses – it would be an event never to be forgotten! Still laughing they scattered through the town, and soon men came hurrying forth from the different saloons to verify the report; they gathered in a crowd by the sheriff's office and, as the word spread that it was true, gangs of cowboys and men on livery-stable plugs went dashing down the streets, whooping and laughing and crying the news to their friends. It was a new excitement – something doing – and the way an Arizona town will take on over some such trifling event is nothing short of scandalous. Within two hours the leisure male population of Geronimo was divided into two hostile camps – those who would get Babe drunk before the event and those who would keep him sober and have him take a fall out of Kilkenny. On the one side it was argued that, unless he was properly ginned up, Babe would not do justice to the occasion; but cooler heads won on the proposition that the judge would bar him if he got drunk and hollered, and a committee of prominent citizens was organized to protect him from himself.

Being quick to see the news value of the incident the Blade printed an exclusive interview with Angevine Thorne – formerly of the Kentucky bar – and announced that the trial would be covered in detail by "our Mr. Baker." A series of Communications, written under pressure in the card-rooms of various casinos, expressed the greatest indignation at the "dastardly attempt of a certain interested party to debar Mr. Thorne from the trial," and the hope that this exhibition of professional jealousy would receive the rebuke it so richly deserved. In an editorial the Daily Blade spoke at some length of the rare eloquence of "our gifted fellow-citizen, Colonel Thorne," and felicitated Alcalde Dalhart upon the acumen he had shown in retaining counsel. Everything goes, in a case like that, and the Blade played it up to the limit.

As night came on a select circle of visitors gathered at the county jail to witness the kangaroo trial of two more of Crit's cowboys who had unwittingly placed themselves in the power of Pecos Dalhart. The summary punishment of the first three – the ones who had occupied the jag-cell with Angevine Thorne – had been heralded far and wide as an example of poetic justice, but the grim humor of this last arraignment set the town in an uproar. Within two days these same booze-fighting cowboys would appear against him in the upper court, but of that event Pecos Dalhart took no thought and he kangarooed them to a finish. It was good business, as the actors say, and won him many a friend, for Arizona loves a sport – but after they had been spread-eagled over a chair and received twenty blows for contempt of court, the cowboys were ready to take their oath to anything. That was it – Pecos might win the hearts of the people and still go down before the law and the evidence. Only two things cheered him on – Angy and Bill Todhunter had gone up the river for Old Funny-face, and Joe Garcia was in town. After Crit had sworn himself into perdition over the calf they would spring Funny-face on him – Mexican brands and all – and show that he was a liar. Then José Garcia would testify to the sale of Funny-face and her calf and the rest would go off in a canter. It was a pleasing dream, and Pecos indulged it to the full, for it was the only hope he had. But the next morning he was nervous.

It was the day before his trial and even his six months in jail had not taught him to be patient. As soon as the cells were unlocked he began to pace up and down the corridor like a caged lion, scowling and muttering to himself. To the stray visitors who dropped in he was distant but civil, as befits a man who must act his part, but all the time a growing uneasiness was gnawing at his heart and he looked past them to the outer door. Hours dragged by and his uneasiness changed into despair; he hurled himself upon his bunk and was lying with his haggard face to the bars when the jail deputy entered and gazed in upon him curiously.

"They's a lady out here to see you," he whispered, laying his finger along his nose with an air of roguish secrecy, "shall I bring her in? She's got something she wants to give you!"

A vision of the unbalanced females who had been bringing flowers to a murderer came over Pecos and he debated swiftly with himself whether to accept this last humiliation or plead a sudden indisposition.

"She's been waiting around all the morning," continued the deputy. "Kinder shy, I reckon – shall I bring 'er in? She's a Mex!"

A Mex! The word shocked Pecos like a blow; it made him glad, and then it made him angry.

"Well, what's the matter with a Mex?" he demanded sharply. "Ain't a Mexican got no rights in this dam' jail? I guess she's as good as any white woman – show her in!"

He waited in palpitating silence, and when the soft rustle of skirts sounded down the corridor his heart stopped beating entirely. Then Marcelina pressed her face against the screened bars and gazed wistfully into the darkened cell. She had grown taller since he last saw her and her dark eyes had taken on a look of infinite melancholy; the rare promise of her youth had flowered suddenly in his absence and she stood before him a woman. Often in his dreams he had thought of her, but always as the black-eyed girl, saucy and fugitive as a bird, who had bewitched him with her childish graces; now she peered in at him through the prison bars with the eyes of a woman who has suffered and found her soul. For a moment she gazed into the darkness, and then she drew back involuntarily. The Pecos she had known was a grown-up boy, grim and quick in speech but full of the reckless fire of youth; a dashing cowboy, guiding his horse by a touch of the hand and riding, riding, always. Here was a hard-faced man, pale and bowed by confinement, and his eyes were like a starved animal's. She started and bit her lip.

"Are you Paycos?" she asked timidly.

The bitterness of his fate swept over Pecos at the words – he looked down at his crumpled clothes, his outworn boots, and faded shirt and rumbled in his throat.

"No, Marcelina," he said, "I'm only a caged wolf – a coyote that the vaqueros have roped and tied and fastened to a tree. I'm a hard-looker, all right – how'd you come to find me?"

She laid a brown hand against the bars as if in protest and motioned him nearer the screen.

"I have only been in town four days," she said hurriedly. "All summer I was shut up at Verde, and Ol' Creet – ah, that bad, ba-ad man! My mother took me to school the day he come to Geronimo. I am 'fraid, Paycos – but this morning I run away to see you. The seesters will be hunt for me now. Look Paycos" – she thrust her hand into the bosom of her dress and drew forth a small bundle, wrapped in a blue silk handkerchief – "Cuidado, be careful," she whispered; "when I keess you good-bye at the door I weel put thees een your hand —ssst!" She turned and looked up the corridor where the deputy was doing the Sherlock. He was a new man – the jail deputy – just helping out during the session of the court and correspondingly impressed with his own importance. Nothing larger than a darning-needle could be passed through the heavy iron screen, but all the same he kept his eye on them, and when he saw the quick thrust of her hand all the suspicions of the amateur sleuth rushed over him at once.

"Hey! What's that?" he demanded, striding down the run-around. "What you got hid there, eh?" He ogled Marcelina threateningly as he stood over her and she shrank before his glance like a school-girl. "Come, now," he blustered, "show me what that is or I'll take it away from you. We don't allow anything to be passed in to the prisoners!"

"She can't pass nothin' through here!" interposed Pecos, tapping on the screen. "You haven't got nothin', have you, Marcelina?"

"Well, I saw her hide something blue in her dress just now," persisted the jailer, "and I want to see it, that's all!"

"It was – it was only a handkerchief!" sobbed Marcelina, clutching at her breast. "No, no! Eet is mine – he – he geev it to me! You can not – " she choked, and backed swiftly toward the door. Like a panther Pecos whipped out of his cell and sprang against the corridor grating, but she was gone. The deputy made a futile grab as she darted away from him and sprang after her, but she swung the great door in his face and sped like a deer down the hall. The next moment she was gone, leaving Pecos and the deputy to have it out together.

"Aha!" cried the deputy vengefully, "you will try to smuggle things in, will you? I'll report this matter to Mr. Morgan at once!"

"Well, report it, then, you low-flung hound!" wailed Pecos, "report it, and be damned to you! But if I was outside these bars I'd beat you to death for this!" They raged up and down the grating, snarling at each other like dogs that fight through a lattice, and even when Boone Morgan came and called them down Pecos would not be appeased.

"He scairt my girl away!" he cried, scowling menacingly at the raw deputy. "She come to give me a handkerchief and he jumped at her. I'll fix him, the dastard, if ever I git a chance!" And so he raged and stormed until they went away and left him, mystified. To Boone Morgan it seemed as if his alcalde was raising a row out of all proportion to his grievance, but that was because Pecos could not explain his woes. Marcelina had promised to kiss him good-bye, and the damned deputy had intervened!

CHAPTER XX

THE LAW AND THE EVIDENCE

AS the rising sun poured its flood of glorious light into the court-house square and the janitor, according to his custom, threw open the court-room doors to sweep, there was a scuffling of eager feet from without and the swift-moving pageantry of the Dalhart trial began. A trio of bums who had passed the night al fresco on the park benches hustled past the astounded caretaker and bestowed themselves luxuriously on the front seats. As the saloons opened up and discharged their over-night guests others of the brotherhood drifted in and occupied the seats behind, and by the time the solid citizens of Geronimo had taken care of their stock, snatched their breakfasts, and hurried to the scene there was standing room only in the teeming chamber of justice. Only the special venire of jurymen took their time in the matter and the sweating bailiff had to pass them in through the side door in order to get them seated inside the railing. At nine-thirty Boone Morgan brought in the defendant, freshly shaven and with his hair plastered down across his forehead, and sat with him near the jail door. It was all in the line of duty, but there were those who remarked that it was right clever of old Boone to throw in that way with his jail alcalde. Some people would have put the nippers on him for the cow-thief that he was, and chained him to a deputy. Behind them, the cynosure of all eyes, sat the counsel for the defendant, Angevine Thorne, his round baby face illuminated with the light of a great resolve. On that day he was going to save his friend from prison or climb spider-webs in the attempt. A hush fell over the assembly as the hour of trial drew near and only the gaunt figure of Shepherd Kilkenny, pacing up and down before the empty jury-box, suggested the battle that was to come. The rest was as pathetic as the Angelus.

The soft morning breeze breathed in through the windows and as Pecos glimpsed the row of horses tied to the hitching rack he filled his lungs deep with the sweet air, and sighed. The invalid who has been confined to his room longs vaguely for the open air, but to the strong man of action, shut up for months in a close cell, the outer world seems like a dream of paradise and he sees a new heaven in the skies. In the tense silence of waiting the tragedy in his face afflicted the morbid crowd and made them uneasy; they shifted their eyes to the stern, fighting visage of the district attorney and listened hopefully for the clock. It struck, slowly and with measured pauses, and as the last stroke sounded through the hall the black curtain behind the bench parted and the judge stepped into court. Then instantly the sheriff's gavel came down upon the table; the People rose before the person of the Law, and in sonorous tones Boone Morgan repeated the ancient formula for the calling of the court.

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! The District Court of Geronimo County is now in session!"

The judge threw off his robes and sat down and as the audience sank back into their crowded seats he cast one swift, judicial glance at the defendant, the clerk, and the district attorney and called the case of Pecos Dalhart, charged with the crime of grand larceny. With the smoothness of well-worn machinery the ponderous wheels of justice began to turn, never halting, never faltering, until the forms prescribed by law had been observed. One after the other, the clerk called the names of the forty talesmen, writing each name on a slip of paper as the owner answered "Here"; then at a word from the judge he placed the slips in a box and shook out twelve names upon the table. As his name was called and spelled each talesman rose from his seat and shambled over to the jury-box, turning his solemn face from the crowd. They held up their right hands and swore to answer truthfully all questions relative to their qualifications as jurors, and sat down to listen to the charges; then, after reading the information upon which the accusations were based, the district attorney glanced shrewdly at the counsel for defendant and called the first juryman. The battle had begun.

The first talesman was a tall, raw-boned individual with cowman written all over him, and the district attorney was careful not to ask his occupation. He wanted a jury of twelve cowmen, no less; and, knowing every man in the venire either by sight or reputation, he laid himself out to get it.

"Mr. Rambo," he began, "do you know the defendant in this case?" He indicated Pecos Dalhart with a contemptuous wave of the hand, and Mr. Rambo said he did not. "Know anything about this case?"

"Only what I read in the papers," responded the cowman dryly.

"You don't believe everything you read, do you, Mr. Rambo? If you were passed for a juror you wouldn't let anything you have read influence your mind, if it was proven that the defendant was guilty, would you?"

"No, sir!"

"If I should prove to your satisfaction that the defendant here" – another contemptuous wave of the hand – "had wilfully and feloniously stolen and branded the animal in question, what would your verdict be – 'Guilty' or 'Not guilty'?"

"W'y – er – 'Guilty'!"

"Pass the juror!" snapped the district attorney, and then he looked at the counsel for the defendant as if imploring him not to waste any of the court's valuable time.

"Mr. Rambo," began Angy, singing the words in a child-like, embarrassed manner, "you are engaged in the business of raising cattle, are you not?"

The district attorney winced at this, but Angevine Thorne did not take advantage of his discovery. He also wanted a jury of twelve cowmen, though he did not show his hand.

"Very good," he observed, "and I suppose, Mr. Rambo, that you are acquainted with the law in this case which makes it a felony for any man to mark or brand the stock of another man? Very good. Have you any prejudice against that law, Mr. Rambo? You believe that it should be enforced impartially, do you not – against the rich as well as the poor? Very good. Pass the juror!"

For a moment Shepherd Kilkenny could hardly believe his ears. The drift of every one of the questions had led naturally up to a challenge and yet at the end Angy had passed the juror. He glanced quickly at the innocent face of his opponent, opened his mouth to speak, and then hurried on with his examination. The second man was interested in the cattle business, too; and when Angy passed him the judge felt called upon to speak.

"You know, do you not, Mr. Thorne," he said, "that it is your privilege to excuse any juror whose occupation or condition of mind might indicate a prejudice against your client?"

"Yes, indeed, Your Honor," replied Mr. Thorne, suavely, "but I have perfect confidence in the integrity of the two gentlemen just passed. I feel sure that they will do full justice to Mr. Dalhart."

"Very well, then," said His Honor, "let the examination proceed!"

With all the address of a good tactician who sees that his opponent has mistaken a two-spot for an ace, Shepherd Kilkenny flew at his task, but each time that Angy passed one of his cowmen he paused just the fraction of a second, glanced apprehensively about the room, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The defence was playing right into his hand, but he didn't know whether he liked it or not. When it came to the peremptory challenges he excused two health-seekers and a mining man, but Thorne did not challenge a man. Once more the clerk shook the names out of his box and within half an hour the district attorney had the very jury he wanted – every man of them interested in the cattle business and ready to cinch a rustler as they would kill a rattlesnake. It seemed almost too good to be true. Even the staid judge was concerned, for he had a sober sense of justice and Angy's appointment had been slightly irregular; but after a long look at that individual he motioned for the trial to proceed. The evidence was all against the defendant anyway, and he could cut off a year or two on the sentence to make amends.

"Swear the jurors!" he said, and holding up their rope-scarred hands and looking coldly across the room at the alleged rustler, the twelve cowmen swore to abide by the law and the evidence and a true verdict find. Then the district attorney pulled his notes from his hip-pocket as a man might draw a deadly weapon and began his opening statement to the jury.

"Your Honor and gentlemen of the jury," he said, "in the case of the People of the Territory of Arizona versus Pecos Dalhart, we shall show that on or about the eighth day of May the said Pecos Dalhart did wilfully, feloniously, and unlawfully pursue, rope, and brand a calf, said calf being the property of Isaac Crittenden of Verde Crossing, Territory of Arizona; that the said Pecos Dalhart was arrested and, upon being taken before a magistrate, he did plead 'Not guilty' and was held for the grand jury, which handed down an indictment against him; that upon being arraigned before the judge he did plead 'Not guilty' and was remanded for trial upon the crime charged in the indictment, to wit: – that he did feloniously and unlawfully mark, brand, or alter the brand on a neat animal, to wit, one red-and-white spotted calf, said calf being the property of Isaac Crittenden, of Verde Crossing, Territory of Arizona, contrary to the form, force, and effect of the statute in such case made and provided and against the peace and dignity of the People of the Territory of Arizona. Mr. Crittenden, will you please take the stand!"