THE TRIAL
Geoffrey Ormond was duly laid to rest in Canadian soil, and it was long
before the disastrous expedition was mentioned among us. After all, its
painful record was not an unusual one, for even to-day, when wagon roads
have been driven into the mountain-walled forests where only the bear and
wood-deer roamed before, all who go out on the gold trail do not come
home. I was anxious to return to Fairmead, so that as soon as decency
permitted I called on Colonel Carrington, and though I longed to challenge
what he had said to Calvert, I contented myself with formally renewing my
previous request.
He listened with cold patience, but I did not like his very quietness,
and, though I believe that he sincerely regretted Ormond's death, I
fancied that he was looking more hopeful.
"I am afraid that you are again asking too much, and your request is
characterized rather by assurance than by common sense," he said. "I need
not recapitulate my former reasons, but, in addition to them, I wonder
whether you have read this. As you do not allude to it, you probably have
not."
He produced a clipping from a Winnipeg paper, and because Western
journalism is conducted in a refreshingly frank style of its own, I read
with growing resentment the following paragraph, which, the cutting being
still in my possession, is quoted verbatim. It commenced with the heading,
"The prosecutor skipped by the light of the moon," and continued: "In
connection with the recent arrest of three cattle thieves we have on good
authority a romantic story. The case is meanwhile hanging fire and won't
go off because of the mysterious absence of the prosecutor, one Lorimer of
Fairmead, who has vanished from off the prairie, and will probably not
appear again. Circumstances point to his being one of the frolicsome
Lotharios who occasionally find the old country sultry, and he apparently
developed a tenderness for the wife of one of the prisoners. As a result,
there were complications, and she left her home. The husband went to seek
her on the wide prairie, and some bad man, after trying to shoot him,
threw him into a sloo. We don't know whether this was the prosecutor, but
should think so. Then the husband swore vengeance, and it is supposed
posted the cattle thieves so that they could clean out the wicked
betrayer's stock. Now the lawyers are awaiting their witness, sorrowing,
and can't find him, while the boys are saying that if he doesn't reappear
the accused will get off."
"That is hardly a desirable certificate of character for my daughter's
suitor," said Colonel Carrington.
"Do you believe this infamous libel?" I asked fiercely. And his thin lips
curled as he answered:
"Frankly, I do not--that is to say, not the whole of it. But there are
others who will; and I can hardly congratulate you on your generally
accepted reputation. That alone would be a sufficient barrier to an
alliance with my family."
"But you almost made a conditional promise," I said, mastering my wrath.
And the Colonel answered lightly:
"I merely said that we would discuss the affair again; and we have done
so. Several things have transpired in the meantime, unfortunately for
you."
"Then there is nothing but open defiance," I said. "I made you a certain
promise in return, and I kept it. But I warn you now that I will marry
Miss Carrington in spite of you. As to that clipping, the prosecutor will
be found, and if there is a law in Canada a full apology will be printed
in the journal. I have nothing more to say."
"You have said sufficient, and I think you are foolish. Any legal action
will only make a hole in your scanty exchequer. I wish you good morning,"
and Colonel Carrington held the door wide open, while, boiling over with
fury, I took myself away.
I have often since then pondered over that interview, and could only guess
at the reason for the Colonel's evident change of front. I do not think it
was due to the paragraph; but if he had some fresh scheme in contemplation
we never learned it, and Colonel Carrington is past all explanations now.
When I had partly recovered I showed Harry the paper, and he frowned as he
said: "I always anticipated something like this; but of course the present
is not the time to tell you so. It rose out of the cattle deal; and you
will take whatever steps you think best at our joint expense. In any case,
we have only the one purse between us. The sooner you go back the
better."
It was good advice, and I proceeded to act on it by telegraphing up the
line for a messenger to ride to Harry's camp and send down any letters
that might be waiting, after which I sought an interview with Grace. She
seemed filled with a wholly unusual bitterness against her father, but
made me promise with some reluctance to wait a few months longer before
deciding on anything definite.
Harry returned forthwith to his post, but I waited until the mail brought
me several letters, reforwarded from Fairmead. One was a request to call
on the police authorities, on a date already passed, in connection with
the cattle thieves' trial, and there were two from the Winnipeg solicitor,
in the latter of which he said: "I cannot understand your reticence, and
must state that your mysterious absence tends to confirm unpleasant rumors
about your character. It may also involve you in legal difficulties, and I
trust you will at once communicate with me."
I ran to the telegraph office, and, after sending a message, "Expect me by
first express," I found Martin Lorimer, to whom I had given an account of
my interview with the Colonel, waiting in my quarters. He, too, possessed
a copy of the wretched paper, and, flinging it down before me, said, "Hast
seen this, lad? A lie, you needn't tell me--it's a black lie. But there's
folks that will believe it, for the same story once deceived me. You'll go
straight back and sue them. I'm coming too. We'll make them retract it or
break them, if there's justice in the land. Alice has gone south to
California with a big railroad man's wife, and I'm longing for something
to do. There's another matter. Ralph, I've seen the Colonel."
"Seen Colonel Carrington?" I said with dismay. And Martin Lorimer answered
dryly:
"Ay, I've seen him, and had a plain talk with him. Nay, I'm not going to
tell thee now what I said; but it bit, and he didn't like it. Ralph,
lad,"--and he nodded toward me with a chuckle--"his daughter's worth the
winning. My own girl says so; and thou shalt have her."
Martin Lorimer was hard to turn aside from any object on which he had set
his mind--but so, as everybody knew, was Colonel Carrington--and I fear
that I abused him inwardly for a meddling fool, and reflected on the
necessity for deliverance from the blunders of well-meaning friends. The
harm was done, however; and it was useless to attempt to draw particulars
as to his intentions from my uncle, so I tried to forget the matter. All
he would say was, "Wait and thee will see," or, again, with a wise shake
of his head in the broad mill parlance, "Thou never knows."
We boarded the next train for Winnipeg, and, after calling on the
solicitor and the police authorities, who eventually accepted my
explanations, the former accompanied us to the newspaper offices. The
chief of the staff seemed surprised when the solicitor introduced me.
"This is Mr. Ralph Lorimer to whom you referred to in a recently published
paragraph," he said. "The other gentleman is his uncle, a British
capitalist; and after he has given his version of the affair I have
something to say. Will you state the main facts briefly, Mr. Lorimer?"
I did so, and the newspaper man--who, I think, was an American by
birth--made notes.
Then, before the solicitor could intervene, Martin Lorimer, drawing down
his bushy eyebrows, said, in the unaccented English he used when in a
deliberately dangerous mood, "You have given out a false impression of an
honest man's character. Now you're going to publish a true one, with a
full apology, or we intend to make you suffer. There is law in Canada, I
suppose; and if it costs me sufficient to buy up three papers, we'll carry
the case on until we get our damages or smash you. Understand, I'm for
liberty of the press, and in my young days I helped to fight for it; but
this is libel; and I think you know my friend yonder."
"I guess I do," said the other. "One of the smartest lawyers in the West.
Oh, yes, I know him! See here, we're not great on libel actions in this
country. It's mighty hard to get damages for that; and we like our news
tasty. No, all things considered, you would make nothing of it if you did
sue me. Why,"--and he smiled on the old man, who looked as if he were
eager to assault him--"lots of the boys would take that kind of paragraph
as a compliment. It would tickle their vanity. We admit the raciness--we
are proud of it; but we stand for fair play too. Would you mind telling me
what you expect to do?"
"It doesn't appeal to my client," said the solicitor. "He has, as you
would put it, British prejudices. I don't intend to display all our
program, but it includes a visit to your rivals and the men who finance
you. Still, though you sometimes lay the paint on too thick, I have
hitherto found you well-informed and square; and we should rather you did
the right thing of your own accord."
The man, I thought, looked honest, and with a shrewd smile he said, "Now
you're talking the right talk. This paper casts its egis over the
innocent. It's the friend of the oppressed, besides all the other good
things set down in the New Year's article. But I shouldn't like those
other fellows to get hold of that story before we've done with it. The
citizens are interested, and we haven't your superstitious fear of
commenting on cases _sub judice_. No, sir, we're afraid of nothing, and
don't let British capitalists walk over us with nails in their boots. Now
I'm going to make reparation and tell that tale in style, showing up all
your client's fine qualities. Want to revise the item? You couldn't do it
for ten thousand dollars. We're 'way beyond dictation, and pride ourselves
on knowing how our readers like their news."
At a hint from the solicitor I contented myself with a more definite
promise to do me justice. Then as we left the office, Martin Lorimer
turned to the editor.
"Keep a hand on your imagination," he said grimly, "or you'll see me here
again."
"Always glad to meet an interesting Britisher," the man of the pen
answered with cheerfulness. "Come in peace, and we'll regale you on our
special cigars; otherwise, my assistant will stand by with the
politicians' club."
"And that's the creature who libeled us!" said Martin Lorimer when we
reached the street. "I've a good mind to go back and show him whether I'm
an interesting Britisher--confound him!" whereupon the lawyer laughed
heartily.
"They're not all like him," he said. "This particular journal depends on
its raciness, and he has to maintain the character. After all, he is an
honest man, and he'll do you justice, though the item may contain
specimens of what passes for local humor."
This was apparently the case, for when we read it together Martin Lorimer
grew very red in the face, and at first I was divided between vexation and
amusement. It ran as follows: "We have unwittingly cast suspicion on an
innocent man, and for once an unprincipled informant has fooled us. The
cattle-thief prosecutor has appeared, and will shortly present himself
blushing before the public gaze. We have seen him, and can testify that
instead of a Don Juan he is a Joseph, for there is an air of ingenuous
innocence about him which makes it certain that he would crawl into a
badger-hole if he met a pretty woman on the prairie. If further proof were
wanted, he goes about in charge of a highly respectable British Croesus,
one of the full-crusted elderly models of virtue they raise in Lancashire.
The class is not obsolete. We have seen one."
Then, with whimsical directness, the following lines set forth the true
state of the case, and I felt on the conclusion that the writer had not
unskillfully reversed his previous unfavorable version. Martin Lorimer,
however, signally failed to appreciate it, for the words obsolete and
full-crusted stuck in his throat, and I had some difficulty in restraining
him from returning forthwith to the newspaper offices. The journal
eventually languished, and succumbed after some friction with the
authorities when the editor left it to seek in the great republic a wider
field for his talents, but before this happened he paid us several
friendly visits at Fairmead.
The trial, which excited public interest at the time, took place shortly
afterward. It transpired that there were other charges of fraud against
the pair of thieves, whose case was hopeless from the beginning, but the
prosecution experienced some difficulty in obtaining evidence to connect
Fletcher definitely with them, though several facts suggested that he had
for some time acted as a tool in their hands. The court was crammed, and
looking down on the sea of faces I could recognize a number of my
neighbors from the Fairmead district and Carrington, and was not overjoyed
to see them. An attempt to steal a large draft of cattle was an important
event on the prairie. I should not have testified at all, could this have
been avoided, which, however, was not the case, and I awaited with much
anxiety the cross-examination for the defense, because my solicitor had
warned me that as more latitude was generally allowed than in England an
attempt would be made to arouse popular sympathy on behalf of Fletcher and
shake my evidence by casting doubts on my character.
"Have you any animus against the prisoner Fletcher?" was the first
question.
"No," I answered. "Indeed, I was always anxious to befriend him until he
robbed and slandered me."
"Or his wife?" added the inquisitor. "I think you knew her in England. Is
it not true that you took her from the service of a railroad hotel and
found a house for her on the prairie?"
There was a murmur in the court, and objection was taken to this question
by the prosecution, but I was directed to answer it, so I said as coolly
as I could: "I did know her in England. She was clerk in my uncle's mill,
where Thomas Fletcher assisted the cashier. He was not married then. I
took her from the service of the railroad hotel."
"It is a damaging admission," said my persecutor, and would have continued
before I could finish the answer, but that there was a commotion below,
which I hastened to profit by, adding, "But I brought her husband to meet
her, and found him a situation in a creamery."
"It is true, every word of it!" a shrill voice rose up, and the murmuring
grew louder in the body of the court, while it pleased me to see that the
riders of Carrington vied with our humbler neighbors in this sign of
approval. Then some one sternly called "Silence!" and the examination
commenced again.
"I must protest against friends of the witness coming here to create a
disturbance," said the barrister. "They are all owners of cattle, and
accordingly filled with prejudice. This is a court of justice, and not a
cow-boy's tribunal under the laws of Lynch."
"That is my province," interposed the judge, "and if the disturbance is
repeated I shall know how to deal with it."
The barrister bowed as he rearranged his papers, and I felt murderously
inclined toward him when, leaning on the rail in an impressive attitude,
he continued: "I must next ask the witness whether Mrs. Fletcher did or
did not visit him alone at his house, and remain for some time there?
Also, when her husband most naturally came to inquire for her, whether he
was not threatened with violence, and driven away at the muzzle of a
loaded rifle? I want a direct answer. Yes or no."
The prosecution challenged the necessity for such a question, but after
some verbal fencing between the lawyers and the judge it was allowed.
"In the first case I was not alone," I said, looking straight at my
adversary. "In the second I was absent, and did not threaten him."
"He was to your knowledge threatened?"
"Yes."
"Do you know that shortly after leaving your house he was murderously
assaulted as a result of his visit?"
"I believe that some one flung him into a muddy sloo, and I was not sorry
to hear it."
"That is sufficient," said the examiner, with a significant smile toward
the jury. "He was threatened with a loaded rifle for inquiring as to his
wife's whereabouts; then murderously assaulted. Next you work up this
charge against him. You may sit down."
I understood that the judge made some comments here, but I was too savage
to hear clearly, and scarcely caught what followed next, until Jasper was
placed on the witness stand, and stated that he had given no authority to
any one except myself to sell the cattle, which he swore to, with other
details which were not particularly interesting. There was no doubt that
Fletcher was at least obstinately defended, for the lawyer once more
strove skillfully to twist out answers confirming the theory that his
client had no direct connection with the affair, and sought to show on my
part a deliberate intention to ruin him. He may even have believed the
romantic story, which was particularly calculated to appeal to a Western
jury.
Jasper's replies did not, however, help him much, for when, returning to
the subject, he asked, "Did you not on several occasions drive the witness
Lorimer over to Fletcher's dwelling with presents for his wife?" Jasper
answered boldly, "I did, and I guess Mrs. Fletcher would have gone hungry
if we hadn't. Fletcher's a low-grade wastrel, and anyway he ate most of
them presents. Yes, sir; they were fowls and potatoes, and Lorimer never
went over but Fletcher was there."
There was a great laugh from the riders of Carrington, and the defendant's
lawyer frowned.
"Are you a friend of the witness Lorimer?"
"I hope so," Jasper answered simply. "If ever I meet you on the prairie
I'll endeavor to convince you."
"Were you a friend of Thomas Fletcher's?"
The answer was emphatic. "No. I guess the sight of the insect makes me
sick."
Again the lawyer smiled toward the jury, and the judge, censuring the
witness, directed him to refrain from unnecessary details. The next
question came:
"Was it because you were a friend of Lorimer's, or had such a bitter
dislike to Fletcher, that one night you attempted to murder him? Let me
remind you that Fletcher, as has been admitted, came to bring back his
wife from Fairmead, and was threatened with a rifle there. Then you rode
after him, and overtook him on the prairie where it was lonely."
"It was for neither reason," Jasper answered, straightening his burly form
as he glared at his adversary. "A young girl bluffed off Fletcher and the
other ruffian there, the prisoner Gorst. She was alone, but she scared the
pair of them with an empty rifle. Suppose you left your sister alone, and
came back to find a half-drunk hobo trying to murder her?"
The lawyer, I fancied, had now heard rather more than he knew before, and
it struck me that the prisoner's cunning had overreached itself in not
posting him better, for he glanced at his papers before continuing:
"Did you make a violent attack upon him?"
"I did," said Jasper, cheerfully. "Oh, yes, and I'm coming to it in my own
way. I rode right after him, took Fletcher out of the wagon, asked the
other man if he felt inclined to assist him, and, when he didn't, laid
into Fletcher with the whip and just hove him into the sloo. Why did I do
it?--it's a poor conundrum. For the credit of the prairie. We've no room
for woman-beaters, cattle thieves, slanderers, and dishonest lawyers down
to our district. Bring along more questions--you hear me; I've lots more
to say."
The judge cut short his eloquence, but he had said enough, and there was
wild approval from the prairie contingent, in which some of the citizens
joined, and through it Jasper towered before the assembly, a stalwart
figure, shaking a great fist and ejaculating something in the direction of
his annoyer. The tumult was quelled with difficulty, and an official told
me that never before had he seen so much excitement shown. It was due, he
added, to the presence of those mad young riders of Carrington. I sat down
breathing more easily, for I felt that as yet my honor was clear, and
whether Fletcher escaped or not was of minor importance. From the
beginning the main efforts of the other side had been directed toward
saving him, while as the case proceeded I listened with decreasing
interest, until at last the prosecutor said:
"My opponent has done his utmost, even overstepping limits, to prove that
the witness Lorimer has ended a long course of injury by supporting a
false charge against the prisoner Fletcher. This is after all a side
issue, but I think the jury will agree that he has furnished most reliable
testimony, and that the prisoner mentioned took an unprincipled advantage
of his perfectly well-intentioned kindness."
There was considerably more which did not affect me, and another speech,
though I woke to eager interest again when the judge, in making his final
comments, said:
"As regards the witness Lorimer, I entirely agree with the view taken by
the prosecution. He has evidently suffered by well-meant efforts to aid
the prisoner, and, though that is not connected with the case except in so
far as it covers the reliability of his testimony, he has been shown to be
an individual of unblemished character. We can accordingly accept his
evidence."
Again there was applause, which the judge checked severely, and proceeded:
"You will notice that, while the prisoner Fletcher's record does not seem
to be a creditable one, the evidence fails in some degree to connect him
with the other two prisoners as an active participator in the robbery. I
refer to--" and so on.
The jury retired for a considerable time, and when the foreman reappeared
he announced that they found two of the prisoners guilty, and Thomas
Fletcher not guilty, the latter in a very doubtful tone. He also appeared
desirous of adding some explanation, which was not permitted; while, as
the court broke up, I noticed the detective watching Fletcher much as a
cat watches a momentarily liberated mouse. Then I was surrounded by the
men from the prairie, who insisted on escorting us to our hotel, and when
I asked for Jasper somebody said he had seen him loitering beside one of
the court-house doors. We found him partly hidden by a wagon, watching it
intently.
"Are you getting up another speech, or trying to freeze there?" one of the
Carrington party asked.
"No! I guess I'm laying for that lawyer. Couldn't get at him inside there
for a barrier. Am I a low-grade perjurer--and my friend what he was
working round to show? If you'll stand by for just two minutes I'll
convince the insect--the blamed, vermilion, mosquito!"
"You're too late," said the man from Carrington. "He went out the
other way some time ago. Mr. Lorimer, one or two of us were at
first--appearances were strongly against you, you know--inclined to doubt
you, and we feel considerably ashamed of ourselves. We want you and your
worthy uncle to join us at dinner. Got together the best company we could
to meet you."
It was honestly said, and we accepted with willingness, while I think my
worthy uncle enjoyed himself even more than I did. He was a jealous
insular Briton, and the sight of those sturdy handsome young Englishmen
who well maintained the credit of the old land in the new delighted him.
The appreciation seemed to be mutual. He complained of a headache the next
morning; but that dinner had conferred on the Radical cotton-spinner the
freedom of aristocratic Carrington, and an indefinite but valuable
intimation that the colony had set its special endorsement upon his
nephew.