LAW IN THE GOLD DIGGINGS
The latest comer to Camp Forty Mile was not particularly anxious
to attend the public meeting to which he was invited by Mr. Platt
Riley. Still he thought it better to do so rather than run the risk
of offending his host, who was evidently a man of influence in the
diggings. His overnight reflections having convinced him that this camp
was not such a place as he had expected, and also that he might find
greater safety elsewhere, his first act in the morning was to order his
Indian drivers to harness the dogs and be prepared for a start within
an hour.
Kurilla, who was with them under instructions not to lose sight of
them, grinned when he heard this, for he had picked up an inkling of
what was going on, and felt pretty certain that the order need not be
obeyed.
When Mr. Riley’s reluctant guest entered the store of the Yukon Trading
Company, in which, on account of its size, the meeting was to be held,
he fully intended to take a back seat and slip out as soon as he could
do so unnoticed. The place was so filled with miners, however, that
there were no back seats, and, to his surprise, the crowd pressed aside
as he and Mr. Riley entered, so as to leave a passage to the farther
end of the room. A moment later, without knowing just how it had been
done, he found himself seated beside Jalap Coombs’s friend, Skiff
Bettens, who obligingly made a place for him. He noticed, with some
curiosity, that twelve men were seated on benches directly opposite to
him, while all the rest of the crowd were standing. Between him and
these men was an open space, at the upper end of which were a table and
a chair raised on a rude platform.
To this platform Mr. Platt Riley made his way, and seating himself in
the chair, rapped on the table for silence. Then rising, he said:
“Gentlemen of the jury and fellow-citizens,――This court is now open for
business, and I as its judge, elected by your votes, am prepared to
administer justice in accordance with your laws and such verdicts as
may be rendered by your jury.”
“It is a court,” thought Strengel, with a shiver.
“The case to be tried this morning,” continued the judge, “is one that
touches the pocket, the life, and the honor of every miner in the Yukon
Valley, for the prisoner at the bar is indicted on three separate
counts as a thief, a murderer, and an unmitigated scoundrel. He has
come into our camp under a false name and with a false story, after
having attempted the destruction of a steamer that is bringing goods
and machinery of which we are greatly in need.
“He is charged with robbing and leaving helpless in the wilderness a
man whom we all know and respect, and also with robbing and deserting
while seriously ill his own companion, who was on his way to visit us
in behalf of our old-established trading company.”
Strengel listened to these terrible words with an ever-increasing
paleness and visible agitation. Finally, clapping a hand to his face,
as though seized with a sudden illness, he started to rise and leave
the room.
“Sit down,” ordered Skiff Bettens in a low tone, at the same time
jerking him back to his seat. Then the man knew that he was indeed a
prisoner.
“To prove these serious charges,” continued the judge, “I am about to
call several witnesses. At the same time the prisoner will be given the
privilege of cross-questioning them, and of pleading in his own behalf.
Mr. Philip Ryder.”
At this summons Phil advanced from the farther end of the room, and the
prisoner regarded him with undisguised amazement.
After answering the usual questions regarding his personality and
business, Phil was asked if he knew the prisoner.
“I do,” he answered.
“What is his name?”
“I understand that he now calls himself Bradwick, but a few months ago
he went by the name of Strengel.”
“That’s a lie!” shouted the prisoner, hoarsely.
[Illustration: “THAT’S A LIE!” SHOUTED THE PRISONER, HOARSELY]
“Silence!” commanded the judge. “Now Mr. Ryder, tell the jury what you
know concerning the accused from the time of your first meeting with
him up to the present.”
This Phil did as briefly as possible, and when he had finished the
prisoner sprang to his feet, his face black with rage, and exclaimed:
“Why should this fellow’s story be believed rather than mine? Who knows
anything about him, or even who he is? He was picked up in Bering Sea,
drifting about in a stolen canoe. At St. Michaels he was known as a
thief and a brawler. I happen to know that he has been locked up in a
Victoria police-station, and I demand that his evidence be thrown out.”
“That will do, sir,” said the judge. “I happen to know this young man
and his family so well that I am willing to vouch for him if necessary.
Do you wish to question him? No? Then we will proceed. Mr. Serge
Belcofsky.”
Serge, of course, identified the prisoner as Strengel, and corroborated
Phil’s story in every detail.
“This ends the testimony on the first charge,” announced the judge when
Serge had finished, and the prisoner sullenly declined to question him.
“In proof of the second charge, that of robbery and desertion, I call
as witness Mr. Jalap Coombs.”
As the ex-mate of the _Seamew_ advanced to the stand the prisoner
stared at him as though he were a ghost, nor could he imagine by what
miracle this witness had reached Forty Mile in time to appear against
him.
Jalap Coombs told his story in his own picturesque language, but in a
perfectly straightforward manner, and without the slightest hesitation.
When he finished, the judge questioned him very closely as to the
amount of money given him by Mr. John Ryder, and the prices paid for
various articles of his outfit at St. Michaels.
As a defence against this charge the prisoner claimed that Jalap
Coombs had not been deserted by Simon Goldollar and himself, but had
voluntarily turned back, and that the dogs they had left with him had
run away to follow them much against their wishes. He also stated that
they had taken the dogs and sledge back to the place where they last
saw Jalap Coombs, but that they could not find him.
“They were not his dogs, anyway, judge,” he continued, “nor did he
furnish any of our outfit except a few provisions, most of which he
traded to the Indians on his own account. This man Coombs was a sailor,
supposed to be a deserter from some ship, and was loafing around St.
Michaels half starved when we picked him up. He claimed to have some
friends on the river who would help him, and so we brought him along
out of charity.”
“May I toot a horn, jedge?” asked Mr. Skiff Bettens, rising as the
prisoner concluded his remarks.
“Certainly you may, marshal.”
“Waal, I only wanted to say that I’ve knowed Mr. Jalap Coombs off and
on for a good many years, and in all that time I’ve never knowed him to
tell a lie nor yet do a mean thing. Moreover, I’m willing to stake my
pile on his honesty agin that of any living man, for a better sailor, a
squarer man, and a truer friend never trod a deck.”
This sincere tribute so affected the simple-hearted sailor-man that he
could only stare open-mouthed at the speaker, as though he were talking
in some mysterious language, though in after-years he often referred to
this as the proudest moment of his life. The remainder of the audience
greeted the marshal’s little speech with an outburst of applause, which
the judge was finally obliged to check.
“Letting charge number two rest with the testimony taken,” said the
judge, when quiet was restored, “we will take up charge number three,
which is the most serious of all. We have already learned that the
accused, under the name of Strengel, passed old Fort Adams about a
month ago, bound for this place in company with a man named Goldollar,
who appears to be a pretty tough character himself, though that of
course has nothing to do with this case. The accused at that time had
little or nothing of his own, either in the way of money or outfit,
while Goldollar appears to have been well fixed with both. Now this
man turns up in this place alone under the name of Bradwick, telling
a story about having come from up the Porcupine that he has since
admitted to be false, and in possession of the outfit formerly owned by
Mr. Coombs and Simon Goldollar. Of course, under the circumstances, the
question naturally to be asked is, what has become of Goldollar?”
“He got sick of the trip and turned back from Yukon,” explained the
prisoner, sulkily.
“Yes, we’ve heard he took sick,” replied the judge; “but whether he
turned back or was left to die in an Indian rancheria is another
question. Mr. Coombs, will you please take the stand again?”
This time Jalap Coombs testified that he had carefully examined the
outfit brought into camp the night before by the prisoner, and found
it to contain the same number of sledges, the same number of dogs, and
the identical articles, with the exception of a certain quantity of
provisions, that had composed it at old Fort Adams.
“We will now call on one other witness,” announced the judge, and the
prisoner started as though he expected to see Simon Goldollar himself
appear on the stand. What he did see was one of his own native drivers
from Fort Yukon, with Kurilla to act as interpreter.
“Do you admit Injun testimony in this court?” he asked, disgustedly.
“Certainly we do,” replied the judge.
“If I’d known that,” he muttered, “I’d have bought a dozen or so to
testify on my side.”
The Indian’s testimony was to the effect that this white man had left
another white man in a native hut at Fort Yukon so sick that all the
Indians thought he would die.
“Of course I can’t buck agin Injun testimony,” growled the prisoner;
“but I say it’s a lie, all the same, and don’t prove nothing.”
“There is one thing that we must not neglect,” said the judge.
“Marshall, you may search the prisoner.”
The latter struggled furiously, but was overpowered and held by strong
hands while the marshall searched his pockets. From these were produced
a number of articles, including a wallet, which the judge opened,
spreading its contents on the table before him.
“Do you recognize anything here?” he asked of Jalap Coombs.
“I can identify this as having been in Goldollar’s possession,”
answered the mate, picking up one of the articles that had dropped from
the wallet, and holding it so that all might see.
Both Phil and Serge uttered exclamations of amazement, for the object
thus exhibited was nothing more nor less than the mysteriously carved
and almost forgotten fur-seal’s tooth that had already exerted so great
an influence upon their fortunes.