“YOU DAMNED JUDAS”
NOT for years had Shoshone County been so interested in any public event
as it was in the trial of Rowan McCoy for the murder of Dan Gilroy.
Scores of ranchmen had driven in from the hills to be present either as
witnesses or spectators. North of town was a camp with two chuck wagons
where the cattlemen kept open house for all the range riders who had
ridden down to Wagon Wheel. A beef had been killed and a cook engaged.
Everybody was welcome to help himself. At the opposite end of town the
sheepmen also had a camp, for the two small hotels were entirely
inadequate to hold those in attendance.
The sentiment of the people was strong for a conviction. Rowan had many
friends, and the cattle interests were anxious to see him acquitted. But
the killing of Gilroy had been so unprovoked that it had aroused a
bitter and widespread resentment. The feeling of those not involved in
the cattle and sheep war was that an example must be made. Shoshone
County had irrigated lands for sale. Its oil fields were on the market
for exploitation. Its citizens were eager to prove to the world of
investment that the wild, turbulent days were past, that Wyoming had
arrived at a responsible sobriety which would not tolerate lawlessness.
Once for all they meant to show the night raiders that they were within
reach of the courts.
Haight, the new district attorney, was a young man, almost a stranger in
the county, and he wanted a record for convictions. Therefore he brought
McCoy to trial for the murder of Gilroy rather than Tait. Gilroy had
many friends and no personal enemies. He was a quiet, peaceable man.
Apparently he had been shot while unarmed and trying to escape. His
killing had been wanton and unprovoked. It might be claimed that Tait
had always wanted trouble and that he had been struck down while firing
at his enemies. But in the case of Gilroy this plea would not stand.
The courtroom was crowded to the windows. Two bailiffs stood at the door
and searched every man that entered; for the feeling was so intense that
the authorities did not want to take the chance of any possible
outbreak. A gun in a hip pocket was too easy to reach.
In his opening statement the district attorney told the story of the
sheep and cattle war. He traced the source of the bad feeling between
the prisoner and Tait, and showed that the bitterness extended to
Silcott and Falkner, two others charged with this murder, one of whom
had been wounded and the other beaten up by the sheepman. The
prosecution would prove that both Silcott and Falkner had made threats
against Tait, that Falkner had been seen to take a rifle from a ranch
bunk house in the dead of night, and that McCoy had led the party which
killed the two sheepmen. It was, he claimed, immaterial to the case of
the State whether McCoy had or had not fired the shot that killed
Gilroy. He would introduce evidence tending to show that the prisoner
actually had fired the shot, but his honour would tell the jury that
this was not necessary to prove guilt. The testimony would show that
McCoy with three of his companions rode back to the Circle Diamond
Ranch, pretended to the housekeeper that they had spent the night there,
and after breakfast returned to the round-up camp, burying on the way
the rifle that Falkner had been seen to take the night before.
Bit by bit, with the skill of the trained lawyer, Haight used his
witnesses to spin a web around the accused man. He showed how, after the
arrival of Silcott at the camp the night before the raid, McCoy decided
unexpectedly to drive the Circle Diamond cattle home and took with him
Cole and Silcott. Shortly afterward Rogers and Yerby had departed with
flimsy excuses. Falkner had stolen away without any assigned reason.
They had not been seen again at camp until late next morning. Hans
Ukena, a rider for the Triangle Dot, testified that he had been sleeping
in the bunk house the night in question and was wakened by a noise. By
the light of the moon he saw Falkner pass through the open door,
carrying a rifle in one hand and an ammunition belt in the other.
The interest grew tense when Sheriff Matson took the stand. The big
tanned Westerner made a first-class witness. He gave his evidence with a
quiet confidence that carried weight. As he told the story of how he had
followed the trail of the raiders foot by foot from the scene of the
crime to the Circle Diamond Ranch the hopes of the defense sank. For the
best part of a day he was put through a gruelling cross-examination in
an attempt to show that it would have been impossible to identify
hoofprints and boot marks after they had been covered with snow. Not
once did he contradict or falter as to his facts. He left the stand with
the jury convinced that he had told the plain truth.
It had taken three days to select a jury and four more to examine
witnesses to date. Wagon Wheel buzzed with gossip. The rumour would not
down that one of the prisoners had turned State’s evidence and was to be
put on the stand next morning.
A wise curbstone prophet mentioned the names of Silcott and Yerby. “It’s
one of them sure. Shouldn’t wonder if it’s both of them,” he announced
at the bar of the Silver Lode.
“You got another guess,” interrupted a hillman roughly. “I know ’em
both. Won’t either of them squeal. They’ll go through.”
“That’s all very well. But if McCoy dragged them into this thing——”
“He didn’t. They’re not kids. If they went in it was with their eyes
open.”
Ruth, torn by conflicting emotions, had been present with Mrs. Flanders
all through the trial. The testimony of Matson had left her shaken with
dread. She felt now that Rowan was guilty, and she believed he would be
convicted. But it was impossible for her not to admire his courage under
fire. His nerve was so cool and steady, his frank face so open and
friendly. One might gather from his manner that he was greatly
interested, but not at all anxious.
Immediately after court was declared in session next morning, Haight
turned to the bailiff.
“Call Larry Silcott.”
A murmur swept like a wave through the courtroom. Men and women craned
their necks to see the young cowman as he passed to the witness stand.
Ruth noticed that Larry’s face was gray and that he kept his eyes on the
floor. But even then she had no premonition of what he was about to do.
But Rowan knew. While Silcott answered nervously the first routine
questions of the lawyer, the prisoner watched him steadily with a
scornful little smile. Rowan had taught him the practical side of his
business, had looked after his cattle, given him his friendship. Once he
had dragged him out of the Fryingpan when he was drowning. His feeling
for the younger man was like that of an older brother. He had felt an
affectionate pride in his pupil’s skill at roping and at riding. Now
Larry, to save his own skin, was betraying him and the rest of his
companions.
Haight was very gentle and considerate of his star witness. But Silcott
was in hell none the less. Dry-lipped and pallid, with tiny sweat beads
on his damp forehead, he faced row upon row of tense, eager faces all
hanging on what he had to tell. Not one of them all but would despise
him. His stripped and naked soul writhed, the vanity for once burned out
of him. He shivered with dread. It was being driven into him that though
he had bought his life he must pay for his treachery with years of
isolation and contempt.
The prosecuting attorney led him over the story of the night when he had
ridden with the sheep raiders. Step by step the witness took the party
from the round-up to the camp at Bald Knob.
“Who had charge of your party?” continued Haight.
“McCoy.”
“Did you elect him leader?”
“No. He just took command. He was boss of the round-up.”
“Who assigned you positions before the attack?”
“McCoy.”
“In what order did he place you?”
“Counting from the left, Cole, Yerby, Rogers, myself, Falkner, McCoy.”
“Will you show on the map just how you were placed with reference to the
camp and each other?”
Silcott took the pointer and illustrated the position of each man.
“Which of you was nearest the camp?”
“McCoy was closer than the rest of us.”
“When was the first shot fired?”
“I judge we were about a hundred yards from the wagons.”
“Did it come from the camp or was it fired by one of your party?”
“By one of us.”
“Were any of the sheepmen then in sight?”
“No.”
“Was it fired to draw them from cover so as to get at them?”
The chief lawyer for the defense was on his feet instantly with an
objection. The court ruled the question out of order.
Haight rose, took a step toward the witness, and paused a moment.
“Who fired that shot, Mr. Silcott?”
Larry’s eyes went furtively about the room, met those of McCoy, and
dropped to the floor. “It—it came from the right.”
“How do you know?”
“By the smoke and the sound.”
“Did you see who fired it?”
“Falkner or McCoy; I wasn’t sure which.”
Again Rowan’s lawyer objected and was sustained. The judge cautioned the
witness to tell only what he knew.
Silcott went over the story of the shooting of Tait with great detail.
The prosecuting attorney made another dramatic pause to let the audience
get the significance of his next lead.
“Were you where you could see Dan Gilroy when he ran from the wagon?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell exactly what happened when Gilroy ran from the wagon?”
“He ran out from the back and started for the brush.”
“Was he armed?”
“No.”
“Proceed. What happened?”
“He had run about thirty feet when somebody fired. He fell.”
“Were any more shots fired?”
“No. That was the last.”
“From what direction did it come?”
“From my right.”
“How do you know?”
“By the sound and the smoke.”
“Where did the smoke rise with relation to the defendant?”
Silcott moistened his dry lips with his tongue. He was sweating blood.
“It was close to him.”
Haight threatened him with his forefinger. “Won’t you swear that the
defendant fired that shot? Don’t you know he fired it?”
“I—I can’t swear to it.”
“Weren’t you convinced that it was McCoy who——”
The defense objected angrily: “The witness has answered the question. Is
the prosecuting attorney trying to bully him to change that answer?”
When at last Haight was through with him the witness dripped with
perspiration. But his troubles were only beginning. The lawyers for the
defense took him in hand, made him confess his obligations to McCoy,
brought out that he himself had proposed the raid, and wrung from him
that he was turning State’s evidence to save his own life at the expense
of his friends. Two points they developed in favour of their
client—that he had repeatedly warned his friends against shooting and
that he had saved the lives of the herders from Falkner.
But though Silcott was left a rag, his story stood the fire of
cross-examination. When he stepped down from the stand he left behind
him a net of evidence through which McCoy could not break.
As Larry moved down the aisle someone in the back part of the room broke
the silence: “You damned Judas!”
Instantly echoes of the word filled the courtroom. The judge pounded
with his gavel for silence, but that low-hissed “Judas! Judas!” pursued
the young cowman down the stairs. It would be many years before he could
recall without scalding shame that moment when the finger of public
scorn was pointed at him in execration.