[Illustration: 0398]
HE next morning when Garner reached the office, he found Carson
surrounded by “the gang,” Blackburn was just leaving, his mild eyes
fixed gloomily on the sidewalk, and Wade Tingle, Keith Gordon, and Bob
Smith sat about the office with long-drawn, stoical faces.
“I was just telling Carson that it will be a walkover in court this
morning,” Wade was saying, comfortingly, as Garner sat down at his desk,
his great brow clouded. “Don't you think so, Garner?”
“Well, I'll tell you _one_ thing, boys,” Garner answered, irritably,
“it's too important a matter to make light over, and I want you fellows
to clear out so we can get to work. I've got to talk to Carson, and I
can't do it with so many here. I'm not accustomed to thinking with a
crowd around.”
“You bet we'll skedaddle, then, old man,” said Keith; “but we'll be at
the--the hearing.”
When they had gone droopingly out, Carson came from the window at which
he had been standing and looked Garner over, noting with surprise that
the lower parts of the legs of his partner's trousers were dusty and his
boots unpolished. The shirt Garner wore had sleeves that were too long
for his arms, and a pair of soiled cuffs covered more than half of
the small hands. His standing collar had become crumpled, and his
ever-present black silk necktie, with its unshapely bow and brown,
frayed edges, had slipped out of place. His hair was awry, his whole
manner nervous and excitable.
“Keith says you didn't sleep at the den last night,” Dwight said,
tentatively. “Did you go out to your father's?”
Garner seemed to hesitate for an instant, then he crossed his dusty legs
and began to draw upon and tie more firmly the loose strings of his worn
and cracked patent-leather shoes.
“Look here, Carson,” he said, when he had fumblingly tied the last knot,
“you are too strong and brave a man to be treated in the wishy-washy
way a woman's treated. Besides, you'll have to know the truth sooner or
later, anyway, and you may as well be prepared for it.”
“Something gone wrong?” Dwight asked, calmly.
“Worse than I dreamed was possible,” Garner said. “I thought we'd have
comparatively smooth sailing, but--well, it's your danged luck! Pole
Baker come in this morning about two o'clock. I'd taken a room at
the hotel to get away from those chattering boys so I could think. I
couldn't sleep, and was trying to get myself straight with a dime novel
that wouldn't hold my attention, when Pole came and found me. Carson,
that rascal Wiggin is the blackest devil that ever walked the earth in
human shape.”
“He's been at work,” said Carson, calmly.
“You'd think so,” said Garner. “Pole says wherever he went, expecting to
lay hands on good witnesses who had heard Willis make threats, he found
that Wiggin had got there first and put up a tale that closed their
mouths like clams.”
“I see,” said Dwight. “He frightened them off.”
“I should think he did. He put them on their guard, telling them,
without hinting at any trouble of yours, that if they had a call to
court, of any sort whatsoever, to get out of it, as it would only be a
trick on our part to implicate them in the lynching business.”
“So we have no witnesses,” said Dwight.
“Not even a photograph of one!” replied Garner, bitterly. “I sent Pole
right out again, tired as he was, in another direction. He had a faint
idea that he might persuade Willis's mother to testify, though I told
him he was on a wild-goose chase, for not one mother in ten thousand
would turn over a hand to aid a man who--a man under just such
circumstances. Then I got a horse--”
“At that time of night?” Carson cried.
“What was the difference? I couldn't sleep, anyway, and the cool night
air made me feel better, but I failed. The men I saw admitted that they
had heard Dan talk some, but they couldn't recall any absolute threats.
When I got back to town it was eight o'clock. I ate a snack at the
restaurant and then hurried off to see the district-attorney. Mayhew is
a good man, Carson, and a fair man. I think he is the most honest and
conscientious solicitor we've ever had. But right there I saw the track
of your guardian angel. As early as it was, Wiggin had been there before
me. Mayhew wouldn't admit that he had, but I knew it from his reserved
manner. Why, I expected to see the solicitor take the whole thing
lightly, you know, considering your standing at the bar and your family
name, but I found him--well, entirely too serious about it. He really
talked as if it were the gravest thing that had ever happened. I saw
that he was badly prejudiced, and I tried to disabuse his mind of some
hidden impressions, but he wouldn't talk much. All at once, however,
he looked me in the face and asked me how on earth any sensible man,
familiar with the law, could keep a thing like that concealed as long
as you did. I told him, in as plausible and direct a way as I could, how
you felt in regard to your mother's condition. He listened attentively,
then he shrugged his shoulders and said: 'Why, Garner, Dr. Stone told
my wife the other day that Mrs. Dwight was improving rapidly. Surely she
wasn't as bad off as all that.' My Lord! I was set back so badly that I
hardly knew what to say. He went on then to tell me that folks through
the country had been saying that towns-people always managed to avoid
the law by some hook or crook, or influence, or money, and that he was
not going to subject himself to public criticism even in the case of a
man as popular as you are.”
“That was Wiggin's work!” Carson said, his lips pressed tightly together
as he turned back to the window.
“Yes, that's his method. He's the trickiest scamp unhung. Of course,
he can't hope to see you actually convicted of this thing, but he does
evidently think he can have you bound over to trial at the next term of
court, and beat you at the polls in the mean time. He thinks with his
negro incendiary speeches to rouse the lowest element, and the charges
that you've murdered one of your own race to inflame the prejudices of
others, that he can snow you under good and deep. But we've got to
make the best of it. There is no shirking or postponing of this hearing
to-day. Even if the very--the very worst comes,” Garner finished,
slowly, as if shrinking from the words he was uttering, “we can give any
bonds the court may demand.”
“But”--and Dwight turned from the window and stood before his
friend--“what if they refuse to take bonds at all and I have to go to
jail?”
“What do you want to cross a bridge like that for?” Garner demanded,
plainly angered by the sheer possibility in question.
Dwight leaned over Garner and put his hand on the dusty shoulder.
“_That_ would kill my mother, old man!”
“Do you think so, Carson?” Garner was deeply moved.
“I know it, Garner, and her blood would be on my head.”
“Well, we must _win!_” Garner said, and a look of firm determination
came into his eyes; “that is all there is about it. We must win. Eternal
truth and justice are on our side. We must win.”