DAN TODD TESTIFIES.
A small, wooden courthouse, a traveling judge elected by the district, a
jury of grim citizens and a packed court room marked Dorothy Lowe’s
trial. The air was heavy with the odor of clothing in which men worked
hard and perspired; the steam radiator clanked frequently and without
cause; the prosecuting attorney did not relish his task, but stuck to
it.
At no time had Dorothy Lowe been in jail. The charge, manslaughter,
permitted bail. This had been immediately supplied by Sim Ludwig, whose
timber holdings adjoined the Lowes. The best attorney in the State had
been employed by the defense. He insisted on a plea of not guilty, and
this in spite of the fact the girl had admitted to Dan Todd and others
that she had shot in self-defense.
While the Lowes and Ludwigs were cordially disliked because of
unfairness toward their employees, the dead man’s standing was such that
sympathy swung toward the girl. John Day Burke’s various deals had made
him wealthy in money, poor in friends.
The girl had told her story briefly.
“Mr. Burke, the guardian of my brother and myself, invited us to a
dinner at Mr. Ludwig’s lodge. It was to be more or less formal and we
were to receive a report of his administration of our affairs. There
were angry words between all of us over certain items. He resented our
doubts, and one thing led to another.
“My brother and I decided to leave. It was raining and we hurried to our
car, which was parked on the skid road. He forgot something and started
back. I was afraid the quarrel might be renewed and followed. In some
manner I became lost and Mr. Todd found me. That is all.”
“Miss Lowe, did you or did you not return to the cabin at any time after
you left it?”
“I did not return at any time after we left,” she answered.
“I will call Mr. Todd,” the prosecuting attorney announced.
A few moments later Dan Todd was seated in the witness chair wishing he
were dead. He had not heard the testimony, but realized the importance
of his evidence. “Tell the jury what you’ve found.”
Dan told of the golden slipper and the automatic pistol, of his horse
finding the girl, and what followed. The prosecuting attorney grew
tense. “Were there footprints near the body?”
“Yes.”
“Small or large?”
Dan growled inwardly. Damn his persistence. “Small,” he snapped.
“The footprints of a woman with a very small foot?”
“Yes.”
“Damp footprints, as though she had just entered the building?”
“Yes.”
“That is all, Mr. Todd, unless the counsel for the defense wishes to
cross-examine you.”
The defense was given an opportunity just then. From a seat behind the
girl leaped a young man of twenty-one or two. His face was deathly
white, his eyes were blazing like twin coals of fire. His voice was
tense with emotion.
“Lies!” he snarled. “Todd lied! My sister lied! I killed
Burke—self-defense. When Dorothy said she got lost she spoke the truth.
I thought she was safe in the car. I shot him with the automatic pistol
and tossed it into the brush. After that I don’t remember what
happened!”
The court room was silent. The court reporter’s pencil, which had been
flying over the pad, came to an expectant pause. He looked up, tense,
ready to take down anything else.
It was not long in coming. The girl’s emotion came to a violent
outburst. “Bob! Bob!” she cried. “How I love you for that! But you’re
not going to take the blame on your shoulders for my crime!”
She whirled on the jury, silenced her attorney’s protest with a gesture,
and in a voice that was close to a sob said:
“It was Bob who missed the lodge; I found it. Burke had been thinking
over some of our charges. He was afraid—mad at the thought of exposure.
He did not realize what he was doing, but as he came toward me there was
murder in his eyes.
“I shouted for Bob and the answer was the moaning of the wind in the
timber, the patter of rain on the roof. I struck out with my fists; then
as he caught my wrists and pinned my hands to my sides, I felt my little
automatic pistol in my coat pocket. I jerked away and—then—” She sobbed.
“Oh—I can’t tell it, but—I’m guilty! I’m guilty!”
Bob Lowe roughly shoved his sister aside. He leveled a slim, well-kept
finger at the jury. “Are you going to believe that? She’s the finest
sister in the world. I know you hate me because I’ve wasted my time,
drank and been worthless, but—I’m man enough to take the blame for what
I’ve done. I’m here, before you, pleading guilty!” He turned to the
court. “Guilty, your honor; sentence me!”
The court looked down on Bob Lowe. “Be seated, young man. Your spirit is
commendable, but it is your sister who is on trial. The trial will
proceed.”
The prosecuting attorney, quick to see his advantage, said: “The State
rests!”
“The defense rests,” the girl’s attorney announced. The harm had been
done and could not be undone. He was relying on the present emotional
state of the jury for an acquittal.
The jury retired with the court’s instructions ringing in its several
ears.
* * * * *
Dan Todd approached Dorothy Lowe. “Get out of here!” Bob snarled,
clenching his fists, “you testified against my sister.”
“I told what I was asked to tell and no more,” he retorted, looking at
the girl. “I’ve come to offer my resignation in fairness to both of us.”
“Why?” she inquired. A strange girl indeed, always doing the unexpected.
“I testified against you,” he answered.
“You were under oath; you are honest. What else could you do? Go ahead
and keep the camp and mill running. I’m satisfied.”
“I’m not,” Bob cut in. “We don’t need him. Sim Ludwig will help us.”
Ludwig nodded. “Always at your service, Dorothy. What you are paying him
for I can do in fifteen minutes each day. I’ll do it gratis, too, so
that the timber country may be rid of such an obstructionist.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ludwig. I’m bound by a year’s agreement. Besides, you
are taking it for granted I am acquitted.”
“You will be in a short time,” Dan said quietly.
Every one present looked sharply at the big forester. There was
something in his tone to arouse interest. “Why?” the girl demanded
frankly.
“Because neither the jury nor any one else believes you killed Burke. I
don’t. Never have!”
“But I did!” she cried, on the verge of a panic. “But I did!”
“No, you didn’t,” he insisted.
Bob Lowe stood up, threateningly. “You’re saying what we all believe,”
he growled, “but you’re annoying my sister, now get out!”
Dan bowed and withdrew. Denied his chance to resign, which was offered
not through fear, but because he believed the girl would desire his
resignation, Dan was now ready to fight it through to a finish.
And what a fight it would be! Bob Lowe was against him; so was Sim
Ludwig who was always against anything and everybody interfering with
his affairs. And Dorothy Lowe? In a way she was against him, but she
desired an honest man in charge of her interests and to that extent she
was for him. A month had passed since he had taken hold and the books
were showing a profit. What was more, a hundred per cent of the cedar
cut reached the Lowe booms in the bay. And that was something that had
not happened for several years.
He wondered why he was doing it. It wasn’t his fight, he was out of the
service. Yet at heart he knew he would never be out of the Forest
Service. His name might not be on the records, but in spirit he would
always be fighting for green timber.
The situation was a challenge to any red-blooded man. A girl who was out
of sympathy with his ideals, yet who employed him because he was honest
and could show a profit; a powerful lumberman who knew how to crush
opposition; a girl’s brother who was openly hostile.
He had given her a way out, she had refused it, he was glad. His
thoughts were broken by an abrupt rapping on the jury room door.
A bailiff answered. Several minutes elapsed and court was called to
order. How the time drags, each minute an hour. There is so much
senseless red tape. Why can’t the jury foreman look down and tell the
defendant to go home? But no! The foreman must hand the verdict to the
clerk, who hands it to the judge, who reads it to himself and returns it
to the clerk to read. Dorothy Lowe’s soul was in her face as she waited.
The clerk in a singsong voice read:
“We the undersigned jury find Dorothy Lowe not guilty.”
A gasp of relief from the girl; a smile of sympathy from those in the
court room, then the drawn look returned. “And that means,” she
whispered, “they’ll look around for some one else to—try?”
“It means the case is closed,” Ludwig assured her.
“Closed,” added Dan Todd, “until evidence is produced as to the real
criminal.” With this, spoken almost defiantly, he walked from the room.
There was much to be done and he was for doing it while he had the
chance.