"Fust heerd o' this ugly bizness on the second day arter young Peint war
missin'. Heerd on it as I war reeturnin' from a huntin' spell down the
river. Heerd thar wur a suspeeshun 'beout the mowstanger hevin'
kermitted the murder. Knowd he wan't the man to do sech; but, to be
saterfied, rud out to his shanty to see him. He wan't at home, though
his man Pheelum war; so skeeart 'beout one thing an the tother he ked
gie no clur account o' anythin'.
"Wal, whiles we war palaverin', in kim the dog, wi' somethin' tied roun'
his neck--the which, on bein' 'zamined, proved to be the mowstanger's
curd. Thur war words on it; wrote in red ink, which I seed to be blood.
"Them words tolt to whosomedever shed read 'em, whar the young fellur
war to be foun'.
"I went thar, takin' the other two--thet air Pheelum an the houn'--along
wi' me.
"We got to the groun' jest in time to save the mowstanger from hevin'
his guts clawed out by one o' them ere spotted painters--the Mexikins
call tigers--tho' I've heern the young fellur hisself gie 'em the name
o' Jug-wars.
"I put a bullet through the brute; an thet wur the eend o' it.
"Wal, we tuk the mowstanger to his shanty. We hed to toat him thar on a
sort o' streetcher; seein' as he wan't able to make trades o' hisself.
Beside, he wur as much out o' his senses as a turkey gobber at treadin'
time.
"We got him hum; an thur he stayed, till the sarchers kim to the shanty
an foun' him."
The witness makes pause: as if pondering within himself, whether he
should relate the series of extraordinary incidents that took place
during his stay at the jacale. Would it be for the benefit of the
accused to leave them untold? He resolves to be reticent.
This does not suit the counsel for the prosecution, who proceeds to
cross-examine him.
It results in his having to give a full and particular account of
everything that occurred--up to the time of the prisoner being taken out
of his hands, and incarcerated in the guard-house.
"Now," says he, as soon as the cross-questioning comes to a close,
"since ye've made me tell all I know 'beout thet part o' the bizness,
thur's somethin' ye haint thought o' askin', an the which this child's
boun' to make a clean breast o'."
"Proceed, Mr Stump!" says he of San Antonio, entrusted with the direct
examination.
"Wal, what I'm goin' to say now haint so much to do wi' the prisoner at
the bar, as wi' a man thet in my opeenyun oughter be stannin' in his
place. I won't say who thet man air. I'll tell ye what I know, an hev
foun' out, an then you o' the jury may reckon it up for yurselves."
The old hunter makes pause, drawing a long breath--as if to prepare
himself for a full spell of confession.
No one attempts either to interrupt or urge him on. There is an
impression that he can unravel the mystery of the murder. That of the
Headless Horseman no longer needs unravelling.
"Wal, fellur citizens!" continues Zeb, assuming a changed style of
apostrophe, "arter what I heerd, an more especially what I seed, I knowd
that poor young Peint wur gone under--struck down in his tracks--wiped
out o' the world.
"I knowd equally well thet he who did the cowardly deed wan't, an kedn't
be, the mowstanger--Maurice Gerald.
"Who war it, then? Thet war the questyun thet bamboozled me, as it's
done the rest o' ye--them as haint made up thur minds 'ithout
reflekshun.
"Wal; thinkin' as I did that the Irish wur innocent, I bekim detarmined
to diskiver the truth. I ain't goin' to say thet appearances wan't agin
him. They wur dog-gonedly agin him.
"For all thet, I wan't goin' to rely on them; an so I tuk purayra to hev
a squint at the sign.
"I knowd thur must be hoss-tracks leadin' to the place, an hoss tracks
goin' from it; an damn 'em! thur wur too many o' 'em, goin' everywhur--
else the thing mout a been eezy enough.
"But thar wur one partickler set I'd got a _down_ upon; an them I
detarmined to foller up to the eend o' creashun.
"They war the footmarks o' an Amerikin hoss, hevin' three shoes to the
good, an a fourth wi' a bit broken off the eend o' it. This hyur's the
eyedentikul piece o' iron!"
The witness draws his hand from the pocket of his blanket coat, in which
it has been some time buried. In the fingers are seen the shoe of a
horse, only three quarters complete.
He holds it on high--enough for judge, jury, and spectators to see what
it is.
"Now, Mr Judge," he continues, "an' you o' the jury, the hoss that
carried this shoe went acrosst the purayra the same night thet the
murder war committed. He went arter the man thet air murdered, as well
as him thet stans thar accused o' it. He went right upon the track o'
both, an stopped short o' the place whur the crime wur committed.
"But the man that rud him didn't stop short. He kep on till he war
clost up to the bloody spot; an it war through him it arterwards bekim
bloody. It war the third hoss--him wi' the broken shoe--thet carried
the murderer!"
"Go on, Mr Stump!" directs the judge. "Explain what you mean by this
extraordinary statement."
"What I mean, judge, air jest this. The man I'm speakin' o' tuk stan'
in the thicket, from which stan' he fired the shet thet killed poor
young Peintdexter."
"What man? Who was it? His name! Give his name!" simultaneously
interrogate twenty voices.
"I reckon yu'll find it thar."
"Where?"
"Whar! In thet thur body as sits 'ithout a head, lookin' dumbly down on
ye!
"Ye kin all see," continues the witness, pointing to the silent shape,
"ye kin all see a red patch on the breast o' the striped blanket.
Thur's a hole in the centre o' it. Ahint that hole I reck'n thur'll be
another, in the young fellur's karkidge. Thar don't appear any to match
it at the back. Thurfor I konklude, thet the bullet as did his bizness
air still inside o' him. S'posin' we strip off his duds, an see!"
There is a tacit consent to this proposition of the witness. Two or
three of the spectators--Sam Manly one of them--step forward; and with
due solemnity proceed to remove the serape.
As at the inauguration of a statue--whose once living original has won
the right of such commemoration--the spectators stand in respectful
silence at its uncovering, so stand they under the Texan tree, while the
serape is being raised from the shoulders of the Headless Horseman.
It is a silence solemn, profound, unbroken even by whispers. These are
heard only after the unrobing is complete, and the dead body becomes
revealed to the gaze of the assemblage.
It is dressed in a blouse of sky-blue _cottonade_--box plaited at the
breast, and close buttoned to the throat.
The limbs are encased in a cloth of the like colour, with a lighter
stripe along the seams. But only the thighs can be seen--the lower
extremities being concealed by the "water-guards" of spotted skin
tightly stretched over them.
Around the waist--twice twined around it--is a piece of plaited rope,
the strands of horse's hair. Before and behind, it is fastened to the
projections of the high-peaked saddle. By it is the body retained in
its upright attitude. It is further stayed by a section of the same
rope, attached to the stirrups, and traversing--surcingle fashion--under
the belly of the horse.
Everything as the accused has stated--all except the head.
Where is this?
The spectators do not stay to inquire. Guided by the speech of Zeb
Stump, their eyes are directed towards the body, carefully scrutinising
it.
Two bullet holes are seen; one over the region of the heart; the other
piercing the breast-bone just above the abdomen.
It is upon this last that the gaze becomes concentrated: since around
its orifice appears a circle of blood with streams straying downward.
These have saturated the soft _cottonade_--now seemingly desiccated.
The other shot-hole shows no similar signs. It is a clear round cut in
the cloth--about big enough for a pea to have passed through, and scarce
discernible at the distance. There is no blood stain around it.
"_It_," says Zeb Stump, pointing to the smaller, "it signifies nothin'.
It's the bullet I fired myself out o' the gully; the same I've ben
tellin' ye o'. Ye obsarve thar's no blood abeout it: which prove thet
it wur a dead body when it penetrated. The other air different. It wur
the shot as settled him; an ef I ain't dog-gonedly mistaken, ye'll find
the bit o' lead still inside o' the corp. Suppose ye make a incizyun,
an see!"
The proposal meets with no opposition. On the contrary, the judge
directs it to be done as Zeb has suggested.
The stays, both fore and back, are unloosed; the water-guards unbuckled;
and the body is lifted out of the saddle.
It feels stark and stiff to those who take part in the unpacking,--the
arms and limbs as rigid as if they had become fossilised. The lightness
tells of desiccation: for its specific gravity scarce exceeds that of a
mummy!
With respectful carefulness it is laid at full length along the grass.
The operators stoop silently over it--Sam Manly acting as the chief.
Directed by the judge, he makes an incision around the wound--that with
the circle of extravasated blood.
The dissection is carried through the ribs, to the lungs underneath.
In the left lobe is discovered the thing searched for. Something firmer
than flesh is touched by the probe--the point of a bowie-knife. It has
the feel of a leaden bullet. It is one!
It is extracted; rubbed clean of its crimson coating; and submitted to
the examination of the jury.
Despite the abrasion caused by the spirally-grooved bore of the barrel--
despite an indentation where it came in contact with a creased rib--
there is still discernible the outlines of a stamped crescent, and the
letters C.C.
Oh! those tell-tale initials! There are some looking on who remember to
have heard of them before. Some who can testify to that boast about a
marked bullet--when the killing of the jaguar was contested!
He who made that boast has now reason to regret it!
"But where is he?"
The question is beginning to be asked.
"What's your explanation, Mr Stump?" is another question put by the
counsel for the accused.
"Don't need much, I reck'n," is the reply. "He'd be a durnationed
greenhorn as can't see, clur as the light o' day, thet young Peint war
plugged by thet ere bullet."
"By whom fired, do you think?"
"Wal; thet appear to be eeqully clur. When a man signs his name to a
message, thar's no chance o' mistakin' who it kums from. Thar's only
the ineeshuls thur; but they're plain enuf, I reck'n, an speak for
theirselves."
"I see nothing in all this," interposes the prosecuting counsel.
"There's a marked bullet, it is true--with a symbol and certain letters,
which may, or may not, belong to a gentleman well known in the
Settlement. For the sake of argument, let us suppose them to be his--as
also the ball before us. What of that? It wouldn't be the first time
that a murder has been committed--by one who has first stolen his
weapon, and then used it to accomplish the deed. It is but a piece of
ordinary cunning--a common trick. Who can say that this is not
something of the same sort?"
"Besides," continues the specious pleader, "where is the motive for a
murder such as this would be--supposing it to have been committed by the
man you are now called upon to suspect? Without mentioning names, we
all know to whom these initials belong. I don't suppose the gentleman
will deny that they are his. But that signifies nothing: since there is
no other circumstance to connect him in any way with the committal of
the crime."
"Ain't thar though?" asks Stump, who has been impatiently awaiting the
wind up of the lawyer's speech. "What do ye call this?"
Zeb, on delivering himself, takes from his tinder-pouch a piece of
paper--crumpled--scorched along the edges--and blackened as with
gunpowder.
"This I foun'," says he, surrendering it to the jury, "stuck fast on the
thorn o' a muskeet tree, whar it hed been blowed out o' the barrel o' a
gun. It kim out o' the same gun as discharged thet bullet--to which it
hed served for waddin'. As this chile takes it, it's bin the backin' o'
a letter. Thur's a name on it, which hev a kewrious correspondings wi'
the ineeshuls on the bit o' lead. The jury kin read the name for
tharselves."
The foreman takes the scrap of paper; and, smoothing out the creases,
reads aloud:--
Captain Cassius Calhoun!