LIBERTY
Sleep had brought me a brief forgetfulness, but the awakening was not
pleasant when I painfully straightened my limbs on the jolting platform,
while the twin whistles shrieked ahead. Every joint ached from the
previous day's exertions, my borrowed garments were clammy with dew, and
I shivered in the cold draught that swept past the slowing cars. The sun
had not cleared the grayness which veiled the east, and, frowned down
upon by huge elevators which rose higher and higher against a lowering
sky, the straggling town loomed up depressingly out of the surrounding
desolation. The pace grew slower, a thicket of willows choked with empty
cans and garbage slid by, then the rails of the stockyards closed in on
each hand, and we jolted over the switches into the station, which was
built, as usual, not in, but facing, the prairie town.
There was no sign of life in its ill-paved streets, down which the dust
wisps danced; bare squares of wooden buildings, devoid of all
ornamentation, save for glaring advertisements which emphasized their
ugliness, walled them in, and the whole place seemed stamped with the
dreariness which characterizes most prairie towns when seen early on a
gloomy morning by anybody not in the best of spirits. My
fellow-passengers were apparently asleep, but I was the better pleased,
having no desire for speech, and I dropped from the platform as soon as
the locomotive stopped. Hurrying out of the station, I did not turn
around until a row of empty farm wagons hid the track, which action was
not without results.
One hotel door stood open, but knowing that its tariff was not in
accordance with my finances, I passed it by and patrolled the empty
streets until the others, or a dry goods store, should make ready for
business. One of the latter did so first, and when I entered a mirror
showed that the decision was not unnecessary. The borrowed jacket was
far too small, the vest as much too large, while somebody's collar cut
chokingly into my sunburnt neck. Still, the prices the sleepy clerk
mentioned were prohibitive, and after wasting a little time in somewhat
pointed argument--of which he had the better--I strode out of the store,
struggling with an inclination to assault him. Western storekeepers are
seldom characterized by superfluous civility, and there are
disadvantages attached to a life in a country so free that, according to
one of its sayings, any man who cannot purchase boots may always walk
barefooted.
"I don't know what the outfit you've got on cost you, and shouldn't
wonder, by the way it fits, if you got it cheap," he said. "We don't
turn out our customers like scarecrows, anyway, and if you'd had the
money we would have tried to make a decent show of you."
I was nevertheless able, after almost emptying my purse, to replace at
least the vest and jacket at a rival establishment, whose proprietor
promised to forward the borrowed articles to their legitimate owners. I
afterwards discovered that they never received them.
"You look smart as a city drummer, the top half of you, but it makes the
rest look kind of mean. You want to live up to that coat," he said,
after a critical survey.
"I can't do it at the price, unless you will take your chances of
getting paid when the stock go East," I said; and the dealer shook his
head sorrowfully.
"We don't trade that way with strangers, and I don't know you."
I was in a reckless mood, and some puerile impulse prompted me to
astonish him. "My name is Henry Ormesby!"
The man positively gasped, and then, with Western keenness, prepared to
profit by the opportunity. "I'll fit you out all for nothing if you'll
walk round to the photographer's and give me your picture with a notice
to stick in the window that you think my things the best in town," he
said. "It would be worth money every time the prairie boys come in, and
I don't mind throwing a little of it into the bargain."
This was exasperating, but I could not restrain a mirthless laugh; and,
leaving the enterprising dealer astonished that any man should refuse
such an offer, I hurried out of the store; but by the time the breakfast
hour arrived all trace of even sardonic humor had left me. It was with
difficulty I had raised sufficient ready money for the journey, and
there now remained but two or three silver coins in my pocket, while,
remembering that the dealer had been justified in pointing out the
desirability of a complete renovation, I reflected gloomily that it
would be useless, because, in all probability, the nation would shortly
feed and clothe me. I also remembered how I had seen men with heavy
chains on their ankles road-making before the public gaze in a British
Columbian town.
Meanwhile I was very hungry, and presently sat down to a simple
breakfast in a crowded room. While waiting a few minutes my eyes fell on
a commercial article in a newspaper, which, while noting a revival of
trade, deplored the probable abandonment of much needed railroad
extension. The writer appeared well posted, and mentioned the road we
hoped so much from as one of the works which would not be undertaken. I
laid down the journal with a sigh, and noticed that the men about me
were discussing the coming trial.
"I expect they'll send Ormesby up," said one man, between his rapid
gulps. "Don't know whether he done it, but he threatened the other
fellow, and said he'd see him roasted before he helped; while that
match-box would fix most anybody up."
"Well, I don't know," observed a neighbor. "The match-box looks bad; but
I guess if I'd been burning a place up I shouldn't have forgotten it.
Still, it might be fatal unless he could disown it. As to the other
thing, I don't count much on what he said. A real fire-bug would have
kept his mouth shut and helped all he was worth instead of saying
anything."
"I'm offering five to one he goes up. Any takers?" said the first
speaker; and it was significant that, although most Westerners are keen
at a bet, nobody offered.
"I'd do it for less, 'cept for the match-box," said one.
I managed to finish my breakfast, feeling thankful that--because (so
their appearance suggested) those who sat at meat had driven in from the
prairie to enjoy the spectacle--none of them recognized me. The odds, in
their opinion, were more than five to one against me, and I agreed with
them. Slipping out I found Dixon, and reported my presence to the
police; and, after what seemed an endless waiting at the court, it was
early afternoon when Dixon said to me: "They'll be ready in five
minutes, and I want you to keep a tight rein on your temper, Ormesby. I
can do all the fancy talking that is necessary. You can keep your heart
up, too. There are going to be surprises for everyone to-day."
I was called in a few minutes, and if the court had been thronged on
previous occasions, it was packed to suffocation now. It was a bare,
ugly, wood-built room, even dirtier than it was dingy. Neither is there
anything impressive, save, perhaps, to the culprit, about the
administration of Western justice, and I was thankful for a lethargy
which helped me to bear the suspense with outward indifference. Nothing
striking marked the first part of the proceedings, and I sat listening
to the drawl of voices like one in a dream. Some of the spectators
yawned, and some fidgeted, until there was a sudden stir of interest as
the name "Thomas Wilkins" rang through the court.
"I guess that's the prosecution's trump ace," said a man beneath me.
I became suddenly intent as this witness took his stand. He was of the
usual type of Canadian-born farm hand, bronzed and wiry, but not heavily
built, and hazarded what I fancied was a meaning glance at me. I could
not understand it, for he seemed at once ashamed and exultant.
"I was hired by Rancher Niven to help him at Gaspard's Trail, and
remember the night of the fire well. Guess anybody who'd been trod on by
a horse and left with broken bones to roast would," he said; and
proceeded to confirm Niven's testimony. This was nothing new, and the
interest slackened, but revived again when the witness approached the
essential part of his story, and I could hear my own heart thumping more
plainly than the slow drawling voice.
"I was round at the wreck of the homestead some time after the fire.
Don't know the date, but Niven made a note of it. Kind of precise man he
was. The place wasn't all burnt to the ground, and Niven he crawls in
under some fallen logs into what had been the kitchen. The door opened
right on to the prairie, and anybody could slip in if they wanted to.
Niven grabbed at something on the floor. 'Come along and take a look at
this,' says he; and I saw it was a silver match-box he held up. There
was 'H. Ormesby' not quite worn off it. Niven he prospects some more,
and finds a flattened coal-oil tin. Yes, sir, those you are holding up
are the very things. 'We don't use that brand of oil, and buy ours in
bigger cans,' says he."
I could see by the spectators' faces it was damaging testimony, and
Dixon's serene appearance was incomprehensible, while, for the benefit
of those ignorant of Western customs, it may be explained that kerosene
is sold in large square tins for the settler's convenience in several
parts of the Dominion.
"I went over to the store with Niven next day," continued the witness.
"The man who kept it allowed that Rancher Ormesby was about the only man
he sold that brand to in small cans."
There were signs of subdued sensation, and Wilkins continued: "We gave
them both to Sergeant Mackay, and by-and-by I was summoned to come here
and testify. I came right along; then it struck me it was mean to help
in sending up the man who'd saved my life. So I just lit out and hid
myself until the police trailed me."
It was news to hear that Lane had no hand in the witness's
disappearance; and again he flashed an apparently wholly unwarranted,
reassuring glance in my direction. Then, while I wondered hopelessly
whether Dixon could shake his testimony, the latter stood up.
"I purpose to ask Thomas Wilkins a few questions later, and will not
trouble him about the match-box, being perfectly satisfied as to the
accuracy of the facts he states," he said.
I could see the spectators stare at him in surprise, and, wondering if
he had lost his senses, settled myself to listen as the storekeeper
deposed to selling me oil of the description mentioned, adding
reluctantly that very few others took the same size of can. This, and a
lengthy speech, closed the prosecutor's case, and it seemed, when he had
finished, that nothing short of a miracle could save me. The audience
was also evidently of the same opinion.
Dixon commenced feebly by submitting evidence as to my uprightness of
character, which his opponent allowed to pass unchallenged with a
somewhat contemptuous indifference. Then he said: "It will be remembered
that in his evidence Sergeant Mackay deposed that the witness Niven told
him the burning homestead was not insured, and I will call the Western
agent of a famous fire office."
The evidence of the gentleman in question was brief and to the point. "I
have heard the statement that Gaspard's Trail was not insured, and can't
understand it. The witness Niven took out a policy three months before
the fire, and sent in his claim straight off to me. The company declined
to meet it until this case was settled. Am I quite certain, or can I
offer any explanation? Well, here's our premium receipt foil and record
of the policy. Can't suggest any explanation, except that somebody is
lying."
This was received with some sensation, and Dixon smiled at me as if
there were more in store. "You will observe that the witness Niven
cannot be considered a very truthful person. I will recall Thomas
Wilkins," he said.
Wilkins had lost his shamefacedness when he reappeared. "I said the
prisoner saved my life, and meant just that," he said, answering a
question. "It was he who took me out of the fire, and I had sense enough
to see he was leading the boys who saved all Niven's horses. It's my
opinion--you don't want opinions? Well, I'll try to pitch in the solid
facts."
"Your master went East for a few days before the fire and brought a case
of groceries home with him," said Dixon. "Will you tell us if you opened
that case?"
"I did," was the answer. "He sent me into the station for it with the
check. Said our storekeeper was a robber, and he'd saved money by buying
down East. It was a blame heavy case, so I started to open it in the
wagon, and had just pulled the top off when Niven came along."
"Did you see anything except groceries in it?" asked Dixon; and there
was a stirring in the court when Wilkins answered: "I did. I had lit on
to the top of three coal-oil tins when the boss came in."
"Did he look pleased at your diligence?"
"No, sir. He looked real mad. 'If you'll do what you're asked to without
mixing up my private things it will be good enough for me. Get your
horses fixed right now,' he said."
"You are sure about the oil tins? Were they large or small--and did you
ever see them or the groceries again?"
"Dead sure," was the answer. "I stowed the groceries in the kitchen, but
never saw the oil. It was a smaller size than we used, any way. Didn't
think much about it until I read a paper about this trial not long ago.
Begin to think a good deal now."
I drew in a deep breath, and the movements of expectant listeners grew
more audible when, reminded that his impressions were not asked for,
Wilkins stepped down. Hope was beginning to dawn, for I could see that
Dixon was on the trail of a conspiracy. Everybody seemed eager, the
prosecutor as much so as the rest, and there was a deep silence when
Dixon folded up the paper on which he had been making notes.
"My next witness is Miss Lucille Haldane, of Bonaventure," he said.
There was a low murmur, every head was turned in the same direction, and
I grew hot with shame and indignation when Haldane's younger daughter
walked into the witness stand. It seemed to me a desecration that she
should be dragged forward into an atmosphere of crime as part of the
spectacle before a sea of curious faces, and I had never felt the
enforced restraint so horribly oppressive as when I read admiration in
some of them. Had it been possible to wither up Dixon with a glance it
is hardly likely that he would ever have handled a case again. The girl
looked very young and pretty as, with a patch of almost hectic color in
each cheek, and a brightness in her eyes, she took her place. She wore
no veil, and held herself proudly as, without sign of weakness, she
looked down at the assembly. While she did so there was, without
articulate sound, something that suggested wonder and approval in the
universal movement, and I heard a man beneath me say: "She's a daisy.
Now we're coming right into the business end of the play."
"You know the prisoner, Ormesby?" asked Dixon; and though her voice was
low, its clear distinctness seemed to permeate the building as she
answered: "I do. He is a friend of my father's, and visited us at
Bonaventure occasionally."
"Did you ever see a silver match-box in his possession, and, if so,
could you describe it?"
"I did, on several occasions. He wore it hooked on to his watch-chain,
and once handed it to me to light a lamp with. It had an oak-leaf
engraving with a partly obliterated inscription--'From ---- to H.
Ormesby.'"
"I think that is an accurate description," said Dixon; and when the
judge, who held up a little silver object and passed it on to the jury,
signified assent, I glanced in savage bewilderment at the speaker. It
had appeared shameful cruelty to hale that delicate girl into a crowded
court; now it also appeared sheer madness. She never once glanced in my
direction, but stood with head erect, one hand resting on the rails,
where the pitiless sunlight beat full upon her, with eyes fixed only on
the judge; but in spite of her courage I could see that her lips
trembled, while the little gloved fingers tightened spasmodically on the
rails. Then I hung my head for very shame that I had been the unwitting
cause of such an ordeal, feeling that I would prefer to suffer ten
convictions rather than that she should become a subject for discussion
in every saloon, and the free commentary of the Western press, even if
she could have saved me.
"When did you last see the match-box?" asked Dixon.
"On the morning of the Wednesday in the third week after the fire. I am
sure of the day, because the visit of some friends from Montreal
impressed it on my memory. Henry Ormesby had stayed all night at
Bonaventure and left early in the morning. A maid brought me the
match-box, which she had found on the bureau, with one or two articles
of clothing; and as he did not return I told her to slip the match-box
inside the packet and forward them. I forgot the incident until the
trial recalled it."
As Lucille ceased it flashed upon me that I had wondered how the
match-box had made its way into a pocket in which I never carried it.
Then I was borne down by a great wave of gratitude to the girl who, it
seemed, had saved me. She was rigorously cross-examined, and, while I do
not know whether the prosecutor exceeded due limits in his efforts to
shake her evidence, I grew murderously inclined towards him as I noticed
how his victim's color came and went, and the effort it cost her not to
shrink under the questions. But her courage rose with the emergency, and
when the indignation crept into her eyes there was several times subdued
applause as her answer to some innuendo carried a rebuke with it.
At last the approbation was no more subdued, but swelled into a hoarse
murmur which filled all the court when she drew herself up at the
question: "And it was because you were a firm friend of the prisoner's
you recollected all this so opportunely, and, in spite of the
diffidence any lady in your position would feel, volunteered to give
evidence?"
The damask patch had spread to Lucille Haldane's forehead, but instead
of being downcast her eyes were filled with light. "No," she said; and
the vibration in her voice had a steely ring. "It was because I am a
Canadian, and accordingly desired to see justice done to an innocent
man. Can you consider such a desire either uncommon or surprising?"
A full minute had elapsed before the case proceeded, during which an
excitable juryman rose and seemed on the point of haranguing the
assembly until a comrade dragged him down. Then laughter broke through
the murmurs as he gesticulated wildly amid shouts of "Order."
A Scandinavian domestic quaintly corroborated her mistress's statement,
and there was no doubt that the scale was turned; but Dixon did not
leave his work half-completed, and the next witness confirmed this
evidence.
"I keep the Railroad Hotel. It's not a saloon, but a hotel, with a big
H," he said. "Know Harry Ormesby well. Saw him about three weeks after
the fire lighting a cigar I gave him from a silver match-box. Oh, yes,
I'm quite sure about the box; had several times seen the thing before.
Was pretty busy when the boys started smoking round the stove after
supper, and forgot to pick up something bright beneath Ormesby's chair.
Was going to tell him he'd dropped his box, when somebody called me. The
boys cleared out when the cars came in, and I saw Niven among them. Knew
him as a customer--don't want to as a friend. Got too much of the coyote
about him. My Chinaman was turning out the lights when I saw somebody
slip back quietly. He grabbed at something by the chair, and went out by
the other door. There was only a light in the passage left, and I didn't
quite recognize him. Could swear it wasn't Ormesby, and think he was
more like Niven. Asked Niven about it afterwards, and he said it wasn't
he; didn't see Ormesby, but wired his lawyer when I'd read the papers.
Don't believe Ormesby had enough malice in him to burn up a hen-house."
There were further signs of sensation, and Sergeant Mackay was called
again. He had ridden over to Gaspard's Trail the day following the fire,
and decided to clear out the refuse dump, he said. Then the whole
audience grinned, when, being asked why he did so, he glanced at the
jury as if for sympathy, answering: "I was thinking I might find
something inside it. A man must do his duty, but it was a sairly
distressful operation." He found two unopened coal-oil tins resembling
the flattened one, and was certain by the appearance of the dump they
had been placed there some time before the fire.
There was no further evidence. Dixon said very little, but that little
told. The jury had scarcely retired before one of them reappeared, and,
with a rush of blood to my forehead and a singing in my ears, I caught
the words--"Not guilty!"
Then, when the judge, and even the prosecuting counsel, said he fully
concurred, the murmurs swelled until they filled the court again; and
presently I was standing outside, a free man, in the center of an
excited crowd, for Western citizens are desperately fond of any
sensation. How many cigars and offers of liquid refreshment were thrust
upon me I do not remember, but they were overwhelmingly numerous, and I
was grateful when Dixon came to the rescue.
"Mr. Ormesby is much obliged to you, gentlemen, but it's quiet he wants
just now," he said; while we had hardly reached the leading hotel where
Dixon led me than there was a clamor in the direction of the court, and
I looked at him inquiringly.
"I expect they've issued a warrant for Niven on a charge of conspiracy
or arson, and the boys have heard of it," he said. "However, I have had
sufficient professional occupation for to-day, and we're going to get
supper and afterwards enjoy ourselves as we can."
I had, nevertheless, determined to thank my benefactress first, and,
ignoring Dixon's advice, sent up my name. I was informed that Miss
Haldane would receive nobody, and the lawyer smiled dryly when I
returned crestfallen. "I don't think you need feel either hurt or
surprised," he said.
The inhabitants of the prairie towns differ from the taciturn plainsmen
in being vociferously enthusiastic and mercurial, and to my disgust the
citizens came in groups to interview me, while one, who shoved his way
into our quarters by main force, said the rest would take it kindly if I
made a speech to them.
"You can tell them I feel honored, but nobody can charge me with ever
having done such a thing in my life," I said; and the representatives of
the populace retired, to find another outlet for their energies, as we
presently discovered.
"I owe my escape solely to a lady's courage and your skill, Dixon; but
why didn't you try to implicate Lane?" I said; and the lawyer laughed.
"Any reasonable man ought to be satisfied with the verdict and
demonstration. It would have been difficult, if not useless, while I
fancy that if Lane is allowed a little more rope his time will shortly
come," he said. "Hallo! Here are more enthusiastic citizens desirous of
interviewing you."
"Keep them out for heaven's sake," I said; but before Dixon could secure
the door Sergeant Mackay strode in.
"I have come to congratulate ye. It will be a lesson til ye, Ormesby,"
he announced.
I did not see the hand he held out. "I'm in no mood for sermons, and
can't appreciate your recent actions as they perhaps deserve," I said;
and the sergeant's eyes twinkled mischievously.
"It should not be that difficult; and ye have the consolation that we
served the State," he said. "It was in the interests of justice
we--well--we made use of ye to stalk the other man."
"There's no use pretending I'm grateful," I commenced; but Dixon broke
into a boisterous laugh, and the sergeant's face grew so humorous that
my own relaxed and we made friends again. The reunion had not long been
consummated when a rattle of wheels, followed by the tramp of many feet
and the wheezy strains of a cornet, rose from below, and, striding to
the window, I said with dismay: "Lock the door. They're coming with a
band and torches now."
"I'm thinking ye need not," said Mackay dryly. "It's a farewell to Miss
Haldane they're giving."
We gathered at the opened window, looking down at a striking spectacle.
A vehicle stood waiting, and behind it, lighted by the glow of kerosene
torches, a mass of faces filled the street. The heads were uncovered
almost simultaneously, and Lucille Haldane appeared upon the hotel
steps, with her attendants behind her. At first she shrank back a little
from the gaze of the admiring crowd, to whom her spirit and beauty had
doubtless appealed; but when one of them urged something very
respectfully, with his hat in his hand, she moved forward a pace and
stood very erect, a slight but queenly figure, looking down at them.
"I am honored, gentlemen," she said falteringly, though her voice gained
strength. "It was merely a duty I did, but I am gratified that it
pleased you, just because it shows that all of us are proud of our
country and eager, for its credit, to crush oppression and see justice
done to the downtrodden."
The street rang with the cheer that followed, and when Dixon seized his
hat the action was infectious. The next minute we were moving forward
amid the ranks of the enthusiastic crowd behind the vehicle, which
jolted slowly towards the station; and I discovered later that the
uncomfortable sensation at the back of my neck was caused by the hot oil
from a torch, which dripped upon it. In the meantime I noticed nothing
but the sea of faces, the tramp of feet, and the final burst of cheering
at the station, in which Mackay, holding aloft his forage cap, joined
vociferously.
"It's only fit and proper. She's as good and brave as she's bonny," he
said.