TWO FRUITFUL WITNESSES.
Upon the case of the illicit distiller Judge Elliott had ever sat with
utmost severity. As a colonel of cavalry he had distinguished himself.
His left sleeve was empty. Lukewarm friends said that he was harsh and
unforgiving. His intimates pointed to the fact that children were fond
of him.
One morning he came into the chambers adjoining the court-room and for a
long time sat musing at his desk. Capt. Johnson, U. S. Marshal, and
Foster, deputy, came in shortly afterward, the captain taking a seat at
his desk and Foster standing like a sentinel at the closed door. The
captain, after examining a number of papers, glancing round from time to
time as if to note whether or not the Judge had come out of his
abstraction, remarked to Foster:
"How's your barometer? Or should I call it thermometer?"
"Both, I guess," Foster replied. "I have two."
He meant old wounds, foretellers of weather whims.
"Are we going to have rain, Foster?"
"Don't know--I feel fair weather."
"My instrument may be a little acuter than yours. Mine says rain."
The Judge looked up. "Rain by all means," said he; and then after a time
the Captain remarked:
"Doesn't appear that you are going to have much of a vacation, Judge."
"That's a fact, and to one I had been looking forward. I am tired of
this everlasting hum-drum, listening to false statements and prying into
the criminal weaknesses of other men. The Lord knows that we have
weaknesses enough of our own. But I don't see any immediate relief. The
criminal docket precludes any adjournment. And I have a civil case under
advisement. My son Tom is married. And so is my sister."
"What!" exclaimed the Marshal. "When did all this occur?"
From his pocket the Judge took a letter. "Tom and my sister went up into
the mountains and--this letter tells all I know about it, and it is
little enough:
'Dear Father: I have married a mountain girl and
auntie has married her cousin, a preacher, but a
good fellow all the same. I called it a double
stroke of lightning, but auntie said it was
perfume stealing down from the wild vines. For me
it wasn't anything that came stealing--but with a
jump. As soon as I saw her I said to myself, 'wow,
I'm gone.' You have always chided me for being
what you called too brazen with girls, but this
girl scared me in a minute. It's a fact, but I
said to myself, 'Old fellow, what's the matter
with your knees?' I made up my mind to win her if
I could, but she kept me cowed, not by what she
said, for she didn't say much, but by what she
looked. Auntie's husband's preaching knocks
anything I ever heard--that is, I hear it does,
for he hasn't preached for us yet. I would have
written to you sooner, but the creek rose suddenly
and the mail couldn't get over. When I come home I
will offer my wife as a plea for pardon, and if
you don't grant it I will appeal from your
decision. To-day we go on higher up the mountains
where we can stand on tip-toe (auntie's idea) and
touch the honey-moon. She and Jim ain't with us at
present, having gone over to his preaching
grounds, fifteen miles from here. We are in a
little town that looks like stage scenery. Haven't
seen but one fellow that looked like he could box.
If my wife don't object, I may try him a few
rounds. If I can get within range I may draw on
you, as I am about broke. Yours, Tom.'"
The Judge slowly folded the letter, and putting it into his pocket,
remarked: "The rascal doesn't even tell her name."
"Well," smilingly replied the Marshal, "her name is Elliott now, you
know."
"Yes," the Judge mused, "so it would seem. Draw on me if he gets within
range. Oh, he'll get the range all right. I have never known him to
fail."
"By the way, Judge, have you decided to take up the case of that old man
Starbuck to-day? He is in there, ready."
"Yes. I have heard that he was a gallant soldier in the Union army, and
I have decided to examine him here in chambers. I wish to save him every
possible humiliation. And I don't know but it might be well to examine
those witnesses here, informally. Mr. Foster, bring in those witnesses."
Foster opened the door, stepped out into the corridor, and with a motion
of his hand, commanded: "This way, you two."
And into the room came Laz and Mose. The Judge, who at the time was
looking over a paper, paid no attention to them as they entered. Laz
took off his hat and stood near the desk, staring at him. Nearer the
Marshal stood Mose, with his hat on. The Marshal motioned for Mose to
take off his hat and the stammerer made similar motions at the Marshal,
as if answering a flirtation. The Marshal made a sign to Foster, who,
while Mose was looking in another direction, advanced and took off his
hat. Mose wheeled about, snatched his hat, and, recognizing Foster,
shook hands with him. Then he shook hands with the Marshal, turned and
walked over toward the Judge, who was still absorbed in his paper.
"Judge," said the Marshal, "these are the witnesses."
Mose stretched forth his hand, and with a sharp pencil rap upon the
desk, the Judge commanded: "Stand where you are."
[Illustration: "IF YOU AIR THE JEDGE, I AM SORTER DISERP'INTED IN YOU."]
"If you air the Jedge," said Laz, gazing intently, "I am sorter
diserp'inted in you. I thought a United States Jedge must be about eight
feet high."
"Well, never mind what you thought. You are here to tell what you know.
Here, you," he added, speaking to Mose, "what is your name?"
"M--M--M--M--M--M--"
"Well, never mind. Where do you live?"
"Well, if y--y--y--y--you don't know a feller's n--n--n--name it don't
m--m--m--make no d--d--d--diffunce whar he lives, d--d--d--does it?"
Laz struck in. "He won't tell you a lie, Jedge. He won't have time."
Rap, rap, at Laz.
"Never mind, sir. I will attend to you presently. You," he said,
speaking to Mose. "Did you ever see Mr. Starbuck make whiskey?"
"Well, I've seed him m--m--m--m--make l--l--l--lasses."
The Judge grew impatient. "Do you know why you are here?"
"B--b--b--b--because they c--c--c--c--cotch me."
"No nonsense, sir."
"P--p--p--p--pap he 'lows I ain't g--g--g--got no sense of any
s--s--s--sort, much."
The Judge sighed. "When you go into the court-room, do you think you can
understand the nature of an oath?"
"W--w--w--well, I ought to. I've b--b--b--been c--c--cussed enough."
And Laz broke in: "He don't cuss hisse'f, Jedge, but he knows good
cussin' when he hears it."
The Judge turned upon him. "Will you please keep quiet? I am striving to
deal kindly with you, and I hope you will not lose sight of that fact."
He spoke to Mose: "How far do you live from Mr. Starbuck's place?"
"W--w--w--well, you can't tell h--h--how far it is, the r--r--road's so
crooked."
"Captain," said the Judge, "this boy should not have been brought down
here. Let him stand aside. Over here," he said to Laz, motioning; and
Laz stepped forward as if measuring the distance.
"About here, Jedge?"
Rap, rap!
"Have you ever seen Mr. Starbuck make whisky?"
"I've seed him grind co'n."
"And haven't you seen him boil the corn after it was ground into meal?"
"Yes, suh. They cook it up that way for the hounds. Thar's a feller up
our way that's got mo' than a hundred hounds. They call him hound poor."
Rap, rap, rap!
"Let me tell you about this feller, Jedge. It may have some bearin's on
the matter in hand. This here feller goes down to the store, kep' by the
post-master, once a week an' swops off a hound for a pint o' licker. One
day he tuck down the biggest hound you ever seed an' when the
store-keeper had give him the pint of licker this here feller looks at
his hound an' says, 'What! don't I git nothin' back--no change?' An' the
store-keeper give him back a rat tarrier an' a bull pup."
In spite of himself the Judge ducked his head and laughed, and the
Marshal shook his sides. But the outburst of merriment was soon over.
"That is all very interesting as a character study, but we are not here
to study characters, but to get at facts."
Mose had moved around and was standing near the corner of the Judge's
desk. "I w--w--w--wish I could talk t--t--t--thatter way."
"Mr. Foster, take this boy out."
Foster came forward and Mose seized his hand as if meeting an old
acquaintance after the lapse of many years.
The Judge spoke to Laz: "When you go in under oath you'll have to be
more careful. Your drollery might send you to jail. You may go now."
As Laz turned to go he spied on the Judge's desk a fancifully wrought
ink-stand. Slowly moving toward the desk and craning his neck he took up
the ink-stand, stroked it and said: "Jedge, I'd like to borry this
thing. Fetch it back in a month or so."
"Put it down and get out. Wait a moment."
"Told me to get out."
Rap, rap!
"Hold yourself in readiness to appear before the court. Now you may go."
But he hesitated. "Hope you ain't miffed at me, Jedge, for sayin' I war
sorter diserpp'inted in you. I didn't mean no harm; an' say' Jedge, you
ask Old Jasper an' he'll tell you whuther he's made licker. He ain't one
of the sort that tells a lie, Jedge, an' I hope you'll do the best you
kin fur him; an' if you have to send him to the penitentiary I hope
you'll let me take half the time. I'd like to do that much fur him. As
fur me, Jedge, it don't make much diffunce whuther I'm locked up or not.
An' say, if it ain't stretchin' a p'int, I'll take it all, but don't let
him know how it come about."
The Judge looked at him and his eye was not hard. "Go on, young man. You
don't know where you got that spirit of self-sacrifice--you can never
know; but I appreciate it. Go on, young man."