THE HONOR OF THE McIVORS
Isham Scarborough was dead but the Scarborough gang still lived, and
soon what had long been suspected was proven--Miz Zoolah had been its
brains. Isham had put up the bluff, the loud talk and the rough work,
but she had done the thinking which had directed his coarse violence
along the ways of destruction and death. And, since she was its head,
the gang still lived on, to carry out her will to the end. She it was
who had laid the man-trap at Geronimo, to net the last of her husband's
enemies; and though Hall was in jail and so safe from open violence,
even there he felt the breath of her hatred. She appeared at his cell
door, to positively identify him before she swore out a warrant against
him; and the look in her pale eyes was as baleful as a rattlesnake's
when it raises its head to strike.
"That's the man," she said, "I'd swear to him anywhere. He's the man
that killed my husband."
And before the Justice of the Peace, when he was arraigned for
examination, she accused him with passionate hate.
"He's a McIvor!" she cried, "his father killed my brother and my elder
sister's son! And now he's killed my husband--he shot him from ambush,
but I reached him before he died. He had fallen from the wagon and when
I raised his head he whispered:
"'Hall killed me--Hall McIvor!' And then he fell back, dead!"
That was all her testimony, the only thing that held him and the one
thing that could not be shaken; and he was bound over to the Grand
Jury, which held him for trial at the pending session of court. But
_had_ Isham spoken these words before he died? In the dreary days that
followed Hall debated it, pro and con; but he knew and she knew that,
as long as she swore to it, it might as well be the fact. For Isham was
dead, there were no other witnesses; and it was a question of veracity
between Miz Zoolah and himself, with the odds in favor of the woman. He
was shut up in a cell, without a single friend to consult with or to
carry a message to Allifair; but she was at large, with a band of Texas
gunmen to see that his friends did not come.
Meshackatee could help him, but Hall knew in his heart that Meshackatee
dared not come; the man-trap was still set and he would not escape
again as he had when he first came to town. And Allifair could help,
for she had heard Isham's threats and his offer of a reward for his
death; but the moment she appeared her aunt would seize upon her and
make her a virtual prisoner. Winchester Bassett could help most, if he
happened to be so minded; but he had escaped to the hills, riding a
relay of swift horses, and established a perfect alibi. On the very
day of the killing he had been seen in Maverick Basin, a hundred and
twenty miles away. So the whole matter stood and Hall waited in silence
until the day of his trial came at last.
A thousand times, as he lay sweltering in the heat, breathing the dead,
sickly air of his prison, he thought of Allifair, hidden away in their
eagles' nest and watching the empty trail. How many times as the two
long months dragged by must she have thought he was wounded or killed;
and yet there was no one but Meshackatee that he would trust with a
message, for Miz Zoolah was still on the watch. Somewhere, she knew,
Hall had hidden away Allifair, and she had her spies even in the jail;
and rather than expose her to the wrath of the Randolphs, Hall left
Allifair to wait on alone. How she would live he could only guess, for
her supplies would be exhausted; but he imagined her at dawn gathering
grass-seeds and piñon-nuts or bringing back turkeys from her traps. He
imagined her roasting acorns to grind them up for coffee and ranging
like a quail to find berries, even gnawing the bark of trees or cooking
mescal heads to break the dead monotony of her diet. Yet even that
was better he said in his heart than to fall into the clutches of Miz
Zoolah.
He went to his trial like a man in a dream following the sheriff up
the narrow winding stairs; but when he entered the crowded courtroom
with its bank of auditors standing behind he swept the sea of faces
with keen eyes. Here were the men that were to try him, the men of
Geronimo; for what they thought would be reflected by the jury which
would be called to sit on his case. The jury would cast the ballot
but The People would decide for thought is as fluid as air. It passes
from man to man despite the menace of bailiffs and the charges of the
court commanding silence; and the opinion of the majority finds its
expression at last when the foreman says: "Guilty" or "Not Guilty."
Hall plead "Not Guilty," and he plead according to fact, for his hand
was innocent of the crime; yet so intimate is the connection between
what we think and what we are that somehow he felt himself the killer.
He had come to Geronimo to kill Isham or be killed; he had ridden
to his ranch to waylay him; and only the intervention of Winchester
Bassett had kept him from accomplishing his purpose. Not that he held
himself to blame, for the teachings of a lifetime made him consider
such an act as praiseworthy; but the look in his eyes was that of a
man-killer who seeks no excuse for his crime. And the men of Geronimo,
being a hardy band of citizens, looked on in grim approval. According
to their code he had committed no crime--he had fought a fair fight and
won.
Being questioned he admitted that on the morning of the killing he had
been present at the scene of the crime, he acknowledged his connection
with the Maverick Basin War and his grudge against the deceased;
but he denied most vigorously that he had fired the shots that had
resulted in the death of Isham. All this he did voluntarily, in the
form of a statement, and then he sat down and waited. There was a stir
in the crowd and Mrs. Scarborough stepped forward, swathed in black to
emphasize her widowhood; but when she began to talk she threw back the
long veil and her eyes became set with hate. Question after question
was asked and answered, the time and place were fully established; and
then the District Attorney asked the one crucial question:
"And what did your husband say?"
"He said," she said passionately: "'Hall killed me--Hall McIvor!'"
And then she turned and looked at him.
"That is all," nodded the District Attorney, and rested his case, at
which there was another stir in the crowd. Hall turned with the rest,
and when he saw Meshackatee's huge head, his broad shoulders and
curling black beard, he smiled for the first time that day.
"I call that man for my witness," he said to the Judge, but there was
another surprise in store for him. Following close behind Meshackatee
and concealed by his great bulk came Allifair Randolph, smiling. He
sprang up to meet her, but the bailiff snatched him back, the District
Attorney shouted out some protest; and then, still held apart, they
gave greeting with their eyes while the crowd rose up and gaped. Here
was the woman in the case, the woman we always look for, the one we are
directed to find; and when she stepped into the witness box, her face
radiant with love, the jury gazed about in wonder. But when they saw
the glare in the eyes of Mrs. Scarborough they read the whole story
at a glance. This case that they were trying was not a plain killing,
it was battle between women as well; and when women are involved, as
the jury knew full well, the facts are often thrown to the winds. Even
the sanctity of the oath is lightly disregarded and passion pulls down
reason from its throne; but now they leaned forward to listen with open
mind, as the Judge had so carefully instructed them.
Allifair, being questioned, explained the feud behind a feud--the
Randolph-McIvor war and its relation to the battle which had ended
in the death of Isham. Hall's lawyer repeated the questions as Hall
whispered them into his ear, and after she had told of the opposition
to their marriage the lawyer suddenly saw a way out.
"And do I understand," he asked, "that the complaining witness, Mrs.
Scarborough, is a member of the Randolph clan? Well, please inform the
jury if at any time, to your knowledge, she threatened the life of the
defendant."
"Yes," answered Allifair. "One night he came to meet me and while we
were talking my aunt crept up behind us and threatened to shoot him
with a pistol. And when I interfered she said she would kill _me_
before she would let me marry a McIvor."
"And do you consider that this prejudice, this clan feeling as a
Randolph, would render it impossible for your aunt to give fair
testimony where the life of the defendant was at stake?"
"I object!" spoke up the District Attorney; but the judge overruled him
and Allifair answered the question.
"I believe she would say anything, or do anything," she replied, "that
would keep us from being married."
"That is all," smiled the lawyer, and summoned Meshackatee; but before
he took the stand Meshackatee whispered to the bailiff, who turned and
looked sharply into the audience.
"Your honor," began Meshackatee, as the bailiff seemed to hesitate, "I
have reason to believe that a band of armed men have come into court
here to kill me. I refer particularly to that bunch of bad Texans."
He jerked his thumb in the direction of the front seats where the
Scarborough gunmen under the direction of Burge Masters sat glaring
with narrowed eyes.
"Search the gentlemen," ordered the Judge, "and while you are about it,
remove that pistol from the witness."
The bailiff rapped for silence and the Judge went on sternly. "At the
first sign of disturbance I will order the courtroom cleared. Any who
wish may now leave the room."
The gunmen rose up, drawing their coats over their pistols, and filed
sullenly out of court.
"Thank you, Judge," bowed Meshackatee, turning his belt over to the
bailiff, and he stepped ponderously up into the witness chair.
"I am a deputy sheriff of Tonto County," he replied to the lawyer's
first question. "Yes, I know the defendant well. He served as a deputy
during the Maverick Basin trouble, and is a gentleman of the highest
integrity. Yes, I have often heard him say that he disapproved of all
feuds and especially of the Randolph-McIvor war. His sole object, so
he informed me, in entering Maverick Basin was to rescue and marry
Miss Randolph. She was being held, practically as a prisoner, by Mrs.
Scarborough."
Hall's lawyer was beginning to beam, the jury exchanged glances; and as
Meshackatee went on to show Miz Zoolah's prejudice against McIvor, she
rose up and left the room. Allifair nodded to Hall and smiled, even the
Judge began to unbend; but as he was making a ruling Hall sprang to his
feet and pointed towards the door.
"Your Honor!" he cried, "I want that woman restrained. I have reason to
believe----"
"Sit down!" ordered the Judge, and as Hall obeyed Mrs. Scarborough came
swiftly down the aisle. Her face was half concealed beneath the veil of
heavy crêpe that hung from her widow's bonnet, but her right hand was
hidden beneath the folds of a black shawl which she had thrown about
her shoulders. And something about her step as she came down towards
him warned Hall of the murder in her heart.
"This is not Kentucky," went on the Judge severely, "nor is it Maverick
Basin. You are safe in the custody of the court."
Hall rose up again and glanced helplessly about, then dropped his hands
by his side.
"Very well," he replied, and as Mrs. Scarborough swept by him he turned
and met her eye. "I have never struck a woman yet," he said, and her
thin lips parted in a sneer.
"No," she answered, and while they gazed at her fascinated she whipped
out a pistol, full-cocked. "I'll show you!" she cried, and, pressing
it against his breast, she gave the trigger a jerk. But the gun only
snapped; for her widow's veil, hanging down from her bonnet, had caught
on the hammer and fouled it. She struggled to release it, to cock and
fire again; and Hall turned his eyes on the Judge.
"And I never will," he added, "not even to save my life."
"Seize that woman!" shouted the Judge, suddenly roused from the
paralysis which had frozen every man in his place; but the bailiff
had come to life first. He struck the gun to one side and crushed Miz
Zoolah's arms to her sides, and as she fought like a wild-cat others
rushed in to help him, while the crowd stampeded through the doors.
"I'll git you!" she shrieked, her pale eyes blazing with rage as
McIvor stood smiling before her--but his smile was not for her.
Allifair had stood fast and now she came running to throw herself into
his arms.
"God has saved you!" she sobbed, and he bowed his head.
"Yes," he said. "Saved me for you."
They stood locked in each other's arms, oblivious of the spectators,
unconscious of what was going on; and when they looked about the clerk
was piling up his books and the District Attorney was speaking.
"If the court please," he said, "the conduct of the complaining
witness has destroyed the value, in my opinion, of her testimony; and
I therefore ask the court to direct an acquittal, since no jury would
convict on such evidence."
As court was adjourned he came over and shook hands, wishing them all
the happiness in life; and Hall and Allifair were still receiving
congratulations when Meshackatee came hurrying back.
"Well, come on; come on!" he boomed, "we've got her locked up in jail.
And I'll say right now she's half red and the other half stinging
scorpion. So if you're going to git married you'd better do it
quick, before she breaks down the bars. I'll give the bride away, if
you'll excuse these clothes; but by grab if them scoundrels hadn't
jinglebobbed my ears I'd've stole Miss Allifair myself. A prettier
woman--or a braver woman, either--I never expect to see. She lived up
in them cliff-dwellings for nigh onto two months; and when I come by
there----Well, I'll go and git the license. There's the Judge there,
trying to flag you."
The Judge indeed was beckoning them to his chambers, and when they had
entered he gave Hall his hand while Allifair looked on, smiling.
"Mr. McIvor," he said, "I owe you an apology. And allow me to retract
what I said about Kentucky, a state which may well be proud of you.
Whatever she may lack in respect for the law, you have learned there
a chivalry and a reverence for womankind which I never expected to
witness. If you and Miss Randolph will do me the honor I shall be happy
to officiate at your marriage."
Hall hesitated a moment and glanced down at Allifair, who blushed and
nodded her head.
"We thank you, Judge," he said, "and since you have referred to
Kentucky, let me say that our marriage will end the greatest feud that
has ever existed in that state. The Randolphs and McIvors have fought
for twenty years, and our code may seem different from yours; but
despite our lawless acts we McIvors love truth and justice and hold our
honor above our lives."
"You have shown," declared the Judge, "that that is no idle phrase--I
can see that it comes from your heart. But why, if I may ask, did you
refuse to strike that woman? Would you stand there and allow her to
kill you?"
"No gentleman----" began Hall, and then he stopped and met Allifair's
unbelieving gaze. "She was a Randolph," he said, and bowed. "Oh,
Hall!" reproached Allifair, suddenly clutching at his hand, and then
her eyes softened and she smiled.
"The Randolphs love honor, too," she said. "They will learn to forgive
us--now."
END
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
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A Tale of the Western Frontier
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E.P. DUTTON & COMPANY