Dick Willoughby had been lodged in the county jail at Bakersfield, duly
charged by Ben Thurston as the murderer of his son. To his surprise, and
indeed to his dismay, the prisoner was informed that, the crime alleged
being a capital one, no bail could be accepted. This was first of all
a blow to Willoughby’s pride. Here he was under the stigma of
imprisonment, but with no possibility of redress. It was not the loss of
comforts, the deprivation of personal liberty, the hardships to body and
to soul, inseparable from such restraint, that he resented, so much as
the semiconviction of guilt implied by the durance vile to which he was
to be subjected, although absolutely innocent of the deed of which he
was accused.
However, after first chagrin came manly philosophy. The law might be
right or wrong, wise or unwise, necessary or superfluous. But all the
same it was the law of the state and had therefore to be obeyed. So,
when the situation was finally reviewed, it was Lieutenant Munson who,
when bidding his friend good-night, had been the angry man, fretting
and fuming over such an abominable act of injustice, while the prisoner
himself was tranquilly resigned to the ordeal through which he must
pass and to which unkind fate was subjecting him for reasons that he was
powerless to fathom.
“Good night, Ches, old man. You’ll see me again in the morning. It’s
mighty kind of you to stay in town all night. But we can decide on the
best lawyer to employ, and then you must hasten back to break the bad
news at La Siesta.”
Such had been Dick’s quiet words when their colloquy had been broken up,
and he had been ordered to the retirement of his prison cell. To enter
that place was for Dick a horrible experience. But he accepted the
experience calmly, bade the turnkey a cheerful good-night, and laid him
down to sleep on the narrow mattress resting upon the hard bench, at
peace with himself and the world, even with the bitter enemy who had all
so unexpectedly appeared on his path.
Although Munson was back in the jail betimes next morning, he found Dick
already conferring with a lawyer—the best and most honored in the town,
as Munson knew the moment his name was mentioned.
“Let me introduce you to Mr. Bradley,” said Dick, presenting him. “Some
kind friend whose name he declines to reveal for the present, sent him a
special message last night retaining his services for my defence.”
“Mrs. Darlington, I bet,” interjected the lieutenant.
“No, not Mrs. Darlington, let me assure you,” rejoined the lawyer,
“although undoubtedly she would be willing to do the same thing. But I
am not permitted to say any more.”
“And he has carte blanche for all expenses,” smiled Dick. “Although I
should not think there will be much money required to clear an innocent
man,” he added.
“Wait till you see,” said the lawyer crisply. “We have to reckon with a
malignant persecutor, I am already informed.”
“Well, I’ve got a bit to my bank credit,” Dick replied. “And we’ll draw
on that first before I accept the generosity of an unknown friend. It
will be quite a saving here,” he went on with a humorous twinkle in his
eye as he glanced around. “Free board and lodging at the state’s expense
for a week at all events.”
“Much longer than that, I am afraid,” gravely remarked the lawyer.
“You see, Mr. Munson, just before you arrived we were discussing
the decidedly unfortunate coincidence that at the time the shooting
occurred, Mr. Willoughby, by his own admission, was in the little canyon
below the scene of the tragedy.”
“Rounding up some cattle,” observed Dick. “Of course. But all the same,
open to suspicion as being on the ground, and indeed being the first to
reach the dead man’s side.”
“That should be proof of innocence,” observed Munson.
“Or may be taken as evidence of well-reasoned audacity to throw accusers
off the trail,” retorted the attorney. “You see we have to look at
everything, not from our own point of view, but from the other side. Now
I want to learn something more about that quarrel between you and young
Thurston at the cattle muster.”
“He made an insulting remark about one of the young ladies from La
Siesta,” replied Dick. “I told him I would tan his hide if he ever did
it again. That’s all. But the last thing I want is that these ladies’
names should be dragged into the case.”
“But his remark and your reproof were overheard by others,” commented
the attorney.
“Oh, yes, by a bunch of ranch hands.”
“Whose evidence will undoubtedly be called for the prosecution,
necessitating, perhaps, the evidence of the young ladies on our side.”
“By God, I won’t stand for that,” exclaimed Dick hotly. “I can defend
myself without their being called to the witness stand. Think, Munson,
of subjecting Merle or Grace to any such thing”—and his indignant face
appealed to the lieutenant’s.
“I saw nothing of the quarrel,” observed Munson, addressing the lawyer,
“although, of course, I heard something about it later on—not from
Willoughby, however, for he has never once referred to the matter in
conversation with me. But I say, Dick, old fellow, you know that Merle
Farnsworth and Grace Darlington, too, will be only too proud and happy
to stand up for you in a law court or anywhere else.”
“That may be,” replied Dick gloomily, “but I don’t propose that they
shall be made the objects of vulgar curiosity in a crowded court-room,
or that their ears should ever hear the vile words that fell from that
miserable degenerate who has at last met the fate he properly deserved.”
“Well, it is a point that we shall have to consider carefully,” spoke
the lawyer as he rose to take his departure. “I have all the main facts
of the case now, Mr. Willoughby. Of course I shall apply formally to
the court for bail, but I know it is bound to be refused. I’ll make all
arrangements outside for your comfort here—meals, etc., and no
doubt your friend, Mr. Munson, will bring you over clothing, toilet
requisites, and the other little things you will require. I’ll see you
again later on today.”
The lawyer was gone, and the two comrades were alone in the little room,
stone-walled and bare of furniture except for a few chairs, where the
consultation had been held. Beyond the open door stood a constable, just
out of earshot. But he now took his stand within the room.
“Well, Munson, old chap,” said Dick with cheerful alacrity, “you get
back to the rancho in double-quick time. Then go on to La Siesta and
tell Merle not to worry on my account. Tell her that I’m bright and
happy, and just enjoying a good rest, and will be set at liberty within
a week or so. But remember, she is not to come here. Good Lord, I
never want her to see me in a place like this.” And he glanced around
forlornly, and in a measure ashamed.
But at the very moment there was a flutter along the corridor—the sound
of voices, and women’s voices, too. A moment later the superintendent of
the jail appeared, bringing with him Mrs. Darlington and Merle. At the
doorway he spoke to the officer on guard; the man withdrew.
“Mr. Willoughby, here are some more friends,” said the superintendent
as he ushered in the ladies. “I am going to interpret the regulations as
leniently as possible—that’s a matter which can rest between ourselves.
I’ll come back for you, Mrs. Darlington, in half an hour.”
Merle advanced toward Dick with outstretched hand. In her other hand was
a fine bouquet of roses.
“What a shame that you should be here,” she exclaimed. “But I realize
that the only thing to do is to submit as cheerfully as possible to the
inevitable. Mother and I came over to give you our sympathy and proffer
our help in every possible way. Grace also sends her very kindest
regards, and I was bidden by Mr. Robles, whom we saw last night, to
assure you of his complete belief in your innocence.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of any real friend thinking me capable of a cowardly
deed like that,” replied Willoughby. “But it is nice to have these kind
messages, although I could have wished, Miss Farnsworth, that you had
not seen me amid such surroundings.”
“Do you think that we would desert you in such a time of trouble as
this?” replied Merle, as she sat down. “But seeing that our visit is
to be restricted to half an hour, it is well that we should get to
the important points without delay. I have been talking over a certain
matter both with mother and Mr. Robles, and although I shrink from
telling it, they have decided that you must know about the affair.”
She then proceeded, in a low voice and with lips that trembled, to tell
how young Thurston had forced his attentions on her just a little time
before the shooting occurred and how Tia Teresa had rescued her from his
clutches.
This was the first that Dick had heard of the incident and his face
flushed with anger. But Merle quieted him at once. “You need not be
angry now, Mr. Willoughby. It is all over. But your lawyer will want to
consider what bearing this may possibly have upon the case.”
“It can have no bearing at all,” maintained Dick. “In the first place I
didn’t even know till now that Marshall had been visiting at La Siesta.
And in the second place, just as I was saying to Munson a few minutes
ago, I am determined that the names of you ladies shall not be dragged
into this miserable affair. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Darlington?”
“In a measure. But all the same we are ready to stand by you so as to
establish your innocence with the least possible delay. I heard this
morning that Mr. Thurston is very bitter against you, keeps vowing
vengeance, and announces that no money will be spared to bring the
slayer of his son to retribution.”
“Well, I hope he’ll find him without loss of time,” smiled Dick. “That
will be the quickest and easiest way to get me out of confinement.
But at this moment I have not the faintest idea on whom to fasten the
charge. Lots of the cowboys despised young Thurston, but none were
really his enemies, and I don’t know any one among the bunch who would
have shot him in that dastardly, cold-blooded manner.”
“Which makes the situation for you all the more disagreeable,” commented
Munson. “You had been known to threaten him, and if there is no one else
to whom suspicion can point, you may be kept here, Dick, for quite a
time—for months, perhaps, until the case goes to trial.”
Dick’s face fell. “For months!” he exclaimed. “Surely that would be an
outrage.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too despondent,” protested Merle. “Besides, Mr.
Robles has pledged his word to me that you will be free in a very brief
time.”
“Then he may know who the culprit is,” remarked Dick eagerly.
“No,” interposed Mrs. Darlington. “He is like ourselves—quite in the
dark. But you may rest assured that Mr. Robles will leave no stone
unturned to solve the mystery and restore you to liberty, Mr.
Willoughby, for I happen to know that he holds you in highest esteem.”
“I’m glad of that,” replied Dick. “Well, I want you to tell him from me
how keen I am that you ladies shall be spared from all association
with this case. You know that I am exercising great self-denial, Miss
Farnsworth, when I say that you are never to come here again. This is no
place for you.”
“Pardon me,” laughed Merle, “but we are interested in you and will
excuse the hotel you have chosen to patronize. We brought these
roses for you from La Siesta”—as she spoke she presented him with the
beautiful blooms—“and if Lieutenant Munson will be kind enough to come
out to our automobile he will find there some books, also a box of fruit
and a few delicacies which we hope will help to make your stay here just
a little more tolerable.”
“You’re kind indeed,” murmured Dick gratefully. “Don’t worry about me,”
he added cheerfully, “I’ll have a fine rest here, and will be able to
catch up with my arrears of reading.”
And in this philosophic frame of mind the prisoner was left to begin his
holiday.