THE JUNIOR DEFENDANT
It was following a recess during the third afternoon of the trial; a jury
had at last been impanelled, the attorney for the prosecution and the
leading lawyer for the defense had measured swords, when Stuart Foster,
the junior defendant in the "Conspiracy to Defraud the Government," was
called to the stand. Frederic Morganstein, the head of the Prince William
Development Company, straightened in his seat beside the vacated chair. He
was sleekly groomed, and his folded, pinkish white hands suggested a good
child's; his blank face assumed an expression of mildly protesting
innocence. But the man who stepped from his shadow into the strong light
of the south windows was plainly harassed and worn. His boyishness was
gone; he seemed to have aged years since that evening in September when he
had sailed for Alaska. Tisdale's great heart stirred, then his clear mind
began to tally the rapid fire of questions and Foster's replies.
"When were you first connected with the Prince William Development
Company, Mr. Foster?"
"In the summer of 1904."
"You were then engaged in the capacity of mining engineer at a fixed
salary, were you not?" The prosecuting attorney had a disconcerting manner
of arching his brows. His mouth, taken in connection with his strong,
square jaw, had the effect of closing on his questions like a trap.
"Yes," Foster answered briefly, "I was to receive two hundred and fifty
dollars a month the first year, and its equivalent in the company's
stock."
"Did you not, at the same time, turn over to the company your interests in
the Chugach Railway and Development Company?"
"Yes," said Foster.
"And was not this railroad built for the purpose of opening certain coal
lands in the Matanuska region, in which you held an interest?"
"Yes, I had entered a coal claim of one hundred and sixty acres."
"All the law allowed to an individual; but, Mr. Foster, did you not induce
others, as many as thirty persons, to locate adjoining claims with the
idea that the entire group would come under one control?"
Foster colored. "It was necessary to co-operate," he said slowly, "in
order to meet the enormous expense of development and transportation. We
wished to build a narrow-gauge road--it was then in course of
construction--but the survey was through the Chugach Mountains, the most
rugged in North America. The cost of moving material, after it was shipped
from the States, was almost prohibitive; ordinary labor commanded higher
wages than are paid skilled mechanics here in Seattle."
"Mr. Foster, were not those coal claims located with a purpose to dispose
of them in a group at a profit?"
"No, sir. I have told you on account of the great expense of development
it was necessary to work together; it was also necessary that as many
claims as possible should be taken."
The prosecution, nodding affirmatively, looked at the jury. "The more
cunning and subtle the disguise," he said, "the more sure we may be of the
evasion of the law. So, Mr. Foster, you promoted an interest in the
fields, selected claims for men who never saw them; used their power of
attorney?"
"Yes. That was in accordance with the law then in force. We paid for our
coal claims, the required ten dollars an acre. The land office accepted
our money, eighty thousand dollars. Then the President suspended the law,
and we never received our patents. About that time the Chugach forest
reserve was made, and we were hampered by all sorts of impossible
conditions. Some of us were financially ruined. One of the first locators
spent one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, his whole fortune, in
development. He opened his mine and had several tons of coal carried by
packers through the mountains to the coast, to be shipped to Seattle, to
be tested on one of the Government cruisers. The report was so favorable
it encouraged the rest of us to stay with the venture."
"Mr. Foster," the attorney's voice took a higher, more aggressive pitch,
"were not many of those claims entered under names furnished by an agent
of the Morganstein interests?"
"Well, yes." Foster threw his head with something of his old boyish
defiance. He was losing patience and skill. "Mr. Morganstein himself made
a filing, and his father. That is the reason all our holdings are now
classed as the Morganstein group."
"And," pursued the lawyer, "their entries were incidental with the
consolidation of your company with the Prince William Development
Company?"
Foster flushed hotly. "The Prince William Development Company was in need
of coal; no enterprise can be carried on without it in Alaska. And the
consolidation brought necessary capital to us; without it, our railroad
was bankrupt. It meant inestimable benefit to the country, to every
prospector, miner, homesteader, who must waste nerve-breaking weeks
packing his outfit through those bleak mountains in order to reach the
interior. But, before forty miles of track was completed, the executive
withdrew all Alaska coal lands from entry, and we discontinued
construction, pending an Act of Congress to allow our patents. The
material carried in there at so great a cost is lying there still, rotting
away."
"Gentlemen, is it not all clear to you?" The prosecuting attorney flashed
a glance of triumph over the jury. "Do you not see in this Prince William
Development Company the long arm of the octopus that is strangling Alaska?
That has reached out its tentacles everywhere, for gold here, copper
there; for oil, coal, timber, anything in sight? That, but for the
foresight of the executive and Gifford Pinchot, would possess most of
Alaska today?"
The men on the jury looked thoughtful but not altogether convinced. One
glanced at his neighbor with a covert smile. This man, whom the Government
had selected to prosecute the coal fraud cases was undeniably able, often
brilliant, but his statements showed he had brought his ideas of Alaska
from the Atlantic coast; to him, standing in the Seattle courtroom, our
outlying possession was still as remote. As his glance moved to the ranks
of outside listeners, who overflowed the seats and crowded the aisles to
the doors, he must have been conscious that the sentiment he had expressed
was at least unpopular in the northwest. Faces that had been merely
interested or curious grew suddenly lowering. The atmosphere of the place
seemed surcharged.
The following morning Morganstein took the stand. Though in small matters
that touched his personal comfort he was arrogantly irritable, under the
cross-examination that assailed his commercial methods he proved suave and
non-committal. As the day passed, the prosecutor's insinuations grew more
open and vindictive. Judge Feversham sprang to his feet repeatedly to
challenge his accusations, and twice the Court calmed the Government's
attorney with a reprimand. The atmosphere of the room seemed to seethe
hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. Finally, during the afternoon
session, Foster was recalled.
Through it all Tisdale waited, listening to everything, separating,
weighing each point presented. It was beginning to look serious for
Foster. Clearly, in his determination to win his suit, the prosecution was
losing sight of the simple justice the Government desired. And a man less
dramatic, less choleric, with less of a reputation for political intrigue
than Miles Feversham might better have defended Stuart Foster. Foster was
so frank, so honest, so eager to make the Alaska situation understood. And
it was not an isolated case; there were hundreds of young men, who, like
him, had cast their fortunes with that new and growing country, to find
themselves, after years of hardship and privation of which the outside
world had no conception, bound hand and foot in an intricate tangle of the
Government's red tape.
The evening of the fourth day the attorney for the prosecution surprised
Tisdale at his rooms. "Thank you," he said, when Hollis offered his
armchair, "but those windows open to the four winds of heaven are a little
imprudent to a man who lives by his voice. Pretty, though, isn't it?" He
paused a moment to look down on the harbor lights and the chains of
electric globes stretching off to Queen Anne hill and far and away to
Magnolia bluff, then seated himself between the screen and the table that
held the shaded reading lamp. "Has it occurred to you, Mr. Tisdale," he
asked, "that a question may be raised as to the legality of your testimony
in these coal cases?"
"No." Hollis remained standing. He looked at his visitor in surprise.
"Please make that clear, Mr. Bromley," he said.
The attorney smiled. "This is a trial case," he began. "A dozen others
hinge on it. I was warned to be prepared for anything; so, when my
attention was called to that article in _Sampson's Magazine_, my
suspicions were instantly awake. It looked much like blackmail and, in
connection with another story I heard in circulation at Washington, seemed
a systematic preparation to attack the Government's witness. Possibly you
do not know it was Mr. Jerold, your legal adviser and my personal friend,
who put me in touch with the magazine. You had wired him to find out
certain facts, but he was unable to go to New York at the time and,
knowing I was there for the week, he got into communication with me by
telephone and asked me to look the matter up. The publishers, fearing a
libel suit which would ruin them, were very obliging. They allowed me to
see not only the original manuscript, but Mrs. Feversham's letter, which I
took the trouble to copy."
"Mrs. Feversham's letter?" Tisdale exclaimed. "Do you mean it was Mrs.
Feversham who was responsible for that story?"
"As it was published, yes. But Daniels was not a pen name. There really
was such a writer--I have taken the trouble to find that out since I
arrived in Seattle. He was on the staff of the _Press_ and wrote a very
creditable account of the catastrophe on the Great Northern railroad, in
which glowing tribute was given you. But since then, and this is what
makes the situation so questionable, he has left the paper and dropped
completely out of sight."
Tisdale drew forward his chair and settled himself comfortably. "There is
no need to worry about Jimmie Daniels," he said; "he is all right. I saw
him at Cascade tunnel; he told me he was about to be married and go to the
Wenatchee country to conduct a paper of his own. It's too bad there wasn't
another reporter up there to tell about him. He worked like a Trojan, and
it was a place to try a man's mettle. Afterwards, before he left, he came
to me and introduced himself. He had been aboard the yacht that day I told
the story. He had taken it down in his notebook behind an awning. He told
me one of the ladies on board--he did not mention her name--who read his
copy later, offered to dispose of it for him."
"So," said the lawyer slowly, "you did tell the story; there was a
papoose; the unfortunate incident really occurred."
"Yes," responded Tisdale, "it happened in a canyon of those mountains
across the Sound. You can barely make out their outline to-night; but
watch for them at sunrise; it's worth waiting for." Then, after a moment,
he said, "I told the story to show the caliber of Weatherbee, the man who
put himself in my place when the Indians came to our camp, looking for me;
but, in editing, all mention of him was cut out. Daniels couldn't
understand that. He said the manuscript was long, but if it was necessary
to abridge in making up the magazine, why had they thrown out the finest
part of the story?"
"Let me see," said the attorney thoughtfully, "wasn't Weatherbee the name
of the man you grub-staked in Alaska, and who discovered the Aurora mine?"
Tisdale bowed, then added, with the vibration playing softly in his voice:
"And the name of the bravest and noblest man that ever fought the unequal
fight of the north."
"Which proves the story was not published to exploit a hero," commented
Bromley. "But now," he went on brusquely, "we have arrived at the other
story. Do you know, Mr. Tisdale, it is being said in Washington, and, too,
I have heard it here in Seattle, that though your own half interest in the
Aurora mine, acquired through the grub-stake you furnished Weatherbee,
will make you a millionaire at least, you are withholding the widow's
share."
This time Tisdale did not express surprise. "I have had that suggested to
me," he answered quietly. "But the stories of the Aurora are very much
inflated. It is a comparatively new mine, and though it promises to be one
of the great discoveries, the expense of operating so far has exceeded the
output. Heavy machinery has been transported and installed, and Mrs.
Weatherbee could not have met any part of these payments. In all
probability she would have immediately disposed of an interest at a small
price and so handicapped me with a partner with his own ideas of
development. David Weatherbee paid for the Aurora with his life, and I
have pledged myself to carry out his plans. But, Mr. Bromley, do not
trouble about that last half interest. I bought it: the transfer was
regularly recorded; Mr. Jerold has assured me it is legally mine."
"I know what Mr. Jerold thinks," replied the attorney. "It nettled him to
hear me repeat that story. 'Why, it's incredible,'" he said. "'There are
documents I drew up last fall that refute it completely.'" Mr. Bromley
paused, then went on slowly: "Last fall you were in a hospital, Mr.
Tisdale, beginning a long, all but hopeless fight for your life, and it
was natural you should have called in Mr. Jerold to settle your affairs. I
inferred from his remark that you had remembered Mrs. Weatherbee, at
least, in your will." He halted again, then added still more deliberately:
"If I am right, I should like to be prepared, in case of emergency, to
read such a clause in court."
Tisdale was silent. He rose and turned to the west windows, where he stood
looking down on the harbor lights.
"Am I right?" persisted the attorney.
Hollis thrust his hands into his pockets and swung around. He stood with
his chin lowered, looking at the lawyer with his upward glance from under
slightly frowning brows. "Well," he said at last, "suppose you are. And
suppose I refuse to have my private papers read in open court?"
"In that case," answered Mr. Bromley, rising, "I must telegraph to
Washington for one of the Alaska coal commission to take your place. I am
sorry. You were named to me at the beginning as a man who knew more about
Alaska coal, and, in fact, the whole Alaska situation, than any other
employee of the Government."
Still, having said this, Mr. Bromley did not seem in any hurry to go, but
stood holding his hat and waiting for a word from Tisdale to redeem the
situation. At last it came. "Is there no other way," he asked, "than to
drag my private affairs into court?"
The attorney gravely shook his head. "You never can tell what a jury will
do," he said. "Less than a prejudice against a witness has swung a
decision sometimes."
Hollis said no more. He went over to his safe and selected a package
containing three documents held together by a rubber band. After a
hesitating moment, he drew out one, which he returned to its place. The
others he brought to the attorney, who carried them to the reading lamp to
scan. One was a deed to the last half interest in the Aurora, the one
which Weatherbee had had recorded, and the remaining paper was, as Mr.
Bromley conjectured, Tisdale's will; but it contained a somewhat
disconcerting surprise. However, the lawyer seated himself and, spreading
the paper open on the table, copied this clause.
... "The Aurora mine, lying in an unsurveyed region of Alaska, accessible
from Seward by way of Rainy Pass, and from the Iditarod district north by
east, I bequeath to Beatriz Silva Gonzales Weatherbee, to be held for her
in trust by Stuart Emory Poster for a period of five years, or until
development, according to David Weatherbee's plans, shall have been fully
carried out. The profits, above the cost of all improvements and all
operating expenses--which shall include a superintendent's salary of four
thousand dollars a year to said Stuart Emory Foster--to be paid in
semi-annual dividends to said Beatriz Silva Gonzales Weatherbee."
"Stuart Emory Foster," repeated the lawyer meditatively, putting away his
fountain pen. "You evidently have considerable confidence in his
engineering skill, Mr. Tisdale."
"Yes." His voice mellowed, but he regarded the attorney with the upward,
watchful look. "I have confidence in Stuart Emory Foster in every way. He
is not only one of the most capable, reliable mining engineers, but also
one of the most respected and most trusted men in the north."
There was a silence, during which Mr. Bromley thoughtfully folded his copy
and placed it in his pocket-book. "Thank you, Mr. Tisdale," he said
finally, and rose once more. "You may not be called for several days but
when you are, it is advisable that you have the original documents at
hand. Good night."