The coming of October brought the next term of court. What seemed
an age had at last terminated and Ephriam Cooley was again brought
to trial. His removal from the prison to the courthouse was without
incident. The prisoner was guarded in the most thorough manner against
possible molestation. The regular police guards were reinforced by
deputies sworn in by the sheriff, and the vicinity of the court had, in
consequence, the appearance of an armed camp.
Police were stationed at every approach as well as in the hall and
every preparation had been made to quell instantly any attempt at
lawless interference with the ordinary course of law.
When the doors opened, the waiting crowd was allowed to enter and in a
few minutes all the available space within the courtroom was densely
packed.
The judge took his seat.
Ephriam Cooley entered between two officers, handcuffed, his bold,
insulting eyes wearing a look of sullen defiance, his unkempt beard
lending more than ever an animal look to his face.
The selection of the jury occupied the greater portion of the morning,
but at length twelve citizens were impaneled and listened to the
reading of the indictment.
The temper of the people might be seen in the burst of rage that swept
over the crowd when the atrocious deed was described.
Elliott Harding, with his usual aspect of dignity, had schooled his
face into a cold passiveness, but though outwardly calm, his pulse was
throbbing with the fierceness of fever beats. A stranger entering the
courtroom would never have selected him from the group of men as the
one whose life had been crushed out by the object of this trial.
When the reading was finished, the witnesses for the state were called.
The first name which rang through the courtroom was that of John
Holmes. The prisoner drew himself together and watched him keenly as
the oath was administered; his face, despite its defiant mask, had a
restless, haunted look which sat strangely on his hard, grim features.
Skillfully aided by questions from the court, Holmes unfolded the whole
awful story of the first discovery of the dead body of Dorothy Carr.
Passing rapidly over the painful details, the sheriff told then of the
man-hunt, of the finding of the bloody razor as it had dropped from the
pocket of the prisoner’s coat.
The negro cook of the Carrs swore that the prisoner was the man to whom
she had given a drink of water about half an hour before her mistress
had been brought home.
Toward the close of the State’s evidence, the chain binding the
prisoner to the gallows had become all but complete. In the face of
such evidence and in the atmosphere of such bitter resentment, the
counsel appointed for his defense struggled against overwhelming odds.
He contented himself with belittling the value of circumstantial
evidence adduced by the prosecution, and presenting the argument that
the prisoner’s education and his social position as a school teacher
attested to his inability to commit a crime so revolting in its
conception and so brutal in its execution. He stated that the woman at
whose house the prisoner had been arrested, had repeatedly said that he
had been at her house, some fifteen miles away from the scene of the
crime, at the very hour the deed was said to have been committed, that
she would testify to that statement here if she had not moved away and
could not now be located. Whatever effect the counsel thus produced was
more than neutralized when the prisoner was called to the stand for a
specious denial.
The sinister fear with which the negro peered about the courtroom, the
affected nonchalance and thinly veiled defiance of his mumbled answers
told damningly against him. The passions of raging fear and terror
had driven from his low-browed face every trace of intellectuality or
culture, leaving only the cunning cruelty and ferocity of the animal.
His cross-examination left him without a vestige of self control, and
before it had well finished, in a violent passion he poured forth a
volley of oaths, his huge frame quivering as he burst into a raving,
shrieking arraignment of the white man, in which he had to be almost
throttled into silence by the deputies.
When the prosecuting attorney arose to review the case, there hung over
the courtroom the ominous hush that is significant of but one thing.
After a brief recital of the details of the evidence, the counsel
appealed to the jury to do its sworn duty.
The judge’s charge was a cool, impartial exposition of the law as it
applied to the case. When finished, the jury arose amid a general
movement of relief upon the part of the audience and as the twelve men
filed out, there was considerable excited conversation, mingled with
whispered speculations as to how long they would be out. Within the
courtroom proper, as soon as the jury had retired, the Court instructed
the sheriff to announce a recess.
A half hour passed and there was a commotion in the outer hall. The
sheriff wore an agitated air. Presently, one by one, a half-dozen men
walked inside the railing and dropped carelessly into chairs.
The prisoner looked at his new companions and evidently read aright
their mission. They were deputy sheriffs. Four of them sat in chairs
ranged behind the prisoner and one sat at either side of him.
Directly across the aisle sat Elliott Harding, apparently cool and
patient.
Very soon it became generally known that a verdict had been reached.
During the next five minutes, the rooms filled rapidly. The sheriff
rapped for order and shouted:
“Let everyone within the courtroom sit down.”
From that moment the stillness of death prevailed. Every eye was turned
toward the prisoner. His fingers worked convulsively and his whole body
trembled. But few seconds elapsed before the twelve men slowly and
gravely filed into their places.
“Have you reached a verdict, gentlemen?” asked the Court, as they lined
up.
“We have, Your Honor,” answered the foreman.
The Court then announced: “I want everyone to understand that the least
attempt at an expression of approval or disapproval of this verdict, as
it is read, will be punished by a fine for contempt. Mr. Clerk, read
the verdict.”
The clerk obeyed. His voice was clear and everyone heard: “We, the
jury, agree and find the defendant, Ephriam Cooley, guilty of the
murder of Dorothy Carr, and fix his punishment at death.”
Elliott Harding quietly left the scene, feeling already a lightening of
the intolerable load which had so long weighed upon him.