Emerson Mead's trial had been in progress nearly two weeks, but most
of the time had been exhausted in impaneling a jury. Almost the entire
male population of Las Plumas had filed between the opposing lawyers
and, for one reason or another, had been excused. At last a jury had
been chosen, not because its members were satisfactory to either side,
but because both sides had exhausted their peremptory challenges and
neither could find further objection which the judge would allow.
Thomson Tuttle arrived soon after Nick Ellhorn's departure, and was
alternately puzzled and indignant over his absence. He felt sure that
Nick had gone away on some expedition of importance and probably of
danger. He was puzzled to think what it could possibly be, and
indignant that Nick had thus risked himself without the aid and
protection of his best friend.
"It was plumb ridiculous for him to go off alone like that," he
complained to Judge Harlin. "He knew I'd be along in a day or two, and
here he goes flirtin' the gravel off the road all alone as if I was
some didn't-know-it-was-loaded kind of a fool who couldn't handle a
gun! He'll sure get into some kind of trouble if I'm not with him!"
Interest in the trial was universal and intense, and during the
sessions of the court, especially after the taking of testimony began,
the streets of the town were well nigh deserted, while a large part of
the population crowded the court room, swarmed in the corridors, and
filled the windows. Those who could not get into the court-house
gathered in groups on the outside and discussed the news and the
rumors, which came in plentiful supply from its doors.
The prosecution had put on several witnesses, employees of the
Fillmore Cattle Company, who had sworn to the ill-feeling between Mead
and young Whittaker, and one who had been a witness of the quarrel
between them, just previous to Whittaker's disappearance, when Mead
had threatened the young man's life. Then Colonel Whittaker took the
stand. It was rumored that after him would be given the testimony of
an eye-witness of the murder, and an even larger crowd than usual
sought the court-house that afternoon. Two score of women sat
comfortably in a space fitted with chairs at one end of the judge's
desk. But the body of the room was jammed with a standing crowd of
men, both Mexicans and Americans. Late comers crowded the corridor,
and those who could get them mounted chairs outside the door. Inside
the room a row of men swung their heels from each window seat, while
outside another row stood on the ledges and looked over their heads.
Colonel Whittaker told the story of how his son had set out from the
ranch to come to town and had never been seen alive again. He declared
that the young man had no enemies except the prisoner and that there
was no possible explanation of his disappearance except that he had
been murdered. Then he told of the work of the searching party which
he had taken to the White Sands, and of the body which they had found.
He had identified this corpse as the body of his son, and on the
sketched outline of a man's back he located the position of the three
bullet holes by which the young man had come to his death. The shirt,
with the initials worked in the collar, the ring, scarfpin, memorandum
book and envelopes that had been taken from the body were placed
before him and he identified them all as having belonged to his son.
The crowded court room was still, with the silence of tense
expectancy. Every neck was craned and every eye was fixed on these
articles as one by one they were held up before him and then passed on
to the judge's desk.
A slight disturbance at the door, as of people unwillingly moving
back, fell upon the strained hush. Some one was forcing his way
through the crowd. The witness leaned back in his chair, waiting for
another question, and the lawyers consulted together for a moment.
Then the prosecuting attorney asked the witness if he had positively
identified the body as that of his missing son, William Whittaker.
"I did, sir," replied Colonel Whittaker. As the words left his lips
his gaze fell past the attorney upon two men who had just struggled
out of the crowd and into the free railed space in front of the
judge's desk. His jaw fell, his pale face turned an ashen gray, his
eyes opened wide, and, with trembling hands upon the arms of his
chair, he unconsciously lifted himself to his feet. The lawyers, the
judge, and the jury followed his gaze. Some sprang to their feet and
some fell back in their chairs, their mouths open, but dumb with
amazement. All over the court room there was a shuffling of feet and a
craning of necks, and a buzzing whisper went back from the foremost
ranks.
Nick Ellhorn was there, tall and slender and smiling, with a happy,
triumphant look overspreading his handsome face. By his side was a
young man, dark-skinned, black-haired and black-mustached, who looked
ashamed and self-conscious. Ellhorn tucked one hand into his arm and
urged him to a quicker pace. Nick's eye sought Emerson Mead and as
Mead's glance flashed from the stranger's face to his, Nick's lid
dropped in a significant wink. Mead leaned back in his chair, a look
of amused triumph on his face, as he watched the scene before him and
waited for it to come to its conclusion.
Slowly Colonel Whittaker stepped forward, trembling, with a look upon
his face that was almost fear. The crowd was pushing and pressing
toward the center of interest, and everywhere wide eyes looked out
from amazed, incredulous faces. Nick Ellhorn and his companion slowly
edged their way between the tables and chairs, the young man advancing
reluctantly, with downcast face, until they stood in front of Colonel
Whittaker. Then he looked up, and exclaimed in a choking voice:
"Father! I am not dead!"