White Lodge was a town founded on excitement. Counting its numerous
shootings and consequent lynchings, and proportioning them to its
population, White Lodge had experienced more thrills than the largest of
Eastern cities. Some ribald verse-writer, seizing upon White Lodge's
weakness as a theme, had once written:
We can put the card deck by us,
We can give up whiskey straight;
Though we ain't exactly pious,
We can fill the parson's plate;
We can close the gamblin' places,
We can save our hard-earned coin,
BUT we want a man for breakfast
In the mor-r-rnin'.
But of course such lines were written in early days, and for newspaper
consumption in a rival town. White Lodge had grown distinctly away from
its wildness. It had formed a Chamber of Commerce which entered bravely
upon its mission as a lodestone for the attraction of Eastern capital.
But the lure of adventurous days still remained in the atmosphere. Men
who were assembled for the purpose of seeing what could be done about
getting a horseshoe-nail factory for White Lodge wound up the session by
talking about the days of the cattle and sheep war. All of which was
natural, and would have taken place in any town with White Lodge's
background of stirring tradition.
Until the murder on the Dollar Sign road there had been little but
tradition for White Lodge to feed on. The sheriff's job had come to be
looked upon as a sinecure. But now all was changed. Not only White
Lodge, but the whole countryside, had something live to discuss. Even
old Ed Halsey, who had not been down from his cabin in the mountains for
at least five years, ambled in on his ancient saddle horse to get the
latest in mass theory.
So far as theorizing was concerned, opinion in White Lodge ran all one
way. The men who had been arrested were guilty, so the local newspaper
assumed, echoing side-walk conversation. The only questions were: Just
how was the crime committed, and how deeply was each man implicated?
Also, were there any confederates? Some of the older cattlemen, who had
been shut out of leases on the reservation, were even heard to hint that
in their opinion the whole tribe might have had a hand in the killing.
Anyway, Fire Bear's cohorts should be rounded up and imprisoned without
delay.
Lowell was not surprised to find that he had been drawn into the vortex
of unfriendliness. More articles and editorials appeared in the "White
Lodge Weekly Star," putting the general blame for the tragedy upon the
policy of "coddling" the Indians.
"The whole thing," wound up one editorial, "is the best kind of an
argument for throwing open the reservation to white settlement."
"That is the heart of the matter as it stands," said Lowell, pointing
out the editorial to his chief clerk. "This murder is to be made the
excuse for a big drive on Congress to have the reservation thrown open."
"Yes," observed Rogers, "the big cattlemen have been itching for another
chance since their last bill was defeated in Congress. They remind me of
the detective concern that never sleeps, only they might better get in a
few honest, healthy snores than waste their time the way they have
lately."
Lowell paid no attention to editorial criticism, but it was not easy to
avoid hearing some of the personal comment that was passed when he
visited White Lodge. In fact he found it necessary to come to blows with
one cowpuncher, who had evidently been stationed near Lowell's
automobile to "get the goat" of the young Indian agent. The encounter
had been short and decisive. The cowboy, who was the hero of many fistic
engagements, passed some comment which had been elaborately thought out
at the camp-fire, and which, it was figured by his collaborators, "would
make anything human fight or quit."
"That big cowpuncher from Sartwell's outfit sure got the agent's goat
all right," said Sheriff Tom Redmond, in front of whose office the
affair happened. "That is to say, he got the goat coming head-on, horns
down and hoofs striking fire. That young feller was under the
cowpuncher's arms in jest one twenty-eighth of a second, and there was
only two sounds that fell on the naked ear--one being the smack when
Lowell hit and the other the crash when the cowpuncher lit. If that rash
feller'd taken the trouble to send me a little note of inquiry in
advance, I could have told him to steer clear of a man who tied into a
desperate man the way that young agent tied into Jim McFann out there on
the reservation. But no public or private warnings are going to be
necessary now. From this time on, young Lowell's going to have more
berth-room than a wildcat."
Such matters as cold nods from former friends were disregarded by
Lowell. He had been through lesser affairs which had brought him under
criticism. In fact he knew that a certain measure of such injustice
would be the portion of any man who accepted the post of agent. He went
his way, doing what he could to insure a fair trial for both men, and at
the same time not overlooking anything that might shed new light on a
case which most of the residents of White Lodge seemed to consider as
closed, all but the punishment to be meted out to the prisoners.
The hearing was to be held in the little court-room presided over by
Judge Garford, who had been a figure at Vigilante trials in early days
and who was a unique personification of kindliness and firmness. Both
prisoners had refused counsel, nor had any confession materialized, as
Tom Redmond had prophesied. McFann had spent most of his time cursing
all who had been concerned in his arrest. Talpers had called on him
again, and had whispered mysteriously through the bars:
"Don't worry, Jim. If it comes to a showdown, I'll be there with
evidence that'll clear you flyin'."
As a matter of fact, Talpers intended to play a double game. He would
let matters drift, and see if McFann did not get off in the ordinary
course of events. Meantime the trader would use his precious possession,
the letter written by Helen Ervin, to terrify the girl. In case the girl
proved defiant, why, then it would be time to produce the letter as a
law-abiding citizen should, and demand that the searchlight of justice
be turned on the author of a missive apparently so directly concerned
with the murder. If it so happened that the letter in his hands proved
to be a successful weapon, and if Bill Talpers were accepted as a
suitor, he would let the matter drop, so far as the authorities were
concerned--and Jim McFann could drop with it. If the half-breed were to
be sacrificed when a few words from Bill Talpers might save him, so much
the worse for Jim McFann! The affairs of Bill Talpers were to be
considered first of all, and there was no need of being too solicitous
over the welfare of any mere cat's-paw like the half-breed.
If Jim McFann had known what was passing in the mind of the trader, he
would have torn his way out of jail with his bare hands and slain his
partner in bootlegging. But the half-breed took Talpers's fair words at
face value and faced his prospects with a trifle more of equanimity.
Fire Bear continued to view matters with true Indian composure. He had
made no protestations of innocence, and had told Lowell there was
nothing he wanted except to get the hearing over with as quickly as
possible. The young Indian, to Lowell's shrewd eye, did not seem well.
His actions were feverish and his eyes unnaturally bright. At Lowell's
request, an agency doctor was brought and examined Fire Bear. His report
to Lowell was the one sinister word: "Tuberculosis!"
When the men were brought into the court-room a miscellaneous crowd had
assembled. Cowpunchers from many miles away had ridden in to hear what
the Indian and "breed" had to say for themselves. The crowd even
extended through the open doors into the hallway. Late comers, who could
not get so much as standing room, draped themselves upon the stairs and
about the porch and made eager inquiry as to the progress of affairs.
Helen Ervin rode in to attend the hearing, in response to an inner
appeal against which she had struggled vainly. She met Lowell as she
dismounted from the old white horse in front of the court-house. Lowell
had called two or three times at the ranch, following their ride across
the reservation. He had not gone into the house, but had merely stopped
to get her assurance that everything was going well and that the sick
man was steadily progressing toward convalescence.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming over?" asked Lowell. "I would
have brought you in my machine. As it is, I must insist on taking you
back. I'll have Plenty Buffalo lead your pony back to the ranch when he
returns to the agency."
"I couldn't help coming," said Helen. "I have a feeling that innocent
men are going to suffer a great injustice. Tell me, do you think they
have a chance of going free?"
"They may be held for trial," said Lowell. "No one knows what will be
brought up either for or against them in the meantime."
"But they should not spend so much as a day in jail," insisted Helen.
"They--"
Here she paused and looked over Lowell's shoulder, her expression
changing to alarm. The agent turned and beheld Bill Talpers near them,
his gaze fixed on the girl. Talpers turned away as Lowell escorted Helen
upstairs to the court-room, where he secured a seat for her.
As the prisoners were brought in Helen recognized the unfriendliness of
the general attitude of White Lodge toward them. Hostility was expressed
in cold stares and whispered comment.
The men afforded a contrasting picture. Fire Bear's features were pure
Indian. His nose was aquiline, his cheek-bones high, and his eyes black
and piercing, the intensity of their gaze being emphasized by the fever
which was beginning to consume him. His expression was martial. In his
football days the "fighting face" of the Indian star had often appeared
on sporting pages. He surveyed the crowd in the court-room with calm
indifference, and seldom glanced at the gray-bearded, benign-looking
judge.
Jim McFann, on the contrary, seldom took his eyes from the judge's face.
Jim was not so tall as Fire Bear, but was of wiry, athletic build. His
cheek-bones were as high as those of the Indian, but his skin was
lighter in color, and his hair had a tendency to curl. His sinewy hands
were clenched on his knees, and his moccasined feet crossed and
uncrossed themselves as the hearing progressed.
Each man testified briefly in his own behalf, and each, in Helen's
opinion, told a convincing story. Both admitted having been on the scene
of the crime. Jim McFann was there first. The half-breed testified that
he had been looking for a rawhide lariat which he thought he had dropped
from his saddle somewhere along the Dollar Sign road the day before. He
had noticed an automobile standing in the road, and had discovered the
body staked down on the prairie. In answer to a question, McFann
admitted that the rope which had been cut in short lengths and used to
tie the murdered man to the stakes had been the lariat for which he had
been searching. He was alarmed at this discovery, and was about to
remove the rope from the victim's ankles and wrists, when he had
descried a body of horsemen approaching. He had thought the horsemen
might be Indian police, and had jumped on his horse and ridden away,
making his way through a near-by gulch and out on the prairie without
being detected.
"Why were you so afraid of the Indian police?" was asked.
The half-breed hesitated a moment, and then said:
"Bootlegging."
There was a laugh in the court-room at this--a sharp, mirthless laugh
which was checked by the insistent sound of the bailiff's gavel.
Jim McFann sank back in his chair, livid with rage. In his eyes was the
look of the snarling wild animal--the same look that had flashed there
when he sprang at Lowell in his camp. He motioned that he had nothing
more to say.
Fire Bear's testimony was as brief. He said that he and a company of his
young men--perhaps thirty or forty--all mounted on ponies, had taken a
long ride from the camp where they had been making medicine. The trip
was in connection with the medicine that was being made. Fire Bear and
his young men had ridden by a circuitous route, and had left the
reservation at the Greek Letter Ranch on the same morning that McFann
had found the slain man's body. They had intended riding along the
Dollar Sign road, past Talpers's and the agency, and back to their camp.
But on the big hill between Talpers's and the Greek Letter Ranch they
had found the automobile standing in the road, and a few minutes later
had found the body, just as McFann had described it. They had not seen
any trace of McFann, but had noticed the tracks of a man and pony about
the automobile and the body. The Indians had held a quick consultation,
and, on the advice of Fire Bear, had quit the scene suddenly. It was the
murder of a white man, off the reservation. It was a case for white men
to settle. If the Indians were found there, they might get in trouble.
They had galloped across the prairie to their camp, by the most direct
way, and had not gone on to Talpers's nor to the agency.
Helen expected both men to be freed at once. To her dismay, the judge
announced that both would be held for trial, without bail, following
perfunctory statements from Plenty Buffalo, Walter Lowell, and Sheriff
Tom Redmond, relating to later events in the tragedy. As in a dream
Helen saw some of the spectators starting to leave and Redmond's deputy
beckon to his prisoners, when Walter Lowell rose and asked permission to
address the court in behalf of the Government's ward, Fire Bear.
Lowell, in a few words, explained that further imprisonment probably
would be fatal to Fire Bear. He produced the certificate of the agency
physician, showing that the prisoner had contracted tuberculosis.
"If Fire Bear will give me his word of honor that he will not try to
escape," said the agent, "I will guarantee his appearance on the day set
for his trial."
A murmur ran through the court-room, quickly hushed by the insistent
gavel.
Lowell had been reasonably sure of his ground before he spoke. The
venerable judge had always been interested in the work at the agency,
and was a close student of Indian tradition and history. The request had
come as a surprise, but the court hesitated only a moment, and then
announced that, if the Government's agent on the reservation would be
responsible for the delivery of the prisoner for trial, the defendant,
Fire Bear, would be delivered to said agent's care. The other defendant,
being in good health and not being a ward of the Government, would have
to stand committed to jail for trial.
Fire Bear accepted the news with outward indifference. Jim McFann, with
his hands tightly clenched and the big veins on his forehead testifying
to the rage that burned within him, was led away between Redmond and his
deputy. There was a shuffling of feet and clinking of spurs as men rose
from their seats. A buzz came from the crowd, as distinctly hostile as a
rattler's whirr. Words were not distinguishable, but the sentiment could
not have been any more distinctly indicated if the crowd had shouted in
unison.
Judge Garford rose and looked in a fatherly way upon the crowd. At a
motion from him the bailiff rapped for attention. The judge stroked his
white beard and said softly:
"Friends, there is some danger that excitement may run away with this
community. The arm of the law is long, and I want to say that it will be
reached out, without fear or favor, to gather in any who may attempt in
any way to interfere with the administration of justice."
To Helen it seemed as if the old, heroic West had spoken through this
fearless giant of other days. There was no mistaking the meaning that
ran through that quietly worded message. It brought the crowd up with a
thrill of apprehension, followed by honest shame. There was even a
ripple of applause. The crowd started once more to file out, but in
different mood. Some of the more impetuous, who had rushed downstairs
before the judge had spoken, were hustled away from the agent's
automobile, around which they had grouped themselves threateningly.
"The judge means business," one old-timer said in an awe-stricken voice.
"That's the way he looked and talked when he headed the Vigilantes'
court. He'll do what he says if he has to hang a dozen men."
When Lowell and Helen came out to the automobile, followed by Fire Bear,
the court-house square was almost deserted. Fire Bear climbed into the
back seat, at Lowell's direction. He was without manacles. Helen
occupied the seat beside the driver. As they drove away, she caught a
glimpse of Judge Garford coming down the court-house steps. He was
engaged in telling some bit of pioneer reminiscence--something broadly
pleasant. His face was smiling and his blue eyes were twinkling. He
looked almost as any grandparent might have looked going to join a
favorite grandchild at a park bench. Yet here was a man who had torn
aside the veil and permitted one glimpse at the old, inspiring West.
Helen turned and looked at him again, as, in an earlier era, she would
have looked at Lincoln.