ON TRIAL FOR HIS LIFE
By degrees the whole story was told Chad that night. Now and then the
Turners would ask him about his stay in the Bluegrass, but the boy
would answer as briefly as possible and come back to Jack. Before going
to bed, Chad said he would bring Jack into the house:
"Somebody might pizen him," he explained, and when he came back, he
startled the circle about the fire:
"Whar's Whizzer?" he asked, sharply. "Who's seen Whizzer?"
Then it developed that no one had seen the Dillon dog--since the day
before the sheep was found dead near a ravine at the foot of the
mountain in a back pasture. Late that afternoon Melissa had found
Whizzer in that very pasture when she was driving old Betsy, the
brindle, home at milking-time. Since then, no one of the Turners had
seen the Dillon dog. That, however, did not prove that Whizzer was not
at home. And yet,
"I'd like to know whar Whizzer is now!" said Chad, and, after, at old
Joel's command, he had tied Jack to a bedpost--an outrage that puzzled
the dog sorely--the boy threshed his bed for an hour--trying to think
out a defence for Jack and wondering if Whizzer might not have been
concerned in the death of the sheep.
It is hardly possible that what happened, next day, could happen
anywhere except among simple people of the hills. Briefly, the old
Squire and the circuit-rider had brought old Joel to the point of
saying, the night before, that he would give Jack up to be killed, if
he could be proven guilty. But the old hunter cried with an oath:
"You've got to prove him guilty." And thereupon the Squire said he
would give Jack every chance that he would give a man--HE WOULD TRY
HIM; each side could bring in witnesses; old Joel could have a lawyer
if he wished, and Jack's case would go before a jury. If pronounced
innocent, Jack should go free: if guilty--then the dog should be handed
over to the sheriff, to be shot at sundown. Joel agreed.
It was a strange procession that left the gate of the Turner cabin next
morning. Old Joel led the way, mounted, with "ole Sal," his rifle,
across his saddle-bow. Behind him came Mother Turner and Melissa on
foot and Chad with his rifle over his left shoulder, and leading Jack
by a string with his right hand. Behind them slouched Tall Tom with his
rifle and Dolph and Rube, each with a huge old-fashioned horse-pistol
swinging from his right hip. Last strode the school-master. The cabin
was left deserted--the hospitable door held closed by a deer-skin latch
caught to a wooden pin outside.
It was a strange humiliation to Jack thus to be led along the highway,
like a criminal going to the gallows. There was no power on earth that
could have moved him from Chad's side, other than the boy's own
command--but old Joel had sworn that he would keep the dog tied and the
old hunter always kept his word. He had sworn, too, that Jack should
have a fair trial. Therefore, the guns--and the school-master walked
with his hands behind him and his eyes on the ground: he feared trouble.
Half a mile up the river and to one side of the road, a space of some
thirty feet square had been cut into a patch of rhododendron and filled
with rude benches of slabs--in front of which was a rough platform on
which sat a home-made, cane-bottomed chair. Except for the opening from
the road, the space was walled with a circle of living green through
which the sun dappled the benches with quivering disks of yellow
light--and, high above, great poplars and oaks arched their mighty
heads. It was an open-air "meeting-house" where the circuit-rider
preached during his summer circuit and there the trial was to take
place.
Already a crowd was idling, whittling, gossiping in the road, when the
Turner cavalcade came in sight--and for ten miles up and down the river
people were coming in for the trial.
"Mornin', gentlemen," said old Joel, gravely.
"Mornin'," answered several, among whom was the Squire, who eyed Joel's
gun and the guns coming up the road.
"Squirrel-huntin'?" he asked and, as the old hunter did not answer, he
added, sharply:
"Air you afeerd, Joel Turner, that you ain't a-goin' to git justice
from ME?"
"I don't keer whar it comes from," said Joel, grimly--"but I'm a-goin'
to HAVE it."
It was plain that the old man not only was making no plea for sympathy,
but was alienating the little he had: and what he had was very little,
for who but a lover of dogs can give full sympathy to his kind? And,
then, Jack was believed to be guilty. It was curious to see how each
Dillon shrank unconsciously as the Turners gathered--all but Jerry, one
of the giant twins. He always stood his ground--fearing nor man, nor
dog--nor devil.
Ten minutes later, the Squire took his seat on the platform, while the
circuit-rider squatted down beside him. The crowd, men and women and
children, took the rough benches. To one side sat and stood the
Dillons, old Tad and little Tad, Daws, Nance, and others of the tribe.
Straight in front of the Squire gathered the Turners about Melissa and
Chad--and Jack as a centre--with Jack squatted on his hanches foremost
of all, facing the Squire with grave dignity and looking at none else
save, occasionally, the old hunter or his little master.
To the right stood the sheriff with his rifle, and on the outskirts
hung the school-master. Quickly the old Squire chose a jury--giving old
Joel the opportunity to object as he called each man's name. Old Joel
objected to none, for every man called, he knew, was more friendly to
him than to the Dillons: and old Tad Dillon raised no word of protest,
for he knew his case was clear. Then began the trial, and any soul that
was there would have shuddered could he have known how that trial was
to divide neighbor against neighbor, and mean death and bloodshed for
half a century after the trial itself was long forgotten.
The first witness, old Tad--long, lean, stooping, crafty--had seen the
sheep rushing wildly up the hill-side "'bout crack o' day," he said,
and had sent Daws up to see what the matter was. Daws had shouted back:
"That damned Turner dog has killed one o' our sheep. Thar he comes now.
Kill him!" And old Tad had rushed in-doors for his rifle and had taken
a shot at Jack as he leaped into the road and loped for home. Just then
a stern, thick little voice rose from behind Jack:
"Hit was a God's blessin' fer you that you didn't hit him."
The Squire glared down at the boy and old Joel said, kindly:
"Hush, Chad."
Old Dillon had then gone down to the Turners and asked them to kill the
dog, but old Joel had refused.
"Whar was Whizzer?" Chad asked, sharply.
"You can't axe that question," said the Squire. "Hit's
er-er-irrelevant."
Daws came next. When he reached the fence upon the hill-side he could
see the sheep lying still on the ground. As he was climbing over, the
Turner dog jumped the fence and Daws saw blood on his muzzle.
"How close was you to him?" asked the Squire.
"'Bout twenty feet," said Daws.
"Humph!" said old Joel.
"Whar was Whizzer?" Again the old Squire glared down at Chad.
"Don't you axe that question again, boy. Didn't I tell you hit was
irrelevant?"
"What's irrelevant?" the boy asked, bluntly.
The Squire hesitated. "Why--why, hit ain't got nothin' to do with the
case."
"Hit ain't?" shouted Chad.
"Joel," said the Squire, testily, "ef you don't keep that boy still,
I'll fine him fer contempt o' court."
Joel laughed, but he put his heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. Little
Tad Dillon and Nance and the Dillon mother had all seen Jack running
down the road. There was no doubt but that it was the Turner dog. And
with this clear case against poor Jack, the Dillons rested. And what
else could the Turners do but establish Jack's character and put in a
plea of mercy--a useless plea, old Joel knew--for a first offence? Jack
was the best dog old Joel had ever known, and the old man told
wonderful tales of the dog's intelligence and kindness and how one
night Jack had guarded a stray lamb that had broken its leg--until
daybreak--and he had been led to the dog and the sheep by Jack's
barking for help. The Turner boys confirmed this story, though it was
received with incredulity.
How could a dog that would guard one lone helpless lamb all night long
take the life of another?
There was no witness that had aught but kind words to say of the dog or
aught but wonder that he should have done this thing--even back to the
cattle-dealer who had given him to Chad. For at that time the dealer
said--so testified Chad, no objection being raised to hearsay
evidence--that Jack was the best dog he ever knew. That was all the
Turners or anybody could do or say, and the old Squire was about to
turn the case over to the jury when Chad rose:
"Squire," he said and his voice trembled, "Jack's my dog. I lived with
him night an' day for 'bout three years an' I want to axe some
questions."
He turned to Daws:
"I want to axe you ef thar was any blood around that sheep."
"Thar was a great big pool o' blood," said Daws, indignantly. Chad
looked at the Squire.
"Well, a sheep-killin' dog don't leave no great big pool o' blood,
Squire, with the FUST one he kills! He SUCKS it!" Several men nodded
their heads.
"Squire! The fust time I come over these mountains, the fust people I
seed was these Dillons--an' Whizzer. They sicked Whizzer on Jack hyeh
and Jack whooped him. Then Tad thar jumped me and I whooped him." (The
Turner boys were nodding confirmation.) "Sence that time they've hated
Jack an' they've hated me and they hate the Turners partly fer takin'
keer o' me. Now you said somethin' I axed just now was irrelevant, but
I tell you, Squire, I know a sheep-killin' dawg, and jes' as I know
Jack AIN'T, I know the Dillon dawg naturely is, and I tell you, if the
Dillons' dawg killed that sheep and they could put it on Jack--they'd
do it. They'd do it--Squire, an' I tell you, you--ortern't--to
let--that sheriff--thar--shoot my--dog--until the Dillons answers what
I axed--" the boy's passionate cry rang against the green walls and out
the opening and across the river--
"WHAR'S WHIZZER?"
The boy startled the crowd and the old Squire himself, who turned
quickly to the Dillons.
"Well, whar is Whizzer?"
Nobody answered.
"He ain't been seen, Squire, sence the evenin' afore the night o' the
killin'!" Chad's statement seemed to be true. Not a voice contradicted.
"An' I want to know if Daws seed signs o' killin' on Jack's head when
he jumped the fence, why them same signs didn't show when he got home."
Poor Chad! Here old Tad Dillon raised his hand.
"Axe the Turners, Squire," he said, and as the school-master on the
outskirts shrank, as though he meant to leave the crowd, the old man's
quick eye caught the movement and he added:
"Axe the school-teacher!"
Every eye turned with the Squire's to the master, whose face was
strangely serious straightway.
"Did you see any signs on the dawg when he got home?" The gaunt man
hesitated, with one swift glance at the boy, who almost paled in answer.
"Why," said the school-master, and again he hesitated, but old Joel, in
a voice that was without hope, encouraged him:
"Go on!"
"What was they?"
"Jack had blood on his muzzle, and a little strand o' wool behind one
ear."
There was no hope against that testimony. Melissa broke away from her
mother and ran out to the road--weeping. Chad dropped with a sob to his
bench and put his arms around the dog: then he rose up and walked out
the opening while Jack leaped against his leash to follow. The
school-master put out his hand to stop him, but the boy struck it aside
without looking up and went on. He could not stay to see Jack
condemned. He knew what the verdict would be, and in twenty minutes the
jury gave it, without leaving their seats.
"Guilty!"
The Sheriff came forward. He knew Jack and Jack knew him, and wagged
his tail and whimpered up at him when he took the leash.
"Well, by ----, this is a job I don't like, an' I'm damned ef I'm
agoin' to shoot this dawg afore he knows what I'm shootin' him fer. I'm
goin' to show him that sheep fust. Whar's that sheep, Daws?"
Daws led the way down the road, over the fence, across the meadow, and
up the hill-side where lay the slain sheep. Chad and Melissa saw them
coming--the whole crowd--before they themselves were seen. For a minute
the boy watched them. They were going to kill Jack where the Dillons
said he had killed the sheep, and the boy jumped to his feet and ran up
the hill a little way and disappeared in the bushes, that he might not
hear Jack's death-shot, while Melissa sat where she was, watching the
crowd come on. Daws was at the foot of the hill, and she saw him make a
gesture toward her, and then the Sheriff came on with Jack--over the
fence, past her, the Sheriff saying, kindly, "Howdy, Melissa. I shorely
am sorry ta have to kill Jack," and on to the dead sheep, which lay
fifty yards beyond. If the Sheriff expected to drop head and tail and
look mean he was greatly mistaken. Jack neither hung back nor sniffed
at the carcass. Instead he put one fore foot on it and with the other
bent in the air, looked without shame into the Sheriff's eyes--as much
as to say:
"Yes, this is a wicked and shameful thing, but what have I got to do
with it? Why are you bringing ME here?"
The Sheriff came back greatly puzzled and shaking his head. Passing
Melissa, he stopped to let the unhappy little girl give Jack a last
pat, and it was there that Jack suddenly caught scent of Chad's tracks.
With one mighty bound the dog snatched the rawhide string from the
careless Sheriff's hand, and in a moment, with his nose to the ground,
was speeding up toward the woods. With a startled yell and a frightful
oath the Sheriff threw his rifle to his shoulder, but the little girl
sprang up and caught the barrel with both hands, shaking it fiercely up
and down and hieing Jack on with shriek after shriek. A minute later
Jack had disappeared in the bushes, Melissa was running like the wind
down the hill toward home, while the whole crowd in the meadow was
rushing up toward the Sheriff, led by the Dillons, who were yelling and
swearing like madmen. Above them, the crestfallen Sheriff waited. The
Dillons crowded angrily about him, gesticulating and threatening, while
he told his story. But nothing could be done--nothing. They did not
know that Chad was up in the woods or they would have gone in search of
him--knowing that when they found him they would find Jack--but to look
for Jack now would be like searching for a needle in a hay-stack. There
was nothing to do, then, but to wait for Jack to come home, which he
would surely do--to get to Chad--and it was while old Joel was
promising that the dog should be surrendered to the Sheriff that little
Tad Dillon gave an excited shriek.
"Look up thar!"
And up there at the edge of the wood was Chad standing and, at his
feet, Jack sitting on his haunches, with his tongue out and looking as
though nothing had happened or could ever happen to Chad or to him.
"Come up hyeh," shouted Chad.
"You come down hyeh," shouted the Sheriff, angrily. So Chad came down,
with Jack trotting after him. Chad had cut off the rawhide string, but
the Sheriff caught Jack by the nape of the neck.
"You won't git away from me agin, I reckon."
"Well, I reckon you ain't goin' to shoot him," said Chad. "Leggo that
dawg."
"Don't be a fool, Jim," said old Joel. "The dawg ain't goin' to leave
the boy." The Sheriff let go.
"Come on up hyeh," said Chad. "I got somethin' to show ye."
The boy turned with such certainty that with out a word Squire,
Sheriff, Turners, Dillons, and spectators followed. As they approached
a deep ravine the boy pointed to the ground where were evidences of
some fierce struggle--the dirt thrown up, and several small stones
scattered about with faded stains of blood on them.
"Wait hyeh!" said the boy, and he slid down the ravine and appeared
again dragging something after him. Tall Tom ran down to help him and
the two threw before the astonished crowd the body of a black and white
dog. "Now I reckon you know whar Whizzer is," panted Chad vindictively
to the Dillons.
"Well, what of it?" snapped Daws
"Oh, nothin'," said the boy with fine sarcasm. "Only WHIZZER killed
that sheep and Jack killed Whizzer." From every Dillon throat came a
scornful grunt.
"Oh, I reckon so," said Chad, easily. "Look dhar!" He lifted the dead
dog's head, and pointed at the strands of wool between his teeth. He
turned it over, showing the deadly grip in the throat and close to the
jaws, that had choked the life from Whizzer--Jack's own grip.
"Ef you will jes' rickollect, Jack had that same grip the time
afore--when I pulled him off o' Whizzer."
"By ----, that is so," said Tall Tom, and Dolph and Rube echoed him
amid a dozen voices, for not only old Joel, but many of his neighbors
knew Jack's method of fighting, which had made him a victor up and down
the length of Kingdom Come.
There was little doubt that the boy was right--that Jack had come on
Whizzer killing the sheep, and had caught him at the edge of the
ravine, where the two had fought, rolling down and settling the old
feud between them in the darkness at the bottom. And up there on the
hill-side, the jury that pronounced Jack guilty pronounced him
innocent, and, as the Turners started joyfully down the hill, the sun
that was to have sunk on Jack stiff in death sank on Jack frisking
before them--home.
And yet another wonder was in store for Chad. A strange horse with a
strange saddle was hitched to the Turner fence; beside it was an old
mare with a boy's saddle, and as Chad came through the gate a familiar
voice called him cheerily by name. On the porch sat Major Buford.