THE COURSE OF THE LAW
As he lay in his cell in the county jail at Moroni it was borne in upon
Denver that he was caught in some great machine that ground out men as a
mill grinds grain. It had laid a cold hand on him in the person of an
officer of the law, it had inched him on further when a magistrate had
examined him and Chatwourth and his jumpers had testified; and now, as
he awaited his day in court, he wondered whither it was taking him. The
magistrate had held him, the grand jury had indicted him--would the
judge and jury find him guilty? And if so, would they send him to the
Pen? His heart sank at that, for the name of "ex-convict" is something
that cannot be laid. No matter what the crime or the circumstances of
the trial, once a man is convicted and sent to prison that name can
always be hurled at him--and Denver knew that he was not guilty.
He had no recollection of even drawing his gun, to say nothing of
striking at Meacham; and yet Chatwourth and his gang would swear him
into prison if something was not done to stop them. They had come before
the magistrate all agreeing to the same story--that Denver had picked a
fight with his old enemy, Meacham, and struck him over the head with his
six-shooter. And then they showed Denver's pistol; the one he had
borrowed from Bunker, all gory with hair and blood. It was a frame-up
and he knew it, for they had all been striking at him and one of them
had probably hit Meacham; but how was he to prove to the satisfaction of
the court that Murray's hired gun-men were trying to hang him? His only
possible witness was Professor Diffenderfer, and he would not testify to
anything.
In his examination before the magistrate Denver had called upon the
Professor to explain the cause of his being there; but Diffenderfer had
protested that he had been hiding in his cabin and knew nothing whatever
about the fight. Yet if the facts could be proved, Denver had not gone
up the street to shoot it out with the jumpers; he had gone at the
invitation of this same Professor Diffenderfer who now so carefully
avoided his eye. He had been called to the Professor's cabin to look at
a specimen of the copper from Murray's tunnel; but as Denver thought it
over a shrewd suspicion came over him that he had been lured into a
well-planned trap. They had never been over-friendly so why should this
Dutchman, after opposing him at every turn, suddenly beckon him up the
street and into his cabin just as Chatwourth and his gang came down? And
why, if he was innocent of any share in the plot, did Diffenderfer
refuse to testify to the facts? Denver ground his teeth at the thought
of his own impotence, shut up there like a dog in the pound. He was
helpless, and his lawyer would do nothing.
The first thing he had done when he was brought to Moroni was to hire a
second-rate lawyer but, after getting his money, the gentleman had spent
his time in preparing some windy brief. What Denver needed was some
witnesses, to swear to his good character, and Diffenderfer to swear to
the facts; and no points of law were going to make a difference as long
as the truth was suppressed. Old Bunk alone stood by him, though he
could do little besides testifying to his previous good character. Day
after day Denver lay in jail and sweated, trying to find some possible
way out; but not until the morning before his trial did he sense the
real meaning of it all. Then a visitor was announced and when he came to
the bars he found Bible-Back Murray awaiting him.
"Good morning, young man," began Murray smiling grimly, "I was just
passing by and I thought I'd drop in and talk over your case for a
moment."
"Yes?" said Denver looking out at him dubiously, and the great man
smiled again. He _was_ a great man, as Denver had discovered to his
sorrow, for no one in the country dared oppose him.
"I regret very much," went on Murray pompously, "to find you in this
position, and if there's anything I can do that is just and right I
shall be glad to use my influence. We have, as you know, here in the
State of Arizona one of the most enlightened governments in the country;
and a word from me, if spoken in time, might possibly save you from
conviction. Or, in case of conviction, our prison law is such that you
might immediately be released under parole. But before I take any
action----" he lowered his voice--"you might give me a quit-claim for
that mine."
"Oh" said Denver, and then it was that the great ray of light came over
him. He could see it all now, from Murray's first warning to this last
bold demand for his mine; but two months in jail had broken his spirit
and he hesitated to defy the county boss. His might be the hand that
held Diffenderfer back, and it certainly was the one that paid
Chatwourth; he controlled the county and, if what he said was true, had
no small influence in the affairs of the state. And now he gave him the
choice between going to prison or giving up the Silver Treasure.
"What is this?" inquired Denver, "a hold-up or a frame-up?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," answered Murray curtly, "but
if you're still in a mood for levity----" He turned away but as Denver
did not stop him he returned of his own will to the bars.
"Now see here," he said, "this has gone far enough, if you expect to
keep out of prison. I came down here to befriend you and all I ask in
return is a clear title to what is already mine. Perhaps you don't
realize the seriousness of your position, but I tell you right now that
no power on earth can save you from certain conviction. The District
Attorney has informed me that he has an airtight case against you but,
rather than see your whole life ruined, I am giving you this one, last
chance. You are young and headstrong, and hardly realized what you were
doing; and so I say, why not acknowledge your mistake and begin life
over again? I have nothing but the kindest feelings towards you, but I
can't allow my interests to be jeopardized. Think it over--can't you see
it's for the best?"
"No, I can't," answered Denver, "because I never killed Meacham and I
don t believe any jury will convict me. If they do, I'll know who was
behind it all and govern myself accordingly."
"Just a slight correction," put in Murray sarcastically, "you will not
govern yourself at all. You will become a ward of the State of Arizona
for the rest of your natural life."
"Well, that's all right then," burst out Denver, wrathfully, "but I can
tell you one thing--you won't get no quit-claim for your mine. I'll lay
in jail and rot before I'll come through with it, so you can go as far
as you like. But if I ever get out----"
"That will do, young man," said Murray stepping back, "I see you're
becoming abusive. Very well, let the law take its course."
He straightened up his wry neck, put his glass eye into place and
stalked angrily out of the jail; and in the hard week that followed
Denver learned what he meant, for the wheels of the law began to grind.
First the District Attorney, in making his charge, denounced him like a
mad-man; then he brought on his witnesses, a solid phalanx, and put them
through their parts; and every point of law that Denver's attorney
brought up he tore it to pieces in an instant. He knew more law in a
minute than the lawyer would learn in a life-time, he could think
circles around him and not try; and when Denver's witnesses were placed
on the stand he cross-examined them until he nullified their testimony.
Even grim-eyed Bunker Hill, after testifying to Denver's character, was
compelled to admit that the first time he saw him he was engaged in a
fight with Meacham. And so it went on until the jury filed back with a
verdict of "Guilty of manslaughter."
Thus the law took its course over the body and soul of what had once
been a man; and when it was over Denver Russell was a Number with
eighteen years before him. Eighteen years more or less, according to his
conduct, for the laws of the State of Arizona imposed an indeterminate
sentence which might be varied to fit any case. As Murray had intimated,
under the new prison law a man could be paroled the day after he was
sentenced, though he were in for ninety-nine years. That was the law,
and it was just, for no court is infallible and injustice must be
rectified somewhere. After the poor man and his poor lawyer had matched
their puny wits against those of a fighting District Attorney then mercy
must intervene in the name of society and equalize the sentence. For the
District Attorney is hired by the county to send every man to prison,
but no one is hired to defend the innocent or to balance the scales of
justice.
Denver went to prison like any other prisoner, a rebel against society;
but after a lonely day in his cell he rose up and looked about him. Here
were men like himself--nay, old, hardened criminals--walking about in
civilian clothes, and the gates opened up before them. They passed out
of the walled yard and into the prison fields where there were cattle
and growing crops; and they came back fresh and earthy, after hours of
honest toil with no one to watch or guard them. It was the honor system
which he had read about for years, but now he saw it working; and after
a week he sent word to the Warden that he would give his word not to
escape. That was all they asked of him, his word as a man; and a great
hope came over him and soothed the deep wound that the merciless law had
torn. He raised his head, that had been bowed on his breast, and the
strength came back into his limbs; and when the Warden saw him with a
sledge-hammer in his hands he smiled and sent him up to the road-camp.