TRANSGRESSION AT HEART'S DESIRE
_Beginning the Cause Celebre which arose from Curly's killing the Pig
of the Man from Kansas_
A great many abdomens have been injured in the pastime known as the
"double roll." Especially has this been the case with persons not
native to the land of Heart's Desire or the equivalent thereof. Even
those born to the manner, and possessed of the freedom of a vast
landscape whose every particular was devoted to the behoof of any man
seized with a purpose of attaining speed and efficiency with firearms,
did not always reach that smoothness and precision in the execution of
this personal manoeuvre which alone could render it safe to themselves
or impressive to the beholder. The owner of this accomplishment was
never apt to find himself much crowded with company, in the way either
of participants or spectators. Yet the art was a simple and harmless
one, pertaining more especially to youth, enthusiasm, and the fresh air
of high altitudes, which did ever evoke saltpetreish manifestations.
The evolution of the "double roll" is executed by taking a
six-shooter--let us hope not one of those pitiful toys of the
East--upon each forefinger, each weapon so hanging balanced on the
trigger-guard and the trigger itself that it shall be ready to turn
about the finger as upon a pivot, and shall be ready for instant
discharge, the thumb cocking the weapon as it turns; yet so that it
shall none the less be discharged only when the muzzle of the weapon is
pointed away from the operator's person and not toward it.
It is best for the ambitious to begin this little sport with an empty
weapon. Thus one will readily observe that the click of the hammer is
all too often heard before the whirl of the gun is fairly under way,
and while the muzzle is pointed midway of the operator's person; the
weight of the heavy gun being commonly sufficient to pull back the
trigger and so discharge the piece. When the ambitious soul has
learned to do this "roll" with one empty gun, he may try it with two
empty guns. If he finds it possible thus to content himself, it will
perhaps be all the better for him. To stand upright, with a gun in
each hand, even an empty gun, and so revolve the same while its own
cylinder is revolving, is not wholly easy, though when one has finally
gotten both hemispheres of his brain into accord with his forefingers,
he will ever thereafter be able to understand fully the double
revolution of the earth upon its axis and around the sun; provided
always that he is able to perform the "double roll" without hitch or
break, pulling right and left forefinger alternately and rapidly until
he has heard what in his tentative case must be a series of six double
clicks.
This performance with an empty six-shooter is but a pale and spiritless
form of the sport of high altitudes. Instead there should be twelve
reports, so closely sequent as to sound as one string of explosion.
Thus executed the game is a fine one, the finer for being risky. So to
stand erect, with an eight-inch Colt in either hand, each arm at full
length, one gun shooting joyously down the centre of the street of your
chosen town, the other shooting as cheerfully up the same street--to do
this actually, with bark of powder and attending puffs of dust
cut--this is indeed delightsome when the heart is full of red blood,
and the chest swells with charged wine o' life, and the eyes gleam and
the muscles harden for very search of some endeavor immediate and
difficult! It is the more delightsome when this moment of man-frenzy
finds one in such a town as was this of Heart's Desire; where, indeed,
a man could do precisely as he pleased; where it was not accounted
wrong or ill-balanced to claim the whole street for a half moment or so
of a cloudless morning, and so to ease one's self of the pressure of
the joy of living. To own this little world, to live free of touch or
taint of control or guidance, to be brother to the mountains, cousin of
the free sky--to live in Heart's Desire and be a man--ah! would that
were possible for all of us to-day! Were it so, then assuredly we
should exult and take unto ourselves all the privileges of the domain,
perhaps even to the extent of attempting the "double roll."
Curly's wooing of the Littlest Girl, sped apace by his unrighteous
appropriation of our can of oysters, in which he had held no fee
simple, but only an individual and indeterminate interest, had
prospered beyond all just deserts of a red-headed cow puncher with a
salary of forty-five dollars a month. He had already, less than two
months after the installation of the new postmaster, announced to his
friends his forthcoming nuptials, and ever since the setting of the
happy date had comported himself with an air of ownership of the town
and a mere tolerance of its inhabitants.
Perhaps, if we were each and every one of us a prospective bridegroom,
as was Curly upon this morning in question, we should be all the more
persuaded to execute the "double roll" in mid-street, as proof to the
public that all was well. Perhaps, also, if there should thus appear
to any of us, adown street upon either hand, an object moving slowly,
pausing, resuming again across the line of gun-vision its slow
advance--ah! tell me, if that slow-moving object crossing the
bridegroom's joyous aim were a pig,--a grunting, fat, conceited
pig,--arrogating to itself much of that street wherefrom one's
fellow-citizens had for a moment of grave courtesy withdrawn--tell me,
if you were a bridegroom, soon to be happy, and if you could do the
"double roll" with loaded guns and no danger to your bowels, and if
while so engaged you should see within easy range this black, sleek
pig, with its tail curled tightly, egotistically, contemptuously, over
its back, what, as a man, would you do? What, as a man, _could_ you
do in a case like that, in a land where there was no law, where never a
court had sat, where never such a thing as a case at law had been
known? Consider, what would be the abstract right and justice of this
matter, repeating that you were a bridegroom and twenty-three, and that
the air was molten wine and honey mingled, and that this pig--but then,
the matter is absurd! There is but one answer. It was right--indeed,
it was inevitable--that Curly should shoot the pig; because in the
first place it had intruded upon his pastime, and because in the second
place he felt like it.
And yet over this act, this simple, inevitable act of justice, arose
the first law case ever known in Heart's Desire, a cause which shook
that community to the centre of its being, and for a time threatened
its very continuance. Ah, well! perhaps the time had come. Perhaps
the sun was now to set over all the valleys of Heart's Desire. Perhaps
this was the beginning of the end. The law, they say, must have its
course. It had its course in Heart's Desire.
But not without protest, not without struggle. There were two factions
from the start. Strange to say, that most bitterly opposed to Curly
was headed by no less a person than his own intended father-in-law, the
man from Leavenworth. It was his pig. The rest of us had lived at
Heart's Desire for a considerable time, but there had hitherto seemed
no need for law. Order we already had in so far as order is really
needed; though the importance of order, or indeed the importance of
law, is a matter very much overrated. No man at Heart's Desire ever
dreamed of locking his door. His horse might doze saddled in the
street if he liked. No man spoke in rudeness or coarseness to his
neighbor, as do men in the cities where they have law. No man did
injustice to his neighbor, for fair play and an even chance were gods
in the eyes of all, eikons above each pinon-burning hearth in all that
valley of content. The speech of man was grave and gentle, the
movements of man were easy and unhurried; neither did any man work by
rule, or by clock, or by order. There was no such thing as want or
hunger; for did temporary poverty encompass one, was there not always
the house of Uncle Jim Brothers, and could not one there hang up his
gun behind the door and so obtain credit for an indefinite length of
time, entitling him to eat at table with his peers? Had there been
such a thing as families in Heart's Desire, be sure such a thing as a
woman or child engaged in any work had been utterly unknown. It was a
land of men, big, grave, sufficient men, each with a gun upon his hip,
and sometimes two, guaranty of peace and calm and content. And any man
who has ever lived in a Land Before the Law knows that this is the only
fit way of life. Alas! that this scheme, this great, happy simple,
perfect scheme of society should be subverted. And, be it remembered,
this was by reason of nothing more than a pig, an artless, lissom pig,
it is true; an infrequent, somewhat prized, a little petted and perhaps
spoiled pig, it is true; yet, after all, no fit cause of elemental
strife.
But now came this man from Leavenworth, fresh from litigious soil,
bearing with him in his faded blue army overcoat germs of civilization,
seeds of discontent. He wailed aloud that the pride of the community,
meaning this pig, which he had brought solitary in a box at the tail of
the wagon when he moved in, was now departed; that there was naught
left to distinguish this community from any other camp in the
mountains; that the pig had been the light of his home, the apple of
his eye, the pride of the community; that he had entertained large
designs in connection with this pig the following fall; that its taking
off was a shame, an outrage, a disgrace, an act utterly illegal, and
one for which any man in Kansas would promptly have had the law of his
neighbor.
Hitherto the "double roll," even in connection with a curly-tailed
black pig, had not been considered actionable in Heart's Desire; but
the outcry made by this man from Leavenworth, now the postmaster of the
town and in some measure a leader in the meetings of the population,
began to attract attention. It began to play upon the nicely attuned
instrument of Public Spirit. What, indeed, asked the community
gravely, was to separate Heart's Desire in the eye of Eastern Capital,
from any other camp in the far Southwest? Once the town could claim a
pig, which no other camp of that district could do. Now it could do so
no more forever. This began to put a different look upon the face of
things.
"It seems like the ole man took it some hard," said Curly, lighting a
_cigarrillo_. "He don't seem to remember that I was due to be a
member of the family right soon, same as the pig. I don't like to
think I'm shy when it comes to comparison with a shoat. Gimme time,
and I reckon I could take the place of the pig in my new dad's
affections. But I say deliberate that pigs has got no call to be in a
cow country, not none, unless salted. Say, can't we salt this one?
Then, who's the worse _off_ for it? What's all this furse about,
anyway?"
"That's right, Curly," said Dan Anderson, who stood with hands in
pockets and pipe in mouth, leaning against the door-jamb in front of
his "law office." "You have enunciated a great principle of law in
that statement. They have got to prove damages. Moreover, you have
got a counter-claim. It's laceratin' to be compared to a shoat."
"And me just goin' to be married," said Curly.
"Sure, it ain't right."
"Andersen," said I, moving up to the group, "did you ever hear of such
things as champerty and maintenance? The first thing you know, you'll
get disbarred for stirring up litigation."
"Keep away from my client," said Dan Anderson, grinning. "You're
jealous of my professional success, that's all. Neither of us has had
a case yet, and now that it looks like I was going to get one, you're
jealous. Do you want to pass up the first lawsuit ever held in the
county? Come now, I'm bored to death. Let's have some fun."
Curly began to shift uneasily on his feet. His hat went still farther
back on his red, kinky curls.
"Law!" said he. "Law! You don't mean--" For the first time in his
life Curly grew pale. "Why, I'll clean out the hull bunch!" he said,
the red surging back in his face and his hand instinctively going to
his gun.
"No, you won't," said Dan Anderson. "Do you want to bust up your
marriage with the girl from Kansas?"
"Sho'!" said Curly, and fell thoughtful. "This looks bad," said he;
"mighty bad." He sat down and began to think. I do not doubt that Dan
Anderson at that moment was a disgrace to his profession, though later
he honored it. He winked at me.
"Don't you tamper with my client," said he; and then resumed to Curly;
"What you need is a lawyer. You've got to have legal advice. It
happens that the full bar of Heart's Desire is now present talking to
you. Take your pick. I've got a mighty good idea which is the best
lawyer of this bar, but I wouldn't tell you for the world that I'm the
one. Take your pick. Here's the whole legal works of the town, us
two. Try the Learned Counsel on my right."
"Law!" said Curly. "Why--law--lawyers! Then who--say, now, I'll
_pay_ for the pig. I didn't mean nothing, no way."
Then Dan Anderson rose to certain heights. "You can't settle it that
way," said he. "That's too easy. Oh, you can pay for the _pig_ easy
enough; but how about the majesty of the law? Where is the peace and
dignity of the commonwealth to come in? This is criminal. Nope, you
choose. You need a lawyer."
"You--you-all got me _locoed_," said Curly, nervously. "Law! Why, I
don't want no law. There ain't never been no co'te set here. Down to
the county-seat, over to Lincoln, that's all right; but here--why, they
don't _want_ no law here. Besides, I can't choose between you two
fellers. I like you both. You're both white men. Ef you could rope
and shoot better, I could git either one of you a job cowpunchin' any
day, and that's a heap better'n practisin' law. I couldn't make no
choice between you fellers. Say, I'll have you _both_." This with a
sudden illumination of countenance.
"That would be unconstitutional," said Dan Anderson, solemnly, "and
against public policy as well. That would be cornering the whole legal
supply of the community, Curly, and it wouldn't leave anybody for the
prosecution."
"Sho'!" said Curly. Then suddenly he added: "There's the old man.
Don't you never doubt he'd prosecute joyful. And there never was a man
from Kansas didn't know some law. Why, onct, down on the Brazos--"
"He can't act as attorney-at-law," said Anderson. "He's never been
admitted to the bar. Say, you flip a dollar."
The thought of chance-taking appealed to Curly. He flipped the dollar.
"Heads, me," said Dan Anderson; and so it fell. That young man smiled
blithely. "We'll skin 'em, Curly," said he. "You'll be as free as air
in less'n a week."
"Now," said Dan Anderson to me, "it's all right thus far. Next we have
got to get a Justice of the Peace, and then we've got to get the
prisoner arrested."
"'Rested!" said Curly. "Who? Me?"
"Of course," drawled his newly constituted attorney. "Didn't you kill
the pig? You just hang around for a little, for when we need you, we
don't want to have to hunt all over the country."
"All right," said Curly, dubiously.
"Where's Blackman?" said Dan Anderson, again addressing me. "We have
got to have a judge, or we can't have any trial. Come on and let's
hunt him up. Curly, don't you run away, mind. You trust to me, and
I'll get you clear, and get you married, both."
"All right," said Curly again, "I'll just sornter down to the Lone
Star, and when you-all want me I'll be in there, either takin' a drink
or playin' a few kyards."
"Let's get Blackman now," said Curly's lawyer. Blackman was the duly
constituted Justice of the Peace in and for Heart's Desire. Nobody
knew precisely when or how he had been elected, and perhaps indeed he
never was elected at all. There must be a beginning for all things.
The one thing certain as to Blackman was that he had once been a
Justice of the Peace back in Kansas, which fact he had not been slow to
announce upon his arrival in Heart's Desire. Perhaps from this arose
the local custom of calling him Judge, and perhaps from his wearing the
latter title arose the supposition that he really was a judge. The
records are quite silent as to the origin of his tenure of office. The
office itself, as has been intimated, had hitherto been one purely
without care. At every little shooting scrape or other playfulness of
the male population Blackman, Justice of the Peace, became inflated
with importance and looked monstrous grave. But nothing ever came of
these little alarms, so that gradually the inflations grew less and
less extensive. They might perhaps have ceased altogether had it not
been for this malignant zeal of Dan Anderson, formerly of Princeton,
and now come, hit or miss, to grow up with the country.
Blackman was ever ready enough for a lawsuit, forsooth pined for one.
Yet what could he do? He could not go forth and with his own hands
arrest chance persons and hale them before his own court for trial.
The sheriff, when he was in town, simply laughed at him, and told his
deputies not to mix up with anything except circuit-court matters,
murders, and more especially horse stealings. Constable there was
none; and policeman--it is to wonder just a trifle what would have
happened to any such thing as a policeman or town marshal in the valley
of Heart's Desire! In short, there was neither judicial nor executive
arm of the law in action. One may, therefore, realize the hindrances
which Dan Anderson met in getting up his lawsuit. Yet he went forward
in the attempt patiently, driven simply by ennui. He did not dream
that he was doing something epochal.
Blackman, Justice of the Peace, was sitting in the office of the
_Golden Age_ when we found him, reading the exchanges and offering
gratuitous advice to the editor. He was a shortish man, thick in body,
with sparse hair and hay-colored, ragged mustache. His face was
florid, his pale eyes protruded. He was a wise-looking man,
excellently well suited in appearance for the office which he filled.
We explained to him our errand. Gradually, as the sense of his own new
importance dawned upon him, he began to swell, apparently until he
assumed a bulk thrice that which he formerly possessed. His spine
straightened rigidly; a solemn light came into his eye; a cough that
fairly choked with wisdom echoed from his throat. It was a great day
for Blackman, J. P.
"Do I know this man, this cow puncher?" said he. "Of course I know
him, damn him, and I know what he done, too. Such a high-handed act
never ought to be tolerated, sir! Destroyin' property--why,
a-destroyin' of life _and_ property, for he killed the pig--and this
new family of citizens dependin' in part on the pig fer their
sustenances this comin' season; to say nothin' of his nigh shootin' me
up as I was crossin' the street from the post-office! Try him! Why,
of _course_ we ought to try him. What show have we got if we go on
this lawless way? What injucement can we offer Eastern Capital to
settle in our midst if, instead of bein' quiet and law-abidin', we go
on a-rarin' and a-pitchin' and a-runnin' wide open, every man for
hisself? What are we here for, you, and you, and me, if it ain't to
set in trile over such britches of the peace?"
"You're in," said Dan Anderson, succinctly. "Get over to your 'dobe.
We'll hold this trial right away. I reckon all the boys'll know about
it by this time. I'll go over and get the prisoner. But, hold on! He
ain't arrested yet. Who'll serve the warrant? Ben Stillson (the
sheriff) is down on the Hondo, and his deputy, Poe, is out of town.
There ain't a soul here to serve a paper. Looks like the court was
some rusty, don't it?"
"Warrant!" said the Justice, "warrant! You don't need no warrant.
Wasn't he seen a-doin' the act?"
"Oh, but it wasn't a real first-class felony," demurred Dan, with some
shade of conscience left.
"Well, I'll arrest him myself," said the Justice. "He's got to be
brought to trile."
"Well, now," I ventured to suggest, "that doesn't look exactly right,
either, since you are to try the case, Judge. It's legal, but it isn't
etiquette."
Blackman scratched his head. "Maybe that's so," said he. Then turning
to me, "S'pose _you_ arrest him."
"He can't," said Dan Anderson. "He's the prosecuting attorney--only
other lawyer in town. It wouldn't look right for either the judge or
prosecutor to make the arrest. Curly might not like it." This all
seemed true enough, and we fell into a quandary.
"I'll tell you," said Dan Anderson at length. "I'd better arrest him
myself. I'm going to defend him, so it would look more regular for me
to bring him in. Looks like he wasn't afraid of the verdict. We
ain't, either. I want you to remember, Judge, if you don't clear him--"
Here counsel for the Territory interrupted, feeling that the majesty of
the law was not fully observed by threatening the trial judge in
advance.
"Well, come along, then," said Anderson. "Let that part of it go.
Come over and let's get out the warrant."
I was not with them when the warrant was issued, though that part of
the proceeding might naturally have seemed rather the duty of the
prosecution than of the defence. Dan Anderson afterward told me that
Blackman could not find his law book (he had only one, a copy of the
statutes of Kansas) for a long time, and then couldn't find the proper
place in it. Legal blanks did not exist in Heart's Desire, and all
legal forms had departed from Blackman's mind in this time of
excitement. Dan Anderson himself drew the warrant. As it was read
later by himself to Curly at the Lone Star, it did not lack a certain
charm. It began with "Greeting," and ended with, "Now, therefore, in
the name of God and the Continental Congress." Anderson did not crack
a smile in reading it, and so far as that is concerned, the warrant
worked as well as any and better than some. Curly, because he felt
that he was in the hands of his friends, made no special demurrer to
the terms of the "writ," and in a few moments the Lone Star was empty
and Blackman's adobe was packed.