"So Pete took my advice, and a couple days later I hurried down to Red
Gap and had a talk with Judge Ballard and the district attorney. The
judge said it had been embarrassing to justice to have my old Injin
walk in on 'em, because every one knew he was guilty. Why couldn't he of
stayed up here where the keen-eyed officers of the law could of
pretended not to know he was? And the old fool was only making things
worse with his everlasting chatter about his brother-in-law, every one
knowing there wasn't such a person in existence--old Pete having had
dozens of every kind of relation in the world but a brother-in-law. But
they're going to have this bright young lawyer defend him, and they have
hopes.
"Then I talked some. I said it was true that everybody knew Pete bumped
off this old crook that had it coming to him, but they could never prove
it, because Pete had come to my place and set up with me all night, when
I had lumbago or something, the very night this crime was done
thirty-odd miles distant by some person or persons unknown--except it
could be known they had good taste about who needed killing.
"At this Judge Ballard jumps up and calls me an old liar and shook hands
warmly with me; and Cale Jordan, that was district attorney then, says
if Mrs. Pettengill will give him her word of honour to go on the witness
stand and perjure herself to this effect then he don't see no use of
even putting Kulanche County, State of Washington, to the expense of a
trial, the said county already being deep in the hole for its new
courthouse--but for mercy's sake to stop the old idiot babbling about
his brother-in-law, that every one knows he never had one, because such
a joke is too great an affront to the dignity of the law in such cases
made and provided--to wit: tell the old fool to say nothing except 'No,
he never done it.' And he shakes hands with me, too, and says he'll have
an important talk with Myron Bughalter, the sheriff.
"I says that's the best way out of it, being myself a heavy taxpayer;
and I go see this Snyder lawyer, and then over to the jail and get into
Pete's cell, where he's having a high old time with a sack of peppermint
candy and a copy of the Scientific American. I tell him to cut out the
brother-in-law stuff and just say 'No' to any question whatever. He said
he would, and I went off home to rest up after my hard ride.
"Judge Ballard calls that night and says everything is fixed. No use
putting the county to the expense of a trial when Pete has such a classy
perjured alibi as I would give him. Myron Bughalter is to go out of the
jail in a careless manner at nine-thirty that night, leaving all cells
unlocked and the door wide open so Pete can make his escape without
doing any damage to the new building. It seems the only other prisoner
is old Sing Wah, that they're willing to save money on, too. He'd got
full of perfumed port and raw gin a few nights before, announced himself
as a prize-hatchet man, and started a tong war in the laundry of one of
his cousins. But Sing was sober now and would stay so until the next New
Year's; so they was going to let him walk out with Pete. The judge said
Pete would probably be at the Arrowhead by sunup, and if he'd behave
himself from now on the law would let bygones be bygones. I thanked the
judge and went to bed feeling easy about old Pete.
"But at seven the next morning I'm waked up by the telephone--wanted
down to the jail in a hurry. I go there soon as I can get a drink of hot
coffee and find that poor Myron Bughalter is having his troubles. He'd
got there at seven, thinking, of course, to find both his prisoners
gone; and here in the corridor is Pete setting on the chest of Sing Wah,
where he'd been all night, I guess! He tells Myron he's a fool sheriff
to leave his door wide open that way, because this bad Chinaman tried to
walk out as soon as he'd gone, and would of done so it Pete hadn't
jumped him.
"It leaves Myron plenty embarrassed, but he finally says to Pete he can
go free, anyway, now, for being such an honest jailbird; and old Sing
Wah can go, too, having been punished enough by Pete's handling. Sing
Wah slides out quickly enough at this, promising to send Myron a dozen
silk handkerchiefs and a pound of tea. But not Pete. No, sir! He tells
Myron he's give himself up to be tried, and he wants that trial and
won't budge till he gets it.
"Then Myron telephoned for the judge and the district attorney, and for
me. We get there and tell Pete to beat it quick. But the old mule isn't
going to move one step without that trial. He's fled back to his cell
and stands there as dignified as if he was going to lay a cornerstone.
He's a grave rebuke to the whole situation, as you might say. Then the
Judge and Cale go through some kind of a hocus-pocus talk, winding up
with both of them saying 'Not guilty!' in a loud voice; and Myron says
to Pete: 'There! You had your trial; now get out of my jail this
minute.'
"But canny old Pete is still balking. He says you can't have a trial
except in the courthouse, which is upstairs, and they're trying to cheat
a poor old Injin. He's talking loud by this time, and Judge Ballard
says, all right, they must humour the poor child of Nature. So Myron
takes Pete by the wrist in a firm manner--though Pete's insisting he
ought to have the silver handcuffs on him--and marches him out the jail
door, round to the front marble steps of the new courthouse, up the
steps, down the marble hall and into the courtroom, with the judge and
Cale Jordan and me marching behind.
"We ain't the whole procession, either. Out in front of the jail was
about fifteen of Pete's friends and relatives, male and female, that had
been hanging round for two days waiting to attend his coming-out party.
Mebbe that's why Pete had been so strong for the real courthouse,
wanting to give these friends something swell for their trouble. Anyway,
these Injins fall in behind us when we come out and march up into the
courtroom, where they set down in great ecstasy. Every last one of 'em
has a sack of peppermint candy and a bag of popcorn or peanuts, and
they all begin to eat busily. The steam heat had been turned on and that
hall of justice in three minutes smelt like a cheap orphan asylum on
Christmas-morning.
"Then, before they can put up another bluff at giving Pete his trial,
with Judge Ballard setting up in his chair with his specs on and looking
fierce, who rushes in but this J. Waldo person that is Pete's lawyer.
He's seen the procession from across the street and fears some low-down
trick is being played on his defenseless client.
"He comes storming down the aisle exclaiming; 'Your Honour, I protest
against this grossly irregular proceeding!' The judge pounds on his desk
with his little croquet mallet and Myron Bughalter tells Snyder, out of
the corner of his mouth, to shut up. But he won't shut up for some
minutes. This is the first case he'd had and he's probably looked
forward to a grand speech to the jury that would make 'em all blubber
and acquit Pete without leaving the box, on the grounds of emotional or
erratic insanity--or whatever it is that murderers get let off on when
their folks are well fixed. He sputters quite a lot about this monstrous
travesty on justice before they can drill the real facts into his head;
and even then he keeps coming back to Pete's being crazy.
"Then Pete, who hears this view of his case for the first time, begins
to glare at his lawyer in a very nasty way and starts to interrupt; so
the judge has to knock wood some more to get 'em all quiet. When they
do get still--with Pete looking blacker than ever at his lawyer--Cale
Jordan says: 'Pete, did you do this killing?' Pete started to say mebbe
his brother-in-law did, but caught himself in time and said 'No!' at the
same time starting for J. Waldo, that had called him crazy. Myron
Bughalter shoves him back in his chair, and Cale Jordan says: 'Your
Honour, you have heard the evidence, which is conclusive. I now ask that
the prisoner at the bar be released.' Judge Ballard frowns at Pete very
stern and says: 'The motion is granted. Turn him loose, quick, and get
the rest of that smelly bunch out of here and give the place a good
airing. I have to hold court here at ten o'clock.'
"Pete was kind of convinced now that he'd had a sure-enough trial, and
his friends had seen the marble walls and red carpet and varnished
furniture, and everything; so he consented to be set free--not in any
rush, but like he was willing to do 'em a favour.
"And all the time he's keeping a bad little eye on J. Waldo. The minute
he gets down from the stand he makes for him and says what does he mean
by saying he was crazy when he done this killing? J. Waldo tries to
explain that this was his only defense and was going on to tell what an
elegant defense it was; but Pete gets madder and madder. I guess he'd
been called everything in the world before, but never crazy; that's the
very worst thing you can tell an Injin.
"They work out toward the front door; and then I hear Pete say: 'You
know what? You said I'm crazy. My b'other-in-law's going to make
something happen to you in the night.' Pete was seeing red by that time.
The judge tells Myron to hurry and get the room cleared and open some
windows. Myron didn't have to clear it of J.W. Snyder. That bright young
lawyer dashed out and was fifty feet ahead of the bunch when they got to
the front door.
"So Pete was a free man once more, without a stain on his character
except to them that knew him well. But the old fool had lost me a
tenant. Yes, sir; this J.W. Snyder young man, with the sign hardly dry
on the glass door of his office in the Pettengill Block, had a nervous
temperament to start with, and on top of that he'd gone fully into
Pete's life history and found out that parties his brother-in-law was
displeased with didn't thrive long. He packed up his law library that
afternoon and left for another town that night.
"Yes, Pete's a wonder! Watch him slaving away out there. And he must of
been working hard all day, even with me not here to keep tabs on him.
Just look at the size of that pile of wood he's done up, when he might
easy of been loafing on the job!"