the position which he had attained so young; but, the son of a man
of rather exceptional means, he had been educated at a city college,
and had a sophistication which Solomon viewed with deep suspicion.
Moreover, he discarded the garb which Mr. Peaslee regarded as
sacred. He was not in black. Instead, he wore a light gray business
suit, his collar was very knowing in cut, and his cravat of dark
blue was caught with a gold pin.
"Citified smart Aleck," was Mr. Peaslee's characterization. To tell
the truth, he mistrusted the man's ability, and was afraid of him.
If that fellow knew, Mr. Peaslee felt that it would go hard with
him. Generally, Paige was popular.
Solomon had, of course, been painfully awake to every hint and
intimation in regard to Jim's case. He had seen Jake Hibbard, that
carrion crow of the law, loafing about the corridors, and the sight
had made him shiver. He had next heard that Jim's case would be
quickly called,--probably on the next day,--news producing a complex
emotion, the elements of which he could not distinguish.
Furthermore, a remark or so which he overheard indicated that the
out-of-town men were inclined to take a harsh view of the matter.
And reflecting on all these things, he paddled home through the
depressing wet.
And the next day it rained.
More and more perturbed, as the climax approached, Mr. Peaslee took
his place in the jury-room, and sat there with unhearing ears. He
sat and thought and delivered battle with his conscience, which was
growing painfully vigorous and aggressive. But, after all, perhaps
they would not find a true bill, and then Jim would go free, and he
could breathe again. Mr. Peaslee clung to the hope, and hugged it.
It was the one thing which gave him courage.
"Gentlemen of the grand jury," suddenly he heard Paige saying, "the
next case for you to consider is that of James Edwards, aged
fifteen, of Ellmington, charged with assault, with intent to kill,
upon one Peter Lamoury, also of Ellmington."
And he proceeded to read the complaint, which, in spite of the
monotonous rapidity with which he rattled it off, scared Mr. Peaslee
badly with its solemn-sounding legal phraseology.
"Gentlemen," said Paige, laying down the paper, "there was no
eyewitness to the actual assault; and only three people have any
personal knowledge of the event--Mr. Edwards, the defendant's
father, the accused himself, and the complainant. Mr. Lamoury, his
counsel tells me, is in no condition to appear. But I have here,"
lifting a paper, "his affidavit, properly executed, giving his
version of the matter. The boy's father, however, is at hand.
Probably the jury would like to question him."
"It seems to me," said Mr. Sampson, "that Mr. Edwards would be
pretty apt to know the rights of it, if he's willing to talk. I
guess we'd better hear him."
The state's attorney stepped to the door.
"This way, please!" he called, and Mr. Edwards entered the room.
Farnsworth and Peaslee both studied the man's face closely,
although for very different reasons, and both found it sternly
uncompromising.
"Please take a chair, Mr. Edwards," said Paige, and in a swift
glance rapidly estimated the man. "Here's some one who won't lie,"
he thought, impressed.
"Now," he resumed, "will you kindly tell the members of the grand
jury what you know of the case?"
Mr. Edwards cleared his throat painfully. Determined as he was to
let his rebellious boy take whatever punishment his mistaken course
might bring, he now began to wish that the punishment would be
light. His confidence that Jim needed only to be pushed a little to
confess was somewhat shaken, and the charge was really serious. He
felt a desire to explain, to palliate, to minimize.
"Gentlemen," he said, "my boy's always been a good boy. I can't
believe that he meant to hurt Lamoury or any one else. It must have
been some accident--"
"Facts, please," said Paige, crisply.
Mr. Peaslee caught his breath indignantly. He had been entirely in
sympathy with Mr. Edwards's soft mode of approaching his story.
Paige seemed to him unfeeling.
"I will answer any questions," said Mr. Edwards, stiffening.
"Did you hear any shot fired?" began Paige.
"Yes."
"Where were you?"
"I was asleep in the room above Jim's."
"Was Jim in his room?"
"I suppose so."
"You suppose so. Don't you know?"
"No, I don't know."
"But to the best of your knowledge and belief he was there?"
"Yes."
"And the shot waked you?"
"Yes."
"What did you do on hearing the shot?"
"I jumped to the window."
"Tell what you saw, please."
"I saw a man fall in the orchard, and hurried out to see if he was
hurt. But he was gone when I got there."
"Then what?"
"I went to speak to Jim."
"He was in his room, then, immediately after the shot?"
"Yes."
"Ah! And when you spoke to him, did he admit firing the shot?"
"No."
"Did he deny it?"
"Yes."
"Where was his gun?"
"In the rack over the mantel."
"In the rack over the mantel," repeated Paige, slowly, glancing at
the jurors. "Did you examine it?"
"Yes."
"What was its condition? Did it show that it had been fired?"
"No; it was clean."
"It was clean," repeated Paige. "I understand that it was a
double-barreled, muzzle-loading shotgun. Were there any rags about?"
"Yes."
"Where were they?"
"One was in the ashes of the fireplace."
"Look as if some one had tried to hide it?"
"Yes"--reluctantly.
"If it was that sort of gun, there must have been a shot-pouch and
powder-flask. Where were they?"
"In the drawer where Jim keeps them."
"Everything looked, then, as if no shot had been fired?"
"Yes."
"Was there any one besides yourself and your son in the house?"
"No."
"Your housekeeper?"
"She had stepped out."
"To the best of your knowledge, then, there was no one about to fire
the shot except your son?"
"No."
"That will do," said Paige, with an accent of finality. "That is,"
he added, with the air of one who observes a courteous form, "unless
some of the grand jurors wish to ask a question."
There were various things which were new to Mr. Peaslee in this
testimony. He had supposed that Jim had been picked as the guilty
person by a process of mere exclusion; he had had no idea that the
case against him was so strong. How had the boy got to the room so
soon after he himself had left, and why had he gone there? And why,
why had he cleaned the shotgun? The grand jury must believe in his
guilt. And when the case came to trial, what could Jim say to clear
himself? It was going hard, hard with the boy.
Mr. Peaslee's mouth grew dry, his palms moist; he moved uneasily in
his chair. Once or twice he felt sure that the next instant he would
find himself on his feet, but the minutes passed and he still was
seated.
And Farnsworth, anxious, for the sake of his betrothed, Miss Ware,
to help Jim, was nonplussed. There were two possible explanations
of Jim's cleaning the gun, if he did clean it: the first, that Jim
was protecting himself; the second, that he was shielding some one
else.
But the second theory seemed quite untenable. Farnsworth had made
some cautious but well-directed inquiries about Mr. Edwards, and had
satisfied himself that the rumors about his smuggling were nothing
but malicious gossip. There was not a man of greater honesty in the
state. The boy must have done the shooting. Miss Ware would have to
give it up. Still, he would hazard a question.
"Mr. Edwards," he said, "Lamoury worked for you once, didn't he?"
"Yes."
"You quarreled, didn't you?"
"I discharged him for intemperance."
"There was no bad blood?"
"Lamoury was angry, I believe."
Farnsworth stopped; there was nothing to be gained by this course of
questioning in the way of clearing Jim. Of course later, the point
that Lamoury had a grudge against the family might have importance,
although he could not see just how. Some one else surely heard that
gunshot. It was incredible that the neighborhood should be so
deserted. If only there were another witness!
The other jurors had no questions. They were, to tell the truth, a
little impatient. It was near the dinner-hour, and they were hungry.
The case seemed perfectly plain to them. It was not likely, they
argued, that the boy's father could be mistaken.
"You may go," said Paige to Mr. Edwards.
"I don't see," he began, when the witness had left the room, "any
need for our going further into this case. Whatever we may think of
the animus of the complainant,--I take it that was what you wished
to bring out, Mr. Farnsworth,--there seems to be no question but
that the boy fired the shot. The presumption seems strong also that
he intended to hit. Were there any accident or any good excuse, the
boy could, of course, have no motive not to tell it. I suggest that
a true bill be found at once, and that we proceed to more important
matters. I want to remind you that we have a great deal of work
before us."
"Well, gentlemen," said Sampson, "I guess we're pretty much of a
mind about this. If no one has any objections, I guess we'll call it
a vote." He looked round.
"As we're all agreed--" he began.
"Just a moment, Sampson!" suddenly exclaimed Farnsworth. It had just
then flashed over him that Mr. Peaslee, the kind Mr. Peaslee, who
gave Jim knives and harmonicas, was next-door neighbor to the
Edwardses. If he had been at home when the shot was fired, he must
have heard it, and he might have seen some significant thing which
questioning might bring out. Of course, if Peaslee had seen
anything, he would have spoken, but he might have overlooked the
importance of some fact or other.
"Just a moment, Sampson!" he said, and put up his hand. Then he
swung sharply in his chair and put the question:--
"Peaslee, where were you when that shot was fired?"
[Illustration: Cat standing alert facing forward.]
VI
"Peaslee, where were you when that shot was fired?" asked
Farnsworth, and as he spoke he turned and looked toward Solomon,
whose seat was some three or four places to his left, on the same
side of the table.
Had the question not been uttered, it would have died upon his
lips, so much surprised was he at what he saw.
Mr. Peaslee, white and trembling with some strong emotion, had his
hands upon the table and was raising himself, slowly and painfully,
to his feet. He rolled his eyes, which looked bigger and more
pathetic than ever behind his glasses, toward Farnsworth at the
sound of his voice, but the young man knew instinctively that
Solomon, moved by some strong idea of his own, had not grasped the
question.
"Gentlemen," Mr. Peaslee began, in shaky tones, "I guess I got a
word to say afore ye find a true bill agin that little feller. He's
as peaceable a boy as ever I saw, and I guess I can't let him stay
all bolted and barred into no jail, when it don't need anythin' but
my say-so to get him out. Ye see, gentlemen,"--Solomon paused,
moistened his dry mouth, and cast a timorous look over the puzzled
faces of the jurymen,--"ye see, 't was me that shot Lamoury."
Not a sound came from the grand jury; the members sat and stared at
him in blank wonder, hardly able to credit their ears. Paige, the
state's attorney, who was making some notes at the time, held his
pen for a good half-minute part way between his paper and the
inkstand while he gazed in astonishment at Peaslee. To have a grand
juror, a sober, respectable man, rise in the jury-room and confess
that he is the real offender in a case under consideration, is not
usual. The surprise was absolute.
For Farnsworth, it was more than a surprise; it was a relief. Then
his betrothed had been right; Jim had not fired the shot! He felt a
glow of admiration for Nancy's sure intuition and loyalty to her
pupil. He rejoiced that Jim was cleared for her sake and for the
boy's. Insensibly he had grown more and more interested in Jim and
attached to him. Now--everything was explained.
Everything? No, Jim's strange activity in concealing the evidences
of the shot, his queer reserve when questioned as to what he
knew--these seemed more perplexing than ever.
Farnsworth, hoping for light upon these points, settled back in his
chair to listen. Mr. Peaslee had more to say.
"It kinder goes agin the grain," Solomon resumed, with a weary,
deprecatory smile, "to own up you've been actin' like a fool, but I
guess I got to do it.
"This was the way on 't: I stepped over to Ed'ards's jest to talk
over matters and things. Well, I couldn't seem to raise anybody to
the front of the house, so I kinder slid into the boy's room to see
if there wasn't somebody out back. There wa'n't. There didn't seem
to be anybody to home.
"Now, gentlemen, seems as though you'd see how 't was when I
tell ye. There's an old white and yaller cat, with a kinder
sassy patch over her eye,"--Mr. Peaslee's meek voice here
took on a trace of heat,--"that's been a-pesterin' the life
out o' me goin' on a year. I guess ye know how 't is--one of
them pesky, yowlin', chicken-stealin', rusty old nuisances
that hain't any sociability to 'em, anyhow.
"Well, there she was a-settin', comfortable as a hot punkin pie, and
lookin' as if she owned the place. And there was the boy's gun right
there handy. The cat riled me so, I jest loaded her up. 'T wa'n't in
human natur' not to, now was it? 'T wa'n't nothin' but bird shot, so
I sorter stuck in a marble. It couldn't do no harm, and it might
kinder help a leetle. And I just fired her off. I didn't expect to
hit any French Canadian; I didn't know there was any of the critters
round.
"Then when I see a feller fall out of the bushes I was scared, now I
tell ye. Here I was, member of the grand jury, and everything, and
it didn't somehow seem right and fittin' for no member of the grand
jury to be fillin' up a feller human bein' with bird shot an'
marbles. I guess I didn't think much what I was a-doin' of, no-how.
'T any rate, I jest sneaked off home, and then I jest let things
slip along and slide along till here I be. I guess if a true bill's
got to be found agin any one, it's got to be found agin me."
And Mr. Peaslee sank huddled and hopeless into his chair.
His fellow members were for a moment silent. But soon this tale of a
cat, bird shot, and an unexpected Canadian began to disclose a comic
aspect; the plight of poor, respectable Mr. Peaslee, in all the
fresh honors of his jurorship, began to show a ludicrous side; their
own position as grave men seeing what they thought a serious offense
change, as by magic, into a farcical accident, bit by bit revealed
its humor.
Sampson, the foreman, glanced at Paige, the state's attorney. The
young man's face wore an odd expression. Their eyes met, and
Sampson's mouth began to twitch. Albion Small, who was "consid'able
of a joker," suddenly choked. Farnsworth, having revealed to him in
a flash the significance of the harmonica "with harp attachment,"
gave way and laughed outright.
Smiles appeared on faces all round the table; and as the comicality
of the whole affair more and more struck upon their astonished
minds, the smiles became a general laugh, the laugh a roar. And
this mirth had so good-humored a note that Solomon, taking heart,
looked about the table with a sheepish grin.
But his heart sank and his grin vanished when his eyes fell upon
Abijah Keith. For Abijah did not smile. He sat grim as fate, stern
disapproval of all this levity expressed in every deep fold of his
wrinkled old countenance.
A formidable person was Abijah. He had a great brush of white hair,
which stood up fiercely from his narrow forehead; a high, arched
nose like the beak of a hawk, on which rested a pair of huge round
spectacles; a mouth like a straight line inclosed between a great
parenthesis of leathery wrinkles. Up from under his old-fashioned
stock, round a chin like a paving-stone, curled an aggressive,
white, wiry beard, and his blue eyes were steel-bright and hard.
"Can't see what you're cackling so for!" he exclaimed, his shrill
accents full of contempt. "Actin' like a passel of hens! There's a
man shot, ain't they? Somebody shot him, didn't they? He"--and
Abijah pointed a knotted, skinny, hard old finger at the shrinking
Solomon--"he shot him, didn't he? Ser'us business, _I_ call it.
Guess the grand jury's got suthin' to say to it, hain't they? Cat?
Cat's foot, _I_ say. Likely story, likely story. Don't believe a
word on 't."
Solomon dared to steal a look, and was not reassured to see in the
jurymen's faces doubt replacing mirth. Then Hiram Hopkins's hearty
voice, ringing with opposition, struck upon his delighted ear. He
remembered Hiram's dislike for the cantankerous Keith. Here perhaps
was a defender.
"Oh, come, Mr. Keith! Oh, come now!" he heard Hopkins exclaim.
"What's the use of raising a rumpus? It wasn't nothing but bird
shot. Folks don't go murdering folks with bird shot."
"Don't care if 't was bird shot!" came Abijah's snapping tones.
"Don't care if 't was pin-heads; principle's the same."
"It is, it is!" admitted Solomon, in his soul.
"Well," said Hiram, with a common sense in which Mr. Peaslee took
comfort, "the practical effect is mighty different. Gentlemen," he
added to the jurors, "I can't see that we've got any call to go any
further with this. Peaslee was just shooting at a cat. I don't see
the sense of taking up the time of the court and makin' expense for
any such foolishness. I say we'd better dismiss young Edwards's
case, and Peaslee's along with it. It's such fool doings, I think
we'd better, if only to keep folks from laughing at the grand jury."
Solomon's heart was in his mouth. Would the others take this
view--or Keith's?
"Oily talk, dretful oily talk!" came Abijah's fierce pipe. "Don't
take any stock in 't. Shot him, didn't he? Grand juror--what
difference does that make? If they ain't fit, weed 'em out--weed 'em
out!"
"Fit?" said Hiram. "It took some spunk to get up there and tell just
what a fool he'd been, didn't--"
"Humph!" Abijah interrupted, with a snort. "Had to, didn't he?
Farnsworth asked him where he was, didn't he? Had to squirm out
somehow, didn't he? Got about as much spine as a taller candle with
the wick drawed out, accordin' to his own showin'. Better weed him
out, better weed him out! Humph!"
Poor Mr. Peaslee sank still lower in his chair; his head fell still
lower on his chest. They were taking away from him even the credit
of voluntary confession. Why had Farnsworth asked that question? In
casting doubt upon his one brave deed fate seemed to him to have
done its worst.
"He'd got up before I put the question," said Farnsworth.
He wished to be just. But he was indignant with Peaslee. After his
first laughter, his thoughts had dwelt upon the trouble that Solomon
had brought upon the innocent Jim, "just to save his own hide, the
old--skee-zicks!" he exclaimed to himself.
After all, what did he know about Peaslee? If the man had merely
shot at a cat, why under the sun should he not have said so at
once, and saved all this bother? The more he thought, the more
indignant he grew--and the more doubtful. He did not notice at all
the look of timid gratitude which Mr. Peaslee cast in his direction.
"Course he was up before you spoke!" Solomon was further gratified
to hear Hopkins declare, in his big, hearty voice. "And I think a
man who owns up fair and square just when it's hardest to has got
spine enough to hold him together, anyhow."
"Up before ye asked him!" Abijah turned on Farnsworth. "Up for what?
Tell me that, will ye?"
And Solomon, listening anxiously for Farnsworth's answer, was
depressed to hear him give merely a good-humored laugh at Uncle
Abijah's thrust.
"Mr. Peaslee," asked Sampson, so unexpectedly that Solomon jumped,
"didn't you say something about a marble?"
"Yes," said Mr. Peaslee, gloomily.
"Fit the bore, did it?" continued the foreman.
"Slick," answered Mr. Peaslee, with the brevity of despair.
"If that marble fitted the bore," said Albion Small, while Sampson
nodded assent, "it's my opinion it might do considerable damage."
His opinion had weight, for Small was a hunter of repute. Recovered
from their amusement, the grand jurors had become gradually
impressed with the idea that Mr. Peaslee's confession still left
some awkward questions unanswered. If the matter were so simple as
he said, why had he kept silent so long?
The jurymen came from all over the rather large county, and although
they all had some knowledge of the principal men of Ellmington, and
although such of them as had dealings at its bank had met Mr.
Peaslee, none of them knew him well. He was a newcomer at the
village, and when at his farm had not had a wide acquaintance.
They looked to Farnsworth as his fellow townsman to speak for him;
but Farnsworth said nothing, and seemed preoccupied and doubtful.
The inference was that he shared their perplexity. They felt that
Keith, for all his "cantankerousness," might be right. Solomon could
draw no comfort from their faces.
All this while Paige had been playing with his watch-chain and
watching Abijah, whose character he appreciated, with discreet
amusement; but he found himself in essential agreement with the
peppery old fellow.
"Ask the state's attorney, why don't ye?" put in Keith, impatiently.
"He'll tell ye I've got the rights on 't. Ain't afraid, be ye?"
Sampson smiled. "Mr. State's Attorney," he said, turning to Paige,
"I guess perhaps you'd better give us the law of this."
"Well, gentlemen," said Paige, "as a matter of law, Mr. Keith would
seem to be right," and at the word Solomon's spirits sank to new
depths.
"Didn't I tell ye?" said Abijah, triumphantly.
Had the state's attorney said that he was wrong, the old man would
have called him a popinjay to his face. Abijah's exclamation was not
deference to legal knowledge; it was merely quick seizure of a
tactical point.
"Lamoury was shot," Paige went on, with a little smile at Keith's
interruption, "and by his own statement, Mr. Peaslee shot him. On
his own admission, his gun was dangerously loaded. Although a boy, a
neighbor's son, was charged, through his act, with a serious offense
against the laws, he made no confession. And when, at last, he did
speak, it is at least open to debate whether he did it of his own
volition, or because he was forced to do so by the embarrassing
question put to him by one of your number. I don't impugn his
veracity, but I am bound to remark that he is an interested
witness. All this is a question of fact for you to consider.
"I think you should know a little more. To determine if there was
any motive, you need to know if there was any bad blood between Mr.
Peaslee and Lamoury; to find an indictment to fit the case you need
to know how badly Lamoury is hurt. I think you should have Lamoury
here. Cross-questioning him, and perhaps Mr. Peaslee,"--Solomon
shivered,--"should establish whether the shot was accidental, as the
accused says, or intentional, as Lamoury contends. I'll have the
complainant here to-morrow, if it's a possible thing. As there's no
formal charge--as yet--against Mr. Peaslee, I think you may properly
postpone until then the question of entering a complaint or making
an arrest, if necessary,"--Solomon shivered again,--"and of his
proper holding for appearance before the court. Meanwhile, I
suggest that you dispose of the case against young Edwards, and
then adjourn. Mr. Peaslee," he added significantly, "will of course
be present to-morrow morning."
"Sartain, sartain," answered poor Solomon, tremulously.
It was already late, and when the grand jury had formally dismissed
the complaint against Jim, the hour was so advanced that adjournment
was taken for the day. When Mr. Peaslee left the court house no one
spoke to him, and he walked slowly home, full of the worst
forebodings.
Why had he put in that marble? Relieved of his burden of anxiety
and remorse in regard to Jim, he began to think more definitely than
he had done heretofore of the possibility of serious harm to
Lamoury. It was dreadful to think that he might have badly wounded
an inoffensive man. Was Lamoury much hurt? What would happen to a
marble in a shotgun, anyhow? Would he be arrested? Would his case
get to trial? Could he, without a single witness, prove that it was
an accident? The sinister figure of Jake Hibbard rose before him,
and made him feel helpless and frightened. The future looked black.
"But I done right," he tried to console himself by saying. "I done
right."