A Great Acquittal
Let the reader imagine with what anxiety Jack and his friends watched
the struggle between life and death taking place in the case of Tusker
Joe. There were days and days when the man lay an inert mass,
unconscious, and too weak to move. Days when it appeared as if each
minute would prove his last. Then, when all seemed lost, the brigand's
extraordinary vitality gave him strength to rally. He turned the corner,
mended slowly, and was at length strong enough to speak.
"And now we kin move him ter the settlement," said the sheriff, who had
been in almost daily attendance. He had, in fact, been a stanch friend
to Jack and his mates, and had sent tents and provisions to them. "Once
we have him and his comrade in the settlement, we'll get a couple of
lawyers to come along with us, and we'll hold a sorter court, with
witnesses ter take note of everything. In course he may refuse to speak.
But Tusker aer on the long road. He's mended so far, but that hurt aer
goin' ter prove fatal."
That, indeed, had been the opinion of the surgeon, who also had made
more than one trip out to the temporary camp beside the mountain, where
the last of the brigands had been run to earth.
"Shot through the chest," he declared grimly, "and may or may not make a
recovery; but in any case it will be but temporary. My experience
teaches me that the man's days are numbered."
However, Tusker improved to such an extent that it became possible to
move him. He was taken in a cart to the settlement, his wounded mate
riding with him. As for the latter, he was even more grievously hurt,
and his life still hung in the balance.
"We might wait here a month and he be still the same," said the surgeon.
"We will risk moving him. There is no other alternative."
All this while Jack had been careful to keep away from the injured men.
He had ridden back to the mine to report to Tom and the others what had
happened, and had found them industriously delving and washing dirt in
the cradles. They declared to him that the yield was, if anything,
improving, and that there seemed to be a wealth of the shining metal
still to be regained.
"There ain't a doubt but what we've hit it rich," declared Tom the
evening Jack arrived, "and ef we get the stuff ter the bank without
meeting with any of the gentry as tried ter waylay you, we'll all have
fortunes to our name. So you've got that man at last, Carrots? Don't you
be downhearted. That Tusker will out with his evidence, and ye'll be
cleared. They'll shout themselves hoarse when yer get back to Hopeville.
Meanwhile me and the mates go on, and shares are divided same as before,
so you, and Steve, and Tom, and Abe'll lose nothing. That's doin' things
fair and square, same as we've always done."
When Jack got back to the settlement, where Tusker was being cared for,
Steve greeted him eagerly.
"He'll talk, he will!" he cried. "I've been in ter see the man, and, I
tell yer, he's changed. He reckons he's got the last call, and ain't
much longer fer this world. He jest begged me ter overlook old days, and
forgive him for what he's done. That bein' his mood, seems ter me as
you'd best see him."
That very evening, in fact, the surgeon having been consulted, Jack was
ushered into the little wooden shanty where the wounded brigand lay. He
was propped up in bed, and our hero was shocked at his appearance. The
man was desperately thin and cadaverous, while there were heavy lines
under his eyes.
"Tusker," said Steve solemnly, "I've brought a young friend of mine ter
see you, and afore yer take a look at him, or git talkin', I'd like to
give you his history. Aer you game ter listen?"
The wounded man motioned Steve to a chair, and scarcely looked at our
hero.
"Speak!" he said in a voice little above a whisper. "I will listen."
"Then, here's the yarn. Jack Kingsley aer the son of a man called
Tom--Tom Kingsley, from New York State--known in the minin' camps a
dozen years ago as 'Lord Tom'. He war shot in a saloon by one
called----"
"Stop!" Tusker Joe's voice rose almost to a scream. "I know--I know the
tale only too well. Believe me, mates, I would give the whole of my past
life if I could undo what I have done. The memory of those crimes
haunts me. And this is the son? I beg of him, I--I----"
"That's done with, mate," said Steve kindly. "Thar comes a day when
every man, as he looks back, sees things as he might ha' done better,
things that shame him and make him wince. Ef ye've turned, as I believe
yer have, why, then, I reckon your sorrow aer downright genuine. Yer
can't give Lord Tom's life back to his son, so we'll let the matter be a
bygone. But thar's more to tell, Tusker; more as has ter do with your
actions. Listen for a spell."
The little scout moistened his lips, and looked from Jack to the sick
man. At any other time he would have despised himself for tormenting a
poor wretch with such a tale, for torment the words he had uttered had
been to Tusker. The man's drawn face showed it. It was cruel to
persevere with the story, yet here, on this man's slender life, lay the
success or failure of Jack's existence.
"Wall, you've got ter hear it," said the little hunter, as gently as he
could, "fer Jack here ain't never done nothin' ter harm you. He's as
clean and straight and plucky a young fellow as ever I met, and ef ye're
true to yerself, Tusker, he'll be able ter go back home ter his friends,
and hold his head up before the world. Tusker, thar was a man same as
you came to a town called Hopeville, this many months back, and got a
young smith ter forge a key, stuffin' him with some simple yarn. That
young chap war Jack here. He got suspicious, and happened by chance ter
discover that the man fer whom he'd made the key were about ter attempt
a burglary with a mate. He followed them, got right inter the house,
and then war set upon by a caretaker who took him fer one of the
burglars. Jack here war floored, and then the caretaker war shot by the
burglars, who got clear away. Wall, when the officer came, the man as
war hurt declared that Jack war one of the gang, and then died right
off. Thar warn't no one to clear Jack, no one ter prove as he wasn't one
of the gang, and he war put up fer trial. He'd have had ten years'
imprisonment ef he hadn't bolted, and ef he ever goes back east he's
sure to be taken. Tusker, the man who come fer that key war you. You're
the only one as kin clear Jack and set him on his legs agin."
It was a long speech. Steve had probably never before made such a
lengthy one, and at the end he drew his hand across his forehead to wipe
the perspiration away. Jack stepped into the centre of the room, where
the light fell full upon him, while the sick man sat upright and stared
eagerly into his face. Then he fell back wearily.
"Everywhar the tale is the same," he groaned. "I have indeed done
miserably with my life. I acknowledge that I was that man. Show me how I
kin help ter right the wrong I have done."
Waiting outside were the surgeon, the sheriff and two lawyers, besides a
couple of independent witnesses, and Steve promptly ushered them in.
"He'll speak," he said. "He acknowledges all."
"Then we will get to business. See here, Tusker," said the sheriff
kindly, taking the sick man's hand, "ye've got a real good chance ter do
a good turn ter one ye've harmed. We've witnesses here. Tell us the tale
of this burglary. Describe the place, the house, the rooms you entered,
everything, in fact, that happened. Then, when the evidence is sent to
Hopeville, thar won't be a shadow of doubt but that you war the man."
It took more than an hour to take down the evidence, and true to his
word Tusker gave every detail. Sketches were drawn of the house from his
directions, the name and address of the owner of the cart he had hired
were forthcoming, while he was even able to give the name of the man who
had received the goods he had stolen.
"And now," he said, more cheerfully, as if his action had taken some of
the load from his mind, "I've heard that James Benson war the only other
man of the gang caught alive, and that, like me, he ain't much longer
fer this world. Wall, I said I'd do all I can. James war in that
burglary too. Ef you want corroboration of the evidence, see him. Tell
him I've spoken. Take his evidence separately. Thar won't, then, be a
shadow of doubt."
The other man, who alone with Tusker had lived to be captured, promptly
agreed to tell his story when he heard what his chief had done. And, as
may be imagined, the sheriff and his witnesses very carefully entered
every particular, getting the man to sign his confession just as Tusker
had done.
"That's enough to clear a judge," said the sheriff, delight in his
voice, when they had retired from the house. "Now, there's jest one more
thing as the lawyers advise, and I agree with them that it would be well
ef it war done. We'll call in two more sheriffs from the nearest
townships, read this evidence over before them, and before Tusker and
the man James, and then get them to attach their signatures and official
seals. The expense will be trifling, and I'm sure havin' everythin' so
up to date and orderly will prevent any little hitch arising. In course,
ef it war possible, I'd say: Take Tusker and the other man right east
with you to Hopeville. But that ain't ter be thought of. The journey
would kill them."
A week later our hero set out for San Francisco, Steve and one of the
lawyers accompanying him.
"It aer worth the expense," said Steve, when it was first suggested that
a lawyer should be taken. "He'll be able ter prove the papers and the
seals, and kin act as defence for yer. In course ye'll have ter
surrender ter justice, and then apply fer bail. We'll draw some of our
gains before movin'."
Two months later they arrived in Hopeville, and Jack nearly startled the
kindly James Orring out of his senses when he suddenly appeared at the
forge. James stared at him as if he were a ghost, gripped his hand, and
then, sinking his voice, and looking hastily over his shoulder, drew his
late apprentice into the back of the smithy.
"Glad, right glad to see yer, Jack," he said heartily; "but this aer
rank foolishness. Thar's never a day passes but what Simpkins the
constable gits nosing round here, as ef he expected ter suddenly find
yer. He ain't been to-day. Guess he'll be about afore very long. Wall,
what aer it? Short of money, lad?"
Jack laughed, and, dipping his hand into his pocket, pulled out a roll
of dollar bills. "Thanks, no," he said, still smiling. "I've come to
hand myself over to the constable, please. Will you send for him?"
It was a day of excitement for Hopeville, and for James and his wife in
particular. Quick as a flash the news spread that the young smith who
had made such a sensational escape from prison, and was being tried for
burglary, had suddenly returned to face the justices. The rumour brought
the pompous Simpkins bouncing along, and in a trice he had apprehended
Jack.
"At last!" he cried in triumph. "Back you come to the jail."
"Stop, constable, I am a lawyer. I hold in this bag certain evidence of
Mr. Jack Kingsley's innocence," exclaimed the lawyer, stepping forward.
"My client hands himself over to the authorities of his own free will.
We will walk to the office quietly, if you please."
The lawyer's air of authority, and Jack's obvious elation, cooled the
ardour of the constable, and, seeing that recourse to harsh measures
might lead him into trouble, he surlily agreed to accompany them to the
station. Once there, Jack was placed in the dock, for the justices
happened to be sitting; and within an hour he was set at liberty, on
bail. There is no need to describe how he was again put on his trial,
and how, within two days of its commencement, he was acquitted, and
discharged, amid the cheers of the populace. Indeed, he was become a
hero, for Steve's tongue had been wagging more than it had ever done
before. The people of Hopeville knew now that the young smith was not
only entirely innocent, but that he was a lad after the real heart of an
American, and one of whom they ought to be proud. Moreover, he was rich.
Yes, Jack was rich, and proved it; for when he set his face again for
California he left James Orring and his wife comfortably housed in a
place of their own, with a goodly sum to keep them, and a man installed
in the smithy to help with the work. His mother and other friends had
also tasted of his generosity, while the constable and he had buried the
hatchet, and were become fast friends.
Jack returned with Steve to the mine in California, and, when it was
sold, went back to New York State. But he did not idle his time away. He
set up a number of smithies throughout the country, and managed them
ably. When he was not travelling between one and another, he devoted all
his time and energies to a special hobby. Recollecting his own strange
and anxious experience, Jack studied the records of all criminal cases
where the evidence had been contradictory and there seemed a possibility
that an innocent man had been convicted. Expert lawyers and detectives
advised him, and though he was not often successful, yet it is pleasant
to have to relate that, now and again, in the course of years, he was
able to bring relief to some poor fellow. Thus did he make good use of
the gold he and Tom and the others had obtained in California. He
married in due course, and lived to a fine old age. To-day there is no
name held in higher esteem or remembered more kindly than that of Jack
Kingsley.
* * * * *
BY CAPTAIN F. S. BRERETON
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