"JUDGE LYNCH."
After drinking the coffee prepared by aunt Eunice, Poynter started
toward the door with the intention of mounting his horse and giving
information to his neighbors concerning the tragedy, but his limbs
trembled and his head reeled, forcing him to catch at the door-post in
order to keep from falling. A strange spell of weakness seized him, and
but for the strong arm of his servant, who supported him to a chair, he
would have sunk to the floor.
"Fix my bed, aunty; I guess I'll lie down for a moment. I must have
bled far more than I thought. And just at the time when I should
be most active, too!" he muttered, half uneasily, as the old woman
departed upon her errand.
In a few moments he was lying down upon the bed, and dismissed aunt
Eunice about her work. He sunk into a heavy slumber, that lasted until
four in the afternoon, when he was hastily aroused by his servant, who
appeared to be terribly alarmed at something.
"Well, what is up, Eunice? You look as though you'd seen the ghost of
your grandmother, or something as bad," he drawled, with a yawn, as he
started up in bed.
"Lord, ef _'twas_ on'y jest a ghos', 'pears like I'd be glad!" cried
the old woman, anxiously. "Bress you, honey, dar's a right smart chance
o' dem ar' critter-back fellers out yander, all a-holdin' guns an' sich
like, w'at tole me was you hyar? Den I tole _dem_, I dunno; 'spect
you done gwine away; 'cause I didn't know w'at dey wanted, an' didn't
know mebbe you'd want to hide. Den a gre't big feller, no 'count w'ite
trash, he said, 'G'long, dar, you 'sense o' midnight you, an' tell
him to show hissef, or I brow de whull top o' y'ur head offen you!'
Den I say, 'Git out, you dirty w'ite nigger'--" spluttered the woman,
when Poynter, who had pulled on his boots and coat, interrupted her by
asking:
"Armed horsemen, you say; did you know any of them?"
"'Deed I did so, honey. Dar's ol' Marse Reeves, 'n' Brooks 'nd dat ar'
Injun feller--" began Eunice.
"What! not Polk Redlaw?"
"'Deed, fo' suah, Marse Clay, honey," persisted Eunice. "I knowed de
dirty nigger, dough his face is all bloody, an' red like a b'iled beet."
Poynter did not reply, but proceeded hastily through the house and out
upon the front stoop, where his appearance was hailed with an exultant
shout from the crowd of armed men that filled the dooryard.
"There he is--arrest him! I charge him with murder!" cried out a loud
voice, a little upon one side.
"Ah! you there, mongrel cur?" scornfully cried the accused, with a look
of contempt. "I thought I had finished you for good."
"See, he acknowledges it!" foamed Polk Redlaw; "I call you all to
witness--"
"Dry up y'ur yaup," muttered one of his neighbors, giving Redlaw a
shove that nearly sent him to the ground head-foremost.
"Curse you, Jack Fyffe!" snarled Polk, leaping at the man with a
gleaming knife in his hand, "I'll cut your heart out!"
"So?" coolly exclaimed the burly fellow, dodging aside and dealing the
battered head of his assailant a deftly-planted blow that brought him
to grass. "'Pears like 's if y'ur ockyputt was a football, sorter."
"Stop your squabbling there," called out Neil McGuire, sternly. "The
first one that creates a disturbance while I lead them, will be put
under arrest. Young man," he added, turning to Poynter, who stood
calmly scrutinizing the assembly before him, as if he would read his
probable fate in their faces, "I regret it for your sake, but I must
arrest you," at the same time ascending the steps and placing his hand
upon Poynter's shoulder.
"Arrest me!" said the young man, shaking off the grasp and retreating a
step. "And for what?"
A yell went up from the crowd; among the cries were fearful
words--those of _robbery_ and _murder_!
"You hear?" significantly returned McGuire.
"I do; but even supposing those terms applied to me, what right have
_you_ to take the office of justice upon yourself?"
"What right? That of the people--of honest men! The right that
justifies a man in killing a snake, or ridding the community of a
scourge. We are _vigilantes_--did you ever hear of them before--in
Kentucky, for instance?" sternly replied Neil, with a biting sneer upon
the last question.
"Ah!"
It was only one word, but it comprised a world of bitterness--one might
almost say of anguish and despair. It seemed as if a dreadful blow had
been stricken him, and for a moment he bowed his head beneath it; but
only for a moment. Then he was as cool and as proud as before.
"Very well. I suppose I am your prisoner?"
"You are."
"Aunt Eunice, don't be alarmed, I will return soon." Then turning to
McGuire, he added, "I presume I will have a fair trial?"
"We are not murderers--only the ministers of justice," was the stern
reply.
"Then, aunty, when I send for you, come. I may need your evidence."
"'Deed, Marse Clay, honey," sobbed the old woman, pressing forward,
"I's gwine along too."
"No, you can not; at least just now. Remain here until I send." Then
to the leader of the _vigilantes_: "Well, sir, I am ready."
"Your horse?"
"Is in the stable--my bay, I mean. The other was stolen."
"Stolen?"
"I told you as much, at the meeting."
"Well; Crane, bring him out," and then McGuire drew aside with two men,
to whom he appeared giving some instructions, in a low, guarded voice.
The horse of the prisoner was brought forth, and when he had mounted,
they filed from the dooryard, and closing up around their captive rode
away, with the exception of the two men spoken to by McGuire, who soon
after entered the building.
The little cavalcade proceeded at a rapid trot toward the "Twin
Sycamores," while the curious, half-affrighted gazes that followed them
from each house as they passed, told that a rumor of their mission had
spread like wildfire. All this was not unnoticed by the prisoner, and
he drew himself erect with a prouder more haughty air, as if he would
thus repel the ignominy that rested upon him.
Poynter's mind was not idle, and he realized that his liberty, if
not life, was in jeopardy; and that, too, when freedom was most
inestimable. He did not know what charges would be brought against him;
but it was evident that the hint given by Neil McGuire regarding the
Kentucky _vigilantes_ troubled his mind not a little.
In a few minutes the party drew rein in front of the "Twin
Sycamores"--so named from the two gigantic trees of that species
growing upon either side of the door--where stood "Honest Jim." The
captain whispered a few words in his ear.
"Wal, ef you wish it; thar's nobody thar." Then, as he drew nearer
to Poynter, he added in a kind tone: "Lord love you, squar', I'm
sorry--dog-goned sorry to see you hyar. It's rough lines fer a fine
young feller like you to be 'rested on sech a charge!"
"Thank you, Henderson," cordially replied Poynter, as he clasped
the little man's hand warmly. "It is rough, especially when you are
innocent."
"Be--now don't git mad, Mr. Poynter, 'cause I mean well--_be_ you
innercent?" anxiously asked Henderson.
"Of any thing unlawful or mean, I am. But as I don't know what charges
are laid against me, I can say no more."
"They say you be one of these horse-thieves an' counterfeiters!"
whispered the landlord.
"Then they lie!" angrily replied Poynter.
"An' wuss, a heap wusser'n that. They say you _murdered_--"
"No conversing with the prisoner there, Jim Henderson," interrupted the
leader, as he emerged from the house.
"I was jest a--"
"No matter. Come. The long-room is ready, and to spare time we will try
the prisoner at once," added McGuire, as he motioned his men to enter.
The "long-room" was that in which we saw the first meeting of the
_vigilantes_, and as all entered, the door was closed and securely
bolted, thus guarding against any intrusion. The long table was pushed
along until it touched the further end of the wall, and upon this a
single chair was placed. Then a similar one was stood near the other
extremity for the prisoner's use.
"Now, gentlemen," said Neil McGuire, "we will vote for a judge to try
the case."
By universal acclamation he was elected, and at once took his seat,
when Poynter was directed to assume his position. After some few
objections by the prisoner, a jury was chosen and ranged alongside the
judge, who then spoke:
"You know the task that is before you, and the sooner it is over the
better. We will--"
"One moment, Mr. McGuire--or I presume I should say _your honor_,"
interrupted Poynter, with an ironical bow. "You call this a trial, but
is it not altogether one-sided? Here I am arrested, for what I know
not; already treated like a felon. Is _this_ your idea of justice?"
"You speak warmly, Mr. Poynter--"
"And why not? You are all leagued against me, and so far as I can
see, do not intend giving me a chance to clear myself from any charge
you may bring against me. If I am to be tried, I demand it shall be
according to law, and that I have counsel; that I am informed what
crime I am accused of, and allowed time to procure witnesses!" hotly
exclaimed the prisoner.
"You shall have full justice, but we have no need for lawyers here.
The truth alone shall acquit or condemn you. You can defend yourself,
and if any witnesses are necessary, they shall be sent for. If you are
shown to be innocent, then any reparation you demand shall be given,
but if guilty, by the God that made me, you shall swing for it, if I
have to drag the rope myself!"
"One would think I was already condemned, by the way you speak; but go
on. What are your charges?"
"Polk Redlaw!"
"Here!"
"Your turn first. Tell us your story. But briefly and to the point,"
ordered the "judge."
"Well, I heard the prisoner was suspected--"
"Never mind that now, but come to your charge first."
"Then I charge him with murdering Barton Clowry, and nearly killing
me!" snarled the witness.
"You hear, prisoner; guilty or not guilty?"
"That I killed Clowry, and tried to serve that mongrel the same, I
admit; but it was in self-defense, not _murder_," promptly replied
Poynter.
"He lies--"
"Silence! Mr. Redlaw, no abuse if you please. State your case," ordered
McGuire.
"Well, as I was saying, I, together with Barton Clowry, was ordered
to scout around the house of the prisoner, and as soon as he returned
to inform the band so that they could arrest him without his having
a chance to escape, as he would had they hunted him with the whole
league. We concealed ourselves by the side of the road, and were
talking together to pass away the time, when I heard a pistol-shot, and
Bart fell dead over into my lap.
"Before I could get up I saw the prisoner come running toward us,
and aiming at me he fired again, but missed. Then he struck me with
his revolver, knocking me back as I tried to get up; then kicked and
pounded me upon the head until he thought I was dead.
"I was only stunned, however, and when I came to, I managed to crawl
away, and finding the _vigilantes_ I told them my story. You were
notified, and going with us, you know the rest," concluded Polk; his
speech being followed by a deep, fierce murmur that told how fully his
apparently frank and truthful story had been believed.
"Mr. McGuire, and you, gentlemen," exclaimed Poynter, springing to his
feet, but as the position in which he was placed would not allow him
to stand erect, he sunk back into the chair. "Gentlemen! Every word
that mongrel has said is a base, foul lie! And if you will send for my
housekeeper, you will see that it is so.
"I was walking peaceably along the lane toward my house, when two shots
were fired at me from an ambush. See; here is the mark of one in my
hat, and if you examine my left shoulder you can see the trace left by
the other.
"Did he say any thing about shooting at me? You, Mr. McGuire, know
that I was not wounded this forenoon when I saw you. I admit shooting
Clowry, but it was in self-defense. Does it look reasonable, or even
possible, that _had_ I done as this scoundrel states, I would have
returned to the house to lie down and sleep for hours? Would I not have
mounted and fled?"
"There is reason in what you say," uttered the judge. "But you said you
had proof; did she witness the affair?"
"Yes; my negro housekeeper saw it all."
"Fox, you and Bowers go and bring her here immediately," ordered the
leader. Then turning toward Polk Redlaw, he added, slowly: "Well, you
hear what _he_ says? Mind how you reply, for it is no light thing to
wrongfully accuse a man of such a crime."
"I have told you the truth and nothing else," sullenly replied the
accuser. "He has had plenty of time to trump up a yarn and teach his
wench what to say. A white man's word ought to be good against a
nigger's, any day."
"If true, it will be."
At this point the proceedings were interrupted by the entrance of
the two messengers and aunt Eunice, whom they had met almost at the
door--she having followed her master with the best speed her unwieldy
body was capable of.
We need not follow her evidence as it is already known, and confirmed
Poynter's story. But as the prisoner glanced around the room, he
was surprised to note the still dark and vindictive faces of the
_vigilantes_, who appeared any thing but convinced. Then he spoke,
addressing the judge:
"Well, sir, what is your decision?"
"On this score you are fully acquitted; but--"
"'On _this_ charge!' Are there any more, then?"
"Two others. Passing counterfeit money, and _murder_."
"Murder!"
"_Yes; the murder of John Dement!_"