"Never," said the Tocsin on the morrow, "has this community been
stirred to deeper indignation than by the cold-blooded and unmitigated
brutality of the deliberate murder committed almost under the very
shadow of the Court-house cupola last night. The victim was not a man
of good repute, it is true, but at the moment of his death he was in
the act of performing a noble and generous action which showed that he
might have become, if he lived, a good and law-fearing citizen. In
brief, he went to forgive his enemy and was stretching forth the hand
of fellowship when that enemy shot him down. Not half an hour before
his death, Cory had repeated within the hearing of a dozen men what he
had been saying all day, as many can testify: 'I want to find my old
friend Fear and shake hands with him. I want to tell him that I
forgive him and that I am ashamed of whatever has been my part in the
trouble between us.' He went with that intention to his death. The
wife of the murderer has confessed that this was the substance of what
he said to her, and that she was convinced of his peaceful intentions.
When they reached the room where her husband was waiting for her, Cory
entered first. The woman claims now that as they neared the vicinity
he hastened forward at a pace which she could not equal. Naturally,
her testimony on all points favoring her husband is practically
worthless. She followed and heard the murdered man speak, though what
his words were she declares she does not know, and of course the
murderer, after consultation with his lawyer, claims that their nature
was threatening. Such a statement, in determining the truth, is worse
than valueless. It is known and readily proved that Fear repeatedly
threatened the deceased's life yesterday, and there is no question in
the mind of any man, woman, or child, who reads these words, of the
cold blooded nature of the crime. The slayer, who had formerly made a
murderous attack upon his victim, lately quarrelled with him and
uttered threats, as we have stated, upon his life. The dead man came
to him with protestations of friendship and was struck down a corpse.
It is understood that the defence will in desperation set up the theory
of self-defence, based on an unsubstantiated claim that Cory entered
the room with a drawn pistol. No pistol was found in the room. The
weapon with which the deed was accomplished was found upon the person
of the murderer when he was seized by the police, one chamber
discharged. Another revolver was discovered upon the person of the
woman, when she was arrested on the scene of the crime. This, upon
being strictly interrogated, she said she had picked up from the floor
in the confusion, thinking it was her husband's and hoping to conceal
it. The chambers were full and undischarged, and we have heard it
surmised that the defence means to claim that it was Cory's. Cory
doubtless went on his errand of forgiveness unarmed, and beyond doubt
the second weapon belonged to the woman herself, who has an unenviable
record.
"The point of it all is plainly this: here is an unquestionable murder
in the first degree, and the people of this city and county are
outraged and incensed that such a crime should have been committed in
their law-abiding and respectable community. With whom does the fault
lie? On whose head is this murder? Not with the authorities, for they
do not countenance crime. Has it come to the pass that, counting on
juggleries of the law, criminals believe that they may kill, maim,
burn, and slay as they list without punishment? Is this to be another
instance of the law's delays and immunity for a hideous crime,
compassed by a cunning and cynical trickster of legal technicalities?
The people of Canaan cry out for a speedy trial, speedy conviction, and
speedy punishment of this cold-blooded and murderous monster. If he is
not dealt with quickly according to his deserts, the climax is upon us
and the limit of Canaan's patience has been reached.
"One last word, and we shall be glad to have its significance noted: J.
Louden, Esq., has been retained for the defence! The murderer, before
being apprehended by the authorities, WENT STRAIGHT FROM THE SCENE OF
HIS CRIME TO PLACE HIS RETAINER IN HIS ATTORNEY'S POCKET! HOW LONG IS
THIS TO LAST?"
The Tocsin was quoted on street corners that morning, in shop and store
and office, wherever people talked of the Cory murder; and that was
everywhere, for the people of Canaan and of the country roundabout
talked of nothing else. Women chattered of it in parlor and kitchen;
men gathered in small groups on the street and shook their heads
ominously over it; farmers, meeting on the road, halted their teams and
loudly damned the little man in the Canaan jail; milkmen lingered on
back porches over their cans to agree with cooks that it was an awful
thing, and that if ever any man deserved hanging, that there Fear
deserved it--his lawyer along with him! Tipsy men hammered bars with
fists and beer-glasses, inquiring if there was no rope to be had in the
town; and Joe Louden, returning to his office from the little
restaurant where he sometimes ate his breakfast, heard hisses following
him along Main Street. A clerk, a fat-shouldered, blue-aproned,
pimple-cheeked youth, stood in the open doors of a grocery, and as he
passed, stared him in the face and said "Yah!" with supreme disgust.
Joe stopped. "Why?" he asked, mildly.
The clerk put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly in
derision. "You'd ort to be run out o' town!" he exclaimed.
"I believe," said Joe, "that we have never met before."
"Go on, you shyster!"
Joe looked at him gravely. "My dear sir," he returned, "you speak to
me with the familiarity of an old friend."
The clerk did not recover so far as to be capable of repartee until Joe
had entered his own stairway. Then, with a bitter sneer, he seized a
bad potato from an open barrel and threw it at the mongrel, who had
paused to examine the landscape. The missile failed, and
Respectability, after bestowing a slightly injured look upon the clerk,
followed his master.
In the office the red-bearded man sat waiting. Not so red-bearded as of
yore, however, was Mr. Sheehan, but grizzled and gray, and, this
morning, gray of face, too, as he sat, perspiring and anxious, wiping a
troubled brow with a black silk handkerchief.
"Here's the devil and all to pay at last, Joe," he said, uneasily, on
the other's entrance. "This is the worst I ever knew; and I hate to
say it, but I doubt yer pullin' it off."
"I've got to, Mike."
"I hope on my soul there's a chanst of it! I like the little man, Joe."
"So do I."
"I know ye do, my boy. But here's this Tocsin kickin' up the public
sentiment; and if there ever was a follerin' sheep on earth, it's that
same public sentiment!"
"If it weren't for that"--Joe flung himself heavily in a
chair--"there'd not be so much trouble. It's a clear enough case."
"But don't ye see," interrupted Sheehan, "the Tocsin's tried it and
convicted him aforehand? And that if things keep goin' the way they've
started to-day, the gran' jury's bound to indict him, and the trial
jury to convict him? They wouldn't dare not to! What's more, they'll
want to! And they'll rush the trial, summer or no summer, and--"
"I know, I know."
"I'll tell ye one thing," said the other, wiping his forehead with the
black handkerchief, "and that's this, my boy: last night's business has
just about put the cap on the Beach fer me. I'm sick of it and I'm
tired of it! I'm ready to quit, sir!"
Joe looked at him sharply. "Don't you think my old notion of what
might be done could be made to pay?"
Sheehan laughed. "Whoo! You and yer hints, Joe! How long past have
ye come around me with 'em! 'I b'lieve ye c'd make more money,
Mike'--that's the way ye'd put it,--'if ye altered the Beach a bit.
Make a little country-side restaurant of it,' ye'd say, 'and have good
cookin', and keep the boys and girls from raisin' so much hell out
there. Soon ye'd have other people comin' beside the regular crowd.
Make a little garden on the shore, and let 'em eat at tables under
trees an' grape-arbors--'"
"Well, why not?" asked Joe.
"Haven't I been tellin' ye I'm thinkin' of it? It's only yer way of
hintin' that's funny to me,--yer way of sayin' I'd make more money,
because ye're afraid of preachin' at any of us: partly because ye know
the little good it 'd be, and partly because ye have humor. Well, I'm
thinkin' ye'll git yer way. I'M willin' to go into the missionary
business with ye!"
"Mike!" said Joe, angrily, but he grew very red and failed to meet the
other's eye, "I'm not--"
"Yes, ye are!" cried Sheehan. "Yes, sir! It's a thing ye prob'ly
haven't had the nerve to say to yerself since a boy, but that's yer
notion inside: ye're little better than a missionary! It took me a
long while to understand what was drivin' ye, but I do now. And ye've
gone the right way about it, because we know ye'll stand fer us when
we're in trouble and fight fer us till we git a square deal, as ye're
goin' to fight for Happy now."
Joe looked deeply troubled. "Never mind," he said, crossly, and with
visible embarrassment. "You think you couldn't make more at the Beach
if you ran it on my plan?"
"I'm game to try," said Sheehan, slowly. "I'm too old to hold 'em down
out there the way I yoosta could, and I'm sick of it--sick of it into
the very bones of me!" He wiped his forehead. "Where's Claudine?"
"Held as a witness."
"I'm not sorry fer HER!" said the red-bearded man, emphatically.
"Women o' that kind are so light-headed it's a wonder they don't float.
Think of her pickin' up Cory's gun from the floor and hidin' it in her
clothes! Took it fer granted it was Happy's, and thought she'd help
him by hidin' it! There's a hard point fer ye, Joe: to prove the gun
belonged to Cory. There's nobody about here could swear to it. I
couldn't myself, though I forced him to stick it back in his pocket
yesterday. He was a wanderer, too; and ye'll have to send a keen one to
trace him, I'm thinkin', to find where he got it, so's ye can show it
in court."
"I'm going myself. I've found out that he came here from Denver."
"And from where before that?"
"I don't know, but I'll keep on travelling till I get what I want."
"That's right, my boy," exclaimed the other, heartily, "It may be a
long trip, but ye're all the little man has to depend on. Did ye
notice the Tocsin didn't even give him the credit fer givin' himself
up?"
"Yes," said Joe. "It's part of their game."
"Did it strike ye now," Mr. Sheehan asked, earnestly, leaning forward
in his chair,--"did it strike ye that the Tocsin was aimin' more to do
Happy harm because of you than himself?"
"Yes." Joe looked sadly out of the window. "I've thought that over,
and it seemed possible that I might do Happy more good by giving his
case to some other lawyer."
"No, sir!" exclaimed the proprietor of Beaver Beach, loudly. "They've
begun their attack; they're bound to keep it up, and they'd manage to
turn it to the discredit of both of ye. Besides, Happy wouldn't have
no other lawyer; he'd ruther be hung with you fightin' fer him than be
cleared by anybody else. I b'lieve it,--on my soul I do! But look
here," he went on, leaning still farther forward; "I want to know if it
struck ye that this morning the Tocsin attacked ye in a way that was
somehow vi'lenter than ever before?"
"Yes," replied Joe, "because it was aimed to strike where it would most
count."
"It ain't only that," said the other, excitedly. "It ain't only that!
I want ye to listen. Now see here: the Tocsin is Pike, and the town is
Pike--I mean the town ye naturally belonged to. Ain't it?"
"In a way, I suppose--yes."
"In a way!" echoed the other, scornfully. "Ye know it is! Even as a
boy Pike disliked ye and hated the kind of a boy ye was. Ye wasn't
respectable and he was! Ye wasn't rich and he was! Ye had a grin on
yer face when ye'd meet him on the street." The red-bearded man broke
off at a gesture from Joe and exclaimed sharply: "Don't deny it! _I_
know what ye was like! Ye wasn't impudent, but ye looked at him as if
ye saw through him. Now listen and I'll lead ye somewhere! Ye run
with riffraff, naggers, and even"--Mr. Sheehan lifted a forefinger
solemnly and shook it at his auditor--"and even with the Irish! Now I
ask ye this: ye've had one part of Canaan with ye from the start, MY
part, that is; but the other's against ye; that part's PIKE, and it's
the rulin' part--"
"Yes, Mike," said Joe, wearily. "In the spirit of things. I know."
"No, sir," cried the other. "That's the trouble: ye don't know.
There's more in Canaan than ye've understood. Listen to this: Why was
the Tocsin's attack harder this morning than ever before? On yer soul
didn't it sound so bitter that it sounded desprit? Now why? It looked
to me as if it had started to ruin ye, this time fer good and all! Why?
What have ye had to do with Martin Pike lately? Has the old wolf GOT
to injure ye?" Mr. Sheehan's voice rose and his eyes gleamed under
bushy brows. "Think," he finished. "What's happened lately to make
him bite so hard?"
There were some faded roses on the desk, and as Joe's haggard eyes fell
upon them the answer came. "What makes you think Judge Pike isn't
trustworthy?" he had asked Ariel, and her reply had been: "Nothing
very definite, unless it was his look when I told him that I meant to
ask you to take charge of things for me."
He got slowly and amazedly to his feet. "You've got it!" he said.
"Ye see?" cried Mike Sheehan, slapping his thigh with a big hand. "On
my soul I have the penetration! Ye don't need to tell me one thing
except this: I told ye I'd lead ye somewhere; haven't I kept me word?"
"Yes," said Joe.
"But I have the penetration!" exclaimed Mr. Sheehan. "Should I miss my
guess if I said that ye think Pike may be scared ye'll stumble on his
track in some queer performances? Should I miss it?"
"No," said Joe. "You wouldn't miss it."
"Just one thing more." The red-bearded man rose, mopping the inner
band of his straw hat. "In the matter of yer runnin' fer Mayor, now--"
Joe, who had begun to pace up and down the room, made an impatient
gesture. "Pshaw!" he interrupted; but his friend stopped him with a
hand laid on his arm.
"Don't be treatin' it as clean out of all possibility, Joe Louden. If
ye do, it shows ye haven't sense to know that nobody can say what way
the wind's blowin' week after next. All the boys want ye; Louie
Farbach wants ye, and Louie has a big say. Who is it that doesn't want
ye?"
"Canaan," said Joe.
"Hold up! It's Pike's Canaan ye mean. If ye git the nomination, ye'd
be elected, wouldn't ye?"
"I couldn't be nominated."
"I ain't claimin' ye'd git Martin Pike's vote," returned Mr. Sheehan,
sharply, "though I don't say it's impossible. Ye've got to beat him,
that's all. Ye've got to do to him what he's done to YOU, and what
he's tryin' to do now worse than ever before. Well--there may be ways
to do it; and if he tempts me enough, I may fergit my troth and honor
as a noble gentleman and help ye with a word ye'd never guess yerself."
"You've hinted at such mysteries before, Mike," Joe smiled. "I'd be
glad to know what you mean, if there's anything in them."
"It may come to that," said the other, with some embarrassment. "It
may come to that some day, if the old wolf presses me too hard in the
matter o' tryin' to git the little man across the street hanged by the
neck and yerself mobbed fer helpin' him! But to-day I'll say no more."
"Very well, Mike." Joe turned wearily to his desk. "I don't want you
to break any promises."
Mr. Sheehan had gone to the door, but he paused on the threshold, and
wiped his forehead again.
"And I don't want to break any," he said, "but if ever the time should
come when I couldn't help it"--he lowered his voice to a hoarse but
piercing whisper--"that will be the devourin' angel's day fer Martin
Pike!"