Part 39 (1/2)

”What for?” sez I. ”Ya never can tell how a trial will turn out; but we know 'at they have forfeited the right to live; so we'll just give 'em what they've earned and save all fuss.”

”No good ever comes of men taking the law into their own hands,” sez the Friar firmly.

”How come, then, that you didn't run an' tell some justice o' the peace, 'at these two snakes was actin' disrespectful-instead of knockin' 'em up again' the logs?” sez I.

”I should have done so if I had had time,” sez the Friar with dignity.

”Well, you're better trained 'n we are,” sez I; ”but it still takes a little time for you to make your hands mind your self-control, after you've been het up. You can do it in ten minutes, say; but it takes us about a week, and by that time the' won't be any need for the law.”

”No,” sez the Friar, ”I insist that we rely upon the law. We count ourselves as of the better element; and the most vicious conditions arise when the better element takes the law into its own hands. When a vicious man does illegal violence, it does not establish a precedent; but when the decent man does the same thing, it tears away forms of civilization which have taken centuries to construct.”

”That sounds like sense,” sez I; ”and after this is all over, I don't mind arguin' it out with you; but right now, it would seem to me that if we went to law about this, it would be because we wanted to shoulder onto the law the responsibility of doin' what we feel ought to be done, but which we haven't the nerve to do ourselves.”

”If you attempt to lynch these men, I shall ride at once and give the alarm,” sez the Friar.

”And when you came back, you would find 'em swingin' from a limb,” sez I. ”I'm with you in most things, Friar, and if the' was a shred o'

doubt, I'd be with you in this; but it's too plain a case. I'm willin'

to hold these two in secret until we can collect a posse o' twelve to give 'em a jury trial; but this is the most I'll do. Ty Jones has got others of his gang away from the law, but he don't get these two-not if I can help it.”

Horace sided with me, and so did The, though he didn't have much to say. He was thinkin' of his own trip to pester Olaf, and it came back to him purty strong. The Friar finally had to agree not to notify the law until I'd had time to gather up a posse. I made Horace promise not to tell the Friar about our seein' the woman back at Ty's, saw that the Greasers were planted safe in Olaf's log barn, and set out at once for the Diamond Dot on a fresh hoss. I never want to eat none before startin' a ride like this.

I rode all that night through the moonlight; swingin' up over the pa.s.ses, fordin' the rivers, and reachin' the Diamond Dot at noon the next day. I didn't let on to Jabez 'at I was there at all; but I got Spider Kelley, ol' Tank Williams, Tillte Dutch, and Mexican Slim to take a vacation and come on back with me. This gave five for the jury, as I didn't intend to have Horace or The sit on it, not knowin' how far their prejudice might prevent 'em from executin' my idee of justice. We set out to return, about five o'clock, and rode into the Spread at seven the next mornin' with eight other fellers we had brought along for good measure.

Old Jimmy Simpson and his four grown sons were in this bunch, and I was purty well acquainted with 'em. I knew 'at they had been amply pestered by Ty Jones's outfit, and wouldn't be too particular about what book-law might have to say on the subject, though ol' man Simpson was up on book-law. The other three were fellers they knew and were willin' to guarantee. We were all a little sleepy, so we decided to hold the trial after dinner.

The Friar had spent as much time with the Greasers as they'd stand for; but he hadn't made much impression on 'em. I knew 'at he was heart-whole in his att.i.tude, an' I hated to cross him; but this was a case o' principle with me, so when we got ready for the trial, I tried to get him to take a long walk, but he refused.

We held the trial in front o' the barn, and it was as legal as any trial ever was, and as solemn, too. We untied the prisoners, and called Kit for the first witness. She told it just as she had told it to us, but her bruised face would have been all that was necessary.

Then we called the Friar and he told his part, and we let him make a speech in favor o' law and order; and cheered him hearty, too, when he got through.

I had just begun to give my part, when Olaf and Oscar rode up. Olaf sat on his hoss and looked at us a moment, at Kit with her bruised face, holdin' the boy in her arms, at the prisoners and us; and then he asked the Friar what it all meant. The Friar was sunonomous with truth, as far as Olaf was concerned.

Olaf listened quietly, the dark red risin' in his cheeks bein' about the only change in him. When the Friar finished, Olaf got off his hoss. ”The' won't be need of any more trial,” sez he. ”Kit, you go to the house.”

Kit started for the house, and the Friar asked Olaf what he intended to do.

”Kill 'em,” sez Olaf, ”with my two hands.”

He unbuckled his belt and threw it on the ground, then kicked off his chaps, and stepped through the ring we had formed. ”Stop,” said the Friar. ”Olaf, I forbid this.”

”You had better go to the house, Friar,” said Olaf with pleadin' in his voice. ”Go in-please go in-an' comfort Kit.”

The Friar made a rush, but we fended him off. The Greasers also tried to make a get-away; and between the three of 'em we were some busy; but it didn't last long. When the Greasers saw they couldn't break our ring, they turned on Olaf like cornered rats. They struck him and they choked him; but not once did he speak, and whenever his grip closed on their flesh, he ruined that part forever. It was a horrid sight; but I couldn't have turned my eyes away if I'd wanted to. In the end he broke their necks, one after the other, and then he stood up straight and wiped his forehead. ”I take the blame,” said he. ”I take all the blame, here and hereafter”; which certainly was a square thing to do, though we hadn't counted on it, any.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE FRIAR GOES ALONE

The Friar had been in earnest tryin' to get to Olaf; so 'at the four Simpson boys had finally been forced to throw, an' sit on him. As soon as it was over, they got up and apologized, offerin' to let him take out any spite on 'em he saw fit, and promisin' not to feel any ill-will; but the Friar wasn't angry. He was hurt and sad to think 'at we'd do such a thing; but he had no resentment towards us.

”I know most of you men well,” said he; ”and I know you have done this because you felt it was right. I don't put you on one side and myself on the other. I take my full share o' the blame. It merely proves that my influence with you during the many years we have been together has not been for the best, and I am very sorry to learn how poor my work has been.”