Part 26 (1/2)

Somebody, it appeared, had sinned against old Isom Chase at the end, and Joe Newbolt knew who that person was. Here he had stood before them all and lifted up a wall of stubborn silence to s.h.i.+eld the guilty head, and there was no doubt that it was his own.

That also was the opinion of the coroner's jury, which walked out from its deliberations in the kitchen in a little while and gave as its verdict that Isom Chase had come to his death by a gunshot wound, inflicted at the hands of Joseph Newbolt. The jury recommended that the accused be held to the grand jury, for indictment or dismissal.

Mrs. Newbolt did not understand fully what was going forward, but she gathered that the verdict of the neighbors was unfriendly to Joe. She sat looking from the coroner to Joe, from Joe to the jurors, lined up with backs against the wall, as solemn and nervous as if waiting for a firing squad to appear and take aim at their patriotic b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She stood up in her bewilderment, and looked with puzzled, dazed expression around the room.

”Joe didn't do it, if that's what you mean,” said she.

”Madam--” began the coroner severely.

”Yes, you little whiffet,” she burst out sharply, ”you're the one that put 'em up to do it! Joe didn't do it, I tell you, and you men know that as well as I do. Every one of you has knowed him all his life!”

”Madam, I must ask you not to interrupt the proceedings,” said the coroner.

”Order in the court!” commanded the constable in his deepest official voice.

”Oh, shut your fool mouth, Bill Frost!” said Mrs. Newbolt scornfully.

”Never mind, Mother,” counseled Joe. ”I'll be all right. They have to do what they're doing, I suppose.”

”Yes, they're doin' what that little snip-snapper with them colored whiskers tells 'em to do!” said she.

Solemn as the occasion was, a grin went round at the bald reference to a plainer fact. Even the dullest there had seen the grayish-red at the roots of the coroner's beard. The coroner grew very red of face, and gave some orders to his stenographer, who wrote them down. He thanked the jurors and dismissed them. Bill Frost began to prepare for the journey to Shelbyville to turn Joe over to the sheriff.

The first, and most important, thing in the list of preliminaries for the journey, was the proper adjustment of Bill's mustache. Bill roached it up with a turn of the forefinger, using the back of it, which was rough, like a corn-cob. When he had got the ends elevated at a valiant angle, his hat firmly settled upon his head, and his suspenders tightened two inches, he touched Joe's shoulder.

”Come on!” he ordered as gruffly and formally as he could draw his edged voice.

Joe stood, and Bill put his hand on his arm to pilot him, in all officiousness, out of the room. Mrs. Newbolt stepped in front of them as they approached.

”Joe!” she cried appealingly.

”That's all right, Mother,” he comforted her, ”everything will be cleared up and settled in a day or two. You go on home now, Mother, and look after things till I come.”

”Step out of the way, step out of the way!” said Bill with spreading impatience.

Mrs. Newbolt looked at the bl.u.s.tering official pityingly.

”Bill Frost, you ain't got as much sense as you was born with!” said she. She patted Joe's shoulder, which was as near an approach to tenderness as he ever remembered her to make.

Constable Frost fell into consultation with his adjutant, Sol Greening, as soon as he cleared the room with the prisoner. They discussed gravely in the prisoner's hearing, for Bill kept his hand on Joe's arm all the time, the advisability of tying him securely with a rope before starting on the journey to jail.

Joe grew indignant over this base proposal. He declared that if Bill was afraid of him he would go alone to the county-seat and give himself up to the sheriff if they would set him free. Bill was a little a.s.sured by his prisoner's evident sincerity.

Another consultation brought them to the agreement that the best they could do, in the absence of handcuffs, was to hitch up to Isom's buggy and make the prisoner drive. With hands employed on the lines, he could be watched narrowly by Bill who was to take Sol's old navy six along in his mighty hand.

Mrs. Newbolt viewed the officious constable's preparations for the journey with many expressions of anger and disdain.

”Just look at that old fool, Bill Frost, with that revolver!” said she, turning to the neighbors, who stood silently watching. ”Just as if Joe would hurt anybody, or try to run away!”