Part 49 (1/2)
The prosecutor, all on fire from his smothered attempt to uncover the information which he believed himself so nearly in possession of, started to say something, and Hammer got the first syllable of his objection out of his mouth, when the judge waved both of them down. He turned in his chair to Joe, who was waiting calmly now the next event.
Judge Maxwell addressed him again. He pointed out to Joe that, since he had taken the witness-stand, he had thus professed his willingness to lay bare all his knowledge of the tragedy, and that his reservation was an indication of insincerity. The one way in which he could have withheld information not of a self-incriminating nature, was for him to have kept off the stand. He showed Joe that one could not come forward under such circ.u.mstances and tell one side of a story, or a part of it, confessing at the same time that certain pertinent information was reserved.
”No matter who it hurts, it is your duty now to reveal the cause of your quarrel between yourself and Isom Chase that night, and to repeat, to the best of your recollection, the words which pa.s.sed between you.”
He explained that, unless Joe should answer the question, it was the one duty of the court to halt the trial there and send him to jail in contempt, and hold him there, his case undecided, until he would answer the question asked.
Joe bowed respectfully when the judge concluded, conveying in that manner that he understood.
”If anything could be gained by it, sir, by anybody--except myself, perhaps--or if it would bring Isom back to life, or make anybody happier, I wouldn't refuse a minute, sir,” said Joe. ”What Mr. Lucas asks me to tell I've refused to tell before. I've refused to tell it for my own mother and Mr. Hammer and--others. I respect the law and this court, sir, as much as any man in this room, and it pains me to stand in this position before you, sir.
”But I can't talk about that. It wouldn't change what I've told about the way Isom was killed. What I've told you is the truth. What pa.s.sed between Isom and me before he took hold of the gun isn't mine to tell.
That's all there is to be said, Judge Maxwell, sir.”
”You must answer the prosecuting attorney's question,” said Judge Maxwell sternly. ”No matter what motive of honor or fealty to the dead, or thought of sparing the living, may lie behind your concealment of these facts, the law does not, cannot, take it into account. Your duty now is to reply to all questions asked, and you will be given another opportunity to do so. Proceed, Mr. Prosecutor.”
Hammer had given it up. He sat like a man collapsed, bending over his papers on the table, trying to make a front in his defeat before the public. The prosecuting attorney resumed the charge, framing his attack in quick lunges. He was in a clinch, using the short-arm jab.
”After Isom Chase came into the room you had words?”
”We had some words,” replied Joe slowly, weary that this thing should have to be gone over again.
”Were they loud and boisterous words, or were they low and subdued?”
”Well, Isom talked pretty loud when he was mad,” said Joe.
”Loud enough for anybody upstairs to hear--loud enough to wake anybody asleep up there?”
”I don't know,” said Joe coldly, resentful of this flanking subterfuge.
He must go through that turmoil of strain and suffering again, all because Morgan, the author of this evil thing, had lacked the manhood to come forward and admit his misdeeds.
The thoughts will travel many a thousand miles while the tongue covers an inch; even while Joe answered he was thinking of this. More crowded upon him as he waited the prosecutor's next question. Why should he suffer all that public misjudgment and humiliation, all that pain and twisting of the conscience on Morgan's account? What would it avail in the end? Perhaps Ollie would prove unworthy his sacrifice for her, as she already had proved ungrateful. Even then the echo of her testimony against him was in his ears.
Why should he hold out faithfully for her, in the hope that Morgan would come--vain hope, fruitless dream! Morgan would not come. He was safe, far away from there, having his laugh over the muddle that he had made of their lives.
”I will ask you again--what were the words that pa.s.sed between you and Isom Chase that night?”
Joe heard the question dimly. His mind was on Morgan and the white road of the moonlit night when he drove away. No, Morgan would not come.
”Will you answer my question?” demanded the prosecutor.
Joe turned to him with a start. ”Sir?” said he.
The prosecutor repeated it, and stood leaning forward for the answer, his hands on the table. Joe bent his head as if thinking it over.
And there lay the white road in the moonlight, and the click of buggy wheels over gravel was in his ears, as he knew it must have sounded when Morgan drove away, easy in his loose conscience, after his loose way.
Why should he sacrifice the promise of his young life by meekly allowing them to fasten the shadow of this dread tragedy upon him, for which Morgan alone was to blame?
It was unfair--it was cruelly unjust! The thought of it was stifling the breath in his nostrils, it was pressing the blood out of his heart! They were waiting for the answer, and why should he not speak? What profit was there in silence when it would be so unjustly interpreted?