Part 22 (2/2)

”He has spells of violence?”

”Sh.o.r.e. You know that. You seen how he fit that Injun--”

”Oh, keep him to the line,” protested the prosecutor.

”We won't take up that just now, Curly,” said Franklin.

”Well, this here sh.o.r.ely is the funniest layout I ever did see,” said Curly, somewhat injured. ”A feller can't say a d----d thing but only jest what you all want him to say. Now, say--”

”Yes, but--” began Franklin, fearing that he might meet trouble with this witness even as the prosecutor had, and seeing the latter smiling behind his hand in recognition of this fact.

”Now, say,” insisted Curly, ”if you want something they ain't none o'

you said a word about yet, I'll tell you something. You see, Juan, he had a sister, and this here Cal Greathouse, he--”

”I object, yo' Honah! I object!” cried the State's attorney, springing to his feet. ”This is bringin' the dignity o' the law into ridicule, sah! into ridicule! I object!”

”Er, ah-h-h!” yawned the judge, suddenly sitting up, ”'Journ court, Mr.

Clerk! We will set to-morrow mornin' at the same place, at nine o'clock.--Mr. Sheriff, take charge of the prisoner.--Where is the sheriff, Mr. Clerk?”

”Please the Court,” said the prosecuting attorney, ”Sheriff Watson is not here to-day. He is lyin' sick out to his ranch. He was injured, yo' Honah, in arrestin' Ike Anderson, and he has not yet recovered.”

”Well, who is in charge of this prisoner?” said the Court. ”There ought to be some one to take care of him.”

”I reckon I am, Judge,” said Curly. ”He is sort o' stayin' with me while Bill's under the weather.”

”Well, take him in charge, some one, and have him here in the morning.”

”All right, judge,” said Curly quietly, ”I'll take care of him.”

He beckoned to Juan, and the giant rose and followed after him, still smiling and pleased at what to him also was a novel show.

It was three o'clock of the afternoon. The thirst of a district Judge had adjourned the district court. Franklin's heart sank. He dreaded the night. The real court, as he admitted to himself, would continue its session that night at the Cottage bar, and perhaps it might not adjourn until a verdict had been rendered.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE VERDICT

There came over the town of Ellisville that night an ominous quiet.

But few men appeared on the streets. n.o.body talked, or if any one did there was one subject to which no reference was made. A hush had fallen upon all. The sky, dotted with a million blazing stars, looked icy and apart. A glory of moonlight flooded the streets, yet never was moon more cold.

Franklin finished his dinner and sat down alone for a time in the great barren office of the depot hotel where he made his home. The excitement of the trial, suspended at its height, was now followed by reaction, a despondency which it was hard to shake off. Was this, then, the land of his choice? he thought. And what, then, was this human nature of which men sung and wrote? He shook himself together with difficulty.

He went to his room and buckled on his revolver, smiling grimly as he did so at the thought of how intimately all law is related to violence, and how relative to its environment is all law. He went to Battersleigh's room and knocked, entering at the loud invitation of that friend.

”Shure, Ned, me boy,” said Battersleigh, ”ye've yer side arms on this evenin'. Ye give up the profission of arms with reluctance. Tell me, Ned, what's the campaign fer the evenin'?”

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