The Texican

"I offer the following animal in evidence," said the district attorney, beckoning toward the side door. "Bring in the exhibit!" And as Bill Todhunter appeared, sheepishly leading the spotted calf, which had been boarded all summer in town, he threw out his hand dramatically and hissed:

"Do you identify this animal? Is that the calf?"

"I do!" responded Crit. "It is the same animal!"

"That's all!" announced Kilkenny, and with a grin of triumph he summoned the hawk-eyed jurymen to inspect the brand. There it was, written on the spotted side of the calf, in ineffaceable lines – the plain record of Pecos Dalhart's crime, burned with his own hands. Across the older scar of Isaac Crittenden's brand there ran a fresh-burnt bar, and below the barred Spectacle was a Monkey-wrench, seared in the tender hide. To a health-seeker or a mining man the significance of those marks might be hidden, but the twelve cowmen on the jury read it like a book. Only one thing gave them a passing uneasiness – Crit's Spectacle brand was very evidently devised to burn over Pecos Dalhart's Monkey-wrench, but that was beside the point. They were there to decide whether Pecos Dalhart had stolen that particular spotted calf, and the markings said that he did. By that broad bar which ran through the pair of Spectacles he deprived Isaac Crittenden of its ownership, and by the Monkey-wrench burned below he took it for his own. All right then, – they retired to their seats and Angevine Thorne took the witness.

They faced each other for a minute – the man who had committed a crime and covered it, and the man who had sworn to expose his guilt – and began their fencing warily.

"Mr. Crittenden," purred Angy, "you are in the cattle business, are you not? Yes, indeed; and about how many cattle have you running on your range?"

"I don't know!" answered Crittenden gruffly.

"At the last time you paid your taxes you were assessed for about ten thousand, were you not? Quite correct; I have the statement of the assessor here to verify it. Now, Mr. Crittenden, kindly tell the jury what per cent of those cattle are calves?"

"I don't know," replied Crit.

"No?" said Angy, with assumed surprise. "Well then, I hope the court will excuse me for presuming to tell a cowman about cows but the percentage of calves on an ordinary range is between fifty and sixty per cent. So, according to that you have on your range between five and six thousand calves, have you not? Very good. And now, Mr. Crittenden, speaking roughly, about how many of your cattle are solid color?"

"I don't know!" scowled Crit.

"You don't know," repeated Angy gravely. "Very good. I wish the court to note that Mr. Crittenden is a very poor observer. Now, Mr. Crittenden, you have stated that you do not know how many cattle you have; nor how many of said cattle are calves; nor how many of said calves are solid color or spotted. Will you kindly inform the court, then, how you know that the calf which has been produced in evidence is yours?"

"Well – " said Crittenden, and then he stopped. The one thing which he was afraid of in this trial was about to happen – Angy was going to corner him on the maternity of the calf, and that would make him out a cow-thief. The district attorney scowled at him to go ahead and then, in order to cover up the failure, he leapt to his feet and cried:

"Your Honor, I object to the line of questioning on the ground that it is irrelevant, incompetent, and immaterial!"

"If the court please," spoke up Angevine Thorne, "the witness has positively identified the calf in question as his own, although it is a matter of record that he possesses four or five thousand calves, all of which have been born within the past year and over half of which are spotted. It is the purpose of the defence to prove that this calf does not belong to the witness; that it was the property of Pecos Dalhart at the time the alleged crime was committed, and that it had been previously stolen by Isaac Crittenden!"

As he shouted these words Angy pointed an accusing finger at Old Crit, who started back like a man who had been struck, and while the clamor of deputies and bailiffs filled the court-room they stood there like the figures in a tableau, glaring at each other with inextinguishable hatred.

"Order in the court! Order in the court!" cried the bailiffs, beating back the crowd, and when the assembly had been quieted the judge motioned to Angy to proceed.

"Objection is overruled," he said, and bent his dark brows upon Isaac Crittenden. "Let the witness answer the question."

"Well, the calf had my brand on it," responded Crittenden defiantly, and then, egged on by Angy's sarcastic smile, he went a step too far. "Yes, and I know him, too!" he blurted out. "I'd know that calf among a thousand, by them spots across his face."

"Oh, you would, would you?" spoke up Angy quickly. "You have a distinct recollection of the animal on account of its peculiar markings then; is that right? Very good. When did you put your brand on that calf, Mr. Crittenden?"

"Last Spring," replied Crittenden grudgingly.

"You know the law regarding the branding of calves," prompted Angy. "Was the calf with its mother at the time?"

"It was!"

"And did she bear the same brand that you burned upon her calf?"

"She did!"

"Any other brands?"

"Nope!"

"Raised her yourself, did you?"

"Yes!" shouted Crittenden angrily.

"That's all!" said Angy briefly, and Isaac Crittenden sank back into his chair, dazed at the very unexpectedness of his escape. It was a perilous line of questioning that his former roustabout had taken up, leading close to the stealing of Upton's cattle and the seizing of Pecos Dalhart's herd, but at the very moment when he might have sprung the mine Angy had withheld his hand. The gaunt cowman tottered to his seat in a smother of perspiration, and Shepherd Kilkenny, after a moment's consideration, decided to make his hand good by calling a host of witnesses.

They came into court, one after the other, the hard-faced gun-men that Crittenden kept about his place, and with the unblinking assurance of men who gamble even with life itself they swore to the stereotyped facts, while Angy said never a word.

"The People rest!" announced the district attorney at last, and lay back smiling in his chair to see what his opponent would spring.

"Your Honor and gentlemen of the jury," began Angevine Thorne, speaking with the easy confidence of a barrister, "the prosecution has gone to great lengths to prove that Pecos Dalhart branded this calf. The defence freely admits that act, but denies all felonious intent. We will show you, gentlemen of the jury, that at the time he branded the animal it was by law and right his own, and that during his absence it had been feloniously and unlawfully branded into the Spectacle brand by the complaining witness, Isaac Crittenden. Mr. Dalhart, will you please take the stand!"

Awkward and shamefaced in the presence of the multitude and painfully conscious of his jail clothes, Pecos mounted to the stand and turned to face his inquisitor. They had rehearsed the scene before – for Babe Thorne was not altogether ignorant of a lawyer's wiles – and his examination went off as smoothly as Kilkenny's examination of Crit, down to the point where Pecos was rudely pounced upon and roped while he was branding his spotted calf. Then it was that Angevine Thorne's voice began to ring like a trumpet, and as he came to the crucial question the audience stood motionless to listen.

"Now, Mr. Dalhart," he clarioned, "you say that you purposely barred the Spectacle brand upon this calf and burned your own brand, which was a Monkey-wrench, below it? What was your reason for that act?"

"My reason was that the calf was mine!" cried Pecos, rising angrily to his feet. "When I first come to Verde Crossing I bought an old spotted cow and her calf from José Garcia and branded them with a Monkey-wrench on the ribs – I kept her around my camp for a milk cow. That first calf growed up and she was jest comin' in with another one when I went to New Mexico last Fall. Well, when I came back last Spring I hadn't got into town yet when I come across my old milk cow with her ears all chopped up and her brand burned over and this little calf, lookin' jest like her, with a Spectacle brand burned on his ribs. That made me mad and I was jest ventin' the calf back to a Monkey-wrench when Crittenden and his cowboys jumped in and roped me!"

"You say that you bought the mother of this calf from José Garcia?"

"Yes, sir! I paid him twenty-five dollars for the cow and five dollars for the first calf."

"What were the brand and markings of this cow at the time you bought her?"

"She had a Mexican brand, like an Injun arrer struck by lightning, on her left hip, a big window or ventano in the left ear, and a slash and underbit in the right. Garcia vented his brand on her shoulder and I run a Monkey-wrench – that's my regular, registered brand – on her ribs, but I never changed her ear marks because I kept her for a milk cow anyway."

"Your Honor," interposed Kilkenny, rising with a bored air to his feet, "I object to this testimony on the ground that it is irrelevant, incompetent, and immaterial. I fail to see the relation of this hypothetical milk cow to the question before the court."

"The cow in question was the mother of the calf which my client is accused of stealing!" cried Angy, panting with excitement as he saw the moment of his triumph approaching. "She was sold to the defendant and he had a legal right to her offspring. Can a man steal his own property, Your Honor? Most assuredly not! I wish to produce that cow in evidence and I will bring competent witnesses to prove that she belongs by rights to Pecos Dalhart. Bring in the exhibit, Mr. Todhunter!"

He waved his hand toward the side door and as Kilkenny saw the coup which had been sprung on him he burst into a storm of protest. "I object, Your Honor!" he shouted, "I object!"

"Objection overruled!" pronounced the judge. "Let the cow be brought in as quickly as possible and after the examination of the exhibit we will proceed at once to the argument."

He paused, and as the crowd that blocked the side door gave way before the bailiffs, Old Funny-face was dragged unwillingly into court and led to the sand boat to join her calf. At the first sight of her dun-colored face and spotted neck every man in the jury-box looked at his neighbor knowingly. They were cowmen, every one of them used to picking out mothers by hair-marks in the corral cut, and Old Funny-face was a dead ringer for her calf. Even to the red blotch across his dun face the calf was the same, and when Funny-face indignantly repulsed its advances they were not deceived, for a cow soon forgets her offspring, once it is taken away. But most of all their trained eyes dwelt upon the mangled ears, the deep swallow fork in the left and the short crop in the right, and the record of the brands on her side. There was the broken arrow, just as Pecos had described it, and the vent mark on the shoulder. It would take some pretty stiff swearing to make them believe that that Spectacle brand on her ribs had not been burnt over a Monkey-wrench. It was Angy's inning now, and with a flourish he called Pecos to the stand and had him identify his cow; but when he called José Garcia, and José, gazing trustfully into Angy's eyes, testified that she was his old milk cow and he had, sin duda, sold her to Pecos Dalhart for twenty-five dollars, the self-composed Kilkenny began to rave with questions, while Crittenden broke into a cold sweat. Not only was the case going against him, but it threatened to leave him in the toils. It was too late to stop Garcia now – he had said his say and gone into a sullen silence – there was nothing for it but to swear, and swear hard. Kilkenny was on his toes, swinging his clenched fist into the hollow of his hand and raging at the witness, when Crittenden suddenly dragged him down by the coat-tails and began to whisper into his ear. Instantly the district attorney was all attention; he asked a question, and then another; nodded, and addressed the court.

"Your Honor," he said, "I will excuse the witness and ask to call others in rebuttal. Will you take the chair, Mr. Crittenden!"

Old Crit advanced to the stand and faced the court-room, a savage gleam in his eye.

"Do you recognize this cow, Mr. Crittenden?" inquired Kilkenny mildly.

"Yes, sir, I know her well. She's an old gentle cow that's been hangin' around my corral for years. I took her from Joe Garcia, last Spring, for some money he was owin' me."

"What?" yelled Angy, springing up from his chair, "do you mean to say – "

"I object, Your Honor!" clamored Kilkenny desperately. "I object! The witness is mine!"

"The People's witness," ruled the judge; "let the examination proceed."

"Is this cow the mother of the calf in question – do you identify her as the mother of this calf?"

"I do!" repeated Crittenden solemnly. "And you can summon any of my cowboys – they'll swear to her."

"Take the witness!" said Kilkenny, leering at Angevine Thorne, and in spite of all Angy could do Crit stuck to his story, word for word. One after the other his cowboys took the chair, glanced at their boss, and identified the cow and calf. Kilkenny had won, and before Babe Thorne could collect his wits he plunged into his closing argument.

"Gentlemen of the jury," he cried, "the people of Geronimo County are looking to you to-day to vindicate justice in the courts. It is the shame of Geronimo County – spoken against her by all the world – that not a single cattle-thief has ever been convicted in her courts. Men have been tried; their guilt has been demonstrated to a moral certainty; but the evidence has been insufficient, and they have escaped. Gentlemen of the jury, a year and a half ago the defendant in this case came to Geronimo County without a cent; he went to work for Mr. Crittenden, who kindly took him in; but within a few months, gentlemen of the jury, Pecos Dalhart left the service of his benefactor and moved to Lost Dog Cañon. Six months later, gentlemen, when the sheriff at the risk of his life rode into his guilty hiding-place, Mr. Dalhart had two hundred head of cattle shut up in a secret pasture! Two—hundred—head, gentlemen; and he defied the sheriff of this county to even collect the taxes upon those cattle! Gentlemen of the jury, I ask you, Where did this man get those two hundred head of cattle? Did he bring them with him? No, for the evidence shows that he rode in alone. Did he buy them? No, for he had no money. Gentlemen of the jury, that man who sits before you stole those cattle, and he does not dare to deny it!"

He paused and looked about the court-room, and a great hush came upon the entire assembly. Every man in the crowded standing room stood silent and the surge of those without the doorway died down in a tremor of craning heads. Kilkenny had won – but he had not finished. Point by point he went over the chain of his evidence, testing every link to prove that it was true, and then in a final outburst of frenzy he drove the last point home.

"Gentlemen of the jury," he said, in closing, "the defendant stands before you, convicted by his own words. He acknowledges that he branded the calf; he acknowledges that he set at defiance all law and justice and robbed the man who had befriended him – and what is his defence? That Isaac Crittenden had robbed him of his cow! Isaac Crittenden, who has cattle on a thousand hills! A man known, and favorably known, in this community for twenty years! Gentlemen, I ask of you, whose word will you take in this matter? The word of this self-confessed cattle-rustler and his Mexican consort or the word of Isaac Crittenden of Verde Crossing? Gentlemen of the jury, it has been the shame of Geronimo County for many years that this practice of rustling cattle has never received its fitting rebuke. It has been the shame of Arizona that the rights of the cattle men, the men who dared the Indians and braved the desert and made this country what it is, have never been protected. You have seen what this negligence has brought to our near neighbor, Tonto County – a cattle war in which over fifty men have given up their lives; a beautiful cattle country, devastated of all its flocks and herds. It has brought death, gentlemen, and destruction of property, and —bankruptcy! Gentlemen, I ask you for a verdict of 'Guilty'!"

He sat down, and Angevine Thorne rose to his feet, bewildered. The speech which he had prepared to save his friend was forgotten; the appeals which he could have made were dead. He gazed about the court and read in every eye the word that was still ringing in his ears: "Guilty!" And yet he knew that Pecos was not guilty. Cattle he had stolen, yes – but not the cattle in court. They, of all the animals he had owned, had been honestly acquired; but Old Crit had sworn him into prison. It was right, perhaps, but it was not Law – and it was the law that held him. As he looked at the forbidding faces before him, each one hard and set by the false words of Crit and Shepherd Kilkenny, the monstrous injustice of the thing rushed over him and he opened his lips to speak. It was a conspiracy – a hellish combination of lawyers and the men they served, to beat the poor man down. The old rage for the revolution, the rage which he had put so resolutely from his heart, rushed back and choked him; he scowled at the sneering district attorney and Old Crit, humped over in his chair; and turned to the glowering audience, searching with the orator's instinct for a single friendly face. But there was none; every man was against him – every one! He raised his hand to heaven – and stopped. There was a struggle in the doorway – a bailiff, tall and burly, was thrusting back a young girl who struggled to get free – and then like a flash of light Babe Thorne saw her face, the wild-eyed, piteous face of Marcelina!

"Here!" he commanded, leaping upon a chair and pointing with an imperious hand. "Let that girl in! Your Honor, I demand that that girl be let in! This trial is her trial, Your Honor – she is Marcelina Garcia, my friend's affianced bride!" In that single moment he saw it – the last desperate chance to save his friend – a sentimental appeal to the jury! How many men have been saved from prison and gallows and the just punishment of their crimes by such a ruse! Given the aged mother, the despairing wife, the sweetheart, clinging to his hand, and all the thunderings of Jove will fail of conviction. The law and the evidence are nothing; Reason is dethroned and Justice tips her scales to send the prisoner free. With a surly frown the bailiff let go his hold and like a hunted creature that flees from the memory of her pursuers Marcelina ran panting down the aisle and threw herself at the feet of the just judge.

"Oh, Meester," she cried, holding up her hands, "do not send Paycos to preeson! Look, here are the ears of Old Funny-face, his cow, what Ol' Creet stole while he was gone! Paycos did not steal the cow – no, no! He buy heem from my papa, and this is mi padre's mark!" She unwound the blue silk handkerchief that encased them and thrust into the hands of the astounded judge —two ears! With eager glances she held them up – the keys which Old Crit had cut from Funny-face's ears on the day that he stole Pecos's herd – and thrust her brown finger through the Mexican ventano. Then, impatient of her English, she snatched them back and, scampering back to where Old Funny-face still stood on the sand boat, she fitted the crop and swallow-fork back into the mangled ears.

"Look! Look!" she cried, "these are the dried-up ears what Ol' Creet cut from my Paycos's cow, that day when he stole his cattle. My leetle brothers bring them from the corral to play with and I hide them, to show to Paycos. Meester, he is bad man, that Creet! He – he – "

She faltered and started back. There before her, humped over in his chair, sat Isaac Crittenden, and his one eye covered her like the evil glare of a rattlesnake.

"Santa Maria!" she gasped. "Madre de Dios! Creet!" And with a scared sob she turned and ran to Babe. It was an affecting scene, but Babe did not overdo it.

"Your Honor," he said, speaking over her bowed head with portentous calm, "I wish to offer these two ears in evidence as an exhibit in this case. One of them, you will notice, is cut in a swallow-fork and exhibits, above, the ventano which defendant testified belonged to the mother of this calf; the other is cropped short and exhibits the slash and Mexican anzuelo; both of them show the peculiar red and white spots which gave to the cow in question the name of Funny-face. After the jury has inspected the exhibit I will ask that Marcelina Garcia be sworn."

It was not a long speech and had nothing of dramatic appeal; and yet as it came out, this was Angevine Thorne's closing speech. When he saw how the pendulum had swung, Shepherd Kilkenny, the fighting district attorney, went into a black, frowning silence and refused to speak to Old Crit; but as the judge began his instructions to the jury he suddenly roused up and beckoned to Boone Morgan. They whispered together while the law was being read and then the sheriff went over and spoke a few words to Pecos Dalhart.

"Sure!" nodded Pecos, and at the signal Shepherd Kilkenny rose quickly to his feet.

"Your Honor," he said, bowing apologetically to the judge, "in consideration of the evidence which has just been introduced I wish to withdraw my former request to the jury, and I now ask for a verdict of 'Not guilty.'" He sat down, and a hum went up from the crowded court-room like the zooning of swarming bees. There was something coming – something tremendous – that they all knew; and when the verdict was given not a man moved from his place. Then Boone Morgan rose up from beside the district attorney and touched Isaac Crittenden on the shoulder. There was nothing rough about it, and Crittenden followed without a word, but the significance was plain. The man who had sworn others into prison had done as much for himself, and it would take a Philadelphia lawyer to turn him loose. He had sworn that the cow was his, and the ear keys showed that he lied. Swallow-fork and crop, and Mexican marks above, and Old Funny-face, wagging her mangled ears in court! There had never been a cow-thief convicted in the Geronimo courts, and Old Crit would spend every cent he had to keep out of jail, but if Shepherd Kilkenny could not get him on evidence like that, then tyranny is dead and the devil has lost his claws.

CHAPTER XXI

NEVER AGAIN

THE District Court of Geronimo County broke up like a stampede of cattle when Ike Crittenden was placed under arrest, and in the general scramble Angevine Thorne was seized by a band of determined men and rushed to the Big Adobe bar. The committee on public entertainment had set their hearts on a speech, and they would not be denied. Meanwhile Pecos Dalhart was borne off as inexorably in the other direction by Boone Morgan and Shepherd Kilkenny, and not until he had sworn to the complaint and testified against Old Crit before the J. P. would they let him go his way. First on the programme which he had mapped out for himself was a big feed at Hung Wo's restaurant, and Charley Hung Wo was so happy over his release that he refused to accept a cent. That was right friendly of Charley and shows what a good fellow a Chink can be – give him a chance. It cheered Pecos up, and after he had got a new outfit of clothes all around and scoured the jail smell out of his skin he began to feel like a white man again. The hot sunshine felt good on his cheek, the wind smelled sweet, and he liked the clump of board sidewalks beneath his feet; but at the same time he was lonely. Somehow he did not seem to fit into this great outer world any more – there was no place to go and nothing to do; that is, nothing but throw in with Babe Thorne and get drunk, and even that had its disadvantages.

Lighting a cigar and wandering down the street Pecos pondered upon the matter and finally decided to hunt up Angy and see if anything could be done. Taking advantage of the general preoccupation he managed to fight his way through the crowded portals of the Big Adobe Saloon unobserved and there, surrounded by the heaving multitude, he stopped to listen. A committee of citizens had just presented Colonel Thorne with the keys of the town, appended to which as a further token of regard was a drink check on the Big Adobe – good for life. Mr. Thorne had evidently taken a few of the drinks already and mellowed to the mood of his admirers; for when Pecos arrived he was midway in a flamboyant speech of declination.