There came a slight noise from the rear of the room, and the judge looked up. It was Hashknife Hartley, coming down the aisle, his spurs rasping harshly on the board floor—a jarring note in the most dramatic moment of the trial. But Hashknife did not seem aware of it. There was an empty seat at the end of the first row, and he went all the way down to it.He looked at Ryker as he sat down, and a smile creased his wide lips. He looked at Peter and Dawn, standing up. The girl looked at him and there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. Hashknife turned his head and looked at the silent jury. The room was very quiet.“They found him guilty, Hartley,” whispered a cowboy behind Hashknife and the whisper could be heard all over the room.The judge looked sharply at the whisperer.“Peter Conley,” he said slowly, as if weighing every word, “you have been found guilty. Is there any reason why the sentence of the court should not be imposed at this time?”Peter did not speak. He did not know what to say.“Have you nothing to say, Peter Conley?”“I didn’t kill him, Judge; that’s all I say.” Hashknife got slowly to his feet, facing the judge.“If you don’t mind, Judge,” he said slowly, “I’d like to speak for Pete Conley.”“I object!” snapped Ryker hotly.“You look like you had once before,” said Hashknife. “I’m kinda surprized at all that red on your handkerchief, Ryker; I thought you’d bleed yaller.”Ryker turned appealingly to the judge, but the judge did not look at him.“What did you want to say, Hartley?” he asked.“Why not sentence the guilty man?”“The guilty man?” It was a whisper— a hoarse whisper.“The man who killed Joe Mallette by mistake, Judge. The man who dragged Joe Mallette from your door and took him across that vacant piece of ground, draggin’ his boots full of gravel. Mallette was so drunk that he made a mistake in houses, Judge. You’re safe; you shot because you thought he had come to fulfill that warnin’. Tell the truth!”Roaring was on his feet, as were half of the men in the room. The judge continued to stare at Hashknife, whose voice rang like a bell in that crowded room.“What do you mean, Hartley?” cried Roaring.“Ask the judge; he knows.”The old judge got slowly to his feet, his face white, his mouth half-open, breathing heavily. His right hand was in the drawer of his desk, clutching the heavy revolver.“Be quiet!” cried Hashknife. “Let him talk!”The judge wet his lips with his tongue.“It’s time to tell,” he said. “Yes, it’s time. Hartley’s right. I hoped the jury—but that’s past. I killed Mallette. The gambling element warned me to get out of town. They swore to kill me. You all know it. I wouldn’t run. I—I waited for them to come after me. Mallette came. He flung open the door of my house and came in. I—I was sitting in my chair beside my table, and I shot once.”His eyes went slowly around the room and he swallowed painfully.“I never shot a man before,” he continued. “Wong Kee and I dragged him away. Better to have left him there and sent for the sheriff. But a man don’t know what he would do, until the time comes. Pete Conley is innocent. I killed in what I thought was self-defense.”He lifted his head and his voice grew stronger.“I’m glad it’s over now.”English Ed was on his feet, facing Hashknife and the crowd.“I don’t blame the judge,” he said. “Mallette was drunk and he got into the wrong place; but I’ll swear that Mallette was not in any plot to run the judge out. It was not the gamblers. I’ll swear that we had nothing to do with it.”“And I’ll back you, Holmes,” said Hashknife.He stepped through the railing his back to the jury, where he could face the crowd. A man was coming hurriedly down the aisle. It was Horse-Collar Fields. He stopped just short of the railing and said to Hashknife—“He’ll be here in a minute, Hashknife.” Hashknife backed up a step and his hands dropped to his sides. The eyes of all in the room were upon him, and they saw him hunch forward a trifle, his right arm lifting just above his waist-line.“It’s Jud Hardy comin’,” he said evenly. “He’s comin’ from the 7AL ranch, ridin’ the hocks off his horse to tell his outfit that Hashknife Hartley found an empty twenty-two shell beside the kitchen door. He tried to kill me, I reckon. He knew that a twenty-two was used to kill them eight Big 4 steers. He knew there was a million dollar ledge of gold ore on the Hot Creek ranch, and he wanted his share. He knew, and his outfit knew, that as long as Moses Conley lived he’d never sell out—and they wanted it. So they tried to send the Big 4 against Conley and when that didn’t work they tried to kill him. Cutter—don’t!”Hashknife drew swiftly and fired from his hip. The report of his gun blended with the one that flashed beside him from Horse-Collar’s gun.Cutter staggered sidewise, trying to cock the gun in his hand, but English Ed caught him in his arms and flung him to the floor. Wind River Jim vaulted the railing and fell upon Ted Ames, who was trying to reach the aisle, and from further back in the room came the triumphant yell from Slim Regan:“Ho-o-o-old fast, Henry! Take his feet, Bill!”They had captured Henry Miller. Horse-Collar had fired one shot at Ryker, who had drawn his gun, and then had whirled and run swiftly from the courtroom.“Got Mister Miller!” yelled Regan.
There came a slight noise from the rear of the room, and the judge looked up. It was Hashknife Hartley, coming down the aisle, his spurs rasping harshly on the board floor—a jarring note in the most dramatic moment of the trial. But Hashknife did not seem aware of it. There was an empty seat at the end of the first row, and he went all the way down to it.
He looked at Ryker as he sat down, and a smile creased his wide lips. He looked at Peter and Dawn, standing up. The girl looked at him and there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. Hashknife turned his head and looked at the silent jury. The room was very quiet.
“They found him guilty, Hartley,” whispered a cowboy behind Hashknife and the whisper could be heard all over the room.
The judge looked sharply at the whisperer.
“Peter Conley,” he said slowly, as if weighing every word, “you have been found guilty. Is there any reason why the sentence of the court should not be imposed at this time?”
Peter did not speak. He did not know what to say.
“Have you nothing to say, Peter Conley?”
“I didn’t kill him, Judge; that’s all I say.” Hashknife got slowly to his feet, facing the judge.
“If you don’t mind, Judge,” he said slowly, “I’d like to speak for Pete Conley.”
“I object!” snapped Ryker hotly.
“You look like you had once before,” said Hashknife. “I’m kinda surprized at all that red on your handkerchief, Ryker; I thought you’d bleed yaller.”
Ryker turned appealingly to the judge, but the judge did not look at him.
“What did you want to say, Hartley?” he asked.
“Why not sentence the guilty man?”
“The guilty man?” It was a whisper— a hoarse whisper.
“The man who killed Joe Mallette by mistake, Judge. The man who dragged Joe Mallette from your door and took him across that vacant piece of ground, draggin’ his boots full of gravel. Mallette was so drunk that he made a mistake in houses, Judge. You’re safe; you shot because you thought he had come to fulfill that warnin’. Tell the truth!”
Roaring was on his feet, as were half of the men in the room. The judge continued to stare at Hashknife, whose voice rang like a bell in that crowded room.
“What do you mean, Hartley?” cried Roaring.
“Ask the judge; he knows.”
The old judge got slowly to his feet, his face white, his mouth half-open, breathing heavily. His right hand was in the drawer of his desk, clutching the heavy revolver.
“Be quiet!” cried Hashknife. “Let him talk!”
The judge wet his lips with his tongue.
“It’s time to tell,” he said. “Yes, it’s time. Hartley’s right. I hoped the jury—but that’s past. I killed Mallette. The gambling element warned me to get out of town. They swore to kill me. You all know it. I wouldn’t run. I—I waited for them to come after me. Mallette came. He flung open the door of my house and came in. I—I was sitting in my chair beside my table, and I shot once.”
His eyes went slowly around the room and he swallowed painfully.
“I never shot a man before,” he continued. “Wong Kee and I dragged him away. Better to have left him there and sent for the sheriff. But a man don’t know what he would do, until the time comes. Pete Conley is innocent. I killed in what I thought was self-defense.”
He lifted his head and his voice grew stronger.
“I’m glad it’s over now.”
English Ed was on his feet, facing Hashknife and the crowd.
“I don’t blame the judge,” he said. “Mallette was drunk and he got into the wrong place; but I’ll swear that Mallette was not in any plot to run the judge out. It was not the gamblers. I’ll swear that we had nothing to do with it.”
“And I’ll back you, Holmes,” said Hashknife.
He stepped through the railing his back to the jury, where he could face the crowd. A man was coming hurriedly down the aisle. It was Horse-Collar Fields. He stopped just short of the railing and said to Hashknife—
“He’ll be here in a minute, Hashknife.” Hashknife backed up a step and his hands dropped to his sides. The eyes of all in the room were upon him, and they saw him hunch forward a trifle, his right arm lifting just above his waist-line.
“It’s Jud Hardy comin’,” he said evenly. “He’s comin’ from the 7AL ranch, ridin’ the hocks off his horse to tell his outfit that Hashknife Hartley found an empty twenty-two shell beside the kitchen door. He tried to kill me, I reckon. He knew that a twenty-two was used to kill them eight Big 4 steers. He knew there was a million dollar ledge of gold ore on the Hot Creek ranch, and he wanted his share. He knew, and his outfit knew, that as long as Moses Conley lived he’d never sell out—and they wanted it. So they tried to send the Big 4 against Conley and when that didn’t work they tried to kill him. Cutter—don’t!”
Hashknife drew swiftly and fired from his hip. The report of his gun blended with the one that flashed beside him from Horse-Collar’s gun.
Cutter staggered sidewise, trying to cock the gun in his hand, but English Ed caught him in his arms and flung him to the floor. Wind River Jim vaulted the railing and fell upon Ted Ames, who was trying to reach the aisle, and from further back in the room came the triumphant yell from Slim Regan:
“Ho-o-o-old fast, Henry! Take his feet, Bill!”
They had captured Henry Miller. Horse-Collar had fired one shot at Ryker, who had drawn his gun, and then had whirled and run swiftly from the courtroom.
“Got Mister Miller!” yelled Regan.