CHAPTER XXIIILAW IN THE GOLD DIGGINGS
The latest comer to Camp Forty Mile was not particularly anxious to attend the public meeting to which he was invited by Mr. Platt Riley. Still he thought it better to do so rather than run the risk of offending his host, who was evidently a man of influence in the diggings. His overnight reflections having convinced him that this camp was not such a place as he had expected, and also that he might find greater safety elsewhere, his first act in the morning was to order his Indian drivers to harness the dogs and be prepared for a start within an hour.
Kurilla, who was with them under instructions not to lose sight of them, grinned when he heard this, for he had picked up an inkling of what was going on, and felt pretty certain that the order need not be obeyed.
When Mr. Riley’s reluctant guest entered the store of the Yukon Trading Company, in which, on account of its size, the meeting was to be held, he fully intended to take a back seat and slip out as soon as he could do so unnoticed. The place was so filled with miners, however, that there were no back seats, and, to his surprise, the crowd pressed aside as he and Mr. Riley entered, so as to leave a passage to the farther end of the room. A moment later, without knowing just how it had been done, he found himself seated beside Jalap Coombs’s friend, Skiff Bettens, who obligingly made aplace for him. He noticed, with some curiosity, that twelve men were seated on benches directly opposite to him, while all the rest of the crowd were standing. Between him and these men was an open space, at the upper end of which were a table and a chair raised on a rude platform.
To this platform Mr. Platt Riley made his way, and seating himself in the chair, rapped on the table for silence. Then rising, he said:
“Gentlemen of the jury and fellow-citizens,—This court is now open for business, and I as its judge, elected by your votes, am prepared to administer justice in accordance with your laws and such verdicts as may be rendered by your jury.”
“It is a court,” thought Strengel, with a shiver.
“The case to be tried this morning,” continued the judge, “is one that touches the pocket, the life, and the honor of every miner in the Yukon Valley, for the prisoner at the bar is indicted on three separate counts as a thief, a murderer, and an unmitigated scoundrel. He has come into our camp under a false name and with a false story, after having attempted the destruction of a steamer that is bringing goods and machinery of which we are greatly in need.
“He is charged with robbing and leaving helpless in the wilderness a man whom we all know and respect, and also with robbing and deserting while seriously ill his own companion, who was on his way to visit us in behalf of our old-established trading company.”
Strengel listened to these terrible words with an ever-increasing paleness and visible agitation. Finally, clapping a hand to his face, as though seized with a sudden illness, he started to rise and leave the room.
“Sit down,” ordered Skiff Bettens in a low tone, at the same time jerking him back to his seat. Then the man knew that he was indeed a prisoner.
“To prove these serious charges,” continued the judge, “I am about to call several witnesses. At the same time the prisoner will be given the privilege of cross-questioning them, and of pleading in his own behalf. Mr. Philip Ryder.”
At this summons Phil advanced from the farther end of the room, and the prisoner regarded him with undisguised amazement.
After answering the usual questions regarding his personality and business, Phil was asked if he knew the prisoner.
“I do,” he answered.
“What is his name?”
“I understand that he now calls himself Bradwick, but a few months ago he went by the name of Strengel.”
“That’s a lie!” shouted the prisoner, hoarsely.
“THAT’S A LIE!” SHOUTED THE PRISONER, HOARSELY
“THAT’S A LIE!” SHOUTED THE PRISONER, HOARSELY
“Silence!” commanded the judge. “Now Mr. Ryder, tell the jury what you know concerning the accused from the time of your first meeting with him up to the present.”
This Phil did as briefly as possible, and when he had finished the prisoner sprang to his feet, his face black with rage, and exclaimed: “Why should this fellow’s story be believed rather than mine? Who knows anything about him, or even who he is? He was picked up in Bering Sea, drifting about in a stolen canoe. At St. Michaels he was known as a thief and a brawler. I happen to know that he has been locked up in a Victoria police-station, and I demand that his evidence be thrown out.”
“That will do, sir,” said the judge. “I happen to know this young man and his family so well that I am willing to vouch for him if necessary. Do you wish to question him? No? Then we will proceed. Mr. Serge Belcofsky.”
Serge, of course, identified the prisoner as Strengel, and corroborated Phil’s story in every detail.
“This ends the testimony on the first charge,” announced the judge when Serge had finished, and the prisoner sullenly declined to question him. “In proof of the second charge, that of robbery and desertion, I call as witness Mr. Jalap Coombs.”
As the ex-mate of theSeamewadvanced to the stand the prisoner stared at him as though he were a ghost, nor could he imagine by what miracle this witness had reached Forty Mile in time to appear against him.
Jalap Coombs told his story in his own picturesque language, but in a perfectly straightforward manner, and without the slightest hesitation.
When he finished, the judge questioned him very closely as to the amount of money given him by Mr. John Ryder, and the prices paid for various articles of his outfit at St. Michaels.
As a defence against this charge the prisoner claimed that Jalap Coombs had not been deserted by Simon Goldollar and himself, but had voluntarily turned back, and that the dogs they had left with him had run away to follow them much against their wishes. He also stated that they had taken the dogs and sledge back to the place where they last saw Jalap Coombs, but that they could not find him.
“They were not his dogs, anyway, judge,” he continued, “nor did he furnish any of our outfit except a few provisions, most of which he traded to the Indians on his own account. This man Coombs was a sailor, supposed to be a deserter from some ship, and was loafing around St. Michaels half starved when we picked him up. He claimed to have some friends on the river who would help him, and so we brought him along out of charity.”
“May I toot a horn, jedge?” asked Mr. Skiff Bettens, rising as the prisoner concluded his remarks.
“Certainly you may, marshal.”
“Waal, I only wanted to say that I’ve knowed Mr. Jalap Coombs off and on for a good many years, and in all that time I’ve never knowed him to tell a lie nor yet do a mean thing. Moreover, I’m willing to stake my pile on his honesty agin that of any living man, for a better sailor, a squarer man, and a truer friend never trod a deck.”
This sincere tribute so affected the simple-hearted sailor-man that he could only stare open-mouthed at the speaker, as though he were talking in some mysterious language, though in after-years he often referred to this as the proudest moment of his life. The remainder of the audience greeted the marshal’s little speech with an outburst of applause, which the judge was finally obliged to check.
“Letting charge number two rest with the testimony taken,” said the judge, when quiet was restored, “we will take up charge number three, which is the most serious of all. We have already learned that the accused, under the name of Strengel, passed old Fort Adams about a month ago, bound for this place in company with a man named Goldollar, who appears to be a pretty tough character himself, though that of course has nothing to do with this case. The accused at that time had little or nothing of his own, either in the way of money or outfit, while Goldollar appears to have been well fixed with both. Now this man turns up in this place alone under the name of Bradwick, telling a story about having come from up the Porcupine that he has since admitted to be false, and in possession of the outfit formerly owned by Mr. Coombs and Simon Goldollar. Of course, under the circumstances, the question naturally to be asked is, what has become of Goldollar?”
“He got sick of the trip and turned back from Yukon,” explained the prisoner, sulkily.
“Yes, we’ve heard he took sick,” replied the judge; “but whether he turned back or was left to die in an Indian rancheria is another question. Mr. Coombs, will you please take the stand again?”
This time Jalap Coombs testified that he had carefully examined the outfit brought into camp the night before by the prisoner, and found it to contain the same number of sledges, the same number of dogs, and the identical articles, with the exception of a certain quantity of provisions, that had composed it at old Fort Adams.
“We will now call on one other witness,” announced the judge, and the prisoner started as though he expected to see Simon Goldollar himself appear on the stand. What he did see was one of his own native drivers from Fort Yukon, with Kurilla to act as interpreter.
“Do you admit Injun testimony in this court?” he asked, disgustedly.
“Certainly we do,” replied the judge.
“If I’d known that,” he muttered, “I’d have bought a dozen or so to testify on my side.”
The Indian’s testimony was to the effect that this white man had left another white man in a native hut at Fort Yukon so sick that all the Indians thought he would die.
“Of course I can’t buck agin Injun testimony,” growled the prisoner; “but I say it’s a lie, all the same, and don’t prove nothing.”
“There is one thing that we must not neglect,” said the judge. “Marshall, you may search the prisoner.”
The latter struggled furiously, but was overpowered and held by strong hands while the marshall searched his pockets. From these were produced a number ofarticles, including a wallet, which the judge opened, spreading its contents on the table before him.
“Do you recognize anything here?” he asked of Jalap Coombs.
“I can identify this as having been in Goldollar’s possession,” answered the mate, picking up one of the articles that had dropped from the wallet, and holding it so that all might see.
Both Phil and Serge uttered exclamations of amazement, for the object thus exhibited was nothing more nor less than the mysteriously carved and almost forgotten fur-seal’s tooth that had already exerted so great an influence upon their fortunes.