McClure's Magazine/Volume 35/Number 2/Justice While You Wait

by Owen Oliver

UUMPH! You think the law's slow, do you? So it is. So it ought to be!

 

JUSTICE WHILE YOU WAIT

BY

OWEN OLIVER

ILLUSTRATIONS BY MAYNARD DIXON

No, I don't say that just because I'm a lawyer. I'm a man first and a solicitor afterward. I sympathize with your desire to settle the matter out of hand; but I don't believe in “justice while you wait,” as you put it. I've heard that phrase once before, and I never want to hear it again. Sit down and I 'll tell you. Don't be nervous. I sha'n't charge it on the bill.

It happened thirty years ago, when I was a young man of six-and-twenty. I didn't wait for things, in those days. I was sitting at my desk—this very desk—one morning, when I heard that my young brother was ill at the diggings and wanted to come home. I sailed that very afternoon. Three weeks to the day—conveyance was slower then—I was astride a horse, in a strange country, within a few hours' ride of my brother.

I wasn't quite sure of my way, so I rode up to a sign-post that stood near a clump of trees. It was made of three strips of wood nailed in a triangle round a tree-trunk. The names had been tarred on it, but the rains had washed a good bit of them off. While I was puzzling out the remainder, half a dozen men rode out from the trees—rough-looking chaps whom I took to be cowboys—a name that I had learned only a day or two before.

“Hands up!” they shouted, and six revolvers were pointed at me.

I held up my hands, and they seized them and tied them behind my back.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“Darned Britisher!” cried one, as soon as I spoke. He was a stout, jovial villain with a gingery beard. They called him Yellow Sam.

“Take you to a con-venient tree,” said a huge fellow with a squint, “and string you up!”

“Trees enough here,” suggested a little ferret-faced fellow to whom I took a particular dislike.

“'Tain't fair to do the boys out of their fun,” objected a drunken desperado who reeled in his saddle. “Things are dull enough nowadays.”

“Them as hunt have the skins,” another growled.

“He's going to the camp,” said a thin, very American-faced fellow who seemed to be the leader. “That's the committee's rule, and I'm not taking a hand against them.”

“Nor I,” said Yellow Sam. “Seen the old Colonel pip an ace at twenty yards, five times out of six; and Broken Bill ain't much worse with his shooter. 'Tain't go as you please since we elected that committee.”

“More fool you to have a Vigilance Committee,” the ferret-faced man remarked. “We didn't waste time over committees at Troy Town. Caught a skunk and settled a skunk, and settled him as you pleased. That was our way.”

“Or passed him on to another camp,” suggested Yellow Sam sarcastically. “And when he came to Rome he had to do as Rome does, not Troy. Come along, sons. You're keeping the gentleman waiting!”

They started off at a canter, driving my horse between them.

“But what have I done?” I inquired, as I jolted along.

“Taken a ticket for eternity, sonny,” said the drunken man.

“But—” I began.

“Don't waste breath,” the thin man interrupted. “You've got about ten minutes. If you've any special messages to send, think them over. We'll pass on your money or anything of that kind. We're not thieves, see! And we'll make up a little note to say that you met with an accident, which was much regretted, you being popular and respected. We don't need to hurt people's feelings.”

“But why are you going to kill me?” I persisted.

“It's our way with thieves,” he said.

“I'm not a thief!” I declared. But they all laughed; and when I repeated the statement, they laughed again.

“You're riding a stolen horse,” one told me, “and that's good enough for us.”

I tried to explain; but they whipped up the horses to a gallop, and all the breath was jolted out of me. You've no idea how a horse jolts when your hands are tied, and you've enough to do to keep your balance.

We soon reached a collection of log huts. “Rome” was set out on a plot of ground in front of the huts, in letters made up of large white stones, and the name was also painted on the door of the post-office. I learned afterward that the place was called “Rome Rendez-vous,” and was the resort of those who found the more respectable settlements too hot for them. A large hut in the center was evidently the store and bar. My captain whooped and yelled, and about forty men trooped out, headed by a sharp-faced old man with white hair and a pointed white beard. They called him “Colonel” and treated him with a good deal of rough respect. He looked at me with a kind of fierce benevolence, and patted my horse gently.

“This is a sad business,” he remarked, “—a very sad business.” He shook his head.

“Caught the possum napping,” the thin man explained; “not three miles from here, too!”

“Not three miles!” said the Colonel. He looked at me admiringly. “I like nerve—always did! But you can have too much of a good thing, stranger. Too much nerve spells ruin! Still, I admire it.... Hi, Jim! Bring out a cocktail, and charge it to me. Just a little tribute to nerve, sonny!” He patted the horse again. “You took him within three miles, eh?”

“By the sign,” said the thin man. “Tried to bluff us, too. Rode up and pretended to be puzzling it out, as if he hadn't seen us, and looked as innocent as a baby! Quite surprised when we took him. Couldn't make out what he'd done to be treated in this harsh manner!”

The crowd roared with amusement.

“I don't know!” I shouted.

“Well,” said the Colonel mildly, “you'll soon know more than we do!”

He nodded toward a man who had brought out a new rope and was making a noose at one end of it. He seemed to be familiar with the operation.

“Surely,” I expostulated, “you're not going to kill an innocent man in cold blood and without hearing him?”

“Listen to him!” cried Yellow Sam; and they roared as if I had said something funny.

A man in his shirt-sleeves brought out a cocktail and held it up for me to drink. I swallowed it, though it half choked me. I saw a man standing on a ladder to adjust the rope over a branch of a tree.

“Well, boys?” the Colonel asked. "Any one got anything to say before we get to business?”

A big man with a broken nose stepped forward—an ungainly, broken-down man.

“There ain't been no trial, Colonel,” he objected.

“What's the good of a trial when he's caught with the horse?” expostulated the ferret-faced man. “When I was at Troy Camp——-”

“'BUT I DON'T KNOW AS HE DOES, AND SEEMS TO ME HE DON'T'”

The broken-nosed man held up one hand. The other hand fingered his revolver affectionately.

“If you was at Troy Camp,” he said gently, "where there isn't no law against shooting as you please, you wouldn't dare so much as to breathe near me!”

“Good old Broken Bill!” some one shouted.

“And if you like to ride over to Troy Camp with me,” said Broken Bill,“you can; and the one that comes back won't be asked no questions.”

“Never mind about Troy Camp,” the Colonel said. “That ain't the point. The question is, do we want a trial, or don't we?”

“'Tain't a question of wanting,” Broken Bill objected. “It's a question of law and order. If you make rules and regulations you've got to stick to them. That's what I say.”

“Vote for old Broken Bill and law and order!” the drunken man shouted boisterously.

“Well,” said the Colonel, “there's law, and there's sense. Seems to me you can put the case in a nut-shell, and it don't need to be a cokernut! Here's a stranger. Here's Jim Sands' horse. Here's a rope, noose at the end, fixed up con-venient. That's sense, Bill, ain't it?”

“You can't have sense and law too,” Bill growled. “And you elected to have law; and you elected a Vigilance Committee, and a president”—he bowed to the Colonel, who returned his salute gravely—“and officers.” He bowed round him, and the individuals concerned returned the compliment punctiliously. “And you wrote it up on paper over the slate in the bar. 'Nobody's to be put out without a fair trial'—that's what it says. You can't keep up respect for law if you make a laughing-stock of it just because there's no sense in it—or because there is, either!”

“Well,” the Colonel admitted, “there's reason in old Bill's argument. We said we'd have a trial, and a trial we'll have. But this gentleman's a good sport, I can see. I make no doubt he'll save waste of time and plead guilty; and even old Bill won't want to argue any more about it then, eh, Bill?”

“Not if he pleads guilty,” Broken Bill agreed. “But I don't know as he does, and seems to me he don't.” He frowned at me as if to say, “Now's your chance.”

“I am not guilty,” I said. “I bought the horse. I did not know that it was stolen. I——”

“Wait, wait!” cried the Colonel. “If there's got to be a trial, we'll have everything in order. Hi, boys! Leave that bit of string for a minute and come over here. There's going to be a trial.”

“What's the good of a trial?” several grumbled.

"No good,” said the Colonel. “But we've laid down that we'd try every one fair before we did justice on him, and it don't take long, and passes the time, and pleases old Bill!”

"Good old Broken Bill!” some one shouted; and they jostled each other into the store.

They took me in, still bound, and sat me on a packing-case. The men stood or squatted in a ring round me. The Colonel sat opposite to me in a damaged arm-chair, and directed the proceedings.

“You're first, Jim,” he said. “Is it your horse?”

A quiet little man stood up and said yes.

“Anything else to say?” the Colonel asked, and the little man said no.

“You all know that this gentleman was caught with it,” the Colonel went on. “I take it no one wants evidence as to that?” He looked about him, and nobody objected. “Then that's the case for the prosecution,” he pronounced.

“I've got questions to ask,” Broken Bill interposed.

“You can ask them afterwards,” the Colonel ruled, “if you aren't satisfied when you've heard the defense.”

He turned to me.

“Let's have it as short as is con-venient to you,” he commanded. “Who are you, where do you come from, how did you come by the horse, and any other reason why the law shouldn't take its course.”

“My name is George Raikes,” I said. “I am a solicitor——”

“Here!” cried the Colonel. “You've no cause to say anything against yourself. We're a fair court, and I suggest that you leave your profession out.”

“That's fair,” said Broken Bill, who seemed to have appointed himself as my counsel; and I resumed my defense.

“I live in London. I came out by the Scotsman three weeks ago. My brother is at Stanley Diggings. I heard that he was ill and destitute ——”

"What's that?” a dirty, bloated man asked.

“Stone-broke,” the Colonel explained. “The jury need not expose their ignorance of the language; there's a dictionary in the bar.”

Some one pointed out in a whisper that Two-handed Dick had used the dictionary for a target and shot most of it away with one hand or the other. It was the outbreak just before the Vigilance Committee was started, they reminded the president.

“And that shows the need of law and order,” said he. “Bill was quite right. You can't be too careful about these things. Sorry to interrupt you, stranger. You can go on.”

"I came to West Junction by the railway,” I continued, “and then to Paris Park by coach. I started from there this morning by cart, but it broke down. So I walked. When I had been walking for about an hour, I met a man. He seemed to be partly English—I mean white—and partly native.”

“Half-breed,” the Colonel interpreted. "All thieves.”

“I didn't know that. I'm new to the country. He had that horse. He said he'd just bought it from a gentleman who let him have it cheap, and he'd sell it to me at a bargain. I was anxious to get on quickly, so I gave him one hundred and twenty dollars for it. I asked him for a receipt, but he couldn't write. That's all. It's the truth.”

"Umph!” said the Colonel. “Any one got anything to say for the prosecution?”

There was a whispered consultation. Then Yellow Sam stepped forward.

“If we're going to take a yarn like that,” he said, “any one can get off anything. It's only what he says, and no proof; and all I say is this: We took him on the horse, and in the old days no one wouldn't have wasted time over questions, but just shot at sight, and that's sense; and if law's against sense, let's alter the law.”

“'AND NOW I'M GOING TO HAVE THIS ONE'”

There was a chorus of approval.

“You can't alter the law till the trial's over,” the Colonel said. “'Twouldn't be showing ourselves proper respect. Any one else want to show what he can do as an orator?”

He paused, but no one answered.

“Then that's the case for the prosecution,” he announced. “Any one for the defense?”

“Me,” said Broken Bill; “and I want to ask a few questions. Jim Sands, when did you lose this horse?”

“Sometime last night,” said Jim, “—leastways, this morning.”

“Sometime's no time,” said Bill. (I couldn't help fancying that he had been a lawyer!) “Do you know, or don't you?”

“Well,” said Jim, “I heard him neigh 'bout four o'clock, just before it was light. Know his voice among a hundred. He must have been took then.”

“Oh!” said Bill. “Why must he?”

“He couldn't have been took before,” Jim apologized. “That's what I meant. You mix me up with all them questions, Bill. I ain't no lawyer, and never was!”

“Now,”—Bill turned to me,—“got any proof where you were this morning?”

“You can send to Paris Park,” I said, with sudden hope. “If you fetch the man who owns the hotel, he'll be able to tell you that I slept there and——”

“Here, here!” the Colonel protested. “We can't wait for an eight hours' journey each way. It's justice while you wait in this court, stranger!”

“What's the use of a trial, if you won't let me produce evidence?” I wanted to know. But the Colonel waved me into silence and Bill into further speech. He evidently regarded the latter as my counsel.

"Got any bill or paper?” Bill suggested.

“Why, yes!” I cried. “I had a letter from a friend of my brother's. It came in at seven o'clock, just before I started. It's in my pocket—the left-hand one, inside.”

Broken Bill came and fumbled in my pocket—my hands were still tied. He turned over the contents till I indicated the letter. It bore a rough postmark, with the date inserted in red ink. He handed it round for inspection, and the feeling of the court appeared to change in my favor.

“I needn't point out to you gentlemen,” Bill said, “that he couldn't have took this horse after four this morning, got over there for that letter, and back again. The post arrives at Paris Park at seven, as you know. That's the case for the defense.”

“And you can see from that letter that it's true, what I told you about my brother,” I added. “And the other documents in my pocket”—my friend Bill had replaced them—“will show you that I'm what I say I am.”

“Best say nothing about that!” the Colonel advised. “A lawyer's always done something! Well, my sons, I've got to sum up, and my summing up is this. Guilty of being found in possession of a stolen horse, which is good enough to hang any man; but, seeing that he didn't steal it, he's recommended to mercy. All in favor, hold up their hands!”

All hands were held up,—the ferret-faced man delaying till Bill whispered in his ear,—and the Colonel nodded approval.

“The sentence,” he said, “is that you're set free; and you can have what you like to eat and drink, and the Committee foots the bill. Every one satisfied with that?”

“Well,” said Bill, “it's all right, Colonel, but not so handsome as I'd looked for from you. We've hindered him some from getting on to his sick brother, and I was half expecting you'd offer to lend him a horse—supposing, for example, I was willing to go with him and see it safe back.”

"On those conditions,” the Colonel said, “I'll lend him my bay mare. She's worth any two animals for fifty miles round.”

“She's that,” Bill agreed.

They untied me, and rubbed my cramped arms, and gave me plenty to eat and drink, and forced tobacco upon me, and were generally friendly.

The Colonel himself came and talked to me. I'd “got off very light,” he said. A man who bought a strange horse from a stranger—and he a half-breed—took all risks, and it was better to hang a few innocent men than to miss hanging a horse-thief. At the same time, he added, he was not sorry that I had got off. An acquittal once in a way did not disturb the general confidence in the Vigilance Committee, but it was a thing that he would not like to see happen too often.

They all shook hands when I rode off with Broken Bill, and waved their hats, and I waved mine. Bill was moody and thoughtful. He was no talker, he informed me gruffly, and he scarcely spoke during our four hours' ride.

When we reached Stanley Diggings, I dismounted, and Bill took my horse's reins.

“If you take my advice,” he said, “you'll get your brother off by the train at 4 a.m. from Sandy Flats. You'll just do it if you're sharp. Mistakes will happen, and I don't want them to hang an innocent man.”

“I am deeply grateful to you,” I said. “If it had not been for your belief in my innocence—I don't know why you were so sure about it!”

Broken Bill laughed a curious laugh, and whipped up the horses.

“I stole that horse myself,” he said over his shoulder, “and now I'm going to have this one!”

I thought that the Vigilance Committee might connect me with the matter, so I took my brother off by the coach at 2 a.m., as he had recovered sufficiently to travel. We caught the train, and when we left it we went straight aboard a ship for home. I didn't want to wait there for justice. I preferred to take my luck in this old-fashioned country, where we make justice wait!