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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77895-0.txt b/77895-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0011acb --- /dev/null +++ b/77895-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4550 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77895 *** + + + + + The + Hermit of Turkey Hollow + + The Story of an Alibi + + Being an Exploit of + Ephraim Tutt + Attorney & Counselor at Law + + By + Arthur Train + + + + + New York + Charles Scribner’s Sons + 1921 + + + + + [Copyright] + + Copyright, 1921, by + CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + + Copyright, 1921, by The Curtis Publishing Co. + + + + + [Dedication] + + To + Dean Kirkham Worcester. + + + + + [Epigraph] + + “O my grandfather’s clock was too high for the shelf, + So it stood ninety years on the floor. + It was taller by half than the old man himself, + Though it weighed not a pennyweight more. + It was bought on the morn of the day he was born, + And was always his treasure and pride, + But it--stopped--short--never to go again---- + When--the old--man--died.” + + + + + Contents + + Chapter I + Chapter II + Chapter III + Chapter IV + + + + + The Hermit of Turkey Hollow + + + + + Alibi. + +“Alibi (al’-i-bi) n. 1. In law, a plea of having been elsewhere at the +time an offense is alleged to have been committed. Hence.--a. The fact +or state of having been elsewhere at the time specified; as, “he +attempted to prove an alibi.”--Cent. Dict. + +“If it (alibi) appeared to be founded in truth, it is the best +negative evidence that can be offered. It is really positive evidence +which in the nature of things necessarily implieth a negative.” +Foster, J. Crown Law, 3rd Ed. p. 368 (1762). + +“If any one fact necessary to the conclusion is wholly inconsistent +with the hypothesis of the guilt of the accused, it breaks the chain +of circumstantial evidence, upon which the inference depends; and, +however plausible or apparently conclusive the other circumstances may +be, the charge must fail. Of this character is the defense usually +called an alibi; that is, that the accused was elsewhere at the time +of the offense is alleged to have been committed. If this is true, it +being impossible that the accused could be in two places at the same +time, it is a fact inconsistent with that sought to be proved, and +excludes its possibility,” Shaw, C.J., in Commonwealth _vs._ Webster, +5 Cush. 299, 318 (1850). + + + + + The + Hermit of Turkey Hollow + + I + +“All the same,” affirmed “Skinny the Tramp,” “some one o’ these days +them bugs’ll wiggle themselves off’n their pins--an’ do for ye!” + +The “Hermit of Turkey Hollow” laughed derisively as he paused in +pinning a large gray moth against the wall of the shanty. + +“That’s all bunk!” he asserted with a show of bravado which, however, +concealed a certain uneasiness. “When a thing’s dead--it’s dead! And +that’s the end of it!” he added, pushing in the pin firmly until the +moth, giving a final flutter, remained motionless. + +Skinny shook his head. + +“No, it ain’t!” said he with conviction. “Nuthin’ ever really +dies--or, if it does, that ain’t the end of it by any manner o’ means! +Your body kin die--like a cocoon--but somethin’ goes on after--like +the butterfly.” + +The Hermit threw a nervous glance in the direction of the moth, and +then, evidently reassured, nonchalantly removed a piece of cut plug +from his trousers pocket, bit off an end and held it out to the tramp, +who bisected the remainder. + +“But the butterfly dies--” concluded the Hermit decisively, “and then +that’s the end of it--for good an’ all!” + +Skinny wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked round the +smelly little shanty, the sides of which were decorated with a +heterogeneous collection of defunct beetles, moths and butterflies. + +“The butterfly don’t die--no more’n the cocoon!” declared he. “Nuthin’ +dies. The moth flies away out o’ the cocoon, and then--when the moth +dies--somethin’ flies away out o’ the moth.” + +“But you can’t see nuthin’,” remarked the Hermit with significance. + +“I don’t know whether ye can or not!” replied the tramp +noncommittally. “Some says ye can an’ some says ye can’t. Some claim +they’ve photographed the human soul!” + +“What do them as claim ye can see it say it’s like?” inquired the +Hermit in a tone of incredulity, in which nevertheless were mingled +awe and curiosity. + +“Mostly like a butterfly--somethin’ with wings--so’s it kin fly, I +s’pose.” + +“Huh!” retorted the Hermit. “Just pure bull! That moth, now--how can +you say it ain’t dead?” + +Skinny’s jaws relinquished their extreme vigor of motion, as he leaned +forward earnestly towards the Hermit. + +“Listen, Bo!” he adjured him. “You think you know all about bugs, an’ +worms, an’ snakes, an’ yerbs, an’ trees, an’ weather. An’ I reckon you +do, too! But you don’t ponder none compared to me. I don’t do nuthin’ +but think, ’cause I ain’t got nuthin’ else to do. I lie an’ meditate +most all the time. And I hear things--and sense ’em. Sometimes I sit +harkenin’ all night long. I know a lot more’n most folks about things +you can’t see.” + +“I don’t say you don’t, Skinny!” admitted the Hermit politely. “I +don’t deny it!” + +“There’s two worlds,” affirmed the tramp. “One you kin see an’ smell +an’ touch and one that you ordinarily can’t--right alongside t’other. +But sometimes--dependin’ on circumstances--you can catch a glimpse of +what’s goin’ on there--see ’em an’ hear ’em. You’ve seen ghosts!” + +“Sure, I’ve seen ghosts. Everybody’s seen ’em!” readily assented his +companion. + +“Well,” continued the tramp, “everythin’ has a ghost--walkin’ right +along beside it all the time--only it’s in that other world--the one +you don’t see.” + +“But things don’t have ghosts!” declared the Hermit. “A thing must +have been alive sometime to have a ghost.” + +“Everything’s alive!” asserted the tramp. “Rocks an’ trees an’ flowers +an’ water an’ fire an’ bugs an’ beasts as well as folks,--an’ they all +have ghosts an’ none of ’em ever die. An’ they all have a right to +live in the world they’re in until they naturally pass on into the +other. Now, when they go--maybe they go one way, maybe another; but +they all do go; and some folks claim to have seen ’em. An’ mostly they +go with wings--flyin’--shaped like a moth or somethin’ like that.” + +The Hermit spat disdainfully through the open doorway. + +“Huh!” he remarked with sarcasm. “An’ I s’pose,--you’d say,--when I +die I’ll go flyin’ away like a big gray moth?” + +“Like as not!” returned Skinny cheerfully. “Like as not! You got to go +somehow, ain’t ye?” + +“All bull!” repeated the Hermit. “You’re just a nut!” + +“Just the same!” returned Skinny the Tramp, “leavin’ out entirely me +bein’ a nut, I wouldn’t kill anythin’ that’s alive an’ can feel--for +money! I hate even to put an axe to a tree an’ see the sap ooze out. +How do we know it ain’t sufferin’? An’ when it comes to live +things--I’d be skeert!” + +He let his eyes wander over the shanty walls thickly populated with +tiny corpses and shuddered slightly. + +“Yus! I’d be skeert to live in this house! Sometime they’ll have their +vengeance!--An’--just as I said,--one o’ these days, they’ll come +wigglin’ off’n them pins an’--do fer ye!” + +“An’ then,” mocked the Hermit of Turkey Hollow, “I’ll flutter off out +the winder like I was a moth! Bull, Skinny! All bull!” + + * * * * * * + +As may be inferred from the foregoing conversation the Hermit of +Turkey Hollow lived in the world of Fact, while Skinny the Tramp dwelt +in that of Faith,--which is to say, of Truth. Yet, as odd sticks, +there was little to choose between them. As being a house dweller--and +not a mere vagrant open to all the insidious imputations of +vagabondage--the Hermit may of the two have been entitled to greater +social recognition, but being a recluse, although something of a +curiosity and hence in the nature of a local asset,--he was +practically negligible as a factor in the life of the neighborhood. +Skinny the Tramp, on the other hand, was a sociable sort of being who +lived in the open, not because he loved his fellows less but because +he loved nature more. + +Turkey Hollow lies three miles to the north and east of the thriving +town of Pottsville in the Mohawk Valley of the Empire State, +surrounded by low hills still thickly covered with second growth +timber; in spots, especially where Chasm Brook flows down into the +westerly end of Turtle Pond, wet and marshy; and elsewhere filled with +a tangled growth of Getchel birch, swamp maple, and alder, save for +the acre or so of cleared upland above the lake where stands the +Hermit’s now deserted shanty. + +On the whole, the original turkeys having for several decades been +entirely extinct, the hollow offered no attractions to anybody, save +possibly to naturalists impervious to mosquito bites. It was in truth +a dank sort of place, full of underbrush, and inaccessible except by +the wood road leading to the Hermit’s abode, which some years he +cleared out and some he didn’t, and where you had to go afoot anyway. + +Nevertheless, once you got there, you found that the hermit was a +genuine up-to-date hermit, with most of the modern improvements. For +he was neither a hundred years old with a bald pate and long white +whiskers like William Cullen Bryant or Father Time; nor did he mutter +incantations over a seething caldron like the witches in Macbeth, or +meander aimlessly about prattling to himself as conventional hermits +are supposed to do. And his shanty was no cave, but on the contrary a +comfortable enough one-story shack, with windows of glass which, while +they were nailed down tight and hence could not be opened, allowed +plenty of light to stream in. By the door usually stood a butterfly +net, a fish rod, and a hoe and spade,--for he had a small garden where +he raised such vegetables as he needed,--and on one side of the shanty +was a table, on the other his cot, over which by day was thrown a +discolored “comfortable,” while directly “on ax” with the door and +between the two rear windows was a tall, old-fashioned clock--the only +article of any value in the place. + +This was, indeed, rather a strange object to be in the middle of the +woods and as it was of shining mahogany, its face decorated with the +sun, moon and stars, ships, savages and zodiacal signs, it was an +object of comment and surmise to the few who visited the place. No one +ventured to ask where it had come from or how the hermit had acquired +it, but he had been once heard to say that it made less noise than a +woman, talked no nonsense, and was all the company anyone had need of. +Even those who had never seen the hermit himself knew that he had a +clock. That is the way of things. People will refer for years to a man +as “the old chap who always wears that pair of gray trousers” and then +accidentally discover that he is a world famous civil engineer or +retired statesman who has swayed the fate of nations. So the hermit +was known by his clock; although regularly once a week he walked to +Pottsville to get his mail and buy groceries. For being an up-to-date +hermit he was not without an occupation,--he drank; and he did it very +well. + +He was a large, lumbering man of about sixty years, full-bearded, +bent, frankly ungiven to washing and generally a shade woozy in the +upper story; and nobody could remember Turkey Hollow when he had not +been there. + +He was reputed to be possessed of mysterious, ill-gotten wealth hidden +in and about the clearing, and, in spite of his squalor, the rumor +acquired a certain _cachet_ owing to the fact that his correspondence, +regularly inspected by Constable Higgins out of abundant caution, +consisted almost entirely of get-rich-quick-circulars and similar +catch-penny advertisements. His name, which otherwise might never have +been known, was Wilbur Drake,--although he was never referred to as +anything but the “Hermit of Turkey Hollow.” That was his sum total--to +the world at large. + +Yet sometime and somewhere, he had perhaps been somebody; and nailed +over his cot in a tarnished oaken frame was a dingy photograph of a +dumpy little girl in pigtails. Why this sick soul had sought seclusion +nobody knew and nobody cared, yet afterwards, although he was morose, +taciturn and brutal in his manners, the Pottsville folk were sorry for +him and regretted that they had not been kinder to him. + +Skinny the Tramp was a totally different type of bird,--a “character” +as they all said, beloved of the village children and regarded with +good-natured tolerance by their elders. He was tall, lean, hawkish, +with the traditional stubble about his chin and neck, which a Byronic +negligée exposed to wind and weather. He belonged to Pottsville in +his own way quite as much as did the hermit, for in spite of his +peripatetic sojournings, he was a native of the town and, as James +Hawkins, had passed those earlier days--before manual labor had been +abhorrent to him--in its vicinity, having been even at one time +admitted to the lowlier degrees of the Brotherhood of Abyssinian +Mysteries. This famous order, however, he had ultimately abandoned in +favor of the Hibernating Hoboes of Hesperides, of which he was now a +member in good standing. + +The reader will, of course, appreciate that for various +reasons,--including that we may sometime run for public office--the +foregoing names and titles are fictitious; but the organizations +themselves are not, and each in its own way exerts an influence not +lightly to be disregarded, whether one be a yokel on the one hand, or +a yegg on the other. Twice yearly, once on his annual autumn trip to +the Golden West and again on his return therefrom in the spring, +Hawkins, emaciated, hairy, black from coal dust, dropped lightly off +the truck of some fast freight and revisited the scenes of his youth. + +Sitting upon a cracker barrel in Colson’s Grocery--so that nutriment +might be the more easily accessible--Skinny the Tramp, like some +wandering scop, bard, or friar of medieval days--would fill the +wagging ears of the countryside with the narrative of his later +wanderings in search of the treasure that somehow always just managed +to elude his grasp. For Skinny believed absolutely that at the foot of +every rainbow there was a Crock of Gold, and he would have gladly died +for his belief--as any gentleman and sportsman would have done, and as +he came very near to doing in this case. + +However, while Skinny chased rainbows he declined to do so +afoot--preferring the artificial and speedier means of transportation +afforded by the transcontinental railroad systems, from the trains of +which he was habitually--and at divers times and places, +ignominiously,--hurled, to his great physical and temperamental +detriment. Yet, albeit that he was a high officer of the Hibernating +Hoboes of Hesperides and had once been an Abyssinian Brother of that +elevation known as the “Order of the Sacred Camel of King Menelik,” +from which noble association he had been swiftly dropped for +non-payment of dues, he was, like a multitude of his fellow wanderers, +merely a harmless child of good-nature, nearly a half-wit, essentially +a devotee of Zoroaster, who spent his life following the sun. On these +biennial visits Skinny hung about the town, spending a goodly portion +of his time--both by night and by day--sleeping in a lean-to on the +hillside above Turkey Hollow, and part of it wandering through the +woods,--but always looking for the rainbow that should empty a hoard +of gold into his tattered lap. + +Twice yearly also passed through Pottsville the “Sons and Daughters of +the Southland”--the Zingara Gipsies,--in auto trucks and +flivvers--camping for a time on the end of the old, deserted +racetrack,--a sinister crew, surreptitious panderers to credulity and +lust, the men surly and brutal, the women insolent and dirty, but +attracting the imaginative and susceptible bumpkins as a trickle of +molasses will draw a swarm of flies. When in the night they folded +their tents and stole silently away the citizens of Pottsville +invariably discovered that many of their most cherished personal +possessions were unaccountably missing. But no one cared to pursue and +prosecute them. They were too dangerous. Besides, they could have told +things. + +In the case of Skinny the Tramp there was, however, a practical as +well as a sentimental reason for these half-yearly stop-overs, the +legal necessity of his putting in a personal appearance to claim and +receipt for the one hundred dollars of income which accrued to his +account every six months from the trust fund created by his mother in +her last will and testament, of which the Honorable--or +“Squire”--Hezekiah Mason was executor. And as Squire Mason is one of +the central figures in this legal tragi-comedy it may perhaps be worth +while to stop for a moment at this point and give him what might be +called the “literary once-over.” + +Let us state frankly, without circumlocution or evasion, that while +Hezekiah was known as “honorable” and “squire,” this grim visaged, +tight-lipped country attorney was neither. He was “honorable” only in +a Pickwickian sense; and a “squire” only by courtesy; but why or how +any courtesy should have been extended to him remained a mystery, +since he was the most unpopular man in the county,--evidenced by the +fact that he alone of Pottsville’s masculine élite--which included +the barber, druggist, sheriff and dentist--was not one of the Sacred +Camels of King Menelik, and needless to say it rankled in his dried +peapod of a soul. + +Nevertheless, the Hon. Hezekiah was a power for he had mortgages on a +majority of the farms of Somerset County already and his tentacles +were reaching out along the county highways and by-ways after the +others. Moreover, he was the only lawyer practising in either +Pottsville or Somerset Corners so that, in one way or another, he +managed to be mixed up in almost everything that went on. However, he +couldn’t break into the mystic circle of The Abyssinian Brotherhood, +which has a distinct bearing on our narrative. As Sheriff Moses +Higgins,--who was the Grand Supreme Exalted Patriarch and Ruler of the +Sacred Camels of King Menelik--had said at the lodge meeting held +three months before in the P. of H. (No. 769) Hall when Hezekiah had +made his final attempt to become one of the genus dromedary and had +been flatly and contumaciously turned down, refused, rejected, +rebuffed and repudiated--I repeat, as Sheriff Higgins had said on that +well known occasion, it made no difference how big a feller’s bank +account was if he was a stinker, and everybody who had an atom of +brains fer fifty miles ’round knew all-fired well what kind of a cuss +Mason was. Get a feller like that into the Camels and you never could +get rid of him--“once a Camel always a Camel”--the whole herd would be +contaminated. He’d sooner take in “Nigger” Jo, the colored ostler over +to the Phoenix House stable. He spoke fifteen minutes and there wasn’t +a white ball in the box when it was passed. + +So Squire Mason nursed his antique grudge and took his revenge in coin +of the realm. Then came the turn of the wheel and Hezekiah found +himself in a position where by the adroit application of five thousand +dollars where it would do most good he could get a strangle hold on +one of the leading politicians of the county. The fact that the only +funds available were those he held as trustee for James Hawkins was +the merest incident and did not disturb him even momentarily. They +were at hand and he used them. Skinny was only a tramp. He might get +run over any day, just as, fortunately for Hezekiah, was Lawyer +Tompkins, of Felchville, the public prosecutor of Somerset, for whose +vacant job the Honorable Squire Mason instantly applied. As he had a +cinch on the local political boss, and as the attorney general needed +the influence of the boss in his own business, and as the attorney +general had a cinch on the governor--he won in a walk and duly became, +by official appointment and designation, for Tompkins’ unexpired term, +district attorney of Somerset County, and having, after forty years of +plodding obscurity, suddenly found himself elevated to office he +instantly became consumed by the fire of ambition. While Cicero says +that “the noblest spirit is most strongly attracted by the love of +glory,” we do not intend by this mere statement of fact to entwine +with any wreath of bay or laurel the perspiring brow of Hezekiah. +Objectively Mason was a bombastic, old-fashioned country lawyer, +acrid, dry as dust, entirely unscrupulous, and, while superficially +shrewd, on the whole rather dull. Noise was his strong point, and +there was not a tougher pair of leather lungs in the Mohawk Valley, +down which he now looked with longing eyes towards the capital at +Albany, hoping perhaps to roar loud enough so that he could be heard +there, which at times seemed by no means impossible. Once ambition +stirs a man’s soul no height appears too high for him to scale. + + + “On the summit see, + The scales of office glitter in his eyes: + He climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels, + Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, + And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down, + And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.” + + +And now, having had one piece of luck, the lightning of fortune, as +sometimes happens, struck him again. + +Pottsville is the kind of “hick” town where the girls bob their hair +and the boys wear the very latest “pineapple” cut, where you can buy +“college ices” and “sundaes” at the drug store, but where the movies +run only twice a week and the barber shop is open only after four +o’clock on Saturdays. There is a smutty little wooden railroad +station, a memorial library of funereal granite, a brick business +block bearing date 1879, an octagonal horse-trough right in the middle +of Main Street, and the rickety old Phoenix Hotel, run by “Ma” Best, +_née_ Louisa Barrows, whose dad, “Old Doc Barrows,” was sent up to +Sing Sing for high-financing the countryside. + +There are, in addition, two churches, Baptist and Methodist, each +white with green shutters and a steeple,--a court house, the Mohawk +Palace Theater (celluloid), the P. of H. Hall, the “Pottsville Dry +Goods Emporium” belonging to “Toggery Bill” Gookin, Meachem’s Notion +Store and Colson’s Grocery. The street is unpaved and from February to +April is ankle high with mud. Such towns still survive even in the +Empire State. But while Pottsville will refer to Somerset Corners five +miles away as a “hick” town, it remains serenely oblivious of its own +hickitude. + +It was here that on a soft Saturday afternoon towards the end of +April, Squire Mason’s great moment came--that opportunity knocked upon +his office door and beckoned to him. And Hezekiah did not hesitate. + +He had been more than usually sour all day, for he had quarreled with +his wife at breakfast and when he reached the office he had found that +a farmer over Felchville way whose mortgage he held--and on whose +prompt payment he had relied to cover James Hawkins’ semiannual +interest of like amount, had unexpectedly defaulted. And--curse +it!--at eleven o’clock Skinny had come for his money, peering +apologetically through the door like the half-wit that he was, +twisting his faded bicycle cap between his fingers, almost afraid to +ask the squire for what was his. + +“Mornin’, squire,” he said, leaning awkwardly against the door jamb. +“Been well, I trust?” + +The Honorable Hezekiah Mason regarded the tramp malevolently. + +“Tol’rable!” he replied curtly. “I s’pose you’ve come after your +money.” + +“Yes,” assented Skinny. “Still,” he added politely, “if it ain’t +convenient----” His blue eyes roved vaguely around the barren room +seeing nothing. + +“Look here, Skinny!” remarked the lawyer gruffly, “what’s the use of +my turning over a hundred dollars to you to throw away? Why don’t you +let me keep it an’ invest it for you? The way you live ain’t +provident. A penny saved is a penny earned, an’ a hundred dollars is a +lot of money.” + +“It’s very kind of you,” faltered Skinny, “but I don’t throw it away. +Honest Injun, I don’t. It keeps me wanderin’--I’d like it if you kin +let me have it.” He paused and took a timid step towards the squire. +“May I ask you a question?” + +Now the one thing in the world that Squire Mason did not want was any +question from Hawkins about the whereabouts of his money. He had +intended to put the tramp off, but now he swiftly changed his mind. + +“Your money’s all right,” he retorted, getting to his feet. “You don’t +need to worry any ’bout it! I’ll go get it fer you!” + +“Thank you,” replied Skinny. “I was only goin’ to ask----” + +But Mason had bolted through the door. Ten minutes later he returned +and handed the tramp five twenty dollar bills, for which he took +Skinny’s receipt. + +“Now,” he remarked brusquely, “you’ve got your money. You better get +along. I’m busy this mornin’!” + +But Skinny had a matter of vital moment upon what by a euphemism might +have been termed his mind. It had been troubling him ever since his +conversation with the hermit with which this chronicle opens. And he +wanted the opinion of Squire Mason, as a learned man who presumably +knew all about such things. + +“I’d like to ask you a question, squire!” he persisted. + +Mason, cornered in his office, turned on him like a rat. + +“Well,--ask it!” he snapped defiantly. + +“I want to ask you if folks that know about such things think that +when a thing’s dead it’s dead?” + +The squire stared at him contemptuously. + +“P’tah!” he ejaculated. “What are you ravin’ about?” + +“About whether when folks die that’s the end of ’em,” explained +Skinny. “And if it’s the same with the animals.” + +Mason took courage. Skinny was not bothered about the safety of his +principal. + +“What’s the use conjecturin’ about things like that?” he asked more +genially. + +“It’s kinder important, ain’t it?” returned the tramp. + +The lawyer pursed his lips and gazed for an instant through the window +upon the sill of which a blue-bottle lay upon its back with its legs +stiffly in air. Then he turned sententiously to the tramp. + +“If you really want to know what I think,” he answered. “When a man’s +dead, he’s dead.” + +Skinny, his money in his pocket but troubled in his mind, made his way +slowly back to Turkey Hollow. The sun, which had been shining when he +had gone into the squire’s office, had become obscured by a bank of +cloud and it looked like rain, but all about him as he strode through +the woods the dogwoods were bursting into blossom amid a background of +diaphanous budding green. The spring was stirring in him, too. A +hundred dollars! Visions of purple valleys, of cool, trickling ravines +dank with spreading ferns, of fragrant fields of hay in which to +lie--without the necessity of chopping a single piece of kindling to +pay for his supper--rose in his mind. Wouldn’t it be great to be rich! +To lie in a hammock with a feather pillow under his head in the shade +of an orange tree and a nigger to hand him cool drinks and sandwiches +and gold-tipped cigarettes! To ride luxuriantly inside a Pullman car +or stand on the clinking back platform of the Sunset Limited watching +the misty mountains turn from azure to rose and from rose to +lilac--and pitying the bums walking the sleepers. To +sleep--sleep--sleep--in a big, soft bed! To have a man delicately +remove the hair from your neck and chin and scent your cheeks with +cologne water! To go into a grand hotel, bully the waiter, and eat +everything on the bill of fare without asking the price! Money! That +would do it. But a hundred dollars was only a flea bite! What he +needed was the real kale--a whole pot of gold! + +It had begun to rain by the time he had cooked his dinner, and +afterwards, as he sat in the opening of his shack smoking cigarettes, +it grew very dark and for half an hour poured down in torrents. Then +as will happen in fickle April the sun burst forth and turned the +leaden world into a dripping golden grotto, where every bough and twig +and leaf’s edge gleamed with a jeweled setting of pearls and diamonds, +and the hot mist rose shimmering from the steaming ground. Gold--gold +everywhere! Gold--the mystic element sought of the alchemists and of +the philosophies of ancient, medieval and modern times alike. Gold! + +Suddenly Skinny stiffened and sat erect. Thrown against the torn black +wind clouds of the departing storm was a great arch whose glowing +colors pained the eye, a perfect piece of heavenly architecture. High +it rose into the zenith a concentrated prismatic glory--emblem of the +eternal hope that sprang in the tramp’s breast. One end of the arc +came to earth far to the west--the golden west--and the other plunged +down at his feet into Turkey Hollow. There was no doubt about it at +all. Right into Turkey Hollow--right upon the hermit’s shanty, which +he could see through the interlacing boughs of the hillside sharply +defined as in a spotlight of saffron. Skinny started to his feet. If +he could only reach the hermit’s shanty before the rainbow faded the +crock of gold would be there. Sure! His mind never doubted it. It was +there now. If he hurried--this time he might find it! Without a +moment’s hesitation Skinny plunged down the hillside through the +reeking undergrowth, drenched to the skin, slipping, falling now on +beds of soaking moss, now over roots and stones--blood smearing his +face and hands--until he crashed down through the clump of birches +next the clearing. + +A man was sitting there under a boulder smoking a pipe, his ax across +his knees--waiting evidently for things to dry up a bit. He waved at +Skinny, but the tramp was too intent to answer him. Then came the +yellow gleam of the clearing through the brush and the shanty rose +hard against the sky just beyond. Surely he must be in time! + +He had emerged from the woods in the rear of the shanty on the edge of +the potato patch and he did not trouble to go around it but plowed +straight through the muddy rows, leaving a deep wake behind him across +the loam. Panting and dripping with sweat, Skinny hurried to the +nearest window of the shanty, the one above the hermit’s cot, and +peeked in. What he saw made his heart stand still. The sun was pouring +through the opposite window upon the back of the hermit, who sat bowed +over the table; and in front of him--its overflowing contents sending +yellow flashes darting into the dim recesses of the hut--stood a small +red bean-pot or “crock”--still sticky with earth--filled with shining +gold pieces. An expression of transcendental satisfaction illuminated +Skinny’s face. His faith was justified--as he had known and predicted +all along that eventually it would be. His confidence in his own +mental processes and spiritual beliefs rebounded from where it had +been crushed to earth by Squire Mason’s crass materialism. +Stealthily--so as not to frighten the hermit--he crept towards the +open door of the shanty.… + + +It was Charlie Emerson--the man sitting under the boulder with his ax +across his knees--who heard the shot that killed the hermit. He was +not a native of Pottsville, although he usually could be found there +every spring, working over at Sampson’s steam lumber mill at the lower +end of Turtle Pond. This particular Saturday he had got the afternoon +off to fill an order for pea sticks which he purposed cutting from the +birches which grew thick in the less swampy part of Turkey Hollow, and +he was right in the middle of it when the thunderstorm came up and he +had to stop for awhile until the sun should dry the bushes off. + +He saw Skinny cruising through the underbrush and was puzzled by the +fact that the tramp ignored his salutation. But he had gone on smoking +and, after taking a short nap, had resumed his work on the pea sticks. +Then, as the sun had begun to slant through the tree trunks and the +shadow of the hill to come creeping across the marsh, the hot silence +of the afternoon had been shattered first by a cry for help and then +by a shot--both from the hermit’s shanty less than two hundred yards +away. Ax in hand he made the distance through the thickets in less +than three minutes, and as he broke cover into the clearing behind the +house he saw the undergrowth moving on the other side and heard the +snapping of twigs. + +It was so still that he could hear the drone of a bee in the fringe of +meadow-sweet down by the well, and--coupled with the cry--it gave him +a weird creepy feeling such as he never knew before. But he took a +good grip on himself, walked round the shanty, and looked in through +the open door. + +Everything was as usual--the clock, the cot, the rickety table, the +chair, the fish rod and butterfly net, all were undisturbed--except +that the hermit lay upon his back on the floor, his arms outstretched, +the blood jetting from his mouth, a film gathering in his wide open +eyes. Emerson knelt by the side of the dying man and gently lifted the +great hairy head. The blood that came from his mouth made a queer +guttering sound--grotesquely resembling to his agitated mind the faint +clucking of a hen. Then the noise stopped; the hermit no longer +breathed; and the lumberman as he lowered the hermit’s head to the +floor heard the loud beat of an insect’s wings and observed a large +gray moth flapping frantically against the window. He had seen a +million moths--! Yet, with relief Emerson saw it vanish through the +open doorway. + +With averted face he threw the “comfortable” across the hermit’s body +and, as he did so, noticed the broken fragments of a small, red clay +pot lying beneath the table. One of the hermit’s hands protruded from +beneath the coverlet--grasping tightly a single gold-piece. Emerson, +standing in the stifling atmosphere of the hut, could hear no sound +but the beating in his ears of his own heart. + +The mill hand dashed from the shanty, marking the footprints in the +garden patch, and hunted courageously for the murderer in the +surrounding woods; but the criminal had too good a start. Then, with +no doubt whatever in his mind as to who it had been, he ran down the +wood road that joined the main highway half a mile from the shanty. + + +There had been a big gang assembled in Colson’s Grocery waiting for +the barber shop to open next door when Skinny entered at almost +precisely four o’clock by the Western Union automatically regulated +clock over the candy counter; and, while nobody had paid much +attention to him at the time, it was remembered distinctly afterwards +that he had been breathing hard and excited, and had ordered a bottle +of root beer and drank it with a sort of ostentatious, devil-may-care +indifference. He had also remarked to someone that he had cut his +finger in the woods, and his handkerchief was bloody. + +Most of the crowd were still there when, fifteen minutes later, +Charlie Emerson, the lumber man with the ax, reached the village with +the news that the hermit had been murdered. + +He came running down the road all splashed with mud and the fellows in +Colson’s could hear him shouting nearly a furlong away. There was a +general stampede for the street,--in which the occupants of the brick +block, the barber shop, and the drug store all joined. Emerson came +staggering along--stopping every few yards to yell “Murder!”--and +brought up exhausted in front of the stairs leading to Squire Mason’s +office, which was opposite the sheriff’s on the first landing. + +“Th’ hermit’s been murdered!” he panted hysterically. “Shot right +through the lungs!--Where’s the sheriff?--Gosh, it’s fierce!--Where’s +Squire Mason?” + +The crowd surged round him, Squire Mason’s head appeared at his +window, and then, with a whoop, they all rushed up the stairs to the +sheriff’s office. But Mason held the crowd back sternly on the +landing. + +“I’m prosecutor o’ this county!--I’ll take care o’ this witness!” he +announced in a tone of authority. “Now some o’ you hustle over and +fetch the sheriff--he’s gone down to the station fer the mail. An’ +don’t none of you dare so much as move ’till he comes and tells you +what to do.--Now, you!” to the ax-man--“Come into my office an’ let me +take your deposition.” + +There was a murmur of disappointment from the crowd as Mason firmly +conducted Emerson inside and shut the door; but they all obediently +poured down the stairs again after the sheriff. Then some one began to +ring the fire alarm and, by the time Sheriff Higgins reached the horse +trough, the mob was so dense in front of the doorway that he could +hardly force his way through. He was inside less than a minute before +he reappeared at Mason’s window. + +“Anybody seen Skinny Hawkins?” he cried excitedly. + +“He was here a minute ago!” answered someone. + +“I seen him walkin’ off down the road towards the race track--just +afore the bell began ringin’!” yelled up a small boy. + +“Well!” shouted Higgins, “get after him an’ stop him.--Don’t let him +get away!” + +The next instant the pack were in full cry. + + * * * * * * + +Perhaps if Skinny hadn’t been a half-wit he wouldn’t have run. Perhaps +he should have pulled himself together--and with his pockets full of +the hermit’s gold and his boots covered with mud from the hermit’s +potato patch--he should have boldly answered: “Here I am! What do you +want of me?” and marched up to the sheriff’s office. But, on the other +hand, perhaps many a more sensibly-minded man than he under the same +unfortunate circumstances would have taken to his legs. Admit, it was +a foolish and useless thing to do! We have all on occasion lost our +nerve--even if we all be wise men. And certainly Skinny was not wise! + +He could not deny having been in the hermit’s company within half an +hour, the gold was on his person, the mud upon his feet. He had been +caught almost, had his addled memory retained the phrase, _in +flagrante delicto_. Being a tramp, used to rough treatment even from +ordinarily kind people, accustomed to be called a vagabond and a thief +and to have the dogs set upon him, familiar from long experience with +his brother hoboes with tales of tortures and lynchings in which the +knotted rope and kerosene figured vividly, Skinny fled in a hysteria +of fear down the road towards the race track and thence across the +fields into the woods. + +He was less than three minutes ahead of the crowd at the start and +unfortunately for him the sheriff’s flivver was standing in front of +the drug store, so that by the time he took cover they were actually +at his heels. Moreover, a dozen of the older boys sensing that he +might try to beat back towards the Hollow ran up the crossroad to cut +him off. The fact that most of them liked him was nothing. A chase was +a chase. Hare and hounds,--while it lasted. Besides, this was a hunt +for a murderer--and flight was equivalent to confession. + +Badly winded, Skinny crashed through the woods, the shouts of his +pursuers close in his ears. Ahead he could see the blue sky through +the trees where the fields began again. He reached the edge and came +dead upon a man plowing. Faintly borne on the wind he heard the +distant clang of the fire bell and a couple of revolver shots from +nearer at hand. “Putt!” they said. “Putt-putt!” Skinny did not like +the sound of them. He ducked back and ran like a fagged fox along the +hedge by the field, then paused to listen again. There was a crackling +in the brush to the left while just beyond, on the other side of the +open, the barber and the drug clerk, who had followed a wood road +suddenly appeared staring directly at him. + +“Hi!” yelled the barber, waving his razor which he had carried in his +hand. “Hi! Here he is! This way!” + +The crackling behind him grew louder. He could see shadows stealthily +creeping from tree to tree. Of course they thought him armed! They +might shoot! He did not know what to do. He did not want either to be +carved up by the barber or to be blown to bits by a shotgun. His +tongue was like a baked potato and his lungs ached as if with +rheumatism. He could hardly see. There they were--hundreds of them--! + +“’S all right, Bill!” he called hoarsely. “I ain’t tryin’ to git +away.” + +And he staggered out a few feet between the furrows and fell in a +faint. It was characteristic of him that he had made no attempt to +throw away the hermit’s gold. + +Twenty minutes later “Ma” Best, who had been quietly cooking in the +Phoenix House kitchen throughout the whole disturbance, heard a great +shouting down the road and went to the door to see what it was all +about. Over by the “deppo” she could see a crowd of men and boys +pushing or dragging somebody in their midst. The smaller of the boys +danced and capered ahead of the throng, one of them turning fancy +“cartwheels.” Then came Sheriff Higgins, stalking along importantly, +two men with shotguns on either side of him, followed by the barber, +Mr. Perkins the proprietor of the Mohawk Palace, and old Colson the +grocer. Directly behind this cluster of notables--who in a grotesque +way suggested a group of Roman senators escorted by their lictors--at +an interval of perhaps ten feet, walked Skinny the tramp, his face +pale as that of the murdered hermit, hatless, a rope around his neck, +and his hands bound behind his back. The end of the rope was held by +no less a personage than “Toggery Bill” Gookin, who providentially had +happened to be returning from a visit to Zayda the Zingara Gipsy +fortune teller at the moment of Skinny’s capture. From time to time +the haberdasher would jerk the rope as if the tramp were a horse and +the more light-minded in the crowd would cluck and call out “Geddap!” +For the rest, they swarmed along in a mob, yelling, joking, uttering +cat-calls and other vague and meaningless noises. + +“What’s the trouble, sheriff?” called out “Ma” Best. “What yer doin’ +with Skinny?” + +The dignity of Sheriff Higgins did not permit him to make reply. +Instead the crowd yelled at her generally. + +“’S killed the hermit!” shouted an urchin. “Murdered him!--Whoop-ee! +Hurray!” + +“Murder nuthin’!” snorted “Ma” Best. “You’re jest a pack of +idiots.--Skinny wouldn’t kill a spider!” + +“Whee-uup! Whoop! Hurray!” shrieked the crowd in the delight of having +conducted a successful man-hunt, jumping around “Toggery Bill” and his +victim, as a pack of hounds will jump, snapping and barking about the +body of the fox they have run to earth. “Whee-uup! Hurray!--Lynch him! +String him up!” + +They had reached the horse-trough and the two men with the shotguns +held back the crowd while Sheriff Higgins relieved “Toggery Bill” of +the rope and led Skinny upstairs to his office. In a moment the +sheriff appeared at the window. + +“Feller citizens of Pottsville!” he shouted. “In the name o’ the +People of the State of New York I call on ye to disperse peaceable and +go to your homes. There ain’t goin’ to be no lynchin’ nor nuthin’ like +that. Skinny’s goin’ to the jail and he’s goin’ to stay there until +the Grand Jury has acted on his case which will be day after +to-morrer. Now, there’s no use kickin’ up any fuss or ruction and I +warn ye not to go near Turkey Hollow. Kindly disperse!” + +Skinny the Tramp having been treated to a brief and exceedingly crude +variety of the “third degree” in the sheriff’s office, and having +“stood mute,” was transferred to the calaboose, where Sam Bellows, +who, owing to his obesity, could not take any more active part, was +set to watch him. It is doubtful whether Skinny would have made any +further attempt to get away, even if “paroled in his own custody”; for +his flight had been the instant, automatic reaction from a paroxysm of +terror in which he visioned himself as a human torch--not the result +of any genuine hope that he could escape the processes of the law, for +whose far-reaching effectiveness he had in fact a vast respect. + +Now that he had been brought back without having been lynched, his +instinct told him to hold his tongue. He was no match for them--not +even for Sheriff Higgins--and he knew it. If he said anything they +would twist it somehow against him. His only hope lay in the quantum +of evidence. Nobody had seen him at the hermit’s shanty, so why admit +that he had been there? That was only common caution. Anybody could +have gold pieces; and if he had left any tracks there was no way of +proving when they had been made. So Skinny obstinately refused to open +his mouth, and sat on a decayed chair in the unsanitary box resembling +a flagman’s shanty which passed for a jail while the youth--the +extreme youth--of Pottsville sat in rows around Sam Bellows, dividing +their attention between comments upon his beauty of person and audible +conjectures as to the probable fate of the murderer within. + +Contemporaneously Squire Mason, having in his office reduced to +written form the testimony of Emerson the lumberman, unexpectedly +realized that he was confronted by a disturbing problem in legal +ethics. Here he was, hardly appointed district attorney a week before +the most sensational murder ever committed in the county had occurred +at his very door! It was his chance!--the chance of a lifetime!--a +sure conviction! But--and here was the rub!--were his relations to the +accused such that he could properly conduct the case against him? At +best could he take any more active part in the trial than as a mere +witness, considering the fact that he was trustee of the tramp’s money +and bore to him the confidential relationship of lawyer to client? +Could he even appear against him as a witness? Might not the half-wit, +indeed, have had murder in his mind that very morning when he had +asked him if “anything ever really died?” The squire’s hopes wilted at +the thought and his heart fell. Why, it was the biggest opportunity +for legitimate notoriety since the Rosenthal murder! It was ridiculous +to let a little thing like the fact that he was Skinny’s trustee make +any difference! No one would in fact need to know? If Skinny remained +mute, as he apparently intended to do, it probably would never come to +light,--at any rate not until Hawkins had been convicted, and then it +would sink into insignificance in the blaze of his glory. There was +nothing to connect him with Skinny in any way, for the five +twenty-dollar bills which he had delivered to the tramp that morning +had not been found upon him when he was arrested. No,--the chance was +worth taking. A brave man would take it; and fortune always favored +the brave! + +Squire Mason, however, was not the only brave man in Pottsville, for +Sheriff Moses Higgins meanwhile had started for Turkey Hollow to make +an examination of the scene of the crime. With him in the flivver +officially designated as “Lizzie” were Emerson, the lumberman, the two +armed deputies and Mr. Pennypacker, the photographer from Somerset +Corners, for the sheriff was up on all the latest modern methods of +detecting crime and knew just how it should be done. And some day they +would all have to be witnesses and testify to exactly what they had +seen. + +They left the flivver where the wood road from the Hollow joined the +highway and walked in the rest of the way on foot. It was a +circumstance commented on by all of them that the sheriff’s order, +that nobody should visit the scene of the murder until he had done so, +had been strictly obeyed. But the ghastly corpse of a murdered man is +its own best guardian--particularly if it be that of a hermit lying in +his blood--alone in a bosky, lonely spot--with evening coming on. The +peaceful inhabitants of Pottsville had no great hankering to see how +the dead hermit looked, much preferring the less grim sport of +tramp-baiting. So the five men met no one on their way; neither did +any sound break the silence of the woods about them. + +An unexpected pall descended upon their spirits. It had been great +sport to jump into a motor with guns and cameras, and whirr off +consequentially in a cloud of dust, leaving the staring crowd gazing +enviously after them. They had even cracked jokes while they were on +the road. But now, with the sun already behind the ridge that framed +the Hollow upon which the shadows were closing steadily as if night +were about to clutch it in its fingers, with no sound save the creak +of their own boots or the gibber of a chipmunk in the alders to break +the deathly silence of the woods, they found conversation difficult. +The men with the shotguns felt fairly comfortable--although of course +it would be a cinch for anybody lurking in the bushes to shoot the lot +of them. But Sheriff Higgins, who although a sheriff and the Supreme +Exalted Ruler of the Sacred Camels of King Menelik had never seen a +dead body and was more of a “family man” than a bloodhound, and “Cy” +Pennypacker, whose most daring adventure had been to invite Zayda the +Zingara vamp to his studio to be photographed--for which he paid +heavily afterwards at home, and who now, owing to the weight of his +camera and plate holders, found difficulty in keeping up with the +others,--both these worthies secretly began to wish that they could +escape the duty which lay before them. + +“Ssh!” suddenly whispered Emerson, and they all jumped; then stood +tensely in their tracks. + +Far up on the dark hillside could be heard at intervals of a few +seconds the snapping of twigs. + +“That’s a long ways off!” said the sheriff inconsequently. + +They resumed their pilgrimage at a somewhat lessened pace; but at last +they could see the opening-up of the trees against the sky that marked +the hermit’s clearing. + +“Hold up a second!” remarked the sheriff nervously. “Le’s decide about +this thing! Suppose you fellers with the guns go first--so’s to be all +ready--an’ then I’ll come right along----” + +“Look here, Moses,” retorted one of the gunmen. “I ain’t got no +partic’lar objection to goin’ first, but you’re sheriff an’ I reckon +it’s up to you.” + +Mr. Higgins hesitated. As Patriarch of the Sacred Camels it would not +do to permit any intimation of pusillanimity upon his part to get +abroad. + +“Guess you’re right!” he remarked carelessly. “Gimme the gun.” + +“What for?” demanded its owner. “You don’t need no gun to shoot a dead +man!” + +“I know that ’s well as you do!” retorted the sheriff. “But wha’d you +bring a gun fer if there wasn’t no use fer it?--Le’s go up together!” + +Thus reinforced the sheriff and his companion cautiously approached +the open door of the hermit’s shanty, on which the shadow of the ridge +had already fallen and was now slipping across the potato patch +towards the edge of the woods. On the threshold they paused. Then the +sheriff, swallowing, thrust in his head. It was so dark that at first +he could see only the face of the hermit’s old clock leering at him +out of the dusk. Then gradually he made out the crumpled bundle that +had been the hermit, lying in front of it. A grimy fist protruded from +beneath the covering. The sheriff bent over gingerly and took hold of +one corner of the comfortable. Then he withdrew his hand quickly. The +bedding had been lying upon the floor and was soaked in blood. + +“God!” shrieked the sheriff and tottered out of the shanty. + +“What’s th’ matter?” demanded Emerson rudely. + +“There’s blood on everything--all over the place!” gasped Higgins. + +“Well,--didn’t you look at him?” continued the lumberman brutally. + +“I’m goin’ to, soon’s I kin git the blood off’n my hands!” returned +the sheriff valiantly. + +He rubbed his fingers ostentatiously in the grass. Then he crept back +to the door of the shanty and looked in. The man with the gun poked +the comfortable off the hermit’s body. + +“P’thah!” coughed the sheriff recoiling. “P’thah!--Somebody else +search that body--I can’t!” + +He leaned heavily against the outside of the shanty and lowered his +head. + + +Nobody in Pottsville went to bed that night, and next day both local +clergymen preached rival sermons upon the text, “Thou shalt not kill.” +Also, although few of the inhabitants had taken the slightest interest +in the hermit during his life, except to deride him as a crank and a +drunkard, there was universal mourning for him now that he was dead; +for it was felt that in a way his presence in the Hollow had given a +certain distinction to the township which otherwise it would not have +had. It was a great moment for Pottsville. And so were the days +following during which the Grand Jury indicted Skinny for murder and +the case of “The People vs. James Hawkins” gradually built itself up, +block by block, “line upon, line,” “here a little and there a little,” +circumstance upon circumstance, until his guilt seemed established +beyond the utmost requirement of the law. + +Then the gipsies, having weathered the rather superficial +investigation of the prosecutor, moved on to the “Sunny Southland” or +wherever it was that they were going, and six weeks later Local Lodge +No. 948 of the Brotherhood of Abyssinian Mysteries convened at +Somerset Corners to debate whether the fact that James Hawkins was an +ex-member entitled him to pecuniary assistance for the purpose of +retaining counsel, upon the broad theory that once a Sacred Camel of +King Menelik--“always a camel.” For he had given the high-sign for +help and the Treasury of the Hibernating Hoboes of Hesperides was +empty,--since the twenty shiny new five-dollar gold pieces which had +been found in Skinny’s pocket upon his arrest had been removed +therefrom and now reposed in the safe of the district attorney as +evidence against him. + +Thus came opportunity to the door of Hezekiah Mason for the second +time; for in his widely heralded prosecution of Skinny the tramp, he +perceived “a stepping stone to higher things,”--not on his own “dead +self” but on the “dead selves” of Skinny and the hermit. Had not one +well-known public prosecutor, he told himself, leaped into the +gubernatorial saddle, and for a space held the reins of office, merely +because he had convicted a policeman of participating in the murder of +a gambler? Why should not he do the same for convicting a +distinguished tramp of the murder of a famous hermit? Indeed, who +shall quarrel with his logic? + + +“Tutt,” said Mr. Ephraim Tutt, of the well-known, if not celebrated, +law firm of Tutt & Tutt, on entering his office the morning after the +meeting of the Abyssinian Brothers, “kindly take a look at this!” And +he held out a night-letter telegram. + + + “Somerset Corners, N.Y. + + “Tutt & Tutt, Attorneys-at-Law, + “61 Broadway, N. Y. City. + + “Local Lodge Nine Hundred and Forty-eight, Abyssinian Brotherhood, + desires retain you to defend James Hawkins, otherwise known as Skinny + the Tramp, indicted for murder of Hermit of Turkey Hollow + twenty-seventh last May. Our resources limited to two hundred and + fifty dollars cash. Trial takes place next week. Kindly advise whether + you will accept retainer. + + “Silas Higley, + + “Grand Supreme Scribe, Sacred Camels of King Menelik, Brotherhood of + Abyssinian Mysteries. + + “_Collect._” + + +“Well,” commented his sprightly partner, the lesser Tutt of the two, +“I observe that they prudently sent their invitation at our +expense.--You don’t seriously consider bothering with any legal junk +like that?” + +Mr. Tutt paused in applying a match to the rat-tailed stogy which +drooped from his wrinkled lips. + +“I wouldn’t miss it for a farm!” declared he. “A country murder +trial?--Why, it’ll be a regular vacation for me!” + +“There be no money in it!” growled his junior partner. “And it’ll take +you a week.” + +“Who asks money,” demanded Mr. Tutt, striking an heroic attitude, +“when innocence calls for succor? Could any true-hearted member of the +bar--if he had a trace of romance in his soul--refuse to defend a +prisoner known by ‘form and style’ as ‘Skinny the Tramp,’ especially +if he be charged with murdering a hermit, and still more particularly +if requested to do so by the Order of the Sacred Camels of King +Menelik, whose invitation is a command? What, may I ask, are hermits +for--but to be murdered?” + +“You’re incorrigible!” sighed Tutt. “I suppose the whole office will +be depleted.” + +“No--I’ll try the case alone!” replied his senior, “I’ll merely send +Bonnie Doon up there to look around a little and hear what my client +has to say for himself, and then I’ll go up a couple of days before +and examine the witnesses personally--I’ll have the time of my life.” + +“Yes! And incidentally you’ll waste a week or ten days and end by +paying all the expenses of the trial yourself.--I know you!” + +“Well, what else have I got to spend my money on?” retorted Mr. Tutt. +“I might as well spend it on keeping an innocent tramp out of the +electric chair as anything else!” + +Now, as Tutt, the lesser, knew that Tutt, the greater, would +eventually do exactly as he chose, the argument then and there died; +and the up-to-date Mr. Bonwright Doon, that extraordinary combination +of law clerk, ambulance-chaser, detective and man-about-town who had +attached himself to the firm was at once despatched to Pottsville, as +Mr. Tutt’s _avant courier_, where he in due course interviewed Skinny +the Tramp in the calaboose, gave Squire Mason the “once-over,” +fraternized with Sheriff Higgins and his fat-boy deputy, Mr. Sam +Bellows, attended a Lodge Meeting of the Sacred Camels of which--as +well as of many similar organizations--he was a member, and after +spending but one night under the hospitable roof of the Phoenix House +won the lasting loyalty and friendship of “Ma” Barrows and of her +daughter Betty, aged nine, whose capacity for peanuts, popcorn, +ice-cream cones and bananas he demonstrated by actual test at Syracuse +to be equal to that of Ringling Bros.’ baby elephant. + +Then, having spied out the lay of the land, he returned weighted with +information and wisdom, to make his report to Mr. Tutt,--a report by +no means rose-colored and yet not without hope. + +“That town is certainly some hick!” declared the cosmopolitan Mr. Doon +a week later in making his official return. “It’s the variety of +metropolis where they regard an imported cigar as an immorality and +where the height of dissipation is an evening at a Custard Pie Comedy +with Fatty Arbuckle as custardee. It contained no male citizen in +Class 1-A, B or C under the recent draft, but it numbers among its +midst forty-one sacred camels--of which, you may recall, I am one.” + +“H’m!” murmured Mr. Tutt, making a mental note. + +“Yes!” agreed Bonnie, reading his mind. “Moreover, nothing of moment +has happened there since Artemas Ward gave his celebrated lecture on +‘Fools’ in the P. of H. hall in 1883. Hence this assassination has +naturally excited a heap big local pride. When this tramp-hermit case +comes to the bar there’s going to be such a Roman holiday as the +Mohawk Valley never saw. The rubes are all coming from miles around, +bringing the entire family with ’em and sufficient cold vittles to +last a week, and there’ll be overflow meetings all the way to Utica.” + +“No doubt! No doubt!” mused his employer. “But what of my opponents? +What of the _dramatis personæ_ of the contest? And--what of my +client?” + +“Your client is a childish nut,” responded Mr. Doon, “who devotes his +life to trying to find the pots of kale at the twin bases of the +rainbow’s arc. From my casual observation I should infer that he was a +trifle less harmless than a cottontail. He naturally asserts he didn’t +do it, and of course maybe he didn’t; but by heck! they’re going to +come awful close to proving it on him.” + +“What’s the evidence?” inquired Mr. Tutt, leaning back in his swivel +chair and crossing his Congress shoes on Parker’s New York Criminal +Code which lay open at “Murder” upon his desk. + +“All you want,” answered Bonnie cheerfully. “Defendant observed going +towards hermit’s hut a few minutes before the murder, tries to avoid +notice, cry and shot heard, witness bolts to cabin which he reaches in +three minutes and finds hermit dying with gold piece in his hand and a +broken bean-pot on floor beside him, defendant’s pipe left on table, +pursues murderer through woods in general direction of village but +can’t overtake him. Defendant walks into grocery store where all the +boobs are assembled waiting for the weekly shave--at four +o’clock--breathless, excited, blood on his hands--pursuing witness +arrives--also breathless--at four-fifteen and gives the alarm. +Defendant is arrested but when accused refuses to make any statement; +and, if that’s not enough,--his pockets turn out to be full of gold +pieces of the same vintage as the one in the hermit’s hand, and his +shoes fit the marks in the potato patch.--Q.E.D.” + +“Did you say this is going to be a trial?” queried Mr. Tutt. “I should +say it was more likely to be an execution.” + +“So would I,” assented Bonnie, except for a few minor details. “In the +first place the defendant is a harmless dreamer,--half-feckless fool, +half ‘boob,’ half philosopher and half----” he paused. + +“Well?” commented his employer. “Half--what?” + +Bonnie still hesitated rather sheepishly. + +“Half-gentleman,” he declared in a slightly defiant tone. + +Mr. Tutt smiled approvingly. + +“Do they know it?” he asked. + +“Oh, yes!” answered Bonnie. “But everybody likes a drink of blood +occasionally!” + +“What are your other minor details?” + +“The prosecutor is a crook--and I’ve got the goods on him.” + +“What kind?” asked Mr. Tutt more cheerfully. + +“Fifty-seven varieties!” affirmed the ambulance-chaser. “He sticks the +boobs for eighteen per cent on his loans, he sneaks up to Utica once +in three weeks by himself and gets hard boiled, and he looks like the +family portrait of Uncle Jonas Hardscrabble. Besides, although I don’t +know why I think so, I have a feeling he’s got some particular +personal animosity against our client.” + +“H’h!” mused Mr. Tutt. “How about the sheriff?” + +Bonnie grinned, as with meticulous elegance he removed a cigarette +from a golden case bearing his initials set in diamonds. + +“He’s playing the constable in a b’gosh drama up on Broadway. Better +drop in and look him over. And he’s got a posse like the fire hose +company in Old Jed Prouty!” + +Mr. Tutt shook his head regretfully. + +“I don’t like your setting. The whole country will be +hell-bent-for-conviction on general principles. They’ll want to +vindicate their reputation for law and order and--if they’re in +doubt--instead of acquitting they’ll return a verdict of murder in the +second and rely on executive clemency to remedy any possible +injustice! I know ’em!” + +“Mr. Tutt,” replied Bonnie with intense seriousness. “They’re going to +give you the fight of your life!” + +Mr. Tutt fumbled in the coffin-like box on his desk for a stogy. + +“I surmised as much!” he muttered. “I surmised as much. But--you never +can tell!” + +He lit the stogy meditatively and gazed out of the office window +through half-lowered lids. + +“You say the prisoner entered the drug store at four o’clock exactly?” + +“Yes--that’s absolutely fixed.” + +“And his pursuer at fifteen minutes past?” + +“Yes.” + +Mr. Tutt pursed his lips. + +“How far did they have to run?” + +“About a mile.” + +The old lawyer made a rapid calculation. + +“And what time was the murder committed?” he asked suddenly. + +“I don’t know,” replied the clerk. “I had no way to find out.” + +“Well,” said Mr. Tutt, bringing his feet to the floor with a bang. +“That’s what we’ve got to find out. The whole case turns on it. If our +client fired the shot that killed the hermit and it took the witness +three minutes to reach the shanty and--say--a couple of minutes more +to look around there--then the defendant must have increased his five +minute start to fifteen minutes in a single mile--and if the other man +was running hard I don’t believe he could have done it! No, sir!--He’s +not guilty!” + +“And then--there’s the Sacred Camels of King Menelik!” mused Bonnie. +“_And the sheriff is head camel!_” + + + + + II + +When Lawyer Ephraim Tutt arrived in Pottsville to conduct the +defense of Skinny the Tramp for the murder of the Hermit of Turkey +Hollow, having been retained to that end by the local order of the +Sacred Camels of King Menelik, he found the whole town up and waiting +for him. Having with his customary equanimity deposited his bag at the +Phoenix House and eaten his dinner, he strolled into the kitchen and, +as was his wont, endeavored to gain some knowledge of local color, +politics and personalities, including that of the client for whose +life he was responsible, by engaging genial “Ma” Best, the +proprietress, in conversation. + +“Why, bless your heart, Mr. Tutt!” she assured him after she had wiped +her hands upon her apron and invited him to a seat in the broken-down +rocker beside the wood box, “there ain’t no gentler, kinder soul than +Skinny in the whole county! I’ve known him all his life and his ma +afore him. He’s just a pore, harmless critter that wouldn’t hurt a +fly. Many’s the time I’ve seen him put a baby bird back into the nest +that had fallen out. O’ course he’s kind o’ weak in the upper +story--but he ain’t crazy by a long shock, an’ there’s some things he +knows a lot more about ’n most folks.” + +“Will you testify as a witness to his good reputation?” asked Mr. +Tutt. + +“Indeed I will!” she declared warmly. “And so’ll half the people in +Pottsville--the children, anyways! Now what would you like for your +supper?--Griddle cakes?” + + * * * * * * + +Those of our readers who have journeyed from London down to Epsom on +race day may be able to form some notion of the condition of affairs +in the environs of Pottsville upon the opening morning of the trial of +Skinny the Tramp. Long before the light of the stars had paled before +the coming dawn--e’en before the glowworm had bid the matin to be +near--lanterns flickered in the doorways of distant barns and bobbed +down country roads beneath the bouncing axles of antique buggies and +carry-alls bearing the sleepless inhabitants of the Mohawk Valley to +the legal colosseum of Somerset County. By sunrise Main Street was one +long line of flivvers, while the race track recently occupied by the +Zingara Gipsies was crowded with every variety of antediluvian vehicle +of locomotion,--parked axle to axle. + +When at eight o’clock Sheriff Higgins unlocked the door of the court +house the stampede which followed filled every bench in less than +thirty seconds. Competition for the pleasurable and exciting privilege +of sitting upon the jury was keen and the box having been quickly +filled by eleven o’clock, old Judge Tompkins was able to direct the +prosecutor to open his case. + +“Silence in the court room!” cautioned the sheriff pompously. “Silence +in the court!--All them folks as wants to go out--git out now--or set +still!” + +This invitation being disingenuous and not meant to be taken seriously +since obviously nobody wished to withdraw,--there being, on the +contrary, by actual count three hundred and sixty-one persons packed +against the outside of the door who were anxious to get in,--everybody +accordingly sat still,--except for that slow, uniform, rhythmical +facial movement which now characterizes the entire American nation +while viewing any spectacle. Sheriff Higgins thereupon sat down +heavily himself, by so doing seeming coincidently to elevate Squire +Mason, as upon the other end of the seesaw of public attention. The +trial was on in earnest,--the biggest event in the Mohawk since Abe +Lincoln showed himself on the back platform of his train when he came +through on his way to Washington in 1861. Some of the old codgers who +had seen him then--as little boys--were even sitting in the court room +now,--and more than one commented on the striking resemblance between +him and Lawyer Tutt. + +And now Squire Mason, in a new, light blue, broadcloth suit, bowed to +Judge Tompkins, wiped his massive forehead with a parti-colored +handkerchief, took an ostentatious sip from the discolored glass of +water upon the deal table in front of him, replaced it carefully, shot +a defiant and contemptuous glance in the direction where Skinny the +Tramp sat with Mr. Tutt, cleared his throat, and having thus, by +convolutions only somewhat less complicated than those of a Bush +League pitcher but serving much the same purpose, given due notice +that he was about to deliver the ball and that everybody had better +look,--Squire Mason, we say, began his great opening address to the +gentlemen-farmers of the jury who had in their keeping the life of +Skinny the Tramp. + +Having first outlined the entire history of the law of homicide +beginning with the well-known Cain-Abel murder in 4000 B.C. he +proceeded, by vocal stages of approximately twenty parasangs each, +through the pages of Holy Writ, not excluding the Apochrypha,--and +referring specifically to both the Judith-Holofernes and the +Jael-Sisera cases,--touched briefly upon the lex talionis, the Salic +law, and the development of the ecclesiastical courts,--and finally +burst into the full flower of rhetoric along with the abolition of +benefit of clergy in 1825. As a symposium of miscellaneous penological +information it was something very fine indeed,--although it had +nothing to do with Skinny the Tramp or the Hermit of Turkey +Hollow,--and the jury, hardened by generations of country sermons--not +only accepted it as their due but drank it all in with rapturous +delight. And at length--as befitted its importance both to the jury +and to him--the Squire came to the matter in hand and that is where +this story really only begins,--the story of the fight for a human +life. + +Some time on the afternoon of Saturday, May twenty-seventh last, +declared the Squire, an innocent, helpless old recluse was shot to +death in his shanty in Turkey Hollow. Obviously robbery had been the +motive, since the dead man still clutched in his hand a piece of gold +and upon the floor lay a shattered earthen receptacle which had +doubtless contained others. There were only two persons known to be +anywhere in the neighborhood at the time, James Hawkins, alias Skinny +the Tramp,--the prisoner at the bar,--and Emerson, the lumberman who +had been cutting pea sticks in the Hollow, who had heard the shot and +had hurried at once to the scene of the murder and later given the +alarm. The squire here paused for increased emphasis. + +However, he remarked, the murderer, like most murderers fortunately, +had not made his escape without leaving the evidences of his identity +behind him. Not only had he left his pipe, but fresh in the rich earth +of the hermit’s potato patch were the prints of a heavy pair of boots, +the soles of which were thickly studded with nails. He would in due +course exhibit to them an enlarged photograph of said footprints taken +on the very afternoon of the crime by Mr. Pennypacker, who ran the +gallery over to Somerset Corners. Again he paused significantly, and +looked at Skinny the Tramp. + +Who, he asked, had worn those fatal boots? Whose guilty feet had left +those telltale prints? The same person, he answered dramatically, who +at four o’clock had stumbled, disheveled, out of breath and +blood-stained, into Colson’s Grocery and called for a bottle of root +beer that Saturday afternoon--and in whose pockets had been discovered +the balance of the gold pieces representing the hermit’s hoard--the +defendant! + +A murmur in which were blended astonishment, horror and admiration +arose from the crowded benches, showing that for the first time the +audience realized the gravity of what was going on,--that not only an +innocent man had been killed but that there was sitting within reach +of their fingers the man who had killed him and whom the law now +sought to kill in return. Beneath the table Mr. Tutt patted the knee +of Skinny the Tramp, indicating a confidence which he by no means +felt. + +Then the prosecutor proceeded to drive a few more nails in Skinny’s +coffin. When the defendant had been arrested, he informed the jury, +the latter declined to make any statement, either of explanation or of +denial, in his own behalf. He had simply stood mute, giving by his +trembling limbs, his averted eyes and the chalk-like color of his +face, every evidence of a guilty conscience. Then Mason told the jury +with an air of melancholy how he hated to be compelled to prosecute +any human being for a crime--much more for a murder--but that it was +his solemn, sworn duty to do so, just as it would be theirs under the +circumstances to convict; and--called Charlie Emerson to the witness +chair. + +If, at this point, the reader should begin to speculate as to what, if +any, is the underlying purpose of this story, let us hasten to state +that its object is to demonstrate that sometimes the trial of an +action in court under our rules of evidence is less a search for the +truth than it is a game of legal chess. + +There are two lessons to be drawn from the case of Skinny the Tramp. +The first is, that the trial-lawyer, like the general, must be ready +instantly to change his tactics to meet new situations as they arise, +and that the prosecutor or attorney for the defense who goes into +court with a hidebound theory as to his case is apt to leave his own +hide behind him neatly hammered to the court room wall. He should +realize that the whole actual truth concerning any human happening is +never known, being never learned in court because the witnesses, +well-meaning though they be, are human,--fallible as to observation, +memory and the power to express their recollection of what they think +they originally saw and heard. In a word, the real or absolute truth +is never the legal truth, and as what the legal truth under the +technical rules of procedure is going to turn out to be can rarely be +foreseen it is usually idle to speculate much about it. Therefore, he +should go boldly into court, listen calmly while the witnesses on both +sides tell their widely divergent stories, and then--and not until +then--devise the theory upon which he may excusably demand judgment +for his client or the acquittal of the prisoner. This requires, to be +sure, self-control, ingenuity and audacity; the restraint of a Foch +awaiting the precise moment to counter-attack; the self-trust which +the philosopher Emerson says is the essence of heroism. + +But Mr. Tutt knew well that the expected never occurs,--except when +the expected is the unexpected. Thus he always went into a trial with +an entirely open mind,--committed to no hypothesis,--and ready to go +to the mat in a catch-as-catch-can on law or fact, or--to run like a +jack-rabbit. The unknown quantity was both what he dreaded and also +what he gambled on. He was an opportunist of opportunists, on the +alert to snatch victory out of defeat, making shining virtues out of +adroitly concealed necessities, scrambling to his feet with a benign +smile just as he was about to be counted out. The only generality to +which he subscribed was, “You never can tell!” In a word, Mr. Tutt had +a high confidence in his own star, and as he never acknowledged +defeat, nobody ever knew when he was beaten, an adverse verdict being +to him only the starting point for a renewal of the battle in which he +had, at least, an even chance of outwitting his antagonist. He held +that the best preparation for a day in court was a sound sleep the +night before, an hour’s exercise, and a hearty breakfast followed by +what he called a Wheeling Corona-Corona. But not all of us have the +equipoise of Ephraim Tutt. + +Now, the other lesson to be deduced from the trial of Skinny the Tramp +was that the best rule in examining witnesses is to have no rule at +all,--which is very much the same thing as “You never can tell!” There +is no more any hard and fast rule for the examination of a witness +than there is for arguing with your stepmother. It “all depends.” The +lawyer who says that you must never let a witness leave the stand +without exhausting his information is just as wide of the mark as he +who claims that the only safe cross-examination is no +cross-examination and that the best cross-examiner is he who does not +cross-examine at all. Yet “no generality is true,--not even this one,” +as the French say; the fact of the matter being that cross-examination +is obviously a dangerous weapon, usually resulting in more harm than +good--but not always, and that every witness presents a new and +special problem which can only be solved by a subtle and perhaps +instinctive appreciation of his psychology. Generally speaking, it is +a pretty safe plan to ask no questions of a witness who has not harmed +your side of the case, for if you cross-examine you may bring out +something entirely unexpected to your great and everlasting detriment. +“Leave well enough alone.” That is the path of prudence--and yet--not +always! But let us not anticipate. + +Emerson, the lumberman, like many another man of limited education, in +addition to an astonishingly accurate memory for detail, showed +himself to have a gift for picturesque description which made him a +graphic and convincing witness for the prosecution. He was obviously +unbiased, absolutely clear, positive in all his statements, and +careful,--as both the judge and the prosecutor took pains to instruct +him to be,--to answer only the exact questions put to him. + +This, of course, is the regular and proper rule, for if a witness is +permitted to volunteer testimony he is almost certain to violate every +rule of evidence within the first thirty seconds. But in the case of +Emerson there was a particular and vital reason for such a caution on +the part of the prosecutor which was known only to him, namely, that +for tactical reasons it was imperative that certain features of his +testimony should be suppressed. + +Now it is the general rule of the law that the lawyer who calls a +witness to the stand in the first place vouches for his integrity and, +in the second, commits himself and his case to the truth of the +proposition of fact that the witness is called to substantiate. But +there is a qualification upon this rule, which is that technically the +lawyer is bound by his own witness only upon those subjects upon which +he sees fit to examine him; and, if later, his adversary brings out +from the same witness new facts upon other subjects, the lawyer who +originally called him may attack the witness as hostile, discredit him +as to those facts, and controvert them if he can. + +Yet, underlying all rules is the universal principle of sound ethics +and common decency which hold true both in law and in life as a whole, +that we must conduct ourselves at all times and places as gentlemen +and sportsmen, whether in court or outdoors, until we join the choir +invisible and have no longer any moral problems. In other words, the +lawyer has got to play his game fairly and if, on the one hand, he +calls a witness to prove a certain fact knowing that the witness is +mistaken, or, on the other hand, knowing that his witness is telling +the truth about a certain fact induces the jury or the judge to +believe that the witness is mistaken, that man is a liar, a cad and a +shyster and ought to be disbarred. + +Now, Squire Mason was up against a most unfortunate, tantalizing and +exasperating situation with regard to this, his principal witness, +which was that although Emerson had taken only a few minutes to reach +the hermit’s shanty after hearing the fatal shot, and had lingered +there but a minute or two more and had then hurried hot foot to +Pottsville, arriving there within fifteen minutes of the time Skinny +also reached town, which is to say, considering that the murderer had +at least a five minute start, almost at his heels,--nevertheless, and +this is the crux of the case, he was prepared to state definitely and +unequivocally, if asked the time at which he found the hermit dying, +that it was four o’clock exactly--which as we know, and Squire Mason +also perfectly well knew, was the precise moment at which the tramp +entered Colson’s grocery store a full mile away. If this were true, +then James Hawkins, no matter how strongly circumstances pointed +towards him as the murderer, could not be guilty. + +Thus, if District Attorney Mason should elicit “the truth, the whole +truth, and nothing but the truth” from Emerson,--which was what he was +in duty bound to do and what Emerson had sworn to tell,--the +prosecution would establish a perfect alibi for the defendant from the +lips of its own chief witness. Therefore Mason had resolved to refrain +from asking the lumberman any question bearing upon the time of the +homicide, and in order that no one else might suspect what Emerson +might be able, if questioned, to say upon this important topic, had +slipped him twenty-five dollars and instructed him that the interests +of the public--particularly that of the Mohawk Valley--demanded that +he should absent himself from his customary haunts until he should be +needed at the trial. + +Of all this, naturally, Mr. Tutt was wholly ignorant and he had come +to Pottsville with no other defense than the rather shaky argument +that Skinny could not have fired the shot that killed the hermit and, +with only a five minute start, have increased his lead over the +pursuing Emerson to fifteen whole minutes in a single mile. It had, +according to his theory, taken the lumberman only three minutes to +reach the shanty after hearing the shot, and he was out of the place +again and hot on the murderer’s trail in two minutes more. That meant +that he was only five minutes behind when he started in pursuit. Now, +as Mr. Tutt was going to claim, a man could run a mile in less than +ten minutes, and hence it was manifestly impossible that Skinny could +have reached Pottsville fifteen minutes ahead of Emerson--if he were +guilty. + +This plausible--but distinctly Tuttian--argument depended, however, +entirely upon the assumption that Emerson did not take more than three +minutes to get to the shanty after hearing the shot, did not stay in +its vicinity for more than a couple more, and had run at top +speed--without pause--all the way to Pottsville,--assumptions that had +little to sustain them, and had small appeal compared with the +overwhelming mass of circumstantial evidence that pointed to the tramp +as the murderer. Mr. Tutt realized full well that his defense was a +flimsy one, since in all probability Emerson had been fully fifteen +minutes behind the fleeing assassin when he had started for the town +and at best had probably done no more than hold his distance, if +indeed he had succeeded in doing that. Yet, although so far as Mr. +Tutt was aware, this ephemeral syllogism was all that stood between +his client and the electric chair, nevertheless, and had he only known +it,--according to Emerson’s full story related privately to +Mason,--Skinny had an iron-clad, copper-fastened, dyed-in-the-wool, +unimpeachable and perfect alibi. It was this full story--the “whole +truth”--that Mason now set himself to conceal in the hope that it +would never be known, for as long as the exact time of the murder +could be left vague and undetermined the alibi would be valueless. So +the shifty Squire carefully omitted to ask the lumberman any question +as to the hour except when it was that he had started in to cut his +pea sticks,--which had been two o’clock. + +“There had been a smart shower,” said he, “and some thunder--but the +sun had come out real bright agin. I was about three hundred yards +from where the hermit lived--most through with my job--I’d cut a +hundred sticks and I only wanted a hundred and a half--when I heard a +holler from the direction of the house follered by a shot.” + +“Yes.--Go on!” directed Squire Mason ominously. + +“I run over there as fast as I could. The door was open. I called out +but got no answer, so I went in. The shanty was hot--for the winders +were closed--and it was sort o’ dim in there--and then I hearn a kind +of cluckin’ sound and I see the hermit lyin’ on the floor--he had +toppled over on his back--and the blood was frothin’ out of his mouth +where he was tryin’ to breathe.” + +“Proceed,” said the court. “What else did you observe?” + +“I stepped over to where he was lyin’ an’ lifted up his head so’s to +look in his face. I remember there was a great big moth flappin’ like +mad inside the window. It skeart me. Then all of a sudden the hermit +stopped breathin’--the moth flew out the door--and I knew he was +dead--murdered.” + +“Do you object to the word ‘murdered,’ Mr. Tutt?” inquired the court. + +“No, your Honor,” replied the old lawyer. “The poor man was +undoubtedly murdered.” + +“Very well, go on,” continued Judge Tompkins to the witness. + +“I threw somethin’ over him and looked ’round for a second or two. +There was a busted bean pot lyin’ under the table and I noticed the +hermit had a gold piece clutched in his fist. The rest of the shanty +looked same as usual.--So I ran right out and listened. I could hear +some one crashing through the brush and I followed after towards the +town, but he beat me to it.” + +The court room was as still as the hermit’s death chamber. + +“Did you see any footprints in the garden patch?” asked Squire Mason. + +“I did. Sure. An’ I showed ’em both to the sheriff and to Mr. +Pennypacker, the photographer.” + +“When you went back there with Sheriff Higgins and Mr. Pennypacker was +everything in and around the shanty the same as when you were there +the first time?” asked Mason. + +“Just the same. No one else had been there,” declared Emerson. + +“That is all!” announced the prosecutor in a tone of triumph. “You may +cross-examine, Mr. Tutt.” + +Mr. Tutt did not immediately arise to his feet. It was of course +obvious to him that Mason had refrained from eliciting the time of the +murder from Emerson. Time and place were the inevitable bases of all +testimony. Why had he done so? It was conceivable that the witness was +entirely at sea about the time and hence that his evidence regarding +it, if given, would have been of no value. That was more than +probable, in which case it was natural enough that the district +attorney should not have gone into the matter at all. But there was +also--Mr. Tutt recognized--another possibility, so remote as to be +almost theoretical,--that Emerson did know the time at which he +entered the shanty and that Mason was deliberately holding it back. If +this were so he was doing it for a reason and what reason could there +be? + +Mr. Tutt was face to face with one of the greatest dilemmas of his +life: if Emerson knew the time of the shot and it was such as to give +Skinny time to have fired it and reach the village by four o’clock, +that fact, if he brought it out, would be of inestimable damage to +him,--but, if by any chance--oh, could it be!--that the shot was fired +so close to four as to make it unlikely or impossible that Skinny +could have fired it and yet arrive at Colson’s at four, the answer +might acquit him! “The Lady or the Tiger”! Which was it? Mr. Tutt +thought hard. Was Mason concealing the time, or was he luring his +adversary into a trap? For, if Mr. Tutt himself adduced the fact that +the murder occurred, say, at a quarter to four his client would be +doubly damned. A bit of supposedly unexpected evidence elicited on +cross-examination by a party to whom it is harmful is invariably more +damaging than if brought out by the party who has called the witness +in the first place. On the one hand it was a great temptation for Mr. +Tutt to waive the witness from the stand with a nonchalant, “No +questions!” as if his testimony contained nothing damaging to the +defense; but on the other it might be his last chance of proving even +the approximate time of the murder. Sly old dog that he was, he +resolved to try to steal whatever advantage might lie in both courses. +So, without getting up, he waved his hand towards the window and +remarked in the most casual manner possible: + +“No questions.--Thank you, Mr. Emerson, for your very vivid word +picture!” And he busied himself with his papers. + +Then, as the witness was about to descend from the platform, he looked +up hastily and said in a tone of apology: + +“I beg your pardon. I forget whether you happened to mention the hour +at which you visited the shanty the first time.” + +Emerson smiled. Without taking his seat he answered: + +“No, I didn’t mention it.” + +“Do you know?” + +“Yes.” + +“What time was it?” + +Emerson turned to the jury who were leaning forward expectantly. + +“When I lifted the hermit’s head in my hand I was lookin’ straight +into the face of that old clock of his that stands between the two +windows in the back--and it was just four o’clock.” + +“Thanks,” remarked Mr. Tutt quietly, as if the reply held no +particular significance for his client, whom in fact it might well +save. “No other questions.” + +The judge glanced at Squire Mason. + +“Have you anything further, Mr. District Attorney?” + +“No--I have no further questions,” replied the prosecutor, also as if +the matter was not of the slightest moment. + +“May I go, your honor?” asked Emerson. + +“Yes,--if these gentlemen are through with you,” smiled Judge +Tompkins. + +As neither of the gentlemen wished or dared to ask him the fraction of +another question Mr. Emerson forthwith was given leave to depart upon +his business,--which unbeknown to any of them was to take a job as +foreman in a steam lumber mill seventy miles distant, the train for +which bore him thither later that afternoon. + +Mr. Tutt settled back in his chair, a heavenly calm descending upon +his previously agonized spirit. Skinny had been snatched from the very +jaws of death. There was nothing to worry about any longer. Skinny the +Tramp couldn’t have been in two places at once, no matter how strong +the evidence against him might be. + +Evidently the Squire was a good bluffer. It required real nerve to be +as placid as all that in the face of such a body blow! The prosecutor +took a sip of water, pushed a mass of papers away from him, leaned +over and picked up a large diagram of the clearing, including the +hermit’s shanty drawn to scale. It had been artistically done and +contained no objectionable matter, the location of the body not having +been marked at all, and the various pieces of furniture appearing only +in outline. Next to the cot-bed the most conspicuous object in the +place had plainly been the hermit’s clock. + +Squire Mason handed the diagram to Mr. Tutt with stately bucolic +courtesy. + +“Any objection to my puttin’ in this here diagram?” he inquired. + +Mr. Tutt smiled as he glanced over it. + +“_Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes!_” he replied. Then observing the look +of bewilderment upon the prosecutor’s face, he added: “None whatever! +It can be admitted so far as I am concerned, subject, of course, to +correction. Who made it?” + +“Miss Gookin,” replied Mason. + +“Then I heartily congratulate Miss Gookin on her artistic work!” said +Mr. Tutt, thus making sure of at least one vote, if ever he should run +for governor, from “Toggery Bill,” her father, and gaining high favor +with Mr. Soper, juror Number Eight, who was seeking the lady’s hand in +marriage. + +“All right, then--mark it!” said Hezekiah to the stenographer. “Now, +sheriff! Take the stand!” + +Just as the prosecution of Skinny the Tramp marked the peak of Squire +Mason’s professional career, so his appearance as a witness at that +same trial was the greatest event in the official experience of +Sheriff Higgins. Being a quiet, home-loving citizen, the Supreme +Exalted Ruler of the Sacred Camels had experienced few of the joys of +publicity and now to be able to ascend the rostrum and, with a real +reporter sent over special from Utiky taking down every word that fell +from his lips, to recount the thrilling narrative of how he had +captured Skinny the Tramp and later secured the evidence against him +through a personal visit to the scene of the homicide while the body +was still warm, to sit elevated high in the court room upon a level +with the judge himself, to feel in his own opinion that he was the +most important figure among the _dramatis personæ_, and that the eyes +and ears of all waited upon him--ah! who that has not had a similar +experience can have the faintest realization of its ecstasy? + +Now Sheriff Higgins had looked forward to his coming testimony with +great satisfaction, not only for the reasons just stated, but also +because it would give him an opportunity to indicate publicly what +small potatoes he thought Squire Mason to be. He was in the delightful +position of being able at one and the same time to gratify his vanity, +to do his full duty to the state and also to savor the full venom of +his hatred for an ancient enemy. He proposed to do each in turn and to +do it thoroughly and well, but he was in a somewhat delicate and +paradoxical situation. He had collected the evidence against Skinny, +and was one of the chief witnesses against him; he acknowledged that +logically there was no escape from the conclusion that the tramp was +the guilty party; he was the mainstay of the law in that county and it +was up to him to see that the murderer was convicted; and yet--he +didn’t believe Skinny had done it! No, sir! And the reason was simply +that the tramp wasn’t that kind of a feller, and he and half a dozen +other Sacred Camels were ready--if asked--to say so. + +But first, approaching his various phases in order, let us take up the +sheriff’s innocent gratification of his own vanity--in which he +differed not a whit from ninety-nine out of every hundred witnesses. +It is a noticeable thing that once a man finds himself the cynosure of +public attention he feels obliged to picture himself as of heroic +mould. Has any witness since the Creation--we wonder--in any court of +law ever admitted--unless his questioner had the goods on him and he +knew it--that he was in any degree stupid, unscrupulous, negligent, +timid or even slightly impolite or uncultivated? We have never met +one. It cannot be mere boastfulness or vainglory that leads each man, +who kisses the Book and gazes upon the carping features of the jury, +to try and make them believe him the highest type of citizen. He isn’t +and he knows it; and he knows they know he knows it, and yet he will +thrust forth his chest and assume for the nonce to possess every +virtue in the calendar while modestly protesting that there may be +others as good or as brave as he. + +We have heard otherwise apparently sensible men confess under oath +without trace of embarrassment, one that he was regarded as the +handsomest man in Rochester, N.Y., another that he was the greatest +mechanical genius in the world, another that he would back his own +opinion on any given subject against that of any ten men and stick to +it even if proven mathematically to be mistaken, another that he had +never told a lie or been guilty of any sort of misleading statement in +his life, another that he had never consciously done anything wrong, +another that he had read every book worth reading in the English +language--and answered categorically “Yes” to some six hundred +separate works such as Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy and Gibbon’s +Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire--and one, who may have been +telling the truth, that he had never kissed, or been kissed by, a +member of the opposite sex. + +The sheriff wasn’t as bad as any of these, but now that it was all +over, his recollection as to his own conduct and demeanor differed +radically from that of his associates at the time. He honestly thought +that he had done things which in fact had been done by others. Anyhow, +someone had done them, so what difference did it make? While, +therefore, the substance of his testimony--as with most witnesses--was +based on fact, the details bore no resemblance whatever to the truth. +As the reader knows, the barber had received Skinny’s surrender, yet +the sheriff unhesitatingly swore that he had reduced him into +possession; the proprietor of the Mohawk Palace Theatre had searched +the tramp and found the twenty five-dollar gold pieces, yet Higgins +managed to give the impression that it was he, and not Mr. Perkins, +who had discovered them; as the reader knows, he had been scared out +of his seven senses when he visited the hermit’s shanty and had +refused to touch the body, and he now was obviously under the firm +impression that he had walked boldly in, uncovered the corpse, +searched the clothes upon it, inventoried the furniture and in general +conducted himself with the brilliant audacity of one of Dumas’ heroes +and the astuteness of Mr. Sherlock Holmes; which, to tell the truth +nobody would have minded in the slightest degree, least of all Mr. +Tutt, for the slab-sided old sheriff was a good old scout, a deacon in +the Baptist congregation, as well as the leading Sacred Camel in that +part of the Mohawk--had it not been for what Squire Mason regarded as +his deliberate act of treachery in giving Skinny a good character--all +of which we will set down in due course. By the time he was called to +the stand Mose Higgins was almost of the same mind as the Sheriff of +Nottingham in the opera of Robin Hood when he said + + + “You may search aye, + But you never will descry + Such a wonderful man as I! + . . . . . + I never yet made one mistake! + I’d like to--for variety’s sake!” + . . . . . + + +So in full glory he described first the pursuit and final capture of +Skinny and how he had found his pockets full of the hermit’s gold--the +pieces all dated 1910--shining, lustrous, five-dollar pieces--of +exactly the right sort to make the mouth of any tramp water; then how +the prisoner had positively declined to say a word in defense or +extenuation; and then, warming to his subject, he gave a vivid picture +of his visit to the shanty just at nightfall and how he had discovered +the hermit lying in his gore, with another--the last!--gold piece +clutched tight in his left hand--also dated 1910, Skinny’s pipe upon +the table, and the marks of fresh footprints in the potato patch. It +was all clear as a bell and he figured largely in his own account as +rather a dashing, nervy sort of sleuth who knew just what to do and +had done it. + +Squire Mason, well satisfied, turned him over to Mr. Tutt with a +gesture of “now-go-ahead-and-do-your-damnedest!” Now, Mr. Tutt’s +damnedest in this particular instance was not spectacular, but he +nevertheless elicited more than one fact that played an important part +in the denouement of the trial. He knew that the sheriff was friendly +and also was a Sacred Camel, but he also knew that he was an honest +public officer even if he gave himself a little the best end of it. + +“Sheriff Higgins,” said he, approaching obliquely what might be called +the “time element” in the case. “What hour was it when you and your +posse left Pottsville for the scene of the crime?” + +The sheriff pondered. + +“About quarter past five,” he answered. + +_Q._ “And how long did it take you to reach Turkey Hollow?” + +_A._ “I should say about half an hour--carryin’ the camera and all.” + +_Q._ “Was it light when you reached the shanty?” + +Now the darker the sheriff made it the greater impression of bravery +would he create upon his auditors. + +_A._ “It was gettin’ along towards six--and there wasn’t much light. +Inside, it was pretty dark!” + +_Q._ “Was there a clock in the shanty?” + +_A._ “Yes.” + +_Q._ “Did you notice the time?” + +The sheriff hesitated. + +“To tell ye the truth,” he confessed with apparent frankness, +“although I’m positive sure I looked at it--must have!--I didn’t get +no real idee o’ the time.” + +That helped Mr. Tutt not a whit, so he veered off on another tack. + +_Q._ “Rather a gristly scene, wasn’t it?” + +One would have said that Sheriff Higgins thought the examination of +dead bodies a pleasant form of light entertainment. + +_A._ “Not partic’ly,” he answered casually. + +_Q._ “Did you search the body?” + +_A._ “Oh, yes--natur’ly.” + +_Q._ “What did you find?” + +Sheriff Higgins removed with deliberation from his vest pocket a cheap +memorandum book--evidently a recent acquisition--with cardboard +covers, the edges dyed a bright blue. On the outside in letters of +gigantic script appeared the words “Don’t Forget!” + +Running his thumb through the leaves, he opened it at the right place, +adjusted his spectacles, cleared his throat and read in an aggressive, +declamatory tone: + +_A._ “One fish hook--one copper cent--one piece of string--two loose +buttons--nine cloves--” + +_Q._ “What was that?” + +_A._ “Cloves--nine cloves----” + +_Q._ “Go on!” + +_A._ “--one tobacco pouch--five matches--one pipe--one jackknife--one +piece of gum--one piece wax--one nail--one bottle of whiskey--one +smaller bottle of whiskey--one cork, extra--a handkerchief--eleven +large pins--one pencil end----” + +_Q._ “Anything else?” + +_A._ “And one hundred dollars in bills.” + +_Q._ “Is that all?” + +_A._ “Absolutely.” + +The sheriff closed his book and returned it to his pocket. Clearly +there was nothing in this catalogue to shed any light on the nature of +the murder, except possibly to indicate that the assassin had been in +too much of a hurry to search his victim, which was not a fact +favorable to the defense. So Mr. Tutt moved on to the potato patch. + +Here, as all admitted, the sheriff had done some slick work. He had +carefully measured the footprints and then protected them from +disturbance with a low wire fence. The earth had been soft and squashy +and each one had been as distinct as a fossil in the museum. He had +brought along one of Skinny’s boots and it fitted into each print +exactly! Even the broken down heel was perfectly reproduced. There was +nothing to be done about it so Mr. Tutt handed the sheriff a few large +bouquets to put him in a good humor. Then he asked: + +_Q._ “Known my client for some time, have you, sheriff?” + +_A._ “Since he was a boy.” + +_Q._ “Does he come from around here?” + +_A._ “Yes. He was born over Holbrook way.” + +_Q._ “Parents living?” + +_A._ “No--he’s an orphan.” + +_Q._ “Do you know his reputation for honesty, peace and quiet?” + +“Look here!” interjected Squire Mason. “You’re makin’ the sheriff your +own witness.” + +“I’m perfectly well aware of that!” replied Mr. Tutt calmly. + +_A._ “I do.” + +_Q._ “What is it?” + +The sheriff looked round the room slowly as if to call those present +to corroborate him. + +_A._ “There ain’t a quieter, honester, more law-abidin’ citizen in +this here county than Skinny Hawkins,” said he with conviction. + +_Q._ “Ever know him to do an unkind act?” + +“I object!” shouted the Squire, springing to his feet. “That ain’t +proper and you know it.” + +Judge Tompkins smiled indulgently. + +“Oh, I’ll give Mr. Tutt some latitude. It’s a serious case!” said he. + +_A._ “No,” answered the sheriff. “I never did. He’s got a real kind +heart. He wouldn’t kill a grasshopper!” + +Mr. Tutt bowed. + +“Thank you kindly, sheriff!” he remarked. “That is all!” + +Now Squire Mason had heard this testimony with rising indignation. +Moreover, his rejection as an Abyssinian Brother by the Order of the +Sacred Camels of King Menelik rankled in his bosom. And he did not +propose to let the sheriff get away with anything like that. + +“Hold on a minute!” he cried, as Mr. Higgins prepared to descend from +the chair. “You’re sheriff of this county, ain’t you?” + +“I be!” retorted the witness. “That is, I was a minute ago an’ if +nothin’ ain’t happened since----” + +“It’s your business to get th’ evidence agin’ criminals and convict +’em, ain’t it?” snapped the squire. + +“If I think they’re guilty,” answered the sheriff. + +“None of your business to try to help ’em, is it?” + +“I ain’t tried to help nobody!” shot back the sheriff indignantly. +“I’ve done my duty in this case better’n most!” + +“Brave feller, ain’t ye?” said the Squire with scorn. + +“Brave as you be, I guess!” countered his adversary. + +The judge, Mr. Tutt and the jury were all enjoying the sideshow. + +“Ain’t it a fact you was so skeart when you went to the shanty you ran +out and was sick? An’ wouldn’t go back?” + +Sheriff Higgins stood up and waved his long arms, almost speechless +with rage. + +“It’s a gol-durned lie!” he shouted. “Who told ye that, I’d like to +know?” + +“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” cautioned his honor. “The personal courage of +this officer is not an issue. Call your next witness, Mr. District +Attorney.” + +It was true that Mr. Tutt had not scored heavily since he had failed +in his most important attempt--that is, to corroborate through the +sheriff’s testimony the general accuracy of the hermit’s timepiece, +but he had at least secured an official recommendation for Skinny’s +character and he had got Squire Mason quarreling with one of his +principal witnesses. That was a good deal. Incidentally, although it +got by him at the moment, he had gained something else, the importance +of which did not appear until later. Still, nothing made any real +difference, one way or another, so long as he had a perfect alibi for +Skinny safely tucked away in his sleeve. In the feeling of confidence +engendered by this knowledge--and in the delight of having set the +prosecutor at logger heads with the sheriff--Mr. Tutt’s spirits rose +to such a degree that he became positively playful--as light-hearted +as a colt loosed in a clover-field. Alas that legal pride is so often +doomed to fall! That the happiness of one moment in the court room is +so often the despair of the next! Alas for the colt who feels his +oats--for he is sure to kick himself into some sort of a tangle! + +Mr. Tutt pleased as Punch with the case, chatted gaily with the jury +and assured Skinny that he would have him out and walking the street +in forty-eight hours--a free man. So elated was he that he gave only +perfunctory attention to the prosecution’s other witnesses, until the +boots worn by the defendant when arrested were put in evidence and Mr. +Pennypacker was called to identify his photographic enlargement of the +footprints in the hermit’s vegetable patch. No, there wasn’t the +shadow of a doubt about it--they were Skinny’s footprints! Yet, +however interesting that fact might seem to the jury, Mr. Tutt rested +secure in the knowledge that his client must have been far away from +there when the hermit had been killed. + +Mr. Pennypacker seemed a pleasant sort of person and Mr. Tutt having +nothing better to do proceeded to engage him in agreeable +conversation. What time had he taken the photographs? About six +o’clock. Rather dark? Not particularly, but of course he had had to +make a time exposure. How long? Thirty seconds. How many exposures did +he make? Four. How many plates had he brought with him? A dozen. Did +he use the other plates for anything? + +Mr. Pennypacker nodded. + +“I photographed the interior of the shanty.” + +“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Tutt eagerly. + +No photograph could harm him. Nothing could hurt him now! Why had not +Mason put them in evidence? + +“Have you the prints with you?” + +Mr. Pennypacker affably leaned over and produced them from a package +beside him, and Mr. Tutt saw a chance for one of those grand-stand +plays so dear to the heart of the trial lawyer. + +“I offer them in evidence,” said he with a glance at the jury. “I +don’t know why Squire Mason didn’t put them in, but--whatever his +reasons may have been--_I’ll_ put them in--and we’ll see what we can +find! Now”--as the stenographer finished marking the prints--“you say +you took these pictures within two hours of the murder, do you?” + +“Yes,” answered Mr. Pennypacker. “But I had to give them a ten minute +exposure!” + +Mr. Tutt picked one of them up and glanced at it. Then he suddenly +turned faint. What an everlasting fool he had been! With the utmost +difficulty he controlled himself. + +“Thank you very much, Mr. Pennypacker!” he said with a forced smile. +“Thank you very much! They are most excellent and artistic +photographs! That is all!” + +Mr. Tutt sank back and gazed dreamily out of the court room window +through which he could see the weather-cock on the Baptist steeple. +Just as he looked at it some draught of air caused it to veer +suddenly. He had a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. Those +photographs held no interest for him--far from it! Curse them and the +man who had taken them! + +For the photographs--although taken at the hour of six--all showed the +hands of the clock as still pointing to four! Either it had been out +of order or had run down before the homicide and hence as evidence of +the hour of the murder was no value whatsoever. Mr. Tutt by putting +the photographs in evidence had destroyed the alibi that his original +question had so unexpectedly established! + +One hope only remained. The jury had not yet seen the photographs. Was +it humanly possible that Squire Mason had not noticed the hands of the +clock at all? + +Just then Judge Tompkins said pleasantly: + +“I think, gentlemen, that this is a good time to adjourn court until +to-morrow morning.” + + + + + III + + “So like an arrow swift he flew + Shot by an archer strong, + So did he fly--which brings me to + The middle of my song!” + --John Gilpin. + + +Somewhere there is a story of terror--done after the manner of Edgar +Allan Poe--in which the hero during a deadly plague from which none +who are stricken ever survive discovers to his horror that in the +night the fatal mark has appeared under his arm, and that he is among +the doomed. His terror and despair are shared by the reader, as well +as his ecstatic relief and joy when he awakes to find that he has been +dreaming. Then for the mere idle satisfaction of disabusing himself of +what are no longer his fears he looks beneath his arm only to find +that the deadly mark is in fact there! The agony of this discovery is +doubly intensified by reason of its following immediately upon a state +of rapturous exaltation. + +Highly similar to those of the Spanish victim in the tale in question +were those of Mr. Tutt in discovering that just as, by violating the +canons of experience, he had asked a question by virtue of which he +had created an unforeseen but conclusive alibi for his client, he had +now, by asking another, rendered that alibi of no avail. Never in his +experience had he suffered so staggering a blow. Why had he asked that +fatal question? What imp of Hades had whispered to him that there was +something in those photographs which Mason desired to conceal? It had +been all a trick, a clever “springe to catch a woodcock,” a nicely +baited trap into which he had innocently hopped like an unsuspecting +rabbit. In setting it Mason had not taken a single chance, for, if Mr. +Tutt had not seen fit to offer the photograph in evidence when he did, +the prosecutor, having waited until the conclusion of the defendant’s +case and until Mr. Tutt had attempted to establish his alibi by +proving that Skinny was in Pottsville at four o’clock, would have then +handed them to the jury and shown that in effect the clock by which +Emerson had fixed the hour of the shooting as likewise four was in +effect not a clock at all--and knocked that alibi higher than the +Baptist weathercock. What a fool! What a confounded, inexcusable ass, +idiot and nincompoop he had been! Poor old Mr. Tutt’s theories were +all annihilated at once. This wretched murder case was putting every +principle of tactics upon the everlasting blink. You ought to +cross-examine; you ought not to cross-examine; you ought not to leave +well enough alone; you ought to leave well enough alone. The only +guide left in the legal firmament was that fixed but not particularly +useful pole star of “You never can tell!” + +Judge Tompkins arose, bowed and left the bench. Sheriff Higgins let +down the bar of the jury box and the twelve good and true men gathered +up their newspapers and hats and filed after him like a straggling +flock of sheep, down the steps and across Main Street to the Phoenix +House, their temporary place of sojourn while the guests of the People +of the State of New York. Many were the envious glances cast upon +their disappearing backs as the less fortunate agriculturalists +prepared to return to their distant farm houses. Gol ding it! Those +cusses not only had reserved seats for the whole blame show but were +gettin’ paid three dollars a day into the bargain! Gosh darn it all! +Some fellers did hev the luck! Hist back thar, Dobbin, and get yer +tail off’n that shaft! + +Then the sheriff returned for Skinny and led him away to the +calaboose, and the crowd which had lingered to observe and comment +upon the defendant’s appearance and demeanor slowly dispersed, leaving +Mr. Tutt alone in the otherwise empty courtroom. Old enough before, he +had aged considerably during the last three minutes of the trial. Mr. +Tutt was suffering from fear--abject fear--of what now seemed the +inevitable fate of his client. In the face of the evidence against him +his mere denial that he had not killed the hermit would go for +nothing. His salvation seemed impossible save through the +rehabilitation of his alibi and, as only one person had heard the +shot, it was only through that person that the time of the homicide +could be established. It now appeared that that same witness who had +testified to Mr. Tutt’s indescribable joy that the hour was four +o’clock, had been looking at the motionless face of a piece of dead +mechanism that might not have been moving for months! Bitterly he +reproached himself that he had not combed Emerson’s recollection until +no item remained undisclosed, for it was possible--just +conceivable--that the witness might have had some other data upon +which to predicate the hour of the crime. If so, it must of necessity +be corroborative of the clock, since Emerson had expressed himself +positively as to the hour. Thus, as Mr. Tutt now perceived--but which +had escaped him at the moment in his excitement over establishing his +alibi--he would have had nothing to lose by pursuing his interrogation +of the witness indefinitely, since he was safe as to the element of +time, and there was nothing else in his testimony which under +cross-examination could be made any more damaging to the defendant +than it already was. Was it too late to recall Emerson to the stand in +the desperate hope that in some other way he might still substantiate +the hour as four o’clock? Perhaps he had looked at his watch. Perhaps +there had been another clock in the shanty. “You never could tell!” At +any rate he must be found and the court’s permission obtained to +recall him to the stand and re-examine him. But it was at best a long, +long chance--a hundred--a thousand!--to-one shot. + +It was already a quarter after five and Sam Bellows, the stout under +sheriff, was jingling his keys in the hallway as a polite intimation +to the solitary occupant of the court room that it was time to lock +up. Mr. Tutt pushed his books and papers into a muddled heap and put +on his stovepipe hat. He did not need to study his notes. There was +only one point in the case--and it had got by him! There was only one +hope--no more tangible than the half-suspected presence of a star in +the obscurity of a foggy night. + +“Good night, Mr. Tutt!” said Sam amiably as the lawyer walked out with +leaden steps. + +“Good night, Mr. Bellows!” responded the old man. Then he paused. “By +the way,” he asked. “Do you know where the witness Charles Emerson +lives?” + +Mr. Bellows leaned against the wall and scratched his head politely. + +“Well,” he opined, “bein’ he ain’t a married man, he ain’t got no +reg’lar place of residence. Most allus--when it’s goin’--he sleeps +over to the steam sawmill.” + +“Well, I’d like very much to see him. Do you know where he may be +found?” + +Sam tilted his hat to the back of his thatched skull and then by an +automatic return movement pushed it forward again over his forehead. + +“He’s gone off.” + +“Gone!” exclaimed Mr. Tutt, his heart sinking. “Where?” + +“Well, after you gentlemen said you didn’t need him no more yisterday +an’ the jedge said he could go, I hearn him say he was goin’ to take a +job up Orient way. So he beat it--took the train up there last +evenin’.” + +“How far is it?” demanded Mr. Tutt desperately. + +“’Bout seventy miles.” + +“Is there a train to-night?” + +“It leaves at four o’clock--when it’s on time. It’s gone!” + +Mr. Tutt nervously bit off the end of a stogy. + +“Do you know the name of the man for whom he went to work?” + +“Nope,” answered Sam--adding more hopefully, “but it’s durn desolate +country an’ there ain’t but one lumber mill anywhere near Orient that +I ever hearn tell of.” + +“Thanks!” answered Mr. Tutt shortly. “Where can I hire an automobile?” + +Sam pondered deeply. Here was a matter of real moment. Pottsville +boasted no renting garage or jitney, but it would be a catastrophe to +permit a piece of real business to go to Somerset Corners by default, +when the sheriff possessed an “official” motor. + +“There ain’t no public motor, but--I reckon the sheriff might +accommodate ye,” ventured Sam eagerly. + +“Where is he?” + +“Over to the Phoenix House.” + +“Would you mind stopping over there and asking him to speak to me?” + +Mr. Tutt tendered a handful of stogies to the deputy who thrust one in +his mouth, lit it with a single hand-sweep from the seat of his +abundant being to his hardly less abundant face; waddled across the +street, and almost immediately returned with Mr. Higgins. + +“Good evening, sheriff,” said the lawyer. “I want to take a little +trip up to Orient Mills this evening--can you run me up there? Of +course I expect to pay you for it.” + +Sheriff Higgins ruminated. He had no right to use the county’s flivver +except on official business, but, in a way, assisting a member of the +bar was official business, and nobody except Sam need ever know. + +“I’d like to oblige ye,” he drawled, “but it’s a durn long way--near +seventy-five miles.” + +“That’s not so far!” urged Mr. Tutt. + +“An’ I couldn’t take money!” added the sheriff. “My motor is an +official motor--paid for by the county.” + +“Your time is your own, isn’t it?” argued the lawyer. “Suppose I pay +you fifty dollars for your time?” + +A hundred tiny beads upon the sheriff’s bulging forehead testified to +his struggle with temptation. + +“We-ell,” he hesitated, “if you promise me not to mention it to +anybody I guess I kin arrange to take ye. Suppose you meet me in +fifteen minutes over behind the railroad station?” + +“Anywhere you choose,” agreed Mr. Tutt. “We ought to make it by nine +o’clock.” + +“You go out the door first!” cautioned the sheriff. “We might meet +somebody.” + +So Mr. Tutt obligingly descended first as requested, followed at a +discreet interval by the two officers of the law. But all this +maneuvering accomplished nothing for the reason that at that very +moment Squire Mason, who had been searching for Higgins, appeared in +the offing of the Phoenix House stable yard and bore swiftly down upon +them. Seeing the two together his worst suspicions were confirmed! + +“Hey, sheriff!” he called sharply. “I was lookin’ for you! I want you +to come over to my house this evenin’ and go over the case with me.” + +Upon Sheriff Higgins’ cadaverous visage descended an expression of +defiance. + +“Huh!” he replied. “I can’t.” + +“What’s the matter?” demanded the Squire. “Why can’t you? You ain’t +got nuthin’ of importance to do. Sam can guard the jury, can’t he?” + +“Sam kin guard the jury,” answered the sheriff. “But I’ve got a +personal engagement.” + +“You ain’t got no personal engagement you’ve a right to let interfere +with your official duties,” retorted Mason. “An’ I need you.” + +“Well, I ain’t comin’!” replied Mr. Higgins defiantly. “I guess I have +some right to live, myself!” + +“Where you goin’?” snapped the squire. + +“I don’t knows that’s any partic’lar part of your business, is it?” +snorted the sheriff bristling. + +Mr. Tutt had purposely lingered within earshot. It was conceivable +that in a state of ebullition the doughty Squire might betray some +small but none the less useful trifle of information. + +“I’ll find out all right!” asserted the district attorney. + +That the Squire could, and would, “find out” was so obvious that the +sheriff perceived that, if he wished to acquire the promised fifty +dollars, it might be wise to pursue a policy of conciliation. + +“Look here, Squire,” he said. “There ain’t no sense in gettin’ all het +up about nothin’. Fact is, I’m goin’ to take Mr. Tutt out for a little +run.” + +At once Mr. Mason became all suspicion. + +“What’s that for?” he queried. “Where you goin’?” + +“Up Orient way.” + +Instantly Mason sensed treachery. The sheriff was openly selling him +out--working against him! It had been Higgins--he was positive--who +had kept him out of the Sacred Camels. There was some secret bond +between him and Mr. Tutt--some nefarious, corrupt bargain and sale on +foot between them. He knew that Emerson had gone to Orient, but he had +supposed that he alone was cognizant of his witness’ whereabouts. +Evidently the sheriff had tipped off Tutt and purposed going with him +to find Emerson and persuade him to alter or add to his testimony. +This did not suit his book at all. It would never do to have Tutt +interview Emerson--for a variety of reasons. It must be prevented at +any cost and at all hazards. Also, it would be much better if Mr. +Emerson, having given his testimony with due regard to all the +requirements of the rules of evidence, should not return again. + +“What car are you proposin’ to use?” demanded the squire. + +“One I allus use,” answered Higgins shortly. + +“The one you use belongs to the State of New York!” retorted Mason. +“You ain’t got any right to use it except for official business.” + +“Well,” replied the sheriff, “what’s the matter with this bein’ +official business?” + +“What business is it?” roared the Squire. “You dassent tell me and you +know it! If you use that car for joy-ridin’ I’ll complain on ye!” + +“You’re a great feller to talk about joy-ridin’!” shouted the sheriff. +“How about that time you borrered it to take you and your missus up to +Utiky?” + +“Utiky!” blustered the prosecutor. “I never took any joy-ride to +Utiky! I only----” + +And the altercation devolved into a technical dispute carried on with +much acrimony and no less refinement of argument into the delicate +question of whether, if there be a witness residing in a distant place +who may, if interviewed, possibly prove to have information of value +to the People’s side of a case, the official prosecutor may properly +make use of the official automobile ostensibly for the purpose of +holding official converse with said witness while at the same time +seizing the opportunity _en passant_ of purchasing an outfit of spring +clothes, visiting the county fair and going to the circus. This issue, +having been under discussion for several minutes, was still undecided +when Mr. Tutt unexpectedly made his appearance from the direction of +the hotel with a paper in his hand, which he exhibited to the sheriff. + +“Excuse me, Squire, for interrupting your conversation,” he +apologized, “but here is a subpena for the witness Emerson which has +just been issued by the court and endorsed by Judge Tompkins, +requiring his attendance to-morrow morning.” He waited a moment. +“There are no trains this evening and if you expect to serve this +process you will be obliged to make use of a motor. Here is fifty +dollars to cover your mileage and expenses. You may return the balance +to me at your convenience.” + +Squire Mason, his obstructionary tactics being thus neatly blocked, +could not restrain his impatience. There was only one course for him +to pursue. + +“Then,” he exploded, “I’ll go with you!” + +“Not much!” answered the sheriff dryly. “I’d be afeard I might be +doin’ somethin’ illegal if I give you a free ride. No, sir! The +county’s ottermobile ain’t goin’ to be used fer no more junkettin’.” + +“Then you’ll have to go alone!” remarked the squire malignantly. +“What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.” + +The prosecutor looked triumphantly from Mr. Tutt to the sheriff and +back again. He had ’em there, all right! + +“Squire Mason,” said Mr. Tutt, “there is no occasion for our carrying +the warfare of the court room into our personal relations outside. I +have nothing to conceal regarding my desire to recall Mr. Emerson as a +witness. I forgot to ask him an important question; and I am +sufficiently interested in having him found and properly subpenaed to +be anxious to assist in the search. In short, I wish to be informed as +fully as possible about his movements. If you, also, are interested in +the witness and wish to safeguard him from any improper approach on my +part, I suggest that we should both accompany Sheriff Higgins. It is +a fine clear night and I have a pocket full of cigars--of a sort.” + +“That’s fair!” nodded the sheriff. + +As there did not seem any answer to this proposition, and as Mr. Tutt +had spoken in the friendliest possible manner Squire Mason became +somewhat mollified. He realized that his adversary could hire any one +of several motors at Somerset Corners and, since he possessed +Emerson’s address, could, if he chose, get into touch with him +independently of the sheriff. Emerson might be tricked into saying +something or, worse, blurt out the whole truth! Acquiescence in the +lawyer’s invitation would mean an opportunity to keep track of him and +stop any tampering with the witness at the expense of Mr. Tutt +himself, whose scheme--if that was his scheme--to corrupt the sheriff +and inveigle him into camp at a cost of fifty dollars--as a +preliminary step to debauching the chief witness for the +prosecution--would thus be rendered abortive. Squire Mason began to be +rather pleased not only with the situation but with himself. It was, +as Mr. Tutt said, a fine, clear evening and he was going to have a +free ride and plenty of free smokes. Incidentally, in the tail pocket +of his blue broadcloth cutaway was a small flat flask containing an +amber-colored liquid which might prove valuable as neutralizing the +miasmic vapors of the night. + +Accordingly, after a hasty supper at the Phoenix House the three +seated themselves in the official flivver and started merrily off +up-country for Orient Mills. Both prosecutor and sheriff were now +restored to comparative good humor--the former for the reason that he +had Mr. Tutt under his eye and the latter because he had fifty +perfectly good dollars in his pocket and purposed to keep the change +therefrom. Mr. Tutt produced stogies; Mr. Mason produced the flask +aforesaid; Mr. Higgins warmed to reminiscence. The first forty miles, +which they covered quite easily in an hour and a half, was through +level farming country on what is described by the blue book as +“macadam alternating with stretches of dirt in good condition.” But +just as darkness began to gather the highway vanished and gave place +to a narrow rutty road which Mr. Tutt could dimly descry ascending in +tortuous curves indefinitely before them. + +“This here is Chick Hill,” announced the sheriff. “Road goes clear +over the shoulder--thirteen hundred feet; but it saves nine miles, an’ +Lizzie is good for it.” + +“Lizzie” was good for it, although at times it was necessary for her +passengers to relieve her difficulties by getting out, and when at +last the crest was attained she was steaming and gurgling like an +oversized hot-water kettle. Night had fallen; but the dusty road +showed dimly white in the starlight. Then the sheriff shut off the +ignition, put her in low gear, and they plunged down the opposite side +of the incline using the engine as a brake. Mr. Tutt, his knees braced +against the back of the seat in front of him, thought they were never +going to reach level. Even at only ten miles an hour a four-mile coast +at night gives an impression of a rapid descent into a bottomless pit. + +On and on they ground at first speed, rousing the innocent sleeping +denizens of the forest with buzzing, groans, whirs and clankings, like +a drunken alarm clock set off in a tin boiler. Mr. Tutt’s excellent +teeth were nearly shaken from his gums, and all three passengers found +themselves violently rubbing their noses to counteract the effect of +the vibration. Then after an unusually steep pitch, during which both +prosecutor and lawyer for the defense clung desperately to each other, +the sheriff suddenly released the clutch and Lizzie shot forward in +silent ecstasy for a hundred yards or so, at the end of which burst +she slowly came to a stop and died. + +“Well, we’re down!” ejaculated Sheriff Higgins with evident relief. +“Gosh! Some hill!” + +“I think you might officially designate it as a mountain!” replied Mr. +Tutt grimly. “I’ve felt exactly as if I were hanging face down across +a rail fence for the last half hour.” + +“I think,” mused Squire Mason, “there’s still somethin’ left at the +bottom of the bottle.” + +The sheriff instantly struck a match. There was something at the +bottom of the bottle. Then each lit a stogy and Higgins got out in the +blackness to crank the car. They were in a narrow, heavily-timbered +valley between hills, a sort of natural protected pocket, sheltered +from the wind, cut off from the rest of the world. The tall spruces on +either side of the road raked the stars. Save for the puffing of the +sheriff no sound was audible save the rasping, insistent call of a +whip-poor-will. The chill mist from a near-by swamp or unseen pond +nipped their wrists and cheeks. The sheriff grabbed Lizzie’s handle +firmly and gave it an energetic twist, but the engine answered neither +pish nor tush. + +“That’s funny!” remarked the sheriff, giving her another. “Userly she +cranks easy! Maybe she’s cold!” + +“Don’t blame her,” shivered the Squire. “Everybody else is!” + +The sheriff bent over once more. His gyrations were not visible to the +passengers in the car, but the sounds that he gave forth indicated +extreme violence, followed by utter exhaustion, disgust and profanity. + +“Fush-ush-ush!” said Lizzie and then relapsed into a discreet and +mortifying silence. + +“Well, I’ll be gol-binged!” panted the sheriff. “I dunno _what’s_ the +matter with her. Acts as if she was sick.” + +“She was goin’ all right top of the hill,” encouraged the Squire. + +A penetrating odor of gasoline made itself noticeable. In the silence +could be heard the unmistakable sound of something dripping. + +“Gee whiz!” gasped the sheriff. “I hope she ain’t sprung a leak!” + +He opened the hood and peered vaguely within. + +“Hell!” he cried suddenly. “Most burnt my thumb off!” + +“What’s the matter with her?” inquired Mr. Mason. + +“That’s what I’d like you to tell me!” snapped the sheriff. “All I +know is that her innards seem to be all leakin’ away. I’m standin’ +near knee high in a pool of gasoline!” + +“Keerful how you light a match,” cautioned the prosecutor. “What are +we goin’ to do?” + +“How do I know!” retorted Higgins. “I ain’t no mechanic. I can’t stop +it, ’cause I ain’t got no idee where it is.” + +“Can’t you feel for it?” hazarded the squire plaintively. + +“She’s bleedin’ to death,” moaned the sheriff. “And no way to stop +her!” + +There was a prolonged and painful silence broken only by a determined +trickle from the interior of the hood. + +“How far are we from Orient Mills?” asked the Squire. + +“Fifteen miles,” replied the sheriff. “I guess you kin walk it in +about five hours.” + +Mr. Tutt choked down a chuckle. One thing was certain, that the trial +could not proceed without them. He had nothing to worry about on that +score, and he had plenty of stogies. The attorney gathered his long +limbs together and shrouded his form as best he could with the horse +blanket which he shared with the squire. The sheriff had apparently +surrendered to the inevitable and was poking about aimlessly by the +roadside. + +“What you goin’ to do?” demanded the Squire peevishly. “We can’t sit +here all night!” + +“Guess you’ll have to wait until someone comes along who can tell +what’s the matter with her,” answered the sheriff. “I’m near froze!” + +So were they all. Presently at a safe distance from the car the +sheriff started a tiny blaze which he gradually encouraged with broken +boughs and a couple of fence rails until he had a respectable fire. + +“Feels good, don’t it?” he declared, rubbing his hands. “I reckon we +kin pass a comfortable night here.” + +“Don’t you know anything about an automobile?” snapped the Squire. +“Seems to me with all the runnin’ around you do you ought to be able +to stop a little leak.” + +“Look here!” suddenly roared the sheriff. “It’s all right for you to +stand there and chatter! Go find it yourself! Nobody ast you to come +along, anyhow. Nobody wanted you! You jest butted in!” + +“Well, I warn’t goin’ to let you put anythin’ over on me!” shouted +Mason. “I can smell a rat when I see one,” he added significantly, +badly mixing his metaphors in his excitement. + +The rest of the colloquy was lost upon Mr. Tutt. For in the distance +he had seen the flicker of a lantern, indubitably coming towards them. +His companions engrossed in their altercation being wholly oblivious, +Mr. Tutt climbed out of the car and strode silently down the road. The +movement of the light, which seemingly was actuated by influences even +more obscurely conflicting than those propounded by Prof. Einstein, +was erratic and puzzling. At times it would remain stationary, then +jump up and down, then swing in a half circle, or occasionally dodge +sideways and, for a moment or so, disappear entirely. + +Now, Mr. Tutt was anxious to reach Orient Mills at the earliest moment +possible and he much preferred to arrive there unencumbered by the +presence of Squire Mason. If this light evidenced the presence of any +vehicle of locomotion he purposed to annex, cabbage, corrall, grab, +secure and appropriate it unto himself. Therefore Mr. Tutt having +placed fifty yards between him and the fire, broke into a run. The +light suddenly became distinct and luminous. Yes, it was a +lantern--swinging between wheels of some sort; and while its gyrations +continued he was now able to distinguish furtive movements. Muffled +expletives reached him--a confusion of miscellaneous +noises--stertorous breathing, strainings, the scuffle of irregular +hoof beats. + +“Hello, there!” called Mr. Tutt. + +The lantern stopped, swaying. + +“Hello!” returned a voice. “Hi there, you! Stand still!” + +Mr. Tutt hurried towards the lantern, and as he did so it darted +towards the road side. + +“Look out!” came the voice in warning. “This here colt ain’t never +been in harness before.” + +“Then you better not go any further down the road,” advised Mr. Tutt +approaching the driver who sat upon the minute seat of a wire racing +buggy with his legs thrust along the shafts on either side of the +colt. “Because there’s an automobile right in the middle of it.” + +The colt, meanwhile, was frantically side-stepping upon its hind legs. + +“Guess I’ll have to turn round--if I kin!” answered the driver +maneuvering with the reins. “He pretty near run away with me up there +a piece.” + +“Live far from here?” + +“’Bout half a mile.” + +“Do you want to earn twenty dollars?” + +“I reckon I do--how?” + +Mr. Tutt stepped as near the colt as seemed consistent with safety. + +“You drive me to Orient Mills--and I’ll give you twenty dollars,” said +he. + +The owner of the colt had at last induced him momentarily to stand +still. + +“I darsn’t risk it,” he replied with obvious regret. “He ain’t never +been hitched before an’ ’twould be too much for him anyways. Stand +still, you!” + +“I’ll give you fifty dollars,” continued Mr. Tutt. + +“Where’d you sit?” asked the owner of the colt who was gradually +pulling the animal around. + +“On the seat with you.” + +Now it is doubtful whether, if Mr. Tutt had realized in advance the +anatomical difficulties presented by his suggestion, he would have +essayed the ride, but he was unfamiliar with racing buggies or their +peculiarities. Accordingly he leaped in where an angel would have +discreetly refused to go. The driver having turned the buggy around +looked over his shoulder. + +“Y’ got to hop up mighty spry!” he warned him. “Get yer right upper +leg over the seat and along the shaft and then sort o’ twine yer lower +leg around them wire braces, and grab holt anywheres you can, quick!” + +To this day Mr. Tutt is unable to give a coherent explanation either +of how he did as directed or how he stayed put when he got there. He +merely recalls climbing up on the axle of the buggy, grasping the +driver firmly around the waist and sitting sideways on the outer edge +of what seemed like a small frying pan, with one leg along the colt’s +flank and the other twisted between the wire braces beneath the +shafts. He is also firmly convinced that he sat implanted upon the +colt’s tail. But the real miracle is that he retained his stovepipe +hat and triumphantly wore it back to Pottsville. Who shall predicate +what is impossible? + +Disregarding the vital consequences to James Hawkins involved, there +was an element of humor in the manner in which Mr. Tutt so blithely +ascended the racing buggy and calmly abandoned the sheriff and the +squire in the very middle of their controversy. He had no intention, +however, of being obliged to share his seat on the frying pan with a +third party. + +His equine experiences had been limited; for being of that generation +when the elite of New York belonged to volunteer fire companies and +themselves dragged their diminutive hand pumps and hose wagons through +the streets of the metropolis amid the admiring cheers of the common +herd--when the wild goat browsed undisturbed by the hunter in the +hinterland of Central Park, and bobtailed horse cars at irregular +intervals tinkled from river to river--belonging, we say, to a +generation long since passed away, to wit of Adelina Patti and Jennie +Lind, of Booth and Forrest and Mrs. Vincent, of “Maud S.” and the +“Mary Powell,” of Tweed, Henry Ward Beecher and Barnum’s Trained +Seal--Mr. Tutt, being an urbanite, knew little of the “friend of man” +beyond Shank’s mare. He was ignorant of the character and ways of +colts and of wire buggies, but being a stoic and accustomed to take +things as they came, and the colt and buggy having presented +themselves, he had quite naturally availed himself of them as a matter +of course. + +Innocent of the possible consequences, as the gentle Redskin who first +partook of the white men’s beverage, he had accepted the invitation to +share the frying pan without a moment’s hesitation and in that single +instant had passed from the safety of terra firma into the utmost +jeopardy of his life. For he had no sooner entangled his anatomy in +the intricacies of the buggy’s architecture than the colt stood up +straight upon its hind legs and endeavored to paw Cassiopeia from the +zenith. In a twinkling Mr. Tutt found himself with his body horizontal +and his legs pointing skyward like a telescope, at an angle of ninety +degrees. The colt strenuously objected to his presence. Then having +kicked Leda to pieces with his right hoof and trampled upon Orion with +his left the festive animal put his foot through the middle of the +Dipper, swallowed the North Star, turned a half dozen somersaults amid +the constellations, and then by suddenly dropping stiffly to earth +with his four feet close together, shot Mr. Tutt swiftly upward into +the ether adjacent to the Milky Way. For an interminable period of +time the old lawyer hurtled through space, clutching at the nearest +planets and fixed stars, and then, without warning, found himself +projected violently against the rear portions of the colt’s body from +which he rebounded smeared with lather like a billiard ball from a +side cushion, thus receiving a convincing demonstration of Newton’s +Great Law that action and reaction are equal and opposite in +direction. + +While profanity would have been inadequate it would have relieved Mr. +Tutt to have indulged in it, but profanity requires breath and he had +none left in his lungs. And then, the colt having decided to abandon +its tests of the Laws of Relativity settled down into a long, leggy +trot that nearly tore Mr. Tutt’s old bones from their sockets, and +plunged forward into the darkness of the abyss. + + + “But finding soon a smoother road + Beneath his well shod feet, + The snorting beast began to trot + Which gall’d him in his seat!” + + +Occasionally the colt would take exception to a shadow and shy +violently into the bushes and, at intervals, it would stop short +without warning with the result that Mr. Tutt’s stovepipe, driver, +buggy, lantern, legs and all the rest of the affair would climb up and +around its posterior, the animate and inanimate becoming inextricably +confused. Then, with a jerk, it would leap forward again and they +would all fall backwards in imminent danger of being dashed against +the road behind them. + +Had Mr. Tutt needed to “reduce” he would have become a “reductio ad +absurdum” in the first twenty minutes. Up hill and down they rushed, +gyrating in wide semicircles, the rubber stuttering in agony, deluged +in puddles, pounded by ruts and unseen cavities, numbed and cramped by +their frenzied clinging to the rigid iron. + +Several times they flashed by lighted farmhouses where Mr. Tutt would +have stopped--if he could. But the colt having decided to go to Orient +Mills would entertain no other suggestion. It had clearly made up its +mind to cover the fifteen miles in record time and take along Mr. Tutt +with it--willy-nilly. + + + “Now let us sing, Long Live the King! + And Gilpin, Long live he! + And when he next doth ride abroad, + May I be there to see!” + + +As they tore through the night there persisted in Mr. Tutt’s +perfervid, but fast fading, consciousness the vision of a monkey he +had once seen in a circus race clinging in terror to the buckling back +of a leaping greyhound. And like himself it had worn a hat! + +Suddenly the colt sprang forward with a burst of speed that made their +former rate seem, by comparison, an amble. From behind them came a +faint palpitation; and a shaft of light shot by over their heads. With +a sensation almost akin to relief Mr. Tutt realized that Lizzie had +come to life. + +“Hr-rr-k! H-rr-k! H-rr-rr-rr-k!” + +The colt hurled itself into the traces resolved to be overtaken by no +mere flivver. In desperation Mr. Tutt grasped the animal’s tail with +both hands firmly near the root, thus reducing the radius of the +circle through which he was gyrating by virtue of centrifugal force. + +At times--when the road ascended--Lizzie dropped momentarily behind +and the light of her eyes dimmed; but at others--notably, down +hill--she pressed hard upon their heels to the imminent danger of Mr. +Tutt’s coat tails. Since the colt would neither stop nor allow Lizzie +to pass, they continued thus in company without slackening speed until +the road emerged from the woods into the open and, racing into the +village neck and neck, they came to a stop in front of the post office +at Orient Center. + +“Well,” remarked the colt’s owner shortly. “Here y’ are!” + +Mr. Tutt, however, was not sure whether he--all of him, at any +rate--was there or not, for from his waist down he had lost all power +of sensation. With the sheriff’s assistance he untied his legs and +ruefully rubbed the small of his back. + +“Thought y’d leave us, did ye?” taunted the Squire. + +“This gentleman offered me a lift and I accepted his invitation,” +explained the lawyer, as he counted out fifty dollars by the light of +the lantern. “How did you manage to repair the automobile?” + +“Oh, she come-to finally,” replied the sheriff blandly. “Y’ see +coastin’ so long down hill thetaway flooded her carburetor and she +kep’ on leakin’ until she was empty and then she jest naturally dried +up and when the Squire gave her a crank she started right up.” + +Mr. Tutt examined his timepiece and discovered to his astonishment +that it was only half after eleven. It seemed to him as if he had been +traveling all night. The owner of the colt having pocketed his money +wheeled the buggy and drove off. + +“Everybody’s asleep in this hick town,” announced the sheriff. “Guess +we’d better run over to the mill.” + +So they climbed back into the car and drove on to Orient Mills. Here +all was dark but, by pounding on the door of the house nearest the +office, they roused a time-keeper who said that Charlie Emerson had +gone to work the day before; he thought he was lodging at a house +about a quarter of a mile below the dam on a side road--they would +know it by a white birch. Lizzie having somewhat reluctantly consented +to proceed, they passed another half hour trying to find Mr. Emerson’s +place of abode. But every house below the dam proved to have a white +birch in its immediate vicinity and, as he had no other guide, the +sheriff aroused the irate occupants of each in turn until he +eventually discovered the particular tree in question--which on +examination proved to be a beech. It made no difference to Mr. Tutt +what kind of a tree it was. He had accomplished his purpose. He had +found his witness, and he would be in a position to rectify and atone +for any mistake he might have made. All his weariness passed from him, +his bones ached no longer, he heard no more the rushing of the wind +past his ears nor smelt the aroma of his flying steed! His +experience--agonizing as it had been--had been a small price to pay +for the result attained. + +The moon had set and the small white house stood silent and ghostly as +a tomb against the blackness of the grove behind it. The sheriff +climbed out once more and descended to the side door, which he kicked +violently. Since this elicited no response he then walked around to +the front and thumped loudly upon the front windows. At length a +candle flickered somewhere and a head emerged from the second story. + +“Hello there!” called up the sheriff. “Does Charlie Emerson live +here?” + +There followed a moment during which the head appeared to be adjusting +itself to the idea so irrelevantly interjected into it. Then a deep +voice--whether masculine or feminine none of them could +determine--said: + +“You mean the feller that come here from Pottsville? If ye do, he was +here yesterday and hired a room but he went away agin and he ain’t +never come back! I ain’t got no idee where he is.” + +Then Mr. Tutt lifted up his voice and called down the punishment of +Heaven upon the missing witness and upon himself as nothing less than +a poor old fool! Mason could scarce conceal his glee, even in the +darkness. Now, of a surety, Hawkins would go to the electric chair! +Mr. Tutt began to suspect that Mason had surreptitiously telephoned up +to the mills and arranged to have Emerson enticed away. But he +dismissed that possibility; for Mason had not had time for anything +like that. Moreover it would have come pretty close to being a +crime--and, while Mason might be a shyster he certainly would not be +guilty of anything so unprofessional as that! No, it was fate! + +“Well,” said the Squire pleasantly, “what shall we do now?” + +“It’s two o’clock!” warned the sheriff. “If you want to get back to +breakfast we’d better be gettin’ along. I ain’t goin’ over Chick Hill +agin’ to-night. I’m goin’ round by Humphrey Falls.” + +“When is the next train?” asked Mr. Tutt. + +“One o’clock to-morrow afternoon,” said the sheriff. “I told you this +was a hick town!” + +Mr. Tutt without further discussion opened the door and re-entered the +car. The jig was up. He could do no more. There was only one course to +pursue; leave the subpena to Orient and go on with the trial, meantime +keeping in touch with the manager of the mills. If Emerson returned to +work in the morning he could be subpenaed and delivered upon the one +o’clock train for Pottsville. If he did not turn up Mr. Tutt could +wait until the last minute, lay the whole matter before the court and +appeal to its mercy for a sufficiently long adjournment to enable +Emerson to be found. + +Dawn had flushed the hill summits along the Mohawk Valley before a +bucking and recalcitrant Lizzie, driven by an exhausted sheriff and +carrying two cramped figures representing both sides of the bar in the +great case of People vs. Hawkins, slithered into Pottsville. The only +light visible gleamed from the kitchen window of the Phoenix House +where “Ma” Best, like the virtuous woman of Holy Writ, was preparing +breakfast for twelve slumbering jurors and the other transient +participants in the proceeding. Higgins ran Lizzie up to the back +door, climbed down and shook Mr. Tutt by the shoulder. + +“Hi!” he grunted. “Here we be back again!” + +“Yes, your honor!” muttered Mr. Tutt who had been dreaming of special +demurrers and cross-interrogatories. “Exactly so!” + +“Wake up!” ordered the sheriff. “This ain’t no Pullman!” + +Mr. Tutt slowly came to himself and the pains of Hell got hold upon +him. His hands and feet were without feeling, but otherwise every bone +in his body, every muscle, every tendon shrieked with agony. +Simultaneously the Squire regained a similarly painful consciousness. + +“Squire,” remarked Mr. Tutt with a grin, “we have at least comported +ourselves as lawyers, gentlemen and sportsmen.” + +“So far as the sport goes,” returned the squire ruefully, “I could ha’ +got ’long without it.” + +Mrs. Best, startled by this untoward matutinal disturbance, now +appeared in the doorway, the light streaming from behind her, and +giving her somewhat the effect of a stout angel descending in a burst +of glory from a culinary heaven. + +“Why Squire Mason!” she exclaimed, “and Mr. Tutt! What on earth are +you two doin’ up at his hour of the mornin’?” + +Indeed an angel she seemed to the three spent and weary men. + +“Where you been? Don’t you want a cup of coffee?” + +“Madam,” replied Mr. Tutt, with a bow of his old stovepipe which swept +the ground, “sweeter words ne’er fell on mortal ear!” + +Squire Mason had hurried inside to the more grateful atmosphere +surrounding the kitchen stove. The stars were blinking feebly above +the rival steeples of the local Methodists and Baptists, and the +chimney of the Phoenix House cook-shed glowed with a grayish, +unearthly pink. + +“Well, Mr. Tutt,” whispered the sheriff as he made sure the prosecutor +had closed the door after him. “I did the best I could for ye! I give +ye the best chance I could--but ’twarn’t no use!” + +“How’s that?” inquired Mr. Tutt, fully coming to life for the first +time. “What do you mean?” + +“I mean,” explained the officer of the law, “that I know’s well as you +do that there’s suthin’ phony ’bout this feller Emerson. Squire’s +never let me say a word to him--ax him a single question! So to-night +when we got to the top of Chick Hill an’ I seen a light on the road +ahead I made up my mind to give you a chance to go on alone and have +a talk with Emerson all by yourself.” + +“Eh!” murmured the astounded lawyer. + +“So I pulled out the choke pin and flooded the carburetor and she +stopped sure enough--and Mason would ha’ been there yet, if the durned +cuss hadn’t gone over all by himself when I wasn’t lookin’ and give +her a yank and she started up.” + +In the half light of the coming dawn the bony hand of Mr. Tutt sought +the icy one of Sheriff Higgins. + +“Thank you!” said he. “It’s too bad! I’m afraid this means Hawkins +will be convicted.” + +“I’m feared it does! If you can’t find Emerson,” returned the sheriff +solemnly. “--an’ I ain’t sure findin’ him will do any good either! But +I kinder have a feelin’ that if you’d ha’ gone after him in +cross-examination you’d ha’ got suthin’ more’n ye did. You _got_ to +find him!” + +“Why do you say that?” asked Mr. Tutt curiously, for, so far, his +alibi stood a good one. “Didn’t I prove by him that the murder took +place at four o’clock, when everybody knows that Skinny was in +Pottsville at that hour?” + +“Yes,” assented Higgins. “But y’see just between ourselves I happen to +know that the clock he told the time by was stopped. I seen it myself +when I went into the shanty that afternoon.” + +“Then why do you think it would do me any good to find Emerson?” Mr. +Tutt pressed him. + +The sheriff hesitated. A couple of long antennæ had shot up from +behind the hills surrounding Turkey Hollow and were gilding the +weather cock on the Baptist steeple. + +“’Cause,” he replied with conviction, “I believe he knows more’n he’s +been asked. I can’t tell you why I think so, but I do. Mebbe I’m all +wrong. But”--and he put his lips close to the lid of Mr. Tutt’s +stovepipe hat--“I don’t believe--no matter how strong the evidence is +agin’ him--that Skinny ever killed the hermit. He ain’t that kind. An’ +what’s more I believe the Squire knows it.” + +“That’s a pretty strong accusation to make against the district +attorney of your county!” exclaimed Mr. Tutt with feigned severity. + +“I know it,” admitted the sheriff. “That don’t make no difference. +He’s a bad actor! But Skinny ain’t no murderer! You kin bet on it!” + +“Have you observed anything in the evidence that tends to support your +opinion?” returned Mr. Tutt. + +“Well,” answered the sheriff. “It’s a gol-durned funny thing that +Skinny had exactly one hundred dollars in gold when I arrested him and +the hermit had five new twenty-dollar bills--just the same amount--on +his body.” + +“That,” exclaimed Mr. Tutt, “is a coincidence which had entirely +escaped my attention!” + +“But your only chance to get him off is by findin’ Emerson!” asserted +Higgins with emphasis. + +“But how can I do it?” demanded Mr. Tutt. + +The sheriff shook his head and spat with precision at a dandelion. + +“Durn if I know!” he answered helplessly. “And I’m a camel, at that!” +he added with seeming irrelevance. + +Now one of Mr. Tutt’s axioms of conduct was always to act on +impulse--and to trust instinct rather than reason; for he held impulse +to be the voice of conscience and instinct that of inherited +subconscious experience. He was wont to claim that the observation of +the human race concentrated in legends, maxims, saws and proverbs was +just as likely to be correct as the deductions of modern science,--and +that he for one, until the contrary was demonstrated to his +satisfaction, purposed to go on believing that the moon was made of +green cheese. Hence Higgins’ voluntary statement to the effect that he +felt--although he could not tell why--that there was a nigger in the +legal woodpile somewhere and that Emerson was Skinny’s only hope, +induced a new resolution on Mr. Tutt’s part to find him, if it were +humanly possible; and so before court opened he sent to New York a +hurry call for help in the shape of a telegram as follows: + + + “Samuel Tutt, Esq., + “c/o Tutt & Tutt, + “Attorneys-at-Law, + “61 Broadway, New York. + + “Case going badly. Need assistance. Come at once, bring Bonnie Doon + and four detectives--real ones.--Regards. + + “E. Tutt.” + + +In addition to which he pondered long upon the curious fact that a man +who presumably had been murdered for his money should have a hundred +dollars in new bills in his pocket--the precise sum, only in another +form of specie, represented by the loot taken from his alleged slayer. + + + + + IV + + “Is not the winding up of witnesses, + And nicking, more than half the business? + For witnesses, like watches, go + Just as they’re set, too fast or slow; + And where in conscience, they’re strait-lac’d, + ’Tis ten to one that side is cast.” + Butler. Hudibras Pt. II. Canto I, 1.51 + + +Just as the scientist reconstructs the dinosaur from a fragment of +bone, so Ephraim Tutt,--ex pede Herculem, as it were,--by virtue of +the coincidence of the hundred dollars found upon the hermit’s body +and the equivalent amount of gold discovered upon Skinny the Tramp, +built up something which, while not exactly a defense, was at least a +bomb to hurl into his enemy’s camp. Defense, alas! there apparently +was none worth making. The case hung upon the question of whether +Emerson, if found, could shed any additional light upon the hour of +the murder. If he could not be found, then Skinny would go to the +chair. If he did appear--well, there was merely a possibility of +escape--that was all. + +Ten o’clock came, once more the gong rang, and the gladiators stumbled +from their respective corners into the legal ring for the final round. +Mr. Tutt, fully cognizant of his desperate plight, nerved himself for +the encounter, and wary, resourceful and suave, although he had lost +all hope of acquitting Skinny on his alibi, exhibited all his +customary confidence. Neither did Squire Mason show any loss of +vitality or aplomb as a result of his trip to Orient Mills the night +before. Indeed, both came into court none the worse for wear and +wholly ready for the fray. + +At the very opening of the day’s proceedings, a question of tactics +presented itself. The photographs of the interior of the shanty, while +in evidence, had not as yet been shown to the jury. There wasn’t the +slightest doubt but that, of course, Squire Mason was aware of the +simple mechanical fact that the hermit’s clock had run down. He might +even have it hidden somewhere in an ante-room ready to produce at the +proper psychological moment, to prove that the clock was broken +or--horrible thought!--that it had no works at all! It might be merely +a face! + +The foxy old hayseed was probably going to wait until the defense had +called all its witnesses to establish Hawkins’ presence at Colson’s +Grocery at four o’clock, and then blandly trot out the clock itself +for the inspection of the jury, who would thus be enabled to see with +their own eyes that it was entirely useless as evidence. Adopting a +military simile, he was evidently intending to permit his enemy to +capture a redoubt and then press an electric button and blow the +redoubt and the enemy both to atoms. That was obviously what he ought +to do as a matter of tactics, what any skilful prosecutor would do, +what Mr. Tutt would have done in his place. It could therefore be +pretty safely assumed that he would do it. + +Now then, would it be better for Mr. Tutt boldly to hand the +photograph to the jury and bring out the fact that the clock was a +stopped clock himself, as if it were so obvious as to be really of no +importance and--trust to luck? Or would it be better--assuming that he +had correctly diagnosed Squire Mason’s intentions--to keep the thing +out of the jury’s hands as long as possible and delay the discovery +until there was no longer any hope of a change in the strategical +situation. The photograph was bound to be a bombshell some time or +other, and the longer it was held back the worse would be the +explosion. Still--! Mr. Tutt had been taught several painful lessons +during the last few days. Why bring out an unfavorable fact before it +was necessary,--simply to reduce its ultimate dramatic effect if +eventually proved? Why explode a mine under one’s own works, so long +as there was the remotest chance--even one in a million--that the +works might be held? After all, you never could tell! + +These somewhat confused ratiocinations flashed through Mr. Tutt’s +brain while the roll of the jury was being called, and by the time the +twelfth had answered to his name, the lawyer had made up his mind to +leave what was--for the time being--well enough alone, and to hold +back the photograph as long as possible, to trust in his star and in +his genius for the unexpected and improbable. + +The clerk sat down and the sheriff rapped for order. + +“Proceed, gentlemen!” directed Judge Tompkins. + +“Your honor,” announced Squire Mason with the air of a Stephen A. +Douglas, “I have studied carefully the facts evidenced by The People’s +witnesses and I have decided to close my case. We have proven the +corpus delicti, the presence of the defendant at the scene of the +crime, and the proceeds of it upon his person, thus showing his +motive, and by many other conclusive items of circumstantial evidence, +have established beyond peradventure that he is the murderer. There is +no need to pile Ossa upon Helion. As the saying is, ‘Enough is +enough.’--The People rest!--Let us hear what the defense has to say!” + +Squire Mason looked pointedly at the foreman, who nodded slightly as +if in approval of the prosecutor’s sentiments. Quite right. Enough was +enough, and there was more than enough here. Anybody who had any doubt +as to who had killed the hermit must be a blamed fool! All eyes turned +irresistibly to Mr. Tutt, as the old lawyer, accepting the gage of +battle, elevated himself by easy stages ceilingward like a retarded +Jack in the Box. + +“I move,” said he, “that your honor direct a verdict of acquittal upon +the ground that there is no evidence sufficient to connect the +defendant with the crime charged. Surely no court would permit a jury +to take away a man’s life on circumstantial evidence of such an +inconclusive character as has been introduced here!” + +Judge Tompkins shook his head. + +“I shall deny your motion, Mr. Tutt. There is, to my mind, abundant +evidence, which if uncontradicted or unexplained, would warrant the +jury in finding a verdict of guilty. Circumstantial evidence is often +the most convincing evidence.” + +The old lawyer bowed. + +“I most respectfully and with the greatest deference to your honor’s +judgment, except to your honor’s ruling.--Will your honor kindly +instruct the jury that in denying my motion you do not indicate any +personal opinion on your own part as to the defendant’s guilt or +innocence and that your ruling is merely to the effect that there is +enough evidence to put us on our defense?” + +“That is so, gentlemen.--Proceed, Mr. Tutt.” + +Judge Tompkins settled back in his chair expectantly. It was, so far +as he could now see, a conclusive case of circumstantial evidence and +he was anxious to learn how Mr. Tutt proposed to rebut it. He liked +the old lawyer and watched him almost affectionately as the latter +smilingly glanced over the rows of uplifted faces before him. + +Now, Mr. Tutt always proceeded upon the theory that though a man might +be down he was never out--at any rate until the verdict was rendered +and the highest court in the state had sustained it; and following his +usual tactics, instead of supinely awaiting his enemy’s attack, he +boldly assumed the offensive and crashed through the hostile +earthworks and entanglements without regard to the fact that he was +leaving himself open to the danger of being cut off in the rear. In +other words, although he knew that the most superficial examination of +the photographs of the shanty’s interior would show that the hermit’s +clock had stopped and that consequently his claim that the murder had +occurred at four o’clock when Skinny was a full mile distant was +baseless, he nevertheless plunged right ahead as if the fact of the +clock having stopped was never going to be discovered at all. +Furthermore, he had the audacity to attack the Squire’s good faith and +general honesty and so pave a way for the possible future suggestion +that maybe the old fox had fixed the clock himself when he had gone to +the hermit’s shanty on the afternoon of the homicide,--for the very +purpose of destroying Skinny’s perfectly good alibi! And he did this +all on the basis of the hundred dollars in bills found in the hermit’s +vest pocket! + +First, said he, his client was known to be one of the most gentle and +peaceable of human beings. + +Second, he had an absolutely good alibi--as he was far away from +Turkey Hollow at four o’clock when, as the jury already knew, the +murder had taken place. + +Third, the prosecution was not brought in good faith since this had +been perfectly well known to Squire Mason from the beginning. This was +the first time the defendant had ever heard the evidence against him. +He had never been given any opportunity whatever to show--as he could +have done with the utmost ease--that he could not possibly be the +person who committed the homicide. Had Squire Mason called before the +Grand Jury the witnesses whom he, Mr. Tutt, was about to call before +them this indictment would never have been found, for they would have +demonstrated with mathematical certainty that at the precise hour this +unfortunate man met his death James Hawkins was a mile away. + +At this several members of the jury looked inquiringly towards Squire +Mason, who sniffed contemptuously and glowered at Mr. Tutt with hardly +concealed malevolence. An alibi, pointed out the lawyer, was the best +possible defense, because it was the only defense that proved +conclusively that the defendant must be absolutely innocent--for +nobody could be in two places at the same time. Now, while it might be +true that Hawkins at some time or another had had on a pair of boots +with soles like the prints in the potato patch, (1) it had not been +shown when in fact the prints had been made, whereas (2) he--Mr. +Tutt--would clearly, absolutely, irrefutably, legally, morally and in +every other way, prove, demonstrate, and substantiate that, even if +Hawkins had been near the shanty that afternoon, he must have left +there long enough before the murder to walk from Turkey Hollow to +Pottsville and arrive there at four o’clock. All this Mr. Tutt got off +exultantly, triumphantly, grandiloquently, in his best “whoop-la” +manner, keeping one eye meanwhile upon his antagonist to see how he +would take it. + +“Why?” he demanded in tones like those of Amfortas in the Chapel Scene +of Parsifal, “why _had_ Squire Mason concealed from the Grand +Jury--and, he might add, from his listeners themselves--this all +important and controlling fact? Was it not the duty of the public +prosecutor to conserve the rights of every accused? Was not, in fact, +a district attorney who deliberately withheld vital information--which +in truth would conclusively establish a prisoner’s innocence--from the +public tribunal of which he was the adviser, and sought to secure the +prisoner’s conviction of crime--knowing him to be blameless--was not +such a man guilty of malfeasance in office--if not of worse things? +Was he not a thief, liar, poltroon, rascal, knave, rogue, scoundrel, +scamp, scalawag, miscreant, villain, crook, cad, shyster, trickster, +renegade, caitiff, rapscallion,--no better than a murderer himself? +Eh, what? Wasn’t he? Let them answer to their own souls!” And as +Squire Mason took all this dose with only a feeble “I protest--I +object!” turning white meanwhile, it dawned upon Mr. Tutt that +possibly what he said was true, and that not only Mason _was_ a scamp, +etc., etc., but that mayhap, after all, the alibi _was_ a good +one,--if only it could be proved to be so! Look at him! Pale, +shrinking, guilt pictured in every feature! + +“Bang!” went Judge Tompkins’ gavel. + +“Mr. Tutt!” interrupted his honor with severity. “Your language is +highly unbecoming. Your attack upon the prosecutor of this +county--made in your opening without the slightest evidence to support +your accusations--is most improper. At the right time I shall instruct +the jury how to deal with it. You will kindly confine yourself to what +you intend to prove----” + +“But I do intend to prove it!” replied Mr. Tutt in a voice trembling +with carefully simulated resentment and indignation, now fully +satisfied not only that he had got Mason’s number but that the alibi +was really good. “I intend to prove it! And that this man Mason is +what I have stigmatized him as being.” + +“We are not trying Squire Mason!” retorted his honor hotly. “Any more +than we are trying you. Proceed and confine yourself to the facts +which you expect to establish.” + +Now, Mr. Tutt had “felt his way along,” as he would have said, and, +having felt it a certain distance, he had gradually become convinced +that he had inadvertently stumbled upon a great truth. There was +nothing to account for this except whatever significance might be +attached to the squire’s demeanor. As the diplomats say, the situation +had not changed. Nevertheless, into the old lawyer’s veins there oozed +a celestial ichor which put him all aglow,--made him the same old +“battling Tutt” of his police court days fifty years before. It may +have been only a subtle sensitiveness telling him that, if the Squire +were agitated, to that extent at least should he himself be confident, +if the Squire were depressed by so much should he be elated, but it +was probably something deeper than that and akin to the instinct of +the sailor who in the midst of the tempest knows that the storm is +nearly over,--a lightening of the spiritual barometer, a consciousness +of the stealthy approach of dawn when the night seems darkest. + +So Mr. Tutt, having charged the Squire with being every kind of a +crook set forth as a synonym for the word rascal in the Century +Dictionary, Roget’s Thesaurus, and all the other handbooks used by +sterile authors, boldly alleged that at the proper time he would show +him fully up, have him disbarred and mayhap cast into prison, and, +having described exactly what he purposed proving and what he knew he +could prove, decided to take a chance and guess a little as to what he +was not by any means so sure of. + +He had, he declared, proven by his cross-examination of the witness +Emerson that the murder was committed at exactly four o’clock,--a fact +which Squire Mason had deliberately attempted to conceal from them. +Now why had the wily and unscrupulous prosecutor sought to leave the +hour of the crime in doubt? Obviously because he knew that only by so +doing could he hope to convict the defendant. And then Mr. Tutt--borne +along on the wings of a divine afflatus coming whence he knew not--and +for no reason save that he felt “full of beans”--decided to try to +throw a scare into the district attorney on the chance of his really +having something on his conscience. + +If, he threatened, after he. Tutt, should have established to their +satisfaction that Hawkins was in Pottsville at four o’clock the +prosecutor should then in desperation turn about and for the purpose +of invalidating the alibi seek to attack his own witness’ testimony to +the effect that four o’clock was the hour of the murder, then, oh +then! he would a tale unfold that would harrow up their souls, freeze +their adolescent blood, and make their hair stand on end, etc.;--for +Mr. Tutt, emboldened by the angel who at times whispered in his right +ear or the little devil that at others murmured in his left had in the +twinkling of an eye formed the sudden and definite resolution to +accuse Squire Higgins,--if necessary,--of having deliberately stopped +and turned back the hands of the hermit’s clock himself. Of course, if +one stopped to think it over, it was a ridiculous supposition, but Mr. +Tutt knew that no argument is too absurd to advance before a jury with +some hope of success; and this wasn’t even an argument, it was merely +an excuse for an accusation. He might get away with it,--“You never +could tell!” + +So Mr. Tutt, having concluded his address with an encomium upon the +virtues of Skinny the Tramp in which he ranked him well up among the +heroes of Plutarch and the Fathers of the Republic, proceeded to +summon to the stand eight worthy inhabitants of Pottsville, each and +every one of whom swore positively and convincingly that on the +afternoon of the murder Skinny had entered the door of Colson’s +grocery store almost exactly at four o’clock, and that their reason +for knowing this to be so was that just as Skinny came in, the +barber,--someone having called attention to the fact that it was time +for him to open up,--had got up and gone out. All were accordingly +able to swear positively to the time and to give a natural and +convincing reason for their ability to do so. + +But the calling of these witnesses to the stand gave Squire Mason the +opportunity to drive in on cross-examination all the most damning +facts about Skinny’s appearance and admissions at the time. + +Hadn’t the tramp’s hands when he came in, he shouted, been smeared +with blood? Wasn’t he panting, exhausted, excited? Didn’t he try to +run away as soon as the news of the murder reached the town? Didn’t +they find his pockets full of gold pieces--of the same date as the one +in the dead hermit’s hand? Didn’t they recognize his pipe that he had +left on the shanty table? With one accord they all admitted it. + +Then Squire Mason went a step further and to everybody’s astonishment +demonstrated that he possessed a very ingenious fancy. For he +developed a romantic theory about a rainbow and a crock of gold which +came nearer to being true than he had any idea of. + +They’d all known Skinny the Tramp quite some time, hadn’t they? Ever +since he was a young feller? Sure--you bet! Ever notice anythin’ he +said partic’ly--what he meant was, did Skinny seem to have any +partic’lar idee he was always harpin’ on. Well,--if they didn’t +understand what he was drivin’ at--did Skinny ever say anythin’ in +their hearin’ about rainbows? Oh, sure! He was always--ever sence he +was a boy--talkin’ about tryin’ to find a pot of gold at the foot of a +rainbow.--Sure! He was always talkin’ about that! They hadn’t grasped +the purport of the Squire’s question. Why, there was one time Skinny +had harangued a big crowd on that subject for over half an hour down +to Somerset Corners--night of a lodge meetin’. + +Then Squire Mason, lowering his voice to an intense tremulo, would ask +each witness whether he had not noticed on the afternoon of the +murder, just after the shower, a rainbow, one of whose arches rested +in Turkey Hollow! And when any one of them confessed that he had done +so--as did in fact several--the prosecutor looked hard at Skinny--and +the audience sucked in its breath and felt a delicious creepy +sensation around the small of its back. Gosh! The Squire was a shrewd +feller! It took brains to think of an argyment like that. And eye met +eye significantly, and chin whisker wagged at chin whisker with deep +appreciation of the squire’s subtlety. + +There was no doubt but that the prosecutor, in spite of his personal +unpopularity, had in the opinion of those in the court room scored a +very neat point. It was all very well for Mr. Tutt by his redirect to +call attention to the absurdity and unlikelihood of a murderer +immediately after the homicide strolling unconcernedly into a grocery +store where he was well known, bearing upon his person all the +evidences of his crime. It might be kind o’ foolish, but then--Skinny +the Tramp was kind o’ foolish. The rainbow theory of motive more than +counterbalanced the obvious recklessness of such a performance. If +Skinny, guided to the scene of his crime by the rainbow, had murdered +the hermit in order to get his gold, it was quite in character that he +should have done afterwards what obviously he had done. You might as +well ask--as Mr. Tutt did ask--why he hadn’t changed his boots? To +which Squire Mason had replied that he hadn’t changed them for the +simple reason that they were all he had,--and if murderers never did +anythin’ but what was wise and prudent you’d never ketch any of ’em. +And at this retort the chin whiskers on the front of the jury wagged +again. No, on the face of it--except for the alibi--things looked very +bad for Skinny the Tramp; and Mr. Tutt knew that his alibi, as it +stood, wasn’t worth a tinker’s damn! Squire Mason had only to hand the +photograph to the jury and call its attention to the fact that the +clock had stopped and all would be over. Yet Mr. Tutt, buoyed up by a +mysterious confidence, which had its basis in the prosecutor’s +uneasiness, bore himself bravely in the face of all his difficulties. + +The last witness to the alibi gave his stammering testimony, was +cross-examined, redirected, recrossed and excused. The court room +clock pointed to half after twelve. The crucial moment of the trial +had been reached. Skinny’s alibi stood--swaying to be sure--but still +in the perpendicular. If the case should be closed then and there it +would remain erect and Skinny would doubtless go free, but if the +squire so much as pulled out a single brick, gave it the tiniest push, +by calling the jury’s attention to the fact that the hermit’s clock +was not going at the time of the murder the alibi would fall with a +crash and Skinny would pay with his life. What was the squire going to +do? + +“Well, gentlemen,” remarked Judge Tompkins. “What are your desires? +Does the defense rest?” + +Mr. Tutt hesitated. His only possible remaining witness was the +defendant himself. He would, of course, gladly rest his case if the +prosecutor would do the same thing. But Squire Mason gave no +indication of what his intentions in that regard might be. + +“If your honor please,” he said, “the usual hour of adjournment is +nearly at hand. May I suggest that we take a recess until one-thirty +in order that I may have time to review the evidence? It is my present +intention to rest my case upon the alibi which has been so clearly +established and to call no further witnesses, but I should like an +hour’s time to consider the matter.” + +“That seems reasonable,” agreed Judge Tompkins. “Is that satisfactory +to you, Mr. District Attorney?” + +The squire half arose from his chair. But before he could make reply +the legal earthquake--of which Mr. Tutt had remained in deadly fear +ever since Mr. Pennypacker had given his testimony--occurred. The +alibi shivered at its top like a tree under the woodsman’s ax, hung +for a moment in trembling equilibrium and crashed to the ground. + +“Before we adjourn fer dinner,” remarked the foreman, “I’d like to +take a look at that picter o’ the inside o’ the shanty. I want to see +suthin’.” + +Mr. Tutt turned sick. Forcing his features into a distorted smile he +said with an assumption of impulsive eagerness: + +“By all means!--Squire Mason, will you kindly hand Exhibit F to Mr. +Sawyer?” + +And then the wily squire, having patiently awaited this exact moment +for three whole days, bent over and lifted a package from beneath his +desk--precisely as Mr. Tutt had anticipated--announcing dramatically: + +“I suttinly will. An’ as I regard Exhibit F as the most important +piece of evidence in the case I’ve had fifteen copies made of it,--one +for the judge, one for each juryman, one for the defense and one for +myself. Here they be!” + +There was a ruffle of excitement as the jury scrambled for their +photographs--destined in the succeeding years to decorate twelve +parlor walls in as many Mohawk farmhouses--along with the stand of wax +flowers purchased by Aunt Hetty at the Centennial Exhibition in 1876, +the picture of Niagara Falls done in real cork, and the sampler worked +by Grandma Harrington when she was a little girl. Each juror grabbed +his photograph and hunched back in his seat to see what he could see. +Then the foreman remarked with the air of a Sherlock Holmes addressing +his dear Watson: + +“Accordin’ to the evidence this here picter was took at six o’clock in +the afternoon and the plate was exposed ten minutes. Now if the clock +in the shanty had been goin’ you’d natcherly expec’ the picter to show +the hour hand pointin’ at six and the minute hand blurred. But both +hands is perfectly distinct and pints to four o’clock. Now it ’pears +to me as if this clock must ha’ stopped--no one knows when,--an’, if +it wasn’t goin’, of course Emerson couldn’t say when it was that he +went into the shanty, and nobody knows when the hermit was kilt. Ain’t +thet so, jedge?” + +In the silence which followed this entirely logical and demolishing +argument the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the official +timepiece on the court room wall, until Judge Tompkins said in a +constrained tone and with a glance full of meaning at Mr. Tutt. + +“The foreman has pointed out a fact of considerable significance. But +of course the matter will be one for discussion in the jury room, if +the case goes to the jury. At all events we will now take the +customary adjournment until half past one o’clock.” + + +The ax had fallen. The jig was up. The defense was doomed. The knell +had sounded for Skinny the Tramp. The poor old alibi was dead, ready +to be carried out and buried. And so, almost was Mr. Tutt, who sat +head in hands alone in the stifling court room, gloomily pondering +upon the manifold changes and chances of this mortal life. He was up +against it. Without Emerson there was no possibility of eliciting any +new fact,--if any there were. Even with Emerson there was only a +conjectural conceivability of so doing. Further examination might or +might not benefit the defense,--the probabilities being decidedly +against it. And Emerson had utterly disappeared; Mr. Tutt’s hourly +telephone messages to Orient Mills only elicited the invariable reply +that he had not returned to work, that nobody had the remotest idea +where he was and that the subpena was there waiting for him all ready +to be served when he turned up, if ever he should. + +Mr. Tutt’s brain was working as it had rarely worked before. It fairly +seethed as he considered every possibility of escape, no matter how +remote. Should he put Hawkins upon the stand? With the alibi destroyed +a conviction seemed inevitable unless the defendant made some sort of +an explanation of the evidence against him. But Skinny’s was so lame +as to be almost worse than no defense at all, and on cross-examination +the squire would certainly make mince meat of him. + +Not that what Skinny had told him might not be true, but nobody would +believe it. It was so extremely simple as to be childish--merely that +he had not done it! No one better than Mr. Tutt himself knew the +immense disadvantage under which even an innocent defendant labors +under cross-examination. It is merely a bull baiting. Ignorant, +stupid, uneducated, the ordinary accused in a criminal case is no +match even for a tyro of a prosecutor. Often he does not even +understand the meanings of the questions put to him. And he must +answer categorically--yes or no. With an unscrupulous district +attorney the prisoner on the witness chair can only deny the +accusations, often unfounded, that are hurled against him one after +the other and which the jury accept as unqualifiedly true. Better for +him the ancient law that as an interested party he could not testify +in his own behalf. Yet to-day a defendant must testify or the jury +will assume him guilty as a matter of course. No, if Skinny took the +stand they would eat him alive. He would be a gone coon. And if he +didn’t take the stand he would be a gone coon. He was a gone coon +either way,--damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. + +As to Emerson, no judge in his senses, least of all a wise old bird +like Tompkins, J., was going to adjourn a murder trial--right in the +middle of it--in order to let one side chase up a witness who had been +fully examined and told he could go away--simply because one of the +lawyers thought he’d like to ask him another question. It wasn’t done. +If it were done, trials would never come to an end,--and half the +murderers would get off. + +Beside him Skinny Hawkins, his client, was quietly eating his lunch, +consisting of a couple of sandwiches and a big doughnut, sent over +from the Phoenix House by “Ma” Best. It was a safe bet that at that +time to-morrow he would be awaiting the sentence of death. Did he +appreciate the situation? Was he cognizant of his peril? Certainly he +gave no indication of it. Unexpectedly Skinny raised his faded blue +eyes to those of the old lawyer and asked: + +“Mr. Tutt, do you believe anythin’ ever dies?” + +Mr. Tutt pulled himself together sharply. + +“Of course not!” he replied confidently. “Of course not!” + +“Then it’s all right--anyway!” said Skinny the Tramp. + + +We have sometimes felt constrained to write an essay, to be entitled +“The Menace of the Probable,” the thesis of which will be that it is +the improbable which usually happens, and explain why. The axiom that +“fact is stranger than fiction” is based upon this truism. All of life +is centered around a struggle to make ourselves and everything about +us exceptions to the general rule. We are all striving for the +unusual, the extraordinary. The probable is the very last thing that +we want; its menace is our Nemesis. So we don’t look for it; our minds +jump to the unlikely. This is the more natural since the “element of +uncertainty” in human affairs makes the improbable quite probable, if +you see what we mean. As Aristotle says: “Better a probable +impossibility than an impossible probability.” Thus the +improbable--and hence the probable--thing with regard to the vanished +Emerson was that he had unexpectedly received word that he had been +made the legatee of a million taels by a Chinese nobleman or something +like that. This was the reason that Mr. Tutt had sent his telegram to +New York--so that his detectives could search all the unlikely places +in Northern New York, Canada, and eventually, Alaska, at twelve +dollars fifty per day and expenses. He knew nothing would come of +it--even if he secured a six months’ adjournment. He had never yet got +anything from a detective agency except a bill. The probabilities were +that some improbability had happened--just as it always did and does +that Emerson had joined a traveling circus,--run away with a +minister’s wife, gone into the movies, or been murdered himself. Under +these circumstances the detectives would detect--perhaps. That was +their line--the probable improbability; not the improbable +probability. To foresee or deduce that requires genius. None of which +paradoxical and specious reasoning of Mr. Tutt’s at all helped the +situation, the gist of which was that Skinny was going to be hung. + +Mr. Tutt, having reassured the tramp with regard to the future of his +immortal soul, took up his hat and started for the Phoenix House. If +he was going to die he purposed to die game; to die game a man must +live; to live one must eat; hence, the better one ate the better one +died. For this reason he purposed to do execution in the best possible +manner upon one of “Ma” Best’s dollar dinners. That is, he had +intended to do so until turning the corner of the court house he +walked into Mr. Charles Emerson, who was nonchalantly sitting on an +empty lemon crate smoking a cigar. + +Mr. Tutt punched himself violently in the ribs. Was it possible? +Emerson, seeing the distinguished attorney regarding him with eyes +starting from their sockets, slowly arose. + +“Don’t move!” shouted Mr. Tutt. “As you were!-- + + + ‘Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned, + Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, + Be thy intents wicked or charitable----’ + + +don’t you dare to stir until I get the sheriff and clap a subpena on +you! We’ve been hunting all over Somerset County for you!” + +“Well, I’ve been here ever since yesterday afternoon,” answered +Emerson blandly. + +“Sit still!” warned the lawyer. “Don’t budge! If you do I won’t answer +for the consequences!” + +Then, seeing Sheriff Higgins about to enter the drug store, Mr. Tutt +hurried down the street, summoned him forth, and conducting him around +the corner, said: + +“Sheriff, Mr. Emerson is with us again.” + +“Ye don’t say now!” ejaculated Higgins. + +“Yes,” asserted Mr. Tutt. “But being a witness for the prosecution it +would not be quite proper for me to talk to him. Do you think it would +be possible for you to casually ascertain from him a little more fully +what he knows about the hour of the murder?” + +“Well----” hesitated the sheriff. + +“But you’re a sacred camel,” urged Mr. Tutt. + + * * * * * * + +The fact that Emerson also was a camel and that all camels are +proverbially thirsty animals may have accounted for Squire Mason’s +failure to learn of the lost witness’ reappearance before court +opened. While the worthy Hezekiah during the progress of the trial had +at times felt momentary twinges of apprehension--not, of +conscience--but lest his motives and conduct of the prosecution should +be impugned, he now felt secure. The only person in the world--as he +thought--whose testimony could possibly subject him to censure had +providentially absented himself. It made no difference whether Skinny +took the stand or stayed off it. His denial wouldn’t affect the +strength of the case in any way,--would amount to nothing in view of +the blood on his hands, the marks of his shoes, the pipe, the twenty +five-dollar gold pieces and the fact that Emerson had trailed him +straight to Pottsville within fifteen minutes. + +So the Squire felt pretty fine and the dome on the Capitol at Albany +shone brightly and near at hand. He had old Tutt down and out! Even +the New York papers would probably carry a big story about the +conviction. In the background of his crafty mind lurked, as well, the +realization that in case of a conviction there would be no one to +demand the payment of Skinny’s semiannual interest. So the Hon. +Hezekiah strolled back into the court room, picking his teeth with a +good deal of satisfaction. + +It was jammed as usual,--the audience breathlessly awaiting the last +act of the great free show. There sat the jury looking like mutes at a +funeral, there sat Skinny, his eyes wandering vaguely around the room, +there sat Mr. Tutt, calm, alert, stern, tense. Hezekiah didn’t like +the way he looked. Anyhow, he’d beaten him to a standstill,--a +frazzle! Then the clerk having called the roll of the jury, the judge +directed that the trial proceed and Mr. Tutt arose--with just the +least shade of melodrama. + +Through the high windows Skinny the Tramp looked past Mr. Tutt’s tall, +lank figure out into the world of freedom, where the great elms gently +swayed in the sunlight, and the white spire of the Baptist meeting +house tapered towards the blue zenith. He, the helpless victim, had +less knowledge of what was going on than any of them. After all, he +perhaps had less to lose than any of them. Then a gust stronger than +the others bowed the rustling top of the elm nearest the court house +and--slowly the cock upon the steeple veered round and pointed in the +opposite direction! + + +“Mr. William Gookin--please take the witness chair!” said Mr. Tutt. + +“Toggery Bill,” Pottsville’s merchant prince, arose from one of the +nearer benches and ascended the rostrum with an air of importance. Mr. +Tutt handed him the five twenty-dollar bills found in the hermit’s +waistcoat pocket. + +“Mr. Gookin,” he remarked. “I show you People’s Exhibits numbered +Seventeen to Twenty-one, inclusive, and ask if you can identify them?” + +Toggery Bill carefully examined the bills and replied that he could. + +“How?” + +“I’ve got my mark on each one.” + +“Show the jury.” + +Mr. Gookin pointed out with pride the words “Pottsville Dry Goods & +Tailoring Emporium, May 16, 1920,” printed in small red letters by +means of a rubber stamp, on each one. + +“Now,” continued Mr. Tutt quietly. “Please tell us when you last saw +them?” + +“The mornin’ of the murder,” answered “Toggery Bill.” “May +seventeenth, nineteen hundred and twenty!” + +“Where did you see them?” + +“In my store.--I gave ’em to Squire Mason about eleven o’clock and I +hold his note for a hundred dollars for the loan.” + +The effect of this simple announcement was extraordinary, for while it +created complete bewilderment it suggested the weirdest possibilities. +Here was a murdered hermit with a hundred dollars in his pocket which, +within five hours, had been in the possession of the very man who was +now prosecuting the person charged with the homicide. It was all very +confusing to the bucolic mind! Some of them even thought for a moment +that Mr. Tutt had proved that Squire Mason had committed the murder. +Indeed, the Squire was almost as pale as if he had. What was old man +Tutt goin’ to try to get on him?--He did not have to wait long to find +out. + +“Mr. Mason--please take the witness chair!” + +With a lump in his gullet of the size and dryness of a golf ball +Hezekiah, amid the poorly controlled comments of the spectators which +the sheriff for some reason made no effort to suppress, his diaphragm +quivering with anxiety as to what all this might mean, climbed up into +the public eye and was sworn. + +“Mr. Mason--you have heard the testimony of the last witness--Mr. +Gookin--is it correct?” + +“Yes,” conceded Hezekiah thickly. + +“What use did you make of these bills?” + +The Hon. Mason snapped his jaws defiantly together. Then he turned to +Judge Tompkins. + +“I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything, judge,” he +complained. “Do I have to answer?” + +“It’s perfectly relevant,” returned his honor. “Do you mean to say +that you think how that money got into the possession, and upon the +person, of the deceased isn’t of importance! Of course it +is!--Answer.” + +Mason bowed to the inevitable. + +“I give it to Skinny--the defendant--in my office at half past +eleven,” said he. + +A murmur rose from the benches. This was some evidence! The Squire was +makin’ himself the chief witness for the prosecution. What was coming +next? But nothing came--from Mr. Tutt, who merely bowed. + +“Thank you,” said he quietly. “That is all.” + +The prosecutor was about to return to his desk before the jury box, +when Judge Tompkins took the hand in the matter which Mr. Tutt had +anticipated that he would. + +“Hold on a minute!” directed his honor with a perplexed air. “I don’t +understand. Why did you give the defendant a hundred dollars on the +morning of the murder?” + +“’Cause he asked for it?” returned the squire shortly. + +“Did you owe it to him?” + +“Why--no,” answered the squire. “That is, not exactly. It weren’t a +debt. It was interest due.” + +“Due on what?” demanded the judge irritably. + +“On his trust fund----” reluctantly admitted Mason. The judge peered +at him sharply over his spectacles. + +“Who is the trustee of the fund?” + +There was a long pause. + +“I am,” yielded Mason finally. + +“Do you mean that you are the trustee of a fund of which this +prisoner, whom you are trying to convict of murder, is the +beneficiary?” cried Tompkins, leaning forward. + +“I am,” assented Mason faintly. + +There was a chorus of mingled hisses and jeers from the benches, but +Judge Tompkins took no notice of it. + +“This is a most extraordinary situation!” he declared. “However--we +will not deal with it now. Proceed with the trial.” + +Mason crept back to his seat. It was clear that the judge had it in +for him,--but that needn’t affect the outcome of the trial. Then he +got another jar--this time an even heavier one. + +“Charles Emerson,” murmured Mr. Tutt sweetly, “please take the +stand--I have an additional question I wish to put to you in +cross-examination.” + +There was nothing in Emerson’s recall to excite any special interest +among the spectators, since few, if any, of them knew that he had gone +away. But there was much in Squire Mason’s demeanor as the witness +made his way forward to give pause to those who watched him. Something +had happened to him. He had shriveled--nought else. With his eyes +shifting uneasily the district attorney sat fumbling with his papers, +refusing to meet those of the mill hand. Then he arose and said in a +husky voice which held no conviction: + +“I object to the recallin’ of this witness. He’s been examined once.” + +“I overrule your objection--Mr. Tutt may interrogate him as fully as +he wishes,” retorted Judge Tompkins sharply. He turned to Emerson. + +“Where have you been? I understood you had disappeared.” + +Emerson smiled sheepishly. + +“I’ve been here right along,” he answered, “’cept just after I give my +testimony. You see, I took a job up to Orient Mills and signed on the +next mornin’, but I got thinkin’ about the case an’ I decided to come +back.” + +“Why?” demanded his honor. + +“Well, jedge,” explained Emerson, “y’see I figured out that mebbe my +evidence might turn out to be pretty important, for I heard over to +the Phoenix House how Skinny was goin’ to try to prove he was in +Pottsville at four o’clock. Now I knew the murder was done jest about +that time. An’ I testified to it here, but----” and he spoke very +slowly and distinctly--“nobody,--neither Squire Mason nor Mr. +Tutt,--asked me much about it--and I got thinkin’----” + +“I object t’ all this!” again interposed Mason. “This ain’t any proper +way for him to testify--tellin’ about what he thought, an’ all.” + +“That is quite true,” agreed his honor. “Mr. Tutt, you had better +question the witness in the regular way.” + +Mr. Tutt bowed. He too had observed that the weather cock had veered. + +“Anyhow I come back on the next train,” finished Mr. Emerson, “an’ +I’ve been here right along.” + +“Mr. Emerson,” Mr. Tutt began, his voice trembling slightly from the +excitement under which he labored, “you have testified that when you +entered the hermit’s shanty the clock pointed to four o’clock.” + +“Yes,” answered the witness, “it did.” + +“You have also testified that you returned later on with Mr. +Pennypacker, when he took his photograph. Did you notice the clock at +that time?” + +“I did.” + +“At what hour was it pointing?” + +“Four o’clock.” + +“Was it going at that time?” + +Emerson shook his head. + +“No,” he replied. “It warn’t.” + +Mr. Tutt’s heart gave a flutter, but he kept bravely on without +batting a lid. + +“But you testified positively that you knew it was four o’clock when +you went there the first time.” + +“Yep--yes, I mean,” replied the witness firmly. “I know it was four +o’clock.” + +Mr. Tutt was now on terra firma, for he knew that whatever the answer +might be--it was bound to be favorable. He was safely within the +conservative rule that you must never ask a question unless you are +sure that the answer cannot hurt you. But he did not know what the +answer was going to be, had no idea of what fact he might be about to +elicit. So that there was a delicious uncertainty about the next +inquiry, upon which he fully realized that he staked his whole case. + +“How do you know it was four o’clock?” he demanded, with a note of +triumph and the air of being now about to disclose something which he +had known perfectly well all along but which he had withheld until +this, the exact psychological moment. “Tell the jury how you know, Mr. +Emerson!” + +The jury fully apprised of the fact that upon the answer hung the +validity of Skinny’s alibi focused their eyes on the lumberman’s +honest face. Even Judge Tompkins could not refrain from turning half +way round and pulling his chair towards the witness box so as not to +lose a word. By common consent, by instinct, and in fact, this was the +apex, the climax, the denouement of the trial of Skinny the Tramp. +Would Emerson make good--or wouldn’t he? + +“Fer one thing because I kin almost swear I heard the clock tick and +saw the hand move,” answered Emerson positively. + +The jury looked at one another inquiringly. That was pretty strong +testimony! To recall that you heard a clock tick! + +“Are you quite sure?” cautioned Judge Tompkins. “Remember that this is +a very important bit of evidence.” + +“Pretty near!” answered Emerson. “I’m satisfied fer myself that I did, +but this bein’ a court o’ law, mebbe I’d oughter be more certain to +swear to it. Anyhow that is how I remember it. I testified before how +I went into the shanty and saw the hermit lyin’ with his mouth covered +with blood and how he died while I held his head in my hand. If you’d +been there, you’d ha’ remembered it all right, I reckon. But nobody +axed me if I knew the clock was goin’. Wal, it was this way. When I +lifted the hermit’s head an’ looked in his face the shanty was all +still,--’ceptin’ fer three things.” + +He paused, almost as if for effect. + +“What were they?” softly demanded Mr. Tutt. + +Emerson lowered his voice. + +“The first was the kind of cluckin’ sound the hermit’s breath made +goin’ in and out through his mouth on account of the blood. His eyes +was half open but they didn’t see none. He was just passin’ out. It +was so quiet I felt real creepy--all alone with him dyin’. But what +skeered me most was an enormous great moth--the biggest I ever +see--that went flap-flap-flap agin’ the winder tryin’ to git out. It +flapped and flapped and I thought it would stun itself agin’ the +glass. An’ ez I knelt thar holdin’ the hermit’s head, listenin, to his +breathing and to that big gray moth flappin’ over at the window, I kin +most swear I heard the clock tick--an’ saw the minute hand slip to +four o’clock--and then all of a suddint the whole shanty went still. +The hermit didn’t breathe no more, the moth flew out the +door,--an’----” + +“Well?” whispered Mr. Tutt. + +“An’ the clock stopped!” + +In the silence that followed there was no one in the court room that +did not mark the ticking of the clock upon the rear wall. Each +listener told himself that if necessary he could swear to it until his +dying day. Then Mr. Tutt said, almost with unconcern: + +“And did you tell Squire Mason all this?” + +“Sure!” replied Emerson, looking the prosecutor full in the face. “I +told him all about it that very afternoon!” + +Judge Tompkins fixed the wretched prosecutor with a beetling eye. + +“How do you reconcile the withholding of this very vital evidence from +the jury?” he inquired in icy tones. + +Mason, ivory white, attempted to rise, but collapsed weakly into his +chair. + +“I didn’t believe it!” he answered faintly. “It ain’t any part o’ my +duty to have a witness tell fairy stories to the jury.” + +“But in calling the witness you vouched for his credibility!” retorted +Judge Tompkins with contempt. + +“Only in so far as I brought out his testimony myself,” replied the +Squire feebly. “I believed he was tellin’ the truth about findin’ the +hermit still alive--and mebbe about the moth--but I didn’t +believe--an’ I don’t believe now--an’ what’s more I don’t believe +anybody else believes--that that partic’lar clock up an’ stopped the +very moment the hermit died.” + +He pressed his lips together resolutely. + +Judge Tompkins turned a scornful shoulder to the now groveling +Hezekiah. + +“Mr. Emerson,” said he. “You have contributed materially by your +testimony, given this afternoon, to our knowledge of the case. Have +you any other means of knowing whether at the time you think you saw +the hand of the hermit’s clock move to four o’clock it was then +pointing to the correct time?” + +“Yes, jedge, I have,” answered the witness without hesitation. “For +just as the silence come in the shanty--when the hermit had died, and +the big moth had flown out, and--the clock had stopped, the whistle +over to Sawyer’s Steam Lumber Mill blew four o’clock.” + +“I guess that settles _that_!” remarked the foreman, leaning back and +wagging a confirmatory chin whisker. + +“Did you tell that to Squire Mason?” inquired his honor scathingly. + +“No,” answered Emerson. “I tole him it was four o’clock and how the +clock stopped, an’ as he didn’t seem partic’larly interested ’bout the +hour, I let it go at that.” + + +Those of our readers who perchance should happen to find themselves +for a night in Pottsville or in any of the adjacent towns should not +fail to elicit from the oldest accessible inhabitant the great story +of the ripping up of Squire Mason by Lawyer Tutt in the latter’s +closing address to the jury, and how the governor, upon the +recommendation of Judge Tompkins, promptly removed him from office, +thus blasting a promising political career. For Mr. Tutt, by one of +those freaks of fortune which do occasionally occur, found himself in +a position to make good on every one of the charges--both direct and +indirect--which he had made against the prosecutor and to prove him in +fact to be every one of all the varieties of crook, rascal and +rapscallion that he had called him. And he somehow managed in addition +to convince everybody--except possibly shrewd Judge Tompkins--that he +had known all about everything from the beginning of the trial and +that the whole Emerson business had been just a grandstand play +carefully staged to give a proper theatrical effect to the final coup. +Anyhow, according to general account, there wasn’t a thing left of +Squire Mason when Mr. Tutt got through with him. He was flayed, +disemboweled, torn limb from limb, drawn and quartered, and his +various physical members, with their connective tissues, scattered +broadside over Somerset County--to the great joy of the inhabitants +thereof. And, what was of vastly more importance, Skinny the Tramp’s +alibi was definitely, finally and impregnably established; so that +when Judge Tompkins concluded his charge to the jury at a quarter past +three o’clock on Friday afternoon everybody said it was all over but +the shouting and most of them didn’t wait to hear the verdict. + +Indeed, so confident was public opinion of an immediate acquittal that +the sheriff didn’t even take Skinny back to the calaboose, but allowed +him to smoke one of Mr. Tutt’s stogies right in the court room, while +Judge Tompkins and the old lawyer strolled across Main Street to sit +on the Phoenix House piazza until the jury should come in. + +“Well, Mr. Tutt,” said his honor, as he politely declined one of the +famous Wheeling corona-coronas, “I must congratulate you on a most +adroit and effective piece of court room strategy. The way you held +back and finally brought out the story of the clock was really +masterly!” + +Mr. Tutt smiled enigmatically. + +“I took several chances in that case!” he admitted with a great deal +more truth than his listener was aware of. + +“However,” replied Judge Tompkins, “you didn’t take anywhere near as +many as our friend the district attorney. Unofficially--not for +publication, and in the language of the metropolis from which you +come,--in my opinion, he’s some crook.” + +“Unofficially and confidentially,” returned Mr. Tutt, “I entirely +agree with you. Speaking mildly, he’s got by long odds the most +perverted sense of fair play that I have ever come across.” + +“That’s all the good it will do him,” said his honor. “If I’m not +mistaken that jury will acquit inside of fifteen minutes.” + +“You never can tell,” murmured Mr. Tutt. “It’s fourteen minutes since +they went out already.” + +“Anyhow it’s only a question of a very short time--your alibi was +conclusively established.” + +“Yes,” assented Mr. Tutt, “but very likely there’s some rube on that +jury that doesn’t know yet what the word means.” + +As if in curious confirmation of Mr. Tutt’s cynical opinion of the +cerebral equipment of his fellow human beings the sheriff at this +moment appeared from the direction of the court house. + +“Jedge,” said he, “the jury allow ez how they’d like to have some +supper. Shall I bring ’em over or hold ’em awhile?” + +“What do you think, Mr. Tutt?” inquired his honor. + +“When a jury wants its supper,” answered the old lawyer, “always give +it to ’em--and send ’em in a box of cigars besides.” + +Judge Tompkins laughed. + +“All right, sheriff,” said he, “give them their supper, by all means. +Strange,” he added. “I thought surely they’d agree almost +immediately!” + +“They were doin’ a powerful lot of talkin’ the last time I went into +the jury room,” remarked the sheriff. “You could hear ’em holler way +acrost the road.” + +He vanished into the court house and presently returned leading the +jury like an ancient bell weather down the steps and towards the +hotel. The judge and Mr. Tutt eyed them intently for the purpose of +deciphering if possible the thoughts concealed behind their +inscrutability. But no more expressionless set of men ever ascended +the piazza steps of the Phoenix House than the jury to whose keeping +had been entrusted the life of Skinny the Tramp. + +“Hanged if I can tell a thing from looking at ’em,” admitted Judge +Tompkins. + +“I can,” countered Mr. Tutt. “They’re hungry.” + +It appeared in due course that this particular jury was more than +ordinarily hungry, for its members not only consumed the entire +official menu but insisted on eating three plates apiece of “Ma” +Best’s griddle cakes; after which they sat on the piazza for an entire +hour in replete silence while digestion took its course; and it was +eight o’clock and after repeated urgings on the part of the sheriff +before they reluctantly consented to return to the court house. + +“It’s only a matter of form,” opined Judge Tompkins to Mr. Tutt. +“They’ll agree now in no time.” + +“H’m! You never can tell!” answered Mr. Tutt, as he excused himself +and went upstairs to refill his pockets with stogies. + +Indeed, Judge Tompkins guessed wholly wrong. The jury--so far as could +be ascertained by any proper legal means--had no immediate intention +of agreeing at all. Nine o’clock came,--and nine-thirty,--with still +no word from them. At ten or thereabouts a vigorous rapping on the +door of the jury room caused the hearts of those spectators who still +lingered in the court house to thump loudly,--but it was only a call +for ice water. At ten-thirty the sheriff reported absolute +silence--evidently a deadlock. At eleven all was still quiet along the +Potomac. The judge, surprised and impatient at what seemed to indicate +the possibility of a miscarriage of justice, directed Sheriff Higgins +to inquire if there was a likelihood of an agreement, to which the +foreman merely returned the laconic answer that as yet they had not +reached a verdict. Five hours had now elapsed since the twelve good +and true men had received their instructions and retired to +deliberate. + +“Mr. Tutt,” said Judge Tompkins, “I will wait here until eleven-thirty +and, if there is no word from the jury by that time, I shall return to +the Phoenix House and go to bed.” + +But at eleven-thirty no word had come and the sheriff reported that +there was no sound whatever inside the jury room. All argument had +ceased. He couldn’t hear a durn thing. He reckoned they’d gone to +sleep for the night. + +“It’s incredible!” declared his honor. “A perfectly plain case! What +do you suppose is making the trouble?” + +“You kin search me, jedge!” said the sheriff. “Now you just go acrost +to bed and if anything happens I’ll hustle right over.” + +A couple of dozen hangers-on still remained after the judge had left +the court room, whose electric brilliants were only slightly dimmed by +the incense from as many virulent cigars. Betting was now even on the +result, with the odds three to two on an ultimate disagreement. +Evidently for some unknown reason the alibi had gone bad. Mr. Tutt, +sitting on the topmost step of the court house entrance felt a +surreptitious poke in the back and perceived that the sheriff was +beckoning mysteriously to him. Arising with ostentatious indifference +the lawyer followed the official to the rear of the building, where +after making sure that they were unobserved Higgins unlocked a small +door opening upon a flight of back stairs. + +“Got suthin’ I want to show ye!” he muttered with an elaborate facial +contortion designed to register mischievous humor. Mr. Tutt responded +with a similar grimace and the two cautiously tiptoed up the stairs to +the topmost landing where the sheriff unlocked another door, and after +lighting a candle tip produced from his trousers pocket conducted the +lawyer into the blackness of what was evidently the court house attic. + +“Duck yer head!” he warned, “if ye don’t want to crack yer skull!” + +“Where are you going?” asked Mr. Tutt, although he did not in the +least care. + +“Never you mind!” retorted his guide. + +Then after he had felt his way sixty feet or so across the timbers the +sheriff stopped and blew out the candle. + +“We’re right over the jury room,” he whispered. + +The attic was hot, dusty, close, and full of cobwebs, suggestive of +man-eating spiders, but enthused with the spirit of adventure Mr. Tutt +stood motionless over the crack of light which showed them to be in +the right place. Below, all was silence, penetrated by an occasional +hiss and punctuated now and then with a snore. What had occurred? Was +there in fact a deadlock? Would Skinny the Tramp have to face another +trial for his life? After what seemed an incredible period of time a +chair scraped and a voice was heard: + +“What time is it now, Bill?” + +There was a momentary hiatus during which a watch was evidently +consulted and then the foreman made reply: + +“Ten minutes to twelve.” + +Again the cloak of silence descended upon the so-called deliberations +of the jury. Then Mr. Tutt was startled by the voice of Sawyer, the +foreman, who evidently sat just beneath them. + +“Well, boys,” he exclaimed in a voice full of relief, “it’s five +minutes after midnight--Saturday mornin’--an’ I guess we’re safe to +claim another day’s pay. After all, three dollars is real money--wuth +gettin’!--All up! Seventh inning!” + +There was a tremendous scuffling of feet below,--intermingled with +loud yawns. + +“Well,” said the foreman again, “we’re all agreed, ain’t we? It’s an +acquittal, ain’t it?” + +“Yep!--You betcher!--Sure!” came from eleven husky throats. + +The foreman pounded sharply upon the door of the jury room and the +sheriff scrambled hastily towards the attic door. + +“An’ the next thing--after we git outer here,” continued the foreman +drily, “is to decide what we’re goin’ to do with Squire Mason!” + + * * * * * * + +The crowd surged about Skinny, caught him up on its shoulders and bore +him struggling and feebly protesting out of the court room, down the +steps, and over to the Phoenix House. “Ma” Barrows was waiting for +them, and when they dumped Skinny down on the piazza she threw her +arms about him and with the tears streaming down her cheeks cried: + +“You poor, poor boy! Come right in and let me give you some nice hot +supper and after that a soft clean bed!” + +But Skinny shook his head. + +“The supper’s all right,” he said. “But I guess I’d rather sleep +outdoors!” + +In the court room Sheriff Higgins approached Mr. Tutt, who was +gathering up his papers. + +“Well,” he said, taking a fat envelope out of his breast pocket and +glancing into it, “Here’s your fee--Two hundred and fifty +dollars!--Wisht I could earn money that easy!” + +Mr. Tutt waved the envelope away with a careless gesture. + +“Give it to Skinny,” he said. “He needs it!” + +Then with a rush the crowd came piling into the court room again. + +“Where’s Mason?” they demanded angrily. “Where’s the old son of +a----!” + +But the Squire, being wise in his generation, had taken his departure. + + * * * * * * + +On a hillside overlooking the fertile valley of the Sacramento, Skinny +the Tramp lay amid a clump of giant redwoods and watched the sun +drawing water through the rain clouds gathered a thousand feet below +him. Resting upon a thick bed of pine needles, he leaned luxuriously +against a rock, while at his feet, propped over a small fire, a tomato +can bubbled cheerily and gave forth a sweet-smelling savor. It was six +months after the trial and two months since One-eyed Pedro, +heir-apparent of the Zingara Gipsies, had confessed in the deathhouse +at Sing Sing, where he was awaiting execution for the murder of his +father, that he had killed Drake, the Hermit of Turkey Hollow. + +This was the first real opportunity that Skinny had had a chance to +sit as he loved with the world at his feet--and think----! With his +eyes half closed and the gray smoke from his cigarette coiling and +uncoiling in the shaft of sunlight that shot through the branches +above his head, Skinny recalled the events leading up to his trial. It +had been very much the same sort of an afternoon that the hermit was +killed; there had been the same softness in the air, the same flooding +sunlight shining gold-red on the trees and fields against the +blue-gray of the rainclouds. He had been lying just that same way on +the hillside above Turkey Hollow,--dreaming as usual of pots of gold. +Then the storm had burst and for half an hour it had poured, as it was +raining now at the other end of the valley, and the rainbow had come +out against the leaden sky with one end of it on the hermit’s hut. + +He recalled vividly how he had rushed down through the drenched woods, +passing the lumberman Emerson, whose greeting in his hurry he had +neglected to return, and peeked in through the hermit’s window to find +him counting his gold. What a thrill the sight had given him! His +faith had at last been justified! Just as he’d always known it +sometime would be; rainbow--pot of gold! The fact that the gold +belonged to someone else didn’t really affect the soundness of the +theory one way or the other, and when the hermit had good-naturedly +agreed to exchange twenty of the smaller pieces for a hundred dollars +in bills he had been almost as well pleased as if he had found the +gold hidden in the earth. Then he had strode on through the woods to +the village. + +That was all there had been to it. It had taken him twenty minutes to +walk the mile--he knew it, because the hermit’s clock had pointed to +twenty minutes to four when he left the shanty. Suddenly the blood in +the tramp’s jugular leaped violently. Yes, the clock had certainly +pointed to twenty minutes to four--and if so--it must have--_must_ +have stopped--run down or something--at the very moment the old man +died!--And he, Skinny, was the only person alive who knew it,--for he +was the only person who knew positively that it had been going just +before the murder. Funny!--a prickly feeling spread over his +back--like a needle bath, only he had never had one. It _was_ funny! +And then there was that enormous gray moth that Emerson said had been +trying to get out the window. Hadn’t he warned the hermit that some +day those bugs would wriggle off their pins and go for him! Sure! And +the clock had stopped!--The tune of the old song floated through his +mind and unconsciously he hummed the words over to himself: + + + “O my grandfather’s clock was too high for the shelf, + So it stood ninety years on the floor. + It was taller by half than the old man himself, + Though it weighed not a pennyweight more. + It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, + And was always his treasure and pride, + But it--stopped--short--never to go again-- + When--the old--man--died.” + + +It had,--too! He was the only one who knew it--or the whole story +about the moth! How the hermit had jokingly said that some day maybe +he’d go flappin’ off like a big gray moth.--Now he was in that other +world--that world that was right along beside us! + +Skinny looked around apprehensively but there was no moth in sight. +Had it grown chilly? He shivered and noticed that his cigarette had +gone out. He lighted it again on his knees at the fire and as he did +so the sweet savor of the soup rose to his nostrils. It was nearly +done! He forgot all about the murder in the anticipation of soup. + +Back through the whole being of Skinny the Tramp surged a warm +delirious joy--merely at being alive. Kneeling there he looked like +the votary of some forest god, as he rubbed his lean hands over the +blaze and stretched his arms outward and upward towards the sky. He +yawned deliciously. Then he observed with interest that a rainbow had +appeared on the opposite side of the valley--a wonderful, gleaming +arch, whose blending colors seemed to singe the clouds. One end of it +descended directly upon a field hard by a yellow farmhouse. Pots of +gold again! + +Skinny watched, as it momentarily grew brighter, beckoning him to +wealth and possible adventure; then forgetful of the soup he scrambled +to his feet. + +The next instant he had plunged down the hillside towards the +valley--after the rainbow! + + [The End] + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + +Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. grandstand/grand-stand, +weathercock/weather-cock/weather cock, etc.) have been preserved. + +Alterations to the text: + +Add ToC. + +Abandon the use of drop-caps. + +Fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings. + +[Chapter I] + +Change “some one o’ these days them _bugs ’ll_ wiggle” to _bugs’ll_. + +[Chapter II] + +“almost at his heels,--_never-the less_, and this is the crux” to +_nevertheless_. + +[Chapter III] + +(“Keerful how you light a match” cautioned the prosecutor.) add a +comma after _match_. + +“I can’t stop it, ’cause I _aint’_ got no idee where it is” to +_ain’t_. + +“and endeavored to paw _Cassopeia_ from the zenith” to _Cassiopeia_. + +“there persisted in Mr. _Tutts_ perfervid, but fast fading, +consciousness” to _Tutt’s_. + +“delivered upon the one o’clock train for _Pottsvile_” to +_Pottsville_. + +“Come at once, _bringing_ Bonnie Doon and four detectives” to _bring_. + +[Chapter IV] + +“who was _nochalantly_ sitting on an empty lemon crate smoking” to +_nonchalantly_. + +(“Well?” whispered Mr. Tutt) add a period to the sentence. + + [End of text] + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77895 *** diff --git a/77895-h/77895-h.htm b/77895-h/77895-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..86d798e --- /dev/null +++ b/77895-h/77895-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6331 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The hermit of Turkey Hollow | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +/* Headers and Divisions */ + h1, h2, h3, h4 {margin:4em 0em 1em 0em; page-break-before:always; text-align:center;} + +/* General */ + + body {margin:0% 5% 0% 5%;} + + .nobreak {margin:2em auto 1em auto; page-break-before:avoid;} + + p {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:justify; text-indent:1em;} + .center {margin:0em 0em 0em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + .noindent {text-indent:0em;} + .spacer {margin:0.5em 0em 0.5em 0em; text-align:center; text-indent:0em;} + + .toc_l {font-variant:small-caps; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + + .rt1 {margin:0em 1em 0em 0em; text-align:right; text-indent:0em;} + + .font80 {font-size:80%;} + .sc {font-variant:small-caps;} + +/* special formatting */ + + .stanza {margin:1em 0em 0em 0em; text-indent:0em;} + .i0 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 2em; text-indent:-2em;} + .i1 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 3em; text-indent:-2em;} + .i2 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 4em; text-indent:-2em;} + .i3 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 5em; text-indent:-2em;} + .i4 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 6em; text-indent:-2em;} + .i8 {display:inline-block; margin:0em 0em 0em 10em; text-indent:-2em;} + .hanging-d-quote {margin:auto; text-indent:-0.50em;} /* NEW/EXPERIMENTAL */ + .hanging-s-quote {margin:auto; text-indent:-0.25em;} /* NEW/EXPERIMENTAL */ + + blockquote {margin:1em 2em 1em 2em;} + + .mt1 {margin-top:1em;} + .mt4 {margin-top:4em;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77895 ***</div> + +<h1> +The<br> +Hermit of Turkey Hollow +</h1> + +<p class="center"> +The Story of an Alibi +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +<span class="font80">Being an Exploit of</span><br> +Ephraim Tutt<br> +<span class="font80">Attorney & Counselor at Law</span> +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +<span class="font80">By</span><br> +Arthur Train +</p> + +<p class="center mt4"> +<span class="font80">New York</span><br> +Charles Scribner’s Sons<br> +<span class="font80">1921</span> +</p> + + +<h2> +[Copyright] +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="sc">Copyright, 1921, by<br> +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS</span> +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +Copyright, 1921, by The Curtis Publishing Co. +</p> + + +<h2> +[Dedication] +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +To<br> +Dean Kirkham Worcester. +</p> + + +<h2> +[Epigraph] +</h2> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-d-quote">“O my grandfather’s clock was too high for the shelf,</span><br> +<span class="i0">So it stood ninety years on the floor.</span><br> +<span class="i0">It was taller by half than the old man himself,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.</span><br> +<span class="i0">It was bought on the morn of the day he was born,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And was always his treasure and pride,</span><br> +<span class="i0">But it—stopped—short—never to go again——</span><br> +<span class="i0">When—the old—man—died.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + + +<h2> +Contents +</h2> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch1">Chapter I</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch2">Chapter II</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch3">Chapter III</a> +</p> + +<p class="toc_l"> +<a href="#ch4">Chapter IV</a> +</p> + + +<h2> +The Hermit of Turkey Hollow +</h2> + +<h2> +Alibi. +</h2> + +<p> +“Alibi (al’-i-bi) n. 1. In law, a plea of having been elsewhere at the +time an offense is alleged to have been committed. Hence.—a. The fact +or state of having been elsewhere at the time specified; as, “he +attempted to prove an alibi.”—Cent. Dict. +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +“If it (alibi) appeared to be founded in truth, it is the best +negative evidence that can be offered. It is really positive evidence +which in the nature of things necessarily implieth a negative.” +Foster, J. Crown Law, 3rd Ed. p. 368 (1762). +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +“If any one fact necessary to the conclusion is wholly inconsistent +with the hypothesis of the guilt of the accused, it breaks the chain +of circumstantial evidence, upon which the inference depends; and, +however plausible or apparently conclusive the other circumstances may +be, the charge must fail. Of this character is the defense usually +called an alibi; that is, that the accused was elsewhere at the time +of the offense is alleged to have been committed. If this is true, it +being impossible that the accused could be in two places at the same +time, it is a fact inconsistent with that sought to be proved, and +excludes its possibility,” Shaw, C.J., in Commonwealth <i>vs.</i> Webster, +5 Cush. 299, 318 (1850). +</p> + + +<h2> +The<br> +Hermit of Turkey Hollow +</h2> + +<h3 class="nobreak" id="ch1"> +I +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +“<span class="sc">All</span> the same,” affirmed “Skinny the Tramp,” “some one o’ these days +them bugs’ll wiggle themselves off’n their pins—an’ do for ye!” +</p> + +<p> +The “Hermit of Turkey Hollow” laughed derisively as he paused in +pinning a large gray moth against the wall of the shanty. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all bunk!” he asserted with a show of bravado which, however, +concealed a certain uneasiness. “When a thing’s dead—it’s dead! And +that’s the end of it!” he added, pushing in the pin firmly until the +moth, giving a final flutter, remained motionless. +</p> + +<p> +Skinny shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it ain’t!” said he with conviction. “Nuthin’ ever really +dies—or, if it does, that ain’t the end of it by any manner o’ means! +Your body kin die—like a cocoon—but somethin’ goes on after—like +the butterfly.” +</p> + +<p> +The Hermit threw a nervous glance in the direction of the moth, and +then, evidently reassured, nonchalantly removed a piece of cut plug +from his trousers pocket, bit off an end and held it out to the tramp, +who bisected the remainder. +</p> + +<p> +“But the butterfly dies—” concluded the Hermit decisively, “and then +that’s the end of it—for good an’ all!” +</p> + +<p> +Skinny wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked round the +smelly little shanty, the sides of which were decorated with a +heterogeneous collection of defunct beetles, moths and butterflies. +</p> + +<p> +“The butterfly don’t die—no more’n the cocoon!” declared he. “Nuthin’ +dies. The moth flies away out o’ the cocoon, and then—when the moth +dies—somethin’ flies away out o’ the moth.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t see nuthin’,” remarked the Hermit with significance. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know whether ye can or not!” replied the tramp +noncommittally. “Some says ye can an’ some says ye can’t. Some claim +they’ve photographed the human soul!” +</p> + +<p> +“What do them as claim ye can see it say it’s like?” inquired the +Hermit in a tone of incredulity, in which nevertheless were mingled +awe and curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“Mostly like a butterfly—somethin’ with wings—so’s it kin fly, I +s’pose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Huh!” retorted the Hermit. “Just pure bull! That moth, now—how can +you say it ain’t dead?” +</p> + +<p> +Skinny’s jaws relinquished their extreme vigor of motion, as he leaned +forward earnestly towards the Hermit. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, Bo!” he adjured him. “You think you know all about bugs, an’ +worms, an’ snakes, an’ yerbs, an’ trees, an’ weather. An’ I reckon you +do, too! But you don’t ponder none compared to me. I don’t do nuthin’ +but think, ’cause I ain’t got nuthin’ else to do. I lie an’ meditate +most all the time. And I hear things—and sense ’em. Sometimes I sit +harkenin’ all night long. I know a lot more’n most folks about things +you can’t see.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t say you don’t, Skinny!” admitted the Hermit politely. “I +don’t deny it!” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s two worlds,” affirmed the tramp. “One you kin see an’ smell +an’ touch and one that you ordinarily can’t—right alongside t’other. +But sometimes—dependin’ on circumstances—you can catch a glimpse of +what’s goin’ on there—see ’em an’ hear ’em. You’ve seen ghosts!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure, I’ve seen ghosts. Everybody’s seen ’em!” readily assented his +companion. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” continued the tramp, “everythin’ has a ghost—walkin’ right +along beside it all the time—only it’s in that other world—the one +you don’t see.” +</p> + +<p> +“But things don’t have ghosts!” declared the Hermit. “A thing must +have been alive sometime to have a ghost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything’s alive!” asserted the tramp. “Rocks an’ trees an’ flowers +an’ water an’ fire an’ bugs an’ beasts as well as folks,—an’ they all +have ghosts an’ none of ’em ever die. An’ they all have a right to +live in the world they’re in until they naturally pass on into the +other. Now, when they go—maybe they go one way, maybe another; but +they all do go; and some folks claim to have seen ’em. An’ mostly they +go with wings—flyin’—shaped like a moth or somethin’ like that.” +</p> + +<p> +The Hermit spat disdainfully through the open doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Huh!” he remarked with sarcasm. “An’ I s’pose,—you’d say,—when I +die I’ll go flyin’ away like a big gray moth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Like as not!” returned Skinny cheerfully. “Like as not! You got to go +somehow, ain’t ye?” +</p> + +<p> +“All bull!” repeated the Hermit. “You’re just a nut!” +</p> + +<p> +“Just the same!” returned Skinny the Tramp, “leavin’ out entirely me +bein’ a nut, I wouldn’t kill anythin’ that’s alive an’ can feel—for +money! I hate even to put an axe to a tree an’ see the sap ooze out. +How do we know it ain’t sufferin’? An’ when it comes to live +things—I’d be skeert!” +</p> + +<p> +He let his eyes wander over the shanty walls thickly populated with +tiny corpses and shuddered slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yus! I’d be skeert to live in this house! Sometime they’ll have their +vengeance!—An’—just as I said,—one o’ these days, they’ll come +wigglin’ off’n them pins an’—do fer ye!” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ then,” mocked the Hermit of Turkey Hollow, “I’ll flutter off out +the winder like I was a moth! Bull, Skinny! All bull!” +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +As may be inferred from the foregoing conversation the Hermit of +Turkey Hollow lived in the world of Fact, while Skinny the Tramp dwelt +in that of Faith,—which is to say, of Truth. Yet, as odd sticks, +there was little to choose between them. As being a house dweller—and +not a mere vagrant open to all the insidious imputations of +vagabondage—the Hermit may of the two have been entitled to greater +social recognition, but being a recluse, although something of a +curiosity and hence in the nature of a local asset,—he was +practically negligible as a factor in the life of the neighborhood. +Skinny the Tramp, on the other hand, was a sociable sort of being who +lived in the open, not because he loved his fellows less but because +he loved nature more. +</p> + +<p> +Turkey Hollow lies three miles to the north and east of the thriving +town of Pottsville in the Mohawk Valley of the Empire State, +surrounded by low hills still thickly covered with second growth +timber; in spots, especially where Chasm Brook flows down into the +westerly end of Turtle Pond, wet and marshy; and elsewhere filled with +a tangled growth of Getchel birch, swamp maple, and alder, save for +the acre or so of cleared upland above the lake where stands the +Hermit’s now deserted shanty. +</p> + +<p> +On the whole, the original turkeys having for several decades been +entirely extinct, the hollow offered no attractions to anybody, save +possibly to naturalists impervious to mosquito bites. It was in truth +a dank sort of place, full of underbrush, and inaccessible except by +the wood road leading to the Hermit’s abode, which some years he +cleared out and some he didn’t, and where you had to go afoot anyway. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, once you got there, you found that the hermit was a +genuine up-to-date hermit, with most of the modern improvements. For +he was neither a hundred years old with a bald pate and long white +whiskers like William Cullen Bryant or Father Time; nor did he mutter +incantations over a seething caldron like the witches in Macbeth, or +meander aimlessly about prattling to himself as conventional hermits +are supposed to do. And his shanty was no cave, but on the contrary a +comfortable enough one-story shack, with windows of glass which, while +they were nailed down tight and hence could not be opened, allowed +plenty of light to stream in. By the door usually stood a butterfly +net, a fish rod, and a hoe and spade,—for he had a small garden where +he raised such vegetables as he needed,—and on one side of the shanty +was a table, on the other his cot, over which by day was thrown a +discolored “comfortable,” while directly “on ax” with the door and +between the two rear windows was a tall, old-fashioned clock—the only +article of any value in the place. +</p> + +<p> +This was, indeed, rather a strange object to be in the middle of the +woods and as it was of shining mahogany, its face decorated with the +sun, moon and stars, ships, savages and zodiacal signs, it was an +object of comment and surmise to the few who visited the place. No one +ventured to ask where it had come from or how the hermit had acquired +it, but he had been once heard to say that it made less noise than a +woman, talked no nonsense, and was all the company anyone had need of. +Even those who had never seen the hermit himself knew that he had a +clock. That is the way of things. People will refer for years to a man +as “the old chap who always wears that pair of gray trousers” and then +accidentally discover that he is a world famous civil engineer or +retired statesman who has swayed the fate of nations. So the hermit +was known by his clock; although regularly once a week he walked to +Pottsville to get his mail and buy groceries. For being an up-to-date +hermit he was not without an occupation,—he drank; and he did it very +well. +</p> + +<p> +He was a large, lumbering man of about sixty years, full-bearded, +bent, frankly ungiven to washing and generally a shade woozy in the +upper story; and nobody could remember Turkey Hollow when he had not +been there. +</p> + +<p> +He was reputed to be possessed of mysterious, ill-gotten wealth hidden +in and about the clearing, and, in spite of his squalor, the rumor +acquired a certain <i>cachet</i> owing to the fact that his correspondence, +regularly inspected by Constable Higgins out of abundant caution, +consisted almost entirely of get-rich-quick-circulars and similar +catch-penny advertisements. His name, which otherwise might never have +been known, was Wilbur Drake,—although he was never referred to as +anything but the “Hermit of Turkey Hollow.” That was his sum total—to +the world at large. +</p> + +<p> +Yet sometime and somewhere, he had perhaps been somebody; and nailed +over his cot in a tarnished oaken frame was a dingy photograph of a +dumpy little girl in pigtails. Why this sick soul had sought seclusion +nobody knew and nobody cared, yet afterwards, although he was morose, +taciturn and brutal in his manners, the Pottsville folk were sorry for +him and regretted that they had not been kinder to him. +</p> + +<p> +Skinny the Tramp was a totally different type of bird,—a “character” +as they all said, beloved of the village children and regarded with +good-natured tolerance by their elders. He was tall, lean, hawkish, +with the traditional stubble about his chin and neck, which a Byronic +negligée exposed to wind and weather. He belonged to Pottsville in +his own way quite as much as did the hermit, for in spite of his +peripatetic sojournings, he was a native of the town and, as James +Hawkins, had passed those earlier days—before manual labor had been +abhorrent to him—in its vicinity, having been even at one time +admitted to the lowlier degrees of the Brotherhood of Abyssinian +Mysteries. This famous order, however, he had ultimately abandoned in +favor of the Hibernating Hoboes of Hesperides, of which he was now a +member in good standing. +</p> + +<p> +The reader will, of course, appreciate that for various +reasons,—including that we may sometime run for public office—the +foregoing names and titles are fictitious; but the organizations +themselves are not, and each in its own way exerts an influence not +lightly to be disregarded, whether one be a yokel on the one hand, or +a yegg on the other. Twice yearly, once on his annual autumn trip to +the Golden West and again on his return therefrom in the spring, +Hawkins, emaciated, hairy, black from coal dust, dropped lightly off +the truck of some fast freight and revisited the scenes of his youth. +</p> + +<p> +Sitting upon a cracker barrel in Colson’s Grocery—so that nutriment +might be the more easily accessible—Skinny the Tramp, like some +wandering scop, bard, or friar of medieval days—would fill the +wagging ears of the countryside with the narrative of his later +wanderings in search of the treasure that somehow always just managed +to elude his grasp. For Skinny believed absolutely that at the foot of +every rainbow there was a Crock of Gold, and he would have gladly died +for his belief—as any gentleman and sportsman would have done, and as +he came very near to doing in this case. +</p> + +<p> +However, while Skinny chased rainbows he declined to do so +afoot—preferring the artificial and speedier means of transportation +afforded by the transcontinental railroad systems, from the trains of +which he was habitually—and at divers times and places, +ignominiously,—hurled, to his great physical and temperamental +detriment. Yet, albeit that he was a high officer of the Hibernating +Hoboes of Hesperides and had once been an Abyssinian Brother of that +elevation known as the “Order of the Sacred Camel of King Menelik,” +from which noble association he had been swiftly dropped for +non-payment of dues, he was, like a multitude of his fellow wanderers, +merely a harmless child of good-nature, nearly a half-wit, essentially +a devotee of Zoroaster, who spent his life following the sun. On these +biennial visits Skinny hung about the town, spending a goodly portion +of his time—both by night and by day—sleeping in a lean-to on the +hillside above Turkey Hollow, and part of it wandering through the +woods,—but always looking for the rainbow that should empty a hoard +of gold into his tattered lap. +</p> + +<p> +Twice yearly also passed through Pottsville the “Sons and Daughters of +the Southland”—the Zingara Gipsies,—in auto trucks and +flivvers—camping for a time on the end of the old, deserted +racetrack,—a sinister crew, surreptitious panderers to credulity and +lust, the men surly and brutal, the women insolent and dirty, but +attracting the imaginative and susceptible bumpkins as a trickle of +molasses will draw a swarm of flies. When in the night they folded +their tents and stole silently away the citizens of Pottsville +invariably discovered that many of their most cherished personal +possessions were unaccountably missing. But no one cared to pursue and +prosecute them. They were too dangerous. Besides, they could have told +things. +</p> + +<p> +In the case of Skinny the Tramp there was, however, a practical as +well as a sentimental reason for these half-yearly stop-overs, the +legal necessity of his putting in a personal appearance to claim and +receipt for the one hundred dollars of income which accrued to his +account every six months from the trust fund created by his mother in +her last will and testament, of which the Honorable—or +“Squire”—Hezekiah Mason was executor. And as Squire Mason is one of +the central figures in this legal tragi-comedy it may perhaps be worth +while to stop for a moment at this point and give him what might be +called the “literary once-over.” +</p> + +<p> +Let us state frankly, without circumlocution or evasion, that while +Hezekiah was known as “honorable” and “squire,” this grim visaged, +tight-lipped country attorney was neither. He was “honorable” only in +a Pickwickian sense; and a “squire” only by courtesy; but why or how +any courtesy should have been extended to him remained a mystery, +since he was the most unpopular man in the county,—evidenced by the +fact that he alone of Pottsville’s masculine élite—which included +the barber, druggist, sheriff and dentist—was not one of the Sacred +Camels of King Menelik, and needless to say it rankled in his dried +peapod of a soul. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless, the Hon. Hezekiah was a power for he had mortgages on a +majority of the farms of Somerset County already and his tentacles +were reaching out along the county highways and by-ways after the +others. Moreover, he was the only lawyer practising in either +Pottsville or Somerset Corners so that, in one way or another, he +managed to be mixed up in almost everything that went on. However, he +couldn’t break into the mystic circle of The Abyssinian Brotherhood, +which has a distinct bearing on our narrative. As Sheriff Moses +Higgins,—who was the Grand Supreme Exalted Patriarch and Ruler of the +Sacred Camels of King Menelik—had said at the lodge meeting held +three months before in the P. of H. (No. 769) Hall when Hezekiah had +made his final attempt to become one of the genus dromedary and had +been flatly and contumaciously turned down, refused, rejected, +rebuffed and repudiated—I repeat, as Sheriff Higgins had said on that +well known occasion, it made no difference how big a feller’s bank +account was if he was a stinker, and everybody who had an atom of +brains fer fifty miles ’round knew all-fired well what kind of a cuss +Mason was. Get a feller like that into the Camels and you never could +get rid of him—“once a Camel always a Camel”—the whole herd would be +contaminated. He’d sooner take in “Nigger” Jo, the colored ostler over +to the Phoenix House stable. He spoke fifteen minutes and there wasn’t +a white ball in the box when it was passed. +</p> + +<p> +So Squire Mason nursed his antique grudge and took his revenge in coin +of the realm. Then came the turn of the wheel and Hezekiah found +himself in a position where by the adroit application of five thousand +dollars where it would do most good he could get a strangle hold on +one of the leading politicians of the county. The fact that the only +funds available were those he held as trustee for James Hawkins was +the merest incident and did not disturb him even momentarily. They +were at hand and he used them. Skinny was only a tramp. He might get +run over any day, just as, fortunately for Hezekiah, was Lawyer +Tompkins, of Felchville, the public prosecutor of Somerset, for whose +vacant job the Honorable Squire Mason instantly applied. As he had a +cinch on the local political boss, and as the attorney general needed +the influence of the boss in his own business, and as the attorney +general had a cinch on the governor—he won in a walk and duly became, +by official appointment and designation, for Tompkins’ unexpired term, +district attorney of Somerset County, and having, after forty years of +plodding obscurity, suddenly found himself elevated to office he +instantly became consumed by the fire of ambition. While Cicero says +that “the noblest spirit is most strongly attracted by the love of +glory,” we do not intend by this mere statement of fact to entwine +with any wreath of bay or laurel the perspiring brow of Hezekiah. +Objectively Mason was a bombastic, old-fashioned country lawyer, +acrid, dry as dust, entirely unscrupulous, and, while superficially +shrewd, on the whole rather dull. Noise was his strong point, and +there was not a tougher pair of leather lungs in the Mohawk Valley, +down which he now looked with longing eyes towards the capital at +Albany, hoping perhaps to roar loud enough so that he could be heard +there, which at times seemed by no means impossible. Once ambition +stirs a man’s soul no height appears too high for him to scale. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-d-quote">“On the summit see,</span><br> +<span class="i0">The scales of office glitter in his eyes:</span><br> +<span class="i0">He climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +And now, having had one piece of luck, the lightning of fortune, as +sometimes happens, struck him again. +</p> + +<p> +Pottsville is the kind of “hick” town where the girls bob their hair +and the boys wear the very latest “pineapple” cut, where you can buy +“college ices” and “sundaes” at the drug store, but where the movies +run only twice a week and the barber shop is open only after four +o’clock on Saturdays. There is a smutty little wooden railroad +station, a memorial library of funereal granite, a brick business +block bearing date 1879, an octagonal horse-trough right in the middle +of Main Street, and the rickety old Phoenix Hotel, run by “Ma” Best, +<i>née</i> Louisa Barrows, whose dad, “Old Doc Barrows,” was sent up to +Sing Sing for high-financing the countryside. +</p> + +<p> +There are, in addition, two churches, Baptist and Methodist, each +white with green shutters and a steeple,—a court house, the Mohawk +Palace Theater (celluloid), the P. of H. Hall, the “Pottsville Dry +Goods Emporium” belonging to “Toggery Bill” Gookin, Meachem’s Notion +Store and Colson’s Grocery. The street is unpaved and from February to +April is ankle high with mud. Such towns still survive even in the +Empire State. But while Pottsville will refer to Somerset Corners five +miles away as a “hick” town, it remains serenely oblivious of its own +hickitude. +</p> + +<p> +It was here that on a soft Saturday afternoon towards the end of +April, Squire Mason’s great moment came—that opportunity knocked upon +his office door and beckoned to him. And Hezekiah did not hesitate. +</p> + +<p> +He had been more than usually sour all day, for he had quarreled with +his wife at breakfast and when he reached the office he had found that +a farmer over Felchville way whose mortgage he held—and on whose +prompt payment he had relied to cover James Hawkins’ semiannual +interest of like amount, had unexpectedly defaulted. And—curse +it!—at eleven o’clock Skinny had come for his money, peering +apologetically through the door like the half-wit that he was, +twisting his faded bicycle cap between his fingers, almost afraid to +ask the squire for what was his. +</p> + +<p> +“Mornin’, squire,” he said, leaning awkwardly against the door jamb. +“Been well, I trust?” +</p> + +<p> +The Honorable Hezekiah Mason regarded the tramp malevolently. +</p> + +<p> +“Tol’rable!” he replied curtly. “I s’pose you’ve come after your +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” assented Skinny. “Still,” he added politely, “if it ain’t +convenient——” His blue eyes roved vaguely around the barren room +seeing nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Skinny!” remarked the lawyer gruffly, “what’s the use of +my turning over a hundred dollars to you to throw away? Why don’t you +let me keep it an’ invest it for you? The way you live ain’t +provident. A penny saved is a penny earned, an’ a hundred dollars is a +lot of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very kind of you,” faltered Skinny, “but I don’t throw it away. +Honest Injun, I don’t. It keeps me wanderin’—I’d like it if you kin +let me have it.” He paused and took a timid step towards the squire. +“May I ask you a question?” +</p> + +<p> +Now the one thing in the world that Squire Mason did not want was any +question from Hawkins about the whereabouts of his money. He had +intended to put the tramp off, but now he swiftly changed his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Your money’s all right,” he retorted, getting to his feet. “You don’t +need to worry any ’bout it! I’ll go get it fer you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” replied Skinny. “I was only goin’ to ask——” +</p> + +<p> +But Mason had bolted through the door. Ten minutes later he returned +and handed the tramp five twenty dollar bills, for which he took +Skinny’s receipt. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he remarked brusquely, “you’ve got your money. You better get +along. I’m busy this mornin’!” +</p> + +<p> +But Skinny had a matter of vital moment upon what by a euphemism might +have been termed his mind. It had been troubling him ever since his +conversation with the hermit with which this chronicle opens. And he +wanted the opinion of Squire Mason, as a learned man who presumably +knew all about such things. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to ask you a question, squire!” he persisted. +</p> + +<p> +Mason, cornered in his office, turned on him like a rat. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,—ask it!” he snapped defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to ask you if folks that know about such things think that +when a thing’s dead it’s dead?” +</p> + +<p> +The squire stared at him contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“P’tah!” he ejaculated. “What are you ravin’ about?” +</p> + +<p> +“About whether when folks die that’s the end of ’em,” explained +Skinny. “And if it’s the same with the animals.” +</p> + +<p> +Mason took courage. Skinny was not bothered about the safety of his +principal. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the use conjecturin’ about things like that?” he asked more +genially. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s kinder important, ain’t it?” returned the tramp. +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer pursed his lips and gazed for an instant through the window +upon the sill of which a blue-bottle lay upon its back with its legs +stiffly in air. Then he turned sententiously to the tramp. +</p> + +<p> +“If you really want to know what I think,” he answered. “When a man’s +dead, he’s dead.” +</p> + +<p> +Skinny, his money in his pocket but troubled in his mind, made his way +slowly back to Turkey Hollow. The sun, which had been shining when he +had gone into the squire’s office, had become obscured by a bank of +cloud and it looked like rain, but all about him as he strode through +the woods the dogwoods were bursting into blossom amid a background of +diaphanous budding green. The spring was stirring in him, too. A +hundred dollars! Visions of purple valleys, of cool, trickling ravines +dank with spreading ferns, of fragrant fields of hay in which to +lie—without the necessity of chopping a single piece of kindling to +pay for his supper—rose in his mind. Wouldn’t it be great to be rich! +To lie in a hammock with a feather pillow under his head in the shade +of an orange tree and a nigger to hand him cool drinks and sandwiches +and gold-tipped cigarettes! To ride luxuriantly inside a Pullman car +or stand on the clinking back platform of the Sunset Limited watching +the misty mountains turn from azure to rose and from rose to +lilac—and pitying the bums walking the sleepers. To +sleep—sleep—sleep—in a big, soft bed! To have a man delicately +remove the hair from your neck and chin and scent your cheeks with +cologne water! To go into a grand hotel, bully the waiter, and eat +everything on the bill of fare without asking the price! Money! That +would do it. But a hundred dollars was only a flea bite! What he +needed was the real kale—a whole pot of gold! +</p> + +<p> +It had begun to rain by the time he had cooked his dinner, and +afterwards, as he sat in the opening of his shack smoking cigarettes, +it grew very dark and for half an hour poured down in torrents. Then +as will happen in fickle April the sun burst forth and turned the +leaden world into a dripping golden grotto, where every bough and twig +and leaf’s edge gleamed with a jeweled setting of pearls and diamonds, +and the hot mist rose shimmering from the steaming ground. Gold—gold +everywhere! Gold—the mystic element sought of the alchemists and of +the philosophies of ancient, medieval and modern times alike. Gold! +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly Skinny stiffened and sat erect. Thrown against the torn black +wind clouds of the departing storm was a great arch whose glowing +colors pained the eye, a perfect piece of heavenly architecture. High +it rose into the zenith a concentrated prismatic glory—emblem of the +eternal hope that sprang in the tramp’s breast. One end of the arc +came to earth far to the west—the golden west—and the other plunged +down at his feet into Turkey Hollow. There was no doubt about it at +all. Right into Turkey Hollow—right upon the hermit’s shanty, which +he could see through the interlacing boughs of the hillside sharply +defined as in a spotlight of saffron. Skinny started to his feet. If +he could only reach the hermit’s shanty before the rainbow faded the +crock of gold would be there. Sure! His mind never doubted it. It was +there now. If he hurried—this time he might find it! Without a +moment’s hesitation Skinny plunged down the hillside through the +reeking undergrowth, drenched to the skin, slipping, falling now on +beds of soaking moss, now over roots and stones—blood smearing his +face and hands—until he crashed down through the clump of birches +next the clearing. +</p> + +<p> +A man was sitting there under a boulder smoking a pipe, his ax across +his knees—waiting evidently for things to dry up a bit. He waved at +Skinny, but the tramp was too intent to answer him. Then came the +yellow gleam of the clearing through the brush and the shanty rose +hard against the sky just beyond. Surely he must be in time! +</p> + +<p> +He had emerged from the woods in the rear of the shanty on the edge of +the potato patch and he did not trouble to go around it but plowed +straight through the muddy rows, leaving a deep wake behind him across +the loam. Panting and dripping with sweat, Skinny hurried to the +nearest window of the shanty, the one above the hermit’s cot, and +peeked in. What he saw made his heart stand still. The sun was pouring +through the opposite window upon the back of the hermit, who sat bowed +over the table; and in front of him—its overflowing contents sending +yellow flashes darting into the dim recesses of the hut—stood a small +red bean-pot or “crock”—still sticky with earth—filled with shining +gold pieces. An expression of transcendental satisfaction illuminated +Skinny’s face. His faith was justified—as he had known and predicted +all along that eventually it would be. His confidence in his own +mental processes and spiritual beliefs rebounded from where it had +been crushed to earth by Squire Mason’s crass materialism. +Stealthily—so as not to frighten the hermit—he crept towards the +open door of the shanty.… +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +It was Charlie Emerson—the man sitting under the boulder with his ax +across his knees—who heard the shot that killed the hermit. He was +not a native of Pottsville, although he usually could be found there +every spring, working over at Sampson’s steam lumber mill at the lower +end of Turtle Pond. This particular Saturday he had got the afternoon +off to fill an order for pea sticks which he purposed cutting from the +birches which grew thick in the less swampy part of Turkey Hollow, and +he was right in the middle of it when the thunderstorm came up and he +had to stop for awhile until the sun should dry the bushes off. +</p> + +<p> +He saw Skinny cruising through the underbrush and was puzzled by the +fact that the tramp ignored his salutation. But he had gone on smoking +and, after taking a short nap, had resumed his work on the pea sticks. +Then, as the sun had begun to slant through the tree trunks and the +shadow of the hill to come creeping across the marsh, the hot silence +of the afternoon had been shattered first by a cry for help and then +by a shot—both from the hermit’s shanty less than two hundred yards +away. Ax in hand he made the distance through the thickets in less +than three minutes, and as he broke cover into the clearing behind the +house he saw the undergrowth moving on the other side and heard the +snapping of twigs. +</p> + +<p> +It was so still that he could hear the drone of a bee in the fringe of +meadow-sweet down by the well, and—coupled with the cry—it gave him +a weird creepy feeling such as he never knew before. But he took a +good grip on himself, walked round the shanty, and looked in through +the open door. +</p> + +<p> +Everything was as usual—the clock, the cot, the rickety table, the +chair, the fish rod and butterfly net, all were undisturbed—except +that the hermit lay upon his back on the floor, his arms outstretched, +the blood jetting from his mouth, a film gathering in his wide open +eyes. Emerson knelt by the side of the dying man and gently lifted the +great hairy head. The blood that came from his mouth made a queer +guttering sound—grotesquely resembling to his agitated mind the faint +clucking of a hen. Then the noise stopped; the hermit no longer +breathed; and the lumberman as he lowered the hermit’s head to the +floor heard the loud beat of an insect’s wings and observed a large +gray moth flapping frantically against the window. He had seen a +million moths—! Yet, with relief Emerson saw it vanish through the +open doorway. +</p> + +<p> +With averted face he threw the “comfortable” across the hermit’s body +and, as he did so, noticed the broken fragments of a small, red clay +pot lying beneath the table. One of the hermit’s hands protruded from +beneath the coverlet—grasping tightly a single gold-piece. Emerson, +standing in the stifling atmosphere of the hut, could hear no sound +but the beating in his ears of his own heart. +</p> + +<p> +The mill hand dashed from the shanty, marking the footprints in the +garden patch, and hunted courageously for the murderer in the +surrounding woods; but the criminal had too good a start. Then, with +no doubt whatever in his mind as to who it had been, he ran down the +wood road that joined the main highway half a mile from the shanty. +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +There had been a big gang assembled in Colson’s Grocery waiting for +the barber shop to open next door when Skinny entered at almost +precisely four o’clock by the Western Union automatically regulated +clock over the candy counter; and, while nobody had paid much +attention to him at the time, it was remembered distinctly afterwards +that he had been breathing hard and excited, and had ordered a bottle +of root beer and drank it with a sort of ostentatious, devil-may-care +indifference. He had also remarked to someone that he had cut his +finger in the woods, and his handkerchief was bloody. +</p> + +<p> +Most of the crowd were still there when, fifteen minutes later, +Charlie Emerson, the lumber man with the ax, reached the village with +the news that the hermit had been murdered. +</p> + +<p> +He came running down the road all splashed with mud and the fellows in +Colson’s could hear him shouting nearly a furlong away. There was a +general stampede for the street,—in which the occupants of the brick +block, the barber shop, and the drug store all joined. Emerson came +staggering along—stopping every few yards to yell “Murder!”—and +brought up exhausted in front of the stairs leading to Squire Mason’s +office, which was opposite the sheriff’s on the first landing. +</p> + +<p> +“Th’ hermit’s been murdered!” he panted hysterically. “Shot right +through the lungs!—Where’s the sheriff?—Gosh, it’s fierce!—Where’s +Squire Mason?” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd surged round him, Squire Mason’s head appeared at his +window, and then, with a whoop, they all rushed up the stairs to the +sheriff’s office. But Mason held the crowd back sternly on the +landing. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m prosecutor o’ this county!—I’ll take care o’ this witness!” he +announced in a tone of authority. “Now some o’ you hustle over and +fetch the sheriff—he’s gone down to the station fer the mail. An’ +don’t none of you dare so much as move ’till he comes and tells you +what to do.—Now, you!” to the ax-man—“Come into my office an’ let me +take your deposition.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a murmur of disappointment from the crowd as Mason firmly +conducted Emerson inside and shut the door; but they all obediently +poured down the stairs again after the sheriff. Then some one began to +ring the fire alarm and, by the time Sheriff Higgins reached the horse +trough, the mob was so dense in front of the doorway that he could +hardly force his way through. He was inside less than a minute before +he reappeared at Mason’s window. +</p> + +<p> +“Anybody seen Skinny Hawkins?” he cried excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“He was here a minute ago!” answered someone. +</p> + +<p> +“I seen him walkin’ off down the road towards the race track—just +afore the bell began ringin’!” yelled up a small boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” shouted Higgins, “get after him an’ stop him.—Don’t let him +get away!” +</p> + +<p> +The next instant the pack were in full cry. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps if Skinny hadn’t been a half-wit he wouldn’t have run. Perhaps +he should have pulled himself together—and with his pockets full of +the hermit’s gold and his boots covered with mud from the hermit’s +potato patch—he should have boldly answered: “Here I am! What do you +want of me?” and marched up to the sheriff’s office. But, on the other +hand, perhaps many a more sensibly-minded man than he under the same +unfortunate circumstances would have taken to his legs. Admit, it was +a foolish and useless thing to do! We have all on occasion lost our +nerve—even if we all be wise men. And certainly Skinny was not wise! +</p> + +<p> +He could not deny having been in the hermit’s company within half an +hour, the gold was on his person, the mud upon his feet. He had been +caught almost, had his addled memory retained the phrase, <i>in +flagrante delicto</i>. Being a tramp, used to rough treatment even from +ordinarily kind people, accustomed to be called a vagabond and a thief +and to have the dogs set upon him, familiar from long experience with +his brother hoboes with tales of tortures and lynchings in which the +knotted rope and kerosene figured vividly, Skinny fled in a hysteria +of fear down the road towards the race track and thence across the +fields into the woods. +</p> + +<p> +He was less than three minutes ahead of the crowd at the start and +unfortunately for him the sheriff’s flivver was standing in front of +the drug store, so that by the time he took cover they were actually +at his heels. Moreover, a dozen of the older boys sensing that he +might try to beat back towards the Hollow ran up the crossroad to cut +him off. The fact that most of them liked him was nothing. A chase was +a chase. Hare and hounds,—while it lasted. Besides, this was a hunt +for a murderer—and flight was equivalent to confession. +</p> + +<p> +Badly winded, Skinny crashed through the woods, the shouts of his +pursuers close in his ears. Ahead he could see the blue sky through +the trees where the fields began again. He reached the edge and came +dead upon a man plowing. Faintly borne on the wind he heard the +distant clang of the fire bell and a couple of revolver shots from +nearer at hand. “Putt!” they said. “Putt-putt!” Skinny did not like +the sound of them. He ducked back and ran like a fagged fox along the +hedge by the field, then paused to listen again. There was a crackling +in the brush to the left while just beyond, on the other side of the +open, the barber and the drug clerk, who had followed a wood road +suddenly appeared staring directly at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” yelled the barber, waving his razor which he had carried in his +hand. “Hi! Here he is! This way!” +</p> + +<p> +The crackling behind him grew louder. He could see shadows stealthily +creeping from tree to tree. Of course they thought him armed! They +might shoot! He did not know what to do. He did not want either to be +carved up by the barber or to be blown to bits by a shotgun. His +tongue was like a baked potato and his lungs ached as if with +rheumatism. He could hardly see. There they were—hundreds of them—! +</p> + +<p> +“ ’S all right, Bill!” he called hoarsely. “I ain’t tryin’ to git +away.” +</p> + +<p> +And he staggered out a few feet between the furrows and fell in a +faint. It was characteristic of him that he had made no attempt to +throw away the hermit’s gold. +</p> + +<p> +Twenty minutes later “Ma” Best, who had been quietly cooking in the +Phoenix House kitchen throughout the whole disturbance, heard a great +shouting down the road and went to the door to see what it was all +about. Over by the “deppo” she could see a crowd of men and boys +pushing or dragging somebody in their midst. The smaller of the boys +danced and capered ahead of the throng, one of them turning fancy +“cartwheels.” Then came Sheriff Higgins, stalking along importantly, +two men with shotguns on either side of him, followed by the barber, +Mr. Perkins the proprietor of the Mohawk Palace, and old Colson the +grocer. Directly behind this cluster of notables—who in a grotesque +way suggested a group of Roman senators escorted by their lictors—at +an interval of perhaps ten feet, walked Skinny the tramp, his face +pale as that of the murdered hermit, hatless, a rope around his neck, +and his hands bound behind his back. The end of the rope was held by +no less a personage than “Toggery Bill” Gookin, who providentially had +happened to be returning from a visit to Zayda the Zingara Gipsy +fortune teller at the moment of Skinny’s capture. From time to time +the haberdasher would jerk the rope as if the tramp were a horse and +the more light-minded in the crowd would cluck and call out “Geddap!” +For the rest, they swarmed along in a mob, yelling, joking, uttering +cat-calls and other vague and meaningless noises. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble, sheriff?” called out “Ma” Best. “What yer doin’ +with Skinny?” +</p> + +<p> +The dignity of Sheriff Higgins did not permit him to make reply. +Instead the crowd yelled at her generally. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’S killed the hermit!” shouted an urchin. “Murdered him!—Whoop-ee! +Hurray!” +</p> + +<p> +“Murder nuthin’!” snorted “Ma” Best. “You’re jest a pack of +idiots.—Skinny wouldn’t kill a spider!” +</p> + +<p> +“Whee-uup! Whoop! Hurray!” shrieked the crowd in the delight of having +conducted a successful man-hunt, jumping around “Toggery Bill” and his +victim, as a pack of hounds will jump, snapping and barking about the +body of the fox they have run to earth. “Whee-uup! Hurray!—Lynch him! +String him up!” +</p> + +<p> +They had reached the horse-trough and the two men with the shotguns +held back the crowd while Sheriff Higgins relieved “Toggery Bill” of +the rope and led Skinny upstairs to his office. In a moment the +sheriff appeared at the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Feller citizens of Pottsville!” he shouted. “In the name o’ the +People of the State of New York I call on ye to disperse peaceable and +go to your homes. There ain’t goin’ to be no lynchin’ nor nuthin’ like +that. Skinny’s goin’ to the jail and he’s goin’ to stay there until +the Grand Jury has acted on his case which will be day after +to-morrer. Now, there’s no use kickin’ up any fuss or ruction and I +warn ye not to go near Turkey Hollow. Kindly disperse!” +</p> + +<p> +Skinny the Tramp having been treated to a brief and exceedingly crude +variety of the “third degree” in the sheriff’s office, and having +“stood mute,” was transferred to the calaboose, where Sam Bellows, +who, owing to his obesity, could not take any more active part, was +set to watch him. It is doubtful whether Skinny would have made any +further attempt to get away, even if “paroled in his own custody”; for +his flight had been the instant, automatic reaction from a paroxysm of +terror in which he visioned himself as a human torch—not the result +of any genuine hope that he could escape the processes of the law, for +whose far-reaching effectiveness he had in fact a vast respect. +</p> + +<p> +Now that he had been brought back without having been lynched, his +instinct told him to hold his tongue. He was no match for them—not +even for Sheriff Higgins—and he knew it. If he said anything they +would twist it somehow against him. His only hope lay in the quantum +of evidence. Nobody had seen him at the hermit’s shanty, so why admit +that he had been there? That was only common caution. Anybody could +have gold pieces; and if he had left any tracks there was no way of +proving when they had been made. So Skinny obstinately refused to open +his mouth, and sat on a decayed chair in the unsanitary box resembling +a flagman’s shanty which passed for a jail while the youth—the +extreme youth—of Pottsville sat in rows around Sam Bellows, dividing +their attention between comments upon his beauty of person and audible +conjectures as to the probable fate of the murderer within. +</p> + +<p> +Contemporaneously Squire Mason, having in his office reduced to +written form the testimony of Emerson the lumberman, unexpectedly +realized that he was confronted by a disturbing problem in legal +ethics. Here he was, hardly appointed district attorney a week before +the most sensational murder ever committed in the county had occurred +at his very door! It was his chance!—the chance of a lifetime!—a +sure conviction! But—and here was the rub!—were his relations to the +accused such that he could properly conduct the case against him? At +best could he take any more active part in the trial than as a mere +witness, considering the fact that he was trustee of the tramp’s money +and bore to him the confidential relationship of lawyer to client? +Could he even appear against him as a witness? Might not the half-wit, +indeed, have had murder in his mind that very morning when he had +asked him if “anything ever really died?” The squire’s hopes wilted at +the thought and his heart fell. Why, it was the biggest opportunity +for legitimate notoriety since the Rosenthal murder! It was ridiculous +to let a little thing like the fact that he was Skinny’s trustee make +any difference! No one would in fact need to know? If Skinny remained +mute, as he apparently intended to do, it probably would never come to +light,—at any rate not until Hawkins had been convicted, and then it +would sink into insignificance in the blaze of his glory. There was +nothing to connect him with Skinny in any way, for the five +twenty-dollar bills which he had delivered to the tramp that morning +had not been found upon him when he was arrested. No,—the chance was +worth taking. A brave man would take it; and fortune always favored +the brave! +</p> + +<p> +Squire Mason, however, was not the only brave man in Pottsville, for +Sheriff Moses Higgins meanwhile had started for Turkey Hollow to make +an examination of the scene of the crime. With him in the flivver +officially designated as “Lizzie” were Emerson, the lumberman, the two +armed deputies and Mr. Pennypacker, the photographer from Somerset +Corners, for the sheriff was up on all the latest modern methods of +detecting crime and knew just how it should be done. And some day they +would all have to be witnesses and testify to exactly what they had +seen. +</p> + +<p> +They left the flivver where the wood road from the Hollow joined the +highway and walked in the rest of the way on foot. It was a +circumstance commented on by all of them that the sheriff’s order, +that nobody should visit the scene of the murder until he had done so, +had been strictly obeyed. But the ghastly corpse of a murdered man is +its own best guardian—particularly if it be that of a hermit lying in +his blood—alone in a bosky, lonely spot—with evening coming on. The +peaceful inhabitants of Pottsville had no great hankering to see how +the dead hermit looked, much preferring the less grim sport of +tramp-baiting. So the five men met no one on their way; neither did +any sound break the silence of the woods about them. +</p> + +<p> +An unexpected pall descended upon their spirits. It had been great +sport to jump into a motor with guns and cameras, and whirr off +consequentially in a cloud of dust, leaving the staring crowd gazing +enviously after them. They had even cracked jokes while they were on +the road. But now, with the sun already behind the ridge that framed +the Hollow upon which the shadows were closing steadily as if night +were about to clutch it in its fingers, with no sound save the creak +of their own boots or the gibber of a chipmunk in the alders to break +the deathly silence of the woods, they found conversation difficult. +The men with the shotguns felt fairly comfortable—although of course +it would be a cinch for anybody lurking in the bushes to shoot the lot +of them. But Sheriff Higgins, who although a sheriff and the Supreme +Exalted Ruler of the Sacred Camels of King Menelik had never seen a +dead body and was more of a “family man” than a bloodhound, and “Cy” +Pennypacker, whose most daring adventure had been to invite Zayda the +Zingara vamp to his studio to be photographed—for which he paid +heavily afterwards at home, and who now, owing to the weight of his +camera and plate holders, found difficulty in keeping up with the +others,—both these worthies secretly began to wish that they could +escape the duty which lay before them. +</p> + +<p> +“Ssh!” suddenly whispered Emerson, and they all jumped; then stood +tensely in their tracks. +</p> + +<p> +Far up on the dark hillside could be heard at intervals of a few +seconds the snapping of twigs. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a long ways off!” said the sheriff inconsequently. +</p> + +<p> +They resumed their pilgrimage at a somewhat lessened pace; but at last +they could see the opening-up of the trees against the sky that marked +the hermit’s clearing. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold up a second!” remarked the sheriff nervously. “Le’s decide about +this thing! Suppose you fellers with the guns go first—so’s to be all +ready—an’ then I’ll come right along——” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Moses,” retorted one of the gunmen. “I ain’t got no +partic’lar objection to goin’ first, but you’re sheriff an’ I reckon +it’s up to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Higgins hesitated. As Patriarch of the Sacred Camels it would not +do to permit any intimation of pusillanimity upon his part to get +abroad. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess you’re right!” he remarked carelessly. “Gimme the gun.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” demanded its owner. “You don’t need no gun to shoot a dead +man!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that ’s well as you do!” retorted the sheriff. “But wha’d you +bring a gun fer if there wasn’t no use fer it?—Le’s go up together!” +</p> + +<p> +Thus reinforced the sheriff and his companion cautiously approached +the open door of the hermit’s shanty, on which the shadow of the ridge +had already fallen and was now slipping across the potato patch +towards the edge of the woods. On the threshold they paused. Then the +sheriff, swallowing, thrust in his head. It was so dark that at first +he could see only the face of the hermit’s old clock leering at him +out of the dusk. Then gradually he made out the crumpled bundle that +had been the hermit, lying in front of it. A grimy fist protruded from +beneath the covering. The sheriff bent over gingerly and took hold of +one corner of the comfortable. Then he withdrew his hand quickly. The +bedding had been lying upon the floor and was soaked in blood. +</p> + +<p> +“God!” shrieked the sheriff and tottered out of the shanty. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s th’ matter?” demanded Emerson rudely. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s blood on everything—all over the place!” gasped Higgins. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,—didn’t you look at him?” continued the lumberman brutally. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m goin’ to, soon’s I kin git the blood off’n my hands!” returned +the sheriff valiantly. +</p> + +<p> +He rubbed his fingers ostentatiously in the grass. Then he crept back +to the door of the shanty and looked in. The man with the gun poked +the comfortable off the hermit’s body. +</p> + +<p> +“P’thah!” coughed the sheriff recoiling. “P’thah!—Somebody else +search that body—I can’t!” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned heavily against the outside of the shanty and lowered his +head. +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +Nobody in Pottsville went to bed that night, and next day both local +clergymen preached rival sermons upon the text, “Thou shalt not kill.” +Also, although few of the inhabitants had taken the slightest interest +in the hermit during his life, except to deride him as a crank and a +drunkard, there was universal mourning for him now that he was dead; +for it was felt that in a way his presence in the Hollow had given a +certain distinction to the township which otherwise it would not have +had. It was a great moment for Pottsville. And so were the days +following during which the Grand Jury indicted Skinny for murder and +the case of “The People vs. James Hawkins” gradually built itself up, +block by block, “line upon, line,” “here a little and there a little,” +circumstance upon circumstance, until his guilt seemed established +beyond the utmost requirement of the law. +</p> + +<p> +Then the gipsies, having weathered the rather superficial +investigation of the prosecutor, moved on to the “Sunny Southland” or +wherever it was that they were going, and six weeks later Local Lodge +No. 948 of the Brotherhood of Abyssinian Mysteries convened at +Somerset Corners to debate whether the fact that James Hawkins was an +ex-member entitled him to pecuniary assistance for the purpose of +retaining counsel, upon the broad theory that once a Sacred Camel of +King Menelik—“always a camel.” For he had given the high-sign for +help and the Treasury of the Hibernating Hoboes of Hesperides was +empty,—since the twenty shiny new five-dollar gold pieces which had +been found in Skinny’s pocket upon his arrest had been removed +therefrom and now reposed in the safe of the district attorney as +evidence against him. +</p> + +<p> +Thus came opportunity to the door of Hezekiah Mason for the second +time; for in his widely heralded prosecution of Skinny the tramp, he +perceived “a stepping stone to higher things,”—not on his own “dead +self” but on the “dead selves” of Skinny and the hermit. Had not one +well-known public prosecutor, he told himself, leaped into the +gubernatorial saddle, and for a space held the reins of office, merely +because he had convicted a policeman of participating in the murder of +a gambler? Why should not he do the same for convicting a +distinguished tramp of the murder of a famous hermit? Indeed, who +shall quarrel with his logic? +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +“Tutt,” said Mr. Ephraim Tutt, of the well-known, if not celebrated, +law firm of Tutt & Tutt, on entering his office the morning after the +meeting of the Abyssinian Brothers, “kindly take a look at this!” And +he held out a night-letter telegram. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="rt1"> +“Somerset Corners, N.Y. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +“Tutt & Tutt, Attorneys-at-Law, +</p> + +<p class="i2"> +“61 Broadway, N. Y. City. +</p> + +<p> +“Local Lodge Nine Hundred and Forty-eight, Abyssinian Brotherhood, +desires retain you to defend James Hawkins, otherwise known as Skinny +the Tramp, indicted for murder of Hermit of Turkey Hollow +twenty-seventh last May. Our resources limited to two hundred and +fifty dollars cash. Trial takes place next week. Kindly advise whether +you will accept retainer. +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“<span class="sc">Silas Higley</span>, +</p> + +<p class="i0"> +“Grand Supreme Scribe, Sacred Camels of King Menelik, Brotherhood of +Abyssinian Mysteries. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Collect.</i>” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +“Well,” commented his sprightly partner, the lesser Tutt of the two, +“I observe that they prudently sent their invitation at our +expense.—You don’t seriously consider bothering with any legal junk +like that?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt paused in applying a match to the rat-tailed stogy which +drooped from his wrinkled lips. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t miss it for a farm!” declared he. “A country murder +trial?—Why, it’ll be a regular vacation for me!” +</p> + +<p> +“There be no money in it!” growled his junior partner. “And it’ll take +you a week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who asks money,” demanded Mr. Tutt, striking an heroic attitude, +“when innocence calls for succor? Could any true-hearted member of the +bar—if he had a trace of romance in his soul—refuse to defend a +prisoner known by ‘form and style’ as ‘Skinny the Tramp,’ especially +if he be charged with murdering a hermit, and still more particularly +if requested to do so by the Order of the Sacred Camels of King +Menelik, whose invitation is a command? What, may I ask, are hermits +for—but to be murdered?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re incorrigible!” sighed Tutt. “I suppose the whole office will +be depleted.” +</p> + +<p> +“No—I’ll try the case alone!” replied his senior, “I’ll merely send +Bonnie Doon up there to look around a little and hear what my client +has to say for himself, and then I’ll go up a couple of days before +and examine the witnesses personally—I’ll have the time of my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! And incidentally you’ll waste a week or ten days and end by +paying all the expenses of the trial yourself.—I know you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what else have I got to spend my money on?” retorted Mr. Tutt. +“I might as well spend it on keeping an innocent tramp out of the +electric chair as anything else!” +</p> + +<p> +Now, as Tutt, the lesser, knew that Tutt, the greater, would +eventually do exactly as he chose, the argument then and there died; +and the up-to-date Mr. Bonwright Doon, that extraordinary combination +of law clerk, ambulance-chaser, detective and man-about-town who had +attached himself to the firm was at once despatched to Pottsville, as +Mr. Tutt’s <i>avant courier</i>, where he in due course interviewed Skinny +the Tramp in the calaboose, gave Squire Mason the “once-over,” +fraternized with Sheriff Higgins and his fat-boy deputy, Mr. Sam +Bellows, attended a Lodge Meeting of the Sacred Camels of which—as +well as of many similar organizations—he was a member, and after +spending but one night under the hospitable roof of the Phoenix House +won the lasting loyalty and friendship of “Ma” Barrows and of her +daughter Betty, aged nine, whose capacity for peanuts, popcorn, +ice-cream cones and bananas he demonstrated by actual test at Syracuse +to be equal to that of Ringling Bros.’ baby elephant. +</p> + +<p> +Then, having spied out the lay of the land, he returned weighted with +information and wisdom, to make his report to Mr. Tutt,—a report by +no means rose-colored and yet not without hope. +</p> + +<p> +“That town is certainly some hick!” declared the cosmopolitan Mr. Doon +a week later in making his official return. “It’s the variety of +metropolis where they regard an imported cigar as an immorality and +where the height of dissipation is an evening at a Custard Pie Comedy +with Fatty Arbuckle as custardee. It contained no male citizen in +Class 1-A, B or C under the recent draft, but it numbers among its +midst forty-one sacred camels—of which, you may recall, I am one.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” murmured Mr. Tutt, making a mental note. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” agreed Bonnie, reading his mind. “Moreover, nothing of moment +has happened there since Artemas Ward gave his celebrated lecture on +‘Fools’ in the P. of H. hall in 1883. Hence this assassination has +naturally excited a heap big local pride. When this tramp-hermit case +comes to the bar there’s going to be such a Roman holiday as the +Mohawk Valley never saw. The rubes are all coming from miles around, +bringing the entire family with ’em and sufficient cold vittles to +last a week, and there’ll be overflow meetings all the way to Utica.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt! No doubt!” mused his employer. “But what of my opponents? +What of the <i>dramatis personæ</i> of the contest? And—what of my +client?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your client is a childish nut,” responded Mr. Doon, “who devotes his +life to trying to find the pots of kale at the twin bases of the +rainbow’s arc. From my casual observation I should infer that he was a +trifle less harmless than a cottontail. He naturally asserts he didn’t +do it, and of course maybe he didn’t; but by heck! they’re going to +come awful close to proving it on him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the evidence?” inquired Mr. Tutt, leaning back in his swivel +chair and crossing his Congress shoes on Parker’s New York Criminal +Code which lay open at “Murder” upon his desk. +</p> + +<p> +“All you want,” answered Bonnie cheerfully. “Defendant observed going +towards hermit’s hut a few minutes before the murder, tries to avoid +notice, cry and shot heard, witness bolts to cabin which he reaches in +three minutes and finds hermit dying with gold piece in his hand and a +broken bean-pot on floor beside him, defendant’s pipe left on table, +pursues murderer through woods in general direction of village but +can’t overtake him. Defendant walks into grocery store where all the +boobs are assembled waiting for the weekly shave—at four +o’clock—breathless, excited, blood on his hands—pursuing witness +arrives—also breathless—at four-fifteen and gives the alarm. +Defendant is arrested but when accused refuses to make any statement; +and, if that’s not enough,—his pockets turn out to be full of gold +pieces of the same vintage as the one in the hermit’s hand, and his +shoes fit the marks in the potato patch.—Q.E.D.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you say this is going to be a trial?” queried Mr. Tutt. “I should +say it was more likely to be an execution.” +</p> + +<p> +“So would I,” assented Bonnie, except for a few minor details. “In the +first place the defendant is a harmless dreamer,—half-feckless fool, +half ‘boob,’ half philosopher and half——” he paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” commented his employer. “Half—what?” +</p> + +<p> +Bonnie still hesitated rather sheepishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Half-gentleman,” he declared in a slightly defiant tone. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt smiled approvingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do they know it?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” answered Bonnie. “But everybody likes a drink of blood +occasionally!” +</p> + +<p> +“What are your other minor details?” +</p> + +<p> +“The prosecutor is a crook—and I’ve got the goods on him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What kind?” asked Mr. Tutt more cheerfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty-seven varieties!” affirmed the ambulance-chaser. “He sticks the +boobs for eighteen per cent on his loans, he sneaks up to Utica once +in three weeks by himself and gets hard boiled, and he looks like the +family portrait of Uncle Jonas Hardscrabble. Besides, although I don’t +know why I think so, I have a feeling he’s got some particular +personal animosity against our client.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’h!” mused Mr. Tutt. “How about the sheriff?” +</p> + +<p> +Bonnie grinned, as with meticulous elegance he removed a cigarette +from a golden case bearing his initials set in diamonds. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s playing the constable in a b’gosh drama up on Broadway. Better +drop in and look him over. And he’s got a posse like the fire hose +company in Old Jed Prouty!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt shook his head regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like your setting. The whole country will be +hell-bent-for-conviction on general principles. They’ll want to +vindicate their reputation for law and order and—if they’re in +doubt—instead of acquitting they’ll return a verdict of murder in the +second and rely on executive clemency to remedy any possible +injustice! I know ’em!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tutt,” replied Bonnie with intense seriousness. “They’re going to +give you the fight of your life!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt fumbled in the coffin-like box on his desk for a stogy. +</p> + +<p> +“I surmised as much!” he muttered. “I surmised as much. But—you never +can tell!” +</p> + +<p> +He lit the stogy meditatively and gazed out of the office window +through half-lowered lids. +</p> + +<p> +“You say the prisoner entered the drug store at four o’clock exactly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—that’s absolutely fixed.” +</p> + +<p> +“And his pursuer at fifteen minutes past?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt pursed his lips. +</p> + +<p> +“How far did they have to run?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a mile.” +</p> + +<p> +The old lawyer made a rapid calculation. +</p> + +<p> +“And what time was the murder committed?” he asked suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” replied the clerk. “I had no way to find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mr. Tutt, bringing his feet to the floor with a bang. +“That’s what we’ve got to find out. The whole case turns on it. If our +client fired the shot that killed the hermit and it took the witness +three minutes to reach the shanty and—say—a couple of minutes more +to look around there—then the defendant must have increased his five +minute start to fifteen minutes in a single mile—and if the other man +was running hard I don’t believe he could have done it! No, sir!—He’s +not guilty!” +</p> + +<p> +“And then—there’s the Sacred Camels of King Menelik!” mused Bonnie. +“<i>And the sheriff is head camel!</i>” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch2"> +II +</h3> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">When</span> Lawyer Ephraim Tutt arrived in Pottsville to conduct the +defense of Skinny the Tramp for the murder of the Hermit of Turkey +Hollow, having been retained to that end by the local order of the +Sacred Camels of King Menelik, he found the whole town up and waiting +for him. Having with his customary equanimity deposited his bag at the +Phoenix House and eaten his dinner, he strolled into the kitchen and, +as was his wont, endeavored to gain some knowledge of local color, +politics and personalities, including that of the client for whose +life he was responsible, by engaging genial “Ma” Best, the +proprietress, in conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, bless your heart, Mr. Tutt!” she assured him after she had wiped +her hands upon her apron and invited him to a seat in the broken-down +rocker beside the wood box, “there ain’t no gentler, kinder soul than +Skinny in the whole county! I’ve known him all his life and his ma +afore him. He’s just a pore, harmless critter that wouldn’t hurt a +fly. Many’s the time I’ve seen him put a baby bird back into the nest +that had fallen out. O’ course he’s kind o’ weak in the upper +story—but he ain’t crazy by a long shock, an’ there’s some things he +knows a lot more about ’n most folks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you testify as a witness to his good reputation?” asked Mr. +Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed I will!” she declared warmly. “And so’ll half the people in +Pottsville—the children, anyways! Now what would you like for your +supper?—Griddle cakes?” +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +Those of our readers who have journeyed from London down to Epsom on +race day may be able to form some notion of the condition of affairs +in the environs of Pottsville upon the opening morning of the trial of +Skinny the Tramp. Long before the light of the stars had paled before +the coming dawn—e’en before the glowworm had bid the matin to be +near—lanterns flickered in the doorways of distant barns and bobbed +down country roads beneath the bouncing axles of antique buggies and +carry-alls bearing the sleepless inhabitants of the Mohawk Valley to +the legal colosseum of Somerset County. By sunrise Main Street was one +long line of flivvers, while the race track recently occupied by the +Zingara Gipsies was crowded with every variety of antediluvian vehicle +of locomotion,—parked axle to axle. +</p> + +<p> +When at eight o’clock Sheriff Higgins unlocked the door of the court +house the stampede which followed filled every bench in less than +thirty seconds. Competition for the pleasurable and exciting privilege +of sitting upon the jury was keen and the box having been quickly +filled by eleven o’clock, old Judge Tompkins was able to direct the +prosecutor to open his case. +</p> + +<p> +“Silence in the court room!” cautioned the sheriff pompously. “Silence +in the court!—All them folks as wants to go out—git out now—or set +still!” +</p> + +<p> +This invitation being disingenuous and not meant to be taken seriously +since obviously nobody wished to withdraw,—there being, on the +contrary, by actual count three hundred and sixty-one persons packed +against the outside of the door who were anxious to get in,—everybody +accordingly sat still,—except for that slow, uniform, rhythmical +facial movement which now characterizes the entire American nation +while viewing any spectacle. Sheriff Higgins thereupon sat down +heavily himself, by so doing seeming coincidently to elevate Squire +Mason, as upon the other end of the seesaw of public attention. The +trial was on in earnest,—the biggest event in the Mohawk since Abe +Lincoln showed himself on the back platform of his train when he came +through on his way to Washington in 1861. Some of the old codgers who +had seen him then—as little boys—were even sitting in the court room +now,—and more than one commented on the striking resemblance between +him and Lawyer Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +And now Squire Mason, in a new, light blue, broadcloth suit, bowed to +Judge Tompkins, wiped his massive forehead with a parti-colored +handkerchief, took an ostentatious sip from the discolored glass of +water upon the deal table in front of him, replaced it carefully, shot +a defiant and contemptuous glance in the direction where Skinny the +Tramp sat with Mr. Tutt, cleared his throat, and having thus, by +convolutions only somewhat less complicated than those of a Bush +League pitcher but serving much the same purpose, given due notice +that he was about to deliver the ball and that everybody had better +look,—Squire Mason, we say, began his great opening address to the +gentlemen-farmers of the jury who had in their keeping the life of +Skinny the Tramp. +</p> + +<p> +Having first outlined the entire history of the law of homicide +beginning with the well-known Cain-Abel murder in 4000 B.C. he +proceeded, by vocal stages of approximately twenty parasangs each, +through the pages of Holy Writ, not excluding the Apochrypha,—and +referring specifically to both the Judith-Holofernes and the +Jael-Sisera cases,—touched briefly upon the lex talionis, the Salic +law, and the development of the ecclesiastical courts,—and finally +burst into the full flower of rhetoric along with the abolition of +benefit of clergy in 1825. As a symposium of miscellaneous penological +information it was something very fine indeed,—although it had +nothing to do with Skinny the Tramp or the Hermit of Turkey +Hollow,—and the jury, hardened by generations of country sermons—not +only accepted it as their due but drank it all in with rapturous +delight. And at length—as befitted its importance both to the jury +and to him—the Squire came to the matter in hand and that is where +this story really only begins,—the story of the fight for a human +life. +</p> + +<p> +Some time on the afternoon of Saturday, May twenty-seventh last, +declared the Squire, an innocent, helpless old recluse was shot to +death in his shanty in Turkey Hollow. Obviously robbery had been the +motive, since the dead man still clutched in his hand a piece of gold +and upon the floor lay a shattered earthen receptacle which had +doubtless contained others. There were only two persons known to be +anywhere in the neighborhood at the time, James Hawkins, alias Skinny +the Tramp,—the prisoner at the bar,—and Emerson, the lumberman who +had been cutting pea sticks in the Hollow, who had heard the shot and +had hurried at once to the scene of the murder and later given the +alarm. The squire here paused for increased emphasis. +</p> + +<p> +However, he remarked, the murderer, like most murderers fortunately, +had not made his escape without leaving the evidences of his identity +behind him. Not only had he left his pipe, but fresh in the rich earth +of the hermit’s potato patch were the prints of a heavy pair of boots, +the soles of which were thickly studded with nails. He would in due +course exhibit to them an enlarged photograph of said footprints taken +on the very afternoon of the crime by Mr. Pennypacker, who ran the +gallery over to Somerset Corners. Again he paused significantly, and +looked at Skinny the Tramp. +</p> + +<p> +Who, he asked, had worn those fatal boots? Whose guilty feet had left +those telltale prints? The same person, he answered dramatically, who +at four o’clock had stumbled, disheveled, out of breath and +blood-stained, into Colson’s Grocery and called for a bottle of root +beer that Saturday afternoon—and in whose pockets had been discovered +the balance of the gold pieces representing the hermit’s hoard—the +defendant! +</p> + +<p> +A murmur in which were blended astonishment, horror and admiration +arose from the crowded benches, showing that for the first time the +audience realized the gravity of what was going on,—that not only an +innocent man had been killed but that there was sitting within reach +of their fingers the man who had killed him and whom the law now +sought to kill in return. Beneath the table Mr. Tutt patted the knee +of Skinny the Tramp, indicating a confidence which he by no means +felt. +</p> + +<p> +Then the prosecutor proceeded to drive a few more nails in Skinny’s +coffin. When the defendant had been arrested, he informed the jury, +the latter declined to make any statement, either of explanation or of +denial, in his own behalf. He had simply stood mute, giving by his +trembling limbs, his averted eyes and the chalk-like color of his +face, every evidence of a guilty conscience. Then Mason told the jury +with an air of melancholy how he hated to be compelled to prosecute +any human being for a crime—much more for a murder—but that it was +his solemn, sworn duty to do so, just as it would be theirs under the +circumstances to convict; and—called Charlie Emerson to the witness +chair. +</p> + +<p> +If, at this point, the reader should begin to speculate as to what, if +any, is the underlying purpose of this story, let us hasten to state +that its object is to demonstrate that sometimes the trial of an +action in court under our rules of evidence is less a search for the +truth than it is a game of legal chess. +</p> + +<p> +There are two lessons to be drawn from the case of Skinny the Tramp. +The first is, that the trial-lawyer, like the general, must be ready +instantly to change his tactics to meet new situations as they arise, +and that the prosecutor or attorney for the defense who goes into +court with a hidebound theory as to his case is apt to leave his own +hide behind him neatly hammered to the court room wall. He should +realize that the whole actual truth concerning any human happening is +never known, being never learned in court because the witnesses, +well-meaning though they be, are human,—fallible as to observation, +memory and the power to express their recollection of what they think +they originally saw and heard. In a word, the real or absolute truth +is never the legal truth, and as what the legal truth under the +technical rules of procedure is going to turn out to be can rarely be +foreseen it is usually idle to speculate much about it. Therefore, he +should go boldly into court, listen calmly while the witnesses on both +sides tell their widely divergent stories, and then—and not until +then—devise the theory upon which he may excusably demand judgment +for his client or the acquittal of the prisoner. This requires, to be +sure, self-control, ingenuity and audacity; the restraint of a Foch +awaiting the precise moment to counter-attack; the self-trust which +the philosopher Emerson says is the essence of heroism. +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Tutt knew well that the expected never occurs,—except when +the expected is the unexpected. Thus he always went into a trial with +an entirely open mind,—committed to no hypothesis,—and ready to go +to the mat in a catch-as-catch-can on law or fact, or—to run like a +jack-rabbit. The unknown quantity was both what he dreaded and also +what he gambled on. He was an opportunist of opportunists, on the +alert to snatch victory out of defeat, making shining virtues out of +adroitly concealed necessities, scrambling to his feet with a benign +smile just as he was about to be counted out. The only generality to +which he subscribed was, “You never can tell!” In a word, Mr. Tutt had +a high confidence in his own star, and as he never acknowledged +defeat, nobody ever knew when he was beaten, an adverse verdict being +to him only the starting point for a renewal of the battle in which he +had, at least, an even chance of outwitting his antagonist. He held +that the best preparation for a day in court was a sound sleep the +night before, an hour’s exercise, and a hearty breakfast followed by +what he called a Wheeling Corona-Corona. But not all of us have the +equipoise of Ephraim Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +Now, the other lesson to be deduced from the trial of Skinny the Tramp +was that the best rule in examining witnesses is to have no rule at +all,—which is very much the same thing as “You never can tell!” There +is no more any hard and fast rule for the examination of a witness +than there is for arguing with your stepmother. It “all depends.” The +lawyer who says that you must never let a witness leave the stand +without exhausting his information is just as wide of the mark as he +who claims that the only safe cross-examination is no +cross-examination and that the best cross-examiner is he who does not +cross-examine at all. Yet “no generality is true,—not even this one,” +as the French say; the fact of the matter being that cross-examination +is obviously a dangerous weapon, usually resulting in more harm than +good—but not always, and that every witness presents a new and +special problem which can only be solved by a subtle and perhaps +instinctive appreciation of his psychology. Generally speaking, it is +a pretty safe plan to ask no questions of a witness who has not harmed +your side of the case, for if you cross-examine you may bring out +something entirely unexpected to your great and everlasting detriment. +“Leave well enough alone.” That is the path of prudence—and yet—not +always! But let us not anticipate. +</p> + +<p> +Emerson, the lumberman, like many another man of limited education, in +addition to an astonishingly accurate memory for detail, showed +himself to have a gift for picturesque description which made him a +graphic and convincing witness for the prosecution. He was obviously +unbiased, absolutely clear, positive in all his statements, and +careful,—as both the judge and the prosecutor took pains to instruct +him to be,—to answer only the exact questions put to him. +</p> + +<p> +This, of course, is the regular and proper rule, for if a witness is +permitted to volunteer testimony he is almost certain to violate every +rule of evidence within the first thirty seconds. But in the case of +Emerson there was a particular and vital reason for such a caution on +the part of the prosecutor which was known only to him, namely, that +for tactical reasons it was imperative that certain features of his +testimony should be suppressed. +</p> + +<p> +Now it is the general rule of the law that the lawyer who calls a +witness to the stand in the first place vouches for his integrity and, +in the second, commits himself and his case to the truth of the +proposition of fact that the witness is called to substantiate. But +there is a qualification upon this rule, which is that technically the +lawyer is bound by his own witness only upon those subjects upon which +he sees fit to examine him; and, if later, his adversary brings out +from the same witness new facts upon other subjects, the lawyer who +originally called him may attack the witness as hostile, discredit him +as to those facts, and controvert them if he can. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, underlying all rules is the universal principle of sound ethics +and common decency which hold true both in law and in life as a whole, +that we must conduct ourselves at all times and places as gentlemen +and sportsmen, whether in court or outdoors, until we join the choir +invisible and have no longer any moral problems. In other words, the +lawyer has got to play his game fairly and if, on the one hand, he +calls a witness to prove a certain fact knowing that the witness is +mistaken, or, on the other hand, knowing that his witness is telling +the truth about a certain fact induces the jury or the judge to +believe that the witness is mistaken, that man is a liar, a cad and a +shyster and ought to be disbarred. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Squire Mason was up against a most unfortunate, tantalizing and +exasperating situation with regard to this, his principal witness, +which was that although Emerson had taken only a few minutes to reach +the hermit’s shanty after hearing the fatal shot, and had lingered +there but a minute or two more and had then hurried hot foot to +Pottsville, arriving there within fifteen minutes of the time Skinny +also reached town, which is to say, considering that the murderer had +at least a five minute start, almost at his heels,—nevertheless, and +this is the crux of the case, he was prepared to state definitely and +unequivocally, if asked the time at which he found the hermit dying, +that it was four o’clock exactly—which as we know, and Squire Mason +also perfectly well knew, was the precise moment at which the tramp +entered Colson’s grocery store a full mile away. If this were true, +then James Hawkins, no matter how strongly circumstances pointed +towards him as the murderer, could not be guilty. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, if District Attorney Mason should elicit “the truth, the whole +truth, and nothing but the truth” from Emerson,—which was what he was +in duty bound to do and what Emerson had sworn to tell,—the +prosecution would establish a perfect alibi for the defendant from the +lips of its own chief witness. Therefore Mason had resolved to refrain +from asking the lumberman any question bearing upon the time of the +homicide, and in order that no one else might suspect what Emerson +might be able, if questioned, to say upon this important topic, had +slipped him twenty-five dollars and instructed him that the interests +of the public—particularly that of the Mohawk Valley—demanded that +he should absent himself from his customary haunts until he should be +needed at the trial. +</p> + +<p> +Of all this, naturally, Mr. Tutt was wholly ignorant and he had come +to Pottsville with no other defense than the rather shaky argument +that Skinny could not have fired the shot that killed the hermit and, +with only a five minute start, have increased his lead over the +pursuing Emerson to fifteen whole minutes in a single mile. It had, +according to his theory, taken the lumberman only three minutes to +reach the shanty after hearing the shot, and he was out of the place +again and hot on the murderer’s trail in two minutes more. That meant +that he was only five minutes behind when he started in pursuit. Now, +as Mr. Tutt was going to claim, a man could run a mile in less than +ten minutes, and hence it was manifestly impossible that Skinny could +have reached Pottsville fifteen minutes ahead of Emerson—if he were +guilty. +</p> + +<p> +This plausible—but distinctly Tuttian—argument depended, however, +entirely upon the assumption that Emerson did not take more than three +minutes to get to the shanty after hearing the shot, did not stay in +its vicinity for more than a couple more, and had run at top +speed—without pause—all the way to Pottsville,—assumptions that had +little to sustain them, and had small appeal compared with the +overwhelming mass of circumstantial evidence that pointed to the tramp +as the murderer. Mr. Tutt realized full well that his defense was a +flimsy one, since in all probability Emerson had been fully fifteen +minutes behind the fleeing assassin when he had started for the town +and at best had probably done no more than hold his distance, if +indeed he had succeeded in doing that. Yet, although so far as Mr. +Tutt was aware, this ephemeral syllogism was all that stood between +his client and the electric chair, nevertheless, and had he only known +it,—according to Emerson’s full story related privately to +Mason,—Skinny had an iron-clad, copper-fastened, dyed-in-the-wool, +unimpeachable and perfect alibi. It was this full story—the “whole +truth”—that Mason now set himself to conceal in the hope that it +would never be known, for as long as the exact time of the murder +could be left vague and undetermined the alibi would be valueless. So +the shifty Squire carefully omitted to ask the lumberman any question +as to the hour except when it was that he had started in to cut his +pea sticks,—which had been two o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +“There had been a smart shower,” said he, “and some thunder—but the +sun had come out real bright agin. I was about three hundred yards +from where the hermit lived—most through with my job—I’d cut a +hundred sticks and I only wanted a hundred and a half—when I heard a +holler from the direction of the house follered by a shot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.—Go on!” directed Squire Mason ominously. +</p> + +<p> +“I run over there as fast as I could. The door was open. I called out +but got no answer, so I went in. The shanty was hot—for the winders +were closed—and it was sort o’ dim in there—and then I hearn a kind +of cluckin’ sound and I see the hermit lyin’ on the floor—he had +toppled over on his back—and the blood was frothin’ out of his mouth +where he was tryin’ to breathe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed,” said the court. “What else did you observe?” +</p> + +<p> +“I stepped over to where he was lyin’ an’ lifted up his head so’s to +look in his face. I remember there was a great big moth flappin’ like +mad inside the window. It skeart me. Then all of a sudden the hermit +stopped breathin’—the moth flew out the door—and I knew he was +dead—murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you object to the word ‘murdered,’ Mr. Tutt?” inquired the court. +</p> + +<p> +“No, your Honor,” replied the old lawyer. “The poor man was +undoubtedly murdered.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, go on,” continued Judge Tompkins to the witness. +</p> + +<p> +“I threw somethin’ over him and looked ’round for a second or two. +There was a busted bean pot lyin’ under the table and I noticed the +hermit had a gold piece clutched in his fist. The rest of the shanty +looked same as usual.—So I ran right out and listened. I could hear +some one crashing through the brush and I followed after towards the +town, but he beat me to it.” +</p> + +<p> +The court room was as still as the hermit’s death chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see any footprints in the garden patch?” asked Squire Mason. +</p> + +<p> +“I did. Sure. An’ I showed ’em both to the sheriff and to Mr. +Pennypacker, the photographer.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you went back there with Sheriff Higgins and Mr. Pennypacker was +everything in and around the shanty the same as when you were there +the first time?” asked Mason. +</p> + +<p> +“Just the same. No one else had been there,” declared Emerson. +</p> + +<p> +“That is all!” announced the prosecutor in a tone of triumph. “You may +cross-examine, Mr. Tutt.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt did not immediately arise to his feet. It was of course +obvious to him that Mason had refrained from eliciting the time of the +murder from Emerson. Time and place were the inevitable bases of all +testimony. Why had he done so? It was conceivable that the witness was +entirely at sea about the time and hence that his evidence regarding +it, if given, would have been of no value. That was more than +probable, in which case it was natural enough that the district +attorney should not have gone into the matter at all. But there was +also—Mr. Tutt recognized—another possibility, so remote as to be +almost theoretical,—that Emerson did know the time at which he +entered the shanty and that Mason was deliberately holding it back. If +this were so he was doing it for a reason and what reason could there +be? +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt was face to face with one of the greatest dilemmas of his +life: if Emerson knew the time of the shot and it was such as to give +Skinny time to have fired it and reach the village by four o’clock, +that fact, if he brought it out, would be of inestimable damage to +him,—but, if by any chance—oh, could it be!—that the shot was fired +so close to four as to make it unlikely or impossible that Skinny +could have fired it and yet arrive at Colson’s at four, the answer +might acquit him! “The Lady or the Tiger”! Which was it? Mr. Tutt +thought hard. Was Mason concealing the time, or was he luring his +adversary into a trap? For, if Mr. Tutt himself adduced the fact that +the murder occurred, say, at a quarter to four his client would be +doubly damned. A bit of supposedly unexpected evidence elicited on +cross-examination by a party to whom it is harmful is invariably more +damaging than if brought out by the party who has called the witness +in the first place. On the one hand it was a great temptation for Mr. +Tutt to waive the witness from the stand with a nonchalant, “No +questions!” as if his testimony contained nothing damaging to the +defense; but on the other it might be his last chance of proving even +the approximate time of the murder. Sly old dog that he was, he +resolved to try to steal whatever advantage might lie in both courses. +So, without getting up, he waved his hand towards the window and +remarked in the most casual manner possible: +</p> + +<p> +“No questions.—Thank you, Mr. Emerson, for your very vivid word +picture!” And he busied himself with his papers. +</p> + +<p> +Then, as the witness was about to descend from the platform, he looked +up hastily and said in a tone of apology: +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon. I forget whether you happened to mention the hour +at which you visited the shanty the first time.” +</p> + +<p> +Emerson smiled. Without taking his seat he answered: +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t mention it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What time was it?” +</p> + +<p> +Emerson turned to the jury who were leaning forward expectantly. +</p> + +<p> +“When I lifted the hermit’s head in my hand I was lookin’ straight +into the face of that old clock of his that stands between the two +windows in the back—and it was just four o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” remarked Mr. Tutt quietly, as if the reply held no +particular significance for his client, whom in fact it might well +save. “No other questions.” +</p> + +<p> +The judge glanced at Squire Mason. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you anything further, Mr. District Attorney?” +</p> + +<p> +“No—I have no further questions,” replied the prosecutor, also as if +the matter was not of the slightest moment. +</p> + +<p> +“May I go, your honor?” asked Emerson. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,—if these gentlemen are through with you,” smiled Judge +Tompkins. +</p> + +<p> +As neither of the gentlemen wished or dared to ask him the fraction of +another question Mr. Emerson forthwith was given leave to depart upon +his business,—which unbeknown to any of them was to take a job as +foreman in a steam lumber mill seventy miles distant, the train for +which bore him thither later that afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt settled back in his chair, a heavenly calm descending upon +his previously agonized spirit. Skinny had been snatched from the very +jaws of death. There was nothing to worry about any longer. Skinny the +Tramp couldn’t have been in two places at once, no matter how strong +the evidence against him might be. +</p> + +<p> +Evidently the Squire was a good bluffer. It required real nerve to be +as placid as all that in the face of such a body blow! The prosecutor +took a sip of water, pushed a mass of papers away from him, leaned +over and picked up a large diagram of the clearing, including the +hermit’s shanty drawn to scale. It had been artistically done and +contained no objectionable matter, the location of the body not having +been marked at all, and the various pieces of furniture appearing only +in outline. Next to the cot-bed the most conspicuous object in the +place had plainly been the hermit’s clock. +</p> + +<p> +Squire Mason handed the diagram to Mr. Tutt with stately bucolic +courtesy. +</p> + +<p> +“Any objection to my puttin’ in this here diagram?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt smiled as he glanced over it. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes!</i>” he replied. Then observing the look +of bewilderment upon the prosecutor’s face, he added: “None whatever! +It can be admitted so far as I am concerned, subject, of course, to +correction. Who made it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Gookin,” replied Mason. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I heartily congratulate Miss Gookin on her artistic work!” said +Mr. Tutt, thus making sure of at least one vote, if ever he should run +for governor, from “Toggery Bill,” her father, and gaining high favor +with Mr. Soper, juror Number Eight, who was seeking the lady’s hand in +marriage. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, then—mark it!” said Hezekiah to the stenographer. “Now, +sheriff! Take the stand!” +</p> + +<p> +Just as the prosecution of Skinny the Tramp marked the peak of Squire +Mason’s professional career, so his appearance as a witness at that +same trial was the greatest event in the official experience of +Sheriff Higgins. Being a quiet, home-loving citizen, the Supreme +Exalted Ruler of the Sacred Camels had experienced few of the joys of +publicity and now to be able to ascend the rostrum and, with a real +reporter sent over special from Utiky taking down every word that fell +from his lips, to recount the thrilling narrative of how he had +captured Skinny the Tramp and later secured the evidence against him +through a personal visit to the scene of the homicide while the body +was still warm, to sit elevated high in the court room upon a level +with the judge himself, to feel in his own opinion that he was the +most important figure among the <i>dramatis personæ</i>, and that the eyes +and ears of all waited upon him—ah! who that has not had a similar +experience can have the faintest realization of its ecstasy? +</p> + +<p> +Now Sheriff Higgins had looked forward to his coming testimony with +great satisfaction, not only for the reasons just stated, but also +because it would give him an opportunity to indicate publicly what +small potatoes he thought Squire Mason to be. He was in the delightful +position of being able at one and the same time to gratify his vanity, +to do his full duty to the state and also to savor the full venom of +his hatred for an ancient enemy. He proposed to do each in turn and to +do it thoroughly and well, but he was in a somewhat delicate and +paradoxical situation. He had collected the evidence against Skinny, +and was one of the chief witnesses against him; he acknowledged that +logically there was no escape from the conclusion that the tramp was +the guilty party; he was the mainstay of the law in that county and it +was up to him to see that the murderer was convicted; and yet—he +didn’t believe Skinny had done it! No, sir! And the reason was simply +that the tramp wasn’t that kind of a feller, and he and half a dozen +other Sacred Camels were ready—if asked—to say so. +</p> + +<p> +But first, approaching his various phases in order, let us take up the +sheriff’s innocent gratification of his own vanity—in which he +differed not a whit from ninety-nine out of every hundred witnesses. +It is a noticeable thing that once a man finds himself the cynosure of +public attention he feels obliged to picture himself as of heroic +mould. Has any witness since the Creation—we wonder—in any court of +law ever admitted—unless his questioner had the goods on him and he +knew it—that he was in any degree stupid, unscrupulous, negligent, +timid or even slightly impolite or uncultivated? We have never met +one. It cannot be mere boastfulness or vainglory that leads each man, +who kisses the Book and gazes upon the carping features of the jury, +to try and make them believe him the highest type of citizen. He isn’t +and he knows it; and he knows they know he knows it, and yet he will +thrust forth his chest and assume for the nonce to possess every +virtue in the calendar while modestly protesting that there may be +others as good or as brave as he. +</p> + +<p> +We have heard otherwise apparently sensible men confess under oath +without trace of embarrassment, one that he was regarded as the +handsomest man in Rochester, N.Y., another that he was the greatest +mechanical genius in the world, another that he would back his own +opinion on any given subject against that of any ten men and stick to +it even if proven mathematically to be mistaken, another that he had +never told a lie or been guilty of any sort of misleading statement in +his life, another that he had never consciously done anything wrong, +another that he had read every book worth reading in the English +language—and answered categorically “Yes” to some six hundred +separate works such as Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy and Gibbon’s +Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire—and one, who may have been +telling the truth, that he had never kissed, or been kissed by, a +member of the opposite sex. +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff wasn’t as bad as any of these, but now that it was all +over, his recollection as to his own conduct and demeanor differed +radically from that of his associates at the time. He honestly thought +that he had done things which in fact had been done by others. Anyhow, +someone had done them, so what difference did it make? While, +therefore, the substance of his testimony—as with most witnesses—was +based on fact, the details bore no resemblance whatever to the truth. +As the reader knows, the barber had received Skinny’s surrender, yet +the sheriff unhesitatingly swore that he had reduced him into +possession; the proprietor of the Mohawk Palace Theatre had searched +the tramp and found the twenty five-dollar gold pieces, yet Higgins +managed to give the impression that it was he, and not Mr. Perkins, +who had discovered them; as the reader knows, he had been scared out +of his seven senses when he visited the hermit’s shanty and had +refused to touch the body, and he now was obviously under the firm +impression that he had walked boldly in, uncovered the corpse, +searched the clothes upon it, inventoried the furniture and in general +conducted himself with the brilliant audacity of one of Dumas’ heroes +and the astuteness of Mr. Sherlock Holmes; which, to tell the truth +nobody would have minded in the slightest degree, least of all Mr. +Tutt, for the slab-sided old sheriff was a good old scout, a deacon in +the Baptist congregation, as well as the leading Sacred Camel in that +part of the Mohawk—had it not been for what Squire Mason regarded as +his deliberate act of treachery in giving Skinny a good character—all +of which we will set down in due course. By the time he was called to +the stand Mose Higgins was almost of the same mind as the Sheriff of +Nottingham in the opera of Robin Hood when he said +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-d-quote">“You may search aye,</span><br> +<span class="i0">But you never will descry</span><br> +<span class="i0">Such a wonderful man as I!</span><br> +<span class="i0">. . . . .</span><br> +<span class="i0">I never yet made one mistake!</span><br> +<span class="i0">I’d like to—for variety’s sake!”</span><br> +<span class="i0">. . . . .</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +So in full glory he described first the pursuit and final capture of +Skinny and how he had found his pockets full of the hermit’s gold—the +pieces all dated 1910—shining, lustrous, five-dollar pieces—of +exactly the right sort to make the mouth of any tramp water; then how +the prisoner had positively declined to say a word in defense or +extenuation; and then, warming to his subject, he gave a vivid picture +of his visit to the shanty just at nightfall and how he had discovered +the hermit lying in his gore, with another—the last!—gold piece +clutched tight in his left hand—also dated 1910, Skinny’s pipe upon +the table, and the marks of fresh footprints in the potato patch. It +was all clear as a bell and he figured largely in his own account as +rather a dashing, nervy sort of sleuth who knew just what to do and +had done it. +</p> + +<p> +Squire Mason, well satisfied, turned him over to Mr. Tutt with a +gesture of “now-go-ahead-and-do-your-damnedest!” Now, Mr. Tutt’s +damnedest in this particular instance was not spectacular, but he +nevertheless elicited more than one fact that played an important part +in the denouement of the trial. He knew that the sheriff was friendly +and also was a Sacred Camel, but he also knew that he was an honest +public officer even if he gave himself a little the best end of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Sheriff Higgins,” said he, approaching obliquely what might be called +the “time element” in the case. “What hour was it when you and your +posse left Pottsville for the scene of the crime?” +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff pondered. +</p> + +<p> +“About quarter past five,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “And how long did it take you to reach Turkey Hollow?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “I should say about half an hour—carryin’ the camera and all.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Was it light when you reached the shanty?” +</p> + +<p> +Now the darker the sheriff made it the greater impression of bravery +would he create upon his auditors. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “It was gettin’ along towards six—and there wasn’t much light. +Inside, it was pretty dark!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Was there a clock in the shanty?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Did you notice the time?” +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“To tell ye the truth,” he confessed with apparent frankness, +“although I’m positive sure I looked at it—must have!—I didn’t get +no real idee o’ the time.” +</p> + +<p> +That helped Mr. Tutt not a whit, so he veered off on another tack. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Rather a gristly scene, wasn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +One would have said that Sheriff Higgins thought the examination of +dead bodies a pleasant form of light entertainment. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “Not partic’ly,” he answered casually. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Did you search the body?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “Oh, yes—natur’ly.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “What did you find?” +</p> + +<p> +Sheriff Higgins removed with deliberation from his vest pocket a cheap +memorandum book—evidently a recent acquisition—with cardboard +covers, the edges dyed a bright blue. On the outside in letters of +gigantic script appeared the words “Don’t Forget!” +</p> + +<p> +Running his thumb through the leaves, he opened it at the right place, +adjusted his spectacles, cleared his throat and read in an aggressive, +declamatory tone: +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “One fish hook—one copper cent—one piece of string—two loose +buttons—nine cloves—” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “What was that?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “Cloves—nine cloves——” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Go on!” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “—one tobacco pouch—five matches—one pipe—one jackknife—one +piece of gum—one piece wax—one nail—one bottle of whiskey—one +smaller bottle of whiskey—one cork, extra—a handkerchief—eleven +large pins—one pencil end——” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Anything else?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “And one hundred dollars in bills.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Is that all?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “Absolutely.” +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff closed his book and returned it to his pocket. Clearly +there was nothing in this catalogue to shed any light on the nature of +the murder, except possibly to indicate that the assassin had been in +too much of a hurry to search his victim, which was not a fact +favorable to the defense. So Mr. Tutt moved on to the potato patch. +</p> + +<p> +Here, as all admitted, the sheriff had done some slick work. He had +carefully measured the footprints and then protected them from +disturbance with a low wire fence. The earth had been soft and squashy +and each one had been as distinct as a fossil in the museum. He had +brought along one of Skinny’s boots and it fitted into each print +exactly! Even the broken down heel was perfectly reproduced. There was +nothing to be done about it so Mr. Tutt handed the sheriff a few large +bouquets to put him in a good humor. Then he asked: +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Known my client for some time, have you, sheriff?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “Since he was a boy.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Does he come from around here?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “Yes. He was born over Holbrook way.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Parents living?” +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “No—he’s an orphan.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Do you know his reputation for honesty, peace and quiet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” interjected Squire Mason. “You’re makin’ the sheriff your +own witness.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m perfectly well aware of that!” replied Mr. Tutt calmly. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “I do.” +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff looked round the room slowly as if to call those present +to corroborate him. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “There ain’t a quieter, honester, more law-abidin’ citizen in +this here county than Skinny Hawkins,” said he with conviction. +</p> + +<p> +<i>Q.</i> “Ever know him to do an unkind act?” +</p> + +<p> +“I object!” shouted the Squire, springing to his feet. “That ain’t +proper and you know it.” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Tompkins smiled indulgently. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll give Mr. Tutt some latitude. It’s a serious case!” said he. +</p> + +<p> +<i>A.</i> “No,” answered the sheriff. “I never did. He’s got a real kind +heart. He wouldn’t kill a grasshopper!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you kindly, sheriff!” he remarked. “That is all!” +</p> + +<p> +Now Squire Mason had heard this testimony with rising indignation. +Moreover, his rejection as an Abyssinian Brother by the Order of the +Sacred Camels of King Menelik rankled in his bosom. And he did not +propose to let the sheriff get away with anything like that. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on a minute!” he cried, as Mr. Higgins prepared to descend from +the chair. “You’re sheriff of this county, ain’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I be!” retorted the witness. “That is, I was a minute ago an’ if +nothin’ ain’t happened since——” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s your business to get th’ evidence agin’ criminals and convict +’em, ain’t it?” snapped the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“If I think they’re guilty,” answered the sheriff. +</p> + +<p> +“None of your business to try to help ’em, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t tried to help nobody!” shot back the sheriff indignantly. +“I’ve done my duty in this case better’n most!” +</p> + +<p> +“Brave feller, ain’t ye?” said the Squire with scorn. +</p> + +<p> +“Brave as you be, I guess!” countered his adversary. +</p> + +<p> +The judge, Mr. Tutt and the jury were all enjoying the sideshow. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t it a fact you was so skeart when you went to the shanty you ran +out and was sick? An’ wouldn’t go back?” +</p> + +<p> +Sheriff Higgins stood up and waved his long arms, almost speechless +with rage. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a gol-durned lie!” he shouted. “Who told ye that, I’d like to +know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” cautioned his honor. “The personal courage of +this officer is not an issue. Call your next witness, Mr. District +Attorney.” +</p> + +<p> +It was true that Mr. Tutt had not scored heavily since he had failed +in his most important attempt—that is, to corroborate through the +sheriff’s testimony the general accuracy of the hermit’s timepiece, +but he had at least secured an official recommendation for Skinny’s +character and he had got Squire Mason quarreling with one of his +principal witnesses. That was a good deal. Incidentally, although it +got by him at the moment, he had gained something else, the importance +of which did not appear until later. Still, nothing made any real +difference, one way or another, so long as he had a perfect alibi for +Skinny safely tucked away in his sleeve. In the feeling of confidence +engendered by this knowledge—and in the delight of having set the +prosecutor at logger heads with the sheriff—Mr. Tutt’s spirits rose +to such a degree that he became positively playful—as light-hearted +as a colt loosed in a clover-field. Alas that legal pride is so often +doomed to fall! That the happiness of one moment in the court room is +so often the despair of the next! Alas for the colt who feels his +oats—for he is sure to kick himself into some sort of a tangle! +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt pleased as Punch with the case, chatted gaily with the jury +and assured Skinny that he would have him out and walking the street +in forty-eight hours—a free man. So elated was he that he gave only +perfunctory attention to the prosecution’s other witnesses, until the +boots worn by the defendant when arrested were put in evidence and Mr. +Pennypacker was called to identify his photographic enlargement of the +footprints in the hermit’s vegetable patch. No, there wasn’t the +shadow of a doubt about it—they were Skinny’s footprints! Yet, +however interesting that fact might seem to the jury, Mr. Tutt rested +secure in the knowledge that his client must have been far away from +there when the hermit had been killed. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pennypacker seemed a pleasant sort of person and Mr. Tutt having +nothing better to do proceeded to engage him in agreeable +conversation. What time had he taken the photographs? About six +o’clock. Rather dark? Not particularly, but of course he had had to +make a time exposure. How long? Thirty seconds. How many exposures did +he make? Four. How many plates had he brought with him? A dozen. Did +he use the other plates for anything? +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pennypacker nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I photographed the interior of the shanty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Tutt eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +No photograph could harm him. Nothing could hurt him now! Why had not +Mason put them in evidence? +</p> + +<p> +“Have you the prints with you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pennypacker affably leaned over and produced them from a package +beside him, and Mr. Tutt saw a chance for one of those grand-stand +plays so dear to the heart of the trial lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +“I offer them in evidence,” said he with a glance at the jury. “I +don’t know why Squire Mason didn’t put them in, but—whatever his +reasons may have been—<i>I’ll</i> put them in—and we’ll see what we can +find! Now”—as the stenographer finished marking the prints—“you say +you took these pictures within two hours of the murder, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Mr. Pennypacker. “But I had to give them a ten minute +exposure!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt picked one of them up and glanced at it. Then he suddenly +turned faint. What an everlasting fool he had been! With the utmost +difficulty he controlled himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much, Mr. Pennypacker!” he said with a forced smile. +“Thank you very much! They are most excellent and artistic +photographs! That is all!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt sank back and gazed dreamily out of the court room window +through which he could see the weather-cock on the Baptist steeple. +Just as he looked at it some draught of air caused it to veer +suddenly. He had a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. Those +photographs held no interest for him—far from it! Curse them and the +man who had taken them! +</p> + +<p> +For the photographs—although taken at the hour of six—all showed the +hands of the clock as still pointing to four! Either it had been out +of order or had run down before the homicide and hence as evidence of +the hour of the murder was no value whatsoever. Mr. Tutt by putting +the photographs in evidence had destroyed the alibi that his original +question had so unexpectedly established! +</p> + +<p> +One hope only remained. The jury had not yet seen the photographs. Was +it humanly possible that Squire Mason had not noticed the hands of the +clock at all? +</p> + +<p> +Just then Judge Tompkins said pleasantly: +</p> + +<p> +“I think, gentlemen, that this is a good time to adjourn court until +to-morrow morning.” +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch3"> +III +</h3> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-d-quote">“So like an arrow swift he flew</span><br> +<span class="i1">Shot by an archer strong,</span><br> +<span class="i0">So did he fly—which brings me to</span><br> +<span class="i1">The middle of my song!”</span><br> +<span class="i8">—John Gilpin.</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Somewhere</span> there is a story of terror—done after the manner of Edgar +Allan Poe—in which the hero during a deadly plague from which none +who are stricken ever survive discovers to his horror that in the +night the fatal mark has appeared under his arm, and that he is among +the doomed. His terror and despair are shared by the reader, as well +as his ecstatic relief and joy when he awakes to find that he has been +dreaming. Then for the mere idle satisfaction of disabusing himself of +what are no longer his fears he looks beneath his arm only to find +that the deadly mark is in fact there! The agony of this discovery is +doubly intensified by reason of its following immediately upon a state +of rapturous exaltation. +</p> + +<p> +Highly similar to those of the Spanish victim in the tale in question +were those of Mr. Tutt in discovering that just as, by violating the +canons of experience, he had asked a question by virtue of which he +had created an unforeseen but conclusive alibi for his client, he had +now, by asking another, rendered that alibi of no avail. Never in his +experience had he suffered so staggering a blow. Why had he asked that +fatal question? What imp of Hades had whispered to him that there was +something in those photographs which Mason desired to conceal? It had +been all a trick, a clever “springe to catch a woodcock,” a nicely +baited trap into which he had innocently hopped like an unsuspecting +rabbit. In setting it Mason had not taken a single chance, for, if Mr. +Tutt had not seen fit to offer the photograph in evidence when he did, +the prosecutor, having waited until the conclusion of the defendant’s +case and until Mr. Tutt had attempted to establish his alibi by +proving that Skinny was in Pottsville at four o’clock, would have then +handed them to the jury and shown that in effect the clock by which +Emerson had fixed the hour of the shooting as likewise four was in +effect not a clock at all—and knocked that alibi higher than the +Baptist weathercock. What a fool! What a confounded, inexcusable ass, +idiot and nincompoop he had been! Poor old Mr. Tutt’s theories were +all annihilated at once. This wretched murder case was putting every +principle of tactics upon the everlasting blink. You ought to +cross-examine; you ought not to cross-examine; you ought not to leave +well enough alone; you ought to leave well enough alone. The only +guide left in the legal firmament was that fixed but not particularly +useful pole star of “You never can tell!” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Tompkins arose, bowed and left the bench. Sheriff Higgins let +down the bar of the jury box and the twelve good and true men gathered +up their newspapers and hats and filed after him like a straggling +flock of sheep, down the steps and across Main Street to the Phoenix +House, their temporary place of sojourn while the guests of the People +of the State of New York. Many were the envious glances cast upon +their disappearing backs as the less fortunate agriculturalists +prepared to return to their distant farm houses. Gol ding it! Those +cusses not only had reserved seats for the whole blame show but were +gettin’ paid three dollars a day into the bargain! Gosh darn it all! +Some fellers did hev the luck! Hist back thar, Dobbin, and get yer +tail off’n that shaft! +</p> + +<p> +Then the sheriff returned for Skinny and led him away to the +calaboose, and the crowd which had lingered to observe and comment +upon the defendant’s appearance and demeanor slowly dispersed, leaving +Mr. Tutt alone in the otherwise empty courtroom. Old enough before, he +had aged considerably during the last three minutes of the trial. Mr. +Tutt was suffering from fear—abject fear—of what now seemed the +inevitable fate of his client. In the face of the evidence against him +his mere denial that he had not killed the hermit would go for +nothing. His salvation seemed impossible save through the +rehabilitation of his alibi and, as only one person had heard the +shot, it was only through that person that the time of the homicide +could be established. It now appeared that that same witness who had +testified to Mr. Tutt’s indescribable joy that the hour was four +o’clock, had been looking at the motionless face of a piece of dead +mechanism that might not have been moving for months! Bitterly he +reproached himself that he had not combed Emerson’s recollection until +no item remained undisclosed, for it was possible—just +conceivable—that the witness might have had some other data upon +which to predicate the hour of the crime. If so, it must of necessity +be corroborative of the clock, since Emerson had expressed himself +positively as to the hour. Thus, as Mr. Tutt now perceived—but which +had escaped him at the moment in his excitement over establishing his +alibi—he would have had nothing to lose by pursuing his interrogation +of the witness indefinitely, since he was safe as to the element of +time, and there was nothing else in his testimony which under +cross-examination could be made any more damaging to the defendant +than it already was. Was it too late to recall Emerson to the stand in +the desperate hope that in some other way he might still substantiate +the hour as four o’clock? Perhaps he had looked at his watch. Perhaps +there had been another clock in the shanty. “You never could tell!” At +any rate he must be found and the court’s permission obtained to +recall him to the stand and re-examine him. But it was at best a long, +long chance—a hundred—a thousand!—to-one shot. +</p> + +<p> +It was already a quarter after five and Sam Bellows, the stout under +sheriff, was jingling his keys in the hallway as a polite intimation +to the solitary occupant of the court room that it was time to lock +up. Mr. Tutt pushed his books and papers into a muddled heap and put +on his stovepipe hat. He did not need to study his notes. There was +only one point in the case—and it had got by him! There was only one +hope—no more tangible than the half-suspected presence of a star in +the obscurity of a foggy night. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, Mr. Tutt!” said Sam amiably as the lawyer walked out with +leaden steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, Mr. Bellows!” responded the old man. Then he paused. “By +the way,” he asked. “Do you know where the witness Charles Emerson +lives?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bellows leaned against the wall and scratched his head politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he opined, “bein’ he ain’t a married man, he ain’t got no +reg’lar place of residence. Most allus—when it’s goin’—he sleeps +over to the steam sawmill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’d like very much to see him. Do you know where he may be +found?” +</p> + +<p> +Sam tilted his hat to the back of his thatched skull and then by an +automatic return movement pushed it forward again over his forehead. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone!” exclaimed Mr. Tutt, his heart sinking. “Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, after you gentlemen said you didn’t need him no more yisterday +an’ the jedge said he could go, I hearn him say he was goin’ to take a +job up Orient way. So he beat it—took the train up there last +evenin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“How far is it?” demanded Mr. Tutt desperately. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Bout seventy miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there a train to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“It leaves at four o’clock—when it’s on time. It’s gone!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt nervously bit off the end of a stogy. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know the name of the man for whom he went to work?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nope,” answered Sam—adding more hopefully, “but it’s durn desolate +country an’ there ain’t but one lumber mill anywhere near Orient that +I ever hearn tell of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks!” answered Mr. Tutt shortly. “Where can I hire an automobile?” +</p> + +<p> +Sam pondered deeply. Here was a matter of real moment. Pottsville +boasted no renting garage or jitney, but it would be a catastrophe to +permit a piece of real business to go to Somerset Corners by default, +when the sheriff possessed an “official” motor. +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t no public motor, but—I reckon the sheriff might +accommodate ye,” ventured Sam eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Over to the Phoenix House.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind stopping over there and asking him to speak to me?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt tendered a handful of stogies to the deputy who thrust one in +his mouth, lit it with a single hand-sweep from the seat of his +abundant being to his hardly less abundant face; waddled across the +street, and almost immediately returned with Mr. Higgins. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, sheriff,” said the lawyer. “I want to take a little +trip up to Orient Mills this evening—can you run me up there? Of +course I expect to pay you for it.” +</p> + +<p> +Sheriff Higgins ruminated. He had no right to use the county’s flivver +except on official business, but, in a way, assisting a member of the +bar was official business, and nobody except Sam need ever know. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to oblige ye,” he drawled, “but it’s a durn long way—near +seventy-five miles.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not so far!” urged Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ I couldn’t take money!” added the sheriff. “My motor is an +official motor—paid for by the county.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your time is your own, isn’t it?” argued the lawyer. “Suppose I pay +you fifty dollars for your time?” +</p> + +<p> +A hundred tiny beads upon the sheriff’s bulging forehead testified to +his struggle with temptation. +</p> + +<p> +“We-ell,” he hesitated, “if you promise me not to mention it to +anybody I guess I kin arrange to take ye. Suppose you meet me in +fifteen minutes over behind the railroad station?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anywhere you choose,” agreed Mr. Tutt. “We ought to make it by nine +o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“You go out the door first!” cautioned the sheriff. “We might meet +somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +So Mr. Tutt obligingly descended first as requested, followed at a +discreet interval by the two officers of the law. But all this +maneuvering accomplished nothing for the reason that at that very +moment Squire Mason, who had been searching for Higgins, appeared in +the offing of the Phoenix House stable yard and bore swiftly down upon +them. Seeing the two together his worst suspicions were confirmed! +</p> + +<p> +“Hey, sheriff!” he called sharply. “I was lookin’ for you! I want you +to come over to my house this evenin’ and go over the case with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Upon Sheriff Higgins’ cadaverous visage descended an expression of +defiance. +</p> + +<p> +“Huh!” he replied. “I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” demanded the Squire. “Why can’t you? You ain’t +got nuthin’ of importance to do. Sam can guard the jury, can’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sam kin guard the jury,” answered the sheriff. “But I’ve got a +personal engagement.” +</p> + +<p> +“You ain’t got no personal engagement you’ve a right to let interfere +with your official duties,” retorted Mason. “An’ I need you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I ain’t comin’!” replied Mr. Higgins defiantly. “I guess I have +some right to live, myself!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where you goin’?” snapped the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t knows that’s any partic’lar part of your business, is it?” +snorted the sheriff bristling. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt had purposely lingered within earshot. It was conceivable +that in a state of ebullition the doughty Squire might betray some +small but none the less useful trifle of information. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll find out all right!” asserted the district attorney. +</p> + +<p> +That the Squire could, and would, “find out” was so obvious that the +sheriff perceived that, if he wished to acquire the promised fifty +dollars, it might be wise to pursue a policy of conciliation. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Squire,” he said. “There ain’t no sense in gettin’ all het +up about nothin’. Fact is, I’m goin’ to take Mr. Tutt out for a little +run.” +</p> + +<p> +At once Mr. Mason became all suspicion. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that for?” he queried. “Where you goin’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Up Orient way.” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Mason sensed treachery. The sheriff was openly selling him +out—working against him! It had been Higgins—he was positive—who +had kept him out of the Sacred Camels. There was some secret bond +between him and Mr. Tutt—some nefarious, corrupt bargain and sale on +foot between them. He knew that Emerson had gone to Orient, but he had +supposed that he alone was cognizant of his witness’ whereabouts. +Evidently the sheriff had tipped off Tutt and purposed going with him +to find Emerson and persuade him to alter or add to his testimony. +This did not suit his book at all. It would never do to have Tutt +interview Emerson—for a variety of reasons. It must be prevented at +any cost and at all hazards. Also, it would be much better if Mr. +Emerson, having given his testimony with due regard to all the +requirements of the rules of evidence, should not return again. +</p> + +<p> +“What car are you proposin’ to use?” demanded the squire. +</p> + +<p> +“One I allus use,” answered Higgins shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“The one you use belongs to the State of New York!” retorted Mason. +“You ain’t got any right to use it except for official business.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” replied the sheriff, “what’s the matter with this bein’ +official business?” +</p> + +<p> +“What business is it?” roared the Squire. “You dassent tell me and you +know it! If you use that car for joy-ridin’ I’ll complain on ye!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a great feller to talk about joy-ridin’!” shouted the sheriff. +“How about that time you borrered it to take you and your missus up to +Utiky?” +</p> + +<p> +“Utiky!” blustered the prosecutor. “I never took any joy-ride to +Utiky! I only——” +</p> + +<p> +And the altercation devolved into a technical dispute carried on with +much acrimony and no less refinement of argument into the delicate +question of whether, if there be a witness residing in a distant place +who may, if interviewed, possibly prove to have information of value +to the People’s side of a case, the official prosecutor may properly +make use of the official automobile ostensibly for the purpose of +holding official converse with said witness while at the same time +seizing the opportunity <i>en passant</i> of purchasing an outfit of spring +clothes, visiting the county fair and going to the circus. This issue, +having been under discussion for several minutes, was still undecided +when Mr. Tutt unexpectedly made his appearance from the direction of +the hotel with a paper in his hand, which he exhibited to the sheriff. +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Squire, for interrupting your conversation,” he +apologized, “but here is a subpena for the witness Emerson which has +just been issued by the court and endorsed by Judge Tompkins, +requiring his attendance to-morrow morning.” He waited a moment. +“There are no trains this evening and if you expect to serve this +process you will be obliged to make use of a motor. Here is fifty +dollars to cover your mileage and expenses. You may return the balance +to me at your convenience.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Mason, his obstructionary tactics being thus neatly blocked, +could not restrain his impatience. There was only one course for him +to pursue. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” he exploded, “I’ll go with you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much!” answered the sheriff dryly. “I’d be afeard I might be +doin’ somethin’ illegal if I give you a free ride. No, sir! The +county’s ottermobile ain’t goin’ to be used fer no more junkettin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ll have to go alone!” remarked the squire malignantly. +“What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.” +</p> + +<p> +The prosecutor looked triumphantly from Mr. Tutt to the sheriff and +back again. He had ’em there, all right! +</p> + +<p> +“Squire Mason,” said Mr. Tutt, “there is no occasion for our carrying +the warfare of the court room into our personal relations outside. I +have nothing to conceal regarding my desire to recall Mr. Emerson as a +witness. I forgot to ask him an important question; and I am +sufficiently interested in having him found and properly subpenaed to +be anxious to assist in the search. In short, I wish to be informed as +fully as possible about his movements. If you, also, are interested in +the witness and wish to safeguard him from any improper approach on my +part, I suggest that we should both accompany Sheriff Higgins. It is +a fine clear night and I have a pocket full of cigars—of a sort.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s fair!” nodded the sheriff. +</p> + +<p> +As there did not seem any answer to this proposition, and as Mr. Tutt +had spoken in the friendliest possible manner Squire Mason became +somewhat mollified. He realized that his adversary could hire any one +of several motors at Somerset Corners and, since he possessed +Emerson’s address, could, if he chose, get into touch with him +independently of the sheriff. Emerson might be tricked into saying +something or, worse, blurt out the whole truth! Acquiescence in the +lawyer’s invitation would mean an opportunity to keep track of him and +stop any tampering with the witness at the expense of Mr. Tutt +himself, whose scheme—if that was his scheme—to corrupt the sheriff +and inveigle him into camp at a cost of fifty dollars—as a +preliminary step to debauching the chief witness for the +prosecution—would thus be rendered abortive. Squire Mason began to be +rather pleased not only with the situation but with himself. It was, +as Mr. Tutt said, a fine, clear evening and he was going to have a +free ride and plenty of free smokes. Incidentally, in the tail pocket +of his blue broadcloth cutaway was a small flat flask containing an +amber-colored liquid which might prove valuable as neutralizing the +miasmic vapors of the night. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, after a hasty supper at the Phoenix House the three +seated themselves in the official flivver and started merrily off +up-country for Orient Mills. Both prosecutor and sheriff were now +restored to comparative good humor—the former for the reason that he +had Mr. Tutt under his eye and the latter because he had fifty +perfectly good dollars in his pocket and purposed to keep the change +therefrom. Mr. Tutt produced stogies; Mr. Mason produced the flask +aforesaid; Mr. Higgins warmed to reminiscence. The first forty miles, +which they covered quite easily in an hour and a half, was through +level farming country on what is described by the blue book as +“macadam alternating with stretches of dirt in good condition.” But +just as darkness began to gather the highway vanished and gave place +to a narrow rutty road which Mr. Tutt could dimly descry ascending in +tortuous curves indefinitely before them. +</p> + +<p> +“This here is Chick Hill,” announced the sheriff. “Road goes clear +over the shoulder—thirteen hundred feet; but it saves nine miles, an’ +Lizzie is good for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lizzie” was good for it, although at times it was necessary for her +passengers to relieve her difficulties by getting out, and when at +last the crest was attained she was steaming and gurgling like an +oversized hot-water kettle. Night had fallen; but the dusty road +showed dimly white in the starlight. Then the sheriff shut off the +ignition, put her in low gear, and they plunged down the opposite side +of the incline using the engine as a brake. Mr. Tutt, his knees braced +against the back of the seat in front of him, thought they were never +going to reach level. Even at only ten miles an hour a four-mile coast +at night gives an impression of a rapid descent into a bottomless pit. +</p> + +<p> +On and on they ground at first speed, rousing the innocent sleeping +denizens of the forest with buzzing, groans, whirs and clankings, like +a drunken alarm clock set off in a tin boiler. Mr. Tutt’s excellent +teeth were nearly shaken from his gums, and all three passengers found +themselves violently rubbing their noses to counteract the effect of +the vibration. Then after an unusually steep pitch, during which both +prosecutor and lawyer for the defense clung desperately to each other, +the sheriff suddenly released the clutch and Lizzie shot forward in +silent ecstasy for a hundred yards or so, at the end of which burst +she slowly came to a stop and died. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’re down!” ejaculated Sheriff Higgins with evident relief. +“Gosh! Some hill!” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you might officially designate it as a mountain!” replied Mr. +Tutt grimly. “I’ve felt exactly as if I were hanging face down across +a rail fence for the last half hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” mused Squire Mason, “there’s still somethin’ left at the +bottom of the bottle.” +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff instantly struck a match. There was something at the +bottom of the bottle. Then each lit a stogy and Higgins got out in the +blackness to crank the car. They were in a narrow, heavily-timbered +valley between hills, a sort of natural protected pocket, sheltered +from the wind, cut off from the rest of the world. The tall spruces on +either side of the road raked the stars. Save for the puffing of the +sheriff no sound was audible save the rasping, insistent call of a +whip-poor-will. The chill mist from a near-by swamp or unseen pond +nipped their wrists and cheeks. The sheriff grabbed Lizzie’s handle +firmly and gave it an energetic twist, but the engine answered neither +pish nor tush. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s funny!” remarked the sheriff, giving her another. “Userly she +cranks easy! Maybe she’s cold!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t blame her,” shivered the Squire. “Everybody else is!” +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff bent over once more. His gyrations were not visible to the +passengers in the car, but the sounds that he gave forth indicated +extreme violence, followed by utter exhaustion, disgust and profanity. +</p> + +<p> +“Fush-ush-ush!” said Lizzie and then relapsed into a discreet and +mortifying silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll be gol-binged!” panted the sheriff. “I dunno <i>what’s</i> the +matter with her. Acts as if she was sick.” +</p> + +<p> +“She was goin’ all right top of the hill,” encouraged the Squire. +</p> + +<p> +A penetrating odor of gasoline made itself noticeable. In the silence +could be heard the unmistakable sound of something dripping. +</p> + +<p> +“Gee whiz!” gasped the sheriff. “I hope she ain’t sprung a leak!” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the hood and peered vaguely within. +</p> + +<p> +“Hell!” he cried suddenly. “Most burnt my thumb off!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with her?” inquired Mr. Mason. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I’d like you to tell me!” snapped the sheriff. “All I +know is that her innards seem to be all leakin’ away. I’m standin’ +near knee high in a pool of gasoline!” +</p> + +<p> +“Keerful how you light a match,” cautioned the prosecutor. “What are +we goin’ to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know!” retorted Higgins. “I ain’t no mechanic. I can’t stop +it, ’cause I ain’t got no idee where it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you feel for it?” hazarded the squire plaintively. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s bleedin’ to death,” moaned the sheriff. “And no way to stop +her!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a prolonged and painful silence broken only by a determined +trickle from the interior of the hood. +</p> + +<p> +“How far are we from Orient Mills?” asked the Squire. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifteen miles,” replied the sheriff. “I guess you kin walk it in +about five hours.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt choked down a chuckle. One thing was certain, that the trial +could not proceed without them. He had nothing to worry about on that +score, and he had plenty of stogies. The attorney gathered his long +limbs together and shrouded his form as best he could with the horse +blanket which he shared with the squire. The sheriff had apparently +surrendered to the inevitable and was poking about aimlessly by the +roadside. +</p> + +<p> +“What you goin’ to do?” demanded the Squire peevishly. “We can’t sit +here all night!” +</p> + +<p> +“Guess you’ll have to wait until someone comes along who can tell +what’s the matter with her,” answered the sheriff. “I’m near froze!” +</p> + +<p> +So were they all. Presently at a safe distance from the car the +sheriff started a tiny blaze which he gradually encouraged with broken +boughs and a couple of fence rails until he had a respectable fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Feels good, don’t it?” he declared, rubbing his hands. “I reckon we +kin pass a comfortable night here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know anything about an automobile?” snapped the Squire. +“Seems to me with all the runnin’ around you do you ought to be able +to stop a little leak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” suddenly roared the sheriff. “It’s all right for you to +stand there and chatter! Go find it yourself! Nobody ast you to come +along, anyhow. Nobody wanted you! You jest butted in!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I warn’t goin’ to let you put anythin’ over on me!” shouted +Mason. “I can smell a rat when I see one,” he added significantly, +badly mixing his metaphors in his excitement. +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the colloquy was lost upon Mr. Tutt. For in the distance +he had seen the flicker of a lantern, indubitably coming towards them. +His companions engrossed in their altercation being wholly oblivious, +Mr. Tutt climbed out of the car and strode silently down the road. The +movement of the light, which seemingly was actuated by influences even +more obscurely conflicting than those propounded by Prof. Einstein, +was erratic and puzzling. At times it would remain stationary, then +jump up and down, then swing in a half circle, or occasionally dodge +sideways and, for a moment or so, disappear entirely. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mr. Tutt was anxious to reach Orient Mills at the earliest moment +possible and he much preferred to arrive there unencumbered by the +presence of Squire Mason. If this light evidenced the presence of any +vehicle of locomotion he purposed to annex, cabbage, corrall, grab, +secure and appropriate it unto himself. Therefore Mr. Tutt having +placed fifty yards between him and the fire, broke into a run. The +light suddenly became distinct and luminous. Yes, it was a +lantern—swinging between wheels of some sort; and while its gyrations +continued he was now able to distinguish furtive movements. Muffled +expletives reached him—a confusion of miscellaneous +noises—stertorous breathing, strainings, the scuffle of irregular +hoof beats. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, there!” called Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +The lantern stopped, swaying. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” returned a voice. “Hi there, you! Stand still!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt hurried towards the lantern, and as he did so it darted +towards the road side. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out!” came the voice in warning. “This here colt ain’t never +been in harness before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you better not go any further down the road,” advised Mr. Tutt +approaching the driver who sat upon the minute seat of a wire racing +buggy with his legs thrust along the shafts on either side of the +colt. “Because there’s an automobile right in the middle of it.” +</p> + +<p> +The colt, meanwhile, was frantically side-stepping upon its hind legs. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess I’ll have to turn round—if I kin!” answered the driver +maneuvering with the reins. “He pretty near run away with me up there +a piece.” +</p> + +<p> +“Live far from here?” +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Bout half a mile.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to earn twenty dollars?” +</p> + +<p> +“I reckon I do—how?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt stepped as near the colt as seemed consistent with safety. +</p> + +<p> +“You drive me to Orient Mills—and I’ll give you twenty dollars,” said +he. +</p> + +<p> +The owner of the colt had at last induced him momentarily to stand +still. +</p> + +<p> +“I darsn’t risk it,” he replied with obvious regret. “He ain’t never +been hitched before an’ ’twould be too much for him anyways. Stand +still, you!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give you fifty dollars,” continued Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’d you sit?” asked the owner of the colt who was gradually +pulling the animal around. +</p> + +<p> +“On the seat with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Now it is doubtful whether, if Mr. Tutt had realized in advance the +anatomical difficulties presented by his suggestion, he would have +essayed the ride, but he was unfamiliar with racing buggies or their +peculiarities. Accordingly he leaped in where an angel would have +discreetly refused to go. The driver having turned the buggy around +looked over his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Y’ got to hop up mighty spry!” he warned him. “Get yer right upper +leg over the seat and along the shaft and then sort o’ twine yer lower +leg around them wire braces, and grab holt anywheres you can, quick!” +</p> + +<p> +To this day Mr. Tutt is unable to give a coherent explanation either +of how he did as directed or how he stayed put when he got there. He +merely recalls climbing up on the axle of the buggy, grasping the +driver firmly around the waist and sitting sideways on the outer edge +of what seemed like a small frying pan, with one leg along the colt’s +flank and the other twisted between the wire braces beneath the +shafts. He is also firmly convinced that he sat implanted upon the +colt’s tail. But the real miracle is that he retained his stovepipe +hat and triumphantly wore it back to Pottsville. Who shall predicate +what is impossible? +</p> + +<p> +Disregarding the vital consequences to James Hawkins involved, there +was an element of humor in the manner in which Mr. Tutt so blithely +ascended the racing buggy and calmly abandoned the sheriff and the +squire in the very middle of their controversy. He had no intention, +however, of being obliged to share his seat on the frying pan with a +third party. +</p> + +<p> +His equine experiences had been limited; for being of that generation +when the elite of New York belonged to volunteer fire companies and +themselves dragged their diminutive hand pumps and hose wagons through +the streets of the metropolis amid the admiring cheers of the common +herd—when the wild goat browsed undisturbed by the hunter in the +hinterland of Central Park, and bobtailed horse cars at irregular +intervals tinkled from river to river—belonging, we say, to a +generation long since passed away, to wit of Adelina Patti and Jennie +Lind, of Booth and Forrest and Mrs. Vincent, of “Maud S.” and the +“Mary Powell,” of Tweed, Henry Ward Beecher and Barnum’s Trained +Seal—Mr. Tutt, being an urbanite, knew little of the “friend of man” +beyond Shank’s mare. He was ignorant of the character and ways of +colts and of wire buggies, but being a stoic and accustomed to take +things as they came, and the colt and buggy having presented +themselves, he had quite naturally availed himself of them as a matter +of course. +</p> + +<p> +Innocent of the possible consequences, as the gentle Redskin who first +partook of the white men’s beverage, he had accepted the invitation to +share the frying pan without a moment’s hesitation and in that single +instant had passed from the safety of terra firma into the utmost +jeopardy of his life. For he had no sooner entangled his anatomy in +the intricacies of the buggy’s architecture than the colt stood up +straight upon its hind legs and endeavored to paw Cassiopeia from the +zenith. In a twinkling Mr. Tutt found himself with his body horizontal +and his legs pointing skyward like a telescope, at an angle of ninety +degrees. The colt strenuously objected to his presence. Then having +kicked Leda to pieces with his right hoof and trampled upon Orion with +his left the festive animal put his foot through the middle of the +Dipper, swallowed the North Star, turned a half dozen somersaults amid +the constellations, and then by suddenly dropping stiffly to earth +with his four feet close together, shot Mr. Tutt swiftly upward into +the ether adjacent to the Milky Way. For an interminable period of +time the old lawyer hurtled through space, clutching at the nearest +planets and fixed stars, and then, without warning, found himself +projected violently against the rear portions of the colt’s body from +which he rebounded smeared with lather like a billiard ball from a +side cushion, thus receiving a convincing demonstration of Newton’s +Great Law that action and reaction are equal and opposite in +direction. +</p> + +<p> +While profanity would have been inadequate it would have relieved Mr. +Tutt to have indulged in it, but profanity requires breath and he had +none left in his lungs. And then, the colt having decided to abandon +its tests of the Laws of Relativity settled down into a long, leggy +trot that nearly tore Mr. Tutt’s old bones from their sockets, and +plunged forward into the darkness of the abyss. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-d-quote">“But finding soon a smoother road</span><br> +<span class="i1">Beneath his well shod feet,</span><br> +<span class="i0">The snorting beast began to trot</span><br> +<span class="i1">Which gall’d him in his seat!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +Occasionally the colt would take exception to a shadow and shy +violently into the bushes and, at intervals, it would stop short +without warning with the result that Mr. Tutt’s stovepipe, driver, +buggy, lantern, legs and all the rest of the affair would climb up and +around its posterior, the animate and inanimate becoming inextricably +confused. Then, with a jerk, it would leap forward again and they +would all fall backwards in imminent danger of being dashed against +the road behind them. +</p> + +<p> +Had Mr. Tutt needed to “reduce” he would have become a “reductio ad +absurdum” in the first twenty minutes. Up hill and down they rushed, +gyrating in wide semicircles, the rubber stuttering in agony, deluged +in puddles, pounded by ruts and unseen cavities, numbed and cramped by +their frenzied clinging to the rigid iron. +</p> + +<p> +Several times they flashed by lighted farmhouses where Mr. Tutt would +have stopped—if he could. But the colt having decided to go to Orient +Mills would entertain no other suggestion. It had clearly made up its +mind to cover the fifteen miles in record time and take along Mr. Tutt +with it—willy-nilly. +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-d-quote">“Now let us sing, Long Live the King!</span><br> +<span class="i1">And Gilpin, Long live he!</span><br> +<span class="i0">And when he next doth ride abroad,</span><br> +<span class="i1">May I be there to see!”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +As they tore through the night there persisted in Mr. Tutt’s +perfervid, but fast fading, consciousness the vision of a monkey he +had once seen in a circus race clinging in terror to the buckling back +of a leaping greyhound. And like himself it had worn a hat! +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the colt sprang forward with a burst of speed that made their +former rate seem, by comparison, an amble. From behind them came a +faint palpitation; and a shaft of light shot by over their heads. With +a sensation almost akin to relief Mr. Tutt realized that Lizzie had +come to life. +</p> + +<p> +“Hr-rr-k! H-rr-k! H-rr-rr-rr-k!” +</p> + +<p> +The colt hurled itself into the traces resolved to be overtaken by no +mere flivver. In desperation Mr. Tutt grasped the animal’s tail with +both hands firmly near the root, thus reducing the radius of the +circle through which he was gyrating by virtue of centrifugal force. +</p> + +<p> +At times—when the road ascended—Lizzie dropped momentarily behind +and the light of her eyes dimmed; but at others—notably, down +hill—she pressed hard upon their heels to the imminent danger of Mr. +Tutt’s coat tails. Since the colt would neither stop nor allow Lizzie +to pass, they continued thus in company without slackening speed until +the road emerged from the woods into the open and, racing into the +village neck and neck, they came to a stop in front of the post office +at Orient Center. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” remarked the colt’s owner shortly. “Here y’ are!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt, however, was not sure whether he—all of him, at any +rate—was there or not, for from his waist down he had lost all power +of sensation. With the sheriff’s assistance he untied his legs and +ruefully rubbed the small of his back. +</p> + +<p> +“Thought y’d leave us, did ye?” taunted the Squire. +</p> + +<p> +“This gentleman offered me a lift and I accepted his invitation,” +explained the lawyer, as he counted out fifty dollars by the light of +the lantern. “How did you manage to repair the automobile?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she come-to finally,” replied the sheriff blandly. “Y’ see +coastin’ so long down hill thetaway flooded her carburetor and she +kep’ on leakin’ until she was empty and then she jest naturally dried +up and when the Squire gave her a crank she started right up.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt examined his timepiece and discovered to his astonishment +that it was only half after eleven. It seemed to him as if he had been +traveling all night. The owner of the colt having pocketed his money +wheeled the buggy and drove off. +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody’s asleep in this hick town,” announced the sheriff. “Guess +we’d better run over to the mill.” +</p> + +<p> +So they climbed back into the car and drove on to Orient Mills. Here +all was dark but, by pounding on the door of the house nearest the +office, they roused a time-keeper who said that Charlie Emerson had +gone to work the day before; he thought he was lodging at a house +about a quarter of a mile below the dam on a side road—they would +know it by a white birch. Lizzie having somewhat reluctantly consented +to proceed, they passed another half hour trying to find Mr. Emerson’s +place of abode. But every house below the dam proved to have a white +birch in its immediate vicinity and, as he had no other guide, the +sheriff aroused the irate occupants of each in turn until he +eventually discovered the particular tree in question—which on +examination proved to be a beech. It made no difference to Mr. Tutt +what kind of a tree it was. He had accomplished his purpose. He had +found his witness, and he would be in a position to rectify and atone +for any mistake he might have made. All his weariness passed from him, +his bones ached no longer, he heard no more the rushing of the wind +past his ears nor smelt the aroma of his flying steed! His +experience—agonizing as it had been—had been a small price to pay +for the result attained. +</p> + +<p> +The moon had set and the small white house stood silent and ghostly as +a tomb against the blackness of the grove behind it. The sheriff +climbed out once more and descended to the side door, which he kicked +violently. Since this elicited no response he then walked around to +the front and thumped loudly upon the front windows. At length a +candle flickered somewhere and a head emerged from the second story. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello there!” called up the sheriff. “Does Charlie Emerson live +here?” +</p> + +<p> +There followed a moment during which the head appeared to be adjusting +itself to the idea so irrelevantly interjected into it. Then a deep +voice—whether masculine or feminine none of them could +determine—said: +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the feller that come here from Pottsville? If ye do, he was +here yesterday and hired a room but he went away agin and he ain’t +never come back! I ain’t got no idee where he is.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mr. Tutt lifted up his voice and called down the punishment of +Heaven upon the missing witness and upon himself as nothing less than +a poor old fool! Mason could scarce conceal his glee, even in the +darkness. Now, of a surety, Hawkins would go to the electric chair! +Mr. Tutt began to suspect that Mason had surreptitiously telephoned up +to the mills and arranged to have Emerson enticed away. But he +dismissed that possibility; for Mason had not had time for anything +like that. Moreover it would have come pretty close to being a +crime—and, while Mason might be a shyster he certainly would not be +guilty of anything so unprofessional as that! No, it was fate! +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the Squire pleasantly, “what shall we do now?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s two o’clock!” warned the sheriff. “If you want to get back to +breakfast we’d better be gettin’ along. I ain’t goin’ over Chick Hill +agin’ to-night. I’m goin’ round by Humphrey Falls.” +</p> + +<p> +“When is the next train?” asked Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +“One o’clock to-morrow afternoon,” said the sheriff. “I told you this +was a hick town!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt without further discussion opened the door and re-entered the +car. The jig was up. He could do no more. There was only one course to +pursue; leave the subpena to Orient and go on with the trial, meantime +keeping in touch with the manager of the mills. If Emerson returned to +work in the morning he could be subpenaed and delivered upon the one +o’clock train for Pottsville. If he did not turn up Mr. Tutt could +wait until the last minute, lay the whole matter before the court and +appeal to its mercy for a sufficiently long adjournment to enable +Emerson to be found. +</p> + +<p> +Dawn had flushed the hill summits along the Mohawk Valley before a +bucking and recalcitrant Lizzie, driven by an exhausted sheriff and +carrying two cramped figures representing both sides of the bar in the +great case of People vs. Hawkins, slithered into Pottsville. The only +light visible gleamed from the kitchen window of the Phoenix House +where “Ma” Best, like the virtuous woman of Holy Writ, was preparing +breakfast for twelve slumbering jurors and the other transient +participants in the proceeding. Higgins ran Lizzie up to the back +door, climbed down and shook Mr. Tutt by the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi!” he grunted. “Here we be back again!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, your honor!” muttered Mr. Tutt who had been dreaming of special +demurrers and cross-interrogatories. “Exactly so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wake up!” ordered the sheriff. “This ain’t no Pullman!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt slowly came to himself and the pains of Hell got hold upon +him. His hands and feet were without feeling, but otherwise every bone +in his body, every muscle, every tendon shrieked with agony. +Simultaneously the Squire regained a similarly painful consciousness. +</p> + +<p> +“Squire,” remarked Mr. Tutt with a grin, “we have at least comported +ourselves as lawyers, gentlemen and sportsmen.” +</p> + +<p> +“So far as the sport goes,” returned the squire ruefully, “I could ha’ +got ’long without it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Best, startled by this untoward matutinal disturbance, now +appeared in the doorway, the light streaming from behind her, and +giving her somewhat the effect of a stout angel descending in a burst +of glory from a culinary heaven. +</p> + +<p> +“Why Squire Mason!” she exclaimed, “and Mr. Tutt! What on earth are +you two doin’ up at his hour of the mornin’?” +</p> + +<p> +Indeed an angel she seemed to the three spent and weary men. +</p> + +<p> +“Where you been? Don’t you want a cup of coffee?” +</p> + +<p> +“Madam,” replied Mr. Tutt, with a bow of his old stovepipe which swept +the ground, “sweeter words ne’er fell on mortal ear!” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Mason had hurried inside to the more grateful atmosphere +surrounding the kitchen stove. The stars were blinking feebly above +the rival steeples of the local Methodists and Baptists, and the +chimney of the Phoenix House cook-shed glowed with a grayish, +unearthly pink. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Tutt,” whispered the sheriff as he made sure the prosecutor +had closed the door after him. “I did the best I could for ye! I give +ye the best chance I could—but ’twarn’t no use!” +</p> + +<p> +“How’s that?” inquired Mr. Tutt, fully coming to life for the first +time. “What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” explained the officer of the law, “that I know’s well as you +do that there’s suthin’ phony ’bout this feller Emerson. Squire’s +never let me say a word to him—ax him a single question! So to-night +when we got to the top of Chick Hill an’ I seen a light on the road +ahead I made up my mind to give you a chance to go on alone and have +a talk with Emerson all by yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” murmured the astounded lawyer. +</p> + +<p> +“So I pulled out the choke pin and flooded the carburetor and she +stopped sure enough—and Mason would ha’ been there yet, if the durned +cuss hadn’t gone over all by himself when I wasn’t lookin’ and give +her a yank and she started up.” +</p> + +<p> +In the half light of the coming dawn the bony hand of Mr. Tutt sought +the icy one of Sheriff Higgins. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you!” said he. “It’s too bad! I’m afraid this means Hawkins +will be convicted.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m feared it does! If you can’t find Emerson,” returned the sheriff +solemnly. “—an’ I ain’t sure findin’ him will do any good either! But +I kinder have a feelin’ that if you’d ha’ gone after him in +cross-examination you’d ha’ got suthin’ more’n ye did. You <i>got</i> to +find him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you say that?” asked Mr. Tutt curiously, for, so far, his +alibi stood a good one. “Didn’t I prove by him that the murder took +place at four o’clock, when everybody knows that Skinny was in +Pottsville at that hour?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” assented Higgins. “But y’see just between ourselves I happen to +know that the clock he told the time by was stopped. I seen it myself +when I went into the shanty that afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why do you think it would do me any good to find Emerson?” Mr. +Tutt pressed him. +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff hesitated. A couple of long antennæ had shot up from +behind the hills surrounding Turkey Hollow and were gilding the +weather cock on the Baptist steeple. +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Cause,” he replied with conviction, “I believe he knows more’n he’s +been asked. I can’t tell you why I think so, but I do. Mebbe I’m all +wrong. But”—and he put his lips close to the lid of Mr. Tutt’s +stovepipe hat—“I don’t believe—no matter how strong the evidence is +agin’ him—that Skinny ever killed the hermit. He ain’t that kind. An’ +what’s more I believe the Squire knows it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a pretty strong accusation to make against the district +attorney of your county!” exclaimed Mr. Tutt with feigned severity. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” admitted the sheriff. “That don’t make no difference. +He’s a bad actor! But Skinny ain’t no murderer! You kin bet on it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you observed anything in the evidence that tends to support your +opinion?” returned Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” answered the sheriff. “It’s a gol-durned funny thing that +Skinny had exactly one hundred dollars in gold when I arrested him and +the hermit had five new twenty-dollar bills—just the same amount—on +his body.” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” exclaimed Mr. Tutt, “is a coincidence which had entirely +escaped my attention!” +</p> + +<p> +“But your only chance to get him off is by findin’ Emerson!” asserted +Higgins with emphasis. +</p> + +<p> +“But how can I do it?” demanded Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +The sheriff shook his head and spat with precision at a dandelion. +</p> + +<p> +“Durn if I know!” he answered helplessly. “And I’m a camel, at that!” +he added with seeming irrelevance. +</p> + +<p> +Now one of Mr. Tutt’s axioms of conduct was always to act on +impulse—and to trust instinct rather than reason; for he held impulse +to be the voice of conscience and instinct that of inherited +subconscious experience. He was wont to claim that the observation of +the human race concentrated in legends, maxims, saws and proverbs was +just as likely to be correct as the deductions of modern science,—and +that he for one, until the contrary was demonstrated to his +satisfaction, purposed to go on believing that the moon was made of +green cheese. Hence Higgins’ voluntary statement to the effect that he +felt—although he could not tell why—that there was a nigger in the +legal woodpile somewhere and that Emerson was Skinny’s only hope, +induced a new resolution on Mr. Tutt’s part to find him, if it were +humanly possible; and so before court opened he sent to New York a +hurry call for help in the shape of a telegram as follows: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Samuel Tutt, Esq.,</span><br> +<span class="i1">“c/o Tutt & Tutt,</span><br> +<span class="i2">“Attorneys-at-Law,</span><br> +<span class="i3">“61 Broadway, New York.</span> +</p> + +<p> +“Case going badly. Need assistance. Come at once, bring Bonnie Doon +and four detectives—real ones.—Regards. +</p> + +<p class="rt1"> +“<span class="sc">E. Tutt.</span>” +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +In addition to which he pondered long upon the curious fact that a man +who presumably had been murdered for his money should have a hundred +dollars in new bills in his pocket—the precise sum, only in another +form of specie, represented by the loot taken from his alleged slayer. +</p> + + +<h3 id="ch4"> +IV +</h3> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-d-quote">“Is not the winding up of witnesses,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And nicking, more than half the business?</span><br> +<span class="i0">For witnesses, like watches, go</span><br> +<span class="i0">Just as they’re set, too fast or slow;</span><br> +<span class="i0">And where in conscience, they’re strait-lac’d,</span><br> +<span class="i0">’Tis ten to one that side is cast.”</span><br> +<span class="i4">Butler. Hudibras Pt. II. Canto I, 1.51</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span class="sc">Just</span> as the scientist reconstructs the dinosaur from a fragment of +bone, so Ephraim Tutt,—ex pede Herculem, as it were,—by virtue of +the coincidence of the hundred dollars found upon the hermit’s body +and the equivalent amount of gold discovered upon Skinny the Tramp, +built up something which, while not exactly a defense, was at least a +bomb to hurl into his enemy’s camp. Defense, alas! there apparently +was none worth making. The case hung upon the question of whether +Emerson, if found, could shed any additional light upon the hour of +the murder. If he could not be found, then Skinny would go to the +chair. If he did appear—well, there was merely a possibility of +escape—that was all. +</p> + +<p> +Ten o’clock came, once more the gong rang, and the gladiators stumbled +from their respective corners into the legal ring for the final round. +Mr. Tutt, fully cognizant of his desperate plight, nerved himself for +the encounter, and wary, resourceful and suave, although he had lost +all hope of acquitting Skinny on his alibi, exhibited all his +customary confidence. Neither did Squire Mason show any loss of +vitality or aplomb as a result of his trip to Orient Mills the night +before. Indeed, both came into court none the worse for wear and +wholly ready for the fray. +</p> + +<p> +At the very opening of the day’s proceedings, a question of tactics +presented itself. The photographs of the interior of the shanty, while +in evidence, had not as yet been shown to the jury. There wasn’t the +slightest doubt but that, of course, Squire Mason was aware of the +simple mechanical fact that the hermit’s clock had run down. He might +even have it hidden somewhere in an ante-room ready to produce at the +proper psychological moment, to prove that the clock was broken +or—horrible thought!—that it had no works at all! It might be merely +a face! +</p> + +<p> +The foxy old hayseed was probably going to wait until the defense had +called all its witnesses to establish Hawkins’ presence at Colson’s +Grocery at four o’clock, and then blandly trot out the clock itself +for the inspection of the jury, who would thus be enabled to see with +their own eyes that it was entirely useless as evidence. Adopting a +military simile, he was evidently intending to permit his enemy to +capture a redoubt and then press an electric button and blow the +redoubt and the enemy both to atoms. That was obviously what he ought +to do as a matter of tactics, what any skilful prosecutor would do, +what Mr. Tutt would have done in his place. It could therefore be +pretty safely assumed that he would do it. +</p> + +<p> +Now then, would it be better for Mr. Tutt boldly to hand the +photograph to the jury and bring out the fact that the clock was a +stopped clock himself, as if it were so obvious as to be really of no +importance and—trust to luck? Or would it be better—assuming that he +had correctly diagnosed Squire Mason’s intentions—to keep the thing +out of the jury’s hands as long as possible and delay the discovery +until there was no longer any hope of a change in the strategical +situation. The photograph was bound to be a bombshell some time or +other, and the longer it was held back the worse would be the +explosion. Still—! Mr. Tutt had been taught several painful lessons +during the last few days. Why bring out an unfavorable fact before it +was necessary,—simply to reduce its ultimate dramatic effect if +eventually proved? Why explode a mine under one’s own works, so long +as there was the remotest chance—even one in a million—that the +works might be held? After all, you never could tell! +</p> + +<p> +These somewhat confused ratiocinations flashed through Mr. Tutt’s +brain while the roll of the jury was being called, and by the time the +twelfth had answered to his name, the lawyer had made up his mind to +leave what was—for the time being—well enough alone, and to hold +back the photograph as long as possible, to trust in his star and in +his genius for the unexpected and improbable. +</p> + +<p> +The clerk sat down and the sheriff rapped for order. +</p> + +<p> +“Proceed, gentlemen!” directed Judge Tompkins. +</p> + +<p> +“Your honor,” announced Squire Mason with the air of a Stephen A. +Douglas, “I have studied carefully the facts evidenced by The People’s +witnesses and I have decided to close my case. We have proven the +corpus delicti, the presence of the defendant at the scene of the +crime, and the proceeds of it upon his person, thus showing his +motive, and by many other conclusive items of circumstantial evidence, +have established beyond peradventure that he is the murderer. There is +no need to pile Ossa upon Helion. As the saying is, ‘Enough is +enough.’—The People rest!—Let us hear what the defense has to say!” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Mason looked pointedly at the foreman, who nodded slightly as +if in approval of the prosecutor’s sentiments. Quite right. Enough was +enough, and there was more than enough here. Anybody who had any doubt +as to who had killed the hermit must be a blamed fool! All eyes turned +irresistibly to Mr. Tutt, as the old lawyer, accepting the gage of +battle, elevated himself by easy stages ceilingward like a retarded +Jack in the Box. +</p> + +<p> +“I move,” said he, “that your honor direct a verdict of acquittal upon +the ground that there is no evidence sufficient to connect the +defendant with the crime charged. Surely no court would permit a jury +to take away a man’s life on circumstantial evidence of such an +inconclusive character as has been introduced here!” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Tompkins shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall deny your motion, Mr. Tutt. There is, to my mind, abundant +evidence, which if uncontradicted or unexplained, would warrant the +jury in finding a verdict of guilty. Circumstantial evidence is often +the most convincing evidence.” +</p> + +<p> +The old lawyer bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“I most respectfully and with the greatest deference to your honor’s +judgment, except to your honor’s ruling.—Will your honor kindly +instruct the jury that in denying my motion you do not indicate any +personal opinion on your own part as to the defendant’s guilt or +innocence and that your ruling is merely to the effect that there is +enough evidence to put us on our defense?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is so, gentlemen.—Proceed, Mr. Tutt.” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Tompkins settled back in his chair expectantly. It was, so far +as he could now see, a conclusive case of circumstantial evidence and +he was anxious to learn how Mr. Tutt proposed to rebut it. He liked +the old lawyer and watched him almost affectionately as the latter +smilingly glanced over the rows of uplifted faces before him. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mr. Tutt always proceeded upon the theory that though a man might +be down he was never out—at any rate until the verdict was rendered +and the highest court in the state had sustained it; and following his +usual tactics, instead of supinely awaiting his enemy’s attack, he +boldly assumed the offensive and crashed through the hostile +earthworks and entanglements without regard to the fact that he was +leaving himself open to the danger of being cut off in the rear. In +other words, although he knew that the most superficial examination of +the photographs of the shanty’s interior would show that the hermit’s +clock had stopped and that consequently his claim that the murder had +occurred at four o’clock when Skinny was a full mile distant was +baseless, he nevertheless plunged right ahead as if the fact of the +clock having stopped was never going to be discovered at all. +Furthermore, he had the audacity to attack the Squire’s good faith and +general honesty and so pave a way for the possible future suggestion +that maybe the old fox had fixed the clock himself when he had gone to +the hermit’s shanty on the afternoon of the homicide,—for the very +purpose of destroying Skinny’s perfectly good alibi! And he did this +all on the basis of the hundred dollars in bills found in the hermit’s +vest pocket! +</p> + +<p> +First, said he, his client was known to be one of the most gentle and +peaceable of human beings. +</p> + +<p> +Second, he had an absolutely good alibi—as he was far away from +Turkey Hollow at four o’clock when, as the jury already knew, the +murder had taken place. +</p> + +<p> +Third, the prosecution was not brought in good faith since this had +been perfectly well known to Squire Mason from the beginning. This was +the first time the defendant had ever heard the evidence against him. +He had never been given any opportunity whatever to show—as he could +have done with the utmost ease—that he could not possibly be the +person who committed the homicide. Had Squire Mason called before the +Grand Jury the witnesses whom he, Mr. Tutt, was about to call before +them this indictment would never have been found, for they would have +demonstrated with mathematical certainty that at the precise hour this +unfortunate man met his death James Hawkins was a mile away. +</p> + +<p> +At this several members of the jury looked inquiringly towards Squire +Mason, who sniffed contemptuously and glowered at Mr. Tutt with hardly +concealed malevolence. An alibi, pointed out the lawyer, was the best +possible defense, because it was the only defense that proved +conclusively that the defendant must be absolutely innocent—for +nobody could be in two places at the same time. Now, while it might be +true that Hawkins at some time or another had had on a pair of boots +with soles like the prints in the potato patch, (1) it had not been +shown when in fact the prints had been made, whereas (2) he—Mr. +Tutt—would clearly, absolutely, irrefutably, legally, morally and in +every other way, prove, demonstrate, and substantiate that, even if +Hawkins had been near the shanty that afternoon, he must have left +there long enough before the murder to walk from Turkey Hollow to +Pottsville and arrive there at four o’clock. All this Mr. Tutt got off +exultantly, triumphantly, grandiloquently, in his best “whoop-la” +manner, keeping one eye meanwhile upon his antagonist to see how he +would take it. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” he demanded in tones like those of Amfortas in the Chapel Scene +of Parsifal, “why <i>had</i> Squire Mason concealed from the Grand +Jury—and, he might add, from his listeners themselves—this all +important and controlling fact? Was it not the duty of the public +prosecutor to conserve the rights of every accused? Was not, in fact, +a district attorney who deliberately withheld vital information—which +in truth would conclusively establish a prisoner’s innocence—from the +public tribunal of which he was the adviser, and sought to secure the +prisoner’s conviction of crime—knowing him to be blameless—was not +such a man guilty of malfeasance in office—if not of worse things? +Was he not a thief, liar, poltroon, rascal, knave, rogue, scoundrel, +scamp, scalawag, miscreant, villain, crook, cad, shyster, trickster, +renegade, caitiff, rapscallion,—no better than a murderer himself? +Eh, what? Wasn’t he? Let them answer to their own souls!” And as +Squire Mason took all this dose with only a feeble “I protest—I +object!” turning white meanwhile, it dawned upon Mr. Tutt that +possibly what he said was true, and that not only Mason <i>was</i> a scamp, +etc., etc., but that mayhap, after all, the alibi <i>was</i> a good +one,—if only it could be proved to be so! Look at him! Pale, +shrinking, guilt pictured in every feature! +</p> + +<p> +“Bang!” went Judge Tompkins’ gavel. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tutt!” interrupted his honor with severity. “Your language is +highly unbecoming. Your attack upon the prosecutor of this +county—made in your opening without the slightest evidence to support +your accusations—is most improper. At the right time I shall instruct +the jury how to deal with it. You will kindly confine yourself to what +you intend to prove——” +</p> + +<p> +“But I do intend to prove it!” replied Mr. Tutt in a voice trembling +with carefully simulated resentment and indignation, now fully +satisfied not only that he had got Mason’s number but that the alibi +was really good. “I intend to prove it! And that this man Mason is +what I have stigmatized him as being.” +</p> + +<p> +“We are not trying Squire Mason!” retorted his honor hotly. “Any more +than we are trying you. Proceed and confine yourself to the facts +which you expect to establish.” +</p> + +<p> +Now, Mr. Tutt had “felt his way along,” as he would have said, and, +having felt it a certain distance, he had gradually become convinced +that he had inadvertently stumbled upon a great truth. There was +nothing to account for this except whatever significance might be +attached to the squire’s demeanor. As the diplomats say, the situation +had not changed. Nevertheless, into the old lawyer’s veins there oozed +a celestial ichor which put him all aglow,—made him the same old +“battling Tutt” of his police court days fifty years before. It may +have been only a subtle sensitiveness telling him that, if the Squire +were agitated, to that extent at least should he himself be confident, +if the Squire were depressed by so much should he be elated, but it +was probably something deeper than that and akin to the instinct of +the sailor who in the midst of the tempest knows that the storm is +nearly over,—a lightening of the spiritual barometer, a consciousness +of the stealthy approach of dawn when the night seems darkest. +</p> + +<p> +So Mr. Tutt, having charged the Squire with being every kind of a +crook set forth as a synonym for the word rascal in the Century +Dictionary, Roget’s Thesaurus, and all the other handbooks used by +sterile authors, boldly alleged that at the proper time he would show +him fully up, have him disbarred and mayhap cast into prison, and, +having described exactly what he purposed proving and what he knew he +could prove, decided to take a chance and guess a little as to what he +was not by any means so sure of. +</p> + +<p> +He had, he declared, proven by his cross-examination of the witness +Emerson that the murder was committed at exactly four o’clock,—a fact +which Squire Mason had deliberately attempted to conceal from them. +Now why had the wily and unscrupulous prosecutor sought to leave the +hour of the crime in doubt? Obviously because he knew that only by so +doing could he hope to convict the defendant. And then Mr. Tutt—borne +along on the wings of a divine afflatus coming whence he knew not—and +for no reason save that he felt “full of beans”—decided to try to +throw a scare into the district attorney on the chance of his really +having something on his conscience. +</p> + +<p> +If, he threatened, after he. Tutt, should have established to their +satisfaction that Hawkins was in Pottsville at four o’clock the +prosecutor should then in desperation turn about and for the purpose +of invalidating the alibi seek to attack his own witness’ testimony to +the effect that four o’clock was the hour of the murder, then, oh +then! he would a tale unfold that would harrow up their souls, freeze +their adolescent blood, and make their hair stand on end, etc.;—for +Mr. Tutt, emboldened by the angel who at times whispered in his right +ear or the little devil that at others murmured in his left had in the +twinkling of an eye formed the sudden and definite resolution to +accuse Squire Higgins,—if necessary,—of having deliberately stopped +and turned back the hands of the hermit’s clock himself. Of course, if +one stopped to think it over, it was a ridiculous supposition, but Mr. +Tutt knew that no argument is too absurd to advance before a jury with +some hope of success; and this wasn’t even an argument, it was merely +an excuse for an accusation. He might get away with it,—“You never +could tell!” +</p> + +<p> +So Mr. Tutt, having concluded his address with an encomium upon the +virtues of Skinny the Tramp in which he ranked him well up among the +heroes of Plutarch and the Fathers of the Republic, proceeded to +summon to the stand eight worthy inhabitants of Pottsville, each and +every one of whom swore positively and convincingly that on the +afternoon of the murder Skinny had entered the door of Colson’s +grocery store almost exactly at four o’clock, and that their reason +for knowing this to be so was that just as Skinny came in, the +barber,—someone having called attention to the fact that it was time +for him to open up,—had got up and gone out. All were accordingly +able to swear positively to the time and to give a natural and +convincing reason for their ability to do so. +</p> + +<p> +But the calling of these witnesses to the stand gave Squire Mason the +opportunity to drive in on cross-examination all the most damning +facts about Skinny’s appearance and admissions at the time. +</p> + +<p> +Hadn’t the tramp’s hands when he came in, he shouted, been smeared +with blood? Wasn’t he panting, exhausted, excited? Didn’t he try to +run away as soon as the news of the murder reached the town? Didn’t +they find his pockets full of gold pieces—of the same date as the one +in the dead hermit’s hand? Didn’t they recognize his pipe that he had +left on the shanty table? With one accord they all admitted it. +</p> + +<p> +Then Squire Mason went a step further and to everybody’s astonishment +demonstrated that he possessed a very ingenious fancy. For he +developed a romantic theory about a rainbow and a crock of gold which +came nearer to being true than he had any idea of. +</p> + +<p> +They’d all known Skinny the Tramp quite some time, hadn’t they? Ever +since he was a young feller? Sure—you bet! Ever notice anythin’ he +said partic’ly—what he meant was, did Skinny seem to have any +partic’lar idee he was always harpin’ on. Well,—if they didn’t +understand what he was drivin’ at—did Skinny ever say anythin’ in +their hearin’ about rainbows? Oh, sure! He was always—ever sence he +was a boy—talkin’ about tryin’ to find a pot of gold at the foot of a +rainbow.—Sure! He was always talkin’ about that! They hadn’t grasped +the purport of the Squire’s question. Why, there was one time Skinny +had harangued a big crowd on that subject for over half an hour down +to Somerset Corners—night of a lodge meetin’. +</p> + +<p> +Then Squire Mason, lowering his voice to an intense tremulo, would ask +each witness whether he had not noticed on the afternoon of the +murder, just after the shower, a rainbow, one of whose arches rested +in Turkey Hollow! And when any one of them confessed that he had done +so—as did in fact several—the prosecutor looked hard at Skinny—and +the audience sucked in its breath and felt a delicious creepy +sensation around the small of its back. Gosh! The Squire was a shrewd +feller! It took brains to think of an argyment like that. And eye met +eye significantly, and chin whisker wagged at chin whisker with deep +appreciation of the squire’s subtlety. +</p> + +<p> +There was no doubt but that the prosecutor, in spite of his personal +unpopularity, had in the opinion of those in the court room scored a +very neat point. It was all very well for Mr. Tutt by his redirect to +call attention to the absurdity and unlikelihood of a murderer +immediately after the homicide strolling unconcernedly into a grocery +store where he was well known, bearing upon his person all the +evidences of his crime. It might be kind o’ foolish, but then—Skinny +the Tramp was kind o’ foolish. The rainbow theory of motive more than +counterbalanced the obvious recklessness of such a performance. If +Skinny, guided to the scene of his crime by the rainbow, had murdered +the hermit in order to get his gold, it was quite in character that he +should have done afterwards what obviously he had done. You might as +well ask—as Mr. Tutt did ask—why he hadn’t changed his boots? To +which Squire Mason had replied that he hadn’t changed them for the +simple reason that they were all he had,—and if murderers never did +anythin’ but what was wise and prudent you’d never ketch any of ’em. +And at this retort the chin whiskers on the front of the jury wagged +again. No, on the face of it—except for the alibi—things looked very +bad for Skinny the Tramp; and Mr. Tutt knew that his alibi, as it +stood, wasn’t worth a tinker’s damn! Squire Mason had only to hand the +photograph to the jury and call its attention to the fact that the +clock had stopped and all would be over. Yet Mr. Tutt, buoyed up by a +mysterious confidence, which had its basis in the prosecutor’s +uneasiness, bore himself bravely in the face of all his difficulties. +</p> + +<p> +The last witness to the alibi gave his stammering testimony, was +cross-examined, redirected, recrossed and excused. The court room +clock pointed to half after twelve. The crucial moment of the trial +had been reached. Skinny’s alibi stood—swaying to be sure—but still +in the perpendicular. If the case should be closed then and there it +would remain erect and Skinny would doubtless go free, but if the +squire so much as pulled out a single brick, gave it the tiniest push, +by calling the jury’s attention to the fact that the hermit’s clock +was not going at the time of the murder the alibi would fall with a +crash and Skinny would pay with his life. What was the squire going to +do? +</p> + +<p> +“Well, gentlemen,” remarked Judge Tompkins. “What are your desires? +Does the defense rest?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt hesitated. His only possible remaining witness was the +defendant himself. He would, of course, gladly rest his case if the +prosecutor would do the same thing. But Squire Mason gave no +indication of what his intentions in that regard might be. +</p> + +<p> +“If your honor please,” he said, “the usual hour of adjournment is +nearly at hand. May I suggest that we take a recess until one-thirty +in order that I may have time to review the evidence? It is my present +intention to rest my case upon the alibi which has been so clearly +established and to call no further witnesses, but I should like an +hour’s time to consider the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“That seems reasonable,” agreed Judge Tompkins. “Is that satisfactory +to you, Mr. District Attorney?” +</p> + +<p> +The squire half arose from his chair. But before he could make reply +the legal earthquake—of which Mr. Tutt had remained in deadly fear +ever since Mr. Pennypacker had given his testimony—occurred. The +alibi shivered at its top like a tree under the woodsman’s ax, hung +for a moment in trembling equilibrium and crashed to the ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Before we adjourn fer dinner,” remarked the foreman, “I’d like to +take a look at that picter o’ the inside o’ the shanty. I want to see +suthin’.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt turned sick. Forcing his features into a distorted smile he +said with an assumption of impulsive eagerness: +</p> + +<p> +“By all means!—Squire Mason, will you kindly hand Exhibit F to Mr. +Sawyer?” +</p> + +<p> +And then the wily squire, having patiently awaited this exact moment +for three whole days, bent over and lifted a package from beneath his +desk—precisely as Mr. Tutt had anticipated—announcing dramatically: +</p> + +<p> +“I suttinly will. An’ as I regard Exhibit F as the most important +piece of evidence in the case I’ve had fifteen copies made of it,—one +for the judge, one for each juryman, one for the defense and one for +myself. Here they be!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a ruffle of excitement as the jury scrambled for their +photographs—destined in the succeeding years to decorate twelve +parlor walls in as many Mohawk farmhouses—along with the stand of wax +flowers purchased by Aunt Hetty at the Centennial Exhibition in 1876, +the picture of Niagara Falls done in real cork, and the sampler worked +by Grandma Harrington when she was a little girl. Each juror grabbed +his photograph and hunched back in his seat to see what he could see. +Then the foreman remarked with the air of a Sherlock Holmes addressing +his dear Watson: +</p> + +<p> +“Accordin’ to the evidence this here picter was took at six o’clock in +the afternoon and the plate was exposed ten minutes. Now if the clock +in the shanty had been goin’ you’d natcherly expec’ the picter to show +the hour hand pointin’ at six and the minute hand blurred. But both +hands is perfectly distinct and pints to four o’clock. Now it ’pears +to me as if this clock must ha’ stopped—no one knows when,—an’, if +it wasn’t goin’, of course Emerson couldn’t say when it was that he +went into the shanty, and nobody knows when the hermit was kilt. Ain’t +thet so, jedge?” +</p> + +<p> +In the silence which followed this entirely logical and demolishing +argument the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the official +timepiece on the court room wall, until Judge Tompkins said in a +constrained tone and with a glance full of meaning at Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +“The foreman has pointed out a fact of considerable significance. But +of course the matter will be one for discussion in the jury room, if +the case goes to the jury. At all events we will now take the +customary adjournment until half past one o’clock.” +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +The ax had fallen. The jig was up. The defense was doomed. The knell +had sounded for Skinny the Tramp. The poor old alibi was dead, ready +to be carried out and buried. And so, almost was Mr. Tutt, who sat +head in hands alone in the stifling court room, gloomily pondering +upon the manifold changes and chances of this mortal life. He was up +against it. Without Emerson there was no possibility of eliciting any +new fact,—if any there were. Even with Emerson there was only a +conjectural conceivability of so doing. Further examination might or +might not benefit the defense,—the probabilities being decidedly +against it. And Emerson had utterly disappeared; Mr. Tutt’s hourly +telephone messages to Orient Mills only elicited the invariable reply +that he had not returned to work, that nobody had the remotest idea +where he was and that the subpena was there waiting for him all ready +to be served when he turned up, if ever he should. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt’s brain was working as it had rarely worked before. It fairly +seethed as he considered every possibility of escape, no matter how +remote. Should he put Hawkins upon the stand? With the alibi destroyed +a conviction seemed inevitable unless the defendant made some sort of +an explanation of the evidence against him. But Skinny’s was so lame +as to be almost worse than no defense at all, and on cross-examination +the squire would certainly make mince meat of him. +</p> + +<p> +Not that what Skinny had told him might not be true, but nobody would +believe it. It was so extremely simple as to be childish—merely that +he had not done it! No one better than Mr. Tutt himself knew the +immense disadvantage under which even an innocent defendant labors +under cross-examination. It is merely a bull baiting. Ignorant, +stupid, uneducated, the ordinary accused in a criminal case is no +match even for a tyro of a prosecutor. Often he does not even +understand the meanings of the questions put to him. And he must +answer categorically—yes or no. With an unscrupulous district +attorney the prisoner on the witness chair can only deny the +accusations, often unfounded, that are hurled against him one after +the other and which the jury accept as unqualifiedly true. Better for +him the ancient law that as an interested party he could not testify +in his own behalf. Yet to-day a defendant must testify or the jury +will assume him guilty as a matter of course. No, if Skinny took the +stand they would eat him alive. He would be a gone coon. And if he +didn’t take the stand he would be a gone coon. He was a gone coon +either way,—damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. +</p> + +<p> +As to Emerson, no judge in his senses, least of all a wise old bird +like Tompkins, J., was going to adjourn a murder trial—right in the +middle of it—in order to let one side chase up a witness who had been +fully examined and told he could go away—simply because one of the +lawyers thought he’d like to ask him another question. It wasn’t done. +If it were done, trials would never come to an end,—and half the +murderers would get off. +</p> + +<p> +Beside him Skinny Hawkins, his client, was quietly eating his lunch, +consisting of a couple of sandwiches and a big doughnut, sent over +from the Phoenix House by “Ma” Best. It was a safe bet that at that +time to-morrow he would be awaiting the sentence of death. Did he +appreciate the situation? Was he cognizant of his peril? Certainly he +gave no indication of it. Unexpectedly Skinny raised his faded blue +eyes to those of the old lawyer and asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tutt, do you believe anythin’ ever dies?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt pulled himself together sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not!” he replied confidently. “Of course not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s all right—anyway!” said Skinny the Tramp. +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +We have sometimes felt constrained to write an essay, to be entitled +“The Menace of the Probable,” the thesis of which will be that it is +the improbable which usually happens, and explain why. The axiom that +“fact is stranger than fiction” is based upon this truism. All of life +is centered around a struggle to make ourselves and everything about +us exceptions to the general rule. We are all striving for the +unusual, the extraordinary. The probable is the very last thing that +we want; its menace is our Nemesis. So we don’t look for it; our minds +jump to the unlikely. This is the more natural since the “element of +uncertainty” in human affairs makes the improbable quite probable, if +you see what we mean. As Aristotle says: “Better a probable +impossibility than an impossible probability.” Thus the +improbable—and hence the probable—thing with regard to the vanished +Emerson was that he had unexpectedly received word that he had been +made the legatee of a million taels by a Chinese nobleman or something +like that. This was the reason that Mr. Tutt had sent his telegram to +New York—so that his detectives could search all the unlikely places +in Northern New York, Canada, and eventually, Alaska, at twelve +dollars fifty per day and expenses. He knew nothing would come of +it—even if he secured a six months’ adjournment. He had never yet got +anything from a detective agency except a bill. The probabilities were +that some improbability had happened—just as it always did and does +that Emerson had joined a traveling circus,—run away with a +minister’s wife, gone into the movies, or been murdered himself. Under +these circumstances the detectives would detect—perhaps. That was +their line—the probable improbability; not the improbable +probability. To foresee or deduce that requires genius. None of which +paradoxical and specious reasoning of Mr. Tutt’s at all helped the +situation, the gist of which was that Skinny was going to be hung. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt, having reassured the tramp with regard to the future of his +immortal soul, took up his hat and started for the Phoenix House. If +he was going to die he purposed to die game; to die game a man must +live; to live one must eat; hence, the better one ate the better one +died. For this reason he purposed to do execution in the best possible +manner upon one of “Ma” Best’s dollar dinners. That is, he had +intended to do so until turning the corner of the court house he +walked into Mr. Charles Emerson, who was nonchalantly sitting on an +empty lemon crate smoking a cigar. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt punched himself violently in the ribs. Was it possible? +Emerson, seeing the distinguished attorney regarding him with eyes +starting from their sockets, slowly arose. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t move!” shouted Mr. Tutt. “As you were!— +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-s-quote">‘Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damned,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Be thy intents wicked or charitable——’</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p class="noindent"> +don’t you dare to stir until I get the sheriff and clap a subpena on +you! We’ve been hunting all over Somerset County for you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve been here ever since yesterday afternoon,” answered +Emerson blandly. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit still!” warned the lawyer. “Don’t budge! If you do I won’t answer +for the consequences!” +</p> + +<p> +Then, seeing Sheriff Higgins about to enter the drug store, Mr. Tutt +hurried down the street, summoned him forth, and conducting him around +the corner, said: +</p> + +<p> +“Sheriff, Mr. Emerson is with us again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye don’t say now!” ejaculated Higgins. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” asserted Mr. Tutt. “But being a witness for the prosecution it +would not be quite proper for me to talk to him. Do you think it would +be possible for you to casually ascertain from him a little more fully +what he knows about the hour of the murder?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well——” hesitated the sheriff. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re a sacred camel,” urged Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +The fact that Emerson also was a camel and that all camels are +proverbially thirsty animals may have accounted for Squire Mason’s +failure to learn of the lost witness’ reappearance before court +opened. While the worthy Hezekiah during the progress of the trial had +at times felt momentary twinges of apprehension—not, of +conscience—but lest his motives and conduct of the prosecution should +be impugned, he now felt secure. The only person in the world—as he +thought—whose testimony could possibly subject him to censure had +providentially absented himself. It made no difference whether Skinny +took the stand or stayed off it. His denial wouldn’t affect the +strength of the case in any way,—would amount to nothing in view of +the blood on his hands, the marks of his shoes, the pipe, the twenty +five-dollar gold pieces and the fact that Emerson had trailed him +straight to Pottsville within fifteen minutes. +</p> + +<p> +So the Squire felt pretty fine and the dome on the Capitol at Albany +shone brightly and near at hand. He had old Tutt down and out! Even +the New York papers would probably carry a big story about the +conviction. In the background of his crafty mind lurked, as well, the +realization that in case of a conviction there would be no one to +demand the payment of Skinny’s semiannual interest. So the Hon. +Hezekiah strolled back into the court room, picking his teeth with a +good deal of satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +It was jammed as usual,—the audience breathlessly awaiting the last +act of the great free show. There sat the jury looking like mutes at a +funeral, there sat Skinny, his eyes wandering vaguely around the room, +there sat Mr. Tutt, calm, alert, stern, tense. Hezekiah didn’t like +the way he looked. Anyhow, he’d beaten him to a standstill,—a +frazzle! Then the clerk having called the roll of the jury, the judge +directed that the trial proceed and Mr. Tutt arose—with just the +least shade of melodrama. +</p> + +<p> +Through the high windows Skinny the Tramp looked past Mr. Tutt’s tall, +lank figure out into the world of freedom, where the great elms gently +swayed in the sunlight, and the white spire of the Baptist meeting +house tapered towards the blue zenith. He, the helpless victim, had +less knowledge of what was going on than any of them. After all, he +perhaps had less to lose than any of them. Then a gust stronger than +the others bowed the rustling top of the elm nearest the court house +and—slowly the cock upon the steeple veered round and pointed in the +opposite direction! +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +“Mr. William Gookin—please take the witness chair!” said Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +“Toggery Bill,” Pottsville’s merchant prince, arose from one of the +nearer benches and ascended the rostrum with an air of importance. Mr. +Tutt handed him the five twenty-dollar bills found in the hermit’s +waistcoat pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Gookin,” he remarked. “I show you People’s Exhibits numbered +Seventeen to Twenty-one, inclusive, and ask if you can identify them?” +</p> + +<p> +Toggery Bill carefully examined the bills and replied that he could. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got my mark on each one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Show the jury.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gookin pointed out with pride the words “Pottsville Dry Goods & +Tailoring Emporium, May 16, 1920,” printed in small red letters by +means of a rubber stamp, on each one. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” continued Mr. Tutt quietly. “Please tell us when you last saw +them?” +</p> + +<p> +“The mornin’ of the murder,” answered “Toggery Bill.” “May +seventeenth, nineteen hundred and twenty!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you see them?” +</p> + +<p> +“In my store.—I gave ’em to Squire Mason about eleven o’clock and I +hold his note for a hundred dollars for the loan.” +</p> + +<p> +The effect of this simple announcement was extraordinary, for while it +created complete bewilderment it suggested the weirdest possibilities. +Here was a murdered hermit with a hundred dollars in his pocket which, +within five hours, had been in the possession of the very man who was +now prosecuting the person charged with the homicide. It was all very +confusing to the bucolic mind! Some of them even thought for a moment +that Mr. Tutt had proved that Squire Mason had committed the murder. +Indeed, the Squire was almost as pale as if he had. What was old man +Tutt goin’ to try to get on him?—He did not have to wait long to find +out. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Mason—please take the witness chair!” +</p> + +<p> +With a lump in his gullet of the size and dryness of a golf ball +Hezekiah, amid the poorly controlled comments of the spectators which +the sheriff for some reason made no effort to suppress, his diaphragm +quivering with anxiety as to what all this might mean, climbed up into +the public eye and was sworn. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Mason—you have heard the testimony of the last witness—Mr. +Gookin—is it correct?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” conceded Hezekiah thickly. +</p> + +<p> +“What use did you make of these bills?” +</p> + +<p> +The Hon. Mason snapped his jaws defiantly together. Then he turned to +Judge Tompkins. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything, judge,” he +complained. “Do I have to answer?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s perfectly relevant,” returned his honor. “Do you mean to say +that you think how that money got into the possession, and upon the +person, of the deceased isn’t of importance! Of course it +is!—Answer.” +</p> + +<p> +Mason bowed to the inevitable. +</p> + +<p> +“I give it to Skinny—the defendant—in my office at half past +eleven,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +A murmur rose from the benches. This was some evidence! The Squire was +makin’ himself the chief witness for the prosecution. What was coming +next? But nothing came—from Mr. Tutt, who merely bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said he quietly. “That is all.” +</p> + +<p> +The prosecutor was about to return to his desk before the jury box, +when Judge Tompkins took the hand in the matter which Mr. Tutt had +anticipated that he would. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on a minute!” directed his honor with a perplexed air. “I don’t +understand. Why did you give the defendant a hundred dollars on the +morning of the murder?” +</p> + +<p> +“ ’Cause he asked for it?” returned the squire shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you owe it to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—no,” answered the squire. “That is, not exactly. It weren’t a +debt. It was interest due.” +</p> + +<p> +“Due on what?” demanded the judge irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“On his trust fund——” reluctantly admitted Mason. The judge peered +at him sharply over his spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is the trustee of the fund?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long pause. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” yielded Mason finally. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that you are the trustee of a fund of which this +prisoner, whom you are trying to convict of murder, is the +beneficiary?” cried Tompkins, leaning forward. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” assented Mason faintly. +</p> + +<p> +There was a chorus of mingled hisses and jeers from the benches, but +Judge Tompkins took no notice of it. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a most extraordinary situation!” he declared. “However—we +will not deal with it now. Proceed with the trial.” +</p> + +<p> +Mason crept back to his seat. It was clear that the judge had it in +for him,—but that needn’t affect the outcome of the trial. Then he +got another jar—this time an even heavier one. +</p> + +<p> +“Charles Emerson,” murmured Mr. Tutt sweetly, “please take the +stand—I have an additional question I wish to put to you in +cross-examination.” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing in Emerson’s recall to excite any special interest +among the spectators, since few, if any, of them knew that he had gone +away. But there was much in Squire Mason’s demeanor as the witness +made his way forward to give pause to those who watched him. Something +had happened to him. He had shriveled—nought else. With his eyes +shifting uneasily the district attorney sat fumbling with his papers, +refusing to meet those of the mill hand. Then he arose and said in a +husky voice which held no conviction: +</p> + +<p> +“I object to the recallin’ of this witness. He’s been examined once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I overrule your objection—Mr. Tutt may interrogate him as fully as +he wishes,” retorted Judge Tompkins sharply. He turned to Emerson. +</p> + +<p> +“Where have you been? I understood you had disappeared.” +</p> + +<p> +Emerson smiled sheepishly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been here right along,” he answered, “ ’cept just after I give my +testimony. You see, I took a job up to Orient Mills and signed on the +next mornin’, but I got thinkin’ about the case an’ I decided to come +back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” demanded his honor. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, jedge,” explained Emerson, “y’see I figured out that mebbe my +evidence might turn out to be pretty important, for I heard over to +the Phoenix House how Skinny was goin’ to try to prove he was in +Pottsville at four o’clock. Now I knew the murder was done jest about +that time. An’ I testified to it here, but——” and he spoke very +slowly and distinctly—“nobody,—neither Squire Mason nor Mr. +Tutt,—asked me much about it—and I got thinkin’——” +</p> + +<p> +“I object t’ all this!” again interposed Mason. “This ain’t any proper +way for him to testify—tellin’ about what he thought, an’ all.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is quite true,” agreed his honor. “Mr. Tutt, you had better +question the witness in the regular way.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt bowed. He too had observed that the weather cock had veered. +</p> + +<p> +“Anyhow I come back on the next train,” finished Mr. Emerson, “an’ +I’ve been here right along.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Emerson,” Mr. Tutt began, his voice trembling slightly from the +excitement under which he labored, “you have testified that when you +entered the hermit’s shanty the clock pointed to four o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered the witness, “it did.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have also testified that you returned later on with Mr. +Pennypacker, when he took his photograph. Did you notice the clock at +that time?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“At what hour was it pointing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Four o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it going at that time?” +</p> + +<p> +Emerson shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied. “It warn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt’s heart gave a flutter, but he kept bravely on without +batting a lid. +</p> + +<p> +“But you testified positively that you knew it was four o’clock when +you went there the first time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yep—yes, I mean,” replied the witness firmly. “I know it was four +o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt was now on terra firma, for he knew that whatever the answer +might be—it was bound to be favorable. He was safely within the +conservative rule that you must never ask a question unless you are +sure that the answer cannot hurt you. But he did not know what the +answer was going to be, had no idea of what fact he might be about to +elicit. So that there was a delicious uncertainty about the next +inquiry, upon which he fully realized that he staked his whole case. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know it was four o’clock?” he demanded, with a note of +triumph and the air of being now about to disclose something which he +had known perfectly well all along but which he had withheld until +this, the exact psychological moment. “Tell the jury how you know, Mr. +Emerson!” +</p> + +<p> +The jury fully apprised of the fact that upon the answer hung the +validity of Skinny’s alibi focused their eyes on the lumberman’s +honest face. Even Judge Tompkins could not refrain from turning half +way round and pulling his chair towards the witness box so as not to +lose a word. By common consent, by instinct, and in fact, this was the +apex, the climax, the denouement of the trial of Skinny the Tramp. +Would Emerson make good—or wouldn’t he? +</p> + +<p> +“Fer one thing because I kin almost swear I heard the clock tick and +saw the hand move,” answered Emerson positively. +</p> + +<p> +The jury looked at one another inquiringly. That was pretty strong +testimony! To recall that you heard a clock tick! +</p> + +<p> +“Are you quite sure?” cautioned Judge Tompkins. “Remember that this is +a very important bit of evidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty near!” answered Emerson. “I’m satisfied fer myself that I did, +but this bein’ a court o’ law, mebbe I’d oughter be more certain to +swear to it. Anyhow that is how I remember it. I testified before how +I went into the shanty and saw the hermit lyin’ with his mouth covered +with blood and how he died while I held his head in my hand. If you’d +been there, you’d ha’ remembered it all right, I reckon. But nobody +axed me if I knew the clock was goin’. Wal, it was this way. When I +lifted the hermit’s head an’ looked in his face the shanty was all +still,—’ceptin’ fer three things.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, almost as if for effect. +</p> + +<p> +“What were they?” softly demanded Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +Emerson lowered his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“The first was the kind of cluckin’ sound the hermit’s breath made +goin’ in and out through his mouth on account of the blood. His eyes +was half open but they didn’t see none. He was just passin’ out. It +was so quiet I felt real creepy—all alone with him dyin’. But what +skeered me most was an enormous great moth—the biggest I ever +see—that went flap-flap-flap agin’ the winder tryin’ to git out. It +flapped and flapped and I thought it would stun itself agin’ the +glass. An’ ez I knelt thar holdin’ the hermit’s head, listenin, to his +breathing and to that big gray moth flappin’ over at the window, I kin +most swear I heard the clock tick—an’ saw the minute hand slip to +four o’clock—and then all of a suddint the whole shanty went still. +The hermit didn’t breathe no more, the moth flew out the +door,—an’——” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” whispered Mr. Tutt. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ the clock stopped!” +</p> + +<p> +In the silence that followed there was no one in the court room that +did not mark the ticking of the clock upon the rear wall. Each +listener told himself that if necessary he could swear to it until his +dying day. Then Mr. Tutt said, almost with unconcern: +</p> + +<p> +“And did you tell Squire Mason all this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure!” replied Emerson, looking the prosecutor full in the face. “I +told him all about it that very afternoon!” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Tompkins fixed the wretched prosecutor with a beetling eye. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you reconcile the withholding of this very vital evidence from +the jury?” he inquired in icy tones. +</p> + +<p> +Mason, ivory white, attempted to rise, but collapsed weakly into his +chair. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t believe it!” he answered faintly. “It ain’t any part o’ my +duty to have a witness tell fairy stories to the jury.” +</p> + +<p> +“But in calling the witness you vouched for his credibility!” retorted +Judge Tompkins with contempt. +</p> + +<p> +“Only in so far as I brought out his testimony myself,” replied the +Squire feebly. “I believed he was tellin’ the truth about findin’ the +hermit still alive—and mebbe about the moth—but I didn’t +believe—an’ I don’t believe now—an’ what’s more I don’t believe +anybody else believes—that that partic’lar clock up an’ stopped the +very moment the hermit died.” +</p> + +<p> +He pressed his lips together resolutely. +</p> + +<p> +Judge Tompkins turned a scornful shoulder to the now groveling +Hezekiah. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Emerson,” said he. “You have contributed materially by your +testimony, given this afternoon, to our knowledge of the case. Have +you any other means of knowing whether at the time you think you saw +the hand of the hermit’s clock move to four o’clock it was then +pointing to the correct time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, jedge, I have,” answered the witness without hesitation. “For +just as the silence come in the shanty—when the hermit had died, and +the big moth had flown out, and—the clock had stopped, the whistle +over to Sawyer’s Steam Lumber Mill blew four o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess that settles <i>that</i>!” remarked the foreman, leaning back and +wagging a confirmatory chin whisker. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you tell that to Squire Mason?” inquired his honor scathingly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Emerson. “I tole him it was four o’clock and how the +clock stopped, an’ as he didn’t seem partic’larly interested ’bout the +hour, I let it go at that.” +</p> + +<p class="mt1"> +Those of our readers who perchance should happen to find themselves +for a night in Pottsville or in any of the adjacent towns should not +fail to elicit from the oldest accessible inhabitant the great story +of the ripping up of Squire Mason by Lawyer Tutt in the latter’s +closing address to the jury, and how the governor, upon the +recommendation of Judge Tompkins, promptly removed him from office, +thus blasting a promising political career. For Mr. Tutt, by one of +those freaks of fortune which do occasionally occur, found himself in +a position to make good on every one of the charges—both direct and +indirect—which he had made against the prosecutor and to prove him in +fact to be every one of all the varieties of crook, rascal and +rapscallion that he had called him. And he somehow managed in addition +to convince everybody—except possibly shrewd Judge Tompkins—that he +had known all about everything from the beginning of the trial and +that the whole Emerson business had been just a grandstand play +carefully staged to give a proper theatrical effect to the final coup. +Anyhow, according to general account, there wasn’t a thing left of +Squire Mason when Mr. Tutt got through with him. He was flayed, +disemboweled, torn limb from limb, drawn and quartered, and his +various physical members, with their connective tissues, scattered +broadside over Somerset County—to the great joy of the inhabitants +thereof. And, what was of vastly more importance, Skinny the Tramp’s +alibi was definitely, finally and impregnably established; so that +when Judge Tompkins concluded his charge to the jury at a quarter past +three o’clock on Friday afternoon everybody said it was all over but +the shouting and most of them didn’t wait to hear the verdict. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, so confident was public opinion of an immediate acquittal that +the sheriff didn’t even take Skinny back to the calaboose, but allowed +him to smoke one of Mr. Tutt’s stogies right in the court room, while +Judge Tompkins and the old lawyer strolled across Main Street to sit +on the Phoenix House piazza until the jury should come in. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Tutt,” said his honor, as he politely declined one of the +famous Wheeling corona-coronas, “I must congratulate you on a most +adroit and effective piece of court room strategy. The way you held +back and finally brought out the story of the clock was really +masterly!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt smiled enigmatically. +</p> + +<p> +“I took several chances in that case!” he admitted with a great deal +more truth than his listener was aware of. +</p> + +<p> +“However,” replied Judge Tompkins, “you didn’t take anywhere near as +many as our friend the district attorney. Unofficially—not for +publication, and in the language of the metropolis from which you +come,—in my opinion, he’s some crook.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unofficially and confidentially,” returned Mr. Tutt, “I entirely +agree with you. Speaking mildly, he’s got by long odds the most +perverted sense of fair play that I have ever come across.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all the good it will do him,” said his honor. “If I’m not +mistaken that jury will acquit inside of fifteen minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You never can tell,” murmured Mr. Tutt. “It’s fourteen minutes since +they went out already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anyhow it’s only a question of a very short time—your alibi was +conclusively established.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” assented Mr. Tutt, “but very likely there’s some rube on that +jury that doesn’t know yet what the word means.” +</p> + +<p> +As if in curious confirmation of Mr. Tutt’s cynical opinion of the +cerebral equipment of his fellow human beings the sheriff at this +moment appeared from the direction of the court house. +</p> + +<p> +“Jedge,” said he, “the jury allow ez how they’d like to have some +supper. Shall I bring ’em over or hold ’em awhile?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you think, Mr. Tutt?” inquired his honor. +</p> + +<p> +“When a jury wants its supper,” answered the old lawyer, “always give +it to ’em—and send ’em in a box of cigars besides.” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Tompkins laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, sheriff,” said he, “give them their supper, by all means. +Strange,” he added. “I thought surely they’d agree almost +immediately!” +</p> + +<p> +“They were doin’ a powerful lot of talkin’ the last time I went into +the jury room,” remarked the sheriff. “You could hear ’em holler way +acrost the road.” +</p> + +<p> +He vanished into the court house and presently returned leading the +jury like an ancient bell weather down the steps and towards the +hotel. The judge and Mr. Tutt eyed them intently for the purpose of +deciphering if possible the thoughts concealed behind their +inscrutability. But no more expressionless set of men ever ascended +the piazza steps of the Phoenix House than the jury to whose keeping +had been entrusted the life of Skinny the Tramp. +</p> + +<p> +“Hanged if I can tell a thing from looking at ’em,” admitted Judge +Tompkins. +</p> + +<p> +“I can,” countered Mr. Tutt. “They’re hungry.” +</p> + +<p> +It appeared in due course that this particular jury was more than +ordinarily hungry, for its members not only consumed the entire +official menu but insisted on eating three plates apiece of “Ma” +Best’s griddle cakes; after which they sat on the piazza for an entire +hour in replete silence while digestion took its course; and it was +eight o’clock and after repeated urgings on the part of the sheriff +before they reluctantly consented to return to the court house. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only a matter of form,” opined Judge Tompkins to Mr. Tutt. +“They’ll agree now in no time.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m! You never can tell!” answered Mr. Tutt, as he excused himself +and went upstairs to refill his pockets with stogies. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, Judge Tompkins guessed wholly wrong. The jury—so far as could +be ascertained by any proper legal means—had no immediate intention +of agreeing at all. Nine o’clock came,—and nine-thirty,—with still +no word from them. At ten or thereabouts a vigorous rapping on the +door of the jury room caused the hearts of those spectators who still +lingered in the court house to thump loudly,—but it was only a call +for ice water. At ten-thirty the sheriff reported absolute +silence—evidently a deadlock. At eleven all was still quiet along the +Potomac. The judge, surprised and impatient at what seemed to indicate +the possibility of a miscarriage of justice, directed Sheriff Higgins +to inquire if there was a likelihood of an agreement, to which the +foreman merely returned the laconic answer that as yet they had not +reached a verdict. Five hours had now elapsed since the twelve good +and true men had received their instructions and retired to +deliberate. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Tutt,” said Judge Tompkins, “I will wait here until eleven-thirty +and, if there is no word from the jury by that time, I shall return to +the Phoenix House and go to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +But at eleven-thirty no word had come and the sheriff reported that +there was no sound whatever inside the jury room. All argument had +ceased. He couldn’t hear a durn thing. He reckoned they’d gone to +sleep for the night. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s incredible!” declared his honor. “A perfectly plain case! What +do you suppose is making the trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“You kin search me, jedge!” said the sheriff. “Now you just go acrost +to bed and if anything happens I’ll hustle right over.” +</p> + +<p> +A couple of dozen hangers-on still remained after the judge had left +the court room, whose electric brilliants were only slightly dimmed by +the incense from as many virulent cigars. Betting was now even on the +result, with the odds three to two on an ultimate disagreement. +Evidently for some unknown reason the alibi had gone bad. Mr. Tutt, +sitting on the topmost step of the court house entrance felt a +surreptitious poke in the back and perceived that the sheriff was +beckoning mysteriously to him. Arising with ostentatious indifference +the lawyer followed the official to the rear of the building, where +after making sure that they were unobserved Higgins unlocked a small +door opening upon a flight of back stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Got suthin’ I want to show ye!” he muttered with an elaborate facial +contortion designed to register mischievous humor. Mr. Tutt responded +with a similar grimace and the two cautiously tiptoed up the stairs to +the topmost landing where the sheriff unlocked another door, and after +lighting a candle tip produced from his trousers pocket conducted the +lawyer into the blackness of what was evidently the court house attic. +</p> + +<p> +“Duck yer head!” he warned, “if ye don’t want to crack yer skull!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going?” asked Mr. Tutt, although he did not in the +least care. +</p> + +<p> +“Never you mind!” retorted his guide. +</p> + +<p> +Then after he had felt his way sixty feet or so across the timbers the +sheriff stopped and blew out the candle. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re right over the jury room,” he whispered. +</p> + +<p> +The attic was hot, dusty, close, and full of cobwebs, suggestive of +man-eating spiders, but enthused with the spirit of adventure Mr. Tutt +stood motionless over the crack of light which showed them to be in +the right place. Below, all was silence, penetrated by an occasional +hiss and punctuated now and then with a snore. What had occurred? Was +there in fact a deadlock? Would Skinny the Tramp have to face another +trial for his life? After what seemed an incredible period of time a +chair scraped and a voice was heard: +</p> + +<p> +“What time is it now, Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a momentary hiatus during which a watch was evidently +consulted and then the foreman made reply: +</p> + +<p> +“Ten minutes to twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +Again the cloak of silence descended upon the so-called deliberations +of the jury. Then Mr. Tutt was startled by the voice of Sawyer, the +foreman, who evidently sat just beneath them. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, boys,” he exclaimed in a voice full of relief, “it’s five +minutes after midnight—Saturday mornin’—an’ I guess we’re safe to +claim another day’s pay. After all, three dollars is real money—wuth +gettin’!—All up! Seventh inning!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a tremendous scuffling of feet below,—intermingled with +loud yawns. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the foreman again, “we’re all agreed, ain’t we? It’s an +acquittal, ain’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yep!—You betcher!—Sure!” came from eleven husky throats. +</p> + +<p> +The foreman pounded sharply upon the door of the jury room and the +sheriff scrambled hastily towards the attic door. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ the next thing—after we git outer here,” continued the foreman +drily, “is to decide what we’re goin’ to do with Squire Mason!” +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +The crowd surged about Skinny, caught him up on its shoulders and bore +him struggling and feebly protesting out of the court room, down the +steps, and over to the Phoenix House. “Ma” Barrows was waiting for +them, and when they dumped Skinny down on the piazza she threw her +arms about him and with the tears streaming down her cheeks cried: +</p> + +<p> +“You poor, poor boy! Come right in and let me give you some nice hot +supper and after that a soft clean bed!” +</p> + +<p> +But Skinny shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“The supper’s all right,” he said. “But I guess I’d rather sleep +outdoors!” +</p> + +<p> +In the court room Sheriff Higgins approached Mr. Tutt, who was +gathering up his papers. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, taking a fat envelope out of his breast pocket and +glancing into it, “Here’s your fee—Two hundred and fifty +dollars!—Wisht I could earn money that easy!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Tutt waved the envelope away with a careless gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Give it to Skinny,” he said. “He needs it!” +</p> + +<p> +Then with a rush the crowd came piling into the court room again. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Mason?” they demanded angrily. “Where’s the old son of +a——!” +</p> + +<p> +But the Squire, being wise in his generation, had taken his departure. +</p> + +<p class="spacer"> +* * * * * * +</p> + +<p> +On a hillside overlooking the fertile valley of the Sacramento, Skinny +the Tramp lay amid a clump of giant redwoods and watched the sun +drawing water through the rain clouds gathered a thousand feet below +him. Resting upon a thick bed of pine needles, he leaned luxuriously +against a rock, while at his feet, propped over a small fire, a tomato +can bubbled cheerily and gave forth a sweet-smelling savor. It was six +months after the trial and two months since One-eyed Pedro, +heir-apparent of the Zingara Gipsies, had confessed in the deathhouse +at Sing Sing, where he was awaiting execution for the murder of his +father, that he had killed Drake, the Hermit of Turkey Hollow. +</p> + +<p> +This was the first real opportunity that Skinny had had a chance to +sit as he loved with the world at his feet—and think——! With his +eyes half closed and the gray smoke from his cigarette coiling and +uncoiling in the shaft of sunlight that shot through the branches +above his head, Skinny recalled the events leading up to his trial. It +had been very much the same sort of an afternoon that the hermit was +killed; there had been the same softness in the air, the same flooding +sunlight shining gold-red on the trees and fields against the +blue-gray of the rainclouds. He had been lying just that same way on +the hillside above Turkey Hollow,—dreaming as usual of pots of gold. +Then the storm had burst and for half an hour it had poured, as it was +raining now at the other end of the valley, and the rainbow had come +out against the leaden sky with one end of it on the hermit’s hut. +</p> + +<p> +He recalled vividly how he had rushed down through the drenched woods, +passing the lumberman Emerson, whose greeting in his hurry he had +neglected to return, and peeked in through the hermit’s window to find +him counting his gold. What a thrill the sight had given him! His +faith had at last been justified! Just as he’d always known it +sometime would be; rainbow—pot of gold! The fact that the gold +belonged to someone else didn’t really affect the soundness of the +theory one way or the other, and when the hermit had good-naturedly +agreed to exchange twenty of the smaller pieces for a hundred dollars +in bills he had been almost as well pleased as if he had found the +gold hidden in the earth. Then he had strode on through the woods to +the village. +</p> + +<p> +That was all there had been to it. It had taken him twenty minutes to +walk the mile—he knew it, because the hermit’s clock had pointed to +twenty minutes to four when he left the shanty. Suddenly the blood in +the tramp’s jugular leaped violently. Yes, the clock had certainly +pointed to twenty minutes to four—and if so—it must have—<i>must</i> +have stopped—run down or something—at the very moment the old man +died!—And he, Skinny, was the only person alive who knew it,—for he +was the only person who knew positively that it had been going just +before the murder. Funny!—a prickly feeling spread over his +back—like a needle bath, only he had never had one. It <i>was</i> funny! +And then there was that enormous gray moth that Emerson said had been +trying to get out the window. Hadn’t he warned the hermit that some +day those bugs would wriggle off their pins and go for him! Sure! And +the clock had stopped!—The tune of the old song floated through his +mind and unconsciously he hummed the words over to himself: +</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 hanging-d-quote">“O my grandfather’s clock was too high for the shelf,</span><br> +<span class="i0">So it stood ninety years on the floor.</span><br> +<span class="i0">It was taller by half than the old man himself,</span><br> +<span class="i0">Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.</span><br> +<span class="i0">It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,</span><br> +<span class="i0">And was always his treasure and pride,</span><br> +<span class="i0">But it—stopped—short—never to go again—</span><br> +<span class="i0">When—the old—man—died.”</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p> +It had,—too! He was the only one who knew it—or the whole story +about the moth! How the hermit had jokingly said that some day maybe +he’d go flappin’ off like a big gray moth.—Now he was in that other +world—that world that was right along beside us! +</p> + +<p> +Skinny looked around apprehensively but there was no moth in sight. +Had it grown chilly? He shivered and noticed that his cigarette had +gone out. He lighted it again on his knees at the fire and as he did +so the sweet savor of the soup rose to his nostrils. It was nearly +done! He forgot all about the murder in the anticipation of soup. +</p> + +<p> +Back through the whole being of Skinny the Tramp surged a warm +delirious joy—merely at being alive. Kneeling there he looked like +the votary of some forest god, as he rubbed his lean hands over the +blaze and stretched his arms outward and upward towards the sky. He +yawned deliciously. Then he observed with interest that a rainbow had +appeared on the opposite side of the valley—a wonderful, gleaming +arch, whose blending colors seemed to singe the clouds. One end of it +descended directly upon a field hard by a yellow farmhouse. Pots of +gold again! +</p> + +<p> +Skinny watched, as it momentarily grew brighter, beckoning him to +wealth and possible adventure; then forgetful of the soup he scrambled +to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +The next instant he had plunged down the hillside towards the +valley—after the rainbow! +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[The End] +</p> + + +<h2> +Transcriber’s Notes +</h2> + +<p> +Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. grandstand/grand-stand, +weathercock/weather-cock/weather cock, etc.) have been preserved. +</p> + +<p class="noindent mt1"> +<b>Alterations to the text</b>: +</p> + +<p> +Add ToC. +</p> + +<p> +Abandon the use of drop-caps. +</p> + +<p> +Fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter I] +</p> + +<p> +Change “some one o’ these days them <i>bugs ’ll</i> wiggle” to <i>bugs’ll</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter II] +</p> + +<p> +“almost at his heels,—<i>never-the less</i>, and this is the crux” to +<i>nevertheless</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter III] +</p> + +<p> +(“Keerful how you light a match” cautioned the prosecutor.) add a +comma after <i>match</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t stop it, ’cause I <i>aint’</i> got no idee where it is” to +<i>ain’t</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“and endeavored to paw <i>Cassopeia</i> from the zenith” to <i>Cassiopeia</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“there persisted in Mr. <i>Tutts</i> perfervid, but fast fading, +consciousness” to <i>Tutt’s</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“delivered upon the one o’clock train for <i>Pottsvile</i>” to +<i>Pottsville</i>. +</p> + +<p> +“Come at once, <i>bringing</i> Bonnie Doon and four detectives” to <i>bring</i>. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +[Chapter IV] +</p> + +<p> +“who was <i>nochalantly</i> sitting on an empty lemon crate smoking” to +<i>nonchalantly</i>. +</p> + +<p> +(“Well?” whispered Mr. Tutt) add a period to the sentence. +</p> + +<p class="center mt1"> +[End of text] +</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77895 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77895-h/images/cover.jpg b/77895-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..526846c --- /dev/null +++ b/77895-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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