contrary to expectation, the case of the state of south dakota against jesse black was called soon after the sitting of the court monday afternoon. no testimony was introduced, however, until the following day. inch by inch, step by step, gordon fought for a fair jury through that tense afternoon. merciless in his shrewd examination, keen to detect hesitancy, prejudices sought to be concealed he cleverly and relentlessly unearthed. chair after chair was vacated,—only to be vacated again. it seemed there was not a man in the county who had not heard somewhat of this much-heralded crime—if crime it were. and he who had heard was a prejudiced partisan. how could it be otherwise where feeling ran so high,—where honest men mostly felt resentment against the man who dared to probe the wound without extracting the cause of it, and a hatred and fear curiously intermingled with admiration of the outlaw whose next move after obtaining his freedom might be to cut out of the general herd, cows of their own brands,—where tainted men, officers or cowmen, awaited developments with a consuming interest that was not above manipulating the lines of justice for their own selfish ends? yet, despite the obstacles in the way, gordon was determined to have an unprejudiced jury in so far as it lay in human power to seat such a one in the box. so he worked, and worked hard.
this impanelling of the jury was not interesting to the crowd. many had no hint of its deeper meaning. others saw it in the light of child’s play—a certain braggadocio on the part of the young lawyer. they wanted the actual show to begin—the examination of witnesses. they came and went restlessly, impatiently waiting. wiser heads than theirs knew that the game was already on in deadly earnest. if these had been lucky enough to get seats in the small and overcrowded court-room, they remained glued to them. they were waiting to see what manner of men would be chosen—jesse’s peers—to pass judgment on his acts and mete out for him just deserts—if they were capable of a just verdict. the square-jawed, keen-witted, clean-cut captain of justice, who had forgotten that the campaign had aged him irrevocably and that some whitened hair would never grow brown again, meant that they should be capable. the opposing lawyers smiled tolerantly at the numerous challenges. these smiles went far to convince many of the infallibility of their defence. amused tolerance is a powerful weapon on more fields than one where men war with their wits. it is a wise man who cultivates the art.
“we have chosen the right man,” whispered langford to mary. they had secured seats near the front and were of those who knew the game was being played.
“he is great,” returned mary. if only her father could be there to help! the odds were fearful. louise, sitting at her table within the bar, with faith in this man’s destiny sufficient to remove mountains, smiled down at her friends.
“louise is an angel,” said mary, affectionately.
“yes, she is,” responded langford, absently, for he was not looking at the girl reporter, nor were his thoughts on her side of the rail. he wished for the sake of williston’s “little girl” that there were not so much tobacco stench in the room. but this was a vague and intangible wish. he wished with the whole strength of his manhood—which was much—that this man on trial might be made to pay the penalty of his crime as a stepping-stone to paying the penalty of that greater crime of which he firmly believed him guilty. his own interest had become strangely secondary since that hot july day when he had pledged himself to vengeance. this falling off might have dated from a certain september morning when he had lost himself—for all time—to a girl with pain-pinched face and fever-brightened eyes who wore a blue wrapper. his would not be a personal triumph now, if he won.
court adjourned that evening with the jury-box filled. the state’s friends were feeling pretty good about it. langford made his way into the bar where gordon was standing apart. he passed an arm affectionately over his friend’s shoulder.
“you were inspired, dick,” he said. “keep on the same as you have begun and we shall have everything our own way.”
but the fire had died down in the young lawyer’s bearing.
“i’m tired, paul, dead tired,” he said, wearily. “i wish it were over.”
“come to supper—then you’ll feel better. you’re tired out. it is a tough strain, isn’t it?” he said, cheerily. he was not afraid. he knew the fire would burn the brighter again when there was need of it—in the morning.
they passed out of the bar together. at the hotel, mary and louise were already seated at the table in the dining-room where the little party usually sat together when it was possible to do so. judge dale had not yet arrived. the landlady was in a worried dispute with red sanderson and a companion. the men were evidently cronies. they had their eyes on two of the three vacant places at the table.
“but i tell you these places are taken,” persisted the landlady, who served as head-waitress when such services were necessary, which was not often. her patrons usually took and held possession of things at their own sweet will.
“you bet they are,” chimed in red, deliberately pulling out a chair next to louise, who shivered in recognition.
“please—” she began, in a small voice, but got no farther. something in his bold, admiring stare choked her into silence.
“you’re a mighty pretty girl, if you are a trottin’ round with the three bars,” he grinned. “plenty time to change your live—”
“just move on, will you,” said gordon, curtly, coming up at that moment with langford and shoving him aside with unceremonious brevity. “this is my place.” he sat down quietly.
“you damned upstart,” blustered sanderson. “want a little pistol play, do you?”
“gentlemen! gentlemen!” implored the landlady.
“i’m not entering any objection,” said gordon, coolly. “just shoot—why don’t you? you have the drop on me.”
for a moment it looked as if sanderson would take him at his word and meet this taunt with instant death for the sender of it, so black was his anger. but encountering langford’s level gaze, he read something therein, shrugged his shoulders, replaced his pistol, and sauntered off with his companion just as judge dale came upon the scene. langford glanced quickly across the table at mary. her eyes were wide with startled horror. she, too, had seen. just above red sanderson’s temple and extending from the forehead up into the hair was an ugly scar—not like that left by a cut, but as if the flesh might have been deeply bruised by some blunt weapon.
“mary! how pale you are!” cried louise, in alarm.
“i’m haunted by that man,” she continued, biting her lip to keep from crying out against the terrors of this country. “he’s always showing up in unexpected places. i shall die if i ever meet him alone.”
“you need not be afraid,” said gordon, speaking quietly from his place at her side. louise flashed him a swift, bewildering smile of gratitude. then she remembered she had a grievance against him and she stiffened. but then the feel of his arms came to her—the feel that she had scarcely been conscious of yesterday when the dark water lay at her feet,—and she blushed, and studied her plate diligently.
under this cover, the young ranchman comforted mary, whom the others had temporarily forgotten, with a long, caressing look from his handsome eyes that was a pledge of tireless vigilance and an unforgetting watchfulness of future protection.
