Isom W. Tolliver.
In an hour the jury was complete: two townsmen, a clerk and a telegraph operator, and ten men from the country farmers mainly and one blacksmith and one horse-trader. Three of the panel who owned up frankly to a fixed bias had been let go by consent of both sides. Three more were sure they could give the defendant a fair trial, but those three the local lawyer had challenged peremptorily. The others were accepted as they came. The foreman was a brownskinned, sparrowhawk-looking old man, with a smoldering brown eye. He had spare, knotted hands, like talons, and the right one was marred and twisted, with a sprayed bluish scar in the midst of the crippled knuckles like the mark of an old gunshot wound. Juror No. 4 was a stodgy old man, a small planter from the back part of the county, who fanned himself steadily with a brown-varnished straw hat. No. 7 was even older, a white-whiskered patriarch on crutches. The twelfth juryman was the oldest of the twelve he looked to be almost seventy, but he went into the box after he had sworn that his sight and hearing and general health were good and that he still could do his ten hours a day at his blacksmith shop. This juryman chewed tobacco without pause. Twice after he took his seat at the bade end of the double line he tried for a wooden cuspidor ten feet away. Both were creditable attempts, but he missed each time. Seeing the look of gathering distress in his eyes the sheriff brought the cuspidor nearer, and thereafter No. 12 was content, chewing steadily like some bearded contemplative ruminant and listening attentively to the evidence, meanwhile scratching a very wiry head of whity-red hair with a thumbnail that through some injury had taken on the appearance of a very thick, very black Brazil nut. This scratching made a raspy, filing sound that after a while got on Congressman Durhams nerves.
It was late in the afternoon when the prosecution rested its case and court adjourned until the following morning. The states attorney had not had so very much evidence to offer, really the testimony of one who heard the single shot and ran in at Rankins door to find Rankin upon the floor, about dead, with a pistol, unfired, in his hand and Tandy standing against the wall with a pistol, fired, in his; the constable to whom Tandy surrendered; the physician who examined the body; the persons who knew of the quarrel between Tandy and Rankin growing out of a land deal into which they had gone partners not much, but enough for Gilliams purposes. Once in the midst of examining a witness the states attorney, seemingly by accident, let his look fall upon the two black-robed, silent figures at his side, and as though overcome by the sudden realization of a great grief, he faltered and stopped dead and sank down. It was an old trick, but well done, and a little humming murmur like a breeze coming through treetops swept the audience.
Durham was sick in his soul as he came away.
In his mind there stood the picture of a little, scared womans drawn, drenched face. She had started crying before the last juror was chosen and thereafter all day, at half-minute intervals, the big, hard sobs racked her. As Durham came down the steps he had almost to shove his way through a knot of natives outside the doors. They grudged him the path they made for him, and as he showed them his back he heard a snicker and some one said a thing that cut him where he was already bruised in his egotism. But he gave no heed to the words. What was the use?
At the Drummers Home Hotel a darky waiter sustained a profound shock when the imported lawyer declined the fried beefsteak with fried potatoes and also the fried ham and eggs. Mastering his surprise the waiter offered to try to get the Northern gentleman a fried pork chop and some fried June apples, but Durham only wanted a glass of milk for his supper. He drank it and smoked a cigar, and about dusk he went upstairs to his room. There he found assembled the forlorn rank and file of the defense, the local lawyer and three character witnesses prominent citizens from Tandys home town who were to testify to his good repute in the place where he was born and reared. These would be the only witnesses, except Tandy himself, that Durham meant to call. One of them was a bustling little man named Felsburg, a clothing merchant, and one was Colonel Quigley, a banker and an ex-mayor, and the third was a Judge Priest, who sat on a circuit-court bench back in Kentucky. In contrast to his size, which was considerable, this Judge Priest had a voice that was high and whiny. He also had the trick, common to many men in politics in his part of the South, of being purposely ungrammatical at times.
This mannerism led a lot of people into thinking that the judge must be an uneducated man until they heard him charging a jury or reading one of his rulings. The judge had other peculiarities. In conversation he nearly always called men younger than himself, son. He drank a little bit too much sometimes; and nobody had ever beaten him for any office he coveted. Durham didnt know what to make of this old judge sometimes he seemed simple-minded to the point of childishness almost.
The others were gathered about a table by a lighted kerosene lamp, but the old judge sat at an open window with his low-quarter shoes off and his white-socked feet propped against the ledge. He was industriously stoking at a home-made corncob pipe. He pursed up his mouth, pulling at the long cane stem of his pipe with little audible sucks. From the rocky little street below the clatter of departing farm teams came up to him. The Indian medicine doctor was taking down his big white umbrella and packing up his regalia. The late canvas habitat of the Half Man and Half Horse had been struck and was gone, leaving only the pole-holes in the turf and a trodden space to show where it had stood. Court would go on all week, but Court Monday was over and for another month the town would doze along peacefully.
Durham slumped himself into a chair that screeched protestingly in all its infirm joints. The heart was gone clean out of him.
I dont understand these people at all, he confessed. Were beating against a stone wall with our bare hands.
If it should be money now that youre needing, Mister Durham, spoke up Felsburg, that boy Tandys father was my very good friend when I first walked into that town with a peddling pack on my back, and if it should be money ?
It isnt money, Mr. Felsburg, said Durham. If I didnt get a cent for my services Id still fight this case out to the aid for the sake of that game boy and that poor little mite of a wife of his. It isnt money or the lack of it its the damned hate theyve built up here against the man. Why, you could cut it off in chunks the prejudice that there was in that courthouse today.
Son, put in Judge Priest in his high, weedy voice, I reckon maybe youre right. Ive been projectin around cotehouses a good many years, and Ive taken notice that when a jury look at a prisoner all the time and never look at his women folks its a monstrous bad sign. And thats the way it was all day today.
The judge will be fair he always is, said Hightower, the local lawyer, and of course Gilliam is only doing his duty. Those jurors are as good solid men as you can find in this country anywhere. But they cant help being prejudiced. Human natures not strong enough to stand out against the feeling thats grown up round here against Tandy since he shot Ab Rankin.
Son, said Judge Priest, still with his eyes on the darkening square below, about how many of them jurors would you say are old soldiers?
Four or five that I know of, said Hightower and maybe more. Its hard to find a man over fifty years old in this section that didnt see active service in the Big War.
Four or five that I know of, said Hightower and maybe more. Its hard to find a man over fifty years old in this section that didnt see active service in the Big War.
Ah, hah, assented Judge Priest with a squeaky little grunt. That foreman now he looked like he might of seen some fightin?
Four years of it, said Hightower. He came out a captain in the cavalry.
Ah, hah. Judge Priest sucked at his pipe. Herman, he J wheezed back over his shoulder to Felsburg, did you notice a tall sort of a saddle-colored darky playing a juice harp in front of that there sideshow as we came along up? I reckon that nigger could play almost any tune youd a mind to hear him play?
At a time like this Durham was distinctly not interested in the versatilities of strange negroes in this corner of the world. He kept silent, shrugging his shoulders petulantly.
I wonder now is that nigger left town yet? mused the old judge half to himself.
I saw him just a while ago going down toward the depot, volunteered Hightower. Theres a train out of here for Memphis at 8:50. Its about twenty minutes of that now.
Ah, hah, jest about, assented the judge. When the judge said Ah, hah! like that it sounded like the striking of a fiddle-bow across a fiddles tautened E-string.
Well, boys, he went on, weve all got to do the best we can for Breck Tandy, aint we? Say, son this was aimed at Durham Id like mightily for you to put me on the stand the last one tomorrow. You wait until youre through with Herman and Colonel Quigley here, before you call me. And if I should seem to ramble somewhat in giving my testimony why, son, you just let me ramble, will you? I know these people down here better maybe than you do and if I should seem inclined to ramble, just let me go ahead and dont stop me, please?
Judge Priest, said Durham tartly, if you think it could possibly do any good, ramble all you like.
Much obliged, said the old judge, and he struggled into his low-quarter shoes and stood up, dusting the tobacco fluff off himself.
Herman have you got any loose change about you?
Felsburg nodded and reached into his pocket. The judge made a discriminating selection of silver and bills from the handful that the merchant extended to him across the table.
Ill take about ten dollars, he said. I didnt come down here with more than enough to jest about buy my railroad ticket and pay my bill at this here tavern, and I might want a sweetenin dram or somethin.
He pouched his loan and crossed the room. Boys, he said, I think Ill be knockin round a little before I turn in. Herman, I may stop by your room a minute as I come back in. You boys better turn in early and git yourselves a good nights sleep. We are all liable to be purty tolerable busy tomorrow.
After he was outside he put his head back in the door and said to Durham:
Remember, son, I may ramble.
Durham nodded shortly, being somewhat put out by the vagaries of a mind that could concern itself with trivial things on the imminent eve of a crisis.
As the judge creaked ponderously along the hall and down the stairs those he had left behind heard him whistling a tune to himself, making false starts at the air and halting often to correct his meter. It was an unknown tune to them all, but to Felsburg, the oldest of the four, it brought a vague, unplaced memory.
The old judge was whistling when he reached the street. He stood there a minute until he had mastered the time to his own satisfaction, and then, still whistling, he shuffled along the uneven board pavement, which, after rippling up and down like a broken-backed snake, dipped downward to a little railroad station at the foot of the street.
In the morning nearly half the town the white half came to the trial, and enough of the black half to put a dark hem, like a mourning border, across the back width of the courtroom. Except that Main Street now drowsed in the heat where yesterday it had buzzed, this day might have been the day before. Again the resolute woodpecker drove his bloodied head with unimpaired energy against the tin sheathing up above. It was his third summer for that same cupola and the tin was pocked with little dents for three feet up and down. The mourning doves still pitched their lamenting note back and forth across the courthouse yard; and in the dewberry patch at the bottom of Aunt Tilly Hasletts garden down by the creek the meadow larks strutted in buff and yellow, with crescent-shaped gorgets of black at their throats, like Old Continentals, sending their dear-piped warning of Laziness gwine kill you! in at the open windows of the steamy, smelly courtroom.
The defense lost no time getting under headway. As his main witness Durham called the prisoner to testify in his own behalf. Tandy gave his version of the killing with a frankness and directness that would have carried conviction to auditors more even-minded in their sympathies. He had gone to Rankins office in the hope of bringing on a peaceful settlement of their quarrel. Rankin had flared up; had cursed him and advanced on him, making threats. Both of them reached for their guns then. Rankins was the first out, but he fired first that was all there was to it. Gilliam shone at cross-examination; he went at Tandy savagely, taking hold like a snapping turtle and hanging on like one.
He made Tandy admit over and over again that he carried a pistol habitually. In a community where a third of the male adult population went armed this admission was nevertheless taken as plain evidence of a nature bloody-minded and desperate. It would have been just as bad for Tandy if he said he armed himself especially for his visit to Rankin to these listeners that could have meant nothing else but a deliberate, murderous intention. Either way Gilliam had him, and he sweated in his eagerness to bring out the significance of the point. A sinister little murmuring sound,4 vibrant with menace, went purring from bench to bench when Tandy told about his pistol-carrying habit.
The cross-examination dragged along for hours. The recess for dinner interrupted it; then it went on again, Gilliam worrying at Tandy, goading at him, catching him up and twisting his words. Tandy would not be shaken, but twice under the manhandling he lost his temper and lashed back at Gilliam, which was precisely what Gilliam most desired. A flary fiery man, prone to violent outbursts that was the inference he could draw from these blaze-ups.
It was getting on toward five oclock before Gilliam finally let his bedeviled enemy quit the witness-stand and go back to his place between his wife and his lawyer. As for Durham, he had little more to offer. He called on Mr. Felsburg, and Mr. Felsburg gave Tandy a good name as man and boy in his home town. He called on Banker Quigley, who did the same thing in different words. For these character witnesses States Attorney Gilliam had few questions. The case was as good as won now, he figured; he could taste already his victory over the famous lawyer from up North, and he was greedy to hurry it forward.
The hot round hub of a sun had wheeled low enough to dart its thin red spokes in through the westerly windows when Durham called his last witness. As Judge Priest settled himself solidly in the witness chair with the deliberation of age and the heft of flesh, the leveled rays caught him full and lit up his round pink face, with the short white-bleached beard below it and the bald white-bleached forehead above. Durham eyed him half doubtfully. He looked the image of a scatter-witted old man, who would potter and philander round a long time before he ever came to the point of anything. So he appeared to the others there, too. But what Durham did not sense was that the homely simplicity of the old man was of a piece with the picture of the courtroom, that he would seem to these watching, hostile people one of their own kind, and that they would give to him in all likelihood a sympathy and understanding that had been denied the clothing merchant and the broadclothed banker.