until he had assembled a jury of twelve men.
“Put the jury here,” Cummins said, pointing to an area of the saloon that was near the cold, iron stove. “Set up twelve chairs. Deputy Pike, you’ll be the bailiff. Morgan, you and Gates move a table over there to give me a place to sit. Oh, and set a table there for the defense and there for the prosecution,” he added.
There was a scurry of activity as the saloon was turned into a courtroom.
“As of now, the bar is closed,” Cummins shouted.
“Come on, Marshal, what’s the harm of a drink if all we’re goin’ to do is watch?” Jackson asked. “You done said there can’t none of us deputies be on the jury.”
“I intend this to be a proper court,” Cummins said. “The bar is closed. Hayes, you’re going to be the prosecutor.”
“I ain’t no lawyer, Marshal,” Hayes said.
“I know you’re not,” Cummins answered. “But we only got us one real lawyer in town, and that’s Bob Dempster. I think it’s only fair that the defendant get the real lawyer.”
“Dempster?” Hayes said. He laughed. “Yeah, all right, I don’t mind goin’ up against Dempster.”
“He’s back there in the corner,” Cummins said. “Deputy Posey, go get him.”
When Matt looked back into the corner Cummins had indicated, he saw a man sitting at a table. A whiskey bottle was on the table beside him, and his head was down on the table. He was either asleep, or passed out.
“Hey, Dempster,” Posey called.
Dempster made no response.
“Dempster!” Posey said again, louder this time. “Are you dead? Or are you just drunk?”
Everyone in the saloon laughed.
“Somebody get a pitcher of water,” Cummins ordered, and a moment later, someone showed up with it, handing it to Posey.
“Dempster!” Posey shouted, while at the same time throwing the pitcher of water into his face. “Wake up!”
“What? What’s happening?” Dempster sputtered, raising up as water dripped from his hair and face.
Again, everyone in the saloon laughed.
“Whiskey,” Dempster said, wiping his hand across his face.
There was more laughter.
“No whiskey, Dempster,” Cummins said. “The bar is closed.”
“Closed?” Dempster looked around in confusion. “What do you mean, closed? It’s still light. Oh, is it Sunday?”
“It’s closed because the saloon has been turned into a courtroom,” Cummins said. “We are about to have a trial, and I have appointed you to defend the bastard who murdered Moe Gillis.”
“You have appointed me?”
“Yes.”
Dempster shook his head. “Marshal Cummins—” Dempster began, but he was interrupted by Cummins.
“For the purposes of this trial, I am acting, not as marshal, but as an associate judge,” Cummins said. “And you will refer to me as such.”
“Your Honor,” Dempster corrected. “I can’t act as attorney,” he said. “I’m—uh—in no condition to act as attorney.”
“Yeah? Well, you don’t have any choice,” Cummins said. “I’ve appointed you and you will defend this man, or I will throw you in jail for contempt of court. And I don’t have to remind you, do I, Counselor, that you won’t be getting anything to drink while you are in jail?”
Dempster sat at the table for a long moment, looking around at everyone who was staring at him. It was obvious that he was very uncomfortable with the scrutiny of all the patrons. He ran his hand across his wet face one more time.
“Where is the defendant?” he asked.
“Right there,” Cummins said, pointing toward Matt. Matt was still standing, with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“Take his cuffs off,” Dempster said.
“He’s my prisoner,” Jackson replied.
“Right now he is the defendant in a court trial, and he is innocent until proven guilty,” Dempster said. “As the court-appointed attorney for the defense, I am ordering you to take off his cuffs.”
Jackson made no move to comply.
“Your Honor,” Dempster complained.
Cummins looked over toward Jackson and nodded. “Take them off,” he said.
Jackson complied with the order, and Matt brought his hands back around front, then rubbed the wrists.
“Your Honor, I will need a few minutes to consult with my client,” Dempster said.
