Red Eagle spoke to the village. “I will say for the last time the name of Walking Bear. I tell you now to speak the names of those who left us. Then, after this day, do not say their names again, for they are no more.”
The villagers shouted the names of the warriors, and of the women and children of the warriors who left with them; then they began singing the lament of the dead for, as far as they were concerned, those who left the village that day were dead.
As Walking Bear and his warriors and their families moved away from Red Eagle’s village, he could hear the sounds of the death songs. He could also hear the sound of weeping from the women and children of his band as they mourned those who were left behind.
“Warriors!” he called. “Be of stout heart! We ride the path of the brave! Eeeyaaah!!!!”
The other warriors with him joined in the yell, as much to buck up their own spirits as to shut out the mournful sounds from the village.
Chapter Nine
“Oyez, oyez, oyez, this here court is about to convene, the Honorable Judge Spenser Clark presidin’,” the bailiff shouted.
“Ha, this ain’t no court! This here’s a saloon,” someone shouted. His shout was met with laughter from others who were present.
“Crawford, one more outburst like that, and you’ll spend thirty days in the jail,” the bailiff said, pointing to the offending customer/spectator. “This here saloon is a court whenever His Honor decides to make it a court, and that’s what he’s done. Now, everybody stand up’n make sure you ain’t wearin’ no hat or nothin’ like that while the judge comes in. And McCall, you better not let me catch you servin’ no liquor durin’ the trial.”
“I know the rules, George. I ain’t served nary a drop since the judge ordered the saloon closed,” McCall replied.
The Honorable Spenser Clark came out of the back room of the saloon and took a seat at his “bench,” which was the best table in the saloon. The table sat upon a raised platform that had been built just for this purpose.
The saloon was used as a court because it was the largest building in town. An ancillary reason for holding court in the saloon was because it was always crowded, thus making it easy for the judge to empanel a jury by rounding up twelve sober men, good and true. If it was sometimes difficult to find twelve sober men, then the judge could stretch the definition of sobriety enough to meet the needs of the court. The “good and true,” however, had to be taken upon faith.
Quince Pardeen was being charged with the murder of Sheriff John Logan. There was no question that he had killed Sheriff Logan, because he had done so on the main street of the town in front of no fewer than thirty witnesses.
There was some question, however, as to whether or not it could actually be considered murder. That was because it was clear that Sheriff Logan drew his pistol first. Prosecution contended that the sheriff did so in the line of duty while attempting to arrest a man for whom there were wanted posters in obvious circulation.
The city of Puxico had only two lawyers, David Varner and Bailey Gilmore, neither of whom was a prosecuting attorney. Because of that, Judge Clark brought the two men into his hotel room prior to the trial.
“I don’t suppose Pardeen has hired either of you to represent him, has he?” he asked.
“It is my understanding he is going to ask that a lawyer be appointed,” Varner replied.
Judge Clark sighed. “Do either of you volunteer for defense?”
Varner and Gilmore looked at each other, but neither spoke.
“Very well, we’ll flip a coin,” the judge said, pulling a nickel from his pocket.
Varner called heads, it came up heads, and he asked to prosecute. That made Gilmore Pardeen’s defense attorney.
Gilmore was conscientious enough to believe in providing the best defense possible, regardless of the heinousness of the crime, and he sat out to do just that. He made a very strong argument that Pardeen saw only the draw, and perceiving that his life was in danger, reacted as anyone would.
“Pardeen might be a wanted man,” Gilmore said in his closing argument. “But even wanted men do not surrender their right to self-preservation.
“I lament the fact that Sheriff Logan was killed, and for that, his dear widow has our sincerest sympathy.” Gilmore glanced over at Mrs. Logan, who, still wearing widows weeds, lifted her black veil to dab at her eyes with a silk handkerchief.
“Indeed,” Gilmore continued, “the entire town of Puxico has our sympathy, for Sheriff Logan was known far and wide as a good and decent man.”
“What the hell are you doin’, lawyer?” Pardeen yelled angrily from the defense table. “Whose side are you on anyhow?”
“Mr. Pardeen, one more outburst like that and I’ll have you bound and gagged,” Judge Clark warned. “You may continue with your argument, Counselor.”
The defense attorney nodded, then brought his closing argument to its conclusion. “Gentlemen of the jury, any way you look at this fracas, no matter how good and decent a man Logan was, if you are fair and honest in your deliberation, you will agree that Mr. Pardeen acted in self-defense.”
Varner waited until Gilmore had taken his seat before he rose to address the jury. Before he said a word he made a sarcastic show of applauding, clapping his hands together so quietly that they could not be heard.
“I applaud the esteemed counselor for the defense,” he said. “He is a good man who believes that anyone— even a person as evil and as obviously guilty as Quince Pardeen—deserves a good defense. He chose, of course, the only option open to him. He chose to make his plea, one of self-defense. But despite my esteemed colleague’s most sincere attempt, the truth is”—Varner paused and looked directly at Pardeen—“Mr. Gilmore’s noble effort was an exercise in futility. Quince Pardeen is a cold-blooded murderer. Many a good man has fallen before his gun—none
