finer than our own sheriff. By his lifetime of evil, Pardeen has forfeited forever any claim to self-defense.”
After Varner sat down, Judge Clark instructed the jury and they withdrew to a room at the back of the saloon to make their decision. After only five minutes of deliberation, the jury sent word that they had reached a verdict.
After retaking his seat at the “bench,” Judge Clark put on his glasses, slipping the end pieces over one ear at a time. Then he blew his nose and cleared his throat.
“Are counsel and defendant present?” He pronounced the word as “defend-ant.”
“Counsel and defendant are both present at the table,” Gilmore replied.
“Is the prosecutor present?”
“Hell, Judge, you can see him right in front of your face,” one of the spectators shouted. “Get this over so we can get back to our drinkin’.”
There was some nervous laughter, terminated by the rap of the judge’s gavel. “Mr. Matthews, that little outburst just cost you twenty dollars,” Clark said.
“Wait a minute, I ain’t the only one who—” Matthews began, but he was interrupted by the judge.
“Now it’s twenty-five dollars. Do you want to open your mouth again?”
This time Matthews’s reply was a silent shaking of his head.
“I thought you might come to your senses,” Judge Clark said. “Now, would the bailiff please summon the jury?”
The bailiff, who was leaning against the bar with his arms folded across his chest, spit a quid of tobacco into the brass spittoon, then walked over to a door, opened it, and called inside.
“The judge has called for the jury,” he said.
At the bailiff’s call, the twelve men shuffled from the room where they had conducted their deliberations, and out onto the main floor of the saloon, to the chairs that had been set out for them in two lines of six. They took their seats, then waited for further instructions from the judge.
“Mr. Foreman of the Jury, have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.
“We have, Judge.”
“Your Honor,” the bailiff said.
“Say what?”
“When addressing His Honor the judge, you will say Your Honor,” the bailiff directed.
“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry, I forgot about that. We have reached a verdict, Your Honor.”
“Please publish the verdict.”
“Do what?”
Judge Clark sighed. “Tell the court what the jury has found.”
“Oh. Well, sir, Your Honor, we have found this guilty son of bitch guilty,” the foreman said.
“You goddamn well better have!” someone shouted from the court.
The judge banged his gavel on the table.
“Order!” he called. “I will have order in my court.” He looked over at the foreman. “So say you all?” he asked.
“So say we all,” the foreman replied.
The judge took off his glasses and began polishing them.
“Bailiff, escort the defendant to the bench, please,” the judge said.
Pardeen was handcuffed, and he had shackles on his ankles. He shuffled up to stand in front of the judge.
Pardeen was not a very large man. In a normal world, any belligerency on the part of a man as small as Pardeen would have been regarded as unimportant, or at least manageable. But this was not an ordinary world because Pardeen’s small stature was offset by the fact that he possessed extraordinary skill with a handgun. But even more important than his skill with a pistol was the diabolical disregard of human life that would allow him to use that skill. It was said of Pardeen that he could kill a human being with no more thought than stepping on a bug.
Pardeen’s hair was dark and his eyes were brown. One of his eyes was what people called “lazy,” and it had a tendency to give the illusion that he was looking at two things at once.
“Quince Pardeen, it is said that you have killed fifteen men, and that you may be one of the deadliest gunmen in the West. I could not try you for all those killings—I could only try you for killing Sheriff Logan, and that I have done. You have been tried by a jury of your peers and you have been found guilty of the crime of murder,” he said. “Before this court passes sentence, have you anything to say?”
“Nah, I ain’t got nothin’ to say,” Pardeen said.
“Then draw near for sentencing,” the judge said solemly. “It is the sentence of this court that you be taken from this place and put in jail long enough to witness one more night pass from this mortal coil. At dawn’s light on the morrow, you are to be taken from jail and transported to a place where you will be hanged.”
“Your Honor, we can’t hang ’im in the mornin’. We ain’t built no gallows yet,” the deputy who was now acting sheriff said.
Judge Clark held up his hand to silence the deputy, indicating that he had already taken that into consideration. “This court authorizes the use of a tree, a lamppost, a hay-loading stanchion, or any other device, fixture,
