Kate's Narrative

At Hundred Mile House the long table had been removed from the dining hall, the benches set back to the log walls, and at the head of the room an enormous Union Jack draped a very small portrait of Queen Victoria. Beneath was the chair, in front of it a table set with writing materials and the Bible, while at one end the schoolma'am looked very self-conscious as clerk, in official black, with large red bows like signals of distress.

On the right sat Iron Dale, Jesse, and myself, and all our posse, very ill at ease. On the left were two gaunt American stockmen, both wearing hats, while one had the star of a United States marshal. Beside them sat the general public, consisting of Tearful George, two ranch-hands, an Indian, and the captain's bulldog. Wee James, the captain's grandson, sat with the dog at first, but presently he interrupted the court to say that he would like to sit on me. He sat with considerable weight for so small a person.

At Captain Taylor's entrance the constable ordered us all to stand. Every inch a naval officer, bluff, ruddy, cheery, choleric, frightfully impressive in a frock coat, he wore a Russian order slung by a ribbon at his throat, and a little row of miniature war medals, the ribbons, alas, too small to show me of which campaigns. At sight of the two strangers he mounted a single eye-glass, and stared with growing wrath until they removed their hats. Then, taking the chair, he permitted us to be seated and ordered his constable to "Bring the prisoners aft."

Had our captives been washed and brushed, they might not have looked so wretched or so guilty. Old O'Flynn, described by Jesse as Whiskers, with his head in a blood-stained bandage, his right hand in a gory handkerchief, looked so ill that he was given a seat. The Mexican, whose beautiful leather dress, and soft dark eyes reminded me sharply of the opera-house, seemed like a trapped wolf, only thinking of escape to the nearest woods. Bull Durham's swaggering gallantry was marred by obvious traces of the flour sack wherein he had been immersed by his disgusted chief, and the shower of rain which followed.

"Prisoners," said the magistrate.

At that moment the United States marshal squirted tobacco juice, adroitly hitting a spittoon distant some fourteen feet.

"Constable," said the magistrate austerely, "remove that person until he has washed his mouth." Every man present had been furtively chewing tobacco, but no one who knew Captain Taylor in his official mood would have presumed to spit. Every jaw became rigid, every eye looked reproachfully at the marshal, who rose protesting in stately sentences that he represented the majesty of the people.

"Take his majesty out," said the captain with dreadful calmness, "and put him under the pump."

The representative of the stock associations rose to support his countryman.

"Clap them in irons," said the captain. "I'll have no spitting on my quarter deck."

Jesse and Dale rose to assist the constable, and for some stirring moments we were threatened with international complications. Then in his quaint slow drawl my husband obtained leave to address the magistrate. "I got an American book right here," said he, "in my hind pocket. It's called Deportment for Gents. In real high-toned society, this Honeypott claims that Amurrican gentlemen chews, but reserves the juice until they happens on a yaller dawg. Then they assists that dawg with his complexion."

The marshal stooped to pet the captain's bulldog.

"I'd help this yaller purp," said he, with a grave smile, "if I'd thicker pants."

The captain chuckled and the case went on, our visitors having "allowed that they didn't propose to chew in a court of justice."

"Prisoners," said our justice of the peace, laying his hand on the Bible, "this book contains the only law I know. I'm not here as judge or lawyer, but as one of Her Majesty's officers trusted to do the sporting thing, and to deal fairly and squarely with three innocent men who have the misfortune to be charged with crime. You've only to prove to me that you're innocent, and I have power to let you go free. But I warn you to tell the truth."

"Seems a square deal, Cap," said Whiskers.

"It is a square deal. Now, would you like to have some one of your countrymen as prisoners' friend?"

Whiskers looked reproachfully at the United States marshal who demanded his extradition, and the representative of stock associations who offered fabulous rewards for his body "dead or alive."

"Wall," he drawled, "not exactly."

"You other prisoners. Do you accept this man as your spokesman?"

"Si, seÑor."

"That's all right," said Bull.

"Prisoner O'Flynn, you are charged with assaulting a woman, you others with aiding and abetting. Guilty or not guilty?"

"It's a fact," said Whiskers sadly, "and all three of us wishes to say what's got to be said"—he drew himself up to his full height—"by gentlemen! We tried to force a lady to give her husband away. She shamed us, and we honors Mrs. Smith for what she done. She told us to go to blazes. Yes, sir! We just owns up that we're guilty as hell, as the best way of showing our respect."

"Gentlemen," Captain Taylor spoke very gently. "I understand that you, O'Flynn, received two wounds in punishment, and that two of your comrades were killed by the men who avenged this affront. Is that true?"

"It's a fact."

"The verdict of the court is, 'not guilty.'

"But prisoner, your confession proves the right of the settlers to organize for defense of the settlement until the constable could be brought to their help. All you settlers who have taken part in the capture of these prisoners are engaged by the province as special constables from the day you undertook service, until I give you your discharge. You will be paid on such a scale as I direct.

"Rudolf Schweinfurth."

The marshal came forward and was sworn.

"You are a United States marshal?"

"Yes, your honor."

"You submit proof?"

The marshal's credentials were read.

"You claim these prisoners for extradition?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sit down. Cyrus Y. Jones." The other stockman was sworn. "You are representative of certain stock associations and submit proof? Right. You claim certain cattle alleged to be stolen, and found in possession of the prisoners? Right. You submit photographs identifying certain of these cattle and evidence of theft. And you offer twenty-five thousand dollars' reward for recovery of the stock. Pay that money into court and take my receipt.

"Prisoners, you are charged in your own country with robbery-under-arms and homicide in various degrees. Now, I don't pretend to understand to what particular degree you may or may not have murdered people, but it seems to me that being killed even to a very slight extent must be damned inconvenient. I don't want to know whether you're guilty or not guilty, because it's no business of mine. I do know that this official who claims you represents the republic. I have plenty of evidence that you were found in this country under suspicious circumstances, and that you proceeded to make yourselves a general nuisance. If I committed you for vagrancy or assault, it would delay you in a business which you must have deeply at heart. I know that if I were charged with a tenth part of these crimes I'd never sleep until I proved my innocence. Do you or do you not wish to prove your innocence?"

The prisoners scratched their heads.

"Marshal," said the magistrate. "I don't know what my powers are in this matter, but it's evident that the less red tape there is the sooner these men will get the justice they rightly demand. I don't want them. Give me a receipt and engage what men you need for escort duty. You, Mr. Representative, give me your receipt for the cattle. Now clear out, and get to the States before you're interfered with by any lop-eared officials. Constable, hand over your prisoners.

"Mr. Dale and Mr. Smith, will you trust me as magistrate to make a fair division of this reward? All right. One-quarter goes to Dale, one-quarter to Smith, and the other half to be equally divided among you. Is that fair? All right, here's the plunder. Let's get the table in and dinner served. I'm famished."

So the court rose, and the dear old captain, having, I believe, broken every statute in British Columbia jurisprudence, asked all hands and the prisoners to dinner. "Of course," he said afterward to Jesse, "I ought to have committed you and Dale to trial for homicide, fined you all round for using guns without a license, turned the lawyers loose on a fat extradition case, and impounded the cattle to eat my grass at government expense. As it is, I'll be hanged, drawn, and quartered by the politicians, damned by the press, and jailed for thrashing editors. And I missed all the fun."

After dinner the crowd broke up into little groups. In one corner the American officials were bargaining with Mr. Dale for his Sky-line men to ride with the prisoners and the cattle. By the door stood Mr. Brooke, explaining something at great length to our bored constable. At the head of the long table Captain Taylor was telling me how difficult it was to find a suitable nursery governess for Wee James. At the foot of the table I saw the Mexican whispering to his unfortunate chief—plans for escape, no doubt. Then Jesse joined them, with a present of pipes, matches, and tobacco to ease their journey.

"Mr. Smith," said poor old O'Flynn, "this yere Sebastian Diaz has been with me these twelve year. He's only a greaser—"

"Medio Sangre, seÑor!" said the half-breed proudly.

"But he's got the heart of a white man. He's like a son to me."

"I'm proud," said Jesse, "to make your acquaintance, both of you. You are men, all right."

"We fought the rich men what had wronged us, them and their breed. We put up a good fight. Yes, sir! And we wouldn't have missed a mile of that twelve years' trail. It wasn't our way to insult women, Mr. Smith."

"You had to git that information somehow," said Jesse, "and Mrs. Smith forgives you."

The old man bowed his head.

"Muchos gracias, caballero!" said the Mexican, gently.

"That's off our minds, Mr. Smith."

"Mostly known as Jesse," said my husband.

"Jesse. We bin consulting, and we agree you're the only man here we'd care to ask favors of."

"I'm your friend all right."

"Jesse, if we don't escape, we are due to pass in our chips."

"I'm not going to help you escape."

"Wall, you haven't helped our escape to any great extent, so far as I know."

Jesse chuckled.

"But I'm asking you to look after my wife and my son."

"I'll do that."

"You'll save the boy from his father's trade?"

"I reckon."

"Put her thar."

And they shook hands.

"Them horses we was riding," said the outlaw, "is for my son."

"That's all right."

"And one thing more. This yere Brooke ain't white."

"You don't say!"

The outlaw grinned. "You sized him up all right. He joined us out of a Wild West show last fall. He's never done nothin' to earn hanging or jail, being too incompetent. But he's state's evidence enough to hang us twenty times over. He'll get off.

"Moreover, Jesse, take a dying man's word. That Brooke has an eye on your good lady. He's your enemy from times far back at Abilene. He'll live to do you dirt. Thar, I sort of hates to talk so of one of my men, and I won't say no more.

"Say, my hands being hurt, will you just reach into my off hind pocket? That's right. There's a gold watch. Take it, my time's up. Give that to your lady from us as a sort of keepsake. Good-by, partner."

"Good-by, friend."

"Adios," said the Mexican. "Vaya usted con Dios!" And the English of that is, "May you ride with God!"

From the other end of the room Captain Taylor and I were watching that little scene. Without hearing a word we could understand so well. "Young woman," said the captain, "when I was a younger fool than I am now, I was a naval attachÉ at St. Petersburg. I'd seen how the Russian Bear behaved at Sebastopol and I liked to watch how he behaved in the Winter Palace. One day a Cossack officer and his son came to make an appeal. Mrs. officer had been a puss and bolted with one of the court officials, so her husband and son wanted leave to go after the man with their guns. They were so miserable that they sat at a table and took no notice of anybody or anything. After they'd been sitting a long time, a man came and laid down a case of dueling pistols on the table beside them. I couldn't hear what he said, but he sat down with them. Presently I saw him shake hands with the general.

"Now your husband put something on the table, and sat down with those wretched prisoners, and presently shook hands with one of them.

"Your husband and that Russian chap did the very same things in the very same way. Yes, you've married a gentleman by mistake."

I was puzzled. "Who was the Russian?" I asked.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? He was the emperor."

After a minute, while I watched my royal man, the captain laid his hand on mine. "Don't let these loafers see you crying," he whispered.

"I'm not crying." I looked round to prove that I was not crying, and as I did so, my glance fell upon the old man's miniature medals. One of them was the Victoria Cross.