Saloon justice, p.2
Saloon Justice, page 2
A half hour later, Isaac Potter turned up, mightily ticked off at being dragged away from his work. The court was reconvened and Potter was sworn in. Jerry then began to question him. ‘Mr Potter, you say that the defendant was taken in the act of theft?’
‘Say what?’ said Potter. ‘The what? We talkin’ ’bout that Mexican over yonder?’
‘We are.’
‘Well, he was waving his arms at Martin’s steers, up to something, that’s for certain sure.’
‘What made you think that Mr Robles was stealing cattle?’
‘Hard to say what else he might o’ been doin’ with ’em.’ Isaac Potter turned to the spectators, as though expecting a round of applause or burst of laughter for his wit.
Jerry Freeman said sharply, ‘May I remind you sir that a man’s life is at stake. Could Mr Robles have been intercepting the steers, having seen them break out of Mr Martin’s property?’
It was plain that this idea had never crossed Potter’s mind. He scratched his head and then, obviously bending over backwards to appear fair, said reluctantly, ‘I guess he might o’ been. I just thought. . . .’
‘No further questions,’ said Jerry hastily. He didn’t want any of Potter’s prejudicial speculations being aired in front of the jury. He turned to address the jury, saying, ‘With his honour’s permission, I would now like to remind you men that you must be satisfied beyond all reasonable doubt of this man’s guilt. You alone are the judges of this case and I ask that you acquit this man now.’
All this was so novel to the twelve men sitting by the wall, that they hardly knew what to make of it. Clayton Singer normally told them what to do and since he had delegated that task, as they read the case, to this young fellow, they supposed that they should do what he told them instead. Accordingly, after some slight whispered deliberations, their spokesman stood up and said loudly, ‘We find Carlos Robles not guilty.’
There was uproar in the saloon, from which Jerry Freeman took it that acquittals were by no means a common occurrence in Judge Singer’s courtroom.
‘All right,’ said Singer irritably. ‘Let the bastard go. I mean, discharge the prisoner.’
Hardly able to believe what was happening, the bewildered Mexican ran to Jerry and threw his arms around him. There were tears in the man’s eyes; he had probably expected to be hanging from a nearby tree by now. It remained only for Jerry to see what the Justice of the Peace might have to say to him about his impertinence in disrupting proceedings. From what he had so far seen, Jerry rather expected to receive a string of curse words and was hugely surprised when the great man summoned him into the back room of the bar and asked, ‘You lookin’ for a job, young feller?’
Chapter 2
While Jerry Freeman had been cross examining witnesses and addressing the jury, Clayton Singer’s mind had been working fast. He had surely been vexed when that young whippersnapper had barged into his court and stirred everything up, but thinking it over, you had to admire his pluck. As the boy jabbered on, it became obvious to Singer that the men in the saloon were lapping it up. He knew that his court was a draw for those living in town and that as a consequence, The Texas Rose did better business on Mondays than on any other day of the week. He was also aware that reporters from the county newspapers came to listen as well from time to time. How though if his court became an even bigger attraction? What if visitors were drawn from far and wide to come to town and see justice done? That would surely give a boost to Mineral Springs.
So wholly unlooked for was Singer’s question, that Jerry did not know what to answer. ‘Well, you lookin’ for a job or are ye not?’ said the judge. ‘It’s a simple enough question and you don’t suffer from any handicap in your speech, leastways from what I seen o’ you so far.’
‘I’m sorry sir, you just take me by surprise. What sort of job had you in mind?’
‘Sloppin’ out the latrines!’ Singer said, displaying increasing impatience. ‘Lawin’ of course, what d’you think? You could defend the rascals we get here and mebbe advise on court practice and suchlike as well. What d’you say?’
The more Jerry Freeman turned the idea over in his mind, the more attractive it seemed to him. He had no money to speak of, and was effectively stranded in Mineral Springs. If he was to stay here for any length of time, then he would need work of some kind. True, advocacy work was not what he had wanted to do when he had finished law school, but he could do a lot worse right now. ‘I’ve nowhere to live,’ he said, ‘But apart from that, yes, the idea suits me well enough.’
‘You ain’t too proud to sleep over a bar-room, I s’pose?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘Well, there’s a room up top of here, by the roof, you can have,’ said Singer. ‘You can take your meals here too. As for money, we’ll see how you go for a spell ’fore we talk o’ that.’
‘It’s very good of you sir. . . .’ began the young man. Clayton Singer cut in at once.
‘None o’ that nonsense, boy. I got my reasons, dare say you got yours.’
‘What will I be called?’ asked the young man, not that it really mattered to him.
The disreputable-looking old saloon keeper thought about this for a second or two and then said, ‘What say we call you the public defender?’
After the old barkeep had shown him up to the tiny little room, which was scarcely larger than a brook closet, Jerry sat down on the bed and commenced to think things over.
The irony of the whole situation had not of course escaped him. He had fled New York in a fury as a direct consequence of this very subject; namely, whether he was to practice at the bar.
Emma, his fiancée, had been fiercely intent upon his using his legal training on behalf of ordinary people. She thought in abstract terms such as ‘justice’ and ‘right’. It was all well and good for her to take such a principled stand; after all, her family didn’t want for money. For his own part, he knew full well that the only way he would be making his fortune was in commercial work, rather than devilling in the little courts in the less salubrious boroughs of New York City. Emma’s own father had made his pile through being as ruthless a businessman as anybody had ever known. His iron and steel concern had driven smaller rivals into the bankruptcy courts and secured contracts by graft and corruption of every description. And now the daughter of such a man dared to try and dictate how he, Jerry Freeman, should live his life professionally.
A month after he had finished law school, Emma had asked him plainly what his ambitions tended towards. He had told her then that his sole, immediate and direct aim was to become as wealthy as he could be. The best path for achieving that end lay in becoming a lawyer initially for one of the city’s big companies and gaining experience before striking out on his own account. When he told her this, Emma had turned away, as though she did not wish to look upon his face. She said, ‘Money, then, is all that you seek after your years of study?’
‘I want to stand on my own two feet,’ he had replied.
‘What if it means stepping on other people’s feet?’
‘What the deuce is that supposed to mean? I only want the same as your father has. Money to live on, enough wealth to provide a home for you and me and . . . and a family.’
Emma had looked at him a little scornfully. ‘The same as my father has? Is that what you want for us, Jerry? There’s things which are a sight more important than money, I can tell you that. Things like honour, decency, courage and truthfulness.’
He had felt as shocked as though Emma had slapped him round the face. ‘Do you say I lack those qualities?’
‘No, you have them in abundance. But you won’t get on in the business world without shedding them. I won’t marry a man who cares only for the acquisition of money.’
Emma’s idea had been that Jerry apprentice himself to some lawyer representing ordinary criminals and then work to establish a practice of his own, using his legal training for the public good. To Jerry, it sounded like madness, with the sort of future that he could have in front of him. There had been other quarrels, culminating in his breaking off the engagement, leaving New York in a fit of temper and travelling as far from the city, and Emma, as he was able.
And now here he was, stuck in this piddling little town and without the wherewithal to return to New York, at least for the time being. His grand career would have to wait a while, until he had, at the very least, earned enough to pay for a railroad ticket back to his own city. In the meantime, he was going to be following the very course of action which Emma had so forcefully urged him towards; fighting in court for the widow and orphan! He smiled ruefully at the thought.
There was a rap at the door and Jerry got up and opened it. The barkeep was standing outside. He said, ‘Mr Singer says I’m to serve you two meals a day of whatever we got goin’.’
‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’
‘Ain’t kind at all. Just followin’ ’structions. Clayton Singer owns this place an’ who pays the piper, calls the tune. Or so they say. If’n you want to eat, we got pork and beans downstairs now. Less you’re wanting room service?’
‘No, no. That’s fine. I’ll be down directly.’
There was no sign of Judge Singer when Jerry went down to the bar-room to eat. He took the plate of food to a table by the window, hoping to be left in peace. It was not to be. No sooner had he sat down than two rough looking individuals came up and said, ‘Mind if we join you, son?’
‘No, please be my guest.’
The two of them stared at him disconcertingly while he ate. At last, Jerry asked, ‘I take it you men were here earlier?’
‘Hooee! Weren’t we just,’ said one of the men. ‘I tell you now, we never seen the like. Thought Singer would have slain you on the spot when you stood up like that. Could o’ knocked us down with a feather when he let you take over like he did.’
The other man said to his companion, ‘He can be a devil when he’s roused. You mind the time that fellow spent a couple o’ hours drinkin’ here and then swore he had no money to pay the bill?’
‘Do I? That was an afternoon to recall.’
‘Why,’ said Jerry. ‘What happened?’
‘Fellow was drinking here for two hour or more. When he’d drunk his fill, he ups and tells Clayton that he’s got not a cent to his name. Then he turns and walks out.’
‘What happened?’
‘What happened? Well may you ask. Clayton, he chases after the man and tells him as he’s the judge round here. Fellow didn’t give a damn, just kept on walking. Well, there was a fight and Clayton give him a black eye, knocked one o’ his teeth out and hauled him back here.’
‘Know what they found? Clayton searched him and he had a money belt round his waist with three hundred dollars o’ gold in it. The judge, he took the money for the whiskey the man had had and then he fined him a hundred dollars, the money being to pay for – how was it he put it? – I know, “to defray the legal expenses of pursuit, capture and return”.’
‘He certainly seems a robust sort of judge,’ ventured Jerry.
‘Robust? You’d o’ said so if you saw him the time a prisoner went for him. ’Member that Pete?’
‘ ’Member it? Best entertainment I seed in my whole life. T’was a fur trapper, I mind. Great big, wild lookin’ creature. Looked more like a bear than man. He was bein’ tried for drunkenness an’ knocking some other man down. Clayton, he starts talkin’ about the law of the sovereign state of Texas and this fellow, he jumps up, pulls out a bowie knife and rushed up to where the judge is sittin’. “Law o’ Texas”, says he, waving this big knife in Clayton’s face, “Law o’ Texas? This here is the law of Texas”.’
‘What did Mr Singer do?’ asked Jerry.
‘Do? He weren’t scared none. He whips out a six-gun and shoves it in this fellows face and says, “Yes, by the great Jehovah, and this here is the constitution of Texas”.’
Both the men fell about laughing at the recollection of this singular incident. It was gradually dawning upon Jerry Freeman that practising law in a town like Mineral Springs would perhaps not be wholly devoid of interest.
After he had finished eating, Jerry decided to take a turn around the town and see what to make of it. There was really only one proper street, which was the one running through the centre of Mineral Springs. Other buildings were jumbled about on either side of this thoroughfare. There were the usual establishments one would expect to find in a small town; blacksmith, church, general store and so on. One of the things he soon noticed was that development of the town was being restricted because it was unable to expand towards the railroad tracks. This was, as he later learned, a consequence of Clayton Singer wishing to ensure that any passing trade from the trains which stopped to take on water, came to him and him alone in The Texas Rose. What this meant in practice was that new buildings tended to be squeezed into gaps between those which were already there; giving Mineral Springs a higgledy-piggledy appearance. The logical thing would be for new streets to be laid out towards the railroad and then for building to take place on the other side of the tracks also, so that the railroad depot was in the centre of town, rather than a hundred yards off from it. Singer though, was adamantly opposed to any such scheme and his word was, quite literally, law.
As he strolled round Mineral Springs, Jerry Freeman found that his fame had preceded him and that most of the men whom he met greeted him affably. He felt like one who has unexpectedly survived an encounter with some powerful force of nature, maybe a tornado or tidal wave. That any man would have the temerity to stand up and argue with Judge Singer in his own courtroom was an astonishing thing to the citizens of the town and Jerry was viewed as being something of a prodigy for having essayed such a rash action.
It gradually dawned upon the young attorney, as he stopped and chatted with the folk on Main Street, that Clayton Singer had somehow adopted the role of benevolent dictator in the little town. Every question he asked about the arrangement, running or future prospects of Mineral Springs was met with the replies such as, ‘I don’t rightly know. You’d have to ask the judge about that’ or ‘Mr Singer might be able to tell you’ or, even when those to whom he spoke were clearly old friends of the saloon owner, ‘Clayton knows about them things.’
There was no suggestion that the people who lived in the town were in fear of Singer or that he lorded it over them like some tyrant; simply that what he said went and that he was the ultimate arbiter of what should be done. This struck Jerry Freeman as being somehow unhealthy and likely to suppress development and innovation, to say nothing of discouraging competition. One of the objections which Emma had raised to his working for a big company was that many of those places, like her own father’s steel mills, were monopolies in all but name. She had advanced the thesis that such a state of affairs was unhealthy and worked to oppose progress and freedom. He hadn’t quite seen what she was driving at when they were discussing the question in the comfortable surroundings of the parlour of a big house in New York, but he thought now that he could see what she meant. This town was fit to grow and expand, become a bustling new place which would thrive in all kinds of different ways, but Clayton Singer wanted it to remain just the same as it had always been, with his the only saloon in town and his word law on everything from new buildings to what hours the store could open. It was the old way, a bit like medieval times from what Jerry recalled reading of them at school, with one leader telling all the other folk for miles around how to live their lives. What they used to call ‘The Feudal System’. Those ways were gone now though, only lingering on in a handful of out-of-the-way locations like this.
While he was musing along these lines, Jerry almost bumped into a young woman coming out of the store. She was a pert-looking creature and when Jerry nearly knocked the basket from her hands, she said, ‘Mind where you’re walking now.’
‘Sorry ma’am, the fault was entirely my own.’
‘My,’ said the girl, looking at him closely, ‘but don’t you speak nice? New boy in town, I should say.’
‘That’s about the strength of it, ma’am.’
‘Less of the ma’am,’ she said tartly. ‘It makes me sound like somebody’s aunt. My name’s Maria Fallon. You can call me Miss Fallon or Maria if you prefer. I don’t much mind which.’
It would have felt awfully familiar to start addressing a young woman by her Christian name within a minute of meeting her and so he said, ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Fallon.’
The girl, who could not have been much over eighteen years of age, wrinkled her nose, saying, ‘Well, it’s an improvement, but it still makes me seem like an old maid. I’ll warrant you’re the fellow who stopped the hanging this afternoon?’
‘I am.’
‘Well done,’ she said emphatically. ‘It’s plain disgraceful how that man deals out death like he was a Roman emperor or some such.’
‘I got the feeling that most folk round here are happy enough with the way things are run,’ said Jerry diffidently. ‘You’re the first to say that there’s something wrong.’
The girl looked at him, as though trying to gauge how much she could say to this complete stranger. In the end, she said, ‘People like what they’re familiar with. They don’t welcome change. And having a strong man in charge means not having to think too much for themselves.’ Then, worried perhaps that she had said too much, she continued, ‘Well, I best get back with these provisions or there’ll be no meal tonight for my family.’
‘Your family?’ exclaimed Jerry, before he could stop himself. ‘You mean you’re married?’ Then he recollected himself and stopped, feeling his cheeks redden. How could he have spoken so to an unknown woman?
Maria Fallon burst into a peal of girlish laughter, which caused an old woman passing by to remark to her companion that young girls these days were mighty fast to tip their hats at any passing stranger. ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘Do I look that old? No, I’m taking this home for my step-mother to prepare. But I can’t stand chatting to you all day, I’ll scandalize folks. Goodbye, it was good to meet you.’
