A Judge Earl Stark Story
A few snowflakes spiraled down from the gunmetal-gray sky as the bearded man rode into town on a fine-looking Appaloosa. The weather seemed appropriate, he thought, seeing as it was the morning of Christmas Eve.
Too bad it was a matter of life and death that had brought him here.
He reined to a stop in front of the local marshal’s office and swung down from the saddle. He was of medium height, stockily built, with a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard that showed he was no longer a young man. He wore a brown Stetson and a long, tan duster. When the coat swung back a little, it revealed a pistol holstered on his hip. He didn’t seem to be the sort of man who would go looking for trouble, but he gave the impression of being able to handle it if it came knocking.
“Jed Brundage?” he asked the man behind the desk as he entered the office.
The lawman, older, with a drooping white mustache, nodded and got to his feet. With the sort of caution that came natural to any man who wore a star for very long, he rested his hand on the butt of his gun and said, “That’s right. Who might you be, stranger?”
“Earl Stark.”
Marshal Brundage frowned. Stark could tell the name meant something to him, but Brundage wasn’t sure exactly what that something was.
Then understanding dawned on the weathered face. “Stark!” he repeated. “Not the judge?”
Stark nodded. “That’s right. I know I don’t look the part, but I have identification if you’d like to see it.”
Brundage’s eyes narrowed as he said, “I reckon that’d be a good idea.”
Stark reached under his duster and into his vest pocket to bring out the papers that identified him as a circuit court judge. Brundage’s bushy eyebrows rose a little as he looked at them, then handed them back.
“I reckon you’re who you say you are, all right,” the marshal said. “You’re here for the trial?”
“That’s right.”
“Good. I’d like to get this over with before Christmas, and so would everybody else involved.” Brundage shook his head. “It’s a bad business.”
“Murder usually is,” Stark said.
The marshal jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You want to see the prisoner? I got him locked up back in the cell block.”
Stark shook his head. “No, the only business I have with him is in the courtroom. Speaking of which, I suppose we can use the town hall I noticed across the street?”
“That’s right. That’s where the local justice of the peace holds court.”
“That’ll do for me, then.” Stark took a gold pocket watch from his vest pocket and opened it to check the time. “One o’clock be all right?”
“Whatever you say, Your Honor. You’re in charge. It’ll give me time to spread the word. Lots of people in town because of the holiday. It shouldn’t be a problem gettin’ enough men for a jury.”
Stark nodded and said, “I’ll go have a look at the hall and start getting ready.” He turned toward the door, then paused. “You’ll alert the prosecutor and the defendant’s attorney, as well?”
“Sure thing. Mack Hairston’s the county attorney. He’s champin’ at the bit to get this done. Figures it’ll be a real feather in his cap, convictin’ the man who murdered the son of the richest man in the territory.”
“Allegedly,” Stark reminded him.
Brundage shrugged to indicate there wasn’t any real doubt in his mind as to the defendant’s guilt. Stark left the marshal’s office, a frown on his bearded face.
****
The town hall was big enough and already had rows of chairs in place. Some tables were pushed against the back wall. Stark pulled three of them forward and arranged them, one for the prosecution, one for the defense, and one to serve as his bench. He moved one of the chairs, turning it so the witnesses could sit in it to testify, and put twelve more off to the side for a jury box.
Some judges would insist on having somebody else do that work for them, but Stark was accustomed to handling everything from setting up to sweeping out as he delivered justice to the best of his ability in these rough frontier towns. He had never been one to rely on anybody else. Years spent as a shotgun guard on various stagecoach lines before he started studying law had taught him to stomp his own snakes. And few were better at snake-stompin’ than the man once known as Big Earl.
Once he had the tables and chairs set up like he wanted them, he carried in some wood from the stack in the alley next to the town hall and started a fire in the big pot-bellied stove in a corner of the room. That would take the chill off before the trial started. He had brought in his warbag when he tied up his horse outside, so now he carried it into the back room to change into garb more suitable for conducting legal procedures.
When he came back into the main room, he wore the same hat and boots, but a brown tweed suit, white shirt, and string tie had replaced the duster and range clothes. He had buckled his gunbelt back on, too. In the holster rode a .42 caliber LeMat revolver, an odd weapon that had been a favorite of some Confederate officers during the war. Its cylinder held nine rounds instead of the usual six, and the oversized barrel built under the regular barrel could be used to fire buckshot, giving the weapon its nickname of the Grape-Shot Revolver. Stark had adopted its use while riding shotgun on the stagecoaches. More than once, the LeMat had surprised a would-be holdup man with its devastating firepower. Since taking up the practice of jurisprudence, Stark had found that it came in handy on numerous other occasions and still carried it.
He set his gavel on the table that would serve as his bench. A check of his watch told him it was twelve-thirty. Time enough for a cup of coffee and maybe a bite to eat at the hash house across the street, next to the marshal’s office.
The snow was spitting down a little harder now.
By the time Stark finished his meal and returned to the town hall and impromptu courthouse, a crowd was beginning to gather. Naturally, people were curious. Boone McCafferty was a rich man, but that hadn’t stopped tragedy from calling on him. People were always interested when the rich and powerful had to suffer like everyday folks. Stark didn’t try to push through the growing mob. He went around back and entered through that door, instead. He waited in the back room until Marshal Brundage rapped on the door and called, “You in there, Your Honor? I reckon we’re ready.”
Stark set his hat aside and opened the door. “You’re acting as bailiff, Marshal?”
“Yep. Just like I do for the JP, right?”
Stark nodded.
Brundage turned and called loudly, cutting through the hubbub in the room, “Court is now in session, the Honorable Earl Stark presiding! All rise!”
Stark walked into the courtroom as the members of the crowd got to their feet. The place was packed. Every chair had been claimed, and more spectators stood two and three deep around the walls. Stark took his place at the bench, rapped the gavel on the table, and said, “Be seated.”
He hadn’t told Brundage where to seat the prosecution and the defense. He had never really cared much about that. It was easy to tell them apart. The county attorney, a thirty-ish man with a broad, flushed face and tightly curled hair, was the only person at the prosecution table.
Two men sat at the defense table: an earnest-looking young gent in his twenties in a cheap suit, with a thatch of hair that didn’t take to the comb very well and a bandage wrapped around his forehead, and an older man, mostly bald, shaped like a pear, in a better suit. The defendant and his attorney, respectively.
“Is the prosecution ready?” Stark asked.
The county attorney stood up. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“How about the defense?”
The pear-shaped man got to his feet. “We’re ready to proceed, Your Honor.”
“I didn’t catch your name, counselor,” Stark said.
“Andrew Bell, Your Honor.”
Stark looked at the prosecution table again. “And you’d be Mack Hairston.”
“That’s right, Your Honor,” Hairston said.
Stark fixed his keen gaze on the shaggy-haired young man. “That makes you the defendant, Tyler Ketchum.”
The young man looked at his attorney, clearly unsure whether he was supposed to stand up, respond, or what. Bell motioned for him to stay where he was and said, “That is correct, Your Honor.”
Stark’s eyes flicked toward the craggy-faced man in the front row of spectators, who wore an angry, grief-stricken expression as he sat there surrounded by tough-looking cowboys. That would be Boone McCafferty, the father of the victim.
Stark’s interest was also drawn by a pale-faced woman who sat on the other side of the courtroom, a kid on either side of her. She plucked at the handkerchief tucked in her lap, and her teeth caught and worried her bottom lip. Stark would have been willing to bet the brown Stetson he had left in the other room that the woman was Ketchum’s wife and those two young’uns were their children.
He didn’t like the fact that the kids were here. Kids didn’t belong in courtrooms to start with, in his opinion, and these two, a boy and girl, were liable to hear some things about their pa that they wouldn’t want to hear. But that was up to their ma, he supposed, so he wasn’t going to run them out. The poor woman had enough on her plate already, what with her husband being accused of murder.
“Read the charge, Marshal,” Stark said.
“Yes, sir. The charge is murder against Tyler Ketchum, for killing Jefferson McCafferty. Simple as that.”
“No need for comments, Marshal,” Stark said. He addressed the spectators. “There are a lot of people crowded in here. I expect all of you to remain quiet and orderly at all times. I know it’s Christmas Eve and that most of you want to be home with your families enjoying the holiday. Justice comes first, though.” Stark paused. “But we’ll move along as quickly as we can. Let’s get a jury seated.” He started calling up men at random from the spectators, questioning them, and then asking the two attorneys in the case if they had any objections.
It took about half an hour to pick the twelve men for the jury. The process ran so smoothly that Stark hoped the rest of the trial would, too. “Opening statements,” he said. “Mr. Hairston?”
The county attorney stood up again. “Thank you, Your Honor. As Marshal Brundage mentioned, this is a very simple case. The state will prove that Tyler Ketchum shot and killed Jefferson McCafferty when Mr. McCafferty discovered Ketchum changing the brands on cattle belonging to Mr. McCafferty’s father.”
Hairston let it go at that and sat down. Stark looked at Andrew Bell, who got to his feet and said, “Your Honor, this trial, indeed, my client’s very arrest, are terrible miscarriages of justice. Tyler Ketchum is a hard-working rancher whose only interest in life is providing for his family.” Bell used a pudgy hand to gesture at the pale-faced woman and the two kids Stark had already pegged as the defendant’s wife and children. “He is innocent of rustling, innocent of murder, innocent, in fact, of everything except being in the way of a greedy tyrant who thinks he rules the entire territory!”
Boone McCafferty surged to his feet and boomed, “That’s a blasted lie!”
Stark smacked the gavel down hard on the table, twice. “Sit down, Mr. McCafferty, and keep your seat! I know you’re grieving, mister, and that’s the only reason I don’t have you removed from this courtroom right now.”
McCafferty glared at Stark as if he’d like to see him try.
“And as for you, counselor,” Stark said to Bell, “I asked for opening statements, not speeches. You have anything else to say that pertains to the case at hand?”
“With all due respect, Your Honor, my comments were indeed germane to the case. But...” Bell shrugged. “I’ve completed my statement.”
Stark grunted. “Good. Let’s get on with it. Call your first witness, Mr. Hairston.”
“I call Boone McCafferty to the stand,” Hairston said.
The testimony went fairly quickly. With the occasional unfriendly glance at Stark and the near-constant hostile glower at Ketchum, McCaffery responded to Hairston’s questions and explained how he’d been having trouble with the young rancher for months, ever since Ketchum had bought a small spread that bordered McCafferty’s vast Arrow ranch.
“I started losin’ stock as soon as the boy took up that old, abandoned greasy-sack outfit,” McCafferty declared. “It was plain as the nose on your face he was rustlin’ from me.”
“Objection,” Andrew Bell said as he got quickly to his feet. “Assumes facts not in evidence.”
“Sustained,” Stark ruled.
“Well, how about I say it looked to me like Ketchum was a dang wide-looper?” McCafferty demanded.
“I’ll allow it...but watch your tone, Mr. McCafferty, or I’ll find you in comtempt of court and have you locked up.”
McCafferty gave him that arrogant just try it look again but didn’t say anything else until Hairston asked him another question.
“No, we never caught him at it. That is, until the day my boy Jeff found Ketchum with a runnin’ iron in his hand and Ketchum killed him for it.”
Bell jumped to his feet again. Stark held up a hand to stop him before the lawyer even got his objection out.
“Sustained,” Stark said. He looked at the jury. “Disregard the second part of the witness’s answer.”
It was easy to say that, Stark thought, but not so easy to unhear something already heard. The members of the jury were just human, after all. Not only that, but they also knew how important and powerful Boone McCafferty was in these parts. It would take a lot of evidence to convince them to go against something McCafferty obviously believed. Tyler Ketchum was in a bad spot.
Of course, he was probably guilty. The same scenario that seemed to be the case here had played out countless times across the West, the little rancher preying on the bigger spread. The reverse was true, too, the cattle barons bulling right over the owners of the smaller ranches. Most of the trouble in cattle country stemmed from a combination of those things, Stark knew.
So he wasn’t surprised when it was the defense’s turn and Bell said, “You’ve tried to force my client to abandon his ranch, haven’t you, Mr. McCafferty?”
“I told him he was a fool to try to make a go of it on that hardscrabble place. Dang it, you know that, Andy. You were there when I said it.”
“Hold on just a minute,” Stark said sharply. “You called counsel for the defense ‘Andy’.”
“Well, why wouldn’t I?” McCafferty asked. “I’ve known him for fifteen years, and he’s been my lawyer for almost that long.”
Stark restrained the impulse to wallop the table with his gavel. “The witness is temporarily excused,” he said. “Step down, Mr. McCafferty. Bell, Hairston, I want both of you up here right now.”
The attorneys stepped up to the table, and Bell began, “Your Honor, I realize this is somewhat unorthodox–”
“Unorthodox my hind foot!” Stark said, and he managed to give the impression that he was yelling, even though his voice was low and controlled. “It’s unethical, that’s what it is.”
“Not really, Your Honor,” Hairston said. “Andy here has handled legal matters for just about everybody in the county at one time or another, including Boone McCafferty and Tylar Ketchum. He’s also the only attorney in these parts who’s had experience representing the defendant in a murder trial.”
“I’ve recused myself from Mr. McCafferty’s affairs for the duration of the trial, Your Honor,” Bell went on. “It seemed to be the only way we could get this matter taken care of in a timely manner. It’s almost Christmas, you know.”
“I know,” Stark said. “But that’s no excuse to railroad that boy.”
“He’s not being railroaded. I’m giving him the best defense of which I’m capable.”
Stark frowned dubiously and ran his fingers over his beard. Finally, he said, “All right. I’ll allow things to continue. But if I see the slightest sign of collusion between you two, I’ll shut things down and declare a mistrial. Not only that, but I’ll move the case right out of this county if I have to.” He jerked his head. “Get back to it.”
The lawyers went back to their tables. Bell resumed his cross-examination once McCafferty had taken the witness chair again.
“It’s true, isn’t it, Mr. McCafferty, that you didn’t see my client shoot your son?”
“No, I didn’t see it happen,” McCafferty said grudgingly.
“And it’s also true that no one witnessed your son’s murder, isn’t it?”
“Nobody but the son of a–” McCafferty stopped and took a deep breath. “Nobody but the man who killed him.”
“No further questions at this time,” Bell said.
Stark looked at Hairston. “Continue, counselor.”
The next few witnesses were cowhands from the Arrow, along with the old-timer who was the cook. Their testimony established that Jefferson McCafferty, who was in his early twenties and expected to take over the Arrow someday, had ridden out from the ranch headquarters four days earlier to check on some cattle. When he didn’t come back at a reasonable hour, Boone McCafferty sent men to look for him. They returned a short time later with the terrible news that they had found young Jeff’s body on the other side of Pine Ridge, so named because of the thick stand of trees that grew there, in what was a treeless country for the most part. He had been shot.
The cowboys brought back something else. Tyler Ketchum was with them, his hands bound behind his back and a bloody gash on his head.
“It was plain as day what happened,” testified a young redheaded puncher named Orrie. “We found the place just over the ridge where Ketchum had built a fire. He’d taken a runnin’ iron to some of our stock and changed the Arrow brand to his Rafter K. Done a mighty poor job of it, too.”
“But you didn’t find the cattle with the altered brands and the running iron until after you’d found Jefferson McCafferty’s body, is that correct?” Hairston asked.
“We didn’t find the cows until afterward. The runnin’ iron was layin’ right there next to Jeff’s body.”
“And where was Mr. Ketchum?”
Orrie leaned forward and glared. “Ketchum was layin’ next to Jeff. He had his gun in his hand. Jeff was a few feet away with the runnin’ iron next to him, like he’d dropped it. What we figured happened is–”
“Objection,” Bell said. “Speculation.”
“I’ll allow it,” Stark said. “I want to hear what the scene looked like.”
Orrie resumed, “We figured Jeff came up on Ketchum with the fire and runnin’ iron, and Ketchum got the drop on him. Jeff’s gun was on the ground by the ashes of the fire, like Ketchum made him throw it down. But it looked to us like Jeff managed to grab that runnin’ iron and wallop Ketchum with it. That’s how Ketchum got that gash on his head. When Jeff hit him, he pulled the trigger and killed Jeff, then passed out. He was still out cold when we rode up later. That’s how it had to happen. Plain as day.”
Wearily, Bell got to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. This is all an assumption on the part of the witness.”
“Except for the part about where the bodies and the weapons were,” Stark said. “I’ll allow that. Strike the rest of the witness’s last statement. Mr. Hairston?”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
Bell asked, “What did you do after you found my client and Mr. McCafferty?”
“We throwed Ketchum on a horse, tied his hands so he couldn’t get away, and went back to the ranch to fetch a wagon so we could bring in poor Jeff’s body,” Orrie said.
“Mr. Ketchum regained consciousness while you were on your way back to the ranch?”
“Yeah. He come to before we got there.”
“Did he admit killing Jefferson McCafferty?”
Orrie snorted. “Of course not. That’d be a dang fool thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
That brought laughter from the spectators, which Stark silenced with a look.
“Did you accuse him of the murder?”
“Well, sure, we said somethin’ about it.”
“And he denied it?”
“Sure.”
Orrie seemed on the verge of saying something else, but Bell said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Step down,” Stark told the young puncher.
Hairston got up and said, “At this time the prosecution rests, Your Honor.”
Stark nodded and turned to the defense attorney. “Your turn, Mr. Bell.”
“I call Tyler Ketchum.”
When the young rancher took the stand, Bell asked him to tell everything that had happened to him on the day in question.
“I went to Pine Ridge to cut down a Christmas tree,” Ketchum said. “The kids never had one before, and when I saw the trees on the ridge I thought they might like it.”
“Pine Ridge is on Arrow range, correct?”
With a shrug, Ketchum said, “Yeah, but I didn’t think McCafferty would mind. It was for Christmas.”
“He’s accused you of stealing his stock in the past.”
“I never touched a one of his cows,” Ketchum insisted. “He knows it, too. He’s just mad because somebody bought that range he’d been using and he had to get his stock off of it.”
“Land ought to belong to the man who uses it!” McCafferty burst out.
Stark rapped the gavel. “This trial isn’t about the concept of open range. That’s a debate for another time. Get on with it.”
“Go ahead, Tyler,” Bell said. “You went up there to cut down a Christmas tree.”
“That’s right. I picked out a good one and took my axe to it, but while I was cutting it, I hit it wrong and the axe bounced back and hit me in the head.” Ketchum touched the bandage. “The cut wasn’t really that bad, but it bled a lot. Earlier I’d thought I heard somebody talking on the other side of the ridge, so I started in that direction to see if they could help me. Just about the time I spotted...” Ketchum stopped and swallowed hard. “Just about the time I spotted Jeff McCafferty lying on the ground, somebody hit me from behind and knocked me out. The next thing I knew, I woke up on a horse with my hands tied and a bunch of mad cowboys calling me a killer.”
“You didn’t shoot Jefferson McCafferty or harm him in any way?”
“I did not,” Ketchum declared.
“No further questions.”
Hairston said, “You’ve had plenty of trouble with Boone McCafferty in the time you’ve been in these parts, haven’t you?”
“I told you, he didn’t like it when I bought that spread and he couldn’t use it anymore.”
“Arrow is fifty times the size of your ranch, Mr. Ketchum. Why would Mr. McCafferty care about such a small amount of range?”
“Because he doesn’t like anybody standing up to him, big or little,” Ketchum said. “He thinks he’s got the right to run roughshod over everybody around here.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Hairston said. “Immaterial.”
“You asked the question, counselor,” Stark said. “The witness answered it. Overruled.”
Hairston didn’t seem bothered by the ruling. He went on, “Did you have an argument with Boone McCafferty at the community Thanksgiving celebration last month?”
“We got to talking,” Ketchum answered sullenly. “There were some hot words.”
“In fact, you tried to attack Mr. McCafferty.”
“He took a swing at me first. I was just defending myself.”
“At which point Jeff McCafferty stepped in and gave you a thrashing, isn’t that true?”
“He didn’t whip me,” Ketchum insisted. “He shoved me away from his pa, and there were a dozen more Arrow hands standing there waiting to get into it. I came to my senses and backed off.”
“And you’ve been waiting to get even with Jeff McCafferty ever since, haven’t you?”
Stark glanced at Bell, but the attorney didn’t object.
Ketchum shook his head. “No, I didn’t hold any grudge against Jeff. He just wanted to help his pa. I can understand that.”
“Well, grudge or no grudge, you couldn’t afford to let him go back to his father and tell him that he’d caught you changing brands, now could you?”
“That never happened. I told you, I went up there to get a Christmas tree!”
More chuckles came from the spectators, but they were more discreet about it this time.
“You made Jeff throw his gun down, but he grabbed the running iron and hit you with it, didn’t he?”
“No!”
“And when he did, you pulled the trigger and killed him before you passed out!”
Ketchum flexed his big, work-roughened hands. “No,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “No, that never happened.”
“Nothing further,” Hairston said with a sneer that made it plain what he thought about the truthfulness of the witness’s testimony.
“Mr. Bell?” Stark said.
Bell stood up and shook his head. “The, uh, defense rests, Your Honor.”
Ketchum started to stand up and move back to the defense table, but Stark stopped him saying, “Hold on a minute. I’ve got a couple of questions for the witness.”
“Your Honor?” Hairston said with a puzzled frown as Ketchum sank back into the witness chair.
“The judge in a case has a right to question a witness, too, if he thinks there might be important information that hasn’t been brought out.”
“Of course, but–”
“Do you want to make a formal objection, counselor?”
Hairston shook his head. “No, I suppose not, Your Honor.”
“All right, then.” Stark turned to look at the witness. “How long have you been a rancher, Mr. Ketchum?”
“Well...five years, I guess you could say. I had a spread over close to Uvalde for a while. And before that I worked on my pa’s ranch, up by Rotan, ever since I was big enough to ride. So, really, most of my life.”
“Make a good hand, do you?”
Despite the grimness of his situation, the shadow of a proud smile touched Ketchum’s lips. “Yes, sir, Your Honor. I’ve always been a good hand.”
“That pine you say you were trying to cut down for a Christmas tree, how’d you do with it?”
Ketchum shook his head. “Not so good. Made a mess of it, in fact. My hands got all sticky from the sap, and I think that’s what caused me to miss my swing, the one that bounced back and hit me.”
“So you don’t have a Christmas tree at home for your young’uns?”
“No, sir. It’s looking like they won’t have a very good Christmas this year.”
“All right, step down.” Stark picked up his gavel and used it to point. “You, there. Orrie. Get back up here, and remember that you’re under oath.”
The redheaded cowboy hesitated, turning to his boss and asking, “Do I gotta, Mr. McCafferty?”
“I suppose so,” McCafferty said. “I don’t know what all this extra business is, though. Seems like we ought to let the jury go ahead and vote to hang that no-good, murderin’ skunk!”
“The jury will render its verdict in due time, Mr. McCafferty,” Stark said coldly. “Sit down, Orrie.”
The cowboy sank into the witness chair as if he were afraid there was a bear trap in it he couldn’t see. He squirmed around for a second. When he’d settled down, Stark asked, “Did you see an axe anywhere around the place where you found Jeff McCafferty and the defendant?”
“Uh...no, sir, Your Honor, we didn’t. I didn’t see one, anyway, and none of the other fellas said anything about seein’ one. Of course, we weren’t lookin’ for one.”
“You said the defendant had been altering brands on Arrow cattle?”
“Well, we didn’t actually see him do it. But the runnin’ iron was there, and shoot, the ashes of the fire were still warm. Hot, even.”
Stark nodded. “When you saw that Jeff McCafferty was dead, it must have upset you.”
Orrie’s eyes widened. “I’ll say! Jeff was a fine fella, one of the finest I ever met. It didn’t matter that he was the boss’s son, he rode the range ever’ day and pitched right in on the work with the rest of us. He was always lookin’ out for his pa’s best interests.”
“The plan was for him to take over the Arrow one day, correct?”
Boone McCafferty got to his feet, ignoring the warning gesture Hairston made at him, and said, “That’s family business! It don’t have any place in this court.”
Stark felt like he was on to something, so he ignored the breach of courtroom decorum and said, “I’m not saying anything bad about you or your son, Mr. McCafferty. Sit down, please.” He looked at Orrie again as the rancher reluctantly sat down. “Answer the question.”
Orrie swallowed. “Uh, yeah, everybody figured Jeff’d be runnin’ the place one o’ these days. I mean, he went off to college in Austin for several years to learn all about runnin’ a business. He didn’t have to learn about cowboyin’. That came natural to him.”
“So when you and the other men found out that he was dead, you probably wanted to get even with the man you blamed for killing him.”
Orrie looked wary now. “What are you sayin’, Judge? Ketchum was out cold. There wasn’t nothin’ we could do to him.”
“What about when he woke up on the way back to the ranch? Did you do anything then?”
That was a guess on Stark’s part, but the sudden flash of fear he saw in Orrie’s eyes told him it was a good one. Orrie looked down at the floor and said, “We didn’t do anything.”
“You know that lying under oath is a crime, too, don’t you, Orrie?” Stark asked in a soft but ominous tone.
That got to the young cowboy. He squirmed some more and said, “All right! We tried to make Ketchum ’fess up to what he’d done. When he wouldn’t do it, we got him down from his horse and pushed him around a mite, but that’s all it amounted to. Just blowin’ off some steam.” He looked at his fellow ranch hands among the spectators and muttered, “Sorry, boys.”
“The only one who could bring charges against you in that matter is the defendant, and he’s got bigger worries right now,” Stark pointed out. In truth, the reaction of the punchers from Arrow was understandable. “Step down.”
When Orrie had resumed his seat, Stark went on, “Is the local doctor here?”
A middle-aged man with a graying mustache stood up. “I’m Dr. Sunderland.”
“Come up here and take a seat, Doctor.”
Hairston stood up. “I don’t understand, Your Honor. Is the doctor being called as a witness for the defense or the prosecution?”
“He’s being called as a witness for justice and the truth,” Stark snapped. He pointed at the chair and added, “Swear him in, Marshal.”
When Brundage had done so, Stark asked, “Did you treat Tyler Ketchum’s head wound, Doctor?”
“I did. It required several stitches to close it up.”
“Could you tell how it was inflicted?”
“With some sort of hard object,” the doctor replied.
“Like a running iron?”
“Well...that’s what they told me had caused the wound, and I didn’t see anything inconsistent with that theory.”
“They?”
“The cowboys from Arrow who came down to my office to fetch me. They had just brought Mr. Ketchum into town and turned him over to the marshal to be locked up.”
“Did the defendant tell you he’d been hurt by an axe, instead?”
“No, he didn’t. But he was pretty shaken up at the time.”
“Shaken up how?”
Sunderland looked like he would rather be almost anywhere else at this moment. “He’d been beaten up pretty bad.”
Stark looked at Orrie and the other cowboys and nodded slowly. “But it could have been an axe that caused the wound?”
“I couldn’t rule it out, Your Honor. But I just don’t know.”
“Did you examine him well enough to determine whether he had any other marks on his head indicating he might have been struck from behind?”
“He had bumps and bruises and scratches all over his head,” Sunderland said. “I’m afraid I couldn’t say one way or the other, Your Honor.”
“Did you examine Jefferson McCafferty’s body when it was brought into town?”
“I did,” Sunderland said with a grim nod. “Jasper Wilcott, the undertaker, is also the coroner. We performed the examination together.”
“What was the verdict?”
“That Jeff died from a single gunshot wound to the chest.”
“Did you recover the bullet?”
“We did.”
“Could you tell what caliber it was?”
Sunderland shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. It glanced off a rib before it struck Jeff’s heart, so it was flattened pretty good.”
In the front row of spectators, Boone McCafferty grimaced in pain at hearing such a blunt description of his son’s cause of death.
“Were there powder burns on Jeff’s clothes?”
“Yes, sir. He was shot at fairly close range.”
Stark thought for a moment and then said, “Does either counsel have any questions for this witness?”
Hairston and Bell both stood up and answered in the negative.
Stark told the doctor to step down and then said, “Mr. McCafferty, have a seat in the witness chair again.”
Boone McCafferty glared at him. “I said all I got to say earlier.”
“It wasn’t a request, Mr. McCafferty.”
Looking unhappy about it every step of the way, the rancher came up and took the witness chair.
“You’re still under oath,” Stark told him. “I want to know where you were and what you were doing the afternoon your son was killed.”
McCafferty’s eyes widened in shock, then blazed with anger. “What in tarnation are you gettin’ at?” he demanded. He started to come up out of the chair. “By God, judge or no judge, no man’s gonna make it sound like I had anything to do with killin’ my own boy–”
Stark was suddenly on his feet, too. “Sit down, you old mossback!” he roared.
McCafferty’s jaw thrust out belligerently. “If I had a gun right now–”
“It’s a good thing you don’t, because I’d probably have to ventilate you,” Stark growled, his hand dangerously close to the butt of the LeMat. Whenever he was challenged, Big Earl, the terror of the stagecoach trails who’d sent many an owlhoot over the divide, was never far from the surface.
A tense silence hung over the room for a moment. Then Stark went on, “I never said you had anything to do with your boy’s killin’. Just answer my question. What were you doing that afternoon?”
With a visible effort, McCafferty controlled his anger and said, “I was at the ranch. Andy there had just come out to talk over some business with me.”
“You mean Andrew Bell, the defendant’s lawyer?”
“Yeah.” McCafferty looked at Bell. “I didn’t much appreciate what you said earlier about me bein’ a tyrant and all, Andy, but I reckon you got a duty to do what you can for that murderin’ skunk.”
Bell got to his feet and said, “I, uh...that’s all right, Boone. I’m glad you understand.”
“Sit down, McCafferty,” Stark said. Both men warily resumed their seats. Stark continued, “Normally, I’d declare a mistrial. The prosecution and the defense are just too blasted cozy. But I think I know what happened here, and nothing is going to change the facts.”
“Danged right it ain’t,” McCafferty muttered.
“Just a couple more questions...How long did Mr. Bell arrive at the ranch before you sent your men to look for Jeff?”
“Oh, shoot, an hour maybe. Maybe not that long. In fact, he asked where Jeff was. Wanted him to be in on the talk, too.”
“What did he do when you said Jeff wasn’t there?”
Bell got to his feet. “Your Honor, I’m very puzzled by this line of questioning.”
“Hold your horses, counselor,” Stark advised. “Answer the question, Mr. McCafferty.”
“What did Andy do? Well, I think he said maybe somebody should go look for Jeff, since he’d been gone a while.”
Stark nodded. He had one more question, and the answer to it would tell him whether the theory that had formed in his mind was right.
“Mr. McCafferty, was Mr. Bell’s hand sticky that afternoon?”
“Sticky?” The rancher looked completely confused. “Now that you mention it, I reckon it might’ve been. He kept wipin’ it on his pants, and he didn’t want to shake hands with me like he usually does.”
Stark nodded, and as he did so, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Bell was still on his feet, and the lawyer’s hand had snaked under his coat.
Stark exploded up from his chair. The LeMat came out of its holster and was leveled at Bell in the blink of an eye. Bell had a gun in his hand, too, but it was only halfway out from under his coat. He turned pale as he found himself staring down the barrel of Stark’s gun.
“Best put it on the table, counselor, and step away from it,” Stark warned.
“You...you...we can’t have a gunfight in here with all these innocent people,” Bell said.
“Won’t be a gunfight. Just be one shot.”
Bell sighed, then slowly and carefully placed the little pistol on the table in front of him and stepped back.
The town hall erupted in sound. Everybody was yelling questions, wanting to know what was going on.
Stark’s gavel pounded until things quieted down. Still covering Bell with the LeMat, he said to the county attorney, “Mr. Hairston, I’d strongly recommend that you make a motion before the court to dismiss the charges against Tyler Ketchum.”
Hairston nodded glumly. “I make such a motion, Your Honor.”
“Granted.” Stark nodded to the stunned-looking defendant. “You’re free to go, Mr. Ketchum.”
“Wait just a minute!” McCafferty yelled. “Are you sayin’ Andy killed my boy?”
“That’s right,” Stark said. “Jeff had had enough business courses in college to tumble to the fact that Bell’s been robbing you blind, McCafferty, probably for years. Likely he hoped he was wrong, so he asked Bell to meet him. He wanted to see what Bell had to say for himself. Instead, as soon as Bell realized that Jeff was on to him, he killed him, most likely with that gun that’s lying on the table. Then he heard somebody coming.” Stark nodded toward Ketchum. “Bell hid and when he saw Ketchum and recognized him, he got the idea of framing him for the killing because of the trouble between the two of you in the past. He hit Ketchum from behind with something, a branch, maybe, and knocked him out. Then he built a fire, altered those brands–badly, according to Orrie, which told me that an experienced hand like Ketchum hadn’t done it–and arranged things to look like they did when Orrie and the others found Jeff. He had to hide Ketchum’s axe, though, so there wouldn’t be any proof he was really trying to cut down a Christmas tree, and that’s when he got the pine sap on his hands. Simple as that.” The judge added dryly, “Plain as day.”
Brundage asked, “You want me to lock up Mr. Bell, Your Honor?”
“I think that would be a good idea, Marshal.”
McCafferty shook his head as Brundage led Andrew Bell away and the crowd in the town hall began to disperse. “It’s mighty hard to believe,” he said, “but I reckon it could’ve happened that way.”
“Bell pretty much admitted I was right when he went for his gun,” Stark pointed out.
“Are you gonna preside over his trial, too?”
“No, I think that would be a conflict of interest, since I’ll have to testify against him. We’ll get another judge in here to take care of that, after the holidays.”
Tyler Ketchum came up as Stark was talking. He had been hugging his wife and children in relief. Now he traded wary, unfriendly looks with McCafferty. They still didn’t like each other, even though Ketchum had been cleared of Jeff McCafferty’s murder.
Ketchum turned his back to McCafferty and said, “Your Honor, my wife and I would be mighty pleased if you’d come out to my place and have Christmas Eve dinner with us. You’re welcome to stay the night and spend Christmas with us, too.”
“I think I’d like that,” Stark said with a smile. “A man who’s always traveling like I am doesn’t get too many home-cooked meals, especially at holiday time.”
The two of them lingered as the courtroom cleared out. Stark said quietly, “There’s just one more thing, Ketchum. I’m going to ignore the fact that the steaks your wife fries up for us tonight will probably be stolen beef.”
The young rancher stiffened. “Stolen?” he repeated. “What are you talking about, Judge Stark?”
Stark’s eyes narrowed. “I’m talking about the fact I didn’t say anything about where Bell got that running iron. He found it in your saddlebags.” When Ketchum opened his mouth to say something, Stark stopped him with an upraised hand. “I know how it is when you’re struggling to make a go of a place and it seems like the other fella’s got everything in the world. You think he won’t miss a cow here and there. But it’s still rustling, Ketchum, and I want it to stop.”
For a second, Ketchum still looked like he wanted to argue, but then he sighed and nodded and said, “It will, Your Honor. You can count on that.”
“Good.” Stark clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Just let me go get my hat, and maybe we’ll ride out to Pine Ridge and finish cuttin’ down that Christmas tree. It’s time your kids had one.”