Cursing Smiley Cummings under his breath, Buck squeezed inside the courtroom. He sidled along the back wall, then weaved in and out of the men and women who, like Buck, found themselves with nothing but standing room.
Around ten o’clock, he’d dropped in to see how the jury selection was going, and there were vacancies along the benches in the Jury box. Now, at two in the afternoon, he had to stretch his neck over the crowd to get a glimpse of the jury seated along the opposite wall. From what he could see, it appeared the jury pool had sifted down to ten men and, strangely enough, two women. Buck had never seen women on a jury before, didn’t know it if was legal or not, but he had to trust Rhodes knew what he was doing.
Three of the jurors looked like they’d been hauled out of the saloon to serve. There were four relatively respectable types who had at least made the attempt to look well groomed.
Seated next to one another in the middle row of seats were three miners. Buck recognized two of them, Hodge and Jenkins. They were good men. The two ladies, Buck thought them the righteous, homespun types—hard lookers. He shivered thinking about what it would be like to bed either one of them.
Sheriff Bollo was the man he was looking for. And he wanted to let Rhodes know Beau’s attorney would dismiss the Yurvasi woman’s testimony, if she should happen to appear. The attorney quoted Beau as saying that Petra Yurvasi was nothing more than an ignorant half-breed who’d taken advantage of their friendship. Buck had gleaned that much last night as he sat in a back corner playing solitaire at the Blue Bucket, nursing a rye, and working hard to hold his temper and stay in the background.
Even though he’d known it was a mistake to leave Smiley alone, after leaving the saloon, he’d gone over to Doreen’s. He arrived after midnight, roused Doreen and slipped inside to make his way to Petra’s bed. Lying with her, caressing her, loving her, had brought him to his senses. He knew what he had to do. When this trial was over, he intended never to let her out of his sight again. The time wasn’t right to speak of his plans, but soon, soon he’d beg her to marry him. Hell, he’d kidnap her and drag her back to the hot spring if he had to.
Before they’d fallen asleep, he’d tried to warn her, tried to prepare her for what it would be like up on the witness stand. But how could anyone get prepared for a full-out frontal attack?
Smiley was Buck’s concern at the moment. Searching, he found Petra seated at the front of the room, with Mr. Rhodes seated beside her at the table for the prosecution, their backs to him and the crowd.
Shoving his way along, Buck finally spied the sheriff positioned to the side of the room near Petra. Buck shifted away from the crowd, deliberately stepping into a row of spectators, faking a stumble, which caused a ruckus and caught the sheriff’s attention.
Bollo pushed the crowd back and made his way to his side. “Drunks aren’t allowed. If you mean to stay, friend, then stay upright.” And with that the sheriff shoved him against the wall.
In that second, Buck caught Petra’s eye and gave her a wink as he melted back behind a couple of miners and their wives. She was a sight today, dressed in a white blouse, a colorful shawl draped over her graceful shoulders, her hair done up at the nape of her slender white neck. She was breathtakingly beautiful and by damn, if they lived through this, she would be his for the rest of his days. He was closer to her now, close enough to keep an eye on her and keep an eye on the crowd.
Unobtrusively, Buck watched the sheriff unfold the note he’d managed to shove into his hand during their brief contact. Now Buck waited for the sheriff’s reaction. Bollo was good, Buck had to give him that—he kept his head, his eyes focused on the crowd and off him.
The note alerted the sheriff that Smiley had gone missing. Buck knew he should’ve gone back to the shack this morning to make sure Smiley was where he was supposed to be.
Buck didn’t know what Beau’s lawyer would do with poor old Smiley. Buck feared the opposition had the old coot. If they did, then they’d try to pump information out of him. Smiley could tell them Petra was in town and ready to testify, but with her sitting right up front, that cat was out of the bag as of this morning. Smiley could tell them who had brought her to town, of course. Buck felt pretty safe—no one had recognized him yet.
How they would use whatever information they squeezed out of the old fart, Buck couldn’t guess. All he really knew, Beau’s lawyer would do all he could to discredit the one witness the prosecution had, and that was Petra.
Bollo, passed the note on to Rhodes, and Rhodes showed it to Petra. Petra nodded, her lips bloodless, pressed together. She squared her shoulders like a soldier adjusting his armor, preparing for battle. He couldn’t do any more. Now all he could do was stand there, watch, and listen.
»»•««
The time for running had passed and the trial would soon begin. Petra felt a little better knowing Matt stood close at hand, but he couldn’t spare her this ordeal. They had yet to bring Beau into court, and the judge had yet to take his place.
Mr. Rhodes, bless him, had done all he could to prepare her. “When they wheel Mr. Laski in, I suggest you keep your eyes forward. He’ll no doubt cause a great stir, try not to respond. Don’t let them rattle you.
“Mr. Laski’s lawyer, Mr. McManus has a reputation for ruthlessness. When he’s speaking to you, he will try to get you to look him in the eye. He will use any means he can. He’ll pound his fists, slap the rail, raise his voice, lower his voice, grunt or make an exclamation to shake your focus. May I suggest you concentrate on the inside corner of his right eyebrow. You will create the illusion you are looking him in the eye, but you won’t feel the force of his eyes. And they are a force, don’t doubt it.”
Anything else the little man had to say went unsaid as an attendant wheeled Beau into court, and at the same time the judge came from his chambers and took his seat.
A great cheer went up from the crowd as Beau rolled into the room. The bailiff pushed Beau’s chair and positioned the invalid on the other side of the aisle behind the table for the defense.
Adhering to Mr. Rhodes’ advice, she didn’t dare glance in Beau’s direction. Mr. Rhodes leaned in to speak. “I’m told that Mr. Laski is quite altered from his former robust appearance, he is gaunt, and lists to one side, giving the appearance of one who is unable to sit up straight in his chair without support. He is grinning. I suspect this comes as no surprise to you. Despite his infirmities, he remains a handsome man. It is obvious he has gained the sympathy of the ladies in the room. I, as I am sure you did as well, heard the hum of sighs reverberate throughout the room upon his entrance.”
The judge pounded his gavel to demand order, but few paid him any heed. Mr. Rhodes leaned her way again. “We are about to start the show. I want to say I think you are looking quite charming today. Your attire is just right. I compliment you on your good taste.” He patted her hand. The judge beat his gavel on the hard oak table before him and demanded the room come to order.
If she looked presentable, Petra had Doreen to thank. This morning Petra had been determined to wear her blanket skirt and Matt’s shirt. But Doreen wouldn’t allow it, instead choosing for Petra, from her own wardrobe, a silk bombazine skirt of midnight blue, a plain cotton blouse of snow white, and to drape over Petra’s shoulders a silk paisley shawl shot through with deep burgundy, cream, turquoise and blue threads.
Doreen had helped her wash her hair and style it into a figure-eight knot at the back of her neck. When she’d looked at herself in the mirror, Petra had stood amazed to find a sophisticated woman staring back at her—a woman of strength and character.
Doreen had been right—she needed to look her best, today of all days, but Doreen had no luck persuading her to wear high button shoes. No, Petra insisted on wearing her lovely boots—the boots Matt had made for her. Wiggling her toes, she felt better, warmer, more confident.
“Order, order in the court.” Judge Ayers, a powerful looking man of some sixty years, had a big red nose, brushy salt and pepper brows that formed a shelf over his piercing blue eyes, and a voice that carried like echoing thunder. “I’ll have order or I’ll clear the room.”
Folks quieted under his threat, the volume melting down to a buzz of voices. “Shut up. Shut up, the lot of yah. You remain in my court as guests. We don’t need you here. I can have you all hauled out of here in a lick, and I’ll lock the doors for the duration of this trial. Is that understood?”
Those who had a seat, sat, and the room went quiet.
With a nod, he smacked the gavel down. “Mr. Rhodes, you may approach the jury for your opening statement.”
Mr. Rhodes cleared his throat, picked up a stack of papers, and headed over to where the jury sat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have here, in my hand, one hundred and two complaints against Beau Laski and his brother Kurt. The complaints range in magnitude from theft, extortion, fraud, to assault and battery and rape. Within these statements, the strong, pungent odor of murder permeates every word and creates the stink of corruption and violence. Many who came forth to make these complaints have since died in convenient accidents or simply vanished into thin air.
“The brothers did salt their mine, the Lucky Laski mine, with gold nuggets and dust from other more productive mines with the sole intent of enticing hapless investors to purchase stock; that is something Mr. Laski does not deny, but I won’t be satisfied with that, for I know Beau Laski is a murderer, a cheat, and a liar, and I will prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
Shouts of protest rose up from the crowd. The judge pounded the racket down with his gavel.
Mr. Rhodes stopped, ignored the crowd, and leaned over the rail to search the faces of the jurors. With a raised finger above his head, he shouted, “Do not allow yourselves to be intimidated or dissuaded from your duty. We must stop this man. Stop the corruption he brings with him like a plague that threatens the entire town, and will most assuredly kill everything good you have built with the sweat of your brow and the strength of your backs.”
The room stilled. The quiet so deep one could hear a pin drop, Mr. Rhodes whispered his plea, “You can stop him, right here in this court. You can and you must.”
Beau’s lawyer rose to his feet, the crowd cheered.
The judge stopped them. “Shut up. This is not a theatrical production for your amusement. This is a court of law. And in this court, I am all powerful. Shut up. If I hear so much as a squeak from here on out, I will stop, have you all tossed out into the street, every man, woman and child. Don’t test me, I warn you.”
He paused and took a breath. “Now, Mr. McManus, you may proceed with your opening remarks.”
And with that the judge sat back in his chair.
With a flourish of his hand, Mr. McManus waved out to the crowd, then out to the jury. He was a dapper-looking man, dressed in the height of fashion, wearing a brown coat, buff-colored shirt and black tie. His polished shoes twinkled in the beam of sunlight that streamed in through the tall narrow windows to the side of the courtroom. His brown hair, parted on the side, swooped up into an elegant coxcomb, no doubt held in place with a good deal of pomade. His hands were white as a girl’s and his face appeared devoid of whiskers.
Petra decided Mr. McManus, without the elaborate hairstyle and the dandified clothes would actually be rather nondescript. She couldn’t tell by looking at him how old he was. He wasn’t handsome. He wasn’t plain, and he certainly wasn’t very manly in stature or build. His voice, when he spoke, was that of an actor upon a stage, full of vibrato and affectation.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I ask you, look at my client, does he look like a murderer?
“You see before you a broken shell of a man. The once robust young man of just a few months ago is no more. He has lost everything, his mine, his only brother. He has nothing. Yes, he salted the Lucky Laski mine. Mr. Laski is not denying it, and is willing to pay, and has paid. But the other charges, they are outrageous. My client is innocent—the victim of a woman scorned and nothing more.
“The stack of charges and complaints, they cannot be substantiated. The complainants have all withdrawn. They realized this man has suffered enough for his crimes. He can do no more harm. All he can do now is exist, a lonely, pitiful man. This trial is a farce and should never have come to be.”
With a shake of his head and a couple of tsk, tsks, Mr. McManus resumed his seat. Stunned into silence, no one in the crowd moved or took a breath. As the effect of Mr. McManus’s eloquent speech wore off, the spectators began to buzz among themselves in anticipation of the show.