Judge Elias Callison came to town on an early-evening train with his law clerk and four sheriff’s deputies. And after they got settled into the Boston House, the law clerk, whose name was Eaton, and the lead deputy, fella named Stringer, came down to the marshal’s office to talk with Cole. Stringer had a deputy’s star on his shirt and wore a long-barreled Colt butt-forward on the left.
“That him?” Stringer said.
“That’s Bragg,” Cole said.
Stringer went to the cell and looked in.
“Tall,” Stringer said.
“Fella in the other cell is Whitfield, the witness.”
“How come he’s in jail?”
“Fears for his life,” Cole said. “So me ’n Everett here are lookin’ after him until we finish with Bragg.”
Stringer nodded slowly. He was a tall, thin man with a big moustache and the sort of leatherish look of a man who had spent a lot of time in the saddle. Whitfield’s cell door was ajar, and Whitfield was sitting on his bunk, reading his Bible, his lips moving slowly as he puzzled it out. Stringer left Bragg and looked in at him.
“You gonna testify?” Stringer asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“If he don’t die a’ fright first,” Bragg said from his cell.
“I’ll testify,” Whitfield said.
Stringer nodded.
“I know you will,” he said.
“Bragg got a lawyer?” Eaton asked.
“Nope.”
“He needs a lawyer,” Eaton said.
He was short and plump with a round face. He didn’t look like he rode horses much.
“Surely does,” Cole said.
“No, I mean we ain’t going to just ride over here and convict him,” Eaton said. “Judge Callison’s a real bear on the law. Got to be a fair trial. He’s got to have a lawyer, and there’s got to be evidence.”
Cole stared at him as if he’d never heard such a thing in his life, which wasn’t true. He probably knew more about trials than Eaton did.
“Hear that, Bragg,” Cole said. “You gotta get you a lawyer.”
“I don’t know no lawyers,” Bragg said.
“There’s a justice of the peace,” I said. “Name of Mueller. Over in Little Springs. I can ride over there, see if he’ll do it.”
“I ain’t paying no damn lawyer to help you hang me,” Bragg said.
“What do we do about that?” I said to Eaton.
“County’ll pay for it,” Eaton said.
“I ain’t talking to no fucking lawyer,” Bragg said.
“Doesn’t matter, Mr. Bragg,” Eaton said. “County’ll give you one. Up to you if you talk or listen.”
“Whyn’t you ride on over there,” Cole said to me.
“We’ll help with Bragg and Whitfield,” Stringer said. “Sooner that JP gets here, the sooner we have the trial. And the sooner I take him down to Yaqui Prison and watch him hanged.”
“You know what he done,” Cole said.
Stringer nodded.
“I know what he done.”