Jasper County Democrat, Volume 8, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 December 1905 — WITHOUT A TRIAL [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WITHOUT A TRIAL

By FORBES DWIGHT

It was nearing sundown when the two riders began to descend the last long slope that led to the ranch house. The sky was cloudless, and to the east It shaded into a deep violet. The sun, poised Just above the ragged line of mountains, sent feeble, ghostlike shadows wabbling vaguely before them, and all about them hung a pall-like cloud of fine powdery dust thrown up by their horses’ hoofs. Halfway down the slope the girl turned in her saddle to look back at the dull blue of the mountains looming gaunt and forbidding against the sky. “They are up there somewhere, you say?” she asked. The man gave a nodded assent. “And when they get them what will they do to them?” she went on. The man’s face grew stern. It was a bronzed, kindly face. Shp never before had seen those tight, harsh lines about the mouth. “Perhaps those chaps will get away again,” he said evasively. “They’ve managed to elude their pursuers twice before.” “But if they don’t get away,” she persisted, “if they are captured this time, will they”—her voice dropped suddenly—“will they be banged?” “Yes,” he said simply, "Not without a trial, surely?” she protested. “You don’t mean the men who take them would do that?” "You don’t understand it,” he said quietly. “These cattle thieves are growing bold beyond endurance. It is impossible to convict them because they and their kind control the courts here. And because of this state of affairs it is necessary to adopt primitive, even seemingly barbarous, methods to Intimidate them.” “Would you have a hand in any such murderous proceedings?” she asked, and in her tones there was something which seemed to beg him to deny it “Yes, if I were drawn,” he said gravely. "Drawn?” she questioned, as if for enlightenment. “You see,” he explained, “It was agreed that when the next case of rustling occurred twenty men should

be selected by lot by the man whose cattle had been run off, much as a jury Is drawn from the venire men.” “And you might be chosen?’ she asked, a sudden fear tightening her throat. “I might be,” said he, “although it is a long chance. There are some 300 men from the various ranches to choose from.” “But you wouldn’t go, of course,” she said. “You’d send one of the men.” He straightened himself In the saddle. The harsh lines about his mouth tightened. “That,” he said, “is something I would not ask another man to do for me.” They rode on for a time in silence. Then the girl gave a little choking sob. “Oh,” she said, “I want to love you, but—but I never could if—if’— “We are straying too deeply into possibilities which are not probabilities,” he said cheerfully. “Come; let’s race the rest of the way back to the ranch.” They sent their horses flying down the slope, and in the excitement of the gallop their recent disturbing conversation faded from the girl’s mind. It did not return to her until late that night, when she heard a commotion outside—the sound of low voices, the footfalls of men, the squeals of horses as they were roped in the corral. Half awake, she lay still and listened. Then came the sound of rapid hoofs. Some one beneath her window was calling her name. She rose and flung the window open. The round disk of the moon, nearing its full, made a dream world outside. The night was vast and bright and still. Two faint stars burned on the northern horizon. Beneath her sat a solitary rider, his hat in his hand, his face upturned. Even before he 6poke she knew what had happened, and her heart cried out against it. “One of the lots has fallen to me,” he said very gently. “Goodby!” And, touching spur to his horse, he galloped into the night. A week later at the ranch some one raised the cry, “Here he comes!” There

was a wild scramble for horses. His two sisters and his foreman went thundering out to meet the solitary rider, who had separated from the group of distant horsemen and who was now heading for the ranch. The girl went to her room and locked herself in. She heard the little cavalcade ride up; she heard the men greet ing him hilariously. She threw herself on to the bed and buried her face in her hands. Late in the evening she stole downstairs and out of doors. She wanted to be alone. As she approached the corral she saw him standing there alone. She saw, too, that his left arm was in a sling. Her first Impulse was to turn and run, but before she could do it it was too late. He had seen her and was coming toward her, smiling—this man with the blood of others on his hands! She stood quite still, trembling from head to foot. “Aren’t you glad I’m back?” he asked lightly, yet with a touch of eagerness in his tones. “You—you found them?” she asked breathlessly. “The rustlers? Yes,” he replied. “They stood us off for a time. We killed two in the night. The other two”— “Don’t! Oh, don’t!” she begged. He drew himself up. “I had best tell you all of it,” he said with quiet force. “We hanged them at the first clump of cottonwoods we passed that evening.” She stood silently looking at him. Her breath came hard, her fingers nervously clasped. He waited patiently, still smiling. “You are hurt,” she faltered, pointing to his wounded arm. “This?” he laughed bitterly. “Ob, it’s merely a scratch. It doesn't matter. The only thing that hurts is what you think of me.” She took a hesitating step forward. She paused, wavered, irresolute, then ran quickly to him. “I am glad,” she declared irrelevantly, “glad, glad!” “Glad of what, dear?” he asked with grave tenderness. “Glad just—Just because of you,” she said in a voice that was half laugh, half sob.

“ONE OF THE LOTS HAS FALLEN TO ME," HE SAID VERY GENTLY.