“Did you shoot to kill?”
“Yes.”
Goldwater walked back to the table where Sundeen sat patiently listening before asking Moon, “Did anyone shoot at you?”
“I can't say.”
“You mean you can't tell when someone is shooting at you?”
“If they did, they didn't come close.”
“You were firing at…whom?”
Moon looked at Sundeen three strides away, closer than he had been the last time, in Sonora. Sundeen stared back at him as if ready to smile.
“Him,” Moon said, “and his men. They were about…they were shooting at Armando's people.”
“They were what?”
“I said they were shooting at Armando's people.”
“But you fired at them first, didn't you?”
“They were drawing their weapons-at that distance…I would say they fired first or at the same time.”
“You heard gunfire before you aimed and fired?”
Jesus Christ, Moon thought, feeling the perspiration under his shirt. He said, “I anticipated their fire. Their weapons were out. In a moment they were firing.”
“You just said they were drawing their weapons.”
“They were drawing-seeing it from that distance, weapons were out. In a moment they were firing.”
“What does the distance have to do with it? You saw what you thought they intended to do and you reacted, didn't you? You began shooting.”
“I knew what they were gonna do. What they did. They killed three of the Mexicans, didn't they?”
“I don't know,” Mr. Goldwater said. “Did they? There was gunfire coming from two directions. Didn't you open fire first?…”
“No, they did.”
“And they returned your fire?”
“That wasn't what happened.”
“Well, from the facts we have, I would say there was either a grave misunderstanding-the two parties in the yard began to talk and you misinterpreted it, or…you deliberately fired at the yard, not caring who you hit, one group or the other. Or…and this is conjecture, though possibly worth investigating…you were purposely firing at the Mexican group-”
“Why would I do that?”
“You realize you admit you fired with intent to kill,” the defense lawyer said. “That action is subject to interpretation, for I would dare to say the yard itself was a small target at four hundred yards, where the variance of a fraction of an inch could mean the difference in the taking of one man's life or another man's.”
Moon looked at the county lawyer who was not objecting to any of these ideas the defense lawyer was planting. Moon said, “Sundeen was in the yard. Let's hear him tell what happened. It ought to be a pretty good story.”
He saw Kate smile and heard sounds of approval from the audience.
But then the defense lawyer stepped in front of him, close, and said quietly, “I could ask who else was up there with you. Do you want to implicate others? Did they also shoot to kill?” The defense lawyer stared at him before adding, “Do you see where I can take this?” Moon felt relief when the dark-haired, well-dressed man from Bisbee turned to Judge Hough and said something and the judge asked Ison, the county lawyer, to approach the bench-the table next to which Moon sat in a straight chair.
Moon heard Goldwater say, “So far there is not one bit of evidence to support a murder charge against my client. No one here can place him with Armando at the scene of the hanging. However, your honor, if you are not reasonably convinced I'll put my client on the stand. He'll testify that he did, in fact, rescue Armando, not carry him off, and left him out there when he said he wanted to return to his people.” The judge asked how could the court be certain that was what happened? The defense lawyer asked, who could dispute it?
Moon cleared his throat and almost said, “I can,” at this point. He could tell them how he had watched from the high ground as the Mexicans put their dead over horses and rode out of there-maybe to somebody else's place or to hide in the timber-and Armando had not returned as long as they watched. But he couldn't tell them if they didn't ask, and it didn't look like that was going to happen. He tugged at the county lawyer's coat a couple of times, but Ison would not pay attention to him. Ison had his head stuck in there with the other two legal minds as they talked lawyer talk to each other and decided the outcome of these proceedings.
During the conference at the bench the people in the audience had begun to compare ideas and opinions and there was a buzz of noise in the lowceilinged courtroom. It stopped when Judge Hough banged his gavel on the desk.
He said that based on a reasonable doubt because of a lack of substantial evidence the charge of suspicion of murder was hereby dismissed.
That was it. The judge left the courtroom and the news reporters converged on Moon and Sundeen: one group asking Moon if he had actually intended to kill Sundeen; another group asking Sundeen what he intended to do about it. Moon said, you heard my testimony. He was looking for the county lawyer, Ison, to tell the little ass-kisser a few things, but did not see him now. Moon felt himself being moved by the crowd clearing away from between them so that finally they stood facing each other.
Sundeen said, “Well, that's twice you have tried. Four hundred yards, huh?”
“Give or take a few,” Moon said. “I see you got a hole in your face from the first time and a piece of ear missing.”
The reporters were writing in their notepads now-the story unfolding before their eyes, better than they could have staged it, some of them not noticing Sundeen's hand going to his beard to stroke it gently as he stared at Moon.
“You hung a friend of mine and it doesn't look like the court is gonna do anything about it,” Moon said.
Sundeen continued to stare at him. He said then, “Go on home. We'll get her done before too long.”
“I suppose,” Moon said.
One of the reporters said, “Get your guns and settle it now, why don't you? Out on the street.”
Sundeen gave the man a hard stare and said, “For you, you little pissant? Who in the hell you think you are?”
Moon and Sundeen looked at each other again, each knowing something these reporters would never in their lives understand.
Maurice Dumas waited in front of the jail, watching the people coming out. When he saw Moon and his good-looking wife, Maurice had to push his way through the crowd to get close enough to hand Moon the folded piece of note paper. Moon looked at Maurice Dumas, nodded hello, then opened the note and read it while the reporters waited. Moon nodded to Maurice again and handed the note to his wife.
“From Bren,” he said.
1
Janet Pierson felt left out. She was at ease with them, she liked them; but she didn't feel with them. Nor did she feel as close to Bren now. Bren and Dana Moon and his wife had shared something, had lived through an experience during another time that did not include her.
She was aware of the news reporters waiting outside the house, the crowd of them that had followed Moon and his wife here. She liked his wife, Kate; she felt she had known her a long time and the feeling surprised her. For some reason she could sympathize with her; though the young woman did not seem to need or want it. She could also sympathize with the news reporters and knew what they were feeling. She imagined-after Bren and Mr. and Mrs. Moon were gone-the reporters standing at the door asking her questions. What are they like? What did you talk about?
She imagined herself saying, Oh, they're very nice people. Polite, well-mannered.
But what did they talk about?
Nothing in particular. Old times mostly.
Did they get in a fight over the situation?
No, they're friends.
Come on, did they have words?