“The clerk will call the jury in the case of Territory against Antoine de Vallombrosa, Marquis de Morès, and Eldredge G. Paddock.”
Pack found the first day of the trial to be anteclimactic in the literal sense and anticlimactic in the figurative, as it was given over largely to dry recitations of facts by Sheriff Harmon, Dr. Stickney and other non-participants most of whom responded in droning voices as if delivering themselves of lessons memorized in a schoolroom—and, Pack thought, that probably was not far from the truth, for it was all but certain that the zealous caddish Ted Long must have rehearsed his witnesses into the wee hours to make sure their answers would be exactly what he wanted them to be. Pack took pleasure in observing that there was an ironic possibility that Long’s carefully prepared scheme appeared to be flying back in his own face, for the witnesses seemed to have been so over-rehearsed that all the spontaneity had gone out of them. If I were on the jury they certainly shouldn’t make much of an impression on me.
There were testimonies as to the discovery of the body of Riley Luffsey, the determination that it was in fact dead, the doctor’s statements about the bullet wounds inflicted upon Dutch Reuter and Frank O’Donnell, the observation that O’Donnell’s rifle (Territory’s Exhibit B) had been smashed beyond use by the impact of a forceful missile, the testification that three horses had been shot dead and the bullets removed from their carcasses and preserved (Territory’s Exhibits C, D, E), the analysis of bullet holes in Luffsey’s clothing (Territory’s Exhibits F, G, H), the finding that the cause of Luffsey’s death was a bullet wound in the neck, and Sheriff Harmon’s claim—which came as a total surprise to Pack, and caused an audible gasp in the audience—that investigation of the scene of violence had produced a slightly flattened lead slug that was without doubt the bullet that had killed Luffsey (Territory’s Exhibit A).
Ted Long, clearly knowing he had scored a crucial point with audience and jury alike, waited until silence had settled upon the courtroom. Then he said, in a quiet voice that made everyone lean forward, “Now Sheriff Harmon, I ask how you know this is the specific bullet that caused the demise of the decedent. Was it found inside the body?”
“No sir.”
“Where was it found?”
“In a cutbank twenty-eight feet from the corpse.”
“You measured that distance?”
“Yes sir.”
“There were, I take it, numerous slugs imbedded in that same cutbank?”
“Yes sir.”
“How many?”
“Approximately sixty, sir.”
“Then what singled this one out for your attention?”
“It had visible traces of blood and flesh on it, sir, and a piece of human bone about an eighth of an inch by a quarter of an inch.”
There was a reaction from the audience—a sort of collective gathering of breath. Long held up an envelope to the sheriff. “Now will you look in this envelope and identify its contents, please?” To the judge he said, “Territory’s Exhibit I, marked for identification.”
“These are my initials on the envelope,” Sheriff Harmon said. He opened it and made a show of peering inside. “Yes sir. This is the chip of bone in question.”
“The one you found adhering to the bullet that was found in the cutbank near Luffsey’s body?”
“Yes sir.”
Long said, “Now with regard to this chip of bone and the blood and flesh you mentioned earlier, did you determine whether or not these evidences of human injury were related to the decedent’s wounds?”
“We did. The chip of bone is an exact match for an indentation in Luffsey’s fourth spinal cervical vertebra.”
This caused a good deal of noise from the anti-Marquis faction. It was put down only with a forceful pounding of Judge Francis’s gavel.
Ted Long was smiling at his witness. “And did you make any further determinations about this bullet, Sheriff Harmon?”
“We did, sir.”
“What were they?”
“It’s a 150-grain slug, .38 caliber, most likely fired either from a .38-40 or a .38-56 weapon.”
“Would that be a rifle or a handgun, Sheriff?”
“Well, your .38-56 is strictly a rifle cartridge, on account of its great length and the powerful recoil. Your . 38-40 on the other hand is a shorter cartridge with considerably less powder in it, and it is fired by both rifles and revolvers.”
“Now, have you had occasion to examine the arsenals of weapons owned by defendants in this case?”
Edward Allen said, “Objection.” He put both palms on the table and heaved himself to his feet. “Defense objects to use of the word ‘arsenals.’”
“Sustained,” said Judge Francis. “The term is clearly inflammatory.”
The gangly District Attorney glared with suspicion at the judge, then at the defense table. Finally he returned to his witness.
“Did you take a look at whatever weapons may have belonged to defendants?”
“I did.”
“And what did you find?”
“Mr. Paddock owns four handguns, two shotguns and three rifles. One of the rifles is a Springfield long-range .38-56. We confiscated it for evidence.”
“Territory’s Exhibit J, marked for evidence,” Long said to the clerk.
The sheriff continued: “The Marquis De Morès owns a great many firearms—I can’t give you an exact number because he has so many offices and residences, but in the château outside Medora and in his office in the De Morès building in Medora we counted more than forty firearms. One of them is a Colt 1873 Frontier model revolver, caliber .38-40.”
“Territory’s Exhibit K, marked for evidence.”
Sheriff Harmon added in a loud voice, “I’d sure call it an arsenal.”
“Objection!”
“Sustained. The witness will refrain from gratuitous commentary. Sheriff, you know the behavior that’s expected of you in this court, and I’ll tolerate no further reckless inflammatory statements.”
Long returned to the witness. “Had either weapon been fired recently at the time of your investigation?”
“Sir, both weapons had been freshly cleaned and oiled prior to our examination.”
“Indicating, perhaps, an attempt to cover up evidence of guilt?”
Both Allen brothers were on their feet shouting: “Objection! Objection!”
The judge pounded his gavel and leveled his withering gaze at District Attorney Long. “Sir, you know better than that!”
“I withdraw the question, Your Honor.”
“Strike it from the record,” said the judge.
Long shoved his hands in his pockets and regarded the jury for a few moments until the room settled down. Then in a leisurely voice he said, “Sheriff Harmon, I ask you now to describe whatever facts may have been disclosed by your investigation of the injuries that killed the three horses—those belonging to Mr. O’Donnell, Mr. Reuter and decedent Luffsey.”
“Yes sir. They all had a lot of bullets in them.”
“By ‘a lot’ what do you mean?”
“We counted twenty-three bullet wounds in Luffsey’s horse. Somewhat fewer in the other two, but there were at least fifty bullets fired into those three horses.”
“Somebody must have had a powerful dislike toward those horses,” Long observed.
There was a titter somewhere in the audience. It provoked an outburst of laughter throughout the room. The judge pounded his gavel for order.
Pack sniffed. What a cheap trick that had been, to break the tension with such a poor joke.
Ted Long strolled halfway across the stage and turned, scratching his chin, to regard his witness with a cool demeanor that indicated he now intended to be deadly serious. “Sheriff, would you describe for us in further detail the condition of the scene as you found it, with regard to the horses, the cutbank, the slugs you found, and any tracks in the earth or other physical evidence that may have a bearing on these proceedings?”