There was still a light under Joe Ferris’s door. Pack knocked and was admitted. Joe was in shirtsleeves; he had been reading—it was Roosevelt’s book about his adventures in the Wild West, mostly a pack of exaggerations and outright lies as far as Pack was concerned. He said, “I thought you didn’t care for hunting. Why read about it?”
“Because I am mentioned in the book,” Joe said proudly. “How are you enjoying the proceedings? Appears to me the Prosecution’s leading the De Morès gang by thirty or forty to nothing, and only a couple innings left.”
“Don’t count the Marquis out,” Pack said. “He’s going to win this, you know.”
“I doubt it. Not after Dutch Reuter takes the stand. Still, I grant you anything’s possible, the way the Marquis’s boys have been spreading money around.” Joe added in a wry tone, “But of course it’s only to encourage witnesses to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”
Pack said, “They’re only fighting fire with fire. Do you think the Prosecution’s lily-white in all this? They’re the ones who started buying witnesses.”
Joe gave him a moment’s grave look. “Be that as it may. What are we to you, Pack? No more than actors on a stage that’s lit by the presence of the Marquis De Morès?”
It was unclear what excuse Ted Long had used in persuading the court to allow the Prosecution to withhold two witnesses until after the Defense presented its case. Reuter and O’Donnell were scheduled to appear no earlier than Friday. It didn’t make sense to Pack but he was unable to learn anything useful; the decision had been made in chambers.
On the fourth day of the trial Ted Long made every effort to press Jerry Paddock to admit that the Marquis had plotted with him the night before the fact to murder the three hunters. But Paddock refused to be shaken; he never admitted a thing.
Then the Marquis himself faced the jury, head up, unblinking. The very picture, Pack thought, of gallantry under fire.
“Luffsey and O’Donnell fired their rifles until they were empty,” said the Marquis in a tone of studied equanimity, “and then commenced to discharge their revolvers.”
District Attorney Long leaped to his feet. “I object to this perjury on the part of the witness! Previous witness, Sheriff Harmon, has testified that the weapons of Luffsey were oiled and fully loaded, and O’Donnell’s rifle had been fired only once, with the empty cartridge case still in the chamber!”
Judge Francis gaveled him down. “The District Attorney, having been present throughout the discourse of the past four days in this courtroom, must know full well by this time that testimony has been contradictory as to a great many matters, beginning indeed with who actually started the shooting. Former witnesses have been allowed to testify to the full, and this witness will be accorded the same courtesy. I rule in favor of the Defense. Objection overruled.”
It made Ted Long’s dike burst. He bounced upon his feet, hollering objections over the measured pound of the gavel until Judge Francis bellowed back at him: “Sir, if you do not shut up and sit down, you will be held in contempt of court!”
Smiles broadened on the faces of the portly Messrs. Allen.
Pack caught a glimpse of Theodore Roosevelt’s face as it turned toward his neighbor. A vein throbbed visibly at his neck; Roosevelt was furious.
Long pounded toward the bench, waving his fists. Astounded by the District Attorney’s outlandish behavior, Pack listened with disbelief to Long’s raving shouts:
“The Court cannot rap me down with a gavel! I am the representative of The People, and I am here to see a fair and impartial trial—to assist the court in the enforcement of substantial justice. Instead of the Court extending to me that aid and support to which I am entitled under the law, the Court has uniformly during this whole trial sought to tie the hands of the Prosecution and has openly aided the Defense; the Court has shown by its action in this case that it is determined to aid the acquittal of the defendant and that it will not leave a stone unturned in the accomplishment of such acquittal; the animus of the Court throughout has shown a most marked feeling in favor of the defendant and against the Prosecution; the Court has sought at every point to embarrass the Prosecution and to aid in the acquittal of the defendant; the judge has insulted me personally and has handicapped me officially.”
Having listened to it all with a demeanor of infinite patience, Judge Francis smiled before he said, “Sir, you may continue prosecuting the case if and when you purge yourself of contempt. If, out of respect to the institution of this Court rather than the person of the judge, you will state for the public record that you bear the burden of guilt for your contempt, and if you will apologize to this Court, then this Court will relieve you of all odium and reinstate you.”
“An apology, sir, would stultify my sense of manhood. I am nothing if not a friend of this Court, but I have been trampled by the remarks of this judge. You have abused me personally and insulted me repeatedly professionally. You have acted in a manner unbecoming the office of a judge and provoked me to say all that was said. I have done nothing to regret. I have only tried to perform my official duty and I will not apologize.”
Judge Francis again was all smiles. “In that case let me point out that your refusal to acknowledge your guilt of contempt serves to increase the severity of that contempt. I direct the sheriff to remand this prisoner to jail.”
Pack saw, not without a certain glee, that Theodore Roosevelt looked ready to throttle the judge.
“And I shall stay there until I am ordered out,” Long shouted. “No apology!”
While Dutch snored, Joe Ferris drew his Remington revolver and cocked the hammer: he heard footsteps outside. More than one person.
When the footsteps grew louder, with no attempt at stealth, Joe lowered the hammer gently; and when he heard the code knock he holstered the Remington and opened the door.
It was Roosevelt and Mrs. Reuter. Joe put his head out and looked both ways along the quiet street; saw nothing in the silent dusk, withdrew and closed the door.
Dutch was sitting up; Mrs. Reuter settled on the edge of the bunk and murmured to him.
“We came the long way. I don’t think anyone followed us.” Roosevelt was carrying a small case, the kind of valise in which lawyers or commercial men toted their papers. He opened it upon the splintery plank table and took out a packet of food and several bottles of beer.
Dutch looked wretched: gaunt, scabrous, pale from his months of hiding indoors. He had no spirit left. He reached for a beer bottle. “Tomorrow? I in court tomorrow talk?”
“Not tomorrow,” Roosevelt said. “You are scheduled for today—if the District Attorney gets out of jail.” The muscles of his face jerked in a sequence of rictus grimaces. “I understand his feelings but by George the man’s an utter fool for affronting the judge so blatantly. He’s allowing the judge not only to try his case but, by all indications, to lose it for him by default in the bargain.”
Joe went to the window and peered out. “Why, I thought it looked pretty good for a conviction. The judge ain’t the jury, thank God.”
“In the end I don’t think they’re going to convict De Morès,” Roosevelt said. “Nor Paddock either, for that matter.”
“Why not?”
“If justice is to be served, then it will come down to the question of reasonable doubt. They’re probably guilty—but ‘probably’ isn’t sufficient in a court of law. Nor should it be. The District Attorney can harangue all he wants; if he hasn’t got absolute proof then he hasn’t got a case. But that’s not a good enough reason for abdicating as he did yesterday.”
“Hell,” Joe said, “whose side are you on?”
“I try to be on the side of justice and truth, as we all should try to do,” said Roosevelt. “In any event I feel obliged to visit the jail and see if I can’t persuade Mr. Lang to recant his outburst and return to the arena.”