Frank Allen smiled. “May we remind the Court that there’s been ample testimony to show that the hunters were never seen to enter town unless they were armed to the teeth. In view of that testimony, as now reinforced by the word of this honorable and respected newspaper publisher, may we suggest to the Court that it is ever more obviously an outrage for the eminent prosecutor to refer to these outlaws, as he has done repeatedly during this trial, as ‘poor professional hunters’ and ‘peaceable citizens.’ By mendaciously accusing the Marquis of murder, these vagrants of the Little Missouri have tried to bring down the Marquis’s fences and to bring an end to what they mistakenly regard as French colonialism in the Bad Lands. Clearly, Your Honor, we have before us a classic case of insufficient evidence and reasonable doubt. Once again we ask for a directed verdict of Not Guilty.”
Judge Francis returned Frank Allen’s friendly smile in kind. He opened his mouth to speak. About time, too, Pack thought.
That was when there was a disturbance in the spectator rows. A man had stood up.
It was Theodore Roosevelt. He did not speak. He only stood to his full height—such as it was—and gazed across the intervening distance, staring the judge in the face.
Judge Francis brooded at the upstart. Like everyone in the courtroom he knew very well who Roosevelt was.
The judge considered what he had been about to say. Then he sat back. “I’m sorry, Mr. Allen, but this case will go to the jury.”
Never saying a word, Roosevelt sat down.
Pack did not understand why his own first involuntary reaction was to smile.
Nineteen
Joe Ferris finished cleaning his Remington revolver and replaced the heavy cartridges in the cylinder. He thought a while about the things he had seen and heard this week, and finally he went upstairs and down the length of the carpeted hall and knocked at the door of Theodore Roosevelt’s suite.
“Come in.”
The moment Joe entered the room his searching glance found Bill Sewall’s face and sought information in it. Lamplight threw hard shadows across Sewall’s deepset eyes. He smiled briefly.
Seeing nothing alarming there, Joe turned to regard Roosevelt, who sat writing at the side table. A fire leaped on the hearth behind him. Joe said, “There’s talk against you, sir. Some of the men who support the Markee. They’re saying you and I bribed witnesses to testify against him.”
“Don’t be alarmed, old fellow. Once the verdict is in, however it’s decided, all this will die down.”
Joe heard a step behind him. He turned to look at the man who had entered through the open doorway.
“Theodore,” Huidekoper said, in a voice Joe didn’t recognize at all.
“What is it, old chap?”
Huidekoper, hands shaking, withdrew a half-curled note, folded in half, from the sleeve of his greatcoat. “De Morès has written you a letter from his cell. The deputy asked me to deliver it.”
“What’s in it?”
“A gentleman doesn’t read another gentleman’s mail. But I can guess.”
Joe Ferris thought, So can I.
Roosevelt accepted the letter from Huidekoper. He unfolded it and read the single sheet. Then he sat heavily, head down, elbows on the table, fingers interlaced, forehead on knuckles.
Huidekoper placed his hat on a hook with the careful doleful precision of a mourner. Joe looked at Bill Sewall and saw nothing but stillness upon the woodsman’s red-bearded cheeks.
Finally Roosevelt spoke. “For a long time Mr. De Morès has incubated hate. During the trial he has been kept in jail with nothing to do but brood. Now the trial approaches its climax and he does not know for certain which way it will go. I suppose it’s strange that I should have more faith in his good luck than he has, but that seems to be the case. I’m sure they’ll find him not guilty, by reason of insufficient evidence. Any reasonable man on the jury must concur there’s doubt as to his guilt. But he doesn’t seem to have much faith in our system of justice. I suppose he has worked himself into some sort of frenzy of suspicion and rage.”
He pushed himself upright in the chair and used his index finger to prod the unfolded letter across the table. “I think you all probably would like to know what it says. Please read it.”
My Dear Roosevelt,
My principle is to take the bull by the horns. Joe Ferris is very active against me and has been instrumental in getting me indicted by furnishing money to witnesses and hunting them up. The papers also publish very stupid accounts of our quarreling—I sent you the paper to N. Y. Is this done by your orders? I thought you my friend. If you are my enemy I want to know it. I am always on hand as you know, and between gentlemen it is easy to settle matters of that sort directly.
Your very truly,
Morès.
I hear the people want to organize the county. I am opposed to it for one year more at least.
Joe took his turn after Huidekoper and Sewall. When he had read the letter he understood why neither of them had said a word.
Bill Sewall was watching Roosevelt with narrowed uncertainty. Huidekoper turned to Joe Ferris in a transparent effort to avert crisis: “Were you really instrumental in getting him indicted by furnishing money to witnesses and hunting them up?”
“I thought it was you,” Joe replied. “Writing letters to Washington and all.”
Huidekoper turned. “Was it you, Theodore?”
“No. I do not write letters behind people’s backs.”
Bill Sewall said, “It may have been Mrs. Reuter.” He stood facing Roosevelt. With vexation tempered by fondness, Sewall spoke softly, bringing them all back to what they were trying to evade. “The Marquis was trained at St. Cyr. They say there isn’t his equal as a swordsman in any country.”
“I’m sure that’s a vast exaggeration. I’ve seen him fence with Wibaux—I thought him only adequate. He might have killed Wibaux but that’s because Wibaux is nearly as clumsy with a sword as I am. In any event I certainly wouldn’t think of engaging De Morès in swordplay. Why play into his hands? As the challenged party I have the choice of weapons. My choice would be the rifle.”
“He’s a dead shot,” said Huidekoper, “and he loads his ammunition with exploding bullets.”
Roosevelt said calmly, “By George, if he needs to use exploding bullets then he jolly well can’t be all that much of a dead shot, can he. Recall, if you will, how much ammunition he seems to have poured wastefully into the carcasses of those poor dead horses in the road.”
Joe said, “My Remington and I are at your disposal, sir.”
“Thank you, old fellow. It won’t be necessary.” Roosevelt sighed. “Really, you know, my friends, I do not approve of duelling. It’s barbarism.”
Huidekoper said, “No man in his right mind would dignify this rot with a reply of any kind. Look at the postscript. Clearly he’s on the verge of lunacy. First he challenges you to an affair of honor and then he gives you his advice about county government. Ample evidence, it seems to me, that he’s deranged. No one will think any less of you for ignoring the fool.”
Roosevelt examined the letter again. “I’m afraid the words and their meaning are clear. The postscript may be open to interpretation but the challenge is not. In the circumstances he gives me no choice. I shall not back down and I shall not be seen to back down from Mr. De Morès.” He removed his glasses and bent his large blue eyes close to the paper as he wrote.