Dempster stroked his chin. “Young man, that—that is a very detailed and descriptive observation. And it coincides almost exactly with the way he told it.”
“With the way who told it?” Emma asked.
“Matt Jensen. I defended him in the trial.”
“You mean, they’ve already had the trial?” Emma asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid so. I sure wish you had come forward earlier. I could have used Timmy’s testimony then.”
“Maybe it isn’t too late,” Emma said. “Maybe you can go see Marshal Cummins and he’ll change his mind.”
“No. Cummins will not change his mind,” Dempster said.
“Come on, Timmy,” Emma said. “Mr. Dempster, I’m sorry we bothered you.”
“It’s not a bother, Mrs. Dawkins,” Dempster replied. “The boy was just doin’ what he thought was right, that’s all. And nobody can fault him for that.”
Dempster waited until Emma and Timmy left. Then he closed his office and hurried back down to the saloon. Since the trial, the saloon had returned to normal, and there were scores of people there, drinking and reliving the great drama of the trial so recently played out before them. Cummins was sitting at his usual table in the back of the room, and Dempster went straight to him.
“Well, the counselor is back,” Cummins said. He had a bottle of whiskey on the table and he poured some into a glass.
“Go ahead, drink up,” he said. “It’s your pay for defending an indigent client.”
“No, thanks,” Dempster said.
Cummins chuckled. “What? Bob Dempster is refusing a drink? Quick, someone, get hold of the publisher of the Purge. This should be front-page headlines.” Cummins held his hand out—then moved it sideways, as if displaying headlines.
“Robert Dempster, run-down has-been lawyer, refuses the offer of a drink!”
“Marshal, I think you ought not to be so quick about sending Jensen to Yuma,” Dempster said.
“Oh? And why is this?”
“Something has come up,” Dempster said. “New evidence. Evidence I did not have when I made the case for my client.”
“And just what is this evidence?”
“You know Emma Dawkins, don’t you? The dentist’s wife?”
“Yes, I know her,” Cummins said. “Quite a handsome woman, as I recall.”
“Well, she and her son just paid me a visit,” Dempster said. “Her son—Timmy is his name—was an actual witness to the shooting. He is a remarkably astute young man, and he tells the same story that Jensen told. He says that Gillis started his draw, but Jensen was faster, shot him, and Gillis’s pistol slipped back into the holster. I think you should send someone down to the depot before the train arrives, and bring Jensen back.”
“That’s what you think, is it?” Cummins asked.
“Yes, sir, it is.”
“How old is that boy?”
“I don’t know. Ten, eleven, twelve maybe?”
“And you think his word carries some weight?”
“Sure, why not? He has no vested interest in this case. And as I said, he is quite articulate. I see no reason why his word would be challenged.”
“Challenged,” Cummins said. “Yes, that’s a good word for it. Because I have an eyewitness that would challenge him.”
“Marshal, when you say eyewitness, you can’t use the people who were here in the saloon as eyewitnesses, because none of them actually saw the event. All they saw was the result of the event.”
“One of them actually saw the event, and he will challenge the boy,” Cummins said.
“You have a real eyewitness?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. If you have a real eyewitness, why wasn’t his testimony used in the trial?”
“We didn’t need his testimony during the trial,” Cummins replied. “We found Jensen guilty without his testimony.”
“Who was the eyewitness?” Dempster asked.
“Jackson?” Cummins called.
“Yes, Marshal.”
“You was standin’ at the window, watchin’ when Jensen drew on Moe, wasn’t you?”
“No, sir, Marshal, don’t you ’member? I was over at the table with the rest of you.”
“No you wasn’t, you was standin’ by the window, lookin’ outside,” Cummins said pointedly.
“No, sir, I—”
“Listen to me, you dumb shit!” Cummins said sharply. He spoke very slowly. “You was standin’ by the window. You saw it all. You saw Moe talking to Jensen, and you saw Jensen suddenly draw his pistol and shoot Deputy Gillis. Do you remember now?”
It wasn’t until that moment that Jackson understood what the marshal was suggesting.
“Uh, yes, sir, I remember. And that’s just how I seen it happen, too. Moe asked the stranger—”
“Not stranger—Jensen. You have to be very specific about that. It was Matt Jensen.”
“Yes, sir,” Jackson continued. “Moe asked Matt Jensen to pay the visitors tax, and Jensen got so mad that he pulled iron and kilt Deputy Gillis in cold blood.”
“I want you to write that out and sign it,” Cummins said.
“What for? We’ve done had a trial.”
Cummins sighed. “Goddamnit, Jackson, will you just do the hell what I tell you to do without givin’ me any argument?”
“Yes, sir,” Jackson said. “I’ll be glad to write it out on a piece of paper for you.”
“And sign it.”
“Yes, sir, and sign it.”
Cummins watched as Jackson wrote out his statement, then signed it.
“Now, Mr. Lawyer,” Cummins said, holding the piece of paper out in front of him. “You put the word of a young boy against the sworn word of Deputy Jackson and we’ll see which one of us gets the furthest.”
Dempster reached down to grab the glass of whiskey. He tossed it down in one swallow, without so much as a grimace, then pointed a finger at Cummins.
“You railroaded that man, Marshal,” he said. “That man is going to be hung for somethin’ he didn’t do, and you are responsible for it.”
Cummins chuckled. “Well, if I am, I reckon I’m just going to have to live with it, aren’t I?” he said.
Down at the depot, Matt Jensen was unaware that a young boy had seen everything and had tried unsuccessfully to tell the truth about the shooting. From his perspective right now, the future looked pretty bleak.
“Train’s a’comin’,” someone shouted, though as the engineer had blown the whistle at almost the same moment, no announcement was necessary. Those who were waiting for the train got up and started toward the door.
“Don’t be gettin’ anxious now, Killer,” Hayes said even though Matt had made no effort to move. “We’ll let the decent folks on first.”
The floor began to shake under Matt’s feet as the heavy train rolled into the station with its bell ringing and steam spewing from the cylinders.
“All right, Killer, on your feet now. Let’s go,” Hayes said after the train came to a complete stop and everyone else had left the building.
Stepping outside onto the wide wooden boarding platform, Matt saw that the sliding door on the side of the express car was open, and that the express man inside the car was squatting down to talk to the station agent. Both the express man and the station agent glanced over toward Matt and Deputy Hayes, so Matt knew they were talking about him. After a moment, the agent made a waving motion to them.
“All right, looks like Randall has it worked out for us,” Hayes said. “Come on, let’s go.”
With Hayes’s hand on Matt’s elbow, the two men walked over to the express car. As it was the first car after the coal tender, it was close enough to the engine to hear the rhythmic venting of the steam relief valve, sounding as if the engine were some steel beast of burden, breathing hard from its labors.