CHAPTER XV.
IN COURT.
Court had taken up after the noon recess. The evidence was all in,and the prosecuting attorney had made a masterly address demanding aprison sentence for Tom Clipperton. The prosecutor had so marshaled theevidence that there did not seem a possible hope for Clip. The jurymenlooked convinced, and the defiant bearing of the prisoner, which atno time had appealed to their sympathies, was far from making such anappeal now.
Short was in despair. He was not the man, however, to throw up hishands until the jury had announced their verdict and had been polled.
Short had begun his plea at eleven o'clock. He could have finished bynoon, but he was talking against time, and announced that he wouldcomplete his address after court reconvened.
The train from Prescott was due at one-thirty. One of his clerksbrought him word that it was five minutes late. With one eye on theclock he continued to reiterate some of the remarks he had already made.
The jury looked bored, the prosecuting attorney, who did not know whatwas up, smiled sarcastically, and the judge settled back in his chairwith a look of resignation.
Just as the hands of the court-room clock pointed to a quarter of twothere was a stir at the door. A crowd of excited men surged through, ared-haired boy, haggard, his face and hands covered with the grime ofmore than a hundred miles in a locomotive-cab, led the crowd. The boystaggered as he pressed through the room toward the enclosure.
"Evidence!" cried the red-haired boy huskily; "evidence for TomClipperton!"
There was a brief period of silence, during which the prisoner jumpedto his feet and peered wonderingly at Chub McReady. Leffingwell, incharge of Clipperton, caught his arm and pulled him roughly back intohis seat.
In another moment a buzz of excitement ran through the room, and wasrapidly increasing to an uproar when the bailiff pounded for order.
"The room will be cleared," warned the judge, "unless we can havequiet."
Short, doubtful but snatching at a straw of hope, turned to the judgeand requested that the case be reopened for the taking of furtherevidence. The prosecutor was instantly on his feet with an objection.Objection was overruled.
"I will call Chub McReady to the stand," said Short.
Another objection from the prosecutor. McReady's evidence was alreadyin, according to the representative of the people, in the form of anaffidavit.
Short begged to remind the learned counsel for the State that it wasMatt King's affidavit that had been read in court, and not McReady's.
Objection overruled. Chub made his way unsteadily to the witness-chair,stood up while he was being sworn, and then dropped down in a way thatshowed how spent he was with recent efforts.
Fresh interest was injected into the case. The twelve good men and truein the jury-box were anything but bored now. Chub bore all the marks ofhaving passed through a trying ordeal of some kind, and it must havebeen in behalf of the prisoner.
In the dead silence that fell over the room while Short wasimpressively making ready to begin his examination, a piping voicefloated through the intense quiet.
"Shade o' Gallopin' Dick! It's Chub, my leetle pard, Chub! Him an'Motor Matt hev been workin' their heads off to git evidence ferClipperton, an' here----"
"Silence!" thundered the judge. "Officer," he added, "if that man makesany more disturbance, put him out."
Welcome Perkins subsided. The prosecutor frowned, and Short lookedpleased. Something had got to the jury which would help, rather thaninjure, the defendant.
"Your name?" asked Short, facing Chub.
"Mark McReady," came the answer, in a voice that trembled from fatigueand excitement.
"Age?"
"Seventeen."
"Place of residence?"
"Phoenix."
"Occupation?"
"Inventor."
Somebody snickered.
"Waal, he is!" cried Welcome. "Dad-bing!"
The officer started toward the reformed road-agent, and Welcome duckedinto a corner of the room and hid behind a fat man who hadn't been ableto find a seat.
"I will ask you to tell the jury, Mark," said Short, "just what you andMatt King have been doing in Prescott."
The prosecutor was on his feet like a shot, objecting, of course.
The judge knitted his brows.
"If it is pertinent to any evidence already introduced," decided hishonor, "it can go in."
"It's an affidavit from Pima Pete!" quavered Chub, holding up theletter.
"Wait!" shouted the prosecutor.
"Don't speak, my boy, till I ask you something," said Short.
The prosecutor and Short got their heads together at the judge's desk,and the affidavit of Pima Pete was looked over.
"This is entirely relevant," declared the judge, "and we will have itread."
The affidavit was handed to the clerk, and he read the same in a loud,incisive voice.
The document stated, in clear, crisp terms, that the deponent wasone Peter Sebastian, otherwise known as Pima Pete, that he had beena member of Dangerfield's gang of smugglers, told how Dangerfieldhad sold cattle and buried ten thousand dollars in double eagles,had intended to dig the money up on his way to Mexico, and had beencaptured before he could carry out his plans. The affidavit then wenton to state how Dangerfield had requested Motor Matt to dig up themoney for him, claiming that it was honest money, and send the lion'sshare of it to Dangerfield's father, in Emmetsburg, Iowa; how Pima Petehad given a note to Clipperton, asking him to tell Matt to come for thegold; how Matt had refused to mix up with Pete, and how Clipperton hadgone, had joined Pete, had helped dig up the gold, and how both hadbeen set upon by Hogan and Leffingwell.
That affidavit, written by Motor Matt in a tearing hurry, was a modelof clearness and brevity.
The prosecutor was on hand with a whole lot of objections, aimed athaving the affidavit stricken from the record. In the first place, theaffidavit was in lead-pencil. This was unusual, and would allow ofchanging its contents; in the next place, how were they to know thatPima Pete, a proscribed outlaw, was the real author of the document?And what credence was a half-breed entitled to, anyway, even when underoath?
By all these objections the prosecutor, to use a very figurativeexpression, "put his foot in it."
Short was obliged to show, by the witness, just how the affidavit hadbeen secured, and an opening was made for the tale of pluck and daringin which Matt and Chub had just figured.
Chub, at times almost overcome with weariness and grief, told thestory. It was a telling recital, and held the great roomful of peoplespellbound. The jurymen leaned forward in their chairs, the judgeleaned over his table, everybody craned their necks and listenedintently so that not a word might get away from them.
Chub told how he and Matt had made up their minds to do everything theycould to free their innocent chum; how Matt had drawn from the banksome of the money paid for the capture of Dangerfield, and had declaredhe would use every last cent of it to free Clip, who had got into histrouble on Dangerfield's account; how they had gone to Prescott, afterreceiving the tip at Mrs. Spooner's; how they had been chased by thetwo horsemen, and had got away by leaping the break in the road; howthe weary days had dragged by in Prescott; how Matt had started SheriffBurke to searching for the real robbers; how the note, tied to thestone, had been hurled through the hotel window on the night of thestorm; and how the witness and Matt had gone to the old Hopewell shaftand met Pima Pete.
If the interest up to that point had been absorbing, it now became evenmore so.
Chub, in his quivering tones, went on to describe the meeting with PimaPete, and Matt's plan for taking his affidavit, having a notary rushedout from Prescott, and then passing the document up to Chub on theLimited.
Chub had fortunately found the notary in his office; and in front ofthe office a horse and buggy were standing. He had hustled the notaryoff in short order, and had then gone to the station and taken thetrain, riding in the cab with Jack Moody, the
engineer, who was afriend of the witness' father.
Just how Matt had accomplished the taking of the affidavit, Chubcould not tell. All he knew was that when the limited dashed alongthe rails, some two miles out of Prescott, the notary, Matt, and PimaPete were in the wagon-road, Pima Pete holding the notary's horse andMatt climbing after the train on his motor-cycle, the _Comet_, themachine Matt had won in a bicycle-race. Then Chub, mightily workedup himself and showing it in every word and gesture, proceeded totell how he had tried to lean from the gangway and take the letterfrom Matt; how he had been thrown back by the fireman, only to getthrough the cab-window, hurry along the running-board, drop down onthe steam-chest, and snatch the letter from Motor Matt's fingers. Asob came from him as he described how, standing on the foot-board andgripping the rail, he had seen the freight-wagon in the road and hadheard a crash as Matt had collided with it, being unable to see aheadon account of the smoke, and unable, even if he had seen his danger, tostop the terrible impetus of a motor-cycle going at the rate of a milea minute.
Here, at the finish of his recital, Chub McReady broke down. In spiteof the bailiff's half-hearted attempt to keep order, pandemonium brokeloose. Susie McReady ran to her brother's side, and Welcome, nearlyoversetting the fat man, tore through the shouting crowd to get to thewitness-chair.
Finally, order was again restored, and Short, bland and mightilysatisfied with the turn of events, asked the prosecutor to "take thewitness."
The prosecutor had nothing to say, and Chub got down and walked wearilyto a seat beside Susie and Welcome.
And Clip! The first real feeling he had shown he showed then. Withhis face in his hands he leaned across the table beside which he wassitting.
Short finished his plea. He did not consume much time, for he was anastute lawyer and knew when he had his jury with him. Jurymen areemotional, as well as any one else; they can weigh the evidence, butsentiment cuts a big figure in any jury's decision--just how bigprobably even the jurymen themselves do not know.
The judge's charge was brief. He asked the jurymen to weigh the factsirrespective of the impression the heroism of the prisoner's friendsmight have had on them.
And when the charge was finished, without leaving their seats, averdict of "not guilty" was rendered.
Then Bedlam broke loose again. Everybody crowded around Tom Clippertonto congratulate him.
But Clipperton, pushing his way through the crowd, started for the door.
"My pard!" he cried. "He's hurt, perhaps dead! I must get to Prescott."
Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the Comet Page 15