by Charles Ray
After getting the horses settled, he and John O’Malley, the prison wagon driver, sat around the fire, sipping coffee, while Amos Collins, the cook, prepared supper. Both men had accompanied Bass many times, and an easy-going relationship had developed among them. The two men were among a few whites in Arkansas who didn’t object to taking directions from a black man, in fact, they often asked specifically to travel with him because of his practice of trying to arrest fugitives without gunplay.
O’Malley had his hands wrapped around the tin cup, and blew on the hot liquid, his face momentarily obscured by the steam rising from the brown surface.
“I hear we only goin’ after two people this time, Bass,” he said. “That right?”
Bass blew on his own coffee, and then took a sip. After wiping his mouth, he looked across the cook fire at O’Malley. “Yeah, this is a special job, so we won’t be out here very long. Don’t worry, though, soon’s we get this done, I ‘spect I’ll be sent out for another month, ‘n I’ll ask special to have you two come along with me.”
Collins stopped stirring the beans, bubbling in the big iron pot, and smiled broadly. “That’s sure enough good to hear. I been wantin’ to get my roof fixed, so I need the extra money.”
“We bein’ sent to get just two people,” O’Malley said. “They must be pretty special. Who is it?”
Bass made it practice to share all possible information with his crew when they were in the territory. While he’d been lucky, there was always the possibility of a fugitive, or worse, a gang of fugitives, ambushing them. He considered it only fair that the people riding with him knew exactly what risks they were taking.
“We’re goin’ to arrest Sam and Belle Starr,” he said.
O’Malley gaped at Bass. “Whoa, nelly! Ain’t they friends of yours?”
“Yeah, I know ‘em pretty well.””
“Man, that’s gotta be tough, havin’ to arrest a friend. They likely to try and resist?”
Bass rubbed his jaw.
“You know somethin’, I pure dee don’t know. I sure hope they don’t.”
***
Bass didn’t sleep well that night, and he was uncharacteristically quiet during breakfast. O’Malley and Collins, sensing that he wasn’t in the best of moods, also stayed silent. After breakfast, they broke camp and mounted up.
Six miles went by rapidly, over rolling farm land with well-tended fields, and small herds of cattle and horses.
The Starr ranch was one of the most prosperous in the area known as Younger’s Bend, named, Bass had learned, for the outlaw Cole Younger, a guerilla during the war who had turned to a life of crime after the war ended. The Youngers and Belle’s family had known each other in Missouri where Belle was born, and she apparently still held the Younger clan in high esteem.
All was quiet as they rode into the front yard.
Sam Starr walked out onto his front porch just as Bass dismounted.
“Mornin’, Bass,” he said.
“Mornin’, Sam,” Bass said. “Reckon you know why I’m here.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“You not plannin’ on givin’ me no trouble, I hope.”
Starr raised his hands. “Nope, no trouble from me,” he said. “I’ll go in peaceable like. I got no desire to see if you’re as good with them shootin’ irons as I hear.”
Bass smiled ruefully. “Is Miss Belle here? The warrant includes her, too.”
Starr looked puzzled.
“Tell you the truth, Bass, I got no idea where Belle is. She was here when we went to bed last night, but when I woke up this mornin’, she was gone.”
“Runnin’ don’t seem like her,” Bass said.
“Naw, naw it don’t. I don’t know what to tell you, Bass. I got no idea where she went to.”
One part of Bass’s mind was relieved that she wasn’t there. He hadn’t really looked forward to having to arrest her. But, another part worried. What had she done?
CHAPTER 12
As Bass helped Sam Starr into the back of the prison wagon, after having gotten the man’s agreement that he wouldn’t try to escape, a woman wearing a black velvet riding habit, a man’s hat with peacock feathers atop her flowing brown hair, rode up to the hitching rail in front of the federal court building in Fort Smith, Arkansas.
Passersby gawked at her, but she paid them no mind as she slipped from the saddle and tied her horse to the rail. After adjusting her hat, and smoothing the wrinkles out of her riding habit, she strode regally up the walk to the marble steps leading up to the big double doors.
When she pushed the doors open and entered the reception foyer, the clerk on duty at the reception desk at the foot of the stairs gaped in astonishment. This was not the usual type of lady seen in the court, but someone important.
“Uh, can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.
“Yes, I would like to speak with Marshal John Fagan,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am, and can I tell the marshal who wants to see him?”
“Starr, Belle Star.”
The man’s mouth dropped open, and he stood as if rooted to the floor. She stood in front of the desk, tapping the toe of her riding boot against the floor.
“Well,” she said. “Are you going to tell the marshal I’m here?”
The clerk reacted as if she’d slapped him. “Oh, yes, ma’am. You wait right here. I’ll go let the marshal know you want to see him.”
Glancing back over his shoulder, he rushed past the stairs, to the hallway leading to Fagan’s first-floor office.
The lobby at that time of day wasn’t very busy, with only a few people coming and going. But, each person who walked through the space slowed down to gaze at the woman in her fancy dress standing near the reception desk.
A few minutes after his departure, the clerk returned, followed by an impressive looking man, wearing a dark blue jacket with a U.S.
Marshal’s badge over the left breast.
The man extended a hand as he neared Belle. “Miz Starr, I’m Marshal Fagan,” he said. “I understand you wanted to speak to me?”
She shook his hand, firmly, like her father had taught her to do.
“That’s right, Marshal. I understand that you have a warrant for my arrest?”
“Uh, yes, Miz Starr, as a matter of fact, we do.”
“In that case, sir,” she said. “I am here to surrender.” She held her hands out, wrists bared.
After a second of shocked hesitation, Fagan held his hand up. “That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll escort you to a cell.”
The clerk, mouth wide open, watched as Fagan led her away.
Within the hour, first the courthouse, and then the whole town, was abuzz with the news that the Bandit Queen, Belle Starr, had turned herself in to the law, and was now in jail.
A crowd gathered in front of the courthouse building, and just stood there quietly gazing at the corner that held the jail where federal prisoners were held awaiting trial. Fagan called in several deputies to guard the entrances to the building, but the crowd made no move to enter.
Two deputies, standing near the main entrance, looked out at the silent crowd. “Can you believe it,” one said. “All these people out there, gazing at this building like we got some kinda saint inside or something.”
“She might be an outlaw,” the other said. “But, lots of folks round these parts admire this Belle Starr. You know, she’s a friend of Bass Reeves.”
“Yeah, I heard that. Wonder if he knew she was an outlaw?”
“No, I doubt it. You know Bass. Hell, that man would arrest his own son if he broke the law. He’s got a stick up his back about that. Reckon he’s gonna be mighty put out, though.”
CHAPTER 13
Bass was less put out than confused.
He’d been surprised, but somewhat pleased, when, upon his return to Fort Smith, he’d been informed by the clerk at reception in the court building that none other than Belle Starr had turned herself in to the law, an
d was at that moment residing in a cell in the detention wing of the building.
He was upset at his friend being in jail, but relieved that she’d not decided to go on the run, which would have made her a wanted fugitive, in the gunsights of every marshal, town sheriff, and bounty hunter within five hundred miles, some of whom would have no qualms about shooting a woman, despite the warrant not stating that she was wanted ‘dead or alive.’
Bass considered visiting her in her cell, but decided that it might be misunderstood, so, after depositing Sam Starr and the required paperwork, which he’d had O’Malley complete for him, he checked in with Marshal Fagan, learned that he had no warrants available, and that none would be forthcoming for another day or two, went home to his family.
After an initial arraignment, a grand jury brought indictments against both Belle and Sam for larceny in relation to the sale of stolen property, although the U.S. Attorney had sought one for horse theft, a more serious offense. They were allowed to return to Younger’s Bend to await a decision on a scheduled trial date.
Despite a reputation for dispensing speedy justice, U.S. Court Judge Isaac Parker scheduled Belle and Sam’s trials for November, to give them time to prepare their defense against the charges that had been filed. This also gave Bass time for a month-long trip back into the territory, enabling him to fulfill his promise to O’Malley and Collins, to make up for the all-too-short trip to arrest Sam. They returned after twenty-eight days with ten fugitives shackled in the prisoner wagon, and the prospect of over three thousand dollars in reward money for Bass. The joyous homecoming he received helped him to overcome his sadness at his friend having to stand before Judge Parker and answer for charges that Bass was convinced she was innocent of.
There was a chill in the air on the first day of the trial of the United States versus Sam Starr and Belle Starr. Parker’s courtroom was packed, with some people shoving in and standing against the wall in the back, despite the deputy marshals trying to keep them out. Finally, to avoid a riot, Marshal Fagan allowed several people to enter, provided they remained quiet and orderly. He and Bass, along with four other deputies, took seats in the back row in order to be able to watch the entrance as well as the entire courtroom
A quiet murmur began when the defendants were led in by two deputy marshals, accompanied by their attorney.
The murmur cut off abruptly when the bailiff said, “All rise for his honor, Judge Isaac Parker.”
Parker entered the courtroom from his antechamber behind the elevated bench from which he presided. In his black robe, his white hair and beard enveloping his face, he looked to Bass like an avenging angel. He wore a stern expression as he seated himself, reinforcing the impression people had of him. Isaac C. Parker, the ‘Hanging Judge,’ as he’d come to be known since being appointed to preside over the Western District of Arkansas and the Indian Territories by President U.S. Grant, had sentenced dozens of defendants in capital cases to hang. But, contrary to his reputation, he opposed the death penalty, and had told a northern reporter who interviewed him that, when a jury found a defendant guilty in a capital case, because the death penalty was mandatory, he had no choice but to impose it. This distinction, though, was lost on the common folks in the territory. They took the nickname to imply that Parker was a harsh judge, and feared coming before him as much as they feared having Bass Reeves on their tail.
Bass looked up at the man who had hired him as a deputy, and saw what others failed to see. Presiding over the largest and busiest court in the entire judicial system was beginning to take its toll. Parker looked tired. Holding court, often as long as sixteen hours per day, five days a week, had robbed a once vibrant man of his vitality. To Bass, he looked like someone sorely in need of rest.
Despite his physical appearance, he still maintained iron control over his courtroom, and immediately opened the proceedings, instructing the prosecuting attorney to begin presenting his case.
No expert in the courtroom aspects of the law, Bass was nonetheless impressed with the way the U.S. Attorney piled fact on top of fact, as he presented what, even to Bass, seemed like an iron-clad case against Sam and Belle, who sat stone-faced and silent as the proceedings got underway.
Witness after witness, under the gentle, but persistent questioning of the prosecutor, swore that Sam Starr had been in possession of horses that had been stolen from Andrew Crane and Sam Campbell. Both men showed papers proving ownership of the horses and question, and provided details about discovering that the animals had been stolen just days before Sam Starr sold them to a buyer from Texas. The Texan, when called to the stand, asserted that he’d purchased the horses from Sam Starr, pointing at him as he spoke, and had been assured that the title to them was free and clear.
The damning evidence, though, came from Joseph Crow. Though he seemed reluctant to speak, under the prosecutor’s prodding, he stated that he had informed Sam and Belle that he’d recognized the brands on a couple of the horses Sam had left at his place, and that he’d informed them he believed the animals to be stolen. When he said that both of them had assured him that the sale of the horses would be delayed until the claim could be investigated, but that Sam had come to his ranch the following day with a buyer and disposed of the horses, there were audible gasps from several members of the jury.
Throughout the testimony of prosecution witnesses, Sam and Belle kept their gaze on the table behind which they sat.
Finally, the prosecutor, stood and looked up at the judge. “Your honor,” he said. “The prosecution rests.”
Parker pointed his gavel at the defense attorney.
“Counselor, are you ready to present your case?” he asked.
“Uh, I suppose so, your honor,” the man said.
“Very well, present your first witness.”
“Uh, well, your honor, I don’t have any witnesses.”
Parker’s eyes blazed. “You just said you’re ready to present your case,” he roared. “How are you going to do that if you have no witnesses?”
“I will present my case in my closing remarks, your honor. My clients acted in good faith, and should be acquitted.”
His face wrinkled and his lips pursed as if he’d sucked on a half-ripe lemon, Parker glared down at the man. When he spoke, his disgust was apparent.
“I can’t tell you how to run your case, young man,” he said. “But, if that’s the way you want to do it, so be it. It’s your funeral, or rather, it’s your clients’ future you’re playing with here.” His gaze switched to the prosecutor. “Counselor, you may present your closing argument.”
With a look that was a mixture of surprise and smug satisfaction, the prosecutor stood and gave a subdued, but damning oration of the evidence he’d presented, the statements from witnesses that proved beyond doubt that the defendants had knowingly sold property that did not belong to them, and that the defense had not presented one shred of evidence to refute that charge. He piled on by pointing out that Sam Starr was the leader of the notorious Starr clan, known throughout the Indian Territory for their unlawful acts against the various tribes there, and Belle Starr’s reputation as the Bandit Queen, who had previously consorted with a known Texas criminal before marrying Starr. “Therefore,” he said, in conclusion. “You gentlemen of the jury have no alternative but to find the defendants guilty of the charges as set forth in the indictment.” With a last smile of triumph, he sat.
The defense attorney was far less eloquent. He pointed out that his clients had not stolen anything, nor were they accused of stealing. They had been, he asserted, victimized by the true thief, and had bought and sold the horses in good faith. He excoriated the prosecutor for bringing up rumor and innuendo which had no bearing on the case, in an effort to prejudice the jury against his clients. “Gentlemen of the jury,” he said. “What you have here is a situation in which my clients made a mistake, an unwise, but honest mistake. They trusted the man who sold them the horses, and then sold them with no intent of malice. I would ask th
at you ignore the prosecutor’s salacious remarks about them, his slanderous words that were designed to make you view them in a most unfavorable light. I maintain that, despite the parade of witnesses the prosecution brought before you, he has not proven beyond reasonable doubt that my clients knowingly committed any crime, and I ask you to do the right thing, find them not guilty.”
The courtroom fell silent when he sat down, his shoulders slumped. Bass could see that his words had not had any impact on the jury, who, as a man, stared at Sam and Belle as if they were being accused of murder.
Parker sent the jury into deliberation with an injunction to ignore the prosecutor’s remarks about the defendants’ reputations, and to decide the case based solely upon the evidence presented. When the jury had filed out of the courtroom, Parker called a recess. No one moved. Everyone had come to see the show, and weren’t about to risk losing their front row seats. Parker shrugged, stood, and went into his chambers. Deputies moved to the front of the room and escorted the defendants to a holding area down the hall from the courtroom where they would wait for the jury to decide their fate.
They didn’t have long to wait.
Thirty minutes after departing the courtroom, the jury was back. The room was abuzz with hushed conversations as everyone waited for Judge Parker to return. When he finally appeared, and called the court back into session, as a hush fell over the space like a blanket. All eyes were on the twelve men sitting in the jury box.
“The defendants will rise.” Slowly, Belle and Sam stood, and faced the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury,” he said. “Have you reached a verdict?”
The jury foreman stood. “Yes, we have, your honor.”
“How say you?”
“Your honor, we the jury, find the defendants, Sam Starr and Belle Starr, guilty as charged.”
Parker banged his gavel to silence the loud conversations that immediately erupted.
“Order, I’ll have order in this courtroom, or it’ll be cleared,” he thundered. “Mister foreman, was this a unanimous verdict?”