“No, Your Honor, I’m not prepared to be a prosecutor.”
“Let me put it this way, Mr. Van Arsdale. You will either accept this assignment, or you will spend thirty days in jail for contempt of court. And I will personally see to it that you are disbarred. Now, what is your answer? Are you willing to serve as prosecuting attorney for the case at hand?”
“What is the case?”
“Sheriff Poindexter is on trial for the murder of a Texas Ranger.”
Shocked by the comment, Van Arsdale looked over at Poindexter. Poindexter smirked at him.
“What will it be, Counselor?” Judge Dawes asked. “Jail and disbarment? Or you’ll act as prosecutor?”
“I’ll prosecute,” Van Arsdale said.
“I thought you might see it my way. Now, raise your hand.”
This time Van Arsdale raised his right hand without assistance.
“Do you, James Earl Van Arsdale, solemnly swear you will faithfully and impartially discharge and perform all the duties incumbent upon you as prosecuting attorney under the Constitution and laws of the United States and of the State of Texas, So help you God?”
Van Arsdale hesitated for a moment before he answered. “Yes,” he said, mumbling the word very quietly.
“Would you repeat that please, Mr. Van Arsdale? You must say the word loudly enough that all here may bear witness.”
“Yes,” Van Arsdale said loudly and distinctly.
“Very good. You will act as prosecution attorney in the case of Texas versus Sheriff Poindexter. You may make your case.”
“Your Honor, may I have some time to prepare for this case?”
“How much time do you need?”
“A week. A few days at least.”
“I will give you fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes? Your Honor, that’s impossible!”
“Your fifteen minutes has already started,” Judge Dawes said.
“Your Honor, you are asking me to prosecute the sheriff for murder, but I know nothing about this case!”
“Very well, Mr. Van Arsdale. I will increase your preparation time to one half hour in order that you may become acquainted with the case. You may retire to the jury deliberation room. I now ask that anyone who has information pertinent to the case that they think may help the prosecutor, to meet with him in the jury deliberation room.”
“And, Judge, perhaps some coffee?”
“Deputy Sharp, get the prosecutor some coffee,” Judge Dawes ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
Harold Denham, Doc Gunter, and Eb Smalley were the only three people from the gallery who went into the deliberation room to meet with Van Arsdale. Van Arsdale was sitting at the far end of the table drinking cup after cup of coffee. He was going through a bad case of the shakes.
“Would someone please tell me what happened?” Van Arsdale asked.
“Corey Davidson went down to the Long Trail saloon to arrest Poindexter,” Smalley said. “Poindexter and Deputy Sharp shot him.”
“Corey Davidson. Do you mean Texas Ranger Corey Davidson?”
“Yes.”
“I am only prosecuting Sheriff Poindexter. But you say both Poindexter and Deputy Sharp shot him?”
“Yes,” Denham answered. “I think the idea is to try only Poindexter and if he is found not guilty, there will be no charges against Sharp.”
“Did any of you actually see it happen?”
“None of us saw it, but we have heard accounts of it from those who did see it,” Denham replied. “Apparently both Poindexter and Sharp had their guns pointed at him when Poindexter invited him to draw.”
“You two can handle this,” Doc Gunter said. “I had better get back out there and hold our seats.”
“How do you know that the sheriff and Sharp already had their guns out?”
“That’s what some have told us,” Smalley suggested. “They are afraid to testify, but I would be willing to testify as to what they told me.”
Van Arsdale waved that aside. “That would be hearsay and wouldn’t be admissible. Why was Davidson trying to arrest Poindexter?”
“Mal something or the other,” Smalley said. “I don’t remember the word.”
“Malfeasance,” Denham said.
“Malfeasance, good. Yes, we can go with that,” Van Arsdale said.
Deputy Sharp stepped into the deliberation room then. “Judge Dawes says you’ve been in here long enough. He’s about to call court into session.”
“Deputy, I need more time,” Van Arsdale said.
“You ain’t goin’ to get no more time.”
“Just a few minutes more.”
“Let’s go,” Deputy Sharp ordered.
The jury was still sitting in the jury box when Denham and the others returned.
“Your Honor, I ask for a continuance until tomorrow. I need time to study this case.”
“Request denied,” Judge Dawes said.
Van Arsdale looked over at the jury. “Your Honor, there are only twelve men here. Am I to be given the right of voir dire?” Van Arsdale asked.
“Voir dire has already been completed. Make your case, Mr. Prosecutor,” Judge Dawes ordered.
Van Arsdale walked over to the prosecutor’s table and stood there for a moment. He looked out toward Denham, Smalley, and Doc Gunter, all of whom had taken their seat in the gallery. Doc Gunter made a motion as if drinking, then pointed to the table, whereon set a glass of water.
Van Arsdale shook his head no.
Gunter repeated the motion.
“Mr. Van Arsdale, the court is waiting,” Judge Dawes said.
Again Gunter, and this time Denham and Smalley as well, made the motion.
Wondering why all three were so insistent that he drink the water, Van Arsdale picked the glass up. As soon as he brought it close enough, he realized that it wasn’t water, it was tequila. With shaking hands he brought the glass to his lips. Once he had a drink, the shakes eased, and his mind cleared up somewhat.
“The case is a simple one to make, Your Honor. Corey Davidson, a well-known, highly respected, and honored Texas Ranger, attempted to place Sheriff Poindexter under arrest. Instead of acquiescing to the arrest as any ordinary citizen should and would do, Poindexter reacted in the most hostile way one can imagine. He pulled his pistol and shot Texas Ranger Corey Davidson. Poindexter was resisting arrest, and in so doing, killed Ranger Davidson. That is a clear case of felony murder.”
Gillespie responded with a fifteen-minute-long impassioned defense plea. Davidson had come into the saloon looking for trouble, and when Sheriff Poindexter, in performance of his duty, attempted to place Davidson under arrest, Davidson drew his pistol and fired.
“Sheriff Poindexter was surprised by this unexpected response from someone who is supposed to be an officer of the law. He saw someone drawing on him, someone who had the reputation of being as quick as thought with a gun.
“I ask you, gentlemen of the jury. What would you have done? What would anyone have done? Naturally, when you are placed in a life-or-death situation, you are going to do whatever you must in order to save your own life.
“Sheriff Poindexter did just that. He drew his pistol and, fortunately, was able to get his gun out before Davidson. As the drawing and shooting in such an event is one continuous motion, there was no opportunity for him to order Davidson to drop his gun. There was but one option open to him if he would save his life, and that was to shoot Davidson.
“Sheriff Poindexter is aware of the sterling record that Davidson had put up as a Texas Ranger, and in truth, was surprised by Mr. Davidson’s reaction. He feels bad about having killed this hero of Texas, but contends, and with justification, that he had no choice.”
“Witnesses, Mr. Prosecutor?” Judge Dawes asked after Gillespie sat down.
“Your Honor, I call Deputy Sharp to the stand.”
“Very well, the court calls Deputy Sharp to the stand.”
“What do you want me for?” Sharp asked. �
�I thought we was goin’ to try the sheriff, and once you found him not guilty, there wouldn’t be no charges against me.”
“There are no charges; you are being called as a witness.”
Sharp looked over toward Gillespie, who nodded, then he walked to the front of the court.
“State your full name, please.”
“Stanley Millard Sharp.”
“Millard?” Deputy Josh Peters called out with a loud guffawing laugh. “Your name is Millard?”
“I was named after a president; what is wrong with that?” Sharp retorted.
Judge Dawes slammed his gavel on the bench. “Order,” he called.
The courtroom quieted.
“Now, Deputy Sharp, do you swear to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, and the whole truth, so help you God?”
“Yeah.”
“Say I do.”
“I do.”
“Your witness, Counselor.”
Van Arsdale stared at Sharp, holding the stare for a long moment without saying a word. It began to have an effect on Sharp, who started fidgeting in the witness chair.
“What you starin’ at me for?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“What are you objecting to, Mr. Gillespie?” Van Arsdale said. “I haven’t said anything yet.”
“He’s badgering the witness.”
“How the hell can you call that badgering?” Denham blurted out.
Again, Dawes struck the bench with his gavel. “The next person who speaks will be found in contempt. Objection sustained. Counselor, you called this witness, now either ask him a question, or dismiss him.”
“Very well, Your Honor. Deputy Sharp, when you shot Ranger Davidson, were you using buck and ball, or double-aught shot?”
“Hell, I was usin’ buck ’n . . .”
“Deputy, don’t answer that question! Your Honor, I object!” Gillespie shouted loudly. “The deputy isn’t on trial!”
“Sustained.”
“Deputy, were you present when Ranger Davidson was killed?”
Sharp looked over at Gillespie, who nodded.
“Yeah, I was there.”
“Tell the court what you saw.”
“I saw Sheriff Poindexter try ’n’ arrest Davidson, only Davidson went for his gun.”
“Prior to that, did Ranger Davidson attempt to arrest Sheriff Poindexter?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you close enough to see and hear what was going on?”
“Yes.”
“Did you shoot at the same time as Sheriff Poindexter? Or was it a bit later?”
“It was about . . .”
“Don’t answer that, Deputy. Objection, Your Honor.”
“Sustained. Counselor, you have been warned before about this kind of question.”
“Your Honor, I’m just trying to ascertain Deputy Sharp’s participation in the incident, so the jury will be able to give some weight to his testimony.”
“Do not question him again about his alleged participation.”
“I have no further questions of this witness.”
“Defense?” Judge Dawes asked.
“No questions.”
“Your Honor, with your indulgence,” Van Arsdale said. “Since I was not assigned this case until forty-five minutes ago, indeed, was even unaware of it, I have no other witnesses, and request permission to poll the gallery.”
“Mr. Van Arsdale, the entire town was aware of this shooting incident. How is it that you were not?”
“Your Honor, I’m a drunk,” Van Arsdale said. “Sometimes I’m barely aware that the sun is out.”
There was more laughter from the gallery.
“Very well, you may poll the gallery for witnesses,” Judge Dawes said.
Van Arsdale picked up the glass to take another drink but hesitated just as it reached his mouth and put it back down, without so much as tasting it. He faced the gallery.
“I ask anyone who saw this shooting take place to please volunteer now, to be a witness.”
Deputies Russell and Peters stood. Van Arsdale saw Denham, Smalley, Travers, and Doc Gunter shaking their heads no, and he understood that these witnesses would not be helpful to his case.
Then Eb Smalley stood.
“Did you see the shooting, Mr. Smalley?” Van Arsdale asked.
“No, sir. But I can testify as to why Ranger Davidson was in Sorrento.”
“Your Honor, prosecution calls Eb Smalley as a witness,” Van Arsdale said.
Smalley came to the front and was sworn in.
“Mr. Smalley, I believe you stated you could testify as to why Ranger Davidson was in Sorrento.”
“Yes.”
“Please tell us.”
“Objection, Your Honor. The reason Davidson was here has no relevancy to this case.”
“Your Honor, Ranger Davidson did not spontaneously appear in the Long Trail saloon this morning. He was here for a purpose, and I believe Mr. Smalley can shed light on that.”
“Objection overruled; you may examine the witness.”
“Mr. Smalley, did you know Ranger Davidson?”
“I knew him very well. I was a company commander in his regiment during the war.”
“What kind of man was he?”
“He was one of the finest men I ever knew. He was a Texas Ranger before the war, he was a very well-respected regimental commander during the war, and he rejoined the Texas Rangers again, as soon as they were reconstituted after the war.”
“I believe you said you could shed some light on why he was in Sorrento today.”
“He was here because I asked him to come.”
“Why did you ask him to come?”
“I believe Sheriff Poindexter is guilty of malfeasance of duty, and I . . .”
“Objection, Your Honor. Sheriff Poindexter is being tried for murder, not for malfeasance,” Gillespie interrupted.
“Sustained.”
“Your Honor, this goes to the heart of why Ranger Davidson was here. It also provides a possible reason for the confrontation between Ranger Davidson and Sheriff Poindexter.”
“The objection is sustained, Mr. Van Arsdale.”
“Exception.”
“Exception noted. Please continue.”
“Continue where? You are gutting my case.”
Judge Dawes slammed his gavel down hard. “Careful, Counselor, you are bordering on contempt.”
“My apologies, Your Honor.” Van Arsdale continued his examination. “Do you think Ranger Davidson went down to the Long Trail with the intention of killing Sheriff Poindexter?”
“No, I do not. I think he went down there to arrest him.”
“Objection, Your Honor, hearsay.”
“Sustained.”
Van Arsdale shrugged his shoulders. “No further questions.”
“Cross, Mr. Gillespie?” Judge Dawes asked.
“Not needed, Your Honor. This witness did no harm to my client.”
“Call your next witness, Mr. Van Arsdale.”
“Why?”
“Careful, Mr. Van Arsdale,” Judge Dawes said sternly.
“I have no further witnesses, Your Honor. Prosecution rests its case.”
Gillespie recalled Deputy Sharp, who testified that Sheriff Poindexter had attempted to arrest Davidson for threatening a law officer.
“Davidson, he just got real mad and drew his gun on the sheriff. Sheriff Poindexter had no choice but to draw his own self, and what he done was, he beat Davidson to the draw.”
“Thank you. Your witness, Counselor,” Gillespie said.
“Deputy Sharp, why are you the only witness?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wasn’t anyone else there? Other customers? The bartender? Any of the women?”
“I think they was all so scared that they didn’t see nothin’.”
“Or is it they all saw something but are too scared to testify?”
“Objection. Argumentive.”
; “Withdrawn.” Van Arsdale returned to his seat.
“Closing, Mr. Van Arsdale?”
Van Arsdale didn’t even stand. “I believe that Ranger Davidson attempted to arrest the sheriff and the sheriff killed the ranger while resisting arrest. The fact that Poindexter was resisting arrest renders the claim of self-defense invalid. Poindexter killed Davidson while he was resisting arrest. That constitutes felony murder, and I ask the jury to return that verdict.” That was the full extent of his closing argument.
“Mr. Gillespie?” the judge said.
Taking a cue from Van Arsdale, Gillespie didn’t stand, either. Nor did he speak more than one sentence.
“There was only one witness to the shooting, and his testimony makes it clear that this was a justifiable homicide.”
It took the jury five minutes to render a not guilty verdict, and, with that verdict, all of Poindexter’s deputies, and those who had allied themselves with him, rushed to congratulate him.
“Drinks are on me at the Long Trail!” Poindexter called out, and with enthusiastic shouts, his followers rushed from the courthouse to the saloon.
James Earl Van Arsdale remained at the prosecutor’s table, long after everyone else had vacated the courthouse. He was still there, half an hour later, when Harold Denham went back into the courthouse.
“I thought you might be here,” Denham said. Denham noticed that the glass of tequila was still full.
“I was a joke,” Van Arsdale said. “Poindexter just got away with murder because of me.”
“It wasn’t because of you, James Earl. This whole thing was fixed from the beginning.”
“Including getting a drunk to prosecute,” James Earl added.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. The finest prosecutor in the state could not have overcome a stacked jury and a crooked judge.”
“This incident has done one thing for me,” Van Arsdale said. “It has provided an epiphany. From this day forward, I will never drink again.”
CHAPTER NINE
When Falcon finally returned to MacCallister, he rode in on Kate MacCallister Boulevard. The Katy, as the locals called it, was the main street in town. Kate MacCallister had been Falcon’s mother. And in the middle of town, in a square, was a statue of James Ian MacCallister, the town’s namesake and Falcon’s father.
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