“While we have the one witness?” asked Borah with a squint.
Darrow addressed Judge Wood. “They need to scrounge up a second witness, so, let’s trade: The court can give them more time to buy another false confession. Meanwhile, let me meet with the one and only witness they think they have. Otherwise, yes, let’s voir dire tomorrow.”
“You mean the man your client shot at,” grumbled Wood.
“No, Your Honor. Neither my client nor the Federation did that. It was the State. McParland’s men, to be specific, hoping to scare Orchard into a confession.”
“That’s ludicrous,” said Borah.
“What evidence can you offer that it wasn’t a Federation man?”
“You wish me to prove the negative?”
Wood shrugged.
“Quite simple, Your Honor. As the special prosecutor here has implied, if the Federation took a shot at Mr. Orchard, Mr. Orchard would be dead.”
The judge began to chuckle. “That’s a hell of a reason.”
“Just let my client have his constitutional right to— Just let me talk to Orchard. Please. See if he stands by his confession. The Pinkertons can search me, post men all around me. But let me talk with the man.”
The judge pondered for a moment.
“They will kill him, Your Honor,” said Borah. “I don’t know how, but—”
“Me?” asked Darrow. “You think I am going to kill the man?”
Borah held up a finger. “I’ll say this, then leave it there: If Mr. Orchard ends up dead, the next man to die will be Mr. Darrow.”
“My God!” Darrow exclaimed. “Senator, are you threatening to kill me? Right here in front of the judge?”
Judge Wood appeared bemused. “Fair question, Senator.”
Borah took a deep breath. “If Mr. Haywood, or any representative of Mr. Haywood, or any of the Federation’s army of killers, assassinates Mr. Orchard, then there will be a blood, I’m afraid. That’s all I am seeking to avoid.”
“The Federation’s army?” Darrow’s face reddened. “What do you mean? They are private citizens defending their rights. You are confusing them with the Pinkertons, the State’s private police.”
Borah shook his head. “Governor Steunenberg was well loved.”
The judge leaned on his elbows, clasping his hands together. “Let’s keep this civil, shall we? All right, Mr. Darrow, you can interview their witness. But only the once.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you.”
Judge Wood continued, “As you said, Mr. Darrow, they only have the one. If a second witness is attained, then I’ll consider the same for him. Have your meeting, Mr. Darrow. Do it soon.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
The judge turned to Borah. “I assume you’ll have the State’s witness guarded for the duration that Mr. Darrow is with him?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Good. And don’t threaten to kill anyone in front of me again. Or, if you do, be ready to pull your barker on the spot.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“You’re a bloomin United States Senator. I voted for you twice, for christsakes.”
“Thank you,” chuckled Borah.
“Oh, well … that’s terrific,” Darrow groused, standing.
Darrow and Borah walked out of the Ada County Courthouse. On the wide granite steps, they saw approximately twenty National Guard soldiers ringing the place. “A company?” Darrow scoffed.
“With the ones inside, and out at the pen, there might be.”
“Uh-huh,” said Darrow. He looked at Borah directly. “That threat to kill me, that was just to get him to approve my access?”
“Nope.” Borah started to leave. “Walking?”
Darrow stood for a second. “I’m going back in to talk with my client. That’s allowed in your State of Idaho—right, Senator?”
“Night, Counselor,” said Borah, descending the wide steps.
“Good night,” Darrow replied, watching him go.
<><><>
– 48 –
TUESDAY
March 26, 1907
“See that window?” Orchard asked, shielding the sun from his eyes with one hand. The other was extended, pointing at the high windows of his prison building. “Don’t rightly think you can see it from down here, but sure as shit it’s there. Bullet hole in one of them panes.”
“I don’t doubt you, Mr. Orchard,” said Darrow, not attempting to see it. The armed guards encircling them were watching Darrow’s every move. He was forbidden to get closer than three feet to Orchard, and certainly wasn’t allowed to touch the man. They stood in a small field, surrounded by the prison’s high stone walls and cell block buildings, on top of which were a number of additional guards, each with a rifle. Beside Darrow and Orchard was the penitentiary’s gallows platform, about eight feet off the ground. Darrow noted that, as it was missing its overhead structure and beam, it appeared as an innocuous, wooden stage set in a well-trod field—as if one might expect a repertoire of Shakespeare to occur there. He envisioned Hamlet—the play’s the thing. Or no, Titus Andronicus. This was a stage for a bloodbath.
Orchard turned halfway around and pointed to the hills beyond the walls. “Your fella shot at me from up there.”
“Perhaps the shooter was up there,” began Darrow, “but you don’t know who hired him. I think he was a Pinkerton, trying to scare you into that false confession you gave. But Detective McParland didn’t count on you being as smart as you are. I think your gut tells you it was one of them—maybe even one of these men standing here. You never know.” Darrow pointed at the guards surrounding them. “But, Mr. Orchard, whoever shot at you, it wasn’t one of your labor brothers.”
“Don’t rightly know. Seen a lot in my days with Mr. Haywood.”
“That’s right—you don’t know. Hell, I don’t either.”
“Since I seen that kill list Mr. Haywood had, with my name on it, I figured—”
“You can’t be certain who was up there.”
“Guess not.”
“So, how about you stop saying it was a Federation man who shot at you? Since, as you said, you don’t know.”
“Yeah.” Orchard walked to the wide, wooden steps leading up to the gallows stage and sat down.
Darrow stood near him, leaning on the rough-hewn handrail. “I was told you were smart, and I see that’s true. And not just smart, but you have an honorable heart. I heard you’ve found the Lord since you’ve been in here.”
“Yeah.”
“Born again. Walk in His love, and He shall light your way.”
Orchard looked up at the lawyer. “You came to get me to recant my confession. Want me to say I made it up.”
“No, that’s not what I want.”
“Ain’t it?”
“Just the truth. The truth will set you free, right?”
“Told the truth. Most true thing I ever said. This free to you?”
“Well—”
“Truth will set me free,” scoffed Orchard. “Nah, you know what I think? I think that’s one of the biggest lies there ever was. Truth never set a man free.”
“You know,” began Darrow, “I’ve read what you said. A few times through. And I’ve got nothing to say about all those other things you claim you did. But I take exception to one part. You say you planned and constructed the bomb, the one you planted at the governor’s house, and you set it off.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And those things are for you to say, because those are all things you did. Only you can say them for sure. But you go on to guess a number of other things. Just like today, just now, when you were guessing who shot at you that night.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Mr. Haywood never told you to kill the governor, did he?”
�
��He wrote it down.”
“And you have that paper?”
“No.”
“But you kept a piece of paper from Mr. Haywood’s office.”
Orchard stopped blinking. “Might’ve.”
“You did. And you hid it in the brim of your hat.”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s that hat?”
“Pinks took it.”
“But there was nothing on that paper, right? You just took a blank piece, so you could write something on it if you needed to, maybe to gain some upper hand over Mr. Haywood at a later date. Like an insurance policy.”
“No, it said—”
“You’re guessing again. Don’t do that. Don’t bear false witness. You read that in the Good Book, didn’t you? A man shouldn’t bear false witness against another. It’s one of the Ten Commandments, is it not?” He saw Orchard nod. “Means you can’t guess. You aren’t certain what Mr. Haywood said about Governor Steunenberg—if he said anything at all.”
“That ain’t right.”
“All I’m asking is for you to tell the truth about what you did. That’s your right. But you can’t say what was in the heart of another man. You can’t say what Mr. Haywood was thinking. You’ve found Jesus in here, and that’s commendable, but He didn’t make you telepathic, did He?”
“Telepathic?”
“You can’t read other people’s minds, can you?”
“No.”
“Then all I’m asking you is take back those parts of your confession where you speak about what you imagine transpired in Mr. Haywood’s heart. What you guess were his intentions. You may have misunderstood. Do you ever misunderstand things others say? I know I do.”
“Maybe.”
“Of course you do. So just tell the truth. That’s all I’m asking. And the truth is: you don’t know for certain that Mr. Haywood asked anything of you.”
“Yeah, I do. He wrote the words Steunenberg and bomb.”
“Steunenberg and bomb?”
“Yeah.”
“I feel for you,” said Darrow, nodding. “Detective McParland has got you all confused. But if you remember it right, you’ll remember that you wrote that. You stole the blank paper from Mr. Haywood, and you wrote those words. The truth, Mr. Orchard.”
“I told the truth.”
“You wrote it on that paper, tucked it in your hat, and now the Pinks have it. Do you know why McParland hasn’t shown it to you? Hasn’t asked you to confirm it?”
“No.”
“Because it’s either blank, or it’s written in your hand.”
“No it ain’t.” Orchard stared, then shook his head at Darrow. “You’re a famous lawyer. Everybody knows that. Heck, I wish you was my lawyer. Anybody who’s got you as their lawyer, they’re gonna walk free. You’ve got wizard’s way with words.”
“I don’t do spells,” Darrow tried. “I just tell the truth.”
“What I’m saying is—because he’s got you representin him, everybody knows Big Bill ain’t gonna swing up there.” He glanced up at the trapdoor platform.
“I wish it was that certain, Harry, but—”
“I agreed to my punishment: life in prison. Haywood’ll walk.”
Darrow frowned. “Your false testimony won’t help his—”
“See, Sir, that’s just the thing, it ain’t false. I’m gonna do what I figure I gotta. And you’re gonna do what you figure you gotta. Me telling the truth—him ordering me to kill the governor—well it won’t matter none. I don’t know why you’re here fussing over me, wanting me to lie for him. He ain’t gonna hang.”
Darrow’s fists tightened. “All right. Say I represented you—”
“You’re offering?”
“One never knows.”
“I’ve hurt a bunch of people, Mr. Darrow. Ok, I’ll say it true: I’ve killed a bunch. I’m a fallen sinner. Why would you want me out? I’d just hurt more. Might even hurt you.”
“I don’t think you would.”
“No? Why’s that? Because you think I’m changed? Or cause if I was to step one foot out of here, a Federation bullet would find me— Like that!” He snapped his fingers. “Yeah, that’s why you’re sure I’d never hurt nobody again.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Yeah, you didn’t. Didn’t say either way.”
“Can we move off this point? I seem to have upset you.”
“Don’t matter nonewise. Rubber lips on a woodpecker. I already confessed. Judge already sentenced me. None of you was around. And I’m all right with it. Me and the Lord got eternity together. After this trial, they’ll send me to Leavenworth or someplace, and the Lord and I will get to know one another for a few years. Maybe I won’t have to burn.” Orchard stood fully and stretched. He turned to Darrow. “Tell me if this ain’t right: they gotta get someone else to agree with me, to say the same thing about Big Bill. Ain’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, the only fella I know who can do that without lying is Steve Adams. He saw that note. I showed him it. And he might’ve talked to Big Bill about the governor. He’s the only one. That’s another reason I figure Mr. Haywood will be all right.”
“Why is that? You don’t think Mr. Adams will testify?”
“Nah, they’ve probably already killed him.”
“The Federation?”
“Yeah. Or that sheriff up north has hanged him.”
Darrow squinted. “Who?”
“Fellow in here’s been talking bout a sheriff from up near the Bunker Mine. He’s been on the hunt for a man named Addis for cuttin his boy’s throat. Well, I know all about that. I was with Addis. That was Steve Adams. He and Addis are one and the same.”
Darrow frowned. “He’s the same man?”
“Know it so. Way I figure, bout now there’s bits of Adams getting shit out of a couple of buzzards somewhere over Utah. Figure Big Bill sent someone to kill him. Hell, I was supposed to kill him. And I would’ve too, had McParland not caught me first.”
“Ok, Mr. Orchard.” Darrow was deep in thought.
Orchard shrugged, then lifted his voice: “Guard, you can take me back.” He regarded Darrow. “No skin off me. I just tell it true.” As the guards ushered him away, he turned. “Maybe you can keep that commandment too, Mr. Darrow.”
<><><>
The Duck Valley Indian Reservation, home of both Shoshone and Paiute Indians, straddled Nevada and Idaho, taking an unwanted piece from each. It was desolate, a hundred miles from anywhere else—an endless expanse of bulging hills covered in sagebrush and grass. At its center was Owyhee, which was no more than a creaky windmill over a livestock tank next to a poorly made school for forgotten Indian children. Two horses, one roan, one dun, were drinking from the tank, snuffing as they did. “Nobody in there,” announced Iain loudly, stepping from the school house. He looked up at the windmill and whistled sharply. “What do you see? Are we about to get scalped?”
“Nope,” Jack yelled down from his perch near the top of the tower. He had been surveying the horizon through binoculars. “Nothing and nobody.” From up there, he could see the two horses below him, as well as the wagon to which they were hitched. His attention turned to resonant grunts rising from the wagon bed, from under a convulsing, deep-red, canvas cover. “Damnit. Don’t let him tear that up,” Jack shouted, descending. Seeing Iain nearing the wagon, Jack added, “Wait. Wait. Let me get down first.”
Once both were at the wagon, Jack drew his pistol, and Iain aimed his shotgun at the squirming mass. “Cut it out, asshole,” Jack demanded. The red canvas stopped moving, and then erupted again, as if boiling blood. Using the barrel of his gun, Iain lifted the edge. There they saw the top of Adams’s head, his greasy, dirt-yellow hair, his mouth gagged, hands tied to his belt buckle, feet toward the driver’s box. One of his leg
s, having come unchained from the wagon floor, attacked the cover.
“Hey! Shite-eater!” barked Iain. “You can either lay still while we fix ya, or I can hit ya bout the head for a bit. Which ya rather?”
Jack chuckled. “Iain, I swear—”
“I beg ya, keep kicking. I’ll go fetch a rock.”
Adams lay still.
Jack walked around to the side of the wagon, lifted the canvas, and re-wrapped the chains. “You need to piss?” he asked their captive. Seeing Adams nod, Jack said, “Go ahead,” and tightened the cover in place.
***
Other than one more tube change and a search for fuel, the plucky Oldsmobile had given them no trouble on the drive from Austin back up to Battle Mountain, where they had arrived three days earlier. After returning the car to the much-relieved Sir Rowan, they moved Adams inside The King’s Arms and chained him to a post. Then they took turns sleeping. (Ten more dollars had not only purchased Sir Rowan’s silence, but also the use of his mercantile saloon.)
The next morning, Jack had roused the dullard ticket agent and sent the ATLANTA and RICHMOND telegram to McParland. Back in the saloon, they had spread a map and made a plan. To reduce the chance of running into Captain Swain, or any other Thiel or Federation man, they would not put Adams on any trains. It didn’t matter anyway as there was no rail between Battle Mountain, Nevada, and their destination: Silver City, Idaho (code-named “Richmond”), a hundred and fifty miles or so north. Based on Sir Rowan’s descriptions of the terrain, and figuring a two-horse wagon, it would be a week’s journey to Silver City. But where to find the wagon team? And, more critically, how to conceal their route out of Battle Mountain?
First, Jack bought three tickets eastbound, and talked loudly while a couple of drifters were in the depot, being careful to mention Ogden, Utah, a few times. When the Southern Pacific train arrived from Reno, Jack boarded, only to climb off the far side, unseen. He then returned to Sir Rowan’s store and guarded Adams, while Iain walked to the depot and did the same thing: publicly getting on the train before slipping off just as the wheels began to turn. Meanwhile, Sir Rowan used the third ticket, but stayed on the train. Two short stops east, he got off, leased a wagon and two horses, and drove it back to Battle Mountain.
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