Luther sat up straight and said, “Marshal Morgan! You’re back. Do you have the judge with you?”
Morgan nodded. “I sure do…no thanks to seven or eight of Brighton’s gunhawks who tried to stop us.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Nope. Neither is the judge, although I reckon he was shaken up a mite by being shot at.” Morgan took his hat off as he came closer to the bed and grinned. “He’s not used to having bullets flying around his head like you and me, Counselor.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m that used to it, and I hope I never am!” Luther replied fervently.
“I hear you were wounded again, by a knife this time…after somebody took some potshots at you.”
“You must have talked to your deputy. Jack caught the man who tried to kill me. One of the men, I should say. We don’t know who cut me as I was leaving the hotel.”
“I’ll bet you can hazard a guess, though,” Morgan said.
“Brighton’s going to get his comeuppance in court,” Luther said, the angry words coming out of his mouth before he remembered that the case he was going to present was doomed before it ever began. All the evidence he had gathered would go unused and unknown to anyone except him.
And Dex Brighton would win. That was the bitterest pill of all, even more bitter than the disappointment that Woodford and Diana would feel and the humiliation that would follow Luther all the way back to San Francisco. Luther hated Brighton, and the idea of him triumphing was almost intolerable.
Then fight back. Don’t let him get away with it.
The voice was an insistent whisper in the back of Luther’s brain. It had been nagging him more and more as time passed and the trial approached. He had what he needed to win. He could destroy Brighton’s claim once and for all. But to do so, he would have to expose his own deception.
To get his mind off that depressing subject, he asked, “Who did the governor appoint to replace Judge Grampis?”
“A fella called Cecil Caldwell. Have you ever heard of him?”
“No, but it’s unlikely that I would have heard of a Nevada judge, since I’ve always practiced law in California.”
How easily the lies came now. Ever since arriving in Buckskin, Luther had told one falsehood after another…and these people had believed him. They had put their faith in him to make sure that justice was served and Tip Woodford’s claim to the Lucky Lizard was protected.
They had done more than believe him. They had believed in him.
And he was going to let them down, in the most devastating fashion possible. That knowledge wrenched at Luther’s heart.
The pain he felt inside must have been evident on his face, too, because Frank Morgan suddenly frowned and asked, “Are you all right, Luther? For a second there you looked like somebody stepped on your grave.”
“No, I…I’m fine,” Luther said. “Just weak from losing so much blood, the doctor says, and the shock of being wounded again. From time to time I have a…dizzy spell.”
“I’d say you’ve earned it. You’ll be ready for the trial tomorrow, though, won’t you? Judge Caldwell intends to call the court to order at nine o’clock sharp.”
“I’ll be ready,” Luther promised. Another lie. He would never be prepared for what was going to happen tomorrow. “Where did you say that court is usually held?”
“In the Silver Baron. That’s the only place in town with a room big enough. Maybe one of these days Buckskin will have a real courthouse.”
Luther frowned. “Colonel O’Hara is likely to object to the trial being held in a building owned by the defendant. He might ask for a change of venue.”
“I don’t think he’ll get it. Judge Caldwell is eager to get this over with.”
“So am I,” Luther said, and for once it was the truth. Like getting a bad tooth pulled, maybe it would be better if he suffered through this without delay. What was that old saying about a brave man dying but one death, while a coward dies a thousand times?
Luther knew all too well which category he fit into.
“I’ve got Jack and Phil Noonan guarding the judge tonight,” Morgan went on. “I think I’ll stay here, as long as it’s all right with Dr. Garland, and make sure that Brighton doesn’t try one more time to get rid of you.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not going to take the chance. After everything that’s happened, I don’t want anything to interfere with that trial. It’s time to end this.”
It was going to be the end, all right, Luther thought. The end of the case, the end of Tip Woodford’s hopes and dreams, the end of Luther’s masquerade, the end of any respect and affection that Diana might have for him…
“You go ahead with your work,” Morgan told him. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“Thank you, Frank. You’ve been a stalwart throughout this entire affair. But tomorrow…when the judge calls the court to order…then it’s my turn.”
Morgan rested a hand on Luther’s shoulder.
“We all know you won’t let us down, Claudius,” he said.
Chapter 28
“This court is now in session!”
Those words had different effects on everyone in the Silver Baron Saloon as Judge Caldwell’s gavel came down with a sharp bang to punctuate them. Frank Morgan assumed that was true anyway. He knew that in his case, he was just glad that the trial was finally under way. He hoped it would work out in Tip’s favor, but either way, it was time to settle things.
The poker tables and most of the other tables had been moved into the back of the room, except for a couple that would be used by the lawyers and their clients, and the chairs where the cardplayers and drinkers usually sat were now lined up in neat, orderly rows facing the longer table where Caldwell sat. A sheet had been draped over the big painting of a rather plump nude that hung behind the bar. There was only so much decorum you could achieve in a saloon that was doubling as a courtroom, but having a naked gal and a bunch of cavorting nymphs watching the proceedings would just make it more difficult.
A few minutes earlier, Frank had served as bailiff, calling out, “All rise!” as Judge Caldwell came in through the door at the end of the bar that led into the office. Now, from his post at the side of the room, Frank looked around at the people who were lowering themselves into chairs in response to the judge’s order to be seated.
Tip Woodford looked tense and worried. He had a lot riding on this. So did Dex Brighton, and he looked just about as nervous as Tip did, Frank decided. So did Colonel O’Hara. Frank had been watching O’Hara and Brighton talking in low tones at one of the tables before Judge Caldwell came in, and he knew neither man was happy that things had come to this point. Frank was more convinced than ever that Brighton didn’t want a trial, had never really wanted a trial.
But he was about to get one anyway.
The makeshift courtroom was packed with spectators. All the chairs were full, and men stood behind the chairs and crowded around the batwings. Catamount Jack had posted himself at the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face, to keep anybody else from trying to crowd in. The boardwalk was full of men peering through the windows, too.
Only two women were in the room. One was Frank’s daughter-in-law, Rebel, who sat with her husband, Conrad Browning, both of them taking an intense interest in what was going on. The other was Diana Woodford, who occupied a chair behind the table where her father and Claudius Turnbuckle were seated. She looked worried, too, but she mustered up an encouraging smile when Turnbuckle turned and glanced back at her.
The most nervous-looking man in the room, Frank decided, was Claudius Turnbuckle himself. Large beads of sweat dotted his pale, drawn face. Maybe that was from the strain of the wounds he had suffered, but Frank didn’t think so. It was more than that. Turnbuckle looked like a man who was scared to death.
Like a lawyer who was about to try his first case.
Frank frowned as h
e wondered where that thought had come from. Claudius Turnbuckle had plenty of experience; he was one of the top lawyers in San Francisco. Frank had trusted a lot of his business affairs to Turnbuckle and Stafford for several years now, and he was satisfied with the job they’d done. Turnbuckle wasn’t accustomed to practicing in such rough surroundings, though. That had to be it.
Judge Caldwell cleared his throat and picked up some papers he had brought with him to the table.
“I’ve read the briefs submitted to the court by both parties,” he said. “Colonel O’Hara, do you have an opening statement?”
O’Hara came to his feet.
“I do, Your Honor, if it please the court.”
Caldwell nodded and said, “Proceed.”
O’Hara hooked his thumbs in his vest in what had to be a practiced move, and began striding back and forth in front of the table where Caldwell sat as he proclaimed in a loud, clear voice, “Your Honor, this is a simple matter, little more than a mere misunderstanding. There is no good or evil here, only a cloud of misperceptions and hard feelings that must be dispersed in order to shine the light of truth and justice on the proceedings. My client, Mr. Dexter Brighton, is the true and legal owner of the mine known as the Lucky Lizard, but he bears no ill will toward Mr. Thomas Woodford, who holds the sincere but incorrect belief that he owns the Lucky Lizard and the silver it produces. Because of Mr. Woodford’s sincerity and the mitigating circumstances under which he mistakenly believes that he acquired the rights to the Lucky Lizard, Mr. Brighton has attempted on numerous occasions to reach an accord with Mr. Woodford, an agreement that would divide the disputed property equitably. Mr. Woodford has refused these generous attempts at graciousness on the part of my client…and so we find ourselves in court, come here to settle the matter in the fashion of all true Americans who believe in the rule of law!”
The fella sure could talk, Frank thought…and not say much except a pack of lies.
“But make no mistake about it, Your Honor,” O’Hara continued, “the facts of the case are on our side, as we shall demonstrate. Although Mr. Woodford had no way of knowing otherwise at the time, the deal he made to buy the Lucky Lizard was illegal, because the individual from which he purchased it had no right to dispose of the property in that manner. Therefore the sale is null and void, and as the only surviving descendant of the original partnership between Jeremiah Fulton and Chester Brighton, my client, Dexter Brighton, is, as I said, the true and legal owner of the Lucky Lizard Mine.” O’Hara stopped and bowed slightly from the waist. “That’s all, Your Honor.”
Caldwell nodded and said, “Thank you, Colonel.” He turned his head toward the table where Tip Woodford and Claudius Turnbuckle sat. “Mr. Turnbuckle? Do you have an opening statement?”
Looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, the young attorney rose to his feet. He had to clear his throat a couple of times before he was able to say, “Yes…yes, Your Honor, I do.”
The judge nodded gravely. “Proceed.”
Instead of stalking back and forth like a caged mountain lion, Turnbuckle stayed where he was behind the table, as if his feet were rooted to the floor. The fingertips of his right hand rested on the table in front of him; his left arm was still in the black silk sling. The bandages wound around his midsection where the knife had wounded him made him stand stiff and straight.
“Your Honor, opposing counsel speaks of a misunderstanding. He speaks of misperceptions. There is no misunderstanding in this case. There are no misperceptions. But I agree with the colonel when he says that this is a simple case. It is very simple. That man—”
Turnbuckle swung toward the other table and flung out his right hand, the index finger pointing directly at Dex Brighton.
“That man is trying to steal the Lucky Lizard Mine!”
Luther had easily adapted his opening remarks to counter those made by Colonel O’Hara. That was something he had learned from the real Claudius Turnbuckle, to take advantage of whatever openings opposing counsel gave you. Now, as a buzz of startled conversation swept through the makeshift courtroom in response to his deliberately dramatic gesture, he felt a surge of confidence.
He could do this. Despite his lack of experience, he could win this case if he wanted to.
If he dared.
Judge Caldwell cracked the gavel on the table and said, “Order! Quiet down, you people!” As the hubbub died away, he pointed the gavel at Luther. “Proceed, Counselor, but remember…despite the surroundings, this isn’t an opera house. There’s no need for melodrama.”
“Yes, Your Honor. I apologize to the court.”
Caldwell sniffed and motioned for him to go on.
Luther didn’t pause to think about the threats O’Hara had made. He plunged ahead, ignoring the icy, hate-filled stare that Dex Brighton gave him.
“Ever since Mr. Brighton has arrived in Buckskin, he has been making unsubstantiated claims and trying to pressure my client, Mr. Thomas Woodford, into signing away that which is rightfully his.”
O’Hara shot to his feet.
“Whether or not Mr. Brighton’s claims are unsubstantiated is what these proceedings will decide, Your Honor,” he said. “I move that Mr. Turnbuckle’s prejudicial characterization be stricken.”
“He’s making an opening statement, Counselor,” Caldwell said. “This is when he gets to be prejudicial…within reason. Sit down.”
O’Hara inclined his head in acceptance of the judge’s ruling and sat down.
“As I was saying, Your Honor,” Luther continued, “we will prove that my client is the rightful owner of the Lucky Lizard Mine and that Mr. Brighton’s claims are false. It is indeed as simple as that. Thank you.”
“Very well.” Caldwell looked at O’Hara, who was rising to his feet again. “Call your first witness, Counselor.”
“I have only one, Your Honor,” O’Hara proclaimed. “I call my client, Dexter Brighton.”
Brighton stood up, cast a quick, hostile glance toward the table where Luther and Tip Woodford sat, and then walked over to the chair at the end of the judge’s table. Frank Morgan stepped forward with a Bible, and Brighton was sworn in, promising to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
His testimony would really be far from that, Luther knew.
O’Hara asked only a few questions, allowing Brighton’s testimony to fill in the background: the partnership between Jeremiah Fulton and Chester Brighton, Dex Brighton’s father, and the agreement they had made to sell out only to each other.
“And where was your father, sir, when Mr. Fulton carried out his fraudulent sale of the mining claim now known as the Lucky Lizard to Mr. Thomas Woodford?”
Luther stood up and said, “Objection, Your Honor. As opposing counsel pointed out earlier, we’re here to determine what’s fraudulent and what’s not…and he’s questioning a witness now, not making an opening statement.”
“Quite right, Counselor,” Caldwell said. “The objection is sustained.”
O’Hara smiled slightly, as if having the ruling go against him didn’t bother him at all.
“Very well, Your Honor, I’ll rephrase the question.” O’Hara turned to Brighton again. “Where was your father when Jeremiah Fulton sold the mining claim to Thomas Woodford?”
“They had parted company temporarily,” Brighton said. “My father was in poor health and had returned to the East to recuperate while Fulton continued prospecting. But the partnership was never dissolved. I have the original agreement, written and signed by Jeremiah Fulton himself, to prove that. My father gave it to me before he died and asked me to reclaim what was rightfully his. Rightfully mine now, of course, since my father has passed on.”
“What, exactly, does this agreement stipulate?”
“That each of the partners could only sell his interest to the other, and that if either of them died, his interest would go to the other partner.”
“And when did Jeremiah Fulton pass on?”
�
��January 22nd, 1882,” Brighton said.
“Do you have proof of that?”
Brighton nodded. “A copy of the death certificate from Ford County, Kansas, where he died.”
“What about your father?”
Brighton said, “My father died on July 17th, 1894, in Pennsylvania. I have a copy of that death certificate, too.”
“Therefore, when Jeremiah Fulton died in 1882, his interest in the mining claim was inherited by your father, and then in turn that interest became yours upon your father’s passing?”
“That’s correct.”
O’Hara turned to look over at Luther, and he couldn’t keep from smirking for a second. Luther saw the look and knew why it was there. O’Hara believed that the case was almost wrapped up now. Only one thing remained.
“Do you have the documents in question with you today, Mr. Brighton?”
“I do.” Brighton reached inside his coat and took out a small bundle of papers. He held them out toward O’Hara, who took them and placed them on the table in front of Judge Caldwell.
“I’d like to enter these documents in evidence, Your Honor,” O’Hara said. “If you’ll examine them, you’ll see that they are exactly as my client has described, two death certificates giving the dates of death for his father and Jeremiah Fulton, and the original partnership agreement between the two men.”
Luther stood up and moved around the end of the table.
“I’d like to examine those documents, too, Your Honor.”
Caldwell nodded and waved him forward.
“Of course, Counselor. You should have had an opportunity to look at them before now.”
“I would have liked to, Your Honor, but Mr. Brighton refused.”
Caldwell frowned at Brighton and O’Hara and said, “If I had been here earlier, I would have ordered him to comply with your request, Counselor.”
“I didn’t trust him,” Brighton snapped. “You don’t know what’s been going on around here, Your Honor. The whole town’s against me. Woodford’s got the local law in his pocket—”
The Last Gunfighter: Killing Ground Page 23