Caldwell snatched up the gavel and slammed it down on the table.
“That’s enough, sir! Please confine yourself to answering questions from counsel.”
“Sorry, Your Honor,” Brighton said with a surly grimace.
Caldwell separated the documents and spread them out on the table, faceup. Luther looked them over. The two death certificates appeared to be legitimate, and he didn’t really doubt that they were. He was much more interested in the so-called partnership agreement. It was scrawled on a piece of brown paper with ragged edges, evidently torn off of a larger piece. He kept his face carefully expressionless as he studied the document.
Everything he wanted to see was there. The case was won. Luther knew he could end the trial, right here and now, with only a few questions.
O’Hara thought it was over, too. With a hint of that smirk still lingering on his face, he said, “Now that counsel has had a chance to study the documents, I would ask that he stipulate as to their authenticity.”
All Luther had to do was say that he agreed to that stipulation. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, O’Hara would move for an immediate ruling. Judge Caldwell would probably refuse, but it wouldn’t matter. There would be no way to repair the damage to Tip Woodford’s case, no defense Luther could mount. If the partnership agreement was authentic, then Caldwell would have to rule in favor of Dex Brighton. The judge wouldn’t have any choice.
Caldwell knew that, too. Luther could tell as much from the suddenly concerned look in the judge’s eyes. Everything was riding on what Luther said next.
“I’m not prepared to so stipulate at this moment, Your Honor.”
Caldwell looked relieved, but O’Hara was visibly shocked. Luther was double-crossing him, and they both knew it. That knowledge was in the look that passed between them as they locked eyes. Luther saw the anger and the threat that lurked there. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t just cave in to O’Hara’s blackmail, not with so much at stake for Woodford and Diana.
The truth had to come out. All the truth. And if he was ruined in the process, then so be it.
“The documents are entered into evidence,” Caldwell said. “Do you have any more questions for this witness, Colonel O’Hara?”
With a shake of his head, O’Hara said, “No, Your Honor.”
Caldwell looked at Luther and asked, “What about you, counselor?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I have a few questions.”
“Proceed then.”
Luther turned toward the witness chair. Brighton knew that Luther had double-crossed them, too, and in that instant, as he saw the cold hatred in the man’s eyes, Luther was certain that Brighton was the one who’d tried to stick that knife in his back. He figured Brighton had killed Mason, too, although he might not ever be able to prove either of those things.
But he could prove that Brighton was lying about the partnership agreement and his claim to the Lucky Lizard.
Luther tapped a finger on the document, below the signatures.
“Mr. Brighton, you said this agreement was written by Jeremiah Fulton.”
“That’s right.”
“And it’s signed by both men, Fulton and your father, Chester Brighton.”
“You can see that for yourself,” Brighton answered with a sneer.
Luther pushed the piece of brown paper toward Brighton.
“Would you mind reading what it says?”
“Out loud, you mean?” Brighton asked, frowning.
“That’s right.”
Judge Caldwell leaned forward and said, “The document is already entered into evidence, Counselor. It doesn’t have to be read aloud for that to be true.”
“I’m aware of that, Your Honor,” Luther said. “I’d still like for the witness to read it.”
“Very well.” Caldwell looked at Brighton. “Proceed, Mr. Brighton.”
Looking impatient and irritated, Brighton picked up the paper and started to read.
“This agreement is made between Jeremiah Fulton and Chester Brighton on February 21st, 1872, that we will be partners from now on in the mining claim we have been prospecting in the Was-suck Mountains of Nevada. This claim runs from Juniper Creek in the south to Skunk Ridge to—”
“That’s enough,” Luther said. “I believe the rest of the document spells out the location of the claim and then specifies that the two men could sell out only to each other, as well as the agreement that in the event of death, the surviving partner would inherit the entire claim.”
“That’s what it says. You saw it for yourself, Turnbuckle. Satisfied?”
Before the judge could admonish Brighton, O’Hara was on his feet, saying, “My client apologizes for his tone, Your Honor. You have to realize how much of a strain this whole affair has been for him. To have his rightful inheritance stolen from him—” O’Hara stopped short, then said, “And now I apologize, Your Honor. It’s just that this case seems so cut and dried…”
“Yes, it does,” Luther agreed. “Just a few more questions for this witness.”
Caldwell nodded for him to go ahead.
“Now, you didn’t read exactly what that document says, did you, Mr. Brighton?” Luther asked.
“I certainly did.” Brighton waved the paper in the air. “Now that it’s been entered into evidence, I’ll let anybody look at it who wants to.”
“When is it dated?”
“February 21st, 1872.”
“How is the name of the month spelled in the document?”
Brighton frowned again. “What?”
“How is February spelled?”
Brighton looked down at the document and said, “F-e-b-r-a-r-e-y.”
“And the date? The twenty-first?”
Brighton’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything.
“Mr. Brighton?” Judge Caldwell prodded.
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything!”
“Neither do I, but counsel has asked the question and you have to answer.” Caldwell paused. “Besides, as you said, it’s written down, right there on the paper.”
Like the letters were being pried out of him, Brighton said, “T-w-e-n-n-y-f-u-r-s-t.”
Luther said, “So the agreement is actually dated Febrarey Twenny-furst, is that correct?” He drew the words out to emphasize them.
“Yes,” Brighton said between clenched teeth.
“And how is agreement spelled?”
“A-g-r-e-m-i-n-t.” Brighton slapped the paper back down on the desk. “What the hell difference does it make?”
O’Hara jumped up to apologize, Judge Caldwell reached for his gavel, and Frank Morgan started forward to head off any trouble. Luther overrode them all by raising his voice and saying, “I’ll tell you what difference it makes, Mr. Brighton! I’ll tell you why it’s so important that nearly every other word in that document is either misspelled or used incorrectly. Jeremiah Fulton never wrote it! It’s a fake!”
Luther stood there, the pulse hammering in his head almost as loudly as the tumult that broke out inside the Silver Baron. Brighton and O’Hara were both yelling, Judge Caldwell was pounding his gavel, and the spectators joined in the general commotion. It didn’t quiet down in the courtroom until Frank Morgan lifted his voice and shouted, “Everybody hush!”
In the sudden silence that fell, Morgan grinned at Luther and went on. “I want to hear what else Mr. Turnbuckle’s got to say.”
O’Hara leveled a finger at Luther and started to say, “He’s not—”
Morgan cut him off.
“I said pipe down, Counselor, and I meant it!” Morgan nodded to Luther. “Go ahead, Mr. Turnbuckle.”
Luther took a deep breath and glanced at Tip Woodford and Diana. For the first time in a long time, he saw hope in their faces, and it made him feel good. It made him feel that what he was doing was worth whatever it cost him.
“Mr. Turnbuckle,” Judge Caldwell said, “do you have any proof of your accusation?”
“I do, Y
our Honor.” Luther stepped back to the defense table and picked up the bundle of telegrams Phil Noonan had brought from Carson City. “I have here evidence that Jeremiah Fulton was far from the semiliterate bumpkin this so-called partnership agreement makes him out to be. In actuality, he attended Harvard, studying geology, engineering, and natural history. He not only graduated with honors, he went on to obtain his master’s degree and his doctorate, studied in Europe, and overall was a highly educated man whose work was published in numerous scientific and academic journals before he decided to come West and put his education to use in searching for gold and silver. You have the witness’s own testimony that Jeremiah Fulton wrote that error-riddled document, and I submit to you, Your Honor, that such a thing is patently impossible!”
Luther didn’t say anything about how Fulton had been broke and in a Virginia City whorehouse when he sold the claim to Tip Woodford. Just because a man was highly educated didn’t mean he always showed the best judgment.
“Let me see those telegrams,” Caldwell said. He ignored the objections that O’Hara called out. Meanwhile, Brighton sat in the witness chair, visibly seething with rage. His plot had collapsed. He had never wanted things to get this far because he had known that the document was a phony. A smart lawyer might be able to knock it down. That was exactly what Luther had done.
Judge Caldwell put the telegrams aside and smacked the gavel on the table until things quieted down again. Then he cleared his throat and said to Luther, “Do you have any further questions for the witness, Counselor?”
“No, sir.”
“Step down,” Caldwell told Brighton. “I believe you said you had only one witness, Colonel O’Hara?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” O’Hara grated.
Caldwell looked at Luther. “Do you have any witnesses, counsel?”
Luther shook his head and said, “No, Your Honor. I believe you have enough evidence to make a ruling.”
“Then I’ll hear closing arguments. Colonel?”
O’Hara paced forward and said, “I have a closing argument, all right, Your Honor. That man is a fraud!” He pointed a shaking finger at Luther. “He’s not Claudius Turnbuckle!”
Chapter 29
O’Hara’s accusation didn’t exactly take Frank by total surprise. He had felt all along that there was something not quite right about the man who called himself Claudius Turnbuckle. He was just too young, and there had been that time when he was wounded and only semicoherent when he had started talking about Turnbuckle as if he were somebody else.
Now the man stood there, pale and haggard but victorious in his effort to prove that Brighton was lying, and he said simply, “Colonel O’Hara is correct, Your Honor. I’m not Claudius Turnbuckle. But that doesn’t change the facts of the case.”
“Then who are you?” Caldwell demanded, a dumbfounded expression on his face.
“My name is—”
“Luther!” Frank burst out as the realization hit him. “That’s what you were trying to say that day. Your name is Luther.”
The fake Turnbuckle gave him a wan smile. “That’s right. I’m Luther Galloway. I was Mr. Turnbuckle’s law clerk.”
“Was?” Caldwell asked.
“He was killed during a train robbery on the way here.”
Frank’s gaze turned toward Brighton. “Are you sure it was a real train robbery, Galloway? Brighton’s gunnies held up a stagecoach just to get rid of Judge Grampis and delay this trial.”
“That’s slander!” O’Hara howled. “I mean libel! I mean—”
Luther Galloway said, “I don’t believe the colonel is actually an attorney either, since he doesn’t know the difference between slander and libel. I think he’s an actor hired by Mr. Brighton as part of the swindle he was trying to pull here.”
Everybody was yelling now, and nobody paid any attention to the pounding of Judge Caldwell’s gavel. Frank knew he couldn’t shout them down again, so he slipped his Colt from its holster, pointed the barrel toward the ceiling, and pulled the trigger.
The thunderous slam of the gunshot made silence fall on the room like an avalanche. Frank looked at Tip Woodford and said, “Sorry about the bullet hole in the ceiling, Tip. I’ll pay for it.”
Tip waved off the offer and said, “Don’t worry about that, Frank. We got more important things to take care of.” He lumbered to his feet and addressed Judge Caldwell directly. “Your Honor, you still got to rule on this case, don’t you?”
“Indeed I do, Mr. Woodford.”
“But…but,” O’Hara sputtered, “opposing counsel isn’t really a lawyer!”
“I’m not convinced you are either, Colonel,” Caldwell said, scorn dripping from his words. “But as Mr. Turnbuckle…I mean, Mr. Galloway, was it?…has pointed out, whether or not either of you are actually lawyers, the facts of the case remain the same. And based on the evidence in these telegrams, weighed against the testimony given by Mr. Brighton, I can only conclude that Mr. Brighton is a bald-faced liar and his so-called partnership agreement is a fake.” The judge picked up the gavel. “Therefore, I dismiss his claim and affirm that the Lucky Lizard Mine belongs to Mr. Thomas Woodford.”
The gavel cracked down on the table, making it official.
Frank moved over to the judge and nodded toward Brighton. “What about arresting him for trying to pull a swindle?”
Brighton surged to his feet. “My father gave me that paper!” he insisted. “I had no way of knowing it wasn’t real!”
“He tried to kill me and Mr. Turnbuckle…I mean, Luther…a couple of times,” Frank said. “Not to mention what happened to Judge Grampis.”
Brighton shook his head. “Lies, all lies!”
Caldwell looked up at Frank and asked, “Can you prove that Brighton was involved in any of that, Marshal?”
Frank took a deep breath and shook his head. “No, I reckon not. But I know it’s true.”
“That’s not enough,” Caldwell snapped. He looked at Brighton. “Mr. Brighton, you’re free to go.” He lifted the gavel to emphasize his next point. “But I suggest that you leave Buckskin and never return. The same holds true for you, Colonel O’Hara. The law can only protect a couple of tinhorn chiselers so far.”
That unexpected bluntness on the part of the judge brought a chuckle from Frank. Maybe Caldwell wasn’t so bad after all.
Brighton and O’Hara grabbed their hats and pushed through the crowd in the saloon. Catamount Jack stood aside from the door to let them go.
“Good riddance!” he snorted after them.
Tip Woodford grabbed Luther’s hand and pumped it.
“Thanks to you, I’ve still got my mine!” he said.
Diana came up and hugged the young lawyer—or whatever he was—and said, “Thank you, Mr. Galloway. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come here and saved the Lucky Lizard for us!”
Luther looked stunned. “You…you’re not all furious with me?”
Frank came up beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Maybe pretending to be Turnbuckle wasn’t the smartest thing in the world, but I don’t reckon you meant any harm, young fella. I’m sorry to hear that the real Turnbuckle’s dead, though. I never met him, but he was supposed to be a mighty fine lawyer.”
“Don’t see how he could be any better’n Luther here,” Tip said. “He won the case, didn’t he?”
Frank nodded. “And in mighty slick fashion, too. You knew all along that the key was that partnership agreement, didn’t you?”
“It had to be,” Luther said. “And there had to be a reason Brighton wouldn’t let anyone see it. I just tried to find out as much about Jeremiah Fulton as I could, hoping there would be something to prove that he couldn’t have written it. I knew Brighton couldn’t be too confident in it, or else he wouldn’t have kept trying to delay the trial. He just wanted to use the threat of a legal defeat to pressure Mr. Woodford into signing over the mine.”
“Say,” Tip said, “I was supposed to be charged with
assaultin’ Brighton for that punch I threw at him.”
Judge Caldwell had been listening to the conversation. Now he said, “Since Mr. Brighton has left the court, I see no reason not to dismiss any charges he might have pending against you, Mr. Woodford. In fact…court is dismissed!”
Again, the smack of the gavel punctuated the declaration.
“So it’s all over?” Diana asked. “We don’t have to worry about anything anymore?”
“It appears that we don’t,” Luther Galloway said. “Brighton is gone.”
Frank glanced toward the street where Brighton and O’Hara had disappeared. He wished he could be as sure as Luther appeared to be that the two crooks were going to accept defeat so easily.
“A fine lawyer you are!” Brighton snorted as he and O’Hara left Buckskin in the phony attorney’s buggy. “You let a flunky from the real Turnbuckle’s office beat you!”
O’Hara struggled with the reins as he said, “I never dreamed he would admit to his deception like that. I thought we had an agreement—”
“You saw how much agreements are worth. If I ever catch up with the bastard who faked that one for me, I’ll kill him. He should have found out more about Jeremiah Fulton, instead of assuming that just because he was a prospector, he couldn’t be an educated man.”
Deep down, Brighton knew that the fault really lay with himself. He should have done a better job of researching Fulton’s background. His father really had known Fulton, back in the days when both of them had been looking for gold and silver, although they had never been partners. Chester Brighton had told his son about how Fulton had sold his claim for a pittance, only to have it turn out to be fabulously valuable. At that moment, the idea of getting his hands on the Lucky Lizard had been born in Dex Brighton’s mind. It had taken several years to set up the scheme—he’d had to wait for his father to die—but once things were in motion, he had been confident that they would lead to the big payoff that had always somehow eluded him.
Now the plan was ruined, but he wasn’t going to leave here empty-handed, he vowed. He was going to come out of this with something for all his trouble…and he thought he knew how to do it.
The Last Gunfighter: Killing Ground Page 24