by Zina Abbott
Mr. Goodall jumped to his feet. “Objection. Your honor, Mr. Schuman is badgering the witness.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Schuman. If you have no further questions…”
“I do have more questions, your honor.” Mr. Schuman moderated his voice, but stared directly at Ling Loi. “Then, are you admitting to perjury? First you say you wore a blindfold the entire time. Now you claim you saw him without a blindfold. How can you expect us to believe you when you keep changing your story, Miss Ling? Did you, or did you not have a blindfold on all the time?”
Loi felt anger build up within her, overcoming her nervousness. After being in America for years, she knew Westerners did not know to politely avert their gazes from one of the opposite gender. Still, who was this white devil, this tricky barbarian whose ancestors still hunted, gathered, and roamed across many lands in small tribes for millennia after China had already developed a complex civilization with cities, cultivated farms, a system of government, and many inventions that surpassed those known in the Western world? How dare he call her a liar? He tried to twist her words. She refused to allow it.
Loi’s voice sounded louder and more forceful, a tone she had never dared to use at home with her family. She knew such determination would earn her a beating if she ever expressed it with Ah Chin or any others in the On Yick tong. “Tex put cloth over Ling Loi eyes after he take off stagecoach. All time I with Boss, with Tex, I wear cloth over eyes. When they no see me, I lift cloth little.” Loi pinched her forefinger and thumb together next to her eye and demonstrated a lifting motion. “I peek. I see Boss—back of head like horse hair. I see Tex. Boss, Tex not see me lift cloth from eyes, not see me look, they know nothing.” Loi made a point to quickly survey the room again. Directly and impolitely, her gaze studied the faces that stared back at her. “Char-Boss not here.”
Quiet descended upon the room.
The judge broke the silence. “That will be all, Mr. Schuman. I think we have enough for our purposes today. Save the rest of your questions for the trial. If there is nothing else…”
An expression of disbelief on his face, Charles Schuman blustered his objection. “Now, wait a minute, your honor. I have the right…”
Sheriff McKinney walked over to the attorney and hovered over him with a menacing stance. “You heard what the judge said. Sit down, Mr. Schuman, or I’ll escort you out of the courtroom.”
The judge turned to his clerk and lowered his voice. “Have you been getting all this?”
The clerk’s eyes remained focused on the paper in front of him as he nodded. His pen continued to scratch along the surface. “Yes, your honor. I’m just about finished.”
Loi glanced at the audience, their rapt attention following every word and action taking place. She realized the courtroom scene, of which she was a part, amounted to high drama for these people.
“Your honor, I have one more question, if I may? Miss Ling, were there only two men involved, or was there someone else—maybe a third man?”
Loi turned toward Mr. Goodall and studied him using her peripheral vision. She suspected from the way he asked the question, he showed far too much interest in knowing about a third man. After she returned to Lundy, she never said anything about there being anyone else except Tex and Boss. Why did he ask about a third man? She considered how she should answer him.
Loi believed Shorty had not known what Tex and Boss planned. He had not wanted her to be stolen off the stagecoach and held for ransom. Shorty had been foolish when, at first, he believed Char-Boss and Tex offered him an honest job and would pay him fairly—just like she had been foolish to believe Heng when he told her he sent her to a husband in Gold Mountain. Shorty was not bad. Instead of leaving when he could, he had stayed to take care of her and protect her. He had treated her with kindness.
The Jesus god might be angry with her for what she was about to say—or not say. She hoped he would be kind. She trusted He understood she wanted nothing for herself. She only wished to protect Shorty. She did not want Shorty to suffer a bad fate he did not deserve, which she knew would happen if these men learned about him and found him.
Loi held up two fingers for all to see and spoke clearly. “Two men. One Tex, one Char-Boss.”
She glanced at Tex. He stared at her, a bemused expression on his face. Would he expose the truth she kept hidden? She dropped her eyes and once again studied her lap.
The judge turned to Loi and issued a stern order. “Stay in the witness chair. We might not be finished with you yet.” His gaze then sought out Deputy Sheriff Callahan and Sheriff McKinney. He motioned them over. The judge stood and moved to the end of the table opposite from where Loi continued to sit. She glanced over at the three heads bent close to each other as they conferred in voices so soft, neither she nor the other people in the room could hear.
Loi felt a faint smile creep onto her face as she realized whatever the three men spoke about, they did not want Tex’s lawyer to hear. She noticed that when Mr. Schuman attempted to approach, Deputy Sheriff Callahan directed one of the men in the front of the room to hold the attorney back. Finally, the trio broke apart and the two lawmen resumed their seats.
The judge walked to the clerk, the man who wrote words on the blank paper book the whole time anyone talked. He bent over and whispered instructions in the clerk’s ear.
The clerk nodded and gathered up his pen, ink and the book on which he had been writing. He stood up and moved his chair next to Loi’s. Loi instinctively shrank away from him as she wondered what he intended to do to her. He offered her a smile she recognized as being forced. Next, he cleared his throat and kept his voice low.
“Miss Ling, I have created a transcript of this hearing. I have written down what you testified to this day. I’d like to go over it with you to make sure I recorded everything correctly and what you told me is true. Is that agreeable?”
Loi questioned whether or not the man intended to trap for her. Then again, maybe he wanted to make sure they had her words in case Ah Chin grew impatient and decided to send her to the On Yick Zyu right away with or without the white Americans’ permission. She nodded her agreement.
The clerk spoke softly as he read a short section of his transcript. He paused and looked at Loi. When she nodded, he scratched something on the margin of the paper with his pen. She could not read it, but she realized it was Western handwriting, far different from the graceful flowing lines of Chinese characters. This happened several times until they reached the end of the document.
The judge leaned forward and spoke to Loi. “Miss Ling, you have told us what my clerk wrote down is your testimony. Do you affirm that everything you told us is true?”
“Words man read to me, it what I say.”
Loi suppressed her smile as she watched the judge sigh and scratch the back of his neck.
“All right, Miss Ling. Will you please either sign the document or place your mark on the paper?”
Loi’s eyes widened and her forehead wrinkled with confusion. The clerk slowly told her again what to do, assuring her if she did not know how to write her name, she could make the letter “X.” He demonstrated by waving his finger in the air to create an X.
Hesitantly, Loi picked up the pen. She knew how to write her mission name in Western characters well enough these Americans could read it, but that was not her real name. She doubted any of the people in the courtroom knew how to write Chinese. She did not remember how to write many Chinese words, but she knew how to write Ling Loi.
Loi wrapped her fingers around the unfamiliar instrument and placed it on the paper where the clerk pointed. As she started writing, she ignored the noises coming from the audience that gradually increased in volume. She smiled to herself. They probably thought she was making the American X mark and wondered what took her so long.
Once she finished the carefully-executed calligraphy of her name in Chinese, she sat back and glanced toward the court clerk. With trepidation, Loi watched him pick up the book a
nd study her signature.
The clerk frowned and turned to the judge. “I can’t read this. It’s in Chinese.”
The judge waved off his complaint. “It doesn’t matter. If that’s her mark, that’s her mark. I’ll have the three of you sign it as witnesses, and it will hold up.”
Loi kept her hands folded and her eyes downcast as she struggled to understand what the judge meant. First, she was told if she could not write her name, to make an X. That would be her mark. Now, the judge said her written name was a mark. What did he mean by “hold up”? She understood the kind of hold-up like when Tex and stopped the stagecoach and stole her and her belongings. She could not understand how her Chinese signature could be a hold-up.
Loi sensed the Americans were finished with her. She did not know what might happen to Tex—or to Char-Boss, if they ever found him—but she had a pretty good idea what would happen to her once Ah Chin came for her and returned her to the brothel.
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Chapter 39
~o0o~
L uke knew he played with fire. However, he could not resist this opportunity to see Loi. He had become so mesmerized with the testimony she gave, he grew careless.
Luke sensed the second their gazes focused on one another. She turned away and so did he. Too much was at risk for her to recognize him. He had not been able to speak with her yet, but he hoped to do so that night. Until then, he could not afford for her to do or say something to draw attention to him.
More importantly, he could not afford for Tex to spot him.
“Get out of here, breed. This don’t concern you.” Luke fought down a surge of anger at the order barked at him by the scowling man standing next to him. Luke quickly turned away. He did not wish for anyone to pay attention to his face long enough for it to stick in their mind.
As he considered the situation, he suppressed a smile. Dressed like a white man, he looked white. Dressed in a Paiute fur jacket and moccasins with a muffler covering most of his face so only his dark eyes framed by his derby hat and black hair grown long showed, the locals assumed he was part Paiute.
Luke stepped several feet away and mulled over what he had seen. They told Loi to sign that her testimony was true. The lawmen and judge probably figured Ah Chin might grow impatient with the demands Loi stay in Lundy as a witness, and she would disappear into the sinkhole of San Francisco’s Chinatown. Then the thought struck him. The judge and the two lawmen did not care what she said about Tex. They had been fishing for more information about something else—the third man.
Movement in the street fronting the courtroom caught Luke’s attention. Someone he did not recognize had stepped outside and waved his arms while walking in the direction Kirk Steves had followed Ah Chin. The highbinder would soon return to collect Loi.
With slumped shoulders and shuffling steps that Luke figured the white men near him would consider typical of one with native blood, he once again walked behind the building and headed west. Not long after, from half a block away and camouflaged by a waist-high boulder and a Jeffrey Pine, Luke watched Ah Chin and Loi walk down Clark Street towards the brothel.
A bad feeling swamped Luke. He worried if Ah Chin had his way, he’d get rid of Loi one way or the other. Possibly Ah Chin’s fear of the On Yick tong big bosses was all that held him in check and kept her alive. How long before he made arrangements to send her to Chinatown?
Once the two disappeared inside the Chinese brothel, Luke returned to the outside of the courthouse. The two men from before had deserted the window for one closer to the front of the building. From there, they could better see Tex’s face in the witness chair. Luke chanced a peek through the window before he rested his back against the wall next to it so he could still hear. Under oath, Tex denied everything, especially taking Loi off of the stagecoach. He implied this was a case of mistaken identity. He insisted Loi was an ignorant Chinese whore who would say what others told her to say. It was her word against his. He said nothing about Luke. Most importantly, he said nothing about Charley. After a handful of questions, he clammed up and refused to answer. Only his attorney, Charles Schuman, smiled in response to his testimony which others suspected—and Luke knew for certain—was outright perjury.
Luke mulled over Tex’s testimony. He could understand why Tex didn’t give Charley Jardine up. Not only would Charley turn on Tex with a vengeance if he did, he probably hoped Charley would find a way to help him out of this mess. What puzzled Luke was why Tex did not testify about him. Perhaps he hoped, if Luke had taken off as he had planned, and the law did not know about him, no one would search for another witness who could back up Loi’s testimony.
Loi’s testimony surprised Luke the most. Even when specifically asked if there was third man, she had firmly insisted there were only two men. He did not understand women, especially one raised in a different culture, but he knew she was angry with him when he left her with Tex. Yet, she had given him a boon—a chance to leave the area without worry the law would hunt him down. He felt more determined than ever to get her away from Ah Chin.
It did not take long for the judge to make his ruling. He bound Tex Wilson over for trial to be conducted in Bridgeport as the superior court judge’s schedule allowed.
Tex’s attorney shouted his displeasure and shook his fist. He insisted his client had been denied due process since he had not been allowed to fully question the witnesses.
Men poured out of the building—some in a celebratory mood, some disgruntled, and others with a lust for blood in their eyes. The only man whose attitude Luke could not gauge was Charley Jardine, because he was nowhere in the crowd.
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Chapter 40
~o0o~
A fter the majority of the crowd dispersed, Sheriff C. F. McKinney called together his two deputies, Bill Callahan and Kirk Steves. They walked a handcuffed Tex Wilson east towards the lake. McKinney leaned in to speak in Callahan’s ear, after which Bill Callahan quickened his step to precede them. He entered the May Lundy Hotel.
The sheriff decided, if he had to leave his family and the comforts of his home in Bridgeport to properly arraign and bind over for trial a hoodlum like Tex Wilson, he intended to eat his dinner in the fanciest restaurant in Lundy. He might as well take with him Tex and the two deputies that had helped him keep order during the examination. For Tex, considering Mrs. McKinney decided what constituted appropriate fare for prisoners in her husband’s jail, this might be the last lavish meal he would enjoy for a very long while. For the two deputies assigned to keep the outlaw in line, it would serve as a small reward for work well done. The county would pay for the meal, so McKinney could afford the largess.
The sheriff eyed the crowd that continued to follow him and his prisoner, aware by the multitude of comments of the mixed attitudes about the judge’s decision. Some felt Tex Wilson got what was coming to him, and it was time for him and men of his ilk to be driven from Lundy. Others felt Tex had gotten a raw deal, that too much fuss had been made over a Chinese woman being taken from the stagecoach. Others guessed that the whole plan for the abduction, robbery, and ransom attempt was probably the brainchild of someone else. Whatever the men round him thought, the sheriff did not care for the crowd. The fact that these men trailing them seemed to have no jobs to go to and nowhere to be in the middle of the day annoyed him.
A few feet from the entrance to the hotel restaurant, Charles Schuman pushed his way through the crowd and stepped in front of McKinney, preventing him from moving forward. The aggressive stance and face red with anger signaled to the sheriff the attorney did not consider the ruling at the examination to be the end of the matter.
Schuman shook his fist within a foot of the sheriff’s face. Next, his finger pointing at the sky. “I’ll not stand for this, McKinney! This was a travesty of justice for my client. You fixed that hearing and the testimony allowed in order for it to
go the way you decided it should go. Mr. Wilson was denied his due process. I demand satisfaction in his behalf.”
Sheriff McKinney glowered at the blowhard lawyer. In spite of the few talented attorneys in the area, he knew the rough and tumble nature of mining towns with their short-term existences attracted opportunists—those who fancied themselves lawyers, but who would never make it in more civilized communities. In his opinion, the man before him belonged to the latter class of attorneys.
“That’s enough, Mr. Schuman. Other than keeping order and your penchant for theatrics at a minimum, I, in no way, improperly influenced the testimony given. Now please remove yourself from my path, or I will have you removed.”
“And is that your answer to everything, Sheriff? If you cannot get your way by civilized, legal means, you strong-arm things your way?”
McKinney heard and felt the undercurrent of the surrounding crowd. Regardless of their opinion of Charles Schuman as either a man or a lawyer, they eagerly anticipated a brawl. He felt them closing in as each jockeyed to get the best view. He stifled his sigh of relief as Bill Callahan rejoined him, his hand on his pistol grip.
“Mr. Schuman, you will move your person from my path now! I was on my way to the restaurant until you purposely stepped in front of me to impede my progress. If you will not step aside willingly, I will take measures to have you removed.”
Schuman raised his fists and assumed a boxer’s stance. “I do not intend to go anywhere, sirrah, until I have your word the preliminary hearing will be resumed and my client will be afforded his rights under the law. If physical violence is all you understand, I shall accommodate you.”
The excited rumble of the crowd increased in volume. McKinney feared Charles Schuman deliberately provoked a fight for the sole purpose of allowing Tex Wilson’s cohorts in Lundy to help his prisoner escape in the resulting confusion. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Charley Jardine with his hand in his coat pocket, as if fingering a pistol. He drew his own pistol and pointed it at the sky as he shot off a single round. The crowd grew silent. McKinney looked around again, but Charley had disappeared.