seasoning an
alligator pear, "that you are aware of the
fact that you will
import a good deal of trouble for your-
self into Kentucky if you take back the wrong man --
that is, of course, if you take anybody back?"
"Thank you for the salt," said the
sheriff. "Oh, I'll
take somebody back. It'll be one of you two gentlemen.
Yes, I know I'd get stuck for damages if I make a mis-
take. But I'm going to try to get the right man."
"I'll tell you what you do," said Morgan, leaning for-
ward with a jolly
twinkle in his eyes. "You take me.
I'll go without any trouble. The cocoanut business hasn't
panned out well this year, and I'd like to make some
extra money out of your bondsmen."
"That's not fair," chimed in Reeves. "I got only
$16 a thousand for my last
shipment. Take me, Mr.
Plunkett."
"I'll take Wade Williams," said the
sheriff, patiently,
"or I'll come pretty close to it."
"It's like dining with a ghost," remarked Morgan,
with a pretended
shiver. "The ghost of a
murderer, too!
Will somebody pass the toothpicks to the shade of the
naughty Mr. Williams?"
Plunkett seemed as unconcerned as if he were dining
at his own table in Chatham County. He was a gallant
trencherman, and the strange
tropic viands tickled his
palate. Heavy,
commonplace, almost slothful in his
movements, he appeared to be
devoid of all the cunning
and watchfulness of the sleuth. He even ceased to
observe, with any sharpness or attempted discrimination,
the two men, one of whom he had undertaken with sur-
prising self-confidence, to drag away upon the serious
charge of wife-murder. Here, indeed, was a problem
set before him that if wrongly solved would have
amounted to his serious discomfiture, yet there he sat
puzzling his soul (to all appearances) over the novel flavour
of a broiled iguana cutlet.
The
consul felt a
decideddiscomfort. Reeves and
Morgan were his friends and pals; yet the
sheriff from
Kentucky had a certain right to his official aid and moral
support. So Bridger sat the silentest around the board
and tried to
estimate the
peculiar situation. His con-
clusion was that both Reeves and Morgan, quickwitted,
as he knew them to be, had conceived at the moment of
Plunkett's disclosure of his
mission -- and in the brief
space of a
lightning flash -- the idea that the other might
be the
guilty Williams; and that each of them had
decidedin that moment loyally to protect his comrade against the
doom that threatened him. This was the
consul's theory.
and if he had been a
bookmaker at a race of wits for life
and liberty he would have offered heavy odds against
the plodding
sheriff from Chatham County, Kentucky.
When the meal was concluded the Carib woman came
and removed the dishes and cloth. Reeves strewed them
table with excellent cigars, and Plunkett, with the others,
lighted one of these with
evident gratification.
"I may be dull," said Morgan, with a grin and a wink
at Bridger; "but I want to know if I am. Now, I say
this is all a joke of Mr. Plunkett's, concocted to frighten.
two babes-in-the-woods. Is this Williamson to be taken
seriously or not?"
"'Williams,'" corrected Plunkett
gravely. "I never
got off any jokes in my life. I know I wouldn't travel
2,000 miles to get off a poor one as this would be if I
didn't take Wade Williams back with me. Gentlemen!"
continued the
sheriff, now letting his mild eyes travel
impartially from one of the company to another, "see if
you can find any joke in this case. Wade Williams is
listening to the words I utter now; but out of politeness,
I will speak of him as a third person. For five years he
made his wife lead the life of a dog -- No; I'll take that
back. No dog in Kentucky was ever treated as she was.
He spent the money that she brought him -- spent it at
races, at the card table and on horses and
hunting. He
was a good fellow to his friends, but a cold,
sullen demon
at home. He wound up the five years of
neglect by strik-
ing her with his closed hand -- a hand as hard as a stone
-- when she was ill and weak from
suffering. She died
the next day; and he skipped. That's all there is to it.
It's enough. I never saw Williams; but I knew his
wife. I'm not a man to tell half. She and I were keep-
ing company when she met him. She went to Louisville
on a visit and saw him there. I'll admit that he spoilt
my chances in no time. I lived then on the edge of the
Cumberland mountains. I was elected
sheriff of Chatham
County a year after Wade Williams killed his wife. My
official duty sends me out here after him; but I'll admit
that there's personal feeling, too. And he's going
back with me. Mr. -- er -- Reeves, will you pass me a
match?
"Awfully imprudent of Williams," said Morgan, putting
his feet up against the wall, "to strike a Kentucky lady.
Seems to me I've heard they were scrappers."
"Bad, bad Williams," said Reeves, pouring out more
Scotch."
The two men spoke
lightly, but the
consul saw and
felt the
tension and the carefulness in their actions and
words. "Good old fellows," he said to himself; "they're
both all right. Each of 'em is
standing by the other like
a little brick church."
And then a dog walked into the room where they sat --
a black-and-tan hound, long-eared, lazy,
confident of
welcome.
Plunkett turned his head and looked at the animal,
which halted,
confidently, within a few feet of his chair.
Suddenly the
sheriff, with a deep-mouthed oath, left
his seat and, bestowed upon the dog a
vicious and heavy
kick, with his
ponderous shoe.
The hound, heartbroken, astonished, with flapping
ears and incurved tail, uttered a
piercing yelp of pain
and surprise.
Reeves and the
consul remained in their chairs, say-
ing nothing, but astonished at the
unexpected show of
intolerance from the easy-going-man from Chatham
county.
But Morgan, with a suddenly purpling face, leaped,
to his feet and raised a threatening arm above the
guest.
"You -- brute!" he shouted,
passionately; "why did
you do that?"
Quickly the amenities returned, Plunkett muttered
some indistinct
apology and regained his seat. Morgan
with a
decided effort controlled his
indignation and also
returned to his chair.
And then Plunkett with the spring of a tiger, leaped
around the corner of the table and snapped handcuffs
on the paralyzed Morgan's wrists.
"Hound-lover and woman-killer!" he cried; "get
ready to meet your God."
When Bridger had finished I asked him:
"Did he get the right man?"
"He did," said the Consul.
"And how did he know?" I inquired, being in a kind
of bewilderment.
"When he put Morgan in the dory," answered Bridger,
"the next day to take him
aboard the Pajaro, this man
Plunkett stopped to shake hands with me and I asked
him the same question."
"'Mr. Bridger,' said he, 'I'm a Kentuckian, and I've
seen a great deal of both men and animals. And I never
yet saw a man that was overfond of horses and dogs but
what was cruel to women.'"
THE HYPOTHESES OF FAILURE
LAWYER GOOCH bestowed his undivided attention
upon the engrossing arts of his
profession. But one
flight of fancy did he allow his mind to
entertain. He
was fond of likening his suite of office rooms to the bot-
tom of a ship. The rooms were three in number, with a
door
opening from one to another. These doors could
also be closed.
"Ships," Lawyer Gooch would say, "are constructed
for safety, with separate, water-tight
compartments in
their bottoms. If one
compartment springs a leak it fills
with water; but the good ship goes on unhurt. Were it
not for the separating bulkheads one leak would sink
the
vessel. Now it often happens that while I am occu-
pied with clients, other clients with conflicting interests
call. With the
assistance of Archibald -- an office boy
with a future -- I cause the dangerous influx to be
diverted into separate
compartments, while I sound
with my legal plummet the depth of each. If neces-
sary, they may be haled into the
hallway and permitted
to escape by way of the stairs, which we may term the lee
scuppers. Thus the good ship of business is kept afloat;
whereas if the element that supports her were allowed
to
minglefreely in her hold we might be swamped -- ha,
ha, ha!
The law is dry. Good jokes are few. Surely it
might be permitted Lawyer Gooch to mitigate the bore
of briefs, the tedium of torts and the prosiness of processes
with even so light a levy upon the good property of humour.
Lawyer Gooch's practice leaned largely to the settle-
ment of marital infelicities. Did matrimony languish
through complications, he mediated, soothed and arbi-
trated. Did it suffer from implications, he readjusted,
defended and championed. Did it arrive at the extremity
of duplications, he always got light sentences for his
clients.
But not always was Lawyer Gooch the keen, armed,
wily
belligerent, ready with his two-edged sword to lop
off the shackles of Hymen. He had been known to build
up instead of demolishing, to reunite instead of severing,
to lead erring and foolish ones back into the fold instead
of scattering the flock. Often had he by his eloquent
and moving appeals sent husband and wife,
weeping, back
into each other's arms. Frequently he had coached
childhood so
successfully that, at the psychological
moment (and at a given signal) the
plaintive pipe of
"Papa, won't you turn home adain to me and muvver?"
had won the day and upheld the pillars of a tottering home.
Unprejudiced persons admitted that Lawyer Gooch
received as big fees from these revoked clients as would
have been paid him had the cases been contested in court.
Prejudiced ones intimated that his fees were doubled.
because the
penitent couples always came back later for
the
divorce, anyhow.
There came a season in June when the legal ship of
Lawyer Gooch (to borrow his own figure) was nearly
becalmed. The
divorce mill grinds slowly in June. It
is the month of Cupid and Hymen.
Lawyer Gooch, then, sat idle in the middle room of
his clientless suite. A small anteroom connected -- or