THE MISSING BUTTON
"You may step forward and be sworn," and the alcalde turned his shrewd eyes on the pockmarked face of the small man.
The man stepped quickly forward; but, just before he reached the barrel, a sudden gleam shot into his eyes, which at that moment happened to be bent on the ground and looking at the spot where Thure and Ugger had had their brief but vigorous struggle. The next instant his foot apparently caught in a root that protruded above the ground; and he stumbled and fell violently downward, both outstretched hands clutching at the ground. As he jumped hastily to his feet, his face very red and his mouth flowing with apologies to the alcalde for his clumsiness, he glanced downward swiftly into one of his hands, and then, with another quick gleam of cunning triumph in his eyes, he quickly slipped the hand into one of his pockets, and, taking his place in front of the barrel, faced the alcalde.
"What is your name and present business?" the alcalde asked, when he had sworn the witness, in the same manner Ugger had been sworn, to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
"Spikenard Quinley," the man answered, shifting his eyes quickly from the face of the alcalde to the two big revolvers on top of the barrel; "but most of my friends jest call me Spike, for short. I'm bound for th' diggin's, 'long with my pard, Bill Ugger, him who jest testified."
"Tell the jury all that you know about the case now before it; and make your testimony as brief as possible, please," and the alcalde settled back on his rude seat and fixed his eyes on the face of the witness.
Quinley did not prove to be as dramatic a witness as Ugger had been; but he told a seemingly straightforward and honest story of how he and his partner had witnessed the killing of the man supposed to be John Stackpole, that differed only in the manner of its telling from the one already told by Ugger, and, consequently, need not be repeated here. He, also, was very positive that the two men, who had jumped up from the prostrate body of the man and had held them up with their rifles, were the two prisoners; and right here he introduced a bit of new corroborative evidence in a most effective and dramatic manner.
He had completed his testimony and had been dismissed by the alcalde and had started away from the court-barrel, when he suddenly stopped, as if he had unexpectedly remembered something that might have a bearing on the case, and turned to the alcalde.
"Excuse me, y'ur honor," he said, as he thrust a hand into one of his pockets, the same pocket into which he had thrust the same hand a moment after his tumble over the root, "but I've jest reckerlected that I've sumthin' right here in my pocket that might help tew identify the prisoners as the murderers, an' ag'in it might not—not that me and Bill needs any more identifin', but, naterly, you, not seem' 'em kill th' man, ain't so sart'in an' wants all th' proof that you can git tew show that you shore have got the right party; an' so, if y'ur honor don't object, I've got a leetle sumthin' more that I'd like tew introduce as testimony, that might, an' ag'in it might not, help tew make th' identity of th' prisoners more shore," and he paused, still keeping his hand in his pocket.
"This court is always ready to hear any testimony that has any bearing on the case before it," the alcalde said. "Take your place again on the witness stand," and he nodded toward the barrel.
Quinley at once returned to his place in front of the barrel.
"Now, remembering that you are still under oath to tell God's truth, you may introduce your evidence," and the alcalde half-arose from his seat in his anxiety to see what this new evidence might be.
"Of course, I'm none shore that it belongs tew either of th' prisoners," Quinley began. "It might have come from th' clothes of th' murdered man, an' ag'in it might have come from th' clothes of th' prisoners, an' ag'in th' prisoners might not have on th' same clothes tew-day that they did when they killed th' man, an' so it might prove nuthin'; but, right whar th' grass was tread up th' worst on th' spot whar we saw th' man killed, I found this—" and the hand came out of the pocket and was extended toward the alcalde, holding on its palm a button. "Now I'd plumb forgot all about th' findin' of this button, not settin' any store on it, when, jest as I was a-leavin' th' witness stand, th' thought popped intew my head, that, if th' prisoners happened tew have on th' same clothes they had on when they murdered the man an' th' button came from their clothes, then I had in my pocket important evidence, 'cause th' button is a peekuler lookin' button, an', I reckon, thar must be more buttons like it on th' clothes whar it come from. I asks that th' clothes of th' prisoners be examined tew see if either on 'em has buttons on like this," and he handed the button to the alcalde.
The alcalde took the button and sat for a moment staring at it as it lay on the palm of his hand—a small thing, but it might help to weave the rope that would hang two human beings!
"Git a-goin'," shouted someone impatiently from the surrounding crowd, "an' see if either of th' prisoners has got any buttons on his clothes like that you're a-holdin' in y'ur hand. If he has, I reckon, thar won't be any need of takin' any more testimonies."
A dozen voices shouted their approval of this statement. Evidently the sympathies of the crowd were being fast turned from Thure and Bud.
The alcalde arose slowly to his feet.
"This court," he said sternly, "is here to see that the prisoners are given a fair trial, guilty or not guilty; and judgment shall not be pronounced until the case has been fairly tried and their innocence or their guilt fully established. This cannot be done until the prisoners themselves have been heard in their own defense. Let us hear no more talk of mob judgment and mob execution. The court will pronounce judgment, and the court will see that its judgment is promptly executed, to the full satisfaction of every honest law-abiding man in the city." He paused for a moment, while his keen eyes sternly searched the faces of the surrounding crowd. There was no response to his words and challenging glance.
"This button," he continued quietly, holding up the button that Quinley had handed him where all could see it, "the witness swears was picked up by himself from the ground, where the struggle between the murdered man and his murderers took place, and is presumed to have come either from the clothing of the murdered man or from the clothing of his murderers; and the witness asks that the clothing of the two prisoners be examined to see if like buttons can be found on their clothing. The contentions of the witness, regarding the value of this button as evidence in the case before us, are just. Therefore his request is granted and the prisoners are ordered to be examined. Young man," and he turned to Bud, "you will please come forward; and allow the gentlemen of the jury to compare this button with the buttons on your clothing," and he handed the button he held in his hand to the foreman of the jury.
The production of this button by Quinley was a surprise to Thure and Bud. If it should prove to have come from the clothing of one of them, it certainly would look suspicious; but, how could it have come from their clothes, at least from the clothes they now had on, since neither of them were now wearing the same garments that they had worn on the day of the hunt, when they had found the murdered miner? Consequently the introducing of the button as evidence by Quinley had caused both of them more surprise than it had uneasiness, surprise that Quinley should care to introduce such meaningless evidence as he must know the button to be, since the examination of their clothing could only prove that the button belonged to neither of them. The episode of Quinley's stumble, in the excitement of the trial, had passed from both of their minds, as, doubtless, it had from the minds of all the others; but, even if they had remembered it, they would not have thought of connecting it in any way with the finding of the button. Hence Bud, at the summons of the alcalde, had stepped forward promptly and confidently.
"We find two buttons missing from the prisoner's coat," announced the foreman of the jury, when the examination of Bud had been completed. "But, since the button offered in evidence bears no resemblance in design or size to the buttons remaining on the coat, we declare that so far as this prisoner is concerned the button in question proves nothing."
"You may return to your place by the side of the sheriff," and the alcalde gave an almost audible sigh of relief, while something very near like a cheer came from the crowd. It was hard to look into those two young clear-eyed faces and believe that they masked the hearts of murderers.
Bud hurried back to his place by the side of the sheriff, with the first smile on his lips that had so far brightened his face during the trial.
"Now," and the alcalde turned to Thure, "let the jury compare the button with the buttons on your clothing," and the anxious look came back on his face.
Thure, with the same promptness and confidence that Bud had displayed, advanced and submitted to the examination; but, hardly had he reached the foreman of the jury, when the excited actions of the jurymen told all that an important discovery of some kind had been made; and their report was awaited with almost breathless interest.
"We find," began the foreman, speaking slowly, after every man on the jury had carefully compared the button Quinley had handed to the alcalde with the buttons on Thure's coat, "one button missing from the prisoner's coat." He paused a moment, and then continued, raising his voice a little: "We also find that the button handed to the alcalde by the witness, Spikenard Quinley, and said to have been found by him on the spot of ground where the struggle took place between the murdered man and his murderers, to be exactly similar in design, size, and shape to the remaining buttons on the prisoner's coat, and that it appears to be the missing button."
"But—but," stammered Thure, his face white and tense with excitement, "that button, if it came from my clothes, could not have been found on the ground where the miner was murdered. Why, I did not even have on the same clothes that day that I have on now—"
"What!" and the alcalde jumped to his feet, his face white and stern, while again that deep-throated growl went up from the crowd, "What do you mean by 'that day?' Do you realize that your expression amounts almost to a confession of guilt?"
"No," and Thure turned firmly to the alcalde. By a desperate effort he had recovered his self-control. "It means, if that button was found on the spot where the miner was murdered, that it did not come from my clothes; for I did not have on the same clothes on the day we found the wounded miner that I have on now. The button, if it came from my clothes, and I confess that it looks as if it did, must have been got by that man in some other way," and Thure's eyes flashed wrathfully in the direction of Quinley, who grinned and touched his neck suggestively.
A hoarse laugh, that had no sound of mirth in it, came from the surrounding crowd, at this improbable explanation of Thure, an explanation that strengthened rather than weakened their belief in the testimony of Quinley; but a look of relief, as well as of surprise, came on the face of the alcalde.
"Ah, I forgot. We have not yet heard your story. You say that you found the miner, John Stackpole, found him wounded?" he asked eagerly. "Then he is still alive?"
"Yes, we found him," Thure answered slowly, "found him in the hands of his murderers, but not in time to save him. He died before we could get him home."
"Died! And in your hands!" and again the alcalde's face grew stern, and again that hoarse unbelieving laugh came from the crowd. "Young man, do you realize that you are telling a very improbable-sounding story? But," and the alcalde resumed his judicial gravity of countenance, "I am forgetting that you are not on the witness stand. The button, it appears then, came from the prisoner's coat," and he turned to the foreman of the jury.
"It does," answered the foreman gravely.
"The prisoner may return to his place by the side of the sheriff. Now," and the alcalde's eyes searched the surrounding faces, "is there anyone else present who has any testimony to give against the prisoners now on trial before this court for the murder of John Stackpole?" and he paused, to give anyone who wished to do so time to come forward.
"I reckon the testimony is plenty sufficient as it now stands," and a huge brutal-looking man pushed his way through the crowd and faced the alcalde. "Haven't two reputable witnesses sworn that they saw the prisoners kill the man? Didn't one of them find a buttom that has been proven to belong to the coat of one of the prisoners on the very spot where the man was killed? And what can be offered in disproof of all this? Nothing but the word of the prisoners themselves, who certainly would lie to save their necks, if they would kill a man to get his gold. I move," and he whirled about and faced the crowd, now muttering and growling like a huge beast, "that the jury be instructed to render their verdict now, so that we can hang them two young devils and get about our business. All in favor—"
"Wait!" The alcalde's voice rang out clear and imperative; and, as he spoke, he stepped out in front of the barrel, one of the big revolvers held in each hand. "Before you put your motion I have a few words to say; and, after I have said my few words, you can put your motion; and we will see whether the men of Sacramento City stand for law and justice or for mob brutality."
"Hear! Hear!" shouted a number of voices. "The alcalde shall be heard!"
"Men," continued the alcalde, his voice ringing with intense earnestness, "I stand not here to plead for mercy in behalf of these two young men, although their youth might almost justify such a plea. I am here to demand justice. If this court, after fair trial shall find them guilty of the brutal murder charged against them, then, in the name of the same justice that I now invoke to protect them, they must hang; for, in a community situated as we are, self-protection compels us to deal with murderers with stern and relentless hands. But—Hear my words!—the prisoners have not yet been proven guilty before this court. They have not yet had fair trial. They have not yet even been heard in their own defense. When I took my oath of office to serve you as alcalde, that oath, the oath you yourselves compelled me to swear, bound me to see that every prisoner brought before me had fair and speedy trial. I meant to keep that oath then; and, by the Eternal Andrew Jackson! I mean to keep it now, if need be with my life. Now, you can put your motion," and, with a couple of quick strides, the alcalde placed himself by the side of the sheriff, near the two prisoners, the two big revolvers held ready for instant use. He knew that the only way to check mob violence was to stop it before it gathered momentum.
"Give the prisoners justice!" "They shall have justice!" "Hurrah, for the alcalde!" shouted a hundred voices; and stern-faced men pushed themselves through the crowd from every direction and formed a cordon around the prisoners and the court.
"Go on with the trial. We will see that the court is sustained," and a man stepped out from the surrounding cordon and bowed to the alcalde.
The mutterings and growlings suddenly ceased. The huge brutal-looking man slunk back into the crowd, his motion unput.
In the midst of these exciting moments, when the attention of all was concentrated on the alcalde, Bud suddenly felt a hand thrust something into his hand from behind. He turned quickly. Bill Ugger stood not four feet behind him.
"Read," and Ugger moved a couple of steps back and to one side.
Bud glanced down at his hand and saw that he held a bit of folded paper. Hastily, yet cautiously, he unfolded it and read these words scrawled on it with a lead pencil:
Me and Spike kan yit save you. Give up the miners map and promis to tell nobudy of the kave of gold and we wil git you free. Refuse and we wil let you hang and then git the map off yur ded bodies we wil git the map anyway so whats the use of given up yur lives. Weve got things fixed so that you kant eskape the rope unles we save you so you've got to give us the map or hang. Make yur own choice taint our funrel.
If you agrees nod yur hed 2 times to Spike and you wil be free in less than 10 minits.
Bud read these words through slowly; and then, moving up close to Thure, he passed the paper to him.
"Read it," he said, fixing his eyes anxiously on his comrade's face.
By this time both boys saw plainly how strong was the web of evidence that the two villains had so cunningly succeeded in throwing around them; and how completely they appeared to have them in their power. And what could they do or say to disprove their testimony? Their own tale, looked at in the light of the evidence of the two men, would seem improbable, would sound like a tale made up to fit the occasion. And they could not bring forward a single witness to prove its truthfulness! No wonder the unfortunate boys were tempted to give up the skin map; for what is gold, when weighed in the balance against life?
Thure read the note; and then turned to Bud, his face white and his heart throbbing with anxiety.
"What shall our answer be?" he asked in a whisper. "I hate like sin to give up the skin map to them two scoundrels; but, I reckon, our fathers and mothers would rather have our lives than the gold. But," and his face brightened a little, "we have not yet given our testimony. I reckon we had better wait until we see how the alcalde and the jury take our stories before giving up the map."
"Yes," agreed Bud, his own face brightening at the thought of putting off the surrender a little longer, "we will wait and see what effect our testimony has. But, I guess you are right, if it comes to hanging," and he shuddered, "or giving up the map, we'll have to give up the map. But we won't give up until we've got to," and his face hardened. "Who'd a thought them two scoundrels could get us in such a terrible fix!" and he glared wrathfully in the direction of the two men, who now stood close together regarding Thure and Bud with furtive but anxious eyes.
"Now to give them two skunks their answer," and Thure, holding the paper out where the two men could see it, deliberately tore it to pieces and, turning his back scornfully to them, gave his attention to the doings of the court.