For this the court reprimanded him, but he had seen several of the jury nod their heads, unconsciously agreeing with him. And although his remark was never put on record, it stuck deep in the minds of the jury and had its influence later on. They remembered that the Lorrigans were no fools, and they considered the attempt at concealing the hide a foolish one––not to say childish.
Tom’s lawyer did not argue openly that a conspiracy had been hatched against Tom Lorrigan, but he so presented the case in his closing argument to the jury that each man believed he saw an angle to the affair which the defense had overlooked. It appeared to the jury to be a “frame-up.” For instance, why had Cheyenne, a Lorrigan man, ridden over to the Douglas ranch and remained outside by the corral for a long time, talking with Aleck Douglas, before he went inside to call on the Douglas girl? Sam Pretty Cow impassively testified to that. He had been riding over to see a halfbreed girl that worked for the Blacks, and he had cut through the Douglas ranch to save time. He saw Cheyenne’s horse at the corral.
“Me, I dunno what she’s doin’ on that place. Cheyenne, he’s in camp when I’m go. I’m stop by the haystack. I’m see Cheyenne talk to Scotty. That don’t look good, you bet.”
A full week the trial lasted, while the lawyers wrangled over evidence and technicalities, and the judge ruled out evidence and later ruled it in again. 89 A full week Tom slept in the county jail,––and for all their bad reputation, it was the first time a Lorrigan had lain down behind a bolted door to sleep, had opened his eyes to see the dawn light painting the wall with the shadow of bars.
There were nights when his optimism failed him, when Tom lay awake trying to adjust himself to the harrying thought that long, caged years might be his portion. Nights when he doubted the skill of his “law-sharp” to free him from the deadweight of the Lorrigan reputation and the malice of his neighbors. Of course, he would fight––to the last dollar; but there were nights when he doubted the power of his dollars to save him.
It was during those nights that the lawless blood of the Lorrigans ran swiftly through the veins of Tom, who had set himself to win a million honestly. It was then that he remembered his quiet, law-abiding years regretfully, as time wasted; a thankless struggle toward the regard of his fellow men. Of what avail to plod along the path of uprightness when no man would point to him and say, “There is an honest man.”
“They’ve give me the name, and I ain’t got the game,” cried Tom bitterly, in the quiet of his cell. “Whether I go to the pen or whether I don’t, they better stand from under. They’ll sure know a Lorrigan’s livin’ in the Black Rim before I’m done.”