"Sure!" nodded Pecos, and at the signal Shepherd Kilkenny rose quickly to his feet.
"Your Honor," he said, bowing apologetically to the judge, "in consideration of the evidence which has just been introduced I wish to withdraw my former request to the jury, and I now ask for a verdict of 'Not guilty.'" He sat down, and a hum went up from the crowded court-room like the zooning of swarming bees. There was something coming—something tremendous—that they all knew; and when the verdict was given not a man moved from his place. Then Boone Morgan rose up from beside the district attorney and touched Isaac Crittenden on the shoulder. There was nothing rough about it, and Crittenden followed without a word, but the significance was plain. The man who had sworn others into prison had done as much for himself, and it would take a Philadelphia lawyer to turn him loose. He had sworn that the cow was his, and the ear keys showed that he lied. Swallow-fork and crop, and Mexican marks above, and Old Funny-face, wagging her mangled ears in court! There had never been a cow-thief convicted in the Geronimo courts, and Old Crit would spend every cent he had to keep out of jail, but if Shepherd Kilkenny could not get him on evidence like that, then tyranny is dead and the devil has lost his claws.
CHAPTER XXI
NEVER AGAIN
THE District Court of Geronimo County broke up like a stampede of cattle when Ike Crittenden was placed under arrest, and in the general scramble Angevine Thorne was seized by a band of determined men and rushed to the Big Adobe bar. The committee on public entertainment had set their hearts on a speech, and they would not be denied. Meanwhile Pecos Dalhart was borne off as inexorably in the other direction by Boone Morgan and Shepherd Kilkenny, and not until he had sworn to the complaint and testified against Old Crit before the J. P. would they let him go his way. First on the programme which he had mapped out for himself was a big feed at Hung Wo's restaurant, and Charley Hung Wo was so happy over his release that he refused to accept a cent. That was right friendly of Charley and shows what a good fellow a Chink can be—give him a chance. It cheered Pecos up, and after he had got a new outfit of clothes all around and scoured the jail smell out of his skin he began to feel like a white man again. The hot sunshine felt good on his cheek, the wind smelled sweet, and he liked the clump of board sidewalks beneath his feet; but at the same time he was lonely. Somehow he did not seem to fit into this great outer world any more—there was no place to go and nothing to do; that is, nothing but throw in with Babe Thorne and get drunk, and even that had its disadvantages.
Lighting a cigar and wandering down the street Pecos pondered upon the matter and finally decided to hunt up Angy and see if anything could be done. Taking advantage of the general preoccupation he managed to fight his way through the crowded portals of the Big Adobe Saloon unobserved and there, surrounded by the heaving multitude, he stopped to listen. A committee of citizens had just presented Colonel Thorne with the keys of the town, appended to which as a further token of regard was a drink check on the Big Adobe—good for life. Mr. Thorne had evidently taken a few of the drinks already and mellowed to the mood of his admirers; for when Pecos arrived he was midway in a flamboyant speech of declination.
"No, gentlemen," he was saying, "much as I appreciate the honor conferred upon me by your kind invitation, I can never accept the nomination for such an office. What, shall men say in times to come that Angevine Thorne, after freeing his friend from the clutches of the law, turned traitor to the common people and became the district attorney? Never! Nay, if I were prosecuting attorney I would prosecute the judge and the jury, the rich corporations and cattle kings, and all who make the law a scourge for the poor and lowly. Never, never, never, shall the word go forth—"
That was enough for Pecos—he saw that he was not needed. True, he had promised Angy a drink from which Geronimo should date time, but the citizens' committee had taken all that off his hands. Pulling his hat down over his eyes he struggled out into the deserted street and looked around like a lost dog—then with a sigh he turned and made his way back to the jail. It was the only home he had now. On one shoulder he bore a box of apples—a last gift for the boys inside—and as he stepped in through the sliding doors and saw them come swarming out from their cells to greet him he regarded them almost with affection. For six months he had been alcalde in that jail, laying down the law with fist and strap, and now he must resign. As his sheriff attended to the distribution of the fruit Pecos stepped into his little cell, shoved the worn Bible into his pocket and got his strap; then, after a hurried word with Boone Morgan through the bars, he mounted on the alcalde's chair and addressed them.