AS A VERACIOUS chronicler of the events, inexplicable and unbelievable as this story may appear, of the life and exploits of Swiftwater Bill Gates, I want to begin this chapter with the prefatory announcement that, all and singular, as the lawyers say, the statements herein are absolutely true and may be verified.
I give this simple warning merely because, as I recall what happened the next two or three days after Swiftwater’s arrest, it seems to me that many of my readers will say, “These things could not have happened.”
Swiftwater, calmly seating himself, in a big leather upholstered Morris chair, said, looking at the Sheriff; “Old man, I guess we can fix this thing up right here. Send for the judge and have him come down here quick.”
The officer looked at me and smiled.
“I don’t want to see Mr. Gates put in jail tonight” said I. “And if there is any way that this thing can be settled I am willing. More than that,” and here I looked at Swiftwater, “I think Bill will not make any attempt to escape, and if it is all right with you, I’ll go on his bond.”
After more palaver of this kind, and here I am about to tell something about judicial processes that will surely cause a smile, a messenger was sent from the hotel to another hotel, where was stopping Judge Hatch, who was sitting on the Superior Court bench in King County, although he lived in another county down the Sound.
Outside in the hall there were a score of people, waiting to see Swiftwater, and to learn what would be the outcome of the case. There was the sheriff, Lou Smith; two other deputies, a half dozen lawyers and the reporters for the Seattle newspapers—quite a colony altogether.
After half an hour the judge came in the room, accompanied by another deputy sheriff.
“We’d just as well have some of the lawyers in here,” said Swiftwater. “Ask Mr. Murphy and Mr. Cole to come in.”