If those kind eyes of the Goddess of Justice were not bandaged, but she could see how her pure white robes have been begrimed and soiled in San Diego, and how her lofty dignity is thus lowered to the dust, she would no doubt feel affronted and aggrieved. And if she is so irreverently maltreated, can she afford any protection to those who must rely on her alone, having no riches to maintain protracted litigation or carry their plaints to higher tribunals? To the moneyless laity Justice thus defiled seems as helpless as themselves. She is powerless to accomplish her mission upon earth whenever a Judge, through weakness or design, may choose to disregard her dictates. At present the dignity of a Judge's personality is more sacred than the abstract impersonality of justice. Because the accepted theory being that Judges are always just and incorruptible (and generally the supposition is correct), there is a broad shelter for a Judge who may be neither just nor impartial. What mockery of justice it is in our fair land of freedom to say that a bad Judge can be impeached when impeachment is so hedged with difficulties as to be impossible—utterly ineffectual to protect the poor, victimized laity! Who is the poor litigant that would dare arraign an unjust Judge, well sheltered in his judicial ermine, and the entire profession ready to champion him? “Libel” would be the cry against any one who would dare hold the mirror for such Judge to see himself! Ah, yes, when the real libel is to distort the law and degrade the mission of justice on earth!
Peter Roper, knowing well with what impunity he could violate justice and decency, conceived the brilliant idea of taking the Mechlin house at Alamar, now that the family were sojourning in town. Peter did not like to divide the spoils, but as accomplices were absolutely necessary, there was no alternative but to take his friend and client Gasbang into the plot.
On a Sunday evening Peter proceeded to unfold his plan before John, who had come from his farm to attend church and was attired in a white vest and black coat, having just come from evening service. For, as I have said before, John Gasbang was a pillar of the church now, and never failed in his attendance every Sunday. People knew that in old times, when John was very poor, he used to play “monte” with the Indians and cheat them out of their money. Many times he had been known to spend almost the entire night sitting cross-legged on a blanket with a tallow candle set in a bottle to light his high-toned game, surrounded by the select company of naked Indians, who were too fascinated to see how plainly John was robbing them. Pitilessly would John strip his unsophisticated tattooed comrades of everything they owned on this earth. Their reed baskets, bows and arrows, strings of beads, tufts of feather-tips, or any other rustic and barbaric ornaments. All, all, John would gather up with his skillfully shuffled cards. The spoils he thus collected he would sell to other Indians from whom he would presently gather in (like the good Sexton he was), gather in, with high-toned and highly skillful shuffling. But John now was a rich man. Kindly San Diego had forgiven John's petty thieving. The money won from the poor Indians had helped him to thrive, and consequently convinced him that, after all, cheating was no worse than other sins, the gravity of which entirely depended upon the trick of hiding them. He would now try to hide his humble, predatory gambling, he said to himself, and seem respectable.
Yes, he would wear a white vest and try to look honest, but on hearing Roper's project, his dull, fishy eyes revolved quickly in their little sockets, and his square jaws expanded like those of a snake before it shakes its rattle and coils up to spring. His mouth watered in anticipation of the sweets of ill-gotten gain as he listened attentively to all that Roper had to say.
“I'll see Hogsden the first thing in the morning,” said he, joyously.
“But wait. Can you trust him?”
“Trust him? I should say I could, and if he weakens, there is his wife to brace him up with her good advice. He owes a big sum of money to old Mechlin; so old Hoggy will be only too glad to get even by jumping the house. I suppose our friend, the Judge, is with us.”
“Don't be silly. Do you suppose I would do a thing of this kind if I wasn't sure of him? He won't fail me. He'll do as I say. Be sure of that, and don't talk. Come to my house now and I'll draw up the conveyance. Hog. must sign his quit-claim deed, and then I'll see that his location of one hundred and sixty acres is properly filed. But, mind, if Hogsden betrays us, he'll spoil our game,” observed Roper.
“Leave that to me,” said John, rubbing his hands and giving his vest a downward pull.
The result of this dialogue was that Hogsden quit-claimed all his, “right, title and interest in a certain parcel of land, etc., etc., with a dwelling house and other improvements, etc., etc.,” and the description of the property might have applied to a hundred others in the county. This transaction accomplished and recorded, they took the furniture that had been left in the house by the Mechlins and put it temporarily in the barn; Mrs. Hogsden taking only such articles as she wished to keep. She stole them brazenly, saying she had bought them.