“Yes,” said Benton thoughtfully. “Guess I’ll go an’ wire the O.C. just now, to send one o’ the inspectors down by the mornin’ train.”
As the nine-thirty west-bound train drew up at the little station next morning Benton, who was on the platform awaiting it expectantly, stepped forward and saluted a tallish, blond man, dressed in the dark-blue serge uniform of an inspector.
“Well, Sergeant,” greeted the latter, “you’ve been doing great business, I hear? But I can’t forget you’re the disturber of my rest, all the same,” he added, with a wry smile. “Aren’t there any local J.P.’s around here who could have handled these cases?”
Ellis grinned back apologetically. “Sorry to have had to drag you out of bed so early, sir,” he said. “Yes, there are a couple of resident J.P.’s here. Wardle, who runs a general store and the post-office, and Cloakey, a real estate man. Wardle’s away at the coast just now, so I was forced to wire for you. Cloakey’s here, though, to sit with you on these cases. Two of the men I’ve arrested are particularly tough, and I was anxious to get them into the Post by tonight’s train, if possible.”
They turned away from the station, and commenced to walk slowly up the main street.
“Have they engaged counsel?” pursued Inspector Darby. “I didn’t see any one on the train I knew, coming up.”
“No, sir,” answered the Sergeant. “I asked them all, individually, last night, before I wired to the O.C., but none of them seemed inclined to want a lawyer when I explained that this was merely the preliminary trial. It was the same about witnesses before we left Cherry Creek. Fisk, the ringleader, starting in to bluff that: ‘They’d have all the “mouthpieces” and witnesses they wanted, when the real trial came off’; so I didn’t bother with them any further. But, as a matter of fact, sir, I don’t see how they possibly could have any witnesses at all. They’ve taken pretty good care of that in the crooked work they’ve been carrying on. This is Mr. Cloakey coming down the street now. I don’t think you’ve ever met him, have you, sir?”
The Inspector replied in the negative, as he gazed with well-bred curiosity at his prospective associate on the magisterial bench, who was just then drawing abreast of them. He beheld a big, cheery-faced, somewhat corpulent, man nearing middle age, who grasped his hand with genial warmth, as the Sergeant, with easy deference, introduced him. A few civilities were exchanged, and Ellis led the way to the detachment which, on entering, he perceived to have suddenly assumed an unwontedly tidy appearance. After hurriedly gathering his witnesses, he formally opened the court, and the preliminary inquiry began.
Shorty’s case was taken first, the local sergeant guarding the other two in an inner room, so as to be out of hearing. A sullen plea of “Not guilty” was entered to the first and second charges. “Guilty” to the third—that of “Having a weapon on his person when arrested.” Dealt with summarily on this minor offense, he was given the option of paying a fine or the alternative of a short term of imprisonment with hard labor. He chose the latter.
The two principal charges—“Cattle stealing,” and “Conspiring to commit an indictable offense”—were next proceeded with. Ellis, after being sworn, gave his evidence, the strange nature of which—in the former charge—relaxed even the imperturbable Inspector’s judicial calm, as he and his colleague listened with unconcealed interest to the coyote episode, and viewed the half-chewed brand which the Sergeant fitted into the cut-out in the hide. Benton’s testimony in both cases being largely corroborated by Gallagher, Shorty was duly committed to stand his trial at the next sitting of the Supreme Court.