Smallbones was the man responsible for this rebellion against a long-recognized authority. He was at the bottom of the campaign against Jim Thorpe. Whether he was himself convinced of the man’s guilt it would have been difficult to say. For some reason, which was scarcely apparent, he meant to hang him. And, with all the persistence of a venomous nature, he shouted his denunciation, until at last his arguments gained credence, 346 and his charges found echo in the deep throats of men who originally had little or nothing to say in the matter.
The meeting was in full swing, tempers were roused in proportion to the arguments flung about at haphazard, and the quantities of liquor consumed in the process of the debate. At first the centre of the floor had been kept clear for the speakers, and the audience was lined up around the walls, but as the discussion warmed there was less order, and Doc Crombie, in spite of his sternest language, was powerless to keep the judicial atmosphere necessary to treat the matter in a dignified manner. Smallbones kept up a fiery run of comment and spleenful argument on every individual who backed the doctor in his demand for moderation. He ridiculed, he cursed, he showered personal abuse, until he had everybody by the ears, and by the sheer power of his venom herded the majority to side with him.
One of the men he could not influence was Peter Blunt. He did his utmost to provoke the big man to a personal attack upon himself that he might turn loose personalities against him, and charge him with complicity in some of Jim’s doings, however absurdly untrue they might be. He had all a demagogue’s gift for carrying an audience with him. He never failed to seize upon an opportunity to launch a poisonous shaft, or sneer at the class to which Jim and such men as Peter belonged. Before he left that saloon he meant to obtain a verdict against his man.
Doc Crombie’s anger was hot against the hardware dealer. He meant ruling against him in the end, but he was not quite sure how that ruling would be generally 347 received. He was now listening to a final appeal from Peter in the hopes of gleaning something that might help him when he finally set his foot on the neck of Smallbones’ charges.
“See here, fellers,” Peter said, with a quiet directness of manner, but in a voice that rose above the hum of general talk, and at once silenced it, “you’ve heard a whole heap of ‘tosh’ from Smallbones and his gang. I tell you that feller’s got a mind as big as a pea, and with just about as much wind in it. You’ve heard him accuse Jim Thorpe of cattle stealing on evidence which we all know, and which wouldn’t convince a kid of ten, by reason of its absurd simplicity. Do I need to ask sensible men such as you if any sane rustler is going to do the things which you’re trying to say Jim Thorpe did? Is any sane rustler going to use his own brand, and run stolen cattle with his legitimate stock, in a place where folks can always see ’em? Sure, sure you don’t need to ask yourselves even. Jim Thorpe’s been a straight man all his days in Barnriff. ‘Honest Jim Thorpe’ you’ve all many a time called him. I tell you this thing is a put-up job. Some dirty, mean skunk has set out to ruin him for some reason unknown. There are mean folks,” he went on, with his keen eyes fixed on Smallbones, “here in Barnriff. They’re mean enough to do this if they only hated Jim enough. I’d hate to cast reflections, but I believe from the bottom of my heart that Smallbones, if he hated enough, would do such a trick. I–––”
“Are you accusin’ me, you durned hulk?” shrieked the hardware dealer fiercely.
“I wasn’t,” remarked Peter, calmly. “But if you like, I will. I’m not a heap particular. And there’d be just 348 about as much sense in doing so as there is in your accusations against Jim.”
“Hark at him, fellers,” cried the furious Smallbones, pointing at the big man. “He’s his friend––he’d sell his stinkin’ soul for him. He’d–––”
“I’d sell my soul for no man,” Peter replied, cutting him short. “But I’d like to keep it as decently clean as such folks as you will let me. Now listen to me. You’ve no right to condemn this man in the way you’re trying to. I don’t know what your ultimate intentions are about him. I dare say some of you would like to hang him, but there’s too many sane men who’d stop such as Smallbones at tricks like that. But you’ve no right to banish him out of the district, or even censure him. He’s done nothing–––”
“What about the Henderson woman?” cried Smallbones.