“If you attempt to lynch these men, I shall ride at once and give the alarm,” sez the Friar.
“And when you came back, you would find ’em swingin’ from a limb,” sez I. “I’m with you in most things, Friar, and if the’ was a shred o’ doubt, I’d be with you in this; but it’s too plain a case. I’m willin’ to hold these two in secret until we can collect a posse o’ twelve to give ’em a jury trial; but this is the most I’ll do. Ty Jones has got others of his gang away from the law, but he don’t get these two—not if I can help it.”
Horace sided with me, and so did The, though he didn’t have much to say. He was thinkin’ of his own trip to pester Olaf, and it came back to him purty strong. The Friar finally had to agree not to notify the law until I’d had time to gather up a posse. I made Horace promise not to tell the Friar about our seein’ the woman back at Ty’s, saw that the Greasers were planted safe in Olaf’s log barn, and set out at once for the Diamond Dot on a fresh hoss. I never want to eat none before startin’ a ride like this.
I rode all that night through the moonlight; swingin’ up over the passes, fordin’ the rivers, and reachin’ the Diamond Dot at noon the next day. I didn’t let on to Jabez ’at I was there at all; but I got Spider Kelley, ol’ Tank Williams, Tillte Dutch, and Mexican Slim to take a vacation and come on back with me. This gave five for the jury, as I didn’t intend to have Horace or The sit on it, not knowin’ how far their prejudice might prevent ’em from executin’ my idee of justice. We set out to return, about five o’clock, and rode into the Spread at seven the next mornin’ with eight other fellers we had brought along for good measure.
Old Jimmy Simpson and his four grown sons were in this bunch, and I was purty well acquainted with ’em. I knew ’at they had been amply pestered by Ty Jones’s outfit, and wouldn’t be too particular about what book-law might have to say on the subject, though ol’ man Simpson was up on book-law. The other three were fellers they knew and were willin’ to guarantee. We were all a little sleepy, so we decided to hold the trial after dinner.
The Friar had spent as much time with the Greasers as they’d stand for; but he hadn’t made much impression on ’em. I knew ’at he was heart-whole in his attitude, an’ I hated to cross him; but this was a case o’ principle with me, so when we got ready for the trial, I tried to get him to take a long walk, but he refused.
We held the trial in front o’ the barn, and it was as legal as any trial ever was, and as solemn, too. We untied the prisoners, and called Kit for the first witness. She told it just as she had told it to us, but her bruised face would have been all that was necessary. Then we called the Friar and he told his part, and we let him make a speech in favor o’ law and order; and cheered him hearty, too, when he got through.
I had just begun to give my part, when Olaf and Oscar rode up. Olaf sat on his hoss and looked at us a moment, at Kit with her bruised face, holdin’ the boy in her arms, at the prisoners and us; and then he asked the Friar what it all meant. The Friar was sunonomous with truth, as far as Olaf was concerned.
Olaf listened quietly, the dark red risin’ in his cheeks bein’ about the only change in him. When the Friar finished, Olaf got off his hoss. “The’ won’t be need of any more trial,” sez he. “Kit, you go to the house.”
Kit started for the house, and the Friar asked Olaf what he intended to do.