"I shall undertake the defence," Truett agreed briefly; "and petition that Mr. Smiley be appointed as my assistant."
This being granted, the three men drew one side for a consultation. In a short time Truett handed to the sergeant-at-arms—the same man who had conducted Cora to the tribunal—a list of the witnesses Cora wished to summon. These were at once sought by a subcommittee outside. In the meantime, witnesses for the prosecution were one by one admitted, sworn, and examined. All ordinary forms of law were closely followed. All essential facts were separately brought out. It was the historic Cora trial over again, with one difference—gone were the technical delays. By dusk Keith, who had been called at three, had all but completed the long tale of his testimony, had finished recounting, not only what he had seen of the quarrel and the subsequent shooting, but also a detailed account of the trial, the adverse influences brought to bear on the prosecution, and his investigations into the question of "undue influence." No attempt was made to confine the investigation to the technical trial.
Keith was the last witness for the prosecution. And the witnesses for the defence, where were they? Of the list submitted by Cora not one could be found! In hiding, afraid, the perjurers would not appear!
The dusk was falling in earnest now. The corners of the room were in darkness. Beneath Coleman's desk Bluxome, the secretary, had lighted an oil lamp the better to see his notes. In the interest of Keith's testimony the general illumination had not been ordered. Outside the tiny patch of yellow light the men of Vigilance sat motionless, listening, their shadows dim and huge against the wall.
The door opened, and Charles Doane, the Grand Marshal of the
Vigilantes, advanced three steps into the room.
"Mr. President," he said clearly, his voice cutting the stillness, "I am instructed to announce that James King of William is dead."
LXV
Thursday noon was set for the funeral of the man who had given his life that a city might live. In the room where he had made his brave fight against death he now lay in state. On Wednesday ten thousand people visited him there. Early Thursday morning his remains were transferred to the Unitarian Church where, early as it was, a great multitude had gathered to do him honour. Now through the long morning hours it sat with him silently. The church was soon filled to over-flowing; the streets in all directions became crowded with sober-faced men and women. They knew they would be unable to get into the church, to attend nearer his last communion with his fellowmen, but they stayed, feeling vaguely that their mere presence helped—as, indeed, perhaps it did. Marching bodies from every guild or society in the city stood in rank after rank, extending down the street as far as the eye could reach. Hundreds of horsemen, carriages, foot marchers, quietly, orderly, were already getting into line. They, too, were excluded from the funeral ceremonies by lack of room; they, too, waited to do honour to the cortege. This procession was over two miles in length. Each man wore a band of crèpe around his left arm. The time set for the funeral ceremony was yet hours distant.
It seemed that all the city must be there. But those who, hurrying to the scene, had occasion to pass near the Vigilante headquarters found the vacant square guarded on all sides by a triple line of armed men. The side streets, also, were filled with them. They stood in exact alignment, rigid, bayonets fixed, their eyes straight ahead. Three thousand of them were there. Hour after hour they stood, untiring, staring at the building, which gave no sign; just as the other multitude, only a few squares away, stood hour after hour, patiently waiting in the bright sun.
At quarter before one the upper windows of the headquarters building were thrown open, and small platforms, extending about three feet, were thrust from two of them. An instant later two heavy beams were shoved out from the flat roof directly over the platforms. From the ends of the beams dangled nooses of rope. A dead wait ensued. Across the silence could be heard faintly from the open windows of the distant church the chords of an organ, the rise and fall of a hymn, then the measured cadence of oration. The funeral services had begun.