Томас Майн Рид: Всадник без головы / The Headless Horseman

Finally the figures of three horsemen are seen coming in the direction of the tree!

Zeb moves off first, leading the captive alongside of him. The latter seems satisfied at being conducted in company.

Calhoun rides slowly – a close observer might say reluctantly at the back.

The trio of equestrians comes to a halt outside the circle of spectators; which soon changes centre, closing excitedly around them.

Two of them dismount; the third remains seated in the saddle.

Calhoun, leading his horse to one side, becomes mixed with the crowd. All eyes, as well as thoughts, dwell upon the Headless Horseman.

Zeb Stump, abandoning the old mare, takes hold of his bridle-rein, and conducts him under the tree – into the presence of the Court.

“Now, judge!” says he, speaking as one who has command of the situation, “and you twelve of the jury! here’s a witness that is likely to let a gleam of daylight into your deliberations.”

An exclamation is heard, followed by the words, “O God, it is he!” A tall man staggers forward, and stands by the side of the Headless Horseman. It is his father!

A cry proceeds from a more distant point – a scream suddenly suppressed, as if uttered by a woman before fainting. It is his sister!

Zeb Stump is officially directed to take his place in the “witness-box.”

The old hunter is called to tell what he knows of the affair.

“I first heard of this ugly business on the second day after young Poindexter was missing. Heard there was a suspicion about the mustanger having committed the murder. I knew he wasn’t the man to do such; but, to be satisfied, rode out to his hut to see him. He wasn’t at home, though his man Phelim was; so scared about one thing and the other he could give no clear account of anything.

“Well, while we were talking, in came the dog, with something tied round his neck – the which, on being examined, proved to be the mustanger’s card. There were words on it; wrote in red ink, which I thought to be blood.

“Those words told to whosoever should read them, where the young fellow was to be found.

“I went there, taking Phelim and the hound along with me.

“We got to the ground just in time to save the mustanger from the jaguar.

“He was out of his senses. We took him home; and there he stayed, till the searchers came to the shanty and found him.”

The witness gives a full and particular account of everything that occurred – up to the time of the prisoner being incarcerated in the guard-house.

“Now,” says he, as soon as the cross-questioning comes to a close, “since you’ve made me tell all I know about that part of the business, there’s something you haven’t thought of asking, and the which I’m bound to tell you.”

“Proceed, Mr Stump!” says he of San Antonio.

“Well, what I’m going to say now hasn’t so much to do with the prisoner at the bar, as with a man that in my opinion ought to be standing in his place. I won’t say who that man is. I’ll tell you what I know, and have found out, and then you of the jury may reckon it up for yourselves.”

There is an impression that the old hunter can unravel the mystery of the murder. That of the Headless Horseman no longer needs unravelling.

“Thinking as I did that the Irish was innocent, I became determined to discover the truth. And so I went to the prairie to have a squint [61]at the sign.

“I knew there must be horse-tracks leading to the place, and horse tracks going from it; and there were too many of them, going everywhere.

“But there was one particular set that I determined to follow up to the end.

“They were the footmarks of an American horse, having one shoe [62]with a bit broken off the end of it. Here’s the identical piece of iron!”

The witness draws his hand from the pocket of his blanket coat, in which it has been some time buried. In the fingers are seen the shoe of a horse, only three quarters complete.

“The horse that carried this shoe went across the prairie the same night that the murder was committed. He went after the man that was murdered, as well as him that stands there accused of it. He went right upon the track of both, and stopped short of the place where the crime was committed.

“But the man that rode him didn’t stop short. He kept on till he was close up to the bloody spot; and it was through him it afterwards became bloody. It was the third horse – him with the broken shoe – that carried the murderer!”

“The man I’m speaking of took stand in the thicket, from which stand he fired the shot that killed poor young Poindexter.”

“What man? Who was it? Give his name!” simultaneously interrogate twenty voices.

“I reckon you’ll find it there.”

“Where?”

“Where! In that body as sits without a head!

The old hunter suggests taking out the bullet that is still inside the body.

Nobody objects. Two or three of the spectators – Sam Manly one of them – step forward; and proceed to remove the serape.

Around the waist – twice twined around it – is a piece of plaited rope. Before and behind, it is fastened to the projections of the saddle. By it is the body retained in its upright attitude. Everything as the accused has stated.

Two bullet holes are seen; one over the region of the heart; the other piercing the breast-bone just above the abdomen.

“It,” says Zeb Stump, pointing to the smaller, “it signifies nothing. It’s the bullet I fired myself. You observe there’s no blood about it: which proves that it was a dead body when it entered. The other is different. It was the shot as killed him; and if I’m not mistaken, you’ll find the bit of lead still inside of the corpse.”

With respectful carefulness the body is laid at full length along the grass. The operators stoop silently over it – Sam Manly acting as the chief.

A leaden bullet is extracted; and submitted to the examination of the jury.

There is still discernible the outlines of a stamped crescent, and the letters C.C.

“What’s your explanation, Mr Stump?” asks the counsel for the accused.

“Don’t need much, I reckon,” is the reply. “It’s clear as the light of day, that young Poindexter was shot by that very bullet.”

“By whom?”

“Well; that appears to be equally clear. When a man signs his name to a message, there’s no chance of mistaking who it comes from. There’s only the initials there; but they’re plain enough, I reckon, and speak for themselves.”

“I see nothing in all this,” interposes the prosecuting counsel. “There’s a marked bullet, it is true – with a symbol and certain letters, which may, or may not, belong to a gentleman well known in the Settlement. For the sake of argument, let us suppose them to be his. What of that? It wouldn’t be the first time that a murder has been committed – by one who has first stolen his weapon, and then used it to accomplish the deed.”

“What do you call this?” asks Stump, who has been impatiently awaiting the end of the lawyer’s speech.

Zeb takes from his pocket a piece of paper – crumpled and scorched along the edges.

“This I found,” says he,” stuck fast on the thorn of a tree. It came out of the same gun as discharged that bullet – to which it had served for wadding. There’s a name on it, which has a curious corresponding with the initials on the bit of lead. The jury can read the name for themselves.”

The foreman [63]takes the scrap of paper; and, smoothing it out, reads aloud —

Captain Cassius Calhoun!

The announcement of the name produces a vivid impression upon the Court.

It is accompanied by a cry – sent up by the spectators. It is not a cry of surprise. It has a double meaning: at once proclaiming the innocence of the accused, and the guilt of him who has been the most zealous amongst the accusers.