Evan Hunter - The Chisholms - A novel of the journey West

The judges in the courtyard trial were three — Orliac himself, Schwarzenbacher the clerk, and a trapper named Sebilleau, who could neither read nor write. A long table had been brought out from one of the lower apartments, and the three presiding officials sat behind it now, the prisoner and his accuser sitting side by side on a puncheon bench before them. The courtyard and the balcony running around the upper level of the fort were thronged with company men, eager for whatever mild diversion the trial might provide, and Indians curious to witness the white man’s method of dispensing justice.

The trial started with Orliac explaining to everyone present that the man Hackett was accused of stealing a horse, and these judges were assembled to determine his guilt or innocence. The punishment for stealing a horse, he further explained, was to be hanged by the neck till dead. The Indians wondered about this. Suicides by hanging were common in their tribes, but they did not know of hanging as a punishment for theft. Or was this to be a ceremony of sorts? In the Sun Watching Dance, warriors fulfilling vows suspended themselves voluntarily from a sacred pole, by means of cords fastened to painted sticks and passed through the flesh on their chests. But the white man’s hanging was a hanging to the death. The Indians had never seen a ceremony of this sort. Would the white man first pierce the neck through with a blue stick and then attach a cord to it?

“Mr. Chisholm,” Orliac said, “would you tell this court why you believe the Appaloosa now in the company corral was stolen by the accused?”

Embarrassed, Will got to his feet, cleared his throat, and looked out at the Indians and white men standing in the courtyard and on the gallery above.

“Well,” he said, “Hackett here was guiding us to St. Louis, been with us since we met in Louisville. Just outside St. Louis he disappeared, and so did the gelding. So I rightly believe he was the one went off with it, since there was only the horse’s tracks leading north, and the land was all so flat there you could see for miles if a man was out there on foot, which Hackett wasn’t. Anyway, he’s the one came riding up on the horse yesterday, so he’s the one had to have rode off with it in the first place.”

“How do you know the horse is yours?” Orliac asked.

“The animal’s earmarked and branded,” Will said.

“How?”

“There’s a pothook brand on the left thigh, about eight inches above the stifle joint. And the right ear is marked with two cuts downward on either side of the point. The earmark, and the brand both, are registered with the county clerk back home,” Will said.

“Emile,” Orliac said to a man standing just alongside the table, “would you bring the horse for us to see, please?”

The horse was led from the corral. Nervous and skittish, it kept trying to pull away as the judges made their examination. There was a pothook brand on the left thigh, just as Will had claimed. The right ear was marked with a pair of downward slits, one on each side of the point.

“It would seem to be your horse,” Orliac said, and went back to sit behind the long table again.

“It’s my horse, all right,” Will said.

“Mr. Hackett?” Orliac said, and Lester rose. “Mr. Hackett, is this the horse you were riding yesterday morning when you approached the fort?”

“It is,” Hackett said. “But let me tell you this minute I know the horse is Will Chisholm’s, and yes, I did ride off with it just outside St. Louis, as Will claims I did. But I didn’t steal that horse.”

“You rode off with the horse,” Orliac said.

“That’s right, sir.”

“But you didn’t steal it.”

“No, sir.”

“What then do you call riding off with another man’s horse, eh?”

“I was guiding the Chisholms to St. Louis, as I’d promised, and I think I took the job seriously and did it well; I don’t think anyone in the family’ll dispute that. The night I rode off with Will’s horse, I heard voices and I didn’t know who was out there in the darkness, so I rode off to investigate, as was my duty. I didn’t have a horse of my own. I had to mount whatever was available, and it was Will’s Appaloosa that was closest to hand. There were five men out there, it turned out, and they ambushed me and forced me to go along with them. I finally got away from them in Illinois, and’ve been searching for the Chisholms since. That’s the truth of the matter.”

“Mr. Orliac,” Will said, “me and my brother went to Illinois looking for this man; we talked to his mother—”

“She told me about that,” Lester said. “That’s why I kept going back to Carthage, trying to locate you. But each time I got there, you’d be gone a day or so, and I’d traveled in a circle for no reason. You’ve got your horse back, Will. Would you hang me besides for riding off after men I thought were threatening the family?”

“There were no damn men, and you know it,” Will said. “You’re a horse thief, plain and simple.”

“No, he’s tellin the truth,” a voice said, and all in the courtyard turned to locate the source of the voice, and could not find it till Bonnie Sue rose from where she was sitting with Minerva on a buffalo robe against the wall. The Indians watched her as she approached the long table at which sat Orliac and the other judges. Even Sebilleau, the illiterate Orliac had elected to the tribunal, seemed to have come at least half awake upon hearing her declaration. She stood before the table now, and looked directly into Orliac’s face as though challenging him to challenge what she had just said. Instead, he asked for repetition, which was unnecessary since everyone had heard her clearly.

“What did you say?” he said.

“I said Lester Hackett’s tellin the truth. There were voices that night.”

“Bonnie Sue...”

“It’s the truth, Will!” she said, whirling on him. “It’s the truth,” she said more softly, and turned again to face Orliac and the others. In the same low voice, she said, “I was awake. Lester and me were both awake. We heard the voices together. He said he’d find out what it was, and he climbed on Will’s horse and rode off.”

Will got off the bench, walked to where his sister was standing, looked her straight in the eye, and asked, “Why didn’t you say any of this before?”

“I was afraid you’d ask me what I was doing awake,” Bonnie Sue said.

“What were you doing awake?” Orliac asked.

“I was kissin Lester. Me and Lester were sittin by the fire, kissin,” she said.

Schwarzenbacher looked at Hackett where he sat attentively on the puncheon bench, and tried to visualize Bonnie Sue kissing this man who was easily twice her age. He found the thought disturbing, found it even more disturbing that she’d admitted it before this assembly. Everywhere around, he could hear murmurs in French, “Elle faisait l’amour,” could see Indians making the plains gesture for fornication, the extended middle finger of the right hand plunging into a circle formed by the thumb and curled fingers of the opposite hand. He knew that everyone here, save perhaps the Chisholms themselves, believed as he did — that the “kissing” to which Bonnie Sue had just admitted was a pleasant euphemism for what she and Lester Hackett had actually been doing. Why else hadn’t she revealed this crucial information to her family the next morning?

“These men on horseback,” Orliac said. “How many did you say there were?”

“Are you talking to me, sir?” Lester said.

“Yes, I am looking at you, eh?” Orliac said, and smiled and said, “Thank you,” and dismissed Bonnie Sue with a wave of his hand. It seemed to Schwarzenbacher that the gesture was entirely French and probably decadent, the equivalent of a sophisticated Gallic shrug. Orliac was effectively indicating that they were here not to determine what had transpired between a man and a woman by a fire, but only to decide whether or not a horse had been stolen. Either Lester hod stolen the horse or else he had taken it to give chase to men who themselves were intending mischief.